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ervans · 5 months

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Care for You (Mizu x F!reader)

warnings: mentions of blood, wounds, and violence, soft sex, fingering (r! receiving)

a/n: wow. it's been a minute since i've truly sat down and wrote something. i'm absolutely obsessed with BES and mizu, i haven't felt so passionate about something since TLOU. this is my adaptation of what seems to be the most cliche scenario in this fandom so far: reader finding an injured mizu. i'm a bit rusty when it comes to writing so any and all feedback is welcome and appreciated, follows and notes as well. i have more ideas for works surrounding mizu (including a brothel fic muahahaha) so keep your eyes peeled for my posts :))

The sound of your sandals shuffling against the ground and your heavy pants were the only noises that pierced the otherwise quiet night. The moon, stars, and faint glow of your home in the distance were your only source of light as you trekked up the hill where the soft orange hue was coming from. The walk up this specific hill usually caused you no trouble, having done it dozens of times; however, this time was a tad bit different. Why? The limp, unconscious body that was currently draped over your shoulder.

Earlier in the evening you had heard a commotion down at the lake below the hill your home rested on. It was normal for stragglers, crooks, and opium addicts to travel through this part of Japan and mixing those groups of people usually ended up in some sort of fight. You had paid no mind to the noise, continuing with your cleaning. It wasn’t until you realized you needed more water for your tea that you made your way down the hill. As you reached the shore and saw the mess in front of you your stomach lurched.

Four bodies laid lifeless in front of you on the sand. From what you could tell they all had various stab and slash wounds across their bodies. Fifteen feet away from the tattered bodies lay another smaller one clad in baggy black trousers and stockings, a dark blue haori, and white scarf around his neck with a brown straw hat, round glasses with an orange tinted lens, and a sword, the telltale sign of a samurai on the ground beside him.

From where you stood you could see his chest still moving as he tried to shallowly breathe in oxygen from the air surrounding his struggling body. That brings you to where you are now, struggling up a damn hill trying to save this unknown samurai’s life. Was he responsible for the four bodies you had pushed into the lake? It didn’t matter to you; you weren’t one to judge in a world where it was kill or be killed.

You push the door to your house open and lay the injured stranger onto your mat near the fire. You start to boil water to disinfect whatever wounds he had and open a drawer to grab a needle and thread just in case stitches were needed. They very much were. You quickly realized the source of what seemed like never-ending blood on the top half of his body as you stripped the bloodstained clothing away. A gash about 4 inches long and deeper than you’d like it to be starting towards the base of his ribcage, skin around it starting to turn a yellowish color. It almost distracted you from the way the stranger was wearing chest wraps. Almost.

You frowned looking down at the shallow breathing of the samurai’s chest. Why would he need chest wraps? You thought, fingers brushing over the once white cloth now stained. Unless? You slowly started to undo the bindings, telling yourself you needed to anyways to properly clean the wound. As the cloth unraveled in your hands your small suspicion was confirmed. Two small breasts sat atop the chest of the slender samurai that laid before you, nipples hardening as they became exposed to the air. Your eyebrows raised, head tilting slightly to the side. A female samurai? How? Questions began to fill your mind as you started to clean the wound, gently washing it with the now hot water. It was unheard of for a woman to even touch a sword as it was said to make the blade impure. Where had this woman gotten her sword? Who did she get taught by? Clearly from the mess on the beach she knew her way around a fight.

You finished cleaning and stitching the larger wound and got to work on disinfecting the smaller cuts and scrapes on the upper half of her body. Once you were satisfied with your work, you began removing the woman’s trousers and stockings, revealing another deep gash running from the top of her knee down to her shin. Sighing you started the same process as her chest and prepared yourself for the unknown amount of time you would be caring for this mysterious female samurai.

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It took three days for the samurai to fully regain her consciousness. In those days you had changed the dressings on her wounds, forced broth and water down her throat for some form of sustenance, and carefully studied her whenever you found the chance to. You noticed small things others would easily miss. The way her face seemed like it was always in a permanent frown, her subtly toned muscles from what had to be from years of training, how her calloused hands would twitch in her sleep, stress being the cause of it you had concluded after watching her for a good hour whilst you sipped on your tea, and how insanely handsome she was. Wait what? Handsome? That thought scared you so much that you had refused to watch her for the remainder of the evening besides checking her wounds thoroughly before you went to bed. But you couldn’t ignore those thoughts that plagued your head as your touch lingered for more time than it should’ve.

You were sat cross-legged waiting for your tea to steep when you heard a thud from behind you. Quickly turning around to find what the source of the noise was, you were met with the samurai staring back at you, blue eyes shining in the dimly lit space. And oh, were they blue. You had never seen or known something could be as piercingly blue as the eyes that met yours.

“Who are you? Where am I?” The samurai demanded in a gravelly voice that sent a shiver up your spine. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer right away, mouth slightly agape with shock at the stranger who had, just minutes ago, been passed out. “I asked you a question, now answer it.” She said sternly after a beat of silence between the two of you.

You blinked, raising an eyebrow and rising to your feet. “Well that’s no way to talk to someone who saved your life now is it?”

The woman, stern frown never leaving her features, quickly looked around the room taking in her surroundings. She then looked down at herself, usual blue haori missing and replaced with a softer red one. You hadn’t wanted to leave her bare in the middle of your home and opted to dress her in one of yours while you worked on scrubbing the stains out of hers.

You saw her tentatively try to move, and the flash of pain the appeared on her face for just a second didn’t go unnoticed by you. She pursed her lips and looked back up at you. “Thank you for stitching me up, but I would rather not stay a hostage here any longer. I have more important places to be.”

Your eyes widen and you scoff. “Hostage? Are you fucking serious? By all means you can leave, makes my life ten times easier if you do.” You were lying, you quite enjoyed caring for the handsome samurai, but you would never admit that to her. At least not now. “Good luck walking on that knee by the way, I’m sure it won’t be any trouble for you though.”

You crossed your arms and leaned against the wall as the blue-eyed woman looked you up and down once more before attempting to get up. After a few minutes she was standing, hand against the top of the fireplace to keep her from falling over. You could see her chest rising and falling quickly from the struggle of just standing. She looked back over at you, still leaning with your arms crossed. “Where are my belongings?”

“On the table to your right.” You responded, eyes never leaving hers. You watched her glance over to the table. It was about five feet away; it should’ve been no problem for her to walk over and grab her things. Should’ve. It took her almost ten minutes to reach the edge of the table, her injured leg making it difficult to have a full range of motion. She opted to shuffle inch by inch over to the edge. By the time she got there she was out of breath, looking down at her hands placed on the wood in front of her. You hadn’t moved at all, the only change being your expression shifting from annoyance to amusement as you watched the fit samurai struggle.

After a moment she let out a shaky breath. You saw her knuckles tighten as if she was having an internal battle with herself. “Can you help me back to the mat?” She asked so quietly you almost missed it. You pushed yourself off the wall and walked over to where she stood, taking notice in the way her legs were shaking from lack of use over the past three days. She refused to look at you as you placed her arm over your shoulders and helped guide her back to the mat on the floor. “Thank you.” She muttered.

You looked at her, worry spreading across your features. “Of course. I’m here for anything you need. Consider me your personal caretaker.” You joked. “Although, a good caretaker should know her patients name.” Your words hung in the air for a moment before she responded.

“Mizu.”

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It had been three weeks since Mizu had introduced herself to you. She didn’t talk much about her personal life, which you respected, instead filling the silence between the two of you with your own stories from your childhood. In that time her leg wound had been healing considerably quick, mostly due to the bedrest you ordered her to stay on. The only time she was allowed to move her legs was when she needed to relieve herself or when you would do small stretches with her to keep her blood flow moving. After some time, she was able to get up and walk for short periods of time on her own. The only problem with her quick recovery in her leg was the fact that her chest wound had hardly any progress to it.

Since Mizu couldn’t walk for some time, she exerted all her energy to her upper half, much to your dismay. She would sit up on the mat doing stretches on her arms and shoulders, sometimes raising them so far up you were afraid a stitch was going to pop. It did.

Mizu had been practicing arm movements with her sword, stating that “If I want to achieve my goals, my skills must always be honed and sharp.” Bullshit you thought. She just wanted to aggravate you. How could you tell? The small smirk that would grace her lips whenever she went to pick up her sword, even after you told her it was dangerous, and she could hurt herself anymore. Alas, she was a stubborn woman and it’s how you ended up rushing inside from chopping wood after hearing a sharp yelp from inside your home.

She sat on her mat, one hand clutching the spot above her wound while the other reached for the needle and thread you always kept close by. Once you realized she was going to try to stitch herself back up you rushed over to snatch the needle from her hands and straddle her lap, careful of the wound on her knee. She looked startled for a moment before her whole face turned a deep shade of red once she realized the position you both were in. You had a faint blush as well as you plucked the thread from her hand as well.

“I’m not letting you stitch yourself. You’re going to make your injury worse.” You said looking down at her. She looked up at you with those damn blue eyes you could get lost in for ages, cheeks still red but an amused expression on her face.

“You don’t think I know how to stitch myself up?”

You laughed awkwardly. “Well, no. I just…you just…you just popped a stitch by doing something I told you not to do! How can I be sure you’ll do it correctly?!” Mizu laughed. A sound so beautiful you were sure it would play through your mind for months to come. “I guess you have a point. C’mon then doc, fix me up.” She smirked. You felt your face grow even hotter.

Still straddling her you pushed her robe off her shoulders revealing her chest wraps with blood from the reopened wound soaking through them. You gulped. To stitch her back up you’d have to remove her bindings. And this time she was awake. And would definitely take notice in the way your eyes would roam her chest. Sensing your hesitation, she smiled looking up at you. “What? It’s not like you haven’t seen them before, obviously you have, or I wouldn’t have stitches here.” She was teasing you, you realized. “Here I’ll make it easier for you.” Her hand reached around to begin to undo her wraps. You sat there dumbfounded as they fell to the floor and her breasts were exposed to you once again.

“You just gonna stare sweetheart or are you gonna patch me up?” Mizu’s teasing question broke you out of your trance as you swallowed thickly and got to work on restitching her wound. You felt her piercing gaze on you the entire time and did your best to try and ignore the warm feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Later that night after the excitement of the day you sat sipping on your tea while Mizu slept next to the fire. You couldn’t stop thinking about her. Those beautiful blue eyes, the way her lips turned up into a smirk whenever it seemed you were flustered, and the sound of her laugh plagued you. You hadn’t felt like this in a long time.

Suddenly Mizu woke with a gasp, shooting up from the mat. You turned to her startled as you took in her appearance. Eyes wide with fear, chest heaving up and down, and her hands gripping tightly onto her blanket. “Nightmare?” You asked softly as to not startle her even more than she was. She just nodded as she looked at you, eyes bright in the darkness.

You softly rose to your feet, padded over to where was sat up, and sat down next to her. Her eyes had never left your figure as you made your way to her. You looked down at the blanket, then back up to her asking a silent question.

Slowly she lifted the blanket up and laid back down, giving you room to scoot in next to her. You wrapped your arms around her and brought her closer to your chest in the most intimate position the both of you had ever been in. You had never slept as well as you did that night.

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It had been four days since Mizu’s nightmare, and every night since then you two had slept together, arms wrapped around each other. The dynamic between you had changed drastically, lingering touches and glances to each other becoming a new normal.

Tonight was no different to the past few. You lay facing Mizu while her back was turned to the fire, tracing circles into her rough and calloused hands. The silence was comfortable, but you chose to break it in that moment.

“When do you think you’ll leave?” A flash of hurt ran across Mizu’s face.

“I can leave whenever you want me to, I think I’m healed enough by now. Would you like me to leave tomorrow?” Your heart clenched at the sadness in her voice. You didn’t want that at all.

“No,” you whispered. “I don’t want you to leave me. Ever.” Her eyes softened, moving closer to you she brushed her nose against yours.

“Then I won’t.”

Your lips met her soft ones in a searing kiss, one that knocked the air right out of your lungs. You let out at soft noise as she titled her head, running her tongue across your bottom lip to deepen the kiss and ask for permission to enter. You parted your mouth for her, tongues running against each other as she rolled on top of you, straddling your hips. Her fingers ran down your sides and under your top, tips of them brushing the underside of your breasts as you pushed your chest up into her, silently asking for more.

She pulled away from the kiss, a trail of spit the only thing keeping you connected, and smiled. “I’m going to need you to tell me you want more. Tell me you want it and I’ll stay.”

You moaned at her words. “Yes! Mizu please I want it, I need you.” She leaned down to kiss you once those words left your lips, fingers moving up to circle and pinch your hardened nipples. You let out a gasp into Mizu’s mouth at the sensation and she smiled into you, moving her head to trail kisses down your face to your neck, sucking a purple mark just below your ear.

You raised your arms over your head as she stripped you of your top, eyes lingering on your now bare breasts. “Beautiful.” Was all she said. You let out a whimper at her words. She kissed down your shoulders to your breasts and licked a long stripe up your nipple, the sensation causing you to moan and buck your hips up into hers. As she continued her assault on your breasts, her hand traveled lower down your stomach and slipped her hand into your trousers to run a finger through your slick folds.

You were a moaning, withering mess below her at this point. Between her mouth on your tits and her finger slowly brushing against your clit, you weren’t sure how much more you could take. “Please Mizu. I need you, please.” You begged, grinding your hips up into her hand hoping she got the message. She did. Slowly she pushed her middle finger into your wet heat, savoring the noise that left your lips as she did. Experimentally she curled her finger, finding that spongy spot at the front of your walls.

It wasn’t enough for you. “More, I need more.” You whimpered. Smiling against your breast, she pushed another finger in, thrusting at a quicker pace. You were close, she could tell by the way your pussy clenched around her digits. You just needed one last thing to push you over the edge. Removing her mouth from your nipple, she brought her forehead against yours admiring the way your mouth was slightly agape and the furrow between your brows.

“Open your eyes. You’re to look at me when you cum.”

At her words and her thumb suddenly circling your clit matching the pace at which she thrust, your eyes shot open meeting her icy blue ones, the last thread keeping you from falling snapping.

“‘m gonna cum Mizu, fuck m’ gonna fuckfuck-“ You were sent over the edge, cunt clenching and gushing around her fingers while your back arched off the mat, eyes never leaving hers as she guided and talked you through it.

As you caught your breath, chest heaving, she peppered soft kisses all over your face causing you to giggle breathlessly. She smiled down at you as you looked up at her still panting. “Give me a second, let me return the favor.” She leaned down capturing your lips once again as she removed her fingers from your core, wiping the slick on her pants and rolling to lay next to you. She pulled you into her chest and nuzzled her nose into your hair.

“You’ve taken care of me these last few weeks, let me take care of you. We have all the time in the world, I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

And Mizu always kept her promises.

#blue eye samurai x reader #mizu x reader #mizu blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai #bes #blue eye samurai netflix #blue eye samurai mizu #mizu smut

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dughole · 2 months

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radiohead’s complicity in israeli-occupied palestine

my feelings on radiohead are complicated these days, as i’m sure they are for many. i'm using this post as a method of sorting out my own thoughts & to provide sources.

for me, the bottom line is this: radiohead is both a brand & a musical group. the brand of radiohead has always had deep roots in the israeli colonial project - they have played many, many shows there throughout their career. their breakout single - creep, was intially only a hit in israel (x, x) & the personal choices of some of radiohead's members remain just as involved. jonny greenwood met his future wife - the israeli artist, antivaxxer & vehement zionist (x) sharona katan - at a show radiohead played in israel in 1993 (x). jonny consistently collaborated with zionist musician shye ben tzur & his projects continue to tour in tel aviv as recently as last september. as for jonny himself - his only statement in regards to the war on gaza has been in mourning for the israeli concert goers on october 10th - w no such empathy spared to the 100,000 palestinians dead, injured, or missing. as for thom, while he’s thrown a few bitchfits (x) through the years abt criticism of radiohead’s shows in israel, he has imo - only paid lipservice to the criticism, saying “playing in a country isn’t the same as endorsing its government” going against the pleas of his peers & coworkers in the music industry. as well as the pro-palestine activism undertaken by his long term friend micheal stipe (x & x). (note: stipe stood by radiohead’s performance in israel in 2017, but his current political choices suggest his understanding of the situation has evolved). even his own son - noah yorke, a fellow working musician, has voiced his opposition to the genocide in gaza via instagram stories. as for the other members, rhythm guitarist ed o'brien has called for a ceasefire, as well as making a few tweets about "solidarity with palestinians & israeli peacemakers". while bassist colin greenwood reportedly refused to accept letters of dialogue from the fan-run organization radiohead fans for palestine. drummer phillip selway's commentary is similarly brief but defensive, saying radiohead's 2017 tel aviv concert "felt right"

to me, this paints a picture of a band who's members stances on israel range from abhorrent to simply not enough. & as a brand, their particular combination of action & inaction amounts to a fundamentally zionist perspective. you cannot separate radiohead as artists from radiohead as a brand name.

i've loved radiohead since i was 14. i was brought into it by another longtime fan. i cried & danced when i saw them live back in 2017 - it was, & remains, a moment that allowed me to live through the hardest parts of my life. i felt for the longest time, that radiohead's music & political positions encouraged my empathy - my questioning of conservative political authority. & while all celebrities are failures in some sense - it is still heartbreaking to know how wrong i was.

i don't think it's possible to disconnect the decade of connection & love i have for their music - I won't ask that of myself or anyone else. & the idea of scrubbing one's taste of the "morally impure" is useless effort & an inappropriate simplification of both art & our conceptions of what makes someone "bad". but i can say with certainty - i will not be giving them any more of my money, whether that be streaming their music or buying their merch - & i encourage you to do the same. silence is complicity - this is beyond silence.

in the words of nina simone - "an artist's duty, as far as i'm concerned, is to reflect the times. how can you be an artist and not reflect the times? that to me is the definition of an artist."

#love yall.#radiohead #palestine

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yandere-daydreams · 3 months

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Title: Dragon On The Tower Roof.

Pairing: Yandere!Malleus x Reader (TWST).

Word Count: 4.2k.

TW: Fantasy AU, Mentions of Blood/Bruising, Mentions of Injury to Reader, Implied (Consensual) Sex, Possessive Behavior, and Manipulation.

Malleus met you at the base of his tower.

With a single movement of his wings, he descended from his perch and landed in front of you – placing himself between you and the stone behemoth. Had you been a more imposing figure, a knight or a prince or the general of some distant army, he would’ve cut you down the moment you entered his valley, but your only armor was a thin rucksack tunic and your only weapon was a rusted sword – the tip of its chipped blade currently planted in the ground as you struggled to keep yourself on your feet. He could smell blood on you, although he couldn’t be sure if its source was the jagged, poorly bandaged wound on your calf or the dark stains painting your humble clothes. You were clearly not a knight, much less a prince, and if you were a general, your army had abandoned you long ago. Altogether, you were not the most intimidating nuisance he had ever had to dismiss. He might’ve been grateful, had you not been a nuisance at all.

In the past, his visage alone had been enough to make even the bravest adventure abandon their quest, but your weary eyes only glazed over his black-scaled wings, his spiraling horns, the slit pupils of his unnaturally green eyes. You acknowledged him with a slight nod, putting more of your weight on your makeshift aid. “I believe I’m here to slay you, dragon.”

His greeting, likewise, came in the form of a bowed head, a narrowed gaze. “And to rescue the prince, I assume.”

You shrugged, the gesture alone threatening to cost you your balance. “I’m sure they’d prefer if I didn’t. I think they’ve got someone else for that – a lord, or maybe a king. Someone more befitting than a filthy criminal, surely.”

