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femmefatalevibe · 10 months

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Femme Fatale Guide: How To Validate Yourself & Stop People Pleasing

A comprehensive guide to learn love & trust yourself and break out of your people-pleasing identity. Hope this helps xx

HOW TO MASTER THE ART OF SELF-VALIDATION:

Remember the longest relationship you have in life is the one with yourself. While we all need an external support system to be well-rounded & healthy individuals, no one else will be with you throughout your entire life except for you. So, acting as your own best friend is the secret to living your happiest and most fulfilling life. You ultimately need to do what's best for you. Otherwise, you're damaging the only relationship you will have to confront in every aspect and stage of your life.

Acknowledge your humanity and fundamental right to have needs, goals, and personal desires. Validate your personhood and individuality. Remember you're only human and are bound to have your own physical/emotional limitations and preferences. If you would be willing to cater to others' schedules, boundaries, and limitations, give yourself this equal level of respect and expect others to do the same.

Know everyone is self-centered to a certain degree. No one cares about your happiness as much or is watching you as closely as you are. They all have themselves and their lives to worry about. People are paying attention to their own self-interests (or want you to accomplish things to boost their own credibility or self-esteem). Being your greatest personal cheerleader is the only way to fully give yourself the praise and spotlight you deserve for your accomplishments.

Self-confidence is magnetic. It is the secret to showing up as your best self in all areas of life. Being secure in yourself makes you a better friend, family member, lover, partner, spouse, professional, conversationalist, etc. Validating yourself will make you feel good, but also radiates into every relationship or interaction in your life.

Discover what you love about yourself. Reflect on the personality traits, skillsets, and behaviors you know to be admirable about yourself. Are you constantly making others laugh? Do you get endless praise for your cooking, drawing, singing, or problem-solving skills? Would people come to you first to manage a crisis like a champion? Are you a master disciplinarian when it comes to going to the gym or reading? Do people regularly compliment your outfits or nails? Think of all of the aspects of your being that make you unique and help you to feel content with your existing, authentic self.

Take control of your life to cultivate your ideal self. While you should consistently praise your naturally admirable qualities, remember that you always can change aspects of your life that will help you feel like your best self. Know that you're in control of your decisions and have the mental freedom to think & act in any way you desire to reach any goals or implement lifestyle changes to feel like the person you feel destined to be.

Block out the noise and negative self-talk. We're (almost always!) our worst critics. Consider every new experience or interaction as a learning opportunity. Mistakes and failures are life lessons that facilitate self-reflection and opportunities for growth. Remember not to beat yourself up for past mistakes: You did the best you could with the information you had at the time. If you weren't embarrassed by your past self, you never gave yourself the chance to evolve and grow. Every success, failure, and new life stage offers its own lessons and teachable moments. Remember that we're all our own unique life paths. Comparing your life to someone else's is like comparing apples and oranges. Both entities may be fruitful but have vastly different flavor profiles, growing seasons, and rates at which they ripen. As Dita Von Tesse shrewdly said: "You can be the ripest, juiciest peach in the world, and there will always be someone who hates peaches."

HOW TO STOP PEOPLE PLEASING:

Acknowledge that people-pleasing is a form of self-neglect. By prioritizing another person's desires or approval above your own, you're ultimately neglecting your physical, emotional, energetic, or spiritual needs. Consider acting in your best in your own best interest as an act of self-care that safeguards your well-being.

Set boundaries. State your limitations, calmly, clearly, and directly. Understand that boundaries are your response to other people's actions, not a means to control other people's behavior. An expectation would be to ask someone not to call you during the workday. A boundary is stating that you will not pick up the phone during the workday and will only make/return calls in the evening after leaving the office.

Communicate your needs & expectations clearly. While you can't control what others will do, being upfront with your needs and expectations can eliminate unnecessary stress, logistical issues, misplaced hurt feelings, or disappointment in any type of relationship. Direct communication between parties will allow you both to respect each other's boundaries and to prioritize interactions that are mutually more positive, helpful, and emotionally nourishing.

Express your "no" freely (and without over-explaining). Remember that "No" is a complete sentence. You do not owe someone your time or emotional energy simply because they asked or expect you to do something/attend an event out of perceived obligation/guilt or simply to make someone else happy. Making sure you're okay is your first priority. Feel free to say "no" to any requests that would emotionally drain you, make you overextend yourself, or compromise any of your personal values/goals/priorities. You don't need to justify your needs. Just kindly decline, and let it be.

Remain consistent with your boundaries & priorities. People will treat you how you let them treat you. Once you set a boundary or share your priorities will someone, stick to these words through your actions to show you're serious about how you expect to be treated. Teach people how to interact with you in a way that doesn't feel self-sacrificing. No one will respect your boundaries and priorities if you don't and are easily swayed to forgo these self-imposed standards on a day-to-day or case-by-case basis.

Consider the long-term consequences of people-pleasing. While it may appease immediate conflict or anxiety, people-pleasing offers a one-way ticket to resentment and misplaced anger. By ignoring our own needs for the sake of others, we place unspoken expectations on these individuals' obligations to reciprocate our emotional labor – whether it be with their future actions or matching our generosity with unprompted favors or emotional support. We start keeping score as we continuously give ourselves over to others of perceived obligation. When someone doesn't return the favor, we get upset, despite never expressing this expectation of someone else or that we're even self-sacrificing in any way. This can lead to us feeling depleted or guilt-tripping others, and from their perspective, seemingly out of nowhere. It is best to remember we always have a choice whether to give to others and it should be of a genuine desire, love, or support for the other person – not as a way to gain external validation or manipulate a situation to create a false sense of obligation that we keep ourselves or the receiving party beholden to. Think of your energy, time, and personal resources given to others as a gift, not a bargaining chip.

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icaruspendragon · 3 months

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i hope this isn't too personal of a question (and if it is that's totally cool, i was literally just curious as a fellow aspec person), but i was wondering what some of your thoughts were about being aspec, like it's totally cool if your thoughts were just the post you reblogged!!! that's honestly still putting into words a bit a similar way i figured out i was aspec, but i know you seem to have really interesting takes on things/conclusions you've realized about things a lot of the time and so i was just curious what thoughts were turning around your head about being aspec

I don't mind talking about it at all!

So for me sex is like this perfunctory, borderline tedious thing. I almost want to call it a chore, but that has negative connotations that don't exactly match up with how I feel about it. It's like something on a to do list, or like running an errand.

Think of it this way: For me, having sex is akin to going to the pharmacy. Actually, it's more like being asked to go for someone else. It's not on my list of things I enjoy doing and there are other things I would rather do, but I don't mind going if someone asks me to. But once in a blue moon I do actually want to go because I want candy or a Juneberry Red Bull or some shit like that and Walgreens happens to be nearby.

Media builds up sex to be this incredible and awesome and amazing thing that everyone wants to have, which is at odds with the widely held societal belief that it's uncouth to discuss sex openly with others. So if media says "yes you should want this" and society says "but you shouldn't talk about it with others because it's an incredibly private act" it makes it kinda difficult when you don't feel the way you're "supposed to." And then when you do talk about how you don't feel that way, people say there's something wrong with you or that you haven't found the right person or that maybe you need to change things up in the bedroom or that you need to go to a doctor because it's gotta be a hormonal imbalance or something. The list really does go on and on.

