#it just reeks of a lack of care and so much laziness. like trying to plan a date w someone and they shrug and go well uh I guess there’s mcd

[kokonoisgf]

Falling - Gojo Satoru x Reader

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!!! MINORS DNI !!! 18+ content ahead

+ this kinda really flopped on ao3, so I’ll repost it here hehe. I wrote this a while back but i’m still super proud of it!! I hope you guys like it too <3

+ explicit sexual content, fem reader, porn w plot <3

+ too lazy to proofread- 

+ w.c : 8.2k

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The music blared, drowning you in what seemed like a never-ending playlist of pop music. Mass of sweaty bodies mingled on the dance floor, while you relaxed at the bar, sipping on your heavily alcoholic cocktail. Lights flashed alternating between different shades of fuchsia, blue, green, and violet to the beat of the song. Your face felt warm, feeling bubbly in the pit of your stomach, gaze darting toward your friends having a blast on the dance floor with strangers. You grinned, leaning your head in the palm of your hand, planning to go join them once you'd be done with your drink. Your black bodycon dress rilled up your thighs, exposing the sweet delicate skin of your slender legs, which, unbeknownst to you, had men's ogling you left and right. A specific group of 3 men's had their eyes on you by the entrance, snickering. Their gaze held something malicious, but you were too tipsy to take notice of that or even care. You got cut out of your little trance by your friends coming back to you, smelling of a mix of alcohol and perfume. "We'll be heading back now Y/N" "Aw really? I was about to join you" You fake pouted, not really minding as you'd just go binge watch some of your favorite shows at home instead. Taking your hands, their heavily drunk self dragged you outside, all beaming and laughing. A couple of men's followed suit, you paid it no mind knowing that your friends were most likely taking them home. You made them promise to call you, and share their location on their phones as they exited in their respective cabs kissing your cheeks goodbye, their partner for the night following. you wrapped your black fur coat around yourself tighter, taking your phone off to dial a cab for yourself. You felt stares drill a hole into your body, the coat tightly wrapped around yourself only highlighting your delicious curves. As you were composing the cab's phone number you got rudely interrupted by someone snatching your phone away. Yelping, it took you a second to realize what was going on, your drunkness still hitting you with full force. In front of you stood three men, the one in the middle holding your pink cellphone between his digits. Their faces were disgusting, looking at you like you were nothing but prey on their list. Eyes glossy most likely from their alcohol intake, they reeked of cheap cologne and sweats. "Leaving alone tonight sweetheart?" one purred in a sultry voice, you backed away crossing your arms over your chest defensively. The alcohol in your system gave you a confidence you never knew you possessed "Give me back my phone, now." The males snickered, as the middle one shook his head dropping it in his pockets. "Not with that attitude, anyways what're you going to do about it-" he paused, stepping forward, desperately trying to close the distance between you two. You gasped, taking another step back almost falling, your vision was blurry, your senses weakened. You mentally cursed for going so heavily on the drinking, feeling yourself wobble. A shiver racing up your spine, the sudden gust of wind hit you, not to mention the snowflakes falling on your face and bare legs. "Leave me alone!" You faltered, eyes darting for anyone that could be of help, but everyone seemed in a daze too engrossed with the muffled music, or busy making out with a stranger. "Hey honey, are those creeps bothering you?" The sweetest voice resonated throughout your ears, feeling your back lend against something warm. A hand snaked around your waist pulling you closer to their protective figure, making sure that you were stable. "H-Huh--" You stuttered, blinking in confusion, looking up at the person behind you. He was tall, really tall, with locks the same color as snowflakes, a bandana covering his eyes. He wore a jean jacket over a dark top, with beige pants. It didn't take you more than one glance to notice that he was really handsome. Your eyes lingered a bit on the bandana, wondering if he possibly was blind, before grasping a hold of the situation. "Y-Yes they are" playing your part, you snuggled closer into his chest, relishing in the warmth he provided. Your voice was low, glaring daggers at the men's, holding unto your savior for dear life. His digit slowly caressed your arm, until he interlocked fingers with yours, walking up to the guys. His aura was intimidating, leaning down to be at eye level with them. You gulped down, he must have been 6' tall at least or something. "Now then, I'd like to have my girlfriend's phone back now" He grinned, extending his free hand, palm open. The large hand holding yours gave a light squeeze, seeming to thank you for your cooperation. Suddenly, as the trio carefully analyzed who was standing in front of them, their faces paled, all color draining leaving them as white as your savior's locks. Tilting your head to the side, you couldn't help but wonder if he was somehow known around here. "W-Wait Is that-" "Uh- Yes it's-" The trio almost started shaking like leaves, quickly handing back the phone. It wasn't long until they were out of sight, running inside the club, mingling back into the crowd. You beamed, as he turned back to you, towering above your small frame handing you back your belonging. You thanked him, letting your gaze linger on his face. His nose and tip of his ears were slightly pinkish due to the snow falling, his lips rosy-tinted. You couldn't help but stare in a daze, still wondering if he was blind. Your eyes scanned his surroundings for any signs of a cane or something, but none to avail. Nonetheless, your tipsy brain concluded, without any proof, that the man indeed lacked sight. Taking your sweet time to scan his face and gorgeous locks, you couldn't help but blush, he really was extremely good looking there was no denying it. "You know, you're actually pretty cute staring at me like that." A grin plastered against his lips, he tilted his head to the side, chuckling. You yelped, covering your mouth with the back of your free hand. "W-Wait you're not blind-" If that was even possible, his grin widened, "Luckily for me I'm not" he paused, giving another squeeze to your interlocked hands, reminding you that you were still holding hand with a complete stranger you'd met a mere 5 minutes ago. You couldn't help but gasp again, sweet melodic sounds escaping your lips. His thumb rubbed soothing circles on your cold skin, leaning down, now at eye level with you, "You see, I'm glad I still have perfect vision to admire the sight in front of me right now" Your blush deepened, looking off to the side, trying to save your pride as much as you could. His words were swooning you way more than they should, was it the alcohol? or was it this mysterious aspect of him? But most importantly, how silly were you to even assume that he was blind after he just helped you, ugh curse your foolish little brain. You blamed it on his handsome features, must have gotten you distracted or something. "Smooth talker aren't you" you grimaced at him, cheeks reddish for being so fervently exposed to checking him out blatantly. You started to let go of his hand, even if you clearly didn't want to. Something about him entranced you, making you want to know more about him, even if he was just a mere stranger. "I was fine with holding hand, but if you insist" He teased in a sing-song voice, taking notice in the way you held your coat so closely to your frame. Shivers racked through your body, never imagining that you'd been waiting outside for so long, your outfit clearly not appropriate for this icy weather. "Here," You blinked, eyes glued to the man offering you his dark jean jacket. It was clearly oversized for you, yet you could smell his cologne and it enticed you to accept it. Snowflakes started falling on his broad shoulder, reflecting the light from the club's neon signs. "But, you'll be cold, '' you muttered, trying to put up a fight, knowing damn well you were freezing to the bones. "On the contrary, I'm pretty hot. Don't you think?" Your cheeks flared, it was as if he was reading your every thought. Huffing you wrapped the jacket around yourself, nuzzling your face into it trying to keep your face from freezing. "Do you want me to inflate your ego that badly?" "Well, you kinda already did considering how you were staring at me earlier sweetheart" He grinned, hand coming to shake off the snow from his hair. Your blush increased tenfold, his flirty behavior really getting to you. "Shut up I wasn't-" you retorted in a futile attempt to gain some dignity back, looking off to the side pouting. Leaning down, his scent swirled around you, face mere centimeters away from yours. You gulped, eyes scanning his delicate face: his lips seemed so soft, a thin coat of lips balm covering them, you wondered how it tasted. What was his favorite flavor, cherry? or maybe strawberry? "There you go again, ah so cute." He teased, proving himself right once again, his hot breath ghosting over your face smelling of mint and candy. Covering your cheeks with your hand, it felt like your face was on fire. "You talk too much" A chuckle escaped his parted lips, a fake pout now plastered on his handsome feature "Ah so mean to me" you couldn't hold back a giggle at the way he said it, hand coming to cover your mouth. The snowstorm went on, as you took your phone out of your pocket, unlocking it to look at the time. 1:15 a.m showed on the screen, your battery settling at a low 10%. Pursing on your lips, you didn't want this moment to end, completely enticed by this stranger but you had to call a cab before your phone died on you. Curse you for forgetting your charger as always. "You know, I'm a pretty good driver, I can drive you home if you'd like" His proposition took you aback, was this man really capable of reading your every thought? You couldn't possibly fathom what made this handsome stranger be so interested in you, your mind still a bit hazy from your previous drinks. Pursing on your lips, you definitely wanted to spend more time with him, yet feeling bad to make him become your personal driver before even knowing his name. "Are you're sure? I'd feel bad making you drive me home, plus I live quite far" you muttered sheepishly hands fondling with the hem of his jacket. "Anything for a pretty lady, and besides if you live too far-" He paused stepping closer, a hand coming to push back a strand of hair that the harsh winter breeze had pushed into your face, "It so happens that I live really close by" You stood there in shock, as this attractive stranger so blatantly exposed wanting to take you home. You gulped down, eyes scanning his face for any signs of it being mere teasing. Yet, he seemed honest, a grin still covering his face. "You really are a smooth talker" giggling, you nodded accepting his proposition fervently. Was it because of your semi-drunk state or the thoughts of what could possibly happen over at his house, you clearly had no intention of refusing his delightful offer. Everything about him made your core feel warm, yet you knew so little. Starting to walk toward his car, you stopped in astonishment at the sheer luxury of the vehicle. He beamed, opening your door for you, settling your purse into your lap sitting on the dark leather seat. You played with the strap of your bag, waiting for him to join you on the conductor side. As he sat, and closed his door his scent mingled with you, making the apple of your cheeks darken. "You're too damn adorable you know that?" You yelped, catching him gazing at you, putting his seatbelt on. "look who's talking-" You muttered to yourself unbeknownst that this man seemed to possess super hearing chuckling at your response. "Being called adorable is definitely a first, but I'll take it if it comes from you" His large veiny hand opened the vents, warm air now flooding inside the car, you sighed in delight. "Also sweetheart, I wouldn't want to bring a lady home before at least knowing her name" He paused, letting his head rest in the palm of his hand, "you know I do am a well-mannered man after all" He slyly said, head tilted to the side. His gorgeous ivory locks slightly damped considering the snowflakes that melted. Tongue darting out to lick your dried up lips from the cold, you blushed "L/N Y/N" "Ah L/N Y/N, sounds like music to my ear, I'm Gojo Satoru" ❄❄❄ Opening up the Bluetooth station he turned his head, most likely shooting you a glance under his bandana. "I hope you got any good music Y/N, you'll be our DJ for the ride" A grin formed on his lips as you started beaming. "Of course I do!" You retorted confidently, connecting to the Bluetooth at the speed of light. He hummed, starting the car, the scent of leather mingling with your own. As you put on your favorite song, he shouted "No way! You listen to Megan Thee Stallion? I knew there was something I liked about you sweetheart" Your heart thumped in your chest, feeling like it might burst out. His blatant honesty was striking you right in the heart. He really knew how to transform you into a blushing mess. "You got good taste too, She's really fire" your eyes twinkled, relinquishing in this feeling. Humming, Gojo turned to you, sticking his tongue out to you, "I know I got good taste Y/N, that's why you're coming back home with me after all" You swore you could saw him wink under his bandana, your blush increasing tenfold. You playfully, hit his arm, grimacing back at him, letting the music surround the both of you. As the chorus hit, Gojo was fully vibing, dancing to the sound. One hand on the wheel, he sang the rapping part perfectly, moving his upper body sensually to the beat of the song. His hair moved alongside him, chest huffing as he sang. You got entranced, eyes glued to him, seeing him drive with one hand, was somehow so sexy making your heart flutter. Starting to sing alongside him, he shot you a glance, grinning widely, the drive to his home way better than your whole clubbing experience so far. ❄❄❄ His apartment was extremely spacious, to say the least. The walls were covered in large windows, a spacious leather couch, and what seemed like at least a 60 inches television on the wall. The floor was a sublime chestnut wood, walls as snowy as his hair. A few plants adorned the corners of the apartment the whole thing reminding you of what you'd see in magazines or on the internet. You couldn't hold back your amazement, mouth forming an o shape, which made Gojo chuckle. Taking off his shoes, he proceeded to Drop the keys on the counter. He stretched, "Can I offer you something to drink?", face buried in his huge fridge, seeming to push bottles around from the sounds of it. You left both your coat and his jean jacket on a nearby chair, shoes neatly placed next to his, letting it dry up from the snowstorm outside, turning to him. Your dress hugged your curve to perfection, the small material barely covering what needed to be covered, stopping above mid-thighs. You wore a gold necklace, with gold hoops earrings your hair falling down your back, your collarbones full exposed. "Hmmm" You pondered, walking up to him, standing on your tiptoes trying to see something. Feeling your presence behind him, Gojo risked a glance in your direction, his smirk widening tenfold. "Are you trying to make me fall for you by looking like that darling? Because honestly, it's working 100 percent" pursing on his lips, his tongue darted out to wet them, your gaze instantly following suit. You felt your face erupt once again "H-Huh! It's not like that, I just wanted to dry up our coats" You stammered trying to defend yourself, arms flailing in front of you. He chuckled, gaze devouring you under the dark fabric that covered his eyes. Crossing your arms over your chest you grimaced at him, "Do you have white wine by any chance?" He nodded, "Of course my lady" moving the bottles around, deciding on one. Dropping it on the table he reached for one of the cupboards above his fridge, getting two glasses. You watched him in astonishment, a slight blush dusting your cheeks. He seemed to take notice in your endeavor as per usual, grinning "Something caught your eye sweetheart?" he remarked, pouring you a glass. You huffed, looking off to the side defensively, "You're just very attractive that's all..." You muttered the last part, which only seemed to inflate his never-ending ego. Cutting him off before he dared crack another flirty joke, you asked "How tall are you?" your curiosity was getting the best of you, as you sipped on the drink, the warmth of it enveloping you. He was so mysterious, the only thing you knew about him was his name, yet it was like you were craving for more. It wasn't like you to be that way, not usually caring what your partner for the night liked to drink, or what his favorite tv show was, but for the snowy-haired man in front of you, you'd actually memorize those facts in a heartbeat. He had you entranced, muddy in the palm of his hand. He leaned against the kitchen counter, leaning down, letting his head rest in the palm of his hand. "Thank you, you're pretty damn gorgeous yourself, and I'm around 6'3 I would say" He grinned being completely obvious to the fact that his height was a major turn on, bringing the drink to his lips. Your eyes followed his glass, gulping down. You scrunched your nose, a hand coming to twirl a piece of your hair. "Any other question darling?" He teased, taking his sweet time into savoring the intoxicating liquid. You knew damned well what you wanted to know, something you'd been wondering ever since you laid your gaze on him. "Yes actually, since you claim not being blind, what color are your eyes" You were getting bold, bolder than you'd usually be, the alcohol reigniting the fire inside you. If that was even possible, his smirk grew wider, head tilted to the side, "Oh, that's something I get asked a lot, so I'll give you 2/10 for the originality" He paused chuckling, taking another sip. You pouted stepping closer, your mind was running wild, what color could his beautiful irises be? Forest green? Ocean blue? or maybe coffee-colored ones? It was burning you on the inside, like an insatiable itch that you couldn't get rid of. "Does every girl ask you that?" You teased, feeling a slight pinch of jealousy scraping your heart. He laughed, instantly taking notice "ah you're too obvious, already getting jealous about my whereabouts aren't you?" Your face caught on fire at his words, your blush probably the color of the cherries on the kitchen counter by now. He twirled the glass in his hand, satisfied with the response he elicited from you before saying: "They do ask, but I rarely show anyone" He paused taking a sip, tongue licking up a droplet that was running down the glass. He had gotten strangely serious for the first time since your meeting, "But for you, I'd make an exception". You were taken aback, scanning his face for signs of it being a mere joke, but once again the man seemed utterly honest. You wondered if there was a specific reason as to why he hid his eyes, but you decided upon not asking now, it was rather too soon, and not of your business. He straightened himself, now towering above you. "On one condition, I'll let you do the honor of taking it off, deal?" He grinned coming back to his natural goofy self, seeming to take pleasure in your state. Your anticipation was killing you, feeling it in the pit of your stomach, nodding fervently ready to accept any condition if it meant seeing what was underneath that damned piece of fabric. As your hand reached for the material, standing on your tiptoes, the man caught your wrist giving it a slight squeeze. "Oh! but take a guess first" He stuck his tongue at you, as you visibly grumped, "You said one condition" You argued back, letting your heels fall back on the wooden floor, his long fingers still holding on to you. His hand was radiating warmth, making you miss your situation earlier when you were in his embrace. "hmm--" you pondered, taking a good look at his face. He would be handsome with any eye color really, yet you were taking so much fun into guessing it, trying to picture every possibility unto his face. Really wanting to win this little competition, you decided to go with what seemed like your safest bet. "I'll go with brown!" you beamed, feeling confident. That was until his grin widened, letting go of your hand. He waved his finger, seeming to wink under his bandana "We'll see about that '' You pursed your lips, feeling as if you had taken the wrong option, from his remark. Grasping a hold of the hem of his shirt you tugged on it slightly, "lean down a bit you're too tall" You complained, to which he obliged, literally going down on his knees. "Weren't you swooning over my height just a moment ago?" He teased, proceeding to imitate in a high pitched tone what was supposed to be your voice: "How tall are you?" Your embarrassment was out of bound, cheeks burning for being so blatantly exposed yet again, he really had no mercy in store for you. "Shut it- I have more important things to focus on right now" You retorted, earning a chuckle from him. He was right in front of you, a bit below eye level now, but you were finally able to take a good look at his angelic feature, which only made your heartbeat boosts tenfold. You had never met, or even seen, someone as good looking as him. What was his deal though? Taking such a liking to you, yes he did protect you from these creeps but now he was just fueling your fantasies and dreams even more. "Anytime now darling" He burst your bubble, bringing you back to reality, your hands darting toward the material. Sliding one finger underneath, you felt your hands shake a little. Was it because of all this built up anticipation, or was it because you were afraid that you'd actually fall even more for him when you'll see his full features? Slowly pulling it down, Gojo remained silent, smirking, probably planning something mischievous. As the material fell down, now hanging around his neck, you peered before almost shouting at the sight: his eyes were closed. "Oh my god- Open your eyes! You can't do this to me-" Midway into your childlike tantrum, laughter escaped his parted lips, eyes opening. The sight literally knocked the air out of your lungs, You stood there star-struck, your gaze melting into his. You couldn't believe your eyes, your mind refusing to process what was right in front of you. Beautiful sapphire irises looked back at you, adorned with full lashes as white as his hair. Was there something this guy didn't have?! Your mouth stayed slightly open, silence filling the apartment. Not only that, but also his hair had fallen down, now framing his delicate face so perfectly. Locks of snowy hair contrasting with his slightly tanned skin. He looked back at you, head tilting to the side before waving a hand in front of your face. "You still alive Y/N?" He teased, eyes twinkling, taking off the bandana fully and settling it on the counter. "Your eyes, they're gorgeous" you muttered, you wanted to say so much more but you were still processing how utterly beautiful that man was. It struck you right in the heart, as now, whenever his glance caught yours, you'd feel the apple of your cheeks heat up even more than before. "Thank you, I got quite the genes I admit." He cockily replied, taking a sip of wine, eyelashes fluttering. Your regard was glued to him, walking to the counter to get your glass, scooting closer to him in the process. You felt the need to compliment him more, was it because of the intoxicating alcohol now pulsating through your veins, you didn't know, but your mouth opened nonetheless: "Is that why you never show your eyes? You're afraid that girls will fall for you left and right?" You taunted grimacing, thinking you'd gotten back at him for being such a tease himself before it dawned on you that your big mouth had gotten you into quite the messy situation. Humming, Gojo leaned on the kitchen counter, his eyes flickering under the light, "So basically," He almost purred, running a hand through his ivory locks, "You just admitted falling for me. Did I hear you right, honey?" His face arbored the biggest grin you'd ever seen, knowing full well he had you under the spotlight right there, while his overly handsome self sipped on his drink. He was mere centimeters away, his scent completely intoxicating you. You cursed yourself for being so light-headed, your silly self not knowing to think twice before saying something. The alcohol had all subdued, not feeling any signs of being drunk or tipsy either, and yet you were still silly. Flashes from your earlier situation appeared in your mind, hoping you'd get to be in his embrace soon enough. Yet, you couldn't inflate his ego more than it was, his head would probably implode at this rate. As you were about to retort back, he shushed you placing a finger on your lips, "Shush, it's okay baby, I'm kinda falling for you too you know" He smirked, his digit caressing the smooth skin of your rosy lips. You were star struck, gaze melting into his, his touch lighting a fire within you. You had this growing urge to just please him, let him dominate you fully. The alcohol ignited lust, slowly opening your mouth, taking his digit inside your mouth. His eyes gleamed, now half-lidded, a low moan escaping his lips. Your tongue swirled and licked his long finger, feeling yourself get soaked at the thoughts of it inside you. His gaze never left the show in front of him, slowly coming to bit down on his lips. The mere sensation of your tongue against his digit made his length throb in his pants. You pulled away with a wet satisfying 'pop', gaze swirling with lust. His other hand came to grab your chin slightly, tilting it upward. The mere action made your core feel warm, already submitting entirely to him. He leaned down, bringing the finger that was previously in your mouth, into his. Never breaking eye contact with you, he hummed tasting yourself off his finger, before saying: "Don't get me wrong sweetheart, that indirect kiss was pretty hot, but I'd rather be doing this." And with that, he instantly crashed his lips on yours. You couldn't hold back a moan, all the built-up anticipation hitting you full force. His lip balm smelling of cherry, one of your hands came to rest on his shoulder feeling his muscles underneath the dark fabric. Damn, he was a good kisser, tongue swirling around yours, leaving nothing untouched. It was rare for you to feel yourself get soaked already from just a kiss, but this man seemed to possess supernatural powers or something. His thumb rubbed soothing patterns on your cheek, his tongue lapping at your lips eliciting yet another sinful moan from you. Taking this opportunity, Gojo slide his tongue into your mouth leaving nothing untouched. Towering above you, one of his hand slid down your back, resting on the back of your waist. Breaking away from the kiss, he panted, eyes twinkling. "May I gorgeous?" The hand resting on your waist gave a slight squeeze indicating what he meant. You blushed at his behavior, obviously agreeing. Large palms slide down the small of your back, fingers digging into your plump rear. The man almost let out a moan, eyelashes fluttering feeling your curves under his touch. His reaction only fueled your lust, even more, desire swirling into your irises locking gaze with him. A glance was all you needed to understand Gojo, as you jumped wrapping your legs around his waist. His hands instantly planted themselves on your ass supporting you, taking their time to feel you up, leaving nothing untouched. His touch was like fire, making you moan from its simplest movement, making a chuckle erupt from him. "Don't stop making those noises for me baby" He ordered, lips crashing back down on yours. You could only hum, your fingers tangled into his snowy white hair. Tugging on his locks slightly, the man groaned grinding his already fully erect cock on your panties. You gasped in the kiss, which the man didn't hesitate to take advantage of his tongue swirling in your mouth. Your dress had obviously rilled up, your bare ass now barely covered. As you deepened the kiss, saliva mixing with his, you felt him start walking toward the back of his apartment where you had noticed his room earlier. However, you were wrong to assume that he would have made it this far, no, not with how utterly hot you looked right now. Dropping your body on the couch, he nestled in between your legs. Encaging you between his arms, one of his large hands grasped both of your wrists pinning them up above your hand. He had such long fingers that both of your wrists seemed like merely nothing in his hands. Breaking the kiss for air, the man panted above you. His warm breath hitting the tip of your nose, his forehead leaning on yours. His eyes were half-lidded, looking at you with pure desire swirling in them. The clear Saphire blue you had seen earlier had subdued to a more animalistic hue, pupils almost blown out, leaving barely any of the ocean like color to be seen.