At that, Malleus felt the ghost of a smile tug at the corner of his lips. Novelty was rare, this far into his everlasting life, and he could not say he’d ever had a prisoner sent after his head. “What sort of crime gets you sent to the lair of a monster?”

You brightened at the question. “Thievery,” you answered, pride overshadowing your exhaustion. “I could either face you or let them cut off my hands and, well, I find those to be quite essential to my burgeoning career.”

This time, you earned an airy laugh, a reflexive flick of his tail. He took another moment to evaluate you before speaking. “You are tired, thief.”

It wasn’t a question, but you answered regardless. “It was a long journey. You aren’t an easy monster to reach.”

“And injured, presumably by the fangs of some great beast of legend.”

“Right again.” You paused, then added, “If there are any legends about wolves, I mean.”

“And hungry.” Your smile fell. When you failed to respond, he went on. “May I invite you to share a meal with me before our battle?”

He watched as you swallowed, as you straightened. Your sword was pulled from the ground and allowed to hang limply at your side as you stared up at him with such a hopeful expression – his heart, had it not been so terribly calloused, might’ve broken at the sight alone. “Well,” you started, your humor gone in exchange for pure, unabashed desperation. “I suppose I can’t refuse such a kindly offered invitation.”

With no further conversation, he stepped to the side, raising his staff to the tower. After only a moment, the endless cobblestone pulled away to reveal a simple, wooded door – already open and awaiting his entry. Smiling, he motioned for you to follow him, and without protest, you obeyed.

You ate, to put it politely, like a starving animal.

There’d been an attempt at decency when you first sat down at the opposing head of his banquet table, a gallant effort to make use of the flatware arranged into neat, never-ending lines on either side of your plate, but what little energy you had for such pleasantries was depleted quickly as your attention was dedicated entirely to the whims of your empty stomach. Countless other dishes decorated the table – ranging from fine delicacies fit for the pallets of kings to common staples even the lowest of peasantry would’ve been familiar with, but Malleus was content to nurse a goblet of dark, herbed wine as he watched you bask in the feast.

Only after you’d gotten your fill did you seem to remember that you had company, your expression taking on a sheepish note. “This is what they brought me to trial for. Trespassing, I mean,” you began, and Malleus hummed in acknowledgement. “It was a baron’s manor – not quite a castle, but close to it. I heard he had the most beautiful gardens on this continent, and at the time, it seemed unreasonable to have to wait for an invitation just to take a look.”

“I thought you were a thief?”

“You must have the wrong person. I’ve been many things, but never a thief.” You leaned back in your chair. “I’m afraid I’ve always been too tender-hearted for that kind of thing. I could never stand to insult my hosts.”

“Such a considerate guest I have,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “I suppose I won’t have to worry about being robbed blind if I let you stay the night, then.”

You shook your head, feigning ego. “I would never, dear dragon. Your reclusive prince, on the other hand—”

Whatever you might’ve gone on to say was swiftly replaced with a sudden gasp as every torch within sight burst into a pillar of vicious emerald flame, casting the dining room in a blinding, sickly green before dying out just as abruptly as it’d erupted. Malleus let out an exasperated breath, bringing a hand to his temples. “My apologies. My patience has grown—” He cast a wayward glance toward the ash now seared into the stone walls, the ceiling. “—thin, over my time here.”

You allowed a beat to pass by in silence, then another. “Your prince,” you said, finally. “Is he important to you?”

“I can think of nothing I value more.” The answer came easily, even if the intensity of his sentiment surprised him. “An old friend asked me to ensure his safety. I’ve performed my role dutifully ever since.” The taste of blood rose into the back of his throat, but he drowned it out with another long sip from his goblet. “They used to send entire armies to reclaim him, then lone knights, then the occasional adventurer. You might be the first human to come seeking my head in two or three decades.”

Your smile took on a shy lilt, your eyes drifting to the table. “I wasn’t really supposed to come after you, either. Most people just take it as an exile, but they gave me a sword, and…” It was your turn to laugh, now, to be surprised with yourself. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I thought, even if I don’t get to rescue any princes, it could be nice to see how much of the fairy tale is true.”

“And you’re satisfied with what you’ve found?”

“Not entirely,” you admitted. “But I’m glad I met you, dear dragon.”

After some hesitation, he pushed himself to his feet and closed the distance between you. You stiffened, your gaze flitting blatantly toward the sole exit, but you didn’t attempt to flee as he pulled the closest seat in front of you and fell into it. “May I see your leg?”

You were far more than reluctant, but complied. The material of your travel weary trousers was pulled above your knee, the strips of fabric you’d attempted to fashion into bandages cut away with his own pitch-black talons. The wound was worse than he’d assumed, more severe than he assumed. Ragged skin stretched from your knee to your ankle, harsh puncture marks littering what little flesh was still in-tact. The stress of your journey had prevented the brunt of the damage from healing, and even without the use of his advanced senses, he would’ve been able to feel the heat radiating off of your skin, the first signs of infection beginning to set in. You were lucky you’d made it to his tower before the fever spread. His territory was cruel to the most resilient of creatures, and you seemed far from resilient.

“I have a salve in my collection that should aid in your recovery. That, paired with a few days of bed rest, should have you on your feet again in a week’s time.” Not a lie, but not far from one, either. He’d mended worse with a snap of his fingers, but there was no reason you should have to be burdened with such knowledge. “If you can find it within yourself to share a roof with a monster and delay our duel yet again, I can provide room and board while you recover.”

Your laugh was bright and strained. “You’re terribly kind to someone who came here to take your life.”

“And you’re very trusting of a creature who could easily end yours.” He let his pointed claws scrape over your bare skin, prolonging his evaluation. “Think of it as a show of my gratitude. My time here is well-spent, but tends to pass slowly. Visitors, whether benevolent or malicious, help to color my days.”

“Then I will have to be the most colorful visitor you’ve ever had,” you chimed, your grin renewed with fresh vigor. Clearly, you were not the type of mortal who could go long without a task. “I’ll make you wait on me hand and foot and bend to my every whim, until the thought of encountering another human being makes you sick. When I’m done, there might even be a dragon in this tower worth slaying.”

His only response was a steady nod, a low hum. He stood and, in the same motion, hooked one arm under the bend of your knees and another around your waist, lifting you into the air before you had the chance to so much as think to pull away. Instinctually, you attempted to re-balance yourself against him, and Malleus couldn’t help himself – laughing as he pulled you to his chest. “If I am to dote on you to the point of sickness, then let me start now. You’re in no state to walk on your own.”

You opened your mouth as if to complain, but anything you might’ve said was deemed too unimportant to warrant the effort. Your smile softened, your eyes falling shut as you rested your head against his shoulder. You lingered there, quiet and content, as he carried you through the halls of what would come to be your home.

Your prescribed period of bed rest came and went. Your bruises healed, then your leg (although you still tended to limp during particularly heavy rainstorms), and your exhaustion was replaced by a buzzing sort of restlessness. He never asked you to leave, and after some time, you seemed to stop expecting him to. You spoke rarely of your past (aside from the ever-changing series of events that led you to his tower, of course) and never of your future. When Malleus was in one of his more indulgent moods, he allowed himself to believe that, when he did catch you looking in his direction with such a glimmering worry in your eyes, you weren’t afraid of him, but of the possibility that he might send you away.

Despite your claims of spoiled houseguests and encumbered hosts, he was only driven to near-madness once while sharing your company. It’d been shortly after you instated yourself as a resident of his tower, rather than a fleeting visitor, and took to exploring your new dwelling without reservation. It’d been his own fault, really. He’d forgotten to warn you away from the upper wing, to resketch the protective runes he’d long-since allowed to fade, but such rationality had escaped him as he stood in the doorway, his mind empty and his eyes trained on your kneeling figure. He watched, paralyzed, as you raised a hand, reaching towards the marble slab, and then he was behind you – the points of his talons grazing the skin of your throat before he managed to restrain himself, curling his fist around the collar of your shirt, instead. Without warning, he hauled you off your feet, ignoring the half-choked shriek you let out in response.

His eyes fell to Silver, searching for any signs of harm, of disruption. Of course, Silver was unchanged. His colorless hair remained fanned over his velvet-cushioned pillow, the silk sheets and hand-stitched quilts still folded neatly at the foot of his bed – waiting to be put to use when the weather turned in autumn. Malleus took a moment to observe the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the gentle movement behind his closed eyes, before letting out a breath of relief and turning to you. “I don’t recall giving you permission to enter this chamber.”

“Sorry, I— I was just looking around, and I saw the flowers on the door—” Silver’s own craftsmanship, preserved from the ravages of time by Malleus’ spell work. He’d painted them as soon as he was old enough to hold a brush, along with matching murals on his bedroom walls that hadn’t survived the passing ages. “—I got curious, that’s all. Is this the prince I was sent after?”

Malleus set his jaw, straightening his hunched posture. “…it is,” he answered, eventually. He let go of your collar and let you stumble onto your feet. “His name is Silver. I never knew him by any titles.”

Malleus’ gaze shifted to you, but your eyes remained fixed on Silver. “He’s beautiful.”

Despite himself, he felt the edge of his lips turn downward. He rested a hand on your shoulder, and you seemed to recover from your daze, turning to face him with a hopeful smile. “Do you know when he’s going to wake up?”

Malleus felt a coil of heat form in the back of the throat. The taste of ash laid heavy over his tongue, but he swallowed back his guilt and forced himself to respond. “In another hundred years, perhaps,” he mused, his tone melodic and detached. “There’s no known cure for a curse like his.”

A phantom of disappointment flickered across your expression, but it was suppressed quickly. Rather, you turned your attention outward – to the heavy, woven curtains draped over each crystalline window. “Will you help me let in some light? I hate to insult your taste, but it’s terribly depressing in here, and—” You brightened, taking him by the sleeve and tugging gingerly. “We don’t want his highness to have any nightmares, do we?”

With some reluctance, Malleus nodded. “Light, but nothing else.” When you failed to acknowledge him, he caught you by the wrist, squeezing with just enough pressure for your smile to falter. “Light, but nothing else. Do you understand?”

Your eyes darted back to Silver, but only for a moment. He was thankful for that – for your restraint. A second longer, and his true nature might’ve overshadowed his better judgement. “Of course, dear dragon. Nothing else.”

He inhaled sharply, then let go of you altogether.

It was a choice that, in the approaching months, he would only come to regret.

“This is what they banished me for, you know.”

“This?”

“Yes, this exactly.” You propped your chin on his chest, positioning yourself to more easily card your fingers through his hair. He let his eyes fall shut, basking in the warmth of your affection, of your bare skin pressed into his. Your clothes laid discarded on the grass around you, one of his wings bent and raised to shield you from the harsh light of the setting sun. He would have to get you back to the tower, soon. He’d always been indifferent to the deadly chill of night, but you – in your precious, delicate mortality – were not so durable. “Actually, not quite – I don’t think I ever made it to this part. It was the first time I’d ever attended a royal ball, and I happened to dance with a young lady so breath-taking, I couldn’t help but drop to one knee and dedicate my heart to her the moment our hands touched.” You sighed, feigning remorse. “Little did I know that she was the princess that ball was being thrown for, and so moved by my passion, she refused to let me out of her embrace until I agreed to marry her. Of course, her father – the king, as the fathers of princesses tend to be – couldn’t have that. It’s a shame, really. We would’ve made a gorgeous couple.”

Malleus pursed his lips, fighting back a smile. “And what does that make me? The next scorned lover of a silver-tongued rouge?”

“Oh, no. If you asked me to marry you,” You propped yourself up, pressing a kiss into the curve of his jaw. “There’d be nothing in the world that could stop me, dear dragon.”

Your hand fell to his cheek, and wistfully, you lulled him into a kiss – shallow but lingering, punctuated with a playful nip at his bottom lip. You pulled back with a smile, another quick peck to his cheek. You moved to say something, but he interrupted you, as mournful as he was to cut off such a precious moment so callously. “I found your wildflowers.”

Immediately, your expression fell. “I made sure not to—”

“I know, beloved, I know.” You knew better than to lay a hand on Silver. Your small bouquet had been left on the corner of his bed, another additional chain of asters and lavender braided into one of the longer strands of his waist-length hair. As much as he wished he could say he was only concerned for Silver’s well-being, it wouldn’t have been the truth. Something else, something darker, had accompanied the discovery – something it would be better for you to stay ignorant of. “We’ve talked about this. Silver is vulnerable, in his current condition. Even the simplest luxury is an unspeakable risk.”

Your shoulders dropped, your body going slack against his. You bowed your head, burying your face in the dip of his shoulder, and despite his frustration with you, he didn’t push you away. “I’m sorry. It just feels so cruel to let him suffer alone.”

“He’s never been alone.” His tone was more curt than he’d meant it to be. “He’s always had me.”

“I know, but—” He expected you to raise your hair, to flash him that brilliant grin. Instead, you only settled against him, speaking softly into the crook of his neck. “He just seems so sad.”

Malleus took a deep breath, clenching his eyes shut.

Then, before he could let himself think better of it, he wrapped an arm around your waist. In one fluid motion, he turned you over – leaving you on your back, one of his knees planted on either side of your waist, your form tucked safely underneath his. His kiss was less gentle than your own – that deep, aching sort of hunger overwhelming his cautiousness as his tongue raked over yours, as he groaned unabashedly into your mouth. You returned his affection emphatically; your fingers soon knotted in his hair, your eager touch preventing so much as the thought of distance between your body and his. Because there never would be distance between you and him. Because there was no reason you should ever have to be taken away from him.

Hours later, when the last traces of light had faded and the stars were painted in swirling patterns across the sky, he would carry you back to his tower – unconscious and pliable in his arms. That would be the first night you spent in his bed, and as he laid there with you, he couldn’t help but imagine how wonderful it would be if you never left.

The runes carved into Silver’s door were redrawn, Malleus’ enchantments refreshed, and your bittersweet sympathy slowly rotted into a distinctly bland melancholy. You didn’t speak of him (Malleus could only wonder how you ever managed to speak of anyone when so many of his marks so often decorated your skin), but he noticed new scratches around the well-rusted lock on Silver’s door, caught you braiding chains of daisies and crowns of marigolds with no intended recipient in mind, and at night, you tended to slip out of his hold and wander. Sometimes, he waited for you, lying awake as you hunted for whatever solace there was to find in the empty halls of an ancient tower. Most nights, tonight, he chased after you.

He found you in a window near the tower’s highest room, laid across the wooden sill, your back propped against the empty frame. He didn’t ask to join you – wordlessly lowering himself to the floor at your feet. As if by reflex, your hand fell to his horns, your thumb tracing over a particular ridge near the base as you broke the quiet. “Have ever told you why I’m here, dear dragon?”

Countless times, but he still played along. “Who has my heart been stolen by today, beloved?”

“A murderer,” you said, hollowly. “And not a particularly clever one, at that.”

He waited for you to go on, to spin some elaborate tale of love and loss and betrayal and poor humor, but you only lapsed back into silence, your gaze turning back to the pitch-black valley. He watched your vacant expression for a moment, then another before letting his eyes fall shut and resting his cheek against your thigh.

Malleus had expected there to be more anger than this.

You were in a similar position to one you’d taken the first time you stumbled into Silver’s chambers – kneeling beside his marble bed, your ever-weary eyes fixed on the unknowing object of your adoration. The only difference was that, today, Silver’s hand was raised to your lips, now slightly parted in shock. He didn’t have to guess at the source of your astonishment. In front of you, Silver was sitting up. His posture was unsteady, his eyes barely open, but the obvious was undeniable.

He was awake.

To think, there was something of merit to Lilia’s stories of true love after all.

Rather than anger, rage, pure and undiluted fury, an odd sort of calm settled over his blank mind as you snapped in his direction. Your astonishment turned to horror in an instant. “Malleus, I didn’t— I was only trying to—”

He put you out of your mercy quickly. He raised his staff and, propelled by some unseen force, you were torn away from Silver’s bedside and thrown against the nearest walls – the force of the collision far from fatal, but enough to leave you limp and unconscious. With your safety ensured, he stepped forward, approaching Silver. He was awake, but only just. So many decades of uninterrupted sleep would not be so willing to release him from their taloned clutches without a struggle, and there was a certain dream-like lull to the way his eyes skirted over the limited scenery before settling on Malleus, his features immediately softening in relief. “Malleus?”

“I’m here.” Malleus allowed himself a small smile before bringing the end of his staff to Silver’s forehead. “You can rest, brother.”

There was just enough time for the edges of Silver’s lips to turn downward before he collapsed back onto the marble slab. Malleus would arrange him later on. For now, his attention turned to you.

He gathered your crumpled form in his arms and carried you through the halls of his lonely tower, before stepping into the clear air and fresh heat of the valley. He laid you in the tall grass and, after taking a moment to appreciate your peaceful expression, brought a hand to your face, cupping your cheek tenderly. The spell came to him instinctually, but he took his time, mourning the loss of your time together with each mumbled word. That was a silver-lining of immortality, though. Infinite time allowed for infinite repetition, and he couldn’t imagine giving up the opportunity to fall in love with you again.

When he was done, your eyes fluttered open, a smile quickly finding its way to your lips. “Hello, dragon.” You gazed darted to either side nervously, your mind struggling to catch up with your clever tongue. “I would love to introduce myself, but it’s the funniest thing – I can’t seem to remember what I’m doing here.”

He bit back a smile. You tried to force yourself into a more dignified position, but barely managed to get an arm underneath you before pausing, wincing, reaching for the back of your head and coming away with blood smeared across your fingertips. Malleus did what he could to hide his delight.

“You’re a thief. You injured yourself attempting to scale my tower. It was an impressive effort, but tragically unnecessary.”

This time, he couldn’t hide the wide, simpering grin that came to rest across his lips.

“I was always going to invite you inside.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #yandere twisted wonderland #twst x reader #yandere twst #twst imagines #malleus x reader #yandere malleus #yanderecore #yancore

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writingwithcolor · 4 months

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How can non-Jewish writers include Jewish characters in supernatural stories without erasing their religion in the process?

Anonymous asked:

I have a short story planned revolving around the supernatural with a Jewish character named Danielle (who uses they/them pronouns). Danielle will be one of a trio who will be solving the mystery of two brides' deaths on the day of their wedding. My concern with this is the possibility of accidentally invalidating Danielle's religion by focusing on a secular view of the afterlife. At the same time, I don't want to assume that Jewish people can't exist in paranormal stories, nor do I want to use cultural elements that don't belong to me. So, how do I make sure that Danielle is included in the plot without erasing their Jewishness?

Okay so to start with I think we need to ask a question about the premise: what is a secular afterlife? I’m not asking this to nitpick or be petty, but to offer you expanded ways of thinking through this issue and maybe others as well.

A Secular Afterlife

What is a secular afterlife? To begin with, I get what you mean. The idea of an afterlife we see in pop culture entities like ghost media owes more to a mixture of 19th-century spiritualist tropes drawn from titillating gothic novels than to anything preached from the pulpit of an organized house of worship. Yet those tropes--the ominous knocking noises from beyond, the spectral presences on daguerrotype prints, the sudden chill and the eerie glow, all of those rely on the idea of there being something beyond this life, some continuation of the spirit when the body has ceased to breathe. For that, you need to discount the ideas that the consciousness has moved on to another physical body and is currently living elsewhere, and that it was never separate from the body and has now ceased to exist. Can we say that this is secular?

More so: Gothic literature, as the name suggests, draws heavily on Catholic imagery, even when it avoids explicit references to Catholicism. Aside from the architectural imagery, Catholic religious symbols permeate the genre, as well as the larger horror and supernatural media genres that grew from it: Dracula flinches from a crucifix, priests expel demons from human bodies, Marley’s Ghost haunts Ebenezer Scrooge in chains. The concepts of heaven and hell, and nonhuman beings who dwell in those places, are critical to making the narratives work.

