#this is something ive been mulling over for a while

[deripmaver]

berserk is so often about very hurt people lashing out due to their trauma and hurting other people. this manifests often through structural oppression - ie religious persecution with farnese and misogyny with guts and griffith. what really separates the "good guys" (used loosely) versus the "bad guys" is less what they do, or have done, but the ways they try to reconcile with the people they've hurt afterwards if at all

spicy follow up: that is ALSO, ultimately, the fundamental difference between guts assaulting casca and griffith assaulting casca during the eclipse

[cannibalisticskittles]

i've FINALLY finished the first part of this scene + the intermediate bit before the second part (lucanis arguing with spite as rook gets to hear only one side of it baybeeeee) and it isssssss 24 pages.

i. SWEAR the second part of the scene WILL be shorter than the first but it'll still take some plugging away at to finish.

....thinking about whether i. ought. to maybe get a beta reader at this point.

[sstarsalignn]

Forbidden

Synopsis ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

The new teaching assistant is too hot for his own good, distracting most of the girls in your class. You’re not too bothered by him, he’s just another pretty face- until you get pulled by him for failing the class. It’s every girls wet dream, getting taught by the hot new teacher- and you find yourself slowly falling into a sickly sweet situation.

Warnings ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

Age gap, inappropriate touching, arguments, angst, eventual smut, obsession, hidden relationship, public sex.

Word count ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

2.3k

Add yourself to my tag list | Masterlist

I II III IV V

Chatter mulls through the room as you sit quietly at your desk, reviewing some of the content for the final year of your class here. You can tell everyone is excited, the final year of this four year course upon you.

You, on the other hand, were less excited. The pressure of the material was very demanding already and you just wanted to get on top of it, keep it down to a minimum so it wouldn’t collapse your entire life.

A door opens at the back of the classroom and the chatter is suddenly gone, a stiff silence falling over the rest of your classmates as they take in someone who is definitely not your teacher, stood at the desk at the front of the class.

Immediately, you hear the hustles of chatter from all the girls in class as they take in the very obviously handsome man stood waiting. He grins, looking around the room and soaking up the attention. You roll your eyes and scoff, not bothered by his pretty face as you look down to review the material for what felt like the ten millionth time.

“Okay guys, enough chatter, let’s get started,” his voice scratches at the back of your brain, something about the way he sounds making you turn all mushy.

“So, you’re probably wondering where Dr.Mendez is, right?” A murmur of agreement washes the room and you glance upward, watching as his hands clasp around a book, stance all flexed as he leans against the edge of the desk. You can see him scanning the room and your eyes meet for a second, him flashing you a brief smile before you’re looking back down, again.

He’s hot. He’s making you all flustered, no doubt like all the other girls in the class- and it frustrated you. You’re just here to learn.

“Well he’s swamped with other classes this year so I’m stepping in to teach, you’re stuck with me,” you can hear the smugness in his tone, basking in the attention from the girls fawning over him.

“I’ll die a happy woman stuck with you, sir,” a whiny voice giggles from behind you and you already know it’s Kendra, a self centered bitch who has done nothing but make your life living hell while being in this class.

He laughs, thanking her, before moving on. You look up again, watching him as he strides around the desk to take a seat on the front of it and opening the book in his hands.

“I’m Rafe by the way. I’d prefer if you guys just called me that,” he looks around the room, thumbing the page he’s currently on as he takes in the entire class. Again, your eyes meet and he smiles again, something you don’t return as you expectantly wait for him to move on with the class.

“Right, so, I’ve been filled in on what you guys have been learning for the past three years, and this is your last year, yeah? Very important.” A chorus of further murmurs flow from the class and Rafe, now you know his name, nods. He slaps his knee, standing as he walks back to his laptop, clicking some buttons before it connects to the large projector.

“I won’t keep you waiting then, let’s get started shall we?”

By the end of the three hour class, you’re exhausted. You’re so ready to climb into your car and get home, climb into bed and have a fat nap. As usual, you’re one of the last to leave class, hating getting caught in the throngs of people all leaving with the same goal as you.

Kendra and her cronies are stood talking to Rafe at his desk as she giggles and twirls her hair around her finger about something he’s saying, and you roll your eyes as you shove your book bag further onto your shoulder and descend the steps down the the bottom of the class.

It really makes you want to scoff, how fucking sleazy she is- really, the guy has just started to teach the class and she’s already trying to get her claws into him. You wonder, sometimes, how she managed to get into an advanced class, but then you remember she was born into money, her perfectly bleached blonde hair and always perfectly manicured nails reminding you of that.

“See you later,” you hear Rafe say and you turn, to see his focus completely on you instead of Kendra. Her scowl could kill if it were possible, mad that his attention is on you rather than her. You smile and nod, waving goodbye before rushing for the door and leaving.

It’s cold out in the parking lot, and you regret parking your car at the far side this morning when you were in a better mood. You’re thankful, however, that this is your only class today and you can just go home and sleep.

The drive to your apartment only takes fifteen minutes, traffic light as a slight drizzle begins to fall on your windscreen, rolling your window down to scan your badge to get into your estate gate.

Your cat greets you through the window of your ground flat as you pull into the parking spot in front of it, turning the engine off and grabbing your stuff before rushing to the door, leaving down to greet whiskers as you close the door.

“Let’s go to bed, eh?” You ask, and he purrs, following you down the hall. When you’re finally relaxed in bed, you find yourself thinking of the new teaching assistant, wondering if he knows what he’s signed himself up for.

“Good morning guys, we ready to start?” Rafe asks the room, cup of something steamy in his left hand. You can hear Kendra giggle from behind you and you just know she’s twirling her hair in her fingers, which makes you sigh.

Today, your friend, Molly, had decided to turn up. You’re grateful, telling her about yesterdays events in a hushed tone as her eyes grow wider the further you tell.

You drop your eyes down to Rafe to see him setting up his PowerPoint again, clicking away on his keyboard.

“Yeah and he literally said goodbye to me, and she was all like grrrr and scowley like? I didn’t do anything,” you tell her, Molly flashing a frown over her shoulder to signify her displeasure. She hates Kendra just as much as the next person.

“To be fair, he is very attractive. I’d be mad if I put that much into my appearance and you stole his attention just like that,” she snaps her fingers to give you an idea of what she means and you blush. You definitely didn’t steal his attention, he was just saying goodbye. Right?

You both fall into silence as Rafe begins talking to the class about different formulas, all the basic stuff that you noticed at the beginning of the content paper. This class is shorter, only being an hour and a half, before you’ve got another class in the afternoon with another teacher.

As you work through the slides, you find yourself glancing at Rafe more and more. You had to give it to him, he was very attractive. Buzzed hair, sharp jawline and sparkly eyes that everytime they looked into your own, sent you dizzy.

Alas, he was your teacher. It begged the question in the back of your head of how old he was, because he didn’t look much older than you to be honest. The slides soon come to an end, Rafe clapping his hands as he thanked everyone for turning up today. Everyone grapples to leave, Kendra hanging by his desk as he lazily entertains her while typing away on his computer.

You bid Molly goodbye as she rushes off out the door, desperate to see her boyfriend before he goes to his next class, leaving you to pack your things as you earwig on what Kendra is saying.

“I think I could do with some extra tutoring, Rafe,” she twirls her hair around her finger again, eyes blazing down at him. Rafe grins, laughing up at her before going back to his computer.

“You’re fine Kendra, I reviewed your papers from last year. No tutoring needed,” you can practically hear the sarcasm from here, and you’re sure Kendra is one more comment away from bursting into tears and ringing her father because the teacher won’t fuck her.

“Oh, okay. If you say so Rafe, but I’m always free,” she scrapes her fingers along his desk, and act that makes you wince as you walk down the steps.

“See you next week, Rafe,” she drawls, before throwing you a scowl, leaving the classroom. You’re about to follow, not wanting to stop and chat, but Rafe does so anyway.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to speak to you, actually,”

You turn on the spot, swallowing despite suddenly having a dry mouth. You walk back, standing in front of his desk as he closes his laptop and smiles up at you.

“I uh, had a look at your papers from last year,” he begins, but you can’t help your mind from racing already.

“What? I’m not doing anything wrong am I?” You ask, words rushing out of your mouth like you’re spewing.

Rafe shakes his head, eyes never leaving yours. “No, no. I just think you’re lacking some certain aspects that could definitely help you be the top of the class,”

You breathe out, not realising you weren’t breathing at all. He grins, lazily, as he begins to toy with the edge of one of the books on his desk.

“I think I can help you be the best. I’d like to tutor you, if you’d like the help. You can say no and still pass the class but I think the extra help will get you to the top,” he concludes, fingers dancing along the edge of the book.

“I uh, I don’t know. I don’t think that’s very fair one other students,” you quip, pushing your bag up your shoulder. As you do, your skirt pulls up your legs a bit more and you see the brief second his eyes flicker down, before looking back up at you and gulping.

“I can see that, yes. I just think you have the most potential,” you eyes wander back down to his hand, now playing with the edge of the book, other moving up to rest under his chin.

He has nice hands, you think, and immediately want to slap yourself. He’s your teacher.

“Uh, thank you?” It comes out as more of a question and Rafe laughs, circling the edge of the book. You have to pry your eyes away from it.

“You can think. Let me know next Monday, after class. Have the rest of the week.” You nod meekly, smiling lightly at him as you bid him goodbye, heading for the door.

“Oh, and before I forget, make sure you read up on pages one hundred to one hundred and sixty for next week. I know you like to get ahead.”

“You’re going to say yes, right? I mean it’s a no brainer,” she continues, rambling. Truth is, the more you’ve thought about it, the more appealing it sounds. You’d love to be top of the class, make your dad proud, and rub it in Kendras face, like a reminder that money can’t buy grades.

“Like imagine? What if he tries to make a move on you, I mean look at you? Why would he not? Oh my god, this is perfect,” she almost yells, before taking a sip of her wine. You’d not actually thought about that part of it, choosing to mostly ignore it.

But then, if that were his motive, who would he ask you and not Kendra? She was the better option for something like that. You would like to think that it wasn’t one of those deals, that he actually wanted to help you, and that was the part that was convincing you.

“I think I’m gonna say yes, but just for the tutoring, I wanna get better grades,” you tell her, taking a sip of your own glass of wine. Whiskers jumps down from the windowsill next to you, fawning around in your lap before collapsing down and falling asleep. You scratch his head, looking over at your friend who wiggles her eyebrows at you.

“But you wouldn’t turn him down if he made a move, no?”

“I don’t know Mol, he’s just another pretty face to me,” you say, looking over at the tv. You were trying to watch twilight, until you got distracted by rambling Molly who only comes out after some wine.

“Cmon, he’s so totally into you! Turning down Kendra to then offer the exact same thing to you,” she declares, pushing your shoulder back. You have to admit, there may be some truth in her statement, because why would he do that for you but not her?

“I just hope I actually get taught what I’m missing,” you say, causing Molly to roll her eyes. “You’re not missing anything, you’re already one of the top in the class, he just likessss you,” she drawls the likes, making you giggle at her as you bite the edge of your wine glass, contemplating the pros and cons of letting Rafe be your tutor.

You’re going to do it.

Note ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ Hello!! First series I’m actually excited to write ! Teacher Rafe is just 🤩 much love, let me know what you think <3

Check out a teaser for a new series here <3

[moonlitscrolls]

I bet on losing dogs (IV)

Pairings: Azriel x Reader

Warnings: drug use, substance abuse, some non-explicit descriptions of corpses.

Word Count: 2.0k

A/n: Part four is out! Let me know if you like it, or have any constructive feedback.

Series Masterlist: I bet on losing dogs (Masterlist)

Azriel’s words echo in your mind for the rest of the day, no matter how hard you try to push them out. The disappointment in his eyes as you refused to confide in him yet again sends painful aches down your heart, so distracting that you consider telling him and yet; that severely nagging doubt stops in your tracks once more. 

What if he thinks it’s abhorrent? What if he doesn’t want anything more to do with you after he finds out? You don’t see useful visions like Elain, or wield icy fire like Nesta. No, the Cauldron had turned your worst fears into a curse that you had no control over. And you knew, in your heart of hearts, the only person who might understand what it felt like to have these morbid powers you didn’t want, would be Azriel and his shadows. 

It was time. You would tell Azriel over dinner tonight and pray he didn’t lock you up and chain you down.  

The rest of the day was spent in agony, waiting and waiting for dinner time to arrive. Azriel usually left the House of Wind during the day, only arriving well after the sun sets, so you did your best to kill the time by flipping through the romance books the House provided down in the Library. While it had originally been a welcome distraction, soon every hero, no matter how they were described, morphed into a raven-haired, hazel-eyed Shadowsinger that simply wouldn’t stop haunting the corners of your mind. Although it could definitely be argued that his presence was much more welcome than that of the others. 

They didn’t stay long, never more than two or three days each, but nearly always found themselves replaced by another once they disappeared. Over the past week of your residence at the House of Wind, you had racked your way through the Library to get your hands on whatever information you could, hoping against hope that there was someone else, at some point in Prythian history who had been through this before you. You were yet to find anything worthwhile. 

This is what you mull over as you sit stiffly in your chair and the kitchen island, a glass of juice sitting untouched before you while you wait for Azriel’s return, and this is how he finds you when he flies back in, his gaze focused and locked on your frame. 

You glance up nervously, and before he can say anything you manage to blurt out, “I have something to tell you.”

He doesn’t hesitate as he pulls out the chair next to yours and takes a seat, holding himself up by his elbows as they rest on his knees. His eyes swim with worry and concern as they bore through yours. You face the table nervously, hands fiddling with the condensation on the glass before you as you try to find the words. 

