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irisintheafterglow · 2 months

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HAND THREE - TWO PAIR

summary: in a season where you're determined to fly under the radar, newly-returned crown prince!touya todoroki has other ideas. in this hand, a date is had.

wc: 2.5k

cw/tags: royalty!au/regency!au, fem!reader, some swearing, banter and dialogue driven, fake dating, pining and tension, todoroki enji jumpscare LOL

note: the two wolves living inside me is one wanting to rush the hell out of slow burn and the other telling me to make it painfully slow. however, i broke a little and made the pining a little obvious in this chapter oops. one day i will achieve the emotional release of s2 bridgerton bee sting scene. hope you enjoy !!!!

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated <3

“Show.”

“You first.”

“I’m royalty.”

“And I have the higher stack. Now, show,” you repeat and he scoffs, the corner of his mouth tugging upward and creasing the deep purple scars on his cheek. He turns his two cards face-up and, sure enough, you’d snatched another victory from the self-proclaimed Prince of Calculation. “I win again,” you smile and he begrudgingly pushes the pot to your side of the table, an amalgamation of garden pebbles, stray buttons, and a few gold coins you managed to produce. You were using whatever you had to gamble and the prince didn’t seem to mind. Touya, you remind yourself. You were supposed to call him by his first name throughout this whole charade, but it seemed as foreign on your tongue as a protruding third set of teeth.

“You’re a much more dangerous woman than you give yourself credit for,” he muses with a clever glint in his eyes. Over the course of the last month or so, you’d accumulated an immunity to his unwavering stares and scalding eyes; lately, it actually seemed you found a certain affinity for his intense nature, even when you were its only target. His sweetly poisonous words were the latest test to your composure. “If we dressed you as a man for the night, we could relieve an entire club of their purses before the clock strikes ten.” His pretty fingers dealt another two cards and you peeked at them from the bottom of your vision. Queen of hearts and two of clubs. Not the best hand.

“Hmm. How much of the pot would you use to bail me out for invading said club?” You lay out the first three cards, the flop, and flip the first over before betting a conservative amount. Four of diamonds.

“Who ever said anything about bail? I’d just sneak you out. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time,” he answers, calling your bet, and you can’t tell if he’s kidding. It was another piece you were still trying to solve of the puzzle that was the prince of the Todoroki family, how he joked so casually about breaking laws and dodging authority. The nonchalance of his recklessness made your stomach turn, sometimes, but you couldn’t tell if it was from fear or intrigue. You flip the second card of the flop. Two of hearts. A pair, if all else failed. You just had to hope he didn’t have anything either.

“For a royal, you seem to know a concerning amount about rule breaking. Do you have any intent to corrupt me?”

“By the end of our courtship, possibly.” Jack of diamonds. Not what you were hoping for as the third card, by any means. A flash of excitement lights up behind your opponent’s eyes, too purposeful to be genuine. You mentally added his poker tells to the never-ending list of things to figure out about him, right under the number of crimes he’s committed against the government. Tossing in a few medium-value flower petals, you’re unsurprised when he matches your bet again.

“Our courtship which, I’ll remind you, is causing quite the stir in the ton,” you point out while revealing the turn. Seven of hearts. You try not to let your disappointment in your current hand show on your face. The prince, you notice, looks like he’s trying a little too hard to contain his excitement. “You know, I suspect they might be rooting for us.”

“That’d be a new experience for me. Never received too much support in my endeavors before.” He places a high bet and you have no choice but to match it. If you were right about him lying, you would learn something new about his poker strategy; but, if you were wrong, you wouldn’t hear the end of it for the rest of the day. You flip the river and your heart stutters. Two of diamonds. You’re careful with your next bet, knowing that three of a kind wasn’t the best or worst hand you could create. The prince, however, pushes his entire hoard into the pot with a challenge in his eyes. He was trying to force you to fold.

You match the bet and reveal your hand.

Two pair versus three of a kind. The prince was bluffing, and you won again.

“At least this time, you’re not alone.” The admission is obvious but still catches both of you off-guard when you say it. You’re about to apologize for being too sentimental when that unreadable look passes over his face again, sudden as a lightning strike and gone just as quickly.

“I guess you’re right,” he murmurs, relinquishing the remaining pot of knick-knacks to you. “Though I will say, having my ass handed to me in a card game was not a part of my plan.”

“A woman with intellect is never part of a man’s plan, yet she prevails all the same,” you conclude and he hums in agreement, collecting the remaining cards and slotting them back into their box. A concerning thought occurs to you and you glance around the secluded palace courtyard with new-found suspicion. His eyes follow your own, watching you keenly in a way that was both comforting and unsettling.

“What is it?”

“Will the servants not whisper about a woman playing a man’s game?”

“They will whisper that you won, and that is what matters,” he states like a well-known fact. “Why? Is something bothering you about them?”

“No, I’m just mulling over this whole arrangement again.” You wave him off dismissively and take another sip of lemonade from your teacup. A drink which, when you’d finally agreed to meet the prince at the palace for a day, he ordered presumably because you both shared a distaste for tea. “How odd it is and how people gossip so.”

“A lady beating the prince at poker is hardly a scandal compared to what transpired last week,” he recalls with terribly-hidden amusement, breaking off a piece of scone and smearing a glob of berry preserves onto it. “Wouldn’t you agree?” Your cheeks heat when you think of the memory and you snap your fan open to cool yourself and hide your burning face. It certainly wasn’t your proudest moment, to say the least.

“Would you like me to retrieve a stick to keep your competition at bay?” You had jokingly asked, following his distracted gaze. It was your third ball of the season and your third public appearance with the prince; both you and your co-conspirator were forced to acknowledge the increasing number of interested suitors trying to pry you away. Dances, you found, were one of the few moments where other men weren’t climbing over each other for your attention. The only problem was being forced to share breathing space with him for an extended period of time. “Your Highness, why are you glaring like that?”

“I said to stop calling me that, and I’m not glaring,” he mumbled, very obviously glaring and avoiding your eyes. His hand stiffens around your waist, making your already-awkward distance from him more uncomfortable. It didn’t take long to notice that he was a fine dancer when he was with any other partner but you, and you figured it was because being in such close proximity was not part of your agreement. You raise a skeptical eyebrow, finally making him look at you when the silence indicates your displeasure. “Pay me no mind. I am only–”

“Moping like a kicked dog, that’s what you’re doing,” you interject and, in a blink, you’re back in another standoff with his intense stare.

“I don’t recall when you gained the right to comment on my behaviors so crassly.” Your eyebrows pinch, taken aback by his sudden hostility. His eyes were always burning, like embers in a fireplace, and it felt like the longer you looked at them, the less likely you’d be able to pull away. After a few moments of staring him down, you back off with a frustrated huff. You think you feel some of the tension leave him, too.

“If we are to keep up this ruse in a believable manner, I suggest you confide in me from time to time, especially if it causes you to act in unfavorable ways,” you state simply, your irritation obvious.

“You know nothing of my unfavorable ways.” The venom in his voice makes your heart sink, against your own judgment. His expression doesn’t soften, but his voice does. “Trust me. It’s not your burden to bear,” he says in a low tone and goosebumps spread across your arms, despite the fabric of your gloves and the sleeves of your dress. He meets your eyes and you could have sworn his gaze flickers to the neckline of your gown, but the action, like so many of his movements, is too quick to comment on. “So, let’s keep to our sides of the street, shall we?”

“You’re insufferable,” you hiss, letting your politely smiling face slip as the strings conclude the dance. “Enjoy the rest of the evening. I feel a bit faint.” The muscles in his jaw clenches and you turn on your heel to beeline for an exit when a strong hand grabs you by the wrist and pulls you backward. Before you can register where you’re moving, your hand is placed firmly on his forearm and you’re a split-second from slapping him when–

“Touya.” Shit. With a blank mind, you remember to curtsy from pure muscle memory, dipping deeply toward the ground while the prince bends at the waist.

“Good evening, Father.” Touya’s voice becomes empty, devoid of all sarcasm, teasing, and charm. A glance at his face tells the same tale, blank and emotionless. The only indication of his true thoughts came the slight shake in his arm and how he unconsciously tugged you closer and closer to his side. You let yourself be pulled in and your free hand moved on its own, coming to rest on top of his and running your thumb over his knuckles. He exhales shakily. “Father, this is–”

“I know who you are,” he says before you could be properly introduced, making your nostrils flare. The man besides you bristles and you wonder how such a hard-faced, stoic man could make such a reckless and carefree son. You’d never seen King Todoroki except in victory parades and newsprints of his alliance with King All Might, but you could recognize the family’s flaming eyes from miles away. You decided that, no matter how irritating the prince was, his father was lower on your ranking of the Todoroki royals. “Should you marry, are you aware of the responsibility of being the wife of a king?”

“I believe she is called a queen, Your Majesty,” you hear yourself say before you can stop yourself. From beside you, the prince makes a noise somewhere between a choke and a snort, and you direct your attention to the floorboards in hopes of surviving the king’s scathing reply. Despite the chatter of the party around you, it feels like your words were echoing off the gilded ceilings. The reprimand, however, never comes. The king turns back to his son with a look of suppressed wrath before turning and stalking away, a crowd of nobles crowing for his attention.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” he whispers in disbelief as he hurriedly guides you out of the hall and into one of the manor’s gardens, still within sight of nosy mothers but out of their earshot. Your hand hasn’t left his arm, nor has he tried to pry it off. If anything, you click into his side like a missing puzzle piece, and you’re confusingly reluctant to let go. “That was the worst possible way you could have answered that question,” the prince continues and your stomach turns.

“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you,” you reply with poorly masked shame, lowering your head and letting him walk ahead. Your hand detaches from his arm and you’re struck by the sudden lack of warmth. He turns sharply to look at you, looks back at his empty arm, and then back at you before closing the few feet between you. His eyes were burning into you again but he said nothing, watching you watch the blades of grass surrounding your shoes. Your voice is as quiet as the swaying summer wind. “If I have jeopardized our plan, I understand if you–”

“Stop,” he commands, and it takes a moment to register his gloved fingers under your chin, gently but firmly tilting your head to look at him. Your eyes trace the jagged lines of where his skin meets his scars and the world around you quiets. “I am…the opposite of angry with your actions.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not an easy task, talking back to my father. Yet, you performed it as easily as breathing,” he explains with a soft awe in his expression that made your breath catch in your chest.

“I guess I’ve had good practice, countering your arguments for the better half of the summer,” you agree hesitantly. What the hell was this feeling? For whatever reason, the world around you temporarily faded to static noise and blurred paintings, with the only decipherable images being the man in front of you. “So, you’re not unhappy with my behavior around your father?”

“I have never been prouder to be seen with you,” he reassures you and you finally crack a smile, his hand leaving your face and his feet stepping back to a respectful distance. “On another note, can you recall what we were arguing about before we were interrupted?”

“I can’t, unfortunately. I believe I was about to leave you alone on the dance floor to mingle with other suitors,” you joke and, though his expression remains relaxed, his eyes darken subtly.

“I wouldn’t let them so much as breathe in your direction,” he declares, your breath becoming stuck in your lungs again. “Plus, you were saying that you required a stick to fight them off.”

“I did not say I required a stick,” you counter, lightheartedly bumping your shoulder against his while you make your way back into the manor. He merely smiles, a rare, genuine smile. “Though, I would like to apologize for my brash observations.”

“You are forgiven.”

“Thank you,” you exhale, following him to the refreshments table.

“And…”

“Nevermind,” you backtrack, but he continues nonetheless.

“As reparation for insinuating that I act like an abused animal–”

“Which you do,” you retort quietly and he chuckles, shaking his head.

“Next week, you will accompany me in receiving a visiting ally prince,” he says. “As it would be dreadfully boring to do alone and you, thankfully, bruised my ego, I will be dragging you with me on his guided tour of the kingdom’s market district.”

“Must I really attend?”

“Who’s acting like the kicked dog now?” He smirks and you have no choice but to go along with his plan. Now, after several rounds of beating his royal ass in poker, it was time for you to leave and prepare for the social night between the Takami and Todoroki kingdoms.

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#dabi x you #dabi x reader #dabi x y/n #touya todoroki x you #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki x y/n #mha x you #mha x reader #mha x y/n #touya x you #touya x reader #touya x y/n #bnha x you #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n

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al-the-remix · 5 months

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Random fandom thoughts/feelings

The reblog button is turned off on this post but I think it's another incredibly important one to be thinking about. I enjoy their framing of how the profit economy of other social media sites has been bleeding into fandom spaces on both tumblr, and like this post focuses on, Ao3. It's something that I've been noticing more and more and it really rubs me the wrong way and I feel like OP's post words it perfectly in a way I've been struggling to express.

This sort of connects the previous post I reblogged on the topic talking about how fandom is not a good in road for becoming internet famous.

A facet of this that's really bamboozled me recently is that I feel like i've been seeing more and more of is the idea that a singular person has a right to call "dibs" on a specific piece of media. Which is honestly totally fucking wild to me and if I'm being totally frank kind of dumb.

Every single one of us who interacts with fandom and by extent and IP is flirting with copy right law, the consequences of which everyone should be extremely familiar with by now with the fall of LJ and various lawsuits by authors, dmca notices, etc.

We have all heard the adage "there's no such thing as an original idea"; the idea that everything we create is the amalgamation of all the things that influence us, good and bad.

This is totally normal and good, actually.

For example, if I and another person both watch a TV show, see a production photograph that we really like and decide to draw it and post them one after the other it would be considered extremely bad behaviour to then turn around and make a big stink about how someone else had the gall to turn around and draw the same thing that I did. We can all look at a picture, video, lyrics to a song, become inspired and create something wildly different based on our tastes and influences--but we also are equally, if not more so, likely to create something nearly identical to our peers, especially in a fandom space where ideas are concentrated and we are all consuming each other's thoughts, opinions, and creations. More than once I've come up with an idea for a fic or a drawing that someone else had had a nearly identical execution of without us communicating or viewing each other's work. That's just the way the human brain works, we're hard wired to make connections in a fairly similar way.

You do not have a right to call dibs on any one photograph, clip of video, song lyrics or any other bit of media you might consume.

This stands for artists, writers, gif makers, AMV creators, and any other way you choose to express your love of fandom creatively.

If you are really hard pressed to focus on the numbers and work at being ~influential~ the burden is on you to distinguish yourself creatively.

There's a reason why not being able to see follower counts is so important to the way fandom and tumblr functions. The concept of ~small creators~ and ~big creators~ or BNF or whatever are all burdens you place on yourselves. No one is taking anything away from you by engaging with the same bit of media you are in a similar way. We all have a right to express ourselves creatively and emotionally through any snippet of media that sparks our interest. You do not get to "own it" just because you happened to pump something out first. There are no creative "dibs". This isn't even some sort of "fandom" etiquette thing that has gone thus unspoken. It's a strange possessive thing that I've seen crop up more and more as the idea of being a capital "C" Creator brain rots people's minds and atrophies their ability to be creative.

Sort of on a tangent, but I have a bunch of other personal random thoughts about how this push to be prolific stagnates fandom, but these are more complicated for me and I'm not as clear on how I want to express them. On one had I am completely on board with the "there is no such thing as cringe" mindset and that everyone has a right to create whatever super indulgent thing they want to without having to suffer people being snobby about it. But, on the other hand I feel very strongly that the cycle of people seeing one trope or characterization being repeated repeated over and over and gaining popularity, reading only that--writing only that--leading others to also only consume that, really stymies creativity and makes it harder to grow the fandom if people that are trying to enter aren't into That One Thing, while also ostracizing people who are already in the fandom that aren't into That One Thing. I strongly believe that people's tastes are at least 70% just what they're exposed to, and obviously not everyone is going to be into whatever weird niche concept they're exposed to through fandom, but the more they are the more opportunity they have to expand that horizon. I don't know how many times I've gotten a version of the "I wasn't sure I would like this but I gave it a shot and it turns out I really love it!" and how good that feels and how much I wish other people were emboldened to do the same instead of being so wrapped up in how their work may or may not be received.

This is mostly a subjective thing though, so it's less cut and dry. Like for example, I really struggle with engaging with transgender fic despite being transgender myself because of the way most AFAB fic is written to the point where I avoid it now almost entirely. Which, frankly, really fucking sucks but also I will be the first person to fight for other's ability to write transgender characters wether they appeal my personal feelings and taste or not.

Anyway, this is one of the reasons I'm so protective of fandom community events, especially ones that employ aspects of the fandom gift economy such as exchanges. There are one of the few wholly un self-centred places left where the focus is on gifting someone something they will love and giving back to the fandom at large by flooding it with art and opportunities appreciation and engagement with each other. It is not supposed to be an opportunity for you to think about yourself and "getting something good" in return or using it a convenient deadline. It also offers you an opportunity to engage with fic tropes and genres that you've never considered writing or reading before.

TL;DR if you've found yourself recently squabbling over how many notes your gifs, art, writing, etc. has been getting compared to other people instead of focusing on forging community ties and your own creative expression, I'm sorry to say you're doing it wrong.

#mostly word vomit but it's a topic i think a lot about since both my job and most of my hobbies are creative focused #and after coming off a nearly two year burnout (that was not caused by any of these things) but effected my ability to participate in fando #and some of my hobbies in favour of others like working out in order to focus on work and stuff that would help my brain heal #I just do not think brining a profit economy mindset is really what's going to make fandom engagement /better/#again why are you acting like capitalists on the socialism website #anyways i'm really trying hard not to go full “parade of shame down the main street” but this behaviour is so appalling to me and while #i understand it i don't understand the appeal of participating in fandom in that fashion

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ikeromantic · 10 months

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Update on this blog!

Blog Update!

I don't know if any of you have noticed, but I moved my blog to only be viewable if you're logged into Tumblr. I didn't want to do this, but I did want to limit AI scrapers' access to what I write. I love getting to share stories here with people that have nothing more in common with me that a love for the same fandoms and an enthusiasm for fiction. I do not write and share to train someone's text generating AI project.

