#I'm bitter to the bone when I say it but half of my year is cancelled in my eyes

[aloesarchives]

Two for the Price of One (JJK Oneshot)

TW/Warnings: Profanity, NOT POLY SATOSUGU X READER, Fem Reader and She/Her pronouns, ANGST, Angst for Satoru and Reader, Bittersweet ending for Suguru and Reader, HIGHKEY MISCOMMUNICATION, Possible OOC Satoru, abandonment issues if you squint really hard, Reader slowly losing herself, Reader feeling depression/hopeless(implicit), Reader's has a healthy dynamic with her clan

Series: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader/Suguru Geto x Fem!Reader

AU: Canon

Pronouns: She/Her(Reader's clan has a unrealistic healthy and understanding relationship with her)

Word Count: 6.1k words

Summary: Gojo's lack of coping caused you to drift away and eventually depart after Suguru's defection from Jujutsu Society.

(A/N): I know it doesn't make sense and will make many frustrated with how dumb this is. I just wanted to write my emotions out with this one, okay? I know this wouldn't slide but I'm a sucker for these scenarios. Edit: Since I've been getting positive reactions from you guys, I decided to take out the cringe/unrealistic out of the warning/tws lists. I truly love and appreciate you, loves!❤️

[!!Semi-edited & Proofread!!! 2/8/2024 4:04pm CST]

It was hard on all of you.

More so for you and Satoru.

Ever since Geto’s massacre and defection, the higher-ups and Jujutsu society have been scrambling to get the chaos under control. Having a special grade user become a curse user was sounding red alarms as there was an immediate threat to present-day Jujutsu sorcery.

You knew something was up with Suguru. You did; your observation wouldn’t allow things to go unnoticed. It was a bit here and there, but never a significant concern. You tried coaxing him gradually to open up to you, but your efforts were fruitless. No bells were ringing until the post-Plasma Star Vessel incident. You felt the shift in Suguru’s aura; you noticed his lifeless stare—the growing dark circles around his eyes surrounding the tiny flicker of life left inside. 

You tried being there for Suguru. You did anything and everything to accompany him and not leave him alone. It was selfish of you. To be desperate for your best friend to lean on you for support and not to go down a destructive path. You became even more worried when Haibara returned cold with a frustrated and traumatized Nanami. It was becoming more evident of Suguru’s deteriorating condition, you to confide in Shoko and even Yaga-sensei. 

Grief is like love, a twisted parasitic curse. Even though a year has passed, your grief was a malevolent spirit that latched itself onto your shoulders with a vice grip. A bitter reminder of how Suguru never said goodbye to you. He technically did with Satoru. But it was more of him telling Satoru that he was severing ties with Jujutsu Society by questioning him with his newfound powers. All you got from Suguru was a simple letter Shoko gave you at your dorm. She was with you as you read it. Tear droplets stained the paper, words smeared, and became unreadable. Out of pure frustration, you ripped the paper in half—the tearing of paper cut through the sickening silence. Shoko hugged you as you sobbed in the aftermath. While you were mourning the loss of your friend and your lives together, you were also mourning your life after this would never be the same. It would only get worse from here. 

 Satoru is tossed onto multiple missions left and right, never catching a break.

And there was you, trying to return to your regular school life. Or how every day can it be now? One of your best friends just murdered an entire village and his parents, and the other one is overworking himself to the very bone. Shoko being there for you was a surprising one, but at the same time, it wasn’t. Given that she was the first one Suguru said goodbye to, she understood his actions.

The problem was trying to tell Satoru about it, but he would brush it off, saying that maybe it was the change in weather or sickness. When you tried to explain there was more to it, Satoru would wave his hand at you, saying, 

“You’re overthinking too much, (Y/N)-chan! I’m sure Suguru is fine. We just have to give him some time.”

Though the tone was light-hearted, it provided no comfort. You know Satoru was suffering as well. Individuals process trauma differently, after all. You were seeing this first hand. 

Satoru was overcompensating to the world of Jujutsu with his enlightenment, overworking himself and burying his pain through that charismatic mask he now dons. Suguru is the most common one: Insomnia, isolation, and depression. He slowly became a lifeless husk. On the other hand, you were coping by trying to move forward while acting like a rock for them. Despite the hard transition, you didn’t deny your trauma as you slowly worked to process and navigate through it. You had the support of Shoko, your teacher, and even your clan/family stepped in to support your mental health endeavors. They went as far as providing you with a therapist, who was also a sorcerer.

But you all were suffering in silence.

A year has passed since Suguru left, and you were getting by. You, Shoko, and Satoru would graduate in the third year and officially become Jujutsu Sorcerers. Yet, at this point, it felt more like only you and Shoko. Satoru still attended class and hung out, but missions mainly preoccupied his school life. He recently returned from Hokkaido, only to be sent out again. This time, however, it was somewhere in Western Europe. That’s on the other side of the world. It would only be for a week, but still. You wanted him to rest or take a break, as he never did– not since the incident.

He wouldn’t be leaving for another seven days, so you had enough time to be with him. Yet it was challenging because Satoru didn’t let up. The ravine he created kept opening, the distance stretching far and deep, pushing you away.

Just like Suguru.

You didn’t want to lose Satoru. You almost did, becoming a grim reminder of how much you cared for Satoru Suguru. To fall for your best friend was a betrayal. You didn’t mean it, but Satoru did things that made your heart warm and fluttered. Suguru was the first to catch on; he saw your crush a mile away. Confiding in Suguru about it, you found solace in his words– feeding into an enviable delusion. 

Unbeknownst to you, Suguru's eyes were able to hide his longing for you as you rambled about Satoru and your latest hangout together. Suguru always thought you and Satoru had a special connection—your two powerful chemistry and how you bounce off each other. He presumed Satoru had mutual feelings, but nothing was said. Once he left, he knew you had his heart. There was no space for anyone else to fill it but you. And Suguru was more than willing to live with reality. If the girl who gave his life light is with his best friend, so be it. He would settle with the heartache as long as you were happy.

But you weren’t happy at all.

Over time, you started questioning whether the life of a Jujutsu Sorcerer was worth it. Yes, you were born into the world of Jujutsu, and it has been your whole life. But the last two years radically changed that. You were already exposed to this life's dangers and cruelty; prepare to face it head-on no matter what. Yet second thoughts became third thoughts. Then, fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh. The more you challenge your initial mindset, the more doubts seep into its cracks.

Why should I continue when I am nothing more than a placeholder in this world?

How can I save everyone if I can’t save one person?

Where is the meaning in all of this if I’ll just die alone and be replaced and forgotten?

Was this endless cycle of Jujutsu Sorcery even worth it?

You wondered if Suguru shared the same thoughts to push him to his decision. Now, you don’t blame him for leaving at all. It was grime. It was depravity. It was futile. You only stayed because you had your clan. You had Yaga-sensei and Shoko. But most of all, you had Satoru to shoulder the burdens of the Jujutsu world.

That’s. . .what you thought. . .

You decided to go to Satoru’s dorm to check up on him. Maybe squeeze a hangout in there. Gently knocking, you hope he was there since you couldn’t sense him around the campus. There was faint shuffling on the other side, signaling he was. You softly call out to him as you knock again. Once opened, Satoru greeted you in his school uniform. You found it odd since he’d switched to his comfortable clothes after school hours. 

“Hi, Toru! I just came by to see how you’re doing. The mochi store we always go to releases its seasonal flavors today! Why don’t you come with me? I heard one of your favorites returned, so I didn’t want you to miss it.”

“I appreciate the thought, (Y/N). But not today, I’m sorry.” Satoru said with a smile.

You couldn’t pinpoint his smile, tittering on, sad and strained. A tinge of uneasiness settled inside your heart, but you still wore your smile to not let it surface.

“C’mon, Toru! You don’t know if they will sell out today. Plus, the weather is great. I heard some festivals with food stands are opening up because of that. It wouldn’t hurt to go out just this once, Satoru.”

Satoru’s smile disappears at your insistence, replacing it with a fine line. His mood change didn’t sit well with you. You had previous attempts to get Satoru to care for himself. However, this is different from all your others because the band that holds your desperation began to wane itself thin. Your solid composure falters in bits. Your bright aura slowly dimmed as your now chapped lips twitched.

“Satoru, I know that you’re busy. Always on missions, meeting the higher-ups, your clan needing you more than ever, you have your hands tied. But it wouldn’t be too much just to enjoy yourself. Just come with me today before you go to Europe next week. It’s been a while since we hung out together.”

“Look (Y/N), I don’t really have time for this. I need to head out now, or it will get dark. Maybe another time–”

Then something inside of you snaps. You didn’t know whether it was your desperation or uneasiness, but assumed both because your facade crumbles to reveal your emotions.

“You always say later, Satoru, but never do! You haven’t taken a break in months! You’ve gotten paler, and your under-eyes are darker than before! You’re pushing yourself too hard and beginning to neglect yourself. Toru, Please! I’m worried about you! You know I can always help you–”

“For the love of God, (Y/N)! Can you STOP TALKING?! GOD, YOUR VOICE MAKES MY EARS BLEED! LIKE HELL YOU WOULD UNDERSTAND MY RESPONSIBILITIES!”

 It was never your intention to snap. But the way Satoru was acting paralleled Suguru. Eat, sleep, and go on missions. It was always those three, the same ones Suguru was subjected to that became a factor in his defection. Satoru was caught in the vicious cycle that pushed Suguru over the edge. 

On top of your crippling fear of Satoru sharing the same fate as Suguru, Déjà vu struck you. Desperation emerged from within as you didn’t want to lose him, breaking your resolve before him. Desperation was fear in another form. 

You weren’t the only one to reach a breaking point. Satoru snapped as well and at you, of all people. You guessed it was from all the stress and emotions he bottled up that exploded there. What Satoru was experiencing was valid and understandable; you knew this. Yet to blow up at you was uncalled for as you made it clear you’re only helping. Your eyes sting as you feel the formation of tears ready themselves, biting the inside of your bottom lip to keep your voice from breaking.

“B-but. . .Satoru. . .I w-was only trying to–” You stuttered out, forcibly pushing out words to fill the silence.

“Help? You were trying to help, (Y/N)?”

Once saying that Satoru let out a sarcastic laughter that could be mistaken for madness. Horror took over your face. Pain-filled eyes were glossed over, showing your tears could spill at any moment. His laughter abruptly stopped, making it so quiet that only your staggered breathing could be heard. He meets his eyes with yours with the most disdain you have ever seen.

“Do you think you could help when you’re just dead weight? You thought you were on par with Suguru and me. Get that out of your stupid little head of yours (Y/N). You were never strong like us.”

“You don’t mean that, right, Satoru?” You said incredulity as you reached out for him. Only for your hand to freeze before him, not going any further. A chill flashed over you, adding to the aching that enveloped your soul.

Did he– Did he just use his infinity on you?

“Oh, but I do. Now, I need to be somewhere. Do yourself a favor, (Y/N), and don’t bother me with your weak presence.”

And before you knew it, Satoru was already gone. He had used his teleportation to get to where he was needed. Leaving you alone with the door to his dorm wide open. The sounds of the crickets took over. They were paired with your small sniffles, furiously wiping away your nonstop tears. 

Were you weak to him?

Have you really been holding everyone back?

Were you that much of a nuisance to him?

Is this how Satoru really felt about you?

Has he always felt this way?

You never saw utter detest and contempt from Satoru. Your previous interactions had him irritated or annoyed, but never like this. This was the first time Satoru had blown up on you, let alone given you such a reaction. Before, you’d repeatedly remind him of your support and help. But it always ends the same way, pushing you away. After what happened, this will be the last time you’d do this for him. 

You were once told that you can’t help someone if they aren’t reaching out for help. And this was a bitter example of it. Your efforts in having Satoru lean on you bore nothing. What’s the point in continuing this if nothing changes after multiple attempts?

You were tired, drained, and indifferent. Your tears keep falling as you enter your dorm, not even stopping as the sound of nature lulls you to sleep. 

You let two days pass to let Satoru calm down and give him space. No interactions or anything to pass some time. You would try to contact him for the next four days after that. But your texts were left unanswered and on read. When you tried calling, your call went straight to voicemail. He blocked your phone number, too. 

 The weight of your doubts and Satoru’s words the other day are fueling your impulsivity. If Satoru called you weak and dead weight, other sorcerers would think so, too. If you become a thorn in their side, you’re doing them a favor by pulling yourself out for them. Even if Satoru didn’t mean it, you knew there was some truth to it because he kept his infinity up. You could never forget how his blue eyes lit through his pitch-dark glasses as he spoke down at you. Giving away that he was conscious and level-headed when he said those words.

You were losing the war against your intrusive mind. Your doubts and thoughts gradually solidified in your consciousness. In the course of time, they won and consumed your psyche.

If becoming a jujutsu sorcerer would get in the way of others, then being a sorcerer wasn’t for you.

With your last attempts to contact Satoru, you have made your decision. A day before Satoru departs for Europe, you decide to pay your clan head a visit. It was sudden and unannounced; nonetheless, they allowed an audience with you. 

They let you speak your mind, allowing whatever you need to be released and run free without judgment. Thus, you confided in them about everything.

This was too much; all of it was too much for you to bear any longer. You couldn’t see yourself as a sorcerer any longer after dealing with what you had experienced. Every day was a battle for you, and you lost every single one. You admitted you didn’t have what’s left of you it in you to shoulder the responsibilities of the Jujutsu world. You didn’t want the life of a jujutsu sorcerer anymore. You wanted one of peace, not having to fight every day. To enjoy the rest of your days as a regular civilian.

Confiding also in missing Suguru dearly and how his departure left a hole in your heart that could never be healed. You weren’t strong enough to face the horrors and hardships anymore and wish to live a peaceful life. 

Although your clan head was shocked at your confession, they were understanding and asked if this was something you truly wanted. An unwavering ‘Yes’ left you, and your clan head nodded. They gave you a choice: to go after graduation in a few weeks or leave now. If you leave now, they will deal with the rest as you finish the important schoolwork. It was just a waiting game with missions sprinkled throughout.

You could wait before leaving, but that’s wasting time. If you weren’t going to continue your life here, you might as well get a headstart now in your new one. You finalize your decision with the head. They said they would have some members pick up your stuff from your dorms tomorrow morning, but you said it wouldn’t be much. As you took your leave, you told them you would keep in touch with the clan. 

“What are your plans for what happens next, (Y/N)?” They curiously asked with your back facing them.

“Hmm, I don’t know exactly. But I have an idea, (Clan Head’s Name). Thank you for everything that you’ve done.”

With a reassuring voice, you turn to respectfully bow before leaving their room. Though they never said it out loud, they saw how your eyes were soft, like tremendous pressure was relieved from your body.

Thinking about it as you leave the estate, you never mentioned your fight with Satoru. Though it wouldn’t change anything. That night, you packed your dorm in your suitcase. Only leave your bedsheets, a pillow, and a few desk appliances behind. Your closet and drawers were empty of any clothes you had. By 10 a.m. tomorrow, any trace left of you would be gone. As you write a letter to whoever finds it about your whereabouts, your thoughts return to Suguru. To playfully think he did the exact same thing before his defection. 

You looked at your school uniform as it hung on your door. You contemplated taking it with you but decided against it. You wanted no strings left attached when you leave the world of Jujutsu Sorcery.

Morning came as you stared at the room you once called your own. The remainder of your things are packed in cardboard boxes for your clan members to get later. You glance back over to your desk as your school uniform is neatly folded on top of it. Your lips are graced with a sentimental smile as you close the door one last time. 

As you walked along the campus, fleeting memories of your days here flooded your mind. You reminisced on the areas and places you spent your youth with your friends and classmates. Now you’re leaving Jujutsu Tech and the Jujutsu World forever. Never to come back. You get to the main entrance of the school.

Before taking another step, you sensed someone behind you.

“So you're leaving, too, (Y/N)?”

It was Shoko.

“Yeah. . . Shoko. I’m going. . .”

She blows out a large smoke cloud from her cigarette, giving you a blank look before sending you a smile.

