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trashogram · 2 months

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He Chose You (P. 4)

Lucifer/Reader - Lucifer picks you to be his baby mama. Rated E

You’re resting against the trunk of a tree at the top of a little hill.

It’s picturesque — the hill is gentle, sloping down to a field of tall yellow-green grass. You can smell it, wafting up with the pollen from golden flowers. The sky above is alive with pinks and oranges bleeding into yellows and whites. A symphony of coos, chirps and pitter-patters of tiny things skittering around have an oddly calming effect as you settle back and allow yourself to exist.

Eyes closed, you hear the sound of something larger than a mouse rounding the tree trunk.

“I got it!” A feminine voice breaks the calm.

You don’t have to look to feel the other person at your side. They lower themselves to the ground, knees brushing against yours when they cross their legs to sit next to you.

You don’t have to look, but you do.

There’s a woman with you now, with hair so long and blonde it’s almost white. Her chin, lips, nose, and eyes are delicate and soft.

She’s not wearing any clothes, and you can see faint scars and wrinkles against the uninterrupted expanse of her skin.

“It’s so pretty, I’ve never seen one so red.” The woman is happy to see you, speaking with all the familiarity of a sister.

She presents an apple to you, taken from behind her back like a surprise.

It is red. Red like an oversized ruby, or a still-beating heart full of blood. All except for the missing chunk made by delicate teeth, yellow-white meat peeking through.

You accept her offering without a word. Even when it’s imperfect, you’re mesmerized by the fruit.

“I took a bite. I’m sorry.” She gazes at you, eyes flinty. “Does that bother you?”

You shake your head vehemently, holding the apple between your hands as if it’s the most precious thing in the world. “No, of course not.”

The woman’s lips quirk up into a satisfied smile, growing bigger when you lift the apple to your mouth and bite into it. The taste is extraordinary — sweet juice bursts against your tongue when the crisp flesh gives under your teeth with barely any resistance.

You savor the first bite out of necessity but soon you’re ravenous. You can’t get enough.

Your companion exhales gently through her nose and looks up at the colorful sky. She seems to relish in the breeze that passes by, making the leaves above you rustle and the tall grass ahead blow back quietly.

The apple is almost gone when she looks back at you, teeth showing as she grins. “Careful there!”

She giggles, reaching out to tap the hand of your hand in warning. It’s all playful, even when you pout and draw back.

“You’ll eat the seeds if you keep that up.” She says. “Something might take root and grow if you do.”

Her words give you pause, but only for the length of four or five heartbeats. The core of the apple is no less refreshing and before you know it, you’re holding the stem.

“Thank you.” You tell her earnestly.

The stem rolls in your palm, until it appears to wiggle and your brow furrows. In the back of your mind, you think you should be more startled to see it moving on its own. But when it grows pink-gray and ringed, and you realize it’s a worm, you simply place the flat of your hand on the ground below and watch it find its way into the dirt.

Sudden warmth against your cheek has you looking back up. The woman is inches from your face. Her eyelashes are dark and long and you could count them if you wanted.

The woman kisses you without a word, hands coming up to cup the back of your head. Surprise does spark up your spine as her tongue darts behind your lips. It’s as if she’s drinking deeply from you before she lets go.

“Forgive me. I wanted another taste.” She giggles again. “It’s even sweeter than I remember.”

Your face burns. You open your mouth, ready to ask the questions burning the tip of your tongue before the thud of footsteps sound from behind you.

She frowns, light leaving her eyes as she glances behind your shoulder. “Oh I was hoping we’d have more time.”

Her eyes cut across to yours. “Wake up before he sees you!”

———

A wave of pure, unadulterated nausea swept over you as soon as you opened your eyes. You laid still for a long moment, trying to reign in the urge to vomit before you deemed it safe enough to observe your surroundings.

A vague sense of confusion surfaced through the malaise when you realized that you were in your living room. There was a carmine blanket tucked around you, and with moderate difficulty you raised your head to see that, yes, a fluffy pillow was resting under your head.

Your reality conflicted with the still-present smell of tall, wet grass and a chill from the summer breeze against your skin.

With ridiculous care, you turned your head back into the pillow and muffled a whine. You couldn’t recall feeling a hangover of this caliber ever before in your life.

‘Wait.’

You weren’t hungover. Well, maybe you were but not from alcohol.

Your neighbors had invited you to dinner, then drugged you.

Already sick, you forced yourself to breathe deeply before shifting on the couch and pulling up the blanket. Despite confirming that your body was still clothed, you found yourself shaking.

It didn’t make sense to you how anyone could do this regardless of their intentions. You could not fathom why two people willing to harm you in one way hadn’t done more than that.

Your relief was short-lived, as dull and diluted as it was, when you twisted to lay back down and came face-to-face with:

A black glove, some aspirin and a glass of water sat on your coffee table.

You blinked rapidly.

There was a small business card in stark contrast to the otherwise colorless ensemble. It was thick stock, white, and flashing fancy golden script:

Lucifer Morningstar

Your stomach dropped as an unnaturally white face with glowing yellow and red eyes flashed in your mind.

The hallucination you’d seen last night — his image faded from your mind and you were left drifting in a blank, black void.

No thoughts.

———

The headache and nausea were considerably lesser when you woke up again.

Looking at the items on your coffee table — ‘glove, aspirin, water still there’ — you looked at each one and for one, strangely hopeful moment you didn’t see a card.

Oh no, it had just fallen on the floor.

———

Lucifer Morningstar

It was an odd business card, with its little red, white and gold designs on the edges. Fireworks, you eventually guessed. The ‘i’ in both first and last name were punctuated with them as well.

As you’d popped the aspirin in your mouth and downed the water, you flipped the card over. You could feel your eyebrows rising to your hairline at the hastily written message on the back:

Proof you weren’t dreaming.

Please Call Me

1-666-666-6669

Pacing was out of the question. Your limbs were still unsteady no matter how much you willed them to function.

You were trapped on the couch trying to accept what your brain had been screaming at you since you awoke for the fifth time.

How much time had passed?

Heaven and Hell were real, and so were God and the Devil.

And the Devil had paid you a visit.

———

The indent you’d made into your stupid, hand-me-down sofa was probably permanent now that you’d spent who knows how long just rotting there.

Contemplating, processing, fearing.

Fleeting memories of tantrums you’d thrown as a child paralyzed you. Moments in your life that you’d already regretted so much they kept you up some nights — randomly, provoked by nothing — piled up in your brain. Each one harshened that sinking feeling inside your body. This kind of horror was the kind a person feels right before they die.

How long have you been judged from above for your wrongs?

Were you already doomed to Hell? Is that why Lucifer himself wanted ‘to meet’ you? Did he make it a personal habit to visit each lowly sinner and taunt them?

God was real, so did everything actually happen for a reason like so many said?

Why did bad things happen to good people?

Was your dog in heaven, waiting for you and you’d already disappointed her by getting a one way ticket in the opposite direction?

———

You figured out that the ringing in your ears was actually your phone’s alarm when the natural lighting in your apartment was almost gone.

You managed to get to it on the other side of the room half-stumbling from your seat.

“Hello?” You rasped.

“… So you finally decided to answer your phone.”

———

It took you banging on the door and shouting against its old, glossy surface before Cass Farrow cracked it open.

A myriad of expressions crossed her painted face before she opened the door fully. When she faced you, she smiled.

“Honey! It’s been days! We didn’t wanna bother you but we were worried! It’s good to see you up and about!”

The way she acted, as if nothing was wrong, as if the world had turned upside down, had you balling up your fists. Your ragged nails delved into the skin so deeply you could feel the sting of blood.

“I-I need…” You couldn’t stop the copper taste of saliva filling your mouth.

You would not throw up. “I need to speak to your boss.”

Cass blinked owlishly at that. “My what?”

‘Why? Why? Why are you shocked?’ You shouted in your mind.

“Oh honey,” The low tone did nothing to soothe you, only raise your ire. “I don’t know what —”

“The Devil!” Your raised voice made the elderly woman jump. “Or Lucifer, or Baphomet — whatever the fuck you call him! I need to talk to him.”

You scrambled to grab the business card you’d stashed in your pocket.

“You had him in your apartment, so I know he’s in there somewhere.” You said while waving it in Cass’s face frantically.

It was deja vú when Mrs. Farrow eyed the card and her face paled considerably.

“Oh.”

———

Lucifer wasn’t ‘home’. At least, he wasn’t in his personal Airbnb via the Farrow residence.

However, Cass waved it away. “He’ll think it’s you or about you or something to do with you and come running.”

Trying to push yourself and demand she tell you more proved to be too difficult. All you could do is stand with your arms crossed, waiting while the (clearly practiced) worshiper combined a series of dried plants in her hands.

Cass gathered them up and laid them carefully on a side table before fiddling with the furnace and a long lighted match.

The fire blazed to life instantly from the little flicker it had begun as when Cass threw the plants in. It rose higher, and higher, until it had disappeared past where you could see behind the lintel.

You had it in you to be stunned when Lucifer appeared from out of those flames. He was perfectly pristine and intact when he stepped out, hunching slightly to avoid his top hat bumping into the smoke chamber.

The devil was as you remembered him, but also worse in that you couldn’t reassure yourself that his visage was merely a product of your fucked up, overly-imaginative little brain.

He was so… white.

His skin was practically blinding as freshly-painted walls hit by a sunbeam.

Lucifer stepped into the room with a flourish. “I came as soon as I coul-”

‘Fuck.’ You’d been spotted.

And there went Cass, out of the living room to hide away in her smelly kitchen.

“You’re here!” Lucifer cajoled, theatrics on full display as he beheld your presence.

The top hat came off, held in his hands as he graced you with a bashful smile like he was some gentleman caller and not Not-Satan.

“I-I didn’t expect to see you here waiting! But I’m so glad you are. Did you get my card? I thought about just leaving the glove because the card can seem so impersonal —”

“I just got fired.” You blurted out.

The unusually flat face contorted into an anguished expression. “You… you lost your job…?”

“Because of you.”

“B-because of me ?!” His already youthful tenor of a voice raised some octaves. “What —”

You pointed a finger in his direction. “Yes! You !”

“You appeared out of nowhere and fucked up my entire worldview. I've had existential crisis-es… cris-ies? I don’t fucking — I’ve had life-altering spirals before but that was fucking nothing compared with this!”

“And now I’m out of a job and I’m alone in a city I don’t fucking know with cult-worshipping neighbors because I can’t go back to where I was and you’re just standing here like you have no idea why I’m upset!”

You hadn’t expected to get this far. You hadn’t expected to go on a tirade at all, really. Distantly you felt tears sliding down your cheeks and the frantic beat of your heart in your ribcage.

Shame, guilt and fear began toiling deep inside you.

Lucifer had been backed against the wall, hands raised placatingly and expression mirroring your own internal panic. It quickly turned into concern as he took in your sorry state of being.

“Please, no.” He reached out for you and you retaliated by jolting out of reach. “Oh please don’t… I’m sorry. I'm so sorry. I never… if I’d known…”

He was reaching into his coat and pulling something out before your sight cleared. It was a handkerchief with the red moniker L.M. on one corner.

The King held it out to you like a peace offering. Or a white flag.

The force with which you snatched it out of his hands was unnecessary but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“You said you picked me. What did you mean by that?” You mumbled into the handkerchief.

Lucifer’s mouth screwed up into a frown, brow creasing. “We don’t have to talk about that —”

“No.” You made eye contact, watching him squirm. “We need to talk about it. Explain it. Now.”

“Ahh… ok, yes, um…” He fiddled with the bow tie at his collar. “Well, like I said before, I wanted to wait until we got to know each other because… because it’s kind of a big deal.”

Your stern frown implored him to continue.

Lucifer winced. “It’s sort of a-a favor I wanted to ask of you. And I thought that if we talked about it over time maybe it wouldn’t sound so monumental… but actually, now…”

The fidgeting worsened, and his nimble fingers had graduated to fussing with the clasps down his front. Eventually, Lucifer yanked his jacket down to straighten it.

“So, I’ve been around for a really, really, really, really long time.” The Devil started. “And I’ve kind of been on my own for *like* ever and that’s fine, whatever, can’t complain. Normally it’s all about warding off boredom.

“But! Lately, it’s been harder and harder to just —” He made a fist and punched down onto the palm of his other hand to elucidate. “— Just, ahh, not be bored? I guess?”

“And it’s been interfering with all the shit I gotta do. I mean I have no-oo motivation, none at all, and it’s becoming a big problem. The other Sins have actually noticed. Like Satan? You know, we talked about him when we met — yeah, he came up to me not too long ago, saying —”

Your heart stopped as Lucifer’s eyes went completely red, blazing in his skull like magma and accompanied by long horns protruding from his head.

His voice took on an unearthly, gravelly quality as he, presumably, mimicked Satan:

“‘We’re worried for you, man. Ozzie says you haven’t been returning his calls. Levi and Bee miss you on their outings but you always say you’re busy. Whatever’s going on, you know you can talk to us, right?’”

Lucifer was back to normal in a millisecond. “And I do know that. I do! But as much as I wanna take them up on it, I just feel like none of them will really understand what’s wrong. I don’t even understand it. Or at least I didn’t until it came to me out of nowhere, like lightning.”

He mimed being zapped in the head.

“Visits and parties with my brothers are fun and all, but they end... And I find myself all alone more often than not.”

Lucifer sighed deeply.

“I don’t really have anything to live for,” He stressed. “Except for myself and…”

“That’s not much.” He snickered mirthlessly.

You swallowed. The anger, frustration, exhaustion and still-present fear were blanketed by an uncomfortable bout of sympathy.

Sympathy for the Devil.

‘Oh shut the fuck up you.’

“Don’t you live for the suffering of mankind or something?” You sniffled, trying to regain your metaphorical footing in the conversation and, in turn, regenerate that anger you’d been consumed by not a minute ago.

Lucifer looked from the ground to you, the gleam in his cherry-red eyes fighting to come back to life.

“Aha! No, no. That’s-that’s a Bible thing, right?” He groaned, pulling down the brim of his hat in exasperation. “Ugh, I still don’t know why Heaven insists on that overblown press kit! It’s so fucking old! And inaccurate!”

Lucifer commiserated with you. “Too much involvement from human hands, too. Ya know? I mean people use it to justify some of the most insane shit I’ve ever seen!”

He cleared his throat at your blank expression.

“Anywho-oo. What was the question again? Oh! Oh, do I live for the suffering of man — no! No, I don’t. In fact, where I’m from? Being in the middle of that suffering shtick gets old real fast. I’ve stayed away from it for a good while now and really I’ve never been better.”

The blond topped off his statement with a smile, showing those razor teeth while also trying to come across as easy-going and candid.

A beat passed, in which you felt your lips form a thin line.

You couldn’t stop yourself.

You snorted.

Lucifer looked at you as if you’d lost your head as your snorts turned into full-blown laughter. Until he, of course, wanted to fit in like he knew exactly what was going on.

“Hahaha, yeah…” Hell’s king chuckled nervously. “I am pretty funny, aren’t I? Ha ha… ha.”

Shaking your head ‘no’, you tried to reign in the body spasms.

“So when you say you ‘picked me’, you mean you want me to… what? Be your therapist?” You asked. “The Devil needs a friend’s shoulder to cry on? What?”

Lucifer fixed you with the first look of genuine annoyance you’d seen (directed at you) from him.

“No.” He harrumphed. “I need a baby.”

Tag List: @crescent-z, @for-hearthand-home, @undertale-is-sansational, @loslox, @navierkalani, @yaimlight, @ivoryviness, @crystalplays28, @flowerempress, @wally-darling-hyperfixation, @altruisticradiodemon, @moonlight-readings, @halparkebitch, @charliecharlie65, @sockgoblin, @cocomollo, @caniseethefourthsword, @squeegeeclean, @crow-twink, @an-emovision

I'm so sorry if I missed anyone who asked to be tagged! I'm having a hard time keeping track.

#hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar

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icyg4l · 9 days

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PAC: What Upgrades are Coming Into Your Life?

Hello beautiful people, so sorry for the delay on readings. I've been really distracted lol. But tonight marked the end of the $5 4/20 weekend sale. I am grateful for those who have purchased a reading. Now, if you would like to purchase a reading, please read my guidelines and let me know! (They will be regularly priced until another sale comes along). Now, this weekend’s PAC will be all about the upgrades that are coming in your life! Whether that’s in your career, home, family, finances, love, etc. We’ll find together! So without further ado, please pick your Megan baby. 🤭

Top Left-to-Bottom Right (1-4):

PIle One, I feel like things have been getting hectic in your life. I think that this is a group of people who can get easily distracted by the small things. A lot of you are going through a breakup/separation from someone that betrayed you or love bombed you. I can feel my throat tightening as I’m typing this. I’m sorry, Pile One but this is a blessing in disguise. I think that this will be a death/rebirth period for you. I am seeing snippets of the Hiss video, specifically when Megan is dressed in all silver. I think you will come out stronger than ever. When I say stronger, I mean you will be less tolerant with other people’s bullshit and having better boundaries. I feel like someone tried to dominate you and as a result, it ruined your self-esteem. I see you taking some time to yourself and realizing who the fuck you are. You need to know that things will get better. Anything that happens over the course of the next seven days is meant to happen, Pile One.

Cards Used: The Empress (RX), Prince of Cups, 7 of Swords, Strength, The Hermit, 3 of Swords (RX), The Magician, Temperance (RX), The Lovers (RX).

extras: “bovine”. playing the dozens. hbcu bound. 1H lilith. a full shopping cart. laughter.

Pile Two: If you suffer from insomnia, you will absolutely start to get better sleep. Pile Two, you’re such a smart worker. I know you don’t like to work hard, and you will be getting a reward for that. I see a promotion coming your way. If you have a boss that has an explosive temper, I see that this will happen within the next three weeks. Your life also seems chaotic like Pile Two. You also seem like the obsessive type. I feel like this is a pile full of nightowls as well. Part of your upgrade process will mean embracing your shadow side. I think that you have some trouble with other women (if you’re a woman), or having trouble embracing your soft side. It is okay to be vulnerable. I also see if you’re on the search for a new car, then a woman will co-sign a loan for you. It seems like you will be changing from the inside out. The longer it takes for you to address the issues that you have going on internally, the longer the results will come. I am seeing that when you finally decide to open up and be vulnerable, the physical changes will manifest. For example, if you want longer hair, your hair will grow two inches. If you want to change your life, change your mind Pile Two. And I’d recommend you look up the term ‘limerence’. Start making changes to become more grounded and less clouded by delusions, fantasies and looping thoughts about stuff that does not exist in your reality. It’s time to let them go, Pile Two.

Cards Used: 4 of Cups, Queen of Cups, The Chariot, Ace of Discs, 3 of Discs, The Devil, King of Cups (RX), The Tower, 9 of Swords

extras: listening to nightcore. “egoic”. meat market. fresh beat band. beauty shop (2005). picker-upper.

Pile Three: Your hard work is finally going to pay off. You’ve been obsessing over your work and dedicating so much of your time to it. It is finally going to receive some recognition because you decided to not give up on your dreams. As a result, I see that your dream lifestyle will be well-funded. If you’re an artist or a clothing designer, this will especially resonate with you. The amount of time that you spent on your passion will be appreciated by many eyes, Pile Three. If you’ve been having a hard time accepting someone for who they are, or if you have been struggling with your emotions in general, I see that you will get a handle on it. And also, if you’re looking for a vendor, you will find one! You are being called to continue to focus on your craft. I am channeling this interview of GloRilla where she says that she abstained from relations with men, partying and alcohol for sixty days before she blew up. Then FNF was released, and that marked the start of her mainstream journey. So, keep going baby!!