I have never worried about who reads what I post or even much cared how it was used. Because that's what you agree to when you post things online. You're giving up most of your rights by sharing your text online. I know that.

But I've been increasingly uncomfortable with the idea of AI using my texts to learn how to write. To imitate my style and characterizations. And then to use these freely shared texts to put writers out of work. To flood literary markets with AI text and make it just that much harder to get published or to have anyone notice your self-publication.

AI is meant to be a tool to help guide you to use a better word or phrase, as with grammar programs. To assist in drafting reports and filling out forms. For private use and personal enjoyment. And for people living with disabilities that need that extra help to write or draw or whatever the AI is designed to assist with. AI should not be replacing real people who make real stories and real art.

ChatGPT and similar aren't human, capable of creating something new or interesting. AI written text is an amalgam of all the writing the creators stole when building their program. A regurgitation of the words and phrases drafted out by little amateurs like me to fantastic authors of classics no longer copyright protected.

I do not want to contribute to AI development. I can't see another way to stop them scraping content besides requiring viewers to have a login. Other than, perhaps, shutting this down all together. Hopefully this is enough. Maybe in another year or two when the laws catch up to tech, I can take the privacy setting off again. Or it will get worse and I really will have to stop sharing. Sigh.

So, long story short TL;DR - I don't want AI to use my stories so you have to be logged into Tumblr to read them.

#not fanfic #AI sucks #no scraping #blog update #login required to view fics

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alchemist-of-chaos · 2 years

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a brush of colour

character: shoto todoroki

warnings: negative self talk, depreciating thoughs

author's note: i somehow got my inspiration back so hopefully i will be able to write some more

beauty. something that today's society values more than ever. you pride yourself on being a person that sees beyond that, that judges people on who they are, not what they look like. unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to apply to your relationship with yourself.

you poke at your cheek and grimace. the person looking back at you from the mirror is someone you can’t help but ridicule. every curve of your body, every spot on your skin. even your hair, god, something that you can change however you want, your hair looks as dreadful as always.

sometimes you wonder if that’s how other people see you. an amalgamation of all the things wrong with you.

it seems you won’t be going to that party. again.

your classmates (specifically mina, bless her) planned a night out to celebrate after your midterm exams. and you would love to go, you really would. you love them like your own family. but you can’t lie and say you haven’t noticed. how pretty they are. how radiant all of them are. you’re not supposed to compare yourself, as your therapist always says, but you can’t help it.

you can’t face them looking like that.

your lip starts to tremble as you sit on the floor in front of your mirror, hiding your face in your hands.

pathetic. disgusting. how can you live looking like that? do something about it. fix it. fix your stupid ugly fa-

“um, hey?”

you startle only now noticing that the door to your room opened. todoroki stands there, nervously shuffling from one foot to another.

you breathe out, straightening your shirt with your hands mindlessly as you turn to face the boy already staring at you.

“hey. uh, why are you here? do you- do you need something?” you ask, wondering why someone like todoroki didn’t head out already. contrary to what people might think, he never missed a party. it’s not that he was someone who enjoyed partying, he just never declined an invitation from a friend. you bet midoriya was the one to ask him to come along this time as well, a tactic that mina seemed to implement.

“they were worried,” he said plainly, deadpan stare startling you out of your pondering.

“worried? why-”

“you always come. your friends were worried that you looked down today. are you sick? or are you in a bad mood” he cocks his head to the side

“no, no! i’m fine, really!”

“then why don’t you come?”

“it’s nothing, it’s just- i mean i don’t even have anything to wear- and the makeup,” you gesture to the makeup bag spilling over on the floor in front of you “i just- i don’t know how to make myself look good.”

todorokis eyes seem to get rounder at that: “look good?”

“i mean,” you sigh, deciding that you might as well open up to someone willing to listen, “don’t you see? i’m not… pretty. or anything of that sort. i’m just…”

you lock eyes with the reflection of the flawed creature staring back at you from the mirror.

“i think you’re pretty,” he says and your breath catches in your throat. you stifle a laugh.

“i don’t think i can see it.” you chuckle.

“then let’s try.”

“what?”

“let’s try to make you see it.” he says closing the door behind him as he makes his way to settle down on the ground before you.

you blink, not sure of what he meant and you watch as his hands reach for your makeup bag. he seems to be looking for something specific and you watch as the corner of his tongue slips out from his mouth in concentration.

“do you… know how to do makeup?” you ask, leaning closer to him to watch as he stacks your makeup palettes before him.

“you’re not the only person that doesn’t like their own reflection.”

you freeze, head softly turning to sneak a peek at his face.

“what? you’re beaitiful!” you exclaim in shock, realizing what you said only after it came out, “i mean- you’re, uh, handsome.”

he smirks and cocks his head to catch your gaze. “i don’t see it.”

“you got me there.” you huff.

for the next several minutes you sit back, enjoying the gentle touches of the brushes and his hands, swiftly working. you close your eyes as you listen to him hum gently, while he swipes the brushes gently.

“it’s a way of compromise.” he starts, taking you back out of your reverie,”i do makeup to make do with what i already have and make it better for me to live with.”

“that doesn’t sound that positive.”

“but it’s a start,” he says and his hand stops applying the product to pinch your cheek. it’s now that you notice the residue of makeup around his scar.

“it can also be a start for you.”

humming in acknowledgment, you watch him fumble with the makeup bag. maybe one party won’t hurt. maybe, just maybe, they see you the same way that he does, the same way that you see him.

beautiful.

#todoroki fluff #mha comfort #todoroki x reader #mha x reader

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akookminsupporter · 2 years

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You asked what would happen if JK were to release another GCF Tokyo. I will do my duty to this fandom and deliver an answer.

Let me channel everything I actually know about the fandoms reaction to the last GCF Tokyo and combine it with what I recently further learned about this fandom (thanks, Twitter).

[Author's notice: this script does in no way represent my own opinion. This is just an amalgamation of all the monstrosities my brain had to process these last couple of days. So look at it as a kind of therapeutic intervention/ brain exorcism].

The narrative would look like this:

Jungkook, exhausted from all his fanservice shenanigans with Jimin, wants to take Tae on a cute couples trip to Tokyo.

Jimin, feeling jealous and scorned, asks BangPD to lie to Tae and keep him busy, so he won't be able to fly to Tokyo.

Meanwhile, BangPD is busy writing the script for the Jikook fanservice GCF, also buying the plane tickets and make reservations for the hotel room (actually two hotel rooms. One for JK and one for Jimin and himself).

Jennie, needing all the attention to promote her own career, is using cold hard YG cash to pay for an editor to manipulate and leak Taennie pictures. Because she would be nothing without Tae's influence.

A nice side effect: the general public is distracted from finding out about her real boyfie, Gdragon. Rumors about them have been spreading since she was 14 and they need to hide their true love by using and manipulating Tae.

Plottwist: said paid editor is actually none other than Gdragon himself. Et Boum! C'est le choc!

In the end, Hybe and YG entertainment are working together to use Tae's influence for maximum clout, furthering their Jikook and Taennie agenda, seperating the obvious couple to...protect them? Or was it to milk them for their fame? I always get these two mixed up, sorry.

But, we're not done here. The actual, actual mastermind behind the actual masterminds is none other than Yeontan.

Because this poor dog was left behind while Taekook was enjoying themselves in New York, Los Angeles, Las Vegas and Washington (oh and Jeju Island. Let's not forget the obvious Taekook couple trip). And now Tokyo, too? The audacity!

Feeling jealous and scorned, he had to find a way to keep Tae all for himself.

Jimin - as the resident KPop homewrecker and attention seeker - takes pity on him, offering his help and profound knowledge on manipulating everyone to his will, the little vixen. Because he knows best how it feels to not get the attention he deserves.

So the moral of this story: Yeontan just wants some extra cuddles, okay. Can't blame him.

#freeYeontanfromBlinksandArmies

What in the your first book on Wattpad is this?!!! 😭😭😭

But I was right! Pure CHAOS!

#ask #fandom #shippers #jikookphobics #jk gcf

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wuxiaphoenix · 1 year

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Book Review: The Troubled Empire

The Troubled Empire: China in the Ming and Yuan Dynasties, by Timothy Brook. I’m giving this history five out of five, this is exactly the ground-level info I wanted on climate, culture, and the rest of the time period for my points of historical divergence in Colors of Another Sky. And I plan to look up other books and articles by this author. Especially Vermeer’s Hat and everything he wrote on Xu Guangqi. For one thing, this author not only has an extensive bibliography, he sorts it into primary and secondary sources, so you can go straight to the source or read a myriad of interpretations....

Ahem. This is a book Jason would have read, given it covers large chunks of the Little Ice Age in Asia. That gives me not just world-background, but character background. If I take this book as “what he knows”, I then have a good basis for what he’ll see looking around in this world’s present and notice that things are Not Quite Right.

As you can imagine, I have sticky-notes all over my copy. Not just for Jason. Chae would have lived through about a third of these events!

...But mostly because there is so much neat stuff.

A few examples. The author pays particular attention to Chinese records of dragons. Because they were written down as real history, and accounts tend to coincide with upset, upheaval, and all kinds of nasty weather hitting the Empire in both Yuan and Ming.

And we often hear of Chinese referring to places to get rich overseas as “Gold Mountain”. But apparently gold was actually the civilized way to refer to silver. Which was money. Money coming from Spain and Portugal by way of galleons from South America... yet at the time, at least until about 1630, there was just as much silver coming to China from Japan. Especially since Japan had gotten hold of the mercury amalgam process from foreign traders.

(Chae is probably several kinds of ticked about that. She’s a cultivator, from a tradition that now actually works; she knows how nasty cinnabar really is.)

Not to mention that in times when things were going well, and there were times even in the Little Ice Age that it was... there were markets for antiquities that, somehow, always had a few more antiques laying around to show wealthy collectors. To the point that some collectors found spotting the fakes to be part of their fun!

One of the facts I want to chew more on (which also agrees with bits of a book on William Adams, who was in Japan in late Ming) is the fact that mathematics, particularly geometry that helped shape maps, astrological calculations, and artillery fire, is one of the things China and Japan both found most impressive about European areas of knowledge. Hmm.

All told this book is fascinating. I’m definitely going to reread it, and it’s giving me lots of story fodder!

#book review #chinese history #Ming Dynasty #Yuan Dynasty #Little Ice Age

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corvidcrybaby · 11 months

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Sometimes I flip-flop around on my decision not to show any of Zemira's family members outright in the story and whether that's a good thing or not. Because on the one hand, I want to maintain the illusion that Zemi could be just about anybody, and as such, her family problems being an amalgam of what an estranged Jewish youth and a young trans woman might face in their complicated family dynamics.

I envision Zemi's parents to have been the type who "are trying but just Do Not Get their kid." Despite knowing that their child had strengths, passions and skills, they took only minor interest in her development - I think the warning signs of her being trans were probably there from an early age and her parents could only surmise that they had a "difficult child" who threw tantrums over wearing boy's clothing - especially formal attire. As she grew and got older, this only persisted.

When asked about Zemira by peers, friends, and other members of their community, I suspect Mr. and Mrs. Makhabi would do that "affectionate" eye-roll and say something like "Ahahaha, ah, well, that one, you know - she's always been a real character. She's got this spark in her but she just doesn't seem to be doing anything with it." Such was their attitude that only persisted as Zemi grew into young adulthood. It very much gives the impression that although her parents provided for her basic physical needs, they were in their own worlds for much of her development - unconcerned with her inner turmoil and the intricacies of who she is. I don't think they were the typical high-pressure overbearing parents you see in stories like this - rather, I think Zemi's parents only noticed that she existed when she did things that shook that image they held of her. Her running away from home was a gargantuan wake-up-call that all was not well, but even then, I think they still don't understand what she's dealing with, and I don't think they have the ability to.

I suspect Zemira announcing her enrollment in the British Special Forces was a real side-swipe that caught them off-guard, when if they had been paying attention, they probably would totally understand - because then, maybe she might have shared what she was going through with them.

Zemira definitely has "lost child" syndrome due to emotional neglect, manifesting as severe rebellious tendencies and poor impulse control because hey, she's acted this way her whole life, and it's the only thing that makes authority figures take notice of her and consider her merits - often conceding that yes, actually, she CAN do amazing things; but they are only acknowledged when she rocks the boat.

A ton of her story in Lesions is centered on unlearning these habits, and her finally accepting what she once deemed a childish pipe dream - that she is in an environment where she is being judged fairly and charitably, even by the highest authority figures like Integra.

Additionally, I think Zemi's family were Orthodox when she was very young, but switched denominations to Conservative Judaism when she was around five or six or so. Do not take this as a sign that the latter is "Diet Orthodox" - it isn't. There are key differences between the two that make me feel like the choices a parental unit might make to come to the conclusion that that conversion was right for them rhyme with the trajectory that dear Zemi's life has taken.

It also doesn't help that her childhood community was a hodgepodge, cramped mess where Jews of countless different walks of life and ethnic, cultural and national backgrounds were smooshed together. Turns out, when Christian Brits paint all Jews with the same brush and wave off the massive difference between the groups and engage in segregation and "restrictive covenants" on where Jews can live, work, study and generally exist, it creates a melting pot effect where many disparate traditions get blended into a jumbled mess of a community, rife with cultural diffusion. And so on and so forth.

#just zemi things #zemira shani makhabi #my ocs #hellsing oc #jewish stuff #this is also a lot of me flexing my muscles tentatively on trying to incorporate what knowledge i've reclaimed about my heritage #into the setting and worldbuilding that is #and what kind of world zemira grew up in that would allow for a delinquent teenage metalhead to turn into what she is now

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shoarchives · 1 year

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Lo Life

In the world of fashion and consumerism, we often find ourselves unwittingly entranced by the power of branding. The appeal of a well-crafted logo or a well-told brand story can be irresistible, leading us to seek out and covet certain products with a fervor that borders on obsession.

This journey began in my high school days in Virginia Beach, where I first fell in love with the streetwear and hip-hop style that dominated the scene. Growing up idolizing Pharrell Williams, I was naturally drawn to the vibrant and colorful designs of brands like Stussy and BAPE, which were all the rage at the time. As a struggling college student, I had to make every penny count, but when Commonwealth, the first streetwear boutique, opened its doors near my campus, I knew I had to splurge. I spent my entire lunch money on Stussy! And those free BAPE sandals from a Japanese fashion magazine? Don't even get me started. The packaging alone was worth the hype. It was the early 2000s, the golden age of streetwear, and I was all in - a fan, a consumer, a fiend for that fresh gear.

But as I grew older and began to navigate the world of video production in the 2010s, I found myself drawn to more practical and functional clothing that could withstand the rigors of travel and long days on set. That's when I discovered Patagonia, whose ethos and commitment to sustainability and environmentalism spoke to me on a deeper level. While laboring for Karmaloop, the digital retail behemoth, I was introduced to the preeminent outdoor clothier, Patagonia, by my co-producer, Will Kaner, who even authored an article for their publication. Naturally, I seized the opportunity to exploit the good 40% staff discount, accruing a surplus of gorp gear. I was adrift in the bewildering world, clad in Patagonia attire juxtaposed with Supreme, a peculiar amalgamation of normcore and Hypebeast. But alas, I was a mere neophyte in my early 30s, needing to be more knowledgeable about the customs and conventions of the scene.

Everything altered at the age of 38, an age I never envisioned, as I achieved the long-elusive milestone of accumulating a million dollars. It pains me to utter such crass numerical values, but truth be told, being a millennial millionaire is the equivalent of attaining a six-figure salary in the 90s. But with all that cash came a weird mid-life crisis that had me second-guessing my fashion choices. It's funny, because my old man, who had lived through some serious immigrant struggles, couldn't even afford to have a mid-life crisis if he wanted to. Crazy how life works, right? I didn't just want to amass a collection of clothes; I wanted to invest in pieces that would stand the test of time, and that I could pass down to future generations as heirlooms.

So there I was, 38 years old in the year of the pandemic, 2020. All my TV gigs and film projects were kaput, but what? I needed a damn break, man. The whole industry was in panic mode, and I felt burned out. Thus, the pandemic imposed an impromptu sabbatical, which led to me spending much more time on social media. And you know what I noticed? My peers were starting to dress a little more grown-up and sophisticated. I started checking out brands like Noah and Rowing Blazers, and damn, those Ivy vibes were calling my name. Not content with merely adding to my collection, I also took to the online marketplace, selling off my streetwear pieces on popular sites like Grailed and eBay. Indeed, it may have been the apex of the resell era, and I certainly reaped the benefits. In fact, I amassed nearly $20k in sales - not bad for a time of boredom and isolation. And yet, with all that surplus cash in hand, I couldn't help but feel that any future clothing purchases must be made with a deep investment in a brand that stood the test of time.

And that's where Ralph Lauren comes in. I've always been a fan of the brand's classic, preppy, all-American design aesthetic, but it wasn't until 2020 that I became truly devoted to it. That year, as the world was plunged into chaos and uncertainty by the COVID-19 pandemic, I found myself seeking solace in the familiar and the timeless

In the past, I always had a thing for Polo, but I was never one of those hardcore "Lo Life" types. And let's be honest, I could never afford those Polo Bear sweaters back in the day. We had a few hand-me-down Polo joints and some CHAPS gear, which all the kids used to clown on. They'd say, "Yo, CHAPS stands for 'Can't Have A Polo Shirt'" haha. But back in 2020, with the extra time, I began to re-explore the world of Ralph Lauren more deeply, immersing myself in the brand's rich history and heritage. I learned about Ralph Lauren's influence on the fashion industry as a whole and how so many other designers and brands have borrowed from and been inspired by his designs. It's pretty charming to observe the extent to which Ralph Lauren's style has permeated the world of streetwear. Every other brand borrows elements from Ralph, with some even flipping the iconic Polo Bear to depict him engaging in questionable activities. The Polo Sport logo, too, has been emulated by countless streetwear brands, so much so that it's impossible to keep track of them all. One can see inspiration in the designs of brands like Aime Leon Dore, Palace, and Supreme, using vibrant colors, bold graphics, and classic silhouettes that pay homage to Ralph Lauren's legendary aesthetic.

