#plotting evil schemes and much arts!
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sunderwight · 3 months ago
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More Demon Saint Shen Yuan.
Shen Yuan resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he endured more of his older sister's griping about the loss at Cang Qiong.
Give him a break, okay? He couldn't win that match! The stupid, worthless System that he had transmigrated with had perked up for the first time in literal years to start badgering him about how Luo Binghe had to win or else it would deduct enough points to guarantee him a one-way ticket back to being a corpse. He had tried to tell her that it wasn't his fault, but he supposed that from the outside, it probably did look a lot like he'd deliberately sabotaged her.
Oh well. That kind of thing really wasn't unexpected between demon siblings.
Actually, the two of them got along unusually well considering that they were expected to be trying to kill one another for their inheritance. Sha Hualing had never been Shen Yuan's favorite wife when he first read the novel 'Proud Immortal Demon Way', which was the setting for the world he had transmigrated into. She was just too mean and vicious and interwoven with all the stupid harem intrigue plots that he liked least about the story. But she was still a prominent character, a popular and even iconic one, and it had been exciting in a way to realize that he had transmigrated into a demon NPC.
Though, being a man in the world of a stallion novel was a dangerous proposition unless one was the stallion in question. Shen Yuan's only hope lay in that he was the male relative of a main wife, someone who could at least expect not to become the direct target of the protagonist's ire as long as he didn't make the mistake of becoming said wife's 'evil' relative. Given that, Shen Yuan had always gone to great lengths to make it clear to his older sister that he didn't want to inherit their father's lands or titles, that he was much too lazy and more interested in things like the arts and writing, and was additionally more interested in playing with frivolous things from the human realms than in conquering anybody.
For some reason, this led to many demons in their father's court to refer to in the same breath as the old Junshang, Tianlang-Jun. Luo Binghe's mysterious father. But at least Sha Hualing saw him more as a lackey than a threat, and only sometimes got suspicious of him or tried to sabotage his own doings.
In light of recent events, Shen Yuan knew to expect her to retaliate somehow. She had already mangled his hair piece, which was an emblem of his rank. Father would probably punish him for letting it be destroyed, though he wouldn't punish her for destroying it. Those were the kinds of standards that he had for such things. However, he knew she wasn't seriously rejecting him, because she'd still deigned to smack him around.
As counter-intuitive as it was to the human part of his brain, the smacking around stuff meant he was still accepted as 'didi' and hadn't moved to being a serious threat in Hualing's eyes. If he'd really fucked up, she would have begun ignoring him or else outright trying to kill him. Demons healed from injuries ridiculously fast, especially demons from the more powerful lineages. Shen Yuan's broken arm had all but completely fixed itself by the time they got back to the southern realms, and his sister's smacks barely even registered as painful when they'd landed. He supposed this explained why demons were generally more violent towards their loved ones. For them a few stab wounds or some broken ribs were little more than love taps.
He struggled to return that kind of affection, but he made a point to smack Sha Hualing's arm when she left an opening. She huffed at him, but she also (finally!) settled down after that.
"At least I saved us some shred of dignity by winning my match," she grumbled. “Even if I was the only fucking one!”
Their father's lackeys, the soldiers she'd hand-picked for her scheme, all but fell over themselves agreeing that of course the young Saint had been incredible, powerful, strong, amazing, blah blah blah. Shen Yuan wandered off to let them puff up her ego, escaping to his own rooms to go lick his wounds in peace.
It wasn't as if he didn't have any pride. That match had been legitimately harrowing! Figuring out how to let Luo Binghe win without just tossing aside his spear and forfeiting on the spot wasn't easy! The System had told him that wouldn't work, though, and even he could concede that it would have made no sense. He'd wanted to throttle Hualing when she'd suddenly decided to pick him for the third match.
Though... as he finally settled behind the door to his rooms and sealed it behind him, Shen Yuan could admit that it had been kind of cool.
He'd finally met the protagonist!
He did a little jump for joy.
Luo Binghe shone with the glory of a thousand suns! His aura was almost too much to handle. Not only that, but he was somehow too pretty for words. Still young, of course, but a promising figure on the cusp of his manhood, with beautiful features and a compelling aura of potential. Small wonder that the ladies would soon start falling all over themselves to win his favor. It had taken a lot of effort on Shen Yuan's part not to try and whisk him away from his scum master and the abuses of his disciple days.
Luo Binghe, come live in the demonic realms right now! There are still plenty of things that will try to kill you, but at least they're honest about it?
That was, of course, an absolutely ridiculous proposal, so he'd had to bite his tongue and ended up saying too many other things instead.
To think that poor kid was going to end up in the Endless Abyss in the near future! It really was unfair. Sure he was forged in the fires of that trial, but seeing him in person, anyone would seethe at the injustice of it.
Or worry about the results. After all, as soon as that kid got out of the Abyss, his next stop was the demonic realms. Specifically, conquering them. Shen Yuan wasn't exactly attached to his demon father, but he didn't look forward to the kind upheaval his death would cause either. But that would be how things would go. First Luo Binghe would subdue the North and win Mobei-Jun's allegiance. Then he'd turn his gaze out towards the rest of the realms, and form an alliance with Sha Hualing. Their father would die, Hualing would inherit, and through her Luo Binghe would take control of enough of the minor kingdoms and fiefdoms to be named Junshang. Only after that would he return to the human world and start ingratiating himself to Huan Hua Palace. Who knew how Shen Yuan would fit into that plot? Hopefully he could scrape by as an unremarkable side character, without also getting dragged into too many of his sister's schemes. His best bet was to remain her loyal subordinate, and yet, that put him in the position of having to back her up even when she was concocting frankly terrible schemes.
He would have to be careful not to cross the line from being the ally of one wife to the enemy of others too, considering that most of Hualing's targets were Binghe's other wives. Hualing would never be punished. But her disposable, adjacent male relative?
Shen Yuan shook his head. He wouldn't say his life as a demon prince had been easy so far, but it was probably going to be a cakewalk compared to what was coming next!
"So how did the glorious invasion go?"
The sudden intrusion of a familiar voice into his musings was startling, but Shen Yuan suppressed his reaction and did not show it. Instead he just sighed in exasperation.
How this development had occurred was still unclear to him. Granted, the novel hadn't gone into much detail at all about what state the Elder Dream Demon was in before he met Luo Binghe, but obviously he was incorporeal, and in some contact with the Sha clan of demons in order for Sha Hualing to set him onto Luo Binghe after his surprise victory.
Shen Yuan had known to be somewhat on the lookout for him, but in his defense he had been born into this new life as an infant. He had a lot on his plate! Relearning how to do absolutely everything, plus navigating the weird social norms of demon society, and trying to figure out how to be a 'good' brother despite his father basically throwing him and all of his siblings into a fighting pit and encouraging them to thin the herd. He'd had a lot more older brothers and sisters than just Hualing back then, and hadn’t done his welfare a lot of favors by throwing himself between his plot-relevant sister and all the bigger, meaner siblings who were out for her blood. But somehow he had managed to survive, despite being perfectly unwilling to murder baby demons. Well, to be fair most of them had only really died during the adolescent trials that started at age ten, which he tried desperately not to remember or think about at all.
It had only been a couple of years ago that he had to start worrying about the plot itself, and it was around that time too when he'd followed Hualing into sneaking into one of the fortress vaults, and picked up a weird looking statue. The statue drew his attention because such crafts were pretty rare in the demonic realms, and most commonly stolen from humans.
But this one didn't look like any of the usual human designs. In fact, it looked distinctly evil in nature. Shen Yuan couldn't have even said what it was supposed to be a sculpture of. It was a little larger than his palm and very abstract, depicting swooping whorls and eyes, grasping, clawed hands, and the implication of entwined figures. It reminded him more of modern horror art from the world he'd left behind than an ancient artifact, but a lot of 'demonic culture' items were pretty much ripped straight from anime and Hollywood aesthetics. Shout out to the hack author for his stunning originality.
The sculpture had begun to glow, and then it had spoken. And then Shen Yuan found out that he'd accidentally picked up Meng Mo's tomb.
Or anchor. Coffin. Totem? Whatever one wanted to call it. The sculpture was currently helping keep what was left of the dream demon somewhat connected to this world after losing his body, though it had been running low of energy to sustain him. The System had chimed in to let him know that he needed to ensure it didn't run out, and Shen Yuan had dutifully tried to foist the object onto his sister, but it hadn't worked. Hualing must have taken it herself in the original story. If he'd been smarter, Shen Yuan would have thought to pretend he desperately wanted the object. That would have had her stealing it from him in no time. But instead he tried to give it away, and she'd been instantly suspicious and refused to touch it.
Which left him saddled with the annoying old geezer.
Usually Shen Yuan kept him in his study, not the main room, but ever since he began feeding more energy into the statue, Meng Mo had gained a supernatural ability to move it around. He liked to spy on people even outside of dreams, and seemed particularly fond of turning up on Shen Yuan's desks and tables and demanding tributes or respect or attention. Like an ill-behaved cat that was also a cursed tchotchke.
"Why aren't you in your spot?" he groused.
The statue glowed faintly as the dream demon chuckled. Parts of it shifted around so that one of the eye-shaped pieces seemed to stare at him.
"It went that well, huh? What a shame, I thought that sister of yours might have a chance if none of the peak lords were around."
"One of the peak lords showed up," Shen Yuan admitted.
"Hm, I'm surprised you're not dead in that case."
"It was only one."
The System chose that moment to chime in, sounding fainter and looking a bit more flimsy than it had when he had been in Luo Binghe's presence, when it had opted to start yelling at him over point deductions. He wondered if it worked less well when the protagonist wasn't around. Yet another good reason to try and avoid the plot, he supposed. Though the System's intervention in his life had been minimal so far, almost all of it involved threatening him with death unless he cooperated, and saddling him with troublesome things like Meng Mo.
Plot Point: Luo Binghe's Demon Tutor is a necessary component of the narrative. Please ensure the Elder Dream Demon encounters Luo Binghe and accepts him as a student. Warning: failure to comply will result in loss of B points.
See? Like that!
At least this presented an opportunity to get rid of a certain freeloader, and get Luo Binghe the teacher he desperately needed in the same stroke.
"Say, Elder, do you know of any cases where a demon had their potential sealed, and pretended to live as a human?" he asked, suddenly very interested in the prospect of getting this plot going. Meng Mo wasn't really so bad, he supposed, but he'd be happier to send him off to help Luo Binghe and wouldn't weep for the number of inkwells no longer passive-aggressively knocked off his writing desk. Or the hassle of having to find stuff to feed the old bastard.
"That's a strange thing to ask," Meng Mo replied. Shen Yuan could hear the frown in his voice, but also an underlying note of intrigue.
"When the peak lord showed up at the invasion, Da'jie proposed a series of duels to resolve the issue without us all getting slaughtered. I fought a young disciple, but his power was strange. He fought more like a demon youth than the other humans did," he explained.
"Hm," Meng Mo replied. The statue twisted around in his perception, shifting in minute, eerie ways that Shen Yuan had never been able to concretely pin down. He couldn't have said which pieces went from one place to another. "Sealing demonic power happens, but if that was the case, such a person would be too weak and devoid of talent to ever be taken in by human cultivators. Humans can't just train any one of them up to potential. Most of them don't even have an ounce of ability to cultivate, which is why they're so weak. It's only a few who can ever be on the level of demonkind."
Shen Yuan rolled his eyes. Yes, yes, demon superiority, blah blah blah. It was a complicated social issue in its way, since demons, despite being overall stronger, struggled as communities. It might have been different if demons could live in the human realm, which was a lot less harsh, but there were enough human cultivators to ensure that they were always beaten back or hunted down any time they tried. Demon culture had a lot to say about the superiority of living in a region full of big hostile beasts and plants that would either fuck you or eat you or both, but given half the chance, most would probably love to live where the fortress walls didn't have to be meters thick or buried underground. The only downside would be potentially eating their way through the whole ecosystem and then accidentally starving as a result. But then again, it wasn’t as if humans didn’t routinely do that sort of thing too.
"Well what if he had some potential anyway?" he suggested.
"Ha! For that kind of thing to work, your little disciple would have to be a rare kind of halfbreed," Meng Mo mused. "Nearly impossible. I've lived a long time and even I only ever heard tales of such things."
"Nearly impossible?" Shen Yuan pressed.
"Extremely unlikely. Especially if he’s part human. Even strictly among different kinds of demons, most hybrids that survive infancy just strongly favor one parent or the other. Or else they turn out ugly freaks. Was this kid an ugly freak?"
"No!" Shen Yuan insisted. "He was beautiful!"
There was an awkward pause.
"...So your interest in this human disciple, it's...?"
For some reason he felt a little flustered.
"He just seemed weird, alright? I thought you might know. But if Elder doesn't-"
"Hold on, hold on, when did I say I didn't know? You're the one making snap judgments here, all this elder has to go off is some brat's description of another brat! If I saw him, I'd be able to tell you!"
Shen Yuan resisted the urge to pump his fist in victory.
"Okay then, you should go tonight," he agreed.
"What? Go where?"
"Into his dreams, obviously. How else are you going to assess him?"
The statue flickered a bit.
"Now wait just a minute, it takes a lot of energy to do that kind of thing," the old demon protested. "I'm not going into some brat's dreams on the whims of your say-so, just because he's got a pretty face..."
"What's his face got to do with anything?!"
"Kids these days, thinking they can just boss their elders around, there's no respect-"
"Are you telling me that the great and mighty Master Dream Demon, who terrorized generations of demons so badly that the mere mention of his name was considered a curse, doesn't have the strength to go spy on a simple human disciple? Even after all the tributes I've given? How pathetic. I guess I'll just throw this old rock out into the trash," Shen Yuan goaded, moving towards the table that Meng Mo had situated himself on.
"Mouthy fucking brat! You wouldn't dare!" the dream demon protested.
"What good are you to me if you're so weak?" Shen Yuan reasoned, well-acquainted with demonic cultural attitudes on this point. Such a shitty eat-or-be-eaten kind of a world. Didn't the author know these tropes were unenlightened and problematic these days?
"Weak, who's weak? Of course I can do it! But it's been so long since you gave me any energy at all, why waste it?"
"I fed you before I left!"
"And I spent that energy well, entertaining your mother in her dreams!"
Shen Yuan made a rude gesture at the sculpture, but the old demon just cackled. The jab didn't really land anyway. Shen Yuan didn't mind his mother in this lifetime, but she wasn't terribly maternal. Mostly she treated him like an investment which she expected to see pay dividends someday, and was disappointed in his lack of ambition or willingness to murder his older sister. But she was one of the lord's favored concubines, not his main wife, and also not interested in being killed by the main wife, who was Hualing's mother. So she was pretty diplomatic and circumspect about her disappointment in him, and focused most of her attention on keeping his father's favor. If she really was fooling around with Meng Mo on the side, he just didn't want to know.
"I'm dumping you in the trash," he insisted again.
"Alright, alright, calm down! I'll spy on this pretty boy of yours for you. But after that, you better bring me something good! Dream Jade or dragon scales!"
Shen Yuan made a show of disagreeing, mostly because those kinds of offerings, though rich in energy that could sustain the dream demon, were pretty expensive and hard to come by. No one would agree to that sort of deal easily. But of course, Meng Mo would not be able to collect once he latched on to Luo Binghe and started using his energy to sustain himself, so in the end he agreed and let Meng Mo gloat (as much as a disembodied voice and a weird sculpture could) before shoving him in a desk drawer as retribution.
"Disrespectful little ingrate!" the dream demon shouted after him.
Figuring that his rooms would be too noisy for a while, Shen Yuan headed out again and made his way to the eastern courtyard, where his youngest siblings could be found.
They were the children of less favored concubines. He felt badly for them, but there also wasn't much he could do without challenging his father directly, and if he did that he would have a hell of a mess on his hands even if he managed to actually beat him. Which wasn't likely, at least not at his current level. Even though he was smarter than the average child thanks to his memories, he was only thirteen years old. He still wasn't even as big as Hualing, who was quite petite, and despite his potential he wasn't the kind of thirteen-year-old that could beat up opponents more than twice his size. Not unless they were pretty weak. His father was built like an ox, in the standard fictional paradox of the big ugly man whose daughter was still somehow dainty and fair, and had crushed lesser demons to death with his bare hands.
In other words, his father wasn't a pushover and there was a reason he was acknowledged as one of the most powerful rulers around.
But in the meanwhile, Shen Yuan at least tried to make sure his younger siblings hadn't yet been completely poisoned by the might-makes-right nature of demon society. They were pretty cute in fact, despite that they all seemed to love biting him. And biting anything else that got within biting range.
"Da'ge! Da'ge!" the little voices chirped as soon as he finished passing through the tunnel that led to the above-ground courtyard. Over in this part of the fortress the weather was less kind, and dust storms had passed over the walls, making everything taste like ash and grit. He covered half of his face with his high collar, but let himself be mobbed by little demons.
"Did Da'ge bring snacks?"
"Treats? Treats for Meimei?"
"Did Da-jie get killed by mad cultivators?"
"Can we eat her bones?"
"Don't be stupid! Da'ge will have eaten her bones first! Right after her heart!"
"Wouldn't Ge save us a little of her bones? Just the bones! I'm sure he would!"
Shen Yuan sighed. Well, maybe he was deluding himself if he thought they weren't already vicious little fiends. He reached into the storage pocket of one of his sleeves, and pulled some live lizards and frogs out. With a mental apology to the poor creatures, he let them go. His younger siblings cheered like he'd poured out a bag of candy, and immediately set about catching them and trying to shove them into their mouths.
Back when he was such an age, Shen Yuan had worried his mother by refusing to eat anything that was still alive.
"Da'jie didn't get killed," he explained. "She's perfectly alright, so no one can eat any of her bones or her organs at all."
A chorus of disappointed groans greeted this announcement. mitigated only by the crunching of lizards between tiny, sharp teeth.
Honestly, Shen Yuan had no idea why they were so struck on the notion of Hualing dying. Did he seem like the kind of guy who ought to be in charge of a demon fortress? Not that he expected a bunch of feral demon babies to understand the burdens of leadership, but still. According to most demon standards they should have been bigger fans of Hualing. Then again, maybe she got these conversations in reverse whenever she happened to visit?
He wouldn't put it past his little siblings to play all the angles. Demon kids just grew up that way. Whoever was the strongest in the room, that was who you sucked up to unless you were the strongest in the room!
Shen Yuan watched as they caught the last of their slippery prey, and broke up a few fights over the legs, before he let himself be used as a jungle gym. The feral buns clambered over him and tugged at his sleeves and his spirit ribbons, chewing on his hair and biting at his ankles. He swung them up and tossed them into the air, and roughhoused with them for a while. Honestly even with demon instincts he didn't care much for hurting them, but if he didn't leave at least a few tiny bruises they got upset and confused, so it was a balancing act. And it did sort of satisfy something in his instincts to make playful growling noises and put on a big fake display of pain any time one of them jumped on him.
Sometimes not-so-fake after all; those little elbows were pointy, and the milk teeth were sharp.
Eventually their mothers came back from their hunts, bringing whatever spoils they could collect from the windswept wilds beyond the fortress. Sometimes low-ranking concubines and slaves tried to run, but the terrain outside was difficult to navigate and they almost always got brought back by one of his father's servants, so usually it was only the newcomers who made the attempt. And of course, sometimes they didn't make it back for other reasons. Shen Yuan lingered just long enough to be sure they'd caught something and that everyone had returned in one piece, then he pried his little siblings off and made his way back out again, not eager to intrude on the fullness of meal time. It wasn't pretty.
He'd tried not to make a lot of uncomfortable things that went on in the fortress his business. It was just asking for trouble. But it was easier said than done, when one spent their life being raised in such a place, and came to it with sensibilities forged by a different society.
Shen Yuan was the type of person who could easily settle in if he was reasonably safe and distracted, even if the circumstances weren't ideal. That was how he had managed most of his first life. But that approach depended on a certain minimum of comfort, a decent place to hunker down and hide from the problems of the world. The demon realms offered few such places, and those that existed were temporary in nature. A person couldn't become too comfortable or complacent or else they'd soon become dead. And as to distractions, well, books were not really all that popular among demons. He owned more than anyone else around, and the collection had taken a lot longer to build than it took to read.
So he found other things to keep him from dwelling on some of the ugly realities vying for his attention. But that meant getting involved, like it or not.
He probably shouldn't have gone along with Hualing on her invasion, even though she'd ordered him to. It was courting trouble to even look upon the protagonist. And yet, he couldn't resist.
Shaking such thoughts away, Shen Yuan pursued his next distraction. He headed for the fortress stables.
Demons mostly did not ride, and what they rode was not any normal type of horse. But his father kept a grand carriage for making processions. Until recently, that carriage had been pulled by decently strong slaves, who were themselves not treated much better than beasts of burden. Shen Yuan was no moral paragon but he found the situation intolerable, so over the past several years he had painstakingly trained some of the Dark Sea Hippo Oxen that ranged in the marshes to the southeast, and then convinced his father to give the slaves to Hualing and use the trained oxen to pull his grand carriage instead. The beasts looked a lot more impressive, and his sister was content to have big demons move her furniture and look cool whenever they flanked her on her diplomatic trips. Such trips were increasingly frequent, supposedly to secure her a good match.
Not that his sister actually put any sincere effort into that goal. Shen Yuan had no worries about Hualing being married off, and wouldn't have worried even if she'd shown the slightest interest in the prospect. She just went along with it because it let her take vacations away from their father.
The downside to this arrangement, however, was that the Dark Sea Hippo Oxen only ever really seemed to listen to Shen Yuan. He'd tried to instruct some of the servants in their care, but it was slow going. He wasn't sure if it was just the nature of the servants he'd been assigned or if all demons struggled with the concept of domesticated livestock, or if they just didn't want the job and knew he wouldn't have them executed for failing, but the end result was that he'd mostly put them in charge of cleaning the stalls and did everything else himself. Luckily the big beasts were pretty self-sufficient, as long as there was a comfortable place to sleep and food to eat they came back to the stables, and if they didn't then Shen Yuan needed to only go out with a bell and some treats and eventually they'd come back to him.
The Hippo Oxen had broad backs that could easily carry ten of him. Shen Yuan opened the gate from the stables to let them out, checking first that the dust storm had indeed passed over them, and then hopped up on the biggest to ride out. The two stable servants scattered as if they feared being trampled, even though there was plenty of room.
He sprawled like he was on a comfortable couch as the herd set out, watching the oxen to make certain none were limping or showing signs of discomfort. They'd all been stuck in a thicket of carnivorous dragon plants when he'd first found them, struggling and miserable as they slowly suffocated in the relentless vines. It had taken some doing to get them out, but they'd each made a good recovery, and being demonic beasts they were especially durable. The only real worry was if someone in the fortress tried to poison them or something, but so far no one had dared to.
The air tasted dry and the wind carried grit over to them. After a while Shen Yuan drew one of his war fans and waved it, channeling a thread of demonic qi into the motion. The gust cleared the air ahead of them. Senior Hippo Ox grunted in approval, while a couple of the younger ones made the earth shake as they hopped happily up and down and uncovered a big patch of mud.
That was his cue to get down!
He slid off of Senior Hippo Ox's back and moved away, letting the big beasts go splash around in the fresh mud pit and forage among the vibrant plants at the bank. When he was satisfied that nothing really dangerous was around, he took a seat on a nearby patch of earth and pulled some drawing tools and paper from his storage sleeve.
He mixed some crude ink (his own recipe), and then he sketched the oxen. It was his millionth attempt, and he'd definitely been no artist before his rebirth, but he thought he was getting better. He'd abandoned trying to make realistic looking renderings and instead focused on stylized versions, letting the kinds of strokes he could make with a simple brush and limited pigments dictate the form of his illustrations. After a while a Soul Biting Blister Beetle wandered onto a nearby rock and began doing one of its territorial dances.
Since Shen Yuan was still sat a safe distance from its venomous spittle attack, he switched subjects and started drawing the beetle instead.
He stayed out until he lost the good light. Another storm was threatening on the horizon. He didn't even need to call the oxen, as they'd also had their fill of the mud pit. This time he walked, of course, not interested in getting himself covered in mud as well. When they got back to the stables he left the oxen be; in the morning the mud would be dry and flaking and easier to clean off, and as he'd learned, they preferred it that way.
He was out of daylight by then, and with a deep internal sigh he headed back to the inner corridors of the fortress to try and escape to his room.
The main banquet hall was lit, sconces bright against the dark walls of the inner chambers, with smokeless fires burning blue, purple, orange, and black. Demons allegedly didn't really make a lot of artistic craft items in the way that humans did, and yet, they did still make a lot of art. Fires and lights were common displays, as were manifestations of qi. Jade was hard to come by, and wood was mostly reserved for structural uses, but bone carvings and chimes were common. Since demons healed quickly, piercings and tattoos didn't last as long as on humans, but that just meant they were constantly being refreshed or redesigned. Textile work in the demonic realms was often ludicrously difficult, due to a lack of supplies and stable supply chains, which meant that clothing was made to last as long as possible and imbued with as much protection as possible.
But, clothing was uh... pretty scarce. Especially in these warmer climates.
Shen Yuan averted his gaze from the nude demons settled in the banquet hall, and the ones who were nearly nude, the vast expanse of skin that he'd never entirely gotten used to. Men and women alike, no less! Hualing was no exception, lounging topless at the main table while she regaled some of their father's people with accounts of her singular victory at Cang Qiong. Next to her, a pair of her lackeys were busily doing one another's tattoos; baring their teeth and laughing through the pain.
"Didi!" she called, and he cursed that she'd caught sight of him. "Come join us!"
"No thanks!" he called back.
"Get over here!"
There was enough snap in her tone to know that she meant it. Kissing his hopes and dreams of a quiet evening goodbye, Shen Yuan reluctantly turned and headed into the hall.
At least their father wasn't there. Small mercies. He wouldn't be back from his latest campaign for a while yet, according to Hualing's own projections. She would know better than him, given that she was the favorite and held their father's ear, for all that she seemed to loathe every minute spent in his company.
Why couldn't she loathe every minute spent in Shen Yuan's company?
Oh right. Because he didn't want her future husband to kill him.
Hualing nodded approvingly as he navigated the minefield of the banquet hall and settled onto a cushion that was, with some shoving, cleared next to his sister. She plonked an empty bowl beside him, and he dutifully filled it with wine for her. Demon wines mostly tasted like either blood or vinegar, but their father had particular tastes for fruit wines from the human realm, so Shen Yuan poured some for himself as well. It wouldn't get him drunk the way that a demon wine would, but that was better off anyway. And it almost tasted nice.
"I was just telling everyone about my fight," Hualing said, as if her voice hadn't carried well beyond the banquet hall.
"You did well," he assured her, even though he honestly thought her match was idiotic. She did win it, though, somehow. Everyone agreed on that point anyway, even the other side, so it had to be true.
"Of course, of course!" Hualing agreed, thumping a fist over one of her breasts. "I'm the greatest of our generation! But what the hell was with your fight? Everyone's talking about it, even more than mine! It's a bigger mystery how you lost than how I won."
She sounded displeased with that. Of course she is, he thought. She wants them all praising her, not wondering about her weird brother's weird behavior.
That thought brought a nostalgic feeling, almost. His old meimei and Sha Hualing were like night and day, but he'd also used to overshadow his sister's accomplishments with bad news in that life. Not that he meant to do it, in either case.
He sighed, and accepted that he wasn't going to keep dodging her questions forever. He probably wasn't even supposed to. She should be getting interested in Luo Binghe around now, shouldn't she? Well she'd laid eyes on him so of course that would be the case. As long as he kept the attention there, it would only further the inevitable bond between the protagonist and his future wife.
"Didn't you notice? That disciple was really strong," he said.
Sha Hualing made a face at him. It wasn't a dreamy, 'oh yes he was' sort of face at all.
"You had him beat in the first few minutes."
"He wasn't really fighting in the first few minutes."
"But since when do you care about fighting? You've never been eager to see someone's 'potential' before! Not even mine!"
Hualing pouted, as if recollecting their own past matches. Shen Yuan would rather forget those. They were so unpleasant. He couldn't win, but he also couldn't lose so badly that his own sister killed him. It was like walking a tightrope covered in ice on a dark winter night. He was glad they were past the age where their father would throw them into a pit together and demand they prove that they were worth feeding and housing by ripping into one another until he was satisfied.
"I was just curious," he settled for saying. "Something about him was unlike the other humans."
"Unlike them how?" Hualing narrowed her eyes. But she looked like she was considering it.
"If I could easily say what it was, I wouldn't have tested it by challenging him," he bullshitted, quite reasonably.
"Hmm."
"I was right, though. He did beat me. He had a lot of power. That piece of shit master of his just didn't teach him anything about using it."
For some reason that comment made Hualing grin at him.
"You thought the Xiu Ya sword was a piece of shit?" she latched upon, amused. "I think that one's ranked second in the Cang Qiong hierarchy, isn't he one of their strongest?"
"Not necessarily. His peak has the second most authority, but the Bai Zhan War God is surely stronger," he said. Then he hesitated. Liu Qingge would be dead now, wouldn't he? Murdered by Shen Qingqiu. What a waste...
Sha Hualing shrugged.
"He still must be tough, though. Surely they only make the strongest ones successors? How else would they hold onto their power?"
"Lots of ways. Money, family connections, vital skills that the others can't replicate... but he did seem pretty strong, even if he had to use underhanded tactics."
"That's because the demon race is always superior! Even the strongest humans can't win otherwise!" Sha Hualing announced, and cheers went up.
Shen Yuan finished his wine.
"Good talk, I'll be going now," he tried, but Hualing rolled her eyes and yanked him down into the seat again before he could go, and forced him to endure more 'celebrating'.
The sky was fully dark by the time Shen Yuan managed to escape. Despite his having lost his match, he luckily didn't get dragged too hard by the others at the banquet. Maybe because only Hualing had won, or maybe because it was kind of a dull sport to try and make him feel bad over things that he didn't care about. He ended up drinking most of the fruit wine and nodding along to his sister's boasting before finally fleeing back to his room, and by then he was tired enough that he only stripped and fell into his bed, and was soon unconscious.
"Hmph. Took you long enough!"
Shen Yuan blinked himself to awareness, and found that he was standing back at the pavilion on Qiong Ding Peak. Or rather, that this was what the dream around him looked like at the moment. He knew the signs quite well, after looking after Meng Mo for this long. Contrary to his sleeping state, Shen Yuan was back to wearing the same outfit he'd worn during the invasion, complete with his weapons and all.
Near to him stood a projection of the dream demon; Meng Mo had the look of an esteemed elder, well-dressed and meticulously groomed, in a fashion that hadn't been seen in the demon realms since before the last big war with the human realms. He stroked narrow fingers through his white beard.
Shen Yuan made a face.
"What? Why am I here?" he protested. "I thought you were going to investigate Luo Binghe?"
"Is that his name?" Meng Mo groused. "You didn't give me much to work with!"
"I didn't think the Esteemed Elder Dream Demon needed much," Shen Yuan countered, irritated enough to let his distaste show. Just why was he being involved?! He didn't want the protagonist associating him with an awful nightmare! Shoo!
"I don't," Meng Mo snapped. "Insolent brat. You'd think you'd show a little more appreciation for the lengths I'm willing to go through at your say-so. If I'm going to delve into this random human's mind, I need to know what I'm looking for. I'm not going to waste energy all night just rooting around when there's probably nothing to find!"
Shen Yuan wanted to protest. Wasn't that what the dream demon had done in the novel? Why were the rules different if Shen Yuan asked him to do something instead of Sha Hualing? You shitty old bastard, this poor transmigrator is doing you a favor! Don't you realize that the protagonist is your last hope of living as anything other than some random decor item? That he's going to be your greatest student that you can pass all your teachings onto? A host with enough power that he can sustain your existence indefinitely?
"Just do it yourself," he protested.
Meng Mo glared.
"If it's not worth your time, why should it be worth mine? Useless."
The dream started to dissipate. Shen Yuan raised a hand.
"Okay, wait, stop. It's definitely worth the time," he declared. At the older demon's skeptical expression, he snapped. "Why are you being so difficult? Haven't I taken care of you all this while? And when have I ever led you astray? What an ingrate, do you want to spend the rest of your existence depending on me to keep you around? At this rate I'm going to get tired of you and let you rot in a cupboard 'till all your energy runs out!"
"You wouldn't dare!"
"Your statue is ugly!"
"It is art! High art! Like the kind not seen in this world for centuries!"
"It’s trash."
"You-!"
Meng Mo paused. For a moment Shen Yuan thought that he'd legitimately run out of comebacks, and was a bit concerned. He'd never seen that happen before. But when he opened his mouth, the elder raised a hand and stopped him. His dark eyes narrowed. Then the dream around them began to change, shifting like something out of Inception or a high-end video game. The Qiong Ding pavilion disappeared, stone by stone, to be replaced with the structures and buildings of a rundown city street. Not a modern street, thankfully, not something like the kind from Shen Yuan's past life, but one that would be perfectly at home in Proud Immortal Demon Way.
"Found him," Meng Mo murmured.
So he had been looking. Maybe he genuinely did struggle to pinpoint Luo Binghe this time, for some reason, and brought in Shen Yuan's memories of the invasion to help. He felt a bit chagrined at that. True, Meng Mo didn't seem to need much to try and stalk a victim, but he probably hadn't given as much detailed information as the Sha Hualing of the novel had when he tried to put him onto the protagonist. After all, Sha Hualing would have been gushing like a lovestruck girl, not calmly and objectively explaining the situation the way Shen Yuan had done.
A moment later, Meng Mo's appearance shifted to resemble one of the faceless NPCs that populated most dreams. This was a common trick of his for observing things without drawing notice -- just blend into the background like some other less-formed part of the dream.
Shen Yuan followed the direction of his gaze. Sure enough, he found himself looking at Luo Binghe. Ning Yingying was beside him, holding on to his arm.
Their gazes met.
The protagonist's eyes widened in recognition.
Then the dream faded away as Meng Mo unceremoniously booted Shen Yuan out of it. He wasn't sure if he felt more relieved or disappointed, though of course that was foolish. Like he said, it wasn't as if he wanted the protagonist to associate him with a nightmare!
But even with that mere glimpse, perhaps the damage had already been done?
Dear Meng Mo, haven't I done you a bunch of favors by now? Please go easy on that kid, don't give him such a harrowing trial that he blames me for all of this later on!
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madamadamiu · 7 days ago
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I’m sorry if I havent been replying to too many of my asks and @ mentions😭🙏 I want to RB as much art as possible, but I only get a few times a week to really take time at my computer, and I spend most that time drawing
I’m also busy plotting and scheming my evil comic stuff
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peggyao3 · 4 months ago
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The Art of Empathy
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PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC
SUMMARY: After the fall of House Harkonnen, an innocent poison flower is planted in their evil heart to teach them the art of empathy.
TAGS: 18+, smut, she/her AFAB FMC, mixed POVs, Feyd-Rautha feels things, Angst, Fluff, Hurt and Comfort, Political Schemes, Morally Grey Everything, Giedi Prime Realness, Knife Play, Minor Character Death, Mentions of Violence, Slice of Life, Character Analysis, Feyd being Feyd, Vaginal Sex, Squirting, Porn with Plot, Creampie, Soft Feyd by the end of it, Can he be redeemed?!
WORD COUNT: 6.3k
A/N: I posted this one on ao3 ages ago but not on tumblr. I hope you enjoy <3
Reposted from Ao3 💕| Masterlist
Divider by @/saradika-graphics
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After the fall of House Harkonnen comes the slow decay. A whole folk is left floundering and looks up to their new leader for guidance, Baron Feyd-Rautha, to whom the title is a slight. There is no use for the Baron of a powerless House. The Atreides should have annihilated them all. Instead they are humiliating them and calling it mercy. 
And so, House Harkonnen rots, aimless and torpid. Violence festers in the streets, the military disassembles itself, the House’s spice stocks have been confiscated. And their new leader? He sits and stews in the family keep where Harkonnen and Atreides guards alternate and the latter keep a sharp eye on everything Feyd-Rautha does.
He is a man doomed who refuses to lead a House of shame.
All that remains is to distract himself and search for culprits. His uncle, yes, but his uncle is already dead. The Emperor, the Fremen, the Atreides. They’re all ripe for the killing but House Harkonnen can’t even provide for their own spice addicts.
And then one day, a new resident moves into the palace.
She is a gentle poison flower, planted by the Bene Gesserit. They had thought her a weak witch at first, with no poise and little use. She had only barely passed the Gom Jabbar test, crying and screaming like an animal, but she hadn’t pulled her hand out of the box, so they couldn’t dispose of her. Only much later did the sisters realize what a useful asset she could be. 
De-Harkonnification is the word whispered off the record. A new era of breeding will commence, for the better of the universe. The experiment will start with their leader. It has to.
The suddenly useful Bene Gesserit woman has been chosen to teach Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen the delicate art of empathy.
To force him into bland lessons will bear no fruit. The new baron needs to think he’s discovered wisdom all by himself, only then will his skin peel away and make room for a fresh layer. The slow blade of curiosity will penetrate the shield and kill a Harkonnen, and let him be reborn as something new.
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This new woman, she is so soft and… mundane. 
With great irritation Feyd-Rautha takes notice of her moving into his palace where she occupies a medium-sized chamber that has been painted in all the warm colors that aren’t native to Giedi Prime.
“I know you’re a witch,” he tells her the first day, standing in her doorway like a beaten bull who is still ready to charge. “I have no business with witches.”
“I won’t force you,” she replies with a short smile which renders the new Baron momentarily speechless.
The next day, he returns with more anger and piercing eyes that won’t know peace until he finds the answers he seeks. “What is your purpose in my palace?”
“I am to live here,” she announces while sticking her finger into the soil of a gross looking potted plant with wide, green leaves to test how moist it is. Frustratingly, Feyd is unable to detect any deceit in her voice, even though she is a Bene Gesserit, so there must be deceit. He won’t be manipulated.
Throughout the weeks, Feyd realizes everything she does is boring. So boring that he finds himself returning every day and watching with blatant interest, wondering how anyone can live like that.
In her free time, this woman reads literature that has no educational or strategic value. She also says she enjoys naps and she considers having to do nothing at all a rare blessing that not many are free to relish in a world that is battered by politics and war. She reminds Feyd of a lazy housecat who cripples her own potential.
Her survival instincts are so meek, sometimes she won’t even wake up when he enters her room. Feyd is tempted to do a number of things to her sleeping body, but in the end he always just stands there, next to her bed, waiting for her to finally wake up and take note of the danger. With a blade at her throat he tries to teach her to be more attentive, relishing the naked fear in her eyes when she startles from her sleep and finds pain against her neck.
In those moments, she is such a fun toy and Feyd wants to thank whoever is responsible for sending him such a pitiful witch.
Another thing she likes is daydreaming, she says, and when asked to tell him what about, she just smiles mysteriously and shakes her head no, followed by soft laughter. Feyd assumes those daydreams must be about violence, because no human mind goes without violence. And so he smiles too, thinking to himself that he's learned a dirty secret of hers that takes away from her perceived purity.
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There is at least one point on which they seem to agree, and that is their interest in good food and drink, though their ideas of ‘good’ differ.
“Do those… pastries you’ve got there strengthen your body?” Feyd peers at her over the table, licking bloody meat residue off his pale fingers.
“Hmmm. I don’t think so, but they’re very tasty.” And that again is something so mundane, Feyd can't wrap his head around it. “Would you like to try one?”
He hesitates, regarding the icing and powdered sugar on the tiny cake. “No. There’s no point in eating it then.”
“Aw.” The woman looks briefly disappointed but then resumes eating.
“Don’t you want your body to be strong and capable of attack and defense?!”
“I suppose that would be nice…” Feyd has noticed a while ago that she seems to have trouble looking him in the eyes and sometimes he thinks he has been deceived and this woman is no Bene Gesserit at all, but a stray that has been deposited in his palace because the sisterhood wanted to get rid of her.
“If I attacked you right now, what would you do?” Feyd stands up and grips her plate, pulling it away so she is left with only the cutlery in hands, looking a little helpless.
“I would scream for help.”
“And if no one came?” The idea amuses Feyd-Rautha and the corners of his full lips twist into an alluring smirk. The temptation makes his skin warm and his core tight.
“I could try to hurt you with this knife and fork,” she proposes and presents her weapons of choice, targeting Feyds clavicles with her mellow eyes.
“Wouldn’t you like to try it?” He purrs and slinks closer, rubbing his hand up her arm and shoulder, cupping her throat. He really could do anything to her and she’d have no choice, no matter which weapons are in her meager hands. His cock strains against the dark trousers he wears and she either ignores it or doesn’t notice in her endless languor.
“No, of course not!” She yelps with the high-pitched tone of an animal stupid enough to walk into a blatant trap.
“You bore me to death, woman! I wish you weren’t here.” Feyd rumbles and releases her throat with a punishing squeeze that knocks her backwards, then he sweeps her plate off the table so the pastries bounce across the carpet, leaving a trail of crumbs.
“Then don’t come and see me!”
His loins are left throbbing and he feels so strangely dissatisfied when he leaves that day and cannot help but picture the woman crawling over the carpeted floor, picking up the mess he’s made, and for some reason this image makes him unhappy.
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In his churning mind, Feyd keeps wondering why she was brought to him and after enough twisting and turning, he commences an era of harshness in which he thinks she was given to him for his amusement, to be molded by him. The ways to torment her are as manifold as they are fun. Something as simple as twiddling with his knife can draw the warmth out of her cheeks and make her pull her feet under her body, as if fearing Feyd-Rautha might cut her toes off otherwise. 
Now, if only he could make her see how enjoyable pain is. The cuts and nicks on her body tell stories of his attempts, as do those on his, when he guided her unwilling hand to carve lines and half moons into his pale flesh.
The assortment of her scars stop around the middle of her thighs, even though he could easily lift her dress higher and leave his marks of his ownership wherever he wants. There are desires left unspoken and he revels in her fear, because she knows it will happen, just not when.
But the worst thing undoubtedly he's ever done to her, is when he brings her to the former preparation chamber behind the deserted colosseum that was once his gladiatorial arena, when House Harkonnen still had pride and honor. 
In the dark he shows her his assortment of blades, left untouched by the defeat of his House. He laughs when she nods and smiles uncertainly at the slave girls who stand gathered around with bowed heads.
“You’re a Bene Gesserit. You don’t need to smile at them.”
“But I want- Oh!”
With a swift thrust of the arm, Feyd swings his blade in a half circle and slashes two girls’ throats at once. Their willowy bodies drop to the floor, landing on top of each other with tangled limbs and inky blood dripping down their chests.
Feyd turns his head, tilts it slightly to the side and smiles at the woman who grows sickly frigid and barely manages to turn before she throws up as the overwhelming smell of fresh blood assaults her nose and gurgling last breaths her ears. She turns and runs, finding the door unresponsive to her pushing and pulling, so she backs away into the furthest corner and curls into herself, staring fearfully at the pale Harkonnen who still looks at her with an air of boyish fascination.
He lets her go after half an hour but soon learns a harsh lesson. When he seeks her out in her quarters that evening, she acts like a skittish rabbit and hides herself away in the bathroom. For some reason, this enrages Feyd so immensely, he can’t help the immediate tantrum that bursts out of him like gunfire.
For one whole week she doesn’t speak with him and Feyd finds absolutely no fun in that. This week is the worst of his life.
Desperately, he needs her to be the way she was again, the timid creature who peacefully lazes around all day and sleeps, unaware of danger. Now she won’t let him get close, glaring at him over the edge of her book whenever he loiters in her quarters like misplaced furniture, a black and white abomination in the warm, soft capsule she has created for herself on Giedi Prime.
On the seventh day, Feyd  walks up to her awkwardly, like one ready to confess his sins, or a beaten puppy the size of a man. She stiffens in her bed and is fully aware of her defenselessness, fingers tightening around the book as the mattress dips under Feyd-Rautha’s weight. But he only crawls over her and wraps his arms around her middle like he would hug a slain opponent in the arena before letting them drop into the sand.
“I wouldn’t do this to you ,” he rumbles and finds his breath uncomfortably quick and his throat uncomfortably tight. He can’t look her in the eyes.
“But you did this to them ,” she whispers and Feyd is left speechless as to why she would care. Yet for some reason, she drops her book on the floor and hugs him back, hiding her sniffling face in his shoulder. Like a toddler walking his first steps, Feyd pets the back of her head until her tears diminish to a small trickle that is soaked up by his shirt.
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Months go by and the woman’s chamber becomes a place of forbidden things. No servant ear must ever hear about what goes down in there, how Feyd stains his hands with softness and sleep, not because he is tired but because he feels like it, how he eats the pastries that are made for her mouth not his, how he reads the pointless literature that forces him to imagine places he’s never been to and people that aren’t real. 
The woman doesn't even want anything from him in return and doesn't complain when he lays his head in her lap when he decides to sleep. She softly scrapes her nails over his scalp without being prompted and he never takes long to fall asleep. She could have plotted his death this whole time long, killed him now with a Gom Jabbar, and he wouldn't have cracked an eye open.
Feyd awakes in the late evening, though he can’t tell the hour of day through the ever-drawn curtains that block out the sun’s harmful wavelengths. Consciousness returns to him as a slow stream and he breathes drowsily against her thigh, listening to the seconds on the clock tick by. She has finished her book and placed it aside, now only focused on stroking his head.
“Do you sometimes think about me?” Feyd slurs, which leaves her wondering if he’s still half asleep.
“Of course, I think about you.” Her fingers curl around his jaws and the pad of her thumb finds the apple of his soft, pale cheek.
“Even when I’m not around?” He inhales the scent of laundry detergent and the subtle note of perfume that clings to the layers of her gown. The warmth of her lap perfuses the fabric and a light current of arousal flows through Feyd-Rautha’s awakening body. Hardness takes hold of his drowsy cock and he wonders when she will finally make a comment or do something about it. He finds himself wanting to hike up her dress and kiss the parts of her body that he has never seen.
“Especially when you’re not around.”
“So, you miss me?” Feyd’s voice becomes sharp like the cutting edge of a blade and his ears perk up. She only laughs softly upon that and curls both arms around his shoulders. Feyd is glad she can’t properly see his face now, ashamed of jumping to such a conclusion.
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“You can’t go out there. It’ll make you sick.” Feyd stops the Bene Gesserit woman in the hallway. One half of her body is already bathed in brightness and one eye squints into the unforgiving sunlight.
Even though she seems to have been so very content in her quarters so far, a flash of disappointment washes over her face. “Not even for a short walk?”
“It’s not safe when you’re not Harkonnen. It’ll make you sick,” he emphasizes. “And there’s nothing out there. Only desperate people.” He curls his hand around the crook of her elbow and tugs her away from the light, breathing a quiet sigh of relief when color returns to her skin and hair.
The next day, Feyd is in for an unpleasant surprise.
The woman is found wandering in the sunlight without an umbrella, not even a protective shawl wrapped around her bare shoulders. A pair of Atreides guards spot her slumped over in the shade of a building, blinking disoriented into the light with a colorless rash of blisters on her exposed skin.
Half an hour later, she is back in her darkened quarters, tucked into bed with a soothing ointment applied to her skin.
Her eyes are glazed over with half-translucent milkiness as she stares at the ceiling above her bed. Her lungs still ache and wheeze from the residue toxins she had breathed from the polluted air and her temporarily blinded gaze flitters with silvery dots. Just barely she can make out Feyd-Rautha’s angry, white skull moving back and forth..
“This wouldn’t have happened if you read something substantial every now and then,” Feyd hisses, pacing in front of her bed. “If you had at least worn protection for your eyes and flesh.”
“It was so warm outside.” She tries to justify her lack of protective layers.
“Yes, because of the infrared radiation that cooks the atmosphere!”
She attempts to turn her head away so as not to see the flickering vision of Feyd’s accusatory visage, but he leans down and cups her face with both hands, drawing a whimper from her. The splitting headache turns every movement into agony.
“A few minutes later, and you would have gotten caught up in the sour rain.” Feyd’s voice quivers now. The sour rain brings cancer to foreigners and no one knows a cure for that.
“There was no sign of rain when I was out,” she meekly defends herself, cradled by two strong hands.
“The climate is turbulent on Giedi Prime and our storms are as ferocious as they are sudden. You know what the sour rain does.”
“I'm sorry.” Blistered hands carefully wrap around Feyd-Rautha's wrists, neither pulling nor pushing. Her fingers softly slip over the veins that coil over the back of his hand and between his knuckles.
“But you're a Bene Gesserit. You have control over your own cells, you could have reversed the damage, had it happened.” Feyd's gaze jumps from milky eye to milky eye, wondering why she isn't doing anything against this. “Right?”
She only breathes a soft sigh against his lips as he hovers impossibly close. “Feyd…”
Her lips brush against his as she speaks and a jolt of surprise prickles through the both of them. Feyd is suddenly overly aware of the weight of his own body and he cannot push himself away from the woman. A pull stronger than gravity tugs him down and his lips fall to hers, softly kissing, tasting her saliva and a note of ointment.
“Feyd, everything hurts.” The meek whisper is barely audible, even to her own ears. Her body yearns and arches, separated from him by thick layers of blankets. 
“Kiss me now, before you get yourself killed out there and we don’t get the chance.” Feyd knows he shouldn’t. Even her lips are colored red with a rash, but her hands slip from his wrists to his cheeks, holding him close. Moaning, Feyd’s lips part and he moves his mouth and tongue with as much gentleness as he can muster, softly rutting against her hip over the blanket.
Feyd rumbles: “I should keep you on a leash for your own safety.” The idea makes his cock jump against the blankets and after so many months of thinking about so many things, his balls feel plump like ripe apples.
But they only kiss while sour rain slaps against the windows.
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“Do you ever fight?” Feyd ponders while sticking his finger into the soil of the lush potted  plant with wide, green leaves to test how moist it is. It could use a little water.
“You know what I do all day. Have you ever seen me fight?” The woman perks up, her skin healthy and her eyes clear again, like the lakes of Kaitain.
“Let me specify. Did you ever fight?” Feyd lets water from the can splash into the flower pot and the longer she looks, the more she gets used to the view of other things than weapons in his hands. She cocks a brow at him, no longer having so much trouble looking him in the eyes that are dark but usually glazed over with harmlessness when he is around her. “I’m only asking because you seemed so… bored, before the incident happened.”
Guilt drums against his heart with a soft pitter-patter that is like the droplets that soak the soil. He wishes he could offer her more. The longer she ponders, the more awful he feels.
“I sometimes fight with myself.” Her tone of voice indicates this is a big confession.
“How so?” Feyd is confused. He sets down the can and cautiously stalks closer with cat-like grace, head tilted to the right.
“It's a fight that I can't win, I can only delay it.”
“I don't understand that.” Slowly he blinks once, lowering his gaze, then lifting it again. The soft golden light of the glow orbs frays against his blonde lashes.
She pensively sighs. “Are you never angry with yourself? Or dissatisfied?”
“... No.”
She chuckles like she so often does, like he’s missing an obvious clue and Feyd angrily bends down, caging her on the sofa with both hands planted on the seat cushions on either side of her. “Don’t laugh at me, woman. I hate when you do that!”
“Then you know why I’m doing it, or else you wouldn’t hate it.”
“You’re not smarter than me.”
“I am indeed not.” Her eyes dig brightly into his and Feyd swallows. His jaws work and after a minute he pulls away from the intensity of her gaze, looking down at her chest instead. Softly, her hand cups his jaws and her fingers dance over his skin like feathers.
“But that’s not a real fight. You know that’s not what I meant. I’m talking about training and… gladiatorial games.” Petulantly, his eyes lift to hers again.
“How is self doubt not a real fight?” She tilts her head and Feyd swears she never did this at the beginning of their acquaintance.
“I… I didn’t want to talk philosophy, I just wanted to offer you a distraction from your boredom. I thought you might enjoy a fight.” Upon that, she giggles, something flustered in her voice, and Feyd grips the hand that cups his jaw, sliding it to the front so he can kiss her palm with plush, pouty lips. “Always laughing at me,” he grumbles and proceeds to kiss the inside of her hand until she wraps her arms around his head and locks her lips with his.
Much later, Feyd realizes he probably missed a hint.
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The right moment is now! No. Yes. Another breath, another minute, another turn of the page while she caresses Feyd-Rautha’s face in her lap. With her Bene Gesserit awareness (Feyd still isn’t sure if she even possesses it), she can probably hear his labored breathing and quick heartbeat. His clammy palms occasionally slide over the blanket she had thrown over her legs before Feyd settled there.
“I wanted to ask you something.”
“Yes?” Her thumb settles right over the point of his neck, between muscles and tendons, where his pulse hammers the hardest.
“I’ve been wondering…” Feyd twists the blanket and stares at the potted plant. “Are there other things you like to do just for the sake of it? Just like reading or napping…” 
In his whole life, he has never had sex for any other reason than to demonstrate power, or the desire to hurt and be hurt. To think he could have some just for the mundane pleasure of it feels almost forbidden. Feyd is ashamed to ask plainly, but she can read the thoughts behind his boyish eyes. 
She has been expecting this to happen and she is prepared, yet she is not. Before her stands a human now, with all the facettes one should have. 
“Yes, there are…” Pensively, she looks down at her lap. A faint warmth has risen to her cheeks and Feyd-Rautha takes proud notice of her coy glance, raising himself on his hands on either side of her lap.
“Then why did you never…?” His question trails off into nothingness when he notices the petulance in his own voice. He attempts to sit in a way that hides the tent in his pants.
“Don’t,” she scolds him and places her hand on his pale wrist, curling her fingers around the curve of the bone. Feyd inhales sharply and allows her to peel his arm away from his body. For the first time, she actively looks at the bulge of his clothed cock and Feyd has never felt so scrutinized. In an instant, her hand is beneath his shirt, fingers splayed over his hard tummy below his navel. “Why didn’t you?”
She moves her hand as if wanting to slip away and abandon his scalding skin. “Don’t stop~” Feyd whispers, half-lidded eyes dropped to her wrist that disappears under his shirt.
A moment later, her fingers curl around the waistband of his trousers and his grip the laces of her gown and they tear each other’s clothes away with awkward impatience. When Feyd is naked before her, she sinks into the pillows with a meek sigh, swallowing when he climbs on top of her and parts her legs where her pussy sits flushed and wet at the apex of her thighs, waiting for his caress longer than her pride allows her to admit.
She marvels at his hard curves and planes of marble, so pale, so soft. So seraphic. His nipples harden when she slides her palms over each pectoral. For now, she avoids looking at his cock but she feels the ghost of its scalding touch against her soft thigh.
“You’re beautiful,” Feyd breathes, raking his eyes down her exposed skin, studying each mark, each fold, each dimple.
“I was never certain if you found me beautiful,” she whispers and Feyd picks out the insecurity in her voice. His tongue presses against the backside of his inky teeth, wanting to call her stupid for assuming he might not find her beautiful, but he realizes he is no better himself. Anxiety pricks against his stomach like ice shards.
The woman smiles and cranes her head to brush her lips against his, then giggles softly. “Yes, I find you beautiful too.”
The anxious knot unravels and Feyd bares his teeth, chasing after her mouth until he’s got her pinned against the pillow and steals her breath. His hard chest presses against the soft mounds of her breasts and his cock slides against her thigh, bending downwards so it is wedged between their pelvises. The essence of her yearning cunt coats its upper side.
Their kisses turn desperate and sloppy and they part for breath, piercing each other with lust-heavy eyes. Feyd-Rautha’s plush lips are swollen and a low moan escapes him when she presses her mouth against the underside of his gently curved jaw, nipping and smelling his skin while Feyd’s fingers slide from her knee down her inner thigh and brush against the tender, hot parts of her.
He never used to pay attention to how soft and hot and responsive a woman can be there, how willingly her hips jump against his hand when he circles the tender bud of nerves with his fingertips.
When he slides two fingers into her weeping slit, her mouth detaches from Feyd’s jaws and her head drops back on the pillow, eyes closed, spine arched. His fingers sink as deep as they can go, soaking in her essence that generously spills from her inner walls.
“Did you think of this often?” Feyd rumbles and the grating sound of his voice makes her jump. Her eyes snap open and her pussy squeezes his fingers. Leisurely, he drags them against her inner walls, curling them slightly, so her eyes gloss over and her wet lashes flutter. “You did, didn't you? You daydreamed about my fingers in your little pussy.”
She doesn't need to reply for him to know it's true. Her knees bend further up against her chest, angling her pelvis so he plunges into her cunt just right. As pleasure rises, her neck writhes  from left to right, teeth on her lip, toes flexed. Feyd knows how to read the signs.
Mesmerized, he sits between her legs, watching with boyish fascination as his fingers sink into her puffy hole and come out glistening wet between her lower lips, how her essence dribbles down the cleft of her ass. His unoccupied hand sprawls over her lower belly and toys with her. With his thumb, Feyd pulls up the hood of her clit and marvels at the little nub that throbs for attention.
Her hips buck, fucking herself on his fingers while he lets a thread of drool drip down on her clit. She whines when the warm liquid drips over the tender bud, bending her leg even further. Feyd has never touched a woman so attentively. As soon as his thumb rubs over the lubricated little nub, she thrashes, moaning and clawing at his knees. But Feyd pacifies her with her soft circles over the maddening spot, turning her legs and brain into mush. 
“Wait~”
Feyd doesn’t wait. Three splashes of wetness squirt against his wrist and the woman covers her face with her forearms, moaning and whining as her release rolls through her in hard waves. Mesmerized, Feyd regards the liquid that dribbles hotly down his skin. 
Her limbs feel like putty, like a doll's that he can bend and fold as he likes. Feyd's fingers slowly slip out of her puffy hole which feels as ready as it can be to accommodate his cock.
She whimpers weakly, not ready to face reality and Feyd-Rautha's wet skin and the awe in his eyes with which he regards the glistening web between his fingers. Only when he nudges his cock between her boneless thighs, she stirs and dreamily eyes the pale, flushed monster that pokes needily against her cunt.
“Yes, take a good look at what I'll fill you with.”
The velvety head with its weeping slit nudges between her lower lips and her cunt yields almost too easily under pressure. Like a sheathe, she hugs him tightly, wetly squeezing inch after inch as he conquers her.
A wild  touch of something possessive and dangerous flashes over Feyd's lust-struck features. This soft thing will soon be his entirely, once he places his ultimate, inky mark against her cervix. Whether she neutralizes it with her Bene Gesserit tricks or not.
A guttural sound escapes her when the thick length pushes against the apex of her channel. The woman's arms snake around Feyd's neck, pulling him in a sweet embrace with her entire body.
“Why are you here?” Feyd repeats the question from many months ago, softly rutting against her core.
“Because I was sent here.” She gasps, pressing her face into the crook of his shoulder.
“And how do you feel about that?” Feyd's nose brushes against her hair, inhaling the sweetness and the freshness of her soap.
“You tell me, Feyd-Rautha,” she softly sighs, arching her spine against his undulating body.
“You are discontent.”
Upon that, the woman's lashes flutter, tickling his shoulder. “Hah, n-no, I’m not.”
“You’re lying now, but you usually don’t. What are you hiding from me, my darling?" 
“I’m not!” Her mouth stands agape and her back arches off the bed, pebbled nipples kissing Feyd’s silky chest. 
“My darling,” Feyd repeats and she purrs like a little cat for him, wrapping her legs around his waist. So, she likes being his darling, Feyd notes with a skipping heart. "Why would you lie to me?"
“I didn't want to be here," she admits. Wet eyes look back at him when her head sinks into the pillow. "It’s not nice, being called useless.”
“Useless?! By whom?” Anger fuels Feyd's movement but the brief pain of nails digging into his shoulder blades soothes him and a soft moan curls around his lips.
“By my fellow Bene Gesserit sisters, of course. They had no use for me until the fall of your House.” The slightly quicker rhythm makes her hiss through her teeth. "They can rot and die for all I care."
Feyd's eyes grow wondrous and wide, hips stuttering as he regards his darling with endless fascination. Her violence is sweet like berries. How lucky he is to bear witness of it tonight, all the while her warm, sodden pussy holds his cock in a lover's embrace.
“I manipulated you,” she confesses under tears and thinks Feyd-Rautha will probably flay her alive now. “When I went out into the sun and made myself sick, I just wanted to see if you’d take care of me.”
“You sound like you think I’d be mad.” Avidly, Feyd rolls his pelvis. Pleasure flutters through his nerves with every heartbeat, sweet and wild. Her eyes meet his with equal fascination and her fingertips dip into the groove of his spine.
“When did you become so… so…?”
“So… gentle?” Feyd purrs, laughing softly like she did so many times. “You made me this way.”
“Yes, and it was wrong! What gave me the right?” Her voice trembles with anger now and she claws at his back like she wants to flay him, strip the layers of faux skin off so he may become what he was again.
Feyd chuckles louder now, lips pulling away from inky teeth as he ruts quicker into her cunt, making her groan through gritted teeth. “You just gave me something I didn’t know I missed.”
“But what if-”
“No.”
“What if I killed you?”
“Killed me?” Feyd’s dark eyes sparkle with humor. “You’re a funny witch. I’m still here.” His palm slides over her breasts and pebbled nipples, settling heavily on her clavicles before closing around her throat. Her cunt reacts in an instant, clenching around him. “I can give you more proof.” Feyd leers at the woman who lies beneath him in submission. “Do you want more proof?”
Eagerly, she nods, exhaling a soft, strained moan, lips parting as she struggles for oxygen.
"Would you like my knife against your throat and your tits?"
Heat rushes to her cheeks so they feel like two ripe apples, ready for the harvest. "Yes, please~"
“You’re so sweet when you’re worried for me,” Feyd giggles. His voice is like stones grating against one another as he reaches for the kukri in the sheath at his belt which lies discarded in the folds of the soft, crumpled sheets. Feyd brandishes it with a flash of painted metal. A soft shade of gold, because the world has been feeling lighter lately.
Still humored, Feyd raises himself high enough to create generous space between their chests, so he can brush the blade featherlight against his woman's nipple. "Would you like me to make a cut, to prove I'm still in there?"
Avidly, she nods, bare heels digging into Feyd's ass cheeks as she clings to his rolling hips.
Feyd slashes the blade over her breasts, one, two, three, creating shallow lines from which red droplets bead like tiny berries and meander down her sternum along convoluted paths. She moans sweetly for him, muscles in her neck flexing against his calloused hand. "There, now we're even. We both lied a little. I said one cut and made three."
Feyd's lashes cast long shadows over the glinting metal when he brings the blade to his mouth and gingerly laps up the red beads. The woman's hand slips over his hard, smooth shoulder and the muscles that ripple underneath. She circles his wrist to guide the blade away from his plush mouth, then plunges her thumb past his soft bottom lip, swiping over the wetness of blood and saliva.
"Drink it from the source then," she softly hums and Feyd obeys, dropping the knife and bending over her heaving chest. He laps the salt off her skin and then finds the stinging wounds with his tongue, tracing the hairline cuts from bottom to top, tasting iron. Feyd nurses nectar from his flower. Moaning, he peers up at her through feathery lashes as his body undulates against hers with increasing pace.
The drag of his cock shoots molten pleasure through her core and she clings to him with arms and legs, like he is the only soft and living thing on Giedi Prime. She moans his name and Feyd is swathed in a web of hazy bliss, raising his face from her chest. A little streak of crimson still clings to his smooth chin and she pulls him down to kiss the blood off his skin.
His fingers flex around her throat, rather holding onto her than strangulating her. She gladly lets him and regards the sweet despair in Feyd's eyes as he chases after his high in the warmth of her body, stretching her with each drag of his cock.
Feyd wonders if he should make her cum again, if that's what a lover would do, but his building climax coils like a snake in his guts and there is no space between their sweaty bodies for his hand to slip between her thighs and tease her bundle of nerves. Like roots slung around a tree trunk, her legs are wrapped around Feyd's hips, reeling him in, again, again, again. The rhythm hypnotizes him and he cannot fight against the pull of release.
His jaws go slack and his entire complexion softens when his climax rolls through him in long waves, each one pulling him deeper and deeper into the weave of his mellow darling's body and soul. While he still fills up her cunt with thick ropes of seed, blissful mellowness spreads through Feyd-Rautha like a touch of mercy. 
Moaning, he slumps down and her body is his pillow. He's never shown a semblance of vulnerability after fucking a woman, but now fatigue pulls on his bones and he suckles softly on the soft spot between her neck and shoulder. His balls and pelvis are nestled against the woman's warm, full center and his broad chest against her breasts.
“My darling…” Feyd hums.
He crawls into her embrace and curls against her frame like an unborn against the womb, momentarily stripped of cruelty and all the black and white illnesses that fester on Giedi Prime.
Out of one gentle poison flower might yet bloom an entire garden, if nurtured with love.
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FEYD TAG LIST:
@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria
@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen
@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted, @sunny747
@ughdontbeboring, @meetmeatyourworst, @gravesdiggergirl
168 notes · View notes
nariism · 2 years ago
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*ੈ✩ LAST WORDS OF A SHOOTING STAR
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pair. itadori yuji x reader
synopsis. in the 3 days following the shibuya incident, itadori yuji emerges as a husk of his former self. with his immediate execution resumed, you both grapple with the feelings you have for each other and come to terms with his impending death.
content. hurt/comfort (lots of comfort, thank art because i was gonna be mean about this and they convinced me not to), slightly canon divergent (taking place between shibuya and the culling games), fluff and minor angst, yuta is the best wingman
wc. ~4.4k
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NOVEMBER 1 2018
You imagine that your face was rather ghastly when you received the news.
"Execution?" You repeated, the word tasting bitter on your tongue. No, that was the wrong description. It tasted of death—like iron and the depths of Hell filling your mouth until you were gurgling on it.
Unlike the rest of the Jujutsu Sorcerers from Tokyo, you had been ordered to stay back with Shoko in case of an emergency. You remember your exile from battle had left a similar rotten flavour in your mouth.
You vanished off the face of the earth after the incident was over. Most probably presumed you died in the aftermath. Devoured by a curse, they would say and shake their heads. You were always troublesome. And then they would move on with the rest of the world, all the same.
Lives were only temporary in the world of curses. Focus on who you can save, not who is already gone. They'll only end up a curse in your sleep. What a horrible notion to have.
The truth is that you'd been whisked away with Yuta, who seemed to be scheming a plan of his own. Perhaps as a middle finger to the higher ups he hated so much, or perhaps just for his own selfish reasons. You wouldn't know until he was finished carrying it through—he's too good at keeping secrets.
He wanted your reverse cursed technique, you knew that much for sure, even though he could do it himself. You were useful by his side, fitting into his plot in a way you could not in Shibuya. Feeling some sort of obligation and satisfaction, you followed him like a lost puppy.
And now here you are, seated by a dimming fire in the abandoned part of the city. Yuta was too clever for his own good. You suppose Gojo taught him some things well. This was their plan after all.
Yuji was safe, if only for this moment in time.
"Now with Gojo gone, it would have been easy for the higher ups to send assassins your way."
Ruthless and truthful, you flinch, but Yuji does not. He remains perfectly still in your hold, with your hands rotating his face around to get a better look at his wounds. You pour your cursed energy into him, hoping to breathe life back into his eyes, but they stay dull and empty.
"We'll find a way to stop this," you assure, reaching over to take a sanitizing wipe to clean an open cut. Yuta was too rough on him, but it was at least believable that Yuji was dead. He doesn't even recoil from the alcohol stinging his flesh, too engrossed in his own thoughts.
"Why?" He asks weakly. You gawk at him, but then it melts away into a softness that finally makes him blink up at you. "I'm evil."
"You're not evil, Yuji."
"I am. I killed those people. I did." His voice comes flat and defeated, nothing like the one you used to listen to over dinner while he reenacted shitty western films.
You never realize what you'll miss until it's gone. It's hollow, the ache in your heart.
"You don't understand. How could you? All this blood on my hands—"
"It was Sukuna," you quickly refute.
"And Sukuna only lives because I do!"
His voice raises at you, causing the flames behind you to flicker and crack. It's enough for Yuta to step in, acting as a barrier between your tense bodies. Yuji seems to shrink at this, realizing his emotions have run amok and that he has yelled at you.
You only stare back at him in bewilderment, like a frightened animal. Your upperclassman shakes his head.
"Enough of this. We need to start making plans."
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You lay awake that night, alone and anxious. Yuta has taken the first shift of watching and patrolling while the two of you rest, though hesitant to leave you alone. He told you it’s another reason he dragged you along: having three people to rotate shifts instead of just two would be easier on your bodies and minds. The city is not what it used to be, now overrun with curses of all grades.
You reassured him it would be fine, that you would fall asleep quickly and so would Yuji—his body has to run out of steam eventually, right? Oh, what a fool you were.
The tension is so heavy that it's awkward, even though you're sleeping on opposite ends of the tunnel.
"Sleep," you demand as if you were Inumaki, like you have the power to curse him.
His eyes flutter open. Even in the firelight, you don't see any shine in them, seeming as if they had been extinguished of life. "Why don't you?"
"I can't until you do."
"That's stupid," he tells you.
It's not the first time you've argued like this. Back when the world felt right, you would sneak in through his dorm window well into the hours of the night. Platonic, you had convinced yourself. You snuck into his bed seeking companionship as a friend. That's the lie you gorged on.
A piece of you knew, and you're sure he did too, that the way your hands explored his arms was unnatural for two friends, and that friends wouldn't sneak into each other's rooms like this with such severe punishment on the line.
It was safe in his arms, with the dull hum of his television running an old horror film in the background. You didn't have to think about much other than his warmth when you sat between his legs with your back to his chest. Or when his arm was draped over your shoulder and you were pressed into his side—actually, you think you preferred this one though you felt sorry for his sore arm.
You would bicker about dumb, pointless things. Which movie is better, or which character deserved to be mutilated more. It would go on for so long that Megumi would bang his fist on their shared wall to get the two of you to shut up.
There was no curse strong enough to change time itself, so you keep your thoughts and memories to yourself when you respond.
"You'll be too tired to function on your shift," you reason.
"You both will be fine without me." Better off without me, you know he means. You've gotten good at reading between his lines.
You slowly sit up in your sleeping bag, eyes never leaving Yuji. He seems so frail right now, even though he looks more adult than he ever has before.
"Human Earthworm 4 was better than 2," you suddenly say. His eyes peer open again in confusion.
"Huh? 2 was way better."
"I liked the love story in 4," you argue, slowly getting out of your bag to shuffle to his side of the concrete tunnel. He looks at you as if you've said something outlandish, too preoccupied with his thoughts to wonder why you've come so close.
"2 had the best special effects though."
Your body shifts under his blanket.
"But 4 had a happier ending." (As far as 'happy' goes in the Human Earthworm series, at least.)
His arm falls around your waist as it has a hundred times, pulling you into his chest.
"Whatever," he huffs. The next topic comes fast and you're thrown into a full blown conversation with him. If you concentrate enough, you can imagine your bodies being tangled together in his bed, safe and sound.
Concrete and fire and the stench of curses melt away until he's all you can focus on.
"You have weird taste in movies," he concludes with his eyes drifting shut.
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NOVEMBER 2 2018
You think you know how to fix broken people until you find that they are more than skin and bones. 
You learn one thing after the Shibuya Incident: there are wounds residing within Yuji just as much as there are marking his flesh.
Yuta, you realize, had left the two of you alone to sleep and has protected you all night. You'll make it up to him, you reason. Yuji deserved to sleep.
When you wake up to his sleeping face, you think his cuts are healing nicely. But then his expression twists up in terror—a nightmare, if he even had enough energy left in him to conjure up dreams. He murmurs in his sleep, shakes his head a few times and thrashes around so much you're surprised you slept through the night by his side.
"Sukuna," he's whispering. Sukuna, Sukuna, Sukuna. King of Curses. The second voice tormenting him that lives in his own brain like a parasite. You bury yourself into his chest and hold him as tight as you can. He relaxes, body releasing its rigid form, but the murmurs continue.
He is shattered beyond repair. No amount of cursed energy could fix that, even if you tried.
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You had once watched Yuji electrocute himself trying to set up the janky old television in his dorm room.
He fell back onto the floor with a loud crash, head hitting the wood so hard you thought he might have a concussion. It caused such a racket that Megumi came running into the room asking what happened, demon dog ready behind him in case of an ambush.
You rushed to the floor, discarding all the food you had settled in your lap and crumbled beside him to scoop him into your arms.
"Yuji!" You called him. People rarely used his first name. You felt special, like you knew him better than others did and for some reason that was a privilege. "Are you okay?"
He laughed in your arms, seeming unfazed by the fact that electricity had run through every vein in his body. "I'm fine, see? My finger just slipped."
You and Megumi both sighed in relief, though you always thought it was strange when you reflected on it. Yuji was a funny guy, yes. He was equal parts humour and destruction but not a klutz. Mistakes happen, so you let it slide until now, but some part of you was nagging to ask.
"That day," you start while rolling up your sleeping bag. "You electrocuted yourself. Remember?"
He looks at you funny over his shoulder. Yuta has already started cracking open cans of food for breakfast, embers of your dead fire cracking.
"Hmm, yeah. I remember. Why?"
"I just thought..." you trail off. "Well, Sukuna makes you tough to a lot of things. I'm surprised small electric shocks aren't one of them."
Sukuna. A name you'd been avoiding since this morning. Sickening silence settles between you. It's so heavy that you pause in your cleaning to look at him, brow raised.
"Yeah," he coughs. "Well, maybe I exaggerated."
"Huh?" You sound annoyed now. "You scared us half to death!"
Yuji only falters in his own chores. When he looks at you again, there's a longing in his gaze that you don't know how you could have missed. Or perhaps it was never there until now.
"It was nice to have you fawning over me," he admits.
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The day goes on and all you feel is a terrible grief.
You become painfully aware of each millimeter the sun glides across the sky, from one horizon to the other. Time slips through your fingers fast as sand.
Horrifically, you can't find anything to talk about to fill the emptiness—Nobara and Megumi feel off the table considering the extent of their injuries. You don't even dare to breathe Gojo's name, let alone speak of him so boldly as Yuta is.
You're afraid that Yuji will spiral again, confused and unwilling to cooperate with his judgement clouded by loss. It's not your fault, you would say. It is, he would argue. It would do neither of you good, so you idle around while he and Yuta devise plans to tiptoe around the higher ups.
A part of you knows that if either of you told him to submit and die, he would. He's already teetering on the edge of self-destruction.
On the outside, he seems perfectly indifferent. Gaze steady, face stone and unchanging as he speaks. He's doomed, ill-fated, someone full of misfortune. He looks so lonely that the air itself parts for him where he stands.
To shoulder so much responsibility, so much death, maybe he truly is alone. Some fraction of him, at least—a piece of himself only he would ever understand.
Your hand snakes into his without a second thought. You don't know why you did it, nor do you have any reasoning that he doesn't yank away from you. His hand trembles, and it's then that you realize his whole body is wracked with tremors that don't match his distant disposition.
The second thing you learn is this: when Yuji self-destructs, he does it from the inside-out.
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Itadori Yuji loves chocolate cake.
He loves all food, really, acting like your friend group's personal food dumpster whenever any of you were full. But chocolate cake you knew he had a sweet tooth for.
You used to bring it with you to his dorm, stopping by the convenience stores on the way home to grab a pre-packaged slice from the fridge for him to eat.
"You're making a mess," you would tell him with a frown, using your thumb to wipe up frosting from the corner of his mouth. You would lick the pad of your finger clean after that, and he would watch almost in a trance.
It's the reason why you stop on one of your patrols, poking through the fridge section of a convenience store. The power has been out for a long time in this part of the city, all the food is already room temperature, but you figure this is fine as long as it smells okay.
The way Yuji's face lights up when he sees you is all it takes for the worry to go away.
It briefly feels as though nothing has ever gone wrong—that after this slice of cake the two of you will tumble back onto his mattress and turn on another showing of Titanic. (He groaned about it once, saying he got KO'd too many times during this film. You only laughed in confusion.)
At the end of the day, you know those days will never come back to you, lost forever in the wind.
Fire dances before you and you watch, enchanted by the flames. You remember last night, how not even the firelight could make Yuji look the same as he did before. You turn your head to look at him, to see if it's any different tonight, just for your cheek to be caught in his palm.
His thumb traces your lip, the way you used to do to him. You recognize the pull of his finger against your flesh, the swipe of it to get frosting off, but he still seems dissatisfied.
"What?" You ask.
"It didn't come off," he mutters, leaning in dangerously close to observe. Heat rises all the way to your cheeks and makes your hairs stand on end. His touch is like molten lava. You wonder if it has something to do with the monster living inside of him.
"I can't see it," you whine without a mirror.
He draws a little closer, until he's inches from your face. "Let me..."
You've suddenly been dropped into cold, unknown waters. This is all unfamiliar. He's rushing this, as if making up for all the time the two of you lost pretending you were only friends. As if he can cram all the things he's wanted to tell you into one night.
Recoiling away, you find yourself hesitating. If he kisses you, this all becomes too real. It's an acknowledgment of his impending death. That the thread of his life is finer and further stretched than yours is.
An unpleasant thought rings through your mind. What if I become a curse on him?
"This only ends badly for us," you whisper, but the conviction is missing from your voice.
He doesn't care. At least, it doesn't look like he does. Who knows what he's thinking right now?
"Who cares?" He says. "We're Jujutsu Sorcerers. Everything bad happens to us no matter what."
You don't have any rebuttal to that, no argument that forms in your mind that could challenge his words. He was right. Only disaster befalls Sorcerers. Disaster and grief.
For a while you had forgotten, living these idyllic months watching the days pass by. You feel like you wasted that precious time worrying about stupid things, like what to have for breakfast or what kind of snacks you should pick up for movie night.
(It ended up being popcorn every time. He liked to piss off Sukuna with it, saying the King of Curses would never get to experience the pleasure of picking out kernels from his teeth. You scoffed but bought it anyway.)
Another thought crosses your mind: Yuji is more fit to be in a rom-com, or a television series where the good guys always win. Not this tragedy. Not this massacre.
You wonder if he's ever felt the same way. If he ever wished he could reach into the sky and turn the sun back to a time before he even knew what a curse was.
If you’d met each other under different circumstances, would this have been a different story? The thought makes your heart ache, a part of you so deep that even if you reached into your chest and plucked it, you'd still wail.
"Can I?" He asks you, eager but quiet. Had this been a few months ago, you imagine that he would have had this spark in his eye. That his lips would be crashing into yours with no inhibition.
But Yuji has always been selfless, you think he always will be. He doesn't want to drag you down if you don't want to—an out, they call it. An escape route just before he careens into a ditch.
Hope has drained from every inch of his expression. This is his loneliness talking.
Despite the dread that licks up your spine, you cup his face. You swear he jolts slightly beneath your touch, as if you've reached out to strike him down. A retribution he believes he deserves.
He kisses you like it's his last day on earth. 
You learn one last thing: Itadori Yuji tastes familiarly of death.
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Yuta decides to leave you alone for a second night in a row. His presence is so crushing that you know he's alive, but he stalks off somewhere else, leaving just you and Yuji huddled by the pitiful fire you've built.
He once claimed himself jokingly to be a love expert, and then ran off to Kenya for so long that you lost track of how much time passed. You wish you'd asked him before he left what he meant, but at the time it seemed irrelevant. Insignificant. The name Itadori Yuji had not yet been impressed into your heart like a seal.
You're busy setting up the sleeping bags, this time pushing them flush together. They're so close you can barely see the seam between them. Yuji stands on the other side of the fire, watching.
It reminds him of all the times you'd ever scolded him for not making his bed in the morning. I'm gonna crawl back in tonight anyway, he said. Who cares if it's messy?
Idiot, you would call him. But there was no malice behind it. He treated it like a pet name, a badge of honour to be your idiot.
Life felt so simple back then. He was full of determination and life and stuck to his morals as best he could. When he wavered he would text you to come over so you could fall asleep on his chest and suffocate any other thoughts out of his head.
"I've never felt so powerful before," he admits quietly.  You turn to look at him, curious. "Like I could do anything in the world."
There's a negative connotation to that, you know. He could do anything. The world would crumble at his feet and there he would stand, laughing at it all. It isn't his will, not even slightly, but the demon taking refuge in his body would love to see the blood pool.
"Like I could just... reach out and—"
"Yuji!" You hiss, lurching forward to take his hand into yours and retreat from the flame. The skin is already pink and blistering, scorched by the embers. You twist his wrist around, observing where the fire licked the deepest, and pour your energy into him.
When you look up to see if he's crying, or at least grimacing in pain, you find only his smiling face—warm and adoring. For a second it feels like the world isn't burning around you.
It was nice to have you fawning over me.
You wipe that stupid smirk off his face, leaning in to smear a kiss along the scar on his lip.
"Idiot," you say, and he laughs for the first time in so long that it sounds foreign in your ears.
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(He doesn't fall asleep that night. He would rather savour the sound of your soft snores, memorize the form of your body in his hold, and try his hardest to burn this into his brain.
So be it if you come to curse him one day. He would welcome you with open arms.)
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NOVEMBER 3 2018
The day comes when Megumi sneaks into your hideout, asking for help.
His sister, he explains. He needs help saving Tsumiki. For some reason, resentment boils in your stomach, but then it's snuffed just as fast.
Two days and two nights you've spent pretending Japan isn't collapsing, content with sitting idly by as curses overran Tokyo. You're sure Megumi thought you to be cowards, that you were all hiding under this bridge to wait out the hellstorm that was raining down on your homes.
It was true to some extent. Once Yuji stepped out into battle again, that was that. You're not sure things would ever be the same again, though you suppose you lost the privilege of routine days ago.
"Let me come too," you urge. Three pairs of eyes land on you.
"No," Yuji pushes. "It's dangerous."
"I can fight!"
"You can't," he pauses, then corrects himself, "You won't."
Awkward silence settles over your encampment. Yuta stirs, standing to hold you steady by the shoulders.
"If we need help... if one of us is hurt, we'll need you unharmed. Do you understand?"
Ah, ever so wise, your upperclassman. So easy to persuade you. There's a reason why he's the chosen one only second to Gojo.
You swallow the bile that fights up your throat. "What if you don't come back?"
Yuji steps in this time, knocking away Yuta to hold you by the face. Get a grip, this means. Pull yourself together, don't you dare fall apart in front of me.
"We will."
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You once considered telling him how you felt, letting it eat away at you until Nobara groaned in disgust.
“If Itadori starts dating before I do, I’ll puke.”
You remember that you laughed, thinking she was so dramatic. You loved that about her. “I think you would do worse.”
She glared at you, foot lightly kicking at your shin under the table. Still, she made sure to push equal amounts of rice to your side of the plate. “I might burn a village down,” she huffed, placing her chin on her palm.
“You’re fine. Even if I told him how I feel, I don’t think he’d accept.”
“Huh?” Nobara sounded genuinely confused, raising a brow at you. “What makes you think that?”
You didn't know how to answer that. Maybe you were just afraid that you had misinterpreted everything, that the way he held you was protective in a familial manner and that he would slam his door in your face when you tried.
Looking back on it, you can imagine him in the next room ranting about the same things to Megumi.
“He still has posters of Jennifer Lawrence on his wall,” you argued weakly while shoveling rice into your spoon. She watched you take your bite with her lips parted in disbelief.
You wish you had told him, then. Not that it would have changed where you both ended up.
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You watch as they pack up their things.
Megumi's demon dog keeps you quiet company, tail thrashing against the ground as you slick back its fur. They talk around the dying flames, devising plan after plan. None seem safe. None would be.
Yuta and Megumi leave first, taking the lead in front of the pack. His dog melts into the shadows and disappears, leaving you sitting alone.
"I want to take you back, but..." Yuji glances over his shoulder toward his death sentence. "Will you make it okay on your own?"
You get up slowly, as if to draw out the time he stands before you. A thousand questions run through your head: what if you never see him again? What if this kills him, not by body, but by his already damaged soul?
He must sense the racing of your mind, so he leans in to engulf you in his arms. In an instant, memories of those days spent lounging in his bed, shoveling your food onto his plate, and purposefully talking louder to tease Megumi come flooding.
A year you would never forget. You're sure it'll become a curse if you dwell, so you tell him: "I'll make it. You go on, they need you."
I need you, too. Stay. If only it were so simple.
He smiles at you, warm like the sun that's hidden behind the barrier. Itadori Yuji looks like a ghost of his former self, battle-worn and covered in scars where his skin used to be smooth. He kisses you again for good measure, making sure he remembers the way you sigh into his mouth.
When he pulls away, there's life gleaming in his eyes.
"Let's watch Human Earthworm 5 when I come back."
Your thumb brushes the corner of his lip. You open your mouth to speak, to finally tell him the truth after all this time. You'd rather not die regretting you never said it, after all.
But you stop.
"I prefer Titanic," you confess. He shakes his head and kisses your forehead. Then he’s gone, taking all the warmth with him.
You'll make up for lost time one day. It won’t be today. You can tell him all about your feelings when he comes back to you.
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© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.
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heliads · 1 year ago
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Hey babe, if you're still taking requests, can I request something for Harry Hook from descendants? It takes place in an AU where basically all the kids are "chosen" to be parts of fairytales. (Think Ever After High mixed with School for Good and Evil). This world is complete with everything you see in disney movies with epic fights and songs. Heroes get love ballads and villains get traditional villain songs. Reader and Harry are friends (with feelings) on the isle and get chosen for a story, and are both super excited because they think they'll both be villains together. So imagine their surprise when they get their first song together and it sounds an awful lot like a love song.
This AU has been living in my head for a long time tbh but I have no writing skills T-T. Feel free to ignore it this is not your style or I accidentally sent this after requests closed.
'one story leads to another' - harry hook
masterlist
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On the Isle of the Lost, a story is everything. Receiving a good story catapults a promising villain into a fantastic life of infamy, but a lackluster story seals your fate forever to menial satisfaction alone. Henchmen, not gods. Lackeys and thugs, never the criminal boss in charge.
Then again, a worse fate still could befall you. Many would-be villains go their whole lives without receiving a story. They’re not meant for everyone, at all, even if they mean the difference between a true life or a false existence. You can’t fathom training your whole life just to go without, but it’s the reality for many on your island. Even the deck swabbers get to go on exciting adventures with the great pirates of the sea, and even the lowliest prison guard will still live in a cursed palace.
The story controls your life, both literally and figuratively. Once you’re given a story, you’ll have no choice but to follow it out, even if it ends with your death. Then again, a story isn’t over in a matter of days. It’ll shape your life for decades. Even if the main plot is over, you’ll still be someone, and maybe you’ll feature in other people’s stories, too. There’s no way to make it without a story.
That’s why you’ve been throwing yourself into the pursuit of becoming the main character of your own story. You’ve perfected the arts of all things villain– sword fights that always end with you pulling a secret dagger out of a sleeve to tip the scales in your favor, maniacal laughter, elaborate plotting. You could scheme in your sleep or double-cross a traitor with your hands tied behind your back. Although it’s been a long time in the making, everyone on the Isle can admit that you’re the best of the best, and that a story surely has to be coming your way.
The problem, then, is attracting one. Although no rules are set in stone, there are expectations for how one’s story will come about. There will be an inciting event, of course, and then the songs will begin to appear in your head, the footwork and movements placed in your memories without a second thought. You’ll know you’re in the story, and then your life will change forever.
You’ve already seen one play out with some of your closest friends. Mal, one of your best friends since you were kids, got to live out her nefarious dreams, although even she didn’t see the twist coming in her story. Then again, becoming queen of Auradon is certainly a fine trophy for the child of a villain, even if a true marriage of love isn’t quite the way anyone expected her to steal the crown.
Mal has assured you many times over that your story will be coming too, it has to. There’s no way the magic would skip over you, not when you’ve dedicated so much of your life to being the perfect villain for any role. You can lie and cheat and maim with the best of them, surely you’re shaping up to be the arch nemesis in some hero’s grand journey? Your story will be coming your way. Surely. Surely.
And then, all of a sudden, it does. You feel it like a puppet knows its strings. All of a sudden, you have a purpose that you didn’t before. Your feet carry you out of the training yard and out into the sprawling mess of streets that makes up the Isle of the Lost. Your heart soars, and you take to the roofline, staring out at the world before you. It’s yours, all yours, and you know it’s true, so you sing it. The words come to you in a flash, perfect rhymes curling around your tongue as if they’d been there all your life. 
This is what it feels like to be in a story, then. It feels right, more right than anything you’ve known before. Easier than breathing. Simpler than hoping that something like this would come your way, and at last, it has. Nothing could make your flinty heart more proud.
The song ends, and you can hear a ghost of a distant chorus fading out as you make your way back to the ground once more. Your stroll is casual, but the steps are definitely in a specific direction. The last notes fade from the air, your feet stop firmly in place, and you realize that you’re not facing down a potential heist or daring escape but the end of the dock leading into the sea. Directly in front of you lies a pirate ship. 
At first, you’re thrilled– an adventure on the high seas would be fantastic. You’re friends with many of the pirates, even if you haven’t yet gotten a chance to test your fortitude against seasickness before. You cast your mind back to the words you’d just sung, trying to remember if you’d chorused anything about an exciting voyage ahead, or maybe the possibility of sunken treasure.
Instead, your heart sinks as you realize you were talking about exploring what was right in front of you. More specifically, someone right in front of you. And, as you stare with no small amount of trepidation at the pirate ship in front of you, you discover that someone else seems to be in a similar situation as you. Someone who’s just stopped singing a very similar song, who’s standing directly opposite you as if placed there by some immortal hand. Someone you know already.
Someone like Harry Hook.
A belated understanding is beginning to nestle itself between your ribs like a knife in the heart. No, this can’t be. You refuse to believe it. Still, when Harry is the first one to make a move, and walks briskly down the gangplank to stand in front of you, and says in an increasingly cavalier tone, “So, you’ve got your story started too, haven’t you?”
“Harry,” you say weakly. “I didn’t realize that you’d also gotten a song.”
“More than a song,” he says grimly. “I’ve got the whole story.”
You stare at him. “You know how it’s going to end?”
Harry had been doing his best to keep his gaze firmly pinioned on a nearby wall, but his eyes flicker briefly, traitorously, over to you when you pose the question. They snap back immediately, though. For a pirate, he’s never been the best liar, although he tends to make up for it with excellent swordsmanship. “No one knows how their story is going to end until they follow it through.”
You narrow your eyes crossly at him. “But you have a guess, don’t you? Spit it out, Hook. I don’t have all day.”
“Actually,” Harry contradicts, seeming to take great joy in the opportunity to be bothersome, “you do have all day. You’re a part of a story now, love. Your whole life is going to be wherever the wind takes you.”
You roll your eyes. “Thanks, Harry. Very helpful. Don’t try to dodge the question, though. You know how this is going to end, right?”
He sighs. “I have an inkling. Very vague. Probably untrustworthy.”
“All pirates are untrustworthy,” you remind him.
He grins broadly, sharklike. “And all children of villains are saints like you, of course.” He groans at your exasperated expression. “Fine, fine. Although I’d suggest you get better at pretending you like playing my little games if you’d like to keep this up.”
Your eyes widen. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve guessed it already, haven’t you?” Harry says testily. “Think about the songs, Y/N. The melody. That wasn’t a villainous monologue, not even your basic pledge for debauchery and ruin. That was a love song.”
You shake your head frantically. “No, Harry. That was so not right. What is that supposed to mean?”
“Well,” Harry says slowly, “I ‘spose it means we’re meant to fall in love.”
You draw back so quickly that you think you’ve insulted him. “No. Absolutely not. No offense, Harry, but I don’t want to fall in love with you.”
“I’ll try not to let it go to my head,” he says dryly.
You wave a hand dismissively. “It’s not about you, I swear. It’s just– this was supposed to be my story, you know? My whole life. I was supposed to have a glorious adventure, or engage in fantastic battles, but I get one chance at a story and it’s about falling in love? No way. I won’t accept this.”
“You’re acting like I enjoy this too,” Harry retorts. “Quite the contrary, sweetheart. You’re not the only one who’s been dreaming about their story for ages. How do you reckon I’m meant to tell my father that I got a love story? He’d laugh at me so hard he’d probably stop getting scared of that crocodile once and for all. I’m just as unhappy with this as you are, but I’m willing to do something about it.”
You eye him cautiously. “Like what?”
“Let’s play along,” he suggests, and when you look like you’re going to snap at him, he raises his hands defensively and adds hastily, “I know, I know, but hear me out, will you? The faster we get things going, the sooner this ends. You know as well as I do that characters from other stories can take part in other ones, too. ‘Sides, maybe this one isn’t just a love story. Maybe we do travel somewhere exciting, we just don’t know it yet. You don’t have to fall in love with me, alright? We can pretend. We’ll sing our songs, then do whatever we want with our hearts. Me, I’m planning to show my strength by carving mine out of my chest and wearing it as a necklace. It would make a pretty pendant, I wager. Plus, all the crew would be awestruck over it.”
You can’t help but laugh at his words. “Harry, if you cut your heart out, you’d die. If you want a necklace like that, use one of your enemies’ organs.”
He nods appreciatively. “That might work better, I think.” Then, eyeing you apprehensively, “So, does that mean you’re willing to do it? To play along with our story?”
You sigh. “I think it does. It’s not like we have any choice, do we?”
Harry pulls a face. “A girl is cosmically destined to fall in love with me, and in the heat of the moment of her confession, she says it’s because she doesn’t have any choice. Be still, my heart.”
This makes you smile. “You know it’s not personal, Harry. We’ve been friends for ages, I should hope you know when I’m teasing.”
“And I should hope the same,” he says with mock solemnity, although his faux stony demeanor cracks with a wide grin within moments.
You hold out your hand for him to shake. “To falling in love?”
“To falling in love,” he says, and shakes it. So the story begins.
You’re not going to say that it’s difficult, pretending to be in love with Harry Hook. You’ve never had an issue with his company; he’s one of your oldest friends, all of the villain kids on or around the Isle of the Lost have come in contact with each other before, and you and Harry just so happened to cross paths more than a few times. In fact, you’d go so far as to say that if you were forced to sing love songs with any of the villainous children on this island, Harry would be your preferred choice.
And– the problem with that, see, is that it makes this whole thing sound like something it isn’t. You’re not in love with Harry, even if your story seems designed to make you think otherwise. You know how you felt about him before the story began, and a couple of ditties about finding something special in a person you previously overlooked isn’t going to change anything. Harry is your friend. Nothing more than a potential ally.
But then the story takes you two away from the island for a spell, the two of you co-captaining a small sailing vessel by yourselves in search of a magical talisman that would have the power to make every one of your days enchanting. You had assumed it would be a talisman of some sort, that is; yet when the two of you arrived at the hiding place of this supposed treasure and split up to each pursue one length of a split crossroads, your paths looped around so you came face to face with each other again. 
No artifacts, no charms. Just Harry almost stumbling into you, having to wrap one arm around your waist so you don’t fall, his chest rising and falling rapidly as if he’d been running in an attempt to beat your time. You’d chastise him for it were it not for the fact that you were sprinting, too. You wait for Harry to let you go, but he doesn’t, and instead leans closer, so close you can feel his breath hot on your cheek, and then–
You pull away quickly. Harry looks at you like a wounded dog, which makes you feel sick to your stomach. “No,” you say through gritted teeth. “This isn’t– this isn’t us. It’s the story.”
“Is it really just the story?” Harry asks you.
“Yes,” you say, refusing to consider any other option for a second. “You didn’t love me before it started. The magic is messing with our minds. This isn’t real, Harry.”
He starts slowly walking towards you, and afraid you’ll make a mistake you’ll regret once the story ends, you back up in turn, up until the point when your back hits a wall and you can go no further. Harry, however, has nothing in his way but you, and there is nothing to stop him from closing the gap between you once again.
“Tell me it’s not real,” he says lowly.
“It’s not real,” you repeat.
His hand rises to your chin, tilting it up so you have to look in his eyes. He drinks in the sight of you like he’s been marooned alone for days, like salt water has been his only benediction for as long as he can remember. “Tell me,” he says again.
“It’s not,” you insist, but your conviction is gone, drifted away from you on uncertain tides. “It’s the magic. Not us.”
“Not us?” He asks, and kisses you. Slowly, terribly slowly, he kisses you, and in between silently begging him to move faster, do more, you think about all the times you’ve been under a spell in the past, and how this feels nothing like that. Not at all. Whenever you’re under an enchantment, some small part of you knows it’s wrong, giving you just enough hope that you might be able to fight free.
When you kiss Harry, though, you don’t want him to stop. Not at all. Every single particle in your body is beating along to the same erratic pulse through your veins, the one that leans into his touch, reaching for the front of his salt-stained shirt to pull him ever closer to you. If this is your story, you don’t ever want it to end. If there is a writer out there somewhere, feverishly scribbling out your chapters, you hope they never cease, that every one of their movements until the day they die and then past that will bring you more moments with Harry, moments just like this one in which you never have to let him go.
“It’s not just the story,” you tell him amidst ragged breaths when he finally breaks away.
“No?” Harry asks, one brow quirked. Usually, he’d never pass up the chance to gloat, but he looks sorely disheveled, and he can’t take his eyes off of your kissed lips long enough to give him the chance to revel in his victory like he normally would.
Just in case, though, you distract him from the triumph by kissing him again. Somewhere in the surrounding uncharted territory, the waves crash against the shore, the seabirds wheel and sing on the marine breezes, and you find the magic in the one boy who has always been there for you, and always will be, even after your story ends. That is the magic of love, you suppose. Adventures come to a close. Battles are won, heists are accomplished, but what you and Harry share will go on forever. A fitting legacy for the best two villains who ever lived.
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treasureguardingdragon · 1 year ago
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my art for @aroaceteagirl ‘s incredible fic!! this is my second @bbcmerlin-reversebang entry, and was so much fun to do!!
Summary:
When Arthur gets sent away by Uther to secure a treaty between Camelot and Tir-Mor, what should have been a normal diplomatic trip turns into more than Arthur could have expected.
Along the way, he learns valuable lessons about trust, friendship and the weight of duty.
LINK
here is some propaganda from me to make you read it:THE STORY THAT WAS CREATED HAS IT ALL- friendship, evil plots by evil people, the power of gossiping, friendship x2, arthur trying to be the best prince he can despite the entire world seemingly being against him, arthurs internal monologue consisting of endless compliments for merlin, friendship so magical that you’re absolutely certain they’re in a qpr and can knock down cities with the power of it, magic reveals, scheming (both evil and good. it’s possible), FRIENDSHIPPPP, the perspective of a merchant having their wares mocked by two idiots
CHECK OUT THEIR STORY HERE I PROMISE ITS AMAZING
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realisticjupiter · 1 year ago
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Hiii I hope you're doing well this fine evening:) I was wondering if you can write chishiya that notice this one beach resident (reader) that keeps staring at him and at first he thinks that she's planning some evil schemes or something but no he just finds out with his super detective skills she's drawing him. Alot. And ends up confronting her about it. Thank you sooo much xoxo.
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ꔫ ⸝⸝ summary: chishiya always seemed to catch you in the act. what was the act? he needed to know.
ꔫ ⸝⸝ pairing: chishiya x gn!reader
ꔫ ⸝⸝ genre: fluff
ꔫ ⸝⸝ warnings: none
ꔫ ⸝⸝ word count: 931
A/N: this was a little rushed but i hope you still like it!
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It started off as what Chishiya hoped to be a coincidence. When he'd catch your gaze and you'd walk away; like a guilty dog.
He could tell you've gained more confidence when you'd stare right back at him and continue the soft movements of your wrist on the notebook you had laid on your lap.
Then it became more frequent, like you'd been following him and knew everywhere he'd be.
At some point he thought he was the one following you.
He couldn't pull away when he saw you again. Up on a balcony with the ability to look at every other beach resident, but every time you looked up--your eyes were on him.
He had given you the nickname 'Stalker' when talking to Kuina about it. And Kuina happened to be the one who put the paranoid thought that you were plotting an evil scheme against him.
Honestly, it could make sense. The constant writing, the more frequent encounters. What else would it be?
Chishiya, the curious cat. Far too curious for his own good the way he made his way back inside the Beach. Fast and large footsteps going towards where he saw you. Hoping he'd catch you before you'd disappear again.
But just with his luck, the chair you once sat in was empty. He took smaller steps to walk deeper inside the balcony, looking down to see your perspective.
Chishiya turned around, eyeing the chair that he wanted to stuff in an evidence bag and get it tested for anything and everything to figure out who you were.
He kneeled down, bringing his hand out to grab onto the black piece that felt like chalk on his fingers.
It was charcoal. Why did you have charcoal?
And as smart as Chishiya was. He now realized every theory he had, was now wrong just by this small piece in his hand.
He stood back up, studying the charcoal under his intimidating gaze as if it would talk to him with words.
You were an artist. At least, that's what it seemed like. Someone plotting on his demise wouldn't be writing a plan in charcoal. But rather draw a picture, like a face they could see daily.
That was his face.
Now he really wanted to find you; more than before. He wanted to ask you if he was right, and then maybe you'd show him your art with a smile.
He thought about that charcoal piece since he had woken up. And he realized maybe he could see the way other people viewed him, outside of his life and onto a piece of paper.
Catching you in the act seemed easy in his mind. He went to the same place every morning, and he'd see you there too. But instead of being on his side of the room, he'd sneak up behind you. Startle you, then help you up before taking that charcoal piece out of his pocket and into your view.
Sometimes he scared himself how easy it was to predict other people's moves, it felt like he had some sort of superpower.
Because that's exactly what happened.
You jumped to the sound of his voice, "Stalking again?" His voice husky, but soft as he spoke with a grin.
"Maybe?" You spoke as if it was question towards him, afraid you had made him uncomfortable.
"Maybe?" His grin grew larger when he quoted your words back to you, bringing out that charcoal piece you left behind.
You put on a shy smile when you saw it, reaching your hand out to grab it before he pulled away.
"It took me a while to find out what you were doing." Chishiya spoke, looking around your body to try and spot that notebook you carried around.
"It's only fair you show me what you were really doing." He cleared his throat after the words left his mouth, his eyes going back to yours to study your expression.
"That's true..." You chuckled, "I guess that is fair." You sighed, taking the notebook out of the satchel that rested on your body.
You handed it to him. You didn't need to show him a certain page, the entire notebook was just filled with him and maybe someone who was standing beside him if you got bored.
He noticed a few of him and Kuina, noticing the perfect strokes of led or charcoal that stained the white pages.
"These are better than I thought they would be." He hummed honestly, slowly flicking through the pages and taking in everything they offered.
"Thanks." You nodded, "Sorry if I made you uncomfortable... Or anything. I'm not good at talking to people. And you're quite satisfying to draw." You explained through a nervous lump in your throat. Your fingers fidgeting with each other as they rested above your thigh.
"I'm not uncomfortable." He shook his head, finally peeling his eyes away to look at yours. "I thought you were trying to kill me at first." He shrugged, looking back down.
"Oh," You nervously laughed, trying to wait patiently for him to hand it back.
"Where'd you learn how to draw?" He asked curiously, finally closing the notebook and handing it back to your shaking hands.
You shrugged, "Just something I taught myself over the years." You explained, stuffing the notebook into your bag.
"If you ever draw me again, you should show me." He wasn't suggesting it, he was hoping it.
You nodded before watching him walk away, only realizing he hadn't given the charcoal piece to you until he was out of sight.
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reposts and comments are appreciated <3
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zot3-flopped · 6 months ago
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ive seen diehard swifties (im talking buying insane amounts of merch, having entire rooms dedicated to her, dressing up like her and only posting about her) with so much more respect for taylor as a person than cages. saw one of such diehard swifties talk about how its reductive and a disservice to her art to make it all about the men shes with - its not like taylor herself doesnt make her art all about those men and its not like her art amounts to much imo BUT STILL. cages somehow manages to both be taylors most loyal bootlicker while at the same time CONSTANTLY theorizing and discussing and arguing about her relationships past and present. they keep bringing up joe who didnt let her shine or whatever but the most frustrating thing for me is how they talk about matty. cages loves to push this idea of evil matty scheming and plotting to take advantage of her at her lowest as if swift isnt a grown ass rich woman totally in control of her life and everything. as if the attraction was not mutual. she just can do no wrong ever and has to be a victim all the time and her trained minions like cages will make sure thats the only accepted narrative
I'll never forget Cages claiming that Taylor was 'a very young naive 22' and as such was taken advantage of by the evil 18-year-old Harry Styles. Always representing Taylor as a helpless child.
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gritsandbrits · 4 months ago
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Wish II symbolism
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Symbols are used to craft important details in my story. They are seen on bogolan mudcloth and have differente meanings depending on the country and tribe. I'm going to use the commonly ascribed definitions.
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Iguana's Elbow: At one point Asha receives a new dress with this pattern. It represents her bringing some much needed light back into Omari's life and to Wahatan to an extent. She lives in a coastal kingdom so I felt a water motif would be neat. It also add to the geometric roses present in her design.
Calabash: Al-Farouk's symbol. The scientist and astronmer uses gourds to store all his experiments experiments in. The gourds are also used by the rebels to make instruments. Omari discovers it while looking for Asha which leads to him finding her and Al-Farouk resulting in a journey that eventually restores Wahatan back to its former glory. The calabash complements the symbol of rosas,
Warriors Belt: I picked symbol as an allusion to Magnifico's diamond, whrerr his represents his God Complex, this diamond represents Layla's bravery. It works bevause she starts out as a nervous wreck afraid of a fly and becomes more outspoken in more ways than one It can be seen on her collar.
Pillows Of A wealthy woman: This symbol represents Khadija's indulgent lifestyle. Since their takeover she and her husband has been enjoying the spoils of their ill gotten gains while letting the rest of their people starve. There are scenes where she is just lounging on her chair plotting and scheming and eating grapes. While not an evil symbol, I think this one is the best way to describe the depths of her greed.
Three Lines: Sharun's symbol in this context it represents the 3 most important people in his life: his wife, himself, and their pet ram. And just like a weaver sharun spins his agenda into almost every facet of Wahatan society, from politics to the very way mudcloth is made. It also goes in line with Khadija's x symbol.
Circle & Dot: At one point Asha and Omari finds themselves in a hidden community of artists who had escaped Wahatan. Inspired by the hamlet from the concept art, this tightknit community hopes that one day they would be able to return home. The way I imagined it to be set up, the hamlet is made by a group of small forming an almost complete circle with another island in the middle, and a dam blocking potential intruders. From an aerial view the hamlet looks like a circle. A physical manifestation of community intregal to Wish.
A small bit of extra detail: Omari's dogon amulet looks like the circle, foreshadowing his character development.
War Drums: Another symbol used by the rebel artists emphasizing musical heritage to fight against tyranny. Mild spoilers but when King Jabbari returns he is seen sporting this symbol confirming that he had gotten help from the hamlet during the decade he had been exiled.
Another fun fact: Al-Farouk's name means "the one who distinguishes truth from falsehoods". He is the first person to tell Omari the truth about his family.
More information (the source of the pics)
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pumpkinstrawbrew · 4 months ago
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do you have favorite comics or reccs with scarebat vibes?
oh yes, quite a few, actually! there are some issues, which i re-read religiously, like one would a bible lol. an' some which i consider to be more of light fun type of deal.
*i won't give any summaries about the comics itself, so that folks who aren't familiar with them can experience it all on their own accord. but i will give a small notes about my own impression about these, without spoiling the plots / the gist of it. hope, that's okay!*
but, any without further ado, here goes my lil masterlist!
starting off with, Scarecrow Part 1: Dark Wings Fly Away in Fear, an’ Part 2: Haunted House of the Head. it's pretty much everything i could have wanted from scarebat comics, honestly. the storyline, the characterization. the implications. the artstyle. it’s just perfect in my opinion! it’s a two-part comic issues, an’ it was the very first comics i read about them. an' it's still a peak.
Year One: Scarecrow Masters Of Fear *(1995)* a real banger. it gives a very captivating insight into both batman an’ crane’s pov. ‘nothing to fear’ in some ways mirrored its narrative trick, since we get both of their perspectives in one story. an’ for me, this sort of thing can always pass as shipping content, bc it has that edge to it. just enough substance an’ generally fairly strong story to drive the point home. 
Fear for Sale. while it’s not super heavily leaning into batman an’ jon’s interactions, it’s still both visually an’ at it’s core feels like a shippy issue to me. i like how it also plays with more classic comic book-y elements, giving us both 'comedy' an’ lil disturbing bits here an’ there. 
Batman’s Evil Eye. a fun scheme, that is also very directly tied to scarecrow an’ batman’s dynamic. warning for hurt bat fee-fees at the end, cuz jon is an ass lol.
Master of Fear. *Batman #457. (1990)* where do i even begin with this one. it’s just precious. also pretty gay. i mean ...
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yeah. this should sell it, i think lol.
Batman Adventures #19 Scarecrow *(1992)* a comics based on animated series. a rather interesting concept an' some lil feels an' spooky moments.
*handy enough, one can find almost all of these comic issues in Batman Arkham : Scarecrow , which pretty much serve as a collection of jonathan crane’s most important classic comics. it was really helpful for someone like me, who had no idea where to start, when it came to batman comicverse. so truly, it was a life savior. not only a lot of issues in there are very scarabat-ish, but it’s also a coherent introduction to comicverse!scarecrow on main.*
now, about more overarching *bigger* arcs, or sets of comics tied together. 
Kings of Fear, is absolute scarebat gold, along with the fact that it’s just generally a very good scarecrow story in general. like even without a shipping element. still, if scarebat had it's own lil sacred book, that's be it. like, seriously. *it’s a separate mini-series, so you won’t have to search for it within many different comic continuities* 
Batman : Terror. another scarebat coded classic. the art took a bit for me to get used to it lol. but i really love the story an’ how absolutely unhinged jon is. *this arc is set within Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight, starting from issue 139 an’ finishing with issue 141* 
both of those series really surprised me. i was expecting a meal, but not a whole feast! those two are just really scratching the spot for me. my humble girlie dream is to one day write a series about them too.
an' now the time for some honorable mentions : 
The Six Days of Scarecrow, is a good comics, hence it’s not super shippy, but one can still gain smth of such substance from it too. esp toward the end.
The Scarecrow's Trail of Fear, it’s kinda silly, classic villain plan being well ... very fitting for its era, but it’s entertaining nonetheless. features jonathan kneeling in front of the batman. 
Captain Atom #33 (1989), this one is a rather dark in tone. an' if you have no idea who captain atom is an' why there is smth scarebat related in his comic book, that's okay. i still have no idea who he is either lol. esp since batman an' scarecrow literally put him on sidelines inside his own comic book. in general, there is some very interesting ideas in there, an' also bruce as per usual prioritize scarecrow over his own allies lmao. what to not love about it? an' yeah, you don't have to know what captain atom's deal is to enjoy it.
Fear is the Key, is a super small comic that takes a dip into jonathan’s mind. the version of him, who cannot feel fear anymore due to exposure to his own toxins. it was pretty neat, won't lie. even if i don't vibe with set ups, where jonathan is unable to feel fear *it's featured in Batman: Gotham Knights #49* 
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theplottdump · 1 year ago
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Any tips for making a legacy, for lack of a better term, weirder? I've worked pretty much every occult possible into the family tree but I feel like I get too focused on just maintaining needs and normal daily family life for them, especially since I prefer to keep everyone more or less happy (i.e. no tragic early deaths). The most exciting things I've really done are turn one sim into a Global Superstar and marry off another one to the Grim Reaper, and sometimes I pause aging for a bit to spend more time on certain plots. Your legacy is obviously pretty wild so I wondered how you go about coming up with ideas like Michael Bublé Christmas Getaways and Charlie's Angels Spy Squads haha
This is a great question!! Let me see if I can dig up a good enough answer for it 😂
And I'll include pictures to break up the massive wall of text.
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The reason Gens 1-3 are barely mentioned on here is because in reality there wasn't really anything interesting that happened in them. I wanted to hide away from the stress of a worldwide pandemic and watch my sims garden for a while. No real rules, just something to relax.
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Gen 4 was a slight departure since I was getting a little tired of my sims doing the same thing over and over, and I decided to do the opposite and move them to a penthouse in the city as a refreshing change.
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And as I started playing with more gameplay mods that added extra moodlets- the chance of hysterical death rose exponentially. My Gen 4 heir died when my Gen 5 heir, Hinoki was just a kid. So I decided to keep him around as a ghost while my Gen 3 heir worked on grinding out the ingredients for Ambrosia and Reed (Gen 4) continued to follow his political aspirations to become the first Ghost President of Simerica.
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And this is where we find the nexus point of weird. And here's the biggest (not so secret) secret to it. The beginning of Gen 5 is when I started actually sharing my gameplay.
Not publicly, but with a small group of friends and simmers on a discord, like I've mentioned before here. Suddenly I wasn't just playing for myself, I was very slowly starting to play to make my friends laugh- to see how they reacted whenever I would leave little updates. And I found I really enjoyed that!
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I started contriving little scenarios- what if Hinoki slept with her husband's band mate and had a secret child. And then someone would pop in and say she might have to run away for a while to Tartosa to have a baby. This independent toddler trait gives baby Val such a stink face- oh you should put him in a tiny leopard print robe to match. And it became this back and forth of - you know what would be funny?
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I was started going off the rule from my friend @anotherplumbob that my first born would be the heir, so i had the fun task of figuring out how to get from point A to point B with Valerian, and what the hell point B even looked like.
We knew he was evil- he killed his dad as a toddler, and was just a full creep through his entire childhood- and so I started asking, what story do I want to tell my friends? I love romcoms, I love spy movies- what would be fun for me?
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We're all influenced by our environments, the art, media, and music we consume, and that's all directly reflected into what we decide to put back out into the world.
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And through exploring those characters, through playing the game, through my friends throwing the weirdest suggestions at me - what if he made a robot copy of his childhood Nanny? Okay, what mods can I use to reflect that in my gameplay? - What if he 3D printed a baby? - What if the Volcano gave them another baby? (this one is never happening shooby) - The whole thing spiraled out of control 😂
SO TDLR- How can you make your legacy weirder?
Find a community or even a couple trusted friends to bounce ideas off of. The amount of time I've spent conniving and scheming with @doctorsimcraft should honestly be studied. Write for yourself and like the 4 people you care most about. Enthusiasm is infectious. Find some good gameplay mods to add color to your gameplay- More Personality Please is an absolute game changer. Wicked Whims and Lumpinou's RPO are also fantastic additions if that's your style. Hopefully the game throws you some fun curveballs. Adversity and conflict breed interesting story - or something like that. Think about the types of stories that you would be excited to tell- really lean into your favorite tropes and themes. It's not a checklist, it's just like - I really love campy spies, I really love enemies to lovers - what do I do in game to make this happen. Find your story and let drive your gameplay- not the other way around. Or find a good balance and see what happens.
And to be honest I've very much lost that balance and fallen into a total rut of letting the story overtake the gameplay. So whenever I get too overwhelmed by my stupid large ambitions I just sit down and play and see where the game takes me.
I hope I can get back to not posing every single scene out for Gen 7 but I also love making poses, and breaking my game in every way to be able to tell the stories I want to!
It's why I'm so comically slow now. But I guess that just means we get to spend more time getting to know our characters, which I do genuinely enjoy.
I don't know if that was helpful or incredibly unhelpful- but it's what I got. Good luck! And above all have fun- in whatever shape that may take. (Hopefully it's a weird one)
xo, Anne
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the-ellia-west · 7 months ago
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spill the tea on your wips <3
heyyy it's been so long since i've interacted with you, how's writing going? i wanna know about everything!
OH MY GOSH I'M SO SORRY I FORGOT I HAD AN INBOX
So...
I've shelved most of My WIPs because I don't really like them,and I'm focusing on J&R.
I also have ideas for a side comic to improve my art skills
But for now, I'll explain J&R (Also known as JoR or The Jest of Royalty)
It stars a cast of eight intricately complex heroes from different kingdoms and different species coming together and overcoming their trauma to become a found family.
Ronan - Main Protagonist, 17 years old, Elf, Hunter - Ronan is the one who started the group and whose goal holds them all together.A feisty young man who solves all his problems with punching and is desperate for revenge on the people who killed his family
Mangrove - Ronan's Rival, 19 years old, fallen god of Chaos and Conflict - Mangrove is an egotistical wreck with a love of causing trouble who is addicted to the power high he gets from starting fights and causing chaos
Finn - Ronan's Main, nicer mentor, 32 years old, Messenger - Finn is a loyal, smart leader who can make quick decisions but often accidentally disregards the emotions of those he loves to protect them
Morena - The group mother figure, 30yrs, Witch/Cleric Healer - A kindhearted, slightly isolated potion maker who specializes in healing and loves to spend time with others, helping them out to the point of self neglect
Wild - Stealth Guy, 16yrs, abused child - Wild is a noble's son with the ability to turn himself invisible who has locked his emotions within himself to hide from his own pain and now struggles to feel anything at all. He is very quiet but very wise.
Phenik - Team Heart, 17yrs, Merchant - Phenik is an upbeat lovable kid who tries his hardest at everything he attempts and just wants to help people and make a living for himself, instantly jumping at the opportunity to provide his unique skills to the group and have a home
Rose - Team Powerhouse, 29yrs, Magic Researcher - Rose is a massively powerful plant mage with a deep-seeded fascination with magic and a love and protection of her brother-in-law, desperate to push her magic as far as it can go to make sure she's powerful enough to save those she loves (and also for research purposes, making herself a living tast subject)
Jakkon - Team Negotiator/Tired Mentor, 31yrs, Politician, Rose's Brother-in-law - Exhausted and just wants to make sure Rose is safe. He is angry and sarcastic, not caring for the welfare of the group, and only doing necessary tasks, (copes with his shitty life with anger and amounts of alcohol that make many other characters concerned for his health)
The plot is centered around Ronan breaking Mangrove's godly magical artifact and having to hunt it down for his complex revenge scheme. Roping everyone else into the group bc they need help and it eventually devolves into this found family having to save the world from three psychopathic evil kings who want to use the magical artifact to become gods and rule the world.
I love all my babies, and their relationships and character Arcs give me life
(Jak and Mangrove are my favorites, though I love all of them)
Phenik and Morena are loved by the whole group, Jak and Mangrove are hated by the whole group (not necessarily everybody but still)
Relationship examples:
Morena & Finn are incredibly oblivious to the massive crushes they have on each other
Phenik and Wild are best friends
Ronan and Mangrove hate each other's guts
If Jak gets the opportunity, he will be a petty little bastard toward Finn in particular
Rose has tea with Morena after breakfast
Thank you so much for the ask BTW!
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bones-and-whatnot · 1 year ago
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Breakdowns of How I Characterize the Koopalings
Ludwig:
“Classy”, grandiose and insufferably smug. Unlike Larry, you cannot convince Ludwig he isn’t hot shit, no matter what you do. After Iggy, Ludwig is the best at plotting and since Iggy keeps his schemes to himself more often than not, Ludwig usually plays the mastermind in the Koopalings plans. (Ironically, Iggy is the one whose plots are generally built on self-interest. Ludwig is more likely to scheme for the goals of the Koopalings and Koopa Kingdom as a whole— just as long as everyone is clear it was HIS brilliant idea.)
Ludwig loves the classical arts, the sciences and anything else that will reinforce his belief of being smarter and more cultured than the other Koopalings. He sees himself as their leader and essentially he is— not because they respect him more, but because he is the one most interested in actual conquest and warfare, so when Bowser gives them an assignment Ludwig is usually the one who takes the initiative to make a plan and assign all the others different tasks. Ludwig can often be found sequestered away somewhere playing music, painting, tending to his Piranha Plant garden or otherwise looking pretentious and unbothered.
Lemmy:
Silly and fun-loving, not particularly evil. Pretty content to go along with whatever the objective of his family is. Of the Koopalings, he’s the most likely to be friendly with the Mario Brothers/not DIRECTLY injure them/defect from Bowser. However, this isn’t necessarily because he believes in the cause of GOOD, but just because he’s more concerned with his own entertainment than any particular ideology or group (not in like a “mwahaha you are all my toys” way, but in a way where he kinda treats everything like a fun little game and just doesn’t seem super concerned with the consequences of anything). Lemmy surrounds himself with games, toys and amusements. He’s something of a G-rated hedonist.
Roy:
Stereotypical bully. Gets a kick from violence, thinks he’s really cool, always seems to be in that bully mood where they’re wearing a mean smile because they’re at the top of the food chain but they also seem really angry.
Though he has the capacity to be high energy and DOES like beating people up, Roy’s also kinda lazy, preferring to intimidate others into doing the hard work for him while he kicks his feet up (unless his pride is on the line). He will not charge into battle like Morton or desperately try to prove himself like Larry. Forcibly enrolled in night school by Kamek to try and whip him into shape (but he’ll act like it was his own idea when it makes him look good).
Iggy:
Manic, sadistic, always giggling with the kind of laugh that makes it seem like he knows (or thinks he knows) something you don’t. Like something bad is going to happen, and you could avoid it if you knew about it, but Iggy is deliberately keeping it to himself. Very cunning, probably plotting at any given moment, but no one ever knows for sure (Lemmy is the only one who generally is party to Iggy’s plans, but he doesn’t tell anyone because it’s fun to watch the fallout after).
He and Ludwig both have a passion for mechanical engineering. Iggy is actually a BETTER, more innovative inventor than Ludwig, but (being generally more secretive and enigmatic) he’s not as much of a show-off about it, so Ludwig usually ends up presenting himself with a more blatant “technology” motif (although it’s mostly stuff he didn’t actually make, like Bob-ombs, Mechakoopas and airships). Iggy’s stuff often has more of a “scavenged” or “cobbled-together” look than Ludwig’s, but where Ludwig gets by on only innate affinity, Iggy has actual honed skill and study, meaning the machinery he creates is usually more diverse and technically impressive. He just tends to keep it to himself. (Iggy’s equivalent to Ludwig’s natural-but-unhoned talent for technology is his skill in taming animals— particularly Chain Chomps).
Iggy’s also just kinda weird. He wanted a “cheese hotel”.
Wendy:
Greedy. Also a bit vain, which partly contributes to the greed— she wants baubles and pretty, shiny things. Wendy has a taste for glitz, glamour, and secret hordes of gold and jewels. Her aesthetic ostentatiousness is similar to Ludwig’s, but Wendy usually goes for a more flashy, white-marble-sculptures, “art deco” or “fancy hotel/casino” vibe, while Ludwig leans towards “sprawling Gothic manor/castle”.
Wendy’s also somewhat short-tempered. “Angry” is not her default, but she does appear to get mad more easily than most of her brothers (save Morton). Seems constantly annoyed (at best) or infuriated (at worst) with the “fools” around her, thinks she knows better. Bit of a mean girl.
Morton:
Like Roy, Morton is kind of a brute. The difference is that Morton is more brash and temperamental/doesn’t “play it cool” as much as Roy. Roy always seems angry, but there’s also a hint of smugness. Like he’s not TOO concerned, because he already knows he’s better than you. Morton definitely comes off as a lot more invested in his battles/genuinely fully INFURIATED by his foes— Roy is violent because it’s fun, Morton is violent because he’s easily angered to the point of violence. He’s also more likely to charge into battle without thinking (it’s not exactly that Roy is more tactical, just more lazy). Not a big smiler or joker.
Although he is deeply devoted to his family (and NO ONE else), Morton is not SPINELESS. Matter of fact, he is incredibly stubborn and no stranger to arguments with his siblings (mostly Roy). Morton never backs down from anything— he may move slowly, but once he starts, he can’t be stopped. Not really STUPID… but not really smart, either. (Morton is a bit insecure about seeming dim-witted, and sometimes sits in on Roy’s night classes. He’s still only really of average intelligence and lets his temper lead him into situations without giving them as much thought as he perhaps ought to, but he CAN recite long passages of the textbooks and lectures from memory at breakneck speed. Roy uses it to cheat on tests and essays.)
Larry:
Like a snarky, annoying 90s protagonist who thinks he’s hot shit (very easily angered by the implication that he is not hot shit— he’s got something to prove). Into sports. Larry is deeply envious of anyone in the Koopa Troop who gets more respect or recognition than him, intensely desires Bowser’s approval and tries to scheme against his siblings to get it about as often as he schemes against the Mario Brothers. His siblings tolerate it because his machinations are always excruciatingly obvious and unsuccessful. Despite his rank-climbing ambitions, though, Larry is not a suck-up. He has JUST enough dignity to avoid that. Claims he is the leader of the Koopalings. All the rest either say Ludwig is or that they don’t have one. (Wendy says she SHOULD be the leader, but not that she IS.)
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auxtowns · 6 months ago
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Finally returning here to do some more rambling!
As always @doodlingwren taken from one of her commentary!
"His team is made mostly by Dark Types, I tried to guess once saying it would have been more of a Ghost Type Trainer, since the Sekishiki Meikaiha thing and all the sending people to the Underworld thing, but I don’t mind it." - here
Why was Dark type chosen for DM?
Here's a Pokemon trivia, in case you didn't know-- In Japanese, Dark types are called the "evil" type. That's why most dark type pokemon are ruthless predators type of creatures, or most of its moves have this theme going for low-blow-type of moves (e.g.: Fake tears, Nasty plot, Taunt, Thief, Crunch, Sucker punch & so on.).
Meanwhile in a stark contrast. Ghost types are most of the time represented as being trickster wandering souls, rather than full on evil (although, there are some species that are described as vengeful spirits or just straight up dangerous to humans [e.g.: Bannette, Cofagrigus, Gengar, Spiritomb & many others.]).
Your assumptions aren't wrong about ghost types also being a good pick for the cancer golds! The key difference is in their characteristics and personalities. That's why Deathtoll is ND's ghost type specialist, whereas DM is the dark type one (bc of his role and personal views/philosophy towards pokemon. DM is meant to be aligned and involved with Saga's schemes. Only powerful and strong pokemon matter to him. He gives clear signs that he treats his pokemon, as tools of raw power and not much else [he wields a whipe, which in early pokemon art design, is a telltale sign of how rough a trainer was to their pokemon].).
I'll also take this as the perfect opportunity to get ahead and say that Omega's Cancer gold (Schiller), also won't have the ghost type as his specialty. I still haven't settled on it (bc I still haven't had the chance to put much thought into Omega's setting, as I'm writing this), but he's likely going to be a poison-type specialist.
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misterbenzadrine · 3 months ago
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personal vent time !!
the way i switched from perceiving myself as hawk to demetri needs to be studied actually. WITHIN THE SAME FRIENDSHIP. (like in general i switched from a hawk kinnie to a demetri kinnie. but i wanna talk about this friendship specifically bc i do not forgive and forget. i remember and yearn for revenge /hj)
when the friendship started, i was very much a hawk fan and projected on him so much. and it reflected in my friendship with that person.
like, i'd tell him about cobra kai and all about hawk and demetri's relationship (bc i was obsessed) and i'd always say "yeah, idk how but demetri forgave him. i just know he's gonna spend a while working hard to feel like he deserves his forgiveness"
and an inkling in the back of my mind would be like wanting to tell him (my friend) "idk how you forgave me, but i'm never gonna stop trying to make up for it so i can deserve your forgiveness"
just this absolute monster and this perfect angel dynamic (not a good dynamic tbh)
then stuff happened and my mind kept justifying it like "well you deserve it ofc. he's just realizing what everyone's known this whole time, you don't deserve him. this is your karma, payback."
but this summer, a switch finally flipped. and i realized i wasn't an absolute monster for what i did, i was just a lost and confused sixteen year old who, yeah, did a couple crappy things, but still not that bad in the grand scheme of things. much like s1/2 demetri. my best friend had switched, things had changed, and the trio (miguel/demetri/eli) suddenly dwindled down to a duo (miguel/hawk), one in which i/demetri wasn't welcome. which was fine. i/demetri didn't particularly leap at the chance to keep it. but it was still painful.
and idk i realized what i did had long since been made up for.
MUCH LIKE demetri with the whole eli's waterbed thing. yeah, that was awful and hurtful. even if you want to add on the whole s1 making fun of hawk dynamic, they were even by the end of the school fight. and both of them kept pushing but left the scales relatively balanced in terms of who hurt who.
then one big event totally outweighed everything and throws off the scale. which occurred for me at the end of the friendship 😝 and occurred for demetri in the laser tag fight (THE ARM B-B-B-BREAK)
and after this, it kinda strays from canon bc canon!dem is like "omg bookie slay don't even worry, you said sorry !" but uhhhhh not me ! y'all stay safe tho !
so now demetri is left with a whole spiral moment like "oh ! i wasn't aware that was something a best friend could do !" especially not sweet and quiet eli. but this new version could. a version demetri didn't know. a version demetri didn't recognize. bc hawk didn't let him. he didn't want him to.
so the roles switched, but in hindsight, it makes perfect sense.
god i love binary bros angst. AND I LOVE IT EVEN MORE AFTER LIVING THROUGH IT. specifically bc it worked out for demetri. he's living my dream fr.
if the s6 divorce had been properly handled, i would've been even more insufferable actually. they would've needed to ship me off to a mental hospital while i screamed "ART MIMICS REALITY ! THEY MADE MY LIFE INTO A PLOT LINE !"
ALL THIS TO SAY, if anyone reads this, you will need to excuse me for making angst edits where hawk seems "evil" or "unforgivable" bc i'm 🎶projecting🎶
and know that i do love hawk, i do relate to him, and i do sympathize with him. i'm just full of rage and unsupervised capcut access so i am formulating and healing in the best way i can 🤪
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egg-emperor · 2 years ago
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Sonic Channel site description for the "How to draw modern Eggman" tutorial:
"This time, Tomoko Hayane, a designer of Sonic Team, gives a lecture on "Dr. Eggman," a self-proclaimed evil genius scientist!
He is full of confidence! The artist can't help but grin at his fearless smile as he plots his mischievous plans!
Eggman is Tomoko Hayane's favorite character, and she was even more enthusiastic in her explanation than usual!
Eggman has a cool charm that can only come from being a "villain," and we hope you will try it too."
HELLO, BASED DEPARTMENT‽‽‽ OFFICIAL recognition for how COOL Eggman is and acknowledging that his coolness and charm specifically comes "only" from how he's a villain???? I'm saying this all the fucking time!!!! It makes me so happy to see that official JP Sonic Team/Sonic Channel members are saying this too, of course they're not gonna forget who their character is and what makes him so great :')
His villainy really is the reason he's so cool, in his evil he's so badass, creates awesome things, and has epic diabolical schemes and brings so much action and excitement to the plot after all. He has the theatrics, dramatics, and passionate charm only a villain can in such a way. All his admirable exciting traits stem from how he's the villain, it's his core and makes him who he is and do what he does. He's not himself without it.
And of course I love the part about him being full of confidence and smiling because he's plotting his mischievous plans too- and it shows really well in this art. I love how it's stated as an important part of his design. When he has that certain devious grin on his face, you know he's thinking up something diabolical in that brilliant evil mind of his and his confidence, fearlessness, and enjoyment it. It fills my heart with joy!
God I love this evil bastard so much 🥰
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