#i can feel the obsession rearing its beautiful head again

[eddie-kasalivich]

Watched Chain Reaction last night. About to make it everyone’s problem.

#*insert palpatine cackle right here* #EDDIE THE LOVE OF MY LIFE #SWEET PRECIOUS BABY ANGEL MAN #i can feel the obsession rearing its beautiful head again #eheheheheheehehehe #jane talks #eddie kasalivich #chain reaction #keanu reeves

[the1northlanderprincess]

Love or obsession? An Anthology of Armony so far

It seems to be a consensus amongst the majority of us that Arman is in love with Thony. However, what makes us think this; that it’s not just an infatuation, or strong liking? I want to take an objective view on things, and I’ll do the best I can while looking at some key moments. I’d like to hear your objective thoughts as well!

Let’s begin with the very first moment Arman met Thony. He was physically attracted to her right from the get-go, going so far as saying, “anyone who doesn’t see you is blind”, i.e. she is memorably beautiful. It’s subtle, but not subtle. Later on he straight up tells her he likes her. Throughout the episode, he’s already looking at her like she’s a tall drink of water in a desert. It’s purely surface-based.

Fast-forward to episode 3 to when he saves her from Tarik’s assault. Arman tries to comfort Thony by touching her. After she backs off from him twice, he immediately gets angry. This could be seen as the ugly side of obsession rearing its head. Heck, Arman looks absolutely crazed as he watches Thony leave. When an object of obsession is taken away, the person obsessing will lash out. However, it could be seen as Arman starting to become confused with how he sees Thony. Earlier on, he received a drawing from her son, which clearly moved him. But his expression, though a half-smile, lacked a little enthusiasm; he was seemingly brushing it off when he excused himself. So, in this episode, it could be a mixture of both.

In episodes 4 and 5, we begin to see Arman starting to take a more personal interest in Thony and her life. He can tell when she’s troubled. We see him become concerned about Luca’s health and wellbeing. He also is impressed by her actions, and he slides into a more easygoing relationship with her. When he finds out about the FBI, he attempts to try to control himself for her sake but fails. A tear manages to escape, and when she suggests they work together, he loses that hold on his emotions. Again, we see his confusion as to what his relationship with Thony really is. When he calls to meet with her, then, I believe he realizes that she is a person and cares about how she feels. He sees her more than just a worker and a pretty object to look at. Thus begins the shift from infatuation to like.

So, we’re now at episode 6. A lot of things go on for Arman emotionally in this episode. We see him hesitate to do things because he is concerned over her safety. But he agrees to go along with it because he knows it’s what Thony needs to do for Luca. Later on, when she is upset, Arman comforts her, and gradually he is feeling and sharing in her pain, even crying silent tears. He hates seeing her hurt like this. Empathy is so pivotal in building and sustaining a successful relationship, and Arman is displaying it wonderfully. He’s making it all about her, not him, even letting her decide if she wants to kiss him. When Thony tears out of the room after the kiss, you can see the moment where Arman discovers that the attraction is more than skin-deep. Yes, they finally surrendered to the lust between them, but the kiss was initially borne out of strong emotions. 

Episode 7 has a few of the same actions we’ve seen before, which I’m not going to get into detail, since I meta’d that recently. One new thing that we do find out is Arman’s excuse for why he’s doing what he’s doing for Thony and Luca. He’s not exactly professing his love outright, but he’s admitting to being in deep; deep in the situation, deep in his feelings. There’s no going back. We also see for the first time Arman daydreaming about Thony. One could argue that him envisioning her in such a way, singing those words about him being her protector, it is selfish and dangerously obsessive. However, knowing that Thony in the present chose that song to sing, it’s safe to assume that she’s thinking of him in that way. And the lyric about adding initials to a monogram? Straight up marriage. He sees her in the dress he liked so much on her, and her exact hair style. Obviously, that dress made an impression on him. But to me, it’s more significant than that. I remember a moment from the show Moonlight’s series finale when Mick tells Beth that he remembers what she was wearing the day he first saw her on a case. She asks how he knows that, and he replies, “because I love you!” I’m unsure of the passage of time in The Cleaning Lady. It’s a stretch, but I’m juuuust saying.... 

Another peculiarity is Arman’s decision to let Thony leave after Luca’s health improves. He claims her debt to him will be paid after his big deal goes through. Now, if this were any other mobster, there’s no way she would be freed from this kind of situation. But Mr. “Once you’re in, you’re in” has changed his tune. He knows things will change once Luca gets better; Thony will have no need to stay in America. It’s another important step in Arman’s growth. He’s no longer obsessed in keeping her around. He loves her enough to let her live her life.

Finally, we come upon episode 8. Here, we see an incredibly lively Arman. He’s happier than we’ve ever seen him. Thony had given him an in to not only take them to Mexico, but to stay while they’re there. He’s given the chance to have a normal day in the life; be a family man. And I think he enjoyed it. Arman, in the weeks following the first kiss, has gained more confidence in what he feels for Thony and has subtly shown her as such while still respecting her marriage. But, now that there’s a possibility their time together could be coming to an end, he requests a song, in his native language no less, that describes how he feels about her. If he can only have this one night with her, he’s going to go all out. 

In episode 9 Arman is going to be hallucinating about Thony again. The vision says to come back for her. It’s another thing that could be labeled as infatuation. However, in the song, there’s a line that says “she’s the star that lights my being, and without her love, I am nothing”. I believe that Arman thinks that Thony’s reaction to the dance, the following kiss, and her beseeching expression before he leaves the clinic, is a sign that she feels the same way, even just a little. So seeing her as he’s clinging to life tells me that she’s his reason to live.

So, is Arman in love with Thony? After laying out all the facts, I can objectively say that, yes, he is. She makes him a better man, and he wants to change his ways. Nadia says as much. She throws the word love in his face when talking about how Thony see him as a hero. The writers could have used another word, but they went with love. Everything in TV writing is purposeful. Yeah, no getting around that.

As I was thinking about what to put in this meta, it suddenly occurred to me how The Cleaning Lady really is a modern retelling of Beauty and the Beast. I mean, here you have a working-class lady offering her services to a wealthy, powerful, dangerous man in order to stay alive and save her family’s lives. Their dynamic, at first, is a bit on the rough side, but as time goes on, they slip into a friendship. It gets to a point where he falls in love, and realizes he needs to set her free because he believes it’s best for her to be with her family with no obligation to him. He doesn’t care about his happiness; only hers. Even if it means he’ll lose his chance at humanity again. I can only hope that in next week’s finale, Arman will give Thony something to “look back and remember” him by. Then next season she’ll surprise him by returning, because she loves him, too.

#the cleaning lady #thony x arman #armony

[joestarwhore]

Risotto Nero - A Price to Pay

{Being the only girl in the Bucci Gang has its perks. Your familia loved you, & were fiercely protective- but what’re they supposed to do when another Capo decides to have you to himself? He’s gotta have you.}

{one way or another.}

_____________________________________

“Bucciarati were almost to Napoli, should I head straight for the city or the safe house?”

Fugo’s sharp voice woke you from your nap. You & the team have been traveling for days tracking three stand users who’ve been smuggling contraband out of Passioné’s grasp. So far, the trail has led to Napoli- and to make it worse, no one knows what they look like. But luckily, you had the name of the man in charge of the operation.

“Go to the safe house. They’re not going to move anything in broad daylight, & we haven’t been able to stop for an actual break.” Bruno circled the location on Fugo’s map. “We can spare a few hours.”

You looked to your right to see Mista asleep against the window, drool slowly coming out of his mouth. You would’ve laughed if you had any right to, with the glimpse of yourself you caught in the rear view you were surprised no one woke you up with a camera flash.

You stretched your neck side to side, your movements slowly bringing your body back to life. You could hear Giorno, Abbachio, and Narancia gently start stirring to life as Bruno continued to talk about the location, not being able to keep in their loud ass yawns. Well, honestly, that was only Narancia’s problem.

Bruno swiveled the seat to face the back, his perfect black bob not moving an inch while he does it. “Now that we’re in Napoli, it’s time to be debriefed about our current situation. Would one of you please wake Mista?”

Abbachio wasted no time to slap Mista in the back of the head, causing Mista to lurch forward with a yelp. His hand immediately went to the back of his head as he whipped around towards Abbachio. “What the hell, you dumbass!! What was that for??”

“For debriefing you idiot, pay attention.”

You giggled, resulting in a hearty “Shut up!” from Mista. After Bruno’s scolding, he started to explain the facts.

“The intelligence we received stated that the man controlling the contraband operation is a Capo. His name is Risotto Nero, the leader of La Squandra. He’s been known to defy the Familia before, so it’d make sense that he would be the one running this show.”

Bruno’s face slowly grimmed as he continued, pausing after he spoke. “While he is a traitor to the Familia, he is also one of the most powerful Capo’s in the organization. Not just because of his title, but because of his stand.”

The tension grew substantially.

“What’s his stand, Boss? Does anyone have an idea?” Narancias question rung in the air like a bell.

“No. Because no ones lived to tell about it.”

The chill that ran down your spine was unnerving. No one knows what his stand is?? No one has even the slightest idea?? How can that be?

“Boss, how’re we supposed to find this cazzo when all we have to go on is a name?” you ask, “How’re we supposed to defend ourselves against a stand that no one has ever beat?”

“By keeping your stand close. Giorno’s Golden Wind can sense life, and Narancia can track anything that breathes. Abbachio’s Moody Jazz could very well be our ace in the hole, if we can simply find where he’s been- but that’s hard to do when you’re following a ghost.”

God, that wasn’t reassuring.

Soon, Fugo’s road rage landed you at the safe house, a 3 story cabin in the middle of the woods. Mista’s excitement blossomed as soon as he saw the giant flatscreen through the window, everyone else’s did when they finally got to leave the stuffy ass van.

Abbachio helped you out of the car, letting you hang on to his arm until you’ve cracked all the bones you needed to feel relief. “Thank you Abba, I’ve been needing to do that for a while now!”

Abbachio threw you a smirk. “Yeah yeah don’t get gross on me.” He could throw up any facade he wants- you see right through his badass tough guy wall. You gave him a grin back, & grabbed your duffel bag out from under your seat. You looked back to see that the other boys had already made it inside, Bruno & Giorno already setting up the radio & laptops to start working.

Bruno def wasn’t playing around when he was looking for a place to buy. This was the nicest cabin you had ever seen, pure dark wood walls with marble flooring, a grand staircase with a BEAUTIFUL bay window?? Capo DEFINITELY had perks.

***************

[3:33 AM]

You bolted awake as thunder and lightning surrounded your bedroom. Your mind frantic as the open curtains revealed howling winds and light flashing through the skies.

You took some deep breaths and calmed yourself down. It’s only a storm, nothing to- why was your door open?

Adrenaline started to churn in your stomach as you swung your legs over your bed. You stepped carefully towards the hallway, peeking down to see that everyone else’s doors were open too. You tip toed down, peering into Bruno & Abbachio’s rooms, seeing them both empty; and upon further inspection, so were Giorno’s and Mista’s. Narancia and Fugo’s following suit.

Where the fuck is everyone, and why are you not with them?

You back tracked down the hall, your legs shaking as you slowly walked down the stairs.

Were you being attacked?

The lightning lit your path down the stairs as you kept your eyes peeled for anything out of place. As you came down to the first platform, the stench of blood overwhelmed your senses, making your eyes grown wide and your hand go over your mouth and nose. This cannot be real, why is blood in the air??

“You know when I first saw you, I thought you were an angel among the saints & sinners of Napoli.”

Your hand gripped the banister as you stood in defense, looking everywhere for the source of the deep voice. Who was that?? Where the fuck is your team??

“& Then I saw Ghiaccio getting in a fight with another Mafioso. I thought it was just one of Bucciaratis boys, but oh was i so close yet so wrong.”

You slowly made your way down stairs, “I guess your a big fan of mine then, quite a shame I can’t see where you are for such occasion.”

A deep chuckle resonated through the estate. “Our life together will be wonderful, I am very sure.”

“The fuck are you-“

Your stomach dropped.

The blood. The gashes. The gore.

All of the boys were hanging by their hands, bloody chains protruding from their wrists and connecting them to the ceiling. Blood oozed from Fugos mouth, while Narancias unconscious form clearly had a broken nose and extreme loss of blood. They all were simply.. hanging by a thread.

“Jesus fucking Christ.. you’re fuc-fucking kidding..”

Invisible hands hold onto your sides as your body freezes in shock, the pressure and heat of them telling you they were quite large. Your heart beater out of your chest as you felt a muscular set of abs press against your back, those hands weaving over your chest to hold down your arms.

“Do you see, Amore? Do you see how powerful I am compared to them?” Your eyes tore away from the bloodied boys, closing them as tightly as you could. “When I saw how powerful you were and how you carried yourself, I knew we were soul mates. I had to have you. I had to have your body, your mind,” His hand rubbed gently against your clothes crotch, shooting heated adrenaline to your core, “& your pretty little cunt just full of my kids.”

Your cheeks turned violently red as you staggered to breathe. “Who..are you..”

Lips pressed against your temple as a deep chuckle vibrated your body. “Darling, I’m the whole reason you’re out here.”

Your heart froze.

“Risotto?? It’s you?!”

Suddenly two black clothed muscular arms appeared around you, one of them tilting your chin back to reveal two black and red eyes staring straight at you. “Surprised, Cara?”

You started to panic, the danger of your situation settling in. Bruno, Giorno, all of the boys, were out of action. There was no help for you, and you couldn’t summon your stand like this. Was this simply the end? Was he just saving you for last for his sick fantasy??

“Please.. what do you even want from me??”

Risotto put your hands behind your back and tied them together. “What I’ve wanted since I saw you; a life. With just you & me.” He placed you on a chair, kneeling before you with his hands tracing you and your skin. Your breath hitched as he ran over certain spots, his eyes growing darker and darker the more you react. You had to do something, you couldn’t let your family be killed over someone’s obsession over you.

“I’m going with you whether I like it or not, right?”

Risotto chuckled a humorless laugh. “A smart one! Oh i like that, I like that. Maybe our kids will get that trait.”

Dread sunk in your stomach. There’s no escape, is there?

“If I go with you, willingly with no struggle- will you allow me to use my stand on them so they atleast don’t die of their injuries?”

Risotto stared at you, looking for any sign of betrayal, but he wasn’t gonna find anything. You knew there wasn’t a way out, and you knew you didn’t stand a chance in hell against him. Atleast if you can save the boys, there wouldn’t be any death.

“Fine. But one slip up, Amore, and I’ll make your condition worse than theirs.”

Risotto unbinded your arms, helping you stand up and get your balance again. You walked towards the boys until you were a few meters away from them. You could sense their shallow breathing from your powers, you knew if you were gonna do this you had to act fast.

“Iron Maiden.”

A steam punk victorian girl emerged behind you, wielding a glowing white scythe, its jet black hair flowing behind her.

“Scythes Blessing.”

Iron Maiden hovered to the front of you, your scythe glowing bright white as it swung a mass of energy towards them all. Their wounds mended together, the blood returning to their bodies. After the act was done, the boys passed out on the floor, surely to wake up in a few hours.

“Now, we start our life, my sweet angel.”

Tears silently went down your cheeks as you turned to the beautiful, evil man. His eyes showed a softness towards you as he extended his giant hand. Your dainty one took his, holding it as he led you to the door.

“Where are you taking me?”

Risotto swung open the huge doors to reveal the storm still actively raging, his matte black sports car in the circle drive. “Home, cara. Our home.”

You hurried to get in his front seat, Risotto closing your door and going to the drivers door. He got in, revving the car to life and pulled the car out of the drive way. Risotto placed his hand on your thigh as he took you away from the estate. Your heart hurt for your boys, but this was for the best, right? Atleast this way they’re safe. They’re safe.

“Say your goodbyes Cara. Your life starts over with me.”

“Only me.”

#jojos bizzare adventure yandere #n/s/f/w jjba #vento aureo #yandere jjba #yandere risotto #la squadra #risotto headcanons #risotto nero

[inkdrinkershadowsinger]

Just Look: Gwynriel One Shot

           Azriel looked around the ring, and blushed ferociously. She was the weirdest person that he had ever met, and he was absolutely obsessed with her. Emerie and Mor were currently sparring in the middle of the training area, and Gwyn stood to the side chanting, “Baby Pegasus! Baby Pegasus!” like it was a battle cry. Azriel looked to Nesta and Cassian who stood beside her, and noticed that their mouths were moving too. The shape of the chant echoing on their lips as well. At least this was better than last month’s insistence of bowing to the house every time she properly executed a maneuver because the house was “rooting for her”.

           Azriel didn’t understand how someone who was so academic could be so…quirky. Gwyneth Berdera could recite the entire Book of the East and name ever mammal who lived in the Adriata in alphabetical order, but will insist on the house conjuring a baby Pegasus for their monthly Valkyrie meetings.

           Azriel watches as the two women in the ring circle each other, and he knows that it is almost over. Since the two were mated, neither Emerie nor Mor can keep their hands off of each other, especially not in the middle of a fight. Azriel watches Mor and hopes that she goes low and tries to tip Emerie to the left, her weaker side, but one smile from Emerie at the wrong time and Mor misses her chance. Emerie sweeps her leg, and Mor is on the ground. Emerie, instead of helping her get to her feet, stoops down and kisses Mor on her sweaty cheek.

           Azriel stiffens. It’s not that he isn’t happy for Mor because he is. And it’s not that he feels entitled to her time and affection anymore now that she told him the truth, but he still feels a little tug in his stomach when he sees one of his family with their mates. And before he can stop the thought, it sounds. Why can’t that be you?

           His shadows flare in response to the intrusive thought.

“Just look,” they say. “Just look.” Azriel tells them that he has had enough of perfect couples for the day, and that he will keep his eyes on the ground where they belong.

           “All right,” he hears his brother say, and Cassian is clapping his hands.

“We have time for one more match. Gwyn,” he ushers her into the ring. “Who is going to take a beating at the hands of the death priestess.”

           “Ugg,” Nesta exclaims. “That’s worse than Silver Majesty or Fleet Footed Firehead.”

Cassian looks perturbed. “Hey.. it’s not as easy finding nicknames for everyone else as it was for you, sweetheart.”

           Nesta doesn’t blush, but she does give his brother a smile that says, “Keeping being a sap, and I’m going to kiss that smirk off your face.”

“So, Gwyn,” Mor says, breaking the Nessian staring contest before it can properly begin. “Who will it be?” Mor looks around the training ground, and more than one person looks eager for a little more training. Gwyn surveys them all, and Nesta nearly steps into the ring when the priestess exclaims, “Azriel.”

           Azriel’s eyes snap up to meet her teal ones, and he says, “I’m not really up for it right now, Gwyn. I was just about to head inside.” While actually he was going to do some more knife work, but now he has to go inside or else he’s a liar, and while spying is his profession by trade, and he has lied when he has too to whomever he has too, it feels wrong lying to Gwyn.

            “Scared, Shadowsinger?” Gwyn asks, and everyone chuckles.

Did he mention that while she was completely nuts and extremely intelligent that she was also damn cocky. He was sure that he had never been as cocky as she is, and he was the one who had the anatomy.

           “Fine,” he says while walking toward the training ring. He removes his armor as he goes, and grabs one of the duller practice swords for this encounter. He doesn’t want to hurt her after all. This is just supposed to be about learning. But when he steps into the ring, the look in Gwyn’s eyes says that he’s the one who is about to get the lesson.

           Cassian moves to the middle of the ring, and stands between them. He holds up a ribbon, and prepares to drop it, signaling the beginning of the fight. The ribbon is barely out of his hand when Gwyn takes her first strike. She moves so quickly that it almost catches Az off guard. Almost. He has been a warrior for 500 years. He isn’t going to go down to someone who has only been training for less than a year, top level Illyrian warrior or not.

           The two trade a couple of blows when Azriel’s shadows start to shift. Normally, he can keep them locked tight, during fights and otherwise, but now its like they have been let off their leash.

           And they are protecting her.

When Azriel moves to make a match ending blow, his shadows rear up and block Gwyn from his view. He tries to force them back, but each time he tries they only whisper to him, “Just look. Just look.”

           Look at what? He wants to scream. But he can’t start talking to his shadows now. Then he would be the crazy one.

           The shadows clear for an instant, and he sees her again in the peripheral of his vision. She is going for his blind spot. Azriel spins around with 500 years of training, and goes low, like he thought Mor was going to do, but before his blade can reach Gwyn, his shadows envelop his scarred hands and the blade is tipped out of his hand.

           Gwyn takes advantage, and sweeps his leg. Azriel hits the ground hard, and Gwyn is on top of him. Blade at his throat, Azriel knows that he has lost. And yet, his shadows have not dispersed. They wrap around the pair of them like a wall. They can’t see out, and Azriel is sure that no one else can see in. Gwyn stands above him, a radiant smile on her face, her blade at his neck, and damn she is beautiful. Red hair blowing and mixing with his shadows. There is light in her eyes and something more.

           Azriel wants to reach up and touch her face. He wants to rub a thumb along her cheek, and touch her hair. He wants too..

           “Just look. Just look,” his shadows say again. And this time Azriel does.

Gwyn pulls her sword back from his neck, and she smiles down at him as his shadows wrap around her once, twice before dispelling.

           The rest of the people in the ring are clapping wildly, most likely in proud admiration of seeing Gwyn win but also in satisfaction of seeing his cocky ass take a hit for once. His brother looks particularly pleased, and Az is glad that Rhys and Feyre aren’t here to witness this too.

