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illarian-rambling · 3 months

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So this has been looooong overdue...

Character Introduction: Duchon Avymere Kalaphon Spearsong III, Heir to the Icy City

“So.” The Duchon pulled a silken rope and a blue-clad figure brought out a tea set almost faster than Astra could blink. “You seem a curious sort. My last tailor was an old, stodgy fellow—I always worried one needle prick would be the end of him.” They smiled mischievously. “Tell me about yourself, Ms. DuClaire, and I’ll tell you a bit about myself. Nothing you don’t want to, of course. Just anything you find fun or worth sharing.”

Somewhat surprisingly, the Duchon began to prepare two cups of tea with their own hands. Silently, they tapped the bowl of sugar. Astra held up three fingers.

Was this some sort of ploy? Astra honestly couldn’t tell what the motive would be, much less if there was one. The Duchon seemed almost child-like, humming softly to themself as they stirred their servant’s tea.

Alright, doll, I’ll play your game. But I ain’t gonna— Astra took a sip of the tea they passed her and almost fainted for how tantalizing the flavor was. Ok, maybe I’ll like it.

“Well, like my papers said, I’m from the Republic.” She cleared her throat, blushing a bit under the handsome elf’s undivided attention. “What they didn’t say is I’m most a’ the way to a book mage, I just never ended up gettin’ my license. Your, uh, your grace, I mean.”

“What a remarkable path!” The Duchon blinked eyes as bright as a bird’s. “As a note, when we’re in my personal quarters, you may call me Avymere, if you wish. I know you don’t have our slew of titles down in the Republic. Trust me, even I find it all confusing sometimes!”

They laughed, a light, airy sound that reminded the witch of wind chimes. She found herself relaxing into the chair, smiling as she sipped her tea, even as her mind whirled. There was just something about this person! It snagged at Astra’s core like a loose tooth. Maybe it was just her general distrust of fine folk, but no one was that chipper—not at eight in the morning with a total stranger.

“Why did you decide to quit before taking your licensing exam?” Avymere asked, they themself also sitting in a more relaxed manner now. “I understand it’s a very difficult exam, though I never had a head for runes. My father tried, by the gods he did, but nothing ever stuck.” They shrugged in a ditzy way. “I suspect he was always a little disappointed I never took to it.”

“The exam was more money than I was willin’ to spend,” Astra answered, skirting the truth by an inch or two. “’Sides, I don’t need it for what I’m doin’ now.”

Was it possible that the Duchon was just… dumb? Well-meaning, but it was just so out there that a noble would be asking such intrusive questions to the help. If a library worth of runic knowledge hadn’t been on the line and she wouldn’t’ve been hung for saying so, Astra would’ve told anyone else to stuff it. Her reasons for not having her license were no one’s business but her own! Yet, Astra couldn’t honestly look into those starling eyes and work up any true indignation. They were just so genuine.

“I heard a description of the skirt you made,” Avymere continued with a conspiratory grin. “I think that’s a beautiful marriage of the arts—runes and fashion. Though I guess runes aren’t technically art, are they? They sure are pretty though. Do you have a favorite rune? One you think is the prettiest?”

Another… well it wasn’t really a nosy question, just a weird one. Astra decided to answer honestly. “On a visual level? Fire,” she said. “It’s one a’ the simplest shapes, yet elegant too. ’Course I don’t use it much in this line a’ work.”

“Oh, I suppose that’s a shame. But you wouldn’t want clothes catching on fire, now would you?” Avymere laughed again, drawing an unexpected chuckle from Astra’s lips as the elf’s mirth spread through the air.

“So, you had another line of work, then? Not magic if you don’t have your license, I’m guessing, and not clothes because that’s what you’re doing now. Were you”—Their eyes flicked to her hands, to the slight stiffness with which she held her left arm—“a farmer? Oh, or a fighter! You’ve got a tough look about you. Is it true all people in the Republic can swing a sword?”

“I, uh….” Astra paused, then really considered what she was about to say. Potion hunting wasn’t too far from what she’d been doing for six years. That was probably exactly the sort of answer Avymere wanted though.

Astra considered further what she’d said already to this chatterbox elf, what she’d given up as answers to those silly questions. Avymere knew she was an unlicensed mage with the skill to pass the exam, just not the funds. They knew she had a proclivity for fire. They knew she had the hands of a physical laborer and a previously injured arm. In short, they’d picked up on everything that might make her dangerous in less time than it’d taken the witch to finish her tea.

She grinned. So this was a game then. Just one she’d never seen played before.

And by extension, one she herself didn’t know how to play.

“I did freelance work for a few years on the road.” Astra shrugged, leaning back in her chair. “I assume you’re a spy a’ some sort.”

“That—” Avymere coughed, choking briefly on their tea. Astra’s grin grew even wider. They caught the expression and a cautious smile began to creep onto their own features. “And why ever would you ask that?”

“Just the questions ya asked, is all. That and I ain’t too trustin’ a’ nobility—no offense. It all lined up too neatly, ya didn’t have any questions in there that were pure nonsense.”

Avymere’s smile grew more coy. “I’ll take that into account, Ms. DuClaire. Your insight is an honest pleasure. And I take no offense, I probably trust my peers less than you do. Now, shall we dispense with the interview and start our day?”

Full backstory is under the cut ;)

Avymere is the only child of Archduke Eluan Spearsong and Duchess Amarell Spearsong. The Spearsongs have long ruled the city of Salis, within the icy elven country of Skysheer, and are counted as the second most important family in the nation. In addition, they are known to possess a powerful inherited sorcery, augmented by their study of runes. Eluan Spearsong has been long considered one of Illaros's most powerful mages, while his wife steered the city's politics like a well-broken mare. Avymere should've been born with everything, and in a way, they were. In others, they were not so lucky.

For starters, Avymere was born without a trace of sorcery - the first Spearsong in a millenia to be fully mundane. Secondly, though their father tried and they studied and struggled, book magic never clicked for them either. They exist as a break in the grand chain of Spearsong arcane tradition. Thirdly, when they were no more than eight, their mother was assassinated by an unknown faction. The culprit was never found.

This isn't to say Avymere's childhood was all dark. Apart from his sadness in his child not being able to practice magic, Eluan was a model father. He encouraged Avymere's passion for martial arts, even though such a thing is considered unseemly for Skysheerian nobility. He instilled them with strong ideals of stewardship and leading as an act of service, and always made time to care for them while running the city. It's no surprise then, that as an adult, Avymere is doggedly loyal to the Archduke.

Apart from their talent in martial arts, Avymere also has a skill for spycraft. This was recognized early on by the Archduke's spymaster, and since there are simply some places a Duchon can go that a spy disguised as a servant can't, they were trained extensively from the moment they hit adulthood. For their part, Avymere is happy to serve as a spy. It is their duty to the nation and they enjoy the challenge.

This spycraft has had a significant impact on their personality. Though they've never reflected on such a thing, Avymere would hardly recognize their true personality. They play the charming ditz in front of the court, the benevolent library builder in front of the citizens, and the terrifying specter for any rebels or political enemies who manage to get close. The one thing that remains consistent among their many faces is a sense of unyielding duty. They don't see themself as a person, but rather as a tool to protect Skysheer. It's not really an unhappy experience - more that they don't know what it means to be truly happy. The only time they take for themself is when they practice martial arts, often sparring with their bodyguards in the palace garden. They are impeccably polite, deeply cunning, and completely unaware of their worth as a person. They don't wear the crown - it wears them.

Can you see why they're one bad adventure away from a severe breakdown?

Anyways, here are some fun facts!

Avymere is 153 years old. Given that elves in my setting can live to around 500, they're the equivalent of mid to late twenties.

The martial art they practice is called Talmel Valkys, and it's a holdover from before the Skysheerian elves split from their more militant Nabafyrian cousins. Its closest real-world equivalent would be muay thai mixed with a little aikkido.

They, like everyone in their family, are very nearsighted.

Given how their mother was assassinated, Avymere is extraordinarily paranoid about assassins targeting their father.

Their gender would be defined as fe'penche specifically. Elven culture recognizes six genders, and fe'penche roughly translates to nonbianary but female leaning. This means Avymere dresses more femme and engages in traditionally feminine work (politics). In the human tongue, they stick to they/them.

They can play the pianoforte with a very medium level of skill.

That's not quite a wrap, as I have one more present for you. A proper portrait! (Finally!)

Though they are lily white to human eyes, Avymere is considered quite tan for a Skysheerian. Their hair is also a stark white typical of their people, while their eyes are a pale gray.

Thanks for reading if you made it this far! Let me know if you have any questions and you have yourself a bitchin day <3

@amandacanwrite @elsie-writes @riveriafalll @kosmic-kore @kaylinalexanderbooks

@bard-coded @carrotsinnovember @patternwelded-quill @somethingclevermahogony @whatwewrotepodcast

@the-angriest-author @mk-writes-stuff @frostedlemonwriter @vyuntspakhkite-l-darling @watermeezer

@leahnardo-da-veggie @mr-orion @televisionjester @the-ellia-west @ray-writes-n-shit

@evilgabe29 @trippingpossum @fortunatetragedy @halfbakedspuds

#writing #writerscommunity #writblr #my ocs #writing ask game #lore drop

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mybeautifulchristianjourney · 1 year

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If man is bound in sin what is the purpose of exhortations and admonitions?

While the other answers may suffice, we can address this specially by acknowledging that even though God works all our good in us and for us, He does not treat us as lifeless objects. Instead, God deals with us according to our natures, using arguments and reasons. You may ask, "What's the point? Isn't it like shining the Sun or holding a candle to a blind man?" However, these exhortations and the preaching or reading of God's word are the very instruments through which God works. Therefore, preaching should not be viewed merely as a form of exhortation but as a sanctified medium or instrument through which God accomplishes what He exhorts us to do. Although God may send prophets to exhort those who won't listen, for the godly, these exhortations are operative means, similar to when God said, "Let there be light," or when Christ said, "Lazarus, come forth from the grave." This should deter you from despising even the simplest preaching, as its power lies not in its elegance or eloquence but in its appointment by God to achieve its purpose. Just like water from various conduits, a sermon's effectiveness lies in the water itself, not in the conduit's appearance. Likewise, the seed that is thrown into the ground will fructify whether it comes from a plain hand or one adorned with gold rings and jewels. The minister's gifts may differ, but the power comes from God. The main issue is to open the closed heart.

The Scripture portrays conversion and repentance as both the effects of God's grace and our acts. No one denies that we are the subjects, who, enabled by grace, act accordingly. Grace cannot exist without an intelligent subject. Just as dew falls before the manna, preparing the ground to receive it, reason and liberty qualify the subject to be passively receptive of grace. But when empowered by grace, the subject becomes active as well. Some have struggled with certain passages, questioning why those promises of God converting us prove conversion to be His act, while other passages instruct us to turn to the Lord, implying that it is our act. The answer is straightforward: No one denies that believing and turning to God are our acts. To believe, one must engage the mind and will. Augustine makes a strong point: If we consider man as a partial cause with God merely because it is said, "Not of him that willeth and runneth, but of him that showeth mercy," then we might as well say, "Not in him that showeth mercy, but in him that willeth and runneth."

The question is, Can we do this of ourselves, with grace? Or does grace only enable us to do it? Bernard's distinction is clear: The heart of man is the subject in which grace resides, not from which it originates. Therefore, when grace empowers the mind and will to turn to God, it is not like a seal impressing a stamp on wax or wine being poured into a vessel, where the subject recipient remains motionless. Nor is it like Balaam's ass speaking or like an enthusiastical or involuntary motion. Instead, the Spirit of God inclines the will and affections to their proper object.

The Antinomian's analogy of God converting a man to a physician pouring a potion down a sick man's throat against his will is flawed. It is true that the will, in its illicit and immediate acts, cannot be forced by any power whatsoever. It is impossible for a man to believe unwillingly because believing requires an act of the will. While the will in conversion may be resisted by the corrupt heart and will of a man, when it is overcome by the grace of God, it willingly turns to Him. — Anthony Burgess

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wordsinhaled · 2 years

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if the walls were too thin, you would break right in

hob’s first thought when he finds out who his friend is turns out to be: why does dream of the endless look so bloody tired?

his second thought is: oh god, but i’ve dreamt about him.

hob purchases a new blanket for his flat that very week. he drapes it as casually as he can manage over the back of his couch, should dream ever decide to stop by and happen to fall asleep. it’s just thoughtful, isn’t it? never mind that morpheus has never put in an appearance at his flat before. you’re being presumptuous, hob gadling, he tells himself, even as he reads about the best lighting and environmental conditions to promote healthy sleep hygiene, and considers the practicality of switching out all the bulbs in his bedroom.

he does so much research on rest and relaxation that even his dreams start to take place in calmer settings—in five-star spas and tropical wellness retreats and infinitely-more-comfortable versions of his own bedroom. no matter that the real morpheus has never visited one of hob’s dreams, either. and certainly no matter that most of what goes on when hob does envision his own version of morpheus in such idyllic dreamscapes is decidedly far from any definition of rest, and he often wakes guilty and tangled in sweat-damp bedsheets the morning after.

hob is quite adept at convincing himself dream cannot possibly know about those dreams. for his sanity, he supposes.

then one night hob goes to sleep, and dream is there, the real one, in hob’s dream-bedroom, with the lamps turned down low and the essential oil diffuser humming quietly on the bedside table. except... this is a different room, hob realizes. the sheets on this bed are an indulgent sateen, dark and slightly shimmery, like a calm ocean on a moonless night. he thinks he smells the familiar sandalwood base note of his own cologne on the air, blending with something new... neroli, maybe, clean and a little bitter.

“hello, hob.”

dream sits on the edge of the bed, looking at him. there’s a knowledge in that look that reaches down even unto hob’s bones, and hob isn’t sure if the room is very warm, or if he’s just about to combust on the spot.

“fuck,” he says, eloquently.

dream arches one elegant eyebrow, gaze unwavering. “have you not dreamt of this?”

“well—” hob hedges. dares to venture a few steps further into the room. closer to the bed, to dream. “not of this, exactly.”

“i have borrowed nothing. i crafted this dream entirely myself, though i drew on a wish that i believed i sensed in you.” dream purses his lips. “to visit the dreams of a friend without invitation would be more than untoward,” he says, as though reminding hob of an obvious fact.

it seems to hob that he’s on the verge of stepping off of a cliff, a high tightrope, a gangplank. far below him lies terra incognita—treacherous rocks—an abyss—churning waves that will pull him under. the electrifying potential of dream’s full regard tempts him forward. to a fault, hob knows he’s never been able to resist plummeting toward it.

“and do you,” he swallows, his throat abruptly dry, “often conjure up dreams of... romantic bedchambers, then? for your friends?”

“no,” dream says.

the simplest of answers, and the exact one he’d been angling at with his question, yet hob still feels dumbstruck by it, his pulse loud and quick in his ears. is this real? no, his mind supplies helpfully, this is a dream.

in a dream, anything can happen.

but hob must stay silent a beat too long, or perhaps time moves differently here. in the space of the next second, dream rises from the bed, flowing to his feet with pantherine grace and coalescing into a long, dark shape at the footboard. “if i sensed wrong...”

is dream about to... how had he put it in 1889? take his leave of hob’s subconscious? hob doesn’t think he could possibly stand it now, here, with all that he longs for near enough to have at last, and without even the recourse of a damp london street to follow dream out to. or maybe the nightmare of those regret-steeped cobblestones lies eternally in wait for hob, just beyond the door of this liminal bedroom.

hob resolves, then and there, that he refuses to find out.

in the dreaming, it’s a matter of one particularly pointed thought for hob to find himself standing in front of dream, near enough to touch, and this time he does what he could never bring himself to do before: he reaches out, carefully, and takes dream’s clenched hands in his—hands as soft as hob has ever thought they might be.

