#or seemingly any investment in following through

[soubiapologist]

ok so i've speculated on what kind of home environment[s] mimuro and mei might have before but like the kind of home environment that produces people who just like lie like that. well. smiles.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

the game part one

words: 2.1k

warnings: 18+ only!, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, high sex, reader does drugs and drinks, drug dealer!rafe, male and female receiving oral, partying

taglist: @drewstarkeysbae @thelomlisrafecameron @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @slut4drudy @drewsbabygirll @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs

read part two here!

you watch rafe cameron carefully to learn his ways, what he likes in women, what they do to cause him to approach, or better yet, take them home. you watch as he ignores the girls who throw themselves at him, rather seeking out the hard to get, the aloof, the seemingly uninterested.

rafe cameron is a man who likes a challenge, so that is what you become. you start showing up to parties, in dresses that show the perfect amount of skin. not too much, too slutty for his taste. but not too little to hide your body.

it takes him an hour to head over to you, smirking and delivering a standard pickup line, and as much as you want to submit, you know the chase is what he likes the most, so you roll your eyes and walk away.

he follows you the rest of the night, eyes never straying too far from you no matter where you go. he doesn’t try again to speak to you that night, letting his expression do all the talking. he’s a predator, and you’re the prey he’s got his sights set on.

the next party you wear a form fitting long sleeved dress, and when you take to the dancefloor after a few drinks, you allow rafe to grind against you, feeling his large hands moving all over your body but you don’t go any further that night.

you wait a week before going out again, hoping that rafe is still invested in the game that you’re playing, and when he stalks over to you and interrupts the conversation you were having with a random man, you know you’ve got him hooked.

“can i kiss you?” rafe asks later, having spent the party by your side, either dancing or talking, mostly meaningless conversations to pass the time.

“yes.” you nod, but pull rafe away from the main party area to a darker lit corner, letting him push you up against the wall as his lips attack yours. you moan into the kiss, giving it your all, letting his tongue dominate your mouth.

“take me home.” you whisper against his lips.

“i can take you upstairs.” rafe says, fingers widening on your waist, feeling the satin material of your dress.

“i’m not letting you fuck me in some random strangers house with a party going on downstairs.” you shake your head, hoping this play works. “either take me to your house or this isn’t happening.” “why not your house?” rafe asks, but you shake your head. “unless you want to deal with my older brother, it has to be yours.”

rafe nods, staying silent for a moment as he looks down at you, like he’s trying to see if it’d actually be worth it to take you home. you jut your chest out, pressing your tits against his chest, and that has rafe giving in instantly, dragging you out towards his truck, his hand stroking dangerously high up your thigh as he speeds home.

“want a bump?” rafe asks you upon entering tanneyhill, the house completely silent as rafe has it all to himself.

“yeah.” you say, knowing you shouldn’t, but it will give you the confidence you need, so you inhale the white powder rafe offered you on the side of his finger before he leads you up to his room.

rafe sits down on his bed, looking at you expectantly. the coke now flowing through your veins has you moving instantly, taking the dress of your body and trying to keep the movements slow and sultry as you reveal the lingerie underneath. you watch rafes expression as you strip for him, the fascination on his features clear as the image he built in his head of you, the good girl not so easily willing to give it up to him like so many other girls, gets demolished and replaced with the slut you become for him when you’re alone.

you strip off your bra and underwear, twirling to give rafe a view of your body, hoping he doesn’t notice the slight flaws, like the scar that runs upon your hip, or the way one breast is slightly larger than the other. you quickly shake the thought out of your head, you’ve never felt insecure with a man before, and this is not the time to start.

you move closer to the bed, bending down to kiss rafe in his sitting position, a complete juxtaposition from when he was looming over you before. his hands trail over your naked body, touching your thighs, your hips, your waist, until he gets to your tits, groping them and playing with your nipples with his thumbs. you moan into his mouth to show your appreciation for his movements 

you pull away from the kiss, admiring the glossy look in rafes eyes, mouth slightly parted and lips pink and wet from your kiss. you sink down to your knees, rafe spreading his thighs wider to accommodate your body as you waste no time pressing your hand over his erection, clearly straining against the material of his shorts.

you tug at the zipper, keeping your movements slow and teasing, but rafe is in a bigger rush than you are, lifting his hips and pulling his shorts and underwear down, his large cock jutting out and pulsating, like it’s begging you to take it in your mouth.

you wrap your lips around the head of his cock, bobbing your head up and down, moaning at the taste on your tongue, so good compared to anyone you’ve had before.

“fuck, you’re so good at that baby.” rafe moans, and you haven’t even pulled out your hidden talent of being able to deepthroat, even a cock as large as the one rafe possesses.

you suck on his tip before flicking your tongue over it, satisfied when precum coats your mouth, smiling to yourself before taking him back in your mouth, moving halfway down and then pulling off as you work him with just your mouth, not wanting to bring your hands up to take away from the blowjob you’re giving him.

you pull off and take a deep breath before pushing your head forward, relaxing your throat and letting his cock push all the way down until your nose is nuzzled against his skin, having to repeatedly swallow as to not choke.

you feel rafes cock pulsate in your mouth, but then his hand is in your hair and you’re being pulled off. you frown at rafe as the line of spit connecting your mouth to his cock breaks.

“i wanted your cum.” you say sadly, looking at his cock, the tip a gorgeous pink color that is practically begging you to take back in your mouth.

“and i want to fuck you. get up here.” rafe tugs on your hair gently, just enough to signal that he wants you up on the bed. he pulls his shirt off as you climb up, placing one hand on his chest and having him lay back against the pillows.

“gonna ride you.” you tell him, pressing a kiss to his sweet lips.

“mmm, let me taste that pussy first.” rafe says, and makes no effort to move, and that’s when you realize he’s meaning to have you sit on his face.

“wanna feel your cock though.” you pout, but despite your protests you begin to climb up his body, positioning your knees on either side of his head as your pussy hovers over his face.

“and you will, after i get a taste.” rafe gives you no time to lower yourself on your own, his hands coming to your hips and pulling you straight down onto his face.

his mouth opens, greedily eating out your cunt, already wet just from sucking him off. you moan and have to grip onto the headboard for support as he slurps and sucks, prodding at your hole but ignoring the one place you really want his mouth.

you try to angle your hips to get him to give your clit some attention, but rafe keeps you in place with his hands, occasionally sliding down your hips to grip your ass as your pussy drips into his mouth.

rafe murmurs something against your skin, and you can’t make it out fully but you think he may be saying delicious. he finally drags his wide tongue upward, swirling around your clit before finally giving it a teasingly quick flick.

you cry out, legs shaving as he doesn’t give you any time to get used to the sensation, sucking your clit into his mouth. you feel your orgasm beginning to build, shocked that it’s happening so quickly, but rafes mouth is so skillful.

just when you’re about to go over the edge, rafe lifts your hips up. before you can complain, he’s lining you up with his cock, head pushing into your entrance. you get control of your body again as you sink down the rest of the way, letting a shudder move through your body when he’s fully inside.

“you’re so big.” you tell rafe, circling your hips as you get used to the movement before you begin to bounce, hands bracing on his abs.

rafe keeps his grip tight on your hips, his chin and cheeks shiny with your slick as you continue to bounce and grind, leaning forward and licking over the wetness, tasting yourself on his skin before connecting your lips, making out as you ride him.

“your pussy feels so good.” rafe moans, and you smile against his lips, giving one more peck before you sit back up, straightening to get a better angle as rafe begins to push his hips up against yours, adding to the movements as you work in motion together.

“fuck, i’m gonna cum.” rafe warns, and you move one hand away from his abs to rub at your clit, not surprised neither of you can last long after both almost cumming.

“inside me, please. i’m on the pill.” you probably should have discussed it with rafe beforehand, but you couldn’t imagine asking him to wear a condom, not when you get to feel him fill you.

“fuck, y/n!” rafe yells out, hips jutting up as he cums, his warmth filling your insides as you rub yourself to completion, body falling forward, unable to hold yourself upwards as you cum, his cock still lodged deep inside of you as you slowly stop moving your fingers against your clit.

“that was amazing.” rafe huffs, hand coming to rub at your back.

you let out a yawn, pulling off of rafes cock, letting his cum drip out onto his abs until you can’t push any more out of you.

“let me clean us up real quick.” rafe kisses your cheek as you flop onto the bed next to him, letting out another yawn. 

rafe reemerges from the bathroom with a washcloth, being extra careful when wiping your pussy down before tossing it into the hamper, flopping down onto the mattress with a yawn of his own.

“you don’t mind me sleeping here?” you ask.

“i wouldn’t make you leave.” rafe sounds almost hurt when you ask, and it makes a pang of guilt shoot through your chest.

you smile, letting rafe pull you into him. you press your head to his chest, not surprised by how quickly rafes breathing turns deep, slipping into a deep sleep. you wait, you’re not sure how long but it’s at least an hour, before sneaking out of bed, making sure to move slowly and carefully to not wake rafe up. 

your body misses his heat as you get dressed, smirking to yourself when you leave your underwear on the floor for rafe to find in the morning.

you head carefully down the stairs, making sure nothing creaks too loud as you search the house silently, keeping your ears open in case rafe wakes up. you’re about to give up when you find a storage closet, eyes widening when you open it to find the shelves full of packed cocaine, along with a few briefcases that upon peeking inside reveal they store money.

found camerons stash. meet me outside in 5 minutes. you send your accomplice a text, smirking to yourself as you grab as much of the cocaine as you can carry.

you spent weeks devising the plan, of getting rafe to fall for you and get yourself into his house, into his bed, only to rob him blind. it’s not your fault he didn’t recognize you as the younger sister of his only rival dealer on the island.

you load everything into the vehicle, briefly glancing up at rafes window with a smile on your face, knowing that you just won the real game.

read part two here!

[emeritusemeritus]

No Good Deed. [George Weasley x Reader]

Title: No Good Deed. Part 1.

Pairing: {George Weasley x Reader} mentions of previous Fred Weasley x Reader.

Timeline: Set a few years after DH, loosely following Canon.

Summary: A few years after Fred’s death, the investors of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes demand changes to the name. All it would take is two years of a fake marriage to fix the issues, but no good deed goes unpunished.

Warnings: Fake marriage trope because we love the cliché. Mentions of death (Fred). Friends to lovers. Slow burn but mentions of kissing and eventual smut. Swearing. Tags will be updated with each chapter.

"How dare they! It's all I have left of him! I've already lost him once and now I have to lose him all over again?!"

You'd never seen George so angry as he stepped into the office, kicking a cardboard restore box under the table that stored this quarter's paperwork in sheer frustration. He tugged off his tie and ran his fingers through his flame red hair, trying to calm himself, his face downcast despite his anger. You silently stood in the doorway of the office, just observing him, not quite knowing what to say or how to comfort him after what had happened earlier that day in the meeting you'd both attended.

"Mr Weasley, there is one final notion on the mandate which must be discussed," the balding, sour-faced man says from the other side of the table, briefly looking up from his typed paperwork as he strains his neck once again, a habit you'd noticed him doing frequently during your hour long meeting which was thankfully coming to a close.

You'd accompanied George to a meeting with his investors in London, notetaking for him and assisting him with the figures that the investors required to see periodically throughout the year as per their contract. You'd always had an affinity for bookkeeping and had found your skills utilised upon employment at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes just after you left Hogwarts, immediately taken onboard by your childhood best friends Fred and George Weasley.

After Fred's death and the end of the war, funds had been low due to the long store closure despite their best efforts at an owl postage service and once George was ready to reopen the shop, he had needed to take on investors in order to get the money to replenish products and reopen the store, giving them shares in the company and the overall profits. Fortunately, the business had immediately boomed once again when the store reopened, only increasing in popularity and therefore profit when Hogwarts reopened and Diagon Alley bloomed with old and new shops opening seemingly every day. The investors were largely silent, providing money without any input to the business, proud to be associated with the more popular store in Diagon Alley, at least until today.

"It has come to our attention that you are providing services under a false pretence which we must discuss," another man says, much harder in his expression.

Your eyes flick to George who looks rightly offended and confused at the vague notion, seeing him shift in his seat somewhat uncomfortably.

"As there are no longer two of you, the name 'Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes' is redundant, incorrect and therefore unmarketable as it stands. We propose that changes must be made to change the name to 'Weasley's', moving the apostrophe so that it denotes the true ownership. Mr Weasley, you have 30 days to make the necessary change or else our shares will be pulled and we will no longer be investing in your business."

The meeting had come to an abrupt end as the investors exited, leaving you with a seething George who had surprisingly held it together until you both apparated to the outside of the shop. You'd struggled to keep up with George as he bounded up the stairs towards the office, completely ignoring Ron and a few regular customers who had greeted him. You shot them apologetic smiles, wordlessly trying to excuse his uncharacteristic behaviour as you followed him to the office.

He threw down his jacket onto your chair as you entered behind him and immediately began tugging at his tie in frustration.

"I can't change the name! It was always me and Fred, I've already lost him once I can't lose him again, not like this," his tone was no longer filled with anger or rage but rather deep sadness and heartbreak at the thought. You closed your eyes for a moment, unable to watch any longer as his words hit you like a freight train, the pain overwhelming you not only at the mention of Fred but of George's evident sadness.

You hear him throw himself down into his chair and you open your eyes again to see him looking completely defeated as he clearly plays out his options in his mind to prevent this from happening.

"Ginny's about to become a Potter, Bill and Charlie aren't in the bloody country, Percy's… well, Percy and Ron can't join in as a co-owner, the deeds are in mine and Fred's name. Six, well, five siblings and not one of them can help. Unless there's a way of bringing Fred back through the bloody veil, which I've exhausted all options in my bloody mind believe me, then I'm fucked. Everything Fred and I built is ruined."

You watch as his long fingers run over his face, rubbing his eyes which you suspect are brimming with unshed tears judging by his emotion filled voice.

Your words flew out of you before you could even comprehend what you were saying, surprising even yourself for a moment.

"I'll marry you."

George looks utterly astounded by your words as his eyes shoot up to yours, confusion evident over every single one of his features as your words sink in.

"Eh?" His brief reply conveys every inch of perplexity that his features show and at any other time the look on his face would have made you double over with laughter.

"Angel, I don't think now's the time," he says with a gentle frown, clearly treading carefully with his words despite his confusion. You fight to get the words out to explain yourself, knowing that somewhere before your unexpected outburst there was solid reasoning in your mind.

"You need another Weasley and the only way you can override the shared deed is by entitlement, like by marriage," you say, moving forward to stand in front of him before taking a seat on his wooden desk. Your leg brushes against his as you hop up and you don't miss how his eyes briefly flicker to the point where your legs touched just for a second.

"I've seen it with my parents, when my mum and dad divorced she was entitled to the interest of his business as a matrimonial asset. We'd have to check if there's a time limit on that but with Fred gone, it's the only way you'd be able to get another shareholder in his place."

You were trying to keep your explanation simple, pulling from your firsthand experience in similar matters but as you fought to explain yourself, you found yourself rambling a little under George's intense gaze.

"If we got married you wouldn't have to change the name, I'd take your name and we'd both be Weasley by law, cancelling out their demands. You'd have to put me on the business documents but we could draw up some sort of contract that doesn't actually entitle me to any money or profit from the business, but they don't need to know that."

Your words hang in the air for a few moments, tense silence lingering between you as your words replay over and over in your mind, wondering if you'd gone too far and made things too awkward.

"I couldn't ask you to do that," George says quietly, averting his eyes.

"Georgie I'd do it for you without a second thought, it might be the only way you could keep the business exactly as it is," you say, reaching out to touch his shoulder, trying to urge him to listen to you.

He fell silent again for a few more tense moments and you could see the conflict on his face as he considered his options, allowing your proposal to sink in. He's quiet again when he replies and if anything he looks a little timid as he speaks.

"But you and Fred," he weakly argues, his words making your stomach lurch painfully. You sigh, closing your eyes for a moment. You hadn't considered this part, the mental and emotional conflict of your proposal. You and Fred had been something throughout your later school years and a little while after, but had never wanted to make anything official, a secret shared between you both that never allowed you to commit to each other.

"Are in the past," you unwillingly admit with a sad sigh, "Fred's gone, it's taken me a really long time to mostly accept it, but if this means keeping his memory alive just as it is then I'd do anything, for him and for you."

Things were a little awkward for a couple of days following your outburst and each time you saw or crossed paths with George you inwardly cringed. You'd shut yourself in the office most of the time, trying only to see him before store opening and packing up and rushing off just before close, ensuring you wouldn't have to spend any prolonged time together.

"I know you're avoiding me," A familiar voice behind you says as you gather your bag and mug off the desk just before the end of the day, 3 days after your outburst. You turn slowly and see him leaning on the door frame with a little knowing smirk on his face, though his eyes look sad. You bite your lip, knowing you'd been caught out and flick your eyes to your bag, to the clock on the wall and then back to George, not really knowing how to respond.

"It's okay, I understand," he says, taking a slow step into the office, "but there's no need to feel awkward, not with me, I don't take it personally that you regret offering."

"I don't regret it," you reply quickly with a frown, effectively cutting him off. Your words make his eyebrows shoot you a little in surprise, or maybe it was the conviction in your voice that surprised him. "I've been avoiding you because it's been painfully awkward to offer yourself like that and be rejected."

"I didn't reject you," he replies quickly but with a gentle tone, now cutting you off. Your eyes widen a little at the quickness of the reply and you can't help but look into his eyes, seeing his tongue poke out and wet his lip as he looks nervously back at you.

You both look at each other for a moment as a little tense silence falls and you both breathe out a chuckle at the awkwardness in the room.

"So to make it clear, I could still marry you?" He asks, walking forwards towards you.

"I think the agreement was that I'd marry you," you teased, smirk tugging at your lips which earned you a roll of his eyes. "But yes," you said, now with a more serious and honest tone. "My offer to get married is still very much open, for the sake of the business."

He stands before you and you crane your neck upwards towards his familiar height and there's an intimacy that passes between you both that had never existed before as you look at each other, communicating only with your eyes.

"Then I accept your proposal," George says, taking your hand mockingly and you gasp at him, pulling your hand away to smack his arm lightly.

"I didn't propose to you!"

"That's not what I'm going to tell our grandkids," he jokes, pulling you into a hug. You can't deny that even though his words were mocking, your tummy did a little nervous and excited flip at his words.

"Thank you, so much," he says as you pull apart, completely serious as he looks at you with such intensity if makes your knees a little weak. "This means so much to me."

"And me."

It was Saturday night and you'd invited George around to your flat after work, to talk over your agreement. You'd opened a bottle of wine and ordered a takeaway, a benefit of living in muggle London that you loved, and started writing out some plans to your agreement as you both sat on the sofa beside eachother, the coffee table littered with notebooks and paper.

"We should move in together, make it believable," George says, taking a sip of his wine. You look at him in surprise, not having expected those words to fall from his lips.

"Who are we trying to convince?" You ask, a little confused at how deep this was going.

"Oh yeah, right," he says, looking away, taking another sip of wine. You immediately felt a little bad seeing his apparent negative reaction to your words and considered his idea for a moment, thinking of the implications.

"Unless the investors ask for character references," you said, picking up your own glass. "I suppose it's possible, we'd have to tell your family wouldn't we."

George nods slowly, on the same wavelength as you.

"Would your family be able to lie if they were questioned?" You ask, looking up at George.

George snorts into his glass and shakes his head in reply, "About hiding Harry, yeah, about this? No way."