           Gwyn smirks at him, and then reaches out her hand.

Azriel doesn’t hesitate to put his hand into her own. He gets to his feet, and says, “Good match.”

           Gwyn laughs. “It’s all about the mantra. Baby Pegasus. Baby Pegasus.”

Azriel smiles, and realizes that he hasn’t let go of her hand, and more so, that he doesn’t want too.

           Then he too, joins the cult, “Tell me more about the Pegasuses.”

Gwyn sends him another smile, and Azriel feels another pull in his stomach, this one unlike the rest. And he’s completely okay with that.

Reblogs are welcome. But please do not repost other places.

#gwynriel #Gwyneth berdara #gwyn #azriel #a court of silver flames #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #acomaf #acowar #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #Sarah j maas #sjm #gwynriel fanfic #gwynriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #acotar fanfiction

[borisbubbles]

Character analysis: Vivienne de Fer (Dragon Age Inquisition)

So, if you’ve wondered where I popped off to the past two months or so, I’m going to give you an answer - I finally bought Dragon Age Inquisition (legit on my gaming wishlist since its 2014 release) and I’ve been obsessed with it ever since. 

The main draw to this game however, isn’t so much the gameplay (if you want a game that feels similar but has better gameplay - Assassin’s Creed Odyssey is what you’d want instead), but the storytelling and particularly the character development are top notch. All nine companions are fascinating and fleshed out in such a realistic manner I’m still gasping in awe on my fifth playthrough.  Thus, a post on it is in order. It’s a bit different from my usual content, but don’t let that discourage you - clearing my head from Dragon Age will allow me to let Eurovision back in and continue my unfinished 2020 ranking.  In this post, I will be analyzing one of DAI’s most interesting characters - none other than Madame de Fer herself, Vivienne.  Now, I’m under the impression that this is a rather unpopular opinion but I absolutely love Vivienne. And no, I won’t apologize for it. As a Templar-thumping elitist with a icy, sardonic demeanor the sheer ‘Idea Of A Vivienne’ is meant to make your head spin. Dragon Age has always been a franchise in which mages are a socially surpressed group and to be confronted with a socially confident enchantress who likes Templars and seemingly supports the social shunning out of her own ambition is the walking embodiment of flippancy. 

and yet, I feel a lot of sympathy for Vivienne. 

Yes, she’s a bitch. She knows she’s one and she’s a-ok with it. I won’t argue with that. Sadly, the “Vivienne is a bitch” rhetoric also drastically sells her short. Vivienne is highly complex and her real personality is as tragic as it is twisted. 

Madame de Fer

So let’s start with what we are shown on the surface. Vivienne is a high-ranking courtier from an empire notable for its deadly, acid-laced political game. She seemingly joins the Inquisition for personal gain, to acrue reputation and power, and eventually be elected Divine (= female pope) at the end of the game. She presents herself as a despicable blend of Real Housewife, Disney Villain, and Tory Politician, all rolled into one ball of sickening, unctuous smarm. Worse, the Inquisitor has no way to rebuke Vivienne’s absurd policies and ideas. You can’t argue with her, convince her to listen to your differing viewpoints or even kick her out the Inquisition. She has a way with words where she can twist arguments around in such a fashion that she lands on top and makes the other person look like the irrational party.

“Thus speaks the Inquisitor who has made so many mature and level-headed choices so far. Such as releasion malcontents upon the population without safeguards to protect them should they turn into abominations. Very wise. I rearranged some furniture. Lives aren’t thrown into jeopardy by my actions. Perhaps a little perspective is needed.”

She’s Cersei Lannister on creatine, Dolores Umbridge on motherfucking roids. If you look at merely the surface, then yes, Vivienne looks like the worst person ever created. I love a good anti-villainess however, and she’s definitely one. 

Yet, she never actually does anything ‘evil’? Yes, she is ‘a tyrant’ as a Divine, but 1) the person saying this is Cassandra, whose dislike for mage freedom is only matched by her dislike of being sidelined 2) Divine Vivienne isn’t bad to mages either? (hold that thought, I’ll get to it). She never actually sabotages the Inquisition, no matter how low her approval with the Inquisitor gets. She never attempts to stop them, no matter how annoyed she is. She’s one of the most brutally honest companions in the cast, in fact. (It always surprises me people call her a ‘hypocrite’ - you keep using that word and it doesn’t mean what you think it means.) The ‘worst’ display of character is when she attempts to break up Sera and the Inquisitor and even then - are we going to pretend Sera isn’t a toxic, controlling girlfriend with a huge chip on her shoulder? I love Sera, but come on.  

Vivienne is a character where the storytelling rule of Show, Don’t Tell is of vital importance. The Orlesian empire is an empire built around posturing and reputation. Nobody really shows their true motivations or character, and instead builds a public façade. It’s like how the Hanar (the Jellyfish people) in Mass Effect have a Public name they use in day-to-day life, and a Personal Name for their loved-ones and inner circle. Vivienne’s ‘Public Visage’ is that of Madame de Fer - this is the Vivienne who openly relishes in power, publicly humiliates grasping anklebiters with passive-aggressive retorts, the woman who is feared and loathed by all of Orlais, and this is the Face you see for most of the game.

The real beauty of Vivienne’s character and the reason why I love her as much as I do (which is to say - a LOT) are the few moments when - what’s the phrase DigitalSpy love so much - Her Mask Slips, and you get a glimpse of the real woman underneath the hennin.

This is the Vivienne who stands by you during the Siege of Haven and approves of you when you save the villagers from Corypheus’s horde.

This is the Vivienne who comforts you when you lament the losses you suffered.

This is the Vivienne who admires you for setting an example as a mage for the rest of Thedas.

This is the Vivienne who worries about Cole’s well-being during his personal quest, momentarily forgetting who or what he is. 

This is the Vivienne who, when her approval for the Inquisitor reaches rock bottom, desperately reminds him of the suffering mages go through on a day-to-day basis because of the fear and hatred non-mages are bred to feel towards them and how this can spiral into more bloodshed without safeguards. 

This is the Vivienne who shows how deep her affection for Bastien de Ghislain truly is, by bringing you along during his dying moments. I love this scene btw. This is the only moment in the entire game where Vivienne is actually herself in the presence of the Inquisitor - needless to say, I consider anyone who deliberately spikes her potion a motherfucking psychopath ^_^)

“There is nothing here now” fuck I *almost* cried at Vivienne, get out of my head BioWare, this is WRONG -- people who delude themselves this is an irredeemable character. 

So, who is Vivienne really?

Understanding Vivienne requires recognizing that the mask and the real woman aren’t the same person. I think her relationship with Dorian is the prime example of this. I love the Vivienne/Dorian banter train, obviously - an unstoppable force of sass colliding with an unmovable wall of smarm is nothing short of a spectacle. However, there’s more to it than their highly entertaining snipes. As the incredibly gifted son of a magister, Dorian represents everything Vivienne should despise, and should be a natural enemy to her. And yet, she doesn’t and he isn’t.. Their gilded japes at each other are nothing more than verbal sparring, not dissimilar to how Krem and Iron Bull call each other names when they beat each other with sticks. In what I think is one of the most brilliantly written interactions between characters in DAI, I present Vivienne’s reaction when the Inquisitor enters a romance with Dorian:

Vivienne: I received a letter the other day, Dorian. Dorian: Truly? It's nice to know you have friends. 🙄 Vivienne: It was from an acquaintance in Tevinter expressing his shock at the disturbing rumors about your... relationship with the Inquisitor. Dorian: Rumors you were only too happy to verify, I assume. 🙃 Vivienne: I informed him the only disturbing thing in evidence was his penmanship. 🙂 Dorian: ...Oh. Thank you. 😳 Vivienne: I am not so quick to judge, darling. See that you give me no reason to feel otherwise.

Madame de Fer can never be seen directly expressing approval to a relationship between the Herald of Andraste and an ‘Evil’ Tevinter ’Magister’. By this subtle, subtle conversation, Vivienne indirectly tells Dorian that she considers him a good match for the Inquisitor and approves of the romance. It’s one of those reasons why I could never truly dislike Vivienne - between the layers of elegant poison lies a somewhat decent woman who never loses sight of the bigger picture. Not a good person maybe, but not one without some redeeming qualities.

The crux of Vivienne’s personality is that she, like all DAI companions, is a social outcast. She’s a mage in a fantasy setting where mages are psionically linked to demons, and grew up in a country where the majority religion has openly advocated the shunning and leashing of mages (’Magic exists to serve man’ - the Chantry is so, so vile in this game.). Vivienne’s “gift” was discovered so early in her life that she can barely remember her parents. Vivienne grew up in a squalid boarding school, learning from a young age that she’s dangerous and her talents need to be tamed and curbed. She is also terrified of demons, as her banters with Cole point out:

Cole: You're afraid. You don't have to be. Vivienne: My dear Inquisitor, please restrain your pet demon. I do not want it addressing me. Inquisitor: He's not doing any harm, Vivienne. Vivienne: It's a demon, darling. All it can do is harm. Cole: Everything bright, roar of anger as the demon rears. No, I will not fall. No one will control me ever again. Cole: Flash of white as the world comes back. Shaking, hollow, Harrowed, but smiling at templars to show them I'm me. Cole: I am not like that. I can protect you. If Templars come for you, I will kill them. Vivienne: Delightful. 😑

Vivienne’s Harrowing is implied to have been such a traumatizing event to her that she’s developed a pavlovian fear of demons ever since. (Hence her hostility towards Cole.). Vivienne is fully aware of the inherent dangers of magic, and projects this onto all other mages. 

Besides, given how Dragon Age has a history with mages doing all sorts of fucked up shit, ranging from blood magic, murder, demonic possession and actual terrorism (yes, *ElthinaBITCH* had it coming, but let’s not pretend like Anders/Justice was anything other than a terrorist), Vivienne’s policies of controlled monitoring and vigilance are actually significantly more sensible than the options of ‘unconditionally freeing every mage all over Thedas’ and ‘reverting back to the status quo before the rebellion’. They’re flawed policies, obviously. When Vivienne says “mages” she pictures faceless silhouettes foremost and not herself. Regardless, unlike Cassandra and Leliana, Vivienne is aware of the fear others harbour for her kind, and how hard it is to overcome such perceptions.  

Additionally, Vivienne’s a foreigner. She is an ethnic Rivaini, a culture associated with smugglers and pirates (Isabela from DAO and DA2 is half-Rivaini). This adds an additional social stigma, again pointed out by Cole:

Cole: Stepping into the parlor, hem of my gown snagged, no, adjust before I go in, must look perfect. Vivienne: My dear, your pet is speaking again. Do silence it. Cole: Voices inside. Marquis Alphonse. Cole: "I do hope Duke Bastien puts out the lights before he touches her. But then, she must disappear in the dark." Cole: Gown tight between my fingers, cold all over. Unacceptable. Wheels turn, strings pull. Cole: He hurt you. You left a letter, let out a lie so he would do something foolish against the Inquisition. A trap. Vivienne: Inquisitor, as your demon lacks manners, perhaps you could get Solas to train it.

This is the only palpable example of the casual racism Vivienne has to endure on a daily basis - Marquis Alphonse is a stupid, bigoted pillowhead who sucks at The Game, but remember - Vivienne only kills him if the Inquisitor decides to be a butthurt thug. She is aware that for every Alphonse, there are dozens of greasy sycophants who think exactly like he does, and will keep it under wraps just to remain in her good graces. 

Finally, there’s the social position Vivienne manufactured for herself, which is the weak point towards her character imo. Remember, this woman is a commoner by birth. She doesn’t even have a surname. Through apparently sheer dumb luck (or satanic intervention) she basically fell into the position of Personal Mage to the Duke of Ghislain. Regardless, ‘Personal mages’ were the rage in Orlesian nobility, and the prestigious families owned by them like one may own a pet or personal property. By somehow becoming Bastien de Ghislain’s mistress and using his influence, "Madame de Fer” liberated herself from all the social stigmata which should have pinned her down into a lowly courtier rank and turned the largely ceremonial office of “Court Enchanter” into a position of respect and power. This is huge move towards mage emancipation by the way, in a society where, again, Mages are feared and shunned and are constantly bullied, emasculated and taught to hate their talents. Vivienne is a shining example of what mages can become at the height of their power. Power she has, mind you, never actually abused before her Divine election. Vivienne’s actions will forever be under scrutiny not because of who she is, but because of what she is. The Grand Game can spit her out at any moment, which will likely result in her death. 

Inquisitor: “You seem to be enjoying yourself, Vivienne?” Vivienne: “It’s The Game, darling. If I didn’t enjoy it, I’d be dead by now.”

Whether Vivienne was using Bastien for her own gain or whether she truly loved him isn’t a case of or/or. It’s a case of and/and. The perception that she was using Bastien makes Vivienne more fearsome and improves her position in the Grand Game, but deep down, I have no doubts truly loved him. Remember, Vivienne’s position at the Orlesian court was secure. She had nothing to gain by saving Bastien’s life, but she attempted to anyway. That Bastien’s sister is a High Cleric doesn’t matter - Vivienne can be elected Divine regardless of her personal quest’s resolution. She loved him, period. 

No, I don’t think Vivienne is a good person. She treats those she deems beneath her poorly, like Sera, Solas, Cole and Blackwall (characters I like less than Vivienne), which I think is the #1 indicator for a Bad Personality. But I don’t think she qualifies as ‘Evil’ either and I refuse to dismiss the beautiful layering of her character. I genuinely believe Vivienne joined the Inquisition not just for her personal gain, but also out of idealism, similar to Dorian (again, Cole is 100% correct in pointing out the similarities between Dorian’s and Vivienne’s motivations for joining, as discomforting it is to her). 

In her mind, Vivienne sees herself as the only person who can emancipate the mages without bloodshed - her personal accomplishments at the Orlesian court speak for themselves. Vivienne isn’t opposed to mage freedom - she worries for the consequences of radical change, as she believes Orlesian society unprepared for the consequences. Hence why she’s perfectly fine with a Divine Cassandra. Hence why her fellow mages immediately elect her Grand Enchanter of the new Circle. 

Hence why Vivienne is so terrified by the Inquisitor’s actions if her disapproval gets too low. The Inquisitor has the power to completely destroy everything she has built and fought for during her lifetime. Remember: Vivienne’s biggest fear is irrelevance - there’s no greater irrelevance than having your life achievements reverse-engineered by the accidental stumbling of some upstart nobody. This is the real reason why she joins, risks her life and gets her hands dirty - the only person whose competence Vivienne trusts, is Vivienne’s own. 

Even as Divine Victoria, I’d say she’s not bad, at all actually. Vivienne has the trappings of an an Enlightened Despot, maintaining full control, while simultaneously granting mages more responsibility and freedom, slowly laying the foundations to make mages more accepted and less persecuted in southern Thedas. Given that Ferelden is a feudal fiefdom and Orlais is an absolute monarchy, this is a fucking improvement are you kidding me. (Wait did he just imply Vivienne is secretly the best Divine - hmm, probably not because Cass/Leliana have better epilogues - but realistically speaking, yes, Viv should be the best Divine and it’s bullshit that the story disagrees.) 

Underneath the countless layers of smarm, frost and seeming callousness, lies a fiercely intelligent and brave woman, whose ideals have been twisted into perversion by the cruel, ungrateful world around her. Envy her for her ability to control her destiny, but know that envy is what it is.  

The flaw in Vivienne’s character isn’t so much the ‘tyranny’ or the ‘bitchiness’ or the 'smarm’. Her flaw is her false belief that she is what the mages need the most. Her belief that her competence gives her the prerogative to serve the unwashed mage masses... by ruling over them. For all intents and purposes, Vivienne is an Orlesian Magister and this will forever be the brilliant tragedy of her character. She was created by a corrupt institution that should, by all accounts fear and loathe her but instead embraced her. It’s that delirious irony that makes Vivienne de Fer one of the best fictional characters in RPG history.  the next post will be Eurovision-related. :-) 

#RPG #Dragon Age #Dragon Age Inquisition #Vivienne #Vivienne de Fer #Madame de Fer #DAI #Dragon Age 3 #BioWare

[elijahlittle]

YEAH? YEAH.

Title: YEAH? YEAH.

Pairing: Erwin Smith/OC/Levi Ackerman

Summary: Two estranged friends have an unexpected meeting.

Author's Note: I wrote this for @sk33d00dles because I am literally obsessed with their OC Ena. They have given me a year of just beautiful Ena/Erwin content. I wanted to throw a little bit of Levi in the mix, because I always imagined this happening in my head. I really love this little ficlet and I think this is my best characterization of Levi yet.

It's not uncommon for Levi to find himself in particularly difficult situations. In fact, his entire life is a particularly difficult situation. They say that time heals all wounds, but he disagrees. The death of his Commander only tore open stitched wounds further, peeling apart the skin like an onion. And when he finally is able to sloppily sew up his wounds well enough to comfortably hide his feelings again, the birth of his Commander's finally rears its ugly head around the corner. He's been ignoring it - the feelings of resentment and anger that comes with his friend's pregnancy. It's not that he resents Ena. He could never. He's just angry at Erwin - furious with his decisions. What kind of selfish, selfish, man would leave behind his pregnant partner to face the realities of this awful, cruel, world alone? When he thinks about this, Levi dips his head into his hands and sucks in a deep breath. If he wouldn't even stay behind for his pregnant partner, what made me ever think he might stay around to accommodate me? The thought never sticks around too long, as Levi's not the type to pity himself or others. But even so, the fleeting thought is enough to send him in an emotional spiral during the night. On sleepless nights like these, he can't even bring himself to get thirty minutes of sleep - let alone his standard three hours. So he pulls himself from his bed, throwing off the one thin sheet he allows himself, though he doesn't even feel like he deserves that much. It's easy to wander the barracks at night, considering most of the soldiers who sleep in them jump at the chance to catch a wink of sleep. Soon enough, he finds himself at the Commander's door. The plaque on the door now says Hanji Zoe but everyone who knew Commander Smith knows better. This room - this office - belongs to Erwin Smith. Hanji Zoe is just a visitor - and even Hanji thinks so. "I can't say I'm surprised you're up at this hour." Levi isn't startled by the sudden sound of her voice, he's prepared for anything. His eyes follow the outline of her body as she approaches the door, small baby in hand. "You look like shit. Aren't you supposed to be rife with like, post pregnancy glow?" "You've never seen an actual woman give actual birth?" She scoffs. "No." Levi responds tartly. As Ena moves closer, baby in her arms, Levi instinctively takes a step back. He doesn't make eye contact with her, but he can practically see the pain in her face when he moves away from her. There's a tenseness that hangs between them and Levi braces himself for a slew of questions. Why have you avoided me the past three months? Why weren't you there for the birth of my son? Why don't you talk to me anymore? But the questions never come. "Yeh, can't expect that much from someone who doesn't even know the touch of a woman." She laughs. "Tch." Levi scoffs. He thinks a laugh has built up in his throat but he's not sure, and he's pretty sure he's forgotten what it's like to laugh. "Neither do you. All of that talk of wanting a big, strong, woman and yet you settle for..." Another silence lingers between them. "Anyways." Levi casts a glance at the bundle in his friend's arms. "What's the little fucker's name?" He doesn't acknowledge the fact that he hasn't spoken to her in a month, that he missed the birth of her child, or that this is the first time they've even spoken. And neither does she. There's an unspoken hurt between them but they both ignore it - opting to easily slide casual conversation like they used to. It's different. Tense. But still different, considering she's holding another lifeform in her arms. "Ezran." Is her short response. "Ezran?" Levi echoes. "You went for all E's, huh? Erwin, Ena, Ezran... that's fucking stupid. Sounds like something Erwin planned." "I picked out the name." Ena laughs, shrugging her shoulder as she pulls the baby closer to her. "Reminded me of him." A frown encompasses Levi's face for a moment. He can't forget Erwin - but he'd like to, because it'd make things hurt just a little less. "Sounds like something

an idiot would do." "You're only sour because you haven't had enough sleep." Ena retorts, unbothered by Levi's undeniably shitty mood. "Probably." Levi scoffs, shrugging his shoulders. After a few moments, his shoulders slouch in defeat. "Look -" Levi opens his mouth to speak, to address the big elephant in the room - why he ignored his pregnant friend for a month on end, avoided her pregnancy, and spent the past week finding any excuse to not be around her or her child. "Here -" Ena interrupts him, not allowing him to speak any further. "Hold him." "No, no, no -" Levi holds his hands up in protest, "I don't really think I should hold the little bastard. My hands are dirty with shit from cleaning out the barracks today. Those soldiers don't even know how to clean up their own piss -" "There's worse things in this world Ezran will have to face than germs." Ena responds, using her free hand to wrap her grip around Levi's fingers, pulling his hands down and opening his palms. Levi's frown only deepens at the comment. "He'll be fine." Ena places the baby in Levi's arms - and for a second, Levi holds it at arms length - afraid he'll breathe bad fortune onto the newborn. "Why are you holding my child like it's cursed?" Ena teases. "Your child isn't the one that's cursed." Levi responds shortly. Ena presses her lips together. "Hold him closer to you - so you can get a better look at him." Ena encourages Levi, placing her hands on his forearms and pushing them forward. Levi struggles to hold the child close to him. His natural instinct is to push the child away, but Ena's hands on his forearms encourage him to keep a firm hold of the child. "You're not going to accidentally drop the baby." "Of course not. I'm going to drop it on purpose. Give it shaken baby syndrome for fun." Levi's response is tart and sarcastic, but it's reminiscent of the sharp back and forth that he and Ena used to have before The Survey Corps retook Wall Maria after their narrow victory in Shiganshina. "If you do, I'll kill you." "Go on, do it." It might be merciful to be put out of my misery. "Ah..." Ena lets out a long sigh. It's awkward again, but they trudge through it. "You're not even looking at the baby. Look him, isn't he beautiful?" Ena pulls the blanket from the baby's eyes, that of which are blown wide open. "It's eyes are fucking beady and creepy - like one of those eerie fucking dolls you'd see in a shop or something." Levi responds. "Does he even sleep?" "Not enough." Ena sighs, shoulders sagging forward a bit herself. "If he was asleep, do you think I'd be up right now?" "I don't know," Levi shrugs, "Probably. You've always done weird shit like walking around at strange hours of the night. I just thought you were conditioning the little bastard to take after you." The corner of Ena's mouth turns into a smile as Levi looks down at the child in his arms, muscles relaxing as he bounces the baby up and down a bit. A light breeze blows up against the windows. Levi is looking a little more intently at Ezran, studying every feature in the baby's face, pulling him slightly closer to his chest - not a single one of these micromovements going unnoticed by Ena. "He does have beady little eyes that look like they're up to no good." Ena's hand brushes across her son's forehead. "His eyes, yeah?" "Yeah."

