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rosewaterandivy · 6 months

Text

got lovesick all over my bed

Summary: it might be worth it for once.

Warnings: facetime shenanigans, rockstar!gf had one too many glasses of merlot, my usual brand of filth™️

a/n: be a slut, do whatever you want!

🎶 everyone wants him, that was my crime, the wrong place at the right time 🎶

It was stupid.

Borne of desperation and one too many glasses of red wine, and it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Steve was off filming for the next few weeks and you were back in an empty house in Laurel Canyon. You tried, unsuccessfully, to not be a bitter Betty about it all; oh, woe is me! My incredibly talented boyfriend has to go back to work.

Were you even his girlfriend?

Jesus Christ.

It’s been what, less than two weeks and you’re already spiralling.

Shuffling from the couch you pocket your phone and try to ignore the desire to double-text.

Hey

Could you be any more pathetic? Hadn’t even “defined the relationship,” whatever that meant, and already slipping. You know he’s busy, on-set, and suffering through night shoots in the desert somewhere.

Leaning against the island of your kitchen, you uncork some wine and pour it into a glass. Watching as the crimson liquid sloshes against the curved glass, you idly wonder if you should seal the deal and live your best Olivia Pope fantasy by having popcorn for dinner.

Before you could think better of it, you felt the subtle vibration of your phone in your pocket,

S.H.: Hey yourself

wow, so clever

wow, so bratty

You bit your lip and took a sip of wine in an attempt to quell the low swoop of your stomach.

The texts were intermittent for the next hour or so before he was called back to set. It was a nice distraction from the utter lack of plans you had for the evening. Your producer had sent over the final mix of your new album that you needed to proof and sign off on, so that was the plan while Steve was off filming for the next few hours.

He’d asked if he could call you later, once filming wrapped for the evening and you’d agreed not realizing that it would be nearing 2 a.m. and you’d be half a bottle in.

Settled back in your bedroom freshly showered and laptop atop the duvet cover, you’re only briefly startled when the FaceTime ring trills out.

“Shit!”

You quickly pause the song you were listening through and hope you look halfway decent before answering Steve’s call. Mussing your hair, you minimize the image of yourself and enlarge the one of him.

“Hey sweetheart.”

Steve smiles slow and sweet, huffing a laugh at your poor attempts at primping.

“Stop messing with your hair, you look great.”

“Uh huh,” you brush off with a smirk, “Watch me make red wine drunk the next trendy TikTok look.”

He looks to be back at the Palm Springs house, settled against the headboard of the bed that you swore was going to fall off the wall from the sheer amount of times he’d fucked you into the mattress the last time you visited.

Your skin warms at the thought.

“Can’t wait.” He smiles and takes a screenshot as you flip him off, he’s always doing shit like that— his iPhone or one of his many film cameras or, your least favorite, FaceTime. Says he has to have up-to-date photos of you for the Missing Person posters he'll make once the coyotes finally get you out in the Canyon.

What a dork.

“How was your day?”

“Oh fine,” you say with a sigh. “Did a whole bunch of nothing, showered, I was proofing the final tracks for the album and then you called.”

“Oh,” he pulls a face, grimacing because he thinks he’s disrupted you at work, “I can fuck off if you—”

“Harrington, if you finish that sentence I swear to god—”

“Fine, fine,” he relents with a chuckle and runs a hand through his hair, knocking the glasses off of his head. “So that’s where these went.”

You roll your eyes, this man, honestly.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, just tired is all.” He heaves a sigh. “These night shoots are the fucking worst.”

You hum, “I can imagine. The cold desert at night?” You blow a raspberry, “And you’re worried about coyotes carrying me off?”

“I have a vested interest in your safety, y’know.”

“Oh, I’m well aware.” You tease, taking another sip of wine. “I got thick thighs and a fat ass, and the only person I want to eat me is you.”

“Aww, I’m touched.” Steve laughs, hand to his heart. “Look at you, gettin’ all sappy and borderline cannibalistic over FaceTime.”

“I know,” you demure and bat your lashes. “I’m so emotionally mature.” Setting the glass on the nightstand, you lean forward inadvertently giving him a generous view of your tits.

“Anyway,” you sit back against the pillows of your bed. “What’re you wearing, honey?”

It’s like his brain glitches for a moment or two, and he needs to reboot.

“Uh,” he glances down with a furrowed brow. “Boxer briefs.”

“Thrilling.”

Could it be that Steve’s never done something like this before? It hadn’t been exactly discussed between you, but he was looking so delectable and you missed him so much.

Fuck it.

“What about you?”

A slow smile splits your face, a waggle of your brows. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Instead of a verbal reply, you pan the camera down to display your latest lingerie acquisition— pale pink and adorned with tasteful floral embroidery, because Steve is a sucker like that. You can hear him swallow and his shallow breaths from the speakers.

“D’ya like it?”

“Fuck.”

There was a rustling sound as he settled more comfortably on the bed. The room lights were dimmed casting shadows across his bronzed skin, an errant lock of hair falling in his face. His voice was so low when it came through the speakers that it sent heat straight to the pit on your stomach, “Wish you were here.”

“Me too baby,” you purr and set the macbook further down on your bed. “Tell you what,” you say taking a final sip of wine, “Why don’t you go ahead and record this for those lonely desert nights, hmm?”

His eyes nearly fall out of his skull. “Y’sure?”

“Course I am handsome.”

He was leaned over in front of the camera, undoubtedly attempting to prop it up on something and hit record.

“Gonna be good for me?” you rasp when he comes back into view, “Let me take my time with you?”

Steve nods, eyes finding yours as his breaths even out. You watched him hook his thumbs into the band of the boxer briefs and drag them down his toned thighs on screen. His hard length sprung to his stomach once the waistband passed his tip, hard and thick where it lay. You licked your lips.

He took himself slow, his fist tight at his tip as he slid down his length at an excruciating pace. That was how he usually slid into you, savoring that first push as you surround his cock in your warmth.

Your core fluttered in time with the stroke of his palm, slow and deep passes up and down his length that would no doubt feel like ecstasy inside you.

“Feel good baby?”

You own hand skates down your torso, lingering here and there before ever so gently brushing against your clit.

“Thinkin’ about my pretty mouth wrapped around your cock?”

He let out a moan, eyes rolling back at a particularly good stroke.

Fingers stuttering over your clothed clit, your free hand snakes behind you to unclasp the bra and let it fall down your arms.

You watched as he fell back fully on the bed, his hand picking up pace as the other reached down to cup his balls. A choked moan came from the screen followed by even more hushed words.

“Miss you daddy,” you whine. “Want your big cock fucking my mouth n’ gettin’ me all messy.”

Barely able to swallow around your dry mouth, you watched him lift his head and watched his hand stroke his length. Steve’s face was obscene; eyebrows furrowed deeply and mouth hanging open in pleasure.

You were overstimulated if anything, never imagining you would have such a visual of him getting off while you were beyond wet, almost uncomfortably so. Your clit pulsed as you caught on screen Steve moan a choked fuck as he writhed on his borrowed bed.

Fingers pressing headily against your clit, you rubbed tight circles around the slick bud at the sight on the screen. Couldn’t remember the last time you’d been this wet for long-distance sex, no matter the hour. Dipping your fingers beneath the lace of your underwear, the slick of your slit wetting your fingertips.

A small whimper left your lips as the contact, wishing that they were Steve’s fingers slipping through your folds instead.

“Fuck, I’m so wet for you.”

He cursed deeply as he slowed his pace, mostly likely trying to hold out from coming too soon. Everything made it hard for you to articulate what you wanted at that moment.

On screen Steve brought you back, his head tilted back as he pumped his length beautifully. You could see his stomach tensing. You could see the tops of his thighs jumping before they disappeared from the camera’s view where they hung off the edge of the bed. You could see his jaw clench every time his tight fist circled his tip. The sound of him spit slick and stroking himself was so lewd paired with his pants and moans.

While you were enamored with the screen, the fingers of your free hand brushed your nipples. You couldn’t stop your gasp if you wanted to. Every touch had your cunt clenching and begging for attention.

You could tell he was close, and kept teasing your skin but refrained from dipping a finger into your slit. Your breathing was labored, soft whines elicited from the back of your throat as on screen Steve moaned your name.

“So pretty daddy, wanna see you come so bad.”

He was breathless at hearing your words, the low rasp of your voice filtering through the speakers. Fuck, does he miss you.

You sigh again, whimper like a little punctuation, sheets rustling. “Thinkin’ bout your tongue and how wet you make me,” and your voice is so low, so needy, “I wish you were here. Touching me all over.” And the picture in his mind of you, so pretty and open, wild at the mere memory of him—

“Keep going. Think about me riding you, baby. Slow at first, how you like, taking you a little bit at a time. You’re always so hard.”

There it is, egging his own fist on to match the pace of a subtle and steady sluiced-up rhythm, your fingers working over, inside, back out, twisting and turning.

He’s lost in the way his heart pounds all the harder at the sounds you make because it means you’ve let yourself go. How you’d scramble for his fingers next, lacing them through yours, squeezing him there and everywhere.

And oh, how exquisite you look with that sheen of sweat across your chest. Hovering over him like a goddess and fucking him like a wet dream.

“Baby,” red lip pulled pale between his teeth, hands working in tandem—imitation and imagination constructing a well-oiled machine in your absence. “Baby, fuck. Miss you on me—miss you fucking me. God–”

“Yeah? Gonna come?” You’re panting, too, noises high and obscene, the background echo of your hand growing more frantic and unrestrained. “Me too, pretty boy. I want to do everything with you—have all of you. Your hands, your mouth, your cock.”

It’s all too fast. Your words, his words, your hands, his hands. Feels like he’s barely started when his eyes roll back against his lids. He’s spilling out, over his fist, up his clenched abdomen, body pulled tight, panting heavy and hard as he tugs at himself a few more times, breathing and listening, heart rattling against his ribcage when you whimper one last time.

Watching him come was enough to bring you hurtling over the edge, fingers pumping messily in and out of your sopping cunt, imagining yourself there and clenching around him instead. Your eyes flutter close, your release drenching your hand.

Steve aches then. His eyes flutter open. Heat smothered cold and lonesome like the embers of a dying fire. His neck hurts. His heart hurts.

“Babe,” you say and he hears it in you, too—the same ache, the same want. Like at the end of every call you’ve made to him since you’d left Palm Springs.

“When you get back,” you sigh, the telltale mantle of sleep falling over you, “I’m gonna let you know just how much I miss you.”

He’s hot all over, chasing the ghost of your doting kisses, the phantom touch of your skillful hands. “Jesus, sweetheart.”

A cheeky wink followed by a sleepy wave, and then you’re gone.

He closes out of FaceTime and types out a text to Robin.

Need an appointment with Lorraine Schwartz ASAP pls.

And if he peruses the jeweler’s instagram studying engagement rings for the next hour, well, no one needs to know.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfiction #modern!actor steve #hmlhr #Spotify

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pablitogavii · 6 months

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Hey I’ve love your stories for quite a while now and it’s absolutely amazing btw!!!! But I kinda wanted to request like enemies to lovers trope. Something about Gavi and the reader hating each other but gavi still like over protecting and jealous over the reader

Nerd.

Pablo Gavi...loved my many...hated by some (mostly jealous fanatics) was the biggest bully you ever met in your life.

Everything started the evening the Gavira family invited yours to dinner when you moved to the neighborhood six years ago. You grabbed a cup of milk but as you turned back you collided with Pablo's chest spilling it all over his brand new white Barça hoodie.

Ever since then, he would purposefully bump into you, call you "nerd" and mess with your by stealing your glasses and making you reach for them. God! Couldn't he just get over something that happened when you were 11 years old!?

"Let's just take two cars and meet there?" Fermin suggested since there was quite a bit of people going to watch them play El Classico today at Camp Nou.

"I'll go with them.." you said walking towards the group away from Pablo just wanting to avoid his snarky comments.

"Whatever nerd!" he said and Fermin hit his chest in annoyance really trying to figure out why was his friend so mean only to you all the goddamn time!??

"Qué pasa!?Estás enamorado de ella o algo así, hermano?" Fermin said and Pablo just snarled shaking his head while watching you get into another car your skirt rising up as you moved. His shorts got tight!!!

When you arrived, there were some members form the opposite team already at the hallway and you got all shy being surrounded by so many famous players. Every single one was more handsome than the other...of course your bully had to be the most handsome of all!!! Damn, you're screwed in the head for thinking it!!!

One of the boys was definitely chatting you up while Pablo was observing the whole thing utterly furious. After barely five seconds, you heard Pablo's annoyed voice.

"Hey! Nerd! Come here!" Pablo said and you were rudely interrupted from answering a question from a boy who seemed genuinely interested.

"I was talking to him!" you say but Pablo's hand was already around your wrist as he pulled you away from a guy who was very loudly protesting while your friends watching in confusion.

"What do you want from me Pablo!??" you said pulling away standing in the empty room with Pablo pacing around and grunting in annoyance.

"You do know he is the enemy right!? You don't just go fuck an enemy!" Pablo was yelling without thinking about his words and you just stared at him in utter disbelief. Did he really think you would let someone do that after simply sharing two sentences with him!? Now, he really hurt your feelings!

"Good luck on your game, Pablo.." you said with tearful eyes clouding your classes before running out of the room just wanting to go home already. You were used to his occasional teasing, maybe even rude nicknames like 'nerd',or 'four eyes', but now he really passed the line.