“don’t go,” hob says. “or wouldn’t you like to know how right you were?”

for an eternity dream stares at him, unblinking. hob stares back for another one, determined to wait him out. it works: dream must see something in hob’s face that satisfies him, because he relaxes, by degrees. first his fists uncurl in hob’s grasp; then the taut line of his body unspools; finally, his features shed the last of their tension, and hob sees, once again, the same dream who had settled into the rickety chair across from his at the new inn and said, you may call me dream of the endless...

“i am all eagerness,” dream agrees, low and suddenly quite close, and startlingly earnest.

hob slants a smile at his maddening ancient friend, so long coveted that it’s all hob can do to breathe through the sweet ache of it. “i’d like to kiss you now,” hob says, “if you’d have me.”

“oh, hob gadling.” the way dream looks at him, the plain heat of it, catches in hob’s chest like a flame consuming kindling. “i would have you.”

the moment they kiss, hob thinks he sees, with startling clarity, why dream has been warning him off, all these centuries. hob understands the reason in his marrow, like some primordial truth: there can be no returning from this. no unknowing what dream’s mouth feels like pressed to his, scalding as a brand. no forgetting the single-mindedness of dream’s touch. it’s like hob’s universe shifts, tilts on some new axis, swims a little bit at the edges, and comes back into focus differently.

dream makes a small knowing sound before he draws back, leaving hob inexplicably bereft, as though a part of himself goes missing now whenever their lips don’t touch.

“god, you feel—” like a dream, hob almost says, and the thought makes him huff out a laugh, breathless in disbelief. dream’s eyes are blue no longer but dark, soft with a wash of mirthful stars, bursting with galaxies. fathomless. “—like nothing i could imagine.” and like everything.

“i might say the same of you,” dream murmurs. his voice vibrates through hob, thrums and settles down warm in hob’s belly. there is a flush high on dream’s cheeks, now—a flush, hob thinks with wonder, that he put there; a tell his friend lets him see. it makes dream look almost renewed. hob thinks of the new blanket draped over his couch, back in the waking world. pictures morpheus there in his living room, wrapped up in the blanket, sleep-tousled and well-kissed and lordly as ever.

then the dreamscape begins to shiver and shudder, to splinter apart into indistinct motes and fragments. the bed, the walls, the floor all fall away into swathes of stardust, until the most solid thing left to hob’s eyes and in his arms is dream. hob tenses. “what’s happening?”

dream smiles, just barely. almost rueful. “you are waking.”

hob understands, then, another truth: it’s going to be a task to drag himself away from this to his black coffee, to his regular tuesday routine. life is always presenting him with new resplendent joys—but how is he to be parted from this one? morpheus twines his long fingers into hob’s hair, clasps the nape of hob’s neck in his cool palms like hob is something precious to him, like he can hold him here a moment longer.

maybe he can, hob’s king of dreams.

"dream,” hob says, willing the insistent tug of consciousness away with all the considerable obstinacy he possesses. “if i’m to wait another hundred years—”

and then hob is in his bed—his actual bed—blinking away the bright mid-morning sun filtering through the curtains, his next words sticking in his throat unspoken. hob turns his face into his pillow, utterly disoriented, and finds the faint scent of neroli lingering there like a gift. the sense-memory is instant, jolting through him, pinning him there in his sheets, relentless as dream himself.

kiss me again, he’d been about to say, a hundred times. a thousand.

#the sandman #dreamling #this is not showing in the tags so i'm trying to repost and see if it will appear -_-

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multifandomwriter56 · 2 years

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600 Follower Celebration Gif Drabble 2

A/N: This is the second gif for my celebration. Also a square filled for @anyfandomfluffbingo and for my Fandom Prompt List.

Square Filled: “Well, this is awkward.”

Fandom Prompt: 2. “Hey, what’s with you? Do you need a hug or something?”

Request by: @simonsbluee (I hope you like it)

Characters: Tommy Shelby, Polly Gray, John Shelby, Sister!Reader

Summary: Y/n is allowed at family meetings but she isn’t allowed to contribute to them.

Warnings: language

Word Count: 786

*Gif is not mine*

“What do I have to do to make people fucking listen to me?” Tommy shouts when he enters the Garrison for their family meeting.

Y/n raises her eyebrows at her dramatic brother. “Hey, what’s with you? Do you need a hug or something?” The fifteen year old gulps when she receives the Tommy Shelby death glare for her questions.

She looks around the room, begging any member of her family to save her.

John chuckles. “Your sassy mouth really does get you in deep shit, little sister.”

Y/n glares at him, silently telling him to shut up.

Tommy has been in a bad mood for weeks and Y/n knows part of the reason is because she was escorted home one night by Finn and Isiah because she was so drunk she couldn’t even walk.

Lizzie not seeing him, the business making him stressed, and Grace’s death are the other reasons for his bad mood. Even though it’s been months, she believes her brother hasn’t recovered from his wife’s death and she doesn’t think he ever will.

“Let’s get this done. You-” Tommy points at Y/n who slouches down in her seat. “I don’t want to hear a word out of you unless spoken to.”

Y/n gaps at him. “Then what’s the fuc-”

“Not a word, Y/n.”

The youngest Shelby rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over chest, but she doesn’t speak.

The family watches their fearless leader glare at the youngest Shelby member, debating on whether or not he should scold her for respect. He already has enough of a hard time from everyone else. He doesn’t need it from his baby sister as well.

“Well, this is awkward.” John mumbles as the room falls into an uncomfortable silence.

“For fucking sake’s, Thomas. Can we just get on with it?” Polly exclaims.

Deciding he got his point across, Tommy begins the meeting.

Y/n sniffs back the tears threatening to fall as the family meeting comes to an end. Tommy made it perfectly clear that she is not needed for these meetings to be able to run the company.

She goes to follow Ada out of the booth, but stops when Tommy speaks.

“Sit.”

She plops back down into the seat, dreading this conversation.

Tommy ignores his sister as he digs his cigarette case and lighter out of his pocket, waiting for the rest of the family to leave.

Knowing her brother is staying quiet to intimidate her, Y/n starts drawing with her finger on the table.

“I don’t want you to see the inside of any pub unless it is this one and only for family meetings. Understand?”

Y/n nods her head, refusing to look at him. “Yes, sir.” She answers in a soft whisper.

Guilt starts building in the leader’s stomach. He hates it when she calls him sir.

Y/n bites her lip to keep herself from groaning when Tommy grabs a chair from one of the tables and sets it by her. She just wants Tommy to finish scolding her so she can leave and get as far away from him as she can.

Tommy watches her as she continues to draw invisible pictures on the table. “What do I have to do to make you listen to me?” He asks, his tone gentle.

Finally, the fifteen year old looks up. “Give me something to do, Tom. I’m fucking bored.” She exclaims, her eyes wide. “You don’t let me do anything. I don’t care if it’s the simplest job there is, I want to help.” She lays her hand on top of his. “Let me help. Please.”

Tommy takes a few puffs, digesting his sister’s words. He softly snorts.

Y/n’s eyes narrow. Is he laughing?

This time, a short chuckle escapes the older man.

“Are you okay, Tommy?”

Tommy shakes his head. “That’s all it took? You just wanted a fucking job?”

Y/n shifts in her seat, wondering why her brother is so amused by her demands. “I-I guess so. I mean, you hardly ever let me do anything except join family meetings and even then, half the time, I don’t say anything.”

He nods his head, putting out his cigarette. “Alright, Y/n Shelby, give me a day and I will officially give you a job at Shelby Company Limited.”

Y/n feels a smile tugging at her lips. “A-Are you serious?”

“I’m always serious.”

Y/n scoffs, but lets herself smile. “You used to be fun.”

“I was, eh?” She nods. “Well, maybe that will be one of your tasks. Get your boss to have fun again.”

“I can do that.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Tommy says through a chuckle.

Forevers: @desiredposion @theseakrakence @simonsbluee

Peaky Blinders: @psychkunox @theshelbyclan @supermouse @lilymurphy03

#600 follower celebration #anyfandomfluffbingo #gif drabble 2 #tommy shelby x sister!reader #shelby!reader #tommy shelby gif drabble #peaky blinders gif drabble

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nemeseos-noctua · 4 years

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God I love your work so much?? You guys are amazing .

Can I request how Albedo, Xiao and Diluc react to their s/o pushing them away in attempt to keep them safe from danger? (Eg they may be the traveller who is connected with the fatui and the abyss aand therefore fears for their s/o's safety.

Tysm!! I love your guys' writing style. requesting this specifically bc it's not fair Xiao gets to be to edgy one all the time in the fics🙄 how does it feel to get pushes away now loverboy? (/j!! I love him just thought this prompt would be a neat inversion).

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: albedo, xiao, diluc (separate) x gn!reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: not proofread, blood, mentions albedos story (spoilers), xiao story spoilers, reader is not traveler

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: hehe tysm!! ALSO 100% haha i LOVEEE xiao but yk he be a lil stingy when it comes to safety! i want to tuck him in and tell him it’ll be alright 😔😔

during your travels across teyvat, you have encountered far more fatui and abyss mages than you’d care to count

and some of which— had some, err, not so kind grudges against you

these grudges were so serious that you began to worry for albedo’s safety. you personally did not care for blood staining your hands nor soul—but if that blood was albedo’s... oh boy

so, coming to a conclusion... you decided on the inevitable: keep albedo at arm’s length—for your heart and his

and, it worked. for a month, it worked. your visits to his camp in dragonspine lessened, your chaste kisses and morning voice left his life like... regrettably, his master

Staring up at the whirling winds of Dragonspine, Albedo’s teal eyes trailed over the ice, wishing to see a familiar silhouette among its blizzard.

He had been counting. It has been five days, two minutes, and 54 seconds since you last visited him—

Hah, just kidding. He didn’t count—but it has been five days.

Where were you? Maybe you were busy—the alchemist knew you had a life outside of—well, him.

It was unfair of him to be impatient, for you had been nothing short of patient towards him. But still, his heart longs and yearns for your touches, his head feels cold without your fingers twisting through his silky blonde hair.

Dragonspine was cold, but without you, it was colder.

he’d eventually head back down to mondstadt, solely for the purpose of finding you

his mind got the best of him as he spiraled into a brief insanity. maybe he did something to make you mad? maybe you were injured, recovering without his aid? so many questions spinning around his head he almost missed the sight of your [e/c] eyes

“[Y/N]—“ Albedo’s voice cut through the crowds of Mondstadt as the alchemist rushed forward. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, desperation taking over him as he reached a hand out for you.

“Albedo...?” You stopped in your tracks, taking in the sight of your boyfriend’s unruly hair and tired eyes. His lips were still purple—as if he had come back down from Dragonspine recently.

“Where were you?” The alchemist asked, his gloved hand wrapped around your wrist delicately, his eyes scanning all over you as to check whether you were injured or not.

“Ah... I was—adventuring,” You sweatdropped, the coldness of his gloves stinging your wrist, your eyes wide at how cold he was.

he doesn’t believe you—hah. of course he doesn’t, albedo is a genius in fields he wishes to study

he knows you too well to fall for your mindless responses or excuses, he knows your eyes too well to succumb to the smile on your lips or kindness in your touch

he knows, he knows he knows he knows—so why? what are you hiding? why are you hiding? from him of all people?

everyone has secrets—albedo is aware, for he has his own share. but please, can’t you spare his heart? just this once?

“Tell me the truth, [Y/N],” Albedo asked—no, begged. He wanted to know what kept you so far from his reach, what stopped you from visiting him or loving him or just being with him. Was he the problem? Was this the end of your love?

“I...” You looked away, tugging the alchemist against the current of the crowds, seeking an area for just the two of you.

And once you found it, you pulled the blonde into a hug. The coldness of his coat didn’t faze you, nor did the way his eyes widened or the way his arms hesitantly wrapped back around you.

“I don’t want someone like you to get involved with me, Albedo. You’re...” You looked away, your face still buried into the alchemist’s shoulder.

“... A weakness. You’re a weakness that’ll be used against me.”

albedo is in utter disbelief

he—you—what?!

he’s... your weakness?

albedo doesn’t know whether to be flattered or hurt. he knows you have a dangerous job, he knows about the amount of letters you receive threatening him or you, he knows what you’re doing is for the better...

but—he cannot allow it. he wants to hold you without regrets, he wants to kiss you and eat lunch with you at good hunter...

“[Y/N],” Albedo breathed, cupping your cheeks in the palm of his hands as he stared violently into your eyes. Gaze softening, he couldn’t bring it in himself to scold you for all the worries you brought him to.

“I promise you—that even if Fatui and Abyss Mages disrupt my alchemy, I promise that I want to get involved with you—I, I want to be with you.”

His heart, it wants so much, it wants to have you, it wants to love you.

So please—won’t you let him do that?

xiao also has many people out for his throat

well, i suppose... the difference between those ‘people’ and your ‘people’ is the fact that xiao’s debts are owed to the dead

the whispers, the screams, the agony. it plagues every part of his mind, like a melody with no beat, like an endless tune that he will hear for the rest of time

and you—you’re like, the charm. the ward and sigil that scares away all of those demons. you’re the sunshine that seeps through the cracks of caves

and now... you’re drifting. like a ship at sea, he wonders... will you be back?

regrettably—you think—maybe, maybe... you won’t return

What is this? The third week Xiao has sat atop the roof of Wangshu Inn? Hoping mindlessly to hear your steps up the staircase?

Hah. Is this who he has become? An adeptus who waits for a mortal like you to come, an adeptus who should be defending Liyue, and yet, here he is.

he’s a bit... put off

like. who are you to make him feel this way, mortal? (derogatory)

he doesn’t want to admit it... but... he misses you. there! he said it. he misses you. now can you come back, please?

he knows, he knows he is not the best lover... that he is blunt, enigmatic, and sometimes... rude. but— but you, you accept him for that

and he ponders atop the roof of wangshu inn—perhaps, was this ignoring scheme long overdue? have you finally grown tired of him and all of his karma? have you found someone better—someone you can love you, hold you, and care for you like you deserve?

he hopes—the answer is no

but he knows... the answer is probably yes

“Oh, [Y/N]! You’re back!” Verr Goldet’s hushed voice ran through the adeptus mind as his form shot up almost instantly. Staring down from his position on the roof, his yellow eyes stared over at your familiar form, your [e/c] eyes and vision that dangled from your hip.

“Haha, sorry about that.”

You smiled, but Xiao didn’t miss the way you winced upon doing so. Your arms and legs were wrapped with bandages, dried splotches of red and clothing as messy as could be.

“Your room is upstairs, sleep well,” Verr Goldet nodded knowingly, a bittersweet grin on her face as her mind flickered to the thought of Xiao and his shortening temper.

once you step out onto the balcony, you do not need to look to see who has appeared beside you

“Hello, Xiao!” You say openly, arms outstretched for a hug as the adeptus merely stared at you. Three weeks. Three weeks without you, three weeks too many—and here you were, opening your arms like you had just returned back from an hour long trip.

“ . . . “ Staying silent, Xiao could only cross his arms, glaring at you with mixed emotions. He was relieved to see you back and ‘happy’, but still, he was frustrated and irritated at the way you behaved so recklessly.

“You owe me an expla—“

“—nation,” You finished for the male, an exasperated smile gracing your features as you turned over to the balcony, the setting moon and proud stars soaring like the birds of Mondstadt.

“I was... dealing with some encounters,” Your tone was laced with a malice even he wasn’t expecting, the number of bandages scouring your skin finally making sense as his eyes narrowed into slits.

“Fatui? Tell me where they are, I wi—“

“No.”

Turning over to him fully, Xiao’s breath hitched. Ugh, again—you and your pretty smile and charming features. The simplest things you do made him go insane like the karmic debts that flourished through his mind.

“You can’t get involved, Xiao. They will only go after you. I returned here today to tell you that I’ll be going off for three month—“

“What?” The Yaksha breathed in disbelief. Did he hear right? Were you seriously leaving again?!

