#and I imagine mob is more comfortable with his emotions and expressing himself as he gets older | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

baby-xemnas · 8 months

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love reading ur thoughts always but just also thinking about bepo being somewhat attractive to others in their teenage years/some Other party expressing interest in bepo and law would have lost his entire shit. a miracle he didn't face sth like that, but the jealous rage for sure wouldve been so ugly...fierce and drastic realisation of how much he wants bepo and also how possessive he is. bepo is too special.

THANK YOUUUUUUUU and thank you for giving me more food to ramble about haha ♥♥

OH GOD YEAH ABSOLUTELY there have to have been an INCIDENT or two of that. law wouldve gone through a lot of emotions in that moment, especially when it happened for the first time

(id imagine the mob chara would presume that bepo is gonna be a good aggressive fuck lol, just judging by the looks. oh they couldnt be more wrong)

>first glance law assuming someone is talking to bepo because they are being either quirky racist (wow a walking talking bear!!) or actually negative sort of interest - that they all experienced and are kind of expecting at that point (expecting it so they can jump to bepo's aid and comfort him)

>seeing that its NOT. THAT. but instead someone standing uncomfortably close clearly trying to flirt, seeing so much discomfort on bepo's face - who in turn wouldnt be a crybaby in the face of a stranger no, he is stronger than that now! but he would be surprised and not really know how to handle THIS situation...bepo never got this kind of attention before he has no idea how to handle it. hes trying to answer semi-politely because he isnt aware that he needs to be very curt and direct..he feels SO strange hes just standing there taking unwanted sexual advances LOL

honestly be it a woman or a gay man i would picture law would act the same - the few words he would spare them before dragging bepo away would be laced with SO much venom and contempt, it would scare the shit out of bepo who's just standing there. technically being saved so he is in no way is the target of captain's anger (even tho bepo would think in those seconds that law is mad at him too, he would feel bad that he ended up in that situation even tho its not his fault at all. whatever discomfort he felt previously than fear of upsetting law, now THAT actually makes him want to cry a little)

law wants to take his hand but thinks that this person doesnt deserve to see how important bepo is to him... so he says that they are going back and walks next to bepo who is more shaken by seeing law's reaction than he is by the initial incident he thanks law the moment they go outside and its quiet and him saying "thank you captain" somehow sounds too formal to law's ears. somehow this "captain" sounds like his actual rank and not the usual cute way bepo calls him like its a nickname or a familial title.

its so jarring to hear bepo sound like a detached subordinate and not his treasured best friend, law has to look up at bepo who ofc is just looking at the ground in front of himself as he walks. law's mind draws a blank for a few long moments because he still needs a little time to calm down. he havent processed his own emotions yet it happened too fast. Yes of course he was reacting to that nobody making bepo uncomfortable of course. But...he the possibility that someone who is NOT HIM could be intimate with bepo shot through him like a lightning.

whole time law is having his crisis bepo is thinking about how he should apologize without making law even more angry..he is so scared to break the silence. poor thing. he forgot all about that mob chara thats lightyears away, its all law now

law would get his attention by calling his name and it suddenly feels so awkward...its so cringe but he asks if bepo wants to talk about it - curses himself that he isnt penguin and shachi who would laugh a situation like this off, they are much better than him at handling these things

bepo didnt hear the question he immediately goes IM SORRY CAPTAIN and law is surprised what on earth are you sorry for bepo: you...um. well you had to come in and save me so im sorry for causing you trouble law:...............its not troublesome for me to help you so dont apologize.. (and he says it kind of in a soft unsure tone because??? what the hell....bepo its not about him.ffs)

and bepo feels so relieved because he was holding on that tension for so much of their walk not knowing what law is thinking about (he was thinkin about eating you whole, boy) that he smiles and it snaps the rubber band of tension law was holding onto himself and he gets so full of affection for bepo it kind of goes to his head and all the way south making him horny...its somehow ended up being a romantic scene that he wants to take him apart now...reaffirming to bepo that nobody would ever be better than him. law was challenged he has to prove himself now.....

law knowing but now staring straight in the face to the fact that bepo is SO special and so important. noone has the RIGHT to know because they could never understand JUST HOW SPECIAL AND VALUABLE HE IS

#anonymous #lawbepo #btw im so sorry if these are hard to read cuz i use so little punctuation

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jombocostello · 3 years

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Blinking City Lights (Bruno x Reader)

@queen-of-pearlx asked: Hey,it’s my first time doing a request on tumblr, so I hope I don’t do nothing wrong. Could you write a Bruno x reader (ff or hcs,your choice) where he gets back at home really late because of work and finds his fem s/o still awake because she is really stressed too and she suffers from insomnia when nervous, so he helps her to get ready for bed and then they comfort each other? Sorry if it’s too long and I hope you’re comfortable with it. Have a good day/night💜💗

Of course!! Thanks for this request, and thank you!

---

You've gotten somewhat used to late nights without Bruno in the past few months. Work has been incredibly busy for him, and while you still have your own business to attend to, it never seems to come close to the amount of time that Bruno dedicates to his career. Like most nights, you get home, make yourself some tea, and sit down on the couch. Your apartment is beautiful, but without Bruno it sort of feels like it swallows you up. The walls seem closer than usual as you lean forward in your seat.

You had met Bruno when the mob was not new to him, but being a leader was. In fact, the first time you had ever met him was at Libeccio, a restaurant that the two of you now frequent; he had been with his two new employees, Pannacotta Fugo and Leone Abbacchio, when you stepped into the restaurant and met his somewhat frazzled gaze from across the room. You wound up having dinner with the three of them, and by the end of the night it was clear to you that you wanted to get to know the mysterious and oddly friendly Bruno Bucciarati a little better. After a few more dates, he divulged some of his life to you: he was involved in the mafia, which didn't come as too much of a surprise, and he was the new leader of a group of brand-new recruits. While you could tell that he was skilled at what he did, it was also pretty clear that he wasn't very confident in his ability to lead others. You can't quite remember exactly what you had said when he told you that he was nervous about being in charge of the lives of these recruits, but it was definitely something assuring. You could tell he had it in him.

It didn't take very long for Bruno to prove that. Over the next year or so, his team grew, and you've had the privilege of watching Bruno transform into a confident, powerful leader. He's always been vehement that you stay as far away from the mob as possible, so you haven't met any of his subordinates, but from the way he talks about them you can tell they love him. It's hard not to love Bruno, you've discovered; he makes you feel so comfortable, with his warm gaze and gentle voice.

That's why these past few months have been particularly hard on you. You suffer from insomnia that's worsened by feelings of anxiety, and not knowing whether Bruno is stuck at work filing papers or out risking his life doesn't help matters. You hold the mug in your hands close to your chest and you sigh, momentarily comforted by its warmth. You don't talk about your fears very often with Bruno, though you're sure he wouldn't mind, but right now you want nothing more than to wrap him up in your arms and hold him, away from the danger of of his work and anything that could cause him harm.

You stand up, too nervous to sit still, and you walk to the window. It looks down on the city of Naples, all blinking lights and fast cars speeding down the highways. It feels nice to take in such a large and busy city with a single glance. Wherever Bruno is you're sure he's fine.

But that doesn't quell the nagging thought that pulses at the forefront of your mind. Sometimes, on these lonely late nights, you wonder what happens when he leaves every morning. You've noticed the scars before; you've never actually seen him hurt, but you can't help but take note of the faded wounds spread across his body. You don't ask him about them, but you spend lots of time thinking about them - who did that to him? Had it been a close fight? Had he nearly been killed? You quickly drink some tea and turn away from the window, shutting your eyes. Wherever he is he's completely fine -

You jump and nearly drop the mug when the door opens. "I'm sorry!" Bruno says, eyes wide in surprise, and he quickly walks to your and takes the tea from your hands. "I didn't mean to startle you," he tells you, and he presses a kiss to your forehead.

You laugh breathlessly, leaning into his touch. "Don't worry about it."

When you part, Bruno looks at you and instantly notes your expression. "I'm sorry for being so late," he says softly, and when you start to shake your head he cuts you off. "No, I can see that you were worried. But you'll be happy to know that today was relatively uneventful - just sorting out the logistics of a mission later this week."

"Well that's good." You follow Bruno to the kitchen and watch as he sets your tea down and pours himself a glass of water. "How's everyone on the team?"

"They're fine. Fugo's been pissed off about something this week but he won't tell me what." Bruno smiles a little, looking up to meet your eyes. "I'm sure he'll talk eventually. Oh, and that Mista kid seems alright! I think you would like him, he's a funny guy."

"I bet I would like all of them," you say, and Bruno nods. You know you can't meet them, but you like to imagine that you'd all get along well. You haven't seen Abbacchio and Fugo since that dinner at Libeccio, but they seemed like good people. That's probably why they gravitated towards Bruno.

Bruno downs the rest of his water and sets down the glass. "Do you want to go to bed?" he asks, and you nod. Now that you're calmer, exhaustion is finally kicking in. "I'm sorry for worrying you," he says quietly as you follow him to the bedroom.

"Don't be sorry," you respond, reaching out and taking his hand gently in yours. "It's not your fault." He turns back and smiles at you, and you can feel the warmth of his love for you even through that single expression. You return the smile and head to the bathroom to wash up.

Once you're all finished, you trade places with Bruno and throw on your pajamas. Just having him with you, knowing that he's safe, has made you feel so much better. You love him so, so much, and you hope that he knows it. You get into bed and pull the blankets over yourself, bundling up and resting your head on your pillows. You wonder how many other people in Naples will be sleeping beside the love of their life tonight.

You hear Bruno enter the room and you feel him slide into bed next to you. You can feel his soft breaths on your neck, and you can't hold back your grateful smile. You turn around, meeting Bruno's surprised gaze, and you tell him, "I love you."

He's startled for a moment before the feeling fades and he's left with a smile, just as emotional, on his own face. "I love you too," he says, wrapping his arms around you. Your head rests against his neck as he holds you, and you can feel his voice as he speaks. "I love you so much." He kisses your head, holding you even closer, and you sigh. You hear him whisper one last thing: a small "thank you," before he quickly drifts off. Sleep comes easily to you now, in the arms of the man you love, and you finally rest in Bruno's embrace.

#my writing #jojo's bizarre adventure #bruno bucciarati #bruno bucciarati x reader #jjba x reader #jojo x reader #jojo imagine #thanks again for the request! this is a really sweet idea i love it!

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anhed-nia · 4 years

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BLOGTOBER 10/4/2020: SOCIETY

Without having a survey to back me up, I feel comfortable asserting that as a horror fan, you go through different phases with SOCIETY. It’s a basic fact of life, and yet it morphs and mutates underneath you, shocking you anew just when you think you’ve got a grip on it. You never forget your first time, because there is simply nothing like it. Then, after you get over the initial shock of its patented brand of body horror, you start to take it for granted; it's so broad and monolithic that it becomes something like the Grand Canyon--when it’s not right there in front of you, you begin to experience it more iconically, as part of the wallpaper of existence, rather than an in-your-face confrontation with the limits of experience. Then, you revisit it every few years (or months, depending on what sort of person you are), and the prophylactic layer that your brain has wrapped around your memories of it--the one that allows you to think of SOCIETY as a fun, wacky cheap thrill--begins to crumble, and you realize all over again how iconoclastically vile it is. Wherever you happen to be at, with this inimitable genre landmark, you'd be hard pressed to deny that it earns its royal status among horror movies, just for being so uniquely fucked up.

Filmmaker Brian Yuzna is best known as the co-creator of the indispensable RE-ANIMATOR (or as the co-writer of HONEY, I SHRUNK THE KIDS...depending on what sort of person you are, again), itself a milestone achievement in the blending of sex and gore that so characterized '80s horror production. That film clearly brought out the best in Yuzna and frequent collaborator Stuart Gordon (also of HONEY, I SHRUNK THE KIDS fame...among other things), but it's interesting to see how they operate apart, to understand the unique ingredients that each filmmaker brought to the more perfect union of their classic Lovecraft adaptation. Gordon skewed darker and more intellectual, as evidenced by the end of his career with the shattering mob thriller KING OF THE ANTS, the disturbing true crime drama STUCK, and the Mamet-penned EDMOND. Yuzna, for his part, is almost anti-intellectual, preferring to cook up blackly comic, semi-pornographic nightmares like his two increasingly horny RE-ANIMATOR sequels, the terminal S&M fantasy RETURN OF THE LIVING DEAD 3, and the shamelessly hokey comic book adaptation FAUST: LOVE OF THE DAMNED. Yuzna's lack of shame is really his defining feature as an artist, and nowhere is this more obvious than in his directorial debut and signature masterpiece, SOCIETY.

Salvador Dali's "The Great Masturbator," a chief visual inspiration for SOCIETY.

Yuzna was able to leverage the success of RE-ANIMATOR to lock in two directorial opportunities, BRIDE OF RE-ANIMATOR, and a bizarre body horror exercise about a Beverly Hills orphan who discovers that not only are his adoptive family from a different bloodline, but they're not even from the same species. That both pictures employed the writing team of Woody Keith and Rick Fry gives you a little taste of what to expect from SOCIETY, but to be frank, the latter threatens to make the former look like a very special episode of ER; "overkill" barely begins to describe SOCIETY’s ambitious assault on the human body. In a recent interview, the philipino-american director giggles perversely, "I think my friends were a little embarrassed for me (when they saw SOCIETY)," and this sound bite reminded me that the last, most important ingredient that Yuzna contributes to any project is unabashed joy. It's a little hard to imagine stomaching SOCIETY without it.

In this unusual scene from the class struggle in Beverly Hills, Billy Warlock (son of HALLOWEEN 2's Michael Myers, Dick Warlock) plays Bill Whitney, a rich, handsome, athletic high school student with a heavy duty anxiety disorder. Although he appears to have it all, he is plagued by nightmares and hallucinations, reflecting suspicions that the family that spoils him is also out to get him. Perhaps this is all understandable, though. Bill is under a lot of pressure these days, with his parents devoting all of their attention to his sister's coming out party, and his narcissistic girlfriend pushing him to ingratiate himself to the assholes higher up the social ladder; it's enough to make any teenager feel alienated and insecure. But, do these garden variety anxieties account for his visions of his sister's body deforming itself unnaturally, or the dubious evidence he finds that her debutante ball involves incestuous orgies and human sacrifice? Is Bill simply crumbling under the strain of societal expectations, or is the friction with his shrink, his parents, and his peers all symptomatic of an elaborate plot against him by elites who are truly less than human?

I can’t believe they use this cheapo blanket trick MORE THAN ONCE in a movie that is famous for its unforgettable special effects, and I guess I kind of love it.

In case I haven't made the answer abundantly obvious, I'll add that while SOCIETY is the purest expression of Yuzna-ness on the market, it has an important co-author in Screaming Mad George. The eccentric japanese FX master, whose name is apparently an amalgamation of Mad Magazine, Screamin' Jay Hawkins, and...George, has produced some of horror's most outrageous makeup and visual effects, mostly for Yuzna, many of them in SOCIETY. If you've seen even a trailer for Alex Winter's 1993 oddity FREAKED--which is itself a grossout criticism of American social standards--then you are already familiar with SMG's trademark style. He specializes in twisted perversions of the human form that would make a cenobite blush, driven by a penchant for puns, and influenced equally by THE THING's Rob Botin, and Big Daddy Roth’s Rat Fink style. Screaming Mad George is instrumental in articulating Yuzna's premise: that behind the shimmering veneer of success and sophistication, the upper class are just a bunch of degenerates, who literally degenerate into something unimaginable behind closed doors. It's impossible to imagine SOCIETY without his sinuous, slithering monstrosities, or his indescribable realization of their most important social event, "the shunt".

One of many great images from a zine I wish I owned, on SMG’s Facebook page.

It's easy to get overwhelmed by SOCIETY's visual impact, but its message is just as potent now as it was at the end of the Reagan era: Rich people are not only different from the rest of us, but in fact, they aren't even human. Writers Keith and Fry make an interesting choice of hero to help put this across. A lazier writer would have selected any archetype from the Freaks and Geeks set to create an easy Us vs Them tension, but SOCIETY is led by a promising young man who, for reasons he himself does not yet understand, is just not "the right kind of people". Bill appears to have every advantage in life, including a level of popularity that wins him presidency of the debate team despite his nerdier rival’s superior prowess--and yet, he suffers from a stigmatizing psychiatric disorder that is the natural result of feeling indefinably different from one's peers, and intuiting that, as a consequence, they don't even really like you. The shallow jock with deep-seated emotional problems is a much more interesting protagonist for this kind of social allegory than the charismatic outcasts that you get in movies like THE FACULTY and DISTURBING BEHAVIOR, for whom the idea that the elites could be aliens is just de rigueur.

