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kaiser1ns · 1 month

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𝗦𝗖𝗥𝗢𝗟𝗟 𝗢𝗡𝗘 一 𝗢𝗡𝗘'𝗦 𝗗𝗨𝗧𝗬

𝗶𝘁𝗼𝘀𝗵𝗶 𝘀𝗮𝗲 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

SERIES MASTERLIST ｡⁠.ﾟ⁠+⁠ NEXT SCROLL

╹synopsis :: a skilled samurai had the task to assassinate one of the four landlord's daughter but things went in another direction when his parents decided to marry him off to her.

╹contents :: 2,4k words, historical!au, arranged mirage!au ; mentions of blood, murder, assassination ; symbolism with the names. read a/n at the end for more information.

╹notes :: first chapter of the itoshi sae fanfic, hope you like it ! this fanfic will have slow updates !

╹taglist :: @wirednintkoko @i-love-frensh-fries @steleir @beidousbubz @aoiropetal @raphsimp @rroxii @multi-101 @c4ttheart

Holding his two metal swords, slashing the men's throats as their bodies dropped dead onto the brown tatami mats as now they began to acquire a red color. It's his duty as one of the highest ranked samurai to keep the Shogunate territory all safe and sound, leaving no trace of his or anyone else's deeds. Another job done with even more cleaning afterwards. He sighed heavily, as he tore a cloth from the dead man's robe to wipe the blood from his katana.

"You've got some nice finishing moves, Itoshi-dono." said an unknown voice behind the man who put away his weapons and removed the samurai mask and helmet that covered his face. Scarlet hair and blue-green eyes with underlashes, flashed in the dark room, his gaze was empty as if he had no soul — and by the way he just killed these people, he was heartless too.

"I am not doing this only for the honorary, work is work and it has to be done." the redhead said, stepping outside the room and closing it with the sliding door, turning around to look at the man, "Have someone clean this mess, I have to report to the Shogun." his tone carried this not as a message but an order as he walked past them, letting them do the dirty work.

Going in the direction of the river, in its ridge to cleanse himself from yet again another sin, but no matter how many times he washes his hands, clothes or swords — the stains of the endless suffering, the voices of the innocent and not, cannot be erased. They will always be a part of him, as long as he is alive.

Itoshi Sae was the name of the samurai, a young man who served the Shogunate's secret assassination group but he was also part of the main army holding a very high ranking and status because he was the firstborn from the nobel Itoshi Family.

The Itoshi clan is the most powerful and most important of all four great clans that dominated Japanese politics — the other three are the Tsurukawa, the Mikage, and the Hiori families, who also had their representative heirs.

The moonlight danced on the surface of the water, casting an ethereal glow reflecting in his eyes. Quite the contrast with the vivid light full of life, and his dull gaze that lacked brightness and vitality. He reached the riverbank, stopping in one place to listen to the gentle lapping of the water against the shore, a soothing sound for his troubled mind.

With deep breath he began to remove his blood-stained armor, letting it fall to the ground causing a loud noise from the weight. Leaving him only with his usual attire that consisted of a black kimono, white hakama and dark blue haori jacket with white wisteria flower on the back - the Itoshi clan symbol of devotion, longevity and resilience.

Sae quickly washed whatever he could, as he put it on again and set off again for the Shogunate's residence in a nearby town. And once he got there he received a warm welcome from the maids but he paid them no mind, he didn't care if there was someone to welcome him or not, the boy just wanted the earned money from his majesty — Ego Jinpachi, an ambitious and overly confident ruler but beneath that facade, is something even more sinister as he is extremely egotistical, cruel, and self-serving man who does not tolerate traitors and liars, and that's why people like Itoshi Sae are recruited into his secret organization.

"You are here earlier than expected," the Shogunate said taking a bite of his food, while the samurai got on the floor and bowed "I'm done with what you needed me for, they are dead and soon there will be no evidence for their lives." he replied with a tone of obedience, maintaining a composed demeanor, his thoughts hidden behind his mask.

"There's nothing you can't do, always with excellent and quick performance." the black haired answered "Now, a letter from your family came, saying it was urgent for you to check. But before that, come with me, I have another task specifically for you." Both men stood up and walked away from the big dining hall, going to the Shogunate personal library, that was kept away from anny prying eyes. It was a dark place, as dark as the Shogunate secret with only a few candles to lit up and to provide visibility.

"I need you to kill the daughter of the Tsurukawa clan. You know, the young princess who talks bad about me and what I do behind doors. I have eyes and ears everywhere. My men, including me, think she is crazy because no woman has the right to talk like this and most importantly about the one who feeds them.” The samurai just listened, observing the Shogun’s body language and tone of speaking and how the word kill came out so easily from his mouth. Even though he harbored no personal attachment to his targets, the idea of killing another noble for the sake of political power wasn't unheard of but he knew better than anyone not to question the orders of his superior.

But why exactly Y/N of the Tsurukawa Family? She wasn't the only one who talked about his wrong doings but she was alive, unlike others. Sae won't deny that he had know her for most of his live as they both were the firstborns and same age — with the only difference being that the lady was an only child and the redhead had a little brother — but he definitely heard her name mentioned when there was talk of the Shogun and some kind of revolution against him. That woman spoke nonsense left and right — or at least ran nonsense for all he cared, only those like Itoshi Sae knew what was going on behind the closed doors of the empire. That's a concern for another day.

"As you wish, my lord," Sae responded with a shallow bow, his voice trailed with no emotion. "Consider it done."

The Shogunate nodded, a murderous look in his eyes that seems to be second nature to him. "Oh, and more thing Itoshi, you will have one whole year to do this, starting from next week with the first cherry blossomed tree." he said, tone monotone like it was that normal to talk about assassination "This will be your longest mission and if you don't complete it by next spring you know what awaits you. So don't make me do the unthinkable. Now you are dismissed."

With a nod, the young man took his leave, thinking about what the Shogun just ordered him to do — to kill Tsurukawa Y/N until the next spring — and despite her outspokenness and rebellious nature, very unusual behavior for a woman at that, she had always been there, next to him on official dinners, paintings or playing together with wooden swords as kids. And now she had to be gone.

As he departed from Ego's dinner time with other important politicians, his thoughts drifted back to the letter from his family, he hasn't been home for months, and apparently now is the time to do so. Arriving at his quarters in the rooms of the residence, Sae retrieved the manuscript letter, the elegant calligraphy of his family's crest a stark contrast to the bloodstains that still lingered on his hands. Without further ado, he untied the thread and the scroll unfolded.

—

Itoshi Sae, from the Itoshi Family. Please come home as soon as possible, by the time you read this letter no more than three days will have passed, and it will be one more day till you return. The matter requires your presence as the future head of the family, so please get home immediately.

—

Could Rin be causing trouble again? No, it shouldn't be that. Someone must have gotten sick or died, if they seek him physically. Maybe another idiot wants to fight him? The last time he fought someone from another lower clan or a drunkard, things didn't end very well. What could possibly be happening, he didn't care about being the next head, but had to pretend for the sake of his parents' honor. With a heavy and hopeless sigh, he tucked the letter into his cloak. He will think about it tomorrow morning when he leaves.

The morning is wiser than the night as old people tend to say, something new and exciting will await anybody but sometimes it's okay to look in the past that the night helds. Memories flooded his thoughts as he traversed familiar paths, the small pond with fish or the wooden puppets that he practiced on, reminiscing about the carefree days of his childhood before his life became entangled with the the dark side of the political power and hierarchy be it assassination, stealing important information and artifacts, weapons, you name it - he's done it.

Upon reaching the grand gates of his family's house, the samurai was greeted by the sincere smiles of his servants. "Welcome home, Itoshi Sae-sama." The people in front of whom he grew up, and they watched as he became a handsome and strong man, started to welcome and praise him. Their hushed whispers and furtive glances only deepened his sense of curiosity — something big is going to happen, and just hoped it wasn't something that important to involve him.

As he stepped into the ancestral home, entering the main hall, the samurai's eyes met those of his parents, they were happy to finally see their son — the reason of their pride and joy. There was silence as he entered, kneeling on the floor with the tops of the feet flat against the ground, sitting back on his heels, and bowing deeply from the waist with the hands placed palms down on the thighs or folded in front, looking around carefully — his father and mother were there, as well as his younger brother Rin, who was sitting next to their father. Sae's gaze fell upon a girl, an unfamiliar persona. New maid, perhaps? He remembered how his mother was very tired of doing garden work so maybe they hired someone.

Her face hid behind the golden fan she was holding and the only uncovered part was her e/c eyes as she also looked at him. Adorned in a beautiful red kimono, probably made of the most luxurious and finest silk with white crane and floral patterns with gold threads, the greenish obi was intricately tied on her waist. The flowing, wide sleeves accentuated her gracefulness, defining her silhouette with elegance, the Shimada styled hair into a large, elaborate bun on top of the head, decorated with golden comb, as she stood beside his mother.

His gaze did not miss every single detail even for a second, but this is very strange because that's not a worker's outfit. Could this be Rin's fiancé? He is two years younger than Sae and had time till marriage and the letter hadn't mentioned the true reason for his urgent return.

Oh ...

The realisation hit him like a swift cut from his most sharpest katana — marriage. The girl infront of him, is the bride. Oh sweet, Bishamonten, giving another battle to his fortune warrior. Sae's father, observing his son's reaction, cleared his throat to gain his attention. "Sae, we have summoned you here today to discuss an important matter concerning your future and the prosperity of our family." His words echoing with calming tone, "As you know, our family's honor is of utmost importance to us. It is with great consideration that we have arranged a mirage for you." He paused, allowing the weights of his words to sink in before continuing, "And to continue our legacy and alliances with the Tsurukawa Family."

He tried to be calm, to keep his composure, but his facial expression and his widened eyes gave it away. The Tsurukawa Family, the same family Ego ordered him to assassinate their heir. There's no way that's possible, the Gods above can't play such a joke on him right now.

"We understand that this may come as a surprise to you, but rest assured, it is a decision made with the utmost care and consideration for your well-being." He gestured towards the other feminine figure beside his wife, indicating the girl to put down her fan, revealing her full face. That was Tsurukawa Y/N — the young lady from the second clan in power, the same girl that will be killed by his own hands, the woman who will become his wife. It wasn't a dream, it was a nightmare.

"As your father, it is my duty to ensure that you are provided for and that our family thrives for generations to come. This marriage is a part of that responsibility," he explained, his tone gentle yet firm concluded with a reassuring nod, his eyes going to his elder son and soon daughter-in-law.

"When is the wedding?" the young samurai finally spoke up, his mind was messy, it was full of countless thoughts and plans of how this is going to work. He wanted his targets close, but not that close.

"Tomorrow," his father replied, his voice carrying a hint of sympathy for the shock his son was experiencing. "We knew that you won't come home if we said what is it for, so take it as a gift from Amaterasu."

Sae felt a knot tighten in his stomach. Tomorrow? It seemed impossible to prepare himself mentally for such a significant event in such a short time. Yet, as a samurai, he was trained to adapt to any situation. "I understand, Father," he managed to say, though his voice wavered slightly.

His father got up and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Sae nodded his head slowly. The family left the room, leaving him alone with his soon-to-be wife, he couldn't help but feel at unease — he never had any problems about his missions. This marriage wasn't just about securing alliances or ensuring the family's prosperity — it was God's plan, a forsaken and unfortunate planning with the most unexpected twist.

Turning to face Y/N as she waved her fan grinning so innocently at him, her eyes sparkled with adoration, a slight blush painted on her face like a freshly ripe peach from his mother's garden. Sae however, maintained his stoic demeanor, his eyes cold and distant, forcing a polite smile, though there was nothing to be smiling about.

"Don't get the wrong idea, Y/N. This marriage is just a formality, a transaction on paper. There's no need for us to pretend otherwise." he said, his voice letting her know that he isn't interested in this fiasco, or in her, for now. "So don't expect much." As he spoke, the weight of his words hung in the air, casting a shadow over any hope she might have held onto.

Y/N's heart sank when she saw how cold he had become, but she refused to show any sign of weakness. With a flick of her fan, she masked her disappointment behind a facade of indifference, determined to prove him wrong, even if it meant breaking through his icy exterior one layer at a time. She would not give up on the hope that someday, just maybe, he would see her not as a mere transaction or an old friend, but as something more.

江戸散歩 [EDO SANPO]

• The meaning behind the Tsurukawa [鶴川] surname is 鶴 - crane and 川 - river. In Japan, the crane, or tsuru, is a national treasure and is considered the bird of happiness. It is depicted in art, literature, and mythology as a symbol of honor, good fortune, loyalty, and longevity. So to be free as a bird, and as calm but rebellious as the water.

• In Edo period Japan, the color red on clothes signified youth and glamour as well mad, passionate love that is all consuming but fleeting so is chosen. And the green which represents new beginnings and good fortune. So they are chosen for Y/N's kimono.

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literallyjustanerd · 6 months

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Saboteur (Kalluzeb)

Words: 4,282

Vibe: Angst, bad communication, Empire deprogramming

Summary: After arriving at the Rebel base, Kallus struggles with the navigating life outside the Empire. His feelings for one Rebel in particular aren't helping. He's lost, confused and out of his depth. And bad things happen when Kallus feels out of his depth.

Agent Aleksandr Kallus is a born saboteur.

One of the Empire’s best. His diligence and natural capacity for espionage had been noticed early in his career. Few in the ISB were as tenacious as he had been at thoroughly desecrating someone else’s plans. Rebels, insurgents, even his fellow officers in the Empire: anything to get a leg up. After his defection, his skills were perhaps even more keenly used as a double agent for the Rebels. And yet, as renowned as his abilities were to friend and enemy alike, they were nothing compared to Agent Kallus’s uncanny talent for sabotaging himself.

He'd wasted no time, efficient in his downward spiral, at least. Since the moment he'd arrived on Yavin, bloody-faced and limping down the gangway, it seemed he'd done little else except fail, blunder and otherwise shoot himself in his already-once-broken leg. His own ego the chisel, each baffling faux pax another hammer.

He had stood at attention and saluted when introduced to the Rebel Commanders. They had laughed at him for it. Then ribbed and teased him when he’d looked suitably perplexed.

“We’ll squeeze that habit out of you soon enough, Imp, don’t you worry.”

Imp. The nickname had stuck, and was soon following him across the entire base. Kallus had assumed it was a derogatory taunt. A reminder– we know who you are, and we won’t trust you. Fair, if a little more malicious than he would have expected from the Rebels. Even the Ghost crew had jumped on the trend. Jarrus and Syndulla joked about making it his call sign. A few pieces of cartoonish, unflattering graffiti bearing the name had appeared around the base, always the same days Wren would turn up with paint on her fingers. Bridger had taken a liking to bothering him during his shifts: popping out around corners or from under desks with that conniving grin of his and another juvenile prank.

“Hey, Imp! Think fast!”

On more than one occasion, Kallus apparently hadn’t thought fast enough. He was growing tired of cleaning meiloorun juice from his clothes.

Still, he had held his chin high. Redressed his composure, kept his expression cool. Best not to dignify the cruel moniker with a reaction, though it still sent barbs through him every time it was lobbed his way. He had simply resolved to work harder, achieve higher, establish himself as an asset. Prove he could be trusted. He was no stranger to the uphill battle: it had taken years to gain any kind of confidence in the Empire. With more determination now than he’d ever had within Imperial ranks, he was sure he would do away with the label of Imp in due course.

Weeks had passed this way, long hours of overtime and days ended with leaden, aching limbs. It was satisfying work, as demanding as it was. Everyone pulled their weight and then some. To his surprise he found he quite liked the air of cohesion and cooperation. But still, no matter how much he gave, the nickname stuck.

One grey, gusty evening, he found himself at the edge of the grounds, sitting atop a low stone wall overlooking the patchy forest. He retreated here often enough that, in his mind at least, he had claimed the spot as his own. There weren’t many things left in the galaxy he could say that about. In the distance, carried to him on the wind, there was conversation, laughter. He had been trying to return to the welcome distraction of his work when a voice from behind interrupted his peaceful little pity party.

“You know you can come join the rest of us, right?”

Orrelios. He stepped forward to lean next to Kallus against the low wall. Kallus suddenly felt electrified, a simmering under his skin like standing too close to a ray shield. Dumbly, he tapped his datapad.

“I thought it would be wise to finish the next inventory assessment early,” he had said. “To optimise our supply runs for the next cycle.”

Orrelios had laughed. Why was that funny?

“Still overworking yourself. Empire habits die hard, eh, Imp?”

A tiny crease formed in Kallus’ brow. His lip twitched, pulling infinitesimally down. The blow had hit unexpectedly. Why hearing Orrelios use that name stung more than anyone else, he could not have said.

“Hey… You okay?”

Why ask? You know what you’re doing. It had seemed a strange move. Kallus had supposed maybe Orrelios was trying to draw a confession from him, to get him to admit how much it hurt being reminded that he hadn’t earned his place among the Rebels.

“Kallus, look, If you don’t like us calling you that…”

Kallus had braced, expecting a killing blow.

“We’ll stop. You just say the word.”

Oh.

What?

His expression must have thoroughly conveyed his bewilderment, because Garazeb had offered an uncharacteristically earnest, apologetic smile before he had spoken again.

“None of us mean any harm, you know. It’s an ironic name, right? Shows how far you’ve come. You worked hard to get here. Used to be an Imp, now you’re one of us, all that.”

One of us. Kallus stared daggers down at his datapad, fighting hard to maintain his schooled expression. He dreaded what would happen if he broke and smiled as hard as his impulses threatened to.

“But if you don’t like it, it stops. Right now. Promise. Do you want me to tell the others?”

There had been things Kallus had wanted to say. Both in the moment and later that night, long after he had fled from the conversation. Most were filed squarely away in the largest folder in Kallus’ mind: things he would never, could never, say aloud. But mostly, he regrets that he hadn’t thought to thank Garazeb. Or even to stay and afford him the respect of finishing the conversation. After all, he credited Zeb for the chance the Rebels had given him to escape the Empire in the first place. Those words and more, though, remained snugly locked away where Kallus' voice would never reach. All he had managed before stumbling away was a mumbled,

“No. No, don’t speak to the others. There’s no need. Goodnight.”

A small sabotage. The first of many to come in the next weeks. Each blow of the hammer chipped away more of what Kallus thought he knew of the galaxy and of himself, the pile of dust and debris at his feet growing steadily deeper. The shards darker and more jagged. The less he knew of himself, the worse his lapses became.

Until Kallus went and did what he was best at.

“Don’t speak to me like that. As though you know anything about me. As though you could ever know what I want.”

“Don’t I?”

A laugh, cold, mirthless. An Imperial laugh. He wants it to hurt. Why does he want it to hurt?

“You know nothing of me.”

Alone again. Here he is, hiding like a child in the long grass beyond the perimeter, six days after his greatest act of sabotage yet. Six days of regret, of frantically searching himself for answers that weren’t there, no matter how deep he dug. Six days of avoiding Garazeb Orrelios at every possible turn. Shovelling a growing pile of dirt onto his own grave. Flat on his back staring at an indifferent sky, Kallus feels a cynical twang of humour through the strange stinging in his eyes. Let nobody say that he’d lost his edge since defecting from the Empire.

Half an hour later, he'd scraped together the conviction to pick himself up and wander back to base. He's surprised when he detours from the path to the barracks. More surprised still when he finds himself following the sounds of laughter and improvised music like a moon moth to light. It adds up in Kallus' mind to a disturbing realisation: he's lonely, and he's acting on it. Moving gingerly in uncharted territory, he approaches the crowd of Rebels gathering in the softening dusk light. There's a gap in the ring they've formed around the bonfire. He fills it, half expecting to be shooed away like a child found where they don't belong. The reprimand doesn't come, and to Kallus' shock, the fire's glow and the raised voices start to edge out the heavy restlessness in his bones.

The reprieve doesn't last long.

“You ever gonna get on with it and talk to him?”

It catches Kallus off guard. Not much can do that anymore. Later, when he recounts and analyses the exchange in his bunk, he’ll blame it on the Corellian ale being passed around the bonfire. The same ale he is halfway through a hearty swig of when Kanan asks the question, smirking like he’s just won a game of dejarik. It’s only a bare moment before Kallus responds, though in his mind it feels like an age.

“I can’t say I know what you’re talking about,” he says, phrasing it like a question. For a moment, it’s even true. Beside him, Kanan chuckles. It’s unnerving. He’s seldom on the other end of this treatment. He doesn’t enjoy it.

"No use playing dumb. Unlike you, Zeb actually talks to us."

Kallus winces internally, though outside his expression stays as carefully schooled as ever. Curse these Rebels and their annoyingly healthy familial bonds.

With the circuits buzzing in his mind to try and calculate his next move, he's left in a less than ideal silence. Might seem incriminating. Doesn't help his case.

"That was a private conversation between Orrelios and I," he finally says. Not perfect. Better than nothing. He'd left an unfortunate pause– a moment to decide to refer to Zeb by his last name. Kanan had picked it up instantly. He says nothing of it, but still, it's ammunition. Something he can store for use later.

The air around them seems thin, loose, and too heavily perfumed with smoke and dirt. He’s still not used to spending this much time on-planet. He lets out a tight breath, and it billows upwards, spiralling with the fire's sparks towards an endless, swallowing maw of sky.

"You know," Kanan says beside him, "this isn't the Empire."

And isn't that the karking truth.

Everything here is too soft. There's too much give. People here talk in circles, roundabout conversations with no meaning, no point. Rambling stories shared for no discernable reason, nonsensical remarks that serve no purpose but seem to leave others laughing. With no hard walls or limits to press against, he can't ground himself. He's set adrift, lost in wild space with no navicomputer. Blind and fumbling.

To add insult to injury, to remind Kallus just how out of his depth he is outside the Empire, everyone else seems to be able to speak this strange language just fine. Including Zeb. Garazeb. Orrelios. He swans about the base, effortless in his navigation of every interaction, from the privates to the generals. They trust him. More than that, they like him. It’s an elusive, enigmatic phenomenon. One Kallus has studied closely, dissected and pondered over endlessly. The easy smiles people give when he approaches. The officers that seek him out just to hear his opinion on a matter, even at the cost of their own ego. The bright, venomless quips and jibes thrown his way as he crosses the landing field. Brilliant to see. Confounding to understand.

But really, it’s no surprise. Garazeb is trustworthy, diligent, brave. So stars-forsaken willing to give, to aid, to serve with not the barest thought of reciprocation or debt. Somehow laughably approachable despite his bristly exterior. He’s never without someone wanting to spend time with him. There’s a gnarled, strangling vine growing through Kallus’ ribs that he cannot yet bear to acknowledge is jealousy. Nobody in the Empire had liked each other. Nobody would demean themselves by showing such an exploitable weakness. And yet, when Kallus walks among the Rebels by Zeb’s side, immerses himself in their simple camaraderie, he can’t help but want to drown himself in it, draw it into his lungs and let it saturate every cell. He wants.

Kark him dead, he wants.

