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sardonic-the-writer · 2 years ago

Text

—the great potato war

SUMMARY | nobody cared about potatoes. nobody at all. well, except for you and your neighbor, who's pink hair and pig skull never failed to catch your attention. it was about time you approached him

PAIRING | technoblade x reader

REQUESTED | no

WORD COUNT | 1.8k+

WARNINGS | none

AUTHORS NOTES | some nice healthy platonic fun times with our boy techno. ive been binging his channel as of late

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Sitting on his knees in an uncomfortable kneeling position, Technoblade felt a trickle of cold sweat work its way down the back of his neck. He could feel the sun beating down from above, its relentless rays doing nothing for his sweaty skin.

Wiping a gloved hand along his forehead line, Techno looked up from his work. The man's fingers and palms were stained with dirt splotches and grass marks. His pink hair had been tied back and tossed in between the back of his shoulder blades with ease, a sturdy hair band keeping it in one bunch.

Technoblade stood up to his full height. He could practically feel his spine elongating already; a few sharp pops even rang out from his tired joints to audibly show how hard he had been working. Although, as he looked out upon the sight in front of him, Techno couldn't help but think that it was all worth it.

Hundreds and hundreds of harvested potato lines laid in front of him with a barren look. Remnants and scraps of the former vegetation littered the scorched ground. Brown spots and dried up greens were what were left of the hybrid's hours of heavy work.

With a haughty grin, Techno walked off his elaborate plot of land. It took a minute too, seeing as he had a ginormous five acres to show for it.

“That’ll put me ahead.” He grinned, taking off the worn leather gloves he had been wearing to garden. In an almost comical manor, he rubbed his hands together like a film villain painted in black and white, smiling.

From the comfort of his secluded property, getting to the hub was easy enough. Just a small stroll on an obscure dirt path and he was in a familiar looking village.

Each time he passed the threshold from lush forest to dusty village, Techno could always feel the strain in his muscles as he tightened them, a feeling of discomfort washing over him in small waves. It wasn't as if he didn't ever like visiting the place. The collection of small wooden houses and abundancy of vendor stands were more than useful in tasks such as expanding his farm and gathering materials. It was the stares he was less than partial to.

Eyes filled with fear and wonder alike followed Techno as he walked stiffly around the place. He should have been used to this by now, more than aware of the titles he had collected over the years. Blood God, the Blade, even the occasional call of potato man was tossed in his direction. The last one made him want to laugh the most, if he was being honest.

The pinkette didn't blame people for staring. He was more or less a myth taken form to them. A pink haired warrior hiding behind a pigs skull, often seen buying the materials needed to reap all kinds of vegetables. In all his years living just a few miles away from the public, the only locals he had ever spoken to were the sellers. Maybe an occasional traveler, interested in what the rest of the world was doing now that he had left it—despite the fact he had vowed he would never return to the life he had been leading before. No. He was much more content growing crops than watering the fields of battle with blood. So yeah, not exactly the type people around here were used to seeing.

"Alright. It was about time I met the asshole that insist on making my life a living hell."

Techno's swift movements stopped in the middle of the sidewalk he had been steadily moving along; an admirable feat from whoever had just caught his attention—something that didn't happen often.

His sharp gaze was hidden behind the bone white skull he insisted on wearing so much, sweeping around until it eventually landed on the source of his brief pause.

It was someone short. Well, at least shorter than him, which was normal for about everyone he had ever met—save for a teenage enderman hybrid he had used to know.

Skimming over the height difference, the second thing that caught his attention were their hands. They were almost as dirty as his, if not dirtier. Even through the grit and grime he could see a few hardened callouses dotting their skin. A detail that almost made Techno tilt his head with mild curiosity. Almost.

Thirdly was their stare. It was scarily memorable of the very same one he saw each time he looked in the mirror. Determined, with layers and layers of vast emotions underneath it.

The stranger approached him, hands in pockets as they bit at the inside of their cheek. Looking far more comfortable than anyone else would have in approaching the infamous piglin hybrid.

"Do I know you." Techno's voice was monotone. Flat. Less than a question, and more of a not so subtle way of getting them to leave him alone. It didn't work.

"Nope! Pretty rude of you, considering we've been neighbors for about half a year now. But I'll let it slide." The carefree tone and amused smile contradicted what should have been the hostility in their words. Their sentences were certainty set up to be directed at him with a different emotion if they so much as pleased. But Techno knew how to read people, be it common folk or kings sitting high above him on a throne as they lied about their sins. And this person before him certainty had no intent to do anything beyond chat.

For some reason that confused him more than anything else.

"I don' have any neighbors." His voice was clear. Slightly raising it for the sake of the people around them doing a poor job of eavesdropping; a silent call to get moving. To which the small crowd immediately did.

"Maybe so you think. But tell that to me and my house I've been living in for six months. If you ever bothered to visit anywhere other than this shithole or your huge ass garden you would know that."

They knew about his garden, along with his traveling habits. If they were telling the truth about being his neighbor, that would be less of a concern to hear. But Techno decided to play it safe, straightening up to his full height and curling his fists as if to insinuate a threat. He didn't feel like scaring off anyone more than he usually did, although this time it would be with intent, but he'd rather continue on his way with a bit of guilt rather than with the possibility that someone from his past had finally caught up with him.

"Oh relax tough guy. I'm just here to talk potatoes."

He stirred at that.

"..what?"

"Potatoes. You know, the thing you spend all your time farming." The person who had still yet to introduce themself carried on with hand motions, blowing out a slight sigh. "I really didn't think the second after I moved some crazy guy would be setting up shop with the same idea as me. I mean come on, how many people in the world have even considered going into potato farming as a hobby. You and your—your incredibly overpowered gardening tools."

It took a second before all of the dots began to connect in Techno's head. The way they had approached him with a competitive tone (albeit it playful), how they only seemed interested in talking about vegetation, the roughness of their hands—

"(Y/n) right?" In spite of himself, Techno found a small quirk in his lips forming. Not quite a smile, but something similar to it all the same. He was rewarded with a joyous nod of confirmation.

"Bingo."

So this was the person who had been after his number one potato these past couple months. Why the hub had such a thing as a leaderboard for who could sow the most vegetables, he had no idea. But it proved a successful way to pass his time. A task that included beating out the only other person on that board who was a threat to his number one title—the very same person who was currently standing across from him.

"Technoblade. Nice to metcha." He held out a hand, surely baffling a few of the people who were still staring at him and (Y/n). It was expected later there would be whispers of the interaction between the infamous man towering over an unassuming civilian, but he didn't mind.

"I know who you are." They took his hand with a snort, laughing. "I've been burning holes through your name on that stupid leaderboard ever since last summer. Your mental, you know, for farming a million potatoes a day."

"So I've been told." A brief memory of an old competitor made its way to the front of his mind, the word squid leaving as soon as it had came.

"I suppose asking you to stop farming would be a waste of time?"

He almost laughed.

"I'll take that as a no." (Y/n) tightened the grip on his hand with a fervent determination before letting go. A silent challenge. The first one that had interested Techno in a long time.

"How about we make a game out of this?" His ears perked up, blood red eyes capturing (Y/n)'s as they proceeded. "If we're to continue in this great potato war, how about we settle around a five hundred million goal. First person to it gets bragging rights. As well as, I dunno, something of the others. We can work that part out later."

"You're going down nerd." He grinned, sharp canines showing excitedly.

"Oh please." You rolled your eyes with the same sort of smile. "his'll be a cake walk for me. Or a potato walk for me, you could say."

"Bruhh."

"Like that one aye? How about, by the time I'm done with you, you'll be mashed potatoes!"

"Anyone else want to be my competitor? Anyone?" Techno pretended to call out to a crowd, scaring the nearby foot traffic as they scurried around the little bubble they had both created in the street.

"Alright fine fine you've made your point. My humors simply too good for the likes of you." (Y/n) returned to stuffing their hands in their pockets now, body weight shifting from foot to foot.

Techno took one more long look at them. Sweeping their figure with a feeling he hadn't encountered in a long time.

He was having fun.

"May th' best farmer win."

"Oh I will."

And with that, he set off in the opposite direction of you, determined to get back to his farm before you did yours.

#technoblade #technoblade x reader #teachnoblade x you #technoblade x y/n #technoblade fanfic #mcyt #mcyt x reader #mcyt x y/n #mcyt x you #mcyt fanfic #dsmp x reader #dsmp x y/n #dsmp x you #dsmp #fanfic #x reader #one shot #skyblock #the great potato war

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sicknessbysalem · 11 days ago

Note

I sent this to @simplysickness ages ago… but since I see you’re working on ITILA/lex and soren… can we get “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me… I was fine this morning.” and “that’s it get it all up” for soren and lex (i love the duality okay)? i am so excited to see them continuing!

ask and you shall receive!

i love working on lex and soren's relationship. i've had a lot of sick lex lately and i have a 'both sick but for different reasons' fic in progress (plus a two parter filling a request of sick lex), so i decided to use this request to write a sick soren fic!

if you have any more requests, comments, questions, etc., send them my way!

tw nightmares, anxiety, panic, nausea, fevers, emeto

also additional cw for the fact lex is interested in metaphysical properties of crystals and does tarot readings and we see some of that throughout this fic.

The house was silent, save for the faint creak of settling wood and the occasional rustle of the wind against the windows. The stillness stretched, broken only by the rhythmic hum of the heater, but it offered no comfort to Soren as he jolted awake, a sharp gasp escaping his lips.

His chest heaved as though he’d run a marathon, and his heart raced with the force of something inexplicable—something terrifying. The remnants of a nightmare clung to him, intangible but suffocating. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to latch onto any fragment of the dream, but there was nothing. Just fear, cold and consuming, curling in the pit of his stomach and radiating outward.

Soren sat up, running a trembling hand through his ash-blond hair, damp with sweat. The room spun slightly, a disorienting tilt that left him gripping the edge of his bed for support. His breathing was uneven, shallow, and there was a dull, gnawing ache at the base of his skull. His stomach churned, a low, nauseating twist that made him swallow hard against the rising discomfort. He shook his head, as if to will the sensations away, but it only made the dizziness worse.

“It’s just a nightmare,” he muttered to himself, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Just a nightmare.”

But the words felt hollow. The nausea, the tremor in his hands, the way his limbs felt heavy yet unsteady—none of it felt like the aftermath of fear alone. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to linger on the possibility of anything else. Not now. What he needed was grounding, something to pull him back from the lingering haze of terror. And he knew exactly where to go to get that.

Lex’s room was bathed in the soft glow of warm, dim lighting. The bay window was lined with small crystals, tarot cards, and plants, all arranged with the kind of care and precision Lex put into everything he touched. The faint scent of herbal tea lingered in the air, calming and earthy.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor by the window, Lex was sorting through a deck of tarot cards, his long, dark hair cascading over one shoulder. He wore an old band hoodie, the fabric loose and comfortably worn, and his fingers moved with steady intent as he shuffled the cards into neat piles. A notebook rested beside him, scribbled with half-formed thoughts and musings that looked like they’d been written in the thick of inspiration. Soren watched him for a second, watched as Lex seemed calmer and more relaxed than he had in weeks.

Lex’s sharp eyes flicked up when he heard the faint creak of the door opening. Soren stood in the doorway, his tall frame slightly hunched, his hand gripping the edge of the doorframe as though it were the only thing keeping him steady. He looked pale, his shoulder-length hair tousled, his usually sharp features softened by an exhaustion that ran deeper than sleep.

“Hey,” Lex said softly, his voice a gentle invitation. He didn’t ask what was wrong—not yet. He simply tilted his head, setting the cards down as his gaze locked on Soren’s, offering his full attention. "You're up... late? early?"

Soren didn’t respond right away. Instead, he stepped into the room, his bare feet making almost no sound on the wooden floor. He looked at Lex as though drawn by some invisible thread, his pale blue eyes filled with an unspoken need. Without a word, he sank down beside Lex, leaning against the window seat and resting his head against Lex’s leg.

Lex didn’t flinch or question the sudden need for contact. That was normal between them. Instead, he shifted slightly, adjusting his position to make Soren more comfortable, his hand instinctively moving to rest gently on Soren’s shoulder. “Couldn’t sleep?” Lex asked, his tone light, casual, as though inviting Soren to share without pressing.

Soren let out a shaky breath, his eyes closing as he pressed his cheek against the soft fabric of Lex’s sweatpants. “Woke up,” he murmured, his voice low, barely above a whisper. “I think… I think it was a nightmare. Don’t remember it, but it was bad.”

Lex hummed softly in acknowledgment, his fingers idly brushing through Soren’s hair, untangling the damp strands with the same care he used when handling his cards.

“Nightmares’ll do that, trust me mine get that way too,” he said quietly. “Leave you feeling like you’ve been hit by a truck, even if you can’t remember why.”

Soren nodded faintly, the motion slow and deliberate as though even that small effort took too much energy. “I feel… off,” he admitted, his voice hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if the words made sense. “Nauseous, shaky. Dizzy.”

Lex’s hand stilled briefly in Soren’s hair, a faint flicker of concern passing over his face, but he didn’t let it linger. “Probably adrenaline,” he said gently, though his mind lingered on the possibilities. Soren’s nightmares were rare but intense, and they had a way of leaving him rattled in ways even he didn’t fully understand.

“Maybe,” Soren murmured, though the uncertainty in his voice was clear. He shifted slightly, curling closer to Lex as if the proximity alone might quiet the unease in his chest. “Can I just stay here?”

“Of course,” Lex replied without hesitation, his voice soft, steady. He picked up his tarot cards again, shuffling them absently with one hand while the other rested lightly against Soren’s back. He didn’t pry, didn’t press Soren to talk more. He simply stayed, his presence warm and grounding, the quiet hum of their shared space enough to ease some of the tension coiling in Soren’s chest. "If i drop a card on your face I'm not liable, they have a mind of their own."

Soren chuckled softly, "I'll take it as a sign from the universe or... whatever it is they do."

The minutes stretched into a calm, soothing silence, broken only by the faint sound of the cards shuffling and the rhythmic pattern of their breathing. Soren’s dizziness didn’t entirely fade, nor did the nausea twisting low in his stomach, but with Lex’s steady hand brushing through his hair and the quiet strength of his presence, the fear began to loosen its grip.

For now, that was enough.

Soren shifted slightly against Lex’s leg, letting out a slow, measured breath that sounded heavier than it should have. His cheek pressed against the soft fabric of Lex’s pants, the steady motion of Lex shuffling his tarot cards providing a rhythm that Soren tried to anchor himself to. The nausea still lingered, a twisting unease that refused to settle, and the dizziness felt sharper now, like the ground beneath him had subtly shifted.

He opened his mouth to speak but hesitated, unsure of what he wanted to say. After a moment, he let out a shaky breath and tilted his head just enough to glance up at Lex, reaching up slowly and taking the crystal around Lex's neck in his hand. He held it lightly, not even enough to pull on Lex, just enough Soren could see it better.

“What’s… what’s that one for?” he asked, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

Lex’s hand instinctively drifted to the pendant, his fingers brushing over its smooth surface. “Amethyst, the one I usually wear,” he said, his tone warm, inviting. “It’s a grounding stone. Good for keeping your feet on the ground, especially when things feel… overwhelming. It encourages emotional balance. Funnily enough some people believe its a good stone to encourage sobriety, believed to help with overcoming addiction and insomnia and anxiety. It's why I wear it all the time, pretty much.”

Soren let out a weak chuckle, though the sound was strained, his body stiffening slightly as a fresh wave of dizziness rolled through him. He pressed his forehead against Lex’s leg, his breath hitching as the nausea twisted sharper, more insistent.

"How you feeling babe?" Lex asked softly, running his hand through Soren's hair.

“I feel… worse,” Soren admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, each word broken by a shaky inhale.

Lex stilled as he looked down at Soren. He didn’t say anything right away, his gaze carefully studying the subtle tension in Soren’s frame, the way his fingers curled faintly against Lex’s knee, his breaths uneven and shallow. “Hang on,” Lex murmured softly, setting the cards he had in his hand aside as he reached for the small trashcan tucked near the edge of the window.

The motion wasn’t a second too soon. Soren’s body gave a sharp, involuntary heave, his stomach twisting violently as he lurched forward. Lex caught him easily, his free hand steadying Soren’s shoulder as he guided him toward the trashcan.

“Babe, you're going to puke, it’s okay,” Lex murmured, his voice calm and low, a quiet anchor as Soren’s body convulsed with another harsh heave. Lex grabbed Soren's hair, pulling it back.

