#still unable to format it how I want but it's whatever I guess | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

radellama · 3 months

Note

the fun section of the writer's ask game

21. Who is/are your favourite character(s) to write?

MY OCS ATM. AND THE VERSIONS OF EVERYONE FOR MY STAR TREK AU. I put a lot of effort into them and making them feel real and understandable within their story!

Harland is super fun to write cause it's a chance to explore a world and characters I love while being respectful of the canon of the game, but seeing what aspects I can go further into with Harland. And all the snippets of Abe and Orc I've started writing is just AUGHHH THEY'RE COMING ALIVE!!!!

22. Who is/are your favourite pairing(s) to write?

Magland... Abe and Orc...... There's some I want to write, like Leon x Ada or Hylink (again.... Sigh....) that I think I'll have fun with. I just like writing pairings that have interesting dynamics or bounce off each other in silly ways

23. Favourite author

Ahhh man. It's hard to say cause I feel like I haven't read anything consistently enough lately to say for sure. I can say when I was younger I really loved CS Lewis and as a teen I really enjoyed what little I'd read by Niel Shusterman, and maybe throw in Adachitoka for good measure

24. Favourite genre to write and read

SCI-FI / THRILLER ALL THE WAYYYYY BABBBEEEYYY

I like other stuff like fantasy and drama and whatever too ofc but like. NOTHING QUITE SCRATCHES THE ITCH LIKE THESE TWO, ESP IF THEY'RE A PAIR.

Sci-fi is soooo broad and fun, it's interesting when it's low concept or high concept and I like that it's so easy to inject philosophical dilemmas into the bones of the story and leave you thinking, and I like how interesting it is when you can draw parallels to current life (it's especially interesting seeing retro future sorta stories, both the fun aesthetics of 90s shit but also just seeing what people thought the scientific advances could be the further back you go, and seeing things that used to be sci-fi become just sci)

AND THRILLERRRRS.... I find them more interesting and scary than horror, though I've often been mistaken for a horror head even tho I feel like I don't watch horror that much... (Unless it's overlapped with thriller I guess lol) Idk I just find that the kind of stories you can tell when you drag out the tension and let the scares settle in to the atmosphere instead of demanding attention front and centre affect me more. I like when there's some kind of conspiracy or danger to work around and it gets more horrific with worse implications the further you claw into it. I want the fear to linger in my mind instead of only speaking to my body (think like how a jump scare isn't really scary other than startling you, vs something that actually unnerves you and gets worse the more you think about it)

I guess all that to say. I like thinking about things and want the story to haunt me with everything it's got. I want to still be thinking about it years later cause there was something in there that lingered....

25. Favourite part of writing

Already answered here

26. Favourite writing program

Libre, I guess? There's certain things I miss from Microsoft word/google docs but fuck them LMAO 🖕🖕🖕 I just wanna be able to write easily and have basic formatting options, ya feel. Libre does the job so I use libre

27. Favourite line/scene

Of my own writing?? I feel like I haven't written them all yet..

Here's a Wip of a scene I really love from much later in harlands story that I really love:

"Well aren't you just a bundle of contradiction." Flea mused.

"Pardon?" Harland asked.

Flea sauntered up to Harland, circling around him as he spoke.

"A friend to both sides of the war." He swatted Harlands hair from his shoulder, watching it fall as he avoided eye contact. "A pacifist whose work has made weapons."

Harland opened his mouth to defend himself, but flea dragged his finger across his chest. Harland couldn't help but get distracted as the general's nail tugged at his collar.

"I don't make weapons." He said, unable to hide the slight waver in his voice.

Flea pouted at him condescendingly. "You may not make them, but would they exist without you?"

Harland clenched his jaw.

"Even when you fight-"

"I don't fight." Harland interrupted.

"EVEN WHEN YOU FIGHT," Flea continued, "you are offensively defensive."

Flea smiled, enjoying Harland struggling to keep himself composed. He stood in front of him, tracing his jawline. "What a contradictory mess of a man…”

28. Favourite side character

Ummmm. Every single one. Idk. Too hard to pick from media but I can tell you that I really like the kitty cat baker lady, shy cow girl and orc's sister from Abe and Orc. And obviously, my most favourite side character from their story is the Penis Wizard

29. Favourite villain

MAGUS BABBBEEEYYY!!!!!!!!!! ALWAYS AND FOREVER!!!!!!!! IHYRYGJPOGJOJGLVJB I NEED TO WRITE STUFF ABOUT HOW INTERESTING HE IS SOMEDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!

30. Favourite idea you haven’t started on yet

Oh man there's so much. I will say it's my screenplay, Misled Millionaire, that was an integral part to making me wanna study film. I've planned so much without it feeling ready and I knew I needed to learn more to do the idea justice, and I still have hand written notes from 2019 that I kept, and even found the original quick note I wrote in my phone all the way back when I just had it as a silly little idea:

Reclusive millionaire searching for new life purpose, unlikely friendship with a fake psychic.

The story has changed quite a bit, but the gist of it is that a younger entrepreneur type is feeling lost and lacking despite ticking off so many boxes that should mean he's successful and happy. While he tries to find himself, he grows dependant on his new friendship with a little old lady who gives him fortunes, until one day he can't find her when he really needs her. When I've made progress on other stories, I'll write the screenplay and hopefully direct it myself! So no stealing my ideas!!

Send me some writing asks

#rads asks #chemical brew #hehhehe thank youuuuu

2 notes · View notes

pkgam · 9 months

Text

Confirmation: Google Only cares about the Adverts and Money, Not users

There were some leaks in regards to the Google Antitrust case and it's nice to finally see this in writing with a section of it:

"One document the company unsuccessfully tried to keep behind closed doors — Judge Amit Mehta made it public — involved a Google vice president bragging about how “addictive” the search giant’s services are, comparing them to tobacco and illicit drugs.

The executive, Michael Roszak, said that means Google is free to “mostly ignore the demand side” — i.e., consumers — in favor of “the supply side of advertisers, ad formats, and sales.” "

-----

Well well well... I wonder what all those naysayers/fanboys that blindly said Google listens and is trying to make the world a better place have to say now. I mean this is pretty sickening stuff. Like being proud of creating an addiction like alcohol and/or tobacco?... No wonder they want to keep this trial as secretive as possible: Because it'll make them look really bad. But I have a strong hunch we'll be seeing more leaks as time goes on. ;)

In any case, I for one am glad that I seen it long ago and only use the bare minimum of their stuff. I also don't adopt anything new (I use the term "new" loosely too because a lot of it is copies/buyouts) that they make because we all know they'll just shut it down later anyway. So I wonder if a lot of people picked up on that because they are no longer getting the widespread support for stuff like they used to. Or maybe people are tired of their crappy services in general and just use the bare minimum as well. Hard to say because there can be a lot of reasons. All I know is that their new stuff doesn't last long because of a lack of adoption and being unable to make profits. Which is good! Bad companies don't deserve to make money.

I guess if you still have to use their "services" and want to try and give them feedback on how to change things for the better, you've gotta throw in something that relates it with money so it has the best chance of not going in the proverbial paper shredder. But even then it's not guaranteed of course as they'll do whatever benefits "them" and not the users they claim to care about publicly while boasting about creating addictions privately.

Please spread the word on this. The more people who see them for who they are the better.

Your thoughts?

Thanks for reading and have a good one!

#google #antitrust #anti #trust #big #tech #user #users #feedback #trial #case #lawsuit #law #suit #consumer #consumers #anticompetitive #competitive #monopoly

2 notes · View notes

gwaaaaar · 2 years

Text

Hyde and Seek my beloved

Word vomiting rq here. But it's genuinely so well written. I can't critique it properly bc of the way the story is formatted between snippets of the board bc I am tiny brain. But from what I took in, it was good.

Emma Bishop as an antagonist especially, she's sympathetic, they tie parallels towards her and Pollie with their cgs with the funerals. Which was something Kate could sympathize with, she already sympathizes for Pollie.

Emma always compliments Kay from the heart. But those compliments are also manipulation. Because while yes they are genuine, they are also used to confuse Kate into doing what she wants. "Emma let's me question her authority, she compliments me, surely she's on my side right?"

My one criticism would be how Jekyll was handled in this game, he seemed really rude for no reason? I guess the explanation would be the duality seperation was taking a toll on him and his egos were meshing.

But this was contrasted against Emma. Jekyll always told Kate to listen to him, to never explore and stay within the safe boundaries of science. Emma actively encouraged Kay to speak out against her, to get lost in science. That is what drew Kate to her. She reminded him of Father Micheal.

But Emma is still, an awful person. She's the antagonist for a reason, Kay has to go against her. The tactics she used on Kate have probably been used on Mihir. "I should've put that bastard in Oxford." If this a compliment to his intellect, she was directly hanging that over him, to push him to dispose of Kate.

He could've had the life he wanted for himself. I suspect his trauma came from the caste system because one of his QNA things related to how he "acted as if he was a brahmin (priests and academics)" when he was a lower caste. He might have been lured over by his father to come because of his love for literature and the arts. But his father is a major asshat who cheated on his wife with Emma iirc or something along those lines + dismissive of him son's passions. Whatever they did to him, fuck them fr.

Emma used the unsafe CHC made by Kay for commercial use. Her own damn maid was driven insane by it. That's how much she doesn't give a damn about the consequences of her actions. You see throughout with the drug addicts on the board. And if that doesn't make you sympathize with them, Alan in the later chapters should.

This is a man desperate for anything to keep his family afloat. And then he says shit like "DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO WANT YOUR FAMILY DEAD?" This drug renders people unable to be themselves or to recognize their loved ones. And it is actively preying on peoples vulnerability in the situation. Be it for work or because they have nothing else. Emma was preying on their vulnerabilities just like she preys on Kate and Mihirs.

I think that could be said for all drug dealers and with Emma it shows her true colors. With all her saccharine but meaningful words, there's also her bitter will to do anything it takes for profits. It may be understandable considering her backstory, but it is not justified.

I don't know how much I can say on this matter, I am desi, but the colonialistic implications of Bishop Trading. Just as Britain had forced opium down China's throats like all else, CHC may be similar. Mihir stated how getting the plant for it is dangerous/dirty work but Bishop doesn't care. The white abuse of power over pocs. I don't mean this in a political way, it's just a footnote i thought of. Feel free to yell at me abt this.

#MazM #mazm hyde and seek #Emma Bishop

9 notes · View notes

demonslayedher · 3 years

Text

How Does Eating Humans Work?

Hello, Gotou here. We’re shamelessly borrowing from the format of a KnY Fanbook #2 comic to launch an investigation into demon metabolism and development by crossing the Sanzu River again to interview demons in the underworld. While we’ll be using canon materials as a base, the analysis and conjecture herein is personal, so we ask for your understanding. Also, please note that consuming any food in the underworld will make you unable to return, and we cannot promise your safety even though the interview subjects are dead, so please come along at your own risk.

Some of the questions we’d like to answer are, why do demons need to eat humans? How much do they need to eat to survive? Are there factors that influence how eating humans makes them stronger? If they don’t want to kill humans, what are their other options? We’ve rounded up some special guests below the cut (hidden for length and grossness), everyone from the lowly Temple Demon to the lovely Tamayo, to see what their actions in canon might tell us.

First, a review of what canon tells us, mostly as summarized in Fanbook #2: 1. With one exception named Yushirou, all demons were created by Kibutsuji Muzan, for his own purposes. They all have some amount of his blood, and can be divided into four classes depending on how powerful they are. From top to bottom, the Upper Moons, the Lower Moons, demons with special abilities, and other demons without any special characteristics. 2. Demons may be stronger depending on how much of Kibutsuji Muzan’s blood they have. Most beings’ cannot handle a large amount of his blood, and it will rupture the cells and that being will die, but there are demons who adapt well to it. 3. Typically, sunlight is the only way to kill a demon, by either bathing them in sunlight or cutting of their head with a Nichirin blade. However, there are powerful demons for whom chopping off their head does not work, and if it’s strong enough, demons can also be killed by wisteria poison.

4. Demons eat human blood and flesh. The more they eat, the stronger they become, and the faster their regenerative abilities become. Some humans have “Marechi,” a rare blood type, which is especially nutritious to demons, and eating one Marechi is the equivalent of eating several humans.

That’s an interesting thing we’d like to come back to, especially since we’re looking for quantitative information about how demons gain nutrition (though I have my doubts we'll get enough for statistical analysis). As an interesting note, Fanbook #2 also tells us that if demons try to consume the same edibles humans do, they’ll vomit it back up.

I’m told that Miss Tamayo drinks tea, though. That’ll be an interesting question for later. In my notes, it seems she’s also explained to Tanjirou back in Chapter 15 that demons will normally go berserk if they go a long time without consuming any blood or flesh. Berserk is one thing, but I wonder if they can starve to death? We’ll see if these canon clues will lead us to anything. We’ll begin now in an interview format. Hopefully this will go smoothly, but I’ve got a feeling it won’t. First up, we’ve the Temple Demon.

Temple: Who were you calling ‘lowly’ just now? Up there, above the cut?

Gotou: That was in a literal sense, not having Blood Techniques means you’re in the bottom common tier of demons.

Temple: Argh. Fine. What do you want to know?

Gotou: In Chapter 2, you were spotted with three human victims. However, it seems you left their bodies mostly intact and only ate small parts instead of consuming one full human at a time. Could you comment on this?

Temple: I’d have gotten to more later if that whelp with the strong legs didn’t interrupt me! Who’s got time to eat entire humans anyway? I went for the easy stuff first.

Gotou: I see. It appears you might had focused on key organs, like the heart and the liver. Would you say these are especially nutritionally dense?

Temple: I guess. If I’m going to eat humans, I’m going to start with what’s worth bothering to digest. Blood’s easier on the stomach, so that’s what I was busy with on the lady there.

Gotou: Then it takes effort to digest? Hmm. Let’s come back to this later. How many humans would you say you consumed, including these three?

Temple: Not a lot… I tried to get a variety so I could get stronger faster, but…

Gotou: I’ll put down a guess as ten or less. Let’s move on to someone who has a sharper memory for numbers. One of our longer-lived guests at Mt. Fujikasane for 47 years, the Hand Demon. While most of the demons on the mountain had only eaten two or three humans, you’ve eaten a whole 50 of the children who headed into the Final Selection, didn’t you?

Hand: Yes, that’s right. It was hard at first since I wasn’t very strong, and the demons usually all went crazy there eating each other, just like that one brat who got away in Chapter 7 said. If you could manage to kill any of the kids, you had the other demons to fight off to even get a piece to yourself. That was enough to get me by, and stronger, little by little. Your body learns to make your meals last, and make the most of what you can get. I usually only had a bite of one child a year, can you imagine how horrible that was? Most demons who survive usually figure out some way to develop and survive better, and once my cells found something that worked for me, I kept doing it. I got really good at snatching away prey from other demons, and soon enough I was a bigger threat than any of them. None of them could, you might say, lay a hand on me.

Gotou: That’s an interesting point about self-development. A demon named Nezuko was spent two years doing that in her sleep.

Hand: She must have had a big meal before that!

Gotou: Well, anyway. It seems that in near starving conditions, your metabolism made the most of what you had, leading to the most efficient use of whatever food was available to you.

Hand: That’s right, I got really good at it. Wasn’t always pretty, but I made it work. I got to a point where I could go two years without eating and still keep my wits about me while the other demons were going mad. But I chose to eat. I liked to keep my appetite for specific children.

Gotou: That smile is not reassuring. Some humans taste better than others, I guess?

Hand: That’s for sure. This one kid tasted awful, like rust and man sweat! I still don’t have that disgusting taste out of my mouth! But he was one of my more satisfying meals, so I ate more of him.

Gotou: Then why would you… nevermind, I don’t like that smile, no further questions. While I had hoped to keep these interviews focused on quantities of humans consumed, it does seem personal taste is worth asking about. I had tried to invite a Swamp Demon from Chapter 11, but it kept arguing with itself and it felt like I’d be wasting my time. The one definite thing I learned was that this demon is picky, with a distinct preference for 16-year-old girls. Based on the number of trinkets he kept, it seems he had consumed at least seventeen of them, including several in one town. Sheesh, that’s sort of a rough mission to send a first-timer on. I’ve got a more cooperative guest here to discuss her tastes, a Snake Demon who, according to Chapter 188, has a special taste for baby flesh.

Snake: Thank you for having me here. It’s good to be appreciated again.

Gotou: Did you only eat babies?

Snake: Goodness, no. Babies are delicious, but they aren’t very nutritious. And their skulls certainly aren’t that big, the ones I lounged around with were from the people whom I killed and stole from. But you know the nice thing about baby skulls? They’re still soft. They take a long time to digest, but I can swallow them whole.

Gotou: Like… like a snake, then. Sorry, I’m a little ill hearing that. Let’s back up, were all those skulls the remains of adults you ate, then?

Snake: Meh, I ate some of them of better-looking ones, but most of them I only killed. I could usually kill a lot more at a time than I could bother eating, my killing record was fifty women all at once.

Gotou: And you didn’t find that wasteful?

Snake: Wasteful? Not at all. I wasn’t exactly in dire straits, I lived a more luxurious life than most demons do. That meant I could afford to wait for a truly delicious meal, like how you humans might leave something in a slow-cooker to enjoy the perfect combination of doneness and tenderness, plated in the most appetizing of ways.

Gotou: I guess demons and humans are similar in that regard.

Snake: I’m so glad you can relate! Then you understand the frustration of a meal you’ve be preparing for years opening up the slow-cooker and running away right when they were just about done.

Gotou: I have never had that experience.

Snake: I’ll get you, my pretty. And your little snake, too.

Gotou: I think we might have gotten a little off-topic here. It does seem digesting humans comes with some difficulty. I’d like to invite the Drum Demon in next. Your name is Kyougai, I hear?

Kyougai: !!

Gotou: Kyogai, right?

Kyougai: You’ve heard of me! You know my name!

Gotou: I happened to, yes.

Kyougai: What have you heard???

Gotou: That you were kicked out of the Lower Moons for being unable to consume enough humans.

Kyougai: Oh. ……..yeah, that’s me.

Gotou: I thought demons go berserk if they go a long time without consuming humans. Wouldn’t that make an inability to consume them problematic?

Kyougai: It wasn’t that I couldn’t eat them! Like I said in Chapter 24, I had to in order to sustain myself, just like any other demon. But, at some point, I couldn’t eat as much as I used to. That happens to humans too, doesn’t it? When you just can’t stomach anymore?

Gotou: You mean like when you’ve overeaten? In a human’s case that feeling may go away within a few hours.

Kyougai: Sort of like that, but you know, humans reach a time when nothing is appetizing or the thought of eating makes them feel sick, right? Isn’t that the human condition?

Gotou: …uh… maybe if they have a medical condition? Or anxiety? Do demons get anxiety? Or eating disorders?

Kyougai: I… I don’t know. I just wasn’t good enough.

Gotou: I think it’s plenty good if you stopped eating humans. Though to have developed Blood Techniques and been a Lower Moon in the first place, you must had eaten a great number of them.

Kyougai: You think I’m great?

Gotou: What?

Kyougai: No, sorry, I was getting ahead of myself. It’s true, I used to be able to eat as many as the other Lower Moons always consumed. Our stomachs were stronger, you might say. Demons got strong by eating humans, and then the more you did that the better you usually got at it, so the strong ones would eat more and more and keep getting stronger and stronger. At least, that’s how it usually worked. I’ve seen other demons below me reached that point too, where they feel the drive to eat, but then they have trouble digesting it for a long time, so they don’t wind up eating that many people.

Gotou: Then it would make sense to eat the most nutritionally dense parts first.

Kyougai: Or a Marechi.

Gotou: Yes, or a Marechi.

Kyougai: It was a great idea, wasn’t it?

Gotou: I cannot condone any consumption of humans as a good idea.

Kyougai: I knew it. I’m nothing. Go ahead, stomp all over everything I ever tried to accomplish.

Gotou: I think I’m going to move on to my next interviewee now. It looks like we’ve got… oh, would you look at this? Lower Moon One. Enmu, I believe.

Enmu: You can believe whatever you want. I’m happy to help.

Gotou: I don’t need any help, thanks. I’m curious, since you were one of the stronger demons out there, it seems you had a stronger capacity for consuming humans.

Enmu: I did, I was always careful and paced myself so the Demon Slayers wouldn’t notice me. I took my time. I liked to enjoy e-e-e-a-c-h one.

Gotou: Then you had tastes too? Like babies, or 16-year-old girls?

Enmu: I could season any human to my liking. They’re all very easy to prepare.

Gotou: I’m still trying to get quantitative data. Can you tell me at least a rough estimate of how many humans you consumed?

Enmu: I told this more precisely to that boy with the earrings back in Chapter 59, and I can tell you this too. At my best, I could had eaten over two-hundred people at once if I took my time.

Gotou: OH MY GAW----sorry, I dropped my pen. Two hundred, at once?

Enmu: Yes. If I had just. Had. A little. More. Time.

Gotou: Clearly there is a huge difference between what common demons are capable of and what the Twelve Moons are capable of.

Daki: Psh, those were all any random common people. That’s nothing to brag about.

Gotou: Excuse me, and you are?

Daki: Daki, Upper Moon Six. You want something really impressive, you talk to the Upper Moons.

Gotou: I’m sorry, I don’t see you on my list.

Daki: What! Your list is stupid. Look me in the eyes, I’m Upper Moon Six!

Gotou: Very well, then. What can you tell me about your diet, Miss Upper Moon Six?

Daki: That’s more like it. It’s true that digestion takes a while, and takes some effort. Even though we Upper Moons may have eaten hundreds of people in our lifetimes, it’s not as if we gorge ourselves. The clever ones among us save prey for later to eat when we feel ready for it.

Gotou: Food storage? How do you keep them fresh?

Daki: You leave them still alive, numbskull. Nobody wants to eat something cold, that’s gross.

Gotou: I see, so that’s why demons prefer to go after new kills instead of saving what they’ve already managed to kill. That also might explain why the demons on Mt. Fujikasane wouldn’t had eaten many humans, if they found long dead ones in edible.

Daki: You want to know the real secret to eating humans? You can eat what you find tastes good, sure. But to get stronger, you eat strong people. Like your Corp members, the ones besides chumps like you? Using all that Breath makes their muscles really lean and potent, it’s like they come offering themselves as protein bars for us.

Gotou: You make them sound like a fad diet…

Daki: The real secret is eating Pillars. Besides Marechi, they’re the strongest meals out there. Guess how many I’ve eaten?

Gotou: I don’t have the data to make an educated guess.

Daki: Then get educated! Look back at Chapter 88! I’ve eaten seven Pillars, and my brother has eaten fifteen!

Gotou: Your brother? Who is he, then, Upper Moon Five?

Daki: What? Ew. Gross. Gross! No way, ew!

Gotou: Hmm… eating Pillars, huh? Well, I can think of one Pillar who was…

Douma: Me too!

Gotou: Speak of the devil.

Douma: Actually, we Upper Moons can! And he's not Satan, that's not how this works. But I guess Muzan-sama’s curse doesn’t effect us now. Ask me anything you want!

Gotou: That Chapter 143 reference was such a rude entrance. I understand that Pillars are particularly nutritious—

Douma: Oh, please don’t misunderstand! I don’t even eat all the Pillars I’ve encountered. There was the one Flower Pillar who got away from me, but some of the boy pillars I just leave around. What’s really the key to consistent nutritional intake is women! It’s really unhealthy for a demon not to get enough women in their diet, that’s why even if you’re only looking for Marechi or Pillars, your metabolism is going to get thrown out of whack with sudden big meals. You grow a stronger metabolism with consistency, I believe!

Gotou: If I could stop you there, I had an image from Chapter 142 I preferred to focus on for this case study. I see you keep a wide collection of skulls, from victims whom I assume you ate.

Douma: Yes, they all stayed together inside me for eternity, but the room looked lonely without décor.

Gotou: It seems other demons usually go for nutritionally dense organs like hearts or livers, or easy to digest parts of the body, perhaps just blood sometimes. Eating the entire victim, bones and all, doesn’t seem to be the norm.

Douma: Bones are organs too, you know! That’s where blood is made, at its freshest. They do take more practice in learning to digest, and I had to find a way around not having to chew them, but the bone marrow is very, very good for you, so I make sure to consume it frequently. It may take more time and it causes some of my followers to panic more while they wait, though, that’s a bit of a downside. Oh, and I guess bones can make good storage for some sneaky poison. Even fingernails and hair follicles, who’d have thought?

Gotou: I don’t think hair would have much nutritional value in the first place. In all my years, I can never recall seeing a victim with their hair eaten.

Douma: Tsk, tsk! Clearly you haven’t done much metabolism research in advance. I was really impressed by how well Shinobu-chan understood how my digestion would work. Eating hair can do amazing things! Isn’t that right, Genya-kun?

Genya: ?????????

Gotou: Genya-kun!?

Genya: What am I doing here?

Gotou: I don’t think you’re supposed to be here. Isn’t there, you know, another side? The other direction?

Genya: What are you doing here? Did you die?

Gotou: I’m here doing research on demon metabolism and how they get stronger by consuming flesh.

Douma: What can you tell us about what up with having your friend feed you hair you found on the floor in Chapters 170-171, Genya-kun?

Genya: I’m not a demon!! Why the hell are you asking me?

Douma: ‘Hell’! Haha, good one!

Gotou: How do you even know about that? You were dead almost a full volume before that. And Genya’s different, he’s not a case study in how demons consuming humans works!

Douma: Are you certain?

Gotou: I hear the term get thrown around a lot that he’s ‘half-demon’, but—

Genya: I’m not a demon!!!

Gotou: --how would that even work? That would imply that one of his parents had to be a demon, and that—

Genya: What did you say about my mother!?!

Gotou: What? Nothing—

Genya: You say that to my face! You just trying saying something about my mother to my face! My mother never actually ate any flesh, you got that? She doesn’t deserve any of this!

Gotou: Genya, calm down, what—

Douma: I see we’re learning nothing about hair at all. Maybe Kokushibou-dono would provide better commentary on that?

Genya: Mom? Mo-o-o-o-m? Are you down here somewhere?

Gotou: And there he goes… wait, did you say Kokushibou? Upper Moon One? Oh no—he—he didn’t want me bothering him, he did not agree to another interview—

Douma: He-e-e-e-e-y, Kokushibou-dono! How did that work with Genya-kun eating your hair? Hair can be nutritious, right?

Kokushibou: You would gain… nothing… from consuming human hair… it’s not… flesh… you wasted your energy digesting it…

Douma: Aww, cutting it off them would had been sad, though.

Kokushibou: Demon hair… like demon weapons… is made… from our unique cells. It’s not dead… like human locks. Because that boy ate my live cells… it affected him…

Gotou: Yes, because he had a very, very unique metabolism, analyzed separately in this post. To be perfectly clear, Genya is completely human with cells that could temporarily transform, and he never consumed human flesh.

Kokushibou: He… vexes me…

Gotou: Um… while I’ve got you here, you’re one of the longest lived demons, clocking in at over three, maybe four centuries. Do you have any estimate of how many humans you’ve consumed?

Kokushibou: ……I see in… Chapter 100… that you are 23 years old?

Gotou: That is correct.

Kokushibou: Do you bother… remembering how many meals… you’ve had in a mere 23 years?

Gotou: I’m very sorry to have bothered you.

Douma: Kokushibou-dono’s ancient compared to the rest of us! But if I tried, I could probably recall. Let’s see. One, two, three, four…

Gotou: Is that? Your finger in your brain? Oh—ohhh—that is disgusting---I really don’t need to know numbers that badly, please stop. Is there maybe just some average you can give me for the Upper Moons instead? Like how many you’d eat in a month?

Douma: I wish I could, but a certain someone was an annoying outlier and didn’t like to eat so many humans. He made me worry all the time about his health.

Gotou: Really? Who might that be?

Douma: Hello-o-o-o-o-? Akaza-dono? Yoohoo! He spends all his time with his wife now and never answers when I call, it makes me so sad. Akaza-dono did eat humans, plenty of strong ones, but any time he wasn’t under orders from Muzan he liked to spend his time training instead of eating. Fanbook #1 says he did that way more than eating!

Gotou: Training? What sort of training?

Douma: Similar things to what your Corp members did, I imagine. Doing squats, throwing punches, things like that.

Gotou: Then demon muscles had similar function to human muscles, and could be strengthened through hard work? That’s surprising.

Douma: I know, right? I’ll let you in on a secret, I don’t think it was the physically repetition that did anything. I think it was his willpower getting honed and shaping his muscles.

Douma: I had to focus when I acquired new skills too, like breaking down poisons. A lot of sad, lowly demons, like that Hand Demon fellow? They focus as hard as they can in their desperation, or focus on some strong emotion or attachment or whatever, and they grow and develop because of it. Sometimes all their weak bodies can manage is an ugly mutation, but that’s proof enough of how much focus they had.

Gotou: That sheds a lot of light on Nezuko, actually.

Douma: Shed “light” on Nezuko-chan, hahaha! Sunlight! You humans are all so witty!

Gotou: Speaking of willpower, I’ve got one more interview I need to get to down here. Of all the demons I have records of, only Nezuko went her whole time as a demon without consuming any human flesh, although she did go through moments of berserk cravings for it. It’s possible that other demons were killed before they could consume anything, but typically they will consume flesh as soon as possible, which is why its common for their family and close relations to be among the first ones killed. Tomioka-san even mentioned in Chapter 1 that these close relations are especially nutritious.

Gotou: A demon about as old as Kokushibou, if not older, is a special case of her own. She was one of the only demons we know of to have escaped Kibutsuji’s curse and acted in dependently of him, including having created a demon of her own after two hundred years of trying. Most notably to our purposes, she trained herself to subsist on small amounts of blood, after having survived on corpses and wild animals for a time, according to the extensive Taisho Secrets at the end of Volume 21.

Tamayo: I explained this in more detail to Tanjirou-san in Chapter 15, but I went on to purchase blood from poor people, and extracted it in ways that wouldn’t be harmful to them. The one demon I created, Yushirou, could subsist on even less. I gained enough self-control that I could treat injured humans without feeling tempted into a berserk state.

Gotou: I was just talking to Douma about willpower making demons capable of accomplishing new physical developments. Was that how you were able to gain this state? I heard you even enjoy a cup of tea now and then.

Tamayo: Yes, I’ve taken a liking to it. I’d offer you some if not for this, you know, being hell. It’s nothing like the hell I went through when first resisting consuming humans, though. My demon body refused to take anything but fresh human flesh at first, but in the hardest moments, I always remembered a kind demon hunter who said he believed in me and my desire to defeat Kibutsuji Muzan. I believe Nezuko may have summoned her strength to resist the call of her demon cells in a similar way; she knew she had her brother there to rely on. Once she mastered something as remarkable as resisting the need for human flesh, it gave her the freedom to prioritize other developments.

Gotou: You spent centuries researching demon cells, especially how demons may break down and metabolize poisons.

Tamayo: I had not studied the metabolism of poisons until working with Shinobu-san. The medicine we concocted for Kibutsuji was only possible thanks to her work, and I couldn’t had worked with many of those wisteria-based substances on my own. I feel I was only there to fill in the gaps of her brilliant understanding.

Gotou: You’re very humble. I would pass along my thanks and compliments to Shinobu-sama too, but I’m pretty sure she’s not down here. On that note, did Genya-kun go back home?

Tamayo: He did after a nice reunion with his mother just now, it was very sweet. Shizu-san and I get along well, after all, we both carry similar guilt.

Gotou: Wait, was his mother a demon? That means Wind-sama’s mother was too? Wait?? What??

Tamayo: The worst hell I went through, or that any demon has gone through, is to realize what you’ve eaten after the hunger-driven madness clears. Being similar to your own cells, they’re easy on a volatile new anatomy to break down and digest. That’s why many demons may have driven themselves to forget everything all over again, or to twist their personalities to justify the horror, saying that because they ate the hearts of their loved ones and because demon flesh can live forever, then they never truly killed them. The truth always remained untwisted for me, and to this day, it torments me more than anything in this underworld can try.

Gotou: …

Tamayo: You should wake up now, Gotou. You’ve been through a lot; the nightmares must be taxing on your health. Please remember to eat well.

#kny fandom theories and meta #too many characters to tag #I wrote this draft early last week and only this morning had time to edit it but it took foreeeevvvverrr on my slow computer #now off to work #eat well everybody #I'm off to work #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer

195 notes · View notes

distracteddegenerate · 3 years

Note

I'm sorry if this annoying but can I please get a little fanfic with the inumaki forget idea ? Sorry if this werd English isn't my first languag

Not annoying at all anon, In fact I really like this idea of yours. (Also your English is pretty good so don’t worry!) Hope you like the fic!

CHARACTERS: Inumaki Toge x Female Reader

WARNINGS: Smut, Dark Content, Noncon, Yandere, Manipulation, Mind Control/ Brain Washing, Cunnilingus

Minors Do Not Interact!

1.5k words

It was comforting, the fluff of ashen white hair that lay on your shoulder, the morning light seeping in from behind the slat blinds cascading a bright shimmer over the expanse of the snowy tufts. The individual strands were dusting your skin feather-light, tickling against you in the sway of every meager intake and exhalation of breath escaping Toge’s mouth.

You had known Toge for years now, and although you couldn’t truly remember how you even came to know him in the first place, he had effortlessly situated himself in the spot of one of your nearest and dearest. You found that his earnest silence brought you solace, words that he could not convey through sentence instead being understood through the knowing glances and expressions you had come to share with one another, the fluency of this mutual language only strengthening with the passage of time.

Now was one of those blissful moments of comfortable, knowing quiet. domestically lounging around your apartment during a day off, lazily giggling at some meme compilation in unison while leaning against one another on the settee. You couldn’t think of a better way to spend your time, this cozy sphere of amenity that you had constructed with Toge an apt repose from the outside world.

Whilst you were lost reflecting on your rosy blessings, you were suddenly brought back to reality when you felt the weight of toge’s head lift from your shoulder, turning to meet the familiar gaze of inquisitive violet eyes peering at you from behind off-white tresses.

“Are you okay, Toge?”

“Mustard Leaf.”

The response, that usually implied he was doing fine in the small dictionary of onigiri vocabulary he had come to employ.. Didn't feel genuine, to say the least. His irises were blown wide, registering your countenance as though he was trying to gleen some hidden information from your inquiring squint, when Toge began to lean further over you. You turned the front of your body to look at him directly, though you were steadily inclining your spine backwards in your perplexion at Toge’s unusual advancement.

He soon had draped his entire upper body over yours, hands reaching around your frame to press into the sofa to support himself as his face drew dangerously close to yours.

“Toge?” A heat was rising in your upper body. Sure, you and Toge were incredibly close friends.. But this was a little too much for your liking. You pressed your palms against the jut of his shoulders and pushed slightly, though with no true force. Blushing, you faced away from him, trying to announce your discomfort at his invasive approach. “T-toge.. This is a bit too-”

“Don’t move.”

And sure enough, compelled by some otherworldly force to entertain the command, you had stopped moving in your tracks. It didn’t take long for you to figure Toge had used his technique. Like a deer trapped in the headlights of an oncoming car, your body froze statuesque while conflicting eyes beamed alive, frantically searching for the reasoning behind the cruel fate that was racing towards you.

An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of your stomach at the sight of his lips pulled tight, his usually bright irises murky with shadows of deception. Something awful was afoot. His deadpan look in conjunction with the preceding events told you this was no prank, swiftly realising that your trust in him had been irredeemably breached to the point of fear at what was coming next. Your body twitched as you strained under the spell that had been cast on you, helpless to the plummeting feeling of the safe structure of friendship you had built with Toge coming crumbling down around you.

Your fears were proven genuine when Toge’s hand began reaching forward, coming to rest on the curve of your hip. You tried to communicate with your eyes, begging for him to stop and to just think about what he was doing, but he paid no heed to it. In fact it seemed like he was ignoring your glare, focused on the task that lay at his palms. He began deftly inching your bottoms down over your pelvis, panties and all coming to a halt over your thighs, just above your kneecaps.

It was then that he shot you a glance of what seemed like sorrowfulness, as if he was fully aware he was enacting something cruel but thought it necessary. Perhaps like how a farmer would look at lame animal before putting it to rest.

Still, you were broken away from the horrid thoughts and back into a harsher reality when Toge had begun ripping the aforementioned cloth even further down your legs until they reached your calves. Shoving his hands between your thighs, the pads of his fingers pressed forcefully against the flesh and separated the limbs till they spread wide. You were completely exposed, the open air cutting a chill against your privates.

He traced his fingertips over your slit, with whatever wet, however slight gathered up in it’s trailing wake. He looked you in your eyes when he brought the digits to your clit, as if looking for a reaction when he began grinding his forefingers against the sensitive nub. Unable to do so much as flinch away from the offensive touch, you mentally grit your teeth as you felt that aching bundle of nerves scream against the assault. It felt painful, at first. You were so unprepared for the sudden encroachment on your most sensitive parts, It made you want to recoil in on yourself completely, though there was nought you could do in protest.

Toge began occasionally lowering his fingers to reach directly into your core, drawing out the little slick you were producing to mercifully rub it over your clit. The lubrication meant his ministrations were less painfully direct, his motions transforming into a light flutter that felt traitorously gratifying, an unwarranted heat beginning to pool in your stomach. Your body was disobediently reacting to his touches with craving, and it made you want to hide away forever but unfortunately you were rendered completely unable to escape the explicit display you were being forced to partake in.

You felt his warm breath exhale humid air over your cunt, when you noticed from your frozen position that you couldn’t see Toge��s face any more, only the top of his alpine locks as he lowered himself further over your pulsing heat.

You knew what was coming, but you still inwardly lurched with shock at the swiping of that lithe muscle over your aching bundle. The feeling made you throb with hypersensitivity, the combination of the attention that area had received earlier now with the sudden sensation of Toge’s wet mouth lapping at you desperately causing your entire pussy to twitch around his tongue in a chase for release.

Dragging and dipping his emblazoned tongue over and between your sopping folds, he came to plant his mouth directly over your clit. He sucked over it with such vigor his cheeks completely hollowed, rolling your nub between his lips whilst deft fingers aided in your pleasure as he continued to pump them in and out of the sticky apex of your crotch.

He worked at you for some time, steady in the intensity of his applications. It wasn’t long before the sensations grew too much, pussy clenching around his fingers as you reached a climax, flood gates swinging open as you gushed helplessly over his face.

He stayed where he was for a second, before rising. When his pale face came into view, you took in the sight of your own slick washing trails down his chin, the purple tattoos it overlay on his cheek glistening prismatic in the light the sun cast over it. He looked wild, salivating at the maw, sparkling amethysts settling an intense gaze into your own eyes which were vacantly still trying to work through the thralls of your orgasm.

Yet, fear sparked them alert with dread when you saw his mouth drop open to speak once again.

“Forget.”

Even in that split second of recognition you had before your memories had been erased for (unbeknownst to you,) the umpteenth time, it was enough for an intensely visceral stream of consciousness to flood your thoughts. You realised intuitively Toge was never really the person you thought he was, and you wondered how many times you had been used like this. How much had happened, how much had you been subject to by his cursed technique. Just how much was real in that domestic setting that you had been experiencing before it all came crashing down like this.

***

If only you knew just how much of your true self had slipped away. With your hands wrapped around his cock once more, The sunset and rise beginning to melt away at the edges into a haze of warm gradients was just a pretty sight to you, the concept of time becoming irrelevant to you as you settled into your life as an ignorant hostage.

Extra Notes:

Yeah so this kinda became a fucked up version of 50 first dates.. although now that I think about it I guess 50 first dates is pretty fucked up? Also god writing a character who hardly speaks is so hard in fic format;; I guess enjoy the challenge though

#inumaki x reader #inumaki #yandere inumaki #dark jjk #jjk #noncon tw #dubcon tw #yandere tw #manipulation tw #mind control tw #brain washing tw #smut #dark content

733 notes · View notes

fluffonthebunniestail · 3 years

Text

Slip up

Hello lovely people, sorry it's been a while! Also, I've been meaning to change the format to keep reading. Apparently, with what I'm using I cannot do that, but it shall change in due time! Yes, this is another Bakugō fic, I cannot get over myself.

Pairing: Lee!Bakugou/Ler!Kirishima

Summary: Bakugou decided to change up his wardrobe slightly, and that means tighter shirts. With that, Kirishima took it personally.

Warnings: swearing, tickle fic

------

Bakugou was really testing his patients.

And he means really testing it.

For the reason Kirishima has no knowledge of, Katsuki had changed his style in shirts: tight and easily riding up.

This shirts weren't a constant; they would come and go, a switch between those and his usual tank tops.

And in all honesty, Kirishima was a bit distracted. He can't blame himself! Even just opening a cabinet and bam: abs on display. Kirishima then took it as a challenge. For what, he had no idea. It didn't matter.

It was perfect when he and Katsuki was alone due to the classmates going out, and the rest going home.

He looked up from where he was sitting (he was watching something on his phone; half of the time looking at other stuff), and he saw Bakugou walking to the kitchen, getting the pitcher of water from the refrigerator.

Kirishima felt his face heat up at the shirt he was wearing. It was a long-sleeved, tightly fitted black shirt. The hem of it ended just above his navel, and it accentuated the hell out of his figure. Kirishima thought it'd be unmanly to continue to stare any longer without at least striking up a conversation. He got up and walked to the counter Bakugou leaned on pouring water into a cup.

"Hey." He said, a little bit awkwardly to his taste.

"Hey." He responded softly without looking up. Katsuki was a lot more quiet and calmer when it was just the two of them. Yet strangely enough, he was more talkative. Those talks were more personal, and Kirishima loved every single on of them.

"You sleep well?"

"Yeah." He finally looked over, giving him a lopsided smile. Kirishima felt his stomach doing summersaults at the gesture. They began to talk, just talk about whatever came up in their heads. Little annoyances, stresses, and even random stuff on the internet.

Eventually, they began to walk slowly back to the living room. Kirishima didn't know what possessed him to be so bold, but he slipped an arm around Bakugou's shoulder. Surprisingly enough, the blonde didn't shove him off.

Bakugou was taken aback once the hand around his shoulder pulled him down to the carpeted floor, Kirishima following.

"Hey! The fuck are you doing?" The blonde exclaimed as Kirishima straddled him pulling his arms in his. Bakugou sputtered at the movement, and unable to keep the rising heat in his face at bay.

"Sorry but you're really asking for this." He chuckled in response, holding the blonde's hands to his chest.

"For what?" Bakugou asked, voice nearly above a whisper, and eyes transfixed on the other. The tone of voice shocked Kirishima.

"You know."

"What are you doing?" Bakugou whispered, ends of his lips turning into a smile.

"Well," he laughed breathlessly, securing the blonde's hands, pining with the left -hardened- hand, on his own chest, "I wanted to know this for a while now." He got closer to Bakugou's face, seeing his cheeks reddening, and his heart racing beneath the hands placed.

"And what's that?" Katsuki felt himself get a bit giddy, he wasn't the only one.

"Are you ticklish?" Kirishima saw confusion quickly cross over his face.

"Wait wha- BWAHAHAHA!" Bakugou exploded with laughter. Unable to react properly, the immediate and unexpected sensations drilling at his ribs drove him up the wall. He leaned to the left, where his ribs were being attacked, kicking blindly behind the redhead on top. "WHAHA-WHAT ARE YOU DOHOAHAHA!!"

"Damn dude, I wasn't expecting you to be this ticklish." Kirishima chuckled fondly, switching his hand to the right side of the hysterical boy's ribs.

Although there was extreme satisfaction with finding out Bakugou was ticklish, he was more focused on his face. Bakugou had his head back, lost in the overwhelming feeling. His eyes were screwed shut, his nose was scrunched adorably, and his mouth was wide with laughter pouring out. It was such a pure and sweet smile you wouldn't expect from him.

"Kirishihimahahaha...." He giggled as Ejiro poked and lightly scratched at his ribs. His body rolling side to side, at a halfhearted attempt to shake him off. He noticed that Bakugou could have shoved him off at any moment now, but he didn't.

"Yes?"

"Mhmhmpfft- hahaha!" He giggled heavily as Kirishima scratched his nails at the blonde's bare sides. He did a funny dance, wiggling like a worm. "You ahahass!!"

"You're not stopping me." Kirishima pointed out, watching his face get unbelievably more red. He used his index finger nail to slowly scratch up and down the side of Bakugou's stomach. The blonde underneath buck hard and shriek; a wave of light laughter following. "Pretty bad here, huh?" He teased.

"Shuhut- AAHAAGH NOHOHOHO!" The blonde practically screaming with uncontrollable laughter; Kirishima generally drilling his thumb at the side of his stomach. He began to squirm heavily; bucking and screaming. "NOT THEHAHAHAHA!! YOU BAHAHASTAHAHAHAH!" He also started to tug a bit at his trapped hands.

"Alright, I'll be nice." Kirishima chuckled. He stopped, placing his palm on top of the shaking abdomen, nearly bursting out in laughter at the fact it caused Bakugou to giggle. Giggle! He never thought Bakugou was capable of such a cute giggle. "Okay," he cleared his throat, "it's kinda obvious you don't want me to stop. Which is cute, really, but I want the clear to continue."

Below him, Bakugou was catching up with his breath, the red remaining on his cheeks.

"Want me to continue?" Kirishima asked calmy, he got a bashful mumble I'm response. "I need a clear answer."

"Do whatever." He grumbled, looking to the side.

"You sure?" He clarified, he got a light nod. Kirishima just smiled warmly, "on it!" His hand twitched, causing the blond to jump.

He then scratched at the abdomen below in a featherlight manner. He was instantly rewarded with high-pitched giggles and squirming. He scribbled at random places on his stomach; the sides of it, the upper and lower part of his belly, and the center of his stomach that gave him the strongest reaction.

He then began to claw at the center of his belly, dragging out a surprised snort.

"Oh my god, that was so fucking cute." Kirishima laughed, watching the blonde attempt to hide his face in the side of his shoulder, giggling.

"Wahahahihihit- nahahaHAHAHAHA YOU FAHAHAHAK!" He exclaimed when Kirishima began to put pressure on his taut stomach, he squealed then laughed the loudest Kirishima has ever heard. He wiggled his torso, the sensations spreading across his belly making his laughter go at a higher pitch.

"SHITSHITSHIT- AHAHAHAH YOUHUHU ASSHOHOHOHOLE!"

Kirishima could help himself but laugh along with the contagious laughter, especially feeling knees on his back; Bakugou trying to curl into himself. He shook his head back and forth, completely lost in laughter. Kirishima switched it up, going back to light tickling. He stroked one finger at the center of the boy's stomach, making him let out the cutest strangled squeal.

It suddenly stopped, some residential giggles slipping out. He hesitantly looked up at Kirishima who had a mischievous glint to his eyes.

"One more thing I wanna try." He said looking at an expectant and giddy Bakugou, who looked ready to burst into laughter at any second.

He lowered his hand down, spidering above the spiked-blonde's stomach. Much to his amusement, he sucked in his stomach and began to giggle softly.

"I'm not even touching you!" He giggled teasingly, making a mental note to how his tease made him giggle harder. He kept tickling the air above the shaking belly below, the string of giggles never ending.

"Stohohop teahahasing me you fuhuhuhuck!"

"Alright."

Nothing prepared Bakugou for Kirishima to sneak a finger in his navel.

"AAAAAGHAAHA!" He thrashed so harshly, he nearly threw Kirishima off him. The boy in hysterics arched his back; it only succeeded with making it easier for Kirishima to wiggle his finger in the extremely ticklish spot a little more. He reacted harshly.

He was screaming more than laughing; his head thrown back, unable to cope with the harsh tingling feeling that tickled him so intensely inside out. It tickled so, so bad. "I CAHAHAAN'T I CAHAHAHAHAHA!!"

His mind melted, in a daze as he couldn't focused on anything besides him reeling over how much it tickled. He went limp, and allowing himself to just laugh and laugh and laugh.

"This is your tickle spot, isn't it? Holy shit man, you have to be one of the most ticklish person I've ever met." He gave him a break once his laughter quickly got silent. He just tapped around the edges of his belly button, it was still enough for him to laugh. "Wow, you're, like, super ticklish."

"Hehehe! Shut uhuhuhup!!" He let out a near ear-piercing screech when Kirishima tapped at his navel. "Pleahahahahase nohoho!" He was squealing as Kirishima continued, "I'm toouhuahahaha- I'm too ticklihihihish thereahahahaha!!"

"At least you admitted it." He chuckled, letting up. He let go of Bakugou's hands, letting him catch his breath, little titters and giggles slipping out here and there. "That was the cutest shit I've ever seen."

"Ahaha... Gohohod... The hell was that?"

"What?"

"You getting up in my face like that." Bakugou almost mumbled.

"I think you're cute." That statement made Bakugou look up at him shocked, yet skeptical.

"Yeah fucking right."

"It's true!" He added by pinching up and down Bakugou's sides, making him jump and laugh harshly. He grabbed at his wrist.

"Kirihihihi!" He wined. He hiccuped, staring at the redhead incredulously.

"I like you." He blurred out. "Like a lot."

"I guess that's one way to tell me." He laughed breathlessly, panting from his earlier laugh-fest.

"Shit I-", he stopped himself, wiping his hands across his face, "I shouldn't have- I shouldn't have done that I'm so sorry. I-I don't know what got over me, and-"

He was interrupted by Bakugou pulling him down for a kiss.

"I wouldn't have let you do shit if I didn't like you dumbass."

"Oh..." He smiled.

It was a good fucking day.

#mha bakugo katsuki #bakugou #kirishima #bnha #bakugou x kirishima #kinda blatant #tickle fic #ticklish!bakugou #lee!bakugou #kirishima is kinda a simp #but respectful becaus he is manly #fluff

201 notes · View notes

citydreamgrls · 4 years

Text

yes, captain

fred weasley x fem!reader

words: 2,675

a/n: thank you so much for all the love on ‘a christmas treat’ it’s been crazy how many of you enjoyed it <333

warnings: smut , 18+

“What do you mean he’s sick?” The twins cried out in unison. I had heard voices before I’d reached the common room, but seeing them shocked wasn’t what I had been expecting. In fact it was a rarity to see them surprised at all.

“What’s up?” I asked them both, just as Lee was leaving. George had his head in his hands and Fred’s lip was blatantly chewed up.

“Wood’s sick, he’s off for 2 weeks.” He explained.

“Oh shit, that’s not good. So does that mean you two ar-”

“Co-captains.” They groaned in unison, used to having people follow them but not usually having to be in charge of anyone.

I put my arms around Fred, who was still in his quidditch uniform from practice, and gave him a much needed hug.

“You guys will be great, I’m sure of it.” I promised the twins, letting them clean up before dinner.

“So… how does it feel to have a boyfriend who’s the quidditch captain.” Hermione teased me, finding this to be more interesting than her book of all things.

“Fred’s co-captain, remember, and besides they only found out today.”

Harry came and sat in front of us with Ron as his side, who was more bothered by his food than his older brothers.

“I think they’ll be great captains,” Harry said, excited to have the troublemakers taking charge.

“Well of course you’d say that,” Hermione scoffed, opening her book again.

“What do you mean?” I asked. Ron looked up, clearing his throat as though to speak but the girl beside me cut him off before he had the chance.

“Harry’s the team’s seeker, he just has to do his job. That’s easy. It’s the chasers that cause trouble, they’re always squabbling over who goes where and how many goals each of them scores.”

“Yeah, what Hermione said.” Ron rolled his eyes and carried on eating.

“Guess we’ll see tomorrow afternoon eh?” Harry sighed.

“Do you think you guys will be ready for the match against Ravenclaw?” I asked.

“Hard to tell, we’ve got some time… but we’re out of a keeper now Wood’s off sick.” He huffed.

Just on cue both Fred and George turned up, looking as confident as ever as people congratulated them on their temporary promotion. Fred sat down beside me, giving me a kiss quickly before any of the others could complain.

“Ron, we need you to be our keeper.” George told his younger brother without hesitating.

Poor boy almost choked on a mouthful of potato when he realised what the twin had told him. Harry had to slap his back to get him to look alive again, making Hermione giggle from behind her book.

“Me!”

“Yes you, come to practice tomorrow and we’ll see if you’re any good.” Fred added, giving my hand a squeeze under the table.

“So I guess this means you’ll be too busy with captain duties,” I teased Fred as he tried to write an essay on the common room sofa.

“Oh yes, too busy for girlfriends. Especially when I have so many.”

I rolled my eyes and mindlessly played with his long hair.

“You don’t have the energy for too many girlfriends, me and George are enough for you.”

“You’re not wrong.”

He closed his potions book with a sigh and threw it to his feet, finally able to relax a little bit and lay with his head in my lap.

“Are you nervous Fred?”

“About what?”

“About being captain silly, you do have a practice tomorrow remember?”

“Oh no it slipped my mind, because I really have so much more going on right now.” He huffed sarcastically.

“I’ll take that as a yes then,” I laughed and he nodded sheepishly. “It’ll be fine, I said I’d help Ginny with some homework tomorrow though so I can’t come and watch.”

“That’s actually a bit of a relief, I’d hate to embarrass myself in front of you.” Fred sighed.

“You’re the most confident person I know, not to mention the goofiest. When have you ever been worried about embarrassing yourself?” I pointed out, and he couldn’t help but agree.

The next day, after practice, the team filed into the common room kinda quietly. Making both Hermione and I frown at their sudden gloomy nature.

Fred and George were last and stopped at the two of us leaning up at them on the sofa.

“How was it?” I asked, still hopeful.

“Pretty bad,” George grunted before kicking off his boots and flopping into an armchair.

“Two of the chasers got into a fight and targeted each other any time we tried to play, it was useless!” Fred exclaimed as I played with his quidditch robes.

“Told you so.” Hermione hissed, but I just ignored her.

“They’re bound to be a bit unruly, it’s probably because they’re used to Wood.” I tried to reason with them, but neither twin seemed convinced by my theory. “It’ll get better.” I whispered to Fred.

It could’ve been possible that I cursed it, because things seemed to spiral from then on. Ron had doubts about being a keeper, Harry was always turning up to practices late and leaving early. The chasers refused to talk to one another, and things just took a turn for the worse when the twins started to argue over how to fix things.

It was 3 days before the match and the team was more divided than ever before. Making Fred feel responsible for the downfall.

“It was two weeks, that was it. And I couldn’t even control things for one day!” He complained aloud as I sat on his bed, hoping he would chill out a bit. I opened my arms, letting him crawl into them as if he was a child.

“I’m helpless y/n.” He huffed.

“No you’re not.” George walked in, saw his brother and immediately went to walk back out. They had been avoiding each other ever since their argument, and it was time for things to go back to normal.

“Oi stop right there.” Both boys froze as I spoke, I moved Fred off me and stood up. Not that it was intimidating to either of them, but it was worth a try. “You two need to forget whatever you were mad about and forgive each other, because nothing’s gonna go right if neither of you can agree.” I stated, their heads hung in the realisation that what I was saying was right.

“If we did things my way we could actually win.” Fred grumbled from his bed.

“I don’t care,” George seemed caught off guard that I wouldn’t immediately take my boyfriend’s side. “If you did win, it wouldn’t feel as good than if you did it together.”

“She’s right.” The boy by the door finally spoke up, holding a hand out to his brother. Fred shook it with an awkward smile. “Sorry Georgie.”

“Now. let’s figure out what to do with this team.” I sighed.

After a whole night of negotiating, Fred and George settled on a game plan and went to the last practice with hope in their hearts. Hermione and y/n watched them fly about from the stands, unable to hear the boys talk, but unable to spot any problems as they played through the upcoming match.

Once it was over Fred came straight over to y/n. He was grinning wider than she’d seen all month.

“Better?” She laughed.

“So much better.”

“I like seeing you happy,” The girl told her boyfriend later that night, promising not to keep him up too late. They needed to be awake early of course. Her and Fred were standing at the top of the astronomy tower looking over the grounds as the sun went down.

“Thank you for helping us,” He whispered. He loomed behind her and rested his arms on the balcony in front of her, caging her in.

“Yeah well you owe me, big time.”

“Oh don’t worry, you’ll get a reward.” He smirked, making a chill run down her spine.

They’d had sex before, plenty of times, and many after winning games. But something more rested on this game, if he won there would be an even bigger feeling of achievement for the boy. Who was usually quite happy to take sidelines as one of the two beaters in the team. Now, he was a captain and it would look good if he won.

“Stay with me tonight?” He asked y/n.

“I shouldn’t distract you, rest is the only thing you need Fred.”

“It’s not what I want though,” She felt his body press up against her and she wondered whether getting fucked by him up there would be all that bad. However, she decided to wait, knowing it would be even better after they won.

“Fred. I’ll see you in the morning okay?” y/n smiled and slipped out from under his trap, giving his cheek a kiss and running off.

“Oi, that’s not a proper goodnight. Come back here!” He called out with laughter, a chase beginning on the twisting steps back down to the castle.

Hermione always claimed she couldn’t care less about quidditch, but as soon as she saw Ron as Gryffindor’s keeper she suddenly became yet another teenage girl screaming his name in support. Y/n laughed, seeing her friend switch up so quickly.

Then again, her voice always went hoarse after cheering on Fred and George so violently it sometimes felt like she’d never talk again. But she would never do it differently. Seeing the twins in their captain’s robes made her heart swell with pride, especially when Fred flew past their stand to give her a wink like he did before every game. It was practically tradition by this point.

“Go Fred!!!!” She screamed as he swung his bat around, sending bludgers flying through the air and towards Ravenclaw’s chasers. One of them almost fell to the ground trying to dodge it, and in turn losing possession of the quaffle to the Gryffindor chasers who had finally learnt to work together. They flew in formation, passing the ball between one another to throw off the other team. Then as one of them went to score, the other two held off opposing beaters so they could score.

To Hermione’s joy; Ron was amazing. He barely let a single goal in, kicking them off and thwacking them away with his broom. After a while he began to show off, but no one minded because he still managed to defend the goal.

Fred and George were working their asses off trying to hit off bludgers, not stopping for a single second to notice what else was going on. Y/n could watch her boyfriend work like that all day, his face laced with determination and joy whenever he hit one off successfully. Even more so whenever they scored another goal. Ravenclaw had never had a chance against them.

The match ended as always, with Harry just about catching the snitch before the other team’s seeker got there. He flew down to find the team hugging one another in joy, the rest of Gryffindor house racing from the stands to join the celebration. It wasn’t long before Fred and George were carried back to the common room, their names being chanted like gods.

Y/n caught a flash of her boyfriend’s red hair disappearing into the crowd as her and Hermione followed the flow of people into the castle.

“There you are!” Fred had called, finally finding y/n amongst the people partying later that night. “Thought you’d sacked me off.”

“As if, you’re the winning captain now I’m basically a celebrity by default!” She joked, taking the drink from his hand and sipping it hesitantly.

“Oi, what was that for?” He complained.

“I don’t trust my own drinks round you and George.”

“You’ve learnt then,”

“Yep, the hard way.” He smirked at my words and pulled me aside to talk quietly.

“Speaking of hard things, I’m on an absolute power high and really need you.” He said, never one to beat around the bush, well they’d done it once in a bush.

“Give me 10 minutes,” she told him.

“I’ll be waiting in the secret hallway, near potions?” y/n nodded and Fred disappeared off to wait for her, hoping no one would stop him on his way there.

Y/n went up to her dorm room, quickly knocking back a few shots before fixing her makeup and making her hair look less flat. Hermione saw her sneak through the common room and sent her a wink, making the girl blush as she slipped out into the main castle.

It was a Saturday night, and everyone would be gathered in their common rooms by now if there wasn’t already a party going on, so the castle was quiet as she walked through it. Footsteps sounded from somewhere in front of her. The girl slipped inside the transfiguration class, keeping the door just ajar to see filch walk past. Seconds past before she ran back out and straight to the secret passageway her and Fred had discovered a few months prior.

“Fred?” She called out quietly, not able to see him yet. He came out of the shadows with a smirk on his face and rested on the cold stone wall.

“Hello beautiful.” He said, as she took no time to jump on him. Y/n wrapped her legs around his waist, immediately enthralled in his kiss and the slight taste of licorice that seemed to constantly linger on his tongue.

“It’s been so- so hard not to just come f-fuck you right away,” She moaned admittedly between breaths, struggling to speak over the sheer lust coursing through her body.

Fred’s hands played across her neck, rough as always from the cold air, and travelled across her body. He didn’t dare waste time taking off clothes, and grabbed her waist to push her away. She gasped at the sudden lack of touch, but obeyed his every move as the boy laid himself down on the cold steps. Y/n knew what to do. Fred pulled out his cock as she took off her panties from beneath her skirt. She straddled his lap, letting him slip inside her.

In that moment, as their heads were involuntarily thrown back, both groaned out with immense pleasure. Y/n knew how cocky Fred would get after a quidditch win, this position being their own kind of celebration. But there was something different about the boy this time.

He was pounding harder, and deeper, and encouraging the girl’s sweet moans every time one slipped from between her beautiful lips. She could feel his grip, tighter than ever, leaving little finger sized bruises on her hips as she rocked back and forth.

The sheer size of his cock inside her made y/n tense up, Fred having no choice but to speed up.

She screamed, suddenly very appreciative of the passageways seclusion, her chest heaving as the girl had to take a second to adjust to the growing desire in the pit of her stomach.

“You’re close aren’t you?” Fred laughed, revelling in how good he was making her feel. Y/n could only nod in response, her lip tight in her teeth. The boy laughed again, but she could never feel nervous around him.

A hand came up to her neck, she felt it first before she saw it. He clenched the sides with his long fingers as y/n gasped out. He watched her moan lightly, almost begging incoherently as he got her closer and closer.

One last push with his hand made the girl scream, her pussy tighter than he’d ever felt it before. The boy struggled to hold back much longer, pushing her off so he could cum.

“Fuck,” Fred groaned.

“Please, promise me one thing.” Y/n asked, making her boyfriend frown.

“What?”

“Never let anyone else be captain again,” She gasped, still worn out from how ruthless he’d been with her.

#fred weasley #fred and goerge weasley #weasley twins #weasley #fred x y/n #fred x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #harry potter #smut #weasley smut #weasley twins smut #fred smut #fred weasley smut #y/n #reader #quidditch #captain #daddy

952 notes · View notes

krabmeat · 3 years

Text

I have not written anything in some time - since I took a break from my writing account, actually (now deleted) - so cut me some slack here. I’m gonna format this in the same way that I did my old fics for that jolt of serotonin. So, if you would be so kind to indulge me, this is how I (niceimafan) would have submitted this work on fandoesfictionwriting:

What War Does || (platonic) Father Figure c!Phil x Teen gn!Reader

A/N: This is my submission for the 100 follower milestone of the lovely @/krabmeat! Krabs (Damien today) is an amazing friend of mine and is quite possibly the best human being in the world. (Go follow him if you haven’t already!)

War struggles paired with the classic familial miscommunication, what could be better as a way for me to get back into writing? This takes place around the time of Doomsday, or the final battle/destruction. Also I can’t remember if Wilbur’s room was still there at the time of Doomsday because I have goldfish memory so pretend it was if it wasn’t.

Requested: No

{Word Count: 1,946}

CW: intense arguing, mentions of war, mentions of death, cursing (up to the f-word), caps, use of godforsaken (I don’t know if people get triggered by that? I’m not religious so I wouldn’t know), very brief mention of spit, less than great relationship with father

This is an xreader fic!

This has been proofread. (skimmed rip I don’t like reading my writing)

- In which Y/N and Phil argue about Y/N and their right to participate in Doomsday. -

Phil works away high in the sky, loading cannons with enough TNT to detonate a nation. He, Techno, and Dream have everything planned out; you know because they did all of the planning right in front of you. Meaning you know everything they are going to do, and you aren’t even allowed to be involved.

You avert your eyes from your father and pick mindlessly at some grass instead, feeling the cold breeze of afternoon cool your flaming temper. For a moment, it appears as though everything might be fine, like you could get over this and let the Big War Men do their thing. But then Phil’s boots appear in front of you, and it’s all ruined again.

“You look miserable,” he says. Phil finishes his sentence with an airy laugh, trying to convey that he’s trying to joke with you. And so you make sure that the gaze you shoot him ensures he understands you do not find him humorous. Phil sighs, taking a seat beside you.

“Look, I understand that you want to help. I do! But I also understand that people with a spirit as strong as yours have risen to unimaginable heights, only to crash back down onto the blade of loss. And I fear that you will be no different.” Phil places his hand on your shoulder. “I just want you to be safe.”

You shrug him off, turning your neck so fast to glare at him it leaves a sharp stinging sensation in your movement’s wake. “Safe? You want me to be safe? No one is safe here, and you know that.”

“Y/N, you know-”

“What, Phil? What do I know? Because according to you, it doesn’t seem like a lot.” You stand after that, stomping off in an attempt to clear your mind, hoping Phil won’t follow you. But, of course, he does.

“Y/N, wait.” He shouts, but he makes no move to speed up or stop you. He simply follows along at a distance, saying nothing else. Probably waiting for you to make the first move. But you refuse, you refuse to let him win this and watch you break again.

And so the two of you walk in silence, you with no destination in mind and Phil’s footsteps echoing yours calmly in the distance. All you can do is follow your feet to wherever they find fit for this argument to play out.

To your amusement, you find yourself in Wilbur’s old room. Where he blew up his dreams for the first time and where Phil took the life of his son. How fitting.

You finally come to a stop, taking a brief moment to collect yourself, before spinning around on your heel to address your father. “Ph- Phil?” It does shock you to find that Phil isn’t there. He’s not standing behind you with a small, comforting smile, or with his eyebrows pinched together in a way that lets you know you’re going to be scolded. Nothing.

“You dress like him, you know.” Phil says from behind you. You whirl around again, reaching for your sword on instinct. Phil stands with his hands clasped behind his back, staring out over the soon-to-be battlegrounds.

“What?” It feels like you’ve lost all air in your lungs. Phil doesn’t just say things like that, especially not to you. And of course you know who he’s talking about; Techno doesn’t wear tattered trench coats and Tommy hasn't adorned ripped up fingerless gloves to protect from burns, to your knowledge. But speaking of Wilbur when referring to another child of his in this room in particular hit you in a place you have not yet built walls in.

“Wilbur. You dress like him.” Phil turns around, and you finally see that his eyes are watering. But he still has that sympathetic smile plastered on his face. “Every day, you remind me of him. And in doing so, you remind me that I can not let you turn out the way that Will did.

“Wilbur was changed by war. He destroyed everything he worked for because of it. And for that to happen to you, with such grand dreams and ideas, it would be heartbreaking.” Phil can’t maintain eye contact with you anymore, “I just want you to be everything that Wilbur couldn’t have been.”

You let his words sink in, and as they do, you begin to fight with yourself.

He just wants to help you!

How, by comparing me to his dead son? Yeah, something about that doesn’t feel right.

Just hear him out.

You grit your teeth, balling up and releasing your fingers into and out of fists. “I am not Wilbur.”

Phil shakes his head, rubbing the place where his eyebrows crease together. “I know that, and that’s not what I’m trying to sa-”

“Yes, that is exactly what you just said!” You begin to raise your voice, getting tired of this stupid game you two are playing with each other. Lying about what you’re really talking about to try and avoid the inevitable. “You just compared me to your dead son that went crazy and blew up everyone’s homes! The one that sold drugs out of a damn hot dog van!”

The air around you seemed to heat up as tensions between you two started to rise, Phil clearly getting more angry as well. “You are not Wilbur, but you are my child!”

“Oh, am I? Am I, Philza? And how long have I been your child for, huh? My whole life, a year, a few months, just this past hour? You have been trying and failing to be my father figure because you just see me as some rogue that could get too far out of control unless you’re there. Isn’t that right?”

“No, of course not. I just-”

“No! How could I have not realized? You just want a replacement! Someone to fill the hole that was left in your poor old heart when you stabbed your son through the chest.”

“I love you, Y/N, you don’t understand! You are like a child to me, you always have been! From the moment that I met you, I saw greatness in you. I swear, you mean more to me than just some replacement for Wilbur.”

Tears burn your eyes, the singular one that fell leaving a streak through the gunpowder and dirt smudged on your cheeks. You shake your head and scoff, unable to believe that this is the conversation you are currently stuck in. “Phil, that’s the kind of bullshit that you have to tell yourself in order to sleep at night. But guess what? It doesn’t work on me.”

“It doesn’t have to ‘work on you’, it’s just the truth, Y/N. I don’t know how I can get you to believe me.”

“You can’t, Phil.” You say, trying to ignore the way your voice cracks. “Because I have believed people, and then those people have either died, or tried to kill me, or both. So you know what I did? I grew up, Phil. Because THAT is what war does.

“It doesn’t make you write sad song lyrics on the walls, it doesn’t make you love your father figure oh so dearly, all it does is make you realize that there is more in this world to deal with than whatever any one person can do. And once you wrap your head around that, you realize that the best you can do is make the smallest of dents, and hope some other people do the same. That is how this world works, Phil.

“And do you know what my dent is going to be?” Phil has blurred by now. Once you blink the tears away, you can see that he’s crying too. Good. Now you’re really on the same page. “Blowing up this godforsaken nation once and for all.”

You turn to walk away again, hopefully for the last time, but Phil actually makes a move to stop you before you can get anywhere. “Y/N, I refuse to allow you to go out there and risk your life for a war already fought.”

“No war is already fought until people are dead.” You snap at him, resisting the urge to spit on his boots. “Besides, I can handle myself, I don’t need you to tell me who I can and can’t fight.”

“Y/N, I am your father!” Phil’s voice practically echoes through the entire SMP as he shouts at you, finally just as mad as you wanted him to be. You’re convinced people on the other side of L’Manberg can hear you two arguing. “Listen to me, you can not risk this.”

“YOU ARE NO FATHER TO ME!” You scream, getting your face as close to Phil’s as possible while still being able to look into both of his eyes. Phil’s eyes widen, whether in pain, shock, or both, you don’t know, but he quickly recovers with a stare solid enough to cut through stone.

“Do NOT turn this argument to family matters when we are discussing life and death!”

“This is no longer a discussion, dad,” you make sure to add as much venom to the name as possible, “We are not talking this out like a father scolds his young kid about what they can and can not touch in the house. We are screaming, and shouting, and ruining relationships like adults.” You try one more time to walk out. This time you make it down to the ground floor, but Phil follows you yet again, stopping you before you can reach the Prime Path.

“You aren’t an adult, though.” Phil’s voice is softer now, he sounds like he’s on the verge of defeat. “You’re still a kid. You shouldn’t have to deal with all of this.”

“I was made an adult because of this damn war over some stupid place, I should be able to fight for it’s destruction like one.” You also stop shouting, but you don’t soften your voice. You keep it as firm as it can be despite your wobbly crying, letting Phil know that you are no longer playing games with him like you used to.

“I know that you could. I do. But that does not mean that you should.”

“Awwe, you really think so?” You feign a high-pitched voice, even clasping your hands together under your chin. “You honestly think that I can handle something more than a boo-boo, huh?”

“You know that I am making no attempt to infantilize you, Y/N. If you’re such an adult, you need to grow up. I do believe that you could fight for us, but I do not see it as wise.”

“Bullshit,” you say again, wiping at your eyes with your sleeve. Phil tries to speak again, but you cut him off. “No. No! No, I don’t want you to tell me over and over about what I can and can’t do. About how you think I could be a good ally to you. I already know that, because I can make my own decisions.

“Do you know what I do want, Philza? I bet that’s something that your infinitely wise mind can’t think of. All that I want, all that I have wanted for the past SIX. FUCKING. YEARS. Is for you to just take me seriously for once in your damn life!”

Philza stands there in silence, seemingly dumbfounded, and you take this as your chance to stomp off for good. But you know full well that you’ll see Phil tomorrow. On the battlefield.

But you won’t be fighting for him, or Tommy, or Wilbur, or any of them. Tomorrow, you fight for yourself, and you win for yourself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

DUDE WHAT?!?!?! INK THIS IS IMMACULATE HOW IN THE- WHAT THE F-CK THE WAY YOU CAPTURE THE ANGER AND FEELINGS AND HESITATION OF THE ARGUMENT IS SO WELL DONE!! AND THE FLOW OF TRANSITIONING FROM ONE SETTING TO ANOTHER ISNT CLUMPY OR FORCED AT ALL, THIS IS ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL INK! AND THE BUILDUP TO THE QUOTE, THE WAY YOU REALLY EMBODY ALL OF THE CHARACTERS IS SO MASTERFULLY DONE DEAR, AMAZING JOB!!!

#submission #hope you dont mind the tags ajdjslsol #xreader #x reader #platonic #platonic x reader #platonic xreader #c!phil x reader #c!phil x teen!reader #father figure c!phil #angst #dreamsmp x reader #dsmp x reader #dream smp x reader #writing event

85 notes · View notes

talonwings · 3 years

Text

Who We Are - Empires SMP writing

a gift for you, empiresblr, courtesy of my now 5 hours of fWhip headcanons. feel free to kill me when you're done. (also sorry i don't yet have an AO3 i can link to, i've been on the wait list foreeevvveerrr).

CW for slight body horror, angst, and i guess suffocation kind of?

“fWhip? Hello? Are you in here?”

He heard the call--how could he not have, when the voice was hers? Still, he did not move, remaining where he slumped against the wall of the underground room. One of the redstone crystals blooming from the stone was jammed against his shoulder blade, but even the pain could not entice him to rise.

“fWhip, come out!” Gem’s voice was a mixture of frustration and concern, a tone he rarely heard from her--well, the frustration he had heard before, but the worry was new. Gem almost never fretted about anything; it was how she had kept him and Sausage so well in line up until now.

“I’m going to come down there!” The threat echoed down the passageway that separated the secret room from the unassuming shopfront above it. “I know where your lair is, it isn’t a secret! Don’t make me come down there!”

“Don’t,” fWhip rasped. “Please.”

Gem either couldn’t or didn’t hear him. “I’m giving you one minute, and then I’m coming down there whether you like it or not!”

“Please,” he tried again, but his voice would not obey him. It petered out almost as soon as it passed his lips. He licked them, swallowed, coughed, tried a third time. “Gem, please, go away.”

This time, it seemed, she did hear, for she answered, “I will not go away! Nobody’s seen you in two weeks, fWhip! We’re worried sick!”

“I’m fine,” he croaked--a lie.

“You don’t sound fine,” she retorted. “I’m coming down.”

He opened his mouth to warn her off again, but the tell-tale sound of the painting door sliding back masked whatever he might have tried to say. Seconds later, her footsteps started up, the familiar click of those heeled purple boots getting ever louder as she marched along the passageway toward his laboratory.

fWhip’s gaze darted around in a panic, searching out anyplace that would be suitable to hide. He hadn’t moved from his current spot in over twelve hours, and his limbs protested as he shoved himself violently to his feet, teetering off-balance from the unfamiliar motion. Finally, he settled on a small cranny near the back of the chamber, and limped over to it, cramming himself inside just as Gem’s footfalls indicated that she had reached the door to the lab itself. He heard her swing it open, and then her voice, much clearer now, softly called, “fWhip? Where are you?”

“Go away,” he replied, hating the stony rasp that he couldn’t seem to get rid of now. “Don’t want to see you.”

“Well, that’s just rude,” she replied. He could imagine the look on her face, and fought against the lump it brought to his throat. He wanted to apologize, to beg for her forgiveness, to throw himself into her arms.

“Didn’t ask you to come,” he croaked instead.

“No, actually, Jimmy did,” Gem replied waspishly. “Your enemy. You remember him? The one you stole his most precious possession from? He sent me a message three days ago to tell me he hadn’t seen or heard from you in over a week. Mind you, this was after I’d been questioned by Sausage, Pearl, and Shrub as to why you’ve missed the last two alliance meetings. fWhip, even your enemies are worried about you. Where have you been?”

Oh, if only you knew. His mouth twisted with a hateful, bitter little smile. “Busy.”

Gem audibly scoffed. “Right.”

“Leave, Gem.” The order tasted strange in his mouth, when he desperately wanted her to stay.

“Not until I see you.” He heard her start moving around the room, picking things up and nudging them with her feet, rearranging boxes and sliding barrels aside as she searched.

“Leave.” The cranny was small, but he squashed himself further inside anyway, stone scraping against all the places where his skin was exposed.

“Are you back there?” His stomach squeezed with terror as he heard her move toward him, squeezing between two of the suspension tubes where he had once stored specimens he was researching. “I can’t see you.”

“Please, leave, please.” If he couldn’t order her, he could at least beg her. “Gem, please, if you care about me at all, go away.”

“fWhip, I do care about you,” she said gently. “That’s why I’m here in the first place. Please come out. I just want to know you’re safe.”

He could feel his heart ripping itself in half--desperation to hide warring violently with the desire to finally be seen, even if it would cost him everything. It felt like it might burn a hole in his chest, and his hands tightened reflexively into fists as he battled himself for what seemed an eternity.

“Please, little brother,” Gem whispered.

It was as if she had caved his chest in. A sob dragged itself from his throat before he could stop it, but he finally let himself unfurl from the cranny to drape limply across the floor, gazing up at his sister’s blue-violet eyes as they widened in shock, which turned to horror, which turned to sorrow.

“Oh, fWhip…” Gem reached out a hand toward him, but hesitated, drawing her fingers back before she could reach him. “What happened?”

“You really want to know?” He had to shove back another sob with a monumental effort, watching the way her fingers trembled as she gazed at him. “Or do you want to leave, like I told you to before?”

“No, I would never,” she gasped. “Not now. Not like this.” She sat down on the floor, her violet cloak flowing behind her like a pool of silky water, and slid closer to him, although not quite close enough for their hands to touch. “Tell me what happened.”

He let his eyes drift away from hers, toward the ceiling and the red crystals dripping from its shadowy recesses. “Well, it began two weeks ago.”

Two weeks earlier…

fWhip was not a stranger to surprises, but he liked receiving them far less than he liked planning them.

It had been a long elytra flight from the undisclosed location of the Wither Rose headquarters back to his home in the Grimlands, and the multiple hours in the air were wearing on his body--even though he had been wearing his scarlet goggles for the duration, his eyeballs still ached as if the wind had been hammering them, as did his shoulder blades from the yank and drift of the elytra against his own muscles.

“Maybe next time I take a horse,” he muttered to himself as he angled in for the landing. The deepslate roofs of the Grimlands were beginning to glide by beneath him now, and he made for the circular patch of dirt at the back of the manor that was his customary landing site, his eyes trained on it until something else caught his attention.

“I am positive that was not there before…” One hand came up to tap his chin as his gaze caught on the massive outcrop of deepslate that had bloomed at the front corner of the manor gardens, studded with glinting redstone crystals. A darker shadow within the ring-shaped formation suggested there might possibly be a hole there, though how deep was indiscernible from this far above.

“If somebody has been trying to steal from me again--wait.” fWhip narrowed his eyes at the spot, investigating it more closely now, for it seemed more familiar the closer he drew. He could vaguely recall setting a circle of rocks within the closed hedges, and in their center, a red container, filled with--

“Damn! Xornoth again!” His breath huffed out harshly as he realized what had happened. First the explosion, and now this…

Veering off-course from his typical spot, he carefully glided down until he was low enough to snap the elytra closed and drop gracefully to the ground between the wide hedge rows. From down here, the deepslate ring seemed much larger than it had from the air, its jagged edges stabbing into the blue sky. He could tell now that there was, indeed, a hole at the center, exactly where he had placed the shulker-box filled with Xornoth’s corruption.

“Damn,” he whispered again. He edged closer, peering carefully at the hole as he neared in an attempt to see what might be at the bottom. It appeared to be deeper than he was tall, however, and he was forced to maneuver up to the very lip of the hole to get a good look at the bottom. Thankfully, there did seem to be a bottom, lurking maybe ten feet below the surface; the depths of the hole were quite dark, though, only dimly illuminated by patches of glimmering red crystals, and he was unable to determine much more than that.

fWhip wondered, briefly, if he ought to just ignore the hole. Common sense would seem to suggest that it was involved with Xornoth in some way, and therefore worthy of at least being avoided for the time being until he could request the help of his allies. fWhip, however, whether fortunately or not, had always been availed of a strong sense of curiosity--it was how he had developed so many of his gadgets and tools. Besides that, there was something about the depths of the small hole that seemed to call to him, and him specifically.

He glanced around, taking stock of who might be nearby in case he needed to call for help, and saw no one in the immediate vicinity. There was a groundskeeper’s cottage just on the other side of the hedge row, but he had no way of knowing whether anyone might be inside.

“Well, I suppose I’ll just have to take a chance,” he murmured. “Here goes.”

Gingerly, he sat down at the edge of the hole, dangling his legs off the side and exploring for possible footholds. It took him a minute, but his toes finally caught on a ledge, and he was able to hoist himself down and into the vertical shaft. Thankfully, the same jagged-edged property of deepslate that made it look menacing also made it excellent for climbing, and he had relatively little difficulty lowering himself the full ten or eleven feet to the bottom, where his feet landed on solid stone. Looking up, he was surprised how dim the sky seemed to be after such a short descent.

Now what? he thought to himself as he gazed around at the narrow walls on all sides. Surely I didn’t make an ass of myself climbing down here for no reason.

He had but a few seconds to wonder, as a strange hiss caught his attention, echoing from the rock walls. He couldn’t tell where it was coming from, but the small hole began rapidly to fill with a reddish mist, which, when he inhaled it, made the inside of his nose and throat burn as if he had inhaled fire. He coughed, accidentally inhaled again, and coughed more violently, and still the stuff spewed into the cavern, and he began to wonder whether this was a trap, and whether he had been an idiot for climbing down here, and whether his allies--his friends, his sister--would find his corpse rotting down here. His hands scrabbled for handholds to lever himself back up, but the mist had filled his eyes now, and it stung, forcing him blindly to his knees. He couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, could barely think. Lights danced behind his eyelids, and his throat was a tunnel of fire, and then he was unconscious, and knew no more.

Present day…

“And the next thing I knew, I woke up. And...this.” fWhip gestured down to himself, unable to keep his mouth from curling like he had tasted something sour. “Or, well, part of it.”

“Part of it?” Gem cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, it was just the wings at first.” He tugged at the grey-black appendages, hating that he could feel it when his fingers brushed the leathery flesh. “And to be honest, I thought they were awesome. Who hasn’t dreamed of having wings? Sure, they looked a little gargoyle-ish, but it seemed like a small price to pay for not having to use elytra anymore. And it felt like the redstone magic was helping me, maybe giving me a gift to fight against Xornoth. I thought it might be something good.”

“And then…” Gem prompted when he trailed off.

“And then...the rest started,” he whispered. “I tried to ignore it at first. I thought maybe I was hallucinating, or getting sick, because it started with just my eyes, and I felt like maybe it would go away if I just, I don’t know, pretended not to notice. But then it was my skin, and then my hands, and then...and then my face.” He turned away from her as a visible shudder made its way through him. “I look disgusting.”

“Why didn’t you call us for help?” Gem murmured.

“Because it was my fault it happened!” he growled, shaking his head. “Because I was an idiot and went down that hole and breathed in that gas, and now I’m a monster, and I have no one to blame but myself. Because I couldn’t wait for you.”

“fWhip, no!” He could see the glimmer of moisture in her eyes, and he hated himself even more for it, for making her upset. “It isn’t your fault. You didn’t know what would happen, and you’ve always been an investigator. And now you’ve had to suffer alone, and I had no idea, and…” Her voice caught. “I was so worried. I thought maybe the demon…and especially after those dreams...”

He swallowed. “I...I’m sorry. I just...I didn’t know how to face everyone like this.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, simply listening to their own breaths. Finally, Gem said, “It doesn’t look that bad, you know.”

fWhip eyed her dubiously. “Gem, I look like a gargoyle. Like some kind of…” The word demon couldn’t force itself out, but he could see she understood, for she vigorously shook her head.

“No, you don’t look anything like that,” she said. After a long pause, she quietly added, “You look like my little brother.”

He tried, but couldn’t stop the tears from sliding down his cheeks. “Thanks,” he whispered.

She reached over and finally took his hand, and he almost shouted with joy at the touch of another person; her skin was warm and soft, her delicate tiny fingers gentle as they closed around his rough, clawed ones.

“We’ll figure this out,” she promised. “Together.”

He nodded, and squeezed her hand. “Together.”

#empires smp #mcyt #fwhip #geminitay #xornoth #c!fwhip #c!geminitay #cw body horror #cw suffocation #enjoy this #i suck #angst #writing

59 notes · View notes

emmys-grimoire · 3 years

Text

Lesson 56 analysis + 57 predictions

I was right and wrong! Nothing unusual.

The Belphie-Diavolo arc continues and we go to meet up with Diavolo, only to discover it wasn't him who paged us, but his captor. We go to confront the captor who threatens us with a gun and Diavolo seems pretty carefree and oblivious about the man's true intent until he freaks out and attempts to shoot Belphie. MC can use their magic to protect him, but he informs us that bullet don't harm him anyway. A lightbulb seems to finally go off in Diavolo's head and he realizes what is happening, and he transforms and seems adamant about punishing the assailant. Belphie learns how much Diavolo cares about him and goes all tsundere-y throughout the rest of the lesson.

The big thing that happens is the Diavolo background bits and his confession + kiss. I anticipate there was much squeeing, but it was pretty standard confession fare. I have a harder time getting into it because we didn't really have any big bonding moment with him prior to him apparently falling for us.

But whatever. There are some interesting bits to comb through!

Raphael: Misunderstood?

We find out in the beginning of this lesson that Belphegor has a much higher opinion of Raphael than the rest of the brothers, that seems to have stemmed from Raphael once saving him when he got lost in the forest back in the Celestial Realm.

Up until this point, all associations with Raphael have been negative. This gives us some background on why he might be irritable and snide all the time, because Michael is also noted to be a sadist by Simeon, who enjoys making harsh demands of his underlings. He might be a hint resentful and taking it out on the brothers? That might be multiplied if Michael clearly goes easier on them due to favoritism in spite of all their troublemaking. I think that'd kind of make sense.

They like to put emphasis on how secretly malevolent the Seraphim are -- that they're duplicitously evil. Not sure how much they're actually trying to hide it, though? It sounds like Raphael was pretty upfront about how he felt about everything.

Diavolo's Flaws

We find out that Diavolo is actually aware of his penchant for using his royal status to get those around him to do what he wants. We also find out that his mother died giving birth to him, and his father was very strict in raising him. He was sheltered, and not allowed to speak with anyone outside of the castle.

Getting Tywin Lannister vibes. Diavolo isn't sure whether or not his father hates him for being responsible for his beloved wife's death.

In spite of being sheltered from the outside world, Diavolo still manages to meet Barbatos, which I think confirms that Barbatos was not always in their service. I was wrong that Barbatos's employment was connected to his father's machinations, though: it was Diavolo who twisted his arm into it, because Diavolo desperately wanted a friend and became enamored with the stories of the outside world that Barbatos told him.

Diavolo threatened to abdicate his throne if Barbatos didn't stay. Which is actually... kind of an asshole move? I imagine he refused for a reason, and Diavolo taking the throne was apparently very important to his father (and probably the Devildom as a whole if the succession would be muddled).

I don't think at this point Barbatos minds, but I wouldn't blame him if he initially did resent Diavolo.

Diavolo has demonstrated he has the ability to sense lies and he's a good judge of character, so him being unable to ascertain whether or not his father or Barbatos really likes him seems noteworthy. I think Barbatos is the best fake smiler among them, but he's been at Diavolo's side the longest.

He has a surprising amount of insecurities when it comes to his closest relationships, but I'm afraid a lot of it is his own fault: if he hadn't extorted Barbatos and instead Barbatos entered his service of his own free will, he probably wouldn't need to second guess the butler's intentions. Additionally, if he didn't demand Lucifer make a vow in exchange for his sister's life, there's a chance that maybe it'd be easier for Lucifer to open up and get closer to him like a friend naturally would.

And then maybe he wouldn't have spent most of season 2 worrying over how Lucifer may respond to bad news!

But he's growing out of it. Sort of. I'd be wary of him trying to strongarm MC into a decision they may not necessarily want to make, though, even now. Maybe especially now given his apparent attachment to them.

Barbatos scheming

Barbatos is being schemey!

I have a feeling this involves the information Luke relayed to him about a potential rift growing between Michael and Simeon. I would not be surprised if Barbatos has actually peered into the future and knows what Michael might be planning, and he's positioning himself to counter it.

I was hoping hard mode or the subnode would shed more light on what this conversation entailed, but nope, it was just more fluff. I doubt they were just discussing dinner, though.

Predictions

This lesson was more Diavolo-centric than I expected but that's hardly unwelcome. Like expected, it was a good fluffy lesson in spite of the, uh, grim background.

The brothers behaved for once and didn't intrude upon our bonding experience with Diavolo and Belphegor.

We didn't actually receive a star for this trial, which is... odd. Maybe we'll receive it in the beginning of the following lesson, or perhaps this romp wasn't a trial? It'd be the first one that wasn't. I'll be really surprised if they go for another twofer and don't give Lucifer his own special arc.

I was expecting to be rewarded our star and having the lesson end on a cliffhanger but it feels like the next lesson will be the beginning of the final arc. Outside of Barbatos's potential maneuvering, we weren't given any further information on what Michael may be planning.

If Season 2's format is any indicator, the next lesson is when everything suddenly hits the fan. I sense another sudden exposition dump on the horizon.

They did mention going to yet another space-themed park but that sounds like it'd be too... samey. Also not a place that sounds like it'd be Lucifer's cup of tea.

I'd be willing to bet Barbatos will play a part in the finale and by extension so will time travel (again), but other than that I got nothing. If Michael is aware of Barbatos's powers -- and he may very well be -- maybe he'll be the one who manages one hell of a Xanatos Gambit and try to turn it to his advantage. I'd be surprised if he wasn't similarly prepared, particularly if he's plotted and meddled with Devildom affairs in the past.

But I'm not even entirely sure what he really wants yet, and that drives everything.

The most straightforward motivation would be getting the brothers back, but he must know they would never willingly go back presently and we're not even entirely sure daddy would want them back. I theorized that he might be trying to get MC to turn the demon brothers back to their angel selves but there really hasn't been much progress shown in that regard.

I do expect our meddling in the flashbacks will have some unforeseen consequences which Michael alluded to, but I still don't know exactly what and I'm not entirely convinced that they will actually be to his benefit.

He might want to change the past, prevent whatever triggered Lucifer to start hating their father and/or stop him from meeting Diavolo and growing more and more doubtful about the Celestial Realm's intent... but he already had that opportunity when MC went back in time, and he would have to find a way to manipulate Barbatos into getting him to that specific point in time. If he's in league with Solomon, he could feasibly do that via the pact but...

Are we really betting on a villainous Michael-Solomon tag team? idk man

And Barbatos can just eliminate that timeline fork with a snap of his fingers, like he did before.

I guess I'm finding out along with you guys. Again!

#obey me #obey me!#obey me lesson 56 #obey me spoilers #obey me lesson 57 #obey me barbatos #obey be belphegor #obey me diavolo #obey be michael #obey me solomon #analysis #commentary #obey me season 3

109 notes · View notes

alabasterswriting · 3 years

Text

A Thousand Answers

Because I need more Anakin and Leia content, and I will fill that tag with my own two hands if I have to.

You can find it in AO3 format here, if you prefer that:)

Enjoy!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She calls to him just once, reaching into the Force with the hesitance of a child and the determination of a grieving mother, and his response is immediate. Standing before her, a shimmering blue spectre of the past. He waits, giving her the courtesy of control. It’s kinder than the one he gave her in life.

He’s not what she expected, achingly young and handsome instead of the blackened monster of her nightmares. She’s not sure whether it helps or not, to see what was. The man she came from instead of the beast she knew. She supposes it doesn’t matter. A fresh body does not a fresh start make, and she doesn’t intend to give him that start. Not yet. Maybe not ever. She’s not the forgiving type and she has the feeling neither is he.

She hates the similarity, but it makes it easier. They know where they stand.

“I have a question for you,” she says. Her gaze rests on the horizon, unable to look at this man who looks so much like her brother and her son, with her chin and her countenance.

He tilts his head, the Force rippling around her with the sensation. “I figured you might.”

Yes, he did, didn’t he? He knew what happened. What she’s lost. How could he not? The dead see all, and all that philosophical shit that never did her any good. “I have tried, for weeks now, to figure out what I did wrong. How I could have made a difference,” so that I didn’t lose him. “And I realized, that no matter what I did, nothing made any sense. I couldn’t change anything because I didn’t even know anything was wrong and I just—” she stops. Swallows her words. Pushes the deluge of emotions to the side and takes a breath. She’s rambling. Rambling to a monster, a man she despises; calling out to a beast for the comfort a father should give to his daughter and hating it.

She takes another breath. A question, she has one question and that’s it. “I need to know. What was it for you? What happened to you? I couldn’t help him, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help you, and I’ll be damned if someone else ever has to face this ugly pit I’ve found myself clawing through. So tell me. What was it that happened in your life that was so bad you turned yourself into a monster?”

He doesn’t speak for a moment. Mulling it over, perhaps. Or maybe trying to find all the problems he’d faced and gift it to her as an excuse. She wonders if she’ll buy it. If it will somehow fill the black hole that’s mawed through her chest and give her some semblance of comfort.

How far she’s fallen. Looking for comfort from a monster.

He shifts above her. He’s too tall and she’s too short, and sitting on the ground gives her no favors in this regard, but the Force paints a picture in her mind of his movements as he drifts along the physical world to sit beside her. He’s not close. He wants to be, but he knows she wouldn’t appreciate it. They’re too alike and she knows that down to her marrow.

It’s a comfort that she doesn’t want, but takes anyway. A monster remembering his humanity.

“Do you want the truth, or a history lesson?” He asks. His voice is soft and boyish, so different from the booming mechanical bark in her memories.

She snorts. “I never liked history. It’s biased and painted over far too often by victors looking to rationalize their crimes.”

He nods. She can feel it like a warm breeze against her cheek. “True. We share that sentiment.”

“And yet you did it anyway.”

He shrugs. “As did you. History is written by the victors and you are a victor.”

“Your answer,” she states, because their victories were not the same and his history a figment of a blackened mind.

He stares at her. It prickles the hair along her neck and pulls her in until her gaze has drifted from blue skies to blue eyes. They’re electric and sad and commanding from one General to another. “My answer? I could give you a thousand answers, Leia, and none of them would be enough. There are no explanations I can give that would give you the answer you want, and there are not enough reasons in the galaxy to excuse what I did.”

“Then why? If there are no reasons, then why? Why did he—” no.

“I said that there were no reasons to excuse it, not that there were not reasons at all.” He leans in and she despises how much comfort it brings her. How warm he feels in the Force, for all that it soothes her because if a monster like Darth Vader can be that warm then surely there’s hope. “But I made a choice, Leia. I did. Not Obi-Wan. Not your mother. Not the Jedi or Palpatine. Me. Just as your son made his choice. Whatever part you played in his reasons are not an excuse for his actions, and wherever he goes from here are up to him.”

She swallows. It’s acid in her throat and a pressure behind her eyes. She hates how he can pick her apart to find the truths she hides from herself. The blame she’s trying to place. She searches his face for something -- anything that she can grab hold of and use to pull herself up from the depths she’s fallen into. “Can he come back? Like you?”

He smiles. It looks like Luke. It looks like her. It looks like her son. “Anyone can come back. It’s just a matter of wanting to.”

“And if he doesn’t want to?”

“Then that’s his choice.” He raises his hand to brush aside the tear on her cheek, before thinking better of it and bringing to his lap. She’s not sure why that hurts. “You can’t make his choices for him.”

“Then what can I do?”

“Fight. Hope. Keep him in your heart and remember who he was even when he forgets, then get up and move forward. You can’t go back, Leia, and you can’t force him to be someone he doesn’t want to be.”

Her throat is scraped raw as she says, “It hurts.”

“It does. But if there’s anything I know about you, it’s that you don’t give up when there’s still work to do.”

“Learn that from the Force, did you?”

He smirks. It’s lopsided and reminds her of a puppy. “Actually, I learned that from a young girl who lied to my face after being caught blatantly performing treason.”

“Yes, well, treason seems to be my middle name.”

“Hm, Leia Treason Organa. Catchy.”

“Fits better than Leia Amidala Skywalker.”

“I don’t know. I’m quite partial to that one.”

“You don’t get to be partial to it. She doesn’t exist.”

“No, I guess she doesn’t,” and it aches, somewhere inside her and inside the Force that that’s true. But the Force isn’t kind, and neither is the past, and Leia Organa has never had the luxury.

“Your mother would be proud, at least. Both of them.”

Her mother, the Queen of Alderaan, who wiped away tears and taught her strength, and her mother, the Queen of Naboo, who loved her despite never knowing her.

“And my father?”

He smirks. It’s sad, twisted with the knowledge of where they stand. “Immeasurably.”

“I don’t mean you.”

“I know.”

But he is. And she did. A little. She’ll give him this, and allow herself the fantasy.

Leia Organa does not spend long in fantasies. She shutters her gaze and pulls back. “Will you help him, then, while I’m off committing treason? Talk to him, or whatever it is dead people do in the Force.”

“I can’t talk to him, Leia. He won’t listen.”

“He might.” She’s not a fool. She knows how her son took Darth Vader into his mind and twisted him into an ideal to strive for. He may not listen to her, with all that hatred and resentment she still doesn’t understand, but he may for a man he thinks he wants to be. “He idolizes you. He wants to be you. And I hate you, but I love him, and if a man like you can come back, then maybe he can too.”

“He has to want it first.”

“So tell him that. Make him want it.”

“Not quite how it works.”

“Luke made you.”

“Luke was a catalyst,” the ghost stresses. “But wanting, Leia. No one can make you want it, except yourself. Because wanting it means accepting you were wrong. It means accepting that all your rationalizations were just that. I means taking responsibility for what you’ve done, and that is significantly harder than just deciding to be good. It’s seeing what you were capable of, taking in all that horror and monstrosity, and accepting it. No one can make him do that, Leia. Not even me.”

“He idolizes you.” “He idolizes my mistakes. He idolizes my shame and horror and regrets. He doesn’t want Anakin Skywalker. He wants Darth Vader, and one does not exist without the other.”

And her son will not accept that. The knowledge stomps the pieces of her heart into powdered glass and she turns away. “So you can do nothing. You are just as powerless as I.”

For once. For the first time. The one time she wants him omnipotent and he’s all too human.

He nods, despondent, with her heartbreak in his eyes. “I can watch him for you. I can be a hand on his shoulder. But I can no more bring back your son than Obi-Wan could bring back me.”

“He has to do that himself.”

“Yes.”

She nods once, pulling together the shavings of her heart and gluing them together. It’s depressing how good she’s gotten at doing so. “I understand. Watch him, then. If no one else can, then...watch him.” Care for him, she wants to say. Love him. No one else will at this point and he will not let her in to do so.

He softens. The Force of him wraps her in a warm blanket and she thinks he understands what she can’t say. “I will.”

I’ll care for him, she hears. I’ll love him, until he lets you back in to do it yourself.

A promise of love from a monster shouldn’t bring her such peace, but if her family is to be made up of monsters and men and gods, then perhaps it’s time she learned to embrace it. She’s spent her whole life running from him and his legacy, and it’s only brought her pain.

Leia bows her head. Not forgiveness, not benediction, not even acceptance, but a chance. Recognition for the man he was and the man he’s trying to be again. “Thank you, Master Skywalker.”

Anakin smiles, like a puppy that has since grown old, and returns the gesture. “Always, Master Organa.”

And he’s gone, as if he was never there in the first place. A hole in her life. But the Force is warm around her, waiting for her to reach out again. She’s not sure she will. She’s not sure she wants to. But the choice is nice.

An olive branch should she ever decide to take it.

Around her, the world pulls back into focus. Naboo roses, fragrant and sweet, waft in from the garden and the crystal waters glimmer under the sunlight. It’ll be dark soon. Already, the air is beginning to chill.

She gets up, picking up her skirts and ambling back inside. There’s work to do and an uncertain future ahead.

Her son made his choices. It’s time she made hers.

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #my fanfiction #anakin skywalker #darth vader #leia organa #princess leia #ben solo #i will fill up anakin and leia's relationship with my own two hands if i have to #give me the father-daughter content i need #explanations are not excuses #yes leia is at the lake house

202 notes · View notes

jean-does-not-have-a-horseface · 4 years

Note

Heyo! I was wondering if you could do a scenario during the uprising arc where the reader starts to realize she has feelings for Levi but at first he rejects her? Then during the night before Shiganshina he realizes about her feelings and ends up returning them knowing he doesn't want her to get hurt or die? Some angst fluff please and thank you!

Okay anon you have no idea how much I enjoyed writing this. It's super long and I love how it came to me so naturally. I hope you enjoy

Warnings: a little angst!?

Tags: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

Promise

It all started at the sight of his wet fingertips grazing the broken rim of a teacup. A flutter, a feisty spark in your heart that seemed to drown it in full might had made its presence known to you in a very particular, unwanted moment. The flicker of a tiny flame danced before your eyes, sat at the frame of the window near the sink where you proceeded to rinse through washed dishes.

Levi's pale, chapped skin pulled on his knuckles leaving an unnatural yellowish white tone behind, indicating his involvement with excessive amounts of cleaning products. And for the first time, the sight really pulled a string in your poor heart in a way that was enough to convince you to break the dense silence in the room.

But maybe, you thought, Levi wouldn't want to talk to you.

With an unforgiving steel gaze he stared at your face, blinking in soft, yet erratical paces as you stopped plumping the water from running. In response your tongue was forced to slip inside your mouth and push any unspoken word back to its source, in the depths of your brain. All of a sudden you felt so afraid to talk, so petrified by the general idea of a three syllabus word that wouldn't ever spare the misery off of anyone.

Rejection

Captain seemed to be on the rejective side nevertheless so nothing regarding your newly discovered feelings would matter to him anyway, so in a way you blamed yourself for getting overwhelmed with this whole situation. A dark cloud of doubt shadowed your mind with the intention of interrogating your heart's intentions; perhaps you were mistaken. How on earth could you have been in love with the short man, you didn't know. There were far too many differences between the two of you, be it in appearance, mannerism or even -and more importantly- experiences. Supposing you had lived through similar occurances in battles outside the walls was enough for anyone to consider the two of you to be very alike, it was at least dishonorable to compare your childhood or teenage years to his.

"Nice hands" Of course you had managed to utter the most embarrassing choice of words to him, your mind could never cooperate with you when it came to such serious situations, something you hated so very much. The obnoxious dryness of your eyes was slowly migrating in the caves under your tongue, you could feel your mouth drying more and more by each passing second, yet you did nothing to prevent it.

Judging by Levi's puzzled expression which included his head slightly tilting forward as if to hear you better you knew he was as awestruck as you were at your own words. "I don't really understand where you're coming from but thank you, I guess." He spoke, the usual monotone tint staining his voice. You whipped your head back to a fixed position -on your hands this time- to stare down at the sink. The awkward glances you would throw at him went seemingly unnoticed and as time passed by you felt your tention overwhelming you, this time, completely.

Levi wasn't dense to any body language thrown at him and you were painfully aware. His cold eyes never spared you not even a half cornered look as he rubbed the little sponge on the soap bar next to him. His fingers danced on the ceramic plate, cleansing it in fast and very effective movements, leaving you staring in awe. Whether he was ignoring you on purpose or not you didn't know and you didn't want to seek an answer as to why but at this rate he would probably be the one to inquire why you were burning holes in his hands with your gaze. Again.

"I'm so sorry I'm fixated on your hands" Your mouth run, ignoring your mind's orders to stay shut "It's just-" Dammit think quick for once "You have nice nail beds."

There it was. The evidence that your words had actual brains and that they formed the most improper sentences on their own, just to torture you and push you deeper into piles of goowey, mushy shit. If Levi was anyone else he would have been laughing his ass of at the stupidness of your speech, you knew you would be laughing too if this wasn't as serious. Just as you were sure you heard a chuckle Levi placed the sponge on the bar of soap carefully and extended his arm, fully displaying his hand.

He seemed to study it like it was the first time he had ever even noticed it. The slick, long fingers, the oval shaped nails, his torn open knuckles. Perhaps you were kidding him for the lack of hair on the base of fingers he used to hold his blades with, those were burnt with years of being worn out by the steel triggers of the blades. He speculated this was common among most soldiers, so it didn't seem like a reason to be kidded for and in addition you never were the person to just spit senseless insults as jokes to your comrades.

"Is there even a point to talk about my hands? They're normal hands to me."

You bit your lip as your eyes widened in shock. Realisation hit you that this was probably more that absurd to Levi as it was to you, seeing you had started to talk about his hands out of nowhere. Your mind, in a state of panic, was in the midst of attempting to process every idiotic sentence you had the audacity to blurb out, but it never seemed to find an answer. Boiling with embarrassed, you wiped the water of your hands to your pants, an act that caught Levi's eye, and went to grab the first wooden chair that was in your path. You needed to sit down, to process whatever this was.

Yet, the only explanation you could find was that there was a raging wildfire in the pits of your stomach everytime your thoughts wandered on Levi. Yes, it was possible that what had started as an admiration, a tiny spec of a crush for the slender featured man had been growing on you since forever, but you had always burried it deep, in any hellhole that should accommodate such emotions as this was war and not the plot of sappy romance novel.

The air was cut down short in the room when Levi sat at a chair beside you, watching you over in such demanding manner that only he could master. He proceeded to light the only candle that stood at the middle of the table, possibly in hopes of flaring a conversation or causing a sane sequence of sentences to finally fall from your tongue. It was still unbeknownst to him what had caused you to trip over words as if you were a learning toddler and he yearned to find out, as a sole friend, not as the stern corporal he presented himself to be.

"(y/n)" His voice was tender as he spoke either much mindful to the teens who were sleeping in the next room or unwilling to let a private conversation between the two of you be heard. "If you think I can help with whatever is going on quit acting like a brat and tell me what's on your mind."

Momentarily, you wondered whether he'd stick to his words in case you spilled your heart's infatuating agony but you felt unable to think of a possible dominating scenario in the chaos of your mind. As self destructive as it sounded, you'd prefer to be the one to break your own heart rather than having to stand back and be a martyr to him tearing it off your chest and tearing it. Knowing Levi, this wasn't anything physically impossible, but you doubt that he could ever be as harsh with you.

"I'm just stressed. I have a lot on my mind."

"Erwin's trial and the future of the scouts, huh? Or is it that Hange works your ass off with those experiments?" You scoffed in denial to all of his inquiries, knowing full well that you could have used them as excuses. Levi's sharp hand began a short trip with sole purpose to land at the top of your head, through your loose locks, in an affectionate manner, a little something you had picked up he would do when he really cared for someone. Everyone knew he wasn't particularly touchy, except for some emotional moments with his closest people; a hand on a shoulder and a pat in the head were mostly what you had witnessed him indulging. His hand ruffling with your hair wasn't profound and new at all, he had done so many times after the two of you would strongly disagree over formations and orders, showing you how much he appreciated your strong wits and your clever ideas. What was new was that the lone touch burned your sculp like hot iron and made your insides twitch.

"I'll make us some tea" the screeching creak of the chair being pushed back shook of your train of thoughts enough to form a reaction to his hand that still rested on your head. Almost as if he didn't want to take it off "We can discuss your problem in a-"

"Sit down" you demanded, voice stern, masked with seriousness that caught him off guard. "Take your hand off my hair, it hurts." You pleaded with your eyes to stay as dry as they were before but you were certainly unsure of whether they'd listen. "Can't you see?"

What was there not to see really. Levi probably knew of your fondness of him way before you managed to realise, as in second thought every move you had ever made in his presence betrayed you. He would have never tried to provoke a confession just to laugh at you, that you were sure of, but he had never made a move in reciprocation either, that alone made you sure of your confessions future's end and caused your gut to spit even more fire to the rest of your insides.

Levi was not perplexed, not even for a single moment, at your words that seeked to stab like daggers, he wouldn't allow himself to be toyed by his own emotions just this once. This is an erratical reaction to his touch, a rejection of his affections towards you and he feared he knew the reason. For someone as bright and emotional as you he never would have thought that you could have hid such tormentous emotions so well inside you, only to end up at this moment of snapping.

As much as he'd like not to be hurt in the slightest by your demeanor he couldn't help but feel a tiny string of his heart being pulled. Suddenly it was evident to him why you couldn't take part in normal conversations around him or why you acted so tense in his presence, why you were so rejective of his touches and he wondered if he should have done anything besides unknownably torture you for so long. Whether his heart wanted to hear a confirmation out of your mouth to it's pained pleading for reciprocation, his mind ignored. The time would never be right and as egoistical as it seemed he couldn't bear to lose someone else that close to him, let alone a significant other. From his experience feelings of love and adoration should never be spoken out loud in this cruel world, amongst soldiers, especially. It wouldn't lead to any good.

When you proceeded to speak the pit in his stomach was already welling in frustration and denial. "Levi we've known each other for years and whatever's forcing me to much on my words should stop."

None can do, this couldn't happen here, now, while being on the run by military police as collective criminal. Levi wouldn't allow you to speak those earth shuttering words, even if wanted for them to chaste kiss his ears and echo through his head. "Not like you haven't figured anyways. I'm so pathetic. To fall for my Capt-"

"Don't you dare utter any other word of that sentence. I won't forgive you if you do." His hand reached out to grab yours by the wrist, tightly, as if he didn't know you couldn't stand the intensity of the grip. The silence that towed over the room was freezing, irrational even; it made you want to puke your intestines right onto Levi's shoes. Your heartbeat was so fast, so unrhythmic that you felt like the vital blood red organ would burst out of your chest in a massive mess.

Τhere was an excessive amount of agony emitting from your eyes, slicing through Levi's chest, searching despairately for a sign he had a heart, just to remind you that it didn't belong to you. Your mind traveled through every possible scenario to find a reason as to why you had to endure this, did his affections belong to someone you didn't know of? Hange? Erwin? Nifa seemed to be close to him lately as well. Was he heartbroken before and swore to never love again? You hated that there was not a tiny little space in his heart for you.

Just as this tense moment began, it came to an end when Sasha burst into the room, shotgun on her shoulder and chestnut eyes as sleepy as they could be. Fatigue was overpowering her whole form and it was as evident as ever before your eyes. With a quick, exhausted salute she announced her self, unsure of if you and the captain could see her face under the shadows of the night.

"It's guard change sir!" She spoke.

"I'm coming sweetheart." You got up from the chair you were sat at, breaking your wrist away from Levi's grip in a harsh manner. You didn't spare him a second look as you took another deep breath and locked it in your chest in hopes of seeming a little more mighty. "Go take some rest. You deserve it."

With increasingly fast steps you storm outside the little cottage trying your best not to look back. You wouldn't bear to check if there was still light coming from the kitchen that should indicate Levi's persistent presence. Your knees trembled at the imagery but you wouldn't let your eyes rest behind you not even for a second. He would probably be drinking his tea, unbothered, thinking of anything but you and you would be lying if you were to day that it didn't hurt you. It hurt so much that it sent you on your ass, on the stone tile pattern under your feet. Your heart forced suffocating waves of pain through your whole body only to push out of your eyes in the form of hot, salty tears. As your sobs grew louder and your heartache became unbearable to the point you though you could feel your heart break in two, you pushed the ends of your palms into your eyes sockets to squeeze the pain and itchiness of the tears away. You promised to yourself this was the first and last time you would cry for him.

____

After that night you barely speak with Levi. Aside from following his orders with the eventual 'yessir' as a reply, you have managed to successfully establish a thick barrier between him end you. Your nights of accompanying him in his late hour tea sessions, or teaching him how to knit and embroider were no more. The times you would share your food with him after you'd hear his stomach growl from the small portion he would get were also no more. You had made sure to claim your small acts of affection back to yourself, how could you move on from him if you were trying to be nice.

You would profoundly ignore his gazes, his calls for you at his office at late hours of the night by random cadets. You wouldn't answer to him if it wasn't for something military related and you intended it to keep it that way until the announcements of the feast that would take place before the attempt of retaking wall Maria.

As you passed by a narrow street heading to anywhere away from the crowd of cadets with your drink in your hand, you bumped lousy into the onyx haired male. It was the first time in days or even weeks that you had spared him a glance but your eyes averted his upon impact. You couldn't stand this. It was suffocating you. The clicking of your ankle boots colliding with the ground might have been heard as you turned on your heels to flee the scene but Levi's stern clearing of the throat overshadowed it.

He wasn't having it anymore.

"Oi, wait! Stop on your tracks, this is an order!" He spoke, eliciting a groan out of you as you turned to face him. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

"Captain, I seek to relax before a very hard mission, spare me with your punishments, I beg of you."

His blood boiled with your every word "Cut the damn crap (y/n) and talk to me like normal." It probably sounded more harsh than he intended but he couldn't find himself in a position to turn back time and rephrase those words. The drained look in your eyes tolled him as well. The fact that you were both so tired by this game of cat and mouse was profound and everywhere in the air around you and Levi didn't know if he could take it anymore.

At first he thought that it was for the best. If you both forgot about your feelings or found ways to distract yourselves by this distance then it would be so much easier for him to push through the upcoming events of Shiganshina, but he was surprised to know he was mistaken. Masking his feelings must have seemed easy when it came to grieve and loss; he'd spent hours in his room, with you, letting everything out and occupying himself with trying to improve his handwriting while doing paperwork, but infatuation, love, was different. Instead of fading by each passing day like anger and grief it only ever became stronger, fonder and more agressive, chewing on his insides in despair. He really did hate that he had allowed himself to feel that way but it was way too late by now. There was nothing he could do and the fact that you ignored him after almost squeezing out that much, much wanted confession was only making him feel more hollow and in pain.

But Levi knew how to control himself, he trusted his ability on that.

"What is there to talk about? Let me live my last day in peace." You barked, your eyes starting to dance towards his direction, landing on his chin, then at the curve of his unfairly full bottom lip, on his button upwards nose.

"Look." He paused, unsure of how to put his words into non hurtful sentences. "If you could just tell me why or share a few words with me. We could damn die tomorrow and I'd regret not ever talking you out of this unfair treatment you're giving me."

You wondered if you should open up your heart to him completely, without accepting any interruption from him just to cleanse your coincidence off of this weight. Upon deciding that there was truly nothing holding you back except for a silly fear of another rejection that could die with you tomorrow you opened your mouth to speak any words that came to your mind.

"Levi, I'm in pain. You rejected me. Plain and simple. I've spent so many nights wondering why I am unworthy of your affections but I can't wrap my head around you anymore."

"Is that the way you feel about me? That you're the one who's unworthy of me?"

"You always think so lowly of yourself. Makes me wonder how you trust your own abilities in battlefield. But yes. So I just want to know who is it for you? Who do you feel you're unworthy of?"

He paused for a moment, to regain any shattered piece of his heart you had thrown back to him with your statement. You didn't hate him, be always knew that, but hearing those words fall out of your mouth engulfed the matter into reality unlike before. He was ready to face it. Even if he was unsure of tomorrow he knew that if he was to stay alive while you were dead he would have torn his own brain out as to avoid overthinking this particular moment.

"You want the truth honestly, brat? I happen to think I'm the one unworthy of you. You've taught me how to write and read, you came into my office to check up on an underground scum like me to see if I was asleep. Dammit you even gave me portions of your food to help me withstand the long nights of sleeping in my chair. What have I done for you? Boss you around? Or is it my looks you're after?"

Your eyes widened at his last statement, momentarily preventing the tears that had gathered in the corners from falling. This wasn't a time to misunderstand his words and act foolish, this was the closest out of a confession you would get from the man and you were awestruck, amazed. If he wanted to know a reason you would give him one.

"I'll admit, you might have the face of an angel Levi and maybe that would initial draw anyone to you, including me but I didn't fall in love with you for that." You could tell he was taken aback by the raw nature of your words only by the small whimper that escaped his throat.

"Over the course of this relationship between us you have been there for me when I couldn't be there for myself, you've helped me improve, your hands are stained with blood and so are mine, but you've knitted with me, you've stitched my wounds, you've let me sleep in your bed when I found a giant cockroach in mine, you're so much more than what you paint yourself to be."

He stared at you with ogling, soft eyes. Had he looked at you like that before you were oblivious but there was something in those steel eyes that magnetised your own gaze, something you couldn't let go off. It was calming the knot in your chest with reassurance, bearing promises of the future but he didn't dare speak on them to ruin the moment. His head closed the distance between the two of you in sharp shiftings and now your lips were brushing his in the most suggestive manner possible. It had all happened so fast that you didn't have a chance to react.

"You realised" he whispered, voice soft as the melancholy of the theme of his words captured your breath "that if you happen to die tomorrow, I, myself will hunt you down, resecure you and then proceed to beat the living shit out of you every single day of your shitty life, right?"

He was so beautiful panting with desire under the moonlight and you would never forget. Out of all times this could have taken place it happened now, hours before a deadly expedition. The feeling of regret flooded your form, his as well for not acting upon your feelings sooner and Levi fought an internal battle as to whether he should kiss you or not. He desired to keep that kiss as a reward that you stayed alive for him but on the other hand he feared that this could well be his last chance to taste you for the first time.

"That's a weird way to say I love you" as his lips brushed closer to yours his heart felt like it would explode, he had pained to claim your lips, just once, just to know the taste of a beloved and he was sure he would be more pained to lose you.

As he pleaded that you came to him tomorrow he pressed his lips on yours, sealing the promise he demanded you to make to him. Your heart melted under the soft lights of a thousand stars.

____

As his arms wrapped around you, tears run down his eyes. That was it. You had fought to keep your promise nail and tooth. You had never managed let him down and to see that you were among the tiny amount of survivors lifted his soul to heaven. The touch of your skin, the salty taste of your neck, it all was real, you were indeed alive and safe in his arms. He wouldn't have to go insane over that fact that he would never get to look into your eyes again.

"I will always keep my promises to you." You hitched with tears running down cheeks, the shock in your core still trembling as ever.

"I know" He panted

"Besides, have you seen yourself in action, I wouldn't want you to hunt me down, oh Lord."

I am. In tears. Also I'm sorry (?) for such in depth descriptions of Levi's hands?

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #snk x reader #aot x reader #levi #shingeki no kyojin #levi ackerman #attack on titan #snk #aot #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x y/n #levi ackerman imagine #captain levi #x reader #listen here i am crying #i am not okay #THIS WAS SO CATHARTIC TO WRITE WTF

358 notes · View notes

petra-realsnk · 3 years

Text

Short Rivetra Tales

Hello guys! I’m starting a new series on Ao3 of short one-shots about these two. Here I’ll leave you the first one!

Someday

An alternative universe in which Petra survives the 57th expedition and proposes to Captain Levi.

The gates of the Wall Sina began to rise, giving way to the Survey Corps cavalry.

In front, commander Erwin Smith returned half triumphant. They had managed to capture the female titan, although the shifter had petrified just as the special ops squad was about to neutralize her.

There had been too many casualties, and they still had many questions to answer, though, at least, they weren't coming back empty-handed.

Petra sighed as she passed the threshold of that door once more. In the heat of battle, she had asked Eren to trust them, but eventually, the boy decided to use his own power. Annie could have killed him, but thanks to a combination of their efforts, everyone had gotten back, except for Gunter.

She had apologized to Eren right after getting him back from his second body. That monster wasn't like anything they had encountered before. They probably wouldn't have made it alone…

Levi's squad walked next to each other, caressing their shoulders as they tried to deal with the fact that one of them was already gone. Eventually, they will have a moment of peace to let the grief hit them for real, but right then, all they wanted to do was tell their families they'd survived.

Ahead of the formation with the commander, Captain Levi advanced alongside his horse.

That had been a close call. When the captain arrived, Eren's titan was half torn down, and his squad on edge, trying to break through the crystalline material encasing the traitor. He was initially concerned that things hadn't gone as planned, but it was enough to see them alive.

Levi flew through the trees and found Petra with her blades drawn, protecting Eren while Eld and Oluo tried to retrieve Annie. The muscles in his back softened. She was ok.

"Captain Levi!" A voice brought him back. Out of the corner of his eye, Levi saw a middle-aged man approach him. "My daughter has the honor of working with you… I'm Petra's father."

He turned his eyes to him the moment he heard that name. "There's something I wanted to talk to you about before my daughter finds me… She gave me this letter… She wrote you believed in her skill and had handpicked her for your squad or something like that. She says she wants to devote herself to you."

Levi paid attention to each word. Petra had told him about that letter before they left… So it talked about him.

"Well… She's too proud to listen about his father's worries… Well, you know… As her father… I think it's a little early for her to get married…"

That allusion to marriage was enough to set off his alarms. "Excuse me, but how is this any of my business?" Levi asked, quite interested in his answer.

The nervous man stammered for a moment before seeing his daughter hurrying over to him. Petra was almost running between the soldiers and chariots. She couldn't believe her eyes. What was he doing talking with Levi?

"Excuse me, captain." Said Mr. Ral, leaving him to meet his most likely enraged daughter.

Levi was left wondering, looking over his shoulder to see Petra's recriminating eyes. Her gestures were sharp and short. It was evident she was upset. Her father kept talking to her nervously, and for a moment, her subordinate turned to look at him. Their gazes met for a second before Levi quickly turned around.

Petra closed her eyes in shame and sighed. "Dad, what did you say to him?"

"Nothing, Petra, really. I just wanted to introduce myself to the man you talk about so fascinated in your letters."

"Why now!? I'm tired of this habit of yours of messing everything up," her patience was running short due to fatigue.

"Don't be cruel, daughter-"

"You were going to tell him, weren't you?"

"Look, Petra ... Men in his position rarely take a woman. He won't be there for you. Why don't you save yourself the trouble?"

"Do I look like someone who runs away? I am going to do it, dad.”

----------

Petra entered the kitchen and saw the captain from behind boiling a kettle of water. He turned, already expecting it to be her. He had removed her gear, wearing only his white pants and shirts.

"Hello, Petra. How come you're still here?"

"Hi, Captain... Yes. I wanted to talk with you."

"Well, I'm making some tea. Why don't you take a seat?" He asked.

"I'd prefer not to..."

Levi's heart skipped a beat. So it was happening.

"Has this something to do with your father?"

Petra blinked, biting her lower lip a little and looking to the side. The last thing she wanted was for her father to get into this conversation. "Look, I'm not interested in what he said. Forget it. Listen to me only."

Levi raised an eyebrow, surprised at the resolve she displayed. Petra was generally gentle, subtle, despite her strength. "Aren't you a little cruel?"

"It serves him right for getting into where they don't call him."

Levi turned to look at her, leaning against the counter. "Well, spit it out then."

Her chest rose and fell, trying to find in her breath the courage to continue looking at him. The silence grew longer than she would have liked. Her emotion was so intense, it added even more gravity to whatever she was about to say. Levi kept his eyes on her, and the longer the silence lengthened, the more he expected for it …

The captain waited patiently, watching the subtle changes in her expression.

"And?" He asked softly, slightly eaten away by curiosity.

She lowered her gaze a bit. Levi's voice hadn't been demanding, but Petra couldn't help getting more nervous. She needed to open her mouth at once.

"I- I'm… love… you. I'm in love with you, Levi."

His eyes opened, and a rush of adrenaline run down his chest. Suspecting it was one thing, but hearing it from her voice was something else.

"I've always admired you, and I think- I just wanted to ask… If one day all of this is over, and we're still alive, will you marry me?"

Her honey eyes were now fixated on his, and a delicate pink tinted her cheeks.

"You know I can't give you an answer. This is where I belong. Humanity needs us-"

"I know, sir. Don't get me wrong. I'm not asking for you to make me any promises now. You can completely forget about this conversation until then. But if one day we're done fighting, and we're both still here, I want you to think about me. That's all."

Levi couldn't hide the astonishment in his expression, completely neglecting the whistle of the boiler behind him. She was completely serious about it.

The captain turned off the stove, his gaze lost in some corner of his mind, trying to process the dimension of her affection.

"You really are ready to bend destiny at your feet, aren't you, Petra? Good for you."

His subordinate clenched her jaw, trying to understand what kind of rejection was that.

"I will," he continued. "I'll think about you. I guess now… We have something else waiting for us on the other side."

Petra's eyes filled with tears, and she gave a small happy laugh. Somewhat embarrassed, she wiped her face quickly, trying to compose herself.

"Thank you," she nodded, unable to hide her glee.

"Do you still want to go?" He said, turning on his side to serve the water.

"No… I'll stay," she answered, softly walking towards the counter. When she arrived next to Levi, she gasped a little; he was smiling.

Peacefully, Levi prepared another cup under the adoring look of Petra. He tilted his head to look at her without losing the tender look on his face.

"How much sugar?" He asked, just before she rushed in to kiss him. Levi let her, locking her waist with his free arm.

They remained like that, hugging each other as their tea steeped.

#rivetra #rivetra short tales #rivetra fanfic #rivetra fic #Petra Ral #levi ackerman #attack on titan #levi x petra #levitra #rivapeto

46 notes · View notes

ink-fireplace-coffee · 3 years

Text

Short Story: Kiss me, for I am dying.

A/N: this story was crafted yesterday at midnight so I can't assure the quality of it at all. It is inspired in a theatre/legend we have here in Spain called Los Amantes de Teruel, or The Teruel Lovers in english. It's like the Spanish less known version of Romeo and Juliet.

Word count: 1901.

TW: mentions of death.

I don't have a general taglist or anything on the sort, but @nathandoesntknow asked me to tag them, so here you go! enjoy my midnight weird af inspiration I guess.

------

Five months ago, Jaime would've just left if he saw that on the rooftop of the campus was already someone.

Five months ago, if he had seen that stranger sitting there- feet dangling in the air and looking at the sunset- was Isa, he would’ve turned on his heels and left before she could even so much but noticed him.

Or maybe he would’ve “asked” (more like demanded) her to go somewhere else.

Jaime and Isa hated each other. Pure and simple.

Ever since the first day of university, when Isa had given him a “you are annoying” look after Jaime had accidentally hitted her backpack, launching all her stuff through the hall.

No matter how many times he had tried to convince her that it hadn’t been on purpose, she had said that it was his fault over and over again.

If that wasn’t enough, they had not only been forced to sit next to each other for their whole third year (since it was extremely rude to tame someone else’s seat after the first week of classes) but they also were constantly competing on the top of the class.

If Isa had a 95% on the midterm, Jaime had a 98%.

If Jaime had scored a 9,9 out of ten in that essay, Isa had gotten the full mark.

Everyone saw it as a nice academic competition, the kind that made you better every day and it was healthy. Sometimes it could also be mistaken for a nice banter, or even a bit of university drama.

Isa and Jaime saw it as a live or die battle where only one of them could succeed.

Spanish had been the only subject Jaime had ever been really good at, for as long as he could remember. His zeroes in maths had always mattered less next to his tens in Spanish.

When he had told his father that his dream was to become a spanish teacher, the old man had simply nodded and said “I was not expecting less”. And so, one entrance exam to Salamanca’s university later, Jaime knew he was starting to walk the path of his future.

But while his passions were words formation, syntax and how the language had developed into today’s form; Isa had decided to study the career for a whole different reason.

It was clear that she felt completely herself when discussing novels and authors. Her essays on every single topic were excellent quality (even Jaime had to admit it) and they always provided a new, fresh way of thinking.

And maybe that's why some months ago, whatever they had agreed on had taken place.

Now, when the morning classes had already finished, Isa was already on the rooftop, a book in hand and a notebook resting on her legs.

“You are late. Again.” She remarked when she saw Jaime’s blond hair.

“Some of us have life, Isabel.” he answered in the same cold tone and took a seat in front of her.

“Being the teacher’s pet is not having a life.” They both held each other's gazes for a while, until instead of intimidating, they were staring.

The wind whooshed, making the students snap back.

Jaime cleared his throat and Isa focused on her book .“What are we revising today?” asked him.

She tapped the pages of her notebook with a pen. “Los Amantes de Teruel. Spanish version of Romeo and Juliet, I believe. Since you haven't finished it, even though it was due yesterday.” Isa added, a sassy remark included in her voice.

Jaime rolled his eyes.

Lovers of Teruel.

It is true that he had been stuck for three months in a 170 pages novel. But there were far more interesting things to do than read how two fools felt in love only to die at the end.

“I would've finished it if I hand’t been busy correcting someone’s homework.'' He remarked, as he searched for his own copy of the book inside his backpack.

Isa just scoffed, and gave him another “you are annoying” look. Jaime had to make an effort not to smile.

“You know? I wonder if those death stares are unically for me, like a personalized stare.”

“Oh, right, because you are so important in my life that I decided to give you an specific look whenever you say or do something stupid.”

“I mean… You asked me for help that day, so I guess I must be somewhat important, dear Isa.”

“I asked you for help?” she repeated, astonished “You were roaming this rooftop for weeks until I got fed up with how creepy it looked and told you to help me with that assignment, which, for the record, was perfect.”

That was true. Her assignment had been flawless, but Jaime would rather die than to admit that out loud.

“Are you planning on finishing this book with me or do you want to keep talking?” He grinned then “I’m sure there are a ton of other things you could use your mouth for, but I’d like to be prepared for my exam next week.”

Her slight blush felt like a personal win. Until she stroke back, of course.

“One: that is extremely gross, and I don’t want to know about the weird fantasies you have with my mouth. And two: it’s your turn ‘Diego’, so read.”

Since there was no point in reading plays in silence and to themselves, at the beginning of the book (three months ago), Jaime and Isa had divided the roles, taking the two main characters with them: he as Diego and her as Isabel.

“You were practically born for this role” had joked Jaime and Isa wondered how far from the ground they were… and how hard she would have to shove him.

They read some scenes out loud, stopping to make some points on the narrative, paraphrase or make a summary of what they got so far. If it was true that individually they worked really well, as a team it was almost magical.

“Kiss me, for I am dying” said Jaime/Diego for the second time. Isabel had just rejected his lover, since she had already married and didn’t wish to deceive her now husband.

“And then Diego dies because he can’t bear the pain that causes him not being able to love Isabel.” the girl closed her book, and got up, stretching “It’s late, we should go before the campus closes.”

Jaime nodded and tagged alone, but stayed quiet the whole time until they were about to leave the university.

Then, just before partying ways, the question escaped his lips “Would you kiss me if my life depended on it.?”

Both of them looked equally surprised. When he didn’t add anything else, Isa understood he was waiting for an answer.

Well, what do you answer when someone asks that without a warning?

If there’s one thing Isa had clear was that Jaime and her weren’t friends. They weren’t even study buddies! They were just two students of the same class who happened to help each other out every now and then…

And for what?

“Let’s be glad that it doesn't.” she finally said, and turned away, wanting to run as quickly as her legs could carry her.

Would you kiss me if my life depended on it?. Two college students were replaying the same question over and over in their heads. Tossing and turning, unable to sleep.

Isa didn’t have the guts to go back to the rooftop in the next few weeks. Since Jaime had handed in his essay on the novel, she had assumed he had finished it on his own.

That was good, right?

Now, both of them averted their eyes, and tried really hard not to cross paths.

What had been Jaime thinking when he asked that?! Oh right, he had been not thinking at all!

Still, not knowing the answer to the damn question was getting on his nerves. Not that he desperately wanted Isa to kiss him, that could never happen but…

Hypothetically he wanted to know.

Two weeks before finals, they both bumped into each other at the rooftop. Seeing Jaime’s figure -his back to her and his face to the orange sun-, made Isa stop on her tracks.

The door slammed closed and the guy turned around.

Awkwardness was all over the place.

“The library is super crowded and-” started to explain her. He nodded.

“I know, that’s why I’m here.”

A few minutes of silence and then:

“You finished the play.” commented Isa.

“Yeah, I did” Jaime rubbed his neck, nervous “Thanks for sharing your notes, by the way. They were really helpful.”

“Oh, um, no problem.”

“And, about that question…”

“It 's okay! You don’t have to explain anything.”

“No, really, I don’t know how it happened.”

“It’s fine, there’s no need to apologize, really.”

More silence in between them.

“I can go if you want me to.” offered then Jaime. She lifted up her gaze at him.

“The rooftop is big enough for the two of us, and I know you don't like studying at the library.”

Isa had been thinking about how much she noticed about Jaime without actually wanting to: his likes and dislikes, how he frowned slightly when there was a concept he was not following, his happy smiles whenever there was something he was pleased about…

He was grinning like that now.

“Earth calling Isa, are you there?” She blinked a few times.

“Yeah, totally. Here. Present.”

Jaime decided it was now or never.

He lifted up his hand, the one holding the book and showed it to her. "We never finished reading."

"You handed in your essay already. Why would we finish reading it?"

Clearly none of this was working. The guy slided his backpack on his shoulder. "I should go, Alejandro needs me for this book analysis-" he rambled.

"Go" Isa nodded and then smiled. "Teacher 's pet."

He just laughed awkwardly and headed out.

Isa had hated every single second of that conversation. Even if it's true they never had a friendly relationship, they had somewhat grown closer along the few months they had tutored each other.

What did Jaime really mean to her? He was insufferable sometimes, that's true. Arrogant in class and a stupid know-it-all…

But he was also brilliant. And he was kinder than he wanted to show: he had given her his jacket to go home when it was raining once; and even shared his notes with her when she had been sick.

The girl ran downstairs.

Jaime was about to go inside the teacher's office when she finally got to him. In a final effort after her sprint, she tried grabbing his arm.

The guy turned around, really surprised.

"Isa, what-"

"Ask me again." she demanded.

"What?"

"Ask. Me. Again" Isa pleaded out of breath. Her courage would flee anytime soon and then-

"Bésame, que me muero." he whispered.

Kiss me, for I'm dying.

Their lips touched.

"Do you like this ending better?" she asked after the kiss, a sly smile already forming.

He tipped his head back and laughed "Much better."

In Spain whenever someone mentions Lovers of Teruel, we have a saying that sort of finishes the sentence: stupid her and stupid him. Since they both die foolishly.

Luckily, we can assure that the sentence does not apply to Jaime nor Isa.

#short story: kiss me for i am dying #my writing #short story

19 notes · View notes

myersesque · 3 years

Note

Tell me about how telltale batman has the most in character bruce despite being divergent to a lot of established lore - more so than a lot of the comics themselves imo

YES YES EXACTLY YOU GET IT

quick disclaimer that my comic knowledge will obviously be limited to the comics i've personally read. comic writers love to take characters and do their own thing with them, so i know for a fact there are probably a million comics that contradict this post, but that's not the point.

even the telltale side of things in this are gonna be a little biased and full of personal interpretation, because telltale's game format means that everybody's bruce wayne is gonna look a little different. but, i mean, i guess the way i play bruce is the way i see him anyway, so whatever.

ANYWAY! i hope you wanted an essay because oh boy did i get carried away:

one aspect of bruce's character i think is important is his motivations. he didn't just wake up one day and decide to be batman - he made that decision for a reason, and i think that reason is inherently important to his character, because having a different idea on his origins can give you a completely different idea of how his character should act, if that makes sense?

in my personal opinion, bruce wayne should always be motivated by love. he's motivated to fight crime by his love for his parents, and his love for gotham city, and his love for innocent people who don't deserve his parents' fate. my favourite comic panels are always the ones where bruce lets his scary persona slip a little, where he cradles a child against his chest to comfort them; batman was created to be scary, yes, but he's intended to scare criminals, not innocents. whilst bruce's parents' deaths definitely jumpstart his vigilantism, they are not the centrepiece of his entire morality - he doesn't care about gotham's citizens because he's imagining his parents in their place, he cares about them because he genuinely loves his city.

i think a lot of comics i've read have sorta forgotten that aspect of his character. white knight's entire plot revolves around the idea that bruce, blinded by his own anger, has become just as brutal and careless as the criminals he fights, and has ended up causing harm to innocent civilians because of it - whilst i think that's certainly interesting, and i am a sucker for a good "heroes aren't always good people" storyline... it feels icky. i struggle to reconnect that bruce, snarling and chained and unable to sympathise with the innocent people he's hurting, with the bruce who held children to his chest and promised they'd be okay. a lot of comics don't consider bruce's motivation to be his love, they consider his motivation to be his hatred, which leads to characterisations of bruce that are cruel and uncaring and, in some instances, outright abusive. it's like they frame his entire morality as "getting revenge for his parents' deaths" - which is funny, because i think it's pretty commonly agreed upon that bruce wayne shows his parents' murderer mercy. i think a lot of the issue is that people dehumanise batman, and bruce in turn; he's not a man, he's a monster.

which brings me to telltale bruce!

i think what makes telltale bruce work so well is the way they instantly humanise him. the opening scene of season 1 flickers between batman's fearless crime-fighting and bruce wayne gritting his teeth through an injury and getting ready for a gala. his relationships with the other characters - harvey, selina, john, tiffany, everybody - are shown in halves; you see just as much of bruce as you do batman. you'll see batman shielding harvey from attacks followed by bruce sitting by his side in his hospital room; batman repressing fond smiles behind his cowl as he talks with john; bruce at lucius' funeral, filled with despair, knowing that batman is to blame. it is incredibly, painfully clear that batman is not a myth or a monster - he's bruce wayne, the same bruce wayne who flirts with reporters and makes bad puns and goes on fake-dates with his friends to help them learn how to talk to girls. he's human, in a way that comics often seem to forget he's meant to be.

(part of the draw of batman, to me, is that he's human. he's got fancy gadgets and a cool suit but underneath it all he's just a man, just a human being driven by emotion like the rest of us. he feels real, in a way. i used to look out of my bedroom window and imagine batman coming to save me from my problems; i could never quite do that with superman, or wonder-woman, or any of the others.)

not only that, but thomas and martha wayne are removed from bruce's motivations pretty effectively - they're outed as awful people, the kind of people bruce fights against. they did to oswald what joe chill did to him. so rather than falling into blind rage, rather than the unfortunate "batman fights for revenge", you get a bit of nuance - bruce has to come to terms with being wrong, and learn where he stands, torn between awful people who he loves and good people who hate him. he's fighting not to avenge his or oz's parents, but to prevent any innocents from meeting the same unfortunate fate, and to redeem himself.

they let him be wrong without totally becoming a villain: they let him punch out oswald cobblepot on live TV and deal with the consequences; they let him instigate riots for his own benefit; they show him crouching in the back of a truck, surrounded by criminals he's been willingly helping, staring guiltily at a bat-signal he's ignoring; they let him feel guilt for all the friends he couldn't save.

he doesn't beat his friends-turned-enemies with glee. he doesn't take joy in putting them away. he doesn't use them as punching bags for his own anger and trauma.

he keeps harvey from committing suicide and tells him, earnestly, that there's still hope for him. he sits across from john and admits, hoarse and teary-eyed, that he truly did consider them friends. he gives up being batman for alfred's sake. he visits john in arkham, with an honest smile, despite all they went through. these choices may be optional, yes, but with the way telltale writes their characters, every one of these options is perfectly in-character for their bruce. you may play him a little angrier, a little more vengeful, a little less sympathetic - but at his core, he's the same. at his core, he still looks at gotham city, and the villains he goes up against, and says "i'm sorry this happened to you, i wish i knew how to make it better". he cradles them against his chest.

i don't know if any of this made sense, but tl;dr: telltale writes bruce as a flawed person, yes, but at his core he is loving and charismatic and bittersweet, and that's who i've always thought he should be.

(this kinda turned into bruce loveposting halfway through, but hopefully i still got the point across.)

#ask #fav #and for attention:#telltale's batman #bruce wayne

12 notes · View notes