You stood there in awe, gaze melting into his. He seemed like the embodiment of absolute perfection, and at that moment you just wanted to please him. Struggling to free your wrists you raised your hips grinding them against his clothed cock, eliciting a moan from the man above you. "Let me touch you please" You begged, lashes fluttering as you repeated your movement again, feeling his member twitch within the confine of his pants. Gojo smirked, raising an eyebrow at your needy tone, "I can't possibly refuse if you ask that nicely sweetheart". He teased, his vice grip on your wrists disappearing, taking this opportunity you turned him around sitting snugly on his hips. You grinned mischievously making sure to sit exactly on his large cock, feeling it twitch once again. God, he was hard, and he seemed so big it made your core swirl at the thoughts of him railing the absolute shit out of you. Gojo crossed his arms behind his neck, taking his sweet time to look you up and down, his usual grin covering his feature. It subdued quickly when your hands swiftly unzipped his pants dragging them down, making sure to drag your finger across his entire length. pursing on his lips, the man let out a moan, adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "you're so big" You praised, not caring about inflating his ego. I mean, he deserved it right? That man was literally the most handsome guy you had ever come across, you just wanted to shower him with praises. He smirked, flashing you a wink "Oh? Am I really?" He teased in a sing-song voice playing coy. You only giggled, pulling down his black underwear, his cock colliding with his abdomen. Gojo hissed as the cold air hit his member, eyes half-lidded awaiting your next move with impatience. His dick was way beyond average both in length and girth. Tip rosy from being hard for so long, a bead of precum leaked slowly running down his entire length. You almost drooled at the sight, taking your sweet time to look at his cock, one finger coming to scoop the precum bringing it into your mouth. You moaned your tongue swirling and twirling around your digit, already intoxicated by his delicious taste. "Let me taste you again baby" he ordered his voice low, as he sat up. Taking his finger out of your mouth, you extended your arm forward, Gojo grabbing a hold of your wrist, tongue extending, licking the digit clean. He hummed lowly, eyes locked with yours as he did so. Pink muscle leaving no surface of his finger untouched, he moaned your name before leaning back down. "Suck me" You felt your heart rate spike up, your juice leaking from your core at the mere order from Gojo. You nodded, eyes dropping to his rock hard cock, hands settling on the base. Your tongue darted out, licking a clean stripe from the base to his engorged tip, mouth closing on it. You twirled your tongue a couple of times, feeling his large hands grab a hold of your hair. "That's my good girl" The mere words made you moan around his cock, the vibration only intensifying the pleasure for Gojo who threw his head back against the couch. Taking as much as you possibly could fit of his dick in your mouth, your hands moved around his shaft and balls desperately trying to bring him the utmost pleasure. It was working as groans and growls, escaped from Gojo's parted lips, half-lidded eyes never breaking away from you. "You look so good taking my cock like that baby-" He paused, hands massaging your scalp as if thanking you for the absolute best blow job he had, "but it's my turn now" and with that, he pulled you away from his cock, a thin string of saliva connecting you to his member. Leaning up he didn't hesitate a single second to capture your lips again into a kiss, a hand caressing your cheek guiding you back down under him. "You did amazing" He whispered, making you blush, "Thank y-" You squealed, feeling him drag you on the edge of the couch, your legs dangling off of it. “Now then, spread those pretty legs for me won't you?” He licked his lips, the cherry lips balm coating his velvety muscle. You couldn’t help but comply, long digits sliding across your soaked panties, index finger flicking where he knew exactly where your bundle of nerve was. He chuckled lowly, a thin coat of lust covering his sapphire irises. His fingers were already shiny with your essence, and he hadn’t even made direct contact with your core yet. “So wet for me already baby, did you enjoy sucking my cock that much?” He teased, knowing damned well the answer already. The silver-haired man hooked his fingers on the side of your panties, mouth almost watering at the sight of your glistening folds. You mewled, eyes glassy trying to push your core closer to him, eliciting yet another dark chuckle from him. “Needy little thing” his voice was coated with lust, azure eyes locking with yours. One of his long finger slowly parted your folds, collecting your glistening essence on his finger before plopping it in his mouth. He moaned, tasting you, “You taste even better than I’d imagined” “Stop teasing me” You managed to mutter between moans, a grin spreading on his face at your voice. Tilting his head to the side, his index finger twirled around your pearl never giving it the attention it oh so desired. “Beg for it” His voice was raspy, blowing hot air on your clit before flashing you a wink. Your cheeks, well your whole being, felt on fire. “Please eat me out-” You whimpered out, hoping it was enough to satisfy him. Your mind was into a frenzy, thoughts and sentences jumbling into one another, unable to form cohesive sentences. Chuckling, he pressed a soft kiss to your inner right thigh, “Tell me if i’m wrong but, a good girl like you can do better, right?” You threw your head back against his satin pillow, he really was playing hard to get. “ God Gojo please- just make me cum over your tongue already, I need you so badly!” You screamed out in frustration, fists clenching. At that point you didn’t care about anything but to feel his warm tongue on you, tasting your juices Cock twitching at your words, the sorcerer felt his own self restraint slowly crumble to pieces. He just wanted to take you right there, right now, to dick you down until you couldn’t walk anymore. He wanted to break you. You couldn't hold back the moan as you felt his breath hover right above your clit, “So obedient” he praised, before his tongue darted out licking a clean strip, before latching unto your bundle of nerves. Your reaction was instant, head thrown back as a fountain of moans of his name echoed within the room. Gojo felt his self restraint crumble to pieces, every pores in his body aching for him to bend you into a mating press and drill ino your pretty pussy. Yet, at the same time, the way your juices leaked around his mouth drove him to the brinks of insanity. Sapphire gaze darting back and forth between your glistening folds and your flushed face, he soon felt himself grind his aching cock against the side of the bed, desperately seeking friction. Your hands soon found themselves tangled into his ivory locks, only pressing him closer and closer to your soaked core. “G-Gojo” You cooed, feeling your release build up incredibly fast. Damn he was good, there was no denying it. The way he softened his tongue just enough to roll and lap at your clit, while his large hands spread your thighs, nails digging into your plush skin. The man was eating you out as if it was his last meal. “Yes my darling?” He purred, not breaking the contact with your pussy, hot air from his words only pushing you closer to the edge, the pet name not helping either. Noticing the way your cunt quivered at his word, the sorcerer raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Oh? Are pet names your weakness, my love?” He asked, even as he already knew the answer. His melodic voice would have been enough alone to push you into bliss, but right before you could cum, thighs shaking and hips stuttering, he pulled away. His keen eyes knew, right away the signs of your oh so awaited orgasm, only to deny it so sweetly. Your eyebrows furrowed, and before you could even retort about your stolen orgasm, the man was pinning you down, lips crashing unto yours. “God- you drive me crazy you know.” His sweet words made you swoon, however you tried as best as possible to keep reminding yourself that the man probably had partners left and right. I mean, with his look and absolute perfect personality? Who wouldn’t want him? You had to keep yourself grounded, or at least try to. One of his hand coming to stroke the side of your cheek brought you back to reality, as his forehead laid on yours. His cerulean eyes gazing into yours, before you felt the tip of his cock align with your drenched cunt. “Is this okay?” He murmured, holding himself up with one hand which only accentuated his biceps. You couldn’t help but nodd, of course you wanted him to rearrange your insides, to mold you into his cock. “I need to hear it dear” He pressed a kiss on your forehead, head tilted to the side, surprisingly patiently awaiting your response. Leaning up slightly, you captures his lips in yet another kiss before sliding your hand between your bodies and grasping his cock. “Fuck me before I do it myself” Gojo’s eyebrow raised, before he chuckled darkly. Taking a hold of your wrist he pinned them both above your head, one large hand way more than enough to hold them tightly into places. “Can’t leave you unsatisfied now, can I” and with that he pushed his length into you. You swore you could feel the tip of his cock hit your cervix, molding your insides to his dick. The stretch was slightly painful, but oh dear god it felt amazing. Hips now flush against yours, he leaned back slightly discarding his shirt, throwing it on the floor somewhere. His kin glistened with a thin layer of sweat, muscles defined and flexing under the pleasure he was currently under. Noticing your lingering gaze his hand grasped your knees throwing them over his shoulder. You yelped, before he pressed a kiss against your ankle. “Look at me baby” He purred before drilling into your core. Your mewled and gasped, hands desperately seeking to hold unto dear life. His cock quite literally rearrnged your insides, Gojo looking down at your through his ivory lashes, lips stuck between his teeth. He was slightly silent asides from some pants and grunts here and there, as he wished to hear every little sound you made. Nails digging into your thighs, he let out a low groan as his pace never faltered, gaze darting between your pussy eagerly sucking him up and your fucked out face. “You’re taking me so well” He purred, before his hips came to meet yours at a rougher pace, almost sending you flying into the headboard if it wasnt for his hold unto your thighs. “So good to me-” His voice broke as he let out another groan. Your mewls and moans only spurred him on, before a trembling hand reached toward his face. “K-Kiss me-” You managed to mumble between incoherent babbles as he fucked your brain out. Gojo smirked, before gently dropping your knees and leaning down eagerly sealing your lips into yet another kiss. “Dont go and fall for me now-” He whispered between choked out groans, a sly smirk plastered on his features. As your hands tangled themselves into his locks he bit down on his lips, gaze lingering on your face. The way your cheeks burned and glossy eyes stared back at him, Gojo couldn’t help but latch his lips unto the soft skin of your neck earning a yelp from you. His cocky personality had subdued, leaving a rather soft persona underneath. Hips stuttering, he felt yourself clench tighter around him only signalling that you’d soon back into pure bliss. There was no way that he’d ever finish before you, prioritizing the needs of his partners way before his own. A string of moans fell from your lips as his bit down and sucked on a particularly sensitive spot on your neck. Feeling him smirk against your skin, he lapped at the spot teasingly “You’re gonna cum on my cock baby?” He cooed, blowing hot air, pace never faltering in the slightest. You could only manage a weak nodd, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes from the sheer pleasure cursing through your veins. A loud moan of his name fell from your lips as you felt yourself unravel on his dick. Gojo groaned feeling you spasm around his cock, draging himself into the bliss as well. Leaning down he kissed you, encaging you between his arms as he rutted into your oversensitive pussy, hot milky cum tainting your walls white. “Fuck-” He cursed, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his, dick twitchnig into the depths of your cunt. It wasnt long until he let himself fall on top of you burying his head into the crook of your neck. Not even bothering to take his cock out, Gojo pressed feather like kisses all over your now hickey covered skin, eliciting a small giggle from you. “That was amazing” You purred, one hand running up and down his bare back. It was rare for the man to be so relaxed after such encounter, not that he’d usually ask his partner to seek themselves out of his house but, this time it felt different. “Thank you, thank you” Came his smug reply, before he lifted his face cerulean eyes locking with yours. Taking his dick out from inside your cum soaked core, He grinned, before rolling you over so you were now laying by his side, head resting on top of his chest. Your heart was hammering against your chest, as if clarity was hitting you full force. Here you were, snuggling with this handsome man you had met earlier, and yet you felt like you’ve known him forever. “Ah- what a bad host I am. Let me clean you up” Gojo suddenly exclaimed, before making his way to the bathroom to fetch a warm wet cloth for you. After cleaning himself up quickly, but effectively he was back into the room with a glass of water and the cloth. You blushed before telling him you could clean yourself to which he agreed, handing you the water. “Do you need a spare of clothe?” He questioned now rummaging through his drawers. The question took you aback, blinking as you stared at him in silence for a few moment. You weren’t expecting to spend the night at his place, not that you were complaining, but it felt too good to be true, really like fate had somehow brought the two of you together. “Did I fuck you too good that you forgot how to speak lovely?” His voice brought you back to reality as he smugly grinned at you, leaning on the drawer. He looked absolutely ethereal, messy locks framing his pale face and body sculpted by the gods themselves. “Shut it-” “I’ll take that as a yes” He cooed, before throwing you a large black shirt. You grasped it mid-air, giggling, as he eyed you with a smile. That was until you spoke up, putting the shirt on, “Is it really okay for me to stay here tonight?” You couldnt help but voice your thoughts before earning a chuckled from the sorcerer himself. “Well I dont mind driving you back home if this makes you uncomfortable.” He paused, sounding serious for once, glancing at his car keys situated on the small wooden table by his bed. “But, we’re not done for the night, aren’t we?” He flashed you a wink, earning a blush from you. His cocky self seemed to back in full throttle. Seeing your reddened face he couldnt help but laugh, putting on a pair of looser grey sweatpants as he spoke “Besides as much as I loved hearing your beautiful moans of my name Id also like for us to share actual conversations-” Throwing a pillow at him, his hand came to arrest it before it hit his face. Seeing your embarrassed look, he broke into laughter, throwing himself back on the bed besides you. “Dont say such embarrassing thing” You poked his side in a teasing manner feeling satisfied with his answer. Gojo grinned letting his head rest in your laps, looking up at you with doe eyes. The night’s soft breeze twirled into the room, your hand caressing Gojo’s hair, twirling a piece between your pointer and middle finger. The neon alarm clock showed in flashy red numbers: 5:06 am. You merely chuckled under your breath, feeling as if this night had been one hell of a rollercoaster. Gojo silently stared at you, feeling relaxed as you played with his hair. “Tired?” He questioned, taking your hand before pressing a soft kiss on your palm, earning yet another blush from you. “Not really” He hummed, kind of amusing you how his cocky persona had subdued into this calmer one. Gojo’s chest rose and fell slowly, as the rhythm of his breathing relaxed, feeling comfortable in your embrace. Still holding unto your hand, he gave it a light squeeze, gaining back your attention “So, since it's already morning” He paused, throwing a glance toward the alarm clock,” Wanna order some food and talk the night away my sweet Y/N?”

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back to masterlist? 

[keichanz]

Reminisce

was thinking about moroha and then started thinking about how there is a lack of teenage moroha and papayasha bonding so i was like "shit i'm gonna have to write it aren't i" and welp this happened.

Read on AO3

He didn’t have to open his eyes to know he was being stalked. Hell, he didn’t even need his sense of smell on account of she was being loud enough to wake the freakin’ dead.

From his location lounging against the base of Goshinboku, arms behind his head and legs crossed at the ankle, Inuyasha easily tracked her movements through the boughs of the great tree. From what it sounded she was almost directly above him and was trying - and failing - to inconspicuously slide that last inch to catch him unawares before attempting, what he suspected, was a dive bomb aimed straight toward him.

He inwardly snorted and fought to keep his features lax as if in sleep. His goal had been to catch a nap before dinner, but apparently that wasn’t going to happen now. Not with his pursuer breathing way too hard and rustling the leaves and muttering every time her clothes snagged on the branches. Actually, judging by the rate of speed she was moving through boughs, Inuyasha suspected that a piece of her regular attire was absent and as such allowed her to move much more smoothly. He had to wonder if maybe that was why she thought she could get away with it this time, even when every time she’d tried in the past, he’d thwarted every attempt.

Barely managing to keep himself from smirking in amusement – her misplaced confidence would be her downfall – Inuyasha listened carefully and started a mental countdown when she suddenly grew silent.

Three…two…one—

“Do it and die,” Inuyasha called out in a lazy drawl without even bothering to open his eyes just as his unknown attacker prepared to leap into action.

There was a gasp, the sound of nails scraping against rough bark, and then a short shriek followed by a rush of air before a solid thud landed right beside him. She groaned, and a golden eye cracked open briefly to ascertain her welfare before closing once again after deeming she was fine. A fall like that would leave a bruise and nothing more.

“Ooow, my poor butt.”

“Serves you right.”

“My back.”

“You’ll live.”

“I’m dying.”

He snorted. So dramatic. Just like her mother.

“How’d you know?” There was a definite whine to her tone and he knew if he opened his eyes, he’d see her face screwed up into a pout.

“I know everything.”

She snorted. “My ass.”

He frowned. “Language.”

Another snort and he felt her slight weight lean against his side. “Like you're any better. Where do you think I learned it from? Mom?”

“If she knew half the shit that came outta your mouth, you’d be grounded for life and there’s fuck all I can do about that.”

“I guess we know who wears the pants in that relationship.” He could hear the grin in her voice, the brat.

He scowled. “Smartass.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Wanna know why your eyes are brown? ‘Cause you’re full of shit.”

“Wanna know why your eyes are yellow? ‘Cause you’re full of p—”

He groaned, and she cackled. Christ, was he this bad when he was a teenage whelp?

“Seriously, though,” she said a minute later and he heard her shifting around as she got comfortable beside him. “How’d you know? I was being really careful and even took off my cloak so it wouldn't get caught!”

“You reek. I smelled you from a mile away—”

“Dad.”

He sighed. “You’re still breathing too hard and you're being careless with your claws. I could hear ‘em scraping against the bark, and the leaves were rustlin’ too much for it to be any normal tree critter going from branch to branch.”

She was silent as she digested that and Inuyasha wondered if now he could get that nap.

“So I just need to be quieter—hey, wait a minute, are you calling me fat?!”

“Well, you’re definitely not a pup anymore—oomph. Dammit, runt, ow. Don’t you have anything better to do than abuse your old man? Like annoy your mother?”

At that his kid went suspiciously quiet and he was just about to ask what happened when she spoke up. “She, um, might have…sent me off to find you after I…uh, helped…light the fire for dinner…”

There was something in the way she said that that gave Inuyasha pause. Suspicious tugged his brows down over his eyes as he opened them to glance down at his daughter for the first time. Leaning against his side as she was, his view of her was of the top of her head, the red bow standing out amidst her dark hair.

“What happened?” he asked slowly, cautiously.

She didn’t answer right away and ducked her head. His frown deepened.

“Moroha.”

It was a warning and it was one she knew not to ignore.

Hunching her shoulders a little and worrying her bottom lip, Moroha wrinkled her nose as she idly twirled a long blade of grass between her fingers. “I…might have…addedmorefirewoodtomakesureitdidn’tgoout—”

Inuyasha closed his eyes and bit back a groan. “Moro, that’s three times now you almost—”

“But it didn’t!” she protested. “I got it under control in time and it only singed Mom’s hakama a little—”

He was unable to hold back a sigh as he shook his head. “Just—tell me that you or your mom didn’t get burned.”

“We didn’t,” she replied, her voice small and slightly petulant. The blade of grass was now in numerous tiny pieces across her lap and she was working on her second one.

They fell into silence then, and Inuyasha was thinking that maybe it’d be a good idea to find ways to fireproof their home when his daughter broke the silence once more.

“I think she’s mad, though.”

“Who?”

“…Mom.”

Inuyasha snorted his opinion of that. “Doubt it. Takes more than a little fire and singed pants to piss off your mom.”

A pause. Then, “How do you figure?’

The look he sent her, though she couldn’t see it, was slightly incredulous. “She married me. The fact that she hasn’t cut off my balls and fed them to me by now after all the shit I put her through is more’n enough proof, kiddo. Trust me, she ain’t mad.”

Finally Moroha cracked a small grin and tipped her head back enough to stare up at him. “Yeah, I guess Mom would need the patience of a saint to put up with you for, what is it now, twenty years—”

Inuyasha’s hand coming down on her head and shoving cut her off and Moroha laughed, lifting her hands and unsuccessfully trying to pry his off her head. There was a brief struggle in which quarter-demon tried to overpower half-demon, but her strength was no match to his and she ended up flat on her back with a clawed hand pinning her down. After a dramatic show of surrender - she really was so much like her mother - Inuyasha removed his hand and watched as his skid scooted back until her head was pillowed on his thigh.

He raised his brows in surprise, but didn’t object to the new position. She hadn’t done that since she was a pup, and Inuyasha would be lying if he said he didn’t miss it, didn’t miss the days when she would grin so brightly up at him as she held her arms up and called him “Papa.”

Inuyasha blinked at the sudden tide of emotion and leaned his head back against the tree, closing his eyes as he put his hand back behind his head. Their girl had been so affectionate when she was little, always giving out hugs and kisses and “I love you’s.” Now that she was older, her affections were scarcer; while she may hold many traits of her mother, there was no doubt in anybody’s mind that she was her father’s daughter when it came to matters of the heart. Sure, she didn’t show it often, but both Inuyasha and Kagome knew Moroha loved her parents very deeply, and they loved her fiercely in return.

Once more, they fell into companionable silence and Inuyasha was content to sit there, listening to the leaves rustle and the gentle beating of Moroha’s heart. He was finally able to slip into a light doze, his breathing deepening, his limbs becoming heavy—

“…Hey, Dad?”

His ear flicked and Inuyasha withheld a sigh. “Hm?” He gave up. That nap was nothing more than a pipe dream now.

“…Can you tell me about the day you and Mom met? The second time, I mean.”

Inuyasha’s brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of her question. The second time they met? Assuming the first was on her fifteenth birthday, then the second had to be…

Oh. He opened his eyes and glanced down at her, brow arched. “You already know about that day. You ask your mom all the time, and if I remember, she just told you again last night over dinner.”

Moroha shrugged. “Yeah, but that’s Mom’s version. I’ve never heard it from you before.”

Her gaze met his, dark depths identical to her mother’s filled with genuine curiosity as she smiled up at him, and Inuyasha knew there was no way he’d ever deny her anything. His expression softened and he sighed, giving a minute shake of his head. Big surprise that both of his girls knew how to manipulate him. Fuck, but he was getting to be such a soft bastard in his old age.

“You wanna hear it from me, huh,” he rumbled and Moroha’s smile widened as she nodded enthusiastically.

“Well,” he began, tipping his head back against the tree and staring up into the thick branches as he gathered his thoughts. “It was just like any other day. I didn’t have anything better to do, so I was hanging around your aunt and uncle and their brood. Hisui was just a couple days old, and the twins had some sick fascination with my ears.”

Moroha snorted and aimed a cheeky grin at him. “Don’t you mean they still do?”

He shot her a mild glare. “Don’t remind me,” he mumbled and rolled her eyes when she started snickering. “Shippou, the little runt, likened me to their fucking toy. I had just asked Miroku to do something about them when a scent…came to me on the breeze.”

Dark eyes stared up at her father’s face, studying the far off look on his features, the small frown that knitted his brow, the way he stared at something that only he could see. She’d never seen anything like that expression on the older demon’s face before and Moroha was absolutely drawn in, to both the story and the lull of her father’s nostalgic-laden voice. She yawned and snuggled further into her father’s warmth, completely enraptured.

“I didn’t think,” he continued, still staring off into the middle distance. “I grabbed the twins, dumped them on the fox with the suggestion to slay him, and took off without a word of explanation. I remember…I was terrified. I was so scared that it wouldn’t be true, that my nose was playing a cruel trick on me. So often I dreamed of this day that it was almost surreal. But the closer I got to the well, the stronger the scent became, and I started to hope, for the first time in three years, that it wasn’t a dream. And then…”

His voice cracked slightly, and Inuyasha had to clear his throat before he could continue. “Then I reached into the well, and your mom grabbed my hand, and…I pulled her out. And she was there. Here. With me again, after three long years. She was real. She wasn’t a dream, she wasn’t one of Shippou’s illusions. Then Kagome – your mom – smiled at me and she was crying and she—”

He chuckled, shaking his head in fond remembrance. “Your damn mother apologized. In true Kagome fashion, she apologized and asked if I was waiting for her. And you know what I said back?”

Moroha did know, but she shook her head, still smiling.

With a soft smile of his own, Inuyasha recounted, word for word, “‘You idiot. What have you been doing all this time?’”

Moroha sighed and closed her eyes, painting a picture in her head, trying to imagine the day her parents had reunited after three long years separated from each other. It was one of her favorite things to imagine, especially when she was having trouble falling asleep at night. For some reason, thinking about the story her mother retold with a warm, loving smile on her face always made her so drowsy…

“Yeah,” Inuyasha said on a sigh and chuckled again. “First time I see her in three years, and the first thing I do is call her an idiot. But by some miracle, she stayed with me, a half-breed with nothing to his name but a sword and the clothes on his back, and she…she gave me a family. She gave me a home, and she gave me you. And to this day I don’t think she realizes that I would have waited a hundred more years - five hundred, even - to see that smile again, for her to apologize, and for me to call her an idiot.”

Closing his eyes, Inuyasha sucked in a breath and swallowed the ball of emotion that welled in his throat. It was amazing, how even nearly twenty years later and thinking about that day still evoked the same response, the same thoughts and feelings but at least this time he was more prepared for them. Raising a rowdy quarter-demon that was much like himself when he was younger taught him a thing or two about patience and how to properly assess and handle the accompanying emotions.

When he opened his eyes again, he was feeling more composed and he released the breath in a long, shaky sigh. He felt lighter, however, and wondered if this is what Kagome meant by “channeling your strong emotions into something positive” or whatever.

“Well, kiddo,” he murmured when his kid had been uncharacteristically silent for too long. “Whaddaya think?”

He looked down and he blinked in surprise before his face softened in fatherly affection.

She was asleep. Having turned onto her side at some point, she was facing him with her hands tucked beneath her cheek, lips parted as soft little snores escaped. She was drooling and he grinned, a fond upward curl of his lips. For a moment Inuyasha simply stared at her, taking in her features lax in sleep, and he was suddenly reminded of all those times when she’d fall asleep in the strangest places as a pup – on the roof, in a rice barrel, in a damn cooking pot – and the surge of love he felt for her was powerful.

Moroha, his precious daughter. It didn’t matter how old she was – sixteen, twenty-two, fucking thirty-five – she would always be his little girl.

When Kagome found them an hour later, it was dusk and the sight that greeted her brought a smile to her lips. Their daughter, fast asleep and curled up with her head on her father’s lap while Inuyasha idly ran his fingers through her hair as he stared off at something only he could see. When he registered her presence, however, he flicked his gaze toward her, his expression open, soft.

Quietly Kagome crossed the distance between them and settled by his side, smiling down at their slumbering daughter. She sighed and combed her fingers through her bangs.

“Little birdie told me you had an eventful day,” Inuyasha murmured quietly, reluctant to disturb the snoozing teenager.

Kagome hummed. “Yes,” she agreed just as softly. “But nothing we couldn’t handle.”

“No casualties, huh?”

She side-eyed him and her grin was a little wry. “Unless you count singed hakama, I’m pleased to report there were no fatalities.”

Inuyasha chuckled and Kagome joined in with a quiet laugh.

“She thinks you’re mad,” he revealed, looking down at the girl in question as he once more ran his fingers through her dark hair. She was out like a light, not even stirring at the presence of her mother.

Kagome looked surprised, her brows rising up into her bangs as she turned her attention toward her husband. But then she sighed and wrinkled her nose, shaking her head.

“I was…exasperated,” she revealed at length, brow knitted slightly as she recalled the day’s events. “But not mad. I just wish she’d be more careful. Think before she acts.”

Inuyasha grinned. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

“I wonder who,” Kagome mused, the corner of her lip kicking up into a matching grin as she cast him another sidelong glance. Her husband looked completely unrepentant and she had to laugh.

Moroha grunted, mumbled something in her sleep, and uttered a soft sigh before stilling once more.

Kagome’s smile was one of motherly affection as she regarded her sleeping daughter. “We should get her home,” she murmured, just loud enough for Inuyasha to hear.

Inuyasha nodded in wordless agreement and gazed at his little girl, just taking a moment to commit the sight to memory. Then, being careful not to disturb her, he slipped his arms beneath her slim body and pushed to his feet in one fluid movement, Moroha cradled to his chest as she slept on, oblivious. Kagome stood as well and together they walked home, his wife’s hand tucked into his bent elbow.

Kagome held the reed mat open so Inuyasha could duck inside with their passed-out daughter in his arms and stepped in after him. She watched with a fond, loving smile as he put her to bed, gently laying her down on her futon and covering her up with a blanket. Chances were she’d wake up an hour or so later to eat dinner, but for now they were content to let her rest. Her heart fluttered in her chest, as it always did when she watched her little family, as Inuyasha bent down to kiss his daughter’s forehead before joining her at the fire.

She wasn’t expecting him to grab her chin after he sank next to her and pull her into a long, leisurely kiss that had a lick of fire curling in her stomach and warmth to suffuse her cheeks. Nonetheless he returned it with an appreciative hum and she was smiling when he pulled back.

“Love you, wench,” he whispered and kissed her forehead, just as he’d done to his daughter not even thirty seconds ago.

“I love you,” Kagome breathed in return, basking in her husband’s tender affections and thinking, not for the first time, just how incredibly, immeasurably happy she was with her little family, safe and warm and here.