The basis also draws from a biblical story, that of the Witch of Endor. The main tropes of Victorian spiritualism are present: Saul never sees the ghost of Samuel, only the Witch of Endor is able to see “A divine being rising” from wherever he rises from, and her vague description, “I see an old man rising, wearing a robe,” evokes the cold readings of charlatan mediums into the present (Indeed, some rabbinic sources commenting on this assert that this is exactly what was going on).

While neither of these views of its origin define the genre as the sole property of Catholicism--or of Judaism for that matter--it would be hard exactly to categorize them as secular.

A Jewish Perspective on ghosts

However, it’s not the case that ghost media is incompatible with Jewishness, assuming that it doesn’t commit to a view of heaven and hell duality that specifically embraces a Christian spiritual framework.

Jewish theology is noncommittal on the subject of the afterlife. The idea of a division between body and soul in the first place is found in ancient Egypt, for instance, earlier than the earliest Jewish texts. In Jewish text it’s present in narratives like the creation story, in which God crafts a human body out of earth and then breathes life into it once it’s complete. It also appears in our liturgy: the blessings prescribed to be recited at the beginning of the day juxtapose Elohai Neshama, a blessing for the soul, with Asher Yatzar, expressing gratitude for the body, recited by many after successfully using the bathroom.

Yet it’s not clear that this life-force is something separate than the body that lives beyond it, until the apparition of the Witch of Endor. The words we use to describe it, whatever it is, evoke the process of breathing rather than that of eternal life: either ruach (spirit, or wind) or neshama (soul, or breath): neither is a commitment to the idea that it does--or that it doesn’t--go somewhere else when the body returns to the earth.

Jewish folklore, however, leans into the idea of ghosts and other spiritual beings inhabiting the earthly plane (and others). Perhaps most famous is the 1937 movie The Dybbuk, in which a young scholar engaging in kabbalistic practices calls upon dark forces to unite him and his fated love, only to find himself possessing her body as a dybbuk. It appears that he is about to be successfully exorcized, but ultimately when his soul leaves her body, hers does as well.

More relevantly to your story, a Jewish folktale inspired the movie The Corpse Bride. In the folktale version, a newly-engaged man jokingly recites the legal formula he will soon recite at his wedding, and places his ring on the finger of a nearby corpse--a reference to a time when antisemitic violence is said to have gotten worse not only at Jewish and Christian holidays as it does still to this day, but around Jewish weddings as well. The murdered bride stands up, a corpse reanimated complete with consciousness, and demands that the bridegroom honor his legal obligation.

In the movie, the bride gives up her demand willingly: her claim on him is emotional rather than legal, and she finally accepts that he has an emotional connection with another person, that he doesn’t love her. In the folk tale, the dead woman takes him to court to decide whether their marriage is legal, since he spoke the legal words to her in front of witnesses as is required, and the court rules that the dead do not have the right to make legal demands on the living. In this version, the moral of the story is that a legal formula is an obligation; that when he jokingly bound himself to the corpse, he not only disrespected the dead but also the legal framework that structures society, and by so doing risked being obligated to keep his side of a contract he never intended to enact.

This speaks to the ways that a Jewish outlook can differ from a Christian-influenced “secular” one. Christian-influenced cultural ideas can often focus around feeling the right thing, while Jewish stories will often center on doing the right thing. Does the Corpse Bride leave because she realizes she is not the one he loves? Because she--or he--learned a valuable lesson? Or because she loses her court case? It’s not that the boy’s emotions are irrelevant to the story--the tension, the suspense, the horror of the story takes place primarily within the boy’s emotional landscape--but emotions on their own are not a solution. The question “should he marry her” can be answered emotionally, but “has he married her” can only be answered by a legal expert, and once it has been the deceased bride may not have changed her emotional attachment to him, but she no longer has legal standing to pursue her claim.

Centering legal rectitude over emotional catharsis isn’t a requirement for having Jewish characters in your story, but it’s worth thinking about what is and isn’t universal, what is and isn’t actually all that secular.

Meanwhile, back at the topic:

Where does any of this place Danielle?

Well, unless you’re positing a universe in which Christian or other deities or cosmologies are confirmed to exist (See Jewish characters in a universe with author-created fictional pantheons for more on that topic), there’s no reason why they shouldn’t be perfectly fine interacting with whatever the setting you’re building throws at them.

My wishlist for this character and setting runs more to the general things to consider when writing fantasy settings with Jewish characters:

Don’t confirm or imply that Jesus is a divine being. That means no supernatural items like splinters of the cross, grails, nails, veils, etc. There’s nothing particularly powerful or empowering about this one guy who lived and died like so many others.

Don’t show God’s body and especially not God’s face, or confirm that any other gods or deities exist, whether that’s Jesus, Aphrodite, or Anubis, or someone you made up for the context.

Don’t put Danielle in a position where they’re going to play into an antisemitic trope like child murder, blood drinking, world domination, or financial greed. If you have to, name it and let Danielle express discomfort with or distaste for those actions both because Jewish values explicitly oppose all of those things but also because Danielle as a Jewish character would be painfully aware of these stereotypes as present and historical excuses for antisemitic violence.

Do consider what Danielle’s personal practice might look like. What does Danielle do on Shabbat? What do they eat or refrain from eating? What are their memories of Jewish holidays and how is their current holiday observance different than their childhood? I know I say “Jewishness is diverse” on every ask, but it is, and these questions--which also underscore how very much Judaism is rooted in one’s actions during this life--will help you develop how Judaism actually functions to inform Danielle’s character, even if you don’t spell out the answers to each of these questions in text.

Do let Danielle find joy, comfort, and identity in their Jewishness not just in contrast with Christianity but simply because it’s part of the wholeness of their character. I know the primary representation of Jewishness is a snappy one-liner in a Christmas episode followed by the Jewish character joining in the Christmas spirit, blue edition, but make room for Jewishness to inform how Danielle approaches the events of your story, or why they decide to get or stay involved.

-Meir

Hi it’s Shira with some Jewish ghost story recs written from inside–

When The Angels Left the Old Country by Sacha Lamb (deliriously good queer YA Jewish paranormal, mainstream enough that it’s got a good chance of being at your local library and won all kinds of awards)

The Dyke and the Dybbuk by Ellen Galford (sorry for the slur, warning for a paragraph of biphobia in the book but it’s an older book. I read this right before my divorce so my memories are super fuzzy but it’s about this modern day lesbian who gets possessed by the ghost of a different lesbian from hundreds of years earlier in Jewish history.) Nine of Swords Reversed by Xan West z’L of blessed memory - another queer Jewish paranormal.

The general plot is that two partners are struggling with how to be honest with each other about the effect disability is having on them. It’s got a very warm and fuzzy cozy vibe but kink culture is central to the worldbuilding so if that isn’t your vibe I didn’t want you to go in unaware.

The Dybbuk in Love by Sonya Taaffe. I don’t remember the details but I remember loving it, it’s m/f and romance between possessor and possessed.

I wrote a really short one called A Man of Taste where a gentile vampire woman and a Jewish ghost/dybbuk get together.

#Jewish #Judaism #supernatural #supernatural beings #settings #fantasy #ghosts #asks

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prythianpages · 4 months

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A Field of Dandelions

azriel x witch!reader | Your High Lady calls upon you. requesting a remedy that only you know how to make. It requires specific ingredients found between the courts of spring and autumn and you're in need of an escort. Unfortunately for you, she assigns her Shadowsinger to accompany you. The Shadowsinger who hates you...or so you thought.

“Please don’t talk to me like that.”

“Why?”

“It’s cruel and heartless and you don’t even realize.”

warnings: angst but with fluff at the end, mentions of self-hate/abuse. pretty much Azriel thinking he's not worthy of a mate.

a/n: I've been re-reading the Shatter Me series and there's a scene between Aaron and Juliette that drove me to make this along with the song Dandelions by Ruth B. The dialogue above is directly from the book Unravel Me. I used them as a writing prompt along with the general gist of the scene and added my own twist to it. I just wanted to put that disclaimer out there.

The door opens before you can even knock and your dear friend and High Lady pulls you into a warm hug. She beckons you inside with a smile and your eyes dart around the various paintings adorning the walls, finding that some are new.

Surprise etches onto your features when your eyes land on the Night Court’s Spymaster. He stands at the end of one of the winding staircases with his usual stoic expression. Still as devastatingly handsome as always. You drop your gaze as quickly as you had met his and if he notices it, he doesn’t let it show. He doesn’t seem to acknowledge your presence.

Your ears pick up on faint crying. It grows louder and louder. Turning your head toward the source, your eyes land on Nyx. Despite being in the comfort of his father’s arms, his little features contort in pain. You greet your High Lord with a bow of your head, noticing the exhaustion on his face that mirrors Feyre’s.

“Is Mor on her way?” You ask, adjusting the strap of your bag. It’s full with all necessary tools and equipment you need for your venture.

Feyre had requested if you could make a tonic to sooth Nyx’s aches while he’s teething but your apothecary shop was unfortunately out of the main ingredient. Dandelion root. Not just any dandelion root but the ones that grow in the soil between the courts of Spring and Autumn and given the current tensions in Prythian and your status as a former Spring court inhabitant, it was not safe for you to go alone.

“Oh,” Feyre says as she takes the babe into her arms. You coo at Nyx and he blinks up at you, his crying coming to a stop. His lips tug up into a small smile and he wraps a tiny hand around your finger. “She is unfortunately caught up in Vallahan.”

“So then Cassian is to escort me today?” You ask again, looking up at your friend.

You catch the way she looks at Rhysand. They share a look and you know they’re communicating to each other through their mind. It’s Rhysand who answers you this time.

“Cassian isn’t fond of the spring, allergies and all.”

The Shadowsinger steps forward and your smile falls. You turn back to your friend, who gives you a sheepish smile in return.

“Azriel will be escorting you today.”

You almost want to say no. The thought of being alone with Azriel makes your stomach churn with unease and something else that you can’t quite discern at the moment. But Nyx begins to squirm in his mother’s arms with a pout and Feyre’s eyebrows knit in concern.

“Okay,” you sigh.

“Thank you so much for doing this,” Feyre says.

“Our son’s life is in your hands.”

Feyre slaps her husband’s arm with a roll of her eyes. “He’s not dying, Rhys,” she grumbles. “He’s just in some discomfort from teething.”

She then turns to Azriel with a stern look. The corner of her lips threatened to betray her. “Be nice.”

Azriel’s shadows envelop you both, whisking you away to the forest of the Spring Court. It was the safest of the two courts to winnow directly to. The air in the dense woods hangs heavy with the scent of blooming blossoms and you’re thankful for the muffled sounds of nature as it provides a soothing background noise, saving you from the awkward silence between you and the impassive Shadowsinger.

Azriel walks ahead, his movements graceful and quiet. His shadows cling to him like the loyal companions they are but some hover over your boots, silencing your own steps.

He finally breaks the silence. “You’re staring.”

You shift your gaze immediately and wonder if he can also sense the pink that dusts your slightly flustered face. “I’m just surprised you’re the one escorting me,” you answer honestly.

“It’s not like I had much of a choice,” he responds cryptically.

A slight tension settles between you, your heartbeat quickening as you follow him through the forest. “Right,” you say, your face growing pinker.

You shift the weight of your bag to your other shoulder and Azriel comes to a sudden stop. He turns, his hazel eyes scanning you for a moment. Without a word, he takes the bag from your arm, effortlessly hoisting it over his shoulder.

The unexpected gesture catches you off guard, and a quiet "thanks" escapes your lips. “You’re being awfully nice today,” you can’t help but observe, a mixture of surprise and curiosity in your tone “I think this is the most you’ve talked to me since we met.”

Azriel’s lips curve into an almost-smile. A rare sight that sends a flutter through your chest. “My High Lady told me to be nice.”

“Right,” you repeat quietly to yourself as you exhale, a futile effort to calm your fluttering nerves. It’s almost embarrassing the effect Azriel has on you and as the butterflies in your stomach stir, you hope that the rest of the day unfolds quickly.

Mates. Two individuals predestined to be together, brought together by unseen forces and an irresistible bond. Azriel once wondered if he had a mate but after centuries of living, he began to wonder if he was simply destined to be alone.

When his brothers found their mates and he still hadn’t found his, he started to think he was far beyond the reach of love. It was a blessing he could not have. He didn’t need a mate, so he convinced himself he didn’t want one. Romance was not part of his duties and he was starting to come to terms with the fact.

That is, until, he met you.

Nestled right on the outskirts of the area known as the Rainbow of Velaris was a quaint shop. The wooden sign above, engraved with dark letters spelling out Nightrose Apothecary, swayed gently in the cool morning breeze. Azriel had ignored the frenzied whirlwind of his shadows as he stepped into the shop.

Shelves made of twisted vines and polished wood were neatly arranged with rows of glass jars containing colorful powders, dried herbs and exotic roots. A friendly black cat, lounging on the sunlit windowsill, blinked at him in greeting. As he stepped further into the shop, his senses became overwhelmed with the prominent scent of lavender and chamomile.

Behind a worn, wooden counter is where you stood. You hummed to yourself, immersed in the book in front of you. He found himself unable to take his eyes off of you as you skimmed over the rough edged pages, your fingertips carrying an enchanting green glow and eyes filled with darkness.

You were a witch but it was no surprise to him. He had heard about you. You were a good friend of Feyre’s. One of the few people she could trust during her time in the Spring court. When the Spring Court fell into chaos, Feyre had brought you with her and helped you open up this shop.

His steps were silent and he’s sure you’re unaware of his presence, so he shifted, parting his mouth to speak–

“Hello, Shadowsinger.”

His steps faltered, eyes widening for a fleeting moment.

When you finally lifted your gaze to meet his, his eyes locked with yours and something deep within him awakened. An exhilarating feeling like no other. He felt light. He felt alive. And he was almost afraid to blink, not wanting the feeling to end.

His shadows peeked out from behind his limbs, curious to see what had their master in a chokehold. They dispersed from his body in a thrilled dance as the darkness left your eyes, revealing their natural color. They’re beautiful and sparkling with kindness, even as his shadows disobey his silent orders and slither up your arms in a cool greeting.

“I’m sorry,” he found himself apologizing, a slight tint in his cheeks. “They usually don’t do that.”

“It’s okay,” you brushed off his worry and he felt lightheaded and bewitched at the smile you directed toward him. “What brings you here?”

Azriel can’t help but feel that you already know why he’s there. He pulled his gaze away, choosing to focus on the crystal orbs on the counter instead. “My High Lady recommended I come to you. I’ve been having trouble…sleeping.”

The green glow returned to your fingertips as you beckoned a small clear vial from one of the shelves behind you. It’s filled with a silver liquid that glistened as it moved, mirroring the twinkle of the stars that light up the night sky.

“This should help.” You told him as you held out the vial to him. “Take a sip before you’re ready for bed and it should quickly pull you into a restful slumber. Some say it even brings forth sweet dreams.”

Azriel nodded his head, taking the small vial from you with a gloved hand. He stored it carefully into the chest pocket of his leathers. His hands then dug into the pockets of his pants but you held out a hand to stop him.

“It’s on the house.”

“But–”

“Any friend of Fey–the High Lady’s is a friend of mine.”

His throat tightened as he realized it’s time for him to leave and he doesn’t want to. He’s caught in a whirlwind of emotions and finds himself torn between hope and fear. Or maybe he fears what it means to be hopeful because for once in his life, he wants something.

He wants you. His mate.

But as he thanked you for your kind gesture, he realized that the bond must have not snapped for you as it had for him. So he reluctantly went on with his day and when the sky darkened and stars awakened, he took a sip from the small vial. He had the best sleep of his life that night and dreamt about you.

The next morning he asked Rhysand and Feyre about what he had experienced because he couldn’t believe it himself. They confirmed his suspicions and they were both delighted. Feyre even more so as you were her dear friend.

She had taken it upon herself to bring you two together. Her first attempt was a family dinner. It was going well until Elain had spotted a spider and upon the small scream she let out, Nesta had rushed to kill it for her. Your distress was impossible to turn a blind eye to and Feyre quietly asked if you were alright.

“It didn’t need to die,” is all you quietly said, your eyes lined with silver.

Witches were one with nature and given your niche with herbs and creation, Azriel realized the depth of your admiration for all life that night. Then, another harrowing one. You were so innocent, so pure. He was guilty, hands tainted and stained red. He didn’t deserve you.

The Cauldron must’ve made a mistake.

Feyre was undeterred so she gave it another attempt, despite Azriel’s protest. She arranged a night out at Rita’s for the Inner Circle and invited you. Azriel didn’t plan on going but Rhysand had made sure his schedule was clear and when Feyre had sent him an image of you in a skin tight dress, he came as quickly as he could.

But it was too late.

He arrived to find a high fae leaning toward you in interest and you were smiling at him. A smile Azriel wanted reserved just for him. The male had placed a hand at your waist and Azriel felt his stomach churn when you laughed at something he had said. A sound he wished to be the cause of. You seemed happy and who was he to stand in your way?

The male was everything Azriel was not. Blond, blue eyed and perfectly smooth hands–hands that were all over you and welcomed by you. He unconsciously hid his scarred hands behind his back and when your gaze met his across the room, he looked away.

Azriel was not worthy of you. He didn’t deserve to have you as his mate. So he reminded himself that romance was not part of his duties and convinced himself that the Cauldron, had indeed, made a mistake.

He couldn’t bear the thought of being just a friend to you. The mere idea pained him so much that he pushed you away. He didn’t return to your apothecary when he finished the vial you’d given him–not even when his nights became restless again and dark circles appeared beneath his eyes. When he’d see you walking along the streets of Velaris, he’d turn the other away and when you would visit Feyre and he was there, he’d find an excuse to leave.

But there was one thing he couldn’t shake off–the primal instinct to protect you. It was the least he could do for you as he felt indebted to you for the Cauldron’s mistake.

So when he heard you needed an escort to the border between the Spring and Autumn courts, he was the first to volunteer, despite Mor and Cassian also offering.

It’s as if the ground beneath you comes to life in your presence. Birds fly over you, chirping and singing a beautiful melody. As you pass, buds blossom into beautiful flowers as if enchanted by you. Even the animals emerge from their hidden abodes. The squirrels playfully dart between branches while a family of deer gracefully emerges from the trees.

It becomes evident that nature itself is captivated by your presence. and it extends beyond nature, weaving its magic onto Azriel as well. It reaches into the very heart of the Shadowsinger, casting an enchanting spell that even he cannot escape.

A blue butterfly dances playfully around Azriel. It startles him, pulling him out of his trance and you can’t help the small laugh that escapes from you. You raise a finger and the butterfly lands on it softly.

“Hello, little one,” you coo softly. You turn to Azriel, holding out your finger to him. “Would you like to hold it?”

“No.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Are you scared of a butterfly?”

Azriel does not answer your question. Instead, his eyes dart around the forest that still stirs with liveliness around you. “What happened to keeping a low profile?”

“Sorry,” you apologize, even though it’s not your fault. The butterfly grants you one last flutter of its wings before gracefully flying away. “I can’t help but be admired by many.”

Azriel lets out a hum. You’re too distracted to pick up on the subtle resonance of agreement, your eyes widening as the meadow finally comes into view in the distance.

You inhale deeply, flooding your senses with the delicate fragrance surrounding you–a symphony of floral notes. Time seems to slow and your worries dissipate away as you kneel down, gently touching the soft sea of green, white and yellow. The gentle sway of the dandelions becomes a mesmerizing dance, their feathery plumes catching the morning breeze like wishes ready to be set free.

