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moonstonejpg · 2 months ago

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support (k.bakugou x reader)

cw: pure fluff, kiri and denki being the best wingmen in the world, oh also ua is a college not a high school bc i said so

bakugo is my comfort character i love him sm and want to protect him at all costs ♡

If he didn’t know any better, he would think the sudden pounding of his heart meant it was acting up again like it did occasionally after Edgeshot revived him, because Katsuki Bakugo didn’t have crushes. And despite it being a natural part of life, it freaks him out a lot more than he’d care to admit. Because Bakugo has always had the same plan, get into UA College and become a top ranked hero; nowhere in his plan did he account for the girl with a heart of gold in the support course.

“Katsuki!” You call, arms full of some unknown material as you jogged towards him. You had a bright smile on your face, and your eyes were lit up with excitement. He couldn’t help the fond smile spreading across his lips as he gazed down at where you skidded to a stop in front of him.

“I did it! Here—hold this please.” You shove the item in your arms towards him, hands animatedly waving towards the different places on as you explain. It took a few moments for Bakugo’s mind to catch up to what was happening in front of him, but once it did his gaze snapped up to meet your eyes in shock.

“—and so, basically, you put this on under your hero suit and it absorbs the shockwaves from your blasts, turning it back into itself to heat your muscles.”

He blinks, his thoughts spinning to the conversation from last week when you had caught him sitting on the rooftop of the college. Instead of leaving, you plopped down next to him, starting a conversation after a few hesitant moments.

“I know you love your quirk, and honestly I do too!” you giggle, a light blush dusting your cheeks. “But if there was something you could change—or well, something to help, what would it be?”

He cocks his head to the side, mulling over your question; he wants to give you a good answer, an honest answer. So, he dips into the vat of his insecurities, unearthing a small secret he’s never shared with anyone.

“I—when I use it too much my arms and shoulders start to ache, and even if I pause to conserve my energy it seems to just leak out and then…eventually both body parts end up going numb. It’s been happening more frequently now that we are training longer, and it—it sucks to be quite honest.”

You pull your knees up to your chest, eyes fixed on a distance point on the horizon. He glances sideways at you, noticing the indent between your eyebrows. Your tongue pokes out, and he realizes this is your thinking face. He’s amazed that he can see the wheels turning, and wonders what’s going on in your brain.

It’s silent for a few moments, before you jump up, an excited gleam in your eye. You start to leave, pausing to turn back to him, your face now serious. “I won’t tell anyone; your secret is safe with me.”

He nods once, and the seriousness evaporates as you smile at him, then disappear down the stairs.

“Was…is this okay?” You ask suddenly, the excitement in your eyes dimming slightly as he stared dumbly at you, not a single word leaving his lips since you handed over the gadget. “I—I just thought that—I can take it back!”

“No, I—"

“It’s okay! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep. I had just thought…well, either way it doesn’t matter.” You reach your hands out to take the thin fabric back, but he holds it above your head, forcing you to stop and look at him in surprise.

“I love it, you just—you surprised me is all.” He mumbles, feeling heat rise in his cheeks. “I wish I could do something to thank you, something other than just standing here looking like a fool.”

“I don’t need anything from you, really! It’s, well, it’s a gift.” You reply quietly, twisting your hands together then shoving them back behind your back. There’s a light pink stain on the apples of your cheeks, and Bakugo gets the alarming urge to kiss you. Instead, he fists the cloth in his hands and lowers his arms, cradling the material to his chest.

“Thank you.” He whispers, still in shock that someone would do something like this for him.

You nod once, a soft smile on your face as you turn and leave the hallway, his eyes not leaving your back until you’re just a speck at the end of the corridor.

Hours later he’s still thinking of the exchange; feeling incredibly stupid for not asking for your number at the very least. He’s supposed to be helping Kirishima and Kaminari study for their exam in the library, but how could he possibly do that when all he wants to do is replay your smile over again on a never-ending loop.

“Bakugo? Hey, Katsuki!”

Fingers are suddenly snapping in front of his face, effectively ripping him from his thoughts. “What?” He grumbles out, smacking Kirishima’s hand away from his face.

“What’s up with you lately, dude?” Kaminari asks, raising an eyebrow.

Bakugo doesn’t respond, distracted by the familiar girl at the far end of the rows of books.

Kirishima throws his elbow into Kaminari’s side, rolling his eyes at the huff of indignation the blonde lets out. He tilts his chin up to the other end of the room, and that’s when they notice Bakugo’s eyes locked on to where you’re seated, book in hand.

They watch, transfixed as a slow smile stretches across the blonde’s face, his chin nearly dropping in his upturned hand to watch you.

“Oh. Oh my god.” And suddenly everything makes sense to the pair. Kirishima and Denki lock eyes, secretive smiles plastered on both of their faces.

“She’s really pretty.” Kaminari muses, shutting his textbook and leaning back in his chair.

“Mm.” Katsuki grunts, only half paying attention.

“And way smarter than you.” Kirishima says, eyes locked on his friend.

“Wait, what?” Bakugo asks, attention snapping back to his friends.

“So the day has finally come…our blasty boy has officially grown up.” Kirishima pretends to wipe non-existent tears, sniffing a little.

“What are you two idiots talking about?” Bakugo asks gruffly, flipping a page in his textbook.

“Oh nothing, just—"

“When’s the wedding?” Kaminari asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Again, what are you even talking about?”

“You have a crush!” Kaminari coos.

“I mean, I would like to crush your heads together.” Bakugo mumbles, but they can’t miss the way his cheeks turn pink. He avoids all eye contact, choosing instead to pretend to read the page in front of him. “She ah.” He clears his throat, “She made me this material to go under my hero suit, something about the shockwaves from my explosions being fed back into the material to…well, anyway, she brought it for me today. And I should have asked for her number, but…” He trails off, the unspoken words hanging in the air.

I’m scared.

Kirishima puts a steady hand on Bakugo’s shoulder, knowing the fear his friend feels is more than warranted. Bakugo is silent for a few moments. And then, “I have all of these hard edges, and I don’t know how to be soft.”

“You don’t need to be soft; you need to be yourself.” Kaminari whispers, smiling at him. “And something tells me she probably feels the same way about you.”

Kirishima and Kaminari lock eyes again before standing and calling your name. Bakugo watches in abject horror as they approach you, his knee bouncing faster as they speak, the distance too great to listen to what exactly was being said. His eyes flit across the trio, panicking slightly.

He knew deep down that his friends just wanted him to be happy, but at this moment he wanted nothing more than to leap across the room and strangle them both. Bakugo briefly considers blowing the entire room up but decided against it at the thought of another bill being sent to his parents.

He watches as you put your book face down, eyes moving between his friends. They say something, then you frown before responding. The exchange feels like hours but is only a few minutes before you stand. You look over, locking eyes with Bakugo, then begin to make your way over to him.

He catches both Kaminari and Kirishima shooting him a thumbs up, before scuttling out of the library, leaving their books and backpacks behind where Bakugo sits. He scrambles out of his chair, choosing instead to lean a hip against the edge of the table as you approach.

“Hi.” He whispers, reaching a hand back to scratch his neck.

“Hi.” You reply, pressing your hands together before twisting them together again. He recognizes the movement from hours before, cataloguing the nervous habit in the file in his brain under your name. “They said you had something to tell me?”

“I—you make my chest feel weird.”

“Um, what?” You squeak out.

“No! No, I mean—god, I’m fucking this all up.” He heaves out a sigh, looking up at the ceiling before locking eyes with you. “I appreciate your gift, more than you know. And I like how smart you are, and that I can see the wheels turning in your head when you’re thinking really hard. I like how you aren’t afraid to talk to me, and I haven’t…I’ve never felt like this about another person before. You haven’t left my mind since the day I met you, and I-I like you, a lot.”

Your jaw drops slightly, eyes flickering back and forth across his face. He swallows, taking a step towards you before hesitantly reaching to brush a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

“Can I take you on a date?” He asks quietly, swallowing nervously.

You blink before a smile splits your face, and you nod. He smiles back, and before you lose courage, you push up on the tips of your toes to press a soft kiss on his cheek, giggling when you pull away and see the now bright red color flooding his cheeks.

“I like you too, Blasty.”

#katsuki bakugo #bakugo katsuki #bakugo #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x reader #katsuki imagine #bakugo x you #katsuki x you #mha x reader #mha x you #katsuki bakugo fluff #katsuki bakugo oneshot #bnha bakugou #bnha bakugo

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plutoswritingplanet · 7 months ago

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Vicarious (Homelander x Female!Reader) pt.1

a/n: guys... you can't tell me y'all weren't expecting this. Title from the song "Vicarious" by Tool. Really wanted this to be a one shot, but as usual, I have shit to say. Will be Cross-Posted on AO3 as soon as they open the site back up.

Warnings: Nothing Explicit YET, some sexist remarks and creepy behavior from the man of the hour, Questionable Corporate Ethics, Set Before The Events Of The Show, Reader is written to be Plus Size.

Summary: Sidekick projects have been scraped completely after numerous accidents, but as a viral video of your hero work makes rounds through the public, you're forced to take part in a six moths program, that will forever change your life, as well as Homelander's

PT.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5

It all started with a video. An insignificant, minute-long nothing posted to TikTok by an account, that up until then, made short edits specifically of A-Train and some B-list no-name hero. Quickly, it gained traction, making rounds throughout the app, bleeding over to other services, all the way to national television. First, an independent local station, soon picked up by a Vaught-affiliated one. Normally, that's where it would've stayed. Stillwell would extend an offer of a chance at an interview, alongside one of the Seven. But for some unknown reason, that small piece of nothing climbed all the way up to the floor eighty-two of Vaught Tower.

Well, to be quite honest, Stillwell knew exactly why she was in this situation. After a very messy graduation speech at a small college, Homelander lost almost twenty points with a young adult demographic. It would've been an easy fix, if not for the delicate nature of the breached subject, and Madelyn knew, this sudden interest in a nobody from nowhere, who, coincidentally, fit the demographic perfectly, was anything but a happy accident. It was a test, both for Homelander, and for her.

Which is why, Madelyn Stillwell and Homelander, the Homelander, the most American supe to ever exist, are cooped up in your living room, glancing about the modest decor, as you pour iced tea into three glasses with tacky fruit print all over them.

You've refused every single invitation, every single Vaught representative that knocked on your door. Your inbox was flooded with emails, your phone number was blowing up two, three times a day. And yet, your answer remained the same. You were not interested in a collaboration, thank you for the opportunity, please leave me alone.

That wouldn't fly, not with Madelyn, who, pushed by the constant nagging from the upper levels of the Tower, decided a more direct approach was the right one. So, she dragged herself into this… Well, to be quite honest, bum-fuck-nowhere, and brought her star pupil with her. No one would refuse working with Homelander himself, after all. At least that's what they both thought.

-I appreciate the effort - there's a practiced, borderline bored intonation in your voice, and Homelander's hands flex on his thighs - But I've already talked with, um, Jerry? From HR? The answer is still no.