"Then we'll have to convince your family that we're actually married," you say, feeling a little uneasy at the thought of lying to the family you cared very deeply for. George made a vague noise of agreement and placed his empty glass down onto the coaster on the coffee table, smoothing the creases in his trousers out with his long fingers.

"How long would we have to be married for?" George asks with a frown and you can't help but feel a little stab in your chest at his words, as silly as it was.

"Oh I don't know, until the investors drop the demand? Or maybe get new investors?" You ask, placing a strand of hair behind your ear that had fallen into your face. George watches your every move and you can't help but stare back at him, seeing him paying close attention to you.

"How far away would we be from being able to do away with the investors? Business is good right, maybe I could cash in their shares and become sole owner," he says, flicking his eyes down to your work bag by the door, knowing that there's his accounting documents in there.

"Good idea," you say, placing down your glass and moving over to reach for your bag. You begin calculating the investors shares against the profits of the business and try and work out a timeline for how long it would take for George to earn the money to buy out the investors, assuming business stayed as good as it was now.

"Looks like two years, based on the projections," you say, placing down your pen. "If business stays at the rate it is, you'd be clear from all investors in just under two years."

"Is that, is that okay with you?" George says, looking up into your eyes, his voice suddenly quieter and a little more timid.

You smile at him and nod in reply, genuinely okay with that. "What about you?"

"Of course," he smiles, chuckling to himself a little as he picks at the tweed of his trousers, "you're doing me the biggest favour imaginable, I have the easy deal."

"You have to be married to me, I'd say that's not easy," you tease, picking up your glass and drinking the last sip of wine left.

"I don't know, I can think of many worse things than being married to you," he says with a grin, reaching out to refill both of your glasses. Butterflies erupt in your stomach at his words, a warmth spreading through your chest as you bite back a smile.

"I have to admit," George says, handing you back your glass, "I feel as if I'm treading on Fred's toes a little, he'd probably be conspiring to turn my eyebrows purple if he knew I was stealing his woman, that or he'd shave them off whilst I slept," he says with a laugh. You chuckle, picturing the scene in your mind but it doesn't stop the little pang of sadness running through you. You wanted to tell George the whole truth but you couldn't, especially not now and so you simply allowed yourself to laugh and took another sip of wine.

"He'd understand," you say, perhaps a little quietly as you try to tell yourself that it was the truth, trying to justify your actions in your mind. George makes a sound of agreement and just as his glass reaches his lips, the buzzer rings out alerting you that the food had arrived.

"So, we have to convince your family that we're getting married, without dating beforehand?" You say, both of you still chatting as you eat your Chinese food. At this point you were feeling a little buzzed from the wine and everything felt a little easier to get out, the hesitation and trepidation of your words no longer bothering you.

"Good point, though we've always been really close so I don't think they'd think it was too out of the ordinary," George says, taking a huge bite of fried rice. "Did anyone know about you and Fred?"

"I don't think so," you replied, thinking of all the time you'd spent at the Burrow and of each family member, "I think Ginny had her suspicions but she never asked me about it. Thank god you were identical, we could always lie and say it was you if anyone did notice something," you chuckled, earning an enthusiastic laugh from George.

"How do we explain the divorce though?" You asked after a few minutes of comfortable silence, your thoughts drifting into all possible outcomes. "I don't want to lose your family because I become your horrible ex-wife," you say, feeling sad about the potential of that.

"You'd never be horrible, not to me and not to them," George says, reaching out to touch your hand. "We could always say we were just better off as friends? That marriage was too constricting for both of us? That way no ones to blame."

"Yeah that could work," you say, feeling a weird sense of sadness at the concept of divorcing George.

"On a serious note though," he says, temporarily placing down his cutlery as he looks at you, his eyes staring intensely into yours. "If you don't want to do this, I completely understand. It's asking too much of you and I'm very aware of that. It would mean no open dating or seeing anyone else until everything was over," he says carefully. You hadn't really considered that but it was a price you were willing to pay. The fact that George had said no open dating had made you feel a little off, knowing he intended to still date even though you were married, which of course was normal in the circumstances but it still made you feel a little funny.

"You'd still want to date?" You asked, the words falling from your lips before you could stop them, immediately mentally cursing the wine you'd drank that had apparently released your filter.

"Merlin no," he says with a little self deprecating chuckle, "I meant for you."

"I don't want to," you said, perhaps a little too quickly as it earned you a confused flicker of a look from George. "I mean, everyone would think I was cheating on you and I couldn't do that, not to you."

He seems to understand as he nods his head, once again picking up his fork and loading it up with the food.

"We can cross that bridge when we come to it," he says, with a determination in his voice that seemed to settle your anxious thoughts. "So, I suppose we really should move in together."

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[scudslut]

A Summer Wasting

daryl x fem!reader

wordcount: 0.8k

warnings: nothing, just pure fluff 🫶🏻

The falling sun felt warm against your skin as you walk through the prison courtyard. You’ve always enjoyed the Georgian sunsets growing up; after a long day of brutal heat, the world gave a soft reprieve, illuminating the sky in its vast colours for anybody to enjoy, pessimist or not.

These days it was hard not to be… with death looming around each corner, the scent constantly coating the air that you’d honestly forgotten a time it hadn’t.

You found yourself searching for things. Things you could mindlessly enjoy, to bring small happinesses into this dull life. You took note of the sky as you walked, sunsets.

You continued, closing your eyes momentarily as you walked, trying to immerse yourself in that warm light fully. Right now you were looking for a mirror of sorts, figuring one of the car windows would serve you best in your task. Spotting the rusted Jeep closest, you head towards it climbing onto the hood.

You had just finished showering and remembered how much you loved braiding your hair as a kid, finding the simple task so peaceful whether you knew it back then or not. You remembered how happy you’d be waking up the next morning, taking them out to let the soft waves cascade down your shoulders. Braids, you had noted.

Situating yourself, you take in your reflection in the windshield and begin parting your hair in two sections to make twin French braids. The dirt-covered window didn’t offer much but it was enough.

Humming quietly under your breath, you start the process, folding each strand over and under and over again, listening to the crickets as they began their nightly melodies. You’re so invested in your movements, that you almost miss the sounds of footsteps on gravel approaching you.

“What are ya doin’ on there,” Daryl grunts, confusion and slight annoyance mixed within his tone.

“My hair,” you answer curtly with a small smile, you thought it was quite obvious.

He eyed you momentarily, seemingly still lost as to why you could be seated on the beloved Jeep. “Fer what?”

You finally turn to him, your hands holding your spot in the braid to not lose it, “Because I wanted to, and they look real pretty in the morning when I take them out,” you answer, turning back to your reflection, finishing the first braid.

“Ain’t gotta doll yerself up for the walkers y’know, they’ll eat ya just fine,” he quips causing you to huff, now in your own annoyance.

“It’s not for anybody but me, Daryl. It makes me happy, which isn’t something you come across easily these days,” You sigh.

Silence falls between the both of you, the crickets becoming even louder. You feel the vehicle dip beneath you and quickly snap your head around. You watch as Daryl plops himself up on the hood behind you, arms crossed over his knees, staring at you intently.

“What are you doing?” you ask bewildered. It wasn’t unusual for the two of you to spend time together, it was just that typically you were the one to initiate any of it, following him around like a lost puppy the majority of the time.

“Wanna watch ya,” He simply replies, motioning for you to continue.

The next day you had spent in the gardens, tending to the small amount of crop your group had managed to accumulate since you took the prison. The sun once again was ruthless in its heat, beating down like drums and causing your wavy hair to stick to your neck.

You stood up from the soft dirt, dusting off your legs when you felt a presence sauntering up beside you. Lifting your head your eyes meet the familiar blue ones you had been gazing into just last night.

“Hey, Daryl,” you smile, receiving a small nod in return. He seemed to be contemplating something, unsure where to look as he chewed on his bottom lip. “Something I can do for you?”

He quickly shakes his head, ears already pink in embarrassment, “Nah, I- uh… I jus-,” he fumbles, “Ya look nice is all.”

The grin that overtakes your features is unavoidable, your heart swelling at his sweet compliment. You of course felt disgusting, sweaty, and mud-drenched from working all day, but the happiness that washed over you was unmistakable.

“Ya think?” you giggle, referencing to your dirty skin, “Good enough for the walkers?”

It’s small, but you catch it — the shy smile he hides as he bows his head in affirmation, “Oh ya, gonna start callin' you walker bait now,” he teases back and you can’t help the fit of giggles you break out into.

You share a few other words before he heads off toward the watch towers for his afternoon shift. You stare at his leather wings as his figure retreats in the distance, a fuzzy glow filling your senses.

Daryl, you note.

[nayziiz]

Shadows | LN4

Summary: [Mafia] In the face of dire financial troubles, Lando receives a desperate plea from his father to unearth a lucrative solution within the family business. Fueled by the pressure to rescue his family from ruin, Lando stumbles upon a seemingly perfect venture—using luxury cars as a facade for the clandestine world of drug trafficking. With the unexpected partnership of Amelia Rossi, his father's best friend's daughter, Lando believes he has found the ideal accomplice. However, as the Norris family collides with the ambitious Russells in a ruthless bid to establish their dominance, the perilous path Lando has chosen places not only his newfound enterprise at stake but also entangles Amelia in the dangerous crossfire that unfolds.

Warning: Violence, drugs, blood, smut, fluff, guns

Pairing: Lando Norris x OC (Amelia Rossi) - appearances from other drivers

Masterlist

CHAPTER 1

Adam Norris, a man of unwavering intelligence and foresight, possessed a keen mind that proved to be the foundation of his family's success. Drawing wisdom from the teachings of his own father, he meticulously gathered knowledge that transcended generations. Adam's commitment to passing down this invaluable wealth of experience became evident as he shared it with his two sons, Oliver and Lando.

Oliver, the elder of the two brothers, entertained dreams beyond the confines of the family business. His aspirations leaned towards exploration and the creation of a family of his own, seeking a life that danced with the rhythm of distant lands and untold adventures. The allure of faraway places called out to him, shaping his aspirations far differently from the path his father had paved.

On the contrary, Lando demonstrated an early affinity for the intricacies of his father's business. From the tender age of thirteen, he became a silent observer in the boardroom, soaking in the nuances of negotiations and the delicate dance of corporate strategy. Lando's curiosity and natural acumen propelled him to actively engage in the family affairs, gradually transforming him into Adam's confidant and, eventually, his right-hand man.

As Lando navigated through the diverse facets of his father's enterprises, he embraced each challenge with determination and an appetite for learning. The evolution from a teenager attending meetings to a key player in his father's business empire was a testament to Lando's commitment and his father's trust in his capabilities.

The Norris legacy, steeped in generational wisdom and Lando's unwavering dedication, flourished under the guidance of a shrewd patriarch. The father-son duo forged a formidable partnership, where the torch of knowledge burned bright, illuminating the path for the next generation of Norris leaders.

Despite being a pivotal figure in the family business, Lando Norris's impulsive spending habits were a source of concern and consternation. His father, while recognizing the undeniable value Lando brought to the business, couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the financial whirlwind his son often found himself in.

Adam, pragmatic and stoic, seldom approved of Lando's extravagant expenditures. Yet, a nuanced understanding of his son's behaviour allowed Adam to chalk it up to Lando's yearning for the childhood he never fully embraced. The rationale was a blend of parental leniency and a desire for Lando to experience the joy and spontaneity that he might have missed in his earlier years.

However, the Norris family's financial stability faced a significant setback following a rocky investment. The losses were unforeseeable, and the blame could not be squarely placed on any one individual. The family found themselves at a crossroads, and it became clear that swift and decisive action was required to navigate the tumultuous financial waters.

Adam, burdened by the weight of the situation, turned to Lando, his son with the untamed spirit. Recognizing the need for Lando to step up and take charge, Adam appealed to his son's sense of responsibility and loyalty to the family. The family business, weathering the storm of financial hardship, required a leader capable of navigating through the tumultuous seas and steering it back towards prosperity.

In the hushed atmosphere of Adam's lavishly appointed office, Lando found himself summoned to a covert meeting, the dim lighting casting shadows that danced across the luxurious furnishings. The air was heavy with unspoken tension as Lando took his seat in front of his father's imposing desk.

Adam, a cunning and resolute businessman with a no-nonsense attitude, sat behind the desk, his expression betraying the gravity of the situation. The room, adorned with mahogany accents and opulent artwork, served as the backdrop for an exchange that held the fate of the Norris family legacy in its balance.

In a voice that brooked no argument, Adam presented Lando with a stark ultimatum. The family, once stable and prosperous, now faced the looming spectre of financial turmoil. The weight of responsibility bore down heavily on Adam's shoulders, and with a sense of urgency, he articulated the dire straits they found themselves in.

“The Norris family needs a fresh and lucrative income stream," Adam declared, cutting through the air with precision. "Our legacy is at stake, Lando, and I need you to step up to the plate. If we don't secure our position, we risk our place in society altogether. And, if that happens, you will be exiled from this family.”

Lando, feeling the gravity of his father's words, absorbed the weight of the ultimatum. The notion of being cut off from the family legacy, a legacy he had been groomed to uphold, added an unexpected layer of urgency to the situation. Adam's eyes, seasoned with the trials of the business world, revealed the desperation and determination that drove him to make the demand.

As the conversation unfolded, Lando grappled with the realisation that the Norris family, for all its prestige and outward success, was never above delving into murky waters when it came to ensuring their stability. The unspoken understanding that resonated between father and son transcended ethical boundaries, and Lando became acutely aware of the lengths to which the Norris patriarchs have gone to safeguard their family's prosperity.

In the dimly lit corner of the opulent office, a pact is silently forged. The Norris family's survival hinged on their ability to navigate the shadows, to engage in business practices that might raise eyebrows but were deemed necessary for the preservation of their legacy. The goals, always centred around stability and prosperity, now took on a new dimension as the Norris family braced itself for the challenges that lay ahead.

In the heart of the city's underbelly, hidden behind unmarked doors and guarded secrets, Lando found solace in the dimly lit sanctuary of his secret speakeasy. The air was charged with an aura of secrecy, and the distant hum of jazz music created a backdrop for contemplation as he navigated the labyrinth of decisions laid before him.

Seated in a secluded corner, Lando immersed himself in the speakeasy’s ambiance, surrounded by an eclectic mix of patrons engaged in hushed conversations and conspiratorial exchanges. The flickering candlelight casted dancing shadows on the exposed brick walls, mirroring the intricate thoughts that swirled within Lando's mind.

As he contemplated various ventures that could potentially salvage his family's fortunes, the weight of responsibility pressed heavily on his shoulders. The gravity of his father's ultimatum lingered in the air like an unspoken challenge, demanding a resolution that aligned with the legacy of the Norris family. The choices before him, however, seemed to form an intricate puzzle with no clear solution in sight.

The scent of cigar smoke mingled with the fragrance of aged whiskey, creating an atmosphere that mirrored the complexity of Lando's predicament. The clandestine dealings and veiled conversations around him served as a constant reminder of the high-stakes game he found himself entangled in.

Unable to escape the palpable tension, Lando raised a whiskey glass to his lips, drowning his worries in the amber liquid. Each sip seemed to carry the weight of his familial obligations, momentarily providing a respite from the tumult of conflicting thoughts. The jazz melodies, with their soulful undertones, offered a bittersweet soundtrack to his contemplation, resonating with the complexities of the choices before him.

As Amelia Rossi gracefully drifted through the smoky atmosphere of the speakeasy, the ambient jazz music and muted conversations provide a backdrop to her entrance. Dressed in her business casual attire from work, her clipped hair was loosened, cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall of chestnut silk. In the dingy ambiance, she became a vision, an ethereal figure transcending the gritty reality of the exclusive establishment.

Lando, ensconced in his thoughts and surrounded by the clandestine energy of the speakeasy, noticed Amelia's arrival. Her presence stood out amidst the shadows and swirling emotions, like a beacon in the midst of obscurity. In that moment, he decided to confide in her, recognizing a familiar face and an old connection that ran deep.

Amelia and Lando shared more than just a friendship; their bond was a testament to a lifelong companionship forged in the crucible of childhood. Born mere months apart, they practically grew up side by side, the echoes of their laughter intermingling with the spirited conversations of their fathers on the golf course. The connection between the Norris and Rossi families transcended mere camaraderie; it was a tapestry woven with shared moments, unspoken understandings, and the promise that their destinies were intertwined.

Amelia's gaze met Lando's in the smoky haze of the speakeasy, and there was a flicker of recognition, a silent acknowledgment of the bond they shared. In her eyes, Lando found a unique comfort that transcended the chaos of the private world he navigated. As the jazz music weaved its spell, Amelia sank into the seat beside him and Lando opened up to her, sharing the weight of his father's ultimatum and the desperate need for a solution to salvage the family legacy.

“I want to export... things.” Lando confessed to Amelia, choosing his words carefully, his gaze intense and laden with the gravity of the proposition. Amelia listened attentively, as she sipped on her gin and tonic, her presence offering a calmness he needed to gather his thoughts and plans.

“Things?” Amelia raised an eyebrow, seeking clarification. Lando leaned in, lowering his voice to match the discreet ambiance of the speakeasy.

“Drugs, or contraband. Stuff people can't get just anywhere.” He clarified.

Amelia's eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and concern. The daring proposition hung in the air, the weight of its implications reverberating between them. Lando, propelled by a sense of urgency, continued to lay out his plan.

“With your help.” He added, his tone a blend of desperation and determination. “Your beautiful cars need owners. And, the owners need what we're offering. We strip the interiors, pack it with whatever substance they require, tidy it all up, and ship the car to them. With your last name, no one will ever think of checking anything except the exterior.”

Amelia absorbed the audacity of the proposal, her mind racing to comprehend the risks and potential rewards. Lando, eyes fixed on hers, did not shy away from the harsh reality of the suggestion. He laid out the intricate web of their venture, weaving a narrative that spoke to the urgency of his situation.

“What's in it for me?” Amelia finally questioned, her business acumen kicking in.

“You'll still make your usual profit by selling the car, and you'll get a 40% cut on whatever we're hiding. Think about the expansion you always dreamt of. Now is your chance to make good on it.” Lando attempted to persuade her.

Amelia, hailing from a well-respected family in London, initially hesitated at the risky proposition. The weight of societal expectations and the scrutiny that would undoubtedly accompany her involvement in such a venture loomed large. However, as Lando painted a vivid picture of the potential rewards and the adrenaline of expanding her luxury car dealership, Amelia found herself intrigued by the allure of the unknown.

“I'll do it.” Amelia finally conceded, her voice a mixture of determination and apprehension. 

She understood the enormity of the decision she was making, aware that the venture could lead them into murky territory. Yet, her loyalty to Lando and the unspoken promise of their shared history weighed heavily on her conscience.

Amelia knew that her connection to the prestigious Rossi family held a unique value. It added a layer of legitimacy to their dealings, creating a shield from prying eyes and potential scrutiny. The Rossi name, synonymous with respect and affluence, transformed into a strategic advantage in a venture fraught with risks.

With the decision sealed and a sense of inevitability hanging in the air, Lando, feeling a mix of relief and determination, decided to mark the beginning of their risky venture with a celebratory gesture. He motioned to one of the waitrons in the speakeasy, instructing them to bring a bottle of champagne to their secluded corner.

As the bottle arrived, its cork popped with a celebratory resonance, Lando took charge. He poured a generous serving of the effervescent liquid into two crystal glasses, the golden bubbles catching the dim light of the speakeasy. Lando extended a glass towards Amelia, a symbolic toast to the alliance they had formed.

