#i just like his presence in the books . even if he has little to contribute to the actual plot. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

taifenggg · 5 months

Note

love Language HC’s for the brothers? Like love languages that if you do certain things they’ll fall harder, like spending time with mammon when you don’t have too. Or getting new books for Satan that he couldn’t budget.

I love you more than words can convey.

CW: none

Characters: GN!Reader, Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmo, Beel, Belphie

Authors Notes: ahhh this is so cute <3. Based on what you said, I'm assuming that this is the brother's favorite love language to receive lol

Lucifer [🦚💙]

Lucifer's favorite love language is quality time, but it can be argued that acts of service are his love language as well.

Lucifer is fairly busy in his day-to-day affairs, and it pains him whenever he's too busy to spend time with you. He's always busy working on paperwork that has been piled up so high that you can barely see him behind all of the papers. However, your presence brightens up his day as you make your way into his room. You don't say a word as you plop onto the sofa in his room, absentmindedly scrolling through your DDD or reading a book that you brought yourself. Just your presence is enough to get him to relax and get right back to work so that he can go to bed sooner to cuddle with you.

Furthermore, if you just so happened to brew his favorite Hell Coffee, setting it down on his desk, he'll feel himself soften even more in your presence. The coffee you make for him is always especially bitter, not that he minds. Lucifer is always looking after everyone, his brothers, Diavolo, and you. So going out of your way to do things just for him makes his pride swell. This man is so whipped for you even if he won't outwardly say it LMAO.

Mammon [💰💛]

Mammon's favorite love language is physical touch, but it can be argued that words of affirmation are his love language as well.

Always the tsundere, Mammon is not one to ask you for your attention directly, instead implying it and waiting for you to take action. Being the Avatar of Greed, Mammon is determined to hold onto every shred of attention that you give to him, which contributes to how possessive he is over you. Somehow he always has a hand on you, whether it's his hand wrapped around your shoulder protectively as you two navigate the bustling streets of the Devildom or the way he holds your hand tracing circles against your palm as the two of you lay together in bed. He can't keep his hands to himself, but thankfully you don't mind.

Mammon's self-esteem always takes a hit whenever his brothers berate him for being a "greedy scumbag". Please reassure him and tell him how amazing he is. Brush your hands through his hair, and press a gentle kiss to his forehead as you tell him how much you love him. Tell him about how he's your favorite, how he's the best thing that has ever happened to you and he's putty in your hands.

Leviathan [🐍🧡]

Leviathan's favorite love language is quality time, but it can be argued that receiving gifts is his love language as well.

Levi enjoys the company you provide. If he could, he would spend hours upon hours holed up in his room, playing video games, or watching anime, or reading manga. Of course with you at his side at all times. Perhaps maybe the two of you could even do matching couple cosplays together, but alas Levi is too shy to even bring it up without his face flushing 5 different shades of red at the thought. Really, he just enjoys doing things together with you, and he cherishes all the little moments you have together.

He's always doing his best to get his hands on the latest anime merch, or the newest release of his favorite manga, but he appears crestfallen whenever he can't get his hands on what he wants despite waiting in line for 5 hours. His face lights up however when he finds that you managed to get your hands on the exact thing that he wants and he feels his heart flutter when you hand it to him, telling him that it's a gift for him. Levi swears that he just fell more in love with you than he was before.

Satan [😾💚]

Satan's favorite love language is words of affirmation, but it can be argued that quality time is his love language as well.

To Satan, words are the best way he can convey his emotions, especially if it's written down. He struggles a lot with who he is, without feeling a surge of anger whenever he feels that he's starting to be a little too similar to Lucifer. He wants to be his own demon without constantly feeling like he's just a copy of Lucifer. Tell him about how smart he is, how he always knows what to do, or how reliable he is. He'll have the smugest smile on his face as he listens to your praise, and he shoots it at Lucifer because he knows that he's your favorite and not Lucifer.

At the end of the day, Satan just wants to spend as much time as he can with you, unwinding with a book in one hand, and preferably with you sitting in his lap reading with him. Not many words are spoken between the two of you, but just the feeling of you resting against his chest is enough to help Satan relax and forget about his troubles. As much as he enjoys listening to your voice, and hearing you ramble about your day or things that interest you, he also enjoys the silence with the two of you basking in each other's presence.

Asmodeus [💋🩷]

Asmodeus' favorite love language is physical touch, but it can be argued that acts of service are his love language as well.

Asmo can't get enough of you. Asmo is so open with his affection towards you and he's not afraid to show it when he openly holds your face in his hands and coos about just how adorable the two of you are together. Whether it's in class, when you're out and about, or when the two of you are hanging out together, Asmo either has his fingers threaded into yours or has his leg pressing against yours. You don't mind though, his presence is comforting to you.

Asmo loves it whenever you get all fussy over him and do things for him. Don't get him wrong, he's independent and can do things on his own, but he enjoys being pampered and taken care of by you. Yes please do his nails for him, please paint his nails for him while the two of you have your regularly scheduled gossip sesh, please massage his shoulders, he was feeling a bit sore around his neck.

Beelzebub [🍔❤️]

Beelzebub's favorite love language is acts of service, but it can be argued that words of affirmation are his love language as well.

Beel loves you and the fact that you're so willing to indulge him and his hunger. He knows that he has a voracious appetite, but does that stop you from making more than enough of his favorite foods? Hell no. You wanna make this man melt even more? Offer to help him whenever he works out, maybe sitting on his back so he can use you as a weight, or stay there by his side and hand him some water whenever he finishes working out so he can stay hydrated.

Beel struggles with conveying his emotions and ever since what happened with Lilith, that has worsened exponentially. He's not the best at saying how he's feeling and at times he can get depressed and insecure over things that happened in the past. Reassure this gentle giant, tell him that what happened was not his fault and that no matter what happens, you'll always love him unconditionally. He's so, so soft for you.

Belphegor [🐮💜]

Belphegor's favorite love language is physical touch, but it can be argued that quality time is his love language as well.

Belphie is clingy, that's an established fact lmao. He always has his tail wrapped around you to ensure that you don't suddenly leave him. Pillows don't have legs after all! He's such a little brat too, he would totally slip his ice-cold hands underneath your shirt right as you're about to fall asleep and would blink sleepily at you unapologetically as you jump and squirm to get away from his freezing fingers. Belphie discovered that he couldn't sleep without keeping his hands on you. He'll pout and whine until you oblige and slide into bed with him.

He loves taking naps with you, and he'll keep you trapped there for as long as he can. There's just something that's so comforting about you and him lying together in bed. He'll press his forehead against yours and squeeze you so tight to the point where you can't breathe. Sometimes Belphie wonders how he got so lucky, managing to get the chance to call you his own. It's only when he watches over you, cuddled up to him that he feels his heart melt. He wants to keep you with him like this forever, no matter the cost.

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hyperactively-me · 8 months

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king!ghost x reader -- learning, growing

A few days have passed since Simon almost kissed you.

With him, around him, you felt more comfortable, more at ease. It wasn’t easy getting to this point with him, but spending time with him has strengthened you in ways you could have never imagined.

The palace, once a place of hostility and responsibility, began to feel like a true home filled with kindness and understanding. Time spent together was precious, and you cherished each moment of vulnerability. The late-night conversations and the quiet, whispered laughter in the corridors all contributed to the connection you had forged.

Simon's loyalty and strength became even more apparent as you got to know him. He was a king who would move heaven and earth to protect his people, especially his friends, and he was also a man who would move mountains for you. He made you feel cherished and secure, and your affection for him deepened with each passing day.

One evening, while you were curled up on the couch, Simon spoke candidly about his past. “I've always been so focused on my duty as a king that I never really had the chance to explore my own interests or hobbies. But since you came into my life, I’ve noticed the way you do all of these things, and I admire you for that.”

Your eyes twinkled with happiness as you listened intently. “Aw, really? Lil ole me?"

He smiled, his eyes reflecting a genuine enthusiasm. “Well, for one, I've developed a newfound love for books. I’m always lookin’ over your shoulder when you read, y’know.”

You couldn't help but grin at his admission, your eyes lighting up. “Aww, I’m glad that you think so, Simon.”

Simon nods. “And I've realized that there's so much more I want to explore. I know there has to be something out there for me.”

Your heart swelled with pride at his willingness to embrace new experiences. “I think that's wonderful, Simon. You should explore whatever makes you happy."

He also asked questions about your own interests and hobbies, wanting to understand you. You shared your love for gardening with him, and soon, you both started tending to a small garden in the palace courtyard. He was definitely hesitant at first, never really confident in his abilities in the garden, but over time, you taught him how to nurture the plants. Simon's dedication, his strong hands carefully tending to each flower and shrub, was something you’d never thought you’d see. It was so sweet seeing him try something new just because you liked it.

A few days have passed since your little moment on the couch before he was pulled away from you because of his responsibilities as king. It was after dinner, the sun was setting, and you wanted to watch the sunset.

Hand in hand, you made your way through the dimly lit corridors, your heart fluttering as he pushed open a balcony door for you. The sky was painted in hues of orange and pink, the sun casting a golden shimmer across the landscape. You stepped onto the balcony, the cool breeze tousling your hair, and the soft rustling of leaves in the palace gardens creating a soothing ambiance.

Simon stands next to you, his presence comforting. With his arm around your waist, he pulls you closer, his eyes fixed on the horizon.

“I—,” he starts, his voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the delicate peace of the evening.

You nestle against him, feeling the warmth of his body, and the reassuring beat of his heart. “What?” you question softly.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he whispers, his voice husky with emotion.

You smiled, feeling the same overpowering attraction. “Nor can I,” you admitted, your hands coming to wrap around his waist.

“No, I mean it. You…there’s no words to describe how much you’ve grown to mean to me,” he trails off. He pulls you into his chest, hands coming down to rest on your waist.

Simon's thumb gently caressed your cheek as he looked at you, his eyes filled with longing. “Every moment with you, I just feel…fulfilled,” he murmured.

“Simon—"

“No, don’t say anything, just— let me…” he leans in, lowering his head down, mere centimeters from your face. Your heart races in your chest, threatening to sprint right out.

"Kiss me," you nearly beg, gripping onto him tightly.

And with a small breath, he captures your lips in a searing kiss.

His arms envelope you in a tight, secure embrace, pulling you right up against him, and you melt into his touch. You grab onto his shirt, bunching the fabric as you push up on your toes to reach him easier. The world outside seemed to disappear as you explore each other's mouths, savoring the taste with every kiss you give him.

He groans slightly as your arms come up around his neck, tugging gently at the hair on the nape of his neck. He squeezes the flesh of your waist as he presses into you. Suddenly, he flips you, pressing you against the bar of the balcony, kissing you like a man starved. He cups the back of your head, one arm secure around your waist to make sure you don’t fall. He would never let go of you, never let you fall, and you know it. Your mouth tastes so good, feels like velvet, like everything and more he imagined it to be. He pulls away for a moment, his breath hot as he lets out small pants. He licks his swollen lips, eyes not parting from yours.

“Simon–”

He groans, then pushes his face into your neck.

“Darlin’, if you say my name one more time, I’m not going to be able to hold myself back,” he mumbles into your skin, breathing in your scent.

You still as he speaks, hands coming up to scratch his back gently. You had never gone this far with a man, no, not even back at home. This was something you had never experienced before, something that meant more than just a simple kiss. Something more.

“Okay,” you say, your voice barely a whisper.

He kisses your neck, leaving sloppy open-mouthed kisses along your sensitive skin. He pulls away suddenly, his hands still locked around your frame.

“Was it too much?” he asks, stroking his thumb against you over your clothes.

“No, no, it’s just, I’ve never– I’ve never done this before,” you say softly. “But, I’m glad it was with you. It couldn’t have been more perfect,” you say, stroking the contours of his face.

You speak gently, knowing what he was insinuating with his words. “Do you want to…?”

“No, no, not like this, not now” he says quickly. “You deserve better than something quick. You deserve to be treated with respect.”

You nod slowly, warmth creeping up your cheeks.

“And I thank you for respecting me all this time,” you say, smiling softly at him. “But, right now, I want to do this. With you. And only with you.”

His heart rate picks up as he takes in your words. The moment he’s been waiting for. For your permission. For your yes.

He would show you what you deserve.

- - - - -

(masterlist)

#PHEW #NEXT ONE...#IS THE ONE #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon “ghost” riley x reader #simon “ghost” riley x you #hyperactivelyme

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lust4life01 · 29 days

Note

literally anything with donnie is fine! just wanted to tell you how much i love your writing too!! :)

Awe thank you sm qt!! I whole heartedly appreciate that, it means so much to me💘 This is a little rushed <3

Baby, Sit.

(Not my image!!). 18+

Warnings!!- Enemies to Lovers, Jealousy, dom x sub, smut, oral (m receiving), fingering, slight chocking, possession and teasing.

Dom Donnie x f/reader

(Donnie and reader are both 18!) Disclaimer/ this is purely fantasy, if somebody is cruel to you irl it does not mean they like you, they’re scum :)

Summary: You were hired by Rose and Eddie Darko to baby sit for their youngest child Samantha, little did you know you would be sitting for some else.

Being an eighteen year old student, you were painfully broke, so when your mother had referred you to her friend to baby sit, you immediately accepted.

When your mother had told you the name of the woman who’s child you would be looking after you felt a wave of anxiety rush through you.

Rose Darko. As in the parent of Donnie Darko.

You and Donnie had been in the same school, you were the same age. And unfortunately you couldn’t stand him and vice versa. There was something about the pair of you that didn’t work. He was always so uptight and had to be right about everything, it was infuriating. There was one main factor that contributed to the continuous clash between the two of you, which was the fact you dated his best friend up until pretty recently. You hadn’t seen Donnie since then considering you had no reason to be around each other anymore but the thought of seeing him again made you want to scream into a pillow.

