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starryhologram · 25 days

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CCCC Band AU Master Post

AKA I made a crack AU where Heart, Mind, and Soul become famous. But now, it’s a more serious and loved AU.

Disclaimer: Like the SCP AU, the HMS in this AU exist in the “real world” as opposed to a psyche/headspace. When the Whole splits, the three replace him. Also, warnings of canon typical v10l3nc3. These versions of Heart, Mind and Soul have been caricaturized, and are fun house mirror versions of their album/canon counterparts. Hope you like if you read!

Heart takes his g. un, the same one he missed Mind with, and he places it to the back of Soul’s head.

“Soul.” Heart bites the other’s name hard. Spits it out with disgust. Soul feels the cold metal press against his skull. They were truly going to usurp him. He didn’t think it would end like this.

“Heart. Please. Put the gu. n down.” He begs, eyes sliding over to where Mind watches from a distance. His face unreadable, Soul wishes he would help.

“Shut the fuck up.” Heart jams the barrel against Soul, knocking him slightly forward.

Should he fight? Continue to beg?

“You can threaten to kill us all but I can’t return the sentiment?!” Heart shouts.

Should he let it happen?

His blood goes cold as he hears the trigger shake in Heart’s grip.

BANG.

Soul falls to the ground.

Heart steps back, dropping the g. un.

Mind walks over to Soul and puts his hand against his neck. “He’s still alive.” He comments.

“That’s fine, I wasn’t trying to kill him, anyways.”

“You’re a bad liar.”

Heart doesn’t say anything in return.

Mind sighs, shaking his head. Best to let Soul recover, then. He wasn’t going to be the one to put him out of his misery, and he had a feeling Heart wouldn’t either.

Mind picks up Soul’s limp body gingerly, his head dripping blood onto his hands. Seeing his face, the skin had torn around where the bullet had exited. Soul’s eye was completely gone.

It was morbid, but Mind continued to carry the other to his room, laying him down on the bed. A few moments later, Heart shuffled in, shoving first aid supplies into Mind’s hands.

“Like this will help.” Mind says sarcastically. Regardless, he begins bandaging up the side of Soul’s face.

The computer in the corner of the room dings with a notification.

“Ugh. I thought we turned those off.” Heart frowned.

“We did, but I kept them on for emails. Stand with him, I’ll see if it’s important.” Mind moves to the desktop, jiggling the mouse to turn it on.

“No way this is real.” He scoffs after a few moments.

“What? What does it say?” Heart demands impatiently.

Mind reads out the contents of the email for the other.

“You’re kidding. Do some background research! Look it up!” Heart raised his voice frantically.

After a few more moments of key strokes mouse clicking, Mind turns back to Heart. “It’s real. What do we say? Should we decline? Accept? This is a very big decision.” He glances at Soul once again. “And honestly, he should decide too.”

“We could let Whole decide.” Heart offers meekly.

“You shot Soul, Whole is probably out of commission as well. We will have to wait. I will let them know to give us time to make the decision.”

Over the course of the next few days, Soul floated in and out of consciousness, the pain in his head ebbing and flowing. He wished he could have had nice dreams, but it was dark and hazy. Something haunted him about how he had gotten hurt. Mind and Heart refused to tell him, and Soul couldn’t bring himself to remember.

The bright side of his dull situation, however, was that Mind and Heart were being so nice to him. They gave him warm food in bed as he recovered, and even spared him from sarcastic quips. He wishes it could always be like this, getting along.

Eventually, Soul was able to remain conscious for a longer amount of time. And Mind and Heart finally decided to tell him once he proved cognizant enough.

“Soul.” Mind announced as he entered the other’s room, Heart trailing in his shadow.

Soul smiled at the other two. “Good morning.” He said softly, his voice had been nothing but kind to them in return these past few days.

“We have to tell you something. And we need… you to help us decide.” Heart stammers, “On what to do about it.” He walked over to stand at the foot of the bed.

“Yeah, of course. What’s up?” Soul asks.

“While you were… recovering. We received an email.” Mind began, sitting at the desktop once more to pull up the page.

“It reads as follows.

‘Dear Tridential Sovereignty, us at Galaxy Star Records have recently found your music and think you have just the talent we’ve been looking for.

We are pleased to offer to sign you as one of our many talented artists. We would be honored to represent you, and help you reach your full star potential.

Kindly, Galaxy Star Records. LA, California.’ “

Mind turns to look at Soul once more. His mouth is agape in shock. “We’ve been offered a record deal?” He asks in disbelief.

“It would seem so.” Mind replies.

“Of course we should go for it!” He exclaims. Mind and Heart almost seem surprised by his answer.

“Uhm.. are you sure? This is crazy.” Heart digs his toe into the carpet absentmindedly.

“I mean, this can only be good right? As long as its reputable! What could go wrong?” Soul looks like he got everything he could have ever wanted for Christmas.

~~~

A man tears himself apart in the dead of night

Grasping at lyrics that aren't quite right

But you’ve head this before

And I’ll never again

Because the spotlight is blinding

And the audience is screaming my name

Please don’t let me lose myself in the fame

~~~

Private Emails are uploaded. Subject: Sign On Offer From: [email protected] To: [email protected]

Thank you so much for accepting our proposal! We can’t wait to start working with you!

First order of business we do need to get settled is the contract. You can access it here, and we will need all of your E-signatures.

Next you can also take a look at a list of preordained names that you can choose to go by as per our guidelines. Your band will still be called Tridential Sovereignty under us, but your individual names will be pseudonyms (No real popstar doesn’t have a stage name!).

You can view our list below.

Luna

Callisto

Oberon

Nova

Kepler

Aristarchus

Metius

Tycho

Voib

Pulsar

Orion

Asteroid

Comet

Thebit

Nebula

Rigel

Quasar

Antimar (antimatter)

[File attachment contract.pdf]

~~~

Private Emails are uploaded. Subject: RE: Sign On Offer From: [email protected] To: [email protected]

Apologies, there was a misspelling in the list of names.

Voib is meant to be Void.

Thank you.

~~~

BREAKING NEWS! Introducing TRIDENTIAL SOVEREIGNTY! VIX NEWS keeps you updated with up and coming artists that you should be aware of!

Your favorite niche internet micro-celebrities become famous! Who would have thought their covers of cult classic Tally Hall songs would have skyrocketed their stardom?

Meet Comet, Nova, and Pulsar! The ‘Heart, Mind, and Soul’- they call themselves- of Tridential Sovereignty. Sweeping the globe with their new music to rock your socks off!

Recently signed on by Galaxy Star Records, after an interested team heard their individual covers of “The Mind Electric” by ミラクルミュージカル (also known as Miracle Musical). These young artists are rising through the charts, and concerts are selling out fast internationally!

We here at VIX NEWS are excited to see where they go from here! Follow us for more updates on Tridential Sovereignty!

~~~

A video titled ‘Late Nite Show Interview with TRIDENTIAL SOVEREIGHNTY’ is uploaded.

The video opens with a studio audience cheering as the host waves at them thankfully, smiling warmly.

“Good evening ladies, gentlemen and other lovely people! We have a special guest for you tonight- at their first television appearance- Tidential Sovereignty!”

The host gestures to curtains that three figures emerge from, the one in a red jacket is waving and smiling just as much as the host was. The two following him are much less enthused.

The crowd cheers as they walk across the stage to sit at a long couch adjacent to the seat the host had taken.

“Thank you so much for joining us this evening!” The hosts says, “Yeah! Thank you for having us!” The one in red responds.

“Now, you guys have been taking the scene by absolute storm- ahaha, pun not intended.” The hosts pauses for the audience to laugh. “But, I’d love to get to know you guys a bit more. You guys all look very similar, is that intentional? Or are you guys triplets?” He asks.

“Triplets is the closest word.” The one in blue states plainly. “Ah yeah! We’re all kind of like brothers, sure.” The one in red adds.

“What interesting responses!” The host laughs. “Now, Pulsar,” he gestures to the one in red, “You call yourself the Soul? What does that mean?”

Pulsar’s smile doesnt faze, but his eyes scan to his other two counterparts nervously. “Yeah, I’m like the Soul… its just… a way of referring to myself, like Nova is the Mind- eh the brains of it all. And Comet is the Heart, you get it? It’s just… the way we make up the Whole… band. Tridential Sovereignty.” He stammers out quickly.

Comet shoves him.

The host is laughing again. “Well that’s certainly a way of thinking about it!” He says, and it eases Pulsar’s nerves. “You guys were pretty popular on the internet at first, right? How’s the transition from the screen to the stage been?”

“It’s been fine, we still do all the main stuff behind the scenes; the music writing and stuff. But seeing fans in real life? Cheering for us on stage? I… don’t think any of us could have imagined it. We assumed we would be stuck in our mom’s basement doing this for a niche audience for our whole career, honestly.” Comet replies.

“It’s crazy how quick things can change!” The host quips, “Hey! Would you guys like to play a song for us?” He asks, the crowd cheers in enthusiasm.

The three nod in agreement, stand up and make their way over to instruments set up for them. Pulsar stands at the middle mic, holding an electric guitar. Nova stands at an electronic keyboard. A blue bass is propped up next to him. Comet sits down at a drum set.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone in between, this is Tridential Sovereignty!” The host announces as the three begin to play.

Pictured: (left) Pulsar with no make up, wig or mask, in casual clothes. (Right) Pulsar within the first few months of rising to stardom, before his outfits became more pink.

~~~

A video titled ‘VIX NEWS: Exclusive interview with TRIDENTIAL SOVEREIGNTY FT. Your questions!’

The video opens with Pulsar, red wig, feathered boa and pink dress in all, sitting on a stool in a white room. He smiles, introducing himself, “Hi, babes! I’m Pulsar, but you know that!” He laughs

The camera cuts to Nova, sitting in the same room, but clearly shot at a different time than Pulsar’s takes. He sits square and upright and says, “Hello. I’m Nova, of Tridential Sovereignty.”

The video cuts again to Comet, slouching on the stool. He waves meekly to the camera. “Hey, I’m Comet.” He says flatly.

A voice from behind the camera calls out, “So, we sent out a form for fans of your’s to ask! And here are the ones we thought would be best to ask you guys!”

“How exciting!” Pulsar claps his hands together. “What’s the first question?”

“Your-claimed- ‘Number one fan’, Pulsar, asks: what is your favorite song?” The voice off screen laughs aloud as she reads it.

“Oh, I have so many favorites, you know! But I think a special one in my heart will always be The Bidding.” He says.

“Nova, an unnamed fan asks ‘if you could go solo, would you?”

“Hm. I do shows on my own often enough. If you mean officially leave Tridential Sovereignty one day? That is yet to be determined.” Nova’s face shows no change in expression as he answers.

“Comet, Rio asks ‘if you could change anything about your life now, what would it be?”

Comet barks out a laugh and then frowns as he collects himself. “Right. Yeah. I mean, is anyone really happy with where they are? I messed up a lot in the past but I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t. Dunno. I don’t think I care anymore anyways.”

“Pulsar, Twine- of course-?” The announcer sounds confused as she says the name. “Do you have a PR team yet?”

“What? Twine? How did… how did you get that question?” Pulsar’s brow furrows in shock and confusion, “That’s a joke… right? I think. Ah, yeah. A joke.” He laughs unconvincingly.

“Nova, what do you do when you encounter writer’s block? From Hayley.”

“I simply don’t. If I don’t feel like writing, I don’t write. Let it come to me. I know what I write is good.”

“Comet, Jedas asks ‘what is your favorite show you’ve performed at?”

“The VMAs were cool. Or the Bubble Dome. I dunno, as long as the crowds are big they’re always great.” He grins.

“Pulsar, Ciddle asks ‘care to show us what’s behind the mask?”

Pulsar puts a hand up to his mask, holding it down to his cheek. “Yeah, no. Not right now. I wear it for a reason.” He looks away.

“Nova, do you guys plan on doing another make-up collaboration? Asks Lori.”

“I think we’ve got some eyeshadow coming out soon. This is better a question for Pulsar.” Nova sighs.

“Pulsar, Faust asks, if you were a cat, what kind would you be?”

“Orange. Definitely.” Pulsar laughs.

“Nova, ‘Bold move straightening your hair, any reason?”

“It’s a wig. And it differentiates me from the other two.”

“Pulsar- or as ‘Smouul’ calls you ‘Pulss,- insert joy emote- te- tec-ah? Muciss? Teach music? Is that what this says?” The announcer struggles through the question.

“Smoul? I know him… too, like Twine. Ah Smoul! I could teach you music! All you gotta do is ask! But I also offer courses on music too! They should be linked in my Instagram bio!”

“And finally, one more for you Pulsar, from another unnamed fan, ‘Are you going to answer for your growing list of controversies?”

Pulsar frowns. “Hey, I apologized for those. And I promised to do better. That’s all I can do.” He huffs. “Are we done now?”

“Yes, I suppose we are! Thanks for joining us-.” The announcer is cut off as Pulsar gets up and walks off screen.

“Cool, thanks bye!”

The video ends.

~~~

List of things Pulsar has done

Been paid to support NFTS {a lot of other celebrities were doing it at the time! It was a cute picture of a chicken! I didnt know it was evil!}

signed a merch deal with a company that runs a sweatshop to produce the merch {Look- I’ve been over this- I even uploaded an apology video! I didnt do my research and I promise to do better!}

uploaded an apology video {Hey! My fans know that it was an honest mistake! Plus I followed the guide on how to make a good apology video! I even made one of my own guides!}

made a guide on how to make apology videos {Only 50$!}

Doesn’t have a PR Team {My PR team is my best friend, Twine, he’s a Soul like me!}

got scammed by someone in another universe than him {Alice is my friend! And he said he needed the money!}

Almost was convinced to join the Church of Scientology {I was not almost convinced it was for the celebrity gossip! But Paladin said I shouldn’t do it}

is there anything else you’ve done? {not yet- I mean, No!}

~~~

Pictured: (Fake) Tweets talking about the perceived decline of Tridential Sovereignty or #TriSov, and how their original fans dislike the way their music sounds nowadays.

~~~

Pictured: The updated outfits of Comet, Pulsar, and Nova! At this point in their career, the three dont perform together as much as they used to. Before this change, Nova would often pick up DJing Gigs around the world. But, now he performs solo songs that sound like theyre meant for Old Navy Advertisements… theres no Heart and Soul to his music, just the melody and baseline lyrics that will appeal to the widest audience.

