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substantial-exposure · 3 years ago

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𝘼𝙎 𝙄 𝙍𝙀𝙈𝙀𝙈𝘽𝙀𝙍 𝙄𝙏.

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ!

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ!!

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘ (ʏ/ɴ) ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴅʀᴜɴᴋᴇɴ ᴄᴇʟᴇʙʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴏᴠᴇʀ 4,000 ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ ᴀɢᴏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴇʀᴍꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛꜱ.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:ᴅʀᴜɪɢ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴇᴛᴇʀɴᴀʟ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1.7ᴋ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴀʟᴄᴏʜᴏʟ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ʟɪᴛᴇʀᴀʟʟʏ ɪᴛ

ᴀ/ɴ: ɪ ꜱᴀᴡ ᴇᴛᴇʀɴᴀʟꜱ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ʟᴀꜱᴛ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ꜱᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇꜰᴜʟʟʏ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ ʙᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴀɴɢꜱᴛʏ, ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰʏ, ᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ꜱᴛᴇᴀᴍʏ. ɪ'ʟʟ ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇ ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ-

After settling back into your room on the Domo you set down your prized possession gently into the drawer of your nightstand. By now it was the middle of the night and you had fully prepared yourself for your well earned rest. The day had been emotionally draining in every sense. From finding out that you apparently aren't real but also are, that you've lived through how many millennia, or that Deviants are well and alive, to the fact that they now are absorbing powers, or the fact that both Ajak and Gilgamesh had been killed by them. It was enough to have you wishing to crawl into bed and never come out. But that wasn't even all of it. During all this chaos and grief, Druig thought to confess. He thought that now was the perfect time.

You thought of your situation with Druig. Just how complicated it all seemed to be. It was unreal. He wanted you, after all this time. It made you feel better, knowing you weren't the only one still clinging on to your past romance. But the fear still remained. What if you had missed your chance? Things would never be the same like they were back then. That you were certain.

Of course you were starting to regret the show you pulled with him earlier but he needed to know. He needed to know he couldn't just walk all over you, he need to know that you won't just welcome him back with open arms after abandoning you. You did not wait on him, or anyone. That boundary needed to be set. And you were certain you had done that earlier.

Satisfied with your own thoughts you found yourself finally tiring down and falling into a sleep that swallowed you whole.

Your tired body finally succumbed to the rest it so desperately needed. But the dream that came with it was needed even more. It was nothing special. Atleast not at first. It started out like any night would have gone almost 4,000 years ago.

Ajak was alive, Gilgamesh was still alive. Everyone was happy. And most importantly everyone was together. It was a dream come true. Everyone was hanging around in some pub and having a merry old time.

You took your place in your dream. Just outside the main building you stood with Sersi and Druig before a massive bonfire.

This wasn't any random night. You remembered this specific night very well. Some nights you wished to forget it entirely. It would of made things easier.

It was like you were dreaming through one of your fondest memories. One you grew tried of trying to forget, always trying to avoid the heartache it caused. You laughed at something Sersi said and raised your mug of mead to your lips. Then you caught a glimpse. It was a moment seared into your head for years to come. One you still hadn't forgotten.

But it was nothing compared to seeing it again like this. The smile that covered Druigs face as he watched you, like he just couldn't hold it back. That was the part that made your heart ache. The way he looked at you, it was like you'd hung every star in the sky. He was in awe.

Your mind vaguely recalled how Ikaris had removed Sersi from the conversation but you hadn't cared much about that. Your attention was still on Druig. And in your dream state you'd nearly forgotten anything that wasn't him.

He stepped closer to you and brought his thumb to your chin. He looked down laughing and then back to your eyes as he wiped a drop of the mead that slipped past your lips.

Your eyes lingered with his and you would of sworn you stopped breathing. He seemed so close and so approachable. His hand came down to cup your jaw in his hand, his thumb grazing your cheek. Just from glances alone you could gather that both of you were heavily intoxicated after the days battles.

He was still clad in his armor and oh did it agree with him. He shifted closer. Druig was near inches from your face, you could smell the alcohol on his breath. His eyes glimpsed down to your lips and before you could stop yourself you had both crashed your lips together.

The kiss lasted longer than either of you expected. The hand that once held your cheek was now placed along your waist pulling you closer. The show of strength sent butterflies throughout your stomach. There was barely any space between the pair of you. You wouldn't have changed it for the world.

You pulled back and Druig gave you what could of possibly been the drunkest grin you'd ever seen. His accent came out thick as he spoke to you happily "you know I've always wanted to do that" He slurred and took another sip of his drink. With one of his hands around your waist keeping a tight hold on you and the other around his mug, he could of died happy. He had everything he could ever want.He pulled you against him, near inches apart. Somehow this felt more intimate then anything you'd ever experienced.

"Really?" you questioned. The grin across your face seemed to match his perfectly. You watched his eyes squint as he shook his head. He looked so perfect. If you could of held onto that night forever you would have.

The moment seemed to drift and fade. Like you were ripped from your perfect memory you'd kept so neatly intact. As all good things do, your dream came to an end. You felt like it was fading and fleeting. Watching that smile fade out and blur into the darkness of your room.

And just like that your eyes opened.

You felt uneasy as you woke, feeling like somehow your dreams of memories would be known if you were too loud. However the only way for someone to find out would be if Druig himself were to possess your mind. Your feet hit the cold floor as you made your way to to your dresser.

Fuck. Did you even have any clothes left in here? You stared at the old rags left behind from thousands of years ago. Now listen, you did appreciate older clothes but not that much older. While they held a nostalgia they just didn't seem to work for you anymore. Back at your palace you'd had clothing and technology from every era that came. You just preferred your style. But you didn't have access to that anymore.

You furrowed your brow in thought and swiped your hands over the garments, a yellow mist seemed to pool from your finger tips. After watching them change into something a bit more modern, you picked each piece up and studied it. It would have to do until you could force Sersi or Makkari to accompany you shopping.

The jeans you wore were strategically ripped along in some parts, just for the aesthetic. The top you wore was revealing enough and showing a fair amount of cleavage, but it did nothing that your corsets didn't accentuate normally. Dare you say it, you looked good.

Finally you left your room, ready to face the other Eternals and plan to stop the end of the world. You smiled as you walked down the halls. Maybe your dream had more of an effect on your attitude then you had thought.

The thought of seeing Druig in the main room didn't make you nearly as angry as it would of yesterday. But you knew you'd figure this out. After all, you hadn't put that much work into things to leave empty handed. Maybe it would take some time and some work but you'd get there.

You stepped into Phastos' lab, which had been declared the main hangout room by the first hundred years on earth. It was a subconscious thing at this point.

Makkari was sitting on the table and signing something to Kingo, you tried to squint and see what they were saying but you couldn't make it out from the distance. You had barely made it to the door frame.

Phastos was already back to work with a thin layer of sweat on his brow. You hadn't known but he'd been up for three hours already.

"Good morning everyone" you said announcing your presence to be greeted with smiles. Oh how you'd missed them so.

"Morning (y/n)" Kingo said raising his hand in acknowledgment.

Makkari signed to you, and this time you could actually see what she was signing. 'Good morning!' By her expression you could tell just how chipper she was. The energy that radiated in that room made your heart swell.

Then there was a loud voice down the hall.

Druig.

"Alright I'm back" his voice called down the hallway. He walked straight into the room, arms filled with a large brown paper bag and two grocery bags. He called out again. "I got bagels-" he stopped right beside Makkari at the table and began to set up everything he had brought. He turned to face Phastos and then he saw you standing only a few feet behind him.

"Phastos, I brought you your coffee by the way." He muttered. Druig looked down and then back to you. He started pulling out drinks for everyone. He pulled out a bottle of green tea for Makkari, some iced coffee for Kingo, and a simple bottle of water for himself. His bag was still full of drinks, no doubt for the others.

Druig pulled out a bottle and walked towards you. "Now it's not as good as the ones you used to make back in the day... I mean it's all sugar but I thought you'd like it" he said handing over the bottle to you.

You squinted and looked to his hand, more importantly to what he was holding. It was a bottle of apple juice. You found yourself laughing and he shifted back slightly. He didn't know why you were laughing at him. It had been quite the talent of yours back then.

"What's so funny?" He asked looking away from your eyes awkwardly.

"Nothing!" You felt yourself blushing in your own embarrassment. "I'm sorry, that was sweet of you." You apologized and took the bottle from his hand. "Thank you"

"Of course my lady" he smiled and backed away back towards the table to set up the breakfast he'd picked up for everyone.

You watched him set up everything perfectly. It was sweet, domestic even. Watching him, it reminded you of the days he'd surprised everyone with breakfast all those years ago. Sure Druig was always eating or munching on something but he made sure all you were taken care of too.

He hadn't changed. And knowing that helped you feel a little more secure in the few days that were set to come.

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ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ!!!

@halsmultibitch @ginger-swag-rapunzel @misselsbells06 @thomaslefteyebrow @tompetersebbuckyhazleo @sweetxpeaches @bittergomez

#Eternals #marvel eternals #Druig #druig x reader #druig angst #druig fluff #druig fic

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wutheringmights · 3 years ago

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[anonymous ask that reads: “can we get some commentary on the latest chapter? because i got to know wtf you were thinking during all that /j”]

I forgot that there is a word limit on asks, so I have moved this response over to an original post. Ain’t that just the way?

Also this contains massive spoilers so, like, read the chapter first if you can.

This is one of those chapters where I severely under estimate the work that would need to go into the flashback as well as how differently my ideas would be once on paper

I knew that Spirit would try to leave, only to be blackmailed into staying. How those events would go down changed a lot in the chapters leading up to this one

My initial idea was that Warriors would realize suddenly that Spirit had left, then would easily track him down before anyone could realize what happened

Another idea was that Spirit had no plans to runaway, but Warriors's paranoia grew so bad that he was convinced Spirit was trying to

I ended up splitting the difference where Spirit was trying to leave, but Warriors's paranoia made him react terribly to it

Speaking of which, my favorite scene from the flashback is the paragraph about Spirit's first attempt to leave, where he found a town before changing his mind. I spent more time than you would think tailoring every word in that small scene to perfection. It really makes me wish that portions of the past were written from Spirit's perspective, just so that the weight of that scene could hit fully

My second favorite scene was Mask's breakdown. I have been trying to build up this idea of Mask both having abandonment issues as well as having lingering emotional issues that makes it hard for him to deal with any kind of problem he can't put a sword to

Which then got to play into Spirit having an emotional connection with Mask, which would give Warriors the perfect way to blackmail Spirit. Words cannot express how satisfying it was to have all these plot points fall perfectly into place for me

The underground spring is a homage to those underground battle areas in Twilight Princess. It felt quirky and fantastical enough to belong in any version of Hyrule

Ok so Warriors's and Spirit's argument, consequential fight, then blackmailing was really hard for me to write. They pushed my abilities as a writer, as I had to check every piece of Warriors's dialogue against what I know about manipulators and abusers

It was also really hard to write emotionally. Generally, I enjoy writing terrible people doing terrible things, but it pushes me as much as it pushes you. Scenes like these are so hard for me that they border of torturous. Luckily, I know where I am going with this, so it feels worthwhile to me

The flashback was supposed to go until Warriors and Spirit got back to the camp. I cut it short because a) I was running out of space in the chapter and b) I couldn't decide if Warriors would leave Spirit tied up overnight. So this is a problem for future Frankie to figure out

Okay, present day stuff

Everything up until after Lincoln leaves with the letter was supposed to be in the previous chapter, but I had ran out of space

I've seen the headcanon that the Twilt share a common ancestor with the Gerudo before, and I just had to include it here

Vasileios Nephus will one day actually appear in this story, but you're all going to have to wait a while. He's.... interesting....

Time was almost included in the Gerudo Town group, but I left him behind expressly because he hates Ganondorf too much and would derail the plot from what I needed that expedition to cover

The constraints of the story only being from Warriors's perspective also really shows itself here, as covering what everyone who stayed behind at the citadel did would have been really interesting to write. But instead, we have to settle with second-hand accounts

My notes just had that Sky interfered with the duel, and for the life of me, I couldn't remember if I always wanted him to be acting on his own or if Warriors had ordered him to do so. I ended up going with the former as Sky has a history in this story of going off script and Warriors was not in the position where he would feel comfortable sacrificing Sky like that

If I had gone with Warriors ordering Sky to intervene, there was going to be two really important moments

The first one I can't tell you because it's a spoiler

The second was that Warriors was going to give Sky his gloves to wear to protect his hands from the Master Sword’s fires, which would have cued a few people into realizing that this was planned

I almost had Linkle waiting in Warriors’s apartment for him, which would have been funny but gotten in the way of what I needed them to talk about

There is a really important realization Warriors is about to have about Lincoln’s plan that I couldn’t include in the chapter due to pacing. But there is one glaring clue as to what it is, so you can probably guess what it is

The chapter was supposed to end at the end of this current argument about Orlanda, but I had to cut it short due to space. This is increasingly becoming a trend, which is a concern when chapters are over 20k words long

Next chapter is the last installment for Act 3, which is very exciting because Act 4 is probably going to be my favorite, mostly because it ends with the chapter I wrote this entire story for

#god this got long #lu ctb #ask #anonymous #me rambling #linked universe #linkeduniverse

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furblrwurblr · 4 years ago

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Breaching Borders

Amaya x Sunfire GN Reader, sword lesbians? Idk it aint angst it aint fluff but it has a smidge of humor, if you don’t get the punny title after reading i’m coming to your home and killing u

Warnings: Kissing o0o0o, little bit of tongue ig lmfao? Some swears I believe, no blood even tho it’s literally just a sword fight

Note: If you don’t have like. hella cocky moments this fic is not for you, I’m feeling good and therefore egotistical asf enjoy reader being an emotionally charged cocky ripcord, only 1562 words

Taglist: @malibix @thequeenofworms @kokocreations @yagirlcheesely

You looked to your fellow legion commander, Janai. She tensely nodded, and you pushed the poor, nervous Katolan soldier down the passage to meet with the investigative party from across the border. As he stumbled out his explanation for the late signal, Janai motioned for the archer ahead of you to prepare the shot. The majority of the human group turned away, chuckling at the hostage soldier's "incompetence". He'd been on-cue, but your blade was too fierce and his fear too great to complete his task.

One of the humans lagged, causing your lip to twitch in irritation. Couldn't they just leave? All you wanted at that moment was to seal their passage to Xadia, not chase them down.

The archer loosed the arrow and the remaining soldier rolled in front of the hostage, the projectile hitting her shield with a harmless tink!

As the soldiers filed through the passage in retreat, your forces advanced. Those by the door cut off the party's escape, herding them back into the outpost. Sunfire archers emerged from the shadows, and with the humans cornered, you emerged. Walking side by side with Janai, you both drew your sizzling blades in tandem. Your partner pinned their leader with a hardened stare while you bared your teeth in an antagonistic grin.

Janai raised her sword, and everything began at once. Her walk was deadly serious, stance only relaxing to glare at you in amused disappointment as you strode leisurely into the fray. Back-to-back with Janai, the pair of you took down a small group of humans. You rushed forward, seeing their general brush aside one of your soldiers.

"This should be good," you thought with a smile.

The general turned to you, hardened expression slipping to mild surprise as you cleaved her sword in half. She froze for a moment, registering the clang of half her goddamn weapon hitting the stone floor.

"Oops!" you exclaimed, smile widening to display your sharp canines. She pursed her lips and furrowed her brow, charging forward. You dodged and swung at her in one fluid motion, but she sidestepped the blow.

She evaded attack after attack until you delivered a swift kick to her shield to kick her into the Breach wall with a loud ruckus of metal scraping stone as she slumped to the ground, winded. She rose, distracted, but ducked in time to evade your charge. The human rolled under your arm, making her way up some nearby crates and climbing up the slopes on either side of the room. You followed, not missing how quickly she disposed of a Sunfire archer with her shield.

"I'll have to give that one some extra training," you pouted to yourself.

When you'd gotten stable on the slope, the general slid her shield onto her back. A confused look from you prompted her to raise her fists in a defensive pose. With a smirk, she outstretched one hand to make a 'come hither' motion as a challenge. You mirrored her expression, more than impressed by the human's boldness.

Both of you charged simultaneously, meeting in a flurry of strikes and swings. Her fists met your armor as you two whirled around one another. Your armor clashed against itself when she struck you, almost making it sound like a real sword fight to your elven ears. Swordplay was something you relished, but you could certainly get used to an agile opponent managing to land a few strikes all while dodging every deadly arc your blade made.

