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shotorozu · 3 years

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encountering a ‘pick me’ girl

character(s) : kirishima eijirou, todoroki shouto, bakugou katsuki (bnha)

warning : PICK ME GIRL, misogyny (?) pick me girl makes an off handed comment about your body but it’s not detailed at all

PART TWO — PART THREE

legend : [Y/N = your name] afab! reader, but they/them pronouns used, quirk not mentioned

headcanon type : fluff, angst if you squint

note(s) : i made 2 versions of this post so,, if you’re reading this— then i probably decided that i liked this one more than the other one i made,, anyways, i used real life examples 💀

»»————-　♡　————-««

kirishima eijirou

i’d imagine that eijirou would have an idea of what a pick me girl is— i mean, there were probably 2 of those girls in middle school

but has he experienced it first hand? nahh.

though, eijirou didn’t think he’d encounter one when he was already in a healthy and committed relationship!

eijirou is practically friends with everyone— and yeah, even the most unexpected. so, he’s bound to accidentally befriend a pick me girl

him, being the nicest one out of all of the characters in this list, will still be nice to said pick me girl, despite wanting to snob them to the core

because really— you can’t really fight fire with fire in some cases

but, he can be everything but lenient when the pick me girl starts insulting you for doing certain things, and for absurd reasons too

like,, how you laugh, and how you take care of yourself (for example— if you wear makeup, or how you style your hair)

which is odd! everything about you is everything but the things the pick me girl has stated so.. he cannot stand by.

SCENARIO

the girl giggles to herself after that snide comment leaves her lip gloss coated lips. eijirou shifts uncomfortably— honestly taken aback by the anything but subtle insult that was thrown at you

“like.. seriously! it’s honestly quite superficial if you look at it like that. who the hell would put that much effort infront of your boyfriend? i’d assume they’d see everything AND everything but.. i guess not.”

you blink. superficial? now that’s a new one. the girl infront of you has been babbling insults sugarcoated in boasts the entire time, and you’re just wondering if it’s about time you guys leave but—

“well that’s unfair,” your boyfriend laughs, “i put the same amount of effort as this cutie right here,” eijirou pokes at your cheek, earning a quick laugh from you— which he can only thank the heavens for that

“but that’s different. it actually looks put together when you’re doing it, eiji.” the certain glint in her smile makes you want to wipe it right off with a dirty mop, “it’s impossible to look put together with expensive clothes, but being built like a—”

the sound of the sliding of a chair is quicker than your actions, and it easily cuts her off.

“i’m sorry, but we gotta go, it’s totally not cool of you to say those things about Y/N!”

“what? but i mean.. it’s true, right? i’m looking out for them! they’re literally out here l—”

“bye!” eijirou waves her goodbye with your hand, dismissing the sour expression on her face— as he dashes off with you

you’d question how he’s just so nice to people like that, but when he turns around, you could see the distaste in his eyes

“so that’s what a pick me girl’s like,” shaking his head, his expression lights up with such a quick manner “i’ll never make friends that are like that again!”

safe to say, eijirou’s friend list has been a a person shorter ever since that incident

bakugou katsuki

oh, so that girl’s bold bold.

if she thinks she could get away with being a not so subtle pick me girl infront of bakugou katsuki, then she couldn’t be more wrong.

it’s absolutely revolting— i mean, he hasn’t displayed any romantic feelings towards ANYONE that isn’t you.

also, they’re quite gutsy if you ask me. so congrats for having guts??

i don’t think he’d be friends with a pick me girl. he’s very selective of who he’s befriending, so it’s probably your friend that’s the pick me girl in this case

he wouldn’t know what a pick me girl would be, but he’d probably know the description of one.

over some time, he’d grow some resistance to insults directed at him, but when someone insults his s/o

oh boy. that’s not good. remember when i said that katsuki was almost like your scary and intimidating dog

this is what i mean

knows he can’t make a scene, so his first option is to be dismissive asf— but if said pick me girl literally can’t get it, he won’t be afraid of shoving some explosions into her face

because his hands are rated e for everyone

SCENARIO

“so you wanna be picked or something, is that it?” he hates how you literally have the resistance of a rock— which is something he always liked, but in this case hated. if it weren’t for you— he would’ve blasted explosions into her sorry excuse of a face until it’s beyond recognition (that wouldn’t be hero like, is what you’ve said in the past, but he disagrees.)

but seriously? ugh. he just wants to leave this horrid place, and make some dinner with you in the comfort of his home. why are you even friends with her anyway? she’s not even trying to be slick at this point.

“p-picked? i’m not understanding, katsu.”

“it’s bakugou.”

“right,” her laughter is like nails on chalkboard, “i’m just watching out for Y/N, y’know? there’s no point in wearing all of that.. on their face.” and she’s obviously referring to your obviously very well done makeup

“it’ll make your skin terrible in the long run! and really— i couldn’t really understand on why someone would wear that much, when you could survive with i dunno.. lip gloss at most?”

you would’ve actually said something as a rebuttal, but your boyfriend is quicker, and a lot more direct than anyone else in the area.

“just say you can’t do makeup and fucking scram,” katsuki’s ice cold glare finally breaks out of the act he’s been trying to hold together for you

“their makeup is fucking bomb as hell, compared to your ridiculous spider lashes, lady. come back when you’ve watched james charles’ entire fucking channel.” he harshly states in similar bakugou fashion, despite the lack of screaming.

and if you squinted hard enough, you could see tears welling up in her eyes. but katsuki tugs your hand before anything else could be said

“let’s fucking go, you need better friends.”

he makes you cut ties with all of them, and he practically scolds your terrible choice of friends— but he goes quiet when you tell him that you’ve been friends with her since middle school

“good fucking riddance. next time, i’ll punch them as soon as they say something outta line, got that?” and next time (hopefully, there won’t be a next time) you’ll actually lash out— or maybe,, you’ll let him loose for once.

todoroki shouto

now shouto might be,, socially unaware sometimes. but he can tell whenever someone’s trying to insult his s/o

like,, right away.

now— you both run into this person after a pleasant date, and she eagerly presented herself as your friend

so, her attitude catches him off guard because who’d have anything rude to say about you and towards shouto’s face? especially when it’s about something normal.

like,, wasn’t she your friend?? why is she even like this?

his hostility is very well known, so they should be scared.

he gets detached from the conversation, and he’ll immediately go cold— and shouto would probably go as far as walking away with your hand in his

doesn’t matter if he properly says goodbye or not— if a girl’s being rude to his s/o, they obviously don’t deserve his usually polite attitude. nope, that’s a luxury.

oh— and what more when they’re seeking for his validation. newsflash! said pick me girl won’t be get any from him.

SCENARIO

shouto couldn’t stop the bitterness bleeding into his mouth, when the girl in front of him continued to babble and take up the valuable time he had left with his s/o

initially, she presented herself as your friend from middle school— but as of now? she seems to be more interested in him more than you, despite knowing you first.

she’d ask him a string of obvious questions with very obvious answers, like ‘is she treating you well?’ ‘is she acting correctly?’ and questions of the sort

“oh, sorry! i’d hate to cut this conversation short, but—” you finally decide that it was about time to leave, while shouto looks pretty,, deadpanned right now, you could tell that he was gradually starting to get irritated by your friend’s words.

“wait. thats.. kind of controlling, don’t you think? do you ever let shou make decisions?”

“uh.. controlling? since when??” you question at the accusation. this girl knows nothing about your relationship dynamic, and she’s already jumping the gun and making conclusions.

your gaze snaps back to shouto, who looks just as surprised as he could possibly be.

“yeah! it clearly looks like he still wants to talk” which is an obvious lie, shouto just wants it out of here “i wonder how you managed to snag such a guy like him,” she comments with a smile that looked anything above suspicion (yet, it makes your stomach churn)

you could see the way her hand gets gradually closer to him— and frankly, you’re not sure about what she was planning to do next, “you wouldn’t need to dress all expensive and fancy, if you’re with a girl with an already classy appear—”

“i think this conversation is over,” shouto grip is firm on the wrist that was attempting to grab his shoulder, shouto makes no attempt to even look at the girl infront of him “i don’t know what you’re trying to do, but it’s not humorous. at all.”

“what?” she stammers, drawing her hand back “i-it’s obvious they don’t know how to take a joke! this is why there are barely any good w—”

shouto’s next actions knocks her speechless, his hand rests at the small of your back, before gently guiding you forward— “love, what movie are we watching later?” he says, making an effort to press a quick, yet intense kiss on your lips

“oh,” you breathe out, surprised by this action. “don’t be so tense, love.” shouto comments on how tense your shoulders have looked, ever since she started running her mouth, “now.. what movie do you want to watch tonight? comedy? thriller?”

“you pick,” you laugh at the quick shift of topic. and when you look behind you, you could see shame and defeat welling up on her face. shouto finally feels like he could smile again, the bitterness dissipating from his mouth

after shouto questions you if that was what a pick me girl was, he makes sure that you guys won’t ever encounter such thing again

“you.. don’t have more friends like that, right? if you do— we could always do another friend list cleansing.” this statement makes you laugh but shouto is anything but joking

but being reminded of his reaction to that ‘pick me’ girl does puts a smile on your face.

»»————-　♡　————-««

likes and reblogs are appreciated, thanks for reading!

i do not own bnha/mha and it’s characters. boku no hero academia/my hero academia belongs to horikoshi kohei, i only own the writing and i do not profit off of my hobby

do not plagiarize, reupload, translate, or use my works for audio readings without permission

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self-proclaimed-chaotic-good · 2 years

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Welcome to the Forgotten Realms | Hawkins Crew

Prompt: Going Inside a Book/Story

Words: 3166

Fandom: Stranger Things

A/N: Writer’s Month is over, but I’m still going to try and finish this, just three more prompts to go. I’m drawing from my limited knowledge of DnD 5th edition and light research on 1st edition, so if some of it isn’t accurate, how many people would actually know the difference between 5th and 1st? Also, while trying to wrap up the ending, it gave ‘Welcome to Jumanji’ vibes and I pictured a Nigel character popping up, but still looks like Rhys Darby. Lol look at me creating lore for a world that I might not visit again. Or won’t I?

Summary: The older group decides to play DnD, much to Eddie’s delight. A sudden storm cut off the electricity in the middle of a session, but when they looked around to find that they weren’t in Hawkins anymore.

Eddie rubbed his hands together gleefully like an evil mastermind as his new friends finished their character sheets. He had minis that he had painted in his spare time that were close enough to what they wanted their characters to look like, each of them standing right in front of each player.

Nancy was more familiar with the mechanics since the kids usually played in the basement, having picked it up quickly and helping the others when they needed it. Jonathan had admitted that Will spoke about their campaigns but never really broke down the mechanics unless he asked him. Robin was catching on, piecing her character together in no time. That left Steve who was frowning at his sheet before sliding it over to Eddie. Dustin had actually helped him build his character beforehand, but he wasn’t sure how to play him.

“Does this look… right?” Steve asked after filling out his character’s backstory.

Eddie leaned over, eagerly scanning through his character sheet and smiled. “Steve, Stevie, Steve-O. I feel like you’ve thought this character through before.”

“Ah, well,” Steve muttered sheepishly, scratching the back of his head with his pencil. “Henderson’s always wanted me to play with them, so… the roleplaying part is kind of… I don’t know.”

“Embarrassing?”

Steve nodded. “This is why I didn’t take drama, man.”

“Well, you should have, or else you wouldn’t be having this problem,” Robin said, giving him a pointed look. “And maybe you would have been less of a douche in high school.”

“Thank you so much, Robin, I appreciated your needed input,” Steve replied sarcastically.

“Hey, everyone’s gotta start somewhere,” Eddie said, patting Steve’s shoulder. “This is everyone’s first game, so we’re gonna take it easy and learn how the game works together. Don’t be afraid to ask questions. DMs love questions, unless they’re dumb.”

“I guess Steve can’t ask anything then.”

“You know what, Buckley, I’m not going to be driving you around anymore.”

“Nice try, dingus. This whole time you still drove me to school and work when you thought I had a license. There’s no way you’re going to suddenly stop giving me rides.”

“Anyways,” Eddie interrupted, “Superior Wheeler. Big Byers. How are your characters coming along?”

“We’re just about finished,” Nancy said.

Jonathan nodded. “Yeah, we figured that it’ll be easier if our characters know each other so we’d have someone to bounce off on.”

“It’s a very common method to do and helps with backstories,” Eddie said, nodding in approval. “What race and class are you?”

“Nance is a high elf ranger and I’m thinking of being a drow rogue.”

“Interesting. Very interesting.” Eddie folded his fingers together and rested his chin on them. “Drows are usually lawful evil aligned, but for my campaigns, I’m not too strict on those things as long as it creates a good story. To have a high elf and a drow know each other, that’s really interesting. Buckley.”

Robin held up her character sheet and shook it. “I think I’ve made it more complicated than it had to be. I made a Forest Gnome Wizard. It’s complicated for me because I just realized how many spells I have to manage. But we’re just level one, right? So, it shouldn’t be that bad for now, but, like, I’ve done this whole backstory that is too similar to Batman.”

Eddie nodded sagely. “Many players, no matter how seasoned they are, have done this. It’s an easy trope to fall on, but if you add your own twist to it, it could work.”

“What if when she talks to animals, instead of the high pitch tone people use, it’s gruffy like a heavy smoker?”

Jonathan snorted. “Is your voice going to be okay after that?”

“See, I made it harder on myself than it should be.”

“What if you made your character’s normal voice high pitched and when you speak to animals it's at a normal pitch?” Steve said, holding back a smile.

Robin scrunched her face. “That’s even worse.”

“I am not going to sit through a two hour session with that voice,” Nancy said firmly.

“Thank you, Nance.”

“Oh! Why didn’t I think of this?” Steve said, facepalming. “The kermit voice!”

“No! I told you to drop that already!” Robin shouted. “What’s your character anyways, dingus? I bet it’s boring.”

Steve glared at her from across the table. “Human Paladin,” he muttered.

“See. Boring.”

“Hey, now. We haven’t started playing yet,” Eddie tried to mediate. “If everyone’s ready, we can begin.” He held his hands out, eyeing them all. When they all nodded, he clapped his hands. “Alright, let me set the scene for you, adventurers.”

“Uh, guys, I don’t know if we should be going in a super scary tower without a plan,” Robin pointed out.

“Haunted, too,” Steve added.

“Yeah. Super scary haunted tower.”

“The guy at the tavern said that something strange is happening here. There’s people going missing and no one has ever used this tower in years until now,” Jonathan said.

Nancy nodded her head. “Exactly. Seeing light in the tower around the same time the first disappearance happened? There’s got to be a connection. We have to at least try.”

“Okay, so what do we know about this tower?” Robin looked down at her character sheet, then at Eddie. “With my wizardry background, would I know anything about this place?”

“Roll me a history check with advantage. You’re quite studious and one of the top of your class,” Eddie said, pointing at the D20 in front of her.

Robin nodded, shaking her hand and tossing the dice carefully. She grimaced, then rolled again, the corner of her lips turning up. “That’s an unnatural 20 for history.”

“Good. Yes, you have heard a considerable amount about this ancient wizard’s tower during your studies. He was a promising wizard that grew his power at an exponential rate. The academy was once proud to call him their own, but now they use him as a cautionary tale.”

Everyone leaned forward as Eddie unraveled the lore of the tower’s creator, Nancy furiously taking notes and Jonathan jotting down what stood out to him. Steve sat, memorized, as Eddie’s soothing voice wrapped around him, painting the picture in his mind. Robin nodded along with his words, pausing when she saw Steve staring at Eddie intensely, marking that down in her mental notes for later.

“He realized that the academy was limiting him. The prospect of harnessing dark magic grew more and more tempting by the day, haunting his dreams at night. It became too much when the academy was attacked. Their mistake was thinking that if they shielded their students from the darkness, they would never be harmed from it. As it were, you cannot protect yourself from something you have no knowledge of. The students fell one by one, overcome by power that they could not understand.”

He paused for effect, a thunderstorm with bad timing rumbled outside, causing the lights above to flicker. They all stiffened, looking up until the lights steadied. The younger kids were at Sinclairs, so they weren’t worried about them galavanting. After their stunt last time with the whole Vecna thing and running from the police, the parents of the Party made it a point to take turns having movie or game night at their houses. This also encouraged the older kids to spend more time together.

Eddie exhaled slowly, seeing the others doing the same as they tried to get back to the game. “Until, finally, our wizard fled into the restricted section of the library and poured through its knowledge. He casted a spell so great that it destroyed all of his surroundings, killing every enemy and every friend. There he stood, in the middle of the rubble, without a scratch on him. Though, he felt his blood boiling, his veins turning black, nails extending into claws, and his eyes bleeding. For a moment, his heart stopped. Within that moment, the power of the darkness took over and flooded his body with unsurmountable power.”

“Who is he?” Robin asked quietly, not wanting to break the atmosphere.

Eddie’s brown eyes scanned over the players as he smirked. Just as he opened his mouth, the power went down. There was a collective gasp around the table and shuffling as they reached over to each other to ground themselves.

“The backup generator isn’t kicking in,” Nancy said.

“You guys have a backup generator?” Robin asked incredulously, feeling Nancy stand up next to her. “Where are you going?”

“My dad was so paranoid about Russians stealing electricity all over the country that he bought this expensive generator thing,” Nancy explained, “He’s kind of late on that, though. There should be extra flashlights and candles somewhere over here if the kids hadn’t gotten to them yet.”

“Here,” Jonathan said, flicking on his lighter.

He found Nancy and helped her look through the cabinets for the emergency supplies. Their eyes adjusted to the dim light, not finding anything familiar in their surroundings. Nancy frowned, reaching out to touch one of the side tables. Her fingers touched something and she tugged on Jonathan’s sleeve to come closer. She had found a candle and he quickly dislodged it from the table and lit it up.

“What the hell,” he muttered, touching the wall that was no longer covered in wallpaper, but cold stone bricks. “Guys?”

He turned and saw that Nancy had done quick work in finding the other candles, handing each of their friends one. Steve scanned the area, scanning the dark corners of the room before announcing that it was clear. Robin ran her hands along the walls until she found a wooden torch hanging from a metal sconce. Eddie, being tall enough to pull it out, brought it over to her to light up.

Now, with a brighter light source, the party could see what had become of the room. Eddie stumbled back with wide eyes, convinced for a moment that he had fallen asleep on the couch of the Wheelers basement and would wake up at any minute. Steve stepped towards the table that they were playing at, frowning as he lifted the object that was now on his chair. A sword. A frickin’ sword.

“We’re not in Hawkins anymore,” Eddie mused, looking at Robin.

“No shit,” she muttered, “What is this? This isn’t the Upside Down. No creepy vines or particles in the air.”

“It’s like we were taken into a dungeon,” Jonathan said, joining Steve at the table where he found a traveler’s pack and knives at his seat.

Nancy looked at the new items on the table, their character sheets and minis gone and replaced with their character items and clothing. She gingerly picked up her new crossbow, testing its weight and how to hold it. She turned to Robin who was flipping through a book filled with runes that she couldn’t understand. Robin’s blue eyes widened, her jaw dropping as she scanned through it.

“I understand what this is,” Robin said in disbelief, “I can read this.”

“Holy shit,” Eddie muttered, “Are we in the game? Not the type of level of immersion I was imagining. I was thinking more like LARP or something, but…”

His eyes caught the sight of a thick leather book, replacing his DM notes and Monster Manual. He ran his fingers along the embossing of the cover, a shiver running down his spine as a whisper tickled the back of his mind. So, the others were their characters, he presumed. Steve was a paladin, Robin a wizard, Nancy a ranger, and Jonathan a rogue. He usually played a bard, but this? This screamed warlock. So, who was his patron?