The nausea hit hard, unrelenting, leaving Soren trembling and breathless as his body finally gave in. He coughed weakly, his breaths shallow and uneven as the sickness overtook him, the sound sharp and raw. Lex stayed close, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles against Soren’s back, his voice a steadying presence as he murmured soft reassurances.

“It’s okay, Soren. I’ve got you. Get it all up my love,” Lex said gently, his tone calm but firm.

When the worst of it passed, Soren slumped back against Lex’s leg, his head dipping forward as he let out a slow, shaky breath. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, the lingering nausea leaving him pale and trembling. “This… doesn’t happen,” he murmured weakly, his voice barely audible. “Not from nightmares.”

Lex nodded faintly, his fingers brushing through Soren’s damp hair in a small, comforting gesture. “Well, it can. I know everyone is different but I can't tell you how many times it's happened to me.” he replied softly, his tone careful, measured. He pressed his lips to Soren’s temple in a reassuring kiss, the warmth of Soren’s skin catching his attention immediately.

Lex froze, pulling back slowly, “Soren,” he said gently, his voice soft but firm. “You’ve got a fever.”

Soren blinked, his pale blue eyes flicking up toward Lex, confusion clouding his expression. “I don't know what the hell is wrong with me, then, I was fine earlier,” he said, though his voice was faint, uncertain. “Just… dizzy. Shaky. But when I went to bed I was fine.”

Lex nodded, his hand moving to rest lightly against Soren’s shoulder, grounding him. “It might’ve just been building up,” he suggested gently. “Sometimes these things sneak up on you.”

Soren frowned, his gaze dropping to the floor as he tried to process the information. His body still felt heavy, drained, and the nausea lingered like a dull ache, a reminder of how fragile he felt. “I don’t… I don’t feel sick,” he murmured, though the words felt hollow, unconvincing even to him.

Lex gave a faint smile, his hand brushing over Soren’s hair again in a soothing gesture. “You don’t have to feel sick to be sick,” he said softly. “Your body’s just… letting you know it needs some extra care right now.”

Soren let out a slow, shaky breath, his body leaning more heavily against Lex as he closed his eyes. “I hate this,” he admitted quietly, his voice laced with frustration and exhaustion. “I don’t even know what’s wrong.”

Lex nodded, his hand moving to rest lightly against Soren’s back, a quiet, steady presence. “We’ll figure it out,” he said gently, his tone calm, reassuring. “But something is hitting you, and it's hitting you hard it looks like. For now, let’s just focus on getting you comfortable, okay? Do you want to stay here?"

Soren didn’t respond immediately, but the way his body relaxed slightly against Lex’s leg was enough of an answer. Lex shifted carefully, reaching for the blanket bundled up on the bay window bench, wrapping it around Soren’s shoulders, tucking it close as though shielding him from the world.

Soren stayed curled against Lex, his body trembling faintly beneath the blanket draped around his shoulders. The fever simmered low but persistent, a warmth that radiated from his skin and left him feeling flushed and sticky. He could feel the dull ache in his head growing sharper, the nausea in his stomach twisting like a coiled spring. Yet, the anxiety was worse—a gnawing, insistent dread that whispered he wasn’t in control, that he couldn’t escape how miserable he felt.

Lex hadn’t moved much since wrapping Soren in the blanket. He sat cross-legged, one hand brushing idly through Soren’s damp hair, the other resting on Soren’s shoulder in a grounding touch. The tarot cards sat forgotten beside him, but the soft glow of the room and the gentle rhythm of his breathing created an atmosphere of calm that Soren desperately clung to.

“You want me to keep talking about the crystals?” Lex asked softly, his voice quiet but warm, breaking the silence with care. “Or I could do a tarot reading for you—something simple. Your pick.”

Soren shifted slightly, his cheek pressed against Lex’s leg, and let out a faint hum. “The crystals,” he murmured after a moment, his voice hoarse, shaky. “It’s… nice. Helps.”

Lex smiled faintly, his hand brushing through Soren’s hair again in a soothing motion before he shifted to gesture toward the windowsill. “Alright,” he said gently. “That one—Rose Quartz. Classic. It’s all about love and compassion, self-acceptance. Basically, if you’re feeling like crap about yourself, it’s like a hug from the universe. Or something to that effect.” Lex chuckled softly.

Soren let out a soft, weak chuckle, though it was more of an exhale. “Could use one of those,” he muttered, his voice tinged with a faint, self-deprecating humor.

“A hug? You’re getting one,” Lex said matter-of-factly, his hand moving to rest on Soren’s back, applying the lightest pressure in a gesture of reassurance. “Just a little more personal than the universe’s version.”

Soren didn’t reply, but the faint relaxation in his shoulders told Lex the words had landed. He continued, pointing to another crystal with a faint, greenish hue. “This one’s Fluorite. It’s good for clarity, focus—clearing out mental fog. Helps with stress, too.”

As Lex spoke, Soren closed his eyes, letting the soft cadence of Lex’s voice wash over him. For a moment, it worked. The sharp edge of his nausea dulled slightly, the dizziness easing just enough for him to breathe a little deeper, a little steadier. Lex moved on to another crystal, explaining its properties with the same gentle, steady tone, each word a small anchor pulling Soren back from the restless haze of discomfort.

The minutes stretched, blurring into something softer, quieter. Soren’s breaths grew slower, his body relaxing slightly against Lex’s leg as the fevered tension eased. Lex kept his movements slow and deliberate, brushing through Soren’s hair with one hand while the other occasionally drifted to his back, tracing lazy, soothing circles that seemed to lull Soren closer to sleep.

“You’re doing good,” Lex murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just breathe. Don’t think about anything else.”

Soren hummed faintly in acknowledgment, his head dipping slightly as his body grew heavier, the exhaustion finally pulling at him. He let out a slow, shaky breath, his lips parting slightly as his breathing evened out, the faint tension in his frame giving way to something softer.

But just as Soren began to drift, his body rebelled. The nausea surged suddenly, violently, twisting in his stomach with a sharpness that left him gasping, his eyes snapping open as he pushed himself upright with a shaky hand. “Lex—” he managed, his voice weak, panicked, as the dizziness hit him like a wave.

Lex moved instantly, grabbing the trashcan with one hand while steadying Soren with the other. “I’ve got you,” he said quickly, his voice calm but firm, a quiet assurance that cut through Soren’s rising panic. “Just breathe. Let it come.”

Soren barely had time to lean over before his body gave in, a sharp, painful heave wracking his frame. The force of it left him trembling, gasping for air as his stomach twisted violently, the nausea relentless. Lex stayed close, one hand pressed lightly against Soren’s back while the other held the trashcan steady.

“It’s okay,” Lex murmured softly, his tone steady, grounding. “Just let it out. I’ve got you.”

The sickness came in waves, each one sharp and unrelenting, leaving Soren breathless and trembling. Between heaves, he coughed weakly, his breaths shallow and uneven as his body struggled to recover. The effort left him slumped forward, his forehead resting against the edge of the trashcan as he tried to catch his breath.

When the worst of it passed, Lex set the trashcan aside and leaned closer, his hand moving to brush Soren’s damp hair back from his face. “You’re okay,” Lex said softly, his voice warm, steady. He pressed a light kiss to Soren’s temple, his lips lingering just long enough to catch the warmth of Soren’s fever. Lex frowned slightly, his fingers brushing over Soren’s flushed cheek. “You’re still burning up.”

Soren let out a shaky sigh, his body leaning heavily against Lex as he closed his eyes. “I don’t… I don’t get this sick,” he murmured weakly, his voice faint, broken by the lingering discomfort. “It’s not—it’s not normal.”

Lex nodded, his hand resting lightly on Soren’s shoulder in a grounding touch. “Maybe not,” he said gently, his tone careful, measured. “But it happens. Sometimes your body just needs a little extra care, you know?”

Soren didn’t respond immediately, his body trembling slightly as he pressed closer to Lex, seeking the warmth and comfort of his presence. “I hate this,” he muttered finally, his voice laced with frustration and exhaustion.

“I know,” Lex replied softly, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles against Soren’s back. “But you’re not alone, okay? We’ll get through this.”

Soren let out a faint hum, his head dipping forward as he rested against Lex, his breaths slow and uneven. The warmth of the blanket, the steady rhythm of Lex’s voice, the quiet strength of his touch—it was enough to ease the sharpest edges of Soren’s discomfort, leaving behind something fragile but bearable.

As the minutes stretched into quiet stillness, Lex stayed close, his presence a steadying force that anchored Soren in the here and now. And though the nausea and fever lingered, Soren allowed himself to lean into the comfort, finding a small, tentative peace in the warmth of Lex’s care.

“Come on,” Lex said softly, his voice low and warm, a steadying presence as he helped Soren sit down. “You’ll feel better lying down.”

Soren didn’t argue. He let Lex settle him onto the bed, his head sinking into the pillow with a heavy sigh. Lex moved quickly, adjusting the blanket around him and brushing a stray strand of ash-blond hair from his damp forehead. But as Lex stood to grab another pillow, Soren’s hand shot out, weak but insistent, his fingers curling around Lex’s wrist.

“Don’t go,” Soren murmured, his voice hoarse, unsteady. His fever-bright eyes met Lex’s, and there was a quiet desperation in his gaze, a need for the grounding comfort Lex’s presence brought. “Stay. Please.”

Lex hesitated for only a moment before nodding, his features softening as he set the pillow aside and climbed into the bed. Soren shifted slightly, his movements sluggish, making room for Lex to stretch out beside him. As soon as Lex was within reach, Soren pulled him close, wrapping an arm around his waist and resting his head against Lex’s chest.

Lex let out a quiet chuckle, his hand moving instinctively to brush through Soren’s hair, the motion slow and soothing. “Needy, aren’t we?” he teased lightly, though his tone was warm, affectionate.

“You help,” Soren murmured, his voice muffled against Lex’s chest. “Feel less… like this.”

Lex smiled faintly, his hand trailing down to rest against Soren’s back, tracing lazy, soothing circles. “That’s what I’m here for,” he said softly, his tone steady, reassuring.

"Do you ever sleep here?" Soren asked, even in his feverish haze taking note of the perfectly made and virtually untouched sheets.

"Only when I have a migraine," Lex shrugged, "It's less... intense. i usually sleep up there." Lex said, gesturing toward the bay window, "Feels more in control, safer. Unless, of course, I'm in bed with you."

The room fell quiet for a moment, the soft hum of the heater the only sound as Soren’s breathing began to slow, the tension in his frame easing slightly. But the fever still lingered, a flush of warmth radiating from his skin, and the nausea churned low in his stomach, a quiet reminder of the discomfort that refused to fully release its grip.

After a moment, Soren tilted his head up slightly, his fever-bright eyes meeting Lex’s. “Why do you know so much about the crystals?” he asked, his voice quiet but curious, a faint hint of distraction in his tone.

Lex paused, his hand stilling briefly in Soren’s hair before resuming its gentle motions. “Picked it up in rehab,” he said simply, his voice calm, matter-of-fact. “There was this book on metaphysical properties in the library there. At first, it was just something to read to pass the time, but… it stuck with me.”

Soren blinked, his gaze softening as he studied Lex’s expression. “Why?” he asked, his voice faint but steady.

Lex smiled faintly, his hand moving to brush a stray strand of hair from Soren’s face. “It was grounding,” he admitted, his tone thoughtful. “Focusing on the properties, what each crystal could do—it gave me something to hold onto when everything else felt… impossible. It reminded me that even the smallest things could have purpose, meaning.”

Soren nodded faintly, his head resting against Lex’s chest again as he closed his eyes. “Makes sense,” he murmured, his voice soft, drowsy. “You… you know what’d help me?”

Lex chuckled softly, his hand moving to trail over Soren’s back in a slow, comforting motion. “Fluorite for clarity, Amethyst for calming, and maybe a little Citrine for energy,” he said lightly, though there was a quiet warmth in his tone, a gentle affection that lingered in the air. “Basically, a whole arsenal.”

Soren let out a weak chuckle, though the sound was more of a breath, his body relaxing further against Lex. “You’re good at this,” he murmured, his voice fading slightly as the exhaustion began to pull at him again.

“Good at what?” Lex asked, his hand brushing through Soren’s hair again in a soothing motion.

“Being here,” Soren replied softly, his words slurred with fatigue but laced with quiet affection. “Making… everything less bad.”

Lex’s smile softened, his hand moving to rest lightly against Soren’s back, holding him close. “That’s what we do,” he said gently. “We look out for each other. Always.”

#emeto #sickfic #emeto fic #emetophilia #emeto tw #emeto writer #emeto cw #fever cw #fever tw

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llliiinnnaaa · 1 year ago

Text

Reprisal | Chapter Four | Part One

coriolanus snow x gaul oc

Summary: Ten years after the Tenth Hunger Games, Coriolanus Snow is under Dr. Volumnia Gaul’s wing as a Gamemaker alongside her niece. Unbeknownst to either of them, they’re both being prepared for a much greater task.

Warning: This story will contain explicit violence against adults and children alike (I mean, it’s Dr. Gaul AND Snow) as well as explicit language, and sexual situations.

***This fic is in no way, shape, or form, me endorsing or co-signing the horrific shit Snow does, nor am I trying to romanticize it. Also, apathy and will be the main driving force of any remnants of a relationship between my OC and Snow’s character. So if you’re interested in something very romantic and fluffy…it’s not gonna be this.

Enjoy!

One Month Earlier

Sleepy brown eyes open slowly, nearly widening at the sight of the man asleep next to her.

Bits and pieces from the night come back to her in a blur before her face heats up at the realization that they’re both very much naked.

She’s got the soft duvet from his bed covering her, she glances at him and blushes, looking away immediately before gently putting a good bit of covers over him.

She doesn’t want to wake him or disturb him, their day yesterday having been exhausting.

He needed the rest.

Brown eyes carefully study the sleeping features of the infamous Coriolanus Snow.

He doesn’t seem as stoic or iron-fisted when he sleeps, not as impatient or dismissive.

Though she had learned through the weekend that he wasn’t always so stoic.

In fact, the motivation for her kissing him in the first place was the wide grin on his plush lips, it made the corners of his icy blue eyes crinkle, and the laugh that followed…she had kissed him first, but he’d chased after her lips when she went to pull away.

It’s how they ended up in the floor the morning before, tangled up, spent, and hungover.

But yesterday evening there were no drinks to blame their actions on, nor coax him to grin and smile and laugh as he had when he was drunk.

No, all his smiles and chuckles were a result of her.

Part of her didn’t expect him to even enjoy sex.

He always came across too strict to find pleasure in anything other than giving her headaches over work.

She learned quickly that liquor wasn’t the only thing that made him grin or laugh.

Her fingertips run along the heavy gold of his wedding band where it rests on his finger, she’s sure the shape of it is probably indented into her skin on her throat or her thighs from where he gripped onto her while she pleaded with him.

One moment she would beg for him to stop, that it was too much, then the next she was begging him not to stop, that it was so good.

And it was.

Part of her is tempted to ask him where he learned how to fuck, because she couldn’t imagine any hoity toity Capitol big-shots doing the things he did — not even her husband did the things he did.

She didn’t even know if Dyess knew how to do some of those things.

Coriolanus Snow was excellent at disguising his filth, she knew that, now, and had added it to the mental list of things he was good at.

Those sharp clothes and styled curls, scent of roses following after him, perfect etiquette and manners, composure…it was all thrown aside, replaced with a greedy man that enjoyed watching desperate and hungry tears stream across her face as he finished himself down her throat, a lazy smile painting his relaxed features at the feeling, long fingers pulling from her hair while he hoarsely whispered, “Good girl,” before eyeing her like his prey and returning the favor, devouring her until she saw stars.

That was something else that took Tawny by surprise.

He enjoyed her enjoyment.

It was surely all a rush for his ego, a boost of confidence, to see the sparkle of her big diamond wedding ring — the physical embodiment of her commitment and loyalty to Dyess Crane — as she wrapped her fingers around Coriolanus’ length, or touched herself whilst wantonly moaning out his name.

His eyes would light up upon the little noises that would escape her throat, every little tremor that would run up her spine, every sharp intake of breath, every whimper and whine, every tear.

He would taunt her, “does that feel good?” to which she would nod fervently, unable to form words, too fucked out on the harsh and deep strokes he knew would have her wailing like a bitch in heat, while he drank up the sight of her.

Asleep, he’s a different man.

A peaceful man.

The peace is interrupted by the abrupt ring of the telephone on the nightstand next to her.

He awakens with a heavy breath, eyes still shut as he reaches over her and fumbles for the phone before he answers, “Snow residence.”