#Erwin Smith #Levi Acerkman #Erwin Smith/OC #AOT OC #Attack on Titan #For a friend #SNK #gift fic #Attack on titan #Levi Ackerman/OC #Platonic #angst #slight fluff at the end

[twstismymuse]

Hello hello!!

Alrighty so this piece right here is based off this J-drama I watched called Homeroom! It’s really funny and honestly so crazy, I definitely recommend!!!

{Title: Her Knight In Shining Armor}

{Pairing: Aoi Cho x Yandere Dire Crowley}

{Summary: It’s weird how trouble seems to follow Aoi wherever she goes, but thankfully Headmaster Crowley is always there to save her!}

{Warnings: Yandere, Toxic mindset, One sided obsession towards a student}

———————————————————————

“Alright alright, settle down everyone!” Professor Trein barked at his rowdy students. “We’re going to go over the reading I assigned last night so I sincerely hope you all completed it dutifully!”

“Maaaan, I didn’t even open the textbook,” Ace whined, sinking into his seat in an effort to hide from Trein’s stern glare.

“I did!!” Deuce beamed, smoothing out his paper and straightening his spine.

“Tch, what a goody two shoes-”

“Quiet! Now then, our first question-”

“Yoohoo!” All heads turned toward an unmistakable masked face that was currently sticking through the doorway of the classroom.

“Headmaster Crowley? This is certainly a surprise.”

“Ah, it’s a surprise check in! It’s normal for a supervisor to want to see what his lively students are learning in class!”

“Yes but this is visit seems rather impromptu-”

“Oh don’t mind me! I’ll be as quiet as a mouse! You won’t even know I’m here, Mozus!! Everyone! Make sure to pay close attention to your teacher, yes?”

Trein sighed, not really having a choice in the matter, “Very well then. We’re currently reviewing the reading I assigned last night of pages 54-60 of the textbook.”

“Ah, excellent! Carry on please,” Headmaster Crowley stepped back dutifully and with a snap of his fingers, conjured up a simple wooden chair and took a seat in front of the blackboard much to the awe of the students.

“Whoa…”

“He didn’t even use a magic pen for that spell!!”

“Yes yes, we’re all aware our headmaster is a distinguished and very powerful magician,” Trein stated, a hand stroking Lucius’s fur absentmindedly. “We have more pressing matters to take care of, starting with question one…”

Turning towards the blackboard, Trein grabbed a piece of chalk and read along with each word he wrote down. Facing the students again, he asked, “Are there any brave volunteers who wish to come up and attempt to write the answer for us all to see?”

No one came forward.

“No one? Hm, most disappointing. I suppose I’ll have to call someone then.” Scanning the sea of nervous faces, his eyes landed on one magicless student who was avoiding his gaze.

“Miss Cho! You’re one of my best students in this class. Why don’t you come up?”

“Ah, is that so? I’m pleased to see that you’ve adjusted to student life here! I would so love to see what you’ve learned!” Headmaster Crowley encouraged.

Yet Aoi didn’t make a move to stand up.

“Psst, Aoi, get up there! What are you waiting for?!” Grim hissed, nudging the girl roughly.

“Cho? I hope you have a good reason for keeping us waiting.”

Aoi kept her head bowed, struggling to keep her cool as she stammered, “P-professor Trein, Headm-master, I’m really s-sorry but...I…I can’t get ou-out of my seat.”

“What? Whatever do you mean-”

“They did it again, Headmaster Crowley!” Deuce cried out. The man leapt out of his seat and ran to the row the prefect was seated in, the girl trying her hardest to stand up yet it seemed as though her legs had melded with the cushioned pew.

Upon closer inspection, Headmaster Crowley bellowed, “An adhesive charm! Outrageous! To use this on another student for impure reasons is simply unforgivable! Don’t any of you have any shame, targeting a prefect like this??” He kneeled next to Aoi and muttered a quick spell under his breath. “There! Try getting up now Aoi.”

Aoi cautiously got up, breathing out a sigh of relief upon finding she wasn’t stuck anymore.

“Thank you so much, Headmaster!”

“Of course!” Turning to the rest of the class, his glowing yellow eyes narrowed behind his mask. “I am deeply ashamed of you all! If the culprit is in this room, stand up and reveal yourself!”

Murmurs rose among the male students, but no one made a move to follow Crowley’s orders.

“I see...Mozus!”

“H-Headmaster?”

“Please dismiss Aoi Cho from this class! This is a serious issue that can’t be ignored!”

“Yes, yes of course!” 

Crowley faced Aoi again, taking her by the hand, “Come with me Prefect. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

“B-but Headmaster-”

Ignoring her protests, Crowley began leading Aoi out of the classroom, Grim hopping onto the ground and following behind, “Wait up, Aoi!! I’m coming too-”

Whirling around, Crowley held out an open palm, causing Grim to stop in his tracks. “It pleases me to see that you care for the prefect, yet this matter only concerns her. You must stay in class.”

“Eh?! But Aoi-”

“I’m sorry but you must stay behind! Come along now, Aoi.”

“O-ok!! Sorry Grim, I’ll meet back up with you at lunch!”

“AOI!!”

🕸🕸🕸

“Now tell me, how many times has it been now?” Crowley questioned, taking a seat behind his desk inside the Headmaster’s office. Aoi fidgeted in her seat, feeling like a little kid awaiting the principal’s verdict.

“W-well...I’d say that was the third time this week.”

“Just this week?!”

“Yeah…”

“And there was the incidents in your Potions and Flying class...Do you have any clue who could be doing this to you? Anyone who could have a vendetta against you?”

“N-no...there’s no one I can think of.” 

“I see…”

“Um...Headmaster?”

“Yes?”

“I...um...I just want to thank you for all the times you’ve helped me. I’m really sorry for all the trouble I keep getting into, I don’t mean to cause any problems but...I just don’t know why this keeps happening to me. I-” Her eyes began tearing up as she inhaled sharply, shoulders trembling.

“Aoi…” Noticing the state the poor girl was in, Crowley stood up from his chair and walked around to kneel down on one knee before her. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he pulled her into his chest, then wrapping his arms around the prefect as he cooed softly.

“Aoi. Do not be afraid. I merely want to protect you. It’s awful that anyone would do this to someone as sweet as you yet I assure you that I am here for you. This isn’t your fault, not one bit. Please, don’t hesitate to come to me when they target you again. As long as you are in Twisted Wonderland, I will watch over you and keep you safe.”

Struggling not to bawl like a baby in front of an adult, Aoi returned the hug and quietly smiled to herself, “Th-thank you, Headmaster. That...that really means a lot.”

Pulling back, he grinned,“But of course! After all, it’s-”

“Because you are so kind, right?”

Crowley paused, his mouth gaping open then bursting out into jubilant laughter, “Why yes! Haha, you already know me so well, prefect!”

“Pfft, only cause that’s like basically your catchphrase!” Aoi giggled, her unease from before forgotten. 

“There we are! You look much better when you’re smiling like this!” Crowley exclaimed, enjoying the sight of pink dusting her cheeks and how she averted her eyes. 

How cute...

“Well, I’ve taken up quite a bit of your time,” He remarked, rising up from the floor and flashing the girl a warm smile. “You can go to your lunch period now.”

“R-right!” Aoi hurriedly stood up, politely bowing her head and heading towards the door.

“Ah, Prefect!” Crowley called out just as Aoi had one foot out of the room.

“Yeah?” 

“Do take care to remember what I said.”

Blinking once before responding with a bright grin, “Yes, sir!” The door slammed shut behind the girl. Crowley waited for a moment before returning to sit at his desk, taking his feathered quill out of its inkwell.

It was a good thing he made sure that the adhesive charm wouldn’t be too strong when he cast it before Aoi’s Magical History lesson. He never wanted to harm his dearest student, heavens no! All it took were a few nudges here and there in her classes, and he was able to finally get through to her. Oh the sight of her tears and her radiant smile was simply beautiful! To think he’d lived for so long without knowing what true beauty looked like!

All in due time, he reminded himself, quill scratching against parchment paper. He had to be patient. Honestly, what did she expect? A magicless human girl, all alone in an unfamiliar world, helpless with no one to turn to when a hidden enemy reared its ugly head.

However, she had nothing to fear. He’d never let any harm come to his little songbird, he’d keep her safe inside his academy. 

He’d make sure to be her sworn protector, her knight in shining armor. 

It’s because he was so kind, after all.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #character x oc #yandere #yandere dire crowley #yandere dire crowley x oc #aoi cho #ace trappola #twst grim #deuce spade #mozus trein

[imagine-lcorp]

Enchanted (One Shot)

Request

Can you do one where Lena gets kissed by a girl at a masquerade party aka Reader who works at L-Corp's lab (she had had the longest crush on her boss) and it's the first time Lena has kissed a woman. Lena is smitten by that kiss and the stranger in a beautiful mask and the only distinct recognition she has is a tattoo on their wrist. They dance and talk during the party. Finding common interests and likes. Lena falling for R harder. R plays everything surprisingly cool despite her heart hammering in her chest. Must be the wine. Lena tries to hunt down the stranger in every way she could think of. One day just as she was falling in total despair she frozes at L-Corp cafeteria when she sees a lab worker paying for coffee and their sleeve rise high enough to reveal the tattoo Lena recognizes. The rest is up to you ^^

A/N: Ok so I know I took my time with this one, but it was so much fun and I’m so happy I could finish it!! Guess I’m gonna be really productive this quarantine. Pls enjoy!

Lena Luthor x Fem!R|Modern Cinderella AU//Word Count: 2,550 -------------------------------------------------------

Two glasses of wine in and you're still not sure how your best friend managed to drag you at a masquerade party. Not that you weren't enjoying the glamour of it, with the withe tables, the fine silverware, the music, a surprisingly well done mix of classical music with a great beat, and the overall fanciness of it all, but it definitely wasn't what you were expecting to do on a Friday night. That and the fact that your friend had disappeared a while ago, leaving you to wander around the place all by yourself.

"Come on, (Y/N), I got us invitations to one of the best and most exclusive parties in National City." She had said as you arrived in her car.

She stopped in front of the hotel that was hosting the party and handed you masquerade mask, selected especially for her to go with the outfit she had also chosen for you to wear tonight.

"Whoever thought, having a masquerade party was fun must have a serious obsession with Disney princesses." You took the mask form her hand and looked at it.

"Could be, but I'm not about to question the person who did all of this and who is letting me enjoy it for free." She said adjusting her own mask on her face.

"Didn't you sell your soul to the devil for the invitations or something?" You put on the mask and looked at the rear view mirror making sure you looked as good as your friend had pretended with the outfit.

"Yeah, yours included. Now, shut up and have some fun." She turned to look at you and smiled."And who knows? Maybe you'll find your Disney princess."

It had been a couple of hours already since you arrived and the only thing you had found was yourself back again at the bar, asking for your third glass of wine. You tried to enjoy the party, just like your friend had said, but it was difficult considering you were there by yourself and you had no idea who were all these people. However, you couldn't completely blame your friend for all of this. She was just making sure you had some other activities besides staying at home watching tv or at work... drooling over your boss.

When you moved to National City you had no idea you would actually land that job at L-Corp and you of course weren't aware Lena Luthor could be that awesome in person. You were collaborating in one of the many projects the company had but she was always involved in every single one of them, making sure the team had everything you needed to continue with the research and talking to the heads of the projects at least once a month.

You didn't even talk to each other and there was no real need for that since you were just a lab technician but it was ridiculous the way it made you feel when she was in the same room. It was obvious she was as beautiful as she was smart and that was enough to make your brain collapse. Having a crush on Lena Luthor had been unexpected, just like hearing her voice beside you.

You turned your face and turned it again so quickly it could have given you whiplash, with just a quick glance you were sure Lena Luthor was attending the same party as you. She had walked to the bar along with someone else, and you stood there waiting for your own glass of wine, tapping your fingers impatiently on the marble table of the bar, and panicking over someone the presence of someone you hand't actually meet. Your whole body as you kept waiting for you wine and even if it wasn't your conscious intention your ears only registered her voice.

Her conversation didn't seem enjoyable at all. The man who accompanied her was trying to have some kind of conversation that Lena wasn't even trying to follow, if anything she sounded annoyed, responding with only a yes or no or a nod, as he raised his voice making sure she was listening to whatever he was saying. It was clear she wasn't interested. The man wasn't getting the hint, and you wanted nothing but to take her away from that uncomfortable situation.

Then, you weren't sure if you were going to regret it or not, you didn't know if it was the alcohol already running on your system or the advantage of anonymity the mask on your face gave you but, you did something.

As soon as the bartender put your glass of wine in front of you, you turned around to face them both.

"Hey, I knew I recognized that voice." You said taking the glass on your hand. "How did you find me? I went into the crowd twice thinking I had lost you! Here, I got your wine."

They both turned in your direction, and you could see the confusion through the holes in their masks. She only needed one second to figure what you were doing, and she wondered if she had really sounded as tired of the conversation she was having for someone to come and save her.

"Hey, yes, sorry." You handed her your glass and she took it from you automatically.

"Don't worry, I see you're making new friends." You pulled your best smile. "Who is this?"

"This is..." Lena looked at the guy next to her but couldn't remember his actual name.

"Just a guy she just met." He said with a cocky smile, trying to appear charming.

"Well, nice to meet you." You turned to face her. "Now, if I recall correctly, the next dance is mine. So, shall we dance, madame?"

"Of course." She said and took the hand you offered with a little bow.

"See you around, guy she just met." You waved behind him as you and Lena walked hand in hand to the center of the room, away from him. Your heart was hammering inside your chest and you prayed the hand that was holding hers wasn't as sweaty as you thought it was.

She let you drag her to one corner of the room and when you realized you had walked around for a good minute you stopped and turned to face her once more.

"Please, tell me I didn't actually ruin a potential date for you." You asked.

"No, not at all. His conversation wasn't that compelling to start with."

"So I heard." You thought about your words and felt your cheeks turn red. "Not that I was spying but he was really loud."

"Don't worry. In fact, I think I own you one... and a glass of wine too." She raised the glass to show it half empty. "Sorry."

You smiled at her and responded with more confidence than you knew you were capable of. "Maybe you can repay me with that dance. I also promise to make for an interesting chat."

"Deal." She chuckled, a sound so precious it threatened to melt your heart.

She had let you take her hand, guiding her once more among the crowd, and you found yourselves in the middle of the dance floor, with the thousand lights illuminating it and the music loud enough to fill the whole room. Then a dance soon turned into two and then three and so on, until you both tried a funky waltz none of you were sure how to dance.

"I think," she said after all your dances with a little panting, "it's time for a drink. Would you like to join me?"

"I would be delighted." You said and felt her hand on yours, leading you to the bar.

She was glad you accepted another glass of wine and she was even happier that you had kept your promise of an interesting conversation. Sitting at the bar, you talked and talked about nothing and everything. About the things you loved and hated, what you wanted, what you hoped, the crazy things you did or never did in your youth and the things that were yet to come.

Maybe it was the way you moved around or the way you spoke to her, like you had already met sometime, somewhere, but Lena imagined this connection she had started to feel with you had to do with the masks you were wearing. No introductions were needed. There was no need for a name, especially not a name like hers which people used to run from.

You were just part of the people, that big mass of singular personalities, drinking, twirling, chatting, laughing, without a care in the world, and if Lena ever believed in love at first sight she was sure this could very much be it.

You felt as if you were in a modern fairy tale and made a mental note to thank your friend for dragging you there. Never in a thousand lives you had imagined you would end up sharing the night with Lena Luthor and, even when you felt your heart could cause an earthquake, you thanked whatever god was out there for not making a fool of yourself.

However, every night and every tale has to come to and end and you had to remind yourself of that has your phone started to ring. Your friend's name was announced on the screen along with a message. You had to leave the party right away, she would do the explaining later.

"Something wrong?" Lena asked seeing a hint of worry in your eyes.

"I hope not." You cursed under your breath and put your phone back in its pocket. "Sorry, I really wish I didn't to, but I need to go."

You were leaving your seat when she quickly grabbed you by the wrist. You both looked at your hands and, for the first time, Lena noticed the little tattoo that covered the inside of your wrist. For a moment, it was all she saw but then looked at you remembering she had something to say.

"I'm Lena." She said with a small pause, hoping the revelation of her name wouldn't arouse any sign of fear or disgust. "Lena Luthor."

"Enchanted to meet you, Lena." You replied with a little smile. Then, almost on impulse and knowing this could be the only change you would get at it, you closed the distance between you two and kissed her. "I'm the girl you just met."

Just like that you were gone, and a kiss had never been as haunting for Lena as the one you gave her.

The night ended, and Lena went home already thinking on all the algorithms and possibilities she would need to find you again. Not an easy job, since you only left her with the feeling of your lips on hers, the first woman that had dared to kiss her and the image of your wrist tattoo. Even for a genius like her, it would take so much time to track you down with only the memories of that night to keep her going.

You, on the other hand, were still banging your head against the wall. As it turned out, the night of the ballroom party your friend had faced a little bit of trouble when she decided to steal a few boxes of snacks from the kitchen in the hotel. None had actually noticed but she swore she and the dude who convinced her of doing so were being followed and had to run away from the party before anyone could notice. So you had to drive with a coupe of drunk idiots who had stolen nothing but snack boxes already prepared for the guests.

The next morning, when you were safe back on her apartment and she was sober enough to listen to you, you told her everything that had happened.

"Wait, no. No, no, no." She had said. "So, you're telling me you left her there and didn't even give her your name?"

Yes, that's exactly what you had done and that was something she would never let you forget. The chance of a lifetime lost forever. But it was enough, you had thought. One magical night in the presence of Lena Luthor had been everything you never knew you needed. Besides, what could you had done after that? She was a genius entrepreneur, member of the still most influential families in the world and the owner of the company you worked for. At the end of the day, you were just you. So days passed and you continued with your daily routine with that night printing into your mind as a good memory. Although you wondered sometimes, what would have been if you had told her your name.

Those same days passes for Lena but it was slightly different. She kept looking for you but found nothing more than dead ends. There was no guest list where she could look up for your name, no surveillance that could show her your face behind the mask, and no place where she could look for you. You were a beautiful ghost dancing in the ballroom of her memory, threatening to make her crazy of she couldn't find you.

Then one day, against all odds, she found you.

It had been a busy morning in the labs and you had arrived almost late to your shift. You had been awake until late and needed some sleep. Thankfully, one of your coworkers had noticed your tired eyes and was kind enough to cover for you, so you could head to the cafeteria for a coffee to keep you awake.

You were about to pay for it when you heard her voice beside you.

"It is you."

Lena had been headed to one of the labs when she decided maybe the cafeteria could make for a good short cut. Some employees were already seated or ordering some food, some of them even saluted her. She was half way across the cafeteria when she noticed someone asking for a cup of coffee, nothing out of the ordinary, and she would have continued walking were it not for the mark she noticed in her wrist. The sleeve of her lab coat was high enough that she could distinguish that mark as a tattoo. It was just a couple of seconds but it was enough for Lena to recognize it as yours.

She approached you and just when you were paying for your coffee your sleeve rose again, proving she wasn't wrong.

"It is you." She said.

You had frozen for a moment with your cup in hand before you turned to look at your boss, at Lena, in front of you. The same green eyes that looked at you that night were looking at you right there and there was something in them that told you they had waited for this moment.

The chance of a lifetime that you thought had been lost forever was back at you. This was it, the chance to say the one thing you had forgot to say.

"Guess I own you a name." You said slowly, wondering what could happen now that there were no masks between you two.

"Yes, you do." She said with a tone that you didn't believe possible could sound both commanding and tender. She took a look at your ID and smiled. "Well, enchanted to meet you, (Y/N) (Y/L/N)."

#lena luthor #lena luthor imagine #lena luthor imagines #lena luthor x reader #lena x reader #lena luthor x you #lena x you #request #one shot #fem reader #Female reader #fem!reader #cinderella au #modern cinderella au #au #alternative universe #enchanted

[coeurdastronaute]

Essays in Existentialism: Stud 11

Previously on Stud

The month of May was already half over, and the summer was eagerly knocking on the door, searing the sky and drowning the world in perpetual showers and humidity. Not two weeks in the new apartment, and not much unpacking had been finished because an alarming amount of obligations reared their heads, as they are known to do when things must be done. It didn’t help that the city lent itself to the magic of an impending summer, with its warm streets and live music, and daring friends, ready to camp out for an evening on a patio somewhere between work and life. 