In many ways, my journey into the world of Ralph Lauren has reflected my personal growth and evolution. From my early days in Virginia Beach to my struggles and successes as a video director to my current status as a devoted collector and enthusiast, I've come a long way. As I built my own collection of Ralph Lauren pieces, I carefully organized them into categories on a Google Slides document (yes, I know it sounds crazy). And even on film sets for projects I directed, I allowed the costume department to tap into my wardrobe to elevate the characters' looks. But you know what? It's all been worth it. And hey, if that means sharing my closet with the costume department on set, so be it.

Through social media and online forums, I connected with people worldwide who shared my passion for the brand and its timeless style. I discovered community and connection among other Ralph Lauren fans and collectors. And as I built my own collection of Ralph Lauren pieces, I found myself thinking more and more about the idea of legacy and passing things down to future generations. There's something deeply satisfying about knowing that the clothes I'm investing in now will still be relevant and desirable years, even decades, from now.

But why Ralph Lauren, you may ask? Well, for me, it's more than just a brand. It's a symbol of the American Dream. My father, a hardworking immigrant who struggled so that I could have a better life, serves as my blueprint for the American Dream. And Ralph Lauren, with its connection to the all-American design aesthetic and the aspirational qualities it fosters, embodies that dream in a way that speaks to me personally.

Of course, my journey with Ralph Lauren has not been without its bumps in the road. The psychology of brand loyalty and cult-like following, particularly in fashion, becomes evident when examining the emotional connection and aspirational qualities fostered by brands like Ralph Lauren. But for me, the camaraderie and investment in the brand have been a journey of self-discovery and personal growth, culminating in a deep appreciation for Ralph Lauren's timeless appeal and global influence.

In a world that seems to be constantly shifting and changing, the enduring allure of Ralph Lauren has remained a constant for me. And while some may see my devotion to the brand as a sign of being lost in the hypnotic world of branding, I see it as a reflection of my own personal evolution and growth.

#ralph lauren #polo #lolife #vintage #fashion #menswear #branding #marketing #covid #streetwear

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deltas-writing-corner · 2 years

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Inhale and Exhale

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x reader (gender neutral)

Author note: I’m so sorry for my inactiveness. University ain’t a joke y’all. word count is 2.2k in case anyone want to know.

Warnings: depictions of illness/infection | mentions of blood, medication/medical equipment, and death | unintentional self-injury

The first thing you noticed upon waking up was the tremendous ache throughout your whole body. Yesterday’s assignment was rather intense. You still don’t know how you managed to exorcise a curse of that magnitude without losing a limb or two. No matter, you were triumphant and that is all that matters. As unpleasant as this soreness is, it is a welcomed testament that you have been granted more time in this life. You will not take this blessing for granted.

As you move to sit yourself upright, that is when your nausea makes itself known. Like a tsunami, it pounds into your stomach with such force that it makes you curl into yourself in a pathetic attempt for relief. The bedsheets are heavy and damp with your perspiration, yet your body shivers and your teeth chatter as if you’ve woken up in the middle of a snowstorm.

The headache and lack of energy despite getting a reasonable amount of sleep make reaching over towards your nightstand and grabbing your phone embarrassingly difficult. Scrolling through your contacts is no easy feat either, not when your vision is doubling and blurring together into a strange amalgam of digital letters and numbers. As if granting you a bit of pity over your lethargic form, your phone begins to ring with an incoming call from your partner. You answer it without a second thought.

“Good morning!” Satoru, your one and only, greets you with energetic glee. Normally, you look forward to his enthusiasm whenever he calls, but your feverish condition is making you rather adverse to such boisterous positivity. “Now, I know it’s still early, but I promise I’m calling for a good reason.” he insists.

“Never mind the hour,” you dismiss. It is only when you speak that you notice how parched your mouth and throat is. “I think I’ve caught a fever.”

As if to affirm that you are indeed sick, a wet coughing fit rips apart your lungs with concerning pain.

“You sound like shit,” he jests.

“I feel like shit.”

“Hang tight,” he assures. “I should be home before noon. I’ll grab some medicine on the way.”

Surprised, you ask, “You’re not overseas?”

“No, but I got another mission thrown on me as soon as I landed,” he complains. “It won’t take long, I promise.”

“Don’t push yourself,” you fuss. “I’m sure you’re just as exhausted as I am. Make sure you come back to me in one piece, alright?”

Satoru goes silent for a moment. You can hear some of the commotions in the background. It sounds like he’s in a busy area.

“I don’t deserve you,” he mutters into the receiver.

He lets you go, but not without a stern warning not to overexert yourself or even think about getting out of bed, not until he’s there by your side to take care of you. You haven’t the energy to argue back with his demands, seriously or playfully. As soon as he hangs up, you lower yourself back down on your stuffy mattress. After languishly tossing and turning on your side for a while, you finally find a comfortable position to relax in. The room is much brighter now that the sun has risen higher in the sky. It doesn’t bring much relief to your aching condition, but it doesn’t bother your body from lulling itself back to sleep.

The sun is still up when you reawaken. Your body still aches something terrible and your headache feels worse than before. Your body temperature doesn’t feel as temperamental as it did before. It’s made up its mind that it wants to feel overtly hot now. If you were to describe your condition now, you would label it as” worse than before”.

The door to your bedroom opens. Satoru enters with a washbasin and a damp rag in his arms “You’re up,” he notices. “Just in time too. I just got home a few minutes ago.”

“Medicine?” you croak out. Your throat feels even dryer than before. Maybe you should have drank a bit of water before going back to bed.

“In a minute,” he reassures you. “I need to take your temperature first.”

He places the water bucket on the ground before pulling out a digital thermometer from his pocket, still wrapped in its plastic and paper packaging. After holding the end under your tongue for a minute, it beeps and he takes it out of your mouth to read. A scowl finds its way onto his face, unobstructed by either blindfold or blackout sunglasses.

“How bad is it?”

“Not good,” he bluntly tells you before putting it away. He pours the purple-tinged cough syrup into a disposable medicine cup that came with the bottle. “Drink this.”

It doesn’t taste as bad as you thought it would, but by no means does it taste like a delicacy. You ask for some water to wash the flavor down, and he obliges without a word. Sitting up is an even greater struggle than before, and holding the glass is simply impossible without his help.

“Must be because of that curse you fought yesterday,” Satoru deduces. He wrings the washcloth before placing it on your forehead. The coolness makes you shiver, but it relieves your headache and temperature a bit. “Some like to turn the last bits of their cursed energy into a deadly pathogen as a last-ditch effort.”

“That’s rather desperate,” you scoff, which you immediately regret doing so as yet another coughing fit erupts from your chest and batters your throat.

“Desperate, but deadly nonetheless,” he warns. “Damn thing could have inflicted you with something worse, and you’d be none the wiser.”

“Maybe,” you take a deep breath. “Maybe Shoko should look me over, just in case?”

“Maybe,” he idles. “Let’s give it a day or two. If you aren’t better by then, I’ll have her look at you.”

A deep rumble comes from your stomach. By the time you came home last night, you were so exhausted that you went to bed without having a proper meal.

Satoru laughs at the noise. “Hungry?”

“A bit,” you mumble sheepishly. “Though, I’m still feeling a bit nauseous.”

“No worries.” He stands up. “I know just what to make.”

He whips up some creamy soup in no time. It looks and smells rather rich, but it’s surprisingly light on your tongue and easy to swallow. You manage to slurp up only a few spoonfuls before you start coughing again. Only this time, droplets of blood and discolored pus stain the back of your hand, and your breathing is even more shallow and uneven.

“It’s most likely pneumonia,” Shoko states as she pulls her stethoscope away from your chest. “I won’t know for sure until I run some tests.” She rummages around her traveling bag and pulls out a tourniquet and a venipuncture needle. “I’ll draw some blood for now, and we’ll go from there.”

After collecting a vial of blood, she puts away her paraphernalia and leaves the room with Satoru in tow. You can barely make out her concerns from behind the door that whatever it is that’s inflicting you doesn’t appear deadly, but to not be too lax and keep her in the loop on your condition. They move away from the room. You can hear them talking still, but you can’t make out what they say exactly anymore.

There’s a slight metallic taste on your tongue. You look towards the glass of water on your nightstand. There’s still some left, but you’ve fallen back asleep before you even realized it.

Unfortunately, it is pneumonia.

Shoko is kind enough to not only sign off on an antibiotic, but to bring it to your home so Satoru doesn’t have to leave your side. He never asks for days off from work. He can’t, really. Despite the short notice, he manages to find a suitable replacement for the next few days.

“‘M sorry,” you fret. “I should have been more careful. I should have-”

“Hey,” he interjects. “It’s like I said before, the curse you exorcized infected you out of desperation. That’s not something you can predict so easily.”

“Still,” you insist. “Every sorcerer knows that exorcizing curses isn’t always the end of the job. God, if it isn’t one thing, it's another in this line of work!”

Your frustration kickstarts yet another coughing fit. It’s your third day bedridden. There’s more blood and pus coming out of your lungs. Your temperature hasn't gone up, but it hasn’t gone down either. You haven’t the energy to shower, or even stand up. Sleep comes sparingly despite your lack of energy to remain awake.

The worst of it all is that Satoru can only watch as your condition worsens. You hate being the reason he worries.

Why is breathing so difficult? It’s as if you’ve forgotten how to do it. You’ve never felt more pathetic in your life than you do now. The adrenaline that courses through your veins and accelerates your heartbeat and heightens your sense of fear means little to your growing frustration with yourself. Just breathe. Damn it, why can’t you just breathe?

It’s because you can’t.

You never noticed how weighty it was until it's been pulled off of you. There’s also a sting on your neck that you don’t remember there being. You still taste blood in your mouth, but now you’re starting to smell it too. It’s very pungent, and not in a good way.

“Stop,” Satoru pleads. “You’re bleeding.”

Were you not having an episode, you’d ask him what he was talking about. He grips your wrists and pulls them away from your body with immense struggle. There are smears of red underneath your nails. The stinging on your neck is much more intense. You still can’t breathe.

“I’m right here,” he cries. You hate it when he cries. “Like me, Yeah? In,” he takes in a long, slightly exaggerated breath. His chest expands and stretches his shirt out enough that the wrinkles that have set in disappear for a moment. “And then out.”

His chest deflates, and the wrinkles come back. He hasn’t changed since he come home, you realized.

He repeats his motions. “In,” he inhales. The wrinkles go away. “And then out,” he exhales. The wrinkles come back.

He does it again, and you follow along. Inhale when the wrinkles go away. Exhale when they reappear. In and then out. Inhale and exhale. In and then out. Inhale and exhale. He looked as if he was falling apart moments ago. The more you mimic him, the more relieved he is.

There is still a coating of infection around your throat that makes you sound hoarse and in pain, but you could care less how unappealing your throat sounds. At last, you’ve been reunited with your breath after so long. Had you not found it just then, you may have lost it forever. You would have…You almost…

You almost died, and now it’s your turn to fall apart.

Despite its near-fatal grip on your injured throat, death does not claim you. Your energy does not come back to you gradually. There is still some exhaustion, but you feel almost like your old self when you wake up one morning. Standing up on your own feet is no longer an impossibility. Your first couple of steps after a week of being bedridden are wobbly, but you’re steady by your fifth.

The first thing you do is head to the bathroom and brush your teeth. You even do two rinses of mouthwash to expel the taste of rotting blood and phlegm between your teeth. Next on the list is a piping hot shower, so you can scrub away the sticky layer of sweat and funk you’ve been riddled with. Once you’re cleaned up and dressed in new clothes, you head to the kitchen to make yourself a small but filling breakfast, for yourself and your beloved caretaker.

He’s been sleeping upright in a chair he pulled from the dining table ever since you’ve been unwell. Like yourself, he hasn’t had much luck catching some proper rest. After what happened a few nights ago, he’s been eyeing you like a hawk. There was even an instance where you caught him with a hand resting on your chest, feeling the way it expands and collapses to ensure that you are indeed still breathing even while you dream.

As you top off a stack of pancakes with a dollop of whipped cream and sliced strawberries, a crash and a bang make you jump. Satoru comes barrelling into the kitchen, desperately in search of something, of you.

“There you are,” he exhales in solace. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” you smile. “A lot better.”

He returns your assurances with a grin of his own. “Good. That’s good.”

You go to grab a fork and knife from one of the drawers. He comes up from behind you and pulls you into an unyielding embrace against his chest. His encompassing hands reach up and stroke tenderly against the lacerations on your neck. You feel the way his chest evenly expands and collapses against your back. You match your own breathing with his own. In and then out. Inhale and exhale.

“I don’t deserve you,” you mutter against his hand, bestowing it a well-deserved, tender kiss.

#Jujutsu Kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #reader insert #jujutsu kaisen imagines

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signedaiko · 2 years

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Hi, could I make a request? (This time with a continuity)

Could I get any bots of your choosing with a S/o who’s the descendant of one of the thirteen primes? Could be sparkling, or come from the same bloodline etc

Headcannons or scenarios are fine by me. I just want to see some more content of the primes!

I’m gonna go with either Prime or Cyberverse please!

Airachnid [Prime]

- You were always a strange one, stuck in your own head and an absolute talent with your hands - Everything Airachnid wished to achieve as a scientist was possible so long as you helped her; it was like you knew the code to creation itself - Still, she opted to protect you since you weren't the best fighter out there - That became increasingly hard as more and more of the Thirteenth prime's bloodline was sought out for their unique energon, especially by those she once worked with - Neither of you knew it seemed; until you had to plan a great escape when Shockwave tried to entrap you - " You are the only child of Quintus Prime? My dear, you could have told me! " - " Trust me, I am just finding this out! " - Neither of you was fans of the other things your Sire created, so she liked to joke at you for being the only thing they did right

Optimus [Prime]

- Having earned the title himself, it wasn't hard to tell when someone was related to such a source; he always found it strange how allured he was to you - You were just not what the Autobot leader expected of a Prime's creation - You were light, and bubbly and energetic like a non stop flow of energy - That wasn't to say you were loopy or extravagant, just remarkably untouched by the war's efforts - It was only when you touched the Forge that your bloodline was revealed, as though it had grown more potent by the stroke of your servos - Optimus tried to question you about it and only managed to learn that you were forged by the hands of Solus Prime to protect their bloodline - You gave him a sense of nostalgia, and for what reason, he is unsure - But the leader is noticeably more relaxed knowing he isn't the only sort of 'Prime' around

Smokescreen [Prime]

- Smokescreen always felt pride in how he almost became a Prime and how related to all their incidents he was - How could he have guessed that he would end up dating the very child of a Prime too?? - You could have multiple alt modes, and not a lot of people knew until you were forced to shift into a new form during a tough battle - Only one person could have more than 4 alt forms in the entirety of Cybertronian history, so... - " You are Amalgamous Prime?!???!!! " - " No, no! Don't be ridiculous. That's my dad! " - That did not help him cope - You both joke that he is the fourteenth secret prime just because of how associated with every single one he is

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Authors Note - Okay, I secretly really liked reading up on the lore of all the primes and picking these out! Sorry if it's rushed on each. I had so much to say and so little space, lol!

#transformers #transformers prime #tfp #thirteen primes #Amalgamous prime #quintus prime #solus prime #optimus prime #smokescreen #airachnid #transformers x reader #headcanons

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hunxi-guilai · 3 years

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Hihi! I've noticed some CQL fic recently about class conflict / revolution of the working class against an elite class of cultivators. This idea is intriguing and I think I've seen it executed well, but I also know that cultivator's practices are tied deeply to religion + Daoism so it seems like cultivators are generally pretty well respected in society. Class definitely comes forward as a theme in CQL though, and non-cultivators (e.g. Dafan Wens) clearly do suffer from the war in CQL. 1/2

2/2 I guess I'm wondering to what extent the idea of non-cultivators leading a class revolution feels like a more modern take vs smth that might conceivably happen in a historical Chinese setting. (Based on what happens with Xie Lian in the TGCF novel I feel like a class revolt might happen in MXTX's xianxia worlds at least). I know this is complex but I'd love to hear your thoughts if you're interested in this topic and care to share them. Thanks for your wonderful blog! sorry this is so longgg

hooooooo okay, okay where to begin with this

so first of all, I’m going to link you to @pumpkinpaix’s most excellent meta on class dynamics in MDZS, because she carries this fandom on her goddamn back and holds the brain cell that I certainly do not have

secondly, I’m going to re-link this post on the ahistoricity of cql, because it is, in fact, very important to me that people do not try to read CQL as a historical text in any way, shape, or form

thirdly, so, okay. before we talk about class or class conflict or the revolution of the proletariat or whatever, I want to point out that this story is 架空 jiakong -- it’s built on thin air. I make jokes about the inconsistency of the worldbuilding all the time, but I’m also a Cosmere fan with unrealistic standards for worldbuilding and at the end of the day they’re jokes. But to try and read class conflict into CQL is premised on the assumption that there’s like, a system in place that is premised on the oppression of the working class and a functional economy that keeps this society running. What is this economy? Who is this working class? Hell if I know! They pay each other with rocks spray-painted a shiny gold and we don’t question it.

oh, we can theorize all day about feudal systems of taxation and protection, or guess at the going price of evil-warding talismans, but at the end of the day, neither the author nor the showrunners felt the need to build an extensively detailed class system into this world. and why should they? that’s not the focus of the story; just the general strokes of a nebulously-familiar setting will suffice.

this isn’t to say class isn’t a major theme in CQL, since it’s literally like, the crux of Jin Guangyao’s character (again, please read that meta by @pumpkinpaix, it’s so good), but like. to talk about class conflict and revolution? feels like we need to get much further in the weeds about, like, economic structural inequality built into the fabric of this society. and to me, that feels like fumbling around in the dark, because there isn’t?? really??? a historical??? analog???? to cultivators????

look, this is xianxia. this is a fundamentally fantastic text. cultivators as a class (hah) of people amalgamate this strange chimera of Daoist priest and warrior-mercenary and landed gentry and wandering scholar that is very much a staple of the wuxia / xianxia genres, but not particularly applicable to history. so the idea of a “working class rebelling against an elite class of cultivators” simply does not have a handy historical analogue to point at because cultivators--in the form of this structured, organized, jianghu sect hierarchy--did not exist???