Azriel watches you and his eyes are a reflection of an adoration deeper than any meadow bloom. There’s a bittersweet ache in his chest. You close your eyes, a serene expression on your face. Strands of sunlight weave through your hair, creating a halo of warmth and Azriel finds it hard to breathe when your lips bloom into a tender smile.

Your eyes open and meet his hazel eyes and suddenly, he’s looking away. He clears his throat, eyes looking around the field. “What’s so special about this place?” He asks, a desperate attempt to reclaim the distance between desire and reality.

“All life is a delicate balance of give and take. Spring brings forth new life and beauty, new beginnings. Autumn leaves showers of gold, recognizing the temporary nature of all things. “ You answer as if it's common knowledge and upon the bewildered expression on Azriel’s face, you offer the simpler explanation: “The soil between Spring and Autumn is very potent.”

“These are weeds. They’ll grow anywhere.” Azriel deadpans. He regrets it immediately at the brief darkening of your eyes and the slight frown that forms at his casual dismissal.

“You may see a weed,” you begin, plucking a single dandelion from the ground as you rise to your feet. You approach the Shadowsinger. “But I see wishes.”

You extend the dandelion to him with a softness in your eyes that he’s never been on the receiving end of. “They say a single dandelion possesses the power to grant one-hundred wishes. But their beauty lies in their resilience because when they fall apart, they simply start again. A reminder to us all of boundless hope.”

Azriel hesitates, his gaze fixed on the dandelion. His gloved fingers brush against yours and for a fleeting moment, he wonders what your skin would feel like against his. The mere thought dares to send a shiver through him but he swiftly pushes the thought away. He doesn’t deserve you.

You smile at him as he carefully accepts the delicate stem from you. His shadows remain dispersed around the field but from where he stands, he can feel them vibrating in a joyful dance. Your smile is so bright, so dazzling and for the first time since he met you, it’s all for him. A sudden warmth floods through him, a sensation he never anticipated, and he finds himself utterly captivated.

“Make a wish,” you whisper to him, your voice a gentle prompt that lingers in the air like a spell waiting to be cast.

Azriel is not one to believe in things like this but he finds himself surrendering to the magic of the moment. For you.

Under the tender gaze of a field of dandelions, he closes his eyes. He lets out a silent breath, and makes a wish. A gentle breeze courses through you both in that moment. The dandelion’s wispy seeds take flight, unraveling into a delicate constellation of possibilities.

The soft bristles of hope travel through the air and find their way to you and a laugh escapes from you in response to the tickling sensation as they caress your face. Azriel’s heart feels strangely gentle–as if the weight that often accompanies his existence has momentarily dissipated. His entire body seems to soften in the glow of your laughter and a rare smile graces his lips.

He’s stuck in a trance, mesmerized by you, failing to catch the sounds of the creatures approaching. Before he knows it, there are arrows whistling around you both. He barely has enough time to respond as one hisses by his ear and darts to you. He immediately raises his hand up, his shadows rushing to the rescue and forming a protective shield around you both.

Your eyes are wide as you stare at the tip of an arrow that is a couple of inches away from you. It’s coated with blood. Azriel’s blood. Your breath hitches at the sight. There's an arrow embedded into his gloved hand and if it weren’t for Azriel’s other hand at the small of your back, you would’ve fallen backwards.

“Are you alright?” His gaze is examining you carefully, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

You blink at his words. “Are you alright?”

“Well, well, well.” A voice drawls followed by deep, rumbling growls from the hounds that surround you. They’re kept at bay by Azriel’s shadows. “What do we have here?”

Azriel turns around, ready to face the threat head on. His shadows remain at your side protectively. Some slither up and down your arms, their touch aimed at offering comfort and reassurance.

“Eris.”

The red head smirks and his teeth flash when he catches the sight of the Shadowsinger’s injured and bleeding hand. “My apologies,” Eris sneers. “If I had known it was you, I would’ve aimed for the heart.”

A sound escapes from you–one you didn’t know you were capable of making and you step out from the shadows. It draws Eris’s attention to you. His amber eyes drink you in and you feel Azriel stiffen beside you. The Autumn’s male’s eyes land on the obsidian necklace around your neck and they narrow.

“What is a witch doing in my lands?” His hounds that are still surrounding let out another growl, prompted by their master’s tone of voice. They snap their teeth menacingly.

But you’re unfazed.

Perhaps, it’s Azriel’s protective shadows or the overwhelming anger set alight by Eris’s words that grant you the confidence and push you forward. Your eyes fill with darkness, resembling a night sky without any stars and Azriel can feel the energy coursing through your veins as you call upon your magic.

“Keep wasting the air with that breath of yours and I might just cur–”

A hand comes over your mouth, stopping you from saying anything else and you’re being pulled flush into Azriel’s chest. You grimace at the taste of leather and squirm only for Azriel’s arms to tighten around you.

“Cute,” Eris remarks with a hint of amusement but there’s an unmistakable fear that flashes in his eyes for a short lived moment.

“We’re just passing through,” Azriel states, his voice void of emotion.

Eris observes you both in contemplative silence. He must discern something in Azriel that prompts him to stand down. With a thoughtful hum, he gracefully turns away. His hounds follow suit and as he walks away, he calls over his shoulders: “Make it quick.”

You watch as Eris disappears into the forest, still wrapped tightly in Azriel’s arms. It isn’t until Eris is completely out of view that you squirm again and without thinking, you bite on his gloved hand. Hard. Azriel flinches and finally releases his grip on you.

You turn to him with a glare that he returns.

“Threatening to curse the heir to Autumn? Are you out of your mind?”

“I should curse you for stopping me!” You exclaim, crossing your arms with a scowl. Your gaze then softens as you quietly add: “He hurt you.”

“Gods,” Azriel breathes, stepping away from you and tilting his head backwards. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“You mean besides piss you off by merely existing?” You huff as you snatch your bag away from him to get the jars you brought. “Can’t imagine it gets any worse than that.”

The walk to your apartment is silent and you begin to wonder if you should apologize for your outburst earlier. It was not within your nature to raise your voice at anyone…or harbor anger toward someone. But Eris had tried to hurt you, hurt Azriel and then shamelessly sneered about it.

Azriel follows you into your home, watching as you set the ingredients you collected down. He expects you to bid him farewell and kick him out but as you turn to him and your gaze falls to his injured hand, you sigh.

“Come on,” you offer, reaching out for his hand and he recoils. You frown. “Does it hurt?”

“No.”

You know he’s lying by the way his jaw clenches and you can’t help but notice that he appears to be repelled by your touch. You almost laugh. “I promise I won’t curse you. I actually never cursed anyone before.”

Azriel’s expression remains unreadable.

“Just let me see. I can help you.”

“I’m fine.” He says through gritted teeth.

“You’re bleeding all over my floor.” You say in hopes to get him to accept your help and when it doesn’t, you cross your arms against your chest. “Do you really hate me that much? To be repulsed by my touch?”

“I don’t hate you.” Azriel confesses and his voice is much quieter, much softer when he speaks again. “I could never.”

Azriel holds your gaze in contemplation for a long moment. Out of the corner of your eyes, you can see his shadows pushing him toward you so you try again. This time, when you step forward, your hand reaching for him, he doesn’t pull away.

“Sit,” you tell him, nodding your head at one of the chairs in your kitchen.

With a hard swallow, he does. He is entirely still as you hold his gloved hand in yours. Even his shadows are eerily still as if holding their breath. His eyes are boring into you with an intensity that heats your skin. You bring your other hand up, a soft green glow emitting from your fingertips. With the help of your magic, you carefully take the arrow out, drawing a sharp gasp from him.

“Sorry,” you say, turning your attention to his glove next. You use your magic to remove it as well, not wanting to cause him any more pain or discomfort.

As the green mist of your magic dissipates, revealing the scarred skin beneath, your eyes widen. The scars are extensive, streaking around his fingers and the palm of his hand and the bleeding gash in the middle is nothing compared to them. You lift your gaze to meet his only to find his eyes are dead of emotion.

“Azriel.” You breathe and it’s the first time you’ve ever addressed him by his name and it sounds so pretty, so beautiful but the way you’re looking at him…

“Don’t.” His throat feels tight and he starts to withdraw his hand from yours but you stop him. You want to know who hurt him this deeply. Today was a day of firsts for you–first smile from Azriel, first time you ever felt so angry, first time you growled at someone and you were more than willing to add another first to that list. Cursing someone.

But Azriel looks like he’s about to break so you push your rage aside. Realization dawns on you as you now understand why he’s always wearing gloves around you, why he avoided you at all costs before. Your heart aches.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” you say softly as you begin to heal his hand. “Your scars may forever carry their stories with them but they do not define you. Your heart does and I can see it now. It’s bright and beautiful. You’re beautiful and–”

“y/n,” he almost begs. “Please don’t talk to me like that.”

The gash on his palm is now completely healed and you tighten your hold on it. “Why?”

“It’s cruel and heartless and you don’t even realize.” His voice drops to a pained whisper and his eyes are fluttering shut, body trembling. Shadows cling on to him, embracing him in an attempt to comfort their master. You’ve never beheld anything more heartbreaking.

“Do you think that lowly of me?” You begin, your voice quiet. “That I would be put off by your scars?”

When he doesn’t answer, your free hand reaches for his face, lifting his chin up. But his eyes are still closed and deep lines form on his forehead because your skin is so soft, so warm and he’s not worthy.

“Azriel,” you steady your breath. “You’re my mate.”

His eyes shoot open, hazel orbs glistening with tears as he looks up at you. “You know?”

“I’ve known since the moment I met you.” You confess with a pained smile. “I wanted to tell you right away but I didn’t want to scare you and when I was ready to tell you, you were avoiding me. I thought you hated me because, well, I’m a witch and not everyone is fond of them.”

“But that night at Rita’s–”

“My stupid attempt at making you jealous,” you explain to him sheepishly. “I thought it would prompt you to talk to me but it backfired immensely.”

Silence falls over you two.

“I’m sorry.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “For what?”

“For being your mate.” Azriel responds. “I don’t deserve you. My hands are not only scarred but stained red. I’ve tortured many. I’ve killed many. You value life but I take it.”

“I value innocent life. It’s my duty to protect nature–to protect those that cannot speak for themselves.” You clarify. “I understand that it’s your duty to protect this court. I don’t see you any different for it.”

The hand at his face drops and you use it to remove the glove from his other hand. Your hands grasp onto his larger ones and you lace your fingers with his, embracing the thickened and roughened skin. Azriel’s breath hitches.

“This can’t be real,” he murmurs to himself, dropping his gaze. “In that field of dandelions, I wished upon every one of them. For you.”

“Magic doesn’t work that way,” you tell him with a smile as an overwhelming rush of tenderness comes over you. “It cannot create or destroy love. It can only heighten what is already there.”

Azriel’s expression softens and he looks back up at you. Half terrified. Half hopeful. “So this is real?”

You decide to show him instead by leaning down and kissing him.

Azriel’s body relaxes and then he’s using his hands to tug you forward and onto his lap. He kisses you back. Deeply and desperately. He places his hands on your face, your neck and then they’re at your waist, slipping under your shirt. He wants to feel your skin, all of you and you welcome it, arching into him because his touch feels so good.

It stirs a light of desire in you–a desire so bright that it rivals the sun and blossoms flowers of its own. A desire to love and be loved.

“What else did you wish for?” You gasp out when you both pull away for air. His hands are right under the curve of your chest and he leans his forehead against yours.

His breath is heavy but he smiles at you and you engrave the image into your mind because you’ve never seen anything so beautiful. You’re inclined to ask Feyre to paint it for you later.

“I only wished for you to be mine.” He says, pressing a kiss to your nose.

“Done.”

And then he’s kissing you again.

Azriel has heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime–he’s seen it come to his brothers. He never thought it would come to him but he’s pretty sure that you are that love of his and he was a fool to push it away. He knows this now because when he gazes into your eyes, he can see forever in them.

here's like an alternate scene, where y/n is the one who says "please don't talk to me like that" instead of az: read here

here's a scene if you're curious about feyre's reaction: read here

if you're interested in reading more about this au you can find the masterlist for this series here

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel imagine #azriel fluff #azriel angst #azriel acotar #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #azriel x y/n #acotar x you #az!dandelions

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yourtongzhihazel · 21 days

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why do you support china

TL;DR,

As the daughter of a family of peasants on both sides, I would simply not exist if it was not for Mao Zedong and the communist party. My grandfather on my mom's side was the only person in his village to attend high school. My maternal grandparents became PLA medics then full on doctors. My grandfather on my dad's side was illiterate until the 50s, after which time, he became a local librarian. Every single senior citizen in the PRC has stories of the horror, war, death, starvation, poverty that Chinese people suffered for centuries, amplified by the century of humiliation. There's not a single farmer left in my family. They are artists. Teachers. Engineers. Physicists. Musicians. Doctors. Programmers. The oldest pictures in my family's collection are a set of prints from the 60's, after cameras came to the peasantry. In my very own lifetime, I saw Pudong, on the east bank of the Huangpu river which splits Shanghai in two, go from just the Oriental Pearl and a collection of buildings to the skyscraper metropolis it is today. When I was born, there was not a single kilometer of true HSR. In 22 years, they have built 45,000 kilometers of HSR, a number which is still growing. In 2021, the PRC completed the historical task of eliminating extreme poverty in the entire country. There are millions of families like mine living in the PRC, from Urumqi to Harbin.

In 1991, the Soviet Union was illegally and forcefully dismantled, a process which culminated in the constitutional crisis of 1993. Similar processes of primitive accumulation occurred in former Eastern Block countries, from East Germany to Bulgaria. State assets were stolen for cents on the dollar. Quality of life, especially average lifespan, dropped significantly and so dramatically that it took former Soviet countries 3 decades or more just to recover to pre-dissolution numbers; some still haven't. Pensioners lost their pensions and were forced to sell scrap and empty bottles just to survive. Those who had state jobs were laid off. Social welfare programs were cut back or eliminated entirely. Children were forced into prostitution or trafficked. Now the constituent republics which made up the USSR engage in petty regional wars to the detriment of all of their citizens. The Soviet Union was a country just shy of 300 million people. Over 1.4 BILLION people live in the PRC right now. Economic shock therapy of which the former USSR went through would be an unmitigated humanitarian disaster on a scale perhaps never seen on the planet.

The Communist Party of China has brought about unimaginable good to Chinese people. It took a backwaters, "sick man of Asia" and turned it into the 2nd strongest nation currently on the planet all within a single lifespan. The PRC is the most successful socialist project still around and should be a magnificent source of lessons to learn from, both the good and the bad. However, this is not to say the the PRC should be emulated or copied. Rather, communists should analyze their own material conditions and class make up and apply the lessons of the PRC as they see fit for their own countries.

#mmp #Hazel's press releases

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undiscovered-horizon · 5 months

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Hi! I really enjoy your one piece writings, they have given me so much comfort when I don't feel okay 😭

Can I please get a Mihawk (I'm completely in love w this man aah) imagine where his wife is a sensitive person who gets sad when someone is rude to them but they feel insecure couse they think it's stupid

Thank youuuuuu ❤️🥺

First of all, I'm honoured that I can provide a source of comfort to you. I'm glad my work has made you feel better in your time of need.

Second of all: oh yessss bestie this hits the spot. It also reminds me of a wonderful scene in The Gentlemen (10/10, highly recommend) [it also hits close to home because I am a sensitive person]

The thing about strong people is that they make others want to be just as strong, which isn't always easy if even possible. You've always known you're a little 'softer' than most people but only after marrying Mihawk did you find the difference in temperament bothersome. Instead of considering your sensitivity a fact of nature, you've begun to find it a flaw, something that you should change about yourself.

You've never admitted it to yourself but the truth is plain and simple - you think it's embarrassing. That Mihawk will find your sensitivity embarrassing. Maybe if you had been up-front about it with your husband, you'd learn that he adores your soft heart. If he felt forthcoming enough, perhaps you'd even hear that you're the source of warmth and light in his life. Hence he calls you his 'sun'.

To say that Mihawk grew concerned when he heard your muffled sobs would be like not saying anything. A delicious euphemism at best. Anger and fear bubble inside his chest. There's a strange itch in his hands that eggs him to wreak havoc.

"Apple of my eye," his voice carries well through the rather empty room you're both staying at currently. "What is the meaning of this?"

Frantically wiping away your tears, you look over your shoulder to meet his gaze. Mihawk is leaning against the doorframe, blocking the entrance if you so wish to run away from this situation.

"Oh, it's nothing. Really, I'm alright. No need to worry," you half-heartedly attempt to reassure him.

The swordsman loudly exhales through his nose. He's your husband, worrying about you is his duty. In slow steps, Mihawk walks over to the edge of the bed where you're sitting. Pride and titles as if forgotten, he drops on one knee in front of you. One of his hands gently squeezes your knee.

Unsure what's the best way to go about these circumstances, you timidly meet his intense gaze. The passion in his yellow eyes makes you think of a maelstrom captured in a jar - something devastating held back by a miracle. He's already seething, just doesn't yet know who exactly to direct his violence at.

"Indulge me," he prompts you to confide in him. There's a rare sense of pleading in his tone.

So indulge him you do - you tell Mihawk all about the unpleasant encounter with a local tearaway. Your husband tries his best to control his expression as you recount the unambiguously offensive words, unwanted touches and threats of real violence coming from someone who was probably looking for a cowardly scapegoat to vent his anger. As you continue your story, tears just keep rolling down your cheeks, fear and humiliation finally finding their way out of your heart.

"I know I'm being stupid," you mumble as you clumsily wipe your face, "he was just rude and it's not like he actually hurt me but-"

Mihawk's touch makes you cut your sentence short. His hand, its skin rough and calloused, gently cups the side of your face. Your hot, salty tears disperse as his thumb slowly rubs them away. Something about the tenderness of his touch, of hands that have killed and maimed, is enough to make you feel like you're about to break in his arms. Even if you do, you know that when dawn breaks you will be whole again, put back together with the unending love Mihawk holds for you.

"You've always been too good, my sun," he tells you in a low voice. He could have said 'too soft' or 'too sensitive' but then his remark would come off as deceitful as it would suggest his dislike towards your nature. Nothing of that sort - Mihawk genuinely thinks you're a better person than most people walking this plane. And he'd rather succumb to torture than let anyone make you feel bad about that.

The man leans in and places his warm lips against your forehead. Without much effort, he lays you down on the bed and you let him. Even if you wanted to fight back, you're way too tired to do so.

He's sitting on the edge of the bed, caressing your face, neck, arms and back as he's waiting for you to fall asleep. The anticipation doesn't require much patience - Mihawk's tender touches lull you to peaceful slumber rather swiftly. When he's sure that you're asleep, he kisses your forehead again before cautiously leaving the bedroom and closing the door behind him.

Perhaps he can't turn back the time and make the offending man choke on his words but he can ensure that the tearway won't hurt you ever again. Someone resting in peace so you can rest peacefully is a good bargain.

Mihawk knows exactly who he's looking for. He made a note of a certain characteristic trait you had mentioned - an earring with a single, red-coloured feather. It doesn't seem like a piece of jewellery that would be common anywhere.

It doesn't take much to find the tearaway. He makes his presence well-known as he stumbles out of a tavern, his legs almost giving away with each step.

So he assaults random women minding their business and then gets blackout drunk. It's pathetic enough to consider his death merciful.

Staying true to his name, the swordsman stalks his prey before lunging. Appearing as another patron of the inn, Mihawk follows the stranger around the corner towards barns, stables and pigstys. Fitting place for the likes of him, Dracule thinks to himself.

The man with the curious earring staggers his way towards a drinking trough. He's fumbling with his pants, desperately trying to pull them down to relieve himself but his fingers are not dextrious enough.