He gives you time, and doesn’t say anything. But the weight of his gaze never wavers from your frame. You can sense it even while you keep your own trained on the marble table. It’s with great effort and courage that you manage to say the words, “I think something went wrong with me.”, your breath catches, “In the cauldron, I mean.” 

His voice is steady and cool as he replies, “Why do you say that?” 

You swallow harshly and try to explain, “I see things that I didn’t before. Things that you all can’t see.”

Your heart rate starts to pick up and you wish you could wipe your sweaty palms on the sides of your thighs but you don’t want to seem even weaker than you probably already do to him. 

He must sense the shift in your scent because on his large palms comes to rest on your knee gently, the warmth and weight of it grounding you in the present. 

A sharp inhale goes through you before the words spill out like vomit, “I see dead people.”

Your eyes are squeezed shut and your body rigid as you wait, breathlessly, for his response. The memories of how it felt to be stuck in that wooden cupboard for hours on end with no way out come reeling back at his continued silence and you can’t help the wave of panic that broils through you. Fists clenched to hide the way they tremble, you slip off of your stool as quickly as you can, movement jerky and frantic as you step away, only slightly conscious of how Azriel is now also on his feet. 

“You know what, I just haven’t had a lot of sleep lately, and the withdrawal has been playing tricks on my mind-“, to your horror a dry sob heaves its way into your strangled tone, “I don’t know what I’m talking about, just ignore all of tha-“

And then every thought in your head vanishes as Azriel’s pillowy lips land on yours. His hands are on your waist, pushing you back against the island as his lips move over yours delicately. It’s not really a kiss, more of his mouth breathing into you, grounding you into this moment. You’re caught off guard and go completely limp in his arms as he gathers you to his frame before leaning back to look you in the eye. His gaze is tortured and voice filled with some emotion you can’t quite identify as he breathes out, “How long?”

It’s not the question you were expecting as you answer dazedly, “Since I woke up after being dipped in the Cauldron.” 

His head drops at that, his silky black hair hiding the way his eyebrows furrow in pain at your words before he whispers, “I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

You can barely recognise your throaty voice as you ask shakily, “Why are you sorry?”

Azriel presses into you so his forehead grazes the sides of your cheek, sending sparks dancing down your spine. “You’ve been dealing with this on your own for years. You didn’t feel safe enough to tell me. That’s on me.”

Your head shakes vehemently as you push back against his chest to look him in the eyes as you say with conviction, “The only person I feel safe around is you.” 

Azriel’s eyes widen slightly at your statement but you’re on a roll now and continue, “The only person who makes me feel like how I did before, is you. Please don’t say that. You’re the only one who makes them go quiet.”, you confide, your voice cracking with emotion. 

His arms tighten around your waist as they wind around your frame, pulling you tightly against him. When he speaks, you feel his cool breath hit your lips and you do your best to suppress another shiver, “They speak to you?”

You nod, eyes dropping to his collar. “Some of them can speak. Some of them can’t. Some only cry or wail. Some speak in a language I can’t understand. But they’re all, they’re all…” you trail off as you glance at the corners of the room, behind Azriel, where their eyes meet yours silently. “They all want the same thing. I don’t know what it is but when they eventually realise I can’t help them, they leave.”

Azriel’s eyes track yours as he too stares into the empty space where they stand. His voice is gentle as he asks you, “Are they here right now?” 

You squeeze your eyes shut, ignoring the tears that stream down your cheeks as you do so, nodding. 

Azriel’s throat bobs as he pulls you tighter into him, your face pressed against his throat. His scent is one that has always filled you with a sense of peace and tranquility, and you always do your best to get at least a sniff of it whenever you attend functions or dinners held by the Inner Circle, but this? Being held in his arms so tightly you can feel all the hard planes of his chest and stomach against your softness, the smooth expanse of his neck against your face, his deep pine forest fragrance and morning dew scent drowns you in his presence and all you can do is latch onto him for dear life. 

The nagging doubt in your mind keeps hold still, and before you know it, it spills out in a weak sob against his neck. “I don’t want to go to The Prison.”

Regret fills you the minute you hear the words from your mouth but it’s too late, and you can tell by the way Azriel’s body jerks slightly, that he heard what you said, loud and clear. This is further proved when he leans back just enough for his arms to come up and cup your face in his warm, large palms. Instantly that nagging voice in your head quiets, leaving nothing but the sounds of his gentle breaths paired with yours. You feel his thumbs stroke along your cheekbones softly and the delicate manner of his action, this legend who stands before you who’s very hands who show you such kindness now have taken the lives of so many, his presence soothes you in a way you could have never imagined. 

“I want to know why you would ever think that would happen.” Azriel’s voice is quiet and his gaze is filled with such determination, you know you aren’t leaving without answering his questions. 

“I just-“, your voice cracks, “I don’t want to be locked up.”

Anger flashes across Azriel’s face and you instinctively try to pull away but he doesn’t let you, his voice interrupted by a slight tremor as he presses, “Y/N, has someone ever locked you up?”

Panic flares through you and you shake your head adamantly but his palms cup your face tighter and pull you to him so his lips flutter against your hairline as he asks again, “Baby, has someone ever locked you up? When you didn’t want to be?” 

You shake your head again but a sob racks through you and there’s no hiding it from Azriel when anger flares through him at the weak, pitiful sound before he pulls you back into him, his voice hard and filled with promise as he presses, “Give me a name.”

You sob silently into his neck, but he doesn’t let it go. “Y/N baby, I need you to give me a name.”, his voice is filled with pain as he whispers into your ear, one of his hands shifting to stroke your hair gently. 

The tender action makes your throat clog as you sob and shake your head, causing Azriel to sigh, the puff of air against your head sending more tears down your face. 

His voice is quiet and filled with deadly determination as he promises, “It’s okay. I don’t need a name. I’ll find them, Y/N, and I promise you, they’re going to wish they never laid a hand on you.” His arms tighten around you as if to send the message home and finally, you collapse in his arms, the sheer comfort and strength he projects too tempting to resist. He catches you, of course, and presses delicate kisses to any part of your face he can reach, whispering sweet nothings into your ears as you hold him tightly in an iron grip. 

You stay like for you don’t know how long, but his grip never wavers, and neither does yours. A warm glow spreads inside your chest and you press closer to him in reply. Eyes shut, the sound of his heart beating against your ear as you lay your head flat against his chest, for the first time in a long time, contentment floods inside you, right down to your bones. And you know, not sure how or why, but you know that no matter what lies ahead, Azriel would be there to face it with you. 

@tele86 @batboyslutt @be-your-coffee-pot @wxveysun @the-onlyy-angie @the-tummo @sleepylunarwolf @sstrohma @more-a-then-i

[perlelune]

Training Wheels | Coriolanus Snow | iv.

Your mother's macabre work never appealed to you as you always preferred the comfort of your books, but when her apprentice takes a special interest in you, your safe, quiet world is flipped upside down.

Warnings: DUB-CON, NON-CON, Gaul!Reader, Shy Reader, Manipulation, Parental Neglect, Drinking, Peer Pressure, Hazing, University set, Loss of Virginity, Dumbification, Insecurities, Abusive Relationship, Degradation, Suicide Attempt

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

“Oh, do you mind if we take a little break?” Clemensia asks almost as soon as you’ve begun working on the task she gave you. You blink, a little confused as your gaze roams across the table. There’s still so much to do. You’re not sure if the girls are just that slow but it’s clear that it will take at least a few hours to get all of it done.

But Clemensia is in charge of the ball committee. You don’t picture yourself telling her what to do or how to do it. After all, you are an outsider. A foreign element infiltrating their ecosystem. You have to play by their rules.

If they want to take a break, who are you to argue with that?

You begin to rise.

“Oh, a break, sure…”

Clemensia’s lips pinch as you try to follow them. “It’s just that…we’ve been doing this for so long, all by ourselves. I even broke a nail.” She pouts, showing you her hands. “But it needs to be finished today.” She nibbles her bottom lip and sighs, eyes pleading yours. “If no one stays behind…”

You mull it over. While you’re not thrilled over the idea of working on the decorations by yourself, you did just get here. You suppose you could hold the fort while they stretch their legs…or whatever Clemensia and her friends like to do when they hang out.

“I guess I could stay,” you concede.

Clemensia flashes you a broad grin.

“You’re so sweet,” she chimes. “Thank you. We won’t be long, promise. Ten minutes tops.”

You shrug and return to your chair. Ten minutes. That sounds reasonable. You pick up the scissors and start cutting more of the tree shapes. 

“No problem.”

But one issue arises. 

The promised ten minutes expand into thirty. Then an hour. Then two. At first, you don’t let your mind dissect it too hard. It’s a stupid thing to overthink, isn’t it? A silly thing to chop into pieces until your mind bleeds with doubt and insecurity. You surmise it was more of an approximation. People do that all the time, say something while meaning another. At least you believe they do. Besides, you find ways to keep yourself busy, even getting started on the sparkly globes lying on the side of the room. You figure out how to use most of the tools on your own and get wrapped in your own bubble of quietness. 

Silence is a familiar companion, the one constant that never judged you, never asked for more of you. In your Silence, you get to be you. Nothing more; nothing less. So you let yourself sink in its warm, snug embrace.

Still, somewhere in the back of your mind, thoughts meander passively… What is taking them so long? You steal a glance outside the window. Orange and purple hues are already bleeding into the sky, a sign of the evening nearing its end. 

You retrieve your pocket watch from inside your skirt. A frown wrinkles your brow. At a time like this, you would usually be home, curled up with Walter on your bed as you go over your notes for the week. It often takes you hours just to decipher the course transcripts. 

“Wow, you did such a great job,” Clemensia whistles from behind you. 

You gasp and whirl. All smiles, the girls fill your sight.

They approach the table and examine some of the decorations you put together on your own. Realization sweeps through you as the fog of your thoughts clear. It didn’t hit you before, not until you absorbed the current state of the crafts table, brimming with the results of your solitary labor. You’ve been busy. Spinning crystal balls, pine cones, silvery garlands and a heap of snowflakes meant to hang on the walls and ceiling. Clemensia admires your handiwork, seemingly impressed. 

A little peeved, you point out, “I mean…had you guys even started? Most of the decorations needed to be cut, glued or assembled…”

“I have delicate hands,” Livia sighs, examining her manicured nails. 

“I’m very slow, sorry,” Ivy says apologetically.

Your frown deepens. Was this whole thing a setup? You sacrificed precious time to be here and you shudder to think the entire purpose of your presence is some kind of childish prank. 

Coriolanus’ words echo in your mind. He argued the girls weren’t like that and that they left the immature tricks back at the Academy. You truly want to believe that none of this is designed to embarrass you, that perhaps, again, all of this is in your head. But your aching fingers, sore from doing crafts most of the afternoon, suggestotherwise.

Unleashing a sigh, you gather your satchel and head towards the exit. 

Clemensia obstructs your path, holding up her hands in apology. 

“I know we should have been back earlier. I’m so sorry. We ran into the Dean and it turned into a whole thing.” She seizes your hands, remorse twisting her pretty features. “I feel so horrible. I invited you so we could do it together as friends.”

Your shoulders slump. As you soak in the look of genuine contrition on her face, doubts lurk inside you. Your confidence about being the victim of some prank wavers. Perhaps, you overreacted. Incidents happen. Besides, the chances of you joining Clemmie’s committee are slim, as you’re already swamped with assignments. A promise was made and you kept it. But this likely will be a one time thing. School dances are at the bottom of your priority list right now.

So you discard it all with a wave of your hand and a contrived smile.

“It’s okay. No apology needed. It’s not your fault.” You note how much darker it’s gotten outside. “I should go back home though. It’s already so late-”

Clemensia stops you again, her hand tightening around yours as she offers excitedly, “Wait, you should come to game night at Liv’s.”

“What?” Livia snickers. Clemensia shoots her a withering glare and the blonde clears her throat, correcting herself, “I mean…yeah, you totally should come.”

You fidget and adjust the strap of your satchel. You may have heard whispers of those game nights. Mystique surrounds them as only a few chosen people are invited to attend. You, of course, were never invited. And it isn’t hard to gather how Livia feels about you coming from her reaction. Why force your way into places where you aren’t wanted?

“I’m already behind on my revising for the day. If I don’t go over my Molecular-”

“Boring,” Ivy sings sarcastically.

“Don’t be mean, Ivy,” Clemensia scolds, elbowing her in the rib.

Clemensia tilts her head, her tone turning beseeching.

“Please…I really want to get to know you better.” She huffs out a long breath as she seems to sense your hesitation. The brunette leans closer, hands clutching your forearms. Sympathy twinkles in her onyx orbs. “You know, I used to be a lot like you. Always striving to be the best at everything I do.” A hollow giggle slips through her lips. “It’s how I got in trouble with your mother actually…I wanted to win so badly and she decided to teach me a lesson.” Sadness pinches her delicate features. “But by always striving for greatness, you miss out on life. I learnt that during the Games...”

“...Surviving isn’t living.”

She studies you before saying, “And it’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? Surviving.”

Eyes on the ground, you chew on your lip. You never imagined someone like Clemensia Dovecote - the most beautiful, popular girl at the University - could feel this way…let alone relate to you.

“Clemmie…”

She hunkers a little so your eyes meet.

“Come on, I really want to make up for today.” She laughs. “Show you I’m not a bitch.”

“I don’t think you’re a bitch,” you say.