[just-a-creep-babe]

Captive

(Habit x Reader)

Commissioned by @selfshippinglover thank youuu bby <333

Requests are closed

Masterlist: x

Habit wipes the blade of his hatchet on his pants, smearing blotchy crimson on his washed-out jeans

He rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck

Finally home

A grin replaces the sneer on his face as he thinks of his little rabbit waiting for him inside

The thought of seeing your face light up as you rush into his arms is more than enough to coax his sore muscles forwards

He hasn’t been gone for too long, but he knows you‘re always elated to see him—and it goes without saying that the feeling is always mutual, of course

The few steps leading up to the door are speckled with brownish dried blood, almost welcoming him in as he twists the doorknob and steps through the threshold

“I’m back, little rabbit~” he croons into the entrance

His voice is a hint scratchier than it usually is because of his recent… activities, but he knows you’ll be happy to hear the sound regardless

He sets his weapons down on the entrance floor and takes his shoes off as he awaits your reply

He previously never really cared for clean floors and would shamelessly track caked dirt and blood into the house just because he was too lazy to remove his shoes

But after you’d admonished him for giving you even more cleaning to do, he’d been more careful with keeping things somewhat tidy

And, at this point, after living with you for so long, it’s become a sort of habit on its own 

He pauses for a moment as he finishes wiping the filthy dried crimson on his arms with the towel you keep for him by the coat rack

Why didn’t you come to greet him? Did you not hear him come in?

He grunts

He thought he’d taught you better than that

You had to pay attention to your surroundings and stay on guard when he wasn’t there in case anything happened

“Bunny?” he calls out for you again, now making his way into the living room where you should be

But instead of being met with your adorable face, there’s… nothing—no one

His smile drops

Are you sleeping? Did you feel sick and needed to rest?

No, something’s not right—he knows it

He can feel it

His instincts flare up, alarm bells ringing in his mind as he pushes through the empty hallway

“Bunny? You in here? Don’t try to hide from me—“

He rushes to your room, the door slamming open to reveal yet another significant lack of you

The bed’s undone, sheets thrown haphazardly across the mattress, and the curtains are still drawn, like you didn’t have time to properly wake up this morning

His brows furrow

Trepidation spirals through his body, the fear and confusion of you not being there reawakening his overworked muscles like a pure shot of adrenaline

You know better than this

You know to stay put in the house until he comes back—it isn’t like you to just up and leave with no explanation, not even a warning or a note or anything of the sort

A note

He tries to calm himself down, tries to slow his frantic breaths and relax the tension in his jaw

He tells himself that maybe he’s just overreacting

He hasn’t checked the fridge or the counter for any indication of why you might’ve left

Maybe he’s forgetting something, and just needs to think things through before assuming the worst

But then, just as he’s about to turn back for the kitchen, he freezes in his tracks

A note is too optimistic, too hopeful

He has to face the facts; someone‘s taken you

His eyes close shut and he hones in on his superior senses

He sniffs the air once, twice, and a third time

There’s no mistaking the traces of something foul lingering behind

Cold dread licks up his spine

Fists clenched at his sides, his shoulders tense, white hot rage seething through his system at the realization

How could the fucker dare?

He breaths in the scent again, trying to picture its owner, trying to pick it apart from the familiarity of your smell to see what fucking idiot would take you away from him

What imbecile would steal his mate?

The intruding scent is a mix of smoldering charcoals, cinnamon, an expensive cologne and something... husky—definitely masculine

A malignant smile crosses his features as he pinpoints the exact asshole that took you

He lets out a low whistle to himself in the emptiness of the room

“Alright, you wanna play dirty, lapdog? I’ll fucking show you playing dirty”

•••

It doesn’t take long for him to wind up in the middle of the forest where the eldritch prick and most of his lackeys reside

The air is still and stagnant, the musk of rot permeating every direction

Fingers wrapped firmly around the wooden handle of his axe, he moves quietly but quickly—and with steeled purpose—through the withered trees

He knows that walking right into the center of Stick-in-the-Mud’s domain is dangerous

Not to mention that the whole situation reeks of it being a trap

But what other choice does he have?

For you, his one and only beloved mate, he would risk anything

Habit twists his weapon of choice in his hands, maneuvering it through his fingers in an impressive display of skill and control

Besides, he wants to make them pay—he wants to make them regret ever laying a finger on your pretty little head

His lust for revenge churning in the pit of his stomach overpowers any other competing sense

He could picture it in now; how the blade would cut through the entity’s skin like butter, spraying crimson in a beautiful fountain-like gush of his life-force pouring across the dirt

He knows, of course, that he can’t actually kill the bastard so easily, but still, it keeps him content as he weaves through the broken shambles of the path

He has to distract himself, anyways

He doesn’t want his rage to overtake his common-sense, or, at least, whatever’s left of it at this point

Eventually, he finally reaches a clearing where pale, faint traces of sunlight barely peak through the dense thicket of foliage overhead

You’re close, he can feel it

He pauses for a second, closing his eyes and trying to visualize which direction he should head in

Still keeping up with your scent, he lets it guide him between two rotting oak trees until, after a few more paces ahead, he reaches a dilapidated building standing all on its own

From the looks of it, he guesses it was once a hospital, though the windows and doors have long since been removed, and where they once were affixed now lie slits of darkness—the abyss inside peering out into the woods

White chips of paint peel from the exterior, with gnarled twisted vines creeping up the side like fingers caging the structure in place

He can smell your fear and distress from somewhere deep inside of it

The scent overtakes his instincts and he finds himself charging through the entrance without so much as a backup plan

God help whatever stands between him and his mate

The interior of the abandoned hospital still lingers with traces of blood and medicine, coupled with a couple of forgotten operating tables, wheelchairs and other surgical devices

He rushes through every room, every dead-end and vacant hallway—all of them lacking a crucial component; you

Finally, he stumbles across a heavy door reinforced with metal plating, and this time, there’s no mistaking your scent coming through the other side of it

He almost scoffs at the barrier

As if that would be enough to stop him from reaching you

He tugs at the handle and gives it a good pull with all his might, but it doesn’t budge

“Fucking piece of—“ he snarls a few curses under his breath, shifting positions so that he can bash it open with his shoulder

Whap! Smack!

Blow after blow, despite him using all his weight and straining his muscles as hard as he can, the door doesn’t give

He huffs, snarling in frustration

His sight lands on the rusted hinges where the door attaches to the wall

He tugs the axe from the loops in his jeans, twirls it in his hold and smashes it down against the latches

Clang!

The metal bends much more easily than it would’ve if it wasn’t rusted over

One strike after the next, he pictures the hinges as Stick-in-the-Mud’s face, and with only a couple of hits, he manages to tear them off completely

He sheathes his axe back into his jeans, and with one last blow of his shoulder against the door, it flies off into the next room over

The sound of it hitting the ceramic flooring resonates throughout the empty building

He steps over it, and as he walks into this new room, he knows he’s hit the jackpot

A dark silhouetted form is crouched over a figure chained to the floor by their wrists and ankles

A soft, flickering glow emanates from dozens of candles scattered across the room

Before Habit can lunge at the crouched fucker and tear his throat out, he stands up and straightens himself

Slowly, the figure turns, revealing themselves

Candlelight glints off his signature glasses

His expression, as usual, is cloaked in shadow and impossible to read, were it not for the sly smile curling at his lips

“Ah, Habit. I must say, I didn’t expect you so soon. What a shame, really, I was just getting to know your dearest (y/n)~”

He steps to the side—giving just barely enough space to reveal you, eyes wide with a smear of grime on your cheeks, but otherwise apparently unharmed

“H-habit, I—“

“Ah, ah, ah~” the entity cuts you off, playfully wagging his finger in your direction. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, little one. I’m sure you have much to say, but I think Habit and I have a lot more… pressing issues to discuss”

He wants to hurt the bastard more than anything else—for stealing you away, chaining you to the damn floor of all things, and now for talking down to you like you’re below him

He wants to kill him

Painfully

Brutally

But he knows he can’t just blindly charge at him

There’s no way in hell the Observer doesn’t have some kind of fail-safe, and he really doesn’t wanna risk having him teleport away with you

So he forces himself to bide his time and play nice... for now

“Fucking spit it out already,” he urges through gritted teeth

The shadow entity smirks, reveling in his opponent’s lack of control

“It’s about Firebrand,” he begins, “though I’m sure you’re already more than aware of the little situation you’ve put him through”

The Observer absent-mindedly strokes your hair, toying with a strand between his fingers much too comfortably

It has Habit seething from where he’s standing

If looks could kill

"The Operator is none too pleased with your meddling,” he continues, and when you shift, trying to retreat from him touch, he lets your hair fall back down before returning his gaze to the infuriated male in front of him

“He demands a trade,” he finally finishes

Habit folds his arms over his chest, muscles nearly bulging as he tries to keep it together

“What’s done with Firebrand is done—it’s over. Trying to meddle with shit by stealing my fucking mate isn’t gonna fix your unfortunate situation” 

Despite his mind-numbing infuriation, Habit can’t help the faint smile as he thinks about how desperate Stick-in-the-Mud must be to resort to this

“It won’t,” the Observer agrees, “but you found a way to get leverage over us, and now, we have leverage over you. I’m sure we can find some way to balance this predicament we’re in, wouldn’t you agree?”

The candles to the left of the room flicker, then dim out, leaving half of the room completely drenched in shadows

From the corner of his eyes, he catches something moving next to you in the darkness, followed by your startled cry

He jerks forwards, hands reaching for his weapon, but then he stops short as the entity tuts, and your panicked gasps turn into muffled whimpers

He can just barely make out the shape of a tentacle as it curls around your mouth, your eyes looking up at him, big and watery and pleading and dear God, it’s damn near impossible to resist smashing the lapdog’s face in and saving you from that freak

“I don’t have the fucking journal,” his voice splits as he snarls the words out, a special kind of hatred and animosity seeping through at the sight of what he’s doing to you

Hell, just the scent of your fear is unbearable

The Observer smiles, and the tentacles stop moving, stop withering and tightening around your form, leaving you just enough air to breath

“Oh? Then where is it?”

"Fuck if I know”

“Hmm… that so?” dissatisfied with his answer, the tentacles start tightening around you once more

You whimper, crying out, trying to twist and turn as the growing darkness continues to consume you, slowly crushing your windpipes and suffocating your vulnerable form  

“Listen, I’ll bring it to you when I get it. Hand delivered by yours truly with a pretty pink fucking bow on it”

Empty promises tumble from his mouth—anything to make him stop, anything to make him release you

Your fear and panic is worse than any kind of torture

He needs it to stop

And, thankfully, it does

Your breathing goes from frantic gasps and whimpers to short breaths—still erratic but at least without the panicked edge of pain 

He can hear your heart beating like a drum in your chest and he wishes he could comfort you

He’d do anything it takes right now to have you unharmed—no matter the cost

The Observer, no doubt sensing Habit’s urgency, chuckles

He turns his attention back to you, this time tilting your chin up to break the eye contact between you and Habit

“There, see? I told you there was nothing to worry about, little one~”

He strokes your cheek, and you whimper in response, still twisting in his tentacles’ grasps

Without looking away from you, he addresses Habit

“You should watch out for your mate, you know. She’s such an easy little thing to pluck out. And how could you blame me for taking her—she’s such a compelling creature, isn’t she?~”

His smile, admittedly, dazzles you for a moment before you snap yourself out of it

You try to tug your head free but his hold on you is much too strong, so you have to look off to the side—anywhere but at his face

“I told you what you wanted. Now let. Her. Go.”

Habit’s tone is enough to bring shivers down your own spine, even knowing he’s on your side

But the entity, however, seems more or less phased by him

His gaze lingers on your face longer than you’d like, studying you, trying to perceive something within you

Then finally, he breaks the trance, glancing back towards Habit and releasing your face

“Your mate isn’t as impervious as you’d like. I suggest keeping that in mind if ever you get the urge to attempt any silly little tricks you might have”

With those final words, the remaining candles in the room flicker 

Shadows crawl up the entity’s form, then everything goes pitch dark for a moment

In that instance, Habit almost fears the worse

The few seconds it lasts stretch into what feels like an eternity

But then relief like no other surges through him when the candles slowly come back to life, and there, sitting against the far back of the room, is you

You’re still chained, but the tentacles have vanished and you share an equally relieved look in your eyes

He’s by your side in an instant

He scoops you up in his arms, holding you up to his strong, firm chest to cradle you and feel your warmth pressing against him

You wrap your arms around him, overwhelmed at everything that happened in such a short amount of time

Your heart beats frantically against his, and you don’t know if you’ve ever felt safer than you do right now in his arms

You let him hold you tightly for a while, until he finally manages to calm your hammering heart and your body relaxes in his hold

“Are you alright, little rabbit? Did he hurt you?”

He cups your jaw and tilts you face to look up at him, eyes filled with concern

You can tell he has more questions to ask, but for the moment, he holds back

“I’m fine,” you release a shaky breath, laughing nervously, “it’s ok, he didn’t do anything when you weren’t here. I’m alright”

He has to hold back a scowl at the idea of you being trapped with the entity—completely helpless to whatever he wants to do to you

“I’ll fucking rip his throat out if I ever see him again. Bastard’s gonna fucking pay”

You bring your hand up to place it over his chest, wanting to feel his heart beneath your touch

Your chains rattling against the ceramic flooring as you shift, and the sound is enough to snap his attention to them

He growls a few choice words under his breath, and then he’s hugging you closer still, like he wants to make sure you’re real and solid and well and alive

“You wanna head home, little rabbit?”

His tone is gentle and soothing

You nod, shutting your eyes and nuzzling deeply into his neck

There’s a shift in your center of gravity, one that’s barely noticeable, almost like you’re swinging up on a swing set, and then the air gets warmer and the harsh ceramic flooring is replaced with something soft beneath you

He strokes your head, murmuring quiet little nothings into your hair

“It’s alright, little rabbit. I won’t let that happen again. You’re all mine. I’ll never let anything bad happen to you. You’re alright, baby. It’s ok, you’re alright…”

You let yourself be consumed by his embrace

His warmth, his scent, the pulse of his heart beneath his skin—you never want him to let you go

But your perfect moment is shattered by a sudden realization

You pull away, and his concern is immediately evident

“Wait… does that mean… did you trade the journal to get me back?”

He gives a wary smile

“You’re worried about some journal after everything you’ve been through?”

Your brows furrow, and you hesitate, chewing your lip

“Isn’t it important?”

Your voice is quiet and uncertain

“You shouldn’t concern yourself with that kind of stuff, bunny. There’s more than one journal. And I promised to give it if I ever got my hands on it. As long as someone else on my side gets it, it’ll be fine”

He playfully boops your nose, a mischievously wild grin on his face

“Stick-in-the-Mud’s lapdogs aren’t as clever as they like to think”

Your shoulders relax again, the guilt immediately melting away

“Oh, that’s good then,” you breathe out, give a small smile

“I love you, little rabbit. You know that, right?”

You nod, a content smile twitching at your lips

“I know. I love you too”

[luna-rainbow]

I’m going to post separately because I don’t want to keep hijacking the interview quote that someone who clearly loved the show posted.

When TFATWS first ended I was disappointed, but not resentful. Sam and Bucky got where they needed and Anthony and Sebastian looked like they genuinely enjoyed the time making it. There was healing, albeit a bit awkwardly rushed in episode 5, but it got both the characters to a better place than at the start.

Then I watched interviews about the creative process and I haven’t stopped fuming since. Skogland freely admits that she had no idea about the characters or the story before she came in to pitch her idea, which was simply “this is the most important story of the century”. Which of course it is, but her wording gives a sense of how she approached the telling - she is using the characters to tell a particular story, rather than telling a story about the characters while addressing those same issues they want to convey.

Now there’s nothing wrong with writing a story around the portrayal of a social issue, particularly one as topical as TFATWS did. But crafting a story around an idea, then using established characters takes a level of finesse that neither Skogland nor Spellman had - as well as a level of love and respect for the characters’ histories that neither of them cared about.

The level of pain on Sam’s face when he heard about Isaiah being imprisoned and experimented on for 30 years is completely undermined by his lack of empathy for Bucky - who was imprisoned and experimented on for 70 years. We can meta the heck out of those scenes (and I have - check my AO3/shameless plug) but it doesn’t change the sense that the intention of the creators was to make us horrified at the the prolonged victimisation of a black man, while at the same time minimising a very similar victimisation of a white man. Throughout the series, Sam empathises immensely with Isaiah and Karli, but barely sympathises with Bucky and John Walker - while pre-TFATWS Sam definitely would because managing vets with PTSD was his line of work.

As someone who enjoys writing stories, I know how hard it is to use the "connect the dots" method of story writing, because it's always hard to connect dramatic scenes in a logical way that works within the world and for the characters. Civil War did it with some success, but here the creators were barely trying. I also know that as a writer you need to be very cautious about your biases, because it's so tempting to always keep your favourite character in the best possible light which inevitably means another character will have to do all the problematic things to push the plot along or create conflicts. This is the sense I'm getting with TFATWS and that's what irks me the most. It just reeks of lazy, biased writing, because half the time it completely broke Bucky's character and didn't make sense for his motivations. Keeping Sam "in the best possible light" also meant he avoided conflicts at all costs which ironically made him come across like a pushover who sympathised more with his enemy than his friends and allies.

I might come across sounding like I hate Sam but I don't - otherwise I wouldn't have just written 16k words from his POV. I hate what they've turned both him and Bucky into for TFATWS, by using him to sell a particular story without making the story about him, as it really should have been. And let's face it, Sam-Bucky only worked because of Stackie's amazing chemistry, because as much as Anthony waxes lyrical about the "tenderness" and "bro code" between Sam and Bucky, I definitely couldn't see it on screen for the first 4.5 episodes until they suddenly became a married couple in episode 5.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Addicted

Calum knows she’s bad news. But sometimes bad news feels too good to let go. Female Reader Insert. 

CW: 18+ Content (Smut). Drug Use/Drug Mentions (Tobacco/Cigarettes). Alcohol Mentions 

Enjoy my masterlist | Part 2- Walk Away

Support me on kofi

No one has my permission to repost my work of fiction. This includes translations as well. All rights reserved. 

________________________________

When his phone rings, he knows he shouldn’t answer it. The only person that calls him this late is her. And she hasn’t called in weeks-- said she found someone else she wanted to pursue. It hurt to say the least but Calum couldn’t fault her. They weren’t dating, just strangers practically with an agreement. It shouldn’t have hurt him--that’s the fucking thing. Her wanting someone else shouldn’t have hurt Calum. 

It didn’t help, of course, that Calum missed the way she smelt on his sheets. It didn’t help that she always seemed to come crawling back to him, crying, heartbroken over someone, right as he was deciding that maybe he could end things. It didn’t help that her lips made his knees buckle. She was worse than nicotine. When he was with her, he didn’t really have the urge to smoke. He never looked at his pack. He just needed her. 

Which explains why right now, he’s sitting outside half a bottle of vodka down and working on his second cigarette. Did even he want to be with her? If she was always leaving him for the next best thing, should he even put his time into it? But there was no one else, not for Calum. It was her. 

And here’s sitting here, staring at his ringing phone. His hand reaches out, almost certain about pressing answer. But his mind, his mind is telling him no. If it’s only her, then why is there so much second guessing.

“She’s no good for you,” he whispers to himself. “No fucking good.” 

He misses the call with all his debating. She calls back immediately. He answers; he can’t say no to her. He just can’t. No matter how much he knows he should; he’s weak.

 “Hello?” he answers. 

“I need you,” she whines. 

“What happened to your other boy toy?”

“I dumped him. He was an asshole and no one makes me feel as good as you do.”

Calum closes his eyes. She always says that. It’s how she strings him along, and he plays the fool every damn time. “I’ve been drinking, so I can’t drive. But if you can get over here, I’ll take care of you,” he whispers, hanging his head. Why does he always say yes to her? Why the hell couldn’t he just leave her alone?

“Thank you baby,” she coos. “I’ll be over real soon.” 

She hangs up, the two tone beep signaling him to that. No goodbye. Maybe at the end of the day, he’ll never be able to leave her alone. If she were a church, Calum would go every day, kneel at the altar, listing every sin he wanted to commit to her. If she were a river, he’d drink from her no matter how far away she was. He’d only eat from her hands, no matter who else was offering him food, no matter how good. He is addicted, so fucking addicted to her. 

And it’s not even like she fucking gives two shits in return. She’ll leave as soon as they’re finished. She’ll kiss him on his left cheek, smiling, and slipping out of his house before dawn ever considers hitting the horizon

Calum finishes the cigarette, putting out on the ashtray and takes another swing from the bottle before standing. He’s not drunk. The bottle’s been around his house for a while- he breaks it out for parties or the occasional cocktail hour when he’s too lazy to go to a bar. Calum, however, definitely did his own damage tonight, staring up at stars that he knows are there but can’t see about something he can’t even remember now. Maybe that was the whole point anyway. 

Back inside, he puts the bottle up in the cabinet and slides into a chair at his dining room table. He’s so fucked; he wanted to quit her. He wanted to be strong, to say that things were clearly going nowhere for either one of them. He had missed his chance. No, he hadn’t missed it. He buried it in alcohol and there was no way for him to say no now. 

Folding his arms, he rests them onto the table, plopping his head to his forearms. His fingertips start to tingle just as the thought of how soft her skin in. His lips ache to kiss her. A groan falls over his lips; Calum rocks his head back and forth. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants.

He needs her. She always likes to so say she needs him, but she doesn’t. She could get her rocks off with anyone and she has--so many times over. Calum can’t even look at another woman. And it’s not a lack of trying either. No matter how close they look in features, they never feel like her. They never taste like her. They never smell like her. They are not her. He’s tried to bury her in countless other woman; they’ve never worked. They couldn’t even compare. 

When the knock sounds from his door, Calum’s heart starts racing. Is he really going to go down this path again? Is he really going to give into her for the millionth time? He needs her, hell yeah he is. The door is barely closed before Calum seals his mouth over hers. They don’t need to play coy; they don’t need to mess around with pleasantries. 

Her hands travel underneath his shirt and Calum moans into her mouth. Her hands feel like heaven, lighting a fire deep in his gut. He missed this, missed her. Calum bites down on her lip, to hear her moan. She releases one and Calum could just about melt at the sound. He knows his breath reeks of alcohol and cigarettes, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Nor has she never minded. Said she likes the way it tastes. Her nails tangle into the cropped sides of his hair; she gives a small tug. The pain sends a jolt of pleasure down Calum’s spine. 

“Fuck,” he sighs, pulling away from her lips and kisses across her jaw. 

She sighs at the feeling of his plump lips working across her skin. Calum moves down to her neck, kissing just below her jaw bone. She whines; he starts sucking, needing her to tug harder at his hair, needing her to keep whining and moaning at his work. She keeps one hand in his hair, pulling harder. But her other hand slides down to his crotch, palming him beneath the basketball shorts. Calum taps her outer thigh twice. She jumps, wrapping her legs around his waist. He carries her to the edge of the sofa, kneeling between her legs. They part, panting. 

“Need a taste,” Calum murmurs, sliding his palms up her thighs. She’s wearing a skirt. His fingers brush over her, expecting to feel panties, but he touches skin. She fucking planned this; she knew he’d never say no. 

Shame hits him, but he touches her again. She’s so wet. Shame and guilt can wait, he figures, flipping up her skirt to get a better look. She glistens. 

“Fuck,” he groans, sliding his fingers between her folds, collecting her arousal onto his fingers. He swirls his finger around her clit before dragging back down and inserting it into her heat. The sound that leaves her lips, Calum wishes to collect it into a jar and listen to it on repeat. Record it and play it over and over and over until he gets sick of it. Calum’s sure that will never happen. 

Spreading her knees a little bit more, Calum attaches his mouth to her clit. Her hands fly to his hair. “Oh, please, yes,” she sighs. 

Calum sucks onto the bud before releasing it. He licks from the bottom of her all the way to the top. He starts pumping his fingers, curling right where he knows she needs it. The sounds of his sucking and lapping fill his living room. Her occasional grunt or moan interjects as well. There is only the faintest sound of tags clicking together. But neither one of them care about it. 

Calum feels her squeeze around his fingers. She’s close, so, so close. He speeds up his pumping, her pants turn higher in pitch. 

“Fuck, oh fuck,” she growls, spasming around his fingers. Her fingers tighten in his hair and he moans against her clit. “Calum,” she moans, “shit.”

He slows as the last of her orgasm fades, kitten licking at her. He finally pulls away, sliding his fingers out of her. She immediately grabs his wrist, pulling it up to her mouth. Her tongue swirls around his digits, collecting all of her arousal dripping down his hands. Calum can’t help himself, his other hand wraps around her throat. She gasps, mouth hanging open around his fingers.

“You know those lips belong elsewhere,” he states. 

“Please,” she rasps, dropping his hand. Calum releases her throat and stands. She drops to her knees, pulling the mesh material down Calum’s golden muscular thighs. 

“Hmm,” she hums, pumping him with her hands before laying her tongue flat across the top. Calum lets out a shaky breath. She licks up from base to tip before finally sinking him into her mouth. 

Calum grips her hair into his fist. “That’s right, baby,” he sighs. She relaxes her throat and pushes him back further. He hears her choke for a second. “You can do better,” he coaxes. She pulls back from him, taking in a deep breath before taking him back down her throat again. Calum holds both sides of her hand in his hands and starts thrusting into her mouth. She stares up at him, tears streaking her face. 

“You take my cock so well,” he encourages. 

She grips at his thighs, not attempting to slow him down. His arousal floods him, the fire in the pit of stomach growing hotter, the knot growing tighter the more he slams into her throat. Before he can erupt down the back of her throat, he pulls away from her completely. She gasps for a good lungful of air. Calum completely steps out of his pants before pulling her to her feet. 

She sniffles, a smile crossing her lips. “You always come down my throat,” she bats her eyelashes. Her tone is teasing but he knows the implications behind the words. Has he not found someone else to fuck when she’s not around? 

Calum pushes her into the wall. She presses her chest and hands into it. He lifts her shirt again, taking a palmful of her ass into his hands. She arches off the wall for him. “Please, baby, I need you,” she whines. 

He slaps her ass, watching it jiggle, then guides himself into her silky heat. Her moan rings against his eardrums. Calum slowly withdraws himself, before sliding back in at an equally slow paced. She wants this to be fast. He knows by the way she bounces back on him. He’s going to take this slow, make her realize what she’s been missing.