(honestly, the closest counterpart I can think of is--hilariously--season 1 of The Legend of Korra, which attempts to deal with the societal inequality of benders and non-benders. but like. does Korra handle that well? anyway)

and before anyone tries to make the argument that the cultivational sects map onto the imperial government--they do not. They simply Do Not. If you think so, then you have not confronted the Bureaucratic Majesty/Nightmare of imperial Chinese government.

here’s the thing about most wuxia / xianxia / Chinese period dramas as a whole--they’re never actually about the “common people.” Your main character is always going to be the member of some elite class, or marry into the elite class, or have Magical Powers Conferred Upon Them and thereby become elite. The genre is simply uninterested in the dynamics of class beyond its effects on a character’s backstory. The reality of it is simply that working class life in ancient China rarely gets made into 50-episode dramas. At the very least, I’ve never seen one.

if we want to look at peasant rebellions in Chinese history, they are often about changing the people in positions of power rather than the systems that impose said power. The dynastic system lasted for millennia because every time there was a successful uprising, the people who led that revolution proceeded to put themselves in the positions of power in that very same system, and the one time the revolution led to a systemic change in governance--

I will never be paid enough to talk about 20th century Chinese history, but if you’re looking for historical analogues of class revolution, you’re welcome to confront the bloody wasteland that is 20th century China

class in ancient China is complicated; class in dynastic China is complicated; class in 20th century China is (hoo buddy) complicated; class in 21st century China is (yells) complicated. Which is a roundabout way of getting to your question of:

I guess I'm wondering to what extent the idea of non-cultivators leading a class revolution feels like a more modern take vs smth that might conceivably happen in a historical Chinese setting.

Not only does this feel like a modern take, this feels like a very Western take; I don’t think Western concepts of class awareness and conflict map easily across national and cultural borders, but I don’t have the requisite knowledge to give you a more nuanced understanding of how or why exactly. That... would be the subject of a dissertation, not a tumblr post.

You did bring up TGCF, and I do want to point out that the fall of Xianle is also... not a product of class conflict, necessarily speaking. It’s the product of 1) a refugee crisis, 2) multiple natural disasters, 3) the literal hand of fate. I think MXTX incorporates themes of class into her works, but her books tend to be much more focused on the development of an individual character in the face of hardship and opposition, rather than the role of an individual in society and the individual’s obligation to contribute to said society. I could write several hundred words on Xie Lian and his relationship to “the greater good,” but that belongs in a wholly different meta and a complete separate blog. I think it’s quite important that, again and again, we see that the ‘happy ending’ MXTX bestows upon her main characters is not “and then they get into politics and reform society to bring the greatest good to all!” but rather “and then they live in a house with the love of their life in quiet, domestic bliss, away from the politics that caused them so much pain and suffering.” To me, that indicates the author’s interest in personal and emotional development of characters rather than commenting on class conflict/class revolution in ahistorical fantasy China as a whole.

Again! I’m not trying to be prescriptive. I’m not saying that people can’t flesh out the worldbuilding and create incredible works of transformative fanwork that speculate on the nature of class conflict and revolution in a fantasy society. If that’s your speed, all the power to you! That sounds like a truly terrifying amount of thought and research, godspeed.

#ask and ye shall receive #I will not be accepting criticisms or follow-ups on this post ty

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evillious-analysis · 2 years

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Addendum: what is the "original sin" in the evillious chronicles?

First off, i want to clarify something very important: the “original sin” in the series has actually nothing to do with the Biblical original sin.

The two are actually very different (leaving the Biblical reference aside); for the fact, the term “original sin” in evillious can be very misleading (that’s why i like to call the one in the series “pseudo-original sin” or “ultimate evil”).

You may say…well wasn’t it when Eve Moonlit stole the fruits, right?

After all, the song “moonlit bear” kind of suggested that.

“I committed an unforgivable sin” - Eve Moonlit after stealing the babies.

Here’s the catch…it’s more complicated than that.

A hint of what it is really is in the series can be found in the opening of the novel “praefacio of blue”.

She indulged in the love she had with her husband.

She was overconfident that her wishes would be granted.

She shirked her responsibilities, and her children died.

She was jealous of the happiness of her neighbors.

Eventually, her feelings changed to anger,

And she tried to obtain that which she had lost.

And then–because she was hungry, she gathered two fruits. (“praefacio of blue”, opening).

From this novel segment we can notice two main things:

1) The “original sin” in evillious is not just the “gathering of the fruits” (like in the Biblical one), it’s extended to something else too, like a general background that eventually leads to the “moonlit bear episode” as its climax.

2) The pseudo original sin in evillious looks like an amalgamation of all the seven evils of the series, like an ultimate evil that tries to contain every type of evil of the series (in order “lust”, “pride”, “sloth”, “envy”, unjust “wrath”, “greed” and “gluttony”).

Now i want to tackle each and every of those aforementioned “components” of the amalgamation.

Lust for her brother

Having a passion for Adam Moonlit (her husband) would correspond to a motive of “lust” for the author.

In a way, this is indirectly referenced in the “moonlit bear” episode in the sense that one of the reasons she stole the twins was to “make him [Adam Moonlit] happy”.

This dedication could have also been caused by the attempt to appease the “lust” towards him within her; maybe Eve Moonlit was hoping that he would love her more if they both had babies to care about.

This seems to be portrayed directly in the novel:

–Today I picked up two large fruits in a corner of the forest.

Red, red, bright red fruits.

I know my husband will be delighted with them. (“crime”, chapter 6–moonlit bear <e>; scene 2).

On the other hand, looking at the song and at the short story, you can find more of a reference of finding happiness as a couple, rather than directly “pleasing my husband”.

That’s a similar concept, though…since in both cases there is the motif of “making my husband happy”, anyway.

Even so, i desperately run

Wishing for my happiness with him (“waltz of evil”, moonlit bear 1-3).

If i carry them home,

Will he and i weep with joy, i wonder? (“waltz of evil”, moonlit bear 1-3).

Proud to be the best candidate to become queen

“She was overconfident that her wishes would be granted”...this statement is really generic and i’m not really sure of what particular instance this is referring to, but i’ll pull out two hypotheses:

- Eve Zvezda was very honored by the fact she could have become queen and she was overconfident she could achieve so.

Ever since the song “project ma”, Eve Zvezda introduces herself as:

“My name is Eve Zvezda, the best witch in this country”.

In this statement, her pride and certainty she’s the best in what she does can be clearly seen…but this statement alone cannot explain the line in “praefacio of blue” because in the song the girl actually shows uncertainty over the fact she was selected as a candidate to become queen; she didn’t state something along the lines of: “of course i was selected, look at me, i’m the best”.

I don’t know why i was selected

He (Adam Moonlit) embraced me with an “it’s alright”.

What about her novel portrayal, then?

Let’s review.

She wasn’t okay with the fact her father wouldn’t want her to be queen.

Maybe she had just let a chance for her to become queen slip out from under her very nose.

Queen…huh.

It was an unbelievable honor for a citizen of Levianta to obtain that position.

But I doubt my father would let me become queen.

Eve knew quite well that he was a man who hated politics.

It was only because there was no one else who could fulfill the role of village chief that he had bitterly accepted the role.

I’ve had to work specifically because he rarely takes in any taxes.

She thought her father was a splendid man.

But that didn’t mean she had no complaints. (“crime”, chapter 2-project “ma” –eve–; scene 3).

When the girl’s alias as the “witch of the forest” was uncovered afterwards, she was happy at the thought she could have the chance become queen. Even…in the case she had met with oppositions, she would have wanted to conceal her identity to her own father. She wanted that very strongly.

Rather, if it truly meant that she could become queen, she was deeply honored by it. Only…that was assuming she could get permission from her adoptive father. Eve hadn’t wanted to reveal her identity if it meant going against his wishes, should he not want her to. (“crime”, chapter 2-project “ma” –eve–; scene 5).

When the tests resulted in her being qualified to be queen, she thought that things from there would go smoothly, she was overconfident in that sense.

And with that result, Eve could smoothly become queen—or so she had thought. (chapter 2-project “ma” –eve–; scene 6).

Taking this aside, from other segments of the novel it’s possible to understand that she was pretty sure her pregnancy would go well. This aspect is not strictly a “pride” issue (it’s rather the fact that the girl misinterpreted her “vision” in the queen test, mostly) but that certainly created a sort of expectation in her heart…expectation that was completely crashed after that, breaking her mentally.

“You see, i…saw…inside the ‘voice of the gods’. The twins that I’ll be giving birth to.” Eve smiled. “They’re adorable…I’m really excited to see the day where I can meet with them—with my children.”

“Ha ha, you’re not even pregnant yet but you already look like a mother.”

“You think so?”

Adam smiled back at her. (chapter 2-project “ma” –eve–; scene 13).

-Strictly referencing the “moonlit bear” episode, the woman was overconfident that by stealing the babies, she would find happiness.

This aspect is best highlighted in the “moonlit bear” short story in the databook “waltz of evil”, rather than in the novel and in the song.

At least I finally arrived,

At my beloved home.

With these, we’ll become happy. (“waltz of evil”, moonlit bear 5-6).

Was Eve Zvezda “slothful” in the novel “oss: crime”?

“She shirked her responsibilities, and her children died.”

This should be the statement associated with sloth, and that’s a major one since later on, Eve Moonlit will become the “demon of sloth” in the series.

This is also paradoxically the less straightforward claim among the ones of the opening of the novel “praefacio of blue”.

With this, we have proof that Eve Moonlit’s pseudo “original sin” is extended to other things, other than the moonlit bear episode strictly speaking (even though, it’s like a pretext to it, if her own children had survived, she wouldn’t have needed to abduct another pair).

This claim is basically saying: “she wasn’t responsible enough, therefore her children died”.

The “children” here are obviously the ones who died in her womb, “Cain” and “Abel” (with direct reference to the Bible, as those were also the names of the firstborn children of the Biblical Eve).

Going back to the main topic…what is it that Eve Zvezda did that caused her children to die?

Let’s go read the novel, again.

From the novel, at least, according to Seth’s explanation, the children died because:

Simply put…their blood had been too dense.

The survival rate of children born between blood siblings isn’t all that high to begin with. (“crime”, chapter 4-project “ma” –seth–; scene 4).

Why did that happen though?

Because Adam Moonlit (her brother) mixed his own seed with the seed of Levia and Behemo she was supposed to be impregnated with.

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Addendum: a context behind the “project: ma”

The so called “project ma” started because Levia and Behemo wanted a new body to reincarnate in, once they got stuck (with their spirit data) into the fallen “climb one”.

“Our physical bodies were destroyed, but fortunately our spirit data remained in the ship.

However, without our bodies we wouldn’t be able to use the “black box”. I’m repeating myself, but to activate the device we needed a living crewmember.

Even if we could work the “black box” through some means, we had no destination for the spirit data to be moved to. At that time it would have been fortuitous if there were a body in the new humanity that was suitable to be transferred into, but it was hard to imagine that working out well.” (“muzzle of nemesis”, 7–memory of the god; scene 2).

Eventually, they managed to get in contact with Alice, unexpectedly to them and they decided to disguise as “gods”.

Ruling this country was a woman called Alice Merry-go-round. Strangely, she had the ability to contact us.

I don’t know why. All i can say is that it was an unanticipated product of this new world that was outside of our supervision.

My brother and i decided to disguise ourselves as “gods” and give a revelation to Alice. (“muzzle of nemesis”, 7–memory of the god; scene 2).

Some time after that, Alice gets pregnant with Adam and Eve Moonlit. She claims it to be a virgin birth but i really doubt that as Levia and Behemo are uncapable of that, as mere humans, pretending to be God.

But queen Alice had one day…become pregnant with child.

In the end he never learned whose it had been. The queen had maintained that it was a virgin birth, but Miroku hadn’t believed her, at least back then. (“crime”, chapter 1-queen of the glass; scene 1)

Actually, i have a theory about what actually happened…

…

Anyway…after some events i won’t recount for length reasons, the twins were taken away from their mother. After that, they couldn’t be used as a body for Levia and Behemo to reincarnate in, anymore (because they developed a sense of self, an identity on their own, their body couldn’t be used for Levia and Behemo to be controlled in full).

The same thing happened with Nemesis when she became Levia’s reincarnation before being born, the swap happened before the child could develop a sense of self in the series.

Also the same thing happened when Adam and Eve Moonlit reincarnated as their neo versions.

“That’s exactly right, postman. The theory at play is the same for what ma did to Nemesis. The children of the ‘doll director’ were caught up in the destruction of ‘punishment’ immediately after they were born. Because of that they became souls without a sense of self…by fusing different souls with theirs, they were able to obtain a will of their own.” (“master of the heavenly yard”, chapter 7–end of the capriccio; scene 5).

After the failure of the moonlit twins, Alice tasked the senate to find a new body for Levia and Behemo, through the “project ma”.

Alice could not become pregnant again.

So then, as a prophet.

She conveyed her oracle to the fools.

She would make them atone for their own mistake. (“crime”, prologue)

The project “ma” consisted in an “artificial insemination project” performed on a woman with high magical potential (hence the tests and the emphasis on the magical potential you see in “crime”, chapter 2, scene 6 and also in oss-to, in the second part).

That was because a suitable body for reincarnating Levia and Behemo in the series has high magical potential.

A condition for becoming a “receptacle” was that they had to be someone with so-called “magical talent”. (“muzzle of nemesis”, 7–memory of the god; scene 3).

So, if the mother had such a characteristics, the odds of producing a “suitable receptacle” (as described in the “muzzle of nemesis” novel, in the series) was higher.

Adding to that, the swap technique of Levia and Behemo into a body could have been even more easier if the body was connected to them, in some way; we get this information from the novel “muzzle of nemesis” again.

The fetus inside her womb was connected to herself.

In that condition it was much easier to do the “swap technique”. (“muzzle of nemesis”, 7–memory of the god; scene 3).

And here’s where the seed comes into play: a body similar to the original one they had was more compatible than one that wasn’t.

The seed contains the genetic material of Levia and Behemo and it was extracted from the “climb one” directly. The people of levianta, thinking they were gods, called the seed “seed of god” and they also called the “climb one” “sin”.

“This ‘seed of god’ was extracted from ‘sin’…It’s part of the gods’ body. (“crime”, chapter 2-project “ma” –eve–; scene 13).

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

But…could she prevent that by being “more responsible”?

At first glance, no, because in the novel there’s no mention of the woman knowing about Adam Moonlit’s plan; every aspect of that happened behind her back and she wasn’t in the condition to stop him, due to her not knowing what was happening behind the scenes.

Right?

Not really.

It’s true indeed that she didn’t know about his plans in detail…but at some point, she grew suspicious of him and his shady actions.

Still, despite that, she consciously decided to keep him around and let him continue being her “manager” in the rest novel, even after she realized he lied about the “queen test”.

Let’s see what happened in more detail.

After Adam Moonlit made clear that the young lady could have been a suitable candidate for the ruling position in the country, he talked to her about the “queen test”, in the following way:

“A queen test?” Eve asked her companion as they walked along the main street of asmouse.

“Yes. Though, even if it’s called a test you don’t need to do any real preparation. It’s chiefly just a formality where you meet face to face with the present queen and she accepts you as her successor,” Adam cheerfully replied. (“crime”, chapter 2-project “ma” –eve–; scene 7).

So…according to Adam Moonlit:

The test was just a formality.

It didn’t need any preparation.

Now, i’m gonna show how both of those were lies:

-“You don’t even know that much!? The most important thing to become queen is whether or not one can hear the ‘voice of the gods’. Having powerful magic just makes it more likely!” (“crime”, chapter 2-project “ma” –eve–; scene 9).

Apparently, the test was actually…a test, not just a formality; Eve Zvezda needed to show she could hear the “voice of the gods” like the priestesses at Lightwatch (like Zellana) are taught to in the series.

Why did they want something like that?

Apparently, the false gods Levia and Behemo could communicate from the remains of the “climb one” to specific people.

Ruling this country was a woman called Alice Merry-Go-Round. Strangely, she had the ability to contact us. (“muzzle of nemesis”, 7–memory of the god; scene 2).

As for Levia, that was something she didn’t expect to happen.

I don’t know why all i can say is that it was an unanticipated product of this new world that was outside of our supervision.

My brother and i decided to disguise ourselves as “gods” and give a revelation to Alice. (“muzzle of nemesis”, 7–memory of the god; scene 2).

Apparently, the test was for the purpose of seeing if the queen candidate was like Alice, thus able to contact Levia and Behemo as well.

In the afterword of “crime”, it’s possible to read that the characters that have this ability are “inheritors of Held”.

Those able to be selected as shrine maidens are girls who have the power of an “inheritor of Held”. Through this power they are able to erase '“malice”' from people’s hearts, and also hear the '“voice of god”' (“crime”, afterword).

The “voice of the gods” in the novel apparently consisted in hearing from Levia and Behemo, or also in having visions by them, like in Eve Zvezda’s case…as Miroku put it in the novel:

“Your worship was able to safely meet with the current queen, and heard the ‘voice of the gods’—Or perhaps ‘saw’ would be more accurate.” (“crime”, chapter 2-project “ma” –eve–; scene 12).

