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#(Knowing that people are often Not Good about wearing their masks correctly... would rather not do that too often lmao)
f1united · 3 years
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Ensemble - Chapter Two: The Girl and The Gift
Charles Leclerc x Reader
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Summary: Your Arthur Leclercs best friend. So why, after a random night in London, are you falling for his brother?
Chapter One: The Start
Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and sex.
Word Count: 5.8k
Note: This chapter begins in London and is marked where it switches to Mykonos. There are then some flashbacks mixed in so just watch out for those. Let me know your thoughts, enjoy!
*****
Chapter Two: The Girl and The Gift
Not long after Pierre had joined your table, Charles emerged from the toilets. Pierre had waved his hands to inform him of his updated location as he sat in the empty seat, unknowingly signing himself up for a night full of girly gossip and drama. The evening was spent reminiscing on childhood memories and sharing stories. It wasn't until Nat checked her phone that you realised how late it was getting.
"We better get going," She announced as she checked her phone. "The last train is in half an hour." You lived just outside of London which meant that most nights out were cut short by trains unless you had booked a hotel. You hummed in agreement as you finished your drink watching as Pierre began to whisper in Lucy's ear. They'd been flirting all night so her next sentence didn't come as much of a surprise.
"I'm going to chill with Pierre for a bit, I'll find my own way home tomorrow" The rest of the girls saw it coming too.
"Are you sure?" Katie asked. "I don't want you ending up in London on your own with no way home." She had a point. London could be quite daunting when it was late and dark, especially if you weren't a local.
"Well why don't you stay too?" Charles nodded his head towards you as he spoke. "That way you could leave together." Not one part of you questioned Charles' intentions as he spoke. He remained the responsible 'Arthur's older brother' that was being sensible and mature, making sure that everyone got home safely.
"If that's alright with you?" Your question was answered with a nod of his head. You all began to grab your things and headed outside, saying your goodbyes, telling them to text you when they were home safe as they encouraged you to do the same. By the time they'd headed for the station, Pierre and Lucy were already nowhere to be seen.
"I'm not sure about you but I'm in no rush to go back to the apartment just yet!" You spoke to Charles as you looked at the night sky above you.
"Where do you want to go in the meantime?"
“Have you ever explored London before?" You answered his question with one of your own. He shook his head. "So you haven't seen all beautiful sites it has to offer." The sarcasm was evident in your voice as you pointed down the alley way you were walking past full of black bins and plastic bags full of rubbish.
"I've only ever been here to celebrate races and I can't say I've seen much other than the inside of some bars and restaurants.”
"Well you're in for a long night Leclerc." Two hours ago Charles wanted nothing more than for him and Pierre to go back to the apartment. The lack of alcohol he'd consumed throughout the night was only adding to the tiredness he'd accumulated over the race weekend. However as you dragged him through the streets of London he realised there was no place he'd rather be.
You'd ridden Boris bikes alongside the River Thames, shown him your favourite restaurant in Covent Garden and taken him through Piccadilly Circus all the way to Oxford Street where closed shops lined the dark streets, pointing out your favourite ones as you cycled past. He never did things like this. As a F1 driver it was difficult for him to go almost anywhere without going unnoticed but tonight not one person had recognised him because for the night he was just a normal person with another normal person having a good time. 
After abandoning the Boris bikes at the nearest drop off point you both headed towards the apartment. It belonged to Charles' mother and was often used by you and Arthur whenever he'd come to visit and couldn't stay with you.
"You seem happier than when I last saw you." His comment made you smile. It was all he could think about as you wondered through the dark streets. The last time you'd seen him you'd just broken up with your ex. Your relationship had been on and off for years but you'd finally called it quits for good. It didn't take a genius to see the relationship was making you unhappy, the anxiety, tears and sleepless nights were picked up on by everyone albeit your efforts to hide it. Arthur was the only person who truly knew what was going on and it hurt him to see his best friend in so much pain when she thought she was in love.
"Thank you, I'm in a much better place now. I've had time to focus on myself." You'd completely lost yourself throughout the time you were together, focusing so much on what he'd wanted and expected rather than what made you happy. The situation had increased your maturity and for that reason you were grateful your first heartbreak had come at such a young age. You'd correctly assumed that Arthur had made Charles aware of your sensitiveness to the situation to some extent as he made no further comments. 
He had approached Arthur with concern after your last meeting. Despite a fun grand prix weekend you'd been blinking back tears and spent most of the time with a blank expression on your face. He hated it. He could see you trying to compose yourself, when he came to thank you for coming you'd done your best to smile, your voice was laced with excitement, but your eyes were empty, drained of emotion. He was grateful to see it had made its way back.
"Did you know I've never been to Harrods?" His random fact was a relief as he quickly changed the subject, allowing your mind to be brought back to the present rather than the dark times from the past.
"Even I've been to Harrods Charles. We should go tomorrow, you'd have a field day in the clothes section." As a part time student most of your spare money went into savings, a fund you'd created for your planned travels when you were done with your studies. It wasn't very often that you brought yourself nice things so despite your multiple trips to Harrods, you'd never actually purchased anything. You could see him deliberating your suggestion in his head. 
"You can wear sunglasses and a hat with your mask, just don't wear a bright red Ferrari top and I'm sure we'll be able to keep ourselves to ourselves."
"Don't you have work tomorrow?" His question brought you back to reality slightly.
"I'll call in sick?" you offered. It suddenly occurred to you that this was the longest time you and Charles had ever been alone together and the idea of leaving wasn't something that you wanted to think about just yet. 
Charles opened the apartment door with caution, neither of you wanted to interrupt your friend’s spontaneous night, nor hear any of the antics they were getting up to. You frowned at each other as you stepped into the entrance corridor. There were no faint voices, no mumbling or laughs, just the hum of the city that echoed through the slightly open window.
“Maybe they didn’t come back here,” your judgement became increasingly more likely as you followed Charles towards the kitchen and stood around the island.
“I’ll send him a text.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped away before placing it on the marble countertop. It lit up with Pierre's reply not long after he'd set it down. “They went to some hotel, apparently he’s dropping her home in a second.”
“He’s not the type to bring girls back to his home turf then,” you took the bag off your shoulder and placed in on the counter, grabbing a hair tie from inside and gathering your locks into a low ponytail. “Smart move.” Charles shrugged his shoulders at your observation.
He’d never really thought about it before, but he was the same. The few casual hook ups that he’d had over the years had never been in places he spent a lot of time like his house in Monaco, or his favourite holiday home in Mykonos, and never this apartment. Sure, he’d slept with people in those cities, but never in his space. You were right though; it was easier to forget about the crime if you never returned to the scene.
"Do you have anything I can change into?" 
“There’s a top on the end of my bed.” You thanked him as you made your way towards his room. “I’ll grab some of my things so I can crash on the sofa once you’ve changed.” You stopped in your tracks, turning to face him as you stood in the doorway.
“I’m not kicking an f1 driver out of their own bed Charles, especially not post race weekend.” You crossed your arms as you lent against the door frame. “I’ll sleep on the sofa.”
“I’m not letting you sleep on the sofa.” He argued.
“It’s one night Charles, I really don’t mind.”
“I’m not letting you sleep on the sofa.” He repeated.
“Well then it looks like we’re sharing the bed.” Your words not only surprised you, but also Charles. Neither of you were sure where this increased confidence had come from, but you didn’t want it to become awkward, so you tried to justify your statement. “Me and Arthur used to share a bed all the time!”
The look on his face as your eyes met with his across the room was one you’d so desperately been seeking without realising it. His head cocked, eyebrows raised and small smirk tugging its way onto his lips provided reassurance, giving you the confidence to confirm that this relationship was very different to your one with Arthur. You already knew it, you had felt it every time you’d looked at him since you were about 16, but this was the first time you could say with certainty that it was reciprocated.
Charles was dying to climb into bed with you. To wrap his arms around you and stay like it all night. He didn’t care about the fact that your hair would be in his face or that his arm would most likely be dead within the first half an hour. He just wanted you there with him, so he could learn things about you that he didn’t already know and fall asleep with the scent of your faded perfume beneath his nose. He suggested that he’d sleep on the sofa because he knew that wasn’t what you were implying. 
“I’ll stay on my side,” you offered. “Promise.”
That’s what he was afraid of. Charles was a respectful man, he wouldn’t cross boundaries without permission, but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could go without your touch. The thought of your body lying so tantalisingly close to his while dressed in nothing but your underwear and one of his shirts was driving him crazy.
“I’m a very good sleeper, you won’t even know I’m there.”
You couldn’t stop listing reasons for Charles to join you. He wished you would stop; his head was already full of so many.
“Well go and get comfy and I’ll join you in a minute,” In that moment he made the decision to give in knowing that if this was the only chance he got to lay in bed with you he'd take the opportunity, whether your bodies were intertwined or not. “Do you need a drink or anything?”
“A water would be great!” You smiled as you turned around and headed to the bedroom. Charles spent the next few minutes alone in the kitchen trying to convince himself that this was a bad idea. That it was wrong. You were his brother’s best friend and he shouldn't be this nervous or excited to lay next to you, but no matter how hard he tried to dislike the situation he couldn’t because it just felt right.
By the time he joined you in bed you’d already made yourself incredibly comfortable. He chuckled at the site of you tangled in the duvet before climbing in next to you. You laid facing each other and remained that way as you chatted about memories from the past. Childhood holidays and his earliest racing days to you latest life plans and hopes for the future. That's how you drifted to sleep, listening to his voice was more comforting than you'd like to admit. When you awoke in the morning you were unsure what terrified you more, the feeling of one of you completely reducing the few centimetres of space left between you or never knowing what Charles’ touch felt like.
*****
Maybe that’s why you were so unimpressed when Charles and Pierre joined the several of you seated around the long table on the patio with two unknown girls. The number of cocktails you’d consumed weren’t providing you with a great amount of rationality but then again it was difficult to justify being annoyed when you had no reason to be in the soberest of situations. The only person to blame was yourself, you’d had the chance to experience a night with Charles and a combination of your stubbornness, maturity and (let’s face it) fear of what could happen had meant that you’d missed out.
It was only as she threw her head back at one of his comments that it hit you, you were jealous. It was a feeling you hadn’t felt in years. Ever since your last relationship you had lacked almost every kind of emotion. You’d dated people since but that connection was never really there which is why you were full of confusion at the situation presenting itself to you. The feelings felt foreign to your body and you weren’t sure how to deal with them, so you did the one think that you were too young to do back then. Get drunk and try to forget about them for a night.
"Are you listening? Drink up, we're leaving in a second!" Arthurs voice provided a distraction from your thoughts whilst encouraging them. You tilted your head back as you finished the remainder of your champagne, your arm was already reaching out for the nearest bottle to see if you could sneak in a quick refill. You didn’t even like champagne but after having run out of cocktails about an hour ago you didn’t really have much choice. In any other situation you would’ve declined and waited until you were at the club but you weren’t really in the mood to sober up right now. You got up to follow everyone to the taxis, deciding that the bottle had too much in to be left at the table to waste, but not enough in that you couldn't finish it before you reached you destination. Putting the bottle to your lips this time, you took another gulp.
He noticed. He noticed the vast amount of alcohol you had consumed thus far. The unbothered façade you'd displayed during dinner was picked up by him the second he’d glanced in your direction. Your eyes often met his across rooms, at events, in the paddock, even at family dinners and it was always followed by a shared smile, but tonight you hadn't even looked at him and he couldn't stand it. Although he couldn’t be certain, he had a good idea what the cause was. Guilt was slowly consuming his thoughts. He shouldn’t have felt guilty, there was no real reason to, yet he did.
He knew if he had come alone you would've had a couple of drinks with dinner, just enough to prepare yourself for the club afterwards, allowing the sweaty people and sticky floor to become slightly bearable. He also knew that you weren't a huge drinker and that the lack of food you had consumed at dinner would only worsen the matter which was evident as he watched you fall into a taxi with Arthur and Carla as he climbed into a separate one with Pierre and, what they appeared to be to everyone else, their ‘dates’.
The club was busy, everyone excited to be back on the dance floor after its absence over the past year or two. Although it would've been nice to spend some more time with him, you were thankful that the crowds had engulfed you so you'd lose sight of Charles and her. You'd found your way to the middle of the dance floor and you remained there for hours losing track of time and somehow your friends too.
Unbeknown to you, Charles had lost his 'date' at the first chance he had. He'd met her on a boat during the day with Pierre and when his best friend had invited her best friend for dinner he felt bad for not doing the same. He was sitting at the bar with Pierre who'd picked up on the amount of attention he was paying you as you danced along with random strangers. The Frenchman questioned what he was doing when he noticed Charles tighten his jaw. Charles nodded his head in your direction and the pair watched as a man approached you.
The guy in front of you was only offering to buy you a drink but you knew you were way over your limit. You'd politely declined, naively assuming that he'd disappear back into the sea of faces but that wasn't the case. Your refusal  clearly not accepted as he insisted. grabbing onto your arm in an attempt to pull you in the direction of the bar. Yanking your arm out of his grip you instantly managed to sober up as you came to the realisation you were going to have to fight this battle alone.
Charles knew you were a big girl, that you could handle yourself in almost any situation thrown your way, but as the guy reached out to touch you he could've sworn he moved quicker than his Ferrari. His presence shocked you as you flinched slightly at the unfamiliar grip on your waist.
"It's just me ma belle." Charles whispered calmly into your ear, placing a feather light kiss onto your cheek. Relief instantly washed over your body. You wished you could focus on the conversation that Charles was now having with the strange man in front of you but you couldn't. The only thing you could focus on was the feeling of your skin heating beneath Charles' fingertips and the tingling sensation that lingered where he'd planted the kiss. He'd never touched you before, the brief hugs being the most contact you'd ever shared, and now he was standing in a club with his hand around your waist as he fended off a random guy who'd taken an interest in you. "I think we should head home." When Charles spoke it felt as though each word was coated in sex as it left his lips. He hadn't meant it in a sexy way, you knew that. He wanted to take you home so you were safe. However his intense grip on your waist and his stubble lightly grazing your cheek when he leaned in to speak to you was putting thoughts into your mind that you knew shouldn't be there.
You looked up at him, your eyes locking for the first time that night. Your eyes always showed a lot of emotion. Your body language was often hard to read but you always made eye contact when you spoke. He frequently used it to determine what mood you were in but this time he was met with one he'd never seen before. Despite them having a drunken glaze, your dilated pupils held a look of lust. He could've sworn you were mentally undressing him. You weren't. Instead you were thinking of how much you wanted him to undress you.
"I think that's a good idea." He could hear the smirk in your voice over the sound of the music as you let your lips gently brush his ear lobe while you spoke. He shut his eyes tightly and took a deep breath in an attempt to pull himself together. You were disappointed when his hand left your side but satisfied when it quickly intertwined itself with yours. His skin was softer than you were expecting, the rough patches slowly disappearing over the summer break. Your hands remained that way as you walked through the streets of Mykonos. Neither of you spoke, you just remained in a comfortable silence. As the villa came into view Charles was basically marching down the street, his strides increasing as your little legs tried to keep up. He dropped your hand when he reached the door, searching his pockets for the key to unlock it.
The villa was colder than you were expecting, a shiver ran down your spine as the air con hit you. You headed towards the kitchen and grabbed your sweater off one of the bar stools, sliding it on over your outfit.
“So you’d let Carla drive your car huh?” his face instantly broke out in a smile as you relieved some of the tension between you both. “You know that’s not true.” Charles followed you to the kitchen and watched as you perched yourself on the edge of the counter. He poured a glass of water and took a sip before handing it to you which you gratefully accepted.
“You’d let your date drive it instead?” He rolled his eyes as he chuckled at your sarcasm, hoping that you’d forgotten about the girl he’d sat next to during dinner as quickly as he had. “How many girls get a turn before me?” Although he didn't let it show, your question had offended him slightly. Despite his popularity with women he was never one to disrespect them, especially not you. He took a step closer to you, standing directly in front of your legs that were pressed firmly together.
“You’re the only one I want to see in that seat mon Cherie,” That was one nickname that he’d never called you, yet it rolled off his tongue so effortlessly. He leaned against your legs and you slowly parted them so he could stand in between, closing the distance between you both. “I’d let you drive it again in a heartbeat.” Your eyes were fluttering between his eyes and lips, your stare only breaking when he leaned in to speak in your ear just like he’d done in the club. He placed a kiss on your cheekbone and slowly worked his way up to your ear.
“You looked very sexy behind the wheel of my car.” You locked your hands with his while he continued to speak, closing your eyes in a desperate attempt to try and calm your heart rate down. You wanted to say something back, engage more in the conversation, but for the first time in a long time you were at a loss for words. You loved driving, you'd often join the boys go karting growing up and learned to drive as soon as you could, so when Charles asked if you wanted to drive his Ferrari back to your home after your Harrods shopping trip you were more than excited. It was a nice change from the train ride you were expecting.
He'd watched your eyes light up when you realised he was being serious. It was the closest you'd ever been to driving something even remotely similar to an f1 car despite it being different in so many ways. Your smile was infectious as you put your foot down on the motorway, leaving London behind. You'd never even driven an automatic car so this was a completely new experience. He'd taught you how to use the paddles to manually change gears if you wanted to and how to shift through its different modes as you drove around. The only disappointing part of the journey was reaching your destination, your trip home considerably quicker than you would've wanted. After spending the whole time focused on going fast and not crashing, you'd selfishly not noticed how Charles was feeling throughout the drive.
He'd been trying to keep his eyes trained on the road in front of him but couldn't help steal a glance in your direction every now and then. He was always surrounded by fast cars, something he realised after seeing you sat in his driving seat he'd begun to take for granted. He felt overwhelmed with pride, he was the one who was making you this happy. He felt privileged seeing you this free as your hair flew around in the wind while you rested a hand out the side of the car, trying to resist the force of the air pushing it back. It was his turn to be selfish as he realised that he always wanted to keep that moment for himself. He didn't want anyone else to make you feel like this, give you this experience. He wanted to be the one to make you smile.
“Don’t go quiet now mon Cherie.” That nickname. Again. “I think we still need to discuss what happened in the shower.” You instantly snapped back into reality at the mention of the shower. His hand fell from yours and toyed with the bracelet on your wrist. The one that you nervously played with in situations like these. The one that he’d gifted you last year. The one with his name etched into it.
The morning that you'd woke up in Charles' bed you were alone. An empty bed was something you'd become accustomed to over the past couple of years but in this instance it made you awaken quicker. The note left on his pillow stopped you from worrying, he was out on a run.
You respected his commitment to his career and took the opportunity to go for a shower. The warm water felt refreshing against your skin, goose bumps slowly appearing across your skin at the sudden change in temperature. Rubbing Charles shower gel into your skin you closed eyes and lent your head against the tiled shower wall. It wasn't clear at what point you'd become so aroused, but  the steam from the shower and the smell of Charles covering you definitely had something to do with it. You allowed your hands to roam your body, his name unexpectedly falling from your mouth as you brushed past your breasts. The careless use of his name had caused your eyes to widen and your hand to clamp over your mouth. It had left you lips so naturally but felt inappropriate to say aloud.
It wasn't until a few days later that you realised he'd heard. He almost hadn’t. If he’d unlocked the apartment a mere three seconds later your words wouldn’t have reached his ears. His run had been sweaty and he was still out of breath but his panting soon stopped. His eyes widened as he heard his name leave your lips and he froze. He didn’t want to announce his presence, he knew he wasn’t supposed to hear it and didn’t want you to feel embarrassed that he had. He didn’t know what to do. He felt as though he was invading your privacy but knew that if he shut the door you’d hear it close and know he was there. So instead he stuck his foot between the door and the doorframe to keep it slightly open as he waited for the sound of the shower to finish running. He tried to focus on something else, anything else, but he failed. All he could think about was you, in his shower, without him and how badly he wanted to join you, just so he could make his name fall from your mouth the way it just did over and over again.
You thought you'd gotten away with it. He'd entered the apartment just as you were stepping out the bathroom and he'd acted as cool as ever. The weekend was slowly becoming a distant memory that you were trying hard not to dwell on, hating that you were missing his presence so much already. It wasn't until you were at work the following week that it became apparent your secret crush was no longer a secret. You were in the office early, earlier than everyone else. That wasn’t unusual, you liked to be in early as it often meant you could leave earlier too. What was unusual was the box placed neatly on your desk.
Although the small parcel was addressed to you, you opened it with hesitation. A small gasp left your lips as your unwrapping revealed a red box, the golden engraving of the word ‘Cartier’ on top. Confused, you gently opened to box revealing a bracelet.
You placed it on your desk as you searched for a note. Despite it being awfully obvious who it was from, you wanted some kind of confirmation or, better yet, a reason as to why someone had put this into your possession. You'd spotted it in Harrods with Charles. You hadn't mentioned it, just spent a few minutes mindlessly staring at its beauty. There was no point even considering buying it for yourself, the price tag was close to your yearly salary. Eventually you found the note. 
'I've heard you like to moan it'
You picked up the bracelet once more, analysing it as you did so. It was so discreet, discreet enough that if the note wasn’t a big enough hint you might never have realised. His name. Etched into the inside of the band in the same font as the word ‘Cartier'. Any other name and he wouldn’t have been able to get away with it. No one had picked up on its personalisation in the past year. It had remained your little secret.
You gulped loudly, unsure of what to say next. The dull lighting hid your cheeks as they flushed red with embarrassment, just like they'd done when you'd read his note. Luckily it was situations like these you considered your stubbornness a strength. "All I could thing about was how much I wanted you to touch me Charles." With your lips dangerously close to Charles' ear you'd somehow managed to complete your sentence with confidence. The conviction in your voice had satisfied Charles although it was obvious that he hadn't expected it as he pulled his head back slightly to look you in the eyes. It was the first time you'd seen them so dark out of his crash helmet. They didn't have the same teasing smile paired with them as they did only a few moments ago. For a brief moment your heart dropped. What if he was just teasing you and you'd taken it too far? 
"Say something." Your voice was barely audible despite the eerie silence that had settled in the kitchen as Charles picked up on your nervousness. His expression softened but he remained silent, placing his forehead against yours and gently brushing your noses. You both very quickly realised there was no longer the need for words. The last thing either of you wanted to do right now was have a conversation about what was going on because quite honestly neither of you were sure. All you knew was that as soon as the space between your lips closed, there was no going back. You were craving each other's touch and it was as though the kiss you were yet to share would be the seal of approval you both needed to explore each other in a way you hadn't before.
You'd had enough of the teasing, enough of the wondering and what ifs, enough of wasting time without knowing how his lips felt against yours. You moved your head up slightly brushing your lips with his before releasing one of your hands from his grasp and placing it on the back of his head, pulling it down slightly. As soon as your lips pressed against his you became overwhelmed with emotions. You relaxed into it, it felt so right. His hands began to explore your body, one placed on your thigh and the other tracing lines up and down your back, sitting on the counter top had worked in your favour as you wrapped your legs around his waist. It wasn't long before his tongue found yours as you let your hands snake beneath his shirt feeling his back and arms tense beneath you as he lifted you up from the side and placed you on the dining table which was at a slighter lower level. 
His mouth left yours and you let out a small groan of frustration, he smiled at the sound as you realised he was only doing it to strip you of the sweater you'd not long ago put on, allowing him to rid you of it, not caring how cold it was anymore. In between the kisses he was placing down your neck you pulled his top over his head. Your eyes were trained to his shoulders as you admired him, only shutting when he re-joined your lips. 
The sound of a key turning the lock at the front door caught Charles' attention. There was a high chance he'd consumed less alcohol than you tonight which is why he giggled slightly when you chose to ignore the sound and bring him back in for another kiss. 
“WE’RE HOME” Arthur voice echoed round the villa. The sound of his brothers voice was enough for you to release him from your grip.
“Shhhhhhhhhhh, it’s 3am people will be sleeping.” Carla tried to whisper but the tiled walls carried the sound throughout the villa. You didn’t know if anyone else was home, you hadn’t checked and to be honest you hadn’t even thought about it. The only thing on your mind was Charles.
“Y/N and I are in the kitchen,” Charles called back. His eyes never left yours as he grabbed his shirt you'd thrown across the kitchen and redressed himself, not until Arthur stumbled through the door way knocking into chairs and making them squeal as the legs glided across the floor. You both watched as he regained balance and muttered a drunken apology before sitting himself on the floor.
"Good night Arthur?" you laughed slightly at the sight of him on the floor, he'd never been the most elegant drunk but at least he was entertaining.
"Great night." He confirmed as he laid himself down, a laugh leaving Carla's lips as she stared at the state of him. If someone had spoken to you a couple of hours ago you would've probably had a different opinion but as it turned out, you were starting to agree with him.
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@imthebadguyyy @abysshaven @phatyak​
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cheegu3 · 3 years
Text
~ Yandere Hyunjin - X31 ~ [CULT SPECIAL 1/2 PTS]
tw / trigger warning: Yandere themes, abusive relationships, brainwashing, violence, cult themes, blood etc [this one isn’t very “ culty “ only an introduction]
a/n: I was really feeling a cult yandere thing and I haven’t written abt stray kids in a while oop so here u go <3 also let me know if u want a continuation or smth similar c:
wc: 1.4k
summary: there was an active and well known cult / gang in your hometown, you had never ran into them until u did - and the leader set his eyes on you, he’ll do anything to get what he wants.
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Thankfully the house where the party had been at wasn’t too far from your house. It was a couple of blocks away and once you came out onto the main road it wasn’t as badly lit as before, except you never made it there.
Thankfully the house where the party had been at wasn’t too far from your house. It was a couple of blocks away and once you came out onto the main road it wasn’t as badly lit as before, except you never made it there.
Thankfully the house where the party had been at wasn’t too far from your house. It was a couple of blocks away and once you came out onto the main road it wasn’t as badly lit as before, except you never made it there.
A firm hand was placed on your shoulder stopping you from passing. It was hard to see what the person looked like because they were wearing a dark mask. Other than that he was very tall and slender with piercings and tattoos complementing his jet black hair. 
‘‘ What is such a cute girl doing out here alone on a friday night? ‘‘ he asked.
His tone of voice didn’t sound teasing or innocent, it sounded rather like a bit of amusement that rang alarms and made your gut wrench telling you to get away from this man. 
You chuckled nervously and tried to look like you were just shy while increasing the distance between you two.
‘‘ I-I’m gonna go meet my brother, after uh, his boxing practice? ‘‘ you weren’t good at lying and your tactic of trying to make him scared by saying you basically had a big scary brother that would hurt him if he tried anything, completely failed.
He laughed, his voice and deep laugh didn’t match the cuteness of his face when his mouth curved upwards which made his eyes crinkle into half moons. He looked adorable to you but something told you it was often used to his advantage to get the people to trust him and then do...bad things.
‘‘ You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met ‘‘ he still had a twinkle of amusement in his eyes from laughing.
You chuckled awkwardly again and began shifting uncomfortably. Small drops landed on your exposed skin, fuck why would it start raining now.
‘‘ Well I better go. It was nice meeting you ‘‘ you said.
He didn’t say anything, just nodded and stood frozen in his spot even when you walked past. Chills ran down your spine when you turned back one last time to see him watching you - his eyes had never left you and they looked very dark now, like they were one with the darkness behind him.
You quickened your pace and even though you expected him to jump out at every corner you turned and every alleyway you passed, he never did. When you had reached your apartment you glanced back and quickly got in, pulling the door shut after you and locking it. But even as you were basically safe you still were on the edge all the way up to your room, jumping at the slightest sound.
Feeling exhausted from the party even though you didn’t drink much you decided to get to bed. Crawling under the covers you looked at the dark street below, you suddenly remembered the man and squeaked feeling very childish when you ran to close the blinds and then pulling the covers up to your nose after.
It took about an hour for you to just calm yourself down. You lived alone and it wasn’t the first time you’d had these hysteric thoughts that kept you up for several hours, sometimes for the whole night. Finally though you managed to repeat positive affirmations to yourself which made your body relax, making you be able to fall asleep.
The next morning you woke up early, sweating from the heat. You pulled up the blinds cautiously and peered out. It was dead empty and it looked spookier than ever with the thick fog covering it.
You sighed knowing you still had to go to work, you were always cursed with the early shift. When you had pulled on your shoes and clothes ready to leave the house, the man from last night had completely slipped your mind and so you felt peaceful walking past that same very alleyway - until someone grabbed you.
You were pushed very hard and pinned to the brick wall to your right. You groaned in pain loudly but were very quickly silenced by a large hand covering your mouth. Your head was spinning but you still managed to look up at the person that had basically attacked you.
Oh
It was him no doubt. The dark seemingly innocent eyes, the dark hair, pierced ears and tattooed arms. Only, he wasn’t wearing the black mask now which gave you full access to his other features.
Even those from his soft plump lips and defined nose with a mole on it made him look innocent. There was no way this man would hurt you let alone anyone...would he?
You swallowed thickly and looked up at him. You saw him smirk slightly.
‘‘ So we meet again y/n ‘‘ 
You pushed his hand off in panic but he still kept you pinned to the wall.
‘‘ How the fuck do you know my name? ‘‘ you screamed, and there he was covering your mouth again but this time more harshly so you’d have no way of pushing him off.
‘‘ Be quiet ‘‘ he growled lowly.
He then pulled you away from the wall and took a fistful of your hair, twisting it to force you to move towards the direction he wanted you to move in - further down the alleyway. There was a clearing there and what seemed to look like a black van with a bunch of graffiti on it. 
You didn’t resist him and only followed, your panic hadn’t fully kicked in and you were still hopeful somehow - thinking that someone would save you as you got out or that he didn’t want to hurt you, anything to keep you sane during the walk.
When he had pushed you out into the clearing on the other side of the alleyway you took one last look at the apartment where your friend lived and where the party had been just last night. 
Hushed voices made you snap your head to the left and you saw several more guys, dressed like him and they all had the same vibe with tattoos and piercings decorating their bodies. When they noticed you two they looked surprised.