Mihawk picks up the pitchfork leaning against the barn wall. In one, swift motion he gores the tool through the back of the man's knee. A guttural scream tears through the night as he falls to the ground.

The swordsman grabs a fistful of the tearaway's hair. He forces the kneeling man to look up into his seething, yellow eyes.

"Do I owe you money?" The man is slurring his words. He squints his eyes, trying to focus his hazy vision on Mihawk and, possibly, recognize his creditor. "It's money, isn't it? Shit, just give me two days, man. I'll give it back with interest."

"I don't care about money."

Instantaneously, panic appears in the tearaway's eyes. Did he just find himself in the same position he's put hundreds of people in to cure his own boredom and need for grandiosity?

"Then what it is?!" he shouts, fear settling in his viscera. Dracule's calmness put together with the sheer hatred emanating from him makes for a deeply unsettling impression.

"You hurt my wife," comes the answer. The fist clenching the man's hair tightens its hold further, threatening to tear off his scalp. "My wife," Mihawk growls.

But before the tearaway can ask for clarification, his head is forced into the drinking trough. Surprised and scared, oxygen is escaping him fast. Soon, his throat and chest begin to clench and throb painfully. Dark spots dance across his vision, foreboding blindness.

Then, Mihawk pulls his head just above the surface. The man desperately gasps for air.

"If you believe in a god," the swordsman begins in a low voice shaking with anger and adrenaline, "I suggest you start praying. Fast."

The tearaway's head is forced underwater again but this time, Mihawk keeps it there until the ruffian's body stops trembling and shaking. After that, Dracule waits for a while longer - just for good measure.

You're woken up by the creaking of doors as they slowly open. Blinking sleep away from your eyes, you look over your shoulder only to experience a sort of deja vu: Mihawk is standing in the doorway. Before you can ask about his strange behaviour, your husband makes his way to you in long, quick strides. He kneels on the floor beside the bed.

Mihawk takes your hand in his. He takes something out of his pocket and places it in your palm. You recognize the red feather earring immediately. And is that... a piece of skin still attached to it? Gently, your husband closes your fist and lifts your hand to place a chaste kiss on your knuckles.

"The rat has paid for its sins," he whispers to you. Judging by the intense look in his eyes, you don't want to know the details of this story.

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a-edgar-allan-hoe · 1 year

Text

Wild Horses

Part 1

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Doctor!Reader

Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4

A/N: Just a little idea I had after seeing all the TikToks and now I am yanked onto the Ghost train. I used to watch my brother play the game but that was a while ago so bear with me here. (advice or little pointers are much appreciated). I also might make this into a short story or add another part to it, let me know y’all. Comments and reblogs are much appreciated!

Summary: Imagine being the new physician assigned to the team and a certain masked individual takes a new keen concealed interest in you. The two of you are too awkward to function.

Warnings: language, fluff, angst

You were assigned to the team as their personal physician, as requested by the higher ups in order to make sure the soldiers stayed in best health, both physically and mentally. You used to work at your local hospital before you were offered the position.

You knew the dangers and the risks involved, but you were in debt and had student loans that needed to paid. So after much hesitation, you accepted the offer, eventually being convinced by the fat paycheck.

You remembered the day you were first introduced to the team, the way everyone's eyes glued to you like a hawk, their large forms towering over your small frame in the room while you picked at the skin around your nails in nervous habit.

They were curious to say the least, wondering what the hell someone like you was doing in a place like this. And since when did they get the chance to have a full on doctor to treat them, usually they were offered combat medics. You had guts, that's for sure.

You on the other hand were nervous, frightened even, with the thought of living in the same quarters of men wrapped up within the tumults and afflictions of war without a single clue as to their current psychological state. You had seen the worst of men and humanity growing up and you no idea who these soldiers were, what they were capable of, or what their intentions might be. Maybe you should have requested that briefing before you hopped on that plane.

Amongst all of their gazes, you had failed to notice a certain masked individual in the far back of the room, his form shrouded amongst the others as he studied you. His eyes, hidden underneath the grooves of his mask that only seemed to be darkened by where he stood blocked by the only source of light, watched your every movement, from every gesture of your perfectly manicured fingers to every smoothing of the lint-free fabric of your sweater to the way you kept shifting your weight from one foot to another.

One thing was apparent; during the entire length the high ranking officer next to you introduced you and debriefed the men on what was expected and such, you had not uttered a single word, minus the small polite and somewhat strained smile on your face while your eyes told another story. Why the military truly hired you, he may never know.

After being shown your little office and workspace including your room, you were quick to settle in, decorating the area to the best of your abilities with what you had taken with you from back home in order to bring some life into the dull and two-dimensional area. If anyone questioned you on it you would just say that your own sanity is extremely vital in order to ensure quality treatment for your patients.

Once everything in your office was set up, you threw on your white coat and retreated yourself to your office space, sitting at your desk and hastily going over the files that you had completely forgotten about that were given to you regarding the soldiers' previous health before they come pouring in reporting symptoms of god knows what. Best be prepared. Jesus how many bullet wounds can a single individual have.

The soldiers were advised to do their routine physical examinations with you so the first one to come waltzing in through your office door was none other than Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, a cheeky grin plastered on his face and much too excited for his own good. That boy's got a crush on you I swear. To be honest I'd be lying if I said the whole team didn't have a schoolboy crush on you.

The men were quick to warm up to you, relieved to have a gentle soul in their midst after all the shit that goes down outside, you were like breath of fresh air. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to bring a doctor on board, as quiet and reserved as you were. They speculated you were just shy, the reason why you never spoke much, not knowing that you just couldn't hold a conversation if your life depended on it, especially around those you weren't close with. At first they couldn't tell because of your major rbf.

During their routine check-ups or whatever issue they had going on, they would do most of the talking, which was a good thing on your end because it helped you to piece together their temperaments. Thank the lord no one is a psycho murderer. Oh wait.

Soap is the most chattiest of them all. Boy wouldn't shut his mouth when he sat in your office. He's super flirty. But not as flirty as Alejandro.

Ghost on the other hand was reluctant to step into your office for his check-ups. After all he was usually the one to tend to his own wounds or just push through whatever it is that is going on, so he did not know what all the fuss was about in having to get his health checked. So when you call out his last name more than once might I add, clipboard in hand and scanning the area for whoever looks to be headed in your direction, he can't help but heave out a sigh, trudging over to where you stood, your clean white coat a stark contrast to the rest of the environment as you leaned against your door to hold it open.

You muttered out a small hello to which he let out a small huff as you moved aside to let the man enter, watching him walk into your office and seat himself down. That man intimidated you a bit not gonna lie. Not only could you not see his face but he had also not said a single word to you. And not to mention he was absolutely huge as compared to you, even more so in person. You also had heard a lot of stories from the other guys.

"How is your day?" You ask, shutting the door behind you as you briefly read over his previous but extremely short records on your clipboard. There's barely anything on this man. Does he not get ill?

Ghost is quiet at first, watching your eyes scan over the clipboard and curious to know just what is on those papers before your eyes flit up to meet his and catch him off guard, which causes him to answer abruptly. "Fine."

"Okey dokes." You give a quick smile.

Did you just say okey dokes.

Clearing your throat, you go over to where he sat and set the clipboard down on the table next to you beside your laptop. You didn’t have to read his body language to know he did not want to be here at all. So you were going to do him a favor and make the appointment as quick as possible.

"So do you have any allergies to any medications, any allergies I need to know of?" Your fingers hover over the keyboard of your laptop as you turn to face him, only to be met with an expressionless skull of a mask and the expressionless eyes beneath. Oh boy this session was going to be something. You had heard of how he had never shown his face, so you made sure not to question on it.

"No ma'am."

"Are you currently taking any medication?" You ask the same standard set of questions you have asked every single patient of yours, typing as you go.

"No ma'am."

Any previous illness? Disease?"

"No."

The more you ask him questions, the more he strangely finds it easier to answer. Your voice is surprisingly soft, warm even, like the start of autumn, and he finds it comforting to listen to. Or maybe it's just some technique doctors learn during training in order to relax their patients.

"Do you have any history of smoking, alcohol, or illicit drug use?"

".......sometimes I'll have a smoke, and a glass of bourbon." He's almost waiting for you to hand him a pamphlet about the dangers of smoking.

"How many times would you say?" You ask for details, your eyes still glued to the screen of your laptop as you await his answer.

Ghost is a bit confused by the amount of questions you ask, but he also has not been to the doctor's so how would he know. "Um I don't know."

"A rough estimate is fine."

"Not much, maybe 2-3 times a week or so when I'm not on duty."

"How many times a week do you exercise?" You feel silly for asking this question to a man like him but it's all part of the procedure and you almost pray he doesn't hate you for it.

"Every day." So no pamphlet?

Jesus this man has more discipline than you. You can barely get up in the morning.

"Okayyy." You mutter out, more to yourself as you enter in his responses.

Ghost finds himself watching you from his seat on the chair, his eyes tracing over and studying your features as you type away on your laptop. He thinks you're really pretty but either doesn't want to admit it or just flat out does not know that he finds you attractive.

There are certain details about you that he can't help but find himself intrigued by, like the small black outline flower tattoo on your hand that was located near the area of your thumb, running along the curve to meet the knuckle of your forefinger. He's curious as to the meaning behind it, if there was one. He wanted to ask what type of flower it was, perhaps it was your favorite? It would give him an idea as to what flowers to get you.

"Have you ever been hospitalized, had any surgical procedures done or been treated for any chronic conditions?"

"No." Ghost shakes his head before remembering his wounds from combat, wondering if that is something you should know. "Just the bullet and knife wounds from combat. Nothing too serious."

Jesus fucking christ. You were willing to bet he treated those wounds himself.

Ghost is not a fan of hospitals. Pretty sure this dude just looks up YouTube tutorials on how to fix himself instead of just going to the doctor like a normal human being.

"When was the last time you visited your general practitioner.......or just any doctor in general?" You ask the last question, willing to bet it never.

There was silence on his end as you looked towards him waiting for an answer, the clicking of your keyboard coming to a stop and only loudening the silence. Ghost could not remember the last time he had been to a hospital or even scheduled a visit. And as you looked at him, your eyes almost staring into his soul, still waiting for a response, he could not help but feel a tad bit embarrassed, as if you were judging him for not being a responsible adult. Also it didn't help that you were goddamn pretty.

"I'm gonna take that as a very long time, the last time being the prehistoric ages, correct?" There's the slightest hint of a tease in your voice.

"Uh.......yes ma'am." Ghost squints his eyes at you as you go back to typing on your keyboard. Did you just.............did you just call him…..He does not know how to feel about that. Did you just try to crack a joke? He always thought doctors were the serious type.

"Okay then." You straighten up, grabbing your sphygmomanometer off the table and turning yourself to face him. "Is it okay if I check your blood pressure?"

The man is stunned. No one has ever asked his permission for anything before. He's so used to either taking orders or giving orders that he doesn't know how to respond and stares at you for a moment, forcing his brain to process what to do next before eventually giving a nod.

"Is it okay if you take your jacket off so I can get a clearer reading?"

He nods again, still in shock as he takes off his jacket, leaving him in his black long sleeve thermal. He's almost thankful he wasn't in his full tactical gear, having to imagine you standing there waiting for him as he removes every single piece of equipment off his torso.

"Thank you." You give him a short smile, placing your hand under his tricep and gently lifting his arm in order to wrap the inflatable cuff around his bicep. You almost blush at the mere size of this man's arms. "Now you're just going to feel a slight pressure okay."

Ghost can't help but feel a slight warmth spread to his cheeks at the way you handle him with such care, as if he were the small delicate thing and not you. Now he knows why the others were so giddy after leaving your office.

As you place your stethoscope on his forearm near his elbow to listen to his blood pumping through the artery, your other hand pumping air into the cuff using the inflation bulb with your eyes glued to the numbers on the gauge, he can't help but to notice the old Donald Duck watch that sat at your wrist, the ones with the moving arms and the vintage style black leather straps.

And as he further investigated your attire, he noticed a few other details, like the colorful glittery badge reel in the shape of a pill container with the words "licensed drug dealer" printed on it that was attached to your scrub top, the glitter sticker with the words "I'm nicer than my face looks" as well a few Disney character stickers and the little frog looking keychain that hung off of your badge. He was wondering what the hell that thing was. Your accessories were awfully colorful for a general doctor. Something was telling him you either used to work with families or children. Whatever the hell managed to bring you to such a drastic change.

You brought him out of his thoughts as you shifted from your position, unwrapping the inflatable cuff from around his bicep and placing it back on the table before typing the results into your laptop. "Okay," You adjust the ear pieces of your stethoscope back into your ears as you turn back to him, "I'm going to perform some auscultations, which is just listening to the sounds of your heart and your lungs so if you could just sit up straight and relax that would be wonderful."

Simon straightens up his posture as you place your free hand on his shoulder, at this point you're not sure if you're steadying him or yourself, your fingertips just barely grazing across the bottom of his neck. He doesn't know why but, it's as if your fingers are directly touching the skin underneath, despite the fabric of his mask that separated your fingers from his skin. Your hands feels hot, like really hot and he has no clue why.

The soldier only feels his cheeks warm up even more so now as you inch closer to carefully place the diaphragm of your stethoscope on his chest, your head tilted and your eyes lowered to the floor as you listen for his heart beat. He gets a whiff of your perfume and he finds himself drawn to it. You smell like something along the lines of jasmine petals, geranium, myrrh, frankincense, and a hint of sandalwood. Now he definitely knows why the others are fawning over you. Poor Simon is praying you don't hear how his heart is nearly racing. He does not know why he is feeling this way and it slightly bothers him in the way that he has no clue what it is he is feeling.

He catches how your brows slightly furrow at the center and his heart skips a beat. Now he's fucking embarrassed and this man rarely ever is embarrassed. Maybe he's even starting to panic. Can you tell? Do you know? You open your mouth to say something but he quickly interrupts he just got back from a run so you dismiss it with a shrug, placing the diaphragm on his back now and asking him to give you a couple of deep breaths.

"Okay. Take a deep breathe in, breathe it out. Breathe in, and out."

He complies with your instructions, breathing in slow and deep breaths as you go from one side of his back to another.

"Good job." You remove the earpieces and let your stethoscope hang around your neck as you go back to your table, recording in more info. Hang on did you just, did you just tell a grown 6'4" man good job.

Even Simon is confused. Like bitch.

"Okay, so we're all done with that." You inform him, before going over to one of the drawers and sliding it open. "Now if you don't mind, I would like to have some blood work done on you, just to make sure there are no underlying issues that need to be taken care of."

Simon is silent so you turn to him. "Is that okay, Ghost, is that what the others call you? Would you like me to call you Ghost?"

Goddamn you're too polite. "That's fine by me ma'am."

"Perfect. Now is it okay if I take your blood sample?"

Ghost nods, so you grab the tools necessary and place them on the table next to you.

"Could you please roll your sleeve up and make a fist for me? Thank you." You ask him once you sanitize your hands and throw on a pair of fresh gloves. You grab the tourniquet and catch sight of the tattoos that cover his forearm as you tie the tourniquet around his arm above the elbow. You're curious to know the story behind them but you have a feeling he's not one for storytelling or just talking in general so you remain silent. You tear open the small packet of the alcohol wipe and apply it to the area. The chemical is cool against his skin as you sanitize the area before letting it air dry. Simon can't help but notice how small your hands are.

Simon watches you intently as you work, the way you are so focused and so precise with each step, and yet so gentle. It's almost cute.

"You're just going to feel a little pinch." You tell him in a soft tone, a tone you were used to using on all your little patients before inserting the needle into his vein. As if the man hasn't been shot or stabbed and god knows what multiple times before.

At this point Simon doesn't even notice the needle in his arm, he's too focused on the details of your face. He can sense that you're nervous around him and he feels bad. Even though he's just met you, the last thing he wants is for you to feel scared or unsafe around him. And even though this whole situation is awkward for him since he never was a fan of visiting the hospital, you're their physician, and at the end of the day you're there to patch them up. So he comments on your dark circles, thinking you haven't gotten any rest since you arrived here. "You look tired."

"............that's just my face." You give him that distinct smile, the same smile you have given anyone who ever commented on them as you connect the vacutainers to the needle to draw his blood, your eyes glued to the dark red liquid seeping through the thin clear tube before pouring into the sample tube.

If you thought it was quiet before, well you are most definitely wrong because the silence is absolutely deafening now.

Simon nearly punches himself for his stupidity. Why in the bloody hell did he say that of all things. He wanted to tell you he liked your dark circles but decided to bite his tongue instead. Now he's definitely not going to say another word. Better yet, once he leaves your office, he's not coming back. He's just going to avoid you at all costs in order to save both you and himself the embarrassment. He's willing to bet the others handled this way better than him.

"But I suppose I am a bit jet-lagged though. Haven't really gotten any rest since I got on that plane." You add. "I appreciate your concern."

You most definitely said that to make him feel better about himself, Simon thinks to himself as he stares at the wall and avoids your face. There was no other reason.

Once your done drawing his blood you ask him to hold the piece of cotton pad down onto where the needle was punctured as you open up the drawer where the gauze is located. "Do you have a favorite color?"

Did you just ask him his favorite color? Simon stares at you blankly. Were all doctors this odd?

"I'm guessing you like black?" You pull out the roll of black gauze, displaying it in front of you with the most deadpanned expression possible.

You've got jokes. Simon thinks to himself. If he had looked a little closer he would have noticed the ghost of a smirk on your lips.

"You should see the colors the others picked." You tease as you wrap the gauze around his arm at the elbow, making sure it isn't too tight but also not loose enough to the point where the cotton pad underneath slips out.

Simon narrows his eyes at you. Bloody fucking hell. The others picked a color?

You're pretty sure Gaz requested you get an Elmo print one he saw online once somewhere. Soap asked if there a print of the Scotland flag available. The look of hurt on his face when you said there wasn't so you improvised and gave him both the blue and white gauze. You gave him a Dum-Dum lollipop to make him feel better. The others may have also gotten a lollipop as they left your office, especially after seeing the special treatment that Soap received. Were they jealous? Maybe.

Once you tell the man he is all good to go and that you will call him once you're done getting the results from his blood sample, he nearly jumps out of the chair and bolts out of your office. He prays some unknown miracle happens and that his blood sample magically disappears so that he doesn't have to face you, firmly believing he insulted you and that you thought he called you ugly when that is not what he intended. I am telling you this man does not know how to compliment. They should make a guidebook for dummies specialized just for him.

You watch him disappear out your door with a quirked brow. Well that was fucking weird.

When Simon leaves the area he finds Soap lounging about on a chair with a sucker in his mouth.

"The hell is that?" Simon squints at the sergeant.

"Mph mph." Soap's voice comes out muffled.

"What?"

Soap pauses and turns to see Ghost looming over him. "It's a Dum-Dum."

"A fuckin what?"

"Y/n said they're called Dum-Dums." Soap pulls it out of his mouth, twisting the stick of the lollipop around in his fingers as if he were inspecting it. "This one's a cotton candy flavor."

"She gave you a fuckin lollie?"

"It's pure dead brilliant I tell ya. Why, did she not give ya one?"

More silence. Simon would be lying to himself if he said he wasn't a tad bit butthurt.

"Maybe you scared her." Soap jokes.

Simon lets out a grumbled incoherent huff and walks away.

Soap just shrugs and pops the lollipop back in his mouth.

Simon has a feeling he is going to go to bed thinking about his actions.

Part 2

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pinkie-pop · 6 months

Text

"Do Paimons Dream of Floating Sheep?"