…Except for the fact i don’t actually think that her “vision” of the future came from Levia and Behemo, nor she had heard the voice of anyone, but that’s for another topic. I would just state the fact that Eve Zvezda in the series is not an inheritor of Held, but a Levia inheritor.

At present, there is one “inheritor of Levia” in this world.

And her name—is Eve Zvezda. (“crime”, chapter 4-project “ma” –seth–; scene 4).

Most likely what happened to her with her vision was due to the fact she was experiencing a repetition of the third-period timeline…and maybe…considering the most recent installment “madam merry go round is involved”.

- The “test didn’t need any preparation” seemed to be also a lie in the context of the novel, because it was shown how the priestesses of the city of lightwatch actually got trained to hear the “voice of the gods” from a young age.

“Hmph, maybe. Even if you did…

We lighwatch priestesses are given training to hear the ‘voice of the gods’ from a very young age.” (“crime”, chapter 2-project “ma” –eve–; scene 9).

That would raise the question of why Zellana died miserably while the other “passed the test” without any preparation. At this point, we can only speculate.

Anyway, after perceiving the actual risk associated with the test, Eve Zvezda understood that her companion lied to her.

…On the other hand, Eve was a little bit angry with him.

“Don’t need to do any real preparation”, what a crock!

He had said it like the queen test was without any significant danger.

But if she’d made just one mistake–

Eve might have ended up like Zellana. (“crime”, chapter 2-project “ma” –eve–; scene 12).

And…despite that, she still decided to keep staying close to him, up until the final procedures, letting him continue with his nefarious plans.

Yes, there is a chance that Adam Moonlit would have continued with his plans even with a hypothetical opposition by Eve Zvezda, but still…she consciously let a liar and a deceiver continue with his plans and she didn’t even question him directly…and that indirectly caused her children’s demise in the novel.

Adam gently whispered to Eve as she lay atop a hard bed, “You have nothing to be afraid of.”

Eve knew that she could not entirely trust in his words.

He was smart, and though a bit touchy he was also caring…and sometimes he lied.

In the end, Eve had decided not to press him any further on whether or not he’d truly known nothing of the queen test.

I just want to believe him.

That he would never send me to that test knowing that it would be dangerous.

Maybe I’m afraid that if those feelings went away it might result in the end of our relationship.

I’m a foolish woman.

Even so, i will continue to believe.

And I vow in my heart that i will continue to love him. (“crime”, chapter 2-project “ma” –eve–; scene 13).

In that sense…yes, maybe she should have been more “responsible”, avoiding letting someone like Adam Moonlit around her at that point.

That’s one of the instances in which the author defines her as “slothful”.

Personally, to me is more like “frailty” or “fear of losing” that led her to active denial. That was fueled by the fact that the woman had previously lost her father and village in one day, and Adam Moonlit was the only person sustaining her (even if he was lying).

In the novel, she was willing to deny her suspicions and fears towards her boyfriend because she couldn’t bear (no pun intended) the thought of losing her only companion and guide through the capital after losing her whole family, village, and her previous life as well.

For the record, that’s the same kind of frailty that led her to the moonlit bear episode, in which, against her better judgment, she thought that stealing two babies could have brought happiness to her.

Akuno tends to employ a definition of sloth that sounds like: “not doing things that one should do”, regardless of the reason.

Someone may “not do the things that one should do” for a variety of reasons, like fearfulness, frailty, convenience, or even envy towards someone else, for example.

That sounds a little broad to me, honestly, and Eve Moonlit is not the only character who is judged according to a broad definition of “sloth”. The same happened with Adam Moonlit too in the same novel.

In a less broad definition, “sloth” would be like “not doing the things that one should do because of simple unwillingness to take action without any particular underlying reason”.

I won’t go more into this topic because that’s an off-topic debate, but you get the point.

You can ask me if you’re curious, though.

Envy towards Meta

Going forward with the next statement: “she was jealous of the happiness of her neighbors.”

I would start by saying that Eve Moonlit could no longer bear children after her stillbirth (which has also broken her mentally).

“We can’t…use Eve anymore, i assume?”

“…Yeah. She can no longer have children. And…it’s completely broken her, mentally.”

Adam had thought that Eve would return to her old self once she’d recovered from the shock of the stillbirth.

But…that hadn’t happened.

“Her…mind was weak already. From the drug. Losing her children…dealt it the finishing blow,” Adam murmured, his voice frail. (“crime”, chapter 3-project “ma” –adam–; scene 17).

At that stage, Adam Moonlit reported that his girlfriend was highly delusional at that point.

–Eve was currently pouring all her energy into child-rearing.

Twin children that existed only in her imagination.

No matter what Adam said to her, or how he tried to explain…

She never returned from her delusion. (“crime”, chapter 3-project “ma” –adam–; scene 17).

In the moonlit bear episode, though, there seems to be a hint of a certain awareness of what she was doing, despite the atmosphere of delusion that pervades the entire scene (that Eve probably constructed because of her mental health declining since the stillbirth, and as a means to protect herself from what she was doing, since she knew that was unlawful, deep down).

Even if reality tore me apart someday

With its fangs and claws

Those warm, kind fruits

I wanted them at any cost.

Please, forgive me.

Please overlook me— (“crime”, chapter 6–moonlit bear <e>; scene 3)

–I knew.

The truth is, these fruits…were that bear’s treasures (“crime”, chapter 6–moonlit bear <e>; scene 3).

All of that said, after understanding that Eve Moonlit could no longer bear children on her own and considering that deep down (beyond her delusion) she was aware that she lost what she thought she was bound to have and that her big expectations were broken, it wouldn’t have been out of place for her to be envious of Meta and what she had.

Eventually her feelings changed to anger…

I will now take back the segment in “praefacio of blue”.

She indulged in the love she had with her husband.

She was overconfident that her wishes would be granted.

She shirked her responsibilities, and her children died.

She was jealous of the happiness of her neighbors.

Eventually, her feelings changed to anger,

And she tried to obtain that which she had lost.

And then–because she was hungry, she gathered two fruits. (“praefacio of blue”, opening).

Looking at it better, we can get the idea of the progression of Eve Moonlit’s thinking and motivations: she wanted to please her husband-brother, she was overconfident that she would become queen, and that her pregnancy would go well (after deliberately deciding to keep trusting Adam Moonlit); those expectations were brought to nothing and she lost everything.

As a result of that, she became jealous of someone who achieved what she had lost. All of that turned into aggressivity that further fueled her greed to obtain what she lost with force.

Resulting from all of that was the act of stealing the babies, in which she even resorted to murder (here comes the aggressivity i mentioned) if that meant achieving her goal (in fact, she did kill Meta, eventually).

About the aggressivity part, there is no direct mention of that in “moonlit bear” (in either of the installments).

Nevertheless, i still wanted to point out two interesting aspects:

- There might be a subconscious revenge motive in Eve Moonlit.

From the novel, we get that Meta was the person who murdered her father and destroyed her village (along with the red devotees, of course). [source: “crime”, chapter 2-project “ma” –eve–; scene 5].

Considering this, it wouldn’t be out of place for Eve to subconsciously consider, “she took away my family, now i’m going to do the same to her, i can’t forgive what she has done to me”.

“Whatever happened, we should get out of the village for now.”

But Eve shook her head, crying. “No! That woman…I won’t forgive her.” (“crime”, chapter 2-project “ma” –eve–; scene 5).

- There might be a slight reference to “the song that resounds with lu li la, lu li la”, where some types of evils of the series are listed first and all of them converge into "anger" (even though the song is specifically talking about the vessels in that case). There is this common theme, though.

When all were assembled,

in the end, they return, they return to the forest

along with an overflowing anger. ("the song that resounds with lu li la, lu li la")

…and she tried to obtain that which she had lost

The woman’s anger/aggressivity was the prompt that led her to actively try to obtain what she had lost, resorting even to violence, as i told before.

Eve Moonlit’s greed is evident in the “moonlit bear” song, along with her aggressivity.

At long last I’ve found them.

Finally I’ve found them.

I certain don’t want

To do something like hand them over to anyone, to anyone.

Even if reality tore me apart someday

With its fangs and claws

Those warm, kind fruits

I wanted them at any cost.

The metaphorical forbidden fruit in evillious

“And then–because she was hungry, she gathered two fruits.”

This final sentence of the opening of the novel “praefacio of blue” is supposed to represent the “gluttony” part of her act and to describe the moment she stole the babies (described as “fruits” for the Biblical reference) and to give the idea of the delusion that pervades the entire scene.

I find this “gluttony” reference a little bit stretched, though, considering her secret awareness of the state of the things. I mean…she doesn’t really want to eat those apples, right???

…or maybe it’s kind of a metaphor indicating her greed that was so intense to the point it could be compared to “hunger”.

Epilogue of the digression

At the end of this digression, we have understood that the evillious “original sin” is very different from the Biblical one:

The original sin in the Bible is the sin committed by Adam and Eve of specifically eating a particular fruit. The sin is a sin because it was an act of disobedience of God’s orders. The act of picking the fruit is the entire point of the sin.

The “original sin” in evillious is a particular act committed by Eve Zvezda in the series. This act is called “original sin” because it’s an amalgamation of all the seven types of evils of the series that will be later released into the world upon the woman’s death (like the opening of a pandora’s box in a way). The act of picking the fruit is not the point of the “sin” and it’s just a reference. The “forbidden fruit” is metaphorical and not physical.

#evillious #evillious chronicles #eve zvezda #eve moonlit #addendum #clockwork lullaby #clockwork lullaby series #original sin #original sin story

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yoonieper · 3 years

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Pecattiphila— Part 1 | PJM

Pecattiphilia is the sexual arousal from performing an act one believes is a sin.

✽ Pairing: Jimin x Reader

✽ Genre: Angel Au, angst, tiny bit of fluff, tiny bit of smut

✽ Rated: S for Can You See Me?

✽ Series Warnings: This series will include discussion of religious aspects such as the afterlife and concepts of heaven and hell (There are no direct ties to any specific religion besides the mention of angels and demons— all aspects of religion was created by me for this series), this series includes a lot of violence (sometimes graphic depictions) and possible gore, and mentions of sin (particularly revolving around sexual topics)

✽ Chapter Specific Warnings: Jimin might be a sadist or masochist (who knows 🥴), that man finds a little too much pleasure in taking down bad guys if you get my drift, near death experience, y/n’s pretty scared by it (possible anxiety warning), Jimin’s got some spicy thoughts about y/n (nsfw), he can get kinda detailed, Jimin gets very very sick (so basically warning— sick symptoms ahead), also Jimin speaks about sin a lot and repenting, these warnings are so random omg

✽ Word Count: 6.3k

✽ Summary: Jimin is sent to watch over you and as the years go by he gets more and more curious and sometimes just wishes he could get to know you. But he knows that’s forbidden. However, a freak accident somehow causes Jimin and your eyes to meet for the first time with purpose. He knows it shouldn’t happen but he doesn’t want to break away. He wants you to look at him, wants you to touch him, wants you to be with him. The problem is none of this should have happened in the first place… what’s happening to him?

✽ Now Playing…: Sin City by Chrishan (slowed)

✽ Author’s Note: This series is very precious to me as this is the first bts au I created! It got pushed back as I was working on another project at the time, that still needs to come out here on tumblr, but ehhh enough about that! Let's keep the train rolling! I'm also using this for @btscreatorscorner Summer Games event (AU challenge)

No reposting, modifying. Translating is not allowed unless given explicit permission. Thank you so much :D

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Jimin stared at the mundane creature that stood before him. It’s blob of a body seemed to have no end nor beginning— it was an amalgamation of darkness. Eyes covered the slimy creature almost as if it had swallowed them itself with the way they were floating in the mass of darkness and arms that hung low on its body.

A sight like this would send any mortal running for their lives, but for Jimin, this was any other Thursday afternoon.

Jimin couldn’t help the smirk as he watched the tormented creature.

Power.

I love it.

Some may call him a masochist or even a sadist, but he always enjoyed these fights. The work, the battle, the pain, and then at the end when he can sink a weapon of his choice and crucify these demonic creatures, fills him up with so much excitement, it’s almost sexual. He likes to think of it more as a guilty pleasure than anything.

This monstrosity was just an average Joe compared to some of the things he’s seen. Jimin has had to deal with a lot worse in his career, but this wasn’t just gonna be a walk in the park, no, this would take a little work to bring this creature down. At least there was that.

You wanted more.

I did.

Jimin took out his handle. The creature noticed he was getting ready to attack and began to charge at him, it’s comically long arms dangled behind it as it made its way toward him. He quickly spun it so certain pictures matched up, the faint clicks only audible to Jimin’s ears, letting him know exactly which combination it was on without having to look down once. Suddenly a beam of light shaped like a sword came.

A sword will do. It didn’t deserve anything more than that.

Jimin quickly flew up and the battle was on. It didn’t take long but the creature was a little more than what Jimin expected. That still didn’t stop the fact that a couple slashes from his sword and a few shots from smgs the creature began losing its shape, nothing more than a gargling blob needing to be but out of its misery.

He stood over its form. A quick jab of his sword right where its face used to be was enough to end it all. He smirked as a bright white light filled the endless void and the screams of the creature sent shivers down his body. It happens everytime.

As the adrenaline started to fade, Jimin was shocked to feel a slight sting coming from his arm. He looked down and low and behold, somewhere in the battle he was scratched by the creature. It wasn’t too big and honestly it was a little impressive that he got away with just this considering what he was up against.

The slight blood from the wound did make him realize the extent of the mess. The black goop was everywhere. This void was endless but there were traces of it in any direction he looked.

You like it.

…

Jimin could sit here and monitor to make sure this was the last of the creature but he had priorities, and those priorities were you.

You.

Y/L/N Y/N.

You.

In earth time it has been a little over 5 years since he first started watching over you. It’s been an interesting few years to say the least and he’s honestly loved every second of it. He looked forward to each day he got to spend with you. And now… now he has to hurry to catch you before you get home.

Jimin’s about to save your life. He’s looked forward to this day ever since the itinerary was given to him.

Before Jimin knew it, he was flying high above the city of Seoul. He looked down at his device to see the time was approaching. His heart skipped a beat feeling the butterflies in his stomach.

You’re nervous.

Shut up…

But it was true, he was nervous to do this. And not even for the reason he should be.

Down below was you, walking happily, listening to music. Today was just one of those days that the sun was shining brighter, the birds seemed chirpier, and the stars aligned to make this day the greatest. It was a Friday, it was payday, and you just got a promotion. Today was your day, and a great one at that.

You smiled as you looked down at your phone, humming along to your favorite tune while you were looking for your next song. The world around you seemed to disappear as you continued to walk down the sidewalk. It came as a complete shock, and honestly put a damper on your mood, when you felt the graze of someone’s shoulder, making you drop your phone from the force.

At first you just stared, completely taken aback, but anger quickly boiled up within your system and you turned around to give this rude person a piece of your mind.

“Hey?!” You exclaimed, but all you saw was a guy in a leather jacket and baseball cap. He had turned around slightly and you knew he was looking at you. You could hardly make out his face, and was tempted to chase after him, when suddenly you heard screams.

You quickly turned around to see an out of control car coming straight for you. Time seemed to slow as you were frozen in fear, but it was like magic that the car suddenly changed directions and ended up continuing straight ahead and eventually hitting a wall a little ahead of you.

Your heart was racing, pounding louder than you ever thought possible, because you were this close. The car had been coming straight at you, you were this close to being pinned between that car and a wall.

The thought created a fear that no one should ever experience, especially at such a young age. You were staring your own mortality right in the eye. And what you saw had you moving your feet so quickly, hurrying your way home, anxiety and paranoia increasing with each step that you took.

Jimin was not far behind. He never was.

He could feel how scared you were and he wanted nothing more than to fly down, pick you up, and tell you it’s going to be okay. But he knew his place.

Jimin followed behind until you were scurrying back into your apartment building. You were safe and sound, even if you didn’t feel like it, you just didn’t know he was watching over you. He liked to think that would put a smile on your face in moments where he just wanted to reach out and comfort you.

He floated down, watching you come into your apartment, kick off your shoes, and hurry to your room. He could already feel the overwhelming sense of sadness that let him know you were likely crying. The emotions were too much, both yours and his own, so he flew over to the building across the street and sat on top of the roof, a favorite spot of his to come and think.

Much reflection was needed.

There were so many things wrong with what’s happened to him in the 5 years since he started serving as your guardian. He knew it wasn’t right, that he was just torturing himself by not stopping it sooner.

He shouldn’t even be feeling this way at all. The buzz of giddiness from his intervention earlier still flowed through his body, and it pained him on how erroneous it felt.

In short, these 5 years have given Jimin the opportunity to feel and experience emotions he never thought were possible for him anymore.

He likes her.

No need to spell it out…

But it’s right. It was true. He really did like you. He liked you more than a guardian ever should and that fact has made him question his entire existence and has put him through some extremely complicated and confusing situations over the years.

When he first switched with the P1 angel, he already had considered himself lucky just from seeing your picture. Sure you’re not the first beautiful person that he’s looked over, but from the get go Jimin knew there was something different here. It did not take him long to understand what it was.

You made his heart flutter in a way he’s felt so many of his humans experience when looking at people that they care about to that extent.

You were funny. He would often join you during your tv binges and your commentary would have him on the floor dying of laughter. You were so caring and nice and…

Do you really need to go on?

Why are you so loud today?

Anyway, it’s really no surprise that Jimin was suddenly getting butterflies anytime you accidentally looked in his direction.

But that was exactly the problem.

This wasn’t allowed at all.

At. All.

None of it, from the rules of H.E.A.V.E.N and his own personal rules he has with his team, none of this has been allowed. It really shouldn’t even be possible in the first place.

The relationship between guardians and humans is one that is very sacred. It is something that is meant to be kept strictly professional, for the reasons of 1) the inevitable end that guardians bring to humans and any feelings would make the process a lot more complicated 2) unless for emergency purposes or a human is nearing death, and type of interaction between a guardian and human is strictly prohibited.