Calum grabs her lower back, holding her in place. “No, we’re taking this slow,” he whispers. 

He doesn’t want this to end. The second she comes, she leaves. He wants to hold her ass and back in his hands for forever. His thrusts are so almost leisure like, lazy. She whimpers, trying to push back against him. She’s not nearly as strong as him, so it doesn't work. She can’t break his hold to speed up the pace. Calum drags a hand to the front of her, rubbing her clit with his fingers just as lazy as his thrusts. The added sensation should help satiate her for the moment. 

Calum brings his mouth to her neck, breathing into her scent, dropping butterfly kisses across his skin. His orgasm is approaching faster than he’d like. He can’t really slow down much more. He picks up his pace on her clit. “Fuck, just like that,” she mewls. 

“Of course, baby.”

A high pitched moan leaves her throat. He watches her fingers curl into fists. Her walls clench a little around him. She’s much easier to get off the second time. “Relax,” he sighs into her ear. “You know I always take care of you.”

She cries out, orgasm making her legs quiver. Calum pulls her into his chest. Her clenching sends him over the edge and he spills into her. Then there’s a moment where nothing but the other’s panting is the only sound. Calum kisses at her neck softly. 

“Spend the night,” he asks, still buried in the depth of her, still rolling off the high of his orgasm. 

“I can’t,” she pants.  

“Yes you can,” he retorts. She pulls at his arm and Calum releases her. She pulls herself off him, starting towards the bathroom. Calum watches as his seed runs down her calves. Calum pulls his boxers back on. “You just refuse to stay,” he calls out. 

She doesn’t bother closing the door behind herself. Calum waits for the toilet to flush and the sink to run before rounding the corner. She’s wiping at her thighs. “I actually can’t stay,” she sighs. 

“Why? Why can’t you stay?”

“Because I don’t do relationships.”

“You make it sound like I’m asking you to marry me. I’m just asking for one night.”

“One night leads to two nights. Two nights lead to expectations.” Finished cleaning herself, she kisses his left cheek. Then grins, resting a hand on his face. “I’ll call you though. I always call.”

Calum jerks away from her touch. “You call until someone else catches your fancy. But they never do for long. You always come back to me.”

She shrugs. “Because I like you.”

“But you don’t do relationships,” he continues as if she hadn’t spoken. “Yet you string me along. Why? For someone that doesn’t do relationships, you sure as well like keeping me around.”

“Because I like you,” she repeats. 

“So you don’t like those other guys.”

“I like them too. I just like you more.”

“But not enough to make this something more than just a fuck buddy system. Can’t I at least be your friend?”

“Then you’ll know too much. I like what we have; it’s mysterious but still familiar.”

Calum gives up, turning out the bathroom light. She goes in for another kiss, but he dodges it. At the front door, she hands him his shorts with a grin. He shouldn’t have fucking answered her call. He should’ve let it go to voicemail, no matter how many times she rang him. 

“I’ll call you,” she states again and then disappears out the front door. The darkness is thick, but the front light helps her see to her car. 

It’s not until Calum lays across his bed that he can feel the alcohol again. His eyes can’t settle behind his lids. He turns to his stomach, half expecting to smell her. When he doesn’t smell her, his heart drops. Maybe it was a good thing they never made it to his room. Maybe he has to quit her cold turkey. That’s what he’ll do. Quit her cold turkey. 

Fumbling for a moment, he finds his phone in the dark. Unlocking the device, he finds her contact. He taps edit and scrolls until he hits Delete Contact. His thumb shakes above the button. Fuck, should he delete her number? That feels kind of drastic. No, he has to do it. He taps it as a wave of boldness washes over him. It pops up Delete Contact or Cancel. Fuck, he wishes they hadn’t put this safety guard in. Now he has too much time to think this over. 

No, delete it, just go through with it. Heart thundering his chest, blood thumping against his veins, he taps Delete Contact again. Her information vanishes. When he checks his call list, just her number appears. He deletes those too. Every single one of the times she’s called he deletes. It’s relieving. She’s gone. It’s like she never existed. Except his body still tingles with the ghosts of her touch. That’s okay; that will fade with time. 

A couple days go pass, Calum’s hands start to shake. He reaches for his pack again. Ashton gets to it first, his fingers curling around the thin cardboard and pulling it further from Calum. “You sure you’re okay?” he asks. 

Cal nods, opening his mouth to speak. Then stops. “Just a lot on my mind,” he offers. 

How can he say that she’s got him hooked. He’s almost called her several times over the course of the nights. Even though the information is deleted from his phone, he knows it by heart. One of the few numbers he can recall without having to pull it up from his phone. God, he felt crazy. 

“Want to talk about it?”

Calum reclines and shrugs. “I’m okay.”

Ashton nods, eying him still and scoots the pack farther away from Calum’s reach. “Okay. I’m always here if you ever want to talk.”

It’s another three days before his phone rings again. Calum’s holding the ashtray in one hand as he glances down at the screen. Her number illuminates the previously black screen. Fuck, he wants to answer. His body is screaming at him to answer. His lungs are tired of the nicotine. But it’s the only thing that can hold him over. 

He exhales the smoke, staring hard. His grip tightens around the particularly full ashtray. The call ends soon. His body tenses instead of relaxing. Will she call again? He prays she doesn’t. He prays that she gives up. Her number pops up again. Calum drops his head. Don’t pick up the phone, he chants to himself. Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t do it. The call ends, the buzzing stops rattling his phone against the table. 

She calls again. Calum sets the tray down, gathering the slim gray phone into his hands. He can click ignore. He can hit the little red circle. It’s right there, closest to his thumb. But he stretches the digit across the screen. He taps the green. He gives in.  “Yeah?” he answers, bringing it to his ear. 

“For a second there, I thought you might’ve been ignoring me.”

Yes, yes, God, he was trying to ignore her. But he failed. “No, in the bathroom sorry.”

“Can you come over? I need you.”

He sighs. He should say no. Should tell her to delete his number and never call him again. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon.”

He ends the call before she can speak. His gut twists. He’s done it again, falling into her hands. Played her game and lost. Calum puts out the cigarette and walks inside. He can’t bare to look at himself in the mirror as he grabs his wallet and keys. He took Duke out about an hour ago and the small pup is passed out. Besides, Calum knows he’ll be coming back soon, before the sun can even consider rising. 

The drive is short to her place. He doesn’t have much time to think about turning back around. Staring at her front door, Calum drops his head against it. Is he really going to do this? Yes, he’s tired of smoking. Tired of the shakes. Tired of Ashton always watching him like a hawk. He needs a hit of her. It’ll be the last one, he promises to himself, lifting his hand to knock.

[lonelyandlovelorn]

Sorry, I’m Awkward - Part 4

A/N: This is the end, I’m actually pretty proud of this. I hope you guys like it too, I love reading your guys’ comments and notes in reblogs. 

Genre: fluff 

Warning: swearing, fighting, small injury

Word count: 2500

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem reader

Summary: On a mission with the Winter Soldier himself, you learn he’s not actually an ass and that you’re more embarrassing than you thought. 

Masterlist

Sorry, I’m Awkward Masterlist

When you arrive at the gala, you immediately feel out of your element, even as you force yourself to relax. The atmosphere practically reeks with fakeness and trying too hard. Every other woman in the room is dressed similarly to you, though you are happy to notice that none of them seem to catch Bucky’s eye. When that though crosses your mind, you immediately shake it off, focusing on the mission. With a moment’s scan, you spot the target, a graying man near the other end of the room. You inconspicuously point him out to Bucky who nods.

The expression on his face is too serious for the gala, and you’re sure you aren’t faring much better. You wrap your arm around his right bicep, giving a fake giggle for those who might have been watching. Bucky’s eyes rove you for a moment before you can see him compartmentalizing everything in his mind until a seemingly carefree smile lights up his face. You would be glad to see it if it weren’t for the fact that you know the way a real smile lights up his eyes and crinkles his eyes. His real smiles are warm and light, everything that the people in this room are not. 

You both make a few rounds of guests, keeping an eye on the man without being obvious about it. You keep up the facade of a rich young couple in love, being a little touchier than might be fully acceptable. You need to keep up the act though, so you keep your arm tightly wrapped in his, sometimes rubbing your fingers along his forearm or simply intertwining them with his. He had been given a bit of tech from Tony that would hide the appearance of his metal arm, but that didn’t change the way it felt. There was no way to explain the admiration you had for this man or his arm without sounding horny as hell. There was just something about it that you hadn’t thought much of until you held onto it for so long. At first, when you were messing with it, Bucky seemed as nervous as he had been the day before when you had grabbed it, but he eventually calmed down with your soothing and gentle strokes. 

Finally, you both made it around to the side of the room where the target was standing. You kept up conversation with another young couple nearby for appearances, but neither of you paid any attention to them. When the man began leaving the room quietly, you tightened your hold on Bucky, He seemed to understand and you both politely wrapped up the conversation before making to follow. In case there were any eyes on you, You grabbed Bucky’s hand and made a show of jokingly dragging him somewhere private, giggling demurely the whole way. Once out of the room and into the hallway the man had gone down, you dropped the act. You were sad to have to let go of Bucky for the first time that night. 

You both crept quietly down the hall until you saw him around a corner. You followed him until you saw him go into a room. He was only in there for a few moments as you both watched. The door opened once more and you quickly grabbed Bucky’s jacket, pulling him against where you stood on the wall. 

He glanced at your lips. “Again?” he asked quietly. You only looked at him doe-eyed before pressing your lips to his. His right hand moved to your waist as his left cupped your cheek and threaded into your hair. You were both breathing heavily when you heard a throat being cleared to your left. You both pulled away to look at him. You put on your best acting face, giving a shy giggle and looking abashedly down. 

“You can’t be back here,” the man said, looking slightly ruffled at the scene he had just walked in on. Bucky wore a lazy smirk, playing the part of a playboy millionaire perfectly. A little boy caught in the act of doing something wrong, but not caring one bit for the consequences. 

“Sorry sir,” you said quietly, “we were just looking for somewhere private. We’ll be out in just a moment.” You made a show of fixing your hair that Bucky had mussed. You were honestly still a little breathless. You saw the man give a gruff nod before walking away. When he rounded the corner, you straightened up and Bucky moved to give you space. You both looked to his office, making eye contact and nodding before walking in the direction he had come from. Luckily, the door was unlocked. You still had to be careful though, knowing you only had a few moments before he sent someone to look for you. 

You were quick and efficient going through his computer to find the files you needed, emails and communications that would incriminate him and put him away. As you pulled the flashdrive out, you looked to Bucky who was keeping watch. Suddenly, you both heard noise in the hallway. 

Bucky muttered, “Trouble,” before stepping out into the hall. You followed him out to see two bulky men looking at you both exiting an off-limits office. 

“Can we help you?” They were an intimidating picture with their bulky arms crossed over broad chests, but when you trained with two super soldiers for a living, they didn’t scare you much. 

“Sorry, gentlemen, we were just leaving,” Bucky said smoothly, making to move past them. One of them grabbed his arm (the flesh one, luckily) to stop him. 

“I can’t let you do that.” Bucky looked to you. All you did was nod, and he took your cue. Bucky lashed out at the man holding him, getting a good hit in with his metal arm and leaving a nasty mark. The other man turned to you. Settling into a battle stance, you slipped the knife out of your thigh strap and kicked off your heels. He came at you quickly and the fight was on.

Even if you train with super soldiers, it doesn’t mean you’re as strong as them. Cap frequently had you on your back when you sparred, and the few times you had faced off with Bucky had left you aching for days. You were a good fighter, but so was your opponent. He was built like an ox and you had trouble doing more than dodge. You were fast, but your hits lacked real power. You attempted to swipe at him with your knife, getting a few good slashes in before he knocked it out of your hand. Before you could get it back, he had it in his hand and it was all you could do to dodge every swing. You felt a sting along your back as you spun away from him. Finally seeing an opening, you called on every bit of Black Widow strength within you to climb onto his shoulders to wrap your thighs around his neck. With the knife still in his hands, he got a few good cuts into your legs before you finally brought him down. As you stood up and swept the hair out of your eyes, you looked to see Bucky take down another guard who had come along. He blew a few strands of hair from his face as he turned to you. 

“We better get going.” You could only nod in agreement and slip your shoes back on, following Bucky out of the building through your memorized path on the blueprints you had studied. You made it out and got into the passenger seat of the car you had been sent for the night. You were still amped up on adrenaline when you got in the car, but as your heartbeat settled, the stinging cuts on your body came to your attention. You let out a hiss as shifting in your seat unsettled the one on your back. Bucky looked to you in concern but you just waved him off. 

You managed to fake feeling okay until you followed him into the room. As you moved, you realized that the cut on your back was probably deep enough to need stitches and you couldn’t reach it by yourself. You sat down on the bed slowly as Bucky called Steve to let him know you were ready for extraction. 

He turned to you after hanging up. “Steve said they should be here in a few hours.” Your face was surely pale and you were a little unfocused, which he obviously noticed. “Hey, doll, you okay?” 

You shook your head slowly. You were stubborn sometimes, but you knew you needed help with your wound. You kicked your heels off again before standing on shaky legs and turning to show him your back. You heard his sharp intake of breath, so you knew it must look pretty bad. “Alright, go ahead and lay on your stomach, I’m gonna get the first aid kit.” You listened to him, sprawling on the bed. You were aware enough to know that sleep would be a bad idea, so you tracked him with your eyes, watching him take off his jacket and rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. If you weren’t in so much pain, you definitely would have appreciated the sight. 

Bucky sat on the edge of the bed next to you, looking you over for a moment. “Alright, I’m going to have to unzip your dress to get at it.” You nodded in acquiescence, shivering at the feel of his fingers on your side. You were kind of mad that the only reason he was going to see your pretty lingerie was because you were hurt. That didn’t stop the satisfaction coursing through you at his stuttered movements and small gasp when the lace came into view. Luckily, the cut was fairly low on your back so the brassiere was untouched. He quietly peeled the wet fabric from your back and began working with determined attention. He made sure to focus on stitching you up instead of the expanse of exposed skin and lacy material in his view. 

You watched him as much as you could to distract yourself from the pain. Unfortunately, admiring his brow furrowed in concentration only did so much, so you began talking. “Tell me a secret.” He paused his work to look at you with a slightly quirked eyebrow. 

“A secret?” he asked, returning his focus to the needle in his hand. 

“Yeah. It can be anything, just something I don’t know about you that other probably don’t know about you. Distract me.” You weren’t sure why you had chosen that as a distraction, but you wanted to get to know him better anyway. 

“Alright, I’ll tell you a secret doll,” he said quietly, leaning closer to you. “I know you were awake this morning.” You can’t say for certain whether your sharp inhale was a product of that statement or the tug of your skin as he finished suturing your back. You were silent as he finished his task bandaging you up. When he was done, he lightly patted your back and stood up to put away the supplies without a word. 

You slowly sat up to face him. “Why didn’t you say anything?” His eyes flashed to you and he stared at you a moment before they moved quickly to the ceiling. 

“Doll…” You looked down to realize that your dressed was pooled around your waist and you were sitting in front of him in only a bra from the waist up. At least it was a cute one. You quickly pulled the dress up to cover your front before he turned to the duffle bag and pulled out one of his large Henleys. He held it out to you, but you didn’t take it as you waited for him to answer. He sighed and grabbed your hand, pressing the fabric into it before answering your question. 

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to force you to face it. Who am I to judge? Maybe you just like cuddling, that’s not my business.”

“But don’t you want to know why I didn’t move?” You weren’t usually so brazen and confident when faced with an embarrassing situation, but if the way he reacted to your touch and the kisses was anything to go off of, you weren’t alone in your feelings. You kept eye contact with him as you dropped the top of your dress to pull his shirt over your head. His eyes didn’t leave yours, but the way his pupils dilated did wonders for your confidence. The shirt hung loosely on your frame and his eyes trailed over the image of you wearing his clothes before he cleared his throat.

“Why didn’t you move?” he asked nervously. 

You smiled sweetly at him. “Because I like being in your arms.” You stood up, letting the dress fall to your feet. The shirt was large enough to cover your decency, but Bucky definitely got a glimpse at the other half of your matching set, and even when the hem settled there was still plenty of leg on display. You moved into Bucky’s personal space, and his arms wound around you as if on instinct. You let a smirk play on your face as your arms moved to wrap around his neck, your fingers playing with the hair at the back of his neck. “Whattaya say, soldier. Wanna try dating in the 21st century?”

A real smile lit up his face and your heart stuttered. “Doll, I would be honored.” You grinned before pressing a real kiss just for the two of you to his lips. It wasn’t as heated as the others, but it was every bit as magical. When you pulled away, you were happy to see he looked as dazed as you felt. 

“I wonder what the team will think?” you pondered out loud. You had left the compound a rather stoic and uncomfortable pair, no one would guess you would come back half in love. 

“Steve and Sam will make fun of me for weeks, with the way I’ve been eyeing you.” You laughed at that, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

“You can hide with me anytime. Maybe I’ll even show you this whole lingerie set Nat got me.” You shot him a wink and were proud to see the man blush, even as hunger filled his eyes. 

“Why does that have to wait until we get back?” You smacked his arm but couldn’t help but laugh. 

Your back still stung, but you were on a high. Your mission was successful, and you were coming away with a boyfriend. Maybe being a little awkward wasn’t so bad. 

--

I made a ko-fi! There’s no obligation, I just wanted to try it out.

Tag(s): @emotionallysalty @ficrecsandreviews @fandomsfallnomore @aquaastrid @mariah-vg @eury-dice3

[beeblackburn]

Pretender Reads A Little Hatred, Part I, Chapter Five

If anyone would like to publicly hang me for posting more frequently after months since the first read-through, feel free! Goes without saying spoilers ahead for the entirety of The First Law works beyond the keep reading. Read at your own risk.

Chapter Title: A Little Public Hanging Point-of-View: Crown Prince Orso

As a forewarning, I just want to say this: I hate privileged royal characters. I do, I really do! They always end up as some form of ineffectual, despite being in high positions, spoiled whiners who complain about how hard their lives are, despite having vastly more than the mud-and-shit-worked peasants they rule over, and refusing to actually change things for the better. 

And, after a lifetime of reading about privileged royal twats as protagonists who complained about how hard their lives were, only to end up getting a heart for the peasantry later, but not actually rocking the boat too hard, in terms of changing their monarchies to something directly more beneficial, I’m just kind of done with them? 

That being said, Abercrombie wrote Jezal dan Luthar and I actually liked how he progressed, but at the same time, he wasn’t royalty at the start. Just a noble prick who had to take some hard blows before he could grow the hell up. So, we’ll see how this goes...

“I hate bloody hangings,” said Orso.

One of the whores tittered as if he’d cracked quite the joke. It was the falsest laugh he had ever heard, and when it came to false laughter, he was quite the connoisseur. Everyone was false in his presence, and he the worst actor of all.

“I guess you could stop it,” said Hildi. “If you wanted.”

Orso frowned up at her, perched on the wall with her legs crossed and her chin propped on one palm.

“Well… I suppose…” Strange how the idea had never occurred to him before. He pictured himself springing onto the scaffold, insisting these poor people be pardoned, ushering them back to their miserable lives to tearful thanks and rapturous applause. Then he sighed. “But… one really shouldn’t interfere with the workings of the judiciary.”

Lies, like everything that left his mouth, engineered to make him appear just a touch less detestable. He wondered who he was trying to fool. Hildi undoubtedly saw straight through it. The truth was, when it came to stopping this, as with so much else, he simply couldn’t be arsed. He took another pinch of pearl dust, his heavy snorts ringing out as the Inquisitor in charge stepped to the front of the scaffold and the crowd fell breathlessly silent.

My, my, Orso’s quite the charmer, isn’t he. Just this apathetic mess who can’t be bothered to act in any way real, even stop a hanging he doesn’t like. There’s a pitiful quality to him, but not in a way that arouses sympathy or love to me, given how much privilege and power his position has, especially with how much he knows he’s a shit and can afford to get away with it as crown prince.

That being said, what strikes me about this opening is just how painfully self-depreciating Orso’s voice is. To the noting of false laughter, to the knowledge that he knows he’s using his words to paint himself less awful to Hildi, to this feeling that she can see through how despicable he is (and he kind of is here!), one thing that contrasts him with a high screech against early Jezal and, more accurately, Crown Prince Ladisla, is that... Orso really doesn’t buy into any hype of his. He knows he’s a shit person, everyone knows it, so why bother denying it to himself?

Hmmm. I’m not entirely sure how to feel about this, self-awareness can cut both ways in terms of reader sympathy, but he’s no Ladisla so far. He’s certainly an interesting contrast to Savine, the other Union voice, and Leo, the other male voice, so far. He’s not particular fixated on public appearances, given the ease of doing drugs out in the open, and he’s not exactly a man of action either. He’s just... kind of an inactive shit stuck in his privilege.

“These three…people,” and the Inquisitor swept an arm towards the chained convicts, each held under the armpit by a hooded executioner, “are members of the outlawed group known as the Breakers, convicted of High Treason against the Crown!”

“Treason!” someone screeched, then dissolved into coughing. It was a still day, so a bad one for the vapours. Not that there were many good days for the vapours lately, what with the new chimneys sprouting up all over Adua. People at the very back must have been struggling to see the scaffold through the murk.

“They have been found guilty of setting fires and breaking machinery, of incitement to riot and sheltering fugitives from the king’s justice! Have you anything to say?”

The first prisoner, a heavyset fellow with a beard, evidently did. “We’re faithful subjects of His Majesty!” he bellowed in a hero’s voice, all manly bass and quivering passion. “All we want is an honest wage for honest work!”

Huh, so the Breakers are effectively revolutionaries? Honestly, I can’t really blame them for railing against their conditions. As we’ve seen in Savine’s chapter, they live in some truly wretched environments. And all these passages prove is that is the new age of progress that Savine’s taking advantage is here to stay, and Orso’s eyes are a necessary lens to see all the curses of it, whereas Savine would only see the Breakers and the vapours as the inevitable collateral damage of this new world where money is power.

“I’d sooner take a dishonest wage for no work at all,” grunted Tunny.

Yolk burst out laughing while swigging from his bottle and sprayed a reeking mist of spirits, which settled over the wig of a well-dressed old lady just in front.

Hey, Tunny and Yolk! Hi, you two surviving bastards! Playing to the hits, I see.

“Yes.” Tunny showed his yellow grin and Orso winced. He hated it when Tunny used him to bully people. Almost as much as he hated hangings. But somehow he could never bring himself to stop either one.

(arches an eyebrow) Now, how did Tunny manage to get in close enough to the Crown Prince ever since serving in the war against Styria? And why get close to a Crown Prince to begin with? Is Tunny not afraid of the shitting falling on him once Orso’s enemies angling to take him and his friends out?

And, by god, Tunny’s turned into more of a shit than he originally was. I mean, given his appearance in Sharp Ends, I’m not surprised, but never let it be said that Abercrombie lets up on the negative character development he’s famous for among his characters.

The side-whisker enthusiast had turned pale as a freshly laundered sheet, something Orso had not seen in some time. “Your Highness, I had no idea. Please accept my—”

“No need.” Orso waved a lazy hand, wine-stained lace cuff flapping, and took another pinch of pearl dust. “I am a damn disgrace. Notoriously so.” He gave the man a reassuring pat on the shoulder, realised he had smeared dust all over his coat and tried ineffectually to brush it off. If Orso excelled at anything, after all, it was being ineffectual. “Please don’t concern yourself over my feelings. I don’t have any.” Or so he often said. The truth was he sometimes felt he had too many. He was dragged so violently in a dozen different directions that he could not move at all.

Honestly, as much as I don’t come out of this respecting Orso, I can relate to that last sentiment. Being so dragged apart by different responsibilities and obligations that you feel paralyzed by it. You can’t move, you can’t do anything.

That being said, Orso, you’re doing drugs while watching a hanging you can, theoretically, try to stop. I’m not seeing where you’re being dragged apart here.

And there is so much apathy and self-depreciation in these passages, so much of Orso not getting angry or petty, not even for a power high considering Side-whiskers would be fine with however he reacted, which is so telling compared to the usual reactions of nobles. There’s no knee-jerk anger at being told off like Jezal or Ladisla or Vallimir or most others here. Orso’s so inactive, he can’t even summon up the typical petty retribution that nobles do. 

He’s a shit, but he’s a very different shit compared to the others, I feel.

“Majir?”

“Y’owe Majir a hundred and fifty-one marks. Said she can’t give you more credit.”

“Spizeria, then?”

“Y’owe him three hundred and six. Same story.”

“How the hell did that happen?”

Hildi gave Tunny, Yolk and the whores a significant glance. “You want me to answer that?”

Orso racked his brains to think of someone else, then gave up. If he excelled at anything, after all, it was giving up. “For pity’s sake, Hildi, everyone knows I’m good for it. I’ll be coming into a considerable legacy one of these days.” No less than the Union, and everything in it, and all its unliftable weight of care, and impossible responsibility, and crushing expectation. He grimaced and tossed her the box.

Huh! The same Majir in Savine’s chapter? A neat note, but dang, Orso, who haven’t you indebted yourself to at this point? So much privilege of never needing to mind one’s personal purse. Though, you’d think Jezal would’ve covered him or Terez, at least, told him to knock it off the frivolous spending, up to a point.

And there’s that awareness again, knowing how much weight he’s going to be under once he stops being Crown Prince and starts being King of the Union, and, to put a pause on haranguing Orso for his inactivity and open apathy, the Circle of the World might be the only series where there’s greater context to more justify a lack of feeling any agency among the royalty, given how Bayaz’s set it up and how much Jezal is ultimately a prisoner to his status, though Orso doesn’t know how bad it’ll get.

Kind of hard to do anything when stepping out of line means an “accident.”

“You owe me nine marks,” she muttered.

“Shoo!” Orso tried to wave her away, got his little finger painfully tangled in his cuff and had to rip it free. “Just get it done!”

She gave a long-suffering sigh, jammed that ancient soldier’s cap down over her blonde curls and stepped off into the crowd.

“She’s a funny little thing, your errand girl,” warbled one of the whores, dragging too heavily on his arm.

“She’s my valet,” said Orso, frowning, “and she’s a fucking treasure.”