It's enough, at least, to remind him of why he is here. Why he'd defected in the first place. The seed that had been planted long ago, when Zeb had been rescued from the frigid moon of Bahryn by bright, warm faces. Glad to see him safe. To have him home. Kallus himself had been picked up by faces as cold as the snow that had soaked him through, and a stern reminder that this would require a detailed mission report. Perhaps it was a selfish thing, to have your own personal Rebellion be ignited by the desire to be liked, to be wanted. Still. The impulse had been enough to send Kallus down a deepening, ever-darker path of discovering just how wrong he'd been in his support of the Empire. Who knows if he would ever have made that journey if it weren't for Zeb's gruff kindness that day. Kallus would like to think he would have. Either way, Zeb had certainly expedited the process.

Beside him, Kanan waits with infuriating patience for a reply.

This isn’t the Empire.

Kallus sneers at his words. Paltry. Superfluous. Clearly meant to rub sand in his wounds, to make good and sure that Kallus knew just how far he stuck out, and at how jagged an angle.

“I’m well aware of that,” he mumbles, an edge creeping into his tone. To his dismay, Kanan only laughs again. He takes the bottle from Kallus’ dumb fingers and downs a swig, passing it along around the circle. Despite his misty gaze directed at the fire, Kallus can feel the Jedi looking at him with more intent than seeing eyes ever could. Jedi bantha shit. Another joy of living among the Rebels.

“Sith hells, you are high-strung, aren’t you?” Kanan says.

“Is there a reason you’re speaking to me, Jarrus?”

If this exchange were taking place in the cold, sterile halls of a Star Destroyer, Kallus would have earned himself a curt, strained reply and been set free of the uneasy company in an instant. Then again, conversation in the Empire would never have gotten this fraught in the first place. Talk in the hallways had always maintained a comfortable lightyear of distance from anything approaching personal or, stars forbid, emotional. Chancing a look to the side, he finds Kanan still maddeningly calm, even wryly amused.

“Look, for reasons I’m still doing my best to understand, Zeb’s got a soft spot for you.”

Oh. Oh, no. Panic rises faster than Kallus can muscle it down. His jaw clamps hard. Kanan’s moving the pieces into checkmate. Going for the kill, surely. He jams his hands in his pockets and grips fistfuls of his thighs. Keep it together. Breathe in, hold, out. Don’t let him see. Don’t let him win.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to make you talk about it,” Kanan continues, humour lacing his words. He knows. How does he know, how do they all know? His mind is racing too fast to realise that there’s no malice behind the teasing tone.

“When Hera and I met, I wasn’t in a good place. Damn near lost my chance with her because I was so caught up with my own stupid issues.”

Kallus stills, confounded. Why would Kanan divulge such a thing to him? Could it be false? A ruse to try and get Kallus to drop his own guard? He’s never known the Jedi to be dishonest. It didn’t seem his style, which only left him more confused. At the same time, his heart surges, and he falls pitifully for the bait: Zeb’s got a soft spot for you.

It isn’t as though Kallus has been blind to the signs. Since arriving at the Rebel base, Garazeb has made a concerted effort to… spend time with him. Taking him for ride-alongs, asking his help with flight paths, seeking him out even after the work was done. Even when there was no reason. With increasing regularity, he would come to join Kallus during his surveillance shifts in the Comms tower. Sometimes with an extra ration bar or cup of caf. Once with two pilfered bottles of beer, and a mischievous grin that had left Kallus reeling for hours.

There was never much for Zeb to do up there, looking down on the rest of the base. Usually, he would end up just sitting by the door as Kallus worked on his reports or filtered through endless transmissions. Zeb had claimed a spot at the top of the tower's ladder, where the breeze outside sent rippling tides through the fine fur on his head and arms. While Kallus put in endless hours of overtime skimming Imperial transmissions (one of the few methods he actually understood to build the Rebels’ trust in him) Zeb would sit with head buried in his own datapad, ears twitching periodically, the way they did whenever he was deeply focused. Totally engrossed in his own reading. Still choosing to be right by Kallus’ side nonetheless.

Kallus wasn’t dumb, nor was he unobservant. Rather, he had done everything in his power to ignore the signs, to try and explain them away. Lingering gazes existed only in his mind. Touches were fleeting and accidental. Time spent together meant nothing more than the tasks they got finished. The Comms tower was quiet and out of the way for when Zeb needed a break from Bridger and the others. It could all be explained away.

But why?

Why, when this was the first thing in years he can remember really wanting, is his first instinct to push away any possibility of it being reality? Every fibre of his being burns with the thought of Zeb seeing him as more than just a semi-trustworthy ally. Yet the thought of realising that desire fills him with more frantic panic than he’d ever faced maintaining his ruse as a double agent.

Suddenly, he finds himself listening intently when Kanan continues.

“Talk to him. And I mean actually talk.” He leans down next to him and pulls two bottles of ale from the crate by his side. They’re passed to Kallus' palm with firm insistence, and Kallus can’t think to refuse them. He blinks at Kanan, waiting for him to continue.

“Don’t make the same mistakes I did. You’d be surprised how far you’ll get by just pulling your head out of your ass.”

Charming.

Though he supposes he can’t rightly say there’s much of an inaccuracy to his sentiment. He can’t know exactly where his head had been six days ago, standing on the edge of the base with Zeb bathed in whiskey-coloured twilight and finding a way to ruin everything. But Kanan’s assessment seems as apt as any.

He stands, intending to finally end the exchange before he loses any more face. Before he can straighten, Kanan's hand grips his shoulder. Tight.

"Oh, and Kallus?"

His voice is suddenly low. Bristling. It conjures the image of a loth wolf, teeth bared, drawn back on its haunches. Kallus doesn't dare move.

"I don't need to tell you what happens if you hurt Zeb more than you already have."

Kallus blinks. Forces his head down, then up. Then retreats in full force, away from Jarrus and from the harsh, unyielding light of the campfire.

Across the rest of the base, it’s growing darker. There are a scant few people still littered about the open grounds– most are around the bonfire pits, or have retreated to the barracks for the night. Feeling precisely as vague and miserable as he had at the start of the night, Kallus meanders back towards his bunk. At least the two bottles of ale might help ease him into some sort of sleep. He’ll be glad for the reprieve, once he’s gotten through his required hours of restless rumination.

Or, that was the plan.

He’s halfway across the landing field when he sees the tall, broad figure. A silhouette turned deep indigo in the waning light, backed by a violet horizon painted in broad, watery strokes. He’s shifting cargo crates. Still on the job. And he has the nerve to call Kallus a workaholic. He pauses, rakes an arm over his forehead, then hauls another impossibly huge trunk of munitions, corded muscles working with every pull and flex.

Beautiful.

Cold dread pours into Kallus’ veins, stopping his heavy limbs in their tracks. His fists tighten around the necks of the bottles at his sides. He should leave. Scurry back to his bunk before he makes an even bigger fool of himself. Spare Zeb the annoyance of having to endure his presence again. Jarrus’ words be damned, he’s done more than enough talking.

***

“I know you better than you think. Well enough to know you haven’t been yourself lately.”

What was that even supposed to mean? He hadn't the slightest clue. Rather than risk Zeb realising that, he had tried to walk away. Zeb had stopped him with a hand on his arm that had Kallus choking on his breath.

“Kal, if something’s bothering you, you know you can tell me about it. I– I want you to tell me about it.”

His disconcerted expression had rasped on Kallus’ nerves. Too open, too real.

Kal, not Kallus.

He had searched the gaze before him, watching. Zeb watched back. His ears flattened against his head, sleek, searching. He was gorgeous like that. Fuel to the fire. The flames were scorching when Zeb spoke again.

“...I think I understand.”

“What? What do you understand?”

“I think we both know.” A smile. Gentle, unfaltering, undiluted. A smile that Kallus had wanted to grip in his hands, to hold it tenderly or shred it to pieces. He couldn’t decide. He was a cornered animal. Bahryn all over again. Wounded and at the mercy of someone a whole lot better equipped than himself.

“Oh? Tell me, what is it we both know?”

“Come off it, Kal. We’ve been dancing around it for ages.” Words like stained glass, bright and shining but tinted with something intimate, conspiratorial. Like they were sharing an inside joke, one that soared clear above Kallus' head. He’d scrabbled at loose ground, tried desperately to regain his footing while his world rocked beneath him. Strung tight. Enough to snap.

Zeb had stepped closer. He was so warm up close. How easy it would have been, to lean into that warmth, to see how deep it went, to–

“You’re speaking nonsense.” Words spit forth like the poison they carry. Anything to make it stop. He hadn’t wanted it to stop. Anything to make it stop.

“Oh yeah? You don’t think–”

“No. No, Garazeb, I do not think. Whatever you’ve been playing at, whatever it is you think I can be for you, you’re wrong.”

You’re not wrong. You could never be wrong. You can’t imagine how right you are.

“Kal, I–”

“For stars' sake, I'm not your pet project!" Zeb had recoiled at the words. Fur bristling, eyes searching. It made Kallus sick to his stomach to see. Too late. He was powerless to stop it now. "O–or some pathetic stray who needs to be taken in from the cold. The poor little Imperial you’ve rescued and trained up as a Rebel. You’d like to think that, though, yes? I’d be a real notch in your belt, wouldn’t I?”

I don’t know how to let you care about me. I don’t know how this works. I’m afraid. I’m afraid it’ll hurt. It already hurts.

“Now I’ll thank you to leave me well alone. I haven’t known a single moment of peace from you since arriving on this accursed hunk of rock.”

Please. Stars above, please don’t leave me.

Silence. Deathly. Ice water in his lungs. The ringing in his ears too loud to hear his own regret. And from Garazeb?

Nothing.

Just his penetrating, agonising gaze. Seeping into every dark corner of him, plunging every grimy, cowardly, depraved nook and crevice and thrusting it into blinding, garish light. Exposing. The ruse undone, smoke cleared and mirrors shattered. He’d won. Kallus was broken. All without Zeb saying a single word.

He had felt the warm air of Zeb’s sigh on his skin for the rest of the week. The sigh he had given before turning to walk silently away. Leaving Kallus. Just as asked.

***

Across the stretch of gravel, Zeb seems engrossed in his task, movements steady, methodical. An ear twitches. What is Kallus expecting to do? He can't fix this. He'll be lucky if Zeb could ever again stand being in the same room as him. But for the last six days, Kallus has mourned the loss of Zeb's comforting presence in his peripheral vision. Grieved the absence of his baffling, nonsensical "jokes." Missed the twitch of his ears as he sits by the ladder of the Comms tower.

“You’re staring, y'know."

Dank ferrik.

Kallus swallows around a lump in his throat. A lump made of pride, of fear, of shame and desire and regret and stubbornness. He should run. Surely, he should run. Hands flex against cold glass at his sides. Breath catches in his tightened throat. The ale sloshes as he moves forward then hesitates sharply. His head, his legs, his gut all tell him to leave, demanding it. He’s woefully unprepared for this battle. Floundering. No strategy, no script. He stands no chance of winning if he approaches now. And yet…

Kallus steels his nerves. Steps forward, sets his jaw against the commanding voices in his head, and does what he’s (second) best at.

Kallus rebels.

#sw rebels #kalluzeb #agent kallus #aleksandr kallus #garazeb orrelios #drabble

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wooteena · 3 years

Text

technoblade speedrunning adopting ranboo (high school edition): the fanfic

also on ao3!

hey remember this post? well i got so attatched and impatient that i wrote over 1k words for a pilot type chapter for it <3

chapter one: officer in my defense i punched that guy because he deserves it

Techno Blade-Minecraft would call himself smart. He got good grades without trying, learned second, then third languages with ease, read textbooks for fun, etcetera etcetera. Wisdom without experience was a rare thing to possess, especially in a high school senior but techno had it tight in his grasp, easily making him a ‘Model Student’. He understood he got unneeded attention from that, which sucked, but it was an easy trade-off to be the automatic teacher’s favourite.

But Techno was a man of wisdom, not a man of sense. So naturally, he remembered a fact about baby birds he learnt when he was six years old:

‘Classical "imprinting", as seen with for example, ducks or geese, means that the animal's instinctive programming says "the first big animal you see after hatching is your mom, follow them and look to her for food, warmth, love and learning’

Actually, Techno decided he was the man of Most Sense because at that very moment, the tallest, yet somehow weakest looking freshmen he’d ever seen was being cornered by a group of hefty looking seniors.

And the baby bird, with its innocent, scared eyes was looking right at him.

He looked around the hallway, a desperate scan for other students he could push his growing parental responsibility on to. It was a ghost town, as empty as the remakes of towns from the old west he saw on childhood school excursions.

‘Fuuuuuuuuuuck.’

Technoblade took a deep breath in through his nose, then released it out of his mouth like if he breathed hard enough, his empathy could be taken away with the non existent wind in the soul-crushing grey hallways. It obviously didn’t work because Jesus Christ that kid looked helpless.

As quickly as one could without compromising a freshmen’s still intact nose, Techno examined the seniors. They all wore the school football team’s letterman jacket (‘what is this, Heathers?’), a classic pointer for internalized insecurity, toxic masculinity and most importantly unrightfully self diagnosed Strong Guy syndrome, which meant that they definitely were only beating up a freshmen because that was the most they could actually fight. One point to Technoblade. They also were all at least a solid five inches shorter than him, which Techno would have laughed at if the situation wasn’t so dire. Point two for Technoblade.

Catching himself before letting his wandering mind think up a full five paragraph M.L.A sighted essay to why he could crush these nerds, he decided that two points was enough leverage to still crush these nerds, but with slightly less confidence.

With as much patience as he could, he slowly walked up to the group like a silent lion hunting his soon to be, very dead* (maybe not dead, *slightly bruised) prey. The baby bird, trapped in one of his prey’s chokehold, stared at him like he was a madman. Techno’s objective changed: knock out the dickhead choking a kid.

They stood in a corner, the choker in the middle, the other two blocking off the only escapes and laughing cruelly at the baby bird. Completely distracted.

Techno curled his fist, aiming to punch that asshole’s teeth in or at least break his nose. He starts to run, about five feet away from his target and oh god this is a terrible idea he does fencing not hand to ha-

BAM.

Choker’s nose made a resounding crack and fell back onto the jock on the left. Probably because it’d be ‘too gay’, or whatever, the guy sidesteps and lets a knocked out, nose broken, probably popular kid by comparing his ego to the size of his dick, fall onto the ground

The two awake bullies look between their knocked out friend, then at Techno, then at each other.

“MISS NIIIIHACHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!”

Techno knew they’d call a teacher because they’re cowards but really? Nihachu?

That lady is TERRIFYING what did he do to deserve this.

He let out a long, disappointed ‘bruh’ before with a jolt, remembering the whole reason he punched that jock in the first.

The child.

He doesn’t bother trying to pick up him up because holy hell he’s tall, but pulls one of the kid’s arms over his shoulder, and with his other arm holds their waist and sprints as fast as he can down the hall.

“What the…” murmurs the half dead lump on his back, and while Techno’s surprised his vocal chords aren’t dead? Not even a ‘thank you’? Techno thinks he should start doing charity work at this point.

He continues to run though, because he’s a generous soul, until slowing to open a door that opens the blinding sunlight of the free world outside their prison.

Despite himself, Techno lets his mouth slip into a big enough smile that actually shows his teeth because he just did that. His celebratory moment is cut off though, because the weight on his back suddenly felt even heavier and-

Oh my God the baby bird just fell asleep on me.

Am I a father now?

What do I tell Phil? Does this make him a grandfather?

I can’t just take him home.

What’s stopping you?

Oh my God, I’m a genius.

Techno may be a proclaimed genius, but he is not immune to the inherent propaganda of cute children, so he sets down the kid on the least grimey part of a battered metal bench to get his first proper look at the sleeping giant.

Apart from his injuries (a bleeding nose, bruises forming on his arms, a black eye and a red handprint on his neck) the kid looked… Weird. Techno had subconsciously noticed it while carrying him, but only now the complete oddity of him. His skin from the jaw down was a uniform, warm, dark brown, which was decidedly normal, but his face was… different. Not ugly, no, he looked average, if not perpetually awkward, even in his sleep. The right side of his face was a similar, if not slightly darker tone than the rest of his skin, but where it got weird weird was from the middle of his face and leftward, his face was pale. As pale as Techno, which is saying something because Techno himself has albinism; he has no melanin in his skin.

He found himself sympathizing for the kid again. Techno himself got bullied for his reddish eyes - a symptom of his albinism, and his naturally stark-white skin and hair. It got to the point that he dyed his hair pink, which decidedly made it worse because a guy dying his hair pink ? apparently high school treason to both students and the school rules. His bullies had a colourful range of insults, at least; Techno’s personal favourites being from after he died his hair: homophobic slurs. The teachers had constant complaints and even a couple suspensions, which didn’t stop Techno, obviously. What a wonder public school is.

So yes, Techno understood the baby bird, because despite Techno’s only weakness being himself (and apparently non-threatening freshmen?) as of now, it wasn’t like he came out of the womb a scary pink haired senior. He knew bullying like the hair dye aisle at his local department store.

He knew that helping the kid would make him more attached to the point of no return, but he’d accepted it. It felt like feeding a wild animal more food after making the mistake the first time, it’s not like it’ll get less annoying to have it following you around.

The moment Techno processed his own thought, his face blanched - somehow getting whiter despite literally being the textbook definition of a white boy.

He’d fallen into the ‘senior adopting a defenseless freshmen’ trap.

Shit.

Even more embarrassingly, this didn't deter Techno from pulling his first aid kit, for once his anxious over-packing doing some good.

acording to tumblr statistics, only a small percentage of people who like the post actually reblog it. so if you liked it, give it a reblog! it takes five seconds and you can always delete the reblog later.

#mcyt #mcyt fanfic #mcyt au #technoblade #ranboo #nihachu #dream smp #mcytblr #sleepyblr #philza #homophobia tw #bullying tw #violence tw #minecraft youtubers #baby bird au

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vrabbiit · 2 years

Text

🎹 Roxanne Wolf HCs - I 🎹

Third of the series with everyone’s favourite (or at least, she should be) - Roxy herself! Chica and Monty have already been done, and last on our list after this is the man himself, Freddy!

Contains

General Headcanons

Shipping Headcanons (SFW)

General Headcanons

Known as the “cool, if not a bit self-centred” one around the Pizzaplex, Roxy certainly knows her worth. She carries herself in such a way that it’s impossible to ignore her, and despite the fact that her personality should, by all accounts, make her unlikeable, it is almost impossible to dislike her. Her personality is absolutely aimed at older kids and teens who she takes on an older sibling vibe towards. She absolutely calls kids “brat”, but it has somewhat of an affectionate tone to it.

The most competitive of the bunch by far, but also incredibly dedicated - she is the best at racing in the Pizzaplex and she didn’t get to that point by sitting around and looking pretty (although she certainly does do that). She can often be found doing laps in Roxy Raceway, perfecting her muscle memory of the course until she could probably do it blind (ouch).

In the impossible scenario that she does lose in a race, she’d probably be distraught but be enough of a graceful loser to congratulate whoever beat her - after all, they’d have to be extremely special to beat her of all people. Surprisingly, I don’t see her as the type to cry cheater - she values good manners and sportsmanship above anything else. She’s confident because she knows she deserves to be at the top, she’s earned it fair and square.

Probably comedically bad at anything that’s not of her main interests. While Chica would count as a jack of all trades, Roxy truly is a master of one - racing. As such, she tends to avoid playing things she isn’t confident in to avoid her ego being bruised. She does practise mini golf a lot, though, if only to be able to beat Monty and fuel their friendly rivalry.

Despite everything, she does still get insecure sometimes, especially when compared to others. She won’t ever show it, but she knows she’s a replacement for the fan favourite of decades, and she worries a lot as to whether she can fill Foxy’s shoes. Like mentioned in Monty’s post, though, the two are each other’s support network, and she can always rely on him whenever the pressure of being the “new guys” builds too much to handle.

Despite coming across as self-centred, she really is warm-hearted, and the people she cares about she will defend until the end, although you’d better consider yourself lucky to end up on that short list of people. She has the view that the majority of the world isn’t worth her time, so it’s better to focus on the few people who are than to give anyone else a second glance.

Shipping Headcanons

While she’s far from reserved, she probably denies her feelings for you for a while - she doesn’t need a relationship or anyone else. It’s not that she doesn’t view you as worth her time, she’s already cemented you in her list of people she cares about before realising she likes you. It’s just that she doesn’t feel the need to date anyone. As time goes by, however, she definitely reconsiders when she spends more time with you. She wouldn’t show it, but she’d spend more and more time worrying outside of seeing you, about whether you liked her back, whether she was misreading the signs, etc.

Eventually, you’d probably be the first to confess or Monty would (affectionately) bully her into it. As soon as she receives confirmation that you feel the same way, her nerves are eased completely and she is eager to make you feel loved.

If you are dating Roxy, she is absolutely going to show you off. She has high standards, after all, and anyone who can meet those absolutely deserves all of the attention they can get. If you’re insecure, she’ll do whatever she can to get you to see yourself the way she does.

Her love language is words of affirmation - she isn’t shy in general, but especially not about how she feels about you. She will be your biggest supporter, and she will be loud about it. It’s actually really endearing, but tell her that and she’ll deny it. She’s showing you off in a cool way, there’s nothing cute or endearing about it, it’s cool. Conversely, however, she’ll tell you all about how cute she thinks you are, if you’re so inclined. She feels a lot of pride in flustering you and knowing that she caused that.

Is probably the least touchy out of the Glamrocks, but that doesn’t mean she avoids any sort of physical contact. She’ll lean on you whenever you’re sitting together, and have an arm around you in public, but she’s more than content to just be in the same room as you.

Overall, probably the most low-key love interest in the Pizzaplex. The two of you would be a power couple, of course, and it would be obvious how absolutely gone she is for you to anyone in the building, but between the two of you, you both value your independence and know that you still care without having to make any grand gestures (although she absolutely will on special occasions).