He shouldn’t be anywhere near this territory, but even though he’s far from human, the remnants still remain buried deep within and there’s somethings that he can’t get rid of no matter how hard he tries.

At least that’s what he’s been telling himself these past few years.

As soon as Jimin came onto the harsh reality that you will never look at him at all, he tried his best to demean his feelings as nothing more than what humans feel toward certain celebrities.

Of course in the hypothetical sense, if for some reason he wasn’t who he was and was a normal human, if you met in normal circumstances, would he date you? Absolutely, no questions asked. He would say yes in a heartbeat. But reality sets in and he remembers that there are rules that he must abide by plus everything in the universe that just wouldn’t allow for that to happen in the first place, it really just amounts to a fantasy.

He will watch and admire from afar. Feelings are hard to control, as much as he’s tried his best to, that human side of him will never go away. But it’s ok.

You’re not the first human he’s liked. Yes to the extent his feelings go, you’re the first he’s ever liked this much, but he’s dealt with a fluttery heart or two and by now knows exactly what to do. Sure you were also the first that he’s had to look over but he just needs to do what he normally does. Maintain that professional distance.

You were a dream. He can live with that.

That’s what you keep telling yourself.

Stop. I’m serious.

Anyway, it’s not that interactions between humans and Angels were banned completely, it’s just that’s where the personal side of his problem comes in.

Like he’s mentioned, despite him being an Angel or any of the human reincarnates, some human qualities still continued to follow them into this new life. One of them being um well…

It wasn’t uncommon during breaks that Angel teams would typically come to Earth and hang out. Most Angels weren’t shy about intermingling with humans. It’s something that’s frowned upon by the P1 Angels as they honestly see everything that human reincarnates do as primitive and sinful. But true to humans, their words did not stop most teams from having some fun the minute they got some time off.

However, Jimin’s team was an exception. A promise with the boys he cherishes more than anything always kept him far away from any of those feelings.

It started when they were relatively new into the field. They made a promise to stay away from humans as much as they could in order to maintain focus on their careers. But it was much much later that they realized the effectiveness of that promise.

He’s not trying to brag (he’s bragging), but Jimin’s team was one of the most successful of all the human reincarnates. They had some of the highest rates when it comes to their statistics, happy long living humans, who went on to continue to live happy lives in their next.

It was later that they reinstated this promise and it’s importance. They believe that their low human interaction and abstinence was a reason for their success.

Jimin’s never had an issue with this, not once, if anything he sometimes thought of other teams similar to the P1 angels. He used to judge why they would partake in such sinful acts when they have a job to do.

He’s never been tested of his loyalty to that promise as hard as he’s been over the course of looking over you.

He’s had urges. That’s not new. Under all the special powers and wings, it’s the shell of what was once human. It happens. He just never realized how strong those urges could get sometimes…

Jimin had cleverly named this rough period of time the boyfriend era. He could already feel his cheeks lighting up at the mere thought of it.

Everything about that time made him so embarrassed and honestly a little ashamed. He just couldn’t mind his own damn business.

You had gotten a boyfriend some years ago and he’s abashed to admit this, but he’s been there to see and hear everything. It would be different if it was accidental, but no, this was a different story.

It wasn’t uncommon for him to join you in your apartment from time to time as he liked “hanging out” with you. The first time it happened, it was you, your boyfriend, and him (unknown to you of course). Jimin had wanted to watch the movie you both planned to see in your apartment, he had been so into it, that it came as a major surprise when he looked over to see things were quickly escalating on the other side of the couch.

Jimin normally would leave, give you the privacy you deserved, never should he have been that nosy just because of his feelings, but seeing you like that for some reason kept him in place as he watched as things got progressively more and more heated. You were so pretty, so beautiful, and the sounds you would make as your boyfriend would please you, had blood rushing to more places than one.

It was sin, so much sin.

Everything about what happened was wrong and to make matters worse, that wasn’t the last time he stayed to watch. Far from it actually. Despite everything, every single thing that was telling him he shouldn’t be doing this, the urge… It kept getting worse.

He never even saw anything most of the time, you would always make your way to your bedroom and he at least had some dignity to never follow, but there was one time that he was right on the couch again but you both never moved it. At that point he reached a point he never thought he would.

The urge, the urge to just reach out and…

He wanted you bad.

He realized this before but, it felt at that moment that all the sexual frustration he’s experienced throughout his life as an angel had come overflowing and he even wholeheartedly considered making himself appear, throwing off your boyfriend and having you to himself because it was something he knew he could do so much better. He knew he could make you feel so good like he knew you deserved. He wanted it to be his name you would scream, his name you’re calling out for, he wanted to be the one that was making you feel good.

But it was a fantasy.

He knew that.

Despite how hard it has been, never in a million years would it happen.

He can dream. It’s fine. He knows his place in all of this, but never would you look at him like that. You can’t even see him for that to happen…

Still he was a little too happy when you broke up with him about 2 years after your relationship started.

The most excitement he will get in a while was what happened today.

He felt his whole body light up at the thought. The graze of your shoulder against his was enough to fuel those fantasies and keep him happy for a long time. Was he fine with that? He was, he genuinely was.

Part of him used to think it was some sort of cruel fate for putting him in this position. But now he sees it as more of a blessing. It makes him happy knowing it’s him in charge of protecting you, serving you, and making your life as bright as it can be.

At least in that way he has trust you’ll live a good life as long as he’s around.

He’ll make sure of it.

Jimin smiled and flew over to your apartment, easily passing through the wall and making his way toward your bedroom. His mood solumned as he felt his heart ache as the soft cries grew louder and louder as he got closer. You were in bed, your face buried in your pillow as the traumatizing event kept replaying in your mind.

It was in these moments that it was hardest to resist reaching out and talking with you. He wanted to tell you everything would be alright as long as he’s here, and you have nothing to fear.

But alas…

He took a seat on the side of your bed and gently stroked your arm. You couldn’t feel anything and he couldn’t either but the effect seemed to calm you down for some reason that was not his doing. He wanted to pretend that it was though.

Jimin went over to the other side of your bed and laid next to you. Your teary eyes were staring right into his, but you didn’t know that. You were looking right through him. He brought his hand up to your cheek and began caressing it slowly.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered.

It was sometimes in moments like these that made him feel like maybe it was better that your worlds can’t really interact. Even though he knew it was because of him that you’re still here, it was also him for the reason that you’re crying.

Fear.

It was him even though it wasn’t. It’s an excuse he likes to give himself for a reason why you wouldn’t like him even if you did ever meet. He knows you would be scared.

Jimin just continued to comfort you, be there for you, in a time he can already tell that will stick with you for a long time.

The hours seemed to pass and before he knew it you had gone to shower, leaving him on your couch, blankly staring at the tv screen. The show continued to play even with your absence, one that he knows you’ll regret when you get back.

Jimin sighed and got up to look out the window. He tuned out the TV and the only remaining noise he could hear was the city nightlife that came with Seoul and the brief hums of nature from the wildlife outside. It was calming, so calming it was enough to lull anyone to sleep, and knowing you, the minute you got back from your shower and sat down you would be out. Even Jimin was getting tired, and he didn't get tired. Today’s just been a weird day.

A good and bad weird.

You nearly died, but Jimin got to touch you for the first time which was nice.

Of course that’s what you’re focusing on.

How could I not?

You don’t think it’s concerning?

…

You know what you need.

He sighed knowing it was true.

Watching something 24/7 can easily get to anybody, angels alike. It takes a lot of dedication in order to stay alert all the time, while also having to follow them around for more mundane things. It can easily start feeling a bit monotonous after some time. That’s not exactly what Jimin’s experiencing now, but he knew he was getting overwhelmed being around you all the time, and for his own sake, there was a method they used to get over this.

A break.

He didn’t like to do this too often, and especially now that he’s looking over you, he would always be worried that something terrible could happen without him being there. However, with the way he’s feeling, getting away is exactly what he needed.

Some time to take a breather and repent and purify from the sins he’s committed all thanks to you.

Jimin looked down at his wrist, the word ‘sin’ seemingly shining because of his guilty conscience. His record has never been so tainted…

He quickly figured tomorrow would be the best day to leave for a second. His assignment had just been carried out, they would not give him another this soon. Though it was possible, Jimin knew he had to go.

He needed to get you out of his head. Once and for all. Though he’s not sure exactly how long you will live, he's got to be 100% in this if he’s going to see this through.

Yep. Tomorrow…

If you can make it that long.

Stop.

So much sin.

Please don’t do this.

If only the others could see you now. They would be disappointed.

The words hurt because he knew it was true. Jimin hadn’t really told the rest of his team about the extent his feelings for you go. Reason? It was simple. He didn’t want to be judged, by them, the other angels, literally everyone.

What he’s feeling shouldn’t even be possible really. He knew they wouldn’t understand, or worse, separate him from you.

It’s just better to ride it out until he’s safely taken you to get judged. The feelings will fade and things will go back to normal. No need to make it a thing.

They would see the sin.

Why are you doing this to me?

You need to see yourself. It’s sad honestly.

Jimin wanted to scream. Why does this need to be so difficult? He gazed at the night sky.

No matter what you say, this is wrong. You should not feel like this.

I know.

And he did.

You need to tell someone. This should not be possible.

But that would make things complicated…

You’re broken and you know that.

It was true.

I am.

Talk to someone.

…

Jimin thought about it. It was right in the sense that everything he’s experiencing shouldn’t be happening at all, and just to be safe, maybe it might be a good idea to get evaluated. He should have done it a long time ago, it’s just… He’s scared. Scared for you, scared for himself, scared for his team. He doesn’t know what they might say or do.

But it might be something. Either way he’s screwed.

Just do it.

For the first time since he started feeling this way he genuinely considered it.

But then there was you.

Like always.

Jimin turned around to see you had gotten out of the shower. Your towel hung haphazardly around your form, hair tied up with a towel, and your skin still glistening from the water.

Fuck.

Calm down.

He knew you were just out here to catch the new episode of the show you were watching, and shower time had run into the start of the episode. Nothing about it was weird, but Jimin couldn’t help but laugh at the cruelty of it all. It’s like the world wants him to lose his mind.

Jimin smiled. It’s almost like you want him to lose his mind.

He chuckled. If only… It was a cute thought.

You were just so pretty it hurts sometimes. Jimin sighed and was about to join you on the couch as this was the show he was watching with you when…

BANG

The loud thud made you jump, but that was nothing in comparison to the scream you let out seeing a body sprawled out on your floor.

What the fuck

WHAT THE FUCK

WHAT THE FUCK?!!!

You clutched onto your towel, frozen in fear, your eyes forced to look at the person in the middle of your living room.

…

The wings.

Suddenly the man that had seemingly collapsed on your floor meant nothing as your eyes focused on the white wings that were protruding from his back.

You would have thought this to be a dream, your traumatic event earlier causing an angel to appear in your sleep, but the beautiful shimmer that the feathers admitted you knew was incapable of your imagination to come up with.

You stood there for what felt like a century waiting for something to happen, anything to happen, but the beautiful creature continued to lay face flat into your floor.

Should you call the police?

Of course, a mystery guy is lying on your floor, you gotta do something…

Would they believe you? You knew that answer imagining the phone call.

But what if you’re in danger? What happens when it wakes up? If it wakes up… But if you don’t you just have a body in your room and if it doesn’t wake up then, what do you do?

With your mind running a million miles an hour you completely forgot you were still just in your towel.

You quickly run and put on your clothes but also use this time to come up with a game plan. When you were done you ran out to your kitchen, and pulling a rapunzel, you grabbed a frying pan and headed back to see that indeed your problem was still there.

Today is just the worst fucking day ever.

You almost died and now you have an angel in the middle of your floor.

It was ironic, almost hilarious. You would laugh about it later, but now…

The realization had tears quickly pooling in your eyes. Suddenly the all too familiar movie series Final Destination was all you could think about. Maybe this was a sign. Maybe it means you’re gonna die. Death was finally catching up to you. The idea was rash but at the time, you really felt like it was your end.

You paced around your living room hoping something would happen. Best chase scenario this is just a really vivid dream and everything will be ok when you wake up, but as the hours passed, with no change, that hope started to dwindle into fear.

What were you gonna do?

With one deep breath you suddenly found yourself on the floor right beside the creature. Maybe you could help? You poked him gently, waiting for anything. Nothing. The adrenaline of the worst case scenario flashed in your mind and it had you hastily flipping him over in hopes of… something.

You stared in awe. He was beautiful. He was too beautiful, beautiful to the point that no human would be capable of. His delicate features were almost too perfect, his plump lips, cute nose, and long brown hair had you in a trance almost.

He was also wearing relatively normal clothes considering the situation. A white short sleeved shirt that was decorated with a few gold accents was draped over his torso, and white flowy pants that were tied together by a piece of fabric. He also wasn’t wearing any shoes oddly enough.

He really just seemed to be peacefully sleeping, and a wave of relief and a bit of worry washed over you as you watched his chest rise and fall slowly. He’s alive.

You lightly stroked his cheek, an urge that came out of nowhere, but a request you fulfilled. Was your eyes playing tricks on you or was he glowing? A soft shimmer seemed to radiate him. Wow.

Suddenly the wings you couldn’t take your eyes off of disappeared and his eyes began to flutter open. You watched with amazement as he slowly opened his eyes, the colors changing rapidly, before settling on a warm brown.

Jimin’s vision was blurry, his eyes taking a minute to adjust before, like an angel of his own, it was you. But what had his heart doing a backflip was the fact that you were staring at him.

It would sometimes happen, your eyes would meet his, without you knowing exactly who you were looking at, but this time it was different. It was like you were looking at him and not through him.

As the rest of the world around him stopped spinning for a second the more and more he came to realize that you were in fact staring at him. This wasn’t a fantasy, not his mind playing tricks on him, you were looking at him, and that was a fucking problem.

Jimin, despite his cloudy brain, sat up quickly, making you shriek and scoot back quickly. He tried his best to ignore the overwhelming nausea he suddenly felt. “You—you can see me?” He struggled to get out, the fucking nausea having him quickly falling back on his back. He didn’t even hear what you said, another mysterious ailment coming over him. His head was killing him.

You watched on the side lines as all of this happened, and you could clearly see the suffering this creature was going through. Even with your heart pounding in your ears, and your hands so shaky they were practically useless, you still found yourself rushing to his side.

“Hey, hey, you ok?” You hurriedly asked. Your hand hovered over his forehead, part of you still scared of what this creature might do. But looking into his hazy eyes, you quickly tossed that fear aside and rested your hand on his head.

He was burning up.

You ran to your bathroom and grabbed a thermometer and came back to check his temperature.

… 45 degrees (113 degrees Fahrenheit)? That can’t be real.

“Y/N…” his voice came out as a whisper but it still had you frozen with shock. He knew your name?

“You can see me?” He gently grabbed a hold of your arm. Your reaction again proved once again that you were 100% aware of his presence here. For some reason his eyes started getting teary quickly, maybe it was the fact that he actually felt like he was dying, but the thought was so nice in a moment like this.

The excitement had him trying to get back up once again, but he was warned the first time. You stared in confusion as he tried lifting himself up, but you saw the look, and suddenly he was sprinting off to your bathroom. You quickly ran after him to find him hunched over your toilet, the distinct sounds of someone throwing up, echoing in your tiny bathroom. It was like an instinct that you ran to join him, gently rubbing his back as he worked himself through it.

Sparing the graphic details, you were basically stuck with him in that bathroom for well over an hour. His temperature, despite it being already to impossible heights, kept rising, sweat was practically pouring off of him. You got ice and tried to cover it with him when the nausea wasn’t as bad. He ended up taking off his shirt somewhere in between, you were too distracted by the pressing situation but later you would come to admire the markings that decorated his skin almost like tattoos.

In one of the down moments, one where you both were sitting next to each other on your bathroom floor, you finally got the courage to ask him his name. After a few deep breaths and his hand grabbing onto yours he told you.

“Jimin.” His voice was hoarse and you could barely understand him, but the name seemed to ring in your head. It suited him perfectly.

You guys, despite spending an hour together, hardly ever really exchanged any words. It was mostly just you running back and forth trying to get as much ice as you could, comforting him when the nausea got too strong, you dabbing his forehead with a washcloth dipped in ice water to keep him cool and wipe away the sweat.

You only knew him for a few hours, but his suffering had you emotional. The moans and cries of pain and exhaustion had you barely holding back tears. There were multiple times he told you he felt like he was dying and the tears that were streaming down his face each time the nausea took over and he was practically sobbing each time he felt another wave of nausea overtake him and he was back to the toilet, had you struggling to keep it together.

You had so many questions about everything before all this, but at that point in time all of them had fled your mind and you just tried your best to be there for him in this moment.

A couple times that night you were worried he might just drop dead. The thought was rash, but if this was a normal human, that concern would be applicable. The only thing that got you through it was when you thought about the pretty wings that once emerged from his back, and well, the fact he just materialized in your living room, reminded you this was not a normal case. This definitely wasn’t a human.

Still though, you silently thanked your mom for teaching you all she knew. She was a nurse and had always lectured you about handling situations like these. Your help wasn’t much but it was what kept your head clear as you tried your best to care for him.

Honestly the only reason you weren’t in your bathroom for longer was the fact he nearly passed out on your shoulder. Exhaustion had taken over and you felt his head on your shoulder start to slide way too quickly. At that point, with the fact it had been at least a solid few minutes since he was gripping the seat, you prayed the nausea had subsided and you slowly helped him to his feet and led Jimin to your room.

You sat him down and quickly ran to get a blanket as you knew your covers would be too warm. By the time you were back he was barely awake, but he still smiled when you dropped the light blanket on top of him.

“Don’t wanna sound weird or anything but while your temperature has stabilized and gone down a bit, it’s still very very high. I honestly suggest maybe taking off your pants, hopefully that will help with keeping you from overheating.”

