#i just wish i had a larger audience to scream about this to

[boundinparchment]

Blasphemous Rumors - III

“Marry me.” He said it with such blasé that you weren’t sure you heard him correctly.  Silence surrounded the two of you and he leaned down and tilted his head, watching you like a specimen under a microscope. “Just for a year.  A marriage of convenience.  Consider it nothing more than a harmless experiment for the sake of curiosity.” Il Dottore/Female reader with established personality.  Slow-ish burn.  Semi-enemies to lovers. On AO3 here. Likes, reblog, and comments appreciated.

You ran your finger over the small bandage you pressed to your cheek in the dorm’s bathroom mirror earlier that morning as the elevator climbed to your office floor.  The elevator was crowded and you hadn’t been able to escape the sideways glances and whispered questions since you rolled out of bed. 

It was impossible to ignore the speculation around you about how you worked late, how Lord Harbinger Dottore returned as you requested, that no one could ever get him out of his lab that easily.  Another rumor circulated that it wasn’t your office he came to, but your dorm room, and several others claimed to have seen him leaving in the early hours.  The implications were enough to make your skin crawl and you had to literally bite your tongue to keep from screaming.  A reaction would only verify such lies, nevermind ruin everything you worked so hard to build thus far when it came to a persona no one second-guessed.

A dorm without a roommate was coveted, earned, and the privacy afforded was as precious as your own office.  

Attention was the last thing you wanted, let alone needed, but if you played this right, everything would smooth itself out again.

You settled in for the morning, following your routine, only venturing out to the common areas for coffee and to show your face.  No hiding, you reminded yourself.  Anything out of the ordinary (anything more out of the ordinary, rather) was liable to be considered suspicious.  Would it have been easier to decline the offer entirely, you wondered.  As far as you were concerned, the only thing that changed was your potential marital status and availability of sensitive information.

As you walked into your office, you noticed an envelope in the middle of your stationary blotter, light blue with the Tsaritsa’s unmistakable seal.

Lord Dottore had said he would speak with the Archon and notify her.  You hadn’t anticipated such a move so quickly.  In fact, you’d expected a proper audience precisely because of his wording.

You broke the seal gently and opened the envelope, eyes scanning looping letters that never once broke their flow.  The Tsaritsa passed on her congratulations and that She was unaware someone was capable of thawing her doctor’s heart.  A formal audience was scheduled for that afternoon; so much for a lunch break.  

The letter made your hands tremble more than you expected.  Even though you weren’t an allogene, you knew no other Archon, no other authority.  As a native Snezhnayan, you walked a fine line between respect and knowing the people suffered greatly because of the Tsaritsa’s focus on a larger picture.  

Before you had a chance to jot down the time on your calendar, your boss rapped his knuckles on your open door.  A jolt ran through you, your thoughts snapping, and you wished you hadn’t reacted to his interruption.  The last thing you wanted Regrator to know was that your head wasn’t entirely present.

Lord Pantalone wore a smile as sickening as the one he used to tell your parents in no uncertain terms that there would be no negotiations.  It took everything in your to not crumble the Tsaritsa’s note.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” Pantalone remarked, his eyes drifting to your hands.  “I see Her Most Noble Majesty has already sent hers.”

“I have an audience on my lunch break.  I’ll stay late if it runs over, sir.”

He dragged his eyes away from your hands to meet your eyes, looking almost jovial, well-meaning.

“It would be bad form to have you make up time when the Tsaritsa wishes to see you over such an important matter.  Lord Dottore is loyal as long as one knows how to hold his leash.  No doubt the Tsaritsa can give you some pointers.  Whatever is decided, please be sure to forward all bills to my office directly; I will take care of expenses.”

He sounded so kind.  As if this was actually important to you.  And it was, you supposed.  It meant access to more information, more resources, better pay in exchange for both of those to advance plans you would never see, and therefore more money to get your parents through the winter.

Did he know you agreed to Dottore’s proposal? You wondered as you dragged your nail across the fold in the Tsaritsa’s card, flattening the seam.  

The two men were close, or at least as close as two colleagues in such an environment could be.  No doubt, Lord Pantalone, and perhaps the rest of the Harbingers as well, knew of your new status.

His eyes lingered on your hands again but he wasn’t curious about the paper; you hadn’t exactly hidden the words from him despite playing with the paper.  Lord Pantalone turned to leave and then paused, as if contemplating on something, before he looked at you over his shoulder.

“You may want to discuss the matter of your empty finger, my dear, if you are, in fact, to marry above your station.  How ridiculous that someone so smart needs to be reminded of what’s proper.”

You pulled your hands off of the top of your desk and placed them in your lap, the paper still pressed between your fingers.  Heat flared across your face.  

Such an obvious hole in this plan already, noticed by the very man who put you in this position to begin with.

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When you arrived for your audience, you were instead taken away from the throne room and towards a sitting room in a solarium that looked as though everything was made out of crystal.  The floor glistened and the windows let in so much light that you found yourself tugging at your collar, the room a little warmer than the rest of the Palace.  The Tsaritsa was perched on a chair, a tea set and several offerings of finger foods on a table beside her, one seat left vacant, likely intended for you.

You bowed low at the waist and pressed a hand over your heart, only rising when you were commanded to.

She was ethereal, your Archon.  Pale hair that turned the same blue as freshly fallen snow in the rising dawn, piercing eyes as cold as ice; she wore a military uniform but she carried herself with such grace and poise that she may as well have been wearing gossamer.  Across her left breast, a red sash with a blue crystal star, denoting her station along with a small kokoshnik on her head.

Her smile was warm, kind, two things you never saw cross Lord Pantalone’s face, as she offered you tea and asked for you to help yourself.  You reminded yourself not to get too comfortable.  She was still your leader, still the one you were, in the end, betraying.  

“I am quite surprised that anyone was capable of catching Lord Dottore’s attention in such a fashion,” the Tsaritsa began.  “When he came to speak with me last night, I couldn’t help but wonder about the kind of person who could incite such fascination for my Doctor.”

You tried to keep your face in its usual impassive expression and to keep your eyebrows from furling too tight and your fingers loose enough to look natural.  

It was easy to survive Lord Pantalone’s scrutiny.

The Tsaritsa was a different story.

“What did he tell you of me, moya Tsaritsa?  Only good things, I hope,” you replied, tone even and polite.  

“That you are one of the only rational minds in your entire department, always looking out for his best interest in ways that, even if he challenged them, still made sense in the grand scheme.  He is no stranger to pushing boundaries to obtain results but those that push him too much in return often end up…useless.  Putting a Harbinger’s interest before your own is a selfless act that many are unfit to carry out but it is one you pride yourself on, from my understanding.”

“It would be a waste of time to do anything else, moya tsaritsa.  I would do the same regardless of who I was assigned to in my department.”

“Of that, I have no doubt.  Dottore is passionately rational, even cold, at most times.  Quite a marked difference than when he first arrived at my feet.  That someone managed to hold his attention long enough for marriage is quite a feat.  You have my thanks for bringing a spark of life back into him.”

You hadn’t done anything, you wanted to protest.  The Second was merely driven by the idea of having unlimited funding and a strange new experiment no one ever humored him with before.  

Instead, you took another bite of a sandwich half, the crusts perfectly trimmed.  Quietly, your stomach protested, longing for more.  You’d skipped breakfast, after all, and your budget was thin until your next paycheck.  Nothing new, admittedly.

At least you wouldn’t have to pretend to be watching your figure.

“Lord Dottore has his moments,” you said after a beat.  “I am only glad to be a source of inspiration for him.”

Approval glimmered across the Tsaritsa’s face and you felt your heart pull, as if it was snagged on something in your chest.  You’d passed her test.  But what would she think of you in a year, in ten years, whenever you gave up the farce Dottore was playing at?

If, or perhaps when, someone finally stepped in and demanded she take better care of her people?

You took a sip of your tea, still warm and sweet, in an attempt to hide your mouth for a moment.  There was a reason you were an information agent and not closer to the action, not an outright spy in the traditional, social sense.  

“Whatever date you decide will be a public holiday in order for the rest of the city to attend.  It is not every day that my Harbingers commit themselves to another outside of their duties.  As the Second’s Wife, you are due the respect of the people.”

“Thank you for your generosity and foresight, moya Tsaritsa.”

You remembered a time when your mother would smile like that, eyes crinkled and mouth curved in genuine happiness.  How long had it been since you’d seen her do anything but cry?

And you would likely never see such an expression, not even at your own wedding.  Not that you ever dreamed about it, or even thought you would marry.  But the one marriage your parents would be alive for (even if they couldn’t witness it), and it would be…

Something stung your eyes and before you could wipe them, a cold finger reached out and brushed away the tear that threatened to sear your cheek.  There could be no cracks in your facade, you reminded yourself, no room for such silly thoughts.  Even if this wasn’t about love, per se, this was meant to be joyous.  Tears now meant foundational problems for others, including an Archon, to exploit.  And you didn’t need anyone nosing around.

Bad enough you had to end up with Lord Dottore as a co-conspirator.  Couldn’t you have had such an agreement with someone far less perceptive?

“It is normal to be apprehensive,” the Tsaritsa said softly.  “In this world, we are given so little.  Happiness is fleeting, as is life itself.  It is why we must take what we can and enjoy it while it lasts.  Your Harbinger knows this better than anyone and that he is willing to partner with you in spite of that…should speak volumes of his dedication to you.”

Dedication, not love.

At least the God of Love saw the arrangement for what it was, you thought tersely.

“You will do well, my dear.  That you feel that fear tells me that you are very willing to succeed at whatever cost you must pay.  The two of you will do quite well together.”

The hand retreated and moved to the teapot between you, topping off both matching ups.

“Now, the two of you have a lot to discuss, I am certain.  But tell me, have you given any thought to your vision of the day?”

The way she shifted from one topic to another without so much as batting an eye was unparalleled.  You should have expected nothing less from the Cryo Archon, as cold as Her element.  She held no love for her people, not anymore, although your skin still felt as though it was kissed by a winter wind.

You stayed until the tea was tepid and the platters were all but empty; so much for a brief lunch break.

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Briefly, you wondered if you were going mad.

Surely not.

But then again, you’d agreed to marry one of the highest ranking Harbingers, bested only by The Captain.

You had to at least be a bit touched to consider passing through these doors.  No one, not even those that worked within its confines, wanted to cross this threshold.  Haeresys was not a place for the faint of heart, not even for the desperate and downtrodden.  More often than not, it was a one-way-trip to a vivisection table (and that was if you were lucky to not survive the first round of experiments Dottore thought might prove useful).

You knew enough from the budget summaries.

But you couldn’t always rely on Lord Dottore to come to you.  It was not only rude but it showed a lack of commitment on your part.  Your schedule was far more forgiving than that of a Harbinger’s, for one, not to mention it would not look very convincing if you were not occasionally seen visiting your fiance in return.  

Besides, maybe you would glean something useful from the trip, you reasoned as you pushed one side of the imposing double doors open.  

The stories of the place were accurate enough; dark corners, stone walls, questionable stains every so often (although most of them were the distinct reddish brown of dried blood).  It was late in the evening, well past dinner time, and the remaining assistants kept their distance.  At most, they bowed and directed you to the last location they knew their boss was located.  More than once, you were directed in a circle.  In their defense, you understood how, at first glance, one might mistake Omega for Dottore himself.

Eventually, you came across the Segment you knew, the one who laughed too easily with a bright pink bowtie.

“You’re not here for an audit, are you?  The last unfortunate sod who undertook that task blew his head right off when he saw the archival room.”

He grinned viciously and you felt your skin crawl.  You never could get used to that smile, all teeth and no heart, as sharp as the scalpel in his hand.  Every time you had to deal with him made you more thankful for the older Segments, for Lord Dottore himself.

“I’m here to see Lord Dottore.  I have matters to discuss with only him.”

“But I am—oh, you’re the one he chose, aren’t you?”

You swore his smile grew wider, although it was hard to tell under his three-quarters-mask.  Were Lord Dottore’s eyes as red as the ones before you?  Were they even red at all?

“Perceptive of you, sir.”

When he realized he wasn’t going to get a reaction out of you, his shoulders deflated slightly and his smile disappeared.  You swore he muttered, “Buzzkill,” under his breath.

Louder, he said, “This way,” and gestured for you to follow him with a glove you only just realized from stained red with fresh blood.

The Segment brought you to a set of double doors and pounded a fist against the wood, the corner of his mouth set into a frown.  When Lord Dottore’s voice came from inside, muffled and seemingly just as annoyed as the man before you, the Segment opened the door and pushed you inside.  You stumbled but caught yourself quickly, finding your balance just as a masked head shot up to assess the situation.

“Your fiance, Prime,” the Segment announced before he slammed the door shut.

Lord Dottore watched you for a moment, his head turned in your direction before he resumed whatever he was working on.  

“You could have sent a courier.  There is little point in you trekking all the way down here,” he said by way of greeting.

“It’s nice to see you too, sir.”

The sound of a pen scratching against paper filled the room and you gazed around, eyes falling on the wall of stock shelves across from you, jars upon jars of bits and organs, haphazard stacks of books, and artifacts that Lord Pantalone was likely looking for.  Cluttered wasn’t the word that came to mind but you could see how some might call it such.  It was clean, free of dust, everything labeled and organized.  

“What brings you down here, Accountant?  I did not take you for a woman foolish enough to enter the wolf’s maw willingly.”

An answer you wish you had.  A strange notion crept up on you after your audience with the Tsaritsa, one you couldn’t put into words, and struggled even harder to put into quantifiable values.  You had run the numbers in your head, the risks and the benefits, and were unable to come to any other conclusion than the one before you.  Not that you would go back on your word; you weren’t that hungry for death.  

Rather, you were likely not going to live a long, prosperous life.  Most did not in Snezhnaya, not without stepping on a few heads and becoming ruthless in the process.  Throw in the gamble you made long enough to smuggle information out of the Fatui and you were destined to die all but three hundred feet from where you were born.

As such, this wedding was likely the only one you were going to have.

And it was fake.

Worthless.

You tried to tell yourself it didn’t matter and that you might as well derive what joy you could from such circumstances.  But the Tsaritsa had done nothing but scramble your thoughts earlier in the afternoon and facing your own mortality as both a Fatuus and as a hidden agent was not doing your mind any good.

“I met with the Tsaritsa this afternoon,” you said, tilting your head as you examined a series of books.  

You remembered the budget several years ago that mentioned these books and the name stuck in your head ever since.  The spines were cracked.

“Presumably it went well, otherwise you would not be here interrupting my work,” Dottore replied, his words tight.  “I explicitly told you I will leave most of the planning to you.  No doubt she has expectations on the whole affair.”

“Whatever date we decide, she intends to make it a public holiday.”

You heard a sigh and then the click of a pen cap sliding home and turned your head to watch him fling the pen onto the surface of his desk.  

“I do not care for the pomp and circus that the Tsaritsa demands, hence why I do not wish to be part of the process.  But for the sake of appearances, everything must look genuine and therefore require compliance on both of our parts.  Pick whatever date you wish.  I would prefer to simply get this over with.”

Lord Dottore brought a hand to his jaw and rubbed the joint as he silently moved his mouth for a moment.  His shoulders were straight, perhaps too straight, and he looked as if he spent the better part of the day (and even more than) toiling away at whatever he was working on.

“You are usually not this quiet when you have something to say, Accountant.  My patience is thin.  Don’t make me mark your other cheek.”

You preferred to not have to go into work with another bandage on your face.  Not that anyone would be surprised, you supposed.

Business terms, you reminded yourself.  If you broke it down into smaller parts that felt more like a negotiation, perhaps it would be easier to get the words out.  The last thing you wanted to do was admit that you would have liked to be doing this for more than just the whim of another’s circumstances, than the benefits it would bring you.

You felt eyes burning through you and you glanced out of the corner of your eye to see Dottore staring at you, or so you presumed, his hand still massaging his jaw.

“I would like to at least put in some kind of effort, as this is likely the only wedding I’m ever going to have; Fatuus don’t exactly have a long lifespan, even those in the Palace.  But I do not wish to misrepresent you,” you said at last, returning your gaze to the shelf in front of you.  “Nor do you a disservice in any way.”

It took everything in you not to laugh at your choice of words, at the consideration you were taking for a Fatui Harbinger.  Bad enough your family was indebted to Northland Bank, worse still to turn to the Fatui for employment, never without the reminder of what little stood between you and your family’s destitution.

“You’re intimately familiar with my finances, Accountant.  Just don’t short other budgets.”

“Lord Regrator offered to cover everything himself,” you replied.

“Of course he did.”

“And I need an engagement ring if you’re so intent on making this facade seem real.  People know, after all.  There are expectations when people look at me now.”

You hadn’t meant for it to come out as selfish as it did.  Bad enough you admitted your thoughts so openly to a man who would, no doubt, seek to exploit whatever weakness sat beneath them.

“I take it Regrator said something about that too,” Dottore muttered before shifting his jaw side to side and then shutting it.

You could only nod, fingers hovering over the wooden shelf, perched without anywhere else to really put them.  Lord Dottore didn’t say anything else, instead slowly circling around his desk and crossing the distance towards you.  It wasn’t until he was in front of you and he had taken your chin in his hand that you became acutely aware of his presence.  Once again, the mask covering his eyes hovered dangerously close to your own nose.  You were convinced he might poke your eye out one day and perhaps it might not be an accident.

He was warmer than you expected and although the chill of the entire laboratory never left, you felt yourself instinctively drawn to the heat he provided.  

“I asked you because your eye for detail has been beneficial over the years.  I need someone who can think at the level required of my rank, to consider all details and angles and outcomes.  Do as you wish, paint the image the Tsaritsa and the others need to see.  I will act accordingly but work with a Segment on everything else.  I do not have the time to waste on such trivialities.”

Then why agree to get married at all? You wanted to ask.  Is the headache of all of this truly worth unlimited funding?

It must have seemed that way, at least for him.

Dottore let go of your face and reached towards the shelf nearest you, pulling a book free.  He considered it for a moment before he looked back towards you, mouth set in a thin line.

“If there was nothing else, Accountant?”

You knew a dismissal when you heard one.�� You stepped away from the shelf, from him, and bowed for a moment.

“No, sir.  Goodnight.”

Without another word, you made your way to the door, your eyes catching on the form of his back before you left his study.  The door was heavier than you expected and it shut with a resounding and final rumble and click of the latch sliding home.

You couldn’t wait for this to be done and over with.

#fic: blasphemous rumors #dottore #il dottore #il dottore x reader #dottore x reader #il dottore x female reader #dottore x female reader #arranged marriaged #marriage of convenience

[goldenpinof]

Knowing how left-leaning their audience is I definitely think it's been a cop-out on dnp's behalf to not say enough about the genocide, especially considering they're white Brits, the UK has caused half the problem here.

That said, your discussions about their management getting sponsorship deals and 'getting money from zionists and donating to palestine' thing reminded me of something else I observed. Like with Jacksepticeye's thankmas stream, when he announced the donations will go to World Central Kitchen, I realised he's talking around the issue a lot, saying stuff like "with all that's happening in the world" and even WCK in the stream talking about war vaguely, and I had made sure to look through their website to check that yes they were indeed sending aid to Palestine. And I understand the logic there from both Sean and WCK that there's a big audience that they're trying to take advantage of, but if you take any strong political positions beyond "charity good, helping war torn regions good" then it might lose you a lot of donations and derail the fundraiser making it harder to get that aid in the first place. I've seen similar things happen with a lot of well meaning people who try to keep their political positions away from the public eye.

Personally of course I'd prefer to see dnp say more about these topics and engage in important stuff like that. But the discussions about the management getting those sponsorships also makes me wonder if purely strategically speaking it helps to keep controversial things out of the public eye to be able to gain the funds to donate in the first place. My main problem here isn't them getting paid by Amazon, it's the fact that they're promoting and giving a platform to that company at all. Idk how far you can negotiate that stuff with your managers but if there's ever a time to put your foot down it's with this.

Nevertheless, I can also see the merits to an approach where you try not to alienate sources of funds which can do more for aiding a cause than paying lip service would have, but at the end of the day it's up to every individual how they navigate this and what they give more importance to, and I can live with the fact that some people walking that line in the public eye can help get funds on a larger scale. It's not what everyone should do, more of us and especially celebrities who have less to lose/have loads more influence like a listers should be speaking up and not mincing our words, but perhaps there's a particular social position where not alienating big sponsors and donors can help that individual do more good in the long term.