“At least say goodbye to me. . .I don’t blame you for going. . .” Shoko adds as she holds out her arms. You chuckle at her gesture and give her a hug. By the slight firm grip you felt, she didn’t want you to go, but she couldn’t stop you either.

Once you break away from the hug, you remember something and fish out a folded paper in your bag. You handed it to Shoko, and she eyed it curiously.

“I was going to leave it in my dorm for someone to find, but I thought it would work better if I gave this to you if I ran into it on my way out. My clan is sending members to get the last of my things, so I won’t return to my dorm. Sorry I had to make you the messenger again, Shoko.” You bittersweetly said.

You find it ironic that your departure is similar to Suguru’s. Shoko is the first to see you two go while giving her a letter for the others to read. You laugh as you think this over.

Oh, how history repeats itself.

Shoko tucks away your letter before taking a drag from her smoke.

“Does he know about this?”

You knew she was referring to Satoru. You shook your head no, still have a small smile.

“No, unfortunately. Satoru and I got into a arg– disagreement a few days ago. I don’t know if he’s okay with me to begin with, as cowardly to say. The only ones that know are you and my clan head.”

She hums at your response before going for another drag.

“Your phone number still the same?”

“I don’t really plan on changing my phone number. Even if I do, I’ll text you the new number so you can give it to the others.”

“I see. . .See you around, (Y/N). Keep in touch, will ya?”

“I will. I’ll see you around then. Bye, Shoko.”

Giving Shoko one last hug, you wave goodbye as you leave Jujutsu’s High entrance, disappearing from view. Not daring to look back because regret might come if you did.

Shoko watches from afar, her cigarette being halfway done. She takes one last puff before extinguishing it with the bottom of her shoe. She looks at your letter. The paper was crisp with no wrinkles like it had been fresh from the printer. From this, Shoko knew you had written it recently, no hesitation evident on the page itself. Unlike Suguru’s, her fingers tighten on your letter as she sighs while entering the school.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

“What brings you here? He’s a busy man.”

“I’m just an old acquaintance of his. Just a simple chat. It won’t take long, I promise.”

The pretty attendant raises a brow at you as she guides you to one of the rooms. She looks you up and down before facing forward again.

“You have a substantial amount of curse energy. You have a curse technique then; aren’t you a jujutsu sorcerer?”

“I…used to be…but not anymore…I chose to leave that life. I’m just a civilian that has a curse technique.”

You see the attendant smile out of the corner of your eye at your answer. 

“I see. Geto-sama will be happy to take audience with you then.”

You shouldn’t be here. You knew that. Walking in taboo territory could get you hunted down by the very society you were born into. It’s not a secret of Suguru’s position as both a curse user and a cult leader. You remember hearing about him reforming a cult that worshiped Tengan but dissolved after the incident. You found it interesting he hasn’t done collateral damage yet. No incidents or missions revolving around curses terrorizing civilians. Perhaps he was going for something on a larger scale, you thought.

But you missed Suguru dearly. Not in a sentimental reminiscing way. More as in yearning for him entirely. Everyone tells you it’s not the same with Suguru gone, obviously. Yeah, but Suguru plagued your mind after his defection. You want nothing more than to see him again. Yes, things couldn’t go back to the way they were. But you didn’t like the prospects of what your future would hold if you stayed.

You disagreed with Suguru ridding the world of non-sorcerers. But you also understand and agree the current Jujutsu system is a dumpster fire that will never work. At the end of the day, only those the higher-ups favor will get to stay while the rest are sent off to die. You didn’t want to take part in that. You valued your life to know it shouldn’t be tossed around so easily by some dementia geezers who can’t even fight. And yet, you felt a tinge of regret for not staying to fix or break the system. Your only option was to leave and not involve yourself anymore.

The attendant takes you to the room, saying he will arrive shortly. Leaving you alone, you felt your heart race. You hope Suguru doesn’t kill you because he can sense your curse energy. Yet his letter was heartfelt and raw. His apology and the paragraphs after them were for you and you alone, like a confession. Even though you ripped the letter, you keep the two halves. Strangely enough, there was an address and a few words at the bottom of the page. 

‘You know where to find me.’

Here you are, waiting for him with the same letter he sent. As you wait, you can feel his energy get closer. You stare down, kneeling, the letter shaking like a leaf in your hands.

Then the door opens.

You let out a small gasp, not daring to look up as the footsteps approach his seat. A soft chuckle fills the room as you keep your head low.

“I thought I was mistaken when I felt your curse energy. But I now know my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me. Please, lift your head so I can see you (Y/N).”

Your gaze meets Suguru’s soft eyes and warm smile. Both genuine and kind. His eyes widen before returning back to soft when he sees the tears trickling down for your lovely eyes he could get lost in. You stumble to stand, practically pouncing at Suguru. His embrace was like gates opening for you and closing once you entered. You softly sob into his robes as he holds you tightly. Comforting you by gently rubbing your back and hair, giving a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“I missed you so much, Suguru!” was all you said before you continued to sniffle and hiccup into him.

Suguru hums as he pulls away to better view your face. You felt self-conscious as he lovingly gazed at you. Your nose and cheeks were raw from crying, and your eyes became an irritated red. Suguru smiles, wiping away your endless tears with his thumb.

“Oh, (Y/N). I’m sorry for leaving you behind. You understand, don’t you? From my letter?”

You nodded to respond. Holding the paper in front of Suguru. He notices the tear stains and ink smudges from the words he wrote down.

“I would’ve told you in person, (Y/N). Believe me. But I couldn't once they announced my charges. You would’ve been questioned as a possible accomplice. I didn’t want that for you. Do you know what it means for you to see me now?”

“Yes, I’m aware. But I left of my own accord; it wasn’t just for you, Suguru. I wouldn’t be able to last long if I stayed. So I decided to go, leaving it behind, all of it.”

He was a bit puzzled by what you meant. But it didn’t take long for him to piece it himself. Suguru figured something happened between you and Satoru but decided to stay silent out of respect. You both stare with relief and tenderness. Suguru gingerly takes your hand and places a light kiss on your knuckles. You set your unoccupied hand on his cheek, quietly giggling as Suguru leans into your delicate touch. He sighed in contentment. Bring your hand up again to kiss it as he wraps his free arm around your waist. His sincere smile radiates down onto you.

“I guess we have some catching up to do then, (Y/N).”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Satoru was in a better mood today than before.

Satoru cooled off his head after a couple of days from when he made that outburst at you.  He was stressed and tired of being continuously sent out on missions, and you did make a point that he hasn’t taken a break in months. He remembered what he said to you that evening, which made him feel guilty.

He knows he hasn’t been around because the higher-ups have sent him out like a work dog. It was now you and Shoko with him. The stabilization you two had on him once Suguru left.

You’ve been only trying to help him for a long time. Being there for him in your own way while coaxing him to hang out. Yet he took it for granted and said some vile things because his bucket decided to overflow then out of all the times it shouldn’t. You didn’t deserve that. You also didn’t deserve the silent treatment he gave you. He saw your text messages and listened to the voicemails you left. He did not answer because he was too prideful and stubborn to admit he was stressed and hurt you like that.

But sitting with his emotions and reflecting on how stupid he is for prioritizing his ego, he decided to cut down his pride and make it up to you. He unblocked your number and was going to call you. But he chose to just surprise you instead he chickened out. Satoru knew the European mission was a nuisance to his plans, so he had already taken care of it. By that, Satoru somehow teleported himself to where he needed to be in Europe, slayed the high-level curses, retrieved some curse objects, reported what he did, and teleported back to Japan in four hours.

He did all this at the last minute on the sixth day before Satoru was supposed to leave. He did this to stay and spend the whole week with you, make up for lost time, and give a proper apology.

Now, Satoru was strolling through Jujutsu Tech. He whistles as he holds a bouquet of (favorite flowers), a box with a (favorite color) bracelet with (favorite designs/charms), and a bag of mochi and daifuku for you two to share together. He walks around the grounds, trying to search you. He was told no classes today, so he went to your favorite spots. You weren’t anywhere.

‘Huh, that’s strange. (Y/N) would usually be in those places when class is not in session. I wonder where she could be.’

Satoru thought about dropping by your dorm but figured you were with Shoko. On the other hand, he couldn’t sense Shoko around either until Satoru felt it alongside Yaga-sensei. He sensed them in Yaga’s building, so he headed there.

Blissfully unaware of what would await him. 

Satoru clutches your gifts to one side as he opens the door to enter. His six eyes hadn’t kicked in yet, but something in the air felt off. His sun smile hasn’t dropped yet as he scans around, wondering why the two were quiet when he entered.

“Yo, Yaga-sensei, Shoko! I’ve been trying to look for you guys. By any chance know where (Y/N) is so I can give these to her?”

He looks at his teacher, and Satoru’s demeanor instantly changes. There, Yaga stood with his glasses off, clutching a piece of paper with a stern frown. Satoru turns to Shoko, a somber expression replacing her lighthearted one. Satoru just looked back and forth between the two before his eyes settled on the paper in his teacher’s hand. Satoru stands stunned, hearing his heartbeat in his ears grow louder and louder. The air from his lungs disappeared as realization dawned on him. 

Satoru clenched his teeth as he teleported to your dorm room, the clap resonating throughout the hall. He burst open your dorm door, and to his horror, your room was empty. The room was stripped of everything that made it yours. The closet and drawers were emptied, and your desk and bed were bare of anything from you. What used to be your dorm is now an empty dorm room, ready for the next person to claim it. He frantically looks around in hopes of finding any reminds of you.

Then, he spotted your old Jujutsu High uniform, laying neatly on top of your old desk. Satoru just stares, not daring to pick it up. Because if he did, he would’ve broken down. He can’t stay there anymore, to which he teleports back. He bears his pearly white teeth as he closes in on his teacher.

“Where the hell is (Y/N)?” Satoru lowly said.

“Gone, Satoru–”

“I know she’s gone! But where?! Why the hell is all her stuff gone?! Her room is completely empty!”

“Satoru,” Yaga tried calmly speaking, but he was clearly frustrated. “I know this is so sudden. But the (L/N)’s clan head said something came up with (Y/N), and they retrieved all her things. Her clan said they were going to deal with everything else.”

Satoru's breathing became staggered. He could hear it growing louder. He tried his best not to let his voice crack, but that made him angrier.

“Everything else? The hell does that mean, sensei? Why would the (L/N) clan withdraw (Y/N) from school?! School ends in a few weeks! She could have graduated with us!”

“It…wasn’t their decision, Satoru…It was (Y/N)’s…”

Suddenly, Satoru became flabbergasted. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This gotta be some twisted, cruel joke that was playing on him. His curse energy was flaring up, and his cerulean eyes lit lightly. The flowers from the bouquet were losing their petals, and his bag full of treats was getting smushed from his intense grip.

“What…?”

“The clan head said it themselves.”

“No…”

“She decided not to be a Jujutsu Sorcerer and leave Jujutsu society.”

“LIKE HELL SHE WOULD!!!” Just like that, everything came crashing down for Satoru. Not being in your usual spots on campus, the empty dorm; hell, he noticed your curse residuals becoming faint. The traces of them becoming weaker and weaker. Your presence here in Jujutsu High was fading faster than he could notice. The anger he built up showed itself as it was on full display. Honestly, Yaga and Shoko don’t blame him for his outburst. Satoru held you close, after all.

“Satoru, please.” Yaga pinches the bridge of his nose as he clenches his teeth. “I’m just as lost as you are. This came out of the blue…Her clan confirmed it, and she said it herself.”

Satoru slightly flinches when Yaga holds the paper out towards him. Gesturing for Satoru to take it.

“I didn’t read far into this because it felt like (Y/N) wanted someone else to read it.”

Satoru’s long fingers snatched the paper out of his teacher’s hands. His hands shake as he opens the paper up to see its contents.

It was a letter–from you.

His eyes slowly followed the words of your neatly written goodbye. His heart rips itself piece by piece as he continues reading. The guilt and shaming grew. He could feel the fatigue and jadedness from your thoughts. But the last paragraph makes Satoru’s heart hurt the worst. Your frustration was transformed into desperation for a new life, a fresh start. Away from the endless curses and scrutiny of the higher-ups, away from the pain and hopelessness, away from it all. You didn’t want to throw your life away. You just wanted to live. Then, you end the letter with an apology. Saying sorry because you couldn’t tell them your honest thoughts, for not facing them in your departure, for not trying hard enough for everyone when it was needed. Then, the last line of your apology made Satoru’s blood run cold.

‘Most of all, I’m sorry for being weak.’

He knew that line was for him 100 percent. You wouldn’t have written it down if he didn’t tell you. To Satoru, you weren’t supposed to be the one apologizing. It should be him. He was the one who yelled at you and said those cruel and discouraging things to you. The one who pushed you away and didn’t allow you a chance to help. Fuck, he had the audacity to use his infinity against you. How dare he do that to you, his best friend the girl he fell in love with. His teeth clenched so hard out of pure anger they could crack. The anger he felt for himself was tremendous. He was angry at Suguru, the higher-ups, and Jujutsu Society. Angry at himself for being so stubborn and prideful, for waiting too long to act and apologize. But above all else, he was angry at what had become of the situation. Fully knowing he could do nothing to change anything as already was set in stone.

If he hadn’t been so prideful, he would’ve apologized to you sooner. If he didn’t blow up at you, you wouldn't become broken and hurt. If only he didn’t push you away, maybe you would have stayed– stayed by his side. But ‘if onlys’ are regrets from the past of the current reality. Now, he is living in it with the consequences of his own actions.

This is the price Satoru had to pay. He lost the only remnant that got him through this world by pushing you away. He lost his only two best friends in the world with no way of fixing it. 

The price of becoming the strongest came at the expense of two of his most dearest friends.

Suguru was gone.

You were gone.

Forever with no signs of ever coming back to him. 

In the end, Satoru Gojo was, truly, alone.

#x reader #jjk x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #reader insert #fem reader #satoru x reader #suguru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk angst #geto suguru #satoru gojo #jjk satoru #getou suguru x reader #jjk suguru #geto x reader #x female reader #x fem!reader #x y/n #x female y/n #x reader angst #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x female reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk x reader angst

[dxckgrxsonx]

HOPE I'M NOT LATE!! But exbf!Dick dry humping you before fucking you just bc he is bitter about you sleeping w others after him and telling you that you don't deserve to actually feel him so he is going to only make you cum like that ((which is a lie, homeboy doesn't have that much self control))

Pairing - Exbf!Dick Grayson X (F) Reader Words - 1.4k Warnings - SMUT 18+ - Graphic Sexual Content - Dry Humping - Dirty Talk - Swearing - Angst - They still have feelings for each other ur honour. Notes - ahnjdsjkfkk hii!! you’re not late my darling, I’m always here for exbf!Dick thoughts 😏 I’m not putting this in the actual fic but you’ve inspired me so uhhhh...here you go x

MASTERLIST

**

He’s a complete contradiction.

There’s nothing consistent about him and there's some raw part of you, peeled back and stinging at the sight of Dick Grayson, suffering at the hands of his own internal conflict. He says one thing but it knocks into another and nothing he wrangles from his own mouth matches up, none of it makes sense.

It’s been over a year without him and even now, he still feels familiar. A lost language you still know how to speak. A recipe you don’t need to read to know how to make. He keeps his phone in the same pocket. Still holds himself tense and ready to shut you down if you prod at the wrong wound.

Always trying to take his own emotion out of the equation and failing.

“Are you even hearing yourself?” You finally snap, half rounded towards his bedroom door. “You’re fucking unbelievable.” Dick grinds his teeth, jaw flexing. You don’t see the hesitation on his face, but you feel it right through to your spine bones. “You’re asking about my personal life like you still have a right to know the answer. We broke up, Grayson. It’s been over a goddamn year.”

He reels back, only slightly, but enough to let you know that you brushed along the wrong bruise, the wrong wound he still can’t get to fully heal over.

“I asked you one question.” Dick growls.

He shifts on his feet and you find yourself automatically moving to compensate. Annoyingly, you watch as Dick catches your slight shift and dissolves into something smug and knowing. Over twelve months apart and you still read each other like the back of your own hands.