Awww, is it wrong this made me like Orso more? If he drags himself, he elevates others as well. And he’s right, Hildi’s a damn treasure and it’s still kind of amazing a prince allows his inner circle to be contrary to him, mouthing off to him and using him in their petty power plays like with Tunny and Side-whiskers earlier. 

It’s like he has so little regard for himself, that there’s room for him to think so much better of others.

On the scaffold, meanwhile, the bearded man was bellowing out the Breakers’ manifesto with ever more emotion. The noise from the crowd was growing but, much to the upset of the Inquisitor, he was starting to strike a chord. Calls of support were breaking through the mockery.

“No more machines!” the bearded man roared, veins bulging in his thick neck. “No more seizure of common land!”

He seemed a useful fellow. More useful than Orso, certainly. “What a bloody waste,” he muttered.

This is reminding me of when Last Argument of Kings had the Tanner plotline and how much the peasantry rebelled then. Except thematically... this feels different. That rebellion was an orchestrated farce at the head of it in the end, but this feels more... real.

Orso, especially stuck in his self-depreciation, can see the validity of the people involved with the movement, and see the waste of killing a good man. Yet, he’ll still let him die because his station is built upon on culling the dissidents of royalty, hence why the Inquisition are doing this.

He might believe it a waste, hell, I think he genuinely does, but ultimately, without acting, all those thoughts? Empty gestures and sighs, full of pity, Orso.

It was a riddle. This man, born with no advantages, believed in something so much he was willing to die for it. Orso, born with everything, could scarcely make himself get out of bed of a morning. Or, indeed, an afternoon.

“Bed is warm, though,” he murmured.

Well, that’s just the thing. The privileged, with their inherited wealth, don’t have to work to preserve it and their privileges. They’ve known no other life beyond it and have grown accustomed to their degree of luxury. Their wealth and privilege allows them to live as comfortably as possible, and the human lives exploited and squeezed out of their use? They’re less a consideration to the immediate pleasures of the privileges of those in high places. 

Comfort and pleasure can blind you, because too much of them can close you off to the pain and anguish of others, if your luxurious life is dependent on the suffering of others. It’s only when you have skin in the game that you learn to fight for something until the bitter end, because you don’t have any luxury to fall back on when you’re knee-deep in the shit. A world’s difference between that Breaker and Orso, between those with losing and winning hands.

Rather than needing strong men or horses to haul up the condemned, some enterprising fellow had devised a system whereby prisoners could be dropped through the scaffold floor at a touch upon a lever. There was an invention to make everything more efficient these days, after all. Why would killing people be an exception?

(snorts) Done in a new way, indeed.

“Damn it,” muttered Orso, working a finger into his collar. There was nothing even faintly satisfying in this. Even if these people really were enemies of the state, they hardly looked like very dangerous ones.

In some ways, this is a shockingly naive thought in the Circle of the World. Plenty of otherwise harmless-looking or quiet people can turn out your most dangerous and ruthless enemies in this world, as Logen would point out. But, at the same time... this is still an acknowledgment of all this being wrong. Orso’s problem isn’t that he doesn’t know right or wrong, it’s that he can’t be bothered to do anything about it, and that damns him, given he, out of everyone there, could stop it. Could, at least, try! And doesn’t!

The next in line to receive the king’s justice was a girl who might not yet have been sixteen. Her eyes, wide in bruised sockets, flickered from the open trapdoor to the Inquisitor as he stepped towards her. “Have you anything to say?”

She appeared hardly to comprehend. Orso found himself wishing the vapours were thicker, and that he could not see her face at all.

“Please,” said the man beside her. There were tears streaking his dirty cheeks. “Take me but, please—”

Oof. I can’t say I’m surprised, considering West’s chapter at the Angland camp noting the Inquisition takes children in, but seeing it still punches me in the heart. And that man, just begging for leniency to that girl, for himself...

And Orso, wishing he didn’t have to see her face, in order not to feel the guilt burning in him. At staying his hand. Because looking at someone’s eyes beforehand makes it all the harder to say they deserved to die.

Orso gritted his as he looked to the scaffold. Hildi had been right, he could stop this. If not him, who? If not now, when?

There was some problem with the girl’s noose, the Inquisitor hissing furiously at one of the executioners as he dragged his hood up over his sweaty face to peer at the knots.

Orso was just about to step forward. Was just about to roar, Stop!

On a purely realistic note, I kind of wonder what would have happened, had Orso acted? Glokta’s not there, nor is Bayaz, and it can be agreed-upon the public masses that the royalty of the Union still holds the power over there. So, ultimately, it depends on whether Orso would buckle to the Inquisitors there, them telling him that the Breakers are traitors and deserve no quarter with him conceding in the end, or if he could argue that children have done no crime worth execution? In truth, the Inquisition are the real power, given Arch Lector Glokta, but at the same time, publicly undercutting the royalty might be more trouble than Orso undercutting the Inquisition, who nominally serve under him.

In short, it’s entirely possible he could’ve, at least, saved the girl, just like Jezal protected Brock’s children against his Closed Council once:

“There will be no hangings.” The king was frowning levelly at Bayaz.

Hoff blinked. “But your Majesty, you cannot allow—”

“There has been enough bloodshed. Far more than enough. Release Lord Brock’s children.”

Last Argument of Kings, Patriotic Duties

(Sobs at father/son connections)

In all honesty, if we’re talking echoes of the first trilogy, there’s a lot of later-Jezal in Orso, the self-depreciating man who was more painfully aware of how out-of-depth he was as king, except the self-depreciation is far more pointed in Orso’s case, Orso’s voice is choked full of it, so much so that it’s a miasma of disregard to himself. Not undeserved, considering how little he’s doing now, but it’s definitely a notable quality. On a structural level, I can’t help, but read a certain Crown Prince Ladisla in Orso, except, instead of just a punchline, there’s an actual character in this useless prince, and enough self-aware and want to do the right thing...

... Yet, Orso doesn’t.

But circumstances always conspired to stop him doing the right thing. He heard a soft, high voice in his ear. “Your Highness.”

Orso turned to see the broad, flat and decidedly unwelcome face of Bremer dan Gorst at his shoulder.

HEY, GORST THE WORST! How’re ya doing? :D Still the King's First Guard? Of course you are! Also still being a depressed, self-pitying murderous incel? That too, most like! 

Gods, I wonder if he’s still fixated on Finree, after all these years...

“The queen has sent for you,” piped Gorst.

Orso blew out through his pursed lips to make a long farting sound. “Hasn’t she better things to do?”

Oh, SNAP! We’re getting Terez this early? My, my, I’m certainly interested in seeing her again, after how Abercrombie dropped the ball with her the first trilogy.

Orso turned away without much reluctance. He hated bloody hangings, but the girls had wanted to go and he hated disappointing people, too. As a result of which, it seemed, he disappointed everyone. At his back, there was that strange sound between gasp and cheer as the next trapdoor dropped open.

Disappointing me as well. Damn it, Orso. Nothing was stopping you from stopping the girl’s execution, at least, and then going to your mother right after. But no, you took the easy excuse of needing to be with your mother, instead of the hard choice of standing for what’s right.

Another thing Abercrombie relies on? The anti-climax, the thwarting of expectations on a chapter and series scale, I knew it as one of his writing tools going in, and I still fell for it, hoping Orso would do something useful, anything useful and stop the excessive execution of a child. I suppose I have no one to blame but myself, given even Orso’s expressed what a useless shit he is, but...

Oh, Orso, Orso, Orso. What am I to do with you?

Orso tossed his hat onto the bald head of a bust of Bayaz, congratulating himself that it came to rest on the legendary wizard at a pleasingly rakish angle.

Huh, I do wonder how a meeting between Orso and Bayaz would go down. Bayaz’s inevitable to come visit the Union at some point in this trilogy, especially if Jezal croaks in the middle of it (the Breakers would serve as an abject reason for murdering the king, given the allusions to the French Revolution). Orso hardly seem to be made of sterner stuff, even more than his father, who wasn’t exactly a lion deep down... but at the same time, that’s expected, isn’t it? 

Who are you, Orso, beyond a self-aware fool I can’t respect, and pity without sympathy?

The tapping of his boot heels echoed in the vast spaces of the salon as he crossed a sea of gleaming tiles to the tiny island of furniture in its centre. The High Queen of the Union sat fearsomely erect there, dripping with diamonds, growing out of the chaise like a spectacular orchid from a gilded pot. It hardly needed to be said that he’d known her his whole life, but the sheer regality of the woman still took him aback every time.

You know, I was expecting this, but wow. We’re really getting Terez, huh! Looking the picture-perfect example of royalty.

Also, I got to love that fearsomely. Lovely detail to capture how Orso feels about his mother.

“Mother,” he said, in Styrian. Using the tongue of the country they actually ruled only aggravated her, and he knew from long experience that aggravating Queen Terez was never, ever worth it. “I was just on my way to visit when Gorst found me.”

“You must take me for a rare kind of fool,” she said, angling her face towards him.

“No, no.” He bent to brush one heavily powdered cheek with his lips. “Just the usual kind.”

“Really, Orso, your accent has become appalling.”

“Well, now that Styria is almost entirely controlled by our enemies, I get so little chance to practice.”

As an immigrant child, someone born away from my current home, I can’t entirely relate to this... but I know my parents suffered a great deal of cultural diaspora when they came to where we currently live. And, when my brother and I could, we would speak Chinese because it was part of our parents’ culture. I’m not particularly good at it, but I know enough to make my parents’ lives more convenient instead of speaking a language they’re less comfortable with. 

I say all this to say? I completely get where Terez’s coming from. She was effectively sold off from her father to a foreign country to accumulate more of his power and she’s adrift from her original culture and home and just wants to keep as much as possible. And it’s honestly such a neat detail from a character who was given the short shrift in the first trilogy, writing-wise. I can already tell there’s a greater sense of detail attended to her this time.

The royal bosom, constrained by corsetry that was a feat of engineering to rival any wonder of the new age, inflated majestically as the queen sighed. “People expect a certain amount of indolence in a Crown Prince. It was quite winning when you were seventeen. At twenty-two, it began to become tiresome. At twenty-seven, it looks positively desperate.”

(looks at Crown Prince Ladisla) Different sort of man, yet, the same disappointment. I come back to the Prince Ladisla comparison because the way they’re written feels so different, despite occupying a similar useless royal twat archetype. Prince Ladisla completely bought into himself being the best thing since sliced bread, full of illusions of himself as a great general in his head. Crown Prince Orso, though? If anything, he suffers from the opposite problem: so thoroughly disillusioned of himself that he feels he can’t do anything. They’re both privileged, useless, royal twat archetypes, but how their uselessness is expressed is the difference between day and night.

“You have no idea, Mother.” Orso dropped into a chair so savagely uncomfortable it was like being punched in the arse. “I have long been thoroughly ashamed of myself.”

“You could try doing something to be proud of. Have you considered that?”

“I’ve spent whole days considering it.” He frowned discerningly through the wine as he held it up to the light from the giant windows. “But doing it really feels like such a lot of effort.”

This feels similar to the Finree/Leo dynamic, except where that mother was exasperated at her son’s inability to do anything but act, Terez takes issue with how much Orso will do anything but act. A true man of inaction against Leo’s man of action.

Also, “long been thoroughly ashamed”? How long as this been happening for Orso, then? Terez did mention that he was like this since seventeen, but... why? I mean, as Terez says, you could try doing something. Like, um, stopping an execution? Orso? Hello?

“Frankly, your father could use your support. He is a weak man, Orso.”

“So you never tire of telling him.”

“And these are difficult times. The last war did… not end well.”

“It ended pretty well if you’re King Jappo of Styria.”

His mother pronounced each word with icy precision. “Which you… are…not.”

“Sadly, for all concerned.”

“You are King Jappo’s mortal enemy and the rightful heir to all he and the thrice-damned Snake of Talins have stolen, and it is high time you took your position seriously! We have enemies everywhere. Inside our borders, too.”

Well. That answers one question about Jezal and Terez. Though, honestly, I expected as much, given those grisly circumstances. (grimaces)

Also, snrrrk. Terez, Orso barely has the energy to do the right thing for a girl, what makes you think he has the energy to take up a mortal enemy he never asked for?

Also, calling it now: Orso and Jappo are totally going to meet eventually in this trilogy and get along because they can share in their mutual burdens of dominating mothers.

“Then I trust you come to me in a receptive mood.” Orso’s mother gave two sharp claps and Lord Chamberlain Hoff strutted in. With waistcoat bulging around his belly and legs stick-like in tight breeches, he looked like nothing so much as a prize rooster jealously patrolling the farmyard.

“Your Majesty.” He bowed so low to the queen, he virtually buffed the tiles with his nose. “Your Highness.” He bowed just as low to Orso but in a manner that somehow expressed boundless contempt. Or perhaps Orso only saw his own contempt for himself reflected in that obsequious smile. “I have positively scoured the entire Circle of the World for the most eligible candidates. Dare one suggest that the future High Queen of the Union waits among them?”

HEY, Hoff! You piece of utter shit! How’ve you been?

(stares before wincing) Well, that feels familiar... though, I imagine there’s just some genuine contempt, considering that you’re not exactly the model of princely behavior.

Well, not good princely behavior.

“Oh, good grief.” Orso let his head drop back, staring up towards the beautifully painted ceiling of the peoples of the world kneeling before a golden sun. “The parade again?”

“Ensuring the succession is not a joke,” pronounced his mother.

“Not a funny one, anyway.”

“Don’t be facetious, Orso. Your sisters both did their dynastic duty. Do you suppose Cathil wanted to move to Starikland?”

“She’s an inspiration.”

“Do you think Carlot wanted to marry the Chancellor of Sipani?”

Actually, she had been delighted by the idea, but Orso’s mother loved to imagine everyone sacrificing all on the altar of duty, the way she was always telling them she had. “Of course not, Mother.”

Cathil? Carlot? What the... who named them? Orso makes me think Terez got to name the sons (oh geez, I just realized Crown Prince Orso was still a child when Duke Orso got killed, what a bad omen) and Cathil and Carlot... did Jezal name them? Where did he get those names? Now I’m wondering Jezal asking Glokta for advice on names, and Glokta asking Pike for another name for the daughter after the first one.

Either that or Cathil and Carlot are common Union names, maybe, but just imagine the awkwardness of that naming discussion between Jezal and Glokta.

Also, STARIKLAND? Where Conthus and Carlot are? Oh dear...

What strikes me about this is the idea that Orso and Carlot were close enough that he knew that she was delighted at the arrangement between her and the Chancellor of Sipani. It’s just a nugget, but it helps make Orso a little more palatable.

Also, as much as I really dislike the guilt-tripping from Terez here... there’s a sad reality that she was sacrificed for her father’s power. Whether he knew she was a lesbian or not is immaterial, he could’ve arranged her a match she actually liked and straight-up didn’t care enough to, only thinking that she would’ve whined, had he offered Euz, instead of simply a king. 

“Lady Sithrin dan Harnveld,” announced the lord chamberlain.

Orso sank lower into his chair. “Do I really want a wife who measures the distance from her chin to her tits in miles?”

“Artistic licence, Your Highness,” explained Hoff.

“Call it art, you can get away with anything.”

HA! I have a few artistic friends, and have seen enough artists justify wonky perspective or anatomy, that this is endlessly amusing to me.

Honestly, Orso’s got a few good zingers here. That’s another good part about this chapter here: he’s funny in a way Rikke and Leo, or even Savine, aren’t, despite the darkness of the initial half. A lot of his quips undercut a good chunk of the darkness there. Not enough that the reality doesn’t sink in, but enough that it doesn’t choke us with the misery of child execution.

“The Countess Istarine of Affoia is a proven politician, and would bring us valuable allies in Styria.”

“From the looks of her, she’s more likely to bring me a dose of the cock-rot.”

“I had imagined you would be immune from constant exposure,” observed the queen, waving the portrait away with an exquisite flourish of her fingers.

Snrrrrk. Dang, even Terez’s got some good zingers here. This back-and-forth is delightfully fun.

And so it went, as Orso marked the turning of morning into afternoon by the steadily decreasing level of wine in the decanter, and dismissed the flower of womanhood, one by one.

“How could I abide a wife taller than me?”

“She’s a worse drunk than I am.”

“At least we know she’s fertile, she’s borne two bastards that I know about.”

“Is that a nose on her face or a prick?”

He almost wished he was back at the hanging. That, he could theoretically have stopped. Over his mother, he was utterly powerless. His only chance was to wait her out. There were a finite number of women in the Circle of the World, after all.

Yeaaaaaaaah, Orso might be a shit person, but dang, this part of him is oodles of fun, a delightful wry awareness. Though, dang, some of these are pretty damn petty complaints, all things considering.

“Finished?” asked Orso. “No portrait of Savine dan Glokta lurking in the hallway?”

(feels a chill in his spine) Oh god, no, Orso.

No, just no. Please don’t. I’m serious. Don’t fuck your half-sister!

On a less horrified note, is that why he gave those petty complaints and denials to those women? Because he has his heart set on Savine? Which, I mean, all the power to you, Orso, but it’s Savine. Putting aside the incest angle that you don’t know about, it’s Savine.

Even at this distance, he felt the chill of the queen’s displeasure. “For pity’s sake, her mother is a low-born boor, and a drunk to boot.”

“But an absolute scream at parties, and whatever you say for Lady Ardee, Arch Lector Glokta has the people’s respect. Or at any rate their abject terror.”

“A crippled worm,” spat the queen. “A torturer!”

“But our torturer, eh, Mother? Our torturer. And I understand his daughter has made herself quite spectacularly rich.”

I 100% do not blame Terez for being so visceral against Glokta. What he did to her the first trilogy is some abjectly ghastly shit. I will never hold that against her. Though, you really have to be a classist shit to Ardee, Terez?

That being said, whatever happened to Shalere? She’s not attending to Terez and she was particularly joined at the hip with Terez back in Last Argument of Kings, so... was she killed? I noticed Orso didn’t mention a brother, or did Glokta take mercy on Terez and Shalere after the former sired Orso, Cathil, and Carlot, and Terez told her lover to get out of dodge to protect her? That’s... just even more sad and lonely for Terez.

Also, huh, Ardee goes out to parties and living the high life? Good for her, I guess she doesn’t just stay home all the time, like Savine’s chapter implies. At least that’s some levity from the misery of loneliness.

“Money made through trade, and dealings, and investments.” The queen spat the words as though they were criminal enterprises. For all Orso knew, Savine’s dealings were criminal enterprises. He wouldn’t at all have put it past her.

“Oh, come now, money shamefully made from trade fills the same holes in the treasury as the kind nobly wrung from the misery of the peasantry.”

“She is too old! You are too old, and she is even older than you are.”

“But she has impeccable manners and is still quite the celebrated beauty.” He waved a loose hand towards the doorway. “She’d make a prettier portrait than any of those piglets, and the painter wouldn’t even have to lie. Queen Savine sounds rather well.” He gave a chuckle. “It even rhymes.”

I’ve said plenty about Orso’s inactivity and his shittiness for that, but he’s certainly got a brain to him, and enough understanding and no class illusions to realize that money’s money, no matter where it comes from. 

Honestly, it’s a little refreshing, how much Orso isn’t the usual privileged royal twat, characterization-wise.

Also, huh! Good to know how to pronounce Savine’s name! Now, I sort of wish I knew how to pronounce your name, Orso, ya fop.

“Promise me you will have nothing to do with that ambitious worm of a woman.”

“With Savine dan Glokta?” Orso sat back with a bemused expression. “Her mother’s a commoner, her father’s a torturer and she made her money from business.” He shook the last drops from the decanter into his glass. “Quite apart from which, really, she’s far too bloody old.”

“Oh,” he gasped. “Oh! Oh fuck!”

He arched his back, clutched desperately at the edge of the desk, kicked a pot of pens onto the floor, smacked his head against the wall and sent a little shower of plaster across his shoulders. He tried desperately to squirm away, but she had him by the balls. Quite literally.

He crushed his face up, nearly swallowed his tongue, coughed and hissed one more desperate, “Fuck!” through gritted teeth, then sagged back with a whimper, kicked and sagged again, legs shuddering weakly with aching after-spasms.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

(bursts into laughter) HAHAHAHAHAHAHA HOLY SHIT! (continues howling in laughter) Oh my god, Orso!!! (descends into a strangled sort of laughter now) Wow, Orso, just wow... hahahahaha (putters in tiny, almost choked snickers) ... hahahaha...

... Shit, this is kind of bad, isn’t it. Guys, what the fuck.

Orso watched his seed float around in the wine. “That… is somewhat disgusting.”

“Please.” Savine rinsed her mouth out from the other glass. “You only have to look at it.”

“Such cavalier disrespect. One day, madam, I shall be your king!”

“And your queen will no doubt spit your come into a golden box to be shared out on holidays for the public good. My congratulations to you both, Your Highness.”

He gave vent to a silly giggle. “Why does someone as altogether perfect as you waste her energy on a dolt like me?”

Snrrrk, gods, this chapter really be a ton of fun, given how much Orso’s matching up against people his fencing level. Brings out the best in everyone, dialogue-wise.

And it doesn’t pass my notice that when Orso says the usual entitled and typical “I shall be your king” remark, just like Ladisla towards Cathil in Before They Are Hanged, Orso is clearly saying it in jest and lets the retorting quip pass with a giggle. There’s so much of Orso that feels like an intentional course-correction of that particular fantasy archetype, a forceful zag where Ladisla zigged.

She pushed out her lips discerningly, as though considering the mystery, and for a strange, stupid moment he almost asked her. The words tickled at his lips. There was no one better suited to him. She had all the qualities he wished he had. So sharp. So disciplined. So decisive. Besides, it would have been worth it just for the look on his mother’s face. He almost asked her.

But circumstances always conspired to stop him doing the right thing.

“I can only think of one reason,” she said, hitching her skirts up and wriggling onto the desk beside him.

Oh, Orso. You’re a bit of a coward and even more of a fool than I thought if you don’t see the reality that she’s only after you for your impending kingship. The writing’s on the wall here, and you’re refusing to see it because you think Savine’s just the best (I suppose not incorrect in most aspect aside from morality).

“Get to it, then.”

“You really are in no mood for romance today, are you?”

She slid her fingers into his hair, then twisted his head somewhat painfully down between her legs. “My time is valuable.”

“The naked gall.” Orso gave a sigh as he hooked her leg over his shoulder, sliding his hand down the bare skin, hearing her gasp, feeling her shudder. He kissed gently at her shin, at her knee, at her thigh. “Is there no end to the demands of one’s subjects?”

This ending and this entire sex scene really does illuminate a lot of things, like the actual Savine/Orso dynamic (sub male and dom woman), how gentle and passive-compared-to-Savine Orso is as a lover, how clever he can be with words during intimacy, and... how much Orso feels so worthless, he feels he need the best to complete him, no matter how much she might be using him for her own gains. I shake my head at this, not even taking into account the incest quality, but... there’s a sadder register to it.

As a chapter, this does set up quite a few details, like the ills of the new age, and the Breakers that’ll resist this to the point of death, the Savine/Orso affair, and Orso’s (really) apathetic and self-depreciating character. Orso’s asides manage to undercut quite a bit of the darkness of the chapter’s first half, where Orso’s inaction is condemned by even himself, and the second half is where it crackles with dialogue and fencing between more equal opponents, unlike Savine’s punching down against random putzes. It’s not quite as self-contained as Where the Fight’s Hottest, but it’s more fun than all the prior chapters so far.

As a character... honestly, Orso fascinates me in a way only Rikke also does for me. I won’t exactly say he’s more interesting than Savine at this point, but he makes for an interesting contrast to Leo as a man of inaction. Self-aware, yet useless, Orso’s kind of a huge mess and a privileged shit in a way that I should hate, and, yeah, I don’t particularly think it says great things that he still let the executions happen (at the very least, he could’ve tried to save the girl!), but... he’s a shit in a way that’s so different from most other privileged royal twats. A man who knows himself for the useless prince and just internalizes it as deep as the pearl dust he snorts. In some ways, the self-awareness damns him, because he knows he’s useless and doesn’t try for better or not being useless, but, at the same time, he’s not unintelligent, has no illusions about himself, and is certainly a sort of fun character, if blatantly aware of how trashy he is. 

I kind of wonder where Abercrombie’s going to take Orso, because he’s really fascinating as a character construct, a fantasy archetype given this modernized wry self-awareness, the privileged royal twat who has no illusions of his station and what a shit he is.

PART I

Chapter One: Blessings and Curses Chapter Two: Where the Fight’s Hottest Chapter Three: Guilt Is a Luxury Chapter Four: Keeping Score Chapter Five:  A Little Public Hanging Chapter Six: The Breakers Chapter Seven: The Answer to Your Tears Chapter Eight: Young Heroes Chapter Nine: The Moment

[gryffinclawinthetardis]

Fantastic Beasts Thoughts

Well, it’s been a while, my dudes. I literally saw the new Fantastic Beasts movie two days early at a special screening and am still only getting to this now. The thing is, I wanted to organize my thoughts and make sure I wasn’t being overly critical before I said anything and...I don’t think I was. The movie was a mess guys.

On the plus side, sitting with these thoughts also put me in a place where I actually think it’s would have been fixable, and I’m going to tell you how for literally no reason. Just stick with me, guys. And there will be spoilers.

1. Cut half the plots of this movie:

Credence looking for his family is all fine and well, but does not help this movie at all. Seriously, I understand they are trying to further the plot point of him wanting to be somewhere he belongs from the first movie, but couldn’t he just be trying to live a normal life in the wizarding world and learning to control his magic and Grindelwald constantly sending people after him is derailing that, making him a threat and causing the Ministry to also want him? Then we could have Credence back and not have the weird magic circus story that exists for no real reason and the moments where we stop the movie short to show a conversation with a random nanny who gives a tiny bit of exposition and then dies. We could also focus more on Grindelwald’s actual followers and power.

 Also, the side plot of Dumbledore literally being unable to fight Grindelwald, totally pointless (I’ll get to more on that one later). He could’ve just had the Ministry watching him because they think he’s searching for Credence and they have conflicting hopes for him, and have sent Newt to find Credence before Grindelwald because Newt wasn’t being watched, and boom, reason Dumbledore doesn’t go after Credence himself. 