~ 🪴

P.s. sorry about the long essay I've been thinking about that particular social dynamic ever since the thankmas charity stream bc again it raised a LOT of money that way

about Amazon i completely agree. promotion does more damage than dnp getting paid by Amazon. they technically can donate that cheque to Palestine, if they want to. but Amazon will still get money from some of the audience, and dnp working with someone like this one sends a confusing message to their audience.

i wish those things weren't labelled as controversial. and, to be clear, i'm not saying dnp should scream about genocide and war every day or every week. that would have the opposite effect. just, you know, simple reminders here and there, verified links to charities and protests/marches.

i don't really have anything to add to your ask. thank you for sharing, a lot to think about! <3

#dapg-otmebytheballs #answered #sean mcloughlin #tagging it to not lose #like i always lose everything #sponsors

[hilarychuff]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ♥️

ok before i do mine i just want to shout out yours!!! everybody go check out @cellsshapedlikestars' fave five fics (especially the crime noir one) ❤️

ok now back to me looks like i’m going with a counting down format

5. in any world (in any way) - sansa aus

link to ao3 and link to tag

i put two on here but i couldn’t pick just one more!!! i love overboard i love anastasia i love parent trap i love miss congeniality i love house of wax i love princess diaries

there are a couple i did not mention specifically but genuinely truly truly i love all of them they are each a little labor of love putting together the graphics and sometimes trying to be very intentional with those but as i talked about earlier even when the graphics are done and how i like them these days i never share them if i don’t also have the blurb where i want and if i haven’t also figured out how everything slots into place

it is so fun to do a little au like this because it’s like a puzzle figuring out who is who and how you can make it work being true to the source material you’re using as your framework while also adapting as necessary for your character’s actual character arcs like!!!! they are much bigger in my head then they make it onto the page, also. i wish i could fully write all of them out but it would take me forever 

4. while you were sleeping jonsa au 

link to blurb and link to drabble and link to tag

related to what i was just saying..... i did write out a scene for this one actually!!!!! this movie makes my heart so warm and thinking about it in terms of jonsa made my heart so warm and i just love that scene and i loved writing it out and i had a few other blah blahs that i’ve shared in my tag too

3. sweet/vicious - sansa and arya au 

link to blurb 

this one may not have an audience anywhere other than with me bc i feel like i am the only person who didn’t work at mtv who watched this show while it was airing but i have shown sweet/vicious to approximately one million friends and it is just such a little gift of a tv show and i feel like the dynamics fit really well for sansa and arya. i love love love a sister moment and the way that jules and ophelia care about each other but also fight sometimes and are so different lends itself really well to these two girlies. also jon as tyler is really truly honestly very special to me too (although i do hate to make the stark sisters unrelated bc then i’m always like ok do i give them last names lmao who gets what parent how does all that stuff work)

2. i carry it in mine - jonsa soulmate au

link to ao3 and link to tag 

i think this one speaks for itself. it’s the most popular thing i’ve ever written, which isn’t really that important to me in a numbers sense, but it’s very special to get to talk about a story that i wrote with people who liked it and the larger number of eyes on it provided that opportunity. it’s also been a fun experiment in switching perspectives, because i usually just stick to one at a time. and there is just a lot in there that i love. it is very much still like an adaptive work but trying to come up with solutions to these plot issues that people have with those works or trying to guess where things are going when we don’t have the real answers yet (not necessarily in an attempt to get things all right but just to make sure they make sense!!!) has been a hard and interesting challenge too. 

1. howl 2 (but also all of howl) - jonsa scream au

link to ao3 and link to tag 

look clearly i love working in adaptations and mash ups and that’s why this is just my absolute fave i think. sansa/jonsa/sansa and her siblings plus the scream franchise!!! and howl 2 specifically because while i love howl 1 i like marathon churned it out in a 72 hour period basically just plagiarizing and novelizing the scream script without pouring in too much additional effort. i just thought it would be like a fun halloween drabble sort of deal. but then howl 2 i put a lot more time and thought and effort and love into and it felt more like writing an actual story. also there are more jonsa feelings in it!!!!! idk it just was the most labor of love too bc i was like..... truly nobody is going to read this i am only writing this for myself and i still finished it!!!!!! go me

#my writing #ask game #jonsa fic #sansa stark fic

[bluandtherestlesshands]

Heartstrings

Chapter Three: Moonlight Memories

For Mature Audiences

CW: None needed currently. Aizen himself is a red flag anyway.

“So…When were you going to tell me you’re a Quincy?”

She remembered that day so well. Where her entire life in Karakura Town changed. Seven years ago, young, impressionable, and scared out of her mind of the future.

Chisei found herself in the Soul Society, being escorted to a gate that would take her home. A Senkaimon, as the Shinigami called it. She had plead her case, now being allowed to return home. One of the Captains took special interest in her at the time, though she didn’t fully understand why at the time. Was it really that uncommon to have an adoptive family? The Captain, adjusting his glasses, walked with her.

”It appears it’s your time to leave. Farewell Chisei, and good luck.” The captain smiled, not quite expecting what would happen next. In her high emotions, the young lady hugged him tightly.

”Th-Thank you Captain Aizen…! I owe you my life. Thank you!” She had already let him go before he could respond, left staring as she sprinted through the Senkaimon towards her town. Finally, finally, going home.

What Chisei did not expect, and nobody thought to warn her, was that she could be reappearing hundreds of feet in the air. The woman jumped out and looked down to see the tops of trees and buildings, all the color draining from her face in slow motion before she began to free fall.

The woman screamed, looking for something to brace her fall. A shop awning, bunch of pillows, she’d settle for a bush! This couldn’t be how it ends, not after all she fought through to get back. Chisei squeezed her eyes shut and whimpered, curling up to brace from the imminent crash back to Earth, when suddenly something plucked her from the air. No longer falling to the streets below, someone had grabbed her in a princess hold and brought her back up towards the skyline. Once she felt she was no longer in danger, she peeked up with one eye… Only to stare wide-eyed at the profile in the moonlight. That damned hat… She recognized him.

”M-Mr. Urahara!?”

He brought her back to his shop, each step he took had an audible sound from the clogs hitting. The candy shop, the one she always visited with her siblings… Someone else from that world, right under her nose.

”Well, isn’t this a surprise… An angel falling from heaven, in this town?” The man joked, smiling down at her. Between his hat and his scruffy pale blonde hair, she could hardly see his eyes.

“Don’t even go there, you’ve seen me for years.. And hey!! What about you!?” Chisei pointed up at him. “Since when were you involved in all this!?”

”Longer than your parents have been alive. Buuuut, I think you should explain to me why there’s a Quincy that just left the Soul Society.” As he entered the shop, he didn’t move to let her down. Not yet. There wasn’t an opening allowed for her, and Mr. Hat-And-Clogs gave her a cheeky smile. “Don’t worry! We got time tonight.”

”Kind of wishing you let me fall at this point…”

”That can still be arranged.” He joked, and turned his attention to a larger man who was busying himself with sweeping. “Tessai, we have a guest. Can you prepare some tea? I think we’re going to have a long conversation tonight.”

Once he finally set her down, Chisei busied herself with fixing her shirt, smoothing down her hair while she looked around the shop. “Can we please try to make this quick?? It’s just- My family hasn’t seen me in over a week, they can’t defend themselves against hollows…”

”They should be fine for tonight, you can rest her for now then head out in the morning.” Kisuke said, gesturing for her to follow him through the sliding doors. “So, when were you going to tell me you’re a Quincy?”

The brunette bristled at the question, once in the room she found herself a cushion to sit down on and groaned. “I had no idea until recently… Before that, it seemed like nobody else was seeing it, so I never told anyone.” She tried to explain. “Honestly, trying to find out more is what got me into this mess. About my birth parents. It’s after I was given this.” The woman showed her wrist, displaying the small chain and the five-pointed cross.

Kisuke gave a nod after he set himself down, watching the girl’s reactions. “Sounds like they had no idea what they were giving you… Though you might be better off they did, you probably needed it…”

”There was a little boy my sister’s age… He died a few months ago. After he was left alone, I kept him company. Brought games, that sort of thing.. After I was given this, a hollow attacked him.” Chisei put her arm down, clearing her throat. “I saved him… Somehow. After that, I went to the place my parents found me… And in finding more answers, I got in way too deep…”

”You know, I always wondered why you looked so different from them…” He leaned in and smiled, seeming earnest. “Your younger siblings, they’re all close in age right? Now I know why you’re not.”

”Y-Yeah.” The woman swallowed hard, watching the man with small spectacles step into the room and set down a treat with a teapot and two cups, already filled to the brim with the liquid. “There’s a seven and ten year age gap. When they saved me, they didn’t think they could have their own kids… Now I help out with my siblings since my parents are getting older.”

”And they’re really human? No powers or anything?”

”Completely. There was a hollow directly outside the house and they didn’t see it… None of them had any idea what the bracelet meant either.” She shook her head and sighed. “Really, they’re kinda hopeless…”

“I see…” Kisuke, everything started to add up. “So, back to what got you here. You went back to where they found you?”

”A house in the woods, on the outskirts of town. As far as I know, my birth parents were attacked by something… The house was abandoned.” She looked down, biting her lip. “After what happened when I got there, it’s not somewhere I want to return… Not until I’m stronger. It was overrun with hollows, but I was helped out by a Shinigami surveying nearby. After we fought them off, he told me to follow him and promised to help… I should’ve been more careful…” Chisei trailed off, rubbing her arm and taking a deep breath. “… As soon as we arrived, they tried to detain me. I ran, which… didn’t make things better, but I guess I surprised them.”

There was a stifled snicker that made her look up, and Kisuke was trying not to laugh. “Shinigami don’t expect Quincy to be quick on their feet… Not like a track star at least. Though I think you met your match that day…”

”Ugh… Yes. Not as quickly as they thought, but yes.” She took her cup carefully with both hands, “If I hadn’t bumped into a captain I don’t think they would’ve caught up… Instead I ended up begging for my life… At least he turned out to be one of the few to help me plead my case…”

”Plead your case? You mean you didn’t just get away and find your own way back?”

”Of course not! Who was I going to ask to help me get back??” She rolled her eyes, but then her face dropped. “… Some freaky Captain wanted to dissect me. I kept hearing ‘untapped potential’ and I learned pretty quickly that my situation was abnormal… Later on, someone else helped me get through and get back home. Under the stipulation I never return…”

”Well, untapped potential is certainly one way to put it.” Kisuke chuckled softly while he thought aloud, “A grown Quincy girl with no idea of her heritage, attempting to protect her non-Quincy family. And now, you’ve gotten yourself kicked out of the Soul Society! That takes a special type of person… It’s almost unbelievable, really.”

Chisei glanced up from her cup, for a split second she felt her stomach drop at the implication. Still sipping at the liquid in order to keep herself calm, she listened.

”…But, considering I just saved you from falling to your death from a Senkaimon, I think it’s safe to say you’re telling the truth!” As soon as an annoyed look came across her face, Kisuke could only laugh at her. “Can’t really fake that!”

”You know… You never told me where you stand in all of this…” Chisei noted, holding the warm cup in her lap. “Aren’t Shinigami usually in the Soul Society..? I don’t think you’re a Quincy either…”

”You may be inexperienced, but you’ve always been receptive.” He said, finally, taking his cup of tea. “It may be true that I’m from the Soul Society, but those days are long gone. Today, I’m as you’ve seen for years- just a humble candy shop owner.”

”Right…” Chisei cleared her throat, “Thank you for saving me earlier. You don’t have to put me up for tonight, you know… I’d hate to be a bother.”

”Don’t worry about it too much, you can head out in the morning after some rest. If you’re that worried about paying me back, you can come work in the shop for a day to make up for it.” He smiled, “And if you find yourself in over your head- Come back here and we’ll see what we can do.”

”Chisei? Are you still in the shower?”

The woman’s thoughts came back to the present when she overheard a voice in the bedroom. Her head was still under the shower spray, having finished washing. When he knocked, she jumped at the sound and called out. “I’ll be right out!”

”Take your time. I will be here when you’re ready.” She listened to his footsteps walk away from the door, and she sighed as she ran her fingers through her hair one more time before killing the water. Chisei stepped out and grabbed her towel, starting to dry herself off. The woman didn’t want to leave him waiting longer than she had to, making sure to be quick in her movements. In her other hand, she tossed her old clothes into the hamper and reached for the nightgown. There was some hesitation in touching it, but she knew by now she didn’t have anything else. Once the towel was also discarded, she took the garment and tossed it on over her head. A small tousle of her damp hair, she took a deep breath before opening the door.

Aizen turned upon hearing her gentle footsteps in the doorway, but it took him a moment to respond while he drank in the sight. The gown only came to about the middle of her thigh, covering far less skin than her clothes earlier. “You look beautiful… Was everything to your liking?”

”Y-Yeah, I don’t know how you found the scents I used too… “Chisei laughed nervously, she still seemed to be hugging herself. “It was nice after how… Today’s gone…”

“I spoke to Gin about how roughly you were handled. It was not my intention to have him use any sort of force with you.” He approached her, threading his fingers through her hair while he smiled down at her. “You should be able to relax now… I would rest for tonight, you must be exhausted.”

”Yeah… Big day tomorrow…” She tilted her head up, just as she did Aizen pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Sosuke? Is there… Anything I should know? About the Espada?”

”Nothing you should worry about tonight. You’ve already met four of the ten, and you will meet the other six tomorrow.” He retracted his hand from her and began to walk towards his own closet to begin disrobing. Once he began to shrug off his jacket, showing off his broad shoulders, Chisei’s face began to heat up. She ducked around to her side of the bed. The sooner she got into bed and closed her eyes, the better. As much as he promised her that nothing would happen tonight, that wouldn’t change the act that she’d be caught staring at how well built he was.

”I hope this won’t be a problem for us, Chisei.” Aizen set his jacket in his own hamper, keeping on his hakama pants tonight. He spoke to her while glancing over his shoulder, knowing how terribly embarrassed his small queen was getting. “Ordinarily I sleep in the nude, though I’ve decided not to do that tonight to help you acclimate. Do you think this is something you could become comfortable with?”

”O-Oh! I, um…” Chisei looked up, her face was only getting redder at his toned back. It was her turn to be the speechless one, as he turned to face her while removing his shoes. Incredibly well built, muscle, the body that most girls dreamed of… She started to wonder if he also had this body hidden under his Shinigami uniform?

”Based on your reaction, it doesn’t seem like you will mind much.” Aizen smiled darkly at this, once his shoes were discarded he pulled back the comforter and sheets. “Quite similar to the look I gave you moments ago…”

”Ah-!” She smiled nervously, not wanting to say much else when she climbed under the covers with her back to him. Aizen could only laugh quietly at this sheepish display, joining her in bed on the other side while resting her weight on his elbow.

”You don’t need to be afraid, Chisei.” He spoke softly, careful to not reach out and overwhelm the already anxious woman. “I want you to be comfortable here.”

”I’m not afraid-!” She said, but once the words left her mouth she knew it was a lie. “Well, not- I don’t think you’re going to hurt me… That way… It’s more like-“

”Can you please face me when you’re talking to me?”

”Right- You’re right, I’m sorry.” Chisei rolled over to face him, her cheeks still rosy and warm. He gave a small laugh, much to her chagrin, and touched the back of his fingers to her face.

”How cute… Thank you. If you’re not afraid of me, then something else is scaring you… What is it?” Aizen asked, tilting his head in some concern. Though, truth be told, he was far more interested in the plain fact that she was even here.

”It’s… I guess the new look, with the intimacy…” She said, looking away. “It’s a lot to come to terms with all at once…”

”I see… I’m sure it’s also difficult having to transition from your previous life.” He inched closer, then gave her a smile. “Is it alright if I tried holding you? Ease into the intimacy for tomorrow?”

As he said this, he offered for her to come closer. Aizen stopped at the halfway point of the bed, one of his hands gently nudging her to scoot into his arms. Chisei was held against his chest in a warm embrace, and he was relishing in the fact that she instinctively tucked her head under his chin to lay comfortably. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his hands staying along her shoulders and back so that she remained comfortable. He couldn’t push anything more tonight, though his normally ironclad restraint was being tested. For the first time in his knowing her, the uncertainty in her eyes was also concealing a more carnal desire. The want for something more, physically and emotionally more so. Finally wanting something more for herself, and dare he say a selfish desire she wanted to be fulfilled. As of now, Aizen knew that this desire is what brought her here, and would keep her here.

The Lord of Las Noches was ready to give whatever it took to have her properly under his control.

#bleach #ao3 fanfic #bleach oc #bleach original character #oc x canon #sosuke aizen #ao3 writer #fanfiction #kisuke urahara

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

ugh i just like. on the one hand i feel like im constantly screaming into the void re: the sunset flag stuff but also like. i just want to do something about it. and i know there are other lesbians who agree with me! but it feels like every non lesbian has fallen for the bullshit of the assholes and exclusionists forcing that garbage on creators until it became mainstream. 

and it is garbage! it’s a pride flag for people who harass other actual queer people and use their identity as a shield from valid criticism. it’s basically a clone of the lipstick flag and getting away from that is the whole reason we started looking for a new flag in the first place so why did so many people decide it was fine to land two steps away?? it’s gross and i hate that anyone would associate it with me and my identity.

anyway. i dunno. just stop fucking using it. stop supporting the creator. there are so many better alternatives with a kinder and more inclusive message. god.

non-lesbians are encouraged to reblog

#the nemesis speaks #flag discourse #lesbian flag discourse #negativity tw #negativity #=.= #i'm so. tired #i just wish i had a larger audience to scream about this to #but i don't #and i'm so. fucking sick of more popular blogs esp. non-lesb ones promoing it #i hate it so much!

[clouds-rambles]

hello!~ o(〃＾▽＾〃)o

can i request headcanons for kaeya, diluc, childe, and venti on what they would while their s/o dies in their arms? (if thats okay with u <3)

thank u sm! :))

BESTIE THE PAIN I FEEL RN!!! Omw to make hurt some of my faves hope you enjoy <3

Also guys I’ve been here for a day how are there almost 50 of you following?!

Pairings; (Separate) Kaeya, Diluc, Childe, Venti x reader

Warning(s); hurt, big hurty, reader death, vague wound description, cursing, talk about dead bodies

Keep reading under the cut!

Kaeya

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You were meant to live forever with him. You were supposed to grow old with him and become a parent to your future children. You were-

“Kaeya” you choke out smiling at your partner above you. The man shakes his head mentally pleading with you to not die “Kaeya I will always be on the wind” you tell him, a shaky, bloody hand raised to his cheek to weekly caress it

“Please” he pleads “Please don’t die on me [name]” you smile at him feeling the breaths in your lungs disappear

“I’m sorry Kae--ya” you apologise before passing away in his arms

He doesn’t move for a long time. He doesn’t feel for a long time. The one person he could share his secrets and his love to gone. Away with the wind

Kaeya doesn’t remember the last time he cried, but he’ll remember this one. 

Your beaten, bruised, broken, dead, and beautiful body slumped in his arms as his tears fall from his face as he feels an absence in his heart

How is he supposed to live on if this is the pain he feels right now?

Jean eventually stumbles upon Kaeya out in the wilds, still clutched to your now cold and even more lifeless body

Jean manages to get the man up with your body held close to his chest

“Jean, I can’t, I can’t let them go” he pleads as if he’s waiting for you to simply wake up in his arms

“Kaeya...” Jean says in a concerned tone having never seen him in such a state, even he seemed to quickly recover from his fathers death

Eventually Jean coaxed Kaeya to go back to the city and leave your body in the hands of the sisters. Where they dressed you up and prepared a funeral service for you

The funeral was larger than Kaeya was expecting, you had affected a many more people than he realised from your small jobs around the city. Kaeya can’t help but be awed at how many people you’ve helped while you were in Mond

The usual chatter of Mondstat is quiet and in a time of grieving for about a week or so, many people have wonderful memories of you and Kaeya seems to be collecting them all, that and bunches of flowers. Many of which find themselves laying on your tombstone as Kaeya tells you about his day

A month passes and it seems like everything's back to normal, Kaeya is back to his outgoing self. He spends more nights at the tavern, but even Diluc doesn’t have the heart to cut him off. 