Your house is small, but cozy, with sunshine pouring through the windows, reflecting onto the beaded curtain hanging in the doorway to your kitchen. An artist's home, through and through. Homelander hates it, hates the ordinariness of it all. He was so much above all this, sitting on your worn down couch physically hurt him. And the smell. The smell was the worst part. Reheated lasagna, mixing with a lingering aftertaste of cigarette smoke, and an undercurrent of weed, that almost made him retch. If it weren't for that damned video, you would be nothing more, than another brainless ant under his boot.

-Well, we - Madelyn offers her best, brilliant smile, gesturing to herself and Homelander - are very passionate about discovering new talent.

Your mouth twitches into a knowing smile, and for just a second Homelander feels flames of intrigue rising in his chest. Not for long, though, because you recline back into an armchair, taking a sip of the iced tea, and his eyes flash to the way your throat moves as you swallow. You could be hot, he concludes. Young, and with a truly spectacular rack. But there was something off about you, like you were constantly on the verge of dying from boredom, some invisible weight always on your shoulders. No amount of fake smiles and high-end makeup could cover that up.

He'd fuck you. If you'd beg him.

-We want to offer you a new, revised contract - Stillwell extends her hand with a rather thick binder of papers, and you hesitate for a moment, before reaching over. - Hopefully, it will make you reconsider.

You don't even show them the decency of looking through it, placing it on the table instead, and Homelander feels an itch form itself in the corners of his eyes. Stillwell looks taken aback as well, her brilliant smile faltering for just a second. You on the other hand, take another sip of your drink, before placing it right in the middle of the contract, the moisture from the ice creating a wet circle in the paper.

Your heartbeat is even, it doesn't pick up even a smidgen, when you look between Stillwell and America's Greatest Hero, who is slowly but surely growing annoyed by your persistent indifference.

-Thank you, but I already said no - you repeat, and this time, Homelander shifts on the couch.

-And why not? - he asks, tension entering his voice in a way, that makes Madelyn squirm - Countless supes, with much more impressing powers than you, I might add, would kill to be in your place.

"To work with me" goes unsaid, but he can see in your eyes, you read it from thin air of superiority engulfing him. Annoyingly perceptive. You nod your head slowly, before turning away from them, looking out of the window of your living room. There's a small patch of grass, and a second house, so similar to yours, but at the same time, completely different. Your chin sticks out in its direction, and Homelander follows with his eyes.

There are paper butterflies stuck to the windows, cut out clumsily, most likely by children's hands.

-My neighbour, Missus Johnson - you explain - She lives there, with her three kids. Her husband died in a fire caused by your friend, Lamp Lighter.

Madelyn stills, Homelander raises an eyebrow.

-I can afford this house, only because my mother signed an NDA, after The Deep sank my father's fishing boat. - again, your heart stays completely unaffected - Accidentally, of course.

-I was not aware… - Madelyn starts, and it's hard to decipher whether she's talking to you, or Homelander.

Someone at the research department is going to have a very unpleasant evening.

-That's alright - you interrupt her with a raised hand and a small smile - This whole neighborhood is filled with similar cases. And I'm very, very attached to this place.

Why, Homelander couldn't tell. For all he knew, this was some shit hole, right in the suburbs outside New York. Not even the half decent ones. A forgotten by everyone, dying piece of land, that housed insignificant humans, who would never amount to anything, you included. He lived in a lavish apartment, inside a miracle of modern architecture. Who wouldn't want the same?

-And - there's something new entering your tone of voice - If I'm going to betray everything I stand for, I need to give something back to those people. Does your contract reflect that?

Madelyn bites the inside of her cheek, her scrutinizing gaze making your skin itch. Still, she sighs after a moment, excusing herself with that same, practiced expression she uses on every shareholder. Homelander follows her out, nodding his goodbye to you, but before he can leave this dump, Madelyn stops him with a hand pressed against his chest. She gives him one look, makes him aware that his job isn't over, and he can feel the muscles of his face twitch.

So, obediently, he lingers in your doorway, taking a few calming breaths, before facing you once more.

You've changed positions, your armchair abandoned in favor of sitting by the window, one leg bent in a way, that shows quite a nice view of your calf, your long skirt pooling around you. Homelander's eyes trail up with mild interest, and he indulges in his X-ray vision. He's just being curious, nothing more.

Your underwear is, well, for the lack of a better word, plain. The bra seems to be slightly ill fitted, digging into the sides of your breasts, making them almost spill from under your pits, and Homelander swallows thickly at the sight. There are little, pink hearts on your panties. The colors are dull and washed out from frequent use, and the once frilly lace is starting to fray at the edges.

Apparently Vaught's compensation was not sufficient for you to buy some decent undergarments.

-Do you want something to eat? Drink? - you ask from your place by the window, and Homelander is snatched back to reality - Do you even need food?

The bluntness of the question startles him, makes him feel defensive, but Madelyn wanted results, so he puts on a mask of his trained smile, and crosses the room. Back straight like an arrow, he looks wildly out of place between all the linens and cushions. He doesn't look at you, trapping your smaller form in the confinement of the window, as he watches over the neighboring house.

-I'm not hungry - he shoots down your offer with a wave of his hand - I've already eaten.

A lie, but he'd never stoop low enough to take any leftovers, especially from you. Still, the offer seems nice. He does like being pampered, even if it's with lackluster things. Your eyes linger on his boyish smile, another practiced thing, and Homelander shifts focus to your heartbeat once again.

-Alright then - your voice sounds indifferent as ever - Well, if you don't mind, I'm going to make some dinner for myself.

He offers a small nod, and watches you from his position by the window, as you slip past him. It does require quite a lot of manoeuvering, but you manage to stand without touching him. He has to admit, watching you balance, as you try to avoid him, was amusing. Still, your heart beats calmly, and, not wanting to be left on his own, Homelander follows you to your kitchen. The beads of the courtain drum delicately over the bronze eagles on his shoulders.

The fridge is buzzing something awful. He can see just how run down the inside mechanism is, the hinges squeaking unbearably, as you reach for a box of reheatable spaghetti. There's cheep beer inside, a moldy lemon, a carton of milk pretty close to expiring, and a half-used bottle of spicy ketchup. Homelander doesn't even recognize these brands, they're not sponsored by Vaught, that's for sure.

Cheap, tasteless, basically offering no nutritional value.

-Would you step back for a second? - he asks, already wrenching himself between you and that pathetic excuse of a meal.

Again, your body sways to avoid touching him, and for some unknown reason, he finds it very amusing.

Then, you watch with a raised eyebrow, as he turns towards your spaghetti, a red sheen overtaking his eyes. An unbearably hot beam shoots out, making the insides of the plastic packaging sizzle. Finally, that gets him a reaction, as you gasp and reel back, colliding with the barely functional fridge. Your heart does a flip inside your chest, and Homelander soaks up your shock like a man starved.

Only when the red fizzles out of his gaze do you dare to move, approaching him slowly, your eyes bearing into him in a way that is frankly uncomfortable.

He turns to you with another one of his charming smiles, trying to handle this sudden scrutiny in as flippant a way as possible.

-I had no idea you can control the intensity of your lazer - you admit, voice slightly breathless.

-Pretty neat, huh? - perhaps he's fishing for more attention, but he doesn't care, because your eyes light up for just a moment in sheer wonder.

-Super cool, actually.

Yeah. Yeah, that's fucking right, he is super cool. And your heart is beating so much faster, and finally you're looking at him as if he's more than just some guy, some living advertisement you're determined to ignore.

And then your eyes shift, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly, as you zero in on his shoulder. Something akin to a wave of amusement flickers across your expression, and to his general surprise, Homelander wants to know what's the cause of this shift. Your lips pull back into a smile, teeth peaking at him in all their glory. He can almost imagine them running down his skin, before he pushes the thought back all together, as the lower portion of his suit becomes slightly too tight for comfort.

-Well, thank you for saving the spaghetti - your eyes hold a spark of amusement - My hero.

Okay, alright, he's hard. There's no point denying it. However annoying and insignificant you were moments before, your quip goes straight to his loins, burning enough, for him to consider just how mad Stillwell would be, if he'd have a taste of this newly discovered talent.

If he stands any closer to you, he might find out, because this special little moment you two have shared, is crudely interrupted by Madelyn clearing her throat. Homelander nearly jumps back, you however barely turn your head, reaching for your spaghetti and arming yourself with a fork.

-I've spoken to my supervisor - Stillwell announces, clearly peeved by the way you start chewing on the noodles - A new version of the contract will be emailed to you as soon as possible. Hopefully it will be satisfactory.

-Thank you, Miss Stillwell - you answer with an inclination of your head.

With that, Madelyn nods her goodbye at you, refusing to shake your hand, which does amuse you, you're not going to lie. Homelander however, goes all out, capturing your fork-weilding arm, his fingers sneaking around your wrist like a bracelet. Or a shackle. Then, you watch with a confused arch to your eyebrows, as he brings you closer, until his lips press onto the protruding knuckles. Now that, admittedly, gets your heart going. You were not an easily embarrassed person, not by a long shot, but you could feel blood rushing towards your face all the same.

He has to hold his breath, as he kisses your hand in that charming, gentleman way he's seen in old movies. The smell of pasteurized tomato sauce blows in his direction, like a direct assault on his senses. Still, he needed something that would make you swoon. If everything failed, he knew how to be intimidating, but for now, perhaps he wanted to try something different. Something that would yield much more pleasant results, for the both of you. Mostly for him, let's be honest.

Madelyn asks him to stay back, spy on you throughout the night, and he begrudgingly agrees, if only to mask the fact, that he would do so of his own volition, had she not brought it up. And as such, he floats into the rapidly cooling air, disappearing into the darkening sky, where you wouldn't be able to see him even if you tried. He could see you however, and hear you, and he was about to make the most of the situation.

He spends the whole evening just watching you exist within your space. Normally, it would piss him off beyond belief. You weren't doing anything scandalous, anything that could warrant his attention. And yet, as he floats on, in time lowering himself just slightly, to get a better view, he just can't seem to look away. The spaghetti is gone in approximately fifteen minutes, as you inhale the supermarket food, walking around the living room, the kitchen, getting a few bites on the porch even. You seem so utterly unfazed by the events of the past hour, like you haven't just had America's Greatest Superhero try to convince you to work with him. It's honestly insulting, this lack of reaction.

Then, finally, he can hear a distinct ping of a new email come from your laptop, and you sit down on the couch with a small huff. Your eyes move, your lips twitch, and then he hears your heart stop in your chest. As if working on autopilot, your hand travels up, covers your mouth in shock, and you lean back against the worn-down sofa, eyes glued to the screen illuminating your face in a blue-ish light.

-...fuck… - you whisper, and despite himself Homelander floats even closer to your window.

Finally, he has the chance to peak over the curtain. To sneak into the backstage of the award winning production of your defenses, and see what goes on in those bored eyes of yours, when they're not guarded. And what he sees makes his suit feel much too tight, his body too warm. Quite an unusual thing to get so worked up about, but he's the goddamned Homelander, he can get hard whenever he fucking wants. And so, as saliva gathers on his tongue, he presses himself against the tiles on your roof, all the warmth of the day soaking into his skin through the thick material of his suit.

