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bowandcurtsey · 3 years

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Welcome Home. P1

This is very out of nowhere but... it’s a fic for Kuroo Tetsurou from Haikyuu!.

He’s my OTL from animes hahahah! I may have faltered a little with Black clover but today is the day I miss him a little extra.

So here, my first fic that is not Black Clover, and first Haikyuu! Fic. Just a little story running in my mind for awhile. It would take about 3 parts to complete I think, and for sure it ends in smut. You know me guys, you know me. ( ͡❛ ͜ʖ ͡❛)

Kuroo Tetsurou x f! reader

You were finally back. After 2 years abroad to learn culinary skills from a sensei in China, you were finally home.

“Welcome back!!” Your best friend Bokuto shouted when he saw you at the airport. You quickly ran over and he enveloped you into a huge hug.

“Let’s have dinner together with Akashi and the gang!” His voice boomed throughout the airport. Man, did you miss this boisterous boy.

But there was someone you missed even more, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d be there.

“Bo,” you asked quietly, “is Kuroo coming to the dinner?”

“Yeah..” the white haired man scratched his head, “I did ask if he wanted to join if he was comfortable with it...”

Bokuto turned to examine your face, “but if you’re not okay with it!!!! I’ll- ”

“I’m okay! It’s fine!” You stopped Bokuto mid sentence, knowing how he tend to blow things out of proportion. “It’s been 2 years now, I’m okay with it!”

Not. You kinda still thought about Kuroo pretty often, since you guys broke up only because you were leaving for China.

“You’re okay right y/n?!” Bokuto beamed at you, “anyway I think he is dating Alisa now! Or they’re really REALLY close. We’re just wild guessing!!”

Ouch. Your heart did a little squeeze and it sank.

————————————————-

Kuroo walked in. He was still as handsome as you remembered. His black locks and chiseled jaw. Only he seemed more toned than he was 2 years ago.

You were all at your favourite restaurant and a lot of your friends showed up. Since you used to be the manager of the Nekoma team, the entire team came, along with Bokuto, Akashi, Akane and.. Alisa.

Strangely though, Kuroo took a seat beside you while Alisa glowered at you. “Hey~” your ex gave you that iconic smirk, the one that made you want to punch him and kiss him at the same time, “it’s been awhile shorty~” he cooed as he patted your head.

You were shocked and elated by his warm gesture; you weren’t expecting him to keep his promise for the both of you to continue as close friends seeing that you two barely even talked in the last 2 years.

The night went on and all of you had fun catching up with each other, as you told them about your long solo trip to China to learn the arts of culinary so you could open your own restaurant in Tokyo.

As the night got late and all of you decided it was time to go, you made a quick run to the toilet.

As you came out from the cubicle, Alisa was there at the sink, touching up her foundation and lip stick.

“You should stay away from Kuroo,” she said with a expressionless face without even looking at you, “he took a long time to forget you, so you shouldn’t be too close with him now, so you wouldn’t hurt him again.”

Her words pierced through you like it was something sharp and strong. It made your heart bang against your ribcage. Why did she say all these? Was she afraid you’d steal Kuroo away from her? Were they really together?

So many questions ran through your mind, but all you could say was: “if you truly love someone, all you want is for them to be happy”

She finally looked at you through the mirror, “are you saying I should wish Kuroo happiness and let him go back to you?” She scowled

“No,” you said calmly, washing your hands, “if Kuroo is happy with you, then I wish you both the best.”

And you left the toilet with your heart thumping so loudly you thought that you could hear it echoing into the hallway of the restaurant.

——————————————

You received a message from your phone awhile after you got home.

Tetsu: hey. You home?

You: yeah.

Tetsu: you alright? You seemed a little distant at the end of the dinner all of a sudden.

You: just tired.

Tetsu: you sure? You can tell me anything you know that.

You: I’m sure. Gtgs. Goodnight.

You silent your phone and went to bed.

You started to distance yourself from him and tried not to join gatherings when he was there. If he was there, you’d avoid talking to him much and find an excuse to leave early.

————————————————-

His heart absolutely broke. He didn’t knew what was wrong nor what had happened. You seemed happy to see him that day. You talked to him, laughed and you felt so close to him.

What went wrong? Does she have someone else? Kuroo thought to himself.

“Hey bo.” Kuroo decided to ask Bokuto after a leisure volleyball game one day, “did y/n say anything to you? About me..?”

“HUH” bokuto’s eyes widened like an owl, “No?! Is something wrong? Are you guys not friends anymore??”

“It really seems like it bro..” his shoulders slumped a little, “After that dinner 2 weeks ago, she’s been really cold towards me.”

“Do you still have feelings for her Kuroo san?” Akaashi casually asked.

Kuroo was silent as he stared at the empty court.

“I THOUGHT YOU AND ALISA WERE A THANG BRO” Bokuto exclaimed.

“Who said she and I were a thing?!” Kuroo cried out, “we’re good friends yes but nothing more. Did you tell y/n we’re a thing?! Is that why?!”

“No bro!! I told her BEFORE she came to the dinner!” He raised his hands in innocence, “and i said I THINK IM NOT SURE”

"Fuck.. Is that why she's distancing herself?" The black haired man mumbled to himself.

"Bro... So you do still have feelings for y/n!" Bokuto slapped his back.

"I guess so.." Kuro sighed, "Guess I never really got over her over the 2 years that we broke up."

Kuroo thought about how things ended two years back; how he was being selfish and didn't want you to leave. How you two quarrelled all the time for the last 3 months before you left. Eventually, you had enough and asked for a break up. Kuroo regretted it. He regretted every single thing.

He tried ways to forget you, some people told him, out of sight, out of mind, but that wasn't the case for him. He went out with people, talked to girls, threw whatever you shared, deleted your photos, but every single time he heard even a whisper of your name, someone talking about how you were doing, his heart stopped.

Once in awhile you'd both comment or reply on each other's social medias and that would put him on an emotional roller coaster ride.

He was so excited to hear you were coming back, he missed you, even if it meant you and him were just friends, he just wanted to be close with you.

"Oi Kuroo!" Bokuto nudged him, "cheer up bro, I'm sure you can get her back!"

"I hope so.." he replied.

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

Back at home, Kuroo stepped out from the showers, his phone beeped with a message. Drying his hair in one hand, he picked it up.

Akane: Yo Kuroo ni san, you asleep?

Kuroo: Nah, what's up Aka?

Akane: Wanted to tell you something... can I call you?

Kuroo: okay sure.

BRRRR. Akane called in 3 seconds.

"I need to tell you something.." Akane's voice was quiet on the other line, "promise not to tell the rest of the boys."

"okay okay lil one," Kuroo sighed, he wasn't really in the mood, "What is it already?"

"I think I know why y/n san is being cold towards you." She said flatly, "sorry, I kinda saw you being sad and mopey at today's game and all and Bokuto was literally shouting so I asked my bro what was going on."

"I'm listening." Kuroo sat down and pressed the phone closer to his ears, eager to hear the reason.

"I was in the toilet the other day, when y/n san first came back, and I overheard Alisa talking to her...." Akane spilled the beans about the entire conversation that you and Alisa had that day, about how Alisa asked you to keep a distance for his own good, and how you just gave in.

"she said: 'if you truly love someone, all you want is for them to be happy' and she wished you could be happy." Akane wrapped up her story.

"fuck." he cursed over the phone. "Thanks for telling me this, lil one. I owe you one. I promise not to sell you out." Kuroo hung up the phone.

He let out a sigh of relief. So she wasn't with someone else... Then and there he wanted to call you, run to you and shake you out of your senses. At the back of his mind, he was elated. So y/n still loves me?

This time I'm gonna do it right.

-end-

I'm already the the midst of part 2! teehee!

Edit: PART 2 is here!

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu headcanons #kuroo tetsuro #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo x reader

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andromedarune · 4 years

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Bede x Hop Request: “Just Desserts” (p1)

REQUEST ~ “I have one, it’s a hop x bede where bede feels bad for being mean to hop, but is too scared of apologizing to him in fear of rejection. Due to his past at the orphanage and his overall fear of being left alone again. So he decides to send homemade desserts to hop with secret messages ,anonymously . Hop Figures it out when the desserts stop coming after bede gets sick badly ( maybe a bad fever from exhaustion, anything that stops him from baking will do). You can include opal or the other gym leaders teasing hop on who could be sending the treats. I hope this is okay.”

A/N: Lolol this is a 2 parter bc my dumbass couldn’t stop writing even though I was in agony writing this (only bc I'm just not sure if it’s any good lolol). So, uh, please give me validation, haha - Hope y’all enjoy and the second part should be coming up sometime soon (when my brain decides to return into a solid shape).

The third time Hatterene hissed at him from across the room, Bede figured that he needed a better distraction. Obviously pacing wasn’t doing much to ease the frustration in his gut. The boy sighed, pausing to fix his neatly ironed white button-up shirt before turning on his heels and walking out the room. There were better things he could be doing with his time, anyways.

Things certainly have changed for the boy ever since he joined the gym challenge that fateful day. He didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. But he allowed himself a moment of gratitude, despite his usual vocalizations of annoyance in his current position in life, at how it was only a year ago that he was sitting in a poverty-stricken orphanage with a bunch of abhorrent adults pitying him every day. But he’d never let anybody know that, of course. The last thing he needed was people pitying him again; that was even more annoying than people trying to be his friend all the time. People could be so bothersome, it was sickening.

Bede made his way down the hall, unconsciously tip-toeing past Ms. Opal’s bedroom, where she no doubt was resting. Her age seems to finally be catching up with her, these days, since she seemed to be taking more naps than normal. The boy made sure not to comment about it. He didn’t need a lecture from that crazy old bag. Once clear, he made a sharp turn, stepping down the spiral staircase to find himself in the empty dining room. Once upon a time, large parties were held here, no doubt filled with beautifully rich people mingling to some classical music. Thankfully, no such nonsense happened here anymore, which meant Bede had relative free-reign of the house so long as he didn’t cause trouble. He meandered around the long mahogany table, keeping his steps as quiet as possible against the old wooden floorboards, and he made his way into the kitchen.

For years, the only thing Bede could reliably use for stress-relief had been battling. All his frustrations could come loose, he could speak his mind, and relish in the cool, refreshing glow of a victory after everything was said and done. Of course he would end up being pretty damn good at it, after so much dedication and practice. But then he joined the gym challenge, and that all went to pot. Suddenly, he started losing battles. Him? Losing a pokemon battle?! He had never even considered that to be a possibility before, but it was happening. Each and every battle suddenly became so personal, finding every possible weakness in his opponent to expose it and attain yet another beautiful victory. And for most opponents, it worked, and he hardly wasted another thought on the matter. But not all of them left his mind.

Bede frowned, crossing his arms with a huff as he leaned against the counter. These pesky feelings were really getting annoying. Maybe all these sweet-natured and emotional fairy-types were starting to affect him in more ways than one. He ran a hand through his curly locks as if the motion would magically clear his mind. It didn’t.

Well, there still is one thing that might ease his tensions. The youth dug through the kitchen, picking out some of the things he would need, and began his work.

Baking was a guilty pleasure of his, something only his pokemon and Ms. Opal knew about (and she only knew because she caught him in the middle of the night). The only reason he ever considered giving it a shot was because he had a serious sweet tooth, but growing up poor meant that it was hard to buy all those fancy cakes and cookies he longed for in the big bakeries of Wyndon. So he started making them himself. At first, everything was incredibly inedible, but he was stubborn about it. He collected books and articles about baking - all in secret - and eventually became good enough to where he figured that his confectionaries rivaled that of big businesses in the region. He’d probably make a killing off selling them, but he’d never even consider that possibility. The boy would probably die of embarrassment if anybody else found out about his skill in baking. It was bad enough being the fairy king of Ballonlea (as people seemed to be calling him, nowadays); he didn’t need people thinking he was some sweet-hearted weakling, either.

By the time he was whisking away the batter, his Sylveon pranced in, eager to try to steal a taste. The pink pokemon purred at his thigh, wrapping its ribbon-like appendages around his waist while he tried to ignore them.

“Don’t,” Bede snapped at the pokemon. “I’m not giving you any more batter.”

Sylveon barked, attempting to stand on its hind legs to blast a classic Baby Doll Eyes on it’s trainer. It’s not very effective.

“Sylveon.”

The pokemon pouted, slinking off to a corner to watch with a pitiful expression. Bede clicked his tongue, returning to his work in order to avoid falling for Sylveon’s little trap. The last thing he needed was Sylveon getting sick again. The boy worked in near complete silence, the only sounds coming from the occasional bang of a pan or a utensil against the countertop. He didn’t need to bother putting on an apron beforehand; he’s practically perfected his routine to where he hardly ever makes a mess, and if he does, he cleans it up right away. It was lazy to continue working in a dirty station. He eventually pours the dark chocolate batter into a circular pan, carefully tucking it into the preheated oven to cook.

Ah, yes, the time he hated the most - waiting. Thankfully, it wasn’t some giant, triple-decker cake that would need an eternity to cook; just forty minutes would suffice. He tidied up the kitchen a bit, washing some of the utensils and bowls he had borrowed before his mind started to wander yet again. He reached for the whisk when that terrible sensation in his gut suddenly slapped into him again, nearly forcing him down to his knees. The whisk tumbled down into the soapy water, sinking the bottom with a soft clank. Bede bit his lip, trying to keep his mind focused on the present. He didn’t have time to be wallowing in the mistakes of the past - he was better than that.

But still it remained. A bothersome guilt pulled him from the depths of his stomach, reminding him all the bitter words and heartless accusations he had thrown at so many people over the years. He thought that all of his training and efforts under Ms. Opal would be enough to push all those thoughts away, but they only increased with every day that went by. Though the world seemed to be forgiving him, he couldn’t help but hear the whispers of disdain amid the crowd with every match he participated in. It wasn’t like him to care about anybody else’s opinion. But here he was, running through every possible way he could make amends to the world. How pitiful. Bede shook his head. There’s no way to make everybody happy with me, he reminded himself, so just focus on being better. He was right; he couldn’t make amends with everyone, he couldn’t make everyone he hurt suddenly happy. But as Bede reached down for the whisk one more time, he couldn’t resist the want in his chest to try and reach out for the person he had hurt the most.

Yeah, that really wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

Bede near slapped himself in the face. What was he even thinking? Reaching out to someone like that?! Pathetic. He should be ashamed that his brain even came up with such a worthless idea. With another huff, the boy finished the dishes, moving some more things out from the cabinets to begin making the icing. It would be a travesty to put simple whipped cream icing on a chocolate cake, so Bede started working himself through a familiar buttercream recipe. Which was fine; everybody likes buttercream. Well, everyone with a soul likes buttercream. At least in Bede’s opinion.

The oven dinged not too long after. The boy paused his work to pull out the aromous dessert, setting it delicately on the middle shelf of the brand-new blast chiller that he received as a gift from Ms. Opal. He returned to the icing, popping in some pastel pink dye for reasons. The task would likely be complete by the time the cake was an acceptable temperature. He had done this a thousand times. Everything was second-nature, at this point.

Soon enough, it was his favorite part of the process. He scooped all of the icing and stuffed it into a frosting bag, pulled out the cake, and began his work. Out of the entire process, the icing was his favorite. Delicate, precise, no room for error. His mind would go completely blank as his hands did all the work, sculpting elegant rose designs along the sides of the cake. Never anything too elaborate (not that he couldn’t make it fancy, of course), never anything too plain. A perfect work of art - a declaration of love, if you will. But perhaps that was an interpretation that only Bede could recognize, much less appreciate. Finally, it was complete, sitting before him in all its beautiful, delicious glory. Sylveon trotted back up to its trainer, trying to stand up a little taller to get a better look at the result. Bede stared down at the cake, unsure how to feel. It was just what he envisioned. No doubt it would taste as good as it looked, probably even better. He poured his emotions into making this work of art, as he always had. But why did he always hesitate? Hadn’t he made this for himself to eat?

Bede shook his head, trying to hold back the trembling sigh from his lips. He wandered back to the kitchen to wash his hands, Sylveon watching with a perplexed expression. When the pokemon called for his attention, he finally slumped forward, leaning against the counter with his eyes slammed shut.

“I can’t do it,” he scoffed, unsure of who he was even talking to. “I do this every time, and I still can’t do it.”

Sylveon returned to his side, pressing a wet nose against Bede’s elbow. The boy absentmindedly reached down for the lovely creature, running his hands through the soft fur in hopes that it would ease his frustrations.

There was one other reason that Bede baked. He had always thought that food was the way to someone’s heart, especially sweets. Surely it would be enough to earn someone’s forgiveness, as well.

But the idea of actually doing that was terrifying. There was simply no way he could head all the way down to the laboratory in Wedgehurst, knock on the door with his heart in his hands, and beg for forgiveness from the person he had been so sure that he hated with every fiber of his being. And why? Because he was jealous? Confused? Like anybody would believe that nonsense. Even the thought of looking into those brilliant golden eyes again filled him with so much anxiety that it was difficult to breathe. Even thinking that person’s name would be a death sentence for Bede’s decrepit heart. Did he even still have one? Surely he must - all these pesky emotions had to be coming from somewhere. You would think that years of self-inflicted bitterness and anger would wring that stuff out of you, but apparently not.

Sylveon nudged his trainer yet again. Deep magenta eyes peered down, still trying to seem irritated with the pokemon’s constant interruptions.

“What?” he frowned.

The pokemon just stared up at him, that hopeful twinkle in its eyes gleaming with just a hint of… knowingness? The boy flicked up an eyebrow.

“You’re not serious,”

Sylveon barked happily.

“Most definitely not.”

A whine. Bede ran another hand through his hair, shaking his head. There was no way his pokemon was going to convince him to do something so childish. Right?

And yet, there he was, standing in front of the Wedgehurst Pokemon Laboratory, simple white box in his trembling hands. A small pink envelope rested on the top of the box, devoid of any signature or address. Just a quick drop-off gift to ease his conscience a little, nothing more. Sure, he had spent nearly three hours writing a letter - constantly writing then rewriting then rewriting some more in an attempt to make his words sound less annoying - but it wasn’t that big of a deal. Not like he would even know who sent this stuff. Bede made sure of that. So, with a deep inhale, the pink-clad boy gingerly placed the gift on the welcome mat, giving it a much too sentimental pat before racing off. Sylveon, following its cue, slapped the doorbell and scampered off after its owner, hiding beside the side of the building. Bede scooped up the pokemon, holding it to his chest while his heart raced inside of him. Was he making a big mistake? Would he even feel any sort of comfort from this? He wasn’t expecting any sort of forgiveness - he didn’t even sign the note! Maybe this wasn’t exactly his best idea.

The door opened with a creak, halting the gym leader’s breathing for a moment. A hefty bleat burst into life from the porch. No doubt that was Dubwool. Bede held his breath a little longer, clutching onto his decently sized pokemon for dear life.

“Hey, what’s this?” Hop’s voice wafted into the air. Bede could have died right then and there. Already he sounded so different - hadn’t it only been a year since they last spoke to each other? He sounded so much like his brother, but more youthful and bright…. But Bede tried not to think about that too much. “I don’t think Sonia’s expecting a package today.”

It’s for YOU, you dolt, Bede wanted to scream, feeling his face heat up to a rather unsightly shade of pink. Well, if pink could really be unsightly. But the sounds of shuffling and the following shut of the front door soon ease all the tension from the gym leader’s shoulders. Sylveon squirmed a bit in his hold, but Bede was too busy peeking around the corner. The box was now gone, no doubt in the hands of the professor’s assistant. Everything was out of Bede’s hands. He had technically made his amends, and could live his life in peace. With a smug nod of his head, he left the laboratory and made his way back to Ballonlea.

But then next week came along, and the feelings returned again. Bede could hardly focus on his training because of it; those terrible anxious feelings curled around in his stomach, but this time were tinged in a strange sensation of - dare he say - longing. Had Hop read the letter? Had he eaten the cake? Was it good? Did he even like chocolate cake with buttercream icing? Bede paused at that. Everyone likes chocolate cake with buttercream icing, he affirmed to himself, those who don’t are soulless and tasteless wretches! But still, these emotions didn’t seem to be leaving him any time soon. Sylveon pranced up to him as he stomped out of the stadium, frustrated with his own distraction, and offered a knowing yip. Bede didn’t even try to argue. He just grumbled a frustrated affirmation to the pokemon and hurried back to Ms. Opal’s house.

Within the next couple of hours, another elegant cake was crafted, just as perfect as the last. This time, though, he decided upon a chaste vanilla batter, along with a basic cooked frosting that was dyed a pale blue. Unlike the last, this cake was considerably more simple, but still managed to hold an elegant touch thanks to the delicate rose sculptures dancing along the top of the cake. While Bede was positive that his last cake was absolute perfection, he figured that a change of flavors could be appreciated. There was no way that Hop would have disliked something so perfect, no? Bede didn’t let himself entertain that thought.

As he wrapped up his cake, however, he noticed Sylveon trot away from his place at his feet. Before Bede could ask what was the matter, his eyes caught sight of that familiar old woman gazing curiously at the boy from the threshold. Bede grimaced, trying not to seem so guilty.

“A-ah, Ms. Opal, I….”

“Feeling frustrated, I see?” she spoke as plain as day, giving the pokemon a few pats.

Bede looked back down to his creation, wishing that she would just leave him alone. It wouldn’t be the first time anybody would do that.

“I was just feeling unsatisfied with my performance today during training. Nothing more.”

“Hm… And might I add that you’re looking considerably more pink than you usually are.”

Bede grumbled, raising a hand up to his cheeks. Sure enough, they were warm.

“D-don’t you have anything better to do?”

Opal shrugged, seeming content to watch the boy squirm underneath her sharp glare. He was an adorable little thing, if a bit ornery. Well, incredibly ornery. Eventually, though, she began to shuffle off, waving a withered hand in her farewell.

“Go on - make your delivery before the cake gets stale. Wouldn’t want that sweet little Hop eating a stale cake, now, do we?”

“Ah, yes, of course - WAIT WHAT?!?”

But she was already down the hall, hooting to herself in her crazy old laughter. The pink on his cheeks flared into a strawberry red, burning through his body like he was hit with a powerful Will-o-Wisp. How could she have seen right through him? Was he really that obvious? Before he could scream at her that she was misinterpreting things, Sylveon nudged the boy’s side. Well, maybe that could wait until after the cake was delivered. Bede pursed his lips as he finished boxing up the cake, and hurried off to scratch out an acceptable letter to go with it.

Just one more should do it, he reminded himself as he reached the laboratory yet again, depositing his anonymous gift onto the welcome mat just like before. And then my conscience will be clear and I can focus on more important things. He nodded to himself before scrambling away, letting his Sylveon ding-dong-ditch just like last time.

“Oh, another?” Hop’s voice eventually rang out, snagging something deep in Bede’s chest. “I wonder if it’s from the same person?”

Of course it is, you moron! Bede silently fumed from the side of the laboratory, waiting for the door to shut. A few moments went by, filled with a strange silence. Bede crossed his arms, trying to ignore the rising sense of dread in his gut. Just take it inside already, he wanted to shout. But that’d be unwise, exposing himself in such a childish manner. So the gym leader remained silent, counting the seconds as he fought the urge to peek around. Just when he thought he couldn’t take it anymore, the door eventually closed, releasing the breath that Bede had been unconsciously holding the entire time. He glared down at Sylveon, who seemed incredibly happy at the moment as it danced around Bede’s feet.

“Alright,” he whispered, pointing a finger at the jovial creature, “that’s the last one. No more after this - got it?”

Sylveon wagged its tail, staring back with those big dumb eyes to its trainer. Bede let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. He figured that reprimanding the pokemon would be fruitless, so he just decided to leave now while he had the chance. The last thing he needed was to get caught while engaging in an unsightly shouting match with a rather clueless Sylveon.

#pokemon #Pokemon Sword and shield #pokemon swsh #swsh #gym leader bede #bede #assistant hop #hop #bede x hop #bedexhop #bede/hop #I made bede a soft boy who tries to be a tough boy #we all know the truth #part 2 should be angstier and fluffier #so prepare to suffer I guess???

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grimweaver · 5 years

Link

A piece from 2011. Bear in mind that a lot of details (too many to list) have been changed since then and I was fresh into writing Elder Scrolls stories at the time.

----

PART I

It seemed too perfect to exist outside the pages of a storybook; a hillside farm house with a grand view of the Imperial City, not far from the edge of the Upper Niben. It was a piece of country undisturbed by the bothersome ruckus of town, but close enough to the city to make the weekly trip for necessities hassle-free. Aaron was especially ecstatic about the new home, but for his own special reasons. There were more insects and small animals for the young boy to catch and play with, and the nature-enthusiast had a lot of yard explore.

"Remember, this is not at all like the city!" A voice called out from the front porch. "Do not wander too far or out of sight." "Da!" Aaron blasted from where he was playing, not more than a hundred feet away. "I'm ten years old! I'm almost a man!" "Doesn't matter- there are things out here that make an easy meal out of people- boy or man."

"Yeah, and you face them almost every day!"

"Because it's been my job for almost fifteen years now. I have skills and wits that help me survive each encounter."

Indeed. Since the raw age of thirteen his father made a living as a large game hunter. Because he was one of the few that dared to take on an animal twice the size of an average man he was well respected and heavily paid. It didn't hurt that, as one born under the Shadow, he had the ability to make himself invisible for a brief amount of time- that was a valuable power for someone who had to strike his target before it even suspected that it had company. One could say he managed well for a single parent, but because he was alone it was still a struggle in the beginning. But when Aaron was older and experienced enough to share chores and look after himself, it lightened the burden his father had to carry.

Aaron noticed him wincing with a sharp, backwards hiss through his teeth. He abruptly jumped to his feet and raced over to see what he was doing, carrying the large toad he caught in his gentle hands.

After reaching the steps of the the porch he was met with an unexpected and disturbing sight. "Da? What are you doing?"

"Something I've meant to do for a long time." His father's right arm was covered in red marks, which were made by the edge of the dagger he carefully scraped over his skin. But careful or not the bleeding couldn't be avoided. Aaron was shocked and confused by what seemed like an act of insanity. Perhaps being bored out of his mind in the country was what drove him to do it. "And I think you're old enough to understand why I'm doing this."

"Ya, I really hope you do tell me why you're cut'n yerself up! Are ya going crazy?" "No." His father chuckled. "Y'know that this part of my arm was always covered, right? Wrist bands, long sleeves, gloves, gauntlets..." "Yeah, come to think of it." "And you see what I've been covering up, since I haven't finished removing it?" "A... tattoo. But da you have a few others that y'never cover up. Why this one?" "Because this one was a declaration to the world of a commitment and promise."

Aaron was in silent contemplation for a moment, sighing as he watched the remaining black marks on his father's skin turn red. He cringed, not because he was abhorred by wounds, but because he thought about how much the process of removing the tattoo must hurt.

"To ma?" Was all he uttered after being quiet for so long.

His father paused briefly as he looked down at him with his solemn brown eyes, before narrowing his brow and coldly paraphrasing. "To the woman that gave birth to you. There are probably a thousand things one could call her, but 'ma' is not one of them." He continued scraping.

Aaron's brow popped up. Had he been a boy who knew his mother at all he would've been offended by his father's criticism, which seethed with an old contention. But until he learned about how life began he thought Lucien LaChance was the only parent he ever had.

"That's gonna scar bad." Aaron pointed out, half distracted from the subject. "Probably. But it'll be much easier to look at." He smirked as he applied a disinfecting paste to his arm.

"What happened?" He asked, taking his gaze off of Lucien's arm to give him direct eye contact. "Please, da. Like ya said I'm old enough to know... and don't sugar-coat it." "I never have, and I certainly don't intend to now. You deserve the unadulterated truth."

Aaron seated himself on the old wooden chair next to Lucien, waiting attentively for what he believed was going to be a long story. As Lucien began to wrap his arm he searched the sky for his reflection.

"She got into the skooma... and then entered the world that revolved around it. She left us for it... and then it killed her." Was all he said, crunching the entire story down to a few simple sentences. Aaron sighed heavily, petting the toad as he watched it's throat bubble out each time it took in a breath.

"I'm sorry, buddy." Lucien heaved as he slouched back. "It's alright." "We've been doing just fine on our own haven't we? I've tried to be both parents... to give you a happy life..." "I know... yeah everything's fine. I never knew her so... it's not that big'a deal. I'm happy. But are you happy?" Lucien chuckled. "You make me happy, kiddo. I think that I'd be lost in this world without ya." "Aaaw." Aaron made a wry face at his father's 'mushy' words. That's when he decided to change the topic. "So, y'gotta hunt tonight?"

"No, Aaron. It's Sundas. We're going into town." "We?" "Yes, 'we'. You and I." "But what about the goats? Don't ya want me t-" "They'll be fine. I put plenty of food in the trough to keep them happy all day. Go wash up real quick cause if we want to be back before sunset we gotta leave in a few minutes. Alright?" "Sure!"

Aaron bolted through the creaky front door with zeal in his heart. Lucien picked up the toad that was sitting contently on the table in front of him and gave it a quick pat on the head before releasing him into the field.

Lucien did not 'sugar-coat' the story at all, but he withheld lot of details. He did not want to be a man that allowed his past to consume him or anyone else. That is why he decided to finally remove that tattoo, which was a part of a traditional Imperial marriage. He did not want to drown others in the grimy tales of what he had to endure since the night his ex-wife, Rosalla, started behaving strangely. He also avoided telling Aaron that it began shortly after he was born because he knew that the boy would ask if it had anything to do with him, and Lucien would have to answer truthfully. The truth was 'yes'.

No one needs that on their conscience. He thought.

As Lucien waited for Aaron, the memories he struggled to distance himself from lurched out. Memories of Rosalla's mood swings that got worse and more frequent during the five days that followed Aaron's birth; Lucien was verbally and physically assaulted every time he returned from a hunt- she was convinced that 'hunting' was a code word for 'seeing other women'. It wasn't the truth, but the quirky voice in her head told her that it was. The voice also told her that Lucien drank heavily and hit her with the broken leg of a chair, and she distributed those rumors through her equally eccentric friends. Fortunately the people Lucien had to worry about receiving those rumors knew it was a lie, seeing no evidence whatsoever that she was even pinched.

Lucien didn't know it at the time, but this was the first prominent sign that Rosalla was ingesting skooma. If he did he would've been prepared for the next appalling act that happened a week later. He returned one night to a house void of anyone but a very neglected infant. Aaron was crying at the top of his lungs over several things that were not tended to- he was hungry, heavily soiled, cold, and deprived of parental love for what seemed like the entire day. The desperate father rifled through the entire town for help because he did not have the means to feed him. Fortunately Velus of the Merchant's Inn had a good alternative to breast milk and the starving child was finally well fed.

Rosalla's whereabouts and reason for absence was unknown to him for quite some time. After another week, worry promptly turned into fury when she returned. She was not kidnapped, trapped, or harmed in any other way- she was staying in one of the hotel rooms at "The King and Queen Tavern", taking in enough shots of skooma to completely loose sense of time and concern for anything but herself. Lucien demanded an explanation, and that is when she revealed to him the shady life of self abuse that involved not only skooma but lewd activities with groups of men and women that were also lost to the substance. She poured out all of her hatred for the tedious repetition of...

"Eating, baby, cooking, baby, sleeping, baby! No more thrills! No more joy! Just routine!" She screamed.

She did not have Lucien's sympathy. Instead he expressed how disgusted he was by her lack of strength and willpower. He contested with the fact that...

"Everyone has to put up with a long stretch of dull and strenuous routine every now and then! That's life! And it's not like this all the time, you just dwell on nothing but the negative and ignore all the wonderful things that are right there within reach- I ask if you want to go out you pout'n say you don't feel like it! I ask if you want me to stay home and you say you want me to go ahead and get the hell out of the house and leave you alone! You are such a piece of work! And this skooma... and everything you've been doing... God, I thought you were above this! I never thought you were stupid enough to fall into it... do you know what it does.. or what it has done to you!"

It was pointless for Lucien to recount the fact that he didn't leave everything up to her. He helped out around the house when he was able to- but Rosalla stubbornly believed that she did everything and he did nothing. She hardly noted the many nights Lucien got less than two hours of sleep because he offered to lift the baby burdens off of her weary shoulders. But the one thing that made it clear to Lucien that Rosalla was no longer going to be in the picture was the unforgivable act of abandoning the infant. It was not going to take more than one incident to convince him to extinguish her from their lives. So the night that Rosalla returned was also the night he would see her for the last time. Out of fear of harassment Lucien decided to move out of the Waterfront District house and live secretly with Velus and his wife Janine. One month later, imperial legionnaires reported to LaChance that they found Rosalla's body in Bravil.

He felt no remorse.

The first five years did not simply roll by- they sluggishly moved through a horrible grit. Such times in Cyrodiil were unkind to single parents.

But we made it. I don't know how... but we always found a way. Lucien thought. One can get through anything if they have unwavering faith and spiritual endurance.

Lucien did not give up, and keeping his son in mind inspired him to preserver.

#lucien lachance #elder scrolls stories

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panda-noosh · 7 years

Text

Breath of the Forbidden {Prince!Shiro x Reader}{#4}

Words: 5153

Summary: In a world where rank means everything, you would be described as the lowest of the low. Working for people of higher class, taking orders with no room to complain, you find yourself thrown into a new world entirely whenever you are sent to work for the Shirogane royals - the family who rules over Voltron. Though all seems to be a disaster, what happens whenever you end up striking an unlikely bond with the son of the king and queen, Prince Takashi?

Pairing: Prince!Shiro x Reader

Notes: p1 - p2 - p3 - p5 - p6 - p7 - p8 - p9 - p10 - p11 - p12 - epilogue; how are you guys enjoying this series so far? also, how was your day? mine was filled with doing absolutely nothing because i’m officially off for Easter oi oi. anyway, enjoy this chapter and tell me what you think!! x

Despite the conversation you and Takashi had had a few days previous, Takashi did not call on your presence until the following Wednesday night – the night of the monthly Shirogane ball that all the royals from across the globe were due to attend.

You had no idea why he had chosen this night of all nights to request your company. You had been swarmed with work from the moment you had opened your eyes, 5:00am being a ghastly time of morning to wake up and immediately be thrown into mopping the oversized ballroom. You had been stuck in there until half seven, and even then you were positive there was more of the floor you needed to get to.

You had stopped, eaten breakfast alongside Coran and Sir Lance, before Matthew Holt, one of the junior body guards, had arrived in the dining hall and requested your company for the prince. Immediately your breathing had stopped, and Coran had gripped a hold of your hand beneath the table, silently telling you to simply decline.

Instead, you placed your breakfast down, wiped your hands down the soot-stained shirt you were wearing, and followed Matthew to the artists chambers, a large room filled to the brim with famous artworks, sent from all around Voltron specifically to be hung up in this very room.

It was far too grand for your liking – you found yourself cringing away from it, the burst of colour and sad artisty making you wince. Perhaps it was due to how unused you were to seeing such grand art, the fear of touching one overwhelming you. Perhaps it was the fact that none of the paintings matched, meaning the room simply looked like a clutter of odd colours hung up loosely on the walls with random golden plaques placed beneath them.

Or perhaps it was the prince, standing with his back turned to you as he gazed down at one of these oh-so special paintings.

You weren’t sure if he had seen you or not. Matthew left the room without another word or instruction or piece of information as to why you had been called before the prince, leaving you alone with him before you could protest. You were left looking at Takashi’s back, his broad shoulders, the muscles which were obvious beneath his black suede jacket he wore all too well for such a casual fashion.

You had always known Takashi Shirogane to be a handsome man; any woman or man in Voltron and beyond could see that. He took on barely any characteristics from his parents, both of whom had fairly blunt features, round faces, round bodies and grins that screamed of evil. Whenever you looked at Takashi, it was hard to believe he was related to Hanei or Akihiro at all.

You knew speaking such thoughts aloud would most likely get you thrown in the dungeons or beheaded, and abruptly decided to toss the thoughts as far from your mind as possible.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Takashi finally spoke up. He turned slowly on his heel, his hands placed behind his back and a small smile playing at his lips.

You bowed courteously, not missing the way Takashi seemed to roll his eyes at the gesture you had been greeting him with since the first day you saw him. “Of course I came. Do you need something?”

“Just some company,” he replied. “I quite enjoyed the company you gave me in the library the other day and decided to request for it again. Unless you have some place else to be, of course.”

You frowned. You had other places to be, a long list of jobs still to complete before the party tonight, but you found yourself unable to inform him of such endeavours. “I think I can make some time, Your Grace. Whatever you need.”

Takashi smiled then and, ever so out of character, he reached his arm out towards you. You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what he was silently requesting. Usually, the movement of the arm would mean he wanted you to take a hold of it, but surely that couldn’t be right? He surely couldn’t mean-

Before you had a chance to finish off your own dwindling thoughts, Takashi gently reached forward, grabbed your hand with a feather-light touch, and placed your hand on his arm. You immediately squeezed your fingers into the muscle as if it were a compulsion, your eyes slightly widening at the feel of the hardness beneath the jacket.

You should have guessed. He was the prince after all.

Takashi and you started forward at last, your arm looped around his as he pointed to different pictures and portraits, starting the conversation off before any silence could settle.

“This one here was sent to us by Lady Shay from Balmera. A lovely piece, isn’t it?” Takashi nodded towards a painting hung up on a white beam; it was beautiful, you had to admit. A piece depicting the rocks of Balmera, fire launching up from the centre of one in the way you knew Balmera cherished. They saw it as a blessing, fire bubbling up from their earth. Most people saw it as a danger, though they took that danger and made it into something beautiful.

“She’s incredibly gifted,” you breathed, half-tempted to reach out and run your fingers over the painting. “I’d love to meet her one day to compliment her skills.”

“She’s a lovely person,” Takashi replied. “Although I’m afraid she doesn’t indulge on activities far away from Balmera – Balmera have kind of closed themselves off since the war with the Galra state.”

You pursed your lips. “A shame. Balmerians have been nothing but kind to Voltron.”

“I didn’t take you as the type to keep up with political business, lady Y/N.”

You looked up. You hadn’t realised you had even been speaking so freely about such matters, but the words seemed to fall from your lips with almost a pinch of confidence.

You pursed your lips and looked back down, ignoring the amused expression glinting on Takashi’s face as he looked down at you.

“My apologies if I said anything out of line, Your Grace-”

“Ah, there we go,” he chuckled, making you look up startled. “You haven’t called me ‘Your Grace’ a single time since you stepped foot in here. I thought we were finally breaking barriers between us.”

“I’m sorry?”

“'Your Grace’ has become my permanent title,” he said, sounding almost exasperated. “It grows tiring after a while. I see no issue or disrespect with somebody calling me by my birth name.”

“If the king were to hear somebody calling you by your birth name, that person would have their tongue cut out.”

Takashi raised a brow, looking down at you once again. “Is that so? Do people truly see my father as such a monster?”

Your heartbeat sped up, having realised just how heavy and cruel your words must have sounded – another stupid and unthought out comment made by you in the heat of the moment. How did Takashi always manage to make you do that? Always make you lose your professionalism to the point where you were insulting his own father directly in front of him?

You swallowed thickly, averting your gaze to look at one of the paintings hung up on the hall. “It seems I’ve spoken too much once again, Your Grace.”

His grip tightened on your arm enough for you to look down at where your hand and his elbow joined. “I’ll tell you something, my lady. Honesty is a lot more refreshing than hearing you suck up to a man who everybody knows is out for blood.”

Your breath caught in your throat, but you refused to look up. Looking up would reveal the shock, the reverberating surprise that seemed to clash against your ribcage at both the suddenness of the princes words; how could he say such a thing so casually? Though you knew he would face no consequences for taking a stand against his father, it had never occurred to you that he had taken such a disliking to the mysterious man who you had yet to say two words to during your time here, despite working for him.

In fact, the more you thought about it, the more you realised just how little you genuinely saw of both Queen Hanei and King Akihiro, and just how little it bothered you. You were much more content staying as far away from their demanding presence than you knew you would ever be standing in front of them.

“Tell me, lady Y/N,” Takashi continued on whenever you refused to indulge the dark conversation any further than needed. “What are your favourite type of paintings?”

“I’ve never taken much of an interest in the arts, Your Grace,” you replied. “Though these paintings of landscapes are breathtaking. I’d love to visit the places they’re based off of.”

“Like this one?” he asked, turning you to look at yet another loosely hung painting. It was slightly crooked, though you could see it clearly depicted the landscape of the Galra mountains – they had been destroyed in the war the last you had heard, and now only existed through paintings and history books that could be scavenged.

You looked at it in awe. It was flawless, the paint strokes making it seem real, completely transporting you to the Galra state. For a moment, it was as if you and Takashi were truly there, standing in front of the mountains with not a care in the world.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed out. “Who painted this?”

“Prince Lotor himself, believe it or not,” Takashi replied. “The prince has a knack for the arts, as you can see, though he very rarely shows it during public gatherings. He much prefers impressing women with his alcohol-consuming skills than his artistry.”

You snorted, remembering the ball only a few weeks ago whenever Lotor had taken the crowd by storm by chugging down an entire jug of wine in one go. He had fallen over onto the floor only seconds later, but had gotten back up with his usual grin on his face.

“He’s quite the character, Prince Lotor,” you found yourself saying as you and Takashi waded even deeper into the large, museum-like room. “How did you and him come to be friends, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“It was more of a forced friendship than anything else,” Takashi explained. “Our parents are both royal, which means we had to see each other once a month against our own will. If we were seen arguing or fighting in front of the public, our scoldings would be brutal; back then, little eight year old me couldn’t quite take a scolding and so I made friends with the Galra to try and stop it from happening.”

“And do you think it worked out? Do you like the prince now?”

Takashi puckered his lips as if in thought, though you could make out the slight glint of amusement in his eyes, as if he could imagine Lotor standing in front of him now, the way he would surely be winding his friend up in the usual male-like way they did so often.

“I can say I don’t hate him as much as I hate some other royals around the world,” he finally replied. “Like Lady Ezor – I despise her.”

Your eyes widened, head snapping up to look at the prince. “Lady Ezor, Your Grace?”

“Mm.” He shook his head, clenching his jaw as if her name left a bad taste in his mouth. “A handful, that one. Her arrival always the dulls the festivities.”

You were confused. You had heard the rumours – always believed them to be true – that he had bedded Lady Ezor only a few months into his and his families hiatus whenever they had graced the Galra state with their presence. He had done nothing to deny the rumours, and neither had Lady Ezor, and you had been left to believe they had lusted for each other for a long while before Takashi returned home to Voltron.

Surely that entire story hadn’t been made up on the spot? Why would anyone come up with such ludicrous ideas if there was no evidence to prove such a thing?

“I know what you’re thinking,” Takashi said suddenly. “And no, Lady Ezor and I never once shared a bed together. The idea in itself is repulsive.”

You swallowed, shaking your head quickly. “I hadn’t heard of such a-”

“What did we say about lies, lady Y/N?”

You closed your eyes and sighed heavily. “People talk, Your Grace. I had been given no reason to believe of such an affair happening between you and Lady Ezor, though please forgive me for succumbing to such a rumour. It must have troubled you to know that that was what everybody was assuming whenever you greeted her at the ball a few weeks back.”

Takashi snorted. “There was no trouble whatsoever. She was hurting you. I put a stop to it. That was all that mattered to me.”

“Helping out a handmaiden?”

“Helping out a person in need,” Takashi corrected. You ignored the stuttering of your heartbeat. “I’m afraid I’m against hurting women, though, so the most I could do was scold her.”

You blushed. “Please don’t risk getting yourself in trouble for me. I was quite alright that night.”

You knew you were lying, and obviously, so did Takashi. That night had been one of the worst nights of your life, though admitting to such a thing would bring you embarrassment beyond that which you could handle. Takashi had helped you out, banished Lady Ezor from the ballroom before she could attract any more unwanted attention towards you as you struggled to even stand up with the pain your body was in.

You had never truly thanked him for it. In fact, you had shoved the memory of that night as far into the back of your head as you could possibly manage, it still bringing shame and embarrassment to the surface whenever you thought about it.

“Were you scared that day?” Takashi asked suddenly.

You inhaled sharply. “It was my fault-”

“Tell me the truth, Y/N,” he ordered. “I want to know; did Lazy Ezor scare you whenever she had her hands wrapped around your throat?”

You blinked rapidly, suddenly aware of the sting of tears that had risen to the surface. You didn’t know why they were there; the memory was hardly fresh, though your throat still bore the bruises her fingers had left behind and were yet to fade completely.

The memory had clearly bothered you more than you had let anyone – even yourself – believe, as you now stood at the side of Prince Takashi with tears brimming your eyes, the question triggering something in the pit of your stomach that felt similar of that to a winding kick to the abdomen.

“I – I don’t know, Your Grace,” you choked out. Your voice sounded hoarse, the unmistakeable tone of somebody close to tears.

Takashi stopped walking at the sound of it, letting his arm drop from yours so he could place himself in front of you, get a better look at your face. You wanted desperately to look away from his grey, prying eyes but found yourself unable to do so, standing still as a statue as he did his inspection.

His eyebrows furrowed. He bent down to your height, let his eyes roam over your face and before you could react, before you could even comprehend what was happening, he had lifted his palms up and was cupping your cheeks.

“You’re crying,” he said. “Why are you crying?”

You closed your eyes, your lower lip wobbling. You felt like a child; it had happened nights ago! Why were you only now reacting, of all times?

“I don’t know,” you replied.

“Lady Y/N,” Takashi sighed. “If I’d have known that night scarred you so deeply, I wouldn’t have brought it up. Please accept my apologies.”

You shook your head immediately, shoving his hands away from your face in a flash of annoyance and frustration at the smoothness of his words and the way he could hold himself like that – so casual about everything, so swooning.

You brought your hands up to your face and rubbed at them roughly, groaning as you dragged your fingers down your cheeks. “There really is nothing to apologise for. It’s me being a child. I was in Lady Ezor’s way that night – I should be thankful I didn’t get punished worse. Perhaps she should have snapped my neck for-”

“Don’t say such idiotic things,” Takashi ordered.

“I’m afraid it’s the truth,” you replied, shocked at your own defiance towards the man. “I was in her way, and she spared me-”

“She wouldn’t have spared you if it weren’t for me stepping in and ridding her from the ballroom.” Takashi took a step towards you, attempted to reach out and touch your arm but he quickly realised his mistake and let his fingers drop back to his side. “Don’t make that woman out to be any less of a villain than she is, Y/N. What she did to you was sickening and the product of her cold heart, okay? Don’t ever forget that.”

“You shouldn’t speak of her that way,” you said. Takashi’s eyes widened – you caught onto it, even as he tried to withhold his shock.

You weren’t sure why, but a cold sense of disappointment brewed in the pit of your stomach that he had responded in such a way – as if he was shocked somebody had opposed him. It was a harsh reminder to you that you were nothing more than a handmaiden, and Takashi was a prince. Somebody who was due to sit on the throne whenever his time finally arrived. He still expected the constant respect you craved just a glimpse of. He still expected you to talk to him like he was what he was – royalty. A superior.

You bit the inside of your cheek, silently cursing yourself for falling for his charms all over again – for the third time. You had to admit that he was easy to talk to, but at the end of the day, he was still a prince. He was still something else. Something you would never rise up to be like, something you would never be allowed to compare yourself to.

“I think I have to get back to work now,” you said. Takashi still seemed shaken, looking at you with his grey eyes wide and his mouth open just a little bit, as if he were seeing you in a completely new and complex light.

You stood up straighter and ran your hands down the front of your shirt. “It’s been a pleasure looking at the art with you, but I’m afraid I have jobs to fulfil for tonight’s party. I hope to see you there, Takashi.”

And with that, his full name hanging in the air, you turned on your heel and exited the art room, not once looking back. Not like the tears blurring your vision would allow you to see anything, anyway.

The party was alive with the sound of music and the sound of complaining royals. As well as the sound of a complaining Coran, who had refused to leave your side on this specific night.

You and him had been given the all-tiring job of handing out wine to the guests, though this time, you were not permitted to stand at the door. Tonight, you would be expected to walk around and offer wine to the royal guests all night long, until the final guest decided to go to bed. Tonight also seemed to be the night that the guards had chosen to give you quite uncomfortable footwear.

You huffed as you shifted the tray of wine on your hand, attempting to reach down and adjust your shoe for the tenth time in the past ten minutes.

“Would you stop squabbling?” Coran hissed. “You look like you’re trying to scrape something off the bottom of your shoe. You’re losing us customers.”

“Customers,” you scoffed. “Please call them such a name whenever they start paying us for our work.”

“Ah, watch it,” Coran droned. “If anyone were to overhear you, you’d have your tongue cut out.”

“So I’m well aware.”

Coran raised a brow, nudging you ever so gently with his bony elbow which was hidden tonight beneath a wine-purple suede jacket that hung off of his skinny frame loosely. “What’s wrong with you tonight? You seem to be in a very foul mood and I can’t quite pin-point the reason.”

You flashed him a sharp look before darting your eyes to the front of the ballroom, where Takashi was busy laughing and jesting with Prince Lotor, a cup of wine in his hand that Coran had kindly insisted on giving to him instead of making you approach him.

The sight of him made you want to scream, and you were completely oblivious as to the reason behind your oh-so-violent emotions. You felt slightly played with, you had to admit. Takashi knew full well you had to succumb to each and every one of his orders, which gave him easy access to mess with your head whenever he so desired.

That was exactly what he had done, letting you get comfortable around him. You had said treasonous things in front of him, and you had no doubt in your mind that that was his exact plan in the first place; gain your trust and find out your true feelings behind his family before sending you off to the dungeons with the rest of the people who struggled to trust the king and queen of this graceful land.

You bit down on your tongue and turned back to the ballroom, wading through the crowd of royals and offering wine to anyone who seemed even mildly still in their right sense of mind.

“I’m content,” you responded at long last. “Just tired. And my feet are burning in these shoes.”

Coran looked down and snorted in amusement at your flat, pointed-toe, wine-purple shoes. “Oh, how unfortunate. They may as well have put you in heels, my dear.”

“That would truly be my life over,” you grumbled.

The night went on. Your feet continued to burn, seeming to swell more and more with each passing hour until you were forced to sit down in the corner, hoping and praying that the king and queen didn’t see you for the few minutes you allowed yourself to rest. You kept your attention away from Takashi as much as you could, though it was difficult to keep your thoughts from straying to the man. He wore a plaid black and white blazer tonight that fit over his broad shoulders perfectly, hugging the muscles beneath them in the way his other blazer this morning hadn’t. He was clearly making no attempt to hide his bulk tonight, no doubt wanting to impress the ladies.

The ladies.

As that thought raced through your mind, Lady Ezor decided to make her very much anticipated and dreaded appearance. Two and a half hours late, as per usual, she swung open the doors to the ballroom and was escorted in with her two Galra sidekicks at either side of her. You shrunk down into the chair you were seated on, hoping the shadows cast from the dancers and the corner itself would keep you hidden enough from her eyesight.

But she was Galra, you had to remind yourself. They prided themselves on their perfect health, their perfect everything. No doubt she had twenty twenty eye sight and something installed to make that twenty twenty even better.

She spared you her presence for a number of minutes, though her eyes had met yours the moment she opened the door. She chatted to the guests for a little while, allowed the conversation to start back up before she was moving onto her next victim, slowly making her way over to you.

You started to stand up as she got closer, not wanting to speak to her but knowing you would have no choice in the matter if she managed to get you cornered. With a grunt, you picked up the wine tray you were due to carry and started back into the crowd-

Her hand shot out and grabbed a hold of your free hand, tugging you back in a way you knew was coming, but it shocked you nonetheless. The grip she had on your arm was iron, the most shocking thing out of this entire situation; how could a woman so small have a grip so tight and painful?

You gritted your teeth and turned to look at her, trying your hardest to keep your expression neutral and at least mildly friendly. She grinned back at you, her red lips pulling upwards, revealing the sharp teeth beneath them. Her ombre coloured hair was pulled into a tight, high ponytail that, even though it was on the very top of her head, still reached her backside. Along with that, she wore a two piece suit – a most bold fashion option for a woman, though you had to admit that it suited her greatly.

“It seems we meet again,” she said. “You enjoy hovering around the royal parties, do you, wench?”

You tried to push past the venom in her words as you smiled kindly, bowing professionally despite her grip still around your wrist. “Lady Ezor. What a pleasant surprise to see you here. Was there bad traffic?”

Ezor’s grin thinned. “What a smart comment for a peasant to make. It’s just my luck that I can have you killed in a matter of seconds. I’d watch how you address me.”

“My apologies if I caused any offence, Lady Ezor. I was merely trying to make pleasant discussion.” You reached the tray out to her. “Care for wine? From Voltron’s best vineyards.”

She reached up, tilted her head, and spat directly into one of the cups of wine you were offering. Your jaw swung open as if unhinged, shock overtaking you at the vile action of a woman whose position was supposed to pride itself on being classy.

You swallowed thickly, pulled the tray back with an unsure glance towards Coran – he was busy talking to a woman from Altea. “I see you’re not thirsty.”

“I’ll tell you what I’m not, girl,” Lady Ezor spat. “I’m not having you ruin this night for me, okay? You were supposed to be hung for the embarrassment you caused me during the previous ball. If it weren’t for your glistening prince, you would be dead and burned by now, and nobody would even remember your name.”

“You’re quite right, Lady Ezor,” you said. “I was out of line and am very lucky to still be alive-”

Your comments were cut short. Lady Ezor’s hand was like lightening – slapping the tray out of your hand before you could even register what she had done. The metal rattled to the ground like a clash of thunder and the entire ballroom fell silent.

You almost grew dizzy with the shocking wave of deja vu which overcame you, the sudden sense of complete nausea at what just happened. You grappled for words – an apology, despite you being far from needing to apologise – but nothing came. You could only stare at Lady Ezor in shock as she widened her eyes and stumbled back from you as if you had just struck her.

“On the Lions!” she shrieked. “Again with this one, Akihiro?” She turned to the king at the front of the room, thrusting an accusing finger in your direction. You saw the kings displeased expression run over you, clearly remembering the same mistake being made only a few weeks before.

It was easy enough to get away with a mistake once, but twice was a different story.

“This must be some kind of joke,” Ezor continued. “This is the same beast who soiled my dress during the welcoming ball. You’re either showing her mercy, or you’re having some kind of affair with this wench to keep her in your manor.”

An eruption of gasps sprung from the crowd. You could barely move. You let your eyes slowly fall from the king to the mess of wine and smashed glass at your feet – the liquid had bounced up, soaking the ends of your trousers. You were far too in shock, shaken in fear of what was going to happen to you, to even care at this given moment in time.

“Lady Ezor, please lower your voice,” King Akihiro requested.

“I will do no such thing!” Ezor squealed. She stomped her foot, crashing it down in the puddle of wine and making it splash up onto your trousers even more. You flinched away from it, but kept your eyes firm on the liquid, hoping and praying it would somehow rise up and swallow you whole. “I’m tired of your wenches getting special treatment just because you and your son are in need of temporary mistresses for the night. If this were any other country in the world, King Akihiro, she would be thrown in the dungeons for being useless to the kingdom! And rightly so! I demand action be taken immediately!”

Akihiro sighed. You could hear it ring through the crowd, and for some reason, that noise alone was enough to let you know that you would not get out of this scotch free like you had last time, whether Takashi decided to intervene or not.

“Action will be taken once we’ve enjoyed the final celebrations of the night, okay?” the king said. You closed your eyes, let loose a small breath as you fought with your own stomach to keep the contents of it sealed. “Y/N, clean up the mess you’ve made and then go to your chambers for the rest of the night. I want to see you in my throne room the first thing in the morning and we will discuss your future.”

You bit down, hard, on your lower lip and nodded. You bowed – as shameful and embarrassing as it was – before making your way towards the exit. The crowd watched you go, but it was the one pair of grey eyes, beaming at you from across the room, that made a shiver lurch down your spine.

#voltron #voltron headcanons #voltron scenario #voltron fic #voltron imagine #voltron legendary defender #takashi shirogane #shiro voltron #shiro x reader #self insert #voltron self insert #lance mcclain #lance voltron #keith kogane #keith voltron #pidge gunderson #pidge voltron #hunk garrett #hunk voltron

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molpe-marta · 4 years

Text

Survival challenge

My survival challenge inspired by Will You Survive by YTSparkles (https://forums.thesims.com/en_US/discussion/835389/will-you-survive-challenge/p1)

Story:

It’s been 25 years since the society collapsed. Rumor says there used to be a new virus which spread around the World, governments were trying to stop the spread but their regulations were too illogical - they closed shops with clothes, but flower shops remained open? What? Would you respect a government like that? Sims did not trust the government anymore and rebelled. They did not follow any regulations and soon the whole society split up into groups. Neighbourhoods ceased to exist. Houses were demolished. A lot of Sims died because of this new virus. And yet there were still Sims who believed there is no such a thing as a “new virus”. Some groups tried to make their own cure, which made the situation even worse, now people who were supposed to die turn into mindless zombies, trying to eat everything they can find including human flesh.

You were born when the new virus just started to spread. You don’t remember much, you just remember stories your parents told you. Before they died. You had to take care of himself since you were a teenager, you are always on the move, you don’t have a base.

One day you see two strangers on a road. You hide away, because you do not want to meet anyone else, but then you realize those are children. One child and one toddler. They seem lost. First you think it's suspicious, but when you see the determination in their eyes you don't doubt they went through hell and survived. You come to them to say Sul sul. You learn these kids have no one else. You do not trust them, but you just can not send them away. For the first time ever, you decide to build a base, take care of these kids.

Goal:

To keep both kids alive until they can take care of themselves. Challenge ends when both kids become Elders.

Optional Goal: Have one of the kids reach the top of the Science or Medical career - so they can create a cure.

The Sims 3 rules (For The Sims 4 see bellow)

Rules:

first edit world - delete all community lots and houses. You may (and should) keep community gardens and parks, you also may keep community lots which have a reason to be still in this kind of world (for example Military base, Science institute, Hospital, even School, City Hall or Art Museum or Library, you just need to justify why this community needs an Art Museum)

Create your Sims - You need one young adult (or older), one child and one toddler. You chose their gender, colours, clothes. The adult Sim needs to have the loner trait and choose a lifetime wish which needs just maximized skills (you do not want to socialize with other Sims and you can’t have a job), otherwise it’s up to you. The child and toddler might be siblings and/or related to the adult, but don’t have to be.

No cheats allowed except to get rid off money ( testingcheatsenabled true and then familyfunds [sims last name] [number]

Set your money to 5000 simoleons (for extreme start use only 3000) and build a base. Keep in mind to have everything to keep the toddler and you are in postapocalyptic world..

No maids, no nannies, no services. Social distancing. BUT you may try to create your own clan by moving Sims in your household. Create your own rules how you choose sims for your community (like, if they turn into zombie on fullmoon you'll not accept them, or opposite, accepting occults only (special abilities) etc.)

Jobs allowed: science, medical, (because we need cure), military, criminal, education

No zombies or vampires allowed, they are INFECTED! If one of your sims gets turned into a vampire, he must be isolated in a separate building (or at least a room) and you must earn money to buy a cure.

You may get a partner, you may move in friends, you may have other kids, you loose 2 points by adding them, but all challenges, skills, careers etc. which they accomplish count to the final score.

The challenge fails if any your starting kids is taken away or dies.

The challenge ends when your starting toddler grows up into an elder.

Points:

+10 points for completing the challenge

good caretaker: +1 point for every time you get to choose a sim’s trait (toddler->child, child->teen, teen->young adult)

+1 point for every maxed skill

+1 point for each skill challenge completed

+1 point for every lifetime wish fulfilled

+1 point for each top of a career (only from allowed careers)

-5 points if an additional child (not starting one) gets taken away or dies

-2 point for each additional person above the starting 3

+2 points if you have twins

+3 points for triplets

starting with less money (3000,-) +1 point

+1 point for each 1000 dollars you have at the end, rounded up (so if you have 4263,- you still get 5 points)

The Sims 4

Rules:

Create your Sims - You need one young adult (or older), one child and one toddler. You chose their gender, colours, clothes. The adult Sim needs to have the loner trait and choose an aspiration which doesn't include a job (with the exception of allowed jobs (list of forbidden aspirations bellow)), otherwise it’s up to you. The child and toddler might be siblings and/or related to the adult, but don’t have to be.

No cheats allowed except to get rid off money testingcheats enable and then money [number]

Set your money to 5000 simoleons (for extreme start use only 2000) and build a base. Keep in mind to have everything to keep the toddler and you are in postapocalyptic world..

No maids, no nannies, no services. Social distancing. BUT you may try to create your own clan by moving Sims in your household.

Jobs allowed: science, medical, (because we need cure), military, criminal, education

You may get a partner, you may move in friends, you may have other kids, you loose 2 points by adding them, but all challenges, skills, careers etc. which they accomplish count to the final score.

The challenge fails if any your starting kids is taken away or dies.

for extreme start, start in Winter

The challenge ends when your starting toddler grows up into an elder.

Points

+10 points for completing the challenge

good caretaker: +1 point for every time your toddler grows up with at least level 3 in all skills, point for every time your child/teen grows up while having and A at school.

+1 point for every maxed skill (including toddler and kid skills)

+3 point for each collection completed

+1 point for every aspiration fulfilled

+1 point for each top of a career (only from allowed careers)

-5 points if an additional child (not starting one) gets taken away or dies

-2 point for each additional person above the starting 3

+2 points if you have twins

+3 points for triplets

starting in Winter +1 point

starting with less money (3000,-) +1 point

+1 point for each 1000 dollars you have at the end, rounded up (so if you have 4263,- you still get 5 points)

Aspirations:

Forbidden:

Master Actor/Master Actress

Vampire Family

Master Chef

Master Mixologist

Master Vampire

Eco Innovator

Joke Star

Good Vampire

Not Recomended:

Painter (who pays for art when they're barely surviving?)

Musical Genious (who pays for art when they're barely surviving?)

Bestselling Author (allowed if you write survival books)

Academic (I mean, is there really an university opened?)

World-Famous Celebrity (THERE'RE MORE IMPORTANT THINGS TO DO!)

#the sims #the sims 3 #the sims 4 #survival challenge #survival #molpe #challenges #challenge

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unheardradical · 7 years

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How an AI Took Over an Adult Knitting...

SkyKnit: How an AI Took Over an Adult Knitting... https://www.theatlantic.com/technology/archive/... SkyKnit: How an AI Took Over an Adult Knitting Community Ribald knitters teamed up with a neural-network creator to generate new types of tentacled, cozy shapes. A SkyKnit design as interpreted by michaela112358, a Ravelry user Ravelry / michaela112358 ALEXIS C. MADRIGAL | MAR 6, 2018 | TECHNOLOGY Like The Atlantic? Subscribe to The Atlantic Daily, our free weekday email newsletter. Email SIGN UP Janelle Shane is a humorist who creates and mines her material from 1 of 10 3/10/18, 5:37 AMSkyKnit: How an AI Took Over an Adult Knitting... https://www.theatlantic.com/technology/archive/... neural networks, the form of machine learning that has come to dominate the field of artificial intelligence over the last half-decade. Perhaps you’ve seen the candy-heart slogans she generated for Valentine’s Day: DEAR ME, MY MY, LOVE BOT, CUTE KISS, MY BEAR, and LOVE BUN. Or her new paint-color names: Parp Green, Shy Bather, Farty Red, and Bull Cream. Or her neural-net-generated Halloween costumes: Punk Tree, Disco Monster, Spartan Gandalf, Starfleet Shark, and A Masked Box. Her latest project, still ongoing, pushes the joke into a new, physical realm. Prodded by a knitter on the knitting forum Ravelry, Shane trained a type of neural network on a series of over 500 sets of knitting instructions. Then, she generated new instructions, which members of the Ravelry community have actually attempted to knit. “The knitting project has been a particularly fun one so far just because it ended up being a dialogue between this computer program and these knitters that went over my head in a lot of ways,” Shane told me. “The computer would spit out a whole bunch of instructions that I couldn’t read and the knitters would say, this is the funniest thing I’ve ever read.” The human-machine collaboration created configurations of yarn that you probably wouldn’t give to your in-laws for Christmas, but they were interesting. The user citikas was the first to post a try at one of the earliest patterns, “reverss shawl.” It was strange, but it did have some charisma. 2 of 10 3/10/18, 5:37 AMSkyKnit: How an AI Took Over an Adult Knitting... https://www.theatlantic.com/technology/archive/... Shane nicknamed the whole effort “Project Hilarious Disaster.” The community called it SkyKnit. The first yarn product of SkyKnit, by the Ravelry user citikas (Ravelry / citikas) The idea of using neural networks to do computer things has been around for decades. But it took until the last 10 years or so for the right mix of techniques, data sets, chips, and computing power to transform neural networks into deployable technical tools. There are many different kinds suited to different sorts of tasks. Some translate between different languages for Google. Others automatically label pictures. Still others are part of what powers Facebook’s News Feed software. In the tech world, they are now everywhere. The different networks all attempt to model the data they’ve been fed 3 of 10 3/10/18, 5:37 AMSkyKnit: How an AI Took Over an Adult Knitting... https://www.theatlantic.com/technology/archive/... by tuning a vast, funky flowchart. After you’ve created a statistical model that describes your real data, you can also roll the dice and generate new, never-before-seen data of the same kind. How this works—like, the math behind it—is very hard to visualize because values inside the model can have hundreds of dimensions and we are humble three-dimensional creatures moving through time. But as the neural-network enthusiast Robin Sloan puts it, “So what? It turns out imaginary spaces are useful even if you can’t, in fact, imagine them.” Out of that ferment, a new kind of art has emerged. Its practitioners use neural networks not to attain practical results, but to see what’s lurking in the these vast, opaque systems. What did the machines learn about the world as they attempted to understand the data they’d been fed? Famously, Google released DeepDream, which produced trippy visualizations that also demonstrated how that type of neural network processed the textures and objects in its source imagery. Google’s David Ha has been working with drawings. Sloan is working with sentences. Allison Parrish makes poetry. Ross Goodwin has tried several writerly forms. But all these experiments are happening inside the symbolic space of the computer. In that world, a letter is just a defined character. It is not dark ink on white paper in a certain shape. A picture is an arrangement of pixels, not oil on canvas. And that’s what makes the knitting project so fascinating. The outputs of the software had to be rendered in yarn. * * * 4 of 10 3/10/18, 5:37 AMSkyKnit: How an AI Took Over an Adult Knitting... https://www.theatlantic.com/technology/archive/... Knitting instructions are a bit like code. There are standard maneuvers, repetitive components, and lots of calculation involved. “My husband says knitting is just maths. It’s maths done with string and sticks. You have this many stitches,” said the Ravelry user Woolbeast in the thread about the project. “You do these things in these places that many times, and you have a design, or a shape.” In practice, knitting patterns contain a lot of abbreviations like k and p, for knit and purl (the two standard types of stitches), st for stitches, yo for yarn over, or sl1 for “slip one stitch purl-wise.” The patterns tend to take a form like this: row 1: sl1, k�, k1 (4 sts) o row 2: sl1, k�, k to end of row (5 sts) The neural network knows nothing of how these letters correspond to words like knit or the actual real-world action of knitting. It is just taking the literal text of patterns, and using them as strings of characters in its model of the data. Then, it’s spitting out new strings of characters, which are the patterns people tried to knit. The project began on December 13 of last year, when a Ravelry user, JohannaB, suggested to Shane that her neural net could be taught to write knitting patterns. The community responded enthusiastically, like the user agadbois, who proclaimed, “I will absolutely teach a computer to knit!!! Or at least help one design a scarf (or whatever godforsaken mangled bit of fabric will come out of this).” 5 of 10 3/10/18, 5:37 AMSkyKnit: How an AI Took Over an Adult Knitting... https://www.theatlantic.com/technology/archive/... Over the next couple of weeks, they crept toward a data set they could use to build the model. First, they were able to access a fairly standardized set of patterns from Stitch-maps.com, a service run by the knitter J. C. Briar. Then, Shane began to add submissions crowdsourced from Ravelry’s users. The latter data was messy and filled with oddities and even some NSFW knitted objects. When I expressed surprise at the ribaldry evident in the thread (Knitters! Who knew?), one Ravelry user wanted it noted that the particular forum on which the discussion took place (LSG) has a special role on the site. “LSG (lazy, stupid, and godless) is an 18+ group designed to be swearing-friendly,” the user LTHook told me. “The main forums are family-friendly, and the database tags mature patterns so people can tailor their browsing.” Thus, the neural network was being fed all kinds of things from this particular LSG community. “A few notable new additions: Opus the Octopus, Dice Bag of Doom, Doctor Who TARDIS Dishcloth, and something merely called ‘The Impaler,’” Shane wrote on the forum. “The number of patterns with tentacles is now alarmingly high,” she said in another post. When they hit 500 entries, Shane began training the neural network, and slowly feeding some of the new patterns back to the group. The instructions contained some text and some descriptions of rows that looked like actual patterns. For example, here’s the first 4 rows from one set of instructions that the neural net generated and named “fishcock.” 6 of 10 3/10/18, 5:37 AMSkyKnit: How an AI Took Over an Adult Knitting... https://www.theatlantic.com/technology/archive/... fishcock row 1 (rs): *k3, k2tog, [yo] twice, ssk, repeat from * to last st, k1. row 2: p1, *p2tog, yo, p2, repeat from * to last st, k1. row 3: *[p1, k1] twice, repeat from * to last st, p1. row 4: *p2, k1, p3, k1, repeat from * to last 2 sts, p2. The network was able to deduce the concept of numbered rows, solely from the texts basically being composed of rows. The system was able to produce patterns that were just on the edge of knittability. But they required substantial “debugging,” as Shane put it. One user, bevbh, described some of the errors as like “code that won’t compile.” For example, bevbh gave this scenario: “If you are knitting along and have 30 stitches in the row and the next row only gives you instructions for 25 stitches, you have to improvise what to do with your remaining five stitches.” But many of the instructions that were generated were flawed in complicated ways. They required the test knitters to apply a lot of human skill and intelligence. For example, here is the user BellaG, narrating her interpretation of the fishcock instructions, which I would say is just on the edge of understandability, if you’re not a knitter: 7 of 10 3/10/18, 5:37 AMSkyKnit: How an AI Took Over an Adult Knitting... https://www.theatlantic.com/technology/archive/... “There’s not a number of stitches that will work for all rows, so I started with 15 (the repeat done twice, plus the end stitch). Rows two, four, five, and seven didn’t have enough stitches, so I just worked the pattern until I got to the end stitch and worked that as written,” she posted to the forum. “Double yarn-overs can’t be just knit or just purled on the recovery rows; you have to knit one and purl the other, so I did that when I got to the double yarn-overs on rows two and six. The SkyKnit design “fishcock” as interpreted by the Ravelry user BellaG (Ravelry / BellaG) This kind of “fixing” of the pattern is not unique to the neural-network- generated designs. It is merely an extreme version of a process that knitters have to follow for many kinds of patterns. “My wrestling with the [SkyKnit-generated] ‘tiny baby whale Soto’ pattern was different from other patterns not so much in what needed to be done, as the 8 of 10 3/10/18, 5:37 AMSkyKnit: How an AI Took Over an Adult Knitting... https://www.theatlantic.com/technology/archive/... degree to which I needed to interpret and ‘read between the lines’ to fit it together,” the user GloriaHanlon told me. An attempt to knit the pattern “tiny baby whale Soto” by the user GloriaHanlon (Ravelry / gloriahanlon) Historically, knitting patterns have varied in the degree of detail they provided. New patterns are a little more foolproof. Old patterns do not suffer fools. “I agree that an analogy with 19th-century knitting patterns is quite fitting,” the user bevbh said. “Those patterns were often cryptic by our standards. Interpretation was expected.” But a core problem in knitting the neural-network designs is that there was no actual intent behind the instructions. And that intent is a major part of how knitters come to understand a given pattern. “When you start a knitting pattern, you know what it is that you’re trying to make (sock, sweater, blanket square) and the pattern often comes with a picture of the finished object, which allows you to see the details. You go into it knowing what the designer’s intention is,” BellaG 9 of 10 3/10/18, 5:37 AMSkyKnit: How an AI Took Over an Adult Knitting... https://www.theatlantic.com/technology/archive/... explained to me. “With the neural-network patterns, there’s no picture, and it doesn’t know what the finished object is supposed to be, which means you don’t know what you’re going to get until you start knitting it. And that affects how you adjust to the pattern ‘mistakes’: The neural network knows the stitch names, but it doesn’t understand what the stitches do. It doesn’t know that a k2tog is knitting two stitches together (a decrease) and a yo is a yarn-over (a lacy increase), so it doesn’t know to keep the stitch counts consistent, or to deliberately change them to make a particular shape.” Of course, that is what makes neural-network-inspired creativity so beguiling. The computers don’t understand the limitations of our fields, so they often create or ask the impossible. And in so doing, they might just reveal some new way of making or thinking, acting as a bridge into the future of these art forms. “I like to imagine that some of the techniques and stitch patterns used today [were] invented via a similar process of trying to decipher instructions written by knitters long since passed, on the back of an envelope, in faded ink, assuming all sorts of cultural knowledge that may or may not be available,” the user GloriaHanlon concluded. The creations of SkyKnit are fully cyborg artifacts, mixing human whimsy and intelligence with machine processing and ignorance. And the misapprehensions are, to a large extent, the point. ABOUT THE AUTHOR is a staff writer at The Atlantic. He's the author of Powering the Dream: The History and Promise of Green Technology. ALEXIS C. MADRIGAL  Twitter  Email 10 of 10 3/10/18, 5:37 AM

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kouhii · 7 years

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I keep seeing you post about Persona 2, and I haven't had a chance to play either Persona 1 or 2 yet, so I was wondering if I should give it a try? I'm still playing through Persona 5, but you've made me really curious about Persona 2. But, I'm really confused about the whole Innocent Sin and Eternal Punishment thing, are they different games or different versions of the same story?? Also, would it be better to play the original or the psp remake? Sorry for such a long message... ^_^''

It’s ok! I really recommend for you to play the later games! :)

If you want to begin with Persona 2 it would be fine since all the games work separately, but there will be some minor appearances of characters from the first game (nothing that will break the plot sense).

I personally didn’t like much of the dungeon crawling and slow-paced rythm of P1, but I still finished it and loved the story, the art and the incredible soundtrack. So it is really worth a shot to understand a bit of the whole mystic and dark feeling that the series use (the PSP remake felt better for me though)!

Now, Innocent Sin and Eternal Punishment are part of the same story told from different points of view and equally good in the PSP version (IS comes first and EP is the sequel). If from the first one we have Tatsuya’s POV for the other we have Maya’s POV and different characters that are going to be on our party.

For Innocent Sin we will have more focus on the friendship of the team that is, in order: Maya, Tatsuya, Lisa, Eikichi, Yukino (a character from P1 that doesn’t meet them as a child but is introduced later) and Jun.

And for Eternal Punishment we will have Maya and Tatsuya focusing on their cooperation with other characters that were just briefly introduced in Innocent Sin, starting with the four behind being: Eriko (from P1), Baofu, Ulala, Nanjo (also from P1, if his shirt wasn’t enough evidence) and Tatsuya’s brother, Katsuya, by Maya’s side.

All the characters are extremely deep and both games are equally good, but I personally prefer Innocent Sin. Some prefer to start already with the sequel (which has the plot explained in a sense, but I don’t recommend it).

It also may give more of a Persona 5 vibe for you with the characters having some sort of traumatic background. But aside from it have in mind:

“Shadows” are called exclusively “demons”.

The battle system is pretty much the same, but we have the option to fuse skills and make combos with other characters (also the only way to have an all out attack).

Demon negotiation has the use of “emotions” that may give you different items depending on which particular action (every character has some sort of talent) you choose to perform (cards, items, healing, pacts that will help you get rid of the same demon in other fights, etc.).

You don’t catch personas by speaking with them here, you need to gain cards in demon negotiation to exchange them for personas in the Velvet Room.

Social links/Cooperation don’t exist in here and the ranks of the personas can just level up by battles, but throught demon negotiation and strolling in the city you can have a lot of bonding moments with the characters and even choose later on if you want to date Maya, Lisa or Jun.

There is the usage of a system called “rumour” in which you have to spread a rumour so you can unlock places, items or basically choose if your equip is going to be cheap and easy to get or expensive and hard to obtain (be cautions because you can’t get a rumour back. THIS GOES FROM EXPERIENCE BECAUSE ALL MY EQUIP WAS EXPENSIVE AND I WANTED DEATH.).

Well, that is basically it! I may have missed something, but I hope it helps you!

#asks #persona 2 #shin megami tensei #innocent sin #eternal punishment #persona series #Anonymous

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talwrites-blog · 8 years

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Sucker for Pain - (SPN Fanfiction) - P1

Pairing: Crowley x Reader (Female Hunter)

Word Count: 1312

Warning: Swearing, Angst, Blood, Smut

“I’m a slave to your games I’m just a sucker for pain I wanna chain you up I wanna tie you down I’m just a sucker for pain. ”

_____________________________________

The smell of blood lingered through the room tainting the air with the taste of old copper. Beads of sweat danced across your brow; You brought up a damaged hand in an effort to wipe it away only to successfully smear a mix of blood, sweat, and dirt across your face. Looking around the small warehouse bodies of former demons decorated the floor blending together in a collaboration of something one could consider pure art. Surely someone besides you could appreciate that. Smirking you walked through the bodies enjoying the sounds your boots made against the rotting flesh. Tucking back your blade in back of your tight jeans you wiped what fluids and dirt that lingered on your hand against your legs just as the sound of someone else walking in the room caught your attention.

“Hello Dove looks like you made a bit of a mess of my friends. Though I rather enjoy the way you slaughtered them almost..well almost as if Van Gogh took control of that nasty blade of yours.” In a perfectly tailored suit, you watched as the king of hell came of the shadows. “Now I'm sure you know who I am little dove…” You stood your ground as he walked close enough that the smell of Bourbon and brimstone filled your senses, and his breath was only a whisper away. Crowley...of course you knew him through stories hunters often exchanged in those old country taverns. Like a good story seeing the man face to face was, well different and honestly from hearing so many versions of what the king of hell it was a relief to see he was more human than those recent tales you heard. “...but who are you?” he continued as he ran a hand along your cheek. “I usually hear about the hunters that enjoy making such a nasty display...you did enjoy it didn't you?...oh wait darling now I get it. Is my little Dove a bit of an outcast in the hunter circle? Do her friends not like her playing in their sandbox at playtime because she finds pleasure in killing?” he smirked reading you like a book.

Obedience and manners were not your forte nor did it help on how correct he was in who you were. Those were your secrets and you would be damned if Crowley would use those to hang over your head. Stepping back from his gaze a leer twinkled in your eyes as you placed a finger on his chest and began tracing it across his shoulders as you made your way around him. “I always pictured you taller, such a shame that those stories I always desired to hear are now nothing but a disappointment, Now if you excuse me, princess of hell, I have far more interesting matters to tend too.” There you ended the conversation, it wasn’t Crowley, in general, that was causing goosebumps to plague your blood stained skin but rather the fact on how much he knew about you. Squishing sounds vibrated through the room as you made your way over to your bag of various hunting equipment and just as you slung the strap of the bag on your shoulder you felt his hand grab your wrist yanking you closer than he was before.

“Princess?, Now Dove I’m far more interesting that these matters you speak of but just so you know, There is still this nasty little situation we need to figure out. I want...no need to know why a hunter like yourself enjoys the kill so much.” He leaned in closer brushing his nose along your neck instantly triggered an unwanted warmth to grow between your thighs. “I smell it lingering off your skin, calling to me Dove. Your craving of the pain, the hunt, the kill…” He traced his tongue gently from your neck up along your jawline. “You taste rather marvelous Dove.” He leaned in even closer letting his lips barely touch your ear causing a shiver of pleasure to vibrate through your body and a soft chuckle to escape his throat. “I was right, wasn’t I? You find pleasure in the kill, to watch eyes go dead, to see how the blood pools from a body...my my my you would make a marvelous demon.”

Breaking from the trance the King of Hell was putting you under you shoved him away, “Touch me again Princess and I will definitely take pleasure out of killing you…” Before you walked away you watched him run his hand over that annoying perfect suit of his with that same sinister smile playing at his lips. “As much as i’m looking forward to the pleasure part darling, I shall go ahead and get to this whole point of me being here. I’m come to make a deal you can’t refuse.”

“A deal Crowley? Do you take me for a fool there is nothing I want to make a deal for got it? Now go about your way and I’ll go about mine” You huffed as you pushed back from fallen strand of hair back behind your ear. “There isn’t dove? Now hear me out, I will offer you the one thing you want, that dark secret of yours to be fixed but you know how these silly negotiations work I need something in return. I need your skills. When I say kill you say who and when I say how high...well that last part needs to be worked on but the beautiful ending of this story is you will be my pet to do my dirty work and I will release that darling little sister of yours from the jaws of the hellhounds that have her. OH! I assume by that look on your face you thought I didn’t know about that? News flash Dove. I AM THE BLOODY KING OF HELL!”

Your heart fell to the pit of your stomach as you replayed his words over and over in his head. For years you had tried talking to demons of every walk to make a deal for your little sisters' release and each time you were denied. Finally, the pleading turned into threats and those threats turned into the scene that was still laid out around them, bloodshed or bloodlust depending how you looked at it. Raising your eyes to meet his you swallowed down the lump in your throat before speaking, “Deal.”

“Now that’s a good pet, come give daddy a kiss to seal the deal.” Slowly you began walking back to him as the thought that possibly the deal was too good to be true. All you needed to do was be The King of Hell’s hired killer, you could do that and if you played nice then your little sister would be free. You felt his arm snake around your lower back pulling your body against him and with his other, he lifted your chin so your eyes could meet. “We’re going to have loads of fun Dove.” With that, his lips pressed against yours in a kiss that brought back the warmth between your thighs. He kissed you softly at first, and with a new feeling of need and desire, it quickly escalated to something more. He parted your trembling lips as tremors vibrated your body causing feelings that were nowhere welcomed at the moment but for some reason, you couldn’t stop him. You needed more.

Crowley groaned as he pulled away with something flashing in his eyes that he wanted nothing but more as well. “Now now dove, is that any way to treat your new boss? We take sexual harassment seriously here.” With a chuckle, he disappeared back into the darkness leaving the taste of brimstone lingering on your lips. Maybe this deal was a very bad idea, but you were always a sucker for pain.

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