A noise from above jolted everyone from their state of shock, Steve taking position in front of the group with his great sword held at the ready. Nancy grabbed the nearest bolt and took a minute to figure out how to load the crossbow.

Footsteps neared the top of the stone stairs ahead of them, a warm glow leaking underneath the wooden door. Steve gripped the hilt and planted his feet in anticipation before the footsteps moved away. He exchanged a look with Nancy and Jonathan before moving towards the stairs. Robin jerked forward.

“Be careful, dingus,” she hissed.

Steve grimaced and gave her a nod, making his steps light as possible as he ascended. As he drew closer to the door, he began to hear bustling and chatter outside, like a bar or something. He turned to look at the group with a frown, lowering his sword to peek through the crack of the door. It was a bar. Well, some medieval bar. Tavern, as Eddie would describe it.

He made his way back down and described what he saw. They agreed to go up together, changing their outfits and packing their things before moving. With all the weird shit that they had dealt with throughout the years, they knew it was best to just roll with it and find out what’s going on to stop it. Steve was at the front again with Eddie, Robin, and Nancy in the middle, and Jonathan at the back. They pulled over the hoods of their cloaks and walked out, the sound of the tavern hitting them full force.

“Ah, adventurers!” A man with a full blonde mustache exclaimed, getting up from his table with arms spread open. “I’ve been awaiting your arrival. I am Sir Arthur Calthorn.”

“Have you?” Eddie asked, stepping forward.

“Oh, yes, indeed, Edmund the Banished. I’ve sent a letter to your guild for aid. Have you read it?”

“Guys?” Nancy held out a piece of parchment that appeared in her hand towards them.

“No fucking way,” Eddie muttered as Robin took it from her. “This is the exact letter I wrote out for you guys at the start of the game.”

“So, what? We gotta deal with this evil wizard again?” Jonathan asked.

“Precisely, Pentaxl, known by many circles as Ghostwalker for his quiet deposition and silent and quick movements. Nance Swifttaker, the deadliest and most precise shot of all the realms, a pleasure to see you as always. Magenta Silvertongue, genius polyglot and one of the most powerful spellcasters to ever grace the academy.” The man, Calthorn, nodded over to Nancy and Robin before clapping a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “And the brave Steven Oathkeeper, slayer of beasts and protector of man.”

“Why do you guys have cool introductions?” Eddie whined under his breath. Nancy smacked him in the shoulder, shaking her head.

“You must help us with the darkness that threatens to spread throughout the Forgotten Realms. If the darkness spreads, then all of humanity is lost.”

“Cool. This isn’t crazy at all,” Steve muttered, sharing a freaked out look with Robin.

“And what realm are we in exactly?” Robin asked.

“Abeir-Toril,” Eddie answered before Calthorn could say anything. “One of many planets that exists in the Torilian System or the Realmspace.”

“Sharp as always, Edmund the Banished,” Calthorn said, snapping his fingers.

Eddie grimaced. “Don’t call me Edmund.”

“We need to get back home,” Nancy said, bringing back the situation at hand. “We’re not from here.”

“Of course, Miss Swifttaker, but in order to return to your homeworld, you must complete this mission,” Calthorn said, nodding to the letter. “And a key will be granted to you to take you back. Now…”

He clapped his hands and the group was teleported outside of the tavern where horses and a carriage awaited them. They looked around at the bustling and seemingly thriving city that they found themselves in, a steady traffic of carriages through the main road, market stalls lining the other side of the street, layers upon layers of districts passed that, leading up to a grand building in the middle.

“Now, come along,” Calthorn urged, climbing into the carriage. “We will be needing to meet with the counsel before you five set off.”

“Uh, normally I wouldn’t get in the car with strangers, so what’s the call here?” Robin whispered.

“He said that we will be given a key once we stop the darkness or something,” Nancy said, “And it’ll take us home. Unless we find some other way to get back without having to deal with all of this… whether it’s some kind of dream or whatever, we just have to keep moving and stick together. That’s all we can do for now. If we gain more information about this place, we’ll know where to go next.”

“See, this is why Wheeler, sorry, Swifttaker, is the leader,” Eddie said with a grin.

Jonathan nodded sagely. “So, who’s going in the carriage with the guy?”

“I’ll take one of the horses,” Steve offered, “I’m assuming that carriage can only fit four people, so…”

“I’ve got the crossbow, so I’ll take the other horse,” Nancy said.

“Okay, cool, but do you guys really think that we’ll be attacked in the middle of the city?” Robin asked, looking around. “Do you guys even know how to ride a horse?”

“I learned when I was little,” Steve said with a shrug.

Nancy nodded. “Me, too. It was during a rare Wheeler family vacation.”

“Ugh, rich people,” Eddie teased with a roll of his eyes. “I guess us peasants will take the fancy carriage, then. After you, m’lady.”

He held a hand out to help Robin in and did the same for Jonathan, much to his amusement, after Jonathan squeezed Nancy’s hand and kissed her on the forehead. Eddie turned to Steve and smiled.

“Guard the carriage for us, won’t you, big boy?” he said with a wink.

“I don’t know, am I getting a kiss on the forehead, too?” Steve played along.

Eddie’s grin widened. He leaned forward and planted an obnoxiously wet kiss on his forehead before patting him on his reddening cheek. Nancy raised an eyebrow at Steve who looked dazed until she nudged his shoulder. Once everyone was in the carriage and the other two on the horses, the group set off for what Calthorn called the Guild Quarters.

“God, I feel like I’m going to wake up any minute, having fallen asleep because of how boring the campaign was,” Robin said, her eyes darting around out the window.

“Hey, you guys were totally enjoying it!” Eddie protested.

Jonathan sighed. “Just when I thought I’d seen everything.”

The carriage merged into the traffic, being carried away towards the center of the city. Nothing looked familiar to anyone except Eddie, who’s eyes kept getting impossibly bigger the deeper into the city they traveled, seeing the map he made come to life right before him.

“Well, whatever is happening, hopefully this is a cool send off for you three before you leave for college, huh?”

Eddie turned away, feeling something pinch in his mind. A low growl echoed through his brain, a cold feeling like tentacles wrapping around him made him flinch.

“Eddie,” a familiar voice purred.

#writersmonth2022 #writer's month #hawkins crew #the older Party plays DnD #fruity four plays DnD #background Jancy #background Steddie #the party #stranger things fic #stranger things imagine #steddie #jancy #eddie munson #steve harrington #robin buckley #jonathan byers #nancy wheeler

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stargazer-balladeer · 4 years

Note

Kk!

Romantic headcanons for albedo and scara!!! Like, how do they show affection and how do they treat their lover? 💕💙💕💛💕💙💕

Affectionate towards their S/o [Genshin Impact]

Characters Included: Albedo & Scaramouche

Notes: 🤧🤧🤧 this is adorable- ty for sending this to me-! Hope ya’ll like this!

Reader’s Gender: neutral

Warning: none

Albedo

Albedo shows his love to his s/o, you, through affectionate touches. Even though he’s a bit awkward when it comes to romance, he’ll hug, kiss and cuddle you. Even though he’s busy with his research and such, he’ll always make time for you- 🤧

He might not show it to you immediately but he often draws you in his sketchbook. It contains you in various poses, most of them were you smiling actually. He actually filled one sketchbook with only you- :p that’s how much of a simp he is to you—

So, I mention this already but it’s worth mentioning it again, Albedo is known to never show interest on subjects that doesn’t really appeal or of interest of him. But when it comes to you, he’s always interested. Even if you’re subject is about Wind Gliders, the flowers you saw, the Madame you ate, etc. he’s just interested in whatever you have to say-

Many noted that Albedo would stare at you with either a lovestruck face or heart-filled eyes. If questioned, Albedo would profusely deny it while blushing slightly. Many teased him because of this- :p

Albedo would honestly love to spoil you with the things he bought or discovered. If an item is what you wanted or reminded him of you, he would get that item no matter what it takes. So, this usually leads to you staring at him in surprise while he stands there, injuries from head to toe- :p

He treats you like a porcelain glass- like he’s so careful around you, like you’re going to break if he touch you too roughly. So you have to reassure him that he doesn’t have to worry about hurting you or something.

Overall, he’s an awkward beanie but he simps for you 24/7- 🤧🤧

Scaramouche

“Showing love? Ha! What a laugh-“ (why did i read this with a thick accent- 👁👄👁) even though he says this, what he’s doing is the exact opposite of what he said-

When he wants something, he’ll get it. So if he wants a hug, he’ll get a hug from you. If he wants a kiss, he’ll kiss you. If he wants to cuddle, he’ll get his cuddles- he might be a bit forceful while doing this, so don’t be afraid to tell him that- he’ll soften his actions around you-

Everyone in the Fatui can tell you that he’s soft for you. Like he’ll be all angry and mad in one second, but when you enter the room, he’ll stop being an angry baby and start following you around like a puppy-

Since i believe that all Fatui Harbingers are rich (unless- 👀), you can bet that he’ll be spending all that on you. He’ll say the following lines: “i just happened to stumble upon this on my last mission. Since i have no use for it, you can have it.” 👀 (why am i making scara a tsundere-?) thank him by kissing his cheeks and you’ll get a blushing, malfunctioning Scara 😃

He seeks your comfort. Since everyone in the Fatui practically hates him, he’s gotta be pretty lonely. So when you came into his life, he was pretty happy to share moments with someone. And he’s touch-starved- :pp so expect him to always cling to you for your touch-

Ofc, he has a reputation (and his pride) to keep as the 6th Fatui Harbinger. So he won’t be that affectionate towards you outside of your rooms, but inside? He’s practically a baby- :)) bby scara-

You can’t expect for Scara to suddenly be caring and loving to you, right? Scara would still treat you coldly at times, and sometimes takes his anger out at you. If he does this though, he would stop. He wouldn’t apologize but he would pull you into a hug. ;w;

He’s a simp- like he’s secretly a simp. He would treasure everything you give to him- 🤧🤧 and (if he could) would honestly spend the rest of his life with you. When this guy fall in love- he falls hard. So you should be happy that you manage to wiggle yourself into his heart, but now that you’ve done that, he ain’t letting go- 😃

Overall, Scara isn’t the perfect boyfriend but with a little (lot) patience, you’ll have yourself a loving, simp as a boyfriend- 😃

[x] Main Page || [x] Mondstadt Page || [x] Fatui Harbingers Page

#i’m srsly simping for scara-#🤧🤧#i love salty bois okay?!#hshshs-#they all handsome 😚#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche headcanons #albedo #albedo x reader #albedo headcanons #req ans❣️

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lazyliars · 4 years

Text

/rp

Before I get into it, I want to state that is EXPLICITLY an analysis of the Characters, and is not intended to touch on how the cc’s played them in a meta sense unless specifically stated otherwise.

Also, this is technically a part two to my other post, which took a more in depth look at Techno and Phil’s reactions to Tommy’s death. It’s not necessary when reading this post, but I don’t address their reactions here.

So. The question must be asked.

Are we [the Syndicate] the baddies?

Yes.

The End.

Why are the Syndicate the baddies?

They got damn logo is a wither skull.

The End.

That's not how this works.

Yeah, yeah. You’re right.

The Syndicate's goals as an organization are not inherently bad. They seem to have good intentions behind them, and the focus on the freedom of it's individual group members is important to remember when talking about it; It is not a government. There is no hierarchical power system. No one is forced to do anything against their will, or surrender any of their rights or power to remain a member. It is not a government.

I also want to address Techno and Phil backing Ranboo into a corner – I see them getting a lot of flack for this, but I personally do not think it is relevant to the greater discussion, or necessarily representative of any contradictions within the organization. It was clearly played for laughs, and after they back off they clarify to Ranboo that they won't force him. Then later when Phil and Ranboo are alone, Ranboo feels safe enough to express that he felt like he was pressured into it, and Phil assures him he is allowed to leave whenever he wants; He is not being forced to do anything, and he is not being coerced or blackmailed.

None of the Syndicate members have done any wrongs against each other in the context of the Syndicate, OR gone against any of the Syndicate's core principles.

That, said, holy shit are they the baddies.

Listen, there's trying to telegraph a meaning or message to the audience and then there's having your logo be wither skulls on blackstone. That is straight out of the skit I keep referencing, seriously.

Okay, but, they laughed at it! It was played as a joke, just like the Ranboo thing!

The Ranboo thing was improv, the Syndicate's headquarters were planned – the artistic choices that they made reflect on what role they want the build and the organization inhabiting it to play in the future storylines.

Wither Skulls kind of have some CONNOTATIONS. Techno is an English major, I don't think he chose the most threatening imagery possible on accident, and then joked about the way people would interpret it just to stir the pot. This reads as hugely intentional.

And beyond that, the jokes they make during this part aren't “haha yeah, we look bad but we're actually good!” they're “you can tell by looking at these that we're the good guys wink wink, this is good guy stuff right here :)” It is a joke about how they are definitely not the good guys. This isn't even a case of unreliable narrators, this is one step down from flat out saying the meta intent.

But okay, I hear you, I'm talking about things that haven't happened yet. The Syndicate hasn't used any Withers, they could be an aesthetic choice. Lets look at what they do in practice.

So, they barge into private property, assess Snowchester's right to continue existing based entirely on their own ideals of what Freedom is, and then only once Tubbo assures them that they have no standing leader do they grant the place their approval to, and I gotta stress this part, continue existing.

In my Quackity meta, I already talked about how Government in the context of a M1necraft RP cannot be compared to IRL Governments on a one-to-one scale. They don't serve the same purposes or have the same type of power. What I didn't talk about was Agency in the context of m1necraft governments.

In an irl government, if you are born into one, you can't really leave without committing a massive overhaul on your life, which can be expensive and difficult, if not impossible for many people. Even in a “benevolent” government, the simple physicality of where you were born can prevent you from leaving it easily.

The same hurdles do not exist in the Dream SMP. People who join M1necraft governments choose to. They want to, either at the beginning when they form one, or later on when they join up. So far, no Government has just Sprung Up and forced the current residents of an area to become dependent on them, except maybe the Eggpire, who's status as a government is... shakey.

And even when people want to leave or separate from the government, they have been historically able to do so without any trouble or any effort from said governments to stop them. Jack Manifold emancipated from Manberg. Fundy and Quackity both left to start new nations. In all cases they were allowed to do so without any attempts on the part of the governments to stop them, either through force, or institutions preventing them from doing so.

The most anyone has lost when leaving a government is their house, which is still usually their property anyway, and is something that is easily rebuilt elsewhere and is inconvenient to move anyway.

The only exceptions to this might be Schlatt exiling Wilbur and Tommy - but even then, they weren’t trying to leave, they were trying to get back in, and of course the original L’manberg revolution, where Dream attempted to force L’manberg back into the Dream SMP, which wasn’t even a government at that point in time.

I don’t consider Phil’s house arrest an example of a government forcing someone to stay a citizen - that was treated less as a matter of a citizen wanting to leave the country and more as a threat to national security. Still pretty fucked up, but it’s a different issue.

What I'm saying is, If Tubbo wants to create a government out in the middle of nowhere, threatening no one, forcing no one to join either through force or desperation, and allowing people to join willingly because they want to, then he should be allowed to do that.

The Irony of the Syndicate, a group of people consisting of some of the richest, strongest people on the server, going around and enforcing 'Freedom' that entails no one person having more power than any other, is absurd.

It shows an extreme lack of self-awareness and/or self-righteousness, as they seem to think that they deserve to be the ones who decide what constitutes a government.

Snowchester is a small independent nation - they shouldn’t have to live in fear of being obliterated if they don’t walk on eggshells to meet an arbitrary standard decided by people who’s only authority on the matter COMES FROM THEIR PERSONAL POWER. No one elected them! No one chose them! They were not “approved” by the server at large to enact this kind of law.

The Syndicate are not a government, but they are an unsupervised power structure exerting their ideals on a land that did not ask for them. Like, These people have invented an actual Authoritarian-Anarchist faction. How the hell did they manage this?????

Back on topic.

Tubbo shows them the crater left by his nukes. The reaction is oddly positive – the nukes are fine by the morals of the Syndicate, apparently. I'd argue that they come across as more impressed than anything else; they seem to respect Tubbo for having gotten ahold of “real” power.

(There's a few good memes out there about “We can excuse nuclear weaponry, but we draw the line at Government!”)

So. By the Syndicate's standards: A single person or group of acceptably equal persons with weapons of mass-destruction are only worth “keeping an eye on” because they might provoke other people.

Like, I consider Project Dreamcatcher to be one of, if not the most morally ambiguous thing Tubbo has ever done, largely because it was all on his own initiative. He holds some culpability for The Butcher Army and Phil's house arrest, but they weren't his ideas and he was mostly following Quackity at that point.

And Phil tells Tubbo, IMMEDIATELY AFTER SEEING THE NUCLEAR CRATER:

“Looks like you've reformed a little bit Tubbo, I'm proud.”

And it's fine. Crimes against nature? Fine. A sign of healing in fact!! Tubbo is having a sweeeelll time and he definitely didn't make these nukes specifically in fear of being attacked by these exact people! Tubbo is doing great. Tubbo is doing fine. Tubbo. is. FINE.

Anyway.

I don't think this presentation of the Syndicate was an accident. Looking at the greater lore of SMP right now, after the Egg is done, their list of enemies is slim, and considering that they seem solely invested in taking down governments, that leaves maybe Snowchester, Kinoko Kingdom, and Eret and the greater Dream SMP.

Snowchester has not been shown to be corrupt, evil, or have any intent to go down that route. The most ambiguous thing they've done is, again, is the nukes. Other than that, it's pretty much your average cottagecore snow village.

Kinoko is presented in an even more morally 'good' light, Karl having founded it specifically for his Time-travel library purposes, which are currently being treated by the narrative as a selfless act, if not downright heroic.

Eret is also a fairly 'good' aligned character atm. He's been on that redemption grind since the og betrayal, and doesn't seem keen on backtracking. He's actively tried to leverage his position as king to make things better, and hasn't been quiet about that. He was also 'validated' by Tommy*, a character who has been described both by his allies and enemies as “the hero,” so take that as you will.

What I'm getting at is, all of the current potential enemies for the Syndicate aside from the Egg, are currently being cast as 'good,' and if they were to be attacked, they would undoubtedly have the moral high-ground, unless something drastically changed.

The only potential shakeups I can think of is are a Dream escape and/or a Wilbur revival, both of which could draw the Syndicate's attention and ire, depending on how things go. That said, it's just as likely that either or both of them would join the Syndicate – Dream still has that favor, and Phil and Techno both seemed to think Wilbur would've agreed with their blowing up L'manberg.

Both of those characters are currently **villains – the fact that they're both prime candidates for the Syndicate is a huge indication of the direction it's going to go as the plot moves forward.

((*I know some people are gonna come at me for painting Tommy as the “deciding factor” of what is morally good, so lemme just stop you there. I'm not talking about Tommy somehow having the 'right' to decide who is and isn't good, and definitely not the right to decide who should and shouldn't be king. I'm saying that Tommy, a character who the narrative treats as, if not a good person, then a person who is trying to be good, was in support of Eret, a character who has also been trying to be good.

Eret doesn't gain the moral highground because Tommy said so, he gets it because a character who the narrative treats as trying to do better, acknowledged Eret's earnest attempts at doing the same.

**I'm referring to Wilbur here as a villain because Tommy seemed convinced he would be if he were to be brought back. There is always the possibility that he's wrong.))

So, to summarize this: I read the Syndicate as being intentionally positioned as future antagonists, if not outright villains of a future arc. They are NOT a Government but their goals are contradictory with their means, and it is important to keep in mind that they plan to enforce their own brand of freedom on people who did not grant them either the authority or permission to do so.

So, uh. Can you tell I loved these streams? They were seriously so good. I kept switching between Ranboo and Techno's POV's trying to keep up with everything. I still have to watch Niki's!