She places her palm on your cheek. “See? You’re so nice. That’s why I want us to be friends.” She bends over your ear, the words she mutters almost too quiet to be heard, “I can barely stand those two on most days, but appearances must be kept.”

Your gaze swings upward, shock pulsing through you.

She beams at you. “It’ll be an intimate gathering of just a select group, close friends. We play cards, chat, and have a few drinks. That’s it.”

Your forehead creases.

“I don’t drink.”

Squeezing your shoulders, she assures you, “Then I’ll make sure not a drop of alcohol passes your lips. Promise.”

“It’s casual, I swear. You can even leave early if you want.” 

This grabs your attention, as you aren’t sure you’ll make it through the night without craving to return to the safe, familiarity of your apartment. The potential for escape makes the offer far more enticing.

Obviously, Clemensia cares about you showing up. While you don’t fully grasp why, you also never had anyone go out of their way to spend time with you. During the Academy days, everyone avoided you like the plague, either finding you odd or fearing you were as terrifying as your mother. The University doesn’t seem much different so far, groups having already formed from previous camaraderie. Bonds that were forged years ago and cemented over time while you endured in the back of the class. The forgotten one. And you always figured it is the most you can aspire for. Being ignored and left alone.

Until now.

“Really?”

Clemensia’s smile widens.

“Yes. You can stay as long as you want and leave.”

“I don’t have anything to wear to a party,” you muse, pursing your lips. Your tiny, limited wardrobe has always prioritized function over fashion. There are your Academy uniforms, a few loose, unflattering clothes you rotate between. A single formal dress more suited for a funeral than a game night. Nothing impressive because you never had anyone to impress.

You also have no sense of fashion, the trends shifting too quickly for you to keep up. So you’ve stopped trying to. 

“Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out,” she chimes. “The girls and I always get ready at each other’s house anyway. And you’re one of the girls now.”

You peer down at you and Clemensia’s entwined hands. One of the girls. No one’s ever spoken about you that way. As if your mere presence made something better, uplifting it instead of leading it to its ruin. As if you were solid, more than a wisp of air, a waste of breath. As if you mattered. So, despite the sizzling weight of Livia’s blue eyes on you, you smile back at Clemmie and give a bashful nod.

Your eyes feast on every detail of Clemensia’s living room as you enter her home. Her parents’ apartment is every bit as large and opulent as you imagined. Every exquisite detail screams wealth. The unabashed, showy kind that stoked the embers of bitter unfairness in the Districts, leading the Capitol to where it is today. A city risen from the ashes. Your attention lingers on the expensive artwork exposed in glass cabinets. A lot of it appears to be memorabilia from before the war. You’re willing to bet the combined value of every overpriced trinket in the house could feed an entire District. Paintings of Clemmie’s illustrious ancestors hang over the damask walls, their stern stares seeming to follow you. Almost as if they were ready to leap from the eroded gilded frames and berate you for being an intruder in their family home.

Clemensia tugs you along.

“What are you dawdling for? Come on,” she urges. 

You trail behind her as she takes you to her bedroom. You smile when you see it. The somber, tasteful hues are so very her. The hinges of her wardrobe whine as she opens the large, wooden doors. A vertiginous row of clothes crowd your sight. You gawk, a little amazed but also slightly terrified. Who needs this many clothes? A sour expression scrunches her features.

“I know,” she sighs, placing a hand on her hip. “This is a little embarrassing. Most of these are soo last season.”

You tilt your head at her dizzying collection of shoes, clothes, accessories…the kind a legion of girls would kill for.

“Right,” you blindly agree. Nevermind you can’t even tell the difference. You glance around. “Shouldn’t Livia and Ivy be here too?”

Her brow twitches as she sits on her massive canopy bed. She pats the spot next to her and you awkwardly plop down. The plush silk and soft mattress dip under your weight.

“We decided to meet later,” she reveals. She pauses, a heavy sigh fluttering through her painted red lips before adding, “Besides, I told them to be nicer to you and they got upset and pretended not to know what I was talking about.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble.

She waves her manicured hand dismissively.

“No, don’t be. This isn’t your fault.” Clemensia licks her lips, her face etched with reflection, as if she were assessing the weight of her words before releasing them. Her hand settles on your arm.

“Look, here’s the thing. Livia’s had a crush on Coriolanus since he returned and they had a sort of fling.” Your mouth drops open. This is news to you. You didn’t catch any hint of lingering longing between the two back at their lunch table. But now that you’re mulling it over, perhaps…Perhaps, Livia’s eyes kept seeking Coriolanus’, while his treaded their own path, never crossing hers. “Things were going pretty well...for a little while. But then, you came along.”

Your brows furrow. “What does this have to do with anything?”

Clemensia’s bell-like laughter resonates in the room.

“God, you’re a sweet thing…just like Snow said.” She beams at you. “Don’t worry. Liv will get over it. She’s all bark and no bite, trust me.”

Her attention travels to the dark fabric peeking from your bag.

“What’s that?” she asks, pulling out the garment.

“The only dress I have.”

She inspects it with a displeased frown.

“Were you planning on wearing this?” She shakes her head as your mouth clamps shut. “Oh, this will not do.”

She takes your hand and drags you to her wardrobe. Brow wrinkled in concentration, she rummages through a numberless heap of garments.

“I have some clothes that my cousin left,” she explains while frantically searching. After a while, victory flares in her orbs. She unhooks a sleek, crimson dress with a tight bodice and flowing sleeves from a hanger. She holds it against your body, chiming, “She’s about your size so they should fit you.” 

“I can’t accept this, Clemmie.”

You attempt to push her hands away but the brunette shoves it in your arms, insisting on you at least trying it on. You press the soft fabric between your fingers. It’s more revealing and form-fitting than you’re used to. You gather it would cling to your body like a second skin…one you aren’t used to wearing. Still, you must admit that it’s a lovely dress. One that could look good even on you. Temptation claws at your resolve, digging deeper and deeper grooves, right into every insecurity you ever had. That thing other girls had that always eluded you. That little secret you were never privy to. The key to that door that never opened. The dress is the key. And you find yourself unable to resist turning the lock to find out what secrets lie beyond that mysterious door.

Beneath Clemmie’s eager stare, you remove your clothes and slip on the dress.

Smug satisfaction hovers on her lips as you peer at your reflection. Words fizzle out on your tongue. You are looking at a complete stranger.

Clemmie rests her chin on your shoulder. “See? I knew it.”

She then has you sit at her vanity to help you do your makeup. Do your makeup…The words sound alien even in the private confines of your thoughts.

As she draws a neat black line over your eyelids, she says, “It hasn’t been long since makeup’s returned to the Capitol again. It used to be near impossible to find.” When she’s done, she turns you towards the vanity mirror. “Those colors will bring out your eye shape and color.”

The air leaves your lungs in a quick rush. You lean closer to the mirror, once again in disbelief that you are truly looking at your own face.

Fingers twisting the delicate fabric of the dress, you pivot to Clemmie.

“Why are you so nice to me?” you blurt out.

Her eyes widen briefly before her expression softens.

“You remind me of me.”

Confusion surges through you. There is an ocean of glaring differences between you and Clemmie, one you couldn’t swim through if you tried. 

“What?”

“Believe it or not, I wasn’t always this confident.”

Your brows knit, Clemmie’s statement making little sense. If confidence wore a face and had a name, it’d be Clemensia Dovecote’s.

Gripping your shoulders, she turns your focus back onto your dolled-up appearance.

“Alright. Look in the mirror, what do you see?”

You blink. You see a girl playing dress-up, pretending, but you don’t utter those words aloud. They sound lame, even in your own head.

“Nothing,” you tritely respond, dipping your head.

She lifts your chin, moving her head to disagree.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Her eyes twinkle. “I see infinite potential. So stop selling yourself short.” Covering her mouth, she laughs. “His jaw is going to drop.”

“Whose jaw?”

She smirks at you. “You know whose jaw.”

Heat sneaks inside your face.

You fidget in the chair. It’s not like what he thinks matters, right? He is no one to you, just that boy with the unsettling blue stare who won’t leave you be for some strange reason. 

So why is there a tiny shiver of excitement coursing through your veins when the thought of him seeing you like that permeates your brain?

A vigorous gust of common sense sweeps away your wayward musings. 

You don’t care what he thinks. Of course you don’t.

“I-It’s not really my style,” you stammer as you get to your feet.

The sparkle in her onyx orbs doesn’t waver.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have a style yet…so how would you even know?”

“Shouldn’t we be at Livia’s already?” you ask, hoping to steer the conversation in another direction.

She considers you as if you were the most endearing thing in the world. She grabs your hands. “Here’s another rule. Never be on time for anything.” A haughty smirk creeps upon her red lips. “Make them wait for you, not the other way around.” She cocks her head. “One of the things about confidence is knowing that you are the sun, and standing in your orbit is a rare privilege.” She scoffs, “People should feel lucky you even bothered showing up.”

 She approaches you and touches up parts of your hair, visibly elated with the result.

“Perfect,” she trills. “Like I said…potential.”

She herself finishes getting ready. As you absently meander about her room, the doorbell chimes. 

Clemmie pauses as she applies powder on her face. She sets aside her makeup tools and escorts you to the lobby, arm threaded with yours.

“Must be our chauffeur,” she states.

Your eyes round. “You have a chauffeur?”

She cloisters herself in cryptic silence, humming as she drags you along.

When the brunette swings the door open, a towering, familiar figure darkening her doorway, time hangs still for a few seconds.

Your mouth opens wide enough to catch flies.

A smug smile unfurls on his lips.

“Angel,” he greets, gaze locking with yours as he completely ignores Clemmie.

Her sharp irritated tone shatters the spell.

“You’re late, Snow.”

Coriolanus snickers. 

“As if you’re ever on time.”

You trail behind Clemmie as she and Coriolanus keep bantering, his presence still swaddling you in sheer shock. When she tries to take the passenger seat, he drapes a placating hand over hers.

She rolls her eyes and begrudgingly heads to the back of the car.

He opens the car door for you. Recalling the fruitlessness of arguing with him, you climb into the seat. Still, saying you feel awkward riding in the front while the brunette is sulking in the backseat would be a massive understatement.

Few words can accurately describe how peculiar all of this is for you.

“You look surprised,” Coriolanus notes as he takes his own seat and slams the door shut. Your heart misses a beat when his hot breath caresses your earshell. “I did say I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

You look down at your lap. Breathing is laborious, the air in the vehicle coated with the lingering smell of his pricey cologne. You are literally choking on Coriolanus Snow with every breath you take.

“Will you just drive, Snow?” Clemmie snaps, crossing her arms.

“Relax. Patience is a virtue,” he says, not sparing her a glance, zeroing in on you instead. The drumming of your heart swells to an uproar in your ears when he reaches across your body. You hold still while he ties your seatbelt for you. Blue eyes rake over your form in brazen appraisal, his deep voice lowering. “And good things come to those who wait.”

[cheri-cheri]

EN vs CN: Floating Floraletter Date

Let's have a look at Caleb's devastatingly beautiful face and also some of the major translation differences during the Kindled section of this date:

1. Escaping the Chaotic World

[ EN Version ]

Caleb: I've been wanting to take you away from that chaotic world for a long time. MC: MC and Caleb's Getaway Diary. Day One.

[ CN Version ]

Caleb: I've been wanting to take you away and escape from that chaotic world for a long time, just like this. [早就想这样，带你从那个喧嚣的世界里逃走了。] MC: MC and Caleb's Escaping / Getaway Diary. Day One. [MC 和夏以昼的逃离日记，第一天。]

The word "getaway" has two starkly different definitions. The first relates to one making an escape, especially after committing a crime (think of a getaway car frantically driving away from a heist). The second relates to one having a short vacation.

When I first read this date with the text in English, I assumed that MC was referring to the second definition where the both of them could finally have a relaxing break from their responsibilities.

However, the text in Chinese makes an additional reference to "escape" that clarifies that MC was actually referring to the first definition.

Instead of their time together in Cloudrealm IV being a mini holiday destination for them, it was a bubble of escapism which could burst with the slightest touch from a chaotic world where they are hunted down relentlessly.

2. Woof

[ EN Version ]

MC: Caleb, this better not be a prank.

[ CN Version ]

MC: Caleb, lying to me makes you a little dog. [夏以昼，骗我你就是小狗。]

In the CN version, MC uses a phrase that is commonly said by children. While I'm hoping this is simply the writer's way of showcasing MC's childish side when she's around Caleb, the fact that Caleb literally woofs in the date and MC makes another comment later on about how "On the first day of our getaway, I discovered that Caleb had turned into a dog" sent my brain into an abyss of overthinking.

As much as we have a soft spot for Caleb, we have to admit that he has lied to MC on numerous occasions in the main storyline, his past dates, and even during this date where he doesn't tell her about the severity of his crash.

While these can be seen as white lies meant to protect MC from living in constant worry, wariness and fear, MC has expressed that she is both mentally and physically stronger than she was in the past and is able to handle the reality of the dangers around them. In fact, she can already tell when Caleb is hiding something from her (e.g. Deceptive Solitude where she noticed Caleb's odd behaviour at the shooting range and confronted him about it).

If Caleb forms a habit of covering his burdens with flimsy lies, MC may end up perpetually doubting whatever Caleb says and confronting him about it, which would lead to heightened tension in their relationship and a potential explosion (yet again).

I really hope I'm overthinking this LOL.

3. Magic vs Miracle

[ EN Version ]

Caleb: Returning to this world with you by my side... Caleb: Is the greatest miracle... that fate has given me.