Cards Used: Wheel of Fortune, Strength (RX), 5 of Cups, Queen of Cups, 7 of Cups, Princess of Discs, The Devil, 3 of Discs, Temperance, The Star

extras: christina aguilera. spiders. a series of unfortunate events. award shows.

Pile Four: The only way that you can learn from your mistakes is if you actually implement the lesson into your life, Pile Four. I can tell that you’re stubborn. Once you really understand that nothing can change if YOU don’t move things around, you will know how powerful you are. Some of you may have a really thick (and attractive) accent. I think that you can use this to your advantage to make things shake for you. Pile Four, do you really know yourself? Like outside of the things that you do and have, who are you? It is time for you to do some soul searching, my love. It feels like I am talking to a shell of you. I think that the upgrades that are coming in will involve other people. You will find someone who helps you embrace your rawest, natural self. I also think that you will be interested in fitness and will find a workout partner. Investing in yourself physically will impact you emotionally. You do not need to go back to your old self because they’re gone. Take pride in this new you. I feel that your spirituality will strengthen as well. Your boundaries will grow stronger, and as this happens, you will lose more friends unfortunately. But I don’t think you’ll be affected by it. Overall, I feel like this pile will gain a lot of clarity and mental strength to start breaking generational curses and shedding old skin. You got this, Pile Four!

Cards Used: 8 of Cups, The Star, Death, 9 of Swords, 7 of Wands, The Fool, Temperance, Page of Wands, The Lovers

extras: “you smell good.” “be you.” jump by tyla. maison margiela. kick-ass. wwe.

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qtubbo · 3 months

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Pac even though he’s considered the much more emotionally intelligent part of the group, is really just not aware of Fit’s feelings towards Tubbo. This is both in part due to how Fit mellows out a lot when he’s with Pac, and also because what he knows completely reframes the entire thing compared to Fit. Both Fit and Pac understand Tubbo’s loneliness and feelings of isolation caused Tubbo’s actions in trying to break them up, but unlike Fit, Pac knows more than that he knows both major reasons. Tubbo and Pac had a conversation where Tubbo attempted to warn Pac about how he viewed their relationship going, how other people would seek to take advantage of Pac’s new weak spot and hurt both of them or even Ramon and Richas in the process.

Pac is positioned in both knowing Tubbo’s selfish and caring reasonings, while Fit is entirely in selfish. Pac also has an advantage even in the category they both share, since Fit chooses not to look into it more because he feels the relationship is being laid out unevenly. Tubbo does something bad, Fit just has to get over it and “reward” him for the behavior, instead of Tubbo reaching out to him and asking for help. Pac on the other hand is pretty forceful on trying to get Tubbo to feel less isolated, and tries really hard to reach out to him even when Tubbo’s actively trying to move away.

Pac is just more likely to have a less resentful, and more sympathetic view of what Tubbo’s going through. There is a second thing too, Fit is not in the wrong, if your friend displays toxic behavior regardless of what the cause is it is not your job to even stay in the relationship or fixate on helping them, the fact Fit did not cut off Tubbo even though his actions came off as incredibly selfish and cruel, is a statement in itself how much he cares.

Moving on to the actual meat, Fit is resentful towards Tubbo for what he did, and how he continues to not let up on being hateful towards his relationship with Pac. Tubbo knows this because the messages, comments, and bits are to Tubbo and they’re not done when Pac’s around. This is not because he’s really hiding anything from Pac by the way, but rather he just has a different one on one dynamic with Tubbo then he has with people around, plus Fit is just generally more lighthearted when he’s near Pac, makes him happy you know? So Pax has no real reason to even recognize at current time that Fit even has an issue with Tubbo.

To put it simply, Pac just knows too much about Tubbo to hold most of his actions against him plus he’s just really not the type to. People call him the heart for a reason, from Pac’s pov it’s easier to make fun from the homophobia bit, while subtly adding in comments of care then hold it against him. Pac barely has a reason currently to think Fit’s actually upset with Tubbo, which will probably change soon since Tubbo keeps pushing away.

I’m filled with human baises sorry if this is wrong 👍

#qsmp #Qsmp Pac #qsmp fit #qsmp tubbo #morning crew #qsmp analysis

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realbeijinger · 4 months

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Another semi-coherent rant on climate change, the value of idealism, and TGCF (I finally finished!)

Well, I finished Tian Guan Ci Fu. And, oh man, if you read my last post, you’ll know that I was terrified that the entire novel would be a criticism of blind idealism. But I am SO glad I was wrong!!! Looking back on what I wrote before… it’s kind of hilarious how worried I was. I was so sure that I knew where it was going, was so busy preparing myself to be offended/emotionally crushed, that I wouldn’t even entertain the idea that maybe MXTX had a similar worldview to me all along.

In my defense, aside from the line, “Something like saving the common people… although foolish, it is brave,” everything seemed to point toward the idea that trying to do good is pointless. I mean, up until the moment when Xie Lian was lying with a sword in his chest on the streets of Yong’an, all of his efforts to do good had essentially been in vain. He hadn’t been able to help anyone.

And then, when the one guy stopped and gave Xie Lian his hat, I dunno, I just cried. It was so perfect! Like, ugh, damn you, MXTX! So sneaky… destroying us, just to bring us back later!! It was such a small, insignificant win, but it was exactly what Xie Lian (and I) needed. I love the line, “Just one person was enough!” Just one person doing something selfless. It’s enough to give us hope.

It really resonates with me because I think a lot about how to maintain hope. In terms of the climate crisis, I feel like Xie Lian—completely powerless. I want to stop eating meat, use less plastic, spend more time on environmental activism, but honestly, what do any of these things matter? The meat industry is not going to change because I choose to stop consuming. Even my activism has a completely negligible effect—whether or not I join a protest or write a letter to my congressman will almost certainly not be the deciding factor for any climate legislation, no matter how much effort I put in.

And yet, I still want to. I love the moment when Xie Lian chooses to get stabbed over and over rather than create a second plague of Human Face Disease, and White No-Face asks him in shock, “Why??”—as in, why would you ever do that? And Xie Lian responds: “I don’t have a reason—just because I want to! Even if I explained it to you… Useless trash like you wouldn’t understand.” This line is so great. Xie Lian can’t explain it to White No-Face, because, in truth, it isn’t entirely logical. It can’t be explained by reason. I want to do my measly, unimportant part to help the world… because I want to. Because it feels right. Because it’s my way of keeping my heart, of maintaining faith that there is some good in this world worth upholding. (As an aside, I love how the English title of the live action drama—which we may never get to see, God damn censorship!!!!—is called “Eternal Faith.” Of course it refers to Hua Cheng and Xie Lian’s faith in each other, but I think it also means having eternal faith in the value of doing good, despite centuries of experience that seem to show its pointlessness.)

As I talked about in my last post, if you zoom out far enough, nothing really seems to matter. Everything we love and care about will one day be gone. And yet, I believe we still have to act like it matters. This is the basic tenant of existentialism, and I think MXTX portrays this philosophical paradox really beautifully.

It’s funny, because I think MXTX has a lot of profound things to say, but in an interview I read, she warned against viewing her work too deeply, saying, “I am not a guru.” I get that she may not want the responsibility of giving people spiritual advice, but I do think she presents some really fascinating, really novel, philosophical ideas. So, sorry MXTX, but I’m about to analyze TGCF like it’s a piece of freakin scripture. Soo here we go…

The main theme she comes back to again and again is that fortune is limited, so the only way you can do good for others is by taking fortune from somebody else. Which leads the characters to a bunch of ethically impossible choices: the people of Yong’an and the people of Xianle can’t all be saved (Xie Lian must choose who to help), neither can the people of Wuyong and the surrounding kingdoms (Prince of Wuyong must choose), and Shi Wudu can’t save his brother from a tragic fate without taking fortune from an innocent person. When the characters try to avoid choosing, and try to “play God” by creating a “third path,” it just invites disaster.

But is this really true? Is fortune actually limited? It’s an idea that reminds me of Buddhism and Daoism, but also seems kind of revolutionary… (I like to think I know something about Chinese philosophy but it could certainly be a thing and I don’t know). I don’t believe in fate, but I do believe in limited resources, and the idea that nature tends toward balance. I think conceiving of it this way, as a pool of fortune, is really interesting.

It reminds me of this Meme:

In other words, who is the protagonist and who is the villain is entirely based on perspective. And, according to the laws of nature, we all must survive by eating others, or causing others to starve (i.e. avoiding being eaten).

I tried to think if this is really true in all areas of life. I’m a teacher, and one of the ways I convince myself that I am doing good in the world is by helping my students—preparing them well for college so that they can get into good schools and follow their dreams. But then, is this just taking fortune from others? If I do prepare my students well, and as a result they all get into top universities, does that mean they are taking spots away from other students? Am I simply just helping “my own,” at the expense of others?

One place where I see this concept play out very clearly is with our modern, industrialized society. As I mentioned in my last post, we live in a world of abundance. Most of us have enough food to eat, live in houses with electricity and running water, and don’t worry about a whole host of diseases endured by our ancestors. It seems we have done what Xie Lian couldn’t—we have expanded the well of fortune for most of humanity.

But this fortune wasn’t spontaneously created. It was taken from other species. It was borrowed against our own future, when climate change will likely destroy this world of abundance we have created, causing untold suffering. In truth, when it comes to prosperity, there is no such thing as a free lunch.

Even now, when we ought to be enjoying our fortune, most of us are not happy. We want other things. We take food, clothing, and shelter for granted, creating even bigger, more lofty demands—a bigger car, a better house, a machine that’s sole purpose is to make bread. In fact, it seems like whenever we make things “better,” the goalposts just move. I recently read a book called Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals, which mentioned that with the advent of washing machines and vacuum cleaners, everyone assumed there would be more free time. Yet, the real outcome was that standards of cleanliness just changed. Suddenly, people expected you to wear fresh clothes every day and have a perfectly dust-free home, which meant spending just as much time cleaning as in the past.

And according to psychologists, getting what we want doesn’t really make us happier. Instead, something like getting a promotion causes our happiness to spike, before it quickly returns to baseline. The psychologist Dan Gilbert writes that the purpose of our emotions is to act like a compass—to tell us which direction to go in. If you feel good, you can continue the way you are going. If you feel bad, you should probably turn—make a change. But if you get what you want and become permanently happy, your compass is now broken. It’s stuck in one direction and becomes useless.

All of this is very Buddhist, of course. Suffering is not caused by our external circumstances, but our desire to change them.

Like I said, I don’t necessarily believe in “fate” or “fortune.” But I believe this all points to something deeper that MXTX is getting at: which is that we cannot fundamentally make a better world, for the common people, or for anyone. This idea of “better” doesn’t really exist. The world is as it is. Trying to alter that is like playing God. And like Xie Lian says, “In this world, there are no true gods…”

So, what do we do? How can we survive this absurdist tragedy of life? I don’t think we can just throw up our hands and not give a shit—that way lies depression and Jun Wu-style cruelty. We cannot lose our heart. But we also can’t try to fix everything.

One thing I find a bit difficult about MXTX is she is very clear about the impossible situations our characters find themselves in, but not really clear about the solution. She seems critical of the characters’ actions (I’m thinking also of Wei Wuxian here), but what exactly does she think they should have done? In other words, what is the point?

I spent a long time thinking about this. And I realized that Xie Lian was able to get back on his feet, find happiness and make peace with himself. How did he do this? Ultimately, I see Xie Lian’s solution as having three parts: self-sacrifice, gratitude, and purpose. Which all sounds very academic and maybe not that profound on an emotional level. But hear me out. Because, in the end, I think these choices are incredibly beautiful. They are the kind of thing that make me feel like reading TGCF was actually a spiritual experience, no matter what MXTX says. That makes me admire Xie Lian and want to follow him (like the God he is).

Okay so first: self-sacrifice. If fortune is limited, and the only way to make others’ lives better is to take fortune from someplace else, then there is really only one place you can take it from without hurting others—yourself.

So, part of Xie Lian’s solution is to take fortune from himself and give it to others. It’s why he asks for a cursed shackle that disperses his fortune, so that his fortune will naturally flow to those around him. It’s, of course, a very small thing. He is no longer playing God, or trying to “fix” the world on a grand scale. He is simply, in his own, quiet way, serving the common people.

My desire to give up meat and to spend more time on activism—these things feel like big sacrifices for me. And yet, they will have a very small impact on the greater situation in the world. They’re a drop in the ocean. I still want to do it, but it’s hard. It’s hard to care, or think that these things matter. Yet, this is the trade-off Xie Lian was willing to make. I really admire him for it.

I believe self-sacrifice is actually a really important, beautiful thing, that our society has forgotten the value of. We are individualistic—obsessed with our own wants. As I mentioned previously, our expectations have risen, so we buy and buy and buy. We are unwilling to rein in our consumption. I know a lot of people baulk at lifestyle changes as a solution to the climate crisis, and I agree that putting pressure on individuals instead of governments or corporations is misguided. But, first of all, there simply aren’t enough resources on earth to sustain our current levels of consumption. And, second… I don’t think we can completely let individuals off the hook. What is society anyway, but a collection of individuals? If we are going to address this thing, it’s going to take a massive movement—bigger than the civil rights movement or the works’ rights movement or the women’s movement. It’s going to take millions of people worldwide getting out of their own heads, their own lives, and concerning themselves with the greater good. That requires immense sacrifice.

Which takes me to gratitude. In order to be willing to sacrifice, you have to appreciate what you already have.

People often talk about gratitude these days as a path to mental health. Instinctively, it sounds like an uplifting, positive thing. And it is… but it also entails having a relatively negative worldview. It means remembering all the horrible things that exist in this world which we are lucky enough to avoid on a daily basis. You stepped in some dog shit? Well, that sucks, but you could have stepped into an open manhole and broken your neck! So! That’s something to be grateful for.

We are all so lucky. I’m sure everyone reading this has pains and traumas and challenges. This isn’t to diminish those, but, I hope, at least we all have at least one person to love. That’s all Hua Cheng had, and it’s what kept him going. Just one person was enough. And most of us, I hope, get to eat food every day, get to sleep in a bed, get to play video games or read novels or write poetry when we are sad. Not everyone gets those things.

Xie Lian, of course, was the king of low expectations, because he knew his future was going to be bad. He had intentionally accepted bad luck for a lifetime. So, there was no point in hoping for things to get better.

I think this attitude is best shown by his interaction with the Venerable of Empty words. The Venerable of Empty Words feeds off people’s fears. But Xie Lian didn’t really have any. When the Venerable of Empty Words warned him that his hut will collapse in two months, his response is, “Two months? If it’s still standing in seven days, then it’ll be a real miracle.” Because his expectations are so low, he’s essentially immune to fear. I can’t help but think that if you could really think this way, it would be a kind of superpower. It reminds me of the famous quote by spiritual teacher Krishnamurti, “Do you know what my secret is? You see, I don’t mind what happens.”

And so Xie Lian is okay with everything. He can sleep anywhere, crash boulders on his chest for money, not eat for three days, regularly suffer corpse poisoning, and still be okay.

Which leads to my third point: purpose. Xie Lian is able to endure such hardship because his expectations are low, but also he knows all his suffering has a purpose. “If I am to become a God of misfortune, then so be it,” he says. “As long as I know deep down that I am not.” He is okay with being laughed at or avoided for his bad luck, because deep down he knows he is doing the right thing. People can withstand a great deal if they feel their suffering has meaning. In Man’s Search for Meaning, the psychiatrist Victor Frankl’s writes about the horrors of living through a concentration camp, and how over and over, it was creating purpose that allowed him, and others, to find motivation to survive. Which I think has an important lesson for self-sacrifice. People are willing to sacrifice a lot, if they feel their sacrifice has purpose.

I get it when MXTX says that she is not a guru, and maybe it’s a lot to ask of a danmei novel to take spiritual advice from it. The book wasn’t necessarily perfect, and I do have some critiques (which I was gonna add here, but this thing is already wayyy too long). But… I do think I found something really meaningful in this story—some inspiration. I want to follow Xie Lian’s example, and live with gratitude and acceptance, while keeping my faith in doing the right thing. In other words, WWXLD! (What Would Xie Lian Do?)

#tgcf #mxtx #heaven official's blessing #tgcf meta #tian guan ci fu #climate change #xie lian #hualian #danmei #chinese bl

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girlreblogger · 9 months

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yuta okkotsu x black reader. he’s a chef apprentice (wtv that means he has a really rigorous, work.. chef job okay?) i personally don’t eat meat so we gonna name it thicken/thick-fil-a.. anyways fluff. this isn’t the most aesthetic layout cause who cares but i put dividers cause it could be a lot to read through especially with the small font. a lil ooc cause it’s been a while since i read the manga.

chef apprentice yuta who always makes sure to text and call you at all times of day even if he can’t see you.

yuta yuta 🧎🏽‍♀️

honey idk if youre up

but im omw with some food ❤️

my love 👰🏽‍♀️

aww thanks boo🤭

how was your day?

those ppl weren’t giving you trouble again we’re they?

yuta yuta 🧎🏽‍♀️

nah baby everything’s been fine.

open the door

chef apprentice yuta who surprises you at your apartment with something less complicated than the brunch he’s been making for the past months.

you were so excited to see him since he had been at the restaurant all week but now he was finally going to have a few days off. once you hear a little knock at the door you hurriedly jumped up from the bed and put on your silk black robe since you had just got out the shower. “im off to see. my husband. i’m happy. i’m happy.” you hummed as you put on your black and pink house shoes and placed your phone on the couch before reaching for the door.

chef apprentice yuta who stands at the door with thick-fil-a and practices a speech about how sorry he is for not being able to see you for seven days.

you quickly looked through the peep hole to see your boyfriend standing there with bags of Thick-fil-A in his hand. he had on a black baseball cap to cover his slightly over grown black hair, some black sweats and a dark gray tee shirt that fit his sleeper build perfectly. you smiled happily at his cute face before flinging the door open and pulling his body inside by his arm.

chef apprentice yuta who can’t even get out his words because his oh so sweet & pretty girlfriend always greets him with a bunch of kisses after a long week of being in a stuffy kitchen.

you couldn’t help but hurriedly close the door and pounce on him with kisses, standing on your tippy toes with your arms flung around his neck. Yuta widened his arms eyes from your arms reaching up and pulling his head down towards your body so quicky. you must have really missed him. he definitely missed you though.. so much. He smirked and kissed your lips back slowly and wrapped the hand with the food around your hips and the other on your ass.

chef apprentice yuta who can’t help but feel the stress that was built up slowly ease away at the feeling of your soft plush lips moving all up against his. just seeing you, kissing you, feeling you, hearing you— was enough for him to unwind from the day.

“mm” you both shared a passionate kiss, lips moving slowly and gently while yuta sucked your bottom lip slyly and then pulling away. “Yuu im so happy you’re here!” You’re so happy, just gushing at his presence with a big smile on your face. You brought your arms around his body to place your chin on his chest. “Me too. aw look at my baby, i see you got those braids you made me picked out” Yuta cocked his head to the side while letting a finger twirl around one of the freshly done braids and staring into your eyes with a gentle glare.

chef apprentice yuta who likes teasing you for the fun of it. he’s such a sweet boyfriend but gosh could he be anything less than a tease.