All in all, I'm super, super excited for whats coming next, egg stuff, Syndicate stuff, Tommy stuff, all of it.

#dream smp #tubbo #the syndicate #c!techno critical #c!phil critical #dream smp analysis #lazytext

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jackrrabbit · 4 years

Text

be a little bad /// Hawks x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: College AU 🍺 Frat boy Keigo pours you your first drink and decides he’s going to help himself to more of your firsts.

A/N: Hawks just makes so much sense as a frat bro 🤧 @koiibito thank you for working through ideas w/ me…& remember when I told you this was going to be short?? whoops 🤡

Tags/warnings: dubcon/coercion, inexperienced reader, fuckboy Hawks, overstimulation, alcohol, inebriated sex, problematic frat culture stuff, idk what to call it but peer pressure? to drink etc., all characters are adults

How long have you been sitting here?

You feel like there’s some kind of immense weight holding you down, making it impossible for you to stand up off this ugly couch that’s been crammed into the corner of the room to make space for the dance floor. You and this couch have become good friends over what you think has been the past hour—at first you occupied yourself by looking at the people playing beer pong, but after the fourth time you had to decline one of the players’ offers to join, you decided to stop making eye contact. So you sit on the couch, you stare at your phone, and you wish you were back at your dorm—or, better yet, back in your hometown with all your high school friends.

But you’re not. You’re here, multiple time zones away from anywhere you can call home, and all of your high school friends are asleep. And the one person—the one person you’ve managed to make friends with since orientation is the one who dragged you to this freaking frat party and then proceeded to abandon you. Apparently he didn’t feel the need to tell you that as a new pledge of this frat, he’s going to be on “door duty” checking ratios and giving sardonic responsibility talks for the next two hours.

Which leaves you here, sitting on the couch and trying to avoid the more questionable stains that you can barely make out in the seizure-inducing strobe lights. There’s a can of beer icing down your palms and you adjust your grip so it doesn’t leave a damp spot of condensation in your lap. It was your friend who gave it to you before he disappeared (“you don’t even have to drink it,” he’d said, “just hold it and no one else will pressure you to get another drink”).

It smells foul. You’ve had sips of beer before, and you can never understand why people drink it voluntarily. But maybe…maybe now that you’re in college, maybe now that you’re an adult, you’ll enjoy the taste. You raise the can to your lips and chug down a heavy gulp.

Ugh. Still gross. You wince and wipe your mouth.

“Not a fan of natty, huh? Good taste.” A hand appears out of nowhere to pluck the can away from you and you jump, nearly smacking your forehead against the stranger’s chin. He pulls back. “Whoa! Careful there.”

“…That’s mine,” you say half-heartedly as the guy tilts up the beer—your beer, your decoy drink—and takes a long draught.

“You’re not missing out. This stuff is piss,” he says, grinning down at you.

He’s not the first guy to hit on you at this party (what is it about lost-looking girls that draws frat boys in like moths to a flame?), but he is the best-looking. Long, swept-back blond hair; equally long eyelashes; a hint of scruff on his chin—he’s pretty and masculine at the same time. You let him take the seat next to you and lure you into a conversation, and he’s nice, too—laughing with you about how bad the beer tastes and sympathizing with your criticisms of your first experience at a frat party. You fall over yourself apologizing when he lets slip that he’s a brother (“social chair, actually, so if the party sucks it’s on me”) but he tells you it’s okay, that no one likes going to parties alone, not at first.

His name is Keigo Takami. He’s a junior, a marketing major, and he joined the frat in his first semester. According to him, the fraternity is a great group of guys (“I mean, they’re a bunch of jackasses, sure, but they’re well-meaning jackasses for the most part”) and all the rumors about frat parties are overblown.

“Seriously, you’d be having fun if you were drinking,” Keigo tells you. “These parties aren’t intended for a sober audience.”

“Sure,” you scoff, but it’s not serious. You are having fun, talking to him.

He gasps, mock-offended. “Don’t believe me? I’ll prove it to you. Stay right here, okay—don’t move a muscle.”

When he gets up, the dense crowd on the makeshift dance floor parts to let him through to the stairs leading into the upper floors. It’s kind of amazing. Everyone else (yourself included) has to wade through, pushing and shoving past the teeming throng to get anywhere, but for Keigo it’s effortless.

He’s back in just a few minutes, holding—oh god, how typical—a red plastic cup filled with a kool-aid red liquid that smells sickly sweet. Is it actually kool-aid? You take a whiff and can’t detect the tell-tale bitter alcohol fumes. “Is this…?”

“Mm, that’s jungle juice. The frat’s secret recipe. It’s good, try it.”

You raise the cup but hesitate. Is this really a good idea? You’ve been warned about stuff like this so many times. You don’t have to do it just because everyone else is.

Keigo catches your hesitation and frowns. “What’s up?”

“It’s nothing, I just…haven’t…”

“Hm? Don’t tell me this is your first drink? Aww, little freshman baby.” He’s mocking you, looking down on you, and you hate it. You’re not a baby. You can play with the boys.

You make eye contact with him before you tip back the cup and gulp down the juice, letting the full contents slosh down your throat. It’s syrupy-sweet and tastes like fruit punch and oranges so it goes down easy, a lot easier than you thought it would. A drop slides out of the corner of your mouth but you lick it up when it runs over your lip.

Keigo whistles. “Damn, down the hatch. That was…that was kinda hot.”

If you’re blushing, you hope he thinks it’s because of the drink.

He’s faster when he gets you the second cup. It doesn’t even taste like alcohol. Keigo won’t tell you what’s in it or how much (“secret recipe’s gotta stay a secret, y’know? It’s in the bylaws”). Halfway into the second cup you start to feel dizzy, which Keigo says means it’s working. He pulls you up off what you’ve semi-affectionately begun to think of as your couch and guides you onto the dance floor. The music is heavy and blaring loud, thudding through the speakers and making the walls shake, making you shake as it travels through the sticky floor up into your body. You sway haphazardly but Keigo’s got you by the arms, pulling you out of the way of the crowd, pulling you into him.

“Looking a little unsteady there, baby,” he says, and—and, you hear him, you do, but he’s talking to you from underwater (or, no, that’s just what it sounds like? or—) um. Beaming his voice into your brain or something?

Keigo laughs and you giggle and it feels good. “Better finish that or you’re gonna spill it,” he says, putting his warm hot hand over yours, guiding the cup back up to your face so you can finish off.

You’re in the middle of the dance floor surrounded by writhing bodies so it shouldn’t surprise you when someone’s elbow smacks into your back and jostles you so the jungle juice spills, spills out of your mouth dripping down your chin onto the dress. You process the interruption a second too late and the sticky red liquid is already staining your skin. …Feels good, you think first, because the drink is cool and refreshing and it’s so hot in here, steamy warm, everyone pressed up against everyone else like you’re pressed into Keigo, and then oh no—oh no your dress—but at least it’s a dark color, at least the stain won’t show—

“What did I tell you about spilling?” you sort of hear Keigo say, and then you sort of feel the weight of his hand wiping away the juice from your mouth, and then he sticks his face up close to yours and oh my god oh my god he’s kissing you.

There’s something indescribably weird about it, his tongue thrashing over yours like he’s trying to lick the juice out of your mouth while you try not to flinch back from the taste of the beer he was drinking earlier. But he’s so solid, so steady, the only still thing in a room full of movement—when your eyes move away from him into the twisting mass of bodies and flashing lights you feel dizzy, so you keep your gaze locked firmly on him. He wraps his arm around your back and you instantly feel better and lean into him, lean into the kiss.

You’re drooling by the time he stops kissing you. “So sweet,” Keigo says, wiping a pearl of saliva off his mouth. “Little sloppy, but I can work with that.”

You don’t get it. You don’t even know if you would get it if you were sober. What you do get is Keigo’s hand wrapped around your upper arm, pulling you through the crowd to the staircase. Once again the people move aside for him, like the Red Sea for Moses, you think with a little laugh and he looks back at you and raises an eyebrow questioningly.

You stop, halting at the base of the stairs and squinting up at the bright yellow light in the stairwell, so invasive and clinical after the strobing darkness of the bottom floor. There’s something hard pressing into your side when you try to lean on the wall. There’s a name for that thing, isn’t there? B…ban…bannister, right? You grip the bannister with one hand to hold yourself still and resist Keigo tugging you higher up the stairs.

“W-Where’re we going?” you ask. It’s weird—your voice doesn’t sound like drunk people in movies. It’s not slurred or unintelligible. To your own ears, it just sounds high, and fast, and…nervous.

“Going upstairs,” Keigo says patiently, still pulling gently at your arm. “Gonna get some air, ‘kay? I’ll show you something cool.”

“O-Okay…” Something cool? You want to see something cool, even if you’re practically tripping over the stairs trying to stumble up them.

One of the brothers is guarding the entrance to the upper floors (no doubt ensuring that wayward attendees don’t try to take the party upstairs into the personal bedrooms). He nods at Keigo when he passes, but when he catches sight of you—you with your hair mussed, lipstick smeared, flushed cheeks and wobbly steps—his eyes narrow. “She good?”

Even in your boozy haze, it doesn’t escape you that the question isn’t directed toward you. He’s asking Keigo.

“Her? She’s fine, she’s fine.” Keigo throws his arm over your shoulders like you’re old buddies. “I’m taking her to my room, it’s so fucking hot down there I can’t breathe.”

“Yeah…” the other guy says, gaze still focused on you, but he doesn’t move to the side to let you through.

“Oh, come on.” Keigo steps up onto the same stair as him so he can look him in the eye. “I said she’s fine, didn’t I? She’s having fun. Aren’t you? Tell him you’re having fun, (Y/N).”

His tone isn’t any less sociable than before, but—are you imagining it?—he’s not really asking, is he? “Um, I’m having—having fun?”

Oh. Oh no. Why did that sound like a question?

The brother waits a moment, and then shrugs and steps aside. “Whatever, bro.”

Keigo’s bedroom is on the third and highest floor of the sprawling mansion where the fraternity makes its home. Flags are pinned to the walls—one with the colors of your university and one with the fraternity crest—and on top of his desk there are trophies lined up in meticulous rows: track and field, swimming, cross country, fencing. The bedroom is a rare single, one of only a few in the crowded house, which Keigo explains is because he earned it as a member of leadership when he was elected social chair (“it was unanimous—well, almost, a couple of the douchebags voted for themselves but—“)

You’re trying to listen, you really are. But your head is spinning. Now that you’re out of the feverish swampy heat of the dance floor downstairs, you feel marginally more sober—and also more aware that you’re inebriated. Keigo’s voice is steady and soothing like the rest of him. The timbre, the intonations, the casual lilt and dip of his speaking make more sense to you than the words themselves.

“Here, have this. It’s rum. Tell me what it smells like…” Keigo puts something in your hand—a tiny little cup, a plastic shot glass—and you have to use all your concentration to hold it still enough to let him fill it with red-brown liquid out of an unlabeled bottle.

When you carefully lift it up to your face, you can smell the alcohol. It smells sweet, too—like vanilla, vanilla and something fruity and heavy. Bananas?

But mostly it smells like alcohol.

“It smells like banana bread, doesn’t it?” Keigo asks, pouring himself a shot too. “Try it.”

You take a tentative sip but even that meager amount is sickeningly bitter in your mouth. You hold it on your tongue for a second trying to taste the ‘banana bread’ and then swallow a few moments too late, hoping you don’t look as disgusted as you feel.

“Not like that,” Keigo laughs, tipping his own shot back and downing it in a single go. “Like this. Your turn.”

“…Keigo…” You’re not sure what you want to say. You don’t want the shot, it tastes bad and you’re already drunk. You’re a smart girl, a careful girl. You should know better. You do know better. But it feels like—it feels like, even though he’s not making you do anything, somehow it’s too late to say no.

“C’mon, (Y/N). It’s just a little shot.” He taps his empty glass against your almost-full one. “And look, if you don’t want to, I’ll just take you back downstairs…is that what you want?”

Back downstairs. Back to sitting by yourself and waiting for your friend and turning down offers. Is that what you want?

Keigo’s gaze dips down to the ground and he shifts a step forward. “Now…maybe it’s just me, but I don’t think you want that. ‘Cause when I saw you sitting on that couch, you didn’t look like you were having such a good time, hm? Am I right?”

“…um, I guess?”

“Yeah…you looked so sad and lost and lonely I couldn’t leave you alone. Admit it...” He reaches up and tucks a wayward lock of hair behind your ear. “You were waiting for someone to catch your interest. You were wishing a guy like me would come rescue you. If I’m wrong, I’ll take you right back downstairs and leave you by yourself for the rest of the night, okay? But if I’m right…”

You can smell his hot breath on your face—vanilla and sugar and bananas and rum.

“…take the shot.”

It’s not so bad the second time. You’re quicker and you don’t bother holding it in your mouth. The liquor sears your throat clean and when you get over the unpleasantness, it really does taste kind of like banana bread.

“Ohhhh… Not so bad, is it?” Keigo takes the glass from you. “God, you—you complain, but you really take it down like a champ.”

“Alcohol tastes nasty,” you reply, wrinkling your nose. “Why’d people do this for fun?”

“It’s not about the taste, not at first,” Keigo laughs. Weird. It’s like he’s always laughing.

“Then what?” At your next exhale, you squeeze your eyes shut and reopen them. Ah. Ah. The room is moving again, spinning, contracting and dilating. There’s something relaxing about it, like you’re being rocked on gentle waves in the ocean. You feel floaty, comfortable, pleased.

“Well…it’s nice, isn’t it? Isn’t this nice? Helps you not think so much, not worry about the consequences.” Keigo’s arms are wrapping around you again, anchoring you in place. His torso is warm and hard against yours. “Lets you be bad.”

“Mmm…” You blink up at Keigo, admire his jawline and his lashes and his pretty gold eyes. He looks like a boy you would’ve had a crush on in high school, an older boy who never would’ve given you the time of day.

His hand is rubbing circles over your back, shifting the fabric of your dress along with his palm. “So what do you say?” he murmurs. “Wanna be a little bad?”

You do. You want to be bad and naughty and reckless. You want to make dumb, drunken decisions that you’ll laugh about with your friends in a few years. You want to do things you’ll regret, because you’d rather regret the things you had the guts to do than the ones you were too scared to try.

You inch your arms up past Keigo’s shoulders and tangle them in his fluffy hair, tugging gently at the different strands until you work up the nerve to pull his head to your level and kiss him. Even though you initiated it, he immediately takes the lead and the force of his mouth writhing against yours has your neck twisting back to accommodate. His tongue pushes against yours again but you don’t mind it this time. Your spine is arched and you’d probably be falling backward if his hand wasn’t bracing your lower back before sliding down to grab your ass.

“God—“ he breaks the kiss— “goddamn, look at you.” He’s gripping your dress, lifting it, pulling the fabric up over your hips and up to your waist at the same time as he showers kisses over your cheeks and your jawline and your neck.

You lift your chin (how strange that you’ve never done this before and still it feels so natural) to let him bite and suck scarlet marks onto the thin skin of your throat. “Keigo—“

“Baby,” he sighs, his breath stirring the hair falling over your neck. “You’re gonna be a killer, I can tell… You’re sweet now, but fuck, you’ve got no idea.” His hands are under the hem of your dress giving your ass another squeeze before he pulls the skirt up.

“Killer? What do you...” He’s backing you onto the bed, kicking off his shoes, and you do the same.

“Shh, that’s for me to know and you to find out. Arms up,” he tells you, and you slowly comply, letting him take the dress off your shivering body to leave you in your panties—no bra, not in this dress. Keigo holds the dress in his hands for a second before he drops it to the floor. “This—you know what, this is how I knew you were a virgin, this little dress, who the hell wears a dress to a frat party—“

“A virgin?” Hearing him say the word hits some kind of trigger in you and your eyes go wide. Without thinking, you fold your arms over your breasts and pull your legs up to your chest.

“Not a virgin virgin, it’s just what we call freshie girls who’ve never been to a party before—“ Keigo starts to clarify, but when he catches your reaction (your overreaction), his eyes narrow and he sits on the bed over you, knees straddling your legs. “Wait. Are you—you’re not actually a virgin, are you?”

You look to the side, cheeks hot, wanting to deny it but knowing there’s no way you’ve got the mental fortitude to really convince him.

“Fuuuck,” Keigo breathes, leaning over you and framing your face with his hands. “Baby. You just keep getting sweeter, don’t you?”

“Shut up,” you whine, covering your face with your hands. “’s embarrassing…”

“You should be glad I asked, or you’d be…like crying and bleeding and stuff, right? God, it’s been a while since I had a virgin.” He scratches his forehead and then his hand comes down to absently stroke the soft inside of your thigh.

It tickles. It tickles and you feel goosebumps rising to attention on your leg and a silly little laugh bubbles out of your throat. An involuntary shiver passes through you.

Keigo smirks and ducks down to kiss the skin of your inner thigh. It’s light—it’s nothing—but the rough stubble on his chin scratches over your skin and you giggle again. He nudges up higher on your body, so close you can feel the heat of his breath through your panties, and his hands grip around your waist to keep you in place.

Everything’s moving so quickly. You wonder in the back of your mind, the tiny part that still has a decent grasp on sobriety, if you’re ready for all of this. Then you wonder if anyone’s ever ready. How are you supposed to know? When it’s the right time, are you not supposed to be nervous? You are nervous, but the liquor is taking the edge off, making you more comfortable, maybe even keeping your mouth shut when the sober version of you would’ve stopped this a long time ago. You don’t know.

But what you do know—what you do know is that Keigo is easing your panties down off your legs and then nosing back in to kiss up your thighs and latch his mouth over your pussy.

“Mm—oh, fuck—“ What are you saying? You’re not a moaner, you don’t even say ‘fuck’. You’ve always been able to keep quiet when you’re by yourself. It’s like Keigo’s tongue flicking over your clit is pulling the voice out of you.

He wriggles the tip of his tongue over that sweet spot and the breath falls out of your lungs in what is undeniably a whimper. You feel so tense with the effort of keeping still, blood rushing to your pussy, and your thigh spasms where it’s nestled next to Keigo’s cheek. “You ever done this before?” he hums between licks.

“N-No…ah!”

“Ever cum?” His tongue returns, licking you up and down in lazy strokes, spreading your juices all over your dripping cunt.

“…hahhh, yesss…” Yes, you’ve had an orgasm before, in your own bed on your own fingers. When you do it to yourself it’s detached and methodical, a means to an end. You keep your mouth closed and you barely move and you get it over with. It’s not like this, wet and sloppy and out of your control, teasing, giving you almost exactly what you want but not quite.

You’re moaning. You’re moaning. You can still hear the throbbing music of the party downstairs, and you’re moaning your little heart out, whimpering, crying with little ah-ah-ah’s that anyone who can hear would recognize immediately.

When you do it yourself, it’s not like this. It’s never like this. Keigo moves from slow to quick unpredictably, always pulling you down right when you feel that pressure building in your core. It feels good enough that you’re annoyed—no, not annoyed, downright pissed when he sits back up on his heels and licks the wetness off his own lips.

“What’re you—I was, I was gonna—“ you start, trying to organize your thoughts. It had felt good. You’d wanted it, wanted more, and now your pussy feels all warm and wet and needy, pulsating with the lust he stirred up in you.

“Gonna cum?” Keigo leans down and kisses you, long and slow. “Sorry…but I’m selfish. When you cum, I wanna feel it.”

His arms flex in the yellow lamplight as he pulls the collar of his shirt over his head. You’re sprawled over the sheets on your back, not sure what you can say so you just watch. It helps that there’s plenty to look at—the hard planes of his abdomen forming the tell-tale dips of a six-pack, perfectly-formed lean muscle (all those sports trophies, you think to yourself), and the V of his hipbones disappearing under the hem of his pants…which he’s currently taking off as well. There’s something to be said for the benefits of spending more time at the gym than you do at the library.