With the clang of your sword on her armor, she stepped back to examine the quickly-cooling metal, now with a large gash from your enchanted sword. You grinned once more, mimicking the human's challenge from earlier. She rushed you once again, but this time you feinted and sidestepped, catching her by the leather strap across her torso.

Time slowed. Your pupils blew a bit watching sweat drip from her cheek, over her throat, and disappear into her armor. Without much thought, you pulled her in for a searing kiss. Her furrowed brow relaxed, her mouth meeting yours without protest. Your lips moved with hers for a moment. She drew back to quickly breathe the stuffy outpost air, her breath hotter on your skin than the lava below, before chasing your lips. Reluctantly, you withdrew, hand on her leather flipping to press against her armor. You watched her remember where she was and what she was doing with a satisfied smile on your face before pushing her. Hard.

She fell onto the massive gear, saved from the fiery depths by one of its teeth. You leaped onto the piece of machinery in pursuit but a foot slipped. Digging your sword into the metal to balance yourself wasn't the best idea, the human had righted herself and grabbed the hilt of your weapon before you had the chance to remove it.

Growing tired of her games, you took an impulsive swing. She dodged it easily and answered your next blow with a swift kick. You went to shield yourself, then watched in dismay as her well-placed blow sent your sword soaring through the air, embedding itself in the ceiling.

She looked down at you in satisfaction from her position atop the moving gear. Climbing up the gear's large teeth, your skin began to morph. Poor human, thinking she had the advantage while standing above a river of lava. Your flesh darkened and split, veins of fiery power revealing themselves. That wasn't the only change though. A feral growl left your throat, your vocal cords thrumming with primal fire, making your voice dual-toned.

"That'll be hell to get down!" you roared, drunk on her fearful expression. You leaped and slammed into her. She fell to the ground, her stored shield protecting her from the impact. With a quick roll to her feet and a well-timed dodge, she narrowly avoided your scalding fist. It swung right past her and into the wall, but the large crack in the human stonework didn't phase you. Chasing her down the narrow pass between the gear and the wall didn't pose much of a challenge. She stumbled and fell at your feet, but in your blind, fire-fueled rage, you missed her again and again until your fist slammed into the looming gear. Your powers failed you then, the heat causing your fist to embed itself in the turning machinery. She rolled upright once more, between you and the hot metal. With a mischievous glint in her eye, she leaned and pecked your lips, catching your bottom lip as she drew back. However, before she parted from you fully, her tongue skimmed a crack in your lip, tasting the liquid power running through you. You faltered, eyes clearing for a moment. Sure, you were pissed about being bested by a human, but you couldn’t help but recognize how the smallest flick of her tongue brought you out of a blind fury. She fled, but looked back at you for a moment. With a sincere smile, you nodded at her, an acknowledgement that she was a worthy opponent and that you’d be seeing her again. She snorted a laugh when your lips quickly turned down in a pout as you tried to free your hand.

The human woman barreled through a few troops, their swords falling to the ground. Damn it, you’d forgotten about your own sword, being it was as far from the ground as possible. How were you going to get that down? You were quickly snapped from your thoughts when the gear’s turning caused more strain on your wrist.

“Janai! Help me get this damn thing loose!” you yelled, still angry enough for your Sunfire form to be engaged.

Your partner calmly strolled over a little bridge above the lava, letting out a chuckle at your position. Being you had ligaments you preferred to keep intact, you’d braced your legs on the gear and were now turning with it, slowly.

“Hmm, this ‘damn thing’, you speak of, would it be the gear? Or yourself?” she teased, brows cocked in delight.

With a huff, you rolled your eyes. “Just help me, wise one. I need to be intact if I’m to face that human again,” you pleaded.

Janai’s expression shifted from smug to interested as she pulled your fist from the metal. “Even after your crushing defeat?” she asked in disbelief, almost unheard over the clang of your metal hitting the stone floor.

“Oof!” you huffed, the impact winding you a bit. You leaned back onto your hands, looking at your sword still stuck fast in the ceiling. “Hah! I’m surprised too. But believe it or not, I am nowhere near crushed. I am intrigued, she does something to me.”

“If you think I did not see that little stint you pulled on the ledge, you are wrong. Don’t go getting involved with a human-”

“Tch! I’m not getting involved. No matter, we must regroup and tell your sister of this stronghold.”

“I am not convinced, but very well. I will not press. I shall gather our troops, meet us outside when you finally get your sword. Have fun!” she grinned, the party following her with scattered laughter.

You threw a rock at her and sighed fondly, glad you had a friend like her.

Now how the hell were you going to get that sword down?

#general amaya #general amaya x reader #janai #the dragon prince #the Breach #idfk #xadia #wtf do i tag this #sword gays #fp8sudfiosdjfsuidjfksdklf #tdp #tdp x reader #furblewrites

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paenling · 4 years ago

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no ones saying you cant enjoy daniil? people like him as a character but mostly Because he’s an asshole and he’s interesting. the racism and themes of colonization in patho are so blatant

nobody said “by order of Law you are forbidden from enjoying daniil dankovsky in any capacity”, but they did say “if you like daniil dankovsky you are abnormal, problematic, and you should be ashamed of yourself”, so i’d call that an implicit discouragement at the least. not very kind.

regardless, he is a very interesting asshole and we love to make fun of him! but i do not plan to stop seeing his character in an empathetic light when appropriate to do so. we’re all terribly human.

regarding “the racism and themes of colonization in patho”, we’ve gotta have a sit-down for this one because it’s long and difficult. tl;dr here.

i’ve written myself all back and forth and in every direction trying to properly pin down the way i feel about this in a way that is both logically coherent and emotionally honest, but it’s not really working. i debated even responding at all, but i do feel like there are some things worth saying so i’m just going to write a bunch of words, pick a god, and pray it makes some modicum of sense.

the short version: pathologic 2 is a flawed masterwork which i love deeply, but its attempts to be esoteric and challenging have in some ways backfired when it comes to topical discussions such as those surrounding race, which the first game didn’t give its due diligence, and the second game attempted with incomplete success despite its best efforts.

the issue is that when you have a game that is so niche and has these “elevated themes” and draws from all this kind of academic highbrow source material -- the fandom is small, but the fandom consists of people who want to analyze, pathologize, and dissect things as much as possible. so let’s do that.

first: what exactly is racist or colonialist in pathologic? i’m legitimately asking. people at home: by what mechanism does pathologic-the-game inflict racist harm on real people? the fact that the Kin are aesthetically and linguistically inspired by the real-world Buryat people (& adjacent groups) is a potential red flag, but as far as i can tell there’s never any value judgement made about either the fictionalized Kin or the real-world Buryat. the fictional culture is esoteric to the player -- intended to be that way, in fact -- but that’s not an inherently bad thing. it’s a closed practice and they’re minding their business.

does it run the risk of being insensitive with sufficiently aggressive readings? absolutely, but i don’t think that’s racist by itself. they’re just portrayed as a society of human beings (and some magical ones, if you like) that has flaws and incongruences just as the Town does. it’s not idealizing or infantilizing these people, but by no means does it go out of its way to villainize them either. there is no malice in this depiction of the Kin.

is it the fact that characters within both pathologic 1 & 2 are racist? that the player can choose to say racist things when inhabiting those characters? no, because pathologic-the-game doesn’t endorse those things. they’re throwaway characterization lines for assholes. acknowledging that racism exists does not make a media racist. see more here.

however, i find it’s very important to take a moment and divorce the racial discussions in a game like pathologic 2 from the very specific experiences of irl western (particularly american) racism. it’s understandable for such a large chunk of the english-speaking audience to read it that way; it makes sense, but that doesn’t mean it’s correct. although it acknowledges the relevant history to some extent, on account of being set in 1915, pathologic 2 is not intended to be a commentary about race, and especially not current events, and especially especially not current events in america. it’s therefore unfair, in my opinion, to attempt to diagnose it with any concrete ideology or apply its messages to an american racial paradigm.

it definitely still deals with race, but it always, to me, seemed to come back around the exploitation of race as an ultimately arbitrary division of human beings, and the story always strove to be about human beings far more than it was ever about race. does it approach this topic perfectly? no, but it’s clearly making an effort. should we be aware of where it fails to do right by the topic? yes, definitely, but we should also be charitable in our interpretations of what the writers were actually aiming for, rather than reactionarily deeming them unacceptable and leaving it at that. do we really think the writers for pathologic 2 sat down and said “we’re going to go out of our way to be horrible racists today”? i don’t.

IPL’s writing team is a talented lot, and dybowski as lead writer has the kinds of big ideas that elevate a game to a work of art, particularly because he’s not afraid to get personal. on that front, some discussion is inescapable as pathologic 2 deals in a lot of racial and cultural strife, because it’s clearly something near to the his heart, but as i understand it was never really meant to be a narrative “about” race, at least not exclusively so, and especially not in the same sense as the issue is understood by the average American gamer. society isn't a monolith and the contexts are gonna change massively between different cultures who have had, historically, much different relationships with these concepts.

these themes are “so blatant” in pathologic 2 because clearly, on some level, IPL wanted to start a discussion. I think it’s obvious that they wanted to make the audience uncomfortable with the choices they were faced with and the characters they had to inhabit -- invoke a little ostranenie, as it were, and force an emotional breaking point. in the end the game started a conversation and i think that’s something that was done in earnest, despite its moments of obvious clumsiness.

regarding colonialism, this is another thing that the game is just Not About. we see the effects and consequences of colonialism demonstrated in the world of pathologic, and it’s something we’re certainly asked to think about from time to time, but the actual plot/narrative of the game is not about overcoming or confronting explicitly colonialist constructs, etc. i personally regard this as a bit of a missed opportunity, but it’s just not what IPL was going for.

instead they have a huge focus, as discussed somewhat in response to this ask, on the broader idea of powerful people trying to create a “utopia” at the mortal cost of those they disempower, which is almost always topical as far as i’m concerned, and also very Russian.

i think there was some interview where it was said that the second game was much more about “a mechanism that transforms human nature” than the costs of utopia, but it’s still a persistent enough theme to be worth talking about both as an abstraction of colonialism as well as in its more-likely intended context through the lens of wealth inequality, environmental destruction & government corruption as universal human issues faced by the marginalized classes. i think both are important and intelligent readings of the text, and both are worth discussion.

both endings of pathologic 2 involve sacrifice in the name of an “ideal world” where it’s impossible to ever be fully satisfied. in the Diurnal Ending, Artemy is tormented over the fate of the Kin and the euthanasia of his dying god and all her miracles, but he needs to have faith that the children he’s protected will grow up better than their parents and create a world where he and his culture will be immortalized in love. in the Nocturnal Ending, he’s horrified because in preserving the miracle-bound legacy of his people as a collective, he’s un-personed himself to the individuals he loves, but he needs to have faith that the uniqueness and magic of the resurrected Earth was precious enough to be worth that sacrifice. neither ending is fair. it’s not fair that he can’t have both, but that’s the idea. because that “utopia” everyone’s been chasing is an idol that distracts from the important work of being a human being and doing your best in a flawed world.

because pathologic’s themes as a series are so very “Russian turn-of-the-century” and draw a ton of stylistic and topical inspiration from the theatre and literature of that era, i don’t doubt that it’s also inherited some of its inspirational literature’s missteps. however, because the game’s intertextuality is so incredibly dense it’s difficult to construct a super cohesive picture of its actual messaging. a lot of its references and themes will absolutely go over your head if you enter unprepared -- this was true for me, and it ended up taking several passes and a bunch of research to even begin appreciating the breadth of its influences.

(i’d argue this is ultimately a good thing; i would never have gone and picked up Camus or Strugatsky, or even known who Antonin Artaud was at all if i hadn’t gone in with pathologic! my understanding is still woefully incomplete and it’s probably going to take me a lot more effort to get properly fluent in the ideology of the story, but that’s the joy of it, i think. :) i’m very lucky to be able to pursue it in this way.)

anyway yes, pathologic 2 is definitely very flawed in a lot of places, particularly when it tries to tackle race, but i’m happy to see it for better and for worse. the game attempts to discuss several adjacent issues and stumbles as it does so, but insinuating it to be in some way “pro-racist” or “pro-colonialist” or whatever else feels kind of disingenuous to me. they’re clearly trying, however imperfectly, to do something intriguing and meaningful and empathetic with their story.

even all this will probably amount to a very disjointed and incomplete explanation of how pathologic & its messaging makes me feel, but what i want -- as a broader approach, not just for pathologic -- is for people to be willing to interpret things charitably.

sometimes things are made just to be cruel, and those things should be condemned, but not everything is like that. it’s not only possible but necessary to be able to acknowledge flaws or mistakes and still be kind. persecuting something straight away removes any opportunity to examine it and learn from it, and pathologic happens to be ripe with learning experiences.

it’s all about being okay with ugliness, working through difficult nuances with grace, and the strength of the human spirit, and it’s a story about love first and foremost, and i guess we sort of need that right now. it gave me some of its love, so i’m giving it some of my patience.

#meta #discourse #long post #ipl #writing #Anonymous #slight edit for colonialism #untitled plague game #pathologic

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ultimatetornshipper · 4 years ago

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Daminette December Day 6

@daminette-december2019-2020

Oh what’s this? Two chapters in a row from Marinette’s pov? Sorry just couldn’t help myself, like I just had to man

Hope yall enjoy it~

Princes and Pedestals

Chapter 6 – Comfort

Marinette didn’t sleep that night.

Sure, negotiations had gone wonderfully and she, Cass and Steph had spent the afternoon discussing everything from fighting stances to Stephanie’s potential wedding dress. They hung out with Ivy again and went to the beach to pick up shells.

Most of the day's activities were Stephanie’s ideas but Cass and Marinette also enjoyed them. Now and then Jason and Dick would join them or Cass would go to do something or another, but Steph was practically attached to Marinette’s hip. She smiled, Alya and Chloe would be jealous.

She had fun, but when night fell and everyone had retired to their bedrooms, there was nothing to distract her from the memories.

His smile and the sparkle in his eyes when he was up to good mocked her whenever she closed her eyes. Reminding her that she’d never see them again.

When the birds started singing she’d given up trying to sleep. Marinette stood and for the last time she put on one of her black dresses. She put her hair in a single braid down her back and put on a practical pair of boots with it.

She stared at the silver necklace he gave her a month after they met. She hadn’t worn it since her week in isolation after he died. She'd kept it with her whenever she travelled but she’d never had the strength to wear it again.

She picked it up. On the silver chain hung an oval shaped emerald.

To remind you of me when I’m not with you, Bugaboo.

With shaking hands she tied it around her neck. It felt right to wear it this one last time.

She took a deep breath, she needed to be alone today, being around other people wasn’t something she had the energy for.

She eyed Tikki, still asleep on one of the many pillows on the bed. She loved her kwami dearly, but... she wasn’t in the mood for company.

She stood and walked over to where her writing supplies lie on the table. She quickly wrote a note for Tikki asking her to tell anyone who came looking for her that she was safe and that she’d be back by nightfall.

Satisfied, she grabbed her coat and her knife in its scabbard and made her way downstairs to the kitchen. She didn’t want to eat, but she needed the energy if she was going to be out all day.

When she got there the staff were busy preparing the meals of the day, the smells made her stomach rumble.

She didn’t really know who to approach or what to do but before she could worry about it too much a middle aged man with red hair approached her, he wore an apron and gave her a slight smile, “You the Guardian?”

“Yes, that would be me,” she answered, before she could figure out how to ask for a basket of food or something similar he chuckled lightly.

“Your Majesty, Alfred said you might show up, he asked me to give you this and to tell you Bluebell is saddled up for you in the stables. He also said that George left a saddle bag in her stable for you,” he turned around and picked up a basket and a thick looking basket, handing them to her.

She stared at the objects in surprise, “How did he...?” she started, not even knowing how to phrase the question.

He seemed to know what she meant, though, and just shrugged, “He just does that sometimes. We’ve learned not to question it,” amusement shinning in his eyes, he continued, “But if you’ll excuse me, I really need to get back to work,”

“Please, don’t let me stop you and uh... thank you,” she said lifting the basket slightly.

She turned out of the kitchen and a small wave of homesickness surprised her. Nathaniel also always knew what you needed before you did, helpfully supplying it before you could even phrase the question.

It was an ability all of Duusu's holders had, knowing how to take care of people and enjoying the act of doing so.