‘‘ Found her already? ‘‘ one of them said, one that was a little shorter.
‘‘ Jesus, that was quick boss ‘‘ another added.
You looked at the guy holding you. He was their boss? 
He looked a bit annoyed and gave them a silent dangerous look.
‘‘ Everything ready? ‘‘ he asked them.
They nodded in sync and gestured towards the van that on closer look was a lot bigger than it seemed to be. It had several seats and could easily fit up to ten people. You didn’t have a choice, he pushed you into the back and pulled up some sort of cover which divided you two from the others. 
Without a word he aggressively handled you, he sat you down correctly and fastened your seatbelt. When the panic that you had been so numb to finally kicked in and you tried to hit his hands away he growled at you again and grabbed both your wrists with one of his hands.
With his other hand he was fumbling somewhere to his side feeling around with his fingers until he apparently found what he was looking for. He brought it up so you could see it,
It was a rope.
An overwhelming feeling of nausea overtook you and you started fighting back harder, kicking and screaming as well.
‘‘ HELP! HELP ME! ‘‘ 
But even amidst your adrenaline kick he was still stronger than you, tying your hands up so tightly that it was hurting you.
Then he snapped with his fingers to get your attention, which it did. He rolled up his sleeve and there on the top of his bicep was another tattoo, it had words that made you silent immediately when you read them.
X31
-
145 notes · View notes
yuta-nakamots · 4 years
Text
Playing Games - n.yt
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Pairing - Frat Boy!Yuta x Reader
Genre - College!AU, Fluff, Smut, Slight Angst
Warnings - Safe sex, swearing, alcohol consumption
Summary - Yuta is a notorious frat boy known for sleeping around with tons of girls yet never getting into a relationship. You never would have thought you’d become entangled with him until fate ends up placing both of you in the same beginner guitar class during your spring semester.
Word Count - 11.2k
A/N - i do not condone or promote the behavior or fraternities or sororities, especially during COVID-19, read a bit about it here. i am simply writing about my own fantasy in my own ideal world. with that being said, please remember to wear your masks and stay safe out there. this one shot will be my first work with smut in it so i’m open to pretty much any and all feedback. special thank you to @neocitybynight​ for helping me work out some of the plot!
Tag List - @jisungismymom @jikooksgirl19 @jungcity @boiolay @yasmini24
Written for the Bingo Collab hosted by @legendnct​. Check out the masterlist here.
Prompts;
"Baby, I’m afraid to fall in love. ‘Cause what if it’s not reciprocated?” – ��Pink Sweat$ - Honesty
“So won’t you say my name, say my name?”– summer walker - playing games
“Don’t follow me, you’ll end up in my arms” –  Joji - SLOW DANCING IN THE DARK
“Can you focus on me? Baby can you focus on me?”– H.E.R - focus
“Oh, how I love you. I just feel so lost without you.”–  McKay & Jeff Bernat - Angel 2 Me
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It’s the first day of your second semester of college and you’re starting to rethink your decision of signing up for Guitar 101 as you step into the classroom. You don’t remember what pushed you to add this course to your schedule other than the fact that it would knock off two off your graduation requirements, though surely there were other courses that could’ve done that as well.
You were quite the beginner to guitar, having only touched one maybe only a few times in your life and you were sure that you absolutely would not have ever thought about taking Guitar 101 if it wasn’t for your friend Mark, who had suggested it to you.
Mark is a sweet guy and you just so happened to have the pleasure of meeting last semester in your math class. He had walked in late on the first day and took the seat next to you as he muttered something about the campus being too big and not having building names displayed clearly.
Your friendship truly started the day he came in without any of his belongings, not even his backpack. “I, uh, woke up late and ran to class. Literally.” You could tell from the way sections of his hair were standing up and how his white t-shirt was inside out, but you didn’t tell him that.
“If it’s okay with you, can you send me your notes later?” He asked, his eyes resembling that of boba. Mark let out an audible sigh of relief when you agreed and handed him your phone to type in his number. As soon as he gave it back to you, you sent him a message to make sure he typed it correctly and it was at that moment that Mark realized, after a whole month of sitting next to you and occasionally working together, he had yet to remember your name.
‘Hey, this is y/n. Still can’t believe you forgot your backpack’
The two of you fit together like puzzle pieces and you always did your work together at any given opportunity, finding that two heads are definitely better than one when it came to calculus.  Sometimes working on projects together often led to you and Mark spending more time together and eventually leading both of your guys’ friends to speculate that you were dating, to which you insisted was not true.
Your friends seemed to understand and leave it be, though Mark’s friends were a whole different story. He was part of one of the newest frats on campus which had come to fame due to their good-looking members, not a single one of them falling even a hair short of having god-tier visuals. You recognized a few of them, having been to their frat house a couple of times to work on projects with Mark though most of them were older than you so it came as a surprise to you when you saw one of them in your beginner guitar class.
You didn’t know his name but he was easy to remember with his long black hair and his ever-changing fashion sense. Today, he resembled something out of a motorcycle magazine with his maroon leather jacket, black ripped jeans, and the bandana tied around his head.
You watched as he took a seat in the front of the room though you had enough sense to turn your attention back to the professor who had started class and was displaying a list of names with corresponding locker numbers that housed the guitar you’d be using.
Standing up with the rest of the class, you went to go find your own locker and let out a sigh of relief when you saw it was on the bottom row because that meant less effort to take it in and out rather than if you had one on the top row.
Right as you popped your lock open, a shadow was cast over you and you turned around to see Mark’s friend who was even more stunning up close. He flashed you a quick smile along with an apology as he moved to the side to give you more room and allow you to grab your guitar out from the locker.
You were just slightly irritated at the guy. People with good looks knew how to use them to their advantage and this man obviously knew what he was doing. Had he been sane, he could’ve just waited for you to get your stuff out before getting his own, but instead, he chose to tower over you as you were crouching down on the floor.
Your eyes followed his figure as he made his way back to his seat in the front of the room, sitting down in front of the professor and you rolled your eyes knowing that he’s going to have an ego as tall as a skyscraper.
Aside from your encounter with the nameless e-boy, your first class went pretty okay though you were already having a little trouble remembering which chords were which so you sent a text to Mark asking for tips. He responds a few minutes later with fingering charts and even offers to tutor you, which you gladly accept.
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You and Mark had appointed Wednesday afternoons and Sunday mornings as your lesson times and the first time you visit him is on the former. It was February so the weather was still quite cold though it wasn’t cold enough to make you regret not wearing a thicker jacket.
Before you could even text Mark that you’re outside the frat house, the door opens and he pulls you in, visibly shivering due to only being in a t-shirt and basketball shorts. “Not so Canadian are you, huh?” You joke at him, seeing the once thick-skinned boy now struggling to warm himself up as he practically ran up the stairs to his room.
You followed him up, greeting his roommate, Taeil, when you passed him in the hallway. Taeil was the oldest member of the frat and was set to graduate at the end of the semester. He had you absolutely fooled when you first met him. His personality reminded you of a golden meadow or a sunny beach but he was a total animal when it came to parties though Mark had told you that you’ve only seen the tip of the iceberg.
Having seen Taeil out in the hallway, you thought you and Mark would be the only ones in the room so you weren’t expecting to see the same guy from guitar class lying around on Mark’s bed. “Yuta, this is y/n, y/n meet Yuta.”
Yuta gave you that same smile you saw on the first day of class as he told Mark, “oh, I know her, she’s in my guitar class.”
“Dude, that’s so cool. You guys can work together on projects and the playing tests then. Man, that course would’ve been way more fun if I could play with someone I knew.” You shot Mark an awkward smile as if telling him to move on because you highly doubted that you’d ever want to work with Yuta, especially if his ego was as big as you thought it was. He’d call you out left and right for even the tiniest mistakes and you didn’t want to put yourself through that.
Mark cleared his throat while grabbing his guitar and handing it to you, and Taeil’s guitar to Yuta. “Yeah so, uh, anyway, I thought it would be better to teach you guys at the same time since you both are at the same level if that’s okay with you.” Mark’s question was obviously aimed towards you however Yuta answered first without any hesitation.
“Works for me.” Yuta looked over to you, strands of his white locks falling in front of his eyes though it didn’t dampen the intensity of his gaze in the slightest.
You didn’t exactly like the idea of playing with an audience, even if it was just Yuta. But if he was a beginner like you, then theoretically the playing field should be even. It was only because of this did you nod your head, telling Mark, “sure.”
Your first lesson with Mark consisted of his retaught both you and Yuta the fundamentals and basic chords you had already learned, making sure that your hands and fingers were placed the right way. Yuta, who was having a harder time than you, let out an exasperated sigh as he leaned back against the wall next to Mark’s bed while he ripped open a bag of gummy bears. “Whoever gets the fingerings right first gets a gummy bear.”
“Okay, bet.” Not really one for competition, you wanted to refuse his proposal, but this guy was really getting on your nerves. It was as if he had no interest yet all the passion in the world. And that’s aside from the fact that you simply wanted to continue showing him up and proving that you weren’t such a pushover and he can’t simply bend you to his will.
The three of you became so wrapped up in the competition that you didn’t even notice that you were supposed to leave to get to your last class of the day, which was now starting in five minutes. When you glanced over at the clock on Mark’s desk, you practically jumped out of your seat, “holy shit, I’m gonna be late to class.”
“I can drive you if you want.” Yuta offered.
“No, it’s okay, I’ll be fine.” You weren’t exactly lying but you weren’t entirely telling the truth as you declined him. It was an eight-minute walk away but you could probably make it in six if you did your Black Friday walk and surely your professor wouldn’t mind if you were just a minute late.
Mark helped you gather your belongings and held his door open for you. “Alright, see you y/n. I’ll set an alarm next time so we don’t forget.” He said with a slight laugh in his voice.
As you stepped out of the frat house, you just couldn’t stop your mind from wandering back to Yuta. He barely even knew you yet he had offered to drive you to class, even though your campus wasn’t particularly large. There was something about that man that made you want to run for your life but also just stop and stare at him all day.
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The second time you had a lesson with Mark is on a Sunday morning and you’re pleasantly surprised to see that Yuta is nowhere to be found as you set foot into Mark’s room. After placing your bag down next to Mark’s desk, you pick up Taeil’s guitar and join him on his bed while he quietly plays a song to himself.
“Yuta’s still knocked out from the party we had yesterday so I doubt he’ll be joining us.” Mark informed you, and his statement rang true as Yuta did not come in during all of the three hours you spent next to Mark, much to your relief. Instead, Taeil had come in, looking terribly hungover.
“Hey, what’s up man.” Is all Taeil got to say before rolling into his bed, putting in a single Airpod before falling asleep, much to both you and Mark’s amusement.
Mark had tried to teach you basic chord sequences and strumming patterns but your brain just wasn’t having it. He kept giggling at seeing you frustrated and you had to repeatedly tell him to shut up in fear of waking Taeil so eventually both of you decided to call it a day as you put the guitars back on their stands.
You got back onto the bed next to Mark as both of you played on your phones for a bit before he turned his off and turned to talk to you. “Hey, y/n, so the guys are throwing this party next week Saturday and I was wondering if you’d want to come.”
“Next Saturday...Valentine’s Day?” You ask as you check your calendar on your phone.
“Yeah. You don’t have to though if you already have other plans.” Mark blurted out.
You laughed at the thought of actually going on a date on Valentine’s Day. “Didn’t have any plans besides ordering take-out and watching Netflix.”
Mark laughed along with you. “So is that a yes?”
“Sure.”
“Do you wanna sleepover too since you’re gonna be here on Sunday morning anyway?” You raised an eyebrow at Mark, wondering if he was actually serious.
“Sounds convenient but then where are you gonna sleep?” You countered.
“Uh, in Taeil’s bed.” Mark said, the gears in his head almost visibly turning.
“And where is he going to sleep?” You ask, not wanting to cause the kind senior any extra stress from having to deal with Mark as a roommate on top of his impending graduation.
Mark reached up and scratched the back of his head. “I don’t know, probably somewhere on the floor downstairs.” Your eyes grew wide at his statement. “Okay wait, before you yell at me, Taeil always gets too hammered to make it back up to the room until like, Sunday afternoon as you clearly just saw.” He explained, gesturing to his sleeping body on the other side of the room.
“Okay, then. But if he gets mad, it’s your fault, your idea, not mine.”
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By the time Valentine’s Day came around, you were more than ready for it to end, having been annoyed by all the lovey-dovey advertisement and the couples posting on Instagram and holding hands and kissing wherever you went. You had always heard that love finds its way to those who are least expecting it, which is why you gave up the thought of ever pining over a guy who was likely to reject you anyway. Though, sure enough, love really did find a way of messing with your life in more than one way.
When you arrived at the party, you had first gone up to Mark’s room to drop off your bag that held your change of clothes and personal hygiene supplies. You don’t know what you were expecting to see when you entered his room, but you certainly weren’t expecting to see Mark’s bare ass while he was fucking into a girl in his bed, the same bed you were supposed to sleep in at the end of the night. “Oh, shit, fuck, sorry y/n, can you just uh, come back in a bit-”
You were pretty sure you were just as embarrassed as Mark, shouting “alright, have fun dude” as you closed the door. You turned around to search for somewhere else to go, pondering on the idea of just going back to your dorm after the party and walked right into Taeil.
“Should I not go in there?” He asked, having seen the way you backed out of the room and closed the door.
“Not unless you wanna see Mark’s butt.”
“Eh, I see it from time to time, can’t be any worse than usual.”
“Taeil, no” you exclaim, grabbing onto his arm and pulling him away before he could open the door.
“Oh, you mean to see his butt while he’s doing that kind of thing, I get it now.” He said with a playful glint in his eyes. “Were you planning on sleeping over?” He asked, having noticed the duffel bag hanging from your shoulder.
You let out a sigh before answering. “Yeah, I was gonna sleep in Mark’s bed and he was gonna sleep in yours since he said you apparently get too fucked up to make it back to the room.” At which Taeil laughs as he nodded his head, acknowledging the statement.
“He’s certainly not wrong,” Taeil confirmed, “did you want to put that down somewhere? I can let you keep it in our lounge room during the party. It’s a members-only room so you can just ask one of the guys to open it for you later in case I’m already out.”
You can’t help but giggle at Taeil’s joke as you accept his offer, following him down the hallway to a door where he punches in some numbers onto a keypad before opening it. Your jaw dropped when you looked inside, being met with a huge U-shaped couch facing the back wall where a large TV was mounted. “What do you guys even do in here?”
“Usually just gaming, sometimes watching big sports matches. Just normal guys stuff. We agreed to no sex, drugs, or alcohol in here so it’s like a safe room of sorts I guess.” Taeil explained to you.
“Huh, didn’t think you guys would have something like this.” You told him as you placed your duffle bag against the wall near the door.
“Frat life isn’t just all about getting high and drunk you know, y/n,” he said, playfully scoffing at you, “but speaking of, would you like to get a drink downstairs?” You nod your head before walking alongside Taeil as he places an arm around your shoulders, guiding you down to the party.
As you pass by Mark’s room along the way to the stairs, both you and Taeil share a laugh as you could hear the faint noises of sex through the door, though you really just wanted to erase the image of Mark’s ass from your head. Taeil seems to understand this much as he takes you to the kitchen and tells Doyoung, the frat’s resident entrepreneur with a side hobby for mixology, to get you something strong.
You’ve met Doyoung a couple of times, though you only exchanged short greetings since you were always doing something with Mark. “Where’s your boyfriend?” He inquired.
“Who?”
“Mark.”
“Oh, we’re not dating. He’s in his room though.”
“Sure seems like you’re dating. Why isn’t he here with you?”
Taeil responds, saving you from having to explain to Doyoung. “He’s getting lucky with some other girl.”
Doyoung’s eyes go wide as he responds, “that’s a first for him.”
You were about to ask what he meant by that but you’re interrupted by loud yells coming from the living room, causing you to turn around and see what was going on. You spot Yuta standing up on the makeshift DJ booth in the corner of the room with Johnny, who you recognized as your TA in your English class, as he grabbed the microphone and shouted “let’s get fucking drunk” before Johnny could manage to yank it out of his grasp and turn it off.
“What’s with that guy?” You mumble to yourself, not really expecting Doyoung to overhear you.
“Oh, Yuta? He’s just like that sometimes.” Doyoung states, shrugging his shoulders as he wiped the kitchen counter with a towel. “He’s that one friend who does really questionable things but you can’t get rid of them because deep down they’re actually pretty nice.”
You raised an eyebrow at him. “You think he’s nice?”
“He is once you get to know him.”
You look at Taeil for reaffirmation only to find that said man is long gone, the only evidence of him ever being there is his yellow phone left lying on the counter next to Doyoung’s own drink. “I’ve gotten to know him and I wouldn’t say he’s nice, per se.”
Doyoung shakes his head at you, “you just haven’t cracked him open yet.”
“Why do you talk as if he’s an egg or something?” You joke laughing to yourself and watching as Doyoung fights back a smile.
“He is, in a sense. He’s got a tougher exterior along with his own inner issues that come tumbling out once he trusts you.”
“Like?”
Doyoung hums in thought before speaking. “I’m not gonna say too much because it’s his life and his own story to tell, but let me just ask you this one question. Don’t you ever wonder why he constantly sleeps around with girls yet never gets into a relationship with any of them?”
You ponder on the question before asking one back. “So are the rumors true?” Yuta’s reputation did precede him and you had, in fact, heard from other girls who had their own stories and adventures with Yuta but you didn’t necessarily believe them completely, not wanting to assume anything about Yuta.
“Some, not all...but yes, most of the ones I have heard were true, but maybe that’s just because people know I live with him so there’s no sense in trying to lie around me.” Doyoung responds to which you nod your head, acknowledging the accuracy behind his statement.
Three shots later of whatever Doyoung was making you, you were already starting to feel hot and lightheaded so you went back upstairs, as per Doyoung’s advice, and made your way to Mark’s room hoping he’d be done by now. You cracked his door open and peeked around it, grumbling to yourself as you saw your best friend and the same girl from earlier wrapped up in his blanket. You weren’t too sure where you were going to sleep tonight and you weren’t too keen on walking back to your dorm this late at night, especially when you were already starting to feel tipsy.
Closing the door quietly, not wanting to disturb the two people inside, you step away from the room, only to run into someone behind you. You spun around, ready to apologize until you realized who it was. Yuta, a quite drunk Yuta too.
“Taeil told me Mark got lucky-” he stopped to hiccup, “but I didn’t fully believe it so I came to-” he hiccuped again, “see for myself, but I think your action speak-” he reached up to briefly rub his eyes, “louder than words” he finished, letting out a yawn at the end. “Need somewhere to stay?”
“How did you know I was sleeping over?” You ask, wary of the man and his intentions.
He waves his hands as if dismissing your preconceived notions. “Taeil told me that too. Makes sense anyway since you’re here on Sunday’s as well.”
You sighed, not wanting to let yourself give in to Yuta yet again and give him another thing to hold over you, but it wasn’t as if you had many other options. “Taeil let me leave my bag in the lounge, can you unlock the door for me? I think I’ll just ask Doyoung to drive me back to my dorm or something.”
Yuta hummed as he grabbed your wrist and led you down the hallway to the lounge. He unlocked the door for you and held it open, but once both of you were inside, he closed the door behind him and turned on the mood lighting and watched as the room began to glow purple.
You picked up your bag as Yuta threw himself over the backrest of the sofa and tumbled onto the cushions. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re beautiful?”
“Well, yeah?” You stuttered, taken aback by his sudden comment.
“Damn, I wanted to be the first.”
“Okay?” You said, questioning his antics as Doyoung’s words floated through your head about Yuta and his trysts with girls, not wanting to become another victim.
As if Yuta could hear you thinking, he sat up and peered over the couch just enough to make eye contact with you, his eyes mischievously shining in the low lighting. “Were you gonna sleep with Mark?” He asked, raising his eyebrow suggestively.
“What? No,” you exclaim, “he’s my best friend, I would never do that.”
“Not like that you sicko,” Yuta said as he chuckled at your flustered state.
“Oh,” realization dawning upon you, “uh, yeah, I was planning to just sleep in his bed and he was gonna take Taeil’s but now I’m pretty sure that’s not happening tonight.”
“You can stay in my room if you want.” Now it was your turn to raise a suggestive eyebrow at him. “No, it’s not what you’re thinking. My roommate is away in China so his side is open. You can sleep in my bed if you’re not comfortable being in a stranger’s bed.” You were surprised he made it through such a long statement without any hiccups.
“Uh, thanks, I guess I’ll take you up on that offer.” You say, finally unrooting yourself from the floor and making your way towards the door.
Yuta begins haphazardly pulling himself over the back of the couch seeing as how you were ready to leave the room. “I’ll show you to the bathroom.” He would’ve face planted straight into the floor if it weren’t for you standing right in his path of destruction, barely catching him before he nearly sent both of you to the ground. “Sorry” he giggled as he regained his balance and pushed open the door.
You couldn’t mistake the way his body felt against yours, how warm and comforting it was. He smelled nice too, which was odd for someone who partied like an animal and lived with god knows how many other guys. You shook yourself out of your thoughts and grabbed your bag, following Yuta out of the lounge.
He led you to the bathroom and instructed you on how to use the shower and lock the door before telling you how to get to his room once you were done. The bathroom was surprisingly neat but you were sure it was thanks to Doyoung and Taeyong, the only two people you thought had their heads on straight in this house. Even if you had only briefly met both of them, it was enough to let you know that those men were the reason why the house somehow looked presentable within just a few hours after a raging party.
You showered quickly, the effect of Doyoung’s drinks really hitting you now, making you want to just pass out. Once you were done showering you threw on one of Mark’s shirts that you had previously stolen, intending on giving it back to him tonight, but you weren’t comfortable wearing your normal beat up sleepwear in front of Yuta, so you opted to wear Mark’s shirt instead.
Not quite wanting to have another incident like the one you had earlier with Mark, you knocked on Yuta’s door just to be safe. You heard him laugh from the inside as he called out “it’s unlocked, just come in.” As you let yourself in, he got off his bed telling you “I’m going to shower now. Just make yourself comfortable in whichever bed you want. I’ll sleep in whatever one you don’t choose.”
After he left the room, you looked between the two beds. One was neatly made and had pictures strung up on the wall next to it, the blankets and sheets folded nicely and placed alongside a few pillows near the foot of the bed. The other, which Yuta had just rolled out of, had wrinkled sheets with the blanket half falling off the bed, not a single pillow within a whole six-foot radius of his bed.
You didn’t really want to mess up the organization of whoever his roommate was, so instead, you just took one of the pillows and plopped it onto Yuta’s bed as you grabbed the blanket from the floor and pulled it over your head, allowing his scent to flood your nose. Just as you were about to drift into sleep, you heard the door open and close followed by rapid footsteps coming your way.
Before you even had time to react, Yuta was flinging himself on top of you and laughing as you gasped for air under his weight. “Somebody looks comfortable.” He teased as you continued squirming, trying to push him off you.
You wouldn’t take him to be a clingy drunk after seeing how rowdy he was during the party, but you suppose this is the side of him that managed to charm so many other girls into thinking they’d be that one lucky girl to finally win over Nakamoto Yuta’s heart. “Get off of me.” You uttered forcefully as you tried to make him move over and relieve the pressure on your chest and stomach.
“You silly, this is my bed” he cooed, letting another round of giggles leave his lips before rolling off you towards the wall, leaving you on the outside of the bed. He threw the blanket over himself, humming as he felt the warmth of it, that you had made, on his freshly showered skin.
Yuta kept his distance as he laid on his back with his eyes closed, his hands reaching up to ruffle his damp hair, speaking of which, “you know people say you can get sick if you go to sleep with damp hair?” You asked him quizzically.
“Yeah, but I’ve never gotten sick from it so I don’t really care.” He said dismissively.
A few moments passed before either one of you spoke again. “Didn’t you say that you were going to sleep in the other bed?” You questioned, remembering your conversation from not too long ago.
“Yeah, but I’m too lazy to unfold everything and put it back in the morning so here I am.” Yuta beamed, smiling over at you. You rolled your eyes at him, scoffing as he continued playing with his hair, making it stick up in different directions. “I can sleep somewhere else if you’re not comfortable with me being here.”
You wanted to say ‘yes, please move’ but you didn’t have enough strength in you to tell him to get out, not when you enjoyed his presence next to you so instead you simply told him “it’s fine” before tugging over more of his blanket and turning to face away from him.
He let out a whine as now half of his body was uncovered and exposed to the cold winter air and he yanked his blanket back, inadvertently pulling you with it, causing you to face him with your forehead nearly resting against his chest. “Why are you hogging my blanket?” Yuta whined.
“I’m not hogging it, you just keep trying to take more than your fair share of it.” You fired back at him.
“This is my room and my blanket.”
“You’re the one who offered to let me stay here, and might I add, you said you were going to sleep in the bed that I didn’t choose.”
“I can always retract my offer, you know.” You shook your head, the idea of asking Doyoung to drive you back to your dorm at 3am wasn’t exactly appealing to you. “Okay then come closer so we can actually share the blanket instead of leaving one of us to freeze.”
You let out a huff and scooted closer to Yuta. “Are you happy now?” Yuta let out a hum as he smiled down at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling underneath the strands of bleached white hair that had fallen in front of his face.
Closing your eyes again, you tried to fall asleep, hoping that you wouldn’t have any further interruptions from Yuta, but you couldn’t seem to fully relax with the main light of the room still on. “Yuta can you turn off the light?” He looked over you, clearly unhappy. “Please?”
“You’re closer.”
“God, why are you so difficult.” You remarked as you slid out from under the blanket, walking over to flip the light switch.
“I’m not difficult, you’re difficult.” He fired at you as the room became dark, illuminated only from the light of the moon. “You’re always so uptight and on edge about getting to class on time and being prepared.”
“Because that’s what a good student does, and unlike you, I actually want to graduate from college in four years.” You spit back as you rolled back into the bed next to him.
“Hey, not everyone graduates within four years, some of us just have a different path in life. And what makes you think that I’m not trying to graduate soon?”
“Your attitude and your seemingly nonexistent care to even make it to class on time.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t do my work though.”
“But you totally miss the instructions that the professors give at the beginning of class.”
“It’s not hard to figure things out when you’ve got a brain as big as mine.”
“You’re so annoying, just let me sleep.” You grumbled as you moved closer to him, wanting more of the blanket.
Silence falls upon both of you again but you let out a huff when Yuta starts talking again. He sure was annoying as hell when he was drunk. “Do you have feelings for Mark, or like, any other guys...like at all?”
You stared up at him, praying he’d feel the daggers coming from your eyes, “no.”
“Good, I was hoping you didn’t so I could do this.”
“Do wha-”
You hadn’t even finished your sentence before Yuta tilted your chin up and brought his lips to yours, eagerly molding his to fit the shape of yours.
You didn’t know what you were thinking when you started to kiss him back, in fact, you probably weren’t thinking at all. Yuta took it as a green light and let the hand that was against your chin find its way to the back of your neck to pull you in closer. You didn’t realize your body had shifted until you were now completely pressed up against him. It soon became all too hot and suffocating, forcing you to pull away and break the kiss.
Your eyes met his and held his gaze as you came to your senses. “Yuta, I’m not here to have sex with you.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.” He replied almost nonchalantly.
You rolled your eyes at him, “no, I mean, like ever.”
“Okay. Who says I can’t just kiss a pretty girl because I want to?” He asked, the attitude in his voice was almost enough to make you want to slap him.
“I do?” You quipped. “I didn’t tell you that you could kiss me either-”
“Says the person who was definitely not kissing me back.” Yuta teased as he cocked an eyebrow at you, daring you to continue.
You flung the blanket off of you, not wanting to put up with any more of his antics. “Don’t use your fuckboy charms on me, I’m not here to become another one of your girls.”
“Y/n, wait, that’s not what I meant to do,” he whined, grabbing your wrist before you could fully get out of the bed, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come off that way and for your information, I am not attached any of the ‘girls’ you are alluding to.”
“You attached yourself to them the moment you put your dick inside them and gave them something to talk about.”
“That's not what I intended to do.”
“Then what is it that you intend to do, Yuta?”
He paused with his mouth slightly open and you took this moment to separate your wrist from his grasp before he spoke again. “I don’t try to ‘charm’ them or whatever you call it. I’m not even looking for a relationship, trust me.”
“And why should I trust you when you have girls practically throwing themselves at you?”
Yuta let out a groan as he flopped onto his back. “Look, I never wanted to be this blunt with you but I’m not looking for a relationship because the last one I was in ended with me getting cheated on.” He paused as if letting his words sink in. “I don’t want to fall in love again because I don’t want to risk going through that same pain another time. I’m scared to fall in love because what if it’s not reciprocated? Is that enough to make you believe me?”
You stare at him in shock, barely managing to stutter out “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”
“It’s fine, let’s just go to sleep, I said too much already.” He interrupted, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you back under the blanket. Once you were close enough for his liking, Yuta let go of you, retracting his arm back to his half of the bed though he stopped when he felt your hand on his forearm. He looked up at you with wide eyes as you pulled his arm back over you and allowed your forehead to rest against his chest.
Yuta stayed like that until you fell asleep, finding it hard to do the same. It took him awhile to find himself in the familiar lull due to his thoughts running rampant in his mind as his eyes traced over your features. If only you could read his mind, you’d know of the dilemma he realized he had wrapped himself into that he was too scared to admit on his own.
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You woke up with a pounding headache, to say the least. Reaching up to massage your forehead, you tried to roll onto your back only to find that you weren’t able to. You jerked around, finding Yuta’s sleeping body as you remembered the events and conversations that took place just hours prior. You stilled as you took a moment to admire the way the golden rays of sun seeped in through the window, falling across his face and causing him to have an ethereal glow. He’d be quite attractive if it wasn’t for his attitude.