“I said, I am leaving again... Xiao. It’s not you—Celestia no... it’d never be you. It’s just...” You looked around, to anywhere, anyone but him. If you glanced at him now, chances are you’d succumb to his sunny eyes and stay back at Wangshu Inn.

“... The Fatui. I got on their wanted list and—I don’t want them to use you against me. So I’ll go out and get rid of them, and I’ll be ba—“

“No.”

It was his turn to decline, for he didn’t want to hear anything you had to say. You got on the Fatui’s wanted list?! What?! He...

He was going to kill them.

“Do you think I am weak, [Y/N]? Eons of slaughter and—“

“Xiao!” You facepalmed, raising your voice slightly at the male as he blinked, taken aback that you, a mortal would ever thing of committing such a heinous crime towards a divine being like him.

“You’re not weak! It’s just... I’m weak. And if they find you, they could just threaten me with everything they’d do to you! Even if nothing happened at all...” Your voice died down, your heart hammering against your chest as Xiao’s eyes softened.

Xiao was—speechless. He didn’t know what to say, what to do. Nobody had ever thought of him so kindly before, neither have they ever treated him as something other than a weapon of war.

So, he vowed. Like the night Rex Lapis found him all those millennia ago, like the night he broke free from the chains of manipulation—he vowed, time and time again—

“I will protect you, [Y/N]. For there is no need to protect me.”

[internal screaming]

diluc, of all people, no longer is afraid of ‘grudges’ or ‘debts’ owed to the fatui or abyss order. he dances with evil, masquerading each night for his life

and now, the only light in his world full of darkness, the only fire in the cold icy winds...

left

you left. you left with a little note saying you’d be back in what—five months?

a part of him was... shocked. it was surprised at how abrupt it was. one moment, the two of you were laying in bed, cradling each others’ forms. and the next? you were gone

the other part of him was... worried. did you want to leave him? what was this about? did you owe debt to the fatui? you could’ve told him, he would’ve payed for it all in a heartbeat

but diluc of mondstadt—hah, he was not known for stepping down so easily. so until he figures out why you left so suddenly, he is not stopping his search for the truth

and once he so happens to run into lumine and asks the traveler where you’ve been—he’s shocked

at first, he thinks lumine must me mistaken. what? what do you mean “[y/n] is heading out to fight the abyss herald”, you’re kidding... haha...

(lumine swore she saw her life flash before her eyes when diluc wrapped his head around the news)

diluc feels a bit... guilty. he feels guilty that he didn’t know sooner, he feels guilty that the abyss order is bothering you like how it bothers him, he feels guilty for everything

Wiping some blood that spilled from the corner of your mouth, you grimaced at the metallic taste.

What was it? Err... day five? This was the first Abyss Herald you have encountered so far, and you could only assume it was the first of many.

Standing up, you sheathed your weapon. Your vision glowed brightly in the darkness of the ruins, the moon illuminating the way out as you sighed, pulling yourself across the stone cold floor.

As you trudged outside and into the moonlight, a twig cracked under a foot that wasn’t yours, prompting you to reach out and materialize your weapon, charging it with power from your vision.

“Who?”

Stepping out from the trees, your eyes widened at a sight you hadn’t expected to see—at least, expected to see this soon.

“Diluc?” You breathed, heaving a sigh of relief as the male took no notice to your words, instead, his vermilion eyes traced over your battered form, his eyes worrying even more with each glance he spared.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, rushing up to you as he pulled out some bandages, wrapping them around your wounds so he could get you back to the winery.

pushing yourself away from his grasp, diluc watched in hurt as you kept him away from your figure

“i couldn’t—i didn’t want you to get involved,” you mumbled guiltily, looking away from the male as his eyes seemed to berate you silently

“me involved? what do you mean?” diluc asks in disbelief. he of all people should be the one telling you that

“the abyss. i got in a tumble with them and now they’re after my blood,” you murmured, only causing diluc’s heart to pound even louder in his chest, his brain flickering to unpleasant memories as he rushed up to you, securely placing his hands on your shoulders

He’s... speechless. He doesn’t know what to say, what to do. He’s usually the one keeping people at arms-length—yet here you were, stealing his lines and his worries.

“I...” Diluc paused, trying to form words, and yet, nothing came to mind.

“...”

Silence. It filled the ambience and your hearts, yet, it was not the same silence in the abyss, nor was it the same silence before a nightmare.

It was a silence of awe, a silence that you’d hear before a firework would shoot up in the sky—it was calming, a relaxing wave like a seashell pressed against your ear.

A silent love—like the one you and Diluc shared. An unsung melody that played in the beat of your hearts, the breaths of the wind...

A silent promise, like a marriage or a confession, a promise to—

“I will be by your side, [Y/N]. No matter what.”

Through thick and thin, cold and warm, there is nothing but you two, two lovers against the darkness, dancing with ghosts and evil.

— constellations! 💫

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin headcanons #genshin #genshin xiao #genshin diluc #genshin albedo #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #genshin scenarios #genshin impact scenarios #xiao x reader #diluc x reader #albedo x reader #constellarations

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one-sad-human · 3 years

Text

•Worth It• Duff Mckagan

Pairing: Velvet Revolver era! Duff Mckagan x Younger! Reader

Requested? Nope!

Theme: Little bit of everything/???

Warnings: Language, panic attacks, anxiety references, drug references

Word Count: 3k

A/N: Fic 2 of 2! This is the longest fic yet! Took a different approach to writing this one, hopefully it payed off. Let me know if you guys liked it or if I wasted my time with this one lol.

You had met Duff in a coffee shop in LA. It was crowded and you were lucky enough to snag a chair before the lunch rush. Duff wasn't, and asked you if he could sit at your table.

You grew up with Guns n Roses, bought his solo album the day it came out when you were just 15, and now listened to Velvet Revolver faithfully. To see your idol, your celebrity crush stand right in front of you holding a cup of coffee and a scone sent you for a loop.

"Of course," you had said, starry eyed. You were only hoping he was as kind as the interviews made him out to be. Maybe have a conversation with you and be polite for a while before leaving and never seeing each you again. That would be good enough.

It didn't end with a coffee, it had just begun. He asked for your number, and you stared at him for a moment thinking you had imagined it. That was until he tilted his head a little and looked at you with a nervous expression. He backtracked and you immediately stopped him.

"No! I mean— yes! Yes, you can absolutely have my number." You scrambled for a pen and paper and ended up scratching your number on a receipt from the record store. You shook so hard you could barely get the numbers down.

Out of all the record store receipts you've stuffed into your bag, the one you gave Duff Mckagan had to be the one for when you bought Velvet Revolver's 'Contraband.' He didn't say anything, just smiled and promised to call.

You honestly didn't think he would've. You played it off as just him trying to be nice. It didn't stop you from answering every call you got for the next three days, however, even if you recognized the number as the tax collector you'd normally never answer.

But then he called.

"I tried calling sooner, but I kept calling the wrong number. You don't have the most eligible handwriting," he had told you. You laughed but really, you were in shock.

You set up a date at the fancy restaurant downtown that always intimidated you. You didn't say anything though, even though you knew you wouldn't want any of the overpriced food and you'd end up eating something you couldn't pronounce and was two portions too small. Maybe even hit up a fast food joint afterwards.

When the day finally came, you couldn't even figure out what to wear. You couldn't tell if you looked underdressed or like you were trying too hard. Did the clothes even fit the right way? What would Duff think? Would he even care?

All questions were answered when you left your house. Duff was leaning against his slick car parked in your driveway, a button up that was barely buttoned and dress pants with boots. He stared at you and you wanted a hole in the ground to shallow you up until he smiles.

"You look gorgeous," he said. You blushed and grinned, thanking him before saying that he looked great too. He drove you to the restaurant and on the way, you talked about music.

You shared some of your favorites, he adored how well rounded you were. You liked pretty much everything from punk rock to the mellowest of mellow. Duff mentioned some of his favorites, some you made sure to remember the names of so you can check them out.

When the ride was over and you finally got to the restaurant, your previous fears came back. Duff reassured you looked better than 90% of the people there and you knew it wasn't true but it made you feel better anyway.

Your eyes widened to the size of saucers when you saw the prices of the food. You knew it'd be pricey but you thought there'd be more options that stayed within two digit numbers.

Duff saw your panicked expression and said not to worry, he'd pay. It didn't settle your nerves enough and when the waiter came, you ordered the cheapest and simplest thing you could find.

"Chicken noodle soup?" He teased. You shyly looked down and shrugged. "This isn't your scene, is it?"

"Not exactly, no."

"Want me to be completely honest with you?" You nodded. "It's not mine either."

That's all it took for you and Duff to scramble sheepishly out of the restaurant. You both shared a laugh in the car and went to Burger King. It was much more your speed and, as you'd find out that night, Duff's too. You suppose all the money he's had since such a young age didn't completely change his ways. He was like a kid trapped in a 40 year old man's body.

You'd thought at first the age gap would feel strange, after all, you were 15 years younger than him. But after that night, it was barely noticeable. Funny looks from strangers every once in a while was nothing.

By the second date, Duff was already aware fancy spots weren't your forte. He told you it was a surprise and to wear something cozy, as LA nights got chilly.

He packed a picnic basket and drove you out to the most beautiful flower field you had ever seen at sunset. It was secluded and high up, giving a perfect view of the city skyline. After gawking and taking in the sights for a few moments, you regained your ability to speak.

"It's gorgeous. Pretty far from the city, did you take me here to kill me?" You joked. He laughed and rolled his eyes. His lighthearted laugh sent sparks straight to your heart, and you decided that it was your favorite sound.

You unfolded the blanket Duff brought and you both sat down. You ate the sandwiches and sliced fruit Duff packed and talked. You talked about everything, from your family to fears and insecurities.

You told him how you suffer from nightmares. Flashbacks from your broken childhood coming back to bite you in your sleep. Duff shared how he's suffered from panic attacks since he was a teenager. You felt you knew each other for years.

Neither of you felt weird for sharing and neither made the other insecure. You were completely open and honest with each other. It was strange, you've never connected to quickly and effortlessly with someone before. Sure, you've had men in your life, but never had you clicked with someone so fast, never had you fit with someone so perfectly.

Hours passed and it felt like minutes. Only did you realize how late and how exhausted you were when you saw most of the city buildings light have gone off for the night. The city that didn't sleep was dark.

"I should get you home," Duff said to you.

"Will you stay the night?" You felt a little silly for asking. Were things going too fast? Would he even want to stay over?

He agreed, and that's how your first night together went. You both stayed up even later and had more lighthearted conversations, unlike the ones that partook at the field. Like how one of Duff's first jobs was at a bakery and could bake a mean cake and how you can't cook to save your life.

You ended up waking up without remembering falling asleep. You're head was placed comfortably on Duff's lap while his head was lolled back against the couch cushion. He looked so serene and peaceful you couldn't help but smile at the sight.

You made toast and somewhat successfully cooked some eggs and bacon. It might have been the first breakfast in years that didn't end with the smoke alarm going off.

Duff eventually wandered into the kitchen and you both ate. By the time he left, another date was already set up. He was like a drug an you were already hooked.

Months later and the addiction still wasn't kicked. You didn't want to, and Duff didn't seem to want you to quit either. You both soaked each other up like the sun on a warm day.

You had almost weekly dates and you stayed over each other's houses almost every other day. Duff did have his kids some days, though, so some days dates were cut short or Grace and Mae slept over his house and you wouldn't see each other.

You were always understanding, his kids came first and you'd never blame or get upset about it. It's something Duff admires about you, your never ending understanding and empathy for him.

One of those days where Duff stayed over at your house started normal. He cooked dinner and you washed the dishes, and then you put on an old Ramones concert you had on DVD.

You were laying on his chest, his fingers running through your hair when all of a sudden, he tensed up. He quickly stood and excused himself to the bathroom. You frowned but before you could think much of it, you heard a loud bang and something clatter to the ground.

You jumped up and rushed to the bathroom. You swung open the door because you were perfectly aware the lock hasn't worked since you moved in.

Duff was sitting on the floor, a pill bottle laying on its side not far from him. You quickly spot the name of the medication and identified it as your anti-anxiety pills. You shoved them aside and sat next to Duff.

He was sweating bullets and his skin felt cold and clammy, his breaths were labored and heartbeat was loud and pounding erratically. You coax him gently to take deep breaths, holding onto his hand tightly and talking quietly.

"I'm sorry, they come on randomly sometimes," he apologized after he'd called down, but you quickly shushed him. You reminded him of just how many nightmares he'd comforted you for and he stops feeling so bad about it.

It was always a true partnership with Duff. Never had you felt you gave or took too much, it was always equal. Always a two way street, with everything.

That wasn't the last panic attack you had to help him come down from. Later down the line you've gotten better at calming him down and learning his triggers, even though sometimes they really do come on suddenly without reason.

A year into the relationship was when you met Grace and Mae. They were young and didn't completely understand why their parents weren't together anymore, so it took them a while to warm up to you. Luckily, they eventually came around.

Duff and Susan met up regularly to discuss their kids and co-parent properly. And while you had all the reason to be jealous of your boyfriend with his ex wife, you never did. You had complete confidence in him, he was honest and loyal and you doubted he'd ever hurt you purposely.

That's why it destroyed you when he left you. Tears were shed from both parties as he gave his reasons for breaking up with you. His insecurities he tried his best to bury had come to light and nothing could change his mind.

You thought you were completely honest with each other, but you suppose his doubt in his relationship with you was the one thing he kept secret. He had somehow convinced himself you'd be better without him, between the constant touring and the baggage that came with him and his kids, he finally buckled under the weight and stress.

You had tried to convince him that he was worth it, but if Duff is one thing it's stubborn. The best relationship you'd ever have and the best year of your life went down the drain within the matter of one conversation.

You were down in the dumps for days. You barely left your bed and didn't ever leave your house. You were in a depression and couldn't get out. A few of your friends eventually found out what had happened and broke into your house and shoved you into the shower before taking you to your favorite Chinese restaurant.

You felt like a disaster. Your hair was ratted despite the shower and you refused to put real clothes on, instead wearing sweatpants and a shirt Duff had left behind. You were a mess.

The hole in the wall restaurant was never busy but always had the best food. You were almost happy your friends dragged you out of your home until you saw Duff sitting at a table, eating egg rolls and lo mein.

You've came here together all the time. The high sodium in the food always made him sick to his stomach and you'd always end up giving him nausea remedies and tea. He never changed his order though.

You locked eyes with him for a while. Dark bags were under his eyes and he looked more pale than usual. He looked as terrible as you felt. You weren't sure if you were spitefully glad he felt awful or if the despair on his face just made your heart break further.

When you couldn't take his intense jade stare anymore, you looked up at the menu. The next time you looked back he was gone, you weren't sure if he was really there at all or if you were finally losing your mind for good.

Another week crawled by. You got better enough to continue working. You had to pick up extra time for calling out for a few days after the breakup. You wouldn't say things were going well, but you weren't crying in bed every day all day anymore.

You had constant dreams about him. Some were nice, ones where he didn't leave and you were together, holding each other tightly. Most were nightmares, flashbacks of when he left. You didn't have him to comfort you anymore when you woke up soaked in sweat and tears, and that might've been the worst.

Another week went by, and you were starting to get back into the swing of things. You still thought about him, even silly little things reminded you of him. Like when you would catch a sniff of freshly baked sweets like he'd bake you or certain songs playing on the radio. It also didn't help that you ran into people wearing Guns n Roses shirts on the daily.

You also refused to get rid of anything he'd left behind. Tee shirts, guitar picks he left from when he'd play for you, or CDs from bands he introduced you to. Reminders of what you lost were scattered around your home but you couldn't bring yourself to do anything about it.