She made her way to the stables as the first rays of dawn started lighting the sky. Small rocks and sticks crunched between her boots and the cobblestone.

The fresh, chilly morning air motivated her to don her coat. When she got to the barn she saw a young dapple grey horse saddled up in her stable. The name on the door said ‘Bluebell’.

“Hey girl,” Marinette held her hand out and petted her. She opened the door and attached the saddle bag to the saddle, putting the blanket in it. She tied the medium sized basket to Bluebell’s back the way she’d been taught since it distributed the weight best.

She lead her out and once they were outside she climbed onto her back. She lightly kicked Bluebell’s sides and made her way to the forest.

She followed the well trodden path through it for an hour, while the sun slowly rose over their heads. Eventually, they reached a beautiful meadow. The path continued on, but Marinette was hungry and wanted to stop and eat.

A river ran through the clearing. The woods stretched out the other side of it. In the distance she could see the range of mountains they’d passed on their journey to Gotham.

She took out the blanket and spread it out. Then she removed and opened the basket. Inside she found all her favorite foods, as well as a bundle that contained apples, carrots and sugar cubes for Bluebell.

She allowed the horse to roam free, but she never wandered far. Marinette ate a few grapes, a small bun of bread and a few bites of cheese.

She gave Bluebell an apple and a sugar cube. The rest she rewrapped in the cloths she got them in. She removed the charcoal and parchment in the basket that Alfred had added for her to sketch with. It was a nice surprise; she wouldn’t have thought of including it.

She wasn’t sure when she started talking to Bluebell but eventually she found herself telling the horse everything, from the moment she met him to her initial thoughts. She told her about things she hadn’t thought of in ages.

She told her about how his favorite color was blue and his favorite season winter. She told her about how hard he'd tried to hide it when he started realizing he was getting sick.

She told her about how weak his grip had gotten towards the end and how it taken every piece of her self control not to take his ring and wish it all away.

She wasn’t sure when she started crying but before long her cheeks were wet and she was sobbing as she spoke of the memories and the pain and just how tired she was.

And when she was done she realized that it was already afternoon. She fed Bluebell some more, even though she’d grazed for most of the day, then she packed everything onto Bluebell.

As she rode back she felt as though a massive weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Today she’d found something in Bluebell’s presence that she hadn’t experienced for the longest time.

Bluebell didn’t have expectations of her, she was a horse, she didn’t put her on a pedestal like everyone else, to her she was just another human.

Maybe some people would find it funny that she’d found comfort in a horse, but Marinette couldn’t bring herself to care.

It was dark when she got back, she unsaddled Bluebell and brushed her.

She dropped the basket and blanket off at the kitchen and asked the staff to pass on her thanks to Alfred.

She made her way back to her room, passing the sitting room, just as Dick was exiting it. His eyes widened when he saw her.

He looked incredibly relieved, “Guys, I found her!” he called out, then made his way over to her, worry still evident on his face.

“Marinette are you alright? We were so worried,” he took her hand and seemed to be checking her over for injuries.

She frowned, had Tikki not told them that she was going out?

Steph suddenly appeared next to her, along with Jason, Cass and Damian.

Steph pushed Dick away from her, “She’s fine, Dick, you’re invading her space. I told you that Tikki said she’d be out,”

Stephanie’s hand rested on her shoulder. But she didn’t miss the way the girl’s gaze had caught on Marinette’s red rimmed eyes, along with the black rings under them, that clearly indicated that she hadn’t slept.

All the others still seemed intent on making sure she was fine for themselves, some less discreetly than others.

Jason took her cloak off before she even realized it and had folded it, asking a passing maid to wash it and fix the tears she hadn’t noticed.

Dick kept asking questions, but she zoned him out almost immediately.

Cass steered her towards a couch in the living room, and held her hand tightly, while studying her.

Damian was frowning at her muddied boots and a tear or two in her dress. It was an old dress, she was sure none of the tears were new, but she also had a feeling that wouldn’t ease his worry.

Stephanie started arguing with Dick, telling him to leave her alone and that she was clearly fine, though it seemed like she didn’t completely believe the words herself. She wasn’t the only one though, everyone looked worried.

Marinette was surprised, sure her court cared for her. But they never worried or asked questions about where she’d been, they trusted that if she looked fine she was.

So this, this was new.

She found that she didn’t mind too much. Well, she didn’t mind it in general. Right now, however, she was tired and emotionally drained and would rather explain everything later.

“Do you want me to take you back to your room?” Damian whispered from behind her, most of the others were too caught up in their own conversations to notice.

She turned around and met his gaze. Accept this time, she didn’t flinch. He seemed surprised too, maybe talking to Bluebell had done her more good than she’d realized.

She gave him a tired smile and nodded. He studied her for a moment more before looking up and glaring at his siblings.

“That is enough,” he said evenly, “She is clearly tired. If she so wishes, she will tell us what happened tomorrow. Now, I will be escorting her to her room so that she can get some rest,”

Most of his siblings stared at him in shock, while Cass smiled approvingly. Marinette stood and took Damian’s offered arm. He escorted her out of the room.

When they got to the hallway Plagg flew out and gave her a sad smile, “Hi, pigtails,”

She softly smiled back as they walked, “Hey, Plagg,”

He landed on her shoulder and whispered in her ear, “You should have seen him freaking out when you were missing. A true black cat, overthinking everything when it comes to their bug. He'll do well,”

He then curled into her neck and purred, she hadn’t missed the sad tone in his voice. Plagg was still grieving, it would take time before he’d truly bond with Damian.

She looked at the boy walking next to her, he seemed to be lost in thought, but he glanced at her every now and then, as though he was checking to make sure she was still there.

She spotted the ring on his finger, reminded of what Plagg said, she decided to break the silence.

“I'm sorry if I scared you guys, I figured Tikki and the note would be enough assurance,” she said softly, turning her head to look at him.

He glanced back at her, and she saw his gaze catching on her red rimmed eyes, “She showed us the note, but those have been faked in the past to hurt us before and we don’t know what your handwriting looks like, a lot of people have been known to target us and those we’re involved with, so we’re a bit paranoid,”

Suddenly she understood their reaction, they thought she might’ve been captured and her note was planted to buy the kidnappers time.

“I didn’t realize that. Though, in future, you should know that you would’ve been able to tell if something was wrong through the miraculous, thanks to Plagg and Tikki's connection,” she said, smiling at him, “Thank you, though, I’m not used to people worrying about me,”

He looked at her in surprise, but his voice was even when he spoke, “How so?”

She shrugged and looked forward again, “People tend to overestimate me,”

What an understatement. Everyone seemed to think she was practically invulnerable. Well, except for Damian and his siblings apparently.

She felt him tense slightly, he seemed to be pretty protective of her already. He had resonated quicker with Plagg than she anticipated.

They walked the rest of the way to her room in a comfortable silence.

When they finally got there he opened her door, but before she could go in he took her hand. She turned her attention to him and he studied her for a moment, clearly hesitant.

“Goodnight, Marinette,” he said softly, staring into her eyes, gaze searching.

She stared back at him and gave him a small smile, “Goodnight Damian,”

That night she slept better than she had in years.

Taglist:

@animegirlweeb @loysydark @toodaloo-kangaroo @forgottenfriends @wolf-for-life @heyitsbugette @f-rget-lt

#maribat #daminette #daminette december #damian wayne #batman #marinette dupain cheng #guardian marinette #protective batsiblings #this chapter did not go how I planned it but like... i don't really mind it turned out pretty well #they all so worried about her #bluebell in the stable @ the other horses : yo man that girl got problems I'm telling u yall think ur humans have issues like damn #lmao #utp writes #marinette working through trauma by talking about it #yknow like a healthy person #unlike certain people #pointed look at batfam #batfam: and we were like we know but hey #my poor plagg #dami doesn't know what to do so he just listens to plagg and cass's advice #something to look forward to next chapter #i think #damian wayne x marinette dupain cheng #dc #ml x dc #dc x ml #everyone is hella worried and you can't blane em Mari has issues and they know it #*coughs* takes one to know one*coughs*#batfam: *glares at me*#thanks for reading

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havenoffandoms · 4 years ago

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Hello and congrats on 800 followers!!! Could I ask for an Eskel x female cat Witcher!reader with prompts 3 or 5? Thanks 😊

Hi anon! Thanks so much and thanks for this really fun combination of prompt. Here’s my little silly take on cat!witcher!reader x Eskel. Hope you like it.

Send your prompt requests here.

Cat!Witcher!reader x Eskel: “it’s really not that complicated” (prompt 3) and “we could get arrested for this” (prompt 5)

“Would you hurry up, wolf?” you urge your travel companion as he struggles to pick a simple lock, “it’s really not that complicated, for the love of the gods.”

“You try and pick a lock in a tight space with little to no natural light,” you hear the witcher known as Eskel snide back. A guttural groan pushes past his lips as he tugs on the lock in his frustration. “Fucking thing!”

“Oh, get out of my damn way,” you snap at him as you squeeze yourself into said tight space, elbowing Eskel in the ribs as you wriggle up to where the lock is resisting the wolf witcher, “here, watch an expert at work.”

“Why am I not surprised that you Cat witchers know how to pick locks?” Eskel punctuates his words with a pointed eyeroll.

“At least Guxart taught us some street smarts. What do you bring to the table, your theoretical knowledge of monsters? Your working knowledge of poetry? How’s that gonna help, you gonna bore the guards to death by reciting a couple of verses?”

“Fuck you.”

“Make me,” you hiss in response, but your mood quickly brightens when you hear the familiar ‘click’ sound as the lock yields under your nimble fingers. You pull on it harshly and manage to open the trap door, your only escape out of these dungeons. “Hah! Where does that take us?”

“Sewers, judging by the stench,” Eskel remarks, his nose scrunching up in distaste. You can’t help but agree with your companion on this one. “Beggars can’t be choosers, I guess.”

“Let’s go, then.”

With the agility worthy of your namesake, you jump down yet another hole tight and land on your feet and hands. You keep this position long enough to assess your surroundings, your yellow-green eyes picking up every movement without needing to use a Cat potion. Unlike Eskel, who is probably downing one as you wait for him to follow you into the sewers. Once you are satisfied that there is no immediate danger, you rise to your full height and silently slip along the humid walls. You hear rats squeaking in the distance and scattering as the sound of Eskel landing next to you spook them.

“Any idea which direction we should be taking, street-smarts?”

“Well, the exit was north-west of our cell, so I’m gonna take a wild guess and say we should be heading that way,” you point in the direction you were referring to, “you got your swords?”

“Duh,” is all Eskel offered in response, “do you think so little of me?”

“Do you want an honest answer to that question? C’mon, we’ve wasted enough time waiting for you to drink that stupid Cat potion.”

You ignore Eskel’s grumbled response and take off without another word. You and Eskel have known each other for years. You first met on the path after he saved you from a particularly aggressive female wyvern. The beast was in heat and very territorial, and she did not appreciate anyone interrupting her mating rituals. There had been no contract on her head, you just happened to have the worst of luck. After Eskel saved you, he could hardly believe that he was not only standing face to face with a witcher from the School of the Cat, notoriously responsible for the creation of a famously vicious breed of emotionally-volatile assassins, but face to face with a female witcher no less. Your school often trained women, but very few of those were put through the trials and even fewer survived. You managed to beat the odds. You’re exceptionally good at what you do, which is why you and Eskel got along so well.

After months of travelling together, and after a boozy night following a successful contract, you and Eskel became lovers. At first, it was purely physical, but as the months bled into years you realised that it was nice to have someone to go back to after an exceedingy shitty year on the Path. You started to miss Eskel after prolonged periods of not seeing each other and that’s when you admitted to yourself that it had stopped being purely physical a long time ago. You couldn’t let Eskel know, though. It would only get to his head. That’s why you settled for the tough love approach instead. It worked fine. Eskel had yet to run away.

Your train of thought is interrupted when you hear the familiar hiss of drowners in the darkness. You and Eskel simultaneously unsheathe your swords and brace yourself for an attack. One drowner sneaks up on Eskel from behind, but you notice it first out of the corner of your eyes and blast Igni in its face. In the meantime, Eskel hacks off the arm of another beast before running his silver sword through its abdomen, killing it with one powerful thrust. In the distance, you hear the echoes of more drowners heading your way.

“Shit. We need to fucking hurry.”

You run blindly through the labyrinth of underground tunnels. The truth is that neither of you knows where the exit is, or if there even is an exit. There has to be, you reason, the sewers always lead somewhere. Traditionally to a river, at least. There had to be an exit, or else the underground tunnels would be flooded and you would be swimming in shitwater by now. The fact that you aren’t is a fucking sign right? Right?

“There? You feel that?” Eskel suddenly speaks and instantly every hair on your body bristles in anticipation.

“Feel what?”

“A draught.” Yes. You do feel it now that Eskel mentioned it. “Follow me. Turn to the left.”

You follow Eskel through the sewers, and to the relief of you both, you’re running away from the nest of drowners rather than towards it. Under any other circumstance neither of you would’ve shied from a group of drowners, but you were trying to escape and not draw more attention to yourself. Some other witcher, one that was preferably not wanted in Temeria, could take care of that one.

“We’re getting closer,” you say when your nose picks up the smell of fish and seawater, “we’ve almost made it.”

You and Eskel reach an opening several frantic minutes later, at once out of breath but also relieved that you managed to find your way out of those dungeons. It’s dark outside, which will help you and Eskel escape without raising too much attention, or so you hope. You both manage to exit the sewers soundlessly. Even Eskel with his impressive size manages to stealth his way past guards and civilians alike. Not as flawlessly as yourself, mind you, but you weren’t one to brag.

Well, maybe a little bit, but there would be time for boasting later.

“Hey look, there’s some horses there,” you tell him, your voice too quiet for any mortal ear to pick up but you knew Eskel could hear you loud and clear.

“No. I need to get back to Scorpion.”

“Oh good gods - really? Eskel, we don’t have time for this. Scorpion is stabled near the city gates… at the other side of fucking town.”

“I’m not leaving Scorpion.”

With that, Eskel takes off in the opposite direction, leaving you to ponder whether you should follow him or go your own way and hope that your paths will cross again eventually. Fuck it, who are you kidding, you wouldn’t let that idiot risk his life for a stupid horse on his own. Well, if he gets caught you might just let him ride it out for a while… you know, just to teach him a lesson.

You follow Eskel’s trail, making sure to remain unseen. Your hand reaches up and touches your witcher medallion, shaped in the form of a cat’s head, something you’ve done since the trials to ground you, to calm your nerves. After what felt like the longest fucking chase ever, you see Eskel pressed against the wall of the stables that you recognise as the place you two had left your horses in two days ago when you first arrived. Eskel peeks around the corner, checking for guards, and when he’s satisfied that he hasn’t been spotted he climbs up the side of the building at a surprising speed. You curse under your breath, but follow him up onto the roof of the building.

“You know we could get arrested for this?” you tell him once you reach the top. Eskel raises an eyebrow, a mocking grin tugging at the scarless corner of his lips. Anticipating his smartass remark, you hiss: “I’ve just sneaked out of a dungeon, I don’t fancy another trip through those sewers.”

“Don’t worry, this won’t take you long.”

“Me? Whatever do you mean, me?” Your eyes land on the chimney and its opening, too narrow for Eskel to fit through, but not too narrow to fit… you. Oh, the bastard was going to pay for this. When you turn to glare at your companion, all you can see is the protruding lower lip and the pleading eyes.

“No…”

“Please? Scorpion means the world to me.”

“What about me?” you snap, forcing yourself to look away or risk falling for Eskel’s pretty face all over again, “don’t I mean the world to you?”

“Of course,” he says, his tone growing softer, “and I’m sure if the situations were reversed, Scorpion would do the same for you.”

“Urgh, fine!” you eventually relent despite the absurdity of Eskel’s last comment, “but you owe me for this.”

To this day you don’t know how you and Eskel didn’t get caught sneaking a massive war stallion out of the stables, nor how you two managed to escape the guards at the city gates. It certainly made for an interesting story that winter when you and Eskel travelled back to Kaer Morhen.

Lambert relentlessly teases you for ‘growing too soft’ and ‘being wrapped around Eskel’s little finger’, but when you see the open adoration written plainly on Eskel’s face as soon as he and you retreat back to his room, well, you simply don’t find it in yourself to truly mind all that much.