“Two.” You confess. It comes out like a taunt, a shining weapon ready to cut him straight down to the bone. Parts of you haven’t changed. You find that even though you’re not together, you still experience the same pounding rush of emotion when you say something that riles him up. “Since you, there’s been two.”

Something on his face cracks wide open and you hardly manage to blink before he has crowded under him.

You’ll never admit it. Especially not to him, not to yourself, not even to God.

But you’ve missed this; missed him.

Dick is firm and heavy above you, pupils so dilated you can’t find the colour. Despite it, you still know the exact shade, can see it if you blink your eyes closed and focus. Funny, how your brain holds onto everything you learnt about him, how it refuses point blank to let it go.

Bullying himself between your thighs he forces your legs over his hips, spreads you out until you’re pressed up against him. There’s a push of his clothed cock against your covered pussy and Dick grinds down just hard enough to wrench a gasp from your mouth.

Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip you whine when he grinds into you again, harder this time.

“I should remind you of what you’re missing. Should fuck you like I used to.” Dick says, grabbing your hands and pinning them over your head. He leans down close enough to have his breath tickle your cheeks, almost traitorously, you want to lean up and kiss him. “But you don’t deserve that.”

His biceps flex when you twist against him and try to wriggle out of his firm grip. Frustration hooks into each trembling nerve and your hips kick up, trying to grind against the outline of his cock.

You don’t need him to remind you.

Since the breakup, you’ve slept with two people and neither of them could give you what he could.

Dick smirks, emotion finally filtering back into the handsome lines of his face, “You’re not going anywhere. This is all you’re getting, and you don’t even deserve that.”

Your eyes roll back, “Dick–”

Rocking into your clothed cunt you feel your clit ache and start to swell up. The soft fabric of your underwear sticks to the slick, puffy lips of your pussy and when Dick grinds into you again, the fabric pulls up tight between your lips and presses firm on your clit.

Swearing under your breath you whimper when Dick moves his hands to interlock your fingers. It’s the first tender thing he’s done since seeing you again and part of you–the soft, forever grieving part of you–wonders why you didn’t fight harder when your relationship began failing.

Arching your back, your thighs tremble over Dick’s strong hips,

“S’not enough.” You complain.

“Well it’s all you’re getting. You either come from this, or not at all.”

Your pussy throbs, arousal leaking from your entrance, smearing across your underwear and rubbing up over your hard, swollen clit. You hate how even after all this time, Dick can still push you right up to the edge, can force you to balance on the tightrope he strung up.

“You hear me?” He breathes, dropping his head just enough to mouth at the shell of your ear. “You either come from me rubbing against you. just. like. this.” Puncturing each word with a devastating rock of his hips Dick smirks. “Or you don’t come at all, and I leave you all wet and horny.”

Heat burns up your neck, humiliation quickly building in your cheeks, “Please…hH–please.”

“You don’t deserve my cock.” Dick whispers, using more of his weight to render you immobile. “So m’not going to fuck your greedy little pussy. I’m going to grind against it, just like this, until it comes for me.”

Finally moaning you try to move but find that you can’t. Crushed under Dicks firm, unrelenting body you realise that you can’t do anything. All you can do is lie there and take what he gives you; even though it’s not enough and you want more.

“Oh–oh please!” You choke, squeezing at his hands and flexing your thighs for even a hint of leverage. “Dick…please I can’t come like this.”

“Yes you can. I know exactly what makes you come and this is something that’ll have your poor, needy pussy coming in no time.” Settling into a firm, consistent rhythm, Dick mouths kisses along the sensitive column of your throat. “So yes, you can come from this. I’m not giving you a choice.”

He grinds into you, once, twice, three times, and your whole world cracks clean down the middle.

Your pussy spasms, clit swelling even harder than before then dissolving into quick, rhythmic twitches. A shuddering sob works itself free from your mouth and you shake yourself apart underneath Dick’s talented body.

“There you go.” Dick coos, smug with the fact that twelve months apart hasn’t changed the fact he can still make you come without taking off a single item of clothing. “I know what you need. I know exactly what you’ve been missing. They just weren’t good enough were they?”

Spiralling up into the face of the stratosphere you wiggle one hand free and cup Dick’s cheek. You’ll hate yourself for it later, will want to cut off your own hand to try and distance yourself from his orbit. But for now, you’re weak and split open, ribs wrenched apart to reveal that each bone in your body still has his name etched delicately into it.

“No one since you has ever been good enough.”

Dick whimpers, hips stuttering into uncoordinated little thrusts as he comes. His face twists up tight with pleasure and endless pain. You don’t know if you want to soothe it or watch him suffer. Sometimes, you think that if someone asked you where you hurt, you’d place your hand right over your heart.

Releasing you from his slackened grip Dick flinches backwards and out of reach. It’s not regret on his face. It’s something older, something deeper. You don’t know what it is; you don’t want to know.

You leave his room without a word; without looking back.

If you did look back, you would have seen Dick touch his hand to where he hurts the most.

Right over his heart.

**

#dick grayson x reader smut #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson smut #dick grayson smut drabble #nightwing x reader smut #nightwing x reader #nightwing smut #dc fanfiction #dc fanfic #exbf!dick grayson x reader #titans x reader #titans smut #ella writes

[ornii]

My Better bitter Half, Part 7

The Twins continue though the forest, their conversation mostly due to (Y/n), was slightly more contentious.

“Hm.. Enid told me that a boy was helping you escape.”

“Yes.”

“So you don’t deny it? I’m glad you’re growing to trust me.”

“No, I simply couldn’t care less to lie to you at this point, I plan on staying.” She says.

“Good, this boy, a Normie?”

“Was it obvious?”

“Yes, any guy in Nevermore knows not to help you escape.”

“Because?”

“They’d have to answer to me of course.” He says with a smile, (Y/n) and Wednesday were Twins at birth and still share some similarities in hair color, bone structure and their prominent black eyes. But their personalities began to overtake as they became older and found their own identities. While Wednesday was antisocial, blunt and cold, (Y/n) was extrovert, more soft spoken and warming. He kept his smile, but deep down he kept the same absolutely horrifying side of himself buried, unlike his sister who allows herself to be feared.

“Hey, do you Remember our Tenth Birthday?” He says.

“I remember you crying after I locked you in the dungeon with the clown.” She says.

“Yeah, that one. Looking back on it, it was pretty entertaining in hindsight, I have an absolute hatred for clowns now, but I suppose that can’t be helped now. You remember the 11th?” He says smirking.

“Yes, when you splattered me with pink food dye all over my clothes… I was in intensive care for a week.” Wednesday says, I’ll admit it was a devious plot of revenge.” Wednesday said.

“It was.” He says softly, “When I went to Nevermore two years ago, I contacted mother and father frequently.. I always asked about you, but mother and father always said you were busy.. I never wanted to bother you.” (Y/n) says, and Wednesdays focus was more on him.

“I suppose even twins grow and separate.” He says somberly, Wednesdays eyes were a bit, somber before responding.

“(Y/n) I—“ Wednesday begins but (Y/n) stops her, kneeling down. They see a pair of shattered glasses. “These are Rowan's.” (Y/n) says.

“I knew it was a cover-up.” Wednesday reached and grabbed the glasses, suddenly her body was stiff like a board and she fell back. (Y/n) quickly swept her up by her feet.

“Wednesday? Wednesday?!” He yells, holding his sister as her vision began, it was Rowan and Xavier, arguing,

“What are you talking about?”

“So much of my... my new desk, you psychopath!”

Wednesday awakens from her vision to her dorm room. (Y/n) awaiting next to her.

“Feeling better?” He asks. She sits up, looking around for Enid.

“Enids away, i was able to haul you around unbothered thankfully, what did you see?” He asks.

“Xavier and Rowan, they fought, and a.. book.” Wednesday says.

“A.. Book?” He asks, eventually the two make their way to the library, searching for said book.

“I keep seeing that same purple book.” She says, (Y/n) shows her a Royal purple book cover.

“The cover was darker. More like a day-old contusion. Keep looking.” She says, (Y/n) tosses the book and keeps searching, eventually being interrupted by Wednesdays Den Mother, Thornhill.

“I don't usually find students in here looking for actual books. Most sneak in to make out.” She says to the twins, who rightfully look at her with suspicion.

“…What?” (Y/n) said.

“N-no that’s not what I meant! It was fairly Common thing back then, If a king can break society’s most basic rules, he stands above everyone else. Plus, a truly lofty king has no peer other than his sister, since only she shares his exalted birth. A noblewoman couldn’t stand beside him as his queen and near equal, and neither could a princess from a lesser dynasty. So the propaganda of mighty kingship sometimes demands..” Thornhill says, slowly trailing off as the twins just stare at her.

“… so..Is there something I can help you find?” She says changing the subject. Wednesday shows Thornhill the page.

“Have you seen this before? It's a watermark from a book I'm looking for.”

“I think it's the symbol to an old student society. Um...The Nightshades.”

“Like the deadly flower. Color me intrigued.”

“I was told they disbanded years ago.” Thornhill says.

“Any idea why?” (Y/n) asks.

“Sorry, but no. I was very impressed with your answers in class today.”

“My mother is a carnivorous plant aficionado.

I assume I get my red thumb from her.”

“I get my knowledge of the undead arts from mother, it seems we both know something.” He said, and Thornhill smiles.

“You two really are so unique, you know, they say twins often are the dualistic worldview of each other, or even their shadow. While that’s the case, it’s also important for the twins to be idk their own people, and with how different you two are, you’ve developed into your own way.” Thornhill says before leaving, the twins shrug it off and head back to the dorm.

“The book wasn’t there.”

“Obviously Wednesday… in your vision you saw Rowan and Xavier arguing, we can deduce where the book is, the Men’s dorm.”

“And how do you suppose we get the book?”

“That, well we need to get into Xavier’s dorm first and search for it.” (Y/n) says, pondering.

“I’ll go.” Wednesday says.

“What? If they find you in the boys dorm—“

“They won’t, and I’m going to need someone to be the outside look out, and I suppose there’s no one else to trust besides you.”

“…I suppose that’s fair, fine, but if you see discovered I will disown you.”

“I’d.. expect nothing less.” She responds, “Xavier’s should be out on his jog. Let’s begin.” He says, the duo reach the room of Xavier and enter, he lets Wednesday in.

“Be careful.” He says, and she departs inside, he leans against the wall outside as Wednesdays begins her investigation. His eyes focus and dart around to see anything, it was silent for a moment until his ears perk up and he hears footsteps approaching. His head twisted to see Bianca approach. He plays it off and lightly taps the door twice. Signaling for his sister, he cuts her off to buy her as much time.

“You’re Not Supposed to be here.” (Y/n) says.

“I just need to talk to Xavier.” Bianca says.

“Hm, about what?”

“Obviously your sister..”

“..” (y/n) silently sighed and shrugged.

“ seems your sister caught his eye.” Bianca says.

“Well he should get it back before I gouge it out.” He responds with a smile, Bianca does as well.

“Seem we’re on the safe wavelength, good.” Bianca said, and enters the room, (Y/n) can only wait, a few minutes pass and Bianca leaves, but not before giving a small wink to (Y/n), a minute passes and Wednesday exits.

“Found it?” He asks, and Wednesday shows him not a book but, a Mask.

“Huh… let’s compare notes.” He says and Wednesday walks off. “Correct.” Wednesday said, the twins return back to her dorm to Enid, weeping like a kicked puppy. Her eyes were puffy and tears were forming and she quickly spits the two.

“Where have you been? I'm literally having a heart attack right now.” Enid says, (Y/n) walks over and tries to comfort her by patting her on the shoulder, Enid hugs him tightly, wrapping her arms around him as she sniffles. (Y/n) was caught off guard, his hands shake once more, and (Y/n), like most pet owners, just pats her head, gently stroking her blonde hair, as Wednesday watches on, an odd emotion glowing from her, Jealousy?

“Yoko's in the infirmary!” Enid says.

“What? What happened?” (Y/n) asks.

“Garlic bread incident at dinner. She had a major allergic reaction. She's out of the Poe Cup. I don't have a co-pilot.” Enids anger tightens her grip.

“Okay Enid, I’m all for expressing yourself but I’d rather you not snap my spinal chord.” He says and she lets go, wiping tears.

“I’m sorry..” she says sadly.

“It wasn't an accident. Bianca's behind it.” Wednesday, boldly walks in between them to split them up.

“..How do you know?” Enid asks, “Yeah how do you know that?” (Y/n) asks as well.

“Doesn't matter. We are going to take her down tomorrow.”

“Wait. You're joining the Black Cats? You're willing to do that? For me?” Enid says, (Y/n) gets behind Enid and nods, trying to convince Wednesday to nod.

“I want to humiliate Bianca so badly that the bitter taste of defeat burns in her throat.” Wednesday said.

“…Yeah, but mostly you're doing it because we're friends, right?” Enid says and (Y/n) nods harder but his Sister ignores her.

“Tell me how she keeps winning.” Wednesday said.

“It's a real brain cramp.” Enid begins, “The past two years, no other boat has made it across and back without sinking.”

“It’s not.” (y/n) said, “There are no rules in the Poe Cup, and she is a siren, making her invincible in the water, so that’s how she keeps wining.” (Y/n) says.

“Then we just need to beat her at her own game… (Y/n).” Wednesday says to (Y/n), who smirks.

“Of course, this might actually be fun.”

#netflix #male reader #reader insert #wednesday #wednesday addams x male reader #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #wedensday x you #enid sinclair #enid sinclair x male reader #brother sister #siblings

[chim-chim1310]

I'm not a jungkook anti. But I'm a hardcore jimin stan i wouldn't tolerate all this sabotage.

All these are my opinions as a fan. You can have your own opinion but don't tell me what to feel.

Yesterday some hashtags were trending against jungkook and hybe. And armies were going bonkers.

I think the hashtags against the company are well deserved. I would even say, f*cking destroy bangpd. I hate him with every bone of my body. You have no idea.

When jimin was accused of all this during face it was a completely different situation. Because jimin didn't get any of that shit and people were still shitting on him like always. Whereas jungkook DID get everything that goes against bts morals and I don't think this should be ignored or taken lightly.

If jimin actually got even half of what jungkook got, armies would have teared him apart. They still are so insecure because they know jimin have the potential to go beyond the group. Even hybe is scared about that. That's why the moment jimin achieved #1 on billboard Hot100, they immediately started working on seven for jungkook.

They planned the #1 for jungkook but poor them, jimin ruined their plans. That's why they were so bitter to jimin.

Yeah I used to ship jikook. In fact I still ship them sometimes. But for me it's mostly for fun. Jimin has always been more important to me than the ship. And I won't let a ship, that's not even confirmed, cloud my judgement against everything bad that is happening to jimin.

During face it was like the whole universe was working against him and now suddenly everything is working for jungkook during seven? Literally paying to make him succeed. How pathetic. Didn't they even have a little bit of trust in jungkook? Or did they believe that jungkook would never be able to surpass jimin organically?

Honestly if jungkook didn't get all this special treatment and still his song did so well. Then I would've been so happy for him. Because he would've done that on his own merit with his own hardwork not by money or company push and fraud. But everything that he's getting for that mediocre ass song is so f*cking unfair when an amazing song like 'Like crazy' didn't get even half of it.

I'm not saying that jimin should get all this too. But what I'm saying is if no other member got it, jungkook shouldn't have it too. If every other member's success was organic then jungkook's should've been too.

If jungkook did all this on his own merit and hardwork without paying or without the western push then we wouldn't even be arguing about it and just praise jungkook.

I'm sorry but I can't take him seriously when he's not given me one reason to do so. Where is his artistry? Wasn't he supposed to be the golden maknae? Why is he the only one who needs thousands of people and all those fraudulent things to make himself successful? Doesn't he trust himself even a little? Doesn't hybe trust him to have an organic success?

Now I'm not saying that you should hate jungkook and trend hashtags. But at least hold him accountable when he's wrong.

He's not a fucking kid. He's not a rookie. He's been in this industry for ten f*cking years so don't come and tell me he doesn't know what's going on. He knows exactly how his song is gonna be promoted and still he agreed to it. It's not wrong to be ambitious. But he knows payola and everything else that bts stood against for, will be used to promote his songs and he still did it. If you think he doesn't know all this then you're either naive or just totally ignorant.