~~~

Pictured: Nebula, the Whole. He acts as the manager and agent of Tridential Sovereignty. He isn’t seen much nowadays, some say it’s because he can’t handle what they’ve created. They took over his life. This isn’t what he wanted. This isn’t what we wanted to become. But, it’s much too late now.

~~~

OOC STUFF

ive reached the ten photo limit on mobile and ive got so much written that my tumblr is lagging. Theres still some more long written posts ill add in reblogs and such. Characters mentioned such as Twine, Smoul, Alice and Paladin belong to @disruptivevoib @shxwrunner @socialc1imb @calamarispider @b0vidine

Feel free to send asks about these guys! Or even my scp au!

All art in this post is mine

#chonnys charming chaos compendium #chonny jash #cccc #cj soul #cj heart #cj mind #cccc band au #cccc au #cjverse chatroom #starryart #art #drawing #writing #cj whole #band au #trisov #LONG POST

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reds-writings · 3 months

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jealousy, jealousy!

(pairing: rust cohle x fem!reader)

a/n: hello! welcome to my first bout of writing! feedback is greatly appreciated and i hope you enjoy! there isn't much rust content on here so i figured i'd create it myself lmao

warnings: cursing, steamy scenes but nothing too crazy, sorta sexism, marty hart being himself, rust being pigheaded, mentions of sex, etc etc let me know if i missed anything (minors just don't bother interacting regardless thank you!)

word count: around 5.8k

-----

Never did you think that sitting in the passenger’s seat of Rustin Cohle’s red Ford pickup could have you seething as it did now. This wasn’t at all how your night was supposed to go and the culprit of said unsavory evening was sitting right next to you, cigarette pinched between tense fingers and eyes set hard on the dark highway ahead. The stubborn bastard had made no move to turn on the radio to save you both from the borderline unbearable silence. All you had was the humid Louisiana air from his rolled-down window flowing into the truck’s cabin and you couldn’t quite find it in you to be grateful for the fact he seemed to have kept in mind you detested the smell of that sour burning tobacco.

Just who the hell does he think he is?

The question that repeated itself a mile a minute in your Coors-addled brain as it fought to catch up with all that just occurred not even a mere hour prior. Rust, as you already well knew, did not bother himself much when it came to others unless it strictly involved the endless trials of his work. That was the line he drew on a daily basis. Nothing could be clearer than the fact that Rust had little to no capacity for getting truly personal with most who existed in his orbit.

It was something you dealt with a bit better than the likes of your other partner Marty day in and day out at the CID. Though he may be one mystery wrapped in a more or less fucked up enigma, Rust’s way of functioning stayed relatively consistent. You didn’t dig often given that he wasn’t up and ready to offer much in the first place. He was sharp and strong-minded. Possessing most qualities that make well for a good investigative partner. Lines didn’t get muddled. It was how you preferred it. Up until recently, that is.

You didn’t have much nerve or will to go down that route right about now.

Earlier in the day…

Your fingers were cramping at the end of typing the last dregs of the day’s reports. This recent case was starting to weigh heavier and heavier as an influx of countlessly cryptic details revealed themselves with each milestone of the investigative process. Something about this being darkly occultish as it was made it all the more daunting. There was a sense of underlying dread that this was something bigger than all of you. A sentiment you found yourself sharing with at least one of your partners: Rust. Marty on the other hand was still on the fence, not totally in the business of believing this was more than just some twisted piece of shit who had nothing better to do with his time. You wish you had half the mind to reduce it down to something so simple.

Strange things were not that of an irregular occurrence around these parts. Though said strange things didn’t have the habit of making it to the limelight as the Dora Lange case had. This wasn’t the type of case where one could be fine with just leaving it at work and picking it back up when they returned the next day as normal. Its disturbing details twisted themselves into every fiber of your daily life since that poor girl was found posed in Erath. It was better to eat, sleep, and breathe this case so that it may be solved all the more quickly.

A world with one less monster like the one capable of committing a murder such as this is was a world where you could maybe sleep a little more soundly.

Rolling your shoulders back, you twisted your aching neck side to side, resounding with an aching series of pops. God, I need a drink. You thought to yourself as you leaned back into the roller chair at your desk. The clock on your floor’s wall read 6:02. With all the work on your part done you figured you could slip out with much complaint. Stiffly rising from your spot, you started to pack away any necessary belongings into your well-loved messenger bag. Marty glanced up from his notes with a small quirk of his brow, “You headin’ out?”

Throwing your hair up to save yourself from the impending humidity from outside you replied, “Yeah. Need to wash the day off me and go grab a drink or somethin’. Bein’ out talkin’ to them church folk in the heat nearly all afternoon then witnessin’ Rust make that one boy shit himself was enough for the day.”

Marty snorted to himself at that while Rust made no move to acknowledge your statement from his spot as he analyzed his comically large ledger. The blonde sipped his evening coffee as you finished gathering your things, “Don’t get too crazy tonight now. Lots to do in the days to follow I reckon the more this case stays befuddlin’ as is.”

You scoffed lightly, “I don’t doubt that. I’ll probably just head to that Blue Gator joint off the highway. Grab a few beers. Maybe a dance should one be willin’. Need’ta let loose is all.”

“I’m sure any fella would be delighted to spin the night away with the likes of you, darlin’. Leave it at just dancin’ will ya?” Marty snickered a bit as you scowled and flipped him off idly. You notice in your peripheral Rust go still with a pen in hand but he didn’t make any move to look up or participate in the conversation.

Continuing, you fix Marty with a half-hard look, “I’m sure you have your extracurricular activities beyond the job so it ain’t a sin to have my own. Anways, this is hardly an appropriate conversation to have betwixt coworkers, Martin. Keep your nose outta it.”

Marty let out a surprised guffaw and placed an offended hand over his heart. Rust still hadn’t moved an inch from his position. When you let your gaze drift over towards the silent half of the duo you were met with that cold blue stare of his. The mere instance of contact left you feeling funnier than you’d prefer as of late. Things were starting to blossom into something a little different between you two after the few months of being in each other’s presence. He had been starting to open up in a manner he hadn’t bothered to when he first transferred to the CID here in Louisana. His presence had been quiet but no less intimidating, leaving you and Marty at a loss of what to do to prompt him out of his self-imposed shell.

Now, as this new case unfolded it seemed to trigger a sudden release of the deepest tidbits of his…intense opinions and values that went on within the inner workings of his mind. Marty often found himself wishing that Rust never bothered to open his mouth at all. Anything coming from the brooding Texan seemed to offend Hart on some deeper level one way or another.

For you, while it was not all that pleasant to constantly hear how fucked up we as a collective were and how life had little to no meaning, were intrigued nonetheless. You believed that Rust was just as human as everyone else despite him pushing himself as far away from that narrative as possible. He was just broken in a way that couldn’t ever be truly reversed. So while his infinitely dismal ramblings left you feeling more defeated about life than anything else at times, you couldn’t find it in you to really hold it against him.

When it came to your dynamic, he seemed to have more of an unspoken respect for you than most of your colleagues did within the department. It wasn’t some radical declaration made by him that clued you in on the matter. He mostly just treated you the same as everyone else. Not inherently negative nor too positively outgoing where others could accuse him of giving you some form of special treatment. He listened to you and took your input into genuine consideration which was more than you could ask for when it came to working alongside any of your other male counterparts. However, there were these little instances within the recent weeks that had your mind (and heart) taking another route when it came to how Rust Cohle just might regard you.

First, it started with fresh coffee materializing on your desk by the time you’d be strolling in at morning time. Two sugars with one cream and always in your favorite green mug ordained with hand-painted daisies. Very specific and not at all a detail that Marty ever bothered himself with remembering about you in the time you’d known each other. Not that you ever really cared. No one else here would ever think to offer you a damn thing unless it was maybe the lovely receptionist up at the front.

It wasn’t until one night you had forgotten your keys at your desk and made your way back inside the assumingly empty department only to find the Rust Cohle with sleeves pushed up to his elbows in the small office kitchen cleaning your daisy mug that you’d left haphazardly in the sink before leaving. You watched in silent awe as he had set it gently aside after drying it for what you assumed was for the next morning where he’d be the one who dutifully made your memorized coffee order in secret before your arrival. To him, the act was probably meaningless.

To you, the simple scene made your heart squeeze in a way you didn’t think was possible.

Next, it occurred when he started offering you rides to and fro after your car suffered a nasty rear-ending thus needing to have it sit in the shop for the time being. At first, it was a little nerve-wracking to be in close proximity without Marty present to break any drawn-out silences but after a while you’d found yourself in a rhythm you could call your own. Sometimes you’d talk, sometimes you’d sit and listen to whatever old country cassettes he had stowed away in his glove compartment. It was never dull to you.

Each car ride had you piecing together factoids that unfurled into the evergrowing idea that was your new(ish) partner. You still found yourself sharing more about your own life than he did more often than not but you were okay with that. Even if he wasn’t the most reactive of men, you knew he held on to every word. Anything he decided to sparingly share had you doing the same with a reverence you weren’t sure you carried for anyone else.

After getting your car back and no longer needing his chauffeur services a silent agreement had followed. Neither party was completely ready to let go of the pleasant thirty-three minutes permitted to be spent together outside of work. It was decided that he’d drive you home on nights you happened to leave late, deeming it too dangerous to be traveling home at odd hours in the night although you had already been doing so plenty before he manifested into your life.

Eventually, he even found himself at your house one day after having determined that your porch steps needed fixing…or that your gutters should be cleared…or that the lawn was looking a little too overgrown than what was acceptable. Small acts where you felt that maybe he wanted to be in your presence a bit longer than normally desired when it came to his usual limits of socialization.

Seeing him working around your property with that sweat-soiled wife beater of his and those lithe, god-given arms made that squeeze in your heart reach new heights and your tongue feel like lead. Who knew such pictures of domesticity could have this intense of a hold over you? You usually prided yourself in not being so easily affected by men. Though it wasn’t necessarily news that Rust was his own brand of a striking handsome that stood out against most men you’d come across. The sweet tea you’d supply for the dreadful heat when he’d carry out his projects ended up being more for your own benefit than his.

You caught yourself feeling greedy for more of his presence as he made himself an increasingly present fixture in your life. Which realistically…couldn’t lead to any sort of good.

Bringing yourself back to now, his gaze held an emotion you couldn’t quite place. Hell, most times it was hard enough to know exactly what he was thinking unless he outright declared it. Maybe it was disapproval? Judgement? It wasn’t likely that he wanted to hear about your potential escapades. You probably wouldn’t want to hear of his either (not that he ever does speak of it if he even engages in that sort of activity) but you’d be coming from a different place on that matter. He returns to the pages of his ledger after deciding to break the staring spell, “I don’t see what sorta grand company could be found at an establishment such as the Green Gator.”

His tone came out a bit too passive for your liking. Bordering the ugly lines of judgy which was something that rubbed you wrong entirely, “It’s the Blue Gator-”

“Oh hush up, Mr. High and Mighty. Not every man is as intellectually driven as you find yourself. Most men want fun and ain’t gonna pass it up when it’s in front of em’. They don’t need nearly as much as you do to get their rocks off.” Marty angles himself towards Rust in his chair, already willing to bat for you in his more than unhelpful way.

Rust just scoffed and shook his head slightly, “Wouldn’t expect a thing from anyone in this vast shithole…buncha ignorant shitheels with no sense of fuckin’…” He muttered the rest of his ramblings detailing the severe lack of intelligence that the people of Louisiana seemed to hold while bringing his attention back to his ledger.

His shoulders were set in a harder line than usual. Marty got a kick out of it all, reducing Rust’s distaste to not being able to participate in normalcy like anybody else in the world could.

On your end, it struck a nerve that he clearly found your plans more than dissatisfactory. It left an unpleasant taste in your mouth to be on the potential receiving end of Rust’s ruthless judgments.

“You forget him, y/n. You have yourself a good ol’ time with whatever strappin’ young man of your choosing should he be lucky. Don’t let grumpy guss piss on your parade.”

You find yourself grimacing at how much focus on you and the prospect of potentially getting laid has been put. You look back to Rust but he seemed to be no longer interested in your presence, back in his own world and on the case. Patting Marty on the shoulder you finally make your way to head out, “G’night. I’d love it if we never brought any of this up again. Page me if anythin’ comes up.”

“Y’got it, darlin’. You stay safe.” Marty points at you a bit more seriously and you nod in slight exasperation with a soft ‘got it’ before officially leaving. Rust hadn’t said another word which left you feeling all sorts of confused. Relieved he didn’t further insult your plans for a night out? Disappointed he didn’t put up much of a fight when it came to you maybe trying to avoid any of your current problems with the company of another man? You don’t know what you expected but you did know that you needed to get it together and just let this shit go even for just one night.

And what a night it would be indeed.

Night at the Blue Gator…

The night was proving to be a bit more than uneventful. Perhaps uneventful was just about the only thing your mind could handle at the given moment with everything else going on. The lingering feeling of Rust’s disapproval had also left you more affected than desired. With a few Coors in your system, you find your gaze a little hazy as it passes around the kitschy establishment.

Some George Strait song filters through the bar on top of the active chatter of the patrons taking up a surprising amount of space for a Wednesday night. The cute little black dress you managed to find in your closet and squeeze into was becoming less than ideal as you found yourself hearing the siren call of just calling it quits and crawling into bed back home. Clean sheets and reruns of something like The Golden Girls…absolute fucking heaven right about now.

Briefly pressing your perspiring bottle to your forehead, you soon enough were roped into a dance as some lively Brooks and Dunne tune came on. The fella who managed to drag you on the dancefloor was decent enough. A bit short and plenty bald… with maybe a tad too eager of hands for your tastes that left you feeling a bit removed from the experience as a few more songs went on. You weaseled yourself out of the crowd after ‘promising’ baldy (named Rex or Tex but who’s to really care) you’d make your return after grabbing a refreshment.