She can tell by the expression on his face and the girly voice she can hear every now and then that it’s his wife.

If she had any sense she would take it as her queue to slither from under him, get out of the bed, and start getting dressed.

Instead she selfishly takes advantage of his exposed neck, pressing her lips to the skin there.

“Okay, darling, that’s alright.” He assures Livia sweetly, keeping his thoughts as narrow as possible.

She talks a moment more.

“I can’t wait to see them.” He says, next, falling back to the mattress in an attempt to shake Tawny off of him.

She is now just the woman he sees when he’s bored.

“Okay, I’ll see you tonight. I love you, too.” He says it softly, sweetly.

Tawny nearly smiles at the words, sounding so innocent from him.

“Bye, darling.” He finishes.

He hands Tawny the phone, a single finger over his lips, telling her to keep quiet, and she reaches over and puts the phone back on the hook.

“Don’t do that again.” He states, referring to her kissing him while he was on the phone with his wife.

“Do you really love her?” It’s not sarcastic or smug, nothing used as a way of bragging about their predicament.

He knows her intent isn’t to ask, “if you truly loved her, you wouldn’t be here with me, right?”

She’s genuinely asking him if he loves his wife.

“As best I can, I suppose.” He replies, honestly, watching as she scoots closer to him, reaching for his hands. “What about you? Do you love Dyess?”

“As best I can, I suppose.” She mirrors his answer, understanding what he means. “Next month is our anniversary. Fourteen years.”

His brows sink slightly realizing an insignificant commonality between them.

“I got married at twenty, too.” He mumbles.

“Yeah?” She smiles at the thought of a younger Snow, bright eyed and bushy-tailed, marrying Livia Cardew with the hope of a successful marriage. “I wish I wouldn’t have married that young.” She confesses, twisting his wedding band around his finger.

“Why do you say that?”

He didn’t mind getting married as young as he did — he knew some people married a lot younger than that, especially in the districts.

Twenty was a good age for him to find a partner and settle down.

It helped to mature him to his peers, make him look like he had things more put together and in line.

“We got married because I got pregnant.” She whispers, gauging his reaction.

He doesn’t have much of one to express other than a casual, “Oh.”

A few days ago he might’ve been somewhat surprised by the scandal, especially since she’s Dr. Gaul’s niece and should have had a clean record of responsible decisions, but all his mind can think of is her on top of him, his hands having groped her bouncing chest as she begged him to finish in her, deliberately tightening around him to the point he almost couldn’t move in her.

He had nearly thrown her off of him, scolding her for being so reckless, that neither of them could afford to get caught.

No, her confession doesn’t surprise him in the least.

“What happened?” He asks it, now, unaware that she had a child to begin with.

He had never heard her talk about it.

There weren’t any family pictures or scribbled drawings created by little hands, hanging proudly in her office like many of their colleagues with children…though, he supposes, this child she speaks of is thirteen by now.

That might explain the lack of elementary scribbles pasted in her office.

He can see reality settling on her features, dropping his hand and sitting up as she murmurs, “I better go.”

It was clear she wanted to avoid that conversation, so he let it be, watching as she sits up, turning to look at him over her shoulder.

“Can you not look?” She asks him shyly.

It almost makes him laugh, but he closes his eyes, giving her time to gather her clothes and step to the bathroom.

Once she gets out, she’s dressed in her work clothes she wore to meet him on Friday.

It’s Sunday now.

He tugs his pants on, quickly following after her as she heads for the front door, pulling her heels on.

“Dr. Crane,” He stops her, grabbing her hand, “I wouldn’t want this to interfere with either of our future opportunities…”

“…I won’t tell a soul.” She whispers it surely, preferring not to let anyone know she’s in Coriolanus Snow’s pocket when she’s not in her husband’s. “I promise.” It’s added gently, earning a nod from him as he drops her hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Mr. Snow.”

Dr. Crane.

Mr. Snow .

It feels somewhat forbidden to address one another so professionally after spending the weekend together as they have.

But it also acts as a reassurance that things won’t change between them.

“See you tomorrow.”

Livia Snow now fumbles with her diamond bracelet wrapped around her wrist, awaiting the door to be answered as she, her husband, and his cousin, Tigris, stand patiently.

“How long does it take to answer a door?” He mumbles, glancing at his watch.

“You wanted to arrive almost thirty minutes early, Coriolanus, so you need to be nice and understand that they might be a bit busy at the moment.” Tigris says calmly, nudging him gently with her elbow before politely knocking again.

“Coming!” Tawny shoves the triangle shaped diamond the size of a quarter into her ear, heels clicking on the dark marbled floor.

The door swings open, her darkly lined eyes widening as she wishes she would have looked through the peephole beforehand.

She had fully expected the Plinths to arrive thirty minutes early, not the Snows.

“Sorry, we’re a bit early, Dr. Crane.” Tigris apologizes, glancing over Tawny’s attire for the evening with shimmering eyes of adoration.

Coriolanus has to keep himself from also glancing over it, instead extending the gift Livia had preferred for him to carry while she carried the crystal vase of lush white roses.

“These are for you and Dr. Crane.” Snow pipes.

“Thank you so much. You didn’t have to do that.” She says truthfully, her hand that’s covered by a silkie black glove that goes above her elbow, reaches out and accepts the gift and the flowers, stepping aside to let them in as she pipes, “Please, come in. Dinner is not yet ready, but Dyess is in the parlor swimming in dark liquor with my father while I’m hiding from my mother. So, feel free to also do either one of those.” She adds quietly, earning a small snicker from Livia until Tawny turns her back to them, in which Snow’s wife then shoots Coriolanus a look that screams, “what have we gotten ourselves into?”

Following his cousin’s advice, it’s now him that’s giving his wife a, “be nice,” look, glancing around the apartment.

He’d only been once, when Dyess was away.

He locks those memories away to avoid making himself miserable.

“Do you need help with anything, Dr. Crane?” Tigris offers, to which Tawny replies, “Please, Tigris, it’s Tawny — and no, thank you.”

It’s when Livia is looking over Tawny’s collection of finely painted porcelain plates on display in the hutch right outside her parlor that Coriolanus steals a glance over at Tawny.

Dark, waved hair parted more to the side than usual, the thinner side of the part pinned behind her ear to show off the big diamond Dyess had bought her.

Her top was strapless, fitted around her chest and slightly more flowy along her abdomen, stopping above her hips before pants of the same material kept her covered down to her heeled feet.

She feels his eyes on her, looking at him in a moment of lost resolve before she’s turning her back to him to grab the wine glasses from the cupboard, showing the smooth skin of exposed shoulder blades, and top half of her spine.

Tigris notices him noticing Tawny, and he looks at his cousin and immediately turns back to his wife who hasn’t any idea the exchange had taken place.

Furrowing blonde brows, Tigris glances once more at Tawny, then back to Coriolanus who’s now whispering with Livia.

“Tawny?!” Her mother’s voice echos in the apartment, Coriolanus and Livia looking in the direction of her voice.

“Yes, mother?” Tawny’s voice stresses the word passive aggressively as she ducks behind Tigris’ tall frame.

“Are the Plinths here?!”

“No, mother, not yet!” Tawny shouts back, irritation getting the best of her.

“Tawny, don’t shout at your mother!” Dyess loudly scolds her.

“Why don’t you just stay in the parlor and keep throwing them back, dear?!” She hollers back.

Livia’s eyes bulge at their bickering in front of company before Dyess is nearly running into her, barreling out of the parlor, whiskey in hand.

The expression on his face lets their company know that he hadn’t realized they’d come in.

Immediately his frustrated look fades to a smile, extending his hand to Livia as he pipes, “Dr. Snow, it’s good to see you.”

“You, too, Dr. Crane, thank you for inviting us.” She politely replies, Dyess’ dark blue hues twitching every slightly, confirming to Coriolanus that he didn’t invite them.

Tawny had thought that up all on her own – and judging by their fighting, he isn’t happy they were invited…he isn’t happy Coriolanus was invited, in particular, he can see that when Dyess looks at him and grits out, “Mr. Snow.”

“Dr. Crane.”

Perhaps a handshake would be appropriate, polite…but it doesn’t occur from either man.

“Would you like a drink?” He asks.

“No, not tonight, thank you.” Snow says, smiling tightly. “I wouldn’t particularly enjoy being sloppy and embarrassing my wife.”

Anyone else would take it as Coriolanus making a joke about himself being a cheap drunk, but Dyess knows he meant it as a dig toward him.

“That’s a wise thought.” A man who looks identical to Dr. Gaul breaks their interaction, outstretching his hand to Coriolanus. “Tiberius Gaul. How do you do?”

“Coriolanus Snow, and well, sir.” Snow shakes his hand. “Dr. Gaul’s brother, I presume?”

Tawny stops what she’s doing when she hears Coriolanus ask the question, her eyes finding Tigris’ as she asks, “Is my father speaking to your cousin?”

“Twin brother, actually.” Tiberius nods, grinning. “You’re General Crassus Snow’s boy Strabo brags on just about any chance he gets.” He adds.

Coriolanus puffs his chest up at the mention of it before he rests his hand at the small of Livia’s back, stating, “Mr. Gaul, this is my wife, Livia.”

“Hello, Mr. Gaul, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” She beams as she always had when meeting someone new.

“Dad,” Tawny’s stepping toward them, gently grasping her father’s arm and pulling him away from Snow, “Can you help me with something in the kitchen real quick?”

“Is dinner ready yet, Tawny?” Her mother’s stepping from the hallway, adorned in a deep green long-sleeved dress that fits to her body and stops at her calf muscles. “I’m famished and I need my wine.”

She has to be at least fifteen years younger than Tiberius, less wrinkled and more lively than what he had expected.

Then her green eyes fall to Coriolanus.

“And who might you be?” She eyes him like a shark circling prey.

It makes him feel violated.

“Coriolanus Snow.” He greets her the same as he had her husband, within milliseconds, Tawny is yanking her away from him before he can even introduce her to his wife.

“Mother, I need help in the kitchen.” Tawny drags her while the woman pipes, “I’m Minerva, it’s lovely to meet you!”

Tiberius has now struck up conversation with Tigris, though Tawny doesn’t mind her father speaking to Tigris, she just hadn’t wanted him to relive his glory days serving under Crassus Snow during the war, and take the late head of the Snow household’s son down that memory lane.

She didn’t know how well that would bode with Coriolanus.

“You know, if you would get Avoxes, Tawny, you wouldn’t be running late. You’d have more help.” Minerva informs her for the umpteenth time since this one visit.

“I don’t want them in my house.” She hisses back. “Dyess?!”

“Yes?” He calls back, moving between Snow and Livia to step to the kitchen.

“Is this finished?” She asks him, opening the oven.

“I don’t know, Tawny.” He huffs, eyeing the roast.

“Um…” Tigris takes it upon herself to grab the oven mit on the counter and lean down, pulling the rack out of the oven.

“Here.” Tawny hands her a pair of tongs, to which she presses on the highest point of the roast and presses down a few times.

“It’s about medium, now, Tawny.” The blonde informs her.

“Oh, please, take it out. We’ll already lose teeth trying to bite into that thing.” Minerva grumbles.

“It’s okay to take out, Tigris. Thank you very much.” Tawny ignores her mother as Tigris lays the dish on the hotpad on the counter.

“Steak would have been more appropriate, as well. We aren’t in the Dark Days anymore.” Her mother continues as Dyess nods out a, “I told her and she didn’t listen, Mrs. Gaul.”

“Mini, roast is just fine.” Tawny’s father reigns his wife in, glancing at Dyess dismissively.

“Coriolanus and I prefer roast to Steak, anyway.” Tigris assures her. “I’m certain the Plinths won’t mind it, either.”

“The Plinths can kick rocks.” Tawny says under her breath, grabbing the stack of plates to go set the table.

“I can help with something,” Livia surprisingly offers, she and Coriolanus having made their way to the kitchen to join everyone else.

“The wine.” Minerva volunteers her, grabbing the corkscrew from the drawer.

Tawny leaves them, letting out a heavy breath in the peace of the dining room, a beat later, Snow joins her, his cousin’s eyes following after him as he follows after Tawny.

“Can I do something?” Coriolanus’ low voice doesn’t startle Tawny, her lips rubbing together upon hearing it.

“You can stop looking at me.” She replies, raising her brows.

“Looking at you?” He asks.

“Like you’ve seen me without clothes.” She states, saying it so quietly it’s nearly mouthed. “We said we wouldn’t do this anymore.”

“Me looking at you does not equate to me bending you over the table.” He says in the same quiet tone, arguing.

“It makes me feel all the same so just stop .” It’s a flustered confession as she lays a plate down, a confession that has his jaw clenching momentarily.

He wonders if she’s going to screw Dyess tonight while thinking of him, or if she’ll outright forgo Dyess altogether and bring herself pleasure with Coriolanus’ name on her soft lips.

“Snow.” She gripes through her teeth, her skin prickling under his intense, smug eyes.

A knock at the door pulls their sight from one another, she shoves the plates into his chest as she mutters, “That’s your family,” and goes to answer the front door.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x gaul oc #coriolanus snow x oc #coriolanus snow smut #young!coriolanus snow

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solradguy · 2 years ago

Note

I have sent many asks to you before filled with honest yet corny-as-hell sentimental bullshit about how much your blog, and you by extension, means to me— even if we don’t even really know each other. But if this isn’t a better time to actually buckle down and give you a proper “thank you,” than I don’t know what is.

I found your blog a while back, sometime early last summer if I remember correctly, through your Guilty Gear scans. It was around the time I first started actively hunting down whatever remnants of a Guilty Gear fandom were scattered across the internet, and luckily I hit the jackpot with Tumblr (amongst other sites.) God bless whatever made you make this blog, cause the things it has done for me since then have been tremendous. From small things like your discussions about music and your random posts about vintage technology that inevitably prompt me to do deep-dives on the subject, or bigger things like your entire translation or scanning projects that open me to an entire new world of Guilty Gear media, your blog has taught me about so many new things that have molded me into the person I am today, and suffice to say, I’m proud of that person. You have introduced me to new singers, bands, books, movies, games, shows; so many goddamn things and the majority of them have turned out to be things I simply enamor. Beyond that, your art has helped me improve on my own art and has inspired me to make so much more work and work even harder. Plus, you also brought back my obsession with dragons! I used to be enthralled by dragons; collecting paintings, statues, plushies, books, you name it and I probably have it. And just to like them once more due to my exposure with the content you churn out (wether original or reblogged) is something I can also say I am grateful for. Even just ranting about personal interests in your asks or asking if you perhaps enjoy the same things that I do is something that makes me happy.

I don’t want to make you uncomfortable by saying this, but I seriously do see you as a sort of “big brother” figure in my life. It’s a parasocial relationship, sure, but I have found solitude and comfort in your blog, and even a sort of aspiration to be like you. Either way, the truth is your blog has helped me so much this year and has brought me so much more happiness than what I had before. You have seriously helped me become a better person, better in loving myself and finding something to love in the world around me as well.

So, thank you. Thank you for this blog and for everything you post on here. Thank you, and happy new years. I hope next year gives you nothing but unadulterated love. You deserve it.

Ok so, for an uncountable amount of times this has happened now, I typed a really lengthy reply to this and then cut a section of text to move it and Tumblr decided that meant "delete the whole post except the cut text and then close the post editor, deleting everything forever." It is 3:30am. I'm going to summarize what I wrote as I type it for the second time. The last two paragraphs are the only sections from the first draft that got saved.

First off, I apologize for taking so long to reply to this. Your message is extremely heartfelt and sincere and, when I got it (around noon), I wanted to think on it for a little and reread it a few times before replying.

I'm... not great... at accepting compliments. For a lot of my life I've been picked on for my physical appearance and interests so I learned how to take advantage of my size and how to project a pissed off aura to get people to leave me alone. It works very well. Online that doesn't work, and I wouldn't want it to, but offline I think I can be kind of a grumpy asshole. I try really hard to only appear to be that way. After making kids/babies cry just from being in the same space as them though, it can be difficult to think otherwise. I'm not used to people being this kind to me, let alone even admiring or looking up to me.

But the online format is nice; people just see me as an icon and if they don't like my posts/interests they can close the tab or filter it instead of making it my problem. Being able to talk about whatever on here and finding other people that also think it's interesting has helped me a lot too. Before getting into Guilty Gear around August 2021, this blog was mostly just an art reference blog with a very, very, small amount of personal posts scattered in-between when it was something I wanted to archive (like when I started HRT).