“I can’t believe we’re late,” Clarke sighed as she hurried down the block. 

“We’re not that late,” Lexa promised. 

If Lexa knew one thing about her girlfriend, it was that she hated to be late. She had an absolute obsession with being early, in fact, much to the CFO’s chagrin. From a much younger age she found it fundamental to be the last to arrive, not be late, but psychologically she just didn’t want to wait on anything. 

“I hate being late.” 

“But you look beautiful,” she tried, hoping to calm the frazzled nerves of someone who never learned how to be fashionably late. “I mean it. That dress is fantastic. I think we should bail and just go home so I can fully appreciate it. I want everyone to see you in it and I don’t want anyone to look at you ever again.” 

“It’s a terrible first impression for me to make on your friend and business partner.” 

“Employee.” 

“Friend.” 

“Did you hear my suggestion? We can just--”

Lexa moved quickly to keep up. Even in heels, Clarke was a ferociously fast walker when need be, and Lexa was oddly amused. 

“Your stylist sent it over, do you really like it?” Clarke asked, her ears unable to keep up with her pace. 

“I really do. You should use her, not that I don’t love everything you wear, I just mean--”

“Mhm, continue.” 

“She knows what I like and she just occasionally sends over a few things. It’s nice not having to go shopping that often. It’s strictly for convenience.” 

“Do you really like it?” 

“I’ve already suggested going back to ours so I can show you how much,” Lexa reminded her as they came upon the restaurant. “Last chance.” 

Clarke paused only to take a deep breath while the rest of the world passed them on the sidewalk. 

“Do you really think it looks okay?” 

“You look spectacular,” Lexa promised. “Those heels. That dress. This face,” she grinned and cupped Clarke’s cheeks. “I will probably think about you wearing this often if we’re being honest. Mostly at inopportune times.”

She couldn’t help melting despite the feigning feeling of frazzled nerves leaving her body now that they’d arrived. She earned a kiss and felt human again. 

“Can we just stay home this weekend? Please tell me we don’t have anything planned.” 

“I’ll clear the calendar if there’s anything.”

“Perfect,” Clarke nodded, satisfied with her bargaining. “Now introduce me to your work wife.” 

Lexa just rolled her eyes and held the door. 

XXXXXXXXX

“She’s beautiful and smart.” 

“Not jealous are you?” Lexa flopped down on the bed and unbuttoned the top button of her shirt, and then the second. 

Clarke dodged a stack of boxes and moved toward the bathroom. She took off her earrings that were a birthday gift last year, and she carefully placed them in the box on the still empty dresser. From her spot on the bed, Lexa watched her and smiled. 

“Honestly I’m too attracted to her to be jealous.” 

Lexa looked at her girlfriend, eyes piqued with interest at the news. She grinned and let a thought develop. Clarke tugged a ring off of her finger before tugging off her heels and adding them to the pile that needed organized. 

“You know…” 

“No. Not happening,” Clarke cut her off and waved her finger. 

“I wasn’t thinking anything specific.” 

“Good,” she nodded and moved to the bathroom. 

From her side of the bed, Lexa unlatched her watch and tossed it on the nightstand. She should have moved to take off her shoes and get into something more comfortable, but for a moment, she was just comfortable, and so she listened to the Song of the End of the Day, where Clarke ran the water and washed her face, and brushed her teeth and put on the good smelling lotion. In the morning, she had a work out planned, and then she had brainstorming meetings with the team. She was also going to cook dinner because Clarke was going to be at some book reading. And it was going to be a great dinner. 

“I’m far too jealous to share you, you know,” Clarke muttered as she reentered the bedroom. “Unzip me.” 

Lexa did as she was instructed, enjoying the expanse of back that appeared. 

“I’d never share you,” Lexa promised. “I was honestly just kidding.” 

“Good. Then Maggie can still be your friend.” 

“You’ll allow it.” 

“I suppose,” Clarke shrugged, letting her dress fall down as she turned around. “So long as you don’t get roving eyes.” 

Stunned, still, as she always seemed to be, stammering and swallowing hard at the sight, Lexa felt her skin prickle with sharp pangs of heat. A girl she met at a mechanic’s shop now lived with her. And still, Lexa was spellbound. 

“You can’t believe I do when I have this to come home to.” 

She moved, sitting up straighter and leaning toward her girlfriend. Hands moved to lacy hips and pulled her closer. 

“No, I know you. I trust you completely,” Clarke nodded, enjoying the tug. She ran her fingers through Lexa’s hair, rooting her hands in the mane and squeezing to get her attention. A chin dug into her stomach, but she stood firm. “I love you.” 

“Thank goodness for that.” 

Clarke smiled down at the girl in her command. Arms wrapped around her hips. She crawled into the bed and straddled her girlfriend. 

“Just so we’re on the same page,” she explained. “It’s a no to a threesome.” 

“Obviously,” Lexa nodded. 

“I’m glad you have a friend, even if she works for you.” 

“I honestly don’t care about anything else in the world,” Lexa shook her head and shifted her hip to pin Clarke beneath her. “Except making you beg for me--”

“I don’t beg.”

They both knew it was a lie, but Lexa played along, carefully kissing her girlfriend’s neck. 

“Okay, sweetheart. Let’s put it to the test.” 

XXXXXXXXXX

The house was coming together slowly. Lexa realized that it was the most transformative when she left for a few days and came back to a lot of things unpacked and new furniture delivered and awaiting set up. She’d told her girlfriend to take the credit card and that she would come home and put it all together. Pictures were on the wall, pillows were tacked, new sheets were on the bed, her office was almost set up with a new picture of the two of them in the park and a snowglobe from their trip to Glasgow the fall before. 

There was a pile of shoes in the closet, and often, Lexa discovered that her shirts and old sweatshirts migrated from her closet to Clarke’s. They had wedding invitations on the fridge with magnets from every trip, and there were homemade cinnamon buns that really made it hard for Lexa to work out in the morning and feel effective, but Clarke was dead set on fattening her up. The place was coming together and Lexa enjoyed it. 

She wasn’t sure what made her proudly say she would put everything together. Pure hubris and a need to feel like she was contributing. But as she surveyed the boneyard of furniture to be put together, Lexa sighed. 

“I knew you’d be calling,” Alex smiled happily at the many projects waiting. He dropped his tool bag and cracked his fingers. “I haven’t gotten to do anything like this in a while.”

“Remember when we used to spend time together golfing and punching things?”

“You’re growing up, kiddo. Now you have chores. Did you tell Clarke you’d have this done today?” 

“Yeah, I might be too cocky sometimes.” 

“I could have told you that. Where is my favorite daughter-in-law?” he asked, looking around and not hearing a noise. 

“Don’t call her that,” Lexa sighed as she moved toward the spare bedroom. “She has yoga this morning, and then she was just going to head over to some meeting at the university for prospective advanced degree programs for art therapy.” 

“She’s thinking of going back?” her father asked as he followed her down the hall. 

“I don’t know. She was approached by her principal at the end of the year about an option for continued education while she works, and they’d cover it. She just wants to see what it’s about. And I think she was going to meet up with some friends for lunch.” 

“A busy lady.” 

Lexa just nodded and bit her tongue because she didn’t have it in her to explain to her father that they planned on locking the door and not moving or getting dressed all day the following day. 

“For some reason, Clarke thought a wall of shelves would be nice in Raven’s room.” 

“You’re getting a roommate?” 

“No, but Raven has decided this is hers when she visits, and I would rather have a designated landing zone.” 

Alex appraised the wall, knocking a few times here and there while he debated the course of action they would have to take. 

“I’ll call down to the lobby. We’re going to need a ladder.” 

Alexander Woods was exceedingly capable of doing things with his hands, a trait that was fairly prevalent in his daughter, though both would admit that they weren’t ready for the physicality of wall shelves. But there was something nice to doing something with her father, something she hadn’t found time to do in a while. 

Now, the senior Woods actually went to work and did a good portion of decision making for his company. With Aden in high school, it was easier for him to engage, though he did keep the short work day so he would be home by the time hockey practice was done. But between work and Aden, coupled with Lexa figuring out her work situation and getting started, as well as moving with Clarke and setting up a life, the two didn’t see each other as much as they liked. 

The pair got to work, drilling and anchoring and flipping through instructions. They naturally took a union-mandated lunch break and sat on the patio on the beautiful spring day. They inevitably got distracted and chatted longer than thirty minutes they allotted themselves. But Lexa didn’t care at all about the shelf. Almost. She did want it up to impress her girlfriend and roommate. She didn’t notice the time until her father nudged his head and they returned to the scene of the crime and began putting it up again. 

“Clarke’s already planning an official housewarming party, once we get everything done,” Lexa muttered before wiping sweat off of her brow. The squeal of the drill buzzed through the room. “Small, just the regulars.” 

“I thought we did a good job warming the place with wine and take out last week,” Alex smiled and held up the level while he checked a board. 

“I thought so too, but apparently we have to have everyone over at one time.” 

“Just let me know when. Aden’s schedule should be clearing up once school ends next week. Here,” he furrowed, sticking the pencil between his teeth. “Hold this so I can make sure it’s on there straight.” 

Lexa moved toward the shelves and stretched, holding it as best she could while her father focused on making it perfect. But this was her moment, and Lexa knew it, despite not wanting it to arrive. But it was important to say important things. It was important to say important things in a timely manner.

“Elaine was great, right?” Lexa began, hating the way the words tasted. “I had no idea you worked with her so long ago.” 

“I didn’t really remember either. That seems like a different life.” 

“Clarke might have mentioned…” Lexa paused and took a deep breath. “She made a good point rather loudly, that I have been a not supportive-- that I hadn’t thought about--”

“Hold this for me,” Alex motioned toward the bracket as he lined up the drill. 

Lexa held and waited until the noise and general construction stopped before she tried to brave the impossible task at hand. 

“You can date people if you want.” 

He stopped moving and took a step back from the shelves, all attached and completed perfectly, so level they were more perfect than he could have hoped. He listened to his daughter’s words as he looked at them and not at her, as he unscrewed the bit from the drill and fiddled with it while he thought. 

“I think we made some damn fine shelves,” he observed. 

“Yeah,” Lexa nodded. 

“I don’t date because I just plain don’t even know how to think about another woman the same way I think about your mom.” 

“I don’t want to think of you all alone all the time.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“That’s what I said,” Lexa explained, moving her hands around, exasperated by her girlfriend who she knew was right but hated it anyway. “But I think you should consider opening yourself up to… someone.” 

“It’s not that I haven’t thought about it,” he smiled sadly. “I just don’t want to yet.” 

“Okay.” 

“Thank you.” 

“I’m okay not being involved with any of it,” Lexa murmured. “Do whatever, but I don’t… I can’t see it… yet.”

“This is hard, huh?” 

“Super.” 

“Clarke made you have this talk with me, right?” he teased. 

“No. I just realized I’d never told you that I want you to be happy. But she did point out that Elaine was very nice and very into you.” 

“You think?” 

“We both agreed on it.” 

“I’m very proud of you,” Alex finally broke the quiet between them. He squeezed his daughter’s shoulder and swelled slightly at the knowledge that she was capable of saying these words. 

“I think Clarke is my… you know. Like you and mom. She’s my Sarah Miller.” 

“Yeah. She might be.” 

“How do you know for sure that this other person is your person out of the other seven billion on the planet?” 

“You just know.”

“That’s terrible advice,” Lexa complained. “And I gave you genuine and good advice about Elaine, and this is how you repay me? It’s trash.” 

Alex just chuckled and shook his head. 

“I don’t make the rules kid.” 

XXXXXXXXXX

The last day of May was the perfect day. It was warm, and big fluffy clouds slowly meandered across the pale blue sky, while the trees, now in full-bloom, waved in the light breeze that rippled across the lake and washed away the sounds of the city. Summer was on the verge of exploding, searing the city to bits, but for a perfect day, it was temperate and perfect. Perfectly perfect. 

There was a blanket spread out on the lawn amidst the sea of people, and on that blanket, two bodies sat, soaking up the day, surrounded by the remnants of a picnic basket. 

From her spot sprawled out on the blanket, head on Lexa’s stomach, Clarke popped another grape in her mouth before holding her arm up to give one to her girlfriend. Her pillow chewed absently on the fruit, and flipped the page of her book. Hidden beneath the sunglasses her shirt stretched as her skin soaked up the sun, no longer hidden as it always was beneath long sleeves and hidden in an office. 

“Right at this moment, I’m okay with you convincing me to be okay with the very expensive home.” 

Clarke’s head jostled slightly as Lexa chuckled. Not interested in her own book, Clarke played with her girlfriend’s hand, winding their fingers together and adjusting her legs, savoring every minute. 

“But you’re not okay any other time with our home?” 

“Nah,” she sighed. “I’m very happy with our place. I love it so much.” 

“Thank goodness. I don’t want to house hunt again.” 

“Never again.” 

“Everyone’s accepted the invitation to the housewarming party,” Clarke informed her. “We’re going to have to finish getting furniture.” 

“Fine, but my dad’s in Atlanta for the week, so I don’t know if I’m going to be able to put it together on my own.” 

“He did a great job on the shelves.” 

“Excuse me,” Lexa scoffed. “I helped. At least half of the work.” 

“So I’d only get half put together furniture?” 

“More than likely.” 

The sun dipped lower, the sky was turning golden, tinted with the happiness of the city, the overwhelming belief that it was a perfect day was painted across the ozone. Lexa stretched, jostling the girl using her as a pillow before settling back in her rightful spot. 

“Should I invite Maggie to the party?” Lexa wondered. “You invited Anya, right?” 

“Of course you should,” Clarke chided gently. “She’s your friend.” 

“Fine. I can do that.” 

“Do you know what I want?” 

“Do you want to go to the moon?” Lexa grinned as Clarke tilted her head to look at her. 

“I want you to finally embrace having a friend.” 

Lexa groaned and shook her head while Clarke rolled over so she could face her, poking her stomach, teasing as she did. 

“I have more than enough. My cup runneth over,” Lexa assured her, her book falling to the wayside, the page lost forever. “I have you, and you’re quite a handful, Griffin.” 

All she could manage was to shake her head before heaving herself up to kiss the CFO in the grass.

NEXT

[merryfortune]

Lunacy

Written for 100ships Challenge on Dreamwidth

Prompt: 06 Lust

Ship: Eirika/Valter

Fandom: Fire Emblem Sacred Stones

Word Count: 2,941

Rating: M

Warnings: Chose not to use warnings

AN: Big thank you to @seasaltmemories for being my beta :D

Tags: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Forced Relationships, Obsession, Abuse, Murder, Themes of Rape/Non-con

   Every night, without fail, the Goddess of the Moon used to light up the night skies, turning every end of the day into a feat of joy and merriment with just her appearance as she danced through the skies, no chariot of her own, just her and her two glass slippers. The nocturnal hours that she lit were precious and safe, completely and utterly free of the fear of the dark.

   It’s not like that anymore. Sometimes she is able to grace the world with the whole of her dance, other times she is shrouded in darkness. Worst of all are the nights when she’s not there at all.

   Ever since the Goddess of the Moon was forced to wed the God of the Dark, she had been unable to dance like she had in the more innocent days of yore. The gentle, restful night had been transformed due to their union as with his occurrence within the world had caused a new, dreadful fear to become known to the world. Thus cementing the God of the Dark as having a reputation for being the stealer of one of the two most precious lights that resided within the heavens.

   The moon had been taken from her twin, the sun, her elder brother. 

   Ephraim, the older twin, the literal golden boy, was the emissary of the sun. Commanding a golden chariot pulled by golden horses, he lit up the day with his fierce warmth and light, bringing energy to all lit by it. From the people to the animals to the plants. Each and every day, over the course of several hours, Ephraim and his horses would cause the sun to arc over the world. He would leave a blaze in his wake regardless of which season it was but that is what made him and his chariot, the sun, so admirable.

   Meanwhile, at night, Eirika would take to the skies in her brother’s place. She had no chariot, only her two glass slippers but her dance was elegant and illuminating. Her dance would lull children to sleep and her rapier would allow for light to gleam off it, revealing safe paths for weary travellers to follow. Where her brother blazed, she was a dew or a frost. Soft and forgiving, soothing, healing.

   Both the sun and the moon had their fair share of followers and devotees. 

   But Eirika had a devout follower like none other. A man by the name of Valter who had been praying to her since he was a child. It was a childhood interaction between him and the Goddess of the Moon that had caused him to become utterly obsessed with her.

   He recalled that fateful night with brilliant clarity, when the Goddess of the Moon had come down from the heavens and presented himself to her in the flesh and nectar.

   Beaten. Starved. Abused. Just a sampling of what Valter endured as the bastard child of a noblewoman and a rapist. And like many others, the night was the only reprieve from the scrutiny and assault that he faced from the people around him meant to be his family or carers. 

   He escaped outside, into the cool and into the fireflies that lingered near the pond at the rear of the orchard. Far, far away from the house with the little, battered cot that he had to call a bed. He looked up into the sky, through the treetops and the stars, and saw her. The most beautiful woman a child could ever conceive of: he saw the moon and his eyes filled upon that visage and with tears, too.

  He prayed. He begged. He worshipped in the blinding, holy light of the moon with no temple or ritual. Just his brutal feelings and brutalised body. He laid down his body and soul for this and for that, the Goddess of the Moon stepped down from the heavens and appeared before him.

   She caressed this child’s bruised face and cradled him, she ran her fingers through his hair and untangled the knots. Valter wept in her arms and so, Eirika gave him a blessing that he would take to his grave: she kissed his forehead and thus, a seal was placed upon him. The mark of the full moon. So long as he was faithful to her, no harm would befall him all the same as any other beneath Eirika’s moon.

   Then, once Eirika felt that she had consoled this child, she disappeared into his arms. A cavalcade of moonlit glitter, silvery and blue, and returned to her eternal dance in the night sky. Every twirl of her body, every kick of her long legs, every flick of her hand, another movement of the moon made as it had its own arc over the Earth.

   With the blessing of the Moon Goddess protecting him, his parents never raised a hand against him and he realised something. He was not weak anymore. He was not their prey. And so, empowered by the seal upon his forehead, Valter found his hierophilic purpose in life. Looking up at the indigo skies, he watched, entranced by the moonlight, by the goddess herself. Every night, he watched. He prayed. 

   Admiration and prayer gave way to obsession in the mind of young Valter as Eirika never visited him again, no matter how he pleaded and begged for her to reappear before him. And so, hopes and wishes, no matter how suffocated with his twisted affection, gave way to actions. He would do whatever it took for Eirika to notice him once more amongst all her mortal followers. Whatever it takes.

   Eventually, Eirika did notice Valter once more. He became all consuming to her attention, sickening her to her very core.

   He had grown into a man, a man like a wyvern. Tall, bulky, and sneering all the same as that heinous, fanged reptile. His prayers had turned to rallying cries of orchestrated tragedy. Each struck reverberating through the goddess whom he showed his devotion to in frigid cold blood. Until she had to cry out to no one at all as the gods had no higher power they could truly turn to.

   He was slaughtering innocents, those whom he deemed as unworthy followers of her and anyone else who had the misfortune of crossing his path like a black cat.  Every kill, a prayer and as they were prayers, Eirika felt each and everyone of them, even so far flung as into the skies and heavens. Every plunge of his spear against his so-called offerings was felt by Eirika as deep as the pain could possibly go and further still. 

   She felt the eviscerations that he put his victims through, the way he disembowled and revelled in the resulting viscera, how he desecrated what little was left. Every wound, every puncture. Though Eirika did not spill with a single drop of blood, she felt it as though it were a waterfall. The phantom penetrations left her on her knees as she could only grit her white teeth through it at all, screaming, sobbing, body and soul violated with his weapon of choice. His lunatic devotion.

  To the envy of the gods of war and the like, Valter was single handedly causing a disbalance in nature and the aether. All in adoration of Eirika and for it, Eirika would be the one punished by her fellow gods and goddesses. Not even her brother the sun could protect her as Lyon, the emissary of death, made his way to the moon, a tranquil fury at Eirika’s perceived negligence.

   He visited Eirika in the wayside of twilight, before her nightly dance would begin and he found her on her sublime abode, of marble and pure white rock, retching, holding herself as she felt more - dozens - killed in her name. Lyon knelt beside her.

   “Hark, my friend,” he told her, stroking her shoulder, an embodiment of light such as Eirika was not meant for such darkness, “but you must have courage and take to even your own follower to cease his atrocities. My domain is overflowing with souls who were not meant to be cut down by death just yet, it is disruptive, please understand, dear.”

   “I understand, Lyon, I will find a way to cease this madness.” Eirika said, sucking in a breath to sound braver than she was.

   “Excellent.” Lyon agreed and in a smog of shadow and dust, Eirika was left alone.

   She gazed out across the sky and she felt so, so small before the might of humankind and even all the universe. She had never felt that way before. She was a goddess, after all. So, she found herself seeking the counsel of someone whom she could always trust: her twin brother.

   Time was of the essence but Ephraim appeared on her cross path eventually. She hailed out to him and he halted his horses. They whinnied and whined but with Ephraim’s expert command, they stopped and he dismounted from behind the guard of his chariot.

   “Unexpected to see you this soon, sister.” Ephraim greeted her.

   “I need a little of your help.” Eirika confessed, fidgeting. “I have never had a follower kill in my name, let alone slaughter. I have been told to end him but I do not believe myself to be up to the task alone.”

   Ephraim stroked his chin thoughtfully, “I am informed of the situation and believe it is yours and yours alone, little sister.”