#fnaf security breach #roxanne wolf #roxanne wolf x reader #roxanne wolf headcanons #fnaf security breach headcanons #fnaf headcanons #fnaf sb headcanons

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shinaus · 3 years

Text

reuniting with a crush

request: ok hear me out ,, hawks, shinsou and tamaki suffering when their old high school crush becomes a pro hero at their agency, and falling in love all over again ,, and being a general mess ,, thank u

pairings: keigo takami, hitoshi shinso & tamaki amajiki x reader

a/n: not the three characters i love making sappy in one request? hope y’all are prepared for some proper puppy love - which could easily be so very ooc but here we are

keigo takami/hawks [quick spoiler kind of: this is written in the context of if he did actually go to high school]:

this man...

his first reaction to seeing you would for sure be before you notice him

you walk into the meeting room on your first proper day at the agency and he practically feels his heart stop

did someone else hire you? how did he not know about this? it was his agency after all

not that he thought you shouldn’t be there by any means

in fact he had spent more nights off than he would admit checking articles on you to see how you were doing

there would be a decent period of time where he just stares at you, suddenly aware once again of what he had felt for you when you were both teenagers

if he were to be honest, you were his first real love

keigo didn’t grow up with a lot of love surrounding him, but that didn’t make him incapable to of giving it

although he didn’t ever end up admitting his feelings out of his fear of rejection, who’s to say he would be now?

once the meeting finishes it’s as if you can sense him, eyes meeting his so suddenly he almost jolts in his seat

but he remains calm, standing up to make his way over to you and reintroduce himself properly

“so, we meet again huh?” he starts confidently, leaning against the chair next to yours and being met with your familiar smile

“that we do” you retort, standing up and brushing off your lap as you come to face him - suddenly very aware of how much taller he’s gotten since you had seen him last “how you holding up, top 10?”

your jest makes him laugh, wings puffing up the slightest bit as you feed his ego “top 5 now if you can believe it, so not too bad” he replies, hearing the click of the door indicating you’re now alone together

“what about you? how’ve you been?” the tone he carries is full of sincerity, as it always was with you

the two of you delve into conversation about the time you had spent apart, the comfortable atmosphere you had both coming to know returning almost immediately

every time you would compliment keigo however, his reaction would differ

he would fidget, there would be slight movements of his wings, even a faint blush forms on his cheeks when you look closely enough

it makes something bloom in his chest when he looks at you, the warmth of it all bringing you back to the old days and wondering how he ever lasted so long without you

before you can even finish what you were saying, you get the feeling of something in your free hand - taking a few short seconds to realise it’s his own

“how about i treat you to dinner later? catch up some more?” is what he asks now, revelling in the way your eyes widen almost in surprise

when you agree, he gives your hand one last squeeze before letting go, promising to meet you outside the building once it’s time to clock out

the two of you head to a spot he frequents where you continue to talk well into the night, finding out not long into it about keigo’s small crush

you had admittedly felt the same as he did much to his own lack of awareness, but the way his face blushed beet red was more than worth the wait

so much in fact, that you had left that night with warmth in a new place and a promise to take you out properly, not to mention a new contact in your phone

hitoshi shinso

this is about to get so self indulgent

i will take the hitoshi is actually a softie agenda to the grave

obviously, upon becoming a hero he works with aizawa in the more underground scene

he does still have connections to an agency, mostly to control pr and his appearances

when they say they’re taking on a new hero in their ranks, the last person he would have ever suspected was you

when you went to school together, you were the first person to ever show him genuine kindness

it was something he found himself thinking back on as he got older, how thanks to you he was able to properly open up to others and make genuine connections

because of his harder time in middle school, he found it hard making conversation in fear of someone thinking poorly of him and his quirk

but you never did

in fact, you often told him how admirable you thought it was and how much you were inspired from his own ambition

even if he had never seen you again, it was enough to say you had made quite the impact on his life

and yet here you were, standing proudly next to his mentor who unlike him had the hint of a smirk on his face

god, surely he wouldn’t have known about how shinso had started forming feelings for you

oh but he did, clearly indicated in the fact that he sent you both out on patrol together - alone

hitoshi suddenly does not compute

when you both do head out however, you thankfully do a lot of the talking for him at first

“so how have you been shinso? i’ve seen a lot about you on the news but i know you’ve not been one for interviews or that kind of thing” you explain for him, the sound of your voice doing the same thing to his heart it once did long ago

“i’ve been doing well, i still train a lot and spend a lot of time with aizawa...” he goes on, letting you know a little more about his life as a hero - which he realises he hardly talks much about

what really throws a curveball his way however, is what you say next

“you know, i admired you a whole lot in high school” you start, not being able to help the small laugh that leaves you when his head snaps towards you

but you continue

“actually, i kind of had a bit of a crush on you - i liked how you were so strong and never let anything get in your way, even now i can tell you’re still like that...” your eyes are on the ground, kicking up stones in your way as he tries to fully process what you said

a few short seconds afterwards, does his brain allow him to respond

“you... liked me?” he asks, genuine shock merged into his tone of practical disbelief

you nod without looking at him, his heart stuttering slightly when he notices you fidget to yourself

not wanting you to shut yourself off after your admission, hitoshi only smiles as he looks ahead of him now

“i liked you too” he admits, trying hard not to laugh when you react the same way he did

“it was hard for me not to, you looked out for me more than anyone - and supported me all throughout my time in the hero course” he continues, smile likely matching your own as your shoulders now bump together

there’s silence for a few moments but it’s by no means uncomfortable, rounding the corner to the agency as you walk

that however, is when he stops to face you properly now

“are you seeing anyone?” it’s an innocent enough question, but it seems you’re both brought into your high school shyness by it

when you shake your head, he smiles again

letting his finger reach out, he taps the side of your hand gently before walking again “how about i take you somewhere this weekend?” he asks, hope evident in his words

“like a date?”

“yeah, like a date”

with that you quickly agree, both revelling in the fact you have plans alone together once more

neither of you seem to notice the way aizawa catches your expressions, eyes almost rolling at how he should have seen it coming

tamaki amajiki

oh sweet baby

it’s obvious that upon graduation, he would join fatgum’s agency full time

something he knew well about the hero was that he seen the best in people, always wanting them to see it for themselves

which is how he recruited you

taishiro could see the potential you had in being a great hero, so he brought you in one day to try out the area on patrols since you would come in handy with a lot of crimes it faced

when tamaki was called into fatgums office, he barely made it through the door before he locked eyes with you

as expected, he was flustered beyond words considering he hadn’t known anyone from high school there other than kirishima

he knew of you pretty well, being in the same year and class in your third year

you were also good friends with nejire and mirio, obviously being the two main people in his life

it was hard for him to keep up contact with you, mainly because the mere thought of being alone with you made him nervous

yet here he was, being set a paperwork assignment by his boss to show you the basics of the job

with a nod, he practically runs back to his current makeshift desk while you follow not far behind

tamaki doesn’t know what he wants to do at this point, you were someone he had admired so greatly in high school

so much so he got a y’know... bit of a crush

and now he has to show you, the one he admired for so long, how to do his job? where is he right now

regardless, you’re nothing but sweet to him from the jump

“it’s so good to see you again tama!” you start, settling happily into the chair he had brought over for you as he fumbles through collecting paperwork

“how are things here? do you like working with fatgum?” it’s nothing but sheer curiousity, but tamaki can’t help how much it makes his face flush

after a momentary distraction of finding some papers for you, he gives you a nod

“it’s - really great...” he tells you, as well as the faintest mumble about how he’s happy that you came by too

it only makes your smile widen, both looking away from each other now to copy down some case notes individually

it was nice, tamaki didn’t realise how much he had missed the sound of your voice until you began rambling off what you had been up to since graduation

it was always something you had done which brought him comfort, keeping him grounded even in the most stressful of times

you don’t seem aware of how long you end up talking for however, especially with what you say next

“the agency is thought so highly of, i couldn’t not accept a recruitment! plus, with one of the top heroes that work there being the friend i had a huge crush on in high-” you stop suddenly, practically squealing to yourself in embarrassment as you let your head fall to the desk in your own admittance

tamaki’s head snaps up at it however, eyes boring into you and wipe as saucers

did you just say that? or is his nervous brain making him imagine things now?

“y-you...” he starts, face flushing a bright red when you tilt your head slightly - eyes now meeting his

“yeah, i really just said that out loud” you let out a laugh, once again moving to hide your face in embarrassment

meanwhile, tamaki is still trying to process what just happened - you liked him? you had a crush on him in high school?

before he can dwell on it however, he acts before he can consider it

a hand finds your hair, running gently over the back of your head in a comforting gesture

“it’s okay...” he practically whispers, leaning himself the smallest bit closer as to not draw any unwanted attention

“if it makes you feel any better i uh- i had one on you too...”

now that certainly got your attention

when you shot up to sit properly in your chair, the two of you couldn’t help but laugh at your quick moments

not too long after, the previous atmosphere returned and the two of you somehow made it back to a normal conversation

you had gone home earlier than he had that day, but not without leaving a post it note for him with your number and asking him to let you know when he was free

it was safe to say, tamaki was a flustered mess for the forseeable future

#hawks x reader #keigo takami #takami keigo #keigo takami x reader #hitoshi shinsou #hitoshi x reader #shinsou hitoshi x reader #tamaki x reader #tamaki amajiki x reader #tamaki amajiki #bnha #mha

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virghogh · 3 years

Text

NCT Dream Birth Charts x Hexaco Results Analysis pt. 1

recently NCT Dream were on a new reality show called Mental Training Camp where they are doing a variety of activities and all of their behavior and interactions are being analyzed by professional psychologists.

ofc my virgo sun mercury ass was thrilled and I had their birth charts pulled up the whole time to cross reference.

I wanted to share some of my personal thoughts on how the 2 might connect!

part 1 // part 2 // part 3

**key: in the hexaco charts the blue represents the Dreamies, the orange is an average result of 300 college students who took the same test**

Mark - “Workaholic Leader”

✨leo sun // aries moon // cancer mercury // virgo venus // scorpio mars✨

they described him as a workaholic leader but quickly added that if he’s not now, he has potential to be in the future, although it seemed they all agreed he has workaholic spirit now

this immediately made sense to me when you look at his chart i mean he’s being driven by a fire sun and moon and a scorpio mars (used to be ruled by mars) and virgo venus both of which are signs that have strong work ethics

the reason I like that they mentioned he could grow into it is because he’s still young and I agree that his placements could become more serious about work and life as he gets older, I think his leo sun/aries moon combo gives him very youthful energy but they’re still very driven signs

mark agreed that even throughout his trainee years when he was still very young, he was always practicing and was always called a workaholic. I see this in the intense drive, work ethic and perfectionism of virgo and scorpio but shining through with the warmth of his sun and moon

lets talk about this hexaco chart, what sticks out the most is Mark’s level of conscientiousness! (its so high like what even-) Conscientious people are careful, precise, detail oriented and in general care about doing their tasks well. I think this is directly connected to his scorpio mars! I always say that no matter what is in a chart, having a scorpio in big 6 will always have a strong influence and with a virgo venus, even though venus is considered a love planet it is also our value system, how we discern what is worthy and unworthy for us, and having virgo there makes him very practical. (as I mentioned though I think all of his placements together reflect a very driven person) (I also think mark is lucky to have a fire moon because if he had a water or earth I think his obsession and perfectionism of scorpio and virgo would make him d*pressed or too hard on himself)

his virgo venus could even be why when they did the bag check they saw he’s quite “frugal” or practical and minimalist in the things he carries around. When you think about Venus, I mentioned it’s our values it’s also our aesthetics and it rules Taurus a materialistic sign, having virgo there gives me the impression of someone who is practical with their belongings, as we saw.

We’ll see later in the post that there are a few Hexaco charts that I felt were a little unexpected but Marks imo was sooo spot on with his placements. With a fire sun and moon he’s very warm and open and has firey emotions. he’s not afraid to show them or be reactive and responsive (emotionality)! I think his honesty-humility reflects this too, he’s not too overly or underly honest, he’s just straightforward what you see is what you get and he answers in such a way too. His emotionality reflects the cancer mercury, the rashness of aries moon, and sensitivity of scorpio mars.

tdlr; the human embodiment of driven, focused and hard working when it comes to his craft, but he loves to have fun in his outside life, and is practical in his inside life <3 his hexaco and birth chart align nicely

Jeno - “A scholar who gets hurt easily”

✨taurus sun // sagittarius moon // aries mercury // aries venus // taurus mars✨

so right off the bat I’m very curious where the scholar part comes in ?? They didn’t really reference it again in that way but I’m assuming they mean he’s very diplomatic? Defcon rephrased it as “you get miffed but well-mannered”

a recurring comment was that he gets annoyed easily but doesn’t show it, I thought that was really funny because I feel like it reflects his aries influence well; being a little hot-headed but he has the patience of his taurus sun and mars to filter it :’)

they talked a lot about how he gets hurt easily and mark even shared a cute lil story that practically had me on the floor because i just think it shows his taurus sooooo much I’d really love to have his house placements one day I’m really curious where his taurus is

if you didn’t see the episode basically mark said one time Jeno was passing some seniors in a building and said hi but they didn’t say hi back ): and just ignored him. Mark said Jeno was really hurt by that and went on about it for a long time saying stuff like “I’m sure they saw me” )): but he never expressed/acted on that hurt. taurus is represented by the bull so they do have a fierce side to them but imo i think taurus can be a really gentle/relaxed sign too; taurus mars is a slow to be angry slow to react placement, and one of the things taurus is well-known for is being fixed, stubborn, holding grudges which explains why that moment hurt and he held on to it. Jeno even agreed he tends to hold in a lot of his feelings and remembers little things that hurt him for a long time!

speaking of his taurus... they had a whole baseball analogy for the group saying that Jeno is a strong catcher, you can have a good pitcher but without a strong catcher the team would fall apart. They also mentioned a lot about Jeno not being in the spotlight, he doesn’t stand out, but he silently strengthens the team. And if that isn’t the most taurus description you’ve ever heard.,,,

I’ve been talking about his taurus a lot but at one point they said Jeno has a strong perfectionist side but he’s also very flexible and it’s difficult to have both. I personally see this a lot in his Sag moon (mutable) in contrast to his taurus placements (fixed). Sag moon to me always seem happy go lucky, if emotions come they go quickly too, mutable gives him that flexibility because they just like when things can change freely. It’s ruled by jupiter and I feel a common theme with sag in big 6 is it’s easy for people to be drawn to their jupiter qualities. They give the same freedom they crave, they can be very easy going and positive. Similar to mark, I also think it helps Jeno to have this moon sign over another!

as for the hexaco, I’ll be honest the level of introvertness/shyness was a little surprising from an astrology stand point. When we see Jeno in all the NCT content I feel like it’s obvious he is on the shy side but if I was looking at only his chart, I don’t think I was expect it to be to the extent of the hexaco chart! (plss i need his birth time) in the same thread, his emotionality is really low and I can’t say I’m surprised from an astrology view😅 it’s not that he’s not compassionate or anything because he does care a lot about not upsetting people, but as we saw he is not very reactive and receptive emotionally ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ his openness is low too which fits what we’ve talked about above about his lack of reaction/expression of emotions, I feel like sag moons also don’t dwell especially with no water placements.

The honesty and humility makes a lot of sense to me because i feel like taurus, aries and sag(!) are very righteous signs too! They care about integrity, they certainly might have their own idea of what is truth,.. but whatever it is, they believe in it!

last note I want to make is on the whole “jeno isn’t funny” bit since they mentioned it. He said it hurt his ego when they first started the joke but it’s been going on for so long that I think he adapted to being able to take it as just that, a joke! It’s also funny to me that it started in the first place because earth signs are often called boring (it’s okay I’m an earth sign too lol) and I also have sag influence and I know people find me quite funny but I never try to be funny and it usually comes after my earth walls are down with close friends.

tdlr; doesn’t ask or need spot light, gets annoyed easily but it doesn’t last, when something does hurt he remembers, slow or unlikely to be reactive and responsive, positive, comfort creature, loyal🥺

Chenle - “Friendly Guardian”

✨Sagittarius sun // Aquarius moon // scorpio mercury // scorpio venus // aquarius mars✨

there is something about chenle’s personality that I’ve always loved, he comes off as very warm, care-free, curious, friendly, caring. I like the personality title they gave him because I think it sums him up well. The members had all laughed when they saw it and enthusiastically agreed. I also love his hexaco chart and think it reflects him really well, with most of it being just outside of the average :’) as far as how it reflects his birth chart, let’s get into it

I do want to disclaim that Chenle was born on the sag/scorpio cusp and to be a sag he would have had to be born after 3pm (!) but I think we would all agree he’s definitely a sagittarius sun anyways

Before this show when I watch nct dream content it always fascinated me how easy going chenle was in chaotic situations, he never seems too demanding or controlling, and sometimes i wondered if he was holding back for the cameras and was actually really frustrated but based off the hexaco it seems like he is actually just that agreeable, from looking at just his chart I don’t know if I would have guessed his agreeableness was that far. I know sag suns can be very easy going and aquarius is a more chilled sign but he has 2 aquarius and 2 scorpio placements they’re both fixed signs and quite like to be in control😅 (can we get a birth time pls)

One argument could be the combination of sag sun with aquarius moon, since we have to look at all of it together. it does give me the impression of someone more easy-going possibly because there is the comfort of confidence! I feel like sag sun/aqua moon + mars would give someone a high opinion of themself (go chenle). this combination could create someone who is easy going because they don’t dwell and aren’t emotionally fueled nor do they fret over people that are. I’d say easy-going or maybe even just cool headed? He’s always laughing things off too, showing he doesn’t take himself too seriously!

Speaking of taking things seriously, I think we can see this in the conscientious part of the hexaco, it was the lowest and I think it can be explained by what I mentioned above. It’s not that he isn’t driven or doesn’t work hard, he’s a full time idol they all work hard but I think it represents that work isn’t the focus of his life but rather people, connection, community, and just being happy is?

they talked about how Chenle is the type of person that you meet and already feel like you’re friends. He could be the youngest in the room and talk down to you and you wouldn’t even think twice. This is huuuuge aquarius energy! I remember one of the first things I learned about aquarius was that they make friends everywhere. They talk to a stranger on the street for directions and next thing you know they’re “friends”

I also want to add that they mention he’s friendly but he gives off “big brother vibes” i feel like we’ve all seen that in other nct content too and would agree. This is interesting to me because sag and aquarius is not the same kind of friendliness as we see with marks leo sun aries moon. Leo and aries are “younger” signs, whereas aquas and sagittarius are towards the end of the signs, they’re considered “mature” signs which I feel contributes to chenle’s “big brother” energy. He has that aqua/sag energy where he seems really sure of himself, and wise and people look up to that.

I want to talk about his scorpio placements real quick because even though I just made a case for how open and easy-going he is, I’m still confused about how the scorpio fits into all of this. scorpio isn’t known to be one to be super open, agreeable or extroverted. I personally see his scorpio come out a lot in his realtionships. you can tell he cares deeply for his members and yes his aqua makes him get along with everyone but I feel like with the dream members we see that scorpio possessiveness and jealousy come out more. Lastly, I do want to add a little mystery to this, although his openness is high and it’s clear he is a very authentic person,,.. I definitely would not call him an open book👀

Chenle wasn’t able to be in the recording of this show unfortunately so all we got was a brief description of his hexaco chart and we won’t get any further analyses ):

although I do agree that his hexaco chart reflects how he comes off in shows, I don’t think it completely reflects his chart so I’m going to say the house placements would help create a better picture!

tdlr; fun and realtionships are a priority, he’s comfortable and confident in himself and people are drawn to that, v friendly😌but he has secrets👀

feedback, thoughts and clarifying questions are always welcome!

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hqcult · 3 years

Text

PERFECT ## oikawa tooru

the air of perfection surrounding you makes him sick. you're worse than the geniuses he hates

. tw misogny, predatory behavior, smut, noncon/dubcon, slight dacryphilia, corruption kink, fingering . wc 1.2k

before his flight to argentina in a few months, oikawa made it a hobby to swing by his alma mater.

iwa's too busy and he can't possibly bother his best friend when he's working so hard in college. so oikawa tooru goes alone. sometimes, he comes in early while the team's still there. maybe he'll even join matches for fun — coach irihata still has a soft spot for him, apparently.

but most of the time he comes when the gym is empty; when there's an absence of the squeaking shoes and the ricocheting balls. it never fails to make his heart swell in nostalgia. ah, how he’ll miss this place terribly once he moves to argentina.

something did change, though.

oikawa wouldn't call it drastic but the first time he crashed their practice, he was all but pleasantly surprised to see the new aoba johsai manager.

you were a pretty thing and the boys adore you a lot. you didn't look the type to apply as manager just to score an athlete boyfriend nor did you seem to have any other objective other than taking care of the team. oikawa can say as much because he could see how the new captain looks at you and the way you purposely try to keep things platonic. friendly. you don't let yahaba, or anyone in the team, go the extra mile for you.

and the fact that you can miraculously keep kyoutani in check is the cherry on top. while the said player is still rough around the edges, he learned how to listen to you and the last time kyoutani ever listened to anyone was months ago, when iwaizumi was still in the team.

team morale is high when you're there to support them on the sidelines. in your white and turquoise tracksuit yet still managing to look attractive. yahaba's got quite the patience, if oikawa do say so himself.

you were like some sort of goddess to them. it's sickening how dewy-eyed his ex-teammates would get whenever you smile and hand them their water bottles. it was too good to be true. you were too good to be true. there has got to be some sort of conspiracy behind this whole ordeal.

"oikawa-san, i didn't think you'd be here at this hour."

he turns around at the sound of your voice. there you stood in casual clothes, hair tied up and face bare. with the harsh angles the moonlight created together with the poor lighting of the gym, you look normal. not an air of that perfection he’s always seen circulating around you.

"how did you get in? only yahaba and i have the keys."

you saunter closer and it wasn't a wise move on your part. while you have aoba johsai as the same denominator, the alumnus was still practically a stranger. quick exchanges of acknowledgments aren't exactly sufficient to get to know someone. let alone be friends with. but you never once thought any of that. how naive.

he smiles as you finally stood next to him. you can't help the slight dread pool in your stomach at the sight of it. with his tall lean frame that can easily overpower you, the smile looked more ominous than friendly.

"bold of you to assume i gave the keys back. why do you think shigeru had to duplicate them again for you?"

you didn't see it coming, the arm oikawa slings around your shoulders before pulling you flush against him. you would've lost your balance if you hadn't clutched the lapels of his coat.

"can it be…" his plush lips graze the shell of your ear as he whispers. "our little secret, cutie?"

warning bells are going off in your head. it tells you to run and stay the fuck away from him but you did nothing of the sort, had only forced a polite smile and swiftly ducked around to get his arm off you.

this is oikawa tooru we're talking about.

yeah, you know he's quite the ladies man but you doubt he'd go... that far, especially if he knows the person's uncomfortable. not to mention, you're part of the volleyball team! you're managing his past team. surely, maybe, the familial bond extended to you too despite only joining their little family this year. you were just being paranoid. you were reading into it too much.

"uhm, yes. of-of course."

oikawa does have to admit, seeing little miss perfect stutter and avert her eyes from him did wonders to his ego. well, now you don't look anything like the goddess his ex-team worships. you're not exuding the same level of confidence or reliability that you always carry yourself with. you look unsure of yourself. powerless in the face of real dominance.

"why are you here?"

"i…" is it really wise for you to say why? "i forgot the team's record notebook in the girl's locker room. i need to pass a summary of it to coach tomorrow.”

oikawa smiles, eyes comically lighting up in excitement before slinging a heavy, oppressive arm around you again. "ooh, i'll come with!"

you walk with shoulders slightly folded in and the ex-captain likes you like this. all meek and submissive. he daresay you look prettier compliant and not like a self-entitled princess who thinks she shouldn't bother being romantically involved with an athlete. he still thinks you were bitchy and idiotic for friend zoning yahaba of all people. he thought you should be very thankful for getting noticed by his junior.

but oh well, at least oikawa gets to have a go.

to witness firsthand what the fuss about you is all about.

you wanted to shrug his arm away and he knows that but he won't do it. the fact that you're struggling to even speak up about it makes him smirk. see, now you know your place. as you should. sometimes, girls like you who get silly little ideas in their head should be reminded of where they truly stand in the food chain. oikawa is more than glad to be the one reminding you.

you told him to wait outside while you sauntered into the girls' locker room and oikawa smiles that innocent smile before nodding.

a prey really shouldn't have turned her back on a predator.

just as you picked up your blue notebook on the bench, the resounding lock of the door clicking shut sounded too loud in a closed-off space. "oikawa—'

"you know, i'd really appreciate if we drop formalities. i think screaming tooru while i fuck you sound way better. makes things more intimate, dontcha think?"

he was onto you before you even got the chance to turn around. the notebook you were holding drops to the ground as he grabs hold of your wrists, his leg swiping at your ankles to tackle you to the ground. he's quick. the floor is hard and cold when your back crashes into it. you wince, the shock of what's happening yet to register in your system. never before thinking that this sort of thing will happen to you.

oikawa isn't as cruel or disgusting as you think. you were both legal adults. he knows. after all, he was there when the team decided to throw you a surprise birthday party on your 18th. he was also there from around the corner, eavesdropping when yahaba pulled you aside and confessed his feelings to you and you had the fucking audacity to turn him down.

he doesn't want to call this revenge, not when he'd still do it whether or not shigeru had confessed.

you were from a different breed of people. worse than geniuses. you are so disgustingly perfect in every sense of the word that it's so fucking unfair. it fueled jealousy more severe than he ever felt from tobio or ushiwaka.

because people aren't perfect. people aren't meant to be perfect. even oikawa himself is far from it so why should you be any different from him? you're nothing special. you're ordinary just like him. you don't deserve it. you're not even working hard enough like oikawa to fucking deserve it!

you were red in the face when he took a good look at your pinned form underneath him. your eyes are glossy but held fierce contempt as you meet his gaze, your lips sealed shut in a straight line. you were trying to hold yourself back from crying and it only fuels the fire of his anger.