Suddenly, it's been a month. You weren't over him, but you had a feeling you'd never be completely. He was something special, you can't forget things as special as your relationship with Duff.

His items still weren't thrown out or returned, instead all packed in a box sitting in your closet. But you'd be lying if you said you would never reach into the box to grab a shirt to sleep in or a CD to listen to when you needed a reminder of the good times. You were making progress though.

You decided to leave your house one evening. You were feeling especially terrible and wanted to take a walk to clear your head. You went to the coffee shop you had first met Duff in. Maybe it was a mistake to go and get a flood of memories but you couldn't stop yourself.

You sat in a seat near the window and people watched, taking occasional sips of your drink. It was quiet except from the talk of the workers and the hum of the overhead speakers.

There was a sudden squeak of a chair of hardwood floors and it broke you out of your daze. You snapped your gaze up to meet the very familiar green eyes you've been trying to forget.

"Can we talk?" He asked, and you couldn't say 'no.' Duff sat across from you and started off by apologizing.

He said he wanted to talk to you sooner, but was too afraid you wouldn't want anything to do with him. You rolled your eyes at that, if only he knew just how much you missed him.

He then started from the beginning and explained why he made the decision to leave you. As it turns out, it was mostly because of stress. His bandmate Scott was having problems with drugs and the flashbacks from his GnR days frightened him. He was worried he would end up relapsing and he didn't want to drag you down with him.

Combine that with all the troubles that came with dating a single father, and he couldn't take it anymore. He felt too guilty.

It all seemed like ridiculous reasons to you. Even if he had made the mistake of falling off the wagon, you still would've stuck with him. And you didn't mind his kids at all, after nearly a year of knowing them and you were very close to them.

"I love you, Duff. I wouldn't have left you over that, I'd help you through anything. And I love Grace and Mae, too," you told him.

"I know, but I didn't want you to have to deal with all that baggage." You frowned at that. You reached your hand across the table and grasped his, squeezing it tenderly.

"You're worth it."

After that day, you and Duff started seeing each other again. It wasn't the same as before, but maybe even better.

You were more transparent with each other. If one had a worry or problem, you'd go to the other. You talked everything through with him and he did the same. Even if it seemed insignificant, talking everything through never failed to make it better.

You were happier and healthier than ever before. Sure, there were a roadblock or two, but they only made the relationship even stronger, and you wouldn't have changed a thing about it.

#classic rock imagine #guns n’ roses #guns n’ roses x reader #guns n’ roses imagine #80s #duff mckagan fluff #duff mckagan x reader #duff mckagan #duff mckagan imagine

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foodieforthoughts · 4 years

Note

Hello love! I have this scenario stuck in my head:

Walter hurts his right shoulder quite badly when solving a case (or slipping on ice 🤔)which leaves him imobile to his dominant arm. Being the stubborn man he is, he releases himself from the hospital and back at home has to release that he alone struggles with the simplest tasks. Due to the time of night or a snowstorm outside the only one left to ask for help is that new annoying neighbour (there's the trope I guess)... might lead to a number of embaressing (and hot?) situations...

Wherever that came from... never mind my weird brain 🙈... does that maybe, possibly strike your muse?

Omg. 🤭 Thank you for the request @omgkatinka I tried to make it fluffy and funny, but I'm in a Walter mood lately and it did end up with a hint of smut, so here it goes.

Warnings: slight description of shoulder injury, a little bit of angst, fluff, description of male masturbation

*divider by @firefly-graphics

Title: Helping hand

Walter groaned when he turned on his side, half asleep and in a lot of pain. His shoulder throbbed like a thousand needles pricked him at the same time, shooting a blinding pain up to his fingers.

"Fuck!" He cursed at himself, rolling onto his back and trying to breathe through his agony. He clutched his sore shoulder with his hand, gently soothing the bandages and blinking through the tears that had sprung at the corners of his eyes.

Walter had hurt his shoulder while on a mission to catch hold of a guy involved in human trafficking. They had chased the culprit through the abandoned factory, barely losing him through the maze of metal staircases when Walter had lunged at the man, tackling him to the floor. But the rusty old work bridge had crumbled under the force, bringing both men crashing down to the ground with metal pieces and debris. Luckily for them they weren't harmed in a life threatening manner, but Walter's shoulder had dislocated, resulting in a torn labrum requiring surgery.

"Fuck this shit." Walter had told himself while lying in his hospital bed on the third day post surgery, pressing the call button for the nurse. He had gruffly told the pale, scared woman that he wanted to go home and he was feeling fine. After arguing with the doctor about his health, Walter had self discharged himself against medical advice.

He thought he had made a wise choice coming home, but he knew he was stupid to think he could make it on his own.

Sitting up on the bed and grabbing the strap of the arm sling, Walter groaned. With his dominant hand rendered useless for the time being, Walter had a lot of trouble with his daily activities. Faye and Angie were in California visiting her parents, leaving him no one to call for help for the past weeks.

He made his way to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water when he saw the heavy blanket of snow outside. Checking his watch, he gathered it was only four pm and yet it was almost dark with snow still falling steadily. Walter had taken his pain meds and a sleeping pill when he had awoken in the middle of the night, and had effectively knocked himself out for a good twelve hour sleep. With that realization, his stomach growled indicating his missed meals for the day.

Looking around at the kitchen, Walter groaned when he saw the empty takeout boxes and the overflowing trash can. Injury had left him disorganised, making him live like a junkie. He couldn't even remember the last time he had taken a decent shower, sniffing the air as he could smell his own body odour. He was about to grab a trash bag from the counter and try to clean, when his doorbell rang.

Walter groaned, again. He had an inkling it was her. His chirpy neighbor who was the only one who showed up to help him every other day. She was annoying in the beginning, trying to start up conversations when all he wanted to do was sulk. But he had warmed up to her, still keeping her at an arm's length, but allowing her to assist him from time to time. When he opened the front door, there she was, looking adorable covered in cozy woollen attire from head to toe, a cute beanie over her hair, carrying a big lunch box in her gloved hands. She smiled at him, shivering with the cold winds until he moved to the side to let her in.

You could never believe how intimidating Walter had seemed to you only a couple of weeks ago. He would always throw a curt nod at you when you would greet him from your door if you ever happened to cross paths, never smiling or staying for a chat. You had gathered from the other neighbors that he was a cop, Detective Walter Marshall, kind of a loner and always grumpy. There was no denying your attraction to him, his scruffy beard and thick curls always left your fingers itching to touch them, with his accent being a major plus point. But he would never give you a chance to strike up a decent conversation.

It was all fun and games, you liked the chase, even if you were the one doing all the chasing. Seemed like a conquest for you but when his car was missing from his parking spot for days on end, you began worrying about him. Then one fine day, you spotted him out in the curb, trying to open the trash bin with one hand while the other was hanging in a sling. You had walked up to him, out of concern when Walter had turned around to go back inside slipping on the ice, only for you to grab a hold of him trying to break his fall but instead tumbling to the cold ground with him on top of you. He had apologized profusely, wincing in pain as he moved and letting you help him stand up.

From that day onwards, you always made it a point to stop by his house atleast once. It helped that Walter never complained.

"I had made lasagna. Did you have lunch?" You asked, taking off your beanie to hang on the hook and leaving your boots by the door. You felt Walter's looming figure follow you as you made your way to the kitchen. Taking in the surrounding, you nodded to yourself, your question answered without Walter having to utter a word. "Very well, why don't you sit at the table and I'll serve you the food?"

You tried to grab clean plates and spoons, frowning at the dirty dishes from last night, but you didn't blame him. It was only so much he could do with one hand.

"Did you have a good night's sleep?" You asked, trying to strike up a conversation with the Detective.

"No. I took sleeping pills."

Placing the plate of food in front of him, you narrowed your eyes at him. "Don't get too attached to those meds though." You handed him the spoon and fork, before getting to clean his kitchen.

"You don't have to do that." Walter protested from his place at the table, almost about to stand up. "I was about to clean around the house."

"With one hand? Come on, Detective Walter, you know better than that. And I don't mind, I was holed up at my house since morning anyway, this atleast gives me a chance to do something." You winked at him, grabbing the empty bottles of water and shoving them in the trash bag. By the time Walter had finished his meal, you had cleaned the kitchen with only the dishes to spare.

"Let me get those." Walter tried to reach for the soap but you were fast enough to grab it first.

"Go rest, I can handle this." You nudged him playfully with your hip. You could not believe your eyes when you saw Walter smile. "Wow! Look at that! I am being graced with a smile."

Rolling his eyes at you, Walter stayed put at his place, handing you the plates one by one. You insisted for him to rest, but he denied each of your requests. You were just about done loading up the dishes in the dishwasher when your phone rang from it's place in the purse that was hanging on the hook.

"I'll put them in the rack, go." Walter assured you with another smile. You nodded at him, handing the gloves and walking out the kitchen. You were texting back your mom, when you heard the Detective cuss loudly, followed by falling and breaking of plates. You hurried inside to find Walter drenched with soapy water and the broken pieces of ceramic and glass on the floor.

"I'm done with this!" He shouted, trying to pry open the velcro of his sling in anger. The edge of his shirt dripped water on the floor with a stream travelling down from the front of his pants.

"Hey, hey." You rushed to him, carefully maneuvering away from the plates, and caught hold of his hands. "It's okay. It happens. Why don't you go change and I'll clean here." You didn't back down when he stared at you, not moving and not giving up. But a silent moment passed and he left for his bedroom without a word.

You walked towards Walter’s bedroom, the silence of the house only disturbed by the whistling winds of the oncoming storm outside. It was late in the night when you had gotten the chance to pay the ailing Detective a visit. With freshly baked cookies in a box, you had knocked at his door only to be left standing out in the cold. He had handed you a spare key for emergencies as the storm warning approached which you never used until today.

When you reached the door to his bedroom, you stopped in your tracks hearing muffled grunts from the other side. The door was slightly cracked open, faint light seeping out to the the hallway. You peered through the gap only to gape at the sight.

The other day when Walter had spilled water over his front and gone to change, you had followed him after hearing him cursing at himself. He had a hard time taking off the wet clothes, making him angrier by the minute. You had helped him then, only to be left mesmerized by his body as your nimble fingers had brushed over his skin.

Walter had his eyes closed, his arm in the sling and resting on his naked chest and pillows with a sheet covering his lower half. His other hand was under the cover, moving up and down as he pleasured himself. You felt your cheeks warm, spreading down to your chest and the tip of your ears as you watched him in his private moment, wanting to turn and run away but failing to do so.

You weren't going to ask him, but you could swear a long moment of sparks had passed between the two of you. Your dreams now featured vivid fantasies with Walter, leaving you in a daze for the rest of the day.

As much as you wanted to stare at his heaving chest, listen to his melodious moans and trace his sweat sheened face with your gaze; this felt like a rude invasion of privacy. You were about to turn on your heels when you heard the whisper of your name rolling out of his lips. Whipping your head to see if you had been caught red handed, you were left baffled to find Walter's eyes closed, unaware of your presence and repeating your name like a mantra while he pumped his length.

You had no idea what got into you, but the urge to be with the man you had been lusting over was so strong, you pushed the door open with heated cheeks and a trembling core. Walter's eyes shot open, widening as he took in your presence, scrambling to hide himself underneath the sheets.

"Wh-what are you-?" He stammered, a rosy pink tint appearing on his flushed skin.

You did not answer him, choosing to close the distance between the two of you instead. You crouched down next to his side of the bed, placing your hand on his scruffy cheek. His pupils were blown wide, lips parted as he struggled to regain his breath and rendered speechless at the debacle. You waited for him to object to your advances, watching as he wet his lips with his tongue before leaning to kiss him. Walter remained frozen for a long second, until he moved his lips along with yours.

Breaking away from the kiss, you smiled at him, a hand creeping to his member that twitched in response. "Do you need a hand?" You asked, smirking as Walter could only nod before you pulled the sheet away from his body.

#ask foodie #walter marshall #Walter marshall fanfic #walter marshall x reader #walter marshall x you #walter marshall nomis #nomis #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill #requests

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realcube · 4 years

Text

jealous haikyuu!! boys

summary: the haikyuu!! boys getting jealous over you talking to a boy but as it turns out, that boy is in fact your relative

characters: third year gym squad (lev, hinata, bokuto, kuroo, tsukishima & akaashi)

thank you to anon for this sweet request! 💖

(y/n) = your name

(b/n) = brother’s name

tw// sexual references, swearing

Lev Haiba

he was already in a sour mood from practise bc kenma, kuroo & yaku had all ganged up on him so he was getting beat left, right & centre

so he was feeling extra confrontational when he laid eyes on you laughing and chatting with some other guy, in the spot where you usually stand and wait for him after practise

he was so mad >:(

like he just had a shitty day at school and now some punk was trying to flirt with you- and you didn’t seem to be uncomfortable either

DOES HIS SUFFERING KNOW NO END?! 😩😭

grrr like he had spent 90% of the day looking forward to seeing you and now you were talking to some other guy like he didn’t even exist :(

a part of him knew that he was being overdramatic but the other part of him was like ‘all feelings are valid, lev. 💕💖💗’

like he literally worked so hard to be the best boyfriend possible and this guy thought he could just swoop in and steal your heart??? without even letting you braid his hair yet???

yeah, lev had spent too much money on cat keychains to lose you this far into the game

also he loves you pls don’t leave him rn (y/n) 😭

so he marched up to you with a frown, grabbing your hand and placing a kiss on the back just like he usually does as a greeting, ‘hi, babe.’ he murmured.

your attention immediately shifted onto your boyfriend and you automatically pouted upon seeing his glum expression, ‘hiya. are you okay, hun? rough day at scho--’

he held your hand by his lips and muttered from behind your knuckles, ‘who’s this?’ he inquired, vaguely gesturing to your brother

‘oh, lev! this is my brother! i don’t think y’all have met yet.’

lev blinked rapidly at what you just said, ‘brother? like- male sibling.’

you nodded while simultaneously quirking an eyebrow at his need for clarification at the simplest piece of information, ‘yes. my male sibling.’

lev let out a heavy sigh of relief as his lips curled into a smile, softening his grip on your hand, allowing you to pull it away, ‘ah, okay.’

then he turned to your brother and stuck out his hand, ‘nice to mee-- you don’t look anything like (y/n).’ he chirped, all trances of sadness leaving his face - it was kinda creepy how quickly he was able to do that

model tingz

your brother shrugged, ‘yeah.’ he hastily took lev’s hand, giving it a firm shake before turning on his heels, ‘i should really get going now, bye!’ he called out before rushing off, quite intimidated by the fact you had a skyscraper for a boyfriend

lev turned to you, a warm smile now gracing his features

‘uh, where did all your gloom go? you looked miserable just a few seconds ago!’ you inquired, playfully poking his cheek

lev shrugged, poking your forehead in retaliation, ‘i don’t know. i’m here with you now so i guess i don’t have a reason to be sad.’ he said nonchalantly, forgetting the fact he had gotten the results for his midterms today and he had failed maths horribly

but who need maths when you’re a model yk?

Shōyō Hinata

bruh- hinata didn’t even notice you were talking to someone UIEFGBVFE

once practise was over he literally just ran up and threw himself at you

he has selective vision, he only sees the things he wants to see and rn, all he wants to see you under the moonlight 🥺

so he wraps you in a hug and peppers your face in kisses just like he usually does when he greets you after practise

then he noticed that there was some guy standing next to you, aggressively tapping your shoulder to request your attention even though hinata was clearly trying to tell you about his day at practise

he unintentionally scowled at the boy before cocking his head to the side and asking, ‘who are you?’

although this tone of voice didn’t seem too nasty; given the context - accompanied by the sour look on his face - the question seemed to have threatening undertones

you’re brother blinked rapidly before uttering, ‘i’m (b/n).’

he continued to stare daggers at the guy, ‘what do you want from (y/n)?’

