#fucking despised him for that. well i would fight & die for the people who were there w/ me. but i would NEVER fucking save a psychiatrist.

[jawz]

can't stop thinking about shannon hanchett's death. i feel sick. i don't even know if something like justice exists for what was done to her.

[byfulcrums]

Seeing people saying that Satoru doesn't actually care about Suguru and that the only reason Kenjaku caught him was bc he was surprised to see a person he killed alive is fucking wild, man

Like. Gojo's entire life revolves around Geto. The entire series happens because he loved Suguru too much to kill him, even though he knew he would have to do it eventually. The world literally went to shit because he wasn't over him

Geto Suguru's life would be completely unimportant to the story without Gojo Satoru, and Gojo Satoru's would be completely unimportant without Geto Suguru. They complement each other. They need each other

Two male betta fishes can't coexist. They will fight and one will die. They can't see each other — even if they're in different tanks, they won't be able to live. They'd eventually tire each other out, resulting in death. The only way for Satoru and Suguru's lives to be able to continue without the other would've been for them to never have met at all. And they can't be together. Not now, not ever again. Not while they're still alive. Not after everything that's happened

The entire story revolves around their relationship. Yuuji is a boy who ate a curse('s finger[s]), and Megumi is the prodigy who befriends him. Satoru is a prodigy, the strongest, and Suguru, the boy whose technique is eating curses, befriends him. The Jujutsu Kaisen story is all about parallels and they all connect to fucking Satosugu. It's all about them

The only reason Kenjaku's plan worked is because the body he used didn't belong to some random person Gojo killed, it worked because the body he used was Geto Suguru's, Gojo's one and only, his best friend. He must be thinking “Thank god they're gay” right now lmao

Gojo fucking hesitated. He hesitated multiple times when it came to Geto. He was supposed to kill him, yet he let him go. He has the Six Eyes, he could've easily tracked him down. He probably could tell if he was nearby (he can recognize Suguru from his scent) and just didn't go looking for him. And he could've so very easily escaped the trap that was set up for him, he was going to run away from it because we see him about to take that step but then Suguru's body shows up and says “Yo, Satoru!” with Suguru's voice and Satoru freezes and hesitates

They weren't able to let go of each other even after years of being separated (like a decade). When they meet, Suguru still greets Satoru warmly

Suguru is pretty much Satoru's moral code. He was the only person Satoru took at least mildly seriously pre-Toji (and we know Satoru just didn't do serious back then). He actually took his words to heart. He was kind, of course (especially from Suguru's PoV, since he's the person that knows him most), and not a bad person, but he wasn't nice. Suguru was always the ‘nice(r) one’, the one who actually had a moral code, while Satoru was more of an asshole to literally everyone and everything (some more, some less), thinking he and Suguru were above everyone else

When Suguru finally snaps (which, honestly. Fair) and goes genocidal (not so fair), Satoru slowly starts to be somewhat nicer and starts applying Suguru's old moral code to his own being — their roles weren't exactly reversed, but now they're not together anymore, so they might as well be. And Suguru was shown for having faith in the school and its system while it was Satoru the one who absolutely abhorred the higher-ups and all kinds of authority, but then it ended up with Suguru being the one to leave and become a cult leader with the blood of hundreds on his hands while Satoru was the one that stayed behind in the same place of the people he despises so much

(Imagine someone saying something like “Sometimes I doubt you even have a moral code” and Gojo answers with “Oh, my best friend my one and only is pretty much my moral code. He went homicidal a while back but it's okay haha” “...Actually, that explains a few things”)

Gojo doesn't have a god complex, but I wouldn't blame him if he did. I mean, he might as well be the closest thing to god human beings have ever seen. He used to put himself above everyone else, when he was a teenager. He thought that, the higher he was, the more he could do. And no one was better than him. But not Suguru. Back then, it wasn't “I'm the strongest” it was “We're the strongest and “We're the best” and “We're the ones that will beat you” and “We're the duo” and it was all about “us, us, us, us, us” instead of “me, me, me, me” like people thought it was — they were a pair. They still are

We know people thought and still think of Gojo as a weapon. As something that must be controlled, because on the moment he decides he doesn't want to be around them anymore, he could just straight up kill then without any effort (but getting rid of people in positions of power only gets other people in positions of power and it'll be a neverending story, and Gojo knows this so he's trying to do his best to fix it all through the younger generation, by letting them live). And we also know that Suguru is one of the very few people who did not believe that at all

Like their personalities and characters and stories and literally everything, their names complement each other. Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru are such similar names, I get them mixed up all the time (the amount of times I've called them “Gojo Suguru” and “Geto Satoru” is embarassing. Also, “Saturu”. “Goto”. “Gejo”. Ugh). Both of their last names start with a G, end with an O and have 4 letters. Both of their given names start with an S, end with an U and have 6 letters. They complement each other. They need each other

The only times we've seen Gojo with an expression of actual pure, raw emotion is when it's about Geto. When he finds out about what Geto did, when he realizes how thin and wrong Geto looks, when he sees him again for what we assume to be the first time in years, when he dies, when a thing wearing his corpse and using his voice greets him (“Yo, Satoru!” oh my god)

Suguru was able to fight back when in Kenjaku's control after Satoru said his name. Kenjaku himself says that had never happened before

And you don't even have to see them as romantic. You don't have to ship them if you don't want to. But you can't deny that they care about each other more than they will ever care about anyone else

[ann-writes-universes]

Archangel (Azriel x Reader) Pt. 3

A/N: Sorry its taken me so long to put this part out :,) Happy halloweekend to all <3

Warnings: Gore, Mentions of SA, Murder, Torture, Angst, Quickly edited (?)

WC: 2,181

Helion kept you alive, and as much as you hated to admit it you were growing to hate him less. You attended Feyre’s trials and against the rage still residing in your heart, you silently prayed to whatever Gods were out there that she would survive. You no longer had to warm the bed of random courtiers, and Helion did not expect (nor ask) for you to warm his. You were still on occasion used as entertainment for the fucked-up parties Amarantha threw, and it was there that you watched Feyre begin to crumble under the weight of the mountain. She had been doing well in the trials, but you could see that her mentality was being crushed. Over the past few weeks, you had learned what brought her to lie, what brought her to leave home, and what brought her to come here. As much as you despised her for being the reason Clare was now rotting on a wall for the pleasure of Amarantha, you rooted for her success. Love had made her do what she did, and some buried part of you envied her for getting to love someone the way she loved Tamlin.

            “Do you still hate Feyre?” Helion whispered one night as he lay in his bed. You were curled up on a pallet near the door, more awake than ever. You cleared your throat and stared at the dark stone above your head.

“What do you mean?” You whispered back, unsure if his question was a trick. He had yet to harm you since his agreement with Amarantha, but your guard was still up.

“For giving your family name to them all those months ago. Do you hate her?” He countered. You could hear him shifting in his sheets, presumably to face the direction he knew you were in.

“Yes and no. If she hadn’t given her name to Amarantha, Clare… my family would still be alive. But I also think that if she hadn’t our family wouldn’t have had a chance beneath the wall anyhow.” You weren’t lying. All the small bits of information you had picked up on clued you into what was going on in the more mysterious part of Prythian. You felt as though Feyre had the ability to stop it, and if she had been killed before she got the chance your family would have died anyway. Yet, you still wished that your family could have had the chance to die standing up, fighting back.

            “Feyre is going to save our people (y/n).” Before you could ask what the fuck, he meant by that he had rolled over in his bed and was beginning to snore softly.

~

Helion had been right. Feyre had fought to the fucking death for her people and theirs. You had watched as that wicked bitch forced Feyre to drive a dagger through the heart of her lover and watched as her spine snapped and the life drained from her pretty blue eyes. Rhysand’s bellowing cry and Tamlin’s rage echoed throughout the chamber and when they silenced so did the whole room.

It was Berron who had offered his gift first, or maybe it was Tarquin… their names still dumbfounded you even after all these months of warming half of their beds. When it came time for Helion to offer his gift he shifted from behind you and walked forward, breathing that sweet gift of life back into her body.

And when Feyre came back, she came back as something entirely different.

~

You sat on the balcony, taking note of the way the sun warmed your skin, and the way the mountain rock was slick with dew from the early morning. Tears, warm and salty, coated your cheeks and spilled down your neck. Spring had faded into winter in the outer world. In your home, ball season had come and gone, and you wondered if a funeral had been held for you, for your family.

“Will you return to your home?”

Helion’s voice startled you out of your daze and you turned your tired eyes towards him. The bitterness you had felt for not only him, but the entirety of his kind had waned slightly, though a deep fear settled in its place. Why? You were unsure. Rage had been replaced with an exhaustion that reached the deepest parts of your bones and consumed any emotion you had felt.

You returned your gaze to the mountain range and shrugged. You were bonier now, your fingers had become frail, your knees knobby, and your cheeks had lost their plumpness. You supposed you were beautiful once, but now you were unsure.

“Truth be told, there is no home for me to return to, Helion. Though I’m not quite sure what the hell I would do with myself if there was anyway.” You looked to him; a deep feeling of loneliness had settled.  

“My world looks so much different now.” And truth be told it did. You felt hardened compared to the girl you were six months ago, Changed.

Even if you regained the weight and left this world of fae, the scars would remain. No number of pink frills and lace would cover up the atrocities you underwent here.

            “Come to my home.” He countered. His hands were in the pockets of his linen pants, and he was leaned against the archway that led inside. His face held a mask of cool composure, a rival to your utter shock.

“While I am sure you see that offer as a great kindness, I do not.” You replied, Helion’s shoulders slouched momentarily before squaring once more. “In your own way you tried to right what has happened to me here, but I still see you as my sister’s Murderer.” Your voice was cool, though your posture was slouched and unnerved.

“You know I neve-“

“It is not a matter of honor, Helion. I have far too much on my mind and soul now to see anything but the life draining from her eyes when I look at you. I need time.” You were crying. Trying desperately to be thankful for his offer but those golden eyes that stared at you were still the same as they were the day that Clare stopped breathing. When her lungs quit filling it felt like yours had lost the ability to ever hold air again.

“Then where will you go, (y/n)? You said it yourself. You have no home. Come with me, you’ll never have to see me or do anything you don’t want to, but I owe you this.” Helion pleaded, he reached out a hand and recoiled when you pushed into the balcony’s edge.

“I appreciate your kindness Helion, I do, but nothing will ever repay the debt I am now owed. Nothing.” And you were being honest. Though you were glad Feyre got to be with her lover you were envious. Why had she been blessed with a second chance when your family was offered nothing?

After a moment’s silence he spoke, “I understand… My people and I will leave the mountain tomorrow. Please take that time to reconsider your choice.” And with that he had disappeared inside once more. How he could go back in there confused you. The thought of leaving this balcony, leaving the world, terrified you.

Once more you looked to the sun which was now finding its home in the western sky. Above you, millions of stars began to kiss the night and the winter wind made the tips of your fingers chilly on the stone they clutched.

“You were never meant to survive.”

The rattling voice turned your spine into steel. Despite the now freezing temperature, you began to sweat and your grip on the balcony rail tightened so much your nails cracked and bled. Your gaze traveled over your bony shoulder and landed upon its leathery wings first. Talons tapped angrily upon rock and the creature stared at you with a hatred so fierce that your blood ran cold.

“Neither were you.” Your voice was hardly a whisper as you turned to face the attor. It looked like hell, as though it had escaped a brutal beating only moments before. If it was ugly before, the creature before you was horrendous now.

“He has plans for you…” It hissed as it moved towards you. There was no room to run, your back was pressed firmly to the balcony’s edge and your feet were too damaged to run even after being treated by a healer.

“Who?” You countered, tilting your head up. If you were to die here, you would at least die standing.

“The king.” Before you could even begin to scream the attor surged forward and wrapped its leathery hands around your frame. With no hesitation at all it shot into the night sky, taking your flailing form with it. The wails you let out were futile, anyone that would have cared to save you was dead or so far below the mountain that they wouldn’t be able to hear you anyhow.

You kicked out at your captor and clawed at its bodice desperately. Blood was drawing and the attor was growling lowly in its chest, but its grip did not loosen, and its flight did not slow.

“Stupid, stupid, human.” It snarled before dipping towards the ground below. The drop came so suddenly that your head began to swim, and your ears began to ring and then the world went darker than the night sky surrounding you.

~

Pain.

White hot pain coursed through your body where blood once flowed. Your skin felt as though it was being flayed by millions of needles finer than a strand of hair. Every muscle that was left burned and pleaded, your joints groaned and popped as you walked.

This place.

This place was worse than the mountain. Here you could see the sun rise and fall, and here you could hear everything. You listened when you first arrived as the attor and its brethren scurried up and down the hall beyond your prison cell. You watched out of a pinprick sized window as the waves below your prison crashed into its walls and the sun dipped and rose on the horizon for days.

They fed you here. A mixture of mold and rot so foul that not even the starvation you felt would allow you to ingest the vile things they gave you.

They clothed you here. A pretty wardrobe of lashings and scars that no amount of time would wipe clean from your skin.

You laid on the floor of your cell now, tracing a particularly disgusting one that ran down the extent of your right arm. It began at your shoulder and twisted to your fingertips like a vine. It was pink and irritated, not quite healed yet. This one had been from your refusal to get up and just eat something. The lesser faerie in charge of you that day had come in and sank his nails so far into your skin that your screams were sure to have been heard in all reaches of Prythian.

You had wanted to die under the mountain to escape Amarantha but at least there you were fighting for Clare, fighting for the possibility that everything you had endured was just some sick nightmare.

Here there was nothing. There was no revelry you were tormented at, no chores to do, no games to play into. Here it was just you, and this cell that stunk of sea water and rot. You had not been able to see what you looked like, but from what you had felt you assumed it was not at all pretty.

Your hand that traced the puckered scar on your arm fell to the floor beneath you. It was cold stone, colder somehow than the mountain, and slick with perspiration from air that never seemed to thin. Right as you began to contemplate how long the human body could withstand this type of torment you heard it.

Piercing as an alarm a scream rang through the hallway beyond.

A woman cursed and bellowed so loudly that the stone around you shook. The pain in her cry was so loud that you shot upright with more energy than you had felt in months. Your head swam from the sudden movement and your vision blurred momentarily before you were able to move towards your cell door.

“FUCK YOU. AND FUCK THIS FUCKING PLACE.” The woman bellowed. You heard a grunt and an echoing slap that chilled your bones. The door to your cell swung open and before you stood a high fae male.

In any other life he would have been pretty, a tall blonde with tanned skin and lightly colored eyes. In this life, he horrified you. His eyes were steel, and his marred hands reached for you with such anger that you reeled in reply.

“Its your turn now little human.” He sneered as he grasped your bony elbow and pulled you from the darkness of your most recent home.

---

TAGS:

@wanderer-by-heart

@marigold-morelli

@esposadomd

@blitz-fall

@a-little-disguised

@sevikas-whore

@judig92

@we-were-beautiful

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

What if the world of Twilight was just a simulation in The Matrix, with vampires being something the robots made up?

Which characters take the red pill to learn the truth, which take the blue pill to forget, and of those who do learn the truth, who cares enough to fight the robots?

(I'm particularly interested in Aro, Carlisle, Edward, and Bella having the rug pulled out from under their idea of reality)

I was going to say, that's a lot of characters anon, but alright let's do it.

Aro

Aro curses everything, he's been feeding fucking computers for 3500 years and put so much effort into it. Worse, he killed his sister over this nonsense. Turns out there was no need for her to die, none of it was real, and he killed her anyway over an illusion of a world.

Well, there's only one thing for it, Aro's signing up to fight the robots. While in the Matrix universe, they're in the illusion in part because mankind didn't due too hot and even if they didn't the earth is a toxic wasteland that can barely support life without the machines using them as batteries, it's the principle of the matter.

He gets out all his friends that he can and does... uh... not give them an option.

"Well, Caius, there's a red pill and there's a red pill. You'll be taking the red pill, of course."

Aro despises not having his gift and being a vampire but you win some and you lose some. And every time he enters the matrix he gets to be super powered again, so that's a minor win, even if he has to watch out for Agent Smith.

Carlisle

I imagine he also takes the red pill.

Carlisle's used to having his world turned upside down at the drop of a hat. He already went through this once, becoming a demon, and that was a personal crisis.

While this is terrible in its own way, I can't see him choosing to be ignorant.

Of course, unlike Aro, while he tells his family he gives them the option of staying or going and... well, that's an adventure in and of itself we leave there I think.