Mondstadt: Part I Part II Part III Part IV

Based on this

Featuring: Gender-Neutral Reader, Paimon!Reader, Genshin Impact various x Reader, Yandere Genshin Impact

Word count: 3k

Synopsis: Being dragged into the world of your favorite video game is hardly your idea of a relaxing Saturday, and being dragged into the world of your favorite game, taking over the role of mascot even less so. Unfortunately, it seems fate has no interest in what you consider to be a normal day, and it will do anything to replace your idea of normal entirely.

Includes: Fear of heights, death, vomiting, Reader straight up not having a good time

Stormterror has arrived in Mondstadt city.

You, the Traveler, and Amber run past the city gates as Stormterror lunges towards the giant statue. Three large, whistling tornados whirl to life at his command. You can clearly see the tainted blood pulsing upon his back. It seems your plan of stopping Stormterror without hassle has completely fallen apart. Of course. Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy. You suppose not even the Anemo Archon himself is strong enough to go against the script.

You narrowly avoid a gust of wind that comes your way, but the Traveler isn’t so lucky. He’s swept up by the current immediately, reaching out a hand to you as if you held the power to stop it.

You don’t.

You can’t do anything.

“Kaeya!” Amber calls, running up to the blue-haired man. The two of them begin chatting, catching each other up to speed on the situation at hand. “Kaeya, this is [Name] and Aether, and…wait, where’s Aether?”

“He got swept uo by the storm. Look,” you say, pointing up towards him.

“He’s fighting Stormterror?” Says Amber. “But that’s so dangerous!”

“Amber, why does he have one of your windgliders?” Asks Kaeya.

“Huh? Oh, uh…eheh…No…reason…” Amber scratches the back of her head and Kaeya raises an eyebrow. You’re pretty sure he only asked that to get a rise out of her. You pay it no mind, however, instead focusing on the battle above you. You want to help, but there’s nothing you can do. You’re not the protagonist of this story. No, you’re nothing but a mascot. You can do nothing but grit your teeth and watch.

Meanwhile…

A gust of wind picks Aether right up off of the ground, hurtling upwards towards the sky. He uses his windglider, hoping to glide down somewhere safely and reconvene with you as soon as possible. He can’t protect you from up here.

That was his plan, but…

“I’m preventing your fall with the power of a thousand winds.” An unfamiliar voice calls out to him from beyond the clouds. He whirls around, hoping to find the source of the sound, but to no avail.

“You can’t see me,” the voice—a male, he thinks—says. “That’s okay, just listen to my voice. They’re safe down there. I need you to trust me.” Aether nods, though he isn’t sure if the man can see him.

“Good. Now, concentrate. See yourself grasping on the wind and harness its power.” Aether does as he’s told and gathers a huge sphere of anemo and hurls it at Stormterror. He weaves through clouds, collecting their power and directing it back towards the dragon. The wind hits a glowing, purple spot on the dragon's back and it cries out in agony.

A weak point. Good.

Aether readies more anemo, preparing to hit the same spot again when Stormterror flies upwards and out of sight, retreating. Aether doesn’t bother chasing after it. There’s no need to. Instead, he glides back down towards the city, where you, Amber, and a person he doesn’t recognize all stand around.

Amber waves Aether down as he lands, introducing him to Kaeya. “You really gave us a fright,” she says. “I can’t believe you went up against a dragon!”

“Are you okay?” You ask. “What happened up there?”

“I heard a voice,” he said. “It told me that it prevented my fall using the ‘power of a thousand winds’.”

“Do you think it could have been Barbatos? What did the voice sound like?” You, of course, already know the answer to these questions, but you ask anyways, hoping to guide the conversation to a realization.

“It sounded like the voice of a young boy,” says Aether. “I don’t know who it was, though.”

“The power of a thousand winds, hmm?” Kaeya puts a hand up to his chin, seeming to be in deep thought. “I don’t know if the voice you heard really was Barbatos or not, but either way, I think we ought to report this to our Acting Grand Master.”

The four of you head to the Knights of Favonius Headquarters, where Jean and Lisa are there waiting for you.

“Mondstadt welcomes you, windborne travelers. I am Jean, the Acting Grand Master, and this is Lisa, our resident librarian.”

“Oh, are you two sweeties here to help us out? You’re both so adorable! Especially you, cutie,” Lisa winks at you. “Sadly, the timing is regrettable… Stormterror, or Dvalin, his true name, has been ravaging our cities as of late. The Ley Lines and elemental energy are completely out of control.”

”Right,” Jean says. “If it weren’t for that, we would have had better ways to help you than just putting up wanted posters. We simply ask that you rest in Mondstadt while we help look for your sister.”

“Sounds good. Where’s the Inn?” You sputter as his lax response. Wasn’t the protagonist supposed to be eager to help?

“H-hey! Shouldn’t we at least offer to help out?” Aether looks at you as if to ask, ‘Why would we do that?’ “I mean, isn’t that the right thing to do? Besides, if that really was the voice of Barbatos you heard, wouldn’t he be more likely to help us if we help him first?” You say. Aether seems to ponder over this for a minute, then nods.

“Alright. If you want to help, then let’s help.”

“Good. In that case, we’ll need a plan.” Kaeya says.

"Since Stormterror is now attacking the city directly, we may have an

opportunity to cut this problem off at the source. Lisa has revealed the sources of Stormterror's power with her magic."

"Right," Lisa says. "They're located in the abandoned Four Winds' Temples. Stormterror's ability is likely the result of it drawing its power from the temples. Our objective is to deal with three of the four temples.

"I trust everyone understands why we are only dealing with three." Jean looks around for confirmation, and everyone, save for Aether, nods their head.

"I don't," says the Traveler.

"Dvalin is the last of the four winds," you explain.

"Knights of Favonius," Everyone seems to stand at even greater attention as Jean addresses them. "Time is against us. We need to take the initiative and act before the situation gets even worse. There is no point in maintaining a defensive position."

•~•~•~•~•~•

You and the Traveler arrive at the Temple of The Falcon where Amber is waiting for you.

"[Name]! Traveler! It's good to see you," she says as you approach. The three of you exchange greetings, and Amber fills you in on the mission.

"These temples have been abandoned for years now, so there might be a monster nest inside. [Name], you can't fight, right? Don't worry, just leave it to me! I'll protect you!"

"Me too," says Aether. You smile at them.

"Alright, I'm counting on you. Let's head in." Aether and Amber nod, and the three of you enter the temple.

The temple is more or less how you remember it (though, to be perfectly honest, you hardly remember it at all), a decrepit building with an open ceiling showcasing the "sky" above. There's a pyro mechanism shooting fire to your left and a few boxes to your right. Amber shoots the mechanism to put it out of commission, then you and your party head left.

A Door of Resurrection activates as you walk past it, and you find yourself wondering what would happen if someone were to die here. The door indicates that they would come back, just like in a video game, but there's no way to know for sure.

Unless…

No. You can live with not knowing. You hope you never have to find out.

Amber and Aether make quick work of the rooms while you stand back and try to stay out of the way. It isn’t long at all before you end up in the third or fourth room. That on its own is hardly anything notable, but this room is different from the others.

In the previous rooms, you could see the “sky” above you, but you had no way of knowing whether it was real or not. Did the domain create its own sky? Was it a pocket dimension? You had no way to know for certain.

Until now, that is.

You stare out into the sea of clouds before you, your feet planted firmly on a floating pedestal in the sky, and at once, you know. This is the truth behind the domains. They are not just old ruins, they are gateways. Portals to another world.

Perhaps you can find your own world through these as well…

You are brought out of your musings by an arrow shooting its way past you and popping the anemo slime in front of you. Then, two more, and again, more slimes fall, each creating a wind current upwards. Amber and the Traveler both outstretch their hands to you, windgliders already at the ready.

“Let’s glide together!” They say in unison, then turn around to glare at the other. Though you feel a little awkward about taking sides, you eventually take Amber’s hand and allow her to carry you. She is the champion glider of Mondstadt, after all. You trust her experience. You don’t look at Aether when you take her hand, you know you wouldn’t be able to bear his hurt face if you did.

The three of you set off into the air, and you try not to look down. Unfortunately, the view upwards is hardly any less nervewracking. You see a large anemo slime off in the distance, heading straight towards you. Amber can’t shoot it while she’s carrying you, and Aether is too far away to hit it with his sword. It is all you can do to brace for impact as the slime shoots wind your way, knocking you from Amber’s hold.

You fall, but only for a moment. Something catches you.

No, that’s not quite right. Nothing catches you. You catch yourself. You’re flying. It’s terrifying. It’s exhilarating. Amber and Aether are both gaping at you as you twirl around in the air. Perhaps this new body isn’t so bad after all.

You fly up to the top platform, then start to get dizzy, so you lower yourself to the floor.

“I thought you were afraid of heights,” Amber teased, gliding up to you.

“This is different,” you huff. “At least when I’m flying, I can control where I’m going. You can’t do that with a windglider at all!”

“I suppose that’s true,” Amber laughs. “Still, though, that really surprised me. I had no idea you could fly.”

“You’re not the only one,” Aether chimes in.

“I actually didn’t know I could do that either.” You say.

Finally, you arrive in the room where Stormterror’s crystal is. It doesn’t take long for Aether to destroy it with the power of anemo while Amber gives support and you watch.

•~•~•~•~•~•

You and the Traveler arrive at the Temple of The Wolf, where Kaeya is waiting for you.

“Ah, [Name], it’s good to see you. You too, Traveler.” You think Kaeya is trying to wink, but there’s really no way to be sure. Either way, his flirtatious tone has Aether glaring. You have a feeling this raid is going to be exhausting, and not just physically. “Come closer. Can you smell that?” Kaeya says, gesturing to the two of you.

“Uh…smell what?” You ask.

“Something has happened in the temple. I imagine there’ll be slimes, hilichurls, and whatever is giving Stormterror that power. Ah, don’t worry about the fighting, [Name], your friend and I will take care of that.” Perhaps it’s just his voice, but there’s something oddly gleeful in his tone that sets you off.

“I’m not some damsel, you know?!”

You smile and nod, but you don’t say anything. The three of you head off into the domain, where another series of challenges await you.

Another Door of Resurrection bursts to life in front of you, and it occurs to you that no one commented on the last one. Perhaps it’s something only you can see..? You open your mouth to ask, but Kaeya speaks up first.

“Hm, if I’m not mistaken, the end of the temple should be up there.” You look up. Above you is a large platform in the sky where, like Kaeya guessed, lies the end of the temple. You’re trying to figure out how to get a wind current to take you up there when an idea strikes you.

Right. How could you have forgotten?

“Leave it to me!” You say, glad to finally have something to do. You crack your knuckles, bracing yourself for flight. How did this go again? Right, first you need to lift off, then…

You did it! You’re flying! You look down, excited to see the look on Kaeya’s face when…

You look down. Oh. Oh wow. The ground sure is far. Were you always this high up? You start to feel nauseous. You hear Aether’s voice, but it sounds so far away. The room is spinning; you’re seeing double. Is the ground getting bigger or are you getting closer?

Dizziness overtakes you, and you fall head-first into the stone flooring. You feel pain shoot up from your neck down to the base of your spine, but only for a moment.

“Hm, if I’m not mistaken, the end of the temple should be up there.”

Huh..?

You blink, looking around dumbly as confusion washes over you. Green light pulses from behind you.

Could it be? You whip around, staring at the Door of Resurrection as if it would grow a mouth and tell you the answers. But it doesn’t. It doesn’t even need to. You already know.

You just died. But the Door saved you.

“[Name]? We really ought to get a move on. What are you spacing out for?” Kaeya’s voice tears you away from your thoughts.

“I…I’m afraid of heights. I’m sorry, but I can’t go up there. I’ll wait for you down here.” Aether looks at you, clearly worried but unsure of what to say.

“At least when I’m flying, I can control where I’m going. You can’t do that with a windglider at all!”

You try to smile at Aether, urging him to go on despite his worries.

At least when I’m flying…

Aether, after much hesitation, leaves with Kaeya. They’ll make quick work of the temple, you’re sure. Perhaps even quicker than they would have with you around.

I can control where I’m going.

You let out a sigh as you sink to the floor.

Nothing else happens.

•~•~•~•~•~•

You and the Traveler arrive at the Temple of The Lion, where Lisa is waiting for you.

“Hey there, cuties. Good to see you—especially you, [Name].” Lisa winks at you, leaving you a bit puzzled. Her words seem to have put Aether in a bad mood. Well, you wouldn’t be happy if someone called you their second favorite, either. Still exhausted from the last temple, you merely wave to Lisa, hoping to get this temple over with as soon as possible. “Is everyone ready?” She asks. You nod.

“I hope this trip is uneventful,” you murmur. The doors open, and the three of you step inside. You allow your mind to wander as you follow behind the others. Normally, it’d be a bad idea to be so absent-minded in a domain, but…

Well, what’s the worst that could happen?

You shuffle along through the hallways as Aether and Lisa take care of any nearby threats. As suspected, they really didn’t need you here. Well, that’s okay. You’re fine with being useless so long as it means you can rest.

Aether slashes another hilichurl with his sword, and for a moment, you imagine yourself in its place. You wonder what it would feel like to die from an injury like that. Surely, it can’t be pleasant. Would it be worse than the stomach-dropping sensation of falling from a great height? Would it be worse than a broken neck? You aren’t sure. More hilichurls fall to the ground. It isn’t like the game. They don’t just disintegrate when they die. They bleed when they’re hit, their corpses don’t disappear. There’s no XP or rewards to be found here. Only bloodshed. Only death.

This whole temple reeks of iron. You cover your nose and mouth, but the stench doesn’t go away.

You don’t think you can take any more of this. You turn and run down the nearest hall, heaving and retching when you arrive in the next room over. You can hardly hear it over your own vomiting, but the sound of stone rolling across stone comes from behind you. You glance back down the hall, only to see it replaced with a solid stone wall.

Fuck.

You bang your hands on the wall and yell for help, but you succeed in nothing except for making your voice tired and your hands bruised. You might be here for a while, so you look around.

The room is square, and completely empty aside from a pedestal in the center (one that you really should have noticed earlier), upon which rests a glowing book of some sort. The cover is lined with gold, and it looks as though it holds the galaxy between its twinkling pages.

You walk closer to it, hoping to get a better look. The book opens itself before you, and at once, you recognize it.

It’s the Archive.

Taglist: @shadowkitty-me @probablynoposts @kissyhalik @persephone-kore-law @neverending-animelove @crxscnt @teravolting @resident-cryptid @esthelily @shellofthewall @dilucragnidvr @altheq0 @wegottastayfocus @jellothefool @c0l1fl0r @francisnyx @imma-just-chill @fantasyhopperhea @iamapotatoe @utahimechan

#yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #sagau x reader #genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #sagau #yandere aether #yandere amber #yandere kaeya #yandere lisa #yandere genshin x reader

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kaleldobrev · 7 months

Text

I Want Them To Hear

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Fem!Reader

Summary: Ben wants to make sure Hughie knows what it actually sounds like when the two of you have sex. In other words, Ben makes damn sure Hughie gets yet another night of no sleep because of the two of you.

Original Prompt: Requested by @k-slla | I loved your last post (poor, poor Hughie 😂). I would love to read a sequel, where SB& reader DO keep everyone up, for other reasons 😏 (if you're up to it 😊) x Kerly

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Cursing (23x), Smut (Oral - M&F receiving, Fingering, Unprotected Sex - P in V), Implied p*rn watching, Hughie getting scarred for life (again), Semi-Public sex (living room)

Authors Note: Before you read this make sure you read A Simple Misunderstanding first | I think 23 curse words is a new record for curse words for me (21 out of them are the same too) | I had a lot of fun writing this so I hope you all enjoy it! | 18+ only please | MDNI | If you want to request something, just send me a message! | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

You looked over at the clock that was above the fireplace in the living room, and it was almost midnight, and you weren’t the least bit surprised that you weren’t even tired. Although you didn’t have a good sleep schedule before you joined the Boys (as you were a full-time college student when you joined the group), your sleep schedule somehow became even more jacked when you joined; something you didn’t think was even remotely possible. You had found yourself going to sleep at three, four, sometimes five in the morning, or not even going to sleep at all – a constant flow of energy drinks and coffee to keep you going.

The last couple of days though were unusually uneventful, verging on normal, like there wasn’t some kind of revenge war going on. The closest thing that had been kind of eventful was Hughie’s outburst this morning over breakfast, accusing you and Ben of having sex which kept him up – something that actually didn’t happen between you and Ben even though it was something that you did want to happen last night. Due to his little outburst though, the rest of the day was filled with a consistent flow of jokes (mainly at your best friend’s expense) that seemed to put everyone in a great mood (except Hughie of course). In a way, you did feel bad for him, but at the same time, his outburst this morning was unnecessary.

Your legs were currently in Ben’s lap, one of his arms draped over them as his other hand was lying on the arm of the couch with a remote in hand; the only source of light in the room coming from the television. As Ben flipped through channel after channel, you couldn’t help but stare at him as the shadows on his face changed with every single flip trying to find something to watch. “How is there so many channels and nothing to watch?” He asked, not even looking at you.

You shrugged your shoulders and he turned to face you. “I found plenty of things I’d watch. It’s not my fault you’re picky.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not picky. TV just sucks now.” He began, and you already knew where this conversation was going. It was about to turn into a ‘back in my day’ rant that you had heard practically every single day since you had met him. “Back in my day, TV was actually good.” Before you could interject he continued. “We didn’t have stupid reality shows about people who are famous for nothing.” You couldn’t help but agree with him on that one. “There’s 400 channels and only two of them are watchable.”

“And which channels does the almighty Soldier Boy deem watchable?” You asked, emphasizing the nickname.

“ESPN and TCM.” He answered without hesitation. You simply just rolled your eyes.

“Of course those would be the only two channels.” You mumbled, even though you knew he could hear you; there was no use in mumbling around him. “I love ESPN and TCM too, but there are other channels that are watchable Ben. How about FoodNetwork and HGTV?”

Ben scoffed. “Sometimes they’re watchable.”

“Okay. How about…” You thought for a moment, trying to think of a channel that Ben would possibly enjoy; then it hit you, causing a smirk to form on your face. “How about Skinamax?”

He looked at you with a confused expression. “What the fuck is Skinamax?” You let out a slight laugh, causing him to raise a brow. “What?”

“You don’t know what Skinamax is?” You asked. “Honestly, I’m slightly surprised.” You held out your hand. “Hand me the remote and I’ll show you.”

“Why can’t you just fucking tell me?” He asked, his facial expression annoyed.

“Because Ben, it’d be more fun to show you.” Your lips turned into a smirk. “Don’t you trust me?”

Again, your response earned yet another eyeroll from him. Of course I fucking trust you, he thought. What kind of stupid question is that? “Fine.” He said, handing you the remote.

“Okay, and why couldn’t you of just told me it was just fucking porn?” He asked, his tone sounding a little annoyed with you.

“Because, I thought it would be much more fun to show you.” You turned away from the television and looked at him. “You’ve watched porn before though right? Like, I’m assuming you have cause well…you’re…well you.”

He looked at you briefly before looking back at the screen again. “Have you watched porn before?” He mumbled, mocking your tone. “Of course I fucking have.” He said, a tad louder and a bit more annoyed sounding. He turned back to face you. “Who hasn’t watched porn before?”

You shrugged. “Fair point.” You said. “You know…” you began, as you started inching your way closer to him. “As much as I’d love to continue watching this…interesting movie. There is something I’d much rather be doing.”

He smirked, his full attention on you now. “And what’s that Sweetheart?”

“Well, you did make me a promise this morning.” Your voice was low, your hand inching closer to the hem of his pants.

“I made you a lot of promises this morning.” His voice was low, but not nearly as low as yours.