“To new beginnings.” Lando raised his glass, his eyes meeting Amelia's.

“To new beginnings.” Amelia, still reserved, reciprocated the gesture as she tapped her glass against Lando's in a shared moment of acknowledgement.

As they savoured the crisp taste of the champagne, the speakeasy seemed to hold its breath, the ambient jazz music providing a subtle soundtrack to their clandestine celebration. The air was thick with the weight of their decisions, but for a fleeting moment, the bubbly elixir created a sense of levity, a respite from the complexities of the venture they were to embark upon.

“Finally, I get to work with you.” Lando remarked, a hint of excitement in his voice.

“Don't get too excited.” She responded, a reminder of the challenges that lay ahead and the gravity of the path they've chosen.

As the conversation shifted away from the formality of their risky venture, Amelia, wanting to inject a touch of casualness, playfully leaned against Lando. The dimly lit speakeasy seemed to embrace the casual moment amidst the weighty discussions that preceded.

“How's Zara?” Amelia inquired, steering the conversation towards more personal territory. “Flo told me you brought her home for dinner last week.”

“She's great. She's nice.” Lando's demeanour softened at the mention of Zara.

“Wow, tone down the enthusiasm.” Amelia teased.

“No, she's lovely, but she's just like everyone else - they just want money and status.” A wry smile tugged at Lando's lips.

“Yet you keep her around?” Amelia raised an eyebrow, challenging him with a playful smirk. 

“She's a welcome distraction at times.” Lando's response carried a note of self-awareness.

“I see. Why aren't you with her now then, distracting yourself?” Amelia, ever perceptive, didn’t miss a beat.

“Because someone else had what I needed tonight.” Lando's gaze shifted, meeting Amelia's eyes with a hint of vulnerability. “How’s Daniel?”

“Ah, Daniel.” Amelia sighed with a hint of amusement. “That ended a few weeks ago, already. He has too much energy for me to keep up with.”

“Strange for someone who's literally ten years older than you.” Lando chuckled, echoing the sentiment.

“I don’t mind it, but he’s the literal embodiment of a golden retriever. He never stops and sits still.” Amelia grinned, acknowledging the age difference with a playful shrug.

“You love dogs, though.” Lando observed.

“I do. I really do. But when it comes to relationships, I need someone a bit more on the fierce side of things, a bit more-”

“Like you.” Lando interjected, finishing her sentence with a knowing smile.

“Exactly. Someone who can match my pace, challenge me, keep up with the twists and turns. Daniel's great, but in matters of the heart, I need a different kind of energy.” Amelia nodded, a playful glint in her eyes.

Amelia, sat beside Lando in the dimly lit speakeasy, refrained from divulging a recent rendezvous with Charles Leclerc. It was an unusual occurrence for her to keep things from her best friend and closest confidant, but it felt different. She needed to be sure before sharing the details. As Lando continued the conversation, Amelia wrestled with the complexities of her recent experiences.

It wasn't just a casual affair with Charles. Amelia had always been meticulous about keeping her relationships light and transient. However, Charles offered a breath of fresh air after her complete separation from Daniel. Their connection was intense, fueled by a mutual passion for success. Charles, despite the demands of his job, reciprocated Amelia's energy, aligning with her ambitions.

He allowed her to take control, especially in the bedroom, an aspect of intimacy she had always wanted to explore. Charles became a juxtaposition to Daniel's perpetual energy, providing a different kind of excitement that drew Amelia in. Their encounters were more than just physical; they were charged with a shared fervour for life and success.

Despite the allure of her rendezvous with Charles, Amelia refrained from sharing the new chapter of her life with Lando. It was less about hiding, but rather about understanding the dynamics at play. Daniel, a once constant in her life, carried a different weight and expectation. With Charles, it was all about the divergence from her usual patterns, an exploration into uncharted territory.

Despite the excitement that Charles brought into Amelia's life, a lingering sense of unease persisted beneath the surface. As she navigated the nuances of their relationship, an elusive element remained that seemed to elude definition, something amiss that she never could quite put her finger on.

Amelia, a discerning and perceptive individual, grappled with the unspoken doubts that flickered in the corners of her mind. The connection with Charles, though passionate and invigorating, carried a subtle undercurrent of uncertainty. There was no lack of chemistry or shared interests; rather, an intangible aspect that evaded explanation.

[potatoofdefiance]

My two cents and a rant on the allegations and Good Omens

(I will probably regret this later)

This has been eating at me for a while now, ever since the news broke that Neil Gaiman was a sex pest (see infamous TERF-adjacent podcast by Tortoise media) and I have been consciously and unconsciously ruminating over it for weeks now, so here goes.

I think the news of Neil Gaiman hit me harder than I was expecting, and certainly harder than I would have liked.

I didn’t (and certainly do not now) consider myself a “true fan”. I was never a hard-core fan, one that goes to signings or book fairs or cons to meet my favourite author. Partly because I never latched that much on any of the authors of the books or movies I loved, and partly (maybe for the best now that I think about it) because I never had the money, or wasn’t located in a geographically favored area. Meaning I never lived anywhere near wherever events with Neil Gaiman were happening.

So, with all this in mind, how is it that the news managed to hit me so hard?

I thought (read: ruminated) about it, and I think it is because of Good Omens. And the latest times. In my life, and I think a good chunk of other people’s lives too, these last few years have been a roller-coaster. You choose which particular scenario the roller-coaster is set into; mine is on fire, running through a sea of shit and we are being slapped by gooey flaming eels hard in the face.

Maybe someone might enjoy this. That someone isn’t me.

But the point is: I have been struggling. With my life, with a mental health condition, with the world and my place in it.

Enter Good Omens. In an effort to actively expose myself to “nice” stuff, stuff that would, if not make me feel better, at least make me laugh, I started tapping more into the fandom.

I’m not a fandom person. Again, never latched onto anything that had a fandom big enough (where are the Ann Halam fans? No one is making cosplays of Sloe from Siberia, are they?).

But with Good Omens, it seemed perfect for me. I wasn’t invested so much, it didn’t make me feel like I was “lacking” something in order to be part of it. I just felt like I didn’t care enough to really be vulnerable to it, I felt like it could have been a nice innocuous hobby.

But that’s the point. Thinking it was innocuous made me let down my guard enough to actually fall in love with the fandom. Fall in love with those two weirdos of characters (which by the way, I’ll say this now: I think Aziraphale and Crowley as portrayed in the series are more a product of fans and Tennant and Sheen than they are a product of Gaiman and Pratchett. And this is not a bad thing per se, I think, but let’s give credit where credit is due).

And let me be clear: I gained so so much from joining the fandom. It has positively affected so many seemingly unrelated parts of my life, and I’m so grateful to so many kind strangers on the internet who have shared such wholesome art with me, and have gifted me so much, that even putting it into words is simply not enough to explain all of it.

And one of the results of this “wave of wholesomeness” is I also started following Gaiman more closely.

Like so many, I loved Coraline. Gaiman seemed a genuinely nice person. An old guy who had wisdom to share, and who seemed to be fascinatingly non-stereotypical? If that makes sense. What I mean is that he was everything my father warned me against. A goth, weird, a writer therefore an artist (and in my family we know artists are fools who end up on the street jobless and homeless). And yet, to me now he seemed such a normal guy. Yes maybe someone who enjoyed that fashion style, but otherwise very far away from the usual excess of a rockstar. Of course I was too young when he was at the peak of his rockstar years. English is not my first language, and when he was 40 I was in elementary school and just learning about him, and you know, they do not write about his fans passing out at signings or his groupies on the back cover of children’s books.

What I mean is that I didn’t have access to all the media and information about him.

So I start seemingly connecting to this writer, whose works I have enjoyed for the most part, and who seems such a nice guy in how he interacts with his fans and people in general. Such an inoffensive, kind person. And kind seemingly to everyone.

I started liking him. To the point where I remember telling my partner: you know, Neil Gaiman is someone I’d take a coffee with (which in Italian culture is one of the greatest honors one can give you. Having a coffee while sitting at a café and chat for hours is what good friends do).

So, in my mind he had a special place now. He was someone I started to admire and look up to.

And this is, I think, where it hurts. It hurts because even if I wasn’t personally victimized, I never met him, he never acted creepy with me, he doesn’t even know me, it still felt like I, as part of the fandom, had been used for his clout. And also, it hurts to feel like someone you trusted because of how they presented themselves has lied to you.

And on top of that: it is so fucking disrespectful. The fact he thought he could get away with it. With hurting so many people (one is one too many by the way), and causing so much pain, while also enjoying crowds of adoring fans, both online and in person.

I find it personally difficult to reconcile my love of the GO fandom with all of this right now. And I think it’s for a number of reasons.

Firstly because the silence of institutions and people around these facts has opened some old wounds and made me angry again towards a system that I perceive as hostile towards me and people like me who might be vulnerable.

What I mean is: I know that Gaiman is a powerful person, and a lot of people need to bring money home and are tied to contracts and what not (yeah I’m looking at our favorite two male presenting british actors here) and I understand it. I do. And this is exactly why this stuff makes me angry again. Angry at the whole shitty system we live in, where if you happen to be in some kind of power imbalance you might end up having to eat shit and shut up while witnessing violence against you or others and not being able to utter a word about it. This sucks. It makes me angry. It makes me angry that Michael Sheen, someone I like to believe would be among the first to shout “I BELIEVE THE VICTIMS” if he was talking to friends at a bar, likely has to shut up and play nicely because Darth Amazon has some fucking clause written in Braille somewhere that says he has to sacrifice his firstborn if he ever dares to suggest he doesn’t like anyone related to the franchise.

It makes me soooo angry that we stay in the dark, and we only know from those people who are brave, and powerful enough to speak up about something that (allegedly) has been known for fucking years in the writing community. That this person was a creep. That he was treating people, mainly women and non-binary folks, if not bad, at least poorly.

And you know, this makes me even more angry because I have been in such shitty situations too! I was a victim of a system where exploitation and borderline abuse were normalized in a work setting.

And it wakes something deep in me to read that “it was an open secret bla bla bla” and again: I understand why people set up whisper networks instead of taking these giants down. I understand it. It still makes me angry because I simply do not want to live in such systems. Systems where I’m either the sacrificial lamb or I’m the one tying it on the table, or handing the axe over to the butcher, or a witness who has no power to stop the suffering.

I don’t want to live in such a system. But I have to. In my real life. I have to put up with so much shit sometimes, shit that makes me feel like I cannot stand up for my values because hey, I need to pay the bills too. And Good Omens was one of those few things where I could escape a bit into an alternative reality, where everything could be a bit better.

And I’m sure the fandom is still like this for most of the fans. I have witnessed first-hand how supportive and cheerful this fandom can be.

For me though, it still makes me think of all this...tsunami of shit.

I want to be able to enjoy the silly fanart, the memes, the wait for season 3 again. But I can’t. I can’t because my brain does not work like that. Good Omens still means Neil Gaiman too much to me. And I cannot go around talking cheerfully about Good Omens while feeling like I’m feeding into the clout of someone who used their power to coerce vulnerable people. Because (and I might be wrong) it feels like the message I’m sending is: my comfort show/book is more important than your pain or your life. And I can’t. This is not the truth.

I feel for the victims. Probably I feel even more than it would be healthy for me, or normal. But I don’t know, I feel like I connect to them. Maybe because I’ve been a victim of abuse perpetrated in clear power-imbalanced relationships, or because I felt like nobody cared about me and my wellbeing for so long, that eventually I stopped caring too.

And it is bad. It’s dehumanizing to a point where you really start believing you don’t matter. Your wellbeing doesn’t matter. There are more important things.

Ok so, I don’t want the victims, the survivors, to feel like this. They matter. They matter to me because if there’s one thing that is going to re-ignate the sacred fire of defiance in me is being able to stop this self-feeding cycle of self-loathing and misery. You matter. We matter. Vulnerable people who have been hurt matter to me. If there is one thing we can do to resist these systems of oppression and these people who abuse their power, that thing is believing that the people they hurt matter. If not more, at least as much as them.

And the way I show myself and others that the victims and their lives matter to me is by distancing myself from Neil Gaiman and his works, at least for now.

I feel bad for people who might have found themselves unwillingly tied to all of this. I feel bad for Sheen and Tennant, for all the wonderful artists and craft-people who have put so much of their work and love in Good Omens and I don’t want to let them down.

My two cents are that season 3 will not be canceled if they see there’s enough traction, and definitely won’t be canceled unless fans start a crusade against it, which won’t happen most likely.

The fandom loves Tennant and Sheen too much, and these are too much nice people to really hold a grudge against them, so I don’t think it will be canceled.

I’m afraid we (I say “we” meaning everyone who loves Good Omens) will be “held hostage” by Gaiman in the sense that he knows season 3 is not going to happen without him, so it’s either “we” or the majority of “we” behave, or it’s not going to happen. Which again, I don’t think he would lose the opportunity to make some money, and he also has contract duties to fulfill, but it still is worth it for him to try to leverage his power.

I wanted to end this rant on a positive note, somehow. But I don't know exactly what to say. Recently one of the things that has brought me laughs and joy has been the Channel 4 series “We are Lady Parts”.

In one of the episodes they quote a very beautiful poem, which came back to mind when I was listening to Claire (the latest woman who has come forward with allegations) on the “Am I Broken” podcast.

The poem is Speak by Faiz Ahmed Faiz, I will paste the version from the show, because I think it’s very powerful and beautiful.

Speak, for your two lips are free Speak, for your tongue is still your own This straight body still is yours. Speak, your life is still your own.

See how in the blacksmith’s forge flames leap high and steel glows red, padlocks opening wide their jaws. Every chain’s embrace outspread.

Time enough is this brief hour Until body and tongue lie dead. Speak, for truth is living yet. Speak, whatever must be said.

[soapybutt17]

Lost In Ikea

Summary: John was a patient man, but he had his limits. That includes having to navigate his way around a maze you called IKEA and the impossibility of having to put the bloody bed together—his patience was even shorter after being interupted twice and a broken bed as an aftermath. Character: John Price x F!Wife!Reader. OC Daughter (Katherine Price) Word Count: 1,066 Chapter Warnings: General Chaos. John gets cockblocked twice. Unedited. Lol. Author's Note: for @glitterypirateduck;s O'Captain! Challenge Scenarios:

4. Lost In IKEA 55. Someone gets walked in on (doesn't have to be sexual) 89. Shopping for a new bed.

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The frown has marred John’s face the moment he had placed the car on park and he was greeted by the annoying blue and yellow signage. It still confused him to no end why you insist on buying a bed in IKEA when he could make one himself.

“Are you excited to go to IKEA?” The gentle baby talk lingered besides him as he turned towards you whose attention was solely on your six month old daughter on the car seat.

It was another special occasion for the three of you aside from buying a new bed for them, you had also decided that it was time to invest on some more furniture and decoration for the baby’s bed.

John grumbled under his breath as he reluctantly got out of the car, following his wife as you handed him the sling carrier to carry your daughter. Without another word, he placed his daughter onto the carried on his chest and was greeted with the lovely grumble of his pride and joy.

“You’re the only thing keeping me sane now, Love.” He whispered gently kissing on top of her head before following his wife through the towering blue and yellow entrance.

The sprawling maze of Scandinavian furniture loomed before him like a daunting labyrinth, and he could help but feel a surge of irritation bubbling within him. Why can his wife just allow him to make the bloody bed or more specifically fix the one they had broken last night instead?

“Can’t we just order online like normal people?” John muttered to himself, his voice barely audible over the chatter of shoppers around. He honestly hated being surrounded by people and having to act hyper vigilant because of it.

You turned to him in amusement, but a sympathetic glance lingered, you know all too well his disdain for crowded stores and aimless browsing. But you also know him enough to know he hated online shopping just as much.

“Come on, John. We’re just here for the bed and some decorations for Katherine’s bed.” You tried your best to reassure him.

But as you three continued to venture deeper into the seemingly endless aisles, John’s frustration only intensified. Every turned seemed to lead to yet another showroom, each meticulously staged to showcase the latest in minimalist design. He couldn’t help but scoff at the idea of spending hours wandering through fake living rooms and bedrooms.

"This is ridiculous," John grumbled, scanning the maze of shelves for any sign of escape. "How can anyone enjoy this?"

You chuckled rubbing his bearded cheek before kissing him on the cheeks, knowing there was only one way to placate him and his stormy mood.

“How about this,” You began pulling him towards one of the less populated showrooms. “How about once we’re finished with shopping for the bed and decorations, we can bring Katherine to your parents’ house for a few days so we could handle fixing the bed and redesigning Katherine’s room?” You wiggled your brows knowingly.

John was slowly cracking at the proposition.

“Three days. One day for creating that bloody bed and two days of whatever I want.” He proposed.

“How about a week and we fly your parents and Katherine to Disneyland?” You offered.

“Deal.” John shook your hands sealing the deal and your fate for the weak.

Even with the deal in place, John could not hide his annoyance. Meandering through the store, his annoyance grew with each passing moment especially when you three had found yourself walking in circles for a couple of times. The endless stream of shoppers, the blaring announcements over the intercom, and the overwhelming array of choices left him feeling claustrophobic and irritable.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity and the growing irritable baby on his chest, they had reached the checkout line with their items at hand. John let out a sigh of relief, eager to finally escape the chaos of the store.

“We are never setting foot in an IKEA again.” John muttered to you as soon as you three had exited.

“I hope you keep your word and keep the bed sturdy.” You pointed out knowingly.

John rolled his eyes, not wanting to remember the reason behind the broken bed in the first place.

~

Last Night

“Get out!”

John was close to a coronary at this point. It was the third time tonight that someone had interrupted him with his wife and he was ready to shoot anyone else that would try barging into his bedroom without bloody knocking.

“I told you to lock the bedroom door.” You giggled finding the whole thing amusing. Even with you barely clothed at this point just as much as him, you were barely affected by the fact that Gaz had seen the two of you almost having sex.

John had wished he had never brought the three to his home, he had wished no one knew about their relationship, and he had wished that his wife was not so hospitable as you were right now even after the incident that had now become a common occurrence when everyone was off base.

If only he could turn back time.

“If I had known that those Muppets didn’t know how to knock I would have.” He muttered, the mood now dampened with annoyance of being interrupted.

“Just lock the door and fuck me already.” You giggled, nudging him with your foot and he somehow sprang back to life at that.

Wasting no time, he got up and locked the door before jumping right back into devouring you. You were a giggling mess as he began to strip you of what remained of your clothes.

Even before John could begin, the sound of Soap’s laughter and the crying that came soon after from their daughter had finally sealed the deal that the moment was ruined permanently for the night.

“Bloody fucking hell.” John couldn’t help himself from cursing as you burst into fits of laughter as you stood up and slid on your night robe and opened the door to tend to your crying daughter and attempt to scold Soap from keeping it down.

Slumping his full body into the bed in frustration, the last thing John would have ever expected to happen was for the bed to give out under him further sealing his fate for the night.

“God fucking damn it.”

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Remember the Shafows of Twilight fic where Twilight got revealed as a wolf and were was an ask about how Ulli won't let Twilight on the couch without a bath? Can you write that?

The stakes were higher than ever. Link refused to lose. Glaring determinedly, he settled his elbow on the table as Rusl sat across from him, mirroring his position. Colin shifted, filled with nervous and excited energy, and then he started to count down.

Both men's arms shook with exertion the instant Colin finished counting. Uli watched from the kitchen, rocking Hama steadily. Of all the family, she looked somehow the most invested but least emotional about it. Her gaze was seemingly neutral, but her eyes wouldn't leave the table.