With a shaky hand you reach over towards your phone, putting in a number and pressing the call button, before standing straight from the couch, almost knocking the laptop over.

-Hey, what's up? - someone says on the other end of the line, and Homelander tries to focus more on the words flowing from the receiver.

-Oh, you gotta sit down for that one - you warn with an anxious chuckle, taking the familiar place by the window.

With your free hand you reach up to open the window all the way. Then, Homelander sees your fingers slip between the pillows and pull out a rather beaten up pack of cigarettes.

Naughty, naughty, he thinks, watching you produce a lighter from that same hiding place.

-Alright, I'm sat like never before.

The voice sounds vaguely female, although the shitty quality of your phone makes it hard to decipher. Your lips pull back into a toothy grin, and you blow out the smoke through the window. It curls upwards and dissipates into the air, right above the roof, where Homelander swallows thickly around a coughing fit.

-You will not believe who visited me today…

-The ICE - the voice deadpans, and you snort around another huff of smoke.

-Pretty fucking close, let me tell you - he doesn't appreciate the joke, not at all - Fucking Homelander.

The line goes completely quiet for a moment, and with every second your grin seems to be growing.

-Deadass?

-Yup - your lips purse, and Homelander zeroes in on the expression - Flew in all Star's Spangled Glory with some Vaught big fish. They tried to convince me to join the Seven.

-And obviously you said yes, because what the fuck else do you do in that situation?

Your grin slowly fades away, and you lean your forehead on the window frame.

-You didn't?

-I didn't.

Again, it's quiet.

Homelander shifts a bit in his position, adjusting against the warmed up tiles of the roof, his X-ray vision bearing into you. Out of curiosity, he looks deeper, eyes floating over your insides. You're relatively healthy. Some vitamin deficiencies, but nothing too serious. And despite that nasty habit lodged between your fingers, your lungs are clear, at least for now. There's a softness to your body, your muscles barely visible, as if you're just another gray human. Oh, and there's a bit of an eyesight problem forming, not enough to warrant glasses, but that shouldn't take long, considering your lifestyle.

-The contract they gave me was really good, you know - you muse to the phone, your leg dangling from the windowsill - Six months of working under Homelander, a Sidekick kinda situation.

-I thought they scraped the Sidekick program - the person on the other side wonders - Too many casualties or something.

-Yeah, well I guess they want to bring it back.

-Why did you say no then? I'm sure they pay is gigantic.

Again, you smile. This one much more reserved, bordering on sad. There's that strange kind of exhaustion settling into your bones again, same one Homelander noticed when he first saw you. Your shoulders slump forward, and you curl into yourself between the cushions.

-It was, it was… - you mutter - But I needed something more, for the neighborhood, ya know?

Your caller hums softly in understanding, and Homelander feels like something is passing him by. Some unspoken fact, that you and your friend find obvious.

-And - you hesitate, eyes flickering towards the laptop, your heart beat picking up ever so slightly - They sent me a revised contract. And it's fucking good. Really fucking good. It could help this entire place get back on its feet.

-But you still don't want to - the voice says for you, without judgement.

-No - you sigh - I really, really don't.

-Say no then - your friend supplies, and once again Homelander feels a flame of annoyance start to burn within him - No one else knows about the contract, there will be no expectations.

Slowly, you nod your head, clearly relieved by the way your friend reacted to the news. Homelander however, caught you right where he needed you. That's your lever. Not seduction, not intimidation, just plain, stupidly human guilt.

-Thank you - you whisper into your phone, finally smiling again - Oh, wanna know one more thing?

-Obviously.

-Homelander's wearing a padded suit.

Something's stuck in his throat, as he reels back from his position. Before he can stop himself, his eyes begin to glow red, because how the fuck did you know?

-Okay, that's bullshit.

-Unless his shoulder dislocated in the middle of talking, then no, it's definitely not bullshit.

Your friend gives out a choked laugh, one which you mirror with your own. If Homelander wasn't so utterly flabbergasted by your (correct) observation, he would've stopped to appreciate the sound. As it stands, however, he pushes himself off your roof, a couple of broken pieces falling off of the tiles. And then he's up in the air, cutting through the winds, headed straight for the Tower, leaving you in the comfort of your insignificant, smelly home.

The contract is leaked before the sun is up.

You're awoken to thousands of news articles flooding your timeline, all listing the truly wonderful and selfless points in the fated email. With a white face, you read them all, the speculations, the theories, the angry comments about you being chosen without an actual casting, while all those up and coming supes are busting their asses in auditions.

Soon enough, you're visited by every neighbour possible, congratulating, thanking you. A barbecue is set in the street, as a way of celebration, and you want to throw your phone, and subsequently yourself into the nearest river.

Madelyn Stillwell sends you an email, scheduling a meeting at the Vaught Tower. No need for pleasantries at this point, you stare at the bare bones invitation. "We eagerly await the start of our partnership" looks back at you, mocking your resolve. And thus, the end of your life as you know it begins.

"Project Delinquent"

The words are printed in an ugly, corporate font, and they stare back at you, outlining the mold you're supposed to fit in, in such a perfect way, it actually, almost makes you retch. True, during high school you were quite the little rebel, but people grown and learn, and seeing your character be watered down to that simple word, does send a wave of nausea through your insides. Even if this is hell of your own making, even if you're ready to swallow it all down with a smile, there's a pang of humiliation stinging your heart.

The armchair in Stillwell's office is uncomfortably narrow. It barely has enough room to accommodate your hips, and you wonder if this design is intentional. There is a growing ache in your calves, as you sit so close to the edge, you can't fully relax into your position, balancing on your feet instead. The armrests dig into your sides, and the way the sun is shining through the gigantic windows of the office, is shaping this charade of a meeting into an overstimulating nightmare. Still, you endure. For all the wonderful benefits enclosed in your contract, the charity work Vaught is going to supply.

Or at least, that's what you keep telling yourself, stuck between the marketing department representatives and a literal Devil of a woman.

Madelyn Stillwell doesn't know what to make out of you. Your files were filled with all sorts of questionable activity, especially around the college area. It's honestly a miracle you've managed to get your degree, and attend all those silly little demonstrations at the same time. Your criminal record has been wiped clean, weeks before you even agreed to sign the contract, just in case any leaks would find their way into the media. Leaks that were not orchestrated by Madelyn, of course.

High school rebellion was almost too easily marketable, Madelyn decided to focus on that part of your life as much as possible, her vision slowly coming to fruition. All she needed, really, was cooperation. And while you seemed to be mostly receptive to her ideas, she needed to make sure Homelander was on his best behavior. Which, well… Could go sideways in the worst way imaginable, but Stillwell tried to have some faith in her best superhero.

The idea of releasing details of your contract to the public, was a stroke of genius, she did not expect from Homelander, and she made sure he was thoroughly rewarded. With him, it was always better to choose the hands-on approach, unfortunately. With you, however, ideals were the key. Whatever feeling of solidarity you harbored towards your neighborhood, provided a leverage relatively easy to control. Still, as Stillwell looked you over, crammed into her office in your, frankly, lousy attire, she couldn't help but be just a tad worried about your compliance.

-…And then - the marketer continues with a dramatic gasp - Homelander comes in. America's Greatest Hero, offers you a mentorship. And you…

You look up at the representative with a rather sour expression. They have to work on that too. Media training was crucial. You won't be able to sell anything, if you keep grimacing like that all the damned day.

-… Are starstruck - your mouth twitches - You strike up a deal, selfless. A rebel with a heart of gold. Finally, you can make some real change happen, so you push aside your anti-corporate values, to discover, that Vaught is so much more, than you could possibly imagine.

It's hard not to laugh, and you swallow thickly, biting your lip, as a middle-aged woman you don't recognize gets up from the couch, and makes her way to the wall opposite of your torture chair. There, tucked in a corner and hidden under a black cloth, stands a mannequin, roughly your size. With a flourish you find utterly out of place, the woman tugs at the cape, and as it falls to the floor, so does your stomach. You can't hold it in any longer. A rough snort of laughter rips out of your nose, and you cover your mouth instantly.

-That better be a laugh of delight - Ashley, a ginger menace, mutters under her breath, and Stillwell turns to you with a tight expression on her face.

-Something the matter?

-I mean - you take a deep, grounding breath, tying your amusement in the back of your throat - I knew it's going to be skimpy, but this is…

You look around the room, seeing various stages of corporate outrage, and then you lock eyes with Homelander. Stillwell insisted on his participation in the meeting, as the both of you are supposed to work closely together, and throughout the whole ordeal, he looked borderline ready to die of boredom. Now, however, his eyebrows lift in a curious manner, as he takes in the, to be completely honest, horrendous costume, and your full figure. Something dangerously close to disgust twists your features, as he shamelessly drags his eyes all over your body.

Who would've thought America's Sweetheart was a fucking creep?

Rolling your eyes, you get up from the cursed armchair, your knees cracking loudly. Crossing the room, you take a closer look at the clothing, or rather, lack there of. Torn fishnets, plaid tennis skirt, and a corset top, made out of some leather-like material. Truly, a fetishists wet dream. Your fingers sample the fabric of the skirt. Surprisingly stiff, it seems to beg for a wardrobe malfunction. With a frown pulling down your lips, you lift the material up, and as expected, find no safety shorts underneath.

Homelander watches you intently, as you inspect the costume. Just the thought of your soft body in this skimpy, corporate bastardization of a rock star, makes heat rise in the lower part of his stomach. With every disapproving pull of your, and don't quote him on that, perfect lips, he's more and more convinced this whole charade is just an early birthday present. He'll have to thank Stillwell. Or better not, because as soon as he throws her a sidelong glance, he discovers, she's already looking at him. With a rather tense expression at that.

He feigns innocence, almost raises his hands in mock defeat, but decides against it at the last second. You're still watching him, torn between inspecting the costume, and shooting disgruntled looks in his direction.

Then, as if pulled by some invisible force, your hand sneaks to the front of the corset, fingers closing over the full cup, where your breast will soon reside. You give the mock leather two squeezes, and a high-pitched laugh wheezes out of your lips. Homelander's head nearly snaps with how fast he turns to look at Stillwell, confusion clear on his face.

She's looking at you cautiously. He knows that expression all too well, he's seen it multiple times during their partnership. She's calculating, with bated breath, just how much of a problem you'll inevitably become. How to turn it around in the company's favor, how to steer you in the right direction, should the need arise.

But then, you clap your hands, still giggling quietly, and turn to the designer, who's been watching your reaction with a growing distaste.

-That's one hell of a push-up bra - you comment with a raised eyebrow - My tits will fly straight out of this, if I even think about moving my arms.

Now, that's something Homelander would love to see, and you note his leering face with an uncomfortable shift in your posture.

-Your physique has to be god-like. There's no shame in a little padding - the designer answers simply, and your eyes glimmer with amusement.

-Oh, I bet - your eyes float for just a second in Homelander's direction, and he wonders if lasering you down right now would be too harsh of a reaction.

The image had to be kept up, however, and he deflects your blatant provocation with a bright smile. Or rather, it would've been a bright smile, if his cheek didn't twitch in a way, that portrayed exactly how forced his pleasantries are.