   “I have never taken up arms against anyone,” Eirika said, “I am not like you brother. I am not a warrior. I am a lover, not a fighter.”

   “Then perhaps you ought to use that to your advantage. Fight with words, rather than weapons.” Ephraim said then sighed. “With that, I must dismiss you. As you cannot prolong the night, neither can I prolong the day.”

   “I understand, rest well later, Ephraim.” Eirika told him.

   She watched as he and his horses left her. She watched the sparks and embers in his trail, they were beautiful but in the right temperature, could ignite the very crops that he was meant to rear. Eirika wondered if the indulgent blessing she had given away so recklessly a few years ago was the same. Her heart wrenched and sure enough, the killing prayers had begun again and her offerings were in the form of heads cleaved from necks rather than trimmed hollyhocks or similar.

   It brought her to her knees with indecision and powerlessness. Eirika, a goddess, was left snivelling and sobbing in the wake of the murder in her name. She hadn’t a faintest clue how gods of war and death endured or if it felt different to them. 

   Desiring nothing more than to at least end her own suffering, let alone the grief of the loved ones of those who had been killed in her name, Eirika found her courage. She would find her own way to fight against this follower of hers. Eirika took a deep, heaving breath and her gloved fists strengthened. She tried to lift herself up but she was struck once more by the sensation of a piercing lance but she endured the pain as innocents were killed in her name. She vanished from the edge of the world where she had met her brother.

   Reappearing in a scourged field, Eirika stood, uncertain and she gazed out past the fallen, slaughtered bodies. This may have been a village once and it was as though war had razed it but she only saw the silhouette of one man and his lance in his hand. The one man who had caused this tragedy and his weapon of choice.

   Valter twitched. He could sense a cool change in the dusk. His movements were unnatural as he lumbered around, enthralled, that he appeared to be in the presence of someone more than loyalty. Eirika steeled herself. His gaunt face split into a manic grin. A lust for life, a lust for blood, and worst of all: a lust for her, Eirika sensed from it.

   “Eirika, my goddess, you recall me?” he asked as he began to amble forward, tired by his slaughter, using his lance as a cane to hobble with, and yet enthused by Eirika’s reappearance before her.

   In front of her, he laid down his weapon, overjoyed that his prayers had finally been heard, it seemed. He took her hand and smothered her knuckles with kisses. Eirika remained akin to marble, just a statue, glaring yet neutral. Valter’s passion disgusted her but what really made Eirika tremble was the realisation that he still bore her blessing upon his forehead. It shone like a beacon, completely unmarred from the passage of time, unmarred by the splatter of blood, completely unlike the rest of his face.

   “Yes, I remember you, the child that I assisted.” Eirika replied gravely. 

   Valter lifted his head and Eirika saw a jaundice to his eyes, they were wide, “I was worried my prayers were eluding you, I am nothing but devoted to you, my goddess, your attention is all that I desire.” 

   “They have been heard, Valter,” Eirika said, firm, “and they must stop.”

   Her proclamation shocked Valter to stone. He blinked. He behaved as though he could not fathom her words.

   “This killing in my name must stop.” Eirika continued, her voice getting louder now.

   Both of them were distraught but somehow, Valter was more so. He gawked, on the brink of anger. His one-sided love betrayed.

   “I will do anything to bring a stop to your murder.” Eirika told him.

   “Anything?” Valter echoed and disbelief gave way upon his rugged face to something conniving. It made Eirika’s skin crawl. 

   “Yes, anything, so long as it is within the boundaries of my domain.” Eirika replied, sheepish, already regretting her words but she hoped that so long as his request was per her own magic, then she would be true to her own word yet she dreaded Valter’s reply.

   He took a moment to peruse his words and gather what his anything would be but his teeth glinted, “I have my request.”

   “Let’s hear it.” Eirika replied, bravely, keeping her chin up even though she dreaded what was about to come from Valter’s mouth.

   “I want power.” Valter said. “Power of the gods.”

   “I must deny that, I can give you no such thing.” Eirika replied and she tried to step away from Valter but he grabbed her hand.

   Eirika’s heart could have jumped from her chest but instead, it sank. Valter came down to his knee, still holding her hand and Eirika realised what he was asking for her.

   “I could share in your power, as your husband.” Valter said. “Have me as your mortal lover…”

   “But make you a god.” Eirika finished his sentence for him.

   He was perversely delighted, clearly thinking it a good omen of her marriage for her to do that. Eirika swallowed a lump in her chest and her expression remained firm. Brave. She took a breath.

   “For a dowry, you will receive power over the dark, the home of the night sky and moon, but for the engagement, you will relinquish your killing. Those are our vows.” Eirika scowled.

   “As you wish,” Valter replied, his voice a sick caress, “my love.”

   Valter kissed Eirika’s hand once more. Just once. And there was a swell of power. The transfer of part of Eirika’s domain into another. She kept herself strong through it as she felt part of her power diminish and was eaten up by Valter.

   “You are now Valter, God of the Dark.” Eirika christened him and she could feel a shift in the balance of nature and aether but she didn’t think she was going to be scolded for it.

   This shift recontextualised itself and Eirika could feel the new presence of the dark. Not as a time of rest and solace, but as something that could have horrible dangers lurking in. An old fear, from before her time and birth as a goddess, revived and revitalised because of the birth of the new god before her, at her feet.

   “Come, Valter, we must make haste. The night must begin, it must go on.” Eirika told him, hurried him.

   Valter slowly got up and smiled eerily, “With pleasure.” he replied.

   Though she wanted to be let go, Eirika instead took Valter’s hand. To turn the moon, to blanket the world in darkness and sleep, soothed by the gentle light of the moon… unfortunately he now had a place in this as a newlywed dance, no matter how unnerving.

   Valter was sharply keen to assist. His hand was large against Eirika’s and despite being defined by her dualism with her brother, she had never danced with a partner before. His hands were stony and so were his movements, he was a warrior, not a dancer, Eirika quickly realised. 

   He trod on her toes, cracking the glass slippers her feet were adorned with but he was an eager partner, if anything else. Eager but inadequate, he took charge. They danced but it was not the dance that Eirika, or the world, had once known so effortlessly, so innately. As such, the moon was partially enshrouded in a shadow that had never been there before.

   Thus, for the first time in all the history so far of creation, earthly and heavenly, the moon began to wane. A shade of darkness, her possessive husband, hid the moon’s face as she tried to dance as usual, beginning a new lunar cycle the world had not seen before but would come to know ever after.

#100ships challenge #writing tag #eirival #otp: both sides of the moon #fire emblem sacred stones #fire emblem #sacred stones #eirika x valter #valter x eirika #valter fire emblem #eirika fire emblem #gore cw #rape cw

[moon-stars01]

Carnations

Woozi x Reader

Author-SBK

Summary:y/n knows it’s deadly from the way it burst inside her,But she doesn’t care not anymore.

Pairing:Woozi(Svt) x Reader

Gene:Baseball au,unrequited love,Angst,bad ending,hanahaki Disease

Rating:Teen Audience

Word Count:1536

-Carnations-

She can feel the tears, like their swelling just behind her eyes unwilling to spill over like a dam filled with way too much water. She doesn't want to admit that though, never in a hundred words - and well, if she ever tried to explain how she felt, it'd probably just fall short. No, maybe short is the wrong word, it would be more like her feelings skydiving, twisting through the air at over 800km/h, a mad descent into the earthy, rocky ground below.

Like falling without a parachute.

But maybe it would be made worth it, because for just a second, you got to imagine the whole world in your palm, got to feel the wind whisking through your hair, as if pushing you away from your very death - it would be worth it because just for a second, just for a second, the earth would seem so tiny, incomprehensibly small.

She imagines, perhaps, this is what dying without actually dying, feels like. It's the twisting in the pits of your stomach, tossing and turning in your bed sheets at night, staring at the ceiling and wondering - just wondering. What did I do wrong?

Maybe there really isn't a simple answer for that though, no - there could never be a simple answer. It's a bitter swelling within the confines of her chest, one that makes it feel like something is about to burst from him - like striped carnations from her ribs, stretching and poking, ripping and prodding -

Conceivably, this might just be what the harsh reactor of reality might feel like, the way it comes crashing down around you - and you can't stop it. You can't do anything, but witness from afar as it cascades around you like a leaf trapped at the bottom of a children's swimming pool, harmless in appearance, but deadly in occurrence.

L/n y/n  feels like she's, by definition, drowning.

It's spring, the time for flowers and life to rear their ugly heads from muddy, green earthy grounds - begging for attention, demanding for rain - demanding and demanding and demanding - and y/n, she doesn't remember flowers hurting this badly. Doesn't remember feeling like her bones were cracking under immense weight, doesn't remember the way she feels like she's going blind - like she's losing sight of yellow mitts - but she is. She's losing sight, slowly but surely, as striped carnations in all their glory stretch from eye sockets, over taking her vision like cloudy reminders -

You were never enough.

They whisper menacingly in her ear at night, force their way into her dreams, picking and plucking and ripping - removing all resemblance of what was known as the harsh word: love. There was no room for that here, in a land of rowdy driven teenagers - she knows that, she tries to know that, she tries to remind himself when she can see, the baseball resting comfortably - familiarly in her palm.

But love? That doesn't grow here.

What does is the bitter taste of regrets that linger on your tongue like acidic candy to teeth, sticking, and melting away any defense you might've had. It's like worms digging their ways through ripe, rounded apples - consuming, eating it - but not all the way, just in a way that leaves a long, hollow tunnel - winding and twisting.

It's like trying to guide that tunnel without sight, it's like being unable to see any hope at the end - no, chasing things here, things that aren't related to hitting home runs and achieving number ones - well, it just doesn't happen.

It. Just. Doesn't. Happen.

So when Y/n rips stems from her eyes, bloodied petals that were once obscuring her vision now laid out in marble, white sinks, she knows. She knows.

Oh God, does she know.

Striped carnations, in their own, fluttery existence mean something y/n wishes they never meant.

Stripes mean a regret for love that cannot be shared.

The flowers are more like a gentle reminder, than anything. They are from Lee Jihoon, and the catcher has no idea he even sent them. It's like a soft whisper into the harsh night, as if he's replying without ever really hearing y/n.

They say, bitterly:

"I want to be with you, I'd love to be with you, but I can't."

She knows this as the sudden yellow, bold yellow, carnations grow from her ribs, pushing against her skin until they sprout through her flesh - dripping a violent red shade with them, when paired with a bold, solid color, striped carnations mean so much more.

It's a regret for saying no.

But regrets don't stop the spread of vegetation, and how do they even survive - these flowers. With no water, no sunlight, they protrude through the darkest veins and darkest caverns of the human body, fragile, unable to stop their spreading - like an infectious disease, it keeps going and going, running its course - and Y/n is at the mercy of flora, beautiful colors, sickeningly sweet smells.

Sickeningly sweet ideals.

Now bitter, against the remaining taste buds in the sunlight's harsh gaze.

If the catcher, the one y/n  has chased so diligently, wondering when the next time she'd be able to pitch to the other would be, had just said no - just a flat out no, simple within its existence, she could've trudged on.

Could've understood, maybe.

But a no with regrets, was like sex with strings attached, it pulls at you like a puppet, forcing you to remember all those times - all those moments you got a little too close with someone, let lips linger a little too long, let eyes stare a little too much.

It's all those times you were a little too exceedingly in love, it's all those times you cared a little too abundantly.

It's all those times you cried into your pillow at night.

Maybe the flowers were capable of growing from salty, wet tears.

It's all those times you said to yourself, in the dark to no one else, no louder than the tiniest squeak of a mouse:

I just want him to look at me back.

Just for a little while.

It's all those times you admitted those feelings to yourself.

That's why, that's why with long stems, striped carnations stretch from her eyes like extra limbs, yellow carnations erupt from her chest like she's being impaled - and she is, really, in the heart. Over and over, and over again. Like once wasn't enough, maybe this is how Julius Caesar felt.

Julius was only stabbed twenty three times, though.

Y/n has been stabbed over a hundred, she's sure, and counting. Although this isn't something you'd brag about, isn't something you'd write home about, isn't something you'd enjoy enough to care about.

Y/n knows, silently in the back of her mind as she takes sharp shears, sawing away at overly thick stems that are inching from her eyes like dark omens, like the literal festation of regrets:

It would all go away if he'd just look at me, just want me back.

But if Lee Jihoon wanted her back, then l/n y/n  wouldn't be growing a personal garden within the careful little innerworkings and cogs of her body.

If Lee Jihoon shared feelings, the flowers wouldn't be striped, wouldn't be mixed in with bold ones too.

See, Jihoon is saying, in his own way:

You're great, really, I want to love you, I do, but I only love baseball.

Jihoon has only one love, and that's for catching baseballs on a baseball field, behind a batter's box, in a catcher's zone, crouched in front of the umpire like a jester before an emperor.

Obsessions, how they blossom within you before you even realize it, and Seokmin is shaking at y/n shoulders - pleading with the flowers to stop growing, an entire dorm room - number 5 painted on the door - is overflowing with posy - another word for flowers.

There's a lot of words for a lot of things, really, but nothing quite feels like this.

Seokmin is sobbing now, tears dripping onto carnations, carnations that already looked to have been soaked in blood from the tips - just naturally, now with the added, dark red - near brown, that seeps into the pedals, turning them into a different shade altogether -

It's fitting, really, how y/n's blood changes them to a swirling, calamitous red hue.

A color that denotes deep love for someone, and y/n really did, have a deep love for someone.

She loved someone so much, with every fiber of her being, she died for it.

Jihoon coughs out pink and light red carnations the next day, they, in their silent yet deadly approach, spread from his lungs and out his mouth, they mean:

Admiration, and missing someone unforgettable.

You could give everything to someone,

And it still wouldn't be enough.

#seventeen #kpop #seventeen fanfic #stories #woozi x reader #woozi scenarios #woozi fanfic #woozi fluff #lee jihoon #woozi angst #woozi au #woozi svt #jihoon #jihoon drabbles #woozi drabbles #jihoon scenarios #woozi x you #jihoon x reader #Jihoon x you

[kutemouse]

Caught (Prologue)

Disclaimers: All “Save Me” webtoon and BTS MV/highlight reel/film references and plots belong to BTS and BigHit. Not sure who edited it or made it, but the “I’m Fine/Save Me” ambigram pic I used came from here. All pictures of Kim Taehyung belong to BTS and BigHit, I just edited them for my header. The picture of BTS came from Vogue Japan, I just edited it for my header. I got the Kim Taehyung Wings Film Gif from DannyBriz on Wattpad.

A Note from Kutemouse: Awwww, thank you for reading my stuff, @chocolatewolfuniversitytrash!

So, this sweet little mini series is inspired by several things… The movie 365 DNI, the Save Me webtoon, the BTS MV universe, and ideas I’ve come up with waaaaaay too late at night 😂 Honestly, I’m OBSESSED with the whole MV/highlight reel/wings films arc that started with The Most Beautiful Moment in Life Pt. 1, and I’ve ALWAYS wanted to write a story inspired by it. So, kutie pie @chocolatewolfuniversitytrash, thank you for allowing this dream to come to light.

About the non-con request, I was all like, “EEEERRRRRRMMMMMMMM idk,” because I’ve never written non-con and therefore don’t… know… if I’m comfortable with it…? I will attempt to do my best. Either way, I hope you like what has come out of my brain 😅

Also, thank you to @btssmutheaven for revealing my drafts (NOT REALLY, ILY) to @taemaknae for reading my shit and loving it, and to @kpopyandere for being the best unnie account and helping me realize I can write all the yandere ideas I want.

Age Recommendation: 21+ (this is NOT one for youngsters, kuties, and is MOST DEFINITELY NSFW)

Genre: Mafia!AU w/ BTS, Jailbird!AU w/ Taehyung, Yandere!BTS

Warnings: ALL THE WARNINGS. Just kidding, uh… Swears. There are minors in this section but they do NOT do anything sexual. I ain’t about that kinda life, y’all. F*ckboy Taehyung. Fluffy friendship. Angsty jealousy. Mentions of drug use and alcohol consumption (NOT by minors tho). Yandere themes including unhealthy obsession and possessiveness. Making out. No smut in this part, but it’s heavy af.

🚨TRIGGER WARNING. DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE ISSUES WITH THE FOLLOWING.🚨

Mentions of abusive relationships, mentions of a parent abusing their child, mentions of sexual abuse, mentions of schoolyard bullying, mentions of a violent murder.

These are not fleshed out or detailed scenarios. When I say “mention,” I mean briefly discussed after it happened, not during, and definitely not in any detail whatsoever. You DO NOT have to read my work. You decide what you are comfortable with. All I want is for you kuties to be happy.

Word Count: 6.1k (WTF is this even allowed?!)

Summary: Kim Taehyung was the absolute love of your life… until he became a murderer. With him serving a life sentence in prison, you were finally free to live out the rest of your life however you wanted. Just when you thought you were at the top of your game, ready to take on the world, Taehyung reappears like a monster not even your worst nightmares could dream up. He gives you a year to fall in love with him, but now the question is, can monsters even be loved?

Master List

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

Caught (Taehyung Series, Yandere, Smut, Angst) Prologue

I remember the first time I saw Kim Taehyung. We were both fifteen, just starting out in high school. Back then, I remember the way he lazily leaned against a locker with his arms crossed, seemingly waiting for someone. His hair was bleached a ridiculous bright blonde on the top and left brunette everywhere else. He had on dramatic, black eyeliner that served to accentuate his inky eyes, and he wore a studded leather jacket with his shirt and tie rather than the traditional uniform. Intrigued, I opened my locker and picked out my books for my next class, watching him out of the corner of my eye.

I saw him zero in on his target and take brisk, wide strides towards her as she twirled the combo to her locker. She looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes as he caged her in by leaning down to whisper something in her ear. Suddenly, the hallway was filled with flirtatious giggles and I turned away, rolling my eyes. So he was one of those assholes.

I watched him do this with every single girl in our class. I swear, he had his routine down to a science. Chat her up, openly flirt, flirt some more until she caved in to whatever he desired, then drop her like a hot frying pan. It took a couple months for his interest to finally land on me.

“Hey.”

I didn’t bother to look up as I twirled the combination to my locker and popped it open.

“Hey,” he said louder.

I flicked a glance his way. “Do you need something?”

His eyes narrowed. “Do I look like I need anything?”

I huffed out a sigh. “What do you want, Kim Taehyung?”

He let out a snort, leaning against the locker next to mine the same way he’d done a thousand times with a thousand other girls. “So you know my name, but I don’t know yours. You’re new, right?”

“I transferred in at the beginning of the year,” I said impatiently. “And we’re in the same class, so you should know who I am.”

Taehyung’s lips curled up into a playful smirk. “Really? No, that can’t be right. I definitely would’ve remembered you.”

I rolled my eyes and slammed my locker shut, walking quickly away. Taehyung jogged to keep up. “Just tell me your name,” he insisted.

“Why?”

“C’mon, I’m just trying to make friends.”

I whirled around, stopping both of us in our tracks. “Friends? Is that what you’ve been doing with every other girl here? Just making friends?”

Taehyung smirked once more and took a step towards me. I don’t know why, but I took a step back. I should’ve held my ground, should’ve told him to fuck off right then and there. Instead, I let him back me up against the wall and entrap me within his darkened gaze, the same way he would for the next three years of our lives.

He leaned down to whisper in my ear, his breath tickling the skin of my cheek. “We can be more than friends… but first, you have to tell me your name.”

I shoved him off me and practically sprinted down the hall, cheeks aflame with embarrassment. My peers and classmates who saw the exchange teased me for weeks afterward, no matter how much I kept my head down and avoided Taehyung like my life depended on it. It wasn’t until I heard him telling off some of the more tenacious gossipers I decided to give him another chance.

I tapped him on his shoulder as he stood in front of his locker. His eyes widened when he turned to see me standing there. “I’m L/n Y/n,” I said meekly. “And I wanted to thank you for what you said to those people.”

“You heard that?” he asked, the skin of his neck flushing pink.

I nodded.

“You’re welcome,” he said, tossing me a boxy grin.

That day, a seed was planted that eventually grew into a steady, beautiful friendship. A year later, I had come out of my shell quite a bit thanks to Taehyung, and I had a solid group of mates that I adored and relied on. Tae was my best friend, and I was his. Of course, we still got teased quite a bit about being a couple, but I figured we were both long past that.

Taehyung matured alongside our friendship. He stopped wearing thick eyeliner and sporting ridiculous hair colors, instead opting for a softer, more natural look with caramel brown locks and the unblemished glow of his slightly-tan skin. Gone were his dramatic, attention-seeking ways. His voice also deepened, dropping almost an entire octave. Yet despite all of his changes, he still stayed an absolute fuck-boy, shagging a new girl every other week. I came to realize it was all part of his personality, though, and I loved him no matter what.

The summer before our senior year was when I realized that love ran way deeper than friendship. We were at my best girlfriend Chaeyoung’s house when Taehyung stumbled in with yet another girl, his hair freshly dyed a bright cerulean blue. “Hey everyone!” he called out, slinging his arm around the girl’s shoulders. My smile faded as I looked over and noticed she was beyond gorgeous, with waist-length black locks that seemed to flow down the perfect curve of her back. I shuddered as a green monster reared its ugly head deep within me.

Taehyung was with that girl for a few months, which by his standards, was practically a lifetime. The entire time they were together, I felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff about to swan-dive into devastating heartbreak. Each time I saw him kiss her, each time I saw him smile at her, each time I saw him lean over and whisper something in her ear, a piece of my soul shriveled up and died. I did my best to put my feelings aside, knowing I already had my chance and he would probably never look at me that way again. Even after they broke up, I kept my love for him tamped down and tucked away deep in the recesses of my heart, scared of ruining our friendship.