It's worth noting that this complexity of character extends to Bill's love interest, sympathetic society girl Clarissa Carlyn (Playboy Playmate Devin DeVasquez). At first, she seems villainously eager to introduce Bill to the many splendors of "the shunting", but as the plot against him mounts to its horrifying conclusion, she defects. There appears to be a reason for this, although honestly, this is the most difficult part of SOCIETY for me to wrap my head around. Clarissa lives as an essentially independent adult, only burdened by her mother (Pamela Matheson), a possibly brain damaged hulk who lurks in and out of various scenes just to be disturbing, always announced by some toots on a tuba, before eventually siding with our heroes. I'm really not sure what's supposed to be going on in this part of the movie, except that this character contributes to a number of distasteful jokes. But, I hold on to the idea that by virtue of whatever disorder Mrs. Carlyn suffers from, she serves the purpose of priming Clarissa to rebel, since her very existence makes her daughter something of a societal outcast herself. That's the best I can do.

In any case, everyone working on SOCIETY commits completely, with Mrs. Carlyn being no exception. The movie's climactic orgy of the damned is an all hands on deck operation, just as reliant on Screaming Mad George's artistic abilities as it is on the actors' responsibility to make you believe that this fucked up shit is really happening. There's a visceral patina of sleaze spread over the entire film, dripping from the way that characters talk to and touch each other, flirting and flaunting their bodies in a distinctly unseemly fashion, even when it stays within the realm of mundane reality. This constant sinister, insinuating attitude on the part of the whole cast lays the foundation for what is to come, and while I appreciate everybody's hard work, my favorite performance is from an actor who only comes in at the very end: David Wiley as society king Judge Carter. Wiley's career consisted almost exclusively of the most ordinary sort of television work, which makes his outrageous turn in this alien porno flick all the more respectable. While other characters transition from suspicious pod people to full-on mutated perverts, Judge Carter has to show up just for the finale, establish his authority, rip off his clothes, and plunge straight into a sea of slime, happily fisting his way through the cast. Wiley meets this challenge with aplomb, making of himself a hybrid of Robert Englund and Gene Hackman, perfectly embodying the movie's joyful absurdity, and never betraying the slightest hint of embarrassment.

SOCIETY is very much a don't-look-down type of endeavor, a fairy that could expire at the slightest lapse in faith. There's a visual pun in the last act that's so gross, so offensive, so frankly idiotic, that I don't have the courage to describe it; my whole body tenses up when I know this scene is coming, as if it were the meat hook scene in TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE or the brutal rape in the middle of SHOWGIRLS. I don't like it, but at the same time, I respect Yuzna's unhesitating commitment to show it to me, and I think that actor Charles Lucia should get some kind of award for shouldering the burden so valiantly. SOCIETY is a daring movie in the truest sense, a film with more balls than brains, and in this it exposes the limitation of intelligence and taste, and the real need for pure transgression, in producing art of any real value. You might argue with me about whether Yuzna's masturbatory magnum opus really qualifies as art, but to respond to that, I'll quote the great transgressor Alejandro Jodorowsky: "If you are great, EL TOPO is a great picture. If you are limited, EL TOPO is limited." So stick that in your shunt and smoke it.

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PS Here, have this stuck in your head for the rest of your life.

#blogtober #2020 #society #brian yuzna #screaming mad george #woody keith #rick fry #billy warlock #Keith Walley #devin devasquez #david wiley #horror #black comedy #satire #body horror #social criticism

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charliesradiodemon · 4 years

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Arranged Marriage (Part 4)

Part 1 Part 3

(Ping reminders for @ariloucii and @wargraymon0709 <3 if you need a tag reminder, please dm me!

Thank you all for your support and comments! I read every tag, reply and comment yall write and I cry every time <3)

Part 4

Even when Alastor and Charlie sat back down, the studio remained silent. It wasn't until Lucifer cleared his voice did everyone break out of their daze. The show continued on with flustered interview questions and void of any problems. Katie and Tom asked only three questions before their time was up so no juicy details were disclosed. Nothing else stopped the show after the announcement and they even managed to announce the date of the wedding: two weeks from that day. It was going to be a massive spectacle as this sort of thing never occurs in Hell. No one had to guess that every important being in Hell would attend.

As soon as they exited the studio, they were bombarded with paparazzi, demanding answers to their mundane questions. With Charlie on his arm, Alastor led the way past the rowdy crowd. He felt Charlie’s grip tighten, so he walked quickly to get away from the noise. Alastor amusingly noted how they were smart enough to at least realize that pressing them too hard would be a death wish. The crowd cleared the way, knowing not to cross Lucifer, his daughter or his newly appointed son-in-law. They kept their respectful distance as they yelled their questions at the group. Charlie let out a breath of relief as soon as they reached their getaway vehicle and loosened her grip on Alastor to get into the limousine first. Next was Alastor and lastly Lucifer.

Despite the large vehicle and plenty of sitting space, Alastor sat himself right next to Charlie while her father sat across from them. Once the limo was in motion, the devil himself smiled wide and let out a hearty laugh.

For the first time in a long time, Lucifer shot a wide toothy grin toward his daughter. “What a fantastic show! You two really sold the engagement! And that horrid Killjoy oh- the look on her face,” His smile was genuine and Charlie finally felt a little more than a failure for once. It was just too bad that he wasn’t proud of her because of anything she’d accomplished herself. The fact left a painful twinge in her heart.

The whole car ride back to the hotel was full of Lucifer’s compliments and praises toward the pair. He sang his praises for so long, neither Alastor nor Charlie could speak. She wouldn’t know what to say anyway. She just gladly took what approval from her father came her way, but still the praises felt empty. She kept on a polite smile to keep her father happy, but she couldn’t help but stare out the red tinted window of the limousine and blank out for the rest of the ride.

Alastor and Charlie were dropped off at the hotel, where paparazzi had already formed a mob outside the hotel’s doors. As soon as Alastor helped Charlie out of the limousine, the crowd came closer, but not too close. Alastor thought it was a shame that no one tried anything. He would have enjoyed seeing some unfortunate reporters fly. Instead the group herded themselves to only nearly encapsulate them. With a challenging grin toward the crowd, Alastor grabbed Charlie by the hand to lead her through the flashes of cameras and obnoxiously loud reporters. It was a short distance to the door and those in the way made sure to move as quickly as possible.

They strolled through without a hitch and only minor blinding from the lights. There were bangs on the door, but they were left ignored.

Finally, Charlie spoke up. “So that’s what you meant by beneficial,” Charlie huffed an empty chuckle.

Alastor’s hearty chuckle sounded through the hallway. “Yes! My dear you really sold that performance like a professional! Boy your father is quite the schemer, announcing the engagement in front of so many fearful eyes! Hahaha! I bet you’ve already built quite the reputation for yourself! Oh I bet my stars you’re-“

However once he heard the sound of sniffling, he immediately used his shadow to teleport in front of her. He loomed over her as she hid her face in her hands. She was crying again. And the awful tickle crept back into his chest. “I don’t understand, what’s wrong this time?” His brow scrunched in confused curiosity as he attempted to assess the situation. His grin did not falter, but looked out of place with the upper half of his face.

Charlie sniffled and breathed a chuckle without looking at him. “Sorry this is the second time I’ve cried today it’s just been… a lot. First Vaggie and now my dad was finally proud of me. But… it doesn’t feel right. It’s… complicated.”

Something in Alastor’s gut hurt at the sight of Charlie looking so hopeless. He wasn’t sure exactly what he should do to help, but he wanted to try. He reached out and placed a gloved hand on top of her head as it proved to somehow calm her down a little. “Please, explain away my dear.”

So she told him. Everything from her complicated family issues to how she felt about today was out there in the open and Alastor sat with her and listened to her patiently and quietly. It shocked and flattered him that the princess trusted him enough to pour his heart out. Alastor felt as though her words were falling on deaf ears though.

This type of pain was unfamiliar to him. He knew about physical physical and psychological pain, but emotional was not his forte. Hearing about it from her was interesting, but it also sparked new sensations he didn’t fully recognize. His chest was tight and he felt some other form of agitation within. Rage was familiar to him, but this- it was nothing he was familiar with. Sadness? Whatever empathy is? Alastor couldn’t tell, nor did he know how to act on the feeling. For the first time he felt useless and he didn’t know what to do with that.

Charlie eventually passed out on the couch they shared. She lasted a lot longer than Alastor expected. She seemed exhausted the moment they walked back into the hotel so it was a surprise that she still had the energy to cry her heart out again. There were too many tears and not enough smiles from his partner. He didn’t like it and the feeling in his chest only seemed to confirm this fact. But again, he felt useless. He didn’t know how to comfort others. The only things he knew were causing anguish and smiling. The only things he ever craved were the despair of others and the entertainment that came with it.

Alastor leaned over her curled up form and thought about how vulnerable she was. She was completely unaware and a painfully easy target. He could end her here and now without even trying. But no, that thought didn’t sit right with him. It was odd how she didn’t awake his bloodlust and it amazed him how he could show so much restraint toward an oddly meek individual such as herself.

He stood and gently picked her up, careful not to rouse her. To Alastor’s surprise, she felt light and fragile like a dove in his arms. For as tall as she was, she was much lighter than she looked.

As she settled in his arms, she snuggled into his chest. This alone sent shivers up Alastor’s spine, but it also left an unfamiliar warmth in his core. The feeling was unpleasant yet… not either. It was a strange feeling, but he couldn’t say that he hated it. A part of him even wanted to somehow hold her closer. He wanted to feel more warmth that erupted whenever she was around. Charlie Magne was a bundle of surprises that never ceased to amaze him even after six months. He would have thought the open and naive princess would have bored him quickly after starting this partnership. Yet here he was, always excited to see what she did next.

He walked her over to her bed and laid her down gently. When he snapped his fingers her dress changed into a simple nightgown with the other dress neatly settled in his hands. He set it down on the chair next to her bed and turned back to face the sleeping demoness. No, she didn’t look anything like a demon. She looked more akin to an angel than any grotesque demon here in Hell. From her optimistic personality to her long golden hair, she looked and acted as what Alastor would imagine an angel to be like.

His gaze trailed up to said hair and found it still up in a complex braided hairdo. The demon’s clawed hand hovered over her head for a moment as he pondered on a sudden thought that popped in her head. He quickly drew back as he dismissed the thought. What was he doing? He needed to leave, he’d overstayed his welcome.

But then he looked back down at her. ‘Just do it. She’ll be uncomfortable if you don’t.’ He reasoned- though it felt more like an excuse. It took him a moment of hesitation but he ultimately decided to reach over and undo her hair to set it free from its braided updo. The softness he felt through his gloves as he ran his fingers through her golden locks gave him a sense of contentedness. It was amazing how her hair ran freely and easily through his fingers. It was easily the softest thing he’d felt since his mortal life.

When Charlie shifted under his touch, he quickly withdrew his hand and paused. How long had he been at it? When she didn’t stir he gently pulled the covers over her body. He looked back up and found a content expression that graced her puffy yet peaceful face.

There was a skip in Alastor’s heart, which he clutched at as soon as he felt it. Under his hand, his heartbeat had returned to normal, but the feeling of the skip lingered. This particular sensation triggered by her wasn’t new. He’d felt it on several other occasions over the half year he had known her, but it only ever happened with her around. It was curious, but he’d always ignore it. But now that they were spending much more time together though, it may prove impossible to ignore. Truthfully he was excited to learn what this feeling was. Maybe later on he could ask Charlie about it.

Alastor chuckled quietly and glanced back down at his fiancee’s sleeping face in curiosity. “I don’t know what you’ve done to me dear, but I cannot deny you’ve certainly caught my interest,” He whispered to her. He gazed down at her and watched her breathe for a moment before bending down slightly. “I wonder...” With care, Alastor gently shifted the hair that threatened to obscure Charlie’s sleeping face from view. “What did you do to incite this feeling? What have you awoken?” He paused as if he waited for her to respond. But in reality he just dozed off for a moment, lost in her sleeping face. Without receiving his answer, he straightened his back and took one last look at his fiancee before leaving for the night.

Alastor began his own trek home and reflected on the day’s events. His grin clearly reflected his eagerness for more, to know more about the things he felt and why they only happened around the strange princess of Hell. He was eager, but he knew he needed to pace himself, to savor this conundrum. But one thing was clear: Charlie Magne was a mystery that he could not wait to fully unravel.

PART 5 HERE

#charlastor #charlastor fic #charlie x alastor #alastor x charlie

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myriadimagines · 4 years

Text

Lockdown

Deadly Class One Shot

Pairing: Reader x Lex Miller

Other Characters: Master Lin, Billy Bennet, Petra Yolga

Warnings: mentions of death, mild violence, swearing, alcohol consumption

Request: @theoriginalcreationcollecto-blog — “Hello. I saw the imagine you did for Lex and was wondering if I could get one too where Lex and the reader were childhood friends and he’s been in love with her since they were little but she has no idea so he gets jealous when she kissed someone else, and then her and Lex get stuck in lockdown together and they have to talk it out and he confessed that he loves her and she feels the same? Thank you 🙏”

Word Count: 1,205

A/N: thank you @theoriginalcreationcollecto-blog for donating to Fitzgerald & Virginia Dodd’s cause!! if you would like to request a one shot of your own, please read this post!

please reblog/leave comments, they’re very much appreciated!

“Fight’s over.”

You defensively shove one of the monks that roughly pushes you against the lockers, hands balled into fists as they flood the hallway. You had just witnessed Maria and Saya’s altercation, and now the monks were ushering everyone into their rooms, grabbing everyone and pushing them into whatever room is available. You look up in alarm at the scene, and before you can run off, an arm grabs yours, and the hooded figure drags you down the hall before you’re pushed into a room that isn’t even yours. You scowl, trying to rush back out the door, but your body collides with Lex’s as another monk shoves him into the room.

“This is bloody ridiculous!” Lex cries out, banging his fist against the door, and the both of you let out a collective groan as you hear the sound of the door being locked. Whatever’s going on, it looks like the two of you will be stuck together for a while.

“Another student is dead!” you hear Master Lin’s voice declare from the hallway, and you and Lex frown as you turn to look at one another. “And I will find out who’s responsible. You’re all on lockdown until I do.”

“Fuck.” Lex bangs his fist on the door one last time before turning around, flopping down on one of the beds that occupies the room. Based on the Japanese posters that hang from the wall, you’d guess this room belonged to some Kuroki Syndicate members. Throwing his hands up in the air, Lex complains, “We could be in here for bloody forever!”

You sit down on the other bed, folding your arms across your chest as you let out a heavy sigh. “Well, at least we’re stuck in here together. I might end up killing another student if I ended up with Brandy Lynn or any other Dixie Mob member.”

Lex suddenly becomes very aware of the situation, and you raise an eyebrow at him as you notice him become uncharacteristically quiet. He nervously runs a hand through his spiked hair, tugging at his leather jacket before he clears his throat, and bitterly responds, “I’m sure you’d rather be stuck here with other people though, huh?”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What are you talking about?”

Lex shrugs, attempting to appear nonchalant despite his heart pounding wildly in his chest. He’s overthinking this too much, he tells himself, but he can’t quite meet your eyes, worrying he’ll become completely undone if he does. You should be the person he’s most comfortable with, considering the fact that you’ve known each other since you were children. You were there for him when his father got arrested for something he didn’t even do. You were side by side when you made your way to San Francisco, and it was you who insisted that Lex be enrolled in King’s Dominion with you when you were first approached. Lex can’t imagine his life without you, which is one of the many reasons why he’s fallen for you.

Of course, you have no idea. Lex has come so close to telling you his true feelings on multiple occasions, most of them while drunk, but he can never get the words out, can never push himself enough to admit the truth. So he stays quiet, hides his crush behind playful teasing and pranks that you know are a part of his personality. Which makes it all the more suspicious to see him so quiet and unlike himself now.

“Lex, come on,” you snap Lex out of his thoughts, grabbing a pillow from the bed and tossing it at him. He can’t help but smile as you offer him a teasing grin, and he tosses the pillow back at you as you say, “What’s up?”

You get up, walking over to him as you plop down on the bed beside him. Lex tries to ignore how close you’re sitting to him, how your leg brushes up against his ever so slightly, and Lex shrugs, “Dunno, I just figured you’d rather be quarantined with Billy or something.”

You jerk back in surprise. “Billy? Why Billy?”

Lex picks at one of the holes in his ripped jeans. It pains him to think about the incident the other night, during another drunken night on the rooftop with the rest of the Rats and your other friends. One second, Lex was giving you a piggyback ride as the two of you paraded around the roof with loud laughter and wide smiles. Lex had set you down, distracted by a conversation with Petra, and just as he felt ready to tell you how he felt, ready to confess his emotions, he turned around to see you plant a kiss on Billy’s lips. He tried to act nonchalant about it, tried to ignore it, but the scene plays over and over again in his head, a picture he’s unable to erase no matter how hard he tries.

“Well, you kissed him the other night.” Lex reluctantly points out. “You two dating then, eh?”

“Wha…?” confusion washes over your expression, before your eyes widen in realisation. Slapping your hand against your forehead, you stammer an explanation, “Oh God, no, we’re not dating. Jesus, Lex, I was drunk out of my mind, and I was only doing it to help Billy out. We were trying to make Petra jealous. Or did you forget about his ridiculously huge crush on her?”

