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romana-after-dark · 1 month ago

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Our Gentle Sins: Part 5

Dark!Logan Howlett x fem!reader

My god this header is ass but I was an emo kid what can I say

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Chapter summary: Past. You get sick Present. You can't help fall into him.

Warnings: This fic features non con, pregnancy, and themes of religous trauma. I will not be saying everything that happens to warm you, by clicking read more you are prepared for extremely dark themes and that you at 18+. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

2.6 words

a/n: Mean girls reference for mean girls day1!!

Before

This was terrible. Absolutely awful. You were feverish, dizzy, nauseous, diarrhea… all of it. You knew you should say you can’t work… you were barely functioning, you didn’t want to get your kids sick, but your anxiety simply didn’t allow it. When Charles greeted you this morning, you felt awful and considered asking if maybe it was possible for you to potentially go to your room early today…

And yet, when he greeted you and asked how you were, you lied and said a cheery, ‘wonderful!’.

For the last few weeks, you and Logan had lunch together almost every day. You started making extra for him and bringing him a fork, just in case he comes. This last week, however, he hasn’t shown. You didn’t blame him. What a man doesn’t want after kissing a woman is for her to freak out, lock herself in a changing room for 20 minutes and cry, then proceed to not speak as he drives her home. Not your best moment, if you were honest.

But it had taken you by surprise, and with a myriad of guilt swirling in your head, you’d worked yourself into a panic attack. It was happening so fast, so fucking fast and you weren’t ready.

Logan was… you wanted him, you wanted him so fucking. The strong muscles busting out of his wife beater, the way his jeans hung low on his hips, the way that if you asked him to reach for something for you, you could see a trail of hair leading to something making you blush. Sinful thoughts swirled your head, always making your fingers trail over the cotton panties on under your night dress… but you couldn’t fathom him actually wanting you until that moment. When your lay in bed, pj’s looking like something out of little house on the prairie rather than the lingerie you were sure a man like Logan was used to. He was probably drowning in pussy, women who were far prettier and sexier than you.

Women who didn’t come with baggage

Women who didn’t do the things you had done.

It was no wonder he was avoiding you. He could slide himself into one of the many beautiful, mentally stable women here. He’d probably gone and done that as soon as you’d gotten home, realize you weren’t worth the- Oh fuck.

Rushing to the bathroom, you throw up, making it quick before cleaning up and getting it to gether for class. You could make it through the day. It would be fine.

It was not.

Most of your classes you just gave them reading time, or to work on other school work which they were grateful for. Occasionally, someone would come up and ask a question as you did your best to avoid breathing on them; if someone got sick because of you, you’d never forgive yourself, but your fear of rejection made it difficult to express your feelings. For all the talk about women being the emotional ones, somehow you were never allowed to express them. Even as a child, you were hit for crying, until you learned that voicing a need was disrespectful. You wouldn’t disrespect mr. xavier like that.

As your students filed out before lunch, you had grand plans of napping on your desk during lunch before you straight up passed out. Those plans proved silly when Logan walked into your room, looking like a kicked puppy.

“Logan, I’m sorry-” You were about to apolgize for the panic attack, but he started talking first.

“I know you probably hate me-”

You both stop and blink.

“No, I’m sorry. You took me out trying to do something nice-”

“No, no,” He interrupted. Logan stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I… shouldn't have done that, the kiss, I mean.”

Your face feels warm at the mention, but that honestly didn’t mean much. You’ve been warm all day. Still, you didn’t want Logan to think you were some crazy homeschooled jungle freak. All you wanted was to just be normal.

You try to stand. “That’s s-sweet of you…” That attempt didn’t get far, feeling dizzy as the room swirls around you. Vaguely, you can hear Logan call your name in a question, but it’s hard to hear over the muffled sound in your ears. For a moment, you’re falling, then rising again. Logan had you in his arms, and you cling to his plain white shirt as you come back to it. He’s already carrying you out of the room.

Logan is aware of the attention on them. Prying eyes of teachers and whispers from students, gossiping about the pretty little teacher in the arms of the local asshole. No one would get it. No one understood what he felt for you, not when he barely understood it himself. He came to apologize, to ask for things to go back to normal as if he could ever be normal about you, but the distance was killing him. He needed those lunch dates. He needed watching movies with you in the lounge tucked away on the other side of the couch like you were nervous. His gentle baby doll, needing him to guide her. He couldn’t live like he was now, not after tasting you.

Then he saw you there, looking flushed and unwell, and thank god he moved closer to you because you passed out into his arms.

“Logan, what the hell did you-” Scott tried to talk to him, but Logan brushes passed with you in his arms.

“She’s sick. Can you figure out someone to take over the class?”

But Scott was insufferable, putting his hand on Logan’s arm to stop him. “I’m gonna need you to tell me what’s going on.”

“What the fuck does it look like?” Logan snapped, turning around quickly. He regretted it when your little hand tugged on his shirt, groaning. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m gonna get you to bed.” He looked over at Scott with a glare. “As soon as Mr. White knight lets me go.”

If Scott could take off his glasses, Logan was sure he’d see his eyes roll. “Just- fuck, why is she unconcious?”

“Because I drugged her.” Logan deadpans and waits for Scott to open his mouth. “No, dumbass she’s sick. She’s fucking burning up.”

To his horror, Scott reached for you, and on instinct Logan pulled away. When Scott glared at him, Logan aquiessed.

“Jesus… that’s not good…”

“Yeah, it’s not, so if you don’t mind, I’m going to take her to bed so she can rest.”

Logan felt Scotts eyes on his as he walked towards your room.

“Make good choices, Logan…”

Logan didn’t leave your side the rest of the day except to get you water. He called Remy to get your medicine, and the man showed up in a jiffy trying to fuss over you, but Logan practically kicked him out, saying you needed to rest. Truth was, Logan didn’t want anyone else touching you. You didn’t need anyone else, you only needed him. He was gonna take care of you. Logan kept a respectful distance as you sweated your fever out, sitting on the chair in the room and watching Tv after you deliriously requested bobs burgers. This was the last thing he expected you to watch.

He never touched you anywhere unnecessary, and when you asked for his help getting to the bathroom, he closed the door behind him to give you privacy. When he heard you washing your hands, Logan panicked a bit at the idea of you standing without his help in this state, and entered the bathroom to walk you back to your bed.

“I’ll be okay, Logan. I can walk by myself now. I'm not a doll.”

“Yeah, you are. My dolly.” He resisted the urge to kiss the top of your head as he tucked you into bed again.

“Lo?” You mumble, some song playing on the show in the background.

“Yeah, baby doll?”

“Can you lay with me?”

He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. It was a step in the wrong direction, crossing boundaries that were blurring every day… but he could never say no to you. Not ever.

Which is why when Charles came in to check on you, and he found you asleep on Logan’s stomach, he knew he was in trouble.

“Staying away from her, are me?”

“Listen, Chuck I know it looks bad but she’s-”

Charles voice remained cool, but Logan knew he was in trouble. “Sick, yes, I’ve heard. Cyclops has informed me she fell sick. I’m glad you are taking care of her, by surely Gambit could have handled it.”

“Remy don’t know what the fuck she needs.” Logan snapped, sounding overly defensive. Yeah, logically Remy probably could’ve handled it, but he doesn’t know you like he does. Logan was the only person who could give you what you need.

“I believe Gambit is her friend. He would take care of her.”

“Cut to the chase, wheel. Am I in trouble?”

There was a pause of silence, Charles glancing to the TV, then back to Logan. “I told you before, I won’t tell you what to do. But has she told you about her past.?”

Logan swallowed, a bit of anger bubbling up in his at the little knowledge you gave him. “Some. She was homeschool, weird church stuff. Teen marriage.”

He nodded. “Her husband beat her, quite severely. Frankly, I can’t believe she survived it all. Parents, courts, police, medical, at every corner of her life this child was failed by the system, and she is a child, Logan.”

“She’s twenty thr-”

“And you still have 150 years on her, give or take. And considering how she was raised and the lock and key her husband kept on her, mentally she’s younger. I took a chance on her because she needed it. She has a good heart and is skilled at what she does even if she doesn’t know how to divide or what a mitochondria is. Just as I’ve taken in everyone here who is lost, a stray, abandoned by the ones who claimed to love them and cast aside by the world. There are many beautiful women here, Logan. You are a handsome man. You do not need to go after the girl about to fall apart.

But he didn’t understand. Charles could never understand. He didn’t get that Logan didn’t want the other women here, he didn’t want anyone but you. You were meant for him, and he was meant for you.

After

It was getting harder and harder to pretend that you weren’t pregnant. Harder to act like you were fine and getting through the day.

Harder to avoid Logan without making it obvious you were avoiding him, when all the students and teachers were well aware you and him used to eat lunch together and spend most of your free time with him or Remy.

Harder to ignore when you were vomiting in the morning. It was bad, it was so bad and you didn’t want to think about the future, but this was forcing you to content with the fact life was inside you. You didn’t want this baby… not like this, anyway. You had dreamed of this life, even dreamed of it with Logan. A baby in your, happy little job at the school, Logan by your side… You didn’t understand why he did what he did to you, what you did wrong. Why he had to disappoint you like everyone had.

When the door to your bathroom opened, you didn’t have to look up. Soon, large hands were wrapped around your hair as you threw up, and you didn’t have it in you to tell him to go away. He wouldn’t listen anyway, he never did.

Logan could smell when you were throwing up, always lurking nearby and with his heightened smell, he was always on you. So, this had become the routine. He was allowed near you for this. Logan would hold your hair, rub your back and whisper gentle words while you got it out and for a moment you’d pretend, pretend he hadn’t violated you, that you weren’t scared of him. Pretend like you were a cute little married couple awaiting a little bundle of joy and attending church and he was the love you thought he could be, protecting you and caring for you. When it was over, Logan helps you brush your teeth and wash your mouth.

As you stare in the mirror, you don’t recognize yourself. You looked tired. Thinner. A mess as Logan stood behind you brushing your teeth. That’s when the bubble began to crack and you remembered that you let your rapist touch you again. That you were just as weak and pathetic as you had alway been. That you were trapped, always trapped, doomed by your body and your womb and your heart that was always bleeding for some sad soul and now you were beginning to rely on Logan again.

He wiped your mouth with his sleeve, rugged flannel gentle on your lips. Sweet as he ever was.

“I have to go, for a bit.” When you looked at him through the mirror, he clarified. “Maybe a month. Maybe less…”

You blink. “No.”

He blinks right back. “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean, you don’t get to do this. You don’t get to do what you did and then just leave me alone!”

“I’m not.” Logan turned you towards him, and you hated that you just wanted him to hug you. “I’m coming back. It’ll give you some space, and when I get back we can talk, and… we can figure things out… and we can get you to a doctor, dolly.”

The idea of going to a doctor again, especially another OB/GYN, was scary… the idea that soon, you wouldn’t be able to hide what was happening was even scarier. But the idea of doing this alone, without Logan?

“No.” Your eyes fill with tears, already partially wet from the puke. “I need you now! You don’t get to just break me and walk away!”

There's silence for a beat, but then he sighs. You can see a softening of his features, maybe a little smile. He was happy you were depending on him. You knew you were falling down the wrong path, but it was so hard not to. You parents said this was who you were meant to be, that it was biological, Gods plan for men and women… were they right all along? “There’s a girl, western Washington area, pretty rural. Mutant. Her family is…. They think she’s possessed. Performing exorcisms on her. She’s not gonna live… Kurt and I are gonna help her, hopefully bring her back. She needs help, dolly. No one helped you, but we’re gonna help her.”

Logan knew that would get you. A girl in a strict religious family being abused? Yeah, it was a chapter out of your book. Most of the chapters, honestly.

You sat back against the counter, pajama dress still on. You close your eyes. “What if I end the pregnancy? You just gonna do it again?”

Slowly, he raises a hand to your face, and despite his efforts to be careful you still flinch. “What happened will never, ever happen again, Dolly. I could never really hurt you, don’t you understand that? You won’t get an abortion. I know it. But we’re gonna figure this out. You, me, our child.” A hand on your stomach. “A family.”

Thank you all so much for your love!!!! Dont forget to check out the spotify, and telling me more songs!!!!

A few questions about remy last chapter

Let me know your thoughts on the story below!!!

Comments mean the world! It's what keeps me writing. I dont need reblogs (although they are helpful to spread my work!) but interactive comments are s special. theorizing or noticing little things makes me melt.

@multiversed-daydreamer @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @del-ightfulling @miraclesabound @hindi-si-ikay @samsamsantos @madamerubrum @shybluebirdninja a @hornystan @rogueinmymind @accountforreading123 @yawnetu @princessanglophile @and-claudia @new-genesis1000 @teaganthemorningstar @oldloganslittleslut @zaggprincess2

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mommalosthermind · 1 year ago

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So I'm slowly starting to come to understand that we shouldn't censor things but also I'm still a little uncomfortable with the site allowing things like pedophilia to be written in a way that's romanticized. I get it. Avoid it since I don't like it but at what point do we say, 'hmm this isn't okay.' I mean I get it, fiction doesn't hurt people but if that were truly the case then why are we lobbying for rep/realism/etc in media? Fiction, at some point, has to have some effect on real life.

Hello darling! I got your second ask too, please don’t worry, you’re definitely not coming across as unkind.

And you’re definitely not the only one to have similar thoughts or concerns.

But my answer’s going to be the same.

There is no such thing as a little censorship, and opening that particular can of pringles is not going to end happily for anyone. It’s better to not open it at all. And yes, that means people will create deeply fucked up things. But they should have the ability to do so, just like you should have the ability to avoid the hell out of it.

(Which, for AO3, is where I start in on my tag your shit appropriately/read the fucking tags!!! Rants. Learned the hard way a million years ago when I *thought* I was reading something very very different than I was, so when I got to ‘Character has sex with a dog’ I lost my mind, then realized I fucked up and hadn’t read the tags. If I had, I would have noped out of that fic immediately. So. That entire encounter was on me.)

“At what point is this not okay?” Well, that’s the whole point, isn’t it? Who would be in charge of deciding where the line goes? Who gets to decide what goes on which side of the line?

The last anon seemed to think writing was the same as doing, and thus writing shouldn’t be allowed at all.

And then got annoyed when I pointed out how often those unsavory themes happen in movies or TV without any warning at all, and generally, people move right past it.

Fiction doesn’t hurt people. People hurt people.

My favorite comparison is still my kitchen curtains, because my curtains are still weird: fairies, trees. Very witchy. I’ve seen people do literal double takes over my curtains. I can tell by the way they squint they can’t stand them or don’t understand why I would want something so *non-traditional* in such a public part of my house. They keep their damned mouths shut though, because they know its rude to tell me to change my curtains to fit their idea of a kitchen. (And also because I’d toss them out after laughing my ass off but that’s not relevant)

Person A has an idea of what ‘acceptable’ levels are, but that’s much much less than person B. Who wins? No one.

And no one should have the power to just decide things like that.

It’s stupid o’clock at night where I am, so I’m not about to go digging for studies, but I know we’ve got pretty solid proof that media doesn’t cause behaviors spontaneously. At the risk of sounding old, but this same argument once was applied to music, too. The weird compromise was slapping content warnings for language/sex/violence on CD’s. (Y’know. A significantly less useful form of tagging?) It didn’t… really do shit for anyone. Other than make those CD’s more attractive to teens, tbh. But. The argument at the time was rap and rock were violent and would make kids go insane and violent just by listening.

It… didn’t. It still doesn’t.

Reading dark fic isn’t going to cause someone to do something out of the blue.

Someone who’s debating doing the thing might seek out media about whatever their obsession is, yes. But their obsession was already there. Fic, music, movies, they’re not going to create it. I’d wager those girls who murdered their friend and blamed ‘slenderman’ had signs long before they went that far.

Part of the problem with this entire thought is that it’s thought policing. Folks assume the thought equals the sin. And as someone with pretty wonky intrusive thoughts and a long family history of mental issues— no. I have weird ass thoughts all the time. ‘Huh, I’m up high, I should jump, maybe I’ll float.’ I’m not gonna act on them. I know they’re weird thoughts. I’m not gonna float, I’d just die. Your brain just… says things sometimes. Some of us more than others. Therapy’s helpful for folks who struggle with that.

Fiction’s got nothing to do with it, though. Fiction just represents someone else working through their lives.

Melissa Etheridge wrote a song (scarecrow) about Matthew Sheppard’s murder. She didn’t cause anyone else to go torture another lonely gay boy to death. She was working through her grief at losing another one of us. And we worked through our grief when she sang.

Art is made for the making of it. Fiction—even the kind that squicks you— is still art.

As for the other part of your ask, the representation? I’m not sure I see the connection you’re trying to make. When people talk about rep, they’re talking about making the characters more authentic, more reflective of the beautiful range of humanity at large. Not seven brown haired white guys and one bitchy white woman and the unnamed not-white side character used for shit jokes. There should be a rainbow of humans in media, because little black girls deserve to know they’re strong and smart and beautiful. Because queer kids of all sizes and shapes deserve to know they’re loved. Because boys should get to be princesses. Because people with chronic illnesses, disabilities, they should get to be part of the stories. Because white folk need to see the rest of the world as human. Folks want to see themselves in the heroes, the happiness, the successes.

Too many kids never get to see themselves on the screen or read about people who look like them.

I loved belle as a kid because she looked like me and she loved reading. I loved Ariel because she wanted to be free. I cried over encanto because I know what it’s like to be excluded, what it’s like to be the big sister. I cried over reading red white and royal blue because the gays get to live and they’re happy. Everyone should have some way to connect.

The realism bit,though, I don’t think is the consumers as a whole. Yeah, some folks prefer it, but from what I’ve seen over the last 20 years, it’s more like the people who control most popular media have decided that’s what they wanna make. I don’t care for it, tbh. Media doesn’t need to be an exact copy of the real world.

Stories are meant as a place of solace, or at least a place that is different, than your day to day.

I like stories that have soft, happy ever afters. We’ve worked through the Big Bad Thing and come out stronger for it and now we get our well deserved rest. The real world doesn’t give me those things. Other people look at the state of the world, read seriously fucked up shit, and then go, well, at least my life isn’t that. It could be worse! And this is their happy place.

So. I’m not sure I’m much help here, but tl;dr: remember the tenets of fandom:

1) kinktomato: your kink is not my kink and that is okay. (You like this, I do not, I’m gonna leave it alone, the end.)

2) DLDR: Don’t like? Don’t read. Filtering and blocking are your besties.

3) ship and let ship (or sit down) — don’t press your dislike onto the people who do like. Let ‘em alone, go find what you do like.

4) tag appropriately, read the damn tags.

5) curate your own spaces. You alone are responsible for your online existence/experiences

6) have fun. Enjoy it. Be weird. Be silly. Be fucked up. Be unrepentantly yourself. Don’t let anyone else take that away from you.

#momma talks #asks #answered asks #censorship #i am very tired its like 1 am so this is probably more incoherent than I think it is im so sorry

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thekingofwinterblog · 1 year ago

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Hell If I Care! - Soul Eater's Original Message

One of the way i find both of the endings of Soul Eater facinating, is how they overlap in so many ways.

This is not surprising, given the fact that Ōkubo Atsushi had his hand in both of them, and so he effectively got to do a doo over when he himself had free reigns for the Manga, withouth having to worry about episode limits... Unfortunatly in many ways, He learned the wrong lessons from the mixed reaction the original anime ending got when first released.

Asura was innitially heavily critiqued by fans for how he was defeated, so Okubo made sure to mix his stupidly high powerlevel with pretty much being completely unflappable, when the entire point of his character was that for all his power, he was a massive coward.

Thus removing that genuine fear removed pretty much everything that made him stand out from other uber powerfull Shonen villains.

The lesson Okubo should have taken from this, was to make sure to emphasise the fact that just like Kid, Asura was a living embodiment of a very volatile force, and just like his brother could he brought to his knees with incorrect symmetry, Asura could and were in the end, defeated by his own opposite, bravery.

Instead we got the sealed moon. Yay.

There were a lot of bad lessons learned from the anime reception, and in many points the result was to rewrite the overall plans, rather than refining them now that he knew what did, and didnt work.

One of those things that was very obviously changed, that stuck out to me, is something Crona says at the end of the manga as justification for resorting to sealing Asura away, rather than fighting.

This is beat for beat the exact same thing Asura said at the end of the anime as he was going through his mental breakdown.

Ultimately, the Thing that turned Asura into the person he was, was the certainty that nothing was absolute in the world. There was no guarantees that he would be safe, and would remain safe. That madness would always exist, and with it, the knowledge that he would have to face it for the rest of his life.

That is what drove him to madness, and here at the end, He is screaming this line of thoughts to Maka.

Even if she defeats him, the madness of the world that made him wont go away, sooner or later there will rise another Kishin up to take his place, a successor(Any potential demon egg that is allowed to reach its full potential), a junior(kid falling to madness like Asura did), a newcomer(really anyone could do it with the right set of circumstances), or a hidden number 2(Asura doesnt have one, but the point here is that maka cannot for absolute certain refute that he might in this moment) or really whatever else will pop up to replace him.

That is the ultimate point of Soul Eater's villains.

There will always be darkness, always be madness, so long as humanity exists, something, somewhere, will always pop up as the next great evil.

In asura's case, that is specifically a new incarnation of the madness of fear, but it goes for anything really. If Soul Eater shows anything, its that evil didnt begin with asura, and it wont stop with him either.

So with that in mind, what is Maka's response?

Hell if I care!

This is the moment Soul Eater was building towards as it's climax, both the anime and manga. The culmination of the entire story, and it's themes is encapsulated in this moment.

Madness and Bravery are two sides of the same coin, but they are not opposites.

Fear and Bravery is.

The World is Terrifying, and anything can happen to you. You can die tomorrow, and you WILL die at some point. Everyone you know will die. Horrible, murderous people exists, and will be replaced by other, horrible, murderous people.

If you have a lover, they might break up with you tomorrow, or they might cheat on you. Your parents might break up. Your brother might turn out to be a deranged killer. you could be an orphan. Your Dad could be actively dying. Your mother might abandon you on the street. You might simply draw the genetic lottery and be doomed to subpar talent and always remain second rate in doing what you love. Dictators exists, and will continue to exist somewhere in the world. And there is nothing you can do about any of it.

This is truth. It is true for countless people around the world, and will remain so for as long as humanity exists.

It is fully logical to fear it.

Soul Eater's message is not to deny this truth, but instead say that it doesnt matter. Everything horrible can happen yes, but by that same token, EVERYTHING that makes life worth living is full of risks.

Loving someone means exposing your heart to betrayal, but it also means opening it up for warmth that can only be found in companionship, be that of a lover, a friend, family, or a even a pet.

only by taking risks, and falling on your face, will you ever be able to grow, while those who run away will never grow at all, and remain stagnant, or even atrophate.

Great things in life, only comes by being willing to take risks, take chances, and confront the fact that the world is terrifying head on.

The future is terrifying, but so what?

If you want to live a life worth living, you have to be willing to face the risks of life head on.

It's a great message, even if the anime could have handled it better. It's a shame though that the manga ultimately abandoned it.

#soul eater #maka albarn #asura #meta #episode 51 #chapter 112

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artemisdesari-blog · 5 months ago

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You know what I miss? I miss "don't like, don't read" being the primary accepted attitude to fanfic spaces. I miss a time when people had to actively look for the things they did and did not want to see instead of an algorithm shoving echo chambers of like minded folks at us until that's all that we can see and hear. I miss the times when people looked at their internet space and curated it into what they wanted it to be rather than being told by the machine what it should be.

I miss people understanding that while fiction may reflect our reality, it only affects our reality if we allow it to. I read my first sex scene in a book when I was 13 (my mum read the first third, got bored and let me read it, the sex popped up about two thirds in), I had already encountered themes of SA in mainstream media before that, not to mention torture and murder just being an obliquely referenced thing in even kids programs at the time. I routinely read books which featured war and carnage, child endangerment and even heavily implied child assault/abuse, relationships with massive age gaps, abusive relationships, implied incest (by the time I was 10 everyone in my year group at school knew the story of Oedipus, and anyone who went through the Greek and Roman mythology stage got an eyeful of all of it, frankly), and relationships where the power imbalances were huge. Fanfic authors may explore the darkest sides of human nature, but mainstream media has been doing that for FAR longer than we have. If anything, in exploring it fanfic authors have also called it out far more than mainstream media does (looking at you, romcoms)

I miss people understanding that you cannot hurt a work of fiction: the characters aren't real people. Some of my earliest exposure to fanfic was in the early days of FFN, and then scouring the internet for fic which had not made it onto that central hosting site. Those were the wild west days, the days when people treated fanfic like published books and gave you a summary and not a lot else. At the risk of sounding like an eighty year old lady: you youngins today have no idea how good you have it. The tagging systems on AO3 (in particular) make it difficult to run into things you would prefer not to read about unless the writer has opted not to tag. Sometimes that's a simple oversight, sometimes it isn't, but most will tag for the most common triggers if they feature. And, quite honestly, if they don't you can ask them to tag it, but the back button also exists and should be used.

I miss people understanding that inter-generational friendships are actually pretty common and normal. I started work at 16, I made friends in my work place who were anything from 5 to 40 years older than me. I had my work mum, who watched my back when the early morning customers got a bit too flirty with my 16 year old self, my manager who was 12 years older than me but who gave me advice about boys my age and who could talk Star Trek and all other sci-fi with me for hours and who told the idiot who was 7 years older than me who asked me out to back off when I said no. They taught me a lot about life and navigating the world as an adult that I didn't learn from my parents or teachers or peers. They taught me about communicating with people older than me, and strangely about talking to people younger than me too.

I miss people understanding that the bad guys aren't fascinating because I agree with them. The bad guys are fascinating because they are the bad guy. What is their motivation? Do they even have motivation or are they just like that? There is a reason the bad guys get the juiciest lines. Would I want to encounter Darth Vader, or Hannibal Lecter, or any other popular evil character in a dark alley? Hell no. I wouldn't even want to bump into them in the middle of a busy street on a sunny day, but they are fascinating to read about and watch. They are fascinating to write. That doesn't mean I agree with any of the things their characters do, and I might only be playing with them, but someone else thought them up and imagined all of the awful stuff that they could do first. Why do fanfic writers get absolutely crucified for playing with them, when the creators are left in peace?

Look at it this way: I read IT when I was 14, I did not immediately go out and recreate a few of the more controversial scenes in that one. I read multiple books about 16, 17, 18 year old girls getting into relationships with men old enough to be their fathers, I didn't go out and start looking for a man that old to date. I don't murder and SA and pillage my way through the world no matter how many times it's come up in books and films and tv series. Reading about it doesn't mean I don't understand how terrible it is, but as I said at the start: reality is reflected in our media. How many films have been made about war? How many TV shows that deal with all manner of crimes? How many books that have characters which were abused as children? Or deal with incest?

So, if you really object to all the stuff you see in fanfic, how about you go out there and try to make things better for actual REAL victims, instead of attacking people who are simply writing about an imaginary figure? Especially when some of those people are the victims you claim to be trying to protect. Evil people have always existed, they exist now, they existed 100 years ago, they existed 1000 years ago. They certainly didn't need the internet to inspire them then, and they don't need it now either.

#fanfiction #ao3 writer #proshipping #things that I miss #don't like don't read #curate your own online experience #curate your space #pro ship #proship safe #i hate the term proshipping #it seems so benign and hides all the meaning #but we are proship safe in this house

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zappedbyzabka · 11 months ago

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i don’t know why but that last picture you posted makes me think of ex!pageant johnny who did beauty pageants when he was a kid/teenager (maybe because of his mom? or because of sid?) and now is super disillusioned with them and kind of doesn’t want to talk about them UNTIL he has to because (maybe) sam? gets into the idea of winning the valley pageant (probably to maybe make a statement about it and johnny kind of is into that idea too) and he starts training her for it and anyway this is my long way of saying i think daniel should witness johnny doing pageant training and lose his mind

- landslided

So, I don’t know if any of you have seen Insatiable but that is what popped up in my mind

It’s about a girl (Debby Ryan) who used to be a big girl and lost weight after surgery (I think) and becomes “hot”. Her lawyer was an ex pageant coach who shows her how to do everything.

(Spoiler) he was lifelong rivals with this one dude for in the show before it was revealed the rival had secretly been in love with him the whole time and they make out in a bathroom BUT I do not care for an AU of this because I much prefer Johnny being an ex pageant queen beauty who helps his non-blood daughter and they bond (instead of everything Patty does to her coach YIKES.)

Johnny shows her everything he can remember—including the tips he got from the beauty queens around him despite not having the opportunity to use most of said tips.

Dark lipstick makes your teeth look whiter. Double sided tape and safety pins are your best friend. Don’t forget your rollers. The higher the heel the longer the leg but the harder it is to have the perfect walk.

One foot in front of the other, good posture, delicate hands, big smile for the judges.

It’s all a performance that you have to be great at or you have no chance at winning.

He usually wore suits as what was expected of him, sometimes themed outfits depending. He would have liked to get to wear all the pretty dresses the girls wore to see if he’d win that competition too. He is, after all, extremely competitive.

He put on some high heels to be silly once when he was cozying up to the judges before the pageant began and got told it was a shame he wasn’t a girl because otherwise he would have been snatched up by a big agency with those perfect visuals.

It pissed him off that he couldn’t do everything.

The creeps that ran the pageants and the annoyance of guys at school teasing him for his forced girly hobby had him bitter and over all of it. The sashes and dainty trophies fit beautifully next to his All-Valley trophy, but had to go. (he couldn’t bring himself to throw them away. It’d be like throwing away his accomplishments. They’re somewhere buried in a box.)

But when Sam brought it up, Johnny jumped to offer his help—cutting off Daniel’s pondering over where they’d find a coach.

Sure, Johnny had to explain to about 4 adults and 12 or so kids that he was in beauty pageants but it only dampened his excitement a little.

Daniel was…really interested in watching him demonstrate for Sam. Really interested—enamored.

He can’t believe Johnny knows nothing about makeup! No wonder his hair was always styled.

Poor Sam had to learn to strut in a room filled with tension between her dad and coach so thick you could cook it in the microwave

Johnny was all “Impress Daniel. Impress Daniel. Impress Daniel” in his mind and Sam rolled her eyes so many times they hurt.

Watching Sam thrive and use her beauty to her advantage was a gift for Johnny. He knows she’s had trouble with people not taking her seriously for it and it genuinely made his heart ache with understanding -he’s also had issues his looks. ‘Pretty boy’ always seemed to be a way of pushing him down.

They don’t let her karate skills go to waste. There are so many things she could do as a talent that it was hard to pick, but they settled for the ice chopping that she knew would make her father happy as a surprise. (idk if they would actually allow that, but that would never stop Johnny or her lol.)

cough cough catch Daniel smitten with the man that helped his daughter and kissing him in the dressing rooms after she wins. Anyone that makes his little girl that proud of herself is a goodie in his book. And MAYBE Johnny had been feeding Sam advice on how to get the angry blond girl so very similar to him and Sam’s ALSO kissed silly in a dressing room until Tory’s face is stained with all her makeup.

#Sorry for the late reply I have a lot of excuses #I am so sorry #i know nothing about pageants #I’m playing #tw weighloss #johnny lawrence #sam larusso

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im-a-walmart-bag · 4 months ago

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Here is the first part of the story! Hope you like it! It was kind of rushed thought, sorry about that!

It is called..

King Leonardo and the Fallen Kingdom

This is about the leader of the TMNT, Leonardo. This is just what happens before, like flashbacks or things he writes down, I won’t say much yet! Hope you enjoy it!

Long ago, Two Brothers united into the Hamato Kingdom, The King of the land none other than Hamato Yuuta.

You see, Oroku Saki was found

In the aftermath of the war, Being adopted by the king wasn't easy, Especially when Oroku Saki was the prince of the Foot Clan Kingdom. Yuuta had to keep it secret from him, if he didn't, who knows what could happen. So throughout the years, King Yuuta has kept the big news a secret, afraid it will Only lead Oroku Saki down a path of evil, you see, this was no ordinary kingdom This was a kingdom at magic. And in Oroku Saki’s heart, all there was, was dark and evil magic from the Foot kingdom. (I know, weird name, but wort with me here) Enough about Oroku Saki! Let’s talk about Hamato Yoshi!

Hamato Yoshi was born in the Hamate Kingdom and was given the power of patience and strong Will - power. Now, you might be wondering, “How is that a super power?” Well, patience might not seem like much, but will power allows him to block attacks using his magic and the power of patience ables him to learn healing magic, any if he wanted too if he tried, making him the higher and more powerful kid, making him next in line.

When Oroku Sami found out, he despised Yoshi because of anger and betrayal, thinking he should have become the next in line. Making the two now rivals.

Yuuta was someone who believed that if needed to fight, you must, so, he did what any kung-fu king would do, teach his sons Kung-fu, but what Yuuta didn’t know is that after all of the training, the two used it to fight each other. Yoshi was someone who never wanted to fight if he ever wanted to..but when Saki forced him to fight, he couldn’t just leave, Saki wouldn’t let him, so, he fought back. After the years of fighting, they never agreed on anything, so they fought and fought, until one day the two were exploring and fighting of course.

"Saki, we can work together," Yoshi pleaded during the heated sparring session.

"Work together? Why should I, when you’re always favored?" Saki retorted, his eyes burning with anger.

Yoshi was slammed against a broken wall (some ancient ruins or something), Before a helmet would fall out of a glass casing, the two stopped fighting, looking at it in confusion, Saki picked it up, it had many ancient writings on the inside, so they went home to tell their father.

When Yuuta saw the helmet, he went ballistic, yelling at the two, mostly Saki, because they found something so dangerous, Sali had enough of the yelling, the annoying behavior of his father…so that night, he left the kingdom for good.

In those years, Saki found his origins on where he came from…he was pissed to say the least..all of this power, all of this greatness…yet he hid it for ‘protection’…After years alone, he finally made something that revolutionizes his new army, a ooze that can turn humans into hideous monsters/mutants…so…he did what he did best…conquering places by his wrath..Gaining more power than ever..So..to get revenge..he would use it on his Brother.

Disclaimer

This story is a work of fiction and features alternate universes (AUs) based on characters and settings that may be familiar but are presented in unique and original scenarios, including the original AU. The events, characters, and settings depicted are the product of the author's imagination and are not intended to be representative of any actual persons, living or dead, or real-life events. Any similarities are purely coincidental.

This story may contain themes and content that differ from the original works and may include new character interpretations, relationships, and plotlines, as well as the original AU. Reader discretion is advised.

All rights to the original characters and settings belong to their respective creators. This story is a fan creation intended for entertainment purposes only, with no intent to infringe on any copyrights or trademarks.

This content concludes cursing, gore, and trauma, read at your own risk!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

#tmnt 2012 #tmnt fanfiction #TMNT royalty #knights #royalty

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baku-bowl · 3 years ago

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broke 1,000 followers (the fuck? I don't even make content people), so decided to write up a list of some (but not all, I'll make other lists later) of my favorite Bakugou-centric fic recs. my tastes run towards hurt/comfort, as you'll probably figure from the list. if there are some Baku-centric fics that you've enjoyed that aren't on here, please add them - this is definitely not a complete list of the ones I've read and love, but I'm always up for some recs. <3

fair warning, most of these are wips.

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Social Media 101 by WindsChild8178

Part 1: Survival Guide to Fucking Up

[Solely Bakugou’s point of view]

Katsuki Bakugou doesn’t have a gentle bone in his body. He’s aggressive in everything he does and does everything with 100% of his heart in it. After the Sport’s Festival, Katsuki starts to get harassed by strangers for his unheroic demeanor. It starts with letters but it doesn’t end there. The moment Katsuki realizes the harassment has entered dangerous territory and he needs to tell someone, it’s already too late.

Part 2: Post Traumatic Life Disorder

[Point of View opens up to Bakugou, teachers and classmates]

When the Dorms are finally built, everyone is settling in well, but things become tense as people begin to realize something isn’t right with the recently rescued Bakugou.

[Cannon compliant right up to after the License Exam]

hands down my favorite fic in the fandom right now. it’s the one that converted me into a Bakugou lover. if you have any fondness for Bakugou as a character then it’s likely you’ve read this one already, but if not, I can’t recommend it enough. incredibly depressing, but with the hope that comfort is coming soon in the next few chapters.

The Kids Will Be Alright, Eventually by NotWithThatAttitude

Bakugou is spiraling in the aftermath of Kamino and his friends are starting to notice. He's stubborn, aggressively independent, and less than willing to dig into his past, but after a breakdown that ends with a painful secret revealed, he starts to get help.

Whether he likes it or not.

Meanwhile, a new kind of villain threatens an uneasy peace following the loss of Allmight. Whispers build as a new narrative slowly takes shape:

Hero society needs to change.

Feat. Therapy, Dadzawa, best boy Kirishima, dysfunctional families, healing, growing up, and the mortifying ordeal of being known

guys.. the medical accuracy of this fic is just... *chef’s kiss*

I rarely see mental health genuinely handled well in fics, but this one goes above and beyond. kudos to the author for doing such excellent research into psychology, and making the application of it in here not-boring. also, while this one does have abusive!Mitsuki, it’s done in a way that feels realistic, and how I usually will see it occur in real life, rather than just for the hurt/comfort feels.

fair warning, the fic can be incredibly triggering (themes of severe depression, PTSD, panic attacks, rape survival, abuse survival, suicidal ideation/attempted suicide, among other things), so be safe and heed the tw’s if you decide to read. legitimately one of my Top Favorite fics in this fandom.

Lock and Key by autochorystalize

Bakugou made a choked, gravelly noise before croaking out a low, “You can’t be serious.” His fingers ached to blow up everything in the room.

“I’m sorry, young man, but you can’t change reality! This sometimes happens.” Recovery Girl clicked through his file, adding a new symbol in a previously empty slot.

- - -

A pair of eyes discreetly locked on to an explosive blond plowing his way forward, parting people in his path. He recognized the kid, of course. Anyone in the underbelly of society would recognize him, after the publicity of both UA’s Sports Festival and the events leading up to All Might’s fall. The uniform he was wearing cast away any doubts about the young man’s identity.

It was a bit of a surprise that the little firecracker presented as an omega.

- - - - - - - - -

Or: there are certain types of evil that seemed too distant, archaic violations and perversions that would never actually threaten bright-eyed heroes-in-training in the clean, modern world...but sometimes those evils aren't as distant as one might think.

remember when I said that I love a/b/o fics that are full of plot and world-building and gender-induced tension? that’s this one. the OC’s are fabulous and you love to hate ‘em. also, it’s the fic that made me fall head-over-heels for the TodoBaku dynamic, so it’s got a special place in my cold, dead heart.

be warned, there are rather explicit non-con scenes between an adult (OC) and a minor (Bakugou) in this one, but the author warns for them in advance, and you could likely skip those parts without missing too much if you need to.

Never and Always, Eventually by Wawa_Boonliang

"Katsuki can remember the exact moment that he and Deku…that he and Midoriya Izuku became friends. He can also remember the moment he and Izuku became fierce rivals, a time when they were almost enemies.

However, what he remembers most clearly about their relationship is the moment that they moved passed rivals and became something more close than mere friends. Something more like brotherhood, something forged in fire and secured in the middle of a battlefield or in the midst of natural disaster where the number of the dead was climbing ever higher. And then it was torn from him."

Katsuki is given a second chance. A chance to save everyone. A chance to change everything.

But should he?

y’all. I’m a slutty, slutty whore for time travel fics. a time travel fic with autistic!coded Bakugou? it was love at first read.

Lessons Learned by Sif (Rosae)

Rather than the police station, Katsuki's friends bring him to a hospital after rescuing him from the villains. His wounds were minor, but it didn't make having them treated any less important. As it would so happen, Best Jeanist was also brought to this hospital after the attack.

Sometimes, small choices have a big impact on how a story plays out.

classic Bakugou hurt/comfort. this fic opened me up to the potential that could be a genuinely good Best Jeanist & Katsuki mentor-mentee relationship, and I kind of dig it and search ravenously for it in other fics now. I’m also a huge fan of the behind-the-scences Pro Hero Chat group.

Slope by sunfleurmoon

“I’m not a hero. Or a good person,” Katsuki says, giving Aizawa a pointed look, “So leave me alone. I don’t care about the League or UA, or you—” The two years he’s been away have been fine, more than fine, fucking fantastic actually if you ignore the bi-monthly near-death experiences. He doesn’t need this place. He doesn’t miss this place.

And yet, longing, a childish desire to tear up, or maybe blow something to bits, they all twist in his chest like a band of traitors regardless. “—I just want to go home.”

Or: the one where Katsuki and Izuku fail the first term exam, Aizawa discovers their pasts, and Katsuki is booted from UA. Featuring questionable descriptions of villain organizations, a slightly illegal moving shop, and your favorite emotionally constipated badass in distress with a newly discovered penchant for collecting strays.

paaaaaaiiiiiiiin. the hurt is ALIVE in this one. lots of tortured, angsty exploding child goodness. the OC’s are excellently crafted, and the Bakugou & Eri relationship? beautiful. definitely deserves a read.

Ground Zero by WindsChild8178

In the wake of Kamino, Katsuki is tested more than anyone could imagine. Bound by a villain’s quirk to keep his silence or die, he lives each day knowing it might very well be his last. He continues to work towards becoming a hero, keeping his secret from his classmates and teachers, focusing on making it through each day and trying not to allow the panic or depression to get the best of him. When the villain finally corners him with demands in exchange for his life, there is really only one answer Katsuki Bakugou can give.

honestly don't know which I want updated more - social media 101 or ground zero. this author's fics are amazing, and I really wasn't expecting the twist in this one. can't wait for windschild to come back to this fic some day.

The Defect by LadyGreenFrisbee

"Why do you want to win the Sports Festival so badly?"

Because I want to see if the defect could usurp the masterpiece.

(In which Endeavor holds a terrible secret and Bakugo has to suffer since childhood for it.)

a great concept, and I adore the shouto and Katsuki sibling interaction here. hoping the author will come back to this one some day.

A Name That You'll Remember by Heronfem

Kirishima Eijirou is a Hero. Bakugou Katsuki... is not. Trapped in his toxic workplace and increasingly desperate to get out, Red Riot's days are only brightened by a new villain known as Caution, who's not exactly villainous and keeps accidentally doing good deeds. But when a real villain appears, a threat from the past that demands that Red Riot make the ultimate sacrifice to keep the public safe, Bakugou is forced into saving the day... and eventually, Red Riot himself.

sob story good guy villains are my weakness, this fic is a gem, and I'd kill for the sequel.

Our Hero by AnonymousTwit

He felt everything jerk to the side and throw his balance off before he saw anything, dust clouding his vision and irritating his lungs as the earth itself opened up to swallow them whole. For a single moment, in a millisecond's time, his wild eyes locked with Raccoon Eyes', hers alight with fear and adrenaline-fueled desperation. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized that it was the first time she'd looked at him with something other than long-deserved hatred in days.

And then he was free falling.

After a particularly nasty encounter between childhood friends, the class learns about Bakugou and Midoriya's dark history and practically ostracizes Bakugou while trying to defend Midoriya. An earthquake during an outing has all sides regretting their decisions.

just fucking tear apart my self-sacrificing faves in every way imaginable while their loved ones watch on in terror. 💖🥰💖 this one is heavy on the Bakusquad and Class-1A feels, and VERY heavy on the Mina & Bakugou relationship (platonic).

Running back the tape, watching it replay by Faralyne

For someone ripped from their time, ripped from the few but strong relationships built by time and personal development, by self-reflection and swallowed pride, ripped from the one thing that made him feel worthwhile and needed and put-together, and forced to forge everything over again—Katsuki thinks he is handling it pretty fucking well.

A villain’s quirk sends a 29-year-old Bakugou back in time to his middle school days.

am I a sucker for time travel? yes. am I a sucker for vigilante!bakugou? also yes. am I a sucker for this fic? literally refreshing the page in wait for an update as we speak.

Liability by sandelf

After All-Might dies rescuing Bakugou from the League, Bakugou is determined to prove it wasn't for nothing.

But the world is against him, his grief is overwhelming, and his stability is splitting at the edges.

very self-indulgent bakugou angst. tw for harassment, severe depression, and suicidality.

Special Mentions:

How To Win The Sport Festival: A Step By Step Guide by mhwright

Short re-imagining of the Sports Festival Arc if Shinso had planned a little better and worked a little harder to win the Sports Festival and if the match-ups had been slightly different. Self-indulgent fic of watching him succeed.

this is completely Shinsou-centric, not Bakugou-centric, but I love and adore it and am dying for a sequel. Shinsou is Best Boy here and you'll be rooting for him the whole time.

#fic rec #katsuki bakugou #bakugou #seriously though if you have a rec for me please always assume i will be unbearably grateful for it #and hit me up with it in the comments or through messaging #thanks for the follows y'all!

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inflammatoryfandomblog · 2 years ago

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you know what, i’m just gonna dump all of the thoughts i’ve had on tdp in the past year (not many) in a classic, inflammatoryfandomblog hyper-readable and not-at-all-irritating-to-read post. this one in particular was just a post that i’d saved to drafts and added to whenever i had a Thought.

some of these things were written in response to discourse that was popular a few months ago, but that i don’t remember the specifics on now and don’t remember who or what was involved--i just caught secondhand vibes.

i’ll stick this under a readmore because it’s actually quiiiite long, because i don’t edit very well. i also dislike the show, so this is not a commentary coming from a fan. if you don’t want negativity or plain just don’t like me, please do not push the “keep reading” thing.

-> unicorns are definitely not extinct and something fishy is going on here. how did claudia manage to get a unicorn horn for viren’s edgy spell if they were all gone hundreds of years ago? that’s not right. or it’s a retcon. or claudia just nabbed a unicorn horn from a museum and told viren she captured a unicorn (new short story idea: claudia’s caper). to boot, viren was super proud of claudia for capturing a unicorn. maybe the unicorns were actually super bad, who knows.

-> dark magic leading to a magical desertification makes sense. i mean, you put all those powerless humans with a handful of dark magic lords and... i mean remember that post i made about how the imprint of dark magic should make itself visible in the human cultures? this is what i’m talking about.

with the history of desertification, “(dark) magic is just an easy way out” is at once Advanced Cope and also a reasonably skeptical reaction if your history is marred by a concentration of mages/the people in charge not thinking ahead but instead of letting the natural consequences of their stupid actions explode in their faces, magic allows them to circumvent it at cost and they make bigger and bigger mistakes until they hit a problem that can no longer be solved with magic .......... wait lmao i literally described king harrow’s character. that’s literally his life from beginning to end.

they could have actually hinted at this in the show by having sarai initially object to viren’s plan with “harrow, you know we can’t keep this up. this will work for now, but what about the future? what about the next harvests? are we going to cross the border every time?” maybe other kingdoms can have differing attitudes re: dark magic and even magic in general. that’s how you imply this thing in the show instead of having the kingdoms be different flavors of sludge. just... please. anything. don’t just shove your worldbuilding in the tertiary material and have it not matter to the things on screen.

(also yes, you may notice that (dark) magic is in parentheses, this is because this is also a problem with regular magic, it’s just conveniently the type of magic withheld from humans and doesn’t sap intelligence and long-term thinking from its wielders, which makes this sort of thing more likely to happen. wow i love the dragons and grEAt oNES for trapping an entire race in their own side of the continent instead of literally anything else)

-> what’s hilarious re: the above is that magic also prevented ezran from learning anything or having any sort of character growth in season 3. i love how there’s one shot of him briefly being shocked that the troops he napalmed with dragons were... dead... before it’s revealed that thanks to the power of dark magic, he didn’t actually kill anybody. i guess you don’t have to think about any costs ever lmao. but can you imagine if that didn’t happen? the mood whiplash would have been so funny. yeah yeah “show for kids” so it can’t happen, but then they *really* shouldn’t have explicitly called attention to this theme, or maybe have ezran grow a backbone/personality and refuse to fight his people instead of having him be in the final battle because... you want an Epic Final Battle? if you wanted to have the theme of love winning out maybe have ezran watch over zym and have *him* be the one who isn’t distracted by the battle and have him be the one who confronts viren/warns the others, instead of... bad writing? like ezran spending three episodes being a peace fan and then ending the season flamethrowering those same people with a big old smile on his face is the closest thing you can have to objectively bad (that’s right i’m a STEMlord now) storytelling no matter what demographic you’re throwing it at. there are so many moments in the series like this too, it’s so frustrating to think about.

-> aaravos is boring and lame. the reason people ship viren and aaravos isn’t because they have a good dynamic (it’s so painful every time aaravos is on screen guys), it’s because the only possible explanation for anyone with even a single functioning neuron to tolerate this annoying grub for more than 5 seconds would be that they are attracted to him. coincidentally, a very disproportionate amount of artwork of aaravos in the fandom is aggressively horny. yes i am saying that aaravos is a wet paper bag, and i am still an Aaravos Hater.

-> arcanums are honestly vague as hell and i still cannot tell you what the hell callum did to unlock the sky arcanum. like if anything he’s more aligned with the moon arcanum thanks to his dubious relationship with truth-telling, and he even makes sooo many connections to the moon arcanum in season 3. the way he got it makes me think “well why isn’t there any other regular human mage if it’s so easy?” he wanted to be powerful really bad but like so did viren lmao. what’s the difference between these two besides the fact that callum didn’t get dark magic brainrot?

-> dark magic is not an analogue to science (it has nothing to do with observing the natural world, making hypotheses, etc), and i don’t really think arcanums are an analogue to spirituality. people make this comparison only because they want to make connections to atla’s four elements--which themselves didn’t have anything to do with spirituality; you just had to “understand” the element to be a better bender, which isn’t the same thing as spirituality. i’ve ragged on the avatar series for just straight-up not understanding spirituality even in the general avatar stuff (it’s new age fafa woo with eastern folklore used as set dressing in both atla and lok) and using it as window dressing and it’s even less relevant in the dragon prince.

arcanums don’t even make you wise. lujanne is a master at her arcanum and understands the source of moon magic but she is still a shallow person and not generally wise, as making your entire identity around *illusions* predictably does to you. similarly the sunfire elves are obsessed with the “true nature” of something and literally cannot see anything else. one-track mind. understanding one arcanum may give you a very particular sort of understanding, but only as it relates to one element. natural vs. dark magic is obviously meant to be more of a “connection with nature vs only seeing it as a resource to be exploited” thing than it is a science vs. religion thing. you can see this even with the slight environmental themes implied in the “magic desertification” above. i don’t like many things about how the series handles this because it has babybrain morality re: ... the entire xadia genocide thing, but it’s not science vs. religion.

-> that’s what really kills dark magic in this series, right? the fantasy “is dark magic good to use and when?” should be a jumping off point to explore all the other ways in which people value and instrumentalize power (ie sol regem literally saying the humans are inferior because they are less powerful) instead of staying only at the shallow level. just because the elves don’t use dark magic doesn’t mean they are immune to this criticism, but the show constantly puts them in this better light. human rayla is hilarious but elf callum (which relies significantly less on negative stereotypes) is insensitive. pyrrha (not a wild animal and part of a hostile social order) torching a town to keep her class’s power is okay because... it’s not dark magic? come on man. if you have politics in your show, do something with it or don’t give it this much focus.

-> the first time i saw this show, i was like “huh, that looks like the trail of tears.” it’s not really subtle guys. the story explicitly takes visual cues from the trail of tears (a real historical event) and then constructs the story to be as kind as possible to the elves instead of giving them any criticism whatsoever. and i hate the talking point that thinking this is insensitive is stupid and “thinking too much” because it’s “just for kids” and “well, you don’t understand that victims can be victimizers uwu! you’re just not used to it!!!” well sorry to say but the whole idea that victims in one context can be victimizers in another is almost always true! as any checkmate-liberals alt-right andrew jackson fan can tell you, the cherokee were no angels (oh wait they are people and had flaws and flawed social systems? well i guess we can’t say they suffered injustice, it’s a wrap, everyone!); they were humans; that’s kind of why they’re called human rights, not “perfect angels who shit rainbows” rights. we still can clearly say the trail of tears was bad. i mean, unless you’re a lemming, which apparently a lot of “hurr durr the natives did bad things sometimes too” people are.

saying “i would like any sort of acknowledgement from the show (which is for children by the way!) that this was wrong and to stop constantly making additions to the lore that essentially say ‘but the humans were no angels!!! but the humans were no angels!!!!’” this isn’t “oh boo hoo people can’t handle nuance.” stories are artificial and constructed, not outgrowths of events that happened in the real world. the presentation of the story matters. it’s totally okay for the humans to have quite serious flaws; that’s not what people are complaining about. stop playing dumb. it’s was the writer’s choice to explicitly evoke the trail of tears. they don’t get to say “it’s a y-7 show!!!” you don’t want people to draw comparisons to real life political beliefs? do not make references to real-life events.

-> there is a lot i don’t pay attention to in tdp that i would be more critical of if it wasn’t for that y-7 rating. i’m not expecting high art here. there’s a lot of pacing issues and weird character beats and narrative choices that are fine and dandy because it’s a kid’s show. my problem is that it keeps trying to be cutting-edge and dark and handwaving any complexity instead of actually depicting things in a kid-friendly way. handling issues in a kid-friendly way means handling issues in a kid-friendly way, not... ignoring them for cheap drama and saying “nuance!!!” so that your adult audience (and the adult and teenage audience for this show is quite large compared to, say, sofia the first or something) isn’t embarrassed for watching a kids’ show. this doesn’t mean realism vs. liberalism or whipping out your IR textbook from college. in many ways portraying this stuff in a kid-friendly way is even harder than talking about it to adults, because with adults you have big words, a larger body of mutual understanding, knowledge of real-world events, etc, to fall back on.

#tdp #me.txt #not really a begone thought or a whoa man... whoa... more of a really long text post really #with unconnected thoughts

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ziggyyyystardust · 10 months ago

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Hi, I’d like to clarify a few things:

•this post was not about Anakin, he was mentioned twice briefly

•whether the Jedi order has flaws was irrelevant, they were written as the good guys and victims of the empire

•I’m saying that while critical analysis is good, we do have to keep in mind what the intentions of the creator was & who the media was intended for.

•"Darth Vader is the bad father. Ben Kenobi is the good father. Star Wars came out of my desire to make a modern fairy tale. Fairy tales are how people learn about good and evil and how to conduct themselves in society." - George Lucas

-Star Wars Archives 1977-1983

• per George Lucas (in regards to the comment about adults being upset he wasn’t a little demon)“Well, a lot of people got very upset, saying he should’ve been this little demon kid. But the story is not about a guy who was born a monster – it’s about a good boy who was loving and had exceptional powers, but how that eventually corrupted him and how he confused possessive love with compassionate love. That happens in Episode II: Regardless of how his mother died, Jedis are not supposed to take vengeance. And that’s why they say he was too old to be a Jedi, because he made his emotional connections. His undoing is that he loveth too much.“

-George Lucas to Rolling Stones, 2005

•“He turns into Darth Vader because he gets attached to things. He can’t let go of his mother; he can’t let go of his girlfriend. He can’t let go of things. It makes you greedy. And when you’re greedy, you are on the path to the dark side, because you fear you’re going to lose things, that you’re not going to have the power you need.“

-George Lucas to Time Magazine April, 2002

• in regard to the “pathetic life form comment” from Kenobi. Wrong to say? Yes. Un-Jedi like? Yes. I’m not denying that, but he did not say that to Anakin, he did not know Anakin.

•”…And it feeds into fear of losing things, which feeds into greed, wanting to keep things, wanting to keep his possessions and things that he should be letting go of. His fear of losing her turns to anger at losing her, which ultimately turns to revenge in wiping out the village. The scene with the Tusken Raiders is the first scene that ultimately takes him on the road to the dark side. I mean he’s been prepping for this, but that’s the one where he’s sort of doing something that is completely inappropriate. He’s greedy in that he wants to keep his mother around, he’s greedy in that he wants to become more powerful in order to control things in order to keep the things around that he wants. There’s a lot of connections here with the beginning of him sliding into the Dark Side.”

• In George Lucas’ words, Anakins’ flaws are "the flaws what everybody carries with them. He's struggling with the same issues that everybody struggles with, and that allows him to be human. A good Jedi overcomes those flaws."

•”They (the Jedi) trained more than anything else to understand the transitional nature of life, that things are constantly changing and you can’t hold on to anything. You can love things but you can’t be attached to them, You must be willing to let the flow of life and the flow of the Force move through your life, move through you. So that you can be compassionate and loving and caring, but not be possessive and grabbing and holding on to things and trying to keep things the way they are. Letting go is the central theme of the film.”

-George Lucas, “Star Wars Archives 1999-2005” p. 72-73 (2020)

The Star Wars fandom is like a case study of what happens when you overthink media intended for children to the point that you’ve completely altered the message and plot that the creator intended. The whole “the Jedi order is evil and Anakin/Vader is the good guy!” Idea fails to take into account the fact that like.. these movies are meant for kids, they’re meant to be easy to follow and easy to understand with obvious good guys and obvious bad guys. Yknow how we know the Jedi are the good guys? - they’re the main characters, they have funny one liners, they kill the evil bad guys who have red laser swords with their blue and green laser swords, they’re relatable, they’re nice, they’re paternal, so on so forth.

I love critical analysis and I’d never speak a word against it, when we consume media we should always take a step back to consider what ideas they’re selling us, what undertones are portrayed, is this supposed to represent a real life problem? But it’s also equally as important to consider who the audience is and how that might impact the story. And ultimately the audience is children, Star Wars is not meant to be a mystery thriller where the good guys are secretly the bad guys which you can only tell when you pick the story apart 20 which ways. The movies could not more clearly tell us who were meant to support. - is it the angry guys with red swords, ugly old guy who shoot’s lighting out of his fingers and takes over the universe, people who blow up planets, chop off their kids hands and blow up planet’s? Or is it the people who wear warm coloured clothing, talk about wanting peace, who tell funny jokes, have heartfelt moments, with blue and green lightsabers, fight against the space fascists and love each other.

Ultimately, Star Wars isn’t that deep, enjoy it for what it is and I promise you’ll enjoy it 100 times more

#star wars #star wars fandom #pro jedi #jedi order #anti anakin skywalker #I didn’t even want this post to be about Anakin

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blahkugo · 4 years ago

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Rouge

Satori Tendō x Reader (Haikyuu!!)

Word Count: 2.5k

TW: Mafia AU, Dark themes, Blood play (an excessive amount of blood mentions in general), Knife play, Asphyxiation, Angst (?), mentions of death (no main characters), Just two psychopaths going at it tbh.

A/N: I’m so excited to be writing for @the-smut-pile’s newest collab, hosted by @present-mel, @pleasantanathema, and @linestrider. Please make sure to check out the rest of the masterlist here!

Every night, the smell of bleach stings your nostrils and prayers left unsaid weigh heavy on your tongue. ‘It comes with the job,’ they had warned you, had urged a ‘pretty little thing like you,’ not to take a position you couldn’t stomach. You didn't listen, of course.

Because death isn’t a stranger in your life, nor an old acquaintance you catch up with once every few years. It’s a friend that phones daily, a lover you scurry into bed with—the chill down your spine when you walk home alone in eerie silence.

As a doctor you saw it everyday, with every patient that prayed for pity when the pain became all too much. Cries of the sick plagued your every waking moment; who were you to deny them release? Their suffering ended the moment you injected the drugs.

But you’ve never seen death like this before.

“Daydreaming again, angel?” Tendō swipes a disinfectant across the cold metal counter, rubbing until pools of pomegranate red match his long, messy hair. Despite the dreariness of the task, an impish smile remains plastered across his face, the glint in his eyes unscathed by the scene you’d both just witnessed.

“It’s still Doctor to you.” Try as you might, your voice comes out shaky, your heart pounding so hard you’re worried it may actually jump out. That feeling never quite leaves you.

He straightens his gloves and out comes his signature laugh—that high, maniacal, chuckle that stops just short of a song. You’d rip out your car radio if it meant getting rid of it.

“You haven’t been one for a long time.”

The truth makes you shudder, but he’s right, of course. Once your license had been stripped away and you were on the run, your career had officially ended. An ‘Angel of Mercy,’ all the news stations had called you, yapping on for days when you were that week’s most wanted woman.

You don’t have the right to be called a medical professional and yet, you stand your ground. If it means getting him to quit with the dreadful pet name, you’ll say just about anything.

“Your boss calls me Doctor.”

“Because my boss can’t remember your name.” He meets your eyes, lips quirking upward at the little huff that escapes you, your furrowed brows spilling bits of frustration you so desperately attempt to keep bottled. The air hangs heavy with the shrieks of anger you wish you could unleash, all the words you don’t dare say aloud in fear of looking weaker than he already believes you are.

Instead of challenging you further, Tendō simply turns away, chucking the wipes in a bin and humming a tune far too cheery for a man who just ended a life.

When night comes, you dream of the older man who begged to see his children one last time and the laugh that sounds like a song.

—

The next day isn’t any better, because it never is. Ushijima’s moles bring in three more bodies for questioning; bodies, because you’ve been instructed to refer to them as nothing but. And they’re young this time, heavily tattooed kids that can’t be much older than nineteen—children that look so much like the thralls of young men you’ve learned to call friends, you have to avert your eyes when they send panicked glances your way.

You wonder if Tendō ever makes these comparisons.

“I’ll only ask once,” the gruff, even voice echoes within the small space. “Who’s your supplier?” Your boss is cold and calculated. He never wavers, never says more than he needs to. He’s everything you’d thought the leader of a crime organization would be and more.

Tendō hovers next to him, gnarled fingers twitching eagerly at the knife splayed between them. It’s his weapon of choice, because—as he mentioned your first day on the job—he can ‘take his time with them’.

The captives crack immediately, pleading helplessly for their lives as they vow they know nothing. They probably don’t, appearing to be nothing more than lowly thugs in a long hierarchy of vile men. It doesn’t stop what comes next.

As expected, Ushijima remains silent except for the soft sigh that leaves him. Tendō sighs as well, though it seems more pleased—euphoric, even—than bored. He presses a slender finger into the tip of his knife, watches as a bit of blood runs down his lean arm, paints a strip of his tattoos red, and drips onto the metal table.

“Are they ours now?” Ours. The word brings bile to your throat. Ushijima makes his way to the door, bluntly calling over his shoulder,

“Do what you must.”

You push up your glasses, Tendō grins, and the screaming begins.

—

Blood-stained lab coats are a staple of your wardrobe. No matter how hard you scrub, fingers raw and aching, the faded pinks never seem to give. You quit months ago, resorted to throwing the worst ones away instead of putting yourself through that hell.

This coat’s going straight to the bin.

Through every horrid interrogation, you’ve forced yourself to watch. You’ve never looked away, never dared allow him to smell the fear off of you. You hand him the tools, write the information on the clipboard, assist with cleanup and disposal, and answer any questions he may have—like the good little medical doctor turned mafia member you should be.

And Tendō smiles the whole way through. Even as dagger meets flesh, as pained cries shatter your eardrums, as your vision is clouded with red, red, red—Tendō smiles, humming a tune that you hear long into the next evening.

But today, when the third young man had looked you dead in the eyes and sobbed, begging you to tell his mother he loves her, you couldn’t help yourself.

Of course, the towering redhead didn’t fail to detect the misstep.

“Bad day?” He questions innocently, resting his elbows on the now spotless titanium table. His muscles ripple as he leans, boasting the thousands of dollars worth of art across his arms. It bothers you that you notice it, even more that he probably catches you gawking. He sees everything, after all. Everything but the blood still splattered across his body.

“Won’t be the last, for us at least.” Brows raise, as though the thought hadn’t occurred to him. If at all possible, the wicked grin on his face widens.

“You’re exactly right.” And like clockwork, he laughs. Your hands grow cold, ice corroding your veins. He swipes his tongue over his lip, leaving a slick shine on his lips. When he rises and steps toward you, you stand your ground, though you so desperately long to run. “Why so serious?”

“They didn’t know anything,” you mumble under your breath, “and you tortured them anyways.” In all your months of working with him, this is the first you’ve complained—and you immediately wish you hadn’t.

Tendō moves even closer, as though entertained by your tiny outburst. Perhaps he’s been waiting for this moment, for you to finally break your silence. When he speaks, his tone is gentler than usual, but still holds every hint of mockery and nonchalance the bastard is known for,

“It’s our job, angel face.” Another step, another tiny breath you’re holding in, worried that the slightest of sighs might shatter your perfected image of faux indifference. He tilts his head to the side, peering down at you, like you’re- a child.

And the glass breaks.

“Enough.” You splay your hands in front of you, halting him in his tracks, just as he invades your space. “Enough of the patronizing looks, and the humming, and the stupid pet name that you know bothers me!” An accusatory finger is jabbed into his chest. “Don’t you feel guilt? Fear? Empathy? You murder people.”

Your chest burns, heaving with rage. Tendō’s half-smile still sits on his face, words of ridicule ready to roll off his tongue any second. But when you look into his eyes, there seems to be something more—an emotion you can’t quite place. Anger? Understanding?

His next sentence is whispered with such sobriety, you’re unsure who it is you’re speaking to anymore,

“People like us don’t deserve those feelings.”

“There is no us!” The claim may come out crazy, hysterical even— a woman covered in warm blood shrieking within a cold, sterile room. For once, you don’t care. “I’m not like you.”

Those words may be what set him off, hand wrapping around your chin and tilting it up so that you’re unable to look away. Fingers that incite panic and enact violence, fingers you’ve feared since your first day here, clutching you ever-so casually. “Exactly. You’re not like me.”

He doesn’t wait for your rebuttal, gripping harder at your face. “I’ve made my peace with who I am, but you,” his breath fans your cheeks, “you only pretend you don’t enjoy it.”

Then, Tendō’s kissing you. And to your utter surprise, you’re kissing him back. Heat rises within you, the hairs at your neck curling as your lips meet with a ferocity. His palms graze your lab coat—no doubt staining his skin with the blood it’s drenched in—before he’s peeling it off.

When you tug at his messy locks, the butcher smiles and sinks his teeth into your bottom lip. He pulls you closer, hurriedly stripping you of your remaining clothing, until you’re left in just your panties. Hands roam at your supple skin, kneading at your hips, meshing into you wherever he can. All the while, your lips do the same, bleeding into each other until you’re unsure of where you start and he ends.

“No.” The command is stern, perhaps the most you’ve ever been with him. His eyes narrow in disappointment, limbs rapidly untangling from your body. You shove him backwards until his knees hit the edge of the table, nudge him again so that he falls against it, and grab a clean scalpel off the side counter. “No, we do deserve to feel those things.” His grin returns in full force—and he laughs.

This time, you don’t hate it.

“Deep down,” he grunts as you hitch a leg over his thighs and climb onto him, “you know that I’m right.” The scalpel’s pointed tip grazes his black tee, cutting through the material meticulously. You run a palm up his broad chest before pressing a finger to his mouth, smearing nearly dried blood across his jaw in the process.

“You talk too much,” the hushed murmur tumbling from your lips doesn’t sound like you, is foreign and twisted, and too much like him to bode well for either of you. The muscles in his thighs tense beneath you, his hard chest rumbling in a silent glee.

Your fingers brush against his cheekbones and you gasp, losing all perception of who you are. It’s absurd, but the individual you knew before, the persona you so adamantly believed you could uphold, crumbles with a single, soft touch of his skin.

And it’s unfair, really, that someone so beautiful—covered in art, blessed with hair the color of sweet wine and a laugh that sounds like music—could be so utterly fucked up.

When you nick his cheek, observing the drip of blood that trickles down, you wonder if Tendō ever makes these comparisons. And when you lick at it, preening at the groan that leaves him, you wonder if you’re just as fucked up as he is.

All at once, you’re flipped beneath him, back crashing against the cool metal table. He climbs down and drags his pants off, yanks you towards him with one pull of your thighs, and presses against your core. A shiver runs down your spine at the heat, crazes you for something you didn’t think you needed.

“By the way,” Tendō speaks through kisses and nips at your neck, “you are just as fucked up.” Though you hadn’t realized you’d said that aloud, you’re unable to retaliate, only wrap your legs around his middle and moan at a particularly harsh bite. He soothes every spot of broken skin with his tongue, drifting downwards until his lips meet your cotton panties. “How cute.”

“Well, I wasn’t exactly expecting thi– Ah,” your complaint is cut short when he moves them to the side and licks a long stripe up your slit. And he doesn’t stop, lapping and sucking at your soaked cunt, holding you down with one lean arm when you writhe in response to the pressure. “God, fuck.”

“Satori, but I’ll take God too,” he smirks against your mound. It’s then that he inserts a lithe finger, then two, stretching you out until you’re tugging at his long locks, goosebumps raised as the warmth of his mouth intertwines with the cold beneath your back.

You’re panting, unconcerned with time or it’s passing, only his fingers, his tongue circling your puffy bud, and your steady ascension to the edge. Just as your legs tense, breath caught mid-mewl of his name, he stops. You lean up on your elbows, rut against him, searching for more—friction, movement, anything—but he doesn’t let up.

“Fuck- why?” Your cry is loud, whiny even, but you don’t particularly care when euphoria’s been ripped away from you so suddenly.

“Tell me I’m right,” he teases, eyes peering straight through yours. You whine again, a mix between a pained groan and ‘are you fucking serious?’ before he flicks at your bud once more. “Say it.”

And you do. Because, as strongly as you've denied it, you’re every bit as perverse as he is, every bit as infatuated by the idea of power, of playing God—of holding a life between your fingertips and choosing death.

The second the words are out of your mouth, he thrusts deep into you. Your fingers scramble for purchase, nails dragging against the table, then his back, as skin slaps against skin.

There’s nothing gentle about Satori, all lean, hard muscle and jagged edges, but the pain is just as blissful as the pleasure. His fingertips rub at your clit, other hand moving to wrap around your throat and squeeze tightly.

“Satori, I- I need more,” you choke out, lightheaded. And he complies, shifting you to your side and throwing one of your legs over his shoulder. Your cries melt into his, sweat soaking your skin, your hair, the table, as he pounds into you over and over again.

“That’s it baby– fuck, let go for me.” He presses the long-forgotten scalpel against your throat—and your vision goes white. Electricity sparks through your spine, your tongue lolls out, and you swear you feel tears run down your cheeks.

He doesn’t stop, working you through the orgasm as your legs bind his waist. A few more thrusts and he’s following you, holding your hips against him so tightly, he’ll probably leave deep purple bruises.

He finally stills, chest falling against yours and heaving, allowing you both to catch your breath. Flashing a set of pearly canines, his wild grin and the glint in his eyes reappear. For the first time since you’ve known him, Tendō is completely silent.

And then he laughs, lawless and untamed, the howl of a hyena that sounds like a song—and you laugh too.

#tendou satori #tendou x reader #satori tendou x reader #haikyuu smut #satori tendo x reader #hq!!#tw blood #tw knife play #tw death #tw dark themes #tw dark content #tw asphyxiation #tw blood play

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yannadere · 3 years ago

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Songbird Soliloquy

daryl dixon x afab!reader who's a musician

summary: y/n is an underground alt musician who uses their music to lure hordes away from the group.

tags: mild songfic, musician!reader, jealousy, pining, cuddles, fluff, injuries, hurt/comfort

((based off of jazmin beans's worldwide torture))

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

you sit patiently, tuning your guitar and giving it an experimental strum. the sound of your loud instrument alarms most people in the camp, and you smile sheepishly, turning down the built in amp. "y/n-." shane starts, but you cut him off. "relax, it's fine. it was barely loud compared to how loud this baby can get." you grin, continuing your tuning. "okay, just please don't alert every walker for miles to our location." he sighs, and you roll your eyes. "dude, relax. it was barely a strum." you giggle, noticing carl's curious gaze.

"hey, little man. wanna learn one day?" you ask with a smile, and he looks up at lori. "maybe when we're somewhere safer." she nods, smiling. "cool!" carl bounces slightly, clearly excited. "alright, the plan is to move out of atlanta..." rick states, and you nod as the group starts listening. "we're heading to fort benning, georgia. should be safer." rick informs, and the group seem to agree.

"alright, we're heading out asap." rick nods, walking away, lori following. daryl huffs, slumping down onto a chair next to you. "you ever gonna ditch that thing?" he asks, and you shake your head. "never. she's my baby." you grin, sticking your tongue out at him. daryl rolls his eyes and carl beams. "can you play something?" he asks, eyes staring at your guitar. "ahh- i don't think that would be smart..." lori butts in but you give carl a few chords to keep him happy. "not too loud." shane scolds, and you roll your eyes. "c'mon, we've gotta move." rick sighs, closing a car door. "alright. let's go."

the rv comes to a wheezing stop, and you open the door to step out, observing the broken down vehicle next to you. daryl's motorbike passes you and you grin at him as he glances at you. everyone gets out, observing the engine with disappointment. glenn chews his nails anxiously, and you nudge him as you approach him. "relax, dale can fix it." you grin, slinging an arm around his shoulders. "i don't know... it's more duct tape than hose... and i'm out of duct tape." dale huffs, shrugging before crossing his arms in thought.

"surely we could scavenge from these cars..?" you suggest, gesturing to the mass of dead cars down the road. "we can get supplies too..!" glenn nods, but lori doesn't seem happy. "this is a graveyard..." she points out, and you sigh. "lori, we need the stuff in this graveyard to survive." you say, walking away to gather some items. daryl follows you, seemingly agreeing to your statement.

you open a car door, peering inside. "ooh! jackpot!" a toothy grin covers your face as you pull out an unopened bottle of whiskey. daryl smirks at the sight, popping the trunk to check for anything useful. you shrug your backpack off to put the whiskey away when a noise catches your attention. a walker gurgles, trying to crawl towards you. you roll your eyes, grumbling about the 'ankle biter' before stomping on it's head with your heavy platform boots.

"they do some good damage?" daryl passes by you, moving on to another car near where t-dog was scavenging gas. "of course they do. i'm the one wearing them." you reply cheekily, adjusting your guitar strap idly. daryl huffs out a laugh, already searching through another car. "don't blow your ego up." he teases, and you chuckle, bumping him when you pass. another zombie catches your gaze in the distance, sluggishly trudging between cars. rick seems to spot it too, aiming but freezing as more seem to pop up. "daryl, look at this shit." you hiss, grabbing his vest roughly to point him in the direction of the approaching horde.

"holy shit..." daryl moves on quickly, going to pull you with him. "hold on, i can lead them away." you say, grabbing your guitar strap. "are you crazy?!" he snaps, going to grab your wrist. "absolutely." you grin, running towards the horde. you couldn't let anyone get hurt, there were kids in this camp. you had already witnessed so much death, feeling useless as you normally held no weapons other than your pocket knife. "this time, i'm gonna be the hero." you nod, ignoring everyone warning you as you vault over the barrier to sneak past.

you had your target, clambering upon the truck and turning up your guitar to max. you give the strings a harsh strum, happy with the tuning. slowly, the undead turn to you, and you grin. "come on, come get some." you whisper under your breath, starting up gently with a few notes. as the crowd slowly turns to you. eventually, as they start approaching you, you turn up your theme, playing your song adeptly. everyone comes out of hiding one by one to watch you, clearly shocked by your confidence.

carl seems to light up as you play your song, having to yell your lyrics so it would be heard over your guitar's loudness. shane and rick quickly gather the group, moving them back so no one would get hurt if a stray zombie wandered off, yet it seemed they all wanted you. the truck rocks slightly as they bang and press on it, yet you keep your balance.

"i'll be chewing on your face and knocking down your door-" you regain balance as the truck wobbles dangerously, glancing around for another safe car. a van was your best bet in case the truck went, but you had to wait for the rest of the horde to catch up. "a pure violation of god's great creation! it's an infestation, it's world domination-!" you belt out, the truck fully swaying by now. you glance up, everyone's staring at you anxiously. you had to come out on top for them.

thinking fast, you jump from the truck, landing on the van and almost slipping. the crowd slowly moves around the truck as it's rocking ceases, and you realise just how dangerous your new pedestal is. you have to keep moving to avoid getting grabbed, jumping across the cars and ignoring how your guitar doesn't hit every note perfectly.

"i never come second place, always been a big disgrace- shit." you dodge a walker quickly, clambering up onto another car. "smell the fear, i know you see- high achiever." you manage to get back on top of a high truck, watching two of the walkers approaching sophia who was at the side of the group. you strum aggressively, yelling your lyrics as far as your diaphragm would allow. "killing so i stay on top but i could never do any wrong! c'mon you freaks! i'm right here!" as sophia scrambles to carol's open arms, the zombies turn to you slowly and you grin.

"sour to the bone marrow, horrid to the core- all you've got is not enough, stupid! i just want more!" you yell, ignoring how the truck starts swaying. "and i'll throw another punch! yes, i'll get the highest score!" you land on the road, almost falling over before hopping over the barrier and leading them away. you had no plan, truly, only knowing that you had to lead the geeks away from the group.

as the music fades into the distance, the crowd of zombies following, the group almost relax. "what the hell are they thinking?!" dale snaps, peeking down from the top of the rv. "whatever they're thinking it worked." daryl huffs, crossing his arms and putting up a hard front to hide his anxiety. "are they gonna be okay?!" carol stresses, smoothing sophia's hair. "that was a LOT of walkers." lori adds on, holding carl close. "they'll be fine." daryl sighs gruffly. "let's wait for them to come back." he shrugs, walking off. "how are they gonna lose that many geeks?" glenn asks, and rick sighs. "let's just hope they do..." shane decides to add onto his friend's sentence. "and that they do it far from here."

night time approaches fast and the group's worry is increasing. carol notes how daryl anxiously scans the tree line for any sign of you. "daryl, come sit down." she sighs, gently touching his back. "nah, ain't that dark yet..." he sighs, perking up as a repeated clicking sounds through the woods. "you guys know y/n?" a woman asks, her horse jumping the barrier with ease. "yeah.. who're you?" daryl tenses.

"they're at my family's farm." the woman neglects his question, "they're hurt pretty bad." she adds, and daryl swears under his breath. "where's your farm?" he asks, approaching the woman. "i'll take you there. it's southeast from here, can't miss it. it's safe. we killed off the horde that was with them." she nods in the direction as daryl straddles the back of her horse before riding off with him.

"damn... they got away." t-dog says in amazement. "but they're injured. c'mon, we'll get ready to head there in the morning." rick nods, and everyone settles for a long night.

daryl dismounts the stranger's horse, running into the house where an old man stood. "they're-" "where are they?!" he snaps, pushing past. "they're resting." the old man replies calmly, leading him to a bed where you lay, a bloody bandage around your arm. "are they bit?" daryl tenses, observing you. you didn't look sick, but daryl couldn't tell in the poor lighting. "no. they got lucky." the man sighs. "i'm hershel greene. the woman who brought you here is my daughter maggie."

"there anyone else?" he asks, and hershel nods. "my other daughter beth and her boyfriend jimmy, my wife as well as otis who is out hunting and his wife patricia. you'll meet them in the morning." the old man nods, leaving daryl be. "you idiot..." he whispers, combing some hair out of your face. "you could've gotten killed." he adds, and you smirk slightly. "at least i helped... are they okay?" you ask, your voice raspy as your eyes peel open.

"everyone's fine, just worried." he shrugs, trying to seem like he doesn't care. "were you worried?" you tease, taking his hand in yours. "nah. but it's rather impressive how you managed to lead them away." he shrugs. "i passed out on these people's front door, i've got no idea how they dealt with those walkers." you cough, resting your hand on your dizzy head. "relax, don't overuse your brain. it ain't used to that much action." daryl smirks, nudging your arm.

"haha, very funny." you roll your eyes, swatting his elbow away. daryl lets out a breath of laughter, looking at you. "once i'm out this bed, i'm gonna try and figure out where the walkers went." you sit up, but daryl grabs you. "naw, you're resting tonight. you need it." he protests, pulling you back into the bed. as daryl goes to get up, you tug him back as well. "same goes to you, cowboy. come rest." you grin, pulling him onto the bed next to you.

daryl lands on his elbow to avoid landing on you. "before you protest, i could use the company right now. got a lot on my mind." you sigh as daryl hesitates before settling down. "wanna talk about it? 'm a good listener." he prompts, but you shake your head. "i'll manage... just need a familiar face right now." you sigh, resting your head on daryl's shoulder. "i get that.. i didn't have much but merle, and he helped me in his own way." daryl nods.

the two of you sit in silence, grieving over both of your losses before the topic changed. "what's wit' your song anyhow?" daryl asks, and you hum in question, looking at your guitar that was neatly leaned against the wall, your blood staining the strap. "dunno. was the first song that came to my head 'suppose." you yawn, voice sleepy. "had to have a loud song for my plan to work." you add, eyes fluttering closed.

daryl shuffles so his chest presses into yours, arm stiffly draping over you. "what if your plan didn't work? i saw that truck wobbling like it was about to tip over." daryl points out, and you shrug. "if it did, i would be dead, or at least bit." you sigh, opening your eyes once more. "you are an idiot." daryl scolds, and you chuckle. "mhm. but it worked. saved your ass anyway." you fall quiet before asking what's nagging your mind.

"is sophia okay?" you mumble, and daryl furrows his brows. "sophia? she's a bit shaken but yeah, she's doin' alright." daryl confirms and you let out a breath. "thank god." you chuckle as daryl shakes his head with a smile. "saw two of them going for her, too far to see if she got grabbed or not." you explain, and daryl hums. "well, she's not bit, carol would be hysterical if she was." daryl notes, and you nod, happy with his answer as you slowly doze off.

you wake up with daryl wrapped up around you tightly. he's normally the first one awake, so you guessed he had a late night. "dixon, c'mon. get up." you shake him gently, ignoring how he groans in protest. "daryl, c'mon! i wanna snoop around!" you whisper yell, jumping as hershel walks in abruptly. "ah, i see you're awake. lemme check your arm." the new presence wakes daryl immediately as he groggily blinks and grips the handle of his knife.

you sit up, letting hershel peel back the bandages with a yucky noise. you wince, letting out a pained noise as he pokes the flesh around your gash. "there's still bark in there from where that stick stabbed you." he notes with a sigh. "bark?" daryl sits up, watching hershel slowly press the bandages back onto the wound. "careful!" your friend snaps as you let out a strangled noise. "don't worry, they'll be fine." hershel replies, nonchalantly.

you pat your arm gently as if to soothe it as daryl broods, leaning over you protectively. "let's clean it up and get some fresh bandages on it." hershel gathers some material and his tools as well as calling to his wife to bring a bowl of water.

soon enough, you're say with an arrow in your mouth as hershel pulls the last piece of bark out of your arm, dropping it onto a tray where it clutters uselessly onto the metal. "right, let's clean it." he mumbles, mainly to himself as he wets a small cotton ball in water with a pair of tongs. with every gentle dab against your gash, you whimper, teeth clutching the metal of the arrow.

your free hand grabs the nearest thing to you which happened to be daryl's hand, squeezing tightly for reassurance as your eyes flutter closed. "do y'think it'll need stitches?" patricia asks, to which you shake your head. "i'm not having stitches." you protest, words muffled by the object you're biting. "unfortunately, you may need them..." hershel sighs, and you shake your head as he puts the tongs down. spitting out the arrow, you glare at hershel. "i'm not having them." you declare, barely being able to raise your arm to look at the wound crossing your bicep.

"i'm afraid you might have to. it's deeper than i thought." hershel nods, looking for his needle and thread that patricia hands to him. "i'm not having them!" you panic, scrambling back from the man and almost falling off the bed. daryl catches you, steadying you and glares at hershel. "y/n..." hershel tries but daryl snaps. "if they don't want 'em they ain't havin' them!" he snarls, and hershel backs down.

"fine. i can't force you." hershel sighs, putting the needle and thread down as you calm your breathing. daryl rubs your back soothingly, helping you unwind faster as maggie barges in. "daddy! the others are here." she informs, before leaving. hershel nods, gesturing for you to come over to him with some bandages. "i'll do it. patched up a fair amount of people in my time." daryl extends his hand to hershel who hands them over. "alright, but if you get it wrong i'll redo them."

with hershel gone and patricia following, you relax slightly as daryl readies your arm before gently wrapping the bandages around your bicep. "why don't you want stitches?" he asks, and you shudder. "i don't want a needle going through my arm!" your spine shivers at the thought. "naw, i get that.." he mumbles, carefully pinning the bandages into place with a safety pin. "done, c'mon. let's go see the others." he nods to the door, helping you up.

glenn smiles brightly at you, wrapping you up in a hug. "ow- careful- careful!" you hiss as he accidentally presses into your wound. "sorry!" he stumbles back, and carl bounds up to you. "y/n! you're alright!" he smiles brightly, and you smile awkwardly. "yeah..! i'm alright." you tense as he hugs you tightly, awkwardly patting his head and looking at lori for help. his mother laughs, beckoning him over. "you were so cool! the way they all looked at you and you didn't even get scared!" the boy beamed, practically vibrating.

"carl, c'mon!" sophia beams, gesturing to a swing nearby. "stay in sight of me or carol!" lori reminds and they nod. "glad to see you're alright." shane nods to your arm, and you grin. "i'm tough. had plenty of bottles to the head or thrown at me. i'll live." you cross your arms, glancing at daryl. "what happened anyway?" dale asked as hershel guided everyone to the house away from the tree line. "stray branch stabbed me. nothing awful." you shrug, peering to the barn curiously.

"daryl, i'm gonna go walk around, stretch my legs. you coming?" you smile, and daryl nods. "sure." you grab his hand to pull him away, but hershel stops you. "don't go too far and don't go in the barn. nothing in there but old rusty tools anyway and the last thing i need is another injury." he warns, and you sigh. "fine fine, no barn concert then." you grin, pulling daryl away from the group.

"you're going in anyway, aren't you?" daryl smirks, following you closely. "of course. are you saying you wouldn't?" you giggle before hearing carol yelp. "sophia?!" the two of you turn to see the mother searching the area around the swing desperately. "shit..! another time then." you run back to the group with daryl hot on your tail.

"carl said they were gonna play hide and seek so he doesn't know... i'm sure she didn't go far." rick sighs, adjusting his hat to keep the sun out of his eyes as he scans the tree line. "hershel, any idea of where she could hide around here?" shane asks, but hershel shakes his head. "nothing around here but open field..." he gestures around, and carol hiccups a sonb as lori tries to comfort her.

you look at daryl before glancing to the barn. "is she behind the barn?" you ask, and hershel falls quiet. "could be... but there's no way in other than the doors and we would of seen her go in." he shrugs. "me and daryl can scan around there, see what we can find." you nod, and daryl heads off in that direction. "don't go in!" hershel reminds you, and you feel your spine tickle with suspicion. "what a weirdo..." you roll your eyes and daryl hums.

you walk around the barn, gently calling out for sophia. "nothing..." you sigh, looking around. "hey, see that?" daryl asks, and you turn to where he points. "an open window..." you grin. "gimme a lift, i'm gonna take a peek." daryl crouches behind you, grabbing your hips and hoisting you up so you can grab the windowsill.

"see anything?" he asks, but you shake your head, squinting harshly to try and see. "nah, it's too dark." you gesture for the flashlight daryl carries, and he hands it to you carefully to ensure he wouldn't drop you.

the light flickers, slowly blinking to life and you gasp, almost falling backwards. "holy shit!" you yelp, and daryl panics, pulling you back down. "what, what's in there?" he asks as you recover from the sight. "we need to go! there's a LOT of walkers in there!" you gasp, running back to the group.

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl x reader #daryl dixon fic #twd x reader #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction

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dazaisbiitch · 3 years ago

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Mistress Of Evil

This is a My hero academia Oc story but it can also be read as an X Reader

All credits for the plot, storyline and characters go to Kohei Horikoshi, except the parts of the story that are my own and my own original character.

WARNINGS: May include adult themes, adult activity, hard language, intense or persistent violence, sexually-oriented nudity, drug abuse or other elements

Description:

"This is where my fun begins"

That's all she said that she took one step forward and off the tallest building in the area.

Only to land perfectly on her feet at the bottom, without okay in the world.

No one will be able to stop what's coming"

Those were the final words of the night as she slipped away into the alleyways, as the sun began to rise signaling the start of a new day in the first day that she'd finally be her true self!

Prologue

"You have to focus Rairaku, you have one of the most powerful quirks anyone has ever seen. You need to learn how to control and harvest the full and complete power of your quirk, then no villain will ever be able to get away from you. Once you're a hero, you will quickly rise in the ranks as a pro. Your quirk will make you a great hero someday, you will be respected by your colleagues and feared by every villain, you'll be able to open an agency to teach and guide others, just like I have with you… None of that will happen though if you don't focus on your training right now!"

"Yeah whatever, you really did a number on me, what would I have done without you to turn into a freak show. Do you think people are intimidated by other people's quirks? How insecure do you have to be in your own power to believe someone is better than you just because they have a better, stronger, flashier quirk than someone else? That's not how this shit works. No one gives a fuck if you have a strong quirk, they judge you before they know you… All this society cares about is if you have a quirk or not, if you do, well you have a chance to be a hero or a villain… Quirkless people are cast aside and left forgotten… You should take yourself as an example here, you had an amazing fire quirk, a villain came along, you lost a battle and lost your quirk, how quickly did the hero commission cast you aside as less than worthless? No one even remembers you as a hero, you only still have a hero license because you know a few tricks here and there that come in handy from time to time… The reality is that they don't care, no one does… You have this crazy idea that if you push me and push my quirk to its limits until my body collapses my quirk will be this superweapon you can offer to the commission on a silver platter, so much that at this point, I don't even know what my quirk can't do… nothing surprises me anymore!"

"That's the beauty of it, there's nothing it can't do. You have no limitations, except the ones you place on your own body essentially making it weak! You keep that strong quirk of yours trapped inside that weak and feeble body of yours, but fear, not I will fix that. You'll be training five more hours a day starting now, so back to training young lady!"

It's no use… My body can't take anymore, it needs a break, but this bitch is never going to give me one… This person should have never been a mother, thank god I'm adopted! I'm so fed up with this training. I don't remember a time I was not training my stupid quirk. I don't even want to be a hero and be just another puppet for the hero commission to control, I want to be free…

This whole shit show will soon end, if it's the last thing I do I'll make it end! I have exactly one month to come up with a plan, a month before I start attending U.A high school, the best hero school in the whole country. I got in through recommendations thanks to my dear old mother.

Making the executive decision to sneak out and try to find some way or idea to execute any sort of plan, but also have fun doing stuff that I probably shouldn't be doing, but who cares? I certainly don't.

Sneaking out has become very easy, living in a fancy neighbourhood isn't all that, live here long enough though and you learn to move in the shadows, allowing myself to become one with the darkness of the night and all that just so nosy neighbours don't see me and start commenting on my "behaviour"...

It's not the first time I've snuck out, certainly won't be the last, but this is the first time that I've gone into the city. Yokohama is truly a beautiful city, especially at night. I love to watch the nightlife, it's the time when villains shine the most, but at the same time, I cannot live among pigs that think they can drunkenly take advantage of an innocent woman just walking home.

Luckily I haven't encountered anything like that tonight, instead, I'm casually relaxing on a rooftop in the middle of the city, looking down at the world like God looking down at his subjects.

"What's someone so young doing up here?" an intimidating voice calls behind me. I already knew someone was approaching me minutes ago…

"Well, if I'm being honest I would say I'm thinking about the murder of a certain ex-pro hero… But better to be here and as far away from them as possible or who knows what I'd do to that bitch… I'm so tired of her living in glory as the world pities her for losing her quirk, while behind closed doors she's an abusive piece of shit!"

"Then jump. It will end all your tiredness, once and for all"

"As much as I'd love to, especially from up here, with this view, I can't, as soon as I start falling my quirk will just levitate back up here. Also even if I could, I'd just be proving her right, proving to her that I'm just as weak and pathetic as she thinks I am, so much that I took the cowards way out. No thank you. I'd suffer a while longer and have the satisfaction of watching her take her last breath. I will not die, not until I shove all her fake heroic ideologies down her stupid throat."

"Hmph… Perhaps then you shouldn't jump… I can however help you deal with her. This world must be cleansed of fake hero pretences and false ideologies. Back to the time where people knew the true meaning of what being a hero truly is!"

"So what? You'll kill her? If so then just go ahead and do it! No one will care about her death. To her, I am just another job the hero commission gave her, one she wasn't even qualified to do. If you do it, don't do it for me and my sad sob story. Do it because you truly believe in cleansing hypocritic heroes from this world. If that is indeed what your goal is I will give you all the information you need on her and all the other corrupt heroes in this society."

"What's your name kid?"

"Rairaku Ishii, you can call me Rai though. And I'd rather for you to not say your name out loud, you never know who could be listening, but I know exactly who you are, I'm telepathic, and it's a pleasure to meet you, I must say I'm a fan!"

"Good. Now about that information, you said you'd give me…"

"First ex-pro hero Pyro, she used to be very popular as Endeavour's sidekick, but now she's lost her quirk. She's basically useless, but people still praise her for some reason. Make it slow, she deserves a slow painful death, "heroes" should never abuse their power or others!"

"Are you sure? There's no turning back after this"

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life. She has to be punished for what she has done. Starting today, I'll be the person I want to be."

"And who might that be?"

"Don't know yet! I could be your accomplice, after all, it seems we'll be seeing a lot more of each other."

"Fine, just know it might take a while, I have pressing matters I need taking care of first"

"The longer you take will just make me kill her myself"

End of the day it really should be me. I should be the one to kill her, I should be the one to do it. After everything, she's put me through? After everything, she's done to me? Killing her… Would that make me a villain? What better than that, a villain goes against every hero ideal she's ever tried to engrave into my brain…

Yes, that's it. I'll be the worst type of villain this world has ever seen.

This is where my fun begins!

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justafewsmallsteps · 3 years ago

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A look into LadyNoir for my Reversal AU, The Other Way Around. You don’t really need to read the other parts to get this one :)

Title: The Other Way Around, Part 3 Pairing: Lovesquare (LadyNoir) Rating: G+ Word Count: 2.5K

The first time Marinette really interacted with a cat was at a friend’s house. She was six years old at her very first sleepover. Nervous and shy, she’d spent the majority of the evening worrying about what would happen once the lights were out. She’d never had to sleep through a night without her parents or family with her. No amount of cartoons or pillow fights could fully ease the fear of impending darkness.

The other three girls seemed totally adjusted and excited, but Marinette could hardly eat dinner even though it was pizza from their favorite spot. Then she nearly burst into tears at the table when they served the cookies her parents had sent with her, overwhelmed with missing them so badly. With her eyes stinging and her voice ready to cry out that they should call home to pick her up, Button the cat suddenly sprung onto her lap. She was a fluffy tan thing with two black dots going down the center of her back, hence her name. In that moment she looked just like a chocolate chip cookie, albeit one that blinked up at Marinette’s face with huge, adorable brown eyes. The cat smooshed her head against the girl’s stomach, sat down, and began to purr. In her surprise and fascination, young Marinette forgot what she was so upset over.

She never had pets growing up—the hair was too much to maintain when her family also lived in a bakery—so she hadn’t any courage to approach Button before, even when the other girls had spent time petting her. She knew cats had claws and their yawns revealed sharp, pointy teeth. The last thing she wanted was to get scratched or bitten when she was already terrified. Cats had been a scary mystery. Button was small and fluffy and warm. The moment she cuddled up to her, Marinette fell in love.

After that day, cats became her favorite animal, and while she still wasn’t allowed to have one (despite the begging and puppy eyes that her mother valiantly fought against with gentle reasoning), Marinette surrounded herself with them as a good luck charm. She had kitty keychains, plush toys, cat-covered folders to take to class, and cat-print bedsheets. The obsessive phase lasted for three years, but the fondness stayed even when her room took on a pink and floral theme to match her changing design aesthetic. Obviously when she found the giant body pillow shaped like a cat, she knew she had to have it anyway. After long days of dealing with Chloe’s yapping and her own special trademark combination of back luck and clumsiness, hugging that massive squishy cat became her ultimate comfort.

That was, until another cat fell into her lap. Well, crashed into her entire body was more what happened.

When she was gifted her miraculous, Marinette thought herself a poor fit for a superhero. She liked leadership positions and really didn’t have a big problem taking charge when needed, but saving lives was a ton of pressure. She’d thrown her yoyo randomly, not sure of a single move she made, and in doing so managed to tangle her partner and herself up despite the superpowers. Chat Noir seemed more natural, and surely he deserved a partner that had the confidence to match his skills instead of her. Marinette was stuck in her head with apprehension. She’d totally screwed up her very first mission by letting the akuma multiply instead of purifying it. She wasn’t excited to be a hero. She was terrified.

Maybe it was the cat bias that made her instantly trust Chat Noir, but it was the way he put his warm hands so squarely on her shoulders and assured her that she could do this, that made her fall in love. It was the second time a cat had saved her from giving in to her fears.

He gave her the courage to stand up to Hawkmoth, and the moment she vowed to take him down was a triumph of bravery. She wouldn’t have been able to do that without him.

Of course she fell for him.

He didn’t make it any easier for her as they got closer. He was just so endearingly sweet, throwing compliments at her all the time for encouragement.

If only she didn’t turn into an absolute pile of goo whenever he did. At least she was always able to pull herself together to get the job done, but it was his fault. What could anyone expect from her when her partner was talented, smart, super handsome, and somehow humble about all of it?

She’d witnessed how he avoided the spotlight in favor of checking up with akuma victims. She’d seen him time after time go out of his way to protect others, especially her, from harm’s way. And after he did all those things he’d throw her the credit as if she was the one saving the day.

They worked together well, reading each other’s moves and adapting to each other’s pace. But he never needed the attention, happy to just get the mission done. It was a side of him that she got to see when the crowds weren’t looking, proud at what they’d accomplished while holding his fist out to hers in solidarity to say, “We did it!” Together. Always together.

But then their miraculouses would beep, and they’d have to go their separate ways with her casting lingering glances towards whichever horizon he’d disappear off to.

At least during some of their mutual patrols they had time to talk. She looked forward to each one, no matter what other responsibilities she had waiting for her once it was over. Getting to know her partner was such a highlight to her identity as Ladybug. There was the triumph of victory, the thrill of the physics defying feats she could accomplish, the heartwarming gratitude of the citizens… and then there was this: sitting at the top of the Eiffel with their feeting dangling in the cool Parisian air, aimlessly talking above a safe city set aglow with evening lights; the warm sense of security yet tingling excitement of hanging out with her one and only crush.

“Favorite hot drink?” she wondered.

Asking non-identifying questions was their way of bonding without compromising themselves.

Chat Noir hummed thoughtfully over a cookie—raspberry macarons, a favorite she had learned fairly early on. “The hot chocolate you brought in the winter was great. Probably the best I’ve ever had, actually.”

She blushed and kicked her feet nervously. She swore that she would’ve tripped if they’d been walking. Somehow his compliments did that to her. “T-thanks.”

He grabbed another macaron and turned it over, studying the ruffled feet as he added, “Otherwise I’m really fond of tea. My mother liked English high tea; always insisted we have a tea break at some point in the day. When I was a kid I was only in it for the cookies and sandwiches, but at this point I like the drink too. It's nostalgic.”

He always got wistful when he spoke about his mother, but Marinette knew that train of thought would lead them to somewhere too personal. It wasn’t that she didn’t yearn to know more about him. Quite the opposite, but they both knew that it wasn’t safe yet. There had been too many close calls. She followed up with another question. “Any tea in particular?”

“Earl grey, usually. I’m a fan of London Fogs over coffee.”

She smiled down, looking at her home’s direction. They had a lovely macaron with that flavor as well, she thought. She could bring him a variety box next time. Maybe one day they could do tea together in some fashion. A picnic, perhaps? High tea during an evening patrol seemed a bit strange, but she could always brew him a decaf in a thermos so he wouldn’t be hopped up on caffeine. Or maybe that was too much if she was already bringing the same flavor in a cookie. Did hot chocolate go well with earl grey? What about the raspberry? Plenty of people ordered a variety of flavors all the time. Maybe she should throw in a few others for balance, like the rose ones. Wait, were rose flavored macarons too romantic? Would it seem like a date if she brought him flower-flavored food? Not that she didn’t want to date him because of course she did but—

“Deep in thought, Ladybug?”

Chat Noir’s twinkling green eyes greeted her, just a few centimeters from her face. He must have been trying to get her attention for a while.

Surprised, she suddenly scooted back and flailed. “Oh!” Thankfully she was securely seated on the beam enough to not begin a sad plummet to the ground. Desserts were well and good, but she’d prefer to avoid becoming a polka dotted pancake. “Yes, sorry! Did you say something?”

He laughed his magical laugh, accustomed to her tendency to get lost in her own head. “No need to apologize. I was just saying that it was my turn to ask a question before we turn in for the night.”

Ah, was it already time to go back? Sheepishly, the heroine smiled. “Did you already ask it?”

A flash of teeth showed off his mirthful grin. “I did.”

“Sorry.” He had already told her not to apologize, but it was embarrassing that she was fantasizing about dating him when he was literally sitting besides her. “What was it again?”

“I asked if you’ve been on a date lately, Little Lady.”

Oh.

Her mind short-circuited. Had she been babbling out loud? How desperate had she sounded? “What? Me! Doing to date you? I mean, going on a date with someyou? Someone!”

If her slip up meant anything, he didn’t acknowledge it. He never did. Did she want him to?

“Yep. Like a romantic one-on-one date. I, uh,” he bashfully scratched the back of his neck, “I’ve been thinking about it lately.”

A rush of blood warmed her cheeks. “Y-you were?” Thinking about dating someone? Her? Them? Romantically!

He avoided her eyes, choosing to look up instead as he laughed nervously. “For a while now. I don’t even think I could, but there’s a girl…”

I’m a girl, her brain supplied with excitement.

“You can’t ask her?”

He clicked his tongue. “There’s a few conflicts. First of all, I don’t know how she really feels about me, and… I don’t know how to say the other part without really giving anything away.”

Ladybug pursed her lips and gave him time, either out of courtesy or because she was freaking out and incapable of speech.

“Um, it’s like… an occupational issue, I guess. I don’t know if I’d be allowed, in a sense. Then there’s the issue that I know nearly nothing about dating,” he explained.

For all his vagueness, she fit his description enough. She’d never outright confessed to being in love with him, so he didn’t know her feelings. Also they weren’t really supposed to date with all their responsibilities, and wasn’t that just part of their job as heroes? So for all intents and purposes, Chat Noir really could have been talking about her. The possibility made her head spin.

Her hope was strung on a tightrope; a precarious position that could go either way. She could ask him directly if he meant someone in his civilian life or if by some miracle he was talking about her—or she could stay on the precipice between disappointment and bliss. But for all her clumsiness, Marinette preferred balance whenever she could manage it. So she stayed her course, eyes far from looking down at the possibilities and instead on the objective: answer him.

“I haven’t been on a real date recently, no.”

She looked for any hint about his feelings in his response, any indication that he was relieved or just pitied her. He simply nodded, leaving her clueless as she continued to walk the tightrope.

“Same,” he let out a whiny sigh. “I guess I can’t really ask for advice then. I’m terrible when it comes to romance.”

She traced one of her spots with a gloved finger, trying to keep a clear mind despite the slight relief that her crush wasn’t out on dates all the time. “I doubt it. You’re so amazing, you’d make any girl really happy and lucky to be with you.” Saying those words aloud had her face feeling as red as her suit.

“Luck is your department, LB,” he grinned. “I imagine admirers are chasing you left and right.”

“Not in any serious manner,” Adrien’s corny and outlandish attempts to get her attention came to mind. He was just a flirt by nature, hardly what someone would consider a real admirer. “I… I’d be happy to go on a date with somebody who really liked me though.”

He gave her a thoughtful look that made her pause.

She stood up suddenly. “I mean, not just anybody! Like… if I knew they actually liked me, then I might give it a chance? Depending on the person.”

Chat Noir smiled again, patiently letting her ramble as usual.

She took a deep breath to collect herself. “It doesn’t matter how experienced you are with dating, at least that’s what I think. If she’s a nice person then she’ll also understand and you’ll both get through it together. You just have to be yourself.”

“You’re right as always, Little Lady,” he sighed. Her stomach did a flip at the soft sound of his voice. “You know, you do give the best advice.”

Balance, she reminded herself. Tightrope.

But he spoke again, “I can always count on you to cheer me up if things go wrong, can’t I?”

The words were kind—like a soft breeze—which was just enough to throw off her careful, barely established balance; just enough information to tip her over to the fact that he must have been talking about some other girl if at the end of the day he could still find comfort in her, his partner.

And so she fell. Or, well, she’d fallen for him a long time ago. What did she expect? Something happier, she’d hoped. Something more similar to catching herself with her yo-yo, lifting back up to soar instead of her hopes tumbling down.

“Ladybug?”

She took a second to glance down at the ground where her heart felt like it had dropped. From their high position on the Eiffel, it was a long way down. For how much she loved him, she wasn’t sure just how her heart would break. Shatter like glass? Crumble to pieces? Or would it plummet and dent the floor because it certainly felt as heavy as lead when she turned to face Chat Noir, an achingly sweet melancholy painted on face as he smiled at her.

“Of course you can count on me. You and me against it all,” she assured, holding out her hand to help him up. It was time to go, after all.

He grinned as he stood, “Everything from akumas to heartbreak.”

She gave a weak laugh in reply. “Good night, Chat.”

“Good night, Little Lady.”

#miraculous ladybug #ladynoir #chat noir #ladybug #justafewsmallsteps #Jelly art #the other way around #Reversal au #Jelly fic

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honklore · 4 years ago

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is nothing sacred? | quackity

(4.6k+ word count, prince!alex, augur/seer!reader, gn!reader, angst, alex has a sucky dad, reader has a sucky family, karl appears as a time traveler ofc, neg and pos religious themes, deification is the belief that when a monarch dies they will become a god, the rapids is a kingdom in this but it isn’t an smp au)

listen to: evermore by taylor swift, foreigner’s god by hozier, (the end) by levi weaver, exile by taylor swift

There’s a warm spring just outside the monastery. It’s hidden in the mountain, a few miles away from the castle walls and yet you find that it’s too close for comfort.

Every bright and loud fanfare that announces the prince’s coming and leaving echoes off of the hills and pours through your peaceful respite. It’s just enough to make you grumpy.

It’s one of those mornings again, and you find yourself floating in the hot spring, eyes open towards the sun, wishing you had more patience with the dear prince you call your best friend.

Your robe is heavy across your torso, floating around your bare legs as you ponder your plans for today. That is, if the prince doesn’t come visit you.

That would be wishful thinking, though. You don’t have to close your eyes to know that someone has blocked the sun. With a sigh, you sink your body beneath the warm water and submerge, blinking the water off of your lashes. “Alex, this is sacred ground.”

“I know,” the prince replies, squatting down to see you. “I tied my boots around my neck, see?”

You stare at the boot he’s proudly holding up, then shift your eyes to his bare feet. “Why are you here? This is my day off.”

“Excuse me for wanting to see my best friend,” Alex sneers mockingly, rolling his eyes. “Listen, are you coming back to the castle tomorrow?”

“We literally have an augury lesson at one in the morning,” you say. “So, yes.”

“Good, I’m going to disprove all of your theories.”

“They aren’t theories, Alex. I read patterns for a living, alright? I know what I’m talking about.”

“It’s not science.”

“Neither is your father deifying your grandfather,” this time you mock him.

He holds a steady gaze, lips quirked into a cheeky smile. “You’ll tell me about the night of my coronation again, right?”

“Because it warned of extreme change,” you say, voice level. “Yet I can’t figure out what’s going to happen. There’s something the stars aren’t telling me, and I have to figure it out to protect you and the kingdom.”

Alex’s eyes are a deep brown that you could probably get lost in, if he wasn’t such a little shit. ��Protect me, you say?” He’s flirting now, eyes alight with the thought of annoying you, and if this spring wasn’t so important to you, you would’ve yanked him in already. “Didn’t know you cared that much about me, Y/n.”

Your robes are clinging uncomfortably to your body, accentuating the lines and curves — or lack thereof. “Hand me my towel and look away please.”

Alex closes his eyes and turns his face away, holding out the towel. “Learn anything divine from your swimming trip?”

Alex holds the towel out like a makeshift screen, and averts his eyes while you dry off and change into the clean robe he brought you. As annoying as he is, the prince is thoughtful, and he fills in the places where you lack.

“I was reflecting,” you say, buttoning the front of the robe. “It’s good for you; clears out your soul.”

Alex tosses the towel over your head and ruffles your hair. He chuckles at your protests; taunts you with warmth in his eyes. “You’re so spiritual.”

You glare at him. “I’m an augur.”

“Right,” Alex says, holding the now-wet towel close to his chest. “But you take it so seriously, sometimes.”

“I hate you,” you say, no venom in your words.

“I love you, too,” Alex says. He leans forward, almost as if to kiss your forehead, and then remembers that you’re on sacred ground, and kissing is forbidden.

Still, the very thought of what he might’ve done sends an unwanted flutter throughout your chest.

Wax drips onto the closed letter. You dip the silver stamp into the dark purple puddle, leaving the royal seal behind.

Inside is a letter to your family. It’s a prophecy you’ve received just for them. Despite them disowning you for your gift, you still find it important to warn them of upcoming woe. Like now, for instance, when you wish to warn them about the upcoming rainstorm that could ruin their crops if they don’t take precautions.

You rub your temples and blow out the candle, leaving you in silent darkness.

Your room is on the highest tower of the castle. The turret is small; a circular room with a circular bed and a circular desk and a glass, circular ceiling that showcases the stars to you each night. There’s a telescope standing against the window, a chest for your clothes, and the writing desk you’re seated upon. However, your bathroom is a few stories down, near the bottom of the tower and closer to accessible plumbing.

The door behind you bursts open, and you know it’s the young prince and his lack of basic manners when it comes to privacy. Your privacy, anyway. “What is it, Alex?”

“I’ve been waiting for you in the tower for an hour now, silly,” Alex’s words get softer as the light from the corridor pours in, and he can see what you’ve been up to. He stills, smile faltering. “You had another vision of them.”

“I wish they would stop,” you mutter. If you clench your eyes tightly enough, you can will any tears to suck back into your head. Then you can suffer through a headache, like you always do. You’ve had this “gift” since you were a little kid; you know the ups and downs of using it.

Not that it gives you much choice sometimes.

“Are you drinking the–“

“No,” you snap at Alex. “Look, suppressing them only makes it worse. Prophecies become... darker. I see things I can’t unsee. I have to allow them through.”

Alex has a hurt look on his face, but you can’t tell if it’s because you snapped at him or because he doesn’t want to see you in pain. You selfishly hope it’s the latter.

“We can talk about something less harsh on the mind.” Alex sits on your chest, avoiding your bed. It’s another sacred place for you, same as the monastery grounds. Alex knows the rules of being a seer; the ancient laws you practice. He’s read the same books as you — if just to understand you better. He’s the most loyal friend you can think of: the only person in the entire kingdom who has never questioned your beliefs.

“I can’t stand the thought of them getting hurt,” you admit. “And with the vision about your coronation... I’m so scared this kingdom is going to crumble and it’s going to be because I couldn’t prevent it.”

Alex fiddles with his necklace. It’s a rune, one for protection. You used to wear a similar one beneath your robes, but with your fear of something happening, you’ve made Alex promise to wear it.

“It’s not your job to keep the kingdom from crumbling,” Alex relays. “All you need to do is tell me what you see. Then I hint to my father ways to change the kingdom. After that, it’s up to fate.”

You bite your lip. “Fate has a tricky way of playing its own hand.”

“Then it was never in your hands in the first place, yes?” Alex speaks honestly, but there’s a bit of cheek to his voice that eases your nerves.

You smile sadly. “Your father is too prideful, Alex. I can see it; the ravens, they flock the castle whenever he makes a speech. He wants to become a god. He wants something that’s impossible.”

“He deified Grandfather,” Alex quips, no emotion backing his voice. “Like you said earlier. It’s just to start the tradition, so that when he dies he’ll become holy, too.”

“I told him it was wrong. I told him that the stars foresee ruin if he stays on this trail of pride.” You cast your eyes down to your family’s letter. “No one believes me.”

“I believe you,” Alex’s soft voice urges you to look at him.

He’s quiet. The rune is resting on his outstretched palm and he’s looking at you. “Do you think I’d take these lessons and wear these trinkets if I thought you were wrong?”

“Maybe you do it because we’re friends,” you say. You're well aware of the fact that the prince is the only person in the entire kingdom who advocates for your beliefs. But with the rest of the realm against you, you can't help but think that deep down, he's making fun of you, too.

"You sure do worry a lot for someone who can foresee the future."

You choke out a laugh and run your hands down your face. "I'm sorry, Alex. I'm so sorry. I just– I feel like if I can't prevent every bad thing I predict, then it's my fault when they happen. I wish I was ignorant to omens."

Alex tuts. He pouts at you, dragging his lower lip between his teeth and holding it there for just a beat too long. “Let’s skip lessons today. You should rest.”

“Alex—“

“Ah!” Alex stands up. He begins to unclip his cufflinks from the hem of his sleeve before he passes you a coy glance. “That’s Prince Alexis to you, and if I say you should rest, then you should rest.”

You grumble, but inwardly you’re thankful.

There’s an altar, rectified in the middle of the castle courtyard. Though it was once a place of healing — a place seers would go to cleanse their minds — it is now standing in ruins.

You lay down your offerings anyway. Dried rose petals, and a few copper coins saved up. You wait with the objects until a few crows come to diligently take them away. To where? You don’t know. You’ve never asked.

Alex’s father plans to take down the altar and replace it with a shrine of himself. The knowledge of change reeks the air with a foul scent only you can smell.

It’s as if the entire kingdom is rotting and you’re the only one who knows.

You lift your hood off of your face and continue your walk throughout the court. Those you pass politely ignore you, though some choose to sneer at your mannerisms. The king has them wrapped in his prideful rule, and your heart aches for them.

There is no freedom in serving man. This much, you know.

You find yourself in the tower, waiting for the prince to come in time for his lessons.

“Father says he wants me to study more practical subjects,” Alex relates to you.

He’s lying across the balcony floor, and you are perpendicular, with your head on his stomach. You feel every breath he takes, and something about the closeness comforts you in a way you refuse to analyze.

“I’m not sure what else you could learn,” you say. Your eyes are stuck on a chip in the balcony railing. Stone that hardly cracks, and of course your foundation is crumbling quicker than your resolve. “You have lessons from dawn till dusk.”

“And you’re the only tutor I care for,” he says with a flippant sort of tone. “I don’t know what I’d do if I saw you less. I already wish I had more time with you.”

You’ve spoken to nuns and monks and those who swear off love in servitude to the one they worship. Most admit that it’s a lonely existence, and a torture to make up for their sins. You understand that true love must be as sacred as an old god, and to worship another person would be the greatest act of devotion. For how else do you serve a creator than by worshiping the created?

You don’t think kings are meant to be worshipped. No one with that much power should be revered with such ignorance.

But a prince is different. To worship a prince alone, in secret, for just yourself... perhaps that is the most spiritual devotion of all. Perhaps it is the most torturous.

Hearing Alex’s words makes your heart yearn for a future that can never be. You don’t need a vision to tell you that his father will soon grow tired of you. Of course you will soon be sent out of the kingdom, and Alex will forget about you in time.

You know this without a doubt in your heart, and yet Alex still clings to these moments with you.

You’d do anything to keep him safe.

“Where will I go?” You ask. “Where will I be accepted?”

Alex’s breath hitches; you feel it. And you know what he wants to say — you know what lingers at the tip of his tongue.

With me.

Your family sends back the letter, unopened. You try not to cry about it, but the truth is that you feel more alone than ever. Surely you are the last of your kind, and no one cares in the least about what you have to say.

Except maybe Alex. Lovely, beautiful Alexis. He could no sooner harm a butterfly’s wing than deny you your beliefs.

But Alex is not king. He is merely a prince, and the king does not like you. It’s a miracle you’ve lasted this long.

“You fill my son’s head with nonsense,” the king paces back and forth in front of his empty thrown.

You hide your hands in the sleeves of your robe. “Your Majesty, I only relay what I see. I fear your kingdom is in danger.”

“And you think it my fault? Tell me, what if the stars told me to deify my father? What if I am following my own visions?” The royal cackles. “You have no sensible argument. All you have are silly dreams and lies to propel your own agenda. I will not have you spoiling my son’s brain.”

“Your Majesty—“

“I forbid you to speak on anything of the sort from hence forth. The altar will be torn down, and any peep from you regarding these readings will result in instant banishment.”

The sentence hurts more than it should, considering you aren’t being willed to die. You’re quite lucky in this sentence, considering you can still see Alex. Though, a part of you cracks and splinters to think of suppressing your visions.

The vision of Alex’s coronation still remains. You fear for the prince’s life. You fear the king will have something to do with it.

How do you tell the boy you adore that his father may be his downfall?

How do you get him to believe you?

The warm spring only gets hotter as the seasons change. You sink your head under, and the heat of the water burns your closed eyelids. Your head is killing you; pounding from holding back your emotions: your tears.

The monks don’t even worship the same as you. They lend you their springs and advice, but they aren’t the same. There are no other augurs in The Rapids, so no one else really knows how taxing the job is.

More visions come to you when you’re stressed, so you try your hardest to calm yourself. The water scalds your skin, but it distracts your mind enough to keep the visions away.

It’s all the same. All the visions are the same — Alex gets crowned king and overturns the deifying decree. And only days later, he’s assassinated, and the regent — his father — takes back the throne.

As the old proverb goes: pride cometh before a fall, and the king certainly has enough pride. You just don’t want Alex to get caught in the fall.

“You’re so predictable.” Alex’s voice is warbled.

It takes a minute for the water to release from your ears.

Surfaced, you can see Alex crouched by the bank, careful not to fall in. He’s got that same gentle smile — thin, rouge lips and eyes that seem to shine when they look at you. Alex never judges. He never makes fun of your methods. He’s simply there for you, and your heart longs to be there for him as well.

“This place is sacred,” you blurt. Seeing Alex’s face in the light of the sunset just makes you think of your visions. What would a world without Alex even look like? You aren’t sure you want to find out.

You start to cry, and Alex holds a hand out silently.

He helps you out — holds out the robe for you. His boots are around his neck, and you focus on the thinness of his ankles while you clothe yourself.

“You can’t hold me.” You say plainly.

“I know,” Alex’s voice is watery. “Let’s get you back to the palace, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you sniff. “Okay.”

“I’m not dead.” Alex lightly scratches your arm. Up and down. Up and down. “I’m not going to die.”

Your shoulders are braced against his side. You keep your gaze on the white smoke rising off of his incense cone.

This is his room, and his bed, because those aren’t sacred. His bed can be slept in and snuggled in and kissed in and loved in. He has scratchy cotton sheets and incense that is too old to really smell like anything.

He’s a prince with messy documents surrounding his desk and curtains that haven’t been dusted in days. Some days you wonder if the entire castle has forgotten about him. You don’t want to bring it up — don’t want to ask — but it flummoxes you.

You reach for his hand and stop its motions. “I’m sorry I bring you into all of this.”

“I want you to bring me into everything,” Alex slurs. He’s staying awake for you, and you know it. He rests his temple against your head. “I don’t want you to keep anything from me.”

You hum. His body is warm against yours. Too warm, to the extent where you know you’ll wake up in the uncomfortable sort of sweat that comes when a child falls asleep on you, or when you fall asleep without the window open.

Something heavy squeezes your chest. It feels like your ribcage is sentient — hugging and pressing into your lungs until it’s nearly impossible to breathe without an uncomfortable stutter.

Alex falls asleep quick, so you don’t worry about him noticing.

You settle against him and breathe through your nose. The feeling will pass — it always does. You feel this way whenever Alex reveals something so vulnerable to you. You reckon it’s something to do with the tenderness of his voice, or the earnest squeeze of his hand.

There’s a need to protect him. You want to be there for him, more than anything else in the world.

Stripped of your job — the altar torn down — you resort back to your first and foremost activity: Alex’s best friend and (unofficial) advisor.

In this position, you’re confident in your abilities. You know just as well as anyone that you’d rather die than see the prince harmed in any way.

You’re kicked out of the tower, and your telescopes are left to dust. The king locks the door personally, ardent in his attempt to keep you away from any visions that might harm his reign.

You stay in Alex’s room, on a spare bed mat near the fireplace.

Of course, Alex has offered his bed, but you refuse to bother him any more than you have to. And now, with your rituals forbidden, you need a place to privately gather your thoughts.

The flames lick the stone furnace and you lie still. You watch them dance and close your eyes, hoping to rest without any visions or nightmares.

But the nightmares come, and they’re always the same.

When you wake in a fervent sweat, you know that only one thing will keep you from fearing Alex’s death. So, you crawl beneath his scratchy sheets.

You don’t snuggle into him or bother his slumber. All you need to do is know that he’s here. You rest your smallest finger against his bare arm and fall asleep to the sound of an owl hooting outside the window.

On the morning of Alex’s coronation, fog rises from the earth. You see it as a sign: this day will be confusing and blurred.

Alex is just excited to have cooler weather. The blistering heat has been plaguing the kingdom for days, so to have a day of fog and hollow wind sounds like heaven to the prince.

You wear your runes beneath your robe, and the weight of them is less than the weight of knowing you’re dead if you’re caught. But you need them; need this day to come and go without blood and tears.

Alex cannot see you. He’s far too busy with final rehearsals and receiving guests from far and wide.

You stray beyond the castle, into the square, where traders and travelers have set up shop in the hopes of making a profit.

There’s a sign. Fortunes Read Here. It’s tacked over a purple curtain, and you can see amber light shining through a thin slit. Like maybe someone is in there. Like maybe you aren’t alone.

You walk in.

Disappointment smacks against your ribs like a heavy wave against jagged rocks. It’s a scam. A boy no younger than yourself is sitting behind a table, with a green sash tied over his forehead. There’s a mystical rune of some kind that looks like a portal, and it’s tacked to nearly every surface you can see with dripping green paint. The place looks like that of a madman, and you fear you’re about to be mocked.

“Hello,” he says. He doesn’t offer a name. The blues of his eyes flicker from time to time with a shimmery purple, and you think it’s a trick of the light.

“Are you going to laugh at me?” You sit across from him. “Once I leave, are you going to think of me as just another gullible customer?”

“Can you not tell the future?” He says, and he grabs the crystal ball and tucks it under the table. “I can sense it. You want answers, genuine answers, not some promise of success.”

“Who are you?”

“Karl,” he says. “I’m from the village of The Rapids, but you know, magic is looked down upon. I doubt anyone would believe me if I told them what I know.”

You trace the lines of the rune. Your brain fogs, but as you repeat the motion, it clears up, and you suddenly see Karl, clear as day, standing in a crowd and watching Alex make a speech. “You’ve been there? You’ve been to the future?”

“Look closer,” Karl mumbles.

So you focus on the details, and you can see the black banners of mourning, and the redness of Alex’s eyes. “Oh. This is his grandfather’s funeral. This is the year before I became Alex’s tutor.”

“Walk closer.”

Unsure what he means, you continue to trace the rune, and imagine yourself walking through the crowd. Only Karl moves instead, so you pause your tracing and look at Karl.

He’s got his eyes closed, and his eyebrows furrowed. “Why did you come here? What did you want to see?”

You brought me here, you think of saying, but you wonder if this is what Karl can do. If he can travel to the past and show people what he sees. “I- I suppose I want to know why he was deified. Was it a plot?”

You trace the rune again, and Karl walks over to the king, where he stands apart from the podium. Even though his son is giving a heartfelt speech, he’s not listening at all. Instead, he’s talking to one of his trusted advisors.

“I will make a wonderful god.”

“Prince Alexis hates the new creed,” the advisor observes. “Surely he’ll overrule it once he is king.”

“Yes,” the king says. “Well, I suppose we’ll just have to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

You gasp, and even Karl seems winded as you stop tracing the rune.

He places his palms on the table. “So that’s what you wanted to find out. A regicide plot.”

“I have to find Alex,” you mutter. You stand and rip one of your runes off of your neck. Intuition. “Here, take it. You should go.”

“I can’t go into the future,” Karl warns. “I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“No,” you think of Alex’s words. “None of us can predict fate. I have to go.”

You run out of the tent, and when you look back, it’s gone, left with nothing but a dirty sign labeled Fortunes Read Here.

Perhaps it’s past tense now.

Your purple robe billows behind you as you rush into the castle in search of the prince.

The staff says they haven’t seen him, the lords are already drunk off of mulled wine. His own tailors are running around, fearing they won’t be able to dress him in time.

So he’s gone, and that means you’re too late.

Or rather, maybe Alex is smarter than you give him credit for, and he’s gone to the one place his father won’t go.

You head up to the tower.

He’s there. Of course he’s there. And he’s in only part of his ceremonial clothes, leather pants and a cream-white collared shirt. He’s leaning his palms against the stone railing and staring out against the wind, like he’s waiting for it to speak to him. Tears slip down his cheeks and drop into the air.

“Alex…” You wrap your arms around his soft waist, squeezing tight to try and convey how thankful you are that he knew to get away. “Your father… He’s—”

“He poisoned my breakfast,” Alex whimpers. He grabs blindly for your arms, and at the touch of your skin, he folds in on himself; shifts around to face you, and buries his face into your neck. “My taster… He thought my taster was out. But he wasn’t. Now he’s dead, and the counsel are trying to figure out what to do with my father.”

“Alex, I’m so sorry.”

He cries harder, and you think your hug must feel weak compared to the comfort he so clearly needs right now. “I have to go tell the lords and the staff. We have to postpone the coronation until everyone involved is apprehended.”

You think of what he does when you feel alone. He visits your spring, and he takes off his shoes. He takes you to his bed and scratches your arm. He kisses your head and hums old lullabies from his childhood until you fall asleep.

So you grab his hand, and you pull him down the few stairs where your old bedroom lies. And you bring him toward your bed, but he stops you.

“It’s sacred to you,” he hiccups.

“You’re sacred to me,” you finally decide, and you let him crawl under your sheets.

You untie his boots and pull them off of his feet, along with his socks. Then you take the blanket and pull it up to his chin. You kiss his forehead and crawl in next to him. And you scratch his arm, up and down, and you hum old lullabies from your own childhood until he falls asleep.

While he’s asleep, you trace the moles across his cheeks and close your eyes. Suddenly, it’s like Karl’s tent, only you can see into the future, not the past. And you aren’t Karl, you’re Y/n.

The sun is bright on Alex’s back, skin tanned and warm. You’re swimming with him in the spring, and all that is sacred to you is him. All that matters is him, so he can float in the spring, and he can kiss you on holy ground, and if he can’t be deified in the kingdom, he can be deified in your soul.

And when you stop your motions, you’re back in your bed. Alex is there, sweet Alex, snoring softly and snuggling into your warmth, like you keep him safe. Like your visions aren’t the ones he believed in at all.

He has always believed solely in you.

#quackity fluff #quackity fanfic #quackity scenarios #quackity angst #mcyt fanfiction #quackity x reader #quackity x you #mcyt x reader #pixiecap//

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shihalyfie · 4 years ago

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How to meet (or reunite with) your Digimon partner, according to 02

Here’s a post dedicated to those of you who are worried or sad about Kizuna’s premise, or how the way it ends is supposed to lead up to the 02 epilogue, and are thinking of that elephant-in-the-room question of “so then how do they get their partners back?” I’m not the Kizuna staff, so I can’t say anything for sure, but I can tell you that 02 gives us some interesting leads here!

You’re probably thinking “weren’t Kizuna and the problem of partnership dissolution made after 02? Isn’t this an Adventure movie? Why are you bringing 02 into this?” Ah, but you see, that might be true if you’re thinking of it on a technical plot level, but 02 as a series isn’t as thematically displaced from Kizuna as you might think, especially when the exact same real-life incident about a kid skipping grades, the one that literally was the foundation for 02′s creation to begin with, was brought back 20 years later for Menoa’s backstory. Certainly, a lot of the plot points introduced in Kizuna are new to it, but the themes and things it wants to say about self-acceptance and how to pursue happiness have very deep parallels to 02 -- which means that it’s not much of a stretch to think that some of the answers to the questions presented in Kizuna can be found in 02, too.

While it’s true that “getting your partner back from adulthood existential-crisis induced disappearance” is not a problem that necessarily presented itself in 02, remember that we’re dealing with a lot of theme parallels here -- a Digimon is part of one’s heart, and the central characters of both narratives (Ken and Menoa) had backstories that came from the same real-life story, one that warns that pressuring a kid into “adult” situations that they’re not emotionally prepared to handle will mess them up and cause them to lose their sense of self. The answer to the question of “how to get a partner back” in Kizuna was only pursued by the very scientifically-minded Menoa, who mashed keys on the keyboard and played around with egg data to get it to work, but this is Digimon, where these kinds of fateful meetings and evolutionary moments happen because of the heart, and everyone depicted lost their partners for reasons related to mentality and not science (remember, Menoa lost Morphomon at 14). Has Menoa done any real introspection in the last eight years? Probably not.

So, back in 02, when Ken did lose his sense of self, he eventually came back to his senses and decided to reclaim Wormmon. Thanks to how the plot worked, Wormmon merely “died” and was set to be reborn at the Village of Beginnings, but...

Just being reborn by the mechanics of the plot wouldn’t do it. Ken would never be able to find Wormmon again until he accepted something else, which is...

...himself. Everything good and bad about him, what he’d done in the past, how he has to move on with that, and how to move on with the person he actually is instead of the shell of the Kaiser. And with that, he is led to Wormmon, and is able to start the process of repairing their relationship.

So the point made here in 02 episode 23 is: one will only be able to be reunited with their partner if they can accept everything about themselves and become able to move on -- something that Menoa, who forced herself into the role of an “adult” in the hopes of getting more acceptance among her peers and eventually drowned herself in nostalgia, was most certainly not doing over the course of the movie.

So anyway, we get to 02 episode 50, and the parallel becomes even less subtle -- “a Digimon partner” is given a very direct correlation to “one’s own personal aspirations and dreams”. If you look back at the entire plot of 02 up to this point, with Ken and the Dark Seed children, all of them have been shoving aside “themselves” and “what they wanted to do” in an effort to please others -- to become well-behaved, studious, athletic, whatever society expected of them, instead of what they wanted to do.

So all of the kids admit all of the embarrassing, “undignified” dreams that they’d been holding back because they’d felt that they weren’t “allowed” to have them (following Daisuke’s shameless example of admitting that he’s fine with doing something as simple as running a ramen shop), and are encouraged to be a bit shameless about it and forget what society wants them to do, instead of what they want to do. The word “belief” is brought up a lot in this episode -- it’s not just having dreams, you also have to really, truly believe in your ability to make them happen and have the gusto to follow them without restraint.

And so, this strong resolution to have “belief” allows their partners to spontaneously manifest in front of them -- and it’s all but stated that said “dreams” and said partners are equivalent, and even implied that their partners had always existed in their hearts in some form, just not able to truly appear until they fully accepted themselves. Or, in other words, you will only be able to meet your partner when you embrace everything about yourself and what you want to do, regardless of what others think or what society expects of you, and have the will to pursue it.

(By the way, yes. Spontaneously manifest. Even if most of Adventure/02 had been defined by concrete mechanics for the most of it, in the end, this is still a narrative about the human heart before anything else.)

And guess who else learns this lesson by the end of the episode?

When Oikawa, who had been childishly (hmmm) chasing after shallow symbols of his past in order to get it back (hmmmmmm) because he considered himself too much of a “tainted adult” (hmmmm, sounds familiar) back in 02 episode 48, finally comes to realize what his actual mistake was and that he should have been more free about pursuing his dreams instead of accepting Chikara taking them away from him and Hiroki, Oikawa is finally able to reconnect with the partner he’d “lost” all of those years ago (hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm). So, again, you will only be able to reunite with your partner once you accept everything about yourself and what you should do from here on out.

(Hey, fun fact: Pipimon also spontaneously appeared in front of Oikawa the moment he accepted this. Although the exact specifics of the current “adulthood” issue were probably not conceived until Kizuna, “not being able to reach a partner that you once had due to cutting your own dreams off” has precedent!)

Moreover, Menoa’s backstory seems practically engineered to make sure that she never witnessed this nor learned this lesson -- she lost her partner “eight years ago”, in 2002, the exact same year the events of 02 took place. Assuming that she lost said partner in the middle of the year (her flashback seems to take place in spring or so, when university admissions results are issued), this would have prevented her from participating in the “world tour” battles around the world in 02 episodes 40-42 and engaging with Daisuke and friends, and particularly from joining in the final fight with BelialVamdemon and therefore witnessing what happened with the Dark Seed children and Oikawa. Which means that her ability to get this cynical about partnership dissolution being “inevitable” and that there’s no way to regain your hopes and dreams was enabled by the fact that she didn’t get to learn the lesson that the Tokyo Chosen Children did all those years ago...

Let’s look at the four who lost their partners over the course of Kizuna. Where were they at the time they lost their partners?

Menoa: Considering herself spurned by other people who “look at her weird” and desperate to “live on her own two feet” and “be useful to the world”, forced herself into the role of an “adult” by getting herself to skip grades into a university setting she was unprepared for, for the sake of recognition more than anything, and ended up living a very lonely life

Taichi: Isolated himself from others for the sake of living independently and “having his own life to live”, losing focus about anything he wanted to do, and allowing himself to get slowly disconnected from Agumon

Yamato: Developed a sense of detachment from his old hobbies and started living life for a “grace period” due to lack of real focus on what he wanted to do

Sora: Started forcing herself into “obligations” to succeed her mother in flower arrangement and from her Chosen Child duties, to the point she isolated herself from others and started losing control over herself

(Funny thing: a big part of 02′s story was about finding support in others and fostering your relationships, and here we are with four people who are slowly “isolating” themselves from others...)

It’s not about “becoming an adult” and losing your partner. It’s about shoving yourself into the societally-enforced standard of an adult and losing yourself in the process, and therefore losing your ability to see your partner.

And so, by the end of Kizuna, all four of them have lost their partners -- but we also see the characters we know and love starting to follow their way to what we know is the 02 epilogue, through some very unsubtle hint dropping (retroactive hints to the careers we’re already aware of, such as Taichi’s future in diplomacy). Which means that the eventual existence of the 02 epilogue is in itself the answer to the question, because the epilogue is: everyone found what they wanted to do and pursued it, and therefore everyone eventually figured out their personal aspirations and what they wanted to do, and were able to accept and pursue it, which was established earlier as the key to meeting your partner.

By the way! It’s also revealed in 02 episode 50 that the Digital World itself is at least partially formed on “the power to materialize emotions” (both positive and negative), which is the explanation for so many phenomena over both Adventure and 02 being related to the human heart, and presumably is also why Digimon partners can even exist to begin with (they’re literally supposed to be a part of the inner self, so the power of the Digital World is what “brings them out”). All four “disappearances” on record happened with all four of them in the real world, fixated on their obligations to society and attempting to turn themselves into model citizens, but all of the above “meetings” with partners in 02 -- and Menoa making true “contact” with Morphomon (inside Eosmon) for the first time since her disappearance -- also happened in the Digital World, the world of idealistic dreams, personal aspirations, and the materialization of people’s emotions.

#digimon #digimon adventure 02 #digimon adventure last evolution kizuna #kizuna spoilers

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