"what, think i'm not worth your tears?" he growls, a hand coming up to pull your hair. he sits atop you, his legs pinning yours down as he straddles your hips. "think you're so high and mighty that you won't cry for your oh so dependable oikawa-san?" he purposely makes his voice high-pitched like a girl, copying you spitefully.

"that’s fine, i can give you a real reason to cry."

he rips your flimsy shorts off and ogles at your cute panties. pink with little bows? how innocent.

his large hand covers your mouth, the heavy pressure keeping your head in place as his other hand cups your sex. the heat of his palms makes you squirm. already simulating the sensitive nerves and you poorly try shaking your head in denial. because no no no your body shouldn't be enjoying it!

"ou're a real piece of work, (name)-chan," he starts, voice conversation as he nudges your underwear aside, the flat of his thumb drawing lazy circles against your bare clit. "why pretend you don't like it? it's okay to accept pleasure from ordinary people like me. you're plain and average at best too, you know."

with both his hands occupied, you can freely try pushing him away but it's futile. he's too strong and your head is starting to ache with how hard he's pressing it against the floor.

his blissful expression peeves you out entirely. he doesn't look regretful in the slightest. "you should really get off of that high horse, cutie. stop pushing me away. silly little girls like you belong like this, underneath a capable and powerful man to protect you."

you pant, the ministrations on your clit too good but you don't let it blind you.

"fuck yo—"

but oikawa doesn't let you finish. he swoops in for a kiss, a hand holding your jaw firmly in place so you can't bite him. a particular hard nudge on your clit makes you gasp instinctively and his tongue invades your mouth. he's a good kisser. so damn skilled from all the girls he's kissed before you. maybe if circumstances had been different, you'd have butterflies in your stomach.

"aw," he coos against your lips. "i see. little miss perfect wants me to fuck her? how cute."

you thrash and squirm, a pathetic sneer on your face as he holds you down with ease. all it takes is one firm hold against your shoulder as he nibbles on your neck, kissing and suckling at your skin until they turn purple and red. he placed them in positions he knows you can never cover even with the official aoba johsai uniform. why would you cover them anyway? you should wear his hickeys with confidence! it's the one evidence to show he even bothered himself with you so you should be grateful to him!

"let go of me, you jer—!"

"i don't think i'll suck on your tits today, cutie. no time. let's get to the fucking already then, yeah?"

you absolutely hate his voice. it's the signature high-pitched and childlike tone partnered with that goofy smile of his. a facade he always wears when dealing with other people. a show he's mastered to an artform. he looks awfully unbothered by how wrong this is and it chills you to the bone.

"oikawa-san—please—"

"i told you it's tooru!" he whines, pouting. "how many times do i have to tell you?"

panic seizes you when his ankles hook around your legs to force them open. he hears none of your pleas and shoves two long fingers up your pussy. there's a slight stinging feeling as he looks for that one spot that'll make you succumb, make you admit defeat.

"if you want my dick inside this pussy you better call me by my given name or you won't cum, baby girl~" he says in a sing-song tone.

"who the fuck told you i wanted your—shit."

your toes curl and your back arches when his fingers grazed around a certain area. you didn't have time to feel betrayed by your body's reaction as the man on top of you chuckles condescendingly, angling his fingers so he hits the spot in every single thrust. "you like that, don't you? you like what my fingers are doing."

"no!"

"no?" oikawa repeats, measured. with a flick of his wrist, he has his thumb pressing firmly against the sensitive nerves of your puffy clit again and he watches you writhe, lose yourself to pleasure, moaning and whining so wantonly under him. "but cutie, i don't think that's what your body is telling me."

you cringe in disgust when his hot tongue laps at the falling tears in your eyes before whispering against your ear. breathy, and desperate, and ever so patronizing. you don't hear the zipper of his pants going down, nor did you realize he wasn't even bothering to hold you down anymore. good. that's a good start. baby steps, oikawa thinks. for someone who sat in a make-shift throne worshipped by hormonal teen athletes for so long, serving the one great king will be a huge reset for you.

when he enters, it's a tight fit. of-fucking-course you're a virgin. always staying true to that little miss perfect reputation, huh? sweet and gorgeous but humble and demure. you probably had the same shitty old school belief of staying pure 'till marriage. it makes him harder, makes his length throb and ache with the desire to taint, to soil, to fuck you until that good girl image is stripped away and all you can think about in every waking moment of your useless life is your tooru's big fat cock. your pure lips only producing the most sinful of words to satiate his deepest desires—"fuck me hard, tooru!" "make me your whore, tooru!" "i want to feel all of you, tooru!" "i want your cock so bad, tooru! please please please!"

your longing cries of defeat, the lewd sound of skin slapping, oikawa's pornographic moans—it's a wicked symphony crafted by prodigies. "go on, cutie. cry for me. cry, and cry, and cry, 'til you don't have anything left inside you but your sorry tears and my cum!"

little miss perfect? no. you're his little cockwhore.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere hq #yandere oikawa tooru #yandere oikawa #yandere oikawa x reader #toxichours #(❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) mine ༉‧#yandere oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa x tooru #tw noncon #tw dubcon #tw predator #tw corruption #tw dacryphilia #tw misogyny

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yoonpobs · 3 years

Text

know your worth | myg

pairing: min yoongi x oc

genre: swordsman!yoongi, fluff, mini angst

warnings: heartthrob yoongi basically, some mentions of sexism, eventual smut!

words: 4, 599

summary: as the chosen one, you've never believed in yourself. enter yoongi

“Your limbs are too flimsy. You’re meant to slice the sword—not swing.” Tone laced with nothing unyielding authority, Yoongi reminds you why you’ve thought about slicing his head off with the sword.

“I heard you the first time.” You grit out.

You turn your body as you jump into an elegant twirl that provides you with the momentum to slice the hundred-year-old sword through the air, position stopping right in front of Yoongi who has nothing but a vacant expression on his face.

“Clearly you weren’t listening enough. You’re still swinging. Tense your arms.” He scolds, tapping your elbow provokingly with the edge of his thousand-year sword. A gift from the previous master himself.

“I am.” You spit.

Your body feels loose, and not in a relaxing way after a calming massage but instead with the echo of your muscles telling you to stop. Hours of practice cooped up in the chambers of the temple seemed futile when you didn’t see an end to your practices, especially given the man who leaves no room for imperfection was the one who kept you on your feet.

With one last push, you tense your arms as hard as you can to ensure that your grip on the sword is tight enough so that when you do slice the sword in the air, you’re able to stop it just enough for him to be satisfied.

Your own standards be damned.

“Stop.”

His curt voice breaks you out of your final effort in appeasing his exceedingly high standards and you freeze in the middle of your ministrations, limbs giving up on your intentions as you droop and let your knees greet the floor.

You’re panting when you hear his feet shuffle right in front of your bent figure, the shadow of his silhouette looming over you as the constant reminder of your failure, the lack of satisfaction that you were able to provide to him.

“Stand up.” He commands.

You want to defy his orders because it’s been hours since you’ve stepped foot into the temple to learn from one of the swordmasters today, and months since he was the one that was appointed to you when the town first found out you were the worthy one to bear the hundred-year-old sword.

When you first found out about your predetermined future, you were baffled, to say the least, because your entire life was spent by your mother’s side curating apothecary for the village folks, occasionally boiling dumplings to be distributed to the poor in your area.

You’ve lived a life nothing short of ordinary, and you were the poster image of mediocre. There was nothing to you that screamed worthy or unique enough to be chosen as the next apprentice. The town you lived in awaited only two things each year, Lunar New year and the announcement from the deities above on who was the next person in line to carry the legacy of your townsfolk’s.

You never paid any mind, purely because you were busy with other things and that you cared for the people around you rather than the chatters of aunties and uncles that would place bids on their sons to be next in line—the title indefinitely guaranteeing a lifetime of fortune.

So when your name was announced as you packed the last bits of dumplings to be distributed, every person in town was bewildered, because you weren’t of royal blood, nor were you in connection with any one of power. You were nobody.

And a woman.

The first time a woman has been called as the chosen one in all the years of history that your town has been aware of and it’s this … nobody.

You definitely felt like an outsider when the council brought you to the temple, secluded far away from your town to ensure that you were immersed in your training and not get distracted by anything else but your duty to fulfill.

Your imposter syndrome only became worse when you somehow ended up with someone as unbearable and unforgiving as Min Yoongi as the person who was meant to determine whether you were fit to represent your town in a year's time.

Were you really worthy?

“I said stand up, _____.”

His deep voice breaks you out of your trance as you make your way up on shaky knees, wobbling as you grip the sword tightly in your fist while you avoided his formidable gaze.

“Why did you stop when I didn’t tell you to?”

He knows the answer to the question, you’re sure he does. You’re sure under the exterior of all the coldness that ebbs away on his skin, the slight wrinkles that come with experience surely held wisdom and observational skills that would rival an average person. He knows.

You remain silent, knowing not to engage in another argument with him.

Amongst all the apprentices that Yoongi had the favour of training, you were by far the most … interesting.

One, because you were a woman, which was already different from every other person that enters the halls to learn from him.

But mainly because you seemed to doubt yourself a lot more than someone who was chosen by the deities should have.

The people that walked through the entrances of the temple usually carried some form of confidence with them, and dare Yoongi say—cockiness, which is why he turned people away when they let their egos get to their head.

The deities choose the worthy ones, but only the worthy ones are chosen by Yoongi.

You don’t know that because all Yoongi is to you is your superior, someone who pushes your body till it breaks and until you can’t breathe. But what you don’t see is what he sees in you. The fight of a woman who cares for her people. Who understands human nature far better than any chosen one has ever felt.

You also were oddly mouthy. It wasn’t … bad. But interesting. Never had Yoongi have an apprentice that was as ballsy to call him an asshole amongst other colourful nicknames as you were. But you were far from conventional.

Maybe that’s why Yoongi calls you out.

“You want to curse at me.” Yoongi muses, his tone far from accusatory but more as if he was stating the obvious.

You snap your head to look at him, eyes narrowing at his figure who holds the sword of his behind his back firmly. His onyx, cat-like eyes pierce through your expression that races with every time he blinks at you, and you try to convince yourself that the race of your heart is because of your intense practice rather than his gaze.

“I want to do a lot of things to you …” You mutter under your breath, loud enough for him to hear.

You don’t realise the double-meaning behind your words until you see Yoongi cock an eyebrow at you.

Your ears burn at the honest mistake, but you don’t fight to take the words back because Yoongi had a way of making you feel small with just his stare.

“And that is?” He pries, twirling his sword with precision and ease as he glides his long fingers against the body of the blade; your eyes trained on the clarity of his actions.

“Let’s start with slicing your head off, yeah?” You grunt.

Amusement dances in Yoongi’s irises as you avoid his heavy-lidded glare, feeling all the more flustered when he takes a firm step towards you, the heat of his body apparent against your own even if you were the one that was sweating.

“Would that help you with your technique?” He cocks his head to the side, tone anything but joking.

You look at him carefully as you observe for any sign of a taunt, but he just gazes at you with his blank stare that frustrates you till no end because while you were an open book with your expressions, Yoongi was just as mysterious as when you first met him.

“I dunno. Will you stop yapping at me if I say yes?” You retort.

Instead of replying, he grabs your wrist in a swift motion, causing you to yelp at the sudden touch.

His hand is hot against your skin, a big palm engulfing your wrist that looks small in comparison to his hand. You feel the roughness of his palm that came from years of practice and familiarity with the sword, and you gulp when he drags it to his neck—eyes never leaving yours.

“W-What are you doing—?” You stutter, but then he grabs the sword in your other hand in a moment of weakness and brings it to the hand by his neck as your eyes widen.

“W-Wait—Yoongi—”

Yoongi doesn’t leave room for you to hesitate or pull away when he voluntarily brings his neck alarmingly close to the sharp edge of your sword.

“Slice.”

The hand that isn’t holding the sword to your trainer’s neck falls limp to your side as you gape at him when you note that his words and expression are dead serious, not an inkling of fear on his face at the prospect of you potentially slicing his head off.

“What? No! Are you crazy?” You try to retract your hand, but his wrist returns to grab at it.

Your face is forced to stare at his when he levels a hooded stare at you, making your heart beat faster, flustered at the proximity of your bodies.

“The motion, ____.” He calls your name, and even as it falls from his lips you feel less worthy; like a stranger in the temple.

“If you swing—you’ll kill me. If you slice above my neck, I live.”

The gamble he offers you is petrifying, and it’s even worse because it’s his life on the line—not yours.

Yoongi always had unorthodox methods of training you but never had he put himself on the line like this just so you would learn something.

“I-I’ll fix my motions—I swear! But I’m not going to … I can’t do what you’re asking me to,” You tell him firmly.

Yoongi’s head leans closer, skin barely touching your blade when he pulls your wrist closer as you see the indent of the sword against his pale skin.

“I tell you what to do. Not the other way around.” He reminds you.

You know there’s no room for argument anymore because if you weren’t going to do anything, you were sure Yoongi would take matters into his own hands.

You wanted to call him crazy for trusting someone like you with a sword as sharp as yours against the delicate expanse of his neck, but you were both flustered and scared at what were to happen if he came closer.

“Why would you do this?” You whisper.

“I’m not skilled enough to do this Yoongi …” You tell him, hand shaking around your sword as you feel a lump form in your throat.

Suddenly, you feel the grip on your wrist loosen; and you’re afraid that your words serve as a reminder to him that he’s wasted nearly a year on a hopeless case like you; that he was disappointed in all the time he’s dedicated to training you for you to be unable to carry out a simple slice of the sword.

“I said, slice.”

His stare is cold, eyes blank, and lips pursed when he repeats himself.

You blink up at him, and if he notices the way your eyes are glassy; he doesn’t comment. But you know his expression is one of patience, but there’s only so much that he can take and wait for, and you didn’t want to test him anymore.

So, you slice.

You slice, and bring the sword back to your side, chest heaving and heart beating rapidly against your ribcage. You don’t want to look at Yoongi, terrified if you’ve hurt him.

You stay still with your eyes shut, sword limps in your arms until you hear the shuffle of feet right next to you, and your sword is retrieved from your grip.

“Good.”

You open your eyes and only then do you realise that you’ve foolishly allowed tears to fall.

“You’re okay.” You breathe out, observing the fact that his neck is clean—barren of any scar and red.

“Would I risk my life to train an apprentice?” He asks.

You open your mouth to answer but snap it shut when he places your sword next to his against the wooden frame. He gestures for you to sit, and you hesitantly do, mulling over his words as he mirrors your position, right across from you.

“You could do it. So why didn’t you do that earlier?” Yoongi asks a question where he expects an obvious answer.

But you didn’t know. You didn’t know why you weren’t able to slice earlier when you were able to put on the spot with Yoongi’s life on the line.

You think of an answer, but it burns your ears—and you would never dare utter it to Yoongi. A man who feels and breathes nothing but his work.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, awaiting your response as you swallow your words.

“I don’t know.” Is what you settle for.

Yoongi sighs, rolling up his sleeves to reveal his forearms that show the strength he’s trained for over the years that he’s been a thousand-year sword-bearer.

Yoongi had always been cold. A little disinterested and definitely detached from any sentiment that people would usually offer to their apprentices. It seemed that he was only interested in making sure that you weren’t going to embarrass his name after months of relentless training with you.

It’s always been a hard truth to accept, especially when he’s the person you spend most of your time with; nearly twelve hours a day, and the person you want to see you.

But you’re just … his apprentice. A foolish one, one that fails to show the true glory of a trainer like him.

“You do know, ____. Think.” He leans forward, hands placed on the floorboard in between the two of you as he looks straight into your eyes.

You bite your lip, afraid to tell him why. Afraid that your answer will only push him away rather than please him.

“I-I don’t know Yoongi.” You say softly.

Yoongi blinks then lean back—distancing himself from you.

Your eyes dart to the side, avoiding his stare because you were sure you were going to break if you saw the disappointment that mars his expression.

“Then let me tell you.” He finally says after a moment of silence.

Your eyes widen when your head snaps back to look at him.

You’re terrified that he sees through you. That he recognises the dopey look you give him when he isn’t looking, or why you sometimes get distracted, or your palms sweat for a reason that isn’t because of how hard practice is—that he sees your heart, and he’s here to snap you out of it.

“It’s because you’re worthy.” Yoongi whispers, hands reaching out to grab your own, and suddenly you’re pulled onto his lap.

You gasp, attempting to balance yourself as you find a position that doesn’t strain your thighs and one that isn’t mortifying.

“Y-Yoongi … what—”

“Do you know why you’re here, _____?” He asks, eyes searching for your own.

His expression is still the same. It’s still very much Yoongi, but it’s softer, more mellow. Like he wants you to not be afraid of what’s to come.

“The deity’s chose me …?” You say hesitantly, voice soft and hesitant.

“It’s because I want to keep training you.” He tells you.

His confession knocks the breath out of your lungs as your eyes widen. Your hands that were locked between his starts turning sweaty, and you want to curse at yourself for displaying obvious signs of nerves when Yoongi is debatably the most observant man out there.

“But I’m slow … and I can’t nail your techniques like a true sword-bearer … and I argue with you—”

He interrupts you with his own set of words, accompanied by the soft look from earlier.

“And that’s okay. You’re not here to be judged by my pace or standards. It’s not fair for you and you won’t get anywhere if you want to nail my techniques my way.” He whispers.

You blink, feeling your heart constrict at his honest words.

“B-But you’re always yelling at me.” You pout.

Yoongi wants to rub his thumb between your furrowed brows, but he knows that you needed to be trodden lightly with and that he was sure you were going to faint if he did anything more than just have your hands in his own.

“And that’s because I see what you can do ____,” He tells you, “You’re always giving up because you think you can’t do it. That’s what frustrates me. That you can’t see how great you are at sword-bearing even when your body fights against you to continue.”

You stare at him in shock when he releases your hands to only reach up to grab your cheeks, forcing you to stare at his face.

You’re sure your face is burning, and you can’t even avoid his gaze because he’s dead-set on making sure your eyes stay on his when they chase yours that run away.

“Look at me, ____.”

You reluctantly avert your eyes to his, and you see every pore up close, you see the gentle whip of his long eyelashes and the pout of his lips that look too inviting.

You briefly see his gaze drift to the bottom of your face, where your lips are, and you feel your heartbeat erratically against your chest.

Yoongi looks good when he trains you, eyes scrunched and focused as his black hair remains tousled when he demonstrates positions for you to mirror. But he looks breathtaking up close. The usual blankness of his face looks less intimidating closer like it was your blank canvas to paint—a face where you were in charge of what was to be expressed on it.

“Stop doubting yourself or your skills.” He tuts at you, and you burn under his attention.

“I want you to continue fighting the way you have always fought here. The fire that you have in you? Yeah, don’t let that burn out because you’re more than just the chosen one _____. You’re … you’re talented. No one can convince you but yourself, so I need you to start trusting yourself more because once you’re done with training it’s just going to be you against the rest. I won’t be here to remind you anymore.”

You’re stunned to silence with the honesty of his words. You know that Yoongi doesn’t say this, in fact—it’s the first time you’ve heard such earnest words from the man himself throughout the long months you’ve spent training under him.

Even the other residents of the temple have told you that Yoongi wasn’t the most expressive person, and even if they didn’t tell you—you weren’t blind to how he treats you or people.

The way he looks at you makes you hope, and it’s a dangerous feeling given your position and how weak your heart is compared to a man like Yoongi.

You snap out of your daze and push him off, scrambling to your feet as you grab your sword to leave—tears in your eyes because you feel like a fool for thinking anything more than what he’s offered you.

Yoongi had been nothing but honest with you … and you weren’t in the right to ask of anything else.

Who were you to?

“____.” He calls out when you reach the entrance, and you feel his imposing presence behind you.

“I’m sorry Yoongi but … I can’t.” You tell him shakily, gripping the frame of the door, back faced to him.

“I won’t force you, ____.” He says, curt.

You turn around, heart dropping at the change of his tone. When you see his expression return to the blank expression that he usually has, you have to stop yourself from being disappointed. Realising that what he told you when he held you; was probably to keep you on your feet and determined.

“You don’t get it, do you?” You exasperate.

He furrows his brows, attempting to read you. But your heart is confused and so is your mind.

“I’ll train hard. I know that …” You clear your throat, attempting to level your words out.

“I won’t ask for more. I’ll do better.” You say firmly.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything but pulls you closer by the elbow until you’re pressed against his chest.

“I don’t think you get it, ____.” He says slowly.

You open your mouth to respond, but he’s faster with his response.

“What did you think I meant just now when I told you to stop doubting yourself?” He asks.

“Yoongi, what are you—”

He shushes you with a finger to your lips, and you blush at the touch.

“Answer my question.”

You sigh, slapping his finger away from your mouth to glare at him. But Yoongi simply offers a small shrug of his shoulders in response.

“Look. I know I’ve been slacking off and this is you trying to be nice … which I appreciate, a lot. Really. I do. I know you don’t do …” You gesture to your bodies, “… all of this. So I’ll work harder. You don’t need to—you don’t need to walk on eggshells with me.”

Yoongi blinks.

Not once, but twice.

You gulp, afraid you’ve said too much but you’re helpless against his tight grip on your body so that you’re unable to run away, away from his gaze that you still can’t read.

But then he laughs, and you’re confused at the sound because Yoongi rarely ever displayed any emotion but stoicism when he was with you, and you think you’ve heard him laugh a total of three times throughout the past few months you’ve trained under him.

“Why are you laughing?” You pout.

Yoongi looks at you fondly and sees a fighter but also a woman, a woman who is yet to understand social cues or affection may be because of the way you were brought up—but also maybe because of how Yoongi is by nature.

So instead of explaining in words, where you can misinterpret it, he reaches for your chin gently to turn your face to him so that you see his gentle gaze—and he kisses you.

On the lips.

You’re too shocked to kiss back, your arms staying awkwardly by your side until Yoongi slides a hand down to your hips and squeezes them that you reach your arms around his neck.

You close your eyes and allow yourself to feel his lips against your own, soft, hot and gentle. It was everything like how you dreamt of when you selfishly allowed yourself to indulge in your fantasy—it was now served as a reality and it was so much better than you could ever have thought it to be.