Lex wrinkles his nose. Out of all the explanations possible, this was surely the one he hadn’t even considered. Waving his hand, Lex blurts, “Hang on a minute, so the kiss meant nothing?”

“Duh. Come on, you know Billy is only my friend, nothing more.” you give Lex a playful shove, and Lex lets out a relieved laugh. Narrowing your eyes at him, you ask, “Why do you care, anyway?”

Lex’s laughter quickly dies down, and he gulps as he nervously looks up to meet your questioning gaze. After several moments of thick silence, he admits, “Well, I mean… it might be because… I have feelings for you.”

Lex sucks in a sharp breath, as if suddenly wishing he could snatch his words back and shove them back into his mouth. He studies your expression, unsure of how to interpret the multitude of emotions that flash through your face, before you blurt, “Same.”

Lex blinks at you, bewildered. “What?”

“I have feelings for you, too.” you confess, and Lex’s eyes widen as you nervously run your hands through your hair. “But I was scared I would fuck things up, and—”

Before you can continue, Lex interrupts you with a kiss, kissing you so enthusiastically you practically fall back against the bed. He pulls away, the both of you breathless as you stare at him in shock, before a wide grin spreads across your face. Not wasting any more time, you pull him towards you as you kiss him again, the both of you pulling your bodies closer to one another as Lex runs his hands through your hair. As you feel him grinning against your lips, the both of you can’t help but have the same thought: that perhaps this lockdown isn’t going to be as bad as you thought.

tag list: @mockingjaygirl1221 / @cnco-babes / @asix122747483 / @lotsoffandomimagines / @uhohscarlett / @bored-green / @ietss

#reader x lex miller #lex miller x reader #deadly class #deadly class imagine #deadly class one shot #lex miller #lex miller imagine #imagine #imagines #reader insert #one shot #oneshot

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inessencedevided · 4 years

Text

The Untamed, episode 46 - watching notes

Full disclosure: I'm not in a particularly good mood today. Have you seen that "no productivity. Only guild." Meme flying around? That's me today :|

Hopefully this will distract me (though distraction was the problem in the first place 🙈)

I apologise for any typos you'll finde in this post 😅

To recap, the last thing I learned was that apparently, Jiggy married his own sister because Jin Guangshan was a scumbag who raped more women than he could possibly remember

I was told by several people that this episode is their favourite. No pressures or anything :D

The way someone is dragging up Jiggy's secrets has a lot of poetic justice to it. Everyone is outraged and gossiping. Consensus is reached quickly. Kinda makes me feel that that someone (who probably also wrote the letter to jgy) knows exactly how to use the sect world's worst qualities as a weapon

Yao what's-his-name, resident gossip queen, at it again

Don't look at me my memory is as bad as wwx when it comes to names :D

I was about to write who is Lianfang Zum again and then I remembered that it's jiggy's honorary title. See what I mean? ^^

What does it say about me that my heart makes a leap when I simply see wwx leaning close to lwj to whisper to him? 😅 I'll probably die reading the novel, that's what that says

Oh so it was the maid who sent the letter

Come on Wei Wuxian! That was cruel

Yeah Yao what's-his-name, why would you need to know the identity of who ever is behind this? It's not like you've ever been deceived before!

What's... with that bracelet?

I love it how everyone looks positively startled when Lan Wangji says something unprompted :D

Wait ... Zwei Jun is in his hands? Shit, i don't remeber what happened there. Where did Xichen go again? 😬

I'm so confused right now 🙈 I can't watch and read the subtitles and type

Okay, watched the whole conversation again, now I'm following

I reiterate my earlier statement that whoever is pulling the strings here knows exactly what strings to pull to get the clans to act

Great, another mob 🙄

Loooool

NOW you want his help? 😂

Sure, as soon as he can serve YOU with his "evil tricks", that's okay!

You can see how much wwx changed because he does not hold their hypocrisy to their faces. He mostly seemed tired of it

And Jiang Cheng just realised that wwx might indeed not be responsible for Jiang Yanli's death, didn't he? He's almost stunned 🥺

Or is BEAUTIFUL to see Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji move in such unity! 😭

Oh ... those are the graves of his foster parents, right? :(

And Yanli ... oh God I forgot about Yanli 🥺

I'm crying again. Nothing on this show will ever hit as hard to me as the Yunmeng siblings' fate

I couldn't help myself, I legitimately just stroked my laptop screen where Yanli's plate was 🥺

So many conflicting emotions

Thanks to a friendly anon, I know that these three bows together are marriage thing! 😭😭😭

So yeah, they're married now. I dont make the rules :')

Somehow, this feels like them asking wwx's foster family's blessing

And now I'm imagining Shijie smiling back at them gently and I'm crying 🥺

And by God, I love lwj's gentle teasing :')

This whole scene, he's so soft! 😭

And it think that Wei Wuxian probably thought that he'd never get to step into Lotus Pier again. But here, he can finally say his goodbyes to his Shijie properly. He can heal! 🖤

And again, I cannot stress enough how wonderful that is! And how rare and precious in a show like this. So often character's get put through unimaginable trauma, but they either brush it off no problem or the show/movie ends immediately after the main action and you are left to imagine the number it did on the character's psyche. There are so rarely fantasy shows that really dive into the emotional fallout the plot has on their characters and then give them time to heal. Thus show does both and I'm so goddamn overjoyed my it!

Come to think of it, it reminds me of a very good hurt/comfort fic 🤷‍♀️

Jiang Cheng pleae, fir once, try not to be angry immediately when you're hurting :(

He still takes special offence that lwj is there. Makes me wonder if he still feels like wwx chooses lwj over the Jiang sect and is still hurt by it 😔 (note that at the same time, he reminds wwx that he's very much not a member of the Jiang clan anymore. God, the man has not worked through his own feelings ...)

For once, as much as I love it when lwj defends wwx (especially when it's not against any physical harm, but because he doesn't want wwx to be hurt emotionally) I think him interfering with this particular conflict does not help

Okay sorry, but no! lotus pier was not destroyed because wwx saved lwj in that cave. That was just an excuse for the Wen sect. They would have come eventually anyway

Ohhh

So there's my answer

He's still hurt because he feels wwx chooses anyone else over his family, which is to say him

And he probably can't understand because their positions are so different. The (future) sect leader and the son of a (dead) servant and a rogue cultivator who never felt quite like he belonged 😔

It's so goddamn tragic how much between these two was destroyed simply because they have such a different status in society and could never quite understand each other's perspective

And again, wwx just takes it 💔

Until, that is, lwj's honour gets besmirched

Don't fight in front of Shijie 🥺

Jiang Cheng's every action screams that he still loves his brother and that amidst all that pain for his lost family, is also deep betrayal and grieve for the brother he thought he could always count on 🥺💔

Can we appreciate for a second how much this shot tells us? From Jiang Cheng's angry desperation, to Wei Wuxian's quite acceptance of his rage (which must be so confusing to Jiang Cheng and probably hurt him even more. Because fighting is always how these two resolved their issues!) to Lan Wangji who is in full on protective mode (which I find more than heartwarming,but still think probably isn't helpful rn)

He ... what?

I still don't quite understand when exactly wwx's lack of golden core shows. Why does he have a nosebleed here?

What?

Oh!

Wen Ning 😱

I get what he wants to do!

Have we ever seen him this calm and determined before?

Abd they understand 😱😱😱

The look on all of their faces! Shiiiiit

I'm crying again

Oh wangii is crying 🥺

Wen Quing 💔💔💔 I'm crying even harder just looking at her. I've MISSED her 🥺

Lan Zhan your FACE!! 😭

The way he's looking at wwx in his arms, as if he's seeing him fir the first time

And by god, I can only imagine what he must be thinking

He must be reevaluation every single interaction they had since wwx started down the path of demonic cultivation 😭

I'm a bit in awe of Wen Ning here and how much he must have been holding in. That's the steadiest and most confident he's ever been

Oh Jiang cheng 💔

That looks like a man whose entire world has just been shaken to its core

And Lan Wangji is crying so much 🥺

God I hope he doesn't blame himself even more 🥺

Aaaaaaahhhh, so that is why he wouldn't just carry the sword for appearance sake and why he just had a nosebleed!

Jiang Cheng probably needs about a month to process all that :/

And therapy ...

Aaaaaaahhhh! The boat scene! I've seen gifs! 😍😍😍

A penny for Lan Wangji's thoughts ...

Oh I'm so so so so glad that Wen Ning gets to say thank you to the man who raised his ... cousin (?) :')

Oh god we get to see!!!!

Oh little a Yuan 😭😭😭😭😭😭

I wonder now, did Lan Qiren know who the child was that his nephew suddenly brought back to cloud recess?

I'm glad that we all learned from this that keeping secrets from the people we love, especially secrets that concern them personally, will eventually come back to bide us in the ass. Than you for delivering that important lesson, wen Ning!

Which reminds me that I hope they eventually tell wwx that they know 😬

I swear to god, one of these days I will melt from the gentleness in lan Wangji's gaze :')

Shit. He had to be awake? 😳

You can pinpoint the moment Lan Wangji's heart breaks for all the suffering wwx endured and how close he came to loosing him even then 🥺

Waking like that in you lovers arms in the middle of a lotus pond - that's the dream *sighs* (minus the passing out bit)

It's weirdly cute that wwx thinks that it's Jiang Cheng's insults that have lwj so upset 😅

Oh GOOOOD ...

I can't

The moment Yanli's themes started to play and she appeared I started to bawl 😭😭😭

And he's sharing the lotus pods with them ... oh please, lwj, please understand what he's saying. That's his pove language! His sister's food was how he received love and right now he passes it on to you! Please, please understand it! 🥺

Oh lwj, don't 🙈

Awwwwww ....

He's breaking the rules for you!!! Just to make you smile!!! 😭😭

And holy shit look at their expressions 😭

By now you should know that he's willing to break the rules for you :')

And poor third wheel Wen Ning 😂

Now there are glittering butterflies???

Do they have some kind of romantic aesthetic bingo going on in this episode???

Oh okay, messenger butterflies

Please appreciate wwx almost climbing into lan Wangji's lab in excitement :D

Thay scene transition was pretty af!

Hey! Why do they bully wen Ning? 😤

*shakes wwx by the shoulders* DO YOU GET THAT HE LOVES YOU NOW???

Huh, this episode was a roller coaster. you guys did NOT exaggerate! I loved it to pieces. I'm floored once more by all the actor's performances. Wen Ning revealed a lot about his character, Jiang Cheng broke my heart, Lan Wangji made it melt and Shijie is still able to make me bawl in an instant. But ... I'm not left with a bitter feeling. Sure, jiang Cheng and wei Wuxian havebt reconciled, but the truth is the first step to even have that possibility. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are both healing and whatever happens in the last 4 (4!!!😭) episodes, I'm not dreading it that much right now. I feel like we're climbing upwards :)

@sweetlittlevampire @fandom-glazed @elenirlachlagos @allhailthedramallama @luckymoony @kyrrahbird @i-love-him-on-purpose thank you guys for staying with me for this crazy ride 💙🖤💙

Also one last thing: please don't tell me what happens differently in the novel in any given scene. I am still reading it (about half way through rn) and I'd like to still be surprised by stuff like first kisses and love confessions 💙🖤

I should have put something like this at the end before, but I always forgot. That's on me 😅 so don't feel bad, if you've shared something before :)

#the untamed #sophie watches the untamed #wei wuxian #wwx #lan wangji #lwj #jiang wanyin #jiang cheng #jiang yanli #wen ning #a yuan #the untamed liveblog

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aphelioo · 4 years

Text

Singing like a Lark

@sydneygremlins requested a few different scenarios in my ask box, one of them being Geralt being soft for Jaskier + his voice! Will work on the others soon enough!

Geralt had fought endlessly against the strange feeling in his chest like it was a parasite. The little bastard only writhed and squeezed his heart whenever he heard the familiar strumming of Jaskier’s lute and words that floated from Jaskier, singing of his and Geralt’s adventures. The two men sat around a little fire Geralt had built, and Jaskier against a log with his lute to his chest, reminiscing as he played his first song about the Witcher. Geralt was across the fire from the bard, his golden eyes boring into his companion. After over thirty years of journeying with the bard, time had started to take its toll. His crow’s feet were a little more prominent, as were his smile lines. His hair had streaks of grey, and he had grown a little bit of a beard. He was still otherwise youthful, on account of a strange potion he had drank in a mage’s home that seemed to slow the aging process. Not nearly enough, not for Geralt. It was strange for the Witcher to be with someone for so long, to follow them to the ends of the earth, and watch them age. He hated it, and it pained his heart that his bard would not live forever. It was unfair, he thought, that someday, Jaskier’s voice would only be a painful memory. He looked into the fire, his hand squeezing his opposite forearm in an attempt to comfort himself.

Jaskier could see Geralt was thinking too much, practically hearing it. He knew Geralt more than, perhaps, Geralt knew himself. The bard began to strum a new song he was composing, one that he hadn’t yet figured out the lyrics for. He knew what to call it.

“Is this one new?” Of course it was. Geralt knew every song by heart, and when he would journey up to Kaer Morhen and separate from the bard for the winter, he would hum or even sing under his breath all the songs of his adventures. This song was strum a couple times around him, but never as well formed as it was then. “Haven’t heard it before.”

“Witcher’s Lullaby. Need something to help people relax, and think of Witcher’s in a good light,” Jaskier murmured. “There’s been a lullaby going around-”

“The Lullaby of Woe. I’ve heard it,” Geralt murmured.

“And I want a song that is a sort of juxtaposition to that. You don’t eat children, unless you’ve been very stealthy for the past thirty years,” Jaskier chuckled, moving to sit beside Geralt. There was still space between them, but Jaskier guessed the proximity would help ground Geralt and calm his mind. “I don’t like to hear people talk bad about you. You’re my best friend, after all.”

Geralt hummed, his eyes flickering down at the fire that flickered in return.

“You stabbed a man just last week over it,” he muttered, turning his gaze to Jaskier and putting one elbow on his knee to better face Jaskier. “You’re likely you weren’t strung up and hung like a dog.”

“I never liked that expression,” Jaskier sighed, ignoring Geralt reminding him of his violence towards those who disparaged his friend. “Who even hangs dogs? Awful people, that’s who.”

Geralt exhaled sharply through his nose, a simple action that expressed amusement. Jaskier continued to play and cast a charming smile in Geralt’s direction. Geralt held his gaze for a moment before looking into the fire.

“Aren’t you going to sing?”

It was softer than usual, an odd request. Geralt usually sighed noticeably loud to express annoyance with Jaskier’s constant pattering in song. Jaskier took it to heart, this incredibly soft voice.

“I...actually like it without lyrics. I haven’t gotten any down. But I can sing you another song, perhaps,” Jaskier murmured. “But you’ll have to lay down first. I want you to sleep.”

“You can keep playing that lullaby,” Geralt replied, just as soft, getting up to lay out their bedrolls. It was a summer night, no need for a tent. He laid out on his bedroll, making himself comfortable. The Witcher always lay on his back, hands folded over his stomach. He was always ready to spring to action, even in rest. “Let’s see if it can put a Witcher to sleep.”

“Challenge accepted,” Jaskier murmured.

The bard continued to strum, humming along as he played. The sweetness of his voice lulled the Witcher to relax, his heart all aflutter. Every time the bard sang, the parasite in his chest squirmed, but it was quickly becoming a part of Geralt. He had dealt with those feelings for decades now, and it was soothed by Jaskier’s presence. It wasn’t long until Jaskier stopped playing and prepared for bed. The bard laid on his own bedroll, not more than a foot from the sleeping Witcher. Jaskier laid on his side, watching Geralt. The way the firelight flickered over his companion’s hard features turned soft by rest stirred something within, and he scooted closer, simply resting his head against Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt, who was still actually awake, resisted his body’s urge to inhale out of the shock that he was being touched by Jaskier in a way he imagined so many times before. He had always craved to be the support for an exhausted bard, the tree he’d lean against, and here Jaskier was, simply doing it to touch Geralt. His heart picked up its pace, the usual slow beat reaching the pace of a normal human’s. Geralt felt his heart strain for more, to wrap his arms around the bard and hold him close, but there was no good way to do so without laying out his feelings like a map, landmarks labelled and all, a whole legend in one corner. Geralt relished in the feeling, as he did whenever Jaskier’s hand wandered to his skin and caressed, offering comfort in a world that had shunned Geralt. The Witcher finally took a deep breath and let one of his hands fall from his stomach to the ground between the two men, still pretending to be asleep. He heard a soft huff come from Jaskier, and the bard reached down, resting his hand atop of Geralt’s.

“Oh, Geralt...you’re just as human as me,” he murmured to his supposedly sleeping friend. “I’ll always sing for you. No matter what they think. They’re your songs, not theirs.”

Geralt felt Jaskier squeeze his hand ever so slightly, and there was an almost pain in his chest. He turned his head and opened his eyes, causing the bard to jump and sit up, retracting his hand. Geralt sat up slightly, his eyes shining from tears. He didn’t dare let them far, determined for them to be dismissed as a trick of the light.

“Jaskier.”