Making your way to the bar your legs come to a sudden halt at the sight of a familiar figure slouched on a stool. After your brief shock shifted into a brewing irritation, your feet found themselves mobile again as you sidle next to Rust and order yourself another drink. He put out his cigarette as soon as you were near his side but made no motion to speak so you find yourself shooting first.

“For a place you couldn’t bother gettin’ the name right of you can color me surprised to see you here.”

“A man ain’t allowed to drink after work?” Is his flat reply.

You put your hands up in mock defense, “No need for my permission. Just didn’t think you’d grace the simpletons ‘round here when you can have a drink for free and in peace in the comforts of your own home.”

Rust didn’t have anything to say to that, instead lifting his own drink to his lips, “That man sure had a grip on ya. Doesn’t seem the type you’d to give the time of day to. Less’ you’re that compelled to blow off steam.”

The thinly veiled nonchalance of his insult didn’t go past you. Instead, it caused you to bristle only in the way you could when you had a few drinks in you, a bit more sensitive and a helluva lot more confrontational. Who was he to judge how you spend your time? Let alone who the hell you spend it with? You set your new drink down with more force than necessary and felt your face starting to get hot.

“I can dance with just about anybody.”

“That’s been made clear.”

“And why in god’s name do you care exactly just who it is I dance with?”

“Don't remember ever givin' the implication that I quite cared.” Calculated blue flitted over you as if bored. But you knew better.

“I’m sorry, did you just come here to make me out to be some desperate whore for drinkin’ and dancin’ when I’m a grown-” That got his expression to fall with something closely resembling alarm.

“That ain’t-”

“Last I checked I can do whatever I so fuckin’ please. Do not go insertin’ yourself in the aspects of my life in which you are not fuckin’ concerned. Some of us are lonely and tired and can’t take comfort in stupid murder manuals or severe stretches of solitude. Call it my shitty programmin’ but that’s just how it is for most people. If I wanna drink and let a greaseball feel me up then that’s entirely up to me! Shit, it might be dumber than hell but it’s not like I’m gonna sit and wait around for you to make a move! That’s if you even feel a speck of the way I’m startin’ to towards you. Knowin’ you you’ve probably noticed and just like to see me embarrassed or somethin’.”

Everything was coming out like one big bout of word vomit. There was an even deeper change in Rust’s demeanor but you were too tipsy and too angry to pay much notice. The burning behind your eyes grew stronger as you threw up a finger to jab at his shoulder,

“It is not up to you to judge people for the shit they do that you deem is beneath you every chance you get. You’re not perfect yourself and I know you know it. But thanks anyway for making me feel like a fuckin’ stupid loser-” Your heated rant was interrupted by a fat mitt of a hand making its way around your waist.

“This fella botherin’ you, honey?” The hot whiskey-riddled breath of Tex or Lex or whoever the fuck immediately made your nose wrinkle in disgust. Your patience had run its due course for the night as you roughly shoved him off you,

“Oh come off it, Dex-”

“It’s Rex.”

“I don’t care no more I’m leavin’.” You threw a couple bills on the bar’s surface before making your move past both the offending men. Rex had different ideas and made the choice of gripping your arm tightly without much remorse despite your loud protest.

“You still owe me a dance, bitch. Where d’ya think you’re goin-”

“You best get your hands off her, boy.” Rust’s glare was off-putting even to you. Rex was either too stupid or too drunk to really care as he attempted to yank you back towards him. With your heart racing, all you could think to do was take your heel-adorned food and stomp on his booted one hard. The short bastard yelped as he let you go, giving you the room to skirt past him far enough just in time for Rust to take him by the collar and send him reeling with a swift punch.

Rex surprisingly regained momentum and took his chance to get a lick back at Rust but his opponent was already plenty steps ahead of him. Rust took Rex’s fist, twisting it behind the shithead’s back, and slammed his head into the bar countertop with a sick thud. A commotion had well enough formed by now and it was your obvious cue to start hustling your way out. Rust spit on the man who now had made a home on the sticky floorboards before turning to you. Your chest was heaving as you made way to open your mouth but he wouldn’t hear it as he grabbed your arm and started leading you out.

The bar doors slammed open and the persistently thick air of the South drove you further into rage. You yanked your arm a few times until finally freeing yourself from his clutches. He didn’t stop to acknowledge you, instead making his way toward his truck as if expecting you to faithfully trail behind.

“Where exactly do you get off?!” You demanded, struggling to keep up in your heels which then had you electing to nearly fall over yourself trying to rip them off.

No answer.

“I’m talkin’ to you! What the hell is wrong with you?” Your feet were finally free on the warm pavement of the parking lot. You still received no reply.

“RUSTIN.” Your throat nearly felt raw at the volume of your hollering. He stopped at his truck’s passenger door and opened it. The blood in your veins thrummed while your head and heart felt like they were going to burst out of their respective places.

“Get in the truck.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You’re drunk-”

“You ain't one to talk. Don’t think I ain’t seen those bottles of cough syrup in your car or them pill bottles you got! I’ll make it just fine-"

“Y/n.” His low baritone left no room for argument, nor did his hard stare. You felt like a petulant child staring back at him with your arms crossed.

Your will to break was unshakeable but you had the inclination that if you pushed him hard enough he’d have you in that passenger seat even if you came kicking and screaming. Huffing out a harsh breath you half stomped your way over and climbed in. Grabbing the handle for yourself you slammed the door before he had the chance to close it for you. You felt a lick of petty satisfaction when you saw his shoulders drop and a hand come up to squeeze the back of his neck. It wasn’t often you could catch Rust off-guard, let alone see him visibly exasperated.

After a moment or two, he rounded his way to the driver’s side and got inside with noticeably less ruckus than you did. He lit a cigarette as he pulled out of the parking lot, but not before rolling down the window in consideration of you. Bastard.

“My car better find its way back into my damn driveway come morning.”

He remained silent for the rest of the way.

Back to the present…

Pulling up to your house, the truck hadn’t even made a complete stop before you unbuckled and hastily hopped on out. You only stumbled a bit as the old Ford squeaked behind you in what was probably the harsh fashion in which Rust must’ve slammed on his brakes at your sudden escape. You heard the truck get thrown into park and a heavy slam of a door shutting as you quickened your pace up the pathway to your front porch. Your heaving breaths were drowned out by the frogs and nearby cicadas that created their own little symphony on your property. You knew Rust was following you but you naively hoped you’d make it up to shut the door in his face just in time.

'Fuck, I forgot my shoes.’ Was your narrow thought as you fumbled for your key ring in the endless depths of your purse. Rust’s footsteps grew closer causing you to whip around and shove him back with a clumsy force much to his surprise.

“Don’t you come followin’ me! I’ve had just about enough of you!”

“Listen-”

“No you listen! Never have I been more embarrassed than you’ve made me tonight. Never have I felt more stupid and small all because you decided today was the day I’d be on the shit end of your scathing criticisms! You can fuck right off with that mess. I’m goin’ to bed.” You turned to start your trek before he spoke up again,

“My intentions were not to come by and make you feel stupid.”

A near-jarring laugh clawed its way from your system, “Oh, so that’s your twisted way of makin’ a girl feel cared for. Is that it?”

He let out a frustrated sound, “What’d you mean by startin’ to feel a certain way towards me. Back at the bar.”

Your heart nearly dropped out of your ass just then. Did you really blab on about that somewhere in the middle of your tirade? God, you could just about go feed yourself to the gators right now. Work would no doubt be complete hell after this nightmare of an outing.

“Take it how you want it. I know with you being as perceptive as you are it shouldn’t come as a mystery what I might feel. You do plenty towards me that’s had me foolishly thinkin’ there could be a one in a million chance of somethin’ but no dice. So what I want to know is why did you follow me out. Why did you come all this way to ruin my night.”

The silence was biting as he offered up no explanation. He seemed to be trying to figure out that answer himself. Instead of the petty satisfaction you felt from seeing him at a loss earlier, he seemed well and truly bothered now which left a sinking feeling in your gut. The thought of the immovable force in front of you being this bothered when it came to matters involving you just made you all the more disoriented. There was only one other plausible explanation as to why he went through all this trouble to insert himself into the mix.

You could almost fall to your knees laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of your creeping realization. It couldn’t be. There was just no way. But given the miserable look of Rust’s obvious inner battle on what he should decide to say to you had you gawking.

The man was jealous. Rustin Cohle, feeler of nothing and believer of none, was jealous. A fit of giggles made their way out of you before you could help it. It might’ve been in poor taste during the seriousness of the moment between you both but you couldn’t stop. Rust seemed all the more distressed as if he’d been caught red-handed. Stripped bare in front of you despite no real accusation of his behavior being made quite yet.

“If I knew any better I’d say you were plain jealous, Rust. Can’t say I see you bein’ capable of actin’ so irrationally. I thought entertainin’ such primal notions was too beneath you. Especially should it involve lil ol’ me.”

But he was indeed more than susceptible to all the irrational factors of his so-called programming when it came to you. You were beautiful. Mind, body, and soul. Your presence brought things to the surface he didn’t believe he could ever have the experience of feeling again. It scared him shitless. Having to face what was making his old tired heart beat into a lively rhythm again after convincing himself things of that nature were abysmally futile. Even as you stood in front of him now, with eyes and hair looking something fiercely wild, feet bare and dirtied from your lack of shoes in that high-cut black ensemble you had on. He absolutely knew that he couldn’t bring himself to deny what his programming was demanding of him when it came to the unknowing hold you had over him. Flexing his shaking fingers as if to render them steady he took a slow approach to you.

This was a moment where you had neither the sense nor the imagination to anticipate what he’d do next. It was as if your heart had forgotten how to keep itself beating. This was the closest you had found yourself in his proximity. Being able to see every fine detail of the tragically beautiful man in front of you could have left you speechless for the rest of your days.

A large, calloused hand came to cup your jaw then the other followed. Both nearly took up the entire sides of your face, and their warmth made you feel as if you were on fire. His grip was firm… more so intenful if you were to put a name to it. Eyes searched each other in the most tortuously bated moment you’d ever found yourself being victim to. If you were to move an inch or look away the spell might be broken forever and you think you might just collapse if that were to happen. When had you gotten this dramatic?

Kiss me. God, kiss me. Just kiss me. You thought over and over as if willing it into his mind. Then, as if he heard you through some unspoken link, he did.

It was like being let in on one big universal secret that couldn’t be fathomed by most. Never had you thought a kiss could wield as much power as Rust’s did. For being such a hard and withdrawn individual, the feeling of his slightly chapped lips on your plush ones felt nothing short of soul-bearing and endlessly warm. Trailing your hands up his broad chest, the quick pitter-pattering of his heart didn’t go past you. Drawing your palms up further you reach to lace deft fingers into the sandy waves that you’d secretly been aching to touch for a while now. His breath faltered as you pulled back for a brief moment. It wasn’t long before the invisible magnet between you both had you returning for more.

The kiss turned more intense, bodies pressing and molding into each other as if you could become one entity. His tongue traced the seams of your lips and you had no qualms with letting him invade your senses further. The need for air was becoming harder to ignore but no force on earth could rip you away. The desire for him was something you’d not felt for another person in you’re not sure how long. If not ever. His breath held traces of the Lonestar he’d been cradling and the cigarette he’d deeply pulled on the way here and it had you absolutely hooked as it curled into your mouth. You didn’t know how long the pair of you stood on your porch necking like a bunch of desperate teenagers but by the time he pulled away you felt dizzy at the sight of his flushed complexion and swollen lips. Possessiveness gripped your being at the thought of being able to have such an effect on him. You. No one else.

Rust’s grip loosened on your heated face as he planted one last sweet kiss on you before stepping away entirely. It was a shock that you had any remaining strength to keep yourself upright. His expression seemed a bit more relaxed, a bit too casual for what just transpired. There was a brief pause.

“Don’t go out dancin’ anymore.”

With that, he turned and made his slow descent back to his truck. Snapping out of your daze once the words sunk into the crevices of your Rust-drunk brain you quirked a brow,

“If that’s your odd way of layin’ claim on me I think I’m gonna need to ask for a more straightforward redo, mister.”

You saw his shoulders shake slightly in amusement as the night found itself ending on a more playful albeit confusing note, “G’night, y/n.”

“I’m bein’ serious, Rust. You can’t just kiss a girl like that then waltz on out. I have questions.” You pointed.

“I’ll see ya tomorrow.” The cowboy gave a slight wave and then got into his truck. Oh, you could wipe that subtly growing smirk right off his stupid face. His dry sense of humor made its presence known at what you thought was the most inopportune of times. You stood there watching his truck disappear into the night, the ghost of him sticking to you like molasses. Your fingertips graced your buzzing lips and you could’ve started giggling again like some schoolgirl. How ridiculous indeed.

You were so not letting any of this go when you got into work tomorrow.

#rust cohle #rust cohle x reader #true detective #marty hart #true detective imagine #rust cohle imagine #true detective season 1 #matthew mcconaughey

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emmitaaa4 · 1 month

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Azriel, you beautiful, complex man.

Anyone else ever lay awake at night thinking that it’s not that Azriel wants a mate, any mate: it’s that he believes only a mate—only someone who was meant to love him—could love him ?

Do you ever think about the fact that Azriel’s visceral response to Elain looking up at him with trust & hope, was to believe that there was no possible way she could ever look at him that way if she knew the things he’d done and been forced to do? If she knew that his scarred hands mirrored his marred soul? Yet we know Elain has never balked from him and has only ever seen beauty in his scars; in who he is.

Do you ever think about the way Azriel feels this need to prove himself useful—which is why he so clings to his titles and his job—for if he is needed, he cannot be abandoned?

Do you ever want to shout from the rooftops that Azriel is so much more than this « darkness » he cloaks himself in, and that he doesnt need someone to heal him & « handle his darkness ». Healing, for Az, does not mean fighting & ‘killing’ his demons, it means being at peace with himself & learning to live with them without needing to mask who he is. He needs to begin to believe that there is darkness and light in him to love.

Does your heart ever squeeze when you understand that allowing yourself to be loved, first means bearing yourself to another & willingly risking being hurt ? It requires an unparalleled level of emotional vulnerability from him. You ever realize that Az uses his shadows as an emotional crutch, that he so carefully masks his expressions, yet it takes but a look for Elain to read him? He, who finds his strength & perseverance in hope, found his match in her gentle, hopeful heart—and he physically has to keep himself apart from her, only allowing himself to act upon his feelings when she made the first move. Entitlement where?