The kiss was so … Yoongi. He wasn’t rushing, he savoured every taste of your lips against his like he had all the time in the world like he spent years planning this very step with calculated precision because Yoongi was not the type to half-ass anything.

It’s until you feel your lungs fighting for air that you pull away, mesmerised by the string of saliva that connects your lips and the swollen pink flesh of Yoongi’s.

“W-What—”

“This is me, ____.” He says against your lips, as you feel your heart race against your chest.

“I believe in you.”

Somehow, you understood. Those four words were enough for you to know where his heart truly laid, and where he stood with you.

“I just … wow,” You breathe.

But then, with all your doubts overcome with joy, you throw all shame out of the window and pull him by the collar until his mouth is on your own again.

This time, with you leading the kiss, you kiss harder even with the inexperience. Yoongi was your first kiss but you knew that you wanted him, that your heart was his even against your better judgment.

You feel him lick into the seams of your mouth, hands reaching down to pull your hips flush against his pelvis, backing you up until your back reaches the frame of the door.

All you feel is Yoongi. You smell him, the slight tinge of perspiration with the scent of nature that surrounds the temple. He tastes just like everything you’ve been waiting for and more, and he only proves how much he was yours as you were his when he grabs your hand to interlock it with strands of his dark hair.

He leaves open-mouth kisses against your lips, breathing heavily with want when you let out small whimpers of desire.

“You really know how to put on a show, huh?” He whispers.

You grin up at him, reaching for the buttons of his shirt, offering him a tempting smile that he grins fondly at.

You’re just about to slip his shirt off when the door slams open.

“Yoongi! ____! We were—”

Before you can even yelp, you shove Yoongi off of you until he drops on his back on the floor, a loud groan reverberating through the walls of the training room as you attempt to straighten your unruly appearance.

You were sure that your lips were swollen and that you were flushed with the way your lips made a home out of Yoongi’s, but you hoped that the three men by the door were dense enough to not catch what was going on.

“A warning would’ve been nice, yeah?” Yoongi grunts, glaring at you when you snap your gaze away from him to offer a meek smile at Jimin, who is all but grinning maniacally at you.

You feel like you’ve committed a crime, but in reality—there was no restriction in making out with your trainer … nor were there any when it came to dating but you knew the mirth that danced between the eyes of the men and you weren’t looking forward to what was to come.

“Sorry to disturb, hyung. It seems that you were … occupied.” Jungkook speaks up, snickering when he catches a glimpse of Yoongi’s shirt halfway off, exposing the firm slope of his abdomen and chest.

You absentmindedly ogle his body, heat surging through your body until you remember that there were people who would call you out.

“Noona, your …” Taehyung gestures to your cheeks and you mortifyingly reach for your cheeks only to feel the heat.

“What did you guys want?” Yoongi grunts, pushing himself off the ground and hastily buttoning his shirt as he takes a position next to you, his presence more engulfing now after you’ve had your taste.

You see Jimin’s eyes dart between the two of you quickly, a cheeky smile adorning his face before he speaks up.

“Dinner’s ready.” He tells you, pushing Taehyung and Jungkook out the door.

Only when he’s halfway out does he say:

“It seems like you had yours already.”

When they’re out of your vision, you groan, burying your head into Yoongi’s chest; absolutely mortified at the two of you being caught.

Yoongi rests a gentle hand on your lower back, and another reaches to hold your chin gently.

“This isn’t over.” He whispers against your lips.

You feel giddy when you walk into the dining hall, his hands intertwined with your own.

#bts imagines #bts fluff #bts fic #yoongi x reader #yoongi fluff #mutual pining #yoongi imagine #yoongi fic #min yoongi fluff #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi fic #daechwita #swordsman!yoongi

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astrologysvt · 2 years

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Hey! How're you? I loved your readings and thank you so much ❤️ you're incredible. I'm so curious about seungcheol! His sun, rising, venus and mc are same as mine! And i wish to be as good a Leo as he is. 🥺 I was wondering if you could do a boyfriend reading for him and are there any tips from astrology that tells me how to be good as him 😁😅 all the best! Take care.

aw man anon, while I'm absolutely going to say with total conviction that you are already well on your own way to being ur best leo -- I totally get it cuz I also often ask my leo self how do I become as lovable a leo as him 😂 so idk if I have time to do a boyf reading for him, but I will take this time to talk about the horribly tormented process i feel so many developed leos go through. One of the things I love most about cheol is like... where his confidence stems from? you can tell when a leo is all about themselves and when they act on that confidence solely for themselves, but cheol is def an extrinsic leo?? if that makes sense? he's able to access that confidence (which he already has but may be hard to access himself) through the people he wants to support and show up for. that confidence is always there but it's something really only people outside can see, which in a lot of ways makes him more attractive.

that being said, leos are incredibly self-critical. I always think of it in like one of two ways. if you see a totally confident leo who acts stereotypically leo and is so outwardly confident and "all knowing" then it's usually all show with not a lot to back them up. usually these people's egos are super easy to bruise and do not like people questioning them. then you have the leo that lives in CONSTANT fear and self-reflection and do have that sense of confidence, but it's backed up by constant reassessment. like leos are either incredibly transparent or incredibly stable. they’re either constantly trying to prove they’re confident, or are just confident.

You see this in cheol where he is so confident and proud and sturdy, but when you dig in deep there are a lot of fears and anxieties under that and that's because he's constantly questioning and improving upon his own abilities in order to meet that incredibly high standard he has for himself. the best way to find a good leo is to see if they're looking for ways of improving themselves. it's probable that there is always going to be a sense of bruised ego or defensiveness with a leo -- I like to think I'm a pretty okay adjusted leo and even then those things are hard to hear. that being said, learning to push through that discomfort to hear other perspectives is a good sign that you're on the right path towards "leo enlightenment" lol. overtime, especially with good adult leos, you can tell that they're secure and confident and that anxiety has lessened and become more constructive than anything. they can roll with the punches and have their charisma and enthusiasm carry them through the rough patches, and often at that point you can tell their confidence comes from much deeper a place than pride. but that shit tAKES YEARS of whatever leo anxiety we're more than likely ALL experiencing now (cheol included) 😂

#would love to start the first hypercritical leo support group #like ask any leo how did they get so confident and they'll be like #i live in constant fear #what r u talking about #this shit be hard #because I like to think i'm a thoughtful and empathetic person #but I know i do have a very self-focused lens on the world #and how I perceive things in my life #which is super leo #like i've broken the leo seal where i don't assume everything is about me on the positive front #but now i just assume everything is about me on the negative front #cuz i constantly feel there is more i could have done #which is hard for us leos #biggest leo fear is failing the people around you!#but leos also gotta learn how to forgive themselves and understand mistakes are inevitable #anonymous #answered #seungcheol

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mariamermaid · 3 years

Text

F.R.I.E.N.D.S

Young Sirius Black x fem Potter!Reader

Summary: When puberty suddenly hits you and your brother´s best friend realizes his interest in you

Words: 3.8k

Warnings: drinking underaged, mentions of smoking, swearing

A/N: Inspired by Anne-Marie´s song, but not really following the lyrics

It happened from your summer break to your fifth year in Hogwarts, for your brother James it was his sixth year.

It was, what you would call the perfect summer; You had spent it with your friend Sarah in Spain, her family owned a stunning little cottage near Barcelona. The golden beach and the hot sun brought you back with a stunning tan and even a few freckles decorated your face now. Due to many trips to the mountains and the regular exercise of swimming, playing beachball and evenings dancing on the streets beneath moonlight, you had toned up and lost some body fat. A late, maybe even a drunk decision to get a new haircut and the obsessive amount of the new clothes, that completely reinvented your sense of fashion.

The time abroad away from your family felt like a gasp of freedom to you. You loved your parents and even your brother James, if he wasn´t annoying you, dearly, but that summer you felt grown-up and independent. You found new assets, hobbies, interests and confidence to further follow them. You hadn´t planned it, but your glow up transformation was born.

You came back just a few days before school was starting and somehow, you even looked forward to it. A new found motivation to become the best version of yourself pushed you to new limits. Not even the fact that Sirius Black had moved in with your family, could shatter your positive attitude.

“Mom, where did Dad put my luggage, I brought a few souvenirs I wanted to give you!”, you asked while looking through your backpack for a hair tie. Your mother, who had already settled back in the kitchen, her natural habitat, to get some iced tea, shrugged.

“I don´t know, darling, didn´t he put them in your room already?”

Nevertheless, it felt good to be home again.

Your father entered the dining and kitchen area from outside, a suitcase of yours in each of his hands. Just as he was about to call your brother for help, James jumped down the staircase and patted your father on the shoulder. “In a second, dad?”

James, who always had been taller than you, eyed your astonished. “Who is that girl in our home? Is that even my sister anymore?” You chuckled as he gave you a quick hug.

“Shut up James, you´re just jealous that you´re still pale like a snow owl!”

While the two of you started your casual process of sibling bickering, Sirius carefully stepped down the stairs as well. From the back, he observed your figure.

All those years, you had been James´s sister or the younger Potter, but for the first time, you didn´t perish next to James. Actually, you overshone him. James, who was athletic due to the Quidditch practice, still had a crooked and flabby posture. It didn´t help that he was used to swagger through the halls of Hogwarts. But you? You remained with your head held high, your shoulders relaxed and your tanned skin freshly glowing.

“Y/n.”

You turned to find Sirius starring at you; you couldn´t point his look, but you gave him a polite, regardless smile. “Sirius”, you greeted him. Your voice wasn´t rude or cold, still it didn´t match the voice you´d use to talk to James. “Or should I call you brother number two?”

A painfully small grin was brought to his lips. Over the course of years, the two of you barely exchanged words. But yet, you were a constant part of his life. Yes, he had spent many Christmas holidays with your family. He most definitely spent more time with James than you. You were his best friend’s sister, right?

But why did it suddenly bother him, that you called him brother?

“Y/n, Sirius is staying in the guest room from now on. We didn´t use the room anyway, did we?”

The Potter residency had an altogether combined number of four floors; the basement with storage and washing area. The main floor with kitchen, dining and living room, leading to the outdoor terrace and garden and your parent´s bedroom. The second floor with James´s bedroom, your father´s study room and of course, the guest bedroom, which now belonged to Sirius. Last but not least the attic, which was renovated to your room. A point which had caused James and you to argue for several years; the attic was an amazing room and much larger than other bedrooms in the house. James lost the argument due to very weak points. To quote your mother, James spent more time outside doing mischief than actually staying in his room.

You were more relieved than ever to have not only your own room, but basically your own floor. You didn´t mind Sirius, but you needed your space and you didn´t wanted to be involved with their pranks.

“James, help me with my suitcase, will you?” You exclaimed, but your brother already made his way to the kitchen. By his moving pattern, you knew he was up to no good.

“Mom, don´t you and Dad usually spent the weekend at Cindy´s?” You couldn´t help but rolling your eyes at his comment. The last weekend before school begins; James´s house party.

Your parents knew he´d like to bring friends over at that weekend, they didn´t know about half of the school coming and the amount of beer and fire whisky.

“James?” You sighed, but your brother was pursuing his own goals.

“I´ll help you”, Sirius suddenly spoke up and hurried next to you. He took the suitcases without much effort and immediately started carrying them upstairs. On the stairs, you passed the Black boy to open the door to your room for him. Sirius noticed your swift movement and was reminded of James playing Quidditch. Clearly you both inherited that gene. Sirius put down the luggage and couldn´t help but eye your room with growing eyes. The high wooden ceiling, which was decorated with fairy lights and pictures and painting on the walls. You had a secret talent to be good at drawing and detailed sketches of plants, you had learned about in school, hung over your desk. Pictures of you and James at the age of toddlers and family portraits from Christmas. In one of them was even Sirius. You realized how he didn´t leave your room and eyed him warry as he starred at the pictures.

“I´ve never been to your room.”

“Don´t get used to it.” You heaved your suitcase up on your bed to start the sorting out process and Sirius turned away from the pictures, raising his eyebrow. “It´s my room.”

His eyes glided over the silk sheets of your bed and he couldn´t help but wonder, how you looked when waking up in the morning by rays of sunshine falling through the windows. Have you watched him playing Quidditch with James from those windows? Ever so slightly he shook his head to get rid of that thought. You´re James´s sister, he reminded himself.

There weren´t really rumors about you in school, unlike James´s reputation. But there was one thing Sirius knew all too well; you were not to mess with. What your brother inherited in talent, was put together with an almost deadly preciseness. He saw you battling a student in his year once, you won without even breaking a sweat.

“The new hair suits you”, he suddenly added before leaving your room and closing the door behind him. Your mother had pin pointed every single detail that had changed about you, but you´d never guessed that heartbreaker Sirius Black would comment on it…

James Potter was awfully good at talking people into doing what he desired. And James Potter desired a more memorable house party each year, thanks his ego. Previously, you had spent the weekend at Sarah´s, but after an entire summer, you were left home as well. Against your own anticipation, you didn´t mind. Was it the fact, that you had partied and danced more the entire summer than anyone could imagine? Maybe.

“Y/n, you look out for James, don´t let him do stupid things!” Like a house party? Lingered on your tongue, but you smiled bitter sweet. “It´s hard to look out for somebody as stupid as James.”

Your mother wrinkled her eyebrows, but your dad let out a laughing grunt. “They´ll be fine”, he reassured your mother, before kissing you on top of your head and heading out.

“It´s hard to look out for somebody as stupid as James”, James voice filled the air while he imitated you. He and Sirius came down to the living room, a box of somewhat decorations in their hands.

James was everything but stupid, even though there were times, where you questioned his IQ. He took out old wine bottles with candles in them and packed away your mom´s favorite cutlery and vase. One thing less to worry.

“Tell me, Y/n, do the Spain kiss good?” He continued to mock you.

“Better than the British”, you answered sweetly. A sour taste spread in Sirius mouth, but James pressed his jaw together. He hadn´t expected the answer from you, his sweet innocent little sister.

“Should I worry about you tonight?” He asked a little more serious now, but you ruffled through his precious locks. “Why? Afraid I´ll crash your party?”

“Who are you and what have you done to my baby sister?” He yelled after you, while you left the room to go upstairs, chuckling.

The marauders were first to arrive; Moony, Wormtail and obviously Padfoot and Prongs himself. Remus also brought Lily Evans, your brother´s secret, not so secretly girlfriend. You watched as they arrived one by one from the window at your desk. The golden boy and his gang, all complete.

The past few days, you had taken your time to do whatever you pleased. Your mother didn´t force any of you to have breakfast or lunch together, due to the fact that you all had different sleeping patterns. You had spent it at your desk, getting ready for school, journaling about your holidays, sorting out pictures and old clothes. In the garden helping your mother put together bouquets of flowers or riding your bike around your favorite trails and sceneries. Really you hadn´t seen much of your brother or Sirius.

You took your time getting ready, the Marauder´s already starting off with drinking. You had invited Sarah and when you saw her and her older sister, who was in James´s year, arriving, you finally made your way downstairs. James, Sirius and Remus were grouped around the kitchen aisle, debating sport games with three more guys from Gryffindor. Matt Atkins, Hogwarts second bad boy after Sirius, eyes suddenly grew big as he ran dry. His remarkably sharp jaw fell down and his mouth open. “Who is she?”

You casually strolled down the stairs, even wearing some strapped heels together with a new dress from Spain. A rather hard punch let Matt yelp, James annoyed eyes bringing him to his knees. “That´s my sister”, he muttered with his teeth grinding.

The golden boy was about to be pushed from his throne by his own sister.

You gave the group of boys a knowing smirk before welcoming Sarah, who was glowing with the same tan as you. “Seems like Spain has been muy beneficioso per nos.”

Your laughter filled the air, as not only the marauder but also several other male creatures watched the two of you chat. “How´s Gabriel?” You asked her instead and Sarah blushed. Her apparent summer fling had made it clear, that his feelings were a little stronger than just a fling.

“He wrote me a letter with a poem”, she blushed. Before continuing the topic, a boy joined the two of you. “Ladies, can I get you something to drink?”

James was quick to appear next to you, a sudden wave of protectiveness had overcome him. “She´s my sister and she doesn´t drink.”

“Yes, yes she does.”

Lily, who had joined her boyfriend, snickered at your response. James watched you wide eyed, as did the boy, walking to the kitchen with Sarah after dropping the comment; “Not from you though.”

Sirius, who´s blood alcohol level was already high enough, started smirking as you approached. The feelings he had pushed back and buried, arose in him.

“Y/n, care for a drink?” “Yes, Black, I do.”

As he fished two cups for you and Sarah, the group starred at you. Matt Atkins was first to speak up again. His initial shock about Sirius approaching you, was put back after he remembered that he lived with you and James now. Remus and Peter watched the scene, secretly exchanging a bet of how quickly you would decline Atkins.

“So, Y/n, tell me how was Spain?”

You leaned on the counter top, a trick that had earned you free drinks in bars before, and smiled.

“Hot.”

Sirius passed you the cups and you nodded thanking. His senses tingled, an explosion rushing through his veins. He wasn´t to construe it the past few days, but drunk words are sober thoughts and Sirius´s attraction towards you, grew with each second. Peter slid the money to Remus, Matt Atkins had no chance.

The party continued into the evening and quickly into the night. You were sure that at least 50 people were there, with a few outside maybe more. James, who didn´t enjoy himself as much as he´d like to, was also too stubborn to admit it. You didn´t like how he watched, almost babysitted you, lingering ready to scare away any potential boy flirting. It was until Lily finally swept in and took his mind off you.

Outside remained a small bonfire, which was coming to an end, but you still decided to catch some fresh air. You had more cups than your brother knew about, but he was kissing Lily in the corner and didn´t realize your slight staggering.

James wasn´t stupid, but stupid enough to completely miss the fact that his own best friend was falling in love with you. And he was following you outside.

“Y/n Potter, you surprise me.” Sirius voice was low and a little rough, which was explained as he pulled out a cigarette. You took another sip of who knew what mixture and smiled innocently at him. “Why´s that, Black?”

You never called him Black before, until this summer. An unconscious defense mechanism.

It had taken Sirius five days after your initial arrival to realize that he´d liked you way more than he should and now there was no turning back. He was acting on pure instinct now and so did you. But your instinct told you, that Sirius Black was a heartbreaker.

“What do want, Black?” You asked whispering as he slowly came closer, his hand reaching up to tuck back strands of your hair. This was dangerous, but you liked playing with fire. “You.”

Your laugh was bitter.

“We're nothing more than friends. You're not my lover, more like a brother. I´ve known you since we were like ten.”

You left him behind in the approaching cold from the night and the dying fire. Sirius cursed at himself and ruffled through his hand. “Fuck!”

How could he have been so stupid? You were his best friend´s sister! You were James´s sister! Of course, you didn´t see him in any romantic way and now he not only embarrassed himself to the bone, but probably ruined any kind of friendship with you. He threw the leftover cigarette into the fire, there was only one solution left; alcohol.

Don't mess it up, talking that shit

Only gonna push me away, that's it!

When you say you love me, that make me crazy

Here we go again

Sirius Black was astonishing good in hiding feelings and even better at drowning them. At least for the next hour or so. That was until the music box suddenly played a Spanish song with a typical reggae beat and laughing, you pulled Sarah onto the dancefloor in the middle of the living room. Oh, how you had learned to swing your hips at the rhythm.

James was burning in fury and he wanted to punch every single pair of eyes laying on your figure. Luckily, he couldn´t and much too quick for your dismay, the song ended. The room echoed in applause and howlers, and giggling you left the stage with Sarah. The two of you were used to being drunk together and lazily you found your seat on the bathroom floor.

“James isss going to kill youuuu”, Sarah laughed as she not so gracefully, kneeled onto the floor. It didn´t help that after you sat down at the brim of the bathtub, fell over crackling.

“Oh my god!” Sarah suddenly exclaimed startled. You leaned forward surprised, legs still hanging over the brim. “What?”

“We don´t have anything to drink anymoreeee! I´ll be back in a second, just stay here!”

You leaned back, head against the wall, softly humming in response. “I don´t even think I´m able to leave, I´ll wait!” For a few seconds, you closed your eyes; enjoying the buzz of the liquor and the music in the background. You heard the door open and close again.

“Merlin Sarah, you´re flying when it comes to-.“ It wasn´t Sarah, it was Sirius. You eyed him with furrowed brows. “Did you at least get me something to drink?”

He had a cup in his hands and eyed it, pondering to give it to you, or drink it himself. But you leaned forward, grabbing his arm and then snatching the drink from his fingers. He found himself starring into your big eyes, not wanting to look away.

“Don´t you have enough boys outside to bring you drinks?” He asked and you shrugged while taking a big sip. “But you´re here, aren´t you?” The sentence made his heart beat quicker.

“Don't go look at me with that look in your eye”, you then added and avoided his glance again.

“Why not?”

“You know why, but apparently you really ain't going away without a fight.”

He suddenly turned to you, pushing one of his hands against the wall, the other one trailing down to your neck. His fingers brushed against your skin and you felt goosebumps crawling down your spin. He was leaning, yes hovering above you and his eyes wandered back and forth from your eyes to your lips. Stubbornly, you looked up to him.

“You can't be reasoned with, I'm done being polite. Haven't I made it obvious?” You pushed yourself a little up from the bathtub, your face only inches away. But the look on your face was stern and certain. “Haven't I made it clear? Want me to spell it out for you?

F-R-I-E-N-D-S”

Sarah pushed open the door and rolled her eyes, she had obviously noticed the boy´s attention towards you. “Back off, Black.”

Sirius was caught off guard by her, which gave you space and time to pull yourself out of the tub, leaving him sitting there.

The night only slowly continued after your clashing in the bathroom. Remus watched his friend with plaintive eyes. He had realized the silence and even more oblivious, his sad stares into your direction. It wasn´t hard to guess really, but he understood his reticent mood. You were his best friends’ little sister and he knew, James would kill for you. If anyone were to break your heart and if that anyone was Sirius, the friendship could be over.

On the other hand, there was one thing Remus knew, Sirius had never acted like this around a girl.

“You shouldn’t give up yet.” Sirius glanced back at him and rolled his eyes.

“She´s sees me as a friend, I´m like a brother to her.”

“You don´t dance like this in front of your friend. Y/n and James both know how to get the things they want. It´s probably a family disorder”, Remus chuckled. But he became stern again, laying a hand on his friend´s back. “She´s playing with you, you know it. And I have to admit, she plays better than you, Padfoot. You liked this girl way before, before the summer, before she started flirting with you today.”

“I didn´t-“

“Yes, you did. Or why did you stress out about getting her a Christmas and birthday gift every year since knowing James? Why did it bother both you and James, about Kevin making that remark last year? You broke his nose, in case you forgot.”

Remus was right, he was way too often for Sirius taste. He liked you more than a friend from the second he laid eyes on you. He swore himself to protect you, but now he was the endangerment of hurting you and it scared him.

People left the party; it was past 3.a.m. and Lily started putting away empty cups. He knew Sarah would sleep at the Potter house tonight and just in second, he caught sight of you carrying a blanket upstairs. “You´re the best, Moony and I hate you for it.”

He hurried up the stairs and caught you just in front of your room.

“Y/n, wait!”

You sighed heavily. “Sirius, I´m tired and Sarah´s laying on my bathroom floor throwing up.”