"No..wait! Please! Nerd!..Um..Y?N!!!" Pablo was yelling after you but they were already calling him to join the others in the dressing room.

The whole game, Pablo was agitated getting angry easily and getting himself a yellow card already in the first half. You were at home still watching the game (ofc!) but it was mainly Fermin trying to calm down Gavi on the screen.

Seeing his handsome face despite bringing you butterflies now reminded you of those awful words..is that really how he saw you???

"Hijo de puta, ella es mía después del juego!" the player whispered to Gavi during the corner kick and he pushed him down without second though receiving another yellow which added into the red and got him kicked off the field. He theatrically exited tossing his jersey aside before sitting down in the chair.

Despite what happened with Pablo, Barça won, (luckily) and you turned off the TV getting ready for bed. You really dolled up today with a Barça jersey and your favorite skirt as a chosen outfit..you kinda wanted Pablo to notice but instead he called you a whore!

You were working diligently on your assignment trying to get your mid off things while it was roaring rain outside. Suddenly someone knocked on the door of your apartment. You were terrified...it was late..your mom was on her business trip..and someone is at the door!? Scary!

You tried looking through the peep hole but it was too dark to see.

"Um..who is it??" you said and there was a silence for a few minutes.

"It's me! Open up, nerd!!" Pablo said and you sighed in relief that it was someone you knew but then you realized who exactly was in front of your door right now..what was he doing all the way up here tonight!?

You opened up and there he was completely drenched looking hotter than ever before..damn it's even better than in the edits..Get yourself together Y/N!!! "Um..what..what are you doing here P..Pablo?" you were a mumbling shy mess and he could tell that he was making you very much nervous right now.

He changed into some clean clothes he had in his bag from practice before coming our of the bathroom to your still flustered face.

"Why are you always so shy around me!?" he said a bit roughly and you just looked down in embarrassment. You couldn't exactly be hones't, could you?? It's because I love you even though you make fun of me every single waking moment of every day!!!

"Ughh you're impossible to understand nerd!!!" he said walking into the living room and you followed after him like a lost puppy. He saw all your paperwork on the floor matching with your books and graphs.

"You weren't sleeping?? It's late?" he said and you just shook your head sitting back down on the ground wanting to continue your work.

"I had to study.." you answer simply.

He sat down as well looking at you working but what you didn't know is just how much in awe he was seeing you like this..it made him want you so badly. You might be the sexiest nerd he's ever laid eyes on...

"You know why I call you nerd???" he said raising up your chin and you looked into him with those dowey eyes through your big glasses. He slowly took your glasses off smirking at your blushed cheeks.

"Because you hate me..?" you say finally gaining bravery to look him straight in the eyes and he smiled shaking his head while caressing your chin. Was this really real right now!!?

"Because I love you.." he said and your whole belly got filled with butterflies..this was indeed real..you were not hallucinating..Pablo Gavi loves you too!!?

"Umm..today was the first day to hear you call me Y/n.." you say to that looking away from his eyes again.

"And did you like that??" he asked this time tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. You just shrugged your shoulders not knowing how to feel about all of this..it was so sudden..you were excited and scared of waking up from a dream all at the same damn fucking time!!!

"Because, you know..there are other things I can call you..hmm..like mi amor..." he moved closer while whispering that nickname into your ear and then leaving a slow kiss on your earlobe while you closed your eyes in ecstasy.

"Nena preciosa.." he whispered again this time moving lower to kiss your neck and you gasped which he really like..you knew what you were doing to him. Little minx!!!

"Mi princesa guapa.." he said moving up and sucking marks into your skin until reaching your chin and kissing it softly while holding your face as you slowly opened your eyes to look at his hungry looking lips. He was like a starved predator and you were his only prey.

"Aii mis ojitos negros lindosss...I always loved how you looked at me with glasses on..like a good little girl..me vuelves loco siempre princesitaa" he said and you were still looking at his lips wanting desperately to feel them against yours right now!!!

"Are you a good little girl, preciosa??" he asked teasingly touching your lips with his thumb and you pouted nodding your head completely under his thumb right now.

"Hmm that's good,..but I want more..I want you to be only my good little girl, vale? I don't want you talking to anybody ever again..toda mia siempre!!" he growled the last part finally devouring your lips as you moaned into the kiss moving to straddle his lap and he welcomed it with a smirk.

Pablo was groaning the more you were moving on his lap before you two pulled away from air and he kept you on his lap with his strong arms wrapping tightly around your body.

"I only did it to piss you off.." you said and he looked at you with raised eyebrows.

"I talked to him because it was making you angry.." you paraphrase it and his hands lowered resting on your bum where he squeezed roughly.

"And here I thought you were a good girl nena???" he smirked and you moaned hiding your face into his neck shyly.

"I just wanted you attention..papi" you kissed his neck while he groaned at the use of the nickname he dreamed about hearing from your lips for years.

"Well you got it now preciosita" Pablo smirked kissing you again while standing up and carrying you into the bedroom putting you underneath the covers.

You were making out in bed for a good half an hour before he pulled away catching you by surprise.

"Todo bien, Pablito??" you ask and he smiled at the new nickname you found for him. If it was anyone else he would be annoyed..but you could call him what you wished to call him at all times.

"I just want to say I'm sorry about how I've been acting for the past years..I just didn't know how to show you I like you properly..so I bullied you..it's dumb!!!" he spoke and now it was your turn to take charge and shut him up with a kiss.

"Hmm I always knew you had a soft spot for me in here Pablitoo tho.." you say touching his chest where his heart was being fast and regular rhythm.

"H..how?" he was pretty stunned but wanted to hear more of it.

"Little things..you would always call me annoying whenever I got cold but always gave me your jacket.." you say and he nodded remembering how much eh would love when you give it back and it smelled so strongly of you.

"Whenever we go out and I drink, you never do..you are always the one to drive me home" you say remembering the night you accidentally 'confessed' but refused to talk about it afterwards. Pablo would often call you out on it just to annoy you but when his feeling got stronger he stopped doing it.

"Or that one time you were holding my glasses above my head so I can't reach and I slipped, fell and started crying" you said and that one made Pablo become sad..he was really an asshole and he had a lot of making up to do for you..

"Amor..I'm.." he couldn't finish the sentence because your hand was on his mouth while you were sitting on top of him.

"You dried away my tears, put my glasses back on and helped me up..I always knew I was your weak spot" you giggled removing your hand while he watched up from below in awe sitting up and starting to kiss you passionately again.

"Nerd.." he whispered into your mouth with a smirk and this time you smirked back nodding your head while wrapping your hands into his curly hair.

"Hmm a nerd that got you weak Pablo Gavi.." you said and he nodded with a chuckle laying you both back down as you were making our before both feell asleep in each other warm arms.

#gavigif #gavi #fc barça #fc barcelona #fc barca #pablo gavi x you #pablo gavi x y/n #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi icons #pablo gavi #pablo martín páez gavira #pablo gavira #pablogavira #pablogavixreadersmut #pablogavixreaderfluff

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silentium-symphony · 6 months

Text

Work of Art Modern AU (Link x Reader) I

(a/n) AAAHH I'M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!! i've reached that point in the semester where i've got either a project or an exam due every week, and i haven't had any time to write :( but i'm here now with a brand new fic for you! so thank you for waiting :)

parts will be linked and will also be available on my masterlist when they're available!

cw: link experiences unwanted sexual advances in the beginning (nothing too explicit) so please proceed with caution, afab!reader, swearing, zelda and link are besties :}, breathless conversations in a stairwell, you and link are just some awkward goobers

wc: 2.3k

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

"And this one-of-a-kind masterpiece depicts the moments leading up to the Hero's decisive victory over the Demon King. For just a moment, let's draw our eyes toward the finer details the artist has decided to depict. Look with me now at the use of light in this scene, and how it starkly contrasts..."

Is that a new crack?

Blue eyes absently traced the thin line that fractured the pillar's marble surface. A wisp of gold tickled the tips of his lashes and he huffed, coursing his fingers through his hair in a bid to keep it in place. He kept his eyes trained on the small, black fissure that coursed through the white stone.

Definitely a new crack.

Taut fingers absently fumbled the ring of keys latched to his belt while the other hand thumbed the baton's cold metal. Link's eyes fluttered shut and he let out a soft sigh, adjusting his feet to abate the blood pooling in his heels.

"--Ahem."

His broad shoulders twitched and ocean blues met irritated meadow greens, which juxtaposed the seemingly sweet smile Zelda flashed him. Link dropped his hands immediately, causing the metal nuisance to sing a dying song against his thighs; a quiet chorus of giggles served as the encore.

"Thank you," his best friend cleared her throat, "as I was saying--"

Hylia, he was so bored. He rocked on his heels and watched Zelda motion to the large, newly restored painting before them. He knew how hard she had worked on restoring the old thing, and he was proud of her for sure, but if he had to listen to her spiel about the painting's history one more time--

"Hands off the rope please." He uttered softly to the woman dangling off the red velvet. She scoffed, but her look of disdain eventually softened into something... heavier. A sultry smirk snaked its way onto her lips and her eyes turned lidded.

"Sorry, sir. I just couldn't get my eyes off such a gorgeous masterpiece. It's a work of art, y'know?"

"I understand ma'am," his knuckles tersed. "But please refrain from touching the rope."

"Oh, I'm sorry..." She dragged out. "Can I make it up to you with some coffee?"

"No thank you. I suggest you turn your attention back to the presentation. That is why you came, right?"

"Well, what if I told you I actually came for something--or in this case... someone else?"

A shudder wriggled down his spine; she continued before he had time to draft his next sentence.

"I know you've seen me around... Why do you think I visit this dump of a museum so often? To stare at the same paintings day-in-day-out?"

Her fingertip traced the velvet rope, nails softly scuffing the luxuriously-textured barricade. He kept his eyes focused on the little strands of hair peeping out of the mole on her forehead, his throat constricting and drying at the waft of cheap perfume.

"C'mon... After the museum closes, let's grab some food and head over to my place, yeah?"

"He said 'no,' ma'am." A soft voice deadpanned behind the both of them. A pair of bewildered eyes locked with calm, unblinking (E/C)s. "No means no."

"Excuse me?"

"Stop harassing him." You spat, cold venom honeying your tone. "No. Means. No. Do I need to scream to get that through your fucking head? That would draw the crowd's attention to you, don't you think? I wonder how they'd feel watching you harass someone in broad daylight...”

“Tch… Worthless piece of shit.” Red heels clicked right past you as she side-bodied your smaller frame, sending you back a step or two. Your eyes followed the storming figure as she dipped past the grand marble staircase.

“--And with that, I would like to extend my most heartfelt gratitude on behalf of all our curators here. Without your support, our work in restoring these priceless historical pieces would not be possible. So from the bottom of my heart--“

“--Thank you.” He mumbled, his pulse quickening.

You flashed him a soft smile.

"No problem. I'm sorry you had to go through that.

"It’s okay. This... Isn't the first time."

"What, she tried pulling this shit on you in the past?"

"Oh, no, I mean..." He sighed. "It's not the first time someone's done something like this. I never really knew what to say, so I just... didn't say anything, so… Thank you."

"Well, I'm glad I could help." Your smiling eyes averted towards your buzzing phone. “Oh, fuck... Sorry officer, I gotta run! Have a good night!”

"W-Wait, can I ask for--"

--your name?

You raced down the same path his unwanted suitor went a few minutes prior, back disappearing past the staircase. The warmth of gratitude in his chest chilled into a growing, aching hole. Gods, if only he had gotten your name!

"Soooo... who was that?" Zelda snickered, saddling up to the flustered man. Link's cheeks reddened and a small pout bloomed on his lips.

"No one."

"Really? So 'no one's got you all hot and bothered?"

"'Hot and--?' Nah.."

"Uh-huh, whatever you say." She slinked an arm onto his shoulder and dangled off his steady frame, watching the thoughtful wander of the museum's patrons. The air about her turned somber, and her voice dipped to a volume only the blonde could hear. "... Did someone bother you again?"

Link's lips curled into a soft smile--a rare sight, even for his lifelong friend. Confusion ticked Zelda's features as she saw this new reaction.

"Well, the one who ran off helped me with another 'admirer.'" A dreamy sigh. "I was just thanking her."

A soft, contrite smile graced the curator's lips.

"I'm happy to hear that... I'm sorry this is such a regular thing for you. I wish there was some way to know what kind of person we're selling our tickets to..."

Link waved off her concerns and shrugged her off, throwing his arms above his head and feeling the sweet, satisfying pops in his joints. His neck craned from side to side, filling the air with a chorus of crackles; Zelda visibly grimaced.

"Stop doing that! You're gonna snap your own neck one day."

"If I do, does that mean I get a day off?"

"Of course not." She retorted mirthfully.

"Man..."

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

Of course the elevator was broken.

Link heaved open the heavy metal door which led to the winding staircase unused by most tenants.

And of course he lived on the 6th floor.

With a huff, he lifted his foot on the cement step blackened from gunk and other dubious substances. He tried to pay little mind to how his shoes grew stickier with each step, or how the flickering light's buzzing drilled a dull ache through his temples. He rounded the first of many corners and kept an even pace, already beginning to feel a bit spent.