Yuta bit his top lip mindlessly and gave your chin a small grab and then let go. he still kept eye contact while holding your body and just waited for you to answer. “thanks.” you smiled and pushed yourself off his body. You reached your hand behind your back to grab one of the bags of food and walked to the table.

chef apprentice yuta who loves seeing you comfortable and happy in your own element. he loves that you can be so comfortable around him and just yourself.

“ou ‘thick-fil-a!’ ” You clapped while taking out your food and pulling out a chair while Yuta followed you. He gave you a playful smack on your ass with his heavy hand before sitting next to you. “hey!” You yelped and snapped your neck at him with a stank look. “i had too” Yuta laughed as he grabbed your hips and making you sit down. “how was your day?” Yuta placed his arms on the table and watching his giddy girlfriend stuff her mouth with fries. “it was good. but i had a headache. I feel better though.” You opened one of your sauces and pulled back the lid of the hot and spicy thicken sandwich. “this is goodd~” you hummed while eating another waffle fry that had been dipped in sauce. Yuta gave you a longing look before grabbing the food from his bag. “hmm” His face was laced with worry as his mind wandering a little at the thought of your words.

chef apprentice yuta who feels bad he isn’t with his gf 24/7. but still makes it his priority to try and balance his work and relationship.

All he wanted was his girlfriend to be happy and healthy. “you look tired” he whispered while biting one of his chicken nuggets and opening a sauce. “you look more tired than i do baby.” you cooed while cupping his face and giving his cheeks a peck, then seeing him pursing his lips for another kiss which you gave him. After you let go you continued eating your thicken sandwich and fries before looking up at your boyfriend who was staring at you. “let me know next time. okay” Yuta smiled softly as he watched you chew your food. “i will.”

chef apprentice yuta who makes you promise to always keep him in the know abt even having a small headache or needing to get your nails done. he never wants his job to get in the way of providing or taking care of you.

“and before you say anything don’t apologize for doing your job yuu. you’re always taking good care of me and i’m so grateful, alright?” your hand went to grab his, taking it into yours and looking up at him. he just gave you a dorky smile and nodded because he appreciated the reassurance. he always apologized after coming from work because he wants you to always know- “you’re appreciated, just so you know. seriously you’re everything to me.” Yuta leaned towards your body and landed a sweet kiss on your forehead. he watched you grin at the little action.

“i love you”

“i love you too”

#x black reader #x black reader fluff #black reader #x black fem reader #anime x black!reader #black fanfiction #black writers #jjk x black reader #my man my man my man #yuta x black reader #yuta okkotsu #yuta okkotsu x black reader #my man.#black yn

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autism-alley · 2 months

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now that the show is over, i’m slowly revisiting things that are less fundamentally dysfunctional and more symptoms of the overall problems. one of those is hephaestus. the way his disability is so… reduced is. almost incredible. like, they started off on the right foot casting a disabled man, i appreciate that, but the way they utilize hephaestus’ disability, or rather don’t, leaves a lot of room to be desired.

first off, allow me to be annoying by saying he is not there in the book—but i don’t think the decision to add him is inherently a poor choice. it could work.

in the lightning thief, the way the kids get out of his trap is through annabeth’s intelligence in an action-packed scene. in the show, i was alright with the fact they changed the trap—foolishly assuming they were going to actually make something different of equal craftsmanship—but the end result is one of many instances of sacrifice way too early in the series, and an utterly underwhelming solution to that sacrifice—annabeth literally just asks hephaestus to free percy and. he does? i thought she was going to figure out how to reverse the throne’s trap; while she’s not a child of hephaestus, you’d think a child of athena with a passion for architecture would have some understanding of mechanics. it would have been different from the book, maybe not the best approach, but still emotionally satisfying. but alright, we’re… making an emotional appeal to hephaestus. putting aside my feelings about her rant of what exactly it is that makes percy different and worth freeing, why is the show’s hephaestus… so generally underwhelming?

my man was tossed from the fucking heavens by a parent—in pjo it’s hera—they could have visually used that to show hephaestus, like annabeth, does not want to repeat his mother’s cold and selfish ways. but he’s just. alright, first just look at these two guys.

before we get to the meat and potatoes, tell me which of these two guys look like they’ve spent a millennia in a workshop? the guy covered in grease and sweat, dressed in a stain-littered apron, tool belt at his side, muscle built for lifting heavy parts and swinging a hammer century after century? or the man with a neatly brushed, trimmed, washed beard and head of hair, clean hands, remarkably unstained sweater and flannel, crisp, new overalls, and academic-looking glasses? which looks to you like the embodiment of blacksmiths and the flame of the forge? yeah. but that can all be lumped in with my other wardrobe complains of the show, now we get to the section of this post where i would like to tread lightly.

i want to start by saying not all disability is visual, or even overtly visual, but hephaestus’ is and that visual is important to his character and the story. as a disabled person, i love that they cast a disabled actor, but based on how it was handled in the show, i had no idea this man was disabled. i thought he was an able bodied actor, and i am so sorry i came to that conclusion, but i really see no other one i could have come to based purely on what was in the show itself. i had to google who timothy omundson is to know he’s disabled and with what disability (he suffered a stroke that left him paralyzed on his left side in 2017 and has been in recovery ever since—godspeed my man, i hope it helps where it can). i am so glad it was a disabled actor and not an able bodied one, but he’s still not hephaestus. while obviously no mortal has fallen from the heavens, i think they could have made it work, but a man who’s had a stroke and a man who’s had his body crushed are not the same. i am not here to belittle this man’s experiences or say one is more severe, i am saying they are different, and not interchangeable.

regardless, a disability that is visual is no less than one that is invisible and timothy omundson’s paralysis is visual, but it was hidden. it was NOT clear to the audience timothy omundson is paralyzed, or that he is disabled at all. the gods can appear however they choose, but it’s a point that hephaestus generally does not, or his disability is implied to be such a hindrance on him, no matter how he chooses to appear, he cannot escape his disability, how glaringly visible it is. his body itself is a story of how the gods betray each other, how they literally eat each other alive and are so hypocritical about it. think of how impactful the visual of hephaestus is—has a parent ever rejected your existence so violently, your divine body is broken and disfigured for all eternity? it is a brutal establishment of the godly norm as ruthless, cruel, and petty abuse. and the show, for all its talk of how the gods are awful, just did not highlight his disability and its origins it at all.

again, i think including hephaestus in this scene could have worked, but not how the show went about it. imagine. annabeth, desperately fiddling with the throne’s inner workings, makes her emotional appeal to hephaestus. he’s partly obscured by shadow as he stands, watching from afar on the balcony, but we see a gnarled hand grasp the railing. annabeth, still pulling back the machine’s inner workings, tearfully describes how her mother punished her for embarrassing her. as she does, we receive a few close up shots of hephaestus, still leaving him mostly in the dark, but providing peeks at his disfigurements, and a hesitant but pained look in his eyes tells us he is reliving painful memories—a conflicted bead of sweat runs down the side of his face. it wouldn’t cost any more run time to use these shots while annabeth makes her plea to him, and the disability is in the spotlight, the parallel between athena/hera and annabeth/hephaestus is clear as a younger, more hopeful version of this emotionally broken man begs him to help her be different than both their mothers.

free my friend, she says. and for a moment, he just shakes. he opens his mouth, and annabeth—and the audience—lean forward to hear his reply. but then his face crumples with regret and resentment. he is still apart of the same wheel that crushes everyone in their path—if he, a god, could not escape, why would a demigod? why should a demigod?

no, the god of the hammer tells annabeth, you cannot escape.

annabeth, in her hubris, replies, maybe you can’t—and we cut to her hands, tearing away a gear to reveal a switch—realization flashes across her face, and she grasps the trap’s mechanical release. percy is free, and hephaestus, in his misplaced anger, unleashes more of his creations (mechanical spiders!!) after them, mirroring the book as the kids use quick-thinking to escape waterland.

it’s not perfect, but that would work. instead, they finally show a god rather than just talking about them and it’s so underwhelming. and yes, this hephaestus carries a cane, clearly the potential to show front his disability was there, but you cannot throw me table scraps and tell me my frustration at not receiving the feast i was promised is unfounded. it’s laughable. most of the time it’s on screen it’s not in use and there isn’t even reference in the show as to why he carries a cane. casual viewers unfamiliar with the books or greek mythology might mistakenly assume this is just how this god chose to present himself and he doesn’t need this cane, and not that disability is at the core of who this divine figure is. it is NOT clear to the audience this is a disabled character played by a disabled actor. it is, indefensibly, a watered down depiction. what in the book needed to be ‘fixed’ with hephaestus—? this is a disabled god, you dare not give him to me in all his disabled complexity? you dare not show him as he is?

one of the most insulting things you can do to a disabled person is reduce our disability and the show has done it to the greek god of disability, with such a cheap payoff. if they did not want to be true to hephaestus, to his actor, they should not have shown him at all, and maybe—i don’t know, stuck to the book whose narrative makes sense in this scene?

#this is a loooong post i cannot tell if i articulated all the points i wanted to as i wanted to but alas. posting #the fact that they cast a literal disabled man and it was not clear at all that he or his character are disabled is #yeesh #if your audience—including your disabled audience—reads your disabled actor and character as able bodied you have a problem #add it to the list of ways the show that promised to highlight disability proceeded to erase it at every opportunity #disability is as close to the heart of pjo as its humor and whimsical charm i take no criticism on that #and yes i think it would be more impactful for hephaestus not to help the kids—the Point is it’s a cycle of abuse #that hurt people hurt people #but even if they went about it another way what we got in the show was So disappointing #pjo show crit #hephaestus pjo #annabeth chase #ris raves #percy jackson #pjo show #percy jackson and the olympians

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bennydwight · 1 year

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Saw the "Libby in Chairman's Robe" piece just now, and I wanna ask, how do you think Molly would look, and feel, in that robe?

Okay okay okay Koskela I’m so sorry but you opened the floodgates here.

I know the intention here was a cute picture of Molly playing dress up but for some reason I saw your ask and my mind exploded with enough red string to choke a conspiracy theorist and I have to get all this out somewhere, so buckle in folks because I’m about to jump to more conclusions than a paranoid frog and it’s going to get long

Molly and the Cloak

We begin with the previous Chairman. An intimidating looking dude, meant to serve as a direct opposite character-creation-wise to the ghosts immediately around him. He’s physically taller, built like an inverted triangle as a contrast to the characters he usually hangs out with

(Scratch is a rectangle don’t @ me)

But there’s one more interesting physical difference he has with every other ghost we’ve been introduced to:

Underneath the cloak, the Chairman is bone. In fact, the bone motif seems to be a large part of his design, since his facial area is shaped loosely like a skull.

Neither of which ghosts have.

And we know it isn’t a style transformation because when Scratch uses the cloak, he’s still the same underneath (no bones about it!)

And since skeletons haven’t been introduced to part of series canon (maybe they’re planning that for season three), we can only deduce that there was once a human under the hood. And it’s not a typical way for a human to exist in the Ghost World, since the default form is obviously ectoplasmic and not skeletal. So what might’ve caused the Chairman to differ so greatly from his peers?

(This is where the red string comes out.)

Before we dive into the next point, let’s take a look at some of the other traits of the Chairman for the purposes of this headcanon/theory/alternate universe/whatever:

He never speaks

He rarely moves, only in stiff, disjointed jerks

He gains power and sustenance from misery

We’ll get to that last one later, but for now let’s focus on the first two. We’ve seen these symptoms in another concept already introduced to us: possession. (Speaking less so than moving, but we do know there's at least a tonal difference.) So if the human that was once the Chairman is dead, why isn’t the ghost under the robe? What happened to it? The thing that makes it tick, the soul, the free will, is gone, leaving only the physical body behind. You could argue, sure, that the human died, the ghost went on to have fun ghosty adventures, and its body was left behind for something else to pick it up (but why bother if everyone’s a ghost anyway?)

Well, the thing that picked it up wasn’t a ghost.

The Chairman is the Cloak possessing a human corpse.

This explains a few things: it doesn’t talk because its got no voice (either meat or spectral), it keeps movement to a minimum to avoid suspicion, the body provides a shape to fill it out (hence why the Chairman has more human proportions), and solidity could also act as a form of armour.

(My theory here on why it had to be a corpse it couldn’t just be a ghost is that, from what we’ve seen, we can assume that ghosts can’t possess other ghosts. Otherwise nothing would get done. It’s likely the Cloak needs a physical vessel because trying to push a spirit out of a body without the body probably won’t work too well.)

But why go through all the rigamarole of possessing a skeleton and instigating yourself as the head of a ghost society? Why the secrecy? Now we get to point three: misery. The Cloak needs to feed off misery, and a bunch of angry, bitter people with lifetimes of grudges is probably a pretty great meal. Access to so much misery ensures its growth and survival. It’s a parasite. One with rudimentary forms of free will too, as we’ve seen the Chairman making decisions of its own accord.

As an intelligent parasite with the potential for an eternity of sustenance at your fingertips, the only smart thing to do would be ensure you kept the misery-generators under your control and were in the position to manipulate your surroundings to prioritize your continued survival (why scaring is mandatory, closely monitored, and punished if insufficient). Thus, the Chairman rises to power.

The deal was probably pretty good until the season finale. With the misery engine that was the Flow of Failed Phantoms gone, and the final hit depleting the last of the misery-born power the Cloak held, it lost control of its vessel, now so old that the bones basically liquified instantly. Weak and desperate to cling to life (as parasites are), it fell dormant as a defense mechanism.

Another thing to consider: in the season two premiere, we’re told that the person who vanquishes the Chairman becomes the next one and inherits the Cloak (makes sense, a position of ultimate power is probably pretty good for the parasite to remain in). We don’t know if its been a ghost before (we don’t know how long the previous body lasted), but the next leader is… Scratch. Someone wholly uninterested in power or misery of any kind, and unable to be controlled since he can’t be possessed.

Not a great day for the Cloak, I bet.

Any other parasite would pack their bags, not a whole lot of surviving happening if the new Chairman decrees scaring isn’t necessary anymore. But the Cloak sits quiet and plays nice. Why? Because of a simple little detail that’s bothered me ever since season two episode one dropped.

Scratch didn’t kill the old Chairman.

Molly did.

Young, human, easily controlled if it can just get close enough, the Cloak won’t bother settling for second best when the grand prize sleeps four feet away from its current host, not when its existence is on the line. Its still weak from the massive blow of joy Molly dealt, but it can feed off background misery and regain strength until Molly asks to play dress up one day, or Scratch leaves it laying around unsupervised, and then it’s an easy job of quashing one tiny soul and regaining power.

Its had an afterlifetime of practice, after all.

#asks #koskela13 #thank you for the ask!#the ghost and molly mcgee #tgamm #tgamm season 2 #tgamm spoilers #art #lineless art #Molly #scratch #the chairman #I felt like a genius putting these thoughts together #but I probably sound like a madman #tgamm theories #anyway tldr I don’t think she’d like it because it’s itchy next question

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nuntears · 7 months

Text

day 5: cannibalism

“i spoil you too much” fox says, cutting through the silence, you were watching some animated show together, and his words came out of nowhere. you look at him, worried, worried that he’ll take the little he gives you, and give you even less. it’s hard, being with him like this, but you try to make the most of it.

“i’m sorry, i—” you say, the word spilling out instinctively as it always does when you think his mood will turn.

“no, no don’t be.” he cuts you off. “it just… it could be worse you know, but i care about you. there are terrible people out there, i would know. don’t you think i would know?” he asks, prompting you. and there’s never room for any other answer than the one he wants to hear.

“yes, you would.” you say, nodding. he’s made allusions, painted vague images of someone who apparently did much worse than him, you go back and forth between believing it. it depended on the day, on how much you hurt. today you were healing, bruises yellowing, stitches scabbing and itchy, you were bandaged and seen to. so right now, you believed it.

“i would,” he said in agreement, pulling you closer until you were practically on his lap. you try to relax immediately, to melt into him. it had taken some time but you knew he liked it better this way, when you were soft against him. never tensing under his touch, no matter how he touched you.

he turns away, eyes training on the tv again. you don’t know if he’s really watching it, but you turn to face it as well. he has an arm around you, his body reading relaxed, his clawed finger tracing light circles on your shoulder. but even with no indication that he’s upset with you, you can’t help but feel like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop. is he thinking about it still? you think, was he just trying to make a point? you mind spins, and you lean your head against his. his moves hand there, as if on reflex, still looking forward. he pets your hair, soft, slow repetitive movements. you close your eyes for a moment, feeling his touch. sometimes you pretend this is normal, makes the days go by easier. you like to pretend until you can’t.

“are you hungry?” he murmurs, still stroking your hair.

“hm..” you start, giving yourself more time to think. you don’t know if this is some kind of test, if there’s a right answer. “only a little..” you settle on. trying not to sound too wanting, too spoilt.

“can’t have that, can we?” he says, getting up in an instant, causing you to almost fall over. he moves quickly towards the kitchen. you debate following. he didn’t really say what he wanted, and you hated having to assume. but before you can even decide he’s back and you perk up seeing him, holding the back of the couch as you watch him walk towards you, plate in hand. you can’t see what’s on it yet.

he sits down next to you, and that’s when you see it. your stomach drops. it’s a slab of raw meat, still wet with blood. you can’t help but look up at him, studying his smiling face, wondering if this was some kind of joke.

“go on then, eat.” he says, eyeing you back, a glint in his gaze, and you knew: despite his cheery tone, this wasn’t a question.

“w-what is it?” you ask, shifting a bit. looking everywhere but the plate.

“oh, this is from yesterday’s show.” he replies, his eyes lowering slightly. you swallow dryly. his show. he had said the fun he had with you inspired him to get back into it, and he does them regularly, at least once a week now. you can’t help the horror that crosses your face, and you know the game is up. you can’t pretend it doesn’t affect you, you’re scared again.

“it’s too much… i’m not that hungry.” you try, knowing it’s useless.

“aw pet,” he starts, before lifting the slab to his own mouth, sinking his teeth in and tearing off a chunk. you watch, unable to look away. he sticks out his tongue to slow you the piece there. he picks it off his lips gingerly, “open up, i’ll feed you.” he says sweetly, before placing it between his teeth and leaning towards you, waiting for you to close the distance. you try harder now to not let your disgust show. this is bad, this is really bad. if you don’t now, he’ll be angry. he’s even offering a smaller piece.

he grows impatient, leaning closer to you, the thing’s practically dripping. his face is against yours and you realize he’s breathing deeply, trying to keep himself calm. that never lasts long. it brushes against your lips, his eyes are half lidded as he watches you. you gingerly try to open your mouth, but the smell of it, metallic, causes you to shut it. you squeeze your eyes closed, your glass eye pressing harshly against the socket it sits in, and you try again. but you imagine the camera on some poor soul as fox cut them, screaming and writhing, and you can’t bring yourself do it.

“please don’t make me.” you whisper, shying away just a tiny bit. you know what this means, but you’ll take your punishment. you can’t live with yourself if you did, as small as the piece was, as little as he was asking of you.

“don’t be a brat now, c’mon. i want to see it. i want to see you eat it. don’t you want to be good for me?” he practically purrs, his words only slightly muffled as he speaks with the meat between his teeth. and you hate that you do, you do want to be good for him because the alternative is so much worse.

“i…” you start, trying to find some pitiful excuse, even though you know there’s none that could justify it him. the sound of the tv fills in the space as your words die in your mouth, it seemed so much louder now.