Whenever you two would be in the same vicinity he would just straight up ignore your presence or when he did acknowledge you he would be blunt and snappy. You had no idea why but this lead to a lot of animosity between the two of you.

So when your mother had told you you would be babysitting for Samantha Darko you immediately wanted to call up Rose and tell her you wouldn’t be able to do it. However you were pretty broke and you assured yourself you probably wouldn’t see Donnie, not if there was no one to baby sit his younger sister. Plus what was you supposed to tell her? Sorry I can’t watch your child that I’ve already agreed to watch because your son hates me? Yeah no.

———————————————————-

“Hey (y,n) yeah we’ll be gone for a couple hours but we left some money for pizza.” Mrs Darko told you as you stood in their kitchen.

You already knew Samantha from when she would bug Donnie at school and run up to the friend group. She was a sweet kid and she liked you well enough so that definitely eased your nerves.

“Okay great, does Samantha need to be in bed by a specific time.” You asked sweetly, knowing full well you’d probably let her stay up regardless.

“Um nope just not too late and by the time we get home. Oh and she has homework to do.”

Rose sterling looked at Samatha as a warning.

“Boringgg.” Samantha protested whilst stood directly by your side.

“Okay well we’ll see you later, have fun” Eddie spoke as they made their way out of the door.

Rose returned and popped her head into the door before leaving .

“Oh (y,n) I’m sure Donnie will be glad to see you again.” She smiled and quickly left before you could even form a response.

Your mind paced. Was Donnie supposed to be here? Why did they need a babysitter then? Did they know you two used to be in the same friendship group? Had he mentioned you? Was it negative? Did he express how much he hated you? Would you actually see him again?

“Can you paint my nails?” Samantha snapped you from your spiral of anxious thoughts.

You turned to her and smiled. “Of course”

You had painted her nails, watched her dance rehearsals and told her how good she was, ordered pizza and now you were helping her with her homework.

She had to write about the character of Pony boy Curtis from ‘The Outsider’ by S.E Hinton.

You had loved studying this book when you was her age and literature in general. So it was absolutely no bother helping her complete her assignment.

“Well, he’s obviously very different and unique to the other characters which can be inferred through-“

You were cut off by the sound of the doorbell ringing.

“Pizza, thank God!” Samantha cried out holding her hands together.

Laughing at her childhood silliness you walked over and opened the front door with cash in your hand, your stomach very exited to finally eat.

However, you were not laughing when you opened the door to someone that was not the pizza delivery man. In fact you no longer felt hunger but complete nausea. Instead a tallish guy with dark hair and piercing blue eyes stood on the other side. Donnie.

You didn’t say anything, just moved to the side to let him through. He didn’t say anything either. Simply walked past as if you weren’t there, the smell of cigarettes trailing behind him.

“Ugh it’s just my stupid brother, not pizza” Samantha whined.

Donnie pulled a face at her as he made his way through the house.

“Hey Sam, when she goes home tonight, Freddie Kruger is gonna craw out from under your bed.” He teased through a creeping voice, obviously trying to upset her.

Samantha in her upset state, Freddie Kruger clearly being a touchy subject, yelled out whist nearly in tears

“SHUT UP DONNIE, NO HE WONT!”

He then made his way over to her homework and scoffed, picking up her copy of The Outsiders and mumbled “mediocre.”

He then proceeded upstairs, leaving the minute he’d managed to make someone else feel bad. Typical.

You rolled your eyes at his cruelty. Of course she wouldn’t be reading fucking Dostoevsky at her age.

Remembered what it was like being in an English class with Donnie gave you a headache. He had great ideas but god forbidden you had an opposing idea. He would scoff and roll his eyes. It drove you crazy. He wasn’t always like that thought, at one point he used to encourage your ideas and even swap notes with you.

You were cut from your thoughts once again when the door bell went again, fortunately this time the pizza man was the one on the other side.

Sam ate some pizza, you no longer felt hungry but you did eventually managed to calm Sam down. The pair of you just chatted about whatever she wanted. She was telling you about some childish drama in her friendship group and you nodded your head pretending like it wasn’t the funniest shit you’d ever heard. Childhood drama is always hilarious when you’re no longer a child.

Despite being distracted by Sam, you kept thinking about the boy upstairs. “Do you think your brothers eaten?”

Sam shrugged her shoulders “who cares?” annoyance laced in her voice at the mention of her older brother.

You said nothing and proceeded with her homework.

Once she had finally finished she was ready to sleep. Her expression exhausted and she yawned after almost every word of her sentence.

“I’m- not even like- that- tired.”

You giggled at her before telling her she should probably head up to bed but you did promise to braid her hair first.

“Thanks for keeping me company (y,n), you were always my favourite out of Donnie’s friends” she smiled and hugged you at the bottom of the staircase.

The word ‘friend’ lingered for a while in your head. It was true, you were friendly at a time. It sucked because he felt good to be around for a time.

You stayed downstairs as she marched off to bed, whispered a sweet “goodnight” as she made her way to bed.

There was still around an hour and a half until Eddie and Rose were supposed to be home and you hadn’t seen anything of Donnie since he had come home. It was weird, you felt like you hated him but you also wanted to be around him. You especially wanted to know why he hated you. A part of you hoped that maybe he’d go back to his old self but instead you pushed him into the back of your mind and stared to clean up a little.

Once you had cleared up you sat onto the couch and grabbed a book from your bag and stared to read. You only had a few chapters left so decided to try and finish them tonight.

You were so drawn into the book that you didn’t realise a familiar figure loomed behind you. Donnie stood behind the couch reading over your shoulder. After a couple second of you not noticing his presence, he leaned down to your ear.

“Good choice.”

You jumped and your head snapped round to Donnie, almost slapping him out of instinct as a small yelp slipped past your lips.

“What the fuck Donnie. I could have woken up your sister. What’s wrong with you?”

His face was close to yours, and a small smile crept onto his face as he watched your second of distress. “Hello to you too (y,n)”

“Why are you being so friendly? Thought you couldn’t stand me?” You asked with your brows furrowed and your tone daring. You weren’t even with his stupid friend anymore so you had no clue why he was still such a dick.

“I’ve never said that.”

His answer was short and blunt but he had that smug grin on his face. Not one that radiated happiness or flirtation but something else. Power maybe? Like a wolf who had corned a bunny and laughed hysterically as it tried to escape.

You didn’t try to escape from him though. You kept your eyes locked onto his, not daring to dart your eyes away as a sign of weakness.

“You didn’t have to.”

He however did not have any snarky remarks in response. Instead he made his way round to the spot on the couch next to you and snatched the book from your hands.

“Ah 1984. George Orwell. You know when I tried to explain to your small minded boyfriend. Oh no. Ex-boyfriend, the concept of this book it was exhausting.” He rolled his eyes dramatically with that mean playful look on his face.

Why on earth was he doing this? Mentioning your ex boyfriend, calling his own friend small minded, even speaking to you. You racked your brain on why he was doing this. Sure you had known he hated you but that usually manifested itself through his lack of interest in engaging with you or his need to argue with everything you ever said. Now it was like he was taunting you by giving you this almost flirtatious, slightly sadistic attention. It was so odd but so hypnotising.

“But then again, I never did understand why he was with someone like you.”

You couldn’t tell if that was a compliment or an insult. Someone like you? What exactly did that entail.

“What are doing Donnie?”

Your brows were furrowed slightly and your eyes a little sad, completely fed up of trying to work out his cruel ways, or even justify them to yourself.

You and Donnie had been somewhat friends before you started dating his best friend, but as soon as you did he became a new person. When you’d occasionally chat in the library about whatever book you were studying he’d always smile or when you’d catch each other on the way home and he’d be a little awkward but totally engaged with whatever you were saying, it was nice. That all came to a stop when his friend had started to pay you attention. You thought maybe Donnie felt as though you’d stolen his best friend and for that you did truly feel sorry.

You were now face to face in the dimly light room. Just a lamp illuminated the two faces.

“What were you doing (y,n)?”

He was no longer smug but he had caught and attitude with you. There something underlying in this anger in his voice. A deep irritation sat on his tongue.

“What do you want me to say Donnie? Sorry I didn’t live up to the expectation of being your friends dream girl, or sorry that you felt abandoned by him?

He shook his head and let out a hysterical laugh. As if your words were a pathetic joke.

“Ugh (y,n) I honestly thought you were smarter than this. I didn’t give a fuck about losing ‘crucial friend time’” He mocked.

“It frustrated me that someone as smart as you would even consider giving someone like that your time of day. Someone who you couldn’t converse with about anything slightly philosophical or opinions on a new book or poetry, because ‘books are useless, or ‘metaphors are stupid’. Mimicking his best friends voice as he spoke.

You said nothing. You were speechless and your brain hurt from trying to work him out. You just thought to yourself after his little outburst. Then it hit you. Was this jealousy?

“Why do you care so much Donnie? It’s not like I could talk about poetry or a new fucking book with you. You wouldn’t even talk to me.”

You snapped back, testing him. Was he truly jealous of not you, but your ex?

You were both still face to face. Inches away from each other.

“Only after you climbed into bed with someone who didn’t deserve you.” His voice was assertive and filled with envy yet his voice was low.

The realisation on how close you two had gotten finally hit the both of you. You were staring at him with your lips slightly parted and a slight confusion brushed your features. Why did you find this hot? God, you told yourself this was wrong but the sound of jealousy in his voice made your chest heave with excitement.

The sound of your heart beat was loud, it felt as though your heart had been placed to your ear. His lips were so close to yours. But you were upset, with another overwhelming feeling aching in your chest. Lust?

His eyes were still fixed on yours. “It should have been my bed you were climbing in.”

He brought his fingers up to your jaw possessively.

The two big black holes that had replaced his usual pupils drew you in. His eyes trailed down to your slightly parted lips. There was a part of you that wanted to cry and shout at him for being such a dick, but you couldn’t. It was like you had been hypnotised. Or maybe you’d just awoken from the trance you’d been under. This complete and utter blindness towards Donnie’s feeling towards you, or yours for him.

Amongst your silence he crashed his lips to yours. The kiss was hard and desperate. He pushed his tongue past your lips and you let a small moan slip. His hands cupped either side of your jaw as his teeth sank into your bottom lip.

A small hiss left your lips at the sharp pain that send a shock through your body. Donnie’s hand trailed down from your jaw to neck and his hand slowly snaked it’s way around to your throat. He added a little pressure, not enough to hurt you but just enough to make you feel everything more intensely whilst his other hand brought some hair behind your ear.

He pulled away from the kiss, keeping his hand exactly as they were and just admired the mess of emotions plastered along your face. Anger, confusion, fear and lust. To him you looked like a beautiful oil painting, so many different things happening at once and he got to be the observer. The artist even, controlling what you felt next.

“Donnie” You whispered.

“Shh baby. I’ve got you now.” There was an element of comfort in his voice but mainly possession. A wider grin played on his face as he said those words, violently bringing his lips to yours once again.

The feeling of his long fingers inching closer up skirt and thighs made you want to cry out and tell him exactly where to touch you. But you didn’t.

The slight pressure from his veiny hand wrapped around your neck and the near brushes to your clit through your underwear, were getting you so worked up.

“Donnie, please.” you whispered against his lips, your voice quiet and needy.

He practically growled in response “Oh now you want me? Such a slut.”

As you whimpered underneath his tough he chucked into your ear. “Bet he couldn’t make you feel this good.”

You came quickly under his palm, your head was a mess. There was so many emotions running through, it was like ecstasy. He was a drug.

“Mhm, good girl. If only you hadn’t been so stupid, could have had this ages ago.”

He pulled his fingers out of you and brought them to your lips.

Taking them into your mouth and swirling your tongue around his fingers while he starred at you intently, made him throb hard.

Snatching his fingers from your lips he grabbed your jaw harshly.

“Now be a good girl and sit.” He motioned to the spot on the floor between his legs. “Cmon baby, sit.”

You obligated, desperate to hear him feel good. Desperate to win his approval by being the cause of his pleasure.

Sat on your knees in between his thighs, he sat on the couch and wiped the mess from the corners of your mouth with his hand. The same hand in which his fingers had been inside you.

Reaching for his zipper, his hand caught your wrist tightly as he peered down at you.

“Did I say you can touch me?” From your angle he looked so much bigger than he was.

You huffed out a small whine, “Please can I touch you Donnie. Please?” You looked up at him with doe eyes, it used to work on him when you wanted him to do something for you. Usually homework. And it did.

He now brought his lips in between his teeth, admiring how pretty you looked on your knees.

He nodded his head and you quickly undid his zipper and brought his jeans down to his ankles.

The hard erection confined to his underwear made your mouth melt. You kissed him over his tight underwear and he groaned quietly.

Staring up at him innocently, he nodded his head, giving you permission to take off his underwear. Immediately you pulled down his underwear and grab him by his base.

You licked him from his hard base to his red tip and started to kitten lick around the top of his cock.

Donnie breathed heavily and grabbed your hair into a make shift pony tail roughly.

“Stop teasing (y,n) or I swear-“

The warning was enough for you to cut him off by taking him into your mouth suddenly. You bobbed your head and licked his veins as his grip on your hair got tighter.

“Fuck. Gonna cum soon. Look at me.”

He pushed you onto his dick deeper, it violently hitting the back of your throat as your eyes watered.

The sight sent him over the edge, shooting his cum down your throat as you swallowed submissively.

He let go of your hair and offered his hands to help you up, once again wiping away the mess he’d made from your lips with his finger.

“It was nice to see you again (y,n).”