-There will be a press conference, seven PM sharp, where you'll be introduced to the public - Ashley informs you, her eyes glued to her tablet - Homelander will give a welcoming speech, explain that you're a temporary member of The Seven. Then, you'll need to say a couple of words. We'll send you the talking points ASAP.

-Right… - you mutter, not particularly thrilled by the idea of public speaking.

Stillwell looks over her shoulder towards Homelander, giving him an expectant, raised eyebrow. Slowly, he moves from his spot by the window, hand extended in a greeting, teeth flashing in a smile. Your eyes involuntarily shift towards his rather sharp canines, and for the first time, since you've signed the contract, you truly feel uneasy. His eyes are almost unnaturally blue, a perfect, American shade, that glimmers just a tad too dangerously. There's no need for super senses, he can feel your nerves in the very air you breathe.

-Welcome to The Seven - his voice is smoother than you've ever heard before - Fireball.

Wait a god-damned minute.

Confusion covers all previous feelings, and to Homelander's growing annoyance, you leave him with his hand extended, in favor of turning towards Stillwell.

-That's not my name - you point out, and Madelyn nods her head in a practiced expression of understanding.

-Due to some copyright intricacies, we can't let you use Smirnoff - she explains.

You suck in a deep breath through your teeth, looking back towards the costume. A moment's hesitation, you close your eyes as you breathe out, and once again Homelander feels as if he's able to peak under a carnival mask you carefully placed upon yourself. He lifts it just enough, sees the way muscles on your neck twitch. Your jaw sets in a way, that is slowly becoming intoxicating, and then you turn back to him.

-I'm honored - your voice is hollow, locked far away in the column of your throat, and you don't have enough strength to even attempt a smile.

That's alright, he has enough charm for the both of you, his imposing stature pushing towards you, as his arm sneaks around your shoulders.

Fuck, you're warm. He can feel the heat of your skin seeping into his costume. There's a vaguely familiar smell clinging to your form, mixing with the scent of cigarette smoke. Jasmine flowers, he concludes, and absent-mindedly remembers a rather large bush growing in your backyard. He wonders, if you'd let him fuck you, if he showed up with a bouquet at your door. Women seemed to like those, and although you didn't strike him as the most romantic person, he's positive he could charm his way into your pants.

-I'll show you to your room, sweetheart - perhaps he's laying it on a bit heavy with the nickname.

He can hear Stillwell's heart jump, and he immediately knows, he's going to have to sit through a stern talk later today. You, on the other hand, wrench your head to the side, disgruntled with this new form of familiarity. Your entire body goes tense, and you try to wriggle yourself further away from him. On instinct, his fingers dig into your shoulder, a mockery of a friendly expression, and with just a small fragment of his true strength, he pushes you forward, out of Stillwell's office.

He can do whatever he wants, and Madelyn is getting awfully pushy with guarding you from him. You're just a temporary toy to satisfy the higher-ups. A six months worth of an experiment, that he's forced to be a part of. After your contract is up, Vaught won't care whether you live or die, and you bet your rather ample ass, he's going to exploit that to the fullest. Not only is it borderline insulting, to deny him life's simple pleasures, it's pathetic.

-Nervous about the press? - he asks in a light tone, his jaw clicking softly, when your slide out of his grasp as soon as the doors close.

The casualness of this question throws you in a bit of a loop, but with a couple of rapid blinks, you're back to normal, letting him lead you towards the elevator.

-Public speaking isn't my best asset - you mumble.

Homelander presses the call button of the elevator, then leans against the wall, watching you with a strange twinkle in his eye.

-Sounds like someone's not a people person - he notes, wiggling his finger at you in a manner that is confusingly playful.

-I am a people person - you defend yourself, albeit a bit awkwardly - Just… Not when there's a lot of people.

He laughs at that, a practiced, almost theatrical bark that's as fake as his hairdo. All you have the strength to do, is flash him half of a smile. Thankfully the elevator pings before any more small-talk is required, and you slip into the confined space, standing in the corner. His eyes roam freely all over your body, a shameless act that makes your guts twist, makes the already small space of the elevator even more stuffy. And then, he enters after you, pressing a button to the right floor, and taking a spot much too close to you, than what's necessary.

You suppose it's one of the things you'll have to get used to. This constant invasion of your personal space. Perhaps, if it were someone else, someone that wasn't as empty as you, those actions would've been more intimidating than annoying. Alas, as you watch his chest rise and fall in steady rythm, out of the corner of your eye, his actions remind you of a petulant, spoiled child, rather than America's Greatest Hero. "I can't play with this toy? And what if I do this?" For just a second you entertain the idea of gentle parenting Homelander, and the thought makes the corner of your mouth twitch.

-Something the matter? - he asks, tension sneaking into his friendly tone.

-Just happy to be here, sir - you answer, and he knows it's a blatant lie, another one of your snarky provocations.

Doesn't matter for now, there will be a time to teach you some manners.

The elevator arrives at the right floor, and you bolt out of your place as soon as the doors slip open. Homelander follows closely behind, before closing the distance in a couple of long steps. Then, he's in front of you, and you nearly collide with his form, as he suddenly comes to a stop, in front of a pair of large doors. "Fireball" is etched into a small plack, and you throw the offending piece of metal a withering glance.

-That's your stop, sweetheart - he comments, and once again, you grimace at the nickname - Take a look inside, I'm sure it will blow your socks right off.

Why is he talking to you like you're a fucking child all of a sudden, you'll never understand. The door clicks softly, as you open it, revealing your living space for the next six months. The sight chokes a laugh out of you, because truly, the ammount of "punk" memorabilia is staggering.

-Does cocaine addiction come with the package, or…?

He doesn't even react to your joke, and you don't blame him. For all his creepiness and fake interest, he doesn't strike you as the funniest person on earth. There are guitars hanging over a rather large bed, there's a pristine stop sign next to them, which you suppose is meant to look rebellious. The usage of leopard print is tacky at best, and you truly start to wonder if they even consulted someone out of the corporation to design the space. Most likely no, wouldn't want to waste resources on such a small project.

-Fireball - Homelander's voice is barely above a whisper, but it makes your heart jump all the same.

He's standing so closely behind you, you can feel the warmth of his breath at the back of your neck, but for some unnknown reason, you can't force yourself to move. Instead, you feel him take a deep breath trough his nose, his chest brushing against your back. Your eyes stay glued to a drum set, pushed against a gigantic window. Light reflects off of the cymbals, in your mind you're already playing it, far away from this nightmare of a superhero.

-I'll see you at the press conference - Homelander's hand clasps itself over your shoulder, squeezing a couple of times, as if testing the softness of your body - Don't even think about being late, young lady.

You don't know when he dissapears, as you stand there, frozen. One foot over the threshold of your room, breathing shallow and borderline panicked. It could've been seconds, could've been hours, until your head finally snaps to the side. He's not there anymore, you're alone in the corridor, and as you slam the door closed behind you, something you've only suspected before becomes abundantly clear.

There is something deeply wrong with Homelander.

#my writing #homelander x reader #homelander x you #plus size reader #the boys amazon #the boys x reader #homelander #the boys fanfiction #homelander fanfiction #do we have to have a talk about how liking a character doesn't equal endorsing their actions or are we good?#it'll get much darker later down the line but for now have this blurb of barely conscious writing

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morverenmaybewrites · 5 months ago

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The Pizza Delivery Girl's Survival Guide to Gotham City Update

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Newest chapter

AO3 Link

Summary:

People who lived outside of Gotham City would most often think of it in terms of its heroes and villains. About Batman and Robin, Joker and Harley Quinn.

People who actually live in Gotham City would only think of one thing: surviving.

Who cares about the people in costumes when your house has been bombed for the fifth time, or your wife has been taken hostage just because she worked in a bank?

Or, in your case, when you have to make regular deliveries to places where even Batman feared to tread?

Because let's face it. In a world full of superheroes and costumed villains, the real heroes are the ones who make sure that people get their pizzas in forty-five minutes or less.

Chapter Preview:

You paused on the bridge that hung high above the Burrow, and for the first time in your life, you felt a terror was so great that it made your throat close.

Gotham City had never looked so beautiful. From such a height, the burning neon lights looked like stars.

But above your head, the sky looked pitch black. It made you think of the bodies that would sometimes wash up on Gotham Bay’s shores, black and bloated with rot. It made you think of the shadows of inmates in the asylum, their voices like the skittering of insects, rising and falling as you passed them by.

It made you think of the night Timothy Young died, and you wondered that if, back then, there had been light enough that he saw the shadow of a monster fall over him.

You wondered if he had time to understand what was happening, before he started against the concrete below. And then decided decided that it didn’t matter: you would understand If Francine Langstrom came for you, you would know.

You would understand what was happening to you before you hit the ground.

Your skull splitting open, the pink-grey ropes of your brain scattering on the concrete. And the thousand pictures that follow. Your death turned into a spectacle and a profit.

Just like Tim Young’s.

The thought made you freeze. You were standing in front of one of the many wooden bridges that connected the rooftops of abandoned buildings. The Burrow’s infamous floating night market. Set up by dusk and torn down by dawn, only to rise up again the next night, the floating night market was one of the Burrow’s main attractions. A bustling collection of kiosks made out of cheap plywood and tarpaulin, it was said that you could find anything there, so long as you didn’t ask too many questions: cheap phones, likely stolen from someone off the street, fake licenses, a sample of Bane’s Venom for impatient bodybuilders. It was set high up in the air, amidst the rooftops of many abandoned buildings, connected by a series of rickety wooden bridges.

But now the rooftops were empty. The bridges were falling apart, its wooden planks dangling precariously from their ropes. The empty kiosks had been left to rot in the constant rain. You could even see some of the abandoned merchandise, left behind in people’s haste to pack up: an old, broken phone, children’s toys hanging forlornly on strings, obviously meant to be prizes in a game, now swelling with rainwater. Mold grew on their cotton bodies like new fur.

Timothy Young’s death had transformed the Burrows’ floating night market into a ghost town. The thought made you feel a little lonely, picking through the bones of a dead market, looking to find a monster.

Francine, The voice in your head sounded like Professor Langstrom’s. Her name is Francine Langstrom.

The buzz of static cut through your thoughts as cleanly as a falling blade. And then Jason’s voice was in your ear.

“Last chance to back out of this.”

His voice was rough, even taking into account the poor connection and the voice modulators he used. Maybe he was scared, too. The thought eased you somewhat, to know that you were not alone.

Even through the poor connection, you could hear the strain in his voice. You cast a glance at the direction where he was supposed to be, tried to look for even a hint of him: the faint glow of his helmet, the hulking figure of his silhouette. But you found no sign of him. Still, knowing that he was there made you feel better.

You raised a hand and hoped that he would not see the way your fingers trembled.

And waved.

Read more on AO3

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #dc x reader #jason todd #red hood #arkham knight #the pizza delivery girl's survival guide to gotham city

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writers-potion · 9 months ago

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Writing Group vs. Group & One vs. Many Fight Scenes

Group vs. Group

To win the readers' sympathies, make sure there are more (and stronger) bad guys than good guys.