Colin gasped as Link started to push Rusl's arm closer to the table. Rusl's grip tightened, face pulling with effort. Link smiled, knowing he was going to win.

And then Rusl exhaled heavily through his nose, putting all his energy into one last effort, catching Link off guard and slamming his fist into the table. Colin yelled in surprise, hands thrown into the air for emphasis.

From the kitchen, Uli let out a breath she'd been holding, smiling in victory.

Link wilted at the table, a seeming cloud looming over him.

"Then it's settled," Rusl huffed, panting. "The wolf gets a bath."

Link groaned.

That evening, with extreme reluctance, Link dragged his feet to the sacred spring. He didn't bother mentioning that the spring would likely transform him back immediately. There was absolutely no need to share that information.

Uli, on the other hand, was humming cheerfully as Rusl followed her with supplies in hand. Colin, despite multiple protests, was expressly forbidden from coming along. Link had to save his dignity somehow.

"Ma," he pleaded for the millionth time. "I'm clean already. What's the point of this?"

"Honey, when you were showing Colin your wolf form we all could smell it," Uli replied as gently as she could, but the words still made his cheeks flush in embarrassment. "And your fur is matted and bloody. I... I just want to help you wash that journey off you."

Link didn’t really have a rebuttal for that, words stolen away with his breath. The tenderness woven in the words that his guardian spoke immediately eliminated any other protest he might have, and he sighed reluctantly.

Did he truly want to wash such a journey off him? Did he truly want to let go?

Midna…

She said goodbye. He supposed he should too.

He didn’t want to say goodbye. It didn’t feel like it’s as over.

But he couldn’t say no to his mother, so he grabbed the shadow crystal and let the dark magic break and reshape him. It was a familiar sensation by now, intensely painful but only for a moment, and far less so now that he was expecting it. When the wolf shook free of the shadows, he tentatively stepped towards Uli and Rusl.

Uli smiled, kneeling onto the ground at the shore, arm stretched out invitingly. Link took another small step, listening to Rusl chuckle, and he felt his ears peel back in mild annoyance.

This was ridiculous. He didn’t need a bath. It was silly.

It was downright terrifying. He didn’t want to lose everything from his journey. He didn’t want to wash it off himself.

He didn’t know how to move forward.

Uli cupped her hands, letting sacred water sprinkle over Link. It was warm, relaxing, and he felt his body shiver as the dark magic that changed him tried to recede.

“This might not be the best place for this,” Rusl noted. Link glanced at him, disappointed that the man was already picking up that the water would change him back, but he also noticed a distinct unease to his guardian’s posture.

Rusl didn’t want to be here either. Somehow, his amusement had changed to anxiety. Link could sense it; he could smell it.

In an attempt to cheer Rusl and perhaps give a little act of defiance to Uli’s proposal in the first place, Link flopped on his side, splashing directly into the water and soaking his mother. The warmth wrapped around him like a hug, minimizing the pain as he shifted back, and he smiled up at his guardians as Uli spluttered and Rusl immediately looked relieved.

Does he really think it’s a gift if he gets that nervous? Link wondered, watching his father step toward him.

“Well, now you have an actual reason for a bath in both forms,” Rusl noted, and Link recognized that hew as now covered in mud.

Well… that backfired.

Uli tutted, rising, as Link spluttered for a comeback. Rusl tackled the protesting teenager. After a brief wrestling match, Link found himself in Rusl’s embrace, shivering from the breeze but warm against his guardian’s chest. Somehow, in the time they’d been playing, Uli had grabbed a large tub—the one they usually used for bathing anyway—and was filling it with water.

“Ma, I’m all clean now,” Link said quickly, looking himself over. He was soaking wet, but the mud was certainly gone.

“This is for your other form,” Uli insisted. “I got the water from upstream.”

“Does that make it less sacred…?” Rusl wondered quietly.

“Ordona hasn’t sat in it yet, I guess,” Link grumbled, growing irritated again.

“If we build a fire we can warm it up,” Uli noted with a smile.

Her face was too gentle to keep arguing with her, and Link sighed, leaning heavily against Rusl. He glanced up at him, catching his father’s attention, and Rusl held him a little tighter as if to ask what’s wrong?

“When I… you were…” Link swallowed, trying to find the words. He didn’t want to upset Rusl - things were tenuous enough after the night he’d discovered his ability.

“Link,” Rusl said quietly, gently. “I… we both are still trying to move on from that night. Your transformation doesn’t scare me. I know it’s you. You know that.”

“But—”

“My worries have nothing to do with you being a wolf,” Rusl interrupted. “Sometimes fathers just worry. I love you. Now come on, your mother’s waiting.”

Link sighed, not pushing the matter, but Rusl didn’t let him go as he guided him out of the water. Despite wanting to get it over with at this point, Uli made him wait until she was satisfied with the water temperature, dragging his embarrassment and anxiety out further.

Rusl distracted him with talk of sword fighting and tales from the Resistance, and eventually Link finally settled, nearly forgetting why they were at the spring in the first place.

Until Uli said the water was ready.

“Ma, do I have to?”

“Oh, Link, come on now, it isn’t that bad!”

Uli’s voice was growing more disappointed rather than exasperated, and Link felt a twinge of guilt. Sighing, he transformed once more. Rusl, with his back to the spring, gently nudged him forward, and Link grumbled, feeling it rumble in his chest like a growl before it shaped into a pathetic little howl of protest as it left his muzzle.

His parents laughed. They laughed at his plight.

Ears peeled, tail tucked, Link climbed carefully into the basin with Rusl’s help. As soon as the warm water started to seep into his coat, he swallowed, hesitantly relaxing into it. It… certainly felt nice. He resigned himself to his fate as Uli’s hands ran through his fur, gentle, careful, detangling as she went. He saw the tools stacked on a rock, gathered by Rusl over several trips to Castle Town, and he huffed again.

Link closed his eyes as Uli’s hands moved towards his face and muzzle. He closed his eyes, and for a moment time washed over him, hearing his mother’s screams on his first return to the village after transforming, feeling the steel of Rusl’s blade in his gut as he rested. He shriveled into himself a little, and Uli paused before carefully massaging along his nose, between his eyes, behind his ears. She started humming gently, a familiar tune he’d heard most of his life, and Link hated how his lupine form couldn’t hide his emotions like usual, hated how a little whine escaped his throat.

Uli leaned down and kissed his forehead, hugging him, careless of the soap suds she was getting on her. She didn’t speak, and he was thankful for it, as he felt his predicament couldn’t get much more humiliating, but somehow it soothed him anyway. As his mother continued, he dared to open his eyes, glancing at Rusl, who was watching him with a gentle smile. When they made eye contact, his guardian came in closer, cupping his muzzle with his hands and gently rubbing across the fur on his cheeks with his thumbs.

Link shivered a little, helpless and hating that fact. But he felt safe in their care, and… that was a sensation he hadn’t felt in a long time. Link had no need to worry about whether he actually felt safe - he would make a situation safe. Usually, he was the one people went to for safety. But here, in this quiet little moment, he relaxed.

He relaxed. He hadn’t done that since he’d gone fishing with Midna months ago, long before things had grown overwhelming and constant, before they’d managed to find most of the mirror shards, before urgency had kicked in over everything else.

With every new rinse, the stench of blood and dirt lessened. With every gentle caress, anxieties and tight muscles that hadn’t eased since fighting Ganondorf started to release.

Link stepped out of the tub, feeling utterly exhausted and rejuvenated, and he glanced at his guardians. They smiled back.

And then he got the sudden urge to get all this water off him. So he did.

He shook his coat vigorously, making Rusl and Uli yelp. If he could smirk in his wolf form, he would.

”Just for that, I’m using the puppy perfume,” Uli chided.

Link howled in protest, making a beeline for the woods, and Rusl grabbed him before he could flee. His ire was evident in each and every howl and yelp, in the way he wiggled so vigorously he covered his father in fur. Rusl only laughed, but he did finally concede, “Maybe we can avoid the puppy perfume, dear.”

With that threat rescinded, Link relaxed, held awkwardly in Rusl’s arms before grumbling and wiggling again. Put me down.

Rusl walked to the spring, grip tightening a little, before gently lowering him into the blessed waters. Link felt the dark magic recede, and he sighed, rising a little woozily, muscles still fairly relaxed, held steady by his guardian’s strong hands.

“There, see?” Rusl said with a smile, guiding Link out of the water. “That wasn’t so bad.”

“I didn’t get a chance to brush your coat,” Uli noted a little disappointedly.

“You already bathed me,” Link pointed out exasperatedly. “I don’t need pampering.”

“Your fur’s going to be all matted, hon.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“Leave it be, dear,” Rusl defended Link gently. “I think we could all benefit from a break.”

With that, Uli immediately switched tactics, insisting Link come home with them and rest. Link wanted to argue—it wasn’t like getting a bath was traumatic, not in the slightest, just embarrassing; it wasn’t like he hadn’t just had some kind of release from his journey, as she’d promised… it wasn’t like he was shivering and vulnerable all of a sudden, wanting to hold desperately on to that feeling of safety he’d just gotten back—but there was no argument in the world that would work against her.

Link let his parents guide him back to their house, and he found himself settled in front of the fire with a warm glass of milk. Colin was at his side in an instant, smiling and leaning against him. He paused, sniffing, making Link throw him a bewildered look.

“I thought you’d smell like the shampoo or something,” Colin said thoughtfully. “That form really does hide stuff.”

Link knew Colin meant it innocently, but given what Uli had said earlier, it really hit harder than it should. He shook the feeling off, elbowing his little brother. “Well, I’m glad. I don’t want to smell like roses.”

But what if he no longer held Midna’s scent in his fur either? His heart lurched a moment, chest feeling like he’d been punched, and his eyes widened a moment.

And then Rusl and Uli settled beside him with blankets and leftover biscuits from breakfast. And though Link still missed his friend so desperately, he knew he wasn’t at least completely alone.

And… perhaps washing some of the stains of his journey away had been a good idea after all.

[mixtapedoh]

cupid is so dumb | c.s.

welcome back to SVTU ! lost your way? refer to our campus map for directions

pairing: choi seungcheol x gn!reader with guest appearances from y. jeonghan, k. soonyoung, and more !

word count: ~8.7k genre: best friend's brother warnings: language, a potentially rushed ending (forgive me, it was getting Lengthy™), one allusion to drowning, reader is bad at pottery (r.i.p. if you're an art major as a trade)

☄. *. ⋆

olive's notes: apologies for this taking far longer than expected. i was half done with it and then i was suddenly accosted with responsibility and work??? cruel and unusual punishment. i know all of you would never treat me this way.

☄. *. ⋆

now playing... ılı.lıllılı.ıllı. ... ⌜ adore you — harry styles ⌟

CUPID IS SO DUMB ☄. *. ⋆

— seungcheol had long been comfortable taking risks.

just flip through his life like you would a resume, or skim it like you would a textbook that you're not particularly riveted by, but have a test on the next day; it doesn't take a close read to realize that seungcheol had grown quite accustomed to living life on the edge. becoming perhaps... too comfortable with the idea of "no risk; no gain."

i mean, just consider the cliff notes: he was jeonghan's blood relative, to start (one didn't exactly be the Older and More Responsible half to Jeonghan Nonsense™ without growing quite fond of hazard); when choosing a minor in college he decided to say fuck it to logic and choose sculpture of all things; consider also that time he invested real money into thomas the train seungkwan's youtube career or shua's random ass print-on-demand merchandise business venture; or consider even singular moments like when he was roped in skydiving; literally any activity he cosigned on with jeonghan; those illegal u-turns he did every day when trying to turn into the parking for sunset plot; that time he followed minghao through a convincingly haunted graveyard at night to shortcut back to the dorms from a party (hao might not have been phased, but ghosts are real, thank you very much, and the nightlife cheol saw that night was certainly not natural); again, his living alongside yoon jeonghan for almost all of his life; and, perhaps most daring of them all, having a very-secret, very-manageable, not-at-all-concerning-or-annoyingly-insistent crush…

a very inconvenient crush on a very lovely (though still inconvenient) you.

— so yes. take it all in. breathe deeply in the knowledge of choi seungcheol's comfortability and perhaps audacious affinity toward peril.

if one lived their life on the edge, perhaps nothing could conquer them.

to be quite honest, seungcheol prayed that adage (something likely made up out of thin air by jeonghan specifically to convince cheol to err on the side of risk many years ago) would hold true. after all, he was far too deep in to get out without an egregious stain, now.

— you see, choi seungcheol was a man of risk, that much has been established. however, and conversely, he was also a man with a great amount of common sense. to him, an alarming amount of things in life were apparent.

that he should just shut his mouth when it came to the feelings bubbling over for you, was simply one of those easily observed phenomena.

— you were jeonghan’s best friend, for fuck’s sake! had been since perhaps the ripe age of 6? 8? it wasn’t all that important to know the exact age when you had started to stick to jeonghan like glue, all that mattered was that you seemingly spawned into cheol’s life one summer when jeonghan was still small enough to tear up when he’d get scrapes on his knees, and in your very first meeting, you publicly shamed him.

he! choi seungcheol! 

jeonghan had fallen after one of their many elaborate adventures led to climbing over a chain-link fence to retrieve something the both of them… magically misplaced. (certainly they hadn’t thrown it over the fence. they? throwing large objects over a fence? into property that was not theirs? just what sort of children did you take them for? delinquents? certainly not, you were mistaken. they had a very strict halmeoni at home that would not allow naughty children to rest under their family’s roof, thank you very much.) so, yes, jeonghan had fallen and thus, seungcheol had been the one to scale the fence himself, throw their things back over the fence, and climb back the way he’d come in record time. jeonghan was still understandably teary-eyed and sniffling at his grim fall, his appalling scraped knees, and the horrible holes in his shorts that would need mending, but seungcheol was there with a comforting hand…

and a persuasive voice begging him to not tell their family what had happened, of course.

— and let’s just set the record straight, alright, because cheol was not shaming jeonghan for crying. please. even at the ripe age of ambiguously preadolescent, cheol wasn’t buying into that toxic masculinity, boys can’t cry rhetoric. he was woke! he had been born with modern sensibilities! but he couldn’t very well walk home with a crying jeonghan in tow. that would raise questions. even more than the already present problem of ripped clothing.

cheol was the (barely) older brother, here! do you realize what it would do to his privileges if jeonghan came home crying?

he was merely trying to cajole jeonghan into a grin and sworn secrecy. sue him.

— but of course, you would take this opportunity to confront him about it.

“confront” being your words, should the matter of your initial meeting ever be brought up, of course. according to cheol, your words that day would always be “berating,” “publicly shaming,” “slapping his wrist” (though you did have to give him that one — you did, in fact, slap his wrist) and any other exaggeration that would get you to snort.

— in the end, though, you had helped seungcheol come up with a convenient lie involving the swingset at the park just across from your house, and so i suppose one might judge the situation a net positive.

— you came over to jeonghan the next time you saw him out and about and asked him how his knees were — even going so far as to offer him a choco pie you had all but smashed in your pocket, so, of course, the two of you were immediate and lifelong friends.

— and now, for another round of clarity, cheol did not fall in love with you upon first meeting you.

— please. being publicly humiliated (*cue your interjection here to remind cheol that for your first meeting being such a public event, there was, truly, a strong lack of public to view the exchange. there were perhaps a handful of people with the opportunity to witness the event. and even fewer actively attending to the bickering exchange of random children by a nondescript chain-link fence.) was not the prepubescent meet cute one might be inclined to consider.

besides, do you really think cheol was slick enough to hide something like that for more than a decade? you believe too strongly in his relational opacity. he could barely hide mere distaste for a professor during a single semester course. you really think he could keep this shit on lock for the better part of his whole existence? your faith is admirable, but horribly, atrociously misguided.

— his feelings wouldn’t really blossom for another ambiguous handful (8? 10?) of years. deepest apologies for not knowing the exact number of years or the precise age when all of this turned about. seungcheol’s never claimed to be gifted at recollection. besides, being a little clueless is a little endearing, no? charming? perhaps adorable and begrudgingly loveable?

stfu, just let him have this.

— all you really need to know is that it was a stupid and trite moment when the neurons fired and the dots connected and cheol realized he was in deep shit.

— it was in ceramics class (not at all helpful to aid in placing this exact moment in time — cheol started taking ceramics every year from the moment it was offered to him, and you joined him in the classes through high school, an entertaining enough art credit, and hey, if things ever weren’t Turning Out Right, cheol was there to fix it for you, so as long as you bought him a cherry coke every so often and amused him with good enough conversation; ceramics meant a social hour and easy grade. a sweet deal, really. you’d long become accustomed to taking those). you and cheol were side by side doing a wheel throwing project, and quite unprompted, you began convincing him to pursue art fully — as in, dedicate those long, exhausting college years to ceramics or sculpting! anything, really, that was artsy and hands-on. he had a knack for it, according to you, and it would be simply devastating if he squandered it for business of all things.

you kept everything he’d ever made for you or handed off to you in passing when his parents started to suggest there was a growing lack of shelf space for all his assignments and passion projects, so you’d vouch for his talent; and you continued on, talking about how cool it would be to become an artist and get your artwork displayed, and the different ways it could be impactful beyond artistically fulfilling... but cheol was sort of still stuck on your first admission. that you kept it all — even those shitty pots he made at twelve years old, with subzero points in functionality, and probably a strong lack of aesthetic value.

it just… stuck with him. that you had kept some small, unrefined part of him and were advocating for more.

— and, well, it didn’t exactly hurt that you looked strikingly beautiful through it all. a sort of uneven smile on your face, dried clay streaking your cheek from when cheol marked you after stealing a sip of his drink (though you had teasingly called him “cheollie” as a portmanteau of his name and the beverage he’d grown an affinity towards since you always seemed to have one on you, and it seemed well worth it, in the end, to share. he was perhaps not-so-secretly hoping the name would stick.), and your eyes… all the warmth of wonder mixed with rapt attention at the dilapidated vase you were attempting to form in your hands.

cheol laughed when one of the sides collapsed and you swore baldly, apologizing sheepishly when your teacher looked at you with blinking surprise.

“here, let me…”

and he leaned over to help even it out, not minding the proximity until after, when you thanked him warmly the way you always had, sticking that stupidly endearing “cheollie” nickname on the end, and making his gaze flick to you — grinning and impossibly close. so close - too close - if he moved a single muscle he’d be right close enough to…

he reeled back at the nearness of you, laughing even more, trying to hide that flustered feeling of his insides unexpectedly turning inside out with a half baked plea that the nickname was too mushy, when really, it wasn’t the word but his heart that was turning too-soft at the thought of you.

but at the very least, his contagious giggling got to you, and the moment was made beautiful by the sound of your laughter mixing with his.

— yes, high school was when cheol fell in love with you. he didn’t really clock the depth of his newly conscious crush on you for a month or so more, but it set in with a vengeance not long after, and so it was lucky for him, truly, when your parents took you abroad for the final few months of that school year.

— jeonghan’s teasing had become unbearable at that point (the bastard was swearing he clocked it years prior to cheol himself, and the part that stung the most was that it almost seemed believable. the minor kink in jeonghan’s claim was the lack of pointed teasing before cheol became Obviously Down Bad, but hannie’s reasoning for that was airtight - that he was letting it marinate because victory would be so much sweeter when cheol realized it himself while jeonghan proved to be all-knowing. not that such a turn of events was surprising, of course.) so it was, truly, the benevolent hands of fate that spirited you away for those few months.