“But there was one in particular.” Your fingers started slipping into the waistband of his pants as you maintained complete eye contact with him.

“You going to tell me or is it more fun to show me?” He asked, your hand made contact with his cock and you gently wrapped your hand around him. Ben slightly groaned at the contact.

You couldn’t help but smirk. “I think you know the answer.” You whispered.

Without a second to waste, he pulled his sweats down giving you slightly better access as you started moving your hand up and down. You went slow, knowing that it was killing him inside with the pace that you were going at. As he was about to open up his mouth to protest the slow pace, your head went down and you started sucking him off; a slight taste of pre-cum on your tongue. Your hand and mouth started going in tandem with each other; no longer focused on his face, but focusing on what you were doing. “Fuck,” he groaned, and he threw his head back into the couch, enjoying the feeling of your mouth and hands wrapped around him, a feeling that he’d wanted since the moment he laid his eyes on you – despite him knowing how much you hated him at first.

You released him with a pop for a moment; your hand still going. But the loss of your mouth on him caused him to open his eye to look at you. “Ben, you need to be quiet. I don’t want the whole house to hear.” You stated.

Your words gave Ben an idea, and a smirk grew on his face. “Princess, I want them to hear.”

“You…you want them to hear?” Your voice a whisper. “Why?”

“Cause I want your little friend to know what it actually sounds like when the two of us fuck.” His words made you audibly gulp, and you barely even knew how to respond. Weirdly, the thought turned you on.

“Okay.” Your reply hesitant. Despite the slight hesitation, you wrapped your lips around his cock again; your mouth and hand working in tandem again.

As you worked, the sounds that were coming out of Ben’s mouth weren’t remotely quiet; a mixture of groaning and moaning. His hand gripped your hair slightly, pulling at it gently, messing it up. Between him basically playing with your hair as you blew him, and the sounds that he was making; it encouraged you to pick up the pace a little, and you yourself felt yourself starting to get increasingly more wet. “God, your fucking mouth.” He groaned. He bucked up a little, and when he did that he let himself go; releasing himself into your mouth and down your throat. You usually weren’t a swallower but for him, you made the exception.

Once you helped him ride out his orgasm, you released him with a pop; the two of you making eye contact again. “Lay down Princess,” he demanded, “and spread those legs of yours,” he grinned.

“Yes Sir.” You said, probably a little bit too loud.

The nickname you gave him just made him grin even wider, slightly more evil looking. “Can’t wait to wreck this pussy of yours.” He said, completely pulling your shorts down in one swift movement. He eyed your bare pussy for a moment before smirking up at you, cocking a brow. “Went commando today uh?” You bit your bottom lip, nodding. “Sweetheart, if I would have known, I would have fucked you on the kitchen table this morning just to prove a point.”

“Be-” before you could speak, his point finger started to slowly dip inside of you. “Fuck.” You moaned, slightly whispering.

“You’re fucking soaked Princess.” He said, smugness in his voice. “All this just from blowing me uh?” He added a second finger as they both started going into you a bit deeper, a slight curve to them.

“Y-yes.” You moaned out; his two fingers starting to move slowly in and out of you, a similar pace you had done earlier on him.

“So, tell me this Sweetheart. Are you generally just a cock slut, or are you just a slut for my cock?”

The pace of his fingers started to pick up gingerly; no words were forming in your brain to even respond to his question. He was barely doing anything to you, and you were slightly embarrassed by the way your body was reacting to his touch, but at the same time, he actually knew what he was doing – hitting you in all the right spots. “Just…Fuck…Just for yours.”

“Just for mine what?” He added a third finger, curling them inside of you. All you could do was moan; verging on the sound of pornographic. “Need you to use your words Princess. I know how much you like to talk, don’t hold back on me now.”

“Fuck me…” you mumbled, feeling a heat rising in your cheeks. “I’m only a slut for your cock Ben.”

He clicked his tongue a few times, seeming unsatisfied with your answer. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t quite hear you.” The smugness in his voice returned, knowing that he could hear you. You knew what he really meant: your friends couldn’t hear you.

With a small groan, you spoke just a tad louder, hoping it would be loud enough to satisfy him. “I’m only a slut for you cock Ben.”

He grinned. “There it is.” He sounded so proud of himself.

“Ben I’m about to –” you came, not even finishing your sentence, your orgasm practically exploding out of you. Despite the amount of times you’ve had sex, this was the first time you could actually say that you had a mind-blowing orgasm. He continued to move his fingers in and out of you rapidly as you rid out your orgasm.

“Fucking beautiful,” he praised. “I’ll never get fucking tired of seeing a woman cum.”

As soon as you came down from your high, he removed his fingers from you, licking them clean; and you already hated the feeling of not having his fingers inside of you. “Fuck.” You breathed out, your chest rising up and down as you tried catching your breath.

Ben chuckled. “You good there Sweetheart?” He sounded amused.

“Yeah…So…Good…” your voice trailed off.

“Good, cause I’m not done with you just yet.” Before you had the chance to respond, he pulled you by your ankles, sliding you across the couch. Pulling you into his lap, both of your hands rested on his chest, slight heat radiating from it, which strangely felt good against your palms.

Your legs were spread open wide enough that you were able to straddle him; your knees on either side of his thighs resting on the couch. Without any kind of direction from him, you grabbed the hem of your shirt and lifted it over your head, tossing it to the side, leaving you completely naked; you felt even more vulnerable somehow than you did before. You leaned in, your hands on either side of his face now and kissed him; his hands automatically gripping your hips. Based on the tightness of the grip you knew you’d have bruises, and honestly – you couldn’t care less, you wanted him to leave marks.

The both of you moaned into the kiss, and you started rocking your hips gently, trying to obtain some kind of friction. He smirked against your lips. “Someone’s a little needy.” He teased. “You just came Sweetheart.”

“Yeah but…” You kissed his neck, and leaned in close to his ear, “that was on your fingers, not on your cock.”

“And you say I have the dirty mouth.” He laughed a little, removing his hands from your hips. You sat back on his thighs as he took one of his hands and wrapped it around himself, pumping it in his hand a few times. “Going to fill that pussy right up.”

“Please.” Your tone slightly begging.

“So cute when you beg.” He said, his tip teasing your entrance. “You ready for me Sweetheart?” You nodded and placed your hands on his shoulders, almost as if you were bracing yourself. As he started pushing himself inside of you, you let out a long moan, shutting your eyes. “Fucking love your moans.” He complicated, as he watched your face slightly contort. “Taking me so well too.” He chuckled. “Really are a cock slut uh?”

“Only for you.” You breathed, his cock almost fully inside of you.

“Damn right only for me.” His voice sounded slightly possessive; and the tone turned you on more than you thought it would, and he felt you clench around him. “You like that uh?” You nodded in response. “Good.”

As you started moving your hips, Ben started placing kisses between your breasts, every so often taking one of your nipples into his mouth. The noises you were making were pornographic sounding again; no words really escaping your lips, just moans. Your hand gripped the back of his head, clutching at his hair. “Ben,” you moaned, shutting your eyes as you continued to rock your hips.

He attached his lips to your neck now, slightly nipping and sucking on the skin. Not only were there going to be marks on your hips, there were going to be marks on your neck now too. “Mine,” you heard him mumble; but you weren’t entirely sure if you heard him properly.

You opened your eyes and looked at him, and he removed his lips from your neck. “You heard me,” his voice possessive again. “You’re mine now.” He said. You weren’t sure if this was bedroom talk or he actually did mean that you were his, and his alone. Either way, you loved the sound of being his – despite the slight alpha/misogynistic undertone to it.

“All yours.” You agreed. He took two of his fingers and started rubbing your clit, trying to get you closer and closer to the edge. You felt the pressure start to build, and you were insanely close to coming again. “I’m so close.”

“Can’t wait to cum inside of you Princess.” His fingers started picking up the pace, and his hip movements were starting to get erratic – he was close too.

“Fuck.” You mumbled, your own movements matching his erratic ones. “I’m about to –” as you started to cum, his lips latched onto yours, and you moaned into his mouth.

“I’m right there with you.” He said, coming closely after you. The kiss deepened as the two of you rid out your orgasms; his fingers working lazily on your clit.

“Holy shit.” You said, essentially collapsing onto him. Your forehead rested on his shoulder as your chests were pressed up against each other; his arms wrapped around your lower back, his clock still buried inside of you.

“You alright there Sweetheart?” He asked, kissing the top of your head.

“Yeah just…” you started breathing a little heavy again. “Don’t have your stamina.” You laughed a little. “I’ll be okay.”

“Good. Cause I can’t have you dyin’ on me.” His tone was joking, but you knew that he would be devastated if anything were to ever happen to you. Because over the course of time he had known you, he had grown to deeply care about you; and it was something that surprised the both of you – hell, it even surprised the rest of the group.

"What the fuck!" You and Ben both turned and saw Hughie standing in the doorway of the living room; his facial expression looked as though he was about to blow a gasket.

Ben rolled his eyes out of annoyance. "Do you mind?" You gently lifted yourself off of him, grabbing a nearby blanket and quickly covered yourself and Ben, although the damage was probably already done.

"Yes! Matter of fact I do mind! This is the second night in a row that I woke up because of the two of you!" He yelled; and you could of sworn you saw a vain bulging from his neck. He was pissed.

Ben laughed, amused by Hughie's reaction. "Now you know what it actually sounds like when the two of us fuck. Should of kept your mouth shut this morning kid." He grinned, and gave him a wink.

"Seriously? You guys were loud because of what I said this morning?" Hughie's voice was now annoyed. Ben simply just shrugged at his question. "You are such an asshole."

Ben shrugged again. "Worse has been said."

“Hughie I –” you began, but Ben cut you off.

"But, I can promise you this," he got up from the couch, pulling up his pants in the process as he made his way toward Hughie. He placed a hand on his shoulder, looking him directly in the eyes, grinning. "You better get used to not fucking sleeping cause your friend has one hell of a pussy and mouth on her." You didn't need to see his face to know the absolute pleasure he had saying that to your best friend.

Tag List: @jackles010378 @syrma-sensei @k-slla @zombie-freak If you'd like to be added to a tag list, let me know!

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #the boys #the boys imagine #the boys one shot #ben x reader #ben x you #the boys amazon #reader insert #female reader

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reiderwriter · 3 months

Note

hii! could you write smut where spence and reader are bestfriends and one day shes in his car and he snaps and is like “I LOVE YOU” and like they have sex in the car (like with sub spence) and can you include spence getting bj THANKYOUUU

A/N: Car love confessions always remind me of the electric love tiktok "I kissed my best friend" trend that I was OBSESSED with two years ago, and my GOD was this a full-circle moment for me.

Warnings: sub!Spencer, semi-public sex, slight voyeurism, oral sex (m recieving), slight cum play, car sex (bj only), like this was slightly self-indulgent and I had to post it right after I finished writing...

The air outside was cold, but the car had been running for an hour now as you listened to Spencer Reid talk about his day. Whether your cheeks were flushed from the heat coming from the fans or from his subtle attentions, you couldn't discern.

Spencer, your best friend of nine years, who had been around the country saving lives and facing the most horrendous criminals in the world, was currently sat in the passenger seat of your car excitedly mumbling about Star Trek.

“I can't believe you decided to watch it, and you did it without me,” he smiled at you, his body angled to face you just ever so slightly.

He'd started by filling you in on the case he'd just returned from, then moved onto books he'd read recently (a conversation you could absolutely contribute to, being a college librarian yourself, and the source of many of his books).

And then he'd asked you about your day, and you'd spilled about watching a few episodes of classic Star Trek, and all of his joy and knowledge had bubbled up to his lips without even a thought of pushing it down at all.

“I've been hounding you for several years, and you decide on a whim to watch it today?” He'd meant for the question to come out with an annoyed tone, but he couldn't hold back the smile passing over his lips as you laughed at him.

“Spencer, it's a TV show. We can watch it again together. In fact, why don't we do just that? Drive to mine, and we can sit through as many episodes of Star Trek as your heart desires.”

“I wanted to see your initial reactions, though. I wanted to tell you all the behind the scenes knowledge only true trekkies know about.”

You laughed loudly at this, especially as you saw the pout on his lips as he mumbled the word “trekkies.”

“Hey, stop laughing,” he said, but his chest was heaving with a chuckle of his own. And for the life of you, you couldn't. He was sitting there pouting because he wanted to see how much you'd enjoy his favorite TV show, and by god, did he look adorable.

“I'm sorry, Spence, I-” you tried to cover your mouth, but found your hands were both needed to hold your stomach instead as the laughs that wracked your body veered on painful.

“Y/N, really!” He said, fully grinning now, pout abandoned. But you didn't stop.

Nothing in the air changed or paused at that second, as his head swooped closer to you, but your body instantly reacted to his closeness.

It was as if all the hairs on your body stood on end as he tipped up your chin and quickly stole away all the oxygen in your body.

Before your mind could react, your hands were already tangled in his hair, making sure he couldn't pull away. But you felt him smiling into the kiss, and you knew he wouldn't ever want to pull away now that you'd accepted him.

With empty lungs, you finally had to separate, and to your surprise, a giggle still flittered from your lips. This time, you did clap a hand over your lips, though.

“You're laughing still? I just kissed you to shut you up, and you're still laughing.” He said, tucking the few strands of hair behind your ear but still refusing to move too far away.

“You should've seen your face. You were pouting and adorable and-”

“I love you.”

Your heart, that had previously been beating remarkably fast after his kiss (and likely from the fit of laughter preceding it), stopped at his words.

You'd heard people describing butterflies in their stomach before, but this was more intense. It was more like your heart was a pinball that had just been launched back into the machine and was bouncing around in your ribcage hitting objects and trying desperately not to detach from your chest and jump into his arms.

“I love you, Y/N.” He smiled, and it was sweet and simple, and even if you were not simple people and life had never been particularly sweet to you, you allowed your happiness to soar as you leaned back in and pressed your lips against his.

Maybe it was the nine years of waiting (though had you been asked, you'd have been totally oblivious to your quite obvious feelings for the man). Maybe it was again the heat in the car. Maybe it was perhaps the two weeks in which you'd not seen him that led you to venture a step further than you usually would.

But within seconds of tangling your tongue with his in his mouth, sending him reciprocated confessions with each passing breath, you somehow found the energy to pull yourself up and onto his lap.

“Y/N, we're in a car-” his protests were weak as you suckled your way down his neck.

“It's dark outside, and I love you.” His hands gripped possessively on your hips as you continued to shower him in affection.

“What if someone sees us?” He whimpered as you loosened his tie, discarding it so you could pop his buttons open and trail more kisses across his beautiful collarbone.

“Then I hope they understand enough to walk away and leave us alone to love each other.”

You'd managed to get all of his buttons undone and sat squirming in his lap as your fingers brushed across his pert nipples. His head was thrown back to allow you access to the part of his neck that, when you'd run your tongue along it, had him gripping your ass and rubbing your core along the now obvious tent in his pants.

“Y/N, please….” He panted, and you again returned your lips to his face, brushing over his eyes, his nose, his jaw, and his lips. You were blind and discovering your whole new world through your lips, mapping his features inch by inch.

His whimpers grew louder, more urgent. He was almost becoming whiny, and that pout from earlier shadowed across his face again, so delightful that you'd immediately wanted to kiss it away from him.

Dry humping in the passenger seat wasn't going to be enough you decided, and reluctantly drew away from him quickly.

“Y/N, what-” He weakly gripped the material of your pants, his quiet protests from earlier forgotten as he begged for your touch to return.

“Trust me, I love you,” you winked at him again, marvelling in his flush, the hand he wiped across his face to hide his quiet joy.

You shimmied yourself down so your face was hovering just above his cock, straining through his pants. You slowly undid the buttons and let his cock spring up, wrapping a firm hand around it when it was fully released.

His hand came down to cover yours, even as the other covered his flushed cheeks and eyes in embarrassment.

“Spencer, let me see your face. I want you to look at me, please, Spencer.” You cooed at him as you quietly removed your hand from under his, instead moving it to his so you could control his movements.

You let your breaths hit his cock as you controlled his hand, helping him to slowly jerk off as he gave into the pleasures you were so desperate to gift him.

“Spencer, please, for me. Show me your fucked out face, I want to see it so bad.”

With each slow stroke, his body seemed to grow heavier with lust until the hand on his face eventually fell, and you could lock eyes with him once again.

You smiled brightly at him and, without missing a beat, took him into your mouth.

The angle was awkward, but you only needed to see that shock and just in his eyes briefly, so you manoeuvred your head into a better position and began fresh.

You held his hand, holding his cock, and sunk your lips down as far as they'd go, before lifting slowly off. You did it again, and heard the hiss from his lips as he enjoyed the pressure.

You sped up slightly and felt his discarded hand land on your hair. It wasn't domineering or controlling, but more comforting, as he tugged your hair behind your ear, eventually bundling it up into a gentle pony tail to keep it out of the way of your task.

“Y/N, I love you so much,” he whimpered and moaned, and you squeezed his hand in response, intensifying the pressure on his cock while also responding to his confession.

You were going to show him just how deeply you loved him by giving him as much pleasure as you could muster.

“Pull off, Y/N, please, I'm going to-” He bit his lip, biting off the sentence, almost as if he were afraid of speaking the vulgar words into existence. You could feel his muscles going taut underneath your hands, though, knowing exactly how close he was to losing all control and giving into passion.

And you certainly weren't pulling away.

Instead, you pushed your head down once again, going further than you'd managed thus far, nose tickled by his pubic hairs as he shot his load down your throat.

You gagged, of course you gagged, and he let out a guttural moan, sensitivity apparent in each of his twitches and ragged breaths.

You made sure to keep as much of him inside your mouth and rose off his cock, looking up at him again through eyes half-lidded with lust. You made sure he was watching as you smiled and swallowed a mouthful of his cum, making sure to lick your lips after and watching his throat bob as he processed the entire scenario.

You again climbed into his lap, but this time, you just pressed your head to his bare chest, wrapped your arms around his neck, and listened to the thrum of his heart.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said again. You hummed a response and waited for him to say it again and again. Hopefully, for the rest of your lives.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x y/n

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lonelystarrs · 1 year

Text

He’d Never Admit It…

You hated Gojo Satoru and he had a funny way of making it up to you.

♡ part one ♡ part two ♡ part three ?

Senior high school Gojo x FemReader

Warnings: 18+ NSWF . Bullying . Gojo being annoying . Oral receiving (fem) . Sexual Theme. Minors DNI.

God you hated him.

The worst part is Gojo Satoru knew this.

He knew he bothered you and he used it to his advantage, his constant teasing and taunting, his ability to pop up wherever you were with timing that was almost suspicious. He knew when to appear, he knew how to push your buttons and he loved it.

Winding you up was enjoyable for him. He’d done it since he met you when he was sixteen and you got paired together for a small project. Even now at eighteen he wasn’t showing signs of letting up on what you’d call bullying, he was sure he’d miss it when you both finished senior high school, after all this was your last year so he was determined to carry it through until the end.

He’d pull your hair in the corridor, your head jerking back and almost falling backwards from the sudden unbalance, your arms would fly out in front of you as to try to balance yourself again. Sometimes he’d tug so hard you would fall back on your ass by his feet, he’d lean over you with his hands in his pockets. He could have caught you -but he never did.

“I’m handsome from all angles right?,”

“What’cha doing down there?”

Would be his way of acknowledging it, of taunting you about it knowing full well it was his fault.

Thankfully you rarely did fall. More often you’d spin around he would also look around suspiciously like he was trying to find the source that did it.

“Did you see that? It disappeared around the corner!”

“I know that was you asshole!”

Gasping dramatically his hand flew to his heart, faking a pained expression at your accusation and insult.