Truly, how has the fandom decided that Azriel, who follows the sound of Elain’s laugh, who listened to her when no one else would & didnt let her be misunderstood, who trusted her with TT so she could protect herself & those she loves, who stayed up past 3am as she spoke of her passions, who made everyone wait for her to eat, who chooses to sun his wings next to her in peaceful, quiet company… is an entitled, flaky male that sees her as nothing but a sexual distraction?

Do people really not realize what it means for him to question the Cauldron, question the very core of his beliefs?

1) It is not his feelings he questions:

His mind is tortured by thoughts of Elain, so much so he can’t sleep;

They do not need words to communicate, indicating familiarity & understanding;

He IS showing more than “just lust”, it’s clear from their interactions since the first trilogy. There was something there before Nessian happened.

2) Not only does he believe himself unworthy of her, but that sentiment is reinforced by the fact that the Cauldron “broke the pattern”. I do not see the entitled man the fandom speaks of. What he is is a deeply traumatized man, who was abused as a boy by the people who were meant to love him & protect him.

The popular thought that Az would fold for a mate, regardless of who she (or he) is, is truthfully not attractive, not to mention that it implies he’d only risk love for a “guaranteed” happy ending.

=> “Az wants a mate therefore give him a mate” is counterproductive to his growth (tho to clarify, i am not saying he should not have a mate, just that there is a way the story should be told.)

We have seen him plan for snowball fights & tactical missions, yet never for his future: not with Elain—again, he never even actually allowed himself to consider pursuing her—but not in any other sense either:

Children? he tells Cass he doesnt know if he wants any—has he ever let himself imagine having a child? A house ? he has no place to himself. Remember that even after 500 years of existence, Az says he still does not know where he belongs?

Could you not imagine two people who make themselves what others need them to be, being brave enough to bare those hidden, repressed parts of themselves to the other. Can you not see the growth it would require from both of them should they give themselves a chance? To, on one hand, choose the other despite what is expected & the problems it would cause, and on the other, be vulnerable enough to receive that love & believe yourself worthy of it.

Love doesnt care for convenience. It could all go to hell but at least they’d know they had tried, and i do not see how that could ever make for a boring, 2 dimensional story.

#azriel #azriel shadowsinger #pro azriel #elain archeron #i love him and her and them #elriel #pro elain #azriel bonus chapter #acosf bonus chapter #acosf #acotar #azriel acotar

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wolfnight2012 · 8 months

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Yes, Nandor fell to his knees when the Baron dumped "Guillermo's" body in the foyer. (In Front Of his entire family [sans Colin Robinson] and the Baron!) As if he could no longer bring himself to care about who saw him break down/how weak he might be perceived

Yes, cradled (what he thought was) Guillermo's dead body

Yes, his little half-sobbed "Oh, no" was very telling & heartbreaking

But let's talk about his positively distraught cries when he thought Laszlo was gonna desecrate Guillermo's corpse???

Because that's Guillermo to him. As in, that's still Guillermo to Nandor, even as a corpse.

And that's not something we see often with vampires in the wwdits world

Vampires here seem to simply accept death & move on. Once someone/something is considered dead, it is time to move on

Our main characters do it with the Baron. He gets fried to a crisp, they bury him, say a few half-hearted words, and move on (he's Nadja's sire! He had a trist with both her and Laszlo. He's like, their unofficial superior/boss, in that he can order them to take over North America & just like, move into their home?)

They do it with Colin Robinson, twice! Both when he fakes his death in 2x05 (simply bury him & say a few words) and to a lesser(ish) extent when he "dies" on his 100th birthday (few words, few sentimental touches & thats it, we move on)

Nadja does it with her reincarnated lover, able to drop him/forget about him the moment he dies

iirc, the only instances that don't follow this pattern is when the dead person isn't considered truly dead (yet)

Nandor wastes no real time grieving Gail, because she's not dead dead (yet) he can fix her! She's temporarily not alive at worst.

Topher, similarly, can be revived (or so they think) so he's not dead dead either, because he can be fixed. Once its clear he can't be truly fixed, they can easily discard & forget about him.

Young Colin Robinson isn't dead dead either. His adult self is alive & well (and back) Laszlo is simply grieving the fatherhood/son that only exists in his memories.

Guillermo is dead dead. Either because vampirism only takes immediately after death or because the Baron would simply kill him again, turning him into a vampire isn't an option. (And I like to think they learned their lesson with the necromancer/zombie!Topher)

Guillermo is dead dead & everyone reacts accordingly: the Baron chills out immediately, even feeling a little bad (not for Guillermo's death, he was only a familiar after all) for causing a fellow vampire/one of the vampires he's arguably closer to pain

Nadja (who was fighting & scheming & panicked to save him) declares he should be buried before he starts to stink. She might care about Guillermo & consider him family (even if she'd never say those actual words) but the body on the floor isn't Guillermo anymore, it's just a corpse that needs disposing.

Meanwhile, Nandor has accepted Guillermo's death; he's not planning on how to revive him/bring him back.

Guillermo is dead dead.

But Nandor is still protective of what he should only consider to be a corpse now. That's still Guillermo to him.

He cradles him up off the floor. He gently brushes his hair back. He's distraught at the thought of Laszlo cutting him up, even in death.

Anyways, there's zero chance of Nandor trying to kill Guillermo in earnest. That man could not handle the emotional toll

#never you mind #wwdits #wwdits spoilers #wwdits meta #nandor the relentless #nandermo #wolf's posts

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tomriddleslove · 3 months

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Forgotten once again.

✩Tom Riddle x Reader

Summary: The one where Tom isn’t capable of love, but you thought you could change that. Alternatively: Possesiveness and Love become the same thing.

A/N: I really enjoyed writing this one because Tom’s character is sm fun to write. It’s interesting because despite my delusions I couldn’t ever imagine him being capable of loving someone, and if he did it would be like this. Also this is probably the last time i’ll post for the next three weeks!

Warnings: Toxic Relationships, mentions of manipulation, violence (towards others). Generally about a very toxic and unhealthy relationship so please do not read if you’re triggered by anything to do with this! My inbox is always open if you ever need someone to talk to 🫶🏼.

Songs: Leaving Tonight - The Neighbourhood

Spectre - Radiohead

Tom Riddle was many things.

For one, he was ambitious. He would achieve whatever he so desired. If he had the means to do it, it would be done immediately. If he did not, well...

He would find the means to do so. Because Tom Riddle achieved whatever he so desired.

He was also charismatic.

Tom had a natural charisma that drew people to him. Whether through his charm, intelligence, or a combination of both, he had a magnetic presence that captivated those around him. This charisma played a significant role in his ability to influence and manipulate others to further his ambitions.

Tom Riddle was brilliant. Gifted with a sharp mind and a keen understanding of magic, he excelled in his studies. His intelligence, coupled with his ambition, allowed him to delve into dark magic and ancient mysteries, seeking knowledge and power that others might shy away from.

Tom Riddle was many things, but there was only one thing he lacked.

Perhaps it was karma, some form of divine intervention, his hamartia, that it was this very thing that would be his downfall in the years to come.

Tom was many things, but loving was not one of them.

Tom Riddle was not loving. No - he was not capable of love.

Tom Riddle, was incapable of experiencing genuine love due to being conceived under the influence of a love potion, not true love. The circumstances of Tom’s conception were marked by coercion and manipulation, as his mother, Merope Gaunt, used a love potion to attract and bind Tom Riddle Sr. to her. It was artificial and devoid of true affection. This was a concrete and inexplicably tragic detail that meant Tom Riddle simply was not physically capable of reciprocating love.

Key word, reciprocating. For, it was very much possible for someone to fall in love with Tom. A cruel thing it would be, for one cannot simply love Lucifer himself and expect to be loved in return. Tom Riddle's incapacity for reciprocating love stemmed from a profound emotional void rather than an inability to elicit affection from others.

This fact was a cruel truth that you only chose to accept once it was too late. One does not simply get involved with Tom Riddle, and come out unscathed.

Tom never cared for love, really. To him, it was just some sort of transaction or tool, something to be manipulated for his own benefit. Love, in Tom Riddle's eyes, was a means to an end rather than an intrinsic value. It was a sentiment that he observed in others but never truly felt himself.

Love, however, seemed to be the most raw, human thing in existence. It was everything we hated, yet also everything we loved. It unravelled our deepest insecurities, it brought things to the surface that we had long pushed to the side. It required us to lay ourselves, bare, for the other to see. Love made us tolerate the very worst of things, love made us hate the very best of things.

Many things can be complementary in life. Love was not one of them. It was overpowering, consuming. It changed who you were.

Love was the beginning of life and the end of it. Love was part of being human.

Tom lacking this fundamentally crucial aspect of the human experience may have been the very thing that led him to despise his humanity.

When Tom had met you, it was slightly different. A puzzle piece that didn't quite fit but intrigued him nonetheless.

You were undeniably talented, a mind that had its worth. You had this air of arrogance, and whilst Tom hated unbacked arrogance, you had the means to justify it. You were self-assured, and he found it to be somewhat refreshing compared to the other people he knew (who unashamedly sucked up to him.) You didn’t fall for his tricks immediately, which made him all the more agitated, and intrigued. Rather, you seemed to enjoy being with Tom most when he’d drop the ‘perfect and polite’ facade he had. You valued honesty and bluntness, two things Tom did not do (After all, how would he gain the trust of others if he truthfully told them he planned on using every single one of them?)

However, the more time he spent with you, the more he found that he fed into what you liked. And somehow, to his dismay, he found some sort of sick satisfaction in it. He enjoyed seeing you actively seek out his presence, and as much as it went against what Tom believed, he liked the validation of having people want to be associated with him. It was a testament to how he longed to be known, to be admired. He observed, learned, and dissected your intricacies, seeing you not as an individual but as a canvas upon which he could project his desires.

He soon grew very used to you, and he didn't absolutely loathe you. As the days unfolded into months, and the months unfolded into years, a semblance of tolerance took root. He played the part, masking his true intentions beneath a veneer of charm. Tolerance morphed into a twisted form of acknowledgement — an acknowledgement that you held a role in his future ambitions, his ultimate goal.

After all, that's all he ever did anything for, right? His goals, His desires. His needs.

The evolution was subtle but insidious. What began as a detached fascination transformed into a possessive need. Tom, driven by an insatiable hunger for control, found satisfaction in manipulating the threads of your existence. Obsession seeped into every crevice of his thoughts. Your every action became a challenge to him, something for him to understand, something he wanted to have control over. His infatuation stemmed from a desire to have control, to claim your very being, to possess you like some sort of artefact in his prized possessions.

Whilst you may have been immune to Tom’s charm when you first met, you certainly weren't without your weakness. After all, Tom always got what he wanted, and if he didn't have the means to do so, he'd find it.

He became fluent in his ways of understanding you, observing every little thing you did. He dissected the very core of your being till he was sure there was nothing he wouldn't know. Casual conversations about schoolwork in the depths of the library turned to confessions about your life as the hours passed. Tom preyed on your vulnerability, sowing seeds of doubt into your mind.

He agreed with you when you expressed your frustrations at your friends, he encouraged your rash actions. He told you what you wanted to hear, and made it seem as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

As everything he did, each word he spoke was carefully calculated, a thread sewn in the fabric of your fucked up relationship, binding him inexplicably closer to you without even realising.

He pointed out things, seemingly from a place of concern, making you distance yourself from your friends. He highlighted instances where your friends might have let you down, carefully framing himself as the only steadfast pillar in your life. Tom was everything you could have needed; he understood you, and he made you feel seen.

He was selective about what he let you know. He let you know he had grown up in a children’s home, and that his mother had died. Trust was a two-way thing, and you were smart enough to detect when it wasn’t being reciprocated. He let you see what he wanted to see, for no human was perfect, and he needed you to see he had his imperfections if he wanted you to trust him.

He needed to make it seem as though you made him feel seen too.

Tom had been sitting in your room, working with you on a transfiguration assignment you both had been set. Cross-legged on your bed, he still remembers how you had sat down next to him, visibly frustrated.

Tom, ever attuned to you, asked whether you were ok because that's what someone who cared for you did. He didn't care greatly though, not in a selfless way. Rather, he needed you to know that he was the only person who knew you, the only person you needed.

You opened up about what had happened, explaining how your friends had betrayed your trust, and how they seemed to misunderstand you, leaving you feeling isolated and vulnerable. Tom, feigning empathy with expert precision, listened intently, absorbing every detail like a sponge. You began crying because it all became too much.

You never thought Tom would comfort you. You believed he'd perhaps pat your back, or assure you it was all fine. What you didn't expect, was for Tom to draw you in, to wrap his arms around you, and pull you into his chest. You didn't expect him to soothe you, and rub your back as he uttered words of comfort into your ear, seemingly shielding you from the emotions that had been weighing you down.

You didn't expect to feel safe, to feel protected. If only you knew the only thing you needed protection from, was Tom himself.

You felt special. You knew it was not in Tom's nature to do so. You had no idea how vile of a person he truly was, but you understood he was avoidant of sentiment or affection. For him to have been so tender, made you feel loved.

It was only ever bound to go downhill from there.

It was only natural that you had fallen in love with him. From there it all somewhat became a blur. In between the lines, the illusion of love was beginning to waver. Graduating from Hogwarts, you no longer held those ambitions you once had. Your plans seemed now to be a distant memory, a past life. You had Tom, and that was all that mattered.

Tom had gotten his job at Borgin and Burkes. You moved in with him. You ignored the pleas of concern from those who were near and dear to you, who Tom hadn’t managed to isolate you from.

Tom convinced you that they did not have your best interest in mind, that they didn’t like him because he was a poor orphan, working a salesperson job. He had earlier convinced you he had his insecurities about his past, and he used that to make you believe the people around you were prejudiced, that they didn't care for your happiness but rather their status being affected by who they associated with. No one would want to be acquainted with the girl who loved the charity case.

