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pandoras-princess · 4 years

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Next Best Thing (Tommy Shelby x fem!reader, John Shelby x fem!reader)

*gif not mine//credit to owner

A/N: Hello my lovelies! 🌸 Welcome to my first ever Peaky Blinders fic, I wrote it ages ago and have just edited it slightly so my apologies if the quality isn’t greaaat but the other parts will be better I promise! 😅 This is an AU fanfic where John never married Martha or had kids before he married Esme and there is no Grace for Tommy andddd the timeline is absolutely wack, I know it’s a lot so if you’re in the market for a traditional by the book Peaky Blinders fic this one is not for you I’m afraid 🤗 also if you’re finding it a bit slow I advise you to hang in there until after the time skip because that’s the better half of this part in my opinion, nevertheless I seriously enjoyed writing this so Happy Reading Peoples! 🥳🥳 as ever I appreciate every like, reblog and follow, feedback is forever welcome 😌

Summary: Being the bestfriend of Jonathan Shelby meant that you’d grown up attached at the hip. And considering you were hopelessly in love with him, life was eventful to say the least. With John marrying Esme you decide it’s high time you got over him. And as they say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else...

Pairing: (OOC) Thomas Shelby x fem!reader, John Shelby x fem!reader

Warnings: Swearing, violence, smoking and drinking, mentions of addiction, mentions of sex but no smut I’m afraid

PART TWO PART THREE PART FOUR

━◦ ♡ ◦━◦ ♡ ◦━◦━◦ ♡ ◦━◦ ♡ ◦━

Being John Shelby's best friend was definitely not an easy job.

You and John were the exact same age, born on the same day of the same month of the same year, precisely one hour and eleven minutes apart, and since your family only lived one house away from the Shelby's it was a given that you and John would grow up to be best friends.

You were as good as family to them, so when your father was killed in the war and your mother unable to cope turned to the drink and drugs, you were left officially orphaned at age 10 and Polly arranged for you to live with them, raising you as her own.

Growing up with the Shelby's came with it's challenges. They were all fiercely protective of you but no one more so than John. When you were kids he'd beat up anyone that dare made you cry, or sad or angry or anything other than happy really, and as you grew older and began to date he'd scare away anyone deemed not up to scratch, which seemed to be pretty much all of them, threatening violence known around Small Heath as common behaviour for the Peaky Blinders. This meant that you never really had a boyfriend, or many boys interested in you at all for that matter, and any who were rarely had the balls to act on it for fear of the Peaky Blinders wrath. However this didn't bother you much as there was only ever one boy you truly wanted interested in you, the one boy who never would be interested in you.

Of course being a teenage girl you'd had your silly crushes, Tommy being one of them. But they all paled in comparison to what you felt for John.

Being best friends meant that the two of you spent practically all of your time together, did everything together, went through and dealt with everything together. He had always been your shoulder to cry on, your ear to bend, your hugs and smiles and laughs, your safe place. It was inevitable that you'd fall for him. And fall for him you did, painfully obvious to everyone except John himself.

Shortly after your 16th birthday, you were reading a book by the fire, a woven blanket strewn across your legs and a steaming mug of hot chocolate warming your hands when John bursts into the house loud, drunk and jolly. He often snuck out to join his brothers in their shenanigans - whether it be business or pleasure - and you were all too happy to listen to his stories when he came home.

You watched John intently as he regaled to you his latest night out. You watched the corners of his mouth twitch ever so slightly as he spoke, a smug smile tracing his lips every so often. His eyes glistened from the whiskey and his lips were wet. A cigarette clasped lazily between his fingers, his eyes closed for a split second whenever he took a drag. Deep in admiration of the boy sitting in front of you, you didn't quite notice the change of events in the story.

"-and then she walked right up to me and kissed me!"

It was at that point that your attention snapped back, ears pricking up and heart racing as you go over what he'd just said. But too excited to wait, John didn't give you the chance to work out if you had misheard him.

"Well before I know it she's got me in the back alley dress hiked up going at me like a feral she was. Can ya believe it after all this time I'm finally a man aha!" John exclaims, a goofy, ear-splitting grin plastered on his face.

He spares any explicit details, knowing it was no way to talk with a lady no matter how close they are to you or how drunk you may happen to be. Nevertheless, upon hearing those final words coupled with the look of pure elation on his face, your heart shatters into millions of ice cold shards right before your eyes. The pain that was rapidly building in your chest and the image of John with some tart, skirt bunched around her waist fucking like dogs in the alley was too much for you to bear. A wave of nausea washes over you and you stand abruptly, dashing to the loo before the contents of your stomach emptied onto the carpet.

A few minutes later you hear faint knocks on the door.

“Ye alright in there love?” John asks, concern lacing his words.

“All good” you reply quickly, willing your voice to steady itself.

Wiping the sheen of sweat from your forehead you collapse into a heap against the wall, and a sigh escapes your lips as you wrack your brain for the exact moment you had lost him. While John had never shown any signs of liking you, you were always able to draw hope from the relationship you two had, no matter how blind it may have been. Now though, he had dashed that hope, blind or otherwise, as he had given himself to someone else. He had openly chosen not to be with you.

Not to be yours.

Fobbing John off with some excuse about a dodgy dinner you quickly retreat to bed, going without giving him a hug, unable to bring yourself to touch him. And from that day onwards you lived with the knowledge that your love was unrequited. You lived with loving him, and him not loving you.

For the most part it was rather easy. John wasn't the kind for serious relationships - preferring causal sex to the committed kind - so you never really had to deal with any girlfriends or the lark, just the occasional tart interested in him on the rare nights out you tagged along. Even then, you soon learned not to go on any nights out without Ava or Polly present and so the issue of John and his women quickly became dormant. That was, however, until John agreed to marry Esme Lee.

Tommy came to you before asking John, asking for your help in convincing him. He knew John would come to you with it asking for advice before deciding. Tommy explained his plan, marry John off to the Lee girl forcing them to squash the war and join forces to overthrow Billy Kimber. It was simple enough and since you'd already accepted there was never to be a you and John, you agreed.

The time came and sure enough John came to you, confused and somewhat annoyed at Tommy's rough handed approach, and sure enough you stayed true to your word, telling him it was nothing new, people had arranged marriages all the time.

So on he went to marry her, your true feelings unknown to the man.

[2 years later]

"You shouldn't be working here you know. John certainly wouldn't like it" Tommy said, a smile tugging at his lips as he watched you carefully wipe down the bar surface. He was referring to your new job as barmaid in the Garrison and having just finished your first shift you were cleaning up. Last orders had been and gone and every punter had now left the pub, drunk and merry on their ways.

After John married Esme you spent the next two years much to yourself. You embraced the spinster lifestyle and faded away into the passing days. However it was the turn of a new year and to everyone's joy you'd come to your senses, deciding it was high time you stopped wasting your life moping after John. He didn't love you - that much was clear - but somebody out there must and so it was time for you to move on, you thought. Reinvent yourself. This 'new you' started with marching into Tommy's office and demanding the new barmaid job. Surprisingly he offered no resistance, merely a quizzical look at your sudden determination before giving you the job. So here you were, your first shift done and nobody left in the place but you and your new boss.

"Well it might surprise you to know, Mr Shelby, but I don't abide my decisions by what John would or would not like me doing" you reply. Finishing up you leave the cloth on the bar and make your way over to the table, taking the chair adjacent to his.

"Is that so?" He asks, his piercing blue eyes meeting yours as he offers you a cigarette. You accept, bending down slightly to the offered flame and without breaking eye contact, you light the cigarette and take a drag, exhaling as you sit back up.

"Yes, Thomas, that is so" you reply, the use of his name making clear your exasperation with the questioning.

"Very well then, a toast-" he picks up the bottle of whiskey and pours some into each glass, placing one in front of you and taking one himself "-to your new job, and to your new found freedom" he says, locking eyes with you on his last words and clinking your glass before you both down it. If growing up with the Shelby's had taught you one thing it was how to hold your liquor.

Soon you and Tommy were halfway through the bottle and quite drunk, too caught up in the fun to notice. It was now something past 3 in the morning; you and Tommy had been talking, drinking and laughing for nigh on 3 hours now, going through old stories of your childhoods, stories from before you were born and from afterwards, stories of your parents and stories of his.

"So tell me, what is the meaning behind this sudden change in you then?" Tommy inquired, only too happy to see your old self back again.

Before you knew it the whiskey had gotten the better of you and you found yourself telling him the reason. You told him about John, about your love for him, about that night and about how you'd come to terms with it and decided to move on.

"Besides, it's not like he was the first boy I ever liked, so I'm quite sure he won't be the last" you state matter of factly, unaware of the storm you had just brewed.

See, unbeknown to you, Tommy was fully aware of everything you had just poured out to him. He knew about your love for John. He knew the deepest parts of your heart, your mind, your soul. Every crush and fling you'd ever experienced Tommy knew all about it, thanks to a little book you liked to keep hidden under your mattress. You had been detailing all matters of yourself in that little black journal for as long as you could write. Polly happily replacing it when you found your current one full, it was much easier than finding a shoulder to cry on every time you needed one. When Tommy came across it he had no idea what it was, merely out of curiosity did he open it and start reading.

"Oh, who was?" Tommy asked, lighting another cigarette. Following suit you decide to take a minute to weigh up your options, drinking in the smoke as you did.

"You” your voice remains deceptively steady, not wanting the man watching you so closely, so attentively, to become aware of the raging swarm of butterflies occupying your stomach.

"Is that so?" Tommy pulls on his own cigarette, the smoke rising from his lips as his eyes lock onto yours. "So what changed then?" His eyebrow arches perfectly, a smirk gracing his lips.

"You're 4 years older than me! There was no way you'd ever look at me as anything other than an annoying little sister!” You say in a chuckle, the fiery whiskey encompassing all of your thoughts in a humorous glow.

"And if I told you I do look at you as something other than an annoying little sister?" His eyes flick to your lips for a millisecond before returning to your own (E/C) orbs. If you’d have blinked you would’ve missed it, but your full attention being fixed on the man before you meant that you hadn’t.

"Well... that would certainly change things." The possibility of one of your fantasy's coming true ignited you to your very core.

Silently, Tom rises from his seat and offers his hand to you. You take it, and he leads you to his office with the worst of intentions in mind.

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amethystpath-writes · 3 years

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A Cage of Moonlight and Magic:

You guys asked for a collab so here’s collab number one, with the one and only @nightfrostshadow ! We had a blast writing this and bouncing ideas off one another, so sit back and enjoy :)

******

“Listen to me carefully,” Supervillain held Villain’s chin, slid his hand so casually near his circus pet’s neck- his throat. “Those water and ice crystals are not yours at all. They are mine, you hear me? They are the audience’s. You exist only to provide entertainment, to provide glory. But you are neither of these things without your powers.” He stepped back, peering at his subject with a glimmer in his eyes.

“I’ll kill you,” Villain promised. “Someday when you least expect it, I will do it.” He’d said this before, many times- with many bouts of frustration, confidence, and determination.

Supervillain laughed. “With water?”

“Haven’t you ever heard of being swept away by a current?” For once, Villain allowed a smile to curve upon his lips. Something wicked enraptured his thoughts- more than just murder; it was torture. “When the water is so fast, so strong, that your head never breaks surface ever again. You drown.”

The hand near Villain’s throat faltered, but ultimately tightened. “Don’t forget who you are speaking to.” And that was the end of that.

***

“I think it’s fun,” Hero said, “when the little kids’ faces curve into shining smiles. And the adults, too. I wonder how many grandparents have made our show their last one. What an honour, isn’t it, Villain? That we may be the last magic someone sees?”

Villain who had been gloomily forming a little water tornado in his palm looked up at Hero. “Absolutely not,” he scoffed, and the swirling water fell to the ground.

“Does it not bother you that we are nothing but tools to Supervillain?” Villain asked. “Meant to forever use our powers in such a pathetic way, to entertain people? Would you not rather be the one in power of your own life? To live free…free to do whatever we want with our powers instead of what Supervillain wants!” What a magnificent fantasy Villain let reel in his mind.

He shifted his body, knees dragging in the dirt- in his bed. “I’m reduced to having to put up waterwork shows. Waterworks can you believe it? Out of all the things I can do?”

A spritz of water in Hero’s direction. “And you.” He waited for Hero to meet his eyes. “With your stars and fireworks…you could do so much more. We could do so much more, Hero. Yet here we are, the famous opening act for Supervillain.”

Hero pondered over this as she thoughtfully looked down at her own hands, making little stars and sparkles erupt from her fingers, thus illuminating the surroundings. Such a great contrast to the darkening sky, she thought before answering Villain. “We bring light to the people watching, you know?” Literally, in Hero’s case.

“You could bring heat to them as well.” Villain was watching the little sparks in his co-worker’s hands as she’d spoken. Darkly, he thought, She could set the world ablaze if she wished. “Don’t you understand that we are animals to them? They think we are tamed.” He expected a response- anything besides Hero’s plain face. “That fact doesn’t bother you at all?” Villain’s voice pitched, incredulous.

Hero smiled slightly as she sent out a shower of sparkles raining down on them with a flick of her fingers and met Villain’s eyes as she spoke “I try not to think about it, you know? I just think of the good in every situation. It helps me be happy and peaceful. Besides, we’ve been here long enough; it’s not like we can leave so I just find the wonder in everything we do…it warms my heart to see the joy in people’s eyes as they watch us perform. You should try it, too, Villain.” She looked at him earnestly.

Villain stared at her in disbelief as he smiled bitterly,” There is nothing that can warm my heart here. Looking at the joy in peoples’ eyes as they don’t even care about us? Looking at them angers me even more. All they care about is watching the magic show in front of them. What has there been for us to celebrate in these past years?” Villain took a deep breath. “Nothing. I haven’t felt happiness in ages, Hero…and my heart?” He formed ice at the tips of his fingers as if to demonstrate- “It’s frozen.”

He sighed as he laid down on his bed- if you could even call it that. Once again he longed for the blanket he desperately needed, yet was never given on the cold winter nights.

***

“Up and at them, monsters.” Supervillain casted his light throughout the tent room, illuminating every square inch, every shadow hiding in every nook and cranny. He seemed to ignore his own monstrous ability.

Perhaps moonlight wasn’t such a devious subject to some, but to the magis, it was the cruellest of all magics- a searing light close to a large pane of lasers. The light hurt. And Supervillain was fond of using it every day, using it to wake his subjects up, to force them into the confines of a life hardly worth living. A circus like what they performed was better than the pain, but the pain was inescapable.

“We have a big show tonight. Some very esteemed guests will be making an appearance. You will all be expected to put on your best performance.”

As eyes creeped open, and quiet gasps and shouts of pain sounded around the dirt room, Supervillain’s lips curved into a bow. He did love the sounds and movements they made under his power- something incapable of being shown to an audience, per say, but something most definitely to be used behind closed curtains. He was thankful there was no expected sizzle to come from the burning skin of his subjects. The audience might hear that, and then what would his show be?

Villain rolled over onto his stomach, pushing himself up onto his knees and collapsing in on himself to form a ball. The moonlight burned, as usual, but it was worse on this late night. He felt the light in all places, even those not accessible- hence the tight position he held himself in, a form of self-defence. Moonlight poured between his lips, filling his mouth in a pain that could only be expressed through blood-curdling screams.

Knowing Supervillain and his antics, Villain had the sense to guard the sounds he made in a self-made bubble. Should anyone outside this room hear his screams, they would become concerned; they might try to break into the performers’ room. Supervillain would do worse than let the moonlight flow inside Villain’s body, then.

“It feels like drowning, doesn’t it?” Supervillain asked, so suddenly knelt on the ground beside Villain’s bubble of muteness. “Do you regret your words from yesterday yet? Will you behave today?”

As experimental as Villain was with his powers, he never once tried to purposefully experience the feeling of drowning. Right now, though, he could imagine this burning inside his body must be what it felt like to breathe in water. He didn’t have gills despite many people’s beliefs. He knew the feeling of water shooting up one’s nose, of coughing and gagging on it with the ever-present idea of never breathing again. Water was scary, even he would admit.

It was in this moment that his bubble fell. Villain swallowed his screams, clenching every muscle in his body to prevent the sounds of continued pain. “I’m sorry,” he managed to say, if only to stop Supervillain’s act of revenge. “Won’t- won’t threaten you again.” But, of course, he would. The fight, the defiance, was in his blood.

Esteemed guests, he said? Villain focused on his thoughts as the moonlight slowly escaped his body. I’ll be sure to give them a show, then.

***

It hadn’t taken long for Hero’s eyes to widen with surprise as she’d watched Supervillain slowly stride on over to Villain with a look of admiration in his eyes. Meanwhile, Villain had been writhing in what was undoubtedly pain. She could just barely hear his agonized screams through the water he trapped himself in. It was as if she had been listening to him beneath the water surface of a pool- goodness she missed those. Her jaw, which had apparently been opened, snapped shut in a desperate moment to withhold an empathetic cry.

Hero thought back on the conversation she shared with Villain earlier that morning- about how horrible this life was.

Yes. Yes, she could agree that certain aspects of it weren’t preferable, but…well, Villain did this to himself, didn’t he? He pushed and prodded- he poked the bear if you would. Albeit horrible, Villain’s treatment was somewhat deserved.

This didn’t mean that Hero didn’t find the treatment absolutely gut-wrenching. Sometimes she had nightmares about the same pain coursing throughout her own body. Fortunately, they were dreams and she only knew the pain existed within them because of her unconscious hollers.

Either way, Hero knew she could never exist in that amount of pain. She might very well pass out, and then what use would she be to the show? What use would she be to herself? Those bright, smiling faces in the audiences warmed her in a way her powers never could. They kept her going. They kept her alive.

So, she would withstand those slight waves of pain every day. She would endure because any alternative was too frightening, too dooming.

“Five minutes!” Supervillain announced, and with that, he stepped out, flaps of the tent room snapping shut behind him.

Not wasting a moment, Hero crawled over to Villain, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You’re okay?”

His response was a glare. He shrugged her off. “Get ready,” he said simply. “We have a great show tonight and little time to prepare.”

What Hero didn’t see was the vengeance pooling in Villain’s stomach, much like the moonlight Supervillain had placed there just a minute ago.

***

Villain smirked as he stood in position with Hero, ready to open the show, waiting for the curtains to rise. In three, two…

The curtain rose and as the audience stared, no doubt waiting, excited to see what the show had in store for them, the cue was given and Hero prepared to do her part, hands twirling with both anticipation and preparation.

Watching Villain, she faltered, one hand clumsily colliding with the other…all because she noticed something unordinary. Villain was not performing with her, and he had a look in his eyes, a- a gleam which Hero had never seen before. This can’t be good. Not only did Villain have such a mischievous glimmer, but he had not moved from his initial position.

With eyes now closed, Villain summoned all the water he could. Opening them once again, he sent his arms forward- a fast motion which released wave upon wave, crashing into the audience.