“don’t make me beg.” he whispers, but there’s a threat under his words. you stare at him, he presses the meat against your lips again and you try not to gag. suddenly, he drops the meat back onto the plate, and stares at you, his frowning face close to yours again. and you regret everything, you regret just not eating it, have half a mind to just grab the meat and shove it in your mouth to keep him from looking at you like that.

he places the plate on the table in front of the couch before turning to you again, his face unreadable. he grabs your wrist, standing, and you follow, hoping denying him will be worth it.

“fine, you don’t like the food i prepare for you. that’s okay.” he says, practically dragging you with how fast he was walking, and you realize too late where he’s taking you. he opens the door to the basement, and you try to dig your feet into the ground on reflex. you can’t go back down there. “maybe…” he continues, yanking on your arm at your resistance “you want something fresher.”

you’re crying now as he takes you down the stairs, you see the door to the recording room and you begin to panic.

“no, no, please, it’s fine i’ll eat it, i’ll—” you sob, but you cut yourself short as you pass it. where is he taking you?

and then you see it, the holding room. he opens the door, giving you no time to think and throws you in. you reach your arms in front of you to catch yourself. and when you lift your head up, you come face to face with a man. he’s curled into himself, shaking. you look down, bandages over a stump where his leg should be. the man isn’t looking at you though, he’s staring at fox behind you, with this burning hatred, with such disdain and resentment. if looks could kill fox would be dead on the floor.

“oh my god..” you breathe out. because you didn’t know this man was here, didn’t know he made it past the first show. you were living on top of someone. unaware. why didn’t you think someone was down here?

“what are you waiting for? you said you were hungry. now eat.” fox sneers from behind you, and you flinch, drawn out of your thoughts.

the man in front of you shakes his head at you, malice replaced with terror. you can’t help but see yourself in him. your tears wet your face and you shake your head too, there’s no way he can really be asking you to do this. there’s no way.

“i— i can’t,” you say with a weak sob. you look back at fox, hoping to reason with him. you’re crawling towards his feet, and he kneels down as you whimper, he palms your face and you lean into his touch, looking at him with the most pitiful look you can muster.

“you’re really testing my patience today.” he coos at you, but you hear the bite. “eat.” he states, simply, as if it was that easy. his claws dig into your cheek to drive the point home. you flinch, a soft sound of pain escaping you. fox pushes you away from him and the gesture makes your chest feel tight.

you know this is it. he won’t ask again, and you know if you argue anymore, it isn’t just you who could get hurt now. you turn again to the man, and he’s staring at you too, shaking his head still, whimpering.

you stand, unsteady, and slowly walk towards him. he shrinks away, kicking with his one leg until his back met the wall, his stump trying to gain purchase on the mattress he’s on and failing. he’s blubbering, sounds that don’t make words but you understand. you look at him, trying with your eye to explain in a look, i don’t want to do this, i would never do this. but he shakes all the same. it doesn’t matter that you don’t want to, because you will. and everyone in this room knows it.

you pick up his arm, and he thrashes and screams and it’s an awful sound, he tries to shove you away. and you see when his mouth was open that his tongue has been cut. you wince, fighting through it, moving on top of him, when he tries to push you again you grab the arm. “i’m sorry” you whisper, so quiet, so soft, but you hope he hears it.

then you bite down. he tries to get you off with his other hand, but you clamp onto him, teeth embedding in his flesh and he screams and screams and you start to sweat from it all. you bite harder, trying to pull, to no avail. you taste blood, though you know that’s not enough. you yank at the flesh. but you fall backwards, teeth sliding off his arm and colliding with each other. he manages to kick you away, and you relent, backing up. you look back at fox, desperately.

he sighs, shutting his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. and you want to reel back at the sight. you don’t like disappointing him, don’t like what it means for you.

“get me a knife!” fox yells and his loud voice makes you jump. you wait a beat and a knife is slid under the food slot of the door by an unseen guard. he leans down and grasps it. both you and the man wait, unmoving. you don’t need to see the man next to you to know you both share the same fear at this moment.

fox only takes one step forward, beckoning you with a finger. you stumble up towards him, scared. unsure of what he’ll do now that you’ve failed him. you’re in front of him, but he beckons again, and you tremble, moving closer regardless.

“i’m not feeding you this time.” he sneers, shoving the knife against your chest, uncaring of where the blade pressed. and you begin to understand as you grasp it. fresh hot tears flow from your eyes. for the briefest moment you think about using the knife on him, but you know you won’t. he must know as well. you sniff. then you turn back to the man.

he’s blubbering again, loudly, cowering. all shaking and half broken.

you’ve sat there too. you’ve been scared too. but that’s not where you are now.

you move with more conviction this time. you want this to go by quickly, you want to do him the favor of not making it last. and you’re on him. you grasp his arm, stretching it taut, you ignore his cries, and you start to slice a small chunk from his shoulder. you have to saw at it a bit. he’s trying to push you off but you pull at his arm harder. it’s a piece he won’t miss too much, won’t even be able to see really, it’s a mercy. you’re granting him mercy. the slice is hanging off his skin and you let go of his arm and rip it the rest of the way. you hold the torn flesh in your fist.

and you’re off him. you face fox, knife in one hand, strip of flesh in the other, and you eat.

your face contorts at the taste, you want to gag but you don’t. it’s still warm. the blood gushes from your lips as you bite into it. you chew desperately. but it’s tough, doesn’t give, so you give up and swallow it whole. you gag again, you feel the bile bubbling up in your throat and the sound seems so loud, but you swallow it all again, willing it to stay down. fox watches you intently the whole time.

“open.” he orders, and you do. the only thing on your tongue is bubbles of blood and saliva. he makes a small noise of acknowledgement, then continues “don’t you want more? you’re not getting anything else tonight.” he warns, tilting his head at you, but seemingly satiated.

“no, i was only a little hungry” you reply quickly with a sniffle, your determination gone, only the sinking feeling of what you’ve done is left, weighing on you, crushing you.

“well then, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he laughs, bringing you into his arms and you melt into him. you don’t know when you started craving his praise, his validation, but it felt so good. he slips the knife out of your hand and you would’ve given it if he asked. you always do as he asks it seems, one way or another. the man behind you is groaning, has been in fact, but you’ve tuned it out. for a moment, it’s only you and fox, it’s all you’ll allow it to be.

but fox disturbs the moment too soon, pointing at the man “and you,” you hear, but can’t bare to face him, feeling shame as you realize how this must look, “i’ll have someone patch that, push the show a few more days out. you should be thankful.”

and before you know it, fox’s hold is on your back, guiding you out of the room. you know this is the last time you’ll see the man, so you look at him, taking him in. and he glares daggers at you, looking at you with the same contempt he looked at fox. and you can’t help it when the tears blur your vision again, you try with your face to let him know, you need him to know: you were him once.

the door shuts behind you and you hear the man trying to scream at you from the room. you lean further into fox, trying to hide from it, trying not to hear it.

fox begins to lead you upstairs and you sigh, relief filling you as you follow him away from this place. you want to live in this feeling, you want to pretend that this is the extent of it. all he does is touch you softly, pet you, feed you.

when he brings you upstairs, he sits you back on the couch. the man’s screams continue in your head but they’re duller now. you hope some part of him understands that that’s not who you are. your stomach churns still, upset with you, just as upset as the man was.

your eyes land on the tv, it’s playing something different, moved onto the next episode, the sounds are muffled to you, your gaze unfocused but looking ahead regardless. you don’t realize fox left you there until he’s back with a napkin, dabbing at the corners of your mouth. you can’t help but smile at the gesture and he does too.

“so spoilt.” he mutters, but it’s doting. when he’s done he gives you a kiss, gentle. his tongue brushes past your teeth and the taste is back in your mouth but you don’t mind it this time.

he’s right and you know it. and maybe that’s just what he was trying to prove. this really isn’t the worst. at the end of the day, you’re not the man in that room, you live upstairs, you have a bed, you can do what you like for the most part. fox isn’t the worst.

and he would know, wouldn’t he?

#ren hana/reader #the announcer/reader #boyfriend to death #the price of flesh #goretober 2023 #i LIED time isn't real i just wanna post this one cus it's been finished for soooo long and i luv ren sm ioawjeiogjawe #**#singing hymns

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eruden-writes · 2 years

Text

Room & Board - Part 6 (Tabaeus x Reader)

Anon submitted this prompt: For the prompt submissions a vampire that feels guilty after feeding/attacking someone so they leave obscenely valuable ancient artifacts as payment/an apology?

Part 1 | Previous | Masterlist | Next

x x x x x

Together, you and Tabaeus make a list of preferences in a house. It takes the better part of two days to get the bulk of it - and the reasons behind the wants - solidified in your head.

A finished basement and an easy to board-up attic, which would give Tabaeus options for their own room.

Two or more bedrooms. At least one for yourself and an office, you decided. Perhaps an extra bedroom for a roommate, if that ever became a possibility.

Two or more bathrooms, a necessity for any multi-person living situation.

A garage, preferably with a workshop, since homeownership meant upkeep. Plus, you might need a place to hew some wooden stakes.

Hardwood floors, for ease of clean-up. Especially if blood was involved.

Perhaps a garden, ideally a greenhouse. You always wanted to grow fruits and vegetables. Plus, the more you read of vampires, the more you realized there were herbs you could use for protection.

As you work on the list, new concerns cropped up. Mainly, what records you may need for Tabaeus. Birth certificate? Proof of citizenship? A bank account?

These are the worries swirling around your brain as you stand at your job. You decided not to call off for the third day in a row. Even if Tabaeus had enough valuable trinkets to make you a billionaire, you figure it’s best to keep working for now. Who knew what would draw suspicion your way?

So you stood, cleaning the counters after the main dinner rush of the Milk King Lemon Jollies at North Plaza Mall. You stare blankly at the perpetually sticky counter as you move the damp rag around, concerns about house hunting swarming your thoughts.

It’s quiet now, with your previous mob of customers sated with sweets and meats. Some still linger around the food court, munching away. The ice cream machinery and refrigeration hums around you as the hotdog cooker clicks and clacks and rolls the fresh hissing wieners. The ambient sound of the food court chatter draws you further into your head.

“Excuse me? Hello?” An irritable voice finally cuts through your fog and you jerk to attention.

Blinking away your worries, your best customer service smile stretches over your lips as you turn to face the potential patron standing in front of the registers. As you approach them, your tone is no less fake as your farce of a smile. “Oh, I’m sorry! What can I get for you?”

“Finally, I’ve been standing here for fifteen minutes!” Liar, you think, knowing that - despite your distraction - you always make a habit of checking for customers every few minutes. On the person’s chest, you notice a name tag from one of the more ritzy boutiques from down the road. Somewhere that caters to more obscenely wealthy clientele.

You only vaguely register the she/her under the customer’s name, before your attention is dragged back to her face by her snapping fingers. “Pay attention! My goodness, I know this is a minimum wage job, but do better!”

To your credit, your smile doesn’t falter. “Your order?”

“Yeeaaaah,” drawls the woman, turning her eyes to the lighted menu board hanging overhead. You sourly think she does not sound like someone who has been pondering their order for fifteen minutes. She points her finger, tipped in a long sharp nail, at the menu. “Can I get a sample of the slushie?”

“I’m sorry, but we don’t give samples of the slushie,” you answer, apologetically. Your cheeks hurt from how much you’ve turned the sweetness up on your smile. You brace for the customer’s aggravation, as you always do when you cannot comply with a request.

No amount of sweet smiling can save you as the customer turns an icy look to your face. “Excuse me?”

“We have no measurement for sample sizes, other than samples for the Lemon Jollies,” you explain, indicating the blenders of pre-prepared drinks in a cooler between the registers. “I can get you a sample of one of these. Our new passionfruit flavor is really good!”

“I want a sample of the slushie.” Each word is said slowly and harshly, as if you’re simply lacking comprehension. She makes a sharp motion with her hand, indicating the slushie machine, as she moves her head in a derisive manner. “Figure it out.”

Your customer service smile falters. Months ago, when someone else had requested a free sample of the slushie, you happened to be working with the owner of this franchise. Now, you leaned into the excuse they had told the previous customer, “Ma’am, the syrup is too expensive to give free samples.”

“Look here,” she says as she stomps her foot. Her hands slam on the counter as she leans toward you. It’s only then that you notice there’s another person in line behind her. “I am the customer and the customer is always right!”

“Ma’am, a line is beginning to form behind you.” Your words come out brittle and your smile is not as sunny as it had been earlier. Frantically, your brain scrambles for a way to smooth over the situation, but - unless she orders something - there’s really nothing left of this transaction. “If you don’t want a sample of the Lemon Jollies or you need more time to decide, please step aside so I can help other customers until you’re ready.”

“I was here first!” By now, her tantrum has reached the breaking voice stage. You close your eyes and breathe through your nose, wondering if threatening to call security will aide this situation or not. She’s undeterred by your reaction though, as her words barrel forth, “This treatment is unacceptable. Where is your-”

Before she could finish the dreadful phrase, the customer behind her steps forward and lays a hand on her shoulder. “Pardon the intrusion, but what is the problem?”

Something in your guts flip, realizing the waiting customer is Tabaeus. You didn’t even realize. They’re wearing high-waisted black slacks, with a long-sleeved teal shirt tucked into the belted waist. Over it all, they wear that familiar trench coat. Sunglasses perch on their nose and a black beanie sits snug against their head, hiding the points of their ears from view. Vaguely, you note they’re even wearing the silver cursive ‘T’ necklace that had caught their eye at All Mart.

You’re brought back to the current situation as the customer makes a sharp movement at you. She has half-turned toward Tabaeus, presuming they were a fellow sympathetic party. “This minimum wage worker isn’t serving me!”

“Ah, I see,” Tabaeus simply smiles, standing at ease with their hands in their pockets. They tilt their head toward you, their red eyes peering over the sunglasses. “Should I take care of this annoyance for you?”

“How kind of you but-” The woman titters, before realizing Tabaeus is speaking to you. About her. At once, her back straightens and outrage has her hissing, “Excuse me!”

“Oh, yes, excuse you.” You barely catch the flashy glow of Tabaeus’s red eyes as they turn back to the woman. Tabaeus lifts their sunglasses up and you certainly see how the customer’s eyes widen, consciousness fading into a daze. Tabaeus leans closer to her, their voice dropping to a firm whisper, “Perhaps a dip will cool off your heated attitude.”

A too-wide smile spreads over the woman’s lips, her gaze remaining disconcertingly blank. Her voice is breathy and soft as stilted words leave her mouth, “That sounds wonderful.”

In silence, you watch her toddle off - a little wobbly on her feet - toward the main thoroughfare of the mall. You’re still trying to process what just happened.

Returning their glasses to the appropriate place on their nose, Tabaeus turns back to you. “Other than her, how has your shift gone?”

“What did you do to her?” Your head snaps toward them, your voice low and hushed so no one else in the food court can hear. Though, it seems no one has taken any notice.

Tabaeus cringes behind their sunglasses, a lopsided grin tilting at their lips. Their little shrug has your stomach dropping, even as they mumble, “Hypnotism?”

“Is that your answer?” Your eyes narrow and Tabaeus squirms under your critical look. “Or are you guessing?”

Tabaeus makes a sound, as if they’re not entirely sure themselves. “She was causing you obvious distress, so I just… did something?”

With a groan, you drag a hand down your face, refraining the urge to lay your face on the counter. You are at work. Your dirty little secret of a vampire is standing at the register. The shift is only half over. Your coworker is due back at any second.

Faintly, you hear a splash far off in the distance, followed by the shrill whistle of Mall Cop Roy. A further, rather wet sounding, commotion ensues and you watch as mall patrons drift toward the scuffle.

You add ‘your dirty little secret of a vampire hypnotized a rude customer into jumping into the mall fountain’ to your growing list of stressors. Though you doubt much will come of that one. Unless there’s a vampire lurking in North Plaza Mall, but what are the chances of that?

“I apologize for my appearance,” Tabaeus mumbles, leaning against the counter as your drop your hand from your face and look up at them. “I found myself missing you.”

Warm fluttering feelings tickle in your chest, but you clamp down on them. As strangely comfortable as you’ve grown to the vampire in a short amount of time, you want to keep a level head around them. “Missing me or my blood?”

“What do you take me for? Of course, I missed you.” Tabaeus frowns, though there’s an amount of pout in it that makes it playful. It doesn’t take them long to tilt their head to the side, a considering look glinting in their eye as their voice drops to a suggestive hush, “But if you are offering a nip, I certainly will not decline.”

“Tabaeus,” you sigh and move away from the counter, deciding to at least pretend to work by restocking cups and lids. As you’re doing so, Tabaeus follows you along the perimeter of the counter. Unable to ignore them, you airily ask, “How did you even get here?”

“The locomotive you took me on last time,” answers Tabaeus a with single-shouldered shrug. You should have known the vampire would remember the subway. And the fact they’ve fed on you multiple times would likely explain how they knew to come to the mall. “I sat next to an intriguing fellow that had a fretfully adorable weasel in his pocket.”

You stop in restocking the large cups and shoot Tabaeus a look. Judging from their unfazed demeanor, there was no innuendo in their strange words. However, your voice still sounds uncertain as you guess, “A ferret?”

“Yes! That is what he called it.” The vampire points at you and flashes a brilliant smile, as if they’d been searching for a particular word and you promptly gave it to them. “He offered to sell it to me.”

That causes you to turn abruptly back to Tabaeus, your stomach dropping. “Please, tell me you didn’t take it.”

“Of course not.” Tabaeus chuckles, apparently amused by your stricken expression.

“Thank goodness,” you breathe in relief and move on to refreshing the straws. You aren’t even sure what your current rental’s policy is when it came to pets. Animals were expensive to take care of and, besides, you knew nothing about ferrets. What did they even eat?

Your relief is short-lived as Tabaeus reaches into an inner pocket of their trench coat. “Although, I did acquire these little ones.”

In horror, you slowly turn to view whatever it is Tabaeus holds in their long-fingered hands. It’s a pouch. You press your lips together in a thin line, eyeing the bag and hoping it won’t move.

Of course, something in it stirs. As Tabaeus loosens the pouch’s strings, you hesitantly peer into the recesses. Two small furry things, with eyes like glass beads, stare back at you. One is a dark, almost black, grey while the other is lighter with stripes of brown.

Without thought, you lean over the counter and grab Tabaeus’s coat in two hands, dragging their face closer to yours. They oblige you, leaning forward with a curious look as you hiss, “Tabaeus, you don’t buy sugar gliders from some rando on the subway!”

“Why ever not?” Sincere confusion crosses Tabaeus’s face. They really have no idea why you don’t just buy random stuff from people you cross paths with. Faintly, you wonder how Tabaeus even bought the sugar gliders to begin with. You didn’t think they had any hard cash on them.

“You don’t know what’s wrong with them!” You look down at the little pouch, containing the little creatures. They’re still staring up at you with their glassy eyes, “They could be super sick or stolen or something!”

“They said they were-” Before Tabaeus could finish their statement, they get distracted. Their attention turns from your face to something behind you.

Briefly, you think they’re trying to trick you or even think of an adequate answer. Until a voice from behind you says, “What’s going on here?”

A cold chill rushes down your spine. You completely forgot where you were, the uniform you’re wearing, the setting. How it would look for an employee to grasp onto a potential customer’s jacket, hissing at them, as said customer held out a little pouch. Any outsider looking at the scenario would either assume you were accosting Tabaeus or they were trying to deal you drugs.

On top of all that, you completely forgot your co-worker today was due back from their lunch.