[ CN Version ]

Caleb: Returning to this world where you're by my side... [回到这个有你在身边的世界里...] Caleb: Is the most unbelievable magic that fate has granted to me. [就是命运赐予我的最不可思议的魔术。]

When the trailer for this date was first released, there were theories about how this was an alternate universe because of Caleb's usage of the word "world" instead of simply saying "returning to your side". While I also found the phrasing odd at first, I mulled over it a little more and realised that it makes sense for Caleb to view his lonesome, danger-filled existence in the Fleet as a completely different universe from the colourful and vibrant life he has with MC.

As for Caleb's second line, the word "魔术" which directly translates to "magic", is changed to "miracle" in the EN version despite them being completely different words. While it isn't out of character for Caleb to view their reunion as a miracle, I feel that the word "magic" would have tied in more naturally with all the other references to magic tricks that were already in the date.

Another notable difference is the adjectives used - "greatest miracle" versus "most unbelievable magic". I find that the word "unbelievable" creates more angst because it reminds us that Caleb originally had no intention to ever reveal to MC that he was still alive. Their fateful reunion and the way their relationship developed since then were truly unimaginable to him... (ﾉω･､)

4. Big Brother Caleb

[ EN Version ]

MC: "Any man who makes you cry isn't worth your time." That's what Caleb used to say.

[ CN Version ]

MC: "Any man who makes you cry is completely unreliable" - That's what my Big Brother Caleb said. [“让你掉眼泪的男人统统不可靠” - 我的哥哥夏以昼说的。]

To end this post on a non-angsty note, the EN translation once again censored an adorable instance of MC referring to Caleb as her big bro (ಡ‸ಡ)

⸜( ´ ꒳ ` )⸝ In summary, it seems that the "a" in "Caleb" stands for "angst" and I will not hesitate to riot if we don't get a 200% fluffy date for his birthday. Thanks for reading!

❀ Masterlist

[cheriecoke]

it's been decades since you've last seen dazai; your lover & your maker. now that you're finally happy, he's haunting you again with a thousand buried memories.

overall contents. fem!reader, nsfw minors dni, exes to lover, gothic romance, blood drinking, vampire!reader, vampire!dazai, smut, cheating reader, complicated relationships, blood, gore, jealousy, manipulation, religious symbolism, betrayal, reunions — 6.3k words

PART IV ♰ MASTERLIST

The next evening came quickly, and for the first time in a long while, you were able to sleep through the day. Morning came and went, and the sun faded away without you lying awake, miserable, missing the light of day.

Although Dazai emitted no warmth, you still slept soundly on his chest, the feeling of his arms around you comforting in a way that was undeniable.

When you awoke to another starry sky, clouded over by a mist of smoke, the coffin was empty, and Dazai was gone. The thin blanket pooled at your feet, kicked aside, there for no other reason but for the semblance of a routine where you slept wrapped within soft covers. A beam of light sifted through the cracked coffin, lid pushed to the side, allowing the silver moonlight to caress you gently back to an air of life.

Sitting up, you pushed the coffin lid aside, swallowing the wave of regret that swam through your body. Atsushi’s gentle smile lit up your mind, and you shut your eyes briefly, trying to will it away.

This was a mistake—everything had been a mistake from the moment you’d found Dazai in that bar. It was a mistake to ever think you could drink from him without letting him drag you down with him. Never had you been able to deny yourself the indulgence of his lips, the taste of him so fond in your memories, and you’d been naïve to think this time would be different.

“You slept like the dead,” Dazai said with a cheeky smile, sauntering over to sit at the edge of the bed, staring at you from feet away. Your lips drew together, thin, unamused.

The shift in the air was palpable, the string of oxygen between you pulled tight. Though, you were grateful that Dazai was the one to break the silence, as you still mulled over something to say, observing the subtle little changes in his countenance.

For one, you couldn’t recall a time that he had ever looked so happy, so carefree. A brightness had resumed itself, as if only on pause for half of a century, erasing the resentment, the bitter hatred that had clouded it. The smile on his dark lips tugged upward easily, his eyes an ambered brown, rather than the black that they had once been.

Things were different—that much was certain. Whatever had transpired between the two of you couldn’t be erased, nor could you eradicate the guilt that had threatened to swallow you whole. The two options clashed against each other; a loss too great on both sides. At the end of it all, your feelings for both Atsushi and Dazai were overwhelming, and complicated.  

But you couldn’t think, not when Dazai was so close. Not when you were a moth, and he was the flame, burning bright, and only growing more vicious.

“I need to go home,” you said, gathering your shoes, the clothes that had been strewn across the floor. “I shouldn’t have even come here.”

A beat of silence lingered in the room, settling on the hardwood floors, the soles of your feet, before Dazai stood, his footsteps not making a single sound.

“After all that?” Dazai asked, and though he would never let his surprise show so openly, you knew he’d believed you’d been won over.

That’s all it would’ve taken, back then—a few sweet words, your lips on his, gentle hands across your skin. But you were not the woman you’d once been, and though you were still weak, you’d developed some strength.

“After everything, how can you still doubt that we are meant to be together?”

You pinched your face together, wondering if you were a fool for running back to Atsushi. If your love for the mortal man was only a means to an end, a way for you to forget the clutch that another vampire had around your heart. How Dazai’s fingers could squeeze their way around your arteries, and you would watch, blindly, as the blood trickled down his palm.

Was it love or hate you felt? Of both, you were uncertain.

“Osamu,” you said, shaking your head, your gaze drifting towards the window. What a mess you’d made. “I need some time to think.”

That relaxed him; the tautness of his frame slowly began to melt away. “Time.” He nodded, dark hair falling over even darker eyes. “Okay. I can give you that.”

“I love him, Osamu.”

“You love me too. You can deny it all you want, but I know that you do.”

You looked over at him, blinking from under your lashes. “I don’t know what I feel for you. It was not so long ago that you destroyed me. I have hated you as strongly as I once loved you.”

His face twitched, fingers flexing at his sides. The age old tells of his anger, just as prevalent as the stars in the sky, never ceasing to appear at the end of every day. “Will you never forgive me?” he asked, clenching his jaw, tongue appearing in his cheek. “I have given you everything I have to offer. Your life… my life.”

“You haven’t given me patience, Osamu. You haven’t given me the chance to believe that your love is worth the pain that comes with it.”

Dazai looked away, chest rising and falling with the air he didn’t breathe, but made himself anyway, keeping up the appearance of a human being. He had always been so much better at that – perhaps it was the reason he had lived this long. No one had doubted his place in the world, had mistaken him for a monster, unlike the innocent lives that had been lost to such a slaughter.

“Is patience really something I can offer when you are to wed another? Surely your fiancé will grow weary of waiting,” he said, stepping closer, expression serious, devoid of his usual smugness. “You want time, but it is slipping through my fingers.”

“You have nothing left but time.” You shook him off, ignoring the pulsating need that thrummed through your body, never satiated, always wanting more. Your gaze flicked to his vein, then away, as you pushed past him, headed to the door. “Don’t come after me. I will not give you any more chances.”

Dazai said nothing, irritated, but he let you go, and you escaped into the dark haze of the midnight.

Your meetings with Dazai stalled for a few days, as Atsushi returned, and you were left with a muddled mind and a mix of contradicting thoughts. It was best anyway, you figured, to put some distance between you and Dazai, in order for you to work out exactly what it was that was going on.

Despite the conflict you felt within yourself—for wanting to love Dazai once more, for wanting to hate him—you didn’t entirely trust him. Years of memories pointed to a Dazai that was so similar, yet vastly different from the version he presented to you. One that was just as manipulative, conniving, yet held a loyalty and a steadfast love for you that had since been unbroken.

Though, love was easily faked, especially for someone like Osamu. You, with your weak heart, were probably falling right into his trap. How foolish you would be to leave a perfectly good life behind for a man that you could never fully trust, despite how much you yearned for him.

Yet, he never left your mind, always lingering like a curse. Some part of you wondered if there was a deeper magic at play, if maybe, the bond between you as creation and maker had tied you so intricately together than you would always long for him.

But you knew nothing of that…if magic existed outside of the bloodsucking demons that you had joined, if there was a world out there of other supernatural entities you knew nothing about.

Still, it would explain nearly all of your everlasting woes. How Dazai could fuck up time and time again, and you would still crawl back to him, albeit reluctantly. How you craved his blood like a brainless addict, sacrificing your pride for just another hit.

You hoped, if even a little bit, that that was true. At least, that way, you could explain your desperation for him without it being something as complex as love. Something that you could avoid, if you really tried, rather than letting yourself indulge, thinking that you couldn’t help it.

It was cold when Atsushi returned, the weather already growing fickle as autumn bled into winter. He looked better, his eyes brighter, his skin less pale than it had been when he left. His hair seemed freshly scrubbed, clean from a bath at whatever hotel he’d visited for the few nights of escape.

Though, under his softer complexion, you could see the weight that still rested on Atsushi’s shoulders, and the burden that he’d worn for the past few weeks.

Smiling, you watched as he walked through the door, trudging in his heavy boots. There was certainly more life to him now, now that he wasn’t constantly sent on missions, awake for hours into the evening, until his eyes ran bloodshot.

“I missed you,” you said, stretching your arms over to him, body reacting to him, just as it did Dazai. The joy that spread across you was warm, despite the lack of utter feeling that something lingered in your chest.

Atsushi relaxed, then, tension falling from his shoulders. Almost like he’d expected you to start the conversation a different way – a thought that you instantly sequestered.

“I missed you too, honey,” Atsushi said, leaning down to peck your lips, his hair brushing across your forehead. “Everything okay while I was gone?”

Words of a dutiful husband, lover, friend – despite that fact that anyone who could have possibly hurt you wouldn’t be fazed by the presence of a human.

“Everything’s been fine,” you hummed, ignoring the vision of you on Dazai’s thighs that flashed into your mind, your teeth digging into the flesh of his neck. “How are you feeling?”

Atsushi looked at you for a moment longer, memorizing each of your features after just a few days away, and put on a gentle smile. His fingers grazed the sharp hollows of your cheeks, the coldness of your skin sending a shiver down his arm. Goosebumps trailed along his flesh, the hair standing straight up, but he didn’t seem bothered. Not after two years of the same routine.

“I’m better.” The words held little conviction, though, and you couldn’t help but feel that there was something bothering him still.

Or you were just paranoid that he had somehow found out you were protecting Dazai.

Protecting.

Was that the word? You’d been trying to protect Atsushi, hadn’t you? By keeping him away from Dazai. Yet, the more you lingered on it, the more you began to question if that was even the case at all.

Atsushi kissed the wrinkle that formed on your forehead, and you held his hand tightly against your cheek, grounding yourself. How much better things would be if Dazai had left in the first place, if he’d just stayed far away, and never approached you at your party. Had never killed anyone in your town, overworking your partner and murdering your neighbors.

“I’m glad,” you said, instead of focusing on things that could’ve been. You brushed Atsushi’s hair away from his face, his hair so much softer than you remembered—cleaner. “You look better. I’m glad you were able to get some rest.”

“Yeah, well,” Atsushi sighed, shrugging. “Honestly, I’m not sure how much of a difference it made. I’ll just be heading back into work tomorrow. They’ve found more bodies, I hear. I’m sure I’ll just be back to where I was before soon. Everyone’s exhausted.”

You frowned again, pausing your gentle caress against the back of Atsushi’s palm. So that was what was wrong with him. You’d been so busy with Dazai, that you hadn’t even stopped to think that he was still killing people. It seemed you’d been caring for little other than yourself, these days.

“Good thing they’ve got their best detective back, then,” you said, trying for a more light-hearted tone. “I’m sure you’ll be able to solve this in no time, Atsushi.”

Still, he seemed unconvinced—but he kissed your forehead one more time, relaxing. He left you, then, to change out of his day clothes before sliding back into bed. It had been days since you’d last fed off of Dazai’s blood, but you didn’t feel so reckless, so hungry, that this sort of proximity left you with an aching need to bite Atsushi. Instead, you felt warm, consoled by his presence, and reminded of how gentle you could be, despite your nature.

“I love you,” you said quietly, as he slowly began to drift off, his breathing turning into a snore. “I hope you never forget it.”

A little laugh left him, but something about it seemed nervous—had you really left Atsushi to doubt your affection for him? Though, after all the things you’d done, you probably deserved that sort of karma.

“I know,” Atsushi said, humming, squeezing your hand under the covers. “Sometimes, that’s the only thing that I’m certain of.”

The memory of Atsushi’s words left a sour taste in your mouth that lingered as you slept through the day, a palpable anger tensing your body. The rage ran rampant through you from all of Dazai’s lies, promises that he had not kept. At the truth that he’d admitted before – that everything he’d done was to keep Atsushi occupied and away from you.

Dazai was not at the bar when you went the next night, and Atsushi worked late, still out when you left your home after sundown. And when you returned, with a hunger that couldn’t be satisfied by the gutter rats, your fiancé slept, soundly, hardly alert enough to hear your footsteps against the creaky floors.

You sat in the corner of the room, staring at the cracks of moonlight that brightened into orange rays, wishing once more that you could brush your fingertips along them, if only for a moment, to remember what it was like to be alive.

The routine continued. Anger consumed you, but Dazai didn’t return to the bar the next night. Or the night after that.

“Are you eating enough?” Atsushi had said that morning, the sixth day that you had gone without Dazai’s blood. You’d become irritable, snapping at him over the smallest things.

Digging your nails into your arm, the scarlet warmth dripping down to your elbow as you tried to distract yourself from the thrumming through Atsushi’s veins, you’d nodded and changed the subject.