“Do you mind…. I’m not wearing anything underneath…” His voice was even worse than before.

You were shocked and even a little flustered by his words but you kept your caretaker face on. “I care more about you overheating than anything, I’ll just be careful when I come in tomorrow.”

He nodded slightly before he asked you to turn around. It took a little while but eventually he said you can look and you saw him lying there comfortably, the blanket now covering his form.

You smiled, feeling your heart at ease, before you ran off to get a bucket from your bathroom.

“Okay, so if you feel nauseous again, use this.” You placed it next to him on the floor. “I’ll just be outside in the living room if you need me. I’ll leave the door a little open so I can hear if you need me.” You said softly, seeing his eyes already threatening to fall shut.

You were about to leave when you heard him faintly call for you.

“You’re not staying?” The question seemed loud despite his quiet tone. You felt flustered all over again.

“You were so sad earlier and now with me, you must be exhausted. I feel bad for taking the bed.” You were in fact so exhausted you hardly picked up the fact that he had apparently seen you earlier in the day.

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me. Just rest up and hopefully you feel a little better in the morning.” You rushed out the room before he could ask anymore questions, you were flustered as is.

Once the door was slightly closed and you walked back into the living room, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as you sat down on the couch.

The moment away from Jimin had your mind spinning and suddenly all the questions came back to swarm around your head. There was so much that needed to be answered.

You got under the blanket you had brought out here and stared up at your dark ceiling. You wanted so badly to run back in there and pester Jimin with questions, but after these past few hours you know for a fact he wasn’t in the condition to answer any of them.

To not drive yourself crazy you decided to just hold off on them until he’s well enough. That still didn’t stop two major questions from dancing around in your head.

Why was he here, and were you gonna be ok?

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#bts #btscreatorscorner #jimin #angst #bts fanfic #jimin x reader #bts fanfction #jimin angst #angel au #bts angst #bts smut #bts x reader #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts jimin #bts au #bts fluff #bts reactions #bccsg

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jjungkooksthighs · 3 years

Text

Claws of Carnality | jjk (7)

Pairing: alpha jungkook x omega reader

Genre: smut, fluff and angst, abo/werewolf!au, soulmate!au, fantasy!au

Rating: 18+ / nsfw

Word Count: 7.4k

Summary: When you and your alpha rivetingly reunite for the Offering Ceremony, you are thoroughly twitterpated in his display of intent to you that colors your entire being with affection for him, but you will soon find that he isn’t the only one that has his sights set on you...

Warnings: alpha!jungkook, possessive!jungkook, jealous!jungkook, dom!jungkook, sub! reader, omega!reader, mentions of breeding/ruts/heats, mentions of blood, mentions of a mark, slick and pre-ejaculatory production, scenting, mating rituals and hunting

A/N: What a ride this chapter has been. From the many drafts I had of the original version that went through various reworks before I initially posted and then onto the deletion of that from Tumblr only for an alternate version to be made in my efforts to better guide understanding of the story, this chapter has started from one destination and landed somewhere across the other side of the world.

I hope that this version is easier to digest after the heaviness of the original and much work has been done to ensure that. All feedback that was given to me on the previous rendition of this chapter was greatly appreciated even if some of it hurt, so those who reached out, I thank you. I hope that you all will continue to let me know what your thoughts are as I thrive on comments and feedback that show to me what you guys really think about my work. Please make me a happy author and share your feedback with me on this revised version that I made just for you guys!

Also, you will notice the gif I used this time is different. That is because that look is what Jungkook has somewhere in this chapter (because lbr here I am a slut for Black Swan Jungkook). There might additionally be an insert that looks somewhat familiar to something we have all screamed over, so that will be interesting to see if anyone catches what it is.

For my readers that enjoy auditory stimulus while they read, I wrote this chapter entirely to Jungkook’s “My Time” and I implore you to listen to that while you read because it really sets the mood and perspective I had in the sentiments that I wanted to convey for this part (not to mention I fucking love that song like a child adores their favorite toy). You may find while listening that a certain part resonates especially deep with it. Bonus points to anyone that catches the special allusion!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 8 Part 9

Suffering in silence amid the agonizing absence of your alpha, every second spent without him is dragged on by cruel hands of time that languidly pass with lethargy in the wake of the sun’s slumber.

Despite the powerful paroxysms that wrack every fiber of your being, your heart paddles agog with anticipation while you wait anxiously for your alpha as your irises sweep like a whirlwind through the woodland in the distance in their frantic frenzy to find under their storm the bringer of the tempest of emotions that rain over you.

The knoll erected just before the greenwood is certainly an insolent impediment that blocks and bars your sights from penetrating pervasively into the forest’s opening as you whimper in the damned denial of your mate.

You hardly notice the profoundly proliferating mound of quarry in front of you that the same beta tugs and tows from the forest in an accumulating aggregation that far surpasses the small, sad excuses for the other piles of game that other betas pull from the forest in their lugging of the conquered prey of each alpha that they serve.

The name of this particular one drifts away from your comprehension in the turbulent gusts that your alpha spews over you even in your separation that cloud your mind of all but him.

By now, the sun has lain itself to sleep below the horizon and, in its place, the moon has awoken augustly from her own chamber to seat herself atop her throne at the sky’s crest. This night, she is tainted red with the crimson of the lifeblood within all creatures under her care in a rare occurrence that is otherwise known as the Blood Moon.

Occurring only twice a year among the winter and summer solstices, the striking shade is symbolic of the wild impulses that drive all living beings and even the stars pulse like veins through the sky’s soma in their own frenzied palpitations.

The moon’s subjects of omegas, alphas and betas all throng tightly together in clusters behind the garden of newly presented omegas that have blossomed with maturity, the cheerful chattering of all the wolves of your pack blooming around you in the warmth of excitement that spouts from them like water. You are rooted like a flower to the ground amidst the field of other omegas that have recently presented, your limbs planted there by the elder who had brought you from the woods.

It had been an onerous omission on your part to abstain from hissing at her when her bony, knuckled hands had grasped your arms in the utter dissatisfaction that had erupted like a volcano within you in the urge to tear her off of you in the lack of heat that her touch- which had been so definitively and determinately not your alpha’s- had been incapable of warming you with.

It had been so unlike what your alpha easily instilled upon you in his calefaction that rolled off of him in waves and, in wanting only your alpha’s hands on you, you’d had to bite down on your tongue to keep from releasing the noise of dismayed dissatisfaction and risk being begrudgingly berated for an unruly display.

Once she’d ambled away, it was your secret that you’d pulled the furs your alpha had given you closer around you to bask in his scintillating scent, the pelt closing comfortingly around you to offer you some much needed incalescence while some, but not all, of the tension pressing down on your shoulders had lifts away.

Niva, who stood behind you, had giggled as she asked, “Are you that gone for him, darling?”

Your cheeks had reddened in embarrassment before you’d looked back at her to quietly mumble, “I am. Irrevocably and unequivocally.”

You watch with bated breath as alphas begin to ascend from over the hilltop that stands to attention just before the woodland as you all but tremble in anticipation to find your own among them.

They are all cleaned of the blood, sweat and tears from the prey they slayed and most are dressed in exorbitantly expensive threads that have likely never before been worn before today.

They are donned under furs from which the alphas acquired in hunts years past in the aged, tanned colors of them all that are draped over each wolf’s shoulders as they come to stand in front of their designated deposit of game they have proudly procured in effort to offer it to their desired partner amidst the line of omegas that have been arranged opposite of them.

It is tradition that the sins of death be wiped away from them before an omega's virtues of life can fully cleanse the alpha that would receive them.

Incurring impatience is what has you whine out for your alpha that still evasively eludes your visage as you searchingly seek him while your wolf cries for the only one that could possibly quiet it as a familiar figure separates from the amalgamation of agglomerated elders that have accumulated along the west and east sides of the stage before she takes her place on the beamed boards that circularly coalesce into the timbered stage.

Amidst the jovial jabber that percolates through the air, the lead elder, who is also your grandmother, raises her hands over her head so that the moonlight drips down onto her upturned palms as she shouts, “Children! Tonight, we commemorate the adulthood that our blessed mother of the moon has acknowledged in these youth before you,” the lead elder lowers both arms to gesture to you as fondness showers over her before she softens, “And among them is my beloved grandchild, Y/N, who hails from the purest of bloodlines and who has been the sole caretaker of our pups and livestock in her dutiful and devout service to her pack since her very juvenility. Let us commend both her and those she was raised alongside in this momentous moment!”

There is a thunderous applause that bursts roaringly around you as exhilaration energizes you anew whilst every wolf in attendance animatedly hoots and claps with a delighted dynamism that has you smiling happily as the sounds bound through you with the liveliness of a sprite.

It leaps through you ceaselessly and when you breathe in to give it more room to prance around within you, that’s when your lips lift in gratified gaiety in the unmistakable undeniability of the scent of myrrh that skirrs insatiably forth until it has found and enveloped you in its mighty musk as you sigh with satisfaction at the realization as it wantonly wafts around you.

Jungkook, your precious mate, must be close by.

The knowledge has your heart skipping a beat as your wolf bays amidst the kindles of joy that light themselves within you in the rapid recognition of the presence of your other half somewhere in the distance.

In the cesspool of odors of all the other wolves that odiously stink and reek through winds around you, it is a taxing task to attempt to locate the origin of the aroma you have come to adore ardently.

All you can do is readily revel in the piquantly pungent incense that incites your baser being with inclination to rejoin with its mate and to find solace in the euphoric utopia of his waiting arms once more.

Some of the lead elder’s words are lost to you amongst your alpha’s essence that wraps willfully around you in a brume that brushes eagerly against you while the ovation that, somewhere along the way, has gradually quieted while the last of the alphas have found their allocated allotment next to their corresponding heaps of seized, slain prey.

They are organized according to rank with the first place that heads the row of alphas belonging to the wolf boasting the highest station amongst his dynamic as their chief in charge of them all through the title afforded to him through his strength, power and bloodline.

Such were no match for any other alpha that had been unwise and unfortunate enough to face and bear the brunt of his sharp claws in battle that ended in loss to any that opposed him as the rightful pack alpha.

It is Jungkook’s locus at the vertex of the line that is empty and while the sight should distill doubt’s inklings within you, your alpha’s reassuring redolence is there to caress you in the swathing surety that he’s near. In your endeavored expenditure to catch a glimpse of Jungkook, you fail to detect that there is not one desolate domain that is devoid of an alpha in front of you, but four.

Still, you’re hardly at the liberty to discern that within the olfactive haze of your alpha’s pheromones that effervescently enfold you in their pleasing particles.

When your irises chase the lingering trace of him that is everywhere and nowhere at once to no avail yet again, you pout and, in the distance, a pair of golden eyes glint with mirth at the spectacle of you that is so incredibly and charmingly cherubic to their beholder.

A knowing expression momentarily crossing the lead elder’s face, your grandmother steps back before smiling fondly at you before her eyes carry their focus across the line of omegas that have been bestrewn along the grasses to your right before returning to you as she proclaims, “My dear grandchild, I welcome you and your fellow omegeans to the maturity that the wolves within you have flourished so beautifully with. May the most worthy of alphas earn you this night under the approving nod of our maternal moon that shall watch us from above,” she gives a revering salute to the celestial body above as she crosses her fingers over her heart in a spherical motion before bowing and when she stands once more, she trumpets, “With that, let us begin the Offering Ceremony!”

Upon her final words, she hobbles haltingly back down the wooden stairs connected to one side of the stage with some aid from the other elders in the age that has stolen away the strength of her feeble, frail ligaments as another round of applause fiercely flies through the land on the wings of the air that carry it as good-natured gossip joins it.

The stage is emptied but for a moment before an alpha emerges from the arched lumbered and logged mouth opening onto the platform, the tongue of timbered planks spanning outward in a circlet as the wolf takes his starting position for his celebratory dance before a flurry of flutes cast their music from the forelimbs of the wooden body under the deft fingers of the pack’s musicians.

You do not recognize this wolf and it takes only a second for your attention to sway elsewhere as your alpha’s scent draws you back to him when its mists cling in their sedulous sumptuousness to you.

It is tradition that all ceremonies and events initiate with performances meant to embody the heart of the occasion. Through their artistically aesthetic displays, tangible forms are given to the impalpable sentiments that the pack amasses in its harnessing of sensibilities toward such a jovial jamboree in the dances that are done to reflect those avid attitudes of each wolf imbued innately with such enthusiasm.

Following this, alphas are the first to proffer a present to their desired partners in declaring and dedicating the winnings of their hunt to their chosen omega. In exchange for the bounty, the omega then gives something of their own to their alpha as a symbol of intent to be paired exclusively with each other.

If there are offerings that exceed those of a single alpha for one omega, challenges or duels can be instigated and thusly proctored in official matches in their efforts to win an omega.

Such battles end either through submission or when one wolf is left incapacitated in the incapability to rise from the ground through the wounds that always leave their bodies in tatters through the violent nature of the fight for a mate.

The losing combatant forfeits their rights to claim an omega if they are bested by their opponent and the omega is not given a choice to accept the victor even if the alpha that wins them is not the one they had hoped to have, for it is a rule that the superior wolf who dominates another and exhibits that they are the more capable provider to the entire compound is the worthier being in their ability to protect their omega.

Following this, an intended pair of wolves each bestow matching marks that they paint onto each other in the blood of the strongest, most fearsome prey that an alpha robbed of its life in the honor of their omega.

After that, they are free to depart to a den the alpha is to have carefully crafted in preparation of his mate where the two are then meant to consummate their bond that will seal them together forevermore, for the brand of tooth marks that the two leave on each other through the throes of rapturous ecstasy would bind them to one other until the end of their days in the ultimate deed of giving themselves to each other through such an intimate act.

Daedal devotion linked the delicate affairs of courtship that you had always thought was so romantic and you can’t help the thrilling sensation that cascades over you at the prospect of what is to come alongside a particular alpha that has captured your mind and soul in his very palm.

His scent swirls enticingly around you as your irises, once again, flick along the endless expanse of the forest beyond while you squint as if that would help you to better see into the greenhood that grasps him away from you. Try as you might, you still cannot glimpse the apple of your eye from the fanning ferns careening from the underbrush as you whine once more in his hedging of you.

As his tang drapes itself over you, it stirs in its insistence his voice that echoes through your mind to remind you, “I will return for you and when I do, I will make you mine forever.”

Your anxiety is quieted in his quintessence that settles like a blanket over you to warm you in his stead as you continue to scour scrupulously around you for any smidgen of him that might deliver you to the truth of his whereabouts, your focus narrowed now in the thin beam of light that luminates your mind only with the purpose of finding him.

Lost in your fossicking forage for him as you are, the first wolf that had arrived on the stage is replaced by another and after that, two more.

By the time that six have gone, you’re no closer to illuminating your vision with his candescent luster as you peer longingly at the vacant spot that parallels your own where your alpha should be standing as yearning pulls at your heartstrings in his devastating absenteeism as you tug his pelt tighter over you.

When the yakking and chatting of the wolves behind you is blown out like a candle in the current that sweeps them through in awed astonishment at the same instant that the pheromones lacing over you thicken in headiness in their willful wiles, that’s when your irises are whisked away, lured as they are to the baited source of it all.

Your breath hitches when golden eyes pierce your own, fiery fervor flashing in them amidst the ferocious flames that lick hungrily at him from all directions in their passionate parchedness to welcome him into their warmth.

His irises rove ravenously over you, heat coiling low within you as your wolf preens at the attention while you do the same.

Covered in the color of soot, Jungkook’s lower half is ashen with cindered linen that clutches with cohere to him in every slew of thew cording his legs. Adorning his middle is a blackened buckskin belt that bears a perfect hourglass shaped waist and already your salivary glands are fructuously fertile in their gushing of spittle within your jaw that drops when you drink in the overtly obscene shirt that is provocatively provoking in its transparency that elicits the subsequent swoons of omegas around you.

It leaves nothing to the imagination and, like a second skin, vaunts every delicious dip and ridge of his mouth-watering musculature.

It is decorated with patterned patches in the shapes of burned brambles that are woven across the material meant to inspire illicit impurities in all that are fortuitously fortunate enough to behold your alpha in how it sinfully sticks to him. Encircling his neck like a thick collar, the shirt bands around him and over it, a blazoned blazer engulfs him. Like it has been seared through by fire, it is open to reveal his clothed chest in its entirety.

Tendrils of dark hair fall over his face in dangerous, wild wisps that curl amidst the humidity that overtly obsess over them.

You can hardly contain your own ire of want that simmers through you at the sight all of that and, when you trail your visage back up to his eyes, they are brightened with amusement while he dares to flick a sculpted brow as if to tease, “Like what you see?”

You lick your lips as a whimper traitorously escapes you while a wolfish grin lifts at his own before the symphony of flutes and lutes harmonize in the opening notes of their song and they sing soulfully for a few meters.

When your alpha begins his damning dance to the thrumming tempo of the waiata whispering through his ears, you already know you’re going to fall even more for him in an impossibly irredeemable descent that you have no wish to ascend away from.

Your alpha sidles forward with purpose pervading his slow movement, his irises burning torridly into your own with the finer feeling that fully fulgurates them before he spins on one foot while the chords of both instruments twirl together with him as he whirls around to face you once more.

The melodic music is, like your alpha, insistent in its eagerness to call commandingly to you in the way that its trill lowers and soon deepens with the same tantalizing temptation into his darkness that captivates you to him in your pure light.

In his meticulous motion, his fingers close around the end of his jacket that he’d caught in an open palm upon completion of his turn only to strum his fingers through the air with the other hand as if he were stroking the strings of an invisible lute between his arms.

He draws his free hand backward before smoothly and flowingly sweeping it forward only to then arc it behind him in a circular kinesis, his chin following his hand like it is tied around his wrist by twine. He repeats this once more, his eyes never straying from yours in the heated intensity that warms your very being as he stares only at you the entire time.