So, basically, just have the movie about Grindelwald still trying to remove the Obscurial from Credence, and Dumbledore trying to cure Credence, and the Ministry trying to kill the Obscurial by any means necessary and you have one cohesive plot that you can show Newt using beasts to help him along the way and have Credence back, and have Grindelwald be a threat and all the side plots are pretty much flushed.

2. Better explanations: 

So I’ve heard a lot of people confused about things that happened between this movie and the first. I, myself, don’t understand the sudden jump to Grindelwald telling his followers Credence is the lost Lestrange boy. I’m assuming he just went with the flow when someone brought it up?? But I’d love a clear answer to that. I’d love a clear answer to Why Credence joined a circus in the first place. Or why Queenie turned psycho so quick (That’s also talked on more in the next point). What’s up with Grindelwald’s weird hookah magic? Please explain the series of events that led to that opening escape scene. Why didn’t he just duck out on that dude who switched places with him? He certainly didn’t seem particularly useful anyway. None of these questions are answered, and I’d love if, for all the exposition in this damn movie, we could get useful answers.

3. Don’t 180 established characters for lazy plot reasons:

Okay, we all know who I’m talking about. Queenie was established first movie to be very empathetic and, mostly even despite her seemingly air-headed demeanor and whimsical attitude, an amazingly resourceful and adept witch. So why, when the second movie rolls around, is she suddenly crazy, and then triggered by the word crazy?? She literally kidnaps her boyfriend and tries to trick him into marriage and when he’s not even mad, makes solid logical points as to why they aren’t married, and thinks at her that she’s being a bit crazy (which she is as far as we can tell), she acts like he’s in the wrong and runs off?? The chick we see this movie is not Queenie. Even worse, there is no explanation for why she is losing it, and not being as understanding as we know her to be. Not to mention, making her crazy actually diminishes what they were trying to do. How much more terrifying and awe worthy would it have been if, instead of turning a crazed woman to his side, Grindelwald took our original Queenie and turned her to his side? Or, even better, how about that plot point not exist at all? 

4. Let Dumbledore be gay:

This one is just annoying. Honestly, why couldn’t they have just let him be hesitant to go after Grindelwald because he’d loved him once? Why is that so hard to do? Why mention it if it means nothing to any of the established canon for mainstream audiences? I’m just disappointed in this one. If they had dropped the whole blood oath crap and just let him have the moment in the mirror where it’s just them, that would’ve been enough for me to not be as mad as I am.

5. Stop ruining established canon for pointless fan service: 

I���m talking to you McGonagall and Nagini. There is a right way to do fan service, Nicholas Flamel and going to Hogwarts to see Dumbledore where examples of that. Giving us lore and then taking a giant dump all over it is not. McGonagall should not have been at Hogwarts, you literally have five movies to bring her in and this was the wrong one to do it in. You wanted to show through the raise of Voldemort, so wait for that to show McGonagall. Don’t shove her in early for literally no reason at all. 

Also, let’s talk about how dumb Nagini existing this movie was. She does absolutely nothing to further this plot. She’s just there, making sad eyes at Credence and turning into a snake. She has so few lines, the movie would literally barely be any shorter if she never said anything at all. Every scene she’s in could’ve gone exactly the same without her, with the most minimal changes. Have Credence escape the circus on his own (or subscribe to my idea and don’t do that circus thing at all). Have Tina be the one asking him not to go with Grindelwald since they already have an established rapport, and boom, movie is literally hardly any different (once again, unless we go with my plot). 

6. Don’t waste interesting characters:

Newt’s brother, Thaddeus and his fiancee Leda actually seemed to have pretty good chemistry with Newt, and they did this really clever thing where we see how uncomfortable Newt is with them which makes us realize how close he really is to Tina, Queenie, and Jacob in the first film because it’s a vast contrast to how he is with his brother and former best friend. Then they go and give neither of them anything to do the whole movie and cap it off by killing Leda off at the end. I’m not gonna lie, her talents were wasted, and to make matters worse, I don’t actually care enough about her by the end of the movie for the the death to cause me sadness. Something compounded by the fact that it comes in the wake of Queenie’s betrayal, which is by and large more upsetting. Explore Newt’s possible feelings of abandonment by Leda. Have her have a useful job, one that maybe makes her privy to info about what the Ministry is up to and pass it on to Newt or Dumbledore. Something! Anything but that dumb convoluted sibling plot line that reeked of ignorance and poor taste. 

Also, give Thaddeus more to do. Explore his dynamic with Newt more. Have him more torn about siding with his brother and Dumbledore or siding with the Ministry. He does little else, besides telling Newt the Ministry is watching him (something that presents no hindrance to Newt and his travels whatsoever), and looking worried or strained in places with the other Aurors. Have his job as Auror conflict with Newt’s plans more. Have him chasing his own brother. Like, give him something to do. 

7. Flashbacks or Exposition, not both:

I don’t have much to say other than it halted the movie to show us stuff we were already told. Either show or tell, don’t do both.

8. Make Grindelwald more of a threat:

He doesn’t actually do much in this movie. None of his speeches seem that charismatic. The way he interacts with his followers doesn’t seem very charismatic. We get a lot of people telling us he is, but I never see it. He kills some people who aren’t prepared to fight him, and he has a single fight scene which was actually pointless because he should’ve just escaped and left a dude to die in his place which would’ve shown his real menace at least a bit more than what we got. The running joke is, nobody really knows what the crimes of Grindelwald are this movie. I mean, yes there is the obvious stuff: murder, gathering without a permit, escaping police custody, maybe some secrecy issues?? But for a movie literally named for his crimes, there is still a surprising lack of actual bad stuff he does.

He has one really clever moment and it doesn’t happen until the very end of the movie so it honestly feels too little too late. I will mention that it’s a great example of how well matched he a Dumbledore were though, because we’re led to believe they both knew what would happen if the Aurors showed up at his rally. It’s honestly his best moment, in my opinion.

9. Don’t do that ending you did: 

It’s dumb. It’s terrible. It better be a lie. Once again, it takes a dump on well established canon to do something that isn’t even necessary. i just...no. Don’t do any of that you did. 

[limitedrevolverworks]

Little Stinger

The bull’s eyebrows began a steady march across his forehead that left his beady eyes alone with their bewilderment. His ears shook the dreads partially covering them like predators about to pounce their prey - an attitude which, for that matter, seemed to accurately describe the most likely intention for his next course of action. Kl’athr regarded his employer, specifically the fingers coiled into fleshy boulders seething with painful promises, with a faint trace of interest reflected on his ocelli. The bull had reacted exactly as predicted: by jumping to conclusions and preparing to do so the same with the people he felt had crossed him, like brutish muscleheads of his ilk were wont to do. “This isn’t what we agreed to, buzzer. And Grudo doesn’t take well to no lying bitch.” Grudo’s breath was a fetid miasma with a consistency that bordered on outright liquidity. It splashed all over Kl’athr face with the welcome pleasantness of a flytrap vomiting on its victim, only with far less grace. But the wasp stood his ground, over which the bull’s shadow loomed like a stormy and somewhat rancid cloud. It would have taken three of the former to at least match the latter’s height, or just one of him fluttering his translucent wings. But there weren’t enough of the first, and he purposefully chose not to rely on the latter, in a show that combined humbleness and defiance in an ambiguous cocktail that served its purpose well: he hadn’t been turned into a plulpy, goopy mess yet, for instance. Now, he only had to ensure this wouldn’t be going to change anytime soon. “No lies. You agreed to pay us to help you. We cannot do so if you hinder us.” Kl’athr’s mandibles and the rest of his mouth’s apparatus worked carefully as possible to articulate in a Common heavily affected by his sharp, clicking cadence. It was an effort unworthy of the language - an imprecise tapestry of noises it was, signifiers turned into bowls full of diluted meaning, insipid if easily digestible, just sort of skirting the line of efficiency for the sake of universality. The entire reason he was risking his carapace to begin with… but without that weakness and the risk that came with it, he wouldn’t have been able to take the job. Not by the terms he was about to clarify. Compromises in the wastelands always came with this sort of edge, and Kl’athr relished in dealing with them with the cautious abandonment of conscious alcoholic. It was a good reminder of what had driven him from the hivepost, of the dullness of its disputes and the staleness of its resolutions. He really could have done without the noxious odor of bovine halitosis, however. “You tryin’ to bullshit me, buzzer? Is that funny to you?” Kl’athr refrained from commenting. Life in the hivepost hadn’t fostered much of a sense of humor in him - mostly, though, he was smart enough to tell that the joke was terrible, both for his prospects of survival, and because, from a comedic standing point, it just plain sucked. “The shot will be taken. The job, completed. Either we get your money, or you get nothing. What will it be?” “He’s fucking with us, Grudo.” The deer snorted through the bandana covering his mug, tightening the grip on the steel pipe he was holding. “This little shit must have thought he could pull a fast one on us. I say we pull off those spindly limbs of his and feed him to the diremaw. Should net us enough time to recover the cargo.” “Enough time to become a carcass no richer than you are now.” Kl’athr’s ocelli met those of the deer like a steel emergency door stomping close in front of a blazing fire. The rusted pipe began playing a dull rhythm against the brute’s palm, all too eager to do the same against the back of the wasp’s skull. The three other mutants that made up the motley crew joined soon thereafter, an orchestra of pain waiting to happen. “Hold on. Wait. Just give me a goddamned moment to think.” Grudo began pacing nervously around the cramped interior of the abandoned outpost’s guard cabin, each step leaving behind a tiny cloud of dust like an echo of his passage. Rummaging through his thick hair and scratching the juncture from whence jutted out a fractured horn wasn’t helping much, Kl’athr reckoned. And that, too, he knew well in advance. Greed had a way of narrowing options down for those too stupid to do so on their own - especially with a little push from the right insectoid. “Fine. Fine.” The bull’s lazy charge ended back where it had begun, in front of the wasp that hadn’t moved a single reed-sized leg from his spot. A furry finger hovered menacingly in front of Kl’athr’s face, reeking of cheap booze distilled from fuel and slightly singed from some past accident involving a campfire and six or so glasses of the aforementioned. Bovine eyes stared, bulging from their sockets as if all too eager to deliver the beatdown of a lifetime, a nice preview of things uncomfortably likely to come. “I don’t know whether you’re crazy, an idiot, or trying to pull a fast one on me, in which case you’d be both. Do whatever, but if you fuck this up and somehow come out of this alive? I’m coming back to finish the diremaw’s job.” Heavy breaths like quiet growls sent violent vibrations against Kl’athr’s antennae. He let them dissipate into a steadier, subdued fury before turning on his heels and walking towards the window without sparing a look over either of his four shoulders. “The only job to be completed will be ours.” Behind him, the wasp could hear the lack of attempts on his employers’ part to conceal their comments, which ranged from the dubious to the vulgar, the latter spoken in that soporific bovine tongue of theirs. Beasts, the lot of them; but they were well-paying beasts, at least. That about covered the angle of ‘necessity’. The other, more important reason for taking the job was kneeling on a chair propped in front of the window, minute gloved hands perched atop the shattered pane and a jacket some sizes too big draping over her like a coat. The child turned her head, meeting Kl’athr’s gaze with the glass eyes of the rubbery gas mask slung over her face. A series of clicks and buzzes and frrr’s struggled to make their way from her hidden lips through the thick material, to which they clung until only a warped, muffled shade of their original self could make it out. It was a good thing that Kl’athr’s antennae were sensible enough to welcome those scraplets and suck the essential marrow of their significance, and that the young human’s grasp of Vespa had gotten about as good as her vocal apparatus could ever achieve. “You got into trouble again because of me, Kl’athr.” The wasp stopped right next to the child, casting his attention to the uneven road that stretched to and fro two different ends of the horizon, mere meters in front of the abandoned outpost. To the east, about half a kilometer from their position, he could see the target. He answered in his usual tone, which was about as matter-of-factly as Vespa gets - that is, a lot. “No trouble has befallen me yet. Whether that ends up changing is entirely up to you, Little Stinger.” They shared a silent exchange of looks, peppered with the occasional sound of beefy arms thrown up in rapidly mounting exasperation from the back of the room. Then, with the measured discipline of a dutiful student, the girl - ‘Little Stinger’, like Kl’athr called her - shifted on the chair so that she could face the wasp, exhibiting herself in a deep bow punctuated by a single snap of her tongue. Following the same motion, she bent forward a little further, and took ahold of the rifle. The old thing had seen better days, and it appeared unlikely there were many left yet to see. Already cobbled up from scratch with parts salvaged from guns past their useable prime, the original gun had been modified, repaired or tweaked to the point it was hard to say if there was anything of the original left in the current version. And what was left didn’t amount to much anyway: it was the kind of tool best described with the word ‘trusty’ inked on a yellowed page, the t so smudged as to be barely visible. It was long past its prime, somewhat ugly, and still somehow served its purpose with uncanny affidability. The rifle was a testament to Kl’athr’s technical prowess - and perhaps kept together by trust and sheer stubbornness, than with any number of screws and bolts. The girl hoisted the firearm with methodical care colored by a sentiment akin to reverence. It had been accompanying her and Kl’athr’s travels ever since her awakening within the artificial cocoon: in a sense, it was like the third, silent member of their strange little family. The big brother specifically, considering it stood a head and a half taller than her. To the surprise of nobody, and the livid consternation of at least two beastly customers, it made her sniping position look awkward, uncomfortable and any number of other monikers save for reliable. The girl pretty much had to make use of the windowsill to help balance an entire half of the weapon, while somehow stretching her frame and limbs over the remaining segment in a way that would make aiming and shooting at least feasible. It took her several tries and a good portion of her contractors’ rapidly diving patience before finding the ideal positioning. She marked her success with a low hum that did not go past her throat, at which point she reached for the straps that held her gas mask tight, and loosened them enough to let her remove it. Kl’athr received it with the practiced speed of motions that grown into a secret, intimate ritual of sorts. Deep green eyes, framed by short curtains of pale yellow hair, peered down the barrel that seemed to stretch ‘til the horizon, accompanying the ironsights in their search for the target that Kl’athr had already spotted. “Do you see your prey, Little Stinger?” She did. The beast was a minuscule shape no bigger than the steel rectangle tiptoeing at the edge of the barrel, a cruel silhouette prowling amongst a caravan’s scattered remains. Crates brimming with precious materials and provisions lay upturned around the carts that had been transporting them, their contents spilled on the ground like guts of a maimed beast. In the same fashion, only far more literal, the strong-limbed beasts tasked with pulling along the cargo were now little more than scrap meat ripe for the picking, bones exposed to the elements and the hunger of their stalkering assailant. “The diremaw is unlike any prey you have slaughtered thus far, Little Stinger. Once the first shot has hit, it will know where the next come from, how fast and how strong they are. When it knows the shot, your life is forfeited, for it will charge with uncanny speed and relentless fury. That is why it is said that the first bullet which strikes a diremaw must also be the last - whether for you, for for it.” She could see it. Lean muscles rippling underneath a thin coat of gray fur. Hind legs like maws ready to hungrily snap on the concept of distance. Arms like steel beams warped by evil intent, tipped with razor-sharp claws that tore fleshy strips from a meal made stale by boredom. A head drawn by some twisted god to resemble that of a rabid dog, a porcine mutant and a cancerous growth. Ears long and flat, deceptively so. Lidless eyes darting in every direction without being able to settle on one, paranoid and attentive. And the kind of mouth that left no doubt as to why this beast had been christened ‘diremaw’ by the inhabitants of the region. An ugly, terrible beast that entirely warranted its fearsome reputation as a killer among killers. “But those who say so, unlike us, do not follow the Wasp Ways.” Kl’athr followed the invisible pathway that connected his protégé’s line of sight and the almost indistinct figure at the end of it. He was fully aware that what appeared to him like nothing more than a vague assembly of limbs in continuous movement, to the child was the perfectly distinguishable outline of a prey. That was what Grudo and his cronies failed to grasp - that this was a shot only she could have taken, not him. “The bee stings once to die. The wasp stings many times to live. Fell your prey like a wasp, Little Stinger, or you will perish a bee’s death. Do not falter. Take aim and strike relentlessly. If the prey moves, sting it again. If you miss, sting it again. If the prey stops moving, sting it again. Yours must be the silent fury that kills before you are killed. Follow the Wasp Ways. Conquer your prey, Little Stinger.” Her fingertip felt the familiar cool touch of the trigger as it pushed against it. She had long since acquired the target - that was the easy part. What she needed to prepare for, the reason why air was trapped inside her lungs and her heartbeat’s rhythm subdued by conscious effort, resided in the part after that. The first shot boomed across the plain with a thunderous echo. “Did she get it?” “Shit, ‘course not! Look, it’s coming! The bastard’s coming! Run for it” Frantic footsteps. Panicked voices, frustrated voices. Metal, wood and lead clicking together as her hand pulled the bolt back and chambered the next bullet. A distant screech like a blade tearing a wound open across empty air. “Sting, Little Stinger. Do not stop until it has stopped.” Urged on by Kl’athr, the young girl steadied her aim on the gun almost twice her size and erupted another shot. The diremaw was fast, so much so that the description felt unfairly diminutive to its prowess. Its leaps fed dozens upon dozens of meters into the jaws of a mere seconds. Erratic patterns sent it flying in a myriad different directions in its relentless pursuit, defying the attempts of its wannabe predator to bring it down with the cowardly aid of a firearm. It kept moving, steadfast in spite of the twin tails of viscous yellow that seeped from its flank and a shoulder. It knew, and likewise did child. She could see her eyes reflected in those of the diremaw, aware that the opposite was true for it. Their mutual understanding was one built upon something more indistinct yet definite than hatred: it was sheer, utter purpose that pit them against each other. Survival and murderous instincts, meshing together in a blur where one defied and sought the other. The rifle fired a third time, lopping off most of the creature’s right ear off and prompting another rabid screech. It mingled with those being emitted by the mutant gang, scrambling and yelling at each other in their inability to decide whether they’d find better chances of survival in the open, or within the confines of the cabin. The child nor her mentor paid no heed to them. Already the fourth shot had pelted the diremaw in the middle of the stomach, but it hadn’t been enough. Not yet. Not enough. Another bullet went in, the last one in the clip. There wouldn’t be any time to load a second batch: the next leap would make null the distance between the beast and the window, along with the little sniper holding her position. The bolt slid back, welcoming the bullet in the rifle’s chamber. At the same moment, the diremaw put its everything into exerting strength on its legs to leap forward, its claws outstretched and already clasping the empty space where soon the child’s neck would take its place. The bolt slid forward and locked in position. Kl’athr’s mandibles snapped once, loud and imperative. “Sting!” The barrel blazed brightly, devouring the beast’s last screech as it was brewing inside its throat, where the bullet had tunneled a fresh, lethal opening. The carcass, propelled forward by sheer momentum, painted the dusty wooden floor with the sickly yellows and greens that filled it. The massively sized bovine stared in horror, rippling muscles quaking madly from broken horn tip to hoofed toe, as the once lively diremaw slid lifelessly in front of him and his speechless gang. They spent at least a dozen seconds in motionless contemplation, before finally raising their heads in unison. On the opposite side of the room, Kl’athr was busying himself dutifully wiping off diremaw blood from the child’s face, her eyes and mouth scrunched shut with all the innocence that had no right to belong there. The wasp, without interrupting his task, turned his head to the carcass, then the clients. The trinity of his eyes betrayed no emotions whatsoever, like always. “We have done our job. I trust your pockets to do the same sooner than later.”

[asianpopscenarios]

Bae Jinyoung || Closer Than Ever Before

Genre: Fluff / Angst / Jealous! Jinyoung

It was quiet in the large brick mansion, not a sound being heard as the sun rose quickly from the sky. All that could be heard was the chirping noises of the birds, and the wind blowing through the air from the big open window.

A yawn escaped your mouth as you arose from your slumber, sitting up and stretching your arms out wide, trying your best to open your eyes as wide as you could despite the lack of sleep you got from the long nights of studying and practicing playing piano all night long.

Your eyes caught sight of a young boy, who is only the same age as you, setting a cup of orange juice right next to you on your nightstand. He turns to look at you, giving you a faint smile and patting your messy head of hair. “Good morning, Y/N.” He calls in a sweet soft voice, that sounds familiar to you almost every single day.

Instead of smiling at him and greeting him back, you let out yet another loud yawn and pick up the cup of orange juice he just laid out for you on the stand. He scrunches his face, placing two fingers over his nose. “Your breath reeks, you really need to learn how to take care of morning breath.” He says, his voice nasally from holding onto his nose. You shoot him a glare, your cheeks flaring up from embarrassment, but you’re used to the often teasing you receive from him. You two have been best friends since you first arrived at this orphanage nearly 14 years ago, so you’re grown used to the bond you and Jinyoung, the fellow boy right in front of you, have.

You quickly take a sip of the orange juice and let out a deep sigh, wanting to stay in bed forever but you know you can’t, especially since the leader of this house is making everyone wake up at 8 in the morning only to have every kid practice their own special talents and study more than they already do on a daily basis.

After you finish drinking up all of the juice, Jinyoung grabs the cup and sets it aside on your nightstand, followed by a soft ‘thank you’ coming from you. “So, are you going to practice the piano now? I’m just asking since Headmistress Kang always yells at you to practice whenever you’re not.” Jinyoung asks you, chuckling nervously as he scratches the back of his neck waiting for your response.

You sigh, thinking back to the numerous times the headmistress has yelled at you for not practicing right away at the times she wants you to. You can never get a break from her, and you don’t think you ever will. “Yeah, yeah, I’m going. Aren’t you going to practice your singing, though? She also tends to yell at you for not practicing often also.”

Jinyoung’s eyes widen as you mention his vocal practice, and he immediately sits up from the edge of your bed. “You’re right! I gotta go practice now!” He quickly grabs your cup, that used to be filled with orange juice but is now completely empty, and rushes out of the big room, making his way into the kitchen and cleaning the glass before he gets caught by any of the leaders.

You giggle from how crazy but cute Jinyoung is. ‘Did I just call him cute?’ you think to yourself, but quickly brush those thoughts aside, especially since you two have been nothing but close friends since childhood, and you don’t think he’d ever think of you as anymore than that, and you also wouldn’t think of him as anything more than just close friends. Or would you?

You immediately erase those thoughts out of your mind once you hear a knock on the door. “Come in.” You say to whoever is behind the door, quickly standing up out of your bed so the person behind the door doesn’t think you’re lazy to get out of bed early in the morning.

A head peaks inside of the room, and you see that it’s Park Jihoon, who is another one of your closest friends since childhood in this orphanage. “Y/N, you’re awake!” He exclaims before fully stepping inside of the room, wearing green and white striped pajamas. “Are you ready for you and I’s piano practice? Headmistress Kang just told me to check on you to see if you’re awake so we can practice right now.”

You roll your eyes, knowing for sure that Headmistress Kang thought that you were still asleep instead of getting ready for your piano practice. Even though you kind of were… You look at Jihoon and smile brightly at him, nodding your head. “You don’t have to worry at all, Jihoon, because I’m fully awake and ready to practice! Just let me get dressed real quick and I’ll be right down shortly.” He nods his head and gives you a wink before he leaves the room and makes his way downstairs to the piano room. His wink made you blush a little, but you shake your head away from those thoughts and made your way to your closet, trying to find some clothes to wear for your piano practice with Jihoon and the piano teacher.

You make your way downstairs to the piano room, dressed in black pantyhose, a dark green and black patterned skirt, and a thin black sweater. You spot Jihoon and your piano teacher, who is a 94 year-old lady named Mrs. Hwang, sitting on the piano bench, Mrs. Hwang talking to Jihoon and teaching him more keys. You approach them from behind, tapping Jihoon on his shoulder. He turns around and smiles as he sees you, telling you to take a seat on the chair next to him. You do as he says and sit down on the chair placed right beside him on the bench.

“Mrs. Hwang is teaching me a new song to play on the piano.” He grabs a music sheet and hands it to you. “Here, you can learn it too. She’s giving us a whole 2 weeks to learn it and try to perfect it, so we’re gonna have to practice as much as we can.” Jihoon says, giving another smile before turning his head back to the piano and practicing the keys with Mrs. Hwang.

As piano practice was over, it was just you and Jihoon stuck in the piano room together. it was currently 5PM, only an hour left for dinner, and you two were still trying to learn the song that Mrs. Hwang had given you 8 hours ago.

“Y/N, I think I got it down!” Jihoon says excitedly before he starts playing the song. You hear him playing the song without making a single mistake, smiling widely at how perfect he is at playing piano and how much of an amazing piano player he is, better than you think you will ever be. As he stops playing the whole song, you applaud him, and he bows down, acting like he’s a real pianist that’s at his own recital. You giggle, and he stands up, hugging you tightly. You widen your eyes and feel your cheeks turn hot, wrapping your arms around him, accepting his hug.

Though, little did you know that there was a certain brown haired boy standing outside of the glass room, watching you two hugging in despair, fists clenched, jaw tight, and eyes shooting holes at the dark blonde boy who was currently enveloping you in a hug that the boy watching wishes he was in instead.

A week passes by and it was currently breakfast time. Headmistress Kang called every kid to the kitchen to eat at the gigantic dinner table for breakfast instead of eating in their rooms instead. You walk down the large staircase with Jihoon, hearing his stomach grumble loudly which caused you to let out a giggle.

As you’re talking with Jihoon about the song you two are practicing, you notice Jinyoung walking by you two, not giving either you a single look or a greeting. “Jinyoung!” You try to get his attention before he could walk away any further, which still didn’t work. You frown as you see him walk into the kitchen, not wanting to believe that he’s ignored you for the first time in your life. Jihoon interrupts the silence, telling you that you two should sit down together at the table for breakfast.

You and Jihoon both enter the dining room, sitting down together at the table. You look across the table and notice Jinyoung sitting right next to Eunbin, the most prettiest girl in the orphanage who was also you and Jinyoung’s age. You knew Jihoon has always had a small crush on her, but you noticed the way her and Jinyoung talked to each other, smiling and laughing together, which made you feel upset, but you didn’t exactly know why. You turn to your right to see Jihoon also staring at them, feeling a bit bad for him and also feeling bad for yourself.

Throughout the whole breakfast, you could not take your eyes off of Jinyoung and Eunbin. You notice the way Eunbin tries touching Jinyoung’s hand, and you thanked the heavens Jinyoung always took his hand away from her and any sudden contact she tried to have with him. For a second, you notice Jinyoung staring at you, which made your eyes widen since that’s the first time in over a week he’s ever looked at you, but he quickly looked away, his jaw clenching as he asks Mrs. Hwang to pass the juice to him.