Hands fiddled around his hoodie's pocket, feeling for the familiar roundness of his earbud's case and the soft edges of his phone. As he popped his earbuds in, his eyes glazed over the dozens of unorganized playlists that littered his screen, eventually resting on the simply named 'workout' playlist. His music's volume amped up to an almost painful level in a futile effort to blend his rapidly beating heart with songs from his chosen playlist.

"ᴼ⁻ᴼᶠᶠᶦᶜᵉʳˀ"

He stopped to respond to a meme Zelda sent and texted an equally unhinged one back. The greasy scent of takeout wafted to his nostrils and he looked up, slightly confused.

"ᴼᶠᶠᶦᶜᵉʳ, ᶦˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʸᵒᵘˀ"

A body filled his peripheral; pure fear coursed through his veins as his overactive imagination transmogrified a very real and alive person into eldritch nightmares unutterable by man. His phone leaped for safety, clattering down the flight of stairs for what felt like an eternity before rolling into its final resting place by the suspicious goop in the corner.

A moment of shock-spawned stillness blanketed the two persons--before Link was racing down the staircase.

"Hylia! Are you okay?!" A familiar voice called out. He stopped, fingers hovering a few hairs away from his phone as he slowly careened his face behind him.

There you were--gorgeous, gorgeous you--donned in sweats, a hoodie, Crocs with Socks™, and a steaming bag of takeout. The harsh fluorescent light softened your silhouette, casting an almost ethereal aura about you. Link gabbled an... exclamation of sorts as he grabbed his phone. He slinked the grimy thing into his pocket as he cooly made his way up the steps, shame and a newfound desire to drink lava inapparent on his blank face.

"Yes, thank you." He rubbed his (clean) hand against the back of his reddening neck. "Fancy meeting you here."

"I can say the same to you!" You laughed, shifting the takeout from one hand to the other. "How was the rest of your shift?"

"It was uneventful, thankfully. I'd like to thank you again for helping me out earlier... I really appreciated it."

"Aww... Of course. I'm really glad I could help you out back there."

Gods, how could a smile both ease and excite him all at once?

You both started up the steps once more, silently thanking and cursing your luck. After such a hasty exit you thought you'd never see the man again, but here you were, walking side-by-side up a neverending staircase. You looked down at your food, making sure the handles weren't gonna snap or anything, and happened to catch a faint mustard stain right by your heart. If only you didn't look so... grimy.

"S-So," you started, praying he didn't catch your stutter for air, "uh, what were you listening to?"

"Um..." He panicked slightly, "Just... workout music."

"Yeah? What song?"

"Something that... always gets me pumped." He cleared his throat. "What'd you order?"

"Oh, just some poultry pilaf from the Gerudo restaurant that opened up recently!"

"The one by 3rd Street?"

"Yeah, that one! Have you tried it yet?"

"Nah. But let me know how it tastes."

"For sure!"

A much-needed silence filled the air, both of you desperately trying to hide the fact that you were fighting for your next breath. A bright red '4' filled your vision and you groaned, throwing your head back.

"Gods, these stairs go on forever."

"Tell me about it." He hissed shakily. His eyes wandered to your slightly trembling arm holding your dinner. "Do you want me to hold that?"

"Oh, no, I'm okay." You subtly wiped the sweat beading your brow. "My floor's coming up. Thank you though."

"What floor do you live on? If you don't mind me asking."

"The 6th!"

6th...?

"Me too."

"Really? I'm surprised I never saw you around though. I’d definitely remember someone as cu—“ You coughed suddenly, rubbing a fist into your chest. "C-Cool as you!"

That... wasn't much better.

As you proceeded to curse the day you were born, furled golds and narrowed blues widened in disbelief before softening into a bashful smile.

"T-Thank y--

"Oh look, our floor!"

With a hop, skip, and a step, you bounded up the last flight of stairs and swung the hefty metal door, your frame teetering on the loose door handle.

"After you." You gestured grandly, giggles flitting between the two of you. He raced up the last of the steps and grabbed the edge of the door a little ways past your head, pulling it gently from your grasp.

"No, after you."

"Why, thank you, um..."

"Oh! Link." He stuck his hand out, a boyish grin splitting his lips. "My name is Link."

"Link?" You took his hand. “It's nice to meet you. I'm (F/N)."

"(F/N)..." You hated how your heart swooned just now. "What a cute name."

You canned the need to scream into the void as you slinked through the threshold, laughter alight. You waltzed to the crossroad leading to the separate wings on your floor. “I’m going this way. What about you?”

“I'm heading that way too.”

"O-Oh, okay!"

He strode to your side and you descended down the long hallway, the silence stiffening your throat. It felt... kinda weird knowing where he lived or vice versa; your eyes flitted to the wall's yellowed moulding, a path your eyes had taken hundreds of times.

You rounded a corner; so did he. You trailed along the gentle bend in the hallway; he did as well. Your heart started to race. A prickle of doubt heated your chest as you approached your door. He wasn't following you... was he?

When's he gonna turn when's he gonna turn when's he gonna turn when's he gonna

"You're my neighbor?!" Heads whipped around to catch the other's surprised gaze. A stiff laugh cracked between the two of you and you creaked your gazes away.

"W-Well." You coughed out. "Um, goodnight..."

"N-Night.."

Your bodies slipped past your respective thresholds and softly clicked the door shut. You sunk your body into the door; the thick metal drew the extra heat from your back, but it did little to remedy the red in your cheeks. Knees wobbling, your frame slid down, down, down onto your doormat as you cradled your face in your hands, heart thundering in your ears.

It was almost loud enough to drown out what was undoubtedly tapping on the wall.

You clambered to your feet, plopped your nearly forgotten dinner on your countertop, and skated to the source of the sound, pressing your ear against the drywall with bated breath.

There it was again!

You returned his taps with the same level of enthusiasm. If you listened past your drumming heart, you could trick yourself into thinking you heard a laugh. You giggled as well, heart fluttering at your newfound, totally-platonic-and-definitely-not-love-laced relationship you managed to foster all in one night. A tight knot ached your sides and your belly protested loudly.

Oh right! Your pilaf!

#link #link x you #link x reader #legend of zelda #loz #link legend of zelda #legend of zelda x reader #legend of zelda fanfiction #legend of zelda fandom #loz link x reader

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kuzcosources · 9 months

Text

Brand New Sentence / suspiciously specific Starters!

Garlic is to cooking as vanilla extract is to baking in that the amount I add is guided by reckless extravagance and utter disregard, verging on mild contempt, for the recipe as written.

It's ridiculous when someone tells me "aren't there more important things to be mad about?" You novice. You fucking rube. You shit idiot. I can be mad about 20,000 things at once. I am a walking chimera of various furies and petty qualms.

It's only physics if it's from the 'Physique' region of France. Otherwise it's just sparkly math.

What if nipples clicked in and out like pens?

Another wooden ball. Would it kill the makers of avocados to include a different toy, like a mood ring or a novelty eraser?

You've opened this can of worms, now lie in it.

Dating a skinny guy's cool until you roll down the window on the highway and he flies out like a McDonald's napkin.

Eat my ass, _____. I just demolished a whole pizza in six minutes. My metabolism is faster than these hands, but you can still order them if you like.

Some day, a guy is going to see me eating an entire baguette with my bare hands in my parked car and think "That's her. She's the one."

Sorry if I'm not your cup of tea. I'm not even my own cup of tea. I'm barely a cup, and I don't like tea. I'm more like a rusty bucket of haunted bog water. Sorry if I'm not your rusty bucket of haunted bog water.

#rp meme #rp memes #rp ask #rp asks #rp prompt #rp prompts #rp ask meme #rp ask memes #rp ask prompt #rp ask prompts

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bellevillenaty · 1 year

Text

An explanation to the main loop in ORV

- Beware of spoilers of the novel's epilogue -

I come to explain in the simplest possible way the loop that happens in ORV for those who want a more concise and less "philosophical" answer of the whole thing. But I must say that ORV, in general, is drawn to the philosophical side of human existence and that mainly revolves around its protagonists, because this is the story of Kim Dokja and a few other people, so don't expect a precise reason why things are the way they are.

With that out of the way, I'll explain mainly the three "main existences" in ORV which are: Secretive Plotter, tls123 and the Most Oldest Dream (not in this particular order) and how they are connected

[[….Oh, you sad, pitiful child.]]

[[Oh, hear ye, my dear god. I have endured a truly lengthy period of time just to meet you, but….]]

[[You are this universe’s most powerless existence, aren’t you.]]

...

[[….Is that why you needed us? This is a very cruel request for help, indeed.]]

...

[[You couldn’t even control your own imagination, is that it?]]

Chapter 515.

Some might consider that the Universe, or at least the entire tragedy of TWS, begins with the existence of the Most Oldest Dream because of this single sentence uttered by the 999th Uriel.

A child who had suffered years of abuse, neglect, and terrible trauma made a fictional story come true. That child dreamed to escape his own reality and forced himself into fiction to do so. By repeatedly saying "I am Yoo Jonghyuk," Kim Dokja gradually brought that man's story to life. But how did this child gain such power? How could this little child be the "Creator"?

...However, This story already existed and Kim Dokja just read it somewhere. So, if not the dreamer, who is the true creator of this universe?

At this point, many people who read ORV, just like the 999th gang and Secretive Plotter, are confused by the loop created by Han Sooyoung from 1863th turn, also known as the tls123.

The perpetuation of cause and effect "begins" in the 1863th turn, but also doesn't.

“Is this the price of the Outer World Covenant that you received? In exchange for killing Yoo Jonghyuk, you will get the power to make your own world?”

Kim Dokja to the 1863th Han Sooyoung - Chapter 295.

To recap, Han Sooyoung makes an Outer World Covenant with Secretive Plotter on the third turn and, like Kim Dokja, is taken to the 1863rd to kill Yoo Joonghyuk. However, unlike Kim Dokja, only one of Han Sooyoung's avatars is sent there, with the other one continuing to exist on the third turn.

Han Sooyoung's idea of "killing" Yoo Joonghyuk of that turn was to put him in deep slumber for eternity and thus create a new story out of the original story (out of Three Ways to Survive in a Ruined World) without him.

This implies that not only will she be able to push the boundaries of the original story that the protagonist himself failed to pass and go beyond the Final Wall, but she will also gain the power to create a brand new world. Perhaps when making the Outer World Covenant, Secretive Plotter had no idea of the details as contracts made within that Universe can have multiple interpretations and can be easily manipulated, even unintentionally.

Her ability also includes writing the Three Ways to Survive that Kim Dokja read and, with that, the combination of her power and Kim Dokja's dream allowed them to turn fiction into reality.

But, again, how did tls123 experience a story that was supossibly created just after her own existence? Yoo Joonghyuk's life already existed for Han Sooyoung to write about it, so she cannot be the creator.

Plus, if it weren't for her meeting Kim Dokja in the 1863th turn and the desire to see him survive, Han Sooyoung wouldn't have written TWS in the first place and would simply have continued her story beyond the 1863th turn.

“Something felt off to me about this world.”

It was my first time hearing such a shrewd tone of voice coming from him.

“One day, I suddenly came into existence in this world.”

0th Yoo Joonghyuk to Demon King of Salvation - Chapter 525

A conveniently-crafted life, a series of adversities created solely to become a tragedy later. This quote about Yoo Joonghyuk could explain his whole character, at least in the reader's mind.

After all, what is the reason for the existence of this character. Who is Yoo Joonghyuk? This question was on Yoo Joonghyuk's mind from the 0th turn all the way to the Secretive Plotter.

His life happened out of nowhere, and also, out of nowhere, thrown into the tragedies of a novel. On his first time in the scenarios, an unknown being helped him immensely using it’s strange knowledge about everything.

And after that, Yoo Joonghyuk felt that his life had been completely taken care of by someone else. As a final request, he wished to learn the truth about this world and himself.

But he was also curious about the existence of the being who had assisted him, and as a result, Yoo Joonghyuk regressed.

My interpretation

⸢The night sky was reflected in Yu Jung-Hyeok’s eyes.⸥

As if he was a child wondering about his origins, Yu Jung-Hyeok estimated where in the sky the [Wall] might be and extended his hand towards it.

He’d become the ‘Secretive Plotter’ someday, and…

….And at the same time, also become the 1864th turn’s Yu Jung-Hyeok that I knew.

Chapter 525.

For me there is a loop within a loop. Yes, Yoo Hoonghyuk would become Secretive Plotter and he would also become 1864th turn's Yu Jung-Hyeok, but not the ones we know.

Because, at the end of the day, they're both people from different universes. The Secretive Plotter is no longer a character within a novel for thousands of years, the fact that he has the power to travel to other turns and, above all, change many things from these turns (Outer World Covenant with 999th Yoo joonghyuk, and other Outer World Covenant with Han Soyooung and Kim Dokja) already shows that Yoo joonghyuk's will is what changes everything.

Yoo joonghyuk is the most powerful being.

He makes the decision to become a Regressor. Because he is a person who came from nothing and became everything.

He becomes a protagonist in an author's story, and he becomes a protagonist in a reader's story. Is there anyone more powerful than a protagonist?

Is there anyone more powerful than a protagonist who regress?

Yoo Joonghyuk is a real person, who became a legend, and finally became a protagonist. The loop occurred first with Yoo Joonghyuk himself and then spreading to those around him.