However, his face alone wasn’t enough to distract you from the fact that he was practically spooning you and you weren’t confident that you could get out without waking him though what really irked you was the fact that part of you didn’t want to leave from his warm embrace.
You stayed in his arms for a few minutes longer until your headache became unbearable and your throat was begging for something to drink. You tried your best to gently extract yourself from Yuta but much to your distaste, he woke up. He caused you even more displeasure when he pulled you back towards himself and whined “where are you going?”
“I’m thirsty and I have a headache.” You stated plainly, your voice void of energy.
Yuta whined once more before trying to reason with you. “But it’s cold, it’s cuddle weather.”
“I didn’t say that I wanted to cuddle with you.” You pointed out, at which Yuta finally forced his eyes open as he yawned and stretched before sighing.
“I’ll get you water and some ibuprofen if you stay for a little longer.”
“Fine, but that’s only because I don’t have anywhere else to go.” You were trying to convince him of this as much as you were trying to convince yourself of the statement while he gave you one of the brightest smiles you’ve seen from a full-time college student as he climbed over you and let himself out of the room.
You took this time as an opportunity to use the bathroom and peek into Mark’s room as you made your way back. You were surprised to see there was no one in the room and nearly jumped when an arm wrapped around your waist from the back. “Are we spying on Mark?” Yuta whispered into your ear.
Scoffing, you answer “he’s not even in there, you idiot.”
“Huh, I wonder where he went,” Yuta contemplated, “might as well grab the guitars while we’re here.” He handed you the glass of water and pills he was carrying as he walked into Mark’s room and picked up the two guitars from their stands.
“What are we supposed to do without Mark?”
“Practice? What else are we supposed to do?” The man in front of you asked rhetorically.
You shook your head at him, not liking the sound of his idea. “We won’t know if we’re doing anything right, we’re literally both beginners.”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t help each other.” Yuta countered.
“Ugh, whatever, you’re so irritating.” And with that, you down the pills and turn to walk back to his room.
Playing guitar with Yuta wasn’t actually all that terrible. He knew more than he let on during your shared sessions with Mark and he offered you some tips every so often as he led both of you through the chord progression sheet. The whole scene of it was quite surreal, the way you and Yuta were both simply clothed in plain t-shirts, hair still roused from sleep, the way the sun gently lit the room and warmed it up.
You were genuinely enjoying yourself and didn’t even notice when Mark came into the room. “You guys started without me?” He whined cutely.
Yuta looked at you and you gestured at him to respond. “Y/n went to go spy on you in your room but you weren’t there so we decided to steal the guitars and have fun on our own.” You shot Yuta a look, hoping he understood the ‘I will strangle you’ glare you were giving him.
“Wow y/n, why were you spying on me man?” Mark asked dejectedly.
“I was just checking to see if your girl was still with you because I didn’t want to barge in on anything, again.” You tease.
Mark groans and covers his face out of embarrassment. “Oh gosh, don’t remind me.”
“Wait, wait, you saw Mark naked?” Yuta questioned with his eyes wide. “He has a big butt doesn’t he?” He added, smirking, at which both you and Mark yell at him to shut up. “Just saying facts.” He claims, raising his hands up in defense.
“Anyways,” Mark said a little too aggressively, “are you guys doing okay on your own? Or did you want me to join?”
Again, Yuta turned to you for a response, though this time you really hated yourself for what you answered with. “No, I think we’re fine, thanks though.”
“Better go wash your sheets bro, you were wild last night.” Yuta called out as Mark left the room.
“Dude,” Mark exclaimed, “don’t ever say that again, please bro.” And just like that, I was only you and Yuta again.
“Speaking of parties,” Yuta began, “we’re thinking of holding another one in March before spring break. Wanna come?”
“I can’t believe you guys are already planning another one not even a whole day after getting drunk out of your mind.” You joke, the disbelief obvious in your expression.
“Hey, you have to let loose every once in a while,” he states, “but my offer still stands.”
You hum, faking getting lost in thought, “ask me again in a month and I’ll let you know.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” you tilted your head to the side, the look on your face clearly ridiculing him, “for now.” He adds on.
You went back to looking over the chord progression sheet and tried again to go through the one you were on before Mark came in. You almost succeed this time until you place your fingers one fret away from where they were supposed to be. “Yikes” Yuta comments as he reaches out and shifts your hand over for you, causing you to stick your tongue out at him.
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It seemed only reasonable that when the guys continued having parties every so often, that you were invited to every single one of them whether it be through Mark or Yuta, and the one time Johnny had hit you up not knowing your involvement with the frat already, or even when Taeil invited you though it was really because Mark needed help sorting out his relationship issues.
Everyone except you was surprised that Mark had found himself a girlfriend, especially one that wasn’t you. You were happy for him, even if it meant having to respond to his panicked texts at 2am asking what something meant in ‘girl language’ accompanied by numerous screenshots.
Mark often ended up leaving you and Yuta on your own on Sundays because that was the only day when both he and his girlfriend were free. You certainly didn’t mind spending more time with Yuta now that he stopped being such a cocky asshole all the time. Whatever absence Mark had left, Yuta was there to make up for it whether it be his lingering touches, shy kisses, and even the offering of his clothes to you when you accidentally ended up sleeping over again, though this time you voluntarily shared a bed with him.
Yuta was becoming a necessary presence in your life, though you didn’t mind. You didn’t mind it when he moved to sit next to you during class. You didn’t mind when he asked to work with you for the upcoming playing test. You didn’t mind when he found you during parties swept you away from the dance floor to take you elsewhere.
You especially didn’t mind when taking you elsewhere resulted in your current situation, your hands tangled in Yuta’s now orange-colored hair, as you lay under him while he kissed you breathless.
“You look so fucking hot, you had all of them staring at you.” Yuta growls out between kisses.
You bite his bottom lip, causing him to groan slightly. “Mmm, you like that though. You like it when I look like this.”
“Not when other men get to look at you the way I do.”
“And why is that?”
“Because you’re mine.”
The use of the word caused you to stop in your tracks, Yuta pulling back as your lips stopped moving against his. “What are we?” You ask him, your voice shaking.
“What do you mean?”
“Like, this relationship?” You say, gesturing between the two of you, “What is our relationship to each other?”
“We’re friends.”
“But are we just friends? Because I don’t think friends kiss each other like this.”
“They don’t, but that doesn’t mean we can’t.” Yuta interjected as he leaned in to reattach his lips to yours.
“No, Yuta, stop,” you declare, pulling away from him, “I told you I’m not someone you can just play around with. If you want to keep me as a friend, then that’s all we will be. No kissing, no flirting, none of that.”
“I’m not playing around with you-”
“Then why is it so hard for you to place a label on us?” You questioned him, unintentionally raising your voice ever so slightly.
He rolled off of you, throwing an arm up to cover his eyes as he let out a sigh of exasperation. “I...I don’t know.”
“We’re clearly more than just friends but if you’re not willing to commit to being something more, then I’ll leave it at that.”
“Y/n, I- fuck, I don’t know what I even want-”
“And that’s okay,” you interrupt, “I’ll just give you time to think then, but for now,” you pause as you stand up from his bed, “just friends.” And with that you let yourself out of his room and ventured back downstairs to the party without turning back, finding comfort in the common sight of Johnny manning the boards, Doyoung in the kitchen with the drinks, even down to Taeyong and Taeil drunkenly swaying with each other on the dance floor.
“Here, something sweet to get rid of that sour look on your face.” Doyoung joked as he slid a drink across the counter.
You let out a chuckle as you raised the glass to your lips. “That obvious huh?”
“It is when I know whose room you just came from and who you’ve been spending all your time with.” He was really too intelligent to be stuck with these idiots.
You could only sigh as you took a large swig of whatever it is Doyoung made for you, relishing in the burn it gave you as it went down your throat, wishing for the alcohol-induced pain to overtake the one in your mind caused by the one and only Nakamoto Yuta.
Needless to say, you and Yuta ended up changing songs for the playing test and performing alone. Yuta moved back to his previous seat in the front of the room, though you still felt the way his eyes practically pierced through you as you played your chosen song, which albeit, was on the easier side since you wanted to give yourself a break.
Unbeknownst to you, Yuta wished so badly to be the person you were singing about. “Can you focus on me? Baby can you focus on me?” You sang, and he mentally beat himself to the ground.
Yuta still wanted to give you the world more than anything but he didn’t trust himself to do so, not when he’s already hurt you more than he should have. He became so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t even notice you finished playing until he heard the applause coming from your classmates.
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You actually did end up going to their spring party, but it was due to a request made by Johnny as he told you about Mark’s current post-breakup state near the end of your English class together. “He’s pretty much been in his room all the time. Not like the normal kind where he just prefers to chill in his room, but like, the kind where he doesn’t even come down to eat with us and Taeil has to bring food up to him.”
“Did Mark say anything about the breakup? Like why or how it happened?” You questioned, not wanting to have to ask Mark himself in case it was still too sensitive a subject to talk about.
Johnny hummed in thought, cocking his head to the side. “He didn’t say much to me, but he told Taeil that she wasn’t looking for anything serious but he thought that she was.” Johnny paused to take a sip from the Starbucks cup on his desk. “In my opinion, he should’ve waited to get to know her instead of just fucking her and deciding to date her y’know? But, I mean, that’s on him, so as they say, not my problem.” He shrugged his shoulder before taking another sip of his drink.
“Literally who says that?” You joke, enjoying poking fun at the older guy.
Johnny turned to you, a mock look of offense plastered onto his face. “Y/n! You don’t know? The famous Johnny Suh says it all the time.” You rolled your eyes at him as you packed up your belongings, promising to be at the party later that night, not exactly fancying the thought of running into a certain someone at the party as well.
Mark’s fiery whirlwind of a romance had left him to become a mess of all sorts and you spent your time with him at the party in his bed, watching tik toks and animal video compilations to get his mind off of things. You felt a sense of relief as you heard one of his faint snores, realizing that he was asleep, allowing you to slip out of his room and head downstairs to grab a drink from Doyoung.
Right as you were about to head back up, you saw the all too familiar head of orange hair glowing under the dim lighting as he looked down across the party from the bottom of the staircase. He didn’t seem to notice you as you made your way towards him until a small “hey” left your lips.
His eyes darted over to your face, offering a simple nod of his head to you to  acknowledge your presence. You stood next to him, leaning against the wall until you broke the silence “how have you been?”
“Fine. You?”
“Pretty good I guess.” You could tell he didn’t want to talk to you, but you didn’t want to leave him, just feeling so drawn to him. Finding comfort in his presence, you closed your eyes and let your head fall against the wall as you lost yourself in the music that Johnny had going.
“I’ll get going, this party isn’t as exciting as normal.” Yuta stated as he turned to go back upstairs. Starting up the stairs after him, wanting to check in on Mark again, but when Yuta heard you following him, he turned around and called out to you. ”Don’t follow me, you’ll end up in my arms.” You froze as he turned back around and continued his way up while you processed his words, allowing him to escape from you yet again.
You watched from an outsider's perspective and through the narratives of the other guys as over the next few days, Yuta replaced Mark as the resident vegetable. He fell into the same state Mark was previously in, said boy having slowly come back to his senses with your constant nurturing and care.
Party after party, Yuta was no longer down on the dance floor with one hand holding a red solo cup, another around the waist of a girl he had just met. You wanted so badly to speak to him, but whenever you spotted him off to the edges of the crowd, he’d disappear seconds later like he knew you were watching him. As much as it was nice to have Mark back and go back to your normal best friend activities, Yuta had lodged himself in your heart without you knowing it.
Countless parties more and it was already nearing the end of spring semester. Yuta had stopped showing up to class, appearing once or twice a week, at most. Even at parties, he no longer came out of his room, according to Taeil. You had been meaning to talk to Yuta for a while now, but with finals looming right around the corner and his ability to hole himself up in his room, it was nearly impossible to find the time and place for it.
You were sick of worrying about him and if he was eating and sleeping okay, often finding yourself wondering what he was currently doing while you were studying or eating your own meals. You hated how often he occupied your mind. You truly wanted to believe that you were different to him, that someday he’d come around ready to commit to something but you ridiculed yourself for thinking that you’d have enough power to change someone as stubborn as Yuta. Little did you know, you were more than capable of doing so.
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You had just entered the last week before finals and your school was generous enough to allot students a two day period to study before finals started. Of course, the frats and sororities took it as a last-ditch opportunity to party before their seniors graduated. You attended the party thrown to celebrate the graduating Taeil, Johnny, and Taeyong, but you were there for a different reason.
Throwing a quick greeting to Doyoung in the kitchen as you entered, he offered you a drink, which you told him to save for later before storming up the stairs. You were tired of all the hours you spent thinking about Yuta. If he wasn’t going to do anything about this, then you were whether it ended your friendship with him or not. You were done thinking about all the what-ifs, you wanted a definitive answer and you wanted it now.
Stopping in front of Yuta’s door, having enough manners to think about knocking before entering, you raised your hand to knock. Though before you were able to, you heard the music coming from inside. It didn’t take a genius to recognize that it was his voice singing the words. You froze with your hand against the door as you continued to listen to him. “Oh, how I love you. I just feel so lost without you.”
You opened his door slowly, knowing fully well that he wouldn’t be able to hear you knock over the loud noise coming from the party and his own blue-toned song. Both of you stood there in shock as your eyes met. Yuta was sitting on his bed with Taeil’s guitar in his lap and a notebook laid open next to him while you stood in the middle of his doorway, hand still on the knob.
Oh, how you missed the sight of him, even when he was dressed as simply as he was right now with just a grey t-shirt and black shorts sporting the logo of his favorite soccer team. “Yuta, we need to talk” you blurted out, stopping yourself from ogling him any further.
“Alright.” He complied, closing the notebook as you sat at the foot of his bed.
You take in a deep breath before starting. “I’m pretty sure you know this already, but I like you,” pausing to regather yourself and push through the rest of the speech you practiced in your head, “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about you recently and I just want to settle this whole thing once and for all.”
Yuta nodded while picking at his fingers which you could see were now raw from playing the guitar so much, making you wonder just how often he was on it. “I’ve been thinking about you too...a lot,” he said as he looked up at you, “and I think I have an answer for you.”
You plant your hand down next to you on his bed, resting your weight on it and letting your head loll to the side as you raise an eyebrow at him asking him to continue. “I like you too, and I know the way I’ve been acting doesn’t really show that but I’m just scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of getting hurt again.” Yuta said, letting his head rest in his hands.
“Yuta, you know I would never cheat on you.”
“That’s what she told me too, but people can be deceiving.”
“Look, I’m not her,” you pointed out to him, “and I’m telling you right now that I would not even think about cheating on you.”
“Yeah, well, things can change.” Yuta let out exasperatedly.
“So you should change with them. You’re not going to grow unless you accept those changes.”
He went silent for a bit before looking up at you. “Teach me how to accept them, then.”
“What do you mean by that?” You ask him, your eyes meeting his.
“Show me that you’re different. Prove to me that not all change is bad.”
You moved closer to him as he spoke, swinging a leg over his lap and straddling him. “I will.”
Yuta’s eyes fluttered shut and you felt as he shakily exhaled before he reopened his eyes. “Can I kiss you?”
You nodded, and this time it was your eyes that closed as Yuta connected his lips to yours. Within a few seconds, you felt his tongue brush against your bottom lip, asking for entrance, which you allowed and gave him a sense of dominance before letting your tongue dance with his while gently pushing him down onto the bed.
He whined as he broke the kiss and rolled both of you over, switching your positions, preferring to smother your body with his, making you giggle at his actions. “Thank you for asking this time.” You told him, referencing the first time he had kissed you.
“I was drunk, okay? I wasn’t thinking straight and I just wanted to kiss you so badly.” Yuta groaned, grinding his growing erection on your hip at the last part.
“Oh you wanna kiss me so bad huh?” You teased.
You could’ve sworn he let out a growl right then before responding “fuck yeah I do” and reconnecting your lips to his. After fighting your tongue yet again, he pulled away and slowly opened his now lust-filled eyes. “Are you sure you want this?”
“Yes,” you let out breathlessly, “I want it.”
“Who do you want?” He questioned as he slipped his hands under your shirt, gently kneading your breasts while kissing along your jaw and down your neck.
“You.”
“Baby, say my name.”
“Yuta, I want you.”
“Fuck, I love it when you say my name.” He said as he pulled his shirt off, throwing it down to the floor as you sat up and did the same.
The second your shirt was off, Yuta’s hands were already undoing the clasp of your bra, tossing it to the side as well before pushing you back down and running his hands over your breasts. His mouth latched onto one of your nipples as his hand played with the other.
You let out a whine as he pushed his erection against your clit, making you feel your own arousal that had started leaking out onto your underwear. Yuta glanced up at you, smirking, as he heard the sound you made. “Someone’s getting needy.” He kissed his way down your abdomen, sitting back once he reached the waistband of your pants, pulling them off along with your underwear.
He groaned as he took in all of your naked beauty, telling you “you’re so fucking hot” as he spread your legs and brought his face down to your folds and licking a long strip upwards. He repeated this motion a few times before you let out a frustrated moan at his teasing.
Yuta laughed at your desperation until your hand wove it’s way into his hair and pushed him closer to where you wanted him most. He seemed to get the message as he dove in, allowing you to get lost in the feeling of his tongue swirling around and pressing at your entrance.
You weren’t expecting it when you suddenly felt him pressing a finger into you, though you enjoyed the sensation of it and raised your hips to feel more, only to be met with Yuta’s free hand coming down on your stomach, holding you down. He waited for you to relax before inserting a second digit, then a third as he started to speed up and finger fuck you open.
He was reaching places inside of you that you had never reached before but you still wanted more. “Yuta,” you breathed out, “just fuck me already.”
“Well when you say it like that, there’s no way I can resist” he said, a sly smile creeping onto his face as he sat up, his erection bobbing as he tugged off his ripped jeans, freeing it from its confines.
“Condom” you tell him.
“Oh, you’re one of those girls,” he snickered, earning him a smack on the arm from you, “I’m just kidding, jeez, I don’t want to have to be responsible for a child just yet.” He defended as he reached over and stuck his hand into one of the drawers of his nightstand.
“I’m not risking getting pregnant when I can barely pay my tuition.” You quipped back at him.
“Fair enough.” Yuta remarked as he ripped open the package and rolled the condom over his already leaking cock.
He crawled over you, his elbows coming to rest next to either side of your head. “Are you sure you want this?” He asked as he lined himself up with your entrance.
“Are you sure want this?” You countered to him, both of you knowing fully well what you meant since once he went through with this, there was no turning back. Yuta was promising himself to you just as you had done to him.
You watched as his eyes found yours, “I want this, I want you, I want us.” With that he pushed himself into you, both of you letting out sinful moans as he bottomed out.
He barely gave you time to adjust before he started slowly rocking his hips as your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer while your hands found their way into his brightly colored locks. Just as he began to accelerate his movements, thrusting harder and faster, his door swung open.
Mark walked in casually, “hey, Yuta have you seen Taeil’s- holy shit i’m so sorry” he exclaimed once he realized the situation.
Yuta didn’t even pause as he told Mark “it’s on the floor.”
If you weren’t struggling to hold back your lewd sounds in the presence of your best friend, you would’ve laughed at how Mark snatched up the guitar and bolted out of the room, muttering “guess we’re even now, y/n” as he shut the door.
You let out a whimper as Yuta hit your spot the second the door closed. “Fuck, right there.”
He pushed himself into you a few more times before suddenly rolling over, bringing you to straddle him. “Ride me” he commanded, one of his hands coming to rub your clit. You began bouncing on his lap and clenched around him, drawing a moan from him. “I won’t last long if you keep doing that.”
“Good, I'm not going to either.” You informed him, already feeling the knot in your stomach begging to be released.
Your thighs were starting to become sore though you didn’t want to stop. Yuta noticed your change of pace, bringing both his hands up to your hips as he began thrusting up into you. You let out a cry as he managed to brush against your most sensitive areas, causing an orgasm to wash over you.
His movements slowly only for a bit as he let you take control, riding out your high before firmly grasping your hips again and bouncing you on himself, relishing in the feeling of your tight walls fluttering around him.
Staying true to his word, Yuta came shortly after you, filling the condom with his cum. He continued to push himself up into you until it became too much and he pulled out with a hiss. Yuta gently you down on his bed before getting up to dispose of the condom in the trash bin next to his nightstand.
You welcomed him with open arms as he climbed back into bed, his own arms wrapping around your waist as he began pressing light kisses across your collarbone as he broke the silence. “So does this make us a thing?”
“Depends on what you mean by that.” You tell him, wanting him to clearly voice his thoughts.
“Are we official?” He clarified.
“Only if you want us to be.”
Yuta smiled up at you. “y/n, Yuta’s girl, I like the sound of that.” You leaned down to press a kiss to his lips before he spoke again. “That song was about you, by the way”
“I figured that much.” You stated as you pushed his hair out of his face.
He giggled as he told you “I wrote it after jacking off to the thought of you.”
“Okay, you didn’t have to tell me that.” He let out a full laugh this time as he rolled both of you onto your sides and brought his forehead to rest against yours.
“Gosh, as if you weren’t clingy enough before this.” You joke, playfully kissing his nose.
“I’m all yours now.” Yuta cooed, his arms pulling your still naked body impossibly closer to his.
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A/N - i do not condone or promote the behavior or fraternities or sororities, especially during COVID-19, read a bit about it here. i am simply writing about my own fantasy in my own ideal world. with that being said, please remember to wear your masks and stay safe out there. this one shot will be my first work with smut in it so i’m open to pretty much any and all feedback. special thank you to @neocitybynight​ for helping me work out some of the plot!
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hermits-that-craft · 3 years
Text
In My Dreams (Will You Remember Me?)
Flower Husbands Fic - Chapter Four - The hues in our hair compliment one another
Ao3 in the comments
Jimmy watches as the guests walk in, gawking at the decorations that he, Katherine and Gem put so much effort into. Pride fills his chest - a week of hard work paying off in happy citizens and rulers alike. Jimmy nods politely to Iris as they walk in, he knows that being one of Pix’s advisors means that the dryad doesn’t get much time off, so he hopes that they enjoy themself.
A group of dryads bow to him before they disappear into the crowd, which makes him happy - he’s still recognisable with the mask that Katherine gave him. It’s a standard masquerade mask, though it has small cod painted on it in bronze paint, though it has a white veil attached the the lower half to cover his face. It was nice of Katherine, to remember that he prefers to hide his face.
He feels safe with his face hidden.
Jimmy watches as a young woman in a black cloak comes in, and an axolotl hybrid from his empire chats with a man from Mezalea. He’s glad that they opened to ball not only to the leaders of the empires but their citizens as well, and a fae man in a forest green vest dances with a spirit in a ribbon skirt.
The doors open, distracting Jimmy from people watching for a moment.
Lizzie walks in, the necklace around her neck shimmering in the glow from the purple lanterns. Jimmy watches as everyone gawks at the wedding gift that he gave her - it’s rare to see her wear it out of battle. The necklace has two axolotls, one made of rose quartz and the other of red jasper, curled around a pearl and inset in silver. It was handcrafted by the finest artisans of the Cod Empire, and Jimmy himself carefully enchanted it with healing and protection.
The best wedding gift she received, if Jimmy does say so himself.
“You clean up nicely, did Katherine give you that suit?” Lizzie teases, pointedly ignoring the stares she receives as she walks across the room to him.
“You’ll find that your husband did, for your wedding.” Jimmy smiles. “Though I did get it altered slightly for the party.”
“You didn’t put slime in it, did you?”
“Lizzie!” Jimmy gasps, pushing his sisters arm in rage. She laughs, ignoring his fake rage.
“I’m very glad you ditched the cod head.” She says. “I think Katherine would have killed you.”
“She actually gave me this mask.” Jimmy admits. 
“Ohh, look at Scott’s outfit.” Lizzie says, and Jimmy turns back to the crowd. 
Scott stands next to Joey, looking mildly uncomfortable. The king of the lost empire wears a red suit with a black crown, rubies and jaspers adorning it. But Joey’s outfit pales in comparison to the one that Scott wears.
Scott’s wearing an intricate white top, with long sleeves that bell out at the end. He has a high waisted skirt, fading from a sky blue into a deep, ocean blue. He looks like he’s stepped out of a high fantasy story, a golden crown shimmering in his blue hair. He looks stunning, making Jimmy feel almost as though he’s underdressed.
Scott makes eye contact with Joey, an emotion Jimmy doesn’t understand flashes in Scott’s eyes as he walks over to Jimmy.
“Lizzie, I think I’ve made him angry.” Jimmy mumbles, breaking eye contact with Scott. 
“He’s your land boy, you work it out.” Lizzie says. “I need to go find my land boy.”
“Scott isn’t mine, Lizzie - Don’t leave me!” Jimmy protests, but it’s already too late, the queen of the ocean has left Jimmy to whatever fate Scott has planned for him.
Hopefully Lizzie will hold a nice funeral for him.
“You look nice.” Scott says softly, barely audible over the music.
“Oh, thank you.” Jimmy says, the back of his neck reddening. “You clearly outclass everyone here.”
“You really think so?” Scott asks, his face red. Poor Scott, he mustn’t get complimented often. 
“I know so.” Jimmy smiles, though the man can’t see it.
“Could I ask you to dance?” Scott asks, offering Jimmy his hand. Jimmy blinks in surprise, looking into Scott’s eyes in shock. The elven man’s eyes glitter in the lantern light, light and full of something Jimmy can’t quite place.
Even so, Jimmy puts his hand into Scott’s, and lets the man pull him into a dance.
Scott’s hand rests on Jimmy’s waist, and Jimmy puts his hand on Scott’s shoulder, letting him lead. Scott, thankfully, doesn’t mention when Jimmy steps on his feet, the king just mumbling instructions to Jimmy as he leads them.
“You teach dances like this often?” Jimmy asks breathlessly, trying to concentrate on not stepping on Scott’s feet.
“No, I don’t. I don’t think I’m even teaching you this correctly.” Scott admits. “I’m not even sure this is a real dance.”
“This feels pretty real to me.” Jimmy says, his heart picking up. “Kind of familiar, like I’ve done it in a dream, but real?”
“This is dreamlike?” Scott asks, cocking an eyebrow.
“Yeah.” Jimmy admits. “Do you think we could spin with this dance.”
“If you want to, then of course.” Scott says, spinning Jimmy around.
Jimmy giggles slightly, breathless as his hand falls onto Scott’s shoulder again. Scott leads them again, and Jimmy lets his feet go without thinking. It’s like the dance he had in his nightmare, with his shadow husband. Scott’s hand on his waist is comforting, a promise of safety, in a party of peace.
The music slows and they stop, breathless and hearts hammering. Jimmy takes his hand off of Scott’s shoulder, pulling away from his dance partner.
“I’m going to get a drink, you coming?” Jimmy offers. Maybe this could end with a new ally, a new friend.
“I need some air.” Scott admits, rubbing the back of his neck as though he’s nervous. “I’ll see you later?”
“See you soon.” Jimmy promises, smiling brightly at the elf.
The other man just nods, walking out of the room and up the stairs. Jimmy moves off of the dancefloor, avoiding bumping into people as he makes his way to the table, picking a prawn off of the table to eat while he looks for something to drink.
“Enjoying the food?” Pearl asks, startling Jimmy.
“It’s nice.” Jimmy says. “I love the prawns.”
“Thank you! I was hoping to get something from every empire.” Pearl says. “I’m glad I got something for you and Lizzie. Your empires were the hardest.”
“Oh, I’m sorry! I could have helped.” Jimmy apologises.
“Don’t be. Be more sorry that you didn’t tell Katherine about you and Scott. She’s rather excited that the prospect of you two being together.”
“What?” Jimmy asks, blinking.
“Oh, if it’s supposed to be a secret I’ll tell her to leave you two alone.” Pearl says, laughing. “Next time, though, don’t dance in a public ball like that. Rumours will spread!”
Jimmy stands confused, staring at the space that Pearl used to be in. He must be tired, why would anyone start a rumour about him and Scott? There’s nothing to talk about. They’re potentially friends, barely aquantinces. 
“I should find Scott.” Jimmy mumbles, walking in a daze towards the stairs. Scott must be on the balcony, right?
“Jimmy!” Pixl says, relief on his face. “You need to come with me. We’re leaving.”
“What?” Jimmy asks incredulously. “Why are we leaving?”
“Emergency at Lizzie’s empire, she’s asked that we both attend.” Pixl says, grabbing Jimmy’s hand and dragging him out. 
“What’s the emergency?” Jimmy asks, waving goodbye to Pearl and Gem at the door. The two of them share relieved looks as Pixl drags Jimmy further away.
Lizzie and Joel stand in the middle of the courtyard, holding a spare pair of elytra that they put of Jimmy’s shoulders as Pixl straps himself into his own elytra. Jimmy straps the elytra on, wriggling uncomfortably.
“What’s going on?”
“Gem told us to go home.” Lizzie says. “Sausage and Fwip are up to no good, apparently.” 
“Pixl said that there was an emergency at your empire?”
“I lied.” Pixl says. “Don’t look at me like that, you wouldn’t have come otherwise!”
“Look as funny as this is we have to go.” Joel says, pushing Jimmy and Pixl slightly.
The group takes off, flying into the sky. Guilt eats at Jimmy the further they fly away, and he turns back to look at the hall. Did anyone warn Scott that Sausage and Fwip were up to something?
He broke his promise to Scott.
----
“You look cute in the bunker.” The shadow says, sitting on the roof. Jimmy can just barely see out of it, and he knows that his husband wouldn’t be able to see at all.
“Shouldn’t you be preparing for battle?” Jimmy asks. “You don’t want to die.”
“I’m on my green life. I’m fine.” His husband says. “You’re the one we’ve got to worry about. Burning Dogwarts banner, really poppy?”