You knew that you looked awful, and your promises were not believed by Atsushi. Your faded complexion was ghastly, inhuman. How easy it would be to give yourself away to others, for them to see that your humanity and morality was but a farce – it was much too obvious now, that you walked around looking like you’d just crawled out of the grave.

Dazai did not show up at the bar again, and desperately, you went to his hotel, hopeful that he had not moved.

It was loud outside of the building, despite nearing midnight. A crowd of drunk men loitered outside of the building, cheering their glasses together. They sang a plethora of songs in untuned keys, stumbling over their feet to get to one another. Women lined the streets, silk dresses with revealing necklines, smiling for men who would never be able to deserve them.

Despite the scene outside, the hotel was relatively quiet, many of the tenants asleep for the night. The clerk at the front desk seemed unbothered that you waltzed in, already headed towards the stairs, without bothering to speak with him.

You had been in such a disoriented state the last time you’d been here that you’d forgotten to look around, take in the atmosphere of the hotel. It was, really, a miracle that you’d even found your way there.

It wasn’t much on the outside, modest and unassuming, and the interior was anything but. Bright colors of gold and green that you only vaguely remembered from your previous visit adorned the inside, leather couches circling a vast library of books. A pair of older men, smoking cigars, fumbled over a game of chess, their shadowy eyes revealing that they were both desperate to call it quits. A young woman, perhaps the same age that you’d been when you died, perched in a chair, wearing a beautiful gown of rose pink, soothed a crying infant.

It was certainly with its’ grandeur, though that was to be expected, with the centuries of wealth Dazai had lining his pockets. You couldn’t imagine he’d stay anywhere less than impressive.

The man at the desk smiled at you in recognition, and you realized that you must have spoken to him when you’d last been here – or, Dazai had told him to let you pass if you were to come. Just another way you’d fallen into his trap, an endless scheme that was nothing more than a game to him. You were being played, not the other way around.

Still, you trudged up the stairs like a wounded soldier, surrendering. The rage had settled deep within your chest, flattening. Even with the betrayal that encompassed your memories of Dazai, you would always turn into a different sort of person when you were hungry.

Before you could regret your actions, you knocked on the door, once, then again, running your hands along the smooth skin of your forearms. There was a noise from inside, a soft sort of giggle, before the door opened, revealing Dazai, eyes dark, but a smile on his face, nonetheless.

“There you are,” he said, closing his fingers around your wrists, pulling you through the threshold before anyone could see you. He seemed to be clouded over with affection, or lust—but of which, you weren’t certain. “I was wondering when you would show up.”

He kissed you, then, soft, and gently, the way that Atsushi greeted you when you returned home. It was too loving, the quick peck of Dazai’s lips, and you scowled, drawing backwards, the irritation resurfacing.

“Osamu,” you said, sharply, creating a clear division between you and him. “I told you –”

But the words died on your lips when you glanced behind him, noticing the pretty, young woman that was perched on the end of the bed. She laughed again, cheeks flushed red under her tanned skin, dark hair flat across her shoulders. The woman gave you a small little wave, not in the slightest embarrassed, as her eyelids fluttered shut.

You blinked, drawing your gaze slowly away from her, back to Dazai, who was still grinning, teeth glinting in the moonlight, predatory and wicked. His expression was a clear vision of all the reasons you should have stayed far away from him, why what little trust you had for him would continue to rise and fall, until you’d gone so many steps backwards that you would be right where you had been.

“What—” But you stopped yourself, trying to gather the right words, to not sound like a jealous fiend, while still demanding answers.

Dazai, to his credit, and all of his promises that things were different this time, did not give you a chance to finish your sentence. “It’s not what it looks like,” he said, gesturing back towards her, before licking his lips. “I’m not… Not like that.”

You stared at him; eyes hard as you searched for a lie. But he’d always been so talented at dishonesty, and you had never been very good at sorting the truth out of fraudulence. “Then what is it? You’re bringing your dinner back to your room now, for no reason? How do you plan to get rid of the body, Osamu? You’re going to have to leave, you know. Someone could see.”

Though, that thought should’ve made you happier, you realized that you almost sounded disappointed, that you were helping him, when you’d been telling yourself to expel him from your city for months.

Dazai rolled his eyes. “Relax. I’m certainly not worried about any of the detectives in this town,” he said, the jab at your fiancé not going unnoticed. “I’ve thrown them off my trail enough times at this point.”

You frowned, wrapping your arms around yourself in protection as Dazai led you forward, a heavy hand on your shoulder. “Besides, she’s not for me, darling.”

The words took a moment to sink in, as you stared at the woman, so peaceful, unassuming, despite everything that she’d clearly heard. You could hear her heart beating under her skin, the color in her cheeks so bright and warm, nothing even close to death. Long breaths escaped her, and she smiled at you, so sweetly, that for a moment, you were considering –

Before the reality of the situation dawned upon you, and you jerked out of Dazai’s hold, away from the young woman, and slapped your former lover across the cheek.

The sound resounded through the room, but the force did little to even jerk his cheek. He stayed still, amused, and held your wrist loosely in his palm once more. “Would you listen—”

“I don’t feed off humans anymore,” you said, your words sharp, eyes narrowed angrily. “I promised myself two years ago that I would not, and I have been true to my word. Yet, here you are, the vilest creature I have ever set my sights upon, trying to lead me back down a road that leads to nothing but emptiness.”

Dazai blinked, before erupting into a fit of laughter. “A tad dramatic, even for you, my love. This is but a manifestation of your very nature as a vampire.” His gaze drew across your features, the way your hunger was evident in the curl of your fangs over your lips, your arms wrapped around yourself to keep from lunging at the poor woman. “You cannot deny the hunger that you feel—”

“It’s wrong, Osamu,” you spat bitterly, thinking of your mortal fiancé back home, who would not deserve this sort of end. How easily he could’ve been the one lured to the wolves’ den by Dazai, sitting on the bed of a vampire, none the wiser to the fact that he was to be someone’s dinner. “I was once a human too, was I not?”

Dazai laughed once more, mocking you, this time. For clinging onto the little bit of humanity that you had left, even after all this time. “As was I. But how long has it been since you were human?”

You said nothing.

Dazai crept closer, eyes like a hawk, so sharp and pointed along every line of your body. They flashed a deep ebony, drowning out the sweet caramel colors that always lingered in his irises. “You have always deluded yourself, and you continue to do so.” His fingers were back against your cheek, like long, protruding icicles, against even your icy flesh. “You feel so much better when I’m the one doing the killing, that you can’t see that drinking from me is just as bad as doing the killing yourself.”

Your jaw slackened, falling open, and, despite your better judgement, you let him draw his fingertips across your lips, softly smiling at the delicate feeling of them. “What do you mean?”

“I kill twice as many humans to keep up with your ever-increasing appetite. You might as well have done the deed on your own.” Dazai drew the words out, bored, waving his hand dismissively. And though you had to have known that, could feel in the deepest depths of your soul that that was true, you’d been all too happy to ignore it.

To continue on believing that your choice to use him as a blood source was for the benefit of not only you, but the humans you refused to kill, to bleed to death.

Dazai pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, the feeling of his lips, a touch so sweet, sending a shiver down your spine. “You can feed from her without killing her,” he said, drawing you closer and closer to the woman, though you felt stiff as your regret whirled under your skin. Dazai held you to his chest, and you let him, basking in the familiar touch, the familiar hatred and love baked into one emotion that had always confused you.

“You won’t stop me,” you said, mouth moving, though the words didn’t entirely feel your own. You stared at the girl over Dazai’s shoulder, who seemed in a drunk daze, Dazai’s manipulation working against her. “You’ll say you will, but you’re a liar, Dazai.”

“I will. I’ve stopped you before, haven’t I?” he pulled back, meeting your eyes, brushing your hair away from your face. “I promise.”

You began to object, to remind him of how little his promises meant to you, but you could feel the hunger multiplying, it’s claws deep inside of you. It felt like a physical force on its own, and you couldn’t remember a time when you had been so at its mercy, except when you were first reborn, a foolish child with Dazai’s blood coursing through your veins.

And though you wanted to hate him, to blame him for all of your troubles, to call him nothing but a deceiver, you wondered if he really had been telling the truth. If all your years of rejecting human blood had turned you back into the version of yourself that you had not been in a century, of a young vampire who had no control in the face of human blood.

“I’m stronger than you,” Dazai said, following the line of thought in your head, swiping his fingers across the wrinkle there. “It will help you. You won’t crave my blood so often.”

“It won’t taste as good.”

Dazai laughed at the small pout that puckered on your lips, and though you had meant to only think the words, they slipped out anyways. He kissed the frown away, startling you, and yet, you kissed him back, if only for a moment.

“I know it won’t, sweetheart.” Dazai licked his own lips, savoring the taste of you that remained. “But it’ll be better than those rats you’ve been eating, won’t it?”

Always so persuasive, that sharp tongue of his. How easily he could get you to cave with the promise of something so divine, and the lustful glint that coiled in his eyes. You held onto the single shred of morality that was slowly dissipating as you contemplated his sincerity. Then, you let it go, released, and nodded.

Satisfaction curled across Dazai’s expression, and he pulled you over to the bed, the woman, blinking up at you from under her thick lashes. She smiled, almost playful, and another giggle escaped her. “She’s prettier than you promised.”  

Dazai, eyes glued to you, softened. “Isn’t she? There’s no one else quite like her.”

For all your resentment towards Dazai, you felt the curl of warm satisfaction spread across your chest, and you glanced away bashfully, hating how he still looked at you with such love. How hard it was getting, every day, to ignore the fact that, maybe, everything he did really was for you and you alone.  

“Sit beside her, my love,” Dazai said, leading you to one side of the bed, guiding you into a seated position. Your knees brushed against the human’s, and she pressed it closer, tilting her head away to expose the vein that protruded along her neck.

“Osamu—” you said, glancing up at him with doubt. “I will kill her if you don’t stop me.”

“I know.”

“And if you don’t stop me, I will hate you forever.”

His smile widened, a grimace almost, but he acknowledged that with a nod, and waved his hand, urging you to continue.

You dragged your gaze away from him, back to the impatient woman, who was far too excited for you to slowly drain the life from her. She placed a soft hand on your thigh, the warmth seeping through your skirt, a reminder of the life she had swirling in her veins.

It was enough to propel you forward, and you breathed along her collarbone, ignoring the annoying pang of your heart that wished it was Dazai instead. Your fangs sunk into her neck, and the blood rushed along your tongue, down your throat, a flash of white snapping across your vision.

The thoughts drained from your mind, and you were no longer inside yourself, losing your senses in the sensation of the blood, and how warm it felt in your mouth as it settled in your body. Your fingers curled around her shoulders, and you dragged her closer, hearing a soft little moan leave her mouth as you sucked your lips harder.

It was nowhere near the exhilarating rush of Dazai’s blood, but it was warmer, more satisfying, similar to the fullness you’d received after eating a slab of red meat as a human. You weren’t tethered to the girl like you were your maker, but it was different getting the fresh human blood from the source.

You felt stupid, silly, for always rejecting the need to drink from mortals, when you could remember how good it felt. That was all it would take for you to not feel so empty, day in and day out, only longing for the days when you had never cared at all. It seemed nothing more than a daydream – those days when you were just as bad as Dazai, who had always killed and enjoyed it.

“Enough, my darling,” Dazai said, pinching your jaw, slowly coaxing you off of the woman, careful not to tear her throat while your teeth still latched on.

You tried to push him away, a deep sound reverberating in the back of your throat, but Dazai thrust his slit wrist in front of you, the smell overwhelming, better than the scent of the woman’s sweet blood and perfume.

“I have something better,” he smiled, running his hand over the top of your head as he stood before you, looking far too godly in the silver moonlight. “And I kept my promise, didn’t I?”

You didn’t answer, too busy swallowing the large gulps you had taken of his blood, softly kissing the skin that had broken there. Your nails curled into his forearm, pulling him close as his palm rested on the top of your head, fingertips lightly scratching against your scalp.

“Dazai—” the girl began, and though you were irritated that he’d even told her his name, the blood soothed you as it rushed down your throat.

“Thank you for your generosity, my dear.” Dazai said to her, in that deep, soothing voice of his that he used to compel humans. “You won’t be needed any longer. Go downstairs and forget any of this evening even happened.”

In a trance, the woman left, woozy, still full of laughter as she stumbled across the floor. Her hair had fallen from the clips, dress strap slipping off her shoulder, but Dazai didn’t bother to tell her. Instead, when you came off of his wrist, a gasp expelling from your lungs, Dazai pushed you back onto the bed, crawling over you, kissing all over your face.

Your eyes shot wide for just a moment, before you relaxed into him, threading your fingers through his hair, let him taste his own blood on your mouth. His tongue darted across your bottom lip, swiping the blood that had gathered there, before he moaned, the sound a vibration against your skin.

“Fuck,” he said, coaxing your hands from his scalp, pinning them to the bed. You could feel him straining against his pants, his clothed cock brushing up against your thigh. “The things you do to me.” Dazai kissed up your neck, across your jaw, lacing your fingers together. A soft sigh left you, and you let your head rest delicately on the bed. “I love you,” he whispered, just beneath your jaw, words so gentle that you began to believe them.

You glanced up as he backed away, hair falling down over his forehead as he stared at you, caressing your cheek. The haze of his blood still consumed you, but you felt so light under his hold, like the burdens of your entire life could fade away entirely from his touch. “Osamu,” you began, kissing his fingertips, though the smile didn’t pull entirely on your face, too uncertain.

He sighed, and then sat up, his knees still on either side of your hips, a frown furrowing his features. You crawled out from under him, kissing his cheeks, his nose, before he pushed you back, running his fingers through his hair.