There is a dialogue between the Secretive Plotter and Yoo Joonghyuk from 14864th in which the Secretive Plotter says the following thing:

[…]

[[Did you know? There was this young boy in the front-most subway car that always died during every regression turn.]]

That question came out of nowhere. Yu Jung-Hyeok naturally recalled the events of the subway train. The very first scenario, the very first encounter with Hell that he had to experience every single time.

However, Yu Jung-Hyeok didn’t know anything about such a boy. Because, there were simply too many people who died in that manner back then.

[[While regressing several times, I tried to prevent his death, but it was impossible.]]

“…..”

[[He was really a young boy. Younger even than Yi Gil-Yeong. However, even such a child had to ‘prove his credentials’. For all of the 1863 lives, that child couldn’t even put up a proper fight and had to die. He died, and died, and died over and over again.]]

Chapter 458.

There's a theory that this boy was the Most Oldest Dream, however why would the supposed "God" of this world be dead in every regression that the Secretive Plotter faces on, and more importantly, why didn't our own Yoo Joonghyuk know about him?

There is a chance that such a boy will only appear because that is how the 1863th Yoo Joonghyuk wants it. Because the Secretive Plotter wanted it.

Secretive Plotter's greatest desire was to find the ‘creator’ of his tragic life and kill him.

It is strange, yes. But it is worth mentioning that our own Yoo Joonghyuk is someone who is in a new story created by himself and therefore he does not know this boy.

Remember? Our Yoo Joonghyuk is someone who has fled the novel story and is no longer a protagonist. The 1864’s turn Yoo Joonghyuk is no longer a character.

He escaped the barriers of TWS wanting to live that life shown by Kim Dokja. Living that turn that seemed perfect and so he did. From his own free will, he regresses and is now living that life.

As Yoo Joonghyuk had wished, he unwittingly erased his memory of all of his past lives and started a brand new story. And we all know that the Regressor Yoo Joonghyuk's life begins with the third round, but now, with Kim Dokja by his side, just as he wanted.

Unlike the Secretive Plotter that always wanted to find and kill The Most Oldest Dream, our Yoo Joonghyuk's wish was to find someone in particularly and fight alongside him. (Thus, the 0th turn Yoo Joonghyuk who Dokja thinks is the one he knew and our own Yoo Joonghyuk from 1864th turn. Both choose to regress for this reason).

The timeline will only move according to Yoo Joonghyuk's will (mostly), which is why the loop thing is so confusing when it comes to the other two.

Without Yoo Joonghyuk, neither Kim Dokja nor the Three Ways to Survive story would be possible.

As one of Kim Dokja's very first statments about Yoo Joonghyuk is:

"The first way to survive this ruined world is this man."

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

I think I lost my hand here and I still have A LOT to say about, and I haven't even mentioned the Dokkaebi King or the Winny King yet and what they meant to this whole thing.

Did you guys have any opinions on this take? That’s my interpretation and maybe in the future I update this on a re-read or when I come with new ideias.

Because in the ORV story itself it is said that if you read it again, a new perspective is created.

(I also post this on Reddit)

#orv #omniscient reader's viewpoint #yoo junghyuk #kim dokja #orv kim dokja #han sooyoung #secretive plotter #tls123 #most ancient dream #most oldest dream #Yoo Joonghyuk #orv theory

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bee-writes-stuffs · 4 months

Text

i promised him santa fe- Javid

(Note: Trigger warning for murder, violence, g*ns, and fear. Y’know, it’s only once I compile all of my writing that I realize how much angst I write, lol. Enjoy!)

No.

Davey’s at a loss for words- he can only stare in disbelief as Jack steps back, the gun held at arms’ length, shaking slightly but cocked and ready to kill. He’s alone save for Jack and his weapon, trapped in an alleyway with no way out. Terror shoots through him like fire, but it’s nowhere near as unbearable as the look on Jack’s face, the utter betrayal that he knows there’s no remedy for.

“Jack,” he gasps, tears springing to his eyes. “Why?”

“Shut up,” Jack commands, the tremble in his arms turning to a full-on convulsion as his breathing quickens, his heart pumping, fueled by anger and adrenaline and the knowledge of what he’s about to do. “Shut. Up.”

“I don’t understand.” Davey’s voice breaks just slightly, betraying his fear. “I thought you wanted to protect us.”

“I do,” Jack snaps, his voice cold and his eyes darkened with fury. “I’m doing this for the newsies.” The gun is still trained on Davey’s heart, Jack’s finger placed so softly on the trigger that for a moment, it seems like he’s hesitating to shoot. “Ya ever heard the term ‘sacrifice one for the good of the many’?”

Davey takes a breath, his mind whirling with Jack’s words. “What did Snyder offer you?” he asks desperately. “What the hell is so important that you’d kill to get it? I thought you cared for me, I thought we had-“

“He promised me the life of my friends!” Jack roars, and Davey’s heart skips a beat in fear as Jack steadies the gun- this time pointed right at Davey’s head. “You really thought that you meant something to me?! It’s you or… or…”

“Or Crutchie.” Davey finishes his sentence before Jack does. “It’s me or Crutchie.” The pieces click into place, and hopelessness floods Davey’s mind as he stares at the gun. “He gave you a choice, didn’t he? Kill me, put an end to the strike, or Crutchie stays in The Refuge?”

Jack falters, and Davey knows he’s right. Remnants of a glass bottle crunch under his feet as he steps back, pressing himself against the rough brick wall, trying to put as much distance between himself and Jack as possible. There’s nothing he can do or say to stop this- he knows deep in his soul that Jack won’t leave his brother behind.

“Please,” Davey whispers, one final, pleading attempt at a bargain for his life. Jack’s gaze softens for a moment, his eyes no longer seeming like steel, wiping his palms on the fabric of the brand-new suit Pulitzer put him in.

“I’m sorry, Dave,” he answers. “I promised him we’d make it to Santa Fe.” He lifts the gun, and Davey sees the whisper of tears in the eyes of the boy he used to love as the sound of his own scream fills the air, one last cry of terror and grief.

Bang.

#david jacobs #newsies musical #jack kelly #livesies #newsies #davey jacobs #javey newsies #javid newsies #javey #javid #oof #I’m sorry for this one

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luvzhongs · 10 months

Text

i can see you

pairing: childe x lumine (chillumi, kinda y/n though) NSFW MINORS GO AWAY

cw: not proofread, first time writing anything explicit xd, minor sir kink, mentions of exhibition, mentions of power dynamics, no piv they get close though, soft dom childe oooooooh jesus is shaking his head at me rn

He ran his hand through her hair, admiring her for a second longer. “Such a pretty girl with such a pretty body, hm? I want to hear you say it.”

“Ajaaax,” she said, whining in his lap, “that’s so embarassing!”

Lumine was proud of her ability to maintain a stoic façade. The time Kaveh broke the brand new (extremely expensive) office coffee machine within the first 20 minutes of it arriving? She was totally unphased. The respective lectures about ‘office responsibility’ from Al Haitham, shrugging his head in disappointment? Not a flicker of emotion on her face. The time Hu Tao nearly got them both fired for academic misconduct? Chilled.

So, what exactly was it about her boss that made her blush like a schoolgirl and run away?

“He’d be significantly sexier if he was less, you know, boring.” Hu Tao said, arriving back at the cubicle with the cocktails. Lumine grabbed the ‘Sex on the beach’ with a long sigh, knowing her friend would have found the name unbelievably funny.

“Hey, you don’t know if he’s actually boring!” Lumine objected, watching the table of their colleagues out of the corner of her eye. Ajax was sat on the end, silently observing the antics of everyone around him. She noticed he’d taken a solid 3 sips of his Negroni, which was about 30 less than everyone he was sat with. This bar was local, not too far out from where they all lived, and a total dead spot aside from them. They’d finally wrapped up a large trade, and Ajax had taken everyone out for ‘celebration drinks’. Of course, Kaveh had interpreted this as unlimited booze on the company card.

“I think I have a better grasp on him than the girl who blushes and excuses herself after uttering two sentences, no? He asked me if you hated him a while back.” Hu Tao said, pushing her straw around.

Lumine felt a familiar heat rise to her cheeks. “Well, what did you say back?”

“I said he was worried about the wrong person hating him. He laughed and told me to get out.” Hu Tao said, snickering at the memory. Ever since she’d been hired, she’d taken it upon herself to terrorise nearly everyone within their small office. She’d made it very clear that Lumine’s baked goods were the only things that had saved her, and the only reason she even bothered visiting the finance department. [She had not responded well to Lumine’s reminder that she was, quite literally, also a finance employee].

“This is a nightmare. You’re a nightmare. Excuse me while I go to the toilets and throw up.” Lumine said, resting her head on the sticky table. She regretted it almost immediately, opting to wipe her forehead with a spare napkin.

“Thank you. I know.”

Three drinks later and the rest of their coworkers had clearly decided that ‘girl time’ privileges had been revoked. Kaveh, Al Haitham, and Cyno had deigned to come squeeze into the booth, while Ajax and Zhong Li chatted politely at the bar. There was some antics surrounding a card game with an inconclusive winner, leading to childish poking and insults being thrown left and right. It was sweet, having the opportunity to relax after finally closing a deal that had had everyone on double overtime.

“Have you ever considered that it might just be a skill issue on your end, Al Haitham?” Cyno asked across the table, much to everyone elses amusement.

“Dude, no way Cyno just skill issue’d you, what.” Kaveh said, giggling uncontrollably into Haitham’s shoulder. He was more than a little tipsy, like Cyno next to him, contributing to the lively atmosphere of the booth. “That’s so funny.”

“Maybe you should remember who pays your wages, Cyno.” Haitham responded, bemused by the drunk nature of his friends. He took a second to play with Kaveh’s hair, before catching himself and retracting his hand. Their romance was far from an office secret, but they were both typically timid people.

Hu Tao took the moment of weakness to jump on him. “Firstly, I’m totally emailing HR right now. Secondly, you don’t even write the checks. You spend your time running around after Ajax like a lost puppy, begging your master for scraps.”

Lumine came back into focus to the noise of another glass being placed on the table.

“Who’s begging me for scraps?” He said, sliding into the seat next to her. He greeted the table with a polite nod in her direction, before returning his attention to Hu Tao.

“Puppy over there. With the green sweater.” Hu Tao said, meeting eyes with Lumine and snickering. She felt far too hot, and she was sure her cheeks were already blazing. She fiddled anxiously with the end of her skirt, suddenly self conscious of her outfit and her hair and her everything.

“Ah, you’re a puppy now, Haitham? I would have thought you were a cat.” Ajax said, casting a look at the three drunk men in the corner. He grinned at the sight, enjoying watching his friends relaxing after one of the most stressful weeks in the history of the company.

“Eat shit.” Haitham said over the edge of his glass, looking directly at his best friend. The entire table burst out laughing, and Lumine felt her anxious energy dissipating. She quickly excused herself, sliding out of the bench over Ajax and making eye contact with Hu Tao.

The toilets were a long journey in this pub, with the trek taking her up two sets of stairs and halfway across the third floor. In her ever-so-slightly tipsy state, it took her an embarrassingly long time to make it there. She stared at herself in the mirror, smoothing down her hair and adjusting the pleats of her skirt. She’d found it online, and it was a baby blue with white lace frills. Accompanied with the white crop top she’d found hidden in her wardrobe, she had decided to fully commit to the ‘babydoll’ aesthetic, with some blue slide in clips and her hair down for the first time in months. She looked totally different from her usual work attire, since Hu Tao had decided tonight would be the day that she ‘got some’.

“You’ve been stressed for a month. Please. If not for your sake, then for mine, because you stopped being funny about a week and a half ago and I am dying here.”

“Okay, dude, calm down. I could totally get some if I wanted. I’m just not interested in anyone, and the casual thing is way too hard for me.”

“My bad, I forgot you’re only interested in your smooth-talking finance bro boss. You know he’s ginger, right?”

When she’d finally regained her confidence, she pushed the door open, only to be met with a broad back and ginger hair. Ajax was standing across from the entrance, absent-mindedly tapping on his phone. He immediately looked up, shooting her a smile.

“I came to check on you. You were gone for a while, and everyone else is honestly far too loud for my head after this week.” He said earnestly, immediately slipping his phone into his pocket to give her his full attention.

She smiled back at him. It wasn’t the first time that they’d been alone together, but never in this kind of context. She noticed his eyes flickering up and down, taking in her outfit for the first time. His reaction gave nothing away, and she felt like he was staring at her like she was a piece of meat (in a respectful way, which she didn’t know whether to be extra disappointed by). “Yeah, it was a rough one for us all. I’m not the heaviest drinker, so I get it. They’re super annoying.”

He laughed loudly at her comment. “Way to word it nicely, God. I didn’t realise you had it in you to be funny.”

“Excuse me?”

“Every time anyone approaches you at work, you stare them down like you despise the very air they’re breathing. I thought you just straight up hated me for the longest time.”

You can’t just say to your boss of 4 months ‘I’m so sorry I ignore you, it’s because I can’t be in the same room as you without wanting to jump your bones’. The alcohol, however, relaxed her enough to give an answer that came across fun, rather than shy.

“Oh my god, no, I could never. I’m just a little serious, I didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression.”

“That’s a huge relief to hear. You’re a total asset to the company, I think I’d have a heart attack if I made you resign.”