His break-up only served to draw us closer together, and slowly, without me realizing it, our friendship began to bloom into something more. Taehyung and I started to tell each other everything, including the messed-up secrets our home lives made us keep. One day, we were sitting in an empty classroom after school. I was trying to study, but kept getting distracted by Tae staring longingly out the window. “What’re you looking at?” I finally asked, putting my pencil down.

“Nothing,” he said simply. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“About when we’ll finally get out of here.”

I smiled, my heart thumping a little faster. “We?”

He turned and tossed me his signature boxy grin. “Yeah. We. We’ll make it out of here someday, Y/n. I’ll get away from my bastard of a dad, you’ll get away from your selfish mother, and we’ll have a house in the country with big, open fields and plenty of space to finally fucking breathe.”

I smiled and stored those words away, using them to comfort myself whenever my mother and her asshole of a boyfriend wouldn’t stop yelling at each other, or worse, when they’d pass out on the couch, too drunk or high to stay coherent.

One night around three in the morning, my phone began to buzz and didn’t stop until I finally popped an eye open, fumbled around for it in the dark, and pressed it to my ear. “Hello?” I mumbled.

“H-Hey.”

I sat up. “Taehyung?”

“Y/n, I n-need your help,” he said shakily. It sounded like he was… crying?

I immediately got out of bed and pulled some jeans on. “Tae, it’s okay,” I said soothingly, trying to hide the panic I was feeling. I knew Taehyung’s home life was extremely hard. In fact, most of our home lives were terrible. The only two in our friend group who even came close to “privileged” were Chaeyoung and Jin, and that was because their parents had more money, not less problems.

I myself had plenty of issues. The reason my mother and I moved here when I was fifteen was to escape her abusive boyfriend, and even then, we still lived in constant fear of him finding us again. I guess that fear drove her into the arms of the first strong-looking man who looked twice at her, because her new boyfriend, Manseok, seemed to fit the same abusive pattern. At least he didn’t hit her when he was sober.

I wasn’t exactly sure how terrible Taehyung’s life was until the night he called me. At his request, I stole a few bills from my mom’s purse as well as her ID and put us up in a cheap motel room for the night. Jumping up when I finally heard his knock, I quickly pulled the door open to reveal Taehyung, his blue hair stringy from the rain outside. He was panting like he ran all the way there. I covered my mouth with my hands as the dim lighting revealed his left eye swollen shut, covered in nasty shades of scarlet and purple. His lip was split and bleeding, and his right cheek had another bruise and cut creeping down to his jawbone. The worst part, though, were the red finger-shaped marks that covered his neck.

“Y/n,” he croaked out. I held open my arms and he fell into them, not leaving their safety until well into the morning. I iced his black eye and bruises as much as I could, and bandaged the cuts that covered his face. Taehyung’s face was pressed into my chest, his breathing deep and even as he finally slept.

I decided then and there I’d never let him go.

Thankfully, Taehyung felt the same way. Within a week, he brushed off every other girl he was chatting up and focused all of his attention on me. We spent hours with each other after school, either in person or on the phone, and it became a common occurrence for him to intertwine his fingers with mine or peck me sweetly on the cheek.

I quickly grew dissatisfied, sick of the friendship barrier preventing us from taking things further. We spent an entire day together one weekend, talking, laughing, walking the streets, and trying different foods from vendor carts. As the sun started to go down, Taehyung wrapped his arms around me from behind, pressing his chest into my back. He was teasing me, I forget about what, and he leaned down to kiss my cheek when I turned at the last second and let him peck my lips instead. I laughed as his dark eyes grew wide with shock.

That was all it took, though. One kiss, and he was mine. Or rather, I was his. Afterwards, he pulled me into a deserted alleyway and we kissed until the sun completely disappeared. As the stars appeared in the sky above, Taehyung asked me to be his girlfriend, murmuring in my ear about how much he loved me and how he had never stopped loving me, even after I turned him down. With my heart practically bursting, I readily agreed.

Back then, Taehyung had a knack for getting in trouble, and me being his new girlfriend did nothing to hinder that side of him. He was definitely the “bad boy” of our school, constantly rebelling against the system by swapping his uniform for street clothes and ditching classes. His favorite form of rebellion, however, was street graffiti. He loved spray-painting words and drawings all over the walls of our neighborhood alongside his best friend, Namjoon. Tae was nearly caught by the cops a couple of times, but thanks to his quick instincts, he managed to give them the slip.

Still, a boy with bright, blue hair was bound to stand out, so after a couple nights of close calls, Taehyung finally dyed his hair back to that soft, caramel brown that I loved running my fingers through. We sat together at a bus stop, watching cars and people go by with fingers intertwined, when Tae stood and pulled a paint can out of his jacket pocket.

“Again?” I asked. Despite my teasing tone, I smiled up at him.

Taehyung tucked his bottom lip between his teeth with a grin as he sprayed something onto the panel beside us. “Look,” he said once he was finished, tilting his head to admire his work.

I stood up to see the words “I’m fine” sprayed in green. The font was the most interesting part, though, too curly in comparison to Taehyung’s usual writing. “Now look at it from upside-down,” Tae said.

I threw him a skeptical look before obediently curving my neck and scoping out the piece of art as best I could. “Save me,” I read out loud.

Taehyung nodded. “It’s for us,” he murmured.

I looked up at him, emotions surging through me like a waterfall surging down a cliff. “It’s beautiful,” I said, my voice cracking.

Taehyung looked at me, concern filling his features. “Baby girl, what’s wrong?”

“I-I have s-something to tell you,” I stammered.

With many tears and a shaky voice, I began to explain to Taehyung the events that had transpired only a few nights before. How my mom’s boyfriend had quietly snuck into my room while she remained passed out on the couch. How he had told me to be quiet as his hand started stroking my arm. How he had held his hand over my mouth and yelped when I bit him. How I had screamed so loud our neighbors called the cops. How he was carted away by the police with my mother shrieking the entire time about how I was a brat and a dramatic liar.

Taehyung’s gaze grew darker with each word. “That bastard,” he spat, clenching his fists. “I will end that motherfucker.”

“Taehyung, stop,” I sighed. “It’s over. For now, at least. I’ll stay at Chaeyoung’s until graduation.”

“What do you mean? He’s not going to jail?”

I hung my head. “My mom left to pay his bail an hour ago.”

Taehyung slammed his fist into the same panel he just graffitied. “So that jerk is going to walk free?!”

I stood up and ran my hands soothingly over his shoulders. “For now. I’m going to press charges, but in the end, it’s my word against his. Who knows how the system will treat him.”

Taehyung let out a feral growl, turning away from me. “I’m sick of this shit,” he snapped. “My dad, your mom’s boyfriend… neither of them should be walking free after everything they’ve done.”

Not knowing what else to do, I hugged him tightly from behind. “Just another few months,” I said quietly. “And then we’ll be out of here. A house in the country, just like you said.”

“That’s not good enough,” Tae snapped, turning back towards me. My mouth parted in surprise as I looked into his eyes and saw something there I’d never seen before. It was like a slow-burning flame, one that hadn’t yet risen into a raging wildfire, but threatened to if it wasn’t quickly put out.

Taehyung suddenly grabbed my hand and tugged me down the street. “I’m dropping you off at Chae’s,” he said. “And then I want you to stay there for the next twenty-four hours. I don’t want you going out for any reason, you understand me?”

“Taehyung, what are you saying? You’re scaring me.”

He stopped walking, turning so we were facing each other once more. The flame I saw earlier began blazing, turning rapidly into something uncontrollable and destructive I didn’t know how to stop. “This ends tonight,” he growled.

True to his word, he dropped me off at Chaeyoung’s, not leaving until he made me promise I wouldn’t go out until he said so. After a week, with Tae’s permission, I went home to get some clothes and personal items only to find my mom sitting on the couch, strung out of her mind. “Is he here?” I asked tentatively.

She raised her red-rimmed eyes to meet mine. “Who?”

“Manseok. Your jerk of a boyfriend.”

My mom shrugged and scoffed. “Haven’t seen that bastard for a couple days now,” she said, her words slurring together. “He upped and left us. Stole some money from me to do it, too.”

The feeling of relief that I felt was short-lived once I remembered that asshole would probably be back for more, just like the others. I quickly gathered my things and left, stopping only to make sure my mom had enough food for the next few days.

Ever since that night, Taehyung withdrew into himself. He still held my hand and kissed me, but it was distant, emotionless, like he didn’t know how to feel his feelings for me anymore. He weirdly became somewhat possessive of me, keeping me practically glued to his side whenever he was with me, and constantly texting me when we weren’t together. Whenever other boys looked my way, Taehyung shot them down with harsh words and incessant bullying our friends joined in on. I insisted they stop that kind of behavior, and for a while, I thought Tae and his friends complied. It wasn’t until much later in life when I realized they never truly stopped. They just got better at hiding it.

One night, I was at Namjoon’s place waiting for Tae when Joon’s phone rang. “Taehyung?” he said, turning away from me when I looked up. “Hey, calm down. You did what?!”

He stood up quickly. I motioned for him to put it on speaker, but he waved me off. “Okay, stop. I’m coming over right now. Just stay put, dammit.”

Joon grabbed his jacket and rushed towards the door. “Wait!” I cried. “What happened?!”

“Nothing that concerns you,” he snapped. “Stay here. I’ll bring Taehyung to you, alright?”

Neither of them came back. Before the sun even thought of rising, I determinedly ran all the way to Taehyung’s apartment, desperate to see him and make sure he was alright. As my sneakers pounded against the pavement and my breath started coming out in ragged gasps, I suddenly felt a hand grasp my forearm and yank me into a side alley.

“What are you doing here?” a voice growled as I yelped in surprise. I looked up to see Jungkook standing there, glaring at me.

“I want to see Taehyung,” I retorted, ripping my arm from his grasp.

He crossed his arms. “Not gonna happen.”

“Like hell it’s not!” I snapped. “Where is he?”

Jungkook grabbed the front of my jacket, preventing me from pushing past him. “Go home, Y/n.”

“Absolutely the fuck not!”

Sick of my shit, Jungkook picked me up, threw me over his broad shoulder, and carried me out of the alleyway. I kicked and screamed the entire way. He set me down once we were on the main street. “Taehyung will call you when he can,” he said firmly. “I won’t say it again, Y/n. Go home.”

“No!” Tears welled up, and I furiously swiped them away. “I’m his girlfriend! Tell me where he is right now or I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Jungkook snapped. “Y/n, you don’t even know where he is. Fucking leave, or I’ll carry you all the way back to Chae’s myself.”

It didn’t take much longer for me to realize Jungkook wouldn’t relent. Eventually, I went back to Chaeyoung’s and spent the day staring at the wall beside my bed. What did Taehyung do? What were his friends protecting him from? When had things gotten so fucked up?

My questions were never answered. After a full week of silence, complete with him missing school, Taehyung showed up at Chae’s place asking for me. “She doesn’t want to see you,” Chae snapped, closing the door as I meandered into the entry hall.

Taehyung stopped her by slamming his palm against the wood. “Please, Chae,” he begged.

Recognizing his deep tenor, I walked up and put my hand on my bestie’s shoulder. “I’ve got this, Chae,” I murmured. She left with a huff.

Taehyung looked terrible. Dark circles ran under both eyes like he’d spent multiple nights without sleep, his hair was unkempt, and his skin was much too pale. Without another word, I immediately took him inside and dragged him up to my room. He took a shower in my en suite bathroom while I washed his clothes. After he dressed, we sat on my bed, still not speaking. “What happened?” I finally asked.

He tossed me a weak smile. “Life happened.”

I shook my head in disgust. “You leave me for an entire week with no explanation, and that’s all you have to say?”

“Baby girl, please,” Taehyung said, clasping my hands in between his large, rough ones. “I’m sorry I left you alone. I asked the guys to keep an eye on you, and they said you’ve been doing fine.”

“Fine is an overstatement,” I snorted, tearing my hands from his grasp.

He didn’t relent, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me into his broad chest. “Let go,” I ordered, trying and failing to push him away.

“No,” he said simply, tightening his hold. “I love you, Y/n. Everything that happened this past week happened for us. For our dream.”

I managed to pull back enough to look up into his eyes. The spark of mischief that normally resided there was gone, replaced by a dull sombreness that made me ache inside. Whatever had happened that week completely changed Taehyung for good. He was no longer quick to smile or joke, and I began to yearn for the blue-haired boy of the past. I couldn’t tell him that, though. Despite everything, I still loved him.

A month passed, and as our graduation approached, Taehyung talked more and more about moving out to the country. I responded enthusiastically outwardly, but on the inside, I didn’t know if moving out was such a good idea. It wasn’t just the way he had changed. It was having issues with my mom as well. Since Manseok never came back around, her behavior grew more erratic each day. I moved back in to take care of her, and she depended heavily on me. I was afraid if I left, she would fall off the deep end again and never be able to make it back to the surface.

The last day I saw Taehyung dawned bright and filled with hope. “I’m feeling good today,” he announced, slinging an arm around my shoulders as we walked to class.

I smiled up at him, glee spreading through my limbs when I saw a trace of that mischievous spark back in his eyes. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” He tossed me a grin. “I haven’t been able to go out and tag anything lately… but I kind of want to tonight. You in?”

“Of course.”

As night approached, we walked hand-in-hand down the street until Taehyung led us back to that bus stop where he painted the “I’m fine/Save me” ambigram. I sat on the bench and watched as he began to create something new. I don’t think he had a set plan. The painting started off in meaningless loops, the jet-black color standing out in stark contrast to the white behind it.

Suddenly, bright lights filled our vision flashing a blinding blue and red. “Freeze!” a loud voice yelled.

I remember Taehyung’s wide, dark eyes finding mine, filled with panic. I remember the rough skin of his palm sliding into mine and yanking me upright. I remember how we sprinted down the street, the fear of being caught pumping adrenaline through us. How he ran faster than me, tugging me along to keep up.

Taehyung looked back and pulled me into an alleyway to try and lose them. We turned a corner and met a dead end. With our backs pressed against the wall, I looked at Tae. “Dammit,” he panted, the corners of his mouth turning upwards despite our situation.

I began to run out the way we came, intending on dragging Taehyung with me, but he yanked me back, slamming me against the wall that entrapped us. He kissed me, feverishly pressing his tongue inside my mouth before I could stop him. He yanked my wrists upwards, pinning them almost painfully against the brick above us as his mouth continued exploring mine and his hands roamed up and down my body.

He pulled back, allowing me to finally suck in some oxygen, and even as I coughed, he continued pressing kisses from my cheek to my jaw to my neck. Tae finally stopped as loud voices and beams of flashlights got closer. “I love you, baby girl,” he murmured. “Don’t forget that.”

“Tae, what—?”

He stepped out from behind the corner, raising his hands in the air. I ducked down into the shadows the alley provided, scooting backwards and pressing my hands over my mouth.

“Get over here, punk,” a gruff voice commanded. I heard the grinding click of handcuffs closing over wrists as another voice began to read Tae his rights.

I scrambled to my feet, realizing too late what was happening. No, no, no, no, no. He couldn’t take the fall for both of us. Not like this. Still, even as I moved to step out into the light and reveal myself, something stopped me. I don’t remember exactly what it was. Possibly the thought of my mother, my friends, how close I was to graduation. Like I said, I don’t remember. All I remember was the panic I felt when I realized the love of my life had just been arrested.

I showed up late to class the next day, not wanting to answer questions from my friends about what had happened and why I looked like absolute shit. I realized my efforts weren’t needed when two detectives pulled me out of class and escorted me to the police station, causing my classmates to start buzzing with gossip like the annoying wasps they were.

“So… L/n Y/n,” the cop, Detective Kwak, said. I looked up at her, nervously twisting my hands in my lap. “You are dating Kim Taehyung, correct?”

I nodded slowly. She had brought me here for “routine questioning,” yet I began to suspect more when they put me in an interrogation room. “For how long?” the detective asked.

“About a year and a half,” I muttered.

“So your relationship was serious?”

“You could say that.”

“How serious?”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “What do you mean?”

“I  mean, how serious were you? Did you have plans for after graduation?”

“I guess. We were going to move in together.”

“Here in the city?”

“No,” I replied, shaking my head. “Somewhere far away.”

“Because of your troubles at home?”

It was then I got defensive. “What do you know about that?” I snapped.

Detective Kwak stared me down, an amused smile playing around the corners of her lips. “I know enough. I was promoted to detective only a month or so ago. Back in my street days, I was one of the cops called to your house.”

My mouth parted in surprise at her words.

“I remember that night pretty clearly,” she continued. “Your mom’s boyfriend attacked you, right?”

I swallowed hard and sank down in my seat, rubbing my arms with my palms in an effort to keep myself contained. “And she did nothing to defend you, correct?” the detective prodded.

“Stop,” I whispered.

“What about Taehyung? Did he do anything to defend you?”

“What the fuck is this about?” I burst out. “I thought you brought me here because… because…”

“Because of the graffiti?” she asked pointedly.

I nodded.

Detective Kwak leaned forward over the table. “Look, Y/n, I don’t give a damn about the fact you were his tagging partner in crime or whatever. This is much bigger than that.”

“What do you mean?”

She sat back and stared at me, her eyes like cold, dark tunnels. “Kim Taehyung has been charged with murder. His prints match a partial we lifted off of a crime scene.”

My mouth dropped open. “W-What?”

“That’s right,” she said. “We only identified the body yesterday. Does the name Lee Manseok mean anything to you?”

I froze as the syllables of my mother’s boyfriend’s name rolled off the detective’s tongue. She nodded at my reaction. “I thought it would. He was found in an abandoned warehouse about a week after he was killed. He’d been beaten to death.”

My blood ran cold, causing goosebumps to raise on the flesh of my arms. I shook my head fiercely. “No, that can’t be right,” I said. “The guy was a dick, anyone could’ve done that to him.”

“That’s what we thought at first. We first suspected his wife.”

“He… He has a wife?”

“And two kids,” the detective scoffed. “Your mom picked a real winner. But then we finally got Taehyung in custody thanks to your shenanigans last night and what do you know? His prints match the one we found at the crime scene.”

“You’ve got it wrong,” I said firmly. “Taehyung wouldn’t do that.”

“Wouldn’t he?” she asked, folding her arms over the table. “Sounds like he really loved you and would do anything to protect you.”

“No, there has to be a mistake. Even if Taehyung did kill him, it had to be out of self-defense or something.”

“Maybe so. But if you knock a guy out and then continue beating him until he dies, is it really self-defense?”

“It is if that guy could come back and hurt someone you love for revenge,” I retorted.

The detective’s face remained expressionless. “Unfortunately, the law says differently.”

“The law can go to hell for all I care.”

She chuckled. “Whatever you say, kid. Look, the crime scene revealed that more than one person beat the literal life out of Manseok. If Taehyung did this, he didn’t do it alone. Do you happen to know who else would have helped him commit murder?”

I stayed silent as I thought for a moment. Any of our friends could’ve helped him, with maybe the exception of Chaeyoung. I thought of Jin, Hoseok, Jungkook, Jimin, Yoongi and Joon. I thought of the way they moved around school like a unified group, making fun of anyone who wasn’t them and bullying people who got in their way, especially any other guy who dared look my way. Still, they wouldn’t have helped Tae commit flat-out murder, would they?

“Anyone at all?”

The detective’s voice brought me out of my thoughts. I shook my head. “No. No one.”

She sighed. “There’s something else. We’ve been trying to get ahold of Taehyung’s father, but he seems to be missing.”

“Missing?”

“Yes. He hasn’t shown up at his job at all in the past month and a half. His credit cards haven’t been used, either.”

“So?” I snapped. “The guy was an alcoholic, he could be holed up somewhere drinking himself to death.”

“Maybe so, but my guess is we’re going to find him in some abandoned building or maybe at the bottom of the ocean one day. Your boy, Taehyung? I’ll bet he’s the one who put him there.”

I slammed my palms on the table. “LIES!” I yelled. “He wouldn’t do that!”

“Wouldn’t he?!” Detective Kwak shouted, rising to her feet. “Tell me something right now, Y/n. Have you noticed him acting differently? Have you noticed any changes in his behavior?”

I immediately looked down at the ground. “No,” I muttered.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I said, NO!”

“Enough with the lies!”

“I’m not lying! You are!”

The detective opened her mouth to retort, then thought better of it and sat down instead. “The evidence doesn’t lie, Y/n,” she said.

“Look,” I said. “If you want someone to put in jail, put me in jail. Taehyung’s gone through enough in his life. Please don’t put him through this.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

Tears welled up in my eyes and I put my hands over my face and began to sob. Detective Kwak stood up and came around to my side of the table before placing a hand on my shoulder. Once my sobs began to cease, she offered me a tissue. I wiped my eyes and blew my nose. “Thanks,” I muttered.

“Listen,” she said gently. “I’ve made arrangements for your aunt to come pick you up.”

I looked up at the detective in surprise. “My aunt?”

“Yes. Your mom’s sister. She’s filed to gain custody of you, and in light of recent events, a judge granted it to her.”

“Wait, my mom’s sister? I thought she lived in America.”

Detective Kwak’s mouth visibly tightened. “No, actually, she lives in Busan. Seems your mom kept that from you as well. Your aunt’s been trying to get in contact with you, Y/n. She says she sent letters.”