He tried to remember every formal etiquette ever taught to him while establishing and taking together his bravery. Hundreds, yes thousands of pranks and yet, he never had been this nervous. You eyed him wary. “Have you got no shame? You looking insane. Here we go again.”

“I´m sorry for acting like a dick.”

The apology took you a step back, surprised.

“Don't go look at me with that look in your eye.”

His tongue brushed against his lip. “Why not, Y/n? Afraid to admit it?”

“For Merlin´s Sake, get that shit inside your head, Sirius! We´re just friends.”

His hand lingered on the wall to your back. It was the second time he had encircled you, but this time around, you didn´t see an outlet. Maybe you didn´t want one either. You felt his breath tingling against your skin and against your anticipation, the scene felt intimate and fragile to you.

“I like you, Y/n. I´ve liked you for a while now and I suppressed it. You´re right, I´m heartbreaker, and I knew, if I was to break yours, I wouldn´t be able to live with myself.”

You felt your shaky breathing, the dim light coming from downstairs barely gave enough away.

“You made it obvious. You made it very clear. But I wanted- needed you to know this; you were and never will be just a friend to me.” He gulped, lowering his glance.

“And I´m sorry, if that´s going to push you away.”

You dropped the blanket to the ground, throwing your hands around his neck and pulling him down. The kiss was passionate, but dripping like honey; sweet and slowly. His hands grabbed your waist and you inhaled his deep musky scent.

You leaned away from him with caution, sighing. “Sarah´s vomiting and I´m making out, I´m a terrible friend.” Sirius chuckled lowly, his nose brushing against yours again.

“I´m glad we´re more than friends then.”

#sirius black imagine #Sirius Black #sirius black x reader #sirius black oneshot #ben barnes #harry potter imagine #marauder imagine #mariamermaidimagine

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valxeren · 3 years

Text

here’s me suffering from eremin brainrot </3

pairing: manbun eren x nerd armin

content warnings: mention of drugs (weed), other than that it’s all fluff

wc: 1.6k

note: once again this was just supposed to be a drabble, but i always get carried away </3 i also didn’t proofread this

eren jaeger was perhaps one of the most popular guys in school. his outgoing personality made it easy for him to get along with almost everyone, and his good looks constantly brought girls to his feet. he had everything he could ever wish for, yet he felt miserable.

behind his joyous exterior, he was quietly suffering alone. it’s his senior year, and he’s failing the one class he absolutely needs to pass in order to graduate. one would probably think “it’s not that bad, he just need to work harder,” but he was at his wit’s end. he’s stayed after school to get help from his teacher multiple times, but nothing seemed to be working.

“you should probably seek out armin if you’re failing that bad,” historia says, seemingly uninterested in eren’s complaints. he barely hears her words over the chatter of everyone else in the hallway, and their height difference doesn’t make things better.

“you said what?” eren asks while leaning down to hear her better. “armin? you mean the lil nerd that’s always in the library?”

“yeah, the one that’s always with marco. they’re both smart, but i think armin would be your best bet,” she’s pushing through the crowd with ease, and eren has a hard time catching up to her. eventually, they’re standing outside her classroom.

as two of the most popular people in school, it wasn’t uncommon for them to be around one another. in fact, they’ve spent enough time together that people thought they were dating. it was nothing but rumors though, eren had no interest in her.

“i’ll think about it. you wanna hang after school?” he asks casually.

“can’t. i’m grounded, remember?” she rolls her eyes. right.

“i’ll see you around then,” he goes to hug her, but she walks into the classroom without another word. it killed his ego a little bit.

the bell rings, and eren makes his way to the library since he has a free period. usually, he’d spend this time to sneak out behind the school and smoke a blunt with connie or someone else, but right now he’s on a mission.

the library wasn’t completely unfamiliar to eren; he’s been there a handful of times to do research for some of his classes, but he doesn’t know what the different sections are for or how it’s organized. however, it doesn’t take him that long to find what he’s looking for. he sees a tuft of blonde hair peeking over the top of one of the bookshelves, and he confidently strides over in that direction.

“hey,” eren says nonchalantly, but it causes the blond to jump. it seems like he was helping the librarians re-shelve some books.

“h-hey,” armin’s heart is pounding in his chest because what in the world is eren jaeger doing, talking to him? he wasn’t too fond of the brunet; he thought that eren was just another loud, obnoxious person who would probably peak in high school.

“i need your help.”

“me?” armin questions while pointing to himself. “are you sure you’ve got the right person?”

“well duh. you’re armin, are you not?” eren starts tapping his foot out of impatience.

armin’s fully taken aback; he didn’t expect eren to talk to him, much less know his name. he never really aimed to stand out; he was in a lot of academic clubs and he was also the top rank out of all the seniors but other than that, he usually kept to himself.

———

“it’s okay, eren. let’s do this one more time,” armin states calmly. it’s been a month since eren first came to him, and they’re currently sitting on the floor of his bedroom.

“i can’t do it. i just can’t,” eren groans and buries his face in his hands.

armin shuffles around the index cards in his hands and sighs. “you got this. come on. what does helicase do in dna replication?”

“i dunno. it like unzips it or something,” eren says. the blond smiles at him, and he feels his heart skip a beat.

“yeah, it’s something like that. good job! now onto the next one...”

eren feels all warm inside when armin praises him, and it motivates him to actually try harder. within the next ten minutes, they’ve gone through the whole stack of cards without having to skip any of them. armin puts his hand up for a high-five, and eren feels a spark in his hand as they came into contact. during his drive home, he can’t help but feel giddy whenever he looks at his hand.

———

it turns out that eren wasn’t as bad as armin made him out to be. it was easy to see how eren got along with everybody he met. he always knew how to make a good time out of anything, and armin was slowly but surely coming out of his shell.

he was convinced that eren didn’t even need his help anymore, and that he was just making up excuses to hang out with him. today, he came into the library with a test in his hand. on the top of it was a bright red 100%, and the smile on eren’s face was so wide.

“i’m proud of you. i knew you could do it,” armin beams when eren sits next to him. he slides his book to the side a little so that eren has enough room.

“it’s all thanks to you,” eren says while putting it away into his backpack. armin can’t help but blush at the comment. “what are you reading?”

“the maze runner. it’s about–” armin’s sentence gets cut short when eren reaches for his glasses. he’s afraid that he might take them from him, but instead, he actually pushes them up his nose.

“sorry. they were about to fall off,” eren says, and armin’s skin is on fire. he becomes a sputtering mess, and eren can’t help but smile to himself. it felt rewarding every time he made him get flustered.

———

armin was never interested in school dances; he didn’t really see the point in going to them. he wasn’t a fan of the large crowds or blaring music, so he surely surprised himself when he accepted eren’s invitation to prom. part of him kept thinking about the line of girls that probably wanted to go with him, with historia being at the front. the thought got pushed to the back of his mind when he stressed about finding something to wear. since he didn’t have anything nice, he ended up dragging mikasa around town to find a suit.

“i don’t know if i’m more surprised by the fact that you’re going to prom, or the fact that you’re going to prom with eren jaeger,” she told him when he first broke the news. they eventually settled for a dark green blazer and a matching bowtie with a black button up shirt and black pants.

the day before prom, he decided to get a haircut as well. he could barely recognize himself in the mirror; his long hair had been neatly trimmed to cover his forehead, and he got an undercut as well. he hoped that eren liked it as much as he did.

and oh boy did he get his answer when eren came to pick him up the next night. armin’s mom opens the door for him and welcomes him inside while he puts the finishing touches to his look. at the last minute, he ditches his glasses and opts to wear contacts instead.

“oh my god,” eren gawks at armin as he walks down the stairs. his heart is racing and he swears that it might explode right out of his chest. he was struggling to find the right words to say, and he decided on a simple, “you look so good.”

armin forgets how to function once he realizes what eren’s wearing. it’s a suit similar to his, but in blue. what a coincidence, he thought.

a couple hours later, eren and historia are crowned prom king and queen. a slow song is put on as they dance together, and armin can’t help but feel a little jealous. it gets worse when eren leans down to whisper something in her ear, causing her to erupt in a fit of giggles.

he forgets all about it once eren is in front of him once again. they have a great time jumping around to the lively music, and the image of eren smiling and laughing the entire time is forever imprinted in his mind.

as prom comes close to an end, another slow song is played. one of eren’s hands is on armin’s waist and the other is clasping his hand. as eren looks down at the boy in front of him, he becomes tempted by his pink lips and how soft they look. he quickly looks away to hide his blush, but armin definitely notices it.

both boys are sad when the night comes to an end on armin’s porch. they’re both standing there, not wanting to say goodbye yet, until eren breaks the silence.

“have you ever um... been kissed?” eren says in almost a whisper. he doesn’t remember the last time he felt this shy around someone.

armin is caught off guard, and he feels blood rush to his cheeks. “i uh– no. i haven’t.”

“can i kiss you?” eren asks, and the blond slowly shakes his head.

he’s worried that eren might judge him for not knowing how to kiss someone, since he’s probably had his fair share of kisses. but all thoughts leave his mind once eren’s lips are on his. they’re softer than he thought, and he could taste the residue of his strawberry lip balm.

both boys lay wide awake in bed during the late hours of the night, recalling the events that took place earlier that day. it seemed like a fantasy, like it was too good to be true. one thing is for sure, though: that night was a night they’d never forget.

#attack on titan #eren jaeger #armin arlert #eremin #eren jaeger x armin arlert #aot #eren yeager #eren x armin #snk #aot fluff #eren yeager x armin arlert #armin arlelt #eren fluff #armin fluff #eren jaeger fluff #armin arlert fluff #shingeki no kyojin #tw: drugs #❥ by valxeren

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juju-on-that-yeet · 3 years

Text

At My Worst (Chapter 1)

Work Summary: Thanks to his enduring popularity in the fandom, The Author pops back into existence and the egos must suddenly contend with someone they thought was gone forever coming back from the dead. No one is more shocked than Dr. Iplier, who can't help but remember how things used to be - and slowly fall back into bad habits, despite his better judgement.

Warnings: Mild descriptions of past violence/discussions of death (more tags on AO3)

Read on AO3

Enjoy!

Last he knew, Dark was ripping his eyes out.

Then, he was nowhere and nothing.

Now, he suddenly is, where before he wasn’t, and the rush of sensation returning is terrifying and paralyzing. But he still knows who he is, he knows his name and that he’s a figment, and he remembers his life. Rather, his previous life, he suspects.

It doesn’t take long for The Author to get his thoughts back in order and regain the presence of mind to look around. He appeared standing, and somehow didn’t fall, but he doesn’t trust his legs enough to move just yet. He’s surprised by the fact that he can look around, that the eyes he viscerally recalls losing are back in his head, fully functional. The area he’s in looks familiar, reminds him of the forest his cabin sat in, but it becomes apparent that the place is different now. The trees are less wild, the ground more even. He’s standing on a path, perhaps a nature walk or hiking trail. Last he remembers, there were no such trails in his woods.

He finally walks, letting his instincts take him to where his cabin should be, though he already has a feeling it won’t be found. Sure enough, he goes as far as he can down the trail, leaves the path and goes onward, and eventually finds himself at the edge of a neighborhood. Where the cabin used to be is a two-floor house, probably built for a family with kids, and in the surrounding street are even more such houses.

Author doesn’t know how much time has passed, but clearly, it’s been a long time since his cabin stood. He has to wonder what became of his books, his life’s work. Were they saved by the other egos, or are they forever lost?

For a moment, he isn’t sure what to do. But he’s a clever man, so he thinks. If he exists, surely the other egos must be around somewhere, too. All he has to do is find them. But if they aren’t here, then where?

He walks back the way he came, back to the trail, passing the place he appeared in and continuing onward. By the time he makes it to the trail’s beginning, night has fallen, and the parking lot by the trail is empty. He walks past the parking lot, comes to a road, and walks. It’s not so late that no cars are driving, at least; it only takes a few whizzing by his upturned thumb before one decides to stop.

“Where you headed?” asks the driver, an ordinary-looking man with a moustache. Author wonders how entertaining he’d be in a story.

“LA,” Author says, settling into the passenger seat like he belongs. For having not existed at all twelve hours ago, his easy confidence returns quickly.

“Heh, aren’t we all?” the man chuckles, pulling off the roadside to start driving. “Anywhere in particular? I can put it in my GPS.”

“Not really,” Author says, “Just get me to the city and I’ll take it from there.”

The man shrugs, but doesn’t pry. Maybe he wouldn’t be a protagonist, but possibly a character just there to help the protagonist along, as he is now. Then again, his unquestioning nature would make him easy death fodder, too.

On the way to the city, Author tries to look around the car, just to see if he can figure out what day it is. The radio playing tells him the day of the week and the month before long, but he can’t figure out the year. It’s not a terribly long drive to the city (Author remembers how long it took to get to Dr. Iplier’s clinic, and the distance isn’t that different) (Oh, Dr. Iplier, he must be somewhere too, does he still hate Author for what he’s done?), and once he gets there, Author has but one favor to ask.

“Thanks for the ride, but quick question,” he begins as he unbuckles his seatbelt, “Any chance you have a pen and a notebook in your car I can have? Or even just a sheet of paper and something to write with?”

“Uh, sure,” the man answers, confused by the request but not so much that he won’t grant it. He rummages through the glove compartment until he pulls a notebook with some corporate logo, and a pen with the same branding. “Have these, got them from work a long time ago but I don’t need them.”

“Perfect!” Author exclaims, taking the notebook and pen. He flips through the notebook, taking in the sight of blank pages, empty canvases, ready for him to make his own. “Have a good one, man.”

The man nods, rolls up his window, and drives off, leaving Author standing on a random sidewalk just inside Los Angeles. But he’s not bothered, because he finally has his tools. He can do anything or get anywhere. He knows that Dr. Iplier’s clinic has likely gone the way of his own cabin if it’s been too long, but the egos must be somewhere in the city. Author doesn’t know why he feels that way, but he supposes his instincts have the right idea. He’s always been a creature of impulse, so he does exactly what he did when the sun was up and lets his legs carry him where they may.

When he gets hungry, he enters a fast food restaurant and opens his notebook again, this time to write. While in line, he reads the cashier’s nametag and puts pen to paper: When The Author reaches the front of the line and orders, Stella pays for his meal herself. And she does, without skipping a beat. Author stays in the building to eat, and internally snickers at the confused look he sees on Stella’s face when she realizes what she did, seemingly for no reason.

As far as Author can perceive, it hasn’t been very long at all since he last used his power. But his body can tell it’s been a long time, somewhere deep in his mind knows it’s been forever since he picked up a pen and changed reality to suit his needs. A part of him is glad he’s still got it, but how could he ever lose it in the first place?

Back to walking. It’s late at night, but his mind is too active to be tired. It wouldn’t be the first time he was up all night, whether pacing his cabin trying to untangle the next scene of a story, or painting LA red in search of inspiration, or tormenting a character in the woods, or staying up with Dr. Iplier until the sun came up and he had to return to his clinic in the early hours, yawning through a cup of coffee. Thinking of his doctor only makes Author’s mind buzz even more. How long has it been, truly? What must Dr. Iplier be like now? Can they start over again, now that Author’s been reset?

The more Author walks, the more he feels a pull to keep going. It’s as if there’s a GPS unit inside his brain, telling him which way to go. He has no clue where he’ll end up, but he follows anyway, not having anywhere else to go. Besides, perhaps he’s being led to the other egos, maybe some element of himself is being drawn to them. He still knows that he’s a figment, of course, and that being a figment makes him a little more magical than the average human, a little more special, even ignoring his reality-bending powers. Part of him wants to use his writing to get into a locked car and drive to where the magic inside him is leading, but even at this hour, he knows it’d be quicker to walk.

It’s morning by the time Author feels he’s gotten somewhere, nearly a day has passed since he found himself alive again. By now, the streets are once again full of people and cars, and the swelling sounds of conversation and car horns remind him of his trips into the city with Dr. Iplier. His feet finally come to a stop in front of a huge building. It doesn’t look very different from the other corporate skyscrapers standing along the street and stretching into the horizon, but it radiates magic. It’s a beacon, and Author can tell just by looking at it that this is where he’s meant to be, this is the place he’s meant to stay.

He’s startled out of his reverie by someone bumping into him, barking at him to watch it, and moving hurriedly along. Author is disgruntled, but has little time to get angry before yet another person does the same thing. He moves out of the way of traffic to stand under the magical building’s awning, away from the crowd. Amazingly, no one even seems to see him anymore. No one acknowledges him, or even looks at the building Author is standing in front of. Whatever magic it has, humans can’t see it. Perhaps that’s the point, perhaps the building’s magic is keeping it hidden. Author can’t help but be impressed. If he’s right, it must be Dark and Wilford’s doing; no one else would have enough power. Still, keeping a building shrouded constantly would take a lot of energy, and though Dark and Wilford are powerful, they aren’t powerful enough for something as big as this as far as Author remembers.

As if he needed more confirmation that it’s been a long time since he last existed.

Still, he’s made it to where he wants to be, and he’s not about to stop moving forward now. He walks to the door, pushes the double-doors open, and steps inside.

The doors open up into a wide lobby, high-ceilinged. Off to one side is another set of doors, wooden and old-looking. There’s quite a few other, more typical doors along the back wall, a couple labeled that lead to staircases and some without labels that likely lead to other rooms. There’s also an elevator in the center of the wall. The lobby is much bigger than the outside of the building would suggest, and Author has to assume it’s more magic at work. He has no more time to wonder, because one of the unlabeled doors opens.

Out steps another man, with hair swooped low and orange sunglasses and a tank top with the Bing logo on it, of all things. He stops mid-step at the sight of Author, and Author can’t help but pause, too. He doesn’t know who this person is, but he can tell he’s a figment. Not only that, there’s something too familiar in his hair, his face, his height. This figment is another one of Mark’s.

Author already felt like he’d found the right place, but now he knows for sure.

“Woah, how’d you get in here??” asks the figment, walking up to Author as his shock gives way to confusion. “Wait, are you a new ego?”

“You could say that,” Author replies with a shrug.

“Oh, sick!” the figment exclaims, now grinning with excitement. He reaches out to shake Author’s hand, and his grip is stronger than Author expects. “My name’s Bingiplier, but like, everyone calls me Bing. What’s your name, dude?”

“The Author,” Author answers, a little bewildered by Bing’s energy. Granted, he certainly seems like someone Mark would conjure up as a joke, but most of the true joke egos barely lasted a week.

“Oh cool, you write and stuff?” Bing asks. He frowns for a moment. “I gotta admit, though, I’m totally blanking on what video you’re from. I don’t watch all of Mark’s videos, but like, I don’t think anyone was expecting a newbie to show up soon.”

“I do write,” Author replies, though his mind is buzzing with the new information. No one’s expecting him? Then how is he here? “I can reality-bend with writing. I write it, and it happens.”

“Nice!” Bing says, “That’s, like, super-powerful. We haven’t had a real reality-bender show up in ages. Actually, your deal kinda reminds me of The–”

“Hey.”

A monotone voice, deeper than Bing’s, interrupts. Author and Bing both look to see someone else approaching. Author can’t help but grin, because this is an ego he recognizes. Googleplier’s hair is still long and shaggy, he still has his glasses, and even though figments don’t truly age, he looks older somehow, more mature. He’s not glitching the way he did when Author knew him, and his jaw is stronger, his stature more imposing. It takes a moment for Google to see Author past Bing, and it takes a moment more for him to register what he’s seeing. His eyes widen behind his glasses.

“Author? Seriously?” Google asks, incredulous.

“Wait, you know about him? Did I just miss the memo on a new ego coming or something?” Bing whines before glaring at Google. “Are you here for an actual reason, or just to butt into my conversation?”

“Ollie wants you, you won’t answer his pings, and the others are still charging,” Google answers, deadpan. Bing pauses a moment, face screwed up in confusion, before understanding slowly dawns.

“Oh, he did ping me. I was busy talking to the new guy.”

“Ping you?” Author interjects.

“Oh yeah, I’m an android!” Bing says brightly. “So’s Google, but he’s just the old default.”

“Leave already before you get dismantled,” Google growls at Bing, but his eyes don’t leave Author.

“Ugh, fine,” Bing sighs. He flashes Author a peace sign as he walks away. “See ya round, dude!”

Google waits until Bing is out of sight before approaching The Author.

“How are you here?” he asks, more bewildered than Author has ever seen him.

“You tell me,” Author scoffs, “You were always the know-it-all. All I know is that one second I didn’t exist, and the next second I did.”

“How long ago was that?”

“About a day? Popped into the woods where my cabin used to be.” Author stares hard at Google. “How long has it been? Since Dark tore my eyes out?”

Google hesitates for a long moment before responding.

“Six years,” he says.

Author’s jaw drops.

“Six years??” he gasps.

“Six years,” Google repeats. “It’s 2021, now.”

“When did Bing show up?”

“2017. Four years ago.” Google thinks for a moment. “Technically, that makes him older than you.”

Google’s right. Author was only a couple years old when Dark killed him. At this point, he’s been dead longer than he’s been alive.

“Jesus Christ,” Author mutters. He can hardly wrap his head around it.

“Jesus Christ is right,” Google growls, “How the hell did you get here? You died. You faded away.”

“I already told you I don’t know!” Author snaps. Google gives him a look like he doesn’t believe him. “Look, I appeared, I felt the urge to come here, and now here I am. So now what?”

“Now I have to take you to Dark.”

“Yeah, no. I remember how our last interaction went.”

“You have to,” Google sighs, clearly resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Every new ego has to meet with him–”

“I’m not new.”

“–And besides, nothing in this building happens without him knowing. I don’t like dealing with him either, but I’m not about to get in trouble for not telling him about you.”

“No choice, huh?” Author sighs. “Alright, let’s get this over with, I guess.”

Google leads Author to the elevator in silence. He presses the button for the sixth floor – the highest one – as Author thinks.

Six years. He still can’t conceive of it. Even for a normal human that’s a decent chunk of time, but for a figment, it’s like a lifetime. Plenty of figments don’t even make it to six years old…though clearly, Google and Dark have, and Author has to wonder who else has. Six years and six floors of this building means a lot of new people.

“Figures you and Dark stuck around,” Author muses to Google, “The fans always do love the grumpy ones. And now there’s Bing, and that “Ollie” and the “others” you mentioned…”

“That would be Oliver, Chrome, and Plus,” Google says, “The three of them are androids, other Google units, in fact.” That fact makes Author bark out a laugh.

“You got clones, now??” he snorts, “That’s awesome. Think I could borrow one for a story?”

“No.” Google’s response is instant, paired with eyes glowing icy blue.

“Alright, alright,” Author sighs, “Six years and you still haven’t gotten a sense of humor.” He pauses for a moment. “How many of us are there now?”

Last Author recalls, there were eight, including himself. Google barely needs a moment to mentally calculate it before he has an answer.

“Twenty-one,” Google answers.

“Twenty-one??” Author exclaims, jaw dropping.

“Twenty-two, now, with you. There’d be even more, but some have faded away.”

“Is anyone I knew gone now?”

“No, the oldest ones are still here.”

That means Dr. Iplier is still here. Author can’t help but feel relieved. He’s not sure what he’d do if he found out Dr. Iplier had faded away sometime during his absence. He’s so cheered by the thought that he forgets why he’s in the elevator until it finally stops at the top floor.

Right. Dark’s still here, too.