(Not proof read) 🙏

#jake gyllenhaal #jake gyllenhaal fanfic #jake gyllenhaal smut #donnie darko #donnie darko smut #slight enemies to lovers #babysitting

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duskandcobalt · 6 months

Text

Comfort Crowd

hi! this is my contribution to day one of #azrielappreciationweek2023 (cc: @azrielappreciationweek)

the prompt is "The Family You Make" so I wrote a little one-shot about Az and Nesta, my favourite little bestie pairing 💕

1.3k words - no warnings other than slight language :) just two friends notorious for not talking about their emotions, talking about emotions!

ENJOY XX

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Azriel struggles to hold back his grin when Nesta waddles into the library at the House of Wind where he’s reclined on a sofa in front of the fireplace, flipping through yet another report in preparation for a meeting with Rhys in the morning. She’s wearing a simple oversized nightgown in the colour of cream, one of her hands rests on her swollen belly while the other is pressed against the small of her back.

Nesta is only a few weeks from giving birth to his very first niece and while she’d only become more beautiful over the past few months, the scowl on her face tells him that she is more than ready for this pregnancy to be over.

Azriel quickly swings his long legs off the sofa, shuffling around and sitting up to make room for her.

“Oh, yes. Please. Go ahead and laugh at me.” She glares at him as he chuckles, watching as she carefully lowers herself onto the seat he’d left free for her. He knows better than to offer help but a few of his shadows gather around her just in case. “If you had been a better chaperone, maybe I wouldn’t be in this fucking predicament.”

“Right.” Azriel snorts. “As if my presence has ever deterred you two from…” He trails off, making vague gestures with his hands to convey his thoughts instead of using the obscenities that came to mind.

She only rolls her eyes in response and he knows that she knows that he’s right.

Nesta and Cassian had never been particularly shy about making sure their needs were met and as ravenous as the two of them were, Azriel’s ears had unintentionally been made witness to their activities more times than he cared to admit. Even the enchanted ear plugs Elain gave him for Solstice one year hadn’t been enough to drown out the sound some nights.

Azriel pats his leather covered thigh and Nesta’s lips tilt upwards at the corners as she turns to the side and lifts her legs. He reaches down and meets her halfway, grasping her calves to help her lay on the sofa with her feet in his lap. Nesta sighs with relief at the feeling of his thumb pressing into the sole of her foot.

“Oh you’re so wonderful to me, Shadowsinger. So good with those hands of yours.” She smirks. There’s a suspicious lilt to her voice. “I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you with you-know-who.”

Azriel’s hands pause as he fixes her with a stern look.

“Sorry, sorry!” Nesta apologises, laughing in a way that tells Azriel she isn’t sorry at all. “Please keep going, I promise I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

They spend most of their evenings together like this whenever Azriel is home from an assignment, whether Cassian is around or not. Most of the time, the three of them gather together in the library or the living room, chatting until the early hours of the morning. But sometimes it’s just him and Nesta, sitting in the comfort of each other’s presence, passing sweets back and forth while she reads a book and he reads his reports.

It was rare for Azriel to befriend new people but Nesta had seamlessly become a significant part of his life because they had understood each other so intrinsically from the very beginning.

Azriel had seen right through her abrasiveness. He knew that behind her snark and cutting remarks, there was a female that was so wounded that she’d rather push people away than let someone in close enough to hurt her. He understood that she was frightened to allow herself the things she wanted for fear that they would be taken from her.

Likewise, he had caught Nesta watching him with eyes that noticed too much on multiple occasions. He was aware that she saw the way he yearned for something or someone he couldn’t or wouldn’t allow himself to pursue. Azriel also had utter confidence that she would never say anything about it to anyone, or even to him, unless he brought it up first.

Nesta would always keep his unspoken secrets just as he kept hers.

It’s quiet in the library for a long while, only the quiet crackle of the fire and the sighs coming from Nesta as Azriel relieves the agonsing tension in her feet, when she breaks the silence.

“Az?” Her voice is uncharacteristically soft in a way that makes her seem so small. When he glances over at her, Nesta’s eyelids are shut and there’s a tiny, sad frown on her face.

“What is it, Nes?”

“I’m so scared.” Her words are shaky and barely above a whisper. “What if I’m not a good mother?”

Azriel’s eyebrows furrow together, his fingers stopping for half a second as he contemplates what to say.

“Why would you think that?”

“I just…” She takes a deep breath. “I never had a good relationship with my own mother and I’m worried that I’ll end up being just like her.”

Azriel opens his mouth to respond but stops when she continues.

“Cassian is so good. He has so much love and he gives it so freely.” Nesta swallows. “It’s harder for me. What if I screw her up?”

“I think that being worried that you’ll be like your mother is proof enough that you won’t be anything like her. Bad parents don’t tend to worry about how they’ll treat their children.” Azriel says gently. “You love so deeply, Nesta. Just because you show it in a different way than Cass, it doesn’t mean that you’re any less capable of raising and caring for a child than he is.”

Nesta exhales and Azriel can tell that her mind is still racing.

“You practically raised, Elain.” He rotates her ankles. “I know how much you love your sisters and I know how much they love you. Besides, you’re already wonderful with Nyx. He adores you. He’s always babbling about his Aunt Nesta.”

Azriel smiles when he hears her laugh quietly. She knows that what he said is true. Because while Rhysand and Feyre’s son was often attached by the hip to Elain, Nesta was the only person he’d leave her to go running to the second he heard her voice or she entered his line of vision.

Cassian, Azriel, and Rhys had all burned with jealousy that the winged boy they had waited centuries for had seemingly taken an immediate liking to the females of the family but with any luck, they’d get their revenge once Cassian and Nesta’s daughter entered the picture.

“You’ll be an incredible mother.” Azriel pats her calf in what he hopes is a reassuring manner. “You and Cass will be brilliant parents and that little girl will be so loved. You know I can’t wait to meet her.”

“You’re a great friend, Az.” She reaches a hand out to him and he takes it in his. Warmth floods him as she squeezes his fingers gently. “Cass and I are lucky to have you. She’ll be so lucky to have you, too.” Nesta rubs her other hand over her bump and Azriel watches in amazement as her movement is met with a small but powerful kick from the babe inside her womb.

“She agrees.” One of Nesta’s eyebrows lifts in amusement and she gives him her first proper smile of the night.

His heart swells as he returns her bright smile with a soft one of his own. It swells even more when he looks up to see Cassian leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed, watching him and Nesta with a fond smile and eyes shimmering with tears.

Azriel couldn’t possibly think of anyone better suited to be his best friend’s Mate. Nesta was strong willed and stubborn but she loved so fiercely even if she couldn’t admit it to herself. She would lay her life on the line for Cassian over and over again, as she had done once before. It was the tough, relentless type of love that his kind hearted friend deserved and Azriel was proud that over time, she had slowly but surely become someone that he could not only call his friend, but his sister.

#azrielappreciationweek2023 #azriel fanfic #azriel fluff #azriel fic #azriel x nesta #but in a platonic kind of way lol #nesta archeron #acotar fanfiction #my writing #fic writing #azriel appreciation week #azriel shadowsinger

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cypressmoons · 1 year

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Okay, okay #6 flirting prompt, the get some rest one, with whoever you think it fits 😌💤

referring to this post! look if you say "whoever you think it fits" it's gotta be alhaitham <3 you know i'm down BAD for that man :D also let's just ignore this was asked on feb 5th ok,,,i got swept up in work & school again so here's my contribution before i disappear for the next 2 weeks i cry

contents: slightly nsfw, minor sumeru archon quest spoiler <3 word count: 0.7k

the days are long and nights are even longer when alhaitham is not here.

it's not like he's being sent on expedition to the furthest corner on teyvat, per se, but it feels just as lonely to you, if not more. his title as (Acting™) grand sage, as he always likes to correct you, seems to be eating up more of his time and energy than the day before. the yellowed parchment that posted his office hours is long forgotten as people stream in and out of his office nonstop, that he thinks it might be easier to just remove the entire door altogether rather than having someone knock on it every three seconds.

and he feels guilty, he does. before he met you, his office hours served as a warning against disturbing his solitude. he much preferred spending his time somewhere secluded, reading a good book and away from prying eyes. but ever since you entered his life, you had become the sole reason behind the click of the lock at exactly 5pm. he prefers to read his books in your presence instead, his tall frame somehow nestled perfectly into your disproportionately smaller one on the sofa, your steady breathing a calming reminder that you're here, with him.

you don't blame him for being away, but you miss him, dearly.

you miss the telltale footsteps out the door at the same time everyday, followed by open arms and sweet kisses the moment he enters the home. more than once kaveh's blueprints have been carelessly swept to the floor as you're lifted onto the counter, lips never leaving each other's as alhaitham mutters "i love you"s into your skin, completely unbothered by his roommate's angry protests of I WAS WORKING ON THAT when he storms in a few hours later.

now kaveh's blueprints sit neatly on the table - well, as neatly as an architect can put it, stacked underneath a half-finished model of popsicle sticks and rubber bands. the kitchen no longer smells of delicious sabz meat stew, and you find yourself starting to miss the small signs that another person is in fact living within these walls.

hell, you're even missing picking up his littered books and scolding him on not putting things back in their place.

as if on cue, your phone lights up and buzzes against the wooden table. you set down your teacup and glance at the screen, eyes immediately lighting up at the familiar name.

the sun has long set and at this point, you've started getting used to empty beds and empty homes. you weren't expecting him to text, or even come home tonight, for that matter, but part of you still selfishly hopes that today will be the day he can leave his work behind and be with you instead.

the excitement quickly dies down as you scan the words.

i might have to stay a little longer tonight again. i'm sorry, my love.

frowning slightly, your fingers dance across the screen in response to him.

you take care of yourself too, haitham.

you sigh and lay your phone face-down on the table, the adventures in your new novel long forgotten as you savour the memory of the last time you were with him.

how long has it been now?

it feels as if he became sumeru's hero overnight, and his already heavy workload somehow tripled after that. what a way to celebrate a saviour, you think bitterly.

and you know he's doing this for the akademiya, for sumeru, for the archon you all adore. you can't blame him, but maybe you can allow yourself the right to miss him.

your phone buzzes again, and the light in your eyes reignite.

i'll be home tomorrow, i promise. i miss you.

really?

i may or may not have something special planned for you.

what is it?

your curiosity is piqued by his purposefully open-ended comment. a long-overdue date at puspa cafe? a walk along the beautiful waterfalls on the outskirts of the city? or-

what you read next has your breath hitched in your throat and a violent blush spread across your cheeks.

tomorrow i'm fucking you so good for a few hours so get some rest.

masterlist

#if anyone ever sends this to me i will pass away on the spot #moon's writings #genshin impact #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham #moon's writings 🔖

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our-divine-violinist · 3 months

Text

I was just thinking about this and I’m sure no one cares, but I’m putting this here for the hell of it. Someone talk to me about Nicolas de Lenfent.

----

He had turned to the window, and he was rising as if he’d been called by a secret voice. The look on his face was indescribable.

He knew I was there!

----

It was a very different thing from a mortal seeing my face and blurting out my name in confusion. He had recognized in my monster self something that he knew and loved.

----

And through the silence I heard his panic. He sensed that I was there! My presence, mind you, that is what he sensed, just as I sensed ‘the presence’ in the graveyards, but how, he argued with himself, could Lestat have been here?

----

All I could think was, What in the name of hell is this presence that he felt?

----

It’s a interesting question Lestat asks here, right?

Nowhere in the few chapters we get of Nicki in The Vampire Lestat is there anything to indicate that Nicolas had anything special about him. We know that he picked up playing the violin well enough to perform at a small boulevard theater but would never be good enough to play for the court or a court sanctioned theater. There’s nothing that was really said that was outstanding about his appearance. And we don’t get any kind of back story that he’s unique from any other young man his age-- we don’t hear of Nicki killing a pack of wolves or exceling in his intelligent or natural gifts.

I really think this is as simple as Anne explaining that Nicolas in this moment had a sixth sense. And that got me thinking about it in relation to the time period of the book.

The theory of a sixth sense is, interestingly enough, something that was being written about during this time period in the late 18th century. This was a time of animal magnetism, the belief that a universal magnetic fluid contributed to the health of individuals. But derived from that theory, the paranormal phenomenon of the sixth sense was introduced by Tardy de Monravel in his Essai sur la Theorie du Somnambolisme Magnetique (1785). This basically said that the sixth sense was the source and sum of all our partial senses combined. It had a more spiritual context to it.

Teachings relating to this was started as early as the 1760s by the mesmerists, but it’s doubtful this kind of knowledge would have trickled down into Lestat’s tiny part of the Auvernge so quickly. So it’s nice that he doesn’t know what to call it. I seriously doubt Anne put this much thought into this little bit of the book, but I couldn’t help but go, huh, why is Lestat so interested in this thing Nicki is able to do? I don’t think Anne was writing this from a late 18th century view on the sixth sense, but it’s nice to go down the rabbit hole and realize how recent the term really is! She’s definitely using it in a very modern sense of the theory.

But being the romantic that I am, I want to believe Nicki’s heart/soul was longing for Lestat’s heart/soul because their fates were so intertwined at this point. That it was the feeling of recognizing something familiar and gravitating towards it. And maybe that’s what love is? I want this to be the case so bad, it’s so sweet. So this is usually the take I go with to quench my parched soul for NickiStat.

But in all honesty, I think we are meant to read this as he had that feeling of knowing he was being watched and assumed it was Lestat—because who else would be creeping on some random alcoholic violinist? His sixth sense was alerting him that he had a predator nearby. Like those stories of people who report feeling something watching them in the woods-- whether that is some wild animal or something supernatural is up to you to decide. We see this same kind of sixth sense from Lestat as a mortal as well when Magnus began to appear. You could argue Magnus was using the Spell Gift on him, but I’m not sure Anne had even thought up that power yet at this point in her writings (but correct me if I’m wrong). We know he has the Mind Gift because Lestat is hearing him call to him as Wolfkiller.