But I imagine the weirdest part for him would be leaving the matrix and discovering he's still human. He's always been human. He no longer thirsts for blood and can eat food.

The sad part is that the food is awful because earth is a desolate wasteland. So, he's effectively still on the cardboard animal diet.

Edward

Edward chooses to leave the Matrix and will never admit he regrets that decision. Edward wants to be a man who can face unpleasant truths about himself and the world head on.

However, what he finds is that he's an ordinary human, that he's not a hundred years old, that he can't read minds, that everything he thought made him important was a lie.

Edward's purpose, his very sense of self, has been yanked away from him and I can't see him handling that well.

I imagine Edward is tempted more and more back into the Matrix, wondering if a fake life is any worse than a real one, especially now that he knows the humans he killed were likely not real (they were real, Edward, you die in the game then you die in real life).

Deep thoughts are had on whether it's better to live in a flawed, dismal, impoverished reality or a fantastical dream.

Bella

Bella, like Edward, thinks she's a red pill kind of girl. She said yes to vampires, didn't she? However, Bella's even less cut out for the truth of earth than Edward is.

Here there's no vampirism to help her escape from being human, there's no material wealth of any kind but only terror and starvation as she's hunted by machines, Bella has no special gifts here of any kind and the Cullens she's with are miserable and depressed and all people she doesn't truly know given she was living in an illusion.

Everything Bella gave up humanity for isn't in this place.

Bella pretends to love it though, and to power through, because if she doesn't then the Cullens and Edward will hate her.

[bababaka]

Welcome back to Rewriting Twilight!

Here is part 1, if you missed it and want to read it.

Part 2 - Jasper being a confederate soldier

Or, Jasper being in the wrong side of history

Let's go!

Trigger warning: racism, anxiety attacks, violence.

So because i was not born in the USA, and did not study USA's history i didn't understand the whole thing about the confederate soldier, but as i got deeper into the twilight fandom, i got a grasp about what it was. And now i did a 5 minute search in google about the civil war and the sides of it blah blah blah. Here's what i found about it, and thought was important for this "rewrite":

"Men on both sides were inspired to fight by patriotism, state pride, the chance for adventure, steady pay. Union soldiers fought to preserve the Union; the common Confederate fought to defend his home. Later in the war, increasing numbers of Federal soldiers fought to abolish slavery, if for no other reason than to end the war quickly. Confederate soldiers sometimes fought because they feared Union victory would result in a society where black people were placed on an even footing with whites."

Ok. What do we take from this?

Jasper is racist :) not was, but is. Because, in the movies when he talks about it, he doesn't look contrite or remorseful, he doesn't say: yeah, i later realised i was wrong, bla bla bla.

My problem is exactly that. Not that he was a confederate soldier and whatnot. Hell yeah he was a racist. My problem is that he doesn't regret it. It is not shown to the audience that he regrets and is ashamed of what he once was part of, of the ideals and morals he fought and was willing to die for.

Sooooo, here is my take on how to do exactly that :)

This would happen in the third movie of the franchise. And Jasper would be the focus of it.

Through the whole thing of the new born army, we would see Jasper in his mind reliving his life, and his time with Maria, and his time as confederate soldier.

So, it would start, Jasper, at the ripe age of 18(?), enlists to the army of the confederate. To fight for his country, his ideals and morals, for right and wrong. All that was taught by his father.

He trains and fights and shoots. He does all that was required of him, like a good soldier of his nation.

He kills and despises black people. The dirt of the ground.

He rides his horse, and hold onto his southern hat.

And, then along comes, Maria.

Maria, well, does what she does in canon. Im not going to really change it. Its amazing.

She turns and manipulates him. Turning him into a puppet, her puppet.

She keeps him at her side, almost all the time, because of his well good looks (she is very much superficial) and abilities, his fighting techniques.

And then, doing a simple walk, alongside Maria, they come across a runaway slave. A black man, in his middle twenties. And the beautiful thing is, before turning into a vampire, Jasper would sneer and scowl, maybe kill the dude. He would despise the other man. Whom he wouldn't even consider being a man, his equal.

Maria takes an interest in the runaway, and so they come closer, and so, as Maria mostly interacts with him, Jasper, so against it, feels the emotions that this stranger was feeling. He feels scared. Hes terrified out his mind. Hes tired. And that is the starting point there.

So, i don't know how racists think because well im not one, and have never befriended one to try understand nor have i made a research to try understand what goes on. But neverthless, lets pretend Jasper was the kind of racist who didn't even think black people were truly human. As if they are a monster or some foul, soulless creature.

But, now Jasper is an empath! How fucking beautiful is that?! A man who had little to no empathy, becomes this strange creature that feels everything. Who kill people to feed himself with tears in his eyes and maybe even is induced into an anxiety attack. He feels the terror. The despair, the need to survive. Maybe, when is near anything that reflects his image while killing his victim, Jasper sees himself and for a moment, is scared of the creature he sees there.

In the begining of his years as a vampire, Jasper would be just this emotional mess. And Maria would confort him, of course she would. Why wouldn't she? What better way to make this powerful, handsome, and tatctiful man into her loyal little puppy whom she can manipulate as she fits? Though, because she's awful, she'd get annoyed sometimes with him, and would snap at him. To stop being a baby, weak and fragil. To be a man. He gets hurt by that, but would always come back to her. Because at tht point, she already made herself important to Jasper. Emotionally attached to her, Maria would be seen by Jasper as the calm in the middle of the storm, a warm embrace and soft caresses and gentle words.

Though, with time, she gets restless, and meaner. And of course, with time, Jasper will learn to harden himself and be more in control of his power and those unwanted and foreign feelings. But, neverthless, he still feels it. Every victim, every child, every woman, every man.

So now, feeling this man's emotions, this black man's emotions, it gives him a whiplash. The start of the crumbling of his world and his ideals. Because, oh no, he has feelings? This means he has a soul. Oh no. What?

But, Jasper is in denial still. The hatred goes too deep, its roots firmly attached to his being. His ideals. Wrong and right.

So, Maria recruits this man. And, lo and behold, demands Jasper trains him.

After, he finds out this ex-slave's name is Thomas.

At the start, they would have conflicts because well, Jasper is racist and therefore, not very nice. I don't think he would be outwardly ofensive, because Maria. So he says little phrases, remarks here and there, the tone of his voice, just slightly condescending, and the training, harder and crueler than any of the others.

Now that i think of it. Thomas would be only black person there. Poor Thomas.

And i didn't exactly thought this part out that much. Because im lazy, but, in this time, little by little they would "bond".

At first they would fight, Thomas would lash out and attack Jasper. Who quickly overpowers him, while feeling each emotion. Every little change in his demeanor. Because, Jasper's haterd is so focused on Thomas, that his entire attention is on the newborn. So, with each venoumus word and sneer, Jasper would feel Thomas' emotions change. The anger, the sadness, the fear, the hurt, the drive to survive.

And as times goes on, and his laser focus is on the boy, Jasper would be in synchrony with Thomas' emotions.

Jasper would be very much in conflict with himself about it. He doesn't say anything to Maria, knowing she'd be annoyed to be bothered about such things.

And then, without noticing, Jasper would get softer, gentler, still strict and firm, but now the cruelty behind it diminish little by little.

Until, Thomas breaks. He flees. Scared for his life, longing for some place he could be accepted. Free. To do what he wants, to have dignity, to have people beside him who do not see him as something less than. His people. He aches for something more.

So he runs away. He already did once. He surely could do it again.

Jasper, however, goes after him, with a few other vampires, all under Maria's order, to kill Thomas. Make him an example for others. They split to cover more ground.

Jasper finds him. They fight, and while this time is a bit harder to do it, Jasper still wins. Again.

And Thomas breaks down crying. Knowing his ends is nearing. Asking for mercy, saying how unfair all of it was. A slave his entire life, to be manipulated into another prison. He just wants his family, he wants freedom, he wants to live. He is not ready to die yet. Fuck! This is all so fucking unfair! How is this fair? That Jasper the killer, the monster, the one who torture and kill people in his damn cult gets to have a life. But he, who has done nothing wrong besides aparently being born black, is the one who never got a chance to live on his own. For himself.

Now, you may ask, What the fuck is Jasper doing while this whole monologue is happening? Well, he is freaking out.

:)

Not only because of Thomas' words, but also because of his feelings. Jasper feels the heartbreaking melancholy, the fury, the despair and hopelessness. He can feel it all, amped up, cause he, in some sort of fucked up way, feels a conection to Thomas. Jasper goes to his knees. In complete defeat and misery. And with a startle, he realizes, as he looks as the young adult, crying, sobbing in the snow, he doesn't want to kill Thomas.

He never wants to kill the people Maria tells him to. But he does anyways, for her. Now, however, it comes crashing down on him, how he DOESN'T want to kill Thomas. And how Jasper feels for him. Jasper now regards Thomas as person, like himself. And takes a decision.

"Run" Jasper sobs, on his knees, tears streaming down his face. Trying his best to just pull himself together. "I'll lie and say i killed you. Now run."

Thomas doesn't need more than that. He takes off. And Jasper stays and just watch, his vision blurry, as the man he spared runs to hopefully his freedom.

Now. Don't be mistaken. Jasper isn't fixed yet. Ideas like racism, homophobia or shit that has been drilled into your mind since birth, don't go away that easily. But now Jasper actively fights against this notion that was put into his head.

Also, this would be the point in which Jasper would spur into consciousness and realize Maria doesn't care about him. He doesn't leave imediatly, but soon enough, he does.

And in his journey, Jasper meets a lot of different people. Of different ethnicities, and values, and ideals. He learns.

And in learning, he meets other people of color, some free and happy, some bound by chains and suffering, to those he lends a helping hand to break those shackles.

I dont know if this is said in the movies, but Jasper, only later, will learn how to change people's emotions. Him trying to lull his victims into peacefulness as they die. Trying to confort them or himself, he doesn't know.

And then, he meets his ray of sunchine wife, Alice.

I don't think i want to change anything about their relationship. I just think it would take time for Jasper to open up to Alice, because trauma. But, with time and Alice relentless determination and cuteness, she brings his walls down.

And as he is trying to learn to feed from animal and not humans (which by the way, is an oportunity he jumps at. Eager to not feel his victims emotions. Although, can Jasper feel animal's emotions? It doesnt matter, here he can't), Jasper would little by little tell her about his past. First the not so bad things, to the bad, and then the horrible and unforgiving things.

She forgives him.

And, at some point, i dont know how or when, but he breaks down. And starts crying and freaking out. And Alice conforts him.

And what gets him is, Alice doesn't think Jasper is an annoyance. She is happy he lets her confort him. And then he can't help but remember Maria, and how she would confort him, oh so gently, while feeling annoyed, frustated, sometimes downright disgusted. He never thought she didn't love him, but he knew he was a bother like this, weak and fragile, vulnerable, so he understood why she felt those emotions. Now though, all of Alice feelings are bright, worried sure, but... he couldn't put into words, she had something. So strong and reliable. Warm, and non-judgmental. Patient and kind.

She cares. She truly cares for him.

And that just makes him cry harder. Not once she felt like he was a bother. Not once she let go of him.

Then, in twilight, telling Bella about his past, he says battle scars, but not with a fucking grin on his fucking face. No. He looks remorseful. Guilt clear on his face.

He tell about his past, about the confederate army with sadness, anger. But not so much because i don't think he'd be that emotional with Bella and also because, Alice, and time, helped him to come to terms with his wrongdoings.

And tells about Maria bla bla bla. And then, Alice comes to recue cause hubby is sad.

Ah! I love them so much, your honor!

And, to end, later, way later, after Bella becomes a vampire, he comes across Thomas. In a coven, content.

And fuck, Jasper feels so happy for him.

Their reecounter is not something extremely emotional. Because, well, while both played important parts on each other's life, they never were friends or something.

So, their talk is simple enough. Thomas thanks him for sparing his life. Jasper asks for forgiveness.

I am not sure if they would become friends now. I mean, maybe, like Jasper is a changed person and they had a history, sure a bad one, but still maybe they could understand each better than other people.

But then again, Jasper pretty much tortured and abused Thomas. So, even though Jasper saved his life later on and Thomas himself isn't hung up on it (or he is???), but Thomas might not want to have any relationship with Jasper. Because, while he can see Jasper changed, he can't bear to share space with him for too long. Its completely fine to not want any contact with Jasper, the blond would certainly be mindful of his choice, and would respect it.

But maybe, someone from Thomas' coven could have been helped by Jasper.

I don't know. I think it would be too forceful. Thomas is happy like that.

Though, it could be done, i could see many ways they could end up friends and leave their history behind. I guess i just don't want to. Jasper did what he did. And while he regrets it now, he still did it.

So, yeah. I dont them to be friends.

Jasper deals with the consequences of his mistakes. But he takes it. Alice being always at his side no matter what, brightening his days, and his entire being.

Jasper wasn't a good man, he regrets far more than any would bother to count, but he does.

But, Alice is there to always remind him, that he might've not been a good man, but now he is.

And that is how you do it.

Thank you very much for reading this. It ended up being way longer than i intended, but i just got carried away.

Anyways, that's it. I don't know if there will be a part 3. I could talk about Rosalie and Emmet or Carlisle and Esme. But i don't know yet.

Guys, don't forget, this is only for fun. It's okay if you don't agree with me.

If you want to say your piece about it, remember to always be nice!

Take care! Bye, guys!

[blood-injections]

Oooohohoho I just had an idea. Now, I have a burning hatred for Val Velocity and I despise the he’s secretly Party Poison theories because they make no sense and well. Because Val is an asshole and Party would never be, especially not to the girl. But I just had a thought and fuck, if I don’t want to write a fic around it now.

Anyway, what I’m about to say is usually against my personal doctrine, but I’ll make an exception for it this time: Val Velocity is Party Poison. But he doesn’t know it. Maybe he died when they saved the girl from bli ten years prior, maybe he didn’t. Maybe he came back to life, nobody knows. He sure doesn’t.

Not until the end, when the girl just liberated the city, when everyone’s spirits are free and Destroya is there and Val is staring blankly at the sky, at everything. But he doesn’t give the mask back to her. Maybe he still does, actually. But instead of what he said in the comic he turned to the girl with misty eyes and goes, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t- I couldn’t remember.”

The girl freed the city and in doing so, gave Val Velocity his- no, gave Party Poison their memories back.

Their past is to be determined, maybe BLi had them in their clutches before they either escaped or was released to the desert, where they figured a new life for themself, filling the blank slate they had emerged as. Maybe they escaped from the morgue, delirious and sporting a buzzcut, no remnant of bright red hair and no clue who they were. Maybe they lived in the city for a while, surviving through back alleys and shady deals before eventually reaching the desert, becoming a killjoy, no clue it was their second time doing so. But the whole while of figuring themselves out and trying to be sure of who they are with their weird past, he keeps hearing of these legends that sacrificed themselves for this little girl. These famous fabulous four that everyone looks up to even though they didn’t do that much in the end. Four lives for one, he never saw the purpose in it. He was raised on confusion and uncertainty and danger around every corner- he grew up scared and confused and angry. Then he met the girl, saw her with Party Poisons mask, and immediately disliked her. To Val Velocity, she was a brat. She couldn’t even fight, he wasn’t sure how she had survived this long. So he was rude to her, he took the mask of the killjoy that everyone in the zones either seemed to idolize or live in the burdening shadow of.

Then the fight came, a chance to seemingly end it. And he saw his chance to be a hero, an idol, and he took it. A chance to get people to pay attention to him, to maybe follow him, to have that shine of being important and seen that he was never quite sure why he craved so badly. He ‘stole Poison’s colour’ to do what in his opinion, Party Poison couldn’t- which is destroy BLI.

Then they got to the city and he unknowingly let Party Poison do that very thing. Party Poison and the rest of the fabulous four destroyed Better Living Industries ten years ago when they saved the girl. Then he remembers. He realizes that he’s Party Poison, that they were the one to get the girl out of Battery city and they remember why, because they knew that she could do all of this, that getting her out was the key to ending BLI, and so they died for it. A worthy cause.

But then they didn’t die for it. They couldn’t even remember but they still ended up completing that mission, following in their own footsteps. And one day Party Poison and the girl will look back on that ‘I’m stealing Poison’s colour and doing what he couldn’t’ moment and laugh at the sheer irony of it all.