#eskel x reader #eskel x you #eskel x y/n #cat witcher reader #havenwrites #prompt list #send requests #requests open #eskel #the witcher #reader insert

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chaseatinydream · 4 years ago

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pirate king (60) || atz

“You shouldn’t have done that, Wooyoung-ah.”

At the sound of your voice, the head gunner turns away, completely silent, dark anger boiling beneath his skin. He’s clearly not in the mood to have a talking to now. But you have no fear, not anymore, anyway, and seat yourself next to him on the bed. Your bed, you realise.

Wooyoung’s mouth is pressed in a tight line, edges of his lips curling white in something crossed between a frown and a sneer. There’s a big bruise on his cheek, presumably put there by Jongho again, and he’s looking away very determinedly, set on not meeting your eye.

Unfortunately for him, your stubbornness more than rivals his own, and you’re not about to let him off the hook so easily. He punched his captain, for god’s sake. That’s not typical Wooyoung behavior. “We can sit here all day, you know? I have all the time in the world.”

You really don’t (haha brain, very funny joke), but fingers scratch irritably over the cover of your pillow, Wooyoung chancing a quick glance at you before his eyes have flitted elsewhere. The tension is so thick it’s practically suffocating the two of you alive, but you’re not about to give in anytime soon.

You wait.

Waiting doesn’t take long. Wooyoung’s personality loves comfortable silences or noise. Awkward silence? Not so much. He opens his mouth once, hesitates, closes it, and opens it again with a swallow.

“How... how’s your hand?” He’s still not looking at you.

“This?” You raise the empty stump, the phantom itch still throbs strangely. You’re strangely calm for someone who’s just lost their hand, but knowing death is right on its tail really puts things into perspective. “I’m fine. I was injured by Gunho during the battle and, well, you know the rest.” you shrug, turn away yourself. He really doesn’t, but it’s easier not to go into the specifics.

Wooyoung flinches a little, but you see it. Then an angry growl leaves his chest, fingers digging so hard into your pillow they turn white. “I should have killed that bastard when I had the chance.”

“You couldn’t have known what he was going to do.” You tell him gently, glance out of the porthole and watch the sky outside slowly turn from inky black to midnight blue. Silence lingers between the two of you for a moment before Wooyoung finally puffs out a breath, licks his dry lips.

“How’s Captain?”

Your captain snorts a little as you dab water at his nose. “If Wooyoung had been serious about beating me up, I’d have a lot more than a broken nose.”

“Well,” you shrug, bringing your knees up to your chest, “you nearly broke his nose, gave him five different bruises, very big ones, I may add, and almost gave Master a heart attack.” Wooyoung makes a satisfied noise, patting his raw knuckles fondly.

“He deserved that much, at the very least.” He mumbles, drags a hand across his face, but he looks relieved. “Five bruises was letting him off too easy.” You glance at him for a second, turn back to the world outside, the sky and sea separating as the first hints of day draw a line of light across the horizon. Beyond the heavy wooden door of the sickbay, orders are called, the thud of boots resounding across the deck as the crew rush to carry out said orders.

“I’ll be fine, really.” You find yourself saying, though he hasn’t asked. His eyes find yours and more words start to spill out of your mouth unchecked. “I might have lost a hand, but at least I’m not dead, am I?”

The second you say that, you feel like you’ve somehow slapped both Wooyoung and yourself in the face, metaphorically, of course. At least I’m not dead, your heart gives a little self deprecating chuckle, and you resist the urge to cut off that loose tongue of yours for its stupidity.

Great job, you.

“Get ready to storm the island! I want every one of us to find that Captain Kang and drag him to the Treasure by the knees! Do you understand me?” You hear Mingi shout from behind the door of the sickbay and you make to rise to your feet, “we should go check out what they’re up to-”

But you’re stopped by a familiar hand. “Wait.”

Frowning, you turn back, arch an eyebrow. “Why?” You ask, a little confused. Wooyoung glances up at you with deep green eyes, soft and serious with emotion, and one by one, his fingers lace around yours, squeezing gently. Your heart skips, tumbles a beat, but you keep your eyes on his face. “Wooyoung?”

“Just listen to me for a moment.” He says, voice pleading and for some reason, it makes you nervous, like you’re not ready for whatever emotionally weighted words he’s about to unload on you. “I just need to say something.”

The two of you probably really should get going, but something about the way he’s talking makes you pause, nod for him to go on. “When I was on that island... and we realised that it was a trap for the Treasure...” a shudder runs down his spine, the pad of his thumbs tracing small circles on the inside of your wrist, “I can’t begin to say just how damn terrified I was. And while I was running back to the ship, all I could think about was just how stupid I realised I had been.”

“You couldn’t have known it was going to be a trap, Wooyoung.” You remind him firmly, intent on stopping him from blaming himself just like his captain did, gods were all of them going to be like this? “No one knew, not even Captain, and we all came out fine, so there’s no harm done-”

“That’s not what I meant.” Wooyoung interrupts. The chains rattle as his hand falls to his side, as heavy as his words. “What I meant was... pushing you away, thinking that by distancing myself, I was keeping you safe, but in reality I was just a coward who didn’t have the balls to face my feelings.”

What?

“When I was running back to the Treasure, one thought kept replaying in my mind.” He bites on his lower lip, an agonized look crossing his eyes as he stares at you so longingly, so painfully. “What if the last thing you remembered of me was leaving you alone on that mast and removing myself from your life without knowing how I really felt? What if...” he chokes, head bowed, “what if the last thing you had thought of me was that I hated you, and you died without knowing just how untrue that was?”

You don’t even know what you’re hearing right now. The words, you hear them, but you don’t really hear them. Wooyoung doesn’t hate you, that... that’s amazing to know, but why do you feel like that isn’t the end of it quite yet?

“Chin Hae.” He looks into your eyes, so piercingly you couldn’t look away even if you tried. “I’m scared of women. I’m terrified of them. I have scars all over my body, and I can’t forget the way they touched me, how I was forced to serve them until Captain rescued me. After I left that life behind, I played women like toys because I wanted to convince myself that I was no longer the victim, no longer the powerless.” He takes a deep breath, searches you with a defeated smile. “But it seems like I was wrong, and I find myself powerless in front of a woman once again.”

Your thoughts swirl like the raging waves, a jumble of noises and words and so much emotions. “Wooyoung, what-”

“I love you, Chin Hae.”

“Wait, give me a moment-” You try to collect yourself, but Wooyoung smiles gently, squeezing your hand lightly again and that affectionate, familiar gesture grounds you like a lifeboat in the middle of a storm.

Gentle eyes meet yours.

“You don’t need to love me back.” He tells you, smiling a little wistfully. There’s peace in that lopsided grin, as if a massive weight has finally been lifted off his shoulders, as if he hasn’t just dropped the emotional equivalent of his 42 pound cannon right into your arms. “I just wanted you to know. You... you’re really precious to me, Chin Hae.”

You try to find words, and only one comes to mind. “Buh...” You’re immediately disgusted by your own apparent inability to form complete sentences. What is your brain made of, clay?

...probably.

At your flustered state, Wooyoung breaks into peals of laughter that resemble an entire pod of happy dolphins, slapping his thigh in amusement. Fumbling about, you throw your headrest at him, only making him laugh harder when it bounces off the wall next to head. “Wooyoung!”

“I’m sorry!” He laughs, not sounding sorry at all. You glare at him, not amused, but squeeze his hand back, like you always have.

“I don’t know how I feel yet.” You tell him honestly, linking your fingers together. Wooyoung nods earnestly, purple hair falling into his eyes. “You... you might only be saying this because you almost lost me, so I want you to think about what you feel again, after all of this has calmed down... before you tell me this again.”

Wooyoung shrugs. “I know what I feel, but if it makes you feel more assured, alright then. I’m fine with waiting.”

A breath of relief escapes you, and you nod seriously, but before you can say anymore, there’s a knock on the door, and it swings open to reveal-

“Captain.” Wooyoung rises to greet his captain a little awkwardly, scratching his head. The corner of Hongjoong’s lips lift in a slight, weary smile at the sight of the two of you seated on the bed, pausing slightly at the door.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“Not at all.” You wave your captain over and Hongjoong takes a step, but his toe dances lightly at the door right before it crosses into the room, and stops to squint a little at his head gunner.

“You’re not going to throw another punch at me the second I step into this room, right?”

Wooyoung lets out a humored chuckle. “God, no, even if I wanted to.” The ice broken, he bumps shoulders with his captain and Hongjoong finally cracks a smile, although it seems a little... off, somehow. “Though I still think it would have been an improvement to your looks if I’d broken a few things on your face.”

Your captain gives a good-natured snort for someone who’d just been beaten up less than half a day ago. “Well, it’s good to have you on the same side again. I was wondering if I could borrow your gun and your eye in,” he glances out of the door onto the deck with a grim smile, “maybe about a few minutes or so.”

Something about the way he says that has something sinking in your chest.

“Just my gun and eye?” Wooyoung tries to lighten the tension by joking with a raised eyebrow, similarly on edge at the tone of his captain’s voice, his fingers shifting towards the long flintlock at his hip as he gestures at himself. “You know you have to get me too, right? We’re kind of a package deal.”

“I might throw in a bonus if you come along.” Hongjoong shrugs, still gazing out of the door. The angle the two of you are at, you can’t quite see what’s happening on deck, but the shouting from outside is loud enough to reach your ears and you’re immediately tensed.

“Appreciative enough to spare me bilge bailing duty for a week for rearranging your face?”

“Maybe. If you ask nicely. Actually, no.” Hongjoong replies, turning to look at the two of you with a smile that’s a little too strained for your liking. “Well, someone has just approached the ship from the island, and-”

“Captain Kang says he wants to talk.”

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #ateez pirate king #w; ot8 #w; pirate king #w; fanfiction

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creativelyderangedme · 4 years ago

Text

The Boy in the Blizzard

Happy @mlsecretsanta to @normalfanaccount!! I hope you’ve had an amazing holiday and an even better new year! You said you were a big Mari Stan, so I focused on Adrinette! Fluff, Angst (VERY SMALL AMOUNT), Friendship/family bonding, Hurt/Comfort

Synopsis: It’s the last school day before winter break in Paris, and the miracuclass are all excited for the holidays and the time they’ll spend with family! But when the weather takes a sudden turn for the worse and half of the city experiences a blackout due to a massive blizzard, everyone finds themselves set free to rush home, celebrating the early start to their vacation!

Well - almost everyone. Adrien ‘sunshine’ Agreste finds himself left out in the cold.

But have no fear. A certain ‘Everyday Ladybug’ may just have the powers necessary to help them both brave the blizzard. And maybe, just maybe, work a little winter magic to bring them closer together than ever before.

"Class, settle down! I know you're all excited about the holiday break," Madame Bustier called for attention at the front of the room, a knowing smile on her lips even as she reprimanded the boisterous students under her tutelage, "but please keep it down while your peers finish their tests."

No one could blame Madame Bustier's students (or any student in the school for that matter) for being as rowdy as they were. Not even their teacher; despite a third of the Class still working diligently on the multi-paged literature test, scribbling their answers quickly so they could spend the rest of the period hanging out with their friends.

Even as the students quieted, the restlessness was still palpable through the room. Teenagers are itching for the day to end and winter break to begin!

Of course, there was also something to be said about the energizing effect heavy snowflakes falling and whiting out the world just beyond the classroom windows had on a group of teens.

Every few minutes, a handful of eyes would peer up at the white-washed skies, a mixture of anxiousness and excitement for what the view could mean.

"I'm still shocked they didn't call for a snow day when the forecast changed for the worse this morning," Alya whispered for the third time since their second period began to her bestie and seatmate, and Marinette did little more than nod.

As a teenager longing for that extra day off, she agreed. As a superhero in a time of magical terrorists and emotionally driven villains? Well, she couldn't fault the Mayor and Ministry of Education for that one. When classes were so often disrupted or canceled due to Akuma attacks, the Ministry was hard-pressed to meet parents' concerns. Which meant snow days were probably a 'last resort only' sort of thing.

Understanding that didn't make it any less frustrating for a teen counting down the seconds until the holiday break.

Marinette had plans, after all. And several friends (and partner) related gifts to finish and wrap before delivering them in time for Christmas day.

Of course, as she was wont to do, thinking of gifts brought her attention to the head of blonde hair in front of her—the boy of her dreams, leaning over slightly to whisper animatedly to his seatmate. A dreamy sigh would have escaped her had her attention not drifted to the carefully wrapped gift lovingly nestled and burning a hole in the backpack sitting on the floor at her side.

Given her luck (or lack thereof) when giving Adrien gifts in the past, the aspiring fashion designer had been fighting herself, gathering the courage to give him the present—and failing. Because, frankly, she was starting to wonder if she was cursed or something? How many other people could claim they'd had their handmade gifts stolen and causing the end of the world - what the hell?

Barring anything cataclysmic and world-ending this time—what if he didn't like it? What if he took one look at it and laughed and called her a joke and told his father to ban her from the industry and-

"Marinette!"

The call hadn't been loud at all, but the sudden proximity of the voice to her ear, while she'd been distracted, made Marinette squeak loudly, drawing several giggles from her classmates and a raised brow from her teacher.

Sheepishly, she muttered a soft apology before turning a pointed look on her best friend, who giggled softly behind her hand, "Sorry, Girl. You were so spaced out I couldn't help myself."

All the fight left her in one quick sigh, "No, it's fine. I should have been paying better attention."

"What had you thinking so hard over there?"

The reminder did little to settle her stomach or nerves. Both only worsened when she glanced up to indicate towards the boy who occupied most wayward thoughts and found he and Nino had turned around and was watching her, waiting for her answer.

What escaped her mouth was less of a handful of words and explanations and more like a series of mimicked animal calls.

Awesome.

If she didn't have the courage before, she definitely didn't now.

And they were looking back at her with strange looks and soft grins at her awkwardness, and she could feel her face flushing with each passing second and - dear god, could this get any humiliating?!

Marinette had just opened her mouth to explain herself when the room went dark, and everything went quiet with a dying hum.

Well, as dark as it could get with the large windows allowing muted light in past the winter storm raging outside.

A rumble of whispers and panicked looks washed over the students as they waited for the school to come humming back to life, but nothing came.

"Everyone settle down! I'm sure there's nothing to worry about! Please stay in your seats while I check in with the Principle." Madame Bustier announced as she wrapped her coat around herself and exited the room, sending a frigid breeze through the door before it closed behind her.

"Do you think it's an Akuma?"

God, she hoped not. Marinette shivered again, this time, not just because of the new coldness in the room. An Akuma meant going out and fighting in a suit less insulated than anyone gave it credit for in the middle of a storm. And being Ladybug meant she was more sensitive to the cold than she'd otherwise usually be.

"I don't think so," Adrien announced, having turned to the rest of the Class, but gaze focused on the device lit up in his hand. "There's a report that a big part of the city is experiencing rolling blackouts due to the storm. I think this is a disaster of the natural kind this time."

If she hadn't been sitting as close as she was, she would have missed the quiet "thankfully," he added under his breath as he moved to put his phone away.

The curiosity piqued by the mumbled comment vanished, though, as the buzz from his phone had him pausing before frowning down at whatever had popped up on the screen.

"Adrien?"

Emeralds darted up to meet her, and she had to swallow the rush of nerves to get her next words out with minimal stumbling, "I-is everything alright?"

He blinked momentarily before offering her a well-practiced smile, "Yeah! Everything's fine." His reassurance was quick. As was the apprehensive glance, he threw at the windows.

But the way he smoothed that nervousness over with a warm grin made her think he probably hadn't meant for her to see it. And as much as she wanted to press the issue, Marinette respected his desire to leave it be.

Cold air rushed into the room once more as the door opened and closed quickly behind a shivering Madame Bustier, patting herself off of the lingering snow that had stuck to her in her trek through the open-air commons area.

She had everyone's attention before she'd even opened her mouth to call them to order, "Alright, listen up, everyone! With the quickly turning weather, the school had already been in the process of contacting your parents to let them know that the school would be closing early, but with the Blackout, we have no choice but to send you all home as quickly as possible."

There was an excited murmur picking up as everyone began to chat with each other before Madame Bustier cleared her throat, "With that said, Happy Holidays, everyone! And I will see you all in two weeks! Please be safe getting home, and don't forget your projects due the first week back! I don't want to hear any excuses about late work."

And with that, the students clamored to gather their things and wrap themselves in their winter gear to head to the locker rooms to get any remaining materials they needed for the break.