----

When Nicki and I were alone I had to talk about it, about the peculiar sensation that I had fallen asleep on the stage and had been dreaming.

----

Moving away from this antiquated view of the sixth sense, there are two beliefs that we can look to that might resonate a bit more in the 20th and 21st centuries. Charles Richet—this is the guy who coined the term ectoplasm-- used the term of sixth sense to mean an unknown sense the perceives hypothetical vibrations of reality in his book Our Sixth Sense (1928). He denounced that the spiritual had anything to do with the sixth sense and it stemmed from physiology. And this theory later leads to J.B. Rhines’s term called extrasensory perception (ESP) with a book of the same name (1934), which was the ability to acquire information that was shielded from the sense.

Doesn’t this sound way more familiar? Definitely more of where I think Anne was writing from. So what was the name of the presence you felt, Lestat? Anne was writing about Nicki’s sixth sense, just in a modern way you won’t know for around 150 more years! Or you can just do my thing and say it’s the result of love, knowing someone’s heart so well, longing for the thing you recognize as home. Go for the latter explain Lestat. 🥲

#Nicolas de Lenfent #nicki de lenfent #nickistat #nicki x lestat #lestat x nicki #the vampire chronicles #don’t mind me I’m still trapped in this desolate place #I just wanted them to be together #it was such a star crossed lovers story that could have been

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everettswritings · 3 months

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Oh my god, Everett making a contribution to the tickle community?! It must be Christmas! Anyways, I guess I should explain myself a bit. You see, whenever I see a character who’s energetic and a chaotic little gremlin my brain automatically goes “I need to completely wreck you”. Sorry, that’s just the way I am! Oh yeah, SFW INTERACTION ONLY! THIS IS NOT A KINK! I AM A MINOR! SFW! Enjoy

Ler:

Evil, very evil.

Definitely one of those lers that does more teasing than tickling, saying every phrase in the book just to drive their Lee insane

”Does that tickle?” “Wow, you’re so ticklish there!” “Coochie coochie coo!”, are just some examples. SOME. Bro’s a chatterbox

NEVER and I mean NEVER say anything like “oh not there” or whatever, he will instinctively focus ONLY on that spot

Enjoys loudly announcing your presence, especially in front of others.

”OOH! Look who it is! It’s my favorite lee!”

You know how I said he uses his puppeteering skills to make cookies do stuff? They use that to orchestrate tickle fights between others, this has especially been used on the other Beasts. They’ve probably gotten beaten up for it, too

Insanely quick, faster than Sonic the Hedgehog! It’s impossible to catch their hands

Lee:

Stupid ticklish. You’re giving me a jester boy who spends most of his couple lines of dialogue laughing, and expecting me not to headcanon him as super ticklish? Hah, no!

Light pokes are enough to get him laughing, especially his ribs(they’re his worst spot).

Squirmy and wriggly beyond belief! If they aren’t restrained, they are going to kick like a mule and punch like a gorilla.

I cannot stress enough how much this bastard SQUIRMS! He isn’t even opposed to rolling around on the ground or trying to crawl away

His laughter is at its loudest when he’s being tickled, it’s loud enough to pierce ears. Oh, he squeals, too! Have fun with that :)

Tries to shush any and all teasing, they can dish it out but they can’t take it.

Revenge tickling is also a must. They can’t handle it, they hate it, so they have to take some form of revenge

And that’s about it! I know y’all probably weren’t expecting this, or even wanting this; but I wanted it and I’m the wonder of this blog, so there. I felt the need to post something because I promised to post this weekend, and honestly this has been in the back of my mind for some time. I know y’all are probably getting sick of headcanons with no real fics, but I’m definitely going to make up for that as soon as I can! Have a good one 🫶

#everetts writings #headcanon #headcanons #cr kingdom #crk #cookie run kingdom #sfw tickling community #cookie run tickle #shadow milk cookie #sfw twords

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goldeneyedgirl · 6 months

Text

AILess Whumptober Day 27: Locked Up/Immortal

The final entry, late but complete! I figured that I put Alice through the ringer all the time, it might be Jasper's turn. I had a very specific image of how this would look in my head that did not want to be translated to the page. I've also looked at this so long that I cannot look at it any longer.

So, enjoy whatever this is! I hope you all enjoyed Whumptober and were suitably depressed after my contributions to this event my loves <3

iron & stone. (day 27: imprisoned/immortal).

twilight, alice/jasper, pg, one-sided vampire alice/demon jasper.

very non-graphic wound description

She finds him in an old church in Tulsita, Texas. It’s a tiny place, one that has less than thirty people.

It’s a grim little town, with worn buildings and cracked roads; the air is thick and hot, even late at night. It’s the perfect place to be forgotten about, to be trapped. It’s a place that feels like it isn’t part of the real world, and like maybe time has frozen.

There’s an edge of dread in the air, and she has to wonder about that.

But mostly, she just feels anticipation.

It’s taken her thirty years to find him, she’s looked everywhere. She’s read everything. She’s recorded all her visions and made all the notes. She’s learned Spanish, Italian, Hebrew, Greek, and Latin for him. She’s practically a scholar on him and his kind now.

She’s still nervous.

(There are three kinds of demons - the oldest ones who have existed for always, those are the ones that should never been disturbed or called upon. Then there are the ones that are born naturally - very rare but possible. And then there are the ones that are made. Not like vampires - in the demon world vampires are half-breed cockroaches, endemic to humanity, according to the books she’s read. The change isn’t half the pain and suffering that being turned into a demon is - she knows that.)

She walks through forest surrounding the building carefully - it’s unlikely that anyone will see her, but she prefers to err on the side of cautious. Especially since it’s very, very clear that someone does visit regularly (relatively speaking, of course - time moves very differently for immortals.)

The church is thoroughly abandoned, the pews rotten and broken and the floor tiles cracked and scattered - what would have been an expensive point of pride lost to time and neglect. What is left of the prayer books are ruined cardboard covers covered in mould. The altar is pulled right down and destroyed; all but one of the windows is boarded up. Glass crunches underfoot - a mix of the remain window’s panes, and broken beer bottles scattered around.

And as she stands there and looks around, she wonders how anyone set foot in this place, even just to hide and drink, when she can feel his presence right here? That boiling rage, that uneasy feeling in the air - the gift of animal fear, that whatever this place contains is dangerous and they need to run. It’s all around her, yelling at her to leave and never come back.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Edward and Carlisle would be furious she’s come here by herself. When she’d worked it all out, when she’d told them what her visions had shown her, they’d acted like he was dead and gone and she’d just have to get used to walking the world alone. They expected grief and she’d been confused - Carlisle had insisted that he was as good as dead, and Alice needed to make her peace with that.

Alice could never bring him home. That the Cullen residence, the Cullen name, had no place for monsters and terrors and the things that little children hide from. And she had agreed with them politely, told them that she understood. And she did. They had thought she was mourning, taking her time to adjust to what her life would look like now.

Esme had tried to talk with her, but Alice had refused, and just closed herself up in her bedroom. And they had let her be.

They hadn’t expected her to pack her things in the same satchel she arrived with, to leave behind her locket with a letter thanking them for their hospitality; shedding the Cullen name and creed like an unfashionable winter coat.

If there was no place for monsters amongst the Cullens, then she certainly wasn’t welcome. They forget that she was a nomad, a vampire before she arrived at their house with a smile and golden eyes. They forget that she has a whole story before she ever found them, and that it’s not all pretty and kind.

(No place for monsters, when Carlisle went and changed four innocent people without consent? When suicide is a sin and so is murder? That she loves them fiercely but to be a family is to realize that none of them are perfect and holy and unsullied by their nature? The House of Cullen is so beautifully monstrous, she almost feels sorry for them for not seeing that.)

She had made herself once, exactly how she wanted, and she could do it again. Maybe one day she’ll visit them. See if they forgive her. Esme will. Emmett will. Rose might. But Carlisle and Edward… well, it depends on a lot of things.

Like what lies beneath the church.

It takes her a while to find the little trapdoor down into the earth behind the altar, covered with broken wood and tile, and chained up with a shiny new padlock that crumples like paper in her determined hand. The steps down are mostly rotten - slats of wood wedged roughly into the earth - but she is small and light, and slips down easily, down into a cellar dug too deep and too precisely to be created for anything but a very specific purpose, with the little alcoves in the wall with wells of oil to light the way - only a few of them are still barely burning, throwing bizarre shadows onto the walls.

Everything about this is screaming for her to turn back. Every instinct, every sign is telling her to go home. Except…

She saw him so many times, in hundreds of moments that will weave between them. The laughter and the jokes and the love. She’s seen the way he’ll protect her and change her, and she’ll do the same for him. He’ll look at her with loathing and then tolerance and smug power, and finally, soul-binding love and adoration. The scars she’ll bare will be in the shape of his jaw. She’ll trace his scars with her fingers and her mouth and her tongue; she knows all the little pieces of his story - the boring and the ugly and the difficult, as well as the fragments that are light and precious.

She can’t wait.

But this… this part she’s never seen properly and maybe her brain was protecting her.

The room is small, and little more than dirt and stone held up with rotting beams - buckled and warped, but holding steady for now. It smells rotten down here, almost burnt.

And then there is him.

He lies in the middle, on the stone, his head thrown back like a sacrifice about to be cut open in the name of some ancient god. His eyes are closed and if she didn’t know better, she would think he was asleep. She can see him properly like this, the muscular lines of his torso, the tendons in his neck, the strength in his arms and legs. He looks like a classical Greek sculpture celebrating rapture.

Except… there’s pain. The pain radiates off him like heat; most of the scars are old but the wounds are not. Or maybe they can’t heal. Burns and cuts and bone-deep gouges cover every part of him. There’s a tremor to his body that she doesn’t understand.

And then he hears her shoes on the stone floor and he lunges in one swift move, alert and ready, a snarl echoing in the space.

…Or what should have been one swift move.

Instead, it’s messy and horrific and takes her a moment to process, as she tumbles backwards, losing her footing as he comes at her.

He rips himself from the stone, pieces of skin from his legs sticking to the floor when he moves, leaving open wounds that looks almost like burns on every piece of skin that the stone touched. His legs buckle and shake at the sudden movement, evidence that he has not stood in a very long time.

His eyes are so black they look like empty sockets as he looms over her. Blackness spreads up his hands and arms, spidery black veins stretching from his eyes and throat. For a moment, she thinks she catches a glimpse of the wings; ghost-like and ephemeral in the corner of her eye, tattered void stretched over ancient bone, cracking into place no longer than his arm span.

(He’s magnificent.)

And just as suddenly as he hovers over her, he is ripped backwards and hits the floor with a hiss and the heavy clank of chains pulling tight and recoiling. She gasps at his visible pain, the way he struggles to get up, the demonic visage fading back into the skin of a man. A man in the worst kind of pain she’s ever seen.

“Get out.” His voice is hoarse, the kind that hurts to listen to, and he turns away from her. She can see the chains properly now - ankles, wrists, throat, and thighs, all connecting to a back-brace of iron. The wings have sunk back into his flesh, deep scarring almost outlining them on his back, and she hates to think how painful it was to stretch them imprisoned like this.

How long has he been here, like this? As beautiful as he is, she can see every hour, day, decade he’s spent here in the gaunt shadows of his face, in the decay in his clothing, in the layers upon layers of scars and open wounds. His eyes are hard; there is no hope or trust in them at all.

She always knew it would be difficult, but she never counted on what seeing him in this state would be like. How much it would ache to see this bitter shadow of a man, and the suffering he has lived through.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” she says, sitting up. Her bag has survived the fall, but she prepared for it. Nothing in the bag is breakable, for good reason. He’s liable to get angrier.

“Oh?” He looks at her. “You long for death so badly?” His voice is mocking, but she can hear the strain, the rasp of his agony. He shifts to see her better, and she can almost see ghost of his future self.

“Only of a certain kind,” she murmurs to try and lighten the mood, but it falls flat - he’s giving her the kind of look Edward reserved for fawning classmates, so she feels adequately stupid and regrets being so flippant and crude. “You’re hurt. I want to help you.”

He is so badly hurt. The fresh burns smell like alcohol, raw and weeping blood. It’s oddly matte with no shine, but demon blood isn’t like human blood. There’s also a mottled black mark on his torso that she hopes is some terrible bruise and not broken bone just beneath the skin.

“Go away.” His voice is hard, no trace of the pain or misery he’s experiencing. There is a power and a rage there that makes her skin crawl and every instinct is telling her to run. He glares at her, and his eyes… she’s seen them red and gold and black, but right now they are demonic - a black sclera and pupil with churning red iris. But there is no shine to them, just a void. They scream of danger and she understands a little better why Carlisle warned her so grimly away from him.

“No.” She rummages in her bag. Aro had allowed her to use the library for a whole summer, to learn about demon physiology and healing. He’d been amused by her request - and by the discovery she’d left Carlisle’s family in pursuit of this demon. She knows that he’s already plotting, that nothing he offers is without strings attached, but she’ll worry about that later. She has the knowledge, and that is what is most important. “Let me help you.”

“Why do you want to help me? What do you want?” He’s holding himself oddly, and she realizes he’s trying not to touch the stone again, only the soles of his feet.

“To help you. And to talk.” She checks the bottles have not split in her bag; she’d used old water bottles, and a few of them are warping from the chemicals inside of them. But she’d gone over it a dozen times at least, and these will work. He just needs to let her help. “If you don’t like what I have to say, you can leave. Nothing about this is conditional.”

He stares at her. “You don’t want to be remade?” He asked suspiciously. His breathing is labored. “You don’t want all the secrets of the underworld? Wealth? To live again?”

She shakes her head. “I have money and a home of my own. And I have no memory of ever being anything else but what I am right now. The only thing I want is to help you.”