Jean seems to pick up on the smallest things, goddamnit Jean, the extra nights at the tavern, the eyebags, the weeping she can hear from his room. In it’s own right is heart-breaking, the acting Grandmaster cannot imagine what it’s like to be actually experiencing that kind of pain

-

Diluc

No, not like this

You had both decided that night to join each other in your little vigilante escapade. Which was fine you had both done this before, but tonight resulted in something very different

Here you are, head on Dilucs lap. This could be considered romantic, and often was, were it not for the fact you felt like you choked up a mixture of your lung and your bloody supply

“Diluc” you speak with a much worse for wear voice, the red-head looks into your eyes, eyes already gaining moisture. A similar scene has befallen him before, a Diluc knows how this ends

“Please” he pleads his voice wavering “Please don’t leave me” he chokes back a sob and tears fall off his face the salt hitting your own

“I love you so much” you start, Diluc shakes his head. Must you hurt him so with last words? “Don’t blame yourse-” another set of hacking befalls you as you lose more blood

“Please” he pleads again as the grip you had on his arm goes slack indicating your loss of life

Diluc screams, he cries and he hugs you close. He screams into the air of Mondstat until his voice hurts and he cries until all he’s doing is dry sobbing and he holds you close until you’re broken body is pried from his own broken mind

A wondering Jean heard his screams into the night sky and hereby answered them. She never expected to see Diluc, still in his vigilante getup, crying over your body

She calls for more guards who take your body from his and Jean helps Diluc get back to the estate. At one point during the walk Jean can feel DIluc shaking and hyperventilating. So they stand for a moment, Jean holds and comforts the wine-master before they move again

Jean has never seen such emotion from Diluc before, and she wholeheartedly hopes she’ll never have to see it again. Seeing Diluc so raw and rife with emotion is enough to make anyone cry. And Jean nearly did on more than one occasion.

Your funeral is small, much to Dilucs request and really only were attended by the estate and Jean. Diluc didn’t want to cry again in such a large audience

Though the maids often hear pained sobs coming from Dilucs room as he contemplates and often blames himself for what had transpired. Maids daren’t speak up about what they hear though, Diluc’s pain is more than understandable

Diluc throws himself into work opting to man the bar most days of the week and fighting for the city as often as he can. People around him are more than concerned

Diluc’s stoic nature seems to be intensified now, not wanting to let another person in and die in his arms. He’s seen enough death for his life and wishes not to lose more loved ones

Everything seems to have moved back to what life was before you arrived in your life, depressive, monotonous, boring, mundane for the most part and sad. So very sad

He wishes for a day where his heart isn’t strife with grief, but he doubts that day will not be coming anytime soon

-

Childe

You grin up at him, feeling close to naught pain coming from the gaping wound thanks to the excess of adrenaline that’s pumping through your body

“Childe” you say the smile still on your lips in an attempt at not making the situation as dark and horrific as it is. Childe speaks your name in return

“I love you” you tell him mustering the strength to cup the mans cheek, who immediately nuzzles into it. The situation almost doesn’t feel real to him. He’s going to be shaken awake by a very unwounded you in just a moment and inform him he’s having a nightmare

But that moment doesn’t come. Nor do any words come from you. Your slow rhythms of your heart remind you that he’s still got time, but you’ve expended all your energy. Your smile you’re wearing seems to be dropping

“I love you [name], I love you so much, you are everything I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you” he rambles bringing your body to his chest

“Live for--- me” you sputter out into his chest, a dying wish that Childe isn’t too sure he can uphold. Is it really living if he’s an empty vessel.

You go limp in his arms and he can no longer sense your heartbeat. Death had finally laid claim to you

Childe sits with you for hours, you’d expect him to be wailing like a banshee if you knew his personality but that’s rather not the case. Sobbing quietly is a better word for what happens. Most of his sobs and hacks for air are hidden in your hair. He pulled your body to his shoulder just to weep

Eventually he finds himself mustering the courage to walk back to Liyue Harbour. You firmly held in his arms. He knows that if he walks too plainly the Millelith would pry and ask too many questions for his fragile heart to answer

Childe ends up barging into the wangsheng funeral parlour, which surprises Zhongli a little. He’s about to go on a rant to Childe about how he must book an appointment, until he sees your lifeless body in his arms

The funeral is arranged quickly and neatly. There aren’t many people who attend, Childe is okay with that, he secretly wants to see his family and cry on their shoulder a bit

Instead he opts for a letter, which arrives to the family tear stained and lacking the usual penmanship ‘I’m sorry, you won’t be able to see [name] after all. They passed away not too long ago...’ he basically writes your arbitrary in the letter. And his whole heart is in every word he writes

Determined not to let anybody in Childe finds himself in a pattern, when he’s not throwing himself into battles he’s doing paper work or yelling at his subordinates and when he’s not doing that he’s doing his weekly fight with the traveller. Childe gets next to no sleep and instead opts to reading and rereading every letter and note you’ve ever given him

If Childe passes out at his desk nobody bothers him either in fear of getting yelled at by the harbinger or an understanding of losing a loved one

They never said being a harbinger was fulfilling work. Yet, he let himself believe that he could be fulfilled and content with a lover. What a shameful lie

-

Venti

He’s awfully quiet. He hasn’t experienced death in so long. Especially one he thought would be forever.

He couldn’t even get to you to hear your last words. Ironic isn’t it? He hadn’t heard that guys last words either. And yet this pains him so much more

Sure mortal lives are fleeting but he was certain he had more time with you. More time to see you grow old, more time to put off your inevitable mortality. More time to-

He’s hyperventilating, Venti’s body shakes as he finds nothing to ground himself not even the person he loves so dear is there for him. He feels like he could explode, breaths caught in his throat refusing to surface and come up for air. Despite being an immortal archon, the breaths that refuse to surface don’t fail to make him feel like he’s choking

A bard he is. And one that knows every song from the past, present and future. Suddenly the pained songs from the future make sense to him. He knew what was written. A love lost

Suddenly he finds himself crying and hunched over your deceased form making promises to the wind that he’ll never forget you. Much like he’ll ever forget that bard

He isn’t sure how long has passed but he’s still sobbing over your form, there aren’t many tears left for him to cry but he can’t find himself stopping. He feels like they’ll never stop. 

Maybe he could lay beside you and sleep for another thousand years. But that would only delay the inevitable. The inevitable sinking feeling.

Maybe it was his fault for letting himself fall in love with a mortal, but in the moment he could truly see you living life with him. He could see a marriage, children. He wanted you to have it all.

Damn celestia and all things above for not letting you ascend, at least when he inevitably ascends you’ll be there to greet him. Curse that and your mortality

Jean eventually stumbles upon him during a recon mission to find him covering your body in various flowers, a crown made of cecelias don your head. He’s quiet, but he’s saying goodbye. Who would blame him? Jean doesn’t interrupt him and only wishes you a farewell

News of your death spread around town like wildfire, your grave donned with more flowers than Venti can count. He almost feels bad about not doing a public service after seeing how many people are truly in mourning

Diluc doesn’t push Venti to pay his growing tab no matter how much he should. And Diluc doesn’t say no to Venti singing his happy tunes in the tavern

It feels like his life has retuned to normal. Though Jean can’t help but look out the library window to see Venti sat atop his statue with an expression, as Jean can only guess, of sadness.

Venti finds himself going back to an old schedule again but he can’t miss the nagging feeling of somethings missing. The something being you

Sometimes he half expects you to hug him from behind, or join him up at the statue, or kiss him on his nose, or-

Venti can’t quite comprehend how he feels, he just knows there’s a hole in his heart where you belonged. And he doesn’t want to let anyone find their way into there

He doesn’t want to lose again

It’s happened too much

#guys im crying rn #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin venti x reader #venti x reader #genshin impact venti #genshin venti #venti #genshin childe x reader #genshin childe #genshin impact childe #childe #childe x reader #diluc x reader #genshin diluc x reader #genshin diluc #genshin impact diluc #kaeya x reader #genshin kaeya #genshin impact kaeya #kaeya

[violetlilysunshine]

He’s Not My Harry

Boyfriend Harry Holland x Actress Reader

Summary: You’re presenting at Comic Con and a fan asks you a question about your relationships with Harry and Tom.

WC: 1,550

Warnings: A little angsty maybe??? But nothing really

A/N: I’ve never been to Comic Con so I don’t really know how it works, also written before Tomdaya, so don’t at me.

REQUESTS OPEN - Or just come chat :)

MASTERLIST - JOIN MY TAGLIST

Your new show was invited to present at Comic Con this year and you were over the moon. You were already planning to go to Comic Con, since Harry would be there with Tom, but now you got to be featured as well. You hadn’t seen Harry in way too long. You and Tom had filmed together in Atlanta, becoming fast friends. After he had introduced you to Harry, you guys hit it off immediately, quickly becoming a couple.

The distance had been pretty hard on the both of you, but you were still going strong after two years. You and Harry made your relationship public just a week before Comic Con, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off each other once you reunited. You posted a casual, “Happy two years,” and a cute picture, keeping it short and sweet, mimicking Harrison and Grace. Harry on the other hand seized the opportunity and posted, “Two years. Gotcha beat Haz and Grace,” making sure to tag them both. Luckily, they found it funny and you all laughed it off.

You both had gotten more positive messages than you were expecting, but quite a bit of hate as well. You expected to get some, but didn’t really think people would be sending as much to Harry as they were. You felt really bad about it, but he reassured you over and over that he was fine. The absolute last thing you were prepared for, was how much hate he was getting because the fans were shipping you with Tom instead.

The boys got in last night and Harry called you immediately upon leaving the airport. He texted you again as they were pulling into the hotel and you bolted down the stairs. You found them at the front desk, checking in together and Harry was just taking a room key.

He turned around, spotting you standing by the staircase. His face broke into a giant smile, his eyes lighting up at your presence. You skipped across the room, jumping into his arms immediately as he dropped his bag, his other hand still holding his phone and key as he wrapped it around your waist.

“Hey, Red,” you greeted him quietly in his ear as you snuggled into his neck.

He rubbed his face deeper into your hair, “hi, darling,” he whispered back.

You pulled back slightly, arms still latched around his neck, and pulled him into a deep kiss. You were glad that you’d posted together because you wouldn’t have been able to hold back.

When you pulled away, you saw some fans taking pictures scattered across the lobby, but you weren’t all that worried about it. You’d kind of expected it, and most of their focus was on Tom anyway.

“Alright, you lot, c’mon,” Tom called, picking up his bag and heading towards the elevators.

You unwrapped from Harry, taking his camera bag over your shoulder as he grabbed his larger suitcase.

“Alright, love, so I’m in 615 with Harrison,” he told you as you waited for the elevator, “you can drop by whenever you like, alright?”

“Oh,” you answered in a small voice, smile dropping just slightly.

“What is it?” he asked gently.

“Well, I sorta thought maybe you could stay with me...”

“Oh, well, I didn’t know what you wanted to do, so I just got this one with Harrison. It’s connected to Tom’s too, but uh, I’d rather be with you if that’s what you want,” he said with a smile.

“Hey!” Harrison called turning around.

“Sorry bro, but do you really blame me?” Harry said, smirking.

“Whatever, div,” Harrison turned back around, climbing into the elevator behind Tom.

“Okay, we’re in 710,” you told him, as well as Tom and Harrison, passing Harry your second key.

“Maybe I should write the numbers on them so I don’t get ‘em mixed up,” Harry laughed.

You giggled back, looping your arm around his wrist.

~~~~~

Waking up next to Harry was your favorite thing in the world; you loved feeling his arm carelessly thrown over you and his legs tangled with yours. You loved seeing his sleepy morning smile and crazy bed head curls. You loved hearing his raspy morning voice and his grumbles as he awoke. You’d never get enough of it or him.

You rolled over this morning to find his eyes already on you; you smiled gently, bringing a hand up to push the curls off his forehead.

“Morning, baby,” he said, pulling you closer.

“Mmm, hi,” you whispered.

“Wish we could stay like this forever,” he said, leaning forward to kiss along your jawline.

You giggled as his hair brushed over your face, “unfortunately, we both have things to do.”

“Mmm yeah, stupid work,” he grunted, tucking into your neck, pressing a few kisses to your skin before mumbling, “stupid Tom.”

You laughed loudly at that, knowing he was just joking and he didn’t really think badly of his brother.

You giggled again, pulling his head up to kiss him for real. He held your kiss for a moment, before pulling away. He brushed his fingers against your skin under your shirt, just watching you for a moment. You giggled under his intense gaze.

“What time are your panels, darling?” he questioned gently.

You rattled off what you could remember before asking, “why?”

“Well I wanna come to as many as I can o’course! Maybe bring the guys with me just for fun.”

“Mmkay,” you giggled, before pulling him in for a few more slow kisses.

Before you knew it, your alarm was going off, “have to get up and get ready,” you said sadly.

“Me too. Was supposed to be at Tom’s half an hour ago,” he chuckled.

You slapped his chest lightly before rolling out of bed to get ready for the day.

He chuckled deeply, watching you fiddling around and getting your stuff together for a second before getting out of bed to do the same.

~~~~~

You weren’t really expecting anyone to bring Harry up today in your panel, but of course, three questions in, someone said something.

“Hi, um, my question is for Y/N,” the fan said timidly into the microphone.

“Hey, darling!” you cheered with a big smile, “what’s up?”

“Um, well I saw you posted a happy two years with Harry, and I was wondering why you picked him instead of Tom?”

Your face dropped instantly, lips curling down and eyes losing their sparkle. You stared blankly at the fan before asking, “are you serious?” in a low voice.

The fan just looked back at you, nodding only the slightest bit.

You took a deep breath, glancing at the ceiling before opening your mouth. You opened and closed it a few times, trying to figure out how to handle the situation.

“I know that the smart thing to do here would be to not answer that question, but I’m going to,” you breathed, “I’m going to answer it once and that’s that,” you said finally. “Let me start with this: I hate that question because it sounds like ‘why’d you settle for Harry when you could have had Tom?’” you paused, “it makes it seem like Harry is less than Tom and that is absolutely not true at all,” you took a break there, breathing deeply.

You noticed fans were beginning to chatter in the audience, pointing at the boys sitting in the front row. You noticed the look on Harry’s face and after that, all you could see was red.

“I don’t need you to point at them, guys, I know they’re there,” you spoke tenderly into the mic, chuckling a little bit so as not to scream.

You continued your answer, speaking slowly, “Tom and Harry are not one-in-the-same. They’re not interchangeable. They are two completely different people. Harry offers me things that no one else in the world ever could. He’s kind and smart and beautiful and confident and genuine and hardworking and so, so incredibly talented and one of the absolute greatest people you could ever surround yourself with,” your voice started to falter as you got choked up, almost crying from anger, “and not that Tom isn’t all of those things, but he’s not my Harry. Tom is great and one of my best friends in the world and I’m so grateful for that, but... I love Harry so much that it hurts,”

You took another break, glancing at the ceiling again to try and keep yourself from losing it, “and if anyone puts him down in front of me again, I’m absolutely going to lose my shit. So…” you trailed off, chuckling again, “so, in conclusion, they’re very different and while Tom is great, Harry is the best. Next question, please.”

You turned to face the fan on the other side of the audience, placing your mic in your lap and tossing your hair behind your shoulder. You took a deep breath, shaking off your anger, and looking at Harry in the audience again. His happy expression had returned now, his eyes brightening and a very small smile gracing his features. You gave him a tight lipped smile back mouthing, “I love you,” to him quickly.

He mouthed, “I love you more,” back, making your smile grow even wider.

TAGLIST:  @samhollandscupcake @spider-barnes @hogwartsmarvelmommy @tulipholland @harryhollandsgirlfriend @cupids-crystals @sunwardsss

#harry holland #harry holland fluff #harry holland x reader #harry holland x female reader #harry holland oneshot #harry holland fanfiction #harry holland imagine #harry holland fanfic

[yanderes-galore]

I hope you could do a Hunter!Naib, Hunter!Mike and Hunter!Aesop please. Seperate hcs.

Naib is already done, so I will do Mike and Aesop.

I apologize but these are more of background and how they encounter you more than what they do as a Yandere-

I hope that's good!

I came up with the vague backstory and scenario, but @polnareffsbouncybaraboobies came up with hunter abilities awhile ago.

Yandere! Hunter! Mike & Hunter! Aesop Concepts

Possible Trigger Warnings: Yandere behavior such as a forced relationship, kidnapping, sad themes, mentions of death, delusional thoughts, murder.

Hunter! Acrobat ⚾️

- Ever since an accident at the circus, the acrobat had changed.

- He felt a rage towards his audience.

- "Am I not good enough? Are you not entertained?"

- Before he could show his final act, it was cut short.

- His bombs weren't set properly, causing the accident.

- His skin burned, he cried out in anguish for help.

- The acrobat was left to burn, everything going black.

- Until he opened his eyes and took in his new features.

- He was reborn for this manor game, burn scars littering his body.

- His clothes were tattered, body larger, he looked like he'd been through hell.

- He had, really, he hated the circus now, he hated the audience now.

- His performance had failed, no one liked it anyway.

- He burned for his failures, a lesson to be learned.

- Out of revenge and rage, he used this new power.

- His bombs were modified to become mines and to also be thrown.

- He wished nothing more than to have this place burn just as he did....

- His first game begun, he thought nothing of it.

- Maybe if he burned them all, his rage would be quenched....

- It was going well until he encountered you, a survivor.

- You...shook something him him.

- His rage faltered, trying recall why you looked familiar-

- He even feels guilt when you step on a mine, the blast causing you to stumble and fall to the ground.

- The acrobat walks to you and picks you up, your features causing him to freeze.

- You were someone from his past, he remembered you....

- You stare at his burned face, his face still having remnants of the makeup he wore.

- "...Mike Morton?"

- Mike Morton...A name he hadn't heard in years.

- Was that who he was? Did he still go by that?

- It fogged his head, making him stay still as he held you.

"...Yes"

- His voice is croaked out, throat raw from screaming.

- Holding you made him feel like he could go back.

- That he could redo his act and become better.

- He didn't want to let go until you struggle out of his arms, fleeing from him in fear.

- No, wait, don't just leave him here!

- He ignores the other survivors, who turn on the power for the gates.

- You throw down a pallet, he breaks it.

- He has no choice but to deploy another bomb and toss it towards you.

- You skid across the ground again as he stands over you.

- "I will not burn you...."

- You look at the open gate longingly as the acrobat picks you up.

- You struggled the best you could but the acrobat tired you out.

- Hunter! Mike tries to take care of you the best he can when he has you.

- As he holds you in his larger arms, he scans your fearful features.

- He feels...excitement-

- Maybe you'll be the key to quell his burning rage....

Hunter! Embalmer ⚰

- Aesop was raised by a serial killer.

- It was only a matter of time before he took over his caretakers role.

- It became all he knew.

- Everyone just looked so much prettier in death...

- Their coffins were decorated and they were dressed as if they were dolls.

- He wanted that too....

- So the embalmer was reborn.

- He remade himself.

- He wasn't entirely living, but he wasn't dead either.

- It sounds like hell, being some sort of zombie.

- But he was happy.

- When he got a letter to spread his thoughts of death to others at a manor, he complied.

- Why not show others the beautiful charm of death?

- His first game began, he was ready.

- Coffins were raised, ready to unleash the 'dolls' he had prepared.

- The undead creatures roamed the game area, the hunter tapping his syringe excitedly.

- A cry of pain sounded and he followed.

- You lay on the ground, one of his dolls standing by you.

- "...Well aren't you a pretty one."

- You freeze in fear as Aesop walks towards you and kneels down.

- "How would you feel if I preserved your beauty, hm?"

- You're understandably terrified as you try to crawl away from him.

- He chuckles in amusement and slings you over his shoulder.

- It would of been perfect if that flare gun didn't hit his back, making him drop you.

- You'd have the prettiest coffin to match your beauty and the best clothes to compliment your appearance....

- You take off and he realizes making you beautiful will be harder than he thought.

- The chase begins, Aesop using his beloved dolls to try and catch you.

- Yet you're always saved until the end.

- Rage kicks in and he waits silently.

- Then when you're about to taste freedom like the other survivors, he proves you wrong.

- You're dragged off the ground by the hunter as he walks towards a coffin.

- "It's time to stop playing hard to get, dear, your ritual starts now."

#yandere x reader #male yandere #yandere male #identity v #yandere male x female #yandere male x reader #yandere identity v #yandere aesop carl #yandere mike morton

[archies-litterbox]

You know... tonight I'm thinking about how I and much of the rest of the fandom had alot of positive feelings about Wizards, even though it had its share of imperfections, in comparison to ROTT, which had such an overwhelmingly negative response.

And I think it's because much of the criticism of Wizards was centered around what we didn't get to see, while criticism of ROTT is largely centered around what we did see (and what we shouldn't have seen).

Two of the most popular criticisms I saw of wizards when it first came out were:

1.) The story was so tightly condensed that there was alot that didn't get to be explored.

2.) Zoe didn't get to have a larger role.

And I think both of these criticisms share one uniting sentiment: we wanted more. The audience loved what we did see, and we wanted to see more of it. We wanted more of Douxie's time in the spotlight/more of Camelot explored/more of The Pink-Haired Girl And What She Means to Douxie. It's INTERESTING and WE LIKE IT.

Since the show only had ten episodes, there was alot that had to be squeezed down/removed to fit in the time allowed, but Wizards spent the time it did have giving us amazing characters, compelling dynamics, and interesting lore expansion that the audience was ENTHRALLED by, to the point where much of the criticism of the installment comes down to: the audience was so intrigued/fascinated by this content that the fact that there isn't more sucks.