I started doing scans because I wanted to send a specific illustration to someone but could only find it in a low resolution. Since I had the GGX '07 art book and a scanner, I figured I might as well just scan it myself and it all sort of snowballed from there. The GG community has been incredibly motivating and I don't see myself quitting doing these scans/translations until there's nothing left to scanlate. Guilty Gear has done so much for me and I love the games and its setting probably more than any other series I've ever been into.

Know that I really, truly, appreciate you sending me this message. I have a little folder of nice messages like yours that I keep to look through on bad days. They genuinely mean a lot to me.

It's such an honor that the things I've posted about have inspired you and lead you to new interests, too, and I hope that I can keep motivating and inspiring you. 2023's gonna be a good year, I think, and I hope you get some of that unadulterated love too.

#asks #long post #I started typing my first reply at 1:30 and now it's 3:30 GOD I'm so mad Tumblr deleted my first draft.............#Next time I'm typing it in Notepad s2g #Anyway I'm sorry if any of this comes across as curt or if it's worded weirdly I'm falling asleep on my laptop hhhhhhhhhh

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chiwhorei · 4 years ago

Text

the folly of man

pairing: e. todoroki x fem!reader

genre: smut, 18+ minors dni

word count: ~2.6k

tags: the softest!enji there ever was, crybabie!reader, age gap (20ish vs. 50), d/s dynamics, belly bulge, squirting, overstim, daddy kink, size kink, dacryphilia, a spank, breeding kink, creampie, i am dramatic and clinically melancholy so it’s a little angsty but it’s really just unabashed, self-indulgent fluff

a/n: i screamed about soft!enji to @messwriting a few weeks ago, then the other night enji took me to paris and wrecked my shit in my dreams. the result? complete self-indulgence. i will not be taking criticism on my desire to fuck this man, he is a drawing. (the banner image is from the lonely doll by dare wright, if you know this book we probably have very similar issues sksksksksk)

hymn: angel by finneas

“Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss,” ~ John Milton, Paradise Lost

He swears it’s your quirk that got him. Grabbed him by the collar, stole his soul from his chest— you swiped it right from his rib cage.

You sit across from him, legs folded under each other and pen pressing against your lips. Is it your lips? Or the way words curl past them?

A siren’s call in the form of a 20-something journalist. He hates the likes— prodding for sound bites and snippets to plaster across front pages. But your figure buckles in on itself, nerves weighing down the fabric of a light pink blouse and tight-yet-tasteful pencil skirt. Your presence is gentle and honeyed, it feels warm where Enji is usually burning hot.

Your fever spreads across his cheeks and nose.

“I’m sorry, sir, did you need me to repeat the question?”

Your bottom lip trembles nervously, pulled in between your teeth to gnaw on. Freshly graduated and on your very first assignment, it seemed hilarious to send the newly minted recruit into a white-hot tongue lashing.

“Mr. Number One has chewed the head off of every reporter in Japan, it’s a right of passage.”

The echo of your colleague’s stifled laugh rings in your ear as you stare back, you scan over the small wrinkles by his eyes and the jagged scar across his face. The silvered skin curves around his features like atonement. There’s something about the prolific hero that seems to pull you towards him. You grab the side of your chair so as to not fall forward right into his orbit.

Any attempt at distance was doomed from the beginning.

He shakes his head, eyes darting from either of yours to find the question you asked him. He coughs awkwardly, nodding his head for you to continue. Any desire to snap at you dissolves into the carpet with the very first laugh. You let out a small, tinkling giggle against better judgement that cracks the glassed tension.

“What is your biggest inspiration?”

The question hangs in the air a moment before a rehearsed answer falls from his mouth, something about the citizens of his community and the desire to keep his country safe. Whatever tumbles out is less interesting than how you smile in response.

Every person in the room-- agents, publicists, the poor intern holding a black coffee in his trembling hands-- watch on, collectively agape, at the scene before them.

Flame Hero: Endeavor breaks composure for a moment to send you a docile, lopsided smile.

You decide it’s something you won’t soon get tired of seeing.

“Did you get everything you wanted,” his voice trails off with a hint of uncertainty, one hand coming up to scratch at the back of his head, “I could answer a few more questions over dinner.”

Enji stands in shock at his own behavior, the inferno flickers little more than a candle in your eyeline. Every minute holds sixty seconds of opportunity, and Enji’s hair is graying at the ends. Even if you brush the dusty old hero from your shoulders with guffaw, even if you roll your eyes or kiss his insole with a pointed heel. He can’t afford to waste a moment more.

It has to be your quirk, he decides, reciting like a prayer the only logical answer to his sweating palms and clambering heart. Nothing makes sense but keeping you within arms reach. It must be some kind of hypnosis, maybe a pheromone.

Enji’s penance lies in the soft, supplied skin of a quirkless civilian.

***

There are few places that have felt like home, no matter what four walls build a house around him. He alone is responsible for each one decaying. He deserves a spot in every plane of hell.

Enji leans against the headboard, scanning over pages of John Milton and enjoying the quiet just after dusk. Looking over the top of his glasses, the book in hand falls out of frame, like most everything does.

Pink lace hangs like bated breath from your shoulders and hips. You look on to him for approval, the set your eyes had lingered on in a boutique window now brandishes the swell of your breasts.

“My perfect girl.” His words are filled with wonder, pulling at the ends of his mouth when you twirl, the ends of flowing lace pick up around you like wings.

Winter air creeps from the open balcony to hit your skin, spreading chills down every inch. Enji watches as you shiver, the cool breeze prickles past pick lace with little effort.

“Come here.” Enji tosses his glasses and book to the bedside table and pats his lap.

Nothing feels more like home than when you settle to lie atop his naked chest, cheek pressed firmly against his pulse.

You rest your chin against his sternum, hands crawling up to find warmth from his skin. He feels the thin, golden ring as your touch trails around his neck.

His own hands, calloused and battered, eclipse over your lower back to find purchase against your ass.

Away from the prying eyes of domestic paparazzi and forty minutes outside of Paris— Enji cuts out what feels like a stolen heaven.

Idle chat about the museum he took you to today fills the room comfortably. Your fingertip comes down to trace the lines of marred skin across the bridge of his nose, he hums and smiles as you talk about paintings.

None stood out to him.

He takes your hand in his much bigger one, kissing the band that mimics his own. You tangle your fingers together.

“This feels like a dream,” your voice is barely above a whisper, lest the night air hears the talk of lovers.

“I’m not totally convinced you aren’t a dream.” Enji pulls you to sit back against his legs, in this position you can meet his eyes without straining upward. Strong hands come down to rest at your hips, thumbs rubbing lightly against the lingerie’s fabric.

You scoff, batting at his chest, you laugh his comments off in moments like this. But Enji is convinced one day you will lift straight from the world with nothing left but your shoes keeping the earth weighted down.

Soft lips ghost over his, an invitation he’ll never refuse. Your mouth is against him, small hands coming to either side of Enji’s face. His graying stubble is coarse under your fingers. You inhale deeply, he smells like campfire and expensive cologne. Your tongue slips between his lips. His mouth tastes like the remnants of the bottle of red wine you shared after dinner

The hands around your middle pull your impossibly closer, pressing into your lower back to grind your hips down against the bulge in his sweatpants. Your body moves against him, panties rubbing against your already throbbing clit.

“Daddy.” The title wraps in chords around his vertebrae, the sounds of whimpering hits his ear, and he notices the wet patch rubbing right against his knee.

“What do you want, princess? Tell daddy what you want.” The maneuvering of your hips starts slow, but Enji has you almost bouncing on his leg before you can answer him. Both of your hands wrap around his left wrist, tugging it in between your legs.

“I want you to touch me, please. I- I need it.” You bite the inside of your cheek when the pads of his fingers graze the damp, thin material of your panties, his burning touch sets every blood cell aflame.

“You’re so wet, princess, what’s got you all worked up?” There’s a gleam of humor in his voice, seeing you desperate for him has Enji stiffening beneath you.

“My precious little thing, I’ll take good care of you.” His words write you a promise, it extends far past a night of love in Paris.

You can feel his assurance carved into your heart.

Enji’s hand dips into the front of your underwear, ghosting over your clit and running against your swollen lips. He marvels at your response, the smallest ministrations have your head rolling to the side.

His pointer and middle finger prod against you, inching inside carefully. Even with the utmost care, you wince at the stretch. No matter how many times he’s fucked you open in this whirlwind year,

“You’re tighter than a fucking vise, Christ.”

A long moan escapes you, knees moving to dig into the mattress below you for leverage to buck against his hand. Enji curls his fingers upwards, calloused tips finding the spongy patch of skin that has you squirming. His fingers cross over each other, pumping into you and easing you to relax against the intrusion.

“Daddy, I want your cock. I’m ready, please.” The heat in your core is rising, licking against your nerves like wildfire. Enji tutts in response to your begging, his thumb coming down to rub taught circles into your clit.

“I know, princess, but you remember the rules. Cum on my fingers, and I’ll give you what you want.” Enji picks up the pace of his fingers, his own patience thinning at the edges with each call for your daddy.

“Close, ‘m close,” your voice wobbles, aching legs pushing you against him, chasing desperately for that first release.

Enji feels you clenching tight in finality, a squeal breaching the steamy space around you. You crack in his tight hold, the taste of bliss coats your tongue-- it tastes like tears.

You slump forward against his chest, coming to float back down to earth before he sends you hurdling back towards the sun.

“You’re so beautiful, princess, absolutely perfect.” Enji’s voice is heavy, lined with a certain bitterness you are familiar with. His compliments always sound like apologies.

You lift your head, forehead pressing against his, the stray hair around your face tickling his skin.

There aren’t words that could heal decades. No amount of atonement, no prayers to any gods will fix a life of despair. He shoulders the blame of it all, heavy against bones and muscle.

Moving to kiss him tenderly, lips pulling him back into the world's sweetest direction. You shouldn’t let him use you as his redemption. If Enji were another man, a better man, he would have walked away from you that fateful afternoon under fluorescent light with just the fleeting feeling you dipped his heart in.

He’s not any kind of good in this world, Enji is a foolish bastard.

He’ll keep kissing you, he’ll touch and lick and fuck you until your wings pick up in the wind and fly you away.

“I want to ride your cock, Daddy. Let me make you feel good too.” You beg for him once again, you beg to be a distraction, the sweetest kind of diversion-- hidden snugly in the quiet of a French villa.

Enji is meticulous with stripping you of the dainty lace, brushing off the straps of your bra so the cups fall right under your pert nipples. He moves his hands slowly, snaking up your sides to swipe his thumbs against the pebbled buds. You don’t try to stop the wines falling like prayer, your body still on edge from your first orgasm.

He pulls off your soaked panties, eyes tracing the strings of slick collecting and breaking off from your glistening cunt.

“Such a precious little pussy, and it’s all mine.” Enji frees his cock from his sweats and boxers, the length springing to slap against his abdomen. He pumps his hand a few times before pressing it against your stomach. It’s no surprise that his size is impressive, long and thick in an ever-intimidating way.

Enji admires how his cock presses against you, tip nudging against your belly button. In comparison to your smaller form, it’s a wonder he hasn’t ripped you in half.

You’d let him.

“No more teasing, Daddy. I need it, please.” Desperation sparks against your nerves, igniting with the sharp sound of Enji’s hand against your ass.

“Don’t get mouthy now, princess.” His warning is light, he’s never been good at denying you.

He pulls your hips up, lining himself up so you can sink down onto him. If his fingers make you whimper, the first breach of his shaft makes you wail.

Your hands find his shoulders, digging in to steady yourself with every deliciously unforgiving inch. You’ll never get used to his size, you never want to.

Enji has held composure with white knuckles, but his resolve is rusting with every movement of your descent. His desire to tear into you becomes untamable, his mind swims in with the velveteen grip you suck him in with.

“You’re mine, fuck, you’re mine forever.” He will promise you until he believes it himself.

He’ll believe in forever if forever means you.

The folly of man is nestled at the apex of your thighs, is pleading gasps, is begging for more, is too much and too little.

And Enji is a fool in love.

The gates of heaven open between your quivering legs to let the devil in. He’ll take every moment he can steal.

As your hips settle down finally, the feeling of being so completely full has tears collecting in your lashes to run down your cheeks. It’s depraved, truly, how beautiful your destruction is.

Enji gives you a moment, adjusting to his size and relaxing, his hand comes down to rub against your stomach, tracing against the skin lightly.

“I can feel it,” his breath hitches, the pulsing around him is dizzying, he feels his tip as it moves inside of you, “fuck, I can feel my cock in your tummy.”

Shaky thighs start moving above him, the bounce of fat and flesh atop his hardened body. He can’t help the declarations flying from his mouth, he can’t stop the itching feeling to make you his completely.

“I want to fuck a baby into you, want to fill you so full.” He can feel the way your body reacts to his most perverse desire, “I want you round and swollen with my child.”

Enji grabs your hips, taking control and quickening the pace of his assault on your weeping pussy. You cry out, a string of babbled, “Please, daddy, please fuck me full, s-so full.”

You can feel your second orgasm bubbling up with each stroke of Enji’s cock against your abused pussy. All words are lost, all thoughts fuzzy aside from the man pounding himself into you from below.

“Cum around me, little girl, cum around my cock.” Enji’s words are little more than a growl, head thrown back into the pillows as you constrict around him. His fingers come down against your clit again, rubbing with fervor. He’s adamant on throwing you head-first, body limp and overstimulated in every way.

You feel it in the gnashing of your teeth, the wound chord snapping like floss around Enji. You feel yourself gushing, your cum leaking around him and dripping onto the bed sheets.

Enji cums with one final buck, hips lifting off of the bed as he spills into you. You can feel the thick spurts against your still pulsating walls, filling you to the brim and trickling out even before you separate.

He stays inside of you for a moment, large hands wrapped around your middle, pulling you to crumble into his chest. You collapse against his warm, jagged skin. He lulls you with soft strokes to your hair, behind the flush and sweat on your face, he sees the dizzy, love-drunk expression tugging on your lips.

No matter how many times you disagree, Enji knows it’s true.

The swelling, disorienting feeling of your smile. The visions of a future, of the life he doesn't deserve but wouldn’t give up for any deal the devil could make him. The sight of you, simply and without motive, every day.

It has to be your quirk.

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

#endeavor smut #endeavor x reader #enji todoroki smut #bnha x reader #bnha smut #enji todoroki x reader #enji smut

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countdown-til-sanders-take-over · 2 years ago

Note

However long you see fit; though I'm partial to longer stories myself. The only stipulation is to make it "Interesting."

So it all starts out with Fredbear’s Family dinner, an old pizza restaurant run by William Afton and Henry Emily. Their gimmick being animatronics that can sing and dance and even interact with guests through two special “Springlock” suits, that can switch between suit and animatronic form.

The first victim was Charlotte/Charlie Emily the daughter of Henry who went on to posses the Puppet. We see that drive by murder by a strange purple sprite in I believe a Fnaf 2 minigame, as well as the Security Puppet minigame in Pizzeria Simulator. After this they presumably have to shut down this location, and the first (or one of the first. There’s a lot of fucking pizza restaurants) Freddy Fazbear’s is opened, this being probably the Fnaf 2 location.

Next would be the setup for Sister Location as old Willy Afton has already gotten into the murdering business and the next logical solution is to build the Funtime Animatronics, specifically designed to capture children for murder and experimentation with a substance called remnant, essentially soul juice. The other dead Afton kid, The Crying Child/Evan, could have died beforehand and would logically make more sense to have died first and that set off the experimentation, but Elizabeth’s room is already empty during Fnaf 4. Anyway one of these animatronics is Circus Baby, and despite her father’s instructions to stay away from her Elizabeth is enamored by Baby. On the grand opening of Circus Baby’s Pizza World she gets a little too close and the giant claw inside Baby grabs her, she dies, and is now possessing Baby.

Now that we’re already at least two dead kids in comes the first actual game, Fnaf 4, but it’s minigames come first. You are a young child who saw something that made you terrified of Freddy’s, but your birthday at the end of the week is going to be there. Most of the week is spent being tormented by your brother wearing a Foxy mask and getting scared by animatronics. An Easter egg on the tv reveals an actual concrete year, 1983. When it actually gets to your birthday your brother and his friends decide that it would be funny to have you give Fredbear/Freddy/Golden Freddy a big old kiss, but you’re crying, and springlock suits don’t react well to moisture. Freddy’s head snaps shut, and you’re horribly injured. The game play is you defending yourself from the Nightmare animatronics, nightmares on your deathbed. The final night ends with a flatline. You are now presumably the first spirit inside of Golden Freddy.