He lets out a bark of laughter. “You say that. But you’ll expect things. Everyone who comes here does. They always want. Humans are greedy creatures and vampires are parasites. You’ll want something, they all do,” he snaps at her and then he smiles, cruel and sharp. “Not many survive being remade. Maria tried to make a dozen of us. I was the only one of my batch that made it through. You have no idea what pain can be.” He scoffs. “Especially if the change was so overwhelming for you that you blocked it out.”

“I know.” She does. She’s read all the written accounts of being remade into a demon right back to some scraps of information from the Roman Empire; the rituals are mostly anecdotal. There was nothing about how it was done; even Aro didn’t have a full copy of how to remake someone. Several of the leads pointed towards the possibility of the remaining instructions being locked up in the Vatican, but even her visions couldn’t decipher if they were genuine or just a rumor.

The fact Maria of Monterrey had found a record and managed to translate it into a ritual that actually worked was awe-inspiring. It made her one of the most dangerous people on the planet - and one of the most powerful.

But the cost of it… how many people had she killed to create Jasper? To create her army? There were the newborn recruits, the blood for the army, and the ones that she tried to remake… that was thousands, more than Alice could comprehend in the scale of human life.

No, she’s not interested. Perhaps she even fears physical pain a little, because she has no memory of human pain, of the change. She’s never bled, never ached, never really suffered like that. And that unknown void of pain, a universal emotion understood by every living thing on the planet… she doesn’t have that.

But maybe…

“I’ve never been hurt,” she says softly. “Not that I remember. I can’t stand the thought of it. That something can feel like that. If I can stop it, I want to. That’s all.”

His gaze burns into her.

“Do you know how many people have come here and promised me things?” He sounds angry but tired. “They’ll free me, they’ll give me money and food and bandage me up. My own army. Girls. Boys. Anything I goddamn want. Do you know what happens to them?”

She sits cross-legged. “Don’t pretend you killed them.”

“You don’t think I could?” The look on his face is dangerous.

“I know you could. I know that if you really wanted to, I would have been dead before I saw you move. I know that you were the most dangerous man in Texas and Mexico for decades before I was even born - before you were remade.

“But I don’t see any bodies. No bloodstains, no bones, nothing left behind. There’s nothing here. Whatever they offered you, you didn’t kill them for it.”

“When I didn’t give them what they want, they left me here,” he says finally. “All of them.”

“Were there many?” That she is curious about. There are a hundred reasons to seek out a demon, but few people are brave enough, and fewer still with the information to find one.

“More than I expected.” He looks at her, his gaze hard and bitter. “What do you want?”

“To help you,” she says obediently. “To get you out of the chains and upstairs; maybe look at some of those wounds? I’m no doctor, but I think I know what to do.”

“And what is your price?” He sounds testy again, and she’s getting annoyed that he won’t listen.

“I’m a cheap date - maybe you can just not kill me? Once you’re free, maybe we could talk for a little while? I have a house we can go to where you can recover safely, if you want to. Otherwise we part as friends.” That would be a disappointing outcome but one she is prepared for. “As long as you’re okay to be alone. I didn’t go to all this trouble to let you go off on your own and keel over in the street dead.”

The surprise on his face is genuine. “I cannot die from this. That’s the whole point of being down here,” he said slowly. “I can only suffer. It would take much, much more to end me.”

He looks sad and tired when he says that, and she wants to hold him. To reassure him that it will get better. It can be wonderful, if he gives her a chance.

“Good. Then if you want to leave me, you can. Just let me help you, and everything will be okay, I promise.”

They stare at each other for a long time, neither of them flinching before he nods his head once.

“I hold a grudge. If you double-cross me…” he begins but she’s already moving closer.

“I understand.” And she does - she’s had visions of him in battle, and the sheer violence and blood-lust had scared her. He is a dangerous creature. But she’d be more likely to rip off her own arm than intentionally harm him.

“You’ll want to take off your shoes.”

It’s an odd request but she takes off her boots and moves forward.

One foot on the stone and she can feel the warmth inside of it; when she looks down, her stockings are already being to singe from the heat.

“Keep moving, or you’ll stick,” he warns and she’s horrified.

The stains on the stone that she had assumed were age were patches of blackened skin still stuck to the stone - his skin - that had torn away from him every single time that he moved.

And then there was the sudden awareness of that fact that his feet have been resting flat against the stone since they’ve started speaking, and she wants to scream, to pry him off the stone herself. She looks at him in naked horror and his lip quirks in quasi-amusement at her expression.

“It’s consecrated ground - no matter how deep it goes, it will always burn the likes of us - me worse than you, but I wouldn’t linger. And no, your shoes wouldn’t protect you.”

Consecrated ground. Fucking consecrated ground. She’d read about it - Europe was lousy with it, but much of it has faded away forgotten and unsanctified in the last couple of centuries as religion has lost its grip on the population. It’s much rarer in the states - most of it is in New England, allegedly. But this perfectly built little prison, complete with consecrated ground… she wants to ask a million questions about the how and the why, but she knows he won’t answer. Not yet.

Right now, she needs to get him off of the floor and out of this evil little room as soon as possible. And the first step is to break the chains embedded in the wall - where a single panel of rock is placed.

She’ll worry about getting the brace off of him once they’re out of here.

He watches her, almost entertained, as she tries to break the links, inspecting the chain carefully for flaws or weaknesses. But even with all her strength, they don’t even bend. They are stubborn and as cursed as this entire basement.

She can feel it - they cannot be broken. She can’t see a way around it.

But when she looks down at him watching her, at his dead-eyed stare of acceptance that he will not be leaving, she feels the weight of what she’s promised him. That he still believes that she will fail and leave him to his fate.

But she was Emmett Cullen’s sister for nearly three years, and Emmett had never met a law, a riddle, a trap or a rule that he couldn’t find a loophole for.

Which is why she brought a screwdriver. An entire toolkit, actually. Whilst vampire strength and speed could fix so many problems, there were some things that required the precision of a toolkit or a lock pick. And maybe the last gift Emmett ever gave her was a mini pink toolkit, and she’d taken that when she’d left.

If there was one thing that all her research had taught her was that magical laws are rigid and precise. The chains will not and can not be broken - that is clear to both of them. She probably isn’t the first that has tried over the years - she could only imagine that he’s tried to free himself hundreds, probably thousands, of times.

So they cannot break them.

She doubts anyone bothered to stop them from being dismantled.

He stares at her incredulously when she pulls the screwdriver from her bag, like maybe she’s some kind of fool. And maybe she is.

But when the first screw hits the stone, she smiles brightly at the look of shock on his face.

“Pick all of them up, I don’t want anyone knowing how we figured this out,” she says bossily, hopping between her feet - her stockings have burnt through, ragged blacked edges having stretched back up above her ankle. She has more clothing at the house, but she’s mildly annoyed at the architect of this building for ruining them. It’s an uncomfortable heat, an odd sensation, but it doesn’t feel too bad as long as she keeps moving.

He fumbles for the screws as each of them fall - they are smaller than it feels like they should be for the size and weight of the chains, but there are so many of them.

And then…

And then the heavy chains drop free of the wall, and he is free. He stares at them in total bewilderment before he looks back up at her.

“Now you’re free,” she says breathlessly, jamming the screwdriver into her bag, and goes to help him stand. He’s unsteady but takes a deep breath as he begins to peel his feet from the stone. It’s horrific as the skin of his soles tears away, blistered and raw but not yet blackened, thankfully. He lets out a groan of pain, one that makes him sound every single day of his age, every single day of his pain.

She doesn’t say anything, she just supports him until they are finally, finally back on the dirt floor.

“Do you want to sit?” She asks quietly and he shakes his head.

“I want to get out,” he says stiffly, and she nods, as they move towards the exit.

It’s an awkward trip back up the stairs; the staircase is narrow, but he needs her guiding support for now, his legs shaking with each step. It takes twice as long as it should, with him pausing every so many steps, as she half-shoves him onto each step. His movements are made awkward from the brace, and she’s already trying to figure out how she’ll pry that thing off him.

And then…

She shoves open the trap door, the wood splintering. And even the feeble moonlight shining down from the broken window feels like someone has just lit up the room - the darkness of the cellar feels inky and oppressive in comparison; the oil-wells dimmer than they were when she descended.

He lets out a shuddering breath as he climbs out, into the fresh air, his eyes darting around the space.

“It’s okay, it’s only us,” she soothes. “You’re safe.”

He nods, but he doesn’t look at her. He’s staring at the boarded-up windows, at the broken glass and rotting pews and forgotten prayer books.

The look on his face reminds her of herself, when she awoke that first time in the woods alone. She knew nothing, had seen nothing in person… just the appreciation and awe of being there, in that place. A moment of simply being alive and in the world.

She remembers it well.

—

They sit inside the old church in silence for a while.

After a while, she begins to pull out first aid from her bag. “Let me,” she says softly, and he doesn’t protest - though he refuses to let her see the wounds under his threadbare clothing. She hasn’t got anything that will stitch his wounds, but she can clean the wounds and bandage them so that they at least stay sanitized and protected. The chemicals she has to use burn her nose, but they seem to work.

“Now, let’s have a look at the brace,” she says soothingly, the screwdriver back in her hand. He eyes her with suspicion but nods once for her to continue.

It’s not as easy as the chains. The brace is too tight and has bitten tight into his skin. The screws come out slowly, ad she doesn’t care that they roll amongst the glass and the debris.

The brace doesn’t fall away. Instead, she has to peal each piece away, skin and scar tissue tearing, leaving raw open wounds in their wake. But he doesn’t make a sound as each piece hits the floor. He just stares up at the piece of sky he can see.

And then it is gone. The wounds will scar, she knows it. But he has movement back, real movement again. His neck, his arms, his wings… Free again, a little bit more.

“Done,” she says softly.

“I don’t even know your name,” he finally says hoarsely, and looks back down at her, as she packs everything back up.

“Alice Cullen,” she says, and thinks about correcting herself. She’s not sure what surname she should be using honestly. She never had one of her own, and nothing else feels like it would fit. She was supposed to be Cullen for a while and then…

Well, she didn’t want to get ahead of herself. Cullen was fine.

He nods in acknowledgement before looking back up at the sliver of sky visible through the broken window.

“I want to leave this place,” he says in a steady voice.

“Of course.”

She wants to offer to burn it down. To tear it down with her bare hands for him. But he won’t understand, not yet.

“Let’s go.”

—

He finds his strength as soon as his feet hit the grass, enough to stand on his own and move away from her support, onto the grass, shivering as his feet sunk in for the first time… in so very long. His turns in a slow circle, just staring up at the clouds and the trees and the world outside he’s hellish, cursed little dirt prison.

He… to call it a scream is not accurate. It is a scream, a roar, a holler, a flood of grief and rage and resentment. It is pain and loss, swearing revenge against the one that did this to him. It is regret and heartbreak and relief.

He is free.

His wings stretch out reflexively, the black staining his hands and face faintly, and the full horror of what the brace has done to him is revealed beyond the splitting and tearing and stretching of the wounds - his wings only open as long as his arm-span; the humeral and secondaries appear to have been crushed from the brace. And the humerus bone appears to have been snapped and reset so that it cannot extend. Half of his wings are limp and crumpled against his spine, a dead and mottled colour.

He has been crippled, possibly forever.

Except…

She’s never really been in the business of giving up. Of looking at something and accepting a bad roll of the dice. She looks at his wings, slack and broken, and she wants to fix them. She’s already considering it, mentally adding splints and bandages, breaking and resetting bone, stitching back together the thin flesh that stretches over them. It would be painful and miserable and it would take a long, long time. And it might not work.

But she already knows that if it didn’t work, she’d take him to Carlisle. She’d take him to Carlisle and use every single trick in her book to convince him to help. She’d promise that Carlisle would never see her again, that she’d never bother any of them, if Carlisle would just fix him. She’d take him to Carlisle, to Aro, to goddamn Maria, if it meant helping.

Anything he needed. Or wanted. She would get it - she had waited for this for so long.

He’s silent now, and he turns to look at her with confusion on his face.

“I looked for you, you know. For almost forty years.” Her voice is soft, and his gaze turns wary. “I get …visions of the future. Of the path that I’m on. And you have always been in them. I saw you with Maria in the south. I saw you when you left with Peter and Charlotte. I never saw what happened, and how you ended up down there but I tried so hard to find you. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

And he stares at her, the black receding from his body, the wings folding back into his body.

“What did you see?” He asks, and he sounds exhausted.

“That I love you. All of you, for as long as you’ll have me.”

He shakes his head, and for a second, he looks so young. “Did you see what happened when she remade me? When she worked out how to make her army more powerful?” He asks. “Did you see what it took to become this? Did you see what I became?”

“I did.”

“Ninety days. Of pain and sacrifice and being ripped into pieces and put back together. To feel the rage boil and burn until your skin,” he murmurs, looking back up at the cloudy night. “Of having this fresh, feral monstrosity of yourself fit itself inside of you and this… clarity of the world and how everything fits together. I’m not the man you want, Alice Cullen.”

“Yes, you are. And it’s … not Cullen anymore, not really. I left them because they wouldn’t let me find you.”

He’s silent, staring at her.

“They said I should think of you as good as dead and that wasn’t… you were still here. I just had to find you. I wasn’t going to mourn you just because you weren’t a vampire anymore. What Maria did to you didn’t change our future, so it didn’t matter to me. But it did to them. So I left them.” She shrugs. “I had enough money saved that I have my own home now - our home if you want it. But it’ll just be us.”

He looks at her hard, like he’s trying to look right through her.

“I was going to destroy you, you realize,” he says finally, his knees buckling but he sinks into the soft ground with dignity, leaning against a tree. “I was going to devour you whole.”

“I mean, with a safe word…” she begins and he lets out a chuckle.