And maybe the others are out there somewhere too. Jet Star and Kobra Kid and Fun Ghoul. Maybe they were also without their memories, living undercover as someone else that’s them but not quite either in the city or in the desert. Maybe they were under Better Livings control, stuck behind SCARECROW masks or monitors in some office building, no idea that they were once heroes. That they still are. or maybe not, maybe they really are dead. Maybe Party Poison was the sole survivor. Maybe the Phoenix Witch brought them back from the dead, took pity on Party Poison alone, or maybe returning one soul was the extent of her power. That’s up to you to decide.

Or me if I write something from this, I guess.

[lanaevyssmoved]

FRAY.... im sorry if youve thought of this b4 (i havent read candor's oc page yet sorry if im wrong.....) but isnt he a deva ?!?!? WITH GOD GALE NOW IN PLAY.... what if he was. deva serving under god of ambition!gale 👀

ok so candor is a solar. which is, going by the highest deva rank, 2 ranks above deva. devas can become solars if they achieve great things and Want to, as angels ascending to higher forms is a choice. the one before solar is planetar. the full Tier List of angels is

agathinon

light

deva

planetar

solar

i will tell you now picking what candor was took me weeks. i even had different ones on it's oc page. you read through my dms with aisling and null and it's me changing my mind every damn DAY. this also means that's retaining candor lore from when candor was a deva (monadic deva - to be exact). however there is a very key difference between all the angels and solar. solar choose who they serve, and are free to change their mind whenever they want. they are angels with free will.

so in terms of gold!gale, candor would have to deem gale worthy enough to serve. candor currently serves lathander, and has done for thousands of years, because it found lathander to be a god worthy of it. now - would candor leave lathander for gale? absolutely not. would candor without a god choose to server gale? absolutely not.

candor fucking despises gale. candor told afhiri that they should kill gale because he's a danger to them, and to everyone. to the balance of the universe, to the upper planes and everything that exists in this moment. candor has always found gale to be bad ^_^

so.. oh my god. gale is the god of ambition now? an extremely dangerous thing for a god to hold domain over? gale, there was a reason there was no god of ambition.

there's some hints in raphael's new ending (requires him to have been promised the crown, left alone and god gale to happen) which tell us that gale does exactly what i had already had candor assuming - that gale will bring ruin to the heavens.

candor would probably be a leader of an army charging onto gale's doorstep to behead him. ^_^ i love making ocs who oppose everything my favourite character stands for

if we were to consider an au where candor did serve god!gale..... it would not last long, and would end in candor trying to kill gale again.

would candor beat gale on a 1:1 fight? well - a god can only die in it's home plane. and a solar can only die on it's home plane. so already we're at a standstill. if candor invades gale's new plane of ambition, gale can be killed there, but gale also controls everything there so it would be extremely hard. but candor also can't die, but candor's form can be destroyed and candor will have to be reborn - and sometimes when solar's are reborn they do not come back as solars, but as aasimar and lose a great deal of their power - so candor would not want to lose. so fighting gale like this is foolish. so gale needs to be weakened. that would require a loss of followers, most likely all of them unfortunately - which could be doable if you find a way to cut off their ability to pray - but it would also take a lot of time for a god to become weak enough for what we want. so.. we have a new idea. god!gale tells us the crown of karsus is protected with all his power in his plane. if one were to get the crown and destroy it, gale would lose his godhood.. immediately. the karsus weave would be destroyed. yadada. so the real plan here would be to keep the lad distracted while other people go for the crown. so can candor beat gale in a 1:1? no, candor would need friends. but candor would also not die. ^_^

so unfortunately it would not happen. gale would need to manipulate and control candor to keep it, which is something i don't want god!gale to become. despite how clearly terrible god!gale is for everything...... but i do have a way we can make this work

afhiri ^_^ in my 3 years later fic afhiri and gale ascend together. they do it a completely different way without the crown. we're not getting into that rn. anyway

afhiri and gale would obviously serve together in the same way god!gale ends, separate gods with their own domains but they are very clearly still together, and gale would help you settle into becoming a god.

while candor would absolutely still be incredibly murderous over god!gale even if afhiri has ascended, it does put a spanner in the works. and actually becomes incredibly painful. so i've never thought past the ascension in my fic, it ends dead there and what happens next is anyones guess. ascending is the end of their story. but if we are thinking of the actual new epilogue, 6 months later not my 3 years later - what would candor do once this happens? i would assume the entire time gale has been a god candor has been campaigning to get people to side with it to go kill gale. but now afhiri has ascended?

see i can see candor serving afhiri. very easily in fact. afhiri would not send ripples across the heavens and bring ruin with something like Ambition, gods no. but can i see candor being essentially neutralised by afhiri to not kill gale? it was already neutralised once before the ascension, and candor is probably feeling a large amount of regret for not killing gale while he was mortal. i honestly don't know.

see raphael's ending does not change if you ascend too. it still talks like you haven't ascended. raph talks about after you have died all this shit will happen - so talking like you're a mortal who will die of old age. raph's ending doesn't take you into account! so completely ignoring it/adding a romance portion - could you stop gale from bringing ruin?

if you could stop gale from bringing ruin.. candor could be passified. if you couldn't? well. candor is leading the army to gale's doorstep and it will be one hell of a war ^_^

[sharpestasp]

Devil's Night Watch: The Crow (1994)

Thank you to @eerian-sadow and @ilyena-sylph for watching with me, even if it was just by discord for the incomparable eerian-sadow!

++

Graeme Revell knocked it out of the park for the OST Ilyena_Sylph: 💯 eeriansadow: YES

I love the kid that played Sarah. She just… she's perfect Ilyena_Sylph: i love Sarah so much

I am VERY glad Eric's introduction as the Crow is SO extensive and long. I know some complain that it is slow in relation to the rest, but… it works so well. Then again, comic book feel of it is perfection to me. eeriansadow: I agree Ilyena_Sylph: i can't imagine it being even a frame shorter. it's just. it's perfect. eeriansadow: — It IS. It's exactly what he needed. And it's an indrawn breath before the madness hits Yeah. And the transition, once the memories play out, into the rock music from the eerie haunting music? +chef kiss+ eeriansadow: So good, yes I just… you feel ALL OF HIS LOVE and his PAIN eeriansadow: nodnod

Still amused that my two roles for Tin-Tin's actors are THIS and Hackers -- where he was a bit Flaming

I love that both The Cure and Nine Inch Nails limited how often they would play their songs from this movie, despite both being frequently requested.

That is not murder strut. That is VENGEANCE WALKING

Ilyena_Sylph: i adore that they put the lyrics in the proper closed captions.

Ilyena_Sylph: i have such a love-hate with the fucking pawnshop owner and Tin-Tin and how much they despise each other. Ilyena_Sylph: like, it's just enjoyable in a truly bizarre way. Ilyena_Sylph: and gods, his sheer physical power.

I love the fight with Tin-Tin for showing how he is learning his abilities. I totally think "it's all in the reflexes" when he catches the knife.

Top Dollar and his sister are CREEPY. And I love it. Ilyena_Sylph: they are and it's gloriously terrible. Michael Wincott is still so pretty here.

Brandon Lee wasn't actually on the short list for the role. Lee himself convinced O'Barr. And then helped shape the final film creatively.

Torres is such a DICK.

Super strength, nigh-invulnerability, speed, animal senses, post-cognition…

Ilyena_Sylph: "jolly pirate nicknames!" "Is that gasoline I smell?" Creator cameo! (looter taking the TV)

Was it just me, or was there some Looks going on between Myca and T-Bird? Ilyena_Sylph: such a delightful little meeting there. Ilyena_Sylph: there were some interesting looks, for sure.

OH ERIC Touching her was SO HARD for his mind. Ilyena_Sylph: and doing anything good.

For those that never looked it up, the lady cop is Annabella. Tony Todd's character is Grange. Neither is named in the movie.

"Stop me if you've heard this one before…" I actually had not heard that joke before this movie, and I love it. I am sad they had to abbreviate the Fun Boy scene. But it works the way they handled it. We didn't actually NEED to see Eric interrogate him, though it served to show for every thing he did that wasn't directly part of the vengeance, it weakened him. (If you don't know, Fun Boy recovers enough before Eric is done to hurt him because of Eric healing Darla's addiction.)

I LOVE Albrecht. "You still have your hat on." Ilyena_Sylph: ACAB, but he tries not to be. Ilyena_Sylph: "Boo." He's what I used to believe cops were supposed to be. People who really wanted to make the world better. A fairy tale, in other words. OH ERIC. Ilyena_Sylph: "nothing is trivial." I LOVE THEIR DYNAMIC. "I thought I'd use your front door."

Now, I've never verified, but the sword Top Dollar uses here is the same blade from The Three Musketeers. I should get a copy of that to verify… Oh Gideon you dug your grave, insulting Myca. Ilyena_Sylph: "for fuck's sake, die, willya?!"

Actual Vinyl. But then, Detroit. Makes sense there would have still been vinyl presses running for the indie scene up there. eeriansadow: Yep

"Drive." Hello Henry Rollins. In the Yugo. Ilyena_Sylph: +giggle+ Coffee in the lap of an ACAB. Ilyena_Sylph: hot coffee to the crotch. Ilyena_Sylph: say what you will about Skank, he's loyal as fuck. crazy little bastard. Yes, he very much is. I love that T-Bird is actually the one that has to endure TERROR before his death. Fun Boy was too high to be really terrified, Tin-Tin didn't last long enough… Skank, yeah, he winds up having to watch the melee, but he ain't all there enough to really feel what T-Bird just did.

Ilyena_Sylph: Grange's 'what the fuuuuuuck' face perched at the edge of the opened grave. INDEED!

Ilyena_Sylph: oh, Darla. Yeah. Side note - Darla is a good character in the TV show.

Ilyena_Sylph: god i hate Torres. Yes, we do. Ilyena_Sylph: racist prick

The story BEHIND the reunion between Sarah and Eric HURTS. Ilyena_Sylph: ?? She filmed this after Brandon's death. Ilyena_Sylph: oH GODS YES "You're not dead, are you" to the CAT Ilyena_Sylph: WELL?! it's a reasonable question! Ilyena_Sylph: given her last 24 hours! And I always though Gabriel was touched by the supernatural because of the events.

The Skank scene with Grange and Top Dollar… Skank's actor played it well.

Sarah and Albrecht coming clean about Eric is so touching. Ilyena_Sylph: 'he can't be my friend because… because i'm alive.'

Thrill Kill Cult's song is so PERFECT for the coming scene. Jeff Imada, legendary stuntman and stunt coordinator. "Devil's night greeting cards." I love how Brandon MOVES. And the kill floor is live. Ilyena_Sylph: YES the change from the techno metal to the eerie music, the almost quiet around the bullets… Ilyena_Sylph: when did you become a shootist, Eric? (talking about Brandon's other roles) - Showdown in Little Tokyo? Or Rapid Fire

What was with the 90s and Helicopter chases over skylines? "So many cops, you'd think they were giving away donuts." Also, ALL the blood on Albrecht's car seat was a really good sign of his power waning. eeriansadow: It was, yes. Good visual storytelling

Sarah sleeping at the graves is just so her. He CAN'T tell her goodbye, because you don't get that chance before you die and can't take it after. And that is a promise she kept, about not taking off the ring, if I remember the second movie right. eeriansadow: I haven't watched the second in a LONG time but I believe you're right I think it gets taken off of her at one point? But. Just like Top Dollar just did to her. eeriansadow: Yeah

Metatextually (as Top Dollar will monologue in a few minutes), Eric's job WASN'T done. But oh he's waning on power. Ilyena_Sylph: but he thought it was Ilyena_Sylph: he didn't know. Yeah.

Albrecht to the RESCUE! Grange going down to Albrecht, when he was the enforcer for Top Dollar, the man behind most of Albrecht's cases, felt good. Ilyena_Sylph: yep And Myca, the mystic, dies at the actual crow's actions. Weather-vane versus sword…. Top Dollar is one of the best amoral villains in cinema. Ilyena_Sylph: and stupid enough to not be able to not gloat. Ilyena_Sylph: and make himself a justified target again. Well, Lawful Evil. He has rules, they're just… fucked up.

"I've been meaning to come to church anyway." And Albrecht pins it all on Top Dollar. Gotta love that.

MY HEART ALWAYS THUMPS SO HARD AT SHELLY COMING FOR ERIC. "For Brandon and Eliza" - yep, there's the tears now. eeriansadow: Yes. I always cry at the dedication

And new to me trivia - Eliza, his fiancée, was his assistant on the movie.

[amazingmsme]

if nobody else has asked for this yet then how about our tragic epic besties ody and polites for the ask meme? also i am on the lookout for more songs to recommend for the playlist i just have. a Lot of saved songs to go through lmao - fluffvoid

I literally reblogged it with them in mind kydjsbtej & thank you! The songs you’ve already recommended are so fitting! If anyone else has ghost!Polites song recs… 👀

1. Who’s more ticklish?

Polites without a doubt! Just look at that face!!

2. What kind of tickles are they sensitive to?

Rougher tickles work better on Odysseus, but light touches will destroy Polites, but he’s sensitive to both rough & lighter tickles

3. Which role (lee/ler) does each of them hold?

Odysseus is the ler most often, usually because Polites did or said something to provoke him. But Polites has his moments where he gets a mischievous streak & he just wants to see him laugh!

4. How did they discover each others’ ticklishness?

They were childhood friends as confirmed by the cut song let me be your light, so they’ve known about each other’s “weakness” for as long as they can remember. The actual discovery came about during a sparring match. Polites was taller than him even back then & would use his size to his advantage during their matches & he accidentally tickled him when he was trying to grapple him. Needless to say it turned into a full fledged tickle fight & Odysseus made his own discoveries

5. Who’s more likely to instigate a tickle fight?

Polites! He’s so mischievous & playful & tickle fights are his favorite way to break up the monotony of sailing. He very rarely finishes what he starts, but that’s half the fun!

6. How often do they tickle each other?

Literally like every day, they’re so silly☺️ definitely a few times a week. If one of them has been particularly sad, then it usually bumps up to multiple times a day. Y’all gotta remember they didn’t have jack shit to do back then

7. Who’s the least likely to ask for tickles?

Odysseus would rather fucking die than to ask someone to tickle him are you kidding? The best you’ll get is “well I’ve had worse” or “I don’t despise it or anything” but he can’t let people know the King of Ithica thinks tickling is kinda fun

[waheelawhisperer]

Moar violence asks (7, 14, 21, 22) and Bluebonnet + Feilan asks (3, 9, 16, 17). Feel free to ignore/trim if some/most are too open-ended or annoying.

Violence Asks:

7) what character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because how how the fandom acts about them?

RWBY: I can't say I truly hate any RWBY characters (even the ones who are utterly repulsive as human beings are at least decent as characters), much less because of the way the fandom acts about them, but there are certainly characters I like less than I ordinarily would for this reasons. I like Ironwood less because his stans are obnoxious and somehow think his plan would've worked (Team RWBY was right to fight and wrong to evacuate later and I will die on this hill) and that Team RWBY are the villains of the show, I like Jaune less because the Jaune harem people are incredibly fucking weird, I like Taiyang less because people keep insisting that his advice to Yang didn't suck and that Yang's disability arc was written well, I like Sun less because Black Sun shippers are annoying, and I like Blake and Yang less because Bumbleby shippers are annoying, there are so goddamn many of them that even a vocal minority is difficult to escape, and the worst of them will excuse any flaws in the show's writing or criticism thereof because the sapphics kissed and then buy out merch made by a company named after a homophobic slur.

Arknights: I don't like Platinum, and every time I see someone ship her with Nearl or Blemishine, I like her a little less.

Fate: I already hated Emiya Shirou but the way the Fate Stay Night fanbase gushes over him makes me want to run him over with a bulldozer. I also can't stand Waver or Iskandar after a former friend talked them up for years, they never once lived up to his hype, and then he tried to convince me that AI art was a victimless crime.

College Football: I already hated Baylor because of its athletics department's numerous scandals, but their fans are shitty self-centered entitled asshats on top of being mostly Evangelicals. They will forgive anything if the money sports win.

I absolutely despise Penn State for the same reason (scandals) but their fans are fucking horrendous and keep insisting that the head coach involved was a great guy, actually, and that their program didn't deserve the death penalty.

I was actually fond of LSU until they played Texas at DKR and then their players faked cramping/injuries because they were getting gassed and the coach whined about the visitor's locker room being too hot. Then two of their most recent coaches turned out to either have committed or enabled sexual assault, so there's that.