“Thank you, Sir, that’s a really kind notion.” He tensed up at her words, sending a nervous twinge down her spine.. He was walking just ahead of her, giving her a view of his huge back. He worked out, she could tell, and the fact that he took care of himself just made her want him even more.

“Jesus, okay, drop the Sir. I’m only 27, you’re going to make me feel old. Do you want me to give you a lift home? I feel like everyone else is going to want to end up at a club after this.”

“That would be really nice, S-“ She started, only to be met with a disapproving glare. Sheepishly, she ended her sentence before she could dig herself a bigger hole.

“See? You’re a smart girl.”

Well, fuck. If she wasn’t calling him Sir before, she definitely wanted to now. She felt like she would melt into a puddle on the ground, especially with his hand on her lower back. God, he was beautiful. His eyes were sunken with the amount of sleep he must forgo to ensure that their company succeeds, but they still twinkled with a boyish charm that made her heart skip a beat.

“Holy shit, you’re hot.” Hu Tao shouted at her when they were back in view of the table. Lumine rewarded her with a little spin, showing her the entire outfit. She took her seat on Tao’s lap, enjoying the flirtatious vibe that had clearly taken over the table in her absence. As she sat, she noticed Ajax was unable to make eye contact with her, shifting around in his seat.

“What’d you do to the poor man?” Tao whispered in her ear, staring suspiciously.

“Shut up. Nothing. I swear.”

Half an hour later, she was bidding her goodbyes to her friends as they hobbled towards the next club.

“Dude, Kaveh’s so not going to get in.” Lumine said, watching him hobble along the cobblestone.

He attempted to turn around at the mention of his name. “What do you mean, I am like sooo sober.”

Hu Tao smiled, grabbing Lumine’s hand. “I just won’t let him speak, don’t worry. I’ll text you when we’re all home safe, so take it easy tonight.”

“I love you.” She replied, hugging her closely.

“I love you too. Drive safely, okay?”

Ajax’s car was quiet, and sleek, which suited him perfectly. She sat there for a while, enjoying the purring of the engine, and how his muscles rippled whenever he moved to shift gear. It was hard not to stare, especially when his hair was ever so slightly falling in front of his face, and he relaxed back into his leather seat. The alcohol buzzed through her system, and she felt like she was floating just from being in his proximity. The drive wasn’t long, and she was home before she knew it. He stepped out first, walking around to open the door for her.

“I really like how you had your hair tonight. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with it down, but it looks great. You should wear it like that more often.” He said, diffusing the uncomfortable silence. He helped her step out, holding her hand to help steady her upon her return to the ground.

“Oh, thank you! You look great as well, but I suppose that’s not particularly out of the ordinary.” She said, absent-mindedly climbing out of the car.. It took her a second to realise exactly what she’d said, before she started blushing profusely and trying to stammer out an apology.

“You’re just so fucking cute, Lumine.” He said, staring directly at her. She had no response, staring at him with wide eyes. “So pretty, and you drive me crazy. I see you in the hallwau and have to force myself to stay in my seat.”

“Do you want to come in?” She breathed out.

“Only if you’re sober enough to promise me that you want this.”

“I’ve been wanting this since that day the AC broke. You wore a blue button up and rolled the sleeves, and I think I nearly died..” Lumine said, overwhelmed by a sudden rush of confidence. She hurriedly shoved her key into the lock, opening up her apartment.

As soon as they were both in, he pounced, pushing her back up against the door with his hands on her waist. He crashed his lips onto her, holding her still as he brutalised her lips. The kiss was like waves crashing against the shore, with his hands roaming everywhere they could. He took his time exploring her body, running his hands across her waist. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him even closer. He pulled away for a second, admiring her swollen lips and her heavy eyes. Fucking pretty, she heard him whisper, before diving back in. This time, he went for her neck, leaving her covered in kisses and gentle nips. Every time he kissed her, she let out a tiny sigh.

“My bedroom is that way.” She breathed out, finding the strength to lift herself off the door. She grabbed his hand and he took it eagerly, following her earnestly. He almost laughed upon entry, seeing how it subverted his expectations almost entirely. For such a professional, composed girl, he hadn’t expected to see fluffy plushies covering every surface and posters of all of the latest idol groups.It suited her, he thought. The version of Lumine he’d met tonight, was definitely the kind of girl who loved all the sweeter things in life.

“The skirt can stay. The shirt needs to go, okay, Princess?” He said, tugging at the end of it. She flushed at his words, and even more at the nickname. “Gonna show you exactly how a pretty little thing like you deserves to be treated.”

She grabbed at the bottom of her shirt, pulling it over her head in one quick move. She took a mental note to thank herself for remembering to wear the cutest piece of lingerie she could find, which was a lacy blue bralet. He groaned out loud when he saw it, taking a seat at the edge of her bed. He could see her nipples poking through the fabric, and felt himself start straining against his pants. With courage, she straddled him at the edge of her bed.

“You’re going to kill me. This,” he said, running his finger under the baby blue strap,” is how I die.”

“Oh, so you like it?” She said, giggling into his shoulder as he continued to play with the straps. “Bought it just for you. Remembered you said that blue was your favourite when I bought in those cupcakes. Saw it and had to.”

He groaned again at her words. His voice dropped a little, and he seemed unable to tear his eyes away from her. “You gonna let me take it off, princess? Want me to touch your pretty tits until you beg me to stop?”

She let out a loud whine at his words. Immediately, she moved her hand to cover her mouth. Embarrassment swept through her entire body. Ajax noticed her movements, and starting cooing almost immediately. He tenderly grabbed her hand away from her mouth, taking advantage of her shocked state to hold them in place behind her back. She bit back a moan when she realised he was able to hold her in place with just one arm. His other hand worked on her bra, swiftly unhooking it and helping her shrug it off her shoulders.

Lumine shivered with the sudden exposure. She shivered even harder when he immediately lent forward, taking the left one into his mouth. He took his time, swirling it until it was hard in his mouth. He then moved onto the next one, repeating the process until she was squirming in his grip.

He ran his hand through her hair, admiring her for a second longer. “Such a pretty girl with such a pretty body, hm? I want to hear you say it.”

“Ajaaax,” she said, whining in his lap, “that’s so embarassing!”

“Saying my name like that is just criminal. Tell me how pretty you are and I’ll make you feel so good. You look like an angel right now, I want to hear you say it.”

She hid her face in his shoulder once more. “M pretty.”

“Oh? I couldn’t quite hear that. Who’s pretty?” He said, using his free hand to grab her chin and force her to look him in the eyes.

“Me! I’m your pretty girl. Will you stop now?” She said, pouting as soon as she was done. He took the opportunity to kiss her once more, watching her melt under his touch.

“Hm, maybe. Will you be good? Lay back and let me show you exactly how pretty you are?”

“If you keep talking to me like that, I’d let you do anything.”

“Oh? I should have guessed. You get so red and squirmy in our performance meetings, did you know that? Was it me telling you how exemplary you are, or was it you daydreaming about me pulling you onto my lap?”

“I don’t think you’d believe half the things I’ve seen inside my head.” She replied truthfully, staring into his pretty blue eyes.

“What would you do if I touched you like this in the office, hm? I could show everyone what a good girl you are for me. Bet you’d even call me Sir while you cum on my fingers if I asked you to.”

Lumine lost the ability to speak as he continued to rile her up. Eventually, he let go of her arms, moving to toy with the end of her skirt instead. After a quick nod of affirmation, he dipped his fingers underneath her skirt. She moaned and whimpered as he ran his fingers up and down her thighs, being deliberately obtuse about where she actually wanted him. Every movement sent electric straight to her core, leaving her a whining mess under his touch.

“I haven’t even touched you there yet. You can keep yourself together a little longer, surely? Or am I going to discover that you’ve soaked straight through them?” He whispered, as if he was keeping a big secret between the two of them. He lifted her off his lap, manoeuvring her to lay down on the bed. Once she was settled and comfortable, he crawled back on top of her.

And Finally! He pushed her matching panties to the side, and had a good look at her. Her thighs were at risk of becoming sticky with arousal, and she was gleaming even under the dim light. He ran his finger up and down her slit, watching as she whimpered and convulsed around him.

“Oh, you’re soaked, Princess. Did you want this as badly as I did. Want me to make you cum until you cry?” He said, grinning as he brought his finger up to his mouth. He sucked it clean, savouring every drop of her, before kissing her once more. She could taste them both together, and it was shockingly attractive to her.

“We taste good.” She said sheepishly as he pulled away. He just grinned, looking down at her with something that could only be described as adoration.

He moved his hand back down to her, keeping the other one next to her head. He kept his eye on her face, watching her expression as he touched her clit for the first time. When she gasped in shock, he knew he was on the right path. With just a few tiny circles, she was whining and pleading for him, letting out tiny whines of his name. They shot straight down to his semi, and he tried to dismiss all of them. Not right now, he was pleading internally, right now is about her. .He started a more consistent rhythm with his fingers, monitoring what she was responding best to and whispering praise in her ear.

“Look at how much you want me, Lumine. Spent all that time avoiding me, could have spent all that time with my fingers buried in this pretty cunt.” To punctuate his words, he slipped one finger inside her. She moaned, the loudest she’d moaned the entire evening. “Knew you’d like that, you’re so fucking tight around me.”

He started to pump his hand slowly, taking his time to adjust her to his first finger. She was already starting to thrash around under him, so he moved his spare hand to pin her arm down. He silenced her protesting with another passionate kiss, using it as a perfect distraction to slip a second finger in. Her whine of satisfaction spurred him on, encouraging to feel around for the spot that would make her feel Cloud 9. His exploration was cut short, however, when he felt a tiny little string inside her.

“What is that?”He asked, genuinely curious about what he was feeling.

“Oh, it’s my IU-“ She said, struggling to form a coherent sentence as he pistoned his fingers inside of her. “Means you can fill me up and nothing bad will happen.”

His eyes widened in shock. “Want me to fuck you until you’re nice and full of me, hm? Pump you full of my cum while I make you cream on my cock? Didn’t realise my princess was such a little pervert.” Lumine pretended not to notice how wide his grin got as he talked about it.

Her eyes widened suddenly, as Ajax finally reached the spot he’d been waiting for. She came almost instantly, clenching around his fingers as she shook in his grasp. He kept moving, hoping to help her ride it through. She looked truly ethereal like this, his pretty girl giving him exactly what he wanted from her. He waited a while before bringing her out of her dazed state, grounding her while stroking her hair.

“So pretty, so good for me. You coming back yet?” He asked, never once taking his eyes off her face.

“It’s your turn.” She said, pouting as he moved her hand away from his trousers.

“Another time. Get some sleep, okay?” He said, moving away from her quickly.

And just like that, she was out like a light.

She awoke in the morning to being tucked in the bedsheets, and the smell of fresh pancakes wafting through her open door. It took a few seconds for her to manage to open her eyes, and when the grogginess of sleep finally lifted she nearly jumped out of her skin. Shit. Fuck. Shit.

She grabbed some pyjamas from the nearby dresser, throwing on a large tshirt and a pair of biking shorts. She took a second to smooth down her hair and noticed that her makeup had been taken off during the night. Did he take it off for her? Just how hard had she slept? As she turned around in the mirror, she finally took notice of the big red bruise blooming on her collarbone.

Lumine walked into the kitchenette, taking in the view. Ajax was shirtless, bending over the countertop while he scrolled on his phone. His large back dwarfed her tiny kitchen, and it was almost comical watching him amongst her small bowls and glasses. In front of him was a plate of freshly prepared pancakes, and a few toppings he’d managed to scrape from her empty fridge.

She leaned on the wall, trying to give her best unbothered pose. “Hi.”

“Sleeping Beauty has finally joined us! I was wondering when you’d wake up, you were out like a light last night.” He said, turning around immediately to shoot her a genuine smile. “I made breakfast. You want to eat, or just need a drink first?”

“Let’s eat.” She said, taking a plate from the counter and moving it onto the table. She took her seat and he took the other, and they sat in another comfortable silence for what felt like years. “You know, this is the first time a guy’s ever made me breakfast after the fact.”

“Trying to win your heart, obviously. Then you’re tied to the company for life.” He grinned into the pancake he was eating. She sighed dramatically, refusing to answer his teasing.

“I’m telling HR.”

#genshin smut #childe smut #genshin impact #genshin impact smut #tartaglia smut #tartaglia x reader #chilumi

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ethereal-bumble-bee · 5 months

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I Promised Him Santa Fe.- Jack Kelly

Trigger warning for guns, death, murder, and fear.

No.

“Jack,” he gasps, tears springing to his eyes. “Why?”

“I don’t understand.” Davey’s voice breaks just slightly, betraying his fear. “I thought you wanted to protect us.”

“I’m sorry, Dave,” he answers. “I promised him we’d make it to Santa Fe.” He lifts the gun, and Davey sees the whisper of tears in his eyes as the sound of his own scream fills the air, one last cry of terror and grief.

Bang.

#newsies #newsies musical #davey jacobs #jack kelly #crutchie morris #cw guns #cw death #cw murder #angst

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mercerislandbooks · 2 days

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With Twice the Love, Dessie Mei: A Conversation with Justina Chen

Island Books is delighted to host our longtime friend and author, Justina Chen, for the release of her brand-new middle grade novel, With Twice the Love, Dessie Mei, on Tuesday, May 7th at 6:30pm. Not only is this inspirational and heartfelt book set in Seattle, but it's also filled with characters that bring home the issues of our times.