— or maybe fate was not-so-benign.

 after all. cheol had been, at the time, stuck in the very awkward, very unbearable position of Having A Big Ass Crush and also being Quite Totally Incapable Of Hiding It. he had almost gotten the wherewithal to just come out with it on more than one occasion, but the timing was always all off, and then he’d stumble upon some head empty advice funneled his way via his ever meddling brothers that would talk about the inherent dangers of The Confession in a group of friends.

and like… yeah, cheol was a risk taker, but uhh…

— so maybe all of that risk taking was a little less representative of his true personality and a little more influenced by the fact that he was always The Older One™ — the leader of his little ragtag circus of friends, if you will — and him putting on a brave face and always just doing the damn thing was really a way to care for his friends. show them they weren’t alone.

like, consider that throughout their childhood, seungcheol mostly supported jeonghan’s wild plots and exploration simply so his younger brother would never get into trouble alone. little hannie? suffering consequences of his actions?? solo??? that was something cheol could simply not bear.

and the skydiving: little kwannie was starting to get cold feet, of course cheol wouldn’t let him do it alone. the graveyard mishap? what was he going to do, let hao do it on his own?? was chivalry found dead on a sketchy-looking canal bank, more on this story at 5??? cheol was born a ride or die. no skeleton in your closet could be too unsightly — do you wanna pop it in the incinerator or are you more inclined to digging graves? — trust that if you were at all close to choi seungcheol’s inner circle, you would never have to face the music alone.

he would be right there next to you, a steady hand to hold and a casual wink to throw your way should you begin to lose your resolve.

— so yeah, cheol got cold feet anytime the opportunity to confess to you presented itself. sue him.

but maybe just hold off for a bit before filing the papers — jeonghan had once been considering attorney as a potential career path, but swerved from the course after binging four separate political dramas one summer (your influence, of course). at the moment, cheol didn’t exactly have a go-to for legal action, but give him a day or two; being a student ambassador meant the better part of his daily was dedicated to networking. he could charm anyone within a mere 10 minutes of knowing them — 5, if they were particularly weak in defenses (but never tell them that, of course).

— it had been an excruciating time in high school, when He Was Aware and You Were Present, and it had been a double-edged opportunity when you had left and there was little to be done. but then you had just… stayed that way. gone. abroad. across oceans and timezones and sure, still there in the confines of his phone, but not the same, really.

after all, you had always been jeonghan’s friend before his. 

and more and more, he’d been finding it hard to hold a conversation without turning stupidly shy at any joke or innuendo or light prodding that might coax something out of him he was oh-so-tirelessly trying to push down.

— so sure, the two of you talked and still kept a general rapport. but it wasn’t like he was your first point of contact when you wanted to learn anything about what was happening “back home”

— which directly informed why, in seungcheol’s opinion, you hadn’t told him beforehand when all but four days ago you transferred from another university to svtu, flying all the way back to him home.

— jeonghan had been oddly insistent that cheol meet him for lunch sometime that week — even going so far as to skip a class (a vapid lecture, jeonghan was quick to assure him. modern political theory was apparently not the rigorous headache promised, per the grave tone of the syllabus) so as to work around the many events cheol was negotiating and fixing for the showcase the college of business was going to have rather soon.

— cheol knew something was up.

chat, is it inherently suspicious when your brother is actively taking time off so the two of you can go get a meal together at the tung-tung grille — one of those overpriced, trendy places that pop up on college campuses for date nights and celebrations you certainly can’t afford?

no? oh, forgive him, did he mention the brother in question was the yoon jeonghan?

— needless to say, some spidey-senses were tingling. anytime cheol would attempt to glean greater depth from this seemingly random outing, jeonghan would masterfully steer the conversation elsewhere. annoyingly and transparently so — he knew that seungcheol was wise to what was happening, and yet, frankly, my dear, jeonghan didn’t give a damn. in fact, a betting man might even posit that jeonghan knew that cheol was wise to his machinations and the fucker gleaned some sort of glee and sinister schadenfreude from the whole affair. 

“hannie, just tell me what this is about—”

“should i bring anything that might be relevant—”

“who else is going to be there?”

“is it just brothers? should i call s—”

“won’t you just tell me—”

“no, listen, listen—”

“yoon jeonghan—” 

— this fucker.

or, more aptly, this fucker²

— becase please, pray tell, when, why and how you had crossed the oceans and timezones, country lines and memories to be sitting here, across the table from seungcheol, now???

and of course, jeonghan had the gall to tease him about his apparent fish out of water behavior.

so sorry for the inconvenience, hannie! cheol had gotten quite used to life without random revelation and secret sneak attack in the years since the jeonghan-y/n alliance had been uprooted, and he wasn’t at all prepared for anything like this.

— violently choking on his tonkatsu might not have been the most sophisticated or charming reaction to finding out your old crush was back in town, but it certainly conveyed his surprise, if nothing else.

but by the sound of your laughter as cheol recovered from death by pork cutlet, you were endeared by the whole affair.

… that was endearment, right?

— so sue him for wanting to cash in on charm of the loser variety in front of his massive, years-long crush! 

don’t act like jeonghan is any better — ever since he settled down with his beau, the man was down so atrocious it was sickening.

and as for you… well, cheol had never seen you crush on anyone, really, since middle school when all of your embarrassing affection meant waxing poetic about the object of your affections and then pulling cheol into hiding should you run into them anywhere outside of the protection of your school desk. if he thought about it enough, he could still recall the feel of your hand in his as you dragged him behind increasingly comical barriers — around corners, behind doors, kiosks at the mall, even massive plant pots with overgrown foliage. he’d always laugh and poke you in the ribs and you’d scowl until the ticklish feeling gave way to begruding mirth.

— and you still had that crooked sort of mischievous grin, now.

“you transferred to svtu?”

“yeah!” and you divulged all the details of your transfer process: the major you were undertaking, the classes you had been attending since the semester’s start a week ago, and even the accommodations at phantom studios — the building all on-campus transfer students stayed in for at least one year after arriving to svtu’s main campus.

and all while you talked, cheol just sat there, still far too stunned to take in even half of it. here you were, after years of being apart (4? 5? literally stop grilling him over this, guys.), somehow not at all what he would have expected, and yet precisely the same. your words were all different, but your smile was the same. the light in your eyes shifted, but somehow when it caught the light to glisten, time had never passed at all and you were still there, next to the busted chain-link fence where all of this began, and cheol’s world was so wide, yet intimately familiar.

— how can a moment be new and nostalgic, exciting yet tinged with mourning?

“wahhh, s.coups, look at what n/n is still wearing.”

and, of course, how can a moment always manage to be punctuated by jeonghan’s persistent, dulcet tones?

— you were rolling your eyes and slapping jeonghan’s wrist as he attempted to grab yours — there rested a thin, woven bracelet. a friendship bracelet. an old memory. “where’s yours hannie? when we made them you swore up and down you’d never take it off.”

— “ah, well, cheolie—”

— “who showed you around campus?”

(oddly, jeonghan seemed rather pleased to be interrupted.)

— see, that was bothering cheol. you were a new student —  freshly transferred and started at svtu all but a week ago,  when the semester had began. as a student ambassador, cheol was more than familiar with the ins-and-outs of the admissions office and transfer student resources — he knew the process for applying for anything at svtu. he had walked enough people through it himself, sat right beside them on that (very unforgiving) couch in the admissions office. 

— because of that, cheol knew all too well that all new students — transfer or otherwise — were generally given a tour from a student ambassador. ideally, it would be someone from your same college offering the tour (camaraderie and networking and all that — setting each student up with the beginnings of a support system that all universities love to tout), but in practice, people sort of just chose whatever ambassador they liked best or had a more-open schedule. after all, the gist of the tour was always the same.

you’d been given the option to schedule a tour online when you were filling out your transfer application, a whole page dedicated to slapping a photograph of every student ambassador on your screen. you would have seen his face with a bolded sunset orange “SCHEDULE A TOUR WITH C. SEUNGCHEOL” button right beside.

call him insecure, but cheol wanted to know why you hadn’t picked him. who did you choose instead of him? soonyoung?

— he was pouting, and jeonghan was filled with glee.

“ah — i deferred a tour, actually.”

(maybe that softened his pout… just barely.)

— so not soonyoung, then. did jeonghan show you around? maybe both of his brothers, together?? speaking of, where was s— 

“i wanted to let jeonghan have his surprise. but after… i was planning on booking you.”

— oh, vindication is sweet.

“who else could i choose? what was his name - kwon soonyoung?”

— and so passed the rest of your lunch date.

— the next time cheol saw you in person (the siblings + 1 group chat had been reinstated, and so of course hannie and cheol took the opportunity to shame their youngest brother for missing out on the welcome home feast that he hadn’t known was even planned; he promised to make it up to the very benevolent y/n, though, claiming there was nothing a coffee and gossip session couldn’t fix) was for the campus tour you’d officially scheduled through the svtu homepage.

(cheol had shown you how to do it at tung-tung grille after jeonghan had left, leaning over your shoulder from behind and coaxing you to tell him all about your time abroad — the sights, the sounds, the food, the art, the love… and maybe getting a little too lost in the moment and losing track of time, making it late to boxing because he simply had to drive you back to where you were going. please. take the campus shuttles? walk? cheol would never allow that. he had a perfectly good passenger seat, thank you very much, and now that you were here, well, it sort of had your name on it, right?)

— but yes, the campus tour. he met you at the heart of campus in his dorky svtu polo shirt (a mandated uniform for such appearances, i fear) where the tours always began. the two of you would be taking the flower path walking past some of the best and most useful buildings first, and then move on to explore your particular section of the absolutely massive campus, as dictated by your major.

you had poked fun at his ugly ass polo, and then poked quite literally at his dimples when they appeared, having coaxed them out with that old nickname that still only belonged to you: “cheollie.” it had flustered cheol so bad he reverted to that annoyingly shy sort of giggling that he thought he’d long conquered since it hadn’t been quite so bad since the distance of you.

he laughed and you grabbed his hand in yours and pulled him down the sidewalk, initially setting off in the wrong direction for your tour, though cheol was quite happy to lead you back the way you’d come.

— you spotted the friendship bracelet on his wrist, then, and badgered cheol until he told you a story of how he won it off of jeonghan when they were playing poker one night and hannie failed to cheat well enough to win.

you scoffed at the idea that your silly little friendship bracelet held any kind of monetary value, but the idea of it warmed you nonetheless.

— and if, afterward, he insisted on getting something to eat (paying for it, of course; despite any protests you could conjure, cheol was dead set on treating you like visiting royalty — he had so much lost time to make up for, after all) and drive you to your next class (it was on his way! he swore up and down he had business in the library of the very same building), well… he was just taking the long and devoted road to re-acquaintance. so much time had passed, after all. it would only be natural for you to have changed in your time apart — become someone with new facets to discover and old habits to rekindle.

and you had changed — in so many beautiful ways, it seemed. you had grown different and occasionally disparate, but somehow the adjusting seemed to be a familiar dance, and in a way that was unfortunate only because it made him feel like a schoolboy, it seemed that the feelings cheol had whenever he was around you (the giddy kind that made him feel like he was taking that ill-advised jump for a skydiving free-fall) were all too familiar, too — imperishable, damn them.

and when you were leaning in the window of the passenger's side, bathed in sunlight and grinning as he dropped you off for whatever was next, you poked the divot of his dimple once more. “text you soon, cheollie.”

— and he was a blushing idiot all over again, desperate for more.

CUPID IS SO DUMB (CONT.) ☄. *. ⋆

— if there was one thing you’d learned since transferring to svtu, it was that your roommates were people people, as in, two very people-oriented individuals. as in, lots of friends, lots of desire in connecting with and supporting those friends, and a Very Distinct Drive to introduce you to and connect you with all of said friends.

which i rather think explains the density of your social calendar.

— of course, it wasn’t as though yuta and nicha forced you to join them in their myriad social outings, it was simply that there was always an explicit invitation given should they be going out that day (which was almost everyday — especially after yuta made friends with a frat house and nicha quickly established a friend group that spanned so many different colleges and social groups it was beyond impressive), and always the promise (lovingly followed through) of actually spending time with you should you accompany them, and, well… why not live a little? you’d come to svtu for something new, right? might as well take full advantage of that your first year, when you were the most eager to start anew.

which should rather explain why you were at the norebang that night.

— to be quite honest, it was a little lost in translation why everyone was meeting up at the norebang. it wasn’t as though it was a club holding an event, and it wasn’t someone’s birthday (as far as you knew) — the point was, there were two vip rooms bought out and perhaps 60 people or so between them, and despite the fact that there was no alcohol allowed in the family friendly establishment, there were all manner of drinking games with the loser chugging as much soda as they possibly could before choking on their own aspirations.

and like, okay, maybe there was some alcohol involved, but everyone kept quiet about it. the norebang was just off campus and a very popular spot for college students to celebrate, but because it was a family-friendly joint, there was an explicit no-spirits policy, and did you want to be the one who got everyone banned just because you couldn’t hide the flasks from old man park jin-young?? be so serious, rn.

— but the norebang truly was so much fun. you had started the night in vip room 1, nicha dragging you there so you could meet the rest of her friends that you hadn’t get become acquainted with (you were already friendly with yuqi and shuhua, who lived at sunset plot, too, but nicha was dead set on your meeting all the girls and finally unlocking the backstory to half of the inside jokes that would have nicha giggling at 2 am, you or yuta throwing a pillow at her for waking you up right when you were about to drift off to a land of dreaming). you sang more than a couple songs and forced both your roommates to join you, and you even had the unique displeasure of having nearly drowned attempting to chug a 2 liter container of Mountain Dew’s latest Crime Against Humanity (you had lost more than a few times already, and with every misfortune, the crowd demanded more cringe fail punishment than the last). 

— when you had finally tasted your fill of artificially colored carbonation (both slightly ✨enhanced✨ and otherwise), you decided to try your luck at vip room 2 before heading out for the evening. yuta had told you he was headed over there to hang with johnny suh and a couple others (sue you for not knowing all of yuta’s friends. you swore his friend group grew by the day, always with some new member, like a little cult or something), and you wanted to check up on at least all of your roommates before leaving for the night.

 — now, when yuta invited you (and nicha… and all of nicha’s friends, by extension) to norebang night, he had kept it light and said a vague "everyone" was welcome — that everyone would be a friend of a friend, and so it would not be weird at all for anyone to be invited. not weird at all; not strange, in the slightest.

and yet, it still felt very strange, indeed, to see seungcheol in vip room 1.

you walked into the disco ball filtered, purple and blue lit room, and in 0.2 seconds flat spot him: s.coups.

you pointed at him and he followed suit, and for a minute you were that spiderman meme, an HD 4k .jpeg of mutual “???”

— so of course you decided to stay at the norebang for just a little bit longer.

— and quite naturally, your first instinct would be to throw the (stupidly handsome) cheollie off of his rhythm by hitting him with a classic, “who invited you???” as you sat down next to him (perhaps slightly closer than necessary, but hey, you could blame it on needing to hear him over the din of the 8-part harmony — surprisingly decent — of the cheesy ballad playing).

— and that is how your innocence died, wailing.

“the WHAT????”

and bless seungcheol’s soul for laughing through it, because having to reiterate to the uninitiated that this get together was funded and planned by the Big Tiddie Committee would be enough to kill anyone — fully dedicated to the bit, or otherwise.

“and you were extended a personal invitation?”

“mingyu is the secretary.”

“he’s the what”

which of course, would only summon the man himself, mingyu bounding over to the both of you asking brightly, “who brought you here?”

“not the secretary of the Big Tiddie Committee, the fuck…”

— and so the night dragged a little longer, seungcheol convincing you to do a song with him, you confronting yuta about his belongingness to the B.T.C. framework (he wasn’t a member, something that he laughed about you being so sure of, but johnny suh was), and mingyu bribing you with the promise of A Premium Secret when he found out that you were an ace at claw machines. you won him the puppy plushie, ofc, but when you asked for your payment, he suddenly got all cagey and said he’d tell you soon enough; right as you were about to say it wouldn’t possibly be good enough repayment, cheol said he could more than pay you back in gyu’s place, with an endless supply of stories for the journey back to your dorm.

suspicious, but you took it. might as well have mingyu in your debt for later, and hey — cheol was offering embarrassing stories about him and his brothers. a win-win, truly.

— so that’s how you set off, saying your goodbyes to both your roommates and taking a bus, then a campus shuttle, and finally walking the last leg of your journey to phantom studios, cheol’s arm slung over your shoulder the whole way.

— it was when you were both getting tired, the weight of the evening pushing conversation to gentle ellipses, that you walked past a line of vending machines. you pulled cheol to a stop and fished in your pockets for coins, but when you came up dry (probably all used at the claw machine), cheol passed you a bill instead.

— the sound of the vending machine was louder than it usually was in the relative still calm of night, and the bright neon lights of the buttons made for starry reflections in your eyes as seungcheol watched you key in your selections, your fingers drumming on the metal as they dispensed your goods. you had told him all about your unfortunate encounter with mountain dew infinite swirl (2 liter, decidedly unchilled) and he was surprised you’d grown into such a soda junkie that you were back for another carbonated delight so soon, but then you pushed the can into his hands and popped it, and he saw what you’d bought.

a cherry coke.

— “repayment for walking me home.”

— and he laughed a bit before tipping the can back, downing the drink in one go. his adam’s apple bobbed, he gave you a wink, and cheol could have sworn he saw something he wasn’t quite expecting flit across your face before you turned back to the vending machine, fishing out your second purchase while cheol finished the can.

it was a chocopie, of course, and you split the treat down the middle as you finished your slow, meandering walk to your final destination.

cheol had rested his arm over your shoulder, again, and spoke in a softer, low sort of voice that had you leaning in moreso than before, and on occasion, you swore you could hear the beat of his heart: bump, bump, bump — faster than you thought it should have been.

— “so, should i expect to see you at the next Big Tiddie Committee party I get invited to?”

the name was so bad it had you cringing. how unserious could they be?

— “if mingyu invites me i’ll let you know.”

— and your logic faltered for a second, and your mouth started talking before your brain could catch up with what it was saying, and in half-horror, you heard yourself say: “you mean you’re not a member?”

— and sure, it wasn’t the most damning thing ever, but your surprise and cheollie’s clear laughter made it clear that you both knew the shock in your voice came from the fact that in the short time you’d made it back into seungcheol’s company, you appraised him as having big enough pecs to be in a group dedicated to big tiddies.

— “well if you’d come swimming with hannie and i last week i’d know if you at least belonged.” you were pouting.

cheol was smitten.

— “i’ll take off my shirt the next time i walk you back to your dorm, (n/n).”

— and you went to scoff, but it sort of caught in your throat and became a sort of choking surprise that left cheol feeling rather good about himself. clever and smug. chat, does it always feel this good to flirt with your longtime crush?

— you recovered with a strained “alright then” and a rushed goodnight, and as cheol watched you rush inside phantom studios, half of your choco pie still in his hand and something warm in the night air, he figured that maybe he could have quite a lot of fun with this, indeed.

and thus ended Night at the Norebang™.

CUPID IS SO DUMB (CONT.) ☄. *. ⋆

— at this turning point, I think it absolutely vital that we understand two things.

first and foremost, that choi seungcheol has always been a fool in love.

secondly, and most newly developed in our tale, choi seungcheol is a flirty fool in love.

— what gave him the confidence to wint at you, his crush? to bite his lip with one perfectly arched brow raised? the adrenaline rush? the knowledge that it flustered you as badly as your entire being set off a surge of giddiness in him?

cheol wasn’t quite sure himself. all he knew was that all the nervous energy building up in him would come out somehow — in nervous acts or in controlled, thrilling flirtations. he quickly assessed that the latter was more favorable.

you were just so cute to catch off guard, after all.