“I’ve already sent Dark an internal ping,” Google says as he leads Author out of the elevator. “He’s expecting you now.”

“Snitch,” Author mutters under his breath. Google rolls his eyes, but he chooses not to respond verbally.

The pair pass several doors as they walk, and Author wonders how many of them lead into the bedrooms of egos he hasn’t met. He wonders what Dark is like now. After all, Google seems to have barely changed aside from no longer glitching constantly. But he remembers how the people outside couldn’t even see this building, remembers the sheer size of the place, and knows that Dark must be much more powerful than he used to be to be able to pull it off. Too soon, Google and Author arrive at a door that’s much nicer than the others so far. Google knocks, something that the Google Author remembers would hardly ever do.

“Come in,” says a deep voice from inside. An older voice, but the same one that Author remembers well.

Google opens the door, and The Author steps inside.

Dark is not like Google. He doesn’t look the same as he did before. His hair is longer, swooped to the side. His eyes are still deep brown, nearly black. He’s wearing a suit and tie now, his skin is gray. Most striking is his aura. Where it used to be minimal, only wisps of smoke that showed themselves occasionally, it is now a swarming mass of writhing black tendrils surrounding him. It shakes even as Dark stares evenly at Author from behind a large wooden desk. Dark’s expression is cool and calm, and his hands are folded on his desk, but there’s tension in his shoulders and a hardness in his eyes.

“You’re dismissed, Google,” Dark says to Google, “But do not mention this to anyone.”

Author glances at Google, who nods and leaves, closing the door behind him, leaving Author and Dark alone.

“So,” Author says breezily, pushing down and hiding his discomfort. He’s not scared, but he does feel awkward, and a little annoyed to have to see Dark at all. “Nice place you got here.” He flops into a chair in front of Dark’s desk. “I hear there’s twenty-two of us now, crazy how time flies.”

“Exactly how did you come back?” Dark asks, without a hint of humor.

“I told Google like three times, I don’t know!” Author says, his annoyance getting the better of him. He takes a breath and calms before continuing. “I don’t know. I woke up in a forest, the same one where my cabin is. Or used to be, it’s just houses there now. I hitched a ride to the city and walked until I got here. It’s been about a day since I woke up.”

“I see.” Dark sighs, leaning back slightly in his seat. “This has never happened before.”

“I’ve gathered that.” Author frowns at Dark. “I might as well address the elephant in the room. Are you gonna pull out my eyes again or what?”

“No,” Dark answers, voice tight and aura swarming faster, “I will not. Things have changed since then, that is no longer how I deal with unruliness.”

“Is that what you call it?” Author mutters, “‘Dealing with unruliness?’ Does that make you feel justified for killing me?”

“You’ve been gone for six years,” Dark snaps, “Don’t pretend you know anything!” All at once, Dark’s form cracks, a shadow of himself turns away to scream in frustration. The scream is cut short, the whole thing lasts only a moment. Despite himself, Author nearly jumps out of his skin.

“What the hell was that!?” he shouts.

Dark settles himself, chuckling quietly. His aura calms somewhat, but it continues to churn the air.

“As I said, things have changed.” Dark rolls his neck, it cracks like the vertebrae are clacking against each other. “To put it in a way you would understand, my story has been rewritten in recent years. There’s a lot for you to catch up on.”

“I’ll pass,” Author retorts, “I’m not about to stick around here with you.”

“I’m afraid you have no choice.” Dark’s eyes go steely. “You may have guessed from the large number of us that Mark is much more popular than he used to be, which means we need to be more careful. You recall my desire to unite us all in a single building.”

“The building I died in, right?” Author snaps.

“Yes,” Dark replies coldly, undeterred by Author’s attempt to fluster him. “This building, in fact. The more popular Mark gets, the more recognizable we become, and the more vital it is for us to avoid attention. This building is imbued with magic to prevent humans from seeing or entering, and there are rules about the ways in which we may interact with them.”

“If you’re gonna tell me I can’t write my stories–”

“You can write as many stories as you like,” Dark says smoothly, “And you may use humans as…protagonists, if you so choose. But your stories may not be published, and you may not develop close relationships with humans.”

“And if I break the rules?”

“You get to visit my void.” Dark grins. “A place made of pitch, so dark you cannot see your hand in front of your face, cold and just quiet enough to hear its voices. It only takes a few hours to break someone weak. For someone strong, maybe a week.” He tilts his head. “I suspect a day or two in there, with no one to control and nothing to do, will drive you mad. At the end of a week you’d be tearing off your own skin just to feel.”

Author wants to scoff at the dramatics, but there’s something in Dark’s eyes and posture that makes him believe it.

“What if I leave anyway?” Author asks, “Strike out far away and find my own place?”

“Then you’ll have all twenty-one of us looking for you, whether actively searching or keeping an eye out. Once you’re found, the punishment would be immense. We’ve had egos run off before. The longest one ever stayed lost was eighteen days. Perhaps you could last longer, but your punishment would be that much longer as well. And if my void does not deter you, there’s a holding cell in the basement that’s designed to cancel out magic and keep figments contained indefinitely, where you can stay until you come to your senses.”

Author glowers, considering. It’s clear that he has no choice but to go along with the arrangement, but he’s too stubborn to give in yet.

“Any other rules I should know about?” he asks derisively, “Is there a dress code? Do I have to ask you if I want dessert after dinner?”

Dark glares at Author for a long moment.

“My, not even death could change you.”

He lets his own words hang in the air before continuing.

“The other main rule here is that you cannot harm another ego. Self-defense or defense of another ego won’t be punished, but aggression and attacks will.”

“That’s rich, coming from the one who tore my eyes out,” Author growls.

“You can watch your attitude,” Dark snaps, voice dangerous and aura waving wildly. “I’m still the leader, and you still need to respect me. You may not have changed, but I have, and I am much stronger than you can imagine. If you continue to draw my ire, you will find out just how much stronger I’ve become.”

Dark wasn’t nearly this imposing back in Author’s heyday. He didn’t have this maturity, this intimidating tone of voice, this simmering rage that only shows itself in bursts. He used to be pettier, whiny, more mean than cruel. There was a reason Author didn’t fear him, and it was that he could tell, clear as day, that Dark was threatened by him. But the Dark that sits before Author now is not threatened. He’s angry, but not defensive. He means every word he’s said to Author, and Author knows that Dark will make him regret pushing his buttons if he persists.

So he stays silent for a long moment, and Dark’s aura gradually calms, and his expression smooths back out.

“Good, we understand each other,” he says, “Now, you need to meet the other egos. I’ll call a meeting for the others.”

“Google said the others I was around with are still here,” Author says, remembering, “Are they coming, too?”

“Yes,” Dark says, “But their meeting alerts will have…context. They’ll know it’s you before they arrive.” He sighs then, raises a hand to rub his forehead. “Speaking of context, there’s something you should know before this meeting occurs.”

“What’s that?” Author asks, curious. Perhaps a little nervous, given Dark’s behavior, but he’d never admit it.

“After you died, a new ego appeared, one who looked somewhat like you, who had no eyes. It came about that he had all your memories, but he wasn’t you, isn’t you. His name is The Host, and as far as we all knew…you became him, you were reborn as him.”

Author thought he was done being surprised, being shocked. But this revelation is the worst of all. He became someone else? There’s an ego here that has his same history, and the six years he missed on top of that? A clone like Google has, but one that has a different life, has a life at all. Someone who’s The Author, but isn’t. Someone The Author was supposed to be. The one who came from the ashes of Author’s death. While he spent six years in darkness, this other him, this Host, was living the life that should’ve been his. It only gets worse the more Dark explains. Author hardly perceives Dark’s words, but he perceives their meaning, especially when another name is mentioned. The shock builds and deepens.

It’s not enough that Host now has Author’s body, his memories, his life.

He has his love, too.

His doctor.

Dark explains that Dr. Iplier and Host have been in a relationship for years, and something inside Author crumbles.

This is the man he was so excited to see again, the man he’d hoped he could start over with once he found him. He’d dreamed of that on his long walk to the building, dreamed of Dr. Iplier lighting up at the sight of him, dreamed of them both apologizing to each other for how they ended things, dreamed of them reconnecting, rekindling, loving each other all over again. But the dream shatters further the more Dark speaks, and the more Dark speaks, the more Author’s vision tunnels and the louder the blood rushes in his ears. Dr. Iplier didn’t wait for him. He moved on. He moved on with this facsimile of Author, and did so a long time ago.

Author doesn’t hear what else Dark says, he’s too busy thinking. But no matter how much he thinks the situation over, he can’t accept it. He won’t allow this ache in his chest, this burning in the back of his eyes. Dr. Iplier may have moved on, but some part of him must still love Author, if he moved on with the newer version of him. The way they loved each other was like nothing else, even six years later there’s no way Dr. Iplier has forgotten Author, has forgotten what their love felt like, has stopped missing it. Author will find his way back to him somehow, fix their relationship and fix his own breaking heart.

There has to be a reason Author came back to life. There’s no possible way him and Dr. Iplier could end like this. And Author may be a lot of things, but he’s not a quitter.

He can’t give up on Dr. Iplier, his heart won’t let him.

#markiplier fanfiction #the author #markiplier the author #dr. iplier #darkiplier #my writing #fanfic #markiplier #at my worst #how many chapters will there be? who knows! not me XD #i'm hype for this tho owo #poor author; getting blueballed by himself from the future/present :/

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justafewsmallsteps · 4 years

Photo

Okay, with the new series announcement, I’ve finally been inspired to finish off this artwork and story that I’ve been sitting on for years. Call it a goodbye to my headcanon kids because now we have the real deal!!!

Title: The Golden Girl

Word Count:

3576

Rating

: G+

Let it be known that Mizuki adored her father. Anyone could tell by the way she followed him around and tried to copy his actions.

She had his temperament and lack of patience, but in a cuter way (for now). Her big, shiny, golden eyes were just like his, and the black ears atop her head swiveled around just as his did. She loved it. She loved being just like him in every way she could; going around picking up big sticks to swing like her own Tessaiga.

She looked up to him so much, it made Inuyasha’s heart ache. It did come with some new, dangerous territory though. For instance, he had one hell of a time trying to watch his vocabulary once Mizuki started speaking. He’d never forget the dagger of a glare that Kagome sent his way when their daughter babbled her first, “Damet” after dropping her snack. He thought he would be skinned on the spot.

“She’s going to copy anything you do, so you have to be more careful!” Kagome chastised.

“Why me?” Inuyasha asked in a grumbled whine. “She should be looking up to you! You’re her mother, ain’t ya?”

Kagome frowned. “Mizuki thinks the world of you.” Her expression softened. “That’s what daughters do when they love their dad.”

A pang of guilt seized his chest. In flashes he remembered another time and place, photographs and a stick of incense at the shrine tucked away in a private room; a young man with Kagome’s eyes. It was something that she didn’t talk about often, but her father’s loss still shook her sometimes. He took in Kagome’s glassy eyes and the pink flooding her nose. He reached around to hold his wife in his arms. “Okay,” Inuyasha mumbled as he kissed the top of her head. “You win. I’ll watch out.”

So he proceeded with caution, tried to hold his tongue from cursing, and he did his damn best to be more patient than he’d ever thought possible. All for their family, for his wife, for his daughter.

He never thought of himself as a role model.

He used to think he was a freak.

But then Kagome came around, and then he had friends. He found a place in the world that accepted him as he was, and he held onto her with a fierce protectiveness. He even let her go once and was forced to find peace within loneliness. He did it for her, because even if he never saw her again, he’d love her. He’d live for her even without her there.

But then by some miracle Kagome came back. The world was right. He belonged, they got married, and they were a family all on their own. He didn’t think life could get better honestly. Then they had their first kid. When Mizuki was born, Inuyasha was sure that he’d never seen anything more precious in his life. He loved the dark ears atop her raven-haired head, and he nearly melted the first time she opened her honey-colored eyes. She was an existence made up of his and Kagome’s love.

He wished she didn’t take so much after him though. She was just shy of passing for normal…

“So beautiful,” Kagome had whispered, instantly washing away his fears and doubts. “Just like her dad.”

Beautiful, huh? He hoped that someone would love his daughter like Kagome loved him. He also hoped that day was very far away, he thought warily. For now, he would make sure that his kid felt good about herself. He would never let Mizuki think of herself as a monster or a weirdo. He’d do his damnedest to build her confidence and surround her with love.

And it worked out pretty well. Maybe too well if her ego was anything like his own.

Mizuki really did love everything she had in common with her father. When they both heard a sound and turned the same way, she’d puff up with pride. “Mizuki hears it too!” she’d exclaim gleefully, making a point to wiggle her ears.

It always made him grin.

He never thought there could be a downside to her adoration. She loved him, she loved herself; everything was good.

Then Shouya was born.

Shouya, his son, who did not have his ears or his eyes. He actually looked a lot like Kagome, Inuyasha thought fondly. He had his mother’s nose, her human ears, even her adorable puffy cheeks. The one thing that made Shouya anything like Inuyasha was his distinctly silver colored hair. Yet somehow, despite being almost the opposite of his daughter, he was equally as perfect. Inuyasha had thought it was impossible to love anyone more than Kagome, and then Mizuki, and yet somehow his capacity for love simply grew as soon as he witnessed his son.

And when Mizuki, at just five years old, laid her pretty, amber eyes on her brother... she burst into tears! Kagome was still bedridden and recovering, so Inuyasha flew into action. He tried to calm her down but she was inconsolable, and her crying triggered Shouya to follow.

With two wailing children, Inuyasha and Kagome were immediately set to high stress mode. It was not the cute first meeting between new siblings that they had anticipated, dreamt about, planned for when Kagome was still waddling around as she told Mizuki all about being a big sister.

Instead she cried. A lot. Loudly.

Inuyasha had to pick up his distraught daughter and take her outside.

“Kiddo, what’s wrong?” He asked, shifting her a little in his arms.

Mizuki rubbed at the tears on her face and clutched to her father’s shoulders. Unable to form words past her sobs, she grabbed fistfuls of his hair and tugged, but Inuyasha didn’t pay any attention to the pain. Instead he did his best to soothe her, patting her back until she was reduced to hiccups. That night she cried and sniffled herself to sleep, leaving two very anxious parents. Thankfully Shouya slept soundly.

It took a week of grouchiness and tantrums before anything productive happened. Inuyasha whined to his recovering wife about his daughter’s poor attitude and lack of communication. Kagome simply laughed at him. “Now you know what it’s like dealing with you.”

Indignant, he scowled, “She’s a child!”

“At least she has an excuse,” Kagome retorted cutely.

Inuyasha would’ve been more upset, but having her humor back was a relief to him. She’d been exhausted and bedrested for the end of her pregnancy. Kaede had assured him that she’d be fine, but it still made him anxious to see her so putout. Shouya came out a fat, healthy baby, but even then Kagome didn’t get much time to relax. The newborn was up at odd hours and constantly hungry. It was the least Inuyasha could do to try taking care of Mizuki, though he hadn’t anticipated her moodiness.

Whenever they were out of the house and away, she seemed to relax, but otherwise his girl was totally uncooperative. Miroku and Sango figured that she didn’t like sharing the attention. It was something they dealt with in the early days with their own twin girls. They shrugged and gave him their sympathy, but otherwise couldn’t offer much advice except for him to be patient and try to talk to her.

The problem was Mizuki didn’t want to talk. As soon as he mentioned her brother she’d have a fit. Admittedly, he joked dryly to himself, he felt the same way about his own brother for a long time. The feeling had been mutual, probably.

But Sesshoumaru was an asshole, and Shouya was barely eight days-old.

Inuyasha sniffed the air as the wind passed them by. Kagome was waiting for them. “Kiddo, the sun’s getting low. We gotta go home to Mama.”

Mizuki didn’t look up from her spot on the ground making leaf huts. “I don’t want to.”

“There’s dinner at home.”

“I’m okay.”

He wondered how to persuade her. “Papa’s getting real hungry though. I might fall over if I don’t eat!”

“Papa can fish,” she replied with no mercy.

“So we’ll never go home again? I’ll never see Mama again?”

She seemed to consider that. “Mama can visit us, but leave the baby.”

Inuyasha folded his arms. “That’s your brother, ‘Zuki.”

“I don't care. I don’t like him.”

“So you won’t go home unless we get rid of your brother?”

“Maybe Mama can put him back in her tummy.”

He snorted. “That’s probably going to hurt your mother.”

“Then give him away to someone who wants a new baby. Far away.” She seemed set, and if Inuyasha knew anything about his daughter, it was that her stubbornness rivaled her parents’. Yikes. At least that was only half his fault.

He figured lying would get him farther than arguing for now. It’d get him home at least. “Okay. We’ll tell Mama to leave the baby because you don’t like him. Then you’ll let us go home and eat? I can smell the food. Smells good. Can you smell it, little one?”

Mizuki wrinkled her nose and sniffed the air.

“I smell it too, like Papa! It does smell good!” she agreed with enthusiasm, but Inuyasha smirked. She had to be lying. They were far away enough that Inuyasha knew she’d have trouble picking out the scent, but she was always trying so hard to keep up with him. He decided to humor her.

“You smell the stew?”

“Yes!”

“Wow, I’m so impressed. Let’s go get some. I’m starving!” He knelt down and opened his arms wide for her. When she barreled into his arms he was reminded of his great, unending love for her. He spun her around and squeezed her squirmy body as she giggled, then dipped her over to attack her face with kisses.

“Papa, let’s go!”

“Okay, okay. Let’s go.” He shot off with his usual pace when carrying his daughter. She liked to feel the bounce of his steps, laughing her way as they went up then down. It was slower than his run, but way more fun. He figured he should put her in the best mood possible when they broke the news that they were going to have to keep her brother around.

“We’re home,” Inuyasha announced as they entered.

Kagome was standing near the futon, rocking the baby in her arms gently.

“Good timing. Shouya just had dinner and just fell asleep.”

“I’m envious. Sounds like a good life,” he joked.

Mizuki tugged on his arm. “Papa.”

Right.

“So Kagome, I have some bad news.” When she looked at him confused, he made sure to emote that everything was fine. He liked how easily they communicated.

“Oh yeah?” she goaded.

“Yup. Looks like we’ll have to get rid of the new baby.”

“Oh no! That’s so sad. Why’s that?”

Mizuki squirmed around and pulled her father’s face down. “Papa!” she whispered with urgency.

He held up a finger, motioning for Kagome to hang on. She gave him a smile to show her amusement. He missed her face today. He hasn’t seen enough of her while he was out distracting their daughter. Speaking of which…

“What’s up, kiddo?”

She cupped her small hands around her mouth to relay her secret message. “Tell Mama you don’t want the baby! Don’t tell her I don’t want him.”

“Mizuki, I’m not going to lie to Mama. You’re the one who wants him gone, so you should tell her,” he whispered back. He lifted his head back to Kagome, assuming she must have at least heard some of their conversation. “Mama, Mizuki has something to tell you,” Inuyasha proclaimed, full-well knowing he was throwing her under the bus. Poor thing.

The girl seemed to go red in his arms, suddenly panicked as she faced the most intimidating figure in her (and his) life: her mother.

“Is that so? What do you need to tell me, Mizuki?”

“I--” She sputtered and her eyes began to water and she looked up at her father, silently pleading for him to take over. He shook his head. Of course he felt bad, but she wasn’t being very cooperative when he asked. Kagome was their best bet at getting some answers. If she could get him to open up, she’d manage a five year-old.

“You?” she leaded.

“I want the baby to go away!” she admitted quickly. Her mouth turned itself into a defiant pout, as if she was putting on a brave face.

Kagome paid it no mind. “You do? Why?”

She hesitated for a second before supplying, “I don’t like him!”

“Okay, but why?”

Mizuki whined; a true, genuine whine that sounded like a puppy.

Inuyasha would’ve broken, but Kagome seemed unfazed. How could she? Did she have no heart? It amazed him.

“Do you not like him because he’s a boy?”

“No.”

“You don’t like how he smells?”

“No…”

“Are you jealous?”

Bingo.

Mizuki ruffled and got even redder in the face. Inuyasha gave his daughter a reassuring pat. They already figured that was the problem, but it was a new feeling for her to navigate.

“Mizuki, are you jealous that Mama spends so much time with Shouya?” Kagome asked softly.

“No!” she yelped back.

“Don’t yell at your mother,” Inuyasha chastised.

She shrunk down, her ears flattening. It must have felt like they were ganging up on her, but the time had come for her unexplained tantrums to end. With pent up frustration and embarrassment, pools of tears began to stream down her face and she cried, “I hate him!”

“You don’t have to be jealous, kiddo.”

She wailed, and Shouya finally took notice of the volume, beginning to wiggle and fuss in his mother’s arms. Kagome motioned for Inuyasha to take her away so she could calm him down before he had his own fit. The baby was a heavy sleeper and not a huge crier, but he was cranky when woken up. They’d both be miserable with the two of them crying up a storm, especially Inuyasha with his sensitive hearing.

As soon as he got out the door, he went into comforting mode. There was no use trying to talk to his little girl in this state. He bounced her up and down, shushing her and rubbing her back as she got out her tears and hiccuped.

Inuyasha wracked his brain for the right approach. He had only recently come to terms with expressing his emotions. How was he supposed to tell a child to handle hers? “It’s okay to have feelings, you know.”

Exhausted from crying, she slumped against his shoulder.

“Papa gets jealous too sometimes. Is that what’s happening? You’re jealous?”

She sniffled and slowly nodded. He could feel the heat and moisture of her tears seeping into his firerat. Probably snot too.

Gross, he thought affectionately.

“That’s alright. Do you want to tell me why?”

He felt her shake her head.

“And it’s not because Mama’s busy taking care of him?”

Another no.

He was kind of at a dead end. She was jealous without much reason behind it. Was she capable of having a good reason? He searched the recesses of his mind, channeling the nurturing care of his wife.

“Even if I love your brother, you know I don’t love you less, right?”

“Okay,” she replied in a small voice.

“Does that make it better?”

Negative.

Inuyasha sighed, feeling impatient and hopeless.

Kagome emerged from the hut just then; Shouya once again soundlessly asleep and swaddled against her chest. She smiled at him sympathetically, knowing that crying was never his wheelhouse. He’d always hated when women cried, but Mizuki’s tears were a whole other level of unbearable.

“The weather is nice. The sunset looks like it’ll be pretty,” she stated in a soft, even tone.

“Wanna take a look, kiddo?”

“The colors are pretty. The clouds are getting pink! Our favorite.”

Mizuki shuffled a little as her father angled himself so that she could see from her place on his shoulder. She turned to rest her cheek on him, but otherwise kept sniffling.

“Are you feeling any better now?” Kagome asked her daughter, placing a quick kiss to her swollen face.

Instead of replying, she tugged at her father’s hair again, using it to cover her face. It was a strange, new behavior. Usually when she wanted to hide she’d simply turn her head into his shoulder. Maybe it comforted her though.

“Not sure why she’s doing that,” Inuyasha murmured. “She does it whenever she has one of her fits now.”

Kagome stared for a while before she let out the lightest gasp. When the hanyou looked down at her curiously, he saw the familiar expression of her coming to some kind of understanding.

“Oh, Mizuki…” she cooed with sympathy. “You poor baby.”

Inuyasha raised a brow and Kagome pulled away to laugh. Whatever it was, he knew she’d explain, but it was killing him to be out of the loop.