He ruined bts morals, he ruined it by using all this and I think he should be held accountable for this. If it was jimin all the armies must've been barking by now. Because it's always easy for them to hate jimin. Because jimin is their punching bag when he's the sweetest person ever. He doesn't deserve this.

During face literally every kpop stan on this planet got together to hate on jimin. Using SA, r*pe jokes and what not. Why is it that whenever jimin is involved these haters go straight to r*pe jokes? Do they realize how sensitive that matter is? I can't even imagine jimin reading these types of tweets. I hope to God he doesn't.

Anyways what I'm saying is that armies are a f*cking bunch of hypocrites. Just because it's jungkook, the fandom fav, who everyone token stans it's not a problem. But if it was jimin he would be accused of sleeping with bandpd and 🛴.

Whenever pjm calls armies out that they're not defending jimin. Armies are like 'Oh I usually don't see such hate on my timeline' and 'Oh I think we should ignore it.' But when it's the fandom fav, jk and tae then suddenly they see everything on their timeline and suddenly things shouldn't be ignored.

Like when I was listening to seven and when it ended I just sat there and wondered 'This is the song they were hyping so much? Is this what they invested in? '

Like it's just some random a*s song. It feels like we've heard such types of songs multiple times from multiple artist. Literally there's nothing iconic about this song and it's average at it's best and 🛴 was hyping this?!!

It's funny to me because they really sat in the studio heard that song and were like yeah... "This is the iconic song of the year" I mean give me a f*'king break. Every success of this song will be because they paid their way through it.

And they really preferred to invest in THIS song instead of the gem 'Like crazy'. Like even comparing this mediocre song to like crazy sounds like disrespect. I thought jungkook was talented and artistic but seriously dude? What is this? 'Monday, tuesday, Wednesday....' Like you liked this? MV was the only tolerable thing about this single.

I mean if they so badly wanted to invest in Jungkook at least would've given him a good song. But then if they actually gave him a good song they wouldn't have to pay for it to succeed.

Like jungkook is going against everything bts stood for and armies are ignoring it just because it's jungkook when they would've been dragging jimin to filth if it was him and I don't even want to imagine the SA insults they would've been pulling over jimin.

Like jimin worked his ass off for f*cking 10 months!!! And like crazy got 9 days promo and got treated like shit and sabotaged by his own company because they didn't want jimin to be more successful than jungkook. B*tch if jimin was successful then YOU were the ones who would've been profited. He's literally your artist too. Idiots.

But jungkook literally just lounged on his couch, drinking, sleeping on live and suddenly after watching jimin's success he decided to take the song hybe gave him on a silver platter, agreed even after knowing the way it would be promoted.

He blatantly copied jimin's concept photos, during performance he literally looked like another jimin, copying his styles, outfits, hairstyle even. And now he's even copied some steps from like crazy choreo. Like wow. Looks like an obsession to me. I mean I used to find jk copying jimin funny but God it's not funny anymore. Doesn't jungkook have a personality of his own? Why did he just blatantly copy Jimin. Like come on no one can deny the eerie similarities. What I don't understand is why. Why is he doing this? Was this always like this? Did he always copy jimin to this extent? Idk.

Face was a masterpiece. Jimin poured his heart out in that album. It was personal to him and it was amazing. Like actually pleasant to hear. But now a mediocre song with trash lyrics got everything that it never deserved. Like this is total fraud dude.

I already hated the company. But jungkook? What is wrong with you man? Doesn't he himself have a conscience? Doesn't he feel like every member had their achievements without these fraudulent methods? Doesn't he see jimin and think that jimin got that #1 on billboard hot100 despite the sabotage and no company push? Wasn't he like I should achieve this on my merit too.

He wanted to get that western validation. It's not wrong. If he wants to be more popular than good there's nothing wrong with that. But then he should do it on his own f*cking merit and not by the company paying money for him to succeed. How disappointing seriously.

Just a few days ago armies were hating on jennie saying that she wants western validation just because she starred in Idol. And now they're radio silent when their own fav jungkook is the one seeking western validation even celebrating his success which is obviously not his own.

Like he didn't put his creativity in it at all. He listened to the song, gave his voice and learned a few dance steps. He didn't write the song, didn't participate in the making of the song except for giving his voice and for the concept photos he just recycled jimin's ideas from face era.

It's not unusual to not have written your own song and it's ok, not everyone have that talent, it's completely fine, but to praise jungkook as if he made the whole song. That's wrong. Also not to forget the way armies used to laugh at other groups because they didn't write their own songs. Hypocrite much?

What's wrong is wrong. People shouldn't hate on jungkook but at least hold him accountable because he knows real well what is going on and how he's being promoted. He went against bts' morals and he should be held accountable for that.

And the company should be held accountable for the blatant favouritism and for paying their way to the top. And for jimin's sabotage.

I'm a jimin stan and i won't tolerate all this. Armies are good for nothing. There's no strong hate towards the hyung line anyways. But in case of maknae line armies only come out when it is to defend their fave jk and tae. They ignore jimin's hate completely and even sometimes they themselves tweet something shady about him. But then use jimin's achievement to shove down other artists' throats.

I'm actually glad Jimin has a strong fanbase who are willing to go to lengths to support jimin. Jimin deserves this support from his fandom. Pjms are enraged since the sabotage started and it was inevitable that they would burst some day.

The more jimin is being sabotaged the more pjms are realizing that armies are good for nothing and jimin only has pjms. I'm glad pjm are there to protect him and fight for him. Jimin deserves a strong, devoted fan base. I love pjms for that.

This became too long but I just wanted to pour out my frustrations.

#jimin

[nonotnolan]

Cuerpo Inc: The Internship

It had taken him a few weeks, but Mark was finally getting used to the office culture at Cuerpo Inc, one of the leading manufacturers of body swapping technology. He hadn't really expected to make a career out of a product that seemed to be used only by the young and the perverted, but the pay was more than worth any sort of stigma that people still had about the relatively new field. Besides, the position had required a Master's in Accounting and a CPA license, and the work was as difficult as it was satisfying. The office culture was… weird, to say the least, but he took it in stride. He was still finishing up with a bitter divorce with his wife of three years, so it was nice to have something to distract him.

"Hey, James," he said, waving at the man standing in front of the bathroom sink. At least, he assumed it was James. It was James's body, at any rate, and it was polite to use the body's name regardless of who was in it. It was hard to tell who was who around the office, but since all of their work was tied to a username and password, it didn't really matter either.

"Hey Mark," came the reply. "How's it going? You excited for intern season? Sign-ups just dropped a half-hour ago. I'm so excited for this year's group."

Mark rolled his eyes. "I can't say I'm excited," he said. "It'll be two months of baby-sitting a bunch of wet-nosed college students who just want to pad their resume. I don't know how we'll be able to train them to do anything useful, since they won't even have a license, let alone a full degree."

James looked confused. "I mean, sure, they're just padding their resumes, but why would we… wait, this is your first intern season, isn't it?"

Now it was Mark's turn to be confused. "Well, sure, but what does that have to do with anything?"

"Hah! No wonder," James said, slapping him on the shoulder. "Look, Cuerpo Inc is considered a really forward-thinking and prestigious company, and our internship slots are in high demand. We can set some pretty crazy demands, and we'll still have a bunch of kids clamoring for the spots. They have to give up their body for two whole months in order to work here."

Mark couldn't help but raise his eyebrows in disbelief. "I… two months? What do they even get out of a trade like that?"

"First hand experience," James said, with a wide smile. "It's a modified swap where they get to keep a temporary copy of your work and school knowledge, in addition to all of their own memories. The company doesn't lose any productivity because it's almost like you never left. The intern gets first hand experience having and using relevant industry skills. And you get a two month paid vacation in a body that's in peak physical condition."

"Really, even me? But I haven't even been here for three months yet." Mark couldn't help but bone up at the thought of having a hot, young body for the summer-- it seemed too good to be true.

James just shrugged. "I mean, why not? There isn't a shortage of applicants, and it's not like they're losing any money. During intern season, half your salary goes to the intern, and half your salary goes to you. I guess technically you could keep you paycheck if you opt out of having an intern's body, but… almost no one ever does. Having a hot, young body is totally with the temporary pay cut. My wife loves this time of year, it really helps spice things up in the bedroom. Plus it's nice go out on a weekend bender without having to worry about the Sunday hangover. Anyway, you should sign up before all the best ones get taken."

He finished washing his hands and left, leaving Mark alone to his thoughts. The timing was perfect. His marriage ended when he finally admitted to himself that he was gay, but coming out of the closet and entering the dating pool in his late 30s seemed beyond embarrassing. Getting some dating experience with a body in its early 20s, however…

--------------------------------------------------------------

It had only been two weeks, but Mark-- or rather, Tyrel-- was having a great time.

He was grateful for James's tip about checking the sign-ups early. The pool of body builders had gone quickly, and while it would be interesting to have a cute twink's body… he wanted something a bit more traditionally masculine for his first time. The thought of a hairless body just felt like too much of a change. It was weird enough choosing a body with a different heritage, but… well, what was the point in having a new body if you weren't going to rock the boat at least a little bit? Mark had thought looking down at his arms and seeing a new skin color would be the weirdest part of the body swap, but that had stopped surprising him after two days. Honestly, being a few inches taller inside of his home was the part that was throwing him off the most. All of the drawers and cabinets were now slightly lower than where he expected them to be, and it was screwing with his muscle memory.

Mark was surprised at how quickly he was getting used to seeing Tyrel's face in the mirror. It was serving him well on Grindr, too-- it was rare for him to have a night alone unless he wanted one for himself. Mark wasn't sure if Tyrel was gay before the internship, but with eight inches of uncut cock in his pants, it certainly made him popular amongst the local gays.

He normally avoided blank profiles even if they did message him a photo-- he could afford to be picky, after all-- but when he received a message from a blank profile named Mark, he couldn't help but be curious. Sure enough, the first message was a photo of his old body, wearing nothing but a jock strap, ass out toward the camera. "Your body has turned me into an insatiable bottom ;)" he typed. "I've been having bathroom sex after the workplace happy hours, but no one at the office can come close to satisfying this hungry hole. Can you help me, Tyrel? Fill me up with my own cock!"

Mark immediately felt himself getting hard at the thought of ravaging his own body with Tyrel's massive cock. "You got it, Mark. You're clearly begging for this dick. Who am I to deny Daddy what he wants?"

"That's my boy," Tyrel replied. "Bring lube, unless you want to go in raw ;) I've got rope. Room 734, see you soon."

Mark started to take deep breaths, lest he blow his load early. "Damn, and here I was worried Tyrel might not be gay-- dude clearly has way more experience than I do." The thought of having to find more hookups for the next six weeks suddenly looked a lot less appealing. "Hopefully tonight goes well. With any luck, I can just fuck myself for the rest of the internship."

#male body swap #gay body swap #cuerpo inc #after the swap #casual body swap

[the-down-upside-finch]

I was thinking about my characters recently and I got worried for a bit that one of my stoic characters wouldn't get mad at anything! Then I realized, "Nah, there are SOME select situations.." It was really fun!

SO! Pick a character of your choice (probably a more put-together character but it doesn't have to be!) and think about their Anger TM.

What would make them mad but would also be really funny and amusing to them?

What would send them into a wild rage? A tirade? Violence, if they're so inclined?

What would make them the kind of cold anger that would lead to months of plotting revenge?

What would make them "not mad, just disappointed"?

No pressure but I thought it'd be cool to pass the prompt around!

OH I LOVE THIS Thank you!!!

Because I've been hyperfixating on my new WIP as of late, I'm gonna do this for the main/more important characters in Feather Candles, which I'm going to put most of under a cut because I already know this is going to get very long haha

(Also I apologize for my awful formatting but this was just how my brain wanted these listed out)

Mad, but it's also funny:

Lark - This is an emotion specifically for when his sisters complain about his "bad habits," if they can be called that. "Can you please stop rolling up your sleeves? It's so obvious you're showing off." "I was actually just making sure I don't drag them through the food on the table but whatever." - Also whenever people ask why he's not courting anyone yet, he's just kind of like, "Hey I'm grieving the death of the person that was basically married to me. Can you leave me alone????" ~

Milo - If she accidentally trips on something/runs into something and someone says, "By the way, there's a chair right there," (or whatever it is), she will get mad, but she also has to laugh because it is kind of funny, despite it being at her own expense. There's more anger than amusement, but she'll still laugh a bit. ~

Peregrine - "You're way too young for/to be doing [X]!" Oh boy. This man is about to burst out laughing at your ignorance. The "anger" burning under his amusement is at the fact that someone is saying that without knowing just what he's been through. Sure, he's young—but he's had way too much life experience already. - This is also the emotion for when people tell him he's gonna die young because his magician's mark appeared when he was only six years old. He laughs with some bitterness because "Do you even know anything about how magic works?" But he's also a little peeved because he hates being reminded that yeah, this might actually be true. ~

El - This is his reaction to people making jokes about his lost memories. He knows it's a joke and can't help but laugh. He also is really stressed out that he can't remember who he was in service to or why he wields a sword. - This is also his reaction for people that poke fun at his body shape/build. He's just a tiny bit mad that someone would make a comment about his height/weight, but he laughs because he's well-aware that he could snap them in half like a twig.

Wild rage (and maybe violence):

Lark: - If someone dares to insult Brant's memory, that person is about to regret opening their mouth. (The duke of Halisin is probably not coming back to the dining hall any time soon, that's for sure.) - Likewise, if someone even hints at insulting either of his sisters, you can bet this man is about to break some bones. ~

Milo - She almost never reaches this point because if she ever reaches this level of emotion, she's more likely to get upset and start crying (and this is still extremely unlikely) than to feel true rage, but if you do something that betrays her trust, she'll start heading in the direction of screaming, "How could you do something like that?!" at you. ~

Peregrine - If someone hurts a person he cares about, you better believe he's slamming his tome as hard as he can against that someone's face. This is basically the only thing that will get him to snap because "Violence begets violence" or whatever, but he's actually got pretty good restraint when it comes to violence. Like, this man could easily just magically explode someone with lightning, but he'll choose to hit you with his tome. - His anger for not realizing something "obvious" (hindsight is 20/20 vibes) also falls into this category. Even if he's the first to make the realization, he'll still fly off the handle at the fact that he didn't figure it out sooner. Not in a physically violent way, but this is basically the only other time you'll hear him yelling and see actual rage in his eyes. ~

El - Do not hurt this man's friends. He will challenge you to a fight that you will not emerge from unscathed. - Do not insult this man's values. He will challenge you to a duel that you will not win.

Cold anger (with potential revenge):

Lark - This is how he feels in regard to that assassin that killed Brant. Dark, cold anger that will not leave him until he's avenged his friend—at whatever cost. ~

Milo - Someone insulting her abilities on the basis of something completely unrelated (like her sight). She won't necessarily plot revenge, but she might not speak to you again until you thoroughly apologize. ~

Peregrine - Nothing you do to him personally will get this man to feel this way. But if you do something to someone he cares about, you can bet that he's got a list in his mind of your personal weakness that he can exploit when it will hurt most. (But whether or not he's actually able to carry out revenge is a different story. His heart is too gentle for that sort of thing.) ~

El - Cold/lingering anger just isn't really his style. He'd rather get things off his chest so it's not bothering him—and maybe just have a fight to settle whatever it is that he's mad about.