It wasn't long before Madame Bustier's Class was all saying their goodbyes at the front gates, promising meet-ups and fun times over the break.

"Nino and I are going to head back! We've got a blizzard date! I'll catch you later, Girl!" Alya waved enthusiastically as she grappled arms with her boyfriend and dragged him away into the storm.

Marinette chuckled at the couple's antics watching until they disappeared around the next block's corner.

An uptick in the wind made Marinette take in the weather and the heavy snowflakes falling fast into the streets. Visibility was worsening by the minute. The snow fell, making the sky hazy like a heavy fog and the day darker despite being early afternoon. The frigid wind swirled around her, making her wrap her coat tighter around her body.

She should be heading home soon before she and Tikki became bug-icicles.

The class rep nodded to herself and glanced around, satisfied that all of her classmates were already mostly out of sight or on their way.

Good.

With one last glance around, Marinette was about to take a step out into the snow when she had to stop herself. She nearly slipped on the steps with how quickly she spun to what had caught her attention.

Surely she was mistaken. She could have sworn…

But no. Even when she blinked a couple of times, the scene before her was unchanged.

Right there, just hidden off to the side of the school's entrance, bundled up but still looking oh so cold as he pressed himself back under the small respite the school's roof gave the door, was Adrien.

His blonde hair was what had caught her eye. But it was the rather distressed frown he shot something in his hand before glancing between the quickly dwindling crowd of students and the streets rapidly piling with snow.

How hadn't she noticed he hadn't left yet?

And why was he still here?

A glance of her own pretty much answered her question, though, as cars that had managed to approach the school were quickly finding themselves stuck and unable to move much without some help from someone with a shovel.

His driver took him everywhere. So if they hadn't already been on the way or close, there was a good chance his ride wasn't coming.

So why was he still just standing there in the cold, she wondered.

Well, standing there speculating wasn't going to get her any answers. Marinette took a deep, steadying breath, straightening her back and glancing down to the reassuring pat and smile from Tikki before pushing herself forward to approach the blonde.

"Adrien?"

Bright emeralds snapped up to her. The way he gripped his satchel's strap and fidgeted made it seem like he was almost… embarrassed for having been found, "Oh, uh, Marinette, I thought you were headed home."

She tried offering him a soft smile, even as a wary thought that she hadn't noticed him because maybe he hadn't wanted to be seen occurred to her, "As Class rep, it's part of my job to make sure all my classmates make it out safe."

A delicate blonde brow furrowed at that, almost worriedly, "But doesn't that mean you might get caught in the blizzard?"

God - beautiful and empathetic? What a dream-boat. The man upstairs broke the mold when he made this one, she decided. Then had to quickly shake herself out of the dreamy reverie as Adrien waited for her to reply, "N-not really. I live right across from the school, after all."

He chuckled, but the mirth didn't quite meet his eyes, "Right. I almost forgot about that."

"What about you? Why are you still here?"

The fidgeting was back, "Oh, well… father wants me to wait for my bodyguard to arrive." His eyes skipped back to the device in his hand, his expression slipping back to a frustrated frown before a defeated sigh brought a tired gaze back to her. "I told him I could walk, especially when half the city is in a blackout. But he wouldn't hear it. Said there would be consequences for disobedience."

No, this was more than tired. This was the face of someone who'd fought many battles against authority and lost every single one. And it broke her heart - for about two seconds before his words really sunk in, and she was suddenly furious.

"But-but it's freezing out here!" This time, the stutter in her voice was more from the anger and less about her debilitating crush, and she punctuated her words with a wild gesture to the building snow. "And the school is going to shut down soon. Who does that to their son?"

He gave her a small smile at her outburst, after recovering from the shock - it wasn't often she would be so outspoken around him. But it was enough to get the tension to leave his shoulders, "Father's always a little uptight around the holidays. And he just wants to keep me safe. I get it. I really do. I just wish he'd… I don't know… listen to me every once in a while, I guess. Is that stupid?"

"Of course, it's not stupid, Adrien. everyone deserves to be heard."

This time when he smiles, it's warmer, more genuine, "Thanks, Mari."

But that didn't solve his problem. Adrien was still stuck waiting in a blizzard for a ride that was likely not coming.

And as the class rep (and definitely nothing to do with her crush on the guy), it was her sworn duty to make sure he was safe too. It takes one quick glance over her shoulder towards home and one back over Adrien (who is shivering but trying to hide it, the poor boy) for Marinette to make up her mind.

And grab his hand, pulling him out into the snow and down the school steps with her.

"Wait! Mari, where are we going?"

She just barely peeks at him behind her, trying to focus on not losing her footing and sending them sprawling into the snow, "To the bakery! It's nice and warm at my house, and my parents are sure to have plenty of pastries they didn't sell today! They'll need help eating them all!"

From where she's peeking at him, she sees Adrien's eyes light up, and even as he peers back at the school, she can tell his resolve is wavering. Even still, there's hesitation in his voice, "But what about my father?"

She shrugs even as a fresh wave of panic sets in. But she can't let her idol scare her away from taking care of the lo- one of her very good friends. "If he wants to blame someone, he can blame me. But I wouldn't be doing my job as class rep if I just left you here in the snow, now would I?"

He chuckled, still looking unsure, but following anyways, dragging less behind her as her reasoning set in, "I guess you're right. And I would hate to get you in trouble."

"Exactly! So off to the bakery we go!" Marinette crowed triumphantly, pumping a fist into the air, earning yet another amused chuckle from the blonde behind her.

The walk to the bakery isn't long, but it feels like it takes much longer as they navigated the slippery roads, piles of snow, and harsh winds. What would typically take no more than five minutes takes them at least fifteen before finding themselves in front of the darkened storefront doors.

"Guess the bakery was hit by the blackout, too," Adrien observed as Marinette pulled the doors open with some effort, opening them enough to allow Adrien to slip in before closing them behind them.

Darkened as it was, it was still light enough from the windows to allow them to see the empty seating area and two figures bustling just beyond the counter and register.

It wasn't even two seconds before both figures glanced up to give them happy smiles as the two teens shook off the snow from their clothes. "Hello, you two!" The calm and melodious voice of Marinette's mother rang out.

"Maman, Papa! You remember Adrien, right?"

Her mother's warmth radiated from where she stood, melting the bitter cold from the outside just with the sweet smile she gave the young man at her side. "But of course! Hello, again, Adrien. How are you?"

He smiled back, politely, "I'm good. Thank you, Madame Dupain-Cheng."

"Adrien's ride isn't here yet, and with the way the snow keeps piling up, it likely won't be for some time. Could he -"

The hulking figure of her father came to wrap an arm around her mother as he spoke, "Stay and help us eat all these pastries while the snow blows through? Of course, he can! You two take your school things upstairs, and we'll eat something tasty!"

Adrien's face lit up like a Christmas tree as he turned to Marinette - like he needed her permission too. Despite having been dragged here. Despite her less-than-necessary pleading with her parents. It warmed her from the top of her head right down to her toes to see him so happy to be accepted and wanted.

But it also made her so very sad.

What must life be like for him to be so genuinely thrilled by the idea of an offered snack shared with a friend? A place to hide from a raging storm? What kind of loneliness must he experience if this was considered out of the norm?

It was then that Marinette decided that for as long as he was there, no matter how she felt about him or how he felt about her, she would make sure that he knew how much he was cherished and wanted.

Time seemed to fly by as they rushed up to deposit their bags in Marinette’s room, before racing down to the living room where her parents had set up plates with food stacked high. Together, they ate pastries and drank hot chocolate warmed by a propane burner her mother brought out for occasions such as this. All are sitting in the living room of the Dupain-Chengs, keeping each other warm just with the company they're keeping, and while they did, watching people bustle in the storm outside.

There were a couple of families out with kids playing in the snow. Building snowmen that would be buried before the hour was out.

It was fun getting to watch them play.

Marinette peers up at Adrien, and her smile falters as she sees the longing look in his eye as he watches on, a forgotten half-eaten pastry in his hand.

"What is it?"

Adrien's cheeks warmed a bit at having been caught staring, his gaze fixating on the pastry and steaming cup clutched in his other hand, "It's nothing. I just… I hadn't played in the snow since mom- well when I was much younger."

Just how much childhood was the boy robbed of?

This wouldn't do at all. No siree. Not if she could help it.

"Would you want to?" Marinette asked unassumingly, like she asked if he'd pass the sugar, making the blonde glance up at her confused.

"Want to what?"

A playful grin broke out over her lips as she brought her own cup up to take a sip, "Play in the snow!" She takes a healthy bite of croissant, pointing it at him, "You can't not go out and play in the snow when a blizzard comes to Paris!"

"Would you really?"

He looks so excited; she has to fight a giggle. "We shouldn't right now since the power is still out. But once it's back, we could. But only if you want to."

"Mari, that would be-"

"Adrien, dear? Is this your phone?"

The festive atmosphere seems to come to a screeching halt. The blonde's face drains as he glances up and sees the device in the woman's hand. The caller ID is lit up with an incoming call, and even from here, Marinette can read the name. Uh-oh.

Adrien climbs to his feet, making his way over. He answers the phone, and everyone in the room can tell. His father is enraged. His voice is booming through the receiver, and the blonde can only open his mouth, sputtering where he can to get a word in edgewise.

"Father, listen, please-!"

"Of course not. I'm with a friend and left my phone on the-."

"Marinette. I'm with her and her family at their ba-"

Desperation and frustration are filling the boy's features quickly as he's interrupted at every turn.

"Father, please! It's too dangerous and-"

Suddenly Marinette's mother takes the phone and gives Adrien a soft smile before speaking into the receiver. "Hello? Monsieur Agreste? Yes, this is Marinette's mother, Sabine Dupain-Cheng. I'm sorry for interrupting your conversation, but it was our idea to have Adrien join us. Surely you've seen the weather? We couldn't just let the poor boy stand out in a storm waiting for a ride that wasn't coming."

While they could not hear the words, it was clear Gabriel Agreste was angry as his harsh tone came through the phone.

But it wasn't long before Sabine cut him off, ice in her words, colder than the storm raging outside.

"M. Agreste." She spoke calmly, but in that way that demanded the room's attention. "Are you telling me you'd rather your son brave, what is possibly the worst blizzard Paris has seen in decades, risking not only his health and safety but also the health and safety of those who would attempt to retrieve him? Rather than trust his care to my family? Surely you wouldn't suggest something so absurdly asinine."

The line goes silent.

The room is silent too.

Would someone dare suggest something like that? By the look on her mother's face, she hoped not.

"That's what I thought. Now, since the storm isn't set to pass until sometime late into the night, it might be best that Adrien stays with us. I promise he will be well taken care of, and once we deem it safe, he will be returned home. Is that agreeable for you?"

While it's phrased as a question, there is very little room for argument in how she presents the option.

There must have been an answer on the other end because Sabine is nothing but warm smiles once more as she says, "Wonderful. I'll put Adrien back on." and hands the device back to the blonde, who stares on like he's just witnessed a supernova.

"Hello?"

There is the briefest of pauses before Gabriel relays something and then hangs up.

"H-He said I could stay." Adrien whispers in disbelief before he turns starstruck eyes on her mother, "how did you do that?"

The woman chuckles, but the sound seems suspiciously darker than usual to her husband and daughter, "it's a skill all mothers know dear. Never mess with a mama bear."

Before he can ask her to elaborate, she changes the subject back to the two teens finishing their snacks, "Since the power is still out, it would be best if you both went and gathered up some warm blankets from upstairs and brought them down. We'll find ways to occupy ourselves, hmm?"

Having just witnessed the consequences of a mother scorned, both teens merely nod before Marinette leads the blonde up to her room, passing him her coziest blankets and pillows. She gathers up a warm sweater for herself before turning to Adrien. He looks so awash with emotion. It's bubbling just under the surface, and she knows he's just barely holding on.

If memory served, this was probably the first 'sleepover' he'd ever had.

On the other hand, he's clutching all the blankets she gave him, and he's practically nestling into them. Like a cat pawing and kneading and rubbing themselves over a spot they intend to sleep, Adrien has effectively buried himself in the pile of blankets where he stands, and she can't help but giggle.

He looks so soft and warm and cozy in the things she has to physically stop herself from joining him.

"What?"

"Sorry, it's just, you look so happy like that. And warm." A blush began to break out over her cheeks, and she couldn't quite meet his eyes anymore. Choosing instead to look down at the sweater in her arms.

Which had her gaze shifting towards the abandoned backpacks on the floor where they'd left them earlier, and the carefully wrapped gift just barely peeking out of hers.

Was it wrong to take advantage of the situation? Was it okay for her to be giving him a gift in these circumstances? What if he hated it so much he decided to leave and he got stuck in the blizzard and froze to-

"Marinette?" Adrien's soft call pulled her out of her spiral as she looked up into his concerned gaze, "Are you alright? You looked really pale all of a sudden. Do you need help going back downstairs? Is there something I can do?"

He looked a little panicky himself, and the sight made her heart sing.

He was worried. About her. He wasn't the type to be insensitive with someone - not the way she feared. And the revelation was enough to set her resolve.

She shook her head softly, smiling as she went to the bag and took great care pulling the gift out to cradle it to her chest before coming back to stand in front of the blonde, holding it out to him without another word.

Emeralds bounced between her face and the neatly wrapped box in her hands before he set the blankets on the nearby chaise lounge, "I-Is this for-for me?" his tone was a little breathy, a little awestruck.

Not trusting her words, Marinette nodded quickly, placing the box in his hands.

"Can… is it okay if I open it?"

This time the Girl giggled, nodding again before she lost her nerve.

He took great care in opening the gift wrapping, unfolding it almost reverently, before finally pulling open the lid to find a cream knit pattern inside. Pulling the garment from the box, Adrien held up a thick knitted sweater - chunky yarn woven expertly into one of the softest pieces she'd ever made. She'd been so proud of it.

And the boy holding it looked like he was nearly in tears. "D-did you make this?" He asked softly, running his fingers over the pattern.

"Do you… like it?"

"I love it. It's the best gift anyone's ever given me." He whispered, watery eyes finding hers. Lips trembling despite the softest smile she'd ever seen. "It's so warm and soft."

Before she knew what was happening, he'd engulfed her in a hug so tight she couldn't breathe, but not once did she complain.

"Thank you so much." He whispered into her hair, and if she felt the tell-tale wetness of a few shed tears, she kept it to herself as she wrapped her arms around the boy who had wrapped himself securely around her heart, "Thank you for everything."

That day, as she watched him put the sweater on over his lighter shirt, wearing it with pride to show her parents (and then the day they went back after the break, telling anyone who would listen that it was his gift from the most talented Girl in all of Paris), she swore to herself and the blonde that he would never be left out in the cold again. Every year, she'd make him something else that would be 'the best gift someone had ever given him'.

He'd always find warmth. Even if they were buried in the snow, she would be there to make sure he'd always be able to brave the blizzard.

#ml secret santa #adrienette #adrinette #adrien x marinette #so much fluff #ml ladybug #ml fic #ml fluff #adrien agreste #protect adrien agreste

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miracleonice87 · 4 years ago

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Say You Won’t Let Go

a Sidney Crosby wedding series

Part 1

a/n: here’s part 1 of ??? ! It won’t be a long series, maybe 2 or 3 parts, but I just want to keep the door open for more!

summary: a Pittsburgh royal wedding. Juliette Lemieux (100% made up) is the niece of Pittsburgh legend Mario Lemieux, who is practically a father to her. She falls in love with Sidney Crosby after meeting him as a college student while living in Pittsburgh. this series tells the story of their fairytale wedding weekend.

warnings: brief mention of deceased family member. otherwise, so damn fluffy it’s practically cotton candy.

_____

I burst through the door of my uncle’s palatial home to find him standing in the grand entryway waiting for me, my aunt and four cousins not far behind him.

“Bonjour!” I greeted them, scurrying toward my uncle’s open arms. He pulled me into his six-foot-four frame, a whole foot taller than my own, for a warm hug with a wide smile on his face, one that looked so much like my late father’s. A sharp pang went through my heart at the thought, causing me to hold onto him tighter.

“Juliette! Bonjour, princesse,” Mario said warmly, kissing the top of my head. “Tu es si belle!” (You look so beautiful!) he exclaimed, pulling back and holding my smaller hands in his large ones. I beamed.