Fnaf 2! Summer of 1987! You are a night guard in a recently (reopened?) Pizzeria with some old withered animatronics and a weird Puppet. There are also a new wave of Toy animatronics connected to a criminal database, trying to keep someone out, but they’re acting a bit haywire. Or perhaps you just look a lot like the murderer. Throughout that game there are a lot of death minigames, showing a Purple man murdering children, or just the aftermath. There’s also one minigame, “Give gifts, Give life” showing that weird Puppet putting the bodies of four children into the four members of the main band, and for a split second a fifth child with Golden Freddy. If you play through the game all the way you get fired for “tampering with the animatronics.”

Fnaf 1! You are the night guard in yet another pizzeria, the phone guy tells you something about the bite of 87, that they might move around a bit to keep them from rusting up, and to survive the five nights! You do so, but you notice a ghostly fifth animatronic, a yellow version of Freddy, along with a Missing Children’s incident discussed in newspaper clippings. Five dead kids, five animatronics? You are yet again fired for tampering with animatronics.

Fnaf 5: Sister Location! William Afton’s name is confirmed within You are a maintenance technician for an underground rental service for the Funtime animatronics. You are told to control them by administering controlled shocks. Naturally, they try to kill you. But not all of them. One of them, Baby, tries to keep you alive. Over the course of the first four nights the animatronics are all brought to the “scooping room” and Baby is supposed to go tonight, but she already seems hollow. Regardless, you follow her instructions and take the chip she gives you, and she leads you to the scooping room. You get scooped, and someone is watching you. Ennard, an amalgamation of all the Funtimes, and they plan to use your skin to blend into humanity. In the custom night cutscenes you we that you don’t die, but you do rot and also turn purple, and you eventually vomit out the robot spaghetti. You are somehow still alive. At the end of Sister Location there’s a cutscene that reveals that you have been playing as Micheal Afton, going through the locations as a nightguards trying to atone for your father’s mistakes. He found his sister, and he is coming to kill his father. Fnaf 3 could have happened before or after, the voice is over footage of the ashes from the Fnaf 3 fire.

Fnaf 3! Night guard in a rotting Pizzeria turned horror attraction, and they just got a new attraction. A rotting golden Bonnie that was in a secret room boarded up room. Weird, it still works. As you play though you are haunted by the phantom’s of various animatronics, but the Puppet has a reflection. One of the minigames shows the purple murderer getting chased into the backroom by the spirits of the dead children, and he gets into the golden Bonnie springlock suit, but it’s raining, and the building is decaying. All the animatronic parts unlock and crush him inside, he should be dead, but he’s still twitching. All of these mini Agnes have been setting up to the happiest day minigame, where presumably Evan gets a proper birthday party and the souls of the missing children are set free. But one of them isn’t done, as Golden Freddy’s head isn’t shown with a light extinguished in the good ending. If you manage to evade Springtrap killing you, the game ends with the Fnaf 3 location mysteriously burning to the ground.

Fnaf 6: Pizzeria Simulator! You are running your very own Freddy Fazbear’s Establishment, but you have to abide by the specifications of paragraph four in your contact. Over the course of four nights four animatronics will apear in the back alley, and your job is to salvage them. First Scrap Baby, who according to a conversation in the source codes of Scottgames and Fnafworld, got kicked out of Ennard along to way. Molten Freddy, an amalgamation that apears to have the eyes of the Funtime animatronics inside it. LEFT-E, a new animatronic with suspiciously familiar stripped arms visible inside of it, and Scraptrap, because he always comes back. There are six different endings, two of which are important. The lorekeeper ending where the man talking to you through tapes explains various things like the scooper, how the Funtimes were made, remnant, and how Left-e was designed to capture the puppet. The true ending is after you’ve salvaged the animatronics, played the security puppet, fruity maze, and midnight motorist minigames all the way through to find their lore, and survived five nights. Uhhh probably better to just go watch Fnaf 6 Ending Brightened then listen to me explain it but the tape man id Henry, you are once again presumably Micheal. He’s gathered you all here to set the spirits free, and to burn away the last remaining bits of these murders. He sets fire to the building, and you and the animatronics burn with it. His daughter, your sister, and the spirits of presumably other murdered children are all set free. William Afton is finally dead, and it’s over. You can all rest.

Fnaf 7/Ultimate Custom Night: You are William Afton getting tortured in Hell, dying over and over, at the mercy of “The Vengeful Spirit,” or, “The one you should not have killed”. Or, simply, Cassidy. The second spirit inside Golden Freddy. The weird red alligator guy known as Old Man Consequences from Fnaf World tells her to leave the demon to his demons, to rest her own soul.

And with that, the saga is over.

So then Fnaf VR is released-

#Disclaimer I didn’t even look at a wiki through typing this this is just the bullishit I can remember #And like odds are all of this is incorrect!#I do not have the time nor energy to edit it

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austajunk · 3 years ago

Text

Game of Despair (fic)

Chapter One: Despair Gamer

Summary: Surviving through her massive injuries following the ending of the Despair Arc, Chiaki Nanami has fallen after her fellow classmates have become Remnants of Despair. However, when altercations with a certain Servant brings up the chance to find a special person that she lost once again, Chiaki and the aforementioned problematic Servant have no choice but to traverse the apocalypse to bring Izuru Kamukura back to the light of Hope…maybe!

Rating: Mature (because duh)

Warnings: Gore, death, general manipulation and Remnants of Despair Shenanigans

A/N: Hey there. Originally this was a fan comic on tumblr that I did, but due to the scale of the project, I decided it would work better as a fic. The introduction to this fic is different from the fan comic just so I could keep things fresh to write. Please enjoy! You can also find this fic on AO3 if you prefer to read there. I’ll link later.

Games were supposed to be fun. Anyone could play them and they could be played together. It didn’t matter if it was a bad game or if the person you were playing with had any talent whatsoever. It wasn’t the point. The point was to get closer to another person.

At least, that was the philosophy Chiaki Nanami once went by. Games were something that made her happy, but another thing that chained her down at the same time. By being the Super High School Level Gamer, she was locked to her beloved talent and didn’t see any way to open herself to others. That was until she met Hajime Hinata and her teacher, Chisa Yukizome, had showed the strawberry-haired gamer that it was possible to form all the connections she wanted in her life through her talent. For the first time in her life, she had started to feel complete at Hope’s Peak Academy. She was the Class Representative of a band of Ultimate students who were anything but normal... but she loved them with all her heart.

Until the claws of Despair ripped everything away from her, that was. Chiaki Nanami was now a shell of her former self, but that was okay. With her mind filled with nothing but an urge to induce chaos, she couldn’t feel anything for the person she once was. If she couldn’t remember that person, what were they really worth?

—

The fiery skies poured overhead and mixed with the blackness of the night. There was no possible way to see the stars anymore at this point so deep into the end of the world. The only light that could be seen was from a small Nantendo game screen flickering. A girl with pink hair and discolored pink and red eyes leaned against some wreckage, watching as several people ran from demolished buildings and screamed in anguish for their loved ones. Children, women, and even grown men sobbed as a waterfall of bullets cascaded down on their bodies from above.

“You’re losing, you know?” The gamer sighed, twirling a small finger around some of her peach-tinted hair.

On her game screen, a hoard of bullets were raining down on a mass of zombies, massacring them on her side of the screen. The zombie side was fading pitifully fast, their organs squishing from the onslaught of shots.

Beside Chiaki, a man was trembling with the Nantendo in his hand. Sweat was pouring down the front of his head and his breathing was heavy. It looked as though the pale-faced man was going to pass out at any moment. His eyes were blood shot. He had been at this for hours, all to keep the game going and going and going... but it felt like one big, mad, never-ending spiral. He just wanted to drop the game, but all his hostages and prizes were dying all around him the moment he showed any weakness. A large black collar around his neck was tightening every time a point fell from his score. His throat was so constricted that his lips were starting to get purple.

Oh well, Chiaki thought. She was starting to get bored of this anyways. It was really sad though. For a few sweet moments, she had felt an exhilaration like no other. Her entire body had tensed, heat caking her cheeks. She wanted to drop the game and throw herself at the poor man beside her, to rub her curvaceous body against him until she got off on human contact alone when his score had gotten ahead. But alas, that sort of contact had started to wane on his score... and Chiaki’s interests.

“This is disappointing,” said Chiaki, obliterating the rest of the man’s score. Her side of the screen flashed WINNER in big bright red letters and the man beside her squealed in terror. He started convulsing and screaming, the air in his lungs dissipating fast until he seized over and fell over. His eyes bulged from his skull and his neck was bruised and purple until a satisfying crack sounded from his neck. Well... as satisfying as Chiaki could imagine it anyways.

Watching the man’s corpse go limp, she dropped her handheld game console beside him and simply fished another one from her black and white bear-shaped bag. She tapped the screen to life and began to jab at the buttons as though she wasn’t lying beside someone's corpse on top of a bunch of debris underneath a smoke-encrusted sky of darkness. But that was just the world.

Shrieks and screams of agony littered the sky, joining together to create a chaos-induced despair. It was probably the biggest death count Chiaki had earned so far. Her victim, to his credit, had lasted a total of thirteen hours before his score declined and Chiaki’s interest dropped. It was pleasurable until he waned. Now Chiaki was content to just let the cries in the night be silenced as the conclusion of their game (with real human casualties) and to just get up and leave. She did so, leaving her purple game console with the man’s corpse as memento and something of her personal signature. All the world would know where to find the person who could bring the greatest challenge of a killing game to them and that was what she wanted.

The gamer longed to find someone who could beat her and make her feel alive again. Or to feel anything at all. Even if Chiaki knew that she was nowhere close to feeling anything anymore. “My purpose... is Despair,” she uttered to no one in particular, merely touching her forehead as though to remind herself of that fact. It was foolish to stray, foolish to want or desire anything in such a world. Something like that almost seemed like a spec of Hope was left in her heart... which was impossible once the legendary Junko Enoshima snuffed it out.

Thanks to Junko, all the games in the world would not suffice to bring Chiaki Nanami back. One by one, she had been forced to watch her classmates fall into Despair, to watch them torture, massacre and rape others in Junko’s image. Chained to a wall, she watched for over a year as blood sprayed across a dingy massive screen that Junko had left her to view the carnage. She had been tormented and stuck in Hope’s Peak Academy until the last inch of Hope was executed from her body, until she finally wavered and gave into Despair. With the last specs of good will drained from her, the chains around her neck slipped off and she was allowed to walk free in this ruined world... where it felt entirely purposeless to live. But that was the point.

Everything was ruined. Her life was only good for making everyone else experience her own personal Despair. And Chiaki had set to it.

And as far as she was concerned, games were meant to be shared with everyone. Even the bad ones…

—

On the eastern side of a Towa city, a dingy and caved-in subway had been remodeled into a small chamber for the Despair Gamer. She always returned there to rest or to just recollect herself whenever she was bored or wanted to avoid the other Despairs. A bunch of pillows were tucked together for a makeshift gaming chair that she was slumped over, absorbed in one of her prized Nantendo titles.

Only the soft clinking of chains from behind roused her attention ever so slightly.

“Ah… that guy from before didn’t keep you occupied for long, did he?” Said a carefree voice behind Chiaki as she played. “For a moment, it looked like he was really doing it for you.”

Chiaki tilted her head, sinking back into her cushioned gaming chair. It wasn’t hard to figure out who the other presence in this fortress of death was, so she didn’t bother to look at him as he went to work on disposing of the body. What she didn’t notice however was that her Servant wasn’t empty-handed. He had entered the chamber with a large burlap sack… one that was squirming eerily.

Nagito Komaeda. To say he gave into Despair wasn’t quite so accurate. Hope would always win in the end… but it had to be challenged, cultivated… yes, becoming Despair was only meant to encourage Hope. And that was why he belonged to the other Remnants of Despair. He was theirs to use as they saw fit, but he just could not help returning to her again and again. Chiaki Nanami was like a serial killer by now… one complete with a soft, pudgy face and wide, innocent eyes. Utterly fascinating that one so lovely and gentle could rip apart so many people. Despair really had power over others… an alluring, undeniable, sick and twisted power… all Servant wanted to do was be there to witness Hope shatter the monster before him that Despair had created.

But until that happened… oh, how thoughts of Junko Enoshima made the heat swell through every inch of his body…

As if craving her attention, Servant spoke to her again. She could practically feel the grin etched on his face. “Have you gotten so used to the stench of death, Chiaki? You’re actually letting the corpses decompose around you now…” He nodded his head to rotting cadavers left at the back of the room. Perhaps Chiaki had forgotten they were there?

Chiaki’s lips twitched into a small frown, more so from being interrupted. Servant was a strange one. He had something familiar about him, like someone she should remember but it simply did not occur to her to try and do so. If he caused no reaction in her, then that was all there was to it whether she recalled him or not. The pale-haired boy seemed to follow her about like a puppy-dog, sometimes aiding her in procuring or disposing of victims whenever they met up. Chiaki had considered simply killing him, but something in her intuition told her that playing a Killing Game with the likes of him simply wasn’t a wise choice. And straight up slaughtering him was too kind, too merciful. How was she to invoke Despair in the name of Junko Enoshima if she simply hacked up his body?

And so, Chiaki found herself lifting her head at the jostling of chains behind her, watching the metal links swing side to side from around the Servant’s neck. He had a large grin painted on his face as he always did, taking a seat across from her in her little chair. “I guess the smell of death caught me off guard last time,” she mused thoughtfully to him, uncaring if he was really here for conversation or not. He did as he pleased and proved to be quite the clingy individual. But so long as he did the dirty work, Chiaki didn’t mind occasionally indulging him.

“It made me sick... but... now I don’t smell anything. I wonder if I’ve destroyed my sense of smell. Or my brain simply cares less and less each time...” Chiaki said with sigh, curling up in her chair and reaching for her games again. “Why did you come back?” It was really annoying when Chiaki was content to be left alone with her games for the rest of eternity. Alas victims were hard to come by in the apocalypse. Something about people wanting to salvage their lives. She couldn’t understand that. People were going to be slaughtered en masse either way, so shouldn’t they be trying to find the best way to have fun?

That was what Ultimate Despair Gamer was for. To teach others that life was just one big game and if they weren’t having fun, well... their lives didn’t amount to much, did they?

Servant tilted his head at her, his green eyes holding her emotionless gaze for a moment. “Oh, yes! I actually brought you another gift. I don’t want to be too optimistic, but…” He gestured to the struggling brown sack beside him. “I think this may really be the one. If he can’t satisfy you a little more than your usual prey, then I’ll take full responsibility…”

“Hm?” Chiaki stood up and slowly drifted over to the squirming sack that the Servant had left in the middle of the room. A gift? For her? A light blush crept onto her cheeks as she approached the bag and knelt down to pull it back. As soon as she saw the victim awaiting her, a jolt of electric joy shot through her. She gasped lightly and watched as the person’s light chestnut hair spiked up into her view. This was... No... why was the sight of the person’s hair inspiring such a range of emotions on her face? Her eyes lit up and a shudder ran through her body. She wanted to pull the captive close to her already.

Lightly, she pulled the gag from his lips and let him cough and sputter. He wanted to scramble away from the bizarre Gamer, but she quickly grabbed ahold of his shoulders and urged him closer to her. Her breasts rested against his front and she nuzzled him almost affectionately. Startled by the cute girl’s sudden comforting presence, the man didn’t want to feel at ease, especially with her twisted smile flashing down upon him. But at the same time... she seemed harmless. Perhaps a little deranged? But soft and pretty enough... He shakily steadied her against him, wondering if she was the prisoner of this strange, messed up death chamber just like he was. He barely took notice of the boy behind her with the manic grin and kept his eyes trained on her.

“Wh-Where am I...?” The chestnut-haired student asked her. At least, he appeared to be a student with his plain white uniform and dark trousers. A pair of glasses rested askew on his nose. “Are you a prisoner too?! Did that guy kidnap you?”

Chiaki couldn’t help but to tense at the guy’s caring voice, the way he put concern for her before anything else. Even himself. It felt so familiar and she was melting on the inside. Her face became more twisted, more heated and aroused. This was the one! He had to be the one! He was going to play with her until she could finally lie down and let the cold grip of death eclipse her. A final game where she could be happy, fulfilled, complete—

“What’s your name?” Chiaki asked him lightly, trying to hide the frantic blush on her cheeks. This was so embarrassing. Her heart was fluttering for him.