Not mad, just disappointed:

Lark - Oh my sweet summer child. This poor broken boy. (I mean he's like twenty-eight years old but REGARDLESS) This is the "anger" he carries for himself, and himself alone. Everything that happened is all his fault, and he should have prevented all the bad things. (He fully believes that he's the reason that Brant died and that he could have saved him somehow.) - Also (we're not gonna get deep into this but) he's got this mentality that he's a disappointment to the queendom for being born a son to a queen. He does all the boring/useless tasks that his sisters don't have time for, and he's basically given free rein at all times to just leave the castle and wander around. (Seriously, how else is he supposed to feel after realizing that there was an assassin after him but they didn't increase reinforcements??) Like, he's not mad he was born in his situation, and maybe not even quite disappointed, but it's basically that. ~

Milo - Really stupid mistakes (especially where people got hurt) that could have been easily avoided. She's a tactician. Most of this disappointment is directed at herself. ~

Peregrine - Kind of odd(?), but this is kind of his attitude about threats and/or violence. Like, if there's a situation where someone is engaging in unwarranted violence (towards himself or someone else), he'll just sadly shake his head at them. "Are you trying to provoke me into fighting back? I could kill you with a simple wave of my hand, but you know I won't, so you're taking advantage of that. It's a bit pathetic, don't you think?" (No, this isn't in the "I'm trying to get under your skin" voice, this is the "I truly believe you are a good person and are capable of being better" voice.) ~

El - This is how he feels about Peregrine's unwillingness to "stand up for himself" (because what else are you supposed to call it when a man barely reacts to slurs being yelled at him???), as well as verbal violence in general. He finds it disappointing when people talk big and only talk big. If they can't even fistfight for what they're getting so worked up about, then why are they getting worked up about it? (Don't worry about El, he's fine.)

OKAY YEAH THAT WAS A LOT But that was fun! Thank you for this prompt, I enjoyed it a lot!

Also I'mma tag @my-cursed-prince because hey friendo wanna see some goofy character stuff???

#Zeta Rambles #About the OCs #Feather Candles #Long Post #I think it's really funny how Peregrine has the longest bits for almost every section and he's not even a main character #Anyways yeah I've been thinking about these characters a lot haha #Writeblr #OC #Original Character #Writers of Tumblr #Writers on Tumblr #Zeta Replies #amaiguri

[lit-in-thy-heart]

what's your favourite fic that you've written? (Or, I suppose a scene from a fic that you're particularly proud of?) (although saying that so much of your fic is top tier 🩵🩵🩵)

hello anon!! this ask made me 🥺🥺, thank you so much for dropping it in my inbox <3

my favourite fic that i've written... this is actually more difficult than i thought, as there are some that were hell to write but i'm really pleased with how it turned out, and some that are not absolute masterpieces but i had so much fun writing them. and the one that's a mix of all of the above (as contradictory as it may seem) hasn't even been finished and posted yet lmao. i think, overall, my favourite that i've posted is we left the book of love signed in blood on every page, which looks at the breakdown of gwaine and merlin following lancelot's death. i enjoy writing angst like that and i also had fun with the sustained imagery

but in terms of a scene that i'm particularly proud of, the moment in bitter is the antidote where gwaine begins to relax around lancelot and both of them are pressed close to each other and reaching out to merlin is one that i'm quite proud of. the full scene is below the cut and i enjoyed trying to depict the hesitancy on both gwaine's and lancelot's parts. also i really like the line 'so he let his tea go cold and his shoulder grow numb' but i couldn't tell you exactly why

thanks for the ask anon, hope you have a wonderful day! 💜

Lancelot had one hand buried in Merlin’s hair again, twisting the short strands between his fingers, knees pressed against the bed. Hesitantly, Gwaine hovered on Lancelot’s left side before sinking down to the floor, one leg strewn out beneath the bed. His hand reached for the one Merlin had draped over the edge of the bed, taking it between his fingers and, upon receiving murmured permission, gingerly leaned against Lancelot’s leg. He was aware of the bone pressing into his shoulder, just as he was aware of Merlin’s grip tightening around him, but it didn’t scare him half as much as it should have done.

Never, never had Gwaine thought that he would be so close to two others when all three of them were conscious. Never had he thought he would be confronted with the knowledge of his best friend having magic, either, and Gwaine couldn’t help but wonder what other unexpected things fate had in store for him. He didn’t dare move, in case it all proved to be an illusion and the slightest twitch dispelled it. So he let his tea go cold and his shoulder grow numb, let his abdominal muscles ache with the effort of not allowing all of his weight to fall on Lancelot’s leg and his hand be manipulated by Merlin’s touch.

Merlin, assured by their physical presence, had closed his eyes and Gwaine took the opportunity to use his gaze to sketch out the angles of Merlin’s body in his mind, safe in the knowledge that Lancelot couldn’t see his face. Before, he’d been convinced that he’d successfully memorised each dip in Merlin’s form in the same way that he’d memorised the placement of his own gaping traps in woods over the years. He’d thought that he’d be able to sculpt Merlin flawlessly from ribbons of clouds and wind. But, as Merlin shifted and the tip of what looked like an old scar peered over the neck of his shirt, Gwaine realised just how wrong he’d been. It was a blessing that the hand not holding Merlin’s was engaged with a cold cup of tea because Gwaine could feel temptation running its fingers along his arm, leaving a trail that ended at Merlin’s chest.

The skin looked leathery, much like Merlin’s burned leg, and, if it had been fire… Just how many times had Merlin narrowly escaped the flames? How much of himself had he kept protected from Gwaine with a clumsy cut of material tied around his throat? Dropping his gaze to his right hand, Gwaine pushed one side of it into the bed, careful not to squash Merlin’s hand. He was one to talk.

Faintly aware of a subtle movement behind him, Gwaine rotated his head by several degrees, glancing over his shoulder and through his hair. Lancelot was no longer holding the cup in one hand – if Gwaine shifted his hip, he’d knock against it on the ground – and the hand was now hovering above Gwaine’s shoulder. Gwaine began to phrase a silent question but cut himself off as he reached an answer; it seemed that Lancelot was reluctant to place his hand in his own lap for fear of elbowing Gwaine in the head.

Returning to look straight ahead, Gwaine raised his left hand and took his little finger away from the cup, hooking it around the tip of Lancelot’s middle finger. Careful not to spill his drink, Gwaine slowly lowered his hand, taking Lancelot’s with him, until Lancelot’s palm met his shoulder. As Gwaine rested his own hand on his thigh, Lancelot made port with his thumb at the muscle between Gwaine’s shoulder and neck. It was then that Gwaine registered that, in leaning against Lancelot, his jacket had slipped a little off his shoulders and had dragged the neck of his shirt down with it.

Most of Lancelot’s hand was planted firmly over Gwaine’s shirt, his wrist grazing the collar of the jacket, but his thumb was on that muscle – a muscle bearing layers of tension that Gwaine hadn’t even been aware of – and his index finger was dangling over Gwaine’s collarbone. And then Lancelot began to sweep his thumb back and forth along that single muscle, collecting the tension in Gwaine’s shoulder like a bee picking up pollen, and Gwaine couldn’t hold himself up any longer.

#hey nonny nonny asks #honestly i was not expecting this ask and it was such a lovely surprise when i checked tumblr last night #(i was in the middle of a rewatch of go2 at half 11 at night so decided to save it for this morning) #for the record i am also proud of much of mortality clings to butterfly wings but i'm trying to appreciate my recent writing #as my brain has been telling me it's not as good as my writing from 2021 and yeah it's slightly different but that doesn't mean it's worse #i am very excited for the day when i finish a fic i started last year and post it bc it is frankly hilarious if i do say so myself #it's the first fic that actually feels like a comedy and it's just. silly. #it's a merwaincelot fairytale au based on a tale called the bear that was collected by andrew lang in the grey fairy book #but with some changes and more comedic value #anyway i'm aiming to get it done for au day for merwaincelot week 2023 #currently have 6 active wips and 4 of them are merwaincelot whoops #thanks again for the ask anon and for enabling me to ramble!! #lit talks #lit writes

[saint-ambrosef]

Hi! I sent the Shadow and Bones anon to @that-catholic-shinobi and saw your replies! So now I'm curious and I love when people rant about things, in the show what do you think they got right? And what did you feel was done wrong? Was there scenes that they did from the books that were close to the source material, but felt different in tone/ect or were just wrong? Was the Matthias and Nina romance in the main trilogy or the Six of Crows section of books? (I watched the show, I felt weird with how hot/cold they would be in such a short amount of screen time, like being on a roller coaster, I think it made the romance feel extra sudden and strange to me)

Anyways, I hope all these questions don't bug you, I'd love to hear your thoughts cause you seem like you really enjoyed the books and know your stuff. I do think I will give the books a try cause you and that-catholic-shinobi made them sound pretty interesting! Thanks!

Oh hello! I love sharing my thoughts on stuff like this. :)

The first thing to know is that the duology and trilogy occur in the same world, but the stories are relatively unrelated. SOC is also set several years after the end of the trilogy. So none of the duology characters (Kaz, Inej, Jesper, Nina, Matthias) existed in Alina's story.

By combining these two distinctly separate stories, the plot felt disconnected and bloated. Cramming eight protagonists into one TV show spread the screen time too thin. The only reason they shoehorned in the SOC characters that otherwise have nothing to do with Alina's story is because they're fan favorites who will draw views - but then each character gets a fraction of their book counterpart's development. (Not to mention major side characters like Genya who barely show up at all).

The consequence is bad pacing. Stuffing the show with so many plot lines necessarily speeds up each. E.g: In the book, Alina is at the Little Palace for months, accounting for half the novel. So much happens: her friendship with Genya, the breakdown between her and Mal, dicey Grisha politics, the delicate balance with the Grand Palace, the lavishness between training and Small Army assignments, propaganda, in-depth exploration of Grisha magic system (!!!), tensions between the First Army and Second Army, etc. The show had to cut all of that to make room for the other story lines. It makes her story feel so shallow.

I mean, Kaz, Jesper, and Inej show up and look cool and do cool stuff but you don’t really find out much about them besides vague suggestions that Kaz wants revenge, Jesper is gay and gambles, and Inej is religious. It's such a disservice to their characters.

Most of Alina's story in the show is pretty similar to the book plot. There's just lots of little changes that don't make sense to me, portrayals of specific characters or scenes.

Was the Matthias and Nina romance in the main trilogy or the Six of Crows section of books?

It was in SOC. Even then, it's told as a series of flashbacks. Where they left off at the end of S1 (Nina pressing charges against Matthias to save him) is where they start off in the books. So they start off with a complicated, bitter relationship that is only gradually explained through Nina's flashbacks as the duology progresses.

Was there scenes that they did from the books that were close to the source material, but felt different in tone/ect or were just wrong?

Many lol. The main one that jumps to mind is the scene where the Darkling and Alina kiss. In the books, the Darkling's motivations are described as rough, wild, possessive, desperate without passion; he even says she's just a sexual distraction, and it's later revealed to be a manipulation tactic. It's disturbing and contributes to the theme of predatory authority. But the show depicts it as sweet, romantic, and motivated by affection. It made me gag.

The reason they did that was again for fan service. Book!Darkling is characterized as a cruel, possessive, power hungry man who would manipulate anyone and everyone for more power (literal or political). But of course many fans popularly decided he was a sexyboi with a secret heart and shipped him with Alina. So the show re-characterizes him as more sympathetic, emphasized his loneliness, downplayed his self-preservation and trumped up his "All I want to do his help Grisha" motivation.

The show additionally added in a sympathetic backstory to explain his creation of the Shadow Fold – that his pregnant wife (girlfriend?) was murdered in cold blood by muggles for no reason!! He just wanted revenge and justice!! This never happened in the book; he was just power hungry and wanted to terrify his enemies and Ravka by tapping into a power he couldn’t ultimately control

There's also the fact that they totally glossed over Genya's tragedy. She's a tailor grisha, which is rare. In the book, the Darkling "gives her talents" as a gift (aka enslaves her) to the Queen (who abuses her), and she becomes the very unwilling mistress to the King (which the Darkling relishes because now she can spy for him). Her life is miserable and she's considered an outsider even amongst Grisha. This is why she bonds with Alina. And that's why Genya's betrayal at the end of Book 1 hits so hard - she feels compelled to side with her ultimate abuser, the Darkling, because of his terrifying power. In the show we only have like three scenes of her and Alina interacting, yet they still act like Genya siding with him was some major betrayal.

But we don't have time for that subplot because the show-runners needed to shoehorn in all of Nina and Matthias' completely irrelevant scenes and focus on fucking Fyodor for some reason.

Characterization aside, the overall choice regarding which scenes to focus on was odd, too. The entire last episode was only like a 15 page scene in the book. They invented scenes of her and the Darkling yet breezed over the history of amplifiers and Morozova’s three legendary beasts. The first episode spends so much time embellishing how Mal and Alina end up going into the Unsea. Or the whole story the show concocted about West Ravka seeking independence (which is not a bad plot idea, but this show was already so bloated, why!!).

Then there were the details they changed for seemingly no reason. E.g. Book!Alina is an orphan born at Dva Stolba on the Shu Han border, which would seamlessly explain why show!Alina is half-Shu. But they changed it so her parents were destroyed by the Shadow Fold?? Why? And in the show, the court is suspicious of Alina because she’s Shu. But in the books, non-Ravkan Grisha (Shu, Fjerdan, Suli, etc) were quite common in the Second Army, as Ravka was known as the one place Grisha weren’t persecuted. So a half-Shu Sun Summoner wouldn’t have been that big of a deal. These are subtle changes that don’t really affect the show, but they are nonetheless unnecessary and/or slightly change the tone of a given scene.

Oh, also, they fucked up Zoya's characterization. They made her so cringy!!! She’s supposed to be this gorgeous, hot-headed, effortlessly smooth but sorta bratty squaller. Look how they massacred my girl...

There were definitely some casting wins. Ben Barnes as the Darkling was perfect. Kit Young portrayed Jesper perfectly and I cannot express enough how well he nailed the character. I thought the actors for Nina and Matthias did a good job too.

My most controversial opinion is that Freddy Carter as Kaz was a miscast. He's a good actor, he's just way too delicate and aristocratic looking to play a convincing street rat/bastard of the barrel.

Anyways. As a stand-alone television show, Shadow and Bone is quite good. The production value is impressive compared to most Netflix shows, with great cinematography, scene direction, and decent effects. It felt comparable to the big screen. Some of the actors were perfectly cast and the acting overall was positive. But ultimately, this show is a book adaptation. So of course there will be comparison to the original novel. To me, it's not a particularly faithful adaptation - everything felt pretty similar and yet slightly to the left, if that makes sense.

I really wish they made S&B and SOC separate shows. Or have their original stories run parallel to each other without interacting (sorta like the first few seasons of GOT with its different story lines).

Read the books!!!

[sardonic-sprite]

July releases

So, miraculously sticking with my plan to write fics one month and publish in the next, here is my post schedule for July!

7/6 - Dick Grayson and the Baby From Bruce-Won't-Say-Where

Some adorable fluff I brushed off from literal years ago as compensation for all of June's angst and torture

"Uh... hi?" The baby was staring at him. Big blue eyes in that little red face, peering straight into Dick's soul. It was terrifying.

7/13 - As You Wish 20: veni, vidi, vici

Fulfilling the request for BAMF Tim Drake

Damian yelped as the unholy shriek split the air, drowning out the sickening crack of bone. The crowd screamed even louder, near-unanimously Khov-da! Khov-da! KHOV-DA! as Drake stabbed Sares's own spine into his leg. "Holy shit. Holy fucking shit, what the fuck, who the fuck taught him that, holy mother of God…"

7/20 - no good deed... 2: the purpose of hope

Plentiful bonding, plentiful Tolkien, and some angst and whump because otherwise it wouldn't be my story

This time Shaylie was quiet so long, Jason thought she’d fallen back asleep. But then, so softly he could barely hear her, she whispered, “Are you scared?”

It felt like someone had driven a wedge into his heart and cracked it open. He wished it wouldn’t seem like assault to give the poor kid a goddamn hug.

7/27 - repletion 1: privation

Be honest, how many people though I wouldn't actually do the rewrite? I'm surprised too, but also delighted, so everyone say a loving thank you to Q for being my alpha/beta reader and providing so much help!

"There you are," Edward said, when Tim wandered into the TV room. "The hell do you do all day alone, anyhow?" His gaze sharpened. "Not go talking to those Waynes, I hope." Tim swallowed down the bitterness. "No, sir."

... "Good," he grunted. "Only thing they'd want you for is to eliminate your dad's company as competition. That bastard’s after every cent he can get his hands on." "What?” Tim half-laughed, more from shock than amusement. “Where the h– Where do you get that idea?”

Hope y'all are as excited as I am!