“You aren’t what I was expecting,” he says finally, and she moves closer. She can smell rain on the air. “I’ve never met anyone who didn’t want to be remade like me as payment.”

She’s seen it. In a few decades, he’ll offer it as a form of protection. That the only thing more dangerous than a mated vampire and demon would be two mated demons roaming untethered to a master or mistress.

She’s seen futures where she accepts and they are … sublime. Glorious and terrible and so very, very happy. And she’s seen futures where she’s content with herself, and they are just as happy, just as fantastic and beautiful and fatal. It was never about the venom or the magic that flowed in their veins. It was always them.

“If you don’t want to stay with me, I can help you find Peter and Charlotte,” she offers. “You can recover in my home until then, and we can part as friends.”

He looks back up at the sky as the rain begins to fall, a smile stretching across his face as the water hits his face.

How long has it been since he’s seen and felt rain?

“I think I’d like to stay here for a while,” he says finally, and she can feel how tired and confused he is.

He doesn’t trust her yet - it will be a long time until he does, she knows that. Long after his wounds have healed - she’s certainly got some ideas for his wings, but it’ll be a while before he’s willing to hear her out - he’ll still treat her with suspicion. And that’s okay. She didn’t bet everything on him to be scared off so easily.

Sitting down beside him, she’s careful not to touch him. His eyes are glazed and dreamy as he watches the clouds and the rain, the darkness swallowing them up in the woods behind the church.

“You should rest,” she says softly. “We’ll have to leave before dawn, but we have a few hours.”

“I’m fine,” he corrects, but his words are slower and easier, and she doesn’t say anything else as he slowly drifts off, the cool rain on his face.

Jasper Whitlock. Major of the Confederate Army, turned by Maria of Monterrey back in 1863. The love of her life, who was supposed to show up at a diner in Philadelphia but never made it. The scourge of the South, a mythological monster forged out of pain and horror that most people couldn’t imagine, let alone survive.

And her reason for everything.

He looks… peaceful as he sleeps, the rain clinging to him and not even disturbing him. All the stress and pain and rage slipped off his face. He looked like a different person.

She doesn’t remember what sleep is like, and it’s strange to think of just not being for a while. To just be so vulnerable.

It’s a strange feeling, waiting for so long, and now being here with him. Watching him sleep in the rain, broken up into little pieces but somehow still standing.

The real thing is so much more than she ever anticipated.

Nothing will hurt him again. No one will imprison him again. He is free. She found him. Anything he wants, anything at all.

“I’ve got you, Jasper. I’ve got you."

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sailxrmxrs · 1 year

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somehow it's been this long and this is the first alhaitham fic i've written oops. i think about him a lot so this is the culmination of that tbh. just him being overworked and tired after the events of the archon quest so someone has to make him rest even for a little while before he returns to the mountain of akademiya related paperwork. fun fact i actually wrote this like a month and a half ago for a side project but then didn't crosspost here bc i forgot lmao. anyway take a slice of comfort with everyone's favourite akademiya scribe turned acting grand sage and his architect roommate.

Night fast approached the skies of Sumeru City, the vestiges of the afternoon sunlight beginning to fade into a familiar darkness. Stalls in the Grand Bazaar were beginning to close, merchants and craftsmen preparing to return to their homes for a night of peaceful sleep before the cycle of work began all over again. Students of the Akademiya littered its high walls, many retreating to the House of Deana in the hopes of finding the perfect research study to complement their own academic work. Countless students were preparing for a long night ahead of reading through texts and tomes of all kinds, oncoming deadlines the primary motivation for their dedication to the craft. For some, this was an enjoyable task, the pressure of time resulting in optimal conditions to produce a perfectly sound piece of research. For many others, however, the rush was nothing more than the cause of undeterminable volumes of stress that seeped into every facet of life—even those beyond the Akademiya’s walls. Alhaitham had always belonged to the former group, pressure and expectation doing little to shake his spirit. As a student he’d rarely found himself amongst the collection of students with far too little time left to tackle all of their ongoing projects; his tutors and seniors always praised him for being so diligent. Since becoming the Akaedmiya’s Scribe, Alhaitham had found his work demand increase substantially, especially since the recent scandal involving the Akademiya’s Grand Sage and his accomplices.

Talks were still continuing as to who might replace the former Sages and as long as a decision had yet to be made, Alhaitham’s workload would see no slowing point. Such a fact did not bother him particularly. Keeping busy was all part of why he had become a scholar in the first place, after all. Although he did rather miss being left to his own devices archiving documents or sitting in the background of important meetings, taking notes without any need to contribute to the discussions. Nowadays, far more people seemed to pay attention to him and his presence than before. It was a change Alhaitham longed to see disappear once the former Sages’ positions were filled once again. Still, even with his newfound notoriety, Alhaitham remained an unchanged individual. The additional workload was all part of the job and he strived to complete anything thrown his way with utmost speed. Such a dedication to the job, no matter how admirable, was ultimately detrimental to one’s health, physical or otherwise. Alhaitham knew better than most the outcome of pushing one’s body too far.

He was usually not one to stay past his working hours, leaving any outstanding tasks for the following morning, but with the sudden pile of work thrown his way by the Akademiya, Alhaitham was left with little choice but to extend his work hours long into the night. The past weeks had left him near glued to his desk with no chance for respite in sight. More often than not he’d end up just staying there the entire night, taking a nap on the lounge chair that sat against the wall of books decorating his office and calling it a suitable night of sleep. Even now it had been a few days since he’d last returned home. Alhaitham supposed he should probably show his face there soon and prove to his roommate, Kaveh, that he hadn’t disappeared entirely. Though, admittedly, he was rather enjoying the peace and quiet from his roommate's presence. Easier to stay in his office all night than be bothered and woken by the architect making noise in the witching hour as he worked on some new project. Unlike Alhaitham, Kaveh was a chronic procrastinator and thrived in the early hours of the morning when Alhaitham usually preferred to sleep.

Alhaitham sighed to himself, fingers massaging at his aching temples. He'd been sitting at his desk far too long and words were starting to blur into one another, a sign that he should probably stop soon—or at the very least, take a break. A part of him was tempted to listen. Tempted to set aside all the paperwork that weighed on his shoulders and make the quick walk back home where he could sleep undisturbed until the sun came up once more. Then there was the side of him that whispered in his ear how a selection of the documents on his desk needed to be read through and organised in time to be submitted during a meeting the following morning. This was going to be a long night. One that required another mug of coffee as soon as physically possible.

Meanwhile, Kaveh walked the streets of Sumeru City. He relished in the cooler temperatures that evening brought with it, the sun’s seemingly everlasting warmth having finally begun to fade. Few people lined the streets of the city, though plenty of cheers from the jovial patrons of Puspa Café could be heard as he strolled past. The place never lacked in waves of energy especially during those final hours of sunlight before the moon rose and called them all to their homes. On any other night Kaveh might consider joining the throng of people revelling in the atmosphere, but tonight he had one specific goal in mind: To drag his roommate back to their shared home. Usually Kaveh did not like to volunteer himself as Alhaitham’s caretaker, companion, or even acquaintance. In fact, most barely knew the two were acquainted, let alone living together for a time. However, despite their differences, Kaveh did care somewhat for Alhaitham's wellbeing. It didn't take much to notice the increased whispers around the Akademiya of Alhaitham's new position, nor the sheer amount of work and responsibility forced upon him. Kaveh had barely believed it the first time he caught wind of Alhaitham's seniority but if his roommate's sour attitude was anything to go by, then it became undoubtedly clear he was being held at his office far longer than he wanted to be.

Usually Alhaitham would be home like clockwork to get some well earned rest before the daily cycle began once again and also check that Kaveh hadn't yet destroyed the place with all of his blueprints and models. Of course if you asked Kaveh, he'd proclaim how he strived himself on being an exceptional roommate who gave Alhaitham no reason to doubt his behaviour. If you asked Alhaitham, however, the Scribe would be inclined to disagree. Even still, despite their differences it was strange for Alhaitham to not have returned home by now. Sensing something wasn't quite right, Kaveh pulled himself away from his current project planning and made his way to the Akademiya in search of some answers. Walking through the Akademiya at this time of day sent chills down Kaveh’s spine, reminding him of all the nights he spent pouring his brain over documents to eventually throw together for his thesis. He did not miss those days. A student passed him in the corridor, dark circles beneath their eyes and a stack of books with loose papers messily slotted between in their arms. He definitely did not miss those days.

Upon arriving at Alhaitham’s office door, Kaveh didn't bother to knock and instead walked straight in. The sight that he was greeted with was even worse than expected. If you asked Kaveh any other day he’d answer that Alhaitham never looked good, but today? This was something else entirely. He looked positively ghostly. More than anything, he looked as though he needed to sleep for an entire week. His face was paler than usual and his eyes bore evidence of a disturbance to his sleep schedule. Kaveh didn't doubt that Alhaitham had been sleeping, if the blanket strewn across the lounge chair was anything to go by, but even a subtle change to Alhaitham's schedule was enough to throw him off kilter.

“What are you doing in my office? Is seeing you at home not punishment enough?” Alhaitham spoke, his voice sounding just as tired as his appearance suggested. It seemed the Scribe did not lose his sharp tongue even in the throes of exhaustion.

“Hilarious. Interesting you mention our home when you’ve barely even been there this last week.”

Alhaitham raised an eyebrow as he sat back in his chair. “Oh? Did someone miss me?”

A frustrated sigh escaped Kaveh’s lips, a frequent occurrence in these bouts with Alhaitham. Despite the anger that threatened to swell upon witnessing the smug expression that decorated Alhaitham’s face, Kaveh remained steadfast and determined. He wasn't losing this fight. “Not as much as you clearly miss sleep. When was the last time you slept in an actual bed?”

“Is that an offer?”

“If you don’t give me an honest answer I can and will drag you by that stupid cape of yours through the streets of Sumeru until I force you to rest. I get that you’re Mr Popular right now at the Akademiya but that’s not an excuse to hole up in your office for days. What happened to the Alhaitham who was up and out of his office the second his work hours ended?"

Alhaitham stayed in his seat, entirely unmoved by his roommate’s arrival in his office. “I have little choice in the matter. Not that it’s any interest of yours, but I have paperwork to do.”

“One of these days I’m going to be responsible for severely injuring the Akademiya’s precious Scribe. Actually, that might be a good idea to get you to finally leave that damn desk.”

Alhaitham sighed as he rose from his chair. He knew deep down that Kaveh was right for once. He despised being in his office any longer than necessary and with every hour that passed, Alhaitham could feel his body weighing heavier and heavier. The need for rest was all-too-present and he knew ignoring it would do him no good. “If you’re going to be a pain in my ass here at least wake me up in an hour,” he instructed as he collapsed onto the lounge chair, eyes already closed and pulling him under.

“What do you think I am? Your personal alarm?” Kaveh scoffed, indignance sinking into every pore of his skin at the sight of Alhaitham already fast asleep. How the man could pass out so quickly was beyond Kaveh.

“Insufferable idiot.” His attention turned toward Alhaitham’s desk and the paperwork that adorned it, all different kinds of documents both for his usual tasks as Scribe in addition to all the notes regarding the assignment of the new Sages. It was all far too much for one person to manage alone.

“I suppose this work won’t finish itself, will it?” Kaveh took a seat at Alhaitham’s desk and prepared himself for the following hour of filing through everything. He might bicker and fight with his roommate a great deal, but he could set that aside for tonight. Just tonight.

#genshin impact fanfic #alhaitham fanfic #kavetham #wow it's not an x reader for once look at me go #i love alhaitham and kaveh's dynamic a lot okay they're both so babygirl in such different ways #also don't perceive how long it took me to edit this for tumblr and post it #or how long it took to actually write something for alhaitham the man has been living in my head rent free for MONTHS #this is also my formal apology to the people who are on the receiving end of my alhaitham brainrot on a daily basis #you are stronger than any 5 star for putting up with my alhaitham related bs #anna writes

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ashesandhackles · 2 years

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Harry and The Dursleys: Examining His Response to his Abusers

This is a musing/rambling, because I have been rereading and I have been noticing shifts in how Harry responds to the Dursleys. It is largely a companion piece that expands the ideas that I touch upon in my meta Deconstructing Harry , and it is to underline how Harry was shaped by surviving and living in an abusive household, one that specifically posits the "golden child vs scapegoat" dynamic in the worst possible way. I have been doing a reread and I have a lot of thoughts!

Finding Safety

Harry's relationship with his abusers is quite understandably, fragmented. He is used to their neglect ("the house held no other sign another boy lived there") and prefers to stay out of their way, and he is used to being the scapegoat to Dudley's golden child. The stark difference in how the Dursleys treat Dudley vs himself contributes to the very little sense of self Harry begins the series with. This, of course, changes when he is removed from their presence and Hogwarts, specifically Ron and Hermione offer him the safety that is required for him to develop beyond his constant survival mode.

What was interesting to me beyond him being used to their neglect is that....at least in the first two books of the series, he wants their attention. He attempts at connection with his abusers ( he tells them about the dream with flying motorbike, he considers waking Dudley up at the hut before his birthday - to annoy him i.e just to have his attention, when Uncle Vernon says "now we know today is an important day" in CoS on Harry's birthday, Harry actually looks up, "hardly daring to believe it").

Why does he do this? Harry has been constantly told - repeatedly consciously and unconsciously that he is a burden on the Dursleys. So he copes - spotting danger ("Harry didn't look it but he was very fast") and evading, not draw attention to himself unless necessary, or trying to maintain a relationship with them in an effort for both need for connection - because they are all he has at the moment and he is a lonely boy, and to try and be safe from complete abandonment.

His abandonment issues inform both his aversion to conflict in personal relationships ( I talk about it in my meta about his relationship with conflict and evolution of his dynamic with Ron and Hermione here) as well as his interesting ambivalence to Ron and Hermione's budding romance in later books ("It wasn't as though he was surprised - but he wasn't sure how he felt about it .. ()...Would he be shut out for good?)