“Ahhh? Oh... Um, Yusuke?” The man responded, looking around. “Look, why don’t we try to find a way out of here before that guy shows up again? That mastermind!”

“Hm?” Chiaki crossed her legs. “Oh... him. He doesn’t matter. What matters is... well... do you like games, Yusuke?” Her soft voice almost held a low purr to it.

Suddenly, there was a sense of unease in the air. Yusuke blinked and pushed up his glasses. “Um...games?”

—

A small tear trickled over the pale, dead face of her latest victim. After hours and hours and hours of gaming, Yusuke had simply crumpled over. All throughout the week, he had kept Chiaki occupied. Even when he sobbed to her and begged her to let him go, Chiaki was completely enthralled with him. Not a single one of her victims had been so satisfying. He must have truly adored her to keep up such a unique concentration to whatever game she picked out for them to play. He cared for her... he must have loved her to play with her all this time. But then... it was as though his body simply gave out.

Now Yusuke’s corpse decorated the floor of her room, his body still warm from how hard it had worked to bring her even an ounce of joy. Chiaki lingered beside him, her face twisted with what could truly be called Despair. It wasn’t fair. He loved her. Why did he break under all the gaming? She could go forever...

Servant watched her from the corner of the chambers, a small sigh leaving his lips. Something about her actions had slightly disturbed him. For close to a week, he had watched Chiaki become truly elated. It was like she was a different person. And now the young man he had offered up to her was nothing more than a body getting colder by the moment. She drained every last agonizing bit of life from him. It was so thoughtless, so empty…

“I wonder why you don’t just let them rest…” He said, stepping forward as if to pull Chiaki away from the body. “Oh well. I’ll find you a new toy. That will satisfy you!” What hollow words. There was nothing out there that could satisfy the monster before him. That was probably the most horrifying thing about her… but it made him utterly enthralled with her.

“...It’s never going to be enough...” Chiaki said solemnly as she heard the rustling of chains clinking in the background. She knew Servant was behind her, waiting for the body to be disposed of, but Chiaki didn’t want to let it go.

“This was the... the best one... and he wasn’t even enough. Nowhere close... He was like a barrel of love... and I need an ocean... I...I...” She trembled, stifling a sob. Even as a Remnant of Despair, it wasn’t like she lacked feelings... even if they were only centered on herself and self-preservation.

She sighed a hollow bitter sigh and stood up, giving Yusuke’s body a savage kick with her boots. After watching the dirt from her shoes smear his cheek, she turned around and walked past Servant.

“The person you’re searching for… he doesn’t exist anymore…”

Chiaki suddenly clutched her chest tightly as though she were in pain. There was an unbearable pounding in her head. Make it stop… it had to stop… why couldn’t she ignore it?

“I’m not staying here. I’m... I’m going to leave. I want to find something else...something I lost.” The words left her lips before she even realized it. She could almost envision that person with the same chestnut hair and soft, sincere smile. But she didn’t remember his name... not a bit…

Just as she headed to the entrance of the chamber that Servant was leaning against, a foot suddenly kicked up to block her exit. She stepped back and looked at Servant, a frown working onto her gentle features.

“Ah… I thought we may hit this little snag,” Servant said, his smile fading slightly. “You’ve lost a lot of things. It won’t help you to search for all of them! More than likely, you’ll never find anything!” He put his hands together, pleading. “Let me find you another toy! The next one will satisfy you for sure.”

“What..? I…” Chiaki blinked and rubbed her eyes. Those words were making her feel just a tad woozy.

“There, there,” Servant cooed, entwining his arm with hers to lead her away from the door. “Won’t you stay here with me, Chiaki? Just for today… don’t look for what you can’t find. Just stay here today.” Forever. He intended to keep her as long as he could. Hope had to be protected.

And the person she wanted… that same person lit up his entire world as well. The thoughts of that person…

“Chiaki, just stay here… ah, I know,” said Servant behind her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, “let’s play a game together. You and me. If you win—“

“Then I leave,” muttered Chiaki. Then she blinked again in realization.

The smell of this chamber was starting to get to her. Perhaps it was because the last toy truly was something she did like. She couldn’t stop playing with him until he broke. But Chiaki wasn’t looking at the remnants of her beloved toy anymore. Instead, she peered at the filthy walls and floors of her game chamber. Decayed bits of body parts were strewn about across the floor and the stench was starting to become invasive again.

How long had she been in these chambers? She couldn’t remember when she had first entered, only that soon after, the Servant had appeared. He would scavenge for food and toys for her, to keep her occupied and “satisfied” with any new playthings he happened to procure. Chiaki groaned, her head feeling a bit heavy. “Ungh...” She clutched her face, trying to ignore the stench of death wafting in the air. Something about the charming spell of this place was starting to wear off fast and she quite despised it.

Chiaki shook her head, trying to brush off the sickening realization that she just didn’t know how long she had been in a chamber like this, playing games with toy after toy after toy. How many had she killed? Well... they existed to please her, so it didn’t matter. But... when had she last stepped outside? When had she tried to leave? Every time she had risen from her chair to peer out into the world, the Servant would give her a friendly wave and insist that he would go out to bring her food or more toys. It was all just too irksome.

She turned back to Servant. “I want to leave.”

“Of course. If you’re ready, you’ll win,” said Servant cheerfully, waving his obscured hand. “But if I win… hmm… how about this? For every game you lose against me, I’ll alter your appearance just a little…”

“Alter my appearance…?”

Servant nodded, motioning for her to take a seat back in her Gamer chair.

“That’s right. For every game you fail,” he said, letting his voice trail off just a bit, “I’ll remodel you to look a bit more like Lady Junko Enoshima each time.”

“Of course, are you really sure you want to play?”

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reinepadova · 4 years ago

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To Be of Worth

Zhongli may walk the steps of man, but remnants of his powers are still in his, literal, grasp.

“Mr. Zhongli. Please stop.”

“Whatever do you mean, my dear? And, you may address me without formality.”

“I keep forgetting. Sorry. But, Zhongli... I must insist. Please. Stop.”

He hummed, perplexed brows narrowing. “You seem upset. Have I troubled you so?”

You sigh quietly, unbelieving of this man. Why must he be so... obtuse.

“No... Not exactly. But, surely you must be aware...?” You stare meaningfully into his serious eyes, trying to make him see, while suppressing the warmth slowly crawling up your ears, ignoring the whispers of the harbor.

Maybe you overestimated his character. Surely a gentleman such as he, who prides himself with good grooming and manners, who’s attention to detail is second to none when it comes to many forms of traditions...

Surely he’s observant enough to see you’re drowning in gold and struggling against the downward force of the earth?

Bangles and spiral rings, rare gold-infused Noctilucous jade rings, intricate gold arm bands, imported burnish gold ear cuffs with scaled patterns, delicate drop necklaces of differing lengths, imported heavy waist chains with customized Cor Lapis pendants wrapped in goldenrod. And, if someone were to look lower and inside your footwear, they’d find various anklets wrapped decadently against your skin, with diminutive designs of moras and geo sigils that were thin enough to not dig into your muscles.

You feel trapped by your precious burden. You stood still, not wishing to topple over. Any odd movement, any movement at all, will cause an embarrassing scene, right in front of your new lover and the people of Liyue. You can just see the Traveler and Paimon in your periphery, trying to control the fairy's laugh by stuffing her mouth with the food Xiangling just delivered, all while giving you a thumbs up in encouragement and a helpless smile. You closed your eyes, gathering your embarrassment and annoyance, and stuffing it in the distant regions in your head, finding the calm needed to explain, point-blank, that gifts are appreciated, but not this many, in one go. You don’t need this much. Not all the jewelry have helpful properties either. Maybe the ones with the precious stones, but most should only be worn on very special occasions.

Why was this the response to saying ‘Yes’ to his courting? This odd, yet, highly attractive man. You still have no idea why he would choose you over the many beautiful people he associates with. The Traveler included.

And where on Teyvat did he get the Mora for all this--

Before you, the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor consultant remained expectant, patiently waiting on you and the wisdom you may impart to him about his trespasses against you. He stood tall, taller than any man had a right to be, yet you notice he almost always humbles himself before you. Like something he reveres. And...

Your eyebrow twitched, noticing the more you stay silent, the more his gaze slowly, and subtly, turn intent. Gold eyes roamed languidly about your entire person, a sparkle of pride and...something else, gleaming at their corner. You cleared your throat, absently wondering if you could have the Traveler’s service water on the table.

“Look, Mr. Zh--”

“Zhongli.”

You blinked, unused to interruption coming from your ever polite suitor.

“Pardon me. But, we have discussed how I wished to be addressed, have we not?” he clarified, an apologetic yet insistent expression on his face.

“...Zhongli,” you reaffirmed, ignoring the pleased line at the corner of his eyes, and the teasing giggles in the background.

Just you wait, Paimon. I’ll search for the worse tasting slime condensate there is...!

“Yes, my darling~?”

You persevered, turning your eyes away at his glowing delight. “...Ehem. You... must be aware that I am getting so much attention right now from the... from what I’m wearing now? The... excess of it all?”

He hummed, tilting his head, assessing you again but with more rationale, you thought. “Your attire is appropriate. I see no reason for you to be judged negatively.”

...so much for rationale.

You pinch in between your brows, a trickle of exasperation seeping into your calm. “The jewelry, Zhongli. The jewelry. I am wearing too many. These have surely cost a large dent in your fortunes.”

He chuckled, smoothly wrapping his arm around your waist. Just as you suspected. Your raised arm had almost made you lose your balance entirely. But you couldn't concentrate on that. The vibrations in the air caused you to blush more from the pleasant sound than the mortification that wrapped around your being at his focused, and close attention. “Think nothing of it, my lovely gem. I need not have to spend anything on these. They suit you rather well.”

...wait. Are these heirlooms then? Isn’t that ten times worse? And I’m just parading them like they’re just clothes?!

You vaguely heard hushed gasps. The thunk of cutlery on plate the only indication that the companions nearby were just as surprised at the display.

You were pulled away from your worries when Zhongli leaned down. You froze at the feel of his warm breath near your glittering ear, astonished at his gall. Your racing heart though, begged to differ. You never thought this would ever happen, considering his admirable composure no matter the situation.

It’s why you’re still mystified at his continued interest in you--

But again. You agreed to his courting. Is this another consequence?

Or... reward?

Is he showing his true colors?

“Do not fret. I shall bestow more upon you. So much so that the adepti themselves will not misunderstand. All shall know how much you are worth to me. ”

[All shall know you are mine.]

@yostresswritinggirl: Here’s a sample of my writing. Hope you enjoyed~ @archonistic: Here’s the one-shot I messaged you about. The HC for him developed into having an ability similar to Midas’ Touch though. I think it turned out well.

Congrats to you both for the 1K followers. You both deserve it!

#zhongli #zhongli x reader #to be of worth #the golden touch #genshin impact one shot #I'm supposed to be working #devious but oblivious geo archon #you fainted at the end by the way

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luimnigh · 4 years ago

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So, I’m just gonna go through the Reddit AMA that happened today (December 2nd 2020), and compile the answered questions that I personally find interesting

Taking part in this AMA was Eddy Rivas, RWBY co-writer; Eugene C. Myers, write of After the Fall, Before the Dawn and Fairy Tales of Remnant; and Violet Tobacco, illustrator on Fairy Tales of Remnant.

(Not all questions and answers are repeated here verbatim, if you want to check the exact wording, please use the link above.)

This is gonna be long, so I’ll place a cut here:

Eddy Answers:

JNPR Birthdays: Someday. They’d rather reserve that information for the show or other materials, but they felt it was well past due to learn RWBY’s birthday.

Who is the girl in the photo in Theodore’s office?: “That’s something we’ll come back to later.”

Mercury Thoughts: He’s reserving them for later in the Volume, though he does find some people’s takes on his character “interesting”, but can’t say why just yet.

Thoughts on the Em/Merc/Hazel dynamic: “As for the Merc/Em/Hazel dynamic, moooooore to come. I've always enjoyed that little trio in the midst of these bananas villains.”

Are we ever gonna get an origin for Dust, even a biased one?: “Yes, more than likely.”

Are Ghira and Kali’s bands in each other’s colours “wedding bands”, and is this a faunus/huntsman tradition? (The asker also notes that Tai has a red armband): “Different cultures/kingdoms have different ways of expressing their bonds to other people, and there's not even really a set standard for that across the board. Most often it comes to incorporating it on their clothes/person in some way, usually through color.”

Do the Gods have actual names, or are they only known by their titles as God of Light and God of Darkness?: “Certainly the Two Brothers might have other things that they are known by!”

Does the women who first followed the Infinite Man have a name as well? “Ozpin was choosing in the re-telling of that story to keep those things pretty general/vague -- more than likely to keep it from being perceived by the audience as truth.”

Things created by the Staff of Creation have no ontological inertia: a created object will disappear once the Staff is used again.

The Grimm in Before The Dawn were attracted to the amped Auras because “large flare-ups of Aura (the soul, which goes hand in hand with emotions) would read similarly to the emotions that Grimm are naturally drawn to.”

Remnant Holidays: “There are certainly different holidays in Remnant, many of them similar to our own. This is the kind of thing we always want to save for the screen or other materials if we can help it!”

Semblance Rules: “Semblances can basically be anything, we just make sure there is some kind of check on it -- take Tock, for instance, who could become invulnerable but it's going to lead to her Aura breaking. I wouldn't say there's a hard and fast rule against a Semblance being transformative, but it certainly would be uncommon.”

It seems Ironwood did issue an arrest warrant for Robyn, but the Council offered her safe passage to Atlas and Schnee Manor, in order to put Ironwood off-balance.

Is Nicholas Schnee dead or is he still alive?: “Yes.”

Production of the 2D shorts on various Fairy Tales has been impacted by the pandemic, but more details are “hopefully coming soon”.

Sage is not connected to the AceOps, despite being based on an Aesop. There are more characters based on Aesops besides them.

Beacon’s Academic Year: “It's fairly similar to our own semesters.”

The events of the books will impact the main series, but they want to fit them in in such a way that non-readers won’t feel like they’re missing out.

Will we ever find out more about Summer/how she died?: “It certainly seems like a pretty important thing for the show to touch on :)”

RWBY’s favourite fairytales: “We'll get to this.”

Eddy says we will learn more characters’ sexualities.

Will We Ever See Roman Again?: “I will say that Roman is a very fun character who has obviously made an impact on everybody. There will always be a desire to go back to that well.”

Aura would block a Lightsaber.

Cinder did not get any of the Spring Maiden’s power when she used her arm on Raven.

Is there is a link between semblance and magic?: “Yes.”

Are the Gods All-Powerful?: “This is a tough question to answer, but a very good one. I think it's something we'll actually learn more about... later.”

THE GOD OF LIGHT ALONE MADE ALL FOUR RELICS.

Eugene Answers:

At one point, Eugene, not knowing the ships of the fandom, named a location “Arkos”. His editor had to tell him why he couldn’t use it.

What inspired you to choose memory erasing and telepathy for Yatsu and Fox respectively?: “For Fox, it came about honestly because he had never spoken on the show, and I wanted to provide a canon reason for it, and then it just opened up so many interesting possibilities. For Yatsu, it probably started as I thought about Edward and Augustus and what might fit in thematically; and again, it fits in with Yatsu's more meditative nature, and I like the fact that his Semblance isn't based on physical strength.”

“”From my perspective, it was very important to me to not contradict anything in the series past or future, help expand on things that haven't been covered in the show yet, and help lay the foundation for things that may appear in later volumes. The RWBY writing team is terrific to collaborate with, answering all the questions I had as much as they could, and of course they review, approve, and correct anything needed to fit the show's continuity and its tone.”

Does the Chill have a physical form?: “I envisioned the Chill as being incorporeal, living in the shadows.”

Can you save someone from the Chill?: “You could save someone from possession, if you acted quickly.“

The books tell us Coco has an older brother, Toma; and a younger brother, Mate; as well as a third brother, Van. Eugene confirms Van to be younger than Coco.

He wishes he could have spent more time on Scarlet and Sage.

Favourite OC: Rumpole. Favourite Show Character: Penny

Fox’s Personality: “People often compare him a bit to Toph, who is my favorite Avatar character, so I think that influenced his character. Plus, the voice in your head would have to be the one that says things you shouldn't say aloud. That's Fox.”

If he gets to make a third novel, it would be SSSN-focused.

“I believe it took SSSN several months to reach Vacuo from Haven, partially because they weren't in any hurry, and it's a long way. And then the main events of BtD take place a month or so after AtF.”

Before the Dawn takes place before Volume 8.