#sprite said #sprite wrote #july fics #ao3 writer

[fullmetaldevil-blog]

2022 in a nutshell

A bit late to look back at last year but better late than never right?

(Note, slight suicidal warning)

If I had to sum it up I'd call it a roller-coaster to nowhere then straight to hell in a handbasket. For the most part it was business per usual dealing with the GP at work and coworkers trying the patience I don't have. That and doing a lot of home improvements trying to better the house for my aging folks. The normal stuff say for getting burned out a few times due to overworking. Lesson to be learned: rome wasn't built in a day nor should you try to do it all in one shot.

The fun really began in October when a lingering ache in my ankle wasn't going away no matter my attempts at keeping it in check. It ultimately resulted in a trip to urgent care and finding out that not only did I sprain the hell out of it, but I also have a free floating chunk of bone in the ankle as well. So we don't know what the story is about that given the location, but I still laugh at the doctor's reaction. Definitely got tossed back into a wheelchair for a minute until they got me a boot so I can walk again. Though lowkey kudos to the hospital for changing their wheelchair style cause I couldn't make a break for it like last time for which my sister could have killed me. (No sense of humor that girl lol)

Thanks to the injury I couldn't work for a month and a half which that was both maddening and infuriating. Thanks to some things, I got screwed out of pay and graced with a lovely pile of bills. The real fun was my mental health taking a nosedive thanks to stress, some mental issues, and family drama. I took a break to keep myself in check because contemplating and nearly attempting things is when I know I need help. Thankfully my mom and a few friends helped me get myself back in order and in a somewhat better head space. That and seeking mental help from services/suggestions offered by my health care provider. Depression is something I've been dealing with for years and you have your good days and your bad ones. I'm just thankful I have people I know and trust to get me out of the bad ones.

There's still things I am unwilling to go into full details about, but am hoping for a better year. 2022 just felt like 2020 part 2 and frankly I'm so done with it, but am gonna try to look on the bright side of things.

That being said, one of the things that has been lingering on my mind for the past few months is my Discord. I have a list of friends and conversations on there and am getting to the point of starting a clean slate. Not wiping everything but thinning out people or conversations. The main reason boils down to communication, or in some cases, lack thereof. 

I know I'm not the most chatty person in the world, while other times I can be, but sometimes I feel like I don't exist. Friendships are a two way street and lately it feels one sided with some. I know and understand that one person can't deal with every single person on their roster of contacts, but it doesn't take much to simply say hello from time to time. Even if it's a quick check up.

The grim reality for me is it leaves me feeling invisible and only needed when someone wants something. Nevermind simply checking in just to see if I'm still there. The negativity born from that doesn't help me one bit and leaves me bitter. I know I have insecurities when it comes to people simply because of the constant being used and tossed out for "a new model", being constantly backstabbed, being feared, or lastly being left behind. It's something I know I need to work on, but it is also the reason why I give people the 10 foot pole treatment to begin with. To protect myself from the negative thoughts of abandonment and feeling like I'm a ghost.

I get people come and go in life. I fully expect that and certainly have seen enough of it. I'm just at that point in my life where I say "you get what you see, nothing more nothing less. If you talk to me, great! If not, well, it was fun while it lasted and hope you have fun on your new endeavors." 

#fullmetaldevil ramblings #tw: sucidal thoughts #im tired folks #i need a fresh start

[dangerous-advantage]

top 5 fav colours secondary question what colour would u eat ^.,.^

i could just answer this like a normal person or whatever, BUT INSTEAD, i am not, so here's my "in-depth" analysis for ranking my top favorite colors by overall aesthetic and implied taste.

before we start, honorable mention goes to Rosso Corsa (#cc0000) for being very candy-like and vibrant and just all-around good in general.

5. cornsilk (#f6eccb)

only a few shades away from floral white [#fcf9ee] and medium champagne [#fodfa8], this shade of off-white may seem a little boring at first, but i assure you. this is no "eggshell white." no. no no no, this is a whole shade darker.

this is for every bland, minimalistic room -- white and tan and black with that one fuckin’ accent color. sometimes they’ll switch it up, say, “let’s do something exotic!” and then they’ll exchange their normal white for off-white. but they’re never interested in cornsilk. it’s too “yellow.” but could you really tell? if I used this shade instead of ivory or alabaster or bone, a “cultured” shade of off-white, would you even notice?? would you ever? or would it bug you. how your perfect, pristine off-white wall is just a little too off-white.

i think it would have the consistency of frosting, but just a bit thicker. very creamy, very smooth. the taste? half-and-half or coffee creamer, but with just an edge of some indiscernible yet unmistakable flavor. so subtle, yet just enough to clue you in that something’s… off.

4. oxford blue (#00173d)

so distinguished, yet so uptight. the definition of a blue-collar academic professional. it believed you when you told it playing by the rules would bring it security and simplicity, the comfort of mundanity and impersonal excellence. it followed all the steps. went to school, got good grades, got a college education -- check, check, check.

recently, though, it's been fraying. losing threads around the edges. glasses smudges, white-button-up not done up correctly. dark circles under the eyes. little things, innocuous things. it's been falling behind and staying up late.

close acquaintances start to whisper. "something's wrong." they don't know what. because it's still like it always was, but it's more superficial now. something's churning in the deep. what'll happen when it breaks the surface, i wonder.

it tastes all right. nothing special. cereal and milk, i'm thinking. routine -- maybe honey bunches of almonds?? but they changed the recipe recently, and you're still deciding whether you like it or not.

3. dark green (#001d11)

this is old-growth forests and deep, mossy caves. vines dripping to the jungle floor. it's an old swing in a shaded clearing deep in the woods, where the ropes have been swallowed by the bark. a set of stairs leading nowhere. places that imply stories and memories, now forgotten. monuments to the past that now only hold echoes of lost things.

this is a good color to get lost in. there's a lot of detail here, and lost to explore. it's calming and omniscient, but not intrusive. you just kinda wanna be here, y'know? tracing bark and fissures of moss through stone with your fingers. it's not safe, but it's forgiving.

some kind of baked good or pastry. when you bite into it, it's spongy like cake. it's deceptive -- it's not quite what you expect. a brownie, but somewhat more bitter. dark chocolate, or even fudge -- it's very rich, kinda earthy. you can't eat too much of it at one time.

2. rosewood (#66000a)

i prefer shades of this that are more red-purple, but this isn't a bad representation. i couldn't find the exact color i was looking for, which i'd describe as overripe raspberries. but i do like shades of crimson.

this isn't warning bells and fresh blood. it's after the fact when the thrill of adrenaline has washed away and now you're left with a fresh wound to pick. reassurance that came just a second too late. injuries left to fester.

in fall, when the first snow of the year falls and all the red leaves are still clinging to the maples, sometimes they'll drift down on top of the snow. the contrast is very stark. you want to imprint it into your memory somehow because it stands out in the moment.

this one probably tastes the best to me out of all of the stuff on this list. it has a texture akin to caramel, slow and melty, and sticky. if you've ever read "little house on the prairie," it reminds me of where they make sweets by drizzling fresh maple syrup in the snow. it would be less sugary, though, and more... natural? raspberry jam is a good example.

1. russian violet (#362b4f)

purple -- specific shades of purple of this kind -- has been my favorite color for a long time. i like both the lighter, lavender-blush tints and the more "gunmetal" purples. it's like... december rain, or storm clouds at dusk. out of all of these colors, it stands out to me the most as having a specific smell. kind of like men's cologne, but frostier and stringent? it's not a bad smell, once you get used to it.

there's a certain sense of violence in this shade specifically. you know how the very end of the day turns that shade of blue? this is the equivalent to that. it's presagious, the final warning before night falls. not bruises, it's too cold for that. in winter, when shadows fall on the snow, this color is a pretty good representation.

compared to the other colors on this list, i think it's the quietest, but it holds a lot of gravity, too. eyes on the back of your neck, but when you look around, nothing's there. it doesn't pose any real threat, but you don't know that. it works as a reminder: don't get too comfortable.

paranoia. that's a good representation. it's too dull to be fear and too dark to be anxiety.

taste-wise, texture-wise?? it makes me think of a popsicle or something else cold. definitely fruit. i want to say huckleberry ice cream, but that seems too sweet. maybe unsweetened huckleberry? when we'd go huckleberry picking in the fall, they would stain our fingers red and purple. they're a good balance of sour and sweet. i think that's it.

#asks #ask game #I LOVE YOU FOR THIS /p #user hearty-an0n #<3 #these types of questions are so fuuuuucking good i love answering them EVERY TIME #sorry this took a bit i had to critically think over this even though it is for fun i like taking stuff like this seriously (: #sorry id this is a bit intense but that's just how i'm feeling right now #if you don't want to read this that's completely fair but hey i had fun #tw long post #long post #caps tw #creative writing #ig? #tw blood mention

[cavalierious-whim]

The Bitter-Bone Cold Brings the Heat (ZhongChiLi)

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--

“I can’t feel my hands.”

Childe scoffs. “You’re being dramatic. It isn’t that—”

“If you say that it isn’t that cold—”

“Zhongli.”

Zhongli frowns. At surface level, it had been a wonderful idea, visiting Childe’s family. It isn’t the first time, nor the last. They’ve traveled these well-worn trails enough times that Zhongli no longer needs a map to find their home. They’ve visited enough times that Zhongli has worn a permanent dent into the guesthouse mattress, and knows what every cabinet holds. Morepesok welcomes him with warm arms and food to match.

This year, though, is cold. This year, winter has come several months early, dousing the rural outskirts of Snezhnaya in fresh snowfall to his calf, instead of the soft orange leaves that fall to the ground in piles. His fingers are numb from the knuckles to the tips, and Zhongli shivers despite the blanket he’s wrapped tightly in. 

“Ajax.”

Childe is annoyingly dressed down, wearing nothing but dark trousers and a thin linen shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. No sign of distress, no reddening of his fingertips due to the frigid room, not even gooseflesh pebbling on his skin. He stands in the kitchenette, entirely unbothered as he uses a flint to light the stove. 

“Tea?” he asks, setting a kettle over the flame. “It’ll warm you up, at least, if the fireplace isn’t doing its job.”

The fireplace is helping. Zhongli sits beside it, warming his frozen hands as they peek out from the comforter he’s made a home in. “Do not tease me. I’m—”

“All dragon-y,” laughs Childe as he scoops tea leaves into their cups. 

Zhongli frowns. He doesn’t mean to lose his grip on himself but the cold makes his joints ache, and his brain fog, so he lets his mortal guise crack apart gently. His tail thuds against the ground, sweeping over the worn floorboards. “I typically would hibernate in conditions like this,” he drawls. 

“And waste this tea?” Childe clicks his tongue. “Tonia got this for you. “

Which bodes terribly. There is only one person whose taste in tea is worse than Childe’s, and it is, unfortunately, his sister. “Joy,” is Zhongli’s dry reply. Still, when Childe hands him a steaming cup, Zhongli takes it graciously, warming his fingers. 

“I know you hate the teasing,” says Childe as he drops to the ground beside him and settles into the mess of blankets and sheets. “But Zhongli, you’ve made a nest. It’s hard not to poke a little bit of fun.”

“Your family,” replies Zhongli. He takes a sip, finding the tea to be decent at least. A little bitter but tolerable. “That is the only reason I’ve come here—to visit your family.”

Childe pouts. It’s adorable, a soft tug at the edges of his mouth. Zhongli wants to curl close and kiss it away. 

“If I could change the weather,” says Childe then, “I would, you know. Snezhnaya hasn’t seen a blizzard this early in decades. Still, it’s cute to see you all bothered.” Childe drags his finger down the length of Zhongli’s nose with a gentle touch. “If you’re so cold, though, I can certainly think of ways to warm you up.”

Zhongli’s expression turns sly. “Do not think that you can butter me up for something untoward.”

“Untoward?” Childe scoffs, leaning close. “What if I just want to take care of you like a good mate? You’re cold and I’m warm. It’s a lazy night. You’ve got tea—”

“And your family can walk in at a moment’s notice.” Despite his complaints, Zhongli still turns to Childe, pressing a hand to his chest. He is warm—blazingly so—and sharing skin may not be such a terrible idea. Still, Zhongli is in a teasing mood. “I, for one, do not delight being caught with my trousers down after—”

“The door is locked.”

“Tonia has a key. Ask me how I know.”

Childe cringes. “Okay, yeah, so I remember that, but—”

“But.”

“I made them promise not to bother us without knocking first.” 

Zhongli sips his tea and then sets it aside. “Well, then that settles it.”

“Does it?” Childe arches a brow and presses his hand against Zhongli’s shoulder, fingers tracing the edge of the flimsy robe he wears. “You’re barely covered,” he muses. “No wonder you’re cold.”

“No amount of cloth would fight away the chill in my bones. The fire, though—”

“And your mate?”

Zhongli’s mouth curls into a soft grin. Childe’s hand presses underneath his robe to thumb over his shoulder where it bleeds into charcoal. He pushes, and Zhongli goes, and they tumble to the ground him a mess of limbs and blankets. Zhongli’s fingers hook into Childe’s shirt, tugging him close. “These moments alone are rare nowadays, aren’t they?”

“Isn’t that the draw of seeing my family?”

“I thought the draw was to, well, see your family—”

“And to have my husband all to myself.” Childe’s hand skitters down Zhongli’s side, his palm hot against frigid skin. “No Katya bursting in. No annoying messages, or Hu Tao’s teasing. Just you, and me—”

“And a blizzard,” finishes Zhongli. 

Childe hangs over him, a comfortable weight. Zhongli relishes these moments too because he’s right. Rarely do they have a chance for respite and more often than not Zhongli craves just… some time together. And yes, it is bitter cold outside the guest house but the fire inside blazes, Childe is warm, and Zhongli finds himself aching. 

His head knocks back against the nest he’s made, antlers getting tangled in the blankets. “You’ll have to get yourself under control,” says Childe, smoothing his fingers over the peach fuzz of his horns. 

The way he touches Zhongli helps none. Zhongli arches, the pads of Childe’s fingers leaving searing heat in their wake as they chase next the golden lines etched into his skin. “Ajax—”

“Actually, I have an idea. Roll over for me?”

Zhongli lets loose a sound of annoyance. He grabs Childe’s wrist, sinking his claws into the meat of it.

Childe extricates it easily. He tugs Zhongli’s hand to his mouth for a kiss and says, “A massage to warm those frozen bones of yours.”

Oh. Zhongli’s gaze turns half-lidded. A fantastic idea, Childe’s hands dragging over every inch of him. Zhongli pulls away the blankets and shrugs off his robe, revealing smooth skin. 

Childe pulls at his wrist again, nuzzling the fine bone there. “See? Good idea.”

“Rascal,” says Zhongli. He rolls over slowly and settles back into the nest, chest pressed to it. 

Childe laughs, delighting in the pet name. His hand rests against Zhongli’s back and drags down the curve of it. “You must be distracted,” he mutters as he thumbs across the bony protrusions that line Zhongli’s spine. Nails skitter across the length of his tail, over glistening scales all the way to the tip. 

He is. The last time Childe saw Zhongli so lose with his form was days deep into his last rut. Zhongli moans. The touch is soft and gentle. Childe always loves exploring these bits of himself, and Zhongli welcomes it warmly. “Cold,” he finally murmurs, the word nearly lost into the sheets. He’s spread thin, his mind sluggish as the frozen air tries to tug him into sleep, but Childe’s touch spreads fire through his veins. 

Zhongli melts into the nest he’s made, surrounded by warmth, and their shared smell. Childe pulls away and he whines. “Ajax—”

“Hang on, I’m just grabbing—ah. Here it is. This might be cold.” Oil. Childe dumps it onto his back, and Zhongli hisses at the impact. Cold, just as he said. Childe murmurs an apology, pressing his palms into his now slick shoulder blades, smoothing the oil out into his skin. 

He must’ve planned for this, thinks Zhongli. The smell of Silk Flowers fills the air and the oil warms quickly as Childe massages it into his skin. The soft dig of his nails trace the muscles of Zhongli’s back. No inch is left untouched as he digs into every dip and curve, kneading at the blurred edges of skin where they bleed into charcoal. 

Zhongli loses most of his thoughts. “Mhmn.”

Childe pulls and squeezes at his darkened skin, at the glittering golden lines etched into his limbs. “Handsome,” he says, awed. “You’re always so—fuck.” Childe stills, rolling his hips slightly—and Zhongli feels it then. 

Zhongli smirks through his arousal, head tilted in the sheets as he looks back. “Darling,” he purrs, “do you want to fuck me?”

Childe stills, surprised. Zhongli so rarely curses, is so rarely crude. The massage has loosened more than just his bones; his tongue and mouth are freer than usual, and Zhongli finds himself in the mood to tease back. Childe’s hands slide down Zhongli’s sides to slot against his hips. He tugs them back and up, grinding his erection against the curve of Zhongli’s ass. 

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Or—maybe you could fuck me? Whichever you want, Zhongli. You know I’m not picky.”

What a delightful thought. Zhongli rolls against him, pressing back, moaning at the feel of Childe’s cock against his backside. “Baobei, please.”

“Please what?”

“I—anything.”

Giving Childe free reign comes with its risks but Zhongli will take whatever he’s gifted. Childe leans over him, mouth near his ear. “That’s tempting, laogong,” he murmurs, mouth curling around the endearment. “But I want to hear specifics.”

“Ajax.”

“My fingers? My cock? Or would you like me to roll over and present myself for you?” 

Zhongli’s nostrils flare as he imagines Childe on his belly, chest pressed into his nest, asscheeks spread. Whining as he’s opened up on his fingers. Whimpering when filled with Zhongli’s cock which now is hard and aching as hit hangs underneath him. But the opposite appeals to hZhongli as well, Childe’s fingers pressed deep instead, or his cock squeezed between Zhongli’s thighs. Heat spreads through his chest and gut. Zhongli’s cock twitches, wet at the tip, and it takes everything in him to not give it a stroke. 

“Oh, I know that look.” Childe’s voice is affectionate. He chuckles and kisses the shell of Zhongli’s ear, and then moans against him long and loud as he ruts against Zhongli’s ass. Making a point. Childe pulls at him, fingers digging into Zhongli’s soft waist, holding him in place. “You can’t pick, can you?” he asks, this time nipping at Zhongli’s pointed ear. 

“Both, then,” Zhongli finally says. 

“Both.” Childe drops his face to kiss the back of Zhongli’s neck, nuzzling his hair. “Both,” he breathes for a second time, resting his forehead against Zhongli’s oil-slicked shoulders. “Okay. Yes, okay, okay.”

Childe sits up and scoots back. He curls his hands around Zhongli’s hips and tugs them up before smoothing palms over the swell of his ass. “Naked under the damn robe,” he muses. “Though I suppose it’s easier to warm yourself by the fire sans clothing.”

“Or, perhaps I wanted to show off and lounge about on display for my mate?” 

Childe’s thumb dips into his asscrack and Zhongli’s breath hitches. “Needy,” he says, swirling the pad of his thumb across Zhongli’s hole.

“Yes, always.” Zhongli reaches back and tugs his asscheek to the side, allowing Childe to get a better view. “But no more so than you. The oil, Ajax.”

He curated the choice and tucked it into their luggage, and now Childe uncorks it for a second time to drip over Zhongli’s hole. His thumb sinks right in to the first knuckle. 

Zhongli jerks, and then thrusts back forcing Childe’s thumb deeper. “Ah, like that—”

“And you called me needy.” Childe hooks his thumb, pulling at Zhongli’s rim which is already soft and pliant. “Look at how relaxed you are.”

“It’s warm and soft, so of course I am. The nest I mean. And you—Hah.” Zhongli gasps when Childe pulls his thumb out and presses back in with two fingers. The oil is slicker than Hydro and hotter, warmed but their skin. Childe fucks his fingers and an out, spreading them.

The pressure drives Zhongli wild. The friction, the way that Childe bullies his insides with every swipe of his fingers. Zhongli drops his hips, rolling them back to meet every thrust of his hand. “Ajax. Ajax.”

“Another,” says Childe. His voice is rapturous, and Zhongli doesn’t need to look to know that he’s staring in awe. A third finger slips in and Childe curls all of them to sweep over that bundle of nerves that sets Zhongli’s blood boiling. 

Zhongli keens, his tail hitting the ground with a hard thwack. “There,” he blurts, rutting hard against Childe’s hand.

Childe’s fingers press against his prostate again and Zhongli yowls. He pulls at the blankets, claws threatening to shred them. That frigid cold—it’s all but gone now, replaced by heat that coils tightly in his gut. His cock leaks a mess underneath him. 

Zhongli doesn’t need to look to know he’s lost his calculated control there as well, and he hopes that Childe is in the mood for… something different. 

Childe leans close again, uncaring of the awkward angle. His chest rests against Zhongli’s back, mouth pressed to his ear. “Gods, you’re always so tight. Maybe I should fuck you instead—”

“No.” Zhongli practically growls it, which makes Childe laugh. They’re in too deep. Childe fucks him on his fingers with sweet words, and all that Zhongli can think about is finishing the night knotting Childe until can’t speak.

He reaches back and grabs Childe by the wrist, yanking his fingers free. Childe is about to retort when Zhongli turns, flipping them over until Childe’s back is against the blankets. 

“Oh,” he hisses, wincing slightly from the impact. And then Childe looks up and sees Zhongli looking down at him, chest heaving as he struggles to maintain himself. Childe smells and looks divine, the ruddy scent of his arousal filling the air. Zhongli leans over, pulling him closer by the hips, rutting their cocks together. “Oh,” says Childe again when his gaze drops, finding Zhongli’s draconian cock resting beside his.

“I can’t,” mutters Zhongli against his ear. “I can’t think of anything aside from being inside of you.”

“Not even the cold?”

“Ajax.” Zhongli whines softly, pressing his damp forehead against Childe’s. 

Childe brushes back his bangs and sighs softly. “You’re burning up, now. I guess the skin-to-skin thing did the trick.”

“I beg of you to stop teasing—”

“Only if you get to fucking me. You can’t bring out that monster and not use it.”

Zhongli takes a deep breath and counts to three. Incorrigible boy. His menace of a husband. Despite these things, there is no one that Zhongli loves more than this rapscallion fool which is why he tilts Childe’s face up and mashes their lips together.

It is a searing kiss, all-devouring, nothing but teeth clacking together, and tongues sweeping deep. Childe moans and rolls his hips, dragging his cock against Zhongli’s own rock-hard erection. Zhongli’s claws sink into the meat of Childe’s thigh before pushing it back and spreading his ass for a better look. 

Already slicked with Hydro. Zhongli nudges at Childe’s hole before meeting his face, finding an insufferable smirk there. “Impatient,” says Zhongli. “What am I to do with you?”

“Breed me, I guess.”

No, no, not those words. Those words do things to Zhongli; terrible things that will make him absolutely forget himself. He no longer cares about the winter. Instead, he brings his first and second fingers to his mouth, biting away his claws before shoving them right into Childe’s ass. 

“Yes,” cries out Childe, lifting his hips, and begging for more. “Zhongli, please.”

Zhongli is quick with his preparation as he drills them deep before pulling them back, and spreading Childe’s rim wide. Perfect. He’s perfect. “I love you,” he says, watching the way Childe’s hole sucks his fingers back in, swallowing his knuckles greedily. “Archons, how can I not love you when you’re like this for me? Ajax, baobei.”

Childe gives an impatient whine that leaves Zhongli drunk on the sound. He pulls his fingers free and slips both thumbs in next, pulling at his softened rim, seeing how easily it spreads. Zhongli curses at the sight of slick, pink insides, and the way the Childe writhes in the sheets, wriggling his hips. 

Zhongli takes his time with the oil, dribbling it over his length, and slicking it carefully. A stroke from base to tip, his palm curling around the spade-shaped head. “Look, darling,” he purrs, “I teased you about how my instincts wanted to hibernate, but then you said to breed you instead, and so…”

The tip of his cock slides in easily. Zhongli hikes Childe’s leg over his shoulder and thrusts deeper, losing himself in the tight, hot grip of Childe’s insides. This cock is more sensitive. The spade-shaped head sinks deep so easily, and Zhongli has to still and give himself a moment. 

Childe’s back arches from the floor in an elegant bow. “Gods,” he shouts. He pulls at the blankets, rucking them up, making a mess of Zhongli’s carefully curated nest. He curses in a tinny whine, the sound ripping from his throat as Zhongli pulls out and thrusts back in hard. 

Neither of them will last long—Zhongli knows this. Not with the way that Childe cries out for more and how tightly he squeezes at Zhongli’s cock. Winter no longer threatens the air; Zhongli’s skin burns as he fucks Childe, as he watches the way his cock slides home over and over. 

He’s empty too—far too empty, something that Childe will have to fix. Nothing will be right until they’ve both spent themselves, until they’re curled against each other in their nest, leeching heat, worn loose and leaking come. 

Breed him. Childe asked for it and the thought permeates Zhongli’s hindbrain, sinking in so deep that it taunts him. His chest rumbles as he ruts into Childe’s yielding form, hypnotized by the sight of Childe rising to meet every thrust. 

Childe’s cock is hard and leaking against his stomach. He reaches for it and stills when Zhongli growls. “No,” he says. “You’ll come inside me. When I’m done with you, you’ll breed me next.”

A hitch of Chile’s breath. A wild and glassy look in his eyes. Childe watches him like a hawk, taking in every movement, every twitch of Zhongli’s muscles. Instead of touching his cock, that hand rises to his leg where Zhongli’s claws are latched against his thigh. 

Fingers thread together. “Fuck, I love you,” moans Childe, squeezing tightly around Zhongli’s cock.

Celestia above. It feels blasphemous to be enraptured, but how can he not? Zhongli tilts his face to nuzzle the inside of Childe’s leg where it rests against his shoulder. Soft kisses against sweat-slick flesh; doused in the scent of Childe’s arousal—Zhongli groans when he feels his cock twitch, a tell-tale swelling at the base of his length. 

Childe notices too. His mouth curves into a devilish grin as the weight of it sinks into both of their guts. “Is that your knot?” he drawls, his voice far too steady for a man who should be fucked loose and wordless. “Zhongli, are you that gone? Do you need me that badly?”

Zhongli shifts, dropping Childe’s leg and tugging it around his waist. His tail curls around one of Childe’s calves, holding it there. He leans forward, close, too close, face pressed against Childe’s nape. He drags his teeth over the column of Childe’s throat. “I was cold,” he murmurs, “and content to fight it away with a nest and a fireplace. Then you teased me, laogong. You teased me by brewing me tea, by warming me up, by massaging away my woes like a good mate. You made me want, Ajax. You made me remember all of the things that I love about you. You cannot beg to be bred and not expect to take my knot.”

“I—”

“Do you want it?” The question comes syrupy-sweet, dripping with adoration. Zhongli nibbles at Childe’s jawline, his forked tongue slipping out to taste his skin. “Ajax, tell me that you want it.”

Childe’s face is flushed pink down to his chest. He moans, hisses, scrabbles against him, raking his nails down Zhongli’s back as he begs and begs. “Yes, yes—”

“Yes, what, baobei?” And perhaps it’s cruel but Zhongli is in a mood, old nesting tendencies bleeding into his veins. He needs his mate to beg for it. 

“Give me your knot. Gods, please. Zhongli—” Zhongli pauses and Childe whimpers pitifully. “Wait, no, no—”

“A moment,” says Zhongli, soothing him. He uncorks the bottle of oil once more and slathers the swollen base of his cock with it. Then, he thumbs across Childe’s rim, slicking it more, pressing a thumb in to test its give. It sinks deep alongside his length, and Childe jolts in the blankets. Then he keens, a wanton sound that shows how needy and desperate he is. 

Perfection. Zhongli thinks this is a perfect moment as he leans close again, tossing the oil to the side. Slowly, he thrusts into Childe, easing his knot past his tight entrance. A languid pace. Childe moans loudly enough that Zhongli presses their mouths together to swallow it. What a needy kiss, from the both of them. Childe clings to Zhongli as they rock together. 

Zhongli grunts as his knot slides home. His eyes cross at the pressure. Suddenly, everything is too tight, too hot, too much. Childe kisses him, encourages him to move, to fuck him, to breed him full—and that’s what Zhongli does. It’s nothing more than wild grinding. Zhongli drowns in Childe’s scent, drowns in the feeling of him, in the tight grasp of his ass, in the want to fill him full of his spend. 

“Ajax, I’m close,” he hisses, nipping at his mouth, fangs catching against Childe’s lower lip. “Darling, I’m going to—” He doesn’t get to finish, choking off his words as his orgasm slams into him. It isn’t gentle; it’s like a tidal wave, all-consuming as he comes white-hot into Childe’s warmth. 

Childe pets the back of his neck, curling his fingers into Zhongli’s damp hair. He talks him through it, praising him, rolling his hips to grind Zhongli’s knot deeper. Zhongli is the one to whine this time, his gut clenching as his cock twitches with overstimulation. His instincts roar, sinking into Childe’s sweet words against his ear. He sighs at the kisses pressed against his temple, and the way that Childe’s fingertips ghost the curves of his antlers. 

Zhongli is still woefully empty. One end is satisfied, but Childe’s cock is still hard against his stomach, no doubt aching. Zhongli wraps his fingers around it and Childe gasps. 

“Wait. Zhongli, wait, if you—”

A slow, light-handed stroke from base to tip that leaves Childe clenching around his cock. Zhongli thumbs over the tip, teasing the slit. Then the oil again—that damnable oil. Zhongli is thankful that Childe had the forethought to bring something of such high quality on their trip. This time when Zhongli strokes Childe’s cock it’s almost too wet, too slick, and Childe has to dig his nails into Zhongli’s hips and beg him to stop. 

Zhongli manages to ease his knot out of him—it’s gone down, but not entirely, his cock still hard and swollen at the base. Childe whimpers at the loss. He bucks his hips, desperate for relief. 

“Ajax,” says Zhongli, climbing across his hips, “I won’t deny you any longer.”

“Zhongli, I’m not going to last. The moment I’m inside, I’m going to—”

Zhongli doesn’t care. He eases onto Childe’s cock in one fell swoop. Full—so full. Childe curses as Zhongli rolls his hips, riding his cock slowly and sweetly. 

“Fuck.” Childe tries to bite back the curse, but he can’t. His fingers are tight against Zhongli’s hips as he tries to guide him faster, but Zhongli won’t budge. Solid as stone. Unmoving as he sits astride him. Zhongli wants to watch Childe struggle to hold on, to come quickly as he promised, but at his pace. 

Zhongli pulls Childe’s hand to his still hard cock. “Look Ajax,” he purrs. Childe’s hand meets his knot, swollen and aching. Zhongli forces Childe’s fingers to tighten around it, frotting against his palm as he rides Childe’s cock. 

Childe swallows thickly. He lies in their nest, watching Zhongli fuck himself, squeezing his knot tight. Divine. Worthy of worship. Zhongli throws his head back and drops his hips faster, finally giving into the pace that Childe was begging for. 

“Zhongli,” he gasps, bucking up against him, driving his cock deeper to meet Zhongli’s movements. “I’m—I’m—”

“What a perfect way to chase away the cold,” teases Zhongli, pulling up until only the tip of his cock is left before slamming his hips back down. 

Childe comes, arching against him, spilling hot and wet into Zhongli’s ass. 

“What a good boy,” says Zhongli, watching him from above. Handsome. So startlingly handsome, gleaming in the sheets, breathing heavily, eyes screwed shut as he rides out his orgasm. He guides Childe’s hand to jerk his cock, fully hard and leaking again. He groans, eyes half-lidded and hazy. Heat rises in his being, filling his veins, his core, every thought. “Perfect husband, perfect mate.”

“Zhongli, come on,” says Childe then. He shifts, sitting up in the sheets, pulling Zhongli close as he still sits in his lap. Full of Childe’s softening cock and his come. A calloused hand on his cock strokes him fast. Childe tilts Zhongli’s face towards his for a kiss. “I want to see you come again,” he says, that second hand falling between them to squeeze around his knot.

Thoughts are lost. Zhongli moans, licking into Childe’s mouth as he cradles his face. Childe’s hands are wicked things, knowing just how and where to touch. Zhongli comes a second time, thin and watery, all over Childe’s fingers and stomach. 

It’s bone-shattering. Zhongli falls against him, joints aching, ass aching, everything aching. Childe’s back hits blankets and he tugs Zhongli along with him, his cock slipping out now that it’s fully softened. Zhongli’s knot hangs on, pulsing as it ekes out the last few waves of pleasure that it can. Childe still holds it, cradling it in his palm, squeezing at it lightly as he kisses Zhongli’s brow. 

“Better?” he asks with a laugh. “All warmed up?”

Zhongli groans in embarrassment, hiding his face against his neck. “I’m tired of your teasing.”

Childe hums softly before tucking them away in the nest, pulling the blankets around them. “Truth be told, I was cold.”

“You were not.”

“Well, I wanted to touch you, then.”

Zhongli raises a brow. “You always want to touch me.”

Childe settles, facing him, their legs tangled together as they lounge about in the sleepy aftermath of their lovemaking. “We’ll clean up later,” he promises. “I’ll give you another massage and we’ll go take a bath. I’ll take care you of you again—”

“Ajax.”

“Innocently.” Judging by the tilt of Childe’s mouth, though, it’ll be anything but. 

Zhongli reaches out to drag his knuckles down his nose. Across his cheekbone, tracing freckles and scars until Childe turns his face and kisses his palm. “I apologize,” says Zhongli quietly. “I hadn’t realized that I… would be so needy. So demanding.”

“Are you going to blame it on the cold again?”

“It is a factor,” replies Zhongli with a huff. “But, we’ve been busy lately. And no, you do not neglect me, before you begin to even say such a thing. It’s merely a quirk of my instincts and nothing more. In the winter months I’m prone to wanting to hide away with my mate.”

Childe knows this. They’ve spent countless winters together at this point, it just came early this year. “So you do feel better, then.”

Zhongli smiles widely, a rare and curious thing typically reserved for his husband alone. “For now. Later though…”

“Mhmn, later,” murmurs Childe, closing the space, hands sliding against Zhongli’s tacking skin underneath the sheets. Zhongli’s tail weaves between their legs, the tuft at the end soft and ticklish. Childe chuckles, and nips at Zhongli’s neck, his jaw, his ear, before kissing him. 

These kisses are languid. Searching. Zhongli cups Childe’s face and admires the glow of the fireplace as it dances across his skin. “I love you,” he says. He can never say it enough, even with the sweep of his lips and claws dancing across Childe’s skin in reverence.

Childe’s expression is serene. Relaxed. Boyish, even, carefree in a way that only time has sorted out. “Yeah, I know,” he replies, “you old lizard.”

#Cavalierious Fanfic #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin fanfic #genshin #commisssion #genshin smut #zhongchili #zhongli/childe/zhongli

[sab3rto0thed]

everyone adores me when they have their hand around my throat.

my first boyfriend bought me a really cute shirt and i had to stop wearing it when i dumped him because it was fetish―everything was a fetish. my belt, the smooth silky wrinkles of the shirt, my croaky little laugh. he said, i want to fuck you until your eyeliner runs. i think about it all the time. it took a year and a half until i stopped being hollow and started being sixteen again.

and it's not as if this is an extra-large and life-altering development. i'm a teenage girl, honey. of course i think about sex. he always told me your belt is so hard to get off and i would laugh my croaky, breathless little laugh―my last line of defense, that belt. i had to throw it away along with the suicide note and the cigarette stubs. i never figured out which was mine and which was his.

and these days, everyone is like i want to fuck you so bad. and i laugh, not breathlessly. of course you want to fuck me so bad, sweetheart. i look so easy, breathless and messy, my eyeliner a fucking mess. i bet you want to make it run. i bet you want to fumble with my belt and say nasty things. i bet you can't get hard because your mom is in the other room.

but my god―you do not want to fuck me so bad. i have this issue that whenever someone sticks their cock in me, i ragdoll. my arms bend the wrong way. the bones pop out of my legs to say hello. i don't wear belts anymore, because it makes the process longer and more painful. i grit my teeth and get it over with like i'm fucking sisyphus climbing the mountain.

ask my exes. they dump me as soon as the deed is done. i cry in the bathroom and consider buzzing my head and hit myself in the face a few times, because jesus christ. and you would think the rag doll thing is sexy, because my first ex used to compare me to his fleshlight, but it's not. i don't do the ragdoll thing sexy. i get a snapdragon tattoo on my forearm for my dying cat and when guys say i'm so sorry i say go to hell. it's all for show, all of it. i am local in the business.

in high school, all of my closest friends called me a whore while they fucked in public parking lots. after they all moved to cali, i became very transparent about my sexual history. i call them sometimes and leave voicemails on their receiver―alyssa, your ex-boyfriend wanted to fuck me really bad because he knew how easy i was now. did you tell him that? i bet you did, you lovely girl.

i try so hard! i've never had a man fuck me so good that i wanted to say i love you. i fucked my friend's ex and sent her a text about it―hey, sorry for sleeping with your ex. it was kind of bad. sorry for hitting your car, too, lovey. whenever i lose a boy, i breathe a massive sigh of relief and go back to doing my eyeliner properly. i carry a knife all the time and only get high when all of the doors are locked. my ex makes fun of the music i listen to and i laugh―ha, ha. don't be bitter i won't suck you off. you're still the love of my life, i promise.

flamingo pink. clink, clink. i tell my coworkers about these forty-year-old men that think i'll make eye contact while sucking their cock, and they look disgusted―yes, sweetheart, that's exactly what i was looking for. i'm a teenage girl, of course i think about sex. i only tell the truth to boys who don't put their hands on me.

i fall so hard for people that will protect me, because my defense is feeble and you can only lay in the bathtub for so long before you've got to get up. another day to work, another joke gone too far, another pat on the back. i love it when guys see right through me. tell me that story again, about how you knew i was lying as soon as you saw me. most of them look at me like i'm a ghost, the pale imitation of an ex-girlfriend. i am only the pale imitation of myself.

love, to me, is better explained by richard siken. it's like a religion―no one will ever want to sleep with me. i tell that to guys all of the time. not the rag doll part. i say no one will ever want to sleep with you, you know. they argue by presenting a detailed list of their body counts―i say, congratulations! i'll make you a badge, you dumb fucker. no one is sucking you off now, baby.

there's no originality. everything is on a script. everything is on a wire. i would know―you can't lie to a liar. and where the hell do you think i learned how to lie? maybe it was the kids in california, who picked me up in their car and then dropped me off first. what a nuisance you are, when you are sixteen and your belt can't be untangled quick enough. what a god damn joke.

[versesverapierrespen]

A Tragic Story

I met you. A rocky start, but that’s okay. A year, a dynamic, and then we went our separate ways, But that’s okay.

But once again, we found our way, From a little "hello" or a "hey", To "Do you ever think about your soulmate?" And "Why are parents part of the people we hate?"

At 3 a.m., when the world is dead and it’s just us over text. From, "Oh, I’m learning so much about you", To, "I knew it! I know everything about you",

Two broken kids, although one still clung to hope, That fed her delusion around her neck like a rope.

And I believed our connection, was mutual, We were definitely past the point of casual.

But the delusion didn’t end there, The noose, it tightened, Because you made me believe, That you’d love me, no matter what happened.

So, I took off my robes, and let you see me nude, Because delusion, she said I’d too see you bare and shrewd, But all you did, was take off your shoes, You need more time, I thought, like I didn’t have any clues.

I hand you a scalpel for precision cuts, And the noose tightened till I almost couldn’t breathe, Because you thought I’m pretty inside.

But you’ll love me anyway, I have nothing more to hide.

You cut me open and the stench was foul, Flies burst out, putrid pus oozed down, Maggots fed on a rotting heart, And you realized you didn’t like it.

You saw in me a brutal war, and fallen men, Blood stained weapons, burnt and a barren field, Crying mothers, and vicious beasts that won't yield. And you realized you didn’t like it.

I can’t blame you, how can I? When I know nobody likes a rotting corpse, With rotten views, and a rotten heart, I warned you, I’d told you from the start.

What did you think you’d find? Spring flowers, and sunshine? Serene water, a breeze that was kind? A warm sunset beach, and wine?

I’d understand if you’d told me then, You can’t stand me, That the pus that dripped after you stitched me up, It repulses you, it makes you want to flee.

But delusion met trust, When you told me over and over again, That it was no big deal, that I was normal, That you still loved ugly me, that was certain.

The poison inside you, boiled, bubbled, bitter in taste, All the while, you kept a sweet face, Until one fine day, you couldn’t take it anymore, And down my throat, you poured.

The wound from then is open again, Because I wouldn’t stay in my place. I picked at the half-healed scab in the rain, I don't let it heal, it's always a bleeding disgrace.

I tried to show nothing, say nothing, be an empty face, A chasm of empty space, A contented blank slate, But you perceived what I left unsaid.

Heavy words on the tip of my tongue, Added to the list of regrets too long for someone this young, You read them anyway, this is nothing new, Because no one is more fluent in me than you.

Today was the first time I saw you in 477 days. Today you saw me for the first time in 477 days. Shock, surprise, awkwardness, repulsion, disgust, Avoidance, avoidance, avoidance.

Have I really repulsed you so much, That you can't bear to even look at me, When I'm standing right here, A few inches from you?

You’re looking at a wall, Instead of looking at me. I pass by you, but if you'd call, I know I’d crawl back to you, on my knees.

I had almost forgotten I was a corpse. Almost. Almost. Almost.

But you reminded me, now I’ll remember, Two corpses, one buries the other, Where I’ll burn your flesh, And your bones I’ll devour.

Now, you’re six feet under, Sometimes, I’ll come by to leave you flowers, But no more will I reminisce, nor wonder, “What would’ve happened if…” for hours.

I see that we hid behind Pride, All while Pride called us cowards. Tragically, we’re both to blame, For something beautiful between us that soured.

—Vera Pierre

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

"I don't know- Haru's just... he has issues. I know you and Tarhos are super close, but it's really not my place to air out all of my best friend's dirty laundry because they're having a rough patch right now." Aita sighs pulling his cigarette from his lips, "I'm worried too Robin, but I don't want to destroy a friendship just so one of us can try to fix something that's not up to us to fix. But what I do know is that Haru fucking hates how he'll tell you everything, but won't tell him shit, so I don't think he likes you much."

═══ UNPROMPTED INTERACTIONS ═══ MODERN VERSE

That wasn't really what he wanted to hear, not when he had just been respectful and asked Aita what was going on - his stupid feelings and genuine affection for the rabbit completely blinding him to the poosibility that he could weasel it out of him. Of course he had just outed and asked him, not he would never get any sort of answers in regards to this - Aita wasn't stupid, even if he tried to pry it out he'd notice. His nails tapped along the flat of his desk as he tried to hold back the cornea-snapping eyeroll at his own behavior, love always made people stupid. Keep them happy, keep them feeling safe and comfortable, naturally that care would eventually bite him in the ass. There was only two people in the world he should be caring about, and yet Aita - just a business partner - had wiggled his way in and caused him to act foolishly in the pusuit of knowledge. What a joke.

"Pfft, jealous much? I've known Tarhos for how many years now?" Granted he wasn't about to spew that he had just learned how to pluck and pick apart the threads that sewed the veteran's mouth shut; he knew just what topics, words, phrases to say. It was a fucking craft at this point, one that only the most patient could learn and he was going to be hated for it? That tattoo artist was lucky that Robin made Tarhos talk at all, without it the assistant was sure his friend would have blown his head off years ago. Now he would never say it outloud but it was almost insulting to assume that Tarhos would just spill his life story to someone he cared and loved; as if that was just a "get into their head" free card.

How much muck, drudge and dirt did he have to crawl through and reveal about himself just to get Tarhos to speak for a little? Scars for scars and yet Haru thought he would get all of that precious info for free? Robin's jaw felt tight as he stared through Aita while his thoughts fluttered around his skull so violently he was nervous they might break out of the bone like butterflies. Only when he shifted and the sunset's orange luminescence caught upon his engagement ring did he let his mind settle; it wasn't as though he hadn't done his own research on Haru, and he knew for a fact that what he'd told Tarhos about was bullshit. Whatever killer he had thought up had almost no influence within the town of his supposed youth - he'd scoped high and low, even gotten Danny's investigative skills involved and not a single fucking thing had popped up. A bitterness swelled inside of him; yes he lied for work, but to his other half? The thought of it made him sick; what other shit was Haruko hiding away?

"We can leave it for now, unless things get dire I suppose there's nothing we can much do but wait it out."

#ic #rp #verse: modern #bells of black sunday #ℝ𝕆𝔹𝕀ℕ 𝔸. 𝔹𝔸𝕌𝔻𝔼𝕃𝔸𝕀ℝ𝔼 ... 【 ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴠɪʟ'ꜱ ᴀᴅᴠᴏᴄᴀᴛᴇ 】 #sometimes I forget how #dark robin really is #implied suicidal ideation tw

[squadron-goals]

Days at the front and stories about old friends

21.10.15

Today I was sitting in the dugout and was suddenly visited by Schwarze, whom I hadn't seen since Prény. He told me about some extraordinarily daring patrols he had made. Once he had to spend a whole day in the rain in a shell hole because he was constantly coming up against French wire. When he realised there were French, he moved away shouting "Qui-vive?". Together with the famous Golz, he once invaded a French trench. An officer and two women were sitting in a dugout. They threw three hand grenades and escaped. As a prisoner later testified, all three were dead. Schwarze, whom I knew from the Wunstorf secondary school, also arranged a patrol with me. A few nice patrols would be among my best war memories. During the night, two of our men were wounded.

23.10.15

Schwarze told me today that Lieutenant Prömmel doens´t allow the patrol. But he wants to contact the lieutenant colonel, who knows him from previous patrols. I also want to ask Brecht, because there seems to be very good patrol terrain in front of our section. By the way, the patrol with the women is called "whorehouse patrol" by the soldiers' humour.

24.10.15

Back in Douchy today. I'm the sergeant on duty. I took a look at our cemetery. There are already quite a few lying there. In the middle there is a beautiful stone with an artistic design. On one side the saying: For he who found death in holy battle, rests also in foreign soil in the fatherland.

26.10.15

Today, once again, there was a visit to the Betaillon under the dignified leadership of Major von Jarotzky. Some lieutenants were slaughtered to the point of pity. As an uninvolved spectator, I was of course delighted, but suddenly received a huge lecture about proper dress. I lapsed, in keeping with my temperament, from cheerful phlegm into droopy phlegm, but soon straightened myself out by the determination to armor my hero's chest against future attacks from superiors with a triple layer of indifference. By the way, yesterday I had a chat with Hugershoff, who called in sick with his usual suppleness and was lazing around in the station. I drank a large bottle of champagne in bed out of anger.

5.11.15

Wonderful is life after all. Yesterday I was sitting in the candlelight in the narrow shelter next to Herbst, chatting with him about this and that, when he suddenly said the name Walter Giesecke. Giesecke! - Comrade of my first major youthful pranks. A bright little fellow at the time, well-read, adventurous, wrote in a splendid style, wrote poetry, raved about tropical heat and jungle night, in short, the two of us fitted together like seldom before. I learned the following about his fate: he passed his exams at about the same time as I did but then didn't feel like going back to school. He learned to be a young businessman somewhere, but the office stool and writing desk didn't appeal to him for long. He wanted to go to the South-West and pushed through it, despite his bitter father. With little money, he finally sent him out, tired of his endless pranks, to let him go through the school of life. There he had to make his way, sometimes like this, sometimes like that, in the land of thorns and diamonds. Now he is missing; his parents have not had any news of him for a year and a half. Did he die fighting our hated enemy? Is he in an English concentration camp? Hopefully. Hopefully I'll hear from my friend Giesecke soon, who may also think of me sometimes, because there is a core in him that has value and substance and it would be incredibly sad if his bones had to bleach in the sand dunes of South Africa.

23.11.15

Class for officer candidates this afternoon. Things were disturbed by some shrapnel bursting over our heads. If Monchy hadn't covered us with a roof, we could have had a mess.

#ernst jünger