“It was not! I’d never do such a thing, the only time I’m gonna pull your hair is if I’m behind you and-“

“-Shut up!”

You’d sputter loudly storm off flustered and he would cackle, you’d hear it even over your own stomping because it was the most obnoxious noise you’d ever hear in your life. 80 year old you would still stand by that you were sure of it, this pricks laugh would haunt you forever.

“Yo Satoru, picking on the weak again?”

You’d hear Geto as he joined his friend, after all he was never far behind. He’d let it happen even if he thought Gojo was going too far, even if you ended up with tears glistening in your eyes from Gojo telling you that you were weak and should give up. But Suguru never seen that Satoru wasn’t far behind to wipe the tears away in his own way.

You hated that he worked his way under your skin in a way that made you rattle on the inside until you physically felt like you were going to burst. How the combination of hate and frustration rose you to a level of frustrated need only he could give you. He’d wind you up to the point of tears only to kiss them away and lull you into releasing your emotions on him.

You hated those blue eyes that everyone loved -that everyone worshiped. You hated them even as they peered at you over the rim of his glasses, that were currently steaming up from his breath fanning against your clothed core. His tongue working a circle around your clit as his large hands pushed your skirt up to your hips.

“See? You’re so wet you sooo wanted this. Annnnnd y’wore these pretty panties knowin’ they’re my favourite on you~! So risky wearing these to school all f’me.”

“I-I didn’t wear them for you!”

“Oh? Y’wanna let all the other students to see what a slut you are wearing these during classes huh?”

“S-Shut up asshole!”

Gojo chuckled, feeling it vibrate on his tongue against you as he gave an opened mouth grin, blue eyes dancing in amusement.

You rolled your eyes and huffed out in annoyance, the hand in his hair gripped as you pushed him against you again, the legs over his shoulders resting down his back pressed him forward muffling his laugh. -He loved it when you stood up against him like this, took control and almost made him into a little pet. Maybe it was a phase he was going through as being dominated wasn’t his thing, after all he had a god complex and liked being known as one of the strongest around.

But there was just something about when you took the reins like this, it kinda made him feel better for upsetting you. Maybe it was a silent apology for pushing you too much again, maybe it was him saying that even though he is your source of upset that he can be the one to also be the source of your high.

He’d make you feel better, he’d always make you feel better.

He’d carry on teasing you everyday until you got so angry it would crumble into this situation -on the desk in your class room, in janitor cupboards or anywhere he could pull you in that was risky because he was cocky about it.

Your makeup had smudged slightly at your eyes from you crying earlier, his cheek still stung from the slap to his face and the hollowing of his chest over seeing you crying hadn’t quite left yet.

But it always got you where he wanted you -between your legs whether that be his face or his own hips nestled against yours watching you cry out under him.

Pushing that silly little skirt up to your waist, opening your shirt just enough to pull the flimsy bra down to suck on a nipple, just enough to watch one bouncing with each thrust.

He’d never tell you he lost his virginity to you, he’d never tell you that each time with you meant something and he’d never tell you that he’d hit himself internally for how he treated you.

He knew what he was doing but he just couldn’t stop.

You made him feel awkward, you made him feel insecure and you made him think things that contradicted his outer personality everyone knew him for.

The fact he was jealous today because he seen a guy flirting with you at the end of class, it annoyed him that he heard you say you were single, that no you weren’t dating Satoru because what idiot would.

So Gojo waited by the door watching the students pour out, his arms crossed, one leg bent with a foot pressed against the wall he leaned on and a frown on his face. You always were last out of the room because you hated crowds, when you appeared he span, grinning at you with his arms leaning on the door way blocking you from leaving.

He seen your face drop.

“Sooooo,”

You rolled your eyes and tried to push past him, he blocked again by swaying his body in whichever side you tried to leave from.

“Move Gojo, I don’t have time for you.”

Gojo hummed and lowered his arms walking at you, making you step backwards.

“M’sure you can find some time like you made for dipshit earlier,”

You sneered at him rolling your eyes,

“Jealous Satoru?”

“Pft, over a lil easy school girl like you? Nah, c’mon I have plenty of options.”

His eyes widened when your hand hit his cheek, he wasn’t even looking at you but over your shoulder shocked that you actually had just slapped him.

His gaze shifted slightly to look at your face, tears brimming in them and he felt somewhat guilty for thinking they always looked so pretty like that. You were trying to glare at him but it was difficult to combine it with holding back your upset.

He felt even guiltier than his dick hardened in his pants at the slap, the sting fired across his skin and a foreign rush ran through his body. New link -unlocked.

“Do it again,”

His voice lowered and he watched your eyes widen in confusion, the tension leaving them so a stray tear could finally fall and hang from your cheek.

“W-what?”

“Slap me again,” he replied quickly and firmly.

You’d tried to fight him but he easily walked you backwards until your legs hit a desk, a random one in your mind.

Gojo knew it wasn’t, he picked this desk particularly because this desk was the guy who was asking about you.

The whole spur of jealousy was what lead to this.

But he’d never admit that to you.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m cumming Go-fuck, fuck, fuckkk.”

Satoru grinned against your lace panties as he sucked on your clit through them whilst rolling his tongue.

“Yeah? Gonna leave a mess over this desk pretty? Think you should leave a lil’message for’em tomorrow.”

Your hips lifted but he followed, making sure to wrap his lips around your clit and suck, his thumbs massaging your hips trying to keep you in place. His blue eyes drinking in as you leaned your head back one hand gripping the chair until your knuckles turned white, your other hand gripping his hair and pushing him into you. Your head falling between the space of the desk and chair.

Your back arched from the desk and he couldn’t help but skim his hands up your sides to grip them, thumbs now massaging small circles just under your ribs as his fingers rested in the arch of your back. Your hips started to roll and he knew to soften up his tongue so you could ride out your orgasm better, easing you down from your high instead of letting it just slip away.

He watched your tits rising and felt your ribs contracting as you let out soft sighs at his almost uncharacteristically considerate actions. -his silent apology was being like this with you, slowly dragging your orgasm out by lightly rolling his tongue on your clit. - wanting you to remember how good he could make you feel, that it wasn’t all bad because he knew his behaviour would upset you again tomorrow.

He felt your hips give the first twitch of over stimulation and he backed off, placing a kiss to your clit before looking down at the gradual wet patch appearing as your hole clenched around nothing.

Gojo frowned, perking his lips to a pout realising your underwear was in the way ruining his plan, hands moving down quickly he gripped the sides of your panties and pulled hard.

The sound of fabric ripping caused you to shoot your head towards him wide eyed at his actions.

“The fuck are you doing? Gojo!!!”

Your hands scrambled to his but he slapped them away with one hand, the other stuffing your panties into his pocket.

Your legs over his shoulders kicked at his back in an attempt to straightened yourself up.

Swiftly he shifted, using a large hand to pin your hips down by pressing on your stomach and the other towards your dripping hole, he circled it with his thumb watching the clear cum slowly spilling from you.

“S’not messy enough,” he whined, whilst pushing his thumb in feeling your clench around him and hands on his head trying to push him away.

“Looks like we gotta get another outta ya!”

The next day went it’s usual course, he’d find you first thing in the morning with Geto beside him and he’d tease you like he meant it. He’d watch the heat creep over your cheeks because you always got flustered the day after anything happened between you both, it would disappear gradually until you got angry again.

Gojo sat at his desk man spreading as usual, his chin resting in the palm of his hand as he leaned across the table, consumed by boredom already and first class hadn’t even started.

“The hell is this on my desk?”

Brilliant blue eyes side glancing at the very guy who was asking about you yesterday.

“Man, what is that? Someone spill their juice on it or somethin’?”

“-Yeah maybe! It’s kinda sticky and smells sweet.”

Oh you really were sweet, one of Gojo’s favourites sweets in fact and it made burying his face between your thighs so pleasant.

Something else he’d never admit to you.

Satoru leaned back in his seat, swinging his arm behind it and twisting so he could look at you sat at the back with your face in your hands.

Whipping his phone out his thumbs moves quickly on the screen to send you a text and he enjoyed watching your face fall reading it, heat rising to those cheeks in a dusty pink.

Turning to glare at him whilst throwing him the finger.

Satoru > I told ya! You taste sweet! :p

God you hated Satoru Gojo.

Part two > here

#gojo satoru #jjk smut #jjk x you #gojo satoru x reader #jjk gojo #gojo smut #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen satoru #jjk x reader #jujustu kaisen x reader

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csuitebitches · 4 months

Text

Book Review- The Wealth Elite: A Groundbreaking Study of the Psychology of the Super Rich, by Rainer Zitelmann Notes

I came across this book because I was looking for psychology books. I found the first of the book rather boring and too textbook-y. The second part is much better.

The author interviewed like 45 millionaire - billionaires. These were his findings.

—

48% stated that real estate was an ‘important’ source of their wealth, and one in ten described real estate as the ‘most important’ aspect of their personal wealth-building. And a total of 20% described stock market gains as an ‘important’ factor in wealth-building, although in this case only 2.4% stated that this was the ‘most important’ factor in building their wealth.

‘Creative intelligence’ is key to financial success. The following is a comparison between the percentage of entrepreneurs (and in brackets the percentage of attorneys) who agreed that the following factors played a decisive role in their financial success: seeing opportunities others do not see: 42 (19); finding a profitable niche: 35 (14).

The role of habitus

* Intimate knowledge of required codes of dress and etiquette

* Broad-based general education

* An entrepreneurial attitude, including an optimistic outlook on life

* Supreme self-assurance in appearance and manner.

He identifies a key quality that is essential for any prospective appointee to the executive board or senior management of a major company: habitual similarities to those who already occupy such positions.

Skillset of Entrepreneurs

* The ‘conqueror’. The entrepreneur has to have the ability to make plans and a strong will to carry them out.

* The ‘organizer’. The entrepreneur has to have the ability to bring large numbers of people together into a happy, successful creative force.

* The ‘trader’. What Sombart describes as a ‘trader’, we would more likely call a talented salesperson today. The entrepreneur has to “confer with another, and, by making the best of your own case and demonstrating the weakness of his, get him to adopt what you propose. Negotiation is but an intellectual sparring match.”

Entrepreneurial success personality traits

* Commitment

* Creativity

* A high degree of extroversion

* Low levels of agreeableness

Entrepreneurial success personality traits

* Orientation towards action after suffering disappointments (the entrepreneur remains able to act, even after failure)

* Internal locus of control (the conviction “I hold my destiny in my own two hands”)

* Optimism (the expectation that the future holds positive things in store)

* Self-efficacy (the expectation that tasks can be performed successfully, even in difficult circumstances).

constant power struggles with their teachers in order to ascertain who would emerge the stronger from such confrontations.

Secret of selling

* Empathy

* Didactics

* Expert knowledge

* Networking.

Conscientiousness is the dominant personality trait. Extroversion is also very common among the interviewees. Openness to Experience is very common

A high tolerance to frustration is one of the most characteristic personality traits of this group.

exceptionally high levels of mental stability.

primarily characterize entrepreneurs as being prepared to swim against the current and make their decisions irrespective of majority opinion.

“No, I never did that (lost my temper). I never get loud. But I can be resolute and say: “That is unacceptable.” And then you either have to go your separate ways or make a decision that the other party might not like. It’s the same in negotiations. I was always described by other people as a bit of a toughie.”

Having the courage to stand against majority opinion is probably a prerequisite for making successful investments, as this is what makes it possible to buy cheap and sell high.

Many of the interviewees spoke about their ability to switch off and direct their focus, even in the event of major problems. The interviewees consistently referred to their ability to focus on solutions, rather than torturing themselves with problems.

At least in the initial phases of wealth creation, most of the interviewees rated their own risk profiles as very high. This changes during the stabilization phase, when risk profiles decrease. In this phase, the hypothesis of moderate risk does apply.

Conscientiousness was the interviewees’ most dominant personality trait. It is important to remember that the Big Five theory’s definition of conscientiousness does not just include qualities such as duty, precision, and thoroughness, but also emphasizes diligence, discipline, ambition, and stamina.

#c suite #powerful woman #strong women #ceo aesthetic #personal growth #that girl #productivity #getting your life together #balance #book review #books

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verysium · 5 months

Note

PLEASE DO BLUE LOCK ICKS IM BEGGING🙏😭🌹

😏 coming right up anon. gonna channel my inner critic and not hold back on any of these.

RIN

brother complex. not much else to say except that he needs to get a life. not everything is about metaphorically crushing your older brother's dreams and brooding in the dark hate of retribution.

competitive but only because he is a desperate whore for external validation. ignores everyone but craves the attention of a sole person named sae itoshi. was defeated by isagi once and has never let go of it since. has a one-track mind that is impossible to derail. stubborn when he wants to be.

probably a virgin and will continue to be one until his late 30s.

has not known a single day of peace ever since sae ditched him for the popular girlies. as a result, he has developed a very concerning case of social awkwardness. his idea of a conversation involves a brick wall and thirty minutes of you staring at his resting bitch face. constantly looks like that one grumpy cat meme. judges you for your poor decisions but then gets aggressively defensive when you point out his own mistakes.

reeks of so much teen angst that even metallica can't save him. the problem is that he has nothing to back up his emo persona. his insults lack creativity and, unfortunately for him, phrases like "lukewarm" and "half-baked" and "hell" do not make his words carry more weight. uses the f-word but in the most embarrassing context that it makes you facepalm and internally cringe.

SAE

zero social awareness. this boy's head is empty. the lights are not on up there. there are no picture frames or furniture. the curtains are drawn, and there is not a sliver of clouds or sunshine. cannot read body language and does not know what a filter is.

the source of all of rin's stress. he is the original trauma projector, creator of generational cycles. not even subtle about it. "turns out i was wrong. i thought japan was incapable of ever giving birth to decent forwards." sir....with the way you worded that, you knew exactly what you were doing when you gave rin false hope.

swears but it's even worse than his brother. literally called his elders a "fatso and bob cut duo" and "insect turd." i mean....there is a line between what is considered a legitimate burn and what is a first grader making up insults in his coloring book.

has a horrible haircut and no fashion taste. i already talked about this previously, but it was so bad it deserved a second mention.

a freak but tries to justify it rationally. like what do you mean you can tell a person's athletic ability from their buttock size? just admit you have a kinky fetish already.

somewhat of a coward but i'm gonna give him some leniency due to his tragic child genius backstory. tbh he's just an eighteen-year-old boy who needs a goddamn break.

KAISER

alexa please play clown music. this man sets himself for failure and then wallows in self-pity when he actually fails. like what did you expect? you knew what was going to happen the moment you challenged isagi like that. it was most definitely your fault you got violently humbled.

has a borderline god complex (currently calls himself an emperor but has not evolved into a deity yet.) unfortunately, he does not stand on business. cue the dramatic meltdowns when he realizes there is an actual gap between his ability and his reputation. if you're going to lie, at least make it believable.

insecure and mentally unstable. he probably cuts and re-dyes his hair every single time shit happens. no wonder his locks get shorter every time.

lazy when it comes to anything that is not football and expects others to do it for him. demands princess treatment wherever he goes. unfortunately, not all of us have servants with no self-respect like ness.

"it is not enough that i should succeed, others should fail" type of person.

does not wear shoes and even if he does, it's sandals. put them grippers away.

NAGI

a literal sloth who has so much potential but uses none of it. has no intrinsic motivation of his own, so if he's going to do anything, it has to be you behind the wheel, making sure he gets put to work.

does not have a close relationship with his parents, and so he has no sense of community, holidays, or traditions. no fun at all if you want him to do things like christmas shopping or birthday celebrations.

rots in bed all day and then has to nerve to ask you to carry him around. your back better be strong because his 190 cm body is not going to be light.

not loyal (need i say more.)

REO

second male lead syndrome. also known as that one popular guy who's always picked last.

acts like a victim but then when you realistically tell him to how to change his situation he refuses to do so. you cannot ask for advice and then take none of it to heart. no wonder you're still not over your ex.

"i can fix him" mentality. no, you can't. you are a seventeen-year-old child, not a licensed therapist and nagi isn't even all that.

NESS

touch-starved to the point he will stay in a toxic and abusive relationship in order to gain some scrap of affection. just because you were the black sheep of your family does not mean you can lose all sense of personal dignity.

probably stalks all the people he hates. has a burn book like regina george from mean girls. cuts out and glues little pictures of kaiser all over his bedroom. doodles hearts all over it with glittery gel pen. isagi's face and name are scratched out of every team photo.

delusional and prone to mood swings. medicated but at this point, he is beyond saving.

ISAGI

a home wrecker. has ruined more relationships than he can count on ten fingers yet still manages to smile like he's some angelic saint.

solves jigsaw puzzles for a living (not very cool if you ask me.)

has some unresolved anger management issues. probably repressed all his negative feelings when he was younger, so it all comes out when he's on the field. unfortunately, his twilight-sparkle-friendship-is-magic agenda is not going to work if he keeps cussing out his teammates like that. but then again, he is the main character, so i guess his plot armor makes up for his pitfalls.

says that he's a good guy but then holds personal vendettas against rivals he doesn't like. boy was so ready to throw hands when #kaisagi was trending on the internet. but when you actually think about, he's similar to kaiser in more ways than he'd like to admit.

BAROU

has the worst case of high and mighty "holier-than-thou" attitude. isagi put his ego in check, but it still peeks out from time to time.

he was the ugliest baby when he was born. i am not going to hold back on the child barou slander because it is true. no, he was not a cute and lovable bundle of joy. he looked like a demonic gremlin.

he needs to take more risks in life and try cross-dressing. simply imagining him in a maid uniform will not suffice. it needs to be made into a reality.

with how nit-picky he is, i doubt people can realistically stay within a 1-meter radius around him. unless you are a clean freak yourself, his constant complaints will start to get annoying after a time. even if he does have good intentions, he needs to let people have a little breathing room sometimes. a messy room is not going to kill you.

BACHIRA

this boy's brain is smooth. no folds. no gray matter. no intelligence either. his pencil and eraser have been left untouched since day one. if he wasn't crazily good at football, he would be unemployed and homeless in the future. not even a mcdonald's wants him.

one of those people who will do the literal opposite of whatever you say. you want him to stop talking? well, now he's never going to shut up. you tell him not to step on a pile of dog shit? well, now he's going to walk right into it. you want him to quit running around and act normal? well, now it's his life's mission to make you as annoyed as possible. please pray for your hair follicles because at the end of the day, you're not going to have many left with how much he makes you want to tear your hair out.

has the cerebral capacity of a toddler. if he thinks monsters are real, he's going to think anything is real. super gullible when it comes to any form of scam, ploy, or trickery. the only way he would not be fooled is if he's also played the same prank before.

SHIDOU

a brazen pervert. says the most out-of-pocket things and refuses to apologize for them. sometimes it comes out a little too sleazy for your liking.

"to me a goal is fertilization! a shot is the seed and the goal is the egg!! and the birth of that joy i call an explosion!! my genes are gonna knock you up!" let us give ourselves a moment of silence to digest this quote. only shidou ryusei would come up with a sperm and egg metaphor to describe football. (i guess protection means nothing to him.)

has no empathy. if you dislike him or cannot keep up with him, you're a literal nobody in his books. no sportsmanship. no compassion. no self-awareness.

you cannot say "balls" to him in a serious tone without him misinterpreting it as something dirty. that alone should tell you enough. stay the hell away from him.

where do men get the audacity? right here. from this little bastard. he invented the term "shameless slut." boy was getting off during the u-20 arc and on live TV too. no wonder sae said he was disgusting.

and finally, he comes from a long line of cockroaches. he's even got the antennae to prove it.

i think this might have been a little excessive, but i have no regrets about it. you're welcome anon ♡

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