Violet Answers:

What are some of your artistic inspirations?: “Arthur Rackham was the biggest inspiration throughout. The grungy, rough nature of his work was very helpful in merging my style with something more traditional to match the fairytale feel needed for this book.“

#rwby

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arcticdementor · 3 years ago

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The devout and observant Christian is undoubtedly aware of the precarious state of the faith in our modern world and is becoming increasingly open to out-of-the-box solutions. One such possible solution is to take a cue from our bearded Amish neighbors and form rule-based religious communities—but maybe without the horse and buggy.

A brief peak at the current state of American Christianity should disabuse anybody of the notion that this is unnecessarily drastic.

America’s traditional Mainline Protestant denominations are bleeding out so quickly they will likely be gone within 20 years. That is not my prediction, but their own. The ELCA (the main Lutheran branch) projects they’ll only have 16,000 worshippers by 2041; the PCUSA (the main Presbyterian branch) lost almost 40% of their members in the last decade, causing one analyst to note, “At its current rate of shrinkage the PC(USA) will not exist in about 20 years;” and data for the Episcopal Church shows the same 20-year timeline until the denomination runs out of people in the pews.

More conservative denominations used to chuckle at these headlines and say, “If only they preached the Gospel instead of liberal activism, they’d be growing like us.” But they don’t say that anymore. The Southern Baptist Convention, the largest of the Evangelical churches, has lost 14% of their members since 2006; the Methodists are losing members while in the middle of a brutal split; and for Catholics, according to Bishop Robert Barron while speaking at the 2019 bishops’ annual conference, “Half the kids that we baptized and confirmed in the last 30 years are now ex-Catholics or unaffiliated.”

There is one major exception, though: the Amish—a mustard seed that is growing into a large tree in front of our eyes. The Amish arrived in the United States shortly after their founder, Jakob Ammann, split with the Mennonites in 1693 for being too lax on enforcing their communal rules, as laid out in the Dordrecht Confession of Faith. For the next 200 years, the Amish were just a few eccentric families in Pennsylvania that spoke an archaic Swiss German. By 1920, these few families had grown to 5,000 people and since then have doubled about every 15 to 20 years, including between 2000 and 2020 when they doubled to 351,000.

Unless something changes drastically within their culture, this doubling is projected to continue. One demographer, Lyman Stone, showed that at their current rate of growth, they will easily make up a majority of the United States in 200 years. This means the current moment may mark the halfway point between them arriving as a small band of friends and their inheriting the most powerful nation on the planet. They may seem like a backwards remnant of the past, but in reality, they will almost certainly play a major role in the future. This will become more evident after they soon dwarf more well-known churches like the Episcopalians and Lutherans.

…

So, when virtually all other Christian groups are seeing plummeting, or at best stagnant, numbers, why are the Amish seeing growth like this? The answers people typically give are that they have a very high birth rate and an over 90% retention rate. But that’s like saying someone is wealthy because they made a lot of money and then saved most of it. It begs the question—how? How do they have such large families—with 6 or 7 children per woman—while the country at large has a below-replacement rate of 1.6 children? And how are they able to keep all those children within their communities?

I believe it all comes down to one thing—the Code—or as the Amish call it, the Ordnung.

The Amish Ordnung is different in each community, but if it strays too far, other communities will no longer associate with that community; so there are limits. While outside observers will just see strict rules about hats and beards and technology use, the Amish see the glue that holds them together as a people.

It’s very important to realize that each rule is chosen as a group and with the goal of strengthening individual virtue (especially humility), family and community ties, and their faith.

As an example, most Amish communities don’t allow phones in their homes, but it’s not because they think phones are inherently evil and ban them completely. They often have shared phone booths at the end of the street to use when necessary and at their places of work. They just don’t have phones in the home because they believe it will take away from the purposes of a home—things like family bonding, chores, and recreation. Nobody who has sat in a room of family and friends all silently swiping at their phones can tell me their concern isn’t warranted.

…

The success of this model was discussed by Eric Kaufmann, a political-demography scholar at the University of London, in his provocative 2010 book, Shall the Religious Inherit the Earth?: Demography and Politics in the Twenty-first Century. Kaufmann noted the growth of groups like the Amish and the Haredi Jews (often called the Ultra-Orthodox) and attributed it to their birth rates and strong communities. Haredi Jews, for example, who also live by strict community codes, were only a few percentage points of the Israeli schools in 1960 but are now about a third of students, and he predicts they will very soon eclipse secular Jews. Haredi growth in Brooklyn, New York, is seeing similar growth, with high birth rates and retention.

…

Laurence R. Iannaccone’s 1994 study “Why Strict Churches Are Strong,” which has been frequently cited and confirmed since, gives more detail on the success of certain community codes.

Iannaconne found that groups can be strict on items as long as they provide a “close substitute.” Think, for example, of banning social media but then providing a lot of new in-person social opportunities to make up for that sacrifice.

“Strictness works,” he says, but the rules can’t be so strict they make people miserable and drive them away, or as Iannaconne says, “Arbitrary strictness will fail just as surely as excessive strictness.” The rules do have to be strong enough, though, to keep “free-riders” from claiming the benefits of the community without participating. He called these rules “costly signals,” like the sacrifices the Amish make by limiting their clothing styles and technology use. A person would be very unlikely to go through all of those costly steps for community benefits they could get more easily elsewhere. By eliminating free-riders—whose “mere presence dilutes a group’s resources, reducing the average level of participation, enthusiasm, energy, and the like”—they see the reverse, very high levels of participation, enthusiasm, and energy.

It’s not just Amish and Haredi Jews that have seen success with following a community code beyond the laws of the state—think of the monastics who survived in far-flung places relying on The Rule of St. Benedict; knights that followed the Codes of Chivalry; bands of cowboys on the American frontier who stuck close to the Code of the West, which gave detailed guidance on passing strangers on the trail, when to tip your hat, and with which hand you should hold your whiskey; and the tribes along the Afghanistan-Pakistan border who have followed the Pashtunwali code since pre-Islamic times.

…

Modern Christians interested in starting a rule-based community would need to create some real benefits that are harder to come by in society at large. I’d suggest the basic benefits of a traditional community (help with childcare and schooling, coherent customs on dating and marriage, providing purpose and companionship to the elderly, cultural celebrations and gatherings, friendship, and assistance during hardship) would be plenty.

Then, they could agree together on some basic rules that are costly enough to separate the serious from the free-riders while not being arbitrary or unnecessarily strict. Targeting the rules toward areas that are particular downfalls for modern Americans (promiscuity, pornography, social media, screen-addiction, substance abuse) would be a good start. Agreeing to forego these in this time and culture would almost certainly be a costly enough signal.

Also, many of the rules should take into account issues like abuse of power, cults of personality, convenient personal revelations from God, sexual abuse, and a host of other issues inherent to tight-knit communities (and larger ones for that matter). The ability for a trusted leader to turn out to be an evil psychopath should never be underestimated, so rules should take that likelihood as a given and guard against it. The Amish, for example, draw straws to choose their leaders to avoid jockeying for power.

One last consideration is to what extent “walling yourself off from the modern world,” as Kaufmann said, is appropriate. Kaufmann said that was the best strategy for growth, but growth is not the only thing to weigh. There are also things like loving your neighbors, having an influence on the greater culture, and not stifling curiosity and creativity. Some walls are necessary, like between a teen boy and pornographic websites or between a child and an activist teacher, but a balance between walls and open spaces should be carefully pursued as a group. For example, language is used as a wall for the Amish (who speak Pennsylvania Dutch) and the Haredi Jews (who largely speak Yiddish), but that would likely be a step too far for most communities, as would their highly-detailed clothing restrictions.

…

Out-of-the-box? Sure. But with the exponential growth of the Amish and similar rule-based communities (and our own failure to find a workable model for modern Christian life) it may be a paradigm to consider. Even without our participation, it will certainly be how a fair amount of future Christians will live.

#david larson #crisis magazine #amish #maybe the amish are right #haredim

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og-danny-dorito · 4 years ago

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{ Some SFW Tamaki Headcanons For Your Daily Dose Of Somft™}

OKAY hi hello, I know I've been gone for a while but I'm kinda back now since ive had a burst of inspiration lately for no reason in particular. This is partially cause I actually just finished watching BNHA and good lord, let me tell you bro- I have WAY too many thoughts about this dude for it to be a normal infatuation so here we go! -w-;

- FIRST of all, I'm like 90% sure this dude listens to like really soft cute music like Lofi remixes or those rlly cute anime openings that give off Soft Boy vibes???

- he's like a soft person in general already so its kindof a given. he really likes pastel colors a whole lot for that reason cause they're more muted and subtle and aren't completely overbearing

- he actually owns like, 40 oversized pastel sweaters with various prints and designs on them for that reason. that and oversized soft sweaters are year-round

- most of his clothes are kinda oversized though?? like if you've watched the anime and can see how his shirt fits him I'm like 90% sure it's like a size bigger than it should be (his natural size is a medium in men's, I'm assuming, since he's like canonically 5'9" and not really muscular). his hero costume is also a little bigger than it should be in some areas and it fits around him like a big blanket

- there are MULTIPLE reasons for this imo, but the main two are that he's A) self conscious and therefore less confident in things that fit him better, and B) likes feeling like things aren't constricting him like tight shirts do

- on the self-conscious point, he already has issues with about like 500 other things that concern himself, so why not physical???

- let me explain- his form is naturally slim, which means that he hasn't really ever been as physically muscular as the other heroes (mostly cause his quirk burns up most of his calories and he has a naturally fast metabolism), and is consistently reminded of it

- he doesn't want other people to think of him as less or weaker in the general public because he doesn't look as physically strong as the other heroes, so he wears clothes that aren't very form fitting to hide this fact and therefore avoid the possibility of criticism of is physical features

- also, you're on tumblr, the land of people who are or have been physically self conscious for whatever reason, so it's pretty safe to assume that you've worn/wear oversized clothing. do you know how comfy they are??? it's like being wrapped in a formless blanket that makes it feel as if you arent able to be subject to criticism from others. it's literally the BEST

- his closet really just consists of things that are bigger than him really, but he does have some skinny jeans and a few formal outfits that fit him properly. his figure is actually kind of cute in a way since he's more on the slim/muscular side but if you EVER tell him he looks handsome in something that's more fitting than he ususally wears he will have a slightly boosted self confidence but amplified anxiety, no exceptions

- but he doesnt really like receiving compliments to be honest, and there's a few reasons for that

- as a kid not many people talked to him so he would occasionally be subject to being outcast by others. as a child he knew that when the teachers were being too nice to him by complimenting his work or talking too him too much that it was out of pity. he felt like he was being patronized out of personal obligation to be inclusive and not in personal interest, so he still has some remnants of that mentality due to having grow up with that

- being given a serious and genuine compliment isn't something he's used to and quite frankly he might be a little uncomfortable if he doesn't know you very well

- if, however, he knows you well and trusts that your comments aren't out of spite or ill-intent, his face usually turns a bright shade of red as he either A) stutters out a nervous thank you or B) hides his face in his hands and refuses to say anything until it's subsided

- he'll usually try to compliment you back, even though its hard to hear over his incredibly soft voice. it's usually something about how nice you are or how he doesn't understand how someone like you can think that way about him, but he secretly really likes feeling like someone cares and appreciates him

- speaking of soft voices, I'm almost entirely convinced that he can sing. since he doesn't really go out with friends in his spare time since he basically only has two close ones, he usually either trains or, alternatively, sings

- its more of a subconscious thing to him to sing along when his favorite song is on, but he only does it when he's alone. the thing is that he thinks his voice is horrible since he hasn't had any extensive formal education in music and generally doesn't try that much to refine his skills manually but his singing voice is like, literally angelic

- seriously, if you get this man to sing 'Heather' by Conan Grey its like listening to some sort of ethereal being trying to lull you to sleep

- its not like he'd ever do this in public because of his anxiety and insecurities, but asking him nicely and swearing you won't tell anyone about it usually gets him to do it, albeit kinds shyly at first. it takes some working up to really, from him nervously singing gently to a song while his back is turned to you to just starting to hum along to songs by habit while you're around

- the only time he really does it to his own violation can be when you're sick (he cant say no to someone who's injured, it makes him feel terrible), when you're about to fall asleep, or even when he forgets that he's around other people and is doing some sort of chore or task around the house

- mentioning it to others makes him even more embarrassed than physically possible, and he usually covers his ears to mask the sounds of your praise about him. he hates drawing attention to himself and simply cannot Deal™ with the compliments he's receiving

- this is amplified if you're in a romantic relationship with him since, lets be completely honest here, he's literally never been in a relationship before

- I mean like, if that one girl who was with him for a week in 5th grade counts for anything, then I guess he's been in one before but other than that he has no experience

- how does he accept compliments? how do you genuinely love him?? should he dress better when around you???? oh god, do you secretly hate a bunch of things about him and only like him because he's a good hero????

- there's literal pages in his search history dedicated to is panicked questioning about what he should do if you haven't told him you love him in more than a week, what he should do if he accidentally calls you the wrong name while making out/having sex, when it's acceptable to talk about getting a plant together without seeming like he wants to get married in that instant, etc.

- for this it doesn't matter whether or not you're experienced since its good both ways! someone who isn't experienced could help ease his nerves a bit since hey, you might not really know what you're doing ether, so you're both gonna mess up. if you're a little more experienced then you can help show him the ropes and probably might help him improve in future relationships if you ever decide you don't want him anymore. both win-win situations basically

- it also doesn't really matter if you're male, female, or anything else since he's demisexual panromantic. your personality is basically the most important aspect to him, even though he still thinks you have the face of a god/goddess

- the first few weeks of the relationship are basically him figuring out when its okay to touch you and/or ask for you to touch him since he doesn't want to scare you off with how affectionate he can be

- and when I say affectionate, I mean like a full out cuddle-bug

- Tamaki is straight up touch starved so like jot that down. like high key he really didn't have much physical affection as a child and even now can’t really figure out how to do it since he doesn't have any experience with it. he still craves physical affection though, and consistently

- a good way to tell that he wants affection is that he sticks a little bit closer to you during the day. not exactly under your feet, but still in your space when he knows its appropriate. usually just giving him a long hug or hdoling his hand in private helps to alleviate it a little bit, but his favorite way to get affection is to sit down and either sit in your lap or have you sit in his lap

- the reason I say private though is because PDA makes him nervous. it already kinda draws attention to the two of you since the act of PDA is basically outing a relationship on display and that alone makes him nervous, so he usually avoids it unless its in a barely populated park, a quiet cafe, etc.

- so in public he's probably gonna stick close but not outwardly hold your hand by himself, but behind closed doors he's basically hanging on you wherever and however he can

- can you really blame him for liking you as much as you do? I mean you're patient with him, you genuinely like him, and you're so sweet that he doesn't even know what to do with himself. that, and you're super fascinating to observe

- not,,,- he doesn't mean that in a creepy way I swear. he means it like- he means that he likes watching you work because the way you move around catches his interest. part of his training is observing others and he already does it a lot due to being more of that type of person by default, so he can tell a lot about you just by watching you do simple tasks such as cleaning the floor or doing some work you need to get done

- his observance makes him a great partner when it comes to remembering small things about you like your favorite color, how you do your hair in the mornings, what your favorite band(s) is/are, and more! expect him to bring you small gifts that reminded him of you because of something you said four months ago at a very specific time and a very specific date and a very specific location

- this applies to anyone that he really knows or pays special attention to really, but you're one of those people that he subconsciously has encyclopedic knowledge of because he thinks about you so much all the time

- anyway, we're getting to the end so lets get to my favorite part of the list- miscellaneous headcanons! :

he really likes Conan Grey and Lofi remixes of songs that he likes since they're more on the calming side and less intense and help his nerves go down if he's feeling anxious

when he does get severely anxious he curls into a ball and pulls at his ears and cries. he's unresponsive for this time but usually just letting him calm down after a little bit on his own or telling him softly to listen to you helps

he likes insectariums a while lot, specifically the butterfly rooms where you can walk through and let them fly around you. for some reason they tend to be more prone to lighting on him than anyone else, even though he only really wears dark colors and doesn't make an effort to get them around him

he has some purple fairy lights set up above his bed in his room that look like glowing butterflies cause he thought they were cute

he's incredibly good at cooking complex and simple dishes since he usually has to eat large amounts of certain things for his ability, and almost always cooks for the two of you if you're staying long enough to eat with him. he's arguably one of the best home-taught chefs at UA besides Bakugo even though they specialize i different areas of cooking basically

- well, it looks like thats the end for this list! Tamaki is such a sweet dude, really. being his friend or lover is like having a cheerleader, an endlessly loyal supporter, and an eternally loving partner (and more) all rolled into one. once you've been nice to him like once he's automatically favoring you over others. it may be hard to try to help him get more comfortable with the things he's anxious with, but he's a fast learner and if it makes you happy it makes him happy too

- Be careful with him, and you've got a friend for life!