You couldn’t take it anymore. Jinyoung has never ignored you or treated you like this, ever. Ever since you two met at the orphanage, you two have been unstoppable and close and would always talk to each other every single day and always discuss each other’s problems. ‘Why is it now that he decides to ignore me and not tell me what’s wrong?’

You had enough. You stand up from the table, making everyone at the table look at you, including Jinyoung, but you ignored the looks from all of them and stepped out of the dining room, marching upstairs and into your bedroom.

You lie down on your bed, staring up at the ceiling of your room and thinking back to Jinyoung and Eunbin. You know you aren’t as pretty or talented or nice as she is, but why her? She isn’t even Jinyoung’s type, but then again, who are you to choose who Jinyoung is interested in or not? Your head starting aching from thinking too much about this, and you felt like dying just thinking about her and Jinyoung ever being together as a couple. You know you and Jinyoung are just really close friends and will never be nothing more than that, but is it bad that you actually want to be something more than that with him?

You lose track of thought once you hear the door of your bedroom open. “Y/N?” It was Jinyoung’s voice. You turn around on your side, covering your blanket over your body so that he doesn’t see you, but you knew he was smart enough to know that you’re there still. “Y/N, I know you’re there, don’t try to hide from me.”

You sigh and turn towards him, but immediately get surprised once you see that he’s already standing by the side of your bed, his eyes focused on yours. “J-Jinyoung-”

“Y/N, why did you march off like that?” He asks you, worry clearly visible in his voice.

“The real question is, why have you been ignoring me for over a week now? I thought we were best friends, we never ignored each other before, especially for a whole week.”

As you ask him this, Jinyoung’s face turns red and he looks down at the floor beneath him, avoiding eye contact from you. “N-no reason…”

You roll your eyes, knowing that he’s obviously hiding something from you and you just want him to tell you what it is, anything. “Fine, don’t tell me why you’ve been avoiding me for a week. Go back down to breakfast, I’m sure Eunbin wants you there with her anyway.” You say annoyed, turning around on your side again, wanting him to just leave you alone, but you had another feeling in your gut that you actually didn’t want him to leave you and continue staying with you.

Jinyoung raises his eyebrows in confusion at why you would mention Eunbin. “Why would you think I would want to be with Eunbin?”

Your face turns red. “J-just go back downstairs and leave me alone, okay?”

“No, I’m not leaving you Y/N until you tell me why you suddenly marched out of the dining room like that. And I can’t believe you think I want to be with Eunbin, when she’s clearly not the one I’ve been loving for 14 years. But I guess that’s all just a waste since you obviously like Jihoon and I’m just some person you talk to now.”

Your eyes grow wide as you hear Jinyoung say all of this, and to his own surprise, his eyes grow wide in shock at his own words. You turn around to face him again, noticing his cheeks grown into a dark shade of red and a huge lump in his throat. “Y-you wh-what?”

He sighs, deciding that it’s time to stop hiding his feelings for you and just let everything out already since that’s what he’s been doing this whole entire time. “Y/N, can you not see? I like you. I liked you ever since we first met 14 years ago, and I’ve always been the one that’s been the closest to you out of everyone in this orphanage. We’ve practically grown up together and I’ve always been the one to comfort you and make you happy even during your worst times. But seeing you and Jihoon hug during your piano practice, I just… How do you expect me to not feel upset about that?” Jinyoung sighs as he finally says what he’s been wanting to say to you since the start, which makes your heart race but also makes you feel sorry for never noticing him and also not knowing how he feels about you and Jihoon, even though you and Jihoon aren’t even a thing and never ever will be.

“J-Jinyoung… I like you too…” As soon as you say this, Jinyoung’s eyes widen and he turns to you, noticing your blushing face as you look up at him, staring right into his eyes and trying to be as serious with him as you possibly can, everything coming out of your mouth being said with sincerity. “And I’m sorry for not noticing how you feel towards me this whole time. Now that I think back to all of those moments we’ve had together, I notice how caring and amazing you treat me, and nobody else has ever treated me the way you treat me and I am so thankful for you. And also about the Jihoon thing, I don’t like him at all and I never will. He just randomly hugged me out of nowhere just to thank me for being at piano practice with him. Him and I will never be anything more than just friends. I only have eyes for you Jinyoung, and no one else.”

You stand up from your bed, approaching Jinyoung as he stands tall in front of you. You look into each other’s eyes, noticing how big and shiny his eyes are as he stares at you, before you lean in slowly. You two close your eyes before you feel your lips touch his. It was almost like magic as you two kissed. Your lips moved slowly against each other’s, enjoying the feeling of his soft lips pressed perfectly against yours, as if his lips were meant to be with yours and yours with his.

The magical feeling stopped as you two pulled away slowly, smiling at each other and pressing your forehead against his.

“I love you, Bae Jinyoung.” You whisper softly against him, staring deeply into his dark brown eyes yet again.

He smiles at you, wrapping his arms securely around your waist as he pulls you against his chest, your face buried against him as his head hangs loose over your shoulder.

“I love you too, Y/N. And I don’t ever want to lose you.”

[empmoniitor]

05 SCIENTIFICALLY PROVEN METHODS TO INCREASE PRODUCTIVITY

The way we all work isn’t technically working anymore- whether it is from a distance or from the office premises. A primary concern among all the managers is to increase productivity, and it is no brainer why.

Logging into the day while still chugging coffee on the bed and checking emails while having breakfast is the new norm for telecommuters. And while it takes a toll on their physical health, it also has a drastic effect on the working schedule.

Not to forget the hour-long commutes that the employees have to deal with- who go to their offices every day. Added to that are the overworked routine, stressful hours, strict vigilance, and the lack of interaction outside the cubicle.

Long story short, a maximum of employees feel more like a part of the company’s statistics and less like actual humans with whom the employers would gather around and have a conversation.

And that’s where the problem lies! When employers don’t take a rational approach towards fitting into their employees’ shoes, it becomes difficult for them to understand what’s lacking. People-centered leadership is much-needed. And in this blog, we will take a scientific approach to understand how to increase employee productivity.

THE PRODUCTIVITY PARADIGM

What image springs to your mind when you think about employee productivity? Is it a corporate employee typing at the rate of 70 words per minute or a factory worker wrapping chocolates at a superhuman speed?

It’s probably something close to my examples.

The catch here is- the word productivity immediately has a somewhat negative and unnatural connotation. This perception of doing the most amount of work in the minimum possible time is not healthy! When you work beyond your limits, you compromise your work quality. It also affects your work-life balance, and you may take more leaves due to that constant back pain- hence compromising your productivity again.

So it is safe to conclude why productivity is NOT what you think it actually is. How to increase employee productivity, then? Well, take a scientific approach!

INCREASE PRODUCTIVITY

THE SCIENTIFIC WAY  

Contrary to popular beliefs, a productive employee takes care of their deadlines without unnecessarily stretching their working hours. Maintaining their creativity and originality remains a priority. And nothing upsets their physical health due to excellent management skills and a well-planned schedule.

Increasing productivity is a tricky task to accomplish, especially with the flawed perception of productivity itself. Research in neurobiology, psychology, and human performance suggests some counter-intuitive ideas to make it happen. Read ahead to understand how:

1. CIRCADIAN AND ULTRADIAN RHYTHMS

Circadian rhythm is a biological process that regulates the sleep-wake oscillation in the human body. Our body uses such a rhythm for essentially differentiating between the day and night hours. But it doesn’t have to sync with local day and night times- giving rise to night owls, early birds, and everyone in between.

The ultradian rhythm is a smaller oscillation. It refers to the 90-120 minutes of brain frequency cycles occurring both- day and night. Meaning, an ultradian rhythm keeps you more focused on your work when awake and gets you a dream-filled REM sleep when napping.

Identifying the regulation of both cycles is crucial. They regulate all the ups & downs of a person’s homeostatic system- from hormonal secretion to brain wave frequencies and blood flow. A person feels terribly drained when the body goes out of sync due to irregulation in both these cycles.

There’s nothing wrong if you’re not a morning person! Try to analyze and assess individual productive hours and understand the peak working hours. Ask them to divide their day into three categories- productive, lazy, and neutral hours. Always assign them the most energy-consuming and urgent tasks during productive hours.

Encourage everybody to work in a 90-20 pattern- 90 minutes of work followed by 20 minutes of break. Take baby steps like these, and you will be able to witness an immediate increase in employee productivity and focus over a month! I bet you.

2. NEUROPLASTICITY

The prevailing wisdom of humankind says that the human brain is malleable only until a certain age. And things get rigid and hardwired beyond it. Well, that’s partially untrue! Neurobiologists suggest that the connections, capacity, and behavior of your neural networks change over the years.

This phenomenon is known as Neuroplasticity, and it occurs in response to new information, development, sensory damage, stimulation, or dysfunction. In other words, your employees are not your fixed resources, and you can transform them into their best version!

Neuroplasticity is tricky and requires constant effort. No one is limited to mental and physical capacities, but they need a trigger and a coping environment. Develop a supportive work atmosphere that doesn’t reek of toxicity. Try to minimize their stress, increase collaboration, provide constructive criticism, and inspiring leadership.

You cannot increase productivity in your premises if you can’t help your staff grow. And an employee’s innate talents can evolve and grow with regular nurturing. Be open and avoid information silos. Appreciate their effort, encourage team communication, and try to build leaders out of them. Teach them new skills and never endorse information bottlenecks. Good employees can become great, and great employees can become excellent.

3. DECORATION AND RIGHT COLORS

This step might seem minor- but it has a HUGE impact on a team’s productivity. Don’t you feel more excited when working with a little star hanging down your screen during Christmas?

Offices with creative interiors look more relaxing and home-like to their staff. In the long run, such an environment fuels creativity. You don’t have to go over the board to decorate the premises- a few bean bags, recliners, and cool graffiti will serve the purpose.

Talking about color psychology, a recent study by the University of Texas states that white walls diminish the staff’s productivity and working quality. The University of British Columbia, in another study, found that employees perform better in their detail-oriented tasks when surrounded by red. The same study claims that blue promotes communication and creativity, yellow can cause anxiety, and gray can cause depression and energy loss.

THE OUTSIDE-IN THEORY

Adding greenery to the office premises increases employee productivity by 15%, boosts morale, and purifies the environment. People feel more emotionally and cognitively involved with their work and happier with the atmosphere. Add that cute little cactus to your cubicle if you haven’t already!

BONUS- READ

07 CREATIVE WAYS TO IMPROVE INTERCULTURAL COMMUNICATION AT YOUR WORKPLACE

4. THE PALEO-MAMMALIAN BRAIN

The human brain functions very differently from its evolutionary counterparts! Did you know that we have three brains?

The first and the most ancient part is the reptilian brain- named so because of the homologous structure found in reptiles. Such animals lack a developed brain structure. And thus, your reptilian brain consists only of the stem and cerebellum. It controls heart rate, breathing, and the desire to protect.

The second structure is the limbic brain- shared by all mammals. It deals with our emotional side. When we think about our relationships, social life, and nostalgic memories, we tap into the limbic brain.

The third and final structure is the neo-cortex or frontal lobe. It is responsible for our abstract thinking, creativity, language, and learning skills. And all primates have it. This part of the brain matters the most in business because it controls innovation and creativity. And when people feel unsafe and stressed, their frontal lobe shuts down.

You can’t increase productivity by saying work faster, or I’ll fire you. Such fear will trigger the production of adrenaline and cortisol- thus compromising creativity. A stressful environment is never appealing for meeting deadlines or creating content!

5. MAINTAINING FLOW STATE

Have you ever reached a state when all of your senses start vanishing? It happens when your brain captivates the information that it views- like watching a show or listening to an eerie podcast. Such a state is known as a flow state, and we often enter it when working.

Although a flow state is very difficult to attain, it is very, very productive. But, as I said earlier, it only happens when your brain captivates the information that it views. Meaning, you need to maximize your focus and minimize distractions while working on one task instead of three other mini-tasks.

One of the best ways to attain a flow state is music. Working with earplugs is a very CREATIVE way of cutting the mental clutter while keeping oneself focused on the ongoing task. Avoid changing songs every once in a while- stick to a playlist. Listening to the songs whose lyrics you haven’t memorized are the best. They avoid you from drifting off.

Another way to reach a flow state is to avoid multitasking. Schedule your day and divide tasks for different hours, but never work on all of them at the same time. Multitasking is never a wise option for anyone- even if you are a manager. And it negatively affects your output. It may look like you increase productivity in the long run when managing multiple assignments together- but it actually slows them down and generates mediocre output.

ALSO READ,

07 DATA LOSS PREVENTION SOFTWARE TOOLS OF 2021

PROS & CONS OF EMPLOYEE MONITORING SOFTWARE: DOES IT ACTUALLY WORK?

07 WORKPLACE MONITORING LAWS OF DIFFERENT COUNTRIES: LEGAL RESTRICTIONS & BEST PRACTICES

WRAPPING IT UP!!

Whether subliminal or overt, the norms and standards of a productive team are crazy. It doesn’t cost a hand and a limb to increase productivity- it just requires you to be a bit strategic and practical with your approach. Science has an answer to everything per se- and we have compiled the BEST ones for you.

Do you want to add something here? Do you have a doubt or a query? Let me know in the comments below. I would love to hear from you.

EmpMonitor lets you track, record, and display reports of your staff in real-time. Manage your teams with regular screenshots, automated user graphs, alerts, email reports, and many more. Increase productivity exponentially without any hassle.

Originally Published On: EmpMonitor

[jungnoir]

one of those days;

park jinyoung | "It’s 2am and I’m drunk and I need some salt for my fries and I know your awake so OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR" neighbor!au. | 1.9k words. | fluff. requested.

When you pull your headphones off for the first time that odd Tuesday night, you’re surprised to find that something loud and heavy is hitting your front door in quick succession, not seeming to let up even as you stare dumbfounded at the oak door in silence. It was late, way late, and none of your friends in their right mind would be awake right now and banging on your front door like a crazy person. Any friends of yours with eyes still open right now were on the other side of your computer screen, currently fighting dungeon trolls while you were on pause to get a cup of water. Whoever this was, you were almost certain that you didn’t know them.

Grabbing the nearest object to you, you find that it’s your gaming championship trophy sitting close to the front door, where whatever strange fate awaited you. There was no telling who could possibly be banging down your door at two in the morning, but you were prepared to bash their skull in if they tried anything funny.

Standing on your tippy-toes, you level your eye to the peephole and look through, and find yourself thoroughly shocked at the head of pitch black hair within your view. In seconds, you’re yanking your front door open with a sheepish smile, “J-Jinyoung, what brings you here so late at night?” Shit. I was probably yelling too loud during that last scuffle with the demon pirates.

Park Jinyoung was, for lack of a better word, cranky. He was your next door neighbor, and frequently brought up any and all complaints he had against you (which weren’t few and far in between, mind you) whenever he felt the need. The most you knew was that he was a personal assistant for some really high-up dude at a stuffy office downtown, and he would often have to get up at four a.m. just to beat the traffic to get to work. You’d hear his soft, operatic singing in the shower stall across from yours, and you’d know he was ready for work instantly.

He often didn’t make it home until seven, which left you wondering why he wasn’t completely knocked out cold on his comfy bed by now, but with the way he was eyeing you, you had a feeling something was keeping him up. And damn did he reek of alcohol. 

Taking another look, you realized Jinyoung’s eyes were burning red, his skin flushed and puffy, and his hands... holding a plate of fries. They were slightly burnt, too, the poor thing. “Salt.” Is all he says after a few beats of awkward silence.

“...Salt.” You repeat back, and his head nods up and down in a stiff fashion. He holds out his plate of fries to you and you swear you see a tear roll down his cheek when he looks at the fried potatoes, looking none too appealing to you. 

“I... I made fries,” he starts, stating the obvious, “I got home and I dumped half a bag of curly fries into the oven but when I bit into one... it was dry. Tasteless! So I went to the cabinet to get some salt to season them but I was out! I just bought salt the other day and now I’m out! Why does this have to happen to me? Of all days, today is the day I run out of salt. Does God hate me? Is he punishing me for not saying hello to Mrs. Ahn on the fourth floor? I mean, you can’t really blame me, she always says ‘Good Morning’, even when it’s like eight at night! I’ve tried to tell her that morning has long since passed but she does the same thing everyday on repeat and it really grinds my gears-” “Jinyoung, are you drunk?”

The boy stops, halfway through his spiel, and his slightly crazed gaze makes its way to you. He takes a breath and shuts his eyes, exhaling roughly. Then he shakes his head and his usually immaculately styled mane falls into his eyes in an oily mess. “I haven’t slept for more than five hours in the last two days. My boss keeps piling work on me and I can’t even see straight right now so I’m not exactly sure why I went to you instead of Jackson across the hall- no, wait, I do. It’s because you’re always awake.”

You let out a little giggle, but it’s laced with a soft layer of pity that has you removing the plate of fries from his hold and placing it inside your apartment. Much to Jinyoung’s surprise, you hook your hand into his and pull him inside, and his eyes immediately fly around your apartment the moment he enters.

Granted, it’s not the cleanest it could be right now, but it is nicer to be in than his own home.

His home, where everything is in its place and there’s hardly anything homey to decorate with (he still hadn’t collected that last box of his things from his parents’ place), is sometimes so cold that he finds it easier to leave for work everyday. The threat of something cosy and comforting would be far too tempting. 

And your home is just like that. Warm looking, blankets strewn over overly stuffed couches and cute, oddly colored trinkets lining the walls. There are stacks of books along the floors and a pretty impressive entertainment system in your living room, right next to where your desktop sits on your desk. He realizes he’s interrupted you in the middle of something, and he feels the guilt hit him hard, “Were you busy with work? I’m sorry.”

You shake your head with another lighthearted laugh, “Work? I game for fun, man. Though, technically, game review is my job, but it does call for me to be up at all hours of the night testing out said games to their full extent,” you say, and then stop halfway into your apartment to lean in closer to Jinyoung, “don’t tell anyone though, I’m really just playing an RPG right now. My boss has been on my ass about getting this new game finished and I couldn’t care less.” 

Jinyoung’s eyebrows raise some, “You game for a living?”

“’Course,” you grin, releasing him to enter your kitchen. The lights inside are different colors of the rainbow that look oddly attractive, even if they do look extremely inefficient. You fish out a few tupperware bowls from your fridge and a paper plate at the same time as you talk, “it’s why I’m always up gaming. I have a lot of work to do. Fun thing about it is that I rarely have to go to the office, so I’m always just lounging around here.”

Jinyoung watches in awe as you scoop various sides and meats onto the paper plate. He had always assumed you were just some lazy college student mooching off her parents’ money for tuition and living on her own just so she could play games well into the morning hours and be as laid-back as possible. Turned out, he’d been completely wrong.

He can’t stop himself from apologizing, “I’m sorry.”

You’re just popping the plate into the microwave when he says it, the boy looking like a disobedient puppy that had just been reprimanded by its owner. All you can do is smile, shrug, and go back to staring at the microwave. 

The apartment fills with the sounds of multiple electronic beeps a minute or two later before you’re fishing out the plate and wrapping it tight with aluminum foil. He watches as you slip the plate onto the island between you two, gaze warm and... inviting. “I made sure to exclude a slice of the cherry pie I made, since you’re allergic to those.” You remembered that offhanded comment he made from two years ago? He hadn’t even said it to you, rather to Jackson who had offered him a sip of his cherry milkshake. Now that he had thought about it, you were in the hallway when it happened. Hell, he just barely remembered it.

“You like... to cook?” Jinyoung felt awfully bad, what with you remembering he was allergic to cherries, something he hadn’t even told you directly from two years ago, and him not even knowing your own profession. But you sure knew his; he used it as an excuse to complain to you often enough.

“Since I’m always at home, I decided to take up a hobby. It’s a nice thing to do with my hands every now and then, you know? You should come by whenever you’re running low on real food, okay? I make plenty for just a girl who lives alone, and those plastic knock-offs you call french fries can’t hardly be good for you.” Your tone takes on a slightly motherly tint to it that has Jinyoung involuntarily straightening up, much to his embarrassment when you smile. 

He takes the plate with careful hands, feeling the overwhelming swell of stressful emotions he’d been harboring for the last week oozing off his shoulders like mud. Something about being in your comfortable home, smelling your delicious cooking, and being comforted by the friendly smile on your face made Jinyoung feel a whole lot better all of a sudden.

Rubbing at his wet eyes, he put the plate down and pulled you into a hug out of nowhere, his arms wrapping around your shoulders and crushing you to him. On any other day, this would have seriously caught you off guard, but not today. 

You had been seeing Jinyoung’s mood deteriorate for the last few days, his anger catching up to him before his mind could. You tried often not to take it to heart, for you knew he was going through a lot more than he was letting on. All he really needed was a hug. A nice, warm, comforting hug from someone who could take a minute to care.

Your arms held his tall body close, hands rubbing up and down on his cardigan to warm him up some. “Why don’t you call in sick tomorrow, hm? Take the day off just for you. You can even come over again if you want. I’ll show you some good anime to binge, make these bacon-wrapped jalepeno poppers I’ve been dying to try my hand at… what do you think?”

Jinyoung was not close to you, but he wasn’t very far from being considered a friend either. Even if he did often complain about your loud yelling or the music you played on high volume or the stray cats you coaxed toward your balcony (and inevitably toward his to bat down his potted plants every other week), you were also letting his drunk self meander in your kitchen, and you were making him a to-go plate of homemade food to fill him up because you cared. 

You may have been odd, and the very opposite of Jinyoung in every way, but it wasn’t so bad if you allowed him a quick get away from adult life every once in a while. You had preserved a childlike wonder that Jinyoung hadn’t even realized he admired more than he did not. You were a pretty cool person after all.

“Sure. Why not?” It just took a few too many beers and a half bag of unseasoned curly fries to realize that.

[atomic-r0x]

Atlas’s 2nd story, Damlas

His words were going on and on inside her brain but they kept coming, his mouth wouldn’t stop pouring out sentences she hardly kept up with, she only half-heard, let alone understand. “…You can’t keep being like that, you can’t keep pretending you’re the only one who’s got feelings to hurt and tears to cry, Atlas!” and then he stopped, arms falling down by his sides in defeat, though his eyes were eager and the face all red. “Were you even fucking listening?”

“I should have never brought you into this shithole” Atlas replied dryly, somewhat avoiding his stare, the red polished thumb of her hand in between her teeth, as if this made her thing better, quicker, find the right words to spit out in this fight they’d been having for the past twenty minutes already.

Henry was taken aback by her words, and you couldn’t blame him. A resentful chuckle escaped his lips as he ran his thumb under his bottom lip, as if calculating the next move, figuring out what he was supposed to say next. “What did you just say?” he asked, and a stranger might have though he genuinely must have missed her point, or didn’t hear her well. But Atlas was no stranger, and they’d been through fights like these so many times it felt as if each time they were playing along a different script that somehow had the same ending – passionate sex and then confessing their undying love for one another, how sorry they were, how stupid they were to fight.

“What you’ve just heard me, Henry. I should have never taken you with me, this was such a big mistake” she continued speaking without looking at him, pacing back and forth in front of the window, the heavy curtains draped and the door was closed, a feeling of claustrophobia eating at her feet, like she needed fresh air.

“Atlas, you’re my fucking wife, what do you mean you should have never taken me with you?” he was raging now, and although it rarely happened, he was shouting now. “Alright, I get it, you’re Superwoman, you don’t need anybody, we’re all just fools waiting around on you and we’re simply playing it by the ear to see if it entertains you any better, right? You’re out there trying to save the world but you see a little bit of pain and a little bit of something that you can’t fix and you become your own victim and then, what happens to us? We might as well just go fxck ourselves, right?”

“My father’s gonna die, okay? How the fuck do you think I should be feeling about that? Let me take care of him and you go home, go do your job, carry on being the noble man you are and wait on me, if I’m your wife, okay?” she shouted in return, spinning on the heels of her Adidas to face him, her own cheeks flushed red with anger. “You know what? You can leave right now. I don’t need your pity, alright? I don’t need you to watch my try to save my father, okay? This place is fucked up and it’s eating us alive, you’ve seen what happened to Asami – you should not be here, you’re not used to the shit this town has in store.”

Henry froze, together with the resentful small smile hanging from one of the corners of his mouth. He ran his tongue along his upper teeth and then slid his hands in the pockets of his trousers, looking down to the floor for a short while before turning his eyes back to Atlas. “Were you like this with Matthias, too? I’m just curious.”

“What?!” Atlas was baffled, like someone had kicked all the air she had stored in her lungs out of her, like she’d stopped a car running at full speed right into her sternum. “What are you even talking about?”

“I just want to know: where you this cruel to him, too? Or is it something that strictly has to do with me?” he asked casually, as if they were debating kinds of potatoes, or what type of cereals to have for breakfast.

Atlas was taken aback by his unexpected words. “You know what, I’m out of here” she simply muttered before she dashed right past him, flung the door of their bedroom open and climbed down the stairs, sprinting out of the house but stopping on the pavement right in front of it, bending forward with her hands gripping at her knees, as if she was going to throw up. Instead, she took in a few deep breaths, and relieved by the fact that Henry knew he’d crossed the line and didn’t chase after her, she straightened her back and kicked a rock with her foot, sending it all the way to the other side of the rock, on the neighbour’s front porch.

Was it past midnight? It must have been well past two, even, but she couldn't keep track of the time anyway, and before she knew it, her feet were moving and she was walking now, each step quicker than the previous. Beaufort had never been a dangerous place, and even if it were, she couldn't care less. She was dressed in a flimsy tank top and some ripped jeans, she didn’t have a phone with her or a wallet, an ID card on her, anything that would come in handy if the completely hypothetical of an aggression did happen.   Atlas only realized where she was headed when she noticed the big pole, which was lacking its pink neon sign from her memories, she was walking headfirst towards the Flamingo Motel. Blocking her mind, so she wouldn't think about the consequences, or stop herself in doing this incredibly risky move. Just fucking walk, Atlas.   Room four. It didn’t even take her long to find it, so she stepped in front of his door, wiping her nose, eyes dried by now, and she knocked like she needed to wake him up from a fire. The moment he opened the door, the messed up look on his face, the darkness in his room, it all hit her like a train on a track. "I really need to smoke right now. Do you have a lighter?" She asked so naturally, like she'd gone all the way to his motel room for this sole reason.