You believed him. You couldn't fathom why they didn’t like Tom. You shut them out.

It was rather terrifying seeing how quickly Tom could snuff out your fiery flame, and reduce you down to someone who became dependent on him. You rarely left the house, your life revolved around what Tom wanted, and how Tom felt.

He left you teetering on the precipe of unhappiness, fulfilling your needs to the point where you couldn’t complain for fear of seeming ungrateful, unloving.

He would neglect you, coming back from work to lock himself in your bedroom, pouring over books and writings. He wasn’t who he used to be, caring, affectionate, loving.

Shame on you for assuming you could make Tom capable of love.

His neglect pierced your soul, and when you mustered the courage to voice your needs, he snapped at you for bothering him. Tom's transformation into an emotionally distant stranger left you in a state of perpetual uncertainty.

At times, you resolved to leave him, but Tom had a knack for sensing your unrest. As though he could read your mind, he returned with offerings and apologies, painting himself as the troubled victim and casting you as the ungrateful perpetrator. Guilt became the shackle that bound you, and his apologies only deepened the wounds.

Tom, in those fleeting moments of remorse, would momentarily embody the man you had fallen in love with. You cooked dinner together. He’ d play with your hair as you read, and he fucked you as if he truly did love you. Yet, the morning after, the bed would be empty, and the reality of your entangled existence with Tom would once again sink in.

He began leaving for work earlier and coming back later. You began to doubt whether it was because of work, the day he came back reeking of dark magic.

You were undeniably clever, after all, that was what had sparked Tom’s obsession with you in the first place, and so it didn’t take long for you to connect the dots. Tom’s friends back in Hogwarts seemed more like devotees than anything else. This, coupled with him spending countless hours reading through books he wouldn't let you see, and his sudden late hours suggested to you he was dappling in dark things.

You weren't wrong, per se, but Tom was far beyond dappling in dark things. He had become the image of corruption itself.

The cycle persisted, a disheartening repetition of highs and lows that left you questioning your worth and the authenticity of the connection you had with Tom. His intermittent displays of affection, punctuated by periods of neglect and manipulation, became the norm. The more you yearned for stability, the deeper you sank into the quicksand of your toxic relationship.

You couldn't pinpoint exactly where neglect turned into heated words. Arguments turning more and more intense. Slammed doors became broken porcelain, yet the remorseful embraces remained the same.

The outside world, once filled with friends and dreams, now seemed like a distant echo. Tom had successfully eroded the foundations of your past life, isolating you from the support systems that could have provided a lifeline. His poisonous whispers had convinced you that only he truly cared for you, painting the rest of the world as indifferent or antagonistic.

The empty mornings and hollow apologies continued, and you slowly began to realise the love you once believed in had become a warped caricature, and the person you had fallen for had let his obsession manifest into your relationship, seeping through the feeble foundations.

The crisp air of Hogsmeade offered a welcome escape from the suffocating atmosphere of the shared home with Tom. As you strolled through the quaint village, a familiar face caught your eye – Elizabeth, your closest friend from Hogwarts. A twinge of nostalgia mixed with apprehension as you approached her.

"Hey, Elizabeth," you greeted, attempting a smile.

Her response was guarded, her eyes revealing a mixture of concern and wariness. "Hello. Long time no see."

You sensed a tension in the air as you tried to engage in small talk, but Elizabeth's words soon cut through the facade. "Look, What happened? You dropped off the face of the earth, and it's like you vanished after graduation. In our last year, you completely ignored all of us."

A knot tightened in your stomach as you fumbled for an explanation. "I... things have been complicated. I've been busy."

Elizabeth's expression softened, and she sighed. "Busy? More like completely consumed. We all missed you, you know? But you acted like we don't even exist. What happened to the person we used to know?"

You frown, crossing your arms. “Missed me? I only stopped talking to you because you all acted weird around me.” You respond, defensively.

“No, we didn't. You got angry at us when we told you we were worried for you. You rarely went out with us, you were always too busy elsewhere.” She corrected, and you felt a frustration bubble within you.

“No, it didn’t really seem like that. You all isolated me and the only person I had left was Tom. It was only natural that I wouldn't want to go back to being friends with you after that.” You snap.

Elizabeth's eyes widened, sympathy replacing her earlier frustration. "Tom? Are you serious? He's the one who isolated you, not us. We've been worried sick about you. You're not the same person anymore."

Who did she think she was? She knew nothing about the two of you, let alone what your relationship was like. Tom was right, these people had it out for you. They didn't care for you, not at all.

“You don't know what our relationship is like Elizabeth, so I suggest you stop making assumptions.” You hiss, glaring at her.

"We cared, but you pushed us away," Elizabeth explained gently. "You were so wrapped up in whatever was going on with Tom that you stopped caring about anyone else. It's not healthy, and we were genuinely concerned."

Elizabeth reached out to comfort you. "Listen, I know it's tough, but you need to reevaluate your situation. Staying with Tom isn't healthy, and you're not alone. My door is always open if you need somewhere to stay or someone to talk to.” She says, fumbling around in her pockets. She pulls out a receipt and hastily scribbles down an address, thrusting it into your hand. She gives you one last look of pity, and you feel enraged. You immediately apparate back home, you didn't have time for this foolishness.

You apparate back home, the confrontation with Elizabeth leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. The hastily scribbled address clutched in your hand feels like an unwanted invitation, an intrusion into the carefully constructed reality that Tom has woven around you.

As you step into the shared home, the atmosphere is unsettling. Tom is hunched over a dark tome, his eyes flickering up to meet yours as you enter.

"Where have you been?" he questions, the softness of his tone belying the underlying intensity.

You toss your coat aside, frustration boiling beneath the surface. "Out. I needed a break from all this," you retort, the words laced with the anger that has been building up.

A dangerous glint enters Tom's eyes, his composure slipping. "A break? Is that how you see it? Is it a burden to you?"

"Yes, Tom! I don’t know what’s gone wrong? One day you’re fin and the next you’re acting as though i’m a nuisance to your being," you snap, the resentment in your voice cutting through the room.

His posture stiffens, and a quiet threat laces his words. "Oh really?"

Your anger flares, a defiant fire pushing back against his dominance. "Guess who I saw today, hmm?" You seethe, venom lingering in your tone.

A momentary confusion flickers in Tom's eyes. "Who?" he questions, wondering how this could be relevant to the conversation.

"Elizabeth," you declare, watching his reaction closely.

Tom's expression darkens, and a cold tension settles in the room. "What does she have to do with anything?" He retorts, stepping closer to you.

"She told me a few things, Tom. About how I've distanced myself from everyone, how they were worried, and you know what struck me?" you press on, your anger finding a new target.

His eyes narrow, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. "What?"

"That I believed it was my friends who had abandoned me, but in reality, it's been you isolating me all along," you accuse, the realization fueling your rage. You jab your finger into his chest as you speak.

Tom's composure wavers, but he quickly recovers. "I've been protecting you. You can't trust them. They're trying to pull you away from me."

"Stop. Stop it, Tom. Have the decency to acknowledge I'm not that fucking stupid. I know what you're trying to do,” You say, voice cracking. You resist the urge to shield your ears, his words burrowing their way into you as he attempts to trivialise your worries, making you out to be the irrational one.

Tom frowns, and the sight of you beginning to doubt him had bile riding in the back of his throat. H reaches out, hands holding onto your shoulders as he urges you to look at him.

“They’re lying to you. They’re trying to pull you away from me again! Can't you see this? Why do you believe them over me?” He says, voice pleading with you in fake desperation, the lengths he was willing to go to to ensure he could continue to possess you were unthinkable.

“Enough. Im fucking done. You’re so fucked up, Tom. You never loved me, did you? You only ever wanted to own me, to control me. Tell me, was it worth it? Was it ever fucking worth it, spending 5 years of your life weaving this tapestry of bullshit just so you could keep me locked up in here?” You snap, grabbing your coat.

Tom's pleading expression transforms into a cold mask, and a sinister calm settles over him. "You think you can just leave? You're mine, and you'll stay. I won't let you go." He utters.

The realization of his true nature, the toxicity of the relationship, fuels your determination. "Watch me,” You hiss.

As you move toward the door, his grip on control slips further, and an unsettling mix of rage and desperation flashes in his eyes. "You'll regret this. You'll come crawling back. You always come back." He says. You take a single look at him before slamming the door and walking off.

One cannot simply dance with the devil, and change him. He always changes you.

Tom Riddle was far beyond the devil.

You wondered if for once in your life God had been on your side when you had that chance encounter with Elizabeth. Despite your harsh words, she had accepted you into her home with open arms. The weight of the past five years settles heavily on your shoulders, and the enormity of what you've lost becomes painfully clear. You were young, so damn young, and you’d been living as a glorified prisoner, trapped by the very thing that was meant to liberate you.

But love was ugly, wasn't it? It made you tolerate the bad, it made you irrational. Love could bare its teeth into your neck, and you'd let it, for love was ugly.

It was ugly, but it was not macabre.

Tom knew where you were. Tom always did. It was already established that Tom always got what he wanted. He wanted you, and he found a way to ensure that.

At first, he did not bother you.

He believed you would come back to him, as you so often did. But when a week had passed and you had not reappeared as you always did, beautiful face flushed red, eyes glossy with tears as you wordlessly stepped in and fell back into normality, he began to worry.

If it came to any relief to you, which it might have, Tom believed he loved you. What you had was a far cry from love, an echo of what it should have been. But in the mind of he who cannot love, this is what he believed it to be. One could only wonder whether everything would have been different if he actually knew what love was. But he didn't, and he never would, so he was left with some sort of fucked up obsession that he believed was love.

Tom felt a gnawing emptiness that only intensified with your departure.

Again, he loved you, if one could call it love. It was a sick, twisted version of affection that demanded ownership. In his distorted reality, your existence became an extension of his own, a possession he couldn't bear to lose. The mere thought of you breaking free ignited a desperate panic within him.

He needed you like a drowning man gasping for air, clinging to the last vestiges of sanity.

Schopenhauer believed that the will, a blind and irrational force, dominated human behaviour. Love, according to Schopenhauer, was an expression of the will's desire.

Tom felt this indescribable gap in his life without you there, as though he simply wasn’t complete without you. The old him would have hated to admit it, but he needed you, and his need for you grew from a sickly infatuation to a desperate yearning. Love, in his distorted reality, meant ownership, and he was losing his grip.

It was a rather bleak evening, and you had a horrible feeling in your stomach as you sat on the sofa of Elizabeth’s living room, where you had been presiding for the past week.

How cruel it was, that you and Tom were so attuned to one another.

You somehow knew it was Tom without needing to see them.

As Tom had resonated with the words of Schopenhauer, you had resonated with the words of Plato. For you, love could not be controlled. Instead, it was a divine madness that took hold of individuals, transcending rational thought and choice.

You had often thought that was a beautiful thing. However, when it was love that was causing your demise, it no longer felt beautiful.

Elizabeth comes down the stairs and raises a brow when she sees you perched on the edge of the sofa, staring blankly off into the distance. She eyes you apprehensively as she opens the door.

That voice. It simultaneously sent dread coursing through you, and butterflies erupting in your stomach.

“Come back now. It's been far too long.” Tom says, his voice oh so tempting.

“Seriously? You think you can get her back with that bullshit?” Elizabeth snaps, standing at the door.

Tom, however, remains fixated on you, as if Elizabeth's words were mere background noise. Ignoring her comments, he continues, his eyes piercing into your conflicted gaze.

"Stop this. Come back. It's where you belong," he urges, the words carrying a persuasive weight that had once held you captive.

Elizabeth's frustration peaked as she turned to face you, pleading in her eyes. "Don't listen to him. He's toxic, and you don't need that in your life. You deserve so much more."

Tom's eyes bore into yours, his tone silky but insistent. "You don't belong in our business, Elizabeth. You’re as meddlesome as you were in school. She knows where she belongs."

You remain silent.

"He's killing you. Can't you see that?" Elizabeth's voice held a mixture of concern and frustration.

But Tom's voice slithered through the air once more, persuasive and relentless. "Come to me.” His words echoed a twisted sense of possessiveness, yet held such allure, spoken tenderly, enough to convince you it would be fine.

You clench your fists, nails digging into your skin. You stand up, letting out a shuddery breath. You walk towards the door.

“Fuck, stop! You don't need to go! Don't act like you have nowhere to go! I've given you my home, I’ve let you stay. Stop going back!” Elizabeth says, frustration laced in her voice.

How easy it is to claim you simply need to just “stop”, and it would all be fine.

It was never that simple. Tom's presence was poison, yet it was also the air you breathed. You had only known Tom for what felt like aeons, and you had shut everyone who questioned you out. All you had was Tom, all you ever would have is Tom.

He was home, a twisted kind that keeps you warm while slowly suffocating the life out of you.

As you walked back into his outstretched arms, a sense of numb acceptance settled over you. The outside world ceased to matter; the only reality was the one with Tom.

It wasn't love as the poets wrote or the philosophers pondered. Yet, in its ugliness, it was the only reality you knew.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around. Like a serpent, his embrace constricts around you, possessive and suffocating. You lean into him, feeling the coldness of his touch seep into your skin. It's oddly warming though, as paradoxical as it seemed.

"Where else would you go, my love?" he whispers, the sweetness of the endearment masking the toxicity beneath.

The serpent and its prey, bound in a perverse waltz of dependence and decay, disappear into the shadows, and the world outside is forgotten once again.

#slytherin #slytherin boys #harry potter #tom riddle #draco malfoy #lorenzo berkshire #slytherin boys fic #theodore nott #blaise zabini #pansy parkinson #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle fic #tom riddle angst

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berryless · 5 months

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As much as Astarion likes to pretend he's better than everyone, the truth is—when the performance ends, and the curtains draw to a close, he stays on the stage alone and forgotten, unworthy of attention when he isn't a spectacle. That's why his little theater is open for everyone around the clock. Every act, every movement, every phrase, although deftly improvised, is part of the show.

Everything to prevent the crowd from discovering the truth.