I stared at the wall across from me. Every limb, every nerve ending, every cell in my body was starting to go numb. It was all too much. My boyfriend was a murderer, my mom’s ex-boyfriend was dead, Taehyung’s dad was missing, and now all of a sudden I had a long-lost aunt who was now my sole guardian?”

“She’s very well off,” the detective continued. “She’s even offered to pay for your mom to get treatment in a rehabilitation facility. Whatever future you have with her is sure to be a bright one.”

“If you say so.”

“I know so. I’ve met her, only briefly, but she seems very nice.”

I let the silence grow between us, not bothering to give a response. The detective finally sighed and sat back down in her chair across from me. “Y/n, Taehyung is going to jail for a very long time. Maybe even for the rest of his life. I suggest you move on with your life. Move to Busan. You’ll attend a great school there, and probably university as well. You can start down an entirely new path.”

The memory of Taehyung’s handsome face swam before my eyes, his bright, boxy smile lighting my insides on fire the way it had for the past year and a half. “What if I don’t want to?” I whispered.

“Well… That’s up to you. But the sooner you move on, the sooner you’ll stop feeling this pain.”

Detective Kwak stood up, motioning for me to stand up as well. “Come on. Your aunt’s waiting.”

We exited the interrogation room, the skin on my face itchy and dry from crying. I knew I probably looked like a mess, but I didn’t care.

“Y/n!” a deep, familiar voice shouted. I froze in my tracks, slowly raising my eyes to his inky ones. He struggled in the grip of two cops, his hands handcuffed behind his back.

“Hey baby girl,” he said, smirking. “Nice of you to come visit me.”

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Detective Kwak hissed.

“You said to move him into the interrogation room.”

“While it’s still occupied?!”

“Don’t worry,” Taehyung quipped. “We can share, right baby?”

“Get him out of here!” Detective Kwak snapped. “Now!”

The cops shoved Taehyung towards the interrogation room. I turned to look at him, desperation clenching at my heart. I realized this might be the last time I saw him, the last time I would get to tell him something. Anything. My mouth opened but no words came out.

“Don’t worry, baby girl!” Taehyung shouted, lurching towards me. “I’ll get out someday! And I’ll come for you! I will always come for you!”

I shook my head and felt tears prick at my eyes once more as the police wrestled with him. “I love you, Y/n!” he shouted just before they shut the door on him.

“Sorry about that,” Detective Kim said, holding a hand to her heaving chest. “You weren’t supposed to cross paths.”

“It’s okay,” I murmured, and to my own surprise, I meant it. I was glad I saw him one last time. I realized, in that moment, that the blue-haired boy I once knew and fell in love with was completely gone. His eyes, which once held a spark of playfulness and mischief, now held nothing but misery and woe. He let his anger for the world overtake him, allowing it to blaze a path of self-destruction that I could no longer follow.

Maybe the detective was right. Despite the fact that Kim Taehyung was the love of my life, maybe, just maybe, it was time to move on.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

Part One is HEEEEEEERE! 😉

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[monsteracademia]

monster theory 101

So anyone who has even glanced at my blog knows that a lot of my work is built around an area of literary theory called ‘monster theory’, which is far from a major theoretical discipline. As such I thought I’d give a little run down on what it is and resources that are good in terms of getting started.

Monster Theory is loosely described as the study of monsters, fictional characters that we (humans) deem monstrous. This is usually rooted in the concept of norm/other, which becomes human/monster. The basis of modern monster theory is built on the work of Jeffrey Jerome Cohen, who published a paper in 1996 titled Monster Culture (Seven Theses) which included seven different and overlapping views on what monsters are, why we create them, what they mean and how they fit into both literary canon and our society. These seven theses are (very quickly and loosely);

The Monster’s Body Is A Cultural Body: a monstrous being “is born only at [a] metaphoric crossroads, as an embodiment of a certain cultural moment.” Meaning a monster created for a work of fiction is generally an embodiment of a certain cultural anxiety or fear occurring in a specific socio-cultural moment. For instance, during the 70s and 80s, during the AIDS crisis in the US, you’ll notice a sharp rise in the number of vampire films (creatures who transmit a kind of ‘death’ through bodily fluids, through a highly sexualised penetrative contact).

The Monster Always Escapes: a monstrous being is, in part, so threatening because it is pervasive. The monster might appear dead, only for the corpse to be missing in the final shots of the film. This builds upon the previous point; a cultural anxiety does not immediately vanish simply because the personified monster of it is slain, issues like disease, poverty, homophobia, racism, ableism will ultimately again rear their ugly heads.

The Monster Is The Harbinger of Category Crisis: monstrous beings refuse “to participate in the classificatory ‘order of things’,” and resist any kind of systematic structure. In a culture so obsessed with binary oppositions and classifications, things that refuse classification are often a threat to that very system of classification. If the system is not all-encompassing, it fails altogether. This can cause monsters to shake established systems of understanding culture, identity and knowledge. 

The Monster Dwells At The Gates of Difference: “...the monster is difference made flesh [...] monstrous difference tends to be cultural, political, racial, economic, sexual.” Monstrous beings are, as previously mentioned, a cultural body, which also means generally they take on traits of ostracised members of a culture, and act as stand in’s for fears, phobias and ostracisation of these social groups. For example, in a later work by Cohen, Undead: A Zombie Oriented Ontology, he states of zombies; “...we feel no shame in declaring their bodies repulsive. They eat disgusting food. They possess no coherent language; it all sounds like grunts and moans. They desire everything we possess.” And further notes that the generally accepted method of dispatching them is a gunshot to the head--a war crime against another human being. This same rhetoric could easily be applied to conservative white opinions of immigrants--and in fact, the origin of the word zombie can be traced back to the Haitian slave trade route.

The Monster Polices The Borders Of The Possible: to live in the dynamic the monster is predicated upon (norm/other, human/monster), there must, therefore, be a border between the two. The monster can therefore serve as a warning; transgress the boundaries by which you are human, and become monstrous; “...the monster prevents mobility (intellectual, geographical, sexual).” The most popular examples of this theory comes in the form of a Disney film: Beauty and the Beast. The Prince does not extend hospitalities to the old woman seeking aid, acting outside an accepted code of conduct for their society, and is therefore rendered monstrous as a result. While this is a more direct example, the trope is pervasive even among works and genres not featuring the supernatural.

The Monster Is Really A Kind Of Desire: the monstrous is often associated with a kind of transgressive or forbidden action, like say...the fact that female villains will often take on intense temptress roles, this is usually in an attempt to enforce and normalise the opposite behaviour. “The same creatures who terrify and interdict can also evoke potent escapist fantasies; the linking of monstrosity with the forbidden makes the monster all the more appealing as a temporary egress from constraint.”

The Monster Stands At The Threshold...Of Becoming: This thesis is really only a paragraph and is possibly my favourite piece of writing ever so rather than try and explain it I’ll simply let it stand on it’s own: Monsters are our children. They can be pushed to the farthest margins of geography and discourse, hidden away at the edges of the world and in the forbidden recesses of our mind, but they always return. And when they come back, they bring not just a fuller knowledge of our place in history and the history of knowing our place, but they bear self-knowledge, human knowledge--and a discourse all the more sacred as it arises from the Outside. These monsters ask us how we perceive the world, and how we have misrepresented what we have attempted to place. They ask us to reevaluate our cultural assumptions about race, gender, sexuality, our perception of difference, our tolerance towards its expression. They ask us why we have created them.

It is important to note that while this essay is considered fundamental in the concept of monster theory and it’s study, Cohen’s work is built upon work like Julia Kristeva’s Power of Horror: Essays on Abjection, and Barbara Creed’s Monstrous-Feminine. Additions to the field have been added since then; collected editions like the Ashgate Research Companion to Monsters, Monstrous Children and Childish Monsters, as well as essays in journals, collected editions on other wider topics (like horror, fantasy, sociology in literature). But the field is still relatively small at this point. I’ll be putting together a sort of reading list at some point in a post about where you can really get a good overview of the area, but the central starting point for monster theory is decidedly Cohen’s essay (which is the introductory chapter to an entire book on the subject). 

#Monster Theory #Jeffrey Jerome Cohen #monsteracademia #i don't know what to tag things as i didnt think that far ahead

[meli-productions]

This Love is Ineffable

I made it to the end! 

Thank you so much for those that stuck with me this #ineffablehusbandsauweek. I'm so glad you've enjoyed the work and I've had so much fun writing them. Thank you to @ineffablehusbandsweek​ for the prompts and opportunity.

This is it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26680813.

The Almighty plays a game of her own making - but sometimes even the pieces get away from Her without Her noticing. After all, being omnipotent did not mean alway being omniscient - She needed Her rest sometimes.

When She planned the heavens and Her angels She created them in pairs - it made things easy that way. Archangels, both those she created for the position and those that ascended to that position, would have their Principalities to protect them - some of them would be mates and some would find their mate elsewhere. 

It didn’t always work out - Gabriel had found his mate elsewhere and Lucifer’s love of himself and his world made it difficult to have a mate for him - but there was one pair She had been happy about.

The angel that would’ve ascended to archangel, Rafael - Rafael the Elder to differentiate him from the one that would eventually replace him - was a starmaker and healer, and with his kindness, dedication, and stubbornness would’ve made a great addition to the ranks of Archangels.

As She prepared for her decision, She fashioned a principality worthy of a radiant being. She pulled starlight from the latest of Rafael’s nebulas and gave him sweetness - a bit of a bastard streak - and curiosity for life. When She’d finished the little cherubic looking fledgling, surprise ran through her incorporeal form - he was a perfect complement to Rafael - the most perfect pair of mates she’d created.

She named him Jophiel and sent him to Michael for training until the time was right for him to take his rightful place at Rafael’s side.

But the war came and the young angel was sent to battle, scolded for protecting fledglings younger than him in battle and her hypervigilant Archangels felled one of their own. The one of them that would’ve opened their eyes to the beauty of Earth and covered their tracks by making Raphael the Younger an Archangel in his stead.

The Almighty was upset, Her shining star had been extinguished - and Jophiel had lost his mate. So She built a reminder for Her overzealous children of what they’ve deprived the world of and renamed the principality to Aziraphale - of Rafael - so they’d always be reminded of the sibling they’d thrown into sulfur.

“Gabriel,” She asked, looking through the heavens for the being She felt absent, “where is Aziraphale?”

The overly-bright smile on Gabriel’s face didn’t match the dead look in his striking violet eyes, “He’s been reassigned - guarding the Eastern Gate though,” he paused, “last I heard he’s been making friends with the humans - not his job. We’ll get him back on track.”

A storminess started overhead as the Almighty processed. Did they know what they’d done? Put a Principality on Earth, with humans, when he had no one else to protect? 

“Why is he there? His job is to protect - but not without direction,” asked the Almighty, storminess rumbling and making Gabriel nervous.

“He can’t get into trouble down there. All he has to do is stand on the wall and protect it from the other side,” said Gabriel, smile now twitching. “He really didn’t have a - a purpose here without an archangel so - we repurposed him.”

The Almighty huffed, indignant, and disappeared to take a peek at Aziraphale in his new position. Just as Gabriel had said, Aziraphale wasn’t stiff-backed on the wall, instead he sat on a rock and talked to Adam and Eve, enraptured by the questions they were asking and their own discussion on the creatures and plants of Eden.

And just like that, the Angels have made their own enemy - a being that will defend Earth against them.

She shook, the equivalent of a head-shake and retreated once again. There would be a price to pay for that.

When She’d sent that first storm to Earth, She was curious as to what would be happening to the two humans - and to see what Azirpahale would do now that he was out of a job again.

To Her surprise, the angel had found someone to share this storm with. Black feathers and scaly patches on exposed skin marked this friend as a demon, one that he was sheltering from the storm under his wings. The demon, for their part huddled close, tucked in and comforted by the being that should be their enemy.

The Almighty took a closer look at the curling red hair and the eyes that were gold and snake-like but very close to its original color - a zap of shock ran through Her form. After everything, Her starlight and his mate had found each other and, by the sense of it, there was a connection already being made.

“Metatron,” She said upon arriving back to Her corner of the sky. “I want Aziraphale to be appointed to Earth. He is to stay there and keep an eye on the Serpent - he knows the humans more than any of the other guardians. I think he’ll be good down there.”

The Metatron raised an eyebrow, not a question but a silent judgement, and turned to give the order not daring to disobey the Almighty. For his part, he relayed the message to Aziraphale’s superior and Gabriel was surprised by the announcement.

“Really? Him?”

“Ours is not to question, young one,” said Metatron. “And She works in mysterious ways - maybe this is how you get rid of your Scarlet Letter.”

Gabriel didn’t say anything, but pouted about it to the rest of the archangels when the time came to officially give Aziraphale the job on Earth.

For centuries, the Almighty kept to Herself, peeking onto earth to see what was going on and tracking Aziraphale and Her starlight - Crawly as he was dubbed by Hell - curious as how falling affected their bond. The spark of joy when Crawly realized that Aziraphale was there at the loading of the Ark and then the consecutive forty days they spent together within - protecting the saved children.

“Don’t try and convince me to let them go,” hissed Crawly, back in the form of a snake and coiled around a clutch of eggs that were children in disguise. “They’re damned now - going againsssst the Almighty’ssss wishes and all.”

Aziraphale chuckled, pressing down between the snake’s eyes in a soothing circle, “I suppose there’s nothing I can do, you wily thing. But I think you’re much more comfortable in this cramped space. I should stick around and keep an eye on you.”

The Almighty, finding him very cute in his disobedience, allowed him to go ahead with what he was trying to do - which was shift into a snake to match Crawly. So she allowed him to turn into a white python, yellow markings woven into the scales, and cloudy eyes that honed in on the clutch and the demon protecting it. 

And the two, oblivious to the nest they’d created, curled there for the time that the ark stayed afloat - only uncurling to get comfortable or so to scent one another. Shifting back when land was sighted, they helped reestablish the children in their new home and parted ways without more than a ‘fare thee well’.  The Almighty felt the little zing of affection that encircled the pair and felt Her joy return, brightening the sun and Her rainbow.

The pair of them became Her favorite thing to observe on Earth - never letting them distract Her from the work that She was meant to do - including the birth of Her son on Earth.

“Dear, we need to go,” Aziraphale said, giving a gentle pull on Crowley’s wrist.

She shook her head, “Not yet. Not until they entomb him.”

Aziraphale nodded, though she couldn’t see it, and allowed her fingers to interlock with his as she followed the train of mourners carrying Yeshua’s body.

“This isn’t fair,” said Crowley, voice shaky. “These wankers think that they’re teaching is better so instead of teaching harder they put a man to death. What good holy men, I can’t wait to see them down in Hell.”

Aziraphale swept his thumb along her hand, “I’m not encouraging you, but if you happen to cross paths with them in Hell - give them a swift kick in the rear for me.”

Crowley, for once in their encounter, gave a little chuckle, “Course not, angel. And I don’t usually hang around the torture room - much too messy but…I’ll deliver this present just for you.” 

With a happy wiggle, Aziraphale gave a quiet noise that was almost a thanks and the Almighty, through mourning the death of Her son, let herself bask in the wave of affection that permeated the somber atmosphere. 

After Yeshua arrived and made his place at Her side, he looked down at where Aziraphale and Crowley were saying goodbyes and beamed.

“I knew two beings so sweet could only belong together.”

The Almighty let out a rumble of laughter that he matched with the brightness of his smile, “Yes - my two lovebirds - impossible and ineffable.”

It was the attraction, the lust that She felt in Rome as she watched Crowley turn as red as his hair while Aziraphale slurped oysters, oblivious to his friend’s plight. And the relief that melted into shy agreement to the - Arrangement. 

At that, She had given such a cry of despair that Metatron had come swooping in wondering what was wrong and finding Her zipping through her office muttering about ‘stupid mates’ and ‘ how can it be taking so long’.

The affection that melted into the real sweet, honeyed string of love as Aziraphale gave Crowley a sparkly-eyed look that the demon obsessed over, throwing himself into Hamlet’s success, until the sounds of an angelic steed echoed through London and announced Aziraphale’s return - and the matching little stutter of a heartbeat, the same honey-sweet string as Aziraphale basked in Crowley’s gift to him.

Paris was the first time that She’d felt her darling Principality feel something stronger than the lulling waves of affection, when that familiar sweetness became spiced with cinnamon-hot lust. Happiness that had started spreading sunlight in darkened corners of the world dimmed when Crowley, happy that Aziraphale was in one piece, shipped him back to London before he could get hurt. 

Aziraphale left, pouting, and left Crowley to his privacy as he - eased away the tension of their meeting. 

But it was after Aziraphale opened his bookshop that the Almighty was at her most excited - and most stunned by their stupidity.

“I’m so glad they didn’t send me back,” Aziraphale said over his glass of wine. “Not much for me up there anyway. ‘S not like there’s someone waiting - not like my old job is still available.”

“Y’re a principality - y’re job is to protect humans down here,” said Crowley, then processed his words and squinted his eyes at him. “And wha’d’ya mean ‘no one waiting’?”

Aziraphale sighed, putting his glass down to fiddle with his waistcoat, “I was supposed to be the principality to an archangel - ‘cept he - he fell. And y’know what I mean, you were an angel once - I - I don’t have a mate.”

Crowley paused mid-sip, “Wh-which one? And - honestly, angel, everyone has a mate - well except the king down,” he pointed towards the ground, “down there y’know.”

“I was supposed to be the protector of the angel Rafael. Well, Rafael the Elder, Raphael the Younger rejected me the minute I was introduced to him,” said Aziraphale, pouting. “And my - my mate also fell. The older angels, the ones who aren’t - aren’t rude, they tell me that my aura is just like Rafael’s. They think he was meant to be my mate. Maybe it’s why She changed my name, to remind me of what I will never have.”

From Her perch where She watched this scene played out, the Almighty rumbled, “No, no, little one. That wasn’t what I meant at all.”

Hands trembling, Crowley placed his glass on the table, drops of wine spilling on the dark wooden surface, “Your name?”

“Jophiel was my name before. I was given the name Aziraphale as a reminder of who I belonged to, who I’ll never have - ‘of Raphael’,” Aziraphale looked down sadly at his hands wringing on his stomach. “And - and you, dear, did you find your mate?”

The Almighty leaned forward on Her cloud perch, “Do it, starlight, tell him.”

“I - ngk - I,” stammered Crowley, red seeping into his face and offsetting the freckles. “N-no, angel. I did my little dance down into sulfur before I found my mate. And - and they’re not in Hell.”

Aziraphale made a little noise and a wave of affection and nervousness muddled the air between them, “Oh? Do you - do you have any hopes of - of finding them?”

Crowley, snake-like, swayed from side-to-side, unaware of what he was doing, “Maybe - maybe I - don’t need a mate, angel. Maybe, I like not being tied down…make my own decisssions this way. Besides, there’ssss no better company than the one I’ve found myself.”

The wine-pinked cheeks darkened as Aziraphale fought not to thank Crowley for the almost kind words he said and the intensity of the affection flooded the room until, had the feeling been tangible, it would’ve choked the two entities within.

Instead of mulling over the sweetness of the feeling, they turned to the less sweet wine until they had celebrated the opening of the bookshop until early morning.

It was the pang of fear that dragged Her attention to Crowley pacing along the edge of the duck pond at St. James. The swans were tracking him with pinprick eyes as they honed into his bread-empty hands and wondered why they hadn’t been fed.

Fear and desperation snapped away into hurt and fury when Aziraphale denied him the Holy Water he wanted and how the angel’s own worry melted into his own spark of anger forcing the two their separate ways - heart heavy and mourning the delicate nature of their Arrangement.

The Almighty couldn’t help but follow Aziraphale - Crowley having cocooned himself for a long nap - proud of Her principality that found his niche to protect but wishing that She could let him know that Crowley was his to love and keep.

After half a century, She had the pleasure of seeing them - even if it was at the loss of one of Her churches - getting back together. Even more - She let the rolling waves of affection and relief that - 

“Oh,” She said, feeling how the soft, silkiness of Aziraphale’s affection spiked and became something greater - when it became Love and twined around the Love of Crowley towards him. “Oh, my sweet angel, I knew you were capable of so much affection but this, this, is stunning. This is why I created life so that this affection - your affections for each other. This is the right plan - the Ineffable Plan.”

Feelings that only intensified and turned that lust of Soho into smooth melancholia when bombarded by the intense cloud of Love between Aziraphale and Crowley while they sat in the Bentley and admitted their feelings in the words they could say.

The Almighty sighed and at her side, Yeshua let out a quiet mumble that got louder. “Are you sure you can’t meddle a little? This is painful.”

“They have to figure it out on their own. They’re almost there.”

The years they spent at the Dowling household almost was the breaking point. If the Almighty ate, She would’ve been snacking on popcorn as She watched the shy flirting and courting of Brother Francis and Nanny Ashtoreth. Then leaned as far as She could to catch a glimpse of the burning intensity of Cortese and Harrison as they seduced each other almost to the brink and then swirling back down as they came back to their own - back to Aziraphale and Crowley.

Then the fight, and the discorporation, and the ping-ponging dizziness of the end of The End of the World, and finally the escape by the skin of their teeth from the unauthorized punishments until things settled back down and they caught their breath.

“Alright,” She said to Yeshua. “Now I get to meddle. The Ineffable Plan is in full affect.”

She dropped a feather - two feathers - one of black and one of white and let them lay in the bookshop’s back room where her favorite couple could see them. It was Crowley that saw it first, snapping a miracle to send them away with a blush dusting his cheeks - but they wouldn’t disappear. He stopped trying when even picking them up and tossing them didn’t stop them from reappearing in the backroom. 