It took him a second to gather his thoughts, but the most he could do was nod his head like damn mule and further open the door so she could step inside his room. What was it that had told him letting her in would be a good idea, like he didn’t know just as well as she did all the possible ways this night could go wrong? She stepped inside nonetheless, cautious and fascinated. Atlas had so much and yet so little to lose, and the weight of conscience and responsibility was still pressing down on her shoulders, but what the fuck. Why not?   The room reeked of weed, and in the unusual darkness of his room she thought she could see the actual thin layer of smoke, hovering above the furniture like fog. “So…” he finally said, his voice quiet and slightly unsure, like he was trying to figure out which Atlas he was talking to, the one he knew so well, or the one who was pretending to have gathered her life together. “… does this mean you’ve changed your mind?”

"That means I really need to smoke" she replied to his last words, prompt and confident, pulling out a pack of smokes she'd slid in the pocket of her jeans on her way out. The following words, a polite 'do you mind' felt more like a rhetorical question, already placing the cig between her lips and lighting it up herself, with a lighter she always carried in her pack.   A few moments of complete silence followed, and God, she hadn't felt this closely watched in forever. In a sense, she grew comfortable with Henry's gaze on her - it was something she'd learnt to live with the past six-seven years of her life, the same way every woman grows familiar with the adoration of her man, but Damien’s stare - me oh my, she was swallowed by it, by its refreshing newness and strange weight.   "So… you're living here now?" She finally asked, exhaling the smoke of a previous drag, the white stick secured between her fingers as she moved to the window, pushing it open, the soft daze of streetlights caressing her cheek, before she turned to face him again.

“Temporarily.” He said whilst leaning onto the window’s ledge, eyes glued onto the busted pole where the motel’s sign once was. “At least until my mom comes back.”   “And then what?” She asked and a large cloud of smoke filled the air around them. “You’re going back to California?” Her last words made Damien turn his head to face her in surprise, to which she simply chuckled in sheer amusement. “It’s a small town, D. Word gets around.”   “No.” He shook his head; slowly pulling himself straight, and that way he and Atlas were only several inches apart. “I’m done with that place. I’ll probably head to New York or Chicago or… wherever the road takes me.”   With a small smile, Atlas took another long drag from her cigarette right before he removed it from in between her lips – his calloused fingers gently brushing against them a gesture that seemingly took her aback a bit. Only for it to change in an instant, as her eyes divert towards the left side of his face; suddenly noticing the stitches above his eye as well the large bruise underneath it. “Damien,” his name escaped her lips in a form of a whisper – small and shivering. “What… what happened to your face?”   “You want something to drink?” Damien smiled forcefully, desperately wanting to change the topic, “I just happen to have a bottle of whiskey lying around somewhere. It tastes like shit, but it’s something.”

She smirked at herself when he offered the whiskey. "Sure" she agreed, glancing behind her back into the quiet night in the motel parking lot before she made her way to the bed, slipping her sneakers off to sit cross legged as she waited for him to find the bottle. "We're adults now, you know? Alcohol doesn't count as a way to dodge uncomfortable stuff" she finally spoke, while he was still searching for the bottle, like he'd actually hidden it on purpose. "What happened?"   It was so visible he was avoiding the matter, it almost amused her. Atlas watched the man her first real boyfriend had turned into with a small lazy smile settled on her lips, rolling her eyes a bit when he finally turned around with the bottle in hand. "Fuck, it really does taste like shit" she chuckled by just seeing the label, but reached out to get it nonetheless. She grimaced, tapping her lips with the back of her hand before handing the bottle back at him. “I’m not leaving this room until you tell me.”   Her last exclaim put a smirk on his lips – that shit-eating one that was so typical of him as he finally took a seat, right there on the edge of his bed; whiskey bottle gingerly in his hands. “I guess you have to call off the wedding then.” Atlas rolled her eyes with a silent ‘you wish’ in her chuckle, but her eyes kept analyzing every inch of his face. “What? Don’t give me that look…I’m fine, aren’t I? Weren’t you the one who said we’re adults?”

She stopped in her tracks a little bit, slightly confused at his reaction. Atlas put the bottle down between her legs before shaking her head, eyes still glued to his face. "You always acted so damn unbreakable, like there is nothing in this whole world that could ever surprise you, or make you ache. And it just makes me wonder - from the perspective of someone who fucking cares - just how messed up you are deep down, with all this show you're putting up. Just how much of an open wound there is inside of you" she spoke, at some point not even sure if she was talking about him or herself anymore.

“What do you want me to say Atlas?” Reluctantly, he shifted, so that he was facing her. “That you broke my heart when you left without saying goodbye? That I constantly blame myself for not being able to prevent my brother from suicide? That it’s been eight years since I’ve talked to my mother? What else? What else do you want me to say?!”

Atlas opened her mouth to say something, but closed it immediately. There wasn’t much she could tell him, and the damage had already been done, so instead, they sat there in silence, both staring down at something that completely didn’t exist, just to avoid looking at one another.   With fingers running through his hair, Damien sighed in sheer frustration, but she was still avoiding his gaze, the bottle of whiskey still very present between her thighs, so he extended his arm, the edges of his fingers gingerly glazing hers. The gesture made her look up, their gazes finally meeting and all Damien could do was lean towards her, thumb pressed against her lower lip before finally colliding with his own, those lips she remembered so well – the same texture, the same intensity he always started his kisses with. Why did she ever think coming to him would be a good idea? She should have known better that Damien was no noble man, he wouldn't have taken her by the shoulders, give her a little shake and tell her to go back home.   But she kissed him back. She kissed him like he was the only source of oxygen in a crashing plane. She kissed him to stop her tears from forming in her eyes, keeping them so tight they hurt. She kissed him fearlessly, his hand secured on her jawline, his calloused fingers rough on her skin, and without even noticing, her hand was already behind his head, fingers through the darkness of his hair.

He pulled her closer to him – their kiss breaking after what seemed like hours, only to kiss again, Damien’s hand moving slowly under her thigh and softly laying her down on the bed, underneath him. Her back hit the mattress and she let out a gasp, but continued eating at Damien's lips with unexpected perseverance. This didn't mean anything, did it? They were both angry for different reasons and they had been drinking and they had a past so fucking seemed like a casualty. Some people smoke a cigarette to wind down, others decide to do very, horribly bad things. Yet, her hands were clawing at his recently bare back and there was no sign of peace inside Atlas's mind. “Damien..." she moaned when his lips reached her collarbones, her nails forming small moon shapes on his shoulders.

In a matter of moments she took over on the mattress, with no flimsy tank top in sight, and his hands reaching out to help her peel the jeans down her long legs. Atlas bit her lip as if this was the first time she was letting him see her naked; pushing a strand of hair behind her ear in a sheepish manner before leaning over for another kiss. His hands moved swiftly down the curves of her body only to stop at her bottom and push her down on the mattress so he could be on top of her once again.   Her hands were eagerly fumbling with the zipper of his jeans, the same way they did the first time they began to fool around. Her skin had been sticky with sweat from the unbearable June heat and her breath warm against his naked chest. “Fuck…” she heard Damien cursing under his breath, fingers gently grabbing a fistful of her long blonde locks.

. . .

There was sweat and cheap liquor spread across the mattress as they laid side by side, completely out of breath and really, just overwhelmed by what had just happened. Repositioning herself, Atlas laid her head on his chest and caught sight of something that wasn’t there last time she had the opportunity to see him this up close. “Didn’t know you were the tattoo type of guy” she spoke softly, her finger tracing the outline of his tattoo on the side of his arm.

“I’m not.” He replied, his voice surprisingly soft.   “Don’t tell me that it’s a tramp stamp.” A wide, toothy smile appeared on her face as she raised her head to look at him.   A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he contemplated whether or not he should tell her the truth or lie. “Actually… it’s Charlie. Well, technically it’s one of his drawings, like sh-t he used to doodle in this notebook of his. So I had it tattooed.” Damien replied, his eyes miles away from hers. And when he finally decided to look at her, a small smile formed on the edges of his lips. “Kind of cheesy right?”

"Actually, no" she whispered, and sighed a little bit, before placing her cheek on his hot and now sticky with sweat chest again. It took her a while to speak again, but when she did, her eyes were glued to the tattoo. "You're not gonna tell me what happened to Charlie, are you?" It was a rhetorical question, because no matter how long they’ve been apart it felt as if she knew from the moment their eyes met for the millionth time that evening. Atlas knew that he wasn’t going to say anything.

“I don’t wanna talk about Charlie.” He said finally, after what seemed like ages – his eyes no longer on hers but glued onto something far away in the distance.

They stood there in silence, his face covered in a frown, eyes vacant, staring nowhere in particular. At a certain point, his jaw clenched and it felt as if she was laying next to someone who was trapped in a trance, living in the same memories over and over again. She wanted to cry. Maybe she deserved this, to have a life constantly ping-ponging from one fxcked up person to the other, and the image of her cousin popped up: why did she have it all figured out? What had made her more worthy in this lifetime to gain peace of mind and a perfect family that ran smooth and sweet?   “Hey…” she called out, her hand reaching for his cheek, her red polished thumb rubbing the soft skin. She shifted her position when he didn't really respond to her calling him out, withdrawing her hand from his face and pulling her knees to her chest, bare back at him, as she bit her lip and rested her face on her kneecaps. There was a lump in her throat, so big it could have been a fucking pomegranate, or a whole unpeeled orange. The need to cry was suffocating her.   "I gotta run" she said with a surprisingly steady voice, considering her eyes were already clouding up with tears. She didn't even turn to face him when he said that, she just placed her feet on the dirty rugged floor as if testing to see if it was still there, and the straightened herself up in a standing position, completely naked, starting to shake, and trying very had to see where her lingerie was, back bent and hands searching frantically, the runny nose she always had when crying starting to get visible.

She'd managed to put her lingerie on, as well as the tank top, but completely froze when he finally pulled himself up from the mattress and made her way towards her. "Stay" he spoke, a voice hoarser than he'd ever had, like a car crash or a natural disaster had happened inside of him, affecting every organ. "... please" he added, and he was holding back too, to which Atlas bit her lower lip really hard, as if determined to make blood pop out of it.   "I really need to go" she begged, almost, eyes glassy and her hair messed up and her fingers clinging at the waistband of her jeans, like a kid who needed permission to get dressed. She really had to go, the streetlights were fading, morphing into a dusty dawn, and this meant Atlas had been away from home the whole night. What was Henry doing right now? Her father?   And then his hand was back on her cheek, thumb rubbing her soft skin as if making an incantation that would have her stay. Why did she come to him, out of all people, that night? Why did they have to collide right back, after all those years they'd been doing fine on their own? Damien kissed her once more and she couldn't help kissing him back, although her throat was aching and she was on the verge of breaking down, but she kissed him nonetheless, her hands on either side of his neck, eyes shut, his familiar flavor in her mouth again.   "Damien..." she broke away from the kiss and pressed her own forehead against his, a couple tears rolling down her cheek. "I have to go. I can't stay here forever..." she spoke, her voice cracking from the tears. "... I'm gonna live this place and get married and you're gonna go the fuck knows where and we're never gonna meet again. I don't want to hurt you."

So he let her go, arms dropping heavily on each side of his naked body as he forced a smile. “You can’t hurt me, Atlas. No one can hurt me.” The words exited his mouth just like poison. And together with his words, the room temperature dropped to freezing point, and nausea filled her mouth, and her tears turned to acid, burning the softness of her face. He was back to being hostile and cocky as ever, she was back to being proud and emancipated and dying to have the last word. They were again butting heads, but this time she doubted it'd end with sex.   "That's good to know" she spoke dryly, bending over to pick the jeans up from the floor and pull them over her legs, buttoning them at the waist. It took a swift move for her to walk right past him to get her shoes, aggressively getting fully dressed again, the way she was before entering the damned room, before anything of this madness happened, and head over to the door, opening it before stopping for a second, to look at him, eyes cold but still glassy, even more so than before. "Adieu, Damien. I guess that's what you've always wanted."

. . .

She couldn’t tell at which point she started running, but all she knew right now was that the crisp morning air was rushing through her hair as she made her way back to her childhood home, tirelessly bolting for the front porch. When she finally made it to the front door, she only had to knock twice, and the sight of Henry pulling the door open in the clothes he was wearing when they were fighting told her she wasn’t the only one lacking sleep.

Atlas was expecting for something hostile, something that would teach her a lesson, but instead, he exhaled in relief and pulled her inside in a hug so tight her bones might have cracked under the pressure, his lips were pressed on her head and Atlas – oh god, she was clinging at his back like he was a lifeline, face buried in the crook of his neck. And she started crying, that ugly type of cry, the crying that makes you shake and weakens you, repeating ‘I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry’ until her voice was no longer audible, completely broken, and his arms were carrying her upstairs into the bathroom, where he took her clothes off and bathed her and kissed her, and Atlas couldn’t understand what it was that she’d done to ever deserve a man so kind as Henry.

[nervousruinscreation]

“Remember When Kobe Bryant Was Charged With Rape? I Didn't Forget, and Neither Should You”

Read the referenced article here

Please note that this article does include a semi-graphic description of sexual assault.

I made a mental note to talk about this in my journal during class when I saw that there was a Kobe Bryant quote included in the slideshow during class. As much as I want to pursue this culture of being a disrupter/interrupter. I really didn’t feel like trying to open up a dialog about hero worship over abusive men/people wanting to separate the ‘art’ from the abusive person. And I also thought that if people wanted to deny that it happened, or that it doesn’t matter, or that there is supposed to be some unspoken rule about how you’re not supposed to point out that someones dead hero, is also not a great person would not be a good or nice experience for anyone in the class who is a survivor of sexual assault. 

But yeah, I felt deeply uncomfortable seeing the slide with the KB quote, which I also think is trash. I think there are a lot of legitimate/valid reasons why people blame others for a lack of success (obviously context is key). I hate the #noexcuses discourse, as that little quip is also often associated with people going to the gym. It just reeks of a culture that only values productiveness, and that we are only valuable when we are productive.

I also don’t really believe that laziness exists.

When you’re seeking to predict or explain a person’s actions, looking at the social norms, and the person’s context, is usually a pretty safe bet. Situational constraints typically predict behavior far better than personality, intelligence, or other individual-level traits. 

So when I see a student failing to complete assignments, missing deadlines, or not delivering results in other aspects of their life, I’m moved to ask: what are the situational factors holding this student back? What needs are currently not being met? And, when it comes to behavioral “laziness,” I’m especially moved to ask: what are the barriers to action that I can’t see?

There are always barriers. Recognizing those barriers— and viewing them as legitimate — is often the first step to breaking “lazy” behavior patterns. It’s really helpful to respond to a person’s ineffective behavior with curiosity rather than judgment.- source

Theres this other source that also has great insight into what ‘laziness’ actually is:

Seeking Comfort: Chödrön redefines laziness as either rushing from one thing to the other to seek comfort or the the typical manifestation of inaction. In either case she says, “we look for oblivion: a life that doesn’t hurt, a refuge from difficulty or self-doubt or edginess. We want a break from being ourselves, a break from the life that happens to be ours.”

Loss of Heart: Loss of heart is defined by not measuring up. She observes “We tried just being ourselves and we didn’t measure up. The way we are is not okay… We took time off, went on vacation, learned to meditate, studied spiritual teachings, or spent years dedicated to certain political or philosophical views… We don’t even want to move. We feel we could gladly sleep for a thousand years. Our life feels meaningless. Loss of heart is so painful that we become paralyzed.”

Couldn’t Care Less: This is the cynic’s laziness. “We feel that we just don’t give a damn anymore. We feel lazy and mean at the same time. We feel mean toward this disappointing and lousy world, and toward this person and that person. Mostly we feel mean toward ourselves. We made a mistake. We’re not exactly sure what this mistake was, but we got it all wrong; and now, to hell with it!” - Source

What the solution to ‘lazy’ is Self compassion, learning to get comfortable with discomfort and asking yourself:

What do you actually, truly, deeply need? 

[lokloklok256]

my younger brother is a fucking piece of shit

he's lazy, he refuses to do anything himself, he acts like a fucking baby, he's an apathetic, psycho, careless fucking cunt,

he's a fucking piece of shit.

he can't feel empathy, he doesn't fucking care about anything that isn't a video game, he's unbearably rude and disrespectful, he's fucking mean as shit, he fucking hates my guts for literally no reason at all and pretends to be all nice in front of everyone else (while still being rude and disrespectful as shit or course), and when no one is around he fucking treats me like dog shit no matter how nice i am to him, no matter how much i try to have fun with him, and he would literally kill me for no fucking reason and not give a single shit.

my life is literally threatened whenever i'm around him.

he's a fucking piece of shit and i don't want to have anything to do with him.

actually, he doesn't completely pretend to be nice when we're around other people, when he lies to someone about something retarded like how he broke his knee from walking because he heard it make a cracking sound or how he sleepwalked a few years ago when he was living in a tiny house with three people who are awake at completely random times, or when he lies to someone about something they shouldn't think is true because they'll accidentally fuck something up believing his stupid shit (the students in my school are really stupid and will believe all kinds of obviously retarded shit he tries to feed to them), or when he doesn't know anything about something but he tells them he knows and tells them something stupid (again, the students are really fucking stupid. neither me nor any normal adult would believe something that obviously dumb, but those students are very skilled. it amazes me how they can even think the things they think, and lack the ability to figure out such simple things.), or when he even tries to tell someone something false that will get me in trouble or make them think something bad about me or someone else, and then i have to tell people that he does not in fact have magical powers and he doesn't actually have any clue how this machine works and someone he lives with did not actually do something horrible, and then he looks at me in this retarded way and points his finger at me and gets REEALLY sassy and says, in the most annoying fucking way "uh, no, nuh uh, shut up, you don't know that, shut the hell up, uh no, no shut up, uh you be quiet", in THE MOST SASSY, ASSHOLE-ISH, DISRESPECTFUL, ANNOYING WAY POSSIBLE. HE'S SUCH A FUCKING ASSHOLE. right there in front of a group of people and he's being so fucking rude to me while I'm trying to tell people he knows nothing about what he's saying he knows about and that the thing he's lieing about didn't happen.

I JUST FUCKING SIT THERE CALMLY, I'm so calm and happy in class, and he fucking ruins it by being SO RIDICULOUSLY DISRESPECTFUL TO ME, so MEEAAN while everyone stares at the scene, watching him be fucking rude as shit to me while I'm trying to talk, him trying to talk over me in the most little-asshole-ish way. its so fucking cringey, watching him like that. everyone there has to deal with him being so fucking nosey and annoying and saying such stupid shit and trying to get into everyone's personal business and being SO DAMN RUDE fucking burping in everyone's face as loud as possible!

not only is he a fucking piece of shit at home, but i feel so damn sorry for everyone that has to deal with him. has to deal with him talking over everyone, interrupting everyone, completely ignoring personal space, burping loud as he possibly can, right onto people, trying to get into every single conversation, being the rudest motherfucker they all ever seen.

he's been told so many times by teachers, in the oh my god nicest way, about how its polite to say 'excuse me' after you burp, and to cover or close your mouth.

he used to listen to anyone but me, but now he listens to know one. he's becoming a problem for my brother and his roommate, he's fucking up in school, he's making everything harder for all of us.

i used to be the one getting yelled at all the time by my parents cause they treated him like the most perfect precious sweetheart and they wanted to take their anger out on me because i wasn't acting like a mindless robot like him, doing, saying and thinking every single thing they wanted me to. (..even though he was still causing most of the problems back then too...and it was... pretty obvious back then that he was kind of an asshole, was really fucking lazy and careless, and that he was just pretending and acting to make them like him...it was... honestly really fucking obvious..) now, surprisingly, for the first time in both of our lives, he's actually getting in trouble more than me. which actually shocks me. he has this habbit of pretending, faking, acting like he has the same exact opinion as other people, being really nice to them. but now that we're with two adults that aren't fucking idiots (i KNOW that is a horrible thing to say about my parents but first my dad is a filthy piece of dog shit who should be rotting in jail and second i love my mom so much but I'm now really pissed at her cause she kind of fucked up my life and me and third they both really are complete idiots), he's actually getting called out on his shit and he's annoying the absolute fuck out of someone other than me and my older brother and his roommate don't just let him get away with that shit because they perceive him as a perfect precious baby like my mom does, and they actually care that he's doing bad shit and making everything harder for everyone else because he doesn't care.

i'm still getting treated like shit and physically harmed and threatened though.

i'm just fucking waiting for the day someone says something that brings me to tell them about the shit he's done to me.

they treat him so nice.

they treat him specially.

he's fucking screwed now that I'm not doing everything for him anymore because I'm fed up with his shit, pissed at him for constantly treating me like shit and trying to harm me, and because every fucking time i try to help him now he just throws a tantrum and hurts me.

he does the dumbest fucking shit because he thinks he can get away with it, because up until now, he always could.

it reeks of cat shit so fucking badly in here.

[lemonicing]

I’m so scared right now

For no good reason, but my heart feels cold and my body and breath are shivering. I feel myself dropping off. It’s in my legs and in my hands and in my head—and I’m trying to stop it. But the fuzziness is coming for me. I can feel it. I don’t want to go away, I want to stay here, but all I can think about is how scared I am.

I just feel like a scared little girl, like I never picked myself up and moved past that. And I tell myself my history isn’t that bad because to call it bad seems a hyperbole. It was okay. I lived. So many people have had it worse. I wasn’t kicked or punched or raped, but I feel like I was anyways and I don’t understand it. I shouldn’t be this fucked up—so I think I’m just weak and defective and not cut out for living in the world. Like I said earlier, I have trouble holding down jobs and functioning as a part of society. I feel deficient in some way. And, yeah, I know I’m not. Realistically, I’m very smart and keen and beautiful but it doesn’t matter much when I could cry almost all the time.

I’m just scared: scared of people, scared of places, scared of situations and hypotheticals. I think this is normal—everyone has some level of anxiety—but for me it’s not anxiety. Anxiety is such a weak word to describe it. I feel sick, broken, like my stomach shattered the glass of a six story building to jump out the window.

It makes me feel incomplete, you know? Incomplete. Lacking. Whatever the word is. I try to fill that void with hugs and kisses and sex and cute animals, but it never goes away. I feel lonely, abandoned, and like no one will protect me. I know this is wrong, like, literally wrong, but I’m still that little kid on the inside who never had the chance to grow up.

And part of me knows my childhood sucked more than most, even if I wasn’t physically or sexually abused. It felt like I was though. Things were so loud and vile, and older men were so weird to me. I remember being 14 and getting catcalled at Subway. I remember being 16 and being asked my age by men old enough to be my father. They wanted to fuck me but didn’t want to risk statutory rape. I wore a bikini for the first time that day in public and got called a Victoria Secrets model by my mother’s friend. Then when I turned 18, I got asked to be a sugar baby on a plane trip to see my grandparents, the week after high school graduation. The conversation was literally prefaced with, “How old are you?” And I was too scared to not be friendly. So I sat there for 2 hours and listened to this man talk about how business was booming and that he could give me a job. Examples of the job were given: he told me about one of his mistresses, how she lived off his paycheck and always wanted more. (She was so ungrateful.) I just nodded and giggled and sat there like a confused idiot. It’s shocking to me now that no one around me told him to shut the fuck up and to stop preying on a little girl. The man on my other side was angry, I could tell, but he didn’t say anything. No one did.

But to be honest, I didn’t have a great start in life. My parents got married because my mom was pregnant. My parents got divorced because my dad did coke too much and beat up on my mom. My first memory is me going to the bathroom and her rushing in, slamming the door. I could hear my dad yelling, I think, but I wasn’t scared. This was normal, I guess.

Then there were the years when my mom and I were alone, living in a house that wasn’t ours, and pretending to be happy. Those were the best years of my childhood, and I cried when we moved so much. For some reason I was anorexic during this time, as a fucking 13 year old. There was a girl named Michelle in my class who was so pretty and perfect, and I wanted to be her, so I starved myself and exercised excessively. Then I binged one night, stuffing my face with molding bread, and things never were quite the same.

If I look back, I think I was trying to subconsciously exert some control over my situation. My mom got a boyfriend, Micheal, and we were going to move to Colorado. I was leaving the closest thing to a childhood home I had. But at least I’d have a dad. I was so excited for that, and I know my mom saw my heart break when I realized Micheal didn’t love me. Or maybe he did in his own way, but his own childhood left him robbed of any idea how to express it. The closest I came was one New Years when I was laying in bed. He broke in the room and hugged me tight and told me he was sorry and that he loved me. He wouldn’t let me go for a long time. My mom had to pull him off me. He reeked of beer sweat. His breath was straight Tuaca.

I lived in that house for four years, listening to myself be called a little piggy and a lazy shit, listening to my mom and him fight. Those were the worst parts, I think. I don’t remember him hurting me, but he hurt my mom. He’d hit her and smash our phones. He pulled the rifle out of its case a couple of times, saying shit about how he was going to kill us. There were multiple times I almost called the police, but I was too scared to. That’s my biggest regret in life: not calling the cops. He would drive drunk, too, and got into arguments with my mom while driving around treacherous mountain roads. I felt so many times like we were going to fall off the edge and die. But the worst was when I heard them fucking one night. That was awful. I felt betrayed. I felt like my mom didn’t care.

Then there was Greg, who extorted money out of my family and put my mom and I through another three or four years of hell. He loved me though, and praised me openly. His favorite thing to do was take me to school. He wasn’t perfect, but he tried. Meth, however, is a powerful thing. He called me a whore. He yelled so much. I don’t think I need to explain it a lot.

So I never had a man in my life who both loved me and loved me enough not to abuse my trust. My best friend was my cat because I could cry on her fur at night, and she’d purr. (Nights were the worst because that’s when alcohol and drugs were okay.) I miss my cat. I do. I want to believe she’s watching over me from kitty cat heaven. It’s sad that pets don’t last a lifetime, that you’ve got to say goodbye so soon. She made me so happy and was more of a mother to me than my actual mom was in some ways. She protected me from Micheal. She laid at the foot of my bed every night. I told her my secrets. She was a very good cat.