Portray a strong "them versus us" mindset. Sometimes, this is a microcosm of a larger religious, social, racial conflict.

Visual clues are often used to emphasize the divide between the two groups: black coats versus white suits, jeans against shorts, etc. They'll have different weapons, use different languages or speech patterns.

Each group will have a leader who spearheads strategies and motivates the rest. This can be an established leader like the eldet sibling, the head girl of the school, etc. Or someone who has the respect of the others and takes charge spontaneously when the situation rises.

The Point of View

Group fights are easiest to write in omniscient PoV

Otherwise, choose a PoV character who is invovled in most action, and restrict yourself to their line of vision. You can take short breaks (like two seconds after he kills his immediate opponent) to account for how his comrads are doing.

One vs. Group

1 vs. many fights where the single person comes up triumphant are fun, but hardly plausible. The key is to provide an illusion of reality.

Keep the number of opponents realistic: three, not thirty.

He would be more highly trained/have special powers than all of his opponents.

He is positioned in such as way that all of his opponents come at him from only one direction (like having his back to a wall), or he stands in a higher terrains from where he can keep an eye on all of them.

She identifies the group's leader and takes him out first.

She creates a situation which forces the group to spread out, or hits when they are already dispersed rather than tightly knit together.

He uses a weapon which can take out several opponents at once. The most effective one for this would be a machine gun, or the hero holding two swords, one in each hand.

If you want the bad guys to come at the hero one by one, some ideas:

The hero has aken p position in a place where only one villain can squeeze through at one time

The attackers don't arrive simultaneously. They come running, and each attacks as soon as they reach the hero.

The gang has a code of honor which demands 1:1 fights.

The fight is an initiation requirment where the newbie must prove themselves in 1:1 combat with all of the established members.

Some tips:

If a hero with superior arms taking on many who are unarmed will make the readers see him as a butcher, and their sympathies will be lost for good.

If he take out too many opponents at once, the readers wouldn't feel like he has really put up a fight. If your hero has a superpower that allows him to do this, establish the boundaries of this power and push the hero to the limit.

If the novel has too many 1:many scenes, it will lose its dramatic effect, and worse, seem unrealistic as you move along.

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

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autumnslance · 6 months ago

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I really appreciate Gulool Ja Ja as a ruler, a father, and a hero in his own right. There were concerns about why the Scions, as outsiders, would be participating in a contest of succession, and everything we learn about Gulool Ja Ja's younger years, and his reasons for the Rite of Succession, neatly addresses that.

As a much younger man, Dad^2 traveled the lands of Tural with his own diverse group of comrades, from all races and walks of life. From Kettenramm as the foreigner, to Cahciua the long-lived Shetona wilderness expert, to Pelupelu and Yok Huy, to Hanu and Xbraal; especially given the animosity between some of those clans at that time.

And along the way, Gulool Ja Ja learned how much stronger they were together. Alone he is a formidable champion, but even Blessed Siblings can't do it all. He also learned about the diverse peoples and cultures of his homeland. It's not so far off from the Warrior of Light's journey; traveling with competent heroic companions as we adventured through the 3 Continents and lands beyond them for so long, loving people and places we found along the way.

But Gulool Ja Ja also became Dawnservant, and now as his years catch up to him, a new ruler must be found. And it's in the conversation after dueling the WoL that he bluntly states his reasoning, speaking to them as a peer:

Even this early in the contest, you must have realized…As potential rulers, all four claimants are lacking. This is why I elected to hold the rite of succession─not to choose a fitting candidate, but to cultivate one. And if no one has impressed me by the end of it, then to no one will I yield my throne. As a parent, I pray that my children rise to the occasion…With outsiders dragged into my game, I am also hopeful that the different perspectives you and your companions have to offer will inspire them to grow. I imagine you in particular have traveled many lands. Known many peoples and cultures─loved them and been loved in turn. Guide Lamaty'i as you think best. Walk at her side and, when needed, push her to walk ahead. Watch over her, champion. Koana's recruits are no less sharp─as one might expect of Galuf's countrymen. They saw the flaws in our claimants from the outset. The other two, though… They dismiss comrades willing to point out their shortcomings, and no good can come of it…

Emphasis mine.

We see this too, in the interludes to Team Second Promise, as Thancred and Urianger turn on their own Dad Skills and gently guide Koana toward his own realization: that innovation is all well and good, but so is taking into account the traditions and needs of his people. As he watches his sister's growth, and how the people love and trust her to respect their ways of life, to help them because it's the right thing to do.

And Wuk Lamat learns and grows, gaining confidence, learning when to rely on her comrades, how and when to face a challenge on her own. The Wuk Lamat after level 96 is a different woman than the girl we met in Sharlayan. She's not done growing and learning, not in so short a time, but the cultivation Gulool Ja Ja put in place succeeds in her and Koana--because they are willing to learn, and listen, and love.

The other two claimants, as Dad^2 noted, don't understand the reasons for the Rite, for the methods the electors choose, or what the Dawnservant is looking for. And they refuse to entertain perspectives that would attempt to point that out, surrounded by sycophants and cronies.

Bakool Ja Ja doesn't learn the same lessons, though he comes around; he was never shown kindness and understanding, never asked what HE wanted, until Wuk Lamat demands he say it out loud. His growth is a surprising one, and along a trajectory he could never have imagined.

And Zarool Ja...his arc is a negative one, and a tragedy of his own making. He works as an antagonist because his fall is entirely avoidable, but utterly inevitable. It didn't have to be this way, yet there's no other way it could go. He internalized all the pressure and potential, all the comparisons, until it ate him alive.

This is a story about the complicated politics and demands of leading countries, of there being no easy answer to peace even when you wish there was. But it's more a story about family, and legacy, and honoring the past while striving to build a better future.

The Warrior of Light sees their own story reflected in Gulool Ja Ja's history, and in the shaping of Wuk Lamat. To fulfill their love of adventure and exploration, but from a new perspective. And taking all that experience and skill and applying it in a slightly different way, though perhaps not so different from some previous side and job quests where we help others and introduce them to friends so they can continue to grow and help themselves after WoL's moved on.

Hydaelyn's brave little spark has long been a beacon of hope for others to follow. As inheritor to the Shepherd of the Stars, the WoL takes steps toward shaping their legacy, still an active participant, but also seeing how those other stars might shine, and like Gulool Ja Ja, finding that some of those stars need a nudge to find their own glowing potential.

#final fantasy xiv #dawntrail #7.0 #Gulool Ja Ja #Warrior of Light #Wuk Lamat #Koana #Bakool Ja Ja #Zarool Ja #character analysis #lore #thoughts #meta analysis

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pursuitseternal · 1 year ago

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“The Third Day” in “Antics of the Newly Ascended:” just sweet smut, rough smut, and Batstarion 🦇🔥

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader | E | 2K 🔥smut

Thank you @zyana-wyvern for the sexy staring screenshot 💞

Summary: A night spent drinking in the tavern below lands you back in your room, belly aching from the wine, other part of you aching for… him. Only you find yourself alone, alone except for a small presence that might just be watching you enjoying your alone time.

CW: female masturbation, fingering, fluffy bat forms, More Chin Scritching™️, getting folded in half and f*cked senseless.

First day | Second day | Ao3 link

🦇🔥🦇🔥🦇🔥🦇🔥🦇🔥🦇🔥🦇🔥🦇🔥🦇

Your head is swimming, your feet stumbling as you climb back up the stairs to your rooms at the Elfsong. You tug at your dress, breathing heavy, wine-laden pants as you poke your head into the common rooms. “Is he… hiccup… back yet?”

“His lordship?” Shadowheart rolls her eyes. “Yes, he’s… somewhere, though he was not quite so equally in his cups as you are, it seems.”

She crosses her arms and throws you that sharp look of judgment.

But your belly is too light with wine to really care. You wave, slurring a goodnight, heading back to your rooms. Of course, it had been a quiet night. One more night of drinking down in the tavern before another grueling day of fighting and gathering allies and being heroes. The wine had been sweet, not quite the same as before you were turned, but still good to your tongue. And now, you had a silly smile on your face and a warmth in your belly only he could satisfy. You push the door open to your private room, craving that tingle of his powerful presence. But you find it dark.

Empty.

But you can feel, sense him, close by. You most likely don’t have long to wait, you think to yourself, settling on the edge of the bed, starting to slink your gown from your shoulders. You shimmy it off, letting your skin finally breathe from under all that fine silk.

Your whole body thrums, just hunger and need. A drive to be sated and filled. Where could he be… you bite your lip, feeling your arousal only growing stronger with his scent in the room now. This must be what it is to be in heat for beasts, to have a need to be fucked only quenched with fulfillment. If only he was here…

Eyes closing, your hand brushes up your own thigh, body shaking as you slide yourself back into the bed. Hands wandering over your belly, your thighs, you let yourself explore this new form. It’s so similar, perhaps brawnier, lean and wiry just like him. To your own touch, your flesh isn’t cold, hard and defined, but not chilling or undead.

Yet, you are equally wet between your thighs at the thought of waiting for his return. What’s the harm, you wonder, letting a single finger reach between your folds to sweep that slick over your clit and rub.

Lighting races down your spine, your body shivers so hard, your fang bites your lower lip in its grasp.

You can smell him, feel his presence near. Close, but not close enough. Drawing near but still not with you. Not inside you. The thought alone makes you tremble more, imagining that slide of his cock inside you, filling you with the memory of its delicious drag and the ghost of its pressure.

A panting moan rises from between your grit fangs. What’s the harm… you’re alone after all.

Heat quickly wraps at the base of your spine, tremors rocking your insides slowly, fire flooding your belly.

So close, so close now. You chase your orgasm with reckless abandon, barely feeling the rush of beating air above you, hardly hearing the woosh of leather wings flapping near your face.

“My, my,” his voice caresses in your ear, right in your ear. Lips rubbing against its curves. “Who knew you had so much arousal within you tonight…”

You shudder at his voice, almost still from the sensation of just his breath, his sound.

“Oh, don’t you dare stop on my account, my treasure…” you feel him settle on the bed beside you, one arm reaching over your shoulders, as your eyes fly open to look into his face.

Hunger—unabashed, unsatisfied hunger incarnate.

“Where…?”

The question doesn’t leave your mouth, not when he softly claps a palm over it. “Ah, ah,” he chides you, “I would feel just awful if you didn’t finish what you started before I so rudely joined you…”

“Then politely join me, my love,” you whisper against his mind, an easy feat to do while he hangs over you, peering with those dark red eyes.

His lips slide into a deeper smirk, his other hand sweeps quickly to join yours, barely catching your fingers as his fingers dive deep between your walls.

You groan, muffled beneath his palm, your nose working extra to catch your breath. Your body thrums and throbs, his fingers pumping in and out, crooking to catch that spot inside you he alone knows of and worships.

It’s too great, the pressure and the pleasure, and then he slides a third finger inside you.

Crying, you shatter, tears of bliss seep from your eyes as they shut, closed tightly as ecstacy wracks your body. Wave after wave, your orgasm consumes you, his fingers still drawing inside, giving your cunt something wonderful to clench around.