“I don’t want to see you sacrificed on any altar, petal.” Jimmy responds easily. “I’ll be fine, the bunker is safe and there’s an emergency exit.”
“Promise me you’ll come home.” His husband asks, standing up. 
“For you? Of course.” Jimmy responds. “In sickness and health. You’ll always have me by your side.”
Jimmy watches as the shadow people fight. It’s dreamlike, unreal to him. Swords clash and fires spread across a desert stained in blood. The dogwarts banner flies and burns and his allies are so outnumber it won’t ever be fair.
And a scream tears from his throat as his husband is shot.
His body dissipates, he’s not dead. Not permanently, but something is wrong. This world mustn’t have respawn, not the infinite respawn that it’s supposed to. Green life. First life. 
The love of his life is dead. He will come back, but he’s dead now.
“We want that banner!” A man yells, an enemy. There isn’t any winning this. He needs to get to him, to his husband, to his petal.
He’s shot through the throat on the ladder to the escape route.
Jimmy's screams echo through his empire. Not for the first time does he long for the embrace of someone who isn't even real
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slow motion, double vision in rose blush (Renora College AU)
Summary: Ren doesn't need alcohol to know how gorgeous his best friend is or to admit to himself (kind of, sort of) that his feelings towards her aren't exactly platonic. Apparently, he just needs it if he wants to be unable to ignore those facts.
Warnings: Drinking alcohol, some suggestive thoughts
Fic under the read more or can be read on AO3 here
I wrote this for Flower Power Week, but I didn’t see that there was a rule to keep works PG-13 until I was almost finished with this fic, and I figure this fic is already inherently a bit more mature than that, so I don’t think I should use the tag or tag the blog.
Hope you enjoy!
Parties wouldn't really be considered Ren's "thing".
 He much prefers the slightly-hectic-but-relatively-calm get-togethers of his friends that they manage to schedule every week or so amongst all their university classes. But it was the end of some particularly grueling midterms and everyone in their little friend group (and apparently, everyone on campus) had wanted to let loose and let wild after being cooped up with only their textbooks and their stress for so long. So that, and not enough displeasure at the plan to do anything about it, is how Ren ended up in the corner of the front room of some frat house with a red Solo cup in his hand.
 He doesn't know where most of his friends have gone. Ren hasn't seen all of them in one place since basically when they first arrived and Yang had shoved shots of - Ren hasn't drunk enough alcohol in his life to know for sure, but he would assume it's whiskey - into each of their hands. He didn't have much desire to down it in one go like most of the group, would rather let its burn come in little bursts than have all of the pain all at once. By the time he had finished it, Yang had taken Blake somewhere promising to dance, Ruby heard a rumor of a ping pong table and had set off to find it with Weiss so they can challenge each other, and Jaune and Pyrrha went… somewhere. The only friend who hadn't wandered off was Nora, who immediately upon finishing her shot had started pouring ice, orange juice, and maybe a tad too much vodka into a Solo cup.
 She had immediately come back to his side, expressing how much this was needed for her after midterms. Nora then starts rambling about what lengths she had gone to in order to make the information stick and the stomach aches she got from the stress and how she was shaking during her last test partly from how little sleep she had gotten in the past month from projects. At least, that's what Ren was pretty sure she was talking about. The music was so loud that he had to lean in pretty close to hear what Nora was saying, and even then he couldn't pick up half the words said. Which was a shame, because as much as people seem to believe he just ignores her, Ren does listen to everything his best friend wants to say, and he likes listening to everything she says.
 Nora must've noticed how close Ren was leaning in, or his discomfort at the loud music, as she then grabs his hand and walks them somewhere else, still talking all the while. The farther they walk, the quieter the music gets, the more Ren can hear Nora. They arrive at some far-off corner and Ren is more than content to stay there and listen to Nora for the rest of the night. But then a girl dressed more like she was going to a full-out rave rather than a college party rushes up to Nora and begs her to be her partner at beer pong.
 "Kobalt and Ivori are ‘too cool’ for it, and Flynt's our DD, so obviously he can't drink, and you're fun enough and I bet you'd be super good at beer pong-"
 Ren can tell Nora wants to say yes, but she keeps looking at him from the corner of her eye like she doesn't want to leave him alone. If he really had heard her correctly, then she is certainly deserving of some fun right now, and it might be a little awkward standing here alone but it wouldn't be the worst thing.
 "You should go," he says.
 Nora turns her head fully to him. "Are you sure? You gonna be okay here all by your lonesome?"
 Ren gives her a little smile. "I think I can manage."
 "Great!" the girl says with a clap of her hands. "So it's settled". She grabs the cup that Nora was holding and hands it off to Ren. "Now be a good boyfriend and keep this safe for her."
 Nora's face flushes, and Ren can feel that he does too. "Oh no, Neon, we're not-" but before she can continue her denial, Neon yanks her away to the beer pong table.
 They're a little ways away, but they are perfectly within Ren's eyesight. He can see that they're playing against Sun and Neptune. He doesn't know them too well but he hasn't known them as anything other than friendly. Well, Jaune might disagree at least where Neptune's concerned, but it's been ages and he's since got over his crush on Weiss, so he's probably okay with him now. They start their game and on her first try, Nora lands the ball cleanly into one of the other team's cups. She jumps and pumps her fist in the air, showing off that usual bright beautiful smile in her joy that always seems to lighten up every room and flood Ren's insides with warmth.
 He looks away a little, not wanting to acknowledge what that feeling really meant, even if he had finally admitted to himself that what he had felt for his best friend wasn’t exactly platonic. The admission itself is a barely-there kind of thing because no matter how much Ren would prefer it, he couldn't be in complete denial over it for the rest of time so he'll just settle for being as close to that as possible. Nora's his best friend, what they've had since they were kids - it's good. For the most part, he's completely fine with the way things are and Nora seems to also so why potentially ruin or try to change something that's practically perfect already? Before he could uncomfortably spiral into that thought process anymore, mercifully, he is interrupted. But not so mercifully, that interruption is from Nora, laughing so loud and wonderfully that Ren just plummets even deeper.
 Something funny must have happened. Or maybe not. It doesn't seem to take much to send Nora into a fit of laughter. He likes that about her, that she can let joy or other emotions in so easily and that she doesn't really care about how it may look or what others might think. He's glad there isn't some insecurity that keeps Nora from laughing so often. She has such a nice laugh and Ren likes knowing she's happy and it's nice that she does it so much. And her lips are so pretty, especially when she smiles. He can't help but keep his focus on them. That is until she throws her head back, showing off the nice smooth skin of her neck. Ren then starts to wonder what it would be like to press his lips to the side of it and just how she'd react before he realizes the nature of just what exactly he's thinking.
 His mouth goes dry. Without thinking, he raises Nora's cup to his lips to make it go away but it isn't until he's already swallowed and surprised himself with the hefty burn it leaves in his throat that he remembers what was in that cup. Yeah, he definitely took a much bigger sip than he should've, and there is definitely too much vodka in that. But the orange juice masks the taste of it for the most part and the ice soothes away a good amount of the burn, so it's definitely not the worst alcoholic drink Ren's ever had and might actually be one of the more pleasant ones. He takes a smaller sip of it out of a measured curiosity.
 Ren's eyes drift back to Nora. If he had any sense left in him, he'd focus on anything else, keep trying to avoid feelings he doesn't want to feel and thoughts that might be inappropriate, or definitely inappropriate. But it's as if Ren's field of vision can only narrow down to just her. There are clouds of pink on the edges of what he can see, threatening to fill up the entire room, and it seems as if the only way it won't happen is if he keeps Nora right in the center, where all her movements seem to be in slow motion.
 She picked a green top tonight, a color more associated with Ren more than Nora. She bears a little more skin in this top too, the two spaghetti straps unable to hide the nice, toned muscles of Nora's arms and shoulders along with her delicate collarbone. Ren had already noticed this top when everyone was on the way to the party, trying to figure out if it was new as he's pretty sure he had never seen it before. He must've been more obvious than he should've, because Pyrrha had nudged his shoulder then, giving him a coy little smile. "Green's a good color on Nora, isn't it?" Pyrrha had said, as if he hadn't already known that. Nora doesn't have a lot of green in her own wardrobe, but Ren does, and the times when she has worn the color were usually because she was wearing his clothes. She's done it often enough - stolen his sweater to fight the cold in the café while they were studying, hung his jacket from her shoulders walking around town, switched into one of his tees and sweats when she needed to crash at his dorm for one reason or another. It always feels nice seeing Nora in green, especially when it's his green. Ren would let Nora borrow his clothes any time just to see it more often.
 Nora's skirt is still her signature pink, but without the usual volume or swish ability that she loves so much. No, this skirt is… tighter. It clings to the shape of her quite well, accentuating her curves very nicely. She's doing a little dance right now, and it looks like she's singing too. Nora's a really good singer when she wants to be but he can't imagine she's deciding to be that right now. She bumps her hip against Neon's and spins around, does some shimmying movement. Ren's mouth goes dry again. He's starting to feel really warm. He should look away. Nora's his best friend. He shouldn't be getting mesmerized by the movement of her hips or tracing his eyes over the muscles of her arms, or even noticing how her outfit and especially that skirt, while she’s dancing, makes certain areas of Nora more prominent and - okay Ren's taking another drink. He's taking another drink because he needs another drink, because he needs to stop ogling Nora and thinking these kinds of thoughts about her.
 The burn hurts. It's a deserved punishment.
 He's a little woozy right now but he still feels guilty. Nora is beautiful. She's always been beautiful. Ren has known that even before realizing he liked her in that way. But that doesn't give him or anybody else the right to objectify her like that. It's obviously not like her being gorgeous is the only thing to Nora, and neither that nor the idea of them being physical together are why Ren fell in love with her in the first place.
 Love.
 Well, that is… definitely true. It's definitely true but Ren doesn't think he's ever admitted that much to himself before. In fact, he knows he hasn't because emotions are uncomfortable and scary and often irrational and he doesn't like dealing with them especially when it could ruin probably the most important relationship he has. Why did he have to realize this now? Why did he have to realize this at all? This is uncomfortable. He might be panicking. He feels off balance. Ren takes another drink just so that he can distract himself from all of this but it doesn't quite work by the time he's finished off the rest of it.
 There's nothing of this too-much-vodka concoction left and it is immediately apparent to Ren that that was not his brightest idea. He doesn't really drink too much, even at social gatherings. Their friends usually appoint him the designated driver, and he doesn't mind. If he does drink, he'll usually stop by the time he feels a hint of a buzz. This was… more than a hint. He's more off-balance than before, the room sways a little more and he thinks it's grown even pinker. His head feels cloudy. And this is the longest a burn has stayed in his throat. And he is so warm. Ren leans his back against the wall for some stability.
 His eyes come back to Nora because if Ren couldn't stop it before, he can't stop it now. She's still there, being beautiful and charming and full of life, laughing with the people around her, and of course Ren is in love with her, how could he ever try to deny that fact. Neptune comes up to her, leans in kind of close to say something. Ren doesn't like that, or the way he's looking at Nora. Maybe Jaune was right about him. Maybe the problem with Neptune is that he's too friendly. Neptune points his thumb somewhere and - wait, is he pointing at him? He must have because Nora immediately turns her head and catches Ren's eye. There's some expression on her face and she immediately sets off in his direction.
 There's something in Ren that tells him to act casual and he raises the cup to his lips one more time but is immediately reminded of the fact that there's nothing left in it so he figures he just looks stupid.
 "Hey," Nora says as she stops in front of him. "You okay?"
 Ren looks up from his empty cup and pushes himself off the wall. He probably used a lot more force than he should've and stumbles a bit, which Nora remedies by putting her hands on his shoulders. She laughs a little, and he can't help but feel even warmer.
 "Guess that answers my question," Nora giggles some more.
 "I'm fine," Ren says. He is very aware of how her fingers are splayed out on his shoulders, the pressure she's putting that's just enough to still him. It keeps him calm, but also doesn't, and his heart is beating so hard she must feel it where her hands are.
 Her eyes scan over his face. "I've never seen your face so red." Ren's sure it only gets redder then. "How much have you had to drink?"
 He wordlessly brings his attention back to the empty cup in his hand, which Nora follows. "You drank all of it?" she points at the cup, her eyes widening. "Ren, I put a lot of vodka in that!"
 Ren blinks a couple times, having to more manually process what Nora said while he was trying not to stare at her mouth. "I can tell," he says, maybe a couple of seconds too late.
 Nora raises an eyebrow. It's another cute look on her. "You don't really drink that much. There a reason why now?"
 There's genuine concern in her voice when she asks that question, and it's so sweet and Ren's heart beats a little faster and he wants to take that concern away from her. But he doesn't think answering that question truthfully is going to help that. Ren's pretty sure the best-case scenario of saying 'you're pretty and I love you' to Nora is causing her confusion to the point of distortion.
 "I was… thirsty." And that's really about as close to the truth as he can get. Ren shakes his head, but not too hard because the room is moving too much already and… ouch. "I'm sure you've had more tonight," nodding towards the beer pong table. She must've, shouldn't she? Is it just his alcohol-addled mind or does Nora not seem any bit of drunk at all?
 She scoffs. "Maybe not. Sun really doesn't like putting too much beer in those cups. Besides, that's beer, not hard liquor. And I'm more experienced with it than you, so it takes a bit more to get me down. I've had more practice."
 Nora shoots him a cheeky grin, a little closer to his face than she was before. She leaned in a bit when she was talking, migrated her hands closer to the base of his neck. It's nothing new. Nora being so physically affectionate is one of her trademark qualities. And Ren's happy to let her do that to him at any time, but he knows he generally seems unresponsive to it. But what if he responds to it now? He's not going to, he's absolutely not going to, but it's easier to fall into that daydream than usual. Ren could wrap his hands around Nora's waist, lean into this little space between them to ultimately close it. He could press his lips to that grin on her face, and Nora would be a little surprised, but in no time at all, she'd be kissing him back. She'd wrap her arms a little easier around his neck and she could press herself a little more against him, the idea of having any distance left between them as unappealing to Nora as it is to Ren.
 "Uhh, Ren?"
 He falls out of the daydream. "Oh! Ah… umm… huh?" She hasn't been saying anything. Ren has been very focused on Nora's mouth for the past couple of minutes, so much that he had missed the blush on her face. He must've missed something happening. Did he say something? The thought of that mortifies him to no end.
 He might've been emoting his thought process on his face because Nora chuckles. "Yeah. That's definitely more alcohol than you're used to." She grabs his hand and leads him over to a couch nearby. Nora lightly pushes him down next to the armrest. "You stay right here," she says firmly, but full of fondness. "I'm gonna get you some water. And I probably need some too." Nora pats his cheek a little, brushes it with her thumb. Ren almost leans into it but she pulls away too soon.
 Nora turns around and goes in search of some water, and characteristically of him tonight, Ren can't help but keep her eyes on her, until he's forced to because there are too many people in that direction. He sighs, sinking into the cushions as he closes his eyes, feeling the warmth bloom in his chest. She's just so caring. Nora is just so caring and she loves people so much. And she's not afraid to give away all that love and care, to allow people to really see that that's what she feels for them, does it without a second thought. That's one of the big things, Ren thinks. That's got to be at least one of the big reasons why he fell in love with Nora.
 She comes back to him with two large water bottles in her hands. Nora tucks one under her arm in order to open the other, which she gives to him. Ren takes it and continues watching Nora as she settles right next to him, sitting down then kicking her legs up onto the couch. She leans back into the cushions and shifts herself more towards him, letting her head rest closer to his shoulder. Nora moves her head a bit to drink some water and then it actually touches his shoulder. Ren loves her so much. Moments like these are so small, and it's not like they don't happen between them very much. But maybe one day Ren will be brave enough to let them happen a lot more often, and those moments will have a slightly different meaning between the two of them than it does now.
 She looks so pretty in this light. Nora looks pretty in any light.
 Nora catches his eye again. She pushes her hand up beneath the water bottle Ren had forgotten that he was holding. "Drink up."
 And who is Ren to refuse her? He starts to sip his first non-alcoholic drink of the night and already his head is starting to feel less like it's filled with cotton. He drinks until the room feels still again, until everything stops looking like it's in slow motion, until there's no more pink clouds on the edges of his vision. Before he knows it, Ren's finished the whole bottle and his throat feels the best it's been all night.
 Despite the lack of pink clouds and an apparent increase in sobriety, Ren still keeps looking at Nora. She's giggling now. He doesn't know what exactly is so funny but that doesn't really matter.
 "Feel better now?" She asks. He nods because he doesn't know just what he'll admit to her right now if he allows himself to speak. "Great. I'm glad they set out those really big water bottles. That really saved me another trip. And you probably didn't drink enough that you'd need ibuprofen or something. I would've said to take some just in case, but I'm not sure what taking meds when something isn't really wrong with you could do to you. I think you should be fine now. Don't think you'll wake up in the morning with a hangover."
 Ren just keeps looking at Nora, without a word. He doesn't need them right now. He doesn't think he needs to do anything else besides look at Nora and hear her talk for the rest of time.
 But something must be wrong because Nora turns her head away a little, shrinking a bit into herself. "Are you mad at me?"
 That surprises him. "No," that is very much not what he was feeling towards Nora right now. "Why would you think that?"
 She heaves out a heavy sigh. "Neptune said you were staring at me the whole time we were playing." Ren's heart stops a little. Nora keeps shrinking down and her voice feels smaller.  "I don't know- I just figured you might be angry at me for leaving you alone at a place I know you'd rather not be."
 Ren straightens up, shifts fully towards her so she can more easily believe what he's about to say. "I told you to go," maybe he's leaning more forward than he usually would, makes more direct eye contact with Nora. "And being here isn't too bad. I just- uh- I uh-" He puts his head down a little, taking some time to find the right words. How does Ren explain the staring? That he just loves the way she exists and who she is and she deserves good times and it's nice when she gets them?
 "You were having fun," Ren brings himself to look back at her, says these words in all earnest. "I like when you have fun."
 That takes her back a little. Nora's eyes widen but her face softens. For one terrifying but almost hopeful moment, Ren thinks she might've understood what he really meant underneath those words. She smiles and brings her hand up to his face. She uses a couple fingers to sweep his bangs to the side. Ren's eyes almost close at the contact.
 "You're so sweet," Nora says, almost like she's in disbelief. "You wanna go back home? I can walk you back."
 "Are you sure?" That does sound like a good idea to Ren, but he doesn't want to take Nora away from something she enjoys just for him. "I'm honestly fine here. I know you were really stressed, I don't mind if you wanna unwind a little more."
 Nora smiles a little wider. "I think I've had a good amount of unwinding here already. If I stay here any longer and leave you unattended, who knows how many more screwdrivers you'll drink." She moves her hand from his forehead down to his cheek. "And you need to get home safe. For the most part, you seem all right now, but I just… I need to make sure."
 Ren leans into the hand Nora has on his cheek. It's a bit more than he'd usually do, but it feels right. "Alright then."
 "Can I crash at yours' too?" she asks. Ren chuckles a little at that, because when has Nora ever needed to ask that.
 "Of course." And then some daydream starts again. They get back to his single dorm and it'll be just like the other times Nora's slept over there. She'll switch tonight's outfit out for some of Ren's pajamas and she'll look just as good, if not better to Ren. They'll lay down and fall asleep in his bed, and that's all they'll do tonight. And then the morning comes and there's no trace of alcohol in their systems and everything's in the clear, and Ren will kiss her, soft and sweet. Nora will kiss him back because she has wanted this just as much as he has. He'll keep a hand on her cheek and maybe she'll tangle her fingers in his hair. Then maybe they end up never leaving the dorm that day, or even the bed. They'll talk, of course. They'll say what needs to be said, about their feelings and anything else. It's decided between them that Nora can sleep at his dorm a lot more often. And when she does, they don't need to struggle as much to fit together on this twin size XL bed, because Ren can wrap himself around her and they can let their legs get tangled together. He can wake up and bury his head into the hollow of Nora's shoulder and just breathe her in. The next time they see their friends, Ren and Nora won't act all that much different, but it won't take long before they realize something's up. They'll get it out of them, and they'll be happy, and then they'll be mercilessly teased because how did it take you two this long? Ren will get a bit embarrassed, but Nora will take it in stride. She'll kiss the blush on his face, and he'll just blush harder, and she'll laugh a little until he does too.
 But Nora in this reality grabs his hand and forces him to stand. He doesn't know if it's just how much he was in that daydream or if he's still a little buzzed from the alcohol, but it's a little disorienting as he makes movements.
 Before he knows it, they're out the front door and into the cold night air. It's a little windy out. Ren wishes he had a jacket to give to Nora.
 They walk at a leisurely pace in the direction of his dorm. Their hands are still intertwined, their arms swinging in between them. They don't speak, not uncommon at all for Ren but a little surprising from Nora. Ren might've wondered at this if we weren’t lost in his own thoughts.
 How close is that daydream to reality? How close could that daydream be to becoming reality? Is it just Ren or are there enough pieces in place for that to happen? All this time he's been worried about losing their friendship, what they already have. But what kind of future could they have? What could they gain? Is all that Ren really needs to do is get over himself?
 Maybe he's still not in his right mind. It certainly can't be that easy. But he can recall a few times when he's caught Nora looking at him. And maybe some of the comments she's passed off as jokes had more truth to them than she lets on.
 Everything about this still feels scary, but not as scary as it was before. He is at least very lucky to fall in love with such an incredible, amazing woman who's already his best friend. He doesn't know what will happen, but he does know what could. And yes, that may include losing the person closest to him. But as devastating as that is, there's another possibility that is at least that amount of wonderful.
 He peers at Nora from the corner of his eye. She's tucking some hair behind her ear to keep it from flapping in the breeze. Her hand is so warm in his.
 Ren's not going to do anything like confess to her tonight. Or the next morning. But looking at Nora, and holding her hand, and thinking about the good possibilities - he thinks he's starting to build up the courage.
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nickydestati · 3 years
Text
duolingo tog prompts #13
prompt: Now he is just a normal citizen (Adesso è solo un cittadino normale)
i am aware this is a superhero au for what technically is a superhero movie already but oh well, i hope you enjoy it anyway!
*
In general, Yusuf likes being Joe. On some days, though, he feels like screaming. Only yesterday night he was chasing down some stalker scum to teach them a lesson and make sure they would never even think of harassing anyone ever again, and now he is just a normal citizen. Just a face in the endless, dreary morning commute. 
He wants to grab someone by the shoulders and yell his secret in their faces. Just so someone knows he’s doing it all for them.
But he buries his hands in his pockets and walks on.
A bell rings when he enters the antique shop. The Old Guard, it is called. And of course, it’s just a facade, but to his surprise, Joe genuinely likes working there. He likes being surrounded by ancient and not so ancient objects, he loves walking around in the chaotic assortment of precious art pieces and absolute junk. He often wonders how Andy has gotten hold of all these things, but however sneakily he tries to coax it out of her, she always sees right through his schemes and just shrugs.
He puts everything ready and turns the sign of the door around so the ‘open’ side is facing the street. He glances at the numerous grandfather clocks lining one of the walls. Booker is late. Maybe on a job Joe forgot about, so he guesses he’s on his own for today.
He’s staring at some lists with a lot of numbers he doesn’t understand much about because 1) this is usually Booker’s job and 2) he’s running on three hours of sleep and caffeine, when the phone rings. He picks up immediately, grateful for something else to do.
“The Old Guard Antiques, with Joe, how can I help you?”
“I’ve got a job for you.” Andy.
“Hello to you, too,” Joe says, glancing about for customers, though the bell hasn’t made a sound yet all morning. He lowers his voice just to be sure. “And a job? So soon? I just finished the last one this night.”
He can barely hide his excitement, he quickly checks his free hand, making sure he doesn’t start glowing by accident.
“It’s urgent. We’ve got word that someone is after Lykon’s bracers.”
“Lykon’s bracers?” Joe’s happy mood sobers. Lykon was one of their team once. But the life of a superhero is never without danger. Things went terribly wrong on a mission a long time ago, and Lykon had sacrificed himself so the rest could get out with the people they were saving. They went back later, but despite his healing powers, he hadn’t been able to use them on himself in time. 
His bracers still hold fragments of his powers, though, just like Joe’s rings will when he dies. Every hero has such a token, and there are rumors it might grant the powers to someone else if used right. But so far, no one has tried yet. All superheroes agree that it’s simply too morbid and intruding.
“Yes.” Andy sighs. “I knew I shouldn’t have given it to the museum. It would’ve been safer with us after all.”
“Hey, boss, don’t beat yourself up. It was the best option back then. So, who’s after it?”
“Some rich megalomaniac called Merrick. You know, the usual. The theft is planned for this Friday. Booker is at the museum now to find a way to get you inside and get a layout from the building. He’ll be on it for the rest of the week so you’re on shop duty alone for a while.”
“Got it.”
“I’ll send you some more details you can look through. How did it go last night?
“It went well,” Joe answers, but it’s a tad too late and of course Andy notices.
“But?”
Joe sighs. “But the Shadow showed up and I had just gotten them right where I wanted them, but when I rounded the corner, he’d taken care of them already.”
“The guy’s good,” Andy says and the appraisel in her voice makes a spike of jealousy flash through his chest.
“Maybe you should ask him to join us, then,” he says and he hates how annoyed he sounds.
Andy chuckles on the other end. “Have to figure out who he is first.”
Just some pretentious bastard thinking he’s too good to talk with other superheroes. But Joe is tired talking about him.
“So how are you and Nile? Have you found her yet?”
“No, no sign yet.” All mirth has left Andy’s voice and Joe’s heart clenches.
“It’s only a matter of time. We’ll find her. Or she’ll find us again, she wouldn’t leave us like that.” She wouldn’t leave you.
“Let’s hope so,” Andy says with a heavy sigh. “Gotta go, I’ll send you the information. Keep me updated, okay?”
“Sure thing, boss. Say hi to Nile from me.”
He’s breaking his head over the lists again when the bell makes him startle. 
His throat runs dry when he looks up because the most beautiful man in all the universe has just entered the shop. Joe really shouldn’t be so dumbfounded by the man, because objectively speaking he is rather plain-looking with that simple hair cut and those pants that are really doing nothing for him, but still. Even like that, he has something incredibly mesmerising to Joe.
He pretends to look back at the lists for a while, but glances at the customer every now and again from the corner of his eye.
When the man has been wandering around for a while and has been staring at those small angel statuettes for five minutes already, Joe slips from behind the counter and goes to him. 
“Good morning, sir, can I be of some assistance?”
The man turns around and a small smile appears around his mouth when he sees Joe, melting Joe’s heart into a puddle.
“Maybe. I’m looking for a birthday gift for my nonna, but I don’t know which archangel she would like more.”
And to Joe’s surprise, the man goes on to explain the different meanings behind them which is incredibly fascinating - and not only because his hand gestures are so elegant and his eyes are alight with a passionate glow that Joe would describe as moonlight in one of his poems. And Joe is all too happy to chip in with his own knowledge of art and iconology. 
They get so caught up in their conversation that Joe jumps when the grandfather clocks start their various announcements of the fact that it is twelve o’clock. The man startles too by the cacophony and glances at his watch. 
“Oh, I should get going. I’ll take this one.” And he picks out Joe’s favorite. 
He follows Joe to the cash register and pays. 
“I am Joe, by the way,” Joe says when he’s wrapping the statue in bubble plastic to protect it.
“Nicky, nice to meet you,” Nicky says and Joe can’t keep the wide smile from his face.
“We should do that again some time,” he says, gathering all his courage. “Talk, I mean, not necessarily buying or selling angel statuettes.”
Nicky laughs, and the little snort makes Joe’s heart jump to his throat. “Let’s grab some dinner then, when are you available?”
“Only Friday wouldn’t work for me,” Joe says.
“I can’t make it on Friday either, so let’s say Saturday? Here, let me get your number,” Nicky says and picks his phone from his pocket.
They exchange numbers and say their goodbyes, Nicky flashing a last smile at him from the door before leaving Joe helplessly lost behind his cash register. 
*
Focus, Yusuf! Yusuf chastizes himself when his mind has wandered off to what he’s going to wear for his date tomorrow for what must be the millionth time. You’re supposed to be watching out for a thief, focus!
Yusuf takes a deep breath and scans the room again. He’s hidden in a very uncomfortable position against the ceiling, holding on to a pillar that grants him a view of the entire exhibition room. If he didn’t have his powers, there was no way he could have endured this position for so long, and while it would have been even easier if the sun was out, he manages. 
The minutes are ticking by, no sign of a thief yet. The bracers are still safely in their display case beneath him.
Then there’s a movement, ever so slightly, by the windows. Yusuf’s eyes latch onto it, but it’s gone so soon that he almost thinks it’s a trick of his mind. 
Always trust your instincts, Andy told them over and over again. Our minds don’t play tricks on us.
Sure enough, there’s another flutter in the shadows. No, not in the shadows. Of the shadows.
One of them is moving.
Joe curses inwardly, of course Merrick has hired the Shadow.
He waits for the Shadow to reach the display case. Then, when he reaches over the glass, Yusuf slides down right behind him. He reaches for him, letting out a sound of victory when his hands guess correctly and circle around the Shadow’s neck. He lets his hands glow, unleashing the heat he’s always containing. 
Surprised by the sudden attack, the Shadow turns visible and Yusuf stumbles back out of pure shock.
He’s all clad in black, with a balck version of a mask not unlike Yusuf’s own, but Yusuf would recognise the eyes peeking through it anywhere. Those eyes that are unmistakably glowing with moonlight now.
“Nicky?” Yusuf exclaims.
“Joe?” 
Nicky seems just as confused as Yusuf who’s still looking him up and down as if he might change into someone else after all - and oh man, these tight pants are definitely doing things for him. Nicky recovers faster from the shock, though. 
“Sorry, but I really gotta take these,” he says and before Yusuf can make his muscles move again, Nicky already has the bracers in his hands and is dashing for the windows.