“I’m sorry, Geralt, that was...strange.”

“No, I appreciate it,” he murmured. He was going to say more, but was interrupted by Jaskier pouncing on him and hugging him tightly around the neck. “Jaskier. You’re the craziest man I’ve ever met. Following a Witcher, defending him at risk of your own neck, becoming his best friend…”

Perhaps more, he thought. Someday.

“I can never thank you enough. Your songs have brought me good fortune, and I’m sure some mob would have killed me by now were it not for you.”

Jaskier held on tighter. Geralt put an arm over his waist and buried his face in Jaskier’s neck, wishing they could stay this way forever.

“Geralt,” Jaskier murmured, the sound so quiet as to not break to quiet night. "There's no reason to thank me. It's the right thing to do. You may be a Witcher but...I know that deep down, you're human. Just a really tough, emotionally constipated human who can use magic, but still human."

Geralt hummed and kept his face hidden. He was becoming increasingly overwhelmed by just how much Jaskier cared about him, but he wasn’t able to start rambling about his emotions when Jaskier began to sing, softer now. Within no time, the Witcher was lulled to sleep, and the bard held him close. When the next time Geralt would be so physical was unpredictable, so singing him to sleep and pretending not to love the living hell out of him was all he could do for the time being. Perhaps, after tonight, he could sing Geralt to sleep more often, hold his hand or at least sit near enough to bring him comfort. Yes, Jaskier would like that. Anything for his Witcher.

#geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #geraskier fic #geraskier fanfic #geraskier drabble #geralt #jaskier #dandelion

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alma-berry · 5 years

Text

Kit’s Secret Fire Message # 19

Masterlist 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18

Kit stared at the crowded mess in front of him and sighed a long, heavy sigh.

Thirteen scared, dirty and starved looking kids huddled together, barely touching but obviously drawing comfort from one another. Most of them cried when Kit woke them up, even though he tried to be as gentle as he knew how. With Mina, Kit didn’t have to try and earn her trust.. it was more the other way around. As much as he loved her, he was rather wary of forming any attachments to her when she was firstborn. He didn’t know if Jem and Tessa would still want him after they realized how much work raising a child will be.. not that Kit was an authority on the matter. Tessa had children before, but that was over a hundred years ago, she could possibly forget the nightly crying and feeding routines, and the amount of attention an infant demanded of its surroundings. But they never gave him a reason to doubt their love, and Mina never gave him a chance to go a foot away from her as soon as one of them entered a room.

Now the small group was hiding behind Ty, who was evidently trying to hide how uncomfortable that made him feel. Kit studied him more carefully and wondered if anyone else would have noticed Ty’s discomfort. It was clear to him in the way his fingers trembled at his sides, the small crease between his thick eyebrows and how he bit his lower lip every few seconds.. but he kept his general expression almost completely blank. His eyes kept darting between the kids and the darkness that led outside the hall.

He’s still scared, he doesn’t trust himself after what happened. The realization sent cold anger through Kit’s blood. Ty didn’t feel comfortable in these social situations, but he tried with the Eidolon demon that disguised itself as one of the children. He put himself in a vulnerable position so he would be able to protect the child, and when he turned out to be a goddamned shapeshifter from hell, Ty probably felt helpless; stripped out of his own powers, his ability to see what others couldn’t or wouldn’t, to deduce the unimaginable. He was a fighter betrayed by his most trusted weapon.

And Kit helped it happen. He could have been the mediator, talk to the child who wasn’t even a child and maybe let Ty do what he did best - detect. But he couldn’t risk the chance that he wouldn’t.. it wasn’t just his life on the line, it was thirteen other children’s, and Ty’s. Ty’s, the one person who’s life mattered the most.

Kit could feel the demonic energy in the room like it was a thick cloud surrounding them. It was palpable and absolutely unknown to him. Kit was fighting demons on a regular basis for almost three years, yet he never had this physical awareness of them that he had as soon as they entered the cave.

He knew what it meant, but his anger and frustration resented him for lingering on the realization. His powers were growing, evolving.. and his erratic feelings probably only increased it.

Ty’s deceptively calm voice shook him out of his revery.

“We should split.”

“What?” Kit’s voice was louder than he meant it to be, and some of the kids jumped, startled by his violent reaction.

“We have to get going, it’s not safe here, and-“

“What does it have to do with splitting?” Kit interrupted before Ty could finish his sentence. He was still agitated by the tired, haunted look on Ty’s face and he couldn’t care less about scaring off these kids. Some distant part of him knew he wasn’t acting like himself, that this unmanageable fury was wildly misdirected. He was surrounded by terrified children that got snatched out of their beds, their families, some of them even taken from hospitals. They were in a really bad shape as it was, and Kit’s behavior was making it a hundred times worse. He imagined the weight of Mina’s tiny hand in his and schooled his expression into a controlled absence.

Ty didn’t let any sign that he noticed Kit’s odd outburst. He was still fighting his own tangled emotions.

“We can’t risk running into the demons when the Kids are with us. We have to split. You will take them back where we came from and I will find the demons and-“

“No.”

Kit’s voice broke no arguments. He made it as firm and authoritative as he could, mimicking the rare moments he got to witness Jace being the mature, strong head-of-the-institute that he was in front of others. There was no way he was letting Ty go alone and face whatever was out there. The place reeked of demons, and Kit could still faintly feel the pulse of that energy he felt around the Eidolon demon.

“Why not?” Ty cocked his head, suddenly aware of Kit’s rigid posture.

“I’m not leaving you to go and get slaughtered by-“

“Kit!” Ty gasped in shock and quickly pursed his mouth to a tight frown. “I’m not a child, I’m more than capable of fighting whatever is out there.”

His voice was calm, almost detached, but Kit wasn’t fooled for a second. His patience was wearing thin, but he willed his voice to convey more than the shattered fear that boiled inside his veins by the thought of Ty leaving him.

“Ty, I’m not saying you’re not capable of fighting. I know full well what you can do, and I have absolute faith in you.” He took a deep breath before continuing his words, knowing what they meant and what Ty will make of them. He promised himself to be honest with Ty, and though he couldn’t give him the entire truth at the moment, he could at least give him this.

“It’s not you that I don’t trust, it’s me. I don’t trust that I won’t run straight back to you and leave them alone halfway. I don’t trust that I will be able to see you walk away from me without knowing that I will see you again. I don’t trust myself, so there’s no fucking way I’m leaving your side until we’re out of here.”

He was panting so hard he could feel raw pain in his lungs. The sheer panic and rage of his emotions made his head dizzy, but he couldn’t take his eyes away from Ty’s. He was looking at him like he hit him in the gut, the naked intensity and bewilderment made Kit’s heart drop to a numbing silence.

Finally, he was able to look away. He felt ashamed of his weakness, but couldn’t find it in himself to regret his words. He glanced at the shocked ensemble of children in front of him and muttered “Uh.. sorry for using that word. I’m American, we don’t have that much of a filter.”

“Okay.”

Ty’s voice was barely a whisper, and Kit looked up to find him standing dangerously close to him. His anger evaporated like it was never there at all, and he couldn’t remember the mechanics of breathing as Ty took Kit’s hand in his. It was warm and strong, and the reassurance in his eyes told Kit everything his words didn’t. He wasn’t looking at him, but everything about him said that he understood. He understood enough to give Kit what he needed, and it was the promise that he will stay.

It was a cruel sort of joke, that Kit would be the one unwilling to let Ty leave when he himself left him so long ago. The thought burned a bitter taste in his tongue, but it hardly mattered, not while Kit felt the steady pulse of Ty’s heartbeat through their joined hands. He squeezed Ty’s hand once, acknowledging his gesture, and turned to face the mob of kids that were gaping at them with a mix of fear and incredulity.

“Let’s get the hell out of here”.

The silence was so profound Kit felt like screaming just to break it. It was unbearable, the collective heavy breathing of all the small bodies that surrounded him melted to a jagged hum in his veins that grew louder with every passing minute.

They moved in unison, trading worried looks and hasty hand gestures as they tried to find their way back into the main entrance. Kit had a bad feeling, everything about this place felt off and bone-chilling. But something about the long corridors and vast clearings felt too foreign, too risky to keep for long.

It was clear they made a mistake on one turn or the other, he could tell by the lack of creepy mannequins or historical artifacts. They went in deeper than they meant to, and Kit wanted to put his fist through the wall for forgetting to mark their way when they first entered the caves. He was supposed to be the one with the mundane knowledge, as he couldn’t really expect Ty to know Hansel and Gretel and their trail of breadcrumbs.

He was bringing up the rear at the long walk through the narrow hall when the temperature dropped imperceptibly. If the feeling wasn’t familiar, Kit wouldn’t probably have noticed it.. but as it was, he stopped walking and whispered a low “Stop” that easily carried through to Ty.

It was only a few seconds before Kit could see her.

A young woman had solidified into a barely visible white in front of him. He didn’t have to ask who she was, he read the stories about the young woman who got murdered on the caves centuries ago, and while the mere suggestion of ghosts was enough to exhilarate the swarm of tourists that regularly visited the place, he for once, wasn’t excited. He was sure they would have felt the same if they could have seen the sunken, broken cheeks on her bloody face.

When he came to think of it, Kit was surprised she was the first ghost to appear to him. This place was so ancient it was almost inevitable to find more than one soul that got trapped in the circumstances of its death. Something about that thought, and about the livid fear in the ghost’s half translucent eyes made Kit’s voice pressed and somber as he understood what she was about to tell him.

“You’re too late, I know..”

Her eyes were infinitely sad, and Kit could only guess for how many years she was trapped in this cold, suffocating purgatory, wandering amongst the oblivious strangers.. whispering her story to those who could never hear it.

He felt his heart soften and harden with a quiet desperation.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you, and I’m sorry that you’re here. Thank you for warning us, and I hope that you’ll be able to find peace.”

He could barely hear his own voice but knew she could. With a tight nod, she disappeared into the feral darkness right beyond the reach of his witchlight.

Kit braced himself for the questioning eyes of his silent companions and sought out Ty’s tall figure amongst the crowd.

“They’re here, probably in the next room. We’re out of time.”

Ty’s eyes didn’t waver from Kit’s collar bones. There was a cool calmness to him that reminded Kit that after all, he was a Shadowhunter through and through. No matter the countless differences between Ty and every other Shadowhunter Kit had ever met, the steel in his silvery eyes held him upright, and quieted the beating of Kit’s heart.

Ty didn’t bother to mention the ghost, he understood and probably felt no need to state the obvious. He only nodded, lost in his own thoughts.

“We have to figure out a way to keep them here, and safe” Kit whispered.

Something dark glinted in Ty’s eyes and scanned through Kit’s weapons belt, and then his own.

Kit held his breath, letting Ty figure out what was unraveling in his brilliant, beautiful mind. He needed Ty to know that he trusted him implicitly, that his earlier outburst was exactly what he said it was, and to repay him for staying by his side even though it made absolutely no sense.

Eventually, Ty straightened and whispered at Kit’s direction.

“I can make a Malachi Configuration. I know it would put us at a disadvantage for lack of weapons when we face the demons, but it’s the best option I can see. It would keep them safe, no demon will be able to touch the seraph blades. They will be safe until we’ll come to get them back.”

He was right, this was the best option they had. A Malachi Configuration will trap the children inside a cage and will stop them from running away as much as it would stop anyone else from entering it. Not even the other Shadowhunters could brake it, it would have to be the person who made it, to begin with.

Kit looked at Ty and thought about his earlier words, of how he planned to go and face the demons himself. It wasn’t something Ty would usually suggest because it was obviously a suicidal move. Ty was many things, brave and smart and far too kind for his own good, but he wasn’t self-sacrificing. Kit knew that it was only the encounter with the Eidolon demon that made him act this way, like he had to pay for his mistakes. No, this time, Kit will have to ensure Ty would come back.. because if he won’t there will be thirteen kids trapped in a seraphic mobile prison cell that Kit won’t know the first thing about how to brake. But that scenario wasn’t optional, not by a long-shot. Kit knew it wasn’t very Shadowhunter-y of him, they were an endangered species, after all.. but he couldn’t care less. He lost too much in his life to be able to entertain the thought of losing Ty.

Kit handed him two seraph blades, hilts first, and asked with a twisted smile “How many do you need?”

Kit explained to the small group of children what they were about to do, while Ty readied the Adamas made weapons in his hands. They had to do it quickly, for the sound of thrusting blades through the stone floor was bound to attract attention.. and if not that, then the chime-like sound symboling the lock of the configuration will probably do the trick. As soon as Kit got a firm and convincing promise from every single one of the children that they would not try to set a foot outside the lines he indicated, he stepped back and let Ty do his part.

At the first blade that speared the ground, Kit drew out another of the angel’s blades from his belt and whispered a name into the echoing thunder.

The noises grew louder on either side of the small passage, and he wished Ty would get it over with so they could leave this claustrophobic place.. he had no desire to fight off demons in a place so small. These corridors are made for scared, gullible tourists or secretive make-out sessions. He entertained the second thought for another moment of sweet, dazed sunlight until he realized the bright light in his eyes came from between the blades that marked the ground. With the sharp bell-like sound that indicated his work’s success, Ty turned to Kit. Sweat plastered the long bangs of his hair to his forehead, and Kit felt the tense throbbing of his heart, begging him for some kind of release.

Ty seemed to feel his tension and scanned him for any cause of his distress. When he found none, he searched his face for answers. Something must have given him away because Ty closed the small distance between them as if sensing Kit’s need for his closeness.

Kit stared at his boots, not daring to look up, but he didn’t step back. He knew he was endangering everything, everyone, by simply standing so close to Ty.. but he was so tired. Tired of keeping his distance, of trying to lock his feelings in a place they couldn’t hurt anybody but himself. Who was he kidding? He didn’t even manage to do that.. he wasn’t Will Herondale, and he didn’t want to be. He was Kit. He was the person Ty looked at with a violent blush in his cheeks and asked him to believe that he was the opposite of nothing to him. Kit knew what the opposite of nothing was, and even though it felt impossible to even imagine that he could be something to Ty, he couldn’t not feel the truth in it.

His heart was hammering thunderous beats as he reached a shaking hand and gripped the hem of Ty’s shirt, and pulled him closer.

They stood there, Kit still staring at their feet, barely an inch from touching. The softness of Ty’s breath on his forehead, the heat of his body, the smell of his sweat and skin and phantom touch pulsed through Kit like fire, threatening to bring him to his knees.

It took everything he had to walk away. Everything he was, every silent promise he ever made to his dead father, to his baby sister, to the damned endless night he had cursed for half his life, all sang through his unwilling ears. His legs were two leaded bricks, but he managed to take another step backward and breath the shattered remains of his desire.

He lifted his eyes cautiously, just to find them mirrored in Ty’s. He took him in, the white light that fell on his profile lit his sharp bones to an almost blinding outline of his features. Kit was mesmerized for a split second before he got swallowed by the darkness in Ty’s eyes. It held the same expression he knew his eyes must have had, all fire and loss and unbidden desperation. His lips parted by the force of Ty’s gaze, unwilling to release him.

It was the coiling crackle of a flame that finally broke them free. That, and the roaring sound of the crowd of demons headed straight their way.

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redrebecca · 5 years

Text

Effortlessly Endearing

You met at the Met Gala, where you saved his ass and he saved yours.

Warning(s): Just swearing

A/N: Hiya, so this is a little Met Gala fic that doesn’t have Hailey in, at all. I just thought it was a kinda cute idea so yeh. Feedback is always appreciated, have a nice day.

Words: 2.2k

“And breathe in.” The woman from behind you commanded. The fabric restricted around your torso as she expertly stitched the material of the dress so it clung to you like a second skin, accentuating the curve of your chest and hips.

You had initially said no to this. A list events such as the Met Gala were never considered fun by your standards, more of a pain in the ass – you would much preferred to stay in your bed, eating junk food until your heart was content. But no. Instead you were stuck in a small, stuffy room being gawked at by more people than you were comfortable with, your internal organs groaning in discomfort at the all-too-tight dress and you wouldn’t dare to think the amount of unimaginable pain your feet would be in after at least 4 hours of walking in those ridiculously high heels that were placed in the corner of the room. You swore your feet ached from just the sight of them.

“Done!” The seamstress exclaimed, the first bit of emotion she’d shown since arriving. You gladly stepped off the pedestal and into your slippers, humming as your toes were finally enveloped in warmth. Unfortunately, your little moment of bliss was interrupted as you were swiftly ushered towards the hair and makeup chair. Your manager scolded you as you accidentally let an annoyed groan slip out of your mouth.

Luckily, or unluckily – you were undecided – the hair and makeup team were extremely efficient. They applied countless amounts of product on your face and put so many bobby pins into your hair you could actually feel the weight of them, in record time. However during this, someone had parted you from your beloved slippers and replaced them with the dreaded heels.

“But they’re custom Louboutins!” Your manager had expressed her disbelief when you had complained about them when they arrived. Like you cared what they were, if you made it through the event without breaking something you would be happy.

Unfortunately for you she didn’t take your request of wearing trainers instead too kindly – in fact she stormed out of the room.