And so many of my expectations surrounding sex were informed by fanfic where I read, in detail, about how good it was supposed to feel. About all the different ways it could feel good.

I wanted it to be like that for me, for it to be as good as I had read and seen and heard others talk about, so I kept on trying. And sometimes I enjoyed it. Not E rated fanfic enjoyed it, but it was nice. Nice in the same way a cup of tea is nice, but nice nonetheless.

But most of the time it was like, clinical? Like I was acutely aware of what was happening, if that makes sense. I was thinking about the mechanics of it, what was going in where. I was thinking about how it was "supposed to feel" versus how it actually felt. I would wonder how much longer it would take because I was getting bored. Sometimes I would think about how rude it would be if I checked my phone. And probably the most upsetting (retrospectively) thing I would think about was if my act of enjoyment was convincing enough. And I didn't ever want to tell a partner that I wasn't enjoying it because I didn't want to hurt their feelings. Because I thought it was a me problem. That there was something wrong with me. And there being something wrong with me wasn't fair to whoever I was with. I just needed to grin and bear it, so to speak.

At one point I had a bit of a gay panic where I thought wasn't bisexual and actually a lesbian. The panic was over the confusion, not over the potential lesbianism. Lesbians are awesome. But I learned that while sexual intimacy with women was a bit easier, my feelings (or lack thereof) about sex were still the same. And that meant there was something wrong with me in particular.

I know now that my perspective was warped and my thoughts about myself were both unkind and untrue, but that was a lot to try and reconcile as a 19 year old who already thought she was undesirable. Constantly being called a "late bloomer" and not having your first relationship until you're a sophomore in college sure does a number on your self esteem. Which in turn does a number on your perception of yourself.

Then as I got older, I got more queer friends. And I talked to those queer friends. And they talked about sex differently than my straight friends did. More openly and honestly. With less fanfare. And it was during those discussions that I heard about experiences similar to mine. And it helped me realize I wasn't broken. Well, that and google.

And now I stand before you today, an aspec bisexual able to joke about being horny in theory but not in application. It's nice not feeling broken anymore. But I think it's even nicer now knowing that I was never broken in the first place.

Sometimes sex is nice, but most of the time, it's just going to the pharmacy. And both of those things are okay.

#asks #if 20 year old Berklie could see me talking so frankly about my sex life she'd probably implode #but if you never talk about this kinda stuff it makes it awful hard for folks to know they're not the only ones #that they're not alone #and most importantly: that they're not broken like she had always been led to believe

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youledmehere · 1 month

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THE ONES WHO LIVE EPISODE FOUR: WHAT WE

[WRITTEN BY DANAI GURIRA]

-> Vulture: After some tedious lies and deceptions, in Michonne’s words, they needed a time-out. That’s exactly what they get in one of the best stand-alone episodes in all of The Walking Dead. (…) It’s like watching a two-person play, which makes sense, as the episode’s writer, Danai Gurira (Michonne herself), is an acclaimed and Tony-nominated playwright (…..) “What We” is not a bottle episode. Multiple sets in a single location, two characters with an internal conflict, and the special-effects budget make it a “Suitcase” episode. Editors Rating: 5 stars

Bloody-Disgusting: Andrew Lincoln once again showcases a masterclass of acting as Grimes cycles through his damaged psyche, desperately trying to figure out how to connect with Michonne. Gurira matches Lincoln’s emotional performance, evoking Michonne’s desperation and anger with authenticity. Letting Gurira take over writing duties for this specific episode proved extremely beneficial given the emotional legwork the character trudges through in this particular installment. If there’s anyone who can understand Michonne the best, it’s Danai Gurira.

The Hollywood Reporter: As the writer of the episode, Gurira felt she clearly understood Michonne’s arc, but she wanted to make sure her co-star and fellow executive producer Lincoln had enough meat to sink his teeth into, as well. “You want to give an actor like him everything you can,” she says. “Andy’s such a fantastic actor who throws everything into it. I was keen to give him that workout.” Lincoln added to THR, “It was thrilling to do all of this with friends, but Danai had one heck of a role as well as showrunning the fourth episode as an added responsibility. I thought the work she did on that was an astonishing testament to her skills, especially because apparently she only needs two hours a day to sleep.”

Den of Geek: To call it a bottle episode is dismissive. Certainly, there’s one major setting, and most of the episode contains little in the way of special effects (by the standards of the average Walking Dead Televisual Universe show). However, most bottle episodes aren’t this interesting, or this gripping. “What We” feels like The Walking Dead taking a stab at doing a spinoff of the Richard Linklater Before trilogy, not wallowing in the usual zombie action or soap opera frippery. It’s almost certainly going to be polarizing, but it’s one of the most captivating, emotionally-deep episodes of television from this universe, and it’s all down to the powerhouse that is Danai Gurira.

SpoilerTV: “What We” is a captivating exploration of love’s transformative force. Rick and Michonne shed their pretenses, abandoning deceit to forge a profound reconnection. Andrew Lincoln’s performance brilliantly resurrects Rick from the abyss of a living man who is dead inside, courtesy of Danai’s masterful writing.

Bleeding Cool: But it’s Gurira pulling double duty that deserves all of the attention and tons of praise. Proving that she knows this couple and their dynamic better than anyone, Gurira presented us with what felt like a real couple going through the problems with real reactions- even in the midst of a zombie apocalypse. I know that reviews can sometimes go to the extremes-positive or negative- but in the case of “What We”, we have an easy contender for one of the best single episodes of the franchises run.

#acting was amazing. writing was amazing. 10/10 #richonne #the ones who live #rick grimes #michonne #andrew lincoln #danai gurira #*

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bengiyo · 19 days

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We Are Sucks, and BL Will Be Worse When This Succeeds

We Are the series, the latest empty drivel from New Siwaj, has crossed a line for me that I cannot abide. This show is nothing more than loosely connected setups for BL moments that are easy to gif or clip for maximum virality, designed to fulfill a financial obligation to iQIYI and otherwise keep the B- and C-tier BL pairs occupied with work. This show is saying nothing about the human condition with any verve, and there is no queer subtext or text to pull from any of these characters that the viewer isn’t already bringing to the table.

I had stopped writing Stray Thoughts for this show because it doesn’t really have much of a plot or story to tell, but I am not going to be able to continue this show past episode 5. This show is the BL equivalent of a cumshot compilation. It is designed exclusively as fap material to coo over known BL pairs smiling at each other. I was chatting with @twig-tea yesterday about how after five episodes we still don’t really have anything resembling an arc for these characters and how it’s just a bunch of BL dudes hanging out. Twig described it as “disingenuous to [even] call it a show” and “...a bunch of compatibility workshops strung together.”

I hate this so much. There is no story being told here. This is like watching actor reels on IG or TikTok. There is nothing here to hold onto other than your baseline fondness for the cast. There was a moment in episode 5 that felt completely unscripted between Aou and Boom that felt like Boom reacting to being teased by Aou and not a moment between their characters. They didn’t even let Aou’s character confess the specificity of his feelings because they don’t matter to this show! It doesn’t matter why he likes Boom’s character! Just that he does! Why does Boom’s character respond so positively to these feelings? Why didn’t he take initiative on his own before? What changed at all? What’s the goddamn story here? There’s nothing! We just make it up and enjoy the smiles.