“Merci, oncle,” (Thank you, uncle) I thanked him, dropping my head a bit bashfully as he took in the sight of me, dressed in a classic white sheath dress and strappy nude heeled sandals. I could see the tears forming in the corners of his eyes as he stared at me. I knew just what he was thinking.

“Don’t start crying already, or I’ll be crying for the next 48 hours!” I warned, a laugh escaping me despite my and my uncle’s evident shared sadness over my father’s absence from this special moment.

“I’ll try my best,” Mario promised. All I could do was nod and squeeze his hands.

My aunt Nathalie enveloped me next, kissing my cheeks before audibly admiring my new diamond choker. I reached up to touch it and felt a blush creep onto my face at almost the same moment I felt a warm hand come from behind me and rest on my hip. I glanced in the familiar figure’s direction.

Sidney leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to my temple. I placed my palm flat against his stomach and gave him a bright grin.

“Thank you,” I said to Nathalie. “Sidney gave it to me before we left the house, as a wedding present,” I added softly, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth. As a rule, I never bragged to anyone about the extravagant gifts that my fiancé often lavished upon me, but I certainly didn’t mind giving Sidney full credit in front of only my aunt, who knew us both so well.

Nathalie’s eyes widened slightly and she gave Sidney’s upper arm a squeeze. “Well done, my boy! It’s so beautiful,” she praised. He kissed her cheek and said, “I have you to thank — every time I shop for jewelry, I hear your voice in my head.” Nathalie laughed. “You’ve always heeded my advice! Not that you needed much of it. You have wonderful taste — in jewelry and women,” she teased, giving us a wink.

Sidney and I both chuckled and then greeted my cousins excitedly — Lauren, Stephanie, Austin, and Alexa, with whom we were both incredibly close, with Sidney having lived with them for several years at the beginning of his career. We had that arrangement and Mario’s longtime mentorship of Sidney to thank for the two of us ever meeting in the first place.

Growing up, I had typically visited with Mario’s family three or four times each year, whether in Pittsburgh or in his and my shared hometown, just outside Montreal. My father, Mario’s oldest brother, had passed away suddenly from a massive heart attack at 45, when I was only 12, shattering my world during a crucial time in my adolescence. While my mother did her best to financially provide for me, an only child, she had always been emotionally unavailable to me — even when I was very young. I was always a daddy’s girl, making the loss of him that much more jarring. My mother shut down completely after my father’s death, and my aunt and uncle took notice immediately, worried for my well-being. They became my unofficial guardians and quasi-parents.

In the years that followed, I started to spend even more time in Pittsburgh with Mario, Nathalie, and my cousins, with my uncle quickly stepping in to fill the role of a father figure for me in place of his older brother. I was sandwiched between their two oldest, Lauren and Stephanie, age-wise, almost exactly. For many years, but particularly after my father’s death, I had lived with them for several months out of the year, around my school schedule.

Mario and Nathalie included me in every family vacation, holiday celebration, and birthday party possible, even purchasing my first car and paying for my private school and then college education. At 18, I decided to move to Pittsburgh officially to attend Duquesne University, just a block from the Penguins arena, as a marketing major, allowing me to spend much of my free time with my family at Mario’s house, where, at the tender age of 18, I met Sidney.

I owed nearly every good thing in my life to Mario and Nathalie, including intimately encouraging me to pursue a relationship with Sidney, after some initial reservations about our age difference, which quickly faded as they saw Sidney and I grow closer together. They had truly done it all for me, and now, they were throwing me a rehearsal dinner in their sprawling backyard in just a couple of hours, along with a wedding reception to follow tomorrow’s church ceremony.

As Mario walked out the back door to speak to some of the rental company employees finalizing the set-up of our beautiful tent and chairs for tonight’s dinner and tomorrow’s reception, and Nathalie and my cousins scattered to grab their belongings, Sidney pulled me to his body, his hand on my lower back. He simply stared at me with a satisfied look on his face, causing my pulse to quicken as I looped my arms around his neck.

“What are you thinking about, mon amour?” (my love) I inquired. Sidney shook his head slightly.

“Everything. How beautiful you look right now. How beautiful you’ll look tomorrow. How beautiful you’ll look when you’re carrying my baby,” he told me, placing soft kisses to my face between each thought. “How beautiful you’ll look with our little ones in your arms. How beautiful you’ll look when you’re 90.” I smoothed my fingers over the neat hair at the nape of his neck, a wide smile across my features.

“When I’m 90, you’ll be 97,” I offered, feeling as though I might burst into tears unless I broke up the moment with some levity. Sidney laughed loudly and then groaned. “Don’t remind me, please,” he begged. I leaned up to kiss his plump lips. “Okay, I won’t,” I whispered against his mouth, causing a soft moan to escape him.

Just as I pulled away from him, my maid of honor, ever the Type A event coordinator, called to us from across the spacious room.

“Come on, lovebirds,” Lauren teased, smiling. We both looked to her, still wrapped up in each others’ arms, and saw her tap the face of her gold watch. “We’ve gotta be at the chapel in 30 minutes and it’ll take every bit of that to make it,” she added.

“Leave them alone!” Alexa piped up, giggling as she adjusted her heels. “They were having a moment.” Her older brother rolled his eyes, grabbing his sunglasses from the coffee table in front of him.

“Have you met them?” Austin joked. “They’re always having a moment.” Nathalie appeared from the hallway, fastening the back of her earring, and mused, “And that’s why they’ll be married for the next hundred years.” She winked in our direction.

Sidney looked down at me and waggled his eyebrows, making me giggle. I smoothed my fingers over the collar of his crisp new white golf polo, which he had matched with a pair of navy blue slacks and loafers, a signature look of his.

“I suppose they’re right, my blushing bride,” he said. “Let me put my overnight bag in the guest room and we’ll be on our way.” I nodded as he pressed a kiss to my cheekbone and turned to pick up his leather travel bag near the door and took it to the basement, his former living quarters.

With both of us being fairly traditional people, we had agreed to sleep apart the night before the wedding to honor the age-old custom, despite having lived together for almost two years. To combat that complication, Sidney had insisted that I be the one to stay in our house for the night and that he stay at Mario’s, since he, my uncle, Austin, and Sidney’s father and groomsmen were meeting there the following morning anyway for a game of golf at the fabled Oakmont Country Club prior to the ceremony. He wanted me to feel as comfortable as possible as I got ready for our big day.

After a minute or so, Sidney’s hands came to rest on my waist from behind me, and I smirked to myself at how clingy and affectionate he had been these last several weeks as we prepared to begin our lives as husband and wife.

“You ready for this, Jules? There’s still time to run,” Sidney purred softly into my ear, kissing the skin there.

I turned to face him, holding his jaw in one hand. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” I murmured before kissing him long and hard.

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babyybitchhhwrites · 4 years ago

Text

Toji x Reader 18+

Rating: Explicit/R-18+

Words: 4562

Warnings: incest, father/daughter, noncon, manipulation tactics, degradation, choking, creampie, unprotected sex, dead dove do not eat

A/N: Heed the warnings, this one is not particularly nice. Big brother Megumi has tried his best to make up for Toji's emotionally unavailable father schtick but it just didn't work the way he'd hoped.

: ^ )

♥♥♥♥

You’re half awake and only distantly aware of the mattress dipping behind you. It feels like a dream at first, one you can’t quite shake even when you open your eyes and groggily blink into the suffocating darkness that surrounds you. There’s some kind of disconnect between your resting body and your waking mind which all too readily tries to write it off as your brother crawling into bed with you even though you haven’t slept together in ages. Even though you know in a vague, abstract sort of way that he has school in the morning and wouldn’t be caught dead sneaking into your room under normal circumstances, let alone in the dead of the night. There was too much risk involved and not enough incentive to take the chance. He’d never done this before, so why start now?

Even knowing - despite knowing it can’t possibly be Megumi for a multitude of reasons, you still want to accept this explanation and go back to sleep. You have school too, after all. There was a big geometry test awaiting you during first period. Or was it biology? You can’t quite recall, still mostly asleep and too tired to think properly. It didn’t really matter what it was though, because you’d never hear the end of it if you were too indisposed to concentrate and ended up with a failing grade. That was the very last thing you needed right now.

Deciding to take the easy route and just ream him a new one in the morning, you snuggle into your pillow with a quiet, sleepy groan and make a conscious effort to drift off again. You barely make out the gruff responding laugh over the rustling sheets and then he settles in behind you.

Your eyes immediately snap open again. That is not Megumi. The build was all wrong. Too big and too firm with hard musculature that does not match your brothers lean body composition. Whoever was behind you felt massive in comparison, as oppressive as they were imposing, and it quickly becomes apparent that you can’t turn a blind eye anymore when they snake a steel corded arm around your middle. You start to quake.

“Wha -“

“Shh. You don’t want to wake your brother, do you?”

It’s as if a rug had been torn out from under your feet.

“Dad?” You warble into the void, hardly daring to believe it was really him. He’d been gone for almost three weeks now and this was how he chose to announce he was back?

“Of course. You weren’t expecting someone else, were you?”

Although his tone is light, bordering on playful, you couldn’t have missed the hint of something far more dangerous lurking just below the surface of that question even if you’d wanted to. He was teasing you, yes. But he was also testing you.

“Don’t be silly.” You murmur, glad your voice doesn’t crack under the pressure. “You just surprised me, that’s all. I was sleeping.”

“I know. I didn’t want to wait until morning to see you though.” Issuing a soft sigh, Toji presses his mouth to the nape of your neck in a chaste but not quite innocent kiss. Goosebumps erupt across your skin and you involuntarily shudder, clutching the bedsheet in a death grip that only becomes tighter when he presses himself right up against your back. You’re not sure how you didn’t make the connection sooner when that hard muscle mass was so uniquely his. “Did you miss me?”

“Yes. I always do.”

Humming in a rare show of approval - something he kept in reserve specifically for times like this - he slowly drags his calloused hand up your twitching stomach one agonizing inch at a time. The thin tank top you’d put on for bed bunches and you find yourself arching into his touch when he not so gently palms the weight of your breast before giving it an encouraging squeeze. A gasp rattles out of you and in to the night, which he responds to with a dull groan of his own.

“That’s my girl. Always so good for daddy.”

You whimper, screwing your eyes shut against the onslaught of conflicting emotions that constantly follow in your fathers wayward path of destruction. It wasn’t that you didn’t realize this was wrong. The exact opposite, in fact. No matter how much you might have wanted to, there was simply no denying that something was inherently inappropriate about these clandestine encounters with him or that this was not a normal parent-child relationship. You knew none of your friends let their dads touch them like this. You also knew Megumi wasn’t on the receiving end of any such preferential treatment. Just you.

But there was still a very real part of your psyche that enjoyed this time together, even if it was twisted and fucked up. Fushiguro Toji was not an easy man to live with and he wasn’t exactly forthcoming when it came to affection. For as long as you could remember, you’d grown up believing wholeheartedly that he hated you. Wished you’d never been born in the first place. It was impossible not to think that way when he was so distant, both physically and emotionally, even when you were too little to understand that that's just how he was. Your older brother had been more of a parent to you than he ever had.

That changed shortly after your thirteenth birthday though, when you were well into the throes of puberty and he suddenly became keenly aware of your developing body. You’d caught him staring more times than you could count, not so subtly eying you up in every room of the apartment like a predator taking stock of its next potential meal, and even now you were ashamed to recall how much that had delighted you. He’d never given you so much attention before and you were desperate for more. Hadn’t even realized that you were so starved for his approval until you started parading around in close to nothing, much to Megumi’s barefaced horror, but you were far beyond the point of salvation at that point. You needed your father to like you in some capacity, even if it meant acting like a brazen little slut to accomplish that.

It worked, too. Of course it did. How could you have ever expected anything less when the shorts kept getting shorter and you refused to wear a bra no matter how sore your budding tits got from rubbing against the inside of your shirt? You were essentially tossing a slab of meat into the wolves den, and he’d responded in kind. Met your challenge head on and with even greater ferocity than you could ever have hoped to muster. You hadn’t exactly planned on becoming a stand in for your deceased mother but, well … there was only so much poking and prodding an apex hunter would put up with before asserting his dominance. You’d brought it on yourself, really.

And now he was groping your chest with a steady hand, not even a hint of reluctance in his body language. He had accepted your naive, childishly issued invitation and the parameters were set in stone the moment you’d submitted to whatever maladjusted treatment he felt the need to dish out. There was no going back now, no room for hesitation. Not from either one of you. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, you knew that it was wrong but if this was the only way for him to accept you …

“Daddy!”

Toji shushes you again, yet he doesn’t let up on the nipple cruelly pinched between his fingers. He gives it a rough tweak and then a twist, clearly delighting in the shudder that dances through your body in response. “Keep it down. You know how thin the walls are.”

You do know just how thin they are, so you force your fingers to uncurl from the sheets and bring your hand up to cover your mouth. Megumi could never find out about this. Not ever. You weren’t even particularly worried about yourself but, rather, you just didn’t want him to hate dad. And he certainly would. He was protective of you in a way Toji probably should have been but even that was not enough to satisfy your miserable need for a relationship with your actual father. It was pathetic.

“You’re even more sensitive than usual,” He muses, oblivious to your self deprecating thoughts as he slowly releases one aching bud in favor of reaching for the other. “Did you spend the last few weeks wet and neglected? Huh? Poor baby. You know you can touch yourself when I’m not around to do it for you.”

Writhing when he indelicately tugs at your nipple, you outright seethe. The heavy weight of his growing erection becomes even more apparent and it twitches eagerly against your upper thigh, encouraged by the needy grind of your hips. He nudges even closer in search of more direct friction which your wriggling ass all too readily provides and he groans in approval. That low, rumbling sound goes straight to your thrumming cunt and you instinctively squeeze your legs together as a strange sense of joy floods your chest like helium filling a birthday balloon. Sometimes it really did feel like you could just blissfully float away if he gave you enough praise, whether that be verbal or otherwise, and the validation of his cock was easily the most potent of them all. You were soaring.

“It’s not the same when I do it …” You mewl into your palm, aching at how true that statement rings.

“I know, sweetheart. I know. You’re just daddy’s needy little cock sleeve, aren’t you?” Toji’s warm breath puffs against your neck when he speaks. It tickles and you shake for him so enthusiastically that your spine pops with a faint crack. He laughs, very faintly, but it sounds more like a muttered curse in the dark. His hand shifts against your breast and possessively squeezes the firm, supple swell of flesh in a pinching grip so tight that his blocky fingers sink into the skin, and you keen. It hurt, yes. It was painful enough to make your eyes water and yet it also made your gushing cunt spasm, clenching so violently it almost punched the air right out of your lungs.

Dizzy with want and teetering on the edge of delirium, you snake your unoccupied hand underneath the covers, blindly fumbling for your pussy. The pressure was simply too much - you needed relief, even if it was only temporary - but he’s just as quick to abandon your tit in favor of crowding his hand between your legs right along with yours.

The broad expanse of his palm absolutely engulfs your knuckles, pushing down and manually guiding you into rubbing the apex of your slit until you tremble against him. It’s not quite enough to shove you over the edge, the unfocused stimulation only serving to make you even more wet and desperate, but the stark intimacy of being directed to massage your sticky cunt is undeniable. The absolute, unfaltering control he had over the body he’d helped bring into this world was staggeringly erotic in its own right and you couldn’t get enough. It felt a bit like being teased, though. Your orgasm hanging precariously over your head like the sword of Damocles, a looming threat in the back of your mind, but you were more than prepared to beg for the killing blow at this point. It’s not as if you really had any dignity left anymore.

“Daddy, please ... I want to cum, I wanna’ cum so bad! I need it!”

“Mmm. You think you’re ready for my cock, princess?”

You jerkily nod your head. “Uh-huh!”

Toji draws a slow, anticipatory breath. Lets it hang in the air for a long beat before actually speaking. “Alright. Can you keep quiet, or do I need to find something to gag you with? Be honest. You know I wont put up with any lying.”

You try to give that its due consideration but it's a struggle just to get your thoughts in order. All of your focus is on the worryingly damp spot between your thighs and the shameful way your flushed body practically sings under his attention. It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time your father had ever gagged you but … you’d rather not have him shove a pair of your underwear so deep into your mouth that you retch around the balled up cotton if you could help it. “I can be quiet. Promise.”

He makes a sound like he doesn’t quite believe that but relents all the same. Both of you knew the punishment for failing to meet his expectations, especially after you swore to it, would far outweigh the offense itself, so there wasn’t any reason to linger on the topic. Your ass was on the line, not his.