Every part of Keigo Takami is impressive—he’s a work of art in human form. And when he pulls down his boxer briefs and his cock springs out to bob against his stomach, you’ve gotta admit that that is pretty impressive too.

Impressive…and intimidating. You bite your lip looking at it. Keigo pumps himself up and down, and every time his fist moves down to expose the thick pink head, you wonder the same thing: how is that supposed to fit!?

Keigo must see the sudden anxiety on your face, because he smiles (reassuringly? arrogantly? or is he just delighting in your discomfort?) and lifts you like a kitten with his hands under your armpits. “Up, up, on your knees, legs together—perfect. Now turn and put your hands on the wall.”

It’s so much easier to follow his instructions than try to consider what would happen if you said no. His callused hands petting over your waist make you feel like you’re doing the right thing. But—still—the nagging anxiety of having something so big in your pussy doesn’t go away.

You hear a drawer opening, and you turn away from the wall to see Keigo squeezing a clear liquid from a bottle in his hand and spreading it meticulously down the shaft of his cock. Lube? That’s good, you’ve heard from your more experienced female friends that it’s good to be extra wet the first time…but there’s something else, something you’re missing, isn’t there?

You try to think, try to ground yourself and understand, really understand what’s happening to you. What are you missing? The bed is squishy and soft under your knees, the air is windy somehow (is there a fan on? you hadn’t noticed), and the music downstairs is so loud you can feel the vibrations through the wall you’re pushed up against. And. And. You try to think. What are you forgetting that you’re not allowed to forget?

You can feel his cock, too. Keigo’s hands grip the flesh of your hips and he leans his chest into your back, brushing your hair over your shoulders so the two of you can touch skin to skin. The head of his cock bumps against your mound, raw and hard and heavy. Skin to skin.

Skin to skin.

It hits you in a wave of panic and you whip your head around and push desperately back at Keigo’s solid shoulder. “Wait! Wait, Keigo—the condom? Are you wearing a condom?”

His hand wraps around your wrist and pins it back against the wall, and he bows down to nip a a little spot on the crook of your neck. “Calm down, we don’t need one.”

“No, we—we need it, I need it!” you squeak out, trying to push away from Keigo but he’s got you sandwiched between him and the wall and those perfect muscles you were admiring earlier are definitely not just for show.

“I said calm down. I’m not gonna go inside.”

“…What?”

He rocks his hips forward and his dick bumps up under your pussy again. “Ever heard of thighfucking?”

No, you’ve never heard of thighfucking, but you’re an intelligent girl and you might be drunk but you’re not so drunk that you can’t piece together what he means. Your interpretation is reinforced when you feel Keigo slathering liquid—lubricant—over the lips of your pussy and between the tops of your thighs. It feels cold and weird—slippery slick, like lotion—but even the barest second of his fingers brushing over your clit reignites the need from when he ate you out and you shudder.

“Keep those knees together for me, baby,” Keigo says, and with no further delay he pushes his cock in between your thighs, aiming it perfectly to slide between your pussy lips so the head will bump up on your clit.

“…ahh, Keigo, wait—oh!” The full weight of Keigo’s body shoves against your back every time he thrusts. You’re too weak for this, too delicate to stay in position. Your elbows buckle under the pressure and your face is about to smack directly into the wall until Keigo laces his fingers in your loose hair and yanks you back from it.

He’s got no trouble holding you down, keeping you perfectly posed with your soft thighs molded tightly around the cock driving between them. Your head is craned back from his hold on your hair and he lays hungry kisses over your mouth, your cheek, your neck, anywhere he can reach. He’s right—he is selfish, and you know that this position is about him, not you, so it takes you by surprise that the longer he fucks his cock between your thighs and your dripping slit, the more heat you feel rising up in your cunt.

It’s not right. It’s not supposed to be like this. Your first time doing anything with a boy isn’t supposed to end up with him using you like he’s humping a pillow, thrusting his slippery cock into your thighs and groaning in your ear. It’s all wrong, and it’s definitely wrong that you’re getting off to it.

But now you know why he ate you out and left you high and dry (well, not dry) without making you cum—because the heat and the friction and the feeling of every ridged vein sliding over your clit, his hips smacking with a wet slap against yours, the smooth head grinding over your pussy—all of it is making your thoughts swirl like your brains are sloshing around in your head, and not just because of the alcohol.

“Fuck,” Keigo purrs, ducking forward to bite the shell of your ear and then running a soothing tongue over it. “Fuck, baby, you like that? Is that virgin pussy getting all wet on my dick? You’re twitching, I can feel you…”

“…Mmph, ah, I, I—please—” You can’t really talk, not when he’s knocking the breath out of you with every thrust. But you need more. It’s not fair, having to make do with the uncontrolled jerks of his cock over your upper thighs and the outside of your pussy. He’s fucking you like he couldn’t care less about whether you get to cum—which, if you had the ability to think about it, he probably doesn’t. Certainly not as much as he cares about your soft, lubed-up skin squeezing so deliciously on his cock.

You grind your hips down a little, sticking your ass back toward him to get a better angle and—ugh, ugh it works, the pressure on your clit increases, and you keen desperately, begging him to fuck your thighs faster harder deeper. He yanks on your hair, snapping your head back so your whimper chokes up into a squeal, and—god, are you imagining it?—but you swear you feel the stiff length of his cock throb in between your legs with the head nudging on your belly.

“Uhnn…baby, baby, baby,” Keigo chants in your ear. His voice is heavier and jagged with the puffs of breath that are coming out in time with the roll of his hips into yours. It sounds…needy, almost. “G-Good girl, keep those legs tight, just—just like that…my good little sweetheart, angel, virgin. Gonna make me cum? Yeah? Make me cum with these pretty fucking thighs?”

“—Keigo, I’m—mm!” You can’t say it, even the thought of announcing you’re cumming like some kind of pornstar makes you cringe, but even if you don’t say it, there’s no way he doesn’t feel the electric shock that passes through you, sending tremors through your body.

You’re crying out, loud, louder than the music downstairs maybe (or at least it feels like it). There’s nothing you can grip for purchase so one hand just scrabbles against the bare expanse of the wall while you curl the other into a fist and dig your fingernails into your palms.

Fuck, is it the alcohol? Is it the liquor that’s making it feel like this, so overwhelming and heady you don’t even know where you are? You vaguely try to remember how you got here (something about blond hair, an easy laugh, and sugar-sweet liquid coating your tongue), but it’s not important, who fucking cares when the cock pistoning between your thighs is still rubbing up on your clit, still stimulating you, still sending sparks of heat up through your spine and making it impossible for you to breathe without moaning, much less think.

“Keigo…Keigo I came, please ahh—it, it hurts,” you whimper, trying to shift your hips up off his cock to relieve the pressure on your sensitive clit—but he won’t let you.

Keigo’s grip on your ass digs in deeper, harder so he’s probably leaving bruises, and the hand in your hair pulls your head back toward his. His voice is a growl, so low and scratchy that it sends a chill up through your body. “Don’t move. Don’t you—don’t you fucking move. Stay right fucking there.”

It scares you.

It scares you, but his dick is rocking over your pussy, making you crazy, making you lose your grip on whatever other physical sensations you can still feel. You’re limp except for your thighs pressed into one another as tightly as you can manage, letting Keigo hold you up. It doesn’t hurt, not really—but it’s horrible, it’s too much, it’s like you’re trapped on the edge, cumming and cumming and cumming and cumming while you squeal like you’re being tortured, and you are, you are, you are, you are—

—it's torture.

But not pain. It doesn’t hurt. It’s mind-bending, oppressive, awful, you want it to stop but—oh god oh god—you’re helpless and you don’t get to make it stop, you don’t get to make that decision, it’s up to him. He decides, Keigo decides, and Keigo decides to keep fucking into your thighs, keep spreading your pussy lips apart and teasing your clit, so you just roll your head back and stop trying to convince yourself it doesn’t feel incredible.

You barely notice him speeding up—you probably wouldn’t notice at all if you couldn’t hear the beat of your moans, paced in time with his body slamming yours against the wall, increasing in frequency. He releases your hair (you swear you can feel blood rush back into your head when you’re finally able to lean forward) and his hands go back to your hips, guiding you to rock yourself back on him so his last few rabid thrusts finish with the head of his cock rubbing firmly against your stomach.

“Ugh, goddamnit fuck, baby, yesss, stay still, stay right there,” Keigo groans, and you’re so blissed out from the overstimulation that you barely even feel the twitching of his cock between your legs and the spurt of thick, hot liquid on your stomach.

Oh.

Oh god.

When Keigo finally picks his hands off their bruising grip on your ass, you drop directly onto the bed, barely remembering at the last second to roll over onto your back so his semen (his semen, which is spread over your lower belly like a Jackson Pollock painting) doesn’t stain his sheets.

You stare at the ceiling and what do you know, there is a ceiling fan, blades spinning in lazy circles that make you sick when you try to follow them. So you close your eyes.

What are you feeling? What are you supposed to be feeling?

Anger, probably. Fear? Well, you won’t deny that there are hints of both of those emotions swimming underneath the hazy surface of your drunken psyche, but they’re overshadowed by what you’re really feeling, which is relief, relief that the stimulation is over, relief that it felt good, relief. And—since you’re too out of it to stop yourself from admitting it—satisfaction.

There’s a rustling, paper slipping against paper, and then you can feel Keigo wiping his cum off your bare stomach with a tissue and then dabbing at the smears of wetness between your legs. When he’s satisfied that you’re clean, the bed creaks as he lays down next to you. He’s panting.

Reluctantly you open your eyes and roll onto your side, propping yourself up on an elbow so you can look down at him: golden hair spread out in a halo around his head, pale lashes and brows, a healthy glow of sweat over his forehead. You hadn’t seen it before, but there’s a tattoo curling over his biceps from where it must originate on his back—red feathers, wings, inked permanently into his skin.

Angel, Keigo called you earlier. But really, between the two of you…he’s the angel. In appearance, if nothing else.

His eyes drift open and the corner of his mouth tilts up, pleased to see you inspecting him. “How was that? Did you have fun being naughty?”

You and him both know exactly how much fun you had, and if you said it you’d just be stroking his ego. “You’re not a good guy, are you,” you say instead.

“Never said I was.”

“Then why didn’t you…have sex with me? For real?” you ask after a beat. The question’s been weighing on you.

“Don’t tell me you’re complaining.” A hand comes up to comb through your mussed hair unhurriedly.

“I’m not…” You still want to know, though.

“Mmm…baby. You didn’t want this to be your first time. Believe me, you’re not supposed to lose your virginity to a guy like me. No—don’t pout, come on. Your first time is supposed to be, like, soft and special and romantic, right?”

The girl you were one month ago, before you moved away from your hometown to come to college, she would have agreed. But you’re not that girl. You’ve been to your first college frat party, you’ve had your first drink and your first shot, you’ve kissed a stranger and you’ve done…sexual things with a man for the first time. And you’re okay with it. So you roll your eyes. “I’m not some fourteen-year-old drawing hearts in my notebook. I don’t need soft,” you tell him, hoping you sound bold and sarcastic.

Keigo chuckles and pats you on the head. “Don’t knock soft fucking, it’s got a time and a place like everything. I just couldn’t do it. Not when I saw you sitting there looking so lonely—you were like, hmm…like a rabbit in a den of wolves. You looked delicious.”

Oh god, you’re blushing again. This isn’t good for the nonchalant cool girl persona you’re trying to cultivate for yourself.

He cups your chin and runs his thumb over your lower lip. “I don’t think I could’ve been soft with you if I tried.”

A sharp rap on the door has both of you tensing, and Keigo only has a second to yank a blanket up from the foot of the bed over your naked bodies before the door is slammed open so hard that it bangs against the adjacent wall. “Jesus, get the fuck out!” he barks to the intruder, and it’s weird to hear the authoritative note in his voice reminding you that within this house, he’s someone who commands respect.

You tuck your face into Keigo’s chest and hope wildly that the person who just walked in 1) didn’t see anything and 2) isn’t the friend who brought you to the party, because if word gets around that you’re the girl who ‘slept’ with an older frat boy at the first party of freshman year, you’ll never live it down. Regardless of your own sexual liberation or whatever, you’re well aware that this isn’t the kind of reputation you want to start your college career out with.

“Sorry Kei! But we need you downstairs, we’re out of alc and the music stopped and no one knows how to fix the speakers!” the brother says, shielding his eyes with his hand, but he doesn’t leave the room. At least it’s not your friend—you breathe a sigh of relief and Keigo automatically smooths a hand down the back of your head in response.

“I’m kind of busy,” he seethes, and—you’ve gotta admit, there’s something marginally funny about seeing him caught off guard like this. You bite down on a laugh and he looks at you curiously, one thick eyebrow quirked.

“I’m really sorry, man, but the President said you’ll be on puke clean-up duty tomorrow if you don’t get your ass down there. His words, not mine.”

“Tomura, of-fucking-course…shitty incel has it out for me…” Keigo curses under his breath. “Give me five minutes.”

As soon as the door is closed, you’ve got your feet on the floor, groping around the discarded articles of clothing for your dress. You smooth down your hair with your hands and hope you look like any other tipsy freshman instead of a girl who just got pseudo-fucked. Keigo winks at you and taps his cheeks under his eyes; you take the hint and wipe away the smudges of mascara and eyeliner that migrated out of place during your…activities.

Your phone is safely in the pocket of your dress and you’re all but ready to leave the room (hopefully there won’t be anyone in the hallway to see you) when Keigo, still pulling on his pants, tugs you back by your wrist.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” you reply uncertainly.

“Aren’t you going to give me your number?”

What? Really? You’ve heard plenty about how frat guys like him operate, and nothing Keigo’s done (except the whole ‘no penetrative sex’ thing) has led you to believe he doesn’t fit the stereotype. And the stereotype doesn’t involve sleeping with the same girl twice, especially if that girl is an awkward freshman who is apparently too innocent for him to get his dick wet with. “What do you want my number for?” you ask.

“Do I have to spell it out to you?” Keigo’s fingers lace with yours and you stumble forward into him so he can kiss you.

It’s light, chaste even, but it’s not fair because he knows, of course he knows—a kiss like that is going to leave you wanting more. “Yes,” you tell him, just to be contrary.

Keigo laughs again, and you do your best to memorize the sound of it. “It’s so the next time you decide you want to be a bad girl…you know where to find me.”

#Hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #hawks #takami keigo #bnha #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia imagines #mha #mha x reader #mha imagines #my hero academia #my hero academia x reader #my hero academia imagines #smut #BNHA college AU #tw dubcon

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inkdemonapologist · 3 years

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[BatIM Call of Cthulhu Masterpost]

REMEMBER BACK WHEN WE GOT INVITED TO A MASQUERADE??? And we figured out the masquerade guests are definitely the sacrifice meant to summon their eldritch deity and that the party will probably be the location of the final ritual? ANYWAY WE’RE CRASHING THE PARTY, which means we need costumes.

The party is Alice in Wonderland themed; Sammy hasn’t read the book but got kin-assigned the March Hare by Joey, so naturally i’ve been doing nothing but drawing this loser in a dapper rabbit costume for an entire week

---

Anyway have a little smattering of out-of-context quotes from session 11

[Sammy is played by me, Joey is played by Boo (inkyvendingmachine), Henry is played by Maf (inkcryptid), Jack is played by Mochi (whatyouwantedmetosee) and Thren (haunted-hijinxer) is our GM!]

[Sammy] Sammy just has no magical powers. [Jack] YET. [Sammy] Yet. Correct. ...He doesn't want any. [GM] Half of him doesn't want any. [Sammy] That's... accurate, yeah. Half of him ALSO wants the OTHER half of him to stop having magical powers. [Jack] No Magical Girl transformation? [GM] *laughing* Is that what that is? [Jack] I'd watch a magical anime where the main character drugs themself and then becomes a weird... religious... madman! [Sammy] That does sound compelling! Maybe you should see if you can find a franchise that contains that element, and then become a big fan of it and draw a bunch of fanart for some reason. [Jack] Yeah, I dunno, I mean... it's so tiring getting into new media, I need to get a friend who will drag me into it. [Henry] And then you guys can start a roleplaying game with it and drag me into it! [GM] There's an idea! [Jack] Yeah! Someone should get on that! [GM] And if there was such a theoretical game... people might have to figure... what they're doing when they wake up!

[Sammy] We were put in a situation before where we were told that the only thing we could do was kill the host, but we found a way around it last time, [Peter] What way was that? [Sammy] Complicated.

[GM] Henry is the first to notice the apparent cultist, camping out, looking tired, trying to spot you guys. [Henry] Uh, Henry is just going to tap Sammy on the arm and point him out. [Jack] Bros! You've got to unionise! Look at these working conditions! [GM] Maybe one of these days you won't spot them, right? Hope springs eternal!

[GM] Okay, you can make an intimidate! [Sammy] Okay! *rolls* FIFTEEN IS -- this is the only thing Sammy's good at now -- fifteen is a hard success!

[Jack] I'm proud of him! [Sammy] Someone has to be.

[GM] Allison chats with everyone, and gets you into the costume room! Everyone seems relatively friendly! [Sammy] Except Sammy. Sammy doesn't seem friendly.

[Joey] My idea was, Joey would be Mad Hatter -- [Sammy] Because he needs a hat, [Joey] --Yeah, so he can have a hat -- I was thinking Sammy could be the March Hare, Jack could be White Rabbit, and then Henry could be the Dormouse, [Sammy] Yes! And then the Haiti boys are all the Mad Teaparty, which is great, because the Mad Teaparty is canonically trapped in a time loop. [Sammy] Because we tHOUGHT ABOUT THIS TOO MUCH,

[Jack] Kin-assign Pete! [GM] He's content to wear anything that looks like it fits him, as long as people aren't trying to push a co-ordinated effort. [Joey] (Pete can be Caterpillar,) [Jack] Catter-pete-lar [Sammy] Oh my goodness. Completely unnecessary. [Jack] This is a pun that Jack might make, out loud, to Pete [GM] Pete laughs, despite himself! [Sammy] I feel like, Jack would make this pun, and then Jack would be SO pleased with himself that Pete would laugh, because Jack was so happy about it. [Jack] Yeah that sounds canon. ....It IS canon!!

[Jack] You can like, actually pretend to be people who decided to come to this party to enjoy it, and not just steal and/or murder!

[Henry] I want someone on the help, because I feel like we would have more control if we had someone on the inside, [Henry] And Henry does have a very forgettable face, apparently!!

[Joey] What are the staff wearing? Target red shirt, khaki pants? [Sammy] Perfect! Everyone will fall for it! Based on my experience wearing red shirts into Target!

[GM] I guess this does mean Joey misses an opportunity to dress up Henry. [Joey] *excited gasp* Wait, wait, [GM] What? [Joey] Sorry, this has nothing to do with anything that's happening right now in the roleplay, but I just suddenly realised that (1) when Henry got married, was Joey his best man, and (2) did Joey get to pick out his tuxedo for him [Henry] UHHHH... I feel like, Henry usually defaults to Joey for outfits and stuff, but he would hesitate a bit to ask his best friend who has an obvious crush on him to help dress for his heteronormative wedding!

[Joey] There probably is at least one of the wedding photos where Joey is insistent on standing very next to Henry -- while Henry's next to Linda! -- but, [GM] ...but also, Joey is here, [Joey] But also Joey is here. [Sammy] ...absolute disaster of a man... [GM] But the tuxedos look good! [Joey] Yes. Henry was properly fitted.

[Sammy] I don't want a full-- I don't want a freakin' fursuit, because-- [Henry] (FNAF in the distance)

[Sammy] But I feel like, since both White Rabbit and March Hare are, like, dapper rabbits, they could do something like, yeah, splicer mask and also a hat. [Jack] I mean, Jack's not opposed; Jack likes hats. [Sammy] Jack absolutely should have a hat, I agree. [Jack] He's getting so many hats! So many hats, and so many boyfriends, [GM] He can't be stopped! [Jack] >:3c He shouldn't be stopped.