Like a match being struck in various vertices over him, every movement sparks the flinted flicker of white that births from it the embers of an inferno amidst the small moonstones that have been adroitly added over his blazer.

When he steps forward to be bathed by the scarlet rays of the moon that color him in the passion that he dances with, that’s when he vocalizes the sentiments for you that move him in a lyrical lilt that is in sound synchronicity with the instrumental tune he’d written himself.

As he takes in the way that you melt under the smoldering charcoal of affection for him, he can’t help the words that fall freer than rain on a spring day as he allows his emotions for you to pour out of him while you thaw him with your own rays of radiance that glisten in your eyes and in the way that you fondly look on at him like he’s the only one that exists in your world.

His baser being demands that he show to you what you mean to him and so he does.

He sings how rapidly his life had gone by and how lonely with lorn he’d been in his wait for his mate in the incertitude of whether he’d been correct in his way of living without you while his arm lifts so his fingers point toward the sky that, through its unstopping hands, had turned the cogs of time.

“Oh, I think I was in yesterday ‘cause everybody walk too fast, don’t know what to do with, am I livin' this right?”

He chants to you about the time that had been stolen sufferingly away from you both in your childhood and adolescence that had barred you both from each other in the forbidding rules of the compound that outlawed with onus your unavoidable union.

“Why am I alone in a different time and space? Oh I can't call ya, I can't hol' ya, Oh I can't…”

He proclaims the struggling strife that had wracked him in being forced to remain apart from you for so unbearably long in his cover behind the trees while he’d watched over you as his soul had cried for the only one that could complete it in the days he’d spent following the orders of his father.

“Sometimes when I’m gasping for air, I wear my hat low and keep running, yeah, I don't know where I go, even if it's opposite of sun…”

He chronicles with vivid verve the verdict that he has brimmed blisteringly with in your brilliance that shines as bright as the stars above while he pumps his closed fist gently against the heart that thumps only for you as he continues, his hand dragging through the hair you’d pulled on in effort to induce his mercy in the wood before he runs his other palm along the thigh he’d watched you so beautifully pleasure yourself on while he’d been blessed with the view of your damned delight atop of him.

“One time for the present and two time for the past, I’m happy that we met each other now til' the very end…”

He declares to you that you are, after so long, the Eve that he will always escape into the verboten oasis to find as he jumps high in the sky, his spirits soaring for you as he watches you reach dotingly for him before he lands to extend a hand of his own to you before spinning in a circle like a clock to once more face you.

“Oh, I will call ya, I will hol' ya, oh I will and yes you know, oh yes you know that I will...”

Enraptured in ardency’s hold over you, Jungkook’s gleaming gold irises are streaked so profoundly with earnest elan that, as they sink into the riveting depths of your own, they scintillate with silver like the genial moon that you are to him as it washes over his eyes the farther that he descends into your deep devoutness that floods you for him.

In the irrefutable irrepressibility of your own sentiments for him, your own eyes dye themselves gold like the sun that is your alpha to you.

His dulcet words phosphoresce the burgeoning seedlings of affectionate attachment to him as he nears you along the lip of the stage that is speckled with candles that cast their light over him like sunbeams themselves that, through their heated kisses, leave him shimmering in an ethereal golden glow that radiates out into the night that has befallen you.

You do not know if a more mellifluous voice exists in the world than his own with the way the chords of your own heart are struck with each soulful solfege that is uniquely and undeniably him as his eyes seek nothing but you, who has brought so much lustrous light to his sky.

Neither of you pay any mind to the collective series of shocked gasps or astonished huffs that are emitted from the converged crowd behind you.

In the stuttered stupefaction that fastens itself to them like moss to a tree, all eyes are on you and your alpha that take notice only of only each other amidst the mutated metamorphosis that had transfigured the irises of both of you to match those of the other through the gift of sight that marks two soulmates in their belonging to one another.

Such an ocular occurrence had not been recorded for over seven thousand years in the rare paucity that the moon granted with the declining diminishment of purebreds descended from the lupi antiquis.

Thus, in the episodical exceptions where the celestial body did bestow such an innately intimate connection between two wolves, it was said that their zealous zest for each other would guide them in their reigned rule over the other wolves that would bring prosperity and peace for generations to come under the moon’s favor.

Yet, under the music’s metrical melody, its sonorous spell casts a coddling cocoon over you and your mate until the silken thrum hums around only the two of you as its fibered filaments shield everything but the both of you from each other’s vision.

Your mate’s vociferous voice fades after the chanted crescendos ravel into decrescendos until the collection of euphonious sounds wrap wholly and completely around you as his body moves with the beat of the organ that pumps only for you within him.

He plants both feet to the floor before a hand trails down his body in a vinelike display while one leg is uprooted off the wood beneath him to swing in front and behind him as if he’s embedded into it and can’t bear to relinquish himself from the earth that grounds and supports him like you do.

Like the celestial bodies whose hands that turn time, he easily epitomizes this when he steps forward, his arms turning in a spherical motion akin to that of sun’s path through the realm above during the days it brings before the moon journey in her brother’s stead as the siblings of the sky steal away the lost moments that had been wracked away from you both amid their ceaseless passing.

His wrist then flicks outward as if he’s trying to halt the spindles of a chronometer from ticking precious time away from him as his irises flare frenetically into your own with the fervor that flecks them.

You whine for him as he moves, his fervent feeling made so precisely palpable with the way his shoulders roll in circles along with the crux of the heart sitting in his chest that hastens its already quickened pace as he glimpses the tender smile lifting along your lips.

It sets his very soul afire with contentedness before one and then the other hand pounds against each pectoral only to then sweep upward to tangle through his hair as his legs splay outward so that each thigh bulges boastfully against the fabric while his wolf howls when he hears you suck in a breath.

It is one that sputters with a stammer from your lips in the emotion he’s nurtured inside you and drawn forth from the deepest recesses of your body that wails needily for him, your wolf baying with want to be closer, nearer and together.

The sound you make lathers itself like honey over his ears and he’s sure he’ll never tire of that with how breathlessly bewildered you had seemed all because of him.

He’s swiftly besieged by his baser being to show to you how much you affect him and to display to you what you do to him in his deep-seated desire for you and, never one to bypass his urges, he does not cage it.

Once his hands have streamed through his luscious locks, he trickles them over his face, irises still settled along the substrate of your own as his fingers drag downward to collect the lapels of his blazer before, in one fluid motion, he sheds it from his shoulders as a loud whimper dribbles from you while you absorb attentively the salacious sight before you.

His hair has fallen crazedly over one eye in curved, thick tufts as an iridescent iris dappled in the chroma of the orbs that oscillate through the sky during the night and day. Through his continued movements, the mingled union of a silver and gold buries itself as deeply as it can within your depths as the offending piece of clothing trails lower until it pools at his wrists.

With a devastating grin, he puffs out his chest with proud pride, a sheen of sweat shining under the thin material amongst dark, dusky nipples that nip against it in protest of its tautness that chafes against them.

Instantly, your legs are rubbing against each other without your mind’s notice as he smirks when your essence that is spawned by your sex spumes over you before its titillating tinge rises in the air to collect under his nostrils.

Your rousing spice seasons every recess of his body in the relish that causes his pupils to dilate in craving, his member growing hard within his trousers for you as he pulls his lip between his teeth with a growl before gyrating around and when your irises meet once again, he pivots to the side at the same time his fist opens and closes while he outstretches a hand for you.

Your limbs are slowly sapped of their strength with each measured movement that he makes and when he runs toward you until he’s dangerously close to the edge of the stage, you think he might reduce you to a puddle on the ground beneath him when his hand returns to the corpulent collection of muscles cording the crus of his leg as he whisks one palm along his thigh while he rotates his ankle inward to have every tendon jump in a torturously teasing sight while his free fingers curl inward before him as he repeats it all with the other.

Saliva pools in your mouth as he sleekly and confidently moves with the impressively intricate series of footwork that he glides impossibly closer to you with and with one final twirl and fatal arch of a brow, he shirks the blazer off him entirely while his ligaments lower him down to one knee in sharp, quick movements that have his chest caving in and out while he descends, his head tipping back to bare a neck sluiced with sweat in a sight that has you drooling in want to touch and feel him against you once again.

Jungkook leers longingly at you when he slides forth onto his other leg with one bent underneath him while the other is jutted out like the perfect throne that you’d gladly fall to your knees for.

He looks like a god that you would readily worship and yet, he dances like a demon.

It is with a lethal dark flash of his eyes that he snaps the fingers of one hand to the final strum of the lute while the other trails damningly along his chiseled body until it settles over the swelling cock throbbing for you that you whine with the unyielding yearningness that has captured every inhibited iota within you under his command.

You are utterly enthralled as his lips move to mouth, “All of this was for you, my omega. Now that everyone knows what we are to each other, no one will dare to keep you from me,” he watches with interest the way that your lips part in his effect on you and curses in how far away you are from him as he utters, “Come to me once I’ve gone away from here, pretty. Your alpha requires your presence after being denied of you in the forest. I will be waiting anxiously for you.”

When he stands to sink into the shadows behind him that the light cannot permeate, your high-pitched warble still has not dissipated.

You only realize this when a spindly, bony hand is laid over your shoulder to pull you back and away from the pack of wolves around you while the familiar and oldened voice of your grandmother tries to break through to you in the stupor set by your alpha.

When you don’t respond to the many redundant repetitions of your name, she squeezes your shoulder to throatily call out, “My, my, my… you are besotted with that alpha that names himself Jeon Jungkook, my dearest granddaughter. I hadn’t the foggiest idea before on why he asked me to allow him to dance, but now I see that it was for you. I suppose that is to be expected, considering everything."

It is the mention of your alpha that grapples your attention away from where you’d last seen him as you tilt your head in question before you quietly squeak, “I am very taken with him, but what do you mean by that?”

She laughs, “Grandchild, these eyes may be old, but I saw within you and he the gift of sight that the moon mother above bestowed to you both that, by her blessed design, declares each of you as the other’s soulmate. Even the gift of olfaction was there, for this nose can still smell the taint of sex that he, along with you, produced during his performance.”

Your eyes widen and your cheeks burn in embarrassment while you stutter, “Grandma, h-he made me do it. I c-couldn’t help it.”

She only pats your head to say, “It is nothing to be ashamed of, grandchild. The moon chose him for you. It is only natural that you respond to him in such a way. Incidentally, what did he say to you at the end of his dance?”

Mortification has you worrying at your lip before as you fidget as you shyly whisper, “He asked that I go to him. I believe he wishes for us to have some time alone together before the offering.”

Your grandmother nods in understanding and instead of finding any trace of dissenting disapproval in her countenance, she encourages, “Then go and join him, my granddaughter. You must be swift, though,” she steps back to gesture to the row of alphas that stand before the stage, “There are only a few performances left before you and he must return for any challengers that may wish to win you from him, though I don’t see how that will be possible as smitten as you appear for that alpha that you call Jungkook.”

Gratification steeply swills over you as you embrace her, “Thank you, grandmother. We will be quick as the wind, you’ll see.”

She waves you off as you scurry with hurry beyond her toward the wooden dwelling that houses the elders, for it secondarily serves as the temporary domain of the dancers that begin the performances where they are allowed to change clothes and prepare in the spare rooms that are located along the first floor.

You do not notice the shift of silhouettes in the distance as you scamper along, your mind swimming in the waters of your alpha that have soused you so.

It is only when you are scuttling along the steps that lead up into the den that you hear the whistle behind you before it is followed in a voice saturated far too saccharinely with sweetness that has your tongue souring in its wake as it muses, “Damn, Taehyung. You weren’t lying. She really is such a divine little thing.”

In the hormones heaving through you, they insistently incur your instincts that are stirred with stimulation only for your alpha and in simultaneous sequence, the repellant revulsion of any wolf that is not him in your baser being’s acknowledged acceptance of Jungkook as your mate.

Your wolf kecks under the miasmatic fumes of malodors that are bitter and acetic as they burn your nostrils, the stench of alphas heavy in the air as you remain in your place with your back to them while you try to stifle the gag that sits low in your throat as you manage, “What do you want with me? Why are you here and who are you?”

You recognize one as Taehyung’s, but the other is unknown to you.

There’s a mawkish chortle that bellows, “You do not know of me? You will, omega. Soon enough, you will. All of you omegas eventually do.”

The words lift the hairs at the base of your neck in the cloying sugariness of them that clump heavily together in their mission to rot your insides as the swish of grass grows louder in the closing distance between you and the stranger that is an obstructing obstacle between you and your alpha.

The unabating advance does not terminate and when you furtively glance over your shoulder to see a hand inching toward you, you cringe with the trace of a hiss tinting your voice, “Do not touch me. My alpha is very protective of me and will not be merciful if you toy with what is his. Your friend over there,” you flick your chin back toward the source of the foul odor that you know to be Taehyung’s, “he was not so lucky when he felt it just to try to take me from my alpha.”

The stranger makes a sound of consideration, “Hm, a creature with some bark to her bite. I like that.”

It’s as though you’re being backed into a corner, your wolf yelping in protest as you try to rein in your emotions that beg you to beseech your alpha that is so close, yet so far away from you right now. If he does not come for you, it is only a matter of time before your claws will come out in defense.

Fingers stretch toward you and before they can make contact with your skin, you bare your teeth to sibilate, “It seems you do not understand. It was only I that could calm Jungkook- who is bound to me and I to him by the moon above- through the rage that overcame him when he was ready to maim Taehyung for foolish disobedience,” you turn to pierce your perpetrator with a cautionary glare as you forewarn, “The wounds that were left in Taehyung’s shoulder are but minor lesions of what my alpha will scar you with should you dare to incur the wrath of my mate.”

In a momentary lapse of an instant, you think that you derive in your detection the distinct aromatic attar of your alpha nearby, but it is fleeting as are the contours that are casted of a darkened outline that, so quickly you think it may have been a trick of your eye, briefly block the light filtering past the opaque aperture of aged glass next to the entrance of the den.

They disappearingly depart almost as soon as they arrive with only a sliver of a scent that remains and without a doubt, there is only one wolf it could belong to in its special singularity.

It had been Jungkook, your alpha.

You wish you could be with him and wonder if an elder had gotten to him before you could, but you’re not given long to ruminate on either of those despite the sudden stoutness that is spritzed over you in Jungkook’s oceanic presence that ebbs and flows faithfully alongside you.

In spite of it all, it is Jimin who stands before you when you look down on him. He is clad in bloodred silks that contrast clashingly with dark smudging around the sides of his eyes while pewter colored hair hangs loosely over his forehead with the oils that must have been used to carefully style it while he cheekily checks you out much to your discontented dismay.

“What you say is of little concern to me, Y/N. I always get what I want and you will be no different,” he says.

You have seen him only a few times before during his performances and had once thought him to be beautiful as a doll, but now you can see where his stitches have become loose in vainness that bursts at his seams.

You take a step back and away from him, your alpha’s presence pouring itself onto you through the remnants of his smell that douse his confidence over you as you cross your arms to chide, “It is a pity your looks have made you so conceited, Jimin. You have become spoiled and ruined by them, it seems,” you harden your gaze at him, “I am not like everyone else and I do not wish to have anything to do with you because I am already promised to Jungkook, who is your pack alpha that you must obey.”

One side of his lips lift up his irises hoggishly digest you from head to toe as he decides, “It’s precious that you believe any of that is enough to stop me,” he climbs one step slowly before ascending up the other until he is eye level with you, “Spend the limited time together that you can, little omega. It will be over soon enough when I reap you from him and harvest the most fruitful crop this fucking pack has ever had and plow you until you’re bursting with my seed instead of his.”

Your alpha has never spoken to you with such disregarding disrespect. It irks you with anger that reddens enflamed within you.

You grimace at that, disgust damningly withering your insides in its blight as you sneer, “Try it, Park Jimin. You will never win against him. When you lose to him like I already am assured that you will,” you lift your chin in defiance, “you’ll regret allowing that minuscule cock of yours to rule over your tiny, pygmy brain.”

That earns a titter from him as he replies, “What a little spitfire you are. No matter,” he gibs, “I will tame you soon enough.”

Obstinance consumes you in its angry wildfire as you scoff, “As if you ever could. Good luck with your attempts that shall only end in bitter failure, for I will never be yours. I belong to Jungkook and there is nothing you could do to change that.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Jimin smiles so wide it’s almost nauseating with how much his lips can twist as he backs away with a quip coming from between them, “When he loses to me-“

“He will not be defeated by the likes of you. This, I know to be true,” you narrow your eyes in certitude’s credence that your blood sings with.

“If I do not win you, then Taehyung will. Nonetheless, we shall see, little omega. We shall see,” his vexing voice dims in deliquesce as the moonlight regressively recedes while the two prowling wolves remit themselves into the shadows of utter umbra that swallow them from sight.

You stand for some moments counting contrived breaths hindered by your ire that had smoked and combusted within you to block your airway from effectively expelling the blazing emotion and it is only when your chest no longer aches with the stressed strain to contract that you set in motility once again to make your way into the elder’s den.

It doesn’t take you long to locate your alpha in the perceptible path of pheromones that lead you to him and there is no havering hesitation that stymies its stall of you from opening the oaken door before closing it as it groans in its senile senescence from the effort of such work.

Any negative sentiments that Jimin had left brewing immediately disintegrate within you as you ogle openly how, with his back to you, your alpha damningly divests from his body the shirt made of pure sin in its tempting taunt to you.

He pulls it from his middle slowly and torturously drags it up to reveal skin soaked by the sun and burned by the claws of combat, the serried slew of muscles lining his shoulders swelling savagely in his mannered motion and only when he lets it fall limply on the floor do his eyes find your own through the mirror he ostentatiously oxidizes you through.

Golden irises specked with silver sear into your own as one brow arches up only for him to rumble out, “Enjoy the show, pretty? I know I did.”

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