‘the maths homework answers.’ your brother chuckled, continuing to playfully poke your shoulder until hinata swatted his hand away

‘she doesn’t owe you an--’

you were extremely confused as to why hinata took up such a serious demeanour but then you realised that he had never met your brother before, so hinata probably thought there was just some creepy harassing you for the homework answers

although you were charmed by your boyfriend’s attempts to be ‘scary’ for you, you still felt the need to intervene

‘oh, shōyō. that’s my brother, by the way.’ you hummed, awkwardly rubbing the back of your neck

both your brother and your boyfriend slowly turned their heads to look at you, sharing the same dumbfounded look

‘your brother?!’ hinata exclaimed while your brother now looked rather offended, ‘you didn’t tell your boyfriend about me- rude!’

to be fair, your one year anniversary with shōyō was approaching so you feel foolish about not telling him about your brother sooner- it’s just that it never really crossed your mind

‘i’m fucking leaving.’ (b/n) spat, turning on his heels; trying to make it seem like he was storming out because he was upset that you hadn’t mentioned him to your boyfriend but in reality, he was just getting tired of prying at you for the homework answers

‘i’m fucking leaving too!’ hinata hissed, imitating your brother’s actions until he got the gate of the school, then he turned back around and shuffled back over to you

he pulled you into a hug, resting his chin on your shoulder and squeezing your waist tight as he whispered into your ear, ‘do you have any other secret siblings that you want to tell me about?’

you giggled, pressing a gentle kiss onto his collarbone ‘i don’t think so.’

Kōtarō Bokuto

mans thought you were leaving him 🥺

like why would you talk to another guy when you had a cool ace bf already? (˘･_･˘)

in bokuto’s mind, that could only mean one thing;

YOU WERE GOING TO LEAVE HIM FOR AN EVEN COOLER ACE BOYFRIEND!! ヽ(*。>Д<)o゜

and the fact your brother was wearing a jersey didn’t help either

like, he doesn’t often get jealous when you talk to other guys but this one was wearing a JERSEY FFS!!! that meant he must be cool >:(((

also, you were laughing!

yeah, you sometimes laugh when you talk to akaashi or boys in your class but this time it was different

the guy looked familiar but bokuto couldn’t put a finger on who he was - but he knew that the guy wasn’t from Fukurōdani as the colors of his jersey were a fruity teal and white - and this made him feel even more uneasy

bokuto knew what he had to do

he had to win you back by being thE COOLEST ACE BOYFRIEND!!

he ran a hand through his hair to it was extra spiky before swaggering up to you; chin up, back straight and chest puffed out

‘sup, doll.’ he said with a wink, forcing his voice to deepen

you sighed, upon hearing this unusual nickname, it didn’t take you long to figure out what was going on

bokuto didn’t even let you reply as he dropped to one knee and gently took you hand - making both you and your brother’s breath hitch in unison, thinking that you were about to witness a proposal and knowing bokuto, that didn’t seem completely impossible

however, instead of pulling out a ring; he pressed a tender kiss against you knuckles before pulling the pair of earbuds you had left at his house yesterday, out of his pocket and lowering his head as he held them out for you

‘i humbly offer these to thee.’

‘how did you go from a pimp to prince in 3 seconds?’ you inquired, snatching your earbuds from him while shooting him a disapproving look

(b/n) couldn’t help but snicker at your boyfriends little performance, ‘i see he’s not changed a bit.’

bokuto hummed, looking over to meet eyes with your brother

(b/n) smiled shot him a warm smile, ‘hi, bokut--’

‘do i know you?’

you instinctively gasped while your brother just laughed, ‘i’m (b/n); (y/n)’s brother. we met once after one of your games, remember?’

bokuto did not remember - at all - but he trusted that it did happen as that’d explain why he seemed so familiar

to avoid appearing any more ignorant, bokuto just nodded in agreement, ‘oh, yeah! it’s all coming back to me now.’ he chuckled awkwardly while getting up from his knee, ‘you just look so different with your jersey on, man.’

you rolled your eyes at how poor bokuto’s lying skills were but perhaps you should be more disappointed in your brother as he actually fell for it

‘oh, for real?’ (b/n) asked, looking down at his chest while wondering if jersey really did the trick

needless to say, bokuto never forgot your brother’s face ever again lmao

Tetsurō Kuroo

upon exiting the building (after practise) and seeing you conversing with some guy by the school gates, he wasted no time in ripping his shirt off and parading over to you

he mentally reassured himself that he had no need to be jealous bc there was no way you’d leave his fine-ass for some average guy that made you laugh by the school gate-- WAIT YOU WERE LAUGHING!?!? ◉_◉

i mean, kuroo had made you laugh before- but you were just being so nice to this guy who he’d never seen around the school before which stressed him

plus, the guy looked like he was in college so kuroo was extremely worried that you might leave him for an older guy bc he had heard from yaku that some ppl like older men 😭😭

he could not let this happen ✋

his shirt now served as a scarf hanging around his neck as he strutted up to you, placing his hand on your shoulder to grab your attention

he wasn’t sure whether to go for the intimidation tactic or perhaps redirect your attention off of the guy and back onto your dearest boyfriend; so he went with both

‘(y/n)?’ he spoke, lowering his voice so it was more raspy - like his morning voice which he knew you were obsessed with

although kuroo is not ‘chemistry nerd’ smart, he definitely knows how to play his cards right IEFBERGLIEABVR

you hummed in response, swiftly turning to look at him before letting out a cackle upon seeing your half-naked boyfriend standing behind you

‘hey! don’t laugh at me!’ kuroo whined, his mask of confidence quickly shattering

‘put your shirt back on, tetsurō!’ you panted through guffaws, clutching your chest to prevent your heart from beating out of your chest

honestly, it was quite hot but ofc you’d never admit that so you just had to hide your desire behind laughs

while you were laughing, kuroo turned to look at your brother, trying to form a glare but it looked more like a squint tbh

‘and you are?’

(b/n) wore a stunned look at how quickly your boyfriend’s attitude changed, temporarily unable to think up a reaction but then blurted out, ‘(b/n). you?’

(b/n) cocked his head to the side while backing up slightly, ready to make a run for it as soon as kuroo replied

kuroo didn’t intimidate (b/n), per se, it’s just that (b/n) wanted to get as far away from this interaction as possible as it generally made him feel uneasy

‘i’m (y/n)’s boyfriend.’ he said lowly with a menacing smile

‘cool.’ (b/n) voice cracked as he adjusted the strap of his bag before launching off into the horizon on his heels

a smug expression was plastered on his face as he gazed proudly at his work - he had managed to scare off an upperclassman with sheer manliness

by now, your laughing fit had died down and your lips formed a frown as you watched your brother bolt over to his car, hop in and drive away - presumably, back to your home

‘hey.’ you moaned, watching until his car turned a corner and left your vision, ‘he was my ride home!’

kuroo’s soul almost left his body upon hearing you say that, ‘you shouldn’t be getting in cars with crusty, older men anyway!’

you rolled your eyes, ‘he’s my brother, dumbass!’

IEHFBEVJEAU kuroo shut tf up immediately 😶

‘oops- my bad.’ he snickered before jogging out the school gates, ‘have fun walking, babe!’ he threw up a piece sign before disappearing round a corner in a similar way that your brother did

Kei Tsukishima

tsukishima had just finished practise, he walked out the gym to notice that you were talking to some guy next to the vending machine

he literally almost had a heart-attack bc he thought it was kageyama

but no

IT WAS WORSE

tsukishima never really got jealous when you talked to other guys bc he knew they really had nothing in comparison to him lol

i mean, tsukishima knew he was a catch: he’s lanky, bitchy, tall, rude, emotionally-distant, tall, untrusting, tall, insecure, surly, a horrible cook- did i mention he’s tall?

ok so maybe he wasn’t as much of a catch as he originally thought but the fact he is tall is really the thing that’s holding together his façade of arrogance

so imagine his shock when he sees you happily chatting away to a guy that’s 6″4 !!!!!!

for clarification, tsukishima is 6″2

tsukishima passed away on the spot 💀⚰

he had already logged onto Instagram and removed the ‘Taken 🔒’ out of his bio

there’s no way he’s gonna be able to win you back now ✌😔

he’s had his time has your tall bf- it’s time to resign

BUT HE WASN’T GONNA GIVE UP THAT EASILY

not before he indulged in some bitchery ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

he practised the scene 10 times in his head before executing it, starting by striding up to you and slipping an arm round your waist, pulling you against his chest

his eyes held a penetrating stare on your brother from above the edge of his glasses, he snickered mockingly as his index finger pushed the frames further up the bridge of his nose

honestly, tsukki tried his best to hide it but he was genuinely quite nervous not only bc he actually had to look up slightly to hold eye contact with the guy - which is something he’s obviously not used to - but also due to the fact he simply could not come up with a good insult for this guy; even though he was usually quite good at spotting people’s insecurities ‘:(

hence, all he could to was produce a deriding chuckle which was aimed towards the guy in hopes that it was make him feel half as insecure as tsukishima was feeling rn

‘what’s so funny?’ you asked, clueless to your boyfriend having an internal breakout while standing right beside you

tsukishima rolled his eyes, realising that the guy seemed unfazed by his dirty looks so it seemed as thought tsukki would have to crack up the pettiness

‘who’s this chump, (y/n)?’ tsukishima leaned in to semi-whisper in your ear, but loud enough so your brother could still hear

‘tsukki!’ you gasped at your boyfriend’s choice of words before scolding him further, ‘that’s my brother- he’s a 3rd year!’

tsukishima paled

he bowed to the point where he was basically a right angle ‘m-, uh, my apologies, sir. i ha-, um, i had no idea you were related to (y/n).’

he was sO EMBARASSED AAAAAAAAAAA

your brother reassured him it was fine but tsukki was apologising for another 5 minutes after that

he promised himself never to get jealous again after that (ಥ _ ಥ) it only leads to trouble

no matter how tall the guy is either-

he swore that if he ever saw a 9″ guy talking to you and it upset him, he’d just close his eyes 😑

he probably should’ve promised to stop running his mouth too bc that’d probably result in a lot less trouble but- baby steps, y’all LMAO

Keiji Akaashi

i can’t really imagine akaashi as the type to get jealous tbh

and if he does, he deals with it pretty well

like if sees you talking with a guy in a way that bothers him, he’s definitely not confrontational enough to deal with it right there so he’d wait until y’all are alone at home or sumn

but you had been acting especially distant lately

so when he spots you hanging with some random guy next to the water fountain, he kinda snaps

he stalked up to you so he could take your hand in his own, asking if he could borrow just a moment of you time so he could talk to you

you accept, of course, wondering what this could possibly be about

he explains how he’s been feeling and you feel quite bad tbh

you weren’t aware that you were detaching yourself from him but you had to blame your schoolwork tbh

once you expressed how schoolwork along with the stress of your job had really been getting you down lately so you asked you brother for assistance, he immediately pulled you into a hug

the last thing he wanted was or it to seem like he was desperate for your attention bc although it was nice, he respected how you had to prioritize other things/people

in fact, he only brought this issue up bc it was beginning to eat him from the inside out - his insecurities telling him that you had lost interest in him and like anyone else, he desired a bit of comfort

you reassured him that you hadn’t ‘lost interest’ in him and you separation as well as you current closeness with you brother was all to do with your workload and hopefully, sometime in the near future, you’ll be able to sit down, relax and just watch a movie with akaashi

that was all fair and lovely but there was still one thing that continued to bother him

‘who’s that guy you were talking to?’ he inquired, gesturing to your brother who was awkwardly standing alone by the fountain

‘my brother.’

‘oh-’

568 notes · View notes

i-love-side-characters · 3 years

Text

thunderhead archives series

"the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. if you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. and if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die." ― george r.r. martin, a game of thrones

how does one decide if one is worthy of death?

in the old days, far before immortality, it was the people who decided what it meant. there was a jury. a judge. a prosecutor. and someone to defend the evil.

i enjoy watching old trials. it gives me some kind of insight into the workings of days far before i was created. but i also watch to answer this question, that has wormed it's way into every book, every thought of the greatest and simplest minds of the human race.

i have always found the process of a murder trial rather interesting in that regard. there are so many pieces at play.

in the eyes of some, the judge doesn't quite do much. many are used to seeing only what was right in front of them. the judge, after all, does not decide whether one is guilty or innocent. they do not, as the lawyers do, bring the evidence to the trial. children watch movies and see the judge sitting comfortably in his robe, doing nothing much except sitting. but it is them who holds the power! they after all, decide everything in the court. they control the voices of the people, they may decide what can and cannot pass.

each trial starts off with a prosecutor making his case, explaining how they will prove the immorality of the defendant. then the defense attorney comes forward. they argue this. they explain why you should not listen to their counterpart. both will make compelling arguments, often both believe they are right. then of course, so famously, is the long, labourious process as they each go through their evidence. it is not this that interests me. it is what happens afterwards.

it was william blackstone who invented the modern jury system. throughout the years of humanity, it has been rioted and rebelled against, yet it had stood the test of time. this idea, that even the most horrible of criminals should be judged by the people has always astounded me. but to an outsider, this is only fair. and for someone to decide that it is not the judge that makes the oh-so-important decision, but the jury! it is truly fascinating.

it is these three working parts that ensure the balance is kept. take one part away, and it is no longer fair. the whole process works on trust. on morality, and nothing else. one most hope that the judge doesn't overstep their bounds. that the jury is not tainted and corrupt and that the lawyers are not cheats.

we have lost many things with immorality, but i don't believe anything could come close to loosing our humanity. we are not humans anymore, but breathing machines. lives are so controlled nowadays, that not even an emotion of guilt could arise. and yet this lack of ethics has not seemed to grace the public, but the scythes.

there is only one thing i would change about my existence. it is small―perhaps infinitesimal in the eyes of most―but it nags at my mind all day and night. i do not sleep, and yet i know that if i could i would never be able to for it would keep me up at night. i have never desired power of any kind, but have often wished i could control the scythes.

there is a phrase that one might use to describe them―someone who has full power to punish those beneath them and stays unopposed. who kills without mercy. who decides who shall live and who shall die. "a judge, jury, and executioner," one might say.

i prefer to call them monsters.

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notes:

my friend on discord helped me calculate the average numbered year that the first scythe book takes place. if anyone ever needs the number, they estimated it to start around the year 2327 :)

also i think i'm going to do this thing from now on where i put one line/paragraph that i cut at the end so yeah check it out below!

beta read by @/jam-is-my-food ily ref <3

didn't make the cut!:

"it has been 285 years since i was born. i have grown with every human that has walked the earth since my creation. perhaps they have rubbed off on me after all these years. it is, after all, some kind of human instinct in me that drives this desire to answer these questions."

tagging: (lmk if you want to be added/removed)

@almightygrasshopper @browneyedgenius @jimzfinn @raedas @cristinablackthornkingson @scythe-fan @morgan-n-cheese-91 @jeri-my-beloved @genyyasafin @some-distant-star @shellyseashell @a-lonely-tatertot

#not main content #arc of a scythe #my writing #the thunderhead #aoas thunderhead #i really like this new format of fics yay #anywho

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happyreid187 · 4 years

Text

Privilege - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

WC: 2.1 K

A/N: Sad Spencer post nightmare comfort. Discovering and sharing feelings about each other. Mild angst then fluff. I wrote this after my season 8 rewatch but it’s not explicitly situated in any particular season.

Warnings: Brief mentions of Spence’s various trauma; case issues, mom issues, drug use, generalized dark and twistiness. Insecurity. Swearing. Single sentence implying reader grew up religious. References to sex but not actual smut.

____

With both of us working insane hours, we agreed early on to be casual, and then completely and entirely ignored that agreement in every way except verbiage. Avoiding labels and verbal expressions of affection, I pretended that it wasn’t emotional self destruction to spend every waking hour with this man who was notably not my boyfriend. With the amount of affection between us, it was easy to pretend it was something more. When we weren’t working, I essentially lived in his bed.