I loved this book from start to finish. Dessie Mei has always known she's adopted from China. When her family has to move to Seattle to help a grandparent with memory issues transition into assisted living, she is uprooted in the middle of the school year to a new school. Hopeful that making a new friend in 6th grade won't be too hard, imagine Dessie Mei's surprise when she walks into her first classroom and finds a girl who looks EXACTLY like her. Donna is also adopted, and the two form an immediate bond. They look so much alike that they can't help but wonder... are they twins?

With that intriguing start I was completely hooked, and I’m so glad Justina Chen was able to take the time to sit down with me and talk about her wonderful new book!

Lori: Welcome Justina! I absolutely loved With Twice the Love, Dessie Mei. Can you tell us about the inspiration for your book?

Justina: My beloved Mama—who we lost a few months ago—was such a beautiful force of community. I saw that in the way she embraced my two stepdaughters who were adopted from China into a white family. She scooped them to her heart. So when one of my dear friends told me in close conversation that she and her daughter—both adopted, one from Korea, the other from China—had never felt welcome in the Asian American community, well, that was a dagger in my heart. With the rise of anti-Asian violence, the need to write this story became urgent. We’ve become so good at calling people out at a time when we must be exceptional at calling people into community. That’s the heart of this book. I hope that every reader who picks up With Twice the Love, Dessie Mei knows with utter conviction at the Mama-level that: YOU BELONG.

L: I love that, “calling people into community.” I really saw that as I read. You are delving into quite a few challenging topics. What was the hardest part to write?

J: I knew I was handling the most sensitive material in my entire writing career: adoption and adoptees. So I listened intently to the people I love most in the world who are adopted. I found a counselor who’s adopted and who works with a number of adolescent adoptees. She gave me an incredible reading list, and from there, I dove into abandonment and belonging, complex PTSD and attachment theory, identity-formation and community-building. It was important to me that adoptees were represented in my entire team: my agenting team to my editorial team, including my authenticity reader.

L: As a reader, it was so rich to see the contrast between Dessie Mei and Donna’s adoptions, in a way that made clear everyone has a unique experience; there’s no one “right” way. So, what was the easiest part to write?

J: The story itself came to me in a flash: I knew the emotional throughline. I heard the characters and I saw the plot so clearly, I wrote the first draft in an eight-day fever dream. Aside from North of Beautiful, words have never poured out of me that fast. So fast, my fingers could barely keep up with the paragraphs that were falling out of me fully formed. Of course, the second draft took a good year to write. In that draft, I had to make sure that every word was nuanced, every sentence finessed, every idea stood on solid research. L: The care you took with your polishing really shows. I loved that you said in your author’s note that this was the book you wrote for your 10-year old self — I've read your YA and wonder if you could talk about the difference in voice between writing YA and writing Middle Grade?

J: Such a good question! In my mind, the YA voice can be snarky, but the MG voice is sassy. There is a delightful indomitability in that middle grade voice that I relish—and as a grown woman who is still growing, I strive to recapture and live that middle grade spirit. L: That is a good distinction! I can see that in Dessie Mei: she really has a willingness to try to find a way, no matter the circumstances. The title of your book is so distinct, can you share how you came to it and the meaning of "with twice the love"?

J: It took forever and a day to come up with the title, and that phrase represents so much. The long-lost twins. The love of all their different families. The expansiveness of love itself. And of course, for Dessie, it is the perfect sign-off to an important and brave open letter she writes.

Thank you so much Justina!

Join us on Tuesday May 7th at 6:30pm to see Justina Chen in conversation with Shari Leid and celebrate the publication of With Twice the Love, Dessie Mei!

— Lori

#island books #lori robinson #Justina chen #With twice the Love Dessie mei #Author event #middle grade reads

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surplus-of-sarcasm · 1 year

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Yandere Whumper Attempt

Note: Some of y'all may have alr read this, from when I sent it on the groupchat, so I'm sorry if it feels repetitive, but I thought I'd share it here too, for new ppl or smth. My next one is a brand new hxv dw!

TW: Posessive whumper, yandere whumper, emotional manipulation, low-confidence whumpee

Whumpee can't do this. It was a simple fact to comprehend, but its cruel inevitability seemed to be forced on them with the same discomfort as a lump stuck in their throat.

Their eyes dart everywhere, with the wariness of a cornered animal. Every time their gaze locked with an audience member regarding them with fervent impatience, their heart would skip a thousand beats.

Their hands shake with tremors that course through their body, sending unpleasant shivers up their spine. They feel their face burn, blood rushing into it.

They take a deep breath that does absolutely nothing to steady their nerves. What good does breathing do to a prisoner on their way to the guillotine?

From a surface-level perspective, the situation at hand had nothing to do with executions. But Whumpee feels so terrified anyway, it might've been their death sentence.

Slowly, they press their fingers down on the piano keys, playing a horrible series of off-key notes. They couldn't read sheet music, couldn't understand it. They'd played before, but they only knew two songs, not even fully, if they could even remember. This wasn't one of them.

Feeling like they were slowly choking, Whumpee finally decides to stop butchering the symphony on the piano, a little after its beginning. The way the crowd's expressions change from utter contempt to relief breaks something in Whumpee. It doesn't take long for their lashes to wet with tears that stain their cheeks.

They rush upstairs, away from the crowd's incessant jeering, still sobbing, to find Whumper talking to some of their guests.

Once they catch sight of their tear-stained face, they utter a polite "Excuse me," to their guests.

"Whumpee, darling what's got you all worked up like that?" they question gently, the muscles of their face quickly working so that their expression morphs into one of worry.

"I- I. . .messed up. . .the. . .the song! They h-hated it, I'm so sorry," they stammer through choked sobs.

"Sweetheart, they don't matter. No one does. I still think you're the most beautiful thing to ever exist. That's why I keep you with me. Because I'm the only person who will ever know your true value, Whumpee," they croon softly, pulling them into a hug and carding their fingers through their hair.

They take their hand and lead them into their room, helping them into a chair. "I don't know what you see in me, Whumper. Everyone else thinks I'm worthless."

Placing their hands softly down on Whumpee's shoulders, they rub careful circles into their shoulders. "They don't understand you like I do."

"What would I ever do if you weren't here, Whumper?"

"Let's not think about that one, sweetie." Their grip tightens posessively on their shoulders, just shy away from being uncomfortable.

Suggesting they play something they had no knowledge of had worked wonders. Whumper is grateful Whumpee can't see the sickening smile playing on their lips.

Whumpee was surely never even contemplating going anywhere where they weren't around. They are all theirs. Just like they'd always wanted.

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-whump @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @dodo-docs @sirrsnakesssss

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

#prompt #whump #emotional abuse tw #yandere whumper #posessive whumper #creepy whumper #a little gremlin's writing #female writers #writers on tumblr #angst #writing

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goldeneyedgirl · 1 year

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Ficmas 2022: Day 1: Mortal Sin (Jasper/Alice, M)

Hello and welcome to my hallowed annual tradition of fics, snippets, and future projects.

It's been a really long, messy year that took me away from Tumblr but I've been working in the background and would never miss posting fic for everyone. I love the Tumblr Jalice community and cannot wait to getting back into it and being around more often (more on that tomorrow!)

So we start with something dark. I wrote this back in the summer, and the implications are pretty grim but I do love experimenting with Jasper. and Alice's characters, so I couldn't resist. I hope you enjoy it!

Mortal Sin

(trigger warnings: physical and psychological torture, violence, anatomy, assault, period-typical medical neglect.)

Dark Jasper x Alice, Canon AU.

—

Sometimes he wonders how far there is to fall.

What does hitting rock-bottom feel like? And what makes the intangible ‘them’ thing that he won’t just keeping digging further down? That if they tell him there is no crime, no heinous action that he hasn’t tried, that he won’t take it as a challenge to find some new way to debase himself?

(He remembers humanity better than he should, and he knows that his family worried. He was so charismatic, so charming, but it was like his mother and grandfather could see the vein of rot inside him, the potential for something terrible buried there. He resented them then for being so harsh with him, for correcting him so often and pleading with him to be better. Now, he resents them for being right. And then he wonders if they hadn’t made him into the monster with their sharp fear and urgency and utter lack of faith.)

He’s not that foolish, of course. Rock bottom will be on his knees in front of the Kings, waiting for his sentence. There’s a line drawn firmly in the sand of what is unacceptable, what is criminal, to those ancient bastards, and he will walk confidently down that line to see which of them falters first.

His story will always end at the pyre. It’s just a matter of when.

—

The asylum is an hour outside of the nearest town, in the middle of nowhere. Just a clearing and forest. A grim, grey building this is not the type of hospital beloved people are sent to - that hospital is closer to civilisation.

This is where the dregs of humanity are left to be forgotten and lost. Most of them have to be locked up, alone, for the safety of the staff. The rest are locked up to make things easy. All of them are drugged and beaten and starved and tormented; the same hollow look in their eyes, the clawing kind of desperation.

It is a special kind of hell that admits a child.

He finds her in the basement, where the hopeless cases were kept before the hospital was filled to the brim with them. She smells like many things - few of them good - but the underlying aroma is that of lemon sugar and mint. Fresh and sweet and he wants it.

Then he finds her, and he wants more than her blood.

(She’s a little marionette that he wants to take apart and restring. He wants to break her into a million little pieces and then put her back together. Maria always laughed at him, said that he should have been a surgeon with the way he carries on.)

She’s tiny and delicate, stuck halfway between gangly adolescent and malnourished orphan. Her eyes are such a light grey he marvels at them before he gets closer and realises that she’s almost certainly blind. Her black hair curls around her head, uneven and dry, and bruises stand out on her skin like brands. Her little home is tiny and dark, with a filthy pallet against one wall, and about four inches of filthy window to provide light.

Her emotions are like moth wings against him; they swallow him up so gently that it feels like being full, being satiated, for the very first time since he began this half life.

He breaks in whilst she’s sleeping, curled tight into a little ball. Under the stench of sweat and piss and medication, the lemon sugar wafts out at him, pulling him closer.

(Her wrist is so tiny, the skin is nearly transparent. Her eyelids too; just membrane with blue and red veins. She’s a little marionette of . She’s perfect.)

She sighs in her sleep, and a strand of discomfort drifts outwards. But she doesn’t wake and doesn’t move.

He’ll leave before dawn, down the maintenance tunnels and out into the woods. He’s not sure why the girl is still alive, honestly, but somehow his human brain is overpowering his predatory side for now. She is something special, and she will be savoured carefully.

(Down, down, down another few steps to hell.)

—

It has to be said that Maria isn’t thrilled that he vanishes between battles but then, it’s also easier for her if he entertains himself; less to clean up. So he’s allowed to prowl the forests of Mississippi with the blind girl swirling in his mind.

She is grossly neglected, even he recognises that. The scant meals she is offered are often rancid; she is washed twice a week, if being hauled into an ice bath, or hosed down count as such things.

But he slowly learns. The girl is Mary. She’s of-age for a vampire - the one rule of Maria’s that is law beyond all else. At least, the only one she enforces without question. If it got back to her that he was stalking anyone under fourteen, his head would roll without ceremony.

And there’s no doubt that Maria knows exactly where he has occupied himself.

She’s treated for various things that are just fancy words on the page. Nothing useful, but he prefers to know all he can about her before he approaches her.

(Ward of the state, signed over by both her parents - the mother’s signature unsteady - when she was ten. Mary Alice Brandon. Babbling visions and nonsense, struck dumb at random intervals. Hysterical. A more perfect victim he could not have imagined. After all, no one is going to believe a raving girl with such a helpful history.)

His plans take shape slowly, and the anticipation is such a sweet thing. He haunts the shadows, watching sweet Mary and cataloguing everything; she behaves like she’s completely blind, her head tilted up as her gaze hunts impossible light. She taps the wall with her fingers as she walks, with a limp (her left ankle is slightly crooked - a badly healed break). Her black hair curls around her ears, but is uneven and unkept.

She is a mercurial creature, humming and chatting at the nurses and orderlies. They aren’t kind to her and she’s regularly slapped and hit, pushed and tripped. It explains the bruises and abrasions that litter her limbs. The black eyes, the swollen cheek, the ways she coils herself up tight in her sleep.

But with no specific trigger, no provocation, she turns into a hissing, spitting, feral little beast that hollers and screams and fights tooth-and-nail against the staff.

He almost admires her rage.

(The heaving orderly slips into her cell well after midnight, and she lets out a sound of protest that sounds like a sob. It takes no effort to cause a distraction that sends the orderly from her cell; to lure him outside. The man is no one and nothing, human refuse who dares to put his hands on Jasper’s prize.

It is not a quick death or an easy death, and those that find his remains won’t forget the sight any time soon. But the Major was never known for playing nicely with others.)

—

“Hello, Mary.”

The first time he speaks to her, she’s lain awake for hours - like she’s waiting. He takes that as an opportunity - better that he doesn’t wake her from a dead sleep, panicked and disorientated.

(As pleasing as a thrashing, panicked victim can be - the pounding heart, the rush of blood, the futility of their fight - he has bigger plans for her. What could be more enjoyable than a terrified victim?

An adoring one.)

She jerks upwards, eyes wide and unseeing. “Who’s there?” she demands, but he can feel her fear, hear the tremor in her voice. The moths’ wings are frantic and he can feel himself leaning into it.