At last, your eyes drift open, meeting his own glassy gaze of desire. He seems flushed, aroused. Eager. As if he has been watching and waiting for…

You look at the ceiling above the bed, catching sight of little scratching claw marks that weren’t there. Your mind recalls that soft beating flutter.

“Astarion,” you whisper, dragging his hand from your mouth first to hold it in your own clasp, “I could have sworn I felt you… smelled you… before you just appeared out of nowhere.”

“Ah,” he purrs, so pleased with himself in that single syllable, “you need a demonstration,” he grins, oozing pride. Before your eyes, a mist swirls as you feel him shrink above you. That bat replaces his form, flapping its wings and flipping in a circle a few times before landing on your belly.

You gasp at the contact. Fuzzy and scratching, little claws and softer spots of fur sending ripples of sensation through you.

Then another burst of mist, and he’s suddenly crushing you. Long legs already spread your knees apart, arms braced on either side of your head. His fangs flash in the dim light, so arrogant and proud of his abilities. “I thought I would give you a bit of a surprise tonight, once you returned. Little did I know my little love would be far too eager to wait for even her dearest little fluffy pet to materialize before getting right… into it.”

You raise a finger, sliding it down the ridge of his pointed ear. Its sensitivity instantly makes him shiver on top of you. Crimson eyes flutter shut, mouth pulled apart in pure arousal. But you keep that touch traveling down the cut of his jaw, drawing to a halt only to scritch under his chin.

You feel his cock twitch on your belly, increasingly more erratic and harder the longer you caress him there.

“I do rather like that, you know,” he offers gently. “Two-hundred years of being touched, and no one… no one touched me like that.”

“That’s because no one got the pleasure of petting the Vampire Ascendant in his remarkable transformed form before,” you grin, your fingers raising to continue their gentle scratches in his soft and unruly locks.

“Mmm I do like the sound of that, my treasure,” he purrs, leaning against your touch, eyes still closed to savor the sweet little caresses you make across his skin, through his hair. “Perhaps I could return the favor? Perhaps you have a little itch that needs… scratching?”

“Gods,” you mewl, bucking your hips for any more friction in your folds. He only chuckles as you do it again, your fingers clawing into the back of his neck. But he slides from your hold to grab your knees. His hands fold you into yourself, legs draping over his shoulder, opening yourself up wide and plentiful for his taking. A growl in his throat, Astarion sheathes himself inside you in one, quick and brutal thrust.

The noise you make bounces off that bat-scratched ceiling.

“Better?” he taunts above you, hands at the backs of your thighs as he slowly glides in and out. A rough beginning followed by a slow undulation as he takes you.

You can’t even lift your head, can’t catch a full breath with how he has you bent for his pleasure. But it feels so… divine. Every slick thrust squelches as he takes his time. You try to keep your gaze fixed into his, watching how he drinks in the sight of you, tongue licking his lip, muscles of his shoulder and chest clenching as he fights to keep control of himself.

You open your mouth, letting moan after moan pierce the wet-slapping quiet. You want to make him undone by your sounds alone. Holding nothing back, you make little noises of pleasure with each thrust, feeling that control slipping away as he slides into you faster. “So good,” you keen, his rolling hips now slamming into you. “I want more, my love…”

That… that snaps something inside him, nails biting into the soft flesh of your thighs, languorous thrusts turn to pummel after pummel that smack hard at the end of your channel.

You squirm, almost unsure if you can take it, but you can’t think either, hesitation quickly swallowed by the flashing heat of your climax. Your hands clench into the bedding, senseless noises rip from your throat, until you scream his name.

“Just as cute and ferocious, aren’t you?” he growls, pushing his cock through the clenching waves of your climax, his own thighs washed in the gush of your arousal. “Who’s… chittering… now, my pet?”

His words come out stilted, sputtered and forced between his gritted teeth as you feel him hitching. Hips bucking wildly and hard against your ass as he groans. Seed spurts inside you, leaking from your slit so packed with his cock. A few more thrusts and he stills, a slack jawed, satisfied smirk on his full lips. He grins so wide, you stare at his glinting fangs.

��Have I…” you pant, groaning as his hands ease your legs back down to the bedcovers, “…earned my own chin scratches?”

“Maybe…” he purrs back, sliding his body in the bed, pulling yours to fit snugly against his side. “There is a high standard of what warrants such a reward, I’m sure…”

“Not for you,” you tease, running a single finger along his jawline, tapping your fingertip on the prominent point of his nose.

“Yes, but I am Vampire Ascendant. We can’t be giving out my special reward to everyone, now can we?”

Your hand fists, slamming a punch into his shoulder that makes him feign a whine. “Oww,” he dramatically whimpers, his face suddenly twists into that look of feral, untamed lust. “Oh wait, as a mighty vampire lord now, I can also shrug off blows like they’re nothing, you should know that, my consort…”

You move with preternatural speed to climb on top of him, to grip both hands on his chest and smirk down at him. “I want my rewards,” you tease, letting your head wag to show off your chin.

He easily slips his arms from under your hold. Fingers claw around your neck, just enough grip to tighten your breath. He pulls you quick to his conceited grinning lips. Sucking your lips, those warm little licks of his mouth work his magic on your whole body. You feel it through the haze of need he stokes with his kiss, just the barest little tickles of his fingers under your chin.

It warms something inside you, that dexterous touch caressing that secret little soft spot under your chin. And then you feel his kiss sweep to the side of your neck, fangs grazing you with those little razor points. “One rewarding turn deserves another, wouldn’t you agree?” he purrs beneath your ear.

And you nod, the smallest permission taken to its fullest as he bites and drinks.

With one last stroke of his thumb under your chin to thank you.

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walmart-miku · 1 month ago

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Ok so a vast majority of us are familiar with the Gigantomachia arc in ORV but I took a classical myth class and obviously did my final project on ORV (bc it was to take a modern retelling of a greek myth and relate it to the original/classical myth version). But there are so many layers to Heracle’s involvement in Gigantomachia omg.

So in ORV, both the original myth of Gigantomachia and elements of Heracles’s myths are referenced during the Gigantomachia arc. The version of Gigantomachia in ORV most closely resembles Apollodorus's account from the 2nd century BCE. (This is also the Gigantomachia myth that my professor had my class examine)

For those unfamiliar with Apollodorus’s telling, Gaia, angered by Olympus’s victory over the Titans, enlists the help of Ouranos to birth the giants and exact revenge on the Olympians. The giants, invulnerable to the gods alone, wage war on Olympus. Gaia also tries to make the giants invulnerable to humans as well with a special herb but Zeus manages to get it before she can. Recognizing their limitations, the Olympians call upon Heracles, who deals the killing blow to the giants, securing Olympus's victory. (very similar to the version in the Percy Jackson Gods and Heroes book for those who know)

For Heracles, the way he’s portrayed in ORV deviates significantly from the original myth. In classic Greek mythology, Heracles is a demigod and son of Zeus. He commits some Greek crimes and has to do 10 labors for his evil asshole of a cousin that's also a king. However, in ORV, Heracles is not a real hero but a construct—a composite of stories curated by Olympus to create the ultimate soldier. Heracles is not a constellation or incarnation, but rather a tool made to be used in Gigantomachia. The decision to portray Heracles as a construct stems from the Greek mythological timeline. According to Greek myth, Heracles was born after Gigantomachia and therefore could not have realistically existed during the events of Gigantomachia; however, Heracles does appear in Gigantomachia. (In class we were told to disregard this discrepancy and chalk it up to it being myth and fiction.) However, ORV addresses myth like it is reality. Yoo Sangah asks about this inconsistency, which allows reader’s to clue into what Kim Dokja already knows (from having read WOS NOT because he has a background in greek myth like Yoo Sangah does)

Furthermore, in my class, we discussed how in classical myths, Zeus created Heracles to enforce xenia on Earth. Xenia is the ancient Greek concept of being good to strangers. It’s basically the “love thy neighbor” of Ancient Greece, only more extreme. (Can’t turn away strangers because what if it’s Zeus or a different god, etc.) In ORV, the creation of Heracles differs with “Zeus, the god of lightning, had sowed his seed in preparation for Gigantomachia. As always, the 'seed' here was a metaphor. Zeus feared the giants and collected miscellaneous hero stories from across the world.” (ORV Chapter 330: Ep. 62 - God's Enemy, III). Zeus takes these hero stories and fragments and turns them into Heracles. These fragments include the 12 tasks and come together to create the story that is Heracles. But even though the way Heracles has been created has changed, he is still made for the same purpose. And that is to be a weapon and tool for Zeus to use to enforce his ideals.

With how ORV reimagines Gigantomachia as a recurring scenario staged by Olympus to prevent the giants from rising again. Each repetition of the scenario ensures Olympus's victory, reinforcing their dominance and the story. Due to this fact, Olympus creates Heracles as a weapon and retells the story of their success as a way to manipulate the system. The gods perpetuate the Gigantomachia narrative not only as a tool for victory but as a fabricated story made from fragmented myths. By repeatedly telling this false version of Gigantomachia, Olympus solidifies its victory anecdote within the scenario, ensuring their triumph against the giants every time. According to Kim Dokja, "Once it becomes a story, it can be said to originally exist. Isn't it amazing?" (ORV Chapter 330: Ep. 62 - God's Enemy, III). In other words, ORV explains how a “false” tale can become a real story. This accounts for how traditional Greek mythology describes Olympus’s victory through the involvement of Hercules despite the clear timeline discrepancies, as seen in Apollodorus’s The Library of Greek Mythology, Book I, The revolt of the Giants, “The others [giants] were destroyed by Zeus, who struck them with thunderbolts; and all of them, in their death throes, were shot with arrows by Heracles.”

In addition, in older tellings of the world’s creation, Gigantomachia does not exist or is not written. For example, in The Theogony by Hesiod, Gigantomachia doesn’t exist. The Theogony was written before The Library of Greek Mythology, meaning that with how Heracles is a false story in ORV and was likely created for Gigantomachia then it makes sense for Gigantomachia to have been a story that became popular or well known later due to the effect of repeating Gigantomachia so that Olympus wins.

I don’t know, this is a really long ramble but I think it’s amazing how Shingshong can take classical greek myth and it’s inconsistencies to create a new and compelling story about Olympus. It’s the perfect blend of familiar well known myths with a well done twist to it from how the Star Stream functions. It’s also just super impressive to me how well thought out the whole Giganotmachia arc is since I would have never realized how much thought went into ORV’s version of Heracles if I hadn’t taken this college class.

#i swear taking this class was one of the best things ive done in college bc orv #but in all honesty #idk how many orv fans know this about the gigantomachia arc #bc i read a shit ton of percy jackson and had a bit of a greek myth phase but i never really realized or put together all of this until #i was in lecture and my prof was talking about heracles #god i love orv #orv #omniscient reader's viewpoint #kim dokja #yoo sangah #orv meta #also this is just a really shitty informal remake of my final project for the class lol #(i had to take out a bunch of context stuff that was in there for my prof)

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meme-archivist · 4 months ago

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It's been a long, long day.