Everything to fool himself into forgetting said truth himself.

That outside of the spotlight, away from the little stage of his, when he looks in someone's eyes, Astarion doesn't see himself reflected in them. They look at him, but also past him, through him, like he's nothing but an empty space, a person-shaped hole in the fabric of the world that someone forgot to mend.

And because this happens oh so every often this thought is no longer a fear of his, not something he can doubt, but a simple fact.

They don't see him. They don't know him.

They don't care to.

Admittedly, this makes it easier to stomach luring them back to Cazador. Because of course a performance of century would require a fee. Nothing in this world is free. Certainly not his services.

And he is but a humble baitman, a shining lantern attracting moths to leap into the flames of eternal damnation.

A tool.

And as a tool he does what he's told to do unless he wants to end up discarded and broken like others disobedient useless tools were.

But then Tav sees him. And it's frightening.

Because suddenly after the show is over, after the curtains are drawn, after everything falls back to silence, and he returns to being in nothingness, he isn't truly alone on this stage anymore.

She's here, sitting quietly, looking at him in a contemplation, thinking who knows what—Astarion certainly doesn't. And her presence alone is forcing him to put back his stage costume and perform off clock, asking in jest if she happened to lost herself in his eyes, because it certainly wouldn't be the first for this to happen, he does have pretty eyes (or so he's been told enough to regurgitate the sentiment appropriately).

Tav laughs, "As a matter of fact, you do. But…" Her voice trails off, and that uncomfortable stare returns. She looks at him, lost in thoughts as she gathers her words, and a wave of goosebumps runs up Astarions arms when it comes to him she actually sees him.

Wants to see him.

Through him—in a different, completely foreign way, not skipping past his existence, but uncovering it and studying its insides. His insides.

The notion makes him nauseous.

His fingers start to tremble, and Astarion hides them in his fists.

He never knew that being perceived might be so frightening.

He's far more comfortable with everything being the usual way, for people withdrawing when the performance ends, for them seeing past him, but not him, because if they judge his mask, his persona, his act—that's a critique of his presentation. His work, if you will. His craft.

Not of Astarion himself.

And as it shockingly turns out, he might not like receiving judgment on something that he, an actor, an author, a man behind the stage is.

"You have far more than just those beautiful eyes of yours, aren't you?"

He laughs on cue, desperate to turn this exchange into one he has with his audience, "My, what gave me away? My luscious locks, perhaps? Or would that be my lustful lips? I received rave reviews on my use of them. Would you like to try for yourself?"

Tav smiles. She looks at him openly, without blushing, without twitching, neither sultry nor loathing, accepting his words like an act that they are.

Astarion can barely keep his flirtatious mask without it cracking.

"As tempting as this offer is, afraid I've to restrain myself," she sighs, the tone of her voice aligning to his. She's also performing her part, and he knows that with certainty. "My compact size does not allow me thread deep waters without caution."

And your waters, Astarion, run very deep indeed.

She doesn't say this out loud, but he can infer the meaning from other places.

"Oh, come on, I'm hardly deeper than a puddle," he quips back. "You'll be perfectly fine sloshing through. As long as you don't mind being messy."

"Will I?"

He's still unable to see his reflection, but the feeling of being seen doesn't go away. She looks at him, through him, but not past him, right into his skull, right into his soul, and a part of him wants to curl himself in a ball to hide from this deep penetrating stare of hers.

Thankfully, Tav turns away before he's forced to do that. Or gouge out her wise all-knowing eyes, completely ill-fit for someone oh-so-young.

"Goodnight, Astarion."

He doesn't ask for a goodnight sip this time, just says something fitting without thinking much about it.

The feeling of her gaze lingers, it crawls under his skin, making all his hairs stand on end.

He doesn't like it.

And yet the shudder runs through him from just a fleeting picture of those eyes prying him open and reading through him with same acute attention that's reserved exclusively for her books. A frightened one, yes. But simultaneously full of excitement.

He does not like it.

Not one bit.

Not at all.

#fanfiction #fanfic #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #drabble #character study

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magenta-embers · 6 months

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Fetus Jimin's Blatant Crush on Jungkook

Today I wanted to travel back in time and put a spotlight on a period of utmost importance when it comes to understanding the full picture of Jikook and part of what makes it such a legitimate possibility.

Believing that they could truly be a couple now is made as easy as breathing when you observe their history. You need the whole context to take Jikook from just another ship to something potentially very real. It's a context that the other pairings in the group just don't have.

The Jimin and Jungkook we know now are settled and comfortable with themselves and with each other. You could call them domestic. But back in the day, say 2013-2015, it was a different story.

To put it simply: Jimin and Jungkook had a massive mutual crush on each other and it wasn't even remotely subtle.

Most Jikookers know what I'm talking about, but if you haven't had a chance to look deeper into the context of these two together, here's a teensy intro.

I'm gonna share a select few of my personal highlight moments exhibiting Jimin's crush + his confusion/acceptance regarding it. There are hours of moments to choose from and an image/gif limit, so we'll keep it to a minimum.

We're going to focus on the Jimin side of things today. Jungkook will probably get his own post as these two expressed their feelings quite differently.

Present-day Jimin is very good at compartmentalizing what thoughts or parts of thoughts he shares with us. He's vague in all the right areas, chooses his words carefully, omits certain details, and is overall pretty masterful at the parasocial aspect of being an idol. Back then though?

Holy sweet mother of pearl, he just said and did anything.

He was honest (embarrassingly so) and he wore his heart on his sleeve. Because of this fumbling period with no brain-to-mouth filter, there exists some incredible retrospective insight into how Jimin feels about Jungkook at his core, without all the masking and nonchalance we get nowadays.

(Let's be real though, he still slips up)

"JK is coming."

Boy 💀

Let's get into it.

Exhibit A

This first section is going to look at a very young Jimin's struggle with these new, unfamiliar feelings he's been having lately (not necessarily in exact chronological order but some highlights within the "budding crush" stage).

A.1

While affectionately petting the maknae's hair and nape, Jimin wonders aloud why he likes Jungkook so much, as if he likes him an abnormal amount or differently than the five other friends he has in the group. If anything, Jimin should have liked Tae the most at this point since they were friends from school. Yet, Jimin openly questions what makes Jungkook different.

It's an introspective question disguised as a rhetorical one. Obviously, Jimin doesn't want JK to answer and JK, shy as he is, doesn't know how to answer a loaded question like that so he tries to redirect Jimin's attention to actual matters. It doesn't quite work.

Jimin then says, "These days, Jungkook..." and trails off while scratching his head with lighthearted frustration as if to say, "These days, Jungkook... plagues my mind," or something to that sentiment. JK's on his mind a lot and it confuses him. He doesn't finish the sentence but instead brushes it off with a laugh.

He holds back because it'll look weird to people if he gets into how much he thinks about JK or unpacks why. Still, he can't help but start to talk about it, because it's something that's actively bothering him.

A.2

Like I said, not only does Jimin think about JK too much, but he's also thinking about how people will judge him for how he perceives Jungkook. People might think he's strange.

Why?

JK's the timid maknae with big, curious eyes. Of course, he's cute. Everyone will agree. Everyone does agree. So why is Jimin concerned with what he can say about Jungkook that's okay to others? He even pouts sadly for a moment at the end. The maknae's cute and he's kind of glum over it? He's definitely been overthinking it.

Also, the way Jimin cartoonishly moves his head and eyes while talking about how bewildered JK always is and how adorable he is for it is a hilarious attempt at being nonchalant, but to me, it just looks like a schoolboy trying not to seem gushy about his secret crush.

A.3

Jungkook's so cute and so charming that Jimin can't function like he wants to. Can't live properly because Jungkook's on his mind constantly. He's super distracting. Is this a normal friendship thing? No. You don't see Hobi or Joon saying this about him. It's a problem exclusive to Jimin. And exclusive for Jungkook.

Jimin knows it's weird too. He's acting lighthearted about it, but to randomly say, "I can't live because of you" and keep bumping into JK is his frustration bleeding through. All the while he can't take his eyes off him as if he's trying to solve his dilemma right then and there.

Overall, It seems like Jimin doesn't understand what it is he's feeling, just that it's a lot, which makes me think that up until the Jungkook point, he hadn't really considered his sexuality on a meaningful level. We know that Jimin was the least experienced romantically, so it wouldn't surprise me if that's the case.

It's okay, Jiminie. You'll figure out a lot of things about yourself sooner rather than later.

Exhibit B

This section is about a period of time when Jimin accepted his crush and became unbelievably annoying vocal about it. You could also do an essay on why he was so in everyone's face about it.

B.1

Man, he just outright said it, huh?

Jimin wants to be with Jungkook and go on a date with him and hold hands.

Okay, pack it up everyone, we're done here. He like likes him, oooooooh!

Look at him clinging to JK's clothes and merrily skipping forward holding his wrist. Bless his heart. As Jimin once mentioned, "My heart that thinks of Jungkook is quite big."

Peep everyone else's reactions. JK has no objections and is just basically making his "Yeeeeeaaaah" face. Namjoon and Yoongi are a mix of confused and exasperated, both going, "What?" at the inappropriate(?) answer. Hobi attempts a poker face.

They shove Jimin away and attempt to move on...

And Jimin comes right back, practically leaps on Jungkook to plead with him to "live happily together." Okay.

When I tell you he's embarrassing.

Now Namjoon is straight-up irritated because Jimin didn't get the hint and is ruining the interview. He rolls his eyes and shoves them both back this time like he knows he's gotta get rid of the whole equation.

Hobi's glare poker face fails and he attempts to redirect focus to the topic with his own answer, complete with a pointed hand gesture.

Yoongi has a genuine scrunch of judgy confusion as if he just doesn't get wtf Jimin is trying to do because he should know better or why he's acting so clingy right now.

Jungkook quietly preens under Jimin's attention, but it's also awkward because he can read the room, so he doesn't quite know how to react other than remain pliable. He does reach for Jimin's hand subconsciously though.

I don't think it's even necessary to keep going, but oh ho ho, we're gonna keep going.

B.2

Tae: "I think he kind of likes men."

Now, I don't love the way Tae blurts this out, putting Jimin on the spot and nearly outing him. But also, it's meant to be a joke and he likely doesn't know yet just how on the nose he really is. Tae has grown and matured a lot over the years, so forgive him for this blip.

I imagine Tae has had to sit through a lot of sus rants from Jimin about Jungkook at this point. Because it's interesting that the statement came out of him so readily as if he's considered this about Jimin more than once. He's one of the closest people to Jimin, so if he's been pondering this about his friend then it's a pretty significant observation.

Now how does Jimin react to this out-of-pocket accusation? Is it:

a) "Haha, noooo!"

b) "What are you saying?"

c) "Not like that!"

d) "Come on now."

e) He doesn't deny it whatsoever.

If you answered e, you get a sun and moon sticker. It would've been so easy and expected for Jimin to deny this claim, but he doesn't. Because he can't. Because he'd be lying. Because he does kind of like men. Especially one in particular. And Jimin is just too honest.

He does very gracefully tiptoe around a confirmation (and a shutdown of the topic) by telling Tae he doesn't like him specifically. His reflex was to be defensive of himself and how much he likes Jungkook. It also further confirms that how Jimin likes Tae (his best friend) is different from how he likes Jungkook. It's all truly very telling.

(JK's reactions are very cute, but we won't get into that here.)

B.3

Host: "You're free to go anywhere in the world with anyone you want to do anything you wish. Where are you, what are you doing, and who are you with?"

Jimin:

Really? He had this romantic-ass answer ready to go. The other members gave normal answers about family and such. Jimin could've easily. But no. He then smiles sweetly over at Jungkook. The host is actually flustered by his answer and translates what he says, but conveniently leaves out the holding hands part.

But this is a fluke, right? He just said Jungkook as a silly answer, right?

Oh, look! Another instance when he can answer with anything and still ends up being honest.

"I think Jungkook is very cute." It's his go-to answer when people ask him why he likes JK so much. People keep mentioning it because his liking for Jungkook is noticeably and abnormally loud. Yet, Jimin's usual answer isn't really a complete answer, is it? "Cute" can be part of a reason, but not the whole reason. Cute is the safe detail he can share.

Lmao at Tae's side-eye at Jimin fawning over Jungkook shamelessly. You can tell he's thinking, "...this mf likes men" again. He hasn't perfected that Tae poker face just yet.

So Jimin really wants that private trip with Jungkook, hey? Why not with Tae, his bestie? His soulmate? Tae's also very cute, no?

Because he doesn't mean a friend trip.

(Don't fret, Jiminie. You'll get your private trip with Jungkook and it'll be beyond your expectations.)

B.4

A couple of examples of Jungkook being aggressively on Jimin's mind even when he's just answering basic questions.

No one: So, what do-

Jimin: Jungkookie <3

Literally, who asked? No one's twisting his arm here to make him answer "Jungkook" with romantic implications under these totally general questions. He could've answered with literally anything else.

Some thoughts:

If he was being speedy and just writing/saying the first things that popped into his head, it still means Jungkook is at the forefront of his mind. Plagues his mind, if you will.

If he was carefully considering the questions and answering honestly, it still means Jungkook is heavily weighing in his mind at a vulnerable level.

Jungkook still came before performing and receiving attention. The first thing. Not the last thing as a joke because Jimin couldn't think of anything else.

He makes sure to stake his claim over Jungkook in his description of him. "Mine." How fanfic.

His weakness is Jungkook. He can't resist him. Point blank. Why would he say that? How else am I supposed to interpret that?

Jungkook reaches every corner of Jimin's mind. Even if Jimin manages to convince himself he's just being playful and jokey, it's the repetitive nature and exclusivity of Jungkook being involved in his answers that are eyebrow-raising and give him away. He might as well doodle hearts around "JK" all over the page. It's a textbook crush. He's infatuated with this person he thinks is unattainable.

B.5

"Happy Birthday Jeon Jungkook! Please accept my love!" followed by blowing a kiss, an awkward giggle, and a glance at Jungkook.

What love? He's already accepted your platonic love; you guys are good friends, attached at the hip, and Jungkook's made it explicitly clear he likes you a lot and appreciates how well you treat him/take care of him. What more do you want him to accept, exactly, Jimin?

Again, unnecessary. No one's making him say this. No one's expecting him to say this. No one wants him to say this. And yet.

B.6

Manifest your dreams, Jiminie.

I don't even have to explain to you how common the "We look like a couple! Haha, just kidding... Unless?" thing is. We've all been there. You want to plant the seed in your crush's head. You want them to think about it, to consider the image of you two together. Jimin's planted a whole grove in JK's head with the way he's been all over him these couple of years.