Georgia fans got significantly more obnoxious after they won a national championship, but they were barking at kids even before that, so they've pretty much always sucked.

Iowa state fans were actually tolerable until they had one good season and Texas/OU announced they were changing conferences from the Big 12 to the SEC, at which point they decided to be the whiniest and most annoying of the Hateful 8 despite mediocrity literally being the height of their program's accomplishments.

The Boys: Homelander and Soldier Boy are shitty people and good characters, but every time I see right-wing dipshits idolizing either of them or the newest batch of reader x fanfiction, I hate them both a little more.

14) that one thing you see in fics all the time

I mostly read RWBY fic when I read fic at all, but there's a list of annoying bullshit a mile long and about half of it comes from Coeur Al'Aran. Most of the rest is fanon that gained too much steam, but I really don't want to go into all of it right now.

21) part of canon you think is overhyped

RWBY: Volume 8 was dogshit and I don't understand why people enjoy it.

Bumbleby is overhyped to hell and back as a supposedly-amazing slowburn when I'd give it a B at best in terms of execution. Like very other fucking plotline in RWBY, it suffers from a persistent refusal to align resources and scope, prioritize specific elements of the show, or give anything major the time and focus it deserves. It's fine, though - the fanbase will fill in the blanks with headcanon and then claim that means the writing (that doesn't exist) is brilliant and anyone who thinks otherwise just lacks media literacy, just like they do every other time RWBY's writing fails.

Salem honestly sucks as a villain and simultaneously feels underwhelming and insurmountable at the same time because the writers dropped the ball on Volume 8 so Ironwood and Cinder could be the main villains for some fucking reason.

Arknights: The sociopolitical commentary isn't nearly as deep or incisive as tumblr likes to pretend and frequently fails to grow beyond "capitalism/imperialism/bigotry/Western society bad" like congrats you've identified and portrayed a problem but your solutions frequently either suck or don't exist

The prose is average and also 50% of it is unnecessary. Being obscure is not the same as being good.

Fate Grand Order: All of Lostbelt 5 was overhyped as shit to be honest

Elden Ring in general is overrated as hell and suffers from most of the Standard FromSoft Flaws, but that's more a consequence of the frankly absurd amount of hype it got rather than it being a bad game.

College Football: TCU had one good season with a bunch of Covid super-seniors, I doubt they'll have more than 8 wins this season. Sonny Dykes isn't the next Nick Saban until he actually manages to replicate this level of success consistently.

22) your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

Chapter 7 tells us that Dobermann is afraid of heights and Nearl is a goober who puts too much power into her Arts sometimes.

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

OC Asks:

3) What’s something pointless/petty/unimportant that IRRATIONALLY ANNOYS THE HELL out of your OC?

Bluebonnet hates the sound of dripping water it drives her insane.

Feilan 1 absolutely hates it when people beat around the bush and try to play/manipulate him instead of just being forthright about what they want, which is a direct response to several flirtatious women trying to use sex appeal and wheedling to get him to do their bidding

Feilan 2 gets agitated during sparring/combat because his parents have a very active sex life and aren't really careful about hiding it from their children and the various grunts and gasps and shit people make while fighting sound too much like sex noises to him. He's walked in on too much kinky middle-aged fornication to not have hangups about physical intimacy.

Feilan 3 does not like it when people grab him by the wrist. That is a Yang and Ruby zone only.

Feilan 4 hates sushi to the point where being around it forces him to fight not to be violently ill because raw animal protein of any kind reminds him of the way Team RWBY was when he first met them and the fact that he spent a good semester facing the very real threat of becoming food.

9) What would cause your OC to choose to do something petty/pointlessly cruel?

Bluebonnet is generally very sweet and friendly even to people who aren't particularly pleasant, but her inability to Pull Bitches is a sore spot for her. Make fun of her for it and she'll get real nasty, real quick. Also, don't prank her, because she will escalate (though she will be appropriately horrified if she accidentally goes too far).

Feilan: Alcohol is the big one, especially for Feilan 1, and especially if he's drinking because something bad happened to him recently. He has a bad habit of taking out his stress on the closest available target and can get real mean when he's drunk.

Hurt someone he specifically cares about or just innocent people in general and Feilan has no issues with visiting retribution upon you in kind. Do not attack Beacon Academy. It will not end well for you.

On a more lighthearted note, antagonize him or act like a dick and he will respond in kind.

For Feilan 1 in particular, you can add being General James Ironwood or anyone associated with General James Ironwood to the list. Feilan 1 and Jimmy do not like each other at all for a variety of reasons, and Feilan tends to be at his pettiest when dealing with Ironwood and his military. This has bitten him in the ass at least once.

16) How strong or weak is your OC’s Impulse control? What’s the worst thing that happened because of their impulsivity or inability to be so?

Bluebonnet is not impulsive in high-stakes situations like combat (she's a very good soldier/Huntress/leader when the situation calls for it) but is otherwise the embodiment of "fuck it we ball" in social in social situations (she will, for example, happily go on a bar crawl the night before midterms if her friends rope her into hijinks). Bluebonnet lives for Shenanigans and her grades in school suffered for it.

Feilan is not particularly impulsive at all. His stupid decisions are mostly carefully considered and planned out in advance, and normally he can't be impulsive if he wants to survive. The main thing that makes him impulsive is the presence and attention of attractive women.

17) How does your OC sabotage themselves? 

Bluebonnet sees or hears something, thinks "this seems fun!", and then later realizes that it was not, in fact, fun (or that it was fun but also a terrible idea). She mostly has her shit together otherwise, but the big way she screws herself over is via her love life. She's chronically dateless and easily infatuated, and those two things combine to make her very frustrated and prone to tunnel visioning on whatever she thinks will result in a relationship. She will do almost anything she's asked if someone pretty smiles at her and desperately needs a friend around to knock some sense into her at all times.

Feilan gets it into his head that he wants to be a Huntsman despite having no training at age 17 and all his problems arise from there. He starts his stories by finding a way to get into Beacon anyway, but those ways aren't strictly legal and are often very dangerous. The main conflict up until the Battle of Beacon typically involves him trying not to blow his cover. Feilan, stop lying to people. It will be healthier for you in the long run.

[triple--a--threat]

so about voltron

idk where this post is gonna go, but i have thoughts and feelings about this show and needed to get them out. so. rambley post it is.

i dont think it's new information for anyone that voltron and its fandom suck major ass, unless you've been living under a rock, and in that case, get back under that rock sweetie. this show sucks a fuckton and this rambling will be nothing more than critique and bashing. anyways

at the end of season 2 shiro was going to die in the original "plan" as far as we know. we were gonna get a heroic sacrifice and the team would go back to its 1984 setup with allura piloting the blue lion. except of course the machinations of the universe are beyond us so shiro did not in fact. die. he was the most popular character and his merch sold the most, so he couldn't possibly die this early on. who else would've made dreamworks their pure gold bars?

so as daddy dreamworks demanded, the writers delivered and un-unalived shiro, completely disregarding their original flimsy shambling excuse of a plan in exchange for among the worst plotlines i have ever seen anywhere. possibly the worst that exist in all of television ever. we got 4 seasons (well really 2) of completely directionless, contrieved, contradictory, and mind-numbing bullshit. stuff happens because someone wanted it to. 2 eps later something very contradictory happens because someone else wanted it to. i cannot stress this enough it feels like the writters were split into factions each of whom had very different ideas about literally everything in this fucking show. some of the dialogue actually feels like someone just wrote down the arguments and fighting going down in the writer's room. shit was made up along the way as the show went on for far longer than it had the right to, and for each and every fucking plotline the writers were divided and kept on shooting themselves (and the others too don't forget) in the foot for the sliver of chance that their story will be canon. just completely backstabbing each other for the sake of it and no regard for what is actually happening. it would be hilarious if it hadn't destroyed my sanity. and for a bit of a personal opinion, a liitle ymmv, none of the writers had any good ideas actually. even ignoring the nonsense opposite fuckery happening, none of the plotlines were good lmao. please end this and me oh god.

as a result we got a completely wish-washy, flip-flopping, self-contradictory, reductive mess of a show which never had any good original ideas or story much less a fucking plot or even a plan in some direction. the writers had no goal except to get their plot on the paper disjoint from everything else with jackshit regard to the overarching storyline. well if there was anything resembling an overarching storyline in the first place.

ig i'll talking specifically about the some of the worst offenders in the "the writers never thought of anything" situation - the allura racism arc, the clone shiro arc, and fucking lotor. oh my fucking god motherfucking lotor. holy shit they fucked him up.

i dunno where to begin with the allura racism arc except for the fact that it was DUMB. completely out of the blue and so fucking forced. for a princess of a diplomatic people she sure is fuckin racist for no fucking reason. even if she doesn't trust any and all galra (ig they didn't have unity in diversity activities in altea), she has no reason to not trust keith. like. my guy what. he proved himself as a paladin of voltron and has directly and indirectly saved her ass. why is she racist oh my god. and why doesn't coran hold any animosity towards the galra? he also lost his homeworld (and alfor)? and he lived on altea for far longer? ig women are emotional or smth. man. i also liked (absolutely despised) the the fact that it kinda took a #notallgalra turn and i was jesting about it and then they actually said that in the fucking show. hey allura not all galra are bad. hey allura stop being a bitch. and then the writers forgot about it btw and made allura racist again 2 seasons later. hmm. wut. also they never checked their own internalised racism or whatever as *points to zethrid's design*. lmao. WAIT also the conflation of racism with speciesism. yknow. using anti speciesism messages as anti racism messages. classic white person living in california moment.

alright the clone shiro arc. because its the keith and shiro show and we can't loose half of our money milking cow. and we shan't make them explicitly gay. only allude to it and sprinkle in family brother stuff so nobody actually thinks they're gay. that would be blasphemous. we shall continue with our pseudo-incest for the rest of the show and give shiro a last minute husband so they don't haul our ass for gaybaiting and burying our gays because we somehow managed to do both of them. anyways where was i. oh right shiro died but they had to bring him back blah blah but they made a clone of him for? reasons? while the real shiro is in the subconscious of the black lion or smth for unexplained reasons. i have absolutely no idea why they did that. they have a carbon copy of shiro in terms of everything - personality, fighting capabilities, homoerotic scenes with keith - for jackshit reasons while they could have the actual real shiro running around but i guess not. the clone is the exact same as the real guy until he isn't. because. we need more drama in this over extended bullshit show i guess??? clearly we don't have enough stuff going on we must make it more exhausting and confusing to watch. also clone shiro is as good and noble as normal shiro until he got a headache and now he's evil at the flick of a switch and retains none of his previous personality and is therefore irredeemably evil and nothing can be done to save him. he's bad and evil and must be forgotten. they never mention him again later on except for a throwaway comment on how evil he was except he wasn't evil guys you're not gonna fool anyone. oh and btw the real shiro's soul or whatever got supplanted in the clone's body because idk man where his original body went and he retained all the memories of his clone self because isn't that convenient. fuck everything. also this arc culminates in the best episode of this show despite everything wrong with the events leading up to it and the way they handle lotor in this episode. more on him later. it's literally among my favourites now 10/10 would watch again it was so fucking good. kill me. i.

again, i don't know where to begin with lotor - such an interesting character who got the short end of the stick. the worst victim of the writers' squabbles. i genuinely liked him a lot and then. such a shame. well there are other characters- oh no. there aren't any other even remotely interesting characters. not good, no no, no one is good in this show, but just fun to watch.

he starts off as an antagonist to team voltron but he's not actually a threat. he maybe wants to use them to further his goals but really he isn't the villain per se. which sucks because there aren't any villains in the show now cause the previous main villain is out of commission for who knows how long. and then whoops lotor has to kill one of his generals and then the other generals betray him and now i guess he's with voltron now. sure why not. interesting turn of events. at least it isn't boring. i'm having fun can't you see. then he kills the previous villain (who is his father did i mention that) in episode two of season five. yes s05e02. i dont know any more than you do. and now it sucks even more cause theres literally no fucking villain rn. then he and allura start working on quintessence or whatever because she learns that he is half altean and btw do you remember she is racist. now since he is not 100% galra (bad people) but half galra half altean (good people. her people) she smooches him and stuff and. also btw all this fuckery is happening alongside the climax of clone shiro arc. yeah this show may suck. whatever evil shiro who wasnt evil is defeated and lotors really helped team voltron and the galra empire is going to stop conquering worlds and the show is going to end on a mid note. well.

EXCEPT SIKE BITCH LOTOR IS PURE CRAZY EVIL FUCK YOU FOR EVER ROOTING FOR HIM. FUCK HIS WHOLE CHARACTER BEING ALL "IM NOT MY FATHER" AND THEN AT THE END 180ING MAKING HIM JUST LIKE HIS FATHER. FUCK EVERYTHING FUCK THIS SHOW YOU THOUGHT IT WAS SOMEWHAT GOOD. WELL FUCK YOU IT AINT EVEN SOMEWHAT GOOD.

i. im just so disappointed in his character and the plot twist for the sake of twist that i cant even express how disappointed i am except for shouting through the use of all caps. one final fuck this show

[black-is-iconic]

Stop The Glazing

Okay, I've had just about enough with the over hyping of your favorite demon slayers, like I understand their your favorite but calm down.

SPOILR WARNING GTFO if you don't wanna know shit, okay good later pookie.

Now you don't realize how thick the plot armor is for the hashira and tanjiro and his little group. Nezuko might as well change her name to Plot Armor cause that's all she's good for.

If Tanjiro and gang didn't had plot armor thicker than a bbl then not a single one of them would make it out of season one, Muzan would have eviscerated every last one of them if the fucking plot didn't need him to be a dumb ass.

It pains me so how heavily nerfed the demons are, I you're telling me these CENTURY old beings of death and destruction are getting wiped by a bunch of teens and pre adult?

Tengen is fine he earned his dub, if anyone deserves the hype it's that man, he fought an upper moon with a single hand like he's HIM.

Rengoku fought his hardest and died with honor he's great, but fucking Mitsuri did not earn her win she should've died. They all should've died.

It's stated in the manga/anime that Zohakuten's skin is too thick to cut through skin, sooooooo.......why not just have Zohakuten Swallow Hantengu boom.....problem solved.

But then no your precious little hashira and demon slayers would get EVISCERATED if the demons use their brains.

I'm all for MC plot and all that good shit, but I swear to the high heavens If I hear another one of you mofos say Mitsuri solos this Tanjiro solos that.

THEY DON'T SOLO SHIT THEY JUST JUST HAVE RIDICULOUS PLOT ARMOR AND THE DEMONS WERE DUMBED DOWN SO THEY COULD WIN

Demon slayer without the plot armor would not end well for the (majirotiy) of hashira or the little demon Slayers

stop the hype cause they didn't earn it

Espically the two little shits Nezuko and Genya I despise them (not their characters) but how they are Nezuko is just a shield for Tanjiro an Genya...exsist

HOW THE HELL DID TWO NEW DEMONS MANAGE TO OVERPOWER TWO DEMONS WHO ARE THE STRONGEST, AND HAVE YEARS OF EXEREINCE?

FUCK OFFwith that nonsense, Aizetsu should've slaughtered Genya and Daki should've Killed Nezuko but plot requires them to live despite it not making any fuckung sense but whaterver/

Just stop saying their so strong they solo cause take away their plot armor and their not lasting a minute in a battle with any of the demons

SPOILER WARNING AGAIN GTFO IF YOU DON'T WANNA KNOW

The thing that pisses me off the most is when people say Tanjiro beat Akaza, TANJIRO DID NOT BEAT MY BABY. Akaza literally got decapitated and kept pushing, and was on the way to kill them.

But of course can't having the mc die.....and they literally have NO OTHER WAY TO GET RID OF HIM so they make my baby self delete.

Yeah it was a beautiful scene he got with his old bitch cool but like the fans don't seem to understand that's not them defeating Akaza it's Akaza giving up.

Same thing for Kokushibo, he self-deleted isn't it kind of weird that the top three strongest demons just self-delete? (I'm counting Douma's as self-delete cause i know damn well if plot had let him use his brain he wouldn't have eaten shinobu and would've walked away fine)

to make a long story short your favorite Demon Slayer character ain't shit unless their Tengen or Kyojuro everyone else got saved by the plot and handed their victory (technically Tengen wouldn't have one his fight either if Daki was allowed to use her brain and just not be in the area) but Tengen worked fir that shit so he gets a pass

[stargirlstudio]

Remember Me

Henry Creel x GN!Reader

Genre: Angst

Warning: character death, guilt tripping, graphic depiction of body horror and violence

Summary: Henry revisits one last guilt, the spirit of someone who won't move on

There they were, strapped to one of the Hawkins testing chairs, with a bag over their head, blood dripping from their chest. Henry would recognize that form anywhere. He raced over, careful to take the bag off. It was you.