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adrift-in-thyme · 1 year

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Day 11: Fever (Warriors & Time)

Ao3 link

Cw for illness

———————-

It’s been a while since he’s come down with something.

Honestly, Time can’t remember when he last did. He just doesn’t get sick as much as he used to. Apparently, traveling through time has done wonders for his fairy-boy immune system. At least, that’s the positive way of looking at it.

But it’s growing a bit difficult to remain positive, even more so to stay alert. With his head pounding, and his throat burning like he swallowed fire, and his surroundings tipping dizzily, just putting one foot in front of the other is nearly impossible. More than once he has to shake himself out of a daze to answer a question or regain his sense of direction, ensuring he isn’t leading the heroes blindly into danger.

Halfway through the day, the looks begin. He can feel them, even through the exhaustion dragging at his mind–the sideways glances between Twilight and Warriors; the furtive, questioning looks from Wind, Wild, and Hyrule. Even Legend quirks an eyebrow when Time replies to something Wind said in a less-than-coherent way.

“You okay, old man?” Twilight asks, after yet another instance where Time tries and fails to accurately articulate his intended meaning.

He’s more than happy to converse with his fellow heroes, but why they have to choose to talk to him more frequently today of all days is beyond him.

“I’m alright, pup,” he lies and keeps walking…if only to keep from collapsing.

From the look on Twilight’s face, he doesn’t buy it for one second. His attempts at cloaking his illness are failing miserably, Time knows, but at this point, he’s much too tired to care. Getting through the day is his sole priority now, preferably with himself and the others alive. That’s more than enough in and of itself.

Monsters attack around four, a small group that they dispose of with relative ease. And though he doesn’t have to fight overly much, the little he does leaves him winded and dizzy. By the time Warriors suggest they set up camp for the night, he’s stumbling.

Every step feels like he’s dragging himself through mud, every thought is fuzzy and incomprehensible. His body is stiff and uncooperative, aching joints reminding him of his age, and the slight shivers that have begun to run through it do little to help matters. Neither does the headache-turned-migraine pulsing behind his eyes, or the sickening burn in his throat.

Even Wild’s supper of meat skewers makes his stomach turn. And after a valiant attempt to eat that nearly results in disaster, Time sets down his plate, and announces that he’s going to turn in early.

Instantly, Twilight’s eyes narrow.

“But the fun’s just getting started,” Hyrule says. “Wild was gonna show us how to shield surf!”

“Don’t tell me that’s too strenuous for you, old man,” Legend smirks.

Time offers them all a small smile. “It’s been a long day.” He rises, steadying himself on a nearby tree trunk. “You boys have fun…and please don’t break anything.”

Legend snickers. “Sorry but the Champion’s involved. Something’s definitely gonna get broken.”

Time has to admit that he has a point.

“Well,” he says, mildly, “wake me up when it happens.”

He unrolls his bed mat, lays down, and is asleep seconds later.

Despite his exhaustion, he sleeps fitfully. Dreams tumble one upon another, strange and nauseating, tangling past and present, reality and fiction. And through them all, his pain features prominently. His mind has deigned it necessary to remind him of its existence, apparently, though he can’t for the life of him figure out why. It’s more than a little noticeable on its own.

He tosses and turns, wincing as every breath, every swallow ignites the fire in his lungs and throat. The night air only exacerbates it. More than once he startles awake in the throes of a coughing fit.

When the shivering becomes so bad his teeth begin to chatter, and he realizes getting any sleep tonight is hopeless.

Time pushes himself upright, then struggles to his feet, pausing a moment to let the world tip back into its rightful place. Stepping carefully over the slumbering heroes, he heads toward the forest. At the very least, maybe a walk will clear his head. And though he’s likely spread the virus all over the camp by now, maybe, just maybe, removing himself from the equation will help keep more people from becoming ill.

He doesn’t even make it to the first line of trees, however, before Warriors’ voice reaches him.

“Sprite? What’re you doing?”

Time freezes, feeling a bit like a child caught in an act of mischief, and looks back over his shoulder just in time to see the captain rise from his place keeping watch. He crosses the clearing to him, brows drawn in concerned confusion.

“You’re pale,” he says, regarding Time with a scrutinizing gaze. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” The lie is a bit harder to get out this time, what with the fact that he can hardly speak. “Just felt like taking a walk.”

Warriors lets his gaze drift over him, the worry in his eyes growing stronger by the moment.

“You felt like taking a walk…in the middle of the night.” He shakes his head. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, you can’t lie to me, Sprite. Besides, you look sick as a dog.”

A small smile lifts his lips, which quickly dissolves into a grimace as another particularly violent shiver rips through him. “I thought your dog jokes were re-reserved for Twilight.”

“Nah, they’re multipurpose. Now, come on, back to bed with you.” Warriors puts a hand on his shoulder, keeping his grip firm even when Time tries to pull away.

“Captain–”

“No, excuses, Sprite,” he says, leading Time back towards his abandoned bed mat. The ground dips as he walks, and it’s only with Warriors’ support that Time remains upright. “You need to rest. And if I don’t drag you back, someone else will.”

Time half-sits, half-collapses back onto the mat, feeling even more exhausted than before.

“Don’t want you boys to get sick too,” he manages.

Warriors gives him a small, knowing smile. “We’ve been with you all day, Sprite. If we’re gonna get your germs, it’s already happened. Running away now isn’t gonna help anyone.”

He hands Time a flask of water, then scoots over to sit beside him as he drinks it. And he doesn’t even really mean to, but somewhere between downing the rest of the water and handing the flask back, Time ends up slumped against the captain’s shoulder, his scarf draped over his shoulders like a blanket.

For a moment, fear spikes within him, ingrained by the war, driven by the terrible knowledge that he’s likely gotten everyone here ill, and lead them into a whole other kind of danger. But then, exhaustion wins out, and he lets himself drift, safe beside his brother.

#febuwhump2023 #febuwhumpday11 #sick character #fever #trin writes #linkeduniverse #lu time #lu warriors #whew didn’t think I’d actually be able to fill today’s prompt #I’m so tired and writer brain is not cooperating

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sagevalleymusings · 1 year

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A Caveat for my super long Scholomance Essay

I got a few new followers from a recent reblog of mine so as a thank you and definitely not secret plot to scare everyone away, I got the motivation to push through and finish my essay on relationships in the Scholomance series by Naomi Novik. It is, and this is not a joke, over five thousand words. I cite nearly a dozen sources and I have no apologies. Okay I have one apology. Sorry to the person who I will neither be tagging nor naming who said the thing about all the other Scholomance couples being monogamous that inspired me to write ten pages of literary analysis.

Anyway, continue on with your day, or maybe...?

The Scholomance through the Lens of Relationship Anarchy I’m gonna be honest. I was shy to talk about my love of Naomi Novik’s angry anti-capitalist response to Harry Potter. Shortly after I read A Deadly Education, I read a highly critical review which addressed Novik’s diversity and said that it felt more like 90s multiculturalism than 10s intersectionality. The passage about mal hiding in locs was… bad. And having the family that El was estranged from being the Indian half seemed like having your cake and eating it too - the appearance of diversity with none of the work. I’m not going to be able to find the original review now, but I think this article from Book Riot does a good job of addressing both the criticism and explaining a less critical interpretation.

So I was quiet. I could see where the criticism was coming from but appreciated a magic school that had a different interpretation than certain others which have already been named. I decided to wait until The Last Graduate to really make any judgment calls.

In my extremely white opinion, Novik responds to criticism in both The Last Graduate and The Golden Enclaves in a way that recontextualizes the multiculturalism in A Deadly Education. This book isn’t just anti-capitalist. It’s anti-imperial. Places like New York and London are given more weight because the whole Scholomance is a metaphor for imperialism. The very foundation of the way they’re doing magic is imperialist and corrosive to the soul. But I don’t want to get into all of that until I can really chew on it, since my lack of personal experience as a person of color means I need to bring receipts and a body of research if I plan on speaking at length on that subject.

I bring it up in context to say that Novik’s The Scholomance series has received valid criticism from various fronts throughout this series. But I think a deeper reading reveals that the thing which you are criticizing was part of the point the whole time.

I feel similarly about “the cheating subplot” in The Golden Enclaves.

“The Cheating Subplot” is not how I would categorize it. But I’m responding to this Goodreads review and a lot of interpretations which, as far as I can tell, were influenced by it.

To summarize, because there’s no way to talk about this without spoilers for The Golden Enclaves, Orion has pushed El away only to, as far as she is aware, be eaten by a maw-mouth. Liesel shows up, and starts trying to actively seduce El. At some point, while processing her grief, she has sex with Liesel. Then, Orion comes back, very much alive. Then he leaves again. More El/Liesel bonding ensues in an airport loo, then Orion comes back, and El and Orion probably get back together.

This has been called a cheating subplot, partly for sleeping with Liesel the first time when she “knew he was probably alive.” And the second time when he was definitely alive and just not around. And at no point does El mention she’s slept with Liesel to Orion. I have a handful of issues with this, and I’m going to address the more minor issues before we get into the meat of it.

Does El actually sleep with Liesel the second time?

This is splitting hairs, but when I read that section, I stopped, went, “wait they didn’t have sex though” and then read the passage again, and concluded that no, they had not in fact had sex. So when I saw people claiming on the internet that sure, he was dead the first time, but definitely not the second time, I was genuinely confused. There was no second time. So I’ve copied the entirety of what could be the description of El and Liesel having sex on the plane. And Liesel was right: it helped to feel good in my body, her hands and the water running over my skin reminding me that I was whole, even if I didn’t feel that way, telling me I was still all in one piece at least on the outside.

That’s it, that’s the whole description. You can infer that they had sex, but it isn’t stated. What if, instead, they just showered together? Is it still cheating then? Some people would say yes, because you’re naked and intimate with another person. But some people would say no, because that’s not sex.

Does El really not mention it to Orion?

One of the linchpins on this argument is, it’d be fine if El mentioned it to Orion, but she doesn’t. But… does she not?

After all, we don’t hear every single conversation that people have - just the important ones. Or rather - just the ones that our unreliable and emotionally stunted narrator considers to be the important ones. This series is narrated by El to a mundane to describe how she became a maw-mouth hunter, essentially. Is “and then I told my boyfriend I slept with Liesel” really that important of a conversation to include in the text of the book? Couldn’t we just assume they had that conversation? After all, she does have that conversation with Liesel, in a way that makes plot-relevant sense. We could infer that she’s mentioning it to Orion in the same time frame (and if it seems like a stretch to infer that, see above inferred sex scene).

But I don’t think this is a likely place for this conversation to have occurred because Novik herself says that things were too busy and chaotic for most of the book for relationship negotiating to have been a priority.

The second place El could have mentioned it was in the epilogue, when El hand-waves away several weeks of serious emotional labor into a single paragraph. That would have been the place any rational person would have mentioned their fling to a partner.

We’ve been told in this book by El that she’s perfectly happy as a narrator to hand-wave away huge chunks of the story. I think it is plausible for these two to have had a conversation off screen and for El to just not feel the need to tell us that. This brings up one of the theory points which I’ll circle back to when I get to the theory part - it isn’t enough that it’s possible for those two to have had the conversation. The audience feels the need to have this relationship norm performed for them, so they can assuage their concerns that this might be cheating. But that brings me to a new question…

Assuming their relationship is exclusive, was El under any obligation to have mentioned it to Orion?

Okay, let’s assume that El and Orion are exclusive during the periods that they are dating, with the normal caveats that would apply to any relationship.

The first time El has sex with Liesel, Orion is dead.

Or rater, El has been presented with a situation wherein the only possible outcome is eternal torture worse than death, and the person she loved is effectively dead because he cannot be brought out from that eternal torture except through death. Point being, it is not cheating to sleep with someone after your partner dies.

Orion comes back, and El and Orion get back together, but is El under an obligation to tell him any and all people she’s slept with while they weren’t dating?

I would argue not, because it isn’t a parameter that’s applied consistently in monogamous relationships - in fact, if anything, we’re discouraged from telling our current partner our relationships before then. And what happens “on break” in my experience depends on the people involved - some people don’t want to know, some people do. But if it’s dependent on the people involved, the only time El would be obligated to tell Orion about the first time she had sex with Liesel would be if the words “did you have sex with anybody while we were on break” came out of Orion’s mouth.

So what about the second time (which again, I would argue is ambiguous)? Well, I think it’s pretty obvious that they’re on break. Orion leaves to join his mother, who El will have nothing to do with, and before he leaves, Orion tries to ask her to promise to kill him if his mom can’t fix him. They’re saying goodbye. It is unlikely these two will ever see each other again.

So if El and Orion are on break when she sleeps with Liesel the second time, why would she tell Orion about it? They weren’t dating at the time.

And this is the stance Novik seems to come down on as well, because in her AMA on this question she says, “if El ever wanted to hook up with Liesel again, I think probably a conversation would happen at that point.”

Because it would be at that point that she would actually be dating Orion.

But I also think we shouldn’t assume that their relationship follows the rules we’re expecting. After all, Novik also has this to say, “To me, it's just, people have different kinds of relationships with different people.” So… Do we know for sure whether or not El and Orion’s relationship is exclusive?

Actually, scratch that, and let’s dig into the meat. When I was arguing on the internet with someone about this, they said “the only other canon Scholomance couples we see are all monogamous.”

That’s already a pretty loaded statement, to be honest. We’re already pre-disposing ourselves to assume both that the people we’ve heard about relationships from are monogamous, and that the default state of Liesel and El and Alfie and Orion is that they are all supposed to be monogamous -this person doesn’t just say “the other relationships are monogamous”, they say couples specifically. But just because a relationship looks monogamous doesn’t mean that it is.

It’s probably for this reason that my irl partner is extremely careful to shoehorn in references to the other people he’s dating whenever the opportunity presents itself, because we live together, and people assume we are monogamous unless we state otherwise.

I want to set aside this assumption, and look closely at the text to see what norms Novik is really setting for us. To that end, I’ve scoured all three books for every example of relationship drama, and I think Novik is inadvertently saying some rather profound things about the hegemony in monogamous heterosexual relationships in patriarchal post-imperial countries that doesn’t mesh with an anti-colonial anti-capitalist agenda. In simpler, but less accurate words, non-monogamy is anti-colonial. And I think Novik’s descriptions of relationships bear this out.

All of the parents that we see are a straight couple with biological children. No one has gay parents. No one is adopted. Even these cookie-cutter relationships still have a decent amount of variability. Gwen is raising a child on her own as a widow. Liesel’s father was having an affair. But heteronormative expectations for these two bear out. To our knowledge, Gwen never moves on. She is never described as having any intimate relationship with anyone else, despite living on the kind of neo-pagan commune which in my limited experience is absolutely rife with free-love types. Gwen is the textbook perfect example of a mourning widow. She has sex with her high school sweetheart, what, one time? Certainly a limited number of times if El’s statements on the lack of opportunity are to be believed. And loves him and only him for the rest of her life.

Meanwhile, Liesel’s mother is punished for sleeping with a married man - killed for it in fact. And her father is as distant as cheating husbands have ever been stereotyped to be.

So I would still argue that all four of these examples are a body of expectations - of amatonormativity - which is, at the end of the day, rooted in the same colonial, patriarchal mesh that had them building a school on the backs of dead children.

Meanwhile, this new generation of children are doing something different.

Rule one about whether or not something is a date or an alliance is if they do something with you and don’t ask for fair share in return. And that’s pretty much all we’re told about relationships for quite a while - El doesn’t even notice that Ibrahim and Yaakov are already dating.

Our protagonist is willfully oblivious to most everyone around her, so we don’t know much about anyone really. The first hint of an inkling of anyone’s thoughts on relationships other than the one El’s only pretending to be in, really, is when a girl propositions her and Orion for a threesome in the library.

And that is literally the only two mentions of relationships of any kind in the entirety of A Deadly Education. I checked.

During their senior year, more people are dating. Ibrahim and Yaakov are revealed to have been an item for an unspecified amount of time previously, Liesel starts pursuing Alfie, and Liu has her own fair share of relationship drama.

And don’t forget about Jermaine!

… Here’s the thing. I know for a fact that you forgot about Jermaine because it took me two solid weeks to find this passage again.

We knew that Jermaine from New York had spent the last year in a competitive love triangle with a boy from Atlanta over one of the top alchemists, and we all knew when in a perfect storm of gossipy delight it turned into a trio and an alliance, halfway through the first month of term.

This is in chapter 9 of The Last Graduate, right after El catches Ibrahim and Yaakov kissing, and she explains that there’s just not a lot of romance drama to be had when you’re fighting for your life every day, but that they chewed very thoroughly on the drama that they did have. Jamaal was courting a girl from Cairo “by the book,” and Jermaine had wound up in a triad.

And on that note, I want to come back to Liu’s relationships, because of a very specific line towards the end of the book.

“What was up with letting us hassle you about Zixuan all this time! Or were you trying to decide?”

Here’s the thing. There’s a strong implication in this one line that when Liu kisses Yuyan two days before graduation, she hasn’t severed her flirtation with Zixuan. That’s still on the table. She wants to want the right things.

The Thesis

So when I say “how do we know for sure that El and Orion’s relationship is exclusive”, it is in the context of the kinds of relationships we’ve been presented with throughout the entire trilogy. And across the entire trilogy, rather than “the only other canon Scholomance couples we see are all monogamous,” of all the romances we see from the kids in the school during El’s tenure, less than half of them are in completely exclusive monogamous relationships. And only one of the couples is heterosexual.

And I think it does bear noting that there are several hundred kids in each grade, and we don’t know the relationship status of most of them. But I want to circle back to the very first thing we learn about relationships, because I think it bears repeating.

Rule one about whether or not something is a date or an alliance is if they do something with you and don’t ask for fair share in return. El is in an alliance with Liu and Aadhya. She winds up adding Chloe to the alliance. So… what about everyone else? El spends the entirety of Book 1 criticizing Orion for doing things for other people without asking for fair value, then spends the entirety of Book two doing things for other people without asking for fair value.

It can be interpreted that this is a rule El made up in her head that doesn’t actually have any basis to the other Scholomance kids, but I think this is the more shallow reading. After all, if we compare it to El’s understanding of the Scholomance, she’s shown to have a better understanding of it than most throughout - even at the beginning.

I think instead it is one of many examples of the layers that get peeled back across each book. There is the Scholomance as everyone else sees it, the Scholomance as it sees itself, and the Scholomance as it truly is. Each peeled-back layer reveals a truth about El too. In Book 1, the group’s understanding of El is one of grim prophecy - they all believe, even herself, that she has the power to undo them utterly. In Book 2, that force is used for good, and the El she strives to be shines. But in Book 3 we’re given the truth - that the El of grim prophecy and the El as a radical force for good are the same, and the system needed to be brought down.

Book 1 through the lens of El is largely devoid of romance or sexuality at all. She doesn’t see herself as capable of those kinds of feelings and therefore misses them in others. Book 2’s relationships are largely about expectations. Liu struggles with the expectation of choosing Zixuan, El struggles against her mother’s wishes, Liesel seeks an advantageous position, and Yaakov and Ibrahim are found out by accident. There’s a self-consciousness to the relationships in Book 2, an awareness of being observed.

If Book 3 is how the relationships truly are, then the important takeaway from the addition of El/Liesel is that relationships are messy and undefinable. They happen or not, with societal expectations or not, and sometimes they’re happy and sometimes they end tragically and sometimes you do something stupid because you want to.