[GM] I'm still just stuck on the phrase "Dapper Rabbits."

[GM] If Joey and Allison are talking further away, I guess it's moot. Though Allison did see Prophet Sammy! He changed in her room. [Sammy] Well, nobody explained him to her. Sammy just showed up the next day and hoped that we wouldn't talk about it, and then we didn't! It was great. [Jack] Sammy's over here, hoping that Allison is distracted by Joey so that none of this conversation is being listened to, [Jack] MEANWHILE, smash cut to the other side of the room, where Joey is explaining SillySam,

[Joey] A lot of Joey's lack of giving information was to keep her out of it, and not paint a target on her back... but now? She has a target on her back, so... Sure! You can also sacrifice yourself, for the greater good!

[Sammy] I'm sure someone in this party will thank Allison. It won't be me. But I'm sure someone will.

[Henry] Henry's already smearing his blood on people, he's gonna agree to whatever at this point.

[Sammy] DEFINITELY not a cult, now hold still while we put this guy's weird glowing blood on you, it's fine. [Jack] Welcome to the flock!

[GM] What does this mean for Prophet Sammy's sacrificeability rating on Henry, though? Now he's potentially long-term useful... [Sammy] I mean... [Jack] The Prophet isn't here so he doesn't need to know about this! [Sammy] ...I feel like, if something has greater value, then it's an even more impressive sacrifice. That's why you sacrifice an unblemished sheep, traditionally. If it's not a blemish-- [Sammy] Like, that's most of what he was worried about, like, “does this make you not fit for sacrifice.” But if it's actually a really cool thing, ...!

[Sammy] Sammy's nervous. [Jack] Jack is also nervous. [Henry] Henry is also nervous! [Jack] Oh, that's always a good sign, [Joey] Joey's going to be confident! [Henry] ...Of course he is. [Joey] Someone has to be! [Jack]...is he "Confident" or "Confident (Fast Talk)"? [Joey] YES. That last one. [Sammy] *muttering* That's the best we got, unfortunately.

[Sammy] If Jack or Henry express nervousness, Sammy agrees with them. If Pete is nervous, then Sammy will very aggressively say that Joey knows what he's doing.

[Sammy] Allison, don't use a spell to bind people's souls together in order to avoid crunch,,, [GM] You never know when something might be handy! [Sammy] I mean, [GM] Waste not want not!

[Henry] Does Henry have to draw in blood on himself...? [GM] No, Henry has a lot of his own blood on his person.

[GM] Aw, man, Bendy should've commented on the rabbit outfits! I'm sure he'd find that hilarious. [Joey] ...why...? [GM] WHY? It's just objectively funny! No additional reason is needed!!

[Joey] Joey will go through his notes, and confer with Henry and Bendy on, okay, shall we try this, and see if we can help Bendy as well? [Henry] Henry is down to try! [GM] Bendy is worried about Henry overexerting himself. [Henry] ...Henry is down to try!

[Jack] Worst case, Jack looks at the symbol, and then he can be seeing-eye rabbit for the rest of the group!

[GM] Norman wonders what the plan is! [Henry] Bold of you to assume,

[Sammy] We're having such a good sleepover! We did a weird blood ritual, and we're braiding each other's hair~ [Joey] Having a fashion show, [Sammy] Yeah! We went out and got clothes, [Jack] Can't believe Joey called a boy, [Sammy] Gotta ask Joey about the boy he likes... wait, no, don't do that. [Jack] I'd say it's time to play seven minutes in heaven, but I think we, we did that early. [Sammy] WE DIDN'T DO A VERY GOOD JOB,

[GM] Norman wants to see how this plays out. [Joey] Okay, well, try not to get sacrificed, then, [GM] He laughs, and thanks you for the advice! [Sammy] *Hypnos Hadesgame voice* "Try not to get sacrificed, okay?"

[Henry] Allison is very helpful, and not weird at all!

[Joey] We already have the banjo case full of ritual circles, and Joey would rather have the emergency circles than Sammy carrying around bOTTLES OF INK. [Sammy] WHY, WHY WOULDN'T YOU WANT THAT TO BE HAPPENING? WHAT WOULD BE THE PROBLEM WITH THAT,

[GM] Make a sanity check! [Jack] Wait, what's happening? [Sammy] Joey was trying to think too hard.

[GM] Sammy does manage to catch that there's a little-- next to the kitchen, when you go into the place where they're serving food, there's a sign that says "Sheep Shop" over it. And there's a person wearing a sheep mask, handing out food. [Sammy] OKAY, THAT'S FINE,,, I don't feel like Sammy has actually read Through The Looking Glass, so I don't know if he knows why this is happening. I think he's just concerned. [GM] Excellent. Ideal response.

[GM] And Joey has NEVER seen the symbol EVER because he's incredible at not looking at creepy symbols! Which you wouldn't expect. [Sammy] I'm sure Joey will put this in his autobiography.

[Jack] :/ No Hashtag Gay Rights at this party,

[GM] Seems to be another party-goer; in fact, you recognise the voice! [Joey] Ohhh. Kyle -- I don't know his actual name, but -- [Sammy] (Dennis!) [GM] (Yes, that's-) [Joey] -- Kyle.

[Henry] Henry is going to try to sneak up on Moonlight while he's distracted! [GM] OH! ...Okay! He's very distracted, Sammy just screamed! [excited noises from everyone beCAUSE NO ONE EXPECTED THIS] [GM] You successfully sneak up behind him! [Henry] I'm going to grab the staff! [GM] Make a Brawl check, with advantage! [Sammy] (He has SO many limbs that don't work my dude, you got this,) [Henry] That's a success! [GM] You snatch it! [Henry] I RUN!!!

[Joey] We're just both escorting Jack, now. [Sammy] Would you say Jack is late, for a very important date? [Jack] Well YEAH, his Face Removal was scheduled like 2 dreams ago!!

[GM] He'd have to roll for it, to see if it felt familiar to his trip to Carcosa. [Jack] Extreme success! [GM] Then he would pick up that familiar feeling! [Jack] Oh, nice and homey at this party! Really nice. Nostalgic! It's been a while. [Sammy] Hm, [Jack] Maybe he should go play the piano, for old time's sake! [Sammy] NO

#call of cthulu: haunted hijinx #sammy lawrence #Jack Fain #Henry Stein #when in doubt just keep drawing #Henry has a daughter he knows how to do hair #Joey's going as the Hatter so we match for Mad Teaparty purposes #I can't believe we put Sammy Lawrence in a rabbit mask and NEVER made the vanny connection how is this possible

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

Text

Hallucination

Prompts: i love your fics insanity and real or not real!! can i request another fic where a side is struggling to tell what's real and what's a hallucination? can be in the same like universe (carrying on with one of the stories) or a completely different universe/person, idm - anon

*crashes into ur asks*

Hey if you’re still taking requests could you do just Janus comforting someone on the verge of a meltdown? Like lots of soft words and caring Janus? He’s my comfort character and I love him - anon

Thanks for the prompt!

Read on Ao3 Part 1 (ish)

Warnings: talk of hallucinations, uncertainty

Pairings: focus on creativitwins, intrulogical, dukeceit, background LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic, you decide

Word Count: 3864

Sometimes Thomas watches things and it isn’t Remus’s fault.

Sometimes Thomas decides to watch something late at night, when it’s dark outside, even though Virgil tells him it’s a bad idea, and it isn’t Remus’s fault.

Sometimes when Virgil has gone to his room and he’s fine, but Thomas’s mind can’t stop playing it over and over and over and over, he starts to expand on it and it isn’t Remus’s fault.

He can’t remember the name of the video. Something to do with being stuck on a misty island in the middle of nowhere with a monster and villagers that wait to sacrifice tourists to the monster to sate its hunger. Something about a daring rescue or an escape plan doomed to fail.

Something like…

“Do not go outside. Do not turn on the lights. Don’t make sounds.” The old man draws the curtains sharply across the window. “And whatever you do, do not look out the window.”

It’s late now. Patton’s asleep. Virgil’s in his room, probably asleep. The rest of them are still awake in the Imagination. It’s slumber party night for the twins, having created a big sprawling mansion in the Imagination for them to run around in. Logan is here, Janus is here, Roman is here.

Villagers?

They’re talking about what Thomas watched.

Logan straightens his legs out. “It’s not a bad practice, staying quiet.”

Janus rolls his eyes. “Come on, what is this, some haunted island?”

“You saw the people in the video.” Logan rests his weight on his elbows. “Something was amiss.”

“The only thing amiss was how awfully boring you lot are being.” Janus sighs and stands, stretching. “Well, I think a night of entertainment sounds wonderful.”

“The old man said to be quiet,” Roman points out. Wait, is the old man real?

“Do you know how prone to flights of fancy old people are?” Janus smiles. “Incredibly.”

“Hmm.”

“Oh don’t start that.” Janus rolls his eyes and his gaze lands on Remus. A smirk crawls across his face. “Well,” he drawls, sauntering across the room, “someone’s being awfully quiet.”

Remus just shrugs. Janus crouches down.

“What do you think about this monster,” he asks, tapping his fingers on his chin, “about the thing that sneaks around this island, peering into windows, through the keyholes of locked doors?”

“Janus,” Logan warns.

“What? I just want to hear what our other little scientist thinks about this.” He raises his eyebrows when Remus won’t hold his gaze. “No? Nothing? Need more data? Well, I’m sure you could ask around if you wanted to.”

“We’re not supposed to leave,” he says softly.

“I know you’re a goody-two-shoes, Remus, but you’ll never get anything done that way.”

“Leave him alone, Janus,” Roman says with a wink, “he’s just mad at how pathetic the monster design was.”

Long limbs. Dark eyes. Moved like shadow.

“And the Boy Scout, coming to the rescue.” Janus rolls his eyes as he stands. “Aren’t you tired of being so boring?”

Roman holds his hands up. “Hey, I’m all for exploring!”

Janus sighs. “Ever the dashing prince, are we?”

“Ask nicely and I may sweep you off your feet too.”

The banter continues. Logan just sighs and pulls out a journal, the pen emerging from god-knows-where as he writes. Remus swallows and glances toward the window.

In. Out. In. Out.

Roman and Janus are still tossing barbs and jests back and forth. Remus cannot help but notice how loud they are being.

The old man said to be quiet.

Logan looks up when he begins to crouch down and shuffle behind the bed.

“What are you doing?”

“Changing.” He gives a half-hearted smile. “Texture spoons ran out.”

He nods and goes back to his writing. Remus glances at the nightstand. Only 8:00. The conversation gets progressively louder. Logan joins in eventually, rolling his eyes at Roman’s increasingly elaborate proposals to bring in jukeboxes, disco lights, and speakers.

“Let’s think about this logically. If the ghosts or whatever the hell the monster is sensitive to sound, why not pump everything to like, 300 decibels and blast their eardrums out?”

“Or it could be that they just hear things like we hear things,” Logan remarks.

“Mm.”

“Why do I have to be quiet?” Roman spreads his arms. “I should not have to deal with that!”

“Actually, you know what,” Janus says gleefully, “I agree. We shouldn’t have to be quiet. If this place doesn’t have adequate monster protection, that’s on them.”

This place…didn’t they make it safe? Roman said they made it safe. Is it not safe anymore? Are the shadows—is the monster here?

“Always the entitlement,” Logan sighs, seemingly resigning himself to the voice of reason as he settles his journal to the side, “assuming that everyone should cater to your needs.”

“Oh come on, Logan. You have to admit that having a hotel that isn’t secure makes little to no sense.”

Hotel? Isn’t this still the mansion?

The low buzz of an LED sign comes from outside. Remus blinks. Has…has that always been there?

“Not respecting the rules of wherever you choose to go makes little to no sense.”

“That’s gotta hold up in court though.” Roman glances at Janus. “You get me?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Janus says, drawing himself up like a lawyer, “I would like to sue on the grounds that my intestines were devoured horrifically by a terrifying, savage beast that the hotel owners neglected to inform me of. How am I standing here, you ask, if my intestines have been devoured? Simple. Spite.”

Roman’s off, cackling to his heart’s content. Logan bites back his own smile.

“And how, may I ask, is this not the fault of yourself?”

“May I say, Your Honor, that victim-blaming is not cute—“

“Here here,” comes Roman’s voice.

“—and also, the information about aforementioned monster came from someone who was not an employee of the hotel,” Janus finishes grandly, “therefore they can suck my—“

Logan hits his hand against the nightstand, still fighting down laughter. “Defendant is charged with contempt of court.”

“Do not pass go,” Roman chortles as Janus swoons dramatically, “do not collect 200 dollars.”

“Remus,” Janus cries out, “avenge me!”

Remus does not respond. He is too busy trying to figure out when the mansion became the hotel.

“Remus,” Janus cries again, crawling dramatically across the floor, “save me from this indignity.”

“No, thank you,” he mumbles instead.

Janus huffs, pushing himself off the floor. “Then by all means, please tell us your ingenious solution to this monster problem that we find ourselves in.”

Remus looks up, his face carefully blank except for a small smile. “I’m going to hide underneath the sheets,” he says in a soft, small voice, “because everybody knows monsters can’t get you when you’re under your sheets.”

“That is adorable,” Roman chuckles.

Janus’s eyebrows raise slowly until another fiendish smirk crawls across his face. “Are you scared?”

“Yes.”

“Aww,” he coos, “hiding under the sheets to get away from the monsters, how adorable.”

Remus doesn’t respond.

“If only the others could see you now,” Janus crows, “they’d know how intimidating you really are.”

Logan takes his glasses off, polishing them with the handkerchief from his pocket. “As if you’re any better, crying over a torn seam in your cape.”

“That bastard took two weeks to get right!”

Remus ignores them once more, glancing at the clock. 9:45. An acceptable time to try and go to sleep. He moves slowly and quietly as he tries to get into the bed. The monster could be here. The banter continues behind him as he pulls the sheets tight around him.

He does not see Logan glance over. He does not see that Logan frowns and glances at the clock, thinking perhaps Remus is more tired than he appeared, but…still. He does not see Logan look back at the others still talking, they’re probably not going to go to sleep for a long while.

He does not see Logan look over at him as Janus leaves the room, claiming he’s going to go find somewhere more fun to sleep. He does not see Logan frown, looking to see Remus still on his side, huddled under the sheets. He does not see when Logan starts to count.

One, two, three, four.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

He does not see Logan beckon Roman closer.

He does not see Roman frown as he comes closer, sighing at the notebook in Logan’s hands.

“Logan, why the hell can’t you take a break for…” he trails off when he sees Logan’s face. “What?”

“Perhaps I like to keep myself occupied,” Logan says smoothly, even as he nods insistently to the notebook, “even in times where the circumstances might be less than ideal.”

Roman raises an eyebrow. Subtle, Logan.

“You are chronically incapable of taking a break, aren’t you?”

“Perhaps.”

“Do you know any words other than ‘perhaps?’”

“Perhaps.”

Roman hides a smirk as squints at the text.

I think Remus is actually afraid. Don’t tease. - L

Remus does hear Roman exhale sharply. He does not see him glance up at the bed before he looks back at Logan and nods.

“Well,” he sighs, stretching and yawning exaggeratedly, “on that note, it’s probably a good idea to try and sleep.”

Logan snorts. “And here I thought you were supposed to be an actor.”

He swats at him halfheartedly as he starts getting ready to go to sleep. What that means is just a matter of snapping his fingers to change out of the prince costume. He packs his other clothes away and crosses the room, keeping his footsteps loud but not too loud.

Now that he’s paying attention, he can see how scared poor Remus is. He’s frozen under the sheets, barely moving. As Logan starts talking quietly to himself, he sets his bag down next to Remus’s and sighs, moving around to make a bit more noise.

Remus still doesn’t move.

When he’s made all the noise he can reasonably make, he walks a little closer to the bed and reaches to fix the curtains, unable to stop the soft noise when his shadow falls over the bed.

“Hey, Re,” he whispers, leaning down and brushing the sheet a little further from his face, “it’s just me, it’s just Roman. Can you open your eyes for me?”

It takes him a moment but his eyes do open. He smiles down at him and cups his face for a moment.

“Hey, there, Re,” he murmurs, “can I come join you?”

He barely nods.

“Thank you.” He frowns when he doesn’t move over. “You gonna let me in?”

He can tell by the way his eyes glass over that’s not a good idea unless he can convince him otherwise.

“Come on,” he whispers again, “scoot to the other side for me.” He nudges his shoulder gently. “Logan misses you.”

Loren doesn’t let his mumuring falter but he does reach across the small space between their beds to lightly pat the side closest to him.

Remus moves, as skittish as the new dragon pups, clutching the blanket tightly to his chest, his pillow gripped in his other hand. Roman swiftly takes the warm spot he’s vacated, wincing in sympathy as he shivers on the cold sheets.

“Thank you,” he sighs, making a show of getting comfortable before reaching out for him, smacking his lips together in sleep, “now come here.”

At his quickly stifled questioning noise, he drops the act and opens his arm wide.

“It’s okay, Re,” he whispers, far too quiet for Logan to hear, “I’m not gonna hurt you, it’s okay.”

He stares at him a moment longer before he realizes that shit, he’s not going to be able to move on his own right now.

“Can I come get you, Re?” Roman smiles when he gives him another one of those jerky nods. “Thank you, I’m gonna pull you over to me, okay?”

He takes him into his arms slowly and carefully, wrapping him up in the sheets until just the very tops of their heads poke out. He relaxes just enough so that he can maneuver him to where he likes, but he’s far from the sleepy pile he expected.

“Hey,” he whispers, tucking his hair behind his ear, “you want to stay here with me, Re?”

He blinks sluggishly. Roman bites back a curse and leans down to rub his nose against his.

“Hey, hey, Re, you just focus on me, okay? Stay with me here—“ he tightens his grip— “right here…I’ve got you.”

He frowns when he makes a small little noise that sounds like it could be his name.

“Yeah, Re? You calling for me?”

He opens his mouth but no sound comes out. He kisses Remus’s forehead.

“Nonverbal,” he whispers, “or just scared? Or both?”

A moment passes.

“Both it is then.” Roman tucks his head under his chin. “Why don’t you go ahead and close your eyes, Re, I’m right here.”

They stay there, wrapped in the blankets, Remus warm and snug up against Roman’s chest. He plays with his hair, one of his legs slung over his to hold him close, working to lull him out of his frozen state. After a while, Logan stands from the other side of the room and pats Roman’s shoulder.

“Your turn, Roman.”

Roman rolls over. “Huh?”

Logan nods his head toward the bathroom. “Shower.”

Roman sighs dramatically and presses another kiss to Remus’s forehead, leaving his brother dazed, blinking up at Logan. Logan watches Roman leave before he turns his gaze downwards. Remus tries to pretend the shiver that goes through him at the way Logan softens his gaze is just the cold.

“Remus,” he calls softly, voice barely louder than a whisper, “Remus, may I join you?”

A pause.

“Tap the bed twice if yes, once if no.”

A pause, then Remus hesitantly reaches out to make two little taps.

“Thank you.”

He slides smoothly into the bed, reaching out to carefully slip an arm under his and pull him off of the sweat-soaked sheets—when did that happen?—and into his arms. Remus moves pliantly, tucking his chin into the space left between his chin and the pillow.

“Hey,” he whispers, gentling his voice as he tucks his head closer to Remus’s, “hey.”

Logan is warm. Is Logan—Logan said it made sense to be quiet. Logan knows. Logan understands. Logan always understands.

“What’s the matter,” Logan calls gently, “can I help?”

Remus swallows. “Monster.”

“Are you afraid of the monster, Remus?”