Mikhail, drawing another pushvial of medicinal ichor from his knapsack, carefully considers it for a moment before putting it back. In peacetime such things are barely expensive, but in wartime when the governments buy all they can, each vial or ampoule is worth five times its weight.

'And it is wartime now, isn't it?' He draws the sanitized tools instead, still slightly warmed by the cleansing charms. Field medicine is... not pleasant, but the anodynes he's taken make it bearable. First, saline and a gentle prickling burning as it runs across the wound-

"-kh!"

-then, removing the dirt and debris that he can see.

"Nngh.." He does what he dares, and then puts away the tools, taking out the pushvial again. Gently, gently, a little line of beads in the cut, then press the wound together, apply pressure, all while placing another few drops of precious medicine along the edge. Cap it, return the tube to the pouch.

'Make it last. Might not even see any for a while.' The thought alone is more painful than the treatment.

Mikhail places a dressing over it, then a bandage over that. Pressure for twenty seconds...

"...Ser Mercenary?" Someone's voice intrudes into his thoughts, and he blinks, looking up.

A face of polished bronze tone, framed with dark hair and piercing gray eyes. A feminine frame, clad in nobleman's travel clothes with a suit of fine brigandine. It's... 'Damn, what was his name... Oh! Pavel Srelkan or sumn.'

"Master Pavel. Need somethin?"

The young man seems to hesitate for a second, before forging on. "Do you... resent, us?"

'What in the world brought this on? Somethin I said? Maybe I did somethin wrong? Shiiiiit...' He raises an eyebrow, and checks on his medical work. It'll heal over the next day, maybe. Two, at most. The mercenary nods to himself fractionally, and as he reclothes himself, considers his response...

"...Nah. I don't hatecha'll n your buddies..." Pausing fractionally, he adds, "...'s just the world 'bout to get real shitty."

"Then, why stay out here always?"

"You an' yours got eachother. I'd... just be an outsider." A half grin, and before Pavel can respond, he follows up. The contract doesn't make any cuts in his pay for mouthiness and it's not every day you get to poke a noble, even a shitty low one.

"You really got the leader guy of your group in your case." Almost instantly the nobleborn man colors.

"Well! Consider that to be the last time I show you so much concern!" A heel pivot turn, and he storms off in a huff. Mikhail chuckles, and moves onto the rest of his self-care.

Writing Prompt #2814

"Do you resent me?"

"I resent these circumstances. But I don't blame you for them."

#writing #an account of the rising hero

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the-broken-pen · 1 month ago

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Hey can you do one about a villain with teleporting powers

The hero woke up gasping, scrambling upright in bed as the back of their neck tingled in warning. Their eyes darted around the room, blurry, before settling on the far wall.

The villain watched them, idle and unimpressed.

The hero’s lungs, traitorously, forgot how to breathe. They wheezed slightly, one hand clenching onto the blanket, the other sliding underneath the pillow for their knife, where–

The villain hummed, and the hero’s attention snapped back to them at the same time they managed to draw in a painful, terror-addled breath. The villain’s gaze was unnerving as they flipped a knife over their knuckles.

The hero’s knife.

“You,” the hero managed, but they couldn’t think of anything to say, and they were so tired and their pulse was jackrabbiting in their ears.

The villain seemed to know this.

“I warned you,” they said. They didn’t even sound mean about it. Just a gentle reminder–hey, don’t forget to check the mail, hey, it’s your mom’s birthday, hey, can you feed the dog?

‘If you keep interfering, I will hunt you to the ends of the Earth and make you stop. There is nowhere I will not find you. Do you hear me? You cannot run from me, so don’t make me chase you.’

The hero swallowed.

“I didn’t think you would actually do it.”

The villain nodded like they had expected this. “You’ve learned from your mistakes, though, yeah?”

The hero knew the right answer. They knew that the proper response would be to slide off the bed onto their knees, to swear in every language they knew that they wouldn’t do it again. That the villain would be the only one allowed to splash blood onto the streets of their city, and the hero would choke on the pain of doing nothing and stay silent in it.

“You knew I wasn’t going to listen to you,” the hero said, and it was accusatory. The villain shifted slightly. “You had to have known I wouldn’t stop just because you threatened me.”

The villain shrugged one shoulder.

“Of course I did. If you were the type of person who would have stopped, I would have killed you instead of giving you a warning.”

The hero’s grip tightened on the blanket. “That doesn’t make sense. If I was going to stop then why kill me–”

“I don’t believe in weakness,” the villain interrupted. Their gaze was searching and heavy on the hero’s face, knife still spinning over their knuckles. “Which is why you’re alive, because you have never been weak.”

The hero’s jaw tensed.

“You wanted this.”

The hint of a smile pulled at the villain’s mouth.

“Of course I did. You think I didn’t know you would try and run? You think I didn’t know exactly how you would react the moment I threatened anyone in that cursed city?”

“So you weren’t actually going to kill anyone?”

“Oh, no,” the villain corrected. “Of course I was going to. They don’t matter to me.”

The hero’s stomach turned.

“Those are people–”

“They’re a drop in an ocean of humanity. You know better than to think I would care about something so trivial,” the villain said.

“They’re not trivial–”

The villain sighed, harsh in the darkness of the room.

“I bore of this. Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

The hero jolted back.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

The villain sighed again, as if they were dealing with an unruly child and getting a headache for their efforts. It sent the hero bristling like an angry cat.

“There’s nowhere you can go that I can’t find you. You know that, right? There is no end of the line for this. You can drive until you run out of gasoline, until your feet bleed, and you drain your accounts of money. And I will follow, and I will leave every person who helped you nothing more than a stain on the ground, until you decide the trail of bodies isn’t worth avoiding me. Is that really something you want?”

The hero set their jaw, rising to their feet.

“You won’t find me,” they swore. And the villain–

The villain laughed.

“I know your face. Of course I can find you.”

The hero was missing something, and the lack of knowledge felt like a sword over their head.

“I don’t–”

“There’s no way you would have known,” the villain said gently, like they knew how much it bothered the hero that they were missing something that was apparently vital.

They probably did know.

The hero glared.

The villain looked on the verge of another laugh.

“Once I’ve seen a face, I can find a person anywhere in the world. No matter how far. That’s all I need. You could go to the other side of the planet, and I could teleport to you without a second thought.”

The hero gaped.

“Any face?”

The villain paused. “Yes.”

The hero’s throat went abruptly dry.

Any face–

“You could do so much good,” the hero said, and their voice broke slightly. “Do you know how many people you could save? Natural disasters and missing persons cases and–”

“You misunderstand me.”

“You could–”

“I don’t want to do good.”

The hero stopped.

“You don’t want to do good,” they said flatly.

“I am not a good person,” the villain said. “I don’t want to do good. I want power, and I want to do as I please, and I want you.”

The hero was going to be sick on the wooden flooring. They were barefoot, and weaponless, and that fear still ran up their spine.

“I am a person. You cannot have a person.”

“You are a glorious, powerful being,” the villain countered.

“That doesn’t make me less of a person.”

“No,” the villain agreed. “But it does make you something other than trivial. How could I do anything other than want to have that?”

The hero backed up a step.

“You can’t have me.”

The villain matched them, silent even as they stepped forward.

“You plan to run?”

They sounded amused.

The hero supposed that was better than anger.

“Stay over there,” the hero said shakily. The villain obliged, settling their hands into their pockets. Like this was a means to an end. They had flipped to the back of the book and read the ending, and were watching the hero catch up to the scenes they had already seen played out. The villain’s eyes burned into them.

And abruptly, skin going cold, the hero realized there truly wasn’t a way out of this for them.

The villain would never let them be. They could run, like the villain said, and the villain could kill every person who so much as looked their way. They could hide, and stumble through cities and down alleys and the villain would always be around the corner.

They had little doubt that every other person in this shitty motel was already dead.

The villain grinned like they could read every thought as it crossed the hero’s face.

“Where will you go,” the villain said. They stepped forward until they were close enough to touch.

It wasn’t really the sort of question that wanted an answer.

“Everyone else in this building is dead, aren’t they?”

The villain cocked their head, as if to say, Come now, you know the answer to that.

The hero didn’t think they would ever be able to draw a full breath again.

“Where,” the villain said, soft like a secret. “Will you go, little hero?”

It felt like dying. It felt like reaching out to help someone a second too late. A second too slow to catch the building as it fell. The wrong side of a fire before it blew up.

“With you,” they whispered, and the villain smiled wider.

“What was that?”

“You heard me,” the hero snapped, and thrust their hand out. The villain took it without hesitation.

They tugged the hero into them, leaning to slot their mouth next to the hero’s ear. The hair on the back of the hero’s neck stood up.

“You could do so much bad,” the villain whispered, and the hero ground their teeth hard enough to hurt.

Anger flared bright enough to drain every ounce of fear from their body. Because this was the worst case scenario, wasn’t it? What could be lost.

“Every step you make, every blow you deal and fire you start, I’ll be there. And I'll stop you. Again, and again, and again. You want me?” The hero bared their teeth. “Then have me.”

The villain tugged them closer, and laughed.

“I look forward to it,” the villain replied, and then darkness swallowed the both of them whole.

A week later, a team of agents entered the motel to find it coated in blood and the smell of death.

A month later, everyone knew there was a fight of immovable power and unstoppable force shattering its way across the world.

A year later, the victor panted through a bloody grin, bruised and crackling with vicious unleashed power, and laughed. Because truly, the ending had been on the horizon since the moment the two of them had first met.

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wintergrofyuri · 23 days ago

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Opportunist/Broken?

NOW we're talking. lets break this down.

so opportunist is a bitch. i think every opportunist ship has to take this into account. hes not very open with his feelings, he hates vulnerability, he is not an honest person in the least.

i think, in the beginning, opp. would hate broken. or like. hate what he represents. broken and opportunist are both submission in a sense, but while opp. is doing it to stab you in the back, broken is 100% loyal. like. opp. still has his pride ykno. broken has 0 fucking backbone (until paranoid "wheres your fucking rage. rise rise rise"s him in apotheosis).

so like. this relationship is going to be a fucking rollercoaster.

post-construct, opportunist is definitely going to want to challenge hero for top dog (even tho hero is not technically a leader in any way and its literally just bc everyone loves him), but hes going to try to get ppl on his side first ykno. amass a following. stage a coup. broken is going to be his first target. unwavering loyalty from a zealot like broken would even the playing field a bit.

unfortunately opportunist is a dumbass and does not take into account the fact that yes, he Does have feelings and he is Not immune to growing attached. it doesnt help that this is his first genuine relationship like. ever. so now, instead of having broken on a leash, his fingers have tangled in it and hes being thrown around like a ragdoll.

i think theyd actually get along once you get down to it. opportunist could definitely help his 0 spine situation and broken could help him open up emotionally. would you believe me if i said i have not thought abt this ship b4.