You arrived at the event, the familiar buzz heightened your senses as you took in the other celebrities in ostentatious outfits surrounding you.

“Okay so you know the plan?” Your assistant said.

You inhaled and exhaled calming your nerves. You’d done enough met galas that you should be able to do it in your sleep, but nerves still ate away at your composure.

“I’d much rather be at home.” You muttered, wondering how many of these other celebrities felt the same way and which ones craved the attention this served them on a silver platter.

“I know you would,” She pulled you into a hug, granted it wasn’t the smoothest as she had to be extremely careful around the intricate design of your gown, but it was comforting nonetheless.

“You’re an actress right?” She said with a small smile. You nodded. “Then if you need to act, act.” You shoved her lightly, a smile gracing your features at her teasing. “You got this.” She assured you before you turned to walk the red carpet into the huge building.

As soon as you entered through the doors, interviewers began doing whatever they could to attract your attention and the sound of camera clicks increased as paparazzi swivelled and turned their focus from the people they were photographing, to you in your eye catching dress.

Sure the process wasn’t great but the outcome was simply stunning. Everything from the daring neckline to the elegant train that graciously moved behind you, like a shadow following your every move, even the colour – a charcoal grey with flecks of silver that caught the light perfectly – made this one of your favourite dresses.

The raucous caused upon your arrival resulted in many heads turning your way. You straightened your posture and put on your award winning smile before walking over to the closest interviewer.

You felt as though you had been here, jumping from tedious interview to tedious interview, for a long time, but, according to your watch, you had been here for under an hour.

Great.

You sped through your interview, deciding it was probably time to walk the carpet – and the dreaded stairs. The sooner you got your hands on that drink at the after party, the better. You politely declined interviewers’ offers that were being shouted at you from every angle and made your way to the buzzing centre of the event.

Several of your past co-stars approached you to have a much needed catch up, granted, it was quick and rushed, but it was always nice to see them.

You walked with Zendaya as you turned towards the long stretch of cameras paparazzi and a sea of very expensive suits and dresses, one man in particular caught your eye. Shawn Mendes. You couldn’t recall seeing him last year, or the year before that. A newbie.

He was talking to Troye Sivan, who perfectly timed scanning the room – just as you looked at him – and pointed towards you, drawing the taller man beside him’s attention to you. You waved, causing the two to smile and wave back. You turned back to your conversation with the actress before she was called over to the side by her assistant, urging you to go on without her.

Your eyes quickly found the maroon suit again, but this time the bright red of Troye’s suit was no longer there. He looked almost lost, certainly unsure. However, you didn’t blame him, you had been to countless events before your first ever met gala but you’d still found it daunting. Your eyes involuntarily trailed down his broad figure before something caught your eye. Your eyes widened when they landed on his crotch area – and not for that reason. You inhaled sharply when you noticed the white that significantly contrasted with the darker tone of his suit. The idiot hadn’t zipped up his trousers.

You panicked, not sure what to do. Should you tell him? You cringed at the thought of approaching a rather attractive human being, who your only interaction with was a brief wave, and telling them that you were staring at their crotch? No thank you. You willed yourself to turn around, after all, it wasn’t your problem. But just as you were about to distract yourself with god knows what – you saw him begin to walk towards the paparazzi. Fuck it, you thought, rushing faster than you thought was physically possible in your heels towards the man who was about to make a huge mistake – whilst wondering how catastrophic yours would be.

You reached him just as he turned towards the first cluster of cameras. Purposefully not giving yourself enough time to overthink your actions you stepped inches away from him, shielding him, and his modesty, from the mob of shouting photographers behind you. His expression morphed into shock very quickly at your unexpected appearance.

“Hi.” You said, the awkwardness of the interaction already had you wanting to hide in your apartment for at least a week, and you hadn’t even addressed the crotch situation yet.

“Hi?” He replied with so much uncertainty it was phrased more like a question than a greeting. You winced. God why did I do this? You swatted those thoughts away. As embarrassing as this was, it was the right thing to do.

“Y/N it’s nice to finally meet you but I-” He started.

“Your fly is undone.” You blurted. You hoped that your foundation was thick enough to hide the deep blush that was unquestionably heating your cheeks.

His eyes widened like a deer in headlights before they quickly left yours so he could check for himself. You looked away to try and reduce the embarrassment, for him and you, only turning back when you heard the hum of the zipper.

His perfectly flushed cheeks had darkened to a shade that almost matched the colour of his tailored suit.

“Thank you so much I- oh my god can you imagine the headlines.” His breaths were becoming more and more shallow with every word he spoke.

“Hey don’t worry about it. Wardrobe malfunctions happen to the best of us.” You nudged his shoulder gently and a beautiful smile grew on his face. To your surprise, he wrapped you in a hug, at first you were worried about creasing your dress, but that thought was erased almost as fast as it had come when you realized just how strangely comforting his hold was.

However you were abruptly brought back to reality by the deafening sound of camera clicks. You pulled away despite everything in you wanting to stay wrapped in his ridiculously strong arms. It was difficult to miss the way his eyes raked down your figure – just like you had done to him – as he too took a polite step back.

“See you at the after party?” He opened and closed his mouth a few times before just settling with a nod. You smiled, your confidence levels thankfully replenishing after that… experience. You turned as attractively as you could to walk away, hoping to ‘flaunt it’ as your assistant would tell you. However when you went to move your foot, it stayed still and you went flying forwards. You closed your eyes and braced yourself for the impact. But instead, before you could physically harm yourself, two muscular arms looped around your front, hoisting you up and towards him, so your back was pressed securely against his chest.

“You okay?” He asked. You tried, and failed, to refrain from shivering as you felt his warm breath on the shell of your ear.

“Yep.” You squeaked, still recovering from your almost-fall. If you couldn’t even walk without falling on a flat surface, your chances with the stairs were not looking promising.

“Just stand still for me.” He said, slowly removing you from his arms, ensuring that you were able to stay upright. He leaned down and you inhaled when you felt his large hand gently wrap around your ankle. “You might wanna hold on for a second.” He said and you just managed to hear it over the chaos that meant a popular celebrity was arriving. Your eyebrows furrowed before you caught onto what he was suggesting. You reached down to hold onto his shoulder. When he felt the pressure of your hand, he lifted your foot up, his long fingers untangling the train of your dress from the heel of your Louboutins. Just as carefully as he had picked it up, he placed your foot back on the ground with so much attentiveness, you felt as though you could melt into a puddle right there and then. He didn’t remove his hand straight away, meaning that when he stood back up, his hand trailed dangerously far up your leg causing you to suck in a breath of air.

Shawn’s eyes had a sheepish glint to them as they connected with yours, as if he was unsure of whether he had crossed a boundary. You smiled gratefully “Thank you.” You murmured.

“We’re even now.” He said with a toothy smile, which subsequently made you grin back.

Around the two of you cameras continued to flash and the obnoxious people behind them shouted different orders at the stars who were posing for photos, trying to show off their best angles

“Hey, um do you have a date?” He asked, bringing your attention back to him. He scratched briefly at his neck, surprised at himself for being so audacious. His signs of nervousness made your heart beat a little faster – he somehow managed to go from having his hand on your thigh to being an absolute gentleman, and easily got away with it.

“No I don’.t” You responded. Not wanting to get your hopes up about the intention of his question. You were never that lucky.

“How about we make a deal? We do this together – you tell me if my zipper comes undone,” He quickly motioned to his crotch “And I will catch you when you trip on those stairs.” He finished, nodding towards the steps which you had been dreading since you had received the phone call about the event.

“What do you mean ‘when you trip’?” You said incredulously.

“Come on sweetheart, we both know you won’t make it up there in those,” he referred to your heels, playfully scrunching his nose up as he pointed dismissively at the designer stilettos. “Without at least one fall.” He finished, a wry smile on his lips.

You gasped dramatically, hoping to draw the attention away from your flushed cheeks which were a result of the nickname that slipped from his lips.

“So is that a yes?” He asked, a hint of insecurity seeping into his tone.

You nodded. “I would love to be your date, as long as you promise not to let me fall.” He grinned from ear to ear, your face no doubt mirroring his delighted expression.

“I promise.” He said honestly, extending his arm for you – which you gladly accepted.

You didn’t fall over once.

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes oneshots #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn x reader #shawn x you #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes x you

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bigilante · 5 years

Text

allies — chapter twelve : h.o :

warnings: cursing. word count: 3.2k

mob!au

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Deep breath in, lungs filled with air, chest puffing out when they expanded under the warm water of the pool as he submerged under the surface and swam to the opposite end of the long swimming pool, the chilly air outside moved the foliage of the trees that surrounded the property. The night sky turned dark gray with thick rain clouds that threatened to pour down any minute. The pool side was barely lit, as if he was sneaking around, only the cool lights from inside the pool shining through the water, the reflection hitting his face every time he poked his head out for some air after every lap. He felt his lungs burn, as well as his muscles. It must be his tenth maybe twelveth he wasn’t really counting them he just wanted to tire himself out so his head wouldn't drift back to Y/N’s story, to her face, cheeks stained with tears. He shook his head breathing in deeply again before pushing himself under water once more.

It was his fourteenth lap, she had been counting them, not on purpose but coincidentally she walked up to shut the window of her room at the same time he walked out to the pool, curiosity kept her clued to the window, her eyes following him back and forth as he moved from one end to the other over and over again. She was surprised at the amount of laps he was being able to do, she imagined that all the cigarettes she has seen him smoke since she met him would allow him to make maybe three laps before he was coughing his dying lungs out but he seemed to contradict the health statistics with the fifteenth round. Propped comfortably on the window seat she sighed heavily before getting up, closing the window followed by the curtains, her mind drifting to the expression on his face after she told him about her past, fully regretting everything she had said and done since she walked into his office looking for Tess that morning.

Her hands gripped the fabric of the long curtains, breathing deeply as her eyes sneaked one last glance down to the pool through the tiny slit where the both pieces of cloth met in the middle of the window frame, he was finally coming out of the pool, water dripping all over the floor. He ran his ten fingers through his wet hair, pushing it back out of his face, what little she could make up from the distance and the darkness through the small gap on the curtains. She watched his every move, spying on him like a creep but something inside her didn't allow her to step back, as if she was staring into the void, not blinking.

He turned around to pick a towel up from one of the sunbeds, bringing it up and dabbing his face to dry it, his head moving upward as though he was glancing up to her window, that's when Y/N jumped back and let a small gasp out, her stomach dropping a for a quick second as she flinched. With sweaty hands she smoothed out her silky pyjama top, turning around to walk back to the bed. Why was she doing that? Why did she felt the need to go back to the window and check if he was still there? None of that was common behaviour on her and she was mildly freaking out, trying hard to keep her head up above the surface of the raging ocean of unwelcome emotions that kept preventing her to maintain her head aloft the tall waves.

Over thinking took over her and made it hard to fall asleep yet again, this time the reluctance to face the next day, the embarrassment of seeing him look at her with those eyes that now held nothing but pity towards her. She'd rather him looking at her the way he did when they first met, with that arrogant smirk on his face whenever he pissed her off and not that glimmer that kept making her stomach sink a little. In efforts to make herself go to sleep she forced her brain to focus on how she felt after telling him, how much lighter her whole body felt, how a little tension on her shoulders was alleviated and that seemed to be enough to calm the over thinking down to finally rest.

The weather was abnormally warm since midday stroke, the lack of clouds in the sky allowed the sunshine to hit the whole garden making the pool look really nice, nicer than it ever looked. So Y/N closed her laptop and walked into the closet rummaging through the clothes she brought in hopes that she'll find something appropriate to wear out.

By the time she made it down to the pool there was a spread of drinks and fruit on the garden table next to the pool, an ashtray with a lit and fuming cigarette rested on it along with a case, lighter and a phone. She sighed in slight irritation at the sight of Harrison coming out of the pool house on the corner of her eye. Putting down the towel she was clutching over the poolside bed. Not paying attention that she had picked the one closest to where he was settled.

She sat down and distracted herself with her phone, sending Tom a picture of Tessa by the pool and the weather, 'Not too bad, huh?' he had replied immediately 'And when I'm there it's freezing. Great.' Which made her chuckle and shake her head, she really missed him, he was a lot at times but he was her brother. She let out a puff of air as she locked her phone and put it down beside her just in time for Harrison to pass in front of her, his bare feet padding on the concrete that surrounded the pool. She's never seen him up close out of his suits and to say that she was shocked by the sight was an understatement.

Bright red swimming trunks and a washed off black button up shirt with intricate designs all over it, his eyes were covered by sunglasses and his hair messily tossed back. She followed him with her head not so subtly, her eyes slowly scanning his back until he reached the table and turned around to sit down. Y/N quickly diverted her gaze to the clear sky, she got up from the bed and turned her back to him.

The moment he saw Tessa walk out of the house he knew she was coming but he didn't expect her to be out to the pool like he was. It didn't bother him in the slightest, it meant that she was feeling a little more comfortable around the house and that, in his book, was a small victory. He put his sunglasses back on and walked out of the pool house to go back to his seat, it was a really nice day and it's been days since he's been out of the house to catch some sun, since that time Tom dragged him outside with him and Y/N.

He sat down on the garden chair that faced her, when he moved his eyes to glance at her she was staring at the sky, her eyes squinting at the brightness then she got up, turning her back on him and pulling her hair up in a messy bun at the top of her head. Her fingers grasped the hem of the oversized white tee shirt she wore and pulled it off of her body. A black bikini covered little of her and he had to look around them to check if any of his men were wandering near them, she dropped the tee shirt on the floor and climbed on the bed again lying down with her eyes closed.

The way her body got kissed by the sun rays made him breathe heavily trying to be as subtle as possible, unable to focus on anything else but her. The cigarette he left half smoked was already consumed on the ashtray, the ice in his drink was all liquid now. He didn't notice a few of his men come out of the house and stand by the wall facing the pool as if guarding them. Tuwaine was the only one who made his way up to him, glancing between the girl and his boss biting back a smirk as he came closer to Harrison.

"The ships are off, everything was checked." He said as he plopped down on the seat in front of Harrison, completely blocking his view of the girl. Tuwaine grinned to himself when the blonde man's head tilted to one side to see her again before he straightened up and nodded reaching for his lukewarm drink to take a big gulp, grimacing at the taste of it. "You're getting out more." Tuwaine pointed out, "Breakfast at the dining table three days ago and now this," He signalled at the spread on the table.

"It's too hot to be inside." Harrison reached for his black leather cigarette case and lighter but hesitated, grabbing a piece of watermelon from the plate next to them instead and popping it in his mouth.

"Nah, I'll say it's hotter out here." Tuwaine leaned back on the garden chair and dared a glance over his shoulder.

"Hey!" Harrison barked, glaring at his friend over the rim of his dark glasses. The tallest man threw both hands in the air in surrender, wiping beads of seat off of his forehead with the heel of his left hand, letting out an airy chuckle. "If I catch any of you bastards staring you're all dead." Harrison warned with an accusing finger, quickly putting it down when he saw Y/N get up and step closer to them.

"Do you have any sun cream?"

"Yeah, in there." He pointed to the pool house, she followed his finger and nodded.

"Which part of it?" She rolled her eyes as she looked back at him.

"Should be in the bathroom cabinet, princess." Harrison elaborated, plopping his arm over the chairs armrest.

"Okay." Y/N turned to make her way to find the needed item, only then noticing the men propped against the wall of the house. She knew exactly how she looked and how little the two-piece covered, so she hurried her steps feeling extremely uncomfortable with all their preying gazes on her body. The blonde man also noticed them staring and how she quickened her pace to be inside the smaller house. He lowered his sunglasses again and glared at them, they were far but not enough to not catch on the deadly glare of their boss.

"Princess?" Tuwaine taunted after a few seconds of Harrison mentally beating up every guard that worked for him, Harrison didn't answer, he just readjusted his glasses as he reached again for his cigarettes but balled his fist midway and retrieved his hand fidgeting with his rings instead. "What's the deal with you, man?"

"What d'you mean?" Harrison's brows furrowed at his friend's question.

"All fidgety and shit? I've seen you reach for the cigs twice but you don't take them. The fuck?" Harrison's eyes looked elsewhere but at Tuwaine, even though he was wearing sunglasses he didn't dare to look him directly in the eyes.

"'M just trynna quit it." He mumbled somehow embarrassed of his decision. Tuwaine's brows shut up in surprise, he's always seen Harrison carry that bloody case and lighter with him since he first started to work with him, they've been friends before all of this but he never picked on how and when he started with the deadly vice.

"Just like that?" He's voice louder than he intended, Harrison straightened up in his chair and let out an exasperated sigh, "Man, I'm happy for you." Tuwaine offered a hand to his friend to shake. Harrison clasped it in his and squeezed it hard, nodding and allowing a slight smile to grace his lips, Tuwaine had been at his case ever since he found out about his nasty habit, always lecturing him whenever he saw him whip one out. "And what made you finally want to stop?" He let go of the man's hand and leaned back.

"Mum." The blonde said simply, shrugging one shoulder and focusing back on the girl coming back out.