I usually don’t want to bitch about shows I don’t like extensively on here, and I especially don’t like spamming tags with negative commentary or musing on shows. However, there are 11 more episodes of this empty nothing, and 30 more episodes of New Siwaj trash on the horizon. He has become the GMMTV BL Babysitter, and I am horrified by what this means for the genre. I try to stay patient with New because usually he captures some form of gay melancholy or angst in his shows, but there is none of that here in We Are. All of these characters know each other and are basically just hanging out for about an hour of TV.

I worry about stuff like this being good enough to monetize. There’s nothing interesting for me in this experience with a queer lens. There is no real story being told, and caring about any details as if they matter leads to questioning the integrity of the characters (are we really doing a slave narrative in a college BL again?). It feels like the end product of giving up on chasing ratings and only chasing virality to monetize the talent for ad spots, concerts, fan meets, and merch. No longer do we even need to make stories about compelling romances between men. We just need to get passably attractive boys on screen together and just ask them to smile.

What does it mean for the genre if GMMTV goes another step forward with this and no longer brings any robust writing to the BL table. Are we satisfied with BL as glorified slideshows of shippable actors? What happens when GMMTV is able to easily milk this over other robust productions? Is this just the filler fluff to keep people engaged with the network between their solid projects to prove their bonafides? BL has always struggled with depictions of queerness, but are we at the point where we don't even try to tell stories that even feel queer? Is just simply putting boys next to each other enough? I don’t like this at all, and it unsettled me as I watched five episodes of We Are only to feel nothing.

I am always half-joking about being over New Siwaj, but I really am at this point.

#Ben writes #we are the series

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mind-empty-just-fictional-people · 10 months

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Fixing Bad Dreams

masterlist

summary: without even realizing, you’ve been using your powers to turn butcher’s bad dreams into good ones.

pairing: billy butcher x female supe!reader

rating: R for language

word count: 1.4k

warnings: language, talk of sex

timeline: set after season 3

gif source

When Butcher had realized you were a Supe, obviously his first thought was that he had to kill you. But he soon realized you weren’t like the others. Not in a “oh she’s still a good person” way, but in a “wow she’s fucking weak, she’s basically still human” way. It was true. Essentially all you could do was send telepathic messages to people. That was it. (You also had a slight healing factor, but even that wasn’t very strong.) You couldn’t read minds, you couldn’t move things with your mind, you were barely a Supe.

Or, maybe he was just trying to justify sleeping with you. Whether he’d admit it or not, he really liked sleeping with you. Not just the sex, he liked physically sleeping next to you. With you. He’d sleep best when it was next to you. He wouldn’t wake up in a cold sweat, he wouldn’t have nightmares about watching his wife die bloody.

Most of the time, you woke up before him. You’d find his shirt from the night before and put it on, along with your panties if you could find them. Although, Butcher tended to rip your more delicate ones.

As you tiptoed around the room looking for where he had thrown your underwear you heard him mumble something in his sleep. You hurried next to him, his brows furrowed as he clenched the sheets in tight fists.

You held his cheek, bent down, and kissed his forehead. That always calmed him right down, you didn’t know why. And it did just that; he unclenched his fists, unfurrowed his brows, and let out a soft breath of air.

You smiled at the thought. The great William Butcher like forehead kisses in his sleep. That’s what calmed him down.

He stirred awake shortly after, seeing you looking around the room still.

“Mornin’ love,” He yawned. “What’re you lookin’ for?”

“Good morning,” You smiled and walked over to him, taking a seat on the bed. “You sleep okay?” You ran a hand through his hair then down his cheek, stopping to bend down and kiss him sweetly.

“Great, love,” He smiled. “Was havin’ a bit of a nightmare but it turned into us making out in the office the other day.”

“Really?” You furrowed your brows a little.

“Yeah, why?”

“Uh…no reason,” You shook your head a little.

“So, what were you looking for?” He asked, intentionally changing the subject.

“Where the hell did you throw my panties last night?” You asked, turning to glance around the room. He reached under his pillow and pulled out what you’d been looking for.

“I may have hid ‘em so you’d make me breakfast without wearin’ ‘em,” He smirked.

“All you had to do was ask,” You smiled. You leaned down and kissed him again before you stood up. “Bacon and eggs ‘ll be ready in a few minutes, come meet me in the kitchen?”

“I’ll be right there.”

“You seem to be in a good mood this morning,” Butcher chuckled a few days later. You walked up to him cooking pancakes, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Smells amazing,” You hummed. You got on your tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

As you sat down at the table you let out a soft laugh.

“Okay, seriously, why’re you in such a good mood?”

“Why shouldn’t I be?” You shrugged.

“Cause the A/C stopped working halfway through the night and we both lost a good two hours of sleep?” He raised a brow.

“Remember last summer? We went to that water park with Hughie and the others after the tests came back negative and you were cancer free?”

“Yeah, what about it?” He turned to look at you fully, suddenly very interested in each word you said.

“After the A/C went out I had the best, most intense dream about it! I mean, the smell of the chlorine in the wave pool, the sound of those birds that kept trying to take your fries, everything!”

“Huh…I’ll be fuckin’ damned,” Butcher mumbled, a huge smile plastered on his face.

“What?”

“Nothin’ love, I remember that day too.”

Grass so green it looked fake, the sky so blue and clouds so perfect it all looked like a Bob Ross painting. Birds chirped in the trees as Butcher dipped down and kissed you again.

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” He smiled. He rubbed his hand up and down your thigh, under your floral dress.

A picnic in the park with William Butcher. A fucking dream come true.

The cruel sound of the alarm jolted you awake. Butcher stretched his arm out and over you, hitting the snooze button.

“Perfect fucking timing,” He grumbled. “I think I was about to get lucky.”

“Me too, actually,” You laughed a little. “Guess we’ll have to make it up to each other.”

“Hey, let’s eat breakfast outside,” Butcher suggested.

“You hate eating outside?” You laughed a little. You took a sip of your coffee as you watched Butcher cook breakfast.

“Don’t be silly! On occasion, picnics can be fun!”

“P-Picnics?” You furrowed your brows. “What gave you that idea?”

“Just a dream I had.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck! Were you putting thoughts in his head? Messing with his dreams enough that it influenced his life when he was awake? How else were you messing with his head?

“Earth to Y/n!” Butcher pulled you out of your head.

“Huh?”

“I said food’s ready. Now, c’mon, get off your ass and eat outside with me.”

“Okay,” You smiled, hiding how worried you actually were.

You followed him out to the balcony overlooking the busy city.

“So what was your dream?” He asked when you both sat down at the outside table.

“Wh-What dream?” You asked.

“Remember? We both woke up to the alarm, both said we were about to get lucky in our dreams, and then we had earth-shattering morning sex. So, what was your dream?”

“I- I don’t really remember it…now all I’m thinking about is the earth-shattering morning sex,” You smirked a little.

“Ah ha!” He matched your expression, but added a sense of pride. “That’s my job, love.”

“Butcher, we need to talk,” You said later that night. He was ready for bed and already under the covers.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, brows knitted with concern.

“I- I don’t think I sh-should sleep with you anymore,” You replied, tears in your eyes.

“You’re breaking up with me? Why?”

“No! I- I fucking love you and that why I need to get as far away from you as fucking possible!”

“Y/n, you’re not makin’ any sense,” He got out of bed and walked up to you. You backed away from him, shaking your head.

“I- I’ve been- I think I’ve been messing with your h-head somehow,” You let the tears fall. “Not on purpose, I swear! But I- I’ve been controlling your dreams, so who knows how else I’ve been controlling you!”