Now... cut to Rise of the Titans.

With its runtime of nearly two hours, it theoretically had the chance to do more of what Wizards, as great as it was, couldn't fit in: more of Douxie in the spotlight, expansion on his other relationships (like Zoe & ADP), compelling lore expansion, and smart utilization of characters & completion of character arcs for a satisfying ending.

And... it didn't deliver.

Firstly, let's get one of the big ones out of the way: it used a good ~10 minutes (?) of its runtime, which it could have used for doing something like 1.) a scene of characters who didn't get to interact much in the trilogy 2.) showing us why douxie and nari stopped running/them running at all 3.) my personal favorite, a scene of human jim coming home to his mom - and used it to give one of its side characters with the best character development I saw in the series... one of the grossest "comic relief" subplots I've seen in a long time. I would have rather Steve not been in the movie at all (like perhaps he heard arcadia was in danger and went to make sure his step-dad was okay) than seen that.

...Moving on.

What Douxie was able to do in the movie was good: he was VERY enjoyable to watch on-screen, and his big brother/baby sister dynamic with Nari was simply too precious.

But, like Wizards... it wasn't enough.

After finally getting his chance in the spotlight in the last installment, Douxie was sidelined and kept losing the people he loved left and right for what seemed to be for the mere sake of making him suffer (Nari dying as she killed Skrael/Archie getting stuck in the Hong Kong Trollmarket) when he'd already had to grieve Merlin in Wizards. He also doesn't use his most iconic item from Wizards: his spellcaster guitar. Sometimes, honestly, it seems like all he was there to do was 1.) suffer 2.) do spells (guitarlessly) to help people out and 3.) scream "NARI!"

(But Colin's voice acting DE👏LI👏VERED! Everyone's did, really. There were honestly alot of other aspects to the movie like voicework/animation/music that were really good and it sucks to see it dragged down by all the staggering missteps in writing.)

And arguably the worst aspect of that? His sidelining wasn't even unique to him; to me, every protagonist from the subsequent series' post-trollhunters seemed to be sidelined for the sake of Jim's spotlight.

Which wouldn't have been a problem... if it was used for any other confliction/crisis than him doubting being the trollhunter without the amulet, a question that was already answered in Trollhunters.

Aside from the fact that Jim felt strangely out of character, the whole ~confliction~ he had over being an amulet-less Trollhunter was redundant and felt unnecessary (I sort of wanted Merlin's ghost to show up and thwack him and say "WHAT DID I SAY!? WHAT DID I TELL YOU!?" and dip back out). In my opinion, a better confliction to explore would have been his connection to his humanity, which he'd just gotten back, or coping with what he'd done as a beast under the order's control. But instead, it badly recycled an old aspect of his arc that was already discussed in Unbecoming.

Besides Jim being what I never thought he'd be, an irritating and honestly sort-of unlikable protagonist, other characters were greatly underutilized as well.

...Especially Nomura.

First of all, they made the ridiculous decision to send two trolls with Douxie to Brazil in the daytime, knowing trolls TURN TO STONE IN THE SUN. But THEN, just for the sake of showing how deep Nari is under control, she pulls Nomura into the sunlight and shatters her when she gets petrified. It happens out of nowhere for complete & utter shock value.

To me, it seems like they brought in Nomura for the sake of having Nomura, and then they didn't know what to do with Nomura, so they killed Nomura.

And honestly, not knowing what to do with the characters and deciding to just nerf/kill them was this movie's whole thing.

But it's okay, because we have... the COP-OUT-ENDING-O-MATIC 3000! 🥳🎉

Oh, wait, sorry... the kronosfere.

[underwhelming party favor noise]

There's really no need to repeat myself on what it did - if you watched R*TT, my condolences you know what I'm talking about, and if you've read this far along, you're probably ticked about it too.

So, because of this little ball of SHAME AND BAD THINGS combined with Jim's edge-brood OOC-ness, not only did the movie give us underwhelming/unsatisfying/devastating-and-not-in-a-good-storytelling-way plotline and giving us so much that was... bad, it took away everything that was good - everything we loved. It was the second worst thing introduced in the story (the first is the entire garbage heap that is 7 kisses = MPreg (even though akiridions are projections from CORES)), and to be completely honest I WISH skrael and bellroc broke Nari and Douxie's spell before nari could say "kronosfere will make right"

(...AND the ninth configuration thing too tbh)

So... while Wizards spent the short time it had giving us something amazing, Rise of the Titans, instead of continuing to deliver on what Wizards couldn't fit in, squandered the potential it had as a finale and used its time to give us gross subplots/frustrating once decisions/underutilization, as well as to take everything else down with it at the very end with the Green Shame Orb.

And... yeah. Technically, it's not exactly two months post-ROTT anymore, because it's like 2 am on the 22nd, but I thought about this a lot felt compelled to share.

#mine #tales of arcadia #toa #rott #rise of the titans #toa wizards #wizards #enjoy my bang-energy fuelled rant lol im gonna go finish a fic

[happymetalgirl]

Album of the Year: Lingua Ignota - Sinner Get Ready

I knew this was going to be a challenging album to write about (as it’s already a challenging enough album to listen to), and thanks to the additional context of the album’s creation, environment, and inspiration recently provided by Kristen Hayter, that gargantuan challenge has only grown. But as inactive as I have been on this blog, I have known that I wanted to write about this album ever since it came out and immediately grabbed my ears and declared itself the year's best by a mile, so here goes.

I write long pieces. Even when I say I’ll try to keep it short. But I’m not deluding myself on this one; this is going to be long.

As strong as the urge is to “focus on the music”, there is no way to adequately or responsibly address this album without the context surrounding it, and much of that context is extremely harrowing. I will be discussing the things that happened that Hayter divulged in her relationship with Alexis Marshall of the band Daughters, and while I will avoid being intentionally gratuitous, the discussion comes with the same content warnings she provided: sexual assault, rape, suicide, mental and emotional abuse, and sexual abuse.

Lingua Ignota has deservedly garnered tremendous praise throughout the segments of the music world that have become attentive to Hayter's work, and the praise from the metal world is but a fraction of it. I discovered her through her collaboration with The Body on the best tracks from their LP I Have Fought Against It, But I Can't Any Longer., shortly after the release of Lingua's All Bitches Die. But it was of course with 2019's Caligula that Lingua Ignota's gripping "survivor anthems" really broke through to a larger captive audience, and again, deservedly so. To call "compelling" the 66 minutes of juxtaposition between angelic, soaring classical vocals and shuddering vengeful screams of agony, gorgeous neoclassical arrangements and harsh industrial noise, evocative, liturgical poetry and utterly unrepentant devilish incantations, violent curses, and death wishes that Caligula offers would be a gross understatement. With it, Hayter expanded on an already-solid foundation of uniquely and honestly petrifying lyricism and a similarly unique sonic pallet that set her far apart from even her closest contemporaries (if there even are any). And yet, Sinner Get Ready is even better.

For as much praise as I gave Caligula (and it was honest praise), I felt like I wasn't really connecting to it at the level that I felt like I could or should or that the album deserved, possibly also based on how much I saw it clearly meant to people for whom its messages hit closer to home. As my blog's name implies, I'm a boy, and because of that I've been dealt a luckier hand in terms of being more likely to go through life without facing sexual assault or fearing it, and I have indeed fortunately never found myself in danger or sexual assault (not saying that men don't face sexual assault or that sexual assault against men isn't important, it's just not as much and often not as physically violent). I even wondered on and off how much of the critical acclaim Caligula received might have been based on some writers' feelings of obligation due to the grim honesty of the subject matter. Honestly, I think there probably is some element of obligation to it, but ultimately I don't think it's important, it's unprovable, likely negligible, and ultimately not worth worrying about for an album certainly deserving in significant part because of the harsh truths it so boldly presents. I've never got the sense that Hayter is manipulatively pimping her trauma for a cynical artistic cash grab or anything, even if I didn't connect as deeply to it on Caligula as others.

Sinner Get Ready, on the other hand, clicked immediately. Not only that, I gained a greater appreciation for Caligula through it, and this is after I had expected less of the follow-up to Caligula for some reason(s). The title being taken from a line from the title track of All Bitches Die had me wondering if it was going to be a handful of reworked demos or something, plus Hayter's stating that it would be calmer and not as industrially driven as her past works (which I interpreted as choosing to fight with one hand tied behind the back), and it seeming to come so soon after Caligula had me not expecting as much of Sinner Get Ready. I was so happy to be proven wrong though. "Happy" may not find a place for much else in this review though. Unlike Caligula, the lyrical focus of Sinner Get Ready was much more tangible and close-to-home for me; Hayter's dialogues with and challenging of belief in God and her experience with the sickness of organized religion came after a culmination of my own very long process of walking away from Christianity. While Hayter has a hard time describing her own complex position on faith and God and hasn't fully ruled out belief, her album does not shy away from harsh critique and conversations far more honest and biting than the thoughtless, rehearsed bullshit praise-Jesus prayers of most pastors.

Still astounding to me is how incredible these more “stripped back” instrumentals are. I thought Hayter restricting herself from her harrowing screaming vocals (with the exception of one song) and industrial noise would be her holding herself back; instead, Hayter and her producers take the more traditional sonic palette of Appalachian folk instrumentation and Cathedral-filling pipe organ, choirs, and piano and twist it all into a quite thematically fitting thing to behold. I suppose I should get past the preamble and start getting into the finer details of the album, which I will do song-by-song for the sake of organization. I’ll still have plenty to say afterwards, and not just about the album.

———

"The Order of Spiritual Virgins"

Sinner Get Ready opens with its longest track, and it is an epic indeed deserving of its 9-minute run-time. It’s not an epic in the same way winding 20-minute prog rock songs are, but it captures more vividly and scarily than any other religious music I’ve heard the type of unworldly religious experience it sets up. The song is inspired by a sexually repressive and isolating Christian sect/cult from the 1700’s that resided in the state in which Hayter took residence during this album's creation. The lyrics are few and they become taken over as the song progresses by these seriously eerie, mesmerized, atonal choir mantras of “eternal devotion”, but they are enough within the unnerving swells of strings and freakish explosions of clanging low-register piano and odd old-timey percussion to capture the sinister transfixion of being coaxed into extreme religious devotion. It is indeed not without its unambiguously negative connotations of futile hyper-protectivity and authoritarianism with the lines “Sickness finds a way in” (which ushers in the hypnotized swells of devotion and cinematically foreboding piano chaos) and “I am relentless, I am incessant, I am the ocean” making their way into the chants before “eternal devotion” takes over. Given the inclusion of elements of domestic abandonment and Hayter’s history of writing about her past (and at the time current) abuser, I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch to interpret/apply these lyrics to malignant devotion to a life-consuming abusive partner. The chaos of the song concludes with a spoken sample of a man talking about finding a more vivid connection to his lost mother's presence in his childhood in silent solitude than to a tangible person in a crowd, solidifying the song's theme of isolation through religious devotion: “that’s what you get out of the silence”. Whether it’s a deceptive religious leader, a controlling partner, or even a desperate devotion to an idea of God, the eerie, Cathedral-filling, soul-strangling monolith of instrumental cacophony of the song is brilliantly fitting. A phenomenal introductory movement to the album, and it's only the beginning.

"I Who Bend the Tall Grasses"

Oh shit, second track in and this album is already more intense than the most try-hard shit out there with this song’s chilling dialogue between Hayter, God, and possibly one other person. I’m sure any who’ve been to church enough or who’ve had to sit through “grace” at the thanksgiving table last month with racist relatives know how the typical performative prayers go and how aggravatingly inauthentic they grow over years of repetition as a supposed communication to the most important power in life. It's hollow bullshit. By contrast, the manic, vengeful performance Hayter gives here through some of the most dynamically and diversely expressive vocals on the album is realer than any prayer I’ve ever heard. While the lines of the song alternate somewhat ambiguously between being spoken by the praying speaker and the divine, the prayer itself is hardly ambiguous. Like she has many times before, Hayter’s speaker is a calling upon the Lord whom she has dutifully served and vociferously demanding divine vengeance upon the man in the lyrics. The way the lyrics progress, it sounds like God is refusing to grant Hayter’s demands despite her many sacrifices, and instead asserts his own power in defense of the man. While the rest of the album does see Hayter focus more on classically styled singing (however layered it gets), here she pulls out the violent, enthralling delivery that made her past works so chilling. Knowing now that this album was created not in the distant aftermath, but in the throes, of an abusive relationship heightens the grimness of this song especially. Like the preceding track, dissonant choral mantras raise the tension of the atmosphere as Hayter proclaims “where does your light not shine?” over grand pipe organ chords and chapel chimes as inverted in their appropriation as the religious imagery Hayter invokes in her vein-bulging, blood-curdling calls for death. It’s the most incantational/liturgical-like song in the album and it’s a brilliantly hellish, nightmarish distortion of it that’s as petrifying as music gets.

"Many Hands"

Reprising the refrain from “All Bitches Die (All Bitches Die Here)” that titles the album, “Many Hands” switches its mode of dialogue with the divine to from distorted Catholic chamber instrumentation to mutated Appalachian folk incantations, with sharply piercing and violent plucks of acoustic guitar or something else that sound as though they’re about the break the damn thing, along with dissonant strums of banjo or dulcimer or some shit backing Hayter’s cold recitations. The repeated lyrics about the Lord both weeping of his sacrifice for the speaker while holding her by the neck shed light on the internal contradictions of the gospel of the omnipotent and supposedly sorrowful God forced to both sacrifice himself and somehow unable to save those whom he loves. There are certainly parallels one could draw between the Lord in these lines and the controlling partner Hayter had at the time as well, and of all the songs on the album that parallel a loveless God and a loveless lover, this one perhaps paints the most candidly sinister picture of the kind of false benevolence of their repeated punishments. And the wholly unsettling instrumentation on the verge of snapping in the background behind Hayter’s operatic wails of really provides the anxiety appropriate for the song and brings out the true malevolence of both subjects in one of the album's most sonically pioneering pieces.

"Pennsylvania Furnace"

This is the one that really gets me. As soon as this was released as the first song from the upcoming album, I knew this “toned down approach” was nothing to worry about except for what it would do to my tear ducts. Damn if this one isn’t a fucking heart-churner. Sticking to minimalist piano and only the subtlest of stringed backing to supplement her beautifully mournful vocals on the track, Hayter pulls out a simply breathtaking classical ballad piece whose every chord change is a perfect twisting of the knife in the soul. The song deals with the earthly hell of isolation and other people’s creating of that isolation but it also ties in this sense of hopelessness in the unconvinced religious invocations it employs. There’s just something so heartbreaking in the somber sarcasm in the earnest softness of Hayter’s delivery of “There is victory in Jesus”. There’s so much expression in it, I can hear the regret and self-chastising of turning for help to a God who never gave any. There are many ways to read into it, but the line “do you want to be in hell with me” to me reads of a defeated self-loathing that rejects what seems like the futility of help and only accepts company in misery. Knowing now how close the the brink of death Hayter’s relationship with Alexis Marshall pushed her, I could certainly see this song’s lyrics being pulled from a suicidal mindset, giving that line an even darker connotation. Goddamn there is so much concentrated heartbroken anguish in this song, and lines like “I know you want to stop, but you can’t stop”, the lines about casting off earthly bonds, the lines about watching the home with the family from a looking-in view while alone, and “I fear your name / above all others” are given so much more deeply tragic context in the wake of Hayter’s story about the relationship this song was borne from. Everything about this song, the somber piano, the swells of vocal vibrato, the tragic lyrics, to me, makes it the best on the album.

"Repent Now Confess Now"

Hayter takes us back to mass for the fifth track of the album with the return of the hall-filling strings and layered choral vocals (and bringing this time a banjo’s subtle strums), and to paint a portrait of self-loathing blame kneeling in desperation before a thankless and spiteful God. The odd references to the surgeon’s blade and the taking of her legs certainly tie into Hayter’s emergency surgery to prevent Cauda equina syndrome. The Lord’s taking of her legs and will to live (also given extra dark meaning in the context of her suicide attempt) as the apparent abundant pardon highlights the sadism mankind has written into God with religion and the lengths of self-hatred that abuse drove Hayter to. It is both angering in its themes and terrifying in how the overwhelming voices and ominous instrumentation plays into the congregational commands of repentance, another excellent fusion of disparate sounds and disfigured religious practice by Kristen Hayter and her collaborators.

"The Sacred Linament of Judgement"

Incorporating some of the most immaculate imagery on this album, Hayter contrasts forgiveness and rejection by God on the arbitrary ground they on which they stand on “The Sacred Linament of Judgement”. Hayter seems more focused on the cruelty of (man through) religion on this song than she is on the cruelty of man himself (through Alexis Marshall elsewhere on the album), but her inclusion of a sample of the confession of infidelity by evangelical pastor Jimmy Swaggart beneath the droning horns and strings and the religion-soaked verbiage she sings ties the song back to the real-world hypocrisy and abuses of power by religious figures and how even in the face of being proven liars, they fall back on and use God to defend themselves and cover themselves with a shield of new lies. And the more minimal and less dynamic droning of the instrumentation, to me, feels like it brings out the plain-facedness of these charlatans’ honey-coated treacheries. This is not to say that the music is dull or uninteresting; it is still filled with subtle percussive accents that give the song a human sort of beat. In the sampled sermon, Swaggart cites his betrayal against his wife Frances and other believers around the world before getting to the point with his proclamation of being washed by the holy blood of the Lord’s forgiveness, and (critically, key word here) forgetfulness. Hayter’s presentation of Swaggart’s being divinely forgiven alongside lyrics of her own forsaking by God shine light on the extremity of the reinforcement of misogynist societal standards by religion, making it a key thematic addition to the album that she builds upon further.

"Perpetual Flame of Centralia"

Before building on the Swaggart material, Lingua Ignota offers up another soft piano number with the album’s second single, “Perpetual Flame of Centralia”. The title referencing and inspired by an abandoned Pennsylvanian town beneath which a coal mine fire’s ceaseless burning made it uninhabitable, “Perpetual Flame of Centralia” finds Lingua Ignota returning to the meditative calmness of minimal piano and doubt-riddled religious odes. Through the album’s most deadly soft soothing vocals, Hayter both covers herself in the blood of Jesus and compares the poison of her life to that of the devil’s, all the while casting off fear for the sake of righteousness. The line “I rest my head in a holy kingdom” seems delivered similarly disingenuously to the victorious lyric in “Pennsylvanian Furnace”, and the choruses reinforce the stronger belief in a destiny in hell. It’s another one of the more open-ended songs on the album, but the quietness of the piano chords also really forces the focus on the contrast Hayter draws between the brief and futile beauty of life with the eternal fires of hell that the aforementioned ghost town so naturally evokes comparisons to and that she feels God had placed her in by putting her in Pennsylvania with no one but a new abusive partner. It’s the softest cut on the album, but the stylistic comfort and the break from dissonance it provides is a misleading comfort, and one that plays into to the themes of religion's misleading comfort and abusers' misleading affection throughout the album. It's not viscerally violent, but it should certainly not be mistaken for peace either.

"Man Is Like a Spring Flower"

After ruminating on hell and Pennsylvania, Lingua Ignota picks back up where “The Sacred Linament of Judgement” left off, opening with an audio sample, now of a mildly adversarial interview of the sex worker who pastor Swaggart visited repeatedly. The interviewer asks if she believes Swaggart’s words of repentance and his tears, and after a brief hesitation during which the interviewer tries to suggest the sincerity of Swaggart’s confession, she responds with disbelief. She says that she thinks he is just doing at the pulpit what he had always done while he continued to come to her for sex and that the real Jimmy Swaggart is the one he showed her he was while hidden from the eyes of the congregation. Hayter then breaks into a acoustic folk-instrumentation-filled lamentation on the futility of love in what is probably her most open condemnation of the romantic infidelity by Alexis Marshall that was recently revealed to have been taking place. This song’s inclusion of the believedly true, infidelitous character of Jimmy Swaggart beneath his Christ-loving exterior and the unambiguous stanza “No one is enough / One is not enough / No one is enough / The heart of man is impossible to hold” make uncanny its inspiration by the insatiable need for sex and other women beneath the countless fake excuses for betrayal of Alexis Marshall. Hayter likens man to a vessel for God’s impulses, mostly violence and punishment, as he refers to the heart of man as a furnace, a fiery pit, the seventh gate of hell, quite frankly as the hand of God itself, and in an odd lyric that makes more morbid sense in hindsight, as a crushed horse’s tail. Anatomists named the bottom part of the human spinal cord that branches out at about the level of the sacrum the “cauda equina”, which means horse’s tail, because that’s what it looks like. Knowing now that her back injury was inflicted by Alexis and led to her having surgery for damage to these nerves makes all clearer that he is most certainly the primary subject of this song, in which Hayter undoubtedly analogizes him to the hellish punishment of God itself. Alexis’ infidelity to a degree possibly far beyond Swaggart’s only cements him further into the song as kin to the disgraced pastor with the repeated stanza of love and of no one being enough. The way the staccato strings, high-register vocals, and wooden percussion swell to a crescendo at the song’s climax make it one of the most dynamic and cinematic pieces of the album, and well deserving of its eclipsing of the 7-minute mark and yet another favorite on an album so difficult to pick favorites from.