"Uh-huh, sure. Mum." Tuwaine snickered getting up before Harrison could protest about his answer, "Should I tell them to bugger off or can they stay to enjoy the view?" He dared to joke, he was only messing with his friend, Tuwaine would never let those pricks cross the line with Y/N, or any woman really, but specially with her.

"Fuck off! All of you!" Harrison raised his voice, it echoed by the poolside and caught every man's attention along with the girl's, who stopped when she almost reached the bed she occupied, "Not you, love." He said lowly, Tuwaine gave him a taunting glance and walked away from the pool to join the rest of the men that were already walking back inside.

"They're animals." The girl grumbled stepping closer to the table near Harrison, "A brush of respect wouldn't hurt them, you know?" She crossed her arms over her middle.

"I do know." He acknowledged, watching her arch her brow expectantly "They're criminals, princess. Not gentlemen. Where do you think I dug them out? Boarding school?" Harrison emphasised in a neutral tone. He had his legs stretched out in front of him, she came to a stop near them while he spoke, her ankle brushing his.

"And you?" Y/N inquired, sitting down on the chair in front of him. Harrison stared at her, darting his tongue out to wet his lips.

"What about me?" The man replied, observing her bring her feet up on the chair's cushioned seat, her knees close to her chest.

"Are you just a criminal?"

"Hmm." He sat up straight, leaning forward and tilting his head to the side, his eyes looking at her over the brim of his specs, "I do my fair bit, I went to boarding school after all." He shrugged then slumped back again, his back flushed with the backrest of the garden chair. "But for some I'm just a criminal."

"Fair enough. As far as most are concerned you just get money and kill." She argued, but something about the exchange was different to their previous back and forths. No harshness or poison in their words could be detected, they were having a conversation without jumping at each other's necks.

"I don't kill, princes. I just give orders." He sighed, racking his fingers through his hair, "I don't get my hands dirty."

"You got your hands pretty filthy with Alex." She pointed out, Harrison scoffed, moving his tongue to the side to grace his back teeth with it before biting it down for a millisecond.

"What I mean is that I don't kill, angel." He said softly.

"Let's say... Someone hurts someone you love. Would you kill then?" She asked a little more seriously.

"That's unlikely to happen, but of course. Wouldn't you?" Both their minds went to the same place, the ones that had killed her mum, but only hers went somewhere else after that. To the cause of her losing her mum, the one person who hurt her mother and eventually got her killed. A dark place to go that even she got slightly uneasy with the thoughts. "Y/N?"

"Hmm?" She hummed, eyes a bit lost on his partially uncovered chest.

"You alright?"

She nodded her head yes and got up, "'M just gonna get back inside." She informed, turning around and readjusting her bikini bottoms with her index fingers, following the curve of her bum. The blonde man clenched his jaw, lifting a hand to cover his mouth as he pressed his lips together tightly and watched her put her top back on before she walked back into the house.

The contrast between the hot concrete of the path from the pool to the house and the cold marble tiles from inside the house was pleasant on the soles of her bare feet as she hurried past the living room a few steps away from the stairs. "Hey," A raspy voice that she hadn't heard in a while stopped her on the first step of the staircase.

"Hey,"

"Is everything alright?" He stopped right in front of her, his gorgeous green eyes staring right into hers. His tattooed hand came up to brush away a piece of stray hair that had fallen from the elastic band that held her hair up. She subtly threw her head back when his knuckles caressed her cheek, her eyes scanning his face quickly then moving over his shoulder to peek around the ground floor to see if anyone was watching.

"Do you need something?" She almost whispered, the little distance between them was making her a tad uncomfortable so she hopped up on the next step.

"Uh... No." James answered slowly, trying to read her, "I was just—." He tried but he was cut out mid sentence.

"Don't you have a fucking job to do?" Tuwaine's deep voice echoed throughout the large room, he was standing by the beginning of the hallway that guided to Harrison's office, shoulder propped against the wall and arms folded over his chest, a hard glare shooting daggers at the man. She saw James' jaw tighten, he inhaled deeply through his nose as he stepped back and turned to walk to the foyer, then she heard the front door open and close. "Miss?" Tuwaine spoke softer this time.

"Yeah?"

"Don't let 'im get too comfortable."

"Okay." She whispered with a distant nod before she climbed the rest of the stairs and entered her room, leaving the door ajar for Tessa to come in whenever she wanted. Y/N let herself plop down on the bed, running her hands over her face and letting out a heavy sigh. As much as she didn't like Harrison he had never made her uncomfortable like James did in that moment, maybe because Harrison has never approached her like that, the moments that they've been close have been prudent, innocent. But something in the way James got close to her made her heart beat fast in an unpleasant way. A soft knock made her turn her head to the door to see Harrison's head peek inside.

"You left your phone." He lifted the device for her to see. "Harry rang you." He noted when she got up and walked towards him.

"What did he want?" She asked, taking the phone from Harrison's hand staying put where she had stopped, right in front of him, the door half opened, little space between them.

"I don't know. I didn't answer." His casual stand on the threshold of her room, arm propped against the doorframe positioned him so close to her that he swallowed imperceptibly. Her gorgeous eyes looking up at him sort of disappointingly.

"Oh. Okay, thanks." The girl looked down when Tess squeezed between their legs to enter the room, moving a step back so she could pass freely. Harrison nodded as he backed away from her and walked the few steps towards his own bedroom, closing the door behind him without looking back. The stupid fluttering made it's way back into her stomach then crawled to her chest, harsh thuds that made it hard to hear her phone ringing, if it wasn't for the vibrations of the device clutched in her hand she would have stood there staring at his shut door for a lot longer than she would like to admit.

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hdsflowergarden · 4 years

Text

“The Wise Sappho”, H.D.

“Little, but all roses” is the dictate of the Alexandrine poet, yet I am inclined to disagree. I would not bring roses, nor yet the great shaft of scarlet lilies. I would bring orange blossoms, implacable flowerings made to seduce the sense when every other means has failed, poignard that glints, fresh sharpened steel: after the red heart, red lilies, impassioned roses are dead.

“Little, but all roses”—true there is a tint of rich colour (invariably we find it), violets, purple woof of cloth, scarlet garments, dyed fastening of a sandal, the lurid, crushed and perished hyacinth, stains on cloth and flesh and parchment.

There is gold too. Was it a gold rose the poet meant? But the gold of a girl-child’s head, the gold of an embroidered garment hem, the rare gold of sea-grass or meadow-pulse does not seem to evoke in our thought the vision of roses, heavy in a scented garden.

“Little, but all roses.” I think, though the stains are deep on the red and scarlet cushions, on the flaming cloak of love, it is not warmth we look for in these poems, not fire nor sun- light, not heat in the ordinary sense, diffused, and comforting (nor is it light, day or dawn or light of sun-setting), but another element containing all these, magnetic, vibrant; not the lightning as it falls from the thunder cloud, yet lightning in a sense: white, unhuman element, containing fire and light and warmth, yet in its essence differing from all these, as if the brittle crescent-moon gave heat to us, or some splendid scintillating star turned warm suddenly in our hand like a jewel, sent by the beloved.

I think of the words of Sappho as these colours, or states rather, transcending colour yet containing (as great heat the compass of the spectrum) all colour. And perhaps the most obvious is this rose colour, merging to richer shades of scarlet, purple or Phoenician purple. To the superficial lover—truly—roses!

Yet not all roses—not roses at all, not orange blossoms even, but reading deeper we are inclined to visualize these broken sentences and unfinished rhythms as rocks—perfect rock shelves and layers of rock between which flow- ers by some chance may grow but which endure when the staunch blossoms have perished.

Not flowers at all, but an island with innumerable, tiny, irregular bays and fjords and little straits between which the sun lies clear (fragments cut from a perfect mirror of iridescent polished silver or of the bronze reflecting richer tints) or breaks, wave upon destructive passionate wave.

Not roses, but an island, a country, a continent, a planet, a world of emotion, differing entirely from any present day imaginable world of emotion; a world of emotion that could only be imagined. by the greatest of her own countrymen in the greatest period of that country’s glamour, who themselves confessed her beyond their reach, beyond their song, not a woman, not a goddess even, but a song or the spirit of a song.

A song, a spirit, a white star that moves across the heaven to mark the end of a world epoch or to presage some coming glory.

Yet she is embodied—terribly a human being, a woman, a personality as the most impersonal become when they confront their fellow beings.

The under-lip curls out in the white face, she has twisted her two eyes unevenly, the brows break the perfect line of the white forehead, her expression is not exactly sinister (sinister and dead), the spark of mockery beneath the half-closed lids is rather living destructive irony.

“What country girl bewitches your heart who knows not how to draw her skirt about her ankles?”

Aristocratic—indifferent—full of caprice—full of imperfection—intolerant.

High in the mountains, the wind may break the trees, as love the lover, but this was before the days of Theocritus, before the destructive Athenian satyric drama—we hear no praise of country girls nor mountain goats. This woman has still the flawless tradition to maintain.

Her bitterness was on the whole the bitterness of the sweat of Eros. Had she burned to destroy she had spent her flawless talent to destroy custom and mob-thought with serpent-tongue before the great Athenian era.

Black and burnt are the cheeks of the girl of the late Sicilian Theocritus, for says he, black is the hyacinth and the myrtle-berry.

But Sappho has no praise for mountain girls. She protrudes a little her under-lip, twists her eyes, screws her face out of proportion as she searches for the most telling phrase; this girl who bewitches you, my friend, does not even know how to draw her skirts about her feet.

Sophisticated, ironical, bitter jeer. Not her hands, her feet, her hair, or her features resemble in any way those of the country-bred among the thickets; not her garments even, are ill-fitting or ill-cut, but her manners, her gestures are crude, the bitterest of all destructive gibes of one sensitive woman at the favourite of another, sensitive, high-strung, autocratic as herself.

The gods, it is true, Aphrodite, Hermes, Ares, Hephaistos, Adonis, beloved of the mother of loves, the Graces, Zeus himself, Eros in all his attributes, great, potent, the Muses, mythical being and half-god, the Kyprian again and again are mentioned in these poems but at the end, it is for the strange almost petulant little phrases that we value this woman, this cry (against some simple unknown girl) of skirts and ankles we might think unnecessarily petty, yet are pleased in the thinking of it, or else the outbreak against her own intimate companions brings her nearer our own over-sophisticated, nerve-wracked era: “The people I help most are the most unkind,” “O you forget me” or “You love someone better,” “You are nothing to me,” nervous, trivial tirades. Or we have in sweet- ened mood so simple a phrase “I sing”—not to please any god, goddess, creed or votary of religious rite—I sing not even in abstract con- templation, trance-like, remote from life, to please myself, but says this most delightful and friendly woman, “I sing and I sing beautifully like this, in order to please my friends—my girl-friends.”

We have no definite portraits from her hands of these young women of Mitylene. They are left to our imagination, though only the most ardent heart, the most intense spirit and the most wary and subtle intellect can hope even in moments of ardent imagination, to fill in these broken couplets. One reads simply this “My darling,” or again “You burn me.” To a bride’s lover she says, “Ah there never was a girl like her.” She speaks of the light spread across a lovely face, of the garment wrapped about a lovely body; she addresses by name two of these young women comparing one to another’s disadvantage (though even here she temporizes her judgment with an endearing adjective), “Mnasidika is more shapely than tender Gyrinno.” We hear of Eranna too. “Eranna, there never was a girl more spiteful than you.”

Another girl she praises, not for beauty. Though they stand among tall spotted lilies and the cup of jacynth and the Lesbian iris, she yet extolls beyond Kypris and the feet of Eros, wisdom. “Ah,” she says of this one, beloved for another beauty than that of perfect waist and throat and close-bound cap of hair and level brows, “I think no girl can ever stand beneath the sun or ever will again and be as wise as you are”.

Wisdom—this is all we know of the girl, that though she stood in the heavy Graeco- Asiatic sunlight, the wind from Asia, heavy with ardent myrrh and Persian spices, was yet tempered with a Western gale, bearing in its strength and its salt sting, the image of another, tall, with eyes shadowed by the helmet rim, the goddess, indomitable.

This is her strength—Sappho of Mitylene was a Greek. And in all her ecstasies, her burnings, her Asiatic riot of colour, her cry to that Phoenician deity, “Adonis, Adonis—” her phrases, so simple yet in any but her hands in danger of overpowering sensuousness, her touches of Oriental realism, “purple napkins” and “soft cushions” are yet tempered, moderated by a craft never surpassed in literature. The beauty of Aphrodite it is true is the constant, reiterated subject of her singing. But she is called by a late scholiast who knew more of her than we can hope to learn from these brief fragments, “The Wise Sappho.”

We need the testimony of no Alexandrian or late Roman scholiast to assure us of the artistic wisdom, the scientific precision of metre and musical notation, the finely tempered intellect of this woman. Yet for all her artistic moderation, what is the personal, the emotional quality of her wisdom? This woman whom love paralysed till she seemed to herself a dead body yet burnt, as the desert grass is burnt, white by the desert heat; she who trembled and was sick and sweated at the mere presence of another, a person, doubtless of charm, of grace, but of no extraordinary gifts perhaps of mind or feature—was she moderate, was she wise? Savonarola standing in the courtyard of the Medici (some two thousand years later) proclaimed her openly to the assembled youthful laity and priests of Florence—a devil.

If moderation is wisdom, if constancy in love is wisdom, was she wise? We read even in these few existing fragments, name upon curious, exotic, fragrant name: Atthis— Andromeda — Mnasidika — Eranna— Gyrinno—more, many more than these tradition tells were praised in the lost fragments. The name of muse and goddess and of human woman merge, interspersed among these verses. “Niobe and Leda were friends—” it is a simple statement—for the moment, Niobe and Leda are nearer, more human, than the Atthis, the Eranna who strike and burn and break like Love himself.

The wise Sappho! She was wise, emotionally wise, we suspect with wisdom of simplicity, the blindness of genius. She constructed from the simple gesture of a half-grown awkward girl, a being, a companion, an equal. She imagined, for a moment, as the white bird wrinkled a pink foot, clutching to obtain balance at the too smooth ivory of the wrist of the same Atthis, that Atthis had a mind, that Atthis was a goddess. Because the sun made a momentary circlet of strange rust-coloured hair, she saw in all her fragrance, Aphrodite, violet-crowned, or better still a sister, a muse, one of the violet wreathing. She imagined because the girl’s shoulders seemed almost too fragile, too frail, to support the vest- ment, dragging a little heavily because of the gold-binding, that the same shoulders were the shoulders of a being, an almost disembodied spirit. She constructed perfect and flawless (as in her verse, she carved from current Aeolic dialect, immortal phrases) the whole, the perfection, the undying spirit of goddess, muse or sacred being from the simple grace of some tall, half- developed girl. The very skies open, were opened by these light fingers, fluffing out the under- feathers of the pigeon’s throat. Then the wise Sappho clamours aloud against that bitter, bitter creature, Eros, who has once more betrayed her. “Ah, Atthis, you hate even to think of me—you have gone to Andromeda.”

I love to think of Atthis and Andromeda curled on a sun-baked marble bench like the familiar Tanagra group, talking it over. What did they say? What did they think? Doubtless, they thought little or nothing and said much.

There is another girl, a little girl. Her name is Cleis. It is reported that the mother of Sappho was named Cleis. It is said that Sappho had a daughter whom she called Cleis.

Cleis was golden. No doubt Cleis was perfect. Cleis was a beautiful baby, looking exactly like a yellow flower (so her mother tells us). She was so extraordinarily beautiful, Lydia had nothing so sweet, so spiced; greatness, wealth, power, nothing in all Lydia could be exchanged for Cleis.

So in the realm of the living, we know there was a Cleis. I see her heaping shells, purple and rose-edged, stained here and there with saffron colours, shells from Adriatic waters heaped in her own little painted bowl and poured out again and gathered up only to be spilt once more across the sands. We have seen Atthis of yester-year; Andromeda of “fair requital,” Mnasidika with provoking length of over-shapely limbs; Gyrinno, loved for some appealing gesture or strange resonance of voice or skill of finger-tips, though failing in the essential and more obvious qualities of beauty; Eranna with lips curved contemptuously over slightly irregular though white and perfect teeth; angry Eranna who refused everyone and bound white violets only for the straight hair she herself braided with precision and cruel self-torturing neatness about her own head. We know of Gorgo, over-riotous, too heavy, with special intoxicating sweetness, but exhausting, a girl to weary of, no companion, her over-soft curves presaging early development of heavy womanhood.

Among the living there are these and others. Timas, dead among the living, lying with lily wreath and funeral torch, a golden little bride, lives though sleeping more poignantly even than the famous Graeco-Egyptian beauty the poet’s brother married at Naucratis. Rhodope, a name redolent, (even though we may no longer read the tribute of the bridegroom’s sister) of the heavy out-curling, over-lapping petals of the peerless flower.