— and so rather quickly, seungcheol became a menace to you, specifically.

the flirty looks were his go-to for Specific Acts of Menace™, of course.

but he also found that an increased expression of one of his most innate traits seemed to work wonders as well. 

that trait being, of course, his protectiveness.

— never was there a fucker more protective than choi seungcheol.

— even in the little things! man was erring on the side of comedy and everyone around him enabled it.

— consider, if you will, the fact that after that one (1) time kwannie convinced you and cheol to go to a baseball game with him and you got lost in the stadium after going back to the car real quick to grab a portable phone charger, cheol had you share your phone location with him and always had you screenshot your percentage before heading to classes.

— or that time you were volunteering to help the dance in culture club set up for their performance showcase, and the longer you worked in the heat of the day, the more cheol fret until he somehow found one of those behemoth 128 oz. water bottles and insisted you drain it all to stay hydrated — a comical request, but one he took with solemn earnestness, the same.

— bringing you meals, picking you up when it began to rain, always being your designated driver or having him in your emergency contacts, sometimes even randomly sending you money for “vitamins” or “stacking your fridge with something nutritious” when you both knew that the funds would be spent on something superfluous that you’d send a picture of to cheol with some stupid caption… cheol would be consistently generous and randomly staunch about certain things that would make you giddy bordering on embarrassed, and cheol would have that self-satisfying grin on his face — proud of his good work.

— things were in a good spot. cheol was enjoying the occasional (frequent) flustering of you, you were finding great pleasure in settling back into a life you’d forgotten you so dearly missed, and summer semester was cooling into fall with a gentle sort of settling that made for long, satisfying sighs.

— of course, there was always finals to worry about (and worry you did) but with yuta to walk with you to the library to study (quizzing you on your way there, ofc) and nicha to cajole you into setting down the books for a much needed self care night, you made it through.

— a good thing to have them for the better part of it, too. they were busy people (almost chronically so, one might say) but they were there. 

— see, cheol had called you one night when you were drowning, and when you hadn’t picked up 3 of his calls and dozens more of his messages, he made his way to your dorm and demanded the two of you go on a walk.

past phantom studios, past the vending machines, walking still beyond the stop you always sat at for the campus shuttles, and further to the union building where you met all too often after classes, to catch cheol while he was starting or finishing a tour, ruffling his hair with an unsurprising “boo.”

— you didn’t talk about finals or why you hadn’t picked up his calls, or anything heavy, at first. cheol just told you stories about life, or that time when he had brought kkuma to campus and it took the darling princess all but 10 minutes to get so dirty her coat could barely be considered white. she’d been a good sport, though, and stuck by cheol’s side the whole time, even when there were all manner of enticing people and food on campus.

the stories reminded you of good times — better times — and that’s all it took for the reminiscing to start, and the comfort to flow, and you were infinitely glad that svtu had a daycare on campus and a swing set available to use, because there was something like easy breathing on that swing, with seungcheol next to you and your whole life swinging high.

— “thank you, cheollie,” you said at last, when the quiet that settled between you was warm enough to grasp. you’d slowed your swinging at that point, your feet solid on the ground, just rocking from heel to toe to sway. your gaze was set to the rubber surfacing on the ground — suddenly humility pulling you gently downward.

and then you felt his lips on your skin.

— your forehead.

so soft.

— he’d kissed your forehead.

— it shouldn’t have been so surprising but it was.

— choi seungcheol kissing your forehead, gently, in acceptance of your gratitude. with a smile that overrode that nervous giggling that always captured him, betraying the purest of fondness, when you looked up at him, still so close you could just about reach out with either hand and kiss him proper. how soft would his lips feel, then, when they met yours?

“you used to kiss my scrapes and bruises all the time when we were younger,” you were soft to recall.

and he said something sweet, then, in warm response. a cool wind blew and it tempered the heat in your chest, and you consigned the rest of that moment to fond secrecy.

— but !!!!!!!!!!!!

— you survived your first semester at svtu! how was it? harder than you expected? surprisingly comfortable? well, just you wait, because in this institution of education there was always more to be had. of it all.

and this semester, you had some Very Unforgiving Professors, indeed.

— but haha… at least now you were used to campus and all of it’s charming idiosyncrasies. at the very least, this semester there was no chance of yuqi finding you in the hallway of phantom studios at 2am, begging with a door and keycard, on the verge of sleep-deprived tears to just let you in, damnit; you had been up to hour ungodly finishing a program assignment and had a morning class,,, you just wanted to SLEEP… yes, that would be a memory you’d never have to relive, moving forward… mostly because you’d gotten so good at memorizing your dorm room number you’d never get it mixed up with her neighboring dorm ever again, of course, but also consider the fact that this semester, you had an intimate knowledge of svtu’s very soul. you could save yourself so much humbling embarrassment this time around, and that’s the true win.

harsher professors for a more hardened academic warrior. 

a learning curve ♡

— you’d also learned the hours when you were best able to get a seat in the library to study. a godsend, to be sure.

not that it saved you from distraction, of course, but you were very good at ignoring those.

… so long as they weren’t in the form of one (1) choi seungcheol.

— you were diligently working on an assignment one unassuming thursday afternoon when cheollie found you.

you knew the moment he approached that there would be absolutely zero productivity to follow, but you smiled the same.

— he looked over your shoulder uninterestedly to see what you were working on, and when he seemingly deemed the activity to be quite under-stimulating, indeed, cheol began his convincing you to abandon the work for something he oh-so-vaguely "wanted to show you."

he’d help you with your work later, too, he promised.

you pretended as though his generosity was what swayed you and not his infuriating persuasive grin, somewhat lopsided as he balanced a sucker in his mouth, drawing unreasonable attention to his lips (of which you’d certainly been having Very Normal Thoughts Over™, thank you very much. Nothing Amiss Here, why would you ask?).

— you must have been staring because cheol’s lips moved: half puckered, gently pursed (revelation? surprise?) and it was only half a second later that he’d fished another sucker out of his pocket and held it out to you.

a cherry sucker, off-brand, the svtu college of business emblem gaudily stamped on the wrapper.

cheol had a plethora of them after helping orient new business majors for the beginning of the semester, he shared with a laugh. they were notoriously bland, and who had even decided that suckers of all things would be the welcome treat to invest in? see, the college of medicine leaning into handing out suckers would make sense — doctor’s office protocol and all — but the college of business? when the product was of questionable quality to begin with? it probably explained the reason why he still had so many, all these weeks later.

— you took a sucker from him, if only for the compulsion to take something offered when he was standing there before you, hand outstretched.

it really was a subpar sucker.

“bland! i told them we should have bought pens instead.”

“still, it’s fitting that they’re cherry.”

and cheollie hummed in agreement, mouth pursed around the lollipop, lips staining red around the edges. not that such a thing was significant, of course.

“so what is it you want to show me?”

— and cheol promised you that wherever you were headed, you’d love it.

and hey, as soon as you guys got in the car, cheol routed to the nearest place to get you both a silly little drink, and he handed you the aux, so could you truly complain?

— a few intensely rapped k-pop hits later, the two of you were parked outside the cluster of fine arts buildings on campus.

(parallel parked, of course. cheol would always take any and all opportunities to flex his superior parking skills.)

— cheol pulled you into the sculpture building, and it wasn’t long before you were marveling at his work in the gallery room (it was a sculpt of kkuma!!!! with her darling cherry hair pin!!!!) while cheol put on an apron. he grabbed another for you, and after tying it around you properly (smiling bashfully against all your praise, of course), steered you to the room at the end of the hall, a handmade sign over the doorway reading “ (✿˵◕‿◕˵)  visitors welcome!  V●ᴥ●V ”

it was a pottery studio.

wheel throwing, to be specific.

— “ready to see how my pottery skills have improved?”

— you laughed brightly, and the warmth in the expression lingered in the air around you, revisiting your chests every once in a while, drawing deep rooted laughter and embarrassed giggles out of the both of you. your leftover skill in pottery didn’t quite transfer through the years, but cheol was there next to you to fix your creation from falling flat, should you ask.

 “i told you to be careful, y/n!” “and you thought just telling me would work?”

— in the end, both of your creations — one beautifully formed mug and another lovingly approaching it’s aspired shape — turned out well enough. it would be time yet before they’d be fired and completed, but for now, you had incredibly dry hands and messy aprons to show for your labors. 

true to his word, cheol helped you finish up your assignment afterward, the two of you grabbing lunch (on your card, you’d insisted) from the food trucks that always set up around the union building and claiming a shaded picnic table. 

— the weather was perfect, your assignment was slowly becoming clear, and cheol was leaning over your shoulder, his face set in a concentrated pout as he attempted to decode the work set before you. his eyes shined, and the tree above you dappled cheol’s hair and set it to glow. “y’know, you’re going to completely screw my sense of the perfect date if you keep pulling shit like this.”

and he blinked for a half-second — stunned — before speaking. “your standards should be high. if i were really taking you out on a date, it would be better than this.”

“really?” and you leaned back against him, craning your neck to still look him in the eye. “what would we do?”

and cheol laughed.

“what?”

but for the longest time he couldn’t stop. no matter how you jokingly pushed him, demanding he tell you what was so funny.

“you’re asking me what we’d do if i took you on a date?!”

“you’re the one who brought it up!”

“yeah, well i didn’t expect you to bite,” cheol grumbled, turning awkwardly away, but you weren’t going to let him off that easily.

— you squirmed into your seat, adjusting until you were turned towards him properly, and reaching out, cupped his face with both hands until you turned his flushed face to look at you head on. he couldn’t help himself, he was shyly giggling. “well..?”

— “y/n, i’ve been planning and thinking about that since high school.”

— for a moment the air froze in your lungs. seungcheol — your seungcheol — was sat right across from you, all red faced embarrassment and laughing, brighter than anything. 

— you kissed him on the cheek. “then out first date better be perfect.”

☄. *. ⋆

end of file .

SVT (sophrosyne; virtù; truth) University hopes you've enjoyed your stay !

[gwenster]

This Had Better Come to a Stop (March of the Falsettos)

Per usual, Marvin is projecting his misogyny onto the people in his life. This statement demonstrates Marvin's insistence for Whizzer to take on a domestic role in their relationship as he attempts to compensate for the lack of a housewife role in his life following his divorce. He wants Whizzer to take over Trina’s previous role with no complaints; in “Tight Knit Family (Reprise)” Marvin literally states, “I want a wife who knows what love is” as if he wants a wife when we clearly know that is not the case.

Not only that, it demonstrates Marvin’s continual disrespect for Whizzer’s emotions as the statement clearly shows his disregard for whatever Whizzer is feeling: “hating him” or “needing him.” Marvin doesn’t believe that Whizzer loves him and so he self-sabotages through dismissing his own, and Whizzer’s, emotions.

Marvin’s self-centeredness is not something the musical shies away from admitting and thus us a prime example of just that. It highlights Marvin’s selfish nature, prioritizing his own needs and desires over Whizzer’s.

The subject of the lyrics pertaining to food is so fitting. The continued textual theme of food in the Marvin Trilogy is one of my favorite things to point out and it deserves its own analysis post but for now I’ll stick to writing about how these lyrics highlight Marvin’s particular relationship with meals and cooking. With a concept like this that unmistakably dates all the way back to the sequel, with In Trousers specifically honing in on his obsession with meals with songs like, “How Marvin Eats His Breakfast” and continues to plague the rest of the trilogy.

This Had Better Come to a Stop (Falsettos)

The lyrics in Falsettos differ. I am curious as to why the lyrics were replaced. In the context of Marvin’s character and the pair's relationship, the remark is so meaningful that its removal feels like a missed opportunity; I almost feel robbed due to its absence. Not that I dislike the new lyrics by any means; rather, I adore them.

The entire exchange between Marvin and Whizzer during the beginning of this number is truly one of my favorite scenes in the entire musical. The acting in this singular minute of dialogue is breathtaking, it’s so grounded and characterizes the pair insanely well.

Even though it’s directed at Whizzer, Marvin’s remark on how “Life can be wonderful” is him reassuring himself of that fact, not Whizzer. In this scene, he shows no regard for Whizzer’s emotions; continuing the very one sided nature of the exchange the two are enduring.

Following the reflection of his life, he narrows down his analysis, remarking on his relationship with Whizzer. With his words now partially directed at the other he states, “Isn’t this wonderful?” seemingly giving Whizzer the floor to voice his opinion. Which, in the proshot, Whizzer eagerly does, or rather, attempts to. He begins to reply in an effort to soothe the other and point out the truth in his statement, but an insecure Marvin, who admittedly enjoys picking fights over trivial issues, interrupts him, continuing to stir the pot.

Whizzer’s actions heavily contrast his nature in previous scenes. Unlike “The Thrill of First Love” which introduces us to their relationship, describing how both Marvin and Whizzer both enjoy fighting stating how “of all the lesser passions” they “like fighting most.” Marvin is still acting under this notion. Despite this, Whizzer acts maturely in this situation, making an effort to have a sincere discussion. This is the first time we see Whizzer’s genuine investment in the committed aspect of their relationship, showing there is more to him than originally presented. It’s just another example of how he’s not so great at continuing his facade of not wanting something serious while actively pursuing exactly that. Namely how it explicitly states that he’s had dinners with Marvin’s immediate family and has familiarized himself with his child to the extent that he has.

As previously mentioned, the acting in this scene is amazing. Depending on the performance there are plenty of conclusions that can be drawn from their own interpretations and I’ve had varying ones over the years but it’s undeniable that their body language speaks volumes.

I wish I had access to any stage directions from this moment, but alas I will just be describing what I see:

Whizzer is provoked and stands up to emphasize his point. Marvin then grabs the collar of Whizzer’s suit and shakes him while proclaiming “Life can be wonderful.” He lets go and continues with “Isn’t this wonderful?” Following this Whizzer reaches out to reassure him but Marvin is quick to push him away to which Whizzer flinches or at least experiences a full-body pause to represent shock or dismay and he spends the rest of the confrontation stone faced after freezing up.

Marvin’s display is insanely contradicting, he speaks so gently at moments yet aggressive is at the same time. Due to this Whizzer is left confused, scared even, during their interaction with his whole demeanor changing when Marvin puts his hands on him.

TLDR. I adore both renditions of “This Had Better Come to a Stop.” It’s arguably my favorite song in the entire Falsettos soundtrack and I love both variants of these lyrics. I feel like Marvin as I practically profess how, “I want it all” as I wish these lines could coexist in the same version because of how impactful and relevant they are.

[thedaythatwas]

TW: Hegel.

So, what’s up with Shuake and dialectics? Click below to watch this user (who is not a philosopher) give this (frankly too invested) analysis a shot!

Something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately is the fact that most– but not all– of Joker’s confidant routes involve some sort of transaction. Joker does something for someone, Joker gets a favor in return. Joker’s identity revolves around what he can do for others. He’s got a different mask (haha game mechanic is narrative device etc.) for everyone in his life. 

Getting a little bit in my head about this led me to a (not-all-that-novel) realization: Akechi’s confidant route is largely non-transactional. Sure, he says that he wants to meet with you to talk about the Phantom Thieves, but that more or less directly translates to just wanting to hang out with you. The “favor” that you're doing for Akechi, if we follow the logic of some of the other confidant routes, is spending time with him. (Which is of course also about getting close to Joker for metaverse recon purposes… But I’d argue that amounts to more or less the same thing in the long run anyway). Really, that’s what your relationship with him is, up until you realize the heart he needs you to change is actually one of the big-bads of the game. And at that point… Well… 

Where am I going with this? I’ve also been thinking a lot about Hegel (I’ve seen some really fun posting about Akechi and Hegel on here this past week– thank you philosophy P5R tumblr!). Akechi’s paraphrasing of Hegel goes a little something like “advancement cannot occur without both thesis and antithesis.” Hilariously, this is how he frames his desire to talk to you more, his flirting is just like me forreal I understand him etc. etc. BUT! The interesting thing here is that the game is cueing you to view your relationship with Akechi through the lens of Hegel’s dialectics.

More on that to follow, but first, I want to plug the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy’s page on Hegel’s Dialectics here– If you haven’t used it before, SEP is a reliable, peer-reviewed source. It’s great. I use it like. All the time. It’s good for getting the gist of big ideas when you don’t have time to read full texts. (Also if I get any of this wrong please know that philosophy is not my field and I’m totally open to constructive criticism.)

Hegel’s dialectical process revolves around three key moments: the moment of understanding, the dialectical moment, and the speculative moment. These moments can also be referred to as thesis, antithesis, and synthesis. The moment of understanding, thesis, is the point at which an idea is seemingly stable. In the dialectical moment, antithesis, this idea “sublates” itself– the idea is challenged and destabilized because an inherent contradiction in the idea has been made apparent–importantly, part of the idea is preserved. The speculative moment, synthesis, negates the contradiction. A new idea takes form, containing elements of the original idea that was sublated (Marx’s theory of history, anyone?) 

This process continues on and on. Ideas naturally reveal their contradictions, are destabilized, and resolve their contradictions through the creation of a new idea, which is challenged again. This is because the dialectical moment does not come from outside an idea. Antithesis is not an external push against thesis, but rather, the moment when thesis is forced into instability because of its own tightly-bound restriction. 

So back to what I was saying. The game kicks off your relationship with Akechi with a nod to, uh, all of that. Could this be a throwaway comment? Of course! But it’s much more fun to work under the assumption that it isn’t. So bear with me. Akechi is framing himself and Joker as thesis and antithesis. What does that mean? Why do I think it has something to do with Akechi and Joker’s relationship being non-transactional?

Previously, I’ve thought that in the context of their relationship, Akechi represented thesis, and Joker antithesis. This isn’t exactly true (at least per the criteria above) but I do think I was on the right track. 

At the beginning of his story, we can think of Akechi’s worldview as thesis. The world is a stage, and he is a performer. His entire life is dedicated to destroying Shido. It’s a key narrative element of P5 that Akechi doesn’t have confidant relationships (as contrasted by Joker, who has many confidants and becomes stronger through building up those bonds). He views himself as deceiving literally everyone in his life for his goals– his “fans,” his father, the Phantom Thieves. He doesn’t trust, because to him, trust is failure. 

Still, he’s starving for approval, and not just from Shido. You can see the inherent conflict between his desires and beliefs in just about every interaction he has with Joker, particularly those where Akechi overshares about his past. He desperately wants someone to hear him. I don’t think his (primary) aim in that was to strategically win Joker’s trust by showing vulnerability– if that was all he was going for, I doubt Akechi would have been so honest. He omitted information, sure, but he gave Joker the honest-to-god broad strokes of his childhood.  

When Joker comes into his life, Akechi comes to realize that his stable worldview might be wrong. Watching Joker and the rest of the Phantom Thieves reveals the cracks in his own internal logic. Joker has friendships and he is stronger because of them. When Akechi sacrifices himself for the Phantom Thieves on Shido’s ship, we see his moment of synthesis. If Akechi really still internalized all of what he said in his “Teammates? Friends? To hell with that!” monologue, he wouldn’t trust Joker to change Shido’s heart in his stead. To be clear– he probably would have reached this point with or without Joker’s intervention. Joker just happens to push Akechi towards self-sublation a little bit faster.