“Wait no!” Yusuf sprints after him, but Nicky whisps away into shadow-form again and slips through a slightly opened window. 
“Nicky!” Yusuf screams after him. He opens the window wider - not alarming the guards be damned - and looks out over the city. But there’s no trace of Nicky.
His heart is pounding. Nicky, the beautiful man he is already head over heels with, is the Shadow. Not only is he the Shadow, but he has also stolen Lykon’s bracers for some capitalist asshole.
Shit.
“Is our date still on tomorrow?” Yusuf calls weakly into the night.
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strange-changes-ln · 2 years
Text
“Strange Changes.”
Chapter 6: “A Talk.”
The Janitor sat, within the tension between himself, and the Governess. She had decided to take this to the Library inside of the Residence, using two chairs she had managed to find. Her stare seemed blank. Well, clearly, with the mask on, it was gonna look that way, but under it, it was… firm.
A strong silence followed on. While the Lady sat firmly, with professionalism and elegance, Roger, on the other hand, was shuffling and shifting constantly, seeing no way to make this feel less… like this. Like he’s currently facing something… almost… dangerous. Not like he hasn’t before.
And like those times, he was never ready.
Silence, still. It was never-ending, it seemed, as the two collected their thoughts, and a way to begin the conversation.
.
.
.
” What has been going on. “ The Lady finally took initiative, considering the notion that the Janitor was not, and started the conversation. Roger perked up, blinking. Oh.
” ..uh.. well.. um.. “ He considered leaving the whole shadow invader thing out of the conversation entirely. It would make things easier, right?
But, at the same time..-
It’s a terrible idea. Lying doesn’t do anyone any good.
“ ..not..much..? “ ..that works..??
The Lady simply hummed.
Behind the mask, however, she frowned, as she was not pleased. She could tell the man was lying. It was in his tone, he was questioning his own wording.
” ..Roger. “
“ ..yes..? “
“ …You know very well, that something has been arising. It has been throwing your duties off track, as well as the Chef’s’. “ She leaned forward, looming over him, even in a sitting position.
" ..H-- "
" You know how, Janitor. "
Roger shrunk, shifting in the chair for the 30th time. His arms hung off the sides, given their length. His hands tensed. Squinting at the ground for a minute.
” We cannot be losing order here in the Maw, for it is the only place in this god forsaken world that makes sense anymore. So whatever the trouble may be rising, I suggest you say it now. It is best that you put an end to the- problem.. as soon as…… “
She stopped. Is he just- spacing out right now? Is this not important to him? After all she’s given him, this doesn’t concern him at ALL?
Indeed, he was lightly rocking back and forth, staring at the ground, not exactly obtaining anything the Lady was saying to him.
..Slowly, shadows began to whirl around the Governess, as she sat straight up, her posture tense. “ Roger. “
That got his attention. Eyeing back up at—
her. And the shadows. Oh. Oh no.
“ Pay attention. Does this not mean anything to you? Whatever is going on, I insist you explain NOW. That, is an ORDER. “ The shadows grew with intensity, swirling around her, menacingly. She looked… much more threatening like this. If she hadn’t been already, that is.
He flinched, expecting a sort of- physical contact to occur if he didn’t start talking. After all, he was simply a little, slightly shaking leaf, within the breeze of the one in control of this vessel. “ ..Y-Yes, Miss.. “ He nodded, with haste, so he could just get to the point.
“ ..There’s this.. I- I don’t really know what it is. It was like- like a shadow? A big, humanoid shadow. “ That was the simplest way to explain. She maintained her exterior, staring down at him through her mask.
" ..Shadow. " Her body just barely relaxed. " ..Do they have a name. "
" That's the thing. They don't-- we don't know their name. They keep it a secret. I don't- know why. "
" ...Hmm. " She leaned back into her chair. " This is.. unfortunate. Distracting. "
" ..Mhm. " Roger slowly reached up to adjust his hat a little bit. " Is- there anything you-- or- we, could do? " Asking, slowly beginning to relax himself. The Lady hummed.
" ..I will- see what I can do. " She nodded, the shadows ceasing from the air. " But for now, you and the Chef's can attempt to stall the... thing. "
Oh thank god. " Oh- that's-.. al-alright, uhh.. alright. "
. . .
Silence. Again. This is so awkward, good lord.
The Lady stood up, slowly. " I think we are done here. You may exit. "
" -Oh-- uh.. wh-what about the chairs? " Roger blinked.
" I will tidy that up on my own time. What I need you to do, is go. Do I make myself clear..? "
" ..yes, my Lady. "
She then vanished. He.. always wondered how she did that. How she attained that- shadow magic of hers. It's strange. To him, at least. But, without another word, he made his way to the exit of the Residence.
...
Okay. Okay. This is fine. Everything is fine. You aren't dead. Everything, is okay.
Roger took in a deep breath. Yep!! Everything is cool. Everything... is cool.
He needs something to drink. He just casually shuffles his way to the Kitchen.
.
.
.
" So! The talk went well? That's good, isn't it? " Thomas spoke up, trying to sound supportive- for one reason or another- while serving the Janitor a glass of water. He handed the glass cup to the short man. " So, what did she say? "
" Well.. uhh.. " Roger took the cup, and took a quick sip. " ..Mm- she said she'd see what she could do. But I don't know exactly what she will do, or when she'll do it. "
" Pehh. She might brush us off. Like always. " Marcus huffed, pouring himself a glass of wine. Though, he did glance to Roger for a moment. " Want some? "
" Nah. I'm not feeling it. "
" Oh, c'mon! Everyone needs a bit of wine every so often. 'Sides, you're looking terrible. You could use it. " Marcus commented. He's not wrong. Roger looks.. tired. And just unfresh. The Janitor deadpanned him for a moment.
" ...Really. "
" Seriously! I'm serious! I'm right, aren't I, bro?? Tell me he doesn't look terrible. "
" W-Well, I mean- " Thomas honestly didn't know how to respond. " ..I- uhhh.. "
" Exactly! "
" Alright, alright, calm down. No need to--- to keep--- wineing about it. "
.
.
.
" That was so bad, Roger, you know that- "
The Janitor just broke into a cackle. To him, that was- the funniest thing. Why? His sense of humor is broken, most likely. Thomas tried to find it at least somewhat funny. It wasn’t really there though. But Roger seemed happy with it.
“ C-Come on, it was funny- “ The Janitor held his hand straight up, pointing it towards Marcus.
“ No, it wasn’t, Roger. That was horrible. “ Marcus cringed, which only seemed to make it better for Roger, who was still laughing, smiling from ear-to-ear.
“ Kehehehe..heheh.. okay, okay. Now, uh.. I think I should- get going. “ He tilts his head towards the exit of the Kitchen, and back into the lower parts of the Maw. He eyed the cup of water he was still holding. He- kinda spilled some on the ground from the laughing. Oops. “ ..Sorry. “
” Oh- it’s okay. “ Thomas pats his shoulder gently. “ …Can I ask you something? “
” Huh? Sure, shoot. “
” Umm.. how many fingers am I holding up? “ The Chef proceeds to hold up four of his fingers. Roger simply blinked.
” ..Four. Why— “ oh wait.
“ -Y— You can tell?? You didn’t even have t— you can see now?? “ He looked confused, and surprised at the same time. Ohgeezohmanohokay—
“ ..I- I guess?- “
“ Wait- what? I thought you were just- “ Marcus squinted. “ ..Why didn’t you say you could- “
“ oH MAN- WOULD YOU LOOK AT THE TIME?? I REALLY GOTTA GO, I’M- “ He coughs in between the words. “ I gotta- I GOTTA- Go— do my job!! Really would like to talk some more, I REALLY would, but I shouldn’t be holding up my work, sowiththatbeingsaid, I’mgonnaleave- goodbye- bye- seeya- bye- “ Roger then ushers himself out and away from the Chefs.
He just left them in silence. A short period of silence.
” … “
” … “
“ Roger can see..? “
” Yeah, it’s weird, right?? “
” ..If- he can see, why do his eyes look so.. “
” Oh- I think that’s because.. uhh.. here, I’ll just explain it to you. “
Oh my god.
Why? Why did you do that? You’re so brain-dead. A moron. An idiot.
Why can’t you just talk to people correctly?
Roger groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. Once he opened them back up, his arm fell to his side, and he just- begun to shuffle forward. He needs to check on those kids. Make sure none of them went up and tried escaping while he was gone. For the while, he just thinks to himself.
The Lady. She’s very.. beautiful. But- at the same time, she’s kind of scary. And mysterious. Sort of in a sense, of- why does she wear the mask? Was it just an outfit choice, or is she hiding.. something? Where did she get that shadow thing from? It’s- sort of- confusing.
He squints. What’s gonna be done about the- the shadow person? Maybe she’ll take care of it privately? Probably, probably not.
Y’know what? Okay- stop thinking. Just keep going. Keep descending. Go check on the kids.
What’s their name? Why can’t they say? Is it- a sort of.. a sort of-
N-No. Stop. The last thing you need to focus on right now, is that- guy. Gal? Wait-
Stop. Just stop.
Roger rubs at his eyes. Tired. Need sleep. But you can’t. You gotta work first.
..you feel dirty. When was the last time you took a shower..? Washed your clothes…? Oh my god-
No- work first. Self-care second. Why is this so hard to understand right now, just do your stupid job.
He grips his head with one hand, and his face with his other, still walking, lowly groaning, and slightly humming, just trying to distract himself. Maybe-
NO. You’ve- you’ve been inconsistent enough, go do your job. The Governess didn’t let you stay here for nothing.
The hand holding his face, moves up to his hat. At least he’s not blocking his own view. You seriously need to chill. Nothing should make you do this. Focus. Focus.
..He blinks, staring at the ground, at his shoes. It’s.. kinda.. kinda blurry. He glances up ahead. Yeah.. yeah, it’s.. kinda blurry. Nothing looks right. It’s all.. it’s all.. really hard to see, right now, wait-
His arms fall to his side, his head tilts to the side, confused, rather lost, he doesn’t- understand what’s happening. He’s still walking. Does- does he even know where he’s going?? No, no, you don’t, cut it out and FOCUS. Why is that SO HARD?? You aren’t that tired, just-
He stops, scratching at his eye sockets, emitting garbled, agitated noises from his throat. Stop, stop, stop. Deep breath. In and out. In and out. You’re fine. You’re just.. tricking yourself..! Yeah.. you’re fine. You’re okay.
His vision isn’t blurry much anymore, but.. he can’t.. recognize where he is. Wait.. what?? He takes a step forward—
and he falls.
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sondepoch · 4 years
Text
Part 2/2
Have Strength, My Lady (Barbatos x Reader)
Where there is the jewel of the heavens, there is the pearl of the abyss—a title that you have the misfortune of bearing. It’s only natural that Lord Diavolo wants to add you to his collection of treasures, you’re not surprised to find yourself engaged, despite feeling entirely unprepared for it. Thus far, you’ve done a good job of hiding your fear with a smile, of hiding your emotions away so that no one but you knows how you feel. But on the way to the palace, a certain demon butler sees through your facade. And when his involvement in your life increases, you can’t help that you’re falling in love with the wrong man.
Part 1 | Part 2 | ✔
MASTERLIST
The noblemen of your kingdom, though good at heart, are rather bold when it comes to you. You're not sure if it's because they're enraptured by your beauty or because they truly have no sense of self, but you've yet to find a single person who hasn't gazed upon your face in shock and then glanced down at the rest of your body, eyes hovering far too long over your chest.
"Ignore them," Barbatos had whispered when dressing you this morning, all too aware of how affected you were the last time you accompanied Diavolo at one of his parties. "Try to count all the men who have crooked pocket squares, and try not to think about anything else."
The butler's advice has worked well on you, thus far.
Every time a man begins ogling your body, you take it as an invitation to ogle his, namely the small square handkerchiefs that surprisingly few men in the Devildom wear correctly.
"Ah, Lord Diavolo!" A new nobleman exclaims, approaching the two of you. "It is a pleasure to see you, my prince. And you, my lady," You smile at the man, not missing the way his eyes skirt over your body. "The pearl of the abyss will be the most beautiful queen to have ever ruled."
You thank the man graciously, allowing Diavolo to take over the conversation as your eyes search the room for Barbatos. The moment you find him, it seems that his attention is on you, and the two of you share a secretive smile. Crooked pocket square, your grin tells him, almost laughing.
Twenty-two, he mouths back to you, adding one more to the count you two have been keeping up all night.
Indeed, Barbatos is the only reason why you've been able to last these past three hours with Diavolo. Perhaps he's the reason you've been able to last these past three weeks, as well.
It's almost amusing, thinking about everything that has brought you to this point.
The first of your interactions with the demon were uncomfortable, and quite awkward when you look back upon the way you had stumbled into his arms after your legs grew numb on the throne, and then the time you had fallen down the stairs while practicing how to walk in the current queen's heels, effectively forcing Barbatos to halt his lessons for the day and massage your aching body, and the time you'd fallen asleep while he dressed you, body leaning further and further backward until you woke up to his sputters of shock as he held you in his arms, corset still half-untied.
You sigh, each of the memories bringing a fresh shade of pink to your ears.
Indeed, the beginning of your friendship with Barbatos was quite rocky.
But after the first week passed, you found yourself growing used to the ways of the palace, and by the second week, the breakfasts with Diavolo weren't even awkward anymore. Why, just this morning, you succeeded in casting away the remainder of your fear over this marriage into the depths of your stomach, (hopefully) never to resurface again!
Diavolo halts in the middle of whatever conversation he's in, turning to smile at you. This time, you don't even hesitate to smile back, ignoring the tension in your gut as he squeezes your waist in what's supposed to be a comforting gesture.
It almost feels like you're ready to be queen.
Almost.
"My lord, might I humbly request this dance for my daughter?" You turn your gaze to the man standing in front of you, someone you recognize from Barbatos's teachings to be the earl of the seventh circle of hell. Next to him is a demongirl, a shy maiden younger than even you, by the looks of it.
A soft smile pulls at your lips when you see the way she looks at Diavolo—doubtlessly captivated by his natural princely charm. You give him a light nod, stepping back as he leads the girl to the ballroom dance floor. After all, it's natural for the prince to dance with his guests.
"I'll be back, my love," He calls over his shoulder, a wide grin spread over his lips before his figure is swallowed by the rest of the demons around you, leaving you to stand and politely wet your lips with a flute of Demonus.
Avoid eye contact, you remember Barbatos telling you, in case you ever found yourself unaccompanied at one of Diavolo's parties. Do not give any man the chance to get close to you.
To your surprise, though, it's a woman who draws your attention, waving her arm as she approaches.
"My lady!" She exclaims once she's directly in front of you. "You are so enchanting, my lady. I have waited for a moment this entire night to speak with you and tell you of your beauty—you must be more stunning than even Asmodeus himself!"
You force a smile at her words, ignoring the slight to Asmo. You've attended more than one student council meeting at Diavolo's side by now, and if you disliked people comparing you to the demon before, you hate it even more now that you know how sweet (albeit horny) the demon actually is.
"Your words are kind, Marchioness." You curtsy lightly, hiding your pride at the fact that you actually recognize her.
"You know me, my lady?" Her eyes beam bright with delight. "It is an honor! I do hope that we can be friends over the centuries in your time at the high court, my lady. Lord Diavolo requests my husband's presence in the castle quite often."
"That would be my pleasure," You respond, laughing lightly. "The prince keeps no women in his palace; I would love to have some feminine company."
"Ah," The woman in front of you drawls, understanding dawning in her eyes. You sense her tone change. "Nothing can quite replicate a woman's touch, can it, now?"
"Quite so," You respond, somewhat hesitantly. You don't recognize the strange light in this woman's eye, and you're not sure you like it. Her tone is no longer admiring as she speaks, and you don't know if it's because her earlier optimism has faded or if she truly has grown that comfortable around you in this short exchange.
"How long have you known the lord, my lady?" She asks innocently, eyes turning down to her own glass of Demonus before they flit back up. "All the newspapers say something different, after all."
You swallow, suddenly excruciatingly aware of how the demoness's eyes bore into you. Her calculating stare reminds you of Barbatos, but unlike the olive-haired man, she doesn't look like she plans to reward you with a smile and compliment after this.
"Diavolo has been in contact with my family for many thousands of years," You say smoothly, ignoring the fact that he's technically 'been in contact' with every noble family in the Devildom since birth.
"Ah, but how long have you known him personally?" The woman asks, and only now do you realize that she has you caught in her trap—keeping you locked in conversation with no ready exit, a direct question rolling off her tongue.
You have no choice but to respond.
"We met when he summoned me for the engagement, Marchioness." Your words are brief, eyes still skirting the crowds for the familiar eyes of Diavolo or Barbatos or even Lucifer, since you know he's attending.
"Ah," She responds, a sardonic smile playing on her lips.
She already knew, you realize from the prideful look in her eyes. She simply wanted me to say it aloud. But why?
"So Lord Diavolo selected you, not on the basis of any true attachment, but for your appearance, is that it?" She asks, except that this time you don't have any answer for her. At your silence, she continues: "How pitiful. It is an insult to be ruled by a queen who has no merits other than her looks. The size of your breasts may be considered ideal—"
"Marchioness!" You interrupt, appalled that she went there.
"—And your body proportions may align with what the commonfolk deem 'beautiful,' but there is nothing else to you, woman. While the prince looks at you with adoration now, as soon as you have grown old with him, there will be nothing left for him or the realm to appreciate from you. Your very queenship is a curse," She spits, "And you will bleed this realm dry for it."
You stare at her in shock, her words echoing in your head long after she's stopped speaking. Only five seconds pass, but it feels like an eternity before the triumphant smile on her lips fades as she opens her lips with the promise of another assault of insults, but it's not her voice you hear.
"Enough," Someone calls from behind you, walking to your side. "Marchioness, you are dismissed. My lady is needed elsewhere."
The woman's eyes widen in surprise when she sees someone interfere—evidently having assured that neither Diavolo nor Lucifer were anywhere nearby when she approached you—but her scowl is replaced by a forced smile as she curtsies and leaves.
"My lady," You hear the familiar voice whisper. "Are you alright?"
"Yes, Barbatos." You turn to the man, trying to hide how the Marchioness's words are still affecting you. You give him a fake smile, though you don't even have the energy to let it reach your eyes. "I'm fine."
He clicks his tongue once, telling you to follow him as he leads you out of the door. You maintain an appropriate distance and keep the smile on your face like a mask, acutely aware of how everyone you pass stares at your retreating form until you're out of the party hall entirely.
"My lady," He repeats once you're both in private, turning to you. "You look like you've just seen a ghost."
You let out a broken laugh at that, staring at the ground to avoid the pitiful look in Barbatos's eyes. Never, in all Diavolo's parties and gatherings and meetings, has anyone spoken to you so cruelly.
"My lady…" He repeats, hesitating before he steps closer and loosely places his hands on your shoulders, trying to get you to look him in the eye. No one should be leaving the party hall, but he keeps his head up in case anyone approaches. It's barely any contact at all, but for a future queen and her butler, it's still too much. "You are shaking."
He's right, you realize. It's not just your lip that's quivering, but your fingers as well, your entire body rattled to the core by the Marchioness's words. You open your mouth to say something, probably another broken reiteration that you're fine, but all that comes out is a distressed whine, and all you can do is give in to the temptation to clutch Barbatos's suit and pull him closer.
The demon sighs, throwing the last of his thoughts over propriety to the wind as he wraps you in a tight embrace, staying silent as he strokes your hair.
"She—she told me—" You try to sputter out a garbled explanation, but you're stopped.
"Shh," He whispers, resting his chin atop your head. "Do not speak, my lady."
You heed his words, silently holding onto him as the bubble of anxiety begins to sink until it's gone altogether, and you can focus on the feeling of Barbatos's arms around your body.
It's not the first time the two of you have hugged. Rather, Barbatos has found that it's the best way to calm you down whenever something happens to work you into such a disturbed state. But still, never before has something affected you this much.
"It is my fault," He says after a long while, when your shoulders aren't shaking and you're quiet once more. "It is dangerous for appearances to be caught alone with a man, but it is dangerous for your heart to be caught alone with a woman. The Marchioness is not known for her kindness, my lady. I should have warned you."
The demon doesn't say anything further, wordlessly leading you by the hand back to your room. "I cannot stay," He informs you when he sets you on your bed, fingers still rubbing comforting circles into your shoulders. "I must inform Diavolo that you've retired for the night. But perhaps afterward—"
"It's fine, Barbatos," You interrupt, sighing tiredly as you look away. "Go. He will be wondering where I am."
With that, the butler nods, leaving you still dressed as you debate trying to fall asleep now or later. It's no use, you realize when you try to rest your head on your pillow. The Marchioness's words feel like they've been branded on your heart with a hot iron that's still pressing down: You will bleed this realm dry.
If you sleep now, your dreams will be filled with her lips, her voice, her words.
You stand up, opening the door to the balcony and standing outside as the moonlight shines down on you. In the distance, you can see people still entering and leaving the castle, but for once, no one takes any notice of you.
You will bleed this realm dry.
You swallow thickly, remembering the unbridled spite with which the Marchioness had spoken. You've never met the woman in your life, so surely she cannot have a personal grudge against you. Does that make her words true, then? Will you truly bleed the Devildom dry?
You feel your lips begin to tremble once more at the thought.
There was some degree of truth to her words. You are young, not even old enough to have applied for schooling at the RAD. Your education has explicitly applied to the feminine arts, focused on bringing out the full scope of your charm rather than traditional knowledge, and there must be hundreds of thousands of little girls who are better than you at math, science, all those subjects which you've never been taught.
Doesn't that make them better suited to be queen?
You bite your lip. All this time, you've been focused on everything that you're sacrificing in favor of the realm: a normal life, the chance for a traditional education, the opportunity to be free, even the right to love someone of your choosing.
But is it a greater sacrifice for the realm, if it takes you as its queen?
You feel the first tear roll down your cheeks, a catalyst for the rest that can't seem to stop coming.
All you want to do, all you've wanted to do is make sure that the people around you are happy. But what if you fail them as a queen? What if, because of your inadequate education, you really do bleed the realm dry? What if you end up being the cause of unhappiness in your people? What if you fail?
You clutch the balustrade for support, unable to hold back the rest of your chokes and cries as all your fears come rushing to the forefront of your mind, including the one thing you've tried your hardest not to think about.
You sink to your knees, your sobs outnumbering your short breaths, and it feels like you're struggling even to breathe as your hand clutches the space where your heart lurks, not understanding why it hurts so, just that it does.
A knock at your door doesn't halt your cries, nor the familiar call: "My lady?"
"D-don't come in!" You call, placing a hand up as if that'll halt the man; but when he hears the desperate state of your voice, Barbatos wastes no time in rushing inside, eyes darting around the room before they land on your figure on the terrace, crumbled on the ground.
"My lady!"
He rushes to your side, propriety be damned, and sinks to his knees in front of you, eyes looking frantic as he checks your body for any injuries before wrapping you in the tightest hug you've ever felt. "Do not cry," He whispers into your ear, stroking your hair. "Do not cry," He repeats, the words falling like a mantra as he coos your hysterical state into calmness once more.
It's the first time you've seen the man so frantic. Usually, his true expression is hidden behind a mask of apathy and smirks, even in all the previous times he's hugged you; but seeing you broken down on the ground, tears flowing down your cheeks faster than you can count them, has clearly shattered the facade he wears.
"I-it's fine, Barbatos." You press a hand to his chest, giving him a shaky smile. "See? All good."
But the butler pays your words no heed, pressing his forehead against yours as he cups your cheek with a tenderness that you've never seen.
"What did she say?" He asks after a moment, his usual composure returning once he's wiped your tearstained cheeks. "What did the Marchioness say, to make you cry like this?"
"Nothing…" You begin, sensing the way his body tenses at the word. "Nothing that was not true."
"My lady," He retorts, unamused eyes boring into yours.
"Please," You whisper, fingers still clutching Barbatos's shoulders. "Please don't ask me about it. Just...just stay like this with me."
The demon sighs, a sound you take as agreement, and you let out a light laugh as he allows you to wrap yourself him, pulling him in for another hug. Resting your cheek against his chest, his arms cover your eyes as they reach around your body to hold you, and you can't help but feel like you wouldn't mind staying like this for the rest of the night.
You close your eyes, savoring the moment.
"My lady, you are falling asleep." Barbatos raises an eyebrow down at you when you give him a noncommitted hum in response. "Come, you should change for the night."
When you don't budge from his arms, the demon decides to lift you, ignoring your protests as he carries you back inside the room. You don't make his task any easier, leaning against him with a giggle when he finally sets you on your feet, but he eventually manages to unlace your corset and remove your dress, lifting you out of your shoes when you refuse to do so yourself.
You smile as he finishes up his work, leaning into his touch freely as he holds you upright, and with a strange sense of clarity, you realize that you're truly happy, right now.
You were crying your heart out just minutes ago, but with Barbatos by your side, your heart feels lighter.
You dwell on the thought, breath hitching when you realize its implications as Barbatos puts the last of your clothes away.
Here is the part where he normally leaves, where he bows his head and flashes you his usual cryptic smile before exiting the room and leaving you to change into your nightclothes. But today, he stays by your side, pulling out the silken garments for you and wordlessly helping you into them. He stays silent as he finishes the rest of your nighttime routine for you, setting you on a chair so he can brush your hair, fetching a warm cloth to gently wipe your face, and you suspect he's about to tuck you into bed when you halt him, raising a hand.
You should not do this, you know. You should let him leave, ignore the thought that crossed your mind, and forget about the strange notion that you find happiness with Barbatos.
But you do not.
"Barbatos," You whisper. "I do not wish to sleep yet."
"Is that your way of asking me to stay or to leave, my lady?" He asks his question with his usual mysterious smile, but you can sense the undertones of concern in his eyes.
"Come to the balcony with me," You say, and Barbatos even helps you do that, holding your hand as he leads you to your desired location. He moves to let go, but when the two of you reach the railing, you make a point of holding on.
The wind has picked up now, and it blows your hair all around you, letting the (h/c) locks dance freely between you and Barbatos.
"She said that I was unfit to be the queen of the Devildom," You finally tell him, voice calm as you speak. "That my only proper asset was my beauty, and that when it would fade, so would the last of my ability to serve the realm. She said that I would bleed the realm dry."
"Preposterous," Barbatos responds swiftly, eyes gazing over the moonlit portion of the RAD campus that your terrace oversees. "Her words were spoken from a place of jealousy. There are hundreds of women like her, and they will all say equally foolish things, but you will silence them when you show them how well you can rule. You will make the realm happy, my lady, I promise you."
You stay quiet, savoring the cool midnight wind that rushes between you and Barbatos.
"My lady?" He asks after another long moment. "Was that what you've been fearing, all this time? That you would fail the realm as queen?"
Again, you stay silent.
"If that is truly the case, then I urge you to have faith in yourself and, if not, then in my teaching. I dare say that you're already prepared to rule the Devildom; you are a quick learner, and you've understood everything I have taught. The realm will thrive under you, and happiness will be as plentiful as you wish it to be."
"I do not fear that I will fail to make the realm happy." You pause for a moment, before lifting your hand to a small, flashing light in the distance that echoes softly in your ears. "Look, the people of the Devildom are still lighting fireworks in honor of our engagement." You smile, watching the red and black lights flicker: red, for Diavolo; black, for the pearl of the abyss.
"My father made them happy when he said yes on my behalf, and I made them happy when I, too, agreed to it. They're not just pleased to see their prince getting married, they're genuinely proud that it's me he's marrying: the most beautiful woman in the world. For the commonfolk, they know not what it is that makes a queen great, so that is all they look for: beauty. Something that I have been blessed with in ample portion." You pause, gaze turning to the ground. "My people will be happy; that I am certain of."
"Then what is it you fear?" Barbatos asks, turning to you.
You still aren't sure that you should say this out loud. It's as if saying the words will make them true, and this is your deepest fear. If it becomes reality, you don't know how you'll survive.
But for Barbatos, you confess.
"That I will be the one who is unhappy."
For the first time this night, the breeze seems to settle, unwilling to carry the words away as they reach Barbatos's ears, the demon turning to you with incredulous eyes.
"My lady, you…" He shakes his head softly, a sad smile coming to his lips as he brushes the last of your tears away. "It is happiness you seek?"
You nod your head meekly, staring at the ground. You don't want to see his eyes, to see what must be his disapproving stare as he shakes his head at your foolish desire. But the heart wants what it wants, does it not? You never asked to be the pearl of the abyss, to be so exquisitely beautiful that Diavolo had no choice but to ask for your hand in marriage, to be forced into this loveless life of royalty and thrones.
"I just wanted to fall in love," You choke out, loosening the grip on Barbatos's hand.
"You have not?" The demon asks, his voice surprisingly gentle as he pulls your face up to him.
"When would I have the opportunity?" You question rhetorically, thinking back to your family. Never be alone with a boy, they had stipulated. Never give your heart to a boy. "My family needed me to remain pure for the demon who would eventually ask for my hand in marriage. Even they never suspected that Lord Diavolo himself would desire me, so I have never…"
"My lady," Barbatos mumbles, though the way he says it makes you feel as if he's nervous himself. His eyes dart away before they return to yours.
"If you so desire, I might…"
You pull back, looking up at Barbatos. "You might?"
He traces your face, from cheekbone to jaw, and you only now realize that he's taken his gloves off. His jaw tenses. "I might show you the happiness you yearn for."
You hesitate, eyes widening briefly. "Barbatos, did you hear me? I said that it was love I wished for."
"I heard you, my lady."
"To be loved, Barbatos. From the heart."
"I am aware, my lady."
"And for my own heart to reciprocate—"
"My lady," Barbatos interrupts you, perhaps for the first time. "Are you truly such a fool that you have not already realized this yourself?"