Remus nods. “Black eyes. Shadow. Kill you and Roman and Janus and then go find Patton and Virgil and Thomas. Bad.”

“The monster isn’t real, Remus,” Logan says softly, running his hand through his hair, “it doesn’t exist.”

Remus shakes his head. “We’re in the hotel on the island. It’s real. Roman left and the monster will kill him.”

“Roman is just in the bathroom,” Logan corrects, moving his head to indicate the running water sound, “he’s alright. We’re not in a hotel, we’re in the mansion you two created.”

“But the LED sign is buzzing outside.”

“Would you like to look and see?”

“No!” Remus wraps his arms tightly around Logan’s waist. “We’re not supposed to look out the window, the old man said not to.”

“The old man isn’t here,” Logan says patiently, “I’m here. I have you. I’ll keep you safe.”

“He said—he—he’s not real?”

“No, Remus, he’s not real.” Logan gives him a gentle squeeze. “This is real. This is real, Remus, I’ve got you.”

“You’re real.”

“I am.”

“You said it’s safe to look out the window?”

“It is.” Logan squeezes again. “Would you like me to show you?”

Remus nods. Logan leans up and pulls back the curtain, peeking outside. There’s no bright red light from the hotel LED sign. Just soft moonlight.

“There’s no sign, Remus,” he murmurs, “you’re not in a hotel.”

Oh.

“The scar,” he blurts, his hand flying to his chest, “from the stab, what if it’s already got us?”

“I don’t have a scar,” Logan says, lying back down and taking Remus’s hand, “here…feel.”

Logan presses his palm to his bare chest, pulling his shirt out of the way so Remus can see. There’s no scar.

“You don’t have one either…may I?”

When he presses his palms against Remus’s chest, there’s no scar.

“We’re…not there?”

“No, Remus, we’re not there,” Logan says gently, “we’re here, in the mansion, safe, there’s no monster.”

The water stops. A moment later and Roman emerges, tossing a towel over his shoulder. He sees the two of them in the bed and pouts.

“You stole my spot!”

“I had Remus to comfort,” Logan says smoothly, waving him over, “though you are welcome to help.”

Roman ruffles Remus’s hair. Remus leans into it.

“Ro, are you real?”

“Yes, of course, I’m real, Re, what…” Roman trails off and his eyes go wide. “Oh, Re, did we—did I push you into hallucination territory? I’m so sorry, yes, we’re real, we’re here, we’re in our mansion, we’re safe, Re.”

“Safe?”

“Yeah, Re,” Roman murmurs, getting in to cuddle his brother properly, “we’re safe.”

“Real?”

“This is real.”

Remus buries his nose in his brother’s real neck and holds him close. Logan stays by his side, stroking his hair and murmuring that Remus is here, they’re real, they’re safe.

After a moment, Remus takes a deep breath and pulls apart.

“You know the rules, Ro-Bro.”

Roman grimaces, his head dropping to rest against Remus’s sternum for a moment before he nods. Logan looks back and forth between the two of them.

“What are the rules?”

“When Remus gets pushed into hallucination territory,” Roman says softly, “he sleeps alone.”

Logan frowns. “But surely it would help to have us reassure you and help ground you?”

“Wouldn’t help for the intrusive thoughts and hallucinations to include you too.”

Logan winces. “I suppose not, but—“

“Lolo we’ve tried,” Remus mumbles, “we—this works. It sucks and I hate it and so does Ro but this is what works.”

“I trust you,” Logan says, squeezing Remus’s hand, “and I trust you to know what works for you.”

“We’re just overprotective.”

“I’ll say.”

Roman gives him one last hug before standing and pulling Logan to his feet. “You know we’ll come as soon as you call.”

Remus nods. “I know.”

The room feels empty when they leave.

The night passes.

During the witching hour, he startles awake.

The sheets are soaked in sweat directly under him. His eyes are wide. His breathing is too controlled.

The monster is not here but the shadows are.

Somewhere in this house, he knows, something is here. He can hear the voice in the movement of the curtains, hear the step in the way the floorboard settles. Hands never meet his tender flesh, a mouth never bites his fragile throat, but something is here.

Step. Step. Step.

The fear clouds his eyes as it drips into his ears. The light flickers. Something brushes a knuckle up and over his cheek. Something pauses outside his doorway.

Through the depths of the fear filling his ears, something knocks.

The chill rips its fingers out of his mouth and smears them over his throat. Something knocks again. There’s something outside. There’s something outside.

“Sweetie,” he calls as he opens the door, “Sweetie?”

Janus steps inside.

“You’re awake,” he says, shutting the door and sitting on the edge of the bed, “it’s quite late.”

“I know,” Remus says as he sits up, wary, “sorry.”

Janus hums, reaching out to idly brush his hair off his forehead. The chill curls and lingers around his fingers, the shadows diving to hide in the lea of him, greedily drinking the fear from Remus. Janus goes to pull his hand away only to notice the prickles on Remus’s skin.

“Are you cold, my dear?” He frowns and lightly dusts his forearm with his fingertips. “You look it.”

Remus shakes his head. Janus raises an eyebrow, pressing his thumb hard against his arm to reveal a white imprint. It takes long seconds for the chill to let blood color the flesh again.

“Let’s not lie,” he murmurs, his gaze flicking back up to catch Remus’s, “shall we, sweetie?”

Janus reaches up to trace the air around the curve of his cheek, one finger lightly tracing his jaw. The electrifying tingle clenches his hands in the sheet. He tilts his head and hums softly.

“What’s keeping you awake, sweetie?”

The chill snarls, refusing to let go of his throat.

“You can speak,” he encourages, lightly knuckling the underside of his chin, “it’s alright.”

“I’m sorry.” He shakes his head a little.

“None of that, now, you’ve done nothing wrong.” He closes his hand around his. “To be afraid is nothing to be ashamed of, sweetie, you know that.”

The shadows move slowly, wary of him, eager to taste his fear. The chill huddles around it, icing it in place, refusing to let him breathe without reaching its fingers into the pit of his throat.

“Oh, my dear,” Janus murmurs, running his fingers along the side of Remus’s neck, “can I do anything for you?”

He shakes his head quickly. Too quickly.

“Sweetie…”

“You’ll be annoyed.”

“I’m concerned,” Janus corrects gently, “that’s all.”

Remus risks a glance at the shadows.

“And you know, Remus,” he continues, lifting his hand to press a chaste kiss to its back, “taking care of you is never annoying.”

A different type of fear tingles along his fingers as they brush the curve of his jaw. This one reaches deep, deep along his fingers, up his arm, down to the curve of his shoulder, wriggling in between the cold knots to pulse against him. The shadows bloom in the corners of the room, shying away from the light flickering over his face, his shirt, his hand.

Through the mouthful of fear, his tongue wets his lips. “You’ll find it stupid.”

“Never, sweetie.”

“The dark,” blurts shamefully from his mouth, “I’m afraid of the dark.”

“The dark, sweetie? Is this about…”

“I got pushed into hallucination territory earlier.”

Janus makes a noise of sympathy, murmuring an apology for teasing earlier.

“I can’t see anything but the shadows,” Remus whispers, squeezing his eyes shut, “and the noises, and how empty it is because I know it’s not empty.”

“And what helps this go away,” he asks, still cupping his hand, “what makes the shadows leave my sweetie alone?”

“S-stay? Please, with—with me?” Remus’s breath starts to catch again. “Don’t—don’t let them hurt me.”

“Oh, sweetie, of course,” Janus murmurs, “of course I’ll stay.”

The poor thing chokes out a sob. Janus reaches forward to lie him back down when his hand brushes the edge of the sheet. He frowns. Picking the sheet up between two fingers, he winces. He can feel his fingertips rubbing together, it’s barely warm enough.

Remus’s breath still hasn’t caught when he returns with a thick quilt, spreading it over him to banish the last of the chill.

“Hush now,” he soothes, smoothing the corners of the quilt, “hush, sweetie, it’s over, you did so well, shh…”

Janus climbs into bed, pulling the shaking Remus to his chest, his arms wrapping tightly, tightly around the poor thing as he cradles Remus protectively.

“Come here, my sweet,” he whispers, “come here, now, shh, shh, you’re alright now, sweetie, shh, shh…”

His cries soften, gentled into mewls against his chest as he warms him against his skin. The poor thing is still clenched tighter than a fist. He croons, taking his wrist in his hand and pulling him flush against him.

“It’s alright, sweetie, you did so well, it’s gone now, you did it, there you are, here you are, right here, sweetie.”

The poor thing whines.

“Oh, sweet one, shh, shh, shh, my dear, you’re alright…” He makes a noise of sympathy when he doesn’t stop. “What’s the matter, sweetie, tell me, say it, come now…”

He brings his hand up to stroke gently under Remus’s chin.

“Say it, sweetie, tell me what’s troubling you so, let me help, I’m right here, I’m right here.”

“The shadows,” he whimpers, “the shadows, I can—I can hear them, they—they’re everywhere—I—they’re looking at me, they’re touching me, I can—I can feel them—I—“

“I’ve got you, sweetie,” Janus murmurs, pressing a kiss to Remus’s cheek, “I’m right here, nothing can touch you, here—“

He pulls the blankets up and over their heads, creating a little bubble of intimacy in the dark room.

“I’m here, sweetie, it’s just me, I won’t hurt you, you know I won’t. Shh, shh, hush now, sweetie, it’s alright.”

They stay like that for a little longer, Remus sobbing out the rest of the fear as Janus hushes him softly, pulls him close, soothes away the last of the tremors with gentle hands and tender words.

After a while, Remus pulls away.

“…thanks, Jan.”

“I promised,” Janus murmurs, “I promised that I’d do it when you need me to.”

“I know.” Remus sniffles. “I just…wish you didn’t have to.”

“Don’t ever feel bad about needing something,” Janus chides softly, chucking him lightly under the chin, “especially not when you really need it.”

“Already sent Lolo and Ro away for hallucinations, you—“

“They’re fine, sweetie, a little worried, but they came and told me what was happening.” Janus kisses his forehead again. “They’re not angry, they don’t begrudge you needing things, and they’ll be here for you. They always are.”

“I know.”

Exhaustion begins to seep into his eyes. He blinks sluggishly.

“This is real, right?”

Janus gives him a squeeze. “It’s real.”

“Can I sleep now?”

“Oh, of course, sweetie,” he murmurs, leaning back up to rest his head on the pillow next to Remus, “you go right ahead. I’ll be right here. I’ll keep the shadows away.”

General Taglist: @frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @gattonero17 @iamhereforthegayshit @thefingergunsgirl @awkwardandanxiousfander @creative-lampd-liberties @djpurple3 @winterswrandomness @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes @iminyourfandom @bullet-tothefeels @full-of-roman-angst-trash @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind @demoniccheese83 @pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious @firefinch-ember @fandomssaremysoul @im-an-anxious-wreck @crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch @enby-ralsei @unicornssunflowersandstuff @wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams @averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @aularei @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws @cecil-but-gayer @i-am-overly-complicated @annytheseal @alias290 @tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask @crows-ace @emilythezeldafan @frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires @cyanide-violence @oonagh2 @xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx @rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734 @triflingassailantofmyemotions

if you want to be added/taken off the taglist let me know!

#sanders sides #fic #dragonbabbles #remus sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #deceit sanders #janus sanders #sympathetic remus #sympathetic deceit #hallucination

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letapollojusticesayfuck · 3 years

Note

"the way you flirt is shameful." Klavier (klapollo) and ema ?

"short fics," I said, like a liar.

anyway please enjoy almost 2k of Klapollo Nonsense.

Send me a random line of dialogue and some characters, and I'll write a short fic!

---

Another grey morning, another lukewarm cup of coffee. Apollo pulls his coat a little tighter around him, scowling at nothing in particular. It’s just his luck, isn’t it, that this week’s defendant is a fisherman, accused of murdering their boat’s captain out on the docks.

It’s also just his luck that it’s March, and he hadn’t even thought anyone would be out on the water this early in the year. Shows how much he knows about the fishing industry.

He jumps when an arm lands around his shoulders, and has to fight to keep his awful beverage from sloshing entirely out of its styrofoam cup. With an irritated huff, Apollo turns to reprimand his unexpected company, but the words die in his throat when he looks over to see Klavier Gavin—and, more specifically, the woolly hat perched on his head. It appears to be lovingly hand-knitted, in a shade of purple he’d swear he’d seen in scraps of wool lying around the office in previous weeks. It also happens to be emblazoned with Gavin’s ridiculous logo, the angular G as distinctive as ever.

“Uh…” he says instead, eyebrow raised in what he hopes is a skeptical, yet bewildered expression. He’s not sure he succeeds with that, though, considering the way Gavin’s casual smile crooks up at the edges into a more genuine grin.

“Ja, Herr Forehead? How goes the investigation?” Lazy curls of steam rise from the stainless steel travel mug clasped in his hand, dissipating into the pervasive fog that’s blanketing the docks. Typical. Apollo considers asking him if he’d like to swap drinks.

“Cold. Damp. And is this a good time to mention that I’m allergic to shellfish? I think that’s probably an important detail, considering….this.” he replies, poking an errant mussel with the point of his dress shoe. His dress shoe that he’s for some reason wearing to a crime scene out by the harbour, because Apollo has misplaced ideas of professionalism, apparently.

“Ach, it’s not that bad! For one, you have my company to brighten up your day! And for another thing...I have news for you about the case.”

“Really. And it’s not just going to be something that you’ll immediately rescind in court tomorrow?”

“HerrForehead, what kind of prosecutor do you take me for? We’re on the same side, you know—both seeking the truth.”

“That’s cheesy as anything.”

“But correct! Anyway. FräuleinSkye has just uncovered something tangled around one of the fishing lines on the boat, and she’s attempting to piece it back together. If you hurry, you might get a glimpse before it goes straight into the evidence dossier.”

Apollo hmms, considering. He’s not sure he wants to just take Klavier’s tip-off; it could be seen as collusion under some circumstances. But he’s really not accomplishing anything on his own, and any new evidence could help him prove Annette Sloop’s innocence.

He also realizes, belatedly, that Klavier still has his arm around his shoulders, and that he’s been unconsciously leaning into the warmth of the taller man’s down jacket.

“Okay, sure—it’s gotta be better than anything I can find here,” Apollo decides, and tries to subtly extricate himself from Klavier’s grasp without drawing attention to the fact that he’s actually found some kind of comfort in their proximity, that he’s really not particularly enthusiastic about losing his human space-heater.

Luckily, Klavier realizes that he’ll have to grant Apollo his freedom if he wants the shorter man to be able to take advantage of his newly-gained intel, and drops his arm back to his own side. Apollo stifles a shiver as the cool, damp air rushes back against him, clinging to his skin with a pervasive chill.

He’d assumed that Klavier had business to take care of on the dock, so the fact that the prosecutor follows him as he boards the fishing boat takes him by surprise. What also takes him by surprise is the intensity of the fishy aroma around the vessel, something that Apollo really should have considered as a factor beforehand. He wrinkles his nose and tries to breathe shallowly—and when that doesn’t work out, he buries his nose in the collar of his jacket.

And that brings with it its own set of problems, because somehow the short amount of time his jacket was in contact with Klavier’s own was enough to allow the other man’s sandalwood cologne to seep into the thin fabric. Apollo wishes this wasn’t his life. Isn’t this the kind of stuff teenagers write about?

Luckily, his panicking is cut short by Ema Skye clearing her throat from the other end of the deck, midway through spreading fabric scraps onto a plastic folding table. She appears decidedly unimpressed, but waves them over.

“Justice. I take it you were informed of the recent developments by the fop here?” she remarks, as disinterestedly as possible for someone who’s practically vibrating with the excitement of being able to do something actually forensically significant.

“Er...yeah, Klavier told me that you’d found something?” Apollo replies, trying to look as though he understands more of the situation than he actually does. He thinks he pulls it off. If not, Ema doesn’t comment on it.

Klavier, however, smiles impossibly wide at Apollo’s words, and it takes him a moment to realize that it’s because he’d called the man by his first name, as opposed to his more professional title. A slip of the tongue, nothing more! And yet…

If it’d get a reaction like that, Apollo might start using Klavier’s first name significantly more often.

“Oh, come on, do neither of you actually care about this T-shirt I found? This apparently-bloodstainedT-shirt?” Ema taps her foot against the plank wood of the ship’s deck. Apollo breaks out of his thoughts with just about enough time to look marginally interested in the new evidence—which he hopes is convincing.

And it’s not that he doesn’t want to solve the murder! It’s really just that—well, Klavier is just there, being distracting, like he always is—except it’s worse, recently, somehow. Apollo swears he used to be able to spend time focusing on other things, that he wasn’t always this preoccupied with what the prosecutor was doing, where he was standing, if he was looking at--

“Oh, for God’s sake. The way you flirt is shameful,” Ema says, entirely exasperated. She also seems to be looking at Apollo, for some reason.

“Are you talking to me?” he asks, confused. The detective rolls her eyes and sighs dramatically, visibly resisting the urge to throw up her hands.

“You, him, both of you! This used to be almost funny, you know, watching Gavin be all glimmerous in your direction and seeing you shut him down. But recently you’ve been playing into it and—you know what? I’m done! You don’t get to listen to my stunning forensic breakthroughs until you’ve sorted your shit out, because I just can’t be doing with this. It’s ridiculous. Why can’t you just act like adults?”

The outburst is followed by Ema Skye whirling around, the sensible shoes she’s wearing clacking against the ship’s deck. Halfway to the door to the crew’s quarters, she remembers that she’s left all her forensic materials spread out next to where Klavier and Apollo are standing, and backtracks with increasingly evident frustration.

“You know what? I’m not leaving! You two—off my ship!Go figure yourselves out, and I won’t tell you about this case-changing evidence until you’ve stopped acting like this.”

Apollo’s a little taken-aback—not the least because he doesn’t think that he’s been doing any flirting, especially not with Klavier. He’s been hiding his feelings far too well for that—right?

Klavier looks at him and shrugs, motioning with his head that they should retreat the way they’d arrived. It’s not necessarily the most dignified thing, climbing off a boat in shame after being reprimanded by the detective on the case.

Once they’re back on “solid” ground (as solid as one can call a fishing boat’s dock, anyway), Apollo turns to Klavier.

“So, what was that about? I’ve never seen her that angry.”

Interestingly enough, color rises to Klavier’s cheeks. “Well...I think that, perhaps, she’s...misinterpreting the situation?”

And if Klavier’s strange statement hadn’t been enough to tip Apollo off that maybe something strange is going on here, there’s the familiar pinch of warm metal against his left wrist, his bracelet constricting at the taller man’s fib.

And—they know each other well enough, by this point, that all Apollo has to do is level an unimpressed stare in the prosecutor’s direction, and deadpan “Klavier” with all the air of a man who is taking no bullshit for an answer, for him to deflate and give up, shoving a hand in his back pocket awkwardly.

“Ugh. Okay. Erm. So, HerrForehead, this wasn’t...exactly...unprovoked. It’s possible that FräuleinSkye has been on the receiving end of many conversations about how I would like to….uh…”

It’s quite something, seeing Klavier at a loss for words. Apollo hadn’t thought that the former rockstar could look as awkward as he does now, the hand not trapped in his pocket fiddling with a loose strand of his hair.

He really, really tries not to think about how endearing it is.

Klavier seems to have reached a point, however, where he’s just decided to say things and worry about the consequences later. So Apollo’s contemplations are brought to a screeching halt when the man sighs, flips his hair, and stares at him straight-on, enunciating with perfect clarity:

“Apollo Justice, would you like to go out with me? On a date? Because I must say, I’ve been trying to find the best way to ask you for a while now, but unfortunately all I’ve succeeded in doing is, apparently, annoying the FräuleinDetective until not even Snackoos are a valid enough weapon.”