"The Solitary Brethren of Ephrata"

With the last sample Hayter provides, probably the most infuriatingly relevant outside the album, the infamous churchgoer interview during the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic provides such a concise reminder of the wide reach of the real-world damage that the careless selfishness that lies at the heart of religious lunacy does. Asked about concerns of potentially spreading the sickness to others she interacts with, the interviewee replies only about the safety she herself feels she has as a believer “covered in Jesus’ blood” and that she believes others of her faith have, essentially condemning everyone else to suffer the judgement of God through the pandemic and capturing the malicious focal intent of punishment of outsiders beneath the “love the sinner” window dressing of religion. - And then Hayter launches into possibly the most heart-crushing song behind “Pennsylvania Furnace” to close out the album. The lyrics about belief in the promise of and longing for heavenly paradise read as both unbelieved hope in God’s love and as suicidal ideation with heaven as an escape from all the hells of the songs preceding this one. It’s the tragic morbid truth that suicidal people tell themselves and the solace that the loved ones they leave behind hold onto: that there’s no more pain for them anymore. “All my pains are lifted / Paradise is mine / All my wounds are mended”. The underlying cynicism and soulful brokenness in those words is so incredibly crushing given all that has preceded it, not just on this album, but also on Caligula and All Bitches Die and Hayter’s first work as Lingua Ignota. That Hayter is singing this not in raucous or fearsome dissonance, but rather in the sweetness of the major key of traditional hymns of worship behind some of the most gorgeous instrumentation on the album makes all the more somber and climactic the finality of the song and makes it stand out among the others. But Hayter is of course writing this after surviving her attempted suicide and after escaping her abusive relationship, and the paradise she consigns herself to is under the dominion of loneliness, “ugliness my home”, a heart-wrenching acceptance of isolation and the absence of love as the best it gets. That Kristen Hayter made it out of the hell of Pennsylvania and her relationship with Alexis Marshall while there is indeed a triumph, and perhaps that she has once again survived to make a powerful album is enough to call paradise.

Sinner Get Ready is tainted by not a single wasted sound or word, and for as difficult it is to fully express what this album does to me while listening to (and how difficult it is to fully understand exactly what it's doing), I do know the incredible magnitude of its power, and it is indeed power. The impact this album makes goes beyond it sounding like nothing else with its revolutionary utilization of the sonic elements it pulls from. I am not a spiritual person, but the catharsis that Sinner Get Ready provides is certainly earns its description as a spiritual experience. It is a masterpiece of authenticity and musical vision that truly transcends genre that very few other pieces of music can also be called.

———

Contextual Discussion:

As hard as this album hit on first listens, the different light that Hayter’s revelations about the abuse she lived through in her relationship with Alexis Marshall put this album in made this already-difficult album somehow a hell of a lot more crushing. She’s not singing about the same abuser she cursed on Let the Evil of His Lips Cover Him, or on All Bitches Die, or on Caligula. Tragically, Kristen Hayter is singing of a different man whose name is even alongside Lingua Ignota’s on a few non-album tracks she's released since Caligula. It’s tragic also to think that what I had thought of as such a short time between Caligula and Sinner Get Ready for Lingua Ignota was in fact such an excruciating and probably seemingly eternal hell for Kristen Hayter. For anyone unaware, a few weeks ago, Hayter released a Google document with a statement detailing her relationship with Alexis Marshall and how he abused her. I had time and didn’t take any breaks. and it took me an hour to read it all. And it was a sickening and hate-inducing read for that entire hour which included (and now is the time to really invoke the content warning) damn near every possible color of lying, manipulation, sexual assault, outright and clear-cut rape, emotional and verbal abuse, financial abuse, and disloyalty by Alexis Marshall in service of his malignant sex addiction not just to Kristen Hayter but also other women in his life and his children. This included but was not limited to (and again, major content warning for the rest of the paragraph) penetrating her while she was sleeping (despite her already telling him this was something her past abuser did and that she did not consent to it, =rape), an instance of extremely violent sex in which he refused to stop and nearly paralyzed Hayter by inducing a hernia of one of her spinal disc (for which she needed emergency surgery), abandoning her before that surgery, repeatedly cheating on her, and callously abusive disregard after driving Hayter to attempt suicide in their basement.

What I just mentioned really is just the tip of that vile iceberg, yet for as heartbreaking as every paragraph of that massive text was, I would be lying if I said Hayter did not make me chuckle just once when she detailed how before her surgery, Alexis had himself a childish little pity party in which Hayter had to hand feed him nutrition bars while he was sitting on their hotel bed (again, before her life-threatening surgery), of which she simply said afterwards, “It was fucking ridiculous.” Again, there is so much that I simply do not have the space or desire to recount fully here that I do think is important for those with the stomach to handle it to be aware of. I think it is important to understand on as empathetic or sympathetic of a level (and not just intellectually) just how horrific abusive relationships manifest, what they can look like, and how what is a painful hour of reading for us is, for survivors, years of unbelievable torment and lasting trauma. “Life is cruel, and time heals nothing.” Far more important is that it is wholly inadequate to just gasp at another’s suffering and move on.

Hayter expressed that her reasoning for coming forward with these details was not just to shed light on truth but also to prevent what happened to her from happening to another woman. Those who followed Daughters more closely and for longer than me have pointed out that Alexis had earned himself a small but sour reputation for his rampant sex addiction beforehand and that it played no small role in the band's long break-up before You Won't Get What You Want. Yet his abuse of others for his sexual satisfaction has not yet earned him a wide or strong enough reputation to hinder his behavior. Hopefully Hayter's coming forward can be enough spotlight to illuminate his behavior to any potential future victims, because the sense I got from my reading of it all was that Alexis is pretty unrepentant about it all (minimizing the hurt he did at best) and has no intention of doing anything seriously about the sex addiction that's consumed his life and others' . It's so frustrating how clear some things are in hindsight, such as is the case here, or with Marilyn Manson, or Mark Kozelek, or Chris Brown where there were so many signs, but they were maybe just harder to see through the fog of the rest of their generally edgy and controversial personas. We can't even get started here about older rock stars like Ted Nugent and Steve Tyler who out in the open sang about and performed predatory behavior in real life, which included involving minors. It's not just the obvious suspects either. Sometimes it's the people who only offer sparse or non-specific signs only visible in hindsight with the context of more knowledge or people who are very good at maintaining a quiet, if not wholesome, public image. People you wouldn't expect. Like that guy from the now-defunct band, False, whose feminism was a significant part of their presentation.

This is not a suggestion of paranoia or baseless suspicion. It's a suggestion of attentiveness, and it's certainly not one that I'm trying to make from any kind of imagined high horse or enlightened moral high ground. I was more blindsided than I maybe should have been for Manson, and maybe Alexis Marshall as well. I saw Mark Kozelek coming though, the guy pretty much can't help himself from broadcasting that he's a miserable misogynistic asshole who's desperate to keep pretend-living his rock-star youth with young, vulnerable female fans.

-

I guess here is the place to put a concise version of my thoughts on problematic artists and such, everyone's favorite topic. You know the problematic artist discourse is complicated, I get it; I don't have a golden bullet answer to it. But somehow in all the discourse I've seen about being responsible and not supporting problematic artists and not enabling shitty behavior, I haven't seen anyone acknowledge the obvious elephant in the room: fans don't want to feel punished for something they didn't do.

As listeners, watchers, readers, viewers, enjoyers of art, we all (should) go into enjoying any piece of art with the understanding that, no matter how authentic they may come off in their music or their public appearance, we never fully know the artist. We can't know with complete certainty who of them might be up to some unsavory shit behind closed doors, even the edgy ones, some of whom genuinely do keep their antics on the stage and in the studio. And often the art we enjoy does indeed stand so far away from the artist that we don't think about the artist at all (think: lo-fi hip hop beats to study/relax to). And then there are some (think: asshole Mark Kozelek and his dumb boomer podcast ramblings that he calls "songs") who really put themselves as a person into their art. A little harder to dissociate that kind of shit.

I agree with minimizing support for artists doing bad shit on the basis of it possibly discouraging such behavior from others and it consequentially pressuring them to change, but that can be surprisingly hard to go absolute zero on. Does it stop at the band? Does it stop at the label? Does it stop at side projects? Does it stop at collaborators who haven't come out and said anything? Just because there's no agreed-upon line does not mean that we should just shrug our shoulders and say "well what can you do?" Ultimately, as an individual, the answer to that is pretty much nothing, but somehow you add up enough individuals and you can start to get some good change if you all know that better things are possible and expectable. Maybe you don't all agree exactly how much more you deserve but you sure as hell know it's more than that shit boss is paying you all. Maybe we don't know exactly where we draw that "problematic artist" line, but we know the behavior Hayter described of Alexis Marshall is far beyond wherever we draw it. Being attentive as a listener, however casual or invested, is not about being a paranoid hyperreactive sentinel around artists and trying to have a power trip on people you have little individual power over, and it's certainly not about policing individual fans into not listening to their Antichrist Superstar CD or whatever. Again, I get that vile behavior makes some artists immediately more repulsive and easy to let go of at the drop of a hat, and it's easier for some to drop band they've listened to forever than others. And then I think of my favorite band, Meshuggah.

I listen to Meshuggah more than anything else probably. And to my knowledge they don't have any accusers or hold any racist beliefs or anything of the like, but they could. And as much as I imagine it would very likely taint my listening to their music if everything I hypothetically proposed was in fact true for them, I have a hard time imagining not listening to them. How I listen to music has been so irreversibly shaped by Meshuggah, I tap the iconic rhythm of "Bleed" with my fingers on every surface around me without even thinking about it, and I hear Meshuggah in the thousands of bands they've influenced. I snuck Meshuggah into my wedding playlist. It's honestly hard to think about what my music-loving life would look like without Meshuggah, and in some ways it feels impossible, and for me (and probably most Meshuggah fans) it has never been about Jens or Fredrick or Martin or Tomas or Dick. And it doesn't seem like it's ever been about them to themselves either. So I get it for fans who feel torn between their love for the music and their feeling betrayed or that it's been tainted by the very artist that made it.

"But one thing I've learned is everything burns."

Hayter herself said that her coming forward was not about cancelling Daughters or telling people that they couldn't listen to Daughters. She came forward to help survivors and to protect other women from having to either also be survivors or not be so fortunate. I'm sure this still does ruin Daughters for a lot of people, possibly myself included. There is no "neutral" position in any of this, however much we might sometimes wish our love for music could be a little oasis to escape to from the shit of this world, that music is not detached from this world and everything we do with that music has some kind of impact on the world and that is power. Wow, we have power. [insert Spiderman uncle Ben quote]. Even if it's just a little bit, there's no such thing as just being a listener, we are all participants in music culture, whatever sub-culture feeds into it, and the broader cultures at large that music culture feeds into. None of it is on an island or in a vacuum, and that is well worth being mindful about.

-

At the end of the day, being attentive and being a responsible participant in music as a fan or maybe even as a worker or artist means applying what power you have to produce the most positive impact you can (original and not cliché at all, I know). But really, where we have the most impact is with the people we know and can directly affect: friends, family, relatives, even asshole coworkers or people in our lives we kinda don't like. It certainly doesn't have to be just one or the other (artists or people we know), but if there's one thing everything around Sinner Get Ready has emphasized to me, it is to support survivors and to stop abusers, by being educated on and alert to the ways they manipulate people and knowing when and how to use the power at your disposal to protect people. This isn't scan the room constantly to make sure no jocks are dropping roofies in drinks at the party ocular pat-down vigilante bullshit (although, yes, do be smart in vulnerable situations and such). This means saying something that's confrontational or that's not easy to say to a best friend who's constantly belittling his girlfriend, or to a close family member who might be in denial about the abuse they're facing from another family member, or even just making it awkward for some rando dude at a party who's making the girl whose boundaries he's pushing clearly uneasy and making it easier for her to get away from it. Maybe you look like a dweeb for a minute, maybe that was enough to prevent a rape from happening even if no one ever thanks you for it. Maybe it's straight-up calling police. Sometimes (perhaps often) it seems like it's in vain, but your individual actions can be a seed or a catalyst for better outcomes. And sometimes better outcomes just don't happen despite you doing everything right. Pop music fans in adjacent circles and far-away circles have been rightfully standing up to Chris Brown for over a decade and he has responded repeatedly by saying, "fuck you, I'm gonna keep being a piece of shit to women." And he somehow manages to find fans and collaborators willing to support his career and look the other way on his behavior. Some games you're the better team and you still lose, shit's weird like that sometimes. By all means, continue to put pressure on artists directly, producers, collaborators, labels, and, yes, even fan bases that continue to enable shit like Chris Brown. Yours may just be a drop in the bucket that just has to keep getting fuller and heavier before it snaps.

The common (and probably also intentional) misconception about rape culture is that it's people saying "yes, that's rape, and that's okay." or "rapists know they're raping and they do it anyway; they're just terrible people.” In reality, what rape culture says is: "I know him, he wouldn't do that", or "that doesn't constitute abuse", or "she's just trying to ruin his career or get attention", or "why isn't there any evidence for this accusation from this highly private moment from which it would be incredibly hard to procure adequate evidence for legal action in an unpredicted and adrenaline-filled situation during which the objective in the moment for any survivor would clearly be to survive it?" (maybe that one was a bit tongue-in-cheek), or all the victim-blaming classics we've all heard like Christmas songs once black Friday starts every time a survivor brings their story public. With Alexis Marshall, the excuse was always, "how dare you compare me to your past abuser, I have never hit you." Up close it rarely looks the the same way it does when it becomes visible from a distance, and it's rarely cookie-cutter bad-guy shit or quote-straight-from-the-textbook shit, but it's worth being aware of as much of what points in that direction as possible.

Hell, if all you got from this was to point the finger outward, fucking think again. We've all internalized a lot of this shit as natural to our world or even just normal as parts of relationships, as so many of these stories point out, the people doing the abuse usually don't think what they're doing is wrong or what they've been doing is abusive. And goddamnit, as a stereotypical guy from a rom-com I've always got that simplistic knee-jerk urge to try to fix shit, but the hell if some blog post is gonna make a dent in rape culture. Maybe one person sees this and takes it to heart, worth the hours it took writing this. But it's not just about fixing and preventing abuse, survivors need support too, and sometimes time really does heal nothing. Some traumas do leave scars that never fully heal, and sometimes things don't get better. And that might be the hardest part of it all. But survivors need support regardless because no one deserves to have to be one and carry on alone.

"Me and the dog we die together"

#Lingua Ignota #Sinner Get Ready #Caligula #All Bitches Die #Kristen Hayter #music #aoty #aoty 2021 #album of the year #avant garde #avant garde music #folk #classical #neoclassical darkwave #Appalachain folk #choir #choir music #choral music #religious music #religion #Christianity #Alexis Marshall

[whump-a-la-mode]

more comfort for magician assistant villain please? continuation of that one

Yeah! Of course. Thank you so much!

There’s comfort here just. You gotta squint. Also a dog so its comfort for you guys.

Continuation from here.

CW//Nightmare sequence, scopophobia, stagefright, dehumanization, pet whump, compared to an animal, trauma (soooo much trauma), regretting escape, positive thoughts towards whumper

The laughter of the audience cracked the air like thunder-- shaking the very oxygen with its cacophonous uproar.

Usually, Villain did not join in with the din of the audience, but now, they had no choice. The screams falling from their mouth were not of their own control.

At the very least, their terror made them feel as though there was no control to be had over their own desperate howling. Nor was there any control they could manifest over the quaking shivers that rippled through their body like a disturbed lake’s surface.

No. They had no control, no control at all. Because they were in their kennel.

Hero had found out. Villain knew not how, but they had found out. They knew the terror that the tiny steel box struck through them-- and they found it to be nothing but positively hilarious.

“We’ll just have to abandon our old act.” They’d smirked. “We have something much more entertaining, now.”

A new act. Being wheeled onto the stage in a covered crate, presented like a meal to be feasted upon. And, when the cover was torn away, the laughter began.

Their mitted hands slammed in desperation against the bars, but they did not so much as budge. The solid steel construction was as sturdy as it was minuscule. There was no room to turn around, hardly room to breathe. They couldn’t hide from the thousands of staring eyes, the blaring lights, the screams and the uproar. Even as they shrieked themself, pleaded, pleaded for their kennel to be covered once more, their words were treated as only the comedy act’s cherry on top.

And, beside the cage, Hero drank in the glory. They were speaking, words sizzling through the air as lightning strikes and eclairs, but their words were nothing but noise to their captive.

Because dogs did not speak.

They wanted so desperately to leave, to hide, to curl up in the corner of their cell and sob until the world fell away. But there was no cell. There never had been.

There was nothing. Nothing beyond the stage.

“Come here, buddy. Good boy, c’mere.”

Villain head swiveled on its axis, though the tight confines tried to prevent even as a movement so small. The noise, where was it coming from? It wasn’t Hero’s voice. And how could they be expected to come when they were kenneled?

Were they planning to punish them for failing an impossible task?

It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Good dog! Good dog.”

The words made Villain’s mouth grow dry, tongue sticking to the roof of it. Good dog, good dog, good dog...

“Good boy, Hydro!”

At once, the stage lights blinked out. The audience’s shouts too disappeared, though they clung on in the form of ringing in Villain’s ears.

They could breathe. The kennel was letting them breathe.

They couldn’t feel its walls. Where was the kennel? Where was the stage? Where were they?

A single blink, and the world of the show fell away, replaced by hues of blue and off-white, and the feeling of fleece on their skin.

Where were they? Their vision at last agreed to refocus, though it showed them little more than the remnants of a repaired popcorn ceiling. In an instant, however, that too was blocked out by the shadow of a human figure.

“Oh- Good morning. I didn’t realize you’d be waking up quite so soon.”

It wasn’t Hero. Hero would never say good morning. Not to a dog.

“Wh....” They managed, though the scratchiness of their throat made the noise come out as more of a grovel.

“Hey, hun, they’re waking up.”

“Oh, okay.”

With the trodding of footsteps, the owner of the second voice soon emerged. That voice was familiar, somehow, though it did not make them shake like the voices of most of the heroes did.

Villain blinked, once, then twice, until the figures above them became solid. Two people. Two strangers. Neither wore uniforms of any sort, nor any insignias. Not even nametags...

“It’s good to see you awake again.” The second stranger spoke, tone soft.

“How are you feeling?”

Who in the world were these people? They certainly weren’t heroes.

“Mmm... hurts.”

“You got thrown through a river for, like, two miles.” The first stranger commented. “I’m not surprised that it hurts. I have no idea how you didn’t drown.”

A river. The river. The fence. They’d fallen off, because of the gas, and-

Villain jolted upright, only then noticing that they had been lying down at all. Their head spun, but willpower kept them conscious.

A living room. A house, complete with DIY wall decor and an honest mess. It was small. Cozy.

Civilian.

And-

Bark!

The noise made them jump halfway out of their own skin, gaze swiveling to the source.

A dog, in the middle of the room. A real dog, fur and lolling tongue and all. Some kind of retriever, they thought, pelt woven with hues of cream and gold.

“Now, you are going to show me just how well you can obey-- or I will have your stay here extended until, when I take out that gag, you bark. Got that?”

A shiver tore through Villain’s spine.

“I guess we should probably introduce ourselves.” The second stranger began, casting a glance back at the golden-furred animal. “Um, this is our place, by the way.”

“Oh.” Villain murmured, struggling to focus their gaze on the person speaking.

“My name’s Spouse.”

“I’m, um-”

The two figures shared a glance.

“You can call me Civilian. It’s nice to meet you, even though I’m sure this is... a little weird.”

“Mmm.” Villain struggled to hum in agreement. “Where...”

“Well,” Spouse began. “I was just out walking Hydro, that’s the dog, and I kinda found you on the river bank? I don’t know if  you remember that. Anyways, you said not to call emergency services, and I didn’t know what to do, so...”

“I’m a doctor. Kind of. I’m a resident. So we figured we could try to help.” Civilian added. “It’s not a lot, but... You’re alive.”

“Yea....”

“Spouse?” The figure looked to their partner. “I think Hydro is scaring them. Could you take him outside a sec?”

“Yeah, ‘course.” The other nodded, moving to another part of the building. With a click of their tongue, the animal followed them, tags dangling from its-

Collar.