Exhibit C

The kisses.

The amount of times Jimin either asks to kiss Jungkook, asks Jungkook to kiss him, or tries to kiss Jungkook is quite frankly absurd. These are just some examples. Some!

Imagine this was your friend who keeps trying to kiss you. For years. Jokes get really old really fast. You'd laugh and play along the first time. Laugh it off the second time. Force a laugh the third time.

At what point would you start wondering if your friend has legitimate feelings for you?

At what point do you think Jungkook did?

Especially considering Jimin's general behavior toward him.

(The other members don't laugh when it happens in front of them. It's always either wtf are you saying or they change the subject with visible discomfort.)

What Jimin is doing here (via "jokes") is testing Jungkook's boundaries, gauging his reactions, because he's interested in him beyond platonic limits. He really, really wants to kiss Jungkook and fantasizes about it, but he will not make a serious first move out of fear of being rejected.

Food for thought: Post-2015, Jimin doesn't ask Jungkook for kisses anymore or beg him to love him back, while coincidentally also becoming intimately touchier than ever with each other.

Perhaps Jimin finally got what he wanted? Hmm...

We can stop here. I think you get the point.

Everyone, say it with me now: Jimin wants Jungkook romantically.

He wants to go on dates with Jungkook.

He wants to hold hands with Jungkook.

He wants to kiss Jungkook.

He's expressed these things in every way he can:

He's acted them out.

He's said them aloud.

He's written them down.

Over and over and over again. What more do you want? I am not assuming anything. To say that he doesn't is just blatantly ignoring poor Jimin screaming it from the rooftops to fit whatever agenda you have. It's a you problem.

If you want to see more examples of everything (because there are still plenty), just watch this. In fact, watch every video on this channel. Treat yourself.

youtube

Also thanks to this heaven-sent channel for the captions on almost everything in this post (all gifs by me).

If I see a single one of you say with your whole chest that Jimin thinks of Jungkook in a brotherly way after this, I will hunt you down and beat your ass and your brother's ass.

Open your damn eyes.

I hope you enjoyed my spiel. Till next time!

#jikook #jimin

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akutasoda · 2 months

Note

In relation to my last ask too,

I just can't stop thinking about how they would react?@,#?@?@, also pushing my "Blade actually cries" agenda :3

I feel like Blade would freeze INSTANTLY. You're handing him the key to your own heart, something that is so important, so sentimental, so fragile.

You're trusting him enough to basically hand over the only thing that separates you from death itself. He can't even begin to process how to react, but one thing he does is grasp the key that is in his hand. Holding it so tightly that the marks of its edges would start to engrave in his palms.

The only thing that snaps him out of this trance is the feeling of your hands gently reaching out and touching his own. Their warmth was immediately recognized as he lifted his head to look at your face.

That sickly sweet smile painting your lips, the loving gaze in your eyes. Did he deserve that? How did he manage to find someone who would love him with such devotion? How can he even begin to try to prove to you that he loves you just as much? You're literally handing him the only thing that keeps your soul in this plane of existence.

"If you keep holding it like that, it might mold with your skin," you said with a chuckle. And he might actually want (need) that. Attach something so important for you to his own body so he will never lose or forget about it. If he could, that key would be already carved to his body.

Again, you're making him experience these strange new feelings for the first time. Just as you managed to make him feel love, now you're making him feel gratitude. Gratitude for having someone like you love a weapon like him.

And just like a cracked dam finally breaking, tears cascaded down his face, drop after drop quickly turning into a gentle stream of water. His arms wasted no time and quickly wrapped around you, his fist still closed around the key as he leaned against the crook of your neck.

"Thank you... love."

This was supposed to be a LOT bigger but I felt nervous and I don't want to send you a fucking Bible sized ramble so I had to cut some paragraphs out DGBDGZGDBDJ SORRY IF IT'S STILL WAY TOO MUCH

Ps; TUMBLR WORD EDIT SUCKS SOOOO BAD I HATE IT.

omg.. this is too good! you seriously need to write this!

this has got me thinking about a whole contract and irony of how the person teaching him these new feelings is in fact a puppet(?). something that normally isn't alove, something that normally doesn't even have feelings and yet you are making him experience the feeelings he hasn't felt as blade.

and yes i agree, blade does cry. ot may take alot but something like this would truly remind him of his humanity and that's when he allows himself the same weakness at the moment you're offering him something so precious to you.

and im very much welcoming a full-length idea :) especially one's as good as these

#✩↪「q rambles」#✧↠submitted rambles and ideas #tumblr word editing does suck #x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr blade #honkai star rail blade #blade x reader #blade x you #✧↠totallynotamanlovers submissions

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hungwy · 2 months

Text

I’ve seen many people reblog a post which contains tweets that, in my eyes, amount to a single complaint that is only half true (but that I agree with for the most part). But anyway, here’s a longpost:

(tweet in question)

I think it’s mostly wrong to say FPS multiplayer “peaked” ("was most fun for the playerbase"?) with Source games in the way presented. Believe it or not, you can still join a server with 30 people playing on a user map with fucked up assets everywhere, and some of the 30 people playing will be 14-year-olds with bad mics getting mad at being spawn killed by someone with 20,000 hours in the game. In fact, there are servers like this in most Source games, including Garry’s Mod, TF2, and CSS and CSGO (but honestly I think TF2 is most representative of the above scenario). I just launched Valve’s community server browser and have found an unending list of silly-sounding servers for TF2: Minecraft trade, Murder at the Mannor, Zombie Escape, Medieval Mode, all full or near-full. I checked Garry’s Mod: SCP-RP, Zombie Survival, Clone Wars Roleplay, “Swamp Cinema”, 1980’s Mafia Roleplay, DarkRP (x20), again, all well-populated. Admittedly CS2 was mostly deathmatch servers (due to it being Source 2 and not Source and so missing a lot of plugins that would allow for “fun” servers), but CSS still had surf, bhop, minigames, and jailbreak servers still going and full. My server browser won’t show CSGO for whatever reason, but up until CS2 released I know for a fact that these silly ass servers still exist there too. The implication that these servers and their conditions are gone is wrong. You don’t want a server with the exact same conditions though, I think you want to relive the specific memories you’re having and feel happiness again. But maybe I’m going too far there.

How about this. I’ll give it to you, Dusk developer, that for you FPS multiplayer peaked with insane TF2 trade servers, but you also make boomer shooters for a living, so I think you’re biased towards enjoying an older generation of games anyway. Modern FPS games are fantastic and in their own ways contain a lot of fun. Modern games in general fill the spaces that, for you, TF2 servers filled. Have you seen Roblox minigames and Minecraft server plugins? They’re actually crazy and decently well made. I’m excited that kids have grown up in such a good environment for games. They have tons of options that we didn’t have back then. It’s awesome! Like, don’t let your nostalgia blind you to the fact that kids are having just as much fun as you now. TF2 and Garry’s Mod are not the be-all, end-all of FPS multiplayer fun. That sentiment I completely disagree with and think people should get over.

But like, how the hell does competitive gaming play into this? I truly don’t buy the wording of “Esports and competitive ranking ruined multiplayer”. It’s just not true. Not only are the servers you’re mourning still exist, they’re still well-populated and their “golden age” coincided with some of the greatest heights in competitive FPS gaming. You know what’s funny? When CSGO released in 2012, TF2 saw a drop of almost 10,000 average players. It recovered basically the next year. Besides a small dip in 2018, TF2 had held around 50,000 average players since its release, until 2019 where its average player-count has risen to about 80,000 players. Garry’s Mod wouldn’t peak in total concurrent players until 2015 and has had a dedicated core of players averaging around 25,000 since like 2013. Seriously, these are incredibly consistent player-counts throughout the release of Overwatch, PUBG, Fortnite, Apex, and Valorant. In fact, contrary to the tweeter's implicit assumptions, it seems like nothing much has changed, and that competitive gaming did not, at all, ruin or depopulate these “fun” spaces.

So, again, how does competitive gaming and esports play into this? Only thing I think is valid is the fact that a few popular modern FPSes don’t do the whole “community-hosted server” thing: Apex, Fortnite, PUBG, Valorant, and Overwatch all do not have native community-hosted server support. Which, to be frank, is bad for their competitive gaming scene too! Esports has ALWAYS used self-hosted servers for practicing to get better. I don’t know the argument for not having these sorts of things, maybe not developing the toolkit for these things is easier than developing them. IDK. But I agree that it is bad that many popular games don’t support this sort of thing. The “self-hosted netizen” is a category of person that’s been declining for a long time regardless of the effect of competitive first-person shooter games on the casual first-person shooter games self-hosted server market. But again, for the topic of the post, I think this is a completely nonsensical implication. As far as I can tell ALL Valve-made Source engine games have active and popular community servers still, and the popular games ALL have very populated servers with “fun” gamemodes and atmospheres. Competitive has grown very popular, yes. It's true. It's fun to compete, everyone knows it. But esports has taken very little if anything away from the casual playerbase of Source games.

(Also, for the record, during the actual multiplayer FPS golden age of the time, Xbox 360 and Playstation 3 shooters, there were no self-hosted servers for us, and it was still the most fun anyone ever had playing casually on console. It was the age of trickshotting and montages, man! For the intent of this post that exact restriction counts as “keeping players from interacting with one another” yet these games, especially COD, were, uh… infamously social. Not to mention these games had competitive scenes alongside the casual scene perfectly fine.)

I think, really, ignoring the actual content of the tweet, these tweets are just about nostalgia for your childhood. Which is fine! You can miss things you used to do for fun and no longer do. Probably every human that’s ever existed has gone through this. I mean, again, it is kind of popular in current culture to be nostalgic. The 90s aesthetic, early 2000s media, retro games, super hero movies, cartoons being consumed by adults to a greater degree than ever, et cetera. I think to some extent the complaint itself isn’t like, a completely unclouded judgement of the Decline of The Beauty of Multiplayer Gaming throughout the years. The concrete complaints in those tweets seem both a little rose-tinted and unnecessarily doomerpilled to me. But like, regardless, it’s kind of your fault for not returning to these things, man. Go join one of those servers if you’re not busy being an adult with a job and friends and other obligations that may keep you from doing things that you’re not used to and have fun like you did in childhood. Or is that what's actually the problem…? I don’t know. A suggestion. I just think in the end the complaint isn't valid.

This post is long and I had a LOT of thoughts that I may have missed or chopped off at the incorrect time. I think the picture I'm trying to build has probably been communicated, though? Maybe I’m not considering something, maybe I overinterpreted implications, maybe the fact that the playerbase of TF2 and Garry's Mod being highly consistent for ten years or whatever is not indicative of anything I've said, but I hope regardless you understand that like, at least part of this tweet is weird to say in the ways I've attempted to untease. People young and old are still having crazy times in video games and esports has done, as far as I can tell, absolutely nothing to change at, ever.

Turning off reblogs because I have a feeling anyone who doesn't follow me might become annoying about this

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tatorthots · 1 year

Text

— a jealous encounter

Featured: wanderer x afab!reader x Childe (implied)

cw: suggestive themes, jealousy, cursing, (slight) hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, (slight) possessiveness

Synopsis: Jealousy is nothing more than a pathetic human emotion. It’s truly almost humorous how insecure and weak-minded mortals are, getting riled up simply because the object of their affection gets a little attention. Of course, the former sixth harbinger is far above such trivial emotions (he’s not)

a/n: scara being jealous, soft, and sulky because I said so and also I used sm names for scara because I didn’t know what name to use and I panicked btw have you guys been playing the windtrace event?? I literally can’t stop playing it help

art credit: @Liann1009 on twt

The swaying of forest leaves reflected off the clear spring waters of the still river you had come to rest by. The sun was still high above the fluffy clouds and its warmth gently kissed the skin of every living being and creature under it. It was truly a beautiful day in the outskirts of Sumeru City. And along with the chirping of birds, the sound of your laughter resonated through the forest breeze like a soft melody — absolutely enchanting, he thought, if it wasn’t caused by that damned insolent insect.

Archons, could the man not get a break? Is this finally the ‘divine punishment’ mortals so often preach about? Glaring sharp eyes quietly trailed the tall, orange-headed idiot as he fumbled around you like some love-sick child, far too comfortable with you for the latter's liking. Feelings of disdain soon turned to seething anger. Despite all my efforts, slender fingers dug into the grass underneath him, he still manages to ruin what little I have. Had he not gone through grueling enough changes? Did sacrificing absolutely everything to start anew mean so little? He gave up his past titles, erased his previous relationships, and severed every last thread that connected him to his past self — aside from you — and yet, here stood the bane of his existence during his time as a Fatui Harbinger. And to make things worse, you’re actually friends with him.

Childe, he sneered.

“Ajax, how could you get so excited over anemo slimes?” You giggled as your eyes fluttered into crescents and you bashfully hit the freckled man next to you. You couldn’t help but tease your longtime friend for getting so excited over a few anemo slimes floating around a tree. Though you’d admit, the straight edge determination reflecting from his ocean eyes as he stood straight and strung his bow back to aim made your stomach swirl slightly. You noticed the way his fingertips elegantly let go of the string and effortlessly sliced through the anemo slime mid-air, despite being positioned below and meters away from the distant cliff side tree the anemo slimes were hovering around. It’s amazing, you thought. But what earned him your admiration was the simple fact that he wasn’t trying. Childe didn’t need to. Even when he’s doing something in lighthearted fun, so long as it involves weapons, he’ll breeze through any obstacle or ‘challenge’ with ease. That’s what made Childe, Tartaglia.

However, there was someone who didn’t share that sentiment.