He carefully knelt to his knees and held your face with his hands. This couldn't be real.

"Where were you? I missed you? Where did you go?" You asked. Your face bloodied and bruised, he almost didn't recognize you. It's been too long since he's seen you, but your beautiful smile was etched into his mind. His dead giveaway.

"I'm sorry I didn't say goodbye. You should be here with me but you're not. I'm so so sorry my love," He said as he wiped away your tears.

"Why didn't you come find me? Where were you?" You wept. He shook his head, clutching you closer. He couldn't hear your heart.

"They wouldn't let me, they wouldn't let me find you," He said. It's true, they tortured him. He was too weak to find you. He knew you were dead. And it was all his fault.

"You're a liar," You told him. Tears welled in his eyes. "You left me to die Henry. They hurt me. You said you would always protect me and you wouldn't leave my side but I was all alone! I died all alone!"

Henry panicked. No he would never do that on purpose. He was outnumbered this time. That is what he told himself. Their escape attempt was too fragile, if only he had planned more. There was too much, he didn't see the man knock him out. You were never meant to die alone. Not like this. You were supposed to die someplace safe, somewhere they could both be happy. In the countryside, on mountain cliffs, anywhere but here. You were supposed to outlive him. Not in a cold room with the very people you despised, watching you. No...no...no.

"Please believe me, I wanted to find you. I tried so hard to fight. I did. I never meant for this to happen. Fuck! It is my fault isn't it? I'm sorry, I'm so terribly sorry. This was never meant to happen. Please believe me (y/n) I love you. I always have and always will. No matter what happens. Everything I did after that day was for you. I killed them all. All for you I tried to. It's my fault I killed you," He screamed. Not once did you hug him back.

"Say it again Henry," You spoke. "Say that it's your fault,"

"It's my fault I killed you. It's my fault. It's all my fault. It's my fault I killed the love of my life,"

You looked up at him, holding his hand against your chest, where your heart would be. "Liar,"

A/N: Hello everyone, thank you for reading my first writing for the Stranger Things fandom. I wanted to write a little angst piece, It's been a bit hard getting into writing again.

My inbox is open for requests. I write just about anything, but please only send fluff/smut requests for the adult characters as I am an adult myself. I will make a separate posts about rules and a masterlist once I have some works up. Thanks again!

[angeli-marco-writes]

Sherlock Holmes - Kiss Me, Mr Detective

A/N - Season 1!Sherlock, the cutie. And friends to lovers. Two of my favourite things. I do not own Sherlock Holmes, the character, the universe, the adaptations or anything: this is a work of fiction set on the BBC adaptation of Sherlock. Did I still write 8.2k words (exactly) for it? Yes. I also don’t own the song or the lyrics used within, and if you fancy it, listen to ‘Kiss Me’ by Ed Sheeran while reading.

Warnings - Bad language. Mentions of murder and drug usage. Mild angst. Smut, loss of virginity, masturbation, oral m receiving, penetration, unprotected sex, so 18+.

Summary - After a fight with John leaves Sherlock feeling particularly down, he calls on the one person who is always there to support him. Only tonight, it’s different. Feelings come to a head, exploration ensues, but is this just a one time thing? That depends on whether she stays the night...

TO SHERLOCK, it’s just another normal day, whereas to John? He’d rather not admit how regularly these awful days roll around. Sure, the case didn’t go as well as it could’ve, and Sherlock admittedly could’ve made much more of an effort to comfort John after the apparent ‘heartbreak’ he endured. He just could not understand it. Why the hell was John so emotionally responsive to a case they’d been on for less than twenty four hours which turned out to be a bust anyway? 

“You are absolutely unbelievable!” 

“People die every day, John. You’ve killed people, as have I. It isn’t that great a surprise.” Sherlock deadpans, picking up his teacup, raising it to his lips, drawing a long sip from the warm liquid. 

“Oh, yeah, of course. The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone, that never mused on sorrow but its own.” John mocks. “Do you not even care that people are still dead despite the fact you solved the case?”

“They’d be dead either way,” he reiterates, “at least we got to them before they completely decomposed. Will me caring about them stop them from being dead? No, Dr Watson, it will not.”

“Sherlock!”

“John!” He mimics. 

John slams his hands down on the desk, shaking the wood and everything resting on it, surely sending the vibrations through the floor and notifying Mrs Hudson of their ‘domestic’ as she so likes to call them. The buffalo even begins to swing. John’s tea is long forgotten, but Sherlock’s is keeping him grounded, calm, as John waggles his fist in Sherlock’s passive, blank face. 

“You-” he pauses, gulping down breath. “You are a fucking machine, I can’t even deal with you right now. How dare you be so cold hearted and untroubled by this. You’re a disgrace.”

As if he hasn’t heard that one before, Sherlock scoffs. 

Placing his teacup back down with a clink, he stands, the darkness of the night, of the room, closing in on them both. Nights like these really are danger nights, any night John leaves him. That’s what's coming next, but there isn’t a thing he knows to say or do to prevent the inevitable. He’ll simply just text Her instead, she’ll keep him grounded. 

“Why? Emotional context? Emotion, whether of ridicule, anger, or sorrow, whether raised at a puppet show, a funeral, or a battle, is your grandest of levellers. The man who would be always superior should be always apathetic.” 

With a huff like a bull, John viciously turns on his heel, blaspheming under his breath, cursing Sherlock out. He reaches for his coat and snatches it off the stand, slamming the door open. 

“MACHINE.” John screams before pulling the door shut with a great slam, seething, the coat stand still rocking in his wake. 

John’s footsteps thunder down the stairs, but before he’s even gone, Sherlock’s phone is withdrawn, and he’s tapping out a message.

Can you come over? Please? SH

It wouldn’t usually bother him as much. The case didn’t phase him, at all, but John’s opinion did. It always does. But today was a particularly long day of being brutish and rude, cold and distant, his usual and true self, but John’s more and more impatient with him now. 

Being called a ‘machine’ is, again, nothing unusual, but this time it stings a little more than usual, especially after his recent arrest, and a fallout with Molly. He only has one person left, right now, who doesn’t hate him. His longest friend, the one he keeps away from it all so as to not tarnish her life with his misdeeds; Y/N, the one he can always rely on.

He knows she’s arrived by the sound of his window crashing open. Crawling up the bricks, skimming the drainpipe, latching onto the ivy; it’s her usual manner of entry. She never uses the door. 

Putting his cups and saucers into the sink, he makes his way through the house, opening his bedroom door to find her already sitting there on the bed, her coat hung up on the hook, her work clothes clinging to her body. 

“Hey there Mr Detective, you okay?” she asks as jovially as she can muster.

The way he ambles across the room, his dressing gown floating behind him, and slumps down onto the bed, instantly tells her he’s not okay at all. She can’t help but to look upon him sympathetically, edging a smidge closer to him, until he’s prompted enough to wrap his arms around her torso, finding his rightful place tangled around her. She knows him well enough - his past, and his current life - to realise she’s the only person he’s ever felt comfortable enough around to do this with, and that brings her a certain swelling pride in her bosom, one that doesn’t go unnoticed by Sherlock as he feels her skin heat up against his cheek. 

It doesn’t take long, either, for his head to follow suit, burying into her chest. He’s always, always had a thing for her boobs, ever since they were in uni together. 

That’s something so special about the two of them, he doesn’t have to say anything for her to know he’s not okay the way he does with everyone else. And naturally, he can read everything about her in a split second.

“I’m here, bud.”

Above all else, he just needs to know someone is there for him in moments like these. The world is cruel to him, and Y/N wishes more than anything that it wasn’t. Upon instinct, her hands stray, one to his back, pressing against the silk of his dressing gown, the other cradling his long neck, fingers knotting in the dark curls there. 

She isn’t sure how long she stays there, simply holding him, feeling every twitch of his muscles, every breath of his against her skin, but she likes it. Of course she does, every time she likes it. Sherlock brings her an inordinate amount of comfort at the best of times, today is no exception, especially with what the day has held. Even when she’s the one comforting him, he doesn’t realise how much he helps her too. 

His flat is so familiar, his bed as comfortable as her own. She knows his sock index, she’s studied his periodic table over his shoulder more times than she’d care to admit, and she even has her own toothbrush in the bathroom in case she has to pop over for an emergency freshen up. Sherlock has, and always will be, her first port of call, and that she remembers as she shifts further onto the quilted bedspread, her phone on his oak bedside locker. 

His head begins to stir against her chest, his curls tickling her collarbones, small hums escaping his lips as he pushes himself up, his elegant yet trembling hands still splayed on her waist.

“I could feel your heart beating weirdly, what’s wrong?” he asks, quirking his eyebrows. 

“Just the usual.” she vaguely replies.

Sherlock isn’t having it, though, and scans her a little more. “You’re still in your work clothes.”

“Great deduction. I was hoping you’d go a little deeper, though.”

“You hate wearing work clothes longer than necessary, which means you had plans straight after work, considering you finished… five hours ago? That’s your usual time for today. Counting overtime, forty five minutes, walk to your car, another ten, but your umbrella wasn’t working, round that up to an hour, leaving at 6. You arrived home, no, not home, at your boyfriend’s house for dinner. However, you’re not comfortable enough with one another yet for you to use his shower, or perhaps you are, but you elected not to, and stay in damp clothes that only had seventeen minutes to dry with the heater on in your car for the journey there. You ate dinner, Mexican, had a glass and a half of five percent wine, realised you couldn’t drive, but you didn’t particularly want to stay. Nonetheless you sat and watched the telly with him for hours, football, I can see the dreariness in your eyes. I know how much you hate it, and frankly, same. You stayed for almost all of the match, seeing as you’re now sober, but something else happened.” She lulls her head to the side, prompting him, her smile not meeting her eyes. “As soon as the match ended, he tried to make a move on you, he pressed his mouth to yours, he tried to push his hand up your skirt;” his throat bobs with a vicious gulp; despising the thought of anyone else laying a finger on her, “you swatted him away, rightfully so.” 

He pauses a minute, his harsh tone of voice and his sharp face softening. He can see the vulnerability in her eyes, her walls about to crumble. This woman he appreciates so much. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

Smiling melancholically up at him, she brings her hand back to his hair, her fingers carding through the soft curls. His face buries back into her chest just as her voice offers a broken whisper, “I broke it off. I was the one who couldn’t commit this time.” 

And as she lays her head on top of his, her breathing more shallow, resounding in her chest, he dwells over those very words. The way she said them, not to mention the words themselves, hold a myriad of meaning. What could she possibly-

Oh.

The subtext, yes, impeccable. She’s always had a way with implications and subtext, always knowing that the likelihood of him actually picking up on it is little to none. But now, now he’s become trained to her, her way of life, her way of thinking, her way of speaking. This is too good an opportunity to miss. If she means what he thinks she means, ever hopeful, then this is completely unfamiliar territory. 

Gathering all of his courage in one deep breath, he begins to pepper kisses on her skin. The faintest brush of his lips on the tops of her breasts, all that’s available to him with her shirt the way it is. He feels her heart flutter, her breathing stutter, but despite the chemical flush of her chest, he still isn’t quite sure she likes it. Not until he feels her grip on his hair increase, and he glances up to see her head thrown back. Her spine delicately arches against his hand, thrusting her chest further into his face. 

His nimble fingers reach for her buttons, undoing the top two, giving him space enough to find the valley between her breasts. Lathering kisses there, licking the swells of her boobs, his tongue pulsates with the increased thrumming of her heart. The sensation is new, so unbridled, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with the stirring in his loins right about now. That unknowing is only further amplified by the sound that rips from her chest when he involuntarily bites down on the supple flesh. It couldn’t be… a moan?

Sure, he understands the chemistry of it, the reactions that occur in the synapses of the brain, the pheromones and hormones released when one is aroused, but this is all new to him. And, from his embarrassingly basic level of theory, surely that doesn’t start until some more stimulation on other parts of the body commence? Nipples, perhaps something lower down… then again, what does Sherlock know?

Of course it’s an intimate moment, the closest he’s been to a woman before, and maybe that’s why he freezes, stops, and she tugs his head up by his hair, her gentle, pleasured smile with her lips softly parted deepening the look of bewilderment painted onto his face. Her eyes are twinkling, alight with an excitement he hasn’t seen for far too long. 

“What are you doing?” she whispers. 

He shrugs his shoulders with a sudden force, his dressing gown falling off a little. “I don’t know. But now I feel like I read your pining words all wrong.” 

She gasps, a wheezing sound, sucking the air from the room. She smacks his arm gently, muffled by his button-down and dressing gown. “I wasn’t pining! I was saying.”

“Hmm, same difference.” 

Everyone must acquiesce when it comes to Sherlock Holmes. “But no, you didn’t read them wrong at all, but I know you don’t see me that way, you don’t feel things that way.” 

He pauses, his beautiful plump lips pursed, fidgeting on the bed. Brushing her hair off her face reveals the pain she expressed. However, her eyes glued on his, sadness is betrayed in every line of his young, clean-shaven face. His entire bone structure is taking a nosedive. 

“For you, I’ve been feeling everything from hate to love to lust, and I guess that’s how I know I want to hold you close.”

“Sherlock...” she whispers, her singular word an inflection of surprise. 

Never tearing his eyes from her, his hand comes up to her cheek, rubbing his thumb over the slightly blushing skin, searching her face, with his big blue eyes, for a shred of reluctance. But, all he sees is her, so he elects to do what his heart is yelling at him to do for once, and kisses her breathless. His full lips holding hers, his one hand on her face, the other still wrapped around her back. Hers fly around his neck, clinging to him for dear life.

It doesn’t take long, their movements steadily heating, for their previously slow, intimate kiss to grow into something more, Y/N pulling herself up from the bed and making herself comfortable on Sherlock’s lap. His breath hitches in his throat, a cute little hiccupping sound escaping his lips in between embraces. 

As much as he loves just this, soft caressing and gentle petting, he just knows she wants more. He does too, that much is evident from the length prodding at Y/N’s inner thigh as she moves gently on his lap. She won’t make a move, though, he’s too inexperienced, and she’s too much of a sweetheart to corrupt him, so she thinks. Ever since he first saw her, she’s been corrupting him slowly. He didn’t realise at first, but over the years, he began to understand, and now he’s in too deep. 

For Y/N? It’s always been him. Every breakup she’s had, she’ll come to Sherlock’s flat, full well knowing the real reason she broke up with them, because she couldn’t commit, because she was too caught up on him. 

Skimming his hands beneath her shirt, he savours the press of his hands on her bare skin, warmth seeping from her body into his, his fingers dancing along her spine. Electricity shocks her in bursts, unlike anything else, from his touch alone. 

“May I take your shirt off?” he asks. 

“Fuck, yes.” she groans. “May I do yours?”

“Be my guest.”

In a tangle of limbs, a few buttons pop off, and eventually, two shirts make it out the other side, tossed from the bed and into the laundry pile. Aka Sherlock’s floor. He’s like that: sock indexes, yet he won’t get a hamper. A walking contrast.

His thumbs press beneath the band of her bra, savouring the pressure of the flesh that falls into his hands, but that’s as far as he gets. 

“Never undone a bra before?”

He shakes his head sheepishly. “I know the theory. Just… you always wear peculiar ones.”

“I wear relatively normal bras, and this one is certainly bog standard. Had I known you’d be undressing me Mr Detective, I’d have worn something nicer.”

“Just do it for me.” He requests, chuckling. 

She unfastens her bra, and allows her breasts to spill from the cups, into Sherlock’s awaiting hands. The gasp that erupts from him sends Y/N’s brain into overdrive. He’s cupped her chest through her shirt before, buried his nose into her cleavage countless times, but never before have they had such skin on skin contact. Her lips press to his neck, shifting her closer to him. Sucking on his pressure point, she receives a similar gasp in response, only this one is more guttural, more a sound of pleasure than surprise. He’s wilting from a single kiss to his neck. 

“Has no one ever given you a hickey?” She husks in his ear, her voice alone sending tremors down his spine. 

“N- fuck, no.”

“I’ll make it worth it. All of this.”

“I know you will.”