“I know about the dreams.”

“What?”

“I figured it out a couple weeks ago. You were going into detail about a dream you had the night before, and it was the same dream I had.”

“Why didn’t you say something! Butcher I could be completely controlling you! You probably don’t even really want to fucking be here! Fuck!” You put your hands on your head.

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want you to act how you’re acting right now. I knew you weren’t doing it on purpose, otherwise you wouldn’t have told me your dream.”

“B-But what if…”

“What if what, Y/n? You really think you could accidentally force me to love you?” He took a few steps closer to you, this time you didn’t back away. You nodded. “Alright, how ‘bout this. Right now, try your absolute hardest to make me do something.” He put his hands on your shoulders and touched his forehead to yours. “Go on, use your powers on me.”

“I’m trying!” You exclaimed. You really were, but he was right; you weren’t nearly strong enough to mind-control someone. You let out a breath of relief. “Fuck, that would’ve been a fucking nightmare!”

“Well, good thing that’s your specialty then, love. Turning nightmares into the best fuckin’ dreams I could ask for.”

“I love you, Butcher,” You smiled and he did the same.

“I love ya, too,” He mumbled as he kissed your lips.

#the boys #billy butcher x reader #butcher x reader #the boys fanfic #the boys fluff #billy butcher #billy butcher x you #the boys tv #by mind empty just fictional people #by jean

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goldsilverreports · 2 years

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The Fed does not want to induce a recession but is there any choice?

“There is no sign I can see of a broader slowdown in the economy…We are not trying to induce a recession,” Federal Reserve Chair Jerome Powell. (more…)

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#Fed #fed interest rate decision today #Fed meeting #fed negative interest rates #fed rate #Fed Rate Hike #Federal Reserve #federal reserve act #Federal Reserve Bank #federal reserve banking #Federal Reserve System

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femmefatalevibe · 1 year

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Femme Fatale Guide: How To Master The Art of Self-Validation & Stop Caring What Others Think

Remember that you have the longest relationship with yourself in this life. Friends, family, lovers, partners, spouses, mentors, etc. will come and go. Ultimately, though, you have to live with the consequences of your actions for the longest – whether they be positive or negative.

Everyone is self-centered to a certain degree. No one cares about your happiness as much or is watching you as closely as you are. They all have themselves and their lives to worry about. People are paying attention to their own self-interests (or want you to accomplish things to boost their own credibility or self-esteem). Being your greatest personal cheerleader is the only way to fully give yourself the praise and spotlight you deserve for your accomplishments.

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lixiesfreckless · 3 months

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No Translation Needed | h. h.

➸ synopsis: when the language barrier between you and a stranger becomes too wide, your shared interests bridge the gap for you.

➸ starring: hwang hyunjin x female reader

➸ word count: 2.7k

➸ general content: artist!hyunjin, there is somewhat of a language barrier, both people are complete art nerds and it's way too endearing, takes place in south korea, flufffff(I'm so fond of this man)

➸ warnings: microscopic mention of alcohol

➸ rating: teen+

➸ author’s note: an older fic but I'm still so attached to it. two kinds of people: the type who hear hyunjin speak english and move on, and then me

♫ this fic has a soundtrack! you don’t need to listen to it while reading, but rêverie by the man, the myth, the legend, claude debussy goes SO HARD ON THIS FIC LIKE-

You were never the type to dabble in realism.

A pair of headphones, a wide brush, a blank canvas, and a bucket of red paint; that was your activity of choice on friday nights. Nothing that came from that ever resembled anything in particular, but it was never supposed to. Just looking at it, one could tell what emotions fueled the creative process those nights.

The feelings behind them were real enough, you'd hear people say.

But of course, there's always some people that detest abstract art. They say it takes no talent, no thought, that you're just slathering paint on a canvas and expecting to get recognition for it. Sometimes you think they're right.

Other times you buy a plane ticket out of the country, you know, for fun. If you were a starving artist, maybe you'd think about letting their words get to you.

And while some would argue that booking a spontaneous vacation to Seoul could classify as a form of escapism, the painting in front of you has you wondering whether you could mark this trip in your tax forms as a business expense.

All of your years in art school and not once had you ever learned so much from one piece of canvas.

Art museums are designed to look boring. They are supposed to draw your eye from one acrylic-covered canvas to another, making you forget about your surroundings and immerse you into the various artworks. This one was no different, hues of beige and black and white littering the geometric space.

That being said, you are certain that this painting would have caught your eye even if it was posted in Times Square.

You had made your way across the room, ears picking up on the few Korean phrases you knew as strangers shifted around you. A graphite cityscape. A gouache vase of flowers. A portrait made of ink prints on wood. The exhibit you randomly picked over tonkatsu and soju last night in your hotel room was definitely a good one, no doubt.

And to think you almost walked past this piece.

Bold strokes of blue, tiny specks of white, all on a frame that was wider than your wingspan.

The girl was depicted just off center, in some billowy white dress.

Floating? Drowning?

You settle on suspended as your footsteps slow down, turning to approach the watery scene.

Staring at it feels like staring at a glass of water. You can't definitively say whether it’s half-empty or half-full, whether she’s reaching for the surface or letting herself sink. Her face is covered by wispy brown hair, obstructing her true emotions from view. Somehow you know this was a conscious decision the artist made, to let the viewer come to their own conclusion on the piece.

Even though you know about the negative effects that human oils have on artworks, you still find yourself fighting the urge to reach out and touch it. To feel the ripples of the oil paint and somehow find your own hand soaked, as if you reached through the canvas barrier and felt the cold loneliness yourself.

Impressionist paintings did always have this charm about them, at least to you. They felt abstract upon inspection, just a mess of strange brushstrokes and controversial colors. And yet when viewed from a distance, it feels like a completely different experience. Up close, a dizzying mix of the shades of the sky. A step back, and it's an unspoken thesis on the solitude of limbo, or whatever you've decided to name this piece.

You glance at the info card at the bottom right corner.

Buoyancy- Hwang Hyunjin

You make a mental note to research him later before your eyes get pulled to the subject once again.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

You have been staring at his painting for eight minutes.

He had walked around, chatted with other featured artists, talked with a few strangers, but when he came back, you had acted as though you were one of the items on display; still locked in the same position as before. Eyebrows furrowed, one hand resting on your canvas tote bag, the other in the pocket of your trousers.

In the nicest way possible, you looked like a tourist.

But tourists don't have long attention spans, and you could have been roleplaying a statue with how long you'd been standing there.

A strange mix of anxiety and excitement rushed through Hyunjin when he found you still standing there.

No one had ever observed his art for that long before.

At least, not in one sitting. Definitely not like this. Why haven't you moved on? Can you see something that he can't? Are you thinking of buying a print?

He wants to approach you. To leave you alone. To watch you scrutinize his painting. To run screaming to the event coordinator.

Casually, he sticks both hands in his jeans and stands a few feet from your right side, as if he's one of the visitors.

He takes a moment, gaining whatever’s left of his composure before speaking.

“I'm so glad I know how to swim.”

You snap out of your daze, surprised to hear English in the Korean white noise you've been immersed in. You look over and see the gorgeous young man standing near you, looking at the painting you've been so engrossed in.

“Yeah,” you exhale, “I totally get the fear of open water.”