“My name is Major Whitlock.” He uses his gift to comfort her, to reassure her, his voice smooth and kind. “I’m here to look after you, Mary. I’ll take very good care of you, I promise.”

She’s shaking now, pressed against the wall, her hands clasped tightly at her collarbones, her dead eyes darting futilely.

“How did you get in here?” she asks, one hand drifting down to tug her blanket around her, and her emotions are punctured with the flavour of dread that the heaving orderly would inspire, and that makes him frown, annoys him.

As if he would be so crude and clumsy in his pursuit, as if he is no better than that smear of humanity…

“I came because I felt your pain, Mary,” he tries to resume the calm, enticing tones but even she can hear the edge in his voice. “I came because you called me. But I can leave if you don’t wish for me to be here…”

Curiosity spikes and she relaxes somewhat. “You… felt my pain? W-What are you?”

“Someone who can help you, Mary. If you’re willing to help me in return.��

A deal with the devil, a story as old as time.

The classics are classic for a reason, after all.

—

Mary, of course, allows him to stay. She’s suitably suspicious, but she tells him not to leave. She has many questions about what he is and what he wants. He is amused and a little irritated she thinks she has any power in this situation. But he lets her have this, lets her think that she has any say in what happens next.

(The groundskeeper had been a problem at first. And it would have been so easy to kill him without ceremony. But he’s been so bored for so long that it was more fun to get Peter to lead the old bastard far and away, on a wild goose-chase. Peter was amused that Jasper was going to so much theatricality for one meal, one crazy little blood bag, but he had laughed and called it ‘sport’, and Peter had agreed - keep the old one on the other side of Mississippi, and don’t kill him unless Peter’s own life was in danger. A harmless game so that Jasper could do his work and get all the pieces where he wanted them.)

She never makes the connection between him and the groundskeeper; she cannot see their matching eyes, their matching pallor. She doesn’t notice their icy skin or the fact they only attended to her in the night hours.

He breathes in her scent and lets the emotions wash over him; it’s fascinating how such a slip of a creature could make him feel so full up, his thirst slaked and his gift not needing to stretch out and find something else, something new. He’s never felt that way before.

(It makes him want more.)

—

It takes a few weeks for him to begin to enjoy the drugs they dose her with. At first they are an inconvenience, because he cannot get a sensible word out of her mouth if she’s conscious in the first place. Mostly, she’s just a limp pile of bones on her pallet, and that takes some of the fun out of it - because he gets inspired to be creative.

One of the medications gives her back-breaking seizures (he hears the strain and crack of her little bones as she thrashes); he enjoys the way her joints roll and press against the socket, the way her skin oh-so-nearly tears. The way she gasps for air and lets out sad little kitten noises, unconscious and unaware of how he hovers over her like a bird of prey.

He loathes whatever they give her when they take her out of the cell, when they drag her deeper into the hospital. She returns in a wheelchair, dumped unceremoniously in her bed. She’s still conscious but no longer lucid, and babbles the strangest things into the air.

(“We are going to be so happy. So happy. A blue, blue ribbon, Jasper. It’s okay, I forgive you, I’m not going to remember a single thing, I promise. Your eyes are the wrong colour. Why are they like that, Jasper? Jasper?”)

Sometimes when she’s like that, he leaves to hunt. Or he holds the rotting pillow over her face until she stops because he’s never asked for forgiveness before, let alone from someone like her. As if he needs some kind of absolution from a girl who can’t even stand without assistance, who is so weak that she screams for the mother that locked her away in this prison. He scolds her afterwards, for forgetting herself. But she’s usually dazed for a day or too, and apologises faintly, confused but agreeable.

Those are the days he worries that she’ll just go and die on her own. That thought agitates him enough that he kills one of the nurses in a temper, just to calm himself enough to be alone with Mary.

No, he doesn’t like that medication at all.

The medication that makes her sleep also offer a pleasing result, where she is limp and pliable. She doesn’t even notice when she wakes up with new bruises littering her torso and limbs; doesn’t suspect a thing when her elbow has been so very precisely dislocated, the bruise spreading like a heart up her arm. Isn’t surprised at the delicate abrasions on her wrists and neck (just enough for the blood to well up, for him to lave up - teasing and taunting and testing himself. Nothing worse than if

(He grips her by the throat and leaves behind a necklace of finger prints. He praises her lavishly the next day when he sees the burst blood vessels in her cloudy eyes, like she’s smart and clever. She manages a smile at him; she’s still cautious but she gets more comfortable with him night by night. The fastest way, he has found, to gain her trust is through food. She deigns to sit on his lap the day that he brings her fruit and bread, and he praises her some more. She’s right to be grateful to him, but it’s good that she has such nice manners. She smiles for him, and he smiles back even though she cannot see a thing - not the scarlet of his eyes, not the blood on his shirt, not even the vein of mould on the bread.)

—

She cries when he puts her joints back in the socket.

She cries when he takes them out, too.

(“Mary, what have they done to you?” he exclaims. She’s confused. “Your poor ankle!”)

He starts small, with fingers and toes. He cusses out the doctors as he dislocates them and lets the bone roll underneath his fingers for a little while before he puts them back. Then he moves on - ankles, knees, hips, jaw… She howls in pain some nights, and no one comes to her aid. Her face is white and clammy, her eyes wild and panicked but she still thanks him for taking such care of her, and he smiles back at her proudly,

(He wonders how long it will take her to so willingly allow him to take them all apart at the same time.)

—

He strikes her once. Hard enough that he probably fractured her orbital bone; left her with two black eyes and a bloody nose, cowering in the corner.

She’d been fretting for days, weeks, over the absence of the groundskeeper. And it had been very rude of her to worry over another man when she already has a guest to entertain.

But she hate kept on, insisting that something must be terribly wrong. She can’t even remember how long he’s been gone.

(“But you can’t remember much of anything, can you Mary?” he had mocked her, and she had deflated. He began the list of things that she cannot remember, cannot get right - her full name, her birthday, her age, her family, his name… she called him Major Hale one night, after fumbling and stammering for several moments for his name. He’d been cold with her, that she could be so rude as to forget his name, and she’d cried and begged for forgiveness until he’d let her sleep.)

Helpfully enough, Maria had sent a runner to retrieve him, and he’d left without a word for nearly four days. Maria had been annoyed enough when he’d informed her that Peter was occupied with an important task that he wasn’t going to keep her waiting. It was the best part of a week before he made it back, and she had been rocking on her little pallet, waiting. She’s quite clearly drugged, can’t form a sentence, so he puts her to bed and reminds her that no matter how much she hurts him, he’ll always come back to take care of her.

She cries then, and begs him not to leave her alone again, in a garbled, slurring monologue that only peters off when she finally gives into whatever injection they’ve forced upon her. Just before dawn, meaning that she will only get an hour of sleep before the orderlies come for the patients, to feed and wash them.

(The drugs are helpful, but the sleep deprivation is better. He can use his gift to keep her from falling asleep well enough. She snatches what she can, mostly when she’s medicated because she’s quite useless when she’s in that state. He never considered sleep as such a valuable linchpin, leaving her disorientated and obedient. It’s very, very easy to rewrite everything she knows when she hasn’t slept in 72 hours because she hasn’t earned it yet.)

She cowers from him again, when he visits, until after the bruises fade.

She doesn’t mention the groundskeeper, but he knows she looks for him, she knows that she waits for him. He can see it in her body language, waiting for her knight to come and save her.

So he brings her an apple picked from the tree and helps her sleep for almost six hours, calls her pretty and sweet and clever and rewrites the memory in her mind, basks himself in a warm glow in her mind.

(The next thing she forgets is her own name. But she never, even forgets his again. He finds that amusing, that he is more powerful than all of the rot and damage in her soft little brain.)

—

The day he calls Peter back home is the night after she looks at him, wracked with seizures but still impressively conscious and lucid, and asks him the question. Her shuddering body doesn’t allow him to get closer.

“Are you going to kill me, Major?” she asks innocently, her head flopped to the side. Her hands are curled, arms bent awkwardly against her chest. It’ll take hours for the muscles to relax, for the limbs to loosen up - that it took a whole day last time, and she had cried with relief as she got each joint back under her control

“Excuse me?” His voice is quiet and cool, and he’s furious that she’s implying his plans are so easily untangled. Is death his goal? No. Will it be the end result? Probably. But she’ll die willingly, devoted and trusting with lemon sugar on his tongue, and the softness of moth-wing emotions against his skin.

She chokes for a second and closes her eyes. “I-I see so many things,” she rasps. “No one ever believes me, but the things I see…”

“What do you see?”

She arches her back as the seizure takes control before she’s blinking owlishly at him, as if she’s going to open her eyes just once and be able to see him in all his glory.

He almost wishes she could. The blood on his mouth and his clothes, the filth, the black-red of his eyes… just once, to see who she so willingly shares her space with.

“I… I want Eli to come home,” she manages, disorientated. “He’s been gone so long…” Tears slide down her cheek and this time when she slumps over onto her bed, she doesn’t try to resist.

“If that is what you want, Mary,” he says, and she is too far gone to heed the warning in his voice.

“Please bring him home,” she whispers into the dark, and he nods before he lets her go, pulling his gift back enough that the seizure swallows her up and she is unconscious in seconds.

Be careful what you wish for, Mary. I might get jealous.

—

The Groundskeeper returns on a Thursday, and he stinks of horror and worry and fear when they face off. He’s older than expected, rough and worn. The affection and protectiveness he feels for Mary is practically written across his face, and Jasper is utterly certain that the Groundskeeper has his own plans for Mary.

“You leave her be,” he says with an edge in his voice that Jasper almost respects. “You leave this place and leave her alone. She’s a child.”

“She’s very much not,” he manages with a smirk; letting the old bastard imagine the very worst. But she’s certainly not a child. He would have killed her clean and moved on if she had been.

The Groundskeeper snarls at him, the rage wafting off him in clouds - fury, resentment, frustration, fear…

“Are you waiting for that, old man? To play house with the little angel? Make her pose as a pretty, very obliging daughter who would do anything for her adoptive father?”

The Groundskeeper lunges, but he is faster.

“I can tell you how this ends, if you’d like,” Jasper continues, darting around. “You lose, for the record. And she dies. She dies thinking that I’m the second coming of God, and that you were just another monster in a prison full of them. She’s going to die thinking that you were nothing, and apologising to me for making a mess. That’s what’s going to happen to your beloved Mary.”

“Her name is Alice.”

—

The fight is over surprisingly quickly, and the pieces burn fast.

Mary is on her feet when he arrives, her worry burning against him.

“Is it you?” she finally asks with desperation and Jasper almost feels sorry for her.

“Who are you hoping for, my dear?” he asks and Mary stumbles backwards, sliding down the wall, her dead eyes wide and horrified.

“You murdered him,” she whispers, her hands clasped in front of her. “You took away my only friend…”

Her tears are silent, and she just stares ahead, her hands shaking.

“Oh, Mary,” he crouches beside her, reaching out to stroke her cheek. “Would you have been so unhappy had I lost that fight? If he had taken my head?”

She jerks away, shuddering at his touch. “He protected me, he cared for me,” she manages.

“He was so dangerous,” Jasper cooed at her. “He was letting terrible things happen to you, my dear. He did terrible things to you.”

“No, he was my friend,” Mary turns her face away from him - or she tries, but he has a firm grip on her chin by then. “How could you?” More pretty little bruises for her collection.

“To look after you, Mary. To make sure that you are safe,” he repeated but there’s an edge this time. A warning. “I did this for you, Mary. I thought it was what you wanted. To be safe, for me to look after you.” He looks wounded for a second, going to move away. “I can leave you alone, if you’d prefer. If that would be easier for you, I can go away.”

Three, two, one…

“No, don’t leave me, please don’t leave me.” Mary’s thin body is against his instantly, her thin arms wrapping as far around his waist as she can reach. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know you only want to help me.”

Lemon sugar washes over him. “I accept your apology. I’m sorry your ‘friend’ was such a monster. All those terrible things he did to you, Mary…”

“…I don’t remember any of them,” she says, her face pressed into his shirt. “A-are you sure?”

“Oh Mary,” he coos. “We’ll talk about that later. You need your rest.”

“But…”

“I’ve got you, Mary. I’ve got you.”

I’ve got you now.

#alice cullen #jasper hale #twilight fic #jalice #my fic #my writing #my fic: mortal sin #ficmas22 #ficmas #twificmas22 #alice is doomed #jasper needs better hobbies #peter is an enabler #does it help if the rest of the fics are happier?

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myezblog · 2 years

Text

Things that don’t matter, yet matter

1. This is his going commondo pants from ep 7 handjob scene

2. Priorities!!.. Change shirt first.. i told you Vegas and Kim are similar (both going from white to black)

3. Not a good brand promotion, specially when Apple is known for security

Also, why do you need to loginto the cctv network to run a pen drive on your laptop?? Which idiot would use a new pendrive on server?