Little—not little—but all, all roses! So at the last, we are forced to accept the often quoted tribute of Meleager, late Alexandrian, half Jew, half Grecian poet. Little but all roses! True, Sappho has become for us a name, an abstraction as well as a pseudonym for poignant human feeling, she is indeed rocks set in a blue sea, she is the sea itself, breaking and tortured and torturing, but never broken. She is the island of artistic perfection where the lover of ancient beauty (shipwrecked in the modern world) may yet find foothold and take breath and gain courage for new adventures and dream of yet unexplored continents and realms of future artistic achievement. She is the wise Sappho.

Plato, poet and philosopher in the most formidable period of Athenian culture, look- ing back some centuries toward Mitylene, having perspective and a rare standard of comparison, too, speaks of this woman as among the wise.

You were the morning star among the living (the young Plato, poet and Athenian, wrote of a friend he had lost), you were the morning star before you died; now you are “as Hesperus, giving new splendour to the dead.” Plato lives as a poet, as a lover, though the Republic seems but a ponderous tome and the mysteries of the Dialogues verge often on the didactic and artificial. So Sappho must live, roses, but many roses, for tradition has set flower upon flower about her name and would continue to do so though her last line were lost.

Perhaps to Meleager, having access to the numberless scrolls of Alexandria, there seemed “but little” though to us, in a cheerless and more barren age, there seems much. Legend upon legend has grown up, adding curious documents to each precious fragment; the history of the preservation of each line in itself a most fascinating and bewildering romance.

Courtesan and woman of fashion were rebuked at one time for not knowing “even the works of Sappho.” Sophocles cried out in de- spair before some inimitable couplet, “gods— what impassioned heart and longing made this rhythm.” The Roman Emperor, weary to death, left his wreathed drinking cup and said, “It is worth living yet to hear another of this woman’s songs.” Catullus, impassioned lyrist, left off recounting the imperfections of his Lesbia to enter a fair paradisal world, to forge silver Latin from imperishable Greek, to mar- vel at the praises of this perfect lover who needed no interim of hatred to repossess the loved one. Monk and scholar, grey recluse of Byzantium or Roman or medieval monastery, flamed to new birth of intellectual passion at discovery of some fatal relic until the Vatican itself was moved and deemed this woman fit rival to the seductions of another Poet and destroyed her verses.

The roses Meleager saw as “little” have become in the history not only of literature but of nations (Greece and Rome and mediaeval town and Tuscan city) a great power, roses, but many, many roses, each fragment witness to the love of some scholar or hectic antiquary searching to find a precious inch of palimpsest among the funereal glories of the sand-strewn Pharaohs.

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dragon-zena · 5 years

Text

all your troubles in my hair

Fandom: Mob Psycho 100

Relationship: Serizawa Katsuya/Reigen Arataka

Characters: Serizawa Katsuya, Reigen Arataka, Kageyama “Mob” Shigeo, Kageyama Ritsu, Kageyama Siblings’ Parents, Dimple

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, reigen has horrible coping mechanisms: the fic, Spoilers for Chapter 100, OVA spoilers, Anxiety, Depression, Therapy

Summary: Neither of them are naïve enough to believe that love is meant to solve all of their internalized issues.

Read it on AO3!

Neither of them are naïve enough to believe that love is meant to solve all of their internalized issues.

They both have bad days; it's not something that really comes to a surprise to Katsuya, especially after months of being together.

Katsuya has days where he feels like he's been in a loop, a dream that he'll wake up from, still stuck in his childhood bedroom. Sometimes, he smells the trash, the dirty laundry. He sits up in bed, and there's nothing but white noise under his skin, roaring in his ears. Days where he wants to lock himself in the bathroom, hands shaking.

As time goes on, he has less and less of these days, but even still, sometimes he'll be riding the train with Arataka, towards an apartment that they share more often than not, and he'll look out of the window, admiring just how bright the moon is. And then he'll look at Arataka, leaning into his side with an old newspaper, and he'll watch those long eyelashes flutter as he skims each page, right to left, and there is a small flicker of fear within him—the thought that he might lose experiences like these, again, someday.

And while he's honest about his feelings, sometimes—ironically enough—he just wants to lock them up in a room and throw away the key. When the nights are harder to sleep through, nightmares chasing him into wakefulness, Katsuya almost feels frustrated, angry.

Arataka notices (he always notices), and Katsuya can't ever decide if he wants his boyfriend to ask about whether he wants to talk, or if he would rather be left alone. Whatever he chooses always feels like the wrong answer. He doesn't know if there is a right answer, not after days where he lies in bed feeling awful about a comment made with more snark than usual, or days where he can't make himself speak, at all, days where only the wrong things come out of his mouth. Arataka never takes it personally, but it fills Katsuya with inexplicable vitriol.

He's been working on all of it, having found a therapist that actually understands him after years of having to interact with therapists that he felt never gave a shit about him. He's started to categorize his days, coping by journaling his moods and triggers, what makes him feel this way. What makes him feel better, what feels safe for him. It helps.

Arataka doesn’t have a therapist, doesn’t think that he needs one. It’s something that used to bother Katsuya, the thought that maybe Arataka thought that only certain people needed a therapist—that maybe he thought he was too good for one. But the longer that he experiences loving him, the more he realizes that the man is doing his damnedest to just internalize his issues and move on as though they don't exist. Katsuya thinks that maybe Arataka feels as though if he ignores his problems, he’ll be more credible to the people that need his help. If he ignores his problems, he won’t take up space and resources from people that “deserve it” more than he does.

If he ignores his problems, he’ll still be useful to someone, his accomplishments won’t be stripped away by whatever makes him wake up in cold sweats, whatever makes his face twitch minutely out of its normal placid expression, gone so fast that a stranger might think that they imagined it.

Katsuya is no stranger.

He can see it whenever Arataka gets too caught up in his newspaper on the train home, the way that he tenses up when Katsuya stands to get off, expecting him to follow. The way that Arataka suddenly jumps at the movement, quickly snatching one of Katsuya’s sleeves with wide, faraway eyes. The way that he can’t seem to settle when he’s without something to read, nothing to keep his mind off of the rattling of the train, the screech of the vehicle coming to a stop, the train cabin being thrown into darkness as they pass through a tunnel or under a bridge. The way that he’s always the last person to board the train and the first person off. The way he refuses to fall asleep, even when Katsuya offers him his shoulder.

He sees it in the aftermath of Shigeo’s last explosion. The two of them had waited with Shigeo and Dimple until his parents came to get him. Ritsu had reached them first, of course, and was promptly pulled into a hug by his older brother. The two of them let themselves feel for a few minutes, and Dimple hadn’t been too keen on leaving the two of them alone for a while, settling himself on top of Shigeo’s head like a languid cat. He was looking a little worse for wear, himself, small and a paler green than what he was before he disappeared.

Once the Kageyama parents arrived, Arataka had pushed himself up from his haphazard crouch, using Katsuya as a crutch and biting the inside of his cheek to stifle any pained sounds he made. He smiled genuinely, eyes glassy, and conversed quietly and respectfully with Shigeo’s parents, holding their children so closely. Returned their gratitude for the opportunity to know Shigeo when they had thanked him for looking after their son. Dimple had given Katsuya a significant look over Shigeo’s head when Arataka’s voice cracked, and he had nodded, eyebrows knitting together. When Shigeo had pulled Arataka into a hug before leaving, the man looked prepared to cry, again, and when Katsuya had lifted his young friend into a bear hug, telling him that he was so glad that he was safe, that he had come to a conclusion that made him feel at peace with himself, Shigeo had nodded, clutching him tighter, but he, too, had subtly asked Katsuya to look over his shishou. And Katsuya had nodded again, ruffling his hair and watching as he walked away with his parents.

It left Katsuya and Arataka alone. Not that it mattered, because the moment that the Kageyama car disappeared, Arataka had collapsed to his knees, wheezing in pain. Eyes bleary, he managed a raspy “I can’t afford any hospital bills, right now” before passing out, eyes rolling back into his head. Katsuya only panicked a little, hurriedly bundling him up in his arms and beginning to make his way back from whence the two of them came. With Arataka unconscious, buried in Katsuya’s arms, he had been able to start digesting what happened once he had let the other man walk into Shigeo’s tornado. He thought about how dangerous (and brave, but mainly dangerous) the choice Arataka made was, how quickly he had lost sight of him in the cycle of dusty wind and debris. He thought about what Arataka had planned to leave behind.

The suit jacket. The dress shoes.

They never discuss it fully, not for lack of trying. It’s just, well.

Arataka throws himself into his work, deflecting “personal problems” when they’re working, invested strictly into his mask of professionalism, even when there are no clients. The first time Katsuya tried to push him into talking about his emotions, the man began to talk circles around him, so quickly and with so much anxious fervor that Katsuya ended up at a loss of words, mind swimming. It only occurred to him later that Arataka had told him practically nothing, and he tried not to get frustrated about it. Katsuya subtly asks him about getting help and acknowledging his feelings multiple times, but the only other time that he pressed Arataka led to an argument that lasted for at least a week before they apologized to each other, and by then, it seemed as though the man had developed at least five more different coping mechanisms, none of them even remotely helpful. His sleep schedule has become absolutely ridiculous, and sometimes Katsuya sees his hands twitch for the emergency cigarettes that he keeps in the bottom drawer of his desk. He never goes for it, but he lately seems stressed enough to cave more sooner than later.

Sometimes, Arataka just parks himself next to Katsuya, back straight. He’s not close enough to comfortably reach for, but he’s there.

Tonight is one of those nights. It's Friday, and Katsuya can count on his hands the number of hours of sleep that Arataka has gotten throughout the entire week. Not only that, but something must have been happening to make almost every client that entered Spirits & Such unnecessarily hostile. At some point earlier, his boyfriend had attempted to call Shigeo, ask him if he wanted to come with them for "ramen or something, it’s up to you, really, Mob," but Shigeo had already made other plans. Arataka said that he hadn’t minded, and he probably didn’t, committed to the concept of “not distorting” anyone else with his presence. Even still, his smile seemed a little tighter after hanging up, informing Katsuya that it would just be them, tonight.

Arataka sits stiffly on the other side of the couch, and Katsuya acts like he’s not watching him through his peripheral while working on his math homework. He doesn’t know when he’s going to use this. Remembering Arataka’s frequent complaints about math, he opens his mouth to tell this to him, hoping to make the silence a little less unbearable. But the sight before him makes him pause, words caught in his throat.

His boyfriend is crying silent tears, lips pursed, eyebrows furrowed, nose crinkled. He makes no move to wipe his face, and Katsuya doesn’t think that he notices that he’s been caught until he moves a little closer, making him jump, head swiveling to stare at Katsuya. They both grimace at each other, an understanding passing between them, despite Arataka’s clear embarrassment at being caught crying.

“Arataka,” Katsuya breathes out, scooting a little closer to his boyfriend and cupping his face into his hands, thumbs doing their best to wipe away tears that don’t appear to be stopping anytime soon. “What do you need?”

Arataka curls in on himself, averting his eyes away from Katsuya’s worried face. He sniffs as though trying to suck the tears and snot back up, and Katsuya tries not to wince, heart clenching.

Arms wrapped around himself, Arataka admits, voice quavering, “I think I need help.”

It’s quiet, small and brittle, but it’s there. Katsuya pulls his lover into his arms, presses his head gently into the junction of his shoulder and neck, kisses his temple sweetly. “I’ll help you,” he says. “We can help each other.”

Arataka says nothing, but he presses a little harder into Katsuya. It's not long before the man falls asleep, exhausted. Katsuya kisses the crown of his head, buries his nose into coarse brown strands.

Neither of them are naïve enough to believe that love will solve all of their internalized issues, but Katsuya watches Arataka sleep, and he thinks, warmth blooming in his chest, "Thank god we have each other." It doesn’t take long for him to follow Arataka’s lead.

#mob psycho 100 #mp100 #serirei #serizawa katsuya #reigen arataka #my writing #gurgles #i amn just a little projector...i canmot chang this

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serenlyss · 5 years

Text

Mob Psycho Fic Recs Part 2!

So I keep a running tag on my bookmarks in AO3 with my favorite mp100 fics on it, and now that I have a bunch more it’s time for part 2! Like last time I’ll be including my personal thoughts on them and why I think they’re so good. If you notice your fic on this list and want me to tag your tumblr, let me know!

Effusive Author: Yuu-chi Rating: T Archive Warnings: None Completion Status: Complete Tags: serirei, slice of life, character study, relationship study Summary: In the quiet corners of his mind, Reigen cannot help but be unbearably smug. He thinks of Sakurai’s disapproving expression, and the too-careful way he’d said goodbye to Serizawa at the door. He can just imagine how the other former Claw members are going to react when they find out. Serves you all right, Reigen thinks, fingers tangled in the knot of Serizawa’s tie. None of you seem to really understand him at all. My Notes: Sakurai warns Reigen not to push Serizawa too hard or manipulate them, but Reigen knows that Serizawa isn’t as childish or dumb as they think he is. It’s very sweet and both Reigen and Serizawa are well-written and in character.

Through Hardships to the Stars Author: BeyondTheClouds777 Rating: T Archive Warnings: None Completion Status: In Progress Tags: no romance, brotherly affection, protective kageyama brothers, canon divergence, hurt/comfort, dad reigen, injury, healing, protective reigen Summary: Shigeo and Ritsu have been on the run for most of their lives, and Claw has never failed to be right behind them. For as long as they can remember, running is all they've ever known. It's all they've ever done. But then, they stumble into the life of Reigen Arataka, and maybe, just maybe, the time has finally come for them to stop running. My Notes: This fic is just... so good. Ritsu and Shigeo protecting each other from harm is simultaneously heartwarming and heartbreaking, and the writer is so good at creating both tension and moments of levity that let you rest for a bit. Reigen is fantastic in this fic so far despite only being in a few chapters so far, but he’s already proving to be one of the best parts of the fic.

Ostensible Author: CScarlet Rating: T Archive Warnings: Major Character Death Completion Status: Complete Tags: ritshou, character death (or is it?), blood, swearing, panic attacks, angst, psychic violence, corpses Summary: Shou is already searching for Ritsu’s hand with his own. He moves slowly, arm raising in a sluggish arc, like a newborn kitten, blind and unable to control its gait. His complete trust is written all over that poor motion, and Suzuki’s overly sure that Ritsu is going to take his hand. But the thing is, Ritsu can’t. My Notes: This fic threw me for such an emotional loop. It’s extremely well-written and ominous, with a very distinctive and mysterious feel to it. The whole thing is super atmospheric and has maybe one of the most jarring and impactful twists/realizations I’ve ever seen in fanfiction, and once I realized it it made me grin like a madwoman despite the dark atmosphere and content. One of my all-time favorite mp100 fics.

Milk Doesn’t Taste the Same Anymore, Does it? Author: Nyomio Rating: T Archive Warnings: None Completion Status: Complete Tags: fluff and angst, happy ending, post-mogami arc, fallout & recovery, transitioning back to normal, swearing Summary: Ritsu knows something is wrong. He feels it before he can even see it. Reigen knows something is wrong without even needing psychic powers. It's all in the body language. Teru doesn't know what's wrong, but he can feel it in the air and in the motions his friend makes. Dimple knew something would be wrong as soon as they left Mogami's hellish world - the question was just how bad it would be. None of them know how to solve it, but they sure as hell were going to find out. After all, if something was bothering Mob - their student, brother, best friend, partner - well, it was bothering them, too. They were going to help. After all, Mob had helped all of them just so much - and Mob was going to learn to accept help back. After all, what goes around comes around, and Mob was overdue for some help of his own. My Notes: This is a really sweet recovery fic focusing on Mob’s trauma post-mogami arc and how it affects him in the days and weeks afterward. It’s overall fairly light-hearted despite the subject matter and has a heavy focus on how much Mob’s friends/family care about him, which is always nice to read.

Permanency Author: Aerugonian Rating: T Archive Warnings: None Completion Status: In Progress Tags: serirei, canon divergence, dad reigen, reigen as teru’s dad, canon divergence, referenced child abuse/neglect, found family, swearing, slow burn Summary: Reigen never planned on having kids. His relationships have always been short and shallow, he doesn't really care for the idea of marriage (except for the tax breaks), and that's without even considering his lack of interest in women. Reigen can barely take care of himself half the time. The point is, he’d make a terrible parent. Letting Teruki stay on his spare futon after the kid’s apartment was destroyed during the Claw attack was an impulse decision. Reigen never had any illusions that he was a good guy, but he wasn’t such an asshole that he’d let a fourteen-year-old stay on the streets alone. They'd find Teru's parents any day now, and everything would go back to normal. Teru's lack of concern over their whereabouts was weird, but surely no parent in their right mind would ever leave their kid on his own without even a phone call to let him know they were alive. Right? My Notes: If you’re a fan of dad Reigen or Teru as Reigen’s adopted son/ward, this is the fic for you. It’s cute, tender, sweet and just a little heartbreaking, focusing on Teru’s estrangement from his parents and the way Reigen becomes privy to that information after the world domination arc. I really love the way Reigen is written in this fic as a guy who really isn’t cut out to be a father but finds himself unable to say no when Teru needs his help, I think it’s very in character and makes for a really fun and interesting dynamic between them.