Hyunjin chuckles, strangely drawn in by the sound of your voice.

“Although, she doesn't seem all that scared to me,” you add, shifting your focus back to the canvas.

“You don't think so?”

“I mean, you could argue that she doesn't want to be there, that she's drowning,” you begin, pointing to the girl. “But…the longer I stare at it, the more I feel like she's just hanging there, not reaching for the surface on purpose.” Your finger trails down to the bottom right corner. “I think that's why it was named Buoyancy, at least that's what I got out of it…”

You trail off, realizing that you're rambling to a total stranger about a random piece of artwork. Looking back at him however, you find your face heating up at the amazed expression on his, as if you had just told him his middle name.

“I wish I had thought of that,” he lies. It was almost scary how quickly you had found the meaning he'd tried to convey after months of fighting with the paint.

“Well that's the fun thing about art,” you say, smiling to yourself. “It's all subjective. What were you thinking?”

Hyunjin opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again in mild frustration.

“I'm not…very good with English,” he says, defeated.

He would argue that he's not very good with any language, even his mother tongue.

Art was the only language he felt he could speak easily without hesitation. It was easy to throw himself into that with reckless abandon, because it was the only place where he truly felt understood.

“But I can still understand you,” he quickly amends, glad to see that spark behind your eyes again. He walks past you, stopping at the painting on your left. “What about this one?”

“This one has some really dramatic lighting, which makes me believe…”

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

Evening sunlight filters in through the exhibit windows as you and Hyunjin examine an organically-shaped vase, admiring its handiwork.

“I’ve always wanted to try pottery but…I don’t really like the feeling of cold clay on my hands,” you chuckle, looking at the tall man next to you. He grins, scrutinizing his hands as he contemplates his answer.

“People tell me I have good fingers- for clay,” he adds quickly, even though the meaning wasn't lost on you, and you fight back a smirk to appear unphased. “But I haven't found a good studio? Is that how you call it?”

“I wouldn't know, I've never been,” you say, walking to the next painting. Which happens to be where you both started.

“Wait, have we been through this whole gallery?” You quickly check your watch, confirming that you have been there for much longer than you had intended. Looking back at the stranger you have spent the evening with, you feel heat start to scatter across your face.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to take up so much of your ti-”

“I liked it,” he blurts, and you feel reassured as his face lights up with panic. “Talking. With you, I mean.” He looks just past you to the art on the wall, ears turning the slightest shade of red. “No one has ever said anything so beautiful about my art before.”

He watches as your face circles through several emotions, before settling on embarrassment.

“You're…you're one of the artists? Which one is yours?” You say, trying to recall what you said about every art piece.

He nods toward the painting that had first caught your attention, the one that practically jumped out at you an hour ago.

“Hyunjin,” he says quietly, extending a hand toward you in a humble introduction, as if that same hand didn't produce the masterpiece in front of you.

“Y/n,” you whisper, trying not to let your mouth hang open in awe. “And to think I was going to Google you later.”

“You were?” The light in his eyes was unmistakable.

“I always research artists that inspire me,” you admit, bashfully dropping his hand.

“I inspired you?”

You meet his eyes and you know then, the weight that your words carry.

To create is a desire that all artists cannot shake; it is what keeps the painter keep coming back to the blank canvas, the sculptor to the slab of clay. But when the process is finished, all they can hope is that someone will see it, and feel a fraction of what they felt whilst creating it.

Moving someone to the point of giving them the desire to create, through their artwork, is a dream many artists never get to see come into fruition.

And maybe that's why Hyunjin stares at you now, wondering which lucky star is shining down on him now.

“Can I…” he pauses, hoping he's saying the line like how they do in the movies, “can I buy you a drink?”

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

When people say studio apartment, this is what you wish they mean.

Floor-to-ceiling window walls on one side, where several canvases sit propped up against the city skyline, and an apartment on the other, with a cute kitchenette and loft bedroom that doesn't feel cramped. It's perfect for someone who needs enough space to think, without sacrificing their space to live.

You hear Hyunjin click the door shut behind you as you set your bag down on a chair, surveying the studio side of his residence.

Several canvases catch your eye.

You can't even blame him for attempting to paint it because with the view he has, you'd paint it every day.

Different versions of the Seoul skyline are scattered across the room, each depicting a different time of day. Sunrise is leaning against the window. Midday is sitting on a canvas. Twilight is hanging up on the wall, and something akin to golden hour lays unfinished, perhaps even abandoned on the floor. You crouch in front of it to get a better look.

“That one is…not finished,” Hyunjin says from the kitchen, pouring two glasses of soju. You can feel his nervous gaze on you even with your back turned to him.

“It's beautiful,” you whisper, looking at the palette he used to mix the colors. An array of browns and yellows are smeared on the glass, which were no doubt used to put the buildings into the scene.

He doesn't say thank you; his face does that for him when he crouches next to you, cheekbones pink as he sets the soju glasses on the floor.

“I can't get the colors right,” he sighs, staring at the painting in discontent. “It looks…dull.”

“Maybe you should try adding red instead of brown,” you suggest, picking up a palette knife. “May I?”

Hyunjin stares at you in bewilderment, before opening a tube of vermillion and squeezing a bit onto the palette.

“I studied color theory for what felt like forever,” you chuckle, taking the knife and adding red to a few of his previous colors.

“I never went to art school,” he says, as if that makes him a lesser artist. You feel a twinge of jealousy at that statement, knowing that the man next to you was this skilled without coaching, before adding, “You didn't miss much. It killed my creativity.”

Hyunjin goes pale at that as you pass him a clean paintbrush and toss the palette knife aside.

“Did you get it back?” He asks, and when you tilt your head, he adds, “Your creativity?”

“It comes and goes.” Sometimes you wish you didn't stake your livelihood on your ability to create. Inspiration is always a welcome guest but it never stays for long, at least on your side of the ocean.

Watching him add your hues to the painting is like having inspiration fed right into your bloodstream. Immediately the painting comes to life, the reds of the sunset becoming visible at the whim of his paintbrush.

He stops for a minute to admire the changes, and turns to you for feedback, eyes twinkling with joy. Or maybe that's just the soju.

“It was beautiful before,” you say, tracing your finger along the side of the canvas, “but now it looks alive.”

“I love the way you talk,” Hyunjin says quietly after a moment of silence, and the bluntness of the compliment nearly has you choking on your soju. But he just looks at you, no hint of humor in his eyes, sitting entirely too close to your tipsy self, and you feel your body buzz with warmth.

“And I love the way you smile,” you whisper back, unable to look away as he sets down his paintbrush, trying to hide his contagious grin.

He turns back to you, and you wish for several things. You wish you didn't have a plane ticket taking you away from this place in a week. You wish that you had finished your glass of soju. You wish you could poke the mole under his eye, or the dimple in his cheek.

You wish that you were drunk enough to close the gap between you two without a second thought.

But when your foreheads touch, your phone buzzes, so you grin and chuckle to yourself.

“I…I think we've had too much to drink.”

He looks at you through hooded eyes and smiles again.

“Or not enough.” He counters.

You nod in agreement at that and pull back, mentally kicking yourself for losing the only chance at finding out what his smile tastes like. But it's probably better this way. You don't want to be remembered as the girl who sweet talked her way into his bed.

You're halfway to the sink with your glasses when he speaks up suddenly.

“I want to see you again.”