Your ears redden at his words, remembering how he had called you a fool once before, at your very first interaction. The demon brings his hands to your cheeks, forcing you to look him in the eye.
"My heart is yours, my lady. For the past three weeks, for tonight, and for all nights to come." Barbatos pauses, and you see the faintest tint of pink rise to his cheeks. "I had thought it best to not tell you, but if that is truly what you seek…" He glances at the ground, an uncharacteristic display of weakness. "Then perhaps you would accept this butler's attempt at giving you the happiness you so desire?"
You pause, a soft smile falling upon your lips for the first time since coming out on this terrace.
"And you call me a fool," You mutter softly, cupping Barbatos's cheeks freely. You meet his eyes, cautious and almost concerned after laying his heart bare so openly. "Are you so blind that you have not realized that my heart already belongs to you as well?"
The demon cracks a smile, one that is neither cryptic nor mischievous nor cunning but is entirely relieved as he presses his forehead against yours and lets it rest there, a gesture that is in equal parts loving as it is gentle. "Do not say that, my lady. It is dangerous to tell a man such lies."
What lies? You mean to ask, but then the demon has tilted your chin up at him and he is kissing you, the wind speeding up as it continues on in the moonlight, giving you and Barbatos the privacy you need to indulge in what your hearts have been desiring for so long.
It's the first kiss of your lifetime, the first time you've ever felt another man's lips against your own. You're not sure if Barbatos can tell, but if he does, he simply makes up for it with his own experience, lips molding against yours in perfect synchronization.
"My lady," The demon whispers. "I will not do anything you do not wish for."
"Then I wish for you, Barbatos." He pulls away for a moment, eyes questioning. You slip your hands in his, intertwining the fingers with a squeeze and a smile. "All of you."
"I am already yours," He murmurs, lifting you in his arms as he steps inside your room and locks the balcony doors behind him. But your meaning is not lost on him, and when he sets you on the bed, he does not leave your side.
The rest of the night is spent in teaching, in breathless moans of "Barbatos" and "My lady." Your lover, ever the kind instructor, never lets go of your hand as he shows you the ways of pleasure, leaving you breathless each time he kisses you, each time he touches you, each time he slips inside you.
It's happiness.
You'd seen glimpses of it earlier, snatches in all the awkward moments with Barbatos and the little jokes you grew to share, but when he exposes his entire body to you, there's no denying that the blissful warmth that spreads through your body is caused by more than just the waves of pleasure he shows you. It's true joy, being able to finally give your heart what it has desired for so long, and the smile remains on your face even as you fall asleep.
Happiness, you think.
You've never felt it so strongly.
***
The rest of the days seem to pass by far too quickly. Reality is stingy with its gifts—at last, you're free to hug and hold and kiss Barbatos, both of you taking every second of silence to indulge yourselves in each other—but with the wedding drawing nearer, Diavolo insists upon sitting in on your training and watching.
Perhaps it's a good thing?
You certainly wouldn't be thinking about your lessons otherwise.
With your future husband watching carefully, it feels like your brain has been given the extra boost it's needed to fully live up to all of Barbatos's expectations: every scenario he presents, every question he asks, every new element he introduces is met with a swift answer that encompasses everything he is searching for. At last, you've reached a point where you're able to comfortably sit on your throne for hours on end, ready to fulfill all the duties expected of a queen with precision and confidence to boot.
But Diavolo insists on continuing to watch. Continuing to stay. Continuing to impede your ability to throw your arms around Barbatos and forget everything except the feeling of his arms wrapped around your body, guiding you through the steps of this newfound love.
The demon lord has even begun to eat all your meals with you, trying to grow closer to your heart in an attempt to soothe the transition you'll face once the marriage is complete.
But you don't want Diavolo.
"Barbatos," He calls on the ninth morning, the last day before your wedding. The three of you are in your room, Diavolo having spent the night there. The demon lord had not touched you, maintaining his distance as he sat on the far side of your bed, and the two of you had merely spoken like friends. But you could detect the same traces of affection that you saw from Barbatos in the demon's own fiery eyes, intensifying as the night grew longer until they'd turned bright with the morning sunlight.
The prince has begun to fall in love.
But you have not.
And now, as he watches his butler lace up your corset, the deep orange is darkened with jealousy, noting the ease with which you relax as Barbatos's gloved fingers work deftly over your body. It was only one night you spent with him, the two of you never given the chance to exchange anything other than brief kisses the rest of the time, but he remembers every crevice, every curve. The butler's hands pull the fabric over your skin in a way that can only be described as perfect, digits brushing over your body in ways that still make you shiver.
"Yes, Lord Diavolo?" He questions, continuing to lace your corset while turning his attention onto the prince. The demon doesn't need to see to work; he already knows your body like it's his own.
"I think we should hire someone else to do this task." Diavolo gestures at your dress, yet to be pulled onto your body. "It will no longer be appropriate for a man to dress my love once she has become my wife, wouldn't you agree? Perhaps a maiden in your stead, to see to her desires and do the rest of your current duties?"
There's a moment of hesitation, a brief second where Barbatos's fingers fumble over the knot he's tying, and you see his lips purse.
Separation.
A maiden to dress you, a maiden to see to your desires, a maiden to do everything that Barbatos currently does for you.
A maiden to replace him.
"Of course. I will look into it," Barbatos responds swiftly, resuming his actions as efficiently as he began them. "Are there any other criteria you would like for my lady's handmaid?"
"Oh, not at all. You can select the demoness yourself, if you will. Just ensure that she can begin work the day after the wedding."
You sigh in relief at Diavolo's words, thankful that, if anything, he's giving you the rest of today with Barbatos. And tomorrow, if the date of your wedding counts.
At least you will have this one mercy.
"Very well," Barbatos responds. "It shall be done."
In the end, you're not sure when he finishes this task. It feels like you're by both Barbatos and Diavolo's side the entire day as you wrap up the last of your lessons, the final instructions for your training.
Still, Barbatos must have found the time somewhere, because Diavolo only leaves your side at night, when the butler is helping you out of your gown and informing you of the details about your new handmaid: a brown-haired youth of fourteen-hundred, innocent and pretty.
But you don't care about the girl, about Ho-Syun or Ha-Soun or whatever her name is.
The moment Diavolo closes the door behind you, you're throwing your arms around Barbatos, pulling him in for a deep kiss.
"My lady," He mumbles when you pull apart. "That was…"
"Hush," You murmur, pressing your lips against his once more, gently this time. You shudder as his fingers ghost over your waist, the skin exposed and flushed after being stuck in a corset all day. "I missed you."
"I've been by your side nearly every second of every day," He quips, smiling into your lips as he rubs your sides, gloveless fingers tracing invisible circles into the skin.
"So has Diavolo."
The demon chuckles, leaning back for a moment in favor of bringing a hand to your cheek. He rests his forehead against yours, closing his eyes and simply savoring the closeness. "You understand that this is how it will be from now on, my lady? Your things will be moved into his room, and when you are not alone, you will be with either him or your new handmaid." Barbatos pulls back, his eyes distant. "This cannot...we cannot…"
"I know," You murmur, knowing all too well what the butler is trying to say.
This cannot last.
"But my heart will always be yours, Barbatos." You offer him a smile, looking up and hoping to see soft eyes gazing back down at you, but the demon stiffens at your words.
"Do not say that, my lady."
He takes a step back, posture reserved and, again, distant as he avoids your eyes. You recall, vaguely, that he had said the exact same thing before, on the first night you offered your heart to him.
"What is wrong, Barbatos?" You take a step forward, trying to get him to look you in the eyes. "It is true. My heart is yours, and I...I…" You pause, fumbling with the words. You know them in your heart, and the feelings have only solidified over these past days. But what if he doesn't feel the same way? "I love you."
"Do not say that," The demon repeats, practically hissing the words as he clenches his fist. "It is not true."
"What?" You ask, shocked that he would say such a thing. "Are you denying my feelings now, after everything?"
"I am not denying your feelings, my lady. I wish they were true. But they are not, they cannot be true." He turns his body away from you, still avoiding your eyes. "Your heart can never belong to me."
"You're wrong, Barbatos." You firmly step forward, placing your hands on his chest so that he can't ignore you. "I know how I feel about you, and I—"
"You misunderstand, my lady." The demon's laughter is bitter, and for the first time, you see pain written in his green eyes. "You love me now, but for how long? How can you possibly give me your heart when your wedding is tomorrow morning? How can I even begin to ask for such a thing? If you choose to love me, you are cursed to a life of pain and sorrow, where you can never express how you feel. Should you give me your heart, the happiness you seek can never be found. Never!"
"But—"
"There is no 'but!'" Barbatos flinches when you try to cup his cheek, try to get him to see reason, to see the warmth and affection and love in your eyes. "I told you that I would give you happiness, my lady. There is no happiness for you if you give your heart to me. I shall not ask for it, nor will I accept it."
"Are you asking me to fall in love with Diavolo?" Your lip trembles, desperately hoping that Barbatos isn't saying that, hoping he isn't denying you the affection he once gave so readily.
"It is the only logical course of action, my lady."
Silence.
For a moment, you debate whether to slap Barbatos or to punch him for such cruel words—but in the end, you settle for shoving him away, loosening the grip he had on your shoulders and trying to ignore the tears streaming down your face as you shout at him.
"Wretched man! Curse you to hellfire!" You shout, now wishing that you did slap him, not even seeing the shocked look on his face as you ball up your fists, desperately wiping the tears that are pouring faster than you can stop them. "My parents were right! Men are awful, awful! Did it please you to bed me, knowing that you would just end it and tell me to move on to another man? To kiss and hold me, when you never cared?!"
"My lady," Barbatos murmurs, trying to grab your wrists so that he can approach you. "Please listen—"
"No!" You exclaim, pushing him away when he grows closer. "You're a horrible man—a horrible, cruel, awful man, and I hate that I ever believed any of your affection to be true!"
"My lady!" Barbatos shouts, his own voice drowning out yours as he grabs your wrists, forcing you to stare up into the green eyes that are now burning with anger. "Do you think that it pleases me to have to give you up to Diavolo? Do you think I enjoy watching the prince court you when I know you do not wish for it? Do you think that I like knowing that it is only inevitable that you fall in love with Diavolo, now that he has made it so that we can never even see each other in private?" Barbatos shudders, his face contorted with frustration at the sheer thought. "If you give your heart to me, you can only be miserable—but with Diavolo, you can at least grasp some of the happiness that you desire. I love you more than I love myself, my lady, so tell me: which am I to wish for you? A future where your heart is mine, and you are miserable? Or one where I have to see you with another man, but at least with some chance of happiness?"
The demon's grip around your wrist tightens, and you see Barbatos's face as the mask he wears doesn't just slip off, but breaks entirely, leaving nothing but a man in pain as he stares down at you, too broken to even cry. "Do you think I like it?" He repeats, voice barely a whisper. "That I enjoy calling you my lady when I only wish to call you my love?"
The demon presses his forehead against yours, fingers trembling; and where he was once holding your hands in place, now it's you holding him, squeezing the fingers and trying to get him to feel your love.
"Say it again," You whisper, quiet.
"What?"
"Call me your love," You murmur, eyes bashful as they gaze up at Barbatos.
"My love," He whispers unsteadily, the words sounding foreign off his lips. "My love," He repeats, with more confidence this time. And soon, those two words are filling the room, rolling off his tongue as he says them the way he's imagined all this time.
"I love you, my love." He whispers, lips ghosting against yours, his own cheeks stealing the moisture from your tears as he presses his body into yours, pulling you onto the bed. "I could say it for centuries. My love. My love. My love."
Barbatos is content with kissing you, with cherishing your body with his fingers and memorizing every inch of skin that he doesn't already have tattooed on his brain. His lips never leave your body for long, brushing over your lips and then your neck and then your shoulder, and then the clothes are gone entirely, and he has you lying on your back, all his attention focused on you.
"Wait," You mumble, pulling him up. He looks at you with eyes clouded not with lust but with love.
"Yes, my love?" He asks, a light smirk playing at his lips at the very phrase. They aren't the words of a butler but the words of a lover indeed, and you know it as well as Barbatos does.
"If I shall not give you myself for eternity, may I give you myself for this night?"
The butler's breath hitches at your words, catching your meaning despite the ambiguity with which you word them. At his nod, your cheeks flush, and you turn your bodies over with painful slowness such that you're on top of him, palms resting on his chest as you straddle his toned body.
"My love," He whispers, a hand raising to your cheek. The sound of a grandfather clock chiming twelve times does not go unheard by either of you, and his eyes furrow in concern. "The night will not last for long. Tomorrow dawns a day of supreme importance, and…" He sits up, his chest pressing against yours as your foreheads touch. "This will be the last time. Are you certain you do not want me to lead you?"
"No," You mumble, pushing his chest back down. "All this time, you have served me. Tonight," You flush, but you refuse to look away from his watchful gaze. "Tonight, I shall serve you."
His breath hitches.
You stay true to your word, body working slowly through everything despite your utter lack of experience. Barbatos is mesmerized, his eyes watching your every move as you devote yourself to his pleasure and lose yourself in the sensation, his hand clasping yours tightly the two of you come undone together.
By the time you're finished, you all but collapse on top of him, wrapping your arms around his neck and preparing to drift off when he flips you over, eyes impossibly alert as he drinks in the sight of your body now underneath him.
"I thought you said that would be the last?" You ask playfully, a smile on your lips.
"I was a fool to think I could resist you," He mumbles, and then the two of you are lost once more, no longer simply being intimate but truly making love as the night grows into morning, just as Barbatos foretold.
You clasp him by the shoulders, holding on tightly when he suggests that the two of you stop. "Don't," You whisper, ignoring the fact that sunlight has begun to unveil the cover of darkness in your room. "Don't stop, Barbatos."
"My love," He whispers, tilting your chin up at him. "The time has come. The ceremonies will begin in soon, you'll need to begin dressing at five in the morning, and..." The man swallows, a flash of disdain appearing in his eyes. "Diavolo will not give you any sleep when you go to his bed, either. It is for the best if you rest, so..."
He falters at your gaze, pleading and desperate.
"I do not want to waste even a second, if it is all I have left," You whisper.
The demon smiles, though it's a sad smile, the edges tilting upward as easily as they could tilt down. "Very well, my love. Not a second shall be wasted."
But even that is not enough.
Despite your silent pleas for time to slow down, it presses forward ardently, hell-bent on bringing you out of Barbatos's arms. You hold the man closer, burying your head in his shoulder, wrapping your arms around him as tight as you can, but nothing can stop the moment when the grandfather clock chimes five times.
You shudder at the sound, trying to hide in Barbatos's arms when it comes.
"My love," He murmurs, worried eyes brushing over your trembling form as you pull him closer and try to ignore it.
"I don't want to go," You whisper. "I don't want to leave you."
"You must, my love." Barbatos slides his hand into yours, pulling your body into a seating position. "Come, we have two hours before…" He trails off, knowing that it won't help you to be specific right now. "Two hours, my love. Let us shower."
You let the demon pull you to your bathtub, where he washes you himself. You savor the sensation of his fingers in your hair, working in shampoo and conditioner and as he cleans every inch of your skin, and you're not sure if he works so well because he's devoted to the task or because he's still trying to imprint the shape of your body into his mind so that he can remember it, even when you're separated.
He dries you with painful slowness, the thin towel between his hands just another vessel he uses to caress your figure, and his hands never leave yours for long—not when he dries your hair, not when he combs it, not when he leads you back into your room to change into your wedding dress.
"Slow," You mutter when he begins dressing you, frowning as he pulls out the thick fabric. Your eyes widen at the sight—how have you never realized, in all your time here, that the gown has been stored in your drawer the entire time?—but you decide that you'd much rather be naked, with Barbatos, than dressed, with Diavolo.
"Even with all my power, I cannot slow down time," Barbatos chuckles into your ear, trying to make a joke.
But you don't find the situation funny.
Your lip trembles every time you see your outfit, your figure beginning to look less and less like the girl who had kissed Barbatos and more like the woman that is going to be Diavolo's wife.
This was coming, you remind yourself. Barbatos and I never could last.
But was it so wrong to want it?
Your fists close as he finishes smoothing over your dress, finishes the final touches on your hair.
It is happening too quickly.
"My love, my…" Barbatos stiffens behind your back. "My lady," He murmurs.
"Stop," You say, eyes filling with tears. You never minded it when he called you that before, but you're not sure you can bear hearing him call you such a distant name right now.
But before Barbatos can even respond, someone is knocking at your door. You do not know who it is—it could be Lucifer, or one of the brothers, or the handmaid Barbatos was talking about, or one of the thousands of guests currently residing in the usually-empty castle in preparation for the wedding, but you cannot deny it any longer.
"The time has come." Barbatos whispers, eyes pulled to the door.
He motions to open it, to reveal your dressed figure to the public and eternally cast you into the arms of the public, but he thinks better of it, turning around.
"You have never looked as beautiful as in this moment, my love," He murmurs, voice muffled only by the speed with which he places his lips on yours, wrapping his hands around you in a pose that would make one think that it's him you're marrying.
And then he's pulled away, walking toward the door.
You're not sure whether he's walking out of your life, or if you're the one leaving him; but once the door opens, the message is clear.
There's no going back.
***
Barbatos goes about the rest of his day entirely normally. Hands folded behind his back, posture perfectly straight, enigmatic smile locked onto his face—one would hardly be able to tell that his heart is in agony, screaming with pain and rage and anger.
He nods at Diavolo's every comment about how stunning you look from a distance, since the noblewomen are keeping you busy with all the traditional ceremonies and matrimonial rites, and the butler even manages to laugh when his prince jokes to Lucifer about how lucky he is that the pearl of the abyss accepted his hand in marriage.
He doesn't comment that you thought you had no other choice, that you would turn around right now if you could, that you would do anything to be given the chance to marry someone else.
No, Barbatos keeps all that to himself. It's a skill, truly.
Not even Lucifer, keen as the demon is, recognizes anything unusual about the butler.
It's an hour before the ceremony that his mask slips off, and even then, it's only for a millisecond. The maiden who was calling his name scarcely notices, simply pulling Barbatos along into the room in which the noblewomen are supposed to be preparing you.
"Men are not supposed to enter—" He protests, trying to fight the woman's insistent tugs as she drags him inside the one location that Barbatos is forbidden to be.
"The bride is having cold feet! Someone must calm her, and she began crying when we said we would fetch Lucifer!" The girl exclaims, eyes urgent. Cold feet? Barbatos thinks, before understanding dawns on him. Ah, he realizes, remembering your fearful eyes. Barbatos should have spent more time preparing you to leave, he realizes.
You are not ready.
I apologize, my love.
It's his fault, he spent far too much time loving you last night when he should have been preparing you for the inevitable—his own selfish crime that you were now paying for.
He enters the tent, his eyes instantly falling upon your figure.
Did I ever tell her how beautiful she was? He wonders, approaching you where you sit, cheeks still stained with your earlier tears. They fill with water once more as your eyes meet, and a hush falls over the room after the noblewomen usher him your way, each one whispering that he must do something and quickly.
"My lady," He says, voice calm. He hates that—how he must keep his tone even, his hands behind his back, when all he wants to do is embrace you. "You have been crying."
He hates that he has to state the fact with such apathy, knowing that the gossip of noblewomen travels too far for him to risk anything that isn't perfectly within the bounds of a butler.
He hates everything about this situation, and yet he continues smiling, maintaining the mask.
But there are little things he can do, little gestures that you will understand that the rest of the women in the tent won't.
"I am afraid," You whisper. Your voice breaks in the middle, as if you want to say more but then you think better of it.
Barbatos sighs.
He kneels in front of you, fetching the handkerchief he keeps in his breast pocket. Wiping your tears with it the way he once wiped dirt off your face, he hopes you notice how he sets the square of green on the table, leaving it there with his heart so that you can use it again should you need it. I can give you this, at the very least.
"It is okay to be afraid," He says, standing up. The demon's eyes gloss over, and he imagines himself lifting his hand to your cheek, resting his forehead against yours, maybe even settling a kiss against your perfectly soft lips.
But he cannot.
There are too many people watching, too many mouths ready to gossip if he tries to touch you the wrong way, even if he holds himself back. So all he does is step back, bowing his head gently such that only you can see the love in his eyes.
"Have strength, my lady."
Your eyes widen, remembering the first time he said them.
My strength, he vows. I will give you all of it, if it may help you attain the happiness you so seek.
The noblewomen around him seem confused when he motions to leave, one of them muttering that he barely did anything.
But Barbatos knows you have shed the last of your tears for the night.
Those words gave you the power to stand tall in Diavolo's hall when you faced the prince for the first time. Now they will give you the power to face the demon lord once more, as you become wife to the man you used to fear.
Once more, he exits, a smile locked onto his face to hide the utter anguish within, not even batting an eyelid as he rattles off an excuse to Diavolo about why he is late.
I want to die, he can't help but think, as he stands on the altar, still smiling.
He never told you, but it will be him who oversees your union with Diavolo, bearing the rings and the honorary sigils all the other stupid trinkets Barbatos hates that the prince insisted on using for the sake of tradition.
He ignores Diavolo and Lucifer as they mindlessly engage in some conversation, neither demon as disturbed or affected by the wedding as Barbatos is.
Die, Barbatos thinks. I want to die.
But he dismisses the thought, knowing that it would make you sad. And when he knows that all you search for is happiness, how can he ever do anything that would wound you in such a way?
Barbatos has at least that mercy; he knows that the love of his life will be happy in the end. You would be a fool, not to be. Diavolo has only begun his vicious process of courting you, and the demon prince—soon to be demon king—has never failed at anything when he has put his mind to it. Your heart is young, and it is Barbatos's honor to have been your first suitor, but he knows Diavolo will be the last.
A cruelty to Barbatos, but a kindness to you.
It hurts him to know such a truth. But it is the only reason he has not switched realities, yet. Because in this end, you will find happiness. Even if it is not with him.
A collective gasp rises in the hall as your figure approaches, majestic in the wedding gown that Barbatos himself was given the task of selecting. You wear silk tempered from the willowy smokes of hellfire, your skin's natural radiance seeming to light the dress afire once more as you walk down the aisle.
She's stunning, Barbatos realizes, suddenly wishing that he had said it to you more often. He had not been given the privilege of fixing your makeup or selecting your accessories, that was a task assigned to the noblewomen attending. Still, they had done well, opting to dress you in black pearls instead of white, the spheres darker than even Barbatos's heart. He can't help but think how cruel it is that he's never seen you look so perfect before.
The most beautiful woman I have ever seen, he thinks, and then he wants to die all over again, to change this timeline and make it so that he is yours and you are his, and he won't have to watch you fall in love with Diavolo in these future weeks.
What have I done to deserve this?
It's the dramatic irony that Shakespeare spent his whole life searching for: that a demon so overwhelmingly strong he's left unshackled even by time can be turned slave by the very same forces to the demon lord. It's the tragedy of Barbatos: the burden he must bear, to see his only love in all the realms and realities so close to him but so far from reach.
Truly, time does not exist to Barbatos.
But that was how it was meant to be. For you are everything: his past, his present, his future. He does not need time. He has you.
Had.
The clock started ticking when the two of you met, and now he must suffer in silence as time marches onward, offering him no rest from this inescapable reality.
Die, he wants to die.
He does not want to listen as he murmurs the introductory words he memorized eons ago, he does not want to hear you rattle off the vows he made you rehearse, he does not want to see you smile that fake smile he taught you to adorn, he does not want to watch you prepare to give your heart to a man that is not him.
Die, Barbatos wants to die when Diavolo turns to him and asks for the rings, the butler forced to calm the relentless sea of emotion wrecking through his heart.
The olive-eyed demon keeps his hands steady as he places the ring onto your palm. He wants to hold your hand longer, to squeeze it. He wants to place a kiss over your knuckles and smile wryly up at you to see the blush that paints your cheeks. He wants to rip off his gloves and feel your warmth, your touch. He wants to jump forward in between you and Diavolo and stop this unholy union devoid of love and he wants to place his hand on Diavolo's chest and stop the man from leaning closer to you and he wants to cease this and no he must look away and no make it stop make it stop god please just please make it stop—
Dead, Barbatos is dead.
Or is that just the feeling of watching you kiss another man?
MASTERLIST
Word count: 9.8k
Notes: I am so sorry Barbatos and I am sorry readers for this being a day late but i am more sorry Barbatos you deserve nothing but happiness and i wrote this and :(
Comment & Like
Thank you for reading <3
I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.
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shōji and kaminari!!
Of course! Thanks for asking.
There is not enough shouji content 😔 (I was gonna be dramatic and put the hands clapping thing but I can't find it smh. Anyways)
- Sibling energy. You know how they say Kendou or Momo tend to be like class sisters? Same thing. Like it's just that vibe of always looking out for them even if he doesn't really talk about it.
- Like for real, see how he protects Tokoyami? And Tsuyu? Like damn he's so nice.
- Dude be wearing a mask 24/7 so I'd say skin care is kinda uh, a thing that happens? Idk if it's a skin type thing or smth but that's how I see it. Anyway everyone talking about bakugou knowing a lot about skin care, and like yeah sure whatever, but MY MAN SHOUJI IS THE BEST WITH THAT
- Lowkey best hugs?
- I don't know why but I just see him as someone who would like to look at the stars and the night sky, just thinking (or not thinking, also fine).
- Perhaps that's why he didn't bring many decorations? Stars in the sky were fine. WHICH BRINGS ME TO A NEXT POINT:
- Shouji and Uraraka are stargazing buddies. If I recall correctly, Ochako had a star map thing in her room. Consider them going out in their balconies or to the roof and just watch the stars.
- Give this man some affection and he will melt. Like show you care as much as he does and yeah. Also I mean, I do agree with that thing going around about him being self conscious about his appearance, so like showing him you find his presence comforting is the nicest thing ever for Shouji.
- Kami sometimes doesn't want to hug people or stuff (usually when he's stressed) because he thinks he'll accidentally shock them. Which isn't too bad but he's afraid he won't control it.
- Which like fair. He's used to work with strong electricity, it's easier to calculate how that works rather than a small spark. By the way, I'd say Kami is good not only at English, but also with electricity and the math surrounding it at least.
- I know we see him not in the best performance with Ectoplasm's math classes but hey. I would say that what they were doing and electricity aren't really the same kind of math. That being said it still wasn't easy.
- THUNDERSTORMS and like they're calming to him. Not only the rain sounds are soothing but like, he sees electricity in a way he doesn't see often. It's controlled so he doesn't have to fight it, and it's not a device he has to control. Just something to watch.
- After what happened during the movie and the whole lightning thing, it took a while to get used to thunderstorms again though. He needed to get the picture of it being freeing again, not a quirk.
- Okay so I was thinking, the Bakusquad started with Bakugou's team + Kami, right? Then Jirou and Kami are shown hanging out with them and stuff. HOWEVER notice Denki sits near Kiri and Ojiro so I present to you: he's a honorary member of all the squads in class
- I mean he was in a team with Iida, Todoroki, and Momo, so.
Give me any character and I'll share some headcanons!!
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Calanthe and Eist’s Birth Charts
okay so because I’m a fucking nerd I decided to spend upwards of 6 hours a couple of weeks ago making birth charts for Calanthe and Eist, and I figured that I’d share them here since I put so much fucking work into them. 
Good to note that all of these traits are heavily influenced by @marvellouslymadmim ‘s incredible fics....
I’ve also taken the liberty to give them birthdays bahaha, and I didn’t do houses because that would have taken me an extra 10 hours so this is just the planets. It’s long so read below cut :)
Calanthe, December 23, 1218 (Sun- Mars + Rising placements)
Sun in Capricorn: center of self, other traits mix with this
Meticulous, dead-pan, practical, they get shit DONE son, very self-assured, sarcastic, need structure or they will literally fall apart (and they often do.. Although secretly), resourceful, intelligent, blunt… need I say more
Moon in Aquarius: rules emotions, moods, feelings
Observant, oftentimes considered “loners,” powerful defense mechanisms, willful, wil deny “irrational” emotions (jealousy, possessiveness, fear) in order to seem “above” others, independent, thrive off of “shock-value,” proud, don’t like “messy” emotions, can seem incredibly distant to the people closest to them, hide sensitivities very well, unpredictable, stubborn, and incredibly seductive and charming
Ascendent in Leo: the “mask” you wear, public persona
GREAT hair, cares about appearance (not necessarily out of vanity but out of an understanding that appearance can be a weapon), aware of how they are perceived, very tender and gentle with loved ones, say exactly what they think, enjoy being the center of attention… but ONLY when they choose to be
Mercury in Scorpio: planet of communication
meticulous→ gets to the bottom of EVERYTHING, great observers, suspicious, tend to focus on the negative, passionate, prone to lecturing rather than listening, however they are excellent at giving advice, better communicators when it comes to subjects that are not close to home→ have a hard time communicating needs/feelings, excellent strategizers, constructive criticism = destructive criticism (they will rip you to shreds), want to WIN conversations (and often do), defensive of people they care about, love a challenge
Venus in Pisces: planet of love and relationships
In love they are dreamy and soft, can be a little moody and irregular, hard to read, like to “feel things out” (HATE decision making), can take YEARS to commit to something/someone, want partners to know that their love is unconditional, like to save people, tender and affectionate, oftentimes hard to reach, flippant, absolutely devoted (eventually)
Mars in Scorpio: planet of sex and aggression
Lovesssss a challenge→ like to set personal goals to see if they can meet them/ bend the rules, formidable opponents, hard to read, high sexual stamina, generally get what they want in bed (ahem), possessive of partners (but will never admit it), can have a hard time compromising, great survival instincts, very protective people, show love through physical touch and sex, extrememly passionate individuals
Eist, June 26, 1219 (Sun-Mars + Rising)
Sun in Cancer: center of self
Protective, caring, nurturing, moody, led by emotions, good at hiding vulnerability but are VERY VULNERABLE, soft, self-sacrificing
Moon in Taurus: rules emotions, moods, feelings
Cherish familiarity, strong-willed, sensory, materialistic, persevering (sometimes to a fault), crave stability and often ARE that stability for others, very romantic, affectionate, sentimental, warm, enduring, hold on tight to their loved ones, loyal, serene, stubborn af, crave routine, need clear lines and boundaries
Ascendant in Pisces: “mask,” public persona, physical appearance 
Very very dreamy (and often have dreamy eyes), idealistic, go with the flow, gentle, peacemakers and peace lovers, chameleon- like persona (often can change easily to blend in with their environments socially and emotionally), can be shy or quiet but that’s because they are taking time to observe everything around them, however they loveeee to talk when the time is right, restless and searching, “feel their way through life,” rely heavily on emotions, irresistible charm, soft aura, very likeable
Mercury in Cancer: planet of communication
Communicate through feelings, sensitive, deep thinkers, can take time to respond to situations, excellent listeners, meditative and reflective, incredible memories (especially good at remembering emotional context), has a hard time letting emotions go, gentle, intuitive, sentimental, protective, soothing, nurturing, can get “lost” in another person’s way of thinking/feeling, very good with words (especially along the lines of letter writing and poetry)
Venus in Cancer: planet of love and relationships
Need commitment and predictability, sensitive, need security and care, pay more attention to their partner’s feelings than their words, excellent listeners, can be incredibly moody (especially if they don’t have an outlet for their stronger emotions), hate indifference (like indifference could literally kill them… so don’t do that), not afraid of confronting emotions, a bit anxious in love→ need reassurance, can be possessive, sentimental, tender, attached, cuddly, soft
Mars in Taurus: planet of sex and aggression
Calm and easy going, can have powerful tempers when pushed over the edge (but it doesn’t happen often), value strength and stability, need security, will spend years trying to achieve a goal, will not change their mind (like ever… well almost), immovable, extremely sensory when it comes to sex, long lasting and steady sexual stamina, not necessarily spontaneous but they stick to what they’re good at, very emotionally connected to sex (it’s never just physical)
Shared Placements (Jupiter-Pluto)
Jupiter in Scorpio: Jupiter represents the traits that bring us fortune
Incredibly emotional (but secretive about it), decisive, intense, have great will power, intuitive, creative, in control
Cal and Eist are both emotionally intelligent. They are seekers of truths and are determined in their efforts. Both like to be in control, both are led by emotions and passions rather than logic. When fully tapped into their emotions, they are unstoppable. When cultivated correctly, emotions become their most powerful tools and weapons. 