She fuses her lips onto his again, savouring the faint hesitations as he grapples with his breath, eager to get some control on his mind with all that’s happening. Never did she ever think Sherlock would be here beneath her, his rough fingertips brushing over her peaked buds, and his palms dancing over her waist. Never did she think she’d hear him whisper his next words, either, not in a million years. 

“More.” he pleads. “Can we do… more? Whatever that entails?”

“That depends what you want to do.”

“Get me out of these damn trousers. They're rather uncomfortable.”

She snorts lightly, a piggy like sound, the one they bonded over all those years ago. “I can feel why.”

“I imagine you want out of your work trousers, too.”

“God, yes; they’re ghastly.”

“I don’t think so.” he hums. “You look nice.”

Her cheeks begin to burn, blood rushing to colour them, betraying her true feelings, but as he tweaks her nose playfully, the little snort escapes again. 

They were in the dining hall, second week of university, almost ten years ago, and Y/N was sitting with her friends, downing enough coffee to sink a ship, eating her hangover away, when her friends decided to make her laugh with tales of last night's drunken events. Unbeknownst to her, one of the greatest minds of the twenty-first century was sitting just a few seats down on the half-empty bench, watching her perceptively in his periphery. That’s when he first heard the sound. The cutest thing, and it startled him into action, beginning his deductions almost instantly. Admittedly, her student ID on the table aided him a little. 

He shocked her from her haze, too, as soon as he spoke her name. 

“Y/N, eighteen, jurisprudence first year, freshers week over with. You left a boyfriend back home, but you’re more sad about leaving your dog, as I would be. You don’t particularly care about law but know it’s a good undergraduate to receive anyway. Dyed hair, extrovert, killer hangover, and apparently there’s a little piggy living inside your nose. Sherlock Holmes, would you like some aspirin?”

“That’s weird; what are you, some kind of detective?” She asked, sans malice, a playful bounce to her words. 

“Chemistry, going for a masters. But I do like the mystery, yes.”

“So you’re… bright. Nice to meet you, Sherlock, and it seems you know almost everything you need to know about me. But yes, I will take that aspirin, if you don’t mind. How was your weekend?”

He smiled at her, the first true smile he’d given in a long time. “It was nice, thank you.”

And thus a friendship was born, all because he heard her little piggy snort. 

Her slender fingers work wonders with the fastener and zip of his suit trousers, and even manage hers too, all within the space of a few seconds, but Sherlock is reluctant to let her go, even just to get her trousers off. 

“I need to sit up, just for a minute.”

“No.” Sherlock commands, insistent. ��We can make this work.”

“Sure we can, but it won’t be very comfortable. Come on.”

She’s barely peeled away from him and wrestled hers off before he’s drawing her back in for a kiss, his trousers settled just above his knees. 

“Sherlock,” she protests, mumbling against his lips, her hands on his heavenly, broad, muscular shoulders. “Sher!”

Her squeal at his sudden tug on her panties disappears, captured by his eager mouth. And in fact, her panties seem to disappear along with it, thanks to Sherlock’s swift movements and nimble hands. Maybe he’s had some experience to be so good at this…

“You sure you wanna go this far?”

“More sure than I’ve ever been. I need you.” 

He takes a deep inhale, dropping his forehead against hers, his breathing coming out in bursts as he tries to get a grasp on the situation. “Kiss me.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice, instantly getting to work on the waistband of his boxers as his tongue lavishes her own. His hips rise briefly, just long enough for her to tug the elasticated material from around him, slipping past her, and then he kicks it into their growing pile of clothes. His length falls into her awaiting palm, and-

“Wow.” She exhales in amazement. “If I’d known you were packing this much, I’d have jumped you long ago.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

“Absolutely not, until tonight I thought you’d just laugh at me.”

He pecks her lips affectionately, “Never. You’re bloody beautiful, I’ll let you do anything to me.”

“Hmm, anything, you say?”

Stifling a chuckle against her neck, he recommences, “Maybe not anything.”

Yeah, that's definitely the right call. Still, she finds herself all but clawing at him, her breath hovering teasingly just over his lips, their noses touching, her hands clamped to his cheeks, feeling the building heat there. She must be making such a mess of his bed right about now, but for one night? It can’t matter.

This is a one time thing, it has to be. Sherlock just needs to release some tension, she just so happens to be there. Still, she can’t prevent the little glimmer of hope shining through at the possibility of this being a more-than-one-time thing. The moral compunctions of their friendship after this don’t matter anymore, because he’s leaving a fire in his wake, his delicious fingertips digging bruisingly into her bum before trailing lightly up her spine, skimming her shoulder, brushing her neck - arched for him to reach where he wants, able to mark her as his own - and finally slipping over her lips, taken obediently by her awaiting mouth. Christ, if there’s one thing she hopes for tonight, it’s that his actions never relent.

Whether it’s what he intends to happen or not, his fingers in her mouth give her an idea, one she prays he goes along with at least a little, so she pulls away. The dirty, telling smile on her face hints at what she’s about to do, lending Sherlock to shift a little more up the bed, his eyes following her every move. Hands splayed on his thighs, her small fingers gripping onto the fine hairs there, she begins to take his tip into her mouth, never once breaking eye contact with him. Yeah, this is what’ll drive him insane. 

Inch by inch, she takes him into the welcoming heat of her mouth, pulling off slowly, only to go down again. She adds her tongue into the mix at some point, too, and her hand, on what she can’t reach, tickling his balls, but further than that, his mind is blank. Hot white, washed with pleasure. The sounds he emits are other worldly, so much that he has to muffle himself with his own hand; what would Mrs Hudson say? He’s always had such control over his mind and body, but this… he’s slowly losing all semblance of control, and he’s not even mad about it. What he does know is that there’s a building heat in his abdomen, a coil about to spring, and his cock is beginning to twitch. If she keeps going this incredible way, her teeth grazing him ever so gently, adding another new sensation into the mix, he’s inexorably going to finish before he can help it.

“As much as I adore your torturous ministrations, I think I need to be inside you…” He husks, his voice deep.

A smirk gracing her lips, she looks up at him through half-lidded eyes, mischief glinting in her pretty little mesmerising eyes for a second, before she hollows her cheeks and takes him wholly, allowing his length to slip partially down her throat. Her moan reverberates around him, and Sherlock begins to thrash above her, scrunching the duvet in his hands, not caring if it creases. If there’s one thing Sherlock hates, it’s creases. And being called a machine by his best friend. Right now, though, it seems as though every misstep in his day has led him here, into the welcoming heat of Y/N’s mouth, taking him so eagerly, her tongue lapping at the vein on the underside of his dick, a string of saliva remaining as she pulls away. 

“I think you’ve got a couple of rounds in you, Mr Detective. Can you do that for me?”

“Y-yes.” He stammers, his head tossed back in pure ecstasy a moment later as she begins to work on the head with kitten licks. “But… can I s- fuck me, say something?”

“I plan on it.” she chuckles, “anything.”

She goes back to peppering kisses all over his member, tip to base, brushing his balls, working her way back up. 

“Touch yourself f- for me.”

“What? Why?” 

Her tone is more inquisitive than anything else, but upon that playfully rueful look in his lust-darkened baby blue eyes, she knows he’s going to get her back for this little display, and he’s just worked out how. It works both ways, she can prepare herself for what’s to come next while pleasuring him. And he gets to watch. It’s a win-win for him. Maybe he likes this sex thing a little more than he’s letting on. 

“Are you sure you want me to? I’ll just make a mess on your sheets, Sher.”

She swallows him again, bobbing her head up and down on his length a few times while he grapples with literal reality. He’s teetering on the edge. One more move, and he’s a goner. His head is already against the wall, lolled there. 

“I don’t care about the sheets, darling, I need you ready for me.”

She gulps, nods, and reaches one hand around her, skimming over her stomach, until it nestles between her thighs. She rubs her thumb over his tip, collecting the pre-come beading there, while she rubs over her throbbing pearl, pressing softly. Then, as she inches down on his cock, taking him in her mouth, she also collects the slick from between her thighs, and uses it as a lube to push a finger inside herself. Of all the times she’s touched herself, she never imagined, even in her wild Sherlock fantasies, that she’d be doing it with his dick down her throat. With every bob of her head, she scissors herself more, sinking back onto her fingers. 

“I think I’m-” Sherlock begins to say, his words cut off by an utterly obscene moan splitting the air. 

She hastily abandons her one post, and wraps both of her hands around his girth, working on what she can’t fit into her mouth with her increased speed, licking and suckling his head as he begins to fall apart, coming, with a scream, down her throat, his one hand clamped over his mouth, biting down harshly to silence his cries; the other buried in her hair. 

His whole body falls lax, completely spent, meanwhile, Y/N savours every drop she’s been able to draw from him. He softens in her mouth, allowing her change to slip away from him, grasping a tissue from the bedside to wipe away any excess. That’s certainly something she never thought would happen… 

He’s calm, though, smiling lazily through hooded eyes, his breathing regulated once more, making beckoning motions to her with his big hands. He’s placated, though, and sliding her hands into his, she’s allowed time enough to get into place, smiling softly at him, raking her fingers over his scalp in a comforting way. Even as she sits herself on his lap, she can feel him hardening beneath her ass, slowly but surely. She was right about him, he’s definitely got another round in him. 

“Do you have a condom?” he asks. 

“No, sweetheart, they’re in my other bag. I didn’t plan on getting any for a while… do you?”

“Not in here, that I’m aware of. John may have stashed some in my less favoured dressing gowns or socks, and he definitely has some upstairs, but I’m unawares.”

“I’m gonna sound crazy here, but do we need one?” She says hesitantly. His eyes widen, he cocks his head to the side. “I was tested after my last partner, I’m clean, and on birth control. You’re a virgin. There’s no point, is there?”

“You have a considerably good point.”

With that, energy rejuvenated a little, he wraps an arm around her body, flipping them over so he’s on top, shadowing her, looming over her, gazing down at every inch of her naked beauty.

“Take your time. I’ll be your safety.”

“I know.” he whispers, a tearful smile making its way onto her face. “Thank you.”

He needn’t say more, because she already knows why she’s being thanked. For her kindness, for making him so comfortable, for accepting the fact he’s still a virgin in his late twenties and, if he’s being honest, has no damn clue what the practicality and reality of sex is. Sure, he’s seen porn. He’s also looked at John’s laptop. But that doesn’t prepare one for when the moment comes. It’s like all of that goes out the window, and he simply remembers the first time he opened a biology textbook at secondary school, pictures of flushed organs staring back at him, desperately waiting to be relieved. That’s what his own coock is like right now, already hard again, virtually pulsating with hunger in his palm. He strokes himself a couple of times, glancing down at Y/N’s wide eyes.

“Are you okay? Can I…”

“Yes, Sherlock,” she chuckles, “whenever you’re ready.”

Now, he thinks. He rubs two digits through her folds, gathering her wetness, enamoured with the way it glistens on his fingertips. Tentatively, he brings his fingers up to his mouth, swirling his tongue around them to get a taste. Eyes rolling into the back of his head, he moans. She’s better than any cup of tea he’s ever had. 

His cock slaps against his lower stomach pleadingly, so he grasps it in his hand, and begins to enter her, pushing gently, feeling every flutter of her walls. Her arms fly out, hands grasping his shoulders, nails leaving crescent moons in their wake at the delicious stretch. It’s nothing like they’ve ever felt before. 

“Can I move?” He asks, balls deep inside her, their pelvises flush against one another. 

“Please.” She all but begs. 

Before doing anything else, Sherlock hooks one strong arm around her body, malleable in his hands, and holds her chest against his. Her breasts push into his skin, her nipples gaining friction from the dusting of hair there. Her one hand cups his slender neck, the other, his sharp cheek. Their eyes meet in a fierce gaze of burning intensity, and he begins to move. Slow, calculated, sharp thrusts punctuate her core. With every heavenly stroke, he can feel the ridges in her velvet walls, squeezing around him unwittingly.

“Jesus,” she cries, her clutch increasing. 

“Hmm, not quite.”

The smirk in his words is quite literally audible. He’s so cocky, so full of himself, and fuck if she can’t feel another gush of arousal coursing through her, drenching his cock. How does he manage to be so attractive when he’s so dishevelled?

“Is that good?” He asks, unsure.

“So good.”

She brings her legs up, skimming the clenched backs of his thighs, until they wrap around him, drawing his hips into her at a new and improved angle. Heels digging into the base of his spine, he begins to move with a new purpose, his thrusts more passionate as his breath is drained from him by her kisses, his eyes alight with a new flame. 

“Oh my God, Sherlock.” She pants, pulling him in for a kiss he greedily returns. 

He drives his hips deeper, squeezing his fingertips into her supple waist bruisingly. It’ll be a mark that she belonged to him once, even just for one night. That’s when he reaches that special spongy spot that makes her entire body buckle. She all but screams, pressing into him wholly. 

The coil is building, ready to break. He seems to be nearing the edge, too, his member twitching inside her when he buries himself particularly deep. She’s oh so fucking close… She licks into his mouth filthily, desperately clashing her teeth with his, eager for his kisses to tide her over. Silence her. Shifting his supporting hand, he trails one dextrous finger around to circle her clit, adding the faintest pressure for a moment. She mewls as he groans into her hot skin, clawing at him, entirely at his whim. Now he knows where to press, he settled his grip back around her, and draws her in close. This time around, he bends his knees a little more to measure his movements more carefully, ensuring that he ruts up and brushes her sensitive bud with his pelvis, helped by the extra friction of his neatly trimmed pubic hair on every thrust within her, his tip just scraping her g-spot.

“I- Sherlock, please tell me you’re- oh sweet mercy- close.”

He grunts softly in her ear. “So close.”

Their lips meet tenderly, passionately, in what they acknowledge to be a final kiss, moans mixing between them, savoured by the other. 

His thighs clench, her legs tighten around his waist, and finally, her sweet walls flutter, squeezing him as she reaches her climax, his not following long after, spilling inside her, painting her soft walls white, marking her. 

“Y/N,” he cries in ecstasy as his orgasm reaches him. “Sher…” she repeats, her saving grace as pleasure washes over her entirely. 

Their whole bodies wind up pressed together, bound together as one, skin on skin completely, becoming one another. 

He lets her down gently, unravelling his grip, unsurprised when their sweaty skin sticks together. Her long legs unfurl, splaying in a butterfly. Sherlock tumbles ungracefully away, somehow landing with a certain gangly elegance on the space of mattress beside her, his arm instinctively flying over to place on her stomach, the skin hot and flushed red. Her chest moves hastily up and down with the thrumming of her heart, while his barely shifts despite his shallow breaths, his white skin glistening in the moonlight. 

“Are you okay?” He huffs, turning on his side. “You look pretty fucked out.”

His baby blue eyes train instantly on her nipples, hard in the open air. This is the first notifier, the first inkling she has to feel self conscious, so she draws the sheet up around her as best as she can. Sherlock’s not having any of it, taking a stronghold on her arms, and pulling her until she’s lying on him, naught to separate them. 

“I’ve never been this close to anyone physically and y'know.” He hums tiredly. She’s never heard him sound tired before… 

She smiles up at him as best she can, “Are you glad?” 

He begins to hold her ever closer, squeezing her tighter, feeling every ridge of her body. 

“I’m so glad that you were my first, in so many ways.” 

Praise from Sherlock is a rarity, and she’ll take it as and when she can, savouring every moment, this time by holding him like a koala, her grip not wavering. 

“I’m glad too, Mr Detective.”

He brushes a kiss to her cheek, “As much as I like this, we need to get you cleaned up.” 

A supporting arm beneath her bum, he picks her up, and unsteadily ambles into the bathroom. 

“I don’t know much about this, but I know you should probably use the toilet, should you want to avoid a UTI, so if you’d like me to leave…”

He sets her down on the loo seat, cupping his hands over his nether regions, and he hurries to grasp for things, until she puts her hand on his arm, squeezing in a conciliatory manner. 

“You do remember the camping trip, don’t you? You really don’t have to leave just because I have to pee, you never did before. In fact, you frequently annoyed me with it if you had a particular point to make, steadfastly refusing to leave the bathroom after following me in there when I went to pee. Why does this change anything?”

He shrugs, dropping whatever was in his arms, “It just doesn’t feel the same now, though.”

“Ooo, and now Mr Detective feels things.” She jokes, poking at his ribs. 

He recoils, chuckling with her, “Only for you.”

As Y/N washes her hand, Sherlock begins to wrangle with a floorboard, clattering about until he eventually pulls out a small lock box, from which he withdraws a packet of brand new marks-and-spencer's ladies briefs. 