You set the dishes down before turning to face him, and you wish you had brought a change of clothes. And maybe an extra toothbrush.

“I don't want to finish it without you,” he says, nodding to the painting that he had moved to the easel.

“I can come back tomorrow morning,” you promise, trying not to sound too hopeful.

“I can make crepes.”

“I love crepes.”

He picks up your bag from the chair and brings it to you, hating how much it feels like he's rushing you out the door.

“See you tomorrow, y/n.”

“Goodnight, Hyunjin.”

You leave the apartment and close the door behind you, but your feet don't advance down the hallway. Hyunjin's hand hovers over the locking mechanism, unable to click the deadbolt into place as he considers running after you.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you spin around to knock on his door, only to find him throwing the door open and grinning in delight at the sight of you.

“It's past midnight, isn't it?”

His smile tastes like mint and chamomile tea.

#stray kids #stray kids fanfiction #skz #skz fanfic #skz fanfiction #hwang hyunjin fic #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin imagines #stray kids imagines

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cinnbar-bun · 3 months

Text

Good Fortune

Pairing: Dio Brando x GN!Reader

Summary: Dio is told he is lucky, often. He can't see how, considering how awful his life has been. But after meeting you, the child of George Joestar's old business partner and Jonathan's friend, perhaps his luck has turned for the better.

Even if he refuses to engage with such notions.

Rating: SFW but it's painful

Word Count: ~4.5k

AO3 Link: Here

Notes: Childhood-friends-to-lovers, Phantom Blood!Dio, babes this just angst, talks of death and dying, death, religious discussion, religious imagery, Dio unfortunately falling in love, Reader is MENA! but it's easy to ignore, foreshadowing for parts 3 and 6 (no spoilers though), yes I made this to be self indulgent because I wanted to torture Dio because omg what if he went to Cairo specifically because his partner mentioned it?

Dio stares in front of the full-length mirror in his room, adjusting his suit and tie. George explained he was having an old friend over tonight for supper, making a brief comment about how said friend was also bringing his child over. Dio noticed Jonathan’s eyes widen and the smile adorning his face- obviously, they were acquainted from before he ever arrived to the mansion.

He could only sneer as he thought of how obnoxious this ‘friend’ could possibly be. He couldn’t just antagonize them or Jonathan like he normally did, not when George would be around and watching. The thought of having to sit all night with that buffoon and a friend of his made him want to gag.

Alas, one must do what they have to do to obtain wealth and power. If he wanted the Joestar fortune, he had to play the game correctly. Assuring he was in good standing with George and this guest would only serve him well in the future.

And who knows, Dio chuckles to himself, maybe this ‘friend’ of Jonathan’s would slowly grow to hate the boy as well. He brushes his blond hair back, fixing it up properly. A loose strand makes him use his hand to push it back, and he smirks as he sees the three little birthmarks on his ear. He fixes his cufflinks and proceeds to walk out of the room, annoyed at having to put on airs, yet interested to see what will become of this dinner.

The minute he steps down the stairs, there is a knock at the door. Dio curiously looks from the staircase at the large front doors that George himself approaches. The first thing Dio can make out is a large man, around the same age as George- perhaps a few years older if the few strands of gray hair are anything to go off of. Before he can take a closer look, Jonathan races down the stairs, accidentally brushing shoulders with Dio.

“You damn-,” Dio snarls, but quickly shuts his mouth in case of anyone nearby. Jonathan didn’t seem to notice, instead jumping off the last few steps and running towards the guests. Jonathan yells out a name Dio doesn’t recognize, but the energetic boy is quickly put in his place with George’s hand on his shoulder.

“Jonathan! That is not how we greet our guests!” George scolds his son. Jonathan’s shoulder slink apologetically, like a beaten down puppy.

Dio despises that look more than anything. He makes an expression of disgust before he hears some chuckling.

“Oh, it’s alright, George, let the boy be! He’s young!” A jovial voice exclaims, and George sighs.

“I’m aware, my friend. I just can’t help but worry about what kind of man he will grow up to be,” George muses, tugging on Jonathan’s ears. Dio’s ears pick up that despite the negative words, George isn’t angry at Jonathan. Jonathan himself isn’t too offended either.

Hmph. Disgusting.

Dio figures that he’s seen enough and makes his appearance in front of the guests. The man is clearly foreign and has some semitic features that Dio hardly has ever seen in Britain. He’s finely dressed, wearing a fancy English suit and plenty of gold accessories. Dio finds himself fascinated by the many rings on the man’s fingers.

“My, my, and who could this be?” The man questions, a friendly smile on his face. Dio is frankly grossed out by the overly familiar tone the man takes, but bites his tongue back.

“This is my adopted son, Dio Brando,” George proudly states. The man extends his hand to Dio and shakes it with a firm grip.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Brando,” he introduces himself then pats his child on their shoulder. “This is (Y/n), my only child. I assume you’re all the same age, so I think you’ll get along splendidly.”

Dio glances at you briefly as you bow your head politely to him. “It’s very nice to meet you, Dio.”

You look quite similar to your father, albeit, younger and more rounded, with the same features Dio finds rare on you. Your clothes are just as intricate as your father’s, clearly very expensive, making Dio curious about just how rich you and your father are.

Dio bows his head back to you. “It’s nice to meet you as well, (Y/n).”

Once the greetings are done, Jonathan goes up to you and excitedly beams at you. “(Y/n), did you bring anything for me this time?”

Dio is almost tempted to smack Jonathan on behalf of George, but you chuckle and nod, seemingly not minding. You glance over to make sure the older men are not looking and open your satchel, taking out a red box. Dio and Jonathan peek at it while you remove the cover. Inside the box are small, pink cubes covered in white sugar.

“Woah… what are these?” Jonathan asks.

“Lokum, oh, ah, ‘Turkish delights’,” you say in English. Jonathan is about to take one when you close the box and shake your head. Jonathan pouts after being denied, probably due to his love of sweets. “After dinner. Otherwise my father might lecture me.”

“Turkish delight, you say?” Dio repeats. “So, I assume you and your father must deal within the Middle East, correct?”

“Yes. He was born there, then moved here to start his business,” you pridefully comment, always happy to share how proud you are of your father’s hard work.

“Interesting…” Dio thinks. He frowns when he thinks of his own drunkard of a father, and the gross feeling that dwells within him bubbles upfront. How nice it must be to be happy for your father. How wonderful it must feel to be proud to share the same DNA as the man who had created you. He can’t point to a single thing he enjoyed about Dario, can’t even count anything nice the man has done on one hand except die.

Yet you look to hold your father in such high regard, perhaps even moreso than Jonathan does to George. Likewise, your father keeps smiling at you and flaunting your accomplishments to George, as if you were the best of the best. As if you were the most wonderful thing to have ever graced this earth.

Dio can’t help but feel disgusted and so, so jealous that you get a father who adores and spoils you like nothing else. You don’t even have a mother, but that doesn’t seem to damper you. Any hope he had of wanting to meet you is squashed by the hatred and rage he feels for your relationship.

----

You write letters often, Dio finds out. Now Dio knows why Jonathan is always so excited to check the mail. Soon after leaving the dinner party George held, Dio started getting letters addressed just to him from you.

Apparently, you were too stupid to understand that Dio wanted nothing to do with you and actively despised you like he did Jonathan. Or maybe you just didn’t care, since you began writing about anything and everything you were thinking of as if you were old acquaintances. Dio once snagged Jonathan’s letter from you to see if the tone was any different, but almost nothing was, except for mentions of a historical places Jonathan would like to possibly visit.