And, I think critically and the reason I think there’s a deliberate amount of relationship anarchy in this book: romance is only one way of forming connections. In The Golden Enclaves, El is finally back with her Mum, previously the only person she could confide in, except this time, it feels hollow and empty, because of all the things she’s learned and the person she’s lost. Liesel reaches out because London needs help. They meet up with Alfie there too of course, and then decide to talk to the New York Domina. Aadhya drives them there, and Chloe meets them outside to do introductions. El gets coordinates to the real entrance to the Scholomance and rescues Orion, both Aadhya and Liesel coming with. They go back to Mum’s commune and all five of them spend some quiet time together, Mum and Orion needing to heal. Then Liu calls, and the kids have to rush off to Beijing. They meet up with Zheng, the younger cousin El has bonded with just a few months prior, and rescue Liu from a horrible fate. But in the meantime Orion can feel himself slipping away, and he leaves. Liu needs to heal, so Aadhya decides to stay with her, and Liesel and El go to Dubai - they’ve been told they’re next and want help from El.

They’re met at the entrance by Ibrahim and Jamaal. By the way, do y’all remember “by the book” Jamaal? I find it interesting that Novik mentions his grandfather has three wives (pg 308). And then we find out that Ibrahim and Yaakov, who’d had such a romance in school… couldn’t stay together. They’re from different enclaves. The systems in place tore them apart. But then, because more than just El needs to cast the spell, and the people chanting need to live there, the Dubai enclave guarantees that anyone who agrees to work on El’s golden enclave spell gets a spot in Dubai. And all of a sudden Cora and Yaakov are both with Ibrahim in Dubai now.

Afterwards El leaves for Mumbai to confront her past and it is the only time in the entire book that El is alone. And once she’s done some important self reflection, she goes to the gates of the Scholomance again, and meets up with Liesel and Alfie, Aadhya and Liu, Khamis, then most of the seniors there, and eventually Orion again, who has been in the book less than half the time and who, it is revealed, was literally dead the whole time. Orion as a living, autonomous person exists and is present in the book for seven pages.

Novik’s romances are some of my favorites, because they are always grounded in a person’s complexity. The women in her books don’t become mothers and vanish from the page the moment they find a man they like. They exist for themselves, and love incidentally to that. It’s something that feels unusual next to even feminist books like the Vorkosigan series.

The Golden Enclaves seeks to break the systems of power that have held El et al captive through the first two books. That includes the expectation so ingrained in our society that most people don’t even know it’s there that a romance is the best and most important thing that can happen to someone.

Having said all that, I want to conclude with an additional side examination. I don’t think people are correct to interpret this as a cheating subplot, because of all the reasons outlined above, and because, like everything, the relationships in The Scholomance series are about so much more than simply X/Y. But even if the interpretation that it is a cheating subplot is correct…

Is The Cheating Subplot Really So Bad?

Young people forget what it’s like. But I’m like, five thousand in internet years, and I remember. The first girl I ever made out with had a boyfriend at the time. So did the second. And the third.

I’m reminded of The Price of Salt AKA Carol. Or Fingersmith. Young people can call cheating a “bisexual stereotype.” But when I was younger, it was a survival tactic.

I’m not saying that this is what Novik is trying to portray. But I can say that as someone who was part of a Star Trek mailing list back in the early days and founded AO3, Novik knows what it means to be queer. And relationships when you’re queer are messier. They’re freer. They’re defined by what you say and what you don’t say, which may seem obvious, but too many relationships are defined primarily by what a relationship should look like, and not at all by what you do or do not say.

El and Orion are dating for a year before she realizes it. That’s pretty queer. When El gets him back, there’s never an explicit conversation that they’re dating again. They have sex, but their relationship is fairly undefined. Novik has even explicitly said their relationship remains specifically undefined because El is unused to and uncomfortable with being intimate with people. And we see this, again, not just with Orion, but with every relationship, even the platonic ones. El doesn’t like so much as admitting to knowing someone’s name, because learning their name means caring about them as a person.

There’s never any discussion that El and Orion’s relationship is exclusive. That doesn’t mean that it is, but it doesn’t mean that it isn’t, either. One could see this as cheating, or you could not. But even if it was… why is that something to knock a series you love from five stars to two?

That feeling that you’re having right now? That discomfort? That says that this is running against a taboo that you have. And maybe it’s a taboo that you have for a very good reason. But my point is that you’re responding emotionally, not rationally. And rationally, there’s a lot of good reasons one might have a cheating subplot. Because it wasn’t acceptable at the time to date other women for example. Or to highlight that our characters are still just teenagers, and prone to making bad decisions. Or to draw attention to the messiness that comes even from protagonists, who are traumatized, and just need a little bit of human connection, even if they know it’s stupid, and will probably hurt them in the long run.

Cheating is an extremely human thing to do. Numbers on this are pretty hard to find, but studies estimate that around 1 in every 5 people admits to having cheated on a partner. How many partners have you had? Is it more than five?

I’ve been the person being cheated with, as I’ve already mentioned. But I’ve also been cheated on. Sometimes, authors say things that are true, and it isn’t acceptance of the thing, but merely a reflection of lived experience. These characters are teenagers. Teenagers make bad decisions with little forethought. Why can’t we simply have a messy character? Why does the existence of a cheating subplot have to be treated with such vitriol and hatred?

I think the problem is twofold. A, for lack of a better word, uwu-ification of media which encourages cutesy, shallow stories, and an expectation of conformity due to capitalist streamlining and fan pressure. Uwu-ification

The world has sucked for kind of a while. Things are improving in fits and starts, but in the meantime my generation has seen multiple unprecedented generation-defining tragedies. 9/11, the war on terror, the 2008 financial crisis, COVID, the first coup attempt in 300 years, the COVID recession on top of COVID, a massive uptick in mass shootings and in specific school shootings, just to name the most prominent ones. And the commodification of attention that blossomed with social media means that even what should be good things about this generation - the absolutely incredible technical advances - still sap away at our mental health.

On top of that, you have the decimation of the long-form essay. I’ve been working on this essay for weeks, read two books and multiple articles, and right now, it’s nine pages long.

Who the fuck is going to read this? Why would anyone read this when they could just check Twitter for a bite-sized hot take instead?

This is starting to change. Podcasts are growing in popularity quickly, and you can also find a lot of long-form essays on youtube (though they’re all, they tell me, going to Nebula). But long form essays are a huge time commitment, and a niche interest, all things told. This is, I have no doubt, exacerbated by the crimes against education George Bush installed. No Child Left Behind was a fucking travesty and absolutely has eroded critical thinking skills substantially. Engaging in that type of deeply analytical pondering takes a lot more energy for someone who wasn’t taught how to do it as a child. So we all have PTSD or at the very least chronic anxiety and on top of that we don’t have the training necessary to unpack our own trauma. Millennials and younger really just want to relax. They want to sit on the couch and enjoy something charming, and cute, and not painful (that or like, deeply terrifying and gory horror, don’t understand that one).

And I’ve absolutely been that person. Sometimes I just want something cute and charming and fun that I don’t have to think that hard about.

Fan Pressure

But… It seems like on top of this desire for everything to be only the happy parts of Hayao Miyazaki, there’s also this really aggressive push against anything that’s not. Internet collectivism can absolutely be a force for good. I think campaigns to draw attention to people like R Kelly are a good thing.

And also, special interest groups have realized that if they pool together their collective resources, they can campaign for change they want to see. Doesn’t mean they’ll always get it, but we know that if we just use the right hashtag, and just tag enough people, someone who matters will see my tweet about how Destiel should be canon. Even if they don’t listen, they can’t avoid hearing me.

And I bring up Destiel specifically because what we’re talking about is fandom and fan behavior as it pertains to creators and creations in general. Supernatural fans have done a lot of good (raising huge amounts of money for charity) and a lot of bad. But I’m not the only one who has wondered if maybe this ability to amplify one’s voice can be… kind of dangerous. Being able to leverage your voice to call for more representation is good. But that’s not the only thing that gets leveraged.

This is no doubt exacerbated by the way mainstream media has become more and more algorithmically streamlined - catering to the widest audience means producing the same reliable and meaningless format over and over again. I could write another (whoops I’m up to ten now) pages on the finale of She Hulk and its manufactured consent to Disney-fied conformity all on its own.

So what does this mean for The Scholomance?

To bring this back around, because that was a lot of background that felt irrelevant: people want works that they consume in general to be less realistic. They want something cute and easy (or action-packed and easy, or gory and easy). They leverage this to actors and creators, who respond by providing that thing people want. This is all fine so far. But then you get this amplified by the tendency towards monopoly - stories whether they be books, movies, or tv shows, are published because they’re believed to be profitable, and something which is profitable right now is the most processed kind of junk food media you can make.

But then you get someone like Novik who is portraying an imperialist system in her magic with the intent to destroy it, or who has time-period accurate relationships, including all the lack of consent, or who has messy romances that kind of feel like cheating, and it seems like suddenly, it doesn’t just feel like something different. It feels like a betrayal. Fans aren’t just surprised. They don’t say this one’s not for them. They say they’re disappointed, gutted, devastated. How could Novik have betrayed our trust by adding this kind of a story element… Reach out to Novik and make her change it!

And that’s… not really okay. And that’s the problem I have, ultimately. Because you don’t speak for 100% of fans. You don’t speak for me, certainly. And even if you did speak for all fans… is populism really the ultimate truth in our society? Do we only want things that appeal to the broadest group of people?

I don’t.

#the scholomance #the golden enclaves #spoilers #i don't tag my works long post because #look comparatively it's not that long #disk horse #relationship anarchy #queer #orion/el+el/liesel+liesel/alfie is my otp #otp stands for one true polycule

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nightscissor · 2 years

Text

Period Fetish!Hunter Drabble

okay i was So High when i wrote this and i have no clue if there’s even a single person out there who is also into this but it’s been banging around in my drafts for a minute so i just decided fuck it, i’ll post it! anyways lemme know if you like this even a little bit so i feel less alone:)

it got kinda long for a drabble though sorry lol

WARNINGS: So very much 18+ if you’re a minor please just leave us all alone, Looots of period talk, Period fetish, Like I’m not exaggerating full-on period kink!Hunter here, Mention of knife, Tons of descriptions of blood, Kinda graphic, Mention of pregnancy but no one gets pregnant and there is no real pregnancy scare (my fellow tokophobes are always safe here<3), Stuff about birth control (me making up my dream space bc that i wish existed), Pining, Jacking off, Male masturbation, Potential dub-con for a character beating his meat to someone without permission?, Mention of PIV sex, Mention of bloody period PIV sex, Maybe kinda voyeurism as well in a way? Like Hunter smells you while getting off??, I promise my writing is at least marginally better than the warnings

-•-

There are some things off the field that Hunter’s enhanced senses come in handy for. One of those is knowing when his teammates are hurt. Especially being in an enclosed space like The Marauder, Hunter can tell the moment someone’s knife slips by that metallic tinge in the air. His brothers’ blood has pretty close to the same scent, Tech says it’s because they all have the same blood type. Something about the Kaminoans planning ahead so the synth blood can be used for anyone in case of emergency.

But yours? Your blood is different, and even though he knows it’s strange and wrong, he sort of likes it? Not that he likes seeing you hurt, not at all. It’s just… he likes that he knows something so intimate about you. He likes that no one else can smell how your blood is different than others’. He likes being able to rush to your side the moment something happens to you and tend to your wound.

Yeah. Hunter has it bad for you. Over the past several months you’ve been with the batch, that’s exactly what he’s done each time you get hurt, even if it’s just a scratch. And this is exactly what he does now as he catches that sharpness in the air while he’s pulling his blacks on.

—•—

Finally. The perfect birth control system. You’ve gone through your options over the past several years. Some making you gain or lose too much weight, some ruining your mental health, some not trustworthy enough to work, and some just being overall annoying to remember. The most recent form of birth control you’d been on had completely made your period disappear, which seemed like a great idea at the time, until the pregnancy anxiety kicked in. But this one. This one is perfect. You’d gotten on it a few weeks ago after a month of research (thanks for the help, Tech!) and your period is supposed to return any day now. It should keep your bleeding light and painless while still giving you confirmation that your uterus is nice and empty, it has an incredibly low rate of failure, and it’s super low in hormones, so less of those weight changing or mood swinging side effects! Finally you’ve found the solution.

Now you can relax alone in the cockpit with your lovely new lack of anxiety. Until Hunter busts in. Wearing only his blacks. His face flushed. His hair tousled and falling in his face as he hasn’t put his signature bandanna back on yet. Stars does he look fucking good.

“What’s wrong?! What happened?” you’re snapped out of your trance.

You look around as if to figure out who he’s talking to since you’re doing great. “Nothing…??” You respond with a puzzled look.

“You’re bleeding.” Hunter seems frazzled, breathing a bit heavily.

With no recollection of any magical flying blades, you realize that you had probably just started your period. Shifting in your seat confirms the suspicion that the first drops of blood had found their way out. “Oh, it must be my period,” you say lightly “thanks for the heads up!”. With a giggle, you move to stand and head to the ‘fresher but Hunter’s expressions stops you.

Period. Of course Hunter knows what menstruation is, he knows lots of people bleed monthly but he’d never smelled one from you before. He sort of just assumed you were one of those who didn’t have one and never really thought much more about it.

Upon seeing the confusion written on Hunter’s face, you brief him on the birth control situation and go to clean yourself up.

—•—

Blood. Your blood. That scent he so shamefully likes drifts from you. But you aren’t hurt. Hunter has nothing to worry about, but he still finds himself drawn to you for the rest of the day. He knows something about you that no one else knows. He can smell something on you that no one else can smell. But you’re safe. That intimate scent is harmless this time, and Hunter feels… What does he feel? He can’t even tell. As he sits in the cockpit beside you, he can’t stop thinking about how something so special to you and secretly special to him is coming from the most private part of your body.

He’s longed for that part of you since he first met you, and this new correlation between his carnal pining for you and his dark, secret indulgence in the scent of your blood is driving him wild.

Hunter isn’t a clueless or sheltered man by any means; he’s aware that many people have increased sex drives during their cycles. He knows that’s what’s going on. He knows your arousal this time is just a side effect of your period. He knows all of that! So why can’t he stop breathing deeply through his nose, drinking in both the scents of your blood and your arousal as if they belong to him?

He knows it’s wrong. He knows he’s dirty for it. But when he’s lying in his bunk right above yours that night, surrounded by that strangely intimate, beautiful, metallic, musky, sweet scent of yours, he can’t help himself. He imagines your perfect pussy coating his cock in the blood only he knows about and the slick of your arousal for him. His hand seems to have a mind of its own as it makes its way under his waistband to wrap around his painfully hard erection. He’s so wrong for this, he thinks to himself. You can’t help it. It’s natural, that’s all it is! Nature! He tells himself, but he can’t stop. He pauses his ministrations only to coat his hand in a layer of spit before quickly returning it to his aching member. His eyes are clenched shut imagining that red shine he longs to see between your body and his as he picks up the pace.

What are you dreaming about? Hunter hopes it’s him as he always does when he can smell you getting wet at night. He can usually keep himself under control around you, at least enough to go get himself off in the ‘fresher. This is different, though, he likes it too much. It’s depraved and selfish and downright slutty of him and he knows it! But somehow that makes it better. The risk of you catching him, the thought of how fucking wrong this is of him. Jacking off to you— not just your image like normal— but your scent. There is barely a meter between the two of you but Hunter just can’t get himself to stop, fervently rubbing himself off as if he’s in some sort of heat.

And when he hears you? That finally does him in, he has to bite the back of his other hand hard just to shut himself up when you turn over in bed and let out the sweetest little sigh. Just close enough to a moan for Hunter’s rampant imagination to twist your subconscious noise into something darker. Hunter pumps himself through his release, slowly regaining consciousness when he notices just how much he came. He’s hot and sticky, ropes of his cum covering his fingers and lower abdomen and fuck he is a filthy man but fuck he’s never gotten off so hard.

All of that just over the smell of your blood and your pussy.

-•-

okay if this gets even an ounce of attention from even one singular person i might write up a part two

and if it gets no attention from anyone other than me rereading it i still might write up a part two because this is hot to me SORRY LOLZ

#star wars #the bad batch #tbb #tbb hunter #hunter x reader #tbb hunter x reader #tbb hunter/reader #tbb hunter/you #hunter/you #bad batch hunter reader #tbb smut #tbb hunter smut #nsft #tbb hunter lemon #tbb hubter grapefruit

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pangtasias-atelier · 9 months

Note

Hi there, it’s me @Fattyemblem !!! My previous account is unable to send direct asks into the ask box. (Just a little bug with my tumblr that I had recently) So I’ll be using an alternative account to ask for a little…silly request. (More of a multi-kink one if you’re comfortable with doing)

What about an AU where Owain goes on an exploration in a strange cave, only to end up crossing paths with a manakete (Technically Dragonfied) Navarre. One who’s already 15ft at stance, and also very alerted of the unexpected trespasser. Feeling surprisingly anxious, Owain frightfully offers a single piece of meat to the much taller male dragon. (In a way to spare him for a little longer lol) With the offering out of the way, Navarre is left intrigued. In a way, he demands of the human, Owain, to offer him more. ((Which ultimately ends up with the Dragonfied Navarre ending up in the 250 pound range from the spoils of food Owain has been giving him. XD))

(sorry if this was long for the description!!!)

I actually enjoyed this request a lot and like I said in my original requests post, "Specificity is sexy" ajansbjns. Cause this gave me a good base to work with and enjoyed.

There's a bit less kink in this but hopefully you still enjoy it!

Warning: This is a fetish story!

The Feroxi mountains a rather uninhabited area of the country, a lone swordsman travels through the perilous area. The nearest village is at least a day’s worth of travel. Owain walks in the opposite direction from having just visited what should have been a quaint town.

“Oh, I just know that such a beast will stand no chance against my sword hand,” Owain swings his blade. He manages to perfectly keep his balance despite being encumbered by all his belongings. His many, many belongings that he insisted on taking with him upon deciding to travel the continent of Ylisse. His yellow attire inspired by Chon'sin’s proficient swordmasters, his usual garbs are overladen by the addition of straps and satchels to hold all his provisions alongside a multitude of baubles and trinkets in remembrance of each and every stop he takes. The added weight only pushes Owain to hurry towards his destination, ready to add another memory and piece to his collection of treasure to him, junk to anyone else.

The mountains no longer having a name, the location all but forgotten long ago during Ylisse’s great geopolitical shakeup with the changing of borders and countries. Despite being in Ferox territory, Owain’s destination is closer to the bottom center of the enormous country, close enough to where Ylisse is closer than Plegia as he walks deeper into the country of warriors. He had even first heard the rumors of a ferocious beast on the Ylissean border. Rumors that immediately enraptured the svelte swordsman to change his route directly to the Feroxi mountains. And while the rumors of a ferocious beast changed into one of benevolence and mercy as he drew closer and closer to his destination, the common issue of a story twisting further and further from its source, Owain is always at the ready for a challenge.

Which he is as he grips his sword even tighter upon approaching the first cave he finds. “Beasts love caves, I’m sure of it. What other sort of monstrosity could reside in such an enormous cave?” The spacious entrance dwarfs Owain’s average sized frame. He basks in the deep, murky shadows that seem to refuse any light from entering. “I need to bask in this moment! To really take in everything before my victory,” Owain puffs his chest, the thin yet built pecs jutting outwards as he stands as tall as he can. His trembling legs tell a different story, both knees ready to buckle.