“She just wants to be like her Papa,” she said with soothing empathy threading her tone. Kagome looked up at her husband fondly, taking her hand to cup his cheek. “From his golden eyes,” she ran her thumb across his eyebrow. Then she reached up towards his ears to stroke one until it flicked in response, “To his fuzzy ears…” she smiled brightly, “to his pretty, silver hair…” Kagome finished, loosely twirling a strand around her finger before turning her gaze to their son.

It clicked for him then.

“You’re jealous of your brother because of his hair?”

Mizuki whimpered, the scent of collecting salty tears assaulting Inuyasha once more as she grabbed more of his locks to cascade down over her own head.

Mystery solved!

It was so cute and so stupid that Inuyasha wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

“Is that really it, ‘Zuki?”

“I told you, she wants to be just like you,” Kagome reiterates, placing a soothing set of fingers to touch her daughter affectionately.

“Keh!” Yet somehow he was blushing. Maybe it had to do with the way Kagome was beaming at him, prettier than any sunset. “That’s stu--silly. What a silly reason to be upset.”

Mizuki huffed in anger.

“I mean,” he faltered. “It’s sweet. It’s very sweet.” Finally feeling like he had a hold on things and the world made sense again, he mindfully moved back his daughter’s sagging body from his shoulder, some of the hair getting pulled along with her. “But you don’t have to be jealous, little one. You’re great just the way you are, you know that?” He nuzzled their noses together.

“B-But I want to be like Papa!” she sobbed, pushing back. Not even her snotty nose or blotchy crying face could detract from how wretchedly adorable she was.

Kagome thought her heart would melt. “Papa is pretty great, but baby, you are so much like him! You don’t have to have everything be the same.”

It didn’t seem to matter. “Why does the baby have Papa’s hair and I don’t? It’s not fair!”

Both Inuyasha and Kagome exchanged looks. It was clear that Mizuki wasn’t going to get much consolation from her mother on this issue.

Finally, an idea popped into Inuyasha’s head.

“You got my eyes though, don’t ya?” He asked, looking right into her honey colored irises. They were even more intense at this golden hour.

“Yeah…” her ear twitched along with her sniffle.

He grinned. “Then you see the same way I do. You see everything I do, right?”

“Right,” she agreed.

“When I look at you, I see the most perfect little girl in the world. Beautiful eyes, cute little ears and nose, pretty hair like her mother, and the best smile. I see all that. You see it too?”

Mizuki’s eyes watered again, but she nodded. Kagome took the time to brush back the hair stuck to her face.

Inuyasha prodded his daughter more. “You see it, kiddo? Just like me?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s what I want to hear!” He pulled her from his body and hoisted her into the air. It was one of their favorite things to do. He spun her around and tossed her until she was nothing but an exhausted heap of smiles, and the stars began to twinkle in the early evening sky.

Later that night when she was about to sleep, Mizuki looked at her brother for a long time before turning away with a curt, “Goodnight baby. We won’t give you away.”

Kagome snorted back a laugh and had her husband put her to bed. Crying, laughing, and letting go of a grudge all in one day really took it out of their poor toddler. Still, seeing Inuyasha fumble through feelings and childrearing-- it all felt so surreal. It felt like home, and she’d never been more content with her life.

Once the kids were both asleep and tucked away, Inuyasha sat behind his wife and finally held her close, his head sitting on her shoulder. He inhaled her scent to re-center himself.

“Tough to be a dad?” she asked teasingly.

“She’s a lot to handle.”

“She’s just like her father.”

Inuyasha rolled his eyes but let them fall shut as he nuzzled into the crook of her neck.

Kagome turned her cheek and pressed her lips against his bangs.

“Perfect to me,” she added.

Embarrassed but happy, he simply tightened his arms around her. “Yeah, yeah.”

#inukag #inuyasha #inukag babies #kagome higurashi #mizuki #shouya #justafewsmallsteps #jelly art #sango #miroku #jelly fic

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kenmasgameboy · 4 years

Text

【ｒｅａｃｈｉｎｇ】

an oikawa x seijoh president!reader

oikawa toru has so many girls falling at his feet, but it wasn’t always like this. when y/n met him there was no one yet to inflate his ego, when he was pure to himself, the person he is when it isn’t performative. she fell in love. after forcing a rejection from him, where he says he never saw her as a girl, she’s determined to become the absolute perfect girl for every one except him.

profiles: [ student council ] [ on the block ]

masterlist

listen to the mixtape while you read

↬ entry #1: age 6 ➺ chapter 1: age 18 ➺ next

age 18:

𝕚. different now

MAKE SURE TO READ THE WRITTEN PORTION BELOW THE CUT

Your hands felt like they were surely going to fall off at any moment. You never really did get used to being in front of big crowds like this. Even last year when you had to give your first speech as a presidential candidate to the school you wanted to burst into flames. Your hands always did this thing when you were nervous, ever since you were little they’d become so gross and clammy. You hated that about yourself. What a weak give away.

The principal was just beginning the ceremony, and you waited outside in the hallway until it was closer to your turn to speak, pacing back and forth you stared out the window. The mid day yellow light peaking through the large trees in front of Seijoh’s campus. You really loved these trees, they would always shake and rustle in new ways everyday, reminding you of ways that you could stand your ground but continue to change in your own way. Some seasons shedding yourself completely bare and growing a new color, or a new branch, breaking them off as you went.

Today, even the trees that normally would be there to offer you a quiet calmness didn’t help you today. Your body still succumbing to its stage fright. This was your first appearance as Aoba Johsai School President to your student body that you represented, you needed a perfect impression. You needed to be perfect. The more you thought about it the jitters in your hands only increased, you tried to loosen the tightness, shaking them from your wrist downwards in hopes they would just fall off. You always did this before volleyball games and it never failed you. You only stopped your nasty habit when you heard rapid footsteps coming in your direction.

“Hey, there you are. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” Sora’s voice carried down the hallway. Your vice president had been looking for you. His chest heaved in breaths to try to regulate his body after running around.

“Sorry. I’ll be inside in a second, I just—” You said, pulling your hands behind your back to hide them. But it was too late.

“Are you nervous? Why? Everyone already loves you it’s not like they’ll change their minds now.” Sora said it lightheartedly, but there was a pressure that sat on your shoulders when he said it. An extra weight of expectation.

“Don’t say that.” You shrugged off the compliment, thinking about one face in particular. You groaned at the way he still had an effect on you. You thought of Toru’s eyes, “Not everyone.”

“Maybe not. You’re right, I can’t speak for everyone.” Sora smiled softly, “But as your Vice, I can speak for you. And I know you’ll be perfectly fine up there. I have full confidence. If you start stuttering, just take a second and keep going. We practiced this morning, right?”

“Right.” You nodded, your throat suddenly becoming overwhelmingly dry. “I know, I just have a lot on my plate today, there’s too much I’m not looking forward to.”

“Then let’s check one thing off, right? Let’s go out there.” Sora said, he grabbed your hand in his tugging you along. You weren’t ready, he wasn’t listening to you yet. But maybe he was right, you did need to be out there sooner than later. Still, you needed a few moments to collect yourself, to dampen your hands, something.

You couldn’t say anything, You became paralyzed in place as you looked at the back of Sora’s head. Your legs felt numb as they carried you in stride behind him down the hallway. His hand holding yours, it reminded you of someone again. Seeing him again this morning in class must’ve resurged these memories you pushed away as nothing. This was different, this wasn’t him. The back of Sora’s head was shiny and straight. His blond hair didn’t bounce, and he didn’t look back to smile at you. There was a sinking feeling in your stomach, it didn’t feel like nerves or anything like that. It felt like a settlement.

Your eyes ended up drifting off to the right, only slightly enough to catch the eyes that were more familiar than you remembered. His hair looking darker than when you were young, but it shined all the same. He still shined, even when he wasn’t smiling at you. Your eyes followed each other. The moment slowing down to make your first dose of eye contact in 2 years a dangerous and addictive cocktail.

Your hands were still sweaty, still nervous and shaking. It broke away from the confines of Sora’s palm. You need to grip them tighter when she’s nervous. The boy who stood innocently by the restroom found himself offering silent advice in his head. Toru couldn’t take his eyes away from the light that poured between the gap of You and Sora’s palms. It’s like he saw an opening, illuminating his opportunity and his body.

For the first time in ages, he felt the nostalgic need to grab those familiar sweaty palms. For a second he thought you’d stay with him, stay back and ask what he was doing in the hallway by the boys bathroom and not by your side? Why did he waste so much time? Did he think you were more beautiful today than every day he’s seen you before? He needed you to ask him those questions.

His daydream was over in a second, once your face contorted from the hopeful surprise of someone who used to calm you into a disappointed grimace of remembering the hurt he had caused you that erased everything from before. You kept jogging behind Sora, no words were exchanged. You didn’t need to say anything to Toru, he heard you loud and clear.

“I hope you regret it. I hope you regret everything. I’ll never trust you like that again, not really.”

To him, this was a challenge worthy of taking. The time to change it all was now.

***

【ｆｕｎ　ｆａｃｔｓ】

➺ Michi was late to the student arrival because she was slipping a love letter in Oikawa’s shoe locker. He didn’t even see it that day.

➺ Ito has really never spoken to y/n except she held the door open for him one day, he took that as she’s in love with him and too scared to tell him.

➺ Ito approached Matsukawa, Hanamaki, Iwaizumi, and Oikawa when all four were together. It was actually Oikawa who told Ito he had no chance in hell with y/n. the exact words he used was “she’s not just going to fall in love with someone who’s never cared enough to get to know her first before saying something like that. theres no way in hell you’d have a chance with a girl like her.”

➺ the other three just kind of stood there agreeing but also like “.__, tough talk coming from you, Oikawa”

➺ y/n has been starting libero since her first year, despite debating dropping volleyball in high school she decided this would look great to universities that she was involved with more than just student council. she still was invited to girls Japan youth camp for her achievements as an athlete. regardless, she still knew her real reasons were that it was the last piece of something he gave her.

➺ unlike oikawa, y/n hasn’t even thought about dating anyone in high school. she’s been single her whole life despite getting a fair amount of confessions in her time.

➺ y/n also follows oikawa on a fake account.

taglist: @chibishae34 @bby-bokuto @shittykawaa @1-800-schmacked @artsamber @berriesii @bbyazu @roseestuosity @gaytoasterstrudels @mirdy47707 @trippy-kitty @iwanttogotopluto @hvneymun @a-listaire @princessmidas @glyxiebear @akaashiwife @anejuuuuoy @kiyoojima @deimmortales99 @unstableye @sugawarabby @haikyuufairy @ashaite @bettys-other-shoe @defchamseoul @honeymoneyy @animatedrapture @alexthe80swhore @nellieleverlin @forhyunryu @thosenerdy3amthings @mariachiii @dishonestkilla

reply with a comment or send an ask to be aded to the taglist!! if your name is crossed off it’s because i couldn’t tag you, let me know if you’ve changed your username!

a/n: wOW what a doOZY of a long first chapter, they all won’t be this long but i felt like i had a lot to set up. Let me know what you guys thought!!! i hope this guys got you a bit more hyped for this story! more to come!

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lovejustforaday · 3 years

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Sonic Youth Albums Ranked (Part 1)

There are few indie/alternative bands that I’d argue are as challenging and engaging, or as formative as Sonic Youth.

From their early days as a radical no wave project, to their mid-career as a hard-hitting noise rock band, to their later years as a mellow indie band with prickly guitar tones, Sonic Youth has reinvented the concept of both the guitar and rock music in general again and again. They’ve probably made at least fifty or so never-before-heard noises with their instruments. Combining these sounds with lyrics that regularly explore disillusionment, nihilism, social transgression, pop culture, feminism, abstract thought, underground scenes, and outsider art — it’s safe to say that Sonic Youth have always gone against the grain.

The members of Sonic Youth are obviously all musicians, but they have also been iconoclasts, satirists, and poets throughout their careers, creating music that demolishes both the conventions of rock as well as the social pretensions of the conservative American lifestyle.

Each member of the main lineup contributes something fundamental to the band:

-Guitarist/vocalist/de-facto leader Thurston Moore, the no-fucks-given anti-rock star icon and visionary (albeit he’s kind of a smug twerp these days)

-Bassist/guitarist/vocalist Kim Gordon, the reserved but sharp-witted feminist and multi-disciplinary artist

-Guitarist/sometimes vocalist Lee Ranaldo, the revolutionary master of bizarre guitar tunings

-Drummer Steve Shelley, whose soft and shy demeanor masks a deliverer of precise, high-speed rhythmic anarchy

I could go on and gush about this band forever, but I’ve decided to settle for writing a big nerdy list all about how I feel each Sonic Youth album holds up when ranked. With 15 proper records in total, there is a lot to digest. Likewise, I highly encourage you if you haven’t already to go listen to some of these LPs for yourself and formulate your own opinions about one of the most fascinating bands to have ever existed. This list is really just my two cents.

Note: we will be focusing on the 15 full-length studio albums recorded under the name “Sonic Youth”. This list does not include the s/t debut EP, nor does it include the “Whitey Album” or the SYR series since those are best understood as separate side projects. This list is going to be long enough as it is anyway.

15. Rather Ripped (2006)

Main Genres: Indie Rock, Alternative Rock

A decent sampling of: Noise Rock

From any other band, this is a perfectly decent album with a few nice, gratifying guitar tones here and there. But as a Sonic Youth album, Rather Ripped sounds like the band is on auto-pilot. This is the band’s only album that to my ears sounds like it could’ve been written by any number of other alternative rock bands at the time. It just lacks a certain essential edge that their music usually has.

It really doesn’t help the case for this record that Thurston Moore began having an affair at this point in the career, and it is disgustingly present in the lyrics in hindsight, with the offensively titled “Sleeping Around” and possibly even “Incinerate” both probably taking inspiration from his dirty little secret.

I usually separate art from the artist to a certain degree, but in this case it really does kill part of the experience, because I can’t help but feel that Thurston is having a stupid little giggle to himself by hiding his affair in plain sight and it’s really just kind of pathetic. Kim Gordon is my favourite member of the band, and to me she’s the epitome of an extremely cool person, which only makes the whole thing worse. Seriously, quit bragging old man.

Speaking of “Incinerate”, I can confidently say that I think this is the band’s most overrated song. Certainly not their worst, but I really can’t fathom how so many people consistently put this up there with “Schizophrenia” or “The Diamond Sea” as one of Sonic Youth’s top five songs when it’s honestly just so...by the numbers.

That being said, Rather Ripped is not ‘bad’ per se, it’s mostly just that it really lacks something the band usually has, which makes the project feel a little soulless. Still, the record has its better moments. “Pink Stream” is rather ethereal sounding, which is pretty rare in the band’s discography given their usual penchant for the bombastic and ear-shattering, or the ominous and unsettling. “Turquoise Boy” is also a nice mellow track that probably could’ve fit in quite well as one of many solid tracks on A Thousand Leaves, albeit most of those tracks would still trounce this one.

Rather Ripped is all-around competent; it’s a pretty consistent listen and a decent enough beginner-level Sonic Youth album in terms of accessibility. But there’s just nothing about this album that really grabs me like literally any of their other LPs. There’s almost none of the band’s personality on this record (save perhaps Thurston’s inflated ego). Perhaps it is best to call it their “least interesting” album instead of their “worst”. Honestly, you could just skip this one and you probably wouldn’t miss much.

6/10

highlights: “Pink Stream”, “Turquoise Boy”

14. The Eternal (2009)

Main Genres: Indie Rock, Alternative Rock

A decent sampling of: Noise Rock

The Eternal is the last LP Sonic Youth put out as a band. With context, the record has somewhat of a somber feeling. Even its name ‘The Eternal’ seems to suggest that the band might’ve known that it would be their last record, as if the album could be at least partially a reflection on the band’s legacy that will eventually go on to outlive each member.

The band really does sound a little burnt out at multiple points on this record, particularly in terms of Thurston’s vocals which can be best described as sounding ‘exhausted’. Again, like Rather Ripped, the music is certainly competent and enjoyable, but it’s also noticeably less adventurous than on earlier LPs. The album is also a bit more sluggish than most of the band’s past work, feeling just about as long as Daydream Nation or Washing Machine despite being well over 10 minutes shorter than either of those LPs.

I’ll be perfectly honest: if it weren’t for “Massage The History”, this record probably wouldn’t be all that much better than Rather Ripped. Kim Gordon gets to have the very last words on the record with this grim and cryptic requiem about hers and Thurston’s relationship, indicating that she was at least partially aware at the time that the two of them were growing apart.

This would be the last album Sonic Youth put out before Kim became fully aware of Thurston’s affair with a younger woman, leading to her divorce and the band’s inevitable breakup. The song is honestly kind of painful to listen to for that reason, but it is also tragically and morbidly beautiful. “Massage The History” is chronologically the last track in the entire Sonic Youth discography which stretches across 15 LPs over the course of three decades, and it’s a very worthy swan song for the band, if also a bitter reminder that most things cannot last.

“Malibu Gas Station” is another standout, a nocturnal alternative rock jam that sounds very much like a track from the Sister-Daydream Nation-Goo era, and yet another example of Kim Gordon’s capabilities as a member of the band. Really, Kim basically carries this entire LP on her shoulders in terms of the lyrics and vocals.

Nevertheless, I like this record for what it represents if nothing else, and I would still say that it is a level above Rather Ripped thanks to the album closer, and more on par with the next couple of albums on this list. However, I would never recommend that anyone start their Sonic Youth journey with this LP. You can listen to their discography in just about any order you want to, but I’d highly recommend that you save this one for last. The Eternal is a mostly bittersweet experience that is best appreciated after hearing the rest of the band’s output.

7/10

highlights: “Massage The History”, “Malibu Gas Station”

13. Experimental Jet Set, Trash, And No Star (1994)

Main Genres: Noise Rock, Alternative Rock

A decent sampling of: Experimental Rock, Post-Punk

Experimental Jet Set, Trash, And No Star came right after the modest commercial success of Goo and Dirty, and I think you can hear on this LP that the band is reacting to that success by trying to resharpen some of the edges that were smoothed out by Butch Vig’s production on Dirty. Basically, this sounds rather like Dirty but less put-together, less consistent, and a lot more raw.

I appreciate that they wanted to do their own thing and challenge expectations again, and you can really tell that the band is mostly playing around on this record, but in this case I gotta say that the songwriting seems to suffer a little because of that.

The album starts off promising enough with two major highlights. First, there’s a rare acoustic offering with the lo-fi opener “Winner’s Blues”, the first of many tracks that would appear on later Sonic Youth LPs proving that Thurston’s vocals can actually be quite soothing. Then there’s the winding, topsy-turvy patterns of “Bull In The Heather” where lyrically Kim mocks the infantilization of women in her usual snarky, sing-talking fashion. Later on the record, there’s also “Bone” which has a very sinister, bluesy swagger to it that I really enjoy.

But everything else from here on out is kind of a mixed bag. The main setback really seems to be the track lengths; it’s actually pretty weird for a Sonic Youth album at this point in the band’s career to be full of songs that are mostly only two or three minutes long like they are on Experimental Jet Set, Trash, and No Star. That’s not inherently bad of course, but a lot of these tracks really only sound like ‘parts’ of a Sonic Youth song; some really good ideas, but largely underdeveloped.

Take “Starfield Road” for example, which takes a whole minute to build up this really cool and bizarre turbulent sound storm, and then Thurston starts singing over it for a couple of bars until it all sorta just stops abruptly. This track could work in theory if it was structured differently. “Mildred Pierce” off of Goo does something similar, but with that track there’s pay off at the end with the sudden wicked, destructive breakdown which catches you off guard, but here there’s simply no pay off for the listener.

Combine the lack of complete songwriting with the fact that this is actually one of the longest tracklistings on any Sonic Youth album at 14 tracks, and you get an album that feels like it’s bloated with lots of filler. Mind you, there’s still a lot of great little moments on this LP, but very few of them come together to make great songs. It’s an excellent sampler of just how many different ways Sonic Youth can play with a riff or make weird new static noises, but with regards to songwriting, Experimental Jet Set, Trash, and No Star feels more like a collection of demo tapes than a proper album. Still, there’s some cool energy on this record and I’d say it’s a worthwhile listen for any diehard fan.

7/10

highlights: “Bull In The Heather”, “Bone”, “Winner’s Blues”

12. NYC Ghosts & Flowers (2000)

Main Genres: Experimental Rock, Noise Rock, Art Rock

A decent sampling of: Post-Rock, Art Punk, Beat Poetry, No Wave

This is a good example of why we can’t have nice things. Somewhere between A Thousand Leaves and this record, Sonic Youth had most of their gear stolen by some jackass, which effectively meant pressing a hard reset button on the band’s sound for at least one album.

Likewise, a lot of people say that this is their worst record, and yeah I get why those people feel that way, but I actually like NYC Ghosts & Flowers for the fact that it forced the band to undergo yet another major sonic transformation. It‘s certainly more consistently interesting than Rather Ripped or The Eternal, just a very strange album in general, and for that it gets some extra points. I should also mention that this is the first of a couple of albums where the band collaborated with the acclaimed avant-garde artist Jim O’Rourke.

With lyrics influenced by the legendary mid-20th century ‘beat poetry’ scene born out of the band’s own New York City, this is the most 'abstract' Sonic Youth ever sounded. You can hear hints of the band’s no wave origins on this record, but with all of the crude chaos of those early LPs replaced with cerebral tension.

It’s also more sparse than any of their other studio albums, even more so than the dark and intangible Bad Moon Rising. Unfortunately, in this case that also leads to some tracks like “Nevermind (What Was It Anyway)” feeling somewhat empty, or perhaps sometimes too monotonous or repetitive without enough sonically gratifying moments.

But there are exceptions, and the middle portion of this album is where the new formula mostly thrives. “Small Flowers Crack Concrete” is vivid post-rock art poetry, not unlike a more noisy, sporadic version of some of the songs off of Slint’s beloved post-rock classic Spiderland. “Side2Side” is very aurally pleasing, with plinkety guitar staccatos and Kim’s voice hopping from one ear to the other like some kind of noise rock ASMR.

“StreamXSonik Subway” is a freaky little track that sounds calmly menacing, and I really like the high-pitch computer-y bloops. But then right after that there’s the seven and a half minute title track “NYC Ghosts & Flowers” which could probably give me a headache if I didn’t distract myself with something else while I was listening to it; truly maybe the worst track of the band’s entire discography if I was asked to pick one.

Overall, I’d say that NYC Ghosts & Flowers is a very artistic and fascinating experience in the moment, but I don’t really end up remembering much of it an hour or two after listening to the record. It just doesn’t really stay with me like some of their other records, and I don’t often feel the need to revisit this LP. I think Sonic Youth does the whole ‘sparseness' thing better when they’re aiming to sound vast, haunting, or nihilistic, as opposed to this kind of small, cerebral, sit-down-in-an-empty-room-and-listen experience which I personally find a bit more suited to other bands.

That being said, I applaud them for taking a lot of risks on this one, and I genuinely like NYC Ghosts & Flowers for the moments where it really does seem to be on the cusp of something groundbreaking. It's also a pretty polarizing record for most listeners, so maybe you’ll love it.

7/10

highlights: “Small Flowers Crack Concrete”, “Side2Side“, “StreamXSonik Subway”

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