At first, he burned them away, not interested in whatever mindless rabble you had to discuss. He had no interest in history, none in studying, and absolutely none for whatever rich person you had just met on the road. Jonathan writes back plenty, but in order to save face, Dio writes back, only very rarely, pretending as if he actually cared.

It isn’t until his birthday that he sighs and relents, opening up the package you had sent. He rolls his eyes at the well wishes you give him (although he does wonder briefly how you knew his birthday) but finds two wrapped gifts in the box.

In the first one, thinner and longer, is a selection of the Turkish delights you had brought over the first time you met. He actually hadn’t bothered trying it then, mostly due to his disgust with you and the fact Jonathan looked like he was enjoying himself when he took a bite.

He snorts and rolls his eyes, about ready to throw away the sweets when the smell of the powdered sugar and rosewater drifts into his nose. It is… certainly unique, he thinks. Nothing like what he’s ever smelled before. He places the box on his desk again and glares at it, as if the treats were personally ruining his day. He folds his arms and stares at it some more.

He should throw this out. Never look at this and just write a quick ‘thank you’ so you felt appreciated or something. But still… the powdered sugar dusting the outside, the sweet, sweet smell of it- it was far too tempting. He clicked his tongue and picked one up, groaning at the way the sugar dusted his fingers and part of his suit.

“Disgusting,” he mumbles before he takes a large bite of it. The taste is nothing like what he’s ever had before, and he nearly chokes at it. He coughs then swallows, taken aback by the taste. It’s… it’s quite delicious. He’s never tried something so wonderfully sweet, something that overtakes the senses quite like this. Roses make an interesting flavor profile, he muses.

Wait, no, what is he thinking, getting excited over this stupid gift from an annoyance like you? He closes the box of sweets then opens the last box. Inside is a ring, similar to the one your father wore at the dinner party. The ring had a large amber stone, and Dio twirls it in his hands, fascinated with how the light catches the stone.

This must have cost a fortune. He chuckles as he picks up the note to go alongside the ring.

My father and I thought a ring would be a good gift for you. He says that it’s always wise to have something nice on your hand. It can bring you good luck and make you stand out. I hope you like the color- he was going to get you the blue one, but this one reminded me of your eyes. I thought you might appreciate it more.

Happy birthday, Dio.

You sign your name at the bottom and Dio finds himself biting his lip harshly. It’s really frustrating how you always naively try to think of him like this. Who said he wanted your damn sweets? Who said he wanted your rings? Or your good luck? Who said he wanted anything you had?

He shakes his head and gazes at the ring again. He hates himself, so why would you dare get something that is meant to be of him? This body that he despises, how could you covet it in a god damn ring meant for him?

You bother and enrage him like nothing else. He always thought this was because of your friendship with Jonathan, but this just cemented that the hate he felt for you was entirely just because of who you were. Whereas Jonathan was an obstacle he needed to rid of for the Joestar inheritance, you were someone who actively treated him like a damn charity case.

You must have thought you were so clever and kind gifting these things to him, weren’t you?

Fine. If you wanted to be a useful idiot for him, then he would make sure to get the most use out of you. The violent rage he had boiled over into interest and excitement. He grabbed his paper and pen, quickly writing a letter back to you.

This time, however, he made sure to be more expressive than he normally would have. He laughed loudly as he signed the paper in a hurry and sealed it within an envelope. This could be quite enjoyable.

Imagine him- getting rid of Jonathan and using you for his own gain! Not just one- but two means of success and fortune! Oh, you were a delightful idiot through and through, he thought as he threw aside the lid to the dessert and popped in another cube.

----

The years were kind to Dio. Ever since his plan to use you came to fruition, he slowly refined it to working his way up to being able to ask for your hand in marriage. He spent years cleaning up his act, faking his way to the top, even joining the rugby team and a university to study law. He was practically the perfect man- attractive, intelligent, resourceful, strong- why, anyone would be lucky to have him as a son-in-law and husband.

The interest he deemed to show you in his teens made you reciprocate his affections. You began writing longer letters for him than you did to Jonathan. You would stop by and visit, not even for Jonathan, but just for Dio now. You two would have long discussions in the gardens, on the road, and in the library of the Joestar mansion. Your father practically adored Dio as a son, always patting his shoulder and joking with him more casually. He was an admirable prize, one that was practically handing himself on a silver platter for you.

Except, somewhere along the line, like a damn fool, Dio made a mistake in his normally thorough plans. Somewhere, somehow- you managed to make Dio enjoy your presence. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

When he first started trying to get your attention, he often would do so at the expense of Jonathan. He just liked pissing his brother off while he would drag you away as if he had something urgent to say to you privately. He would aggrandize and embellish his stories, making himself seem far more noble and special than Jonathan was. Of course, Jonathan, ignorant as may be at times, wasn’t stupid. He knew right away Dio was up to no good and tried to warn you, subtly take you away, or even insert himself into the times when Dio pulled you aside.

Nothing worked, however. You either didn’t notice or didn’t care, always brushing aside the warnings and believing in Dio wholeheartedly. It was cute- misguided, frankly- but cute, nonetheless. Especially after Dio did his best to mend his relationship with Jonathan, Jonathan found he had no leg to stand on and tried to leave the past behind him, wishing you two only the best.

Good, thought Dio. He was tired of having to play nice with his Jonathan, and now that Jonathan had no chance of stealing you away from him, Dio could enact his plan still. And that’s what it should have stayed.

But fate was far more strange than Dio realized. One day, he would find himself listening to you more. While before, it was just to keep track of your stories to use later, it now became an interesting part of his day. Another day, he would naturally seek out your hand to hold- not as a means to make you swoon and desire him, but just for his own comfort. And on another, god, he couldn’t believe this- he found himself imagining what a ‘home’ could be like for you and him.

You somehow managed to imprint yourself in his brain, filling his head with stupid, ridiculous, and childish thoughts. He found the hushed whispers he spoke in your ear to become less and less false as time went on. He found the way your cheeks would warm up made him grin and not smirk. He found your voice pleasant and the words you’d say become clearer. He found his body recoiling when any other man, especially Jonathan, tried to talk to you.

You ruined him. You ruined everything. How dare you? He could afford plenty of things now, yet he continued to wear that damn amber ring on his finger. You adored his eyes, and for once, he found himself almost agreeing whenever he looked in the mirror before he would take you on a date.

You. Damn. Worm.

You must be the devil. You must be some evil snake charming him and destroying him inside and out. He couldn’t accept the fact that he, Dio Brando, was actually enjoying your presence in his life.

You spoke of the trips you took with your father for business. You loved almost all your destinations, bringing back souvenirs and charming photos for him. But one city always stood out to him.

Cairo.

“Oh, yes, the city is wonderful there,” you mused dreamily. “There are these beautiful pyramids-”

You point at the photos of these pyramids and he’s become interested in these monumental landmarks. Jonathan made a mention of them once, he thinks.

“And what are these pyramids for, exactly? Why would someone just build these with stone in the middle of a desert of all places?” Dio raises a brow. Although he’s impressed, he finds himself questioning the worth of these structures. You chuckle, a sound he’s grown to enjoy.

“The ancient Egyptians lived here, Dio. They built these pyramids and all sorts of buildings for their final resting place,” you smile.

