#that permeate through their entire character yknow?

[fellhellion]

Granted, I’m only just past Ann’s awakening in my replay so there’s a decent chance for me to change my mind but man. Ryuji ogling Ann’s costume feels so much worse tonal dissonance to me than Junpei and Yosuke’s casual misogyny because it comes straight off the heels of him raging at Kamoshida being the catalyst for Shiho’s attempted suicide and Ann’s own violent rejection of Kamoshida’s predation upon herself.

[dansconcepts]

Megamind Komahina AU (MegaLuck)

I saw this post on Youtube by @/Mcdonalds-Qiqi and I was like I should 100% write about this. And that's what I did. It's not done, like, at all, but it's prob the longest thing I've ever written (6000 words is a lot for me). I rewatched Megamind for it and that was a fun watch and YES this is 100% just Megamind but with Komahina flavouring so have a little taste with some scenes under the cut.

(Also this wasn't gonna be my first writing post but I mean I'm silly at heart sometimes yknow.)

If someone asked Komaeda how he was doing, he’d usually respond with “Fine, but I’m sure my luck will kick in at some point.” Had they asked him now, he’d say, “Ah, I’m fine” and not dwell any further on what would be considered quite an unlucky day. Alas, good luck will surely come out of this, even if his body is used as a vessel to do so. 

Falling from a high depth does not feel like flying. 

It just feels like falling from a high altitude, and an instinctive part of himself still wants to salvage this, remain alive even after losing essentially everything. He always loses everything in the end, doesn’t he? This is something he’s prepared for his entire life. Yet, of course, it still doesn’t seem to curb that jolt of displeasure that permeates through his body, the uncertainty in knowing that you want to cling and push everything away at the same time just to preserve your… emotions, fickle as they are. [But he’s the reason he’s here, after all].

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

When it came down to it, he was lucky to live, even if that luck is substantiated by losing his parents and meeting the other that had everything given to him on a silver platter. 

He and Naegi weren’t in the same class, but whenever his luck struck, Makoto was there to stop it, and everyone blamed him for the bad things that happened. He couldn’t hate them for it either. He blames himself too.

Some people don't really believe in such unseeable forces. Yet how else could he explain a plane going rogue, and being the only living being to see the terrible aftermath of it? Of experiencing being kidnapped, and being able to get out of that? Who else could it be besides Lady Luck?

Yet he is grateful to her. Otherwise, how else would he be rich? Be smart of mind, besides being tainted in health? He should be grateful...

He should be.

But he looks at his arm and only speaks to the metal that is there, the little characters on the screen being his only company. Everyone else stares at the teacher pointing at the board toward something he figured out already, when he last snuck a glance at it anyway. Now, he's left with his familiar position of facing brown wallpaper. It's a very boring brown. It's worse when he has to hear his classmates talking about him. They're all so void of doing anything useful.

"Can we pwease pwease pwease do something?! This is, like, soooo boring!"

The class hushes her, along with her fellow companion on the screen. Indeed, his classmates would be more useful in another way. They're so predictable.

In a quieter tone, the pink-haired girl looks up from the console in her hands to say, "You can go play the quiet game, Junko. That'll surely entertain you, I think." And immediately looks back down. Junko squawks her protests. He wonders if Chiaki is actually playing a game, or if the sprite's just for show.

Nagito hums. The AI instantly blinks at him, crossing her arms. "The fuck? What's got you looking so happy?"

"Hope is going to be plentiful today."

"What the hell's that supposed to mea-"

BOOM!

"OH HELL YEAH!"

"JUNKO!!!"

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Hajime blearily opens his eyes. Light blinds his vision, and he blinks it away. As it clears, fluffy white hair and pale skin greet him, a white T-shirt hanging loosely off their thin frame. Their long eyelashes frame the entrancing evergreen eyes, with a foggy dreaminess melting into him. Is this an angel?

"Oh, you're awake." The voice says. 

Who...? "Leave me alone."

The person steps back. "Sorry, I'm not about to do that when you look that tired. Are you okay? You seem pretty out of it."

He stares outside. There's a beautiful moon out, and again, no stars. Typical. "...It's been a rough day." He cuddles the soft fabric closer. So nice and warm-

Wait... soft fabric?

He immediately looks down to the dark green clothing in his hand.

"Oh, yeah, you started shivering so I just gave you my sweater. You're free to keep it if you want."

His face burns, and he wordlessly tosses the sweater back. "Thanks, but I'm fine. Who are you? I wasn’t expecting to see anyone else besides Touko."

The pale man's smile turns serene. "Ah, I’m new, I started a while back. I’m helping Touko clear out some essentials since the building is getting renovations. It should be happening fairly soon, so let’s get out of here, shall we?"

"Really?" He doesn't recall anything like that happening, but he wouldn't be surprised considering Naegi is...

"Alright, I’ll come with you."

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

"Junko. Where the hell is Komaeda?" Hajime snarls.

Now, Nagito knows he should say something to that, but… He said my name.

"Uh…" He stutters. 

"Junko! Don't hurt him!" He hears his own voice say. He looks to his arm, where Junko's sprite sends a cheeky wink. He should probably figure out when she decided to record his voice later...

Unfortunately for him, Hajime only glares at him harder. "I will not fucking hesitate, you bitch! Let him go!"

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Hajime’s taking quite a while. He doesn’t resent it, he shall wait however long he needs to, but this is a little unusual for him. If anything, Hajime’s quite punctual. He can’t even talk to Junko or Chiaki, since they seem to have closed off their connection with him.

The reporter finally shows up, a little messy. His ahoge is more limp than normal. He swiftly pulls the velvet chair to sit on. "God, sorry I'm late Komaeda." He huffs.

"Oh, it's no worries, Hinata-kun. I understand why you might not have wanted to come for trash like m-"

"No! It's not that!" He's quickly met with. The white-haired man easily smiles. So easy. The frown turns into a pout. "Oh, you're teasing me again."

"Haha, sorry. It's really fun." Hajime opens his mouth to protest. Ah, can't have that. "What happened?" He shoots out.

The other's mouth shuts closed. Olive eyes stare him down warily, and he tilts his head. The look is 100% his we're not done with this topic but I'm dropping it because you really love doing this shit, yet he really just wants to know what has Hajime so disheveled. If someone hurt him-

Hajime immediately dives into what happened within the past few hours, being tossed around by Fragment and how Fragment's his best friend while he's left with dread pooling within him.

"I love him, I do, but right now he really doesn't need these powers. The last thing he needs is another reason to feel perfect for Sonia. I’ve been trying to help him deal with rejection, but this really… really fucked with him. And shit went down."

Why would Fragment attack Hinata-kun, this wasn't meant to happen-

Hajime shuts his eyes. He rubs his temples. "I'd rather not deal with all this. Let's just eat."

He resists the urge to bite his lip. The temptation to comfort is so high, but knowing he was the cause of it...

Furrowed eyes meet his gaze, and soften. He gulps. A tanned hand reaches out, and he reaches out his own-

For his glass.

"To you, Komaeda, for being the not insane part of my life right now." Hajime grins, lifting his cup in the air.

Komaeda chuckles politely. If only you knew.

"I'm always happy to be with you, Hajime."

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

[He's hoping to get lucky one last time.]

“Providing hope… feels pretty good.”

[chromes-corner]

This a request of licorice cookie trying to impress the reader that is literally royalty.

yknow what that's totally something he would do LOL

this one's a bit shorter, but hope ya enjoy it regardless!!

---

Wine and Wizardry

Licorice/Reader

Notes: fluff and teasing lol

Content Warnings: alcohol mentions; reader gets a bit tipsy

A/N: how do i write licorice without him sounding like an anime character

You’ve never seen so much concentrated royalty in your entire life. Everywhere you look, there are fanciful dresses and gem-imbued adornments. Sugar horses gallivant down the cobbled streets, towing along chattering cookies in their luxurious carriages. Haughty accents echo against resolute walls that stand tall and proud. You can't turn a corner without bumping into someone of a highly-esteemed House.

There’s really no wonder why so many royal families have taken a vacation to the Hollyberry Kingdom, however. The draw of a potential seat at the throne has certainly attracted many a monarchy to the esteemed castle. For the low price of entering an heiress in an aptly named “princess competition,” the sprawling berry fields and grand Hollyberry Hall could be theirs.

Speaking of berry fields…

You swirl your wine around in your chalice, leaning against a towering pillar inside the Palace. Sunlight pierces through the windows, and great rosy curtains billow in the draft. Royal cookies are gossiping all around you as they sip at their drinks, waiting anxiously for the next challenge to begin. Princesses have begun to line up with their barrels. Their nervous energy permeates the room as some of them give their balance a test run before the games officially begin.

You’d heard talk that the cups are bottomless here, and damn, they weren’t lying. A bowtied butler sweeps gracefully over to you and asks if he may refill your glass, which is barely half empty, and you gladly accept. Its sweet berry flavor and slight fizz make you grateful that the rumor proved to be true, and you nurse at it as you scout out the area.

As your eyes sweep over the crowd, your gaze falls on a rather conspicuous color in the sea of saturated hues. A black, ragged cloak hunches over a glass much like your own, standing out like a wilted sapling in the field of flowery pinks and purples. He holds an ominous-looking scythe, only adding to the outlandishness of the stranger. Your interest piques. You’ve spent your entire life among the lavish and hoity-toity, so of course something so out of the ordinary would sow a seed of curiosity in your mind. You abandon your post and make your way over to the sore thumb of the party.

“Good wine, huh?” you say. The perfect conversation starter.

The robed cookie jumps with a yelp. He composes himself rather quickly. “Uh, yeah? Yeah. Good wine.” He refuses to look at you directly, instead staring intently into his glass, running a finger around the rim.

“A little sweet for my taste, but good nonetheless. A lot like this Palace. I feel like I’m looking at everything through stained glass.”

The nerves seemingly melt right off the cookie like frosting on a hot day. “Ugh, right? I don’t get why everything needs to be so bright. I’m going to be dreaming in pink if I spend much more time here.”

You laugh at his sudden lack of reservation. Sometimes, all it takes is some mutual complaining to make an acquaintance out of someone. You tell him your name, then inquire about his.

“Licorice!” he puffs his chest out and gives you a wicked, toothy grin. “The most powerful wizard in all of Earthbread!”

Ah, Licorice, that explains the thickly coiled hair and devilish demeanor. He seems a bit goofy, and you humor him on his self-proclaimed title. “What brings “the most powerful wizard” to a princess competition?”

“I’ve been tasked by my m– my Queen to escort our… our princess! Yes! To this competition so that she may win!” Licorice’s voice carries, and it only seems to get louder as his excitement escalates. “Then, we shall rule this Kingdom!”

His energy is contagious, and you can’t help but giggle. “Which one is your charge?” You gesture to the princesses, who have begun to line up at the starting line. The competition is about to begin.

Licorice points out a rather large cookie, boasting that she’s the “most likely” to win. She’s nearly twice as tall as the other competitors, and also quite fluffy, it seems. You wonder what kingdom they might have come from where they need so much hair. You also wonder what the Queen might look like if that’s their princess. After taking a good look at her, you switch your attention back to Licorice – after he’s finished boasting about his princess, that is.

“I’ve never heard of a wizard being assigned to a princess,” you comment. “Every other heiress has a knight, if not a whole cavalry.”

“That’s because I’m the best wizard,” he says, placing a hand on his chest with a proud smirk. “A lowly knight would simply not be good enough for Her Highness. No sword could even stand a chance against my magic! And who needs an entourage when I can simply summon an army of servants?”

“If you’re so powerful, why haven’t I seen any magic from you yet? Wouldn’t you, a royal wizard, have servants with you at all times?” you challenge, feeling extra bold after finishing your glass of liquid confidence. You’ve never seen magic up close, and standing before you is the so-called greatest wizard in all the land. Of course you’d try to goad some action out of him!

“Ha!” he guffaws, “Just you watch!”

Licorice bangs his scythe on the ground. There’s an unexpected flash of lightning that makes you bury your face into the crook of your elbow. When the light dissipates, you look up to see three sentient coils of licorice, each with an adorable little sword. Thankfully, with the competition in full swing, nobody noticed the summoning of those little guys.

You just can’t help yourself. “Aww, they’re so cute!” you say, bending over to get a better look at them. Their big violet eyes flit between you and their master.

Licorice frowns. “Cute?! They’re not cute! They’re servants of the Darkness! Vessels of torment! Harbingers of destruction!”

You hold out your hand, and one of the licorice servants shakes it. The three chitter happily at your laughter. Licorice stomps his foot and orders them to cut it out.

“Oh, come on, they can’t help that they’re just like you,” you coo, patting one on the head.

“Tch, they could never be as powerful as I! They are merely a representation of a fraction of my capabilities!”

“I didn’t mean in that way,” you say. You could really use another glass. “I meant they’re adorable, like you.”

“I– What?” Licorice short circuits. His face turns cherry red, and he grips his scythe with a white-knuckle grasp.

“For being such a powerful wizard, you’re also a huge dork.” Where was that butler? You need more wine. “I like that.”

Licorice doesn’t know whether to refute your claims that he’s a dork, to deny that he’s cute, or to call you out on your own intoxication. He struggles to set his thoughts straight, stuttering like a broken record and reddening like a vampire in the sun.

He can’t get a whole sentence out before something behind him catches your eye. “Hey, are those guys related to you?” You point at the hooded figures that are currently standing in the way of the princesses. Some brandish daggers and are swiping at the competitors.

Licorice whips around and drops his glass. “Oh, crumbs–” he mutters, then begins to rush off with his servants to aid his princess. He pauses, however, and turns back to you with a stern finger pointed upwards. “This conversation isn’t over!”

Good, you still have many more ways to fluster that dork.

[free-pancakes]

the commander’s voice

LeviHan - a canonverse oneshot

Characters: Levi, Hange, Onyankopon, Jean, Armin, Sasha, Mikasa

Summary: Onyankopon gifts Hange a vinyl record player from Marley, and Levi uses it to help the dear Commander find a small moment of respite among her stressful duties.

Notes: Hange has been really sad lately in the anime, so here's a happy Hange oneshot. The song Hange sings is called “Mrs." by Leon Bridges

crossposted to AO3

The Commander’s Voice

Hange gripped her fingers gently around small cup of tea in her hands—she smiled softly as the warmth caressed her fingertips and the earthy aroma tickled her nose. She took a small sip, and stole a quick glance at Levi, searching for signs of his approval.

A tiny flicker in his warm, grey eyes signaled his liking. To everyone else in the room, Levi maintained an unreadable glare, but Hange knew better. She playfully tapped his foot with her own, with a sly smile plastered on her face. Levi returned the gesture with a swift kick to her shin.

Hange was already accustomed to arguing under the table like this, and quickly bit her tongue to keep herself from yelping out in pain. She quietly grumbled as he smirked behind the cup he held up to his lips. He hated when she could see right through him like that—but he supposed it wasn’t an entirely bad skill for someone around here to have.

“Is it up to your standards, Levi? It’s only the finest tea from Marley! I only have a few boxes stashed away with me.” Onyankopon looked towards Levi earnestly for a reaction, but per usual, his genuine friendliness was met with a blank stare. Hange had convinced Onyankopon to share the tea with their little group today, hoping it would convince Levi to trust their allies a bit more, and she panicked at Levi's seemingly negative reaction.

“No, no, Onyankopon, Levi thinks it’s delightful! Thank you for sharing it with us,” Hange said with a bright smile.

Happy conversation buzzed around them in the large tent, but their table was jarringly silent. Hange, Levi, Jean, Armin, and Onyankopon had a long day of planning their strategies moving forward, but since they finished earlier than expected, they thought they’d sit together, talk, and relax a bit. Sitting and relaxing clearly wasn’t an issue, but maybe they had too little in common to really have a casual chat.

The silence gripped fiercely at Hange’s sides, and it felt as though it was trying to squeeze words out of her— it was absolutely unbearable. She had to break the silence, and at least attempt to get these socially incompetent fools to talk to each other.

“Hey Onyankopon, can you possibly tell me the name of this song? I kept hearing it play on one of your comrade’s radios a few weeks ago!” Hange closed her eyes as she tried to remember the melody, and she flawlessly hummed the tune, filling in a few lyrics that she could recall here and there. The sound resonated in her chest, and the tenseness in her shoulders relaxed as singing this song made her ridiculously happy. She wondered if it was the song that made her feel that way or if it was simply the person that seemed to permeate her thoughts whenever she hummed it to herself while working alone in her office.

She opened her eyes, and cocked her head to the side in confusion at the sight. All of Onyankopon’s Marleyan comrades around them were turned, facing their table, all eyes on her. Armin turned to look at Jean, whose jaw dropped at the sound of Hange singing, and nudged him. “Jean, come on, you’re making the Commander uncomfortable.”

“What? Levi, what is everyone—“ she shifted in her seat, embarrassed at the sudden and unwavering attention on her. Before she could see Levi’s reaction, he was standing up, glaring at everyone in the room. “Oi, what are all you nosy scumbags staring at? Have some respect for the Commander,” he hissed with a threatening tone, evoking fear in all the people in the room. The sound of talking and commotion resumed quickly, maybe even louder than before as no one wanted to further anger the formidable Levi Ackerman.

“Wait hold on a second, why did everyone just—“

“It’s because you have a beautiful voice, Hange-san, I don’t think any of us have ever heard you sing before actually…” Armin whispered softly, with a bashful, yet encouraging smile on his face.

Hange felt the blood rush to her cheeks, and she looked down at her hands, twiddled her thumbs, and let out a nervous chuckle. “Oh, I um, sorry. I guess I don’t usually do that...in public. My apologies.”

Onyankopon gently touched Hange’s hand—“I know exactly what song you referenced. Here, how about you all go get some sleep, and I’ll give you something special regarding the song in the morning, okay?” He gave her a reassuring look, and Hange felt more at ease. They saluted each other, and four Paradisians retreated to their tents for the night.

————- “Hange-san, here you go—It’s all ready for you!” Onyankopon held a large, box-shaped device in his hands, along with what looked like colorful cardboard envelopes on top of it. He set it down on the table as Hange, Armin, Levi, and Jean hovered around it.

Hange and Armin bent down to observe the object closely, opening its lid to reveal a flat surface with a small spoke in the middle, and a metal arm jutting across with a small needle on its end. The two eyed each other, both utterly fascinated at the intricate device.

“This here is a vinyl record player, and I picked out a few songs along with the one you told us about last night. I marked that one, and wrote out the lyrics for you!” he exclaimed with a grin.

Hange’s eyes glowered at the wonderful gift, and couldn’t help but give him a warm hug.

Levi walked towards the two, inserting his arm between them, cutting their embrace short. “Okay it’s time to go, Commander,” Levi said curtly as he guided her shoulder towards the horses.

“Levi, wait it’s still early, we have a lot of time to—“

“Until next time, Onyankopon,” he muttered with a glare and gave a half-hearted salute. He grumbled as he hurried Hange away, while she tried to wave back at Onyankopon. Armin and Jean looked at each other trying to stifle laughter at the scene—Armin took the record player and vinyls, and nodded at Onyankopon. “Sorry about that sir, I assume you already know how that goes...”

“Yeah, the Captain’s pretty protective over Hange-san, isn’t he?”

“Yeah you could say that,” Jean said with a small laugh. He waved goodbye, and the two hurried towards the horses, as it seemed Levi and Hange were already set to leave.

————- Levi sipped at the tea Onyankopon sent them home with. He sat alone at a table, listening to the 104th crew talk and laugh animatedly a few tables away, bickering and yelling as they finished up their dinner. He hated to admit how relaxed he felt seeing them having fun like that—it reminded him a lot of how he, Hange, Erwin, Mike, and Nanaba used to be with each other years ago. He sighed and stood up with purpose—Hange skipped dinner again. He brought a sandwich with him as he silently slipped out of the mess hall and made his way to the Commander’s office.

He saw the glowing light spilling into the hallway through the slightly cracked-open door, and pushed it—he was met with bright light, both literally and figuratively. He looked at Hange busy writing, not even noticing him walk in and close the door.

He gently slid the sandwich towards her, and she slightly jumped in her seat, startled. “You gotta warn me when you walk in sometimes, yknow??”

“Eat, and meet me outside. The usual spot.”

“I have a lot of work to finish up! I don’t think I can take a break right now—“

Levi placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed, his eyes softening as he stared into hers. She returned his gaze, and he didn’t need to say a word for her to understand. She gave in.

“Okay, fine, fine. You’re right. It’s been awhile since I’ve taken a step back, hasn’t it...”

————- Hange stepped out into the clearing behind the barracks, the light of the moon melting over the cover the trees and illuminating the blades of grass beneath her feet. She heard a small scratching noise, and suddenly...music played. She turned the corner and saw Levi sitting on the ground with the record player. She skipped over happily and knelt down next to him. “Isn’t it amazing? You don’t have to wait on the radio for a song you like to play! You can just play the same song you like, over and over again whenever you want.” She stared at the spinning vinyl excitedly, and Levi looked at her, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. After they listened to the one song, Levi picked up the other vinyls—“Hey, so which one of these was the song you sang to us that night, the one that got that whole damn room staring at you?” Hange smiled shyly and felt herself blush. She reached over and pulled the specific record from the pile in Levi’s hands.

Inside the barracks, Jean, Armin, and Sasha walked down the back hallway on the second floor, exhausted. Suddenly, they heard...music? Jean and Armin made eye contact, and ran towards the sound. “Hey, wait up! What’s going on??” Sasha yelled. The two barged into the room where the sound was echoing through the loudest. Mikasa was sitting on her bed, folding her clothes calmly, unphased by the two breaking in. She gave them both a mostly blank stare, but a tiny hint of a questioning lingered in her gaze.

“Hey, rude! Dont just go barging into our room like that!”

“Shut up, Sasha! Listen!” Jean whispered aggressively. The calming sound filled the room through their window facing the clearing among the trees behind the barracks.

“Onyankopon said that sound is one of something called... an electric guitar?” Armin said quietly. The wonderful sound made them oddly want to sway, along with the mellow, waltzing backbeat of the drums underlying this so-called electric guitar.

“Hange-san sung this song to us at our last meeting with the ally Marleyans.”

“She...sang?” Mikasa asked, almost confused at the idea of Hange singing.

“Hold on, listen, listen!” Jean said in a hushed tone. The four of them pressed their faces up against the window, and spotted the Commander and Captain standing together out in the grass below, their figures shrouded by the white glow of the full moon.

“You really like the tea, and the record player. It was genuinely kind of him to share that with us—so why can’t you trust our allies?” Hange asked, an innocently questioning look in her eyes.

“You never know, Hange. It’s good to be a bit skeptical of them for now. But, let’s forget about that.” She felt Levi’s fingers search her skin for the ties of her medal, a symbol of her role as the Commander. He untied it, slipped it off from her neck, and placed it gently into the grass next to the record player.

“Tonight, you’re relieved of your Commander duties. Right now, you’re just Hange.” Hange lost herself in the soft grey sea dancing in his eyes, and fought back tears at Levi’s gesture, his attempt to help her feel like... feel like Hange again. The Commander role often seemed to strip her of the privilege to be simply, and unapologetically, herself.

He took her left hand, interlaced his fingers in hers, and gently placed his other hand behind her right hip. He slowly pulled her close, and she closed her eyes, finally relaxed from her duties, nearly melting in his embrace. She rested her cheek on his shoulder, and he felt even, puffs of breath from her nose on his skin—keeping him warm in the cool night breeze. He swayed her back and forth, and she followed his lead.

“Why do you like this song, anyway?”

“Because... the lyrics make me think of us a bit, Levi.”

His eyes widened at her words, and he wanted to listen closer now—and suddenly he had an idea.

“Can you sing it to me?”

Hange lifted her head abruptly, staring straight into Levi’s face. “So you did like my singing! I was wondering about that—sad I didn’t get to see your reaction.”

He was relieved she didn’t see his face in that moment—he had never felt so vulnerable. Her singing made his knees weak.

“Hmph. It wasn’t bad, four-eyes.”

The four watched the two start dancing, and when the sound of Hange quietly singing reached Sasha and Mikasa’s room, Sasha squealed in excitement. “Hey Armin, wanna dance too?” She gave him a big, goofy grin, and he agreed with a laugh. Jean turned to Mikasa, bowed slightly and reached out his hand, “May I have this dance, m’lady?” She let out a smile at his dumb little gesture, and took his hand.

They all couldn’t help but smile at the sound of their Commander’s voice along with the calming song as they swayed around the room—it was nice to forget about the weight of the world for a little bit.

She sang the whole song softly into Levi’s ear along with the record, singing one part a little louder than the rest:

“Sometimes I wonder why I went knockin' on your door. Then you come knock, knock, knockin' on mine and I remember—I remember how it felt the first few times. Skin-to-skin before you knew how to get under mine. If we get it, get it right... we'll be together for life.”

She buried her face into the crook of his neck, and he felt her lips curve into a smile against his skin.

The two heard Jean, Armin, Sasha, and Mikasa's laughter from the only window with the lights on in the barracks.

“Looks like we aren’t the only ones enjoying the night,” Hange whispered happily.

Levi smiled. “Hey, can you sing the song again for me?”

“Of course. But only if you join me!” She playfully shoved Onyankopon’s lyric sheet into his chest. Levi grumbled in reluctance, but he gave in.

They let the song replay over and over again as they continued to dance and sing to each other, late into the cool, starry night.

[dyketubbo]

(all abt characters) while i was in my lurker phase i once saw a post that was like saying if ppl had the whole "well maybe __ shouldnt have gotten in the way 🙄" (sorry to vague the person its just genuinely been months and i doubt i could find it again) reaction towards tommys exile and tubbos execution then tommy n tubbo apologists would get mad and ive been thinking abt that, as well as the take that if techno can be criticized for tubbos execution then tubbo should be criticized for exile. similar takes had played the age card, claiming if tubbo wasnt a minor ppl wouldnt be so mad. and i think i finally settled on why that always unsettled me

one- the use of "stop playing the age card" irks me so heavily because god am i fucking *sick* of adults who do that whole "i hate kids theyre entitled brats and i shouldnt be expected to deal with them" song and dance (newsflash- kids will lash out if all you give them is negative reinforcement and hammer into them that they deserve to be treated badly because of the idea that kids shouldnt be treated with care for being kids). theres no point in playing a card of "well if the kid was an adult you wouldnt care as much!" because the fact of the matter is is that the victim is a kid and that adds serious factors into how to assess the situation. tubbo being a child factors in heavily to the situation he was put in both during his execution and during the exile arc, especially due to the adults that manipulated him. tubbo is/was inherently on unequal footing due to being a minor during those events. technoblade was not

two- people already do that. the criticizing tubbo thing, i mean. and while i havent seen anyone genuinely make "well maybe he shouldnt have gotten in the way kekw" jokes abt tubbos execution, i have seen people genuinely say that he shares the blame for getting caught and being a spy (something that permeates tubbo-related takes even to this day- think the snowchester visit or the outpost debate, where theres still a debate of the morality of spying, often with blame put on tubbo). its.... hm. but ill address it later

three- i shouldnt have to mention that tommys exile has caused some of the biggest waves of victim blaming in the fandom. nearly every dsmp blog that has even a little focus on tommy has gone over the victim blaming takes tossed at the situation. the takes about tommy deserving it, the takes about how tommy should have kept his mouth shut, shouldnt have gotten caught, shouldnt have gotten in the way, how the abuse was necessary, the torture was necessary, being driven to suicide was but a means to an end and it turned out ""fine"" anyways so stop complaining. uncomfortable, yeah? you can imagine why even joking about it would tick off even people who dont like tommy

and four- things like the butcher army going after techno does not end in a loss for techno, it ends in it pissing him off and him destroying their entire country. bit different than. well. the fact that tommy and tubbo went through what they did and.. well. got their country blown up. by technoblade. you can imagine why, then, people joke about l'manburg being justified or even still treasure the country and what it was meant to stand for even if the people fucked it up. you can imagine why, then, that people make jokes about how techno shouldnt have gotten in the way, why, then that people say lmanburg didnt deserve to be destroyed, why, then, tubbos execution is treated as a tragedy and technos is not, why, then, even joking that tommy and tubbo shoulder any blame for their trauma isnt as uncomfortable as saying techno shouldnt have killed tubbo even if he had viable reasons for it. you can imagine, why, then, that tubbo isnt treated as harshly for the decisions he made while under pressure while techno is

because technoblade won. and tommy and tubbo lost. and with the actions they take, the things they say over the course of the story, the way the narrative frames each event, technoblade won through villainous acts (even if you dont agree that he is a villain for whatever reason, his win was also a win for dream- who is a villain) and tommy and tubbo lost because they werent able to protect themselves. the people of l'manburg, the ones that fought for it in doomsday, they lost because they werent able to protect themselves. at every point in the butcher army plotpoint techno was able to defend himself, he had to be outsmarted to even get to a point of supposedly being held captive, and even then he was simply playing along til the end. lmanburg got close. it did, it did. but it didnt win, and thats why so many people dont take the idea that lmanburgs destruction should be celebrated and joked about in a victorious way so well. yknow?

[pearthery]

hello! since you said you'd like some questions i hope it's alright if I send some your way :) so question 1 and 2,3,6 for saprotroph? I have to think about that fic a lot and my heart aches every time (in the best way) hehe. have a good day <33

ahhh thank you for asking!!! it is very alright, ahaha, and i had a lot of fun thinking about it!

so so so, question 1!! of everything i've written, i think i'm especially fond of La Perm and still waters. still waters because the person i wrote it for loved it so much (and it stunned me, oh my goodness), and La Perm because i wrote it as a tribute of sorts to one of my own prickly old neighbourhood cats, like big old white Jiji in that fic! and, perhaps most of all, because that fic had given my friend such emotions that they drew art for it and showed me and i was so giddy about it that i squeaked into my hands. i have very very good memories associated with those two fics!!!

and then for saprotroph, ohohohoh!! it makes my heart beat in my chest that you love it so much askldfhdsgh. for saprotroph, my favourite scene to write was the final scene, hands down. it was what i was building up to the entire time, i think, and it felt deeply satifying to finally let that muted sorrow that had permeated throughout sink in. it was like, hmmmm. it felt very gratifying when all the scenes i had written before layered upon each other to reach that pay off? the mood was firmly entrenched at that point, and so the descriptions came easily. my favourite lines in that scene are probably:

The photograph. The demon. The sepia boy and his blur of soft, white hair, his young, tan face, haggard with the weight of his life.

and:

"Sakata Gintoki," Kagura says, squatting before the little grave. Shinpachi eases to his knees beside her and wonders if things could have been different.

"We would have liked to meet you."

question 3!! which part of saprotroph was hardest to write? hmmmmmm. saprotroph was very easy to write, if i am honest about it!! i think it slipped out over the course of a single night? but the part that tripped me up that night, i think, was the scene where shinpachi stitches up zura's wounds. the difficulty in that came in figuring out how a more jaded, cynical zura might talk, and also balancing the almost confessional feeling of zura's dialogue with how gintama characters are so so rarely upfront with their thoughts and emotions? gintama characters are chock full of euphemisms and metaphors and things like that, so i can't help but go "ahh, would they SAY that??" if i think about any of them outright baring their soul. even when i read that scene now, part of me is like "does that sound like zura, though??" but on the other hand, yknow, he's drunk on pain and exhaustion, and since this is an au, i can probably give myself some slack!

i went trekking though my google drive to find the work doc i have for saprotroph, and it's just titled "gonetoki au" ahaha, because i really love that stupid wordplay. anyway!! yeah! there are no cut scenes for saprotroph! i owe this to my stubborn attachment to a majority of the scenes i draft, and my tendency to keep kneading at the words until they fit into the flow of the story, or until i have mangled them so terribly to become unusable and stuff, ahaha. scenes i hadn't planned at first to write, however! there is one (1. the one where shinpachi sees taka-chin, i hadn't planned out, but i ended up slipping it in because i felt i needed a buffer between the "shinpachi stitching up zura's wounds as he mutters about takasugi's hatred (which also happens to describe his feelings about himself too haha)" and the "shinpachi and sakamoto fighting in front of the shiroyasha's shrine", and also, yknow, to make it more melancholic how deep shinpachi has been entrenched into this somewhat more extremist version of katsura's jouishishi!

anyway, i hope you have enjoyed reading through my untidy thoughts and glimpses into my writing process! saprotroph was one of the easiest to tug out of my brain, and i am absolutely delighted and honoured that you think about it so much. thank you for sending these questions and letting me ramble, and i hope you have a lovely, lovely day!!! 3

[princess-of-luxure]

The Angel and the Devil

When a mysterious devil rescues you from being taken hostage by a fearsome enemy, you fall quickly and hopelessly in love. Turns out, his girlfriend's like an angel too. You're so screwed.

Fandom: Devil May Cry Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Relationships: Nero (Devil May Cry)/Reader, Kyrie (Devil May Cry)/Reader, Kyrie/Nero (Devil May Cry), Kyrie/Nero (Devil May Cry)/Reader Characters: Nero (Devil May Cry), Kyrie (Devil May Cry) Content Warnings: None

Written for day four of Whumptober, prompt was 'Human Shield!' This is another one that ended up being only loosely inspired, and it ended up being more fluff than angst, but hey, just means when I do write angst (like Half Hearted), it's gonna hit so much harder. I kinda lost motivation for this after the first section, so I hope the quality doesn't suffer too badly from it!

Fic under read more.

You should never have been involved in this. It was a fairly average day for you, making your way down the sidewalk of a busy street, groceries in hand while you bickered with your best friend on your cell phone.

“Okay, yes, my ex was kind of a dick, but listen, I’m desperate—” The rest of their argument was cut off as suddenly, the ground heaved underfoot, your purchases spilling to the ground as you lost your balance, crashing down with a heavy thud. Screaming began to cut through the air not a moment later, people running for their lives as thick cracks began to appear in the road, soon splitting into a gaping abyss.

Paralyzed with fear, you found you could only sit and watch with wide eyes as two sets of scaly talons peeked over the mouth of the canyon. A gigantic creature, draconic in nature with four wings, two heads and red and blue mottled scales climbed up from underground. Lava streamed from the jaws of the head with orange eyes, while a frost permeated the air with every breath of the blue-eyed head.

The creature shook its wings out, toppling buildings as it surveyed its surroundings. It rose onto its hindlegs for a better vantage, swishing its flail tail as it did—with a crash, several more shops turned to rubble. The mutant dragon thing didn’t seem to notice.

“Well, well, the human world at last,” the fire head mused, its growling, guttural voice like nails on a chalkboard. Smoke hissed up from the gravel beneath it as the dripping lava ate away at the road. “So many tasty morsels, brother… aren’t you excited?”

“Mm, excited, yes, yes, brother,” the ice head agreed, its voice more of a hiss. “Delectable scents… I can’t wait to have a bite! I must sample some of Earth’s delicacies!”

“Humans… I suppose we shall finally know what they taste like,” the fire head snarled in earnest. “That accursed Sparda may have denied us in our youth, but he cannot stop us now!”

“So, you’re looking for a meal, huh?” Both you and the demon turned to look at the newcomer. From this distance, you couldn’t make out much other than his short white hair, navy blue coat and the fact he had a sword slung over his shoulder, but it was still enough to strike an imposing figure. “Too bad you aren’t getting one here.”

The two heads growled and hissed in displeasure, collapsing back onto their forelegs with a thud that created craters in the road as their body lumbered towards the stranger. “Sparda’s kin!” the fire head roared, lava splattering everywhere. “You will not stand in our way!”

“Yes, yes, you will not stand in our way!” the ice head snapped. “We came here to feast, and feast we shall! And you shall be the appetizer!”

The stranger seemed utterly unperturbed by the threats as he drew his sword, planting it into the ground and revving it like a motorcycle. That was weird, but you were still too shell-shocked to question it. “Sorry pal, but I don’t think I’d be all that tasty. Too chewy, yknow?”

The demon dragon let out a roar, taking to the sky with a flap of its mighty wings that send more debris falling to the ground. The ice head was the first to take the offensive, swooping towards its opponent and exhaling a storm of frost as it swiped with one of its massive clawed forelegs. It hardly seemed to bother the stranger, who easily skipped out of the path of the chill, meeting the strike with a swing of his sword, the edge of the blade glowing red hot. It cleaved through scale and bone with ease, and through your shocked haze, you couldn’t help but think of the one hundred degree knife videos on YouTube as the beast reared back in agony.

“You’ll pay for that, Sparda’s kin, yes, yes, you’ll pay for it!” the ice head snarled, enraged. “Nobody strikes the great Dugoron!”

“Really?” You were now in awe of the stranger as he deftly brought his sword up again. “‘Cause I think I just did. You’re not so great after all, it seems.”

The ice head gave another furious snarl and seemed about to attack again, when the fire head glanced around, glowing orange eyes landing on you. You barely had the time to think oh shit before a thick, scaly tail was wrapping around your midsection, hoisting you into the air faster than you could blink. You tried to scream, but no sound came out, fear stealing the breath from your lungs as the creature dangled you in front of it.

“Would you look at that, brother? Even the kin of Sparda doesn’t dare strike us if a puny human is in his way,” the lava head cackled. This close to the dragon, you could feel (and unfortunately smell) its unbearably hot but simultaneously freezing cold and stinky breath wash over you.

The frost head snickered as well. “Yes, yes, I see, brother! What is it humans call it… empathy?”

As the two heads mocked and taunted their attacker, you twisted in their grip despite the blood rushing to your head to properly look at him. He had lowered his sword, and from what you could tell, he appeared to be shaking, with anger or anxiety or something else entirely you couldn’t tell.

You didn’t have to wait long for clarification. “You know, I’d be careful mocking humans, if I were you,” he began, voice trembling with a barely concealed rage. “We might be STRONGER THAN YOU THINK!”

You couldn’t possibly comprehend what happened next. One moment, there was a flash of blinding blue light, the next, the demon dragon was crashing to the ground and crumbling to nothing, and you were safely cradled within the arms of the stranger, who now looked anything but human; he had transformed into the visage of a devil, spectral wings folding against his shoulders and back as glowing orange eyes looked at you with concern, clawed hands holding you gently.

The transformation dissipated as quickly as it had appeared, aside from the wings, which remained furled. “Are you alright?” your saviour asked quietly, his demeanor shifting now that the threat was gone.

“I, uh…” It processed in your mind that the handsome stranger was still holding you, and your cheeks flooded with color. He seemed to realize this only a moment later, as he turned red as well, quickly placing you down on your feet. “I’m alright,” you managed to get out.

The other opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, there was a screeching sound as a van pulled up beside you both. A woman stuck her head out the window, yelling, “Hey, devil boy, you better get in now unless you wanna be late!”

“Hey, sorry, I gotta go,” your savior apologized to you, quickly searching in his coat pockets. He pulled out a scrap of paper and a pen, quickly scrawling something down and handing it to you. “Call me, alright?”

You nodded, still slightly stuck in processing what had just happened, watching in a daze as he hopped into the van and it drove away. Only when the van was long gone did you glance down at the paper he’d given you, reading the scribbled numbers there and a name just below them.

Nero.

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

It had taken some time for you to gather the courage to call Nero after the incident, but once you had, an arrangement was quickly made for you to come over one night and have dinner with him and his girlfriend, Kyrie. Your best friend had teased you about it when you’d told them about it initially, but they’d quickly shut up once you’d mentioned that Nero was already taken.

You weren’t quite sure what to expect when you rang their doorbell, palms sweating. You certainly weren’t expecting Kyrie to be so heart-stoppingly gorgeous; ginger hair fell neatly to her shoulder, brown eyes sparkling with warmth and a kind smile on her face. Nero was devilishly handsome and Kyrie was angelically beautiful, and you had no idea how you were going to survive the evening.

“Oh, it’s you!” Kyrie spoke your name, her melodious tones setting your heart aflutter. “Nero told me you’d be visiting. We’re delighted to have you! Come inside, I made stew for dinner.”

Kyrie ushered you inside the house, escorting you to the kitchen/living room where you were immediately assaulted by the mouth-watering scent of food. You didn’t have long to get distracted by it, though, taking notice of the familiar figure sprawled across the couch and idly inspecting what seemed to be some sort of prosthetic arm, the TV droning on in the background.

Nero looked up and your gazes met; a moment later, a casual, smug smirk curled across his lips. “Hey,” he greeted, and as he said your name aloud, you knew you were in for one hell of a dinner.

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

Spending the evening with these two perfect beauties and knowing they were both off the table was agonizing. As soon as you could, you were quick to excuse yourself, heading for the door as fast as your feet could carry you, ignoring Kyrie’s surprised call of your name and Nero calling for you to wait.

You were in the hallway when Nero caught up to you. “Wait!” The single word combined with your name was combined with so much desperation that you couldn’t help but obey, turning to the devil hunter without looking him in the eyes, wringing your hands anxiously.

There was a beat of silence, and when it became evident that you weren’t going to break it, Nero sighed softly. “Why did you run like that?” he asked, and to your shock, he didn’t sound mad in the slightest.

You chewed on your lip, still not looking at him; still, you figured you owed him an explanation. “I think I like you both,” you mumbled.

“Sorry?” Disbelief laced Nero’s tone. Understandable. “I don’t think I heard you right.”

You sighed, dragging your gaze up to his face and daring to speak a little louder. “I said, I think I like you both.”

You could see this process in Nero’s mind for several long seconds, then he slowly asked, “Like… like like us?”

That had been a lot of likes, you mused to yourself as you nodded. Nero shook his head, expelling what almost seemed like a sigh of amazement, running his fingers through his hair. “Well, would you look at that,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “Kyrie was right after all.”

You tilted your head, furrowing your brows. “Right about what?” Nero leaned against the wall, cheeks taking on a pink flush. He didn’t look at you as he explained, “I told Kyrie I thought you looked kinda pretty, and I wouldn’t mind getting to know you. We’re in an open relationship, you know. Kyrie reckoned there was a good chance you liked me back, but I didn’t believe her.” He closed his eyes. “I shoulda known better than to doubt her. She’s amazing like that.”

You blinked as these words processed in your mind, then you smiled. Nero was still rambling away, but you had mostly tuned it out as you approached. His eyes snapped open as you stood on tiptoes (damn, he was tall), cupping his cheeks in your hands and whispering his name.

“May I?” you asked softly, searching his expression. You saw him swallow, surprisingly shy, before he nodded, and you leaned in.

Kissing Nero was a near-indescribable experience. At first, the kiss started out slow and chaste, a tender and trembling meeting of lips and feelings. However, Nero quickly found his groove, hands coming to embrace you tightly as he poured more fervor into the kiss, your combined passion surging through your bodies.

It was the kind of kiss that left you both breathless, and neither of you noticed Kyrie standing in the doorway until she spoke. “You two are adorable!” she complimented, eyes sparkling and a hopeful smile on her face as she approached. She turned to you. “Do you mind if I try?”

It took a moment for her request to process, but when it did, you couldn’t help but chuckle, disentangling yourself from her boyfriend to step over to her. Kissing Kyrie was very different from kissing Nero; where he had been full of passion and fire, everything about Kyrie was soft and sweet. It was no less breathtaking, though, and it left you feeling like the middle ground between heaven and hell itself.

Nero smirked at you when you pulled away from his girlfriend, though the slight blush that painted his cheeks offset the expression slightly. Anticipating his question, you couldn’t help but laugh. “I’d love to join you guys, if you’ll have me.”

Nero and Kyrie exchanged a quick look, before they both pulled you into a hug. “We’d love that,” Kyrie murmured beside your ear, and your heart rejoiced.

The love of a devil and an angel. How lucky were you, after all?