Honestly, Scaramouche doesn’t even know how he ended up in this archon-forsaken situation. The day had begun like any other day, with your limbs intertwined with Scaramouche as he gently stroked your hair and counted the seconds in between as your chest slowly rose and fell — an action he vehemently denies that he does because he longs for your touch; not to mention that it just so happens that the feel of your body against his calms the occasional insecurities and self-deprecating voices whispering in his head. Scaramouche lightly shook his head in flustered contempt when he caught himself softly smiling and gqze slightly softening at the memory of your skin against his, useless thoughts aren’t going to aid me in figuring out how or why I’m stuck here. internally groaning he thought of when you woke up today. you had found him already awake and tidying up the room you had both stayed in the previous night. As you sat up rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you watched Scaramouches quick and precise movements as he prepared your traveling satchel. Funny, you thought, he does all this and I never hear a thing. As much of a light sleeper as you might be, no matter how many chores he’s completed before you wake, you never hear a sound stir you from your slumber. Of course, when you finally got out of bed you found yourself presented with a small plate of assorted fresh fruit waiting for you on the kitchen table, a sight you see every morning. However, you’ve long learned better than to outright thank him for breakfast, or any small acts of service. Not because you don’t appreciate his quiet considerations, but because you learned that Scaramouche will act like a total brat if you confront him about his kindness. Insults range from calling you a moron to being labeled delusional, so you’ve figured it’s best to enjoy these little things and thank him in that way. Lastly, Scara thought about the events that happened after breakfast when it was time to set off yet again. Ah, that’s right…, he begrudgingly remembered. it was as soon as you left the inn that you happened to bump into a tall figure. An apology left your lips quickly before you hurriedly scrambled to catch up to Scaramouches' fading figure until a hand cautiously grabbed your wrist.

“Y/n?” The stranger spoke. At the sound of your name, you quickly whipped your head around to see a messy head of orange locks and a familiar lopsided smile being directed at you. “Ajax?” “So it is you—!!” Sculpted arms immediately wrapped around your frame and lifted you into their embrace. “It’s been too long!”, the voice beamed, and your momentary confusion soon turned into joy as you wrapped your arms around his neck and softly giggled. “What are you doing here? I thought you were on a mission in Inazuma?” You questioned as he set you down with his hands still latched onto your hips, “Well I was mostly there for personal affairs, and I just arrived in sumeru a few weeks ago on assignment,” his voice softened as his head slightly tilted to the side, “I’ve been missing you.” Raising your hand to cup his cheek, you brushed your thumb across the freckles adorning the mighty 11ths features, “I’ve missed you too, Ajax.” Then as if a light bulb had just lit up in his head Childe clasped his hand over yours, “Are you free today? Why don’t you go sightseeing with me? My treat!” “Ah, well I’m actually traveli—“ but before you could finish your sentence you felt cold fingertips clasp around your forearm and roughly snatch it away from the gingers hold, “She’s traveling with me,” indigo irises narrowed menacingly on Childe, and the pure aura exuding from the raven-haired man was comparably hostel to the icy and dreadful snowstorms of Snezhnaya. Scaramouche forced himself between you and Childe, standing protectively in front of you as the latter glared down at him with a smile still plastered across his lips, “Comrade. Who’s this?” Childe inquired, “Oh! This is m—“ you tried answering but Scaramouche cut you off once more with an exaggerated scoff, “The question is who are you?” Crossing his arms and holding his head ever so arrogantly he continued, “Tch. Don't you have any common decency? Or are you just too impertinent to practice basic respect?” A short, dry laugh left Childes lips, “I see.” Crossing his arm and raising a hand up to lightly tap his fingertips on his jaw, Childe feigned ignorance, “Y/n never minded my touches,” with a taunting smile and desolate eyes, he chuckled, “in fact, I’m all too familiar with where she prefers to be touched.” And with that Scaramouches patience snapped, “You dare to—“ sensing the oncoming altercation you quickly grabbed a hold of Scaras hand and guided him behind you, “You’re both very important to me,” you began, “and if I matter to either of you then you’d respect those who matter to me,” glancing between the two men you sharpened your tone, “I’d like you both to get along.”

That was the last thing Scaramouche recalled before he found himself third wheeling the rest of the day. With each moment seemingly getting worse and worse. What an infantile reason to get excited about. They’re practically oversized balloons, his attention darted in Childes direction and his usual scowl was now replaced with a daggering glower, Evidently, this damn worthless scum is filled with much more hot air than any damn anemo slime in the sky.

Scaramouche wasn’t ignorant, it was clear to him since that nuisance came around that his former Harbinger ‘comrade’ had deeper feelings for you than he let on. After all, despite his distaste for the man Scara had spent adequate enough time with Childe to learn a few aspects about him; firstly, Childe can be described by humans as having an extroverted, ‘charming’ persona, and he has no trouble making friends wherever he goes, however, he never lets anyone touch him — it’s a subtle habit and not one easily picked up on; a far cry to the current situation in which Scaramouche has had to swat his hand away from you for the fourth time in a minute. Secondly, despite the hours upon hours the idiot could spend rambling about fishing or spar training, he never actually shares any personal information about himself, and yet, he’d gone as far as surrendering his real name to you. Not to mention he had no problem speaking to you about how much his siblings would ‘love’ you, of course, they’d love her, he scoffed, who doesn’t fall for her? Lastly, and most notably, Childe has no glimmer of life in his eyes. To be honest, if Scaramouche had to think, the only other time the 11th showed even a hint of a glint he would say it would be when Childes tearing his enemies limb from limb — an idea Scara is finding more and more appealing. So then, he thought, I guess I’ll just have to stomp on that little light of his. Tapping his foot impatiently on the ground an ominous shadow gloomed over his face as he lost himself in his thoughts, she’s mine. mine. mine. It had been long since Scaramouche had realized his feelings for you, and he had made it very clear to you that he had no intention of sharing you with others. No, Scaramouche no longer wanted just your friendship, he wanted you.

“Shall I go buy some snacks from a food stall nearby before dinner, comrade?” Standing from his spot next to you, Childe towered over you with his body leaning down to loom mere inches from your slightly warmed face, “I did say I’d treat you today..” half-lidded eyes traced your movements as he brought a gloved hand to cascade across your cheekbone, “didn’t I?” His voice was low and his smile smug; Childe knew full well what he was doing in front of Scaramouche, and he basked in it, though it’s not as if these actions were all too new either. “A-ah.. I- um,” stuttering over her words, huh?, Childe mused, how cute. However, the mere sight of this atrocious act almost made Scaramouche use his anemo vision to slice that wretched excuse of a warrior in half. With a soft smile, you leaned into Childes hand, making the man’s eyes widen in slight surprise as a light dust of pink spread over his face, “That’d be great Ajax, thank you.”

Internally groaning, Scaramouche rested his arms on his knees and hid his head behind his arms as his pretty lilac eyes stayed focused on you, there’s her smile again…, his brows faintly knitted together when he felt his chest start to ache, always caused by something else. He couldn’t help but wonder whether you were truly happy wandering through the lands of Teyvat with him.

“Then I’ll make it quick!” With a goofy smile and a wink, Childe went off into the city walls. Leaving you and Scaramouche resting alone with nothing more than the sound of the river flowing and the city chatter lightly busting in the background. Closing his eyes, Scaramouches brows quirked in annoyance, that self-serving imbecile didn’t even bother to pretend he even remembered me. The feeling in his chest was all too familiar to the electro Archons puppet. Clutching where his heart should be he couldn’t understand why this feeling wouldn’t go away. He couldn’t understand why he hadn’t learned his lesson despite starting anew. Maybe I was meant to live this way… he thought. Feeling a small tap on his shoulder, Scara whipped his head up to see you sitting right next to him, your body lulled to the side and brushing against him as you tilted your head down to get a better look at his sulking face. For a second he was stunned by the suddenness of your closeness, but then he was held captive by your feathery lashes and beaming smile; a warm smile finally directed at him. How quickly his chest went from hurting to blooming with warmth was almost pathetic. Even if you were the reason why he was drowning in misery, even if his pain had been caused by your ignorance, you were still the reason why he felt joy. It’s always because of you…, without realizing his hand had already reached to gently tuck the loose strands of hair blowing across your face, and just as quickly as he realized he retracted his hand in a huff of frustration and embarrassment.

Humming in acknowledgment, you stared off into the grassy mountains of sumeru, “You’ve been awfully quiet today,” your voice was soft and tranquil, “how uncharacteristic of you, no?” Glancing to the side you smiled when you saw him lightly scoff under his breath as he turned his head away from your direction.

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re rambling on about.” He grumbled.

“Shall I elaborate?”

“I’d rather you not.” Piercing irises threateningly glared in your direction.

“You’ve been ill-tempered,” you began, and Scaramouche rolled his eyes, “hmm which isn’t all too out of the ordinary, but you’ve definitely been lashing out at every little thing.” With a knowing glint, you glanced at your longtime companion, “Not to mention your aggression with Ajax.” And at that Scaramouche grimaced at the way you spoke his actual name, “You force yourself between Ajax and I whenever he gets close, you demean every single thing he says, you smack his hand away when he reaches out to me — even if it’s just to hand me something, and you taunt and mock him every chance you get,” pausing for a second you let out a heavy exhale before softening your gaze, unsure of whether what you say next is the right thing. “Kuni… all of that isn’t what worries me,” at that you felt his entire body stiffen, seemingly holding his breath as if every ticking second was more important than the last, “I noticed the nail marks you have on your palms from all the time you’ve spent clenching your fists, and I see the conflict that’s been raging behind your eyes since this journey with the three of us began,” balling your owns fists on the fabric of your clothes you let out your final observation, “As small as the changes are, or as hard as you try to hide it, kunikuzushi, I see you. I’ve memorized every expression, studied every curve and line that forms on your features and what they mean… I know you fear that I’ll abandon you,” you purse your lips at the thought, “So how dare you. How dare you ever think I would abandon my other half.”

The absolute, incredulous stare Scaramouche gave you almost made you choke out a muffled laugh. Catching the anemo holder off guard and speechless was a prize all too rare to witness. Yet, what caught your attention wasn’t that you’ve managed to leave him stunned and tight-lipped but instead the unfamiliar red that spread from his cheeks to his ears. There was a quiet gasp from your lips as you admired how beautifully his pale complexion was set off by the searing color. Instantly, your ears perk up as he speaks.

“I.. you don’t…” he began, but immediately he stopped himself. Then, a moment passed. And then a minute. The tension between you two seemed to pile up in pressure, and you now found yourself holding your breath and feeling your heart start to quicken as you stared at him. Awaiting what was to come next. With a defeated look and an airy sigh, he finally turned his full head toward you. “You really are foolish y/n,” his voice was strained, and his eyes peered into yours with such a soft intensity, “hah, really.. you couldn’t be more incompetent, could you?” Swallowing the lump in your throat, your glistening doe eyes simply gawked at him almost owl-like, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at your dumbfounded face. Then that’s when he smiled. A true, genuine, adoring smile, “Haven’t you realized that I’m in lo-“

“I’m back—!”

Childe’s voice ripped through the tension and practically grated Scaramouches ears while you jumped, startled at the sudden noise. Snapping your head to Childe, you saw him holding a small bag with the label titled Puspa Café. “I hope you don’t mind what I got us!” Reaching his hand into the bag he pulled out a crispy, sweet-smelling Candied Ajilenakh Nut dessert, “When I was walking through the different vendors, I was quite surprised to have found a dish that looked so similar to one of the desserts my motherland of Snezhnaya has!” Childe puffed his chest and extended the sugary sweet to you, “Though I’m confident the one from home tastes much better than this, I’m happy to share something similar with you,” softening his azure gaze as you took the dessert from him he continued with a gentler tone, “but I hope to one day treat you to one back home.” Blinking once, then blinking twice, you quickly glanced over at Scaramouche now positioned with his knee up and resting his arm on his knee to hide his face once more, I wonder what would’ve happened…, you pondered, but you knew better than to prod the conversation given the current situation. I suppose it’d be best to ask again later, turning your attention back to Childe you offered a thankful smile, “I’m sure one day we can visit if Kuni agrees to go.” At that, both men froze for a second. We..?, now it was Scaramouches turn to stare owlishly at the dancing grass brushing against his fingers, and without noticing he felt his entire body relax as he let out a quiet, small sigh of relief. Whereas Childe clenched his jaw in annoyance while still forcing an easy-going facade, I need to get rid of him, “Sounds like a plan comrade!” Was all he could muster through slightly clasped teeth as he sat down next to you. Humming to himself in deep thought, Childe wondered what to do about that asshole little leech that stayed glued to you.

All of you sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes — well, two were lost in their own thoughts either processing or scheming, whereas you simply sat between the two men enjoying time together as you feast on your sweet treat. "Ah. Comrade, you seem to have a few crumbs," "Hm?" Moving your hand up to brush away the stray pieces, Childe gently stopped you, "Allow me." He softly spoke as he leaned in close and carefully swiped away the crumbs; his hand then cascaded across your plush skin and caressed the curve of your jaw. Gazing into his eyes and cheeky smile, you found yourself at a loss, feeling both embarrassed and shy from the gesture.

Scaramouche, however, was not at all pleased. This little game of Childes has gone on far too long and writhing in self-loathing had been nothing but a waste of time. You were his. You’ll always be his, and there wasn’t a human, harbinger, adeptus, or archon in this damned world that could ever change that. So, with swift movements, he laced an arm around your waist and pulled you on top of his lap and into his possessive embrace. The sudden movement had stunned both you and Childe and you had no time to react as your eyes glanced up at the smug smirk spreading across Scaramouches lips. His eyes were low and scowling intently at Childe, while the Harbingers smiling face quickly fell, replaced by a much colder and sinister glower. “All this time and not once did you offer me one of those burnt little treats,” Scaras voice was low and mocking, and you could feel the icy touch of his slender fingertip tracing down the side of your face to the base of your chin to guide your full attention towards him, “guess that just means I have to take one myself, won’t I?” And in a quick moment, his lips came crashing down on yours. His kiss was rough but cautious, and you could feel the longing and desperation emitting atop his soft lips. At first, your eyes blew wide open in shock, but then, no matter how hard you tried to focus on what was going going on or move your body to react, all you could fixate on was one little detail, his lips taste.. like a Zaytun peach.

Parting his lips from yours, his eyes quickly scanned your face for any hint of disgust, any reaction, anything. You could clearly see the worry pooling in his irises, but before regret could creep up on him your eyes turned into crescent moons, and a pretty pink blush flushed your cheeks as you smiled dotingly at him. He was taken aback. At first, he was shocked, then confused, he even felt a little angry, but mostly he felt love. Turning his attention from you to the glaring daggers and clenched fists Childe had, Scara smiled in triumph and narrowed his eyes in slight. “You’re right, Harbinger,” bringing his thumb up to glide across his lips he licked them, “this treat isn’t bad, hah, not bad at all.”

side note: happy new year everyone!! and happy birthday to my first, and most cherished, Zhongli ᥫ᭡

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