When Aziraphale caught a glimpse of the book, face finally lifting from the book he was devouring, he went over and picked them up, stroking them with reverent fingers and waited until that night when Crowley was sprawled across the couch to bring it up.

“Crowley,” he said, fingers dancing over the rim of his glass, “do you remember when - when we talked about mates?”

Trembling fingers rested the now downed wine glass onto the table as Crowley turned his attention on his angel, “‘Ziraphale, that was a long time ago. Why? Did you happen to come across them?”

Aziraphale let out a shaky breath before meeting Crowley’s full-snake eyes, “Yes, I - I believe I have.”

The Almighty felt sunnier than ever, trying to keep her shine to the side of the world that was still seeing sun and not to the darkened London sky.

For his part, Crowley looked a little panicked as the color drained from his face, “I - I - wot? Did you - you find them while you were down in Hell pretending to be me?” 

“No, darling,” said Aziraphale, a little smile spreading on his face. “I’ve been obtuse for far too long. I think - I think that I always knew who was my mate - the only person that ever put up with me.”

“O - oh, yeah? Who?”

Aziraphale huffed and moved from his usual spot in the armchair to the couch, back against one of Crowley’s legs and sitting dangerously close to the apex. He reached out a hand and waited a breath away from his cheek, “Is it okay?”

Crowley nodded, swallowing through the thick, cottony feel of his mouth as Aziraphale cupped his cheek.

“My love,” he said, feeling the shiver that ran through Crowley’s body. “It’s always been you, hasn’t it? And you knew but - but you waited for me to realize. My dearest,” he thumbed across the sharp cheekbones under his grasp, “I’m done pretending - you can go a little faster.”

A little whine slipped through Crowley’s mouth as he leaned forward, forehead falling against Aziraphale’s, “You’re mine, Aziraphale. From creation. My principality, my mate, my love.”

“Yours, my love, as you are mine,” he said, upturned nose brushing Crowley’s. “May I kiss you, darling? I’d really like to - that is if you - ”

He didn’t get to finish as Crowley pushed forward and kissed him, sliding closer until his legs were bracketed around Aziraphale’s plush form and his hands wove around his middle to tug him impossibly close. 

Hands held on, gentle but demanding as their one kiss into one long kiss and the Almighty, pleased, pulled the curtain to give them their privacy. After 6000 years, She figured they could have as much time as they wanted to each other.

#ineffable husbands au week #ineffablehusbandsauweek #Ineffable Husbands #good omens #gomens #good omens fanfiction #gomens fanfiction #my fanfiction #fanfiction #aziraphale #crowley #azicrow #crowley x aziraphale #slow burn #mates au #soulmates au #crowley was raphael #but not that one #principality aziraphale

[allyvampirelass29]

To Love is To Hate

A NOS4A2 Fanfiction By: Allyssa J. Watkins 

"Allyssa Manx...… Get in the car."

Charlie flung open the passenger door of the Wraith, his eyes like stoked embers, black, smoking coals, his voice as threatening as a blade's edge raised against his wife, and he arched an eyebrow, just daring her to defy him further.

"Charlie, no, please- Don't-" Ally begged, taking a terrified step back into the falling snow on the road, the flurried wind whipping her white nightgown around her legs that were red with cold. "I'm- I'm so sorry!!!! Please..... Forgive me!!!" She called out, trembling, the tears streaming down her frozen cheek.

"Oh you're sorry?" He shot back cruelly, his gloved fingers gripping the edge of the car door. "To which of her heinous sins, does this fallen angel confess? The Seduction, The Theft, or The Betrayal, itself?"

"Charles-"

"She seeks absolution, she cries out for mercy, and yet even in pursuit of her penance, cannot do what I have asked. I said..... GET IN MY CAR." Charlie demanded in a low growl, furiously throwing his other arm out gesturing her inside.

Ally felt her heart tremble, collapsing to her knees, deathly afraid of that wild fury that flashed in her lover's eyes, and she sobbed harder. "Please, don't hurt me."

"Hurt you? Hurt YOU?" He snickered cruelly, slowly dofting his chauffer's hat in her direction, with a mock bow. "What a performance, My Dear, Sweet Wife, when YOU have hurt ME something profound, with a deception most vile, playing the blushing bride, when all along you were the black widow!!!"

"No!" She screamed, shaking her head, fingers trembling.

"How CAN you deny it!?" Charlie snarled, balling his royal blue, flat-topped hat up in his gloved fists, before letting it fall from his fingers. "You LIED to me, you STOLE from me, you TRICKED me, aligning yourself with our mutual enemy, that vicious WRETCH Vic McQueen!!!!! Oh don't tell me...…. This was your plan all the time, wasn't it? From the beginning, you made play of love when you felt NOTHING!!!!"

Ally cried harder, sobbing from her fallen place in the snow, her dark hair falling in her eyes, as she cast her head down, ashamed. "How can you think that, Charles? How can you profane something as pure, as powerful and mad passionate as our love? The love fate decreed between us, authored in the stars before ever we existed!?"

"Pure!? This- This love is a poison, slowly killing me with its kiss of death, that I happily, foolishly, take from your lips. The draught drank, and I am done for, because even still I see you, I look at you, and I want you, My Murderess, even as you enact my demise, even as you have no love in your heart, for mine that dies with each breath for you!!!!"

"See, that's the kicker, you piece of SHIT, ain't nobody ever loved your sorry ass more than this girl, right here!!!!"

"Vic, NO!!!!" Ally cried, scrambling to her feet.

Charlie recoiled with the laughing sound of Vic McQueen's voice, and then froze cold as the blast shattered the Wraith's rear window.

"VIC, NOOOOOOOO!!!!! STOP!!!!!" Ally screamed out, stunned, horrified as Vic McQueen appeared with a vengeance on the snow covered road, her shotgun still aimed, and she discharged the empty shell, with a threatening click.

"Heya Charlie. You miss me?"

"VIC...…." Charlie was so livid he spat her name in a seethe, his teeth digging into his lip, making a pretense of perfect control, of haughty indifference, but all he wanted to do was make that girl BLEED. "How nice of you to join our nasty little marital spat, you of COURSE being the noxious weed in our Eden, you homewrecking, conspiring, hateful BITCH!!!"

"Yeah, what can I say, it sounded like a BLAST!!!" Charlie bristled as Vic pulled the trigger again, snow and gravel exploding just inches from his boots. "I may be a bitch, Charlie, but I'm the bitch with the shotgun, and if you don't want me to blast you to hell, you're going to let Harlequin Novel go, right freaking now."

"Vic, WAIT!!!!" Ally pleaded, looking faint.

"You DARE attempt to force my hand, Victoria!? Ally isn't going ANYWHERE. Not with you. She's not your friend. You may think you have bested me, turned her against me, created in my beloved, a backstabber, your own advantageous ally, but I am not the only one she has fooled. Isn't that right, Mrs. Manx?"

"Vic this WASN'T the plan!!!!" Ally pleaded, not sure which of them to shield from the other.

Charlie watched Vic's finger fidget on the trigger, knowing that his words had struck a chord, and all was as he'd suspected.

"Ally, GO, get the HELL out of here. I know this isn't how you wanted it, but it was never gonna end with that frickin' creepy bastard alive, and you KNOW it!!!"

"NO!!!!! You promised, Vic, you PROMISED!!!!" Ally pleaded with angry tears, feeling for the pen in her sleeve, and finding it was not there.

"You're free, ain't ya!?" Vic hissed, but Charlie could see she was distracted, and he waited carefully for his moment, all he needed was for her to look away, even once...….

"I don't want it, not like this!!! We had a DEAL, Vic!!! Dismantle this Nightmare World piece by piece, tear it asunder from his mind, but HE LIVES!!!! He stays mine!!!!"

That's it, My Dove, rage in a riotous display, distract her, divide her focus, yes....…." Charlie's mind coaxed, Ally seeming to obey, and with both of his obsessions turning on the other, neither noticed Charlie slowly ease himself down, and retrieve the pistol from his boot.

"Yeah, well, I'm changin' the deal, okay? You wanted outta here, I'm gettin' you out, along with the kids, whatever it takes!!! I'm not going to spare this sicko, just because you're lovesick over him, and have this crazed delusion of still getting your ever after once we've burnt his Christmas Hell to the ground!!!!"

Vic dropped the shotgun, with an anguished string of curses, and Ally let out another stunned scream, clapping her hand to her mouth, as the bullet grazed Vic's shoulder, staining her blue plaid button-up red with blood.

"CHARLIE NOOOOO!!!!!"

"If you girls are quite finished, I would like to save you both the trouble, and end this doomed partnership, as of, how did you say it, right freaking now? I can't have you both playing too nice, now, can I?"

Charlie smirked, pistol raised, his gloved finger drawing back the hammer once more, to shoot Vic in the chest, and end it, once and for all.

"Vic McQueen...…. I hereby exile you from Christmasland, and life itself. Burn in hell," Charlie simpered maliciously, and right when he was about to send her there, his beautiful brunette hurled herself in the line of fire, waving frantically.

"Charlie, NO, DON'T shoot!"

"Ally...…. Get OUT of my way." He rasped, watching Vic groan, holding her shoulder, and eye the felled shotgun.

"Charlie! Charlie, wait! Hold on!" Ally drew closer to him, and he felt himself hesitate.

"NO! My Darling, do not you see what she has done to us!? The lies she has infected you with, to twist you, even YOU, my pure, my innocent, my perfect beauty into something dark, something dangerous, raise you as weapon against your own true love!?! Who stands the true monster here!?"

"Still YOU, Jerkoff!!!"

Vic rushed for the shotgun, but Ally was closer, and quicker than Vic in her wounded state, and snatched it up to Charlie's rollicking delight.

"Good Girl!!!! My Clever Bride!!! Oh Ally, all is forgiven...…. If you shoot Victoria McQueen."

Ally looked at him greatly distressed, as Vic glowered over her shoulder, just daring either of them to try it.

"Charles! You dismay me! Do you think me capable of such evils as to take a life!? You accuse Victoria of transforming me into something deadly, but have you not done me this same turn, My Love?"

"Damn, she's got ya there, Manx!" Vic snorted, still holding her shoulder, blood squeezing through her fingers.

Charlie growled, pistol still aimed, his finger poised, but Ally clinging to the shotgun, was enough to give him pause.

"I'll go with you, Charlie, I'll get in the car, I'll never leave you again, I'll do anything you want, BE anything you want, just let her walk away from this! Don't be the soulless monster she thinks you are!!!!"

"Ally, HAVE you freaking LOST it!?" Vic yelled out, incredulous, her breath shallow, trying to determine if she could tackle Northanger Abbey down, before Manx got off a shot.

Charlie cocked his silky, raven head to the side, his pistol still cocked as well, one eye narrowed, everything in him screaming to release the bullet, and author Vic McQueen's long fought for demise, and yet he knew that once he'd done so, that sweet, darling, fragile creature that he'd come to love so much, the broken doll that he'd made a queen, would be lost to him for all of his eternity.

"On the contrary, Vic, I think Miss Ally has finally found it...……."

"Ally don't do this...… You're better than this, better than him, you just broke free, don't let him pull ya back in. Run. You don't have to watch me kill your Nightmare Man, all you have to do is RUN!!! Whatever happens after...…. it ain't your fault."

"Charlie...…. Can I come home?" Ally's whole body shook, still gripping the shotgun, her tears falling, and Charlie gritted his teeth, hating his answer."

"Yes, My Darling, I accept. Get in the car, and I won't kill her...….. not today, anyway."

"You can't!!! You delusional, ridiculous, damned crazy chick!!!"

Ally started towards Charlie, and then stopped, noticing the pistol was still pointed at Vic's chest.

"Charlie, please, put down the pistol, and I will come to you. We can go home, be as we were, and make play this ugliness, my own treachery included, did not transpire."

"You do love me, don't you?" He managed in a rasp, his thick brow quizzical, slowly lowering his gun, pushing the hammer forward, expertly uncocking it, pocketing it in his dark blue chauffeur's coat as she drew nearer. "Why else sacrifice yourself for my soul, give back the life you have risked so much to free from my grasp? It wasn't all a lie...…. was it?"

"It was none of it, a lie, Charles!" Ally insisted in heartsick, desperation, and he beckoned her forward, the aching truth evident in her soft, glimmering eyes. "I Love You, Charles T. Manx, and I surrender myself to your hands whether they mean for me affection or infliction. How gladly would I sacrifice my own freedom, if it meant the redemption of your once beautiful soul!!!!"

"GOD, shut-up already, you both make me sick," Vic muttered. You ditzy, doe-eyed STUPID girl, go ahead, run right back to the cat's claws, and see if I give a DAMN!!!! I'm DONE playin' hero to the doomed damsel that's so damned in love with her distress!!! Never shoulda teamed up with you, Ally, I see it now, you're WEAK and you WANT him to MESS you up, so fine. I give. I hope he makes you as miserable as he makes me!!!!"

"Now, now, don't fret on that account, Victoria. Misery is a privilege I reserve only for you, it's something sacred between us."

Charlie laughed with vicious mirth, tempted to seize Ally and wrest the shotgun from her hands, the moment she was close enough, yet for some ridiculous, inexplicable reason, he wanted to trust her. Trust that she was done scheming against him with Vic, and that she wouldn't blow a hole in his chest, point blank, instead of getting into the car.

She hurried to him, her loose, luxurious curls catching in the wintry wind, and he froze, warily, as she knelt down to pick up his fallen chauffeur's cap from the road, leaving the shotgun in its place. She lovingly placed it atop his rich black waves, returning the crown to her king, and he kicked the shotgun away, as she did so, still not trusting that she meant to come of her own conscious volition.

Door still open, he helped her into the passenger's side seat, and delicately kissed his queen's frigid cheek, before shutting the door tight. The second she was tucked away, safely inside, he shot a glance back to the road, still tempted to send a bullet screaming through Vic's beating heart. She was gone...... He'd had his chance to end this, to prove victor over Meddlesome Victoria, at last. He'd wasted it. Wasted it like a fool on love. But as he watched his recaptured dove settle back in the seat, knowing she'd not fly free of her cage ever again, he smiled smugly to himself with the revelation he'd made the better trade.

His eyes moved back to the spot where she'd stood, imagining the way the bullet had scraped across her shoulder, the blood staining her shirt red.

"Until next time, Victoria...….. I have taken back my love, and soon, very soon, you vexing vixen, I shall have you as my vengeance. Who says a man cannot have his wife, and play with his hate too? I'm not finished with either of you yet...… To love one is to hate the other, and oh what fun...… to see you both become loved and hated by me.

#nos4a2 #charlie manx #charlie manx x oc #vic mcqueen #christmasland #the wraith #paranormal romance #paradise for the lost

[ganymedesclock]

Why do you think the use of lifeblood is a taboo in Hallownest? Why do you think Ghost, the Hunter, Hornet, likely Joni, and maybe Salubra don't really care about it?

Lifeblood appears to be the domain of another Higher Being. Really strong colors in Hollow Knight all seem tied to Entities Of Power one way or another- Unn’s omnipresent but diluted (as she’s weakening) green, the Nightmare Heart’s eye-catching scarlet- Radiance’s orange, obviously, and the sneakier presences of the Pale King and White Lady’s shades of ivory, and the underlying black of the Abyss.

There’s a lifeblood dream deep in the Abyss. A dream that seems inhabited by some creature that watches you from afar in the room with the Lifeblood Core. Joni’s Blessing affecting changes in behavior from the Lifeseeds tells us that there is, at least, some sort of “more powerful call” they heed, but not one that is the inherent energy of the void- they don’t respond to the Void Heart this way, and Joni’s Blessing is not so firmly anchored to Ghost’s nature.

I think that alone could be cause for entities like PK- who are cautious at best towards other beings- to put a moratorium on it, but it could well also be a tradition handed down from Radiance’s civilization. Neither of them seem like the type who would tolerate “competition” well- PK and White Lady were a united front, and Unn basically wasn’t a challenge to them / recognized PK, possibly because she herself is fading and may have wanted her moss children to have somewhere to go when she was gone. That Isma seems to have been a moss being, and lived in the highest echelons of service under PK, would seem to suggest that Unn may have operated as a kind of vassal state of his.

But we don’t know much about the blue god. We don’t even know if the black, blue-eyed creature in the Lifeblood Dream, and in Godhome, is even its true body- Godseeker never attunes or tries to attune to it, which is odd, because she’s obsessed with divinity.

The implication, of course, may well be that the blue god is not here. That lifeblood rears its head in Silksong may be a suggestion that the blue deity might be more tied to Pharloom than to Hallownest.

As far as that god’s character? I think we can trust them, insofar as we can trust any god in HK’s universe.

Lifeblood is described as beautiful by others. It seems to be a complimentary or at least sympathetic force to the Abyss. It doesn’t come up in the discussions of conflict between Radiance and the Pale King, even though its smallest form- the lifeseeds- have quite a similarity, in name and form, to Radiance’s lightseeds.

Now, technically, we can’t very well examine a god’s nature through the scuttling seeds- both light and lifeseeds flee the player and are harmless. Lightseeds, however, can and do aggregate in sufficient volumes to be not harmless- we don’t see huge volumes of lifeseeds. They tend small, though, unlike the lightseeds, they create cocoons- so it’s possible we have seen a lot of lifeseeds- they may mature into those butterfly-plants.

The biggest concentrations of the blue light that we see, however, are Joni’s repose, and the lifeblood dream. Both of which feature entities that are very peaceful in acknowledging Ghost- pay attention to them, but don’t seem to wish them any ill. There are spikes in the lifeblood dream, as well as outside Joni’s repose, but it’s our prerogative whether or not to try and get past them.

Joni is described as “the kindly heretic” and “the blue child”, an almost playful title that doesn’t evoke her as an unsettling cult leader. But there seems to be no record of her elsewhere in Hallownest. That she mentions that her memory “has been a little lacking as of late” makes me wonder if she succumbed to the plague, or started to, and withdrew to her god’s power instead- that doesn’t even suggest she was hunted down for being ‘a heretic’. Salubra mentions that lifeblood is a taboo, but, Iselda doesn’t even consider you might seek the ‘blue cocoons’ out for bad reasons. And Salubra sees no problem talking up that you feel better drinking lifeblood, in a way that rather clearly implies she’s done it despite it being “a bit of a taboo”; while her interests are macabre, she doesn’t seem to feel in danger.

So despite the blue light seeming discouraged, it doesn’t really seem like there is or was an active campaign against it, which is interesting. It also seems drawn towards gentle, peaceful sort of people. Iselda mentions the blue cocoons are fragile, and lifeseeds, if you carry Joni’s Blessing, seem... willing? to be a sacrifice in order to help you. They at least don’t seem concerned that you might cut them down as if you hack down one, others will keep scuttling towards you.

My personal concept is that gods in HK’s universe seem to come in pairs. 

PK and White Lady operated as King and Queen, in harmony, even though PK seems to have believed monotheism was necessary- he shows no sign of having considered White Lady someone he would need to get rid of or ascend beyond. Instead, the implication of the Kingsoul was that they were two halves of a whole entity, and that entity was the “beacon” PK saw himself as needing to become.

Radiance and Nightmare King appear to be creatures with some sort of duality, and the Seer actively talks about how the unified domain of dreams was split- implying they shared reverence and power freely- much as PK and WL seem to- before something happened to separate them. Given Grimm does not talk about the plague at all, nor do Divine or Brumm acknowledge it, it’s hard to say what exactly happened, but, it’s pretty likely NK is not looking for a way to reunite with Radiance- they seem to have very different attitudes about the Abyss, which could well point to the idea that some sort of strife broke between them, and they don’t want to see each other again.

Unn appears to be “without a counterpart” but that may just be that we haven’t seen them yet; there is a “Moss Druid” in Pharloom, presumably venerating someone, who might or might not be Unn. It could also be possible Unn is fading for lack of a counterpart, and that having flung her out of balance.

There seems to be some form of kindred thread, likewise, between the Abyss, and Lifeblood, with the latter’s presence in the former’s stronghold. They would seem well-matched, in terms of motifs; the Abyss, while not harmless, is conflated with acceptance, sleep, and reaching a point of peace with oneself. For Ghost, drawing deeper into their connection with the Abyss brings them back in contact with their lost siblings.

So it may be, possibly, that the lifeblood god is a potential path laid out for Hornet to draw closer to in Silksong- there’s already some cautious potential connection where Ghost’s shade that appears on their death is the first sign of their connection to the void that most players will run into, and we already know Hornet doesn’t yield a shade on death, but, rather- a cocoon.

Cocoons are interesting in that they contrast the motifs we had in the first game, of shells and eggs that might be ‘empty’ or ‘hollow inside’, or containing a very fledgling, nascent living thing. Cocoons came up relatively little; the grubfather seems to become a cocoon for his children, and the lifeblood cocoons- but cocoons generally are things that extant life forms around itself, to yield new life.

Hornet, compared to Ghost, has rather a lot of vitality. She binds quickly compared to their slow, metered focus; when she dies and respawns, she doesn’t need to come back to her cocoon for anything, but remains at full silk potential, and the cocoon itself is more an aid to help her continue than it is a potential roadblock (regaining one’s shade).

Also, given Ghost in Dream No More and Embrace The Void ascends, leaving the setting behind, Hornet may well ‘catch up to’ them if she’s due for an ascension of her own, if I’m right that she’s going to get closer to Lifeblood, and that Lifeblood seems to be kindred to the Abyss.

#Hollow Knight #Silksong #Ghost #Hornet #readmore #Anonymous