#i have still had several instances which still leave a sour taste in my mouth | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tobi-smp · 3 years

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@maryqueenofmurder said: ok this is so totally nitpicking and probably incredibly irritating to see buuuuuut… “here’s the truth that a lot of dream apologists don’t like acknowledging: it’s Both true that no one deserves to be tortured And that dream’s actions lead him to the position that he’s in now.”

Actually, a lot of us acknowledge it. Being put in prison is a direct response, pretty much, to the things he’s done. But so many people use ‘karma’ and 'it’s his fault he’s in prison’ to excuse/justify the abuse he was/is put through. it leaves a kind of sour taste in my mouth to see it now because it’s usually followed with the sentiments mentioned above.

dream “apologists” are very, very, very rarely people who think what dream did was okay/excusable. Maybe a few see it from a slightly more justifiable perspective. but most of us are aware that dream has caused harm, and that he did bad things. I don’t know how many dream apologists you’ve heard from, but most of us are aware of the fact that he’s brought a good deal of what’s happening to him down on his own head.

I personally think that even if Quackity was furious over what Dream did to Tommy, he’s still doing something very wrong. And what I’m about to say is going to sound even more irritating than the previous rant but, Practice what you preach. It’s both true that Quackity didn’t deserve a lot of things he got/will get but they’re also the inevitable fallout of his actions.

And if Dream apologists paint Quackity as the villain? It’s because they’re seeing/writing from Dream’s perspective. I’m not saying Quackity is some one-dimensional villain. I’m saying he’s definitely an antagonist in Dream’s perspective. It’s just that us Dream Apologists don’t talk about his motivations because they’re irrelevant to the story we’re telling. Plenty of other stories/takes are written like that. And if he is OOC or does things that don’t match his motivations in canon? it’s just a h/c i guess. or he has motivations you just don’t know them. [End Transcription]

So before anything else, I’m gonna have to ask that if you send me a response this long that you don’t put it in the replies. I’ve never had to ask that before but I’ve also never had to choose Not to include screenshots of what I’m responding to for length before. moreover, it’s much harder for me to know when you’ve finished your point if you’re sending 6 replies in a row as opposed to one reblog (for instance, several more replies came after I’d initially seen that you’d responded). if you’re trying to engage in a direct conversation with me that can’t fit in a couple of replies then just reblog or make your own post and @ me in it, anything but this would be better fadsjkljlkfds.

secondly, you’re right ! this wasn’t an appropriate response to the conversation in question and I’m not certain why you sent it to me.

The first post that I wrote was about how ridiculous I found it that people dance around, ignore, or straight up deny that dream designed and commissioned the prison as it is to hold tommy, and how that fact leads into the prison arc (and the thematic significance of that for both characters and the arc in general).

an anon fixated on a line from those posts wherein I point out the fact that the disc war finale was dream’s downfall stemming from his own actions. the anon disagreed, insisting that what’s happening now is only down to quackity’s desire for the revival book and not anything that dream has done. I got annoyed (because I’ve seen this argument in many forms often used to reduce quackity and his motivations down), so I decided to expand on how dream’s actions lead him to this point and influenced quackity’s actions towards him.

that’s the context of the post that you’re responding to, and you almost acknowledge it too. you point out the fact that I Explicitly stated that Nobody Deserves To Be Tortured, and yet you act as if I’ve excused everything that quackity has done by pointing out the reasons that lead him to take those actions. “practice what you preach” you say, while you insist that dream apologists don’t Excuse his actions while in the same breath making the assumption that I Don’t think quackity deserves comeuppance for his actions based solely on the fact that I insisted that he’s a complex character with motivations driven by revenge for him and his friends.

I think if dream fights back against quackity and sam, if he kills them even, when he inevitably escapes then that’ll be in his right to do so. I also think that las nevadas is going to blow up in his face some day, that the people he manipulated into joining him are probably going to play a part in that, that technoblade and phil are probably going to become a problem very shortly, etc etc etc.

my post was not about how quackity is going to eventually face the consequences of his actions (or how he already very much so has), it was about how dream is Already doing that. I Explicitly condemned quackity’s actions Twice, so why do I have to go in more detail now to appease you? why did you react to a criticism of dream’s actions by demanding that I criticize a different character too When I’d Already Done So?

and while I Am bothered by quackity being misrepresented in fanworks, what that post was in response to is the Overwhelming mischaracterization of quackity in the fandom’s consciousness as a whole. not just for Fun but in serious discourse, meta, and character analysis. he is Chronically stripped of his nuance All The Time. which is what gives value to pointing that nuance out. again, you tell me to “practice what you preach” and yet you’re telling me that I should just suck it up when I character I like is misrepresented while you actively identify with and push for the label of a character apologist.

finally, while it’s easier to use shorthand to refer to a general collection of ideas (and people with similar ideas) within a specific space, that shorthand becomes insufficient when you try to apply hard definitions to it. “us dream apologists wouldn’t do that,” no You haven’t done that. there are plenty of people who self identify with the label who Do excuse his actions, who Do vilify other characters and infantilize his character. they’re straight up common, especially on twitter and youtube. but those things (apparently) don’t reflect You or the people that you associate with.

which is fine, but the problem comes in when we drop nuance. I’ve attributed an action to a group that you don’t agree with, therefore this is read as an attack on you and your standing in that group. which just isn’t true. “dream apologists” are not a monolith, they’re people. and while there are trends that can be observed those trends are going to look different depending on what angle you look at them, and individual people are going to Still Be individual people with unique experiences and opinions.

“dream apologist” is not an identity, it’s not a set of beliefs. it’s a vague group of people that enjoy the character dream from the hit minecraft roleplay “dream smp” who are defensive of his character in one way or another. different people are going to have different associations with that term depending on the different people they meet because those people are going to believe and do different things. making assumptions about the people that you’re talking to based on labels Without a solid definition is not conductive to productive conversation.

you don’t have to defend yourself if I criticize behavior that you don’t do, and you Certainly don’t have defend the honor of a subsection of a subsection of a subsection of minecraft youtuber fans.

#discourse #long post #this is a bit messy but what are you gonna do

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kyuuppi · 4 years

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(Un)planned (requested)

Pairing: Orihara Izaya x Pregnant!Reader

Genre: fluff, a lil crack-y

Word Count: 4.9k

As you walk out of the hospital you can’t help but to feel as if you’re in a dream, as if nothing is real. The only thing tying you to reality are the freshly printed documents verifying your pregnancy that feel unnaturally heavy in your purse. The reality of the situation was easier to accept than you expected, really. You have been married for a while and you can recall several instances in which you two hadn’t been exactly safe with your escapades. Being pregnant is not something that bothers you either—you have always wanted to have children at some point in your life. The only problem, the only thing keeping you from feeling properly excited by the news is the father of the child itself—Orihara Izaya. It is not something the two of you had ever discussed and, knowing first hand just how dangerous his field of work as one of Japan’s best information brokers...well, you aren’t sure if you two could create a healthy environment for a child to grow up in. Providing love and food on the table was one thing, providing safety and security was another.

At the thought of food your stomach involuntarily grumbles. You didn’t realize just how hungry you are until now. You hadn’t eaten all day, the nervousness about the doctor’s visit having ruined your appetite. It is by sheer coincidence that you notice a familiar face only a few meters ahead entering the infamous sushi bar. You follow after him without hesitation.

“Welcome to Russia Sushi,” Simon greets with a grin.

You smile in return before sidling into the booth next to the blond man you had followed in.

“Hi, Shizuo,” you greet shyly. The man nods in acknowledgement, already looking over the menu.“Y/n,” he returns coolly, “how have you been?” His gaze suddenly darkens as his grip on the laminated menu tightens and you can already tell what he’s about to ask next.

“Has...the flea been treating you well?”

You have no doubt one word of complaint about Izaya would have Shizuo tearing the city apart to kill him. Shizuo was one of the first people in Ikebukuro you had met who you could call a “friend.” Although he wasn’t the type to frequent brunch dates and sleepovers to watch anime and gossip, he always made sure to greet you with a small smile, regardless of how his day was going, and had promised to protect you if you ever needed it.

It was already several months into your friendship when you had started dating Izaya and at first Shizuo had...not been happy, to say the least. To the blond, Izaya was incapable of genuinely caring about anyone but himself. There was always an interior motive and the people around him would always be in danger. After several long, long months of persuasive speaking on your part (naturally Izaya just got a kick out of teasing the man about your relationship rather than seeking approval), an official marriage to the man, and Shizuo seeing you still remaining unharmed through it all, Shizuo finally seems to accept your relationship—or at least tolerate it. However, you know one bad word about Izaya and Shizuo would be ready to kick his ass to Hong Kong on your behalf.

‘I wonder what he’d think about me not telling Izaya about the pregnancy.’ You mentally sour at the thought and physically shake your head to get rid of it.

“He’s been an angel,” you joke. Shizuo scoffs and you end up giggling as well. Regardless of disagreeing on just how bad Izaya is, you both know he’s far from an angel.

He had always been more curved horns and pointy tail than halo and wings...but you love him all the same.

Before Shizuo can verbally respond (likely with an insult about ‘the flea’), Simon appears behind the bar before you two, ready to take your orders. As usual, Shizuo places his order first so that you have a little longer to decide.

“I’ll take the natto sushi—” you can’t help but to shiver in disgust at the sound. “—and today’s special.”

You perk up at that.

“Special?”

Simon grins at your interest.

“Yes, today’s special is yummy drink, tastes just like Russian seaweed farms! Special is very good.”

The idea of a Rusian seaweed farm drink is moderately concerning but between Simon’s excitement and Shizuo’s unbothered look you decide to order it against your better judgement, along with some fatty tuna.

Izaya must really be rubbing off on you.

You and Shizuo share a few minutes of idle talk while you wait for your orders. He tells you of the most ridiculous people he has had to collect debts or protect Tom Tanaka from this month and your laughter has you forgetting about all of your pregnancy worries. You’ve completely relaxed by the time drinks arrive and you take a sip without hesitation.

“Mmm,” your eyes widen as you regard Shizuo, “this is actually really good!”

Shizuo offers a rare boyish grin before he sips his own pale green drink, watching you go in for more.

“Right? You can hardly even tell there’s any vodka in it.”

‘Vodka!?’

You gasp, accidentally inhaling extra liquid before you begin spluttering in panic. Shizuo quickly jumps into action, harshly patting your back but careful not to use too much strength. Half of the restaurant is looking your way in concern and even Simon looks like he’s just about to catapult himself over the bar to help you when you finally calm down and your choking is reduced to harsh pants while you try to catch your breath. You think most of the drink had been expelled in your coughing fit but you still feel queasy and anxious. What if it hurts the baby?

“Y/n, are you okay?’ Shizuo asks, hand awkwardly rubbing your back in an attempt to be comforting. “Are you allergic or something.”

“N-no, it’s not that I’m allergic but...I can’t have alcohol for a while.”

Shizuo raises a brow at that and you feel grateful that everyone seems to have returned to their own work by now, no longer staring at you. Simon has left the bar to attend to a customer in one of the private dining rooms, leaving you and Shizuo essentially alone in your corner of the sushi restaurant.

“Why can’t you have alcohol for a while? You used to love sake.”

He sends a teasing smirk with the last part, referring to an embarrassingly drunken moment you’d had a few weeks into living in the city. Shizuo had sworn to never bring it up again but clearly he paid that particular oath no mind.

“Well, um…”

You begin to fidget nervously. Originally you had no intentions of telling anyone about the baby but...Shizuo was a good friend, maybe your closest friend in Ikebukuro aside from Celty. You have no doubts he would be nothing but supportive and kind to you in a time when you need it most—that is, after he gets over the idea of another person sharing Izaya’s DNA being brought into the world, of course.

“Promise me you won’t tell anyone—not even Izaya. Especially not Izaya.”

Shizuo perks up at that, seeming interested in the prospect of you having something not even Izaya, your husband and the greatest information broker in all of Japan, knows about. Perhaps a small part of him would even relish in having something to keep from Izaya, some sort of “one-up” on the man.

“Of course,” he replies immediately, nodding.

You take a deep breath, bracing yourself.

“I’m pregnant.”

Everything seems to pause at your confession. Shizuo sits stock still and as the silence stretches on you begin to fear he didn’t hear and you’ll have to repeat it. However, before you can open your mouth to repeat those incriminating words, you’re startled by a sharp snap and look down to find the wooden chopsticks in Shizuo’s right hand broken in half. You trust him and know he would never hurt you but your heart rate still spikes and you tense in your seat, hand subconsciously resting over your stomach protectively. Shizuo's wide eyes follow the movement.

“Y-you're…" He finally stutters out. "...whose is it?"

You gawk, suddenly offended.

"Wh-who!? It’s Izaya's, you dumbass, who else!"

"I didn't want to make any assumptions!"

Your anger quickly dissolves into giggles at Shizuo's panicked expression and he visibly relaxes at the sound. There are a few moments of moderately comfortable silence between the two of you before Shizuo sighs and speaks again.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised, you've been married for a while now." His expression sours once he mentions marriage and you can tell he's internally reliving some of his worst encounters with your husband.

"I just can't believe there's going to be two of them now," he pouts. "That annoying piece of—"

"Hey," you interrupt, a teasing smirk on your face. "That's my baby daddy you're talking about."

Shizuo’s pales, looking like he'll throw up in disgust at any moment and you can't help but to laugh.

Maybe this whole pregnancy thing isn’t so bad.

. . .

You had been wrong—very wrong.

After your impromptu lunch with Shizuo, as you were walking out with your extra bag of fatty tuna to-go, it suddenly hit that you were about to go to the home you shared with Orihara Izaya pregnant with the unplanned child he knows nothing about. You nearly had a panic attack several times on the walk there as you mentally played through a multitude of scenarios of how to tell him and what his reaction might be. Izaya is involved in dangerous, illegal work—you can’t imagine a family and kids fits anywhere in that. You were lucky enough to have been asked to marry the man—there’s no way he would be ready for children as well.

‘Would he tell me to get rid of it?’

You had worked yourself so much on the way that by the time you arrived to the apartment you were mentally exhausted and barely managed to place the sushi in the fridge before you collapsed on the couch and turned on the television to zone out until Izaya came home.

A few hours later a sound at the front door jolted you to attention.

“I’m home~!” a man’s voice cheerfully booms from the entrance.

You silently pray to every god in existence that you can pull an Oscar-worthy act before plastering a smile on your face and standing to greet your husband.

“Welcome home, Izaya! I bought fatty tuna, it’s in the fridge.”

Izaya’s vermillion eyes seem to sparkle at that and he immediately makes his way to the kitchen after shedding his trademark faux fur-trimmed coat. That buys you enough time to contemplate your next course of action and how you will break the news to him. You know that, despite the fact he enjoys games and toying with others for as long as he deems entertaining, he expects direct answers from the people who work for him like Namie or Celty. But how could you possibly just outright say you’re pregnant right now? The man is humming to himself while stuffing his face with sushi right now for god’s sake—the mood is totally off!

“—Y/n?”

Your own name startles you out of your thoughts and as you blink to tune back into the outside world you find Izaya learning against the counter directly across from you, eying you with mirth as he holds the plastic container of sushi, nearly half empty by now.

“My, my. Someone seems a bit distracted today,” he taunts lowly. You tense at that, fearing he’s about to ask you what you’re thinking about.

Luckily, he seems to be feeling merciful today as he simply repeats what he was saying while you were zoned out, his tone back to almost childish glee.

“I was saying I met with Goto-chan today—y’know the one who was on ‘vacation’ for while—” he uses air quotes with the free hand not holding up the sushi and you can’t help but to smile at that, unhealthily endeared by this odd, dangerous man.

“—well turns out he has a kid now. He even brought her to our meeting with his gang; what terrible parenting~! Right, Y/n-chan?”

You gulp before barely managing a nod of agreement, suddenly extremely uncomfortable with the topic of conversation.

“I would never take my own young offspring to a place like that. Sometimes meetings end very badly, y’know~,” he continues on. You’re suddenly aware of the sweat collecting at your brow despite the moderate temperature in the apartment and you wonder if the panic is showing on your face.

‘He...he doesn’t know anything yet...right?’

There’s a beat of silence in which you two just stare at each other. Your face feels clammy and hot but you try your best to maintain a neutral expression while Izaya’s lips are curved into their usual smirk with a playful glint in his deep red eyes—along with something else you can’t quite read but somehow evokes a ball of dread to form deep within your gut.

A few seconds later and the moment is gone as Izaya turns away to dispose of the empty sushi contained and is rambling on about something else you don’t have the energy to even pretend to listen to as relief washes over your body.

The rest of the night is spent curled up on the couch watching cartoons while Izaya works, not bringing up the topic of children again for the rest of the night. You decide waiting a little longer to tell him wouldn’t hurt—you just need some time to gather your thoughts and plan exactly how to tell him.

. . .

Somehow “a little longer” becomes “a lot longer” as every time you approach Izaya with a speech already planned, you look into his eyes and immediately chicken out. To make matters worse, you aren’t sure if you’re just being hyper-aware of all things related to children now or if the whole world is really out to get you but it seems babies are everywhere. A few days after that night you turned on the TV to watch something with Izaya only to find a pregnancy documentary of all things on which Izaya insisted you two watch because he wanted to “learn more about the development of his precious humans.” Another few days after that the two of you were on a rare evening walk together when a small, crying child approached the two of you claiming to have lost his mother while chasing a dog. Izaya unexpectedly took over the situation and handled it exceptionally well, diligently looking for the boy’s mother with you while keeping him entertained to the point he didn’t even want to say goodbye to Izaya when you two finally found his mother.

External factors like that made things a little more difficult for you as you attempted not to let your secret slip out but other factors were a lot more difficult to hide—such as your slowly but steadily growing belly and strange new mood swings. The former was easily remedied by electing to wear your looser more comfortable clothing. Izaya had never been a physically affectionate partner so you didn’t have to worry about him noticing your stomach in a hug or anything like that and he never pushed when you turned down his occasional sexual advances at night citing that you were too tired or had a stomach ache. Your mood swings and other hormonal changes, however, were not so avoidable.

The first time you had raised your voice at him—and over something so small as coming home half an hour later than he said he would—came as a surprise to both of you. After a moment of wide eyed staring from both sides he seemed to recover quickly though and teased you about missing him too much. A few times you had also spontaneously burst into tears for no apparent reason, to which he simply pulled you into his side and started telling you a random funny story about his adventures at work until your tears stopped.

But even with Izaya being so unintentionally helpful in keeping your secret, the pressure and guilt of constantly lying to your own husband and the man famed for knowing everything gradually eats at you day-by-day, hour-by-hour, and minute-by-minute until you are constantly seeking a relief from the stress. Sometimes that comes in form of finishing a whole box of chocolates, sometimes via napping for six hours straight, and sometimes through social media and chatrooms.

One Thursday afternoon you log in to the chat for the first time since finding out you’re pregnant, pleasantly surprised to see your two favorite members already online.

▶▶ [USER01] has entered the chat.

[Tarō Tanaka] Hello, User-san. Long time no see.

[Setton] we missed u User-chan.

You smile, instantly feeling better with the online presence of your friends.

[USER01] hey, guys. whats up?

[Setton] Tanaka-san was just talking about volunteering at the daycare.

[Tarō Tanaka] Ah, I just had some freetime…

[Setton] don’t be modest. ur really amazing Tanaka-san.

[Tarō Tanaka] Ahaha, really it’s nothing! I just played with some babies for a few hours...

[Setton] nonsense. don’t u think Tanaka-san is cool, User-chan?

You take a second too long to answer, suddenly feeling anxious by the reminder of daycares and babies. You wonder if you and Izaya will leave your own child at a daycare some day...if he even accepts the child.

[USER01] ah, yeah..very cool

[Tarō Tanaka] User-san are you alright? You seem a little off today, you’re usually more talkative...

[Setton] u know u can tell us anything. we’re friends.

You hesitate to type, your trembling hands hovering over the keyboard as you consider your options. On one hand, you feel guilty at the prospect of telling more people who are not your husband before actually telling Izaya himself. As the father, regardless of his reaction, he deserved to be the first to know. On the other hand, keeping these overwhelming feelings to yourself makes you feel as if you’ll burst at the seams. So much stress can’t be good for the baby.

[USER01] well, to be honest I’m….

▶▶ [Kanra] has entered the chat.

[Kanra] Yahoo~! (≧∇≦)/

[Kanra] What is everyone talking about today?? owo

[USER01] nothing much!! just the weather..it has been so hot lately!

[Tarō Tanaka] But it’s September…

[Setton] ???

[Setton] ah yeah, nothing much i guess...how are u Kanra?

[Kanra] Ehh~ What’s with this weird atmosphere!? I feel like everyone is keeping secrets from Kanra-chan! (●´^｀●)

[USER01] no way!! not at all! ah, its already this late? I have to get dinner soon, bye-bye!!

[Tarō Tanaka] It’s only 2 o’clock though...

▶▶ [USER01] has left the chat.

Your laptop closes with a resounding tap and you release the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Izaya seems to have impeccably awful timing. You hate to think you were moments away from confessing your secret right in front of him and two mutual friends in a public chat room. You’re fairly certain that must be among the top ten worst ways to announce a pregnancy.

Frazzled, you head to the kitchen to make a snack.

After shuffling through the refrigerator for a few minutes, pushing aside suddenly unappetizing leftovers of Chinese take-out and pizza, you settle on sliced pineapple, kimchi, and a pack of microwaveable rice from the cabinet. Even you knew the combination was abhorrent in normal circumstances, but for the past few weeks you found yourself craving obscure combinations of food from ice cream drizzled with honey mustard to canned tuna and chocolate.

You are only a few bites in when you hear the familiar sounds of the front door opening and your husband announcing his arrival. The lanky man immediately slips into the kitchen to greet you with a small peck on the top of your head.

“I see my favorite little human is enjoying one of her...creations again,” Izaya comments.

When you look up you catch the split second of disgust on his features as he eyes your bowl before he quickly schools his expression back into something more neutral. You almost laugh.

“Do you want me to make you some?” You can’t help but to tease, trying your best to feign a serious expression as you ask.

Izaya looks mildly horrified before playing it off with a dismissive laugh.

“No thanks, I already ate.”

He gracefully breezes past you to make his way through the living room and to his personal office in the back where he make quick work of logging into his desktop. It is a usual occurrence—despite being home his work is never truly finished. He has to be flexible in his field, ready to gather new intel the moment it becomes available. It is strange to compare Izaya to anyone with a regular job but you often find yourself thinking he must really love his career if he invests so much of himself into it. You’re sure that by now he has done enough odd jobs to no longer need the money to live the rest of his life worry-free and yet he continues to work relentlessly, never taking a vacation day once in the years you’ve known him.

“By the way,” Izaya calls out, interrupting your thoughts.

“I have some things to take care of in Ōsaka this weekend. I’ll be back Sunday night.”

He glances up from his computer to send you a teasing smirk.

“Try not to get too lonely without me~”

You nearly choke on a piece of pineapple as you fluster, immediately denying his claim despite his obnoxious laughter drowning out your protests.

It is not until you lie in bed that night, trying to fall asleep, that you recognize this could be the moment you’ve been waiting for.

. . .

The next morning, after seeing Izaya off for the weekend, you grab your laptop and log into your nearly forgotten Pinterest account to look for cute pregnancy announcement ideas. With Izaya physically out of the house for more than 24 hours you feel the pressure of constantly hiding all clues lifted off your shoulders and you feel free to properly put something together that you hope will result in a more positive reaction from him than just blurting it out of the blue. You have to periodically remind yourself that this is his child as much as it is yours and he is just as responsible for creating it so that you don’t psych yourself out imagining him blaming you for potentially ruining his life.

A majority of the pins you scroll through are immediate no’s. They’re either way too corny or tacky and you highly doubt Izaya would appreciate the humor in a “thx for knocking me up!” sticker.

...Okay well maybe he would but you certainly wouldn’t.

By the twelfth page you feel exasperated. You’re almost tempted to just send him an “I’m pregnant” text right now to get it over with—at least you won’t be there to see his expression in realtime. That’s when you stumble upon the pin. You immediately click the little square before it loads into an image that takes up your full screen. On the image is a white marble background, likely a kitchen countertop, with a round white cake in the center with the words “we’re having a baby!” sprawled on top in purple icing.

It is simple, to the point, cute, and most importantly—cake.

Who doesn’t love cake?

‘Well, Izaya doesn’t really like sweet things that much…’

You mentally tell your self-conscious to shut up. A cake would be perfect.

With your mind made up, slam your laptop shut and get dressed to go to your nearest bakery and place your order.

. . .

On Sunday afternoon you pick up your cake from the bakery, only mildly embarrassed by the amount of times the owner bids you a “congratulations” and “your husband is lucky man!” When you make it back to the apartment and open up the blue pastry box on the counter everything suddenly feels very real. The cake itself is perfect—exactly like the picture you saw that day on Pinterest. A white buttercream base with beautiful purple letters spelling out “we’re having a baby!” in cursive. There are even small yellow flowers surrounding the edges, as suggested by the shop owner.

It looks absolutely delicious but you feel like you’re going to throw up.

According to Izaya’s text that morning he’ll be back within three hours from now and that’s when you’ll have to wordlessly hand him this cake and watch as his expression morphs into something you’ve likely never seen before.

‘What if he just abandons us?’

Your right hand unconsciously wraps over the now noticeable little bulge on your stomach. It’s too late to have second-thoughts, you reason with yourself, the longer you draw this out the worse it will be. You decide a quick nap would do some good to ease your nerves. You’ll set your alarm for half an hour from now then clean the apartment and put on some soothing cartoons until Izaya gets home. After gingerly placing the cake box in the refrigerator you shuffle up the stairs to the bedroom. You’re unconscious almost as soon as your head hits the pillow.

. . .

When you peel your eyelids open you find yourself feeling more calm than you remember feeling after a nap. You stretch each of your limbs and wriggle your toes as you allow your foggy brain to properly wake up.The rays of light streaming through the blinds seem to radiate a comforting warmth to fight of the chill of the bedroom.

‘Wait...light!?’

A rush of panic overtakes your system and you scramble to find your phone on the bedside table, nearly screaming when you read the blaring white digits on the screen.

9:07AM

You didn’t just take a nap, you slept through the night.

Your head whips around to find the other side of the bed neatly made, just as it was when you climbed in bed yesterday. Maybe you still had a chance—maybe some unforeseen thing happened and Izaya had to spend an extra night in Ōsaka. You nearly trip and faceplant several times in your haste to rush downstairs and into the kitchen where you’d hid the cake.

Placing the cold box on the counter, your hands tremble lightly as they slowly lift the lid.

You heart skips a beat.

One perfectly sized slice was missing, leaving only a few crumbs in its wake.

You don’t even have time to have a proper mental breakdown before a door slams shut. “Ah, I see you’re finally awake~!”

Almost in slow motion your eyes slide from the cake to the tall black haired man holding a bag of what some distant part of your brain recognizes as breakfast from your favorite café. Izaya looks unbothered, irritatingly so, as if he had no idea of the inner turmoil you are currently experiencing.

“You must have been exhausted—you didn’t even stir when I came in last night.”

He has the audacity to exaggerate a pout as he whines, “it made me feel unwelcome, y’know~”

“Th-the...cake...” you barely manage to stutter out, struggling to make sense of the current situation.

“Hmm?” he hums, the smirk of his lips making it apparent he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“Ah, yes, thank you for the treat~ I don't usually like sweets but this one was surprisingly delicious~!”

He begins to casually place his bags on the counter across from you and pull out the breakfast items, explaining nothing more and even humming a bit to himself as he works to sort the food.

God you want to punch him.

You swallow thickly to steady yourself before trying again.

“S-so what do you think about...it” you ask, awkwardly gesturing to your stomach..

"Hmm? Ah, the vanilla was good but there was a little too much icing—"

"NO DUMBASS, I WAS TALKING ABOUT THE BABY!” You finally snap, face bright red in anger.

Izaya only guffaws, laughing as if you had just cracked the joke of the century. You’re only split seconds from throwing the whole cake at him when his laughter finally dies down and he slides around the counter and to your side. He wraps his arms around your waist, hands gently resting on either side of your belly and you feel your heart flutter unexpectedly at the tenderness of the action.

“You’re so cute when you think you’re hiding something from me.”

Your breath hitches.

“Wh-what? What do you mean by that—” you desperately attempt to turn to face him but his hold keeps you firmly in place.

“I’ve known since day one~” he sing-songs, sounding annoyingly proud of himself. “I’m surprised you finally decided to tell me though. I was starting to think you’d wait until you went into labor and needed a ride to the hospital,” Izaya jokes. “No way,” you protest, “that’s literally impossible—there’s no way you could have known already.”

He moves one arm from your body to swipe at some frosting on the forgotten cake, bringing it over to your lips in an offering you accept without thinking, taste buds tingling at the sweetness.

“Silly Y/n—I’m an expert at planning, y’know? All those times we ‘forgot’ to use protection weren’t an accident~”

Your whole body seems to erupt in flames as a blush takes over your face. This time, you really do hit him.

“I-idiot!!”

#durarara #orihara izaya #izaya x reader #reader insert #durarara fic #drrr x reader #durarara scenario #durarara imagine #izaya imagine #izaya fic #unplanned

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summahsunlight · 3 years

Text

All For You, Part 12

Rating: T

Word Count: 1812

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Pilot!Reader

Summary: Your life in the Resistance was not easy, being married to Commander Poe Dameron and a skilled pilot yourself. When you unexpectedly get pregnant, your life is forever changed. Raising a child on base is hard, but never having parents of your own as a child, you are determined to love your little girl and give her the best life. Poe is equally as devoted to you and your daughter, vowing to keep you both safe from the impending threat of the First Order.

Start from the beginning!

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Taglist is still open! Just let me know if you want to be added! Please let me know what you think, I love talking with you lovely people! Happy reading🥰❤️

Usually, Poe considered himself calm and collected on missions--usually. His mind could normally take the twists and turns that any given mission threw his way--but not this.

Despite the truce being called and the Resistance obtaining the information on Lor San Tekka, Poe could see some triumph in Agent Terex’s eyes as he delivered that final blow--how are your wife and daughter, Commander? I trust they are well. Safe.

Poe had never felt his blood run so cold in his entire life. He wasn’t sure how this man knew about you and Emmy, but he did. Which meant that the First Order knew about you and Emmy. Poe didn’t need to say a word for Terex to know that he’d found the pilot’s weakness.

He felt sick the entire flight back to base. Someone had to have betrayed him to the First Order--to keep Emmy safe, she had not been added to his personnel file. He should send you away, but even sending you away held its own dangers. And he could no longer send you to Yavin IV--if the enemy knew about your daughter, they knew where his father lived--they know, they know, they know--the thought kept pounding away at him.

How was he ever going to protect his family now?

“Commander?”

“General?”

Leia was looking at him, concerned. It was then that Poe realized the briefing room had been cleared--he was the only one still standing in there with the general. “What’s going on, Poe?”

Poe swallowed the bitter tasting bile in his throat. “That agent knew about Y/N and Emmy--I don’t know how. Emmy isn’t on my personnel file for the very reason of keeping her safe, a secret. How did he know she exists?”

She sighed and placed her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Poe. Maybe it’s time to send them away.”

He looked at her, exasperated. “Where? Someone on this base told the First Order about my daughter--if I sent them away, they’ll tell the First Order where they’ve gone. Or worse yet, they’ll go to my father.... and...General, what the hell do I do?”

“First, pull yourself together.”

“Yes...yes ma’am.”

“Second, you are not in this alone. The Resistance will help you.”

“I know that ma’am--”

“THIRD... talk to your wife, Poe.”

Rocking back on his heels, Poe knew that Leia was right--he needed to talk to you, you had to know of the threat that was made against you and the baby. You probably were not going to like his suggestion of leaving D’Qar. “Yes ma’am, I’ll talk to her.”

Leia gripped his shoulder. “Poe, no one on this base wants to see anything happen to Emmy. No matter what decision you and Y/N make, we’ll support you.”

Poe felt numb. Someone had betrayed him, someone had betrayed you--but worse yet, someone had betrayed your baby. As he headed back towards your quarters, that numbness turned into anger. He had signed up for this--you had signed up for this--both you and Poe knew the risks. However, Emmy, had not signed up for this and it was incredibly low of the First Order to even threaten her.

BB-8 struggled to keep up with him, inquiring if Poe was going to send you and the baby away to someplace safer.

“I don’t know, buddy,” Poe murmured as he punched in the code to your quarters. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Haven’t decided what yet?” you asked as your husband stepped inside the room. “You’re back sooner than I was expecting. Did everything go okay?”

Sighing, heavily, Poe immediately went to the baby, lifting her out of her crib and holding her close. “I promise, baby girl, no one is going to hurt you, or Mama. No one.”

The tensions in his voice gave you pause. Feeling a pit form in your stomach, you shakily asked him, “Poe? Is everything okay?”

Poe pressed a kiss to the top of Emmy’s head. “No. The First Order knew about our mission, they were waiting for us when we arrived. We managed to get out fine, but Y/N--they know--they know about Emmy. They threatened both of you to get to me.”

“She isn’t listed in your personnel file. How could they know?”

“Someone told them; just like someone told them about the mission.”

“Who...who would do that?”

“I don’t know--but I’m gonna find out.”

You eyes quickly filled with tears. Poe handed you the baby and then took your face in his hands, kissing the tears that fell away. You heard him assure you that everything was going to be fine. “How can it be fine? We were so careful to keep Emmy a secret! And now...now...those monsters know...”

Poe wrapped you into his arms, hearing Emmy gurgle, happily. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. My first instinct is to just send you and Emmy away, someplace else, someplace safe, but then... if they found out about the baby...they’re gonna find out where I sent you.”

Emmy cooed--a common response she had to Poe’s voice--and her little hand reach out to touch his cheek. You swallowed the sour taste in your mouth. “We’re, we’re in the safest place, Poe--the Resistance is the safest place. Even if we went back to the Republic, even if we went to stay with your dad--this is the safest place.”

“For now it is,” he said, softly. “Remember your promise to me?”

“Yes,” you answered, holding the baby closer, “I remember.”

“Good.” Poe’s lips pressed to your temple. “I’m holding you to it.”

“I know.” A sigh left your lips and you leaned into him. “I know.”

Poe stepped back, his thumb stroking across your cheek in a loving gesture. He hadn’t forgotten his promise to you either; even the silent one of keeping you safe. “I’m gonna find out who leaked the information, sweetheart.”

You simply nodded. “I know you will, Poe. No one is as stubborn and determined as you when you put your mind to something.” Suddenly, you recalled how protective he could be when you had been dating--a few other cadets had ended up with black eyes. “Don’t kill them.”

BB-8 whistled in agreement with you. Poe shot both of you a look. “If that is the only way to protect my family--I’m not going to hesitate.”

“And what if the person is a friend?”

“None of our friends would betray us like this.”

Glancing at the baby, you thought about his idealistic look at the galaxy. You didn’t share that--you had seen the dark side of the galaxy at such a young age that there was never a chance to develop ideals. “Are you hungry? Before you came in, Emmy and I were going to go to the mess hall for dinner.”

Poe rubbed his hands over his face. “Yeah... let me get out of this flight suit and wash up a bit.”

You could see the tension in his shoulders as he moved towards the refresher. It broke you heart how much weight he was carrying around. “Poe.” He stopped and looked at you, softly. “It’s going to be okay.”

-------

A few days later it was your squadron sent out on a mission. Poe had thought about ordering you to stay but then realized what a bad idea that was. Instead, he had seen you off on the flight pad with the baby, with the promise that him and Emmy would be there waiting to great you when you returned.

Despite you being away, Poe still had responsibilities to attend too. And he was trusting no one take Emmy while he tended to those duties. She became a permanent fixture in briefings, sitting in his lap and laughing at inappropriate times. No one minded, in fact they thought she was quite adorable.

Poe shuffled each briefing along as best he could. And then he would go straight to communications to see if they had heard from you.

“Nothing yet today, sir,” the operator replied.

“You’ll let me know if you hear from her?” Poe asked.

“Yes sir.”

“Emmy and I are going for a walk.”

“Sir?”

“Use my comm, if she calls.”

Nodding, the operator got back to work, and Poe proceeded up to the flight pad. BB-8 followed behind, asking where they were going. The pilot smiled at the baby girl in his arms. “I think it’s time to show Emmy the lake, wouldn’t you agree Bee?”

Emmy smiled at the little droid when he beeped in excitement. Poe felt his heart warm seeing that smile. His daughter was enamored with BB-8. There were even a few instances where the droid had distracted Emmy enough to stop her crying while she was teething.

Poe carefully walked the path towards the lake. It was spot that he often visited with you prior to the baby being born. The calm of the lake always seemed to put everything into perspective.

“Here we go,” he said, as they got to the shore. “Want to put your toes in?”

The baby kicked her legs and cooed. Poe chuckled, removed her little boots and socks, and then with great care, dipped Emmy’s feet in the water. She squealed and pulled her feet up immediately, but he second time he dipped them in, she laughed and kick her feet about.

For the next several minutes, Poe could forget about all his worries in the galaxy and bask in the joy of watching his daughter discover the lake for the first time. Her curious little eyes soaked it all in, her feet rapidly moved among the gentle ripples and she laughed when BB-8 got a little water on him.

But the joy only lasted for a bit. His comm link went off, calling him back to base. Poe grabbed the baby’s boots and socks, and with BB-8 rolling behind him, he proceeded back to the flight pad.

Snap didn’t need to meet him to tell him that something was wrong. Poe could clearly see the pair of x-wings on the tarmac, smoke billowing from the engines--one of them was yours.

“Where’s Y/N?” Poe snapped.

“Poe listen--before you go storming the base,” Snap started.

“Snap. Where’s my wife.”

“They rushed her to the med bay.”

Poe felt a fire burn in his stomach. “Was it the First Order?”

Snap nodded. “Yeah; it was.”

“Terex?”

“Not sure; no one was able to talk to Y/N yet.”

Emmy whined, reminded Poe that he was still holding her. He gently rubbed her back to reassure her. “I’m going to find out who told him about my wife’s mission, Snap.”

Snap frowned, having seen that look in Poe’s eyes before. “And do what?”

Poe ground his teeth. “Make them pay.”

#my writing #star wars #star wars imagine #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron x female reader #all for you #200 followers celebration

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meabd · 3 years

Text

Tricks of the Trade

Chapter 3: Casting the Net

New Directive;

Recruit Codename Lily at all cost. Hold on Qixing Bang & Burn until further notice.

Funds available, find her Nugget. If needed Raven Operative available for backup.

Do not reply.

Childe crumpled the note up before tossing it into the roaring fire. He bristled at the mention of bringing in a Raven. Sure, he knew it was mostly to spare someone of his ranking from the normally distasteful task… but he really didn’t find it that distasteful in this instance.

[Y/n] was obviously a covert operative of some kind. He was relatively sure of your allegiances, and of your reasons, but nothing was ever certain in the cloak and dagger world of espionage. Childe had minimal contact with the Intelligence division of the Fatui. The Harbingers, as a rule, did not work in the shadows. Their title, their prestige was just as much a weapon as the ones they carried in their hands.

That being said, he’d be an idiot to let an opportunity like this one pass him by. You were obviously in over your head if that laughable excuse for a cover you used the night the two of you had met was anything to go by. He felt bad for you; he knew what it was like to have family held against you. Which, he was loathed to admit, really kind of left a sour taste in his mouth if he thought on his deception for too long.

He’d promised you asylum, but knew that he couldn’t guarantee your safety. He assured you that the Fatui could help, but knew they’d only grant amnesty if you turned (which would more likely than not put you in even more danger than you were already in). He couldn’t shake the image of your hysterics from the night before. The way you had crumpled in front of your friend, how you’d nearly gotten yourself killed when you reached for the body. Zhongli had confirmed the poison; it was all over the girl’s hands, smudged on her stomach and thighs, anywhere she’d touched the frame was covered in the deadly poison.

He recalled vividly the way your fingers trembled as you moved to take the girl’s hand. How very, very close you were to the same fate. If he were being honest seeing your reaction in that moment is what had confirmed your innocence to him. You’d looked utterly broken , and he was more than a little impressed with how you pulled yourself together. Childe had pulled aside several of the dancers to ask about your relationship with the dead girl.

“Ming was like a sister to her. She’s only been with the company for a year but… well she didn’t have any family,” one girl said to him. “[Y/n] looks out for all of us, but she’s especially protective of us if we have no one else,” she’d continued, and Childe could tell from her inflection she was in a similar position.

“And [y/n] was with the dancers the entire time?” Childe pressed the girl, who’s look of sadness morphed quickly into one of anger.

“The whole time,” she confirmed with a hard glare.

All the other dancers had similar opinions; [y/n] was kind, a hard worker, you gave more of yourself to the dance company than anyone ever expected. More than that, you was a friend to each and every one of them. Childe wanted to be suspicious of your intentions—friendliness is essential to information gathering—but then he’d recall the feel of your slim shoulders shuddering violently under his hands as sobs wracked your body. You weren’t a good enough actress to fake that.

Childe was on his way to the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor to speak to Zhongli. He was hoping to find out more about the poison that had done the poor thing in. On his arrival he found not Zhongli tending to the body, but you . All his suspicions came rushing back.

“What are you doing?” Childe’s voice startled you so badly you dropped the rag in your hand. You whipped around to face him and—oh you looked like shit . You were still wearing the formal gown from the night before, your hair was a limp mess and there were dark circles under your red-rimmed eyes. It was very obvious you hadn’t slept at all.

“She doesn’t have anyone else,” you sighed, bending over to retrieve the rag you’d dropped. Childe noticed then that your hands were gloved (thank Archons).

“I… don’t understand. Why are you here?” He wasn’t familiar with Liyue funeral customs, but was fairly certain you shouldn’t be the one preparing her body.

“Someone had to wash and dress her,” you returned to your task and Childe approached cautiously, gaze lingering on the face of the dead girl. “And… I’m the—I… I need to do it. That’s all,” you stumbled over your words, voice thick with unshed tears.

"You seriously didn't even change clothes? [y/n] I didn't drop you off at your front door for nothing. It's dangerous for you to be out by yourself." Childe tried to reign in his frustration, but was doing a poor job of it.

"I was her friend. Whoever she really was doesn't matter. I owe her this," your voice was solid, but the Harbinger saw the tremor in your hands.

“It’s not your fault,” Childe reached out to touch your arm, but thought better of the contact when he saw how you flinched away from him.

“Not my fault?” You laughed, and it was a terrible, hollow sound. “I think you and I both know that to be false,” you paused to dip the cloth in a nearby bowl of sweetly scented oil. Childe frowned but did not refute your statement.

“Then what was she doing in that room? Why was she removing the painting? [Y/n], she was an Agent,” his voice was soothing, but the facts were undeniable. He’d yet to uncover the girl’s true identity or the Country she worked for, but the scene was incriminating enough on its own.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” you snarled. Childe took a step back, hands up to show he meant no harm.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for your loss and I’m sorry for that girl but it doesn’t change the fact that you’re looking at yourself. Your future, if you continue with this.” The eyes that met his were full of grief. He regretted saying anything.

“Please just leave me alone,” you implored. Childe shook his head.

“You know I can’t do that, [y/n].”

“Then leave me alone for now. Let me ease my friend’s crossing. Just give me that much,” Childe’s gaze was drawn back to the corpse on the table. Her hair had been brushed back and her face was peaceful enough that she could have been sleeping. He wondered for a moment if it was Zhongli or you who had sewn her eyes shut with such finesse.

“Okay,” he agreed, taking a business card from his coat pocket. “My address is here. I don’t think it’s safe for you to stay by yourself,” Childe dropped the card on the table by the door as he made his exit, hoping you’d take his words to heart. On the way out, he saw a flash of gold rounding the corner of the street.

“Zhongli!” Childe yelled, rushing to catch up to the elusive Consultant. He turned the corner a little too quickly and nearly ran into the older man.

“Childe,” he looked only mildly surprised. “What are you doing here?” The Harbinger shrugged, not having a great answer that did not involve you. “Would you like to come back to the Parlor with me for some tea? [Y/n] has been holding vigil, I am sure she would appreciate the company.”

“No thank you. I have other business to attend to,” Zhongli nodded in understanding. “Actually, I was looking for you—do you know what the poison was exactly?” Golden eyes narrowed and Childe could not tell if he was annoyed or confused.

“It was Archon’s Trumpet oil,” he finally answered, his expression carefully neutral. “Childe, I have nothing but respect for you, but you must understand my professional and personal position in this matter; please refrain from involving yourself.” Childe frowned, he’d never heard Zhongli use such a stern voice before.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” he said, trying to nudge a clarification out of the man.

“Professionally it is highly unorthodox for a foreigner to involve himself in the sacred rites of burial—” Zhongli lifted on hand to stall Childe’s protestation, “ personally I care a great deal for [y/n]. I have no issue with you pursuing her but this is a difficult time, your discretion would be appreciated.” Childe felt like he’d just been scolded by a schoolmaster. He nodded.

“My apologies, Master Zhongli,” Childe used the honorific he’d long since abandoned.

“Think nothing of it,” the Consultant smiled at him. “Now if you would excuse me, I have some flowers to source.” The two men said their goodbyes and went their separate ways: Zhongli to the market and Childe to his townhome. Normally he would offer to accompany the man (considering his penchant for forgetting his wallet) but he had far too much to think on that afternoon to be out in public and distracted.

It was late that evening when Childe heard a knock at the door. He wondered—briefly—who it could be, though he could make an educated guess.

“Hello?” Your muffled voice called out.

“Coming, coming,” he yelled in reply, tugging on a soft pair of drawstring pants. He opened the door for you, lips pursed as he took in your appearance. He didn’t know it was possible, but you somehow looked worse than you had that morning; you still had not changed clothes, and though your face was scrubbed clean of your smeared makeup it only highlighted the hollowness of your cheeks and dark circles under your eyes.

“...Well are you going to let me in?” Childe stepped out of your way, gesturing towards the living area.

“I didn’t—”

“Think I would come? Yeah I’ve heard that one before,” you sighed, leaning against the wall of the entryway to steady yourself as you removed your heels. “I wasn’t planning on it, honestly, but someone tripped the wire in my apartment,” he raised one brow in askance.

“You rigged a bomb in your apartment?”

“No, like literally tripped a wire; it’s really more like a thin string across the threshold of my front door. If it’s there, I’m safe, if it’s not, time to run,” you explained. Maybe Childe had underestimated you.

“...um, okay,” he started, trailing after you into the living room.

“Do you mind if I use your shower? And maybe borrow some clothes? I’m sure you haven’t noticed but I’m a little worse for wear.” There was the barest hint of humor in your tone; the Harbinger could recognize an olive branch when it was offered and he readily agreed.

“Bathroom’s down the hall on the left. I’ll leave some clothes by the door,” you nodded once before heading in the direction he’d pointed. Childe watched you go, ears at attention in case you decided to go wandering.

But that was stupid, you had to be desperate if you were actually here and there was no way you’d be ballsy enough to try something in the home of a Harbinger of all people. Shaking himself from his thoughts, Childe made his way to the bedroom and began to rifle through his clothes. There was nothing that would fit you, so he wouldn’t even try; the best he could hope for was something that wouldn’t be actively falling off.

His fingers closed around a cotton sleep shirt, long enough that it would probably be a dress on you. Regardless, he also fished out the smallest drawstring pants he could find; he felt it would be a little presumptuous to give you something so provocative to wear, especially considering how uncomfortable you probably already were.

Folding the garments carefully he left them on the floor outside the bathroom door. He headed towards the kitchen, intending to rustle up some food, but sighed when he was confronted with an empty pantry. He’d forgotten to go to the market.

With a groan he shrugged on a light jacket and headed out the door. There, at the end of the hall, was a Fatui agent. He motioned for the boy to approach.

“Ah, y-yes, Tartaglia, uh, sir!” He stammered and Child bit back a laugh.

“Go to Wanmin Restaurant and get two orders of Jueyun Chili Chicken. Tell them to put it on my tab.” The boy nodded once before turning towards the stair (nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste). Satisfied to have arranged a dinner, Childe returned to his quarters where he poured himself a drink and picked up a book to wait. Or, well, arranged himself on the couch to appear as if he wasn’t waiting was more like it.

It was nearly 45 minutes before he finally heard the telltale sign of the bathroom door creaking open as you grabbed the clothes from the hallway. The food had arrived some time ago and Childe was beginning to worry it would be cold by the time you’d finally emerged. He’d grown up with sisters, so he was acquainted with the female proclivity towards bathroom hogging—but he also had many sisters, so the hogging was usually kept to a minimum.

“That smells good,” you spoke, startling the Harbinger from his thoughts. Archons you were a quiet little thing.

“Leave any water for the fish?” He ribbed, not looking over as you made your way around the couch.

“Oh, no, was I supposed to?” You volleyed back, sinking into the cushion next to him with a sigh. You practically swam in his clothing. With your wet hair dripping down the fabric of his shirt and the pant cuffs rolled up the way they were you looked painfully innocent. Childe thought he preferred this look, as lovely as you were in the gown.

“So, dinner—” The Harbinger rose from his seat just as you sat down, eliciting a raised eyebrow from you. Had to nip that line of thought in the bud, after all. He snagged two plates and another glass and set the table, depositing the wine bottle in the center.

“Don’t you have any chopsticks?” You asked as you watched him dig through his cutlery.

“Of course not, you’ve seen me try and eat with the damned things. I’d starve to death!” He joked, smiling at the quiet chuckle that was his reward.

“You’re going to tell your superiors that I’m here, aren’t you?” The pivot in topic was sudden and Childe found all he could do was shrug.

“You know how this works,” he answered, filling your glass. “You don’t have to worry about the Fatui here. I’m the highest ranked field agent in Liyue, no one will lay a hand on you,” he assured. You did not look comforted.

“Unless you had anything to do with Ming’s death I don’t think it’s the Fatui I have to worry about,” you sipped at your wine.

“It wasn’t us,” he propped his chin up, one elbow on the table. “And if it wasn’t us and it wasn’t you , then that leaves the Guoanbu, the DGSE, the Knights of Favonius and the Kōanchōsa-chō as the most likely suspects,” he rattled of the intelligence agencies of Liyue, Fontaine, Mondstadt and Inazuma respectively.

“Do you know who she was working for?” You asked, Childe shook his head.

“Currently under investigation. It would help us narrow down the list, that’s for sure, but no—I’m as much in the dark as you are,” you looked disappointed at that answer.

“I don’t think it was the DGSE. I would know if there was another Agent operating out of the Harbor,” you mused, unintentionally confirming your association with Fontaine. Your poor training was honestly starting to concern him, how had you even stayed alive this long?

“Then that leaves the Guoanbu, the Knights and Kōanchōsa-chō,” he mused, spearing a hunk of chicken with his fork.

“I only know of three Inazuman Agents here, but that might have changed… Regardless, I think it was the Guoanbu.”

“And what makes you say that?” Childe inquired, trying to suss out or line of thinking. You shrugged.

“Instinct, really. I just have a feeling. I’ve learned to rely on instinct these past few years, it’s usually the only thing between me and an early grave,” Childe wanted to beat your Handler within an inch of their life.

“That… I’m pretty sure that’s not how espionage is supposed to work,” he deadpanned.

“Oh come off it, Bagman.” Childe choked on his chicken.

“Firstly, fuck you very much; secondly, I’ll have you know I don’t just bribe people.” The amused smile that formed on your lips was the most sincere expression of happiness he’d seen since the banquet.

“Then how would you describe your line of work?” You leaned across the table to nab the bottle of wine.

“I’m—uh-uh, nope, I’m not the amateur here, you won’t get me that easily,” he shot back, pushing his own glass forward for a refill as well.

The two of you shared a laugh, one that perhaps veered a little too close to hysterics, but a laugh nonetheless. As the chuckles died out a serious look came upon your face.

“This is kinda fucked up, huh?” Your remark was quiet, subdued.

“I don’t follow,” Childe replied.

“This—us—it’s not normal. I’m not eating dinner with you because you like me, I’m eating dinner with you because someone high up in your government wants to turn me traitor,” your smile had turned melancholic.

“That’s not entirely true,” he corrected. “You are here because I like you. If I didn’t you’d already be on a boat to a Snezhnyan Gulag.” That… wasn’t technically the truth. He may have suggested trying to turn you, but it’s not as if he had to fight hard for it. You blanched.

“Thank you, that’s very comforting,” the snark in your voice did nothing to cover the fear in your eyes.

“It wasn’t meant to be. Have you given any thought to my offer?” Childe stacked your empty plates before depositing them in the sink.

“Haven’t had much time to,” you replied honestly. He grabbed the half empty bottle and made his way to the living area. No need for difficult conversations to take place on uncomfortable chairs after all.

“You know I’ll need an answer eventually, right?” He sank into the couch. You shrugged, not following him.

“What happens if I say no?” Standing there, glass in hand, eyes locked on his, swimming in those borrowed clothes… Childe wanted to lie, but could not bear to.

“Nothing good,” the silence between you was heavy. You gave a single, short nod of understanding before sitting sideways on the couch, your legs thrown over Childe’s own. He was surprised, but hid it well.

“Then do I really have a choice?” You pondered aloud. The Harbinger didn’t think you were looking for an answer, but gave one anyway.

“You always have a choice. They’re just not always equal choices,” he traced the vein on the inside of your wrist with a featherlight touch, pretending not to notice the way it made you shiver.

Report;

Agent Pisces believes me to be DGSE. Please supply corresponding Pocket Litter to Ferryman drop.

Boarding with Pieces, cease all direct drop contact immediately. Brush Passes in the flowers still clean, will debrief after Opera.

Swallow

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #childe x reader #flirty childe #childe #tartaglia #my fics #my writinng #tricks of the trade #chapter three #series #WIP #genshin impact

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storysofmyown · 4 years

Text

Obey me! Scarred, Chapt. 10

Plot: It’s time for the next step in Diavolo’s plan to unify the realms. But, in order to work, the demons would be subjected to confront their worst fears, and in some cases, who they are.

Trigger Warning: Manipulation, some cussing, pain, mentions of blood.

Word Count: 4988

White room, big mirror, a perfection that made a smile plaster across his lips. Big, white wings, feathers slightly brushing his forearm as he admired the robes his father had just gifted him. He smiled, he passed a hand trough his hair as he looked at himself, it was odd. He looked… different somehow, yet it was his same face. He looked around the room, the bed had been placed there for thousands of years, yet the placement felt…off. The whole room did, but it was the same, it was exactly like it should be.

“Are you done?” The voice made him jump a little, he wasn’t expecting anyone to come in his room, but he probably had missed the knocking sounds. He stared at the person standing right in front of him. An overwhelming sense of happiness took hold of him, a wide smiled that matched the one of the other angels across the room.

“C’mon here.” He spoke softly, they rolled their eyes before stepping closer and hugging them. It felt like a hug someone will give a person they haven’t seen in years, filled with love, emotion, and at some point, even a few tears.

“Asmodeous…”, he smiled and pulled away before, with his hands placed on their shoulders as he. The other person cleaned a few tears from his face before giving them a kiss on the cheek. “We need to go, father awaits.” He nodded and they both left the room. Asmodeous turned slightly to close the door, and as his eyes glanced inside, in the mirror, he saw wings, black wings and black clothes. But as he closed and opened his eyes once again, the sight was gone. He ignored it and closed the door, but it had left a sour taste in his mouth.

He walked the familiar corridors of the place, feeling lost in a place which he should know like thee palm of his hand. He had to stop several times to look at the other angels and at the place. They were chatting and doing their duties, some greeted them by their official titles while others were more friendly. Finally, they reached a room, it had a big door with designs embed with power and innocence. Asmodeous opened the door but instead of the usual room, he found within a type of council room. There were seven thrones like chairs in line, with animals embed on their back, his eyes fell on one with a scorpion, then one of a unicorn. His eyes then fell on the chair where he assumed the chief would sit. The room felt familiar, more so than his own room.

“Asmodeous?” He shifted his focus and saw Lucifer’s face, eyes widening at the lack of 2 wings, instead of his usual six white wings he had four black wings, Lucifer had a gem in his forehead and at the top of his head…horns. “Asmodeus!” He blinked and the image shifted, now the lucifer in front of him was…normal? The six wings and the armor, and the crown…not horns…crown. “What is up with him?” Lucifer asked to a person besides him. Asmodeous looked in that direction to find…no on. There was no one there.

“Lucifer, who are you talking to?”

“What do you mean who am I talking to, I’m obviously addressing Lilith.”

“Lucifer but Lilith is-”

“He has been acting strange since we left his room.” Lilith voice came was heard. And for some reason Asmodeous felt his heart been tugged on.

He looked at his sister…yes. Yeah, she had fetched him from his room. He had taken too long changing and Lilith…Lilith…she had…been instructed to come and get him.

Asmodeous looked at the room again. In it there was his family waiting for them to get placed. There were nine seats. One for each one of them. Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Beelzebub, Belphegor, and him. Wait…that left two seats available. He counted again, yeah, there were nine sits and only seven of them. Asmodeous walked to one of the sits, unfamiliar, strange, he placed a hand on top of it.

“Who is the other sit for?” he asked the others, who were already sited.

“That’s for Father.” Said Mammon like it was the most obvious thing.

“No, I mean the other sit-” Asmodeous looked down, to find nothing there. The ninth chair had disappeared, Asmodeous made a double take around the room. There were only eight chairs then why…why had he seen another chair.

“Ah, I’m glad to see everyone is already on their places.” Came a voice from the door, Asmodeous looked back to see his father, an overwhelming sense of fear started to build up inside of him as he felt his heartbeat become faster. Though, something his father had said called his attention he looked upfront, he was at the same level as the others who were sitting down even tough, he did not remember having sat. Lilith shot him a weird look.

His father sat beside Lucifer and Mammon and commenced the meeting, the entire meeting fell onto Asmodeous deaf ears. Nothing registered, his mind was elsewhere. For some reason he could not stop thinking about that room he had seen, the ninth chair, Lucifer in that weird form and the black wings that had been reflected on his mirror. And how Lilith was not there…before he could zone back in, the meeting was already over and his family was leaving the room, Asmodeous was about to do the same but his father called.

“May I have a word with you?” Asmodeous flinched at the sudden weight on his shoulder, but turned around, facing the icy glare of his father.

“Yes, Father?” Asmodeous said, as quietly as possible as not to upset his father.

The man was known to have a short temperament and Asmodeous did not feel like testing his fathers limit. The last time one of them had upset their father it had been Leviathan and the poor older brother was left with a couple bruises around his body. It had hurt all of them, knowing that their Father would hurt someone he claimed o love, but it was understandable, it was to teach him the rules and to make sure he was respectful. His father was a strict man…but he loved them…he would not dare do something that would harm them badly…yet…this thought made Asmodeous stomach turn upside down.

“It came to my attention that you were not paying attention to this meeting.” His father’s tone was low yet commanding. Asmodeous almost looked into God’s eyes, but he remembers the last time that had happened. It had left a bruise on his right cheek, that instance had introduced him to the humans make up…so he had his father to thank for that. Right? “Was it…uninteresting to you?”

Asmodeous flinched at the way his father’s grip tighten on his shoulders. He felt fear run trough his entire body, the air leaving his lungs as he lost control. He felt fire incinerate his body, burning his skin and his wings, the hot air being contracted by the cold air as he fell, fell, fell…fell. It stung like hell and he couldn’t cry, because any tear that tried to leave was immediately vaporized by the fire, his senses were overpowered by the bare stink that was his burning flesh, it hurt, and he couldn’t scream. And no matter how much he wanted to cry or scream or beg the fire would not let him, because any time he opened his mouth it would go into his throat.

“Answer me!” His fathers scream shook him out of his agonizing state. Asmodeous felt dizzy, but he was able to look at his hands and see that nothing had happened at all. There was no fire, he wasn’t burning, he was okay…wait…no…he wasn’t. His father was growing increasingly angry and impatient. “What is with you today?”

His father asked but he didn’t care about whatever answer Asmodeous had to give. Instead, his father walking to the now only chair in he room, which was uncharacteristically darker colored, his father sat down on it, and for a moment, the man who was meant to be the image of caring and love, turned into this figure full of hate and boredom. There were layers of darkness covering his fathers gaze and the shadows that had bathed his father made it look like the man had horns, it made him think back to that image of Lucifer, but this time it wasn’t the only one he saw. He saw all of them with horns, he saw himself in horns, he saw an unfamiliar blond person which he felt like he should know with horns as well…but not Lilith. Asmodeous felt himself start to shake out of fear.

“Do you know why I created you the way I did?” Asmodeous shook his head, still not looking at his father. “The jewel of the Celestial Realm, my, quite a name they have given you.” Chuckles, dangerous, dry chuckles. “I put everything good and at some extent, everything beautiful and pure in you. You are meant to be the embodiment of purity and beauty.” Asmodeous looked up at his father, not meeting his eyes quite yet. “Yet…somehow…you managed to disappoint me. You are meant to be a light that brings peace and calm people, Asmodeous. So bright that they lose all desire to fight and we can take control, yet you…don’t seem to use it as it is intended.

His father got up from the throne, but the shadows seemed to follow him everywhere. His father stood right in front of Asmodeous, with the small angel too afraid to look at his father in the eyes. He felt a sudden contact in his cheek followed by pain. Asmodeous put a hand over his cheek as he accidentally looked at his father eyes. Fear settling even more. His father sighed and hugged Asmodeous. This was his father…so why did he felt like he was being held by a person that had kidnapped him?

“I hate hurting you, any of you. So please…pay attention. And do what you are supposed to.” God waved a hand, before getting back to his throne, Asmodeous was quick to dab a tear that fell.

Asmodeous left the room, feeling everything but safe in the moment, he felt like he was being hunted down, observed by everything and everyone, his heart racing with the words of his father still fresh in his mind. All he could hear was the sound of his heartbeat become increasingly rapid, his chest starting to hurt as he moved along the unfamiliar corridors, at some point he heard footsteps behind him which prompted him to start running. Asmodeous ran like never, what were busy corridors full of angels became empty as he advanced and entered an alley. He was trapped, the footsteps came to a halt. He turned around slowly, not knowing what to expect, but as he did, within him, there was something screaming.

Once he turned around, he was meet by himself…white wings and white robes, but it wasn’t a mirror. Asmodeous stared at the thing in front of him, which looked at him horrified, this made Asmo become aware of the sudden weight shift on his back. He looked down at his clothes own clothes, only to be meet by a sight he was not expecting. His clothes were black…and they weren’t quite his clothes, they weren’t his robes, they were weird clothes that Asmodeous had never seen before and…and that for some reason they felt like they belonged to him. They felt like they were his own, like the robes had been a type of disguise while this was who he really was. He felt the different wings brush slightly against his back, and he smiled. For some reason…this felt right…

He heard a voice. A voice familiar yet he could swear no angel had that voice. There was a door. Behind the door was the voice, Asmodeous wasn’t sure how he knew but he knew. He walked slowly to the door, it was different from those of the Celestial Realm, he placed a hand. It didn’t feel wrong…it felt inviting, like he was meant to open the door. Like whatever it was, it was his, Asmodeous put his hand in the unfamiliar knob, it fit in his palm like something you have touched millions of times does. He entered the room and was immediately met by a familiar yet alarming sight.

It was his room. No…not it wasn’t…but why did it feel so…familiar so…homelike. There some beautiful dark purple curtains that contrasted the pastel blue ones from the room he had been in just before the meeting. There were some flowers and a mirror. A mirror in which Asmodeous hesitated to investigate. But he did, and when he saw himself, he felt warm all over…and somehow happy. He had horns, which he touched slowly, he felt his fingers run trough his horns and a small smile appeared in his lips. His clothes…there was kind of a like a brooch in his shirt. It was big, it was gold and it was a scorpion. The scorpion held a heart and was surrounded by flowers. But he couldn’t get his eyes away from the scorpion, he thought back at that image o the eight thrones like chairs. The one with the scorpion was where his mind first went.

“Asmo, I’m coming in.” Said a familiar yet unplaceable voice, which made Asmo turn around to look at the door.

From it, a taller blond guy walked through. No, not a guy. A demon. Asmodeous immediately knew the person standing in front of him was a demon. He couldn’t understand how he knew that, he just did; Asmodeous had always been thought demons were bad and needed to be eliminated but for some reason…as he looked at the demon…all he could think was about how much pain he was, and how he just wanted to give him a hug, not only him but his whole family…because they were in pain…

How did he know this? Why was he thinking that? His thoughts were spiraling out of control, going back to his father, not the caring father was thought to believe in but that somber and dark creature that sat menacingly in his throne while he ravishes in others pains, he thought of the man that had hurt his family and all of this felt wrong. The white wings, the robes, Lilith…Lilith…she…why did she feel wrong? Why was her presence wrong in this place? The world around him shifted and spun, Asmodeous falling on his knees in less than a second by the way his entire body contorted in pain.

Lilith stood in front of him. Her smile bright as ever, the smell of flowers everywhere, a peace that felt wrong latching into his heart. She stared at him, but within her eyes Asmodeous saw that there was lacking something he had seen the blond guy had. There was a spark, a fire that screamed I exist that Lilith didn’t have. Did she have it before? It didn’t matter, because for some reason, Asmodeous was now standing a couple of feet away on a cliff, looking over one of the most beautiful views he had ever seen. They stood in silence, he feared speaking, scared that his throat would hurt as much as it did when he thought he was on fire.

He watched as Lucifer, in demon form, walking inside his room and told them to get going. He heard Satan, yes, Satan tell him to get going already with a bored expression. Before his very eye’s flashes of his family and their demon forms presented. He stood in silence, aware of Lilith’s presence beside him, but he wasn’t sure where he was. His heart racing, then…it all came into a halt. Asmodeous could feel the tears come down his eyes.

When he fell, the fire had burned him, not only externally but internally, it had taken everything that Asmodeous ever was and had made him start a new with a new face and a new personality. He was no longer the picture-perfect angel his father made him out to be. He was no longer the embodiment of purity and innocence, pure beauty and no other purpose than the rough jewel his father wanted him to be. No, he had suffered, he had cried, and he had changed in every way possible. The only constant…had been his family. They had been there for him trough so much. He looked over at the view, it had changed from the celestial realm to the devildom. Asmodeous smiled.

“We miss you.” He spoke, as softly as he could. He didn’t look at his sister, she stood beside him, taking his hand and making sure he didn’t let go of her.

“I haven’t gone anywhere.” She said, in a playful tone, this shattered Asmodeous heart.

“No, you haven’t.” Asmodeous touched his heart, but slowly let go of his sister hand.

He loved her. They all did, even Satan who had never meet her. But she represented something none of them wanted to go back to. She had died…and no matter how much they loved her they couldn’t change that. They needed to accept it. They had spent so much time dueling on what had happened before they hadn’t even thought on what was happening now. Asmodeous put his hand on his chest, before looking at Lilith briefly, she was beautiful. She was his little sister; he would never forget her. But…perhaps it was time for him…for all of them to let go of the past…and honor their sister by finally being happy on their new home. Lilith looked at him sadly, almost as if she knew the conclusion he had made. But she only nodded.

“I love you.” He said, before taking a few steps back, he found himself standing right beside Satan. If Lilith represented all they had lost in the Celestial Realm, then Satan represented all they had gained in the devildom. Satan wasn’t meant to be treated as a replacement of Lilith, no…he represented new beginnings…new opportunities. He held his nephews’ hand, eyes falling on the brothers on left before looking at the ones in the right, where even Mc was there.

He felt fulfillment and love… but of course those things couldn’t last. God would not allow them to start. Asmodeous fell to his knees, forehead touching the ground as he fought for air to go into his lungs. He felt that same infernal, burning sensation he had felt before, even the wind had come back and even with it he was having a hard time breathing, his memories to that time back in the celestial realm overpowered his mind. He felt such emptiness, sorrow, and hate in his heart. Choking back sobs as he felt himself fall, eyes squeezed shot as screams of pain left his throat burning. His entire body was shaking, and he could see the world around him crumble as he fell. He fell.

The moment he opened his eyes, he was back at the devildom. He identified his surroundings as the Demons Lord Castle. He remembered getting ready that morning, helping his siblings and his nephew get ready because they were too dejected to do anything. He remembers the state his family was in, the way they were all in pain and how sad they all looked. He remembered the powerless stare of Lucifer when he saw their father arrive at the ball. He remembered the way Beelzebub lowered his head, Satan clenched his hands, Belphegor held on to a bracelet, the way Leviathan flinched and how Mammon moved as far away as he could from Mc, who was eying Mammon as he did so. Lucifer instinctively moved and made sure to be the one up front. Asmodeous memories played that moment in which his father made eye contact with him and then…

“My, and here I was thinking that perhaps there was still something of what I gave you left.”

He looked up; eyes barely open as the pain he felt before kept going. His hands grasped the grass as silent tears left his eyes, Asmodeous would be screaming right now. But he couldn’t, he could not open his mouth, he was clenching his teeth with all his might as the pain kept going. Asmodeous had only once felt that pain. The pain of burning flesh and like his wings were getting detached. It had been the worst pain he had ever felt and now…now it was back except twice as bad to the point where Asmodeous thought he might pass out. But he wouldn’t…he knew that no matter in how much pain he was, his father would not let him off that easily.

“Get up.”

His body obeyed, even if he didn’t want to, even if he simply couldn’t, his body did what his father told him. Asmodeous stood, small compared to his father, as straight as he could while his body basically broke under his skin. He looked at his father, his blurry vision barely focusing on anything. He was sure he was going to end up falling to the ground at any moment put his father put a hand on his shoulder. Causing Asmodeous to bite his tongue in pain.

“What a disappointment, I really thought you would want to go back to your former glory”, God sighed. “That perhaps, you would still value the true beauty of who you used to be and not remember. But you have become beyond corrupted, all the others have at least one quality intact that I gave them…but you…you truly became something monstrous.” God laughed, a hand on Asmodeous cheek as the demon tried so hard to fight the pain.

“Le-Leave…ahg, leave me-…aLonE!” Asmodeous voice broke as he tried to say those words.

He thought back at who he used to be in the celestial realm and who he was now, in the devildom. He remembers hating his own skin when they first arrived, he remembered the nastiness and the cruelty of his own skin and how, at night, he wished for death. He had tried so hard to be a fraction of what he used to be. At some point he didn’t see any meaning in it anymore. No matter how much he tried to be that person again, even if his outer appearance reflected it, he could not fill that void that was taken from him the moment he fell. At some point…he forgot who he used to be and became Asmodeous, the Avatar of Lust, and he liked it.

“Leave you…alone?” His father started to laugh as his grip on Asmodeous shoulder tightened. Then, just as his laugh had started, it had died. God locked eyes with Asmodeous, and in that mere second…Asmodeous felt the same fear he had felt so many times in heaven. “You. Pathetic. Weak. Rat.” God kicked Asmodeous which made the demon fall on the gross. He fell on his back, an oh did it hurt. He felt all the air leave his body momentarily as this ringing out deafened him. He tried to get up, but God kicked him again. Asmodeous hated how weak he was…he wishes he could so something…but he was weak…

His father sighed, he once again commanded Asmodeous to get up, which the demon did. He looked at his father, entire body throbbing with pain. He would run away from God if it wasn’t for the fact that he could not move at all. He felt God’s hand cup his face. He sucked in a breath. Asmodeous knew about fear…but being so close to his father after all those years…he was horrified and all he wanted was to open his eyes and find out this was all a nightmare. God sighed, caressing Asmodeous cheek, the same ones he had some many times slapped so hard it had left bruises.

“What a waste. I should have killed you when I had the opportunity. At least that way the memory of your beauty would not have been tainted with the sin you have become…well…its never too late.” Gods eyes glowed golden, and in hat moment Asmodeous fell onto the ground, he could feel his entire body being ripped apart but when he looked at himself nothing was happening. He could swear he was covered in his own blood as screams were choked back by an invisible arm that that covered his mouth. Was his father really going to kill him?

Would that be that surprising? He killed Lilith while she was still an angel, what prevented him from killing Asmodeous when he was a demon? His father never cared for any of them, he didn’t love them. He knew this, they all did. Yet they had stayed by his side because he was their father and what had that brought them? Pain, and death.

“Please! Stop it!” Asmodeous was able to choke out a beg, it hurt. It hurt so bad and he wanted it to stop, his entire body contorted in pain as now screams were audible. He heard his own sobs.

“No one is going to help you, Asmodeous. Just like none of you could help Lilith, they won’t be able to help you.”

“F-ather…Father…p-ple-please!” Asmodeous screamed. Did no one really hear him? His screams were loud enough, someone should be able to hear him…he was in so much pain…his father was only one that was capable of stopping this pain. His mind was blanking out as his desire for all to stop crowded his judgement. “I’ll do anything!” Asmodeous begged. That was one of the few words he had been able to say clearly, yet it had burned his throat so bad.

“Will you, now?” His father mocked, getting to eye level with the demon who once was his kid. God pulled Asmodeous hair, making him look at his father in the eyes.

“YES!” He screamed. “ANythinG!”

“HAHA! Very well…since you asked so kindly.”

Immediate regret filled Asmodeous. His father was planning something. And he had fallen right into his trap, like the weak demon he was. His father’s eyes turned gold once more, starring right into Asmodeous eyes. It sent shivers down his spine. His father’s eyes ceased glowing, and Asmodeous thought the pain would die…he was extremely foolish. The pain came back with the force and hatred and vengeance that his dad wanted to inflict on them. He could not open his eyes, he could not stop screaming, he felt his heartbeat sky rocket as his entire body collapsed in its own.

“Take this…as you…being reborn.” God spoke, and then entered the castle. Leaving Asmodeous wallowing in pain for what felt like an eternity. And then…then silence…silence and calm and…and wings brushing against his forearm and he stood slowly.

Lucifer had finished talking with Diavolo and made his way to where his family had been standing. He saw their state and sighed. ‘Just a couple more hours’, he thought to himself. Mc stood beside him with a strange expression that Lucifer assumed was worry.

“Lucifer…I haven’t seen Asmodeous in a while.”

Those words made Lucifer’s heart stop. He frenetically looked around the room in search for his brother. His eyes couldn’t locate the brother as his heart ached. Where was he? Lucifer looked at the people dancing in hopes of locating his brothers, but as he turned around, the face that he saw was an unwelcomed one. Standing a few feet in front of him, was God. He had a satisfied grin in his face.

“Lucifer, pleasure finally seeing you.” Lucifer eyed his father. Before turning to Mc.

“Go and tell the others. Try and find him. I’ll go help soon.” Mc nodded not before glaring at God. Lucifer found this off, but he didn’t care for that now. “What do you want?” Lucifer asked sharply.

“Not much. I just thought I’d say how…impressed I am.” Lucifer raised an eyebrow. He did not have time for this hit. He turned around to leave but something his father said stopped him. “Really, after what happened with Lilith, I expected you to care for your family. But it seems like you became even more neglectful.” This made Lucifer’s blood boil as he turned around to face his father. “I mean, considering everything that you guys claimed to “have gone through” I would never expect for one of you to want to come back to me.” Lucifer growled, fear starting to make its way into his heart.

“What are you talking about?”

“Just look around you, Lucifer. Not only that but your so called “family”, look at them…you claim to be the head of this family yet one by one…I got into their pathetic little heads…and now…yeah…I wouldn’t call this a family at all.”

Lucifer turned around, he looked over his family. Their expression, their postures, their tired eyes and the way they were so…scared…and sad… Lucifer had allowed this. He had allowed God to get close to his family. He had been foolish and an idiot who thought his family would be save but once again he had not been able to help them. Once again, his family had suffered because he hadn’t protected them like he should. His blood boiled as he thought of what his father had done to his family. He looked at his son and at his brothers, he even looked at mc… Ire fueling him, his mind not thinking at all. Lucifer felt his demon form come out as he turned around and tried to hit God in the face.

His punch was stopped. The room fell silent. He gasped and felt his heart being torn out as tears started to form.

Wings, white wings.

...so...here is the new chapter...finally. This chapter took a while, the reason being that this chapter was a literal hell to write. I was like a thousand words in and then deleted everything because i didn’t like how it was turning. I also had trouble with Asmodeous personality cuz...he kind of doesn't have on in the game so, besides horny. But yeah, here is the new chapter, next one will probably take a while too. But yeah, i hope y’all enjoy this chapter, it is by far the longest one in this fic, and next chapter will probably take like a week to be done since I’m also working on another project. But yeah, holep y’all had enjoyed it and stay safe people.

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter seven

Chapter eight

Chapter nine

Chapter eleven

Chapter twelve

Chapter thirteen

56 notes · View notes

wolfcrunch · 5 years

Text

Thoughts on Mirio Togata and a certain Quirk...

Y’all finally ready??? lets go

SPOILERS FOR ANYONE NOT HAVING READ THE OVERHAUL ARC

(also contains minor spoilers from other arcs? major at the very end for Overhaul arc)

time to,,,,, talk about why I, personally, don’t believe Mirio should be as deserving of OFA as everyone else thinks he is, why Sir Nighteye was in the wrong and everything about that.

Now I do want to,, say a few things first

yes, if you know me even a little bit you will know I am not the biggest fan of Mirio - he actually happens to be in my top 10 most disliked characters. HOWEVER I’m going to do my best to keep my thoughts neutral (to be fair, it was the fanbase that turned me off liking him)

the exact same thing goes for Sir Nighteye, but even worse - again, I won’t rag on him and I do understand why he acted the way he was, sorta

this post will honestly be a mess oof. but mostly I’m going to just dump all the thoughts I can; including how the timeline would change, characters personal feelings and such

THIS POST IS JUST MY OPINION THUS FAR! it might change when Season 4 of the anime airs, and I have extra time to go through the arc again. and of course, if you think Mirio does deserve OFA then thats perfectly fine too! everyone has their own opinions, I don’t expect this to change any minds.

Power-wise, Mirio is deserving - however, this is factoring his own quirk out of this

ALSO NOTE this post has no structure as I’ve said before so...oops?

Ok so to basically start this off; we see Mirio before he loses his quirk as a rather hardworking, bright and sunny student. And yes, first thoughts would be ‘he is the perfect choice’, and I see why people think so. His mastery of his own quirk is rather impressive; if anything, he might’ve been like All Might, able to master OFA much faster. Not to imagine how the quirk would mix with his own, and with future quirks.

But seeing the type of person Mirio is...someone who holds himself so proudly over how he controls his current quirk...I don’t think he would’ve accepted OFA to begin with. He’s already shown the instance of this in canon.

I understand the occurrence of this interaction wouldn’t be the same, but regardless it counts for how he might approach it all. He strikes me a lot like All Might; he’s already powerful enough with his quirk, he’s already got enough control - why would he need to accept this gift, regardless of the power it holds, or the sentiment?

He’s already standing in the ring.

Which also leads me to something All Might has said before, when confiding in Bakugou about why he chose Midoriya to be his successor of all people.

Again, I know the circumstances aren’t the exact same. But I feel like Mirio is the type of character who would prefer the quirk go to someone less fortunate, for he already has so much going for him.

Of course, I could be completely wrong. He might have accepted it, if for the sake of All Might and Sir Nighteye; but I would like to think he wouldn’t. Mirio also reminds me of Midoriya in that regard; caring for others over themselves.

This is also partially why I want to believe that Mirio wont get his quirk back. I feel like it would be so much better for his character to remain quirkless, and to become what Midoriya could’ve been if he had not gotten OFA. That would make his character arc really improve and be really good writing for him.

I’d also like to point out that whilst Mirio is very well much like All Might when it comes to personality and how he holds himself as a hero...one major thing brings them apart, this major part being something Midoriya excels in, and we’ve seen this is various instances.

Mirio...is hesitant.

He was hesitant when it came to their first meeting with Eri. Yes, he is a seasoned student, and knowing how dangerous Overhaul was - it was for the best that they let Eri go.

But you can’t always hesistate. Sometimes you have to jump in...and I feel like Mirio doesn’t have that drive, not like All Might and Midoriya. It was this exact same trait that caused All Might to choose. Midoriya leaped in to save Bakugou, consequences be dammed. I don’t think Mirio could do that.

And now...Sir Nighteye.

My distaste for Sir Nighteye is unique - and it might mostly stem from the fact that I am a Midoriya stan.

Now, I do understand why he was firstly portrayed as he was - bitter towards our protagonist. His character is a rather complex one; he starts off as a rude man but eventually we see why and how he came to be that way, and what shaped him - All Might’s future.

Anyone being faced with the death of the Symbol of Peace, the strongest hero, and having no way to change it would be unnerved. Sir Nighteye was scared, and his reaction is justified...in a way, considering he worked with All Might himself. The two were work partners, and it was this uncertain future that split them apart.

Sir Nighteye had every reason to grow apart from All Might, he only wanted to try protecting him. Being one of the only heroes who knew about One For All, he also wanted to make sure it was passed to the right successor, which is understandable.

But Sir Nighteye, I feel, approached the situation in the wrong way. We see that very clearly when Midoriya has to fight him in order to be accepted as his intern.

This scene just...rubs me the wrong way when it came to Sir Nighteye’s character. There were plenty of other ways he could’ve tried to deal with this.

He doesn’t have to accept Midoriya, no, but he should’ve put his bitter resentment aside. He only knows Midoriya as the kid who breaks his bones with his quirk. He doesn’t know how much Midoriya had to fight to control this quirk - and even then, he still can’t control it.

But also Midoriya’s expression when he finds out Mirio was ‘first in line’;

Midoriya still likely suffers from something akin to Impostor’s Syndrome - again, various hints have been placed throughout the manga/series itself. That’s not surprising.

Sir Nighteye’s dismissal of him wielding OFA was awful.

Sir Nighteye shouldn’t have a choice in the first place. That’s also what annoys me.

OFA is not his quirk...I don’t understand why he went and trained a successor for a quirk he can’t pass, for a quirk that isn’t his to decide. All Might isn’t the best teacher...but Sir Nighteye didn’t trust him, obviously. He didn’t trust the Symbol of Peace to be competent enough to find someone worthy.

That ‘someone worthy’ ended out being Midoriya. But Sir Nighteye still blatantly went ahead with this ‘great idea’.

Sir Nighteye as a character does improve - by the end of the Overhaul Arc, we know he has come to terms with Midoriya - has spoken about him, ect. But the fact he gets killed off right after still left the sour taste in my mouth of his first introduction.

Not to mention his quirk; I understand that Sir Nighteye was frightened by All Might’s death, but doesn’t his quirk allow him to show the future? They could’ve looked to see who All Might chose; and they could’ve risen that successor together.

All the hardship and bitterness could’ve easily been avoided.

And now, y’all, lets go through the current canon events and dissect how everything would’ve turned out if Mirio had gotten OFA instead;

(leaving off from the standpoint where Midoriya still saved Bakugou from the sludge villain, but was never offered OFA)

The Entrance Exam: Uraraka possibly would’ve been seriously worse off than in canon. We don’t know if the teachers would’ve stopped the robot in time for nothing serious to occur - since no one would be there to punch the robot.

Quirk Assessment Test: not terribly bad, but a student possibly would’ve been expelled - even several.

USJ: At the very least, Tsu and Mineta would be dead. Aizawa and All Might would also possibly be dead, and perhaps even other students. The League would’ve been much more successful, and the media would be even more down UA’s throats.

Sports Festival: Todoroki maybe wouldn’t have indulged to anyone about his backstory; he would’ve gone on to use only his ice. I don’t believe many of the other students who he’d consider ‘strong enough’ would try to encourage him like Midoriya did during their battle. It’d also be safe to say that because of this, he wouldn’t visit his mother afterwards.

Hero Killer: Stain: Due to Midoriya not interning with Gran Torino, and seeing as the events with Tensei would still occur, Tenya would still go after the villain with revenge. It’d likely that both he and Native would die by Stain since there is no Midoriya or Todoroki to intervene.

Final Exams: Nothing too terrible happens here - but its likely that Bakugou would be off worse.

Training Camp: Bakugou and Todoroki, perhaps even more students would’ve been kidnapped by the League. Kouta likely would’ve been killed by Muscular, and still would’ve hated heroes.

Kamino Ward: AFO vs All Might still occurs - but the outcome very well could’ve ended differently. The League might’ve gotten away with the students they kidnapped, and All Might might lose due to the fact he was holding back due to Bakugou in canon.

Provisional License Exam: Again, not that bad - some of the students might’ve not passed alongside Bakugou and Todoroki. If Toga still sneaks in, she either would’ve gotten no blood or the blood of someone else.

Overhaul/Internship Arc: Very possibly Eri might’ve never been saved. The prophecy with All Might not be twisted. Sir Nighteye still might die...and Mirio could’ve still, very likely, gotten shot. Where does that leave him? Probably without both his original quirk and One For All. The villains would win.

And that’s only if UA still remained open after earlier events. UA would be at the very real possibility of closing after the events of the USJ, allowing at least two students and possibly one or two teachers to die.

Midoriya, as a character, has made such an impact that the storyline would be vastly different. Several characters changed for the better because of his presence in the storyline with OFA. So many characters had the real chance of being badly hurt or killed if Midoriya hadn’t interfered in some way, shape or form.

He can’t interfere if he doesn’t have OFA.

Midoriya possess more of a hero’s ideals than Mirio when it comes to several,,, things in general. Mirio doesn’t really possess what Midoriya does, and would almost feel like an All Might copy.

Midoriya is truly working to make this quirk his own...Mirio would’ve had a better time, but we never would’ve seen the struggle our lovely green protagonist went through. The pain, the blood, the tears...Mirio wouldn’t have that - at least, not to the same extent.

And that is why Mirio doesn’t suit being the MC, or being the holder of OFA.

#bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mirio togata #sir nighteye #all might #midoriya izuku #one for all #meta?#my thoughts are a mess sorry if this post isnt easy to read #lemillion #big three #queue

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makbaes-archives · 6 years

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Sugar and Spice - Jackson (M)

Pairing: Jackson Wang x Reader (female) Word Count: 3,920 Genre: Soulmate AU, Fluff, Smut Rating: (M) - NSFW - sex, language Summary: A trip to your local fair is a tradition amongst your friends. This year, your love of competition and all things spicy leads you to compete in the Pepper Eating Contest. And while you don’t even come close to winning, meeting your soulmate proves to be the ultimate prize.

↳ Oneshot as part of The Inevitability of You with @kpop-wetdreams and @yehet-me-up <3

“Come on, guys! We’re going to miss it!” You yell back to your friends who are just barely keeping up with your running pace. You weave through the crowds of people, bumping shoulders with strangers as you force your way to the stage at the front of the crowd.

The pepper eating contest is a favorite at your local fair, always drawing large crowds of onlookers as they watch a group of people suffer through various types of peppers, each getting hotter and hotter as they go. As an avid spice lover, you’ve always wanted to join, but nerves and timing always got in the way.

Not this year.

This year you secure a spot amongst the group of 15 contestants, and whether you win or not, you’re just excited to finally be doing it. The challenge itself is more than worth it; the prize money is just an added bonus, should you win.

You find the host, and he signs you in, handing you a badge with a number on it and take your place at the far end of the table. You’re one of the last to arrive, and soon after you sit, the MC is beginning the show.

He explains the rules as several stagehands fill up the cups in front of each contestant with milk. It’s simple, really. The heat index of the pepper will go up with each round. Those that throw up or drink their milk are disqualified. The final person standing wins the money.

Steeling yourself, you grin at the loud cheering of your friends in the crowd. It’s a silly thing, you know, but you’re excited, veins pumping with adrenaline, and the fact that your friends are here with you makes it even better.

“Alright contestants, up first… the Padron!”

The pepper goes down easy, the heat lingering on your tongue just enough. No one taps out, and they move onto the next one: the Dutch Green chili pepper.

Again, no one taps out. Not until round 4, then again at 5, 6 and 7. Your mouth is on fire. The milk in front of you is so tempting, and your hand twitches on the table. Face red and tears already drying on your cheeks, you hold your resolve.

The Scotch Bonnet does you in.

You gag once before tossing the remaining bit of the pepper into the trash bag and grabbing for your cup of milk, downing it quickly in hopes of killing the raging fire that is your mouth. The MC announces your withdrawal, as well as another contestant. You take your walk of shame gladly and meet up with your friends, but as soon as you reach them, your stomach takes a dive.

Sighing in defeat, you hand one of them your cup. “Alright, well, I’m gonna go puke now. I’ll see you in a bit.”

They look after you, mildly horrified at how calm you are. You had expected this. Maybe not the puking, but an upset stomach, of course. This was a lot of heat all at once, and as much as you loved all things spicy, your stomach couldn’t handle this much.

10 minutes later, you’re feeling much better, albeit your mouth is still on fire. After wiping the running mascara from your cheeks, you head back to the stage, where your friend greets you with an ice cream cone. While the flavor does nothing for you - thanks to your missing sweet taste receptors - the dairy in it provides much-needed relief to your tongue.

You idly lick at the creamy substance while your friends' chatter, when a sudden burst of applause catches your attention.

“Give it up to this year’s champion, Jackson Wang!” The MC announces excitedly to the roaring crowd.

Brows shoot up at the unfamiliar name. He wasn’t last years winner or even a runner-up. Quickly, you rush to the front of the stage where he’s making his way down the stairs to join some friends, big, fake check in his hand, looking completely unphased - as if he hadn’t just ingested 15 of the world’s hottest peppers.

As you gaze at him in wonder, he turns and catches your gaze, and there’s a sudden shift. You pause your action, tongue mid-lick, and pull a face. Looking down at the cone, you wonder if the milk’s gone sour. Though, it doesn’t taste sour… With wide eyes, you look up, only to find the contest winner - Jackson - gripping his friend’s arm, nearly doubling over as his face turns red.

You’re shocked, to say the least. This isn’t anything you thought finding your soulmate would be like. And boy, had you thought up some scenarios. None of them included your soulmate vomiting at your feet.

Shoving the cone in your friend’s hand, you walk over to him, ignoring his friends’ confused and worried stares.

“You’re my soulmate.” You state to him, and he coughs, whining. You cannot believe this. “You couldn’t taste the spice.”

“Yeah, he’s never had this kind of-”

“You cheated.” Interrupting Jackson’s friend, you glare down at him, arms crossed.

Jackson looks up from his hunched over position and shakes his head wildly, bringing a finger to his lips. He coughs again, hand clutching his stomach, and his friend tries to stand him up straight.

“I think I’m dying,” he groans, voice gravelly from the irritation. “Oh, god. I’m gonna die.”

“Well, maybe that’s the consequence of using your soulmate impairment to cheat!”

“Shhh, don’t say that too lo-” And he groans again, whimpering into his friend's shoulder. “Is this how it feels for everyone? Why do people eat spicy things?”

Jackson’s friend chuckles and shakes his head. “You ate like, a shit ton of peppers, dude. Of course, you feel like you’re dying. Well, I mean, now you do, thanks to…”

You’re almost too busy judging the ever-loving crap out of your supposed soulmate that you don’t realize he’s talking to you. Brows raise in confusion briefly, before you get it.

“Y/N.” You give a shy smile to his friend, a quick quirk of your lips, before flicking your gaze back to Jackson. Humming, you grab your ice cream back and offer it to Jackson, who’s brows bunch together in confusion. “You eat it.”

He glares at you before grabbing it and giving it a tentative lick. You roll your eyes.

“I’m not sick or anything.”

A few more licks seem to help his burning mouth, and he lightens up a bit, but his stomach is still angry with him, and he pouts like a child. You can’t help but find it a little cute. Just a little, though.

“You should probably go home,” his friend suggests, and you nod in agreement. “Want me to get you an uber?”

“What? No, I can take him home,” you say, and you surprise yourself at your sudden willingness to help out this total stranger - soulmate or not.

“You don’t have to,” Jackson tells you, but you shake your head.

“It’s okay. I don’t feel all that great either. We can suffer together. That’s what all this soulmate stuff is about anyway, right?” You ask with a grin.

Jackson’s face softens from the pout, and he grins back, agreeing to go with you.

The two of you say goodbye to your friends, who either seem happy to be able to stay behind and enjoy the fair or happy to pair you off alone together; you can’t decide which it is more, though. The car ride to his place is mostly silent as he leans against your passenger side window, aside from the directions he gives you. This gives you time to really assess what’s going on.

You’ve found your soulmate.

You’ve found him, and his name is Jackson Wang, and he cheats at pepper eating contests. Well, he used to, that is.

There isn’t a whole lot out there, science-wise, about soulmates. It’s all so new - the research, that is - so there are new discoveries being made all the time. For instance, you had thought proximity was the key to unlocking one’s inability, however, it seemed to happen to you and Jackson the moment you locked eyes.

Sneaking a glance over at him, you see his eyes are closed. You take a moment to admire his profile. He’s actually quite gorgeous, you finally take note, as your eyes flit between him and the road. There’s a blossoming tightness in your chest, nothing like anything you’ve ever felt, and you wonder if it’s because of him. If this is what the soulmate bond does to you. You want nothing more than to know everything about him, every part of him. You want a closeness with him you’ve never wanted before, and it scares you, how much you’re suddenly willing to rush into… something, everything with him.

When you pull up to his apartment, you help him up and inside. Behind closed doors, the pull to him is so much, it’s almost impossible to breathe. You wonder if he’s feeling the same way, or if his discomfort is in the way.

“Do you have any Pepto Bismol? It’ll help your stomach,” you say almost distractedly as your eyes scan his apartment.

Jackson shakes a bottle of tablets, pulling your attention to him as he grins. “Way ahead of you.”

You breathe out a laugh and shake your head. There’s a silence between you both, but it’s not awkward. Jackson looks at you like he’s got a million questions, and he’s ready to ask them, opening his mouth, but he promptly shuts it and groans.

Poor thing.

“I should… let you get some rest.”

You hold back a laugh, watching him run into the other room. This should be embarrassing. You should feel awkward and weird and grossed out, but you don’t. Shaking your head, you bite your lip and turn to leave, before remembering something. Finding a pen on the kitchen counter, you scribble your number on one of the bills sitting there. He’s bound to see it.

As your leaving, your stomach gurgles, and you wince. You should regret having eaten as many peppers as you did, but as you glance back at his apartment door, you think it’s totally worth the trouble.

One week.

One whole week since you last saw Jackson, last spoke to him, first met him.

He didn’t call you like you had hoped. Did he not feel what you did? Did he not feel the attraction, the immediate pull to you that you felt towards him? Did he not like your personality, or maybe something you said?

Maybe he was embarrassed? That’s completely understandable, given the way you both met, but even then, how could he live with the gut-wrenching feeling you currently were? It only got worse as the days passed, and you wondered if this was what the rest of your life would be like, should you never see him again.

You had googled as much as you could, trying to find others who felt the same. There were several blogs of people who lost their soulmates, ranging from death to simply never finding them after having been exposed to them in some way. The feelings they had were similar to those you were currently experiencing. Honestly, it was the worst feeling imaginable. You felt as if a part of you was missing. And it was.

Sweets became dull and bland once again. But it wasn’t the flavor you missed - no, it turns out sweetness is a taste you could live without, the overt sweetness too much for your liking - it was the boy that brought that distaste to life.

It wasn’t long before your sadness turned to anger. Before the anxiety in your chest became a permanent thing, squeezing the very breath out of you. This was torture, and it was all because of Jackson Wang, your supposed soulmate.

Soulmate, my ass, you think as you stab into the chunk of meat.

Lifting the fork to your lips, you place it in your mouth, immediately glaring at the flavorful spicy heat that engulfs your tongue. Well, this was your favorite dish. Now, though, you can’t seem to take another bite. It only serves as a reminder. It only makes you think of him.

You toss the meal away in the garbage with a huff, deciding that you hate Jackson Wang.

One week and one day after you meet your soulmate, you meet him again.

You’re still shocked this time around, albeit, much less so. Your eyes go wide when you spot him walking into the coffee shop, and when you lock eyes, his face lights up. Hastily, you look away, but it’s too late. He’s bounding over to you like a puppy, and you hate that your heart is beating too fast and your stomach is doing flips. There’s no one in line behind you, so Jackson sidles up to you, and you hear him let out an excited huff of air.

“I didn’t think I’d ever find you again,” he tells you, and you roll your eyes, scanning the menu behind the counter.

It’s sad, really, that you can feel Jackson’s pout without even looking at him. It’s like you know so much about him already, and yet there’s a lifetime of things to learn still.

...No.

“I feel so stupid and embarrassed about last week. That’s definitely not… how I pictured our meeting, but-”

“I’d like a french vanilla soy latte with no foam, please.”

The barista smiles and takes your money, and without letting Jackson finish, you move to the other end of the counter to wait for your coffee. It’s always been your favorite, despite not tasting the flavor. Whatever flavor it actually tasted like didn’t matter, really, but it wasn’t bitter, and that’s all you needed.

The barista turns to Jackson, who is currently looking longingly over at you while you do your best to ignore him. It’s hard, though, with him so close. He’s 5 feet away, but you swear you can smell his cologne. Your fingers itch to reach out and touch him, brush your thumb across his lips, press yourself against his body as you find his most vulnerable spots.

Jaw clenching, you give a tight-lipped smile to the barista who hands you your coffee cup, and you thank her, turning to walk away.

“Y/N! Wait, where are you-”

“Why didn’t you call me?” You swing around to face him, so abruptly that he skids to a stop less than a foot away from you. He’s too close now, you think, as you look up at him. You can see the beginnings of stumble across his chin, and the dark chocolate of his eyes. It was all you could do not to lean closer.

Jackson looks put off by this question. He narrows his eyes in confusion, head tilting to the side, and it’s hard to remember you hate him when he’s so cute.

“I didn’t have your number,” Jackson says softly, and now it’s your turn to narrow your eyes.

“I wrote it on one of your bills on the counter. It was pretty out in the open.”

Jackson’s brows raise before he bites his lip. “I may have thrown those out.” And as if he’s expecting you to be angry, he quickly adds, “I do everything online! I’m sorry! I knew they had been taken care of, so I tossed them.” A hand comes to rub the back of his neck, and he looks down shyly. “God, I’m so stupid.”

Eyes still narrowed at him, you bring the coffee cup to your lips and take a sip. Immediately, the overwhelming sweetness hits you, and you groan. Jackson looks up and quirks a brow.

Muttering, you glare down at the coffee you once loved so much, then up at Jackson. Handing the cup to him, you fold your arms and sigh. “Yeah, you are stupid.”

Jackson’s eyes move from you to the cup and back, and he nods, waiting for you to continue.

“But I guess we really are soulmates because that’s way too sweet for me. What do you say you make it up to me with another coffee and we try this whole thing again?”

The smile Jackson gives you is radiant and infectious as he nods excitedly and takes your hand, walking you both back to the register. You grin back at him, watching him as he orders something, and when he brings it to you, you find that it’s a perfect balance of sweet and bitter, and your heart flutters just a bit more.

Biological soulmates are a very weird and confusing concept, and even weirder and more confusing when it’s more than that. When it’s real life, and you have to discuss things like “do we start dating right away?”, “is it weird to start getting too comfortable so soon?”, “should we wait to have sex, or…?”.

While it feels a little bit awkward at first, ultimately, you and Jackson just let things happen naturally. And in the following weeks of you both getting to know each other, you notice how easy everything is. How easy it is to talk about everything and anything, how easy it is to feel comfortable around each other, how easy it is to flirt and tease.

When you aren’t together, you’re either texting or Facetiming. You start spending time at each other’s houses, just movie nights and dinners at first, which turns into staying over and waking up in each other’s arms. You kiss lightly, tentatively, for the first few weeks, before it’s too much. The burning desire building within you threatens to boil over and take control, and you honestly don’t know how you’ve managed to hold back for this long.

Jackson seems to feel the same way.

It’s a typical evening for you both. You’re lounging on your couch, reading on your phone, while he finishes cleaning up in the kitchen. You’re so engrossed in the article you’re reading that you don’t hear him coming. He flops next to you on the couch and lays his head in your lap, and your hand automatically goes to play with him. You hear his contented sigh, and you smile softly.

“What’re you reading?” He asks, looking up at you with large doe eyes.

“Mark Tuan’s newest research article. You know, that super young biologist that’s research biological soulmates?”

Jackson hums with interest. “Neat. What’s it about?”

“Well, he’s found his soulmate, so he’s been able to add a lot of personal experiences into the research. It’s just so… fascinating.”

“Oh, yeah?” He sits up, your hand falling into your lap, and presses against your side. Instinctively, you lean into him, letting him cuddle against you. But as soon as you feel his lips on your skin, all interest in the article vanishes.

“You’re fascinating,” he mumbles against your skin. Suddenly, it feels a hundred degrees hotter in the room.

His lips are soft against your neck, pressing lightly from below your jaw down to your collarbone. His teeth graze over your skin there, and you sigh, setting your phone down on the couch beside you. One of your hands moves to rest on his thigh as he continues his mild assault, each press of his lips becoming more haste, more heated. He bites and suckles at the tender flesh, and you know there will be marks in the morning, but you can’t seem to care right now.

Turning, you capture his lips in a quick change of control. For weeks you’ve been holding back, trying to push down the absolute need to feel him flush against you. Jackson seems taken aback momentarily until he catches up and kisses back with just as much force. This kiss is different from others. You can feel the surrender in both of your actions, the complete abandonment of any morals or promises you had as he cups your chin and brings you closer to him.

Sitting up on your knees, you swing one leg over his thighs and straddle his waist, and Jackson takes no time in grabbing your hips to pull you towards his, grinding into your pelvis with a low groan. He’s already half-hard, and you have a feeling it won’t take much longer. For either of you. You can feel how drenched you are, and it shouldn’t shock you the quick reaction your body has for him. You are soulmates, after all. Made for each other.

And it certainly feels that way when he has you pinned to your mattress, thrusting into you at a near-violent pace - and it feels like nothing you’ve felt before. Sex has never been this good, this perfect, this mind-blowingly incredible.

He has you cumming within minutes, and it’s not typical of you to cum without clitoral stimulation, but Jackson manages to do it. And not once, but twice before he even worries about himself.

“Jackson,” you whine after your second orgasm, tugging at his hair to bring his lips to yours, and you take his lower lip between your teeth. You take the opportunity to flip him onto his back, grinding yourself against his dick. Jackson groans, bucking against you, and you smile coyly at him.

“Come for me, baby,” you command him, continuing to grind your sensitive core against him, already slick with your cum. Jackson grips your hips, fingers digging into your skin, nails leaving crescent moons as he thrusts against you once, twice, a third time before he releases onto his stomach.

You slow your movement as he shudders against you, and double over, careful of the mess, lazily kissing his neck, his jaw, and then his lips. His arms wrap behind your back to pull you flush against him, and you grimace, while he laughs against your mouth.

There’s a comfortable silence as you both catch your breaths, basking in the afterglow of the most amazing sex you’ve ever had. And it isn’t even about the sex, you realize, staring into his eyes. It’s about the bond between soulmates. It’s about the magnetic pull you have towards one another, in every way imaginable. It’s about the way he shows you he loves you, even in the first moments of getting to know you.

It isn’t long before it gets uncomfortably sticky, and you peel yourself away from him, standing beside the bed, your hand held out for him. Jackson smiles and takes it, getting out of bed and following you to the shower.

He shows you his love for you again and again. In the shower, in the way he dries your hair when you’re done, in the way he cuddles against you, rubbing soft circles into your back, in the way he cooks you breakfast in the morning.

Jackson shows his love for you in every way he can, and you return it without hesitance. You’ve never done something effortlessly in your life, and you never question for a moment if he’s absolutely the one.

After a year of dating, you receive a letter in the mail. Your eyes light up when you see the familiar logo of the soulmate DNA testing center, and you begin reading, heart pounding against your chest.

It’s real. It’s so real. It’s biologically meant to be.

“Jackson-!” As you turn to tell him the good news, you find him on one knee, a small box in his hand holding a bright ring, almost as bright as your future together.

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading! I’m so sorry about the wait. Life kept getting in the way, but it’s here! Be sure to check out the entire series! <3 Scan credit: @jr_ram_n94922

xoxo,Tyler

#kpoptrashtag #jackson wang #got7 #jackson smut #got7 smut #jackson wang x reader #got7 au #collab: TIOY

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theessaflett · 4 years

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Wicca & Whispers: My Unexpected Month as a Pagan Convert

My first and, to date, only, experience of a spiritual revelation happened in the summer of 2017.

Half an hour into a meditation session, eyes closed, legs crossed, I had a startlingly clear image of a gigantic oak tree growing out of the ground in front of me, unfurling its leaves and stating in a deep voice: I am Mother Earth. I am the one true religion. Convert to the Wiccan Faith.

This spiritual revelation, crystal clear in my mind’s eye, was a little unexpected…not least because that meditation session was part of a Christian retreat. When we went round the circle afterwards sharing any godly moments we’d had during our prayerful meditation I, unsurprisingly enough, kept quiet. Right sort of experience. Wrong religion.

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

With no small amount of trepidation and some curiosity, I recently asked around my friend group and requested that they describe me in one word. Some responses were:

Focused Self-Assured Unique Creative Warm Versatile Funny

And, my favourite: “Essa” …Fair enough.

Now, this is a wide reaching list, but there was one word that didn’t make a single appearance from anyone: religious. I am not surprised by this. I am generally known as the cynical one, the sardonic one, the pessimist, the sensible thinker, and rightly so. (I am Scottish, after all.) Essa the logical. Essa the skeptic. Many, if not most, of the people who meet me in my day to day life would probably expect me to be agnostic, even atheist.

And yet.

And yet the institution of the church and Christianity itself has had a profound and far-reaching importance in my life. My mother is a lay-reader, church organist and choir leader. My dad is also a church organist. My Mum’s family are Church of Scotland Elders, My Dad’s folk are Salvation Army, some of them even founding members of the London branch of the institution. My family tree is heaving with religion, my own childhood spent in church buildings and prayer meetings. I was playing violin in the praise band at aged 4, playing the organ and helping run local church summer workshops by age 12, arguing on theological issues with church camp youth leaders by age 13. When people ask what my relationship is with the church, I usually just say, “I grew up in the church and my family is very involved with our local church community” and leave it at that. At that point most folk presume this to mean that I have given up on religion myself and leave the matter be, much to my relief.

And yet.

And yet I do still go to church, when I can. I am a congregation member of a very liberal C of E church in London, the type of church where God is referred to by female pronouns, people don’t guard ‘their spot’ on the pew and metropolitan gay couples bring their aesthetically flawless children with them every Sunday morning. I don’t tend to experience much great spiritual uplifting during the service but I enjoy the sermon, which usually has a disruptive, feminist slant, the sense of community, the feeling that here is a group of people who care about each other and are trying to just generally be nicer to everyone. I’ve told myself for years that there isn’t a need for a powerful sense of the otherworldy, of godliness, to make church worthwhile: surely a sense of that community and a reminder to be kind is a generally good thing, worthy in of itself.

I was the church organist for this tiny yet friendly congregation in Tayport between the ages of 15-17. They did excellent cups of tea. I’m the one with the ginger hair. (2013)

And yet.

And yet since I was very small, I have yearned for that ‘aha!’ moment. That euphoric experience of spiritual enlightenment where I would know that God was out there in the world. An unmistakable KA-POW.

“You just need to send one sign!” I remember fervently bartering late one night when I was about eight during my bedtime prayers. “Just send one sign to show you exist and I won’t ask again and I’ll be extra good!” I was unaware then, in the midst of my doubt, of the irony of my paternal grandmother’s maiden name: Thomas. (Theology joke).

Years passed, and my wish for clear ‘godly proof of life’ faded into the background but didn’t entirely dissipate. From the ages of 10-13 I went to increasingly evangelical church summer camps where everyone else and their pet dog had seemingly had a personal meeting with Jesus, throwing myself into bible study groups and arm-waving to cheesy pop worship songs in the desperate hope that some sort of visitation from the Holy Spirit might eventually happen by Day 9 of camp. Nothing.

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My teenage diaries are filled with fears of a malignant God, or a long-dead God, or a God that simply had decided that I personally was worthy only of being ignored. By seventeen I had given up on God entirely and announced myself agnostic. …This proved to be a very short-lived phase. Homesickness and a wish to find that specific sense of belonging that only churches can truly give led me to my current liberal C of E church in 2014, but that wish for that ‘just one sign’ was still a background hum.

You can perhaps appreciate my frustration, then, when I finally got my sign in that prayer meeting in 2017. This was it. The visitation I’d been waiting for since eight year old me had laid down the gauntlet, demanding proof. It was just such a shame that it was the wrong bloody religion.

What would you do? On the one hand I was a church goer, who came from a church family, who had been brought up in the Christian faith.

On the other hand I had been wanting a spiritual sign from the heavens for about 14 years by this point and there it was. Ridiculous in nature and almost certainly brought on from a combination of severe sleep deprivation, high caffeine intake and end-of undergraduate-degree existential stress, but there nevertheless.

Reader. I went for it.

As my girlfriend at the time watched in mild, and then moderate alarm, I went out on what can only be described a ‘Wiccan Spree’, where in the space of about three weeks I obtained four spell books and a brand of incense called ‘Dragon’s Blood’, started following about eight different ‘Witchy Aesthetic’ Instagram accounts, watched countless YouTube spell videos, joined a Facebook group called ‘Divine Goddesses’, signed up for a MeetUp event where you joined a ‘coven’ and casted spells in woods, guilt-read a blog called ‘So You Used To Be Christian And Now You’re Pagan: An Introduction To Your New Faith’, collected leaflets for a Pagan festivals that included activities such as ‘Tree Yoga’, drew my very own pentangle, made a wand and repurposed tea-light holders as containers for random household items that I decided represented the four elements. I was, in retrospect, almost certainly having some sort of small nervous breakdown, but at the time the sense of sudden purpose was truly wonderful. Wonderful, that is, until I got to the chapter about gender roles in my new, shiny Wiccan textbook.

The enthused, evangelical pages about the powerful, strong energy of men and the sensitive, delicate energy of women left a sour taste in my mouth, particularly when it became clear that male and female energies were always expected to ‘intertwine’ exclusively with each other. I’d thought I was pursuing a fresh, exciting new way to explore my spirituality, a way that left the more archaic views and beliefs of the church behind. It was a disappointment, then, to discover that heteronormative expectations of gender and sexuality permeated more than just the ‘mainstream’ religions. Wicca wasn’t going to be my ‘true path’, after all. The vision of the tree suddenly seemed like a silly figment of my imagination, and I was glad that I’d kept it mostly to myself. The spell books quietly and sheepishly went to the charity shop.

…And yet.

As I write this here in late 2019, there is still, somewhere in my brain, that eight year old child who is waiting for the moment of indisputable proof of a higher power. I am, of course, in good company, as countless Christians have searched for exactly that proof right from the beginning of the faith: the New Testament is chock-full of disciples needing massive, indisputable signs from the Heavens before they’ll believe practically anything, much to Jesus’ frustration. In John 20:29 a newly resurrected and very irritated Jesus says to Thomas, a disciple so skeptical that he’s known as Doubting Thomas (…told you my earlier Thomas joke was a theological one) and who has refused to believe in the resurrection of Jesus right up until the moment Jesus literally appears in front of him, “ Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed!”

…A phrase probably written into the Bible for the early Christians, encouraging them in their belief in a Messiah they hadn’t personally met, and a phrase that still holds comfort for Christians around the world today.

It’s one of those deceptively easy-sounding sayings, ‘Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed’.

I’ve always been someone who’s a stickler for facts - for instance, I worked out that Santa didn’t exist when I was five and then couldn’t understand for the life of me why everyone else was perpetuating a lie that was, in my mind, simply unnecessary. (It took quite a lot of persuading from my parents for me not to share my newfound knowledge with my friend group. I settled for pitying looks and pointed questions along the lines of, “But how exactly does he get down the chimney, Karen?”)

People who are Fact People don’t like the concept of blind belief. We don’t like it at all. It makes us feel exposed, and icky, and foolish, and like we’re being played for suckers.

I am a Fact Person. I am also not many people’s typical idea of a Christian.

I have tattoos. I am openly queer. I believe abortion and birth control are fundamental human rights, I don’t believe Mary was a virgin or that non-believers need ‘Saving’, I consider the Bible to be a fascinating tapestry of sociological history best read with the expectation of cross-culture misunderstandings rather than it being the undiluted Word of God, and I think that in institutionalised religion there is often too much fixating on a possible future Heaven when Hell is already happening now, in this lifetime, to so many people who need Earthly help rather than lofty prayer.

I am, in short, too much of a questioner to ever be a ‘true believer’. Blind Evangelical faith is just never going to come easy for this Doubting Thomas.

And as for my tree vision? My queer, feminist relationship with gender and gender roles stopped me from identifying as Wiccan, the restricted binary expectations making that path an instant no-go.

And yet. I am far from an atheist.

Me (now with blue hair) at a spiritual retreat with members of my current church community (Spring 2019)

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As I move away from my teens and deeper into my twenties, I can slowly feel a subtler understanding of what God might be beginning to lap at the edges of my understanding of the world. Be it Mother Earth, be it the Holy Trinity, be it whatever you want to call it, I have noticed the small things I do in day to day life to honour the unexplainable.

The fact that I knew that lighting a candle and conducting my own small service for the flat I was about to leave after living there for 3 years was absolutely the right thing to do, despite the fact that that building was theoretically just bricks and mortar? Unexplainable.

The fact that I sometimes enter a house and go “yep, this is good” and sometimes am like, “ABSOLUTELY NOT, NOPE, DO NOT WANT TO STAY HERE THIS HOUSE DOES NOT LIKE ME”? Unexplainable…and ridiculous to witness.

The fact that, every so often, in the woods or on a deserted beach, I get a strange sense of flickering connection? A sense of an electric undercurrent that could be sparked into life if only two wires were connected? Unexplainable, unexplainable, unexplainable.

Celtic Christianity, that ancient and now largely forgotten Spiritual meeting-place between Christianity and Paganism, has a term for these moments where the Other can be felt, if only for a half-second: they are ‘thin places’, the places ‘in the world where the walls are weak’.

In the words of 1 Kings 19:12,

After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper.

I’m beginning to suspect that perhaps in all my straining, in all my looking for divine ‘massive earthquakes’ and ‘impressive firestorms’, I’ve missed countless gentle whispers.

My relationship with faith is destined to wax and wane. The only certainty is that it will never stay the same. That, I’m beginning to realise, is allowed. Normal, even. For now, unsure of what the future may bring, I am content to search for those thin places and whisper into the quiet.

You never know. I might hear a whisper in return.

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fuzzystarofficial-blog · 7 years

Text

Bonus Post: Father-Son Moment

An excerpt from my soon to be released book. Here, Isaac Comett and his dear ol dad go out for a trip to the arcade...but the games stretch deeper than what’s on the screen.

Dad started going through some CD's in the holder on the sun visor when we hit red light. He took one that had a handwritten label and popped it into the car's player. Instantly, the vehicle had turned into a nightclub as rhythmic house music started playing, the beat matching the swipes of the windshield wipers as the rain picked up.

"This is from a radio show I caught a few weeks ago. It had a few tunes you like so I made a recording of the mix." he said with a slick smile. I had to admit, it was pretty awesome.

"Wow! I didn't think you could find this type of stuff on regular radio." I said.

"Well, your old man and his crew have been pushin' the house vibe a lot up this way. I think it's starting to catch on!" I was used to him tooting his own horn, but in this instance I didn't care so much. Dad did have a noticeable influence with a lot of the other DJ's in the area.

"Can you turn it down? It's too thuddy!" said Rich from the back seat.

"Aw man! But it's getting to the best part!" said Dad as he conceded.

"This track right here is epic!" I was at the edge of my seat the moment my ears caught an awesomely executed shuffled beat. The singer's vocals were diced up so melodically that it didn't matter that they weren't singing any words. That added with a low guitar riff made what was basically drugs for my ears.

“You like it, I take it?”

"I wish I had it! My sets would be so much better with it." I said as I rocked my head to the rhythm of the song.

"You and I always did have the same taste. It's called Alabama Blues. The name of the remixer escapes me right now. Hot ain't it? "

"Totally!" Calculations filled my head of how much begging I'd have to do to get Mom to slip me the money for the golden record.

"It's an unreleased track though. Gotta know somebody in the biz to get it."

"Figures." I said. A lame fact about liking underground dance music: The best stuff never sees the light of day to the general public. Don't ask me why, it's just the way it is. For you rock lovers, just picture it like every album being Ozzy Osbourne's Blizzard of Oz, minus Crazy Train. The only way to get the really good songs was to either know someone in the business or make a cheesy bootleg recording off the radio.

"Rich, give Isaac the white record in that box next to you." smiled Dad with another one of his jerky grins.

Richard leaned over to the big plastic crate next to him. It was filled with vinyl records, most likely leftover from Dad's last gig. After pulling out several possible items he took out the right one. When I saw it my heart jumped up into my mouth. I knew for a fact I was the only guy aside from Zack in all of Mantlestown that took electronica so seriously.

"Where did you get this?!" my eyes were wide open as I read the song's title printed across the record.

"Your dad knows a guy that knows a guy." he said. "I thought you'd like it!"

"I do! Thanks!" For a few seconds I forgot about the harsh feelings I had towards the man I shared blood with. The track played out eventually however, and the next song faded in.

When we reached Smiley Rec, the place was packed. It looked like the rain had forced everyone in town with outdoor plans to congregate in the stuffy building as a backup. Crowds didn't really bother me, but waiting in line to get tokens did.

Rich and I could barely sit still with all the lights and sounds around us. Loud smacks echoed from the air hockey tables, kids freaked out over ribbons of tickets that poured from the flashing video games while some dude and his girl popped a token in a machine and stomped loudly on printed arrows, jamming out to an Asian pop song.

Dad had gone to scope out how long of a wait it would be for laser tag, leaving my bro and myself alone as he exchanged our real cash for play money. When he came back we divided the tokens up and I promptly tore Rich a new one in a race car game.

"It's gonna be a little bit longer for laser tag." said Zack as he stepped behind our driver seats. "Let's stick to these games upstairs for now and check back at the booth later."

When my bro accepted his virtual driving skills left more to be desired, he went off to waste some money on an obviously rigged claw machine. Dad looked around for a game that would put us both on an even playing field, which when translated meant a game he would win.

We ended up at the air hockey tables. Zack so graciously paid up the two token fee to get us started. The air kicked on and the duel began.

"So son, you got a girlfriend?" He was always very forward.

"No, not right now anyway." I blocked him from scoring and reset the puck.

"Is there anyone you got the hots for?"

"No. Well, yeah there's one girl." It's not like he knew any of my friends, so I didn't have to worry about him blabbing about it to anyone.

"Have you tried asking her out?" Dad asked. I almost scored a goal, but he was too quick and smacked it back into my pocket.

"No not yet." I said as I grabbed a fresh puck and started the game again.

"Well why not?"

"We're already friends, I don't want to ruin anything we have if she says no or it doesn't work out." I sent the puck zig-zagging at him so fast he couldn't block it.

"C'mon, kid." he said with a sigh, "You gotta be confident!"

"I'm plenty confident. I'm just playing it safe is all." He nearly scored again. Dad let out a strong laugh.

"Since when does "safe" land you on second base?" He smacked the puck so fast I didn't even know he scored until the bell went off. He hopped up and down, proud of his handiwork.

"Since when is it just about that stuff?" I said, taking the puck out and starting again. My hands sped, trying to sink a shot while he was doing his stupid jig, but he instantly got back into the game and deflected it.

"Of course it's not, but it's important too! You think she's hot?" He followed the puck intently as it bounced around.

"She's pretty." I smacked it again, helping the circle maintain its random course.

"Okay so she's pretty. Kiss her and see what she says. It's the only way to know." He blocked it and sent it at me. I stopped it right before it went in potentially ended the game.

"Dad!" I was getting pretty ticked off at him. He was being so blunt and talking with me like I was one of his old drinking buddies. I saw the moment we had earlier spin down the drain before my eyes.

"What? It's how I got with your mom!" he said with a slick smile. I wanted to send the puck at his teeth.

"And how'd that work out for you in the end?" My timing was perfect. The puck went right into his pocket. He went from a giddy five year old to a sour old man.

"I got you and Rich, didn't I?"

The game started again.

"Yeah but if it was all just about physical stuff then why didn't you guys hold out?" I blocked the shot.

"Some other issues came up, son." Zack said. We both knew what those were, but I wanted him to say it.

"Such as?"

"Things, man. It got complicated you know that!" He swung harder than usual.

"What got complicated? Having kids or...?" His next shot had so much force the puck bounced up, almost over the plastic side guards. I moved my hands out of the way and the disc flew into my goal. Tiny sirens went off on his side.

"Good game!" His smile returned. Once again Zack Comett dodged a bullet; no Memorite necessary.

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