#playing dolls #slay the princess #very catgirl/doggirl i think #everyone is watching this go down like a train wreck btw #stubborn and paranoid are like. waiting to see if they need to step in #but then nothing happens and theyre like 'oh my god. broken actually fucking did it wtf'#and para tells everyone abt it (i think hes a bit of a gossip) and ruins opportunist's reputation indefinitely #but at least stubborn isnt ready to break him in half over his knee at a moments notice anymore

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gonetoforks · 9 months ago

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Introducing; Yuichi Usagi-Cuddles!

There’s a slight typo in his basic character bio, (first, grey image) other than “yuich,” his family in America lives in the part of the hidden city under Jersey. He lives in Jersey. He’s a Jersian. So in terms of leosagi, it’s gonna be an enemies-to-lovers comedy-of-errors muahahahaha!!

More (a LOT more) info about him as his own guy under the cutoff :D ⬇️

Basically; He’s a silly guy! I feel like his kinda buffoonish, embarrassing personality in canon is simultaneously PERFECT for Rise’s writing style & grievously underrated in fanon depictions. So he’s this clownish type of character, haha.

Okay, time to go hyperfixation mode.

Adhd & his stubborn attitude;

He has ADHD! Executive function issues makes it hard for him to start tasks & manage himself, so he relies on his teams (the Mad Dogs when he’s training & the Rise equivalent to his canon friend group on his own time) to not only instruct him, but also hold him accountable & keep him on task. He’s body-doubling without even realizing it.

Although, he resents the things he does to accommodate his disability. He doesn’t notice that doing the things he does genuinely helps or why so he thinks he’s using them as a crutch because of incompetence. Every time he gets stubborn and ignores the things he needs to do, he crashes and burns. When he was new in town with no teacher & no friends who liked martial arts, he became a huge sad sack until the kraang invasion.

His character arc is about being able to rely on other people & accommodations. That relying on a bit more help than other people doesn’t make you incompetent, choosing to seek out the support you need so you can do your best is the true mature thing to do. I was inspired by canon Yuichi’s struggles with paying attention and Rise’s themes of cooperation. (& also my own experience with adhd and learning with executive function issues & junk)

Relationships w/ the turtles;

The Mad Dogs agree to let him like, intern with them? So he can see what it’s like to be a vigilante, they offer him advice and they occasionally go on low to mid-tier missions with his help. They take him on cause they think more heroes and allies out there, the less work they have to do haha. Also, one of the writers mentioned a season 3 would have them adjusting to being ~official heroes,~ I think this would be them trying to be “real.”

He’s closest friends with Mikey out of the whole group! (Adhd solidarity) Then it goes Donnie -> Raph -> and finally Leo (for now muahaha)

I tried to give Leosagi an interesting dynamic with constructing his character like this; They have similar insecurities from drawing self-worth from technical capabilities that they can develop past together, but Leo is clever and calculating about it vs Yuichi being rash and impulsive. So like smart x stupid but they’re the same actually.

His Family in Jersey;

He speaks english fluently because he’s visited his American family frequently his whole life, they’re very close. He has an accent though since he mainly speaks Japanese.

I haven’t fleshed out this concept enough, but I think members of his jersey/Cuddles half of the family would be spoofs of characters from the original yojimbo comics, implied to be reincarnations? Except Miyamoto ofc. (i’ll explain later..)

Reusing the ninja orphans plotline from the original show, his family utilizes their cute appearances to run an orphanage too. They wonder why this Chizu lady is constantly showing up with unhoused children, but they’re just grateful they’re safe now.

Everyone in his family HATES Mrs. Cuddles, they all think she’s in prison and are happy about it. She might’ve given him that scratch on his face.

Additional;

He is gay.

Thank you for your time.

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #artists on tumblr #rottmnt #leosagi #leoichi #tmnt #tmnt fanart #adhd #adhd character #rottmnt usagi #tmnt leonardo #rottmnt leo #gonetoforks’ art

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thevoidisscreamingbackatyou · 3 months ago

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leo & the martyr complex - a webweave

One More List of Beautiful Words-literaryvein-reblogs//Ghost of Chicago-Noah Floersch//Being Baby Blue-risestarkiss//Untitled #7-that-house//Achilles Come Down-Gang of Youths//Heroes-Emmy Curie//Kingdom’s Coming-Bauhaus//Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: The Movie

(psstt would recommend @my-soul-stays-silent 's webweaves on their various accounts FAR more- they got me intrigued by this art actually lmao)

#rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #rise of the turtles #rottmnt leonardo #rottmnt leo #webweave #webweaves #web weaves #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt leonardo #in my defense #ive never done a webweave before #this was done in a fit of agony at 11 PM on a sunday #anyways enjoy <3

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cherryshortycake · 11 months ago

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Bakugou x Reader (Your My Girl)

Request; the idea of a very very careful Izuku/Bakugo (maybe both) as a first timer with you and being oh so gentle and contemplating your beautiful features and just being soft boys))

SMUT: 18+ (Third Years)

On you and Bakugou's Third year at UA, been dating ever since middle of second year. The things you and this boy have went through together, to wars, fights, and challenges that were faced together.

You meant a lot to Bakugou, he'd be lying if he said he didn't.

Bakugou and You talked about sharing a moment like this together in the past, And to fully make sure you both are ready and if this is something you both wanted to do together for sure, Bakugou had bought protection awhile ago for you two when you were ready, 'first time was important and should be taken seriously right?' You thought to yourself. As you were over his dorm, thoughts were running wild.

You both were laying down on his bed, Him on his phone scrolling through the news up today and having random conversation with her. which he loved to do, her voice to him was medicine.

"Can't believe people actually believe in this horse crap." he said scrolling and a post in particular caught his eye. Some fan page accounts of random hero conspiracy theories.

"I can't either Katsu" She said brushing her hair on his bed, across from him.

"tsk" he shuts off his phone and puts it on the charger, "Did you bring your charger?" he said to her, knowing she was crashing at his dorm tonight.

You didn't answer him which made him turn around with curiosity and a raised eyebrow. He seen you brushing your hair and clearly distracted, looks like you were thinking hard. which led him to question her.

"Hey, Think any harder and your head will start smoking." The rasp in his voice caused your thought to break.

"oh sorry I'm just pretty out of it I guess." you chuckled nervously, getting up to put your brush in your purse that was laying on his desk. Bakugou filled you with his eyes still curious. Eyes looking you, up and down, noticing your wearing his black shirt, which was somewhat kinda baggy on you, with your bed shorts

"Hey Katsuki?" his eyes broke off of you to look at you again but at your eyes, when you turned around he responded "Hm.?"

He seen you fidgeting your feet and hands around. and grew his concern more "Hey, now tell me whats wrong you been acting strange-...." you interrupted him. "I Think I'm ready" you said shyly looking down at your hands.

His eyes somewhat widen, and you seen it. you walked up to him and stood in front of him, him sitting on the edge of his bed and you grabbed his cheek, "I'm ready Katsuki." you said rising his face up more to look at you.

"Are.....Are you sure?" he said grabbing your hand in his, softly rubbing his thumb on your palm.

"I've never been more sure." you said giving him a soft smile.

He looked down and his face looked red and steamy hot.

"together like we said one step at a time right? just like you said." you said climbing into bed behind him, rubbing his shoulders and whispering in his ear "I trust you Katsuki"

He shut his eyes in admiring your responds, you really did trust him.

"But I understand if you not ready Kats-..." he interrupted you by turning around fast and hovering over you, forearms holding his-self up. face to face with him, he leans down, forehand on your inner neck. "I'm ready too..." he said muffled in your neck.

"but I want you to know....I'm nervous..but again I trust you okay?' he looked up at you and nodded.

You softly nudged his chest up to get up and to sit on your knees in front of him. On his knees as well on the bed with you, face to face. You leaned forward to give a nice gentle kiss, slow and meaningful. until you broke off him to look down and to take the rim of his shirt off that you was wearing.

Which you weren't wearing anything underneath expect your shorts. You got shy and tried to cover your chest a little bit, Which you looked up at him and his eyes widen, Looks down at your bare chest, face grew redder.

Your hands tryed hiding yourself more, but Bakugou softly removed your hands from yourself. Him looking at you was making you more nervous, he's seeing you bared chested. you couldn't believe it, he couldn't believe it....

but you had pushed through it, you have to stay brave..

"Here.." you said grabbing his hands to hold your chest. You grew red, his warm hands was a different type of feeling of you.

you went redder at the fact he gave them a soft squeeze and let out a low rasp grunt. he were growing shocked, just as much as you. He then ran his hands slowly down you sides, causing you to jump slightly and caused you to grip his biceps.

he seen how red you were, "I'm...im sorry it..tickled." you said quietly laughing.

you seen his soft smile in return and let go of your sides to take off his tank top as well which he knew how much you loved him shirtless.

he then got off the bed facing you to remove his black sweatpants to reveal his dark gray boxers. You then laid on you back comfortably, looking his way. You then saw him open his nightstand drawer to grab out protection.

which he put it on the pillow above your head. and climbed in bed again hover over you, he then rubbed your cheek, and shared a slow passionate kiss with him, lips colliding, like you been needing each other forever.

Craving each other, grinding into each other, he unattached from your lips to kiss your neck softly, still grinding in to each other, a soft moan escaped your lips, which causes Bakugou to hold your legs harder, palms holding behind your knees.

he grabs the condom that was by you head and opens it slowly, he then was about to remove his boxers down to free his hard member under the clothing, which you stopped his hand, which removed It for him which causes him to flinch under your cold fingertips.

he then rolled the condom on, looking at you with soft hungry eyes. He hooked his fingers on your shorts and slowly pulled down, until completing off, he seen the wetness he created which was on your inner thighs as well "oh fuck" he whispered under his breathe, barley heard it. "katsuki...please.."

You begging and saying his name, just threw him over the edge.

He looked down at you, "you ready?" he said quietly. "mhm.." you said biting your lip.

"mm..god..you look...Fuck..." he said overwhelmed at your beauty. He ran his hand down your stomach to your wet folds, slid his fingers among your folds which caused you to moan which was more of a gasp.

He then slide inside you slowly, which caused you to grunt out in someone a stinging pain. "oh fuck....Shhh. I'm sorry shh..I can stop if its too much.."

"keep going...mm..." she said moaning softly, as slide all way in which cause him to grip the bed frame, "Fuck.....Y/n..."

As he slowly pumped in and out, which caused you to gasp at the pleasure.

As it got more carried away he pumps faster and faster which causes both of your skins to sweat.

"Katsuki..." you begged out.

"More Katsuki...Please"

causing him to go harder which he was hesitant too, cause he didn't want too hurt you. but he cant lie you felt amazing..

arching your back in pleasure, he puts his head in your neck and groans out, whimpers out that he's close.

"shit...mm.." is all he can make out before he feels you tighten around him which throws him over the edge and he releases, both in sync with pleasure which was an unbelievable feeling..

both panting out of breath, you look at each other and bust out in to a panting laughter.

after cleaning up and getting comfortable. he put your hair over your ear. kissed your forehead. "your my girl"...

Authors note: Hope enjoyed <3 Instagram: cherrygiggs, I'm going do a new follower private collectors giveaway! Pick from one of new followers!

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha #bakugou x you #mha bakugou #reqs open #mha x reader #my hero academia #bakugou smut

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