"Good. Now, good dogs don't need to be dragged. Heel."

Villain’s hand jolted to their neck, feeling the cold of their mitts directly on their skin.

Their collar was gone.

But the mitts...

“I didn’t know if you wanted those off or not.” Civilian spoke, now that their partner had left. “Do you?”

Their gaze cast downwards. The leather was torn and pockmarked, now, but still holding up. Still restraining...

Villain scanned the room.

In the corner, a wire kennel sat. Larger than their own, with its base laden with blankets and plush toys. In another room, its floor made of tile, a pair of bowls sat. Near the couch, a hair-covered dog bed lay.

There was a dog here, too. But it behaved.

And, for that, it was adored.

A shiver ran through them, once more. But this one did not originate from fear.

They’d run from their owner. Their owner who cared about them!

Oh, god. They’d made a terrible mistake. And, why was their head so foggy?

“No. Um, they can... they can stay on.”

“Okay.” Civilian shrugged. “You sound like crap- no offense. Um, I think I’m gonna go grab some water. You want some water?”

“Please.”

“Alright. Just hold still for me, okay?”

“‘K.”

Yet, despite their promise of remaining in place, they could not manage it-- their bones were made of lead, and their head somehow wrought of something even heavier.  Like a stone to a river, they fell back onto the couch, feeling as though they were melting into the plush.

But unconsciousness did not claim them. Not immediately.

Before it did, they heard the words of Civilian, as they moved towards the kitchen:

“Damn, I wish Hero would stop using those gas guns.”

#magicians assistant #hero villain whump #hero whumper #villain whumpee #whump #pet whump #pet whumpee

[cherryblossomtease]

In The Fairest Season ~ Part 1

18+ only- oral sex, strong sexual content see Masterlist for full warnings

~ ~

LATE SEPTEMBER

The field of pale long grass dotted by wild flowers, bends and sways in time with the distant waves far below the cliffs, its waters cold and black, its peaks bright white. There is no distinction between the sound of the wild, hidden shoreline and the wind whipping through the blades of grass which spread out like that wide sea far into the distance. This place is untamed, and completely unbothered by her.

She is sitting, still as a stone in its middle, like a fixed spot in time.

She, is soft morning beauty, and quiet, contemplative grace. She should seem out of place along the lonely Sokovian coast but instead it is hard to imagine her any where else but here.

She is the vision of life and love and a second chance at both, and she, is you.

The Baron is watching as you take a deep, slow breath of the country air, so clear and easy to inhale that it makes you a little sad to know that this has been here all along and you are only just beginning to explore it.

The city was wonderful in so many ways when it was all you’d ever known, but out here you realize just how shut in you’ve been, living between the press of stone and steel, breathing in the thick smoke of industry.

When the Baron first asked you to come, you’d feared leaving the excitement, pollution or not, but one look into his eyes and you’d been persuaded. You would do anything just to see them shine and his love had burned as bright as the sun when you said yes.

“Are you hungry? Breakfast is ready.”

Helmut’s voice is soft as the morning wind that lifts your hair and strokes your cheek. You’d felt his presence but only now do you turn to look up at him and find the man gazing down at you in his morning finery. A jacket and vest, the gold chain of his pocket watch catching the faint sunlight, his boots black and shining in the grass. Even at this hour he is every bit the Baron.

You feel next to naked in the white nightgown you’d snuck out in, but you wanted to feel the air on your skin and the earth beneath your feet. Sokovia should be experienced with all of the senses. You’d decided this the moment you arrived, and while your unrefined ways will be the talk of the servants quarters, you could not care less what they whisper about. This is your home now and you wish to know it.

“I am actually.” You answer and do little to hide your smile as you think to yourself that after last night, you could eat him out of house and home, but you’re too shy to say this out loud. However Helmut is an astute man and reads your face easily. He knows what you’re thinking of which draws out his own smile and he extends his hand to help you up.

When you are on your feet and at his side, he slips his arm around your waist and pulls you close to lead you back towards the stone wall that separates his land from the fields and cliffs and sea.

“You’re feeling well?” He asks, eyes fixed ahead though you can hear his sweet concern for you. You know why he’s asking, and a shiver of pleasure shoots through your belly as you shut your eyes remembering.

He held your wrists tighter as he thrust into you, faster, harder— it is overwhelming, but you love him— you cling to him, awed that this works, that he fits. A tear streams down the side of your face as you gasp wanting to scream from the sheer joy of it.

“Perfectly.” You answer opening your eyes and feeling a flush as you glance up. The memory makes your breath shallow as you speak. “I’ve never known such a perfect morning.” You hope he understands how deeply you mean it. The absolute only thing that compares, is the feeling of euphoria that washes over you while onstage. It happens just as you’ve completed an aria and the audience sits in silence, too overcome by your voice to react until they finally break out into applause. That, is what loving him, and being loved feels like.

As you walk together he leans over to kiss the top of your hair, still wild from sleep. He feels the same sort of untethered joy in this morning as you. The way he inhales your scent makes your heart flutter.

“I realize” He says walking upright again. “I don’t know what you like for breakfast, so I’ve had the cook prepare a little of everything for you to try.”

Your eyes dart up in the direction of the house. From here you can only see the east tower peaking up over the crest of the walled hill. “That’s so much trouble! I only need something small, an egg, a piece of toast.” You shrug.

Helmut laughs and shakes his head at you. He reaches and lays the hand not wrapped around your waist against your face bringing you close so that he may kiss your cheek. “A small breakfast may have been enough for you, the singer. But not you, the Baroness.” He says playfully, lips still touching your skin.

You melt against his warmth and think that while he may be right, it doesn’t matter. You like eggs and toast. “And as the new Baroness, I’ve decided on eating what I always have.” You say with your best voice of authority. “Wait.”

He halts the march towards home and looks down at you, his brow raised as he waits.

“I’d like some jam too actually. Mmm Raspberry.” You sigh and shut your eyes.

Helmut truly laughs now stepping around to block your path just before the break in the wall. “You can have all the raspberry jam in Sokovia. Please, Voljena, darling girl allow yourself to enjoy this life, it is yours for as long as you draw breath.” He says softly with his hands on either side of your face. “I know, it will take time to adjust, but I only want to see you happy."

You hold onto his wrist, sliding your hand over the back of his larger one. “Helmut… Happy is such a simple word, it’s a shame there isn’t a better one. I feel so many things all at once. But I promise I will say the words I feel in my heart as soon as I know them.”

His worry melts away to a look of content and he leans in to kiss you.

When his hands migrate down to your shoulders, his thumb stroking the soft line of your collar bone, he pulls away and glances down, chuckling softly. “As beautiful as you look out here in your nightgown, perhaps a coat next time?”

You laugh and blush embarrassment. “I like the cool air. And I thought I could come and go before anyone noticed I’d gone.”

He shakes his head and holds the back of your neck, “I knew. I felt the bed empty.” He says, his gaze slowly moving across your face, lingering on your lips.

You feel your knees go a bit weak. He does know how to make a woman feel wanted with the simplest of words. “I’m sorry I woke you.” You say, secretly happy to know that your absence was enough to rouse him.

“No, no don’t apologize. I’m pleased to see that you want to know my homeland.”

“Yes, but its mine now too, isn’t it?” You ask glancing out at the beautifully moody landscape.

Helmut nods and looks you over as though the love he feels physically hurts in the best of ways. “Yes, all of it. Everything I have is yours moja ljubavi” He whispers and kisses you again.

My love. Each time he says it you feel your heart swell.

He pulls you close in a way that sparks more memories of last night. They flicker, quick as a candles flame —his elegant fingers turning to fists as he pulls your nightgown over your head leaving you naked and vulnerable. But Helmut is kind and gentle as he touches parts of you that have been aching for this. He kisses and strokes, grabs and pulls until you lay on the bed nearly begging for him— you had not known that you could want something you’d never had so badly until last night.

When he takes your waist in hand now and turns you around so that he can walk you to the wall, your back finds the stones and he kisses you with a renewed enthusiasm. His mouth dragging from your lips to kiss along your jaw and into the curve of your neck.

You shut your eyes and run your fingers through his thick hair as he makes his way to your breast, your nipples pushing against the thin cotton of your shift, their color showing through the nearly sheer fabric and even you can see how badly they long for his attention.

“I want you here.” You breathe, pushing your head back against the wall, moaning from the anticipation.

Helmut glances up at you. The heavy look of desire in his eyes is a reflection of your own. He takes your left side in hand, lifting to suck your sensitive flesh through the material and you bite your lip, little moans and shivers your uncontrollable response to his mouth on your covered breast.

Releasing your nipple which now feels cold without his attention, Helmut reaches down and gathers your shift, raising until your lower half is exposed.

Your eyes meet.

Helmut's smile so often walks the thinnest of lines, you imagine he could so easily go towards darkness especially with what you know him to be capable of. But you are drawn to this and to him like a moth to the flame.

Holding your breath, you wait. Wanting him, completely unsure and a little afraid of what it is he will do. And then you feel his hand, warm and strong rub down over your mound of silky  hair to the soft skin below; the gold ring on his little finger is cool against your skin.

He strokes a small circle with his fingers pressed close together, much like he did in bed, watching you to see your reaction. You try to hold back but even this simple stimulation feels so good that your mouth opens with a sound you thought you could only make under the cover of night.

Helmut smiles wider and nods for you to take the hem of your shift. “Hold it up.” He says. You quickly grip the night dress tight against your stomach as he goes to his knees —lord, in his beautiful trousers, you grin— and looks up at you, but not at your face.

The way he stares boarders on sacrilegious. He kneels before your alter of lovely folds and glistening skin like a man seeking penance before the only true thing he believes in.

His thumb strokes, parting you just enough that he may tease himself with the view and you hear him humming a deep moan. He takes hold of your ankle and moves your leg out so that your thighs are farther apart before using both hands to spread you, exposing your most intimate places to the wind and you toss your head back, holding onto his shoulders as he dives in to praise you as you’ve never felt before.

This did not happen last night.

You gasp loudly—shocked and resistant— but he grabs your thighs, sliding his hands up and around to your backside, holding you tight, burying his face in the heat of your center until you fear he won’t be able to breath… and then he starts to move his mouth and you think, let him die if this is how he goes.

Laughing as you moan, your eyes roll shut, feeling his tongue swirl and lap, exploring and playing as much as he is working towards something.

You’ve heard of this? Heard the other theatre girls laughing about the skill of the different Lords who see your kind as fair game, but you’ve managed to avoid their honeyed words and empty promises, instead dedicating your life to your singing.

But this man… every word from his lips has been as true as his tongue.

He starts to suck at that place only you have ever touched before last night and when the perfectly crude movements combine with the trust and love you cary for him, you realize what it is he wants to make happen.

It almost did before, but you were so overwhelmed and nervous. It was incredible to know that you could make him climax, powerful even. But how would he ever be able to do the same for you when you needed more than he did.

Now you understand.

With your hands full of the shift and his hair, you feel the pressure begin to mount. Opening your eyes you look out past the field to the distant water that looks as calm and still as the sky. Helmut is rolling his tongue around the peak of your clitoris slowly, so slowly you can’t stand it. It makes you want to scream and you feel your chest tighten as you tilt your hips forward urging him to never stop.

So this is what it feels like…

You dare to look down, watching his head move which makes you smile with a rush of love and appreciation for his efforts. A gasping laugh rushes from your lungs as he runs his tongue from opening to peak, and you catch a glimpse of his mouth wet and shining when he pulls back to take a breath.

You involuntarily moan his name and pull at his hair, needing more with an urgency you will be ashamed to admit to when this is over, but for now it’s all you want.

You feel him chuckle against your skin before continuing. He sucks your clitoris into his mouth and batters it with his tongue until you can only cling to him and let the wind carry the loudest of your cries away from the keen ears of the servants just behind the wall.

The rise begins again, and though you've known it before—alone in your bed, quietly sighing into the dark— this is new and as your body insists you feel it not only there but seemingly everywhere, you succumb to the wonderful shock of your first given orgasm.

Pulsing against his mouth, your eyes fixed on the sea as you come, you fight the urge to fall to the ground as your thighs flex against his face while Helmut laps at your tight entrance. He swallows your sticky sweetness as though it is the elixir to long life.

When he does finally pull away, you drop your shift and wrap your arms around his neck and head, thankful for his strong and steady arms that hold you up.

Helmut lets go with one arm to run the back of his hand across his mouth with a smile. He looks up at you, and suddenly the strongest urge to taste yourself on his lips takes hold which surprises you. But the moment you bend and kiss him, you understand why.

There are so many levels to the connection between the two of you. Of course it is not new, this sort of love, but it is the first time you have ever felt it.

You inhale as you kiss and the sense of there being no start to him or end to you is intoxicating. There is only this single union that your love has formed.

Of course I’m happy— you think back to his heartfelt request before you’d both forgotten about breakfast— I am loved and satisfied. I am your wife.

#baron zemo x you #baron zemo fanfiction #helmut zemo x reader #zemo x y/n #zemo x you #victorian era #victorian au #moody nature #melodramatic #just like baron zemo #Helmut Zemo in love #zemo smut #zemo fanfic #zemo simp #zemo

[writer-akihiko]

TWST Dorm Leaders + Singer!MC

So MC sings and what else to sing than Disney songs? Enjoy a romantic endeavor with your beloved dorm leaders! Covers are linked to the song name! Thank you to my child @cursedtwst for helping me with song choices. 

Rest of the dorm leaders under the cut. 

Malleus Draconia - Once Upon A Dream (Belle)

When he found out that you used to sing in your world, he wanted to hear you sing. He was quiet about it, not wanting to pressure you and especially not to remind you that you have somewhere to go back. Oh no, he had to keep his precious child of man here.

He brought you to his favourite hiding spot, surrounded by flowers in an empty field for a picnic. His close friends also came, bringing the foods and entertainment.

You actually had suggested the picnic to cheer up your Tsunotarou since he was quite sad. He was again not invited to a party at the Mostro Lounge.

You had your own selfish reasons for making a picnic… You planned to confess through singing. Lilia quickly caught on, making an agreement to handle the other two as you get together with Malleus.

You pretended to wander off, tossing away your slippers. Knowing the overprotective little dark fae, he'd follow you anyway.

You twirled around, humming to the tune. "I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream…"

Malleus, who had been watching you intently, was thrown off by your singing. So this is how his precious human sounded…

"I know you, that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam,"  You clutched your hands to your heart, pouring your soul into your tune. "Yet I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem…"

Malleus reddened at the selfish thought that the song was meant for him. The lyrics only made him adore you more than ever.

"But if I know you, I know what you'll do," You turned to the Prince himself, pulling him out of his hiding place. "You'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream…"

As you hummed the bridge, you took his hand in yours and swayed together, laughing in song seeing how much he towered you.

Malleus was too stunned for words. His angel here was singing to him. What more could he ask for?

"I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream…"

He grasped your hand, feeling how small your hand was against his.

"I know you, that gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam,"  You brought your hand to his cheek moving away the hairs that shielded his beautiful coloured eyes from you. "Yet I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem…"

"But if I know you, I know what you'll do… You'll love me at once, the way you did…

Once upon a dream."

You hugged the larger fae, nuzzling your head into his chest. "I like you Malleus."

He couldn't restrain himself, picking you up and staring into your eyes as you did to his. You could see the blush that ran rampant on his cheeks, as his eyes panicked on what to do.

You kissed his cheek, him understanding it as a kiss of acceptance.

"Oh how romantic! Maybe I should take this to Cater to edit! It'll be viral!" Lilia's voice brought the attention of the loving couple.

Well, the picnic ended peacefully, save for the embarrassed screams of the Prince as he yells at his caretaker.

Riddle Rosehearts - Alice (Bruna Wesch)

Ace and Deuce found out you were singing to yourself with your precious guitar in the Ramshackle dorm alone. These two insisted that the next unbirthday they throw, you should definitely sing.

You seriously thought they were joking.

Ace stole your guitar from your room and here you were, about to sing in front of Riddle. It wasn't that you were scared no… It was just that your daft friends couldn’t understand the goosebumps you get at the thought of singing in front of your crush!

Ace and Deuce looked at you eagerly, presenting you your guitar. Cater already has his phone out, preparing to take a video.

You snatched your guitar out, deciding to just go with it. It's not like you have to confess or anything…

Riddle's stare at you made you tense up. Has he been looking at you this whole time? He kinda looks pissed… You decided to get on with it.

You start strumming, letting yourself relax, "Trippin' out, spinnin' around… I'm underground, I fell down… Yeah, I fell down…"

Your tone of voice surprised Rosehearts' audience. Starting to feel more comfortable, you raise your voice a little.

"I'm freakin' out; So where am I now? Upside down, and I can't stop it now…"  You stopped strumming. "It can't stop me now.. Oh~"

Riddle this whole time was impressed. Impressed was an understatement. He felt himself become more and more enchanted with every emotion as you sing it out loud.

"I~ I'll get by,"

"I~ I'll survive…"

Your strumming quickened, "When the world's crashin' down, when I fall and hit the ground, I will turn myself around; Don't you try to stop it! I~ I won't cry…"

You completely immersed yourself in the music, enjoying your guitar and the atmosphere, letting your head nod to the tunes.

"I found myself… in Wonderland…"

"Get back on… my feet again…"

"Is this real? Is it pretend?"

"I'll take a stand… until the end!"

Riddle felt the words flow through him…

As the final strums of the song vibrated through your fingertips, you finished your song.

They got up, applauding you. Riddle got up from his high throne, taking your hand in his.

"…Come and sing for me again please."

Well, here goes nothing.

You nodded, pecking the Queen of Hearts on the cheek before running off with your guitar.

"H-HOW RUDE! COME HERE SO I CAN RETURN THE FAVOUR!"

Oh silly Riddle… That's why YN fell for you in the first place.

Kalim Al-Asim - A Whole New World (Emma Heesters + Dan Berk)

Kalim just knew it! You were a singer! His princess was unfortunately too shy to sing a tune. He couldn't settle for this! If you can't sing alone, then he'll sing with you!

Kalim had arranged a sort of music night at the Mostro Lounge. He convinced you that it was a simple date night but you didn’t expect Jade Leech to announce you two as the next performers.

He gripped your hand, smiling at you. Your nervous self calmed down,  repeatedly telling yourself that Kalim was next to you.

The soft melody started and so did Kalim, "I can show you the world… shining, shimmering, splendid~"  He smiled at you, extending a hand. "Now tell me, princess, now when did you last let your heart decide?"

He pulled you close, "I can open your eyes… Take you wonder by wonder~ Over, sideways and under on a magic carpet ride~"

Kalim held your hand, twirling you around. His melodious voice made you blush, wondering how on earth did you ever date someone like him.

"A whole new world~ A new fantastic point of view…" He sung out, always looking at you. "No one to tell us, "no" or where to go, or say we're only dreaming~"

Gathering your courage, you took the microphone and joined Kalim in the chorus.

"A whole new world…. A dazzling place I never knew,"  You continued.  "But when I'm way up here, it's crystal clear that now I'm in a whole new world with you…"

"Now I'm in a whole new world with you…" Kalim sung after. His face turned red hearing his princess sing. Oh lovely you looked right now…

"Unbelievable sights… Indescribable feeling,"  You held Kalim's hand. "Soaring, tumbling, freewheeling through an endless diamond sky~"

As you two sung through another chorus, you felt as if it was only the two of you there. Together…

"I'll chase them anywhere,"

"There's time to spare!"

"Let me share this whole new world with you…"

As the final notes of the song fell through, you and Kalim stared into each other's eyes, enjoying the magical bond that kept you glued to each other.

"For you and… me…"

The romantic moment was interrupted by the applause that the Lounge attendees thought that was well deserved. Kalim laughed, holding you up by your waist. "That was lovely my princess!"

Azul Ashengrotto - Part of Your World (Halsey)

[Lyrics were altered to suit the scenario]

After many days of insisting Azul to take you to the ocean, he gave in. Your puppy eyes made him give in. He did bring you to swim with him and the twins. He however, never transformed in front of you. You were as curious as ever, a little saddened that he didn't feel beautiful in front of you.

Jade told you that Azul wanted some time to swim in his octopus form for a bit. You watched as Jade and Floyd swum in the deeper water; too deep for your human self.

Instead you climbed on an overhanging rock, watching the twins swim. You decided to sing… after all Azul won't hear you…

"I wanna be where his people are…"  You hummed out, "I wanna see, wanna see 'em swimmin'… Flippin' around in the waters~"

Floyd heard you from afar, smirking to himself. Oh, Azul you made Shrimpy a little sad siren~

"Movin' your feet you don't get too far! Fins are required for swimmin', flippin',"  You joked to yourself. "Swimmin' along down a — what's that word again? – stream~"

You sighed, singing your thoughts out, "Down where they swim, down where they play, own where they stay all day undersea~"

"Wanderin' free…"

"Wish I could be…"

"Part of his world…"

"YN?!"