“Why the fuck do you have these? Anything you wanna tell me?” she asks, eyes wide.

“John’s idea. He has plenty of girls over here who frequently stay the night, simply a precautionary error.” He takes a beat, gargling with some mouthwash, “they’re clean, new, I just don’t like the idea of you in dirty underwear, and I know how reluctant you are to go without them whenever you’re not in your own bed. I stayed with you enough nights in university to know that.”

Those nights were awfully painful. She’d take the floor, he’d take the bed, and every time she’d have to wash the sheets. He’d sweat and vomit, shake and cry, plead for the pain to be over. He wouldn’t go to hospital, he wouldn’t call his brother, he’d just turn up on her doorstep, high as a kite, almost in tears, knowing he’d gone a little too far. And each time, it was a little farther. 

“Thank you, Sherlock.” 

She takes them from him, and begins to shimmy them up her legs, only prevented by Sherlock moving to grab a handful of her arse. 

“Hmm, I like this. Fancy another round?” He smirks. 

“I’m too tired, babe. Give me a bit.” 

He can see the lazy smile on her face, the tiredness in her pretty eyes, so he wets a flannel, and begins to clean her up with gentle movements between tender kisses.

“How do you know how to do all of this?” She asks, inquisitive more than anything. 

“Instinct, I suppose. I never read or learned about it, seeing as I never thought it would happen.” 

She snaps the waistband before moving her hands to his waist, leaning up onto her toes to reach him, kissing her softly. 

“Look at you now.”

After brushing their teeth in an amicable silence, their pinky fingers overlapping on the porcelain of the sink, he aids her back to the bedroom, settling her on the bed. She has things here: deodorant, toothbrush, moisturiser, and yet somehow she doesn’t have underwear, even after all these years. Perhaps that's one too many things to explain… 

With superfluous extravagance, he throws her his shirt, offering her a wry wink. She finds a blush clawing its way onto her cheeks, dumbfounded. It smells like him, just like a forest glade if it was rained on by tea and cigarettes. Maybe he’ll let her keep it as a memory.

In such a short amount of time, she’s learnt that he has a very sensitive neck. Very. A single kiss there has him biting back a moan. A low one at that, considering his deep voice also drops almost an octave when he’s aroused. His nipples are almost as sensitive as his neck, and he rather likes it when she tugs on them unwittingly. 

His first orgasm comes quickly, but his refractory period is astonishing, and it takes longer to achieve a second high, long enough to make her come more than once, she assumes, though her first orgasm was mind blowing enough for two. Perhaps that’s just because it’s his first time, but it’s impressive nonetheless.

What’s the point in learning all of this if, once he comes around from his post-orgasmic haze, he’ll pretend like it never happened, in typical Sherlock style?

The shirt, though a small gesture, means a lot, and her vision begins to cloud as she looks down at the black cotton. 

“You mean you want me to stay?” She croaks.

Sherlock turns to her from his set of drawers, his face full of apparent obviousness, brows furrowed in that cute bewildered way. 

“Of course I want you to stay.” He states, like it’s the plainest thing in the world, like it’s stupid for her to even ask. But she’s silent, and when she says nothing in response, he launches into a long winded explanation: don’t show sentiment. “I- I just mean, i-it’s midnight, I’m not having you out in London alone. You stay with me. Only if you want to as well...” 

She nods eagerly, “Yes. Yeah, course I want to stay.”

He all but leaps access the room, jumping onto the bed, before planting a proper smooch on her lips, grinning down at her. He slips into his usual side of the bed, and she takes hers, rolling to look at him.

“Don’t get cold.” He warns, tucking the duvet up around her shoulders. She giggles like a child, that small snort sounding again, prompting Sherlock to press his thumb to her nose like a button. “How are you… feeling?”

“I’m fine bub, really. That bloke doesn’t matter to me at all. Bit of a scumbag if I’m honest. You’re the one I’m with, the one I wanna talk about. How are you feeling? Must’ve been a pretty big blow up with John for you to call me and be so... teary.”

He sighs, crestfallen, “He called me a machine.”

Her gasp pierces the air, her hand flying to his hair, stroking in consolation, cooing senseless reassurances to him. She’s done this innumerable times, but now it feels different, like there’s no barrier. 

“He’s done it so many times that it needn’t bother me anymore, but the way he looked at me, like I was this abhorrent monster, especially after the day and the disappointing case we had, it got to me. I hate having feelings.”

“You don’t have to hide them with me, though.”

He hums gently, burying into her chest. “I know. That’s why I treasure you so dearly.”

“That means you also have to trust me, and you’re not going to like what I have to say.” His chest heaves, shifting her whole body. That’s his way of giving in. “Please just talk to John. You know that whenever he leaves, he’ll come back, and try to pretend it never happened. He needs to know you’re human and that he upset you, but also that the case upset you as well. No one’s superhuman, and once you let John in on the fact that you’re not a machine, things between you will be so much easier, because you might agree for once.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He grumbles. 

He pulls her into his warmth, hooking her leg around his as he snakes his arms around her back, breathing deeply from the crook of her shoulder. She begins to pepper kisses on his salty skin, savouring the taste with every small swipe of her tongue.

“Your heart’s against my chest, your lips pressed to my neck,” he breaks off with a faint whimper when she sucks a little harder, “I’m falling for your eyes, but they don’t know me yet.”

“Of course they do,” she whispers brokenly, hoarsely, “they’ve always known you.” She swallows thickly, “Does that mean it’s a feeling you’ll forget?”

“No, I don’t think I ever can.”

The silent words that pass between them both are so special, too special to be spoken aloud. ‘Think I’m in love now.’

“Kiss me like you wanna be loved.” He begs. 

And really, who is Y/N to deny him? They just stay that way a little while, revelling in their lazy kisses, until she begins to fall asleep. It isn’t the first time she’s fallen asleep in his bed, not by any means, but it’s the first time she’s fallen asleep in his arms. She isn’t mad about it.

“Settle down with me, cover me up, cuddle me in. You were made to keep my body warm.” She smiles into her words, and embeds herself into him, entirely covered by the duvet, spattered in his kisses, safe in his arms. Sherlock feels safe with her legs around him, her fingers in his curls, holding himself against her. Amicable silence is how they drift off, Peaceful.

John re-enters 221B at a respectable hour. He got a fair amount of sleep on Greg’s sofa, having no girlfriend in the picture right now, but not enough to deal with Sherlock just yet. Not before his coffee. He expects to see Sherlock sitting in the exact same spot as when he left, perhaps just with a refill of tea, his fingers still steepled beneath his chin, eyes closed yet wide awake. Instead, he arrives at a seemingly empty, considerably clean flat, with no Sherlock in sight. Perhaps the unsleeping man must actually be asleep, he thinks, so he quietens down, and toes off his shoes before wandering farther into the flat. Even if the man does piss him off extraordinary amounts, perhaps he should just check he’s okay…

He gives the bedroom door a quiet rap, listening in momentarily before pushing it open. Frankly, he’d rather have found Sherlock with a cigarette in hand and the whole flat torn to shreds for the level of surprise he gets upon reaching the bed. His first idea is to scream bloody murder, but that might annoy Mrs Hudson, and upon stepping closer, even in the sliver of daylight through the curtains, he sees the duvet riding down a little. The last thing in the world he ever thought he’d see: Sherlock in naught but boxers pressed against a half naked woman, his palm splayed on her bare thigh. Sherlock? Spooning? It seems so, his entire body pressed to this woman. John feels himself go rigid, his feet glued to the floor, his gaze unmoving from shock. 

It takes his phone to buzz in his pocket to get him moving, and when he does, all he tries to do is balance precariously on his tip toes in a wry attempt to get a birds-eye view of the whole thing. He’s not disappointed, or disturbed, once he does, though, his army agility proving useful. Sherlock’s hand is holding her, fingers entwined, just next to her chest. He wonders how comfortable it is, but if they’re staying this way, it can’t be too bad. Maybe all Sherlock needed to loosen up was a good shag. 

She’s wearing his shirt, too; Sherlock’s black dress shirt from the previous day. And Sherlock? He never seeps in anything less than a full set of pyjamas, he’s weird like that . 

This girl begins to stir, her lips parting gently, small hums escaping. Next, her eyelids flutter, and her hair shifts on the pillow. He didn’t make any noise, did he? John was specifically careful not to, just in case. He doesn’t fancy Sherlock’s wrath just yet. 

One eye opens, and she whispers, almost incoherently, “Hi John.”

How she knows his name and who he is, he’s not at all sure, because he doesn’t think he’s ever seen this face in his life. The hair is familiar, and maybe, if she were more awake, he’d recognise her smile, but he’s never seen a woman in Sherlock’s company beside Molly Hooper. Speaking of… 

Before he can even say anything, though, before he can ask who she is or if she wants tea or if she date-raped his roommate, she’s mumbling, and detaching her hand from Sherlock’s, rolling over. Dumbfounded, John just stands there and watches her cuddle into Sherlock’s chest, her arms wrapping around his torso like second nature. Even in his sleep, not consciously thinking about his actions, he grips her back - one hand resting just above her bum, and buries his nose into her neck.

John can’t help but smile to himself. Maybe their fight was for the best if Sherlock now has a girlfriend, someone he turned to for solace. So, he grasps for the top of the duvet and pulls it up over both of their figures, reaching their shoulders, and leaves, staring wistfully for a brief moment at the seemingly happy couple. 

The weight of the duvet of what startles Sherlock, though, stirring him a little, inviting him to him against Y/N’s skin, smiling with eyes barely open. This is really nice, he thinks to himself, not waking up alone. 

She smiles back blearily, and in her morning voice, whispers to him, “Kiss me Mr Detective.”

[dmclemblems]

Claude calling the people of the Kingdom and Empire monsters and rallying people under the promise of their deaths and only giving half of a shit for his own people, on top of being willing to worsen foreign relations and refuel fighting on the border wrt Sreng for the same reasons. Hm wow that sure sound like someone who sees outsiders as less than human and only as threats to his own people (who are the only ones deserving of peace and safety). You know, that mindset that Claude fundamentally hates and literally came to Fodlan to wipe out so that people can live in harmony with each other?

Fuck this game and the absolutely horrific treatment it gave to Claude's entire character. Literally nothing anyone says can possibly explain why such a core aspect of Claude's character is not just not present, but actively replaced with its perfect opposite - and this game doesn't even bother to give a HALF-HEARTED explanation, he Just Is like this now. This game can actually suck my ass.

I like the game generally speaking (and AG was written really well), but I'm definitely not fond of how Claude was handled.

Like you said, and one of the biggest things that bothers me that I mentioned in another post is how he basically tells people to surrender or die, yet he says he wants to minimize casualties. It doesn't even make sense that he wants that but attacked the Kingdom without so much as a letter being sent to speak to Dimitri personally talk to to him about the Church and whatnot. Plus, if he did, he might have been made aware that all his perceptions of the Church were wrong.

The whole Sreng thing bugs me because they informed Sreng about the war and whatnot so that they'd invade, but later Claude tries to... not get them involved? He used them when it was convenient and then suddenly didn't want to after that.

One of my biggest gripes is that Claude has no consistency. You know how in CF they kept doing this back and forth trying to be like Edelgard is a bad person who started the war, oh wait no she's just a good person with strong views, etc etc? They really did that with Claude here except at least Edelgard was always consistent with her character. Claude's writing here is just like... they're trying to make him the anti-war person he is in Houses but they wrote him to be the exact opposite. When it starts going too far they pull him back again and have him keep iterating this nonsense about not wanting the war to keep going because people are dying.

Also, Nader saying he couldn't wait to rampage in the Kingdom REALLY bothered me (and he says this at camp so it's missable if he wasn't spoken to). After all the shit they said about Almyrans not being barbarians and whatnot, he's planning to go nuts with attacking the Kingdom? All that would do is make the Kingdom more unwilling to make any kind of relationship with Almyra.

There was definitely a lot of "we're doing this for Leicester" and not... any bit of care for any other land. I've been goofing about it a lot and trying to be mellow about it but just in general I find the things Claude does and the things he says to be absolutely abhorrent in this game. The way he manipulates people with the politely worded "surrender or die" is seriously awful and isn't much better than Edelgard's behavior.

I really doubt there would be any true harmony after this war. Even if the Kingdom lost and ceased to exist (and became just Adrestia and Leicester), I can guarantee there would be civil wars and uprisings all over the place. The people in the Kingdom would never, ever settle for that. Honestly, I could see Sylvain rallying troops and launching an attack on Leicester. I feel like even though he acts mostly calm during the story, he still has that in him because of the way Dimitri didn't want his emotions to get the better of him in battle. It's pretty clear to me that Sylvain despises Claude and the Alliance in GW.

Literally the whole thing with the Kingdom just sits so wrong with me. They were just minding their own business and suddenly everyone is trying to invade. In fact, they're trying to do good things within their borders and fix their society, but they can't because everyone around them just wants to go to war. Even the Church kind of forced them to get involved by asking for their aid. I'd put the least blame on them honestly because they really don't do anything bad at all here/in this game, but the war forced Dimitri's hand in so many ways when all he wanted to do was make a better society for the Kingdom.

By the end of the game I'd say Claude is really just... marginally better than Shahid, and that is not a high bar. It just served to keep the theme going that Almyrans just want war and fighting. Claude had other options and he chose invasion and killing. He chose to do what Shahid did to Leicester.

I honestly feel really bad for the Kingdom. Nobody will leave them alone and the worst part is that they're all so loyal to each other and so tight knit that like... once you've fucked with one of them you've fucked with all of them. They're not just gonna let it go and be like oh yeah okay we'll just stop the Kingdom from existing and give up on it. Dimitri also just wants to keep his people safe and Claude abuses that fact to make Dimitri let him get past him to get to Rhea. Basically, Claude is saying either I kill your people or let you me pass by and kill Rhea. Seeing as Rhea has always supported Dimitri and has never tried to obstruct any part of his rule, it's really shitty to be like oh hey you know this person who has done right by you and has been super chill with you? Let us kill her or I'm gonna kill your people and make you feel like shit about it. He uses people's emotions to make them stop fighting, and what he said to Ashe really bugged me.

There's a lot of stuff at the camp in GW that I saw (I'll end up posting some of it later, it's just that my posts are totally out of order for when I actually post them compared to when I'm playing so that I don't end up posting tons of stuff all at once, flood people's dashboards and then just have nothing to post lol) that really highlight how awful all of this is. Several characters are unhappy with all of it, and then you have the dumbass types who don't give a fuck like Raphael and Leonie (which is BEYOND me, especially with Raphael. He's supposed to be the gentle, kindhearted one and he's like 150% okay and happy with invading and fighting people and just knocking them flat. He gets excited for it. Hopes Raphael just ain't the one for me lol), and they only care about a good fight no matter who they have to kill.

Only a few people regularly question the morality of Claude's army, like Yuri, Hapi, Lorenz and Ashe. Most of them just... do not care. They'd kill good people for a good fight or because they just happen to like Claude so they'll ruin other people's lives.

I know it's just a video game, but... I just hate everything about the second half of GW lol. I love the early Almyran lore and it helps a lot for the missing pieces in Houses, but the story is just... disgusting. I've always hated Edelgard's actions in Houses and I'm not gonna justify Claude's behavior and actions in Hopes just because I like him in Houses. Just like her, he's a huge warmonger in this game. I guess it's because I just... don't like war and I have a very strong mindset on people who do things like that, especially when they attack people who are just living their lives and doing their own thing. Even though I've always been a Kingdom girl, I don't think my feelings would change on any of this if I was more bias toward Leicester. I don't think I'd be comfortable seeing the Kingdom being trampled for literally no reason whatsoever. We can't even blame Cornelia or other TWS members in this game for a lot of what happens to them. It's Edelgard and Claude doing a lot of it.

There's just... a lot of really awful things happening in this game and Claude spearheads a whole ass lot of it.

Claude von Deserved A Lot Fucking Better.

[rattyoakenbitch]

❝𝐢𝐟 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝❞ ─ 𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐢 𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧

i don't want your sympathy, i guess ive had it rough but you don't really care

❥ content ; gn reader, eventual fluff, angst, pining, happy ending

❥ warnings ; injury, swearing, mentions of death

❥ synopsis ; when you get badly injured during a mission, only then does levi realize the depths of his feelings for you. now the question is, is it too late?

❥ a/n ; i don't have a taglist yet so feel free to ask to get added!

You glided through the trees alongside your team, adrenaline running through your veins.