In Royal, we see a new iteration of Akechi. He doesn’t really regret his actions, and he is still very distinctly Akechi, but we can see that his original perception of the world has made a shift. He is willing to team up with Joker. While he may not place a great deal of faith in all of the PTs, he certainly has real trust in the protagonist. He’s learned that he can be recognized (dare I say loved?) without being perfect, and accordingly, his driving desire for approval has been displaced by his desire to never be so completely under anyone else’s control again.

But ok— that’s kind of an old take. Perhaps a hotter one: I’d also like to propose that Akechi does the same for Joker. 

As mentioned above, Joker’s identity for most of the game is defined by what he can do for the people around him. While a large part of this has to do with the fact that he is a playable character, this is a game, and a game needs to have things for you to do– it wouldn’t be very fun otherwise– it also seems pretty clear that this is part of his characterization. Joker is selfless to a fault. Like Akechi, he is a wildcard who can take on multiple personas. Unlike Akechi, instead of having a handful of personas directly linked to the core of his character development, Joker has as many personas as you want him to. He literally has a mask for every situation. You can equip a persona of the correct arcana to level up your relationships faster– a game mechanic, but also, an interesting meta statement about how Joker bonds with his confidants.

In Royal, however, Joker has the option to do something for himself. His greatest wish isn’t for someone else's happiness– it’s to have Akechi back, for selfish reasons, I would argue. Joker can sacrifice reality to keep him in his life, and depending on the actions you choose to take, sometimes, he does.

Loving Akechi teaches Joker to be selfish. This is especially poignant when you think of how adamantly opposed Akechi is to staying in Maruki's reality. Giving up the true reality to keep Akechi is a wholly selfish act on Joker's part, nothing altruistic about it. And if he doesn't make that choice? Well, don't forget about how Joker spent his wish.

He would have learned how to do this without Akechi– one tends to realize that neverending self-sacrifice is unsustainable sooner rather than later. Again, Akechi just pushes Joker towards effecting that self-sublation a little faster.

By spending time with Joker, Akechi learns that there are people he can truly trust. By spending time with Akechi, Joker learns how to put himself first. Their confidant relationship from this perspective is not only transactional, it’s actually one of the most transactional relationships in the game. Joker actively impacts how Akechi sees himself and the world around him, and vice versa. Their relationship is profoundly transformative for the both of them. To paraphrase Akechi, advancement cannot occur without both thesis and antithesis.

But also, we can forget dialectics for a second. Even without a fun analytical lens, Akechi’s confidant route centers two misunderstood people who find understanding in each other. That’s enough for me!

[prodigy-if]

[[DEMO]]

Hiraeth Academy. A home for genius children. All types of prodigies from across the globe have gotten their start there. 

Of course, while the house may seem like a fascinating and wonderous place on the outside, anyone who has actually lived there knows the truth. It’s an odd place full of dark secrets and mysteries that shouldn’t be unraveled.

There is a reason why all former “students” never return after all. A thing that keeps them driven away. A thing that keeps them from even thinking about looking back once they step through those doors. Wanting to go back is the last thing on any former inhabitants list.

You of all people would know. Leaving seven years ago and not looking back was the single best decision you ever made. You would never even think about considering going back.

Until now that is.

Rated 17+ for graphic depictions of violence, death, alcohol use, explicit language, suggestive content, mature themes.

Play as a former “child prodigy” who’s life has gotten flipped upside down. Again.

Uncover the mysteries of Hiraeth Academy and it’s mysterious headmaster.

Explore and navigate complex relationships with five different ROs.

Customize your character’s personality and appearance.

Look back onto your past in order to solve a decades long mystery.

Learn about the complex history of both the academy and it’s former students.

Try not to let the past catch up with you. It won’t let go once it does.

Most importantly: Remember to always follow the rules. They were put in for a reason after all.

Marlon Nikitin [He/Him]

Your former “academic” rival. He also happens to be the last person you spoke to before you left the academy. It’s been years since you’ve last saw him and he seems just as abrasive as ever. Despite the time that has passed, it seems his competitive spark is still as strong as ever. Although, despite his seemingly indifferent attitude, he seems equally as invested in learning the secrets of this place as you are. If not more.

Cyrus Quinn [He/Him]

Another former “student” of the academy, Cyrus practically disappeared off the face of the earth after leaving. You remember him as being quite laidback and snarky, an odd demeanor for an inhabitant of the house to have had, but he had always been kind to you despite not being particularly close. He seems to have kept this attitude into adulthood but every now and then you get a glimpse of something darker hiding beneath the surface.

Naomi Adams [She/Her]

Your former best friend and assigned “partner” at the academy. Her calm demeanor made her an easy source of comfort in what was otherwise a chaotic life. You haven’t spoken since you left the academy, and during that time she seems to have...changed. She’s more anxious and on edge. Perhaps rekindling your friendship is the only way to see what secrets she may be hiding.

Isla Wright [She/Her]

Isla was always a difficult person to understand. She was an endless source of energy and was constantly fluttering in and out of people’s business. The type that was everyone’s friend but very few people actually seemed to be hers. For as well as she knew everyone else, it was difficult to get a read on her. This isn’t something that has changed into adulthood. In fact, Isla seems to be even more difficult to understand than before. 

Kieran Naught [Gender Selectable]

The only member of the group who did not attend Hiraeth Academy. They are a local private investigator who is looking into the death of the former headmaster. Kieran can be described as distant at best and as paranoid at worst. Usually, you couldn’t care less about some wanna be detective investigating the school (it wouldn’t be the first time after all), but they seem to have taken a distinct interest in you. Whether it’s genuine curiosity or suspicion, you don’t know and you don’t particularly want to find out.

[mango-bango-bby]

Been thinking about this for a while. Pro heroes!Kirishima and bakugo with a orphan child!reader.

They catch a small child that’s poor/abandoned been stealing food, Kirishima and bakugo start feeding the child asking if they had any parents, and if they’d been stealing food for a while now. They’d find out that your an orphan and decide to take you home with them and give you a better life.

♡ Orphaned ♡

(A/N: I actually loved writing this, I might add them to the yandere family masterlist if I write more or get more requests for them like this 🥺🥺🥺 I’ve been very into platonic yandere families at the moment, it’s very comforting to me 💘)

Content Warning ⚠️: Yandere, platonic yandere, homesless reader, reader doesn’t have parents, reader is starving, technically kidnapping, KiriBaku dads 💗

Summary: You get caught stealing food because you don’t have any (Platonic!Yan!Bakugou x GN!child!reader x Platonic!Yan!Kirishima)

Masterlist ➸ ♡

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Eijiro and Katsuki tended to have work at night. Being a pro-hero and all. However despite what many believed, being a pro-hero was mostly just waiting around for crime to happen or a villain to show up. So most of their shifts was just waiting for something to happen. Something did happen tonight.

The sound of a store alarm rings through the night. It was from the convenience store across the street, someone had stolen something. Although looking across the street. The person you tripped the alarm was you. A child running out of the store in a ratty coat, two packs of instant ramen in your hands as you run.

It’s unspoken but they both look at each other for a moment, decided they need to follow you. A child as young as you are stealing food, you’re clearly hungry! You couldn’t have been older than five! They follow eventually finding themselves in an alleyway.

You sit on a dirty blanket on the ground of the alleyway, not seeming to notice them. You seemed to invested into eating the ramen, simply biting into the block of the dried noodles as if it was the first thing you’ve eaten in days.

“Hey” Katsuki calls out simply, watching you flinch at the sudden noise. He silently cursed himself for how he sounded as he didn’t mean to come off mean. “Hey, are you okay?” Kirishima asks in a softer tone, walking closer to you noticing how you kind of hold your food closer to you as if they were going to take it from you.

You nod slightly, Kirishima kneeling down so he can be at your height. “Are you still hungry?” He asks, watching you look down a bit before nodding. Katsuki thinks for a moment, before reaching into one of his pockets, handing you a protein bar. You quickly open it, using your teeth to open up the plastic before eating the bar almost in one bite.

“Do you live here?” Katsuki asks, crossing his arms over his chest. He looks around the dirty alleyway. The only things with you is a blanket that you sit on and a stuffed animal that looked as if it was dug out of the trash. Random wrappers are also around you, seemingly from food you’ve stolen.

“Do you live here by yourself? Do you have any family?” Kirishima asks, feeling his face almost drop at your words. You glance up at him before speaking. “I don’t have any family” you mumble, your voice quiet. Katsuki looks at Kirishima. He automatically knows what the blonde is thinking.

Katsuki may look mean but, by god, he was going to take you home with them. He couldn’t leave you alone of the streets! And he knew Kirishima would agree to it, you were in danger out here!

But you would be safe at their home.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Thank you for reading, darling!!

[gold-rhine]

sub! Albedo x Dom! GN! Reader

Warnings: not sfw, edging, first time, fingering, anal sex, long dialogs discussing metaphysics of human connection. Cock stands for cock\strap as usual.

A\N: Repost bc my previous blog got shadowbanned. very soft, almost didn’t want to tag as as dom! reader, but the dynamic is specifically pronounced. but give it a try even if you’re just into bottom Albedo.

Wordcount: 3k

Albedo might seem like cold and disaffected, but that’s mostly Neurodivergency (TM)

He’s extremely introverted and demi, he’s usually not interested in people at all and so comes off as curt and rude

But rarely, if he does form a connection, he very much quietly and intensely hyperfixates on it

“I used to think interaction with others was a waste of time. But after meeting you, I'd rather spend my time on you than other matters.”

As you can tell from the quote and his general interaction with the traveler, he’s pretty open about his interest. Albedo has a mix of very quiet, shy social awkwardness in some situations, and almost clinically shameless directness in others.

He’s lonely, but he wants very specifically someone who can see and understand him for what he is without flinching, and the people for whom the nature of his artificial creation would not change their demeanor towards him is who he tends to latch on.

While normally very precise and methodical, he can throw logic and principles out of the window when it comes to the person he really likes.

Like remember the last dragonspine event where he turned into an absolute spineless mush in order to fix traveler's ugly doodle without actually admitting that it's ugly.

They even specifically spelled out his thoughts to show that he does think it's ugly, while he's muttering out loud "no, its uh great, i mean i can maybe add a few embellishments if you would like me too".

He becomes clingy, but in an extremely introverted way. He would not initiate contact, but he’d aggressively, though in a very roundabout-way hint that he would like your presence (his story quests, esp the last scene of the latest dragonspine event)

And when you do choose to spend time with him, he’s very open about how he doesn’t really care what you do, as long as you’re together, and that he would like to prolong that time.

He’s also very straightforward about letting you decide and following the lead after he’s already realized he’s into you

“Would you like to have a chat with me?

Albedo: Certainly. Uh... I will let you decide the topic of our conversation.”

(again, the fucking second-hand embarrassment horror of the last dragospine event’s painting lesson)

“Heh, where should I begin...? In your company, I never lack inspiration”

“By the way, after we're done. may I have the pleasure of inviting you to dessert with me? To continue our time together, and to thank you for your company.”

Albedo is not an easy, quick fun type, he's a long time, deep investment only. But in return, he’s very curious and open to experiments, doesn’t have any societal prejudices, very accepting of other ppl’s oddities, artistic, deep-feeling, imaginative, with a quiet, but intense need for acceptance and praise.

He obviously won’t be loud and expressive, but if he’s your type, effort spent on him can be very rewarding, he is the case where you can give the lightest touch and see it ripple through him like a hurricane.

It happens on a seemingly normal evening while you two are drinking tea with desserts in your room. Albedo tells you about his latest research project, or, if more precisely, about how Cyrus from the Adventurers Guild keeps interrupting it with his inane training activities on Dragonspine. For someone who doesn’t know him, he’d sound just politely dry, but you can read sarcastic exasperation in his tone, so you laugh and sympathetically pat his arm. It’s a fairly innocuous gesture, but he suddenly freezes. You immediately take your hand away and apologize, remembering that he isn’t a very physical person, but he shakes his head, says that it’s okay. But when he tries to get back to his story, he’s clearly distracted and still thrown off balance, so you try to clear the air by promising to not do it again.

“No, I’m not displeased. On the contrary,” he says, throwing you an inquisitive glance askew. “It’s a somewhat interesting development on a… matter that’s been perplexing me for some time.”

“Huh? And what is this matter?” you ask, grinning, and are surprised to see Albedo, who is usually very straightforward even with the most direct questions when his curiosity is peaked, frown hesitantly.

“Well, it… depends. Do you see me strictly in… ah, platonic capacity? Because in that case, I would prefer to not endanger our friendship and move on from the subject.”

“Oh?” you smirk, raising an eyebrow and watch his pale sculpted cheeks color slightly as he avoids your gaze. “No, I’d be interested in your other… capacities.”

“Well, in that case I think it’s fairly obvious that I’m attracted to you.”

“I wouldn’t call it fairly obvious, but do go on.”

“The attraction itself does not surprise me, of course. What I find perplexing is how disproportionately strongly my body reacts. If you’re not averse to the idea of physical interaction, I would like to see what direct skin to skin contact would feel like.”

You look over him, a slight blush on his cheeks, but bright blue eyes watching you intensely, and grin.

“Anything for science, my prince.”

He nods seriously, starts unbuckling the clasps on the elbow-long glove on his right hand, but you don’t wait for him to finish, slide your fingers into the gap on his thigh between his high boots and shorts. He startles, almost jumping up, looks at you with wide opened eyes like a deer in headlights, and you lean in and kiss him. He makes a tiny surprised noise, but answers, a little awkwardly, leans into you.

When you move away, he sits there in stunned silence, blushing, one glove half-taken off, and shorts-pant rolled up, really looking like a prince who tries to find an etiquette- appropriate response to being ravished.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly.

“Yes. But I feel a little dizzy, I’m not sure why.”

You smirk.

“It’s probably a sudden redirect of a bloodflow.”

He looks down at his crotch, blushes brighter, but says calmly.

“Oh. That makes sense, I suppose.”

“I guess this makes an experiment a success, huh?” “Do you want to go on?”

“Yes,” he says without hesitation. “But I would like to have some time to prepare.”

You think that this “time to prepare” is just to mentally catch his breath, but when you walk back into the room after some time, you find him by the bed, completely naked, clothes folded neatly on the nearby chair.

You walk up to him slowly, smile, not wanting to spook him.

“Hey, are you sure you’re not moving too fast?”

“Do not patronize me,” he says firmly, narrowing his eyes. “I am more than 400 hundred years old, I know biology, I know how sex works. The process itself is not complicated at all, it’s simply a matter of stimulating the appropriate organs and zones.”

“Oh, such a romantic,” you smirk, moving to stand close to him, and he looks at you sternly, an interesting contrast to his stark naked body.

“I didn’t involve other people because it seemed too much of a hussle to satisfy basic needs of the body when I can do it myself.”

“Then why make an effort now?”

“Because…” he pauses, looks away briefly and continues more slowly, measurely. “Of the inappropriate reaction of my body to your touch. And because when I touched myself imagining you it felt much better than when I did without thinking of you.”

You raise your eyebrows at his admission, but he goes on, his voice frustrated.

“It makes no sense! It was the same hand and the same gesture, and yet it felt so much stronger. Why? The same stimulation should produce the same results, but it didn’t. And now your touch, even over the gloved hand, which should not even be a desired zone for stimulation, feels that much intense!”

You can’t keep away for longer, lean down, catching his mouth in a kiss. He moans, leans against you, his naked slender body trembling, arching when you run your hands down his spine, his cock already getting hard against your thigh. You push him down on the bed and he lets you, looks up at you with hazy, wide open blue eyes, wet lips half open, pink tongue showing, cheeks blushing, and he’s trying to hide his hard dick behind the half-closed pulled up knees. For a moment you’re tempted to take him right there, spread his legs and ram into him roughly, until he screams and loses his senses.

But it’s much more fun to play with him slowly, so you prop yourself on the bed next to him, catch his cheek in your hand, looking down at him with a smile.

“You have a theory on why, surely.”

He blinks a few times, swallows harshly and licks his lips, trying to stay in control..

“Yes, but I’m not sure I should say it right now. I wouldn’t want to ruin the mood.”

“The mood we started with was experimental biology, I don’t know how you can ruin that,” you smirk, but as he still looks anxious, soften your voice. “Baby, if I didn’t want someone weirdly over-analytical, I wouldn’t go after you at all, don’t worry, you can talk.”

“Well, it’s not directly correlated, but I think it works on similar principles. See, there’s a difference between just a rendering of something, no matter how accurate, and art including the same object. In fact, an art piece does not have to be accurate at all. I’ve struggled to identify it, but it is undeniable once you feel it. You may call it an inspiration in art, but it’s also that ephemeral and unspoken thing that separates home from the house, an acquaintance from friend, a string of words from poetry.”

“Oh, you *are* a romantic, huh,” you smile and stroke his cheek. He makes a small noise and leans into your palm. You run your fingers slowly, lightly down his neck, over the curve of his collarbones to the beating pulse in the delicate hollow of his throat, and he shivers, arches under your touch, his breath catching. His body, pristine, touch-starved, reacts so strongly to the smallest stimulation, but even as affected as he is, he still watches you sharply.

“Do you enjoy it, seeing the power you have over me now, how disproportionately I can’t help, but react?”

“Of course. It makes playing with you so delicious. Don’t you like it?” you slide your hand down his chest, thumb at the tender pink peak of the nipple and watch him squirm, his cock twitches against his belly and starts to leak.

“It's complicated,” he says quietly, pressing his head against your shoulder. “I enjoy the sensations, I feel excited and anxious about what’s to come, but I’m also acutely afraid to disappoint.”

“Don’t worry, baby.” you draw your hand down over his ribs, tensed up stomach, stroke teasingly at the lovely hipbones instead of finally touching his pulsing dick. He’s just such a fun, responsive canvas to explore. “You can’t disappoint.”

“Of course I can,” he says incredulously, but then you slide your free hand into his fluffy, soft  hair, grip at the flaxen blond locks and pull, making him arch his throat with a helpless whine. You kiss the golden diamond on his neck and feel him tremble and swallow harshly under your lips.

“This mark is not more sensitive than the rest of my skin, and yet when I know you caress my imperfection, it wrecks me,” he’s shaking in your arms, and yet his voice is calm, almost distant.

“Albedo, baby, the absolute most of humans would not look at this mark and think of it as “imperfection.” They would just think it’s cute.”

“Is it a sign of how deep my differences run then if it feels important to me?”

“Being anxious about perceived flaws that no one else cares about is the most human thing imaginable,” you answer softly and he chuckles, leans against you.

“I can’t argue with that, I’ve seen it too often. I suppose there’s no such thing as perfection for a human.”

“No, there is.”

He watches you with a raised eyebrow, and you grin, lean down, finally covering his cock with your hand, catch a tiny, strangled sigh from his parted lips.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get it. I’ll make sure of that.”

You stroke him slowly, trying to prolong the pleasure, but he was too understimulated for far too long, too high-strung, he throws his arms around your shoulders, his hips rocking into your hand involuntarily, eyelashes fluttering over the glazed over eyes, and he comes with a short breezy moan.

You kiss him lightly, stroke him through it until his body relaxes under you, frantic breath slowing down.

“Are you okay, little prince?”

He opens his eyes, and you can see him coming to his senses, the focus coming back into his gaze like a bright sharp edge of a scalpel.

“Yes. A little dizzy, but I’m fine. You can go on.”

“Are you sure you’re not too overwhelmed?”

His fingers dig into your shoulders just a little deeper.

“No. And I think I’m forming a theory.”

“Oh? I have to hear this,” you smirk, slide your hand between his legs to circle at his entrance.