“What’s the matter?” you said, reaching for him, even as he evaded your grasp.

Dazai sat at the edge of the bed, his hair mussed, expression vacant. He didn’t answer your question immediately, and swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

You laughed, dizzy, as you crawled over to him. “What do you mean, Osamu?”

But once again, he evaded your touch, standing, stalking to the other side of the room, holding only a loose rope on his anger. “I miss you. So badly. I want you; I love you, but I don’t know how to make you come back to me.” He glanced at you, and you could see the hurt in his expression, before he sat at the table, arms crossed over his chest. “My blood… does that to you, and it makes me think that maybe, things can go back to the way they were before.” He sighed, dropping his head. “Instead, everything I do just seems to make you hate me more.”

You blinked, feeling discarded on the bed, and you slumped forward, before making your way to your feet. Your dress had wrinkled, and you smoothed it back out, straightened the straps, fixed your hair. Still, Dazai wouldn’t look at you, and you were struck by his vulnerability, the earnestness in his expression. “I just—” you began, but you had no idea where you were planning to take that statement, too focused on the cloudiness that lingered in his gaze. “Osamu…”

“Go home,” he said, jaw clenched, before he looked up at you, his features schooled into another neutral position. “You don’t know what you want right now.”

You frowned, fingers tensing at your sides before you relaxed them. “That’s not fair.”

Dazai glared. “What’s not fair is the fact that you only want me when I give you my blood. What’s not fair is me loving you with every ounce of my being, for centuries, only to find you again with a human. What’s not fair is—”

“You’re not innocent, Osamu,” you said quietly, lip quivering as you tried to think rationally, but you just couldn’t. Every part of you was pulsing with need for him, and though it had never been a problem when you were together, it was a problem now. “You hurt me. I’m trying. I don’t know how to forgive you, but at least I’m trying.”

He stared back at you, an entire minute passing before he spoke again. “You have always been the same as me. Always as awful as you want to claim I am,” he said lowly, sniffing back his indignation. “Every horrible thing I’ve done, you’ve done too. The blood on my hands is on yours also. For every woman I took to bed, you took twice as many men.”

You wrapped your arms around yourself, aching, as you looked away. “You left me to die, Osamu. You left me. The vampire hunters came for us, and –”

“God,” he laughed, darkly, shaking his head. “Even now, you don’t believe a word I say. You think, I would’ve left you?”

“Didn’t you?”

“They told me you were dead. Everyone. I came back for you, but you were already gone. I mourned you for decades. And now I’ve found you again…” Dazai trailed off, realizing that you were staring at him curiously, the feeling of drunkenness slowly evaporating from your conscious. “You know what… It doesn’t matter.”

“Really?” A bitter laugh came out of your throat. “You never tell me anything,” you said pointedly, hugging yourself tightly and turning away. “Every time I think I understand you, we take one hundred steps backwards.”

He glared, jaw tight, though fleetingly. The tension smoothed back out, and he sat tall, looking bored, and annoyed by your very presence. “Would it make a difference?” he asked, shaking his head. “You’ll continue to hate me, just because it’s easier.”

You blinked, lips parting briefly before you decided not to even argue with him. Around and around you’d go, at the end of the day, talking each other in circles until you’d gotten so lost, you couldn’t even remember where the conversation had started. “I suppose.”

“Then you better go home. The sun will start to rise soon. I don’t think you’ll want to spend another night here.”

For a moment longer, you watched him, waiting for any slight change in his expression—and when there was none, you turned, and headed towards the door. As you pulled it shut behind you, escaping into the dim hallway, you took one look back at the old vampire, the man you didn’t want yourself to love. But he was ignoring you, easily, his gaze fixated on a point on the opposite side of the room.

You frowned and let the door latch shut.

PART V

tag list: @cerberels @thateldribitch @hauntedsol @osaemu @cha0thicpisces @kissesmellow21 @sukiischaotic @hinata7346 @scinclaitnoir @mimimimiminanana @yolkyuyi @xxoolii @zephoncocaine @angelsdemonsandhumans @kouyoumarryme @avocate-assia-dazai @cheriiyaya @iluv-ace @kemis-world @pe4rl-diver @wilbur-the-hottie @zbriia @yasu-masashige @umarureid @flourescentadolescent1 @seikouryuu @dazaiswife1 @kxmilia @chosos-mascara @lacunaanonymousd @vljiki @angelof-darkness @acacia-koi @foxydaydreamer

[myfanfic-urfantrash]

hai.. theres a significant lack of luocha love but ive been mulling over alpha luocha doting over and taking care of his omega s/o when they're in heat or something, sfw and nsfw ways ugh i just love him a lot its a shame there's not much for him

You're right that there's a big lack of Luocha love! I've written a bit for him as an alpha already so some of these may be repetitive.

cw: omegaverse, nsfw

Luocha is honestly one of the best Alphas to have tend to any omegas heat. He's so thorough in making sure his omegas has everything they could possibly need at any moment.

Scents his omega regularly throughout their heat to keep them calm and help them feel safe.

He doesn't mind helping his mate build their nest but would rather sit back and let them do their thing while he hands them freshly scented items to add to their nest.

During heats he's on top of their health and overall well being making sure they've got plenty of water and snacks so they don't have to move around much and just relax.

If he's been invited into their nest he's wrapping them up in blankets and holding them close as they purr in his arms. He's a bit sneaky in this as he buries his head into their neck to just surround himself with their fragrant scent.

Has zero complaints if his omega wants him inside them or wants him to eat them out he's here to please.

Absolutely eats them out like he's been starved and makes them cum several times on his tongue before he gives them the knot they want so badly.

He's the biggest tease cooing at his omega for wanting his knot so bad. He'll give it to them not to worry he'll just rail them until they're a cute purring mess first before he does.

[tuulikki]

A while back you reblogged my post (pisses me off when sci-fi writes religion out of their stories) and I've been turning what you said over in my head since then. Specifically in the past few days, as the version with your addition has been passed around.

What, specifically, DO these authors think they’re writing out of their story?

Ive been trying to find a charitable way to answer this question for myself, but it's hard to. I'm jewish, after all. To me, a story without religion is one where my people have been wiped out. That was the original point of my post, but... i think that what you said, about religion being tied to culture and tradition and the context of its time, makes the image in my head a little sadder.

It becomes one where jews haven't just been wiped out, but completely forgotten. Rendered obsolete.

I don't know what point I'm trying to make, really. I just wanted to share, and to thank you for the interaction. I've gone through your blog a bit, and you seem pretty cool. :)

Hey, I'm answering after a long delay, because what you asked was something I needed to mull over.

I think a fair few things are happening. And I thought this over long enough that it even came out in a semi-coherent list.

First, I think people forget that secularism is an ideology, not a "default" neutral state of how human societies organise themselves. Because there's no such thing as a "default" human society. It's a specific idea that a lot of people decided to believe in.

Second, I think they forget that secularism is a culturally-bound idea that emerged out of the religious history of Western Christendom (i.e., Reformation and Counter-Reformation punching each other in the face). The idea that the political and the religious could or should be separate spheres, with religion being private rather than public, did not show up anywhere else in a way we'd recognise unless Europeans barged in.

Third, people think secular = modern. People already will comfortably imagine that someone living in the modern age could be doing so without being modern: "modern" means looking, thinking, and behaving a very specific way. The old (broke-ass) narratives that projected that humanity would one day abandon all belief in religion, spirituality, the supernatural, superstition, or even plain-old clinging to ideologies in favour of ascending to pure enlightened reason have demonstrably turned out to be bullshit. But if you're raised with a cultural belief that progress to modernity looks like progress to secularity, then it's an article of faith that the scifi future will be secular.

Fourth, I think there's some wicked bad history involved in what people are writing out when they write out religion:

They tend to assume that no one was oppressed, enslaved, marginalised, or stressed before Big Monotheism.

They tend to have the very specifically Protestant definition of "religion" as individually-held cosmic convictions—and to project both that definition of religion and the cultural primacy of the individual into the past and the future as universal values so that, the less a religion reflects the core positions of Protestantism, the less it will be understood or presented favourably (unless its a Noble Savage'd indigenous tradition).

They tend to associate religion with "violence" and "intolerance," even though (to quote the sociologist José Casanova), "none of the horrible massacres [of the 20th century]—not the senseless slaughter of millions of young Europeans in the trenches of World War I; or the countless millions of victims of Bolshevik and Communist terror through revolution, civil war, collectivization campaigns, the great famine in Ukraine, the repeated cycles of Stalinist terror, and the gulag; or the most unfathomable of all, the Nazi Holocaust and the global conflagration of World War II, culminating in the nuclear bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki—can be said to have been caused by religious fanaticism and intolerance. All of them were, rather, products of modern secular ideologies."

So that's what I think is going on :/

[sneeg-snag]

Loop, and the potency of “I asked to be here”

i have been thinking non fucking stop about this game since i played it and i NEEDED to talk about this one damn line. SPOILERS FOR ISAT ACT SIX AND TWOHATS IF YOU HAVE NOT PLAYED THAT PLS DONT READ!!!!!

i thought of this while driving a couple days ago so APOLOGIES if its a little rambly and all over the place but ive genuinely been turning the act 6 fight and just Everything about the game around in my head like a rotisserie chicken for the past couple days.

thinking back on loop after Act 6 has got me really mulling over some of their lines- ESPECIALLY said before I personally figured it out. one of those lines that stuck in my head was when loop says "I asked to be here"

at first i definitely interpreted this as "i saw your situation, and i wanted to help. i asked a higher power/the universe (why theyre a star) and here i am! in return, i am now stuck with you until you get out." loop was playful and kind of carefree, making jokes and poking at siffrin.

and i feel like in some stories this could very well be the case! its apart of the heros journey to have this kind of higher power help the protagonist, and i can definitely imagine a world where something like this happened. Sif wished, and a shooting star saw and wanted to help him.

but thats not what happens in isat. Isat is a game about loss.

and now, looking back after the reveal and the act 6 fight, that line of "i asked to be here" is incredibly potent and hard hitting. instead of it being "i asked to be here" like i originally thought, its "i asked to be here."

its a knife that turns on loop and twists, just gets worse and worse for them. you say "there cannot be any place worse than this", stuck in a timeloop of your own wish, and no matter what you do you cannot leave. so you say "anything will be better than this" and the universe listens and says "really?" and the monkey paw curls.

you asked to be here you say as you watch someone with your face be put in the same predicament. you asked to be here you say as you watch this clone go through the same events you did. you asked to be here you say as you give advice to this doppleganger because youre still stuck. you asked to be here you say as you watch this understudy get out. live the life you were supposed to have.

the universes biggest punchline.

[ninja-go-to-therapy]

I Work Hard to Make This Treehouse a Treehome

kinda crack but kinda angst idk ive had this in the drafts for 7 months and just finished it rn so

ao3

Summary: Branch and Archer get high and bond over their complicated relationships with their shitty brothers.

2125 words

The adrenaline was leaving his system.

The last three days had been nonstop insanity, from the very moment John Dory crashed the wedding. Even before that, preparations for said wedding had been an intense affair. 

Branch was exhausted, and the adrenaline couldn’t keep him going anymore.

It couldn’t keep him pumped up anymore, either.

For a good portion of the adventure, Branch had almost been excited. His brothers were finally back in his life, and he actually wanted them there. He wanted to be a family again, and he was actually getting his wish.

He thought it was what he wanted. But now things had calmed down, and his brothers were in the bunker, and he felt like there were fire ants under his skin.

He thought he wanted them here. Nothing had happened to make him change his mind, but he just… he just couldn’t handle this.

He couldn’t handle Bruce casually making a pot of coffee. He couldn’t handle Clay’s appreciation of his home. He couldn’t handle Floyd’s exhausted smiles, and he sure as hell couldn’t handle John Dory’s… everything.

Everything they did only irritated him further. Every kind word, every appreciative hum. He wanted to scream. He wanted to throw a tantrum like he was a trolling again, rolling on the floor and lashing out at anyone who got in the way. 

Of course, that would only further their teasing of him. As much as Branch reminded them that he was a grown up (because they’d missed his childhood, they’d abandoned him and they’d missed it, and they couldn’t just come back and pretend he was the same little kid they’d left), they didn’t stop. Not really. Floyd was the only one who didn’t particularly tease him, and somehow that frustrated him too.

Everything they did. Everything they didn’t do. He didn’t know why, but his wire was fraying, and he was terrified that he would snap at any second.

He couldn’t handle this.

He wanted them out. He wanted them to leave again, to go back to their stupid lives without him, he wanted them to hate themselves forever for what they’d done.

He wanted to hate them. 

It was all too much, it was all so confusing. He didn’t know how to handle all of this.

His first thought: talk to Poppy. His second: no, she’d only tell him to work things out by communicating. He didn’t want to communicate. He wanted to rot somewhere where nobody would question him, or tease him, or do nothing but exist and still manage to get him wound up. 

He loved Poppy more than anything, but he was worried that if he saw her right now, he’d only blow up at her, too. He needed to get out. He needed to distance himself from all of this until he could clear his head.

But the bunker was his only safe space. He couldn’t go to any of his friends — they meant well, but he worried they’d be too much for him right now, too. Not to mention that his friends were Poppy’s friends, and they’d never be able to lie to her.

He didn’t want to lie to her. He just… needed some time alone.

Where could he go that she wouldn’t immediately find him? Where could he go that he wouldn’t be questioned or judged?

It wasn’t like anyone else in the village could possibly understand something like this. 