Lol.. and mcbook air as per the annual reports latest quarter earning announcement was one of the highest selling product.. h ehe.. bad promotion

4. The first time he actually utters his name. Just saying! Not that it matters... and its chay, not porschay.. you know chay, as in the guitar pic chay.. because Porschay gave him the right to associate chay with kim

5. Amateur Shot!.. Dear Pond, next time.. the shirt needs to go way way up.. it is all for making better art.. truly :P

6. If you need proof of how well Kim fights ( the guy is still reeling from that ONE punch.. K, V.. take classes)

7. I am very serious about energy conservation.. this is not cool.. Mr. pond.. take notes

8. Liike, all i need to do is pull that ear ring so hard, that the pain will have you on your knees.. How Easy!!.. (kinn needs to go through basics of mafia training, pretty sure daddy paid money to have him pass the exam.. NEPOTISM CARD) .. (chill.. this one really is a joke, nepotism isn’t though)

9. Do you have contact lens to fight in the field..

10. I guess, only lover can call “Chay”

9. 4 moles on this side of the face. it is an exam question. Don’t fight with me on this.

10. Inner monologue “Why am i always stuck with idiots and morons and such stupid beings”

9. Bit of palmistry here.. you see the two prominent lines around the thumb, running as parallel .. a lot of people have these intersect or converge at some point (you can check yours)

Simply means, this person is very strong willed and minded and opinionated.. he/she will do what he/she wants to do.. which includes personal and romantic relationship.. so ya.. not the one you can control..

Yes, its build hand, so build’s psyche.. but you know.. pete ain’t so far off

11. Either you are a bad actor, or Pond has some weird comic taste :P . how am i to buy this “in love with you, obsessed with you, insecured that you might actually like porsche” face

but then you look like a villain with that constant smug look

12. lol.. this relationship.. who is manipulating whom?.. Tawan has his own bodyguards who will willingly go against Vegas

13. inner monologue 2 -> we got tired of pointing guns at each other.. these guys are taking too many takes to get this scene done..

13. Told you, not important yet important.. there is a mole there

14. There was no need to try so hard to prove this point. Even his dad knows it.. everyone does

14. Take lessons Kinn.. take out your ear ring when going to battlefield.. otherwise.. very easy to get you on your knees.. fighting 101

15. Personally, want to see what acting prowess will he show to differentiate this scene from when he kisses pete..

16. The guy on the right, in blue.. lol.. he changed his position after dying. .and i guess watching the show from heaven.. sorry dude.. shooting still going on

17. Bad shooting skills. None of the main characters can kill right by shooting

18. 3 moles on this side of the face. Told you it is an exam question (4 , if you count the one in the ear)

19. Not perked up, he is not excited.. lol..now i need to compare it when he is with pete ( in some alternate universe because BOC ain’t giving more than 2 min of VP in this season for sure)

20. it ain’t gold.. that’s all i am saying

21. And this too

22. This timestamp, i didn’t realize the first time round.. vegas kissed tawan on the neck.. and there is the voice for it...

Dude real trust issues.. when you pull this off with pete.. i am going to second guess

23. ok, fine.. he calls him chay too

24. Allow me to complete the sentence again

“... give him time, just as I gave my little brother time.. we haven’t spoken in eternity, and see we are doing just fine! “

26. 3 brothers but really not similar

26. you lied to me.. my entire timeline is thrown out of the window.. you said you will appear in ep 12

27. Inner monologue:

Chess is a game of finesses. Why am I stuck amongst these goons. Should really just put out a job notice on looking for a heir for an age old mafia corporate

28. half leg waxed, half not.. is that a style?

#kinnporsche #kinnporche the series #kinn porsche #kinn x porsche #kinnporsche cast

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artylo · 9 months

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On Lecturing, Mansplaining, and The Way We Seek Information

What I find profoundly tiring about the senseless perversion of the conversational maxims nowadays is the seemingly insatiable urge for people to lecture others. Doubly so on the internet. I think this is somewhat of a new endeavour in everyone's repertoire, a honest to god brand new learned behaviour in the communal melting pot.

Of course, lecturing someone implies that there is some sense of superiority and of ego. One believes that the other could benefit with having something explained to them, so they do so with a sense of complete entitlement and with no consideration of one's receptiveness towards such an act. I see slighter examples of this online, like under interviews with rather oratorically gifted people like Orson Welles. Just here and there, someone will have isolated some pleasant and articulate phrase as one of the many comments. This in and of itself is not a bad thing - sententiae are after all fit for purpose. What is not to share? These individuals, however, cannot help themselves by just highlighting what they find pleasant to the ear, but the feel obligated to comment further on how "this is some advice a lot of young people can benefit from" or "this is a valuable lesson for everybody to learn right there". How observant. That these are words that the elusive "I" has deemed valuable - words that souls of perceived lesser taste ought to immediately apply. Of course, this seems innocent enough, but to me it speaks to a much larger shift in the way we perceive others and appreciate information.

Surely, if we are listening to or reading the same material, and we then come across the same sententia, which is evidently universally applicable to all facets of the human condition, something that everyone should and ought know, then why surmise that everyone else has somehow missed it. Why belittle the intelligence of your fellow man by acting as if your own intellectual facets are somehow better attuned to what is considered tasteful or profound. If the sententia is truly what you say it is, then shouldn't it be evident to the recipient without further elaboration on why this particular fragment is of vital importance for our species.

There is a whole industry of people who have essentially created a career putting together listicles of advice or quotes from famous people. Just the other day I came across a video, which was roughly about ten or so minutes, which essentially revolved around listing three sentences that were supposedly uttered by Ernest Hemingway, as advice to aspiring writers. This was of course padded for length and supported by several metric tons of visuals and calls to action, which as you might imagine could be a wholly different and lengthy topic of discussion. Yet, surely if I were to seek wisdom from the greats, then I would seek it out myself. That I would find meaning in their work or conversations they had had with their peers, rather than some montage bereft of all context.

The film critique industry has essentially morphed from mostly critique, analysis, and conspicuous marketing, into a factory for ready-made opinion pieces, which viewers eat up wholesale and regurgitate instead of indulging whatever thoughts they might have on the particular film. Dozens upon dozens of "Ending Explained" videos and articles, where people are given objective answers to subjective questions. Works to which many flock to immediately upon the credits rolling, just so there isn't any shred of ambiguity left. Not immediately knowing or being confused causes people to feel excluded from the group - excluded from people that can somehow explain - people who are perhaps confident enough to state their opinion at all, regardless of the consequences, in a way that to the rest of society looks like expertise and some higher sense of wisdom.

We're essentially begging each other to remove all doubt. To blindly trust in the loudest voices of our generation. Not doing so might open one up to being wrong or to being misinformed. In the court of public opinion, those are seen as grievous acts. How dare you not be aware that this is the case! Aren't you a fool!

This makes people afraid to share their thoughts and encourages a capriciously Orwellian exercise in doublethink. The environment which allowed for there to be the public's opinion and the private opinion is slowly being eroded. Conversing on a topic might seem fruitless when there is a video on the topic, which can be shared instead. The material doesn't contain the point - it is the point.

There is not innate reward in being able to synthesise your own thoughts any more. It's much easier to be indifferent after all. It's much easier to plead media illiteracy than it is to open oneself to ridicule. Expressing positivity or negativity towards a work might alienate you from the diametrically opposed group after all. Taste is prescribed, not cultivated.

Recently, I've been coming across a lot of media that mentions mansplaining - the act of a man explaining something, typically to a woman, in a manner seen as patronizing. I feel that that too is a symptom, or at least a more common example of what I'm seeing. In a sense, we want to perceive others' passions and interests as fundamentally their own and as non-transferable. There is no way of opening someone's eyes to something your hold dear without shoving it down their throat or presenting it as the rule of thumb. It creates this inane sense that the people around you are somehow less intelligent and less receptive to things, which you consider to be, of finer taste. That in and of itself motivates people to lecture and to present themselves as holier than thou. To present the information in a way that is mimetically palatable. If a lot of people believe something, then it must be correct. And if it is correct then it must be what people believe.

This kind of reasoning is indeed very democratic, but is liable to a vocal minority controlling the narrative and essentially prescribing what the majority opinion of a work will be. Worryingly so, this isn't even entirely isolated to fiction. News and information has become too plentiful and too difficult to sift through, so we flock to simple, pre-chewed, and condensed information, where some supposedly learned figure has handily decided what is important and what isn't for us. Being informed is becoming an exercise of trust in others, rather than a search for an objective truth.

Needless to say, what I am advocating for is for you to exercise self-restraint when it comes to satisfying your lust for information or the need to elucidate it in others. Form views of your own, before comparing them to those representing the zeitgeist. Do not seek to eradicate the views of others, so that you might substitute them with your own. Seek understanding in what you perceive as wrong. Question everything, including yourself, the views of those closest to you, and the views of those you deem wisest and most eloquent. Post-modernism is an exercise in individuality, and as we slowly move into an era of post-irony I feel it is going to become ever so important, if not more. In a very meta-modernist way, you might even choose to ignore my assumptions, which would also be valid. Are we there yet? You might very well think that; I couldn't possibly comment.

#conversational maxims #linguistics #sociology #philosophy #critical thinking #mansplaining #ending explained #creative nonfiction #essay #human behaviour #random observations #orwellian #post irony #metamodernism

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geometricalien · 9 months

Note

1, 2, 3, 6, 10, 12, 16, 20, 23, 24 & 27 for Kōki Furihata - feel free to choose just a few from these if you feel these are too much 😊

nah man imma answer them allll thank you for sending your ask!! <3<3

1 - My first impression of them - … I thought he was shallow… HE JOINS A TEAM WITH AMBITIONS TO BE THE BEST BECAUSE OF A WEAK ASS GOAL “a girl said she would date me if I was the best in something lol” !! BOY!!

2 - When I think I truly started to like them (or dislike them, if you've sent me a character I don't like) - I think I finally warmed up to him when he and the other first years said that they wanted to play on the court too, so that’s around?? The streetball tournament? And then we get to know him more during winter cup and he is hella relatable

3 - A song(s) that reminds me of them -

Hercules by Sara Bareilles, i’ve been obsessed with this since I first heard it over a year, it encapsulates the core emotional drive behind Kouki in my greek wip, “‘cause I have sent for a hero from on my knees, make me a Hercules, I was meant to be a warrior please, make me a Hercules”

Mree’s cover of Face My Fears, it just makes me imagine him walking up this huge staircase to the palace of the emperor preparing to do the unthinkable

Romantic by Lauryn Marie, Kouki is ouuuurrrr romantic

I also have this playlist I made full of songs that either remind me of him or songs I think he would listen to

6 - My least favorite ship of them - oh uh hmm I haven’t thought about this before uh let me pull up a character sheet fjdsklf (I’m not including teams unrelated to the GOM bc I literally don’t remember enough about them to say conclusively one way or the other if a ship would be bad or my new otp (veerryyyy unlikely that would happen but who knows) similarly with minor characters from GOM’s teams- besides seirin and rakuzan) okay, I entertained this for far longer than I should because Kouki is fairly similar to Yamaguchi from haikyuu however while Kouki has the ability for snark he isn’t mean like Yams. so Haizaki and Hanamiya are in the running for least favorite ships. Vibes alone, Hyuuga and Kouki don’t mesh well. Tsuchida has a girlfriend so he’s out. And lastly, I think Kouki is too nice and considerate to be a compelling ship with Midorima. He needs someone who will push him beyond his boundaries and Kouki wouldn’t do that. And that’s what I’ll say on that jfdsakljf

Sidenote: I unexpectedly like the rivalry that could crop up between Kouki and Sakurai in their third year bc I think they would be interesting parallels

10 - Describe the character in one sentence - Unassuming man doesn’t know how beautiful and kind he is in this cruel world.

12 - Sexuality hc! Bi bi bi bi bi bi bi bi bi bi bi bi bi bi bi bi bi bi bi bi bi bi bi bib ib ib ib bibibibibi

16 - A childhood headcanon - Kouki wanted to be a mangaka when he was a kid, he read all the shonen jumps as soon as they came out and had dreams of making the next big manga. He even made some prototype manga chapters full of wobbly characters and overdrawn colors and misspelled words that his mother proudly kept and eagerly plans to show his partner (coughAkashicough) when they come to visit

20 - A weird headcanon - He picks and tears at his fingernails instead of clipping them. It’s half out of nerves and half out of boredom

23 - Future headcanon - Besides him being the captain their 3rd year- When he has a stable job he updates his wardrobe, little known fact, Kouki is very fashionable, so he likes to be on top of fashion trends (cough and when he gets with a certain rich redhead he takes full advantage of their gift giving love language and his little black credit card for certain expensive brands cough) I also think that during the pandemic shut down he went a little crazy trying new recipes and his kitchen was an utter mess with no less than 3 failed dough starters spread across his countertops

24 - What do you think is a secret they have that they never told anyone? - He deeply enjoys all of the soapy romance dramas his mother watches. He’ll enter the living room on the dot of eight and put up a farce of “what is this? The emperor’s love? Guess I’ll watch this with you… if you insist” His whole family has picked up on this and besides some gentle ribbing from his elder brother, no one blinks an eye. His mother records the episodes now in case his practice runs late. When the girls in his class talk about the shows he has to physically restrain himself from commenting thinking everyone will think its weird that a guy likes those sappy shows (he doesn’t know that being able to share and relate with the girls about something will make him more liked though)

27 - If they could meet a character from another show/movie/etc, who would be the most fun for them to meet? - is it a cop out answer to say thomas the tank engine? I think he and Yamaguchi would be good friends

#ask box #ask game #furihata kouki #knb #kuroko no basket #thank you!!! <3 #traditional artist

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