There Azul Ashengrotto was, red in the face, staring you up on that rock in an adorable octopus form…

"Azul?..."

You blushed, thinking about how long Azul had been there and probably how much he heard. From behind you, the twins grinned sinisterly as they lifted you up and tossed you into the ocean.

You screamed, but weren't covered in water as you assumed. Azul's soft but firm tentacles had caught you on instinct as he brought you down to face him properly.

"Um… I… liked you singing," He said, unsure how to approach the situation of the Leech twins literally throwing his crush into his arms.

"A-Azul… your… tentacle," You stammered, squirming in his tentacles.

He let go of you, settling you in the shallow waters.

The twins frowned, seeing how their plan didn't work too well. Oh well, there's always next time.

Idia Shroud - I Won't Say I'm in Love (Brittany J Smith)

When shy Idia, your crush, asked you to help you with his experiment, you could not say yes any faster.

Ace, Grim and Deuce kept teasing you on how quickly you agreed, not letting it down and even dragging Ortho with them too. This left you to be quite the tsundere.

You huffed at your friends, "If there's a prize for rotten judgement, I guess I've already won that…"  You sauntered away, crossing your arms. "No man is worth the aggravation… That's ancient history, been there, done that!"

The four joined in chorus, smiling at your denial, "Who'd'ya think you're kiddin'? He's the Earth and heaven to you~

"Try to keep it hidden? Honey, we can see right through you~"

"Girl, ya can't conceal it! We know how ya feel and who you're thinking of~"

"No chance, no way! I won't say it, no, no!"  You shook your head.

"You swoon, you sigh, why deny it, uh-oh!"  The quartet made love hearts with their fingers, surrounding you.

"It's too cliché!"  You retorted. "I won't say I'm in love!"

You walked through the gardens, unaware that Idia had settled in one of the bushes, keeping an eye out for his brother who had been hanging around a weird gang.

"I thought my heart had learned its lesson… It feels so good when you start out,"  You sung out as you walked around, catching Idia's attention. "My head is screaming get a grip, girl! Unless you're dying to cry your heart out~ Oh no!"

Idia turned to the three idiots who were dancing around you with his brother.

"You keep on denying who you are and how you're feeling-"

"Baby, we're not buying! Hon, we saw ya hit the ceiling!"

"Face it like a grown-up. When ya gonna own up that ya got, got, got it bad?!"

"Give up, give in! Check the grin you're in love~"

Idia peaked out at you shaking your head and throwing your arms into X's. Your singing somehow calmed him despite you were retorting the idiot trio's claims.

"No chance, no way! I won't say it, no, no,"  You sung again. 

"This scene won't play, I won't say I'm in love!"  You said again.

"You're doin flips! Read our lips. You're in love!"  Grim sat on your shoulder, dancing and chuckling at your denial.

"You're way off base,"  You said to Grim. "I won't say it!"

"Get off my case!"  You yelled at Ace and Deuce. "I won't say it!"

It didn't deter the quartet.

"Now, don't be proud. It's okay you're in love~"

"Oh, at least out loud,"  You slump down to a pillar. "I won't say I'm in love…"

Ortho spots his big brother from a distance away and mouths to him: 'She's talking about you.'

This left his pale blue complexion burning a scarlet red, as he repeated the whole song in his head that was about him.

Oh, maybe it'd take more than a song and a dance to let the true confession come.

Leona Kingscholar - Can You Feel The Love Tonight? (Landry Cantrell + Brianne Brieno)

Of course, Leona brought you back to his hometown with Jack and Ruggie in suit. As you and Leona took your evening stroll, Ruggie pulls Jack to the side, spying on you two lovebirds.

"I can see what's happening," Ruggie said.

"I can't, what?" Jack asked, bewildered.

"And they don't have a clue," Ruggie continued.

"Who's they?" Jack asked again.

"They'll fall in love and here's the bottom line," Ruggie slung his arm over Jack's shoulder. "Our trio's down to two."

"Oh, I get it."

"The sweet caress of twilight," Ruggie exaggerated.

"Yep-"

There's magic everywhere," He sighed.

"It's everywhere," Jack commented.

"And with all this romantic atmosphere," Ruggie continued. "Disaster's in the air~"

"Can you feel the love tonight? The peace the evening brings,"  The lovely couple harmonised together.

You had been teaching Leona how to sing every time he'd take a nap on you.

"The world, for once, in perfect harmony with all its living things~"

"So many things to tell her…"  Leona sings to himself, pulling out a ring from his pocket. "But how to make her see… the truth about my past? Impossible! She'd turn away from me…"

You took a look at Leona who walked ahead, "He's holding back, he's hiding… But what? I can't decide… Why won't he be the king I know he is?"  You thought about Farena's talk. "The king I see inside?"

"Can you feel the love tonight? The peace the evening brings?"

Leona slowed down, taking you near him to twirl you across the gardens.

"The world, for once, in perfect harmony with all its living things…"

You brought the lion's forehead to touch yours, comforting him in a way he'd never felt.

"Can you feel the love tonight? You needn't look too far…"  The couple basked in each other's warmth, finding comfort in each other.

"Stealing through the night's uncertainties… Love is where they are~"

"And if he falls in love tonight…" Ruggie sniffled. "It can be assumed…"

"His carefree days with us are history," Jack added on.

"In short, our pal is… doomed!"

Later that night, before you rested in your sheets, Leona took the ring out, getting down on a knee.

The rest is history as they say.

Vil Schoenheit - I'm Wishing (Sierra Nelson)

You had stayed over at the Pomefiore dorm to… in simple words… observe your beautiful crush, Vil Schoenheit.

The little fluffy bunny Epel and you rescued from Rook's clutches cuddle into your arms as you sigh forlornly, near Vil's newly installed fountain.

"Want to hear a secret?" You mischievously told the fluffy bunny.  "Promise to never tell?"

You swayed your head, singing in your soft tunes, "We are standing by a wishing well…"

"Make a wish into the well… That's all you have to do,"  You recited, practicing your voice almost. "And when you hear it echoing~ You're wish will soon come true…"

The commotion of your voice called to Vil. He was wondering what was that melodious… BEAUTIFUL… voice that interrupted his skin care routine. There he saw you, sitting so elegantly with Rook's bunny in your arms as you sung like an angel from above.

He leaned against his window, lending his ear to your song.

"I'm wishing…"  The deep fountain echoed back.

"For the one I love,"  You professed. "To find me today…"

The one you love?! Why that must be no one but him!

"I'm hoping… and I'm dreaming of,"  You sighed dreamily. "The nice things he'll say…"

"Ah~"

As the sweet sound of your voice rung out through his courtyard, he let your melody help him continue his beauty care.

The moment you finished singing, he made his way down, hugging his little songbird.

"I heard you singing for me," He whispered into your ear, kissing your ear so tenderly.

You almost dropped the poor bunny as you blushed, being kissed by the one you love. Vil brought your face closed to his, staring deeply into your eyes.

"Only a sweet voice such as yours deserves to be worshipped by a queen like me~"

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst leona #twst vil #twst idia #twst malleus #twst azul #twst riddle #twst kalim #leona kingscholar #vil schoenheit #idia shroud #malleus draconia #azul ashengrotto #riddle rosehearts #kalim al-asim #kalim al asim #twisted wonderland dorm leaders #twisted wonderland leona #twisted wonderland vil #twisted wonderland idia #twisted wonderland malleus #twisted wonderland azul #twisted wonderland riddle #twisted wonderland kalim #twisted wonderland scenarios

[pixelsandpins]

One of the Best Romances Ever Written is From an Action RPG

Because of my job(s) and the genre of game I write in, I consume an absolute unnecessary amount of romance. Sometimes willingly, sometimes as an adjunct to a larger story. And I often find that the placement of the romance in the latter condition creates a genuinely more effective emotional investment than one in which the romance is the central theme. Oh, Ashe, so you’ve got something poignant and insightful to say about the human condition and how the footprint of an inter-social narrative conveys the ways in which we, as people, desire to connect and experience the world?

No, I simply finished Mass Effect: Legendary Edition (the first time playing the trilogy stem to stern since Mass Effect 3 came out), and it left me with too many emotions to process on my own. So YOU get to do it with me.

I’m not sorry.

…

Okay a little sorry.

Because this is about Garrus Vakarian and Commander Shepard.

A Strong Core of Platonic Affection

The key to the ShepKarian romance is a deep and unwavering friendship built on mutual respect. Shepard doesn’t even move with romantic intention until halfway through the second game. At this point, as a pair, they’ve survived waves upon waves of AI soldiers, a galaxy altering event, a particle beam right through their ship, Shepard’s literal death and resurrection, a reunification in a mercenary combat hot zone, and about a hundred existential quandaries. Just prior to flirting with him properly the first time, Shepard prevents him from killing a man in revenge by refusing to leave the scope of his sniper rifle. These two are equals. She’s technically his commanding officer, but they are on the same footing in every way that matters. More importantly, they’re friends. They’re comrades. And those are the building blocks of a good romantic relationship.

And when it is time to start moving into romance? There’s no frustrating will-they-won’t-they (that we all know becomes a “they will” at the press of a button). No tiptoeing around with awkwardly built up sexual tension.

“Hey, Garrus, we should bang.”

“Okay. Sounds good, Shep. Let me go Google how we do that.”

“That’s not romantic!” you scream.

I don’t know? Maybe it’s not? But you know what it is? Perfectly sensible for these absolute idiots. They live bullet to bullet, catastrophe to catastrophe. There’s no time for “tee hee I like you, let’s smooch, maybe.”

No.

These are adults who have had adult relationships in the past and are facing down the possibility of their own death at every corner. They’re literally preparing for a suicide mission where one of them could actually die, in-game, if you don’t set things up the right way. They know what the hell is up, and they act on it without reservation or hesitation. They know what they want, and they’re going for it. Done. Deal.

Ludonarrative Harmony

You also can’t ignore the integral part the interactivity of video games play in the narrative development of their relationship. Shepard and Garrus don’t exist as passive characters that interact with each other in a set way. You, as the player, are Shepard, and from a meta-game perspective, you have to build a balanced team. Garrus, it so happens, is a mechanically well-rounded character, so there’s a high likelihood you’ll be bringing him on to your team for a large number of missions. He also appears early in the story in all three games (a slight advantage over Tali’Zorah, who despite appearing in all three games, as well, tends to be recruitable later). These things combined mean there’s a lot of time available for you, as a player and, therefore, Shepard as a character, to spend with the turian C-Sec agent/mercenary/military adviser.

Garrus becomes an active participant in the ever forward development of Shepard’s own personal arc. It’s not just scene to scene, passive elements in a romance on rails. They’re dodging gunfire together. Riding elevators together. Providing pithy, sarcastic commentary together. Their romance isn’t just about being together. It’s about saving the galaxy together.

The Pallor of Doom

And, okay, yeah, if you know what happens at the end, it’s like…okay then if it’s doomed from the start, what’s the point? And even if you don’t know what happens at the end, all three games go out of their way to make sure you’re aware how fragile the bonds holding up that sword of Damocles are at all times. But that looming specter of death is diegetic. It’s not just the audience lamenting with pre-broken heart that this romance has a dramatic expiry date. Garrus and Shepard know. They can wish for it. Hope for a future that expands out into the unknown infinity. But they know the odds, the real chances, that one of them won’t be coming out the other side. From the first proper I love you at the top of the Citadel to the last one at the base of the Reaper teleport beam, they always knew that they were living, and loving, on borrowed time.

But it didn’t matter.

Because a finite number of days being in that love was worth it when the alternative was never having it at all.

I think I need to go lie down, again.

#mass effect #monday blog #writing #game development #game writing #shepard x garrus #shepkarian

[anayaahwrites]

KOT Ficlet #5 (Momoya Natsu/ Yoshinaga Atsumu)

When the lights start flashing like a photo booth (And the stars exploding, we'll be fireproof.)

Warning: Themes of underage drinking and implied sexual content.

Natsu roughly based on this art by @sasukeslove

A small AU on MomoYoshi's first meeting:

...

Natsu is six when he learns about Angels.

He’s perched on mama’s lap, carrying a new storybook with tiny hands and slowly pronouncing all the words. Her proud smile encourages him to read the larger words too, the ones he’d avoid out of embarrassment—something about a pro-fe-cky and a pro-mice that He exists up there somewhere, over the pillowy clouds watching down on them.

Mama tucks him in that night and tells Natsu to close his eyes and pray because Angels only come to good boys.

He’s ten when it all sounds like bullshit to him.

Over the years, Mom’s rosy smile had withered into a fatigued sigh, a cry for help to the God that never answers no matter how much they pray. Dad was more a guest than a resident. He came around once in a while to eat lunch—with a taut smile plastered eerily over his smooth features—and swiftly vanish to not return in that week .

They’ve stopped waiting for him and Natsu stops asking questions.

He’s thirteen when he meets Sei, a child around his age, except so much more charming and calm and composed for someone that carried half the same set of genes Natsu had. He learns of his father’s betrayal and is honestly shocked at his own lack of surprise. Still, he questions his God and why why why would He let mom’s heart shatter like that?

Sei is quick to laugh and tell him that God doesn’t exist and mom is just a victim to their monster of a father.

So he goes home that day to his outraged mother, hair coloured like glittery Christmas tinsel and sapphire lenses replacing his usual shade of honey brown. She snaps at the sight, yelling at him till her throat closes up, till nothing but a harsh sob escapes her and he lets her. They both had to cope somehow.

By the fall of his fourteenth year, he gets pierced four times and stops talking to his mother almost completely.

To hell with dad. To hell with God.

Natsu is fifteen, and he doesn’t care about anything anymore.

He’s fifteen and quickly realising from his daily job as a guitarist in the club that girls aren't attractive no matter how much they flock around him. He still humours them sometimes, a touch here, a kiss there since the pay is good enough for him to add some extra service on his part.

Mom plies herself with work as often as possible, to douse her misery in the decayed scent of piled papers and clunking keyboards. She leaves Natsu to deal with everything else on his own like the obedient son he is, letting him go like dad left her.

Natsu is alright, though. He’s done this far longer than she knows.

He stops reaching out to her, stops talking to someone up in the skies, settling instead to live a tranquil life in the shadows, under the dependable shade of music. He hates people. He hates the world.

Natsu is basking in the warmth of another uneventful day in the club, when in walks a boy out of fucking nowhere and his entire world tips on its axis.

The boy takes shaky, wary steps as if he were balancing on a trapeze. Dark black bangs like thick black rain spill over the side of his face, half covering wide brown eyes. Splotches of pink and porcelain white stick out where his sweater ends and skin begins. He’s small and delicate and beautiful, Natsu’s heart skips a beat. Or two. Or maybe three.

And why should he lie? Natsu has seen beautiful, quite a few varieties of it too. But this…this was different. This was unreal.

The boy looks around nervously before he catches something and there’s a spark in those hazel eyes, sharp and electric, a smile tugging at his lips.

Natsu follows his gaze. On the stage lies his own guitar—a pre-performance habit for people to know he was next. He took great pride because this itself garnered more clusters than anyone in the entire house.

Natsu smiles. So he was a fan.

He downs the customary shot of vodka, waving at the people before hopping on stage and wrapping the sling around his neck. He scours the audience for a familiar face and it doesn’t take a lot, to spot a splatter of ink black in the crowd, batting eager eyelids at him. The smaller boy realises the attention on him and glances behind to confirm his suspicion.

By the time he swings around, eyes blown wide in a stare, Natsu plays the first chord.

In an instant, his expression shifts to a mix of awe and interest, a silent worship and a loud cheer compiled in one small, thin body. He claps more than anyone else in the room, beaming like a floodlight by the time Natsu finishes.

It was nothing strange. He played among cheers every day but none felt as satisfying with this voice hooting and clearly standing out from his regular gang of squealing girls. He throws his head back laughing back stage when no one is there to see.

By the time Natsu gets out on the floor again, a little more thrilled for the night and dressed in something less flashy, he’s gone. He screws his lips in displeasure and asks his friend to make him something stronger than the usual.

This happens more nights than not, and it was frustrating him.

The moment Angel boy—as he’s dubbed him, steps in through the door, Natsu traces his every move and quickly registers a pattern. He only comes around on days the club was the busiest—specifically during Natsu’s performance, talks to no one and leaves before he has the chance to even ask a name.

Not that Natsu was interested in him or anything. He was just curious, is all—why this boy looked like a starved pet every time he saw him on stage and if he really smelled like soft winter blankets and warm fireplaces, all angelic and pure.

Okay, so maybe he was a little interested.

Months pass like that.

The mid-November chill comes with its blistering snowstorms and the club is jam packed—winters were some of their busiest months—and Natsu’s up to perform. Instead of preparing, he watches the door resolutely from the bar, tapping impatiently at the table.

As routine, it barely opens a crack, and he sees a sliver of ebony snaking it’s way through the crowd. The boy stands on his tippy-toes which don’t give him much of a view, so he does these tiny jumps—that are so adorable, for a second Natsu forgets his own name—and scowls when he notices no guitar on stage.

He checks the time, the stage and then scans the crowd. The anticipation throbs through Natsu as he follows his eyes cross the room in slow motion, dragging dragging until they eventually land on him. Everything stills—the thundering music, the singing and all he can hear is the low thump of veins against his skin.

It’s over in a flash.

“That your Angel boy?” The bartender gestures at the figure turning tail and running, drying the pad on his prized work station. He skillfully pours two coloured liquids into an oddly shaped glass and passes it over the counter to him.

Natsu hums, swirling the absinthe stained drink in hand, eyeing the smaller boy gasp as a couple slams against the door, clearly piss drunk with her suspended over his thighs and gyrating her hips into the man.

“Hey, chief.”

“Hm?”

“You think I can get off early tonight?”

The man raises an eyebrow. “Like when?”

“Like now.” Natsu answers, never letting his gaze falter from the head full of black hair slowly receding through the crowd, horrified.

The man guffaws, lifting a glass of water—since he can’t drink on duty—and clinking it with Natsu’s.

“Must be fuckin’ Christmas if you’re taking interest in anyone, so I’ll let this one pass. Don’t scare him off now. He already looks like a trembling lamb.”

Natsu knocks back the contents, swallowing the liquid till it numbs his entire mouth and smirks.

“I’ll try.”

So he follows the boy. Hands are immediately all over him from faces he recognises in passing—a girl he once kissed, someone that made him cake, but he pushes them off.

His boy of interest forces the hood of his shirt up all the way, and glances behind him once before increasing his pace. Maybe the lights are really getting to him and maybe Natsu is a little tipsy when he reaches out to grab his hand.

The boy flips around to lock eyes frantically, as if a ghost had seized him.

“Hey.” Natsu musters his sweetest smile.

“Hi..” The boy replies.

And oh, his voice. It’s sugary sweet and so so soft like—like actual rolls of smooth and silky cotton had woven them. He blushes fiercely under Natsu’s relentless gaze and stares where their hands were connected in a tight grip as if it burned holes through him.

Natsu frowns. “Don’t run.”

The boy’s gaze shoots up, and he’s pulling away.

“I-I’m sorry I really h-have to go—”

“It’s my birthday.” Goddamn, he must be really wasted to admit that. Now that he thinks about it, what did he just drink?

Twentieth November, the day he was born and incidentally also the day he found his father’s tongue down another woman’s throat, holding a child over his shoulder.

“Oh,” The boy stops, pursing his lips and letting the hood go all the way down before flashing easily one of the most ethereal smiles Natsu has ever seen.

“Happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” he replies awkwardly. “It’s not going really well.”

“No?”

Natsu nods. “It’s nothing different.”

“You want it to be special?”

The buzz in his nerves practically screamed a yes to that—he wanted something to remember, to bury the horrible memories he associated with this day, for the days he wished he was never born in the first place. He wanted to fit it all in this one boy in one night, this angel he didn’t even know, to free him from himself.

Natsu tightens his grip. “Dance with me?”

Oh boy, the alcohol was talking.

Angel boy looks at Natsu with wide doe eyes, peers back at their hands and gulps. Natsu frowns and releases his hold. He was drunk, probably a little more than he’d admit to, but he didn’t want to pressurize anyone—not when this boy already looked so out of his element, a beige hoodie and skinny jeans in a club full of scantily clad folk.

But he reverses the roles, grabbing Natsu by the fingers so delicately, he releases a soft hum of satisfaction. He rubs fingers between his own, feeling the brush of calloused fingertips on them. It reminds him of mom’s soft chest rising and falling when she slept beside him because he was her ‘perfect little angel’ and made him feel safe.

He misses it. Misses being safe. Misses being loved.