Pushing up on the bed, he rises over you and tugs you onto your back. Your heartbeat doubles now that you can just barely make out his silhouette through the veil of darkness, the familiar figure of your father proving a great comfort despite the ugliness of what you two were doing together. Biting your lip, you twist to help him get your pajama pants off only to flush when he clucks his tongue at the lack of panties underneath.

“You were just hoping I’d come home and pay you a visit, weren’t you, slut?” He snarks, impatiently tossing your discarded bottoms to the end of the bed.

You whimper at the degrading name but a pleasant shudder works its way down your back when he goes up on his knees so he can unfasten his slacks. The zrrt of his zipper sounds impossibly loud in the dark and your pussy flutters with sick anticipation, surely drooling all over the sheets now. He’d trained you well. Taught you that the only source of true pleasure and validation you’d ever know would come from him and him alone. Not anybody else and certainly not from yourself. You were entirely reliant on him for everything. Your sense of worth, your self confidence, your mental and emotional wellness. Toji had all that and so much more right in the palm of his hand and, as always, he wasn’t particularly inclined to be nice about it.

“God, I can smell you from here. That hungry little pussy of yours is gonna’ shave ten years off my lifespan, you know that? So fucking needy.” The rustle of pants being shoved down bare legs makes your breath come quicker. He reaches for you then, big hands winding around your calves and yanking you further down the mattress so that your upturned ass is securely slotted between his knees.

A choking gurgle of excitement rises in the back of your throat, quickly stifled, as you clamp your hand more firmly over your mouth. Thoughts briefly drifting to Megumi again, you offer him a silent apology. He’d practically raised you in Toji’s stead but, no matter how much he may have tried, a brother's love could never adequately replace that of a fathers. It didn’t even come close and now you were laying on your back, getting ready to take the very cock that had given you life. It was abhorrent.

“Daddy …”

He doesn’t even pause though. “You really like it that much, baby? Can’t even make do with your fingers or settle for someone your own age? I didn’t realize I was raising such a shameless whore this whole time, but I can’t exactly say I’m complaining.” Leaving one of your legs to uselessly flex in the air, he reaches down to fist himself. You can hear the silky slither of moving skin when he pumps his dick a handful of times before settling closer and guiding the blunt head to your weeping entrance. Breath catching, you squeeze the lower half of your face so hard you can feel nails sinking in and threatening to break the skin. He merely swirls the bulbous glans through the sticky sheets of slick oozing out of you though, coating his cock in arousal and then dragging it up higher to nudge at your receptively engorged clit. “Tell me how bad you want me inside you, sweetheart. Let me hear it.”

“It’s all I want!” You automatically blurt even as you jolt and twitch at the teasingly light contact. It’s hard to tell if he can even make out what you’re saying with the flat of your hand muffling your voice, but he doesn’t ask you to repeat yourself so you just keep babbling; obedient and embarrassingly stupid for him. “I haven’t been able to think about anything else since you left, daddy. I need you to fill me up and … and fuck me hard, please. It feels like I’ll die if you don’t. I hate when you have to leave for a job. I’m so lonely without you and nothing I do makes the ache go away. My pussy hurts, daddy … please!”

Toji softly coos at you, but it's the farthest thing from sweet. He was mocking you. “Aww, does it really? Poor thing. You just need me to take care of you, huh?”

You nod, whimpering into your palm.

“Well,” He breathes out when he redirects the tip of his cock back down to your ripe little hole. “I don’t know how hard I can fuck you right now with your brother in the other room but …” Hefting your captured leg a bit higher, he uses his opposite hand to push himself into the velvety soft folds of your cunt one torturous fraction at a time. You go ramrod stiff underneath him, holding your breath until the ridged glans eases past the first tight ring of muscle and he momentarily stills above you. A stuttering sigh rolls off your lolling tongue as Toji reaches for your other ankle, leaving just the head wedged inside as he spreads you open for him. By the time he’s got you positioned how he wants, your thighs are splayed in such a wide V that it actually rides the line of real discomfort but you don’t even think to complain. How could you when he was giving you exactly what you wanted?

Still holding your feet aloft, your father eases his hips forward and applies just enough pressure to sink in deeper. The penetration is deliberately slow and it forces you to acknowledge each individual centimeter of rockhard, silky flesh that dips inside your body and you seethe, biting back an almost hysterical wail of pleasure. Your pussy never did seem to get used to that impressive girth no matter how often he used it and the stretch was still exquisite. It made your toes curl, eyes tweaking and rolling towards the back of your skull when you feel relief in every throbbing inch of your nervous system. This was exactly what you’d been pining for since he’d left.

“Shit. You’re never gonna’ stop feeling like a vice, are you, sweetheart?”

You can hear the grit of his teeth but he doesn’t stop. Continues to work himself into you one shallow thrust at a time when your squeezing cunt puts up too much resistance and he has to pause, pull back and then try again. The sear of penetration has you gasping wetly behind your hand and you finally allow a single, faltering groan to rattle up through your chest when he eventually settles against you some time later. It’s an incredibly tight fit. The pressure almost too much to bear for as transcendental as it is. Toji’s cock was far from small and, sometimes, you could hardly believe that it actually fit.

“Oooh … daddy …” Your clit throbs impotently, alive just as if it had its own heartbeat. You were so close. So horribly, wonderfully close you could practically taste it on the back of your tongue.

“Hush. I’ve got you, princess.” He murmurs, keeping your shaking legs up in the air with a deceptively gentle grip. “Just keep that pretty little mouth of yours shut and you’ll be off to sleep again before you know it.”

Grunting softly, he gradually withdraws half of the way before sliding straight down to the hilt again. Now that the path had been cleared once and your slopping juices were thoroughly coating every hard inch of him, the friction became easier. It wasn’t quite so hard to move inside your guts anymore, and his pace steadily builds until the soft, sticky click, click, click coming from between your legs morphs into a steady beat. You squirm at every jostling thrust, biting down on your tongue to keep your groaning pleasure to yourself, but every once in a while a small meep still escapes the confines of your trembling hand. Your father laughs at each one, the sound strained and tense and coming out of him in increasingly hearty puffs. All while he continues to fuck you with a mere third of his usual strength.

Even that much was enough to make you heave around him though and you toss your head on the pillows, silently reminding yourself to keep quiet. It only takes a short few moments for the pushing drive of his thrusts to send you over the edge, the coil snapping so abruptly you actually lurch underneath him. Your father reacts quickly though and, as soon as he feels your pussy start to shudder, one of his hands shoots out to grab you around the neck. Your eyes grow impossibly wide when he pushes up on your constricting throat, mercilessly cutting off your air supply in the process. All you can manage is a croaking, barely audible groan of intense pleasure, the sound rattling around inside your skull like a maraca as you dissolve into full bodied shudders underneath him. You’re acutely aware of how your cunt enthusiastically creams on his cock but he doesn’t slow down, the quick pace of his hips milking your orgasm to the point of discomfort, and you start to panic. It’s instinctive, the way you weakly thrash against him.

You desperately needed to breathe and your face was starting to grow numb the longer he kept his fist locked around your throat but Toji was as unyielding as iron. Your consciousness just starts to blur around the edges when he suddenly releases you, air flooding your windpipe as you immediately suck in a haggard gasp. That’s all the reprieve he allows you before his palm smacks against your wide open mouth and shoves you down into the mattress so hard the springs creak.

Hot tears track down your cheeks as he leans over you and pins you to the bed with the heavy weight of his body. His once evenly tempered thrusts turn brutal and he slams into your squelching cunt viscously enough to make pain shoot out from between your legs and into the rest of your abdomen. It hurts, it hurts so bad that you actually wail into the flat of his palm, but he doesn’t stop. For a painfully long stretch of time, he just pistons into you without a second thought to the matter, even when the bed frame begins faintly rattling under the two of you. He doesn’t seem to care, clearly, and that thought terrifies you more than anything. Megumi couldn’t find out. He couldn’t.

“Yeah. Right there.” He snarls, barely getting the words out through his gnashing teeth. “Take it, baby. Take it! That’s right. You take daddy’s cock so fucking well, you know that?”

You squeeze your eyes shut against the aggressive way he spits in your face, praying that he reaches his limit before your brother stirs at the noise. While not exactly loud, Toji was certainly making enough of a scene to draw unwanted attention and you didn’t want to think about what would happen if Megumi came to investigate. It didn’t even make sense. Your father was the one who’d reminded you of how thin the walls were so why was he recklessly throwing caution aside like this?

A few minutes pass in which all you can do is lay there and take it, helplessly ragdolling with his hand still covering your mouth to keep you quiet, and you’re sure the jig has to be up. There’s no way your brother is still asleep in his room. Toji was a man possessed, flexing against you like a rutting hellbeast that couldn't be bothered with silly notions of decency. But then, as if hearing your silent pleas, his body starts to tense up and his shoulders quake. You latch onto that brief glimmer of hope, reeling at the pain as his hips slap against your ass with one last surge of monstrous energy. Once, twice, three times - and on the fourth brain rattling jolt, he stills.

His breath is ragged and quick against your face. You can feel the oppressive heat of his excitement bleeding into you, threatening to burn you up, but he doesn’t attempt to move off your shell-shocked body just yet. Rather, your father waits until his balls have finished draining into your throbbing cunt, thoroughly painting your pink innards in thick, creamy white, before he slowly removes his hand from your mouth. You gasp thickly into the darkness, practically choking on it.

And, true to nature, he quietly shushes you again. “Shh. It’s alright. I’ve got you, baby girl. Just breathe for me, okay?”

You nod, fighting back the hurt little hiccups that try to work their way up your bruised throat. It takes a prolonged moment to start coming down and, as always, he just keeps softly petting your hair until the tension finally gives way to exhaustion. Only when you’re a limp sack of flesh underneath him does Toji shift to get off you, but not before shoving a perversely affectionate kiss to your damp forehead.

“That’s my girl. I’ll see you in the morning, sweetheart. Sleep well.” And he’s gone, just like that and as quietly as he'd entered. It was almost like he'd never even been there in the first place.

You shudder in the absence of his body heat, refusing to move from the spot where he left you. The splintering pain is almost too much to bear but you breathe through it, one second at a time, until it becomes a bit more manageable. Even then, you can’t quite wrap your head around his total disregard for discretion. Your father was not a nice man, and that was likely all there was to it. He could be downright mean when the mood so struck him and that had never been more apparent than tonight, but it still didn’t change the fact you were his daughter. He cared about you, surely, even if it was ass backwards and twisted well past the point of what would be considered normal. You were lucky to have him, even if you did have to put out just for a fleeting moment of his attention. At least you could lay claim to that much. Beggars shouldn’t be choosers, after all.

“Good night, daddy." You whisper into the still darkness. "I love you.”

#jujutsu kaisen #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #self insert bullshit #my writing #tw incest #tw noncon #dark content #idk what ya'll want from these tags so feel free to offer suggestions

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jotarosbabie · 4 years ago

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Jotaro X Reader: Beauty and the Beast

Via Anon: Taking requests? Oo how about Jotaro x Reader but it's a Beauty and the Beast AU. So basically what that means is Jotaro's the prince/Beast, and Y/N is Belle. And mayyybe they dance together like in the movie? ♡♡

A/N: OMG this is so cute !!! I was so scared to fulfill this request because I was afraid you wouldn’t like the result, but after a pep talk to myself, I decided to do it!!

Warnings: none

It had been exactly a week since I’d seen my best friend, Jotaro. Was he okay? I don’t think he’s even been out of his house. I sighed as I kicked rocks across the road on my way to school.

What was wrong with him? Was he sick? Did he get a bad haircut and didn’t want anyone to see? Impossible. He always wears that stupid hat. That cap that covered his beautiful eyes and sharp eyebrows...

I must’ve had a dreamy look on my face because Kakyoin quickly snapped me out of my trance with a chuckle. “I see the puppy dog eyes.”

I shoved him playfully and chuffed. He barely even budged. “Shush. I told you not to talk about it.”

“Look,” he started, taking his sunglasses off and pocketing them, “I know how long you’ve liked Jojo for. I’ve been here while you ranted about those girls that obsess over him. I was there when he spilled a drink on you at the Cafe and he literally cleaned it off of you. I see the look on your face when your watching him focus on something. All this time that you refuse to confess your feelings for him is just gonna hinder you in the end.”

As he spoke, my cheeks turned pink. He was right. All the small moments I spent with Jotaro were coming to my mind all at once. All the late nights teaching him calculus or literature. The numerous “accidental” hand touches when we were chilling in the Cafe after school. Every single time I would fall asleep on his shoulder or vice versa. Maybe he...

“Does he feel the same, Kakyoin? And why haven’t I seen him all week? Please, just tell me. I know he tells you everything.” I stopped walking and grabbed the redhead’s wrist, stopping him in his tracks. He looked back at me cautiously.

Kakyoin was quiet. He looked down at his feet. All he said was, “You should go check on him.”

“Thanks for nothing,” I grumbled as I headed to my best friend’s house.

When I arrived at the Kujo residence, it was weirdly quiet. Mrs. Holly must’ve been away. I knocked softly on the door and called for Jotaro.

“Joot...? Are you okay?”

After a few seconds the door cracked open. Everything inside was dark. “Go away. I don’t wanna see anyone right now.”

Jotaro sounded upset but something told me not to give up just yet. “Jotaro, it’s just me, (Y/N). Please let me in? I’ve missed you...” My voice was soft and inviting but it didn’t seem to make him budge.

“No,” he muttered. I saw his fist clench around the door.

“Jotaro, please just open the door. I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

“Just go away. I’m fine. I’m not going to tell you again,” he growled, trying to shut the door. However, I put my foot in the crack to stop it.

“Jotaro. I’m not going away. Just let me see so I can help you. Please?” I slowly tried to open the door but almost fell face first as he opened it wide.

“Fine! Is this what you wanted to see, bitch?!” His voice sounded dangerous. But as I looked up at him, he looked even more menacing than his voice.

Black, curly fur covered his face and chest. His eyes were a golden yellow that glinted in the light. His nose was more of a snout now, and his fingernails were now sharp claws.

“J-Jotaro I-” I wasn’t even sure what to say. I was in shock. What was he?

“Are you satisfied? I got turned into a beast by some stupid witch bitch. I didn’t want anyone to see me... Especially you.” He looked down at me coyly and then turned away. Even his back was furry.

I blushed softly and stepped in to place my hands on his shoulders. He flinched softly so I pulled my hands away carefully. “It’s okay, Jotaro. Maybe I can help you...” I walked around his massive frame to meet his eyes. I looked up at him and smiled softly.

“I can only turn back to normal when I experience true love.”

At that, I felt my cheeks burn up. I looked away shyly and sighed. Who was his true love? Did he even have one? He seemed so emotionally unavailable. I mean, I still I had a crush on him, but still.

In the silence, I heard a radio playing quietly from somewhere in the house. I looked up at Jojo, who was already looking at me. Extending his hand toward me, his expression softened. “Just dance with me, woman.”

I raised an eyebrow and looked up at him, puzzled. He wanted to... dance? With me?

I slowly put my hand in his and felt his giant paw wrap around my dainty hand. Blushing, I looked up at him as he started to sway us from side to side to the beat of the music. His eyes seemed to glow while he looked down at me. What was he trying to tell me without speaking?

A few steps around the room and my stomach was filled with butterflies. Had he been practicing this dance? He was extremely good at it. His feet didn’t fumble and every step was intentional. His hands rested against my hips with a calming gentleness, like nothing could hurt me as long as he was holding me like this. After a few minutes, I realized that I could use this chance to tell Jojo how I really felt about him.

My stomach was tied up in knots as I mumbled, “Jotaro?”

He glanced down at me, one of his eyebrows cocked. “Yeah?”

I took a deep breath and stopped in my tracks. Gathering my courage, I furrowed my brows and bit my lip.

“Jotaro, I like you. Like, a lot. I’ve never liked anyone the way I do with you. You’re always on my mind, and whenever we hang out I always just wanna hug you and tell you everything is gonna be okay because we’re together and as long as you have me you’ll always be cared for. When I look at you, my heart beats a little faster. When our hands touch, I don’t ever stop thinking about it. When I see you happy, I’m happy too. You bring out the best in me and I know you probably don’t care because you think i’m annoying but-”

I was cut off by a pair of lips against mine. My eyes widened as I realized Joot was kissing me. I quickly regained my composure and closed my eyes, relaxing into his arms. I felt us being lifted into the air and moved my hands to hold his face.