He mulled that over for a moment, because actually… there just might be someone.

-

It only took a minute or two after knocking on the door of Archer Pastry’s house — built in the base of a tree trunk — for it to swing open. He was wearing his usual spiked vest, which looked a little less intimidating with the pins and patches that the village had gifted him after he'd officially become a citizen. He was fairly certain at least half of them were from Poppy.

“Uh… hey?” Archer offered, giving him a confused look. Branch couldn’t blame him. While they were friends, they weren’t really the… hang out one-on-one, seek each other out specifically kind of friends. Archer, much like Branch, preferred to take things at his own speed, more the type to lurk at the edge of a party than join in on the dance floor. 

He was probably the only person Branch could handle seeing right now that wouldn’t make him snap completely.

“Hey,” he parroted, awkwardly waving. He was starting to regret this already. It was weird to show up like this! They weren’t that close! And yet his feet were rooted to the forest floor. He wasn’t going anywhere. He certainly wasn’t going back to the bunker. “Can I um… can I come in?”

Archer’s body blocked the doorway, but he moved back, stiffly granting Branch access to his home. He’d never actually been here. Archer, though an honorary troll, was a bit similar to him. They both valued their privacy quite a bit.

“So is everything… okay?” Archer asked, not quite making eye contact, which was perfectly fine with him.

“I just…” he sighed. “I needed somewhere to go for — I dunno. Maybe a few hours or a few…” his chest seized. “I needed somewhere to go.”

“And you came to me instead of Poppy?” He asked, one eyebrow raised as he led his impromptu guest to the couch.

Branch shrugged helplessly.

“Eh, okay. I mean, I didn’t really have any plans today other than like… lazing around, so. Er… did you wanna, like… talk about it?” He looked uncomfortable at the idea, his face wrinkled in distaste.

He shook his head, and Archer sighed in relief. “Oh, good. I’m not really good with all this… mushy gushy stuff you trolls are so fond of.”

Branch chuckled somewhat. “You and me both. That’s… kind of why I’m here? Poppy would just tell me it’s okay to have feelings or something. Which, you know, is great and all, but not really what I’m looking for right now.”

His host nodded. “Yeah, that girl can be a lot.” A beat passed. “So, anyway… bathroom is that door there, and uh… help yourself to whatever you can find in the kitchen? Except the brownies. Don’t — don’t touch the brownies.” He slapped his knees, standing up. “Cool, well… I’m gonna go back to bed. If you need anything just… guess.”

“Guess?” he asked, a bit put off by the idea of looking through another person’s home.

“‘s not like I have any personal shit,” he shrugged. “I’ll wake back up in an hour or two… probably. Goodnight.”

It was quite definitely not nighttime, but Branch wasn’t in a position to judge. In fact, being all alone in a nice, quiet place was exactly what he needed right about now.

He got comfortable on the couch, closing his eyes and taking a few deep, calming breaths. He was starting to relax already.

-

About two hours later, Archer had woken up, and offered some of those brownies he’d mentioned before. Apparently they had some weird party crasher drug kind of like the weed trolls had, but Branch was curious enough to try one. They had been a bit stronger than he was anticipating.

“If your brother came back,” Branch said, gripping onto the side of the couch, as if he was unbalanced, “would you like… let him?”

Archer’s previously relaxed expression wrinkled into one of sour distaste. “Ugh, no way. I hate that guy… you know he helped me pick the name Kaboom, and then he wouldn’t even use it?”

“That is so older brother of him,” he grumbled, glaring at the floor. “Mine pretty much exclusively call me some variation of Bitty B.”

Archer blinked at him. “I didn’t know you had brothers.”

He fell to the side, wrapping himself around the arm-rest he was already clinging onto. “I didn’t,” he said, miserable and glassy-eyed. “They left me when I was a baby.” He sniffled, hugging the couch like it could possibly hug back.

Archer considered this for a moment before snapping lazily, pointing to his friend. “Kill them.”

Branch hiccuped a dry sob. “Can’t… just went on a life-endangering adventure to keep one of them from dying…”

“Oh, is that where you and Poppy disappeared to last week?”

He nodded, cheek scraping against the couch. “Floyd is the only one who said he’d come back,” he said miserably, “he swore he would. Twenty years later and I only see him again because someone else ropes me into a rescue mission for him. At least the others didn’t lie! I hate him but he just died — literally died in my arms — so I should just forgive him, right? That’s what the others would say…”

“I say this with all the love in my bitter little heart… the pop trolls have a bit of a toxic positivity problem sometimes.”

Branch looked at him in surprise.

“I mean, it could be worse. Then again, the several months I spent in that… “fungeon” made me want to rip my hair out. I don’t even have hair. Do you ever think about that? Like, how jealous would you be if other species could literally manipulate their hair and you don’t even have any…” he trailed off, seemingly remembering who he was talking to. “Oh, yeah. Anyways, just cause some guy died doesn’t mean you have to be nice to him.”

“He’s not just some guy,” he clarified, “he’s my brother.”

Archer stared at him in silence. “You have brothers?”

“Didn’t I just say that?”

He thought for a moment. “I think you did… sorry, when I get high I’m kinda… you know.”

Branch nodded. “The floor is moving.”

“Sure bud. So your brothers suck, welcome to the club I guess.”

“I mean, they do. But they’re better, I think. I don’t know… I want them back in my life, I just… I want to scream when I look at them.”

Archer tipped his head back, resting on the edge of the couch. “Let it out, bro. What’s the damage?”

He couldn’t help himself from opening up. He explained the entire history of Brozone, and even his grandma and her death. Archer didn’t particularly react, and if Branch didn’t know any better, he’d almost think he was asleep. But every few minutes, he would nod, or make a little noise of acknowledgement without interrupting. It was nice.

“They don’t even want to be here,” he said once he’d finished explaining the Mount Rageous situation. “That whole argument… they all want to go back to their lives. Without me. But I threw a fit, and now they’re here. I think… I don’t think they would have done all of this if it had been me instead of Floyd.” he sniffled, tears beginning to trickle down his cheeks. “I hate them so much. But at the same time I just want — I just want my family back.”

“I really hope you’re not expecting me to have any advice, because we did literally… blow up my brother. So…”

“I wish I could blow up mine.”

“Do it,” he agreed with a flippant wave. “Super therapeutic.”

Branch groaned. “I can’t. I just want to punch them all in their stupid faces — but then they’ll leave. I want them gone, but I also really don’t. I hate this.”

“Have you tried yelling at them a bunch?”

“About what?”

“I dunno. Your feelings. If you can’t punch them with fists, punch them with guilt for ruining your life and not even coming back for you. At least they would probably feel bad about it.”

“Still can’t believe Bash had no remorse.”

“Bitch, you’re telling me! Lemme tell you about this one time…”

They sat there for a long time, exchanging stories back and forth. Branch didn’t even realize just how long they’d been talking until he glanced out the window, surprised to find it dark outside. He’d spent almost the whole day here!

“I should get home,” he said, standing from the couch and stretching, his back popping.

“Right,” Archer agreed, joining him on his feet and shuffling over to the door, swinging it open. Before Branch could leave, though, he stopped him one more time. “If you wanna like… come over again sometime… or something. That could be. Nice?” He looked away. “Sorry, I’m not really good at this whole… friends thing.”

Branch found himself actually smiling, which was a massive improvement from his mood this morning. “Well, from one loner to another, I think you’re doing pretty well for yourself. See you later?”

As he walked home, he knew that his issues with his brothers wouldn’t magically be resolved. But… he did feel a little lighter. And for now, that was enough.

[ofmermaidstories]

Bad day for nosy people who need to know what old fandom is 👀👀

lmao, i’m trying to talk myself out of it so that i don’t turn my current WIP list upside down on itself but. 🥹 i fear it has very powerful claws. 🦞 i’ve been mulling over like, why it ([Old Fandom]) is so attractive to me right now and i think it’s a combination of a few things!! like, one is the fact that i never originally left it by choice—real life kinda forced me away from my hobbies, and by the time i could circle back again, the fandom had died (i find it really interesting that so many modern fandoms don’t have staying power, but that’s a different discussion) and i was interested in different things. but now it’s seeing a revival and i’m remembering how much i loved it and how i never really… got closure for it, LOL, as silly as that sounds. 🥹 i never finished any of my ideas. 🥺 i went back into my old account actually, like a couple of weeks ago, and went through my fic drafts i had at the time and it—idk. i guess it just made me nostalgic. 🥹 it’s different, tonally, to what we do here in the bnha/x reader niche!! and it makes me itchy. 🥹😩 god!! so itchy. i wanna dig my fingers into it and move things around. dig it up from the garden. perform necromancy on the lover that doesn’t even know they’re dead, and blinks and finds themselves sitting in the same old kitchen with a cup of coffee in their hand. 🥹🥹🥹 i’m better equipped now—i know how to keep myself interested in long-term projects, how to finish them and, most importantly, what i like.

there’s a lot of stuff i like to write that i just don’t, here in our niche. either because it doesn’t fit in with the bnha world or just doesn’t like… suit the x reader POV. and that’s on me LOL, a better (or maybe more determined) writer could make all those things work, but part of what i like about bnha and x reader and [old fandom] is that they’re distinct—they all feel different. i wrote a lot before i got here!! i wrote so much. i wrote so much that i like, kinda burnt myself out on it LMAOO. there were tropes i liked and settings and tricks i used all the time that after a while they got boring to me. 🥹 and now after a million years of doing something different, i’ve realised—oh. i really liked all that. 🥹 i really like it, still.

idk!! idk. part of not naming the fandom is also because i haven’t decided if i wanna jump back in or not lmao. do i do it, knowing it’ll slow everything up even more? we tell ourselves all the time here in fandom circles that it’s just fanfic/fanart! you’re here to have fun! if it gets hard or boring or you wanna try something new—drop it! do it! you don’t owe anybody anything!! which is all very true yes sure. except i, me, mermie, want to finish things. i want the satisfaction of finishing the IAL series. im actually very proud of the fics, and while i know i will finish shouto’s (barring being kidnapped by pirates or aliens or death himself ig 💀), i also know im a slow writer, and that letting myself deviate off path into a completely different fandom will make me slower. 🥹 so idk. i guess ive just been ruminating on fiddly details like that LOL. also i don’t have a solid plot in mind yet (even tho i have a general gist of what i want) so that’s also probably the main leash rn LMAOOO. tbh if i get one im going in swinging, fist first, so let’s all hope that i remain idealess on that front lest the demons take me. 🥹🙏🏽

[elliewiltarwyn]

how are ellie, mia, and lilyana doing in arcadion? having fun, stressing out, secret third thing, secreter fourth thing? isk if ive seen you post about it yet... but if not consider this a loose writing prompt?

i thought i had posted something but turns out nope it's just in the one scrivener doc of random notes and even then it was just the barest hint of something lol. so thank you for prompting! <3

I had that hint of something but not many details, so this is the result of more thinking about the Arcadion storyline than I ever thought I was gonna do (i was just along for the crazy-ass fights before, but now i'm legit invested in and hooked by the actual story?? wild lol).

but one thing I know for sure is Ellie is in for the fights and the show of it all from the beginning...

This got long, as expected, so under the cut:

I don't think she's aimless in Dawntrail and she's finding some purpose in mentoring Lamaty'i, but she's definitely getting a little antsy after defeating Sphene and mulling over the key with Y'shtola. so when doug dimmadome owner of the dimmsdale dimmadome Metem approaches her, she realizes she's been slacking a little in exercising that muscle that only two people have ever really gotten her to flex: Zenos and Gulool Ja Ja. By this point, she's come to terms with sharing love for the thrill of the battle with Zenos. So if this dude's offering a no-stakes environment to test her limits, and people are going to cheer for her to do so? she is pumped and ready.

and I don't think she's just turning down the regulator, she refuses to accept even the slim justification for other MMO players - none of the girls are impressed by the soul economy of Alexandria and they all vowed to never use them like that. I think she just says straight up to Metem "I don't want them, I don't need them, and don't you dare hold them hostage on my account, just release them anyway if I win." She'll go it solo or not at all. Metem protests "No, you really cannot stand toe-to-toe with them without help of some kind! Do you maybe have any friends who could accompany you? We could sell that as a team with an unbreakable bond!"...

(and there's my slim justification for working Mia and Lily into it. if the Arcadion audience can accept "one warrior backed up by seven 'soul simulacra' of previous champions" then they can accept a 3v1+ lol)

...Mia is not happy about it. She did her time on the Ul'dahn bloodsands, and she hated it there too. She was tired of fighting and wanted to retire after Endwalker, and even moreso after Dawntrail. She promised herself she'd only fight again if there was a good reason to, and while she did help Wuk Lamat with the succession (happily) and the conflict with Alexandria (reluctantly), "her wife diving headfirst into the deep end against superpowered tournament rivals" might not actually clear that bar.

This... becomes a point of contention between Ellie and Mia and they have a massive fight the likes of which haven't been seen since the days of their rivalry, except now it's worse because they're married now and poor Lily's stuck in the middle. Lily has no objections to fighting and loves Ellie too much to let her go solo, and Mia loves Lily too much to not want to protect her from any consequences of Ellie's hubris. Mia agrees to fight too, but she makes it clear it's for Lily's sake and she's still furious at Ellie for forcing her into this situation, and now all of them feel like shit, with a hefty amount of guilt on Ellie's part.