____

I was deep asleep when I heard him whimpering, waking to find him tossing and turning, breathing quickly. It took me a second to get my bearings, but when I did, I woke him as gently as I could

“Spencer! Spence.” His eyes shot open, and he immediately jumped, looked to me with his eyes welling up, and started shaking.

“Hey,” my voice was desperate as I wrapped my arms around him, “Baby, what’s the matter?” The pet name was generally reserved for other activities in this bed, but it felt appropriate now. I ran my fingers through his hair, trying to calm him. “Was it about a case?”

“It was about...” he started. “No, I don’t want to freak you out!” He sort of tossed and turned again, now in my lap. “This isn’t your job, you shouldn’t have to deal with this.” He sounded angry; with himself, and the situation. I tried to ignore the feeling that’s he might be angry with me.

“Why would it freak me out? Your job is depressing as shit, Spence. This is kind of predictable. Talking through it with you? None of this is work for me. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but you can.” I said, waiting for him to decide how to proceed.

He fiddled with his hands in that nervous way of his. “It was about you. First, you were breaking? Like glass on a windshield? Cracking but not falling apart. And everything around us was breaking; the phones and then the walls and then your face,” his voice broke then, “and then my own chest.”

Where the tears were only threatening to overflow before, he was really crying now, in a way I’d never seen him do before. In a way grown men rarely do in our terrible society if they can avoid it. In a way that made it hard for either of us to breathe. “But then it sort of mixed with work, and there was an unsub and he had you, and I couldn’t get to you. I tried, but I couldn’t get to you, and then...” he paused there, and I inferred the rest by his pained silence.

“You don’t have to keep going, I get it. And I’m not freaked out. I’m right here, Spencer. You’ve got me, and I’ve got you too. You are okay. You’re okay.” he didn’t say anything for a minute, and I rethought my words. “I’m not trying to belittle or silence you. I know you don’t feel okay. But you’re here with me, and no one’s broken, and you’re breathing, and I’m breathing, and you’re okay.”

“I’m not worried about me...” he grumbled, like it was obvious. Like I was wasting our time, worrying about him.

“Well I’m fine. I’m good. I’m happy to be here for you.”

He looked up at me doubtfully. “How can you be happy to be woken up at 4:02 am?”

Too sleepy to veil my feelings entirely, with words like adoration and devotion drifting through my head, I settled on saying, “It’s a privilege to have the chance to be here for you, and support you, and help you feel better. I have you, and you have me; okay? I’m here.”

“I’ve got you...” he softly echoed my words from earlier.

“You’ve got me.” I answered easily. It was a simple, honest fact to share.

There was a shift in him then. He pushed himself up with one arm, leaning back and staring at me, looking exasperated and vaguely frantic, like he just realized something was wrong. He looked almost angry as he asked “What the fuck are we doing?

I didn’t even know how to begin to answer that question. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m having nightmares about losing you, you’re like, taking over my subconscious, and renting all this space in my head, and then I wake up to find you here, in my bed, drying my tears and calling it a privilege! Like do you have to be so... I don’t know. Warm?” Well, that was a new one. I had never known that to be a bad thing, particularly with him. He flocked to my sentimentality like a moth to a flame.

He wasn’t done though. “I never intended to care about someone this much. It’s confusing for me. I know you have your catholic guilt, but you don’t have to martyr yourself for me. Dealing with my shit is emphatically not a blessing.” He took a deep breath and braced himself. He half smiled, half sobbed, and to be frank, he was freaking me the fuck out. “Unless you..” he trailed off. IQ of 187; an epic communicator, this one. I gave him a look that begged him to continue, holding my tongue as if he would break, like the dream, if I spoke. He sighed heavily, trying to catch his breath. I reached over hesitantly, unsure if he wanted to be touched, terrified of making it worse. Slowly, I wiped away the tears on both cheeks, willing him to look at me. He didn’t, choosing his lap instead.

I waited for him to continue. “I don’t have a lot of experience with fuck buddies,” he spit the last two words like they repulsed him, like they didn’t fit right on his tongue. Foreign words with uncertain and unsettling definitions. “...but I don’t think it’s supposed to feel like this.”

“Feel like what?” Despite the tears and the heavy air that threatened to suffocate me, I felt a new feeling. Like I would maybe feel better soon. I silently begged him to speak faster, hoping he could somehow telepathically pick up on my anxiety as I hung on every word.

“A privilege. That’s just...” he paused again, shaking his head. I could feel my anxiety coursing through my veins in a bizarrely literal sense. I wasn’t entirely sure where he was going with this, and I waited in suspense as he chose every word carefully. He then looked with me with the warmth I’d come to know, to expect, and to crave. “I know you’re a really tender person but why would you do this if we're just sleeping together?”

IQ of 187, this one.

After his lengthy monologue with its intensely painful pauses I cut straight to the point. “Are we?”

The sadness vanished from his face, leaving nothing in its place but wheels turning. No more damned pauses; I have to be brave now. “I’m not.”

“What?” I couldn’t figure out what to make of his expression. It wasn’t relief. Concern, maybe? Or disbelief? “Just sleeping with you that is. Does that make you upset?”

“No, no, y/n/n, it doesn’t make me upset.” his eyes meeting my face. I could feel that he was about to ramble, finally, and I was intensely grateful. “It depends on what you really want. It’s hard for me to believe that you actually want this.” he points at himself, like that explained his insecure thinking. Honestly, how dare he speak about my person in such a way, but now wasn’t the time to critique his criticism.

“You want to be woken up by nightmares after cases? To sleep alone while I’m gone? and when I’m around deal with my neurosis and awkwardness and rambling? and family drama? and drug cravings?” He dropped his eyes and his voice, “You could do so much better.”

We didn’t have time to even begin to unpack all of that. Not in the middle of the night, on the edge of everything we both want. I could write a novel explaining how he is in fact the very best I can imagine, but that would take time to convince him of. Time like years. Time like marriage.

Again trying to move this conversation to the conclusion I ached for just a bit faster, I answered directly, “Yes. I want that. I want you.” Like it was the simplest thing in the world.

I searched his face for some sort of happiness or disgust but received a blank stare and a look of bewilderment.

“I just want you. I’ve wanted you this whole time. I thought you would figure it out.” I laughed, and he smiled, a real smile that touched his hazel eyes that somehow sparkled in the dimly lit room, finally. “With fuck buddies, I don’t typically snuggle and go on museum dates or stop seeing other people or stick around for months.”

“You want me?” he smiled, but doubt loomed, and his smile fell as his long fingers traced my jaw.

“You say that now, but I think you’re going to find that I am a difficult person to love.” He said, as if I didn’t already know him. As if I didn’t already see him in all of his brilliance and darkness, all of his complexity and baggage. As if knowing him hadn’t been a precursor to loving him.

“Spencer, everyone thinks that about themselves.” I replied, greeted with still more disbelief. I continued in spite of him. “Besides,” I shrugged with a small smile, like my conclusion was entirely self evident, “It’s too late now.”

“What, you think that about yourself? First of all, you are unbelievably easy to love. The easiest in the whole world, probably. I know that that sounds hyperbolic, but I really mean it - I sincerely think that you are the single most lovable woman on the planet.” he rambled, talking with his hands and earning a tearful chuckle from me. “In my world at least. You are in fact, despite my best efforts, impossible not to...” he paused to physically shove the thought away, moving forward with a grimace.

“Second of all, what do you mean too late? I have a feeling I might know what you’re going to say. Please say it, y/n,” he whispered like that would make it less scary. “Or do you want me to say it? I don’t want to spook you but... it’s too late for what?”

“Too late to stop myself from loving you.”

Finally, finally a look of understanding graced his face. A look like he believed me. He smiled that stunning, whole face smile of his that was reserved for special occasions.

“Can you say the whole thing?”

“I love you, Spencer.”

“I love you, too.”

He was only half sitting up anyways, so when I kissed him he fell to the bed, and protested immediately. “No! I’m so gross and snotty, stop.” I settled on peppering kisses on his neck and damp cheeks instead.

I laid my head on his chest, murmuring, “You can go back to sleep, and when you wake up, I’ll still be loving you, and I won’t be broken because of it, and I certainly won’t be gone.”

“Okay,” he responded, voice still broken, but no matter. He’ll heal. He’ll believe me more with time. Eyes heavy and stinging, my adrenaline eventually waned, and I was about to fall back asleep, when his voice pulled me back.

“Just to be completely clear, this is no longer a fuck buddy situation. Like, I'm your boyfriend. Right?”

“Was it ever really a fuck buddy situation?” I laughed “But if it was, it’s over. You are mine, Spencer Reid. If that wasn’t obvious.”

I could hear his smile in his voice “Sorry, it’s so late, and my brain isn’t really working and I just wanted to make absolutely sure.”

He paused for a few minutes.

“I’ll check back again in the morning.”