Saturn in Pisces: reveals limitations of the self
Saturn in Pisces people are incredibly helpful and are excellent caregivers; however they are not so good at directing that care towards themselves. In fact, they often shut down when someone directs pity (or what these Piscean placements deem as pity) at them. They like to be in control, so when they aren’t they become paranoid and anxious. Saturn in Pisces individuals have to work extra hard to take care of themselves-- this is one of their greatest faults.
Cal and Eist are both care-givers; they fiercely protect the people they love most. However, they have a hard time taking care of themselves, and letting others take care of them. They believe that they have the ability to protect themselves if they hold onto that self-control, but they often do not have self control as they are led primarily by emotion. Each of them needs coaxing from their loved ones to truly take care of themselves. They rely heavily on their close circles. 
Uranus in Gemini: rules friends, relationships, community, transformation, change, ideas
Uranus in Gemini people are super energetic and are incredible innovators. They are quick witted and quick tempered, often moving between emotions and ideas in moments. They are great transformers of thought, and often break traditions and taboos (rather gleefully). They hate authority, and will question it relentlessly.
Cal and Eist are both witty and intelligent people. They’re excellent strategists and politicians. Although they both perform their roles as diplomats and political leaders, they often go out of their way to subvert norms and question authority. They create new rules, they bend tradition. They hide in plain sight. 
Neptune in Virgo: to refine, planet of inspiration
Neptune in Virgo people are idealistic and detail oriented. They love to serve others, especially those in need. They value work and health and safety. They are versatile and adaptable. They are motivated by a sense of duty and helpfulness. 
Cal and Eist are excellent leaders and they truly value their positions as respective rulers of their nations. They are compassionate, though stern, and are ready to make hard decisions when it comes to issues of diplomacy. They are also quite stubborn, and oftentimes their opinions are conflated with fact. It’s important to note that the two generations following are Neptune in Libra (full of individuals who value harmony and diplomacy and justice-- ahem Pavetta), and Neptune in Scorpio (full of individuals who are secretive, profound, and enjoy solitude; people who also enjoy the search for truth and justice-- ahem Cirilla).
Pluto in Taurus: symbolizes rebirth, change, secrets
Pluto in Taurus individuals are incredibly stubborn and persistent. They value materials and will never be satisfied with the amount of resources they have. They hate change and love their way. 
Cal and Eist (and Mousesack and other characters around their age group) were born and grew up in a generation which sought, conquered, and maintained resources effectively. Cal, especially, used her strengths and her resourcefulness to protect and improve her kingdom; and for a majority of her rule maintained diplomacy without surrendering any of her power. However, the generation following Taurus is Gemini. This generation (including Cahir and Pavetta and potentially Ciri) are inquisitive and thirsty for ideas and knowledge. They are the breakers of tradition. Where Cal and Eist’s generation built and maintained some version of stability, Pavatta and Cahir’s generation destroy borders and bring about great change and innovation. 
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According to sources in the British government who spoke to CNN, the UK then reached out to both the United States and Cuba “to find a suitable port for the Braemar.”
Which country took them in? If you’ve paid attention to the Trump administration’s xenophobic rhetoric about “the Chinese virus” and its obsession with keeping foreign nationals out of the country, and you know anything about Cuba’s tradition of sending doctors to help with humanitarian crises all around the world, you should be able to guess the answer.
The Braemar docked in the Cuban port of Mariel last Wednesday. Passengers who were healthy enough to travel to their home countries were transported to the airport in Havana. Those who were too sick to fly were offered treatment at Cuban hospitals — even though there had only been ten confirmed cases in the whole country, and allowing patients from the cruise ship to stay threatened to increase the number.
Cuba Mobilizes Against the Virus
Despite being a poor country that often experiences shortages — a product of both the economy’s structural flaws and the effects of sixty years of economic embargo by its largest natural trading partner — Cuba was better positioned than most to deal with the coronavirus pandemic.
The country combines a completely socialized medical system that guarantees health care to all with impressive biotech innovations. A Cuban antiviral drug (Interferon Alfa-2B) has been used to combat the coronavirus both inside the country and in China. Cuba also boasts 8.2 doctors per 1,000 people — well over three times the rate in the United States (2.6) or South Korea (2.4), almost five times as many as China (1.8), and nearly twice as many as Italy (4.1).
On top of its impressive medical system, Cuba has a far better track record of protecting its citizens from emergencies than other poor nations — and even some rich ones. Their “comprehensive, all-hands-on-deck” hurricane-preparedness system, for example, is a marvel, and the numbers speak for themselves. In 2016, Hurricane Matthew killed dozens of Americans and hundreds of Haitians. Not a single Cuban died. Fleeing residents were even able to bring their household pets with them — veterinarians were stationed at the evacuation centers.
The coronavirus will be a harder challenge than a hurricane, but Cuba has been applying the same “all-hands-on-deck” spirit to prepare. Tourism has been shut down (a particularly painful sacrifice, given the industry’s importance to Cuba’s beleaguered economy). And the nationalized health care industry has not only made sure that thousands of civilian hospitals are at the ready for coronavirus patients, but that several military hospitals are open for civilian use as well.
Masks: A Tale of Two Countries
In the United States, the surgeon general and other authorities tried to conserve face masks for medical professionals by telling the public that the masks “wouldn’t help.” The problem, as Dr Zeynep Tufekci argued in a recent New York Times op-ed, is that the idea that doctors and nurses needed the masks undermined the claim that they would be ineffective. Authorities correctly pointed out that masks would be useless (or even do more harm than good) if not used correctly, but as Tufekci notes, this messaging never really made sense. Why not launch an aggressive educational campaign to promote the dos and don’ts of proper mask usage rather than telling people they’d never be able to figure it out?
Many people also wash their hands wrong, but we don’t respond to that by telling them not to bother. Instead, we provide instructions; we post signs in bathrooms; we help people sing songs that time their hand-washing. Telling people they can’t possibly figure out how to wear a mask properly isn’t a winning message. Besides, when you tell people that something works only if done right, they think they will be the person who does it right, even if everyone else doesn’t.
The predictable result of all of this is that, after weeks of “don’t buy masks, they won’t work for you” messaging, so many have been purchased that you can’t find a mask for sale anywhere in the United States outside of a few on Amazon for absurdly gouged prices.
In Cuba, on the other hand, nationalized factories that normally churn out school uniforms and other non-medical items have been repurposed to dramatically increase the supply of masks.
Cuban Doctors Abroad
The same humanitarian and internationalist spirit that led Cuba to allow the Braemar to dock has also led the tiny country to send doctors to assist Haiti after that nation’s devastating 2010 earthquake, fight Ebola in West Africa in 2014, and, most recently, help Italy’s overwhelmed health system amid the coronavirus pandemic. (Cuba offered to send similar assistance to the United States after Hurricane Katrina ravaged the Gulf Coast, but was predictably rebuffed by the Bush administration.)
Even outside of temporary emergencies, Cuba has long dispatched doctors to work in poor countries with shortages of medical care. In Brazil, Cuban doctors were warmly welcomed for years by the ruling Workers’ Party. That began to change with the ascendance of far-right demagogue Jair Bolsonaro. When he assumed office, Bolsonaro expelled most of the Cuban doctors from the country, insisting that they were in Brazil not to heal the sick but “to create guerrilla cells and indoctrinate people.”
As recently as two weeks ago, Bolsonaro was calling the idea that the coronavirus posed a serious threat to public health  a “fantasy.” Now that reality has set in, he’s begging the Cuban doctors to come back.
Embracing Complexity About Cuba
Last month, Bernie Sanders was red-baited and slandered by both Republicans and establishment Democrats for acknowledging the real accomplishments of the Cuban Revolution. It didn’t seem to matter to these critics that Sanders started and ended his comments by calling the Cuban government “authoritarian” and condemning it for keeping political prisoners. Instead, they seemed to judge his comments by what I called the “Narnia Standard.” Rather than frankly discussing both the positive and negative aspects of Cuban society, the island state is treated as if it lacks any redeeming features — like Narnia before Aslan, where it was “always winter and never Christmas.”
Democratic socialists value free speech, press freedom, multiparty elections, and workplace democracy. We can and should criticize Cuba’s model of social organization for its deficits. But Cuba’s admirably humane and solidaristic approach to the coronavirus should humble those who insist on talking about the island nation as if it were some unending nightmare.
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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years
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Mask/Breathe
Another gift for @wildfaewhump because your comment about putting your oxygen mask on inspired me! Sorry that I had to rewrite the part that got erased this morning!
CW: Some HEAVY subject matter is referenced or discussed here, please heed these CWs: referenced torture, referenced past burns. discussed extended metaphor involving parenting and plane crash/loss of cabin pressure, mentioned/referenced sudden death of spouse and grief, self-loathing thought pattern, brief memory of choking
tagging: @oofowouchies who asked to be tagged for Antoni-stuff, plus @astrobly, @burtlederp, and @finder-of-rings who are my everything taglist!
"Have you ever heard the saying, 'put your own mask on first', Antoni?" Dr. Berger smiles at him. She has a bit of hair coming loose from where it's been tucked behind one ear, her short, sharp bob dyed a deep, rich brown. It was red last year.
Chris loves that about her. He loves seeing people who change themselves in small or big ways year by year, the way he does. Antoni, though, doesn’t change. He stays the same, more or less. His hair a little shaggier, or longer, his eyes set a little more deeply in his face. But mostly he is the same.
Antoni gives her a thin smile, a barely-there stretch of lips, and gives his head a little shake, ducking his chin to look down towards the floor in the safehouse he goes to for therapy on Thursdays. "No, I am sorry," He says, softly. "I don't know the phrase."
At least, he doesn't know it anymore.
It does sting at the inside of his mind, in a way he can't turn into anything coherent. Itches like his scars. Gives him a sense of feeling very small in a big space, of falling asleep in someone's lap. The sudden dip in his stomach like being at the top of a roller coaster and knowing there is no way you’ll survive the trip back down, and yet you do, and yet he did, somewhere in the deeper recesses of his memories.
Dr. Berger can see when Antoni’s eyes go distant - she works with fifteen rescues at any given time, meeting with them in the evenings and weekends, fitting in an hour here or there when her regular practice won’t notice. She is used to the way a rescue’s face can shift to something empty and sad in a blink, as they find some part of themselves just peeking up above the surface.
With Antoni, he tries to let it drift back beneath as often as it can. What he remembers is bad enough. He doesn’t want to know how much worse it could get, for him to know why all of this happened to him.
She waits, as always, for Antoni to find himself again. Only then does she speak. "When you board a plane, there's a bit about safety at the beginning," Dr. Berger says thoughtfully. 
Her pen taps the notepad she keeps. She’s written some things there, in the code she uses. Even if someone found her notes, they would be about a manic-depressive, a man fighting generalized anxiety, treating an adult with ADHD - you would never look at those notes and know she is writing about Leila, about Antoni, about Chris.
You could read her notes on a patient struggling with abandonment issues caused by an abusive relationship and never once understand that she speaks to Kauri on Friday nights, the weeks he agrees to show up at her door with a shy, nervous smile and the wish, just one more week one more meeting one more time, to try.
Antoni's fingertips tap against his own leg. His left leg is the bad one today. They take turns, his limbs, burning over old scars with new injuries that aren't real. They keep him tightrope-walking along some terrible boundary between the person he must be - strong, capable, always ready with a helping hand - and the smaller, meaner, worse person he really is.
The damaged skin, the broken nerves inside of him are all reminders that he deserved it all, and worse, and if he went back he could wear all his wrongs on his skin like he should. But he won’t go back. 
He is too needed. As long as he’s needed, he will stay.
As long as he’s needed-
"They give the same speech every time. Wear your seatbelt as long as the light is on, stay seated, all these basic things. We all kind of know it by our second or third flight but they still repeat it, so that your… well, so your muscle memory will remember in an emergency even when you can’t think rationally, even if you’re following the lights towards the exit because your body knows there was a speech about this even though your mind’s just… checked out with panic. Sorry, let me get to my point. There's a bit there about what to do in a worst-case scenario... like a pressure drop if the plane has to change altitude too quickly. These little masks drop down from, ah-" She frowns, eyebrows furrowing. "Little... panels above your seat. And if you put the mask on, it gives you oxygen until you have enough in the plane to breathe again."
Antoni nods, just to show he's listening.
“One thing that they say, during the speech about the oxygen masks, is how important it is if you’re flying with someone who needs assistance, or you have a child or infant, that you put their oxygen mask on before your own. In the case of a pressure drop, you have seconds, Antoni, before you’ll stop thinking rationally, start acting drunk, losing reason. You have a minute, maybe a couple of minutes, before the situation is even more dire than that. So it’s imperative, absolutely essential, to put your own mask on before you help your child. Do you know why?”
He looks up at her, her warm understanding eyes, and shakes his head. “If you did that, you would save only yourself,” He points out, his voice low, a little gravelly.  “You should save the child instead.”
“No, Antoni.” She licks at her lips in thought, and his eyes drop to her hands, to the wedding band she wears with a sparkling diamond on one finger layered over a plain band next to it. I wear one for my late husband, She’d told him when he asked, and one for my second husband. 
I am so sorry. How did he die?
It was… sudden. Let’s not discuss my scars on our first meeting, Antoni. I’m sorry, it’s just difficult for me to talk about.
But they must talk about his, the ones he will admit to anyway, until he can barely breathe for the burning. He has to admit, though, he feels cleaner when he leaves these appointments, like he’s been purified by the fire, not burned by it. If he could only burn enough…
Dr. Berger clears her throat and gestures with the pen in her hand as she speaks. “As a mother - no, a parent - every single instinct in you will scream to save your baby first. This doesn’t apply across the board, obviously, but for most parents there will be a primal need to get your child out of danger before you care for yourself. In the case of hypoxia, those moments you spend trying to put a mask on your child could result in enough of a loss of oxygen to the brain that you are not only unable to get your own mask on, but you don’t put your child’s on correctly. But if you put your own mask on first, you will have a clear head and working lungs and can take the steps you need in your right mind to provide the best possible result to the situation.”
Antoni waits a beat, then swallows. “Dr. Berger, this is not a plane crash. I am not… I am not a parent.”
He can’t imagine the terror, of handling something so tiny and fragile as the children he sees, like Leila’s tiny infant daughter. Of having to hold it and feed it and care for it when it needed you more than it needed anything else in the world. How could you ever be expected not to shatter under the weight of that sort of responsibility? 
Bad parents made sense to Antoni, the way that bad owners made sense. Power and control over another human being gave you too many reasons, too many chances, to make them suffer for their sins against you. What staggered him wasn’t the existence of bad parents, but that anyone could be a good one.
“Aren’t you, Antoni?” Dr. Berger gives him that slight smile again, then waves her hand. “Sorry, that wasn’t a useful question to ask you. What I’m trying to say is that you come here every week and tell me about your life, but there is something missing from the story.”
There’s a flip in his stomach. He knows where this is going. “What?”
“You.” She taps her notepad again, where she’s written his ‘code’ name, the fake one she uses for all her reports on him. “You are missing, Antoni. You spend your every waking moment supporting Jake Stanton, and Chris, and helping out with the other shelters, and these are all valuable things, but… what of your life is about you?”
He rubs his face with his hands, shaking his head back and forth. “I am not-... I am not sure what you mean.” His voice trembles, a little, something inside him twists and turns to ice. “I like what I do.”
“I know, but… Antoni.” Dr. Berger sits back, glancing over at the window at the night outside. There’s a street light shining a circle down on the sidewalk, and outside of that hint of light the rest of the neighborhood is shrouded in darkness except for the dim yellow lights he can see cutting through blinds or shining out second-story windows. “Do you begin to see how the metaphor applies?”
He doesn’t answer. If he doesn’t answer, he won’t have to say yes.
“You have built a life that consists of providing oxygen to everyone else around you,” Dr. Berger says, and her voice is very low, and soft. “I know the feeling. I did the same, after… well. I did the same once upon a time. I had two young children and it was, God, I don’t even remember the first year. It’s just… the life I’d had was gone, and rather than think about a new one, all I did was tread water. All I did was put the masks on my children and pray I would find the air to breathe before it was too late for me, too. When we have our talks, Antoni, I find… I see a lot of that same way of living in you.”
“I have not lost my husband.” He looks up at her but she isn’t smiling, only looking at him very seriously again, studying his face in that way she has of looking beneath. 
“No,” She says, quietly. “But you lost a life, one that you have been led to believe you were responsible for losing. You are entitled to your life, Antoni. You did something immense to reclaim it. I’m only saying… well.” She shrugs, just a little. “I’m only saying that you must remember that you did reclaim it. I’m saying… Chris deserves his life, yes, and you are an essential part of it. Jake deserves his life, and he couldn’t do this without your support. But…”
The pause between them draws out and draws out until he can barely stand the itching that covers every inch of his skin.
Beg for me to stop, darling. Beg for it to be over, but know that you don’t deserve the mercy. He can almost feel the hands gripped around his throat, crushing his windpipe under the press of thumbs, the weight of Mr. Davies pushing his back into the floor until he thought he might sink into it and be buried under the floorboards of Mr. Davies’ beautiful home, another swirl in the woodgrain, a man’s life soaked into a rug, bled away, painted across the walls.
You don’t deserve the life I allow you, darling.
“You deserve to breathe, Antoni,” Dr. Berger says, softly. “You deserve to put your mask on. You deserve the air. You won’t be able to grapple with anything until you are willing to look me in the eye and admit that you deserve to live.”
The clock strikes the hour.
Their time is up.
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letterboxd · 3 years
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How I Letterboxd #10: Chad Hartigan.
Filmmaker Chad Hartigan talks to Jack Moulton about his prescient new sci-fi romance, Little Fish, why radio silence is worse than a bad review, and his secret system of Letterboxd lists.
Chad Hartigan has won prizes at the Sundance Film Festival and the Film Independent Spirit Awards for his acclaimed films This is Martin Donner and Morris From America. He’s also been a Letterboxd member since way back, joining what he proclaims as “my favorite website” in 2013. Hartigan has always been an obsessive logger: he has transcribed all of his viewing data since 1998 and continues to work on filling in the gaps in his downtime.
Like many ardent Letterboxd members, Hartigan is a diligent list-maker, keeping tabs on his best first viewings of each year and assembling an all-time top 1,000 films over the summer (with an accompanying 26-minute supercut). Perhaps unusually for a member of the film industry on Letterboxd, he’s unafraid to hold back his opinions and regularly voices his critiques on even the most acclaimed films.
Hartigan’s newest film, Little Fish, is a sci-fi love story starring Olivia Cooke (Sound of Metal) and Jack O’Connell (Unbroken). Written by Mattson Tomlin, it’s set during an imagined pandemic—shot long before our own actual pandemic—wherein a disease causes people to lose their memories. It was set to premiere at the 2020 Tribeca Film Festival, and then postponed due to Covid-19. It’s now out in limited theaters and on demand, and we were delighted with the excuse to put Hartigan in the How I Letterboxd spotlight.
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Olivia Cooke as Emma and Jack O’Connell as Jude in ‘Little Fish’.
You made a pandemic movie before the pandemic. How do you feel about accidentally hitting that unfortunate zeitgeist and now consequently being asked questions like this one? Yeah, strange. The questions are fine. If it wasn’t this one, it would be another that you would have to answer over and over again. One of the things that drew me to the project was that it felt like a fantasy that wasn’t necessarily rooted in reality in a way that my other [films] were. I liked that it’s old-fashioned in its attempts to purely take you somewhere and wasn’t intended to hold up a mirror to our times—but then in the end that’s exactly what it’s doing. I’m curious myself, and I’m checking Letterboxd to see the reactions from people because I really couldn’t guess what it would have been like [now].
Are there any prescient details you’re proud of getting right? I’m so grateful and happy that Jack [O’Connell] is wearing his mask correctly. That’s the number one thing that I’m glad we got right. I think it was very smart of Mattson to focus the movie on [the relationship] rather than the details of this global pandemic. I feel the reason it’s not in bad taste is because it dealt with those things as a backdrop and instead focused on people just trying to remember what’s important and clinging onto those that they love.
Onto our own favorite memory aid, Letterboxd. How did you discover us and how did you manage without us? I’ve been on since 2013, so I’m probably one of the earliest people to jump on it. I love the interface and the diary, just aesthetically it was really fun. I’ve been keeping track of what I see with analog [methods] for as long as I can remember. I have diaries and planners so I logged all that old information. If I was running for president, my platform would be that everybody is required to use Letterboxd comprehensively, because I just love to know what everybody is watching all the time.
Do you talk about Letterboxd in the real world with the other filmmaking people? Yes, and I’m often trying to convince them to join. Other filmmakers are more concerned about having their opinions on peers be public knowledge than I am, I guess. I’ve made four films now and each one’s been bigger and more widely seen than the last. The very first one was a total no-budget affair that couldn’t get into any festivals and I was very excited when I finally got it into the Hamptons Film Festival. It was about half-full and one or two people came up to me afterwards and said they liked it. This was pre-Twitter so I spent the whole next day Googling to see if anybody had written anything. I was so curious to see what people thought and there was nothing—not a review, not a blog—just total emptiness.
When the next film got into Sundance, there were people tweeting their reactions and actual reviews and I read everything. People were asking if the bad reviews hurt me. Absolutely not—nothing can be worse than the radio silence of nobody caring about the first film. The fact that people care enough to sit and write about this movie—good or bad—is a win, and I’ve carried that onward. I like to see what people think, it can be helpful in how you view the film as a success or failure. You learn and move on.
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Jack O’Connell at least remembers how to wear a mask in ‘Little Fish’.
Some filmmakers have told us they’re kinder to films after making their own, but you’re not shy at all about being critical. How did making your own films change your perspective as a critic? I don’t consider myself a critic so that’s why I’d be less concerned with someone reading what I thought. Why should they put any stock into what I think? If they get hung up on it then that’s their own stuff because I’m not a critic. Like everyone else on Letterboxd, I just love watching movies. Obviously I can appreciate and understand some of the technical aspects maybe moreso than people who don’t make films, but at the end of the day, rarely that’s the thing that makes you love a movie or not. There’s a great bit in Francis Ford Coppola’s commentary track for Finian’s Rainbow where Fred Astaire’s doing a dance number and [Coppola admits] he totally messed it up because Astaire’s feet aren’t fully in frame. He’s very honest about his mistakes because it’s one of his earliest movies. Then he goes on to say that he thinks there’s the same number of mistakes in Finian’s Rainbow as there are in The Godfather, it’s just that he made mistakes on the things that don’t matter for The Godfather. No film is perfect, but if it can latch onto this one magical aspect that connects you to it, that’s what makes you love it or not.
You had a project where you chart the best films made by directors at certain ages as you reached that age. Tell us more about it. That was a great project. I got the idea when I was 26. This was back when I had a Netflix DVD subscription and it was just hard for me to randomly choose DVDs to throw in the queue. I needed a system. I decided to watch movies from directors when they were my age and see if there’s some common denominator, something I can learn. At that point, there weren’t many, there were films like Boogie Nights and Fassbinder films. Not many people had made stuff when they were 26 or 27, so it was very feasible. Every year there were more movies and more directors to add to the list and it became time-consuming. I did it all the way up until I was 34 and the reason I stopped was because I had a son and there was no way I could continue this level of viewing output.
My favorite part of your account is the fact that you log every viewing of your own films. You know for a fact that you’ve watched Morris From America 26 times and Little Fish fifteen times. Why do you log them? What counts as a viewing? I’ve clearly watched those movies many more times in little chunks but I’ll only log it if we’re sitting down and watching it from beginning to end. I have a ticket to see Little Fish in the drive-in on Saturday, so it’s going to be logged again. Why do I do it? Like I said, I wish everyone was required to use Letterboxd comprehensively. That’s what it’s there for for me, an accurate log of what I watch. This is psychotic behavior but I’m tempted to have a Letterboxd account for my son. I’ll do his views for him once he starts watching movies until he’s old enough to take over. It’ll just be, like, Frozen a thousand times but he’s not old enough to watch anything yet, so we’ll see.
Have you discovered any films thanks to Letterboxd discourse that influenced your approach to filmmaking? For sure, I can’t maybe say specifically, but once I dropped the directors my own age system I didn’t replace it with nothing. I’m a Virgo and I have a little bit of OCD, so I have to have some system. I’ve replaced it with a new complicated system where I pull from different lists and that’s now my main source of how I choose a movie to watch. I have like ten or twelve different lists, each about a thousand movies with a lot of overlap. One of them is my own list of every movie I’ve seen in a theater and I’ll go and look through that and if it’s something I want to revisit. Recently I rewatched Twister, which I hadn’t seen in a long time and is an old favorite from when I was in high school.
I have a bunch of private lists I cycle through; every movie nominated for a Spirit Award, every movie that’s won an Oscar, every movie that’s played in competition at Cannes, the top 1,000 films at the box office. There’s another great website that I use as a biblical resource which is They Shoot Pictures, Don’t They? and their lists of acclaimed films for all-time and the 21st century. I hit those up often. Something that I watched purely because of the very high Letterboxd rating and really loved is Funeral Parade of Roses. I try to see as many movies as I can that have a 4.0 rating or higher.
You respect the Letterboxd consensus. I do, but I don’t always agree with it.
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‘Little Fish’ director Chad Hartigan.
Which is your most underrated or overlooked movie according to Letterboxd? I can say I was the very first person to log a movie called Witness in the City, which is an Italian noir movie I watched when I was doing my ‘directors my own age’ series. Literally nobody had logged it, so my review was like “whoa, I can’t believe I’m the first person to log this!”. It was very exciting for me because it’s great, but I’m the OG logger of that movie.
From your list of every film you’ve seen in a theater since you were twelve, which was your most memorable experience? The cheap answer is that it’s hard to top my own movies. The Sundance premiere of Morris From America at the Eccles Theater is maybe the best, but if I’m disqualifying my own films, seeing Scream 3 in a very packed theater in Virginia Beach was really fun, really rowdy. There was a trailer for a Jean-Claude Van Damme movie and I remember the climax was Van Damme going “you lied to me!!!” and everyone laughed. Someone did a George Costanza move later during Scream 3 and yelled out “you lied to me!!!” and everybody laughed again—so that’s a high. That’s the thing I miss the most about movie theaters, and the worry I have if theaters go away, is that so much of how we feel about a movie can be tied to the experience; who we saw it with, what we did before or after, what the crowd was like, or if anything strange happened. There are a lot of movies I have strong memories and affection for because of the experience of seeing them and I probably wouldn’t feel the same way about if I just watched it at home on my laptop.
I typically like to cap interviews off with what filmmakers thought was the best film of the past year, but we have your data to hand. For you, it’s Garrett Bradley’s documentary Time. Can you talk a bit about what makes the film stand out for you? One thing I learned about myself from the pandemic is that the motivation and desire to see new things is very closely tied to the theater-going experience for me. Once that was taken away and you could watch a new movie at home, it joins the pile of all the other movies. The fact that it’s new doesn’t really do anything for me. Why would I press play on Da 5 Bloods when I still haven’t seen Malcolm X? I gotta see Malcolm X! There wasn’t an urgency, so I saw far fewer films than in an ordinary year. But Time I found incredibly moving and important. Similar to what I liked about the Little Fish script, it’s so hyper-focused on one relationship and within that one story it has so much to say about larger issues and the world at large. It was an emotional and rich viewing experience.
‘Little Fish’ is on demand and playing in select theaters now. Images courtesy of IFC Films.