Five Second Rule Author: SpiritusRex Rating: G Archive Warnings: Unspecified (no alarming content) Completion Status: Complete Tags: angst, family, time travel, bad decisions, hurt/comfort, brotherly bonds Summary: Ritsu discovers something new about his powers. And then he takes it too far. My Notes: Another fic that quickly shot to the top of my favorites list as early at the first chapter. Despite having short chapters and a relatively simple premise, every chapter has a lot of emotional weight and relevance, packing its own punch despite the low word count. Ritsu having time manipulation abilities wasn’t something I knew I needed until I came across this fic, but it’s such a cool and fun idea that I instantly fell in love with. The author’s writing has a very distinctive and engaging tone and makes great use of the short chapters to pack as much as they can into each installment and it lands pretty much every time. I was so impressed every chapter how they managed to work the time travel concept into so many parts of the story in so many unique ways, definitely a must-read for any fandom member!

tea leaf bandages Author: shcherbatskayas Rating: T Archive Warnings: None Completion Status: Complete Tags: no romances, ageswap au, post-mogami arc, mental health issues, panic attacks, PTSD, hurt/comfort Summary: Kageyama Shigeo knows that he isn't the most observant person in the world, but he knows when something is wrong with his students. And so he knows that ever since the Mogami job, Reigen just hasn't been right. (If only he knew exactly what was wrong.) My Notes: An ageswap AU ficlet where Reigen gets possessed and manipulated by Mogami instead of Mob. It focuses on the fallout and Shigeo attempting to comfort Reigen as a student without prying too deeply. It’s very sweet and sad but does have a happy ending.

Actions Speak Louder Than Words Author: Hino Rating: T Archive Warnings: None Completion Status: Complete Tags: post-mogami arc, mute mob, PTSD, dad reigen, sign language Summary: Six Months trapped in that world didn't just go away the moment Mob opened his eyes. He tried to speak and found himself unable. But Reigen, he always knows how to talk to someone. My Notes: This fic is so nice. In the wake of the Mogami arc Mob becomes mute due to his PTSD from the events, so Reigen teaches him sign language to help him communicate better. It’s really sweet to see Reigen patiently teaching Mob (and Dimple trying his hardest to learn too, bless him), and Mob being just really excited to learn and have another way of communicated that doesn’t require him to speak. It’s well-written and heartwarming.

Leftovers Author: SpiritusRex Rating: G Archive Warnings: None Completion Status: In Progress Tags: time travel, 5+1, brotherly bonding Summary: Ritsu knows now how his power works.But he thinks that, with his brother's help, he can push it further than before, and maybe even do something meaningful with it. (Five times Ritsu and Shigeo use Ritsu's time travel to comfort someone, and one time it's used to comfort Ritsu himself) My Notes: The sequel to Five Second Rule, which is also on this list. It’s only a few chapters in atm but I’m super excited to see where it goes! There’s sure to be plenty of time travel hijinks in this one as well, plus Ritsu and Mob’s sibling relationship is very good.

When there’s nothing but the long way ‘round Author: taizi Rating: T Archive Warnings: None Completion Status: Complete Tags: terumob, slow burn, found family, dad reigen, lots of fluff, getting together Summary: If it were anyone else, his tone would have been teasing, and the thoughtful lift of his brow would have been playful, and the tilt to his mouth would have leaned closer to a warm smile. As it is, only bits and pieces make it through Kageyama’s careful repression, shining like irrepressible dawn through tiny cracks in a window shade, and Teruki blinks rapidly, something like sunspots dancing across his eyes. My Notes: An oldie but a goodie! It’s a series of loosely connected terumob shorts for the mp100 valentine’s day event back in 2017, and maybe the cutest terumob fic I’ve read so far. It’s ridiculously sweet and fluffy, told from Teru’s perspective, and it made me cry with how just soft and nice it was to read it. It’s a quick but really worthwhile read if you just want to feel good.

#mp100 #mob psycho 100 #fanfiction #fanfic rec #fanfic recommendation #writing #writers lmk if you want to be tagged!#mobile tumblr hates those thin little lines you can do on desktop so sorry to mobile users #which includes me rip

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thesnadger · 5 years

Note

tell us your thoughts about mp100 when youre ready I love hearing them

God, I have so many they’re hard to organize.

Spoilers for the entirety of the manga, including the end, under the cut.

I made a couple posts about how big a deal it was to me that a character like Reigen looked at Mob’s vulnerability, his earnestness and willingness to put his heart on his sleeve as a strength to be admired rather than a weakness that was going to get him hurt. So you can imagine how I feel about the fact that the emotional climax of the series centered around Reigen doing the same, with Mob.

Reigen may never have really understood Mob’s powers (hey let me talk for like a thousand years about how when he sees Mob the first thing he says is “have you been dealing with this all along? I’m so sorry”) but he understood more than he ever gave himself credit for because he understood Mob’s feelings and was sensitive to his moods. He understood that his powers weren’t something separate from him. That what he needed to do in the end was accept them. Accept himself.

We’reintroduced to the fact that Mob’s powers and his emotions areconnected almost the minute we’re introduced to him, along with thefact that suppressing his powers means suppressing his feelings aswell. We know that Mob can’t live this way forever. But as theseries continues and he starts to grow and mature, to make friendsand to improve his relationships with both Ritsu and Reigen, itbecomes a little easier to imagine him living a full, happy life evenwith his complicated feelings about his own power. A little easier toforget that he’s still suppressing a huge part of himself.

The Other Mob isn’t just his powers, it’s the parts of himselfhe tries to push down. His strong emotions. The impulses he sees asselfish. Maybe even feelings that he doesn’t like about the peoplehe loves.

It breaks my heart the Reigen obviously thinks his friendship with Mob is over after this conversation. That there’s no chance Mob will ever forgive him or see him the same way. But that only makes the ending better because he’s so wrong. Being honest with Mob only makes them grow closer!

And Mob!!! Mob is able to cry, and just be sad without it being the end of the world. He’s able to feel and express what he’s feeling and receive comfort without being afraid of hurting anyone.

At the start of the series Mob and Reigen had each other but neither of them had any other friends. Mob had Ritsu, but things were complicated between them with Ritsu’s fear. At the end, they have so many people who love them. Spirits and Such becomes a team of five counting Mob and Dimple, Mob is vice president of the Body Improvement club, he and Ritsu have made peace with their shared trauma and Mob and Reigen’s relationship has deepened, grown and improved.

The last image of the manga is Mob laughing, unrestrained, and it’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

#mp100 #mp100 spoilers #mp100 manga spoilers #Anonymous

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mob-likes-milk · 5 years

Note

Can I get an imagine of Teruki's crush (gender neutral) seeing him without his wig, and he's self-conscious about the bald spot. Please make it fluffy! 😊👍

rumors seek insecurities

Pairing: Reader x Teruki Hanazawa (Mob Psycho 100)

Summary: (Fluff) After the meeting with White T-poison, Teruki changes radically; he loses his past admirers but gains knowledge of his situation. His long-time crush, (Y/n), starts to be close friend with him, aware and proud of his progress. He wishes to always be besides them, but an event will make him doubtful of his confidence.

Warning: mentions of rumors & humiliation.

Word count: 2040

A/N: I got quite carried away on this one, I still hope it’s okay! (I really wanted to develop their relationship beforehand) I really hope you’ll enjoy! ♡

The rumors spread atan alarming speed since the curious news of debris floating up in the sky wasbroadcasted for the whole archipelago to know. Seasoning City was the heart ofnumerous supernatural events journalists would investigate on, but never getanswers to. Some citizens were aware and feared these happenings, but somedecided to see them as usual and not give them a second thought. It was thecase for most of Black Vinegar Middle School’s students, as one of them showedto be someone with superhuman powers; his force and capacity were unbeatable byanyone. Teruki Hanazawa was someone who you shouldn’t mess up with. Nobodycould compete the mysterious power he held; making him the most appreciated andcharismatic student of the whole school, if not of every other Seasoning City’sacademy.

His time ofacclamation was held until the delinquents started to soil his reputation,talking about how “White T-poison” played with his little game and made of hima complete fool. They all declared the strongest individual roamed around SaltMiddle School’s ground, someone with so much force he could eventually be thecause of the incident every resident of the town were concerned about. No onepresent at the scene of the battle was able to give clear answers; they wereunconscious for the most part of it, but they could affirm Teruki was laidbare, both figuratively and literally.

The main element everyonefocused their attention on was the obscure and powerful student of theneighborhood school, but nobody took notice of the sudden changes of the formermost popular teenager. He was left alone by most of his admirers, a lot of themclaiming he was just someone full of himself, ahypocrite who only wanted to show off his impressive, yet not the mightiest,capacities. His whole situationfelt unfair and completely impulsive; the amount of backlashes he receivedcould be considered harassment for (Y/n)’s eyes.

Teruki and they wereacquaintances since elementary school, occasionally telling the other greetingsand having short discussions over the small amount of school’s topics. Despitethe polite behavior the young boy displayed to them, (Y/n) never felt the urgeto know them more than a classmate. The usual cult of appreciation the otherspresented to him made them recede from learning more about their personality;his action resumed it well enough.

But the moment theysaw people loath on him, they started to make efforts for him; they noticedchanges on his personality nobody tried to apprehend. They saw him maturing up;being cognizant he is just a human; a powerful one, but still someonelike everybody else.

Ever since theystarted to initiate more discussions with the young teen, their relationshipgrew exponentially; in less than a few weeks, the two past acquaintances werealready close friends. This change did contributed greatly on Teruki’s attitudeand actions; him who has a tremendous crush on the student ever since they meetup years ago. He obviously hid theseloving emotions away from their sight, trying to cautiously make his way intotheir precious heart by his thoughtful decisions and his elegant look.

It was still surprising to see such a suddenmodification on his physical appearance after the famous event, his hair wereabnormally long on the top of his head; the mass of hair relating to a messyhaystack. People around him would noticeand accuse the rumors of him losing his blonde, silk hair during the well-knownbattle; this eccentric hairstyle being the one of a wig.

(Y/n) didn’t listen tothese warnings; they knew better than worry for something as insignificant as ahair loss problem. They like theirfriend for who he is, and even so, his porcelain face is still the most pleasantone they ever lead their eyes on.

Thestress forming through the day was slowly cleared away into one of appeasement;the soft temperature of a spring afternoon was nothing but gratification forboth of the middle school students. The sound of their shoes faintly hittingthe pavement put rhythm in the comfortable silence; the last stroll of the daywas a time of relaxation after enduring classes over classes. (Y/n) looked attheir friend from the corner of their eyes and gently smiled; they felt greatthey did the right choice to help Teruki through his isolation, the boy beingmore fascinating than they would have ever imagined.

Theyoung boy noticed the friendly stare and adorable grin adorning their featuresand felt his heart pounding slightly harder inside its cage, he softlyreturned the gesture.

“Hey, do you think you will be ableto come at my apartment tomorrow? We can finish that group project if you’dlike.” Teru’s appeasing voice broke the silence, his friend’s expressionchanged into one of slight surprise, before their grin reappeared.

“Sure, I think I can ask my parentsfor th-“

(Y/n) was cut short bya cyclist riding straight at them at a dangerously high speed. The young student swiftlystopped their saunter and tried to save their friend from a potentially harmfulhit by pushing him. The bodies of the students thumped against the concretefences of the aligned houses, a painful sensation rapidly spreading insidetheir already drained figures. The silhouette of the man and his bike fadedinto the horizon, mumblings of an unfazed sorry vanishing into thin air.

The back of (Y/n) felta soaring ache, the tough surface of the wall scratching against their darkuniform. Glaring the way the cyclistdisappeared, the student whispered cuss words under their halting breath. Theirheart was pulsating at an agonizing fast pattern, making them feel suddenlydizzy. They breathed in and out calmly trying to evacuate the sudden rise ofadrenaline, glancing back at their close friend.

Their eyes widened atthe sight in front of them; the large amount of blonde strands on top ofTeruki’s head was now laying on the concrete ground, revealing his previouslyhidden bald scalp.

His sky blue orbs shotopen when he saw their startled expression, the unusual lack of weight on hishead alarming his now troubled mind; he knew what happened. Shame started toeat him whole, his deepest fear executed without he had the chance to stop itfrom happening. A burning feeling spread through his bruised body, the pain from the previous fallfelt like nothing to this hurtful and self-destructive sensation; he knew that now, he will never beable to be with them, all because of this disgusting truth he had to hide fromtheir dearest eyes for weeks.

Disgraceful warm tearsblurred his vision, he tried to hide the bald spot with his arms but he wasaware it was futile. He tried to push himself against the grey fence more andmore, hoping he could disappear through it if he made enough effort. (Y/n) sawthe distress of their friend and rapidly sat up; their legs flinched due totheir wounds. They cautiously staggered to his shivering form; even if therumors revealed to be true, it wasn’t a problem for them; their thoughts abouthis beauty stayed just as clear as before.

“H-Hey, Teru, look atme, please…” They pleaded, trying to find his delicate eyes behind hisdefensive arms. His body seemed to shake more furiously, the tears he held intopouring down his cheeks, crimson red from the humiliation. They kneeled downand stretched their hand to maybe appease his stressed form, but he seemedfrightened to even feel their touch; their fingers felt like scalding utensilsprepared to melt his pale skin if they dared to make contact. (Y/n)’s armretreated, a frown of deep worry now showing on their features. They had to dosomething, anything to help their friend.

“You, you shouldn’tfelt ashamed of this.” They tried to reason him in a whisper, concern showingin their voice. They glanced to the side, noticing the long wig still on theconcrete ground. “I don’t think it’s awful, or disgusting, what you’relacking.” They continued and looked back at his tense frame. They chose theirwords wisely, sometime taking pauses between sentences to take a refreshing andmuch needed breath. Teruki’s soft blue eyes opened calmly, their constant shakeof fear subsisting with time.

“I-I still thinkyou’re beautiful, inside and out, and I won’t trade you with anyone else.” Theyexplained, glad to see his stunning face completely again. His eyes shinedwith slight happiness, were they true to their words? Was he as important tothem as he always considerate them? He deeply wished it, his fist clenching hispurple blouse in anticipation.

“You’re actuallysomeone I think is really h-handsome.” A timid smile tugging on their rosylips, they couldn’t hold back the genuine compliments back anymore. “I don’tmind your imperfections at all, since I have quite an amount for myself.” Theylet a laugh escape; it felt embarrassing to tell their insecurities to theirprecious friend.

They had a moment ofsilence. They looked back at each other to find the answers they wished tofind. The (e/c) orbs were fascinated by the baby blue ones, sparkling into amix of citrine and rose quartz hues. The evening sky reflected into his iris, theshining of the tears not shed gleaming around. (Y/n) was completely mesmerized.

“I-I’m not the one tocompliment like that, but your blue eyes are p-particularly pretty.” A delicatered color spread across the young student face, a feeling of embarrassmentdisplaying after admitting one of their thoughts. The face in front of themturned the same glow, a delighted smile forming after hearing their words.

Teruki embraced hiscrush in a swift motion, taking their upper body in a strong, but affectionategrip. Some lukewarm tears escaped his tightly shut eyes, a feeling of gratitudeand relief taking over his senses. His friend was taken aback when they feltthe wet sensation on their shoulder, some worry showing. They made up theirmind to think it wasn’t something to doubt about, and reciprocated the tenderhug back. The shaking lips of Teruki tried to mumble his appreciation, but hewas too overwhelmed to say it correctly.

“-T-thank y-you… somuch…” He tried to speak, his hiccupping hampered his speech.

“-You’re welcome.”(Y/n) replied calmly, their hand wandering on his back; soft rubbings carefullysoothing him. They felt another smile form on his features; the sensation onhis warm cheeks being pushed made his crush relieved. They both wished they could stay like that,but time was flying off.

They parted away fromthe sweet embrace, grins adorning their crimson faces. The blonde looked backat the wig, stretching a hand out to retrieve it with an indescribableexpression.

“You know, it’s okayif you need to wear it for the moment. Hair grows back anyway so there isnothing to worry about.” (Y/n) reassured, the hesitation he had about his appearanceslowly faded away, a smirk displaying on his features. He put the wig up on hisscalp once again, trying to balance it up so it won’t fall another time; his friendchuckled at the unusual sight.

They suddenly wonderedif he still felt the harm of their past fall, maybe he had bruises covering hisarms and back as well. They thought about what they could do to help, and decided to spendmore time with him; it was the best choice to be made.

“Teru, are you okay?I-I mean, is your back still hurting?” They asked in a shy tone, a warm feelingof affection spreading through them. He looked back at them surprised, before testinghis back, giving it random pushes. They knew what the answer was when they heardthe young boy muttering laments. They let a playful grin play on their featuresbefore taking his stiff arm in theirs.

“Well, I guess I’ll needto take care of those!” They cheered while giggling. Their friend felt his heart skip a beat afterhearing their melodic laugh, a tender smile arose from their hidden feelings.

“Haha! Sure!” Terukireplied, glad he fell for the right person.

96 notes · View notes