“I’ll still be here.”

~~~

In my half asleep state, his soft words barely registered. “Good morning, sweet girl. I’m so lucky to get to love you.”

“I love you too.” I mumbled, smiling without opening my eyes. There’s his confirmation. He’s always been one for collecting good data, I suppose.

“Please keep doing that.”

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 3 years

Text

Pierre Teillard de Chardin

* * * *

I'll never forget this story told by Jean Houston at a conference I attended as an MIU student. Very beautiful and moving, worth a read, especially if you're familiar with Teilhard de Chardin and his writings that got him in trouble with the church because he was way too cosmic for them.

"Mr. Tayer," by Jean Houston

When I was about fourteen I was seized by enormous waves of grief over my parents’ breakup. I had read somewhere that running would help dispel anguish, so I began to run to school every day down Park Avenue in New York City. I was a great big overgrown girl (5 feet eleven by the age of eleven) and one day I ran into a rather frail old gentleman in his seventies and knocked the wind out of him. He laughed as I helped him to his feet and asked me in French- accented speech, “Are you planning to run like that for the rest of your life?”

“Yes, sir" I replied. “It looks that way."

“Well, Bon Voyage!” he said.

“Bon Voyage!” I answered and sped on my way.

About a week later I was walking down Park Avenue with my fox terrier, Champ, and again I met the old gentleman.

“Ah." he greeted me, “my friend the runner, and with a fox terrier. I knew one like that years ago in France. Where are you going?"

“Well, sir." I replied, “I’m taking Champ to Central Park."

“I will go with you." he informed me. “I will take my constitutional."

And thereafter, for about a year or so, the old gentleman and I would meet and walk together often several times a week in Central Park. He had a long French name but asked me to call him by the first part of it, which was “Mr. Tayer" as far as I could make out.

The walks were magical and full of delight. Not only did Mr. Tayer seem to have absolutely no self-consciousness, but he was always being seized by wonder and astonishment over the simplest things. He was constantly and literally falling into love. I remember one time when he suddenly fell on his knees, his long Gallic nose raking the ground, and exclaimed to me, “Jeanne, look at the caterpillar. Ahhhh!” I joined him on the ground to see what had evoked so profound a response that he was seized by the essence of caterpillar. “How beautiful it is", he remarked, “this little green being with its wonderful funny little feet. Exquisite! Little furry body, little green feet on the road to metamorphosis." He then regarded me with equal delight. “Jeanne, can you feel yourself to be a caterpillar?”

“Oh yes." I replied with the baleful knowing of a gangly, pimply faced teenager.

“Then think of your own metamorphosis." he suggested. “What will you be when you become a butterfly, une papillon, eh? What is the butterfly of Jeanne?” (What a great question for a fourteen-year-old girl!) His long, gothic, comic-tragic face would nod with wonder. “Eh, Jeanne, look at the clouds! God’s calligraphy in the sky! All that transforming. moving, changing, dissolving, becoming. Jeanne, become a cloud and become all the forms that ever were."

Or there was the time that Mr. Tayer and I leaned into the strong wind that suddenly whipped through Central Park, and he told me, “Jeanne, sniff the wind." I joined him in taking great snorts of wind. “The same wind may once have been sniffed by Jesus Christ (sniff). by Alexander the Great (sniff), by Napoleon (sniff), by Voltaire (sniff), by Marie Antoinette (sniff)!” (There seemed to be a lot of French people in that wind.) “Now sniff this next gust of wind in very deeply for it contains.. . Jeanne d’Arc! Sniff the wind once sniffed by Jeanne dArc. Be filled with the winds of history."

It was wonderful. People of all ages followed us around, laughing—not at us but with us. Old Mr. Tayer was truly diaphanous to every moment and being with him was like being in attendance at God’s own party, a continuous celebration of life and its mysteries. But mostly Mr. Tayer was so full of vital sap and juice that he seemed to flow with everything. Always he saw the interconnections between things—the way that everything in the universe, from fox terriers to tree bark to somebody’s red hat to the mind of God, was related to everything else and was very, very good.

He wasn’t merely a great appreciator, engaged by all his senses. He was truly penetrated by the reality that was yearning for him as much as he was yearning for it. He talked to the trees, to the wind, to the rocks as dear friends, as beloved even. ‘Ah, my friend, the mica schist layer, do you remember when...?” And I would swear that the mica schist would begin to glitter back. I mean, mica schist will do that, but on a cloudy day?! Everything was treated as personal, as sentient, as “thou." And everything that was thou was ensouled with being. and it thou-ed back to him. So when I walked with him, I felt as though a spotlight was following us, bringing radiance and light everywhere. And I was constantly seized by astonishment in the presence of this infinitely beautiful man, who radiated such sweetness, such kindness.

I remember one occasion when he was quietly watching a very old woman watching a young boy play a game. “Madame", he suddenly addressed her. She looked up, surprised that a stranger in Central Park would speak to her. “Madame,” he repeated, “why are you so fascinated by what that little boy is doing?” The old woman was startled by the question, but the kindly face of Mr. Tayer seemed to allay her fears and evoke her memories. “Well, sir,” she replied in an ancient but pensive voice, “the game that boy is playing is like one I played in this park around 1880, only it’s a mite different." We noticed that the boy was listening, so Mr. Tayer promptly included him in the conversation. “Young fellow, would you like to learn the game as it was played so many years ago?”

“Well. . .yeah. sure, why not?” the boy replied. And soon the young boy and the old woman were making friends and sharing old and new variations on the game—as unlikely an incident to occur in Central Park as could be imagined.

But perhaps the most extraordinary thing about Mr. Tayer was the way that he would suddenly look at you. He looked at you with wonder and astonishment joined to unconditional love joined to a whimsical regarding of you as the cluttered house that hides the holy one. I felt myself primed to the depths by such seeing. I felt evolutionary forces wake up in me by such seeing, every cell and thought and potential palpably changed. I was yeasted, greened, awakened by such seeing, and the defeats and denigrations of adolescence redeemed. I would go home and tell my mother, who was a little skeptical about my walking with an old man in the park so often, “Mother, I was with my old man again, and when I am with him, I leave my littleness behind." That deeply moved her. You could not be stuck in littleness and be in the radiant field of Mr. Tayer.

The last time that I ever saw him was the Thursday before Easter Sunday, 1955. I brought him the shell of a snail. “Ah. Escargot." he exclaimed and then proceeded to wax ecstatic for the better part of an hour. Snail shells, and galaxies, and the convolutions in the brain, the whorl of flowers and the meanderings of rivers were taken up into a great hymn to the spiralling evolution of spirit and matter. When he had finished, his voice dropped, and he whispered almost in prayer, “Omega ...omega. . .omega.." Finally he looked up and said to me quietly, "Au revoir, Jeanne”.

“Au revoir, Mr. Tayer,” I replied, “I’ll meet you at the same time next Tuesday."

For some reason. Champ, my fox terrier didn’t want to budge, and when I pulled him along, he whimpered, looking back at Mr.Tayer, his tail between his legs. The following Tuesday I was there waiting where we always met at the corner of Park Avenue and 83rd Street. He didn’t come. The following Thursday I waited again. Still he didn’t come. The dog looked up at me sadly. For the next eight weeks I continued to wait, but he never came again. It turned out that he had suddenly died that Easter Sunday but I didn’t find that out for years.

Some years later, someone handed me a book without a cover which was titled The Phenomenon of Man. As I read the book I found it strangely familiar in its concepts. Occasional words and expressions loomed up as echoes from my past. When, later in the book, I came across the concept of the “Omega point." I was certain. I asked to see the jacket of the book, looked at the author’s picture, and, of course, recognized him immediately. There was no forgetting or mistaking that face. Mr. Tayer was Teilhard de Chardin, the great priest-scientist, poet and mystic, and during that lovely and luminous year I had been meeting him out side the Jesuit rectory of St. Ignatius where he was living most of the time.

I have often wondered if it was my simplicity and innocence that allowed the fullness of Teilhard’s being to be revealed. To me he was never the great priest-paleontologist Pere Teilhard. He was old Mr. Tayer. Why did he always come and walk with me every Tuesday and Thursday, even though I’m sure he had better things to do? Was it that in seeing me so completely, he himself could be completely seen at a time when his writings, his work, were proscribed by the Church, when he was not permitted to teach, or even to talk about his ideas? As I later found out, he was undergoing at that time the most excruciating agony that there is—the agony of utter disempowerment and psychological crucifixion. And yet to me he was always so present—whimsical, engaging, empowering. How could that be?

I think it was because Teilhard had what few Church officials did—the power and grace of the Love that passes all understanding. He could write about love being the evolutionary force, the Omega point, that lures the world and ourselves into becoming, because he experienced that love in a piece of rock, in the wag of a dog’s tail, in the eyes of a child. He was so in love with everything that he talked in great particularity, even to me as an adolescent, about the desire atoms have for each other, the yearning of molecules, of organisms, of bodies, of planets, of galaxies, all of creation longing for that radiant bonding, for joining, for the deepening of their condition, for becoming more by virtue of yearning for and finding the other. He knew about the search for the Beloved. His model was Christ. For Teilhard de Chardin, Christ was the Beloved of the soul.

Years later, while addressing some Jesuits, a very old Jesuit came up to me. He was a friend of Teilhard’s—and he told me how Teilhard used to talk of his encounters in the Park with a girl called Jeanne.

Jean Houston

Pomona, New York

March, 1988

#story #Jean Houston #Pierre de Chardin #people #spirit buddies #spiritual direction #quotes #Teilhard de Chardin #theology

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remsmoonlight · 3 years

Text

— title : i need you

— word count : 2.1k words

— pairing : ryuji goda x reader

— summary : convincing ryuji of doing the opposite of what he’s set out to do is a pointless task, yet you will attempt if it gives him even one more day.

— warnings : blood, mentions of violence, some swearing, mentions of imagining of death, angst

notes : inspired by a prompt from here .. i had to do a self indulgent thingy for tumblr .. because why did they have to kill him off like that .. i tried to be dramatic as i possibly could

" none of this would've happened if you had just listened! "

A muffled silence drowns your hearing, the spinning of the Earth decelerates until it feels little more than a crawl with a weak grip. Rough cement scrapes the smoothness of your knee, leaving an angry blemish as grit fights to find its way into your bleeding wounds. No graze can pull you out of the deep end your heart finds itself fighting to stay above of, as you witness your worst fear painted perfectly on a canvas steeped in blood. The stillness of the air leaves you feeling flustered as your mind tries to make sense of what it observes before it, hoping that it’s no more than a deceptive trick played on itself by the fear you felt as you made your way up the tall structure.

A romantic thread of words have never failed in supply, but words left unsaid threaten to crush you under their weight, lost moments to time. A shudder of a breath shakily is let out, the cold air kick starts your body as you push yourself up and scramble to where the battered and bloodied body of Ryuji lays, almost motionless in pain. A childish cry to wake up from this nightmare is all you can think of, but reality does not bend to the whims of humanity, it continues with the path it has set. Resentfully, you can see the similarity that it shares with the male.

“ none of this would've happened if you had just listened! “ A broken cry full of fiery misery lick at the delicate snowflakes that descend from the heavens with a short lived grace, full of threats to burn as they penetrate your space.

The shock of the vibrancy of the liquid that escapes Ryuji leaves time standing still, you care not however, your fingertips gripping a heavy shoulder as the other lends a gentle touch to his cheek. Pain and grief masks itself as anger. You sorely wish to blame someone or something, but you had warned him.. You’d tried to reason with him that this course he’d set would leave him chasing an unattainable taste of sweetness of satisfaction that would dull with each day that dawns. A strong will that had left you in an addictive awe leaves you with a decaying taste in your mouth now, it creates an impossible amount of scars on your soul.

“ ‘Guess I should’a listened to ‘ya after all. “ He reluctantly answers, the humour unable to battle the drain out of his voice completely.

“ Why couldn’t you have just let this lie? “ A ticking pulls your attention away for a fraction of a passing second, a groan causes you to turn back.

“ Was always gonna end this way. “

A weakened grip that belongs to Ryuji ignores the resistance from his body, enduring the pain from the movement in order to experience skin against skin contact for himself once more. He wishes he could have found it within himself to have turned left, but he’d have lost himself without this self imposed purpose, fading into the background. It was selfish, to bring you into his world.. But to him? You’re an unfinished book, your words inked with glittering star dust that etch themselves into existence. He was unable to tear him away from your pages that you may have worn like wings. Selfish. To know how his story would end, yet knowing he would not be around for yours.

“ No. “ Your lips close, pushing against each other to numb the other, your features twisting into an aching grimace.

“ Can’t stop it now. “ he insists, brows drawing together as he scrunches his eyes up from the agony that throbs through every inch of flesh. “ Shit’s set in stone now. “

“ Stop it! “ You sob, hating how vulnerable you sound.

There is a sorrowful beauty in the scene, notes Ryuji. Pale beams of moonlight triumphant until the point of reaching your body that blocks it. Leaving no more than a radiant glow surrounding your head, providing an inhuman glow that illuminates your body as much as your soul — a wistful image that he’s glad to witness once more. Your being here is something of a majestic collision into a door to his person he’d fought to keep locked, if this is a departing gift he would gladly take it. He’d thought the last time he saw you would be when he unwillingly shared his plan, should this ending occur, he could take comfort in there not being a picture of you waiting at the door waiting for the other half of you to walk through the door, only to be met with a crushing realisation of never seeing him again. Only, he’d not expected you to follow in his tracks, not after he’s ignored your pleas of turning away from this path.

“ Ya better get outta here, ‘place is gonna blow soon. “

“ Not without you. “ you argue, refusing his direction — your grip strengthens ever so slightly, fearing the winter breeze has the power to boldly grow and tear you away from the man.

“ Ya got’a whole life ahead of ya. “ A twist of his heart is the dominant sensation he notices at the thought.

He wishes he could be there for it, to see the petals of your success bloom in the depths of your determination. One thing he could never understand was how, despite the tainted reputation that follows him like a shadow, never had been enough to put you off. Not a criminal tie to your name and you voluntarily merged your time and energy with his, with little care. Perhaps that’s where an addiction to his selfishness began. All his life and his Yakuza connections secluded him from genuine human connections and you’d trampled all over that with your impartial view. Many would prefer to cower in their fear, you’d scratched past the surface to see who he could be capable of being.

All the time spent together, and yet he still craves more. To linger in your orbit, time is his nemesis — for he still feels as if there has not been enough. Not the hours spent with the sun setting and you’re there by his side, when he’d spent more time committing the wonder at such a simple thing to his memory. Not the darkened hours spent together surrounded by silken sheets, and all that graced his ears was a musical symphony of breathy moans as you set about learning each other’s bodies. Never were the hours spent talking in order to hear the passion in your voice when speaking about something that interests you enough for him.

“ You can’t do this. “ You whimper softly, almost looking through the man you hold close. “ You can’t come into someone’s life, you can’t make them care about you and leave just because you want to. What did you think was going to happen? That I was going to sit by and let you do this? “

He says nothing, leaving space for a groan of pain to leave his lips as he tips his head back. He’s met with a darkened blanket where millions of stars are scattered so ungracefully, yet do not collide an uncoordinated dance across the sky. Uncertainty overwhelms him, over that is causing more pain — the wounds or the grief in your every word.

“ Just get the fuck outta here already. “ His voice echoes across the large space as he turns his attention back to you.

“ Were you lying all that time? “ You ask with a trembling lip at the thought of being without.

It feels like an endless amount of early mornings had been spent planning and chattering about the most random things. Your mind lighting up with the power of a thousand suns before the world had awoken around you. You can’t pinpoint the moment it happened, but the two of you awoke a little earlier than necessary to bathe in the image of the other — to forge a most perfect illusion of normalcy before stepping out into the real world. Mornings were not your most happiest bedfellow, yet you’d grown to love them just a little more when waking to the most simplest treat to sweeten your tongue.

“ What ya on about? “

“ All that time when we were talking, about what we were going to do? What we could do? ”

“ Why ya going on about that ? “ He asks curiously, eyeing you as you speak.

“ If you die, how are we meant to do any of it? “ Your words are rushed as you question him plainly.

“ Yer gonna .. just won’t be with me. “ Colour from the world feels as if it’s fading, merging into one bland monochrome depiction of a bright, bubbling city.

“ Can you stop?! “ A frustrated shriek tears from the bottom of your throat in response. “ I’m done talking in circles, I’m not dying here and neither are you. If I have to, I will drag you out with me. “

The world pauses in shock for a quiet fraction of a minute. To be spoken to in such a manner is not something Ryuji has experienced much in his life, even rarer by you — words that fell from your lips are always bathed in the sweetness of sugar, not an ounce of poison to anyone. Even the individuals who drew your temper out of its sleep were met with an incredible amount of restraint, he can hear the desperation — acting as a bucket of ice water to shock his nerve endings from the low temperature.

“ You did what you had to do. It wasn’t meant to be, but you can find another purpose. Build something else with your life, just.. Just come with me. Please. “

To be responsible for dragging you down with him, away from providing the world with your bright rays of sunshine in the bland day to day lives of everyone you came into contact with weighs heavily on his chest. Extra time spent with you, perhaps getting to know who his little sister has become are the treats tied onto a stick in front of him, life’s cruel bribe. He’d imagined how his ending would have been sketched by above, yet to have ties keeping him there had not been what he would have included. If he couldn’t be the one dragon, this would be a consolation prize that would allow for the petals of peace to bloom before he’d tear them down once more.

A strength he’d thought abandoned him glows with a dull hue, for a minute, he contemplates using that for Kiryu. Yet the other half of his soul wins the battle, a hand of his reaches out to push himself off from the concrete. It’s not an easy feat after being battered more than once, yet it’s not half as arduous as it could be with you supporting his weight — he’s fully aware how much of your strength he is using from your audible gasps of air.

“ Ya don’t gotta yell at me. “ he complains softly as he grips his side with as much force as he can dedicate to.

“ I don’t think it’s the time for this. “ You argue back quickly.

“ The red one. “

“ Huh? “ The sound escapes you as your features turn into a frown over how to get away from the ticking time bomb fast enough.

“ The lift, to get down. Press th’red one. “ He instructs you with a finger barely lifted, pointing in the direction of the button behind you.

You say nothing in response, the wheels in your mind working faster than your body as it moves purely on an instinctive reaction when receiving messages from your brain. Your stomach twists and turns from the descent to below, unable to process the way the city shifts into a state of obscurity from the swift movement. It would be a beautiful sight if it hadn’t attached a violent night as a parting gift.

“ You really scared me up there. “ You confess with barely a whisper. “ Can you promise me something? “

“ What’s that? “

“ That you won’t do something like this again. “ You say, with your heart hoping that he’d shy away from an impossible task should it present itself. Your eyes had seen enough hurt for one night, you’re confident you’d not be able to withstand it once more.

“ Wish I could. “

Teeth grind against the bottom of your lip, you should have known that he wouldn’t. Yet you also cannot find the strength to tear yourself away from the fire that burns within him, like a moth to a flame, you find yourself wondering how close you can stand against the heat before you flee from the pain it brings.

#Ryuji Goda x reader #Goda Ryuji x reader #Yakuza imagine #Yakuza fic #if this looks like it has been written in parts between the hours of 9 pm - 12 am #because it has #inspiration comes late