And—this isn’t the setting Apollo had pictured, in his often-hastily-repressed daydreams about Klavier asking him out. For one, he’d not quite imagined the quantity of fish, or the less-than-steady footing. But Klavier looks so earnest about his request, and Apollo can’t deny the way his heart’s skipped a beat, the way he’s almost petrified to say anything just in case this isn’t real—and so, he takes a deep breath, steps forward, and twines his fingers with Klavier’s.

“You know what? I’d love to. I’ll go anywhere you’d like—with the exception of a sushi restaurant” Apollo smiles, hesitantly at first, and then more genuinely as he sees the softly disbelieving expression on Klavier’s face.

“Really?” the prosecutor asks, and isn’t that incredible—that Klavier Gavin had been worried about being turned down. Apollo can’t quite believe it himself, yet.

“Yeah, really,” he says, smiling up at Klavier, who beams down at him in return. He feels the other man squeeze his hand briefly, and can’t quite contain the impulse to lean in closer to him, consciously this time, sharing both warmth and physical contact in a meaningful way.

When they return to the fishing vessel, Ema takes one look at the two of them and narrows her eyes, proceeding to mime nausea at the way they’re still holding hands.

However, she does follow through on her promise—and by the time they’re ready to leave the crime scene, both Klavier and Apollo are fairly certain of the next day’s trial’s outcome—as well as of the location of their post-trial dinner date.

#lucy's thoughts #my writing #klapollo #thank you for the prompt!!#mogoliz #ask #asks #ask game #sorry these are taking me ages!!#you might have noticed that they keep getting away from me #also i am going to be on an island for five days starting tomorrow #so i will be very slow in answering the other two i've got sitting in my inbox #just know i am getting around to them!!#i will just have to write them out on paper rather than on a laptop #and then type them up later

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storytellerofuntoldlegends · 3 years

Text

promise me that you’ll start where i end

A/N: 3rd Life SMP but i make it more dramatic. also i made the mistake of listening to drivers license by olivia rodrigo while writing this and cried. i'd say enjoy but i don't think that's the correct emotion to experience while reading this. (title is from Boreas by The Oh Hellos)

Summary: An argument before Scott's world- one of color, light, and love- falls to pieces and turns dark. And the friend who tries to collect those pieces and bring back a little light to him.

Warnings: minor violence, talk of death, arguing, hugs, crying, canonical character death, grief/mourning, bittersweet ending

Scott leaned against the potions table with a sigh. There were too many close calls today. Each brush with Dogwarts nearly cost either him or Jimmy their lives, not to mention that Cleo lost one of her lives trying to escape the Red King and his men. Then there was the whole issue with Joel, his attempt on Scott’s life, and their wall- he wasn’t looking forward to rebuilding it, especially just out of cobblestone or some other stone. A small smile was brought to his face as he remembered how Jimmy instantly wanted to go after Joel, even though the other man was already long gone. It should have been concerning, how fast Jimmy could seemingly switch between being a lost puppy or a feral wolf on his red life. Instead, it was actually sort of endearing. It would be more endearing if it didn’t give Scott a near heart attack every time his husband tried to rush forward into danger. Scott squeezed his eyes shut at the sudden onslaught of memories- Jimmy running through lava for a prize, his eagerness to pick up a piece of tnt and the resulting destruction it caused, Jimmy staring Ren down as he burned the Dogwarts flag (and then himself), Jimmy drawing his bow when Scott was trying to de-escalate a situation and just ask if Dogwarts had anything to do with their wall burning- Scott wasn’t sure if he was proud of or angry at Jimmy’s recklessness. There was one thing Scott knew for certain- he would never be able to erase the memories of Jimmy’s deaths from his mind, and everything he did was to make sure that Jimmy would survive. And himself too, of course, but Jimmy was the one with no lives left.

“Scott?” a voice asked, causing his eyes to snap open. He looked over to see Jimmy stepping through the nether portal. He looked a little shy, and Scott smiled in spite of himself at his husband being in his “lost puppy” mode.

“I’m just working on some potions. Y’know, for future encounters. What’s up?” Scott asked. Jimmy fidgeted for a moment or two, not quite meeting Scott’s gaze.

“Just wanted to check in on you, after uh… everything,” he asked sheepishly, finally looking up at Scott’s eyes.

“Could be better, could be worse. There were a couple of close calls, but that’s why I’m working on potions,” he replied with a shrug. Jimmy’s brow knit in concern, and he reached out to Scott for half a moment, but quickly dropped his hands with a frown.

“It was too close today,” Jimmy muttered under his breath. Scott huffed out a laugh, shaking his head.

“It was, you’re on your last life- you’ve gotta be more careful,” he reprimanded. Jimmy’s sheepish gaze snapped defiantly to Scott’s, and he jumped a bit in surprise at the fire in his husband’s eyes.

“I was talking about you! Martyn’s arrows nearly took you out!” Jimmy shouted, hands gesturing wildly.

“Jimmy, my armor’s better than yours, and I have all my lives left. I would have been fine- you wouldn’t have,” Scott said, a little taken aback at Jimmy’s sudden ferocity.

“Just because you have all your lives doesn’t mean you can throw them away, Scott!” Jimmy protested. Scott gave Jimmy an incredulous look.

“I’m not throwing my lives away, Jimmy. I have good gear, I negotiate and build alliances with other factions, I’m making potions- if anyone’s throwing away their lives around here, it’s you!” Scott shot back, voice coming out more frustrated than he meant it to. A hurt expression crossed Jimmy’s face, and part of Scott wanted to take back what he said, but most of him didn’t regret it at all. Didn’t Jimmy understand what was at stake here? Scott tried his best to look out for him, but each and every time he rushed forward into things he shouldn’t have.

“Scott, I know I’ve messed up. You don’t need to keep reminding me. But I can’t just stay put and do nothing like you!” Jimmy shouted.

“What do you mean, doing nothing?! I’m trying to build up our defences-”

“Going on the offensive is the only thing Dogwarts will understand-”

“I’m just trying to protect you!” both Scott and Jimmy exclaimed at the same time. Both of them blinked in surprise, and all at once things started clicking into place.

“Scott, I’m no strategist like you. I’m not even as good in combat. But I’m on red- I’m the fighter here. So let me fight for you,” Jimmy said softly. Scott made a sound that was half laugh, half scoff.

“Jimmy-”

“I can’t stand the thought of letting you die, Scott,” Jimmy said, refusing to meet his gaze. A bittersweet smile came to Scott’s face, and he took a step closer to Jimmy, tilting his head to try and meet Jimmy’s eyes.

“Jimmy, I’ve seen you die twice. Don’t you think that I can’t stand the thought of letting you die either?” Scott asked. Jimmy finally looked up at Scott, eyes watering. Scott let out a fond little scoff, reaching out to wipe at Jimmy’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Jimmy said wetly. Scott didn’t answer at first, instead reaching out to pull Jimmy into a hug.

“Don’t be. And don’t cry you idiot, you’ll just disintegrate faster,” Scott teased fondly, relieved when Jimmy let out a laugh in response. Jimmy pulled away, wiping at his eyes and smiling. Scott couldn’t help but smile back, happy to see his husband in a marginally better mood.

“We’ll be okay, right Scott?” Jimmy asked, still soft and as timid as before.

“I’m working on potions, we’ve got allies, and we’ve got each other. We’ll be alright,” Scott said, voice soft but no less determined. Jimmy gave his usual dazzling smile, filling Scott with warmth and light at the sight of it.

It was dark when Scott made his way down the hill from Jimmy’s grave. He wasn’t even there when Jimmy had died, he had told Jimmy that they would be alright and they both weren’t. Scott was on yellow now, the gleam in his eyes and the gold shimmering in his hair making that absolutely certain. Scott’s preparedness hadn’t even saved either of them! His potions certainly didn’t do much good as Scott died early on in the battle. Maybe he and Jimmy shouldn’t have allied with anyone. Maybe they should have stayed within their walls and retired, like Scott wanted to. Maybe Jimmy would be alive now. But there was no use dwelling on the “what-ifs”- all Scott had was the now. And the now was crushingly lonely and dim.

Scott jumped at the cackle of a witch, narrowly avoiding a thrown potion. He drew his sword and cut her down without a second thought. She poofed into ash, leaving Scott to stumble forward into the dirt. He drove his sword into the ground with a cry of rage and sorrow.

“I can’t even mourn?!” he cried, shouting at the universe for what he had lost and what he had endured. Scott wasn’t sure how long he had knelt there in the grass, a white-knuckled grip on the hilt of his sword and a hand over his mouth to stifle the sobs that threatened to escape. It wasn’t until the growls and skittering of other mobs approaching that Scott finally picked himself up, yanking his sword from the ground and feet moving on autopilot.

He soon stumbled through the nether portal to the cave behind it, shaking hands reaching for a book tucked away on one of the shelves. He opened it carefully despite his trembling hands, not wanting to damage what was inside. Between the pages laid a collection of pressed flowers, one of them being the poppy that Jimmy had given him when they first met. Scott finally allowed himself to crumble, falling to the floor and sobbing with the book of pressed flowers cradled in his arms.

“Scott?” a voice asked. His head snapped up and he looked to the cave entrance, heart skipping a beat at a flash of blond and red- but then saw the brightly colored wings and deflated at the realization that it was just Grian. Scott quickly wiped at his eyes, gently closing the book before holding it tight against his chest and standing up.

“Um. Hi,” Scott said, unsure of what to say. Grian didn’t look like he knew what to say either, feathers rustling slightly before he cleared his throat.

“I just wanted to uh. Check in on you,” Grian said. Scott let out a shaky sigh. How many times had Jimmy come in, asking the same thing? Checking in on Scott, making sure he wasn’t overworking himself- sometimes checking in on him wasn’t even for Scott’s own benefit. Jimmy would need reassurance, and Scott would joke and tease to cheer him up. What Scott wouldn’t give to hear Jimmy’s laugh one last time.

“I think you can see how well I’m doing,” Scott said, tone coming off a bit more brusquely than he meant it to. Scott winced as soon as the words escaped his mouth. Grian didn’t deserve to have his grief taken out on him, but frankly Scott wasn’t sure how else he was supposed to respond to that. His friend’s expression twisted in sympathy.

“Sorry. We did avenge him, at least,” Grian said softly. Scott let out a humorless laugh.

“Yeah. I just thought I’d feel some sort of satisfaction from it, or that it would make losing Jimmy hurt less,” Scott replied, voice as hollow as he felt. Silence hung between them for a few moments, before Grian stepped a bit closer. He cautiously reached out to put a hand on Scott’s shoulder, and Scott peered up slightly at the touch.

“It probably won’t help much, in fact not at all, but what if we put a stop to Dogwarts? For all the things we’ve lost- and for Jimmy,” Grian offered. A small, weak smile crept onto Scott’s face. He wouldn’t let Jimmy’s death be in vain- he believed in a world without Dogwarts, a world where he and Scott could live out their days in peace. And even if Jimmy wasn’t able to live it with him, Scott knew that Jimmy would want him to move forward, to the life they had wanted.

“For Jimmy,” Scott said, warmth in his tone for the first time since Jimmy had died. For a brief moment, he thought he felt a hand ghost across his, paired with a reassuring touch on his back and a breath at his ear. The moment was there and gone, and Scott desperately wanted to curl his fingers around familiar ones he swore he had just felt- but it left Scott’s smile a bit brighter all the same.

MCYT Taglist (ask to be added/removed!): @corazon10000 @damiensaidno @franticfandomfanatic @space-ace123

#3rd life smp #3rd life smp fanfic #scott smajor #solidarity #grian #mcyt #angst #hurt/comfort but its more hurt than comfort #flower husbands my beloved #FLOWER HUSBANDS MY BELOVED </3 #sage writes #yes i am still stubbornly posting fic on tumblr what of it

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izzyfandoms · 4 years

Text

Like Lipstick Stains On His Skin

SHIPS: Remile

CHARACTERS: Emile Picani, Remy Sanders

WARNING: Anxiety, references to heartbreak

GENERAL TAGLIST: @quillfics42 @aj-draws @phantomofthesanderssides @phlying-squirrel @sly-is-my-name-loving-is-my-game @because-were-fam-ily @imtryingthisout @a-creepycookie @emo-disaster @littlestr @spooky-scary-virgil @fuyel @mimsidoodles @soupgremlin @aroaceagenderfluid @birdsbookshiddeninrealbirdsskin @quirkalurk @gingers-trashy-stuff @iinyxtello @justaqueercactus @melodiread @mrbubbajones @glassferns @pun-master-logan @gayturtlez @k1ngtok1

Masterpost

A Series Of Soulmate AUs Masterpost

Emile Picani had been in love with his best friend for as long as he could remember.

The moment he had first laid eyes on Remy Sanders, his initial thought had been that that was the most attractive person he’d ever seen. And, after getting to know him better, Emile’s thoughts only solidified; Remy was funny and sarcastic, smarter than anyone gave him credit for, and casually flirty in a way that made Emile’s heart stop and pound and ache all at once.

And Emile’s feelings had only strengthened as they grew up together.

From awkward teenagers still figuring out their sexualities to adults with their own homes and jobs and independent lives, Remy and Emile had stayed friends through it all, sticking together like glue since they’d first met in middle school. They knew almost everything about each other, and they were best friends.

But that was just it – they were friends. Nothing more.

And Emile was... fine with that. He was fine.

He loved Remy. Loved, loved, loved Remy.

And, sure, it hurt when he was with Remy, but not really with Remy, not in the way Emile always wanted to be. It hurt to be around him and know that it would only ever be platonic, that his best friend would never love him back in quite the same he loved him.

But time spent with Remy was better than time spent with anyone or anything else. And Emile knew that Remy cared deeply for him, too.

Emile could take the heartache if it meant he never lost his best friend.

When Emile heard the knock on his front door, he immediately recognised it as Remy’s. He jumped up – perhaps a little too enthusiastically and excitedly, but the only person that could see him right now was himself, so there was nobody around to judge. He rushed over to the door and pulled it open. Remy’s eyes lit up when he saw Emile, and he grinned.

Emile would never admit aloud to the tremble of his heart in his chest at the expression on his best friend’s face, but he did immediately squish down the traitorous hope that emerged every time Remy looked at him like that. Which happened almost every time they saw each other.

“Hey, Remy! You’re here early,” Emile said.

“Hope that’s chill, babe. I was not watching the time.”

(Emile did his best to ignore the feelings that the use of the nickname ‘babe’ stirred up.)

Remy’s sunglasses were propped up on his head, as they often were, and his warm brown eyes were on display. He was wearing his signature black leather jacket, too, as he usually was, with a white crop-top – with the word ‘bitch’ across the front in block capitals – underneath, exposing his midriff.

It took effort for Emile to keep his eyes from drifting downwards.

“It’s fine, Remy,” Emile smiled, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on his best friend’s face. “You’re always welcome here, you know that.”

Remy laughed. “If you keep saying that, I’ll end up showing up here at 4am when I’m drunk.”

“Well, I would rather you came here than go somewhere else and get yourself hurt.”

“Even if that means I wake you up from whatever candy-coloured, cartoon-filled dreams you’re having?”

“Mhm!”

“Damn, gurl, you really are sweeter than sugar, huh? How the hell did someone like you end up being besties with someone like me?”

“Aww, Remy, I think you give yourself too little credit.”

Remy laughed again. “Nah, babes, I love myself. I’m just kinda an asshole sometimes.”

“Isn’t everyone sometimes?” Emile said.

“Not you, apparently. Come on, you’re basically an angel, like, 24/7 and I have legit no idea how you do it. You’ve got the patience of a saint and a smile that literally gives me toothache just looking at it. You’re downright adorable.”

Elation bubbled up in Emile’s heart, and those bubbles filled his chest and spilled over in the forms of happy giggles. He covered his smile with his hand, and practically melted on the spot at the soft, fond look that crossed Remy’s face for just a moment – almost unnoticeable, but Emile paid enough attention that he saw it – before being replaced with Remy’s usual grin.

“Do you want to come in?” Emile asked, still smiling.

“Sure.”

Emile stepped to the side, and Remy’s arm brushed against his own as he walked past him. He hoped the stuttered breath at the contact wasn’t obvious.

“I like the new tie,” Remy commented as Emile shut the door and turned to face him.

Emile perked up. “Oh, you noticed!”

“Course I did,” Remy said. “I’ve seen every tie you’ve got like a million times. I could tell that one was new basically as soon as you opened the door.”

“Aww, Remy... you’re great. The best friend a guy could have!”

Emile’s smile was soft, fond, and so, so caring, and – for just a moment – he could have sworn that Remy looked flustered to be the recipient of it: wide-eyed and as still as a statue. But then, the moment passed, and Remy’s expression smoothed over and returned to normal, and Emile was sure that he’d only imagined it.

“It’s nothing, babe,” Remy said, waving his hand dismissively. “You noticed when I got that new skirt last week, even though it’s identical to my old one-”

“Your old one had a big hole in it! The new one didn’t.”

“Yeah, so I had to get a new one ‘cos it made my ass look great and I wasn’t ‘bout to give that shit up, you know? Ooh, and I especially love it paired with those heels that get everyone looking at my legs, ‘cos that combo makes me look fab AF.” Remy paused. “You know what, I think that’s kinda beside the point. Any-gay, you noticed ‘cos you’re cool like that, so me noticing your tie is, like, nothing.”

“Aww, Remy,” Emile reached forward, and poked Remy’s arm. “It’s not nothing, most people wouldn’t even be able to tell! You’re my best friend, and it makes me really, really happy that you notice these kinds of things.”

Remy’s expression softened. “Well, then I guess it makes it pretty special then, huh?”

Emile felt like screaming. Or kissing Remy. Or kissing Remy and then screaming.

(Though, really, if Emile ever got the chance to kiss Remy, he’d be too busy savouring it to even think of doing anything else. Too busy savouring the feeling of warm lips against his own, of Remy’s gentle hand against his cheek, of a chest pressed against his own, of being so close to the one person he wanted to be close to more than anything else in the world. But he never thought he’d ever get the chance.)

Emile stumbled over his words, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other as he fiddled with his hands. He had no idea how he was supposed to respond to that, and wasn’t sure if he even could without losing control of his mouth and accidentally confessing his undying love for his best friend.

“Um...” he trailed off.

Remy laughed awkwardly, running his fingers through his hair and glancing away.

“So, uh... what did- what did your patients think of your new tie?”

“Oh!” Emile perked up again, at once both disappointed and relieved by the return to the original topic of conversation. “Yeah, two of them complimented it. And someone said the red was a nice change from the usual pastels, so I think it was a big hit!”

He smiled, and Remy immediately smiled back.

“Nice.”

“I think the pink tie’s still my favourite, though.”

“Mine, too. It’s a classic Emile colour.”

Emile laughed. “There are classic Emile colours?”

“Sure, there are! You’ve got your baby pink, baby blue and, you know,” Remy reached out, tugging gently on Emile’s cardigan sleeve. “You’ve got your cardigan-colour. I’ve, like, barely ever seen you without this thing. How many of these do you have? Like, a hundred?”

Emile giggled again, covering his mouth with his hand. “I have two. And they’re both a little different!”

“Right, right,” Remy nodded. “One’s, like, a little bigger.”

“Mhm! And this one’s a bit softer.”

Remy nodded again, slowly and with an amused tint to his smile. “So, are we gonna, like, move, or are we gonna stand in your hallway forever?”

“Oh, right!” Emile said, like he’d only just remembered that they were still stood at his front door.

He moved past Remy, gesturing for his friend to follow as he went into the next room and sat down on the couch. Remy immediately flopped onto it beside him, getting comfortable on the soft, squishy cushions. He leant back lazily and stretched.

“Ooh,” Remy finally said, straightening up. “I bought a new lipstick yesterday!”