Ease With Violent Contact

There are plenty of implications of physical abuse Harry suffers throughout the series, referred to in the narrative in offhand ways ("You need more than good sense to liase with Uncle. A good sense of when to duck more like" in OOTP, "Long experience had told Harry it is best to stay out of Uncle Vernon's arms reach" in HBP) and we see instances of Vernon threatening him ( Uncle Vernon advanced on him with first raised. "You'll get the stuffing knocked out of you, won't you?" in POA, and his promise to "flay Harry within inch of his life" in beginning chapters of CoS after Dobby crashed the pudding).

We also see Vernon manhandling him (he grabs Harry around the middle and throws him out of the room in PS, he grabs Harry by the throat in beginning chapters of OOTP and Harry magically throws him off). All of this has made Harry remarkably numb to adults manhandling him or being violent with him.

He is not all that shocked about Umbridge and her Blood Quill. In fact, he treats it like a battle of wills:

Harry did not ask when he would be allowed to stop. He did not even check his watch. He knew she was watching him for signs of weakness and he was not going to show any, not even if he had to sit there all night, cutting open his own hand with this quill ... (OOTP)

he was not going to give her the satisfaction of hearing that he had complained about it. (OOTP)

On the opposite side of things, he is not used to being touched to show care and when people do - in the beginning of the series, he is awkward when Hermione hugs him, and he is overwhelmed when Mrs Weasley does at the end of GOF:

He had no memory of ever being hugged like this, as though by a mother. The full weight of everything he had seen that night seemed to fall in upon him as Mrs. Weasley held him to her (.....) until he could hardly bear it, until he was screwing up his face against the howl of misery fighting to get out of him. (GOF)

The first person Harry initiates a hug with is Ginny in HBP, and it is an indication of how comfortable he is with her.

Seeing Threats In His Environment

Harry's way of recognising threats in his environment that he needs to be safe from is - is this person reminding of my abusers?

His immediate response to Draco Malfoy when he first met him in PS is that he reminded him of Dudley, and begins to dislike him. By second meeting, Draco insults Ron, who Harry does like and that sets up the antagonism between them.

Harry also immediately picks upon Snape's dislike of him at the feast itself in Philosopher's Stone (which he reconfirms in next chapter when he sits in Snape's class - "Snape didn't dislike Harry. He hated him"). It is once again, him scoping out threats in the environment. In fact, the Sorting Hat chapter in Philosopher's Stone ends with a dream of all things Harry is associating in his mind as threats: it is both a fun literary device and speaks to Harry's intuition. He sees Draco, Snape and curiously, Quirrel's turban and high cold laugh.

The Flying Motorbike

The flying motorbike is the recurring dream of his escape from Dursleys and the motorbike is both associated with Hagrid and Sirius.

It is a life changing moment for Harry that the moment Hagrid enters (which makes his bullies fearful), he can see Hagrid's eyes are "crinkled into a smile". There are so many associations of Hagrid with warmth and nurture.

He removes the threat of the rifle from Vernon and the negates the feeling of Vernon as a threat and then proceeds to make delicious sausages. He descalates the threat, and then provides for Harry, and it immediately makes an impression.

And then he gives Harry a birthday cake and - first information of his parents, and thereby a sense of identity that is rooted in something good. Harry also discovers within the same book that his parents loved him so much, they died protecting him. This is a radical information for a boy who is used to being neglected and seen as a burden, and ghosts of Lily and James hang over the series. (Harry's larger series wide emotional arc is coming to terms with his parents' death - I talk about it here)

And the second adult, associated with the flying motorbike is Sirius.

After the events of CoS where Dursleys locked up Harry and Ron had to break him out, Harry in the beginning of POA does not seek the attention of Dursleys the way he did in first two books. He is more secure in his place at Hogwarts and his friendship with Ron and Hermione - whereas in the beginning of CoS, he wonders if they had forgotten him.

So, when Harry runs away from the Dursleys, finally rejecting them as any sort of guardians ("I've had enough") - who does he see on the street (the Grim :P) but a guardian who had broken out of prison and swum the North sea to see him and protect him. It is interesting to me that Sirius appears in the narrative right when Harry completely rejects the Dursleys.

I explore why Harry took to Sirius so immediately here: Someone Like A Parent

Other readings for insight into Harry's abuse: Accidental Magic as a Trauma Response by @sybill-the-seer

And Harry's trauma over his parents death: Dementors and Complex Grief by @mrs-stubby-boardman

#harry james potter #harry potter #the dursleys #sirius black #rubeus hagrid #ron weasley #hermione granger

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meltinglake09 · 4 months

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Mori theories, maybe cannon, and connections.

Mori in BSD is someone who takes pleasure in other’s demise/torment, there is no denying that. Along with the fact I am no ‘Mori Fan’ I can assure you that this is not a fan post.

But there are some theories and maybe cannon things about Mori that keep me awake. For example: Mori has his ability being ’Elise’ and it can do mostly anything he requests, along with creating a perfect replacement of a human body, which would be perfect for practicing as he is a doctor.

This thought can lead to other thoughts, such as Yosano and her tendencies to shred her patients apart for her own pleasure of sorts. She could’ve been influenced by Mori and his doctor tendencies on Elise. Though this all has to depend on the fact that Mori did in fact experiment on ‘Elise’ in cruel ways.

Having Yosano and Mori having a deeper connection would be intriguing lore. And reading a little about the real life Mori Ōgai and his daughters, along with Yosano Akiko’s run down of their lives. They both have the connection of expressing sexual feelings. Taking off the fact that Elise may also represent Mori’s daughter for this theory, Elise in some scenes represents a nurse like Yosano. But Elise being a nurse could also represent Moris past of being a doctor.Also reading up on Mori, he also supported the theory of the ‘unconscious mind’ by Von Hartmann. This can connect back to him trying to get his ability to feel human and have its own thoughts.

Going back to the sexual things that the author Mori Rintarō has written, such as Sansho Dayu that was directed by another author/film director Kenji Mizoguchi. Now this may just be a coincidence, however seeing that BSD always has connections, from what I have read, the author Kenji Mizoguchi has no other connections with Bsd based characters besides Mori and Kyōka Izumi. Honestly I could go down another rabbit hole with Kenji’s and Kyōka’s connections, but I’ll keep on going with Mori’s in this post.

Bringing it back a bit, another connection that Mori Rintarō has was with Jun'ichirō Tanizaki. This should give flash backs to the two siblings in Bsd, Naomi, and Jun'ichirō. Seeing how Mori Rintarō is very associated with sexual writing, it also came to no surprise that the author Jun'ichirō Tanizaki also has some sexual traits within his own work such as Chijin no ai that also includes obsessive love within that.

With these two characters Jun'ichirō, and Kenji having seemingly no connection whatsoever to Mori within the anime/manga Bsd, I can’t help but think that this is just a sort of connection to represent the very presence of sexual tension in Bsd that is quite overlooked. I would feel like Jun'ichirō is not done with the Port Mafia business with how his author is connected to Mori. But Kenji is a character that is questionable with the connection to Mori and seeing how that would connect to Bsd.

However, the most interesting connection I have found with the writer Mori Rintarō is his connection with Natsume Sōseki. They both contributed to a book called Suicidal Honor. First thought, Osamu Dazai. However, the connection to Dazai rose even more when the main run down of the book is about Emperor Meiji’s funeral then General Nogi Maresuke committed ritual suicide by seppuku (disembowelment). Making that a double suicide. Honestly, the connection is very complicated, along with Natsume Sōseki being a connection that doesn’t really have a book about sexual relations that is kinda Mori Rintarō whole career is based around. Making this a connection back to Bsd with Dazai. Having this could implicate that they have some sort of conscious of the ‘book’ with many other theories also suggesting this online.

But at the end, I don’t really know where I’m going with this, it’s just some quick thinking of different cannon things and theories. Late night thoughts just hit different.

#bsd theories #bsd thoughts #mori ougai bsd #yosano akiko bsd

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amaryllisblackthorn · 1 year

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MAJOR chain of thorns spoilers !!!

[[ negative thoughts under the readmore about a particularly topic ]]

i also cannot help but feel as though chain of gold did a better job at handling christopher's potential death when he was poisoned than chain of thorns did with christopher's actual death

like, yeah christopher died right when everyone didn't have time to afford to like properly mourn or grieve and they had to take action but like. still.

and i think part of it, for me at least, is that while we get bits of like, thomas grieving it's from an outside perspective and never iirc in his own point of view??? like, there's when he first finds out of course, and then you get i think cordelia remarking in her pov that thomas lost both his sister and basically brother in a year, and that he was the last of the merry thieves currently and he must be feeling so lonely etc but from what i recall we never get thomas' feelings and thoughts regarding these things when we're in his pov???? and yeah there are 'more important things' to focus on re: the watchers and stuff but it makes christopher's death feel empty and as a result unnecessary. it feels like the same story beats could have been accomplished by christopher being severely poisoned and like comatosed, while the adults are all unaccessible in Idris which worsen his odds or something. he's still taken out of commission and the stakes are still heightened.

maybe i would have taken his death better if he was immediately still or something after he's hit instead of i think lucie hearing him say afterwards,that he was fine, because iirc the actual moment he was hit came off as like significant and i thought he died but then it was like 'oh his shoulder's just hurt! he's just injured! dw we'll just be out of the way bc of his injury' and then it's like 'oh actually he's dead now'. i think that 'false hope' just made his sudden death feel kind of cheap to me, for lack of a better word, and contributed to his death feeling unnecessary. maybe his death would have felt at least a little bit 'better' to me if it wasn't for that, bc otherwise it came off less of a 'this is war and people die' situation and more of a 'he is dead simply for shock value' situation. like i get, in-universe, christopher saying he’s fine when he’s not but the way it played out, as a reader, was unsatisfying to me.

like, the doylist reason for his death is that one of the merry thieves had to die for ""realism"" sake but like. it shouldnt come off as that obviously being the reason when you're reading, you know? and at the very least it should be given the weight and respect it deserves ?? as it is it feels like christopher was killed off for shock value and bc 'well one of them has to die and christopher is the easiest one to get rid of' and everyone's like 'oh no! well we can't dwell on that rn' and then they just never dwell on it, and it just makes his death feel empty and unnecessary and it has me feeling sour ngl

and maybe im an unrealistic idealist who feels like none of the main kids had to die! but if they did i’d imagine their death having more weight and presence in the story after it’s happened !

like, i feel if it was matthew who died, there'd've been more dedicated to it. granted, he's james' parabatai . but still. i feel like if even thomas had died, there still would've been more.

thomas and christopher had such a close bond that we got to see in the other two books and the lack of thomas' feelings from his own perspective just feels wrong. i dont care if theyre shadowhunters and needed to focus on battle and the bigger picture. and i know that thomas especially tries to cope with grief by action. and maybe it's supposed to signify everyone's maturity in this book with their reactions vs back in chain of gold. but it still comes off as significantly unsatisfying. imo.

outside of the scene where thomas finds christopher is dead, and outside the brief moments of anna coming off as reckless/wanting to fight the watchers in anger bc of kit, a lot of the christopher grief came off sort of like ‘telling not showing’ if that makes sense???

not to mention that i like personally really dislike when a character survives something where death was like a legit real possibility to then just die later on, especially when it comes off as just killing someone for shock value and/or to signify that ““things are serious now””. you can claim that their surviving is 'false security' and spin it as subversion or whatever but. i just dont like it. i never like it, whether it's in book series or tv shows, except i guess cases where it's just done well and makes sense and is thematically satisfying. so like, christopher dying after being poisoned and in danger of dying back in chain of gold and surviving also has me feel dissatisfied. especially because his death came off as “well someone had to die” and the aftermath of it was so neglected and it just felt so unnecessary and im just really sour about it.

a lot of this is ramble-y and all over the place and i dont even know if i got out all that i wanted to in regards to my feelings and thoughts about the topic but. yeah.

#chain of thorns spoilers #chain of thorns #cot spoilers #chot spoilers #christopher lightwood #tlh spoilers #the last hours spoilers #tsc spoilers #the last hours #tlh #cot #chot #the shadowhunter chronicles #the shadowhunter chronicles spoilers #;negative post #ab: analyzes #;sort of #//negative #/negative

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lilac-5ky · 1 year

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Spending Valentine's Day with kid!Takasugi (x kid!Fem!Reader)

A/N: I lowkey wrote this last minute thing because I had to contribute :p At first, I wanted to write Valentines Day headcanons for him, but then I thought I'd write a cute lil story about cute lil child Shinsuke and his cute lil crush. Might do a follow up post on actual V-Day headcanons today or tomorrow, my brain is toasted and I haven't even properly proofread this. Apologies for inconsistencies!

Plot: Shinsuke has a crush on his classmate and gets her to play hooky with him on Valentine's Day.

Warning: Zero calories fluff, no spice, whatsoever.

He is so embarrassed to admit his own feelings, yet at the same time they're eating him alive. He's noticed the way others look at you and thinks it's impossible they misso out on what he sees; all that makes you brighter and more special than any other girl in Shouyou's class, and any other girl he'd ever had the luck of encountering. Only a fool would fail to realize your worth, and for that, he is scared the day might come when someone who isn't him will show up and sweep you off your feet- and God knows, he can never let that happen. Even if Gintoki or Katsura catch onto his affections, he has to step up and declare his intentions.

And so he does. Away from the eyes of his classmates and on a day with great importance to those in love. Of course, he'd never admit that he is in love with you. Little Shinsuke barely knows what such crude and complicated emotions mean. What he does know is that it's dangerous to let you be at school with the rest of your aspiring "suitors" or allow for your precious chocolate to be stolen by the likes of Gintoki. He's just trying his best to look out for you.