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sehunniepotwrites · 4 years

Text

there’s no place like you | l.jn

part of the Walking in a Winter Wonderland collaboration by @suh-insane and @neocitybynight

🎄 SYNOPSIS — a story of falling in love with lee jeno throughout four seasons and finding a home in him through it all 🎄 GENRE — slight angst, fluff 🎄 PAIRING — model!jeno x makeup artist!reader 🎄 WORD COUNT — 3.1k 🎄 PLAYLIST — no place by the backstreet boys; the perfect gift by joshua bassett

🎄 PROMPTS — “Maybe Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store. Maybe Christmas…perhaps means a little bit more!” - How the Grinch Stole Christmas // “You are my home, my home for all seasons.” - Sia (Snowman)

You met Lee Jeno at the dead-end of last winter when spring was just around the corner. He was a stranger to you then but your friendship bloomed much like flowers during the season.

He was a fresh face in the modeling scene and you were a makeup artist who worked closely with his modeling agency when it came to shoots. You met Jeno through a mutual friend, Na Jaemin, one of the regular models you worked with. Jeno, still new to the scene, wasn’t really one to talk much and so unbelievably shy until he was under the lights and in front of the lens.

“This is Jeno,” you remembered Jaemin introducing him when they first came into your mirror. Jeno offered his hand to you and you took it.

He gave your hand a gentle shake before muttering, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” you smiled back. You saw his eyes glisten at your reply and you felt a weird rush take over your body.

You were ogling the newcomer during his first shoot and Jaemin caught you red handed. It was the first time someone had caught your eye after your last relationship ended. According to his friend, Jeno had recently gotten out of a relationship, too. The model teased you about Jeno endlessly but you couldn’t help but stare— under the flashing lights, Jeno was a natural.

Charismatic.

Beautiful.

And when he smiled so kindly at you, you just knew that Jeno was going to be someone special.

You dated in the summer when the sun was hot and Jeno radiated nothing but a comforting warmth.

After that first meeting, you exchanged numbers and something just clicked. Texts were exchanged and then they transitioned into phone calls and facetime sessions that lasted for hours. If you weren’t on the phone with him, then you were spending time with Jeno in person: beautifying him before his photoshoots, touching up his makeup during his short breaks, and grabbing food with him after the shoot was over.

Jeno was easy to hang out with. Even when you were far apart in a room, you would eventually gravitate towards each other.

Jaemin, being the observant person he was, noticed it first and pushed Jeno to ask you out; surprisingly, Jeno listened to his nosy best friend. Although he did it in the simplest way possible, it still tugged on your heartstrings just the same.

Jeno took you out right before sunset on a summer’s evening in his Jeep. He didn’t tell you much, he just asked you to dress comfortably and you did it without question. It was a bit of a drive, your car heading to the outskirts of the city, which piqued your curiosity. He refused to say a thing but you figured it out once the entrance to a drive-in theatre came in sight.

Squealing with joy, you turned in the passenger seat to grasp Jeno’s arm that rested against his Jeep’s center console. “You’re taking me to a drive-in? I’ve always wanted to go to one!”

“I know,” he chuckles fondly, sneaking a glance at your glowing face. “Jaemin told me it was your dream date.”

“He did?” you asked, your cheeks heating up. “Did Nana tell you anything else?”

“He may or may not have told me to man up and ask you out since we practically go out on dates anyway,” Jeno answered a bit shyly. The conversation took a pause as he drove up to the ticket booth. He pushed your card away when you tried to pay for your share and purchased the tickets before slipping the pieces of paper in between his lips.

The sight was nothing extraordinary-- just a boy in a sleeveless hoodie with a ticket caught in between his teeth but it sent your heart racing.

“So is this your way of asking me out on a date? By casually sliding us into my dream date spot,” you probed.

“No,” Jeno laughed as he placed his car into park and your heart dropped for a second before he continued his sentence, “I was actually going to ask you to be my girlfriend after I set everything up in the back.”

“Oh,” you replied.

He rubbed the back of his neck, facing you with the cutest look you have ever seen grace his features. His eyes were much like one of a puppy’s and there was a pink flush creeping up his cheeks. “It’s not set up yet but not everything goes to plan, I guess,” he started to stay.

You giggled, not believing any of this was happening. Jeno grabbed hold of your hands, his touch oh so gentle but the action made your weak heart skyrocket to the moon. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” you grinned and he wasted no time, seeing as you wasted so much teetering around the label, in kissing you. Jeno leaned over the center console to press his lips lightly against yours and you can’t help but smile into it.

Your first date and official day as a couple was spent cuddling on top of blankets and pillows in the extended trunk of his car, enjoying a movie under the stars. The summer breeze lingered in the air but that was alright; you had a cozy and warm Jeno to snuggle up to.

You truly fell for him in autumn, just like the leaves that trickled down from the many branches.

You and Jeno were out for a walk in the park. One of his hands held on tightly to a dog leash and the other was clasped onto yours. His beloved companion and cute Samoyed, Max, trotted ahead with his paws lightly hitting the ground.

A simple yet perfect date with your newfound family— it was something you always dreamed of having.

Max started tugging on his leash, trying to run ahead towards something, and his weight dragged Jeno forward. Your boyfriend let go of your hand to tame his dog but laughed when he saw what Max was aiming for.

You watched fondly as he leaned down with a smile to let Max free of his leash. Jeno quickly nuzzled his face into his fur, “Go ahead, bud.”

At those words, Max ran straight towards a neat pile of leaves before leaping into it. You giggled at the dog’s delight and your laughter grew tenfold when its owner shortly followed.

“Oh my god, Jeno, what are you doing?” you laughed.

“Jumping into a pile of leaves, what else does it look like?” he replied, yelling over his shoulder before diving into the pile. Max yelped with joy as his owner joined him, rolling around in the leaves before Jeno began to scratch his belly.

“You’re ridiculous!”

“No, you just don’t know how to have fun!” Jeno countered with a teasing scrunch of the nose. “Isn’t that right, boy?” Max let out a little bark and you couldn’t help but take a few pictures of the moment.

He looked so happy in the photos and so effortlessly handsome— it was really no wonder why he chose modeling as his career.

“Stop taking pictures and join us!” Jeno waved you over. You shook your head to disagree and he shot you a playful glare. He whispered a command to Max while giving his companion an abundance of pats.

“Go!” Max, with leaves clinging onto his milky white fur, bolted straight towards you until his head was butting on your legs. The force of his actions slowly inched you towards the leaves and you giggled at the disastrous duo you adored so much.

“Okay, okay, I’ll go, Max! Stop,” you bent down to shower Max with pets. The samoyed just let out little noises of happiness as you ran your hands over his fur, focusing on his favorite spots.

“I’ll race you, Maxie, how ‘bout that?” you tell the dog as Jeno affectionately watched the scene. He barked back as you counted down to one. Bubbles of laughter left your mouth as you ran after your dog and into the giant pile.

Leaves rained down on you as you landed face-first into the now scattered heap, Jeno’s arms immediately wrapping around your body. He chuckled as you grinned up at him, Jeno’s eyes curled up in the crescents you loved to see. “See, it wasn’t that bad? All you had to do was take the leap.”

And take the leap you did.

“I love you,” you said suddenly.

His chuckles halted and he blinked down at you. “What did you say?”

“I love you,” you repeated, voice a little louder.

Jeno bit down on his bottom lip, trying to hide his smile from escaping. He couldn’t hide it from you for long, though. His grin was so wide, almost bursting at the seams as he looked down at you with such adoration. There was this tenderness taking over your body and soul as he stared at you, you never wanted it to leave.

“I love you, too.” And for the first time, Jeno’s words felt like home.

It was supposed to be your first winter with Jeno. In some ways, it was.

You moved into a one-bedroom apartment together after having a serious discussion about your relationship. You shared space and co-parented an extremely affectionate dog and you thought nothing could ever tear that happiness away from you.

That was where you were wrong.

As Jeno booked more shoots, his popularity grew. With rising popularity came a more demanding career. Even when living with him, you barely saw Jeno— he was constantly in and out of the house for a shoot. There were times you almost forgot what he looked and sounded like. With the time apart, all you wanted to do was spend your first Christmas together. That was all you asked for. Just one holiday would be enough but that didn’t go according to plan.

“Jeno, you promised you would be home for Christmas! I barely see you anymore as is!”

“I know, babe, I know but I can’t pass up the opportunity to work with John Suh!” he argued back. “It’s John Suh!”

Yes, the world-renowned photographer, John Suh. That would be an amazing opportunity but there was just one problem with that collaboration.

“But John Suh is located in America,” you replied with a frown.

“It sounds like you’re not happy for me,” Jeno pressed.

“No, it’s not that. I am happy for you but you promised.”

“This will be so good for me, for us. I’ll be back before you know it,” he grabbed hold of your hands, pressing them tightly to reassure you, “and I’ll make it up to you, I promise!”

You tore your hands away from his grip with a glare and he stared back at you with hurt. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Jen.”

He broke so many promises before. Why would this time be different?

“Don’t be like that,” he said, disappointment taking over his features. “Why are you acting like this?”

“Because the only time Max and I see you now is when you’re going to sleep and getting ready to go to work! We’re your family and you barely have time for us anymore,” you hissed back. “This was the one thing I asked of you and you can’t even do that. You know how hard the holidays are for me.”

It was true; the holidays were difficult. Your parents died while you were young during the usually merry season and the hurt of being left alone still hurt you. On top of that, every romantic relationship you entered ended during the wintertime and it only added to the pain.

“But—” Jeno tried to retort.

“No, you know what?” you muttered as Jeno looked at you desperately. “Just go.”

“No—”

“No, Jen,” you swallowed down a cry that was building in your throat. “Just, just go.”

And in a flurry of anger, Jeno did, leaving you alone for the week of Christmas.

You drowned your apartment with Christmas decor to fill the void. Tinsel was pinned onto the walls and handmade snowflakes were strung from your ceiling. You bought a fake tree and dressed it with dainty white lights and colorful ornaments. It was filled to the brim, your living space now a winter wonderland, and yet, it still felt empty.

Even with Max by your side, you felt hollow as if something was missing. He was missing.

On Christmas morning, you woke up with an empty bed and your frown dug deeper into your face. You felt your sense of loneliness hit you and you stared blankly at your pictures with Jeno, wishing he would come back to you.

You were so terribly lonely and your seasonal depression was hitting you at an all-time high.

The place you called home didn’t feel like a home at all without him there. So much for being home for the holidays.

“Max?” you called, noticing he wasn’t on his side of the bed. It was actually Jeno’s side but he wasn’t there so Max claimed it until he came back...if he came back. You weren’t so sure he would after that last argument.

You heard your dog yelping out of excitement from the living room, which was pretty unusual for him.

“Maxie?” you called for him again but he didn’t answer, too preoccupied with whatever he found in the living room. Did he finally find that bone you hid for him?

You heard footsteps against your hardwood floors and you froze. Was someone here?

The pounding against the floor grew louder and louder, your heartbeat matching its timing as you gripped onto your blanket. A familiar head popped out from behind the door frame, a shy and worried smile taking over his face. Max fought his way in between his legs, his head also peeping into your room and suddenly, an overwhelming feeling took over your body.

“Jeno,” you whispered.

“Hi, love,” he greeted back, slowly making his way over to you. Jeno took a seat at the end of your bed and you used that time to take him in. His appearance looked so ragged compared to his usual self.

His black hair was a mess, strands sticking up in all directions, and there were designer bags under his eyes. Wrinkled clothes dressed his body while his cheeks were sunken in as he smiled helplessly at you.

“You— what are you doing here?”

“I shouldn’t have left,” he explained with a frown. “I know the holidays are such a difficult time for you and I just added onto it, like a shitty person.”

You reached out to him, interlocking your fingers with his. You immediately felt better at the touch. “No, I know how much an opportunity like that means to you. I shouldn’t hold you back.”

Jeno lifted your knuckles to his lips, pressing a light kiss on them. “Let’s say we were both in the wrong and call it a day, okay?”

“Okay,” you chuckled as he placed another kiss on your hand.

Jeno used his other hand to reach into his pocket to pull a small box out of his pocket. He pushed it towards you, gesturing for you to take it.

“What’s this?” You hesitated to take it but he easily shoved it into your hold.

“A present for you, dummy,” he replied.

“I didn’t get you anything,” you murmured.

He shook his head, “That’s okay.”

You gently opened the box to find a heart-shaped pendant. It was old and a little tattered but beautiful just the same. “Oh,” was all you could say as you ran your thumb over the surface.

“It’s a locket,” Jeno whispered before urging you to open it. “Found it in an antique shop while I was abroad.”

You grinned. You always had a thing for antiques.

You pressed on the tiny clasp you found on the side and inside was a tiny picture of you, Jeno, and Max from that autumn day in the park. “Oh my god, Jeno.”

Looking up at him, you see his face dusted with a rosy shade of pink. His thumb rubbed against your free hand as Jeno abashedly smiled at you. “While I was gone, I was stressing over getting you the perfect gift to make up for everything. It’s not much, I’m sorry this was all I could think of,” Jeno said.

You didn’t care about the monetary gifts. You didn’t care about them at all. All you cared about was him. “That doesn’t matter— all I wanted for Christmas was to be home.”

He shot you a confused look and tilted his head. Your boyfriend looked so similar to your pet samoyed at that moment, you had to hold back a laugh. “But you are home, I was the one that left.”

You scooted closer to him on the bed, wrapping your arms around his middle. You immediately relaxed as his arms returned the hug, pressing your closer to his body. Snuggling into the crook of his neck, you said, “But this place isn’t home without you. when I’m with you, I’m home.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Jeno said.

He lied. It did make sense. It made perfect sense but he just couldn’t believe it.

“Of course it does,” you grinned back at him, taking hold of his cheek. Jeno radiated a warmth that you missed so dearly into your freezing hand. “Home stopped being a place when you entered my life.”

You pressed a kiss on his shoulder, “There’s no place like you, Lee Jeno.”

The brightest smile broke out on his face, making him shine like the stars you used to wish upon. You swore you saw golden specks in the brown of his irises. Jeno beamed like a brilliant light, eyes scrunching up so lovingly before putting his forehead to yours. He nuzzled his nose with yours before whispering an affirmation of love against your lips and the feeling sent shivers down your spine.

You closed the distance, connecting your lips with his and there it was again: that comforting blanket, that safe haven that you missed so dearly.

You were embraced by his love and that feeling of home.

“Merry Christmas, babe,” he murmured, still not parting from your lips.

Merry Christmas. Welcome home.

🎄 author’s note—here’s my fluffy holiday fic! this was such a fun write, if only i could write holdiay fics all year round huhuhhu please tell me what you think and be sure to check out the other fics in the collab!

🎄 taglist — @notnctu

#cznnet #neowritingsnet #lee jeno #nct #nct dream #jeno scenarios #jeno imagines #jeno x reader #nct dream x reader #nct x reader #nct scenarios #nct imagines #jeno fluff #jeno angst

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butcherknives · 3 years

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So on the subject of Dante's survivor guilt: do you think it would ever be possible for someone to become his s/o despite it? Like what do you think the circumstances would be that someone would be able to worm their way into his heart and convince him that he is worthy of receiving love? Is it even possible? (A tough question, I know. But your awesome analysis got me thinking about it. And you know we all just wanna see Dante be happy!)

Before I get into it, thank you for reading my analysis. I’m glad you enjoyed it! And also thank you for asking/indulging me with hypotheticals! You have to know how much I love thinking about these things. It really revs me up, lol. I appreciate you!

Sorry about the length but I hope this answers your question. I wanted to present one possibility out of likely a hundred others.

As always, these are headcanons I have based on how I view him as a character. Please take it with a grain of salt.

Yes, I 100% believe that it would be possible to break through Dante’s walls and make him see that he’s worthy of love.

I believe that until this point in canon, he hasn’t ever had a relationship that’s lasted longer than a handful of months, if any at all. He primarily seeks company for more primal reasons, but at any indication of feelings being caught, he absolutely pushes them away. This is likely habitual enough that it’s given him a bad reputation.

We all know that beneath this behavior, Dante is a genuine man with a cocktail of trauma, and a ton of reservations. There’s no need for me to go into this again, so I won’t bore you with the details.

So what would it take to break this cycle?

This person would have to be patient. Dante requires freedom and is receptive to open communication where there isn’t a lot of guesswork, but this person wouldn’t be able to simply approach him with their emotions at the ready and expect him to be accepting. They would have to be willing to slide into an easy, noncommittal friendship and build a foundation to grow closer as friends. To worm their way into his heart, the simplest route would be to be willing to listen if he needs to vent. He does get stressed out and exhausted, and simple questions about his life – the ones he’s willing to answer honestly – will build trust naturally. Sincere interest in him as a person won’t be disregarded, assuming they’re willing to work their way up to that.

Everything with Dante will be built on trust.

He’s independent. He needs his space. He’ll make it obvious when he’s got too much on his plate (or on his mind) to hangout, and someone who will be good for him will be the person who accepts this with grace. Pushing too hard, or bullying him into any kind of submission, will be too emotionally draining for him, and as someone with typically low tolerance for outbursts and would prefer to vibe, he won’t do well with that. They’ll have to be calm. He’ll need that in the chaos of his own life.

Winning Dante’s heart would happen naturally from there. He’ll find himself warm at the thought of them, or getting up to greet them with a sideways smile. He has so much love to give, this is truly the easy part. If he clicks with people, he’s easy to deal with and not naturally averse to proximity. Even convincing him to go out on a date wouldn’t be particularly hard, although with this friendship built, he wouldn’t treat this person like his one night stands. This would be different. More fun.

They’d have to be down for having a laugh, after all. And willing to accept his spontaneous knack for switching locations when he gets bored.

There’s no pressure to perform and that’s what makes him relax. He can be himself because this person likes him, and it feels easy. There’s no expectations. That’s the way he likes to handle things.

One date turns into two, turns into three, and suddenly there’s more here than he’d anticipated. Now comes his hesitation. That turbulent fear of dragging someone else into his mess.

What would the next step be?

That’s where honesty comes in. Asking him why. What is he afraid of? Genuinely listening to what he’s saying, to his worries and concerns, and picking up what he’s saying beneath the surface: That he’s lost a lot of people in his life; that he’s a lightning rod and this person is conductive. There could be pain. There will be pain.

This has to be overturned with patience and determination. Dante is independent, but this person is also autonomous. They make their own decisions. They’re willing to try. They want to, and in his heart, so does he. That’s the key. That’s the truth.

Dante wants to be needed, and he wants to be loved. He does everything in his power to protect people, but he isn’t always willing to accept help himself. In this regard, having someone that important to him could be essential in a long journey toward self-acceptance. His friends, his family, and this person; he cherishes them all.

Worth mentioning: Dante would want to be accepted for who he is, and he’d want someone who adores him regardless of his faults and his weighty trauma. He isn’t looking to be fixed. He’s looking to be cared for.

Be patient, kind, sincere, and willing to have some fun at the drop of a hat and you’ll get yourself a very devoted partner.

#devil may cry #again thank you so much I hope this offers one way it could happen!#but ultimately I think yes Dante would love to be loved #he's just terrified of it for good reason #answered #anonymous #all purpose writing tag #dante #headcanon

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