“Ooh, what colour?”

“It’s, like, pink. It matches the shoes I bought last week, and it makes me look killer. I’m gonna get all the guys’ eyes on me, so it sucks that I can’t wear it when I’m, like, actually looking to kiss strangers, you know?”

Emile ignored the pang of pain in his heart, and did his best to smile encouragingly.

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned,” he said. “I- I bet you look great in it. And it- it's a shame you can’t wear it when you want to.”

“Yeah, I’m kinda tempted to, you know, but, like, if I’m wearing lipstick, then I won’t know if any marks my lips make are ‘cos of my lipstick or ‘cos of soulmate shit, right?” Remy continued, gesturing vaguely with his hand. “And, like, what’s the pointing of making out with people if I can’t also know if they’re my soulmate?”

“Right.”

“So, I can only wear lipstick when I’m not looking for people to kiss. Sucks, but it’s gotta be done.”

Emile nodded slowly. Then, he paused, and his brow creased in thought.

“You don’t usually wear lipstick when you’re with me,” he said. “Even when we’re going out and it’s just us, no- no kissing strangers involved. How come?”

Remy froze in place.

“Uh...”

Emile blinked at him. He tilted his head questioningly. “Hmm?”

He could practically see the cogs turning in Remy’s head, while he searched for an answer that he obviously did not have or did not want to share. He looked... flustered, in a way that Emile had almost never seen him before – opening and closing his mouth a few times – and Emile just couldn’t seem to figure out why.

Remy and Emile just stared at each other, neither knowing quite what to say to the other. Emile was confused, not wanting to speak up at the risk of interrupting whatever Remy wanted to say. He also absolutely would not let his mind wander to the any possibilities that would fill him with hope.

A crushed hope was definitely not something Emile wanted to deal with, not right now.

Remy cleared his throat. He swallowed.

“Um- there’s...” he then huffed, looking down at his lap and running his fingers through his hair. He let out an awkward laugh, and then looked back up at Emile. “I... okay,” he sighed. “There’s something I think I should probs tell you.”

Emile stared at him, blinking. “What is it?” He asked.

“It, uh...” Remy sighed again. “I have no idea how you’d react to this. The thing I want to tell you... it could probs mess up our friendship.”

“Remy...” Emile said softly. “You’re my best friend. You can tell me anything, and I promise you this won’t mess anything up, okay?”

“You don’t even know what I’m about to say.”

“I don’t need to. I know you.” Emile leant forward slightly, giving Remy his best attempt at a soft, reassuring smile.

Remy stared at Emile for a second. Then he laughed again, a strange mix of awkwardness and nervousness and with a hint of slight joy, too – with a confusing, even a little alarming, effect. His eyes never left Emile’s smile.

“Jeez, babe. How are you making this so much harder but so much easier at, like, the same time?”

Emile blinked. “Um... is that good?”

“Dunno. But...” Remy took a deep breath. He clenched his hands into fists, looking up at the ceiling for a moment before he turned back to Emile. “Okay... wow, I’ve wanted to tell you this for forever, but, like, fuck, this is terrifying.”

Emile’s expression creased with concern. He reached forward, looking him over worriedly, and rested his hand on his best friend’s shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

“Remy, are you okay? You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” he frowned slightly.

“No, I- I want to tell you. God, you have no idea how many times I’ve thought about telling you about my feelings.”

Feelings. Feelings, feelings, feelings.

Did that mean what Emile thought it meant?

The hope rose up, though he tried so hard to squash it down, but it was like trying to fit something large in a container too small and he could hardly keep it from filling up and overwhelming him. His breath stuttered, and he was sure he tensed up and froze in place for a moment, before he finally regained his composure and physically relaxed.

“Feelings?” He asked, in a voice slightly more strangled than before. “What feelings?”

Remy let out a bark of laughter. “Yeah, that’s- that’s what I’ve gotta talk to you about. My- my feelings... for you.” He took another deep breath. “I... I love you, Em.”

“I love you, too,” Emile answered back immediately. “Haven’t we said this before?”

They had. The two best friends had been friends for so long: exchanging ‘I love you’s was practically part of their routine, by now.

But it had always been platonic, at least from Remy’s side.

Right?

“We- we have...” Remy said slowly. “But that’s not what I meant. I love you. Like, love love. Like the head over heels in love kind. The- the I can never stop thinking ‘bout you kind. The, fuck, you’re so gorgeous kind. The kind that means I’m, like, basically always thinking about you and about kissing you and about how, wow, you’re- you’re just amazing. I mean, damn, I know last week when I told you that you’re my favourite person, I kinda said it like a joke, but I meant it. I like really, really meant it.”

When Remy realised that he was rambling, he clamped his hand over his mouth, like it was the only way to get the words – the pretty, pretty words that had set Emile’s heart aflutter – to stop tumbling out.

Emile was frozen.

He stared, wide-eyed at his best friend.

“Oh,” was the only thing he could say, in a strangled voice.

He was sure that his face was already bright red.

“Great.” Remy sighed, removing his palm from his mouth and burying his face in his hands. “I’ve really fucked this up, haven’t I?” He mumbled just loud enough to be audible. “I- I know you don’t feel the same way, babe, and it’s fine. It’s totally, totally fine. I’m happy just being friends with you, ‘kay? You- you don’t have to return anything. It’s- it’s whatever. It’s chill.”

Emile’s brain had broken. He could hardly think anything other than the words ‘Remy’ and ‘love’ just over and over on repeat.

Instead of saying anything in response to that – as he wasn’t even sure if he could – he just suddenly burst into nervous, delighted laugher. Emile was sure he sounded like he was crazy, especially when Remy turned to him with a bewildered expression.

“Did- did you really mean that?” Emile asked when he could finally collect his thoughts enough to speak, which took slightly longer than he would have liked it to.

Remy blinked. Then, his expression softened.

“Of course, I did,” he said. “I’d never lie to you about something like this, Em.”

“So, you... you really mean it?” Emile asked hopefully.

“Yeah. Yeah, I did,” Remy said. He hesitated for a moment, before nervously adding: “Do you- I mean, is it-”

“I love you, too.”

There was a beat.

Remy stared back at him, wide-eyed. The moment of silence was somehow simultaneously nerve-racking and also soft and so, so exciting, because, oh my gosh, Remy loved him. Remy loved him, he loved him, he loved him!

Love! Love! Love!

And, oh, heavens above, Emile was about to start wiggling excitedly because, gosh, he really, really just had to kiss Remy, right now. And maybe – maybe, maybe, maybe – Remy would say yes if he asked.

Emile let out another giggle, covering his mouth with his hand.

“You... you do?” Remy asked, eyes wide and hopeful, and Emile was suddenly glad that the sunglasses were propped up on his head, as his expression was always much easier to read that way.

“Yeah,” Emile responded, equally soft. “I really, really do.”

“Wow. Just- just wow.”

Emile reached forward, impulsively cupping Remy’s cheek with his hand, and Remy froze. His eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

“Oh, gosh- sorry,” Emile apologised. “I should’ve asked-”

He moved to take his hand away, but was stopped by Remy covering Emile’s hand with his own.

“You’re good- you're- yes. Yes.”

And, well, that was exactly the answer that Emile had wanted to hear.

He leant forward, and finally – finally! – did the thing he’d most wanted to do for years. Years. Since the moment he’d first laid eyes on Remy, he’d thought about it.

He kissed Remy.

Softly. Carefully. Holding Remy’s face so delicately like he was holding something precious.

And the way Remy was kissing him back...

Emile had seen Remy kiss people before – strangers, friends – and he’d always kissed them like he was doing it for fun, not love. He’d never seen Remy kiss anyone as gently as Remy was kissing him, right now.

Bubbles of delight and fireworks of excitement were going off in Emile’s heart and his mind.

He sighed happily into the kiss, and he could suddenly feel Remy smile against his lips.

Emile broke the kiss with another delighted giggle and Remy couldn’t help but just start laughing with him, too. And, of course, that just made Emile’s giggles louder and more enthusiastic.

He was so focused on the laughing and the delighted feeling in his chest from the fact that he had just kissed Remy, that Emile didn’t immediately notice that Remy’s lips were suddenly pink – a light, pastel pink that certainly hadn’t been there before.

And, in fact, it was Remy who halted the laughter first, by freezing in place and staring – yet again wide-eyed – at Emile’s own lips.

Emile paused, and tilted his head in confusion.

“Remy?”

Remy opened and closed his mouth a few times, never taking his eyes off of Emile’s lips.

“Em... your- your lips.”

Emile blinked. He reached a hand up to his own lips, and swiped a finger across them. He then looked back down at his hand, and found nothing – no blood, no anything.

He paused, and then turned his head to look at the mirror that hung on an opposite wall.

His eyes landed on his reflection, and he finally noticed that there was a smear of shiny silver across his lips that definitely, definitely hadn’t been there before.

Emile sucked in a breath as Remy turned his head to look into the mirror, and he realised that Remy’s lips were now a lipstick-like pink, when he certainly hadn’t been wearing any just before the pair had kissed.

“We’re-” Remy started.

“Oh,” Emile breathed.

“Oh,” Remy echoed.

They turned their heads to stare at each other, equally wide-eyed and shocked and excited.

Soulmates.

They were soulmates.

And then Remy surged forward, and kissed Emile again.

#me #writing #remile #sanders shorts #cartoon therapy #emile picani #remy sanders #sleep sanders #fluff #human au #soulmate au #first kiss

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the-acid-pear · 3 years

Text

I did my homework and i did my chores, time to tackle on the third book of this series, Son of Ogre

Chapter 1

Okay but the fuck is Baki planning to do if he stops fighting? That's literally all he has, he's not smart

WOOH THATS A BIT REALISTIC

PREHISTORIC ELEPHANT?!

King just went to have a snack. Also FUCK does that meat look tasty FUCKKK

This baby so cute 🥺

I'm so glad Yuji is doing stupid hilarious shit again it had been a while

Congrats on Baki for that mantis

Chapter 2

Who tf is this kid?

Poor kid lmao, i assume he will meet Baki

Look at my boyyy

HSTSRFAYDF DON'T CALL HIM A MANLET

Imagine Baki actually kills this kid HSJDYSSHCBT

Third comment with a ton of likes is "we do not condone child violence. We do, however, find it hilarious"

Chapter 3

AH SHUT UPPP KIDDO

But i like Baki memeing a round a lil

Chapter 4

🥺🥺 that's so sweet...

HELLOOOO STRYDUM MY GOD YOUR TITS GOT FATTER SIR 😳😳

Yujiro is such a fucking threat to society lmao

I love seeing Baki with his eyes open, he's looking more like his old self

Oh, shadow boxing incoming, alright

Chapter 5

Yuri? 🥺 /j

THE RETURN OF IRON MICHAEL?!

Chapter 6

I love how there's our silly little mains after every cover LUV em <33

Baki just dissociating his ass out and using it on his favor, the king

Why is Baki eating sour prunes aren't those meant to be sweet?

We all salivating

Chapter 7

Love to see there are even more swears there now

I can put my face next to my foot too tho

FAGDRJSEHARD YUJIRO CAN BEAT THE CANCER HOW ICONIC 😍

Also i would LOVE to see Yuji fight an Orca

WHAT?!

I love how everyone in the comments is calling out Rumina for not seeing issue going down to a dark hidden basement with a shirtless man older than him

Chapter 8

"piggy back me" USHSYFLFUDSY

This fight is going to be good

Chapter 9

Imagine Baki dies right here right know against an imaginary mantis lmao

Okay Baki getting damaged makes sense but the WALL?

Baki's dead (GOD IT HAS BEEN SO LONG SINCE I HAVE SAID THAT)

Ffs it's true Baki COULD create himself a stand 😰

Chapter 10

OH FUCK IT'S TRUE

Chapter 11

This fight is so boring i had to take a 6 hour break

Baki just can't win against nature eh

This reminds me of Garland pulling a suplex on that Anaconda

Chapter 12

I can't wait for the main cast to ACTUALLY appear, instead of just, you know, them in the covers

This fight is slow but cool but slow

To fight a mantis you must think like a mantis 😎

Though it's true in this manga you will most likely win if you steal your opponent techniques so

Chapter 13

I MISS IGARI FUCKKK

This is so dumb i luv it

That mantis be swearing lmao

Love it when Baki goes full Yujiro

Chapter 14

TOBA...

Holy fuck do mantis fly?

Secret Chapter?

Is this how Yujiro got born?

Idk girl i would have killed him if i was you

WHAT.

I KNOW THOSE FROGS THEY ARE FROM PUERTO RICO I THINK

I might just be sleepy but this is so confusing

AKSHSKGSKSGSJSG JUST KILL THE BABY IT AINT THAT HARD

Chapter 15

GAIA...

Why is he like this?

Is "he" with us right now?

...gotta admit that IS true...

I love Strydum sksgwhwg

Yujiro really went XD

I don't think my man Arun in the comments is aware how gay what he said is, though maybe I'm wrong

Chapter 16

GOD THESE FUCKING COVERS MAKING ME SO NOSTALGIC, LOOK AT SPEC!

ANIME KENNEDY?!

I can't believe Bush is dead

AN ASIAN BOY HAS JUST KIDNAPPED THE PRESIDENT...

8 of January? My god he's a Capricorn

I'm sorry, what?

LAHQIGWKQFWKSFWIWG 😭😭

I love Baki so much, THIS IS THE KID THAT I MISSED SO MUCH

This explains why Baki was in prison clothes in the anime teaser

Chapter 17

BIG NUMBER

That one mf like 😐

Glad Baki is 18 now at least 😌

Love to see Oliva back

Chapter 18

This page not even bothering to charge the pages anymore

I'm sure there were better ways to go to jail, well, actually, no, but still

Toba used to just chew that off

Baki did that mantis hit you in the head too hard?

I. I watched way too many prison movies and shows. I don't like seeing someone as young and pretty as Baki in such a place. I rlly don't.

Chapter 19

Yanagi baby i miss you...

IRON MICHAEL?!

Mfkhsjsys 😳🥴

Eh got my hopes too high

CHE BAKI PIBE... LA PUTA MADRE NI ACA ME ESCAPO DE MIS COMPATRIOTAS

I hope he swears too i want to see a boludo o pelotudo PLEASE

I mean para pelotudos lo veo a Yujiro todo el tiempo pero igual JSGWKEGWG me pone bien argento ver al Che carajo

Chapter 20

HE SAID BOLUDO SUAHWKWGAKSGSKSGSKGD

I can't take this omfg new fav I'm sorry Doppo but he just said boludo 😭

Pendejo is more used as pibe here but i will let it pass bc idk the lingo in Cuba and he spent some time there so

Why don't i speak like this too ffs? All i do is say eh and call it a day

He's cocky enough to call anybody any age pibe so I'll let that pass too

Por favor no lo hagas che sksgwj

Chapter 21

Che, pibe, it's a good day to die...

Chapter 22

GSHAGSTSG he should have said "no boludo"

I'm falling in love with this boludo myself

That's talented and brutal

OH RIGHT YOU LOSE YOUR BALANCE WHEN YOU DONT HAVE THAT

Chapter 23

Hm that's, cringe

YESSS HE SAID PELOTUDO

OAHWLGWKQFSKSGSJS SIII ROMPELO TODO CHE, ROMPELO TODO POR DECIRTE YANKEE KSGSSJGS

Honestly i too get pissed off when called American or European, though i won't throw shit to Baki, he's some random 18 yo japanese boy, no way he would recognize latinoamerican lingo lmao

King shit Baki boy

Chapter 24

Oh that's why he's called Jun Guevara, that's fair

I like how they are mixing a bit of truth and a bit of lie it's fun at least

Chapter 25

I like how they are drawing nipples now, occasionally

I can't wait for Viêt to complain about propaganda in the comments

OH SHIT

😳 :Y

He's sooo nice 😍

Chapter 26

Only three? You mean the third is... 👁️👁️

HAHA YEAH YUJI-CHAN <3

I can't believe he works for the USA I'm crying and shaking rn

What a progressive manga, the three strongest and most dangerous men and none of them are white 😍

GET HIS ASS BAKI

Chapter 27

Why is this guy sweating sm?

LDYDYSUGFUDT BAKI PLS

I like how the only time Baki was willing to kill a person was when he thought Sikorsky had hurt his girl

Chapter 28

I feel like Ian will die

Man i love how Baki is drawn in this book

Ffs i called it, i have watched way too many prison things to know how shit goes down

I have seen these three before in fanart but I'm curious to see what they can do

Chapter 29

Their faces remind me of Doyle

OH I CANT WAIT TO SEE EM IN THE ANIME

ASSHOLE DON'T CALL ME STUPID 😢💔

I'm gonna struggle to tell em apart but i think I'll manage

Okay I'm not the only one who thinks they look like Doyle, fair

Chapter 30

The mouth vs Yujiro when?

Someone mentioned the have the same vibe as the dudes that worked with Gaia and like 👁️👁️

Chapter 31

Lmao someone in the comments recommended the same thing

These three must be great at sex (sorry)

KSHALDHDKD NEW FAV COMMENT: "go to Japan and look for the word "defeat". That way you won't feel cocky anymore"

Chapter 32

Hehe hello Junnn~

KSHAKDHKWGS

La luna

Chapter 33

LOS TRES...

Okay that's funny, hocico instead of mouth (hocico is used for animal mouths)

I'm so glad i know Spanish

The two things that drive me insane and make me ramble are Doppo's beauty and this stupid argentinian

OSHSKWGSKSG

Chapter 34

Imagine he's doing that illusion thing Dorian did

With his own blood, that's so cool...

Hoho...!

I did that once when i had a terrible nose bleed, didn't go well

Chapter 35

This book is fucking boring NGL

"now that you got no more urine left in you"

AH.

GAHDYR LMAO

Chapter 36

HO THAT TITLE, PLEEEASE I NEED SOMETHING, ANYTHING, TO HAPPEN

HHH he kinda cute...

Oww :(

JDJSJFRGAJ

God piantao is an old word i had never heard it before

AND he took a piss.

LOCO NO SEAS HOMOFÓBICO NINGUNA MINA ACA ES MEJOR QUE ESTE PIBITO TE LO ASEGURO SKSGSKGSJAAGS

Se me cayó un ídolo y yo que le quería dar 😔

ÑSHWQLSGOSGDKW

Let's see if he lied to Baki about just liking eh /j

Chapter 37

I luv Oliva lol

AJSGSKSLAGHS BAKI SNAPPED

I too wonder where the fuck Kozue is

Chapter 38

LSHSLDGSLSGSIEG

He is jealous of what you two have, it's normal, el Che just rejected his love after all ;/

Oliva is a king

OH A HANKERCHIEF I THOUGHT THAT WAS UNDERWEAR SHSGS-

Oh shit Oliva is like 45?! He looked so young

Te fuiste a la mierda, Che, el chabón estaba siendo re bueno con vos

Baki is just dead

Chapter 39

I love how realistic Che's fear is, he's rather smart, though not this time

POOR GUY AJSGSWJW

I didn't realize Che said "what more, it may be a woman!" but to be fair they ARE in jail so

Chapter 40

I'm feeling kinda bad for him ngl

I feel happy for him tho 🥺

Bruh they added one page after the ending of some naked anime girl tf 😐

Chapter 41

These prisoners having fun is kinda sweet

YO INSANE

Bitches be complaining about Maria's looks are just jealous 🥰

Chapter 42

Damn she lorge

He loves fighting naked eh

Only valid person is the one saying Oliva deserves better treatment which tbh true

Chapter 43

Fun fact i wear my jacket like El Che too, unless it's too cold

El che with the hair lose is so cute bro,,,

Something something fingering joke

Sikorski could fold a coin too

I bet the bandana will break

Chapter 44

I would have just fallen on top of him, how is he gonna counter that, eh?

Oh that super fun to know!

Oh the good ol dