#Village Show Entries

[mysticum-draconis]

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑭𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒊𝒏!

This is a rather ambitious project that I worked on all last week as my main entry to the drawing category in the art competition at my local village show. I was really surprised and honoured to receive first prize, because despite there not being that many entries, the other drawings there were rather tough ones to beat!

This is only the second time I’ve tried drawing on black paper, the first being last year when I was copying someone else’s art as a reference, whereas this year I was using an actual still from the movie as my reference, which was harder. I had a nightmare trying to draw the base sketch, because even though I can just about see my pencil outline on the black paper due to the graphite being shiny and reflective, the table that I draw at has a window on the right and I happen to be right handed, so I was constantly in my own shadow! Even though I did two practice sketches on white paper first, I found it much harder to perfect the base sketch and spent most of the first day of drawing just adjusting the outline 😩 It went a lot smoother once I started shading it in with the white pencil thank goodness 😅

Overall, I am happy with how it turned out. It still annoys me that I can never get my art exactly accurate to the reference, but it definitely could’ve been worse and when not compared to the original still, I think that it looks fine.

HB mechanical pencil, Lyra white colouring and gloss pencils on A4 black paper ✏️

Progress photos and reference below cut.

Please don’t use or post on other websites without credit or permission, thanks 🙏

[neiptune]

to hell with the stars, keep shooting for the moon

cw: 3k wc, female reader, established relationship, suggestive if you squint, reader is a gymnast, my entry for the super fun summer olympics collab by @tetzoro! hope you'll enjoy the little surprise i squeezed in hehe

“For the last time, I’m not having sex with you on one of those cardboard beds”.

Atsumu isn’t the least bit discouraged by your exasperated scowl, which is met with a pout.

“But babe-”

“I don’t care how many times Tobio’s done it, ‘Tsumu” you click your tongue.

“It’s just so fucking bizarre that he gets so much action, the guy doesn’t even do anything! Shoyo agrees, we discussed it and still couldn’t find a reason” the blond, excessively petulant Miya who makes it a point to be the bane of your existence, keeps listing all the reasons why he believes his teammate shouldn’t be getting laid in the olympic village. Or anywhere else ever, for the matter.

The heated arguments float through a distant hemisphere of your brain, where they dissolve before you can quite catch their meaning and soon enough become simple sounds you’re passively absorbing, thoughts too preoccupied with something entirely different.

The choreographies you put together with your trainer have been playing in the back of your mind ever since last night, after the all-around individual qualification round. You are part of the 10 gymnasts with the highest scores, four performances with each apparatus earning a fairly decent ranking and good enough points. Well, they’re certainly good enough, given that you get to represent Japan at the individual final. But you just know they could be better. Your feet should’ve been firmer, hands less sweaty around the clubs, you should’ve stretched for at least 50 minutes prior to the routine instead of the usual 40 ones.

Pulse picks up in pace, heart thrumming faster against your ribcage, dizziness clouds your mind for a moment as different moves chase each other in rapid succession: the penché comes first, then follows the elbow stand, front walkover, one forward roll, a chest stand-

Gentle, calloused fingers grasp your chin and tilt your head upwards in silent demand. Look at me.

“Get out of there and talk to me, sugar” the fondness in his chocolate gaze is a balm that instantly soothes the churning sensation sabotaging your stomach.

“I won’t make it” it’s blunt, raw in its honesty “I’m too scared”.

“Ya worked your ass off the past four years. Your entire life actually”.

“I know”.

“And whatever happens, you’re one of the best ten gymnasts in the world”.

“I know”.

Atsumu gets closer as his hands hold your face now, gentle but firm, an all too familiar flame starts dancing in feverish eyes.

“But?”.

You recognize that gaze, the raging, febrile determination taking over. He gets it on his side of the net, where he gets to run the show. And oh, isn’t that always a sight for sore eyes? It certainly was at the olympics too, when the entire world got to witness what Japan is already used to. The game against Argentina was nothing short of glorious, the way Atsumu coordinated his team’s offense, established the entire tempo and overall built the confidence in his passers had the crowds chanting his name over and over again. By the evening, you’re positive at least a hundred new Miya Atsumu fan accounts had started following you on instagram.

And yet he doesn’t take any of it for granted. Atsumu always gives his very best, at the olympics or during regular training with his friends. Whether Tobio is going to play or not. That passion simply sets his soul ablaze at all times, with no exception. He’s the man you love and the only one who can truly understand how you feel, the one person who is ignited with the same delirious resolve currently burning in the pit of your stomach.

“But I really want that fucking medal” you whisper. Not to prove him that you have it in you just like he does: truth is you’re the only person who needs additional convincing.

Sharp canines make their appearance when Atsumu smiles widely.

“Then go get it. The hell are you scared of? That medal belongs to you”.

Your eyelids flutter as they fall shut, a deep breath filling your lungs with fresh air. When you open your eyes again, you feel your heart filling up with something else too.

“I love you”.

His eyes soften at that, affection pools within crinkles by the eyes as a confident grin morphs into a warm smile.

“Love ya more, champion” Atsumu kisses your forehead with tenderness, lingers for a moment too long with lips pressing to your skin with intention. Then he lets go of your face but not before searching for any remnants of self-doubt. His chest swells with pride when all he can find in your eyes is that determination he adores.

“Will you be there?” you ask because you can’t help it. It’s perfectly understandable that he might not be able to, his schedule is just as busy as yours and Japan’s final game is just two days away. It’s not entirely fair to ask and someone else might’ve rolled their eyes with a sigh, reminded you that they don’t get to decide that. But not Atsumu. He takes one of your hands and brings it to his lips to kiss each knuckle.

“I’ll do everything I can to be there”.

“Thank you” you lightly pinch his nose with an infatuated smile and he fakes a groan “see you later”.

“I love you!” he shouts as you run away, loud and obnoxious and passionate, just like his affection always is. Once again, Atsumu’s love is thrown over your shoulders like a comforting blanket that weighs just right.

Back at the beginning of your relationship, you had to unlearn a very specific thought process that posed the risk of ending something that still hadn’t had the chance to fully start. It was your first time dating another pro athlete, a very talented and quite renowned one no less. You were first introduced to him at a party, he had no idea who you were but of course you were all too familiar with his name and accomplishments.

Miya Atsumu was a pro volleyball player, known for his exceptional flair and fierce passion ever since high school. His reputation made you believe that, as an athlete yourself, you had to prove him that you were just as good in your own sport. Wasn’t that all he’d be interested in? Dating someone who wouldn’t embarrass him with their mediocrity, someone who wouldn’t stain his polished reputation?

Turns out, by no means Atsumu was interested in all that. He asked if it was okay for him to come watch one of your competitions, coincidentally one of your worst ones. You were all too aware of how badly you had competed, nerves and a recent flu contributing to a terrible performance, yet at the end of it Atsumu greeted you with stars in his eyes. He couldn’t stop talking about how elegant yet strong you looked, going as far as describing your choreographies as breathtaking. With a nervous chuckle, he half-jokingly said he couldn’t believe you’d let him date you. 

That’s when you kissed him for the first time, fiery and feverish in a way that would’ve probably scared anyone else off. Not Atsumu, though. He wrapped his arms around you without so much as an ounce of hesitation, kissed you back like it was the last action he was allowed to perform on this earth. And you knew: he didn’t need you to be a winner, to be shiny at all times, to feel proud. To love you. Whether you end up bringing the medal home or not, he will still be your biggest fan and loudest supporter.

The intensity of the crowd doesn’t bother you at all: given your anxious nature, Chisaka-san has been adamant about training you with headphones and loud tapes for years. Music, cheers, booing, clapping, national anthems, you’re used to it all by now.

You observe the ukrainian gymnast, the way she moves so elegantly with her colorful ribbon. It looks like she’s flying, hopping on invisible steps made of air, sparkly leotard catching the light just right. Yours cost a fortune: handmade, sewn in Italy, a triumph of colorful stretch mesh, thermal crystals and sew-on rhinestones in various sizes and shapes.

As Chisaka-san helps you practice the usual deep breaths with a hand pressed to your chest, your eyes are still glued to your opponent. The podium is yours, unless you fuck up so badly even the bronze slips away. Daryna currently has the highest score and it’s certain she will protect the lead at the end of her final routine. Then follows Bulgaria’s Katerina, but you’re hardly worried about her: she finished her last exercise without catching the ribbon, a penalty you can easily overcome if luck and nerves are on your side.

When after an impeccable Daryna your name is announced at last, your trainer gives your butt a friendly, encouraging pat. She believed in you more than anyone else, more than yourself. She knew you’d qualify for the olympics and would be flying to Paris before you could even dream of such an achievement. And now you get to honor her trust, you get to prove that Paris is where you belong. The podium is yours because like hell you’re allowing it to slip away. But you want more, you want that gold.

The crowd seems louder now, flags raised in flashes of white and red in your peripheral as you smile radiantly and position yourself to start the routine. You don’t check if Atsumu was able to make it, don’t allow yourself to think of anything but the way your feet and legs and arms and hands are supposed to move.

The longest 85 seconds of your life begin along with the music, Piazzolla’s libertango but with a modern, energetic arrangement. The ribbon is not as scary as the hoop, it moves with you like an old friend, seamless and reliable. You throw the handle into the air and perform two forward rolls before catching it again in one fluid motion, lips perpetually stretched into a confident smile. The crowd erupts in deafening cheers at your backscale pivot, the more you keep cutting through the air with precision, control and passion, the more your smile grows. Yes, this is where you belong, this is what you love and were made to do.

There’s your signature move, difficult and risky and one Chisaka-san always attempts to talk you out of: a technical element, Bessonova’s swan, while simultaneously kicking the ribbon into the air with your foot once more. You catch it one last time, perform an aerial cartwheel and then a perfectly balanced backward somersault, wrap yourself in the colorful shades of your apparatus and gracefully conclude the routine on the floor.

The crowd is ear-splitting in their support and you don’t have to wait for the score to know: it was perfect. It’s the best you ever did and the tension finally melts into hot tears as you wave and smile and foolishly attempt to wipe the wetness from your cheeks at the same time. Chisaka-san wraps you up in her comforting embrace and you hide your face in her white uniform, ears ringing, blood scorching in veins throbbing with adrenaline.

“I can’t look” you whisper into her shoulder and she gently guides you to the bench, all emotional murmurs and soft touches. She sits next to you, holds your hand as you force a quivering smile to the camera, peace sign held high. And then you can barely catch a glimpse of your scores before Chisaka-san forces you into her arms and against her chest again, right as fresh tears stain your cheeks. She lets you have this moment, shields your first reaction from the world and the prying eyes of cameras that are on you once more because holy shit, Daryna has a 140.60 but you have a 142.850. They gave you a difficulty score of 19.300 and an execution one of 8.550.

“I knew it!” Chisaka-san is the only thing keeping you grounded because it truly feels as if you’re floating. It doesn’t matter how badly you wanted it, how much you fought for it, the moment doesn’t feel real. Not even as the other gymnasts come to hug you and you congratulate them in turn, it’s a whirlwind of all-encompassing love and support and mutual happiness. Moments like this make your sport truly special, they remind you that fierce competition only feels right when balanced by appreciation for your opponents’ efforts and individual journeys.

The crowd erupts in new, loud cheering and you catch a glimpse of the different face the cameras are now focusing on. A handsome face with suspicious dampness glistening on cheeks and a smile so warm, beaming with pride. You can’t help but smile back as your legs move on autopilot, a bottle of water dropped to the floor as you sprint towards the bleachers. Atsumu is in the front row and he easily catches you right as you jump onto him, arms wrapped around his neck.

“Told ya. It belongs to you” he whispers in your ear and you almost start crying again at the trembling in his voice, so many overwhelming emotions swarming in your chest at once.

“Thank you for believing in me” you mutter and pull back to look at him, because even in a venue packed with people and cameras and journalists he still manages to be the brightest, the one thing you could look at forever without ever growing tired of it.

“Always” Atsumu grins, eyes glazed with defiant tears “you did so well. Look at ya, my girl’s an olympic medalist!”.

And because you know he won’t do it, god forbid he takes the most special moment of your life away from you, you kiss him. It’s brief, two pecks that linger just enough before he lets you go, urges you to go back out there and celebrate. You don’t care that videos of this moment are probably going to be flooding every social media platform in a matter of minutes, similarly to how Atsumu hardly gives a damn about all the phones and cameras he has in his face when he runs to you after a game, whether his team wins or not.

It’s hard not to tear up again as the japanese national anthem echoes through the building, so many people singing along as you stand on the podium you have dreamed of every single day of your life. You smile, proud and big, take selfies with the other two medalists and make sure you hug every single gymnast you come across goodbye before walking out of the venue, a promise to catch up with your trainer in the evening.

Atsumu waits for you outside, he doesn’t have any additional training left for the day and you want nothing more than to walk back to the village with him, lovesick smile growing in size when you spot him underneath the afternoon sun, golden light caught beautifully in that honey blond hair.

“There she comes, the girl of my dreams” he coos and you roll your eyes with affection “I hear she’s now the greatest gymnast in the world, too!”.

“Corny” you murmur against his lips as he pulls you in for a real kiss, one of those you’re never willing to give him in front of the cameras.

“About those cardboard beds…” it’s a faint whisper into his mouth but it’s enough for Atsumu to pick you up and twirl until you’re both laughing between kisses, until someone clearing their throat prompts you to abruptly pull back and force your feet onto the ground again.

When you turn around, the embarrassed smile quickly grows into a surprised grin. The stranger is looking back at you with the faintest hint of a smirk and Atsumu isn’t entirely sure he loves the way you take a tentative step toward him.

“Congrats. It was a good routine, not your best though”.

“Oh my god” you chuckle, astonished, and Atsumu is now certain he doesn’t enjoy watching you run to hug this weird, 6’1 stranger with dark hair and teal eyes. He definitely doesn’t enjoy the way the stranger wraps his arms around you with a sigh.

“I should’ve known you’d be here! How long has it been? Look at you, all grown up!” you let him go, still smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

“Too long” he concedes and if the stranger wasn’t still all caught up in old, familiar patterns of stubborn coldness, maybe he would be able to utter the truth about how much he’s missed one of his oldest friends.

“I missed you” as usual, you take it upon yourself to fill the spaces left empty by his obstinacy with warmth. His eyes soften and you smile again as you turn to look at your boyfriend.

“’Tsumu, c’mere!” you’re holding out a hand, an impatient invitation “come meet Rin!”

Atsumu is openly wary of your friend, one you’re obviously close enough to address by his first name. As he shakes his hand with a fake megawatt smile, Rin seems to be equally skeptical and does nothing to hide it.

“He’s your boyfriend?” he asks, briefly scanning Atsumu from head to toe with an openly dubious gaze “came all the way here just to support you?”

“Atsumu is a pro volleyball player, he’s in the national team just like you!”

“Volleyball, huh?” Rin cocks his head “doesn’t really interest me. I find it to be overrated”.

“I mean…”.

“And what would your sport be, Itoshi?” Atsumu can feel a vein throb on his forehead as he politely interrupts you.

“Soccer”.

“Oh!” a seemingly friendly laugh bubbles up from his throat but you recognize the petulant vibration to it “soccer! I think there’s only so long you can watch a player throw himself on the ground because he stubbed his toe on the grass or, I don’t know, try the same failed corner kick for the millionth time”.

You uncomfortably clear your throat and Rin directs his attention to you once more. Isn’t that what being a mature adult is all about? Ignoring pretentious assholes he doesn’t even know?

“I mean it, by the way. You deserve that gold more than anyone else I know”.

“C’mon, say it” you chuckle “I know you noticed”.

He mirrors your smile, pleased that the familiarity strengthened by years of friendship is still here.

“Barely catched that ribbon in the end, could’ve made that front walkover less stiff. Good job overall, though”.

Atsumu wants to punch him in the goddamn face, especially as you laugh once more.

“How come he’s so familiar with gymnastics?” he asks instead.

“Rin used to come watch my training sessions back in high school, although it’s insane to me that he still remembers!”.

“She never missed any of my trainings either” Rin smirks once more, gaze locked to the man in front of him.

“Speaking of!” you lightly smack his arm “when are you guys playing?”.

“Tomorrow. I can arrange special seats if you want”.

“Oh, I’d love to come! We should totally go, ‘Tsumu!”.

“Yeah, totally” Atsumu forces another smile onto his lips.

That night, as you’re cuddled against his chest on that infuriatingly uncomfortable cardboard bed, he believes it’s of the utmost importance to share the picture of you with an adorable smile and the medal around your neck as you stand proudly on that podium, followed by the two of you kissing right after your win.

miyatsumu the most hardworking person I know. my golden girl, now an olympic champion ❤️🥇

He thinks it’s a good caption and, as you softly snore in the quiet of the dark room, Atsumu also believes he’s in a mood good enough to decide not to block Shoyo on the spot after receiving his stupidly enthusiastic text about befriending some super nice dude on the national soccer team.

Whoever the hell Isagi Yoichi is anyway.

[simpforsoap]

Monsterous Lovers- Part Two

Part 1 and Part 3

Hybrids weren’t uncommon. They appeared sometime during the 1300’s. No one was really sure where they originated from, not even the hybrids seemed to know, but as time went on their population started to grow. At first humans and hybrids lived amongst each other, those were known as the pre-war times. By 1401, there was an attack. The story has been told and reshaped over the years to fit the narrative of who tells it, humans saying that hybrids attacked their village while hybrids saying that humans attacked their kind first. No one knows what happened exact, but the war broke out in the spring of 1401, lasting nearly 105 years. For the time period, humans were unable to defend themselves against the hybrids that attacked and as a result the human population dropped significantly, into the low millions. Hybrids were not in any better of shape, their own population having dwindled due to the war and lack of neccesities that were needed for them to strive. In 1506 the Living Peace Treaty was signed, an agreement for hybrids and humans to stop attacking one another and allow their populations to regrow. There was a tense period of time after the treaty where humans and hybrids seemed to be at one anothers throats, but there was no more wars. 

As time went on, history notes there was always a separation between humans and hybrids, but the lined seemed to blur the more time carried on. During the 1920’s, when humans seemed to be at war with one another, hybrids took a stand and joined forces with humans alike. Lives were lost between both species but there was a mutual agreement that humans and hybrids could coexist with one another in peace. By the turn of the 21st century, you could walk the streets and see humans and hybrids living amongst each other, even some in relationships and whatnot.

Price and them were no strangers to the judgmental comments and borderline xenophobic tendencies some humans still had towards them. They had worked their way up in the military, creating their own little pack with one another throughout their years of working together. Despite their differences from one another, they worked like a well oiled machine. Perhaps it was all the endless deadly missions that never seemed to stop the killing of both humans and hybrids alike, or perhaps it was the lack of comfort they found when coming back to the base after those missions, but the four of them each longed for a sense of normality. To come back from a mission, not to the base where they couldn’t separate work from living, but rather a place where they could truly call it home.

That’s what Price believed as he stood in the driveway of your home; that this was a potential home to him and his boys. The entire drive to the property, Soap couldn’t stop ranting and raving about the photos he seen online with the ad you had posted and even though they were each wanting him to be quiet in their own way, it was a good thing Soap had seemed to love it so much just based on photos. Because in person? This home was immaculate and seemed like it was exactly what Price had pictured as their home. 

The house was ranch styled, a large porch with a covered entry way. A porch swing snestled to the right of the door, Price feeling like it was an idea spot to sit and enjoy a cigar while overlooking the front of the property. The 20 acres of woods surrounding the house were thick, Soap wanting nothing more than to shift into his wolf and take off into the woods for a run. The house was a little more secluded than they had thought, but it was perfect. And they hadn’t even seen the inside of it! 

As they toured the outside of the house first, Ghost insisting to ensure it was secure as he told you, Price felt more relaxed. There was a little garden on the south side of the home, something he could clearly picture you kneeling in and tending to during the summer months. You lead them around the house, showing off the small gazebo in the back yard, little lantern lights hanging around the inside. The four of them followed as you walked the small stone path to the back patio, Price taking note of the lack of patio furniture before leading them inside. 

“I know it’s kind of messy right now, I was in the process of cleaning up the house to make room when I had to leave.” You gave them a small smile, pushing some empty boxes against the wall so they wouldn’t trip on them. 

Soap just smiled with a small laugh, naturally throwing an arm around your shoulders, ignoring the glare Price gave him, “nah, it’s fine lassie. Though, I gotta ask, you really live here alone?”

You took a tiny breath through your nose, needing to steady yourself for the question you knew you’d have to answer, “yes, I do. I did have…someone living with me before but there was a..um..accident of sorts and I took over the house.” 

Ghost could pick up the anxious look in your eye from a mile away, the mask hiding his facial expressions from you, but you could see the way his eyes narrowed at your words, “anyways, the house itself is a 5 bed 5 bath home. Allows you some space to do what you please with. Shared living room and kitchen of course, but I can designate some spots in the kitchen for the each of you so you can have your own spot to put stuff in. The rooms are upstairs, do you want me to show you?”

“Yes, please love.” Gaz gave a smile at you, easing the tension from your shoulders a bit. You could tell both Gaz and Soap seemed to give you the natural ability to find a sense of familiarity in them. 

You showed them the upstairs of the home, the four of them taking their time in examining each room, taking mental notes on where the each of them could fit in and what they wanted to do with the space. You ended the tour in the kitchen, standing with your hands in your hoodie pocket. 

“Well, what do you think? I know it’s probably not super luxurious, but it’s a comfortable home and I’m not one to get into much of your business.” You give them a smile, watching the way the four of them seemed to have having a silent conversation with one another through their eyes. 

Right as you were beginning to worry they would decline the offer, Price spoke up, “we believe this is exactly what we are looking for. Would you like rent from all of us or just the overall 2500?”

“Oh heavens no, just the 2500. I know it’s a bit on the pricey side but--” before you could say more, Price cut you off with a smal wave of his hand. 

“Nonsense, we make more than enough to cover that. Now, we are active military as Soap here told you in the messages so we are in and out of the house a lot for missions, but we will always communicate with you on the duration of our leave will be.” Price crossed his arms, your eyes flicking to the way his scaled forearms seemed to glint in the light. 

You took a small breath to steady yourself before nodding, “of course. I have the lease written for a year at the moment, but we can extend it if you’d like to after that.” 

Price nodded, “of course. Now, I suppose I shall bring it up first. We are hybrids, each of us are our own beings. I, myself, am a dragon. Soap here is a werewolf, Gaz is a Harpy and Ghost is a wraith. Is that something you are absolutely sure you’re comfortable with? There’s no offense if you’re not, we understand there can be a bit of..troubles sometimes.”

You give a small smile nodding, “yes, I am completely fine with that. I do want to finish cleaning things up around here, but tomorrow morning if you’d like you can move your stuff into the rooms.”

You took a mental note of what Price said, wanting to search it up later so you knew just what exactly you were getting yourself into.

“Perfect. We will be here at 9:00 sharp then, love.” Price smiled and you shook his hand your hand feeling hot at his touch. 

---------

As Price drove back to the base, the car ride was mostly silent. Soap was practically buzzing in his seat, desperate to say something to fill the silence. Price glanced at him through the rearview mirror before letting a breath out, “speak your mind, Johnny.”

Soap wasted no time, leaning forward in his seat with a large smile on his face, “we just hit the jackpot! She’s absolutely stunning and that house? Perfect for us in every way…even with the scent of strawberries and mint..she smells devine.”

Gaz shook his head at Soap’s words, though the smile and slight ruffle to his feathers gave it away, “you’re hopeless, Soap.” 

“What? I’m not wrong, and you know it! The lass smells delicious…nearly want to sink my teeth into her and make her mine.” Soaps words make Price shift in his seat, glaring at him through the mirror.

“Soap. Watch it. You will do no such thing to her unless she gives approval. We will be within her home we are to respect that.” Price’s tone was firm, his eyes narrowed as he focused back on the road. 

Ghost was silent in the passenger seat, his arms crossed and eyes narrowed, but Soap’s words seemed to spark something in his mind, “for a human she’s awfully trusting of us…seems stupid if you ask me…inviting a pack of hybrids into your home without asking anything regarding that nature.”

Gaz immediately moved on the defense, his feathers ruffled a bit, “hey now. I think she’s a sweetheart..Seems to be one of the humans that doesn’t seem to mind the fact we’re hybrids…maybe she thought it was rude to ask anything on it.”

Ghost looked out the window of the car, silent as he thought over Gaz’s words. It took a few moments before he spoke up, voice a tad softer than it was before, “There’s something off about her…I think we should look into her background when we get back to base.”

The other three were silent for a moment. They couldn’t deny you had a strange story as to why you were suddenly renting the rooms out, but they felt it was something of your story to tell. Price spoke up after a moment, “we can look into a background, only to ensure there is no danger into this house. But it is her story to tell us, I will not look further than is required to.”

They seemed to be in an agreement, to find out a tiny bit about your background and make sure you truly were who you said you were, but they would wait until you were comfortable to tell your story to them on why you lived alone so suddenly.

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

Tag List: @zoruxsblog @dontfollowmepleaseitsannoying

[mochiepie]

Sukuna's Temptation

I have changed some part of the story according to my preference, as it is based on my perspective. It's just a fiction and i ain't following the arcs/actions/happenings of the manga.

Part-2

Characters involved :- Ryomen sukuna/reader🦋

( reader seduces sukuna, uses of abusive words, small amount of sex#al actions, Smut would be in the part 2 )

Heian era period

Sorcerers were fighting The king of curses "sukuna" all by themselves. Sukuna has attacked

The village again due to the rebellion of the village people against him.

Backstory :-

Few sorcerers entered this infamous Rich village only to know that, this village was living under the terror of sukuna and they are forced to send sacrifices to sukuna as he is their "king". The village was rich and prosperous only because sukuna favoured them. And that's why the villagers weren't ready to rebel against sukuna. The sorcerers couldn't accept that women were getting sacrificed every month just for the village to stay alive. The sorcerers managed to give hopes to the villagers somehow and assured them that they would defeat sukuna and give them back their freedom. But in order to defeat Sukuna they must bring sukuna here out of his hideout. Nobody knew where he lived, so to do it so, the ritual of sacrifices must be stopped, that would cause sukuna to notice it. And then.. sukuna would come to check it.

This was the plan of the sorcerers. Little they knew about the power difference between them and the "King of curses".

Present time -

Sorcerers were dying one by one. Sukuna was walking on their body as if they were some sacks of rice. Half of the population in the village vanished within 2 seconds. Rest of remaining ones were bowing and begging "him" to stop, to show mercy on them. The leftover sorcerers even started to begg, they lost their pride, the greed to live was now controlling their minds, as they knew.. it was death who was standing infront of them. The death was dressed as the king of curses.

Sukuna :- you, filthy ungrateful creatures sought to rebel against me? ( Disbelief)

Villagers:- i-i-t wasn't us my lord.. th-this sorcerers were fueling us.. they-They blackmai- us ( incoherent cries and begging)

Sukuna looked over to the dead bodies of the sorcerers. A slight feeling of pride entering his body as he took a good look of this sight.

Sukuna:- 70 sorcerers.. hah. 70 sorcerers came to fight me and.. died within 5 mins. ( Smirks)

Villagers:- we- we shall follow your command my lord. Please forgive our sin. You shall take anything from us, but just let us live my lord. We will never ever think of committing such a sin again my lord. If any of us even thinks of doing such sin, we shall cut their head and send it to you my lord.

Sukuna:- oh my! You seem to be great at giving assurance hah? ( Looks at them with an amused look) I see. Fine.. i shall forgive you all~ bu-

Sukuna's sentence was cutt off in between by the sudden entry of the woman, who lunged at sukuna hitting him with a powerful cursed energy infused kick on his back. The villagers were shocked, their eyes almost gauging out of their sockets. They couldn't believe a human.. moreover a woman having the guts to attack him.

Sukuna was taken back.. he made sure he killed all sorcerers right? Then how come 1 survive, and how did he not feel his presence? He got up from the ground asap to turn around and see... A woman?

His eyes were... Wide open as if stucked.

" not just a woman, this one was.. intriguing" he smirked at his thought

Sukuna:- my my, the audacity you had little mortal. Tell me, you really think you can fight against me?

( looking at her body up & down )

Y/n:- bow down and leave before I cut you into pieces and feed you to the hyenas you insignificant creature!

Sukuna:- ( amused) oh my my... Look at the little mouse. Ain't your words much bigger then your whole body? Speaking alot more then your capacity hah? ( Grins) well then.. I shall slit that mouth of yours right now to.. remind you how to talk with someone superior (smirks)

Sukuna lunges towards y/n, he was all ready to slash her. Y/n dodged easily and stood behind him, she wrapped her legs and used one of his four arms to stabilise herself. She grabbed his neck and started to place little kitten licks on his neck. Sukuna froze at the moment he felt the wetness of her tongue. His body giving up. He felt the touch of plenty of women.. but.. this woman.. was intriguing him, luring him, and moreover even rebelling against him to fighting him.. and now? Now seducing him in the middle of the fight? Thoughts occupied his mind. He was lost into the pleasure of feeling her tongue. He groaned in satisfaction. His hands finding her to pull her infront of him. Y/n still didn't leave licking his neck, she still kept on sucking and licking his jawline, to neck, to his collarbone. He was just groaning. The villagers were in shock to see such a lewd scene. They began to talk and whisper amongst themselves which brought sukuna back to reality. He pushed y/n off his embrace, causing her fly over quite far.

Sukuna:- think you can use your body to lure me? You stink, fukin whore. Not even my lowest level of curses would want your loose stinky pussy ( furious yet disappointed that the pleasure was taken from him )

Y/n:- is that so? ( Smirks) then why were you groaning my little babyy ? ( Taunts)

Sukuna was taken a back. His pride was hurt. His ego was trembling. Sukuna lunged towards her again aiming at her mouth to slash. She dodged again but this time.. she landed a hard kick on his head. Sukuna's fighting technique was deteriorating due to his mind filling with lust and desparation for this unknown woman and at the same time his pride and ego being hurt.

Sukuna was about to stand up but y/n sat on his back.

( like this lmao 🤣)

Backstory of Y/n :-

she was a sorcerer but her curse energy wasn't high, so due to being weak she used her body to seduce and lure so that she would get some time to find the weak spots of her enemies and hit on it on the right time. For her survival she had chosen this path, she was a resident of this village and she was against the process of sacrifices. To end this terror of sukuna, she finally managed her guts and will power to fight him she knows that she can't defeat him. But she is buying some time as her fellow sorcerers will arrive anytime soon in the village to help her. That's why, she is trying her best to seduce him and keep him intrigued on her. )

Y/n began her seduction tricks on him. She scratched on sukuna's kimono resulting his kimono to shred into few pieces. She began to lick on his ear.. " don't you want me.. my king?"

End of this chapter. Next chapter coming soon.

[lunarbuck]

Dumb Bunny (dark!winter soldier xf!reader)

a dark little red riding hood retelling

pairing: dark!winter soldier x f! reader (any race)

wc: 3.3k

summary: The Wolf sees you walking through the forest on your way to your grandmother's house, and he just can't help himself.

warnings: dark fic, knives, oral (f receiving), smut (p in v), pet names [bunny], degradation, primal play, predator/prey, fear, crying

a/n: this is my entry for @boxofbonesfic's fairytale writing challenge :) I hope you guys enjoy!

beta'd by the amazing @sgt-seabass <3

my masterlist

The sight of your home village warms your heart. You’ve been away for so long and missed so much. It’s good to be back. You pull the hood of your cape up to keep the sun off your face and venture into the heart of the village. 

After gathering some sweets and a few loaves of bread, you bid farewell to the friendly faces you pass. As lovely as the village is, you can’t shake the feeling that something is just slightly… wrong.

The edge of the forest calls to you, the familiar sound of songbirds lulling you in. You’ve traveled this path hundreds of times; you know it with your eyes closed, even after all this time. Beautifully bright flowers bloom just off the beaten path. You gaze at them but don’t stop to pick any. Grandmother is expecting you. It’s been so long since you’ve seen her, you feel guilty you haven’t visited sooner.

As you walk, you hear footsteps crunch through the fallen leaves. You turn around, the hem of your cape fluttering with the movement. Behind you, you see a tall mountain of a man. Cloaked in black, the man stalks toward you. You’ve heard whisperings of him in town, the Wolf, they call him. 

“Excuse me, miss,” he coos, voice deep and gravelly. “Where are you headed? A beautiful girl like you shouldn’t be alone in these woods,” he whispers. “There is danger around every corner.” 

You know what people say about the Wolf, the things he’s rumored to have done. That he’s a killer, that he roams the woods hunting unsuspecting victims. He’s ruthless, coldblooded and animal-like in his violence. You’re sure the rumors are true as you gaze up at his bright eyes. Fear flashes through your mind as you stare at him. His eyes are a stark, beautiful blue. His hair, dark and inky, frames his face, though most of it is covered by a black mask. 

“I’m visiting my grandmother’s house,” you tell him, smiling politely. You’ve always been taught to be kind to strangers, and this stranger, in particular, the way he’s looking at you, seems to scream danger. You don’t want to risk slighting him.

“Ah,” the Wolf replies, raising his eyebrows. “And what might you have there in your basket?” You move the cloth, showing the Wolf your various sweets and loaves of bread. You imagine he is licking his lips behind his mask. Images of his lips on you, of him kissing you deeply, of him tasting you, flash through your mind, and you quickly shut your eyes. You try to shake off the heat that’s settled in your belly. You shouldn’t think that way about a stranger.

“Well, I must be going. Grandmother is expecting me.” You nod to the Wolf and cover your basket, returning to the path you’d been following. Each breath feels tight in your chest.

“What a shame,” he calls. “The birds are singing so sweetly.” Your steps slow as you allow yourself to listen to the songs that float through the air, but you continue on. You can always listen to the birds as you walk.

“Ah, but the flowers are so beautiful this time of year. Wouldn’t your grandmother enjoy a bouquet?” The Wolf asks, again halting your walking. You glance at the flowers off the path, practically preening for you in the sunlight. Grandmother has always loved the wildflowers; maybe you could spare a few moments to gather a small bouquet. 

“I suppose…” You glance back at the Wolf, finding that he has continued to follow you down the path. He’s so close now that if you breathed deeply, your back would touch his chest. Your heart stutters with fear. How did he move so quickly without you hearing? How did you not feel him approach?

“You don’t want to miss out on all the beauty,” he whispers, leaning down beside your ear. With two long fingers, the Wolf tugs your hood off your head, letting the breeze flutter against your neck. He breathes deeply, and your knees wobble as you feel the heat the Wolf emanates. Something sharp trails down your neck, a stinging pain following close behind, and your eyes widen.

Not even a breath later, he’s gone. You shudder at his sudden absence and quickly dart your eyes around, looking for the Wolf, but he’s disappeared into the shadows. 

You try to calm your nerves, focusing instead on the flowers glittering just a few paces away. You kneel down, gathering your skirts to prevent them from getting dirty. The flowers are soft against your fingertips as you pick the perfect ones. All the while, the Wolf’s beautiful blue eyes burn in your mind.

The Wolf

Poor, poor grandmother, I think to myself as I drag the woman out of her woodland home and into the glade. She’ll wake up eventually, but not before I do what I want. Not before I take care of her sweet, beautiful little granddaughter. 

I go back into the house and take in the empty space. Photos of my little bunny are everywhere, school photos and memories of vacations. She looks so delectable in her too-small bikini, her bright smile practically blinding me. 

Next, I climb the stairs, finding myself in the room I had just dragged her grandmother from. The four-poster bed takes up most of the room, fabric hanging from the top of the frame like a canopy. I grin at the thought of taking my bunny here, her tears staining the blanket. Her screams filling the air. I feel myself hardening in my pants, and I adjust my cock.

When I saw her walking through town, my mouth watered. She looked so beautiful in her red cloak, the sun warming her skin. She looked good enough to fucking eat. I followed her from a distance, but once she entered the forest, I couldn’t hold back any longer. The smell of her when I got close… I could barely hold myself back. I wanted to grab her right then and there. I wanted to fuck her into the dirt. But good things come to those who wait. 

I am not a patient man, and I always get what I want. Always.

So, I lay down on the bed, the canopy concealing me well enough, and wait. 

And wait, and wait.

Until I hear the door creak open. 

“Grandmother?” My bunny calls. I can practically hear the smile on her lips. I grin beneath my mask, fingers itching to touch her. To mark her. I hear her footsteps as she wanders into the house. My heartbeat speeds up, ready for the hunt. 

“Grandmother?” She calls again, this time even closer. I see her shadow as she comes up the stairs, and a moment later, she pushes open the bedroom door. “Oh, Grandmother, are you ill?” Through the canopy, I see her set down a vase of flowers, the ones she picked in the woods, and her basket, full of sweets.  

Her fingers gently curl around the canopy’s fabric and tug it aside. Her eyes widen, and her lips part on a scream, but I’m already moving. I lunge, grab her, and push her down onto the mattress. My hand presses over her mouth, absorbing her scream.

“So fucking beautiful when you scream, bunny,” I growl, dipping my head into the crook of her neck. I breathe her in, the sweet scent of fear mixing with the floral scent of her perfume.

My bunny writhes and struggles against me, but it’s no use. I’m bigger than her, stronger than her. She’ll never escape me. She heaves her breath behind my hand, so I take it off of her, not minding if she screams. No one will hear her anyways. 

“What– what are you doing?” She whimpers, tears streaking down her face.

I don’t answer. Instead, I straddle her hips, pinning her to the bed. I run my hands along her torso and up to her breasts. She fits perfectly in my hands, and I flick my eyes to hers, watching her reaction. I can see the way she struggles with herself. The way she wants to give in to me, but something holds her back. 

“Oh, bunny,” I whisper, my hands coming up to curl around her neck. “What a beautiful neck you have.” I squeeze her neck lightly, giving her just a taste of what I want, and I see the way her pupils dilate. Her hips jolt up into mine, and I grin beneath my mask.

She breathes heavily, lips parting into a perfect, soft ‘o’. “And what perfect lips you have.” I move one hand up, running my thumb across her beautiful mouth. I lean down close, cupping her jaw. 

I want to taste her, I want to rip this fucking mask off my face and taste my little bunny, but I can’t. Not yet. I need to be patient. I sit up, slipping a knife out of my belt and flicking it open. Her eyes widen at the glinting blade.

“Please,” she whispers, tears brimming in her eyes again. “Please don’t hurt me.” I grin.

“My poor, stupid, little bunny. The more you beg me not to, the more I want to hurt you.” She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, and I stifle a moan. I don’t know how I’ve lived so long without her, how I’m going to go on living if I don’t have her by my side.

“What did you do to my grandmother?” She asks, voice wavering.

“You don’t want to know, bunny.” Her tears stream down her cheeks, and she hiccups as she sobs. She’s fucking perfect. I take in the sight of her blood-red cloak stark against the white sheets. I run the knife along the side of her face, not cutting or scratching her but letting her feel the sharp edge. 

I slide off the bed, dragging the knife down the center of her sternum between her breasts and down her torso. I see the thoughts running through her pretty little head. I know she wants to run. I hope she does. I step back and watch her fingers twitch before she darts off the bed. Her red cape flutters behind her as she saints down the stairs. I give her a head start before giving chase. My little bunny is more perfect than she could ever know.

After taking a steadying breath, I take off after my bunny. She left the front door open, and I catch sight of the hem of her cape as she dives behind a tree. She ran pretty far, I’ll give her that, but she won’t escape me. Never.

My feet pound on the ground as I chase her, adrenaline coursing through my veins. She keeps running, doing her best to hide as she goes deeper into the forest, but she’s not fast enough. I catch up quickly, making sure she knows just how close I am. Whenever she hears my boots snap a twig, she yelps, tripping over her feet. As we get further away from the house, she loses steam. I grin as she stumbles, constantly looking back to see me hunting her. 

Bunny’s cape gets caught on a branch, and she falls, landing hard in the dirt. She tries to crawl away, but she knows it’s no use. I stalk toward her, loving the way she shakes with each breath, and sink to the ground by her head.

I grip her by her hair, lifting her face out of the dirt, and lean down. “You lose, bunny.” She gasps as I bring out my knife, holding it near her cheek as I turn her. Even though she ran and wants to think she’s afraid of me, I know what she wants. I can fucking smell it on her. Can taste it in the air. 

“Please,” she whispers, fingers digging into the leaves on the ground. Her thighs rub together beneath her skirts, and my mouth waters. I know she won’t run this time, not when she’s so close to getting what she wants.

I remove my mask, tugging it from my face with my other hand. Her lips part as her eyes search my features. I move between her legs, running a hand along one of her legs. I push up her skirt, exposing her soft skin. With my knife, I run the tip along her leg, up and up, until I reach her panties. She can’t hide how needy she is. My bunny writhes in the dirt, begging me to touch her with her big beautiful eyes. I slide my knife beneath the waistband of her panties, slicing the fabric. I cut a matching slit near her other leg, tugging the material away. She shivers as the cool air hits her cunt.

“What a pretty pussy you have, bunny,” I growl, lowering my face to the crux of her thighs. She watches me with lust-filled eyes, nodding like the dumb little bunny she is. I bite her inner thigh, leaving an imprint of my teeth on her skin.

“What beautiful eyes you have,” she tells me, a small smile on her lips. 

“The better to see you with, bunny.” I run my nose along her pussy, and she bites back a moan. My tongue laves along her clit, and I hear her breath hitch. 

“What–” she gasps when I press a finger inside her tight cunt. “What a perfect mouth you have.” I groan against her pussy, devouring her like my last meal. 

“The better to eat you with,” I mutter into her pussy. Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer. She tastes so fucking sweet, practically dripping against my lips. I knew my bunny would be perfect, but she’s better than I ever could have dreamed. 

“Please, please,” she whimpers, begging for her release. I curl my finger inside of her, looking for the spot that makes her squirm, and brush my teeth over her sensitive clit. My little bunny is so responsive for me, writhing around in the dirt. 

“So fucking sweet, bunny, my own little treat.” Her whimpers get higher pitched, and I know she’s close. I’m practically humping the dirt, I’m so hard, but all I can think about is how good my bunny is being and how fucking perfect she’s going to feel wrapped around my cock. 

I work her right up to the edge, and when she’s gripping my hair so hard she’s about to pull it out, she breaks. She comes all over my tongue and finger, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

I crawl up over her, my tongue running over my lips, gathering her taste. “What a good bunny,” I whisper, taking in the sight of her blissed-out expression. She wants more, though, I can tell. 

Her eyes roam over my face, her hands tracing over my features. Her lips part, but she can’t seem to find the words. “Tell me what you want, bunny.” My finger circles her sensitive clit; she jolts. 

She shudders but doesn’t speak. “Come on, bunny. I know you’re afraid. I know that you don’t want to admit it. You want my cock? Is that it, bunny? You want me to fuck you here in the dirt?” Her eyebrows pinch together, and fear flashes in her eyes. She knows I’m dangerous; she knows I am unpredictable.

“You wanna be my dirty bunny?” I ask her, nipping at the soft skin of her neck. “You’re my dumb fucking bunny, you know that? You’re gonna let me fuck you into the dirt, and you’re gonna love every second of it, isn’t that right?”

“Oh my god,” she moans, hips bucking against my fingers. “Please.”

“I need to hear you say it, bunny.” I bite her shoulder hard enough to draw blood, and she gasps. “Tell me that you’re my dumb little bunny. Tell me what you want me to do.”

I see the way she hesitates, the way her mind runs through all the reasons she should fight me, but then I see the shift. I see the moment lust takes over, and she succumbs to her primal desires.

“I’m your dumb little bunny,” she whispers. I slide two fingers into her pussy, scissoring my fingers to stretch her. “And–” she sucks in a breath. “And I want– need you to fuck me.”

“Such a good bunny.” I settle back between her legs and pump my fingers, working her up again. I use my other hand to take off my belt. When my pants are down far enough, I palm my cock, moaning. She watches me with hooded, lust-drunk eyes, and I smirk. My dumb little bunny looks so pretty taking my fingers, but she’ll look even better taking my cock.

I take a long look at her pretty face before I grip her hips and turn her over. Hooking my hands underneath her, I position her with her ass high and her head in the dirt. This is how she was meant to be; she was fucking born for this. 

I line my cock up with her perfect pussy and tease her clit, loving how she jolts each time. My little bunny has never looked better with her skirt shoved up on her waist and her face pressed against the earth.

“What a perfect bunny for me,” I tell her, spanking her ass. I press my cock into her, groaning as she squeezes me. She’s so fucking tight, so perfect, like she was made for me. Made for this. I slide in, loving how she stretches around my dick. Her face screws up the deeper I get, but I don’t give her time to adjust. 

I set a brutal, deep pace, and electricity shoots up my spine. The sounds she’s making, the way her fingers dig into the dirt, are nearly too much for me to handle. The smell of sex and earth floods my nose, and I feel it flood my bloodstream. 

She moans and whimpers with each thrust, pressing back with each thrust, egging me on. My little bunny wants me just as much as I want her. I lean down, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and haul her torso up so she’s kneeling, arching against me. I run my tongue along the spot I’d cut earlier when I’d first spoken to her, tasting the sweet tang of her blood.

My little bunny has tears streaming down her dirt-streaked face. Her eyes are screwed shut as she takes my dick.

“Such a good little bunny,” I groan into her ear. “You were fucking made for this. You were fucking born to be my dumb bunny, to take my cock.” Her cunt flutters around my dick, and my hips stutter.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she chants like a prayer. I drop a hand to her clit and circle it in a way that makes her throw her head back, and bite the cut on her neck. The combination of sensations throws her over the edge, and she convulses on my cock.

I press her back into the dirt and pound into her, slamming into her over and over again. I come on a moan, both of us collapsing. “Good bunny,” I whisper. “Such a good little bunny.”

She falls asleep, drained from the way I used her body, and I grin at the sight. She should know better than to fall asleep next to a predator like me. I brush the dirt from my pants, tucking my cock away, and pick her up. I carry her back to her grandmother’s house and lay her on the four-poster bed. 

Next, I retrieve poor old grandmother. She’s still asleep. The drug I gave her will wear off soon. I place her on the couch in the front room. I’ll let my bunny find her when she comes to. I return to the bedroom and stare at my beautiful little bunny. 

I don’t clean her up; I don’t even put her dress back. She looks perfect, dirty, and used against the bone-white sheets.

Just the way I like her.

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[yandere-sins]

Monstober 2024

Monster-Enthusiasts, Monster-Lovers, and Monster-Fucker, I call upon thee! This upcoming October is going to be spooky!

It's time for a whole month of delicious monster content! Whether you want them to stalk, to hunt, or to devour your little protagonists (mind you, the monsters are the real protagonists of the story, hehe), I want to see a month dedicated to the beauty of the Ugly and Horrible! All things monster are welcome—art, writing, any kind of showcasing a monster! No matter how cruel or how obscene you like it—now's the time to show it off! ♥

I have prepared a list of monsters & prompts for your guidance, however, if you'd rather do a different monster or a different prompt, that is totally fine! If you prefer to stay private and not have your post reblogged to this blog, that is totally alright, too! This is merely for fun and giggles, and I welcome everyone who wants to challenge themselves this upcoming October to use this list if they want!

How to participate in my Monstober:

- Starting October 1st create something with the monster or prompt of the day! That is all you have to do.

You don't have to do all days or even in chronological order. Feel free to alter the prompts as needed. Your monsters do not have to match the usual descriptions of their kind! Post whenever and whatever you like as long as it is still connected to monsters!

- If you want your entry to be reblogged: @ me yandere-sins in your post, don't forget to put content warnings if any apply (especially Violence & Sexual Content—however, those are very welcome!), and put long texts (once they reach 3k words) under a read more! I'll reblog the posts as soon as I see and have the time to get to them!

Prompts

Day 1: Chimera | Mixed // Misunderstood // Insanity

Day 2: Werewolf/Werecat | Full Moon // Claws // Beastly

Day 3: Alien | Otherworldly // Uncanny Valley // Space

Day 4: Harpy | Cliff // Flying // Illusion

Day 5: Nymph/Dryad/Leshy | Plants // Playful // Nature's Bounty

Day 6: Naga/Lamia | Scales // Wrapping around // Poisonous

Day 7: Sphinx | Riddles // Sand // Giant

Day 8: Merfolk | Water // Singing // Alluring

Day 9: Folklore Creatures | Cautionary Tales // Truth // Naivity

Day 10: Mimic | Treasures // Hungry // Wrong

Day 11: Yuki-onna/Snow Spirit | Snowstorm // Promise // Guiding

Day 12: Witch/Wizard/Magician | Magic // Spells // Towers

Day 13: Shifter | True Form // Unbelievable // Transformation

Day 14: Minotaur | Labyrinth // Bannished // Following

Day 15: Eldritch Horror | Eldritch // Imprisoned // Tentacles

Day 16: "Church" Grim | Graveyard // Protecting // Spirit

Day 17: Dragon | Fire // Hoarding // Fairytale

Day 18: Kitsune | Tricked // Tails // Mystical

Day 19: Elf | Warrior // Swift // Merciless

Day 20: Goblin/Orc/Troll/Oni | Hordes // Village // Brutish

Day 21: Kelpie | Deception // Following // Stuck

Day 22: Skeleton/Zombie | Undead // Loved // Grave

Day 23: Angel | Feathers // Guardian // Watching

Day 24: Ghost | Shadows // Invisible // Coldness

Day 25: Vampire | Blood // Biting // Night

Day 26: Fae Folk | Lost // Fairy Circles // Names

Day 27: Drider | Silk // Cave // Ensnared

Day 28: Demon | Summoning // Contract // Otherworldly

Day 29: Gods | Reign // Glow // Worshipping

Day 30: Human | Real Monsters // Dangerous // Smile

Day 31: Free Choice of your favorite monster or a completely new one!

I look forward to all the monstrous ideas you'll come up with! ♥

[maychorian]

Found Family Anime Recs

I recently reblogged a list of found family anime recs and was a bit surprised by how many reblogs and likes it got. I had really reblogged it just so I can find it later to watch the shows I hadn't already seen on the list, but apparently I have a lot of followers who are interested in this topic! Well, I've watched a lot of anime, so here are ten found family anime shows that I absolutely love. These are in no particular order.

Buddy Daddies

This show is similar enough to Spy X Family that you might be tempted to call it a rip-off. It's really quite different though. There's a lot less comedy (though there's still SOME comedy) and a lot more healing from past trauma. The animation is gorgeous, and the relationships really tug at my heart. It's more realistic than Spy X Family, in some ways, though it's still pretty ridiculous. The melodrama in the last couple of episodes did annoy me a bit, but it's still a very satisfying show. It's like a fanfiction I would write, which is really the highest recommendation I can give, haha, because that means it's exactly the kind of story I would like. 

2. Samurai Champloo

This show was made by much of the same team that created Cowboy Bebop, but for some reason it never got the same cult status, which is really too bad. I love Cowboy Bebop, but I love Samurai Champloo more. It's about two ronin and a teenage girl traveling through Edo-era Japan to find someone the girl is looking for. Throughout the series, the three form a very strong bond, despite all of their communication difficulties and past traumas. I've rewatched this show probably more than any other anime. It's brutal at times, but so very satisfying.

3. Natsume Yuujin-cho

Natsume lost his parents as a young child and was passed around from relative to relative, most of whom couldn't deal with him because his ability to see yokai (Japanese folk spirits) made him a freak in their eyes. As the series starts, he's finally taken in by an older couple in a rural village who actually want him, and he's finally able to start forming connections with other people and find a support system with his new caretakers, his peers, and the yokai he tries to help. It's a very sweet, sad series, much more sentimental than the first two entries on this list, but a very soothing and lovely watch when you are in need of some relaxation. Warning, though, the flashbacks to Natsume's past families can be truly gutwrenching. He was not treated well for a very long time, and it's hard to stomach.

4. Barakamon

Handa is a calligrapher who gets essentially exiled to a remote island after causing problems on purpose. He has a hard time connecting with people and is struggling with his art. Over the course of the story, he forms relationships with his neighbors, especially an adorable child with possibly the best child voice-acting I've ever heard, and slowly rediscovers his joy in creation again. It's cute and funny and beautiful, and it makes me want to live on a remote Japanese island.

5. My Roommate Is a Cat

Subaru is a young novelist who recently lost his parents, who were pretty much his only connection to humanity. While trying to recover from this massive loss, he adopts a stray cat who quickly becomes the most important creature in his life. Through the cat, he begins to form relationships with other people, as well. The show is unique in that the first half of each episode is from the human's POV and the second half is from the cat's POV. It's a very lovely and soothing show. Pets are family, too!

6. Haikyuu

Haikyuu was the show that opened my eyes to the aspect of found family in sports anime. I know a lot of tumblr enjoys Haikyuu for the shipping, but to me it's more satisfying to view it through the lens of found family. Each team is essentially their own found family, in their own unique way, and the relationships are particularly realistic and well-depicted by this mangaka. I love Tanaka being a big brother to the first years, Kuroo and Kenma's mutual protectiveness and support, all of it. 

7. Kuroko no Basuke

This is the silly basketball show, and in my opinion it's not as good as Haikyuu, but I love the relationships here as well. Especially between Kuroko and Kagami, of course. Their mutual protectiveness is just chef's kiss. But the whole Seirin team is really great. I love them so much. The teamy goodness is what makes the silliness watchable for me.

8. One Piece

What is there to say about One Piece? This is, like, the ultimate found family show. All of the pirate crews with any kind of goodness at their core are found families, but especially the Strawhats. Luffy is just going around looking at people and declaring, "Okay, you're in my family (on my crew) now." If you've never watched One Piece before, I'm going to make an unorthodox recommendation and suggest you watch the live action Netflix adaption first. It does a really good job of capturing the feel and aesthetic and just pure loveliness of this story in a much more compact and approachable way than the anime. However, if you like it, I do recommend that you watch the anime from the beginning, because there is a lot of expansion on the themes there, and the characterization is slightly different. Usopp in particular kinda got shorted in the live action, so you'll understand him a lot more if you watch his introduction arc in the anime. But honestly both versions are great. I'm on my third rewatch of the live action version already, and I will watch and rewatch the anime until I die, probably. One of my favorite stories of all time.

9. The Weakest Tamer Began a Journey to Pick Up Trash

I found this one slightly annoying in how it was obviously carefully designed to tug at my heartstrings, but it's working, so I don't have much right to complain. It's about a little kid driven out of her home who gradually gathers a found family of both monsters she tames and adult adventurers and guardsmen who take one look at this lonely child and go, "Well, guess I have a baby now." The isekai element is very lowkey, in that she basically just has a voice in her head giving her advice, and I like that it's about fighting local corruption instead of a demon army or what have you. I want more shows like this and less shows like every other generic isekai, haha.

10. Dungeon Meshi

This show is blowing up tumblr right now, so you've probably already seen it a billion times, but I'm going to make one more appeal for you to watch/read this story. It is so, so so good. And in my opinion, it is much MUCH more about family, both born and found, than it is about shipping. I could write a whole essay about Marcille and Falin's relationship that has nothing to do with romance, as I could for any other two (or three or four) characters in the main party, plus those outside. There is a LOT going on. I've been playing RPGs and LARPs for twenty years, and one reason I love the hobby so much is for the joy of creating found families with my best friends in new and different worlds, over and over again. This is the first piece of fiction I've found that really captures that particular aspect of party-based fantasy stories, the relationships that form and grow, the tight-knit bonds that keep everyone moving forward despite the monsters you must face (and consume). 

[kaedekolya]

clarence and his counterparts: man or monster?

So we were talking about Clarence’s new android SSR (Faint Night Light) in the LBC discord server, and it got me thinking about the monster allusions that seem to be a common thread across Clarence’s main stories. Then we discussed the diary entries from his White Day event, and it occurred to me that this monster imagery also ties into his modern-day counterpart – and with that, this post was born.

In other words: is Clarence a man, a monster, or somewhere in between?

[ SPOILERS: Clarence’s main stories and Chrono Theatre diaries. This meta analysis is structured as story-specific sections, namely Godheim, Eden, and the modern world, so you can skip over the world(s) you haven't read yet. No Awakening spoilers, don't worry! ]

- ☽ -

Godheim: Archmage Clarence

First, let’s talk about Godheim Clarence. As the Archmage, he bears a heavy responsibility upon his shoulders – to oversee the Magi Tower, to fight the Glacial Butterflies, and, ultimately, to protect the country and its people.

In order to fulfil this duty that he has chosen to undertake, Clarence seals his heart and shuts others out. He denies his emotions, and resents himself for having these emotions, to the point that he disparages MC for “[acting] impetuously” and belittles her capabilities when she shows concern for Amelia’s wellbeing. Archmage Clarence’s impassivity is his shield against the emotions he views as a hindrance.

Yet he was not always this way. Clarence is a casualty of cruel circumstances, a tender soul torn apart by trauma. When MC is confronted with the truth of the mages’ magic, having witnessed a mage die before her very eyes, she notes that “[there] is no pain or compassion on Clarence’s face,” because “[this] is a sight he has seen all too many times before.” Decades of watching his fellow mages succumb to the Glacial Butterflies that nest inside them, and decades of having to end the lives of mutating mages under his purview, have conditioned Clarence into numbing his heart to such pain. How else could he have stayed sane, after a century of bearing witness to suffering wrought by his own hands?

Archmage Clarence’s disposition is initially described by MC as an “[icy] presence,” but this is the facade that he projects as a defence mechanism, not his genuine self. Clarence is so accustomed to the chill of the Glacial Butterflies within him that he has taken on the frost as a personality trait, believing that his frigidity defines him. He does not view himself as a human capable of warmth; instead, he thinks of himself as a mutant, as an icy monster.

Even so, Clarence cannot deny his innate inclination towards kindness. When he notices that Amelia isn’t feeling well, he tells her to sit in the carriage. When Amelia’s temperature drops, he casts a spell to warm the shivering child up, even as he grumbles that he’s wasting his time and magic. When Amelia’s death is imminent, he tries to send her off in the gentlest way possible, then grants her final wish by conjuring a connection to the water mirror. Clarence may insist that he does not care, but his actions reflect his compassion.

It is this very kindness that steers him towards a path of selfless sacrifice, for the sake of his country and its people. The life of a mage may have been forced upon him, by the man that gave a gravely injured child no other option but the potion that would transform him, yet Clarence learns to harness his power for good. He spends his youth eliminating Glacial Butterflies and protecting the village of the snow plains, and despite the harsh conditions of the path he now treads, he does not hold a grudge against the family that sold him off and thrived in the resulting profit. Instead, he returns to check on them from afar, and when an onslaught of Glacial Butterflies attack, he protects them with every last bit of energy within him.

Still, his family’s betrayal left an indelible mark on his psyche. Back when he’d been given the potion, he’d resolved to succumb to his injuries rather than drink it. Despite his instinctive desire to live, MC notes that his “will to live [had been] virtually non-existent,” because there is “[no] despair greater than being betrayed by your own family.” The young Clarence had not seen a reason to live, when his family had forsaken him. It is only when MC saves him, urging him to live on, that he resolves to survive and repay this debt. Each time MC encounters him in her voyage through time, he is on the verge of death, and each time, his dwindling will to live stems from his despair over those he could not save. What ultimately keeps him alive is the vow he swore to his saviour.

This characterisation is one that carries through his immortal lifespan. Clarence does not live for himself; he lives for others. Whether that means risking his life to defend a village, or sacrificing himself in a ritual to save the country’s inhabitants, the underlying premise is the same – Clarence lives for the person who saved him, and for the promise he made to them. He allows others to form negative opinions of him based on the assumptions they’ve made, in order to keep the secret of the ritual and the Glacial Butterflies from them, because their scorn towards him matters less than their safety. He closes himself off from others, never permitting them to reach out to him, because he cannot allow companionship and compassion to distract him from his purpose. He “[cannot] afford to be sentimental,” because he cannot have anyone or anything clouding his judgement. Better to be the enemy of the state that saves it, than the friend of the state that cannot do anything as it crumbles. 

It is ironic, then, that Clarence’s devotion to his promise leads him from striving to live and fulfil it, to voluntarily dying for that same promise. His life, his existence itself, is secondary to the promise he has made. He will live to protect the world for his saviour, but if the only way to protect it is to die, then die he shall. Perhaps he views it as a penance of sorts, an atonement for the sins he’s committed. Perhaps he believes the new world would be better off without a monster like him.

For all his calculative callousness and stoic solitude, Clarence is deeply self-aware. Not only is he conscious of the suffering he inflicts and the ramifications of his actions, but he also ruminates upon his sins until they turn to guilt in his gut and self-loathing in the deepest recesses of his soul. He does not turn a blind eye to the pain he witnesses; instead, he looks it straight in the eye, internalises it, and forces himself to feel nothing at all.

Clarence may appear to have no qualms about exploiting people and reducing them to cogs in a plan greater than its constituent parts, but his interactions with Amelia prove otherwise. Right before he sends her off on what is meant to be a suicide mission, his carefully-crafted defenses slip, and he asks whether she hates him. Clarence believes that he has failed to live up to the Archmage’s title, that he has fallen short of being a “guiding force for all the mages” and a “protector.” He condemns himself for his callous strategies and merciless manipulation, since he has been treating people like chess pieces and “using them as [he sees] fit.” He disparages himself for “[standing] by on the sidelines, safe and sound.” He believes others hate him because he’s given them all the reasons to, because he deserves to be hated, because he, too, hates himself. All this while, he fails to recognise that he has taken on the greatest sacrifice of all – the burden of leadership, of decision-making, of being responsible for all the blood on his hands.

This downplaying of his own suffering, alongside his disregard of his own well-being, is what drives Clarence to self-sacrifice time and time again. When a theory about the Glacial Butterflies begins to take shape in his mind, he does not test it out on one of his mages, because he does not view them as expendable despite what he claims. Instead, he uses himself for his experiment, slicing his chest open and bearing the agonising pain in order to ascertain the truth of the magic within him.

On the verge of being overcome by the Glacial Butterflies, despite having prepared for this eventuality by shackling his limbs, he makes one last selfless request. “My Lord, you must kill me before I turn,” he entreats, willing to relinquish his own life for the safety of others. Even when Philip protects him from the Glacial Butterflies, refusing to kill him, Clarence believes that there is no place for him in the future that his Lord envisions.

Decades later, he still echoes this same sentiment. “There is no future without sacrifice,” he tells Lars, and he does not see himself as part of that future, does not see himself as deserving of that future. Archmage Clarence thinks of himself as a monster, not a man, and a monster is better off dead than alive.

It is a revelation, to him, that Amelia does not hate him. MC does not hate him. Lars, Alkaid, the mages that carry on the legacy of the Magi Tower, none of them hate him. They do not view him as a monster; they view him as a martyr, a protector, a saviour. Someone who did his best, and gave his all. Archmage Clarence leaves behind a legacy through his sacrifice, spurred by the human heart he still harbours deep within.

- ☽ -

Eden: Falcon Clarence

Next, we have the Falcon Clarence of Eden. The lone ranger of the desert, the mercenary that eliminates Sandswimmers with impeccable precision and works with no one else.

“A bait that only knows how to cry is a burden,” his mentor tells him, and Clarence internalises that into his cognitive framework and guiding compass. It is “the first lesson Liore taught [him];” that he must prove his worth in order to live. His scent lures the Sandswimmers to him, and so he must make himself useful by seeking out danger.

Valued only for his utility as bait, Clarence learns that his worth is determined by his fighting skills. With no other way to survive, he becomes a NEOS by fusing Sandswimmer gems into his body. Clarence pays the price of this acquired power through the gradual erosion of his memories, but that is far from the only thing he has lost. His decision to accept the integration of these foreign, beastly objects into his body has changed him irrevocably. He thinks of himself not as a human, but as a mutant being only one step away from becoming a monstrous Lost. Still, he endeavours to “remember [his] humanity,” because he refuses to become a “mere weapon [that knows] nothing but destruction.” Falcon Clarence understands that he is, by definition, a monster, but he refuses to relinquish the last shreds of his humanity.

In his first encounter with MC, he is rational and pragmatic as always, scrutinising her motives and seeing no reason to work together. Years of solitude, with no one else to depend on, have honed Clarence’s reflexes into an “instinct for self-defence.” Yet his reaction to MC’s request reveals that his solitude has been shaped by circumstance, not entirely by choice. When MC explains her reason for seeking out Eden, even though it does not sound particularly convincing, Clarence accepts it as sufficient and agrees to lead the way. Despite the potential risk of allowing a stranger close, he offers MC a ride on his motorcycle. Subsequently, he continues to help her out, defending the children’s shelter and giving her the gems he’d collected, even as he refuses to follow her any further.

Falcon Clarence claims that he works alone, but everything he does is for the sake of protecting others. He fights in the desert to protect the shelters from Sandswimmers, and he fights in Eden to protect Lin and the other NEOS from the Lost. He brings MC to the NEOS Association, so that she can rest for a night and learn essential skills from Lin. He knows that the night is dangerous, so despite his own preference for working alone, he ensures that MC has a community of protection around her.

Even as he dismisses everything and everyone else as burdens, his actions speak otherwise. Despite having met MC for only a single day, he offers his assistance to her time and time again, from rides on his motorcycle to filling water bottles with her. He could easily leave her to fend for herself, but he chooses not to leave her behind even when that would be the easier way out.

Perhaps the reason Clarence refuses to work with other people is that he’s afraid. Afraid of dragging them down, afraid of becoming their burden. He fears that history will repeat itself. He cannot bear to lose someone he cares for again, so he refrains from caring about anyone at all. Each time Clarence chastises others for being a hindrance, he is reproaching his past self for his inadequacy. Each time he risks his life to protect others, he is atoning for his failure to save his mentor.

MC says that she understands how Clarence feels, because “acting alone means nobody will be hurt because of [him].” In a way, acting alone also protects himself from being hurt. It is a defence mechanism born from his past, when he had to “learn to accept [his] losses” from a young age. He couldn’t afford to grieve Liore for long, not with the constant threat of the Sandswimmers, and so he could do nothing else but “live on with what memories [he] had left.” He’d forced himself to harden his heart to his emotions, but he could not suppress them entirely.

Clarence blames his moment of weakness, of emotional folly, for causing Liore’s death. It was her humanity, even in her final moments as a Lost, that held her back from killing him and caused her to die. He regrets his choice to this day, and perhaps it is this survivor’s guilt that pushes him to fight harder until he reaches the brink.

It is this same guilt, alongside his resolve to not lose anyone else he cares for, that drives him towards self-sacrifice. When he realises that MC needs a soul stone – his soul stone – to open the door within Central Control, he unflinchingly raises his gun to his head, as if it were the natural and logical decision to make. He is ready to offer his life without a moment’s hesitation, because that is the utility he can offer in this moment, in order to keep MC safe and help her achieve her goal. She has given him a reason to fight, and he will die trying to fulfil it.

Ultimately, it is his encounter with MC – and the companionship which blooms from it – that saves him. Without demanding anything in return, she cries for his pain, fights by his side, and shoulders his burdens with him. Clarence doubts his humanity, even as he holds fast to it, since he is all too cognisant of the monstrous traits within. In turn, MC’s unwavering trust reaffirms the humanity within him, reminding him that he is worthy of living.

Falcon Clarence may not be fully human on a biological level, and he may still succumb to the effects of the monsters within him from time to time, but he has managed to preserve his heart and his humanity. His tale is one of healing, of opening up, and of learning to value himself for who he is and not what he can do.

- ☽ -

Modern World: Clarence

Finally, let’s circle back to modern-day Clarence. At first glance, he’s the calm, collected, and capable Student Council president, who always seems to have affairs in order and circumstances under control.

Then, in his Chrono Theatre diary entries, we learn that he had a psychiatrist observing him from a young age, due to his gifted aptitude and exceptional intelligence beyond that of his peers. This revelation sparked a discussion in the LBC discord server, which spurred this message of mine that then became the basis for this meta post:

Clarence is well-versed in decorum, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it comes naturally to him. It’s likely that he learned social etiquette by picking it up from observing how other people behave, so he knows the appropriate responses to give and the socially-acceptable ways to carry himself. However, because this social understanding is not an innate trait but a learned one, there are often times when he doesn’t recognise the need for social niceties, and instead his instinctual response – founded on his internal logic – comes through.

One example of this can be found as early as his second interaction with MC, after she paints an artwork of him:

The polite thing to do would be to express interest in or appreciation of the finished product, regardless of one’s actual feelings towards it. However, Clarence “doesn’t show the slightest interest” in MC’s painting. Does this mean that he doesn’t care for it, and doesn’t see the need to put on a pretence? Quite the contrary. Instead, it’s because he thinks he doesn’t have anything useful to offer in response, and thus he stays silent.

Here, we see a disconnect between how Clarence understands the world, and how other people tend to view it. While most people would appreciate receiving praise or validation, Clarence doesn’t particularly see the need to receive either, and thus doesn’t immediately think of giving them to others. Rather, he takes a more pragmatic approach, focusing on utility; a piece of work deserves feedback for the effort poured into it. However, as a law major, he does not have sufficient knowledge or expertise regarding art. As such, he believes that his feedback would not be useful, and thus it is better not to say anything at all.

This ties into how Clarence views himself as his roles, and the functions he can serve. He understands that he has worth, but he evaluates this worth through his services as the Student Council president, or his contributions as a law intern. When he assists others, he doesn’t think of it as going out of his way to help them; instead, he views it as part of his rightful duty.

As a result, Clarence doesn’t view himself as simply “Clarence.” Rather, he thinks of himself as Clarence, the Student Council president; Clarence, an upperclassman; Clarence, a friend. If he can fulfil someone’s needs through a role that he holds, he will do it, even at the expense of himself.

We see this most prominently in Clarence’s “Break Time” R card story:

When the senior who’s supposed to interpret for an academic speaker falls ill and fails to attend, Clarence steps up to fill their shoes last-minute. William notes that Clarence can be counted on to show up whenever and wherever he’s needed, and MC agrees that he’s “the only one who’s up to the task.”

However, what most people don’t recognise are the sheer lengths Clarence will go to in order to fulfil his duties. On top of his regular responsibilities, filling in for the interpreter caused Clarence to “[burn] the midnight oil” preparing for the speech, and taking care of the sick speaker meant that Clarence could not sleep for two days. He doesn’t recognise that he’s constantly going above and beyond, because to him it’s a given, but he is in fact pushing himself past his limits, and past the line that most people would draw.

It’s interesting to examine MC’s thoughts here, because she interprets Clarence’s willingness to take a nap as a rational understanding that he needs to rest in order to keep functioning. However, this only happens after MC coaxes him into taking a break. If she hadn’t intervened, Clarence would have continued pushing himself until he completed his task – he was already at “the brink of collapse,” and he “only agreed to sleep after [MC] practically begged him to.” Clarence prioritises his responsibilities to the point that he does not recognise his own needs, and thus neglects to take care of himself.

Although modern Clarence doesn’t think of himself as different, or as anything less than a person, it’s evident that he views himself as the roles he fulfils rather than simply as who he is. In turn, this mindset is reflected in his behaviour, which then shapes other people’s perceptions of him. This is how Clarence becomes characterised as the aloof and intimidating Student Council president in the students’ eyes, even though he cares so deeply and helps out so much; most people are unable to look deeper and see Clarence as the person that he is, because he perceives and presents himself through the lens of his roles.

As such, other people often view Clarence as different from themselves – as if he’s operating on a different wavelength, or existing on a separate plane entirely. Modern Clarence’s genius sets him apart from his peers, but more than that, his perspective of himself winds up alienating himself from other people. Clarence views himself as like others, but others view him as unlike them. He blends in well enough, but he doesn’t quite fit in; he has a place in society, but he doesn’t quite belong.

- ☽ -

Clarence, across time and space

Out of all the Clarences thus far, modern Clarence is perhaps the most well-adjusted, and this reflects the importance of having a support system. Godheim Clarence and Eden Clarence were isolated from a young age and survived alone throughout most of their lives, whereas modern Clarence had family and friends around him. He may not have had the most conventional childhood, but he grew up with his older sister Jaclyn and his close friend Luca, and he also had his psychiatrist Ford observing and monitoring his development. Subsequently, after he enters St Shelter Academia, he gains a circle of friends he can rely on, such as William, O’Connor, and, of course, MC.

Expanding upon Clarence’s St Shelter Academia bonds, we see that Clarence has people around him who genuinely like him for who he is, and are willing to support him unconditionally. O’Connor affectionately refers to Clarence with a nickname – “Shi-kun” in the Japanese voiceover, or “Little Si Lan” in the Chinese one – and for all his devious teasing, it’s clear he looks out for his Student Council successor. As for William, he may whine about Clarence’s by-the-book discipline, but his clumsiness and complaints do not preclude him from helping out when needed. For all that Clarence often chastises William, he still relies on him to assist with Student Council matters, and he knows William is someone he can trust.

Compared to these two, MC is a relatively newer connection, but her bond with Clarence runs deep. Right off the bat, she’s able to meet him on his level and banter with him, and he lets down his guard enough to subtly tease her for trying to trick him. As their relationship develops, Clarence grows to trust her, sharing his inner thoughts and admitting his vulnerabilities. MC is a safe haven for him, and she understands him on a level deeper than most. While the other students may fear Clarence for his aloof disposition, or hesitate to approach him due to his detached rationality, MC sees the earnest sincerity woven into his actions and the warmth laced through his words. Others may think of him as an unfeeling robot or a terrifying monster, but MC loves him for the human that he is.

There’s a subtle but interesting juxtaposition here, in which Godheim Clarence and Eden Clarence – both possessing monstrous mutations within them – view themselves as monsters while most others do not, whereas modern Clarence – wholly human – views himself as human while most others do not. All three Clarences are keenly aware of what constitutes them, allowing this biological understanding to shape their perception of themselves, but they do not recognise that their actions paint a different picture to others.

Regardless of the world he inhabits, Clarence constantly straddles the line between man and monster. His selfless nature and dutiful diligence often lead him to self-sacrifice and superhuman feats, creating the illusion of a monster – but beneath this facade lies, always, the heart of a human.

- ☽ -

thank you for reading!♡

if you have any thoughts about this post, i'd love to hear them! responses are always welcome, and my ask box is open~

up next: android clarence, and the inevitability of tragedy. where is the line between human and machine? stay tuned for my thoughts on clarence's awakening main story!

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

Unyielding Duty (Part 1) | #LeviMonth2024 Two-Shot

✧ word count ➼ ~2.2k ✧ notes ➼ royal princess!reader x knight!levi, forbidden love, soulmates!au, hurt/comfort, sfw in this part but following-up with n.sfw tomorrow ✧ comments ➼ levi month entry for august 8! like before, this got too long, so i'm splitting it into two parts and combining the respective tropes! ✧ join my levi month taglist here!

{{ August 6 (Love At First Sight + Neighbors Part 1) | August 9 (Royalty + Soulmates Part 2) }} Masterlist

You had been on the run for a few days. It was for no other reason than being forced into a position that you had been fighting against all your life to no avail. Being the royal princess made things complicated. You were expected to be obedient and subservient, while simultaneously carrying yourself in a way worthy of a respectful leader, however the hell that was supposed to work. It was suffocating and you couldn't take another second of it—so you ran.

Having run out of food for the week, you found yourself at the market at one of the local villages that was a bit further out from the capital. Being on the run meant a few things, with the most important things being the fact that you couldn't show your face, and you had no cash to pay the vendors with.

Stealing a few servings of produce from some of the busier vendors was generally an easy task, but fate didn't seem to be on your side today. People turned towards you at the wrong time, and before long, you had been caught red-handed.

What was truly concerning was when you made eye contact with the guard that some of the vendors had summoned to apprehend you. As far as you knew, the royal guard shouldn't have extended out this far, so their presence was already odd.

Your heart dropped as you looked into those familiar gray eyes, immediately realizing who it was—Levi.

Quickly dropping your stolen products onto the ground, you ran into the backalleys as fast as you could. Given the fact that Levi was the one that physically trained you, it was almost a guaranteed that he'd recognize who you were as soon as you started running, if he hadn't already put the pieces together the minute he saw your shoddy disguise.

Levi Ackerman was your knight and royal protector, which made it his duty to ensure your safety and bring you back home. He had responded to some rumors of a thief that vaguely matched your description, without any real hope that this trail would actually turn into anything.

He sighed heavily as he watched you flee, both relieved that you were alright and dreading the conversation that he knew he'd have to have with you. He rarely struggled with maintaining his duties, but it was something entirely different when it came to you. He loved you, but you had your role as the princess, and he had his as your protector. The rules were clear, and yet here he was, conflicted between his duty and his heart. Although he had always maintained those boundaries, even he couldn't deny that the two of you had been rapidly falling for each other throughout the past couple of years.

Finally making the decision to go after you, Levi sprinted towards the direction in which you ran, knowing your patterns. He had taught you everything you knew, so it wasn't a surprise to him when he saw you vaulting over objects and making your way onto the rooftop of a nearby building to try to lose him.

You didn't even have to look back to know that he was catching up to you. Your stamina was nothing when compared to his. If you didn't run now, then there would be no chance of getting away, if that was what you even wanted.

You desperately wanted to see him, and to explain that you still loved him despite running away, yet you kept running, fueled by the fear of what he'd say to you when he looked you in the eye. You had left him behind without a single word.

Looking over your shoulder to see that Levi had already made his way onto the same rooftop, your eyes darted across the scene in front of you to try to find a way to possibly leap onto the roof of another building or find an escape route.

With a swift leap, Levi easily closed the distance between you, catching you by the waist just as you reached the edge of the rooftop. His grip was firm but gentle, preventing you from falling while also making it clear that he wasn't going to let you go without a conversation.

"Stop running, _____," he said, his voice soft yet filled with a sense of urgency.

"Put me down, Levi!" you scolded as you tried to squirm out of his grasp.

Levi held you firmly against him, his grip unyielding despite your squirming. He ignored your demand, instead focusing on maintaining his balance on the rooftop.

"I won't put you down until we've talked. You can't keep running away from your problems."

Levi hadn't gotten any official reasoning as to why you had suddenly disappeared when the King announced that you were missing, but he knew you well enough to know that it was likely due to some type of conflict with the King.

You continued to squirm for a bit longer, scowling at him for appearing to berate you for abandoning your duties, before eventually groaning in defeat and conceding.

"Fine, we'll talk. Can you at least set me down so that you're not carrying me around like a child?"

Once he put you down and got you settled, you patted your shirt to dust yourself off, looking down at the ground and refusing to look back up at him.

You heard him take a step closer, his body only inches away from yours. You could feel the warmth emanating from him, and it brought back memories of your time around him. During your many nights away, you longed to see him again and fall into his arms, but you had run away from the castle so abruptly that you were convinced that he hated you. The fear of seeing that pain reflected in his eyes kept your gaze fixated onto the ground.

You froze as you heard him call out your name, reaching his hand out briefly before pulling it back, as if he was afraid to go through with the gentle act of affection.

"Why did you leave?" he asked softly, his voice filled with a mix of concern and longing. He wanted to understand what could have possibly driven you to abandon your duties and flee from everything you knew without a word.

He knew you well. He knew that you were unsatisfied with your life at the palace, but he never thought it'd drive you to flee the safe haven of the castle walls, and into a world that would only do you harm.

After a moment of silence, you forced yourself to look up into his eyes, feeling a pang in your heart upon seeing the soft look in them—the same one that you had been craving ever since you left.

"...father wanted to marry me off to some noble from the south," you mumbled. "We got into a fight. I got upset, and so...I ran."

You could see the hurt in his eyes. Although he wouldn't vocalize it, knowing that it'd do more harm than good, you knew what was going through his head. You didn't trust him enough to go to him, instead choosing to run and leave everything behind, including him.

"I just," your lips parted again as you spoke, but you found yourself struggling to find your words. "I just felt like I was suffocating in that castle, and that I couldn't spend another second trapped within its walls."

You looked down again, biting on your lip to try to contain the guilt building within you.

"...I'm sorry I left you behind," you whispered.

"Don't apologize," Levi responded softly, but with conviction, refusing to let you continue pouring salt onto your own wounds. "It's not fair, and you shouldn't have to be subjected to that. I know."

"...is it really so wrong of me to just want to be with you?" you muttered quietly, afraid of speaking it out loud, but also unable to keep it buried any longer. "I don't care for the throne—never have—but the idea of being away from you or being with anyone but you just sounded so...agonizing."

Levi remained silent, listening intently as you confessed your true feelings. He couldn't deny the emotions that welled up within him at your words, but he knew that as your protector, he had to maintain a certain level of detachment.

"I care for you deeply," he admitted, his voice soft and comforting, but you knew that there was going to be a follow-up—likely one that was going to fill you with pain and regret for voicing it out loud. "You know this. But my role as your protector comes first. I cannot let my personal feelings interfere with my duty to keep you safe. We need to remain focused on what's best for you and the kingdom."

You clenched your fists in frustration at his words, mostly at the fact that it seemed like he, too, was willing to sacrifice your freedom and autonomy for the sake of a kingdom that you couldn't be bothered to care about.

"No," you said stubbornly, your heart stinging from his rejection. "Fuck the kingdom, fuck the king, fuck the nobles, and also fuck you for siding with them!"

"I am not siding with anyone," Levi sighed in exasperation.

He reached out his hand in an attempt to offer you a gesture of comfort to soothe your rapidly escalating emotions, but you immediately slapped his hand away in hurt and defiance.

"And how the fuck is selling me like an object to some filthy noble what's 'best' for me?"

Your emotions were running high, and it felt like you were drowning in your own thoughts. You buried your head in your hands, your fingers gripping at your hair as you tried to pull yourself together. This was exactly what happened before you ran. You weren't being listened to and you felt like you were trapped. Despite being well into your young adulthood, everyone around you still treated you like a child, trying to make the decisions for you.

You stumbled backwards, struggling to keep yourself oriented, and failing to put together that you were quickly backing up towards the edge of the building.

Levi's instincts immediately kicked in once he realized how close you were to tumbling off the building. Without hesitation, he lunged forward, grabbing you by the waist just as you reached the ledge.

"_____, stop!" he scolded, his voice laced with urgency as he held onto you tightly, doing his best to keep you from slipping off the edge. "You're going to fall!"

"Then let me fall!" you shouted, trying to push yourself out of his grasp, the tears building in your eyes from how emotionally overwhelmed you were.

Levi tightened his grip on you, knowing that letting you go would likely result in you falling to your demise.

"Please, listen to me," he whispered, his voice filled with desperation, unable to bear the thought of losing you in this way. "You have choices, and I'm here to help you make them. Please, just calm down and let me help you."

He immediately pulled you into him, his hand gently holding you against his chest, both to keep a firm grip on you, but also to attempt to quiet down your chaotic thoughts.

"Do you trust me?" he asked softly.

Upon hearing those words, you began sobbing into his chest as he held you close.

"I-I want to-" you choked out between sobs. "I want to trust you...but it just seems like you're intent on bringing me back and forcing me to comply-"

Levi pulled back so that he could see your face better, glancing down at you. His jaw clenched upon seeing the tears streaming down your cheeks—tears he himself caused with his unyielding duties.

Levi Ackerman wasn't an impulsive man. He was well-disciplined and was always able to place his personal preferences in second-place compared to his duties. Yet, seeing you vulnerable and in so much pain brought up something within him that even he struggled to suppress.

Without further hesitation, he leaned in and gently pressed his lips against yours. His hands traveled up to gently cup your cheeks as he poured all of his emotions into that one kiss.

You quickly returned the gesture, grabbing at him, and yearning for his touch that you had been craving for years. You couldn't get yourself to care about the consequences. You just knew that you wanted him.

After a moment, he finally pulled away, resting his forehead gently against yours.

"I'm sorry," he whispered quietly. "You know I hate seeing you in pain."

He didn't want to let you go, knowing that he was going to have to confront the reality of your situation the moment that he did. He had to make the impossible choice of watching you hate him from a distance as he followed his duties, or giving in to what you both desperately desired and needed. It was almost as if there was a string of fate that was insistent on tugging the two of you towards each other.

Neither of you truly believed in the concept of soulmates, but if it was real, then you were fairly certain that this is what it felt like.

"There's an inn I've been staying at nearby," you whispered before either of you could change your minds. "Come with me."

#: @shayewrites @littlerequiem @humanitys-strongest-brat @mostlilo @dustbuniesworld @levisrations @ebechnasheim @moonchild-angel @jayteacups @bipolargatto @samackermaan @deepzombieyouth @pickledpedro @levisfavoriteteashop @ackermanswifee

[aziraphales-library]

Hi! First of all: Thanking all the Mods for all of your hard work, because I love and appreciate this blog and everything that goes into it!

Second: Can you recommend fics where Crowley and Aziraphale go house hunting, either individually or as a pair?

Hello! We have some house hunting fics here, and I've got some more now...

A Cottage, a Couple, and a Day in the Life of a Real Estate Agent by AnonymousDandelion (G)

Lori hadn’t even realized she had any clients on the schedule for this afternoon — all her other appointments had called to cancel at the last minute — until the calendar notification had popped up on her computer reminding her that she had not one but two showings coming up soon. Thank God for calendar reminders, because there was no way she'd ever have remembered on her own; embarrassingly enough, even after the reminder, she still hadn’t recognized either of the names. Clearly, both clients must have independently scheduled their appointments over the phone — Lori had no communication record in her email, just their names and contact info in the calendar entry — but apparently she’d been so fully zoned out that not only had she taken no notes and accidentally double-booked without realizing it, the entire conversation had completely and utterly slipped her memory. Five years working in real estate, and this was the first time this had ever happened to Lori. She really needed to start getting more sleep. ~ ~ ~ In which Lori shows a cottage in the South Downs, and has a Time of it. No human realtor should have to deal with these two clients. Lori does her best.

Selling South Downs by Pixiefairy15, Slurpi13 (T)

For Sale: Beautifully maintained 3 bedroom thatched cottage nestled in the heart of the South Downs. On paper, they were perfect. A middle-aged couple, looking for a holiday home in a quiet village in the South Downs. Picky was the wrong word to describe what they were. They were never impolite or demanding, never threw a tantrum over something outside of my control like some previous clients had. They were just… odd. An estate agent helps Aziraphale and Crowley search for their dream home, becoming increasingly exasperated at their nonsensical requirements and strange behaviour as they reject house after house.

Just Right by EdosianOrchids901 (T)

Inspired by newfound freedom and his deepening relationship with Aziraphale, Crowley longs for more space. He suggests that they buy a cottage together, and Aziraphale is thrilled at the idea. But can they find a cottage that is just right?

The Wanting Comes in Waves by skimmingthesurface (T)

Looking at cottages in the South Downs should be fairly simple for one angel and demon who've seen their fair share of residences across centuries, but although they want to take this step to bridge the two halves of their side in the years after stopping Armageddon, there's still a wanting that's tucked away, that they wouldn't dare let see the light of day just yet. Though, their estate agent believing them to be married might not give them much of a choice in the matter.

post-professional endeavours by darcylindbergh (T)

Retirement is a four-letter word.

A Narrow Escape to the Country by shaggydogstail (T)

Crowley and Aziraphale appear as house hunters on BBC daytime institution, Escape to the Country. They are incredibly annoying. Sympathies, please, for the unlucky producer who is not getting paid enough to put up with their nonsense.

- Mod D

[theabstruseone]

'TIL a papyrus scroll indicates that, during the building of the tomb of Pharaoh Ramses III, the workers were upset about their treatment and, rather than discussing it with them, management served them a large meal.

'The workers didn't think that was enough so occupied the Valley of the Kings refusing entry to anyone until they were given a raise and "cosmetics" (research shows it was a form of sunscreen).

'So not only does workers organizing a strike and forming a picket line for better wages and workplace safety conditions date back TO THE FRIGGIN' BRONZE AGE, but also management has been trying to placate discontented workers with a pizza party.'

And then that went viral on Twitter and I got hammered with people trying to "Well ackshually" about my three-tweet-long thread on a thing I'd learned just that morning I turned into a joke about corporate pizza parties. So I decided to research and here's the entire story.

TL;DR: I was pretty much right except it'd be closer to say "donuts/cupcakes in the breakroom" rather than "pizza party".

The events took place sometime around 1157 BCE (specifically the 29th year of Ramses III’s reign) in the village of Deir el-Medina, a worker village for the people who worked on the built the tombs in the Valley of the Kings.

BTW, the site itself is fascinating as it was first excavated in 1922 and ended up being one of the most thoroughly documented accounts of community life in the ancient world and proved the builders of the Pyramids were middle-class skilled artisans and craftspeople, not slaves.

You also have to know that this era of history is around the start of what’s known as the Bronze Age Collapse. Some sort of environmental catastrophe happened that caused widespread crop failures across the ancient world.

Now what precisely happened is strongly debated, but generally several groups from elsewhere in Europe and Africa known as the “Sea People” attacked the ancient civilizations of the Mediterranean, which caused most of those cultures to collapse.

Also, commerce was a bit different as they were (oversimplified explanation) on the bread standard. Salaries were measured in values of beer and bread as the recipes for those were standardized and made up the basics of the diet.

So while common laborers would be paid in literal beer and bread, more highly-valued workers would be paid in an equivalent of a larger allotment of beer and bread. So they’d get paid “100 loaves a day” worth of oil or metal or coin representing the value.

Now, for our tale. This comes from the contemporary account of the scribe Amennakhte. If anyone wants to read along, a photo of the scroll along with a translation is available to read for free at https://libcom.org/article/records-strike-egypt-under-ramses-iii-c1157bce

On Year 29, Second Month of Winter, Day 10, a group of workers walked past the guards and sat at the Temple of Menkheperre stating it had been 18 days since they’d last been paid, staying the night in the tomb saying “We have matters of Pharaoh”.

The following day, a scribe brought the workers 55 “s'b-cakes”. So yes, a “pizza party”. I can’t find any reference to what this is precisely other than “fine bread” that was worth more than a large loaf of standard bread.

Seriously, I wasted an hour of my life trying to figure out what “s'b-cakes” are exactly so if anyone knows please tell me.

Anyway, it didn’t work and there was “quarrelling” at the temple of Ramses II. The translations says “chief of police” which doesn’t seem quite right but I’ll go with it, but anyway he said he’d fetch the mayor of Thebes.

The mayor claimed they didn’t have enough to pay. The workers responded by saying “The prospect of hunger and thirst has driven us to this. There is no clothing, there is no ointment*, there is no fish, there are no vegetables.”

They then said to go tell it to the Pharoah directly. On Day 12 (the day following the “quarrelling”), they were given their ration they were due during the previous month (basically, they got their back pay). It was 21 days late.

Side note: I got some pushback by an “Egyptologist” for calling the “ointment” a type of sunscreen and…yes, it was. Some translations mark this as “cosmetics” but it was a medicinal balm used to prevent and treat sunburn. What the hell else would you call it?

So Day 13 (the fourth day of the strikes) and Mentmose, the “chief of police”, apparently took a side. He told the workers to lock down the work site and continue their protests, and that he’d lead them to the temple to continue the sit in.

His words (recorded by Amennakhte): “I’ll tell you my opinion. Go up, gather your tools, close your doors, fetch your families, and I’ll lead you to the temple of Seti I and let you settle down there.”

At this point, the tax master Ptahemheb came out to talk to them making a list of all the things they demanded. On Day 15 (sixth day of the strike), they tried another “pizza party” with half a sack of barley and a jar of beer for each worker.

Amennakhte doesn’t say what their response was exactly, but does say that the workers brought torches so they could continue the protest in the dark. So I take it the response wasn’t good.

Day 17 (eighth day of the strike), the head of the temple came out and asked what demands to bring to the Pharoah for them. And they gave a detailed list of what precise wages they wanted for each of the workers.

On that day, they were given what they asked for in rations for the second month of winter. They may have also been paid early as they should have been paid on the 21st or 28th day depending on the source.

So we’re now in the third month of winter (no exact date written) and they’re still striking. Worker Mose said basically “As Amun as my witness if you drag me away I will come back and start robbing the tombs.” I couldn’t fit the whole thing in one tweet.

Reshpetref, the proctor, said “We will not come back, you can tell your superiors that. For sure, it is not because of hunger that we strike, but we have a serious charge to make. Something bad has been done in this place of the Pharoah”.

We’re on the fourth month of winter now, Day 28 (so over three months of striking now) before the Vizier shows up. This is the government official that handles day-to-day business and is second only to the Pharoah.

He says he just got promoted so isn’t authorized to give them their wages (at least partially true, he’d just been promoted five days prior) and even if he could, there was nothing in the granaries to pay them with.

The granaries may have been empty because of the other issues going on with the Bronze Age Collapse or it may have just been the rampant corruption speculated of the government of the era, or he may have been lying.

On the first month of summer Day 2, the crew got two sacks of grain as their ration (they’d demanded 5 ½ sacks each). The foreman Khonsu told them accept it, then go down to the market and tell the Vizier’s children about it.

Amennakhte (who again, is writing this scroll) stopped them and said NOT to go to the market since they’d been paid and if they did, he’d have to have them arrested. He doesn’t mention they were only paid a third of what they were owed.

First month of summer, Day 13, passes the guard post saying “We are hungry” and continued their sit in. They shouted at the mayor of Thebes as he passed, who then got them 50 sacks of grain to tide them over until Pharoah paid them.

That’s the end of this particular scroll, but there’s evidence that strikes continued throughout the reign of Ramses III as there are records of more workers being hired to transport food and supplies to the workers.

The scroll also leaves out some of what happened in between dates. For example, it wasn’t one single long strike, but a series of them. After they were paid their wages the first time, the workers went back to work.

However, they were told that was their pay for the third month of winter and not the second so they wouldn’t be getting paid again, sparking the second strike that lasted into summer.

There’s also a big deal in Egyptian culture at the time called “Ma’at” or basically “The Order of Things”. Nobody had any idea what to do with the striking workers because workers weren’t supposed to strike. They were supposed to work.

Sure, they were treated well and the village of Deir el-Medina lived at what could be called middle-class standards for the time period, but they weren’t supposed to rebel against their betters in this way. It was unthinkable.

There was also a big festival coming up to celebrate the 30th year of the reign of Ramses III and a lot of the government officials were focused on that, more concerned with maintaining order than actually managing the country.

I should also note I paint Amennakhte as on the side of the government rather than the workers when the opposite was likely the case. The strike wasn’t recorded in the official government records as Egypt tended to cover up their losses.

That said, we do have some records like those of Amennakhte showing that, once the workers realized they had the power to organize, they used it all the way through the New Kingdom.

The last entry on the scroll doesn’t directly involve the strike, but is related. On the first month of summer, Day 16, one of the workmen provided evidence that government officials were stealing from the tombs.

One of them, Weserhat, was one of the ministers who shorted the workers payment previously. The other, Pentaweret, may be the son of Ramses III at the center of the “Harem Conspiracy”, an assassination plot that took place between 1 to 3 years later.

In summary, the workers were unpaid due to corruption and management enriching themselves, they went on strike, management threw them a pizza party, that didn’t work, and they eventually got their demands.

Though I guess if you want to be completely accurate, it was more “donuts/cupcakes in the breakroom”…

[taki-yaki]

I just thought of a prompt: In the game Astarion mentions during the first decade of his enslavement he met a sweet man that he didn’t want to bring to Cazador, which led to his year of entombment and giving up on fighting Cazador. What if Tav is a descendent or relative of that sweet man, and he left a journal of how a pale elf saved his life before escaping into the remote countryside. Tav is abducted while on her way to Baldur’s Gate to investigate the journal, and when she meets Astarion she immediately suspects it’s him.

When it’s revealed he’s a vampire spawn Tav is now sure he’s the elf that saved her ancestor/relative’s life.

Oooh, this is interesting, I have made this one a little bit angsty in one section. But I feel like this would change up the dynamic if it was in the game

Astarion x Descendant Tav Headcanons

For most of your life, you grew up living in the countryside, far from the large bustle of the city life in Baldur’s Gate. Despite your family's willingness to distance themselves from the city, it never seemed to deter you. Ever since you were gifted your grandfather’s journals as a child, chronicling his life in the upper city, from the views to that of the variety of dishes they provided, seemed like a dream to a country child like yourself.

Although one section was a mystery to you, that of in-depth descriptions of a pale elf. When you asked your parents, they never wanted to speak much about it, saying when he returned, he looked entirely different, changed by an event that took place there. They would always try to steer your thoughts away from the city if prompted any further.

One day, you decided to leave the small village on a whim to journey to the city, wanting to put an end to the mystery. Travelling along the road to Baldur’s gate to investigate the mystery, is cut early after being abducted by the nautiloid ship, now being set back further from where you started with a tadpole in your head.

However, one face looked familiar among your new travelling friends. A pale elf, one which matched the exaggerated descriptions inside your grandfather’s journal. However seeing him in person said otherwise, matching what was written, ‘Ruby eyes as if looking into a ripe rose’ and ‘Silver lock curls that brushed softly against his ears’. But how could an elf like him look the same after so many decades?

Upon discovering his vampiric nature, explains how he was able to stay young for so long. One night you decide to confront him about your grandfather’s journal, showing him the entries and asking if he knew anything about it. Of course, he would deny not having a clue about what you are talking about

“Why do you insist on exhuming the past? I have no such knowledge of meeting a person like this”

His eyes would dart away from yours wishing to no longer engage in such pointless dribble. Any other mentions of the journal would just leave you with him trying to skirt himself around the topic.

One night though, he approaches you, drunk on, presumably, the blood of a bear, clinging to you refusing to let you go “I’m glad you’re alive still” he’d slur “You were so naive and sweet, to be subjected to such a thing”. When you try to question him about it, he refuses to answer any further, just tightening his grip on you longing to stay in the moment, eventually having to drag him back to his tent for the night.

The next morning, approached his tent to check on him, “I suppose you want to know what I was talking about last night” His body turned away from you to stare at the deep crimson of the tent walls. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to”, he turns to face you “Hmm, well I don’t want to talk about as much as you do, but that won’t do anyone any good”.

He explains how, in his first decade of slavery, he found a sweet naive man, who dreamed of making it big in the upper city of Baldur’s Gate. Compared to most he would find from petty criminals, street drunkards and brothel-goers, he would occasionally find some naive soul who wished to make it big in the city. 

One of those was your grandfather, he never tried to charm him, more so befriend him, he warned him to never approach him again and to run far away from this city if he wanted to live. 

“He was the first and only one who I ever truly let go” his eye meeting the floor 

“And I punished horribly for it” the grip on his shoulders tightening.

An awkward silence fell upon the tent “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed you like that to answer”. A light laugh leaves his lips as he turns to look at you, “Ha, you're just as sweet as he was, but…I’m glad he was able to make a life for himself, unlike me”. Slowly you clasped over his shoulder, his eyes staring directly into yours “Don’t speak so short of yourself, I promised you that I’ll keep you safe, just as you did for my grandfather, your actions won’t be in vain”.

Whilst travelling to Baldur’s Gate the two of you bond over the descriptions left in your grandfather’s journal describing the palaces within the city, ‘The Blushing Mermaids signature dish, salted small-fish stew, may be one of the establishment's more unique dishes that they have to offer.’, “We have to try that when we get to the city it sounds amazing”, “Hmm, how about we just avoid the Blushing Mermaid, I know their calamari dishes don’t live up to their praise and that was over 200 years ago.”

Upon reaching Baldur’s Gate, you felt as if you had the biggest culture shock of your life, from the once romantic establishments now being nothing more than an average local tavern and the food they served was nothing but the morning leftovers from last week's catch. Now staring down at the dish through the murky stew a piece of baitfish floating to the surface. “Now darling, it was your choice to go here you should looked more pleased with the dish that dear old grandfather elegantly described to you.” smiling at you with a smug look.

Despite the reality of city life overwhelming your naive outlook on life, one quiet night in elf song, you turn to Astarion, “You know, over 200 years ago, if you didn’t let him go that night, then I would have never met you, funny how things worked out like that”, “I’m glad you think so too, ever since that night, I wonder sometimes if I ever made the right decision, but know I think I do, and I’m thankful to have met you”.

[flowerbetweenfangs]

Of A Feather

M!Harpy x F!Human

This was an entry into a little contest. I went with a harpy plague doctor as my character. Some people liked it and that was enough for me.

When the village head informed me that he could not pay me in gold or goods, I was sympathetic. A bad harvest combined with a harsh winter had left them with little to spare. What little resources they had were used up to try and keep the remaining people healthy, at my behest. 

While I had no intention of exploiting him, there was still the matter of payment.  After all, services had been performed, supplies used, risks taken, and time spent.

If he couldn’t pay me with such things, what was left? 

Favors and flesh. 

I was taken to the man’s home, where a small gathering of people awaited me. They had obviously picked from the best looking and available people in the village. Hair combed and styled, attire perfectly coordinated to match skin and eye color, and subtle perfumes that did little to mask the stench of death that still clung to the doors. 

Even in the dim light of the candles, I could tell they were dazzling. 

The life of a plague doctor was a lonely one. Constantly traveling from town to town, potential suitors being scared off by the rumors that disease still clung to me, and many that I met died within the week. An omen of Death, bringer of the Reaper, harvester of Life. Titles that did not grant me land or wealth. 

The lot in front of me showed a fear I was all too familiar with. Some cast their eyes downward, but it did little to hide it. A few dared to glare or even scowl when they thought I wasn’t looking.  

I was about to depart, not wanting to further upset those still grieving, when the door opened. 

A chill from the autumn night stirred the curtains and made the candles flicker. As shadows danced across the walls, I could hear a few muffled whimpers and whispers. 

Labored breathing followed. 

The woman at the doorway was still wearing the gowns of mourning, her hair tucked away under a scarf. Despite this, her eyes weren’t red and puffy. 

In fact, she looked almost… Relieved to see me. She clutched a lantern, but I could see it shaking in her hand. For an instant, I feared she would drop it. 

When I took a step toward her, there was a flicker of hesitation in her eyes. She stared at my gloved hand, the fingers slightly limp. 

As her lips parted, I expected a biting remark or curse thrown my way. 

Instead, she tightened her grip on the lantern and set her jaw. 

Standing up straight, she drew herself to her full height. The lantern shook in her grasp, the flame dancing and moving the shadows on the wall. While far from an intimidating stature, the boldness that rolled off her gave me pause. 

Determination now gleamed in her gaze, the lamplight making it look almost like a hunter’s glint. 

Tension rose in the room. Eyes flicked back and forth. The crowd cleared a path as she walked up to me, no hesitation in her step. 

There was no need to ask who I was. The mask and robes left little doubt. 

Without a word, she curtsied to me. She looked back at the villagers, as if daring them to try and stop her. No one said a thing. In fact, everyone seemed to be relieved at her presence. There was a glimmer of hope. 

No one would have to choose a sacrifice to give to the boogeyman. 

We left the home, the door slamming behind us. 

I led the way, and she followed me to the outskirts. Not one person stopped to thank her or bid farewell. It suddenly made sense to me. They had wanted to be rid of her, and she of them. A few faces in windows twisted and contorted with disgust. Never with sorrow. 

Like me, she was an outsider.

Once we reached the border, where the dirt road gave way to the sprawling beyond, I saw her hesitate. She stared over her shoulder, and for a moment I thought she would weep. 

Clumsily, I reached into one of the pouches on my belt and produced a handkerchief. She stared at the square of fabric, and then began to laugh. Tears still welled, but I felt better knowing they weren’t from sorrow. 

I found myself entranced with the emotion and expression. She quieted too soon, and we were once more on our way. 

We walked in silence, and I was beginning to work out the terms of a contract and the conditions of my new companion’s stay. 

She continued to look out of the corner of her eye at me, smirking when our gazes met. I didn’t pry into the details of her life, nor did she mine. Perhaps it would come in time, when she became accustomed to her new position. 

When we arrived at my home, I allowed her inside and set up her accommodations. She explored the rooms and seemed satisfied. Rather than shrink away or cry out at the sight of my more macabre collections, she seemed intrigued. 

It was far from luxurious, but she would be comfortable until we found a more long term solution. I also supplied her with books so we could begin her training proper. She took them, but seemed confused, raising a quizzical brow. 

“We will start your studies tomorrow. By the end of the week, you should know what to expect moving forward.” 

I bid her goodnight then went to my own room to draw up the contract of her stay. 

An assistant would help relieve the burden of a few jobs, but I couldn’t afford to keep one for very long. My focus was purely on this new endeavor that I never removed my clothing to prepare for slumber. 

I was perched at my desk, having scribbled out dozens of lines on my papers when I heard the bedroom door open. Living alone, I had never gotten into the habit of locking it. 

She came into the room, wearing only her shift. It was threadbare, leaving little to the imagination. Her eyes flicked around the room, perplexed at my lack of a bed. The confusion didn’t last long and she approached the desk, standing behind the chair. 

While both of us were about the same height standing, she nearly towered over me. 

I turned to face her, and she leaned forward, putting her hands on the desk behind me. The bare flesh of her arms barely brushed against my robes. Even through the thick material I could feel their warmth. Breath fogged up the lenses of my mask, obscuring my vision. 

It was then I realized while I had expected a repayment in the form of a favor, she had chosen flesh. Perhaps she assumed that doing so would end her stay with me sooner and she could flee back to her village, or wherever she decided, after. 

Slowly, I lifted up my glove and pressed the back of it to her lips as I waited for the fog on my mask to dissipate. 

Her eyes became lidded as I felt the pressure of her lips against the leather. With an intentionally gradual pace, she brought them further down, where the glove went under my sleeve. 

She seemed perplexed at the material going so far up, but I could still feel her warm breath rolling down my arm. I was statue still as it flowed to my chest and heart. 

Blood sang in my veins as desire long buried began to claw its way from the grave. 

I retracted my hand from her. Her fingers twitched, curling on empty air. Slowly, she stepped away, eyes averting apologetically. Lips moved, tongue flitting nervously as she prepared to speak. 

Instead, I put my gloves on either side of my mask. 

Without waiting for a request for assistance, she slipped it off. 

I expected her to recoil in horror, or to flinch. But she only stared, eyes hungrily taking in the details of my face. While I was certainly far from a beauty, she clearly expected something more grotesque or marred. Her gaze seemed to focus on my hair, the long plumes that caught the light in a strange way, the way it frayed out.  

I stood up, expecting her to take a step back. Instead, she was resolute, not moving from her spot in front of me. 

My gloves found her hand. I could feel it shaking. She laced her fingers with mine, breath still tickling my lips. 

Gingerly, she set the mask down with her free hand. Dexterous fingers worked open my robes, running softly over the pebbled skin. Inhaling sharply, I flinched away reflexively as the shed material fell to the floor, leaving me in only my breeches and boots. 

While I possessed the same flesh as her on my head and torso, black feathers began to dot and eventually cover my arms, giving way to wings stuffed inside gloves. They too fell to the floor, no longer being held in place by sleeves.

I could see her eyes going lower, wondering what lay beyond the clothing. Ironically, the one part of my outer clothing that resembled a bird masked my human features. 

Then, she finally hesitated. Blinking, she traced over my shoulders and ran fingers down my bicep, stopping where flesh ended. The slightest edge of her nails made my feathers ruffle. A few formed a black ring around my boots. 

I could see the worry in her eyes. An unspoken question. 

What are you?

I made no move to pull her closer. Nor did I push her away. Neither of us spoke, not wanting to frighten the other. 

When she stepped back, I could feel a pang in my heart. The small space now between us cut through me like an icy blade. 

She grabbed her shift’s hem. Pulling it over her head, she let it join my feather’s on the floor. Despite all the heat coming from her touch, nipples were erect, skin covered in gooseflesh. I found myself closing the gap, letting our bodies share the warmth between them.  

Soft lips pressed against mine, arms encircling my waist. Legs wrapped around, bare flesh of thighs and calves rubbing against breeches and boots. My touch feather light, I followed every curve and crevice of her skin, unable to fully embrace and grasp her like she did to me. 

As I traveled downward, I could feel her breath catch against my neck, fingers digging into my back. I lacked the dexterity she did, but I could feel the trickling folds between her legs. Since I didn’t possess fingers, I moved my human mouth down and parted her thighs. 

The clothing we’d shed formed a slight cushion as she sat, hands tangled in my hair. I could feel her fingers exploring as my tongue plunged in and out of her. Each quiver and shake brushed against my feathers, the sensation only seeming to add to her enjoyment. 

Ankles locked between my shoulders, pulling me more into her. I increased my efforts, hooking her legs in the crook of my elbow. The gasps and moans became cries and screams of ecstasy, begging for more. 

The fingers in my hair formed a fist. My lips pressed to hers, groans and growls escaping me in a carnal language we both knew all too well, my tongue exploring as hers called out for more. 

When she finally loosened her grip, I shifted. Breeches brushed against her soaking folds, betraying the hardness within. Shaking legs spread wider. In the moonlight, I could see her shimmering wetness. Shallow breaths betrayed her ache. The need to be filled.

With some difficulty, I molted the last bit of my clothing. My boots clomped noisily on the floor. My breeches had barely slipped down my thighs when she managed to get up, her whole body shaking with the effort.

Once more, she leaned over, hands resting on the ground behind me. Straddling me, she lowered herself down. 

The warm and wet gripped me tightly, and I could see her spread across the girth, before vanishing behind my feathers. She tossed back her head at that, breath catching as she took a moment to recover, before starting again. I met her with each movement, once more devolving into the ancient language. 

However, she seemed to have had enough of it, and her lips covered mine. Her tongue explored, no doubt tasting herself. This only seemed to invigorate her further, moans and whimpers rumbling through the both of us. Even muffled, the sounds rattled me to my core. 

I wrapped my wings around her, not wanting a feather’s width of space between us. I wanted this to last. But I was dancing so close to the edge already. 

My taloned feet traced over her calves. The sharp tips must have lightly scratched her, because she stared at me, finally parting our kiss. Trembling legs gave out then, and she collapsed on top of me, labored breaths telling me she was at the brink herself. 

Despite the hesitation, she gave me a nod to continue. 

They gripped her ankles tightly, locking her in place. Taking her under my wings, I let her rest against me as I rolled my hips. Each thrust was punctuated with a sigh or a moan. The slow pace drew out each motion. 

Soon, I could feel her trying to wriggle down onto me, begging me to fill her faster. A few times I gave in, remaining inside her, only to draw back out again. She would bite her lips, scratching at the floor. The request was loud, despite a word not being spoken. 

Each breath and sigh further fanned the heat inside me. My motions were rough and out of practice, but she craved it all the same. 

Finally, I hilted and held her fast, feeling the flame of passion sputter out. She twitched around me, soft sighs telling me she could feel each drop inside her. It spilled out onto my stomach and hips, my grip finally loosening. 

We stayed entangled, clothes and feathers scattered around us. I managed to get my robes and drape them over her. The shivering eventually ceased, and she laid against my chest, hand resting on my shoulder. Slowly, her eyes closed and I could feel the soft breathing of slumber. 

The lenses of my mask gleamed in the candlelight, watching over the two of us.  

[serial-serializednovelreader]

It's crazy to me that people call Jonathan a himbo, he's so methodical and clever! It makes sense that Mina would be attracted to someone bright too

Yes, anon, you’re so speaking my language!!! I do wish people would stop calling Jonathan a himbo because — nothing against himbos — but Jonathan is not one of them! And yes, it totally makes sense that Mina would attracted to someone as clever as him, and since she’s also so smart, I’m sure the feeling is mutual.

Before y’all come shouting in my inbox “what do you have against himbos??” and “Jonathan is totally a himbo, what are you talking about?” Let me clear things up:

First of all, I love himbos!!! Kronk from Emperor’s New Groove — peak himbo, imo — is one of my favorite characters. Am I attracted to them? Well…no. As you can probably tell from my last Nova’s Notes, I’m more the kind of person who’s attracted to cleverness or when people nerd out. BUT I cherish himbos for all of their wonderful qualities and if I ever get the opportunity to meet one in real life, I would love to be friends with them! <3333

Secondly, for anyone who’s still saying Jonathan is a himbo…

Himbos have to embody all three qualities equally to be considered himbos! If they are not kind? Not a himbo. Not strong? Not a himbo, I’m sorry! I do make the rules of himbo, I simply follow the rules.

Now on to our good friend Jonathan Harker’s case.

He is undeniably kind. From what we’ve seen so far (not to mention later), he is not only loving to his fiancée, he is kind to strangers as well. He takes gifts from the villagers, even if he does not understand them. Just a couple of entries ago, he was willing to risk his life over a child he didn’t even know (and the same night after he had screamed running away from the women, too). Some of the Dracula Daily book club on here suspects (as do I) that some of the reason he’s so eager to spring into action the next day is to put a stop to Dracula’s evilness for other people, not just for himself. Heck, he’s even talked about Dracula’s good qualities after finding out he’s a prisoner!!! So, kindness? Yes! ✅

As for strong, there’s not as much evidence here, but I would call him somewhat strong because not just anyone could successfully scale a castle wall twice in one day like that! That takes a lot of strength in your core, arms, back, etc. Sure, Dracula can do it — but Dracula is also a vampire with super strength. Maybe it’s easier than I think it is, but I’m not exactly going to look for a castle to try it!! So for Jonathan to crack his knuckles and go “yeah, he can do it, why can’t I?” is both hilarious and shows that he must know something of his own strength. However, he’s also a solicitor and I doubt he’s built like a bodybuilder. So, strong? Maybe not as much as a typical himbo, but let’s give him the check mark because Lizard Fashion is nothing to sneeze at. ✅

Now for the ditzy part….I’d have to say no to that. Himbos are meant to not be “the sharpest tool in the shed” (yes, I did have to hit you with a Smash Mouth reference, sorry not sorry) and Jonathan is farrrrr from that.

Everything he has done so far has been methodical and smart. I covered this in my other Nova’s Notes (you can look under the hashtag on my page if you want to see more :D) so I really don’t want to go through too much I’ve already gone through, but the arguments I’ve seen for him being a himbo — based on the entries we’ve already read — are that he’s not smart because he:

Doesn’t heed villager’s warnings

“Let’s” himself become a prisoner

Is nice to Dracula after he knows he’s a prisoner

Talks about his fiancée a lot (???????)

For the first point, we’ve gone over this, but here we go again — he doesn’t heed the villager’s warnings, no. But keep in mind none of them actually say “The Count is a super dangerous man!! Don’t trust him!!!” Here’s the passage:

“When I asked him if he knew Count Dracula, and could tell me anything of his castle, both he and his wife crossed themselves, and, saying that they knew nothing at all, simply refused to speak further. It was so near the time of starting that I had no time to ask any one else, for it was all very mysterious and not by any means comforting.

Just before I was leaving, the old lady came up to my room and said in a very hysterical way:

‘Must you go? Oh! young Herr, must you go?’ She was in such an excited state that she seemed to have lost her grip of what German she knew, and mixed it all up with some other language which I did not know at all. I was just able to follow her by asking many questions. When I told her that I must go at once, and that I was engaged on important business, she asked again:

‘Do you know what day it is?’ I answered that it was the fourth of May. She shook her head as she said again:

‘Oh, yes! I know that! I know that, but do you know what day it is?’ On my saying that I did not understand, she went on:

‘It is the eve of St. George's Day. Do you not know that to-night, when the clock strikes midnight, all the evil things in the world will have full sway? Do you know where you are going, and what you are going to?’ She was in such evident distress that I tried to comfort her, but without effect. Finally she went down on her knees and implored me not to go; at least to wait a day or two before starting. It was all very ridiculous but I did not feel comfortable.

So here’s the thing: you can see that the only thing the innkeeper’s wife explicitly warns him against is going to the castle that night because it’s a day in their culture where evil spirits are considered to have full sway.

The innkeeper’s wife does ask him if he knows “where he is going and who is going to” — he says no, but she does not speak further on the matter. When he asked about the Count before this, they just refused to speak! I know that may seem like an implicit warning — and it is — but some people on here act as if Jonathan was supposed to have known why they were crossing themselves and immediately have left? Like, he obviously feels uncomfortable, but as he states before and afterwards: he has a job to do. If you were in his position: a newly-appointed lawyer (or position of your choice), and you went to a place where the locals told you not to visit your client that night because it was a night where evil spirits would come out: would you honestly believe them? And if you asked about what your client was like and they just crossed themselves and refused to speak on the matter, would you simply leave the town and tell your boss “nah, sorry, the villagers warned me against him. I decided this client’s not for me”? I guess that honestly depends on you, but I would think not if you want to keep your job!! I know that’s not ideal, but to be fair, he also is not given a fair warning before going in.

There is also that incident in the carriage where he hears those villagers talking and he picks up bits and pieces (including the words werewolf and vampire) but a) they’re not talking to him and b) he doesn’t pick up enough to even indicate who they’re talking about!! In fact, he thinks they’re badmouthing him!!! (Which is understandable, he can only hear a bit and he’s translating on the fly). Again, how he is supposed to automatically know: “oh, Count Dracula is a vampire and I must flee this place immediately.” We know that because Dracula has been a pop culture icon for 100+ years, but Jonathan doesn’t have that kind of knowledge. I feel it’s kind of ridiculous to call him not smart for not knowing this.

However, and this is important, he does take some of this warning to heart. He does take the crucifix and the other vampire-repellent gifts the villagers bestow upon him, despite his skepticism and ignorance of the culture (thanks, English colonization /s). He feels uncomfortable and anxious before he even goes into the castle, literally saying goodbye to Mina in his diary in case he doesn’t make it back!! He keeps the crucifix in his room and uses it to ward off bad dreams and for safety against Dracula (which is not really how he’s supposed to use it, but he wasn’t really told how, so I don’t really blame him for that).

I don’t think a himbo would’ve picked up that something was amiss at any of these points, not until it was too late at least. I think for this test, just picture Kronk (or your fav himbo) in this situation. Would they even notice something was up? Or would they go cheerfully towards the castle?

As for the second point — this is kind of unrelated to the himbo question but — what kind of victim-blame mentality is this????? I have seen people unironically (at least I’m pretty sure it is?) post that Jonathan deserves the abuse he’s getting because he didn’t heed the villager’s warnings (which I already talked about above) and/or he’s “rude” to Dracula. I’m sorry — WHAT???? So if you’re rude to somebody they’re to allowed to lock you up in their castle???? That’s a fair trade? I beg your pardon?! Just…ok. Believe what you want, but maybe let’s not blame the guy who’s been a prisoner in a random stranger’s castle for a month and is sure he’s about to die? Yes, this is fictional and not that deep, but still — weird take.

Back to the himbo question, I mean, he doesn’t really let himself become a prisoner. He’s at Dracula’s castle for a job. Once he’s done with that job he’s ready to leave, but Dracula makes him stay because he literally locks him in!!! He then explicitly tells him he will stay longer and Jonathan has to accept because he is there in place of his boss, and saying no would be like speaking (negatively) for his boss — and Jonathan is not going to do that. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think a himbo would be able to see all of that subtext within that conversation. I actually don’t know this kind of interaction between a true himbo and Dracula would go, but I imagine not well. Dracula thrives off of interesting conversation and wit, as well as being able to maintain a facade of host and guest. I just don’t see if someone like Kronk could maintain that for long because he would probably be like “but I don’t want to stay longer, let me go” or something, which would end the “game”.

Moving on to the third point, he is nice to Dracula after he knows he’s a prisoner for a reason. When he realizes he’s locked up (which he realizes super fast, by the way), he sits down and has a good, long think about what he can do. More passage evidence!

“I am thinking still, and as yet have come to no definite conclusion. Of one thing only am I certain; that it is no use making my ideas known to the Count. He knows well that I am imprisoned; and as he has done it himself, and has doubtless his own motives for it, he would only deceive me if I trusted him fully with the facts. So far as I can see, my only plan will be to keep my knowledge and my fears to myself, and my eyes open. I am, I know, either being deceived, like a baby, by my own fears, or else I am in desperate straits; and if the latter be so, I need, and shall need, all my brains to get through.”

So he knows Dracula is up to something (or he’s jumped to conclusions) and either way, talking about it is a bad idea. The only way through is to act like nothing’s wrong for now and try to get information out of Dracula. Other than that, he’s going to need to use his brains! Yes, he does talk to Dracula and acts nice — but it’s with a plan and a purpose. Dracula has creeped him out from the start, but he has always been able to maintain good cheer around him. Now, he will put that to use.

So for this himbo test, it’s kind of similar to the second one. Were Kronk in this situation, he would make it by for a while because he probably wouldn’t notice the doors are locked. But once he did…I’m not sure if it would be like the second point where he’d immediately tell Dracula “hey why are all of the doors locked” and the game is up or if his shoulder angel/devil characters would come out to help him. I guess it depends! And to Kronk’s credit, he has figured things out before (e.g. figured out who Pacha was and in relation to Kuzco) *but* it took him like 12 hours after the fact and that’s not how Jonathan operates. Jonathan figures out things pretty quickly. Does he need time to think sometimes? Yes. But he’s pretty much always thinking and trying to figure out more once he’s at Castle Dracula. I just don’t see these two in the same vein here.

For the final point, I haven’t seen much evidence for this, but it needs to be addressed. I think sometimes people tend to equate WifeGuy with “no thoughts, head empty only for wife” and that can be true!!! There are definitely characters like that and I do love them so. Jonathan is undeniably a WifeGuy (and Mina’s not even his wife in name yet), bringing her up anytime he gets a chance. I would argue though that just because he’s in love and brings her up a ton doesn’t mean he’s also not clever and methodical. You can be in love and smart: these can coexist. Mina is a very smart character from what we’ve seen already and she’s in love too!

I don’t really have a Kronk case study for this one, but like anon said — I think Mina is attracted to Jonathan for his smartness and it goes both ways. They love each other for many other reasons (there’s a lot to love!), but I imagine that’s kind of the cherry on top for them.

Why does this matter? I think calling Jonathan a himbo is reducing his character a bit here. Again, I’m not saying being a himbo is bad, but it does discredit his methodical ways and strategy he has in the castle. His methodical nature is part of personality and pretending that doesn’t exist erases his character, in my opinion. Additionally, it raises the question: could a himbo become a lawyer? I…don’t think so…but maybe? Find me a himbo who’s a lawyer and prove me wrong I guess! Wait is Phoenix Wright a himbo…? Question for another time.

In conclusion, Jonathan Harker only passes 1 part of the himbo test (kindness) with flying colors. The strong test he only passes by the tail of his lizard fashion, and as for ditzy? He fails miserably. Recall that for someone to be a true himbo, they have to possess all three traits equally. Even if you could make the case for one, you’d still be missing another. So, no, I don’t think Jonathan Harker is a himbo. You can maybe argue with me that he has himbo moments (if that’s a thing, idk), but overall? No.

[general--winter]

How Genin Naruto, Sasuke, Neji, Hinata, Sakura, Rock Lee react to going on a go mission in a long time and when they return the reader is waiting for them at the gate and is so happy that they are back that he hugs them and ends up knocking them down and doesn't let go of them for a while and stays with them all day. (The reader and they are in love with each other)

author's note: First post in a long time! I took a little bit of a liberty with some of the characters, but the general idea is there for all of them. It was a while since I got this request and I was working off of the material I had written in my Google Drive (and the majority of this request was written two months ago), so if you would like me to rewrite some of the entries please let me know. I can do that. For now, though, I hope you all enjoy!

rating: general

fandom: naruto

pairings: genin!uzumaki naruto x gn!reader, genin!uchiha sasuke x gn!reader, genin!hyuga neji x gn!reader, genin!hyuga hinata x gn!reader, genin!haruno sakura x gn!reader, genin!rock lee x gn!reader

word count: 2038

summary: Greeting the genins when they come back from a long mission!

Uzumaki Naruto

When returning from a week away, Naruto is dorking out to Sasuke, Sakura, and Kakashi about how he totally helped out when the enemy was attacking the three of them. Sakura gets in a word about how he was tussling with cats, not enemy shinobi, before you leapt off a roof onto Naruto’s back.

The unexpected piggyback ride leaves him stumbling and bristling, screaming, “WHO IS THAT?!” In response, you lock your legs around his torso and grip his shoulders through the flailing, giggling like a maniac. When he hears your laugh, Naruto whips his head up to get a glimpse of you and… well… this has the result you’d think it would.

The back of his head slams into your nose and you release your grip, the two of you now nursing matching wounds as the rest of Team 7 stands off to the side watching the show with deadpan expressions.

“What was that for, Uzumaki? I was just trying to say hi!” you would quip, pointing a finger from your free hand at him, your other pressing into your face to quell the pain.

“It’s not MY fault that I was ambushed!” he would yell, pointing back at you. At this point, you two were attracting the attention of the civilians and Team 7 needed to drag you two away forcefully.

After the two of you calmed down, you ended up apologizing for scaring Naruto with your silly prank. He laughs it off and accepts, saying it was an accident and that it was pretty funny and harmless in the end. He even offers you another piggyback ride around the village, this time without the headbutting, which causes your heart to beat a little faster as you accept.

Uchiha Sasuke

As usual after returning to Konoha with Team 7, the only people to greet them at the gate were Sakura’s parents. Naruto darted off to… wherever the hell he goes to cause mayhem, while Kakashi simply vanished into the air, leaving Sasuke to make his way home alone. To the empty Uchiha compound. He always took the long way.

However, this particular day, it seemed that he had a shadow — you. Sasuke knew you’d been following him since about halfway through his walk home, when he spotted your ninja garb through the crowds swiftly taking cover in an alleyway. Half of him was always irked by your insistence that you spend time with him. Didn’t you have anything else better to do? But the shameless part of him, the one that yearned for a friend, was thankful that you took the time out of your day to be with him despite his prickly and cold attitude. Besides Team 7, you were the only one that ever kept trying; only you could possibly understand the motives behind that decision. Does he feel guilty about it? Yes, damn it, he does. He should be focused on his goals, not whatever the hell this is. Something in him is healing, though. And tells him to let you in. Just a little bit.

On the threshold of the compound, you stepped from Sasuke’s peripheral and appeared with a bag of treats. “Hey, Sasuke!” you greeted with a wide smile. “I saw you got back while I was out in the markets,” You noted the scrapes and bruises over his body, as well as the state of his clothing and his sour expression. “Rough mission?”

He would respond with an affirmative noise, taking the bag from your hands and leading the way to his house. There, you would chew his ear off with stories about your training and small missions while he sat in silence, sharpening his dull kunai and shuriken from the mission. The rest of the compound may have been haunted by the ghosts of the massacre, but right now, something in Sasuke felt a little bit at ease in that household for the first time in years as you and him munched on junk food together.

Hyuga Neji

The second that you get word that Team Guy is expected to return from their long-term mission, you plant yourself at the gates to welcome them back. They must be far away, however, since you’ve been lounging with the guards for way too long, playing cards and gossiping about practically every other shinobi in the village.

In the blink of an eye, one after another, two flashes of green speed through the gates, leaving clouds of dust billowing. The draft from, assumedly, Lee and Guy’s movements, sent the cards from your game of blackjack spiraling into the air. The chunin assigned guard began lunging for everyone’s cards to get an upper hand, leaving you to struggle for just your own. You had a damn good hand, too! At least you thought? Of course this would happen…

Tenten shot by soon after, begging for her sensei and team mate to “please stop this nonsense”. It barely occurred to you, though, that the one person you were looking for was still missing as you lunged and grabbed for your cards. Your vision had tunneled up with your head, your gaze flickering to the… Huh? Where your cards were once fluttering in the air is now only blue sky.

“Hey!” you shouted, whipping your head down and around. “Which one of you took my cards? Picking on the genin, are you? How—”

“I have them right here,” a voice snarked from your left, putting five fanned-out cards right over your field of vision. “You should probably fold soon. You’ve only got seven out of twenty-one. Unless you’re the one that bet that entire pile of chocolate.”

“Neji! You’re back too!” You snatched the cards from his outstretched hand and turned to the regrouped chunin, throwing your cards down on the dirt face-up. “I fold.” In one fluid motion, you turned and took Neji’s wrapped forearm in your hand, taking him into the streets of Konoha. He opened his mouth to complain, but not before you shut him right up with a wide smirk, telling him this is exactly what he advised.

Hyuga Hinata

Daring not to sprint with the delicate pastries in your grasp, you walked hastily towards the main entrance of Konoha. Team Eight was supposed to already be there. Have you missed them? Maybe Kiba held them up somewhere along the way following some random animal’s poop scent for a prank. That situation would certainly not be ideal, but at least you would be able to see Hinata the second she got back to the village.

Unfortunately, you seemed to be a little late as you caught her in the shadow of the shopping crowds. You approached in her direct view and waved to make sure she wasn’t shocked too much. But you still enjoyed the slight flush of her cheeks and little smile that you could only catch if you were truly paying attention to her.

“Hinata!” you called, handing the box to her as she whispered a greeting in return. “I got you these pastries! I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go find somewhere around to hang out and eat them with me?”

“Oh!” She reached out and snatched the offering with a swiftness you didn’t know she possessed. Still holding it out, Hinata bowed to you with a small “thank you!” coming out before she panicked and took off with an air of sorrow. What you didn’t see was her blush shoot up to her ears and down her neck.

“Ah! No, I wanted to share them!” you sighed with a laugh, beginning the chase. I wanted to spend time with you! Hinata does, too. She just needs a minute to get that darn blush off of her face! Though, when you do catch up with her and sit down, you note that her ears stayed red the rest of the day.

Haruno Sakura

Sakura really wasn’t sure what the heck all of the petals were for. She was initially shocked senseless when her parents weren’t there to greet Team Seven. Everyone milled by like they didn’t exist. Naruto wanted to drag everyone to Ichiraku’s, but being tired of his nonsense after the past week, Sakura allowed her attention and stride to wander away from the group after giving a half-hearted farewell. When she rounded a corner, a cherry blossom petal in the breeze caught her attention.

She thought it wasn’t even cherry blossom season. Was this a genjutsu? Or maybe they were fake. Determined now to find out, Sakura began to follow upwind, the direction from which the petals came from. The further she worked into the forest, the more she was convinced it was a genjutsu — she could smell the cherry blossom. Her hand twitched over her kunai strap as she worked her chakra network overtime to disrupt the illusion.

Awaiting at the destination was what seemed to be a massive pool of the pink petals. If Sakura wasn’t convinced this was some sort of trap, she would be in awe of the beauty surrounding her. A completely normal summer forest with a pocket of spring right here.

“You won’t find any disruptions in your network because there’s no genjutsu.” You rounded a tree trunk, a picnic basket in hand. “I just wanted to get you away from your team for the rest of the day. You’ve probably had more than enough of them.”

“Oh my gosh. Oh my GOSH. You are the best!” Sakura squealed, jumping down from the trees, hugging and twirling you.

You invite her to sit on the blanket of petals you set up, preserves you managed to purchase with your savings from Ino’s family’s store. (Of course, you’d never tell her that.) It seems like you’re able to guess all of her favorite foods and drinks as you whip them out of the basket comedically, pretending to summon everything like a magician.

Until sundown, the two of you are able to enjoy a relaxing afternoon in the quiet ambiance of the surrounding forests of Konoha, the only noises being your uproarious laughter and soft gossip breaking just over the static of the leaves in the wind.

Rock Lee

(The same beginning situation as Neji’s, so if it’s familiar, that’s why!)

The second that you get word that Team Guy is expected to return from their long-term mission, you plant yourself at the gates to welcome them back. They must be far away, however, since you’ve been lounging with the guards for way too long, playing cards and gossiping about practically every other shinobi in the village.

In the blink of an eye, one after another, two flashes of green speed through the gates, leaving clouds of dust billowing. You take off after them across the rooftops without thinking, wanting to greet Lee. Vaguely behind you, you can hear Neji and Tenten yelling at them to stop, that their race was supposed to be over at the gate. It took a good few moments before they actually were able to pump the brakes and de-accelerate, kicking up the dirt road.

You, however, purposefully ram yourself into Lee’s back from above like a hawk, giving him a hug that almost puts him out on the ground. “Welcome back! I missed you,” you yell, interrupting his argument with Guy-sensei on who stepped over the threshold first. He greets you warmly after recovering from the shock, returning your hug with just as much vigor. “I am sorry for leaving for so long, but we are back!”

“Ah, how wonderful youth is!” You forgot that Guy-sensei was right there, so you withdrew, a bit bashful. “Let me ask you, young (Y/N), who did you see enter the village first? You were there, right?”

You confess that in all honesty, you were not focused on that at all, just the fact that your friends were all back. At this point, Tenten and Neji catch up, ready to give the lecture of a life. Which is why you’re not surprised at all when your ride spins around and takes off to avoid the scolding, laughing and trying to figure out where the two of you want to lead them for a post-mission meal.

[trulybetty]

Stood Up | Frankie Morales x f!Reader

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader (no use of Y/N) Word Count: 1,668 Warnings: being stood up, torrential rain (always bring an umbrella), mentions of alcohol, a difference of opinions on Top Gun and some could call this fluff Summary: Stood up for a date that left you in the pouring rain, you seek refuge in a sports bar and before you can change your mind the man next to you strikes up a conversation AO3: Linked

A/N: so, I was supposed to be working on Bookstore Frankie as per the WIP poll the other day and technically (in my head at least) this is Bookstore Frankie, we're just meeting him a long time before he becomes Bookstore Frankie lol.

Also, consider this is my entry for @pedrostories’ celebration, enjoy! xx

Stood Up

The Seattle rain was relentless. It wasn’t even supposed to rain that day, the forecast ironically calling for sun and highs of warm heat, which had meant you’d left the house in a maxi dress and your flimsy denim jacket. So that meant no umbrella and certainly no practical footwear for the torrential downpour you found yourself in for the date you’d left the house over an hour ago for.

You'd been stood up, and now, thanks to All-Star Week, cabs were impossible to find.

You checked your phone once more, Uber was a wait of over an hour, said date had left you on read and Cat, your friend with a text. One that promised as soon as she could get out of dinner with her husband and his parents, would come and get you with a bottle of wine to commiserate the evening over at your place.

The door to the dimly lit bar slammed shut behind you, cutting off the relentless sound of rain pounding the pavement. You were soaked to the bone, rain dripping off your hair to your face, and in a less-than-stellar mood. 

As you settled into a barstool and ordered a stiff drink, you tried to shake off the frustration. The bartender served you with an understanding smile and you were just beginning to relax when a voice from the end of the bar cut through the chatter of the bar.

“How would you like to ride home on a real cowboy?”

You looked up, and some guy in a ten-gallon hat made eye contact with you with a flourish of said hat and a wink. Based on the accent and the Texas Rangers shirt he was certainly from out of town.

Your eyes rolled at the cheesy attempt, dismissing it with a casual brush-off. The downpour seemed to amplify the irritation simmering within you. Tonight was not the night for clichéd pick-up lines, especially from individuals who seemed to believe they had some inherent right to your attention.

As you took a sip of your drink, you exhaled and began to second-guess coming into the bar. You prayed for Cat to show up soon and get you out of there. Looking through the window, you thought about downing your drink and fleeing for somewhere else less crowded. You were already drenched; what more could the rain do?

But before you could think on it any further from the other side of you, a deep laugh resonated, and you glanced over to find a guy wearing a ball cap labelled 'Standard Oil', a beer resting in his hand, his eyes crinkled as he smiled.

“Can't believe that line didn't work. What's this world coming to?” he joked, raising his glass in a mock salute.

Despite your mood, a reluctant smile tugged at your lips, “A horse did me wrong once, a cowboy and I would be destined for heartbreak from the get-go,” you replied, playing along.

“How about a pilot?”

You raised an eyebrow, you hadn't missed the aviation logo on the shoulder of his shirt, “I feel like I’m being set up for a Village People joke here,” you eyed him wearily, “how often does that line work for you?”

He laughed into this glass as he took another sip, “A lot less than you think.”

You took another sip of your drink, “What a surprise.”

“Frankie,” he said, extending his hand.

You took it, his grip firm and warm and gave him your name.

He gestured to your soaked clothes, “Rough night?”

“You could say that,” you admitted.

Despite your initial want to just drown your sorrows and maybe scroll through Instagram while you waited for Cat, you found yourself in conversation with Frankie. Turned out he was actually a pilot, a little elusive on the details of what exactly he did in the military, but a pilot nonetheless. That and he was currently stationed temporarily out of McChord Field, in Pierce County. He was up in Seattle for the weekend to meet up with some friends coming in from their own deployments.

Frankie's face turned playfully serious, his eyes widening as he said, “You're breaking my fucking heart, baby.”

You laughed, leaning back in your chair. “Oh, come on! You’ve got to agree with me?!”

He grinned, shaking his head. “I never thought I'd meet someone so smart and yet so wrong at the same time.”

You playfully swatted his arm. “I could say the same about you.”

Frankie's eyebrows shot up in genuine disbelief, and his lips curved into a playful half-smile as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. “Not like 'Top Gun'? That's almost sacrilege in my line of work!” His eyes sparkled with amusement, revealing his lighthearted take on the situation. 

When he’d mentioned he worked in aviation within the military, you’d jokingly asked if it was all like Top Gun and if he was a Maverick. Frankie had laughed at the question as he’d flagged down the bartender for another drink for you both. That had been before you’d voiced your true feelings on the 1986 cult classic.

You shrugged, sipping your drink. “I don't know, maybe it's the cheesy one-liners, or perhaps I just don't get the appeal of fighter jets.”

He gasped dramatically, clutching at his chest. “The appeal of fighter jets? Oh, you're really twisting the knife now.”

You giggled at his antics. The more you talked to him, the more you liked him. He didn't take himself too seriously. It was refreshing, especially considering your recent string of bad luck in the dating department.

“I'm sorry, I just don't get it,” you admitted, shaking your head.

Frankie's eyes softened, and he reached over to gently touch your arm. “It's okay. We can't all have perfect taste.”

“You think your taste is perfect?” you teased, enjoying the banter that had been flowing between you two all evening.

“In some things,” he winked, making your cheeks heat furiously.

When your phone buzzed with a message from Cat, signalling that she was outside, you found yourself a little reluctant to leave. It was strange, feeling a connection with a stranger on a night that had started with disappointment, and a part of you wanted to hold onto that feeling a bit longer. Frankie seemed to feel the same way, his eyes lingering on you as you gathered your things.

“Well Frankie, thank you for being a bright light in what was almost a terrible evening.”

“Pleasure is all mine,” he replied, his voice warm.

The two of you paused for a moment, the atmosphere suddenly more serious. He'd already mentioned that he was stationed temporarily and had hinted at an upcoming deployment. And though the good company and the buzz from the drinks had lightened your mood, you were still reeling from being stood up by the man you'd really thought you'd had a chance with.

You waved goodbye to Frankie and headed outside, the rain still falling heavily. As you approached Cat's car, thoughts of Frankie lingered in your mind, leaving you with a strange mixture of excitement and melancholy.

You were just about to open the door to the passenger side of Cat’s car when the noise from inside the bar broke through over the sound of the rain. Turning around Frankie was coming out of the door, you watched him look around before his eyes settled on you with a smile.

Throwing up the umbrella he had in his hands he dashed the short distance over to you, “Look,” he shouted to be heard over the traffic and the storm that was now brewing, “I thought maybe,” he paused looking a little at war with himself before he spoke again, “we could do this again? Maybe without the rain and the cowboy.” he joked and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Sure, I’d like that.”

He pulled his hand out of his pocket and pressed a napkin into your hand. Under the cover of his umbrella, you opened it to see his name scrawled with his phone number and you shot him a smile.

“Call me?” Frankie asked, his voice suddenly softer, more intimate despite the storm raging around you.

“I will,” you assured him, tucking the napkin safely into your pocket.

With a final smile and a lingering look, Frankie dashed back towards the bar, and you climbed into Cat's car, your heart still pounding in your chest.

Cat, ever the observant friend, was already eyeing you with curiosity. “Okay, spill. Who was that guy? And why are you smiling like you've just won the lottery?”

You looked over at her, your grin widening. “That is Frankie. We just spent the last few hours talking in the bar.”

“Frankie?” Cat's eyebrows shot up. “Also, you stayed in that bar with a stranger for hours? That doesn't sound like you.”

And it really wasn’t, even going out for the date that eventually stood you up had been a push outside your comfort level.

Cat narrowed her eyes. “You sure you're not being catfished by this guy?”

You rolled your eyes, a laugh escaping your lips. “Cat, that means online, not in person.”

“Same thing,” Cat retorted, not missing a beat as she started the car. “You never know these days.”

“Anyway, he's only here for a temporary assignment between deployments. Not like anything really is going to happen.”

Cat glanced at you, her expression softening. “It's okay to have fun here and there, you know. Doesn't have to be serious all the time.”

You sighed, leaning against the window. “I know. It's just… different.”

“Different is good,” Cat said, her voice softening as she pulled away from the curb, knowing all too well your past relationship history. “Different can be very good.”

You looked at her, realizing how much you appreciated her support, even with her teasing. “Yeah, maybe.”

Cat's smile widened as she focused on the road. “Of course I'm right. Now tell me everything about this Frankie guy.”