That guilt spurs Ellie to at least take the vanguard so their foes are focusing on her.* They go in as the holy MMO trinity: Ellie takes up her dark knight greatsword again (guilt is a powerful fuel for darkness!!), Mia uses sage soumanotics, and Lily mixes up rogue, ninja, and pictomancer abilities. Despite Mia being furious with them, she saves their asses several times over and they easily claim the Light-heavyweight championship.

and then Eutrope barrels in and changes everything. now there's three super-dense souls for her to hone in on. bam, Mia has her reason to fight. Ellie has her justification for testing herself and thrillseeking. Lily's here to pet other cats and stab people who look at her wives funny.

This isn't gonna let Ellie off the hook with Mia, though, because it's not like they knew all that shit going in. They're definitely going to need to have a talk about their emotions. 🥲

*in reality I'm doing em as a melee (going monk this tier 💪) but by this point I'm also not inexperienced at tanking Arcadion lol

-----

I'm still mulling over how Cruiserweight advances all of that aside from giving Lily even more cats to pet. But I think there's juice in at least matching Ellie's readiness to fight against Hector's and Retsarra's. mwehehe. we're definitely getting to the point of "if anyone touches another hair on these children we will kill everyone in the room and then not ourselves because we're better than that" too, and maybe even needling this wet blonde catboy for fumbling Eutrope so hard lol.

Details still brewing, but hopefully this answers your question with...I'm pretty sure this is "secret third thing" :V

[raisinchallah]

in my discussions of xena fanfic last night i actually didnt mention what i find the strangest in xena fanfic spaces which is the total obsession with first time stories like many different fanfic websites literally have entire sections just dedicated to first time stories its like gen alt amazon fics uber and first time like its an entire discrete genre there was a major very popular xena fanfic website dedicated exclusively to first time stories and it will pop up like everywhere i have read some truly random fics purely because they have callisto in it so like theres a number of fics that are like they escape from callistos evil castle but also its a first time story and im like huh??? u can only get captured in her evil lair if ur a virigin? even found some that were like dont worry gabrielle didnt have sex with perdicus she was saving herself for xena.. i honestly cannot think of anything similar in any other fandom its genuinely kind of baffling to me especially because well the fandom does like to have this sort of self conscious feminist positioning of itself that feels kind of at odds with a fandom wide obsession with gabrielles virginity which while also a concern of the show its displaced that more tastefully onto her blood innocence as the greater concern and then also the fact that i mean if you have eyes that can see and a heart that knows the truth you know theyre clearly having sex constantly and one would think a fandom dedicated to cataloging and discussing the endless developments of xena and gabrielles relationship and proving to the doubters theyre for real would not be as interested in the beginning of their relationship which you know has come and gone for far more interesting eras of the show like i mean plenty of xena fic is about them in an established relationship i dont want to distort facts here this is also equally a fandom concern but that never has its own dedicated page on fanfic websites theres no this is an established relationship story idk my main theories on this are one the fandom was way bigger in like the season 2-3 era where the show was also kind of obsessed with gabrielles innocence so like again its not coming from nowhere that like seasons 4-6 which u really cannot watch without the assumption of an existing relationship had much lower viewership and fandom than the first 3 as well as people really disliking the rift arc and not wanting that level of conflict and such perhaps lead to further obsession with the earlier more innocent eras of their relationship? also perhaps this being like the operative fantasy of the closeted writers that u have someone who whisks you away and teaches you to be gay and so on maybe it also feels like less pressure to said closeted writer to write a characters first gay experience idk and i mean that whole this person is my first real love first gay experience thing has always been an obsession of fandom but also that feels like something that requires no effort in xena u needn't erase the previous loves of gabrielles life except i guess the continued obsession to also make perdicus evil which i also find really funny but like again u dont have to work for this anyways things ive mulled over..

[pocketjoong]

HIIII SKYY i hope youre doing well !!! 🫶🏼🫶🏼

for... your recent post... for ateez 5th anniversary... what about stargazing with one of the members ??2?2!?2 stargazing seems so cute and ive been in my hopeless romantic mood HAHSHAH stargazing with... yeosang maybe ?!2?!/2 or anyone ?!2?/!2!2 or all of them ??2?2?2 (much love to youuu btwwww 💗)

Thank you for your request, dea <33 I kinda wanted to write an ot8, but then I realised it would be kinda messy T^T (read: sky is not as funny as she thinks she is and scraped the crack!ot8!stargazing au asdfghjkl). I hope you enjoy regardless ^-^ @jaehunnyy my love, my baby, than you for beta-reading this for me. (You know what's coming next, bubba ehehehe /lh)

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (SYNOPSIS): Stargazing with Yeosang!

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (PAIRING) idol!yeosang x gn!reader

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (GENRE AND AU/TROPE): fluff. friends to lovers.

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (WARNINGS) FLUFF. Yeosang is whipped. Reader is whipped. Mentions of scary amusement park rides. WooSan being WooSan. Lmk if I missed anything ksksks

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (WORD COUNT) 1.4k

Gasping for breath, you stumble out of the roller coaster, your heart racing and pounding in your ears. You cling to Yeosang for support, your legs feeling like jelly as the world swirls around you. A wave of dizziness threatens to send you tumbling to the ground, but you steady yourself with a deep breath.

As the adrenaline subsides, you can feel his comforting hand rubbing your back gently. His soothing gesture allows your focus to shift away from the queasy feeling in your stomach, and you momentarily forget the whirlwind of the roller coaster.

“That was…” you begin, still trying to find your words in the aftermath of the exhilarating ride.

“Thrilling, right?” Wooyoung’s voice cuts through the haze. He drapes his arms casually around San’s shoulder, whose expression is clouded with worry as he watches you.

“Speak for yourself,” Yeosang chides Wooyoung, guiding you to a nearby bench and handing you a water bottle. 

San rolls his eyes and lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head at Wooyoung’s enthusiasm. “I’m not really scared of heights, but that ride did make me a bit queasy, too. Honestly, how are you still so bouncy after all the thrilling rides we’ve gone on?”

“That’s because nothing can bring me down,” he declares with unwavering confidence, striking a dramatic pose that sends you into fits of laughter. His cheerfulness is contagious, and you can’t help but be amused by his antics.

“Aish, what are we supposed to do with you?” you quip, playfully swatting his arm. It is in moments like these that make your friendship with Wooyoung all the more special.

Wooyoung’s laughter fills the air, a melodious sound that perfectly complements the joyful atmosphere of the amusement park. The boys begin to don their masks while you make your way back towards the parking lot. Yeosang falls into step with you, his arm gently sliding around your waist. The contact sends a rush of warmth through you, and you can feel the heat creep up your neck. Gratefully, you welcome the cover of the dimly lit evening, concealing your reaction from Yeosang’s view. The simple gesture, unnoticed by Wooyoung and San, who seem to be arguing about something trivial, fills your stomach with butterflies as you walk side by side.

As the two males pile into the car belonging to Wooyoung, Yeosang chooses to slip into the passenger seat of your car instead. You look at him in question, slightly confused, for he had arrived with the other two earlier in the morning.

“Y/N?” His voice carries a note of hesitance, capturing your attention as you navigate the car out of the parking lot after bidding farewell to the other two guys with a non-committal wave. You respond with a hum, signalling him to continue. “I was wondering if you would like to go somewhere?”

“Somewhere?” You echo, your curiosity piqued as you cast a fleeting glance in his direction.

He hums softly, biting his lip as he mulls over what to say. “Remember the clearing we found when I was a trainee during one of our hikes? Let’s go there.”

A warm smile plays upon your lips as you consider his suggestion, “Alrighty.”. 

You take a U-turn at the next traffic light, moving further away from the city’s relentless hustle and bustle. The towering skyscrapers of Seoul recede into the horizon, and the scenery changes as the cool night air rustles your hair.

The highway stretches before you bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight. It offers a serene and uninterrupted passage through the stillness of the evening, like a canvas bathed in silvery hues. Yet, a silent, unspoken connection thrives within the confines of your car. Yeosang’s gaze remains locked on you. Unseen by you is the yearning that simmers in the depths of his captivating eyes as he watches you navigate the road.

A cursory glance at your companion alerts you to his gaze on you, and determined to quell the blush that threatens to betray your own emotions, you break the silence that envelops you both. “We’re almost here.”

He responds with a quiet hum, his eyes now gazing at the landscape outside the window. The already scarce buildings are replaced by trees and thick undergrowth. You park the car in a convenient spot, and Yeosang wastes no time taking out a blanket from the backseat of your vehicle. He reaches for your hand when you walk up to him, and the two of you hike up the hill like this, with your hand safely in Yeosang’s grasp. His warm touch contrasts sharply with the frigid bite of the night air on your cheeks. Once you reach the clearing you guys had discovered a few weeks before his debut, he spreads the blanket on the grass and lies down.

“Come on,” He pats the empty space beside him. You join him, looking at the beautiful night sky studded with countless stars. The stars above flicker in the vast, dark canvas of the night sky, and you both lie there, basking in the tranquillity of the moment, sharing this cherished place that had become your secret sanctuary, away from the weight of responsibilities and worries that plague you otherwise.

A few moments later, you turn to face Yeosang, who is bathed in the bright moonlight, looking otherworldly at best. You can’t help but admire how the moonlight accentuates his features, imbuing him with an unearthly radiance. It lights up his cheekbones and the sharp line of his jaw, rendering him even more striking than he already is. Even the shadows that dance across his form lend him an air of nobility and majesty.

As if aware of his gaze, Yeosang turns to you, his eyes alight with something you can’t seem to put your finger down on. His lips curve into a warm smile, mirroring the fondness that radiates from his gaze. “Hi.”

The huskiness of his voice acts like a gentle caress against your senses, making your breath hitch. Yeosang hums in amusement, smiling softly at you, drawing you to himself like a moth to a flame. It’s as if he has stepped out of a dream, ethereal and radiant, and the sheer beauty of the moment is nearly overwhelming in its intensity.

“Hi,” you repeat, your voice more shaky than you had hoped it would be.

Yeosang fully turns to his side, popping his head up with his hand, while the other finds its place upon your cheek, his thumb tenderly stroking your skin. Ablaze with unmistakable love and yearning, the intensity of his eyes is a force that gently tugs at your heartstrings until you can’t help but close your own.

“Y/N,” he breathes.

You open your eyes, a myriad of unspoken thoughts and feelings swirling within you. But Yeosang’s thumb sweeps across your bottom lip with a tender, delicate touch as if casting a spell over your senses, leaving you in a state of breathless enchantment. It takes an immense effort for you to not close your eyes again.

Your answering hum is laced with curiosity and a touch of anticipation. 

A brief pause lingers, stretching into seconds that feel like an eternity. But when he speaks, Yeosang’s voice carries a weight of sincerity. “I like you so much,” he confesses softly, his words echoing into the velvety night. “I’ve liked you since the moment I saw you, and with time, my feelings have only grown stronger. I’m sorry if it’s sudden, but I can’t hide it anymore. I don’t expect anything in return from you. You can say no—”

You can't contain the cascade of emotions swirling within you, and you find yourself cutting off his words, needing him to know your fondness for him that you had kept to yourself for so long. “I like you, Yeo,” you breathe out; the suddenness of your words leaves him wide-eyed.

“Huh?” he stammers, caught off guard by your revelation.

“I like you, too, dummy,” an affectionate laugh escapes your lips as you look at his bewildered expression, which slowly gives way to the most radiant smile you’ve ever witnessed on his face.

“Are you sure? I won’t be able to offer you everything a boyfriend can,” his tone is soft and genuine as he seeks confirmation. His words bring butterflies to your stomach, and your eyes line with unshed tears.

Without hesitation, you reach up to cradle his face, “I don’t care about the fact that we can’t go out in public or the possibility of us having to go months without seeing each other. What matters to me is that you're mine, and I'll treasure every precious moment we share, no matter how fleeting or infrequent.”

In response, Yeosang leans in, drawing you into a sweet and tender kiss. The stars above seem to wink knowingly, as if they, too, are celebrating this newfound connection, their celestial light bestowing a blessing upon the two of you.

[riveracheron]

on lena, jon, and free will.

okay. okay okay okay.

ive been mulling this over for a while because lena kelley is my number 1 blorbo and seeing her being compared to elias confuses me? because i think, from what we know - she's more of a foil to season 4 jon. a jon, who elias successfully turned into *his* archivist. where jon has kept his free will and humanity and rebelled against elias, lena has not. lena is fully subservient.

i think her job, as a middle manager - is more comperable to the archivist position, first of all. she seems to have people above her; and we are seeing her from the perspective of her assistants. alice, gwen and sam are not the jon looking at elias, they're more of the tim/sasha/martin, looking at jon.

there's a definite shift in what we hear from younger lena in the video and who she is now - she's much more terse, stalwart and well. boring; we har so much more genuine emotion from her even in the few snippets of the video we have. Something must have changed between them; she barely even blinks with Gwen's blackmail where she was on the verge of tears on the video. almost as if something happened to shut her down between the events. she seems to shrug off any mention of her “masters” as if they are common knowledge; yet backs off and balks when her position is threatened. i’m guessing it’s safe to say that she’s okay with her position under whoever it is; even desperate to protect it.

contrast this with jon; who was in a similar position as the younger Lena on the video; terrified and angry of what Elias had in store for him, yet feeling his influence all of the same. elias could call for him and he would answer; unwillingly, yes- but he would.

however, in the end, jon chooses to rebel. chooses to break away from the Institute and kill his old boss, whereas lena balks. completely submits herself, mind, body and soul to the corporation that made her.

we don’t know if lena is an avatar or anything, but i think she’s more comparable to an archivist who was successfully molded into Elias’ little loyal eye sentry, than Elias himself.

time will tell if she has a s5 jon moment or not, though.