“At first, I thought interaction with others was a waste of time, but now I realize I was wrong. Art can’t be created without inspiration, and inspiration has to come from interaction with the outside world,” he whispers, quietly, but with conviction. When you slide your fingers inside him, he presses his cheek against yours, his quick breaths damp and hot against your skin, his disheveled soft hair tickling at your temple. “A transformation can only be achieved through a reaction with a new reagent, and so the same with humans, a person can only change through the experiences obtained.”

You bury your fingers deeper, scissor and massage his walls until he opens up, his hips bucking up and cock getting hard again.

“See, baby, but if that reagent reacts like a human, then what does the origin of it matter?”

He looks up at you with a small, surprised smile, the sweetest and shiest you’ve ever seen on him, despite his trembling nakedness under you, the shameless spread of his legs, your fingers fucking into him and his pretty swollen dick twitching on his belly.

“You really think so?”

“Of course, my prince.”

He arches to press an awkward, fervent kiss against your lips and moans when you slide your tongue against his.

“Please,” he whines when you break up to catch the air. “I need to feel this, please…”

You take your fingers out and slide your cock\strap into him, pressing into him slowly, giving him time to adjust, but even so, he feels so full. He moans, throws his arms over his head to grip at the bedsheets. When you start fucking him, it feels so good, but also like too much, like his body is too small to contain it, and so he instinctively tries to let out the excess of energy, the crystalline flower blooming under his fingers. But it’s not his usual, perfectly structured symmetrical construct, the delicate amber petals sprout wildly, disproportionately at all sides, shutter and form again like waves with every thrust. Soon the pulsing gold flower is covering the rest of the room with a helplessly writhing form of Albedo in the center, and the outside layers start losing the definition, turn into flickering white wings of the crystalflies. He shudders with each movement, small, breathless “oh-oh-oh…” escaping his half-bitten lips, but he never takes his eyes off you, the bright aquamarine of the high, cloudless noon of the Dragonspine skies, sharp glow reflected off the untouched snow and the deep-glimmering ice.

“I can’t take it anymore,” he whispers weakly, barely audible, while the gold and white pulse of his flowers throw the flashing reflections on his body. “It’s too much, maybe I was never meant… to feel…”

“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” you lean down, press the gentlest kiss to the corner of his open mouth, while fucking harshly into him, and he watches you hepleslly, intently. “You’re so beautiful and you’re doing so good for me. Just let go.”

He sees the way you look at him, the way you touch him, and finally he gets it, his body overripe, tension rippling on the cusp of revelation. When does a human feel perfect? Oh, but when someone sees them as such.

He arches in your arms and comes with a chocked scream, crystalized petals blooming all at once around you, and just for an endless moment, the chalk under his skin turns into gold.

[rhine-gold-archive]

sub! Albedo x Dom! GN! Reader

Warnings: not sfw, edging, first time, fingering, anal sex, long dialogs discussing metaphysics of human connection. Cock stands for cock\strap as usual.

A\N: very soft, almost didn’t want to tag as as dom! reader, but the dynamic is specifically pronounced. but give it a try even if you’re just into bottom Albedo.

Wordcount: 3k

Albedo might seem like cold and disaffected, but that’s mostly Neurodivergency (TM)

He’s extremely introverted and demi, he’s usually not interested in people at all and so comes off as curt and rude

But rarely, if he does form a connection, he very much quietly and intensely hyperfixates on it

“I used to think interaction with others was a waste of time. But after meeting you, I'd rather spend my time on you than other matters.”

As you can tell from the quote and his general interaction with the traveler, he’s pretty open about his interest. Albedo has a mix of very quiet, shy social awkwardness in some situations, and almost clinically shameless directness in others.

He’s lonely, but he wants very specifically someone who can see and understand him for what he is without flinching, and the people for whom the nature of his artificial creation would not change their demeanor towards him is who he tends to latch on.

While normally very precise and methodical, he can throw logic and principles out of the window when it comes to the person he really likes. 

Like remember the last dragonspine event where he turned into an absolute spineless mush in order to fix traveler's ugly doodle without actually admitting that it's ugly. 

They even specifically spelled out his thoughts to show that he does think it's ugly, while he's muttering out loud "no, its uh great, i mean i can maybe add a few embellishments if you would like me too". 

He becomes clingy, but in an extremely introverted way. He would not initiate contact, but he’d aggressively, though in a very roundabout-way hint that he would like your presence (his story quests, esp the last scene of the latest dragonspine event)

And when you do choose to spend time with him, he’s very open about how he doesn’t really care what you do, as long as you’re together, and that he would like to prolong that time.

He’s also very straightforward about letting you decide and following the lead after he’s already realized he’s into you

“Would you like to have a chat with me?

 Albedo: Certainly. Uh... I will let you decide the topic of our conversation.”

(again, the fucking second-hand embarrassment horror of the last dragospine event’s painting lesson) 

“Heh, where should I begin...? In your company, I never lack inspiration”

“By the way, after we're done. may I have the pleasure of inviting you to dessert with me? To continue our time together, and to thank you for your company.”

Albedo is not an easy, quick fun type, he's a long time, deep investment only. But in return, he’s very curious and open to experiments, doesn’t have any societal prejudices, very accepting of other ppl’s oddities, artistic, deep-feeling, imaginative, with a quiet, but intense need for acceptance and praise.

He obviously won’t be loud and expressive, but if he’s your type, effort spent on him can be very rewarding, he is the case where you can give the lightest touch and see it ripple through him like a hurricane. 

It happens on a seemingly normal evening while you two are drinking tea with desserts in your room. Albedo tells you about his latest research project, or, if more precisely, about how Cyrus from the Adventurers Guild keeps interrupting it with his inane training activities on Dragonspine. For someone who doesn’t know him, he’d sound just politely dry, but you can read sarcastic exasperation in his tone, so you laugh and sympathetically pat his arm. It’s a fairly innocuous gesture, but he suddenly freezes. You immediately take your hand away and apologize, remembering that he isn’t a very physical person, but he shakes his head, says that it’s okay. But when he tries to get back to his story, he’s clearly distracted and still thrown off balance, so you try to clear the air by promising to not do it again.

“No, I’m not displeased. On the contrary,” he says, throwing you an inquisitive glance askew. “It’s a somewhat interesting development on a… matter that’s been perplexing me for some time.”

“Huh? And what is this matter?” you ask, grinning, and are surprised to see Albedo, who is usually very straightforward even with the most direct questions when his curiosity is peaked, frown hesitantly.

“Well, it… depends. Do you see me strictly in… ah, platonic capacity? Because in that case, I would prefer to not endanger our friendship and move on from the subject.”

“Oh?” you smirk, raising an eyebrow and watch his pale sculpted cheeks color slightly as he avoids your gaze. “No, I’d be interested in your other… capacities.”

“Well, in that case I think it’s fairly obvious that I’m attracted to you.”

“I wouldn’t call it fairly obvious, but do go on.”

“The attraction itself does not surprise me, of course. What I find perplexing is how disproportionately strongly my body reacts. If you’re not averse to the idea of physical interaction, I would like to see what direct skin to skin contact would feel like.”

You look over him, a slight blush on his cheeks, but bright blue eyes watching you intensely, and grin.

“Anything for science, my prince.”

He nods seriously, starts unbuckling the clasps on the elbow-long glove on his right hand, but you don’t wait for him to finish, slide your fingers into the gap on his thigh between his high boots and shorts. He startles, almost jumping up, looks at you with wide opened eyes like a deer in headlights, and you lean in and kiss him. He makes a tiny surprised noise, but answers, a little awkwardly, leans into you. 

When you move away, he sits there in stunned silence, blushing, one glove half-taken off, and shorts-pant rolled up, really looking like a prince who tries to find an etiquette- appropriate response to being ravished.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly.

“Yes. But I feel a little dizzy, I’m not sure why.”

You smirk.

“It’s probably a sudden redirect of a bloodflow.”

He looks down at his crotch, blushes brighter, but says calmly.

“Oh. That makes sense, I suppose.”

“I guess this makes an experiment a success, huh?” “Do you want to go on?”

“Yes,” he says without hesitation. “But I would like to have some time to prepare.”

You think that this “time to prepare” is just to mentally catch his breath, but when you walk back into the room after some time, you find him by the bed, completely naked, clothes folded neatly on the nearby chair.

You walk up to him slowly, smile, not wanting to spook him.

“Hey, are you sure you’re not moving too fast?”

“Do not patronize me,” he says firmly, narrowing his eyes. “I am more than 400 hundred years old, I know biology, I know how sex works. The process itself is not complicated at all, it’s simply a matter of stimulating the appropriate organs and zones.”

“Oh, such a romantic,” you smirk, moving to stand close to him, and he looks at you sternly, an interesting contrast to his stark naked body.

“I didn’t involve other people because it seemed too much of a hussle to satisfy basic needs of the body when I can do it myself.”

“Then why make an effort now?”

“Because…” he pauses, looks away briefly and continues more slowly, measurely. “Of the inappropriate reaction of my body to your touch. And because when I touched myself imagining you it felt much better than when I did without thinking of you.”

You raise your eyebrows at his admission, but he goes on, his voice frustrated.

“It makes no sense! It was the same hand and the same gesture, and yet it felt so much stronger. Why? The same stimulation should produce the same results, but it didn’t. And now your touch, even over the gloved hand, which should not even be a desired zone for stimulation, feels that much intense!”

You can’t keep away for longer, lean down, catching his mouth in a kiss. He moans, leans against you, his naked slender body trembling, arching when you run your hands down his spine, his cock already getting hard against your thigh. You push him down on the bed and he lets you, looks up at you with hazy, wide open blue eyes, wet lips half open, pink tongue showing, cheeks blushing, and he’s trying to hide his hard dick behind the half-closed pulled up knees. For a moment you’re tempted to take him right there, spread his legs and ram into him roughly, until he screams and loses his senses.

But it’s much more fun to play with him slowly, so you prop yourself on the bed next to him, catch his cheek in your hand, looking down at him with a smile.

“You have a theory on why, surely.”

He blinks a few times, swallows harshly and licks his lips, trying to stay in control..

“Yes, but I’m not sure I should say it right now. I wouldn’t want to ruin the mood.”

“The mood we started with was experimental biology, I don’t know how you can ruin that,” you smirk, but as he still looks anxious, soften your voice. “Baby, if I didn’t want someone weirdly over-analytical, I wouldn’t go after you at all, don’t worry, you can talk.”

“Well, it’s not directly correlated, but I think it works on similar principles. See, there’s a difference between just a rendering of something, no matter how accurate, and art including the same object. In fact, an art piece does not have to be accurate at all. I’ve struggled to identify it, but it is undeniable once you feel it. You may call it an inspiration in art, but it’s also that ephemeral and unspoken thing that separates home from the house, an acquaintance from friend, a string of words from poetry.”

“Oh, you *are* a romantic, huh,” you smile and stroke his cheek. He makes a small noise and leans into your palm. You run your fingers slowly, lightly down his neck, over the curve of his collarbones to the beating pulse in the delicate hollow of his throat, and he shivers, arches under your touch, his breath catching. His body, pristine, touch-starved, reacts so strongly to the smallest stimulation, but even as affected as he is, he still watches you sharply.

“Do you enjoy it, seeing the power you have over me now, how disproportionately I can’t help, but react?”

 “Of course. It makes playing with you so delicious. Don’t you like it?” you slide your hand down his chest, thumb at the tender pink peak of the nipple and watch him squirm, his cock twitches against his belly and starts to leak.

“It's complicated,” he says quietly, pressing his head against your shoulder. “I enjoy the sensations, I feel excited and anxious about what’s to come, but I’m also acutely afraid to disappoint.”

“Don’t worry, baby.” you draw your hand down over his ribs, tensed up stomach, stroke teasingly at the lovely hipbones instead of finally touching his pulsing dick. He’s just such a fun, responsive canvas to explore. “You can’t disappoint.”

“Of course I can,” he says incredulously, but then you slide your free hand into his fluffy, soft  hair, grip at the flaxen blond locks and pull, making him arch his throat with a helpless whine. You kiss the golden diamond on his neck and feel him tremble and swallow harshly under your lips.

“This mark is not more sensitive than the rest of my skin, and yet when I know you caress my imperfection, it wrecks me,” he’s shaking in your arms, and yet his voice is calm, almost distant.

“Albedo, baby, the absolute most of humans would not look at this mark and think of it as “imperfection.” They would just think it’s cute.”

“Is it a sign of how deep my differences run then if it feels important to me?”

“Being anxious about perceived flaws that no one else cares about is the most human thing imaginable,” you answer softly and he chuckles, leans against you.

“I can’t argue with that, I’ve seen it too often. I suppose there’s no such thing as perfection for a human.”

“No, there is.”

He watches you with a raised eyebrow, and you grin, lean down, finally covering his cock with your hand, catch a tiny, strangled sigh from his parted lips. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll get it. I’ll make sure of that.”

You stroke him slowly, trying to prolong the pleasure, but he was too understimulated for far too long, too high-strung, he throws his arms around your shoulders, his hips rocking into your hand involuntarily, eyelashes fluttering over the glazed over eyes, and he comes with a short breezy moan.

You kiss him lightly, stroke him through it until his body relaxes under you, frantic breath slowing down.

“Are you okay, little prince?”

He opens his eyes, and you can see him coming to his senses, the focus coming back into his gaze like a bright sharp edge of a scalpel.

“Yes. A little dizzy, but I’m fine. You can go on.”

“Are you sure you’re not too overwhelmed?”

His fingers dig into your shoulders just a little deeper.

“No. And I think I’m forming a theory.”

“Oh? I have to hear this,” you smirk, slide your hand between his legs to circle at his entrance.

“At first, I thought interaction with others was a waste of time, but now I realize I was wrong. Art can’t be created without inspiration, and inspiration has to come from interaction with the outside world,” he whispers, quietly, but with conviction. When you slide your fingers inside him, he presses his cheek against yours, his quick breaths damp and hot against your skin, his disheveled soft hair tickling at your temple. “A transformation can only be achieved through a reaction with a new reagent, and so the same with humans, a person can only change through the experiences obtained.”

You bury your fingers deeper, scissor and massage his walls until he opens up, his hips bucking up and cock getting hard again.

“See, baby, but if that reagent reacts like a human, then what does the origin of it matter?”

He looks up at you with a small, surprised smile, the sweetest and shiest you’ve ever seen on him, despite his trembling nakedness under you, the shameless spread of his legs, your fingers fucking into him and his pretty swollen dick twitching on his belly.

“You really think so?”

“Of course, my prince.”

He arches to press an awkward, fervent kiss against your lips and moans when you slide your tongue against his.

“Please,” he whines when you break up to catch the air. “I need to feel this, please…”

You take your fingers out and slide your cock\strap into him, pressing into him slowly, giving him time to adjust, but even so, he feels so full. He moans, throws his arms over his head to grip at the bedsheets. When you start fucking him, it feels so good, but also like too much, like his body is too small to contain it, and so he instinctively tries to let out the excess of energy, the crystalline flower blooming under his fingers. But it’s not his usual, perfectly structured symmetrical construct, the delicate amber petals sprout wildly, disproportionately at all sides, shutter and form again like waves with every thrust. Soon the pulsing gold flower is covering the rest of the room with a helplessly writhing form of Albedo in the center, and the outside layers start losing the definition, turn into flickering white wings of the crystalflies. He shudders with each movement, small, breathless “oh-oh-oh…” escaping his half-bitten lips, but he never takes his eyes off you, the bright aquamarine of the high, cloudless noon of the Dragonspine skies, sharp glow reflected off the untouched snow and the deep-glimmering ice.

“I can’t take it anymore,” he whispers weakly, barely audible, while the gold and white pulse of his flowers throw the flashing reflections on his body. “It’s too much, maybe I was never meant… to feel…”

“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” you lean down, press the gentlest kiss to the corner of his open mouth, while fucking harshly into him, and he watches you hepleslly, intently. “You’re so beautiful and you’re doing so good for me. Just let go.”

He sees the way you look at him, the way you touch him, and finally he gets it, his body overripe, tension rippling on the cusp of revelation. When does a human feel perfect? Oh, but when someone sees them as such.

He arches in your arms and comes with a chocked scream, crystalized petals blooming all at once around you, and just for an endless moment, the chalk under his skin turns into gold.

[bthump]

What do you think would happen if Griffith not only won the fight, but if the eventuality of his sword straying off the mark and killing Guts, that Griffith considers (and accepts...) before the fight, actually came true? could this be enough to trigger all the events of the Eclipse or do you think he could pick himself up from killing Guts more easily than from being abandoned by him and instead of following the exact same pattern as when Guts leaves, simply become more determined (and more ruthless than ever) to achieve his dream? bonus question: where would Casca be in all this? would she be able to stay by Griffith's side had Guts been killed by him and with seemingly no remorse?

question 2 (im almost done, i promise <3) - had Griffith won without killing Guts (provided Guts didnt try to leave anyway or at least wouldnt manage to sneak out again, since Griffith would probably keep him on a leash afterwards lol), do you think their relationship could still be salvaged or would there be no way for Griffith to forgive him for ever wanting to leave (and no way for Guts to forgive Griffith for forcing him to stay)?

huge fan of all your meta posts, you simply get it, you just get it, and ive been rotating that duel scene and all its possible outcomes in my head to the point of losing my goddamn mind, so. there it is. hope you have a good day!

Thank you! Hope you also have a good day <3 Sorry this took a while to answer, I've been sleepy recently thanks to schedule changes.

What I generally think is that Griffith killing Guts in that duel wouldn't be a behelit-opening event itself, because I feel like there's a reason Griffith had to go through the torture for a year. I definitely think it could also lead to him sleeping with Charlotte and getting caught though, and it would be just as if not more devastating than Guts just leaving, because now Griffith believes that Guts wanted to leave him out of disgust/hatred/resentment/whatever, AND also he just proved him right in the worst way possible.

What I personally envision happening in this scenario is that Griffith gets cold and distant and wraps himself up in his dream to the point of losing all genuine connection with others. He'd also double down on the seeing himself as a monster thing and embody that even more, doing worse and worse things to achieve his goals. Basically becoming Femto and NeoGriffith in spirit, if not literally.

I see this because imo within the griffguts dynamic, Guts basically embodies Griffith's potential to give up his dream and all its associated negative shit like guilt and self loathing, and be emotionally fulfilled without being obsessed with a distant goal. So if Griffith kills him, thematically he's destroying all hope of growing as a person and he can only regress into all his worst traits from there.

As for Casca... this isn't based on any kind of analysis lol, but I think she'd stay for a while and maybe try to draw Griffith's humanity out, but maybe she would leave eventually, falling out of love with Griffith and understanding that even their friendship is over, and wanting distance from him. I don't think she'd hate him for killing Guts, since they're all mercenaries, but I think it would change how she sees him for the worse.

I'd like if she stayed because she has her own emotional investment in the realization of Griffith's dream, or at least her life as a soon to be knighted captain of an army, but unfortunately canonically she is only there because of her feelings for Griffith lol. If I was writing it as a fic though she'd stay because she's got a great life going in Midland, but she'd drift away from Griffith and fall for someone else.

Wrt your second question, I definitely think their relationship could be salvaged, and honestly imo it's a great jumping off point for canon divergence fic. There's drama, there's angst, but there's still potential for a happily ever after. They'd both assume the other hates him, they'd be polite and strained and awkward and only interact professionally, but eventually something could give and they'd realize that they've been in love with each other the entire goddamn time lol. Like if Griffith nearly died for Guts again, eg.

Thanks for the fun questions!