While the two of you walk to school-- your small hands surely enough gripping a box of chocolate meant for an unlucky fellow who wouldn't receive his treat-- he suggests you play hooky from school. Surprised, you ask him what's gotten into him; if there's a specific reason behind his request and if something's wrong. He doesn't bother explain, and tells you to simply follow him without asking more questions for the time being.

The two of you end up back to his house, and once he makes sure his father --at the very least-- isn't home, he motions for you to follow him inside.

You sneak past the gate and the servants who keep sweeping the dirt off the floors without being aware of your presence, and soon you make it to a large area of spreading greenery at the back of his estate. An abudance of wild flowers blossoms wildy and unruly below your feet, creating a wonderful field of color. Entranced as you are, your lips gap at the sight, fingers lightly caressing the overgrown leaves surrounding you.

"They are so beautiful, don't you think," you whisper.

He doesn't answer, but imitates your gesture of caressing a dark purpe flower, one as dark as his hair.

"You'd better get into work." He comments, bothering to explain only after you shoot him a look of utter confusion. "The gardener quit last week and father's furious over the state of these wild weeds," he distastefully says. "You should clean them up."

"But why?" You ask, half wondering why it must be you and why anyone would want to get rid of something this pretty. He only answers your first question, reminding you of a test paper you may or may not have copied from him, and how nothing prevents him from letting Shouyou know.

Without a real choice, you accept the task assigned to you and he hands you a pair of gloves and a pruning shear that casually happened to be lying around. You put them on and get into work, while he assumes a seat nearby the porch, spreading a book on his lap and throwing glances from time to time to see if you are doing as told.

It pains your heart to see the garden become naked, but at the same time you can't help yourself from smiling at the rapidly growing bouquet in your hands. All the colors of the world have gathered up, from sparkling yellows to subtle whites and fervent reds, each is more beautiful than the one before.

Working under the sun has you wiping the sweat off your forehead every three seconds, but even so, you find your shared time a lot more enjoyable than you initially thought it be. Sure, you spend it in utter silence, with only the sounds of stems being plucked and pages being flipped filling the space between you, and yet what you don't know iis that the reason for his quietness has nothing to do with the quality of a book he isn't even reading, or with him playing the role of an employer all too well. In reality, he just can't bring himself to take his eyes from you and knows that if he speaks, his voice will crack in such unnatural way that he'll make a fool of himself.

Once you finish piling up the dried leaves and headless stems, you walk up to him. He doesn't look at you right away- he finishes reading his page, flips his bookmark to the next and then raises his head, finding a bouquet greeting him from where your face ought to be.

"All done!" You speak behind it, and he can hear the smile in your voice.

"Hm..." He looks around, as if he wasn't aware you'd finished. "You did well," he barely admits.

"What are you reading?" You ask.

"Yesterday's notes."

"Kat-su-ra Ko-ta-" You turn your head upside down to read the label, but he pulls it away.

"Zura gave them to me. I was just comparing our answers." He justifies.

Ignoring the fact that you caught him red-handed, you instead smile at him gently. It hasn't been long since you became Shouyou's student yourself, and yet you'd managed to grow fond of him. He had quite the nasty temper and prefered dressing his true intentions in bitter words that matched his higher status, but behind all that lied a boy as devious and mischievous as the rest of you.

"Takasugi-kun," you say as you take a seat beside him, "why does your father not want flowers in his garden?"

He glances at you and then down at his dangling feet. "What's pretty is a distraction. He says samurai don't need to worry about stuff that isn't necessarry and offers nothing."

"But don't you think such life is boring?" You bring the flowers to your nose and take a whiff off the delicious scent. "Without beauty, what's left worth living for? My father says that if the Amanto win the war, nothing will be left for us to look at. Our trees will wither and our rivers will be drained-- then what reason will we have to smile? Doesn't your father consider that?"

Shinsuke takes a deep breath, unsure of what to answer. His eyes that were drawn to you with each chance were a testament to your words, but the viciousness in his father's eyes as he raisd his hand against him was etched all too well in his skin.

"The world will carry on either way," he mumbles.

Even if he hadn't kept you from going to school, you'd keep on blossoming the way you were supposed to, be it close to him or away from his sight. It was stupid of him to think his actions would have a different impact, especially when he couldn't be honest with either one of you.

However, while he took his time to sulk, you'd leaned closer to him and dropped the flowers in his hands, resulting to him flinching away as if an electric current passed through him.

"Then you should have them! Whatever my father or yours say, doesn't matter. When we are old enough, we can have our own rules and make the world how we want it to be. I know I want our world to be as pretty as these flowers!"

"You..." He says, straigthening his lips in a line and then pushing the bouquet in your direction. "You shouldn't give flowers to others this carelessly! Like I told you, a samurai has no use for them- I can't accept them."

"Then, how about these?" You trade the flowers for the chocolates, the ones you meant to give him much to his obliviousness all along. "Chocolate is food and without food even a samurai can die!"

Unable, or rather, unwilling to decline a seocnd time, he takes on the box and peers inside; heart-shaped delicacies are carefully stacked up between folds of wrapping paper, each being half the size of a thumb. He picks one and studies it under the sun as if it's a foreign object, while you pick another and push it to his lips.

"Aaa~" You taunt him, and with a look of grumpiness, he accepts. The sweetness melts in his mouth, his tongue watering for more, but when you attempt to feed him another, he glances elsewhere.

"I only took it so that you wouldn't be offended," he tells a lie not even he believes.

You toss the piece between your lips and lean back, your head hitting the wooden planks of the porch. For a February morning, the weather sure is warm enough for you to spend the remainder of your morning in his company. His eyes are glued to his book again, while yours gaze far into the sky and the clouds above, watching the sun gradually melt to softer shades of pink and orange.

Were you at Shoka Sonjuku now, sensei would be patting your heads and wishing you a safe journey like he always did. Hopefully you'd manage to escape the earful, come tomorrow. Sensei was a warm person, but he could be quite scary too.

It was time for you to go home.

You extend both arms in a lazy stretch and jump to your feet, remembering to pick up the flowers Shinsuke previously rejected. You announced your intentions to him and bid him farewell, only for your hand to be caught between a wilsome grasp of fingers.

"I'll walk you home, " he declares. "You shouldn't walk alone through the woods when it gets late."

"Is that part of a samurai's duty?" You tease, accepting his offer with an earnest grin.

He huffs under his breath, mumbling incomprehensible words, as your thumb applies pressure on his palm. There is a brief pasue where he looks up at you, and in that extremely brief moment, you swear to see the sunset peak across his cheeks in a shade that outshone those dancing between the clouds in the sky.

No more words are exchanged between you. His hand remains in yours and yours in his, while you make your way outside his garden, the front door, and the little pathway leading back into the forest, the two of you finding plenty of excuses to make stops along the way to extend your journey, without ever letting go of the other's hand.

#takasugi shinsuke #gintama #gintama x reader #takasugi x reader #takasugi fuff #gintama fluff #takasugi

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ubyr-babaj · 8 months

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Dracula Mischaracterization Drinking Game, НП edition

Yeah, I'm still alive, I'm in a bad mood, so I'm gonna play this thing with the writing project I've been on for two years, here we go.

Jonathan

Is combined with Renfield.

Dies at the beginning

Is made into a generic male hero. Let’s make it half a shot. He’s boring and xenophobic, but he’s not very masc.

Is a toxic partner to Mina. Half a shot. Treats her as his last link to his sanity/humanity/lost masculinity, overall codependent as all hell, but so is she.

Barely has any presence at all. I never felt much for him.

Never goes to Transylvania Goes to Dracula and his sisters, stays in their non-Euclidian fuckhouse of horrors, that's the main reason he's such a mess.

Is made to be aggressive and "manly" Half a shot? Develops serious anger issues (like in the OG novel), it gets even worse after he starts turning into Mina’s familiar. How much of it is just C-PTSD is unclear. I need a bland twink to store my intrusive thoughts about stabbing people.

Mina

Is Dracula's love interest/reincarnated wife. That dubious honor goes to Ray.

Is indifferent to or hates Jonathan and/or Lucy Loves them both.

Is made into a one-note damsel in distress

Has none of her original intelligence

Is only there as "moral support" for the men For them, she mostly exists as their religious/political symbol of hardcore Christianity/traditional femininity (like in the OG book). She’s not exactly happy with that but isn’t ready to speak up.

Is a prize to be won by the men

Is swapped with Lucy

Is married to someone other than Jonathan

Dies as a vampire or remains a vampire in the end Half a shot. Ambiguous. She’s left with a vial of juice that pretty much makes you an artificial saint with no tolerance for injustice, so her choice is either to actually become someone who isn’t an Angel in the House, or to finish her transformation into a vampire and marry Jonathan by their laws.

Dumps Jonathan for Dracula. She would never.

Consented to the "Baptisim of Blood" No, Val forced her into it and taunted the hell out of her through her dreams.

Jack

Is an old man/same age as Van Helsing

Is Mina's and/or Lucy's father

Isn't friends with Van Helsing or the rest of the Suitor Squad He wants Van Helsing, feels uncomfortable with Quincey for a one-night stand reason and can barely stand Arthur, because of the class differences.

Is the only present member of the Suitor Squad

Only there to be Lucy's doctor and has no emotional connection to her

Does all the research and work that Mina actually did in the original story Half a shot. Does some of it but arrives to all the wrong conclusions and never actually connects it to anything important.

Van Helsing

Is way older or way younger than his original age

Is a badass action hero vampire hunter

Comes from/started a bloodline of famous vampire hunters

Is the only character other than Dracula from the book

Has a first name other than "Abraham"

Has supernatural powers

Is a woman/combined with Sister Agatha

Is the only one who knows Dracula is a vampire and has to prove it to everyone else

Is the one to kill Dracula

Is not Dutch in the slightest

Quincey

Is straight up nonexistent

Is combined with Arthur

Has so little relevancy he might as well not be there Well, like in the OG novel? I mean he did sleep with Seward at some point of his youth and kept a crush on him, but he literally has no reason to be there and is one of the few characters who are actually allowed to leave.

Is British, or anything other than American/Texan

Is a shallow or douchey lover to Lucy Shallow and fuckboyish (like in the OG novel), but still pretty nice. Him and Arthur are the only people who understand that mutilating vampire!Lucy was kinda not very good.

Has a futuristic descendent with more plot relevance than himself

Arthur

Is straight up nonexistent

Is combined with Jack, or Quincey, or Jonathan, or any combination of those

Doesn't contribute or is entirely absent in the staking vampire!Lucy scene

Is Lucy's or Mina's brother

Is a spoiled rich boy who barely contributes to the plot Barely contributes anything to the plot (except for money), IS rich and sheltered (LIKE IN THE ORIGINAL FUCKING...)

Lucy

Is swapped/combined with Mina

Is Mina's sister

Is shallow/slutty/bitchy IS pretty shallow (like in the… Ok, I’ll shut up). But she’s nice and did nothing to deserve what happens to her.

Is a toxic friend to Mina/secretly hates her

Is framed by the narrative as deserving of her death at the hands of Dracula

Literally asked/invited Dracula to drain from her

Her plotline is ignored/never resolved. She joins the harem of one of Val’s sisters and then I completely forget her.

Is staked by someone other than Arthur

Is engaged/married to someone other than Arthur

Is actually canonically queer, but she still gets killed.

Renfield

Is combined with Jonathan/goes to Transylvania instead of Jonathan

Is the secondary villain/straight up evil Ehhhhh… Ray used to be a prophet in his past life and did try to be a good person in the current one, but the systematic oppression makes him say: “Fuck it” and go off with Val.

Is way older or way younger than his original age

Remains loyal to Dracula throughout the whole story and never fights/turns on him Eh. Does turn on Val, does fight him, then he realizes he can’t stand living with a bunch of homophobic Christian hypocrites who’re buds with his rapist, and re-joins Val.

Never interacts with Mina They interact, they talk, it’s one of the main reasons he realizes the Crew aren’t worth saving.

Is shown as "sane" at the beginning

Becomes a vampire at some point Ehhhh… Becomes A Creature but it’s not a vampire.

The narrative tries to justify his mistreatment at the hands of Jack

Dracula

Is not "evil," just """misunderstood""" Dude, that’s one of the guys who destroyed Sodom and fucked Lot wearing his daughters as flesh puppets. Don’t fuck this cool thing, he’s NPD symptoms on steroids, he’s only safe for former/current prophets.

Is actually the protagonist Half a shot. Is the protagonist’s love interest.

His first name is Vlad His name is Val/Baalzebub.

Appears and regularly interacts with the other characters throught the story Hell yeah, my dude, he’s always there.

Is young/handsome/suave IS in his early forties in the main section of the book (like in the OG novel). IS handsome (like in the…)

Is here to "liberate" Mina from her "toxic"/"boring" husband

Is combined with Vlad the Impaler/some historical figure Half a shot. Is Baalzebub a historical figure?

Is obsessed with Mina specifically

Has all queer undertones stripped from him

Is not Romanian/his actor makes no attempt to sound Romanian That’s a fallen angel who’s on a pilgrimage as a vampire, because he lost a bet with his cousin. He has no heritage, the only reason he is Romanian is because he happened to chill in there.

Is basically just a characature of Bela Logosi No, we’re vibing with Louis Jourdan in this house.

Only kills the characters who "deserved" to die I have extreme anger issues, on my bad days I DO think that everyone Val kills deserves it. Usually by virtue of being really boring.

Is hurt/killed by exposure to sunlight

Is Van Helsing's arch nemesis He can’t give two shits about the guy

Is friends with Frankenstein's monster …dude, he’d fuck Adam. He’d totally fuck both Adam AND his father.

Never turns into anything other than a bat Mostly plops around as a black cat with white socks.

#нп #writing

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