When we pulled away, Jotaro was no longer covered in fur. He was back to normal. I smiled wide and ran my hand aling the soft skin of his cheek. His blue eyes were shiny as he chuckled.

“Yare yare, wish you had told me earlier. I don’t think you’re annoying. I happen to think you’re amazing.” His face was soft and his pink lips were set in a gentle smile. I kissed them again and sighed.

“God, I’m so glad.”

#jotaro kujo #jojos bizarre adventure #jjba fanfic #jjba #jotaro kujo x reader #fluff #jotaro x reader fluff #jjba au #jotaro x reader #jjba x reader #anime fanfic #anime #weeb #stardust crusaders #jjba part 3

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tirorah · 4 years ago

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Road to Berlin – The Strike Witches Magnum Opus?

Hello! It’s been a long time. I don’t plan on returning to Tumblr long-term—it simply stole away too much of my time and energy, and I had to do what was best for myself. However, I thought I’d pop in for a very special message.

You see, Strike Witches’ third season, Road to Berlin, has now reached its halfway point. And I need you to watch it.

“Strike Witches?!” I hear you say. “That weird show about girls with no pants that you’re obsessed with for some reason?”

Yes, exactly! Hold on, don’t run away yet! Sit with me for a spell and allow me to explain my boundless love for this silly, emotionally gripping show. Allow me to tell you why it might affect you in the same way, and why Road to Berlin may be the best offering yet.

Welcome to the 501st Joint Fighter Wing

If you’ve heard of this anime, you’ve undoubtedly heard of (or witnessed) its rather infamous claim to fame: a group of teenage soldiers fighting strange creatures in an Alternate Universe World War 2 Europe, flying around with guns and magic-fueled leg machines, and none of them are wearing any decent trousers.

That takes some getting used to, doesn’t it? I’m not going to deny that. But while Strike Witches’ rather peculiar design decisions are inescapable, there’s one thing you need to take into account: Season 1 aired all the way back in 2008. And over those thirteen years, it’s evolved into an experience unlike anything its roots would suggest.

Strike Witches has always been a strange beast. It has a large cast and divides its activities evenly between (light) war drama and slice-of-life shenanigans. And there’s fanservice, lots and lots of it! But the show’s emphasis on risqué camera work, and how that camera work is handled, highly depends on which entry you’re watching.

You see, Strike Witches is strangely ambitious. It could’ve easily taken its bizarre concept and pushed that to its limits, bringing in as much fanservice as possible and playing a simple story in the background as window dressing. But it was never satisfied with just that. Even early on in Season 1, the show deals with heavier themes like pressure, trauma and loss.

And then there are the characters, the undisputed stars of the show. Twelve strong and all with different backgrounds and personal quirks, they may at first seem like TV Tropes come to life. And certainly, sometimes they are. However, as the series progressed, things started to change. Even Season 2, arguably the lightest and silliest of all entries, featured material that built on character development and character growth earned in its predecessor.

With the movie and a trio of OVAs to round out the cast a bit more, the stage was set for Road to Berlin.

The Difficult Road Ahead

When this season was first announced back in 2018, two things stood out to me. First of all, the key visual and promotional video released along with the announcement were much more similar in style to the movies and the OVAs, featuring serious-looking characters and stormy clouds. Secondly, for the first time in Strike Witches history, an entry received a subtitle. Yes, the OVAs were named Operation Victory Arrow, but that was merely wordplay to spell out “OVA.” It wasn’t wholly serious.

Road to Berlin, however, is deadly serious.

Let’s start with an overall theme. The vaunted 501st Joint Fighter Wing has had some major victories, but much of the continent is still under occupation by the Neuroi. The Hive over Berlin is the Wing’s new target, but the journey there is fraught with obstacles. Plans are thwarted and delayed by Neuroi more powerful and far craftier than their 2008 counterparts.

And as the opening song tells us: “We all have flaws.” The Road to Berlin isn’t an entirely literal road; it’s also a metaphorical one. The push to Berlin is their hardest battle yet. Victory can only be achieved if the characters face and overcome their weaknesses. But they’re not alone.

Friendship Is Power

As the characters have long since been established, there’s greater room for growth not just in one character, but also in how that character interacts with others. Road to Berlin chose the best possible route and decided to emphasize character dynamics. Episodes don’t focus on a single character anymore; they focus on relationships, and those relationships are at their peak here.

There’s a newfound maturity to the writing in Road to Berlin, a gentle touch that allows the characters to breathe and be more than their foremost traits. You get a sense that the characters have grown from their experiences; they feel different, more well-rounded, but they still behave exactly as they should. This is difficult to get right, and while I’m sure there might be a few eyebrow-raising moments here and there, the overall result is a cast that continues to improve every week.

Chekhov’s Gun

Underpinning the character work is a highly intriguing execution. Road to Berlin delivers subtle setups and satisfying payoffs in every episode. The pacing is also seriously tight. No moment is left unused, every opportunity for additional development is taken. Even the script itself doesn’t like to waste time; it explains things here and there, but it rightly assumes you know who the characters are and what everything means, so it doesn’t bother with many unnecessary lines.

On top of all that, this season is reaching new heights in confidence and sheer audacity, and it uses that to deliver something truly special. There are interactions here that I never could’ve imagined, twists that genuinely caught me off-guard, moments where I had to sit back and digest what I’d just witnessed.

Not a single episode has been predictable thus far; I’ve had more surprises than I can count. In fact, before I started watching I made a bingo card on a whim, filling it with trends and running gags I’d spotted over the course of the series. Some of those bingo spaces have already been proven wrong, and others are in question. Road to Berlin has done such a spectacular job at simultaneously defying and exceeding my expectations that I honestly have no idea where this journey will take me.

The Fault in Our Stars

Okay, hold up, stop the hype train! I admit, I’m a massive sucker for Strike Witches. One could say this somewhat clouds my judgement. Shocking, I know. So, to make this enthusiastic recommendation fairer, let’s dig into something that I hope to see an improvement on.

There is some terrible imbalance in screen time going on here. I know I said earlier that the cast is great, and it is amazing, but some characters have definitely been favored over others. Yoshika is the main character, of course, so it’s not unreasonable for her to have a large role. Similarly, characters like Minna, Gertrud and Shirley have more experience and higher ranks than the others, which means they have an easier time fitting into scenes.

So, who’s gotten the short end of the stick?

Let’s start with Lynne. She hasn’t had as much of a presence as I’d hoped. The primary reason for this is Shizuka, who’s taken up the role of newbie to the squadron and is often paired with Yoshika because they’re working together. As each episode focuses on the relationships between a select few characters at a time, the others are often relegated to minor roles, and poor Lynne hasn’t had an episode to highlight her yet. I’m sure her moment will come eventually.

I don’t know if the same thing applies to Minna. She’s mostly stuck behind her desk again, it seems, and while she’s definitely had some scenes, her role as Wing Commander hasn’t allowed her as much wiggle room as some of the others. What I want to see from Minna is more time to be a nurturing mom to her girls. The thing is, I’m not sure how they’d accomplish a Minna-centric episode. I suppose they could pair her up with Mio, but even then, I’m uncertain where to take her. It seems redundant to have her be worried out of her mind over Mio again, and she seems to be keeping it together pretty well so far anyway.

In a trend so merciless it’s almost comical, Sanya and Eila seem forever doomed to the peanut gallery. They started out with few lines and have pretty much remained in the background since. Of course, a big factor to it all is their role as the night patrol, which naturally separates their activities from everyone else’s. It’s my current prediction that their relationship is next in line to be showcased. The quality of that episode will likely hinge on how their personalities are tuned, but there’s potential for something great.

And most shocking of all, Mio—She Who Has Practiced Plot Armor Ten Thousand Times—has had the most infinitesimal role of all. I’m of two minds on this. It appears that Road to Berlin has realized that having Mio fly into battle without a shield or Striker Unit is silly, and this is good. On the other hand, Mio is an iconic and beloved character. She deserves some screen time as long as she doesn’t overshadow the others. For now, she seems to be relegated to strategizing and logistics, although I have a hunch that a way to circumvent her newfound vulnerability has already been set up. Time will tell if this ends up being utilized.

Journey’s End

In closing, Road to Berlin highlights the best of what Strike Witches has to offer. It’s striding boldly forward, eager to dazzle us with its animation and audio, grinning as it challenges our preconceptions about where its characters can go and what they can do.

The path to this greatness can be tough. Watching Strike Witches means accepting a number of strange concepts, which can give quite a few viewers a rough start with the series. However, if you made it all the way here and haven’t given Strike Witches a try yet, I sincerely implore you to make the attempt. If you allow the characters to sweep you off your feet, then Road to Berlin could be the apex of a most satisfying viewing experience.

Especially if its second half is as impressive as the first. I, personally, have high hopes. There’s no sky this show can’t conquer.

#strike witches #road to berlin #anime #yes I made a bingo card in Excel #I'm a passionate fangirl with ample Microsoft experience #oh right #I should point out that I changed my name from NeandaFFnet to TirOrah #as I don't use that old handle anymore #sorry for any confusion caused

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funkymbtifiction · 4 years ago

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How I Write, How I Dream: ESTP Edition

Mod: An ESTP asked permission to submit this, since she noticed I do not have an ESTP ‘How I write stories’ description in the archive to match this series. What follows is in her own words.

ESTP: How I Write, How I Dream

So this submission is like 6+ years late topically, I think, but it’s an understatement to say I get side-tracked easily. First I had to be self-aware enough to actually determine my type with confidence, and then I had to remember to write this up. Hopefully it’s an edition that’s better late than never – in any case, I thought it might be fun to contribute, given the frequent lack of Se-dom voices in things like this.

I’m aware that I might be in a comparatively small group as a regular ESTP writer, let alone one familiar with personality typology, but I wrote my first short story at nine for a 4th grade assignment, and then my first full story/intended book when I was eleven, (both of which I immediately proceeded to act out on the playground), so it’s sort of always been a part of my normal retinue of hobbies/coping mechanisms/diversions/distractions. Usually I find that I write the most when I’m bored or otherwise dissatisfied with my real life – sort of using it to spice things up with more exciting events, even if they’re regrettably fictional. I also suspect that I use writing to experience all the interesting things I find myself unable to physically do, at least for the moment – not unlike what your ISTP contributor described. I think sometimes that I use it to subconsciously work through certain concepts, too, until I understand them holistically. It’s like it gives me a way to actually engage and interact with a philosophical concept through tangible expression – through embedding it into [fictional] human behavior. Like how I understand the nuances of the concept of apostasy better for having walked through the plot of Silence (2016) with Scorsese than I would have if it was still just a definition in a theology textbook. Application helps me. (I also had a counselor a while back who told me that I used my writing to work through the emotions I hate to process in real life, but I was never wholly convinced of that or the connection of my plots to my real life events, so jury’s out, I guess.)

When I was a kid, I liked to read a fair-ish amount. Spies were oftentimes my favorite topic, but I also wanted eagerly to be one and owned probably every kid spy gadget ever manufactured for sale at the Spy Museum in D.C., to which I dragged my parents practically every weekend so I could crawl through air vents, etc. However, my favorite children’s series of all was actually the Ingo series by the late Helen Dunmore, which provided me with exciting, nature-based, and [mostly] emotionally satisfying adventures in my lifelong favorite unpredictable environment – underwater. (I also dragged my parents constantly to our local aquarium.) As I got older, the frequency of my reading dropped, and I now find myself usually pulled more towards nonfiction.

[Note – I just realized a lifelong quirk with me and books. I’m sort of ridiculously set on *seeing* the books I own. I mean, I know what I own, but I still constantly get out every book I own on a particular topic just to see them all at once. It makes the knowledge more cohesive for me to concentrate it visually, I guess. Even just the covers. Anyway.]

My writing habits are kind of awful – in that, like alluded to above, I pretty much only write when I either a) am seized by a great idea, or else b) have nothing better to do. I have little ambition to actually publish or anything like that, regardless of encouragement, and I prefer to think of my writing as just a diversion, an amusement for myself alone (though I do crave minimal approval, as I do in anything). In any case, as soon as the pressure of a schedule is attached to my writing, it drains of all joy for me. Much like your ISTP contributor described, I think I hover somewhere between plotter and pantser, depending on the story. Too much planning leads to my feeling like I have no incentive to actually write it, as I’ve already experienced it, and too little leaves me spinning aimlessly with no real direction. I write both prose and screenplays, and the rule seems to hold true for both, overall. Also, whenever I have a problem in my plotting or characters or whatever, I find that I have to step away, go be busy with something else, sometimes for a long while, and when I come back everything just falls into place. I guess unconscious Ti and/or Ni finding solutions? I’m not totally sure how/why that happens.

As my inclusion of screenplay format may suggest, I experience my stories in an incredibly visual way. I think sometimes that my narratives come across very much like movies, with all the requisite limitations and usual lack of character introspection. I feel like I pretty much focus on the observable actions of my characters – I find describing any kind of extended rumination highly unnatural, at least most of the time. Even my planning is highly visual. I have a tendency to graph, chart, draw, and plaster my options all over the walls. It’s ridiculous sometimes, but in many cases I just have to be able to see them all next to each other, even if there’s no other information provided. Like my books, mentioned earlier. It helps clarify my plot choices in my mind. It’s also a quirk/weakness of mine that I am often entirely dependent on outside images for descriptions. I need to find a real person, place, or thing to base my fictional ones on physically if I hope to have any kind of concrete knowledge to allow description. Again, it helps solidify them/it in my mind.

I have another weakness in my writing that often results in much incredulous laughter – I’m often entirely blind to any hidden meaning or symbolism in my own writing. I might get the vaguest sense of something being a good line, but be unsure why until my ISFJ friend starts praising my deep, archetypal references and crafting – and then staring at me when I clearly have no idea what she means. It’s happened several times by this point, and though it makes me laugh, I’ll just blame it on the subconscious inferior Ni. I pretty much never have any kind of goal of being symbolic or laden with deep meaning. If I were ever to try that, I think it would massively stress me out.

In terms of editors, beta readers, or whatever else we want to call those who give solicited criticism – that’s just what I need/want. Criticism. For the most part, I’m incredibly thick-skinned about my writing and would be absolutely fine if someone told me that it was utterly terrible and the whole thing needed revising down to the very concept. That may be because I think many of my concepts are lackluster to start with. But nothing frustrates me so quickly as readers unwilling to actually [and harshly] criticize. I always tell them that I want him/her to rip it to shreds. I mean, that’s the only way it’ll get better. (I’ve made mistakes before by assuming that other writers feel this way, too – my sister did not appreciate my input.)

I write almost exclusively dramas these days, I guess, though of varying subtypes. (I also maintain the availability/ready accessibility of about 10+ stories at any given time of active writing. I bounce between them sometimes based on what I’m feeling like at the moment or what I have a new thought about.) I have a sort of historical drama thing that takes place in the 1680s, a modern drama prompted by a premise of genetic engineering, a Most Dangerous Game kind of hunting/weapons thing, a detective story in the immediate aftermath of WWII, a classic deserted island story, a thing involving the phenomenon of stigmata… the list goes on and shifts constantly.

However, while I’ve typically enjoyed writing, here’s the omnipresent rub – engaging with it for any great amount of time makes me really unhealthy emotionally. I’m pretty sure that after like two or three days primarily working on a story without other overriding priorities, or like six or seven with those scattered distractions, (at best), I’m plummeting straight down to my inferior functions. My historical stories do this even more quickly, because they oftentimes seem to require more mental effort. I get super irritable, drown in self-loathing, start to think that everything real that I want is never going to happen – it’s really not good. The fact of the matter is that while writing is a fun diversion oftentimes, I go insane doing it for too long, because I need to get out and engage. (Thanks to my pesky Se-dom, daring to ask for more than just incessant fidgeting.)

When I do write, however, I’m known for my in-depth research, my character-driven plots, lines some people in my life seem to think are witty or something, and emotional depth, believe it or not. I’ve been complimented on it, as well as my tendency to accurately portray mental/emotional illness. I don’t know. I’ve never thought I was overly talented at such things, but then again, I never paid much attention. Even this write-up has been hard – analyzing my writing like this. It’s not a strength of mine to scrutinize my own habits.

After all, I’m busy – I have to go blast Maroon 5 as I jump off a 20-foot wall yelling, “Parkour!”

I am an ESTP, remember? ;-)

#estp #writing #how i write

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