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arcticdementor · 3 years
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The American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) surprised even many of its harshest critics this week when it strongly defended coercive programs and other mandates from the state in the name of fighting COVID. “Far from compromising them, vaccine mandates actually further civil liberties,” its Twitter account announced, adding that “vaccine requirements also safeguard those whose work involves regular exposure to the public."
If you were surprised to see the ACLU heralding the civil liberties imperatives of "vaccine mandates” and "vaccine requirements” — whereby the government coerces adults to inject medicine into their own bodies that they do not want — the New York Times op-ed which the group promoted, written by two of its senior lawyers, was even more extreme. The article begins with this rhetorical question: “Do vaccine mandates violate civil liberties?” Noting that "some who have refused vaccination claim as much,” the ACLU lawyers say: “we disagree.” The op-ed then examines various civil liberties objections to mandates and state coercion — little things like, you know, bodily autonomy and freedom to choose — and the ACLU officials then invoke one authoritarian cliche after the next (“these rights are not absolute") to sweep aside such civil liberties concerns:
The op-ed sounds like it was written by an NSA official justifying the need for mass surveillance (yes, fine, your privacy is important but it is not absolute; your privacy rights are outweighed by public safety; we are spying on you for your own good). And the op-ed appropriately ends with this perfect Orwellian flourish: “We care deeply about civil liberties and civil rights for all — which is precisely why we support vaccine mandates.”
What makes the ACLU's position so remarkable — besides the inherent shock of a civil liberties organization championing state mandates overriding individual choice — is that, very recently, the same group warned of the grave dangers of the very mindset it is now pushing. In 2008, the ACLU published a comprehensive report on pandemics which had one primary purpose: to denounce as dangerous and unnecessary attempts by the state to mandate, coerce, and control in the name of protecting the public from pandemics.
The title of the ACLU report, resurfaced by David Shane, reveals its primary point: "Pandemic Preparedness: The Need for a Public Health – Not a Law Enforcement/National Security – Approach.” To read this report is to feel that one is reading the anti-ACLU — or at least the actual ACLU prior to its Trump-era transformation. From start to finish, it reads as a warning of the perils of precisely the mindset which today's ACLU is now advocating for COVID.
In 2008, the group explained its purpose this way: “the following report examines the relationship between civil liberties and public health in contemporary U.S. pandemic planning and makes a series of recommendations for developing a more effective, civil liberties-friendly approach.” Its key warning: “Not all public health interventions have been benign or beneficial, however. Too often, fears aroused by disease and epidemics have encouraged abuses of state power. Atrocities, large and small, have been committed in the name of protecting the public’s health.”
The ACLU issued its 2008 report to warn that the worst possible way to respond to a deadly pandemic was through coercion and mandates. Instead, the group argued — as one would expect from a civil liberties organization — persuasion and voluntary compliance were both more effective and less likely to erode core liberties.
Much of the report is devoted to an examination of how the U.S. government has historically treated pandemics. As it reviews each pandemic — including horrifically lethal ones such as the plague and smallpox — the ACLU concludes over and over that American health authorities excessively relied on coercion rather than education and persuasion, fueled by media-aided fear porn and alarmist narratives:
Amazingly, the model that the ACLU identifies as the one that must be avoided is precisely the one that it is now urging be used for COVID. Compare, for instance, the ACLU's defense of coercive mandates in its New York Times op-ed this week (vaccine mandates “rarely run afoul of civil liberties”) with this ringing endorsement of the need to preserve freedom of choice in its 2008 report:
This model assumes that we must “trade liberty for security.” As a result, instead of helping individuals and communities through education and provision of health care, today’s pandemic prevention focuses on taking aggressive, coercive actions against those who are sick. People, rather than the disease, become the enemy.
What most worried the 2008 version of the ACLU was that authoritarian power vested in the hands of public health officials in the form of mandates and coercion will become permanent given that we will always live with such threats and endless pandemics. That was why, urged that iteration of the ACLU, we must opt for an approach that relies on education programs and voluntary compliance rather than state mandates.
The ACLU did not merely warn with words of the dangers of excessive pandemic coercion. They also legally represented at least one client who they viewed as the victim of public health hysteria and tyranny. In 2006, “a 27-year-old tuberculosis patient named Robert Daniels was involuntarily quarantined in Phoenix, Arizona for disobeying an order by Maricopa County health officials to wear a face mask in public at all times.” Even once Daniels was released and it turned out he had a less severe case of TB than originally assumed, “Sheriff Joe Arpaio publicly threatened him with prosecution for the pre-quarantine events.”
The ACLU's lesson from that case, and similar ones it had handled, was clear: these cases “are cautionary tales that illustrate the counterproductive nature of a punitive, law enforcement approach to preventing the spread of disease.” Most important of all, said the civil liberties group, coercive steps — such as mandates and quarantines — not only endanger civil liberties but are less effective in improving the public health, because they convert the public from cooperative allies into enemies that must be controlled and punished:
These efforts require working with rather than against communities, providing communities with as healthy an environment as possible, health care if they need it, and the means to help themselves and their neighbors. Most importantly, to protect public health, public health policies must aim to help, rather than to suppress, the public.
A separate ACLU report from 2015, issued during the ebola epidemic, contained a similar message. It warned “against politically motivated and scientifically unwarranted quarantines, which the report found violated individuals’ rights and hampered efforts to end the outbreak.” Hysteria over ebola became so intense that the ACLU “found that people were illegally deprived of their right to due process under the 14th Amendment because the quarantines and movement restrictions were not scientifically justified.”
How the ACLU fell from those traditional and vital civil liberties positions to urging this week in The New York Times that “far from compromising civil liberties, vaccine mandates actually further civil liberties,” is anyone's guess. But what is beyond doubt is that it is a far fall indeed. And most of all, hearing the ACLU invoke the standard rationale of authoritarians — we all have the fundamental right to bodily integrity and to make our own health care decisions, but these rights are not absolute — is nothing short of jarring.
Update, Sept. 7, 2021, 6:58 p.m.: Shortly after publication of this article, a former ACLU lawyer, Margaret Winter, noted in response: “It was NOT just ‘prior to covid’ that ACLU denounced vaccine mandates: Read ACLU's 2020 position paper passionately and correctly arguing that vaccine mandates ‘exacerbate racial disparities and harm the civil liberties of all.’” Winter was referencing this ACLU report, from May of 2020, that warned of the serious dangers of “immunity passports," under which citizens who already got COVID and thus had immunity would enjoy rights not available to others:
We at the ACLU have serious concerns about the adoption of any such proposal, because of its potential to harm public health, incentivize economically-vulnerable people to risk their health by contracting COVID-19, exacerbate racial and economic disparities, and lead to a new health surveillance infrastructure that endangers privacy rights. . . . This division would likely worsen existing racial, disability, and economic disparities in America and lead people struggling to afford basic necessities to deliberately risk their health.
While such a scheme is different in degree from vaccine passports let alone vaccine mandates — which the ACLU is now championing — its rationale for opposing such a system is fully applicable: “there are serious civil liberties and civil rights harms from making workplace decisions on that basis,” adding: “any immunity passport system endangers privacy rights by creating a new surveillance infrastructure to collect health data.”
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atreya300 · 3 years
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Slenderman and Creating Real Tulpas
I remember a couple of years ago finding out about Slenderman.  It was so creepy that I looked into it a lot, especially when I heard the theory about Slenderman being a Tulpa.  As if he wasn’t creepy enough just by being a made up story on the Internet, kids were killing other kids, or stabbing other kids, in order to “please Slenderman”.  Clearly a game that they had invented and taken deadly seriously.
A Tulpa is an intended hallucination which can be sentient and have its own thoughts and personality.  It is (according to the Tulpa Community, but not, I may add, folkloric legend) only seen by the person who created it, who has done so by prolonged periods of thinking solely about what the tulpa looks like, talks like, moves like etc, thus developing, in essence, another person who is sharing their body and mind, but functions as a separate personality.  We know of lucid dreaming, as I have often done it myself.  We’re aware that our brains are more than capable of producing extremely real and vivid hallucinations.  
So is it entirely impossible that if enough people all put enough thought power into the creation of the same, singular individual, that a tulpa could be formed which could break free of the constraints of individual minds and be a person all of its own, with its own free will and the power to manipulate others?  I believe it is possible.  Call me crazy.  My tin foil hat is firmly in place.  It’s hilarious really when you consider that I laughed down the Flat Earthers, yet here I am saying that it’s possible to create an imaginary friend who can turn into a mind-bending, master manipulator.
I didn’t have many friends growing up.  So I was one of the kids who didn’t mind admitting that I had invented an imaginary friend.  His name was Bill and he was based off of Bill from ‘Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure’ because I was obsessed with that movie.  I would talk to him whilst walking home from school alone, ask him what he would do in my place during different situations that I was struggling with and he always had an answer that I imagined.  I would say, “Bill, do you think [insert boyfriend name here] is a dick?” and in my head he would instantly say, “Hell yeah he is, you need to dump his ass!”.  Of course, I never once thought that I had created another person.  It was my imaginary friend.  In my head.  Made up by me.  Well, me and Alex Winter.  His instant “responses” was just my own subconscious mind telling me what I really, truly felt, without having to consciously think about it.
Having perused the Tulpa Community it seems to be an extremely dangerous rabbit hole.  For one, what they are describing as “tulpas”, at best, mostly seem to be an adult version of an imaginary friend and at worst, a real mental health issue, possibly Dissociative Identity Disorder which is incredibly serious and is being passed off as something that is perfectly normal and almost a uncommon achievement to be able to create a tulpa, rather than the reality which is that there is real medical and psychological help out there for cases such as DID and it should certainly not be explained away as a deliberately induced imaginary friend who will solve all your problems for you.  Passing it off as such could potentially make the case even worse.  I’m not a psychologist.  I’m just using common sense. If you cultivate something, it grows.
So.  I have made a decision that I don’t buy into the Tulpa Community.  There are also a lot of comments on YouTube videos and forums that are quite blatantly people who are full of absolute shit and others who are just clearly attention seeking.  I thoroughly enjoyed the brilliant sarcastic responses to those comments.
Now let’s get serious (ish).  Bear with me.  Let’s get back to the theory of many people being able to collectively produce a tulpa.
As I said before, I became obsessed with Slenderman.  I watched videos (all of Marble Hornets), read newspaper articles, looked at pictures, read stories, until he became my every waking thought.  After a week and a half I developed sensations such as paranoia, racing heart, dizziness and the feeling of constantly being watched by something just out of the corner of my eye.  I began having horrific nightmares and would wake up drenched in sweat.  I stopped being able to lucid dream and wake myself up and was forced to play out the nightmares, helpless.  It got to the point where I didn’t want to sleep.  The times that my boyfriend had blessedly snored loudly enough to wake my conscious brain, I sat up in bed, exhausted, trying desperately to keep my eyes open and not fall back to sleep.  Every shadow in the bedroom seemed to resemble Slenderman and I was convinced that as soon as the lights got dim or it was dark, he was there in the shadows waiting.  I stopped going to bed before my boyfriend.  I didn’t want to be in the house alone.
Looking back, naturally it all seems totally stupid.  Me, a grown 35 year old, scaring myself silly because of a kids’ story on the internet.  But what if it really is possible to create a tulpa by using enough collective subconscious power?  Thousands of people in the world at the time were reading those same stories and scaring themselves silly like I was.  If it was possible to create a tulpa, Slenderman and his fame would most certainly warrant it.
For anyone who isn’t familiar with the 80’s movie ‘A Nightmare on Elm Street’, the main bad guy/killer is Freddy Kruger, a demon (who was a bloke who killed kids and then got burned in a fire by their fucked-off parents, then he came back from the dead in peoples’ dreams, as a...you know what, I don’t fucking actually really know what kind of thing Freddy is) who kills people in their dreams.  Enough people get to know about him and he suddenly can break free of only being in their dreams and can exist in the real world, killing whomever he chooses in reality.  Freddy, is a tulpa.  He existed in reality, purely because all the kids talked about him, described him to each other, then dreamed about him, which cemented him more in their brains, until he became a reality.  By what was, if I remember correctly, the 407th film featuring Freddy, ‘Freddy vs Jason’ the townsfolk had worked out that the only way to defeat Freddy, was to pretend he didn’t exist.  No one was allowed to talk about him, no one could mention his name, and anyone who dreamed about him was given dream suppression pills so they ceased dreaming altogether (boy didn’t I crave Hypnocil during my Slenderman nights).  In this way, Freddy became weak and the town was safe (for a while - Stage Right - freaky hockey-mask-wearing-dude-with-mommy-issues).
My point is that from my personal point of view, the Tulpa Community are people who have really good imaginations, like myself and are doing nothing more than imagining another person.  They are not “creating” a tulpa.  Not in the sense that I think they think they are anyway.  I sort of feel like a tulpa is akin to a golem who is created to protect someone or something and is capable of physical destruction in the real world.
I digress.  Touching on Slendy for the podcast is something I’ve wanted to do for a while now, but I’ve hummed and hawed because, let’s face it, I’m scared.  Slenderman did become a bit too real for me, even if it was in my head and my mind playing tricks on me, but it put me through sheer terror, I was legitimately scared of my own shadow so opening this can of worms is a big deal for me, even if it seems utterly stupid for a grown woman to feel that way.  If two young girls can pretend that killing their friend as a “sacrifice to Slenderman” is real, then who’s to say if enough people genuinely hallucinated Slendy and his creepy, murderous personality, that other people could not be compelled to kill?  He would become his own person. I’m a tin-foil hat wearing silly girl who believes a lot of ridiculous things (except Flat Earth, you guys are wrong - just saying), but from a mass hallucination point of view, I do genuinely think this could be plausible.  And by delving back into this research, not only am I opening up the likelihood of scaring myself silly, into seeing shit that isn’t there, I would also have to be held (partially) responsible for creating the master Slenderman that wipes out the world by making people kill each other.  Hmph.  And Ted Bundy thought he had some great ideas.
Also, “Tulpamancy” is a thing.  Although not according to the Tibetians, where the tulpa originated.  Funny that.  Almost as if it’s a made up word.  (It is.  By the Tulpa Community.)
As for the pretend “Tulpa Community”?  Some of these people envision their tulpas as characters from ‘My Little Pony’.  Make of that what you will.  I wouldn’t personally be taking career and life advice off of a fucking horse.  All I’m saying.
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helkiedustballs · 4 years
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Mental Illness and the Horror Genre
An exploratory essay by Emma L. Gilbert
The relationship between horror media and mental illness is messy, and on many occasions outright screwed up. Today, I’m going to take you through various examples of horror films that utilize mental illnesses and disabilities, often as a central theme, and examine how exactly mental illness is used to benefit the tone of each film, and how some of them may or may not use it in a distasteful fashion.
Without further ado, here we go!
“Psycho” is the earliest film I know of at the moment that utilizes mental illness explicitly as a sort of evil or “villain”. The big reveal is that the character Norman Bates’s late mother developed as another personality inside his head which, very clearly, resembles Dissociative Identity Disorder (we will actually be talking about DID more than once today, as it appears to be the most common mental condition used in horror movies next to psychosis or schizophrenia).
I can only assume in the time of “Psycho’s” release, this portrayal was considered anything but realistic to general audiences (The term “psycho” is even considered a slur nowadays by a fair few mental health experts and activists). Mentally ill individuals were but a disturbed fantasy in the minds of the public, and in many ways they still are.
In more modern times, mental illnesses on the “scarier” side (like DID) are seldom understood or spoken about, and this makes them a very easy target to use as driving scare factors in horror films. We fear what we don’t understand, we know this, we’re talking about it a lot nowadays, but movies similar to “Psycho” that use such things as plot material for their stories still get made so carelessly.
Let’s dive into another example more thoroughly:
 “Midsommar” is a 2019 horror film directed by Ari Aster, the man behind “Hereditary” (which we will also be discussing). I know a lot of people love this movie, just like people love “Psycho”. It won just about every award from Fangoria’s 2020 “Chainsaw Awards”, which are completely fan influenced. But it completely missed the mark for me because of a couple instances involving disabilities. And while these instances are miniscule, it’s the fact that they are so miniscule, so “tossed in”, that bothers me.
My first problem begins at the start of the movie. We open with our lead fretting over an ominous email sent to her by her mentally ill sister, which is all well and good. But the ultimate result of this situation is that she was right to be worried, as her sister had hooked herself up to a car exhaust pipe which she used to poison herself and their parents, resulting in the death of all three.
This is… extreme. And while it’s absolutely okay to be extreme (I’m one of those horror fans that enjoys a little extremity), it’s peculiar, and yet not so peculiar, to have it alongside the aspect of the opening I’m about to explain.
The illness of the sister character is specifically labeled as bipolar disorder. Why is this specifically a problem for me? Mentally ill people can be dangerous, that’s an indisputable fact. But I’m gonna pause “Midsommar” here, because it’s a good time to shift over to a movie that I believe suffers the same problem.
 “Split”, both in the title movie and in the ensemble “Glass”, refers to anti-hero Kevin Crumb’s disorder as Dissociative Identity Disorder (there it is again!). This was a problem since the very conception of the first film, because it’s doing that thing where a mental disorder is used explicitly to make the villain of a horror film scarier. And while the character of Kevin isn’t ultimately seen as evil, the film still misconstrues many things about DID in order to keep its creep factor (like, people don’t wind up with evil alter egos who kidnap and kill people in a cult-like fashion, and people with DID do not go through extreme physical altercations when different personalities take the front).
This was many folks’ first introduction to the very concept of DID, just like back in the 60s with “Psycho”, and the movie does little to deter the audience from taking what they are seeing as factual. It really drives home the fact that Kevin has this disorder that is real, using that perceived realism to enforce the horror of its story. It uses a lot of typical “professional” imagery and dialogue, such as namedropping the disorder and having the character attend a therapist regularly on-screen. These things in film tend to equate in the general ignorant public’s mind to something bordering on or outright factual. While I choose to believe most people recognize the easy potential for illegitimacy in fictional movies, I still notice, even in myself, how further research is seldom enacted, and the information granted by that movie remains present in the back of our minds.
I’m not trying to say this is entirely the fault of the team behind “Split”, because I believe people should be responsible for recognizing that not everything they see is true, no matter how legit it looks. But the fact is that people are stupid and do take stuff like this as fact whether they realize it or not, and I think that filmmakers and storytellers should hold a little responsibility for making sure their highly fictionalized portrayals of real things (especially real people) don’t get taken as hard fact. Easy resources for understanding complex mental conditions are not popular enough or offered enough to garner the public’s attention; I’m sure someone would rather watch “Split” instead of reading a textbook on DID studies.
 All that being said, let’s go back to “Midsommar”. The mention of bipolar disorder is a one-time occurrence, but it still sticks out to me; both because I noticed a trend in Aster’s films of using mental illness explicitly (like I said, “Hereditary” comes later), and that this diagnosis is used at the ultimate expense of the sister.
Throughout the movie, Terri (the sister) is seen as a scary, taunting ghost through Dani (the lead)’s eyes. She is only ever depicted as that terrifying last picture of her, with tubes taped to her mouth and their parents beside her. She also seems to be looking right at Dani in these sequences, too, if I’m remembering correctly. It’s a fearful memory; her sister is a villain.
Using a disorder described as a “mental disorder that causes unusual shifts in mood, energy, activity levels, concentration, and ability to carry out daily tasks” to tie to a character that was unhinged enough to plug herself into a car exhaust pipe to kill herself and her family seems… like a reach, to me, at least. She would’ve had to plan that out- it takes serious dedication, supplies, thought, and time to pull that off. Bipolar people can be prone to sudden outbursts, not necessarily to planning and executing an intricate double homicide/suicide.
What I’m trying to say is that there’s no way bipolar disorder was the sole cause here. There were clearly more “things” she had going on, but the only thing they say is that she’s bipolar, therefore suggesting that is the reason behind what she did, and then treat her like a vengeful ghost the rest of the movie.
There is perfectly good reason for Dani to see her sister as something sinister, though. Literally the only aspect of this plot point that messes it up for me is that we have a “diagnosis”. It doesn’t feel right to me to use such a common and non-extreme illness for the sake of being like “ooh check this out, this is a real mental illness and mentally ill people do bad stuff sometimes, look at that! Look!” It’s lame, and unkind, and, like “Split”, borders on irresponsible. It’s times like this where a character’s mental condition could use a little more ambiguity, especially when it’s literally never brought up again. It’s so nonchalant, so careless, and that’s what bothers me.
Now, I’m gonna move away from mental illness alone for a hot second and explore how “Midsommar” treats its other disabled character.
“Midsommar” depicts an explicitly inbred character with a facial deformity named Ruben who lives with the Swedish cult and is treated like a sort of “higher being”. They are clearly treated with care, but through the gaze of the American characters, we see them as off-putting. And, again, this framing makes sense, as Ruben was purposefully conceived through incest because of some misguided religious belief that disabled people are closer to clarity.
But, stop; what is this portrayal doing, again? It is doing that thing where it uses a disabled character to give us the creeps. And this is made worse when Ruben goes on to kill and skin one of the American characters, and then wear his face as a mask.
Okay, listen. It’s wrong of the cult to purposefully bring a very physically and mentally challenged individual into the world for religious reasons, but that’s not relevant to my point. Yeah, it’s weird, but people like that character are real- and, no matter how they came to be, they’re here now. Why are we always looking at these people with pity or fear, and normalizing that reaction? It can be jarring to see someone who looks like that, sure, but they’re a person, and should be treated like one.
Oh, and not to mention having Ruben wear the skinned face of a “normal” person is absolutely representative of wanting to “look like everybody else”, which is a screwed-up narrative especially when you’re using the disabled person as a straight-up monster. I get the whole “skin the fool” thing, that was funny, but did we have to do that? This is Ruben’s “normal”, and that’s not an awful thing.
Before we reach “Hereditary”, I’d like to say that the utilization of deformed people as killers and monsters in horror is, I think, arguably more prevalent and inescapable than the use of mental illness by itself. It’s present to a point where we just have to deal with it and the amount of irreplaceably iconic villains with facial deformities, but I’d like to believe that we can do better and move past that. Make a monster, not a person.
 Let’s get cracking on “Hereditary” now, which I think uses mental illness as a much more core aspect to its story than “Midsommar”. Again, Aster makes it clear out the gate that our evil character (the grandmother) was indeed mentally ill, and this is, again, used at the character’s expense.
Now, I wanna keep this short, because with how much I went off talking about “Split” and “Midsommar”, I think that what I find troublesome about a movie called “Hereditary” about a mentally ill cultist grandmother passing on her “lifestyle” to her family is rather obvious.
I mostly want to discuss the character of Charlie, because her portrayal is what bugs me the most. My gripe with her is that she is very obviously autistic, or something along those lines, which is framed as a creepy thing about her. She’s supposed to be some kind of “chosen one” that her grandmother wanted, and I guess this was grounds to have her be the “creepy one”. But this can be done without making the character blatantly mentally compromised (and before anyone comes for me, I’m autistic, and despite the many wonderful things about it, it also does hinder me from some basic things in life, so, yeah, it’s compromising). It’s just so tacky, uninspired, and tired.
In regards to other characters, we see Annie speak of how her grandmother suffered from mental conditions (I can’t recall whether or not one was specifically named), and then watch her exhibit various “scary” symptoms herself (trying to set her son on fire, etc.), which grow worse post-Charlie’s death as she is wracked with grief. Annie’s case isn’t quite as terrible as things such as “Split”, as she never actually does anything, only attempts and then snaps herself out of it (before the end of the movie where everything goes to hell, of course). My main problems, as mentioned, are with Charlie and the grandmother, mostly Charlie. I just wanted to attempt to cover all “Hereditary’s” portrayals at least briefly before moving on to my next subject.
 Now that I’m done being mad, let’s explore another recent horror film that uses mental illness as a core aspect.
“Daniel Isn’t Real” is a 2019 film by Adam Egypt Mortimer about a boy (Luke) who experiences a traumatic event as a young child, which he copes with by manifesting an imaginary friend named Daniel. Daniel doesn’t stick around, though, as he tricks Luke into poisoning his mother, almost killing her, and resulting in the two locking Daniel away.
It’s incredibly easy to decipher the, once again, use of DID symptoms. One could easily push this movie aside due to this fact, as clearly, the mental illness is used as the spooky horror thing again. But I’m of the belief that this film handles itself a little better than the likes of “Split”, and here’s why.
It’s a bad thing to use mental illness as your villain, unless you do it right, and there is a way to do that. Luke (the mentally ill person) isn’t the villain, Daniel (the mental illness symptom) is, just like Kevin isn’t “Split’s” villain, but the important difference is that, in “Daniel Isn’t Real”, the audience sympathizes realistically with Luke, doesn’t turn his illness into something extremely outlandish. In “Split”, the audience is following the heroine, who is terrified of the outside force that is Kevin and his personalities. “Split’s” DID is otherworldly and threatening. “Daniel Isn’t Real’s” DID is threatening, but something the audience and Luke hold hands through and fight together.
Aside from some muddy metaphorical aspects (assuming I’m reading it right) and the use of some racial stereotypes common in horror films, “Daniel Isn’t Real” is on the upper end of horror featuring mental illness.
It is also worth noting that there is actually a specific mental illness brought to attention in the film, schizophrenia, as Luke is seen reading a book about it once he starts realizing he’s losing control of Daniel. But this is merely a suggestion, as he doesn’t actually know what is going on in his head and we never get an official declaration of his condition. This brief clip pretty much only helped in solidifying my perception of the story as about mental illness first, and a demonic imaginary friend second. If you ask me, I think dissociative identity disorder fits more with the film than schizophrenia, but my knowledge on both of these disorders is relatively “bare basics”, so take that with a grain of salt. And besides, from this point on I’m going to be looking at the portrayal mainly as an undefined trauma induced condition.
I view Daniel as a visual representation of Luke’s mental condition. He is rude, and childish, and malicious, nothing like who Luke is, who wants nothing more than to get rid of him. Mental illness can feel like there is some evil thing in your brain telling you awful things and threatening your existence, and Daniel represents this feeling perfectly.
Going even deeper, the movie opens with a shooter entering a small café and massacring multiple patrons and themself. One of the things that causes Daniel to manifest is Luke, having left his home where his parents are shouting at one another non-stop, coming face to face with the dead shooter. It is later revealed that Daniel, an ancient demonic “imaginary friend”, was inhabiting the shooter at the time, thus making him the cause of the massacre. And he chose Luke as his next host on that fateful day.
Pause now. We’ve got a blatant mental illness metaphor, and it’s the direct cause of a murder. Why am I more lenient on this and hard on things like “Midsommar”? It’s because this detail plays into what I view as a very interesting interpretation of mental conditions and their preceding trauma.
Looking past Daniel being a demon, I see this as the shooter struggling with the same or a similar type of mental condition caused by a past trauma. This person was sick, as all terrorists of this breed are. Again, this narrative is helped by the fact that we are following Luke and not someone on the outside of his problem, and therefor understand the real lack of control had by anyone Daniel (A.K.A. mental illness) has touched, and, more importantly, the helplessness they feel.
Am I saying people who enact gun violence are partially innocent and have no free will? No, that’s stupid. The real point of me bringing this up is simply that I find it interesting how the film looks at trauma as sort of a contagion. Hurt people can hurt people, and traumatized people can traumatize people. Whatever “demons” that killer hosted were passed on to Luke- and, if the film wanted to go for a broader subject and ditch the singular evil imaginary friend concept, passed onto many others, too. But, it didn’t, and I think that works best, as symptoms like Daniel typically only manifest in young children, assuming you wanna go with the DID/schizophrenia reading, which is what the film offers to us.
We see experiences and fears felt by everyone who has mental illnesses portrayed visually in “Daniel Isn’t Real”, sometimes feeling like a mixed bag of different symptoms from different mental conditions. I see myself and my own experiences in Luke, and it feels good to see the mentally ill person as the hero, and the mental illness being at least mainly a threat to the mentally ill person rather than the outside world, which is how it is more often than not.
And while the movie ends on a sad note, actually quite similar to Kevin’s end in “Glass”, what it does with its runtime is, for the most part, what I want to see more of in terms of mental illness in horror.
 Like I said at the beginning, we’re an easy target. Autistic, obsessive compulsive, anxious, depressed people like me are scary when you have no idea what you’re looking at. Yes, we can be dangerous sometimes, but to nobody more than ourselves. But much more than dangerous, we’re scary to ourselves.
I’ve lived in terror for long periods of time before due to my mental illnesses, and I’ve had this thought; “why doesn’t someone make a horror movie where the mentally ill person is the protagonist, and the mental illness is the monster?” “Daniel Isn’t Real” executed this idea almost perfectly, if not for the fact that Daniel was out to hurt other people, because what’s scarier than a person with a realistic mental condition hurting other people? Ooooo.
Living with mental illness can feel like a horror movie all on its own. The horror is in my head, and I can’t kill it, only keep it at bay, control it. And I think that is scarier than any Norman Bates, than any Kevin Crumb, than any Ruben. To live with a force in your head that wants nothing more than you for to be in misery is a horrific reality worse than any killer.
And before I close, I want to comment on one more little detail. I’m much more critical on recent movies that work with this subject matter than I am on older movies; that’s why I had so much to say about the Aster films and “Split” and so little about “Psycho”. This is because I understand how invisible the very concept of mental illness was in everyday society in “Psycho’s” time. It wasn’t just an easy target, it was a given, and nobody writing these films had any idea of what they were doing or the seedling of thought to look into it. It was that alien.
Today, we are talking about mental illness so much, and yet we are still so careless with what we use it for in our media. It is blasphemous to me that directors and writers still insist on using mentally ill people as villains and creepy characters. Mental illness is such a complex experience that deserves to be explored from the viewpoint of those of us who live with it, not as a toy for the bigshot horror director of the hour to toss around like a hot potato.
There was an excuse in the 1960s. There is no excuse now. We can do better.
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