The very air itself feels different, the usually chilling Ferox’s fall much warmer near the cave. His skin twitches from the hot air that nips at his skin. The animals seem to heed nature’s warning. The area is clear of any wild animals or insects, the usual ambient sounds filled with dreadful silence.

Owain takes a deep breath. And another. And then several more while he waits for a beast who’d be so foolish as to challenge him. The tales of a merciful beast help ease Owain’s mind but they still don’t negate all the other stories of the death and destruction caused by a dangerous beast. “I know a beast is here! Come out and face your challenger,” Owain holds his trembling sword hand out for a challenge. “Only if you want to, that is,” He promptly adds.

Unfortunately for Owian, his opponent hears his challenge. And they respond by trembling the very ground. Rocks scatter and shift, the cluttered debris shaking from the periodic tremors.

“Wh- hey! I wasn’t serious about it! I only-” And then Owain sees the beast, his eyes catching the scarlet lava red scales of not a beast, but a dragon that dwarfs Owain. The dragon is nothing like the brilliant, vibrant majestic forms that he knows. Granted, the power that exudes from this dragon could never hope to live up to a divine dragon’s form, much less the very Divine Dragon King’s daughter. And yet, Owain knows he stands little chance on his own.

He finds himself unable to move, his legs stuck to the very spot. So he speaks, his words hopefully able to get him out of his mess much like how they always get him into them. “I-I’ve heard many regails of your merciful actions, dragon! The people praise you an-”

“Enough,” The dragon speaks. He stares at the human that he is now in front of. The pathetic human poses him no threat; but still, the irritating creature irks him. “Why are you here?”

“Ummm, to give an offering! As thanks for your actions of safeguarding this area,” Praying to Naga that the dragon doesn’t think he’s trying to reach for another weapon, Owain reaches and pulls out wrapped, cured meat from his pack. Holding it in his hands, he steadies his breathing as he slowly—slower than even his training sessions to practice thieves silent steps—walks towards the dragon and places the meat in front of him before backing up.

“And what have you heard of me?”

Owain’s eyes widen. He blankly stares at anything but the dragon, unable to even come up with even a lie. His gaze does shift towards the dragon—no, manakete—as the light nearly blinds him as they transform.

The manakete back in his human form, the slender frame the man possesses seems nothing like the powerful, bulky form filled with so much sheer power. His sleek black hair travels past his shoulder blades, some bits of the soft looking strands draping over his shoulders. Most importantly, the man still absolutely dwarfs Owain. He stands more than twice Owain’s stature, the average height man completely eclipsed by the titan who’s knees stand at his chest’s height.

“I will allow it,” The astonishingly tall man says as he sits down on the ground and digs into the meat given to him. His scarlet red clothes manage to somehow cover his expansive body. The strange attire resembles Owain’s own but aren’t quite close enough. “I only kill bandits, anyways,”

Owain, who is still struggling to come to terms with the man’s height, even Tiki’s statuesque figure that stands taller than every man he knows seems small in comparison. So, it takes him a few moments to comprehend the manakete’s words. But he lets out a sigh of relief when he does. “Oh thank, Naga,” His idiocy returns to him and he gets closer to take a seat on a rock a few feet away from the so-called beast. “So, what’s your name?” Owain asks without hesitation, leaning closer to the strange man.

“Navarre,” He plainly mutters after finishing the rest of the meat. “You have any more meat?” He asks afterwards.

Which Owain gladly shares with the surprisingly hungry manakete. He asks several questions of the giant for a man. He asks an absurd amount of questions, both pertaining about the very world, of which Navarre has few answers for from his hermit nature, and about himself, Navarre also having few answers from being unwilling to share. But, Owain persists with his pestering.

His pestering continues on for days, the swordsman unsurprisingly demanding when it comes to satisfying his curiosity. And even when Owain eventually has to leave, sure that everyone will presume him dead if he stays much longer, he promises to come back to visit his new friend despite the giant manakete’s objections to such a thing.

And Owain comes back to the Samsooth Mountains —the name of the area told to him by Navarre—only two weeks later. Just like last time, his figure is encumbered from all the bags and satchels he carries. But, each pack is nearly filled to the brim with food unlike last time.

“I’m back! I’m sure you're so excited to see the great Owain that you’ll tell me all about you,” Owain waves towards his friend who still lurks in the shadows. “I even brought you more food,”

“Enough,” Navarre glares at the wall upon the arrival of his pestering visitor.

Navarre’s head does slightly turn upon the mention of food. The food Owain left him clearly has done a slight number on his figure. Where a thin, svelte frame once was, a small layer of pudge occupies his figure. Navarre has a small belly now. His outline of his flabby stomach is now visible against his tight clothes. The belts around his waist aren’t as tight as they used to be, the straps of leather adjusted to only a couple notches away from the widest size where he needed them as small as possible around his formerly narrow waist. Navarre’s lithe arms now have a small bit of flab on them. The strength behind his arms are still visible, the small biceps instead covered by a small amount of adipose that have no issue with the loose short sleeves of his clothes. The shirt underneath does feel tight against his extra pudge; the fabric is even more wrinkled than usual with extra volume to cover. His pants that only have one side covered by his long robe face zero issue with the extra bit of flab on him from all his indulgent extra snacks. Especially when paired with Navarre’s regular hunts for food, the extra caloric intake nice despite the extra girth on his frame. He thankfully has nothing to worry about it with his shifted form unchanged. Even with the extra bit of pudge on his thighs, the two limbs getting close to the point of chafing his pants. His ass has also received a bit of pudge from his weight gain, the rear a bit heftier and thicker to the point where his robe shows the curvy, defined outline of it even when standing.

“I really don’t need the company,” And yet, Navarre stands up from the rock where he broods.He cranes his neck to look at his friendly pest. Careful to not send him flying by accidentally kicking him, he makes his way over closer to the entrance. He ignores the way the earth now begins to shake from his weight. The amount of pudge only a small amount of his body, the amount of weight needed to cover his fifteen feet tall body leaves him weighing far more than it seems. He also ignores the way Owain stares at him, the much shorter man coming close to having to lay down just to properly get a full look at the manakete. “And no, I won’t tell you how I became like this,” Navarre says as he slowly takes a seat and reaches for the offerings of food.

Owain pauses his eating, only finishing the food currently in his mouth before speaking. “Became? Aren’t all manaketes supposed to be like you know! Manaketes,”

“Don’t play stupid. Even you can tell something isn’t quite right. You know others, normal ones. I can smell the little girl’s scent on you,”

Owain’s eyes light up. “You mean Nah? Or maybe Nowi, she is older but she still-”

“Tiki,” Navarre clarifies to silence him. He finishes his bit of meat, plopping it down his hungry maw before reaching another one and continuing. “She must be much older now,”

“Sooo, you’ve been alive for thousands of years then. Did you know Marth then? Oh I’m sure Lucina would love to hear about him,”

“I fought him,” Navarre lets the words hang in the air. He reaches for another piece of meat.

“Oh,”

Navarre scoffs, the swordsmen far too simple minded at times. “I joined his cause, however. Not because of him, but because of Caeda,”

Owain wracks his brain for the information to place something to the name. “Caeda? Wasn’t it Shiida?” Nothing comes to Owain who only shrugs in apology.

“Oh how quickly you people forget. She convinced me to lend my sword to her cause, risking h-”

“You wield a sword!” Owain jumps up from his spot. His eyes sparkle amazement at the manakete in front of him. He closes them quickly afterwards as he holds the pack of his cramping neck. “Ow ow ow,”

“This was before this happened,” Navarre gestures at himself. Afterwards, he lets out a sigh as he leans back slightly, half from fullness and half from the memories. Despite his earlier annoyance from the insistent guest, he can’t help but let out a smile. “As long as you keep quiet, I’ll tell you all I know about Caeda and Marth from the two wars to defeat Medeus,”

Owain holds back his question upon the mention of a third person, instead nodding.

And so, Navarre recounts the events that are 2,000 years old. So much knowledge unable to be kept perfectly, a truth of life that Navarre knows well with his lifespan he never expected, the complete lack of knowledge of anyone still comes as a shock to him; but with the two of them having plenty of time, Navarre spares no expense regaling the tale of countless comrades and battles with finally having company after so much time alone.

And he does so with plenty of food, unable to help himself.

#my writing #fat emblem #male weight gain #feeder emblem #fat fiction #maleweightgain #ssbhm

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yuudayaro · 7 months

Text

Embers are calling (6093 words) by Yuuda-cchi Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 新世界狂歡｜NU: carnival (Video Game) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Quincy/Yakumo (NU: carnival) Characters: Quincy (NU: carnival), Yakumo (NU: carnival) Additional Tags: Finger Sucking, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Praise Kink, First Time Bottoming, Gentle Sex, Lazy Sex, gets kinda rough for a second though, i just think that if they were willing to switch for each other they'd be unstoppable, but for now sorry quincy you're stuck on top duty Summary: In the middle of an expedition into the Dark Territory, Yakumo has a hard time because of the cold. Quincy offers to help in the only way he can.

They generally avoided the Dark Territory, but when they had to go, they couldn’t ignore it. Normally, it was because either the monsters tried to approach a settlement, or there was a strange disturbance to investigate, or materials to gather. Sometimes they just had to maintain or set up a post to facilitate further excursions. No matter what, it was rare to have less than three people here, for they could never be sure what they would encounter.

This one was a rare occasion. It was three of them, but only if Yakumo counted Topper, whose company was welcome, but he could not help carry anything or fight.

Tiredness wasn’t the only thing present in Quincy’s eyes. Whenever he stared ever since they’d departed, he made Yakumo feel studied. Evaluated. Neither of them talked about much during their trip. The first day had gone by, and the only things they’d discussed were directions, plans; it was all work, really.

That night, Yakumo had caught and made dinner. A bowl of stew for him, Quincy, and Topper. Some extra simmered inside the pot over the crackling fire, just in case someone was hungrier than usual.

A warm breeze whistled between the dead trees.

It was the quietest meal he’d had in a while. Quincy didn’t talk much, but Yakumo wanted to comment on how eerily pretty the pale yellow and lilac sunsets were, how the clear water from a nearby brook made only the faintest of murmurs. He wanted to ask if Quincy was familiar with the place, if he’d seen it before the expanding decay had made the landscape ashen and forlorn.

But he couldn’t confidently say that he knew how to talk to Quincy. They’d known each other for a long time now, yes, yet it had never been the two of them alone for this long. And while Quincy hadn’t said a thing since they’d sat down to eat, he had barely stopped looking at Yakumo ever since.

“Is something wrong with the food?” Yakumo asked.

“No. It’s good,” Quincy said, as he returned his attention to his bowl.

Of course. The question had been a little ridiculous and paranoid. Yakumo was eating it too, and it tasted like usual.

Topper plopped from Quincy's shoulder onto Yakumo’s knee to get his attention. A plea for a few more meat pieces from the stew. Or that was what Yakumo understood.

“Should I?” He asked, looking at Quincy.

“That’s between you and him.”

Topper squeaked louder and faster. He was right there. Why were they talking about him like he wasn’t? That was so rude. Again, this was only Yakumo’s guess.

“I know, I’m sorry. Let me find a few more. Um. You said you wanted a fatty piece?”

It sounded like a ramble about why fat was good with meat, and from a flavor angle, Yakumo had to agree, but it was going to be hard to find that in the stew. He tried to explain what happened to fat when cooked slowly, but the little guy was insistent that he still tried.

At least Topper was talkative. He wasn’t sure his nerves would have been able to handle the silence for much longer.

Quincy was staring again.

“I didn’t know you understood him.”

“Oh, it’s just… He drops by the kitchen to ask for food sometimes, so…”

Humming, Quincy’s attention went to look at the darkness around them.

“We have southern wind.”

Yakumo looked up and the starless night sky, feeling slightly relieved of one of his anxieties for now.

“The weather in the dark territory is very unstable, isn’t it? Do you think it might rain?”

“I’m not sure. But it’s not the rain I’m worried about.”

“Then?”

“We’ll see.”

The next night, Yakumo sat alone inside a dark tent that felt so unnecessarily wide, so empty and cold. He’d wrapped himself in a blanket, feeling rather useless as his gaze longingly flickered at the small flame of his lamp.

"Still nothing?" Quincy asked as he crawled into the tent carrying a small torch of his own in his hand and Topper on his shoulder.

"I-I'm getting there!" He lied, as he huddled and burrowed deeper into the blanket.

Quincy stared at him for a brief moment.

"Hand."

"Eh?"

"Give me your hand."

Not sure which one, Yakumo showed him both. He sunk into himself when Quincy grabbed one of them, unsure what to do, what to say.

"That's really cold," he said, frowning.

"I-it's fine. It'll be better once—"

"Not without a heat source."

Yakumo understood what the possible solutions to this conundrum were, and when it came to every single one, he felt inopportune. Warmth had to come from somewhere. He wasn’t so cold-blooded as to be unable to regulate his temperature entirely, but he was more susceptible to changes in the environment than the average person.

"It's fine, Mr. Quincy. But thank you for worrying."

"I figured something like this would happen." Quincy sighed, tiredly letting go of Yakumo’s hand. "I would have refused to come here if I’d known it’d be this much trouble."

"I'm so sorry..."

"It's not you who’s the problem. But you should have refused too."

"Ah.” He’d considered that maybe it was worth waiting for Garu and Blade before coming here. If they had, at least the tent would be fuller and warmer. But it didn’t sit well with him to sit idle in Aster’s manor. “Well. I like being helpful."

"You're freezing. That doesn’t help anyone."

He felt like a kid being scolded. Funnily, far from minding it, he would have thanked Quincy for caring

“I'll put all the blankets together. We're sharing."

He looked at Quincy in the eye, not quite sure he understood what he’d just said. Quincy just shrugged.

“I’ve been told it helps.”

Stuttering and sputtering, Yakumo couldn’t get any words out. In his head, there was clashing and clanking: the start of a bunch of questions, partial apologies, different attempts at self-deprecation, and a lack of self-interest. The awareness that Quincy was crawling to his side of the tent, taking Yakumo’s blanket, and combining with the other two.

He shivered in place for a second. Quincy made himself comfortable with his pillow and then lifted the covers, a clear signal that he expected Yakumo to get under them with him.

“Don’t be difficult.”

Of course not. He couldn’t be. Despite feeling like was just causing trouble by doing this, he scrambled up to Quincy and lied by his side.

It was warmer here. His cheeks felt it too.

He woke up, cold and nauseous. It had been hard to get any sleep, and now it was getting harder. He took a few breaths, caught Quincy’s scent, and recalled where he was and with whom.

Deciding that he could not stay in the tent, he groggily kicked off the blankets and scrambled out. The air was even chillier outside. He sat down by the remains of the fire and waited to see what happened next.

He hadn’t felt like this in a really long time — being so cold that he could not digest his food. Breathing in the fresh air kept him somewhat calm, but that was only momentary. The damp mist around him blurred the already fuzzy contours of the night and made his head spin further.

Better to be out here rather than try to fight against the inevitable, right? Besides, the cold had him feeling so tired… He could bet he’d be able to sleep right there and then if he tried. He just had to close his eyes and ignore the little voice in his head telling him this was a bad idea.

Something grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.

He turned around.

It was Quincy.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

Yakumo stuttered. How did one explain, ‘sorry, I depend so much on external heat sources to make my body function correctly that when I get too cold, my stomach doesn’t really want to bother digesting anything and it just… ejects’ in fewer words? He was afraid that talking too much would make him sicker.

“I don’t feel good…”

Quincy pressed his hand against the back of Yakumo’s neck. Either one of them was freezing cold or the other was as hot as a furnace. Perhaps both.

“Come back to the tent.”

“I…” He couldn’t. He didn’t want to run the risk of throwing up on the blankets. He would either do that outside or wait until he was feeling a little better before he went back. So he shook his head, immediately regretting the wave of nausea that followed.

“We’re not really negotiating here,” Quincy decided, effortlessly bringing a flailing Yakumo back in. “I know what might happen. We’ll clean it up if we have to.”

Ushering him back to the spot where he’d just been sleeping, Quincy did something in a corner of the tent before coming closer, folding the bigger blankets and wrapping himself and Yakumo in them again.

Yakumo was… a little too gone, a little too drowsy to react to any of it.

A wave of heat came as a shock as Quincy’s wide arms circled his chest from the back. Even through their clothes, he was burning, and Yakumo couldn't help himself when a pleasant shiver ran up his back and left through his lips in a shuddering sigh. A wide palm searched for Yakumo’s hands, tightly pressed against his chest.

They lied like that for some time. Yakumo wasn’t sure how long, but eventually Quincy spoke up.

“Does this help?”

“Help?”

“I’m trying to help. Does this work?”

This was so nice.

“Y-yes. It does help,” he replied, a barely perceptible slur in his words.

“Enough?”

No, because his cold skin was greedy. He was a serpent after all. But he didn’t know what else could be done to help him fight the cold from here. Start a bonfire inside the tent? They would literally die.

It was fine like this. Yakumo's metabolism could handle it. It would not be a comfortable night by any means, but he had warmed up ever so slightly, with Quincy’s breath tickling against the nape of his neck.

Without needing to ask, he felt Quincy's chest pressing tighter against his back, shifted his legs, and let them become entangled with those of his fellow clan member.

“I didn’t mean to cause trouble…”

“Trouble?”

“With all of this…”

“You’ve been taking care of most things. This is only fair.”

It didn’t feel deserved, though.

“Do you still feel sick?”

He shook his head.

“I think my stomach settled.”

“Are you sure?”

He hummed and nodded. This was bearable. He wondered if Quincy was doing something with his essence right now, some kind of magic to produce more heat. If so, Yakumo wanted to know what it was, and if he could learn it.

Rubbing his legs together, he shifted slightly, an instinctual part of his mind hoping to help things along with the minute friction.

Something was strange about this entire situation. There was an aroma in the air that hadn't been there before. It wasn't any of the spices, but it was still a little like smoke, tree bark, and adonic musk.

“I have a proposal,” Quincy whispered.

Yakumo slowly opened his eyes and swallowed.

“What is it?”

“Essence exchange.”

The words echoed in his head, devoid of meaning at first, and then distant and detached. Despite being amicable and fond of each other (or at least, he hoped it wasn’t just him,) they weren’t particularly close, and Yakumo would have never considered this option in a million years if left to figure it out on his own.

“Only if you want. We can stop anytime too.”

The suggestion didn’t strike him as alarming either. What if he should have been and he’d missed the memo that this wasn’t acceptable behavior?

Was he understanding this correctly? He knew what some of the other clan members were getting up to, but he hadn’t considered joining in. Maybe he was reading too much into it.

“As in... some sort of spell? Or...”

“No. Just the old way.”

Maybe he was still reading too much into it. This wasn't an emergency. Being cold was awful, but he would be fine with just cuddling. Surely Quincy knew that, right? He was about to tell him, but then his brain got stuck.

Wait, they were cuddling.

“I don’t want to pressure you either way. If it’s not for you, it’s fine. I don’t mind going back to sleep. But…”

“But?”

“Try to decide soon.”

Yakumo took a deep breath. His nerves were a wreck. It made sense that something like this would happen eventually, with the ebb and flow of essence sometimes being hard to predict and manage. And really, Quincy was really warm. If he could steal just a little bit more, be just a tad selfish…

His heart was beating like crazy as he unfurled from Quincy’s tight grasp and turned around to face him.

“Sure. I... want to try."

He could barely believe that was his own voice.

“Alright. Does kissing sound good?”

This was all a little transactional, but he was also rather curious and open to suggestions.

“Y-yes?”

“‘Yes’ with a question mark?”

“Ah. I’m just… I’m not usually the one making the decisions, so…”

Sighing tiredly, Quincy stretched out his arms out of the bundle of blankets and lit the small lantern as low as it could go. Yakumo swallowed. He would have preferred for the lights to stay off, but it wasn’t that big of a deal.

Right?

“Close your eyes. I’ll handle it.”

He was partly glad that didn’t have to try to figure out how he wanted to go about this. With his eyes closed and his shoulders tense, he waited. He could feel Quincy’s breath on the bridge of his nose, his thumb on his chin, tilting his face slightly upwards. Their lips merely brushed for a second before locking.

The kiss was chaste, but Yakumo was aware that it wouldn’t last long that way. He could have been fooled by Quincy’s soft touch.

“Open,” Quincy told him, speaking directly into his closed mouth. So he did, and without wasting any time, Quincy lightly licked his lower lip right before pulling him in for a hungry kiss.

Yakumo’s eyes fluttered open as he did his best to stay lucid amidst the cold-induced drowsiness and shortness of breath. And still, he gladly let their bodies press together. Quincy’s lips were comfortingly warm and so was the rest of his body.

Once they parted and looked at each other with heavy eyelids, he saw how the distance between them was infinitesimally small. After this, he knew he couldn’t throw himself back into the coldness of the night again.

He pressed his forehead against Quincy’s chest. What was the word? Bothersome? That was how he felt when the thought of asking for more crossed his head.

“Better?” Quincy asked.

“A little...”

"Just a little?"

"I really don't want to bother you with this, Mr. Quincy."

Quincy rolled on his back, pulling Yakumo along with him. Yakumo found enough leverage for his balance on Quincy’s wide chest as his legs naturally came to straddle his hips. The blankets slipped off. It should have been colder like this now, but while he felt the difference, it was a lot less than he expected.

“What are we…?”

“Have you bottomed before?”

His cheeks flushed bright red at the question. It was partially made worse but how Quincy looked ready to go if he was told to, but he didn’t seem particularly turned on. He hoped it was just his imagination.

“N-no? Are we…?”

“It’d be faster. But it’s just an idea. We can stick to what we’re doing.”

“I, uh… I appreciate it. I mean! I’m not sure about this. I-I mean…” He couldn't believe himself. Maybe it was because he felt sleepy, or the warm sensation was too tempting, but he was considering saying yes. There was nothing wrong with this necessarily, but... “Wh-what about Topper?”

He looked around to find their furry little friend on a comfortable little pillow along with some of Quincy's clothes in another corner of the tent, fast asleep.

“I already arranged a makeshift bed for him. He’s good at ignoring it."

"Ah. I see?"

Animals didn't seem to care as much in general, he supposed.

"We can try fingers first if you’re not sure.”

Yakumo's eyes opened wide. He had no idea how to reply to that, but then Quincy reached out to his face and his thumb pressed down at the corner of his lips.

“Don’t be afraid to tell me to stop, OK? Now, open.”

As he did, Quincy’s thumb slipped into his mouth, to massage his tongue. With his breath hitching, Yakumo let it, staying perfectly still except for his eyes, which were carefully following the movements of the man below him: quiet, mostly expressionless, with a softer curve in his eyebrows. His muscled arms and hands, accentuated by the faint warm light coming from the lantern, enticed and ensnared. If he so wanted, he could snap Yakumo’s slender back, but he was so careful.

“No?”

He didn’t hate it, had been just too transfixed on the image of the man lying below him. Feeling slightly insecure at his ability in this regard, Yakumo gave Quincy’s thumb a tentative roll of his tongue. Despite not feeling like much, this was intensely erotic to him, especially after hearing Quincy let out a soft sigh. The smell of his essence permeated the room.

What a relief.

He surrendered his mouth as two other fingers—long, thick, and calloused— replaced the thumb, lying flat on his tongue and pressing down just barely.

“It's your call,” Quincy said.

They tickled.

But he could do this.

He closed his lips around the fingers, guided by an instinct telling him to consume them. His tongue made circles and little flickering movements, coating them in a thin layer of spit. Quincy’s fingers pushed slightly further in, and then back out, slowly building up a rhythm of shallow thrusts that made Yakumo feel slightly used, but still unwilling to complain about it.

“Good. There you go.”

It felt nice to hear it. He was doing a good job. He was so happy, in fact, that he sucked in without realizing it. Quincy breathed in air through his teeth.

“Really, really good.”

Starry-eyed, he kept sucking and getting little encouraging words for everything that he did for his tongue. His heart was about to burst from pure satisfaction. Somewhat shamefully, every reassuring word went straight to his crotch. There was no way Quincy couldn’t tell. And actually, Yakumo knew he wasn’t the only one.

“That’s enough.”

He stopped abruptly, and his jaw dropped open to let Quincy’s finger slide out. Before he could ask if he’d done something wrong, he felt a pull on the waistband of his trousers followed by the cold air against his naked skin. A pair of slicked-up fingers circled the rim of Yakumo’s virgin hole and paused.

“Are you OK with this then?”

Quincy looked gentle and, for the first time since this had started, excited, that Yakumo didn’t even think before nodding his head.

There was no turning back after this point. All this essence in the tent was too strong of a persuasion for that.

Blood was buzzing in his ears as he pressed his forehead against Quincy’s collarbone, balling up his fist and grabbing a fistful of the low-cut shirt beneath.

He felt a gentle pressure prodding at his ass, and he tensed up in response.

“Sssh. Take a few deep breaths.”

With another tiny nod, he focused on inhaling, exhaling, and trying to get his muscles to release the tension that had built up. Blood rushed to his head as the pressure came back, but he managed to stay relaxed. Enough for the tip of a first digit to go in.

Nearly burning but without pain, Yakumo let out a low breathy moan.

“Good job. Stay relaxed through this.”

“Y-yes…”

The minute movements of a single spit-coated finger pushing back and forth loosened his hole until he was comfortable. It was unlike anything he’d felt before. Whenever Quincy rubbed a specific spot, he could feel a subtle jolt running up and down his body.

With his essence flowing freely now, it wasn’t too hard to take a second finger. Quincy’s fingers curled up and pressed hard and quickly against that little spot behind his pelvis.

“Ah! R-right there...”

“Does it feel good?”

His lower lip quivered.

“Y-yes…”

Quincy smiled gently at him.

“Let’s try one more finger. Relax.”

He sucked in some air through his teeth, let it out in a shuddering sigh. His hole gladly accepted a third finger. Yakumo whimpered slightly.

“Very tight, but pliant. You’re doing fine, right?”

“It’s a little…”

“A little…?”

“I mean, it’s nice but… aaahh…”

He was interrupted by all three fingers pushing in further and curling right at a very sensitive spot.

“Focus on seeing if you enjoy it.”

There was no denying it at this point.

“I-I do… I do like it.”

He could have sworn he heard Quincy moan softly as he fumbled with their clothes. Soon enough, their erections were pressed together, glistening with precum. Sitting up to get a look, Yakumo noticed that Quincy was also generously endowed, both in length and thickness. The two of them together like this made for a salacious sight.

Quincy chuckled under his breath.

“Impressive.”

Yakumo blushed.

“Th-thank you.”

“Not intimidated then?”

“No. It’s fine.”

“I’m sure you will be. You’re surprisingly good at this, actually,” he said, pulling Yakumo closer forward and taking out his fingers.

Yakumo felt his hole throb at the emptiness. His walls were already clamping down, looking for something to wrap themselves around. When he felt the tip of Quincy’s cock against his hole, he was a little more excited than he was worried.

Quincy reached out to tuck his hair behind his ear.

“Nervous?”

“A-a little.”

“Let’s try the tip.”

With a blushed face and dazed eyes, Yakumo nodded and let out a deep breath. He felt the head of Quincy's cock press against him. Slowly going in, stretching him a little more, until it went in and stayed comfortably locked in place right past the rim.

“Ah… Mr... Quincy…”

His voice was low, halfway between a purr and a whimper.

“It doesn’t hurt, does it?”

Yakumo shook his head. If anything, he was burning with this brand-new desire to feel a little fuller, and his wish was soon granted. His breathing turned heavier every time Quincy shallowly pulled back out and back in. His and Quincy’s essence inside of him simmered pleasantly, filling him with the heat his body just so desperately wanted.

“Very accommodating. But so… tight.”

A few quick, short thrusts had his whole back tensing up straight. He bit his palm to muffle the noises he wanted to make, but still…

“Ah! That’s… That spot felt…”

“Is this it?” Quincy asked, punctuating his questions with a few more thrusts exactly like the ones before.

“Aaah!”

“Here, then?” Quincy asked with a lazy smile. Yakumo nodded with a pleased little squeal. “Lower your hips.”

“Lower my…?”

Quincy grabbed Yakumo’s hips tightly and pulled him down in one slow deep thrust. Yakumo’s surprised little yelp turned into a shaky breath of pure want before he could fully process that Quincy had penetrated him to the hilt, large hands holding him in place as he fidgeted in deeply arousing discomfort.

“Very good.” He said, with a lazy smile “Sorry. Did that hurt?”

He shook his head. It was very new, a little strange, and it felt like the cock inside of him was poking his stomach. But it was hot. He felt so very warm.

“Try raising them now.”

Doing as he was told came naturally. Quincy guided him in his movement and then told him to lower his hips once more. He felt a bit of a sting as his hips dropped, but he still kept going until he was taking all of Quincy deep inside again.

“M-Mr. Q-Quincy… Is… Is that good?”

Quincy’s hands gently held both sides of his face as he stared at Yakumo straight in the eyes, desire now plain on his face as he panted into Yakumo’s mouth.

“You’re doing great.”

Yakumo mewled at that.

“I’m so glad...”

“Pay attention. See if you like it like this,” he began, as he pulled back all the way back, and all the way in. Yakumo’s moan died in his throat as the entire length of Quincy’s thick cock pressed hard and dragged against his prostate. “Or is shallower better?”

“It… It feels n-nice…”

“Really?” he asked, punctuating his question with another deep thrust that knocked the air out of Yakumo’s lungs.

Yakumo nodded lazily.

“Then…” Strong arms circled Yakumo’s slender waist and held him tightly in place. Yakumo gasped as their bodies pressed against each other as if even now the distance was too great, as if wanting to merge. “We’re going right back to sleep after this one. Understood?”

Before Yakumo could answer, Quincy started thrusting in a steady, comfortable rhythm. Yakumo’s body rocked back and forth as his mouth opened wide in a silent moan. Nothing but a few gasps and his usual inopportune tears.

“How is it?”

“Ah… That’s so…”

“Feels good?” Quincy asked.

“Yes!” He managed out.

A heat began to rise from within him.

“You’re, ahh… incredible too.”

The mixture of their essences was scorching him. Sweat came down his brown, down his face, down his neck, and trickled down his chest, where it almost formed a damp spot right before Quincy roughly took the rest of his clothes off. The chilly air was a relief for his burning skin.

His back arched, and as it did, Quincy’s cock hit the sweet spot inside of him better and better. It was so good. It felt amazing. His waist was pinned in place, but that didn’t stop his hips from moving timidly in search of more and more friction, more sensations, for his own neglected cock to rub against Quincy’s hard abdomen tensing with every thrust. With his mouth agape and his eyes pleading, Yakumo moaned sweetly into the morning air.

He heard a soft chuckle beneath him.

“Cute.”

Quincy gave him a last deep thrust before he slowed down to a crawl. It was simultaneously better and worse. Yakumo was now hyper-aware of every inch of Quincy’s cock, how it rubbed against every bit inside of him, sliding in and out. He rolled his hips as far as the tight grip around him would let him and found out, delighted, that a certain point of his rotation made him see little stars in the corners of his vision.

“That face, and those noises you make, and the way you’re moving your hips right now. I guess they were right about the shy ones?” He said.

“Ah, don’t… you’re teasing me...”

"Sorry, sorry,” he hummed amusedly. “Should I take it from here?"

Yakumo didn’t get to answer properly. Next thing he knew, Quincy had picked up where he had left, pushing his cock in and out of Yakumo, who moaned and whimpered softly each time he felt himself being filled with Quincy’s massive cock.

“Do you want it harder?”

Harder? Honestly, he wasn’t sure, but Quincy looked like he wanted to fuck his brains out and Yakumo was not about to complain.

“Y-yes.”

“Really? How about this?” He said and rocked Yakumo’s entire body forward with a single punishing thrust.

He let out a short but loud moan. His head was woozy. He’d felt that with his entire body body.

“Another?” Quincy asked.

He nodded.

“Please…”

He got another, and this time he was acutely aware not only of the cock in his ass but also of the way Quincy’s balls slapped against his naked skin. The pace was punishing, unforgiving, and brutal, but there was a certain tenderness in how Quincy held him in place, how he stroked his hair and kissed his cheeks wet with those little nears Yakumo couldn’t ever hold back.

Quincy whispered against the gem next to his ear.

“Let me come inside you.”

Taken aback by these words, Yakumo shook and tensed, squeezing tightly around Quincy’s cock, as the mere thought of being full of cum drove him over the edge. His cock twitched pressed tightly between both their stomachs, and after one particularly hard thrust, he let out a long moan as he came.

When Quincy came as well, he could tell from the sudden heat rushing to fill his body. It was sticky and slick. His mind turned blank, as his body became a vessel for wave after wave of pleasure, one right after another as Quincy kept fucking Yakumo through his orgasm.

He remained a pliant and sloppy hole for Quincy to use as his skin burned up and the cum on his stomach and chest cooled down and dried up, only for him to spill more over himself. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he was again overcome by orgasm.

A surge of heat swept over his body. It had been a long night thus far and Yakumo finally felt comfortable again.

Quincy panted below him, sweat rolling down his face and his face flushed red as he tugged at the neck of his shirt. Yakumo’s eyes lingered on the man without realizing it, until Quincy’s cock slipped out.

It was then that he could tell just how full of cum he was. It dripped out of his ass. He couldn’t keep it in.

“Are you still OK?” Quincy asked.

“Huh?”

Yakumo opened his eyes wide as Quincy put two fingers in his ass.

“Clench.”

“Y-yes…”

He did his best but found out he couldn’t. Quincy’s breath hitched.

“Oh, well. Can’t be helped. It should be better later this morning.”

Quincy took a deep breath and reached out for his pillow, bringing Yakumo closer to him, all while still hungrily looking at his naked body. It made sense to do this. Yakumo would stay warm as long as they stayed close together under the blankets.

Were they done? They couldn’t be done. There was no way Yakumo was sleeping like this now. Even if Quincy looked rather tired he didn't look satisfied, right? Or maybe it was just wishful thinking on Yakumo's part.

He straightened up, doing his best to avoid Quincy’s eyes, and tried to line himself up for penetration again. No angle seemed to do the trick. He’d have to use his hands to help himself, which was embarrassing in a way, but he reached behind himself nonetheless.

"Seriously..."

He tensed up.

"Um... I can take care of it? You don't have to do anything."

He risked a quick look at Quincy and felt immediately encouraged by the curiosity written on his face.

“So you want me to lie back and let you ride then.”

“I-it’s a little embarrassing when you put it like that… But I… I know you don’t like tiring yourself out, so I thought that, maybe�� If you still want to keep going, I’ll…”

Feeling too needy to hold back, Yakumo lowered himself on Quincy's cock once more. Just one more, just a little bit. He just felt so empty right now, that was all. It was fine, right? Quincy still looked at him in pure lust, even if he was doing nothing to help.

He awkwardly tried to set up a pace, twitching around Quincy with every little movement, his hiccuping gasps for air making his movements even clumsier. He could do better. It could feel even better. He just had to try a little harder.

“Don’t force yourself.”

“It’s fine. I… want to keep going. Just a little, please.”

Slower, and with a fuller range of motion, he ground his hips down with a deep circular motion. Catching wind of how Quincy made himself more comfortable amidst the pillows and blankets, he brought down his hips again, finally finding a comfortable position to do this, and picked up a soft pace.

“I see... Do your best, then.”

Determined, Yakumo pressed his lips into a tiny smile.

"Yes, Mr. Quincy."

He could already feel his thighs begging him to reconsider, but he would not. He didn’t want to, no matter if it meant being sore later this morning.

Surprisingly, waking up hadn’t felt too awkward, even though he’d been naked and tucked under Quincy’s arm. Yakumo gasped softly as he tried to straighten up. Only then, he noticed that Quincy was also awake.

“Uncomfortable?”

The darkness was no longer there to hide his blush.

“Th-that’s not... I just… Um...”

"It's OK," Quincy said, as he stroked Yakumo's hair. He stretched out an arm to peer outside the tent. “We slept in.”

Slept in? Oh, no. He was in charge of breakfast.

“W-we should really get going!” He said, as he stood up, gathered some of his clothes, and covered himself before going outside for a quick wash.

It took him a while to be ready so their first meal was rushed, and it made him so ashamed. Flatbread, with some leftover roasted meat from last night, leftover gravy, and some fruit Quincy had found as he went out to collect their traps and alarms.

As if they hadn’t already lost all morning, Quincy tried to take an early nap against a tree trunk after packing up the tent but was struggling with a miffed Topper running up and down the entire length of his body.

“I already told you it wasn’t my fault.”

Yakumo tensed up. They’d made too much noise for too long, yet for some reason, Topper only wanted to bother Quincy about it. Yakumo assumed he was being spared only because he was ‘preparing’ the food.

He went up to the tree, bringing the food with him, and sat down under the shade. It looked like today the sun was going to be warmer than the day before. A bit of a mockery, really, but again, these fluctuations were normal here.

“I couldn’t really make much more while still sticking to the schedule…”

Quincy didn’t seem to mind. He dipped the bread in the gravy and hummed approvingly. Again, breakfast was quite silent. Topper took some more meat than was his usual share, and they let him, as a way to make up for the trouble they’d caused.

“Is your stomach well?” Quincy eventually asked between bites.

“Ah. Yes. It was just because of the cold and all.”

Quincy hummed.

“Does anything hurt?”

Interestingly, Yakumo wasn’t as sore as he thought he would be, all things considered, but he was still dragging his feet and didn’t look forward to walking as much as they would have to soon enough.

“My legs feel a little…”

"Next time you can top. It should be less of a workout for you that way."

Yakumo froze.

“Huh?”

“What I said. I don’t mind.” He stopped mid-bite, with his mouth full. “What? It shouldn’t be a problem. It’s what you usually do.”

“H-how do you know—?”

“You said you’d never bottomed before.” He reached out and vigorously ruffled Yakumo’s hair. “You did really well for a first time.”

It felt a little strange to be praised for that outside of the context of sex, frankly. Especially during breakfast. His face felt so hot. The sun might have been shining brightly, but he knew he couldn’t blame that for it.

“Th-thanks?” What else could he say? ‘I’ve been told that a few times before,’ would have been an honest statement, but he didn’t want to make things weirder.

“Surprising talent you have there.”

Yakumo nearly dropped his bread.

“D-don’t say it like that!”

He was probably going to combust. Honesty, not talking at all didn’t sound like such a bad deal right now, he decided, as he sunk his head between his shoulders and focused on his food.

“Sorry,” Quincy said, despite not looking at all sorry. “I went too far.”

He still seemed to genuinely mean it.

“I-it’s fine…”

Despite feeling slightly disgraced by Quincy’s questions, Yakumo would have called himself fortunate. Quincy seemed happy. In exchange for his help, it was only fair that was the case.

He took a bite of fruit with a pleased smile.

#nu carnival #fanfiction

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