[ ~Thank You For Reading, and if you think I missed anything please let me know in the notes or in my inbox. Any feedback is heavily appreciated!~ ]

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nostalgiabones · 4 years ago

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Friends? // C.H

This was a request that I received anonymously a few days ago! Whoever asked for it, I hope you enjoy this 🥺 also I’m planning a second baby in this AU but I’d love to know if people would prefer a long fic or a blurb series instead! If you have any thoughts, please fill out my short google form, or send me an ask ♥️ thank you!

“Mara…”

Calum sighs as he approaches the crib once more; his hand reaching into the crib to brush Mara’s wild curls away from her face. Her cheeks are damp with tears, showing her resistance to the nap that Calum was trying to get her to take. She’s got her comfort blanket held tightly in a fist of one hand, her cuddly elephant in the other. A pacifier between her lips, there’s not much else that Calum can think of to soothe her – apart from picking her up.

“Come on, baby. You’re okay,” He soothes, his thumb gently swiping over her cheeks to wipe away her tears. She sniffles heavily, her eyes ladened with more tears as well as tiredness. She leans into his touch, wanting nothing more than for him to hold her.

Calum has never been one to let her cry things out – if she wanted to be held to comfort her, he’d always do it. Although, it had gotten to the point where she couldn’t soothe herself at all – she’d wake up in the night and need you or him to get her back to sleep, even if it only took a minute of cuddling her. You just want to see whether she can learn to fall asleep on her own, starting with her afternoon nap. “Oh Mara, you’re breaking my heart, honey.”

“Up,” She sniffles, raising her hands up to him in a grabby motion. Calum’s heart aches as he stands in front of her crib, debating what to do – he doesn’t want to give in to her, and doesn’t know if giving her one more cuddle before putting her down again will make her more upset. “Up.”

He admits defeat and picks her up, murmuring a “okay, just one more cuddle,” cradling her against him and swaying on the spot. He rubs her back as she cuddles into him, her face pressed against his neck, remnants of her tears left behind. He waits until she’s quietened down a little, before brushing his lips against her cheek and setting her down in the crib again. Her cries start again as soon as he puts her down, trying to cling onto him.

“Shhh,” He murmurs, kneeling so she can look at him as she lays down. “I’m right here, okay? Go to sleep, bubs. You’re so sleepy, you’ll feel better after a nap. I promise.”

Calum reaches down, rubs his pointer finger over her cheeks one more time and kisses her forehead before he steps away. “Love you, sweetheart. I’ll come back after your nap, okay?”

It hurts his heart to hear her cries as he leaves her room, pulling the door only half closed before he waits in the hall. He wasn’t planning on going too far away from her room, not until he knows she’s asleep. Her babbles of your names, heartachingly sweet, make him want to go and rock her to sleep. He knows he must be strong, and that it’ll pay off in the long run though.

He sits there for what feels like much longer than it is – waiting until her soft cries stop, and she finally falls asleep. He checks in on her to make sure she’s okay, finding her curled up into a little ball in the middle of the crib. Sighing in relief, he’s glad he persevered and managed to get her to fall asleep alone (for the most part).

Calum goes to catch up on some band stuff, checking his emails for updates on a few songs they had been working on – things he can’t usually get done when Mara wants his attention.

“Well, good afternoon,” You spot Mara’s messy bed curls and sleepy eyes as you push open the door to her bedroom, after hearing her noises through the baby monitor. “Did you have a nice sleep?”

She yawns and her eyes light up when she looks at you, though still heavy from sleep. You give her a minute to wake up, watching as she stretches and cuddles her elephant closer to her. “Shall we go see where your dad got to?”

You pick her up, listening to her sweet indecipherable babbles as she rests on your hip, still waking up. You find Calum in his home studio and he’s so happy to see her, as well as being happy that she finally took a nap.

“There she is,” He calls out, holding his arms out for her. Usually she’d be so excited to see him after a nap; yet today, it seems as though she isn’t. “Hi, little moon. Did you have a good nap?”

She turns her face away from him and buries it in your neck, her hand holding onto the neck of your t-shirt so you don’t put her down. You chuckle and rub your hand over her back, wondering why she’s so reluctant to see Calum. “What’s wrong, Mara?”

Calum furrows his eyebrows in confusion, knowing it’s not how she usually reacts to him after she wakes up. He spots the grumpy pout on her lips when he stands up, moving behind you so he can try and get to her. Her eyes land on him from behind your shoulder and she shakes her head, clinging onto you.

“Are we not friends anymore?” Calum chuckles, pouting as he watches her face away from him. He knows she can be stubborn, yet he’s never seen her be like this. “Are you mad at me because I made you nap?”

You laugh at the realisation, adjusting Mara so she’s not holding onto you so tightly. “Baby, he just wanted you to get some sleep,” you try to explain, laughing even more when she refuses to look at him.

“Can I have a cuddle to say sorry?” He asks, brushing his fingers through her messy curls as a soft gesture. She shakes her head and murmurs a “no” into your neck, showing no interest in going to him. “Please, sweetheart? I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

“Come on bubs,” You chuckle, rubbing your hand up and down her back. “Daddy wants to say sorry.”

Calum decides to do something, unsure of what the reaction will be -- holding his arms out to you so he can take her. Mara cries when she realises he’s got her, but he knows she’s not really upset with him - she’s just being stubborn.

“Alright, alright,” He chuckles, sitting back down in his studio chair with her in his lap. You stay close to her, just in case she wants you again, but you know Calum will cheer her up. He always does. “Come on, little moon. Can we be friends again, huh? I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

“No,” She pouts, no longer struggling in his arms, but the same grumpy expression on her face. He has to try not to laugh at how serious she looks.

“Mr Elephant wants us to be friends again,” He tells her, bopping her nose with with trunk of the squishy elephant in his hand. She giggles at that, her hand reaching out to take it from his grasp. She looks up at him, her eyes fixated on his face as he talks to her. She’s still not fully awake, occasionally rubbing at her eyes as she sits there. Calum rubs his thumb over the apple of her rosy cheek, trying to get her to warm up to him again. “I’m sorry if I made you sad, baby. Do you forgive me?”

She nods, leaning forward to bury her face in his hoodie. He wraps his arms around her, snuggling her against his chest and brushing his lips over her forehead. She’s not even two yet, and he knows you’ll be in for much more fun when the terrible two’s hit her. “Love you, baby.”

***

Ask-box (feedback is always very appreciated!)

Masterlist

Google form - I’m planning a second baby in this AU, so if you have any thoughts on what you’d like to be included then let me know by answering the questions in the form! I’d really appreciate your input <3

Taglist: @irwinkitten @wildflowergrae @luckyduckydoo @letstaketheups-and-downs @jazzyangel242 @cashworthy @babylon-corgis @norawashere @monsteramongmikey @late-nightdevil @maluminspace @fluffsshawn @xhaileyreneex @flowerthug @calpops @youngblood199456 @aliencal @wokeupinjapanisabop @banditocth @cashtonasfuck @5-secondsofcolor @g-l-pierce @monsteramongmgc @calmlftv @mantlereid @treatallwithkindness @another-lonely-heart-blog @calumrose @inlovehoodx @mermaidcashton @everydayimfangirling @sexgodashton @b-easybreezy @ilumxna @malumsmermaid @opheliaaurora23 @talkfastromance4 @zhangyixingxing1 @everyscarisahealingplace @mateisit-balsamic @saphseoul @suchalonelysunflower @findingliam-o @castaway-cashton @megz1985 @notinthesameguey @calumscalm @karajaynetoday @metalandboybands @littledrummeraussie @vxlentinecal @itjustkindahappenedreally @queenalienscherrypie @xxxstormyninixxx @chicken-ona-stick @hoodhoran @harrys-shrooms @midnightash

#5sos blurbs #dad 5sos blurbs #dad!calum blurbs #dad!5sos blurbs #dadsos blurbs #dad calum blurbs #calum hood blurbs #calum hood au #5sos au #dad 5sos #dad sos au #dad 5sos au #mywriting #myblurbs #maramaau

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rick-potion-no9 · 4 years ago

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“I broke your nose in a mosh pit”

Flesh Curtains Rick X Reader (1880 words)

It was in between sets so, in the little space you had around you, you were on your phone, scrolling through twitter to see if any of your mutuals were here as well. You had always sort of preferred going to shows alone, not having to worry about losing your friends in the crowd and being able to make as much of a fool of yourself singing and dancing to the music as you wanted.

“Excuse me, s-s-sorry, sorry ex-excuse me my friend’s just uhhh little bit further up,” you heard a man speak over the music the venue was playing as everyone waited, leaving a trail of sighs and light complaints behind him. He made his way up next to you and you moved to get out of his way, which was a few inches tops given everyone’s proximity to one another, but the people in front of you weren’t budging. Understandably so, as you were pretty close to the barrier and probably wouldn’t give up the space in front of you for someone as tall as he was either. He quit trying after a few more “ex-excuse me”s and settled into the space beside you.

You glanced up and gave him a hey, just to be polite. “Hi. Rick Sanchez,” he greeted you with a nod. You recognized him as the bassist of one of the openers, Flesh Curtains. The name had made you laugh when they were on stage. He towered above you, long blue hair slicked back with a black choker around his neck and wearing the lowest cut tank top and tightest jeans you had seen tonight. He smelled like vodka, not that you minded, half the people here did. Hell, you probably did, too.

“Y/N. Your set was really good! Got everyone moving around,” you looked back up. There was a certain darkness to his eyes that caught you off guard, but you shook it off. He mumbled a thank you and offered a smile. He was probably tired or drunk, or both, but you appreciated that he wanted to be in the crowd for the next set anyway.

The lights darkened and the crowd surged forward, any free space you had gone, forcing the two of you shoulder to shoulder. You let out a yelp and a giggle as the screams of everyone around you filled the air. Upon realizing you were elbowing Rick in the stomach, you apologized and he rested his arm on your shoulder, giving the both of you a little more wiggle room. If this had been anywhere else you probably would’ve told him off for it, but you were never a stickler for personal space at shows, the random contact with strangers making you feel all the more present and you appreciated the momentary, random bonding experience of it.

It was the last song, and Rick had proven himself to be a good concert neighbor, his height helping to shield you from crowd surfers and he always gave you room to get in and out pits as they opened, but surprisingly never participating.

You lost him a few songs ago, but as a pit opened in the back and two walls started forming, you spotted him a few people down and across from you. You caught his eye and gave him a smile just as the music dropped and you ran with everyone else. After bouncing around the mosh pit for a while you saw Rick again. Feeling playful and bold enough, you went up to shove into him from behind.

Bad choice. He swung his arm back as soon as you got close, elbow crashing directly into your nose. “FUCK!” Blood was pouring down your face and you stood still in shock for a few seconds. As soon as he noticed the blood on his arm, Rick turned around, “F-FUCK!”

He ushered you into his small ship parked behind the venue, hurrying to get you to urgent care, despite your protests that you could handle yourself. “I-I’m scared you’re gonna pass out or something j-jesus that’s a lot of blood.”

“I didn’t peg you for the squeamish type,” you poked fun despite getting a little light headed. He had a point.

“I see this much blood before breakfast, s-sweetie,” you chose not to read too far into that, silently hoping to yourself you hadn’t gotten into a car with some sort of serial killer. You also chose not to read too far into the “sweetie”, but you certainly weren’t complaining.

The waiting room of the urgent care was quiet as the clock ticked towards midnight. They had given you some ice and a clean towel for the blood, and you stared up at the muted tv above you as you tried to keep your head tilted back.

“I c-cannot stand these home improvement shows,” Rick piped up from the chair next to you. Despite telling him you were alright about 100 times, he insisted on staying to take you back to the venue after so you could get your car. You didn’t want to be a bother, but it sure beat getting in an Uber alone with some stranger. Well, Rick was still a stranger, but you were warming up to each other a little.

“The Property Brothers aren’t doing it for you, huh?” You figured you’d get some conversation going instead of just sitting in silence.

“T-there’s just so m-much more to life than cheap backsplashes,” he rolled his eyes, “there’s a whole universe of new dimensions a-and other planets, and t-these people care about color schemes. You should see interdimensional cable.”

“You travel a lot then? For the band or for fun?”

“B-bit of both, I guess. Don’t really have anyone to travel with outside the band, th-the trips get long,” He fidgeted with the armrest of his chair as he spoke, staring at it as if it was the most intriguing armrest he had ever seen. His tone was almost nervous, like he was thinking about saying more but hesitant to share it. You understood, no need to pour out any extra emotions to someone you had just met. It made you wonder if you’d see him again after this, if he was just doing you a favor because he felt bad for breaking your nose or if he had some other goal here. You stared at the armrest with him, he had long, slim fingers and the slightest remnants of black polish on his nails. It made you smile to yourself a little, suddenly realising how out of place he looked in this clean, pastel room, HGTv playing above his head and fake flowers on the table to his right.

You rested your elbow on the back of your armrest just under where his was reaching over, trying to give your arm a little break from holding the ice to your nose. You were starting to get tired, this wait seeming like an eternity despite being the only people there. You were worried he’d be missing bus call or something, but he didn’t seem to be making any efforts to check the time.

“Y/L/N,” a nurse called from the door, and your eyes were open before you could even process that you had fallen asleep. You picked your head up and looked around for a second, feeling yourself fill with embarrassment as you realised you had fallen asleep on Rick’s shoulder. You whispered a quick apology to him and stood, following the nurse through the door as you went over what had happened.

Rick stood up as you came back out of the exit door, and if you weren’t mistaken there was almost some concern in his eyes. “So the good news is you didn’t break my nose. Bad news is it’ll probably hurt for a while but you’re officially off the hook,” you giggled at him as he looked relieved and you walked back to his ship.

“So me being off the hook is the b-bad news then?” he smirked, turning to look down at you and your swollen nose.

“You’re not such bad company, Sanchez.”

“You’re not bad company yourself, Y/N,” he eyed you up and down for a second, pausing as if he wanted to say more again. You both climbed into your seats and took off back towards the venue. “You know, I-I’d say I actually improved your face,” he teased after a few minutes of silence. It earned him a smack to the arm.

“That so? You wanna get your face improved, too?

“I’d love to see you try, s-sweetheart,” he was kidding, but you took a little offense.

“I can hold my own. I took an elbow to the nose without a single tear,” you looked over at him and smiled a little, not sure if you were trying to impress him or make him feel a little guilty again.

“T-that you did. You might be a little tougher than you look,” he reached over to give you a little pat of approval on the knee, but you didn’t complain when his hand stayed there, moving up a little until it was resting on your thigh. You started to admire the black band around his middle finger until he cleared his throat and took his hand back, “I uh, I’m sorry,” he muttered, almost more to himself than to you as he put his hand back on the wheel, and you silenced the whimper you had almost let out at the loss of contact. You honestly weren’t sure why you wanted it to begin with, or why he had chosen to apologize. Aren’t rockstars accustomed to picking up girls from the crowd? It made you a little self conscious until you realised he probably just didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable.

“You guys come to town often?” You offered, hoping to dissolve the sudden uneasiness that was radiating off of him. He looked confused about the question until he realised you were asking if you’d see him again and his eyes lit back up a little.

“Never been here, might n-never come back,” he shrugged as you pulled into the parking lot. Your heart dropped a little, so sure you had been on the same wavelength all night.

He started a dig around through his glove box until he pulled out a pen, putting out his other hand towards you. You were puzzled for a minute, before putting your hand in his, your hand looked tiny in comparison and it almost made you laugh. He started to write on your hand and it wasn’t until he let go that you realised it was a phone number and you smiled to yourself.

“Let me know if you ever feel l-like going somewhere. I can take you to places a lot more interesting than sh-shitty concert venues,” he still seemed nervous, and as his bandmates piled out of the Flesh Curtains tour bus and started to yell obscene things at Rick after noticing you in the passenger’s seat, you thanked him again for all the help and began the walk back to your own car, reeling over how you just got invited to travel the galaxy with Rick Sanchez.

#rick and morty #rick sanchez #rick x reader #rick and morty fanfiction #rick sanchez fanfiction #rick and morty one shots #flesh curtains rick #flesh curtains

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