Kicking yourself off a tree, you landed your body with ease onto a lone Titan spotted in the forest below you. With a swift swing of the blade, the Titan was on the ground.

Finished, you zipped yourself back into the air, joining your team member's formation as you all flew together.

"Y/N!" Captain Levi shouted, resent dripping off of his words. Here we go again. "Do not deviate from original course! We are here to scout, not to thrill seek."

The team came to a slow. They stood on the branches, overlooking the land beneath them.

"I was not thrill seeking, sir, I was doing my job," you defended, turning to Captain Levi. Though he was shorter than you were, his cold stare and unwavering demeanor intimidated you.

"Your job is to follow my orders, brat, not go off wandering like an idiot!"

"I didn't wander, I was quick to regroup! You're just finding a reason to take your anger out on me," you retorted. "Then again, I wouldn't be surprised. Considering your height, it's no wonder you can barely contain your anger in such a small body."

As much as he wanted to push you off the tree, Levi kept his poise.

By now the team could hear you and Levi's bickering, but considering they were used to it, they decided to butt out and focus on planning the route.

"Stable duty when we get back."

And then he walked away, leaving you fuming.

As you continued with the scouting mission, you encountered too many Titans that you couldn't just brush them off. Angry and left with no choice, Levi shouted orders to forget the original plan and fight back.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted two Titans approaching Jean and Armin with intent. You narrowed your eyes. This was your chance. You bolted off the tree, flying fast towards the two Titans. You got your gear out, ready to slice their napes, when one of the Titans looked your way, a sick smile on its face.

"Y/N!" Armin called out in a panic as the Titan extended its arm, swiping at you like a fly. Before its hand could collide with you, you were pushed out of the way by none other than Levi.

He wrapped his arms around you securely, one underneath your bottom and his other around your back. You heard him whisper a profanity, his hot breath fanning your neck as he spoke. Though it wasn't the time or the place, you couldn't help but let your mind wander.

You were brought back to reality when Levi glided deeper into the forest, setting you down onto the ground harsher than necessary.

Totally caught off guard, your back was shoved against a tree. Levi was quick to block your exits, predicting you would try to resist.

His arms caged you between him and the tree, leaving little to no distance between your bodies. You could feel your face get hot, either out of embarrassment or his body heat mixing with yours.

"What the hell is wrong with you, brat?!" Yelled Levi, eyes wild with rage. However, something felt different about this compared to when he scolded you for separating from the group. But you couldn't quite put your finger on it.

"Me?" You scoffed. "You're the crazy psycho who stole me away and cornered me in this forest!" You pushed at his chest, successfully shoving him off of you. "I had everything under control."

"You were almost killed! I can't have reckless people on my team. I'm a captain, not a babysitter, so get your shit together or get the hell off my team."

You stood against the tree quietly, Levi's venomous words stunning you into silence. Levi continued to stare deep into your eyes, his expression never changing. However, as the seconds passed, you saw a sliver of regret in his eyes, lasting only for a mere second.

You took a deep breath, trying to choose your words carefully. "I- Just.. Why do you hate me so much?"

Levi raised a brow while you continued to speak.

"I know I'm not the best fighter. Not compared to Misaka or Eren. But what did I do to deserve so much hatred from you? Even when I'm not doing anything wrong, you look at me like I'm the most disgusting person you've seen."

Despite feeling a sting of guilt at your words, Levi put on a dismissive act. "Tch, you're being dramatic. I'm not about to discuss this with you."

Why the fuck did he say that?

"Maybe if you listened to me for two damn seconds you wouldn't get such an earful."

Why is he being such an asshole? Gods, just tell them already. Stop this bullshit.

No longer finding it in you to care, you began to raise your voice, angry tears spilling down your face. "I try my best to make you like me. I try to show you that I'm capable and strong, but you still treat me as if I'm inferior. Like my skills are nothing. Like I'm nothing."

Emotionless, Levi replied, "Because you are. Look at you. You're a crybaby. You should've stayed back." Lies. All lies.

"Ugh- well maybe you should've just let me get killed since you despise me so much!"

With that, you grab your gear and zip away as far from Levi as possible, tears blowing out of your face and into the wind.

"Hey, where are you going?!"

You ignored him as you continued to speed through the trees, searching for your team. Your friends. Anybody.

"Y/N! Look out!"

You heard Eren shout, making you spin around frantically to search for the danger.

There it was.

An Abnormal ran your way, crawling like a dog on its hands and feet.

It had been chasing the team for a while now, evident in its animalistic, hungry look.

Steadily hanging off a branch, you watch the Titan from afar, then look back at the team.

"I'll distract it! You guys go!"

They looked at you as if you had grown two extra heads.

"You'll die!" Mikasa argued. "We can take it!"

"Just go!"

The Titan started to get closer. The team looked behind you, then back at you. Though they looked ready and determined to take it down, you knew they felt as terrified as you were. Fighting Titans was just something you don't think you'll ever get used to.

"Please be careful. We're gonna find Captain Levi!"

You nodded, then turned around, watching as the Titan ran towards you, totally disregarding the rest of the team.

"You want me? Come get me."

When you decided it was close enough, you darted into the forest and soared through the trees, only narrowly missing them. The Abnormal followed you, but hit itself on the trees and destroyed many in the process.

While the Abnormal continued to run through the forest, leaves and trees blocking its direct vision of you, you took a chance and turned back, flying past the Abnormal.

You did a quick u-turn and hopped onto its back.

You got it now.

As it chased after nothing, completely unaware, you slashed the nape of its neck.

With you still on its back, the Titan went limp mid-jump, falling onto the ground hard enough to create an earthquake. Unprepared for the collision, you went flying off its body.

Instead of bracing yourself for the fall, you frantically reached for your gear in an attempt to glide back up to the trees.

Before you got the chance, your body met with the ground, a loud thud echoing from the impact.

In the distance, the rest of the team continued to fight until they got to the very last Titan. Levi, though he was the last to regroup, helped effectively take down the Titans.

It wasn't evident in his stoic expression, but he searched among his surroundings and the faces of his team for you, afraid the worst had happened. Dammit, why did he have to be such an asshole? What Levi said to you, he meant none of it. But he feared he wouldn't get the chance to tell you that. Idiot.

"Is everybody here?!" Levi shouted as his team gathered around him.

"Yeah, we're alive-"

"Wait, where's Y/N?"

The team began to search among themselves, now becoming anxious as well.

"Well, where are they? Did you not see them at all?" Levi asked in a calm tone, despite his heart beat pounding in his ears. No. He wasn't going to slip up. Not here, not now. He needed to remain strong.

Mikasa spoke up. "We last saw them when we were being chased by an Abnormal! They offered to distract it and take care of it themselves."

Levi shouted, a crack in his voice, "And you let them?!"

"Y/N is strong! One of the best fighters we have here," Eld said. "They've probably already taken it down by now."

"Then where are they?!" Levi growled, becoming more frustrated by the second.

"Hey, look!" Armin yelled, shaking his finger towards the steam in the distance. "Eld was right! Y/N did kill it after all!"

Wasting no more time, Levi commanded the team to follow him. Soon again, they were up in the trees, running your direction. They stopped as soon as they came across a clearing in the forest where the Abnormal laid lifelessly.

"Everyone! Find Y/N!"

The team split, searching the area for any sign of you.

Levi dreaded the thought of finding you like they found the Titan. No. You killed it. You had to be alive.

Levi repeated that in his head. You had to be alive.

Because if you weren't, he wouldn't know what he would do.

Your eyes shot open at the sound of panicked screams echoing around you. You pushed yourself off of the ground in a rush, only to stumble back with an agonizing scream, pain shooting up the lower half of your body.

"Fucking hell! Oh shit," you fell back on the grass defeatedly, hot tears welling in your eyes at the intense pain and aches across your whole body. "Dammit!"

You didn't know which bones were broken, where you were, if you were bleeding out. So you just laid there alone, helpless and numb. Waiting.

Just when the team was beginning to lose hope, a blood curdling scream echoed throughout the forest, easily catching the team's attention. They headed towards the source of the sound, but Levi was the first on it, already sprinting through the forest to find you.

When he did, he felt his heart drop down to his stomach. You laid in a small clearing behind some old trees and bushes, a puddle of blood beneath your body. Your uniform was torn and your 3DMG was rendered useless at this point. If not for the scream, or the fast rise and fall of your chest, he would've mistaken you for being dead.

Levi rushed to your side and got onto his knees, lifting up your body into his arms.

"Y/N? Can you hear me? Y/N?"

You coughed, wheezing and struggling to make a coherent sound. Blood dripped down the corner of your mouth as you spoke, "You were right, Captain. I never stood a chance, did I?Shoulda just stayed." You laughed pitifully.

Now Levi was angry, but not at you. "Shut up! Don't say stupid shit like that! You're going to be okay."

The team found you, stopping short at the sight of Levi holding you carefully, like a porcelain doll, ready to break.

He didn't care anymore. He didn't bother to put up a front. Not when you were like this, half dead in his arms. He pressed his forehead to yours, whispering in your ear so only you could hear.

"I can't lose you too.."

Everyone else only continued to watch the intimate scene unfold before them.

When you fell unconcious, Levi squeezed his eyes shut, trying his best to keep his composure. Why was he acting like this? Usually he would be quick to solve problems without letting his feelings get in the way. Why was he so helpless now?

He turned around, scowling at the group who just stood by idly.

"Get over here and help them, you fools!"

You hated it. You hated having to be looked after or saved like a princess in a children's storybook. You didn't want to run away anymore, or simply stand in waiting, hoping for someone to rescue you. You were done being hunted. So you joined the Scouts after years of hard work and training. If you had only thought more carefully or put your parent's advice in consideration, you wouldn't be in your current situation, regretting ever joining Levi's team. You wouldn't have ended up in the infirmary.

You passed out in Levi's arms after suffering from injuries during your fight with the Abnormal Titan, according to your friends. They came by to visit you when the medic alerted them that you had woken up from your coma.

"How long was I out for?" You winced as you massaged your still pounding head. "When did I even get here?"

"You've been unconcious for two days. We retreated to the city as Captain Levi instructed and you've been under their care since," Eren answered. He noticed your demeanor as you looked around the room and picked at your skin, a nervous habit you recently formed. "Everybody's alive, so don't you worry."

"Where are they?"

"Well, they did have to receive medical attention since they got hurt, but they're okay! They miss you, ya know?" Armin said excitedly. "We'll make sure to fill you in on everything when you're out of here."

You pursed your lips. "Speaking of which, when will I be discharged?"

"You can't exactly walk right now, but.. you should be up and ready to go within a week! Then we can go on another mission and-"

"Eren. Armin. Mikasa." Your attention was torn away from Eren, your eyes darting towards the source of the voice.

"Captain Levi!" They all exclaimed in unison.

"I would like to speak with Y/N in private." He glanced at trio, his eyes narrowing. "Out."

The three walked out, heads bowed like sad little puppies. You waved at them as they went before turning to Levi who now stood by your bed.

"What do you want?" You asked bitterly, nose scrunching up in a sneer.

"Commander Erwin informed me of your decision," he spoke softly, differing from his usual cold tone.

You huffed. "Yeah, took your advice and resigned. You won't have to worry about babysitting me anymore."

A pang of guilt shot through Levi's heart, causing him to flinch. He hoped you didn't catch that.

He remembered his own regretful words as it replayed in his head. Just like your cries and pained expression, which he was unable to simply brush off, he couldn't forget how he mistreated you. And he would never forgive himself, either. The sight of your injured body laying there, all alone. He couldn't shake the scene off his mind, no matter how hard he tried. Even in his dreams.

Evident in his eyebags that seemed to have darkened in shade, he wasn't able to get much sleep the past couple days because of it.

"I take it you hate me, then," Levi suggested, prompting you to laugh mockingly.

"Oh, no, I could never," you said, sarcasm dripping off your voice as you fake fawned over Levi. "Levi Ackerman, Humanity's Strongest.. I just adore you."

Levi hid his offended expression and ignored your antics as he continued. "I was afraid I couldn't get the chance to apologize to you. When I found you there, I.." He squeezed his eyes shut and furrowed his brows together, forcing his tears not to fall. Why now?

"Yeah, well, you fucked up. About time you feel a little heartache," you mumbled, looking around the room, anywhere but Levi.

"A little?! Look, I'm trying to apologize here!" He shouted. "Do you have no idea how fucking terrified I've been for you, you brat?!"

"No, Captain Levi, so why don't you enlighten me on how much you care?!" You huffed, crossing your arms. "Because if you did, then maybe I wouldn't be bed ridden!"

Levi's face softened at the sight of a single tear escaping your eye. He took a seat on the bed beside you and reached out to brush away your tear.

With your quick reflexes, you caught his hand and pushed it back towards him.

"Don't you dare touch me. You've done enough damage, Levi. Just go and stop wasting my time."

Just like you, he was stubborn. He stood his ground.

"I-I'm sorry."

You let out an exasperated sigh. "You must think I'm stupid. No way I'm buying that bullshit."

"You need to stop pushing me away, Y/N!"

"What is that, an order?" You taunted. "You don't get to be sorry, Levi. It's too late for that. You waited for me to almost die just to tell me that? Is that what it takes? What if I hadn't survived? What then?"

"You don't think I haven't thought about that?! That's why I'm here!"

"Yeah, and who's fault is that?"

"You should've listened to me! I was trying to protect you!"

"Well thanks a lot. Now both my kneecaps are broken and I won't be able to walk for weeks!" You shake your head. "You think just because we shared a moment while I was dying that I'm okay now? Trust me, if I had the strength, I would have slapped you then and there."

"Then why don't you now?"

"At this point, you're not even worth getting angry over. So stop giving me that pitiful look. I really prefer you shouting at me instead. At least I'm used to it." You mumble the last part, but Levi catches it easily.

"That's it then, you leave me no choice." You look at Levi curiously. "You infuriate me, brat, you really do. You're so careless and oblivious all the time, you forget to look after yourself. And I'm not ready to watch you throw away your life so irrationally from the sidelines."

"So what are you trying to tell me, Levi?"

"Tch, you're just gonna make me say it, aren't you?" He takes a deep breath. "I'm not good at this, and I hate to admit it, to you of all people. It makes me mad to see you risk your life because I care about you.. and I can't lose you. I've dealt with too much death. I'll do whatever it takes to keep you alive, even if it means dying.." Levi trails off, then scoffs and crosses his arms like a petty little child. "I said it, all right? I like you-- A lot, you stupid brat!"

You searched Levi's eyes for any trace of dishonesty. You hoped he was lying, like he had some sort of script prepared before he came to see you. But you found no lies in his eyes.

You felt your heart break. All this time when you thought Levi just really hated you, he was looking out for you.

"I.. Why didn't you just tell me?" Your voice fell apart as you spoke. "I tried so hard to make you like me back.. And it hurt because I thought you just hated my guts. I had no idea."

"I know, I was being stupid too- It shouldn't have come to this," Levi admitted. "I.. I'll let you rest now."

Levi stood up to leave, but you were quick to pull him back onto the bed with you. Without letting him react, you grabbed his face and interlocked your lips with his. All the tension in his body disappeared and he melted into the kiss, throwing his arms around you tightly like he'd lose you if he ever let go. It wasn't a soft, romantic, movie perfect kiss. It was desperate, tongue and teeth, hands wandering, disheveling the other's hair. You released all of your built up anger and resent, letting it fuel you while you aggresively fought your tongue with his, a faint taste a hint of alcohol now on your own mouth. Occasionally you'd both break the kiss for short intakes of breath and small whispers like 'don't scare me like that again' and 'I've needed this for a while now'. You couldn't help but moan, earning a grin from Levi as he continued to hungrily devour your lips. Just as things escalated, you remembered you were still in the infirmary, and anyone could walk in any minute now. You slowly pulled away, your chest heaving as you panted for breath.

Levi couldn't help but twist his lips up into a little smirk. That was new.

"Well at least you're not a bad first kisser," he spoke nonchalantly, still gasping for air. You playfully punched him in the chest.

"Quite the romantic, aren't you?" You rolled your eyes but couldn't stop yourself from smiling like an idiot. "You're not bad either, old man."

Blush spread across his cheeks.

He took your hand in his, bringing it to his swollen and raw lips and placed a small kiss on your knuckles.

"Promise me you won't leave me again?"

"Promise," you sighed blissfully. "And I guess I'll have to tell Commander Erwin about my change of plans."

"Actually," a deep voice spoke. At the door, there stood none other than Commander Erwin. "I think I already know."