“Okay,” the boy mumbles, peering from under his natural hood of hair with a light smile. “Okay. Let’s dance.”

Natsu doesn’t really know what he’s doing anymore. The lights blink and they’re suddenly in stop motion. It tricks his brain into thinking of them as pictures trapped some place in his brain forever. So he stares and stares and captures the blush spreading like wildfire across the boy’s face, a smile widening in tandem with the soft beats.

They’re two faces among a thousand on a random winter night. The music isn’t his type nor is his attire anything to be proud of. But this boy. Holy heavens, if he isn’t the prettiest thing ever then the stars should be ashamed because damn, he’d beat them even on a bad day.

His hair sways—a steady swing of left right left right and a pleasant smile sits snug on his features like that’s where they belonged, that’s where they had always belonged and Natsu closes his eyes when their hands meet again.

This is perfect.

It’s when the music stills that they transition to a slower lull of movement, and the blaze of liquor in his blood emboldens him into yanking the boy a little closer. He lets him fall with a small plop on his chest and laughs when he rubs his nose, scowling.

“Why do you never wait back?” He asks, exhaling at the warmth the boy’s presence brings. Natsu puts his hand around his waist and he swears, it was like he wasn’t human, like someone had sculpted him out of clay, moulded to near perfection. And maybe he’s treading into dangerous waters, but his mouth had a mind of its own and there’s nothing he could do to stop it.

“I always look for you after I’m done but you’re never here.”

Pair of hazelnut eyes sheepishly peer at him.

“I’m sorry. I’m just.… not good at socializing.”

“So you say,” Natsu laughs, “But you’re doing better than me.”

“No way!”

“Yes way.”

“You have to be kidding me you’re so cool—and and so beautiful I really cannot—since the beginning I haven’t been able to take my eyes off—”

He squeaks when he's dragged closer by the small of his back. Their eyes meet. Natsu sees flashes of every happy moment of his life mirrored in them; His first recital, mom’s naturally loud laugh, the first time he played the guitar. They reach into Natsu’s soul and drag out his joy like the reel of a kite.

“I thought you were an angel,” he chuckles so close, he feels the boy shiver against his cheek. “I still do. Everyone here calls you Angel boy. Score a drink from them with that name sometime. I’m sure they’ll oblige you.”

“Angel? I—” He breathes a giggle, twisting silver strands with his fingers. “If there’s any angel here, it’s you.”

But this is fake, he wants to say. It’s fake, artificial, made of desperation because he never wants to look into the mirror and see his father’s face staring back at him. He won’t be him. He won’t.

“Atsumu,” he says. “My name is Atsumu.”

“Atsumu.” Natsu repeats in his head till it rolls naturally over his tongue. Like Atsu meaning heat and summer and everything bright and cheery.

Natsu purposefully lingers near his ear, to breathe his name in the air, smiling, content.

“ ‘Tsumu. It’s cute,” he hums. “You’re cute.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Definitely.” He chuckles.

Atsumu whispers, low and uneasy. “C-can I ask you something?”

“Mhmm.” At this point, his voice gave him a greater high than the drink he had downed fifteen minutes ago. Or was it an hour? He couldn’t really tell and decided very quickly he didn’t care, anyway.

“Why don’t you.. come to school?”

Natsu’s eyes open a crack to glimpse at the boy who trembles softly under him, as if he were admitting to a crime.

“I—” he continues in alarm, “I swear I’m not a stalker I just—Oh my god please don’t misunderstand me—”

“Calm down.” Natsu shushes, smiling apologetically at the few people around him that had been torn out of their aggressive make-out session as if they weren’t the ones that needed a room. God, if he sees another dick hanging out, he’ll have to bust out the chainsaw in the basement and go wild.

“So,” he leads them to a quieter corner with very few people and lesser eyes their way. “School,” he waves a hand dismissively, “It’s boring. Lots of people. Annoying questions. You know the drill.”

“Right,” he gulps. “Right so, I’m uhh—in your class I don’t think you noticed and I’m from an instrument club and someone asked us a question. Something about erotic sounds—wait that sounds bad—not erotic erotic but.…Ah, I’m bad at explaining.”

Natsu doesn’t keep back the dreamy giggle that leaves him, swaying lightly to the music. He’s exactly as he imagined—hell, even his name was spot on—all warm and giggly and fluttery.

“I’m still listening,” Natsu smiles. “Go on.”

Atsumu scrunches his nose and continues. “So one of my club seniors—he comes of a little rough but he’s really nice—went to one of my other seniors house who I think he really likes, and her mother told him it’s—I’m sorry am I too confusing?”

“I think I can manage.”

“Okay, so basically, her mother says it’s the pause in between his words and actions. The space that is just…there. And so I was writing about it—because I write everything—and Oka-kun saw my book.”

Natsu scowls. “Oka is annoying like that.”

The boy giggles this time. “Funny. He said you’d say that.”

“It’d be nice if he attempted to change it, then.”

“And so he told me you play music, where you work and that maybe you could do something good for once—I didn’t say that he did—So…” He moves his hand vaguely around them. “Here I am.”

Natsu hums against his head, bringing him to a slower pace as the song changes.

“I’ll have to thank him for that.”

“You’re not..angry?” He says through furrowed brows. “Oka-kun said you would be if you found out.”

He’s certain if Oka showed up here uninvited, Natsu would promptly kick him out. Because Oka is annoying. Atsumu however….

“So? Did you get your answer?” He asks instead.

The smaller boy makes a face, pulling all his features in to make his button nose stand out more than it already does and pout.

Natsu laughs. He’s been doing a lot of that today. Laughing.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“Don’t get me wrong! Your performances are splendid and I really can’t get enough of them but the answer…I still haven’t reached a conclusion.”

Natsu plays with the fingers in his hand, shuffling to let them sink into the gap between his. Atsumu stares and responds by shyly tucking his fingers in.

“Want me to help you?” He whispers, tapping the side of Atsumu’s waist with his other hand.

“Can you?” He whispers back.

Can he? Yes. Should he? Probably not.

But what use is logic anyway, when a boy the embodiment of a sunny summer day amid a bitter winter stood enclosed in his arms?

Yeah. To hell with logic.

Natsu sways his hips, raking his free hand through Atsumu’s hair. He releases a pleased sigh when the tiny fingers between his tighten as if it were the only thing anchoring him to reality, which was good. Natsu felt the same, like his sanity was slowly slipping through open fingers.

“Spaces…exist everywhere. In words, in voices, in time…” He draws their joined hands to his mouth, dragging wet lips over porcelain skin. Atsumu shudders, breathing in sharp, shallow exhales.

“These hands..there’s a space in between them too if you look carefully. We’re so close,” fingers tighten around his shirt. “But still never close enough.

He runs a palm down the boy’s face that angles and angles till plush, red lips are within kissing distance. They part and blow warm clouds of air that taste mint and chocolate in his mouth. Natsu smiles. “Space is where there is distance. Space is where there is intimacy. Space is where there is friction. And this exciting gap that keeps us wanting to be closer till not even an atom could squeeze in—” he leans in closer, “—is erotic.”

He backs away while he has the physical capacity to do so, before the alcohol overrides every decision in his head and they end up a tangled mess of limbs in some random hotel room, but Atsumu having none of it.

He pulls Natsu to himself, clutching the pleats of his shirt and tugging him down to his lips. Teeth knock loudly against each other and Natsu hisses lightly, parting to lick the tingle in the tip of his incisor away.

“S-sorry!” Atsumu covers his embarrassment behind shaky hands. Natsu wraps thin fingers under his chin, reeling him in slow and steady and closes the distance. It’s soft, like a snowflake on a tree, virgin snow settling on frozen water and ironically, melts him. It boils and freezes, ignites his soul into a firework of bursting flames. He’s touching, feeling, pulling until every inhale feels like fire in his lungs.

“Closer,” Atsumu murmurs, throwing nimble hands over his shoulder and locking their lips together like puzzle pieces on a gameboard. “Make the space go away.”

It’s chaotic, and it’s magical. Like every star in the galaxy twinkled around them tonight, like every blossoming flower settled wherever Atsumu touched him. He’s drunk on vodka, drunk on happiness, drunk on love.

Closer. Natsu pushes a knee in between his thighs. His mouth hangs open in a silent moan, eyes slowly rolling into the back of his head.

Closer. The hands in his air pull him in for another searing kiss, pressing for entry, to delve deeper, deeper into themselves. Atsumu nibbles lightly on his lip and Natsu lets him bruise him for tonight. To wreck him, destroy him.

Closer.

They settle for a slower casual rhythm when they part to breathe. He keeps them moving on the floor, smiling against a pair of swollen lips.

“School suddenly sounds much more interesting.” He says.

Atsumu squints incredulously. “We can’t do this at school.”

“No?”

“No!”

Natsu shrugs, pecking the tip of the boy’s nose. “Shame.”

“Then you’ll come?” Atsumu bumps his forehead against Natsu’s. “I’ll really see you tomorrow?”

“If you can walk home straight after tonight, then sure.”

Atsumu gasps and slaps him across the back, blushing as they leave the club, hand in hand, away into the wintery night.

Natsu turns sixteen—a little drunk, a lot happy—but he’s sixteen and he can pinpoint this as the day he falls in love even years later.

And every other birthday is insignificant but so much better, spent at home, in the arms of the boy that saved him in just one night, all those years ago.

Mom only ever asks where he’s going and who he’s moving in with while he packs his bags to leave. She frowns when he answers with the widest smile on his face, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“An Angel.”

Ignore the sloppy writing haha. I'm writing this while travelling back home after a god awful six hour exam.

It felt too plotless to post on my ao3 kdkcd—

If you look at the colouring of Natsu I based it on (go give @sasukeslove all the real love), I imagine the art as the morning after when Oka's annoying Natsu and Atsumu walks in through the door (≧▽≦)

#kono oto tomare! #kotedit #kot #ao3 #dailykot #fanfic #kono oto #ficlet #momoyoshi #momoya natsu #atsumu yoshinaga #Spotify

[samstree]

Press your hands upon my heart

Geralt x Jaskier, hurt/comfort, 2k, soft geralt, hurt jaskier, married husbands, established geraskier

cw:  torture aftermath, hand injuries, descriptions of broken bones.

read on AO3

Geralt loved Jaskier’s hands.

They were one of the first things Geralt noticed about him.

Years ago, back in that stingy little tavern, the bard had gesticulated throughout their one-sided opening conversation, tapping on the table between them, waving and pointing with excitement. Jaskier had extended his arms in a full-body pose as he marveled at their first adventure.

From that day on, it was his nimble fingers that strummed the lute and played songs after songs, spreading the tales of the white wolf. Even hidden at the corner of a tavern, trying to not draw attention from the audience Jaskier was entertaining, Geralt could not help but always notice those hands on the instrument and how easily they produced those captivating notes. Not that he would admit it to Jaskier until many years later.

Jaskier’s hands were beautiful.

They were long and lean, untouched by heavy labor, the unblemished skin a stark contrast to Geralt’s labyrinth of scars.

They were soft to the touch. The only calluses were at the tip of his fingers, developed from years of plucking the strings. Their gentleness eased Geralt’s pain as Jaskier bandaged a wound or applied salve on Geralt’s scratches and bruises.

They were warm and welcoming when Jaskier caressed Geralt’s face before leaning in to kiss him. These hands soothed the tension between his brows; these hands carded through his hair as he was lulled into sleep surrounded by Jaskier’s familiar scent; these hands brought pleasure that left him moaning and begging, a whimpering mess under the eyes blue as the sky.

Geralt did not understand Jaskier’s love for wearing all those ridiculous rings. The colored stones were flashy and big, weighing down Jaskier’s slim fingers. Plus, they posed an extra obstacle if Geralt wished to hold Jaskier and simply feel the solid contact. The huge gemstones dug into his palm whenever he stroked Jaskier’s soft skin looking for reassurance.

“But my love, they are the latest trend at all the royal courts. A bard as esteemed as I needs to stay in fashion.”

Jaskier chuckled, amused at Geralt’s distaste for those jewelries, but continued to collect even bigger and flashier ones.

So one day, Geralt replaced them with a simple silver ring.

By the coast of Cidaris, on a beautiful cliff overlooking the sea, Geralt put the wedding band on Jaskier and called him husband for the very first time. He then placed a solemn kiss on top of it, the silver glint a most complimenting addition for those lovely fingers.

The war with Nilfgaard still raged, but their unlikely little family of a princess, sorceresses, and wolf witchers gathered for this moment.

In this little bubble of happiness, Geralt held Jaskier close and interlocked their fingers, a silent promise to never let go.

*

Jaskier’s hands were the first things Geralt saw when he slammed into that prison cell.

In front of his prone, motionless body on the stone floor, his hands were stretched out. The once unblemished skin was now speckled with dried blood. Dark bruises bloomed from his wrists, all the way up to the knuckles. Some of the fingers were swollen from what must be broken bones inside, but they still twitched slightly at the sound of Yennefer’s continued fighting in the hallway.

Where their wedding band should be, was now a flayed gash that has stopped dripping blood.

Geralt was almost knocked out of breath by the stench of pain, Jaskier’s pain. Gone was the familiar scent of sweet honeysuckle and contentment, now only despair rolled off of his husband in waves.

Gathering Jaskier in his arms, he checked for other injuries and found more: cracked ribs, a broken leg, and a gash near his hairline. It seemed his hands had received the most damage. Jaskier’s eyes stayed worryingly closed when Geralt desperately tried to rouse him. Tucking away the matted hair, Geralt winced at how hot his forehead felt.

They know he’s a bard. The back of Geralt’s mind screamed, they know he’s my bard.

They hurt what was the most precious to Jaskier, and Geralt seethed.

Geralt secured Jaskier’s hands in front of his torso, careful not to jostle the battered bones, and propped him up to lean against his chest. In the hallway, Yennefer cleared out the last of the soldiers and rushed in.

“Yen. His hands.” He pleaded.

Yennefer examined Jaskier’s hands with magic and the flow of chaos seemed to pain him even in unconsciousness. Jaskier whimpered and burrowed further in the crook of Geralt’s neck.

“It’s really bad, Geralt.” Yennefer’s expression was still calm but Geralt could see she was affected by the extent of it. “My chaos is almost depleted. I’m not sure how much I can do right now.”

“Do what you can. Please.”

“This is going to hurt,” Yennefer warned and started working her magic.

Geralt murmured into Jaskier’s ear as the pain built up, but it offered no comfort. With the crack of bones being reset, Jaskier woke screaming and writhing against Geralt’s chest, hitched breathing racking his body violently.

There was nothing Geralt could do but hold him tighter.

*

Four days held in that Nilfgaardian prison took more than forty for Jaskier to heal. Or at least on the outside.

The lacerated skin on his forearms and wrists turned into a canvas of newly formed scars, jarringly red and sensitive to the touch. The broken leg and ribs eventually regained strength after weeks of physical therapy and exercise.

As soon as they brought him back to Kaer Morhen, Yennefer knitted back the broken bones inside Jaskier’s hands, and continued to heal them with magic. Yet there was only so much she could do.

The damage to the soft tissues and ligaments was already festering when they rescued him. During the first few days, the searing pain would often flare up and keep him from any real sleep, leaving Jaskier delirious in his fevered state.

After those days, Geralt developed a habit of gently massaging the spasms out of Jaskier’s muscles. He would unfurl Jaskier’s constricting fists, kneading out the knots with the cream that the bard loved so much – honeysuckle and lavender. The warmth from Geralt’s larger hands soothed the aches, more or less depending on the day, so he made it a mission to reach for Jaskier whenever he had the chance.

Geralt wished he could erase all the hurt inflicted on his husband, but nature had to take its course.

After forty days recovering in Kaer Morhen, Jaskier was almost back to full health except for when the joints in his hands creaked and made him tremble in agony.

“Thank you, my love,” Jaskier said sleepily.

They lied face-to-face on their shared bed in the keep. Jaskier was already drifting off, his hands soft and pliant, wrapped in Geralt’s palms as if this could shield them from the hurt within.

“Anytime.”

He shouldn’t be thanking me. Geralt kissed a faded scar on a knuckle. I’m the one who couldn’t protect him.

*

Jaskier’s hands were still beautiful.

The backs of his hands were now marred with faded scars that itched when rubbed too hard. So Geralt made him gloves with soft silk to protect the delicate patch of skin. Jaskier had brightened with joy and gave him a massive smooch for being ‘the most thoughtful husband on the Continent’. The dark blue fabric now accompanied Jaskier everywhere.

His wrists moved with an unprecedented carefulness, all the dramatic gestures reigned in to avoid aggravating the long-lasting injuries. Though Jaskier never stopped talking with his hands, adding to his emotions when he got carried away. The movements, albeit subdued, were still the most beautiful dance in Geralt's eye.

Jaskier couldn’t wear his wedding band anymore.

With Yennefer’s help, Geralt found another ring to replace the one that was lost during Jaskier’s capture. At the time, Jaskier had put it on with a most contented grin, like something was returned to its home.

But the joints in his fingers too often ached in the cold wind of the Blue Mountains, sometimes even swelled up with inflammation. One day the bloating suddenly worsened, and they had to cut out the silver band before putting him on ice for the rest of the day.

Jaskier looked so defeated that night, fidgeting and stroking the empty base of his ring finger. When Geralt gathered him in an embrace, he retreated into himself even further.

“I don’t need a ring to know that you are mine.” Geralt tried.

“Thank you.” Jaskier’s breath shuddered. That seemed to be all he said these days. “But I just need something to be normal again.”

With that, Jaskier buried his face in Geralt’s neck and let out a silent sob. His tears soaked through Geralt’s shirt as they both rocked slowly back and forth, a wordless companionship of shared powerlessness.

*

One thing about Jaskier’s hands never changed.

They still knew how to love Geralt.

With stolen touches and reassuring squeezes, Jaskier never ceased to convey the depth of his feelings despite his weakened movements.

He would still open his inviting arms for a hug and absent-mindedly stroke the nape of Geralt’s neck. He would still wash the grime out of Geralt’s hair with the soap he knew didn’t bother the witcher’s sensitive nose. He would card through those silver locks when they were both plagued by insomnia – a common occurrence now that Jaskier frequently screamed awake with nightmares – to calm his own racing heart while giving a silent apology for waking Geralt up.

These were still the same hands when they traced every line on Geralt’s body, mapping out all the plains and ridges of old scars. As Jaskier traveled across his body, Geralt shuddered with tears blurring his vision.

He never understood why Jaskier would worship his scars, why he memorized them by touch and kissed them with soft lips, as if they were the most precious things on earth, until now.

Now Geralt did the exact same thing to the scattered marks on Jaskier’s body in return, tracing the lines with everything he had. Now Geralt shared the sentiment that, maybe, he could erase the hurt retroactively with all the tenderness he poured into the contact.

“You are being sappy again.” Jaskier kissed away the tears on Geralt’s cheeks, his palm cupping the side of Geralt’s face.

“I just – I never knew I could love someone so much.”

Geralt had to look quite an embarrassing sight, tearing up in the middle of an intimate moment. But Jaskier only melted at his words, the blue of his eyes flowing with adoration.

“I love you too, you ridiculous man.”

*

Geralt woke to the strumming of lute.

It was the first time since Jaskier’s rescue that he picked up the instrument. The melody was slow and haunting, an old love song in Elder. Jaskier hummed along with his back to their bed.

Geralt sat up quietly, not wanting to disturb the moment. He watched Jaskier take measured movements when handling the lute, gripping the handle just a little too tightly.

The old songs soon warmed him up for fervent composing. As if struck by sudden inspiration, Jaskier started singing new verses over and over again while scribbling in his notebook. Then he scratched something before trying a different line. From the short distance, Geralt smelled the familiar scent of excitement and realized how much he’d missed it.

The music and scratches of quill nearly lulled Geralt back to sleep, until a dissonant chord struck, followed by a pained gasp.

Jaskier was hunched over his lute, breathing through what must be another bout of cramps.

“Hey, Jaskier. Easy.”

With a few long strides, Geralt reached Jaskier and knelt in front of him. He pried away the lute and notebook and started massaging Jaskier’s trembling hands. Slowly opening the clenched fists, Geralt began the motion he knew by heart, kneading out the tension bit by bit.

Every time pressure was applied on the knots, Jaskier shook all over, pained, whimpering.

“You are doing so good, Jask,” Geralt cooed and apologized, easing his mind with murmured encouragement.

Finally, he pressed a chaste kiss to each knuckle, giving them equal attention, before cradling Jaskier’s now relaxed hands right above his heart to warm them up.

“Alright?”

Geralt looked up to Jaskier. The storm in his features had passed, leaving only a tired, timid smile. His glassy eyes were filled with softness only reserved for Geralt.

“We will be, love.”

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