He laughed darkly as he sprinkled a whirlpool here, a current there, and a water tornado- which served as an escape, a path of destruction that cleared the way of all the chairs, as well as the audience members themselves.

Just as Hero had faltered before, Villain did in that very moment- a familiar pain blossoming in his body. He gritted his teeth.

Supervillain had begun fighting him more quickly than expected. Clearly, the waves that had engulfed him, therefore knocking him over, and the shards of ice Villain had aimed towards his chest, hadn’t been enough.

But he couldn’t stop clearing the path- the only path that could ensure him life- ensure him freedom. His motivation to succeed tonight enraptured his every move…because if he failed…well…he didn’t want to think of the consequences.

The adrenaline which Villain possessed now helped him more easily bear the once excruciating pain. Now, it was only a dull throb, a throb that allowed Villain to continue concentrating on clearing the path of obstacles, for anyone in his way would regret it.

Villain’s body ached, having never spent so much energy on his powers. Especially not at the same time as Supervillain using his own powers so strongly against him.

Struggling to hold on as he started to feel the pain sharper than ever, Villain focused on the path- his salvation- ahead. Supervillain was no match for the determination manifesting in Villain’s veins.

***

Hero was lost in the literal sea of madness. A part of her was grateful to only feel the sprinkle of swirling water around her, yet another quaked at the sight before her- of the people she so graciously served being tossed like ragdolls.

What was worse: the sight of Villain captured in his cage of moonlight, or seeing the audience so helplessly being…being drowned? For once, she decided on the latter. Hero never imagined a day would pass that Supervillain’s power wasn’t the most terrifying thing in existence. Seeing what Villain did now, though? It was horrible- excruciating.

On another hand…Hero understood. Villain endured so much pain, so often, who else wouldn’t lose their mind- wouldn’t wreak havoc if it meant being free of the torture? Clearly, this life wasn’t meant for him. And he was stubborn enough that fighting for such freedom was all he’d ever know.

Seeing as Supervillain was just as strong-willed, he’d never stop torturing- never stop trying to break Villain. Making an escape was Villain’s greatest hope.

Who was Hero to try and stop him?

******

*insert cliffhanger* Mwahaha 😈

Part two here

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nightfrostshadow · 3 years

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A Cage Of Moonlight And Magic

Ahhh guess what?! I collaborated with the wonderful @amethystpath-writes ! :D <3 It was so much fun to write this together ahaha it was a wonderful experience and especially the fact that the first collab I did was with you is amazing ! My first friend on Tumblr :’) :D <3

This has a continuation - Part 2

***

“I’ll kill you,” Villain promised. “Someday when you least expect it, I will do it.” He’d said this before, many times- with many bouts of frustration, confidence, and determination.

Supervillain laughed. “With water?”

The hand near Villain’s throat faltered, but ultimately tightened. “Don’t forget who you are speaking to.” And that was the end of that.

***

Villain who had been gloomily forming a little water tornado in his palm looked up at Hero. “Absolutely not,” he scoffed, and the swirling water fell to the ground.

He shifted his body, knees dragging in the dirt- in his bed. “I’m reduced to having to put up waterwork shows. Waterworks can you believe it? Out of all the things I can do?”

He sighed as he laid down on his bed- if you could even call it that. Once again he longed for the blanket he desperately needed, yet was never given on the cold winter nights.

***

“We have a big show tonight. Some very esteemed guests will be making an appearance. You will all be expected to put on your best performance.”

Esteemed guests, he said? Villain focused on his thoughts as the moonlight slowly escaped his body. I’ll be sure to give them a show, then.

***

Hero thought back on the conversation she shared with Villain earlier that morning- about how horrible this life was.

So, she would withstand those slight waves of pain every day. She would endure because any alternative was too frightening, too dooming.

“Five minutes!” Supervillain announced, and with that, he stepped out, flaps of the tent room snapping shut behind him.

Not wasting a moment, Hero crawled over to Villain, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You’re okay?”

His response was a glare. He shrugged her off. “Get ready,” he said simply. “We have a great show tonight and little time to prepare.”

What Hero didn’t see was the vengeance pooling in Villain’s stomach, much like the moonlight Supervillain had placed there just a minute ago.

***

Villain smirked as he stood in position with Hero, ready to open the show, waiting for the curtains to rise. In three, two…

With eyes now closed, Villain summoned all the water he could. Opening them once again, he sent his arms forward- a fast motion which released wave upon wave, crashing into the audience.

Just as Hero had faltered before, Villain did in that very moment- a familiar pain blossoming in his body. He gritted his teeth.

Villain’s body ached, having never spent so much energy on his powers. Especially not at the same time as Supervillain using his own powers so strongly against him.

***

Seeing as Supervillain was just as strong-willed, he’d never stop torturing- never stop trying to break Villain. Making an escape was Villain’s greatest hope.

Who was Hero to try and stop him?

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saladejin · 4 years

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Admire | 06

Seokjin x Fem!Reader | arranged marriage!au, husband!Seokjin | Strangers to lovers, angst, self discovery, loneliness in luxury, touch starvation (eventual smut), eventual domestic fluff

Summary: You’d never needed anyone else. Growing up alone, living alone, existing alone. It all came naturally and effortlessly, quite like breathing. That was until your somewhat distant parents finally decided it was time to make good on a promise. One they’d made before you were even born.

Warnings: There’s only one bed - but nothing too saucy lol, touching

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: Just a mixture of fluff and angst for you guys hehe

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When you came out of the tiny bathroom that night, the lights were already off, and all you could see was the mounded shape of Seokjin underneath the bedcovers. He must have been pretty tired, as he’d been the one with the most hours of driving under his belt so far. You stood and appreciated the way the lamps from outside cast tiny slivers of light across the surface of the duvet.

You climbed in, wishing that the bed was a lot bigger so that you didn’t have to feel or sense his presence anywhere near you, the idea of little proximity making your knees weak … also considering his lack of shirt.

You wanted to be close to him, to feel his skin against yours, to hear the way he inhaled and exhaled small puffs of air as he slept, or even just the sound of his gentle heartbeat. Having that sense of closeness would make you feel so incredibly relaxed. You didn’t know how badly you craved it until now, and you didn’t know why that was.

Then he was turning over, and it was slow enough to make you panic, but not slow enough to give you the time to inch further away or turn yourself around. You were face to face with him, and his cursed eyes as they took in your slightly parted lips frozen from fear.

Why is he even awake?

He didn’t say a word, just blinked and waited for your tensed up muscles to loosen. As you sighed and ran a hand through your hair in frustration, he lifted one corner of his lips ever so slightly into a knowing smirk.

“You scared me, idiot,” you whined in a low tone, turning to face him again but keeping your eyes fixated to a point above his face. You couldn’t really bear the shame of looking into his amused gaze again. In truth, it didn’t seem like he wasn’t amused but rather just as curious as ever.

“Why can’t you sleep?” he wondered aloud with a certain rasp to his tone that you found much too attractive. A loud part of you wanted to ask him to just keep talking, not even caring what or who he talked about. You only realised then that you’d brought a finger up to start tracing the outlines of his shoulders leading into his collarbone, the feeling of his lean muscle putting your mind at ease for some strange reason.

“Physical contact, right?” he then said almost to himself.

Your finger stopped in its tracks and you lifted your eyes to his in confusion. You must have been way too tired to even form rational thoughts. Had you seriously just been touching his bare skin without hesitation?

“What?” was the only thing you could blurt out in your state of conflict.

He didn’t answer, but your shock was soon replaced by a tingling warmth when you felt one of his hands grazing the exposed skin of your waist, precisely where your shirt had ridden up the most. The way you shivered and sighed at the contact was too immediate to be considered normal, and you heard the way he softly inhaled at the reaction.

“You never really mention how badly you need it. I can barely understand it, or you,” he commented calmly.

“Your needs are different from mine. How can you understand something if you’ve never had to think about it? When you’ve never yearned for it so much that you almost lose your mind every time someone looks at you?” you said with a tinge of shame flaring immediately after the quiet outburst. You were too vulnerable, too much like an open book for him to read.

He seemed to be trying to keep his emotions concealed, but it was obvious how intrigued he was to watch your inner turmoil. He continued to run his hand downwards and then followed the slope of your hip back up towards your goose-bumped shoulders.

You were so happy to finally receive the touch and attention you wanted that you couldn’t help but shift closer to him. You heard a tiny murmur of disbelief rumble deep in his throat, but ignored it. You only moved to press your colder hand to his chest and run it upwards, and eventually burrowed your face deep into the crook of his neck. He was so warm, and it made you feel so unbelievably secure. You surrounded yourself with the scent of him and let out a large unbridled sigh of relief.

The wide hand that had stilled on your back from the shock began to move again. He gently brought your figure further into his and let his deft fingers continue tracing patterns onto your back over the fabric of the shirt.

“Since the wedding, I’ve made sure to keep my distance because I was sure we’d be out of this almost as soon as it started. I’ve always been reserved to people in my life and that hasn’t changed,” he said so quietly that you would’ve missed it if you hadn’t been so close to him.

“So, I don’t get what you’re seeing in me now really. I know you better than to think you’re seeing me as a simple warm body, it’s much deeper than that. Why do you feel the sudden change in attitude, after all this time?” Seokjin murmured. It was questionably the longest time you’d heard his voice speak in succession.

“I guess I just wanted to be this close to someone for once,” you whispered with a sad smile. “It’s like that one time we were dancing but a zillion times worse. Since the start, I’ve battled with loneliness and thought of myself as self-sufficient and independent, but for some reason it’s all suddenly changing, and I don’t really know how to feel.”

Right then was when you’d let your walls crumble into a dusty pile of bricks and stone. You were so exposed; you may as well have been sitting stark naked in front of the man. All your insecurities were laid out on the slab for him to see … One. By. One.

You continued in a breathy voice, one beat away from breaking. “It has nothing to do with how you’re not the warmest or most companionable husband out there. That didn’t matter to me before, and it sure as hell doesn’t matter now. Think of the life I’ve lived…”

It was silent for a few moments as you let him mull over his thoughts. The rhythmic sound of his relaxed breathing soothed you into your next words.

“A partner. That is what you are to me, and that means you’re kind of irreplaceable since I’ve never had one before. It doesn’t matter if you’re distant, or cold, or even confusing at times because at the end of the day we only have each other to come home to. And if you’ll indulge me sometimes, I’d like to see you as the rock that keeps me grounded. The one common denominator reminding me that I’m not alone in that big, empty house.”

You paused, not knowing if you should continue due to the lack of response. When he seemed to still be running it over in his head, your sudden spark of confidence fizzled and almost died out completely.

“I’m probably the most selfish person for this, but to put it simply I’m using you as a security blanket. Wrapping myself up in the familiarity just to feel safe. Because you always just seem to have it together whenever I’m the one breaking down.”

He was just starting to open up to me as well, yet here I am scaring him away like a madwoman.

“That’s why you wanted to stick with me since the beginning, right?” he spoke surprisingly after a few heavy moments. “At all those first parties and balls you had no idea of what you were doing, so you asked to stay beside me because you were the outsider and I was the one stranger out of all of them that you just happened to know a little more.”

he mused, cast into a thoughtful sense of amazement. “I saw that you were scared, but didn’t know that you felt that way back then.”

You couldn’t help but shift your gaze upwards to garner any kind of visual reaction from Seokjin. When you only found his eyes looking down at you with a profound look of shining sympathy, you blinked away the tears pricking at the corners of your own and buried your face deep into the space between his neck and shoulder. He was a like refuge, and you were only hiding from your own disgrace.

The sound of his deep even breathing was lulling you into a sleepiness so strong that you could feel your lashes kissing your cheekbones every few seconds. Your chest was positively alight with a burning bittersweet combination of happiness and regret.

He was holding you close, giving in to your cry for help even though your past self would have never believed it.

Days passed, and ultimately so did your roadside adventure.

The last night was proving to be an absolute delight, with the whole group sharing toasted marshmallows on large twigs around a crackling campfire. The vehicles were parked around you, casting long looming shadows along the grass while you all reminisced about your healthy time spent away from work and life in general.

For you, the highlights had definitely been the beach. Feeling the sun-kissed sand underneath your toes and listening to the sounds of rolling ocean waves had almost put you in a trance of sorts, a serenity you could barely describe. Other memories were things such as shopping in the old town stores, dining on the most nostalgic meals, spending the summery nights gathering with family members and catching up on your busy lives.

These were all just some of your favourite moments spent on the trip, but they couldn’t compare to the ones you had experienced with Seokjin. Even now, as you sat near the campfire surrounded by the busy ramblings of your real family, his magnetic field of a presence drew you in.

There he sat next to your grandfather; three fingers pressed firmly to the strings of an acoustic guitar while the older greying man showed him how to strum out the chord. You felt your heart squeeze when Seokjin smiled lightly and took over from the elderly man. He began playing the instrument shyly, fingers still shaky from inexperience but getting the hang of skill as if it were something as simple as breathing.

“(Y/n).” His steady voice broke into your thoughts like a freight train. You brought yourself back into focus to see him tapping the tightened strings of the guitar gently. The warm orange glow of the nearby fire flickering its own cadence of hues onto his flawless features.

“I’m getting one of these when we get home.”

Everything within you stuttered at his matter-of-factly statement, and for some reason the smile plastered on your face began to falter.

‘When we get home.’

Why did these simple words cause your bottom lip to quiver ever so slightly, or your eyes to brim with unbidden salty tears? You couldn’t even pick apart the emotions within you to decipher whether they were ones of happiness or sadness. Everything was a jumble.

“Sorry,” you excused yourself before placing your stick covered in gooey marshmallow remnants on the flat log below. Nobody really took notice as you made your way briskly towards your motorhome, face tingling with pent up feelings and mind a whirring mess.

I’m happy, and surprisingly enough, that’s a bad thing.

You let the motorhome door click shut and threw yourself onto the soft pillowy bed face-first.

I’m happy on this trip, but that isn’t the problem. I’m happy with him…

A lonely tear of frustration escaped the confines of your willpower, trailing a warm path down your cheek in a sad descent. It soaked into the white fabric underneath.

I’m not meant to be happy with him! I’m meant to be just waiting it out until we go our separate ways. I’m meant to be disengaged, disinterested.

You gripped the bedcovers harshly, knowing that your own foolish need for his touch had gotten you into this chaotic disarray. You were so happy to know that he wasn’t an asshole, that he wasn’t some douchebag who had his head stuck up his own ass. You were ecstatic to find out that the man you’d been condemned to marry just wasn’t the whiny juvenile brat you’d expected.

“But why would everything be easier if he was?” you whimpered to yourself.

Then the door was being pulled open and the sounds of the chirping crickets flooded into the van, all the way to your throbbing ears.

“Hey, what’re you doing?”

Hearing Seokjin’s voice after mentally recalling every aspect about him you admired only twisted the knife deeper into your gut. You knew you should have pretended to be tired and needing sleep, but under his watchful eye it just wasn’t going to happen. Slowly, you sat up and combed the flowing hair out of your face with firm unforgiving fingers.

At the sight of your tear-stained skin and blotchy eyes, Seokjin’s gaze softened and he exhaled loudly before making his way over. You were so upset at yourself for letting things happen the way they had, but this time you didn’t hide your emotions away out of courtesy.

“I’m sorry Seokjin.” You cleared your throat and sniffed. “I’m sorry for letting myself believe... I’ve gotten so used to fooling other people about us that I forgot to exclude myself. So, I’ve been fooled.”

By now the tears were gone, and the only evidence remaining of your explosive breakdown was the hoarse edge to your voice. You knew he probably wouldn’t understand the confession, and it wouldn’t hurt his feelings. You were the only one dumb enough to pull the veil back over your eyes. The veil convincing everyone watching that you were in love, and in turn seeing it all through the same shroud.

You couldn’t lie to yourself anymore. You were in love with him.

#seokjin x reader #seokjin scenarios #seokjin smut #seokjin imagines #seokjin series #jin smut #seokjin angst #seokjin fluff #arranged marriage au #husband jin #bts jin #bts smut #jin angst #admire #saladejin

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summonerscenarios · 4 years

Note

Just because I think it'd be funny, how do you think Gabriel, Bathym, and Hakumen (while hanging with Mc)would react to someone asking for an autograth, and assume they're asking for their autograth, only for the person to pull away with a look of absoluts confusion, and clarify that they want Mc's autograph

Hoooo boy this one is going to be a doozy lmao. I can feel the second hand embarrassment of this situation the whole time I wrote this~

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Gabriel

Spending time with Gabriel in public often means that the two of you get accosted by fans all the time. She’s a well known face in Tokyo as both a lovable idol and overall pop-angel sensation, so running into people begging for autographs, pictures or otherwise is par from the course when it comes to being her friend. Which is exactly why, when the two of you spend a day out shopping together, you’re fully expecting someone to recognize the angel at any moment and swoop in vying for Gabriel’s attention in one way or another.

The two of you had ducked into a clothing store to take a look through some of the items that had caught your eye as you’d walked past, and you were busying yourself viewing the displays as you listened to Gabriel excitedly chatter away when you felt a hand tap your shoulder. Turning to your left, you come face to face with someone you’ve never seen before - they’re bouncing on the balls of their feet and they flash you such an excitable smile that you’d think they’d just won the lottery if they weren’t looking directly at you. Gabriel notices them as well, as she peeks over your shoulder upon noticing you’ve gone quiet and smiles when she sees them talking to you. This person’s all too eager to pull out a small book and a pen, practically brimming with energy as they ask for an autograph - at that you make a noise of realization, immediately assuming that this must be one of Gabriel’s fans, so you excuse yourself and step out of the way so as to not get in the way of their request. Gabriel must have the same idea, as she steps forward to take over and asks about the autograph - she’s used to signing them all the time so she settles into the welcoming professional with ease and you expect it to go off without a hitch.

But then the fan proceeds to look right past Gabriel and over to you, holding up the book and pen and once the confusion wears off you’re taken aback when you realize that they’re actually asking you. It’s easy to see the shock on Gabriel’s face when they dart past her and over to you, and when you shoot her a nervous look, a lot less used to this than she it, you catch her expression startled expression and she lets a pout cross over her face for but a few moments. Even caught off guard, you still take the time to give them your autograph, listening to the fan excitedly ramble about how much they look up to you and how amazing you are as you do so. It’s enough to fluster you a little at being confronted with a barrage of praise from someone who views you so highly, but you’re still incredibly confused on why they would come to you - you’re so used to fans swarming Gabriel, so having a fan of your own and having the tables turned is a weird thought to wrap your head around. The interaction is brief, and you wish them well as they scamper off, brimming with joy and clutching their newly signed book close to their chest as they practically skip away,

You’re still trying to wrap your head over what just happened when you notice Gabriel watching the fan walk away she’s got a perplexed look on her face, brows furrowed in an expression unusually serious for the usually chipper idol. She’s not used to being passed over, especially when it comes to all things fan-based, so you can tell she’s still somewhat baffled, but when you call out her name she brightens up and spins back around to face you, smile on her face as she approaches you and links arms with you. She settles close up against your side, close enough that you’re pretty sure Hati would keel over on the spot if he saw you two, and she comments on how that was fun. You don’t think she’s jealous, but you can tell that the situation made her a bit embarrassed, so when she pulls you along to continue shopping and forget the whole thing you humor her and follow along letting her lead you.