“Tch, how pretentious,” he teases. “You sound far too happy talking about a place of death.”

“Perhaps, but you know, death isn’t so bad.” Now this makes him pause.

“And what do you mean by that?” Dio questions. You shrug.

“Well, for them, they believed that when you died, your heart would be judged and you could go to the Field of Reeds, Aaru.”

“Similar to western dogma,” Dio mumbles. He never had such faith in things like ‘God’ or a ‘heaven’.

If God really existed, he would have helped Dio’s mother. He would’ve made Dario a better father. Would have made Dio feel safe.

But there is no such thing, no such tangible way to prove that God did exist. And it seems these ancient humans were just as foolish as the people of today. They would continue to believe in something that did not exist and did not love them.

“Yes, you could say that,” you nod. “But I think the idea is nice overall. Don’t you think?” “I don’t understand what could be considered ‘nice’ about it,” he frowns.

“I like to think of it as a second chance. Another way to live, having gone through the struggles of your first life. You’d know more and appreciate more.”

You don’t notice the way his face tenses as he grits his teeth. Even if there was a god, in no way shape or form was Dio ever going to be in ‘heaven’. He could push that aside right away. He was the son of Dario, and that certainly already meant he was sentenced to eternal damnation.

“I see,” is all he says. You snap your fingers as you then show a picture of a gorgeous terracotta mansion.

“I almost forgot to show you! We got to stay in this beautiful place. Oh, it was just wonderful inside. I think you’d love it. There was a lovely garden there, too. I wish I could take you there, I’d show you everything Cairo has to offer! And you could finally taste the dates when they’re ripe and the festivals that go on there!”

“I would love nothing more,” he replies, suddenly thinking of how hot Cairo must feel. He wondered how you would smile if the festivals were going on. How lovely the night must be with you in it under the lamps and palm trees of Egypt. “Maybe we can go for our honeymoon?” You lightly smack his shoulders and laugh. “Don’t tease me like that! Otherwise I might make you propose tomorrow!”

“I could have that arranged,” Dio leans forward, resting his chin on his hand.

“Let’s focus on our studies first,” you chuckle. “I really would love to marry, but alas, our fathers have decided to make us wait longer.”

“Alas,” he joins in, the thought of finally being yours and you being his making his heart swell.

Only you could offer Dio this momentary salvation. This brief respite of peace despite the anger and hatred he held in his heart. This was a feeling only reserved for you, the you who practically forced your presence and love onto him.

It almost didn’t even feel like a part of his plan to gain the two fortunes, even though he would force himself to remember this was just business. Ah, but you made it so easy to enjoy life. You made him forget for a moment he was not the son of Dario Brando. You could made him forget he was a maniacal bastard orphan, instead making him feel he was Dio. A new Dio, a Dio no one could have thought ever existed, even him. A Dio that was just a man, for once.

He would become Dio, the man who would pick you fresh roses. Dio, the man who carried you over puddles on the street. Dio, who enjoyed drinking tea with you. Dio, who loved when you slipped into your mother tongue. Dio, who held you when you cried. Dio, the man who would get curious whenever you would remark joyfully about his birth marks, saying he must have been lucky.

The only thing “lucky” about him was you. That’s all he could genuinely point out in his life as “lucky” and “good”.

So slowly, and foolishly, the only thing he could do was simply let you in deeper into his heart, letting you carve your initials into him and marking him as your helpless servant.

----

It had now been two months since your passing. Dio returned to the mansion in a drunken stupor, finding he was unfortunately still aware.

Aware of how empty he was. How angry he was. How much he despised everything.

Why the hell was Jonathan crying over you? Jonathan knew nothing about you. Jonathan didn’t love you or care for you anywhere close that Dio did.

That rich boy who had everything handed to him and given to him just for existing knew nothing of the pain Dio was feeling.

He didn’t deserve to cry over you. Didn’t deserve to feel a god damn thing about you.

Dio was the one supposed to marry you- not him! So Jonathan should have left and let him grieve properly over the fact his betrothed was now gone.

Was this God’s way of punishing him? Huh? Was this his sick joke? A reminder to him that no matter he did, he was never meant to be happy?

Was that all his life was? One meaningless, empty joke for God to amuse himself with?

Dio couldn’t help but burn every letter he had kept from you over the years. He didn’t need them. With a bottle of alcohol in his hand and a few letters in the other, he held them over the fireplace and let them burn to ash and dust. He didn’t care. Couldn’t care less.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing could ever bring him satisfaction. Nothing could ever bring him joy or peace. He was obviously not meant to have it.

Even your own father tried to console Dio, having thought of him like a son, but Dio couldn’t bother. Your father promised to give employment and a portion his fortune to Dio still, already securing his future wealth.

But that wasn’t enough. It was not enough. For every ounce of love you tried to give Dio, he felt a thousand times more angry at the world he lived in.

He didn’t need this world. He didn’t want any of this. He couldn’t live like this.

He couldn’t die like you- oh god, no, he couldn’t. He’d most certainly be punished and made to repent for his sins.

As he burned the last of your letters, he downed the rest of the alcohol, burning his throat. He could not muster anymore tears, not after he laid the roses down on your tombstone. Dio Brando was dead and buried alongside you.

All that was left of him was his hatred.

So close to having everything he wanted, and now it was all gone.

He was so close to even giving up his earlier desires to torture Jonathan, instead content to protect your father’s business and travel with you after he finished getting his degree. But now he had nothing to hope for.

Drunk as he may have been, he found himself thinking like he did when he was a young boy.

Yes… I’ll just kill them all. I’ll ruin them all. I should’ve stuck with that plan originally.

He cursed himself between hiccups, cursing himself for daring to let you in, letting himself feel safe around you, letting himself be vulnerable and able to be torn to shreds by you.

It was his fault. His fault for all of this. If he hadn’t acted a fool and loved you, he could’ve had Jonathan gone, perhaps disowned or dying in a ditch somewhere. He could’ve been the richest, prodigal son of Britain. He would’ve been powerful then. He wouldn’t have had to have you extinguish every ounce of life within him.

He was no longer human. He was now Dio. Only Dio.

Dio, who hated everything. Dio, who had no love for anything but himself. Dio, who wanted everything erased. Dio, who had become exactly like the man he despised most.

He hated it all.

In his anger, he picked up the pictures you had given him and threw them all in the fire. He hacked out his lungs when the smoke billowed from them and surrounded him. A few photos began to melt before his very eyes, but for some reason, one of them caught his eye.

The terracotta, three story mansion from your trip in Cairo. The one you wanted to take him to. The one you two dreamed about going on your honeymoon for. The one you joked about possibly buying and redesigning to make it your home forever.

He gasped and grabbed the photo, blowing out the flame quickly and saving a majority of the picture. The corner was burned off, but the picture still remained. He held it to his chest and let out a shaky breath.

Cairo was something he could never give up. Cairo, the only place that would allow him to be with you. Cairo, the place where you two promised to go.

You promised.

So why…? Why? Why, why, why?

But Cairo would have to wait. He had something he needed to do first. Once he could get rid of Jonathan and George, and everything else that would stand in his way, then he could go there.

I will find you again in Cairo, my (Y/n)...

#x reader #reader insert #jojo #jjba x reader #jjba imagines #jjba #dio brando #dio brando x reader #phantom blood dio x reader #dio x reader

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