Bathym

Bathym’s got quite the reputation both inside and outside of the Berserker’s guild, and he does his best to cultivate his growing fanbase, thriving off of the the people who adore him and vy for his attention and making no show of hiding that fact. Most of his fans swarm him after tournaments or just outside of the Colosseum, though most of them are usually handled by Andvari since he’s in charge of Bathym’s branding and merchandise. You’ve seen the occasional fan manage to find him and beg for pictures of autographs, so when you spot one hanging around while the two of you are out you don’t really bat an eye at the fact.

The two of you spot the fan approaching, they’ve been skirting around for a little while, clearly nervous about coming over but they seem to have plucked up the courage to come forward. Bathym flashes you a knowing grin and stands up, smoothing out his tail and perfecting his pose before he swaggers over to greet them, and you can already hear the sweet talk he’s gonna butter them up with before it even leaves his mouth as you watch it all unfold. You expect them to stop since he’s approaching them instead, but then they nervously duck right past him and continue walking straight towards you, and you immediately straighten up. Bathym looks flabbergasted when he turns back to you, the first time you’ve seen him genuinely astonished in a while, and you’re sure you look just as surprised when this fan shuffles nervously up to you and hesitantly asks if it’s okay to get an autograph from you, face red as they wait your response. The moment you hear they’re your fan, you just about fall out of your seat, scrambling to balance yourself if you ask if they’re serious.

When they say they are, and offer you a pen to sign you try to mask your surprise and give them a smile, asking them to take a seat next to you while you signed - it was mostly because having someone hovering over you expectantly felt a bit weird, but they seem to calm down having somewhere to sit, apparently relieved that you’re so welcoming as soon enough they’re talking all about how much they admire what you do, and how cool you are while you write out a small message for them. Soon enough you’ve got everything signed and handed back to them, watching their eyes light up as they spring from their seat and thank you profusely, nervousness turned to happiness by the time you’ve got them sent on their way.

Not even a moment after they’ve left Bathym hums as he approaches, shaking his head as he slides into the now vacant seat beside you and slings an arm across your shoulder. He pouts and comments how it makes sense that such a cute master is going to have fans, soon enough you’ll have a whole fanclub if you really wanted! Then, Bathym flashes you a grin as he adds that it looks like he’s gonna have to keep an eye out for competition from now on, after all, he can’t just let anybody come in and sweep you out from under him~! When you try to wave off his concerns and playfully swat him away he makes a show of feigning hurt though he insists that it’s true~! You just don’t realize it yet. It’s hard to tell if he’s telling the truth, or even how he feels about the whole thing, but that look on his face when that fan first approached you makes you feel as though Bathym was maybe a little envious - then again, it’s hard to tell when it comes to the usually eccentric demon.

Hakumen

Roppongi’s full of people of power, so it makes sense that its hierarchy is governed by such - whether it’s status, wealth or both, the more you have of it, the better. And with Hakumen being at the metaphorical top of the pecking order with the other major Tycoons, catching the eyes of the masses and bringing in the attention of all lucky enough to be in her presence is all par for the course. And by default, that means you often around when these interactions occur, so you’ve seen your fair share of people swarming the fox looking to get into her good books or at least earn some of her favor - it;s both entertaining and a little embarrassing to watch, but Hakumen handles them all well enough, and if she’s not interested in interacting them there’s always plenty of security to usher those ‘fans’ away soon enough.

You’d been invited to the casino, having been seemingly dragged along to view some new addition to the already impressively intimidating building to see how well it will fit, and you’d spent the majority of that time flitting about the pace. You’d exchanged words and shook hands with more unfamiliar faces than you’d like to be around, and you were relieved when Hakumen had shown up in a flurry of pride and energy, turning every eye in her direction. Almost every eye, anyway. You feel better no longer being on your own around unfamiliar faces, and you could see that your attachment to her at the moment clearly stroked her ego as she seemed keen to lead you around, mingling amongst guild members and discussing plans regarding the casino’s build. Most of it went over your head, so you eventually trailed behind to chat with Xolotl who kept watch as his mistress moved around, exchanging pleasantries right up until you caught someone moving out of the corner of your eye.

It was someone you’d never seen before, a guest maybe, and they were approaching Hakumen who stood in front of you so quickly that you were pretty sure that they were going right for her, excitedly yelling something about an autograph as they approached. As the fan got closer, Xolotl made a move to slow them down, but Hakumen, likely wanting to show off, waved him off with a hand and spun around, fully preparing for a slew of praises and things to sign. You’d stepped back a bit to let this all unfold, turning your attention to elsewhere in the casino while you waited for her to finish up, but upon hearing a surprised yelp from Hakumen’s bodyguard your attention abruptly snaps back to the current moment, just in time to nearly get knocked right off of your feet by that very same fan. Amongst their babbling as they cling to your arm you make out ‘autograph’, ‘please’ and ‘biggest fan’ and the pieces gradually begin clicking into place as you look up from the fan to see Hakumen, still frozen in the place she’d been before.

The expression on Hakumen’s face is priceless, you don’t think you’ve seen her quite so frazzled, jealousy practically bubbling under the surface of a facade you can clearly see through. Honestly seeing her like this is kind of amusing, though you don’t know whether it’s because you’ve got someone about five seconds away from jumping into your arms or because she isn’t the center of the fan’s attention. Xolotl looks worriedly between his mistress and you, and the two of you share a look that spells that this fan just hit a nerve without realizing it, so before anything else happens you calm the person down and pat yourself down looking for a pen. You’re fortunate enough to find one in your pocket, and make quick work of signing the autograph and letting them go, returning back to Hakumen’s side with a comment about how you don’t know how she deals with doing that every day. You’re playing into her pride hoping to change the subject, and it does the trick, however the moment you’re back by her side she’s got both hands on your shoulders for the remainder of the guests’ visit, shooting looks at the fan whenever the three of you cross paths and she thinks you aren’t looking.

#Anonymous #tokyo afterschool summoners #housamo #housamo imagine #housamo headcanon #headcanons #imagines #gabriel #housamo gabriel #bathym #housamo bathym #hakumen #housamo hakumen #request #ask

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kahans · 4 years

Text

(so the background behind this is basically that it’s the night before/of finnick’s 16th birthday and a week before snow held an auction to see who would get to sleep with him first. don’t ask me for that scene because it hasn’t been written yet)

title: victor’s crown book ii: lover’s war (title is a wip shhhh) status: incomplete word count: 1284 fandom: the hunger games characters: finnick odair, mags flanagan, random capitol ocs warnings: nonexplicit allusion to child prostitution other notes: don’t be expecting a whole lot from this lol it was not beta-ed and it was written in like a half hour

o-o-o-o

They come for him at midnight.

Finnick is lying on the couch with his head in Mags’ lap, doing his best to calm his unsettled nerves. He feels a little foolish, curled up next to his mentor like a small, frightened child, but he can’t bring himself to move. His proximity to Mags, the one person anchoring him to his composure in a storm of anxiety, is no longer a privilege. It is a necessity. Her hands, thin and lined with sinew, card through his hair. He tries to focus on the sensation of her fingertips against his scalp instead of the vicious whirlpool of trepidation stirring in his gut.

An hour earlier, Aurelia had come in bearing an armful of supplies to prepare Finnick for his big night. While she assembles her station of makeup, she gives Finnick a list of exercises to perform, for which he is grateful if only because it gives him something to do. He runs a couple of laps around his quarters. He does a few pushups. At Aurelia’s behest, he lugs a few weights up from the gymnasium and works with those until she tells him to stop. He isn’t quite sure what the point was if she wasn’t going to let him get in a full workout, but he suspects his first admirer won’t want to meet him smelling of and drenched in sweat.

While his flesh is still warm and his blood quick, Aurelia begins applying makeup with a swift but deliberate hand. She lines his eyes with a dark pencil and dusts his eyelids with brown. To Finnick’s dismay, she pinches his cheeks and instructs him to bite his lips. When he protests, she says, “I could apply lipstick instead,” and he hurries to comply.

Once his skin has been sufficiently prepared, she gives him an outfit to don: An elegant evening jacket dyed the deep blue-green hue of the sea hangs neatly over a crisp white dress shirt, accompanied by a pair of black pants. His shoes are equally shiny and also look brand new.

“Calliope sends her regards,” Aurelia says. Of all the outfits Calliope has stuffed him in in the past, this is certainly not the worst. Nor the best. Finnick wonders who ordered this made; surely this suit didn’t spring from her wild imagination.

His question is answered when Vesper arrives exactly at midnight. Unlike Aurelia, he is almost glowing with frenetic excitement, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a child who just won a prize. His expression crumbles when he spots Finnick curled up on the couch, suit rumpled, hair in disarray, eyes shadowed and hollow with worry and lack of sleep.

“What in the world are you doing?” he demands, scurrying over to where Finnick is sprawled. Mags’ hand moves from his head to his shoulder, innocuous to Vesper, but protective to Finnick.

“It’s late, Vesper,” Mags says coolly. Something about her countenance must warn Vesper that arguing could end very badly for him, so he rounds on Aurelia instead. “Why did you let him lie down?” He flaps a hand at Finnick. “Get up! Get up before your suit gets wrinkled!”

Finnick doesn’t obey immediately. He glances up at Mags, who looks down at him, expression ever unflappable but indubitably compassionate.

Head up, my boy, she reminds him, not with her voice but with her eyes. You are victor, and you wear the victor’s crown.

“There’s my beautiful grown up victor!” he crows at the sight of Finnick, gleaming and adorned like some kind of relic. They do not allow statues to be erected of anyone except notable Capitol figures in the districts, where their only legal objects of worship are Snow and the ideology his administration represents. But in the Capitol, Finnick has seen dozens, if not scores, of figurines and synthetic replicas of past victors, bronzed and painted and perfect, in every corner and cove of the city. “Aren’t you excited?”

It’s my birthday, he thinks somewhat dumbly. I’m sixteen years old. He should be home right now, celebrating with his family. His father should be letting him try his first taste of District 4′s prized champagne. His mother should be sewing on an official sailor’s patch onto his uniform to designate him as a full crew member of the fishing fleet. Perhaps she would make him the lovely fish-shaped cookies he once so loved, one for each year of his life.

“Well done, Aurelia,” Vesper says. “It’s just what Miss Poppywright wants, I’m sure. Is he ready? Have you gone over expectations with him?”

“Expectations?” Finnick echoes, at the same time as Aurelia says, “Of course.”

Vesper shoots Aurelia a scathing look, but her defiant expression remains unchanged. “He’s already frightened enough, Vesper. Why make him more nervous? He’ll figure things out when he gets there.”

“Yes, and have him be the laughing stock of the Capitol,” Vesper replies sarcastically. He turns and fixes Finnick with an appraising glare. “Finnick, it is your duty to make this night spectacular for Miss Poppywright, do you understand? No mistakes. Just pure charm from you and absolute enjoyment from Miss Poppywright.”

Mags makes a noise of protest in the back of her throat, half rising from her spot on the couch. “Vesper--”

“Margaret,” Vesper interjects, and Finnick coughs back a noise of surprise at the use of Mags’ full name. “I hope you remember that Finnick’s conduct tonight, and for every night after this, will reflect back on all of us.” He makes a little circle with his finger to illustrate his point.

It takes a moment for the implications of Vesper’s warning to sink in, but when they do they sit in Finnick’s gut like an anchor and do nothing to quell his mounting dread. Whatever he did tonight would have an effect on everyone from Aurelia to Mags to his loved ones back home.

A familiar sense of apprehension flutters in him now, of a weight and intensity he has not experienced in years. The last time he knew this kind of panic, he was playing for his life in an arena, where his every decision had been like dipping a single finger in surface of a still pool of water: Even though the initial point of contact was small, the ripples, the effect of the action, could still be clearly seen. From simple disquiet, alarm rises unbidden, a tidal wave gathering out to sea. He instinctively looks to Mags.

“It’s all right, Finnick,” she says, rising from the couch. She stands in front of him, and even though he’s been taller than her since before she became his mentor, he’s never felt smaller. “You’ll be all right. Just remember what Aurelia told you. Listen to what they have to say, and say what they want to hear. That’s all they want.”

Be who they want you to be, not who you really are. The advice offered from Finnick to a nervous tribute seemed to have been spoken a lifetime ago. Look at how much good it did him, a little voice in his head pipes up.

“It’s after midnight,” Vesper says, breaking Finnick’s reverie with a wave of his manicured hand. “It’s not like he’s going off to war or something. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

Mags swallows, inhaling a deep breath through her nose. “Go on,” she says softly. “I’ll see you soon.”

Though it’s almost painful to muster, Finnick manages to put on a confident smile. “Don’t worry about me, Mags,” he tells her. “These people can’t help but love me.”

With a goodbye wink to Aurelia and a half-hearted salute to Mags, he turns and follows Vesper out the door.

#thg #lit #mine

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sereisstuff · 5 years

Text

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝙳𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 7

Demon! Kim Taehyung x chubby reader

The tales purpose - you accidentally summoned the prince of darkness and now he wants something in return, so he makes you his fiance to trick his father Hades into giving him the crown.

summary - Taehyung doesn’t like the feeling of his new profound emotions but you still contemplate yourself in the presence of the demi-god of love

Genre’s - romance, fantasy, comedy and angst

“Where is she?” Namjoon asked curiously, his large framed glasses sitting neatly on the bridge of his nose as he grasped his books with security, composing himself and then examining his tucked-in button-up “a greeting would have been much delighted” Taehyung snarked making Namjoon internally groan, never missed you, he thought. The comment making Taehyung pout dramatically.

Their figures were drowned out by the population of mortals desiring a decent coffee to begin their day, Taehyung chuckled knowing all too well that most of the coffees sold here were absolutely disgusting but due to the aesthetically pleasing look of the cafe catching the eye of everyone, they assumed it was delicious, wrong.

“Well that wasn’t very nice Namjoonie”

“You guys fought didn’t you” Namjoon fixed his glassed that began to slip, smirking to himself as he watched his friend looked anxiously away and for the first time Namjoon witnessed something other than lust and rage coursing through his demonic friend “I dare not call it a fight maybe somewhat a disagreement” Taehyung cooly played off what clearly was an argument.

“Disagreement in what term?” Namjoon questioned, thanking the waitress who set his iced coffee down onto the table, Taehyung gagged at the smell “the indecency is bewildering, honestly if you can’t make a good coffee why open the shop” he complained completely off task, “focus!!” Namjoon ordered snapping his fingers in the air sassily, gaining a raised brow from the demigod, “someones grew some balls overnight” this sly comment had managed to snap Namjoon catching even himself off guard, he calmly inhaled the fresh scent of coffee beans and untensed his shoulders.

“Why did you call me?” he politely asked taking a sip of his coffee as he hummed in pleasure, the young demigod rubbed a finger between his brows too eager to hide whatever he was supposedly hiding so clearly in his mind yet he couldn’t submit an answer to even himself “you like the girl don’t you” Namjoon blurted.

Taehyungs eyes widened and then he stood up in a hurry “why would you assume such a thing, a mortal, PFT. That’s low even for me Kim Namjoon” Taehyung rambled on and on continuously making up excuses as to why his liking to you was zero to none and all Namjoon did was wait patiently, something he’s good at, analyzing Taehyungs posture, the way his body moves when he speaks. Searching for signs.

“...even the way she frowns when she’s curious just, ugh” he sat back down running a hand through his thick locks so desperate to find the cure to his unknown feelings, Namjoon smiled, not in a condescending way but more in a way where new life and plot was found, in a way that he was beyond happy one could barely measure and it was all because the thought of angsty love softened his heart.

“I’m fucked aren’t I” Namjoon patted his back in reassurance “you’ll be fine plus she doesn’t meet your father anytime soon, it’ll give you more time to assess yourself” but taehyung gazed up at his friend, gazing into his glasses examining his thick lashes all while narrowing his eyes “she meets him tomorrow” He revealed stupidly. Namjoon gasped releasing a loud laugh bounding in fits of wheezy laughter “in more poetic words, thou shall see thy partner in the depths of flames” Namjoon had tears pooling in his eyes as he slapped his thighs turning them light pink.

During his laughter he heard a crack emit from somewhere, opening his eyes as he saw a smug Taehyung through the lens of his cracked glasses “seriously!!, you know your incredibly petty” Namjoon snapped “can’t help it” Taehyung shrugged, Kim Namjoon was once mistaken as a god, even Taehyung couldn’t differ the difference between the intelligent mortal and his own kind due to his own inability of seeking past Namjoons fabricated walls of spells and protections.

They sat in silence for a moment watching the mixture of emotions the little demon phased through, biting and itching at his skin for a few seconds before growling and replacing his lost puppy look with a darkened glare “fuck it” he spat, gripping at the sides of the table hunching his back over it to bend down to his friend who seemed more than disturbed with the outcome of this extremely small talk.

Namjoon shook his head “you can’t go to her in this state Taehyung you must let her be” Namjoon commanded in hushed tones, trying to settle his friends raging feelings “why should I!?! It’s all her fault” The witch shook his head, sighing in a disapproving way as he tilted his head down before gaining the will power to stare into his obsidian orbs once more.

“You have to remember that you, Kim Taehyung, Son of Hades. Let a mere mortal overcome his emotions when all he had to do was his daily duties, one can’t control fate but the past was your mistake she is not to blame but this” now Namjoon stood, strong and powerful, poking at Taehyung’s chest with his middle finger “this thing you call a heart is to blame, you fell before she even had time to know your name” and with that, he left, thanking the barista as the bells chimed upon his exit.

Taehyung breathed heavily, glaring so harshly into the table that began cracking under his fingertips unaware of the crowd of people who gasped as a shaky waitress stumbled her way over to Taehyung, placing a soft hand against his shoulder making Taehyung snap his head in her direction fighting the urge to throw her body across the cafe “sir, a-are y-you alright?” she tried but Taehyung shoved her hand of wincing at the contact.

“I’m fine” he swore harshly, rushing out of the cafe to find you.

……………………………………………………………………….

You walked in the middle of the forest, following the deep muddy path which was created by the multiple cars racing through at odd hours of the day which you weren’t bothered about, you only came here to clear your head of these aching thoughts, the forest did a great deal in this, admiring the tall trees rooting deeply in the earth just like you, who had already removed your shoes palming at the damp floor with your toes as you refreshed your mind.

Although you wished time was no longer a thing, you cursed knowing that it was as the flap of a wing could be heard not too far from you and yet it wasn’t a bird, definitely not, this thing sounded large and the wind blew harshly as it landed just beside you “Hello” a high pitched voice said, out of shook you opened your eyes quickly with the mild pace of your heart racing like it was on a track.

There standing in front of you was jimin, a cute smile on his lips “H-hey” you replied, flinching away from him with a suspicious gaze noticing the effect it had on him, feeling your emotions as if they were his own, he frowned “I’m not a threat, y/n” he tried to place a reassuring hand on you but you continued to flinch causing him to feel a trip of guilt erupting in his stomach “I won’t be too sure about that” you muttered unconsciously, remembering the outburst which happened last night causing you to go through a series of vivid nightmares which still shook your core.

All because Taehyung believed you.

“I assure you y/n, I won’t hurt you I-i just don’t have many people to tag along with so I thought I could possibly tagalongwithyou?” he rushed the ending with his hands crossed neatly behind his back, his eyes no longer existed but moon crescents took their place instead “well if you wanna stand in the dirt with me, then please, feel free” you lowered you guard feeling that he wasn’t, in fact, a threat.

You began to notice his white wings stretching behind his back which brought a gasp from your lips “what is it?” jimin yelled, looking behind his back only to see his own wings of purity behind him “oh, those”

“I didn’t see those at the party” your tone was now laced with curiosity, “just a trick I learnt from my friend to hide them away, some mortals are quite far gone within hade’s underworld that my wings would be cut off and show in pride if I was to show them out in public,” Jimin said sadly, stripping himself of his shoes and digging himself into the cold damp floors just like you “mortals are hilarious”

Jimin looked at you knowing deep down that those feelings of love were because of the person you were thinking about, getting him all excited after all he was the son of aphrodite “is something, Taehyung would say” he finished for you making you hum in enjoyment.

“What does it feel like?” you blurted out, eyes shut tight with anxiety crippling at your insides but you cleared your thoughts replacing those once dark thoughts with innocence, spiritually holding mother natures hands in your own as you began to relax again “you mean love?” he already knew what you were going to ask, one of his many gifts.

“Yeah”

“well it’s like a deep intense feeling of warmth, some may not know their in love, some may only come to the conclusion when it’s too late but I’m not too good at explaining it?” you silently agreed with every word.

“Well, now I can admit that I’m glimpsing in love and I don’t know if I wanna fall deeper or run”

(I’m back but not for too long cause I’ve had this in my drafts for a while soo I thought why not also happy new years, my loves, following this chapter will be another chapter for our water spirited friend Jeon Jungkook, please comment and or reblog I’m not too fussed if you don’t at all, xoxo.)

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#kim taehyung #kim taehyung scenarios #kim taehyung imagines #kim taehyung x reader #taehyung #bts taehyung #taehyung scenarios #taehyung imagine #Demon!Taehyung #taehyung x oc #taehyung x chubby reader #taehyung x you #kim taehyung x you #Taehyung x plus size reader #kim taehyung x oc #Greek god au

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wardinasrani · 4 years

Text

Long Term Deal || Solo

How can a demon summoner afford an apartment and a bookstore in a new town? The answer may surprise you. (Spoiler alert: it’s demons).

“Is it safe?”

Ah, there they were, the three words he heard most often in his line of work, along with ‘I thought it’d be bigger’. Darwin was sure there was a great joke somewhere in there about the similarities between demon summonings and reviews of his bedroom prowess, but alas, the client wasn’t privy to his thoughts so instead of exchanging quips the thug just stood there, impatiently biting his lips and depriving Darwin of the pleasure of some stimulating conversation. Pity.

With the practiced smile of someone who’s danced to this tune a thousand times Darwin placed a hand on the other man’s back. “Your boss and I have a deal. Are you aware of the terms of said deal, Mr…?”

“Forty-five. Far as you’re concerned that’s my name, age and my favorite toy.” The criminal shifted his weight and stretched, allowing his jacket to lift just enough to show the pistol carelessly tucked in his jeans. A little on the nose, but Darwin wasn’t easy to scare.

“Mr. Forty-five. As I was saying, your boss and I have an arrangement. See this place?” With a flourish he pointed at the basement they were in, bare except for some wards scribbled in chalk on the walls. “This basement, the bookstore upstairs, even the little apartment above that. Your boss promised me I could use this place however I pleased, in exchange for my… Services. And I need this place, badly.”

“Why?”

“Because I plan on staying in town for a while, and I’ll need a business.”

“I thought demons were your business.”

Darwin chuckled and patted the man’s shoulder lightly, his hand lingering there just a second too long. “That they are, Mr. Forty-five, but I doubt the IRS would accept pig’s blood for wards and summonings as a write-off. I need a respectable business. And your boss has given me that. It’s a long term arrangement, so… Yes.”

The thug blinked. “Yes what?”

Forty-five… Name, age, favorite toy and IQ, apparently. So much for stimulating conversation.“Yes, it’s safe. Well, as safe as dealing with demons can be, at least. If something went wrong your boss wouldn’t like it, and the moment he’s no longer happy I’m out of a home and a bookstore, so it’s in my best interest to keep this whole ordeal safe.” Darwin smiled as he noticed some spark of understanding finally lighting up the other man’s face.

“So… You keep the store and the apartment, and in exchange you’ll summon a demon for us. Great! Let’s get started!”

Ah, there it was: the excitement. Most people were impatient during their first summoning, and Darwin made a point of going through every step painfully slow. The build-up, watching the thrill turn into boredom and then fear and amazement… That made even basic summonings like this one interesting for Darwin.

“As you wish. But first…” He took a step closer to the criminal, who obviously wasn’t expecting that. With slow, deliberate movements Darwin raised his hand and placed it on Forty-five’s chest, nothing more than a soft touch, a caress even. He took his time, fully enjoying the man’s discomfort as Darwin’s hand slid lower and lower and finally slipped inside Forty-five’s pocket, reappearing a moment later holding a small switchblade. Forty-five let out the breath he was holding and stared at the weapon in Darwin’s hand.

“How did you know I kept that in my–”

“Love, you’re literally about to watch me open the gates to another dimension to bring forth a demon ready to do your boss’ bidding. Do you really think my knife-finding trick is the thing that’ll impress you the most tonight?” Not that there was anything impressive at all, truth be told: Forty-five had played with the switchblade during the whole conversation before stuffing it back in his pocket a few moments ago.

“Fair enough. Let’s just get this over with, you’re creeping me out, freak.”

Looked like his playmate was no longer in the mood for games. Normally he’d be disappointed, but this time Darwin welcomed it: there was no challenge in impressing someone like Forty-five, therefore no fun. The switch was immediate: Darwin went from flamboyant gestures and cryptic smiles to precise movements. With practiced ease he brought the switchblade to his forearm, pressing it against his own skin hard enough to draw blood, the thin red line joining faded scars of past rituals.

“The demon we’re calling will be bound to this world by my blood. Never wash this blade, the blood on it will be like a leash for the demon. And make sure to bring it next time.”

“Next time?”

“The ritual will need to be renewed periodically. I told you, long term deal.” As he spoke Darwin spared no glance to the other man, his focus all on the lines he was tracing on the floor with the finger dipped in his own blood. The circle needed to be perfect. Welcoming, yet able to contain the creature that would answer his call.

“Your boss asked for something capable of finding and punishing those who betray him. The demon we’re calling can sniff out a lie without fail.” Not for the first time, Darwin wondered if what he was about to do was ethical. When he’d escaped from his father’s mental clutches he’d promised himself he wouldn’t let himself be used to conjure slaves, nor to hurt people. But this case was different: the client was a criminal, people would still get hurt even without Darwin's intervention. More importantly, a crime lord surely would torture betrayers and alleged betrayers without hesitation... With the help of a demon at least he wouldn’t mistakenly target 'innocent’ people, and the demon would be able to feed without hurting anyone who didn’t deserve to be hurt. Win-win.

Darwin himself didn’t fully believe that, and he was sure he’d lose more than a few hours of sleep over this, but a lot of his family’s affairs had taken place in White Crest, and he really needed an excuse to stay in town and investigate. That was the price he'd have to pay for a chance at redemption. Darwin only hoped the boss would only use the demon on other criminals.

After a few minutes of meticulous drawing, Darwin stood up and admired his work. The circle was a standard one, the sort he could trace in his sleep, but still Darwin couldn’t help but take some pride in the flawless runes framing the smooth curves of a perfect replica of the demon’s Sigil. Pressing on the wound on his arm to stop the blood, he stepped back and turned to face Forty-five.

“Now I need complete silence. No matter what happens don’t say anything until I say it’s safe to speak. And for the love of everything on this beautiful Earth, do not touch the circle. Even I don’t know what could escape from it.” The thug did his best to hide his nervousness, but Darwin saw the flash of panic in his eyes, the tension in his muscles and the sharp intake of breath. Oh, how he loved working with an audience.

With a flourish that served absolutely no purpose if not impressing the other man, Darwin raised his wounded arm, open hand outstretched toward the circle. “May these words travel far, and reach the ends of the deepest pits. Through thy sigil I summon thee, come forth into the Circle, in a form suitable for our mortal eyes.” His voice echoed through the empty basement, and for a moment nothing happened. Then the small light bulb above Forty-five shattered in a million pieces, small glass shards raining down on him. To his credit, Forty-five didn’t scream.

The room was pitch-black, but it wasn’t empty, even the thug had to feel the energy creeping around them, gathering at the center of the circle. The wards he'd drawn in blood started pulsing, a soft glow that bathed Darwin in a red light. Very dramatic, he liked this demon already.

“Who conjures me?”

A powerful voice, firm and demanding. The tone of a proud creature, one that would never accept servitude. A trade, on the other hand... Darwin had become somewhat of an expert in reading demons, so he shifted his posture accordingly, hunching his shoulders in submission, the gaze fixed on the still empty circle.

“You don’t need my name: you already have my blood, and that binds us. Please, show yourself, so that we may speak.”

A beat, and somehow the room was lit again, not by any light bulb, but by a red, blinding ball of light at the center of the circle, too bright to see anything within it. Darwin lowered his gaze.

“You haven’t earned it yet. Tell me what you seek and maybe I’ll grant you the privilege of witnessing my majestic form.”

Finally, the tricky part. Business with demons: sometimes exciting, always dangerous. It was hard to read his opponent without being able to look at them, but Darwin wouldn’t let that stop him.

“I offer a collaboration. My friend here,” he nodded toward Forty-five, still standing at the far end of the room, pressed against the wall. “…Works for a powerful man. A man with many enemies, some of whom would love nothing more than to lie and deceive to stab him in the back and take his place.”

The room went dark again, and the air itself grew heavy and hot to the point where it was uncomfortable to breathe. “Lie?” That question was more like a growl than an actual word, dense with the demon’s hatred.

“Yes, lie. That is why he could use your help. He doesn’t have your gift for spotting a lie. No one on Earth does, really.” Darwin could feel the demon being appeased by that subtle compliment. Truth demons, so vain.

“What you ask is simple, but what is it that you offer?”

Darwin’s smirk grew wider, and he allowed himself a soft chuckle. “Every liar must be punished, wouldn’t you agree? This man I speak of is a dangerous man. Any liar in his presence would cower in fear even before you did anything. It would be an all-you-can-eat buffet for someone who feeds on terror and pain and exists to uphold the Truth no matter what. You get to feed, he gets to make better choices about whom to trust.”

The demon seemed to consider it, or at least that’s the impression Darwin got by the way the ball of light glowed brighter. Then, after what felt like an eternity…

“We have a deal.”

A flash, and Darwin was pushed back by a gust of hot wind coming directly from the portal in the circle. Forty-five was taken by surprise and fell with a scream, unknowingly feeding the demon and drawing it closer to their dimension. And then, stillness. Darwin laid on the floor, catching his breath. Allowing passage to a demon always took its toll on him, and he felt like he’d just run a marathon; the gash on his arm was bleeding again, but he tried to ignore it and looked at Forty-five instead, who’d been quicker to recover and was already standing up, staring at the center of the room in disbelief.

“Wait, that’s the demon?!”

A small guinea pig returned the thug’s gaze with obvious annoyance, and then went to scratch at the lines of the circle still holding it in place. Darwin willed the circle undone, and the blood holding the demon back slid like a snake toward the creature, allowing it to absorb Darwin’s energy and use it to anchor itself to this world. By the end of the process the floor was clean, Darwin was spent and the guinea pig’s eyes were blood red.

“Yes, that’s the demon. Truth demons need to be inconspicuous. No one would ever speak a lie, nor the truth, in front of a giant red-skinned horned monster. But a guinea pig? They hear everything.”

“And they are adorable.” There was more than a hint of righteous vanity coming from the small creature as it glared at them both. Its voice was still the powerful roar of a timeless demon, and that seemed to be enough to convince Forty-five not to argue with the little ball of fur and turn to Darwin instead.

“I’m just not sure the boss’ll be pleased with this. I mean, I thought it’d be bigge–” The rest of the sentence faded into a pained scream, and Forty-five grabbed his head and dropped to the floor rocking back and forth, his body shook by spasms. The various “Make it stop” were punctuated by the demon happily wheeking in the circle. The whole thing lasted just a few moments, but Darwin knew it must have felt like hours for the poor Forty-five.

“A bit of advice for the uninitiated… In demonology, as in love, size doesn’t matter. If that’ll be all, allow me to show you out. I have a comfortable cage for your new friend upstairs, but I’d get a bigger one if I were your boss. Oh, and… Here.” Darwin handed back the bloodied switchblade to the criminal after helping him up. “This is the token that binds It to our world. Like I said, never lose it, never wash it and bring it back once every moon for the renewal of the rite. All clear? Good. Now ta-ta, I’ve got a store to take care of.”

#wicsolo

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imaginedanganronpa · 5 years

Note

Shuichi, kokichi, ryoma, celeste, and miu w/ a fem!crush leaving them a rose and anonymous confession? Its your choice if they catch her or not!!

Okay, so I completely misreadRyoma as ‘Rantaro’ at first and I didn’t realize it until I had alreadywritten Rantaro’s section. I don’t want my work, effort, or time to go to wasteso I decided to include him as a bonus and I hope that’s okay! My fellowRantaro-stans should appreciate it, lol. My bad!And, I decided to have them catch the S/O for some good old, sweet fluff.Enjoy! :)

Saihara Shuichi, Ouma Kokichi,Ryoma Hoshi, Celestia Ludenberg and Miu Iruma + Rantaro Amami with a Fem!CrushWho Leaves Them a Rose & Anonymous Confession!

Saihara Shuichi

You’ve had feelings for Saihara for quite some time now and alwayswanted to eventually confess, but something always held you back – somethingyou just can’t quite put your finger on.

It drove you absolutely mad and since you always chickened out,you decided to write him an anonymous letter instead.

You thought it would be the best way to bring up your feelings. Ifhe rejected the confession then at least he didn’t have to know it was you.

All of your closest friends supported the idea and that evening,you poured your heart over the pages in your notebook.

Tearing them out andthinking they weren’t good enough, you accumulated paper-balls until youeventually decided on a short and sweet note… straight to the point.

The following morning, you placed it on his desk whilst makingsure you were the first one to enter the Classroom. You left quickly afterwardssince it would be obvious who wrote it if you were the only one in the room.

You returned to the Classroom right before the bell, trying to actas unfazed as possible since there was a crowd around his desk now.

Saihara walked in after you; he looked a bit surprised, his eyesimmediately drawn to the vibrant red rose petals and the growing crowd. The enclosed letter sat inthe center of his desk. When he walked in, all eyes were drawn to him. Admittedly, Saihara was a little bit embarrassed. He didn’t likeall the attention placed on him, especially when some of his classmates –mainly Kokichi – started to tease him about it.

Silently, the Detective tore open the letter and pulled thenotebook paper out of it. “I’ve had feelings for you fora long time now, but I’ve been too afraid to ever say anything. This is myconfession… Shuichi.” It was signed with a heart and since hisname was included, he knew that this was no mistake – it was definitely meantfor him.

Saihara was stunned, completely taken aback. His face turned redas classmates tried peering over his shoulder and he quickly pushed the letterinto his backpack as his eyes darted around the room. He wondered who wrote itand if it was another one of Kokichi’s sinister pranks.

Regardless, he kept it close to his heart. Saihara read it overand over again, dragging his finger across the delicate words.

Something stirred within him and he needed to know who wrote it.Maybe there was a certain thrill in the fact that anyone could have written it, and Saihara didn’tnormally get love confessions like this. He wasn’t the first pick or the personthat others typically fawned over so the fact that someone went to theselengths for him sent his heart aghast.

So, he put his keen intuition and Detective skills to the test. Heanalyzed the handwriting, tried talking to his classmates, and even analyzedtheir reactions. But still, he fell short over and over again.

He sat next to you and sighed, feeling discouraged that he maynever know who his anonymous admirer was. You almost asked what was wrong,desperate to know how he felt about the letter. When he glanced over, henoticed you scribbling in the corner of your notebook.

Saihara glanced over at your handwriting, completelyunintentionally; that just happened to be where his gaze landed. He pulled outthe letter and his heart jumped into his throat. He never even consideredthat you would have written this! His friend… hiscrush. The handwriting was a perfect match, though, even the way you doodledyour hearts was the same…

You noticed his expression but didn’t think much of it; you didn’trealize that he had connected the dots at first. Now, you were both shy kidstoo afraid to make the first move, dancing around your feelings for the other.

He decided to be kind and courteous, not wanting to freak you outsince, if you were confident in your feelings then you wouldn’t have written itanonymously. So, he asked you to talk to him after Class and made up an excuse,saying he had a question about a previous assignment.

When you followed Saihara out of the Classroom, though, you frozein place after he pulled out the familiar letter. His hands were trembling abit as he meekly asked, “I hope I don’t sound stupid, I don’t want to be tooforward, but… did you write this (Y/N)?”

Your reaction must have given you away because his cheeks soonformed a deep red color. Saihara began stuttering as he fumbled with theletter. “I-I liked it! I… actually, feel the same way… if it’s yoursof course!”

He quickly bit his tongue, whilst you were dead silent. He feltthe same way? Your heart couldn’t handle it.

The way he looked right now was precious, and so handsome. All youwanted to do was cup his face in your hands and press your lips against his;but all you could muster was a wordless smile and a frantic nod.

Saihara burst into a wide smile, reciprocating your reaction.Scratching the back of his head, his blush intensified. “I’ve liked youfor awhile, I just never thought someone like you would feel the same way…”

A part of you still couldn’t believe it but you were thankful. Saihara slowly took your hand into his and raised it to his lips, eyeing you nervously. “Would you maybe want to… go out and do something sometime?” Your smile gave him all the reassurance that he needed.

Ouma Kokichi

While you’ve had feelings for Ouma for a very long time now,you’ve always been far too afraid to actually admit it since… let’s be honest,telling him runs the risk of either being teased relentlessly or him notbelieving you, both of which would break your heart.

You’ve gone to your friends more than once about how to bring thesubject up, and your best friend was the one to throw in the suggestion towrite an anonymous confession. Honestly, the idea was exciting and you wouldlove if someone were to do the same for you.

However, as you wrote it your courage started to disappear. Youworried that it would be too cliche or that he wouldn’t take it seriously.

After staring at your note for several minutes, you took in a deepbreath and tucked it into an envelope. You really had nothing left to lose.Granted, the rose was an extra touch that may have been a little… much, butyou wanted him to know that this wasn’t a joke.

The next morning, you slipped the letter into his locker and tapedthe single red rose onto the outside while no one was looking, and then quicklydarted away. You kept a safe distance in case Ouma suddenly appeared since youwanted to see his reaction. That’s how you would determine if you would finallyconfess in person or not.

Eventually, the short man walked towards his locker and hesitatedwhen he saw the rose taped to the outside. Tilting his head to one side, hecautiously removed it while glancing around to make sure no one was watching.

Ouma was worried that this may be a prank at first, someonegetting their revenge. The cherry on top was when he opened it and your lettercame tumbling out.

He knelt down and picked it up, slowly creasing it and pulling outthe small card. He wasn’t sure if this was real or not and almost threw theletter away, but decided to humor himself and see what whomever had to say.

“Kokichi – I’ve had feelings for you for a long, long time. I’vebeen scared to tell you, though… I’m being serious and I hope you… like me,too?”

A scoff escaped his throat and a smirk appeared on his lips. “Veryfunny, but there’s no fuckin’ way!” He said a bit loudly, causing your heart todrop. You knew he wouldn’t believe itbut at least it was anonymous so you didn’t totally make a fool out ofyourself.

But the persona that Ouma put on was only on act because on theinside, his heart was fluttering. You couldn’t see it from here, but his handstrembled with excitement. He struggled to hold back the smile forming on his lips.Someone actually liked him? God, he hoped that this wasn’t a sick prank.

You felt somewhat discouraged and trudged away silently. What youdidn’t see was Ouma clutching the letter close to his chest and breathing inthe sweet scent of the rose you left behind.

Secretly, he kept the two items. He put the rose in a vase when hegot home and spent hours staring at the letter, trying to figure out if it wasreal or not. He did have a crush on a certain girl, but there’s no way sheliked him back, right?

He became somewhat obsessed with finding out who wrote the letter.He had high hopes, but for all he knew it wasn’t even real, or it was somerandom person he couldn’t care less about. Still, the confession caused him toblush, though he would never admit how it truly made him feel.

Ouma was cunning and started asking around, mainly those in yourClass, if they had any clue who wrote it. Of course, you tried to act ascomposed as possible so he wouldn’t figure you out. You weren’t prepared forthat ridicule…

As you were walking out of your Class, your small journal slippedout of your half-open backpack. When it hit the ground, it bounced and openedslightly; Ouma was behind you. He gave you less Hell than most otherpeople, so out of kindness he leaned down and picked it up.

But this was the journal you drafted the note in, and a series ofall-too familiar words were scribbled all over the pages. To make mattersworse, his name inside of some hearts were also doodled in the corner.

A blush immediately appeared on his face. Oh, this is just yourluck.

You embarrassingly snatched the journal from his hands and startedspeed-walking towards the exit, but Ouma cut you off. He called for you andstepped in front of you, blocking your escape into the Hallway.

“Wait, you wrote that?” His voice was trembling. You of allpeople? He just couldn’t believe it, he had to be dreaming.

Your silence gave him the answer he was looking for and a smilespread across his lips. Without looking at him, you muttered, “Don’t makefun of me, please. Just forget about it.”

“Forget?! How could I forget?” Ouma almost laughed, “that wasthe sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me!”

You perked up, hoping that this wasn’t a prank. But he lookedgenuine, like a kid in a candy store. His eyes were bright and nearlysparkled. “To be honest, I’ve liked you for a long time, too…”

Your breath caught in your throat and you weren’t sure if you had heard him right. His expression was different, not like his usual self. Ouma looked nervous and giddy, a blush coloring his cheeks.

“You aren’t joking, right?” Your voice wobbled and his confident smirk reappeared as he lifted his pinky to you. “I promise, I wouldn’t joke about that. I feel the same way.”

Ryoma Hoshi

Your feelings for Ryoma were very gradual and slow-moving. He wasjust a friend at first, but you soon found yourself thinking about him a lot;more often than you probably should. He filled all of your thoughts and yourealized the truth – how you’ve fallen for him.

But Ryoma was quick to dismiss any and all romantic feelings. Hedidn’t normally believe people were being honest with him when they confessedtheir romantic feelings and said how he wasn’t sure if he wanted a relationship rightnow. You weren’t very surprised, considering how his last relationship ended…

But the thoughts had been driving you mad and you’ve been itchingto confess for quite some time now. Although you knew you would likely berejected, you couldn’t hold them back any longer.

You decided the best way to do it was confessing yourfeelings through an anonymous note – that way, it would prevent an embarrassingrejection and you wouldn’t potentially risk your friendship if things wentSouth.

The rose was a secondary thought and you almost didn’t go throughwith it, afraid that it would be too much. He wasn’t the most romantic personso you thought that it would be a step over his boundaries. But, you wereanonymous so… screw it.

Ryoma was pretty open with you so he told you his lockercombination. In hindsight, this is probably what gave you away since you wereone of the few people he was this close to, and even fewer knew hiscombination… not the smartest move on your part.

After closing the door and leaving your things behind, though, yourealized that it was far too late to go back. You lingered around the area andwaited for Ryoma to approach. He noticed you as he got closer so you had toplay it off, smiling innocently as he waved you over.

Then, he nonchalantly opened the locker and when the door swungopen, his face shifted into something more… shocked and confused.

“What’s this?” He wasn’t sure how to respond, his mouth turningdry. He held the rose in his hands for a moment before retrieving the letterand staring at it. “I hope this isn’t too blunt,but I’ve had a crush on you for a long time, Ryoma. I know you aren’tthe ‘relationship’ type, I just needed to tell you before I went crazy.”

He was pretty shocked at first, his eyes widening. He then turnedto you to see if you had the same reaction and you played it off the best youcould. “Wow, that’s… nice,” you sheepishly smile, unsure of what to say that would sound convincing.

Furrowing his brows, he nods. “I guess so. There’s no name,though… I don’t know who did this.”

Trying to go along with it without giving yourself away, youshrugged your shoulders. “I’m not sure, either.” You couldn’t even lookRyoma in the eyes, nevertheless actually go along with his shock. Before youdug a hole for yourself, you waved goodbye and made up an excuse to part ways.You knew if you stayed there, you would accidentally reveal your identity ashis ‘secret’ admirer.

While you felt like you dodged a bullet, it became more clear toRyoma the more he thought about it. He was a fairly intelligent individual and after he realized thatwhoever did this had to have been able to get into his locker somehow, he wasable to narrow down his suspicions.

And based on your reactions…

No, there was no way. Ryoma has been denying his feelings for youfor months now and there was no way that this was your doing, of all things. Hewanted to figure it out, not drive himself up a wall. He tried to tell himself thathis developing crush on you was clouding his judgement but all of the signspointed to you.

Since you were one of the only people who knew his combination,you were in the area at the time, and your reaction and sudden excuse toleave… there’s only one way to find out.

The following morning, Ryoma cornered you while you were at yourlocker. As you stuffed your books inside, he lifted the letter from his pocket and leaned against the cold wall.You froze and your smile faded when you realized what you were looking at.

“You wrote this, didn’t you?” He asked. His voice was a little bitstern and you weren’t sure how to respond. You didn’t have a game plan in mindif he ever figured you out, and so quickly? He must have put a lot of thoughtinto this…

Ryoma took your silence as a confession. “What did you meanby ‘I’m not the relationship type’?” He sounded… hurt, just a little bit. That isn’t a tone you are used to, coming from him at least.

“Well, you’re always rejecting people…” You trailed off, gluing your eyes to the ground awkwardly. You felt uncomfortable, like you’ve just been hit by a train. You didn’t really want him to know that it was you but Ryoma backed you into a corner and you didn’t have any other options.

He squeezed his eyes shut momentarily, trying to collect his thoughts. “I only rejected the others because I like you.” Ugh, he hated this. He felt weak and vulnerable, and that was a feeling he despised.

But you perked up at that sentence, turning towards him with a shocked expression. “Wait, seriously? I thought you didn’t want a relationship.”

Ryoma sighed, unable to restrain his forming smile. He gently took your hand into his and his eyes flickered up to meet yours, and suddenly, you melted. “Well, I can always make an exception.”

Celestia Ludenberg

Celestia was such a classy woman, how could you not fall for her?She had everything you loved about a woman and you wanted to confess yourfeelings, but she has turned down countless offers of dates and other people’sconfessions. Why should you think she’d treat you any differently? Sure, she sometimes laughed with you and seemed a bit brighter aroundyou…

If you were going to do this, you wanted to do it in a way thatCelestia would appreciate – a way that would make her remember you. You thoughtshe would find the anonymous confession and rose to be endearing, and youcouldn’t predict just how right you were.

You may have overthought it and spent way too long drafting yourfinal product. You kept it fairly short and sweet, nothing too over the top.After all, you didn’t want to scare her away.

Before Class, you dropped the rose and the letter on her desk andquickly exited the Classroom to make sure no one saw or suspected you. Yourheart was absolutely racing, your thoughts were anxious as you started toregret doing this. Maybe you should have just kept to yourself. What if sherejects you like everyone else?

Celestia was often one of the last people in the room and shefroze in the doorway once she spotted her desk. Her hand shot up to her mouthand her eyes widened slightly. She may not be a stranger to confessions oflove, but this was certainly new.

With a smile, she gracefully approached her desk. She bent forwardslightly and lifted the rose to her face, breathing in its scent. Then she readthe letter. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time, and I just wanted to tell you how I feel. I hope you like this.”

“Oh, how romantic~” she cooed to herself, her eyes glisteningslightly. She assumed that it would be someone in her Class so they could watchher reaction. Celestia was incredibly cunning and started to examine yourclassmates, one by one. She couldn’t place a finger on a possible author andshe took the anonymity as a challenge.

She was swooned at the gesture but wouldn’t be so quick to admithow much she liked it because, well, she didn’t want to seem impressed. Shecould play games, too, and she played a hard game, you’ll admit.

Celestia talked around, trying to pinpoint her admirer. She had connectionsand rumors started to spread, but you were the last person she suspected. Maybeher own feelings for you clouded her judgement.

It took her a long time but she figured it out. After all, she ishighly intelligent; you were dumb to think she’d never figure you out.

The next morning, she approached you, a small blush on her face. You were different.She always suspected that you had a crush on her but you never made the first move,never were as abrasive as the others. You were respectful and kind, maybethat’s why she fell for you, too. And if you were in fact the author of this note, then she admired your romantic side.

Holding the letter between her middle and forefinger, she leanedforward slightly, her shoulder pressed against the wall beside you. Celestiasuccessfully cut off your escape route so you were forced to talk to her; and itwas a bit intimidating.

“(Y/N), love,” she said slowly. Calling you ‘love’ causedyour heart to skip a beat… damn, she was gorgeous. “Did you write this?”She tilted her hand so you could see the letter tucked into the pink envelopewith the heart sticker still attached to the open slit.

Your eyebrows shot up; how did she figure you out? You startedtripping over your words and Celestia giggled, taking that asconfirmation. “Oh, I never took you as the romantic type.”

She swiftly reached into her backpack and took out the rose youbrought her. She had been keeping it in a vase at home, but brought it toschool for the extra flare; she had a flare for the dramatics, after all. Bringing it to her nose, she closed her eyes andtook a deep breath in. “I really appreciated your confession…”

Here it comes - the rejection. You squeezed your eyes and mentallyprepared yourself. Then, a tickling sensation formed under your nose. Your eyesopened wide and you saw her extending the rose to you.

“Everything you did was beautiful, I was impressed. I still am. Iwill say… I am a little bit surprised,” you sighed and finally spoke. Whenyou did, you cut her off with your voice crack.

“If you’re going to reject me, please just do it already.” Celestia’seyes widened and she took a step back. You didn’t look at her directly and yourwords caused her heart to sink. “And why would I do that?”

“Well,” you sighed heavily, “you have so many people who wantyou and you’re always rejecting them. I shouldn’t be any different.”

Then, she giggled again. You finally met her gaze and her red eyeswere twinkling, as she covered her lips with one hand and held the rose tightlywith the other. “Oh, love,” she smiles wide, “I only rejected thembecause I wanted you!”

Miu Iruma

While you’ve been meaning to tell Miu about your ever-growingfeelings for her for several months now, you’ve never been able to work up thecourage to do so. Miu is quite the eccentric woman and you were worried thatshe would either reject your feelings for her completely or make a big deal outof it.

Honestly, you weren’t sure how she would react. Any time someonemade a passing comment to her, especially a derogatory one, she was feisty andsnapped back without hesitation. Of course, your feelings were genuine and innocent. You didn’tlove her just for her looks or her body, like most others do, you wanted totake things somewhere with her…

But how were you even supposed to tell her that without Miu taking it thewrong way?

Eventually, you decided to write her an anonymous letter. If sherejected it, then at least that saved you from an embarrassing moment – though,you’d likely have to listen to her bashing ‘whoever wrote that’ since she oftencame to you to rant and vent.

The rose was just a last minute thought that you assumed would getyour feelings across and emphasize that you were being honest.

You dropped it on her desk and quickly walked back out of the room, not wanting to incriminate yourself. You filed back into the Classroom after it became somewhat full, trying to act as oblivious as possible.

Miu was often late getting to class, or just barely missing the bell. When she walked in and noticed the items on her desk, she froze in placeand her eyes widened. “Holy fuck!”

She hastily made her way to the desk and examined the rose,surprised to find that it was real. When reading the letter, her face paled. You grew more nervous bythe second.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you this, Miu, but I love you. I have for a long time.” She quickly piped up, “Who fuckin’ wrote this?!” Her tone sounded more curious thanhostile, although she did sound a bit demanding.

You slid in your seat, too afraid to speak up. You didn’t want any more attention placed on you, though Miu wouldn’t give up that easily. Her eyes scanned the room, trying to find any ‘questionable’ behavior. She quickly came up short though, and huffed in her desk, crossing her arms and slouching back down.

She was a headstrong woman though, who wouldn’t lay her arms down and give up so easily. She couldn’t say that this kind of attention was uncommon - Miu had plenty of people falling at her feet. Well, maybe not falling, but she had a fan-club.

It was mainly perverted guys, though; she assumed that one of them was responsible for this; but she never would have suspected that you were her admirer.

Miu went around asking others if they saw or knew anything. When they would feverishly deny it, she would turn on her charm and try to flirt some information out of them - but it was true, no one knew who her secret admirer was; and it drove her crazy.

She was about to give up when she confided in you. She didn’t have very many female friends, other than maybe Kaede, so she often came to the two of you to rant about her ‘girl’ problems.

“This letter is drivin’ me crazy!” She sighed as she pulled it out of her bag and stared at it woefully. Your eyes widened, surprised that she still had it.

“Y-you actually kept it?” You asked, a tinge of hope in your voice. The blonde turned to you with a cocked brow. “Uh… duh! I wanna know who wrote it! And… it was really nice,” her second sentence was spoken very quietly and quickly, averting her gaze as if she didn’t want to admit it.

And she didn’t - Miu didn’t want others to know that she was swooning. This was different than the rest. It was romantic and well thought-out - clearly not written by someone just looking to hook up or objectifying her.

Your heart was pounding relentlessly against your chest. Miu continued, “I want to thank them, and… I don’t know, depending on who it is-” She turned to you and noticed your beat-red face.

“(Y/N)? You okay?” She leaned forward to touch you and felt your trembling hands. She may not be the brightest, but she could put two and two together. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “No way!”

You abruptly turned away, unable to face her. Your reactions clearly gave you away and all you wanted to do in this moment was disappear. “(Y/N)… you feel that way? About me?!” Miu didn’t sound angry, though. She sounded surprised, childish, and giddy.

When you finally rip your eyes from the floor and meet hers again, you see her bubbly, smiling face. She was completely over the moon.

“Y-yeah…” you muttered, hoping that this wouldn’t make things awkward. But instead, Miu had a shocking reaction.

“I fuckin’ love you, too!” She says a bit too loudly, earning some stares from your classmates. Your breath hitched and you froze - was she being serious? The two of you smiled at each other for a moment, your mouth unconsciously twisted into a grin without you realizing it.

“I really do…” This time, her voice was softer, as if she was afraid to confess. “I never thought you felt the same way.” Miu’s eyes looked away from you and down to her fumbling hands. “I’ve had feelings and never knew what to do with them, I’m so-”

“Glad you feel the same way.” You finish her sentence, earning a wide smile from the Inventor. She nodded hastily, “Yeah, exactly.”

Rantaro Amami

Rantaro was definitely no stranger to love confessions – he hadplenty of people falling at his feet. Between his naturally good looks andcharm, he was definitely someone who could wrap almost anyone around his fingerif he pleased.

But he wasn’t like that and he often didn’t like receivingconfessions since he didn’t like turning people down. It always made him feellike a bit of an ass – like he felt obligated to humor them.

It just came naturally, though. It wasn’t love at first sight butrather a gradual falling – you really liked, no, loved, Rantaro. But you knew how much he disliked theattention so how were you supposed to tell him? Or should you even try?

That question drove you crazy. Kaede suggested writing an anonymous letter since she knewhim the best. “I would love it if someone did that for me!” She added whilstclutching her heart and tipping her head back.

The idea actually wasn’t bad at all. She helped you write the confession, and having a support system behind you helped immensely.

Kaede did your dirty work and left the note in his locker, tapingthe rose to the outside of it. She scampered away and left you behind, flashingyou a thumbs up as you waited anxiously nearby.

And the wait killed you; you paced and glanced around nervouslyuntil a certain green-haired man started walking towards his locker. Your heartraced and hands shook as he stared at the door curiously.

The rose caught his attention and a small laugh escaped histhroat. He looked it it quizzically, leaning forward to smell it. Rantaro’seyebrows jumped when he realized that it was real, so he was extra careful whentaking it down to make sure he didn’t ruin it.

While still holding the rose in one hand, he put in hiscombination and the letter came tumbling out. Rantaro bent down slightly topick it up and sighed when he saw the heart drawn on the front.

He thought it was just another love letter and wondered who itcould be from this time, but he felt some slight discomfort when noticing thatit had no signature. “That’s strange,” he thought to himself. They normally includedtheir name in hopes that he would return the feelings so an anonymous letterwas definitely new. Whoever wrote this was different from the rest and Rantarowas intrigued.

His curiosity became unbearable. He twirled on his heels, stilleyeing the letter, when his gaze flickered up and saw you standing not too faraway. A dashing smile appeared on his lips, causing you to melt. “Hey, (Y/N)! Did you see whoput this in my locker?”

Nope, not a clue… you frantically shake your head. “Why?” You ask.

“I’m… interested. People don’t normally goto such great lengths, even for me. I know this isn’t the first time this hashappened but this is the first anonymous one, and something about it seems…different. Dare I say special?” Your heart fluttered at the kind, reciprocated words. “Well, I’m sorry, I have no clue,” then, you quickly excused yourself.

He did think the note was classy and the rose was a nice touch, it caused his inner hopeless romantic to flare. But your reaction was peculiar and out of character, though Rantaro wouldn’t think about it too much.

Your mind poured over the interaction. Kaede went crazy when you told her, begging you to tell him the truth. “He liked it! You should tell him!”

Rantaro wasn’t dumb, though. After your interaction, he approachedKaede and started to question her. He couldn’t seem to shake you out of his head. The way you carried yourself, your behavior and sudden departure, and the fact that you looked lost while lingering in that area - a part of school you didn’t normally walk through. It was all pretty strange but Kaede shrugged her shoulders, restraining herself from telling him.

“Nope, noidea who wrote it!” She chimes unconvincingly. Hm, that sounded familiar…

Nothing could slip by him, and he quickly put two and two together. Rantaro’s presence at the end of the daycaught you off-guard and caused you to jump. A chuckle escaped his throat andhe flashed you that smile that made your heart soar.

“So, did you write this?” He asked rather bluntly. You almost choked on air when he asked, ripping your face away from him so he wouldn’t see your blush. Your mind went blank and all you could do was stutter.

“I thought it was romantic and classy, I liked it, truly,” Rantaro hesitated and then used one finger to turn your chin back towards him.

Then, he leaned in, effectively narrowing the gap. You could feel his breath against your skin and your face grew hot. You wordlessly nodded, sheepishly admitting your identity. Then, a proud smile formed on his lips.

“I knew it,” he says, his face still inches away from yours. He had little to no reaction, though his cheeks were turning pink as well. “If we’re confessing then, well, I’ve felt the same way about you for awhile.”

You took a wobbly step back, finally tearing yourself away from his gaze. You could clearly see how red his face was turning now as his usual calm and collected charm disappeared. Rantaro scratched his head nervously, “I’ve never felt nervous around someone before, so I never knew how to say it. Glad I didn’t have to make the first move.”

He winked, and you felt the corners of your mouth tug into a smile.

- Mod Rantaro

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yourfaveisyanderematic · 5 years

Text

Opening Up

You open up to Cioccolata. Then you open up to Cioccolata.

WARNING: Do not read this if you’re sensitive to depictions of self harm, which take up roughly the second half of this request.

Also if your therapist does literally anything in this fic, you need a new shrink. You should probably also call the police.

“Is the camera really necessary?”

Your therapist smiled in a way that was probably meant to be reassuring, but seemed sinister somehow; the harsh light of his office was washing him out somewhat, that must have been it. “It’s for insurance purposes. You and I will be the only ones to see them, unless you say otherwise, but sometimes patients…struggle with reality. It can be helpful to have a record of what was discussed when working through difficult topics.”

You stared at your reflection, small and distorted in the curve of the camera’s lens. Between it and the therapist’s stare, it was hard not to feel exposed, and you found yourself unconsciously gripping your arms and turning away from it. A few seconds passed as he watched your body language, and then he got up, reaching for the camera with thin fingers.

“Of course, your comfort comes first. I suppose I can make an exception for one of my patients—“

“No! No, I mean, you don’t have to do that, if this is normal then—“ Why the hell were you stopping him? You didn’t want to be recorded. But going to a therapist at all had felt strange, an act of weakness somehow, and the idea that you were somehow even more delicate than the other patients was absolutely galling.

He sat back down immediately, the smile back on his face and somehow more genuine. “Very good! I can tell we’re going to get a lot of work done this week, you’ve always been very cooperative. So good for me…you might even be my favorite.”

The therapist—Ciocco, he’d been telling you to call him, but that still felt a little too informal for what was an embarrassingly personal matter—pulled his notepad closer and clicked his pen excitedly, scribbling something down about the start of your session with a flourish. It was your third session or so with him, but you still found yourself waiting for him to make the first move, to initiate conversation.

God, you felt awkward. You forced yourself to stop fiddling with your hands and looked around his office in search of something interesting to look at.

You didn’t know what to expect from a therapist with Mafia patients, but Ciocco’s office had an unusual superficiality about it. The couches were comfortable and the decoration tasteful, but it all felt impersonal somehow. You skimmed the titles of the books on his shelves and admired the impressionistic paintings of the Italian countryside on his wall, but you still didn’t have the slightest idea of who this man was or what he liked about the world.

Maybe that was the appeal of therapists. Like a priest’s confessional, it was the anonymity that loosed the gates of your mind and allowed the words to come forth, in the way that being with a close friend or confidant couldn’t.

“So. Last week, we touched on something very interesting. Something I’d like you to really go into detail about,” Ciocco tapped at a line in his previous session’s notes, green eyes now bright with enthusiasm, “we were talking about how you felt, after your first kill. The first night after, I mean.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“Assume that I know nothing about it. Put yourself back in that moment, really relive it. Tell me every thought, every feeling, going through your head.”

Your capo always picked someone easy for the first time. The Cherry Moment, he called it, that instant you realized that taking another life wasn’t at all hard, and that you could do it. Not just in self defense, not just once, but again and again, on command if you had to, as many times as you were told.

He’d begged, of course. He was some idiot who was drowning in debt and didn’t hope to pay back even a fraction; no family to sell, no assets to seize, no way for the mob to get its investment back. His fault, at the end of the day. He’d dug his grave with his own two hands, and you were the one delivering the sentence.

It was so easy to ignore him. The whimpering, the muffled begging, the pleading eyes might as well have been white noise to you. Capo had insisted you not use your Stand for this first mission.

The gun felt heavy when you took it from him, but it was almost part of your hand in the moment. Lifting it, pointing it at that furrowed little space between your victim’s eyebrows, was as natural as breathing.

You felt nothing when you squeezed the trigger and heard the sharp report of gunfire as the ground beneath him instantly became slick with blood. You felt nothing when you walked away, leaving him prone in the labyrinthine alleys of Naples for someone else to find, and you continued to feel nothing when you got in the car and your teammate drove you away.

No, that came later.

It took a moment for you to realize that Ciocco wasn’t writing anything down, just listening to you speak with an intensity you’d never seen before. His eyes refocused when he realized you’re staring at him, and he nodded, understanding in the way that only a fellow murderer could.

“That’s something a lot of my patients report. In that moment you’re too focused on completing the mission, on carrying out your orders, to feel anything about it either way. But we’ve been over this before; tell me what happened when you did feel something. Where were you? What were you doing?”

“I was—“ and then you stopped, remembering the camera, and flushed a little. Ciocco didn’t say anything, just waited for you to continue.

“I was getting ready to shower. I still felt fine, after what happened, or I thought I did, because once I got…uh, naked, and looked in the mirror, I felt…”

Sick wasn’t the right word. ‘Sick’ was too weak for what you felt. Looking at your body was nauseating, unnatural in a way it had never been before, the revulsion punching the breath out of you as you scrambled to cover yourself.

“I didn’t like it,” you finished lamely. Ciocco had an expression like he wanted to press you on it, but he just smiled instead.

“Some of my patients report feeling unclean after their first kill,” he said slowly, watching your face closely, “that their skin felt wrong somehow, once they had time to reflect on what they had done. A crawling rot in their veins, not because they took a life but because they felt nothing about it. The moment they realized they had a murderer’s soul, that they were rotten…would you say you feel that way? Think to that moment, remember it in detail…do you feel it? Do you feel unclean?”

You hadn’t realized it, but your breathing had gone strange, shallow gasps as you gripped your knees tightly enough to make your knuckles white. You weren’t here anymore, sitting on his plush couch, you were back in your shower, avoiding every glimpse of yourself you could, standing under water that had long gone cold and scrubbing at gunpowder residue hard enough to leave your skin raw.

A murderer’s soul. An unclean, rotten murderer’s soul. The words send spirals of a horrible sensation up and down your arms, clawing up your throat, making your feet tap an uneven staccato on the hardwood floor.

Ciocco’s voice felt like it was simultaneously coming from a long distance away and a meter in front of you.

“Perhaps this is why you’ve been experiencing those nightmares, the paranoia episodes…it’s never about you being caught, because you know you have nothing to fear from being caught. No policeman in the world, no agent of justice, will ever bring you to justice for what you’ve done. You know in your soul that, if it’s on Passione’s orders, nobody will punish you. Nobody can punish you.”

You were starting to curl on yourself now, a pathetic panicky little ball falling apart in front of the one man you promised yourself you wouldn’t do this to, but you felt yourself get pulled to the side until you were rested against Ciocco’s side, almost pulled into his lap, letting him stroke your hair as your frantic pulse beat against his shirt. When had he gotten up? Were you too self-absorbed to notice? You wound your fingers into the expensive fabric, too far gone to worry about it wrinkling and ruining his professional look, trying to ground yourself in the only thing you could.

“But you want them to. You do, don’t you?” He whispered, almost a growl, in a way that had all but abandoned the careful professionalism he’d always had until now.

“No…” you couldn’t force yourself to speak above a whisper, but the denial felt weak. Perfunctory. A lie, somehow, one that only reinforced the truth that Ciocco already knew.

“It’s the only way you can live with yourself, the only way you can live with knowing your soul is dirty.” he continued, breath hot against the shell of your ear. You wanted to pull away from him, to leave, but his arms had become constricting, holding you in place, rendering you unable to do anything but listen. “Why else have you been hiding from other people, dear? Cowering in your room when you aren’t being told to work, hiding in crowds as if they can drown out your crime…the fact that nobody can open you up and see how rotten you are inside isn’t a relief, it’s torture.”

“Stop…” Your breath had gone from panicked pants to dry sobs. Ciocco murmured soothing nothings as he held you close, careful to keep your face turned towards the camera. You watched yourself in the lens, fat tears spilling over your cheeks and dotting the sleeve of his shirt.

“There’s no need to cry. You are my favorite patient…I would never let you suffer like this. Now that you know what’s wrong with you, we can fix it together.” His thumb swiped at one of your tears, and you watched him bring it to his lips.

—

Ciocco’s office had a bathroom, one with a shower and tub, and with some coaxing he had managed to get you out of your shirt and sitting awkwardly in the tub.

“It’s a little less comfortable, but easier to keep everything clean this way,” he’d explained, setting up the camera on a little tripod to capture everything in here, too.

You realized now why you hadn’t been more forceful about the camera. Ciocco had helped you realized that you needed a witness, you needed proof that you were penitent, punishing yourself because you knew you deserved it.

When the straight razor came out, presented to you the same way the gun was only a few weeks ago, you couldn’t help but hesitate.

It wasn’t that it would hurt. It would only be real if it hurt. But being the one to do it to yourself twisted at something inside you, the last echoes of the voice telling you to get out of the bathroom, put your shirt on and run.

“Can’t…can’t you do it?” you hesitated, stretching your bare arm forward hopefully. Ciocco laughed, removing his own white jacket and letting it rest in the sink, and folded your fingers over the blade. Forcing you to take it.

“I’d be honored…but don’t you think it’s time you took responsibility for yourself? All I can do is help you through this. You have to be the one to do it the first time.”

You looked at your distorted reflection in the metal, tilting it up to reflect the light instead.

“Be good, now…it won’t be hard. Once you’ve paid enough for the life you’ve taken, you can look at yourself again. You can live without feeling dirty.”

He knelt next to the tub, almost brushing your cheek with his own, blind to the way you shivered at the sudden proximity that was somehow more intimate here. With the tip of his finger, he guided the edge of the razor, tracing the light blue veins that webbed your wrist. His movements were precise, almost surgical, steady. You found yourself clinging to it, to being told what to do; your breathing was the steadiest it had been in an hour.

“Here,” he drew a line with his finger along your flesh, leaving goosebumps in his wake, “this is punishment, not suicide…press in and pull towards yourself, following that line.”

The blade trembles, ghosting against your forearm at the start of the line he indicated. A tiny drop of blood wells up. Ciocco’s arms are iron against your shoulders, almost holding you down. You can’t leave until you do this. You won’t be free until you do this.

You have to do this.

The shuddering gasp that came out of you wasn’t in relief, it was in pain: this hurt. The slicing tear of metal through skin and muscle made your hands shake after barely half an inch into your arm, and it took all your restraint to not throw down the razor and flee at the sight of it. Your insides were red and wet and alive, something that was easy to know but difficult to watch twitching wetly under the bathroom light, and you inhaled sharply as the smell of blood invaded your nostrils, making your stomach turn.

Ciocco’s hand was resting on your own, neither moving to finish the cut or letting it fall away entirely. His eyes followed the outpouring of blood over your forearm and onto your pants legs with an expression you could only describe as hungry.

“Good…good, good…that’s a start, but you haven’t done enough. You haven’t opened yourself to me enough.”

You’re crying again. You hear your sniffling echo in your ears, pathetic, stupid, childish, as you pull with the blade again, watching your body pull apart and expose muscle and skin and blood in the wake of your knife. The agony of your guilt, of the crawling rot Ciocco exposed within you, is gone, replaced wholly by the screaming instincts of your body that you’re in real, physical pain, that you’re injured, to fucking stop—

“Wonderful!”

The cry startled you out of your fugue. The razor was still in your hand, but was now dragging a scarlet line through another part of your skin, and it was with dull surprise that you watched Ciocco snatch the blade out of your hand before you could continue cutting into yourself. He seized your forearm, unceremoniously letting the razor clatter to the floor tile, experimentally pushing the wound open and shut. He watched the blood well up and drip around your forearm with unbridled glee, blind to your writhing as you instinctively and desperately tried to pull your arm away from the unnatural sensation.

“You’re so obedient. You’re so good. You’re perfect, perfect…” he mumbled, more to himself than you, and then licked at your arm, mouthing sloppy kisses like sutures against your flesh before reaching behind him for a kit. As if watching him hold someone else’s arm, you nodded slowly, listening to him ramble about medical practices or what to discuss in your next appointment or how far you had come in such short time as he began to stitch up your self-inflicted wound. Your movements were purely reactive—a flinch when he poured peroxide over the stitches, a shudder when he wrapped your arm in a thick bandage and stroked it lovingly, a slow blink when he finally made eye contact with you again.

“Don’t you feel better already?” He was finally talking to you again, not at you. Without hesitation, he leaned forward and planted a kiss on your lips, abandoning his veneer of professionalism entirely, but you hadn’t really noticed.

Truth be told, you didn’t feel anything at all.

#cioccolata #yandere jjba #yandere x reader #cw: self harm #why did I write this...#by me #though it probably shouldn't have been #I'm posting yukako today too after a short break #because SOMETHING should be readable today #it's certainly not this #reader: I legit cannot tell if Cioccolatta actually likes me in this fic #me while taking a deep drink of some expired grape juice: idk what to tell you man this is just how he is

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5hining-aus · 5 years

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Royal Enchanter AU (Key X Reader)(Part 1)

I’ve decided that it’s time to rescue this baby from the depths of my Drafts Folder (I don’t even want to think about how long it’s been there) I hope you enjoy it!

Tree, tree, tree. Ooh, a rock! Tree, tree, another tree, tree, tree, more trees, there is nothing but trees! Why are there so many trees in this kingd-ack!

You were very nearly flung out of your seat when the carriage began driving over a rough patch of road. Quickly righting yourself, you glanced around the carriage, hoping that nobody had noticed you brief lack of coordination. Thankfully, it didn’t appear that anybody had noticed, and you went right back to gazing out the window.

Thank the gods they didn’t see. I have a feeling I’ll need to start protecting all the dignity I have left soon.

You had recently been appointed as the Royal Enchanter for the reign of the newly crowned King Kibum and, honestly, you weren’t overjoyed. The centuries-old title of Royal Enchanter, once a title synonymous with respect and authority, now meant little more than that of a glorified court jester. You would be stuck entertaining nobles at balls and brewing sleeping draughts for however long the new King’s reign lasted, as was the tradition.

At least I’ll have authority amongst other mages, not that it matters much, you thought. And it was true, as the Royal Enchanter you would be second only to the Eternal in terms of rank within the Mage Towers.

As your journey stretched on, you found your mind wandering. You began wondering about what the capital, was it really as grand as others had said? What were the people like? What would they think of you? Opinions on magic and mages were...mixed to say the least, even amongst mages themselves:

Some feared mages, believing magic to be evil. Not entirely true, you thought, magic is only as evil as the mage wielding it. On the other side of the coin, some admired mages, seeing them as a group of people who had been given extraordinary gifts. Some mages say gift, some mages say curse. Honestly it is both.

There were people who didn’t really have any strong opinions either way. Then there were those that see mages as lesser people. And yet, they still attempt to give themselves similar powers, even if it means grave injury, death, or insanity.

And finally, there were the people who downright hated all things to do with magic. Cowards, you thought bitterly. Groups of adults harassing small children is just the epitome of bravery.

A sudden cough snapped you out of your slightly-enraged thoughts and suddenly you were back in the carriage. You looked over to your escort, a member of the King’s inner circle whose name escaped you. Was it Minsoo? No, that doesn’t sound right. Mingo? No, who would name their child Mingo? Is it Mango? Wait, that’s the fruit that they grow in the south of the kingdom, definitely not his name. By Xeris, what is his name?

Your thoughts were interrupted once more, this time by actual words. You would be reaching your destination soon, and your escort was going through what would be happening upon your arrival.

Stay with him until I’m inside the palace, I can do that. I still want to remember his name. I’m sure it starts with Min. Minwoo? No. Minhee? That’s not it either. Minjun? That doesn’t sound right either. Min, Min, Min...ho? Minho? That sounds right! Finally!

Your internal celebration was quickly replaced by complete awe. You had arrived at the palace, and all the descriptions you had heard of it did not even come close to doing it justice. The palace was...magnificent. I’ll have to take a better look at another time, you decided.

As you were led into the palace, you couldn’t help but admire all the artwork adorning the foyer. Tapestries depicting the kingdom's history lined the room, with a slightly larger one bearing the Royal Family’s coat of arms hanging proudly in the center, above a door that you assumed led to the throne room. Paintings, both newly created and centuries old, were placed around the chamber, occupying the wall space not already taken by tapestries or windows. You had never seen anything even remotely like what you saw in that room.

You were led up a flight of stairs and down a hallway, eventually stopping in front of a set of ornate doors inscribed with what you recognized as the official insignia of the Royal Enchanter. Oh, this must be my chambers.

Why were you so nervous? It was as if your brain thought that the second you opened the doors you would be mauled by a rabid bear. It was foolish.

After taking a deep breath to compose yourself, you managed to regain a sense of calmness. Everything will be fine, you will be fine, there is nothing to be afraid of. You kept repeating that mantra over and over inside your head in an effort to steel yourself. When you finally believed your thoughts, you opened the doors.

You were greeted by a large, circular room that reminded you ever so slightly of the Mage Tower you once lived in. However, this place was far more luxurious (and considerably more inviting) than any Tower you had ever seen. Large windows filled the room with ample sunlight. The furniture was upholstered with a rich jewel blue fabric. An Alchemy station was placed to one side of the room, surrounded by storage shelves. I’ll have to go through it later, see how the stores are, you noted. You gazed up and saw a large, domed ceiling that you instantly had plans for. A simple Illusion spell should be able to make that appear like the night sky. Or perhaps an astrological chart? I’ll decide at another time.

The room was opulent, but what caught your eye the most was the multitude of books. Everywhere you looked, there was a full bookcase. Almost every free surface had some sort of tome on it. There was even an entire mezzanine floor that appeared to hold nothing but bookcases. This one room put all of the Tower libraries you had ever seen to shame and, for the first time in a long time, you felt an almost childlike sense of glee.

“I will leave you to get settled in, Your Excellency.”

You jumped. To be completely honest, you had forgotten that Minho was still there. You gave him a somewhat shaky half-nod and, with a bow, he was gone. You were all alone. You gazed around the room, wondering what you should do first. That’s when you saw it, your bed. It was possibly the biggest bed you had ever seen, with sheets and a canopy that were the same rich blue as the other fabrics around the room, and an absolute mountain of pillows. You instantly knew what had to be done.

After taking a quick glance at the doors to make sure they were closed, you proceeded to run across the room and take a flying leap onto your bed, landing in the mess of pillows. You decided then and there that you could dread your new position another time, there were better things to do at the moment.

Should I get started with that ceiling enchantment? Maybe I should take a look around the palace and figure out where everything is. Then again, I did want to go through the Alchemy stores. Oh, I should send word back to the Tower, let them know that I arrived safely. What to do, what to do.

Ultimately, you decided to peruse the bookshelves. There were a few books that you would’ve liked to have had that weren’t there (you made note of their titles and planned to see if you could send for them) but, all things considered, the selection was rather impressive. Choosing some books for a bit of “light reading” (and by light reading, you meant a stack of books that was ONLY half your height) , you strode over to a table and began reading.

When the morning sun rose and the King came to introduce himself, he found you still sitting at the table, fast asleep, using an open book as a pillow, with a small, serene smile on your face.

#SHINee AU #SHINee imagines #SHINee scenarios #SHINee x reader #key x reader #SHINee #kibum #Royal Enchanter AU

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duhragonball · 5 years

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Dragon Ball Z 092

Last time, Goku reailized he was losing this fight, so he risked everything on a 20x Kaio-ken Kamehameha. If it worked, great, but if it failed, Goku would be completely exhausted and unable to continue fighting. Above is a side-by-side comparison of Frieza before and after the attack.

Yeah, it’s only one image because IT DIDN’T DO ANYTHING. Goku’s toast.

I think Goku had already decided that Frieza wasn’t bluffing about his true strength, but now there’s absolutely no question. Frieza’s been half-assing it this whole time, while Goku just went beyond his limits and came up short. He’ll only get weaker from here. There’s nothing more he can do.

Elsewhere, Bulma has recovered from getting blown away by Frieza’s power, and she’s caught Captain Ginyu, who got swept along with her. You know, I��ve often wondered if civilians in Dragon Ball are a lot stronger than real-world people. You’d assume that Bulma’s about as strong as a typical real-world woman of her height and build, because she’s not a fighter, so there’d be no reason for her to have any superhuman abilities. But I’m pretty sure if a real person went flying uncontrollably through the air like she did last episode, she wouldn’t have survived without injury.

I mean, this is presumably where she landed. It’s not exactly a pile of feathers or anything. Also, Captain Ginyu did some pretty athletic stuff while he was using her body. And maybe Bulma works out, but I doubt she’s doing like advanced gymnastics stuff just to stay in shape. What I’m suggesting is that if Bulma somehow traveled to our world, she could kick Brock Lesnar’s ass. She’d just slap him and he’d get a concussion or something.

While Goku and the others are demoralized by the failure of his last-ditch attack, Frieza tells a somewhat different story. He’s not that badly hurt. All that Kamehameha did was singe his hand. But it did hurt him, and that makes him upset.

And that fires him up. The idea that a mere Saiyan could do even that to him is infuriating, so he charges after Goku in a rage.

I’m not positive, but I think this is the first time Frieza calls a Saiyan “monkey” in the Japanese dub. Guldo said it first, back in Episode 62, and I think Jeice might have used the term as well, but I’m pretty sure we haven’t seen Frieza say it. I think the Funimation dub used the slur more often, which I guess fits in with how Linda Young played the character. Ryusei Nakao has a much more chilling performance in general. His Frieza makes polite chit-chat, then flips his shit. Young’s Frieza isn’t so subtle. Everything she says is tinged with an air of brutal menace, and a lot of her lines included cutting remarks and insensitive jokes at the good guys’ expense. There was always something really emasculating about her Frieza too. In one episode she calls Goku “big guy” in a really condescending way, and in another she mocks Ginyu for being hurt over not getting to do the dance of joy. I’m pretty sure she used the word “monkey” in almost every episode where Frieza mentioned Saiyans.

I’m not sure what to say about Chris Ayres, since I haven’t seen as much of his work. I feel like I saw some video about the Funimation dub of Kai, where Chris Sabat said they recast Frieza because Young couldn’t deliver the new lines at the pace they needed. That would make sense, because it feels like Ayres’ Frieza is constantly trying to fit in as many words as he can into a limited amount of time. Young might be fast enough to do that, but her performance always hinged on the timing, like she was soaking each word in as much contempt and spite as possible. Ayres’ Frieza is like “Oh I see you seem to be under the mistaken impression that I will let you live as it were but let me assure you that this is hardly the case as I have decided to murder you right here.” And it’s like I don’t think they needed that many words to get the thought across. He’s almost like a Big Green Dub character, only with better diction.

The point I guess I’m making is that Nakao’s Frieza developed over the course of the series. He started out being ultra-polite and unctuous, then he got snotty and irritated as things stopped going his way, and now he’s finally revealed his naked racism against Saiyans. Young, and perhaps Ayres, kind of did all of those things at once throughout their performances.

Make no mistake, Goku’s got nothing left in the tank. It would be bad enough that the 20x Kaio-ken didn’t get the job done, but on top of that, the Kaio-ken takes a heavy toll on the user. He’s worse off now than he was two episodes ago, when Frieza was beating the crap out of him.

For Frieza, this just proves that he was right to kill all the Saiyans, since all they’re good at is fighting, and they’re too stubborn to be made to do anything else. Goku and Vegeta insisted on fighting Frieza, even knowing how difficult it would be. He doesn’t admire their tenacity; he just views it as self-destructive.

Then Goku starts hearing Vegeta talking to him. At first, he asks him to team up with him, as if he forgot that Vegeta’s already dead.

Then he sees him in some sort of vision.

Years ago, I found an audio recording of Vegeta’s speech in this scene, and I used to put it on playlists and listen to it on long car rides. I’m gonna try to do the dub version from memory.

Vegeta: Kakarot, listen to me! Is that all the power you have? Where’s your Saiyan pride?

Goku: But... I never was a Saiyan!

Vegeta: What are you talking about? You can’t deny your heritage!”

Goku: Vegeta... right now it doesn’t matter what I am. Forget about it.”

Vegeta: We both know you have Saiyan blood running through your veins! [audio cut out for some reason] --pain, but there is one thing you must never forget: It was Frieza who destroyed our birthplace, the Planet Vegeta. There’s no one left except for your.

Goku: The... the pride... of my people!”

Vegeta: Think back, Kakarot. Remember your father.... my father.”

Bardock: My... son... lives... on!

King Vegeta: Ooohhhh... (dies)

Vegeta: So while you may deny who you are, you are the very last hope for a lost race of brave warriors. Ask yourself this: Why does Frieza want you destroyed so badly? He’s afraid a Super Saiyan will rise up! Fight him for the entire Saiyan race! Destroy him, for you have the power within you! Now go, Kakarot. It is time!

Eh, close enough, I think.

Anyway, Vegeta’s butt-ass nekkid the whole time he says all this. Also he has his tail, so that’s a thing.

Now, you might be wondering what Frieza’s doing while Goku’s having this conversation. Turns out he’s still intent on dragging this out. I’m pretty sure Frieza is just waiting for Goku to completely shut down, the same way Vegeta did before Frieza finally killed him. Also, I’ve begun to notice that this is Frieza’s big weakness. Before I said it was laziness or complacency, and there’s some truth to that, but now that I’m watching him fight, I see that when you piss him off, he actually slows down more. Frieza announced that he was going to kill Goku and end the fight like two episodes back. Instead, Goku singed his hand. You’d thin that would compel Frieza to hurry this along, but instead it had the opposite effect. He’s actually giving Goku more time, because he’s convinced that Goku has no more surprises in store, and he wants to punish him even more than he did before.

Yeah, he keeps saying stuff like this, but he never follows through.

Meanwhile, on King Kai’s planet, there’s some commotion going on inside King Kai’s house.

Someone took out Bubbles and Gregory.

And it turns out to be the dead guys from the Ginyu Force. If there was a college textbook on anime filler, this shot would probably be on the cover. But we’ll talk about the Ginyu Force on King Kai’s Planet later.

Back on Namek, Goku has raised his hands in the air like he just doesn’t care. Frieza is bewildered. He figures Goku must be up to something, but he has no idea what, since he’s so weak right now.

But Krillin calls it right away. It’s the Spirit Bomb, the same technique King Kai taught Goku to use against the Saiyans. Of course, Piccolo wasn’t around for that, so Krillin has to explain it to him. This irks Piccolo, because he just came from King Kai’s place, and King Kai never even mentioned a technique like this. To be fair, Piccolo was only there for less than a week, and he wasn’t exactly cooperative.

Now you might be wondering why Goku didn’t try something like this a long time ago. Well there’s a number of drawbacks to the Spirit Bomb:

1) It takes a long time to prepare, and Goku’s defenseless the whole time.

2) If Frieza notices what he’s up to, he’ll just dodge it, or kill Goku before he can deploy it.

3) The Spirit Bomb is pretty dangerous. King Kai warned Goku not to use it in broad daylight, because the energy from the sun would make it too powerful. Namek has three suns, and Goku doesn’t think that’ll be enough, so he’s gotta borrow energy from other planets in the vicinity. In other words, Goku might end up making an attack so powerful that he ends up destroying the planet along with Frieza.

These aren’t hypothetical issues either. The first time Goku used the Spirit Bomb in combat, it was against Vegeta in his great ape form. Vegeta attacked him before he was ready, then he attacked him before he could launch it. Then he had to turn the residual power over to Krillin, and Vegeta dodged it. Then Gohan bounced it back at Vegeta, and it didn’t work. Vegeta took the Spirit Bomb and survived. You know what finally did kill Vegeta? Frieza.

I can’t stress this point enough. The Spirit Bomb is an incredibly terrible idea in this situation. I’m pretty sure the main reason Goku trained at 100 times gravity on the way here was so that he would never need to rely on the Spirit Bomb ever again. Enemies like Vegeta were just too fast and powerful to take the time to make one of these things. It’s easy for us to think “well, he can just make a bigger one!” but it only amplifies the weaknesses in the technique. A bigger Spirit Bomb just takes that much longer to build, and it becomes that much harder to control.

But Goku’s doing this anyway, because it’s literally all he has left. His own power has failed him, and the one great advantage of the Spirit Bomb is that Goku can borrow energy from other sources. Even i he does destroy Namek, it’ll be worth it to rid the universe of Frieza.

As for Frieza, he’s just standing there watching this. I never understood why he waited so patiently here, but I finally realized that it’s his curiosity getting the better of him. He genuinely wants to know what Goku’s trying to do, and he figures Goku’s already beaten, so he can afford to wait. From a sadistic standpoint, I’m sure he wants to wait for Goku to execute his plan, just so that Frieza can prevail one more time and humiliate Goku further.

Ironically, if Frieza could just sense ki energy like the Z-Fighters, he’d know exactly what Goku was up to. Krillin spots the bomb almost immediately. I’m not sure why it’s so high in the air like this. Before, Goku would absorb the energy into his own body and form the bomb from his hand. This time, he’s using energy from multiple stars and planets, so maybe it’s easier to converge it all above him. Or maybe he’s purposely doing it this way to hide the bomb from Frieza. He’d have to look straight up to see the thing, and he has no idea that he’d even need to.

Here’s a couple of shots from the other planets Goku is drawing energy from. I really enjoy these for some reason. These alien creatures seem to have Namekian style antennae, which I think is a nice touch, assuming these are worlds in the Namek solar system.

#dragon ball #2019dbliveblog #frieza saga #goku #frieza #vegeta #king vegeta #bardock #piccolo #gohan #krillin #bulma #captain ginyu #recoome #burter #jeice #guldo #king kai #yamcha #chiaotzu #tien

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phoebus-de-chateaupers-blog · 6 years

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The Winter’s Ball ... [Duchebus]

In which Duchess and Phoebus attend the Order’s Winter Ball in London. [takes place: December 29th]

@the-duchess-lablanc

[tw -- phoebus being phoebus which means like objectification and plotting murder,,]

PHOEBUS: Ah, the Winter’s Ball.

The tradition. The glam. The frivolity.

It was everything that the Order of the Prince wanted to emulate.

Phoebus normally found it dreadfully boring. Sure, he liked a good party, but he knew these were the types of events where even he had to be on his best behavior. When he’d been younger, he’d tripped over himself like an overgrown pup, excited to meet all the pretty girls and feel them up in corridors...erm, dance with them…

Anyway, as he had gotten older, everyone had paired off and it had led to a rather boring procession. Of course, he danced with his mother and his sister and his little niece. Occasionally, he managed a dance with Olivia. (That was always the highlight of the night.)

But now, he was here with Duchess on his arm. Who looked more beautiful than any of the Order women. Was smarter too. Independent. And looked absolutely gorgeous in her dress, which he was sure would be the talk of the ball, if they weren’t the talk of the ball themselves.

See, you weren’t supposed to bring someone who wasn’t your betrothed with you to one of these, if they were outside the Order. Phoebus didn’t really care. He trusted Duchess and that was all that mattered to him. Also...he hadn’t exactly told his family. Which was going to be hilarious, for they were going to have to just grin and bare it. It would be unseemly to yell at their only adult son, the only remaining male heir of age, in front of the whole Order.

They stood outside of the Guild Hall doors now, people sweeping in and out around them. Though located in the theatre district of London, no one paid them a passing glance in their formal wear. Hiding in plain sight, as the Order was wont to do.

Phoebus turned to Duchess before entering and smiled lightly at her. “Are you ready? I’ve got to find my mother first and say hello. Tradition,” he explained with a little roll of his eyes.

DUCHESS: She had been surprised when Phoebus had invited her to the Winter’s Ball. There was still so little she knew about the Order of the Prince. Just what Phoebus had told her. She’d tried to do her own research but there hadn’t been much. Just stories that changed and twisted and contradicted with every other source. It was infuriating.

Added to that the new status of her and Phoebus’ relationship and it was very safe to say that the normally very well put together designer was in a state of panic. Not that that could be seen if you looked at her. As usual she was a picture of confidence. Inside, her mind was a tornado of thought. So many questions that she felt she couldn’t ask, situations that could happen, and what if’s twirled around mind. Sooner or later it would quiet down; more than likely once they were in the midst of mingling and more in her element.

She watched as people milled about, amazed how not one single passerby stopped to question the people standing around in such attire. Her own dress, while simple and understated, was not one that would be seen just out on the streets of London; even if they were in the theatre district.

Phoebus easily and quickly brought her out of her thoughts, his voice causing her gaze to return to him. His mother. Duchess had not yet gotten that far in her spiralling thought process but now that it was there she couldn’t help the way her stomach clenched. Very rarely had she ever had to meet parents as a significant other. Most of her relationships either fizzled before that point or she already knew the parents.

“Who am I to argue tradition,” she returned his smile easily. “Shall we?”

PHOEBUS: This was a very big deal.

Which meant that Phoebus was acting like it was not a big deal at all. In fact, he didn’t think it was, not really. The Order was who made it into a big deal. They were the ones with the rules that said so. Phoebus just happened to...follow those rules. Which was why he thought the same way. He had never done this before. Taken someone to meet his parents. Well, when he had been younger and a rapscallion, he had brought girls to these events just to be scandalous.

He had never done it seriously.

But, here they were.

It was a good thing if Duchess was nervous that she was doing a good job masking it. Her nerves would certainly make his own worse. She was calm, however, and it calmed him.

“We shall,” he said, offering his elbow to her before stepping forwards into the building that had been owned by the Order for generations.

It opened into a hallway, people mingling, but Phoebus ignored them--heading right for the ballroom at the end of the hall. He knew that his mother would be more likely to be mingling inside, as she always arrived to these events promptly. Unlike him.

“That is the King of the Order. Not a real king. Title only. This year is the melee to change the family. I will be fighting for my family and I have a very good feeling about it,” he murmured to her as they walked, his eyes still scanning the crowd.

“Ah! My little far-darter,” came a cooing voice and Phoebus turned just before his mother reached up to tug him down by the shirt and kiss both of his cheeks. “And who is this, you rascal?” His mother said, pushing him away and zeroing in on Duchess. “Could it be that LaBlanc woman I’ve heard so much about?” Her expression was assessing, but not negative nor positive.

“Duchess, meet my mother--Lady Sorcha de Chateaupers. Mother, this is Duchess. My date.”

DUCHESS: This was a daunting feat that left Duchess feeling so out of her depth. While she was known to be charming and alluring, it was all a facade for the public. A way to keep her life as private as possible. But this was her private life. She was very much smitten with Phoebus and after the rather frank discussion about his dalliances with other women, she was sure he felt completely the same. Being allowed to see this part of his life, to actively participate in it, was surreal and terrifying. Too far out of the unknown.

She took his arm without pause, gliding along beside him. Inside the building she could see the heads turn towards them, hear the whispers. This must be as new to them as it was to her. At least she was making an entrance. Her head was held a bit higher, her gaze staying ahead of them. It only faltered when Phoebus pointed out the ‘King’ of the Order and even then she assessed the man quickly before turning back to look at Phoebus. “Winning would make you king, non?” She asked with a raised brow. The term sounded almost silly on her tongue. Though she couldn’t deny that Phoebus already held a somewhat regal air that would allow that title to fit him quite nicely. (And if there was a part of her that wondered if that would make her Queen, she didn’t speak of it. Simply squashed it down with the other questions she had.)

In what felt like no time at all, they were approached and as Duchess had turned to admire the great ballroom she couldn’t help but feel a small chill. There was absolutely no turning back now.

A small smile tucked itself into the corner of her lips as his mother greeted him. For the briefest of moments she wished her family was the same, but just like her previous thoughts it was whisked away to the farthest reaches of her mind. All too quickly, however, the attention was turned to her.

Duchess knew the look the woman wore well. She was being appraised much like she had done to various runway shows before. To be the object of that appraisal was nerve wracking. Her heart beat out a staccato sort of sound in her chest, rattling her rib cage as she held her breath. Said breath wasn’t released until her name fell from Phoebus’ lips.

“A pleasure, Lady Sorcha,” Duchess bowed her head towards the woman, her nerves skillfully hidden away. Mothers were like predators. They could smell fear and Duchess refused to give that to the woman. “I do hope all you have heard has been good things.”

PHOEBUS: Well, she’d used his mother’s title. That was sure to earn her some points. Though, Phoebus had a feeling his mother was simply putting on a show. She had been wanting him to settle down for a very long time now. And with someone as beautiful and accomplished as Duchess? With so many connections and influence?

She really was the complete package, and his mother should know that.

Still, Phoebus reached over to give Duchess’ hand in the crook of his elbow a little squeeze, though to the outside it would look as if Phoebus was simply resting it there.

“Oh, of course, my dear. I don’t know what there would be bad to say!” His mother smiled then, looking much more warm. “We will have lots to talk about, I’m a bit of an artist myself.”

“Duchess is also a businesswoman, mother,” interjected Phoebus.

“Ach, I know. Beauty and brains? I wouldn’t have any less for my Phoebus. I don’t think he’d have any less for himself, though the last girl he’d brought was a bimbo if she was anything.”

“Mother, that was eight years ago,” Phoebus protested, his cheeks coloring a bit.

“Well, you shouldn’t have brought her at all.” She sniffed and her expression turned a little harder towards Duchess. “I am sure this one has a proper head on her shoulders, though, don’t you, my dear?”

DUCHESS: Phoebus’ mother turned to her fully and Duchess would have wilted under that assessing gaze if she were a lesser woman. As it was, she didn’t feel the need to. Instead met it with a smile of her own as she gave a soft laugh. It was a quiet relief that the woman had not heard bad things about her. After all, the rumor mill was always churning against her. Tabloids trying to do anything they could to dig up dirt on the elusive Duchess LaBlanc.

Still, she was grateful for Phoebus’ gentle touch.

“Oui,” she spoke quickly, interest painting it’s way onto her words. She hadn’t known that his mother had an interest in art. In fact there was not much that she knew about his mother. Nothing at all could have prepared her for this meeting. Something she would have to chide Phoebus about later in private. “Do you paint?” She found herself asking, wanting to know more about her. The Order was still a confusing thing to her. It’s purpose was clear but the role of each member was still something unknown to her. Were the women of the Order simply there for decoration? Or was there more to it? She had a feeling that if she was able to please Lady Sorcha she would have a better in on everything to do with The Order.

As Lady Sorcha continued, Duchess couldn’t help but chuckle oh so softly.

“I can assure you, I am no bimbo.” Duchess sobered quickly as that harsh gaze was once again turned towards her. The fact that she needed to assert that was almost an insult. Duchess kept her remark to herself only because she knew that his mother was feeling her out. “And I do not mean to brag but if my business is anything to go by, I can also assure you that I have quite the head on my shoulders. Good enough to keep Phoebus in line, should he need it. Though, I can safely say that he has been nothing but a perfect gentleman since I’ve known him.”

PHOEBUS: “Of course he has been.” Sorcha reached out to pat her son’s chest fondly. “But, I’m sure you could handle him otherwise,” she added, giving Duchess an appraising glance.

“I’m standing right here,” Phoebus said with a little huff--if only to make his mother chuckle at him.

His father appeared through the crowd just then, weaving his way towards his wife and son--whom he had not seen in several months.

“Phoebus!” his father greeted in a gruff voice, reaching out to shake his son’s hand. “And who might this lovely woman be? Surely not our Phoebus’ date!” It was said jovially but Phoebus heard the words beneath: that better not be Phoebus’ date.

“Silas, stop it. This is Duchess LaBlanc,” Sorcha introduced, “Duchess--this is my husband, Silas.”

“A pleasure.” Silas’ blue eyes twinkled but Phoebus knew better. There was a calculation to his gaze. Not that Phoebus cared, he would be with Duchess either way, because that was the kind of person Phoebus was. He didn’t care to listen to an old man’s opinions about who he should or should not be with. The Order had always been stifling that way. Phoebus agreed with their mission, but he did not agree with their traditions.

“And how are you finding our little gathering, then?” Phoebus’ father asked, but Phoebus knew what he was really asking: how do you feel about the Order?

DUCHESS: For a moment, as Phoebus’ father approached, Duchess was speechless. The man was, in a word, handsome. Of course it went much deeper than that. There was something about his presence. It demanded to be noticed, commanded Duchess’ attention even as she hung off of his son’s arm. Maybe that was what Phoebus would look like when he was older. The hair that he’d clearly gotten from his mother would turn a lovely shade of white and he’d grow some black in there for that lovely salt and pepper look. He’d be so dashing; even more dashing than he was at the moment.

Not long after he announced his presence, Sorcha introduced her to him and Duchess had the good sense to at least incline her head at him as she offered a kind smile. “It’s lovely to meet you, Silas.” Even his name felt handsome rolling of her tongue. Rich and decadent. And she only hoped that she could make as good an impression on him as she did with Lady Sorcha.

His question caught her off guard just a bit. If anyone were to ask that question, Duchess thought it would be his mother. After all, it was a question Duchess would have asked because that sort of thing was important to her. What people thought of her events often reflected what they thought of her and— oh. There it was. The secret question hidden within the other question.

“Well,” she started slowly as she looked around at the people that were beginning to mill about more. “From what I have seen this is all very lovely. While the events in Swynlake are nice. It’s more satisfying to be in a more familiar space.” She gave him a smile as she leaned into Phoebus just slightly. “This is the type of soirée I would prefer to associate myself with.”

PHOEBUS: Silas chuckled heartily at Duchess’ answer, his eyes twinkling.

“Yes, well, you fit in wonderfully, my darling,” Silas complimented, his eyes trailing up and down Duchess’ frame.

“Silas,” Sorcha said with a smile of her own, leaning in to take his elbow. “Let’s leave the children alone to have their fun.”

“Yes, dear.” Silas smiled at his wife, touching her cheek for a moment before turning back to Phoebus and Duchess. “Have a good time. Duchess, I hope we will be seeing more of you in the future. Phoebus needs a woman like you to keep him in order.”

Phoebus rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Good-bye, Da.”

With another chuckle, Phoebus’ parents moved off. They were still getting curious glances from other members of the Order, though Phoebus knew that a few of them were jealous women--Phoebus now taken and Duchess looking ever so beautiful He put a hand on the small of her back. “Well, that went much better than last time. Not that I am surprised.”

And he wasn’t. Before, Phoebus had been trying to get under his father’s skin. Show him that if he did not think him better than Clemens, then Phoebus really would be the worst son imaginable. Now that Clemens was gone, Phoebus was trying to temper his ways. Also, he did find this life suited Duchess. He wanted to shower her in gifts of jewels and smithery. She would look beautiful against the wild sea of Denmark, where he hoped they could make a home.

“Would you like to dance, my love? Show off that beautiful dress of yours?”

DUCHESS: Duchess caught the look that Silas gave her but she ignored it purely in favor of basking in his approval. It had seemed that she had gained the approval of both of his parents and it was a good feeling. One that made her feel light and airy; giddy even. “Thank you, Silas,” she smiled at him, nodding her head at him. “I hope to come to more of these. They are certainly enjoyable.”

And it was all true. So far from what she had seen Duchess was very much enjoying herself. The Order was not some stuffy institution to be trapped in. From what she had seen it was a place where like minded people could come together and celebrate beautiful things, all while making the world they lived in a safer place. It was a place she would be able to find her place in easily.

She was stuck in her thoughts, watching as people danced and mingled and interacted. So much so that when Phoebus addressed her again she nearly startled. Instead, though, she turned towards him with somewhat of a smirk on her lips. Oh did she love the chance to show off. And from the looks she had garnered from some of the women (and their counterparts) there was already some jealousy in the room.

“Mmm, maybe show off the woman on your arm. Have I snagged the most eligible bachelor?” She smirked as they moved towards the dance floor.

PHOEBUS: Phoebus hoped that Duchess could attend more of these as well. His mind spun with all the possibilities. It spooled out a thread--

One day, soon, Phoebus as King, Duchess by his side.

A year from now, perhaps, a wedding (the Order had very specific courtship rituals and whilst Phoebus had never been interested in marrying within the Order (besides one), he would want to honor those rituals.)

A year after that, a baby. A boy first, and then a girl--and after that, as many as Duchess would want. He had always wanted a big family. Duchess would be a wonderful mother and they would raise strong sons who would keep their seat as King for longer than any family that had come before him.

Years from now, he and Duchess would retire by the seaside--their children grown, the castle theirs. Duchess would still do her fashion. Phoebus would write his demon encyclopedia for young hunters.

It would be a good life.

But first, a dance.

Phoebus pulled Duchess onto the dance floor and spun her once. “Perhaps, but it doesn’t matter, because I found a woman smarter and more beautiful than any of them could ever hope to be.”

#bdrpduchess #duchebus #the winter's ball #otp: monsters need love too #my OTP #not really #kind of #i mean i love them #but HSOULD they be together

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janeykath318 · 7 years

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The Trials Of Being A Bodyguard 2

#my fics #mckirk #genderswap #royalty au

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blindrapture · 7 years

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After the break, the remainder of this post will be Andrew Hussie’s newspost from 11/08/14. In it, he goes pretty in-depth about the symbolism and intent of Homestuck’s GAME OVER flash. I wanted to share this because it’s one of the most concise examples I can think of that stresses why I still think he’s goddamn lovely. It also contains his own rather clear declaration that he prefers Death Of The Author over Word Of God (”Now, since they can no longer depend on answers which I supply between horse jokes and snappy retorts, they are lost in the woods to fend for themselves against the wolves of dubious fanalysis.“), a sentiment which echoes darkly through the fandom these days. You could argue he pretty much spends most of the newspost trying to explain how to read the ending to come. And plus I can say this is a #ThrowbackFrihorse thing, even though it’s nowhere near Friday.

Spoilers ahead, those of you who have not yet finished reading Homestuck.

Andrew: There comes a time in every young Homestuck's life when they must face the fact that a notable comic author has swindled them into getting on a bus labeled "cool updates", only to swerve said bus off the highway and into a precipitous gulch of unmitigated sadstuck. But the old wives tale says that sadstuck was just a thing that happened in our fanfics, the bus children wailed. That's what they said about the tricksters too, a veteran child in the back replied. They said the tricksters would never see the light of canon, but where are the doubters now? Where are they now. Propping up six feet of dirt is where. The veteran child is weirding everybody out, so they stop looking at him, and turn to the driver. But the driver is now a spooky skeleton and the kids lose their shit. The skeleton head does a creepy 180, and speaks his scary curse. Heed me bus youths, for I am the ghost of future sadstuck. I have traveled back in time and am on a bus for some reason I guess, to punish you for your maudlin fics. For every time you murmured sadstuck while having a feeling, for every fic you pastebinned by candlelight, my curse has grown stronger, and my legend, dumber. Then the skeleton ran out of stuff to say, and looking a little embarrassed, turned around again to keep driving. Then he screamed once he remembered the bus was falling. Thanks for listening to my short story. We like to have a good time here at MS Paint Adventures, The Website. The gigaplay is off to a rocky start of unhewn feels. If your kerchief has become too soggy with tears from emotion, skeleton terror, or just plain admiration for my skill as a short story writer (can't blame you there), and you wish to lighten the mood, I recommend moseying over to Paradox Space, which is currently running a 24 page comic I have written about Crowbar. I am alert to the desires of readers every single day, and the one thing I hear them clamor for above all else, is more stories about CROWBAR. We want more content about Crowbar, RIGHT NOW, they say, and make that content consist of 24 beautifully illustrated comic pages, MINIMUM. I just give the people what they want. Fortunately, Homestuck's Premier Felt Fan #1 Jones was available to do a spectacular job of illustrating this comic. My rambling noir-style monologues have never before overlapped such lovely artwork. GOD TIER TALK! I don't answer Q's about Homestuck much anymore. It was a practice which I think used to be some people's lifeline for decoding the enigmatic runes of this story. Now, since they can no longer depend on answers which I supply between horse jokes and snappy retorts, they are lost in the woods to fend for themselves against the wolves of dubious fanalysis. Pulling the ripcord on the Homestuck machine again, combined with recent story events, makes me think something FAQQY may be in order. The thing is, when you make a big story, and allude to rules for a complicated system dictating mortality, people tend to REALLY, REALLY want to understand how it works. Speculation naturally fills the vacuum in lieu of concrete data. Theories are crafted. Headcanons, congealed. Then, when additional data is presented (DEAD KIDS), which happen to chafe with fanon constructs, feelings run ragged, and Bullshit is called. Then Bullshit shows up, and says, you rang? And the fanonistas say, yes Bullshit. Look at this mess. LOOK at it. This in NO WAY jives with my views on what constitutes heroism and justice. Bullshit nods sagely while lighting its pipe. Earlier in HS when god tier folk were more scarce, the story was more cagey about these verdicts. The Vriska ruling was presented as a close call, which maybe could have gone either way. Then Slick smacked the clock to Just before it could settle, leaving the true verdict ambiguous, and the 'moral debate' intact, so to speak. But now that there are a lot of god tiers running around, with the stakes raised and the body count piling up, the game (or, story) is starting to be more liberal with its rulings. As in, more likely to come down hard on Just, Heroic, or Neither verdicts without intervention or obfuscation, helping us better understand the boundaries of heroic and just action through example. Not necessarily by moral definitions, but as dictated by the rules of a game. So that turns the story guy (sometimes known as an "author") into something like a ref at a basketball game. He blows the whistle when he sees the basketball guy (the "baller") take a half step without bouncing the ball. The home team crowd does not detect the subtle violation and goes boooooo! Those homers can boo all they want, but you know, the guy is really just some bozo with a whistle. The rules are the rules! There's reason to think there is a nuanced scale ranging from Heroic to Just inside the clock. There may be many shades of justice and heroism, some forms just barely qualifying to seal one's fate. But there's nothing nuanced about Alive vs. Dead. The result of a coin flip is absolute, even though there may be many subtle factors contributing to which side it lands on. Such as whether the coin is pure of heart, and whether the table it lands on has ever killed a man. You get a sense for the nuance of the judgment when it comes to these "close calls", like with Vriska, or more recently, with Jade. In her case, she was subject to mind control when she racked up her misdeeds, which ordinarily would probably exempt her. But it wasn't ordinary mind control. More like flipping an "evil switch", removing her ethical filter, thereby letting he personality come through, and giving her license to act on impulses which she'd ordinarily suppress. So this gives the clock something to work with. Still, her behavior is compromised, so it's by no means a slam dunk. (BASKET BALL! that is still the metaphor.) So it's very close, and perhaps the clock even spares her... except for Aranea, whose luck lets close calls break in her favor, and nudges that needle one hair to the Just side. Very unlikely that happens if it's not close already though. Jane's situation is basically the same, and so is her verdict. How about Jake? He's the only player who's had two rulings. The first time, he was blustering Ronald Reagan quotes at the top of his lungs when Jane forked him, which I think we may agree safely disqualifies him from heroism (though the Republican party may disagree). The second time was ruled Heroic, when he took a realmaginary ninja sword through the chest for a friend. This corresponds pretty closely with most people's definition of heroic, so I doubt anyone would consider this one controversial either. Dave? Probably not much to debate here either. Fighting while attempting to save a dead friend, to bring her back to Jane for resurrection. There's a moral element here, tied to common ideas of heroism, so there's not much in dispute. When factors stray somewhat from moral notions of heroism, that's when there is more fuel for debate. So what about Rose? Wasn't John killed by Jack under similar circumstances to how Rose died? So why did he survive, and Rose didn't? The circumstances were very similar, on the surface. But I would suggest that the similarity of the two situations, both leading to different outcomes, helps clarify the rules in play, not confuse them. The reason for this? SCIENCE. If you were a scientist in this fictional world, trying to test this fictional construct, these are the exact kinds of situations you would seek out to prove or disprove whatever hypothesis you had. Situations that are very similar, with most factors isolated, and varying only in minor and controlled ways. That's how you would start to understand where the line is between heroic and non-heroic conduct. So what varies between the situations? What line does Rose cross which John doesn't? It becomes pretty obvious if you break the two scenes down. John was standing there, poised for battle with Jack, for all of two seconds before Jack auto-stabbed him from behind. Not even to speak of the underhanded tactic by the villain, I think what's more important is John didn't even get a chance to move. Or specifically, to prove through action that he was prepared to do battle with a foe. In fact, hindsight may tell us he wasn't. He hadn't been through much then. But years later, when he reenacted that scene with Jack through a dream bubble, he was ready that time. He had years to think about that moment, to reflect on the damage caused by Jack, and what he might have done differently if he'd been more prepared, and if the battle wasn't cut short. But during the first encounter, there was no time for heroic intent to translate into action. Compare with Rose's situation. Her feelings are unambiguous. Her mind is made up, and committed to action in the form of forward motion. Sorry Rose, you took a few too many steps through the paint on your drive to the hoop. Gotta blow the whistle! The two similar situations illustrate where one of the lines are for heroism (as a game rule, not moralistically), and in this case, that line is action. It would seem it's not good enough just to have heroic intentions or bold feelings. It doesn't cut it to strike a pose and look cool for two seconds. The intent should be expressed through commitment to an action. The action is what proves the intent. For all we know, John wasn't ready to back up his posture. For all we know, he was terrified! Rose wasn't though. Her action proved it. Why does Rose lashing out in vengeance count as heroic? If you wanted my personal opinion on heroism, I would say a vengeful act is not heroic by itself. We all have our ideas on what heroism means. But I think this is the wrong question to ask. The concern here is less about the moral definition of a heroic act, and more about how heroism is defined in terms of a series of rules which a game system can enforce. Based on some evidence we have, and some things Doc once said about god tier immortality, it's pretty safe to make at least one generalization about heroism as a game construct. The game/story regards your behavior as Heroic if you make some effort to defeat or kill someone who is villainous (or in other words, someone worthy of a Just death). The state of the hero's mind is just an additional consideration, such as whether they happen to be motivated by anger or vengeance. But let's imagine for a moment that a vengeful act is automatically unworthy of heroism, even if directed against a great evil. Wouldn't this be a MAJOR loophole for god tiers to avoid dying heroic deaths? It would mean to qualify as a hero, you couldn't feel anger toward a villain who has almost certainly done something to provoke anger. If a hero ever experienced loss at the hands of a villain, their natural emotional state would exempt them from the heroic consequence of the actions resulting from that anger. They would be completely invulnerable to a villain, so long as they maintained a grudge! The thing with villains is, they tend to have a way of inflicting loss on others. If being wronged precluded heroic behavior, villains would suddenly discover heroes to be incredibly rare commodities. There's a lot to think about here. It's a combination of how you want to morally define heroism and justice, and how to pragmatically construct enforceable rules to that effect. The latter is something that can get very technical, and boil down to hairline actions such as whether one exhibits clear enough forward motion or such, roughly the way sports are officiated. There's no way I'll ever come up with a full list of rules, or even get much deeper into the rules than I have here. But I believe this is a rational outline for the way the subject may be examined, if you wish to do so!!!

#fucking incredible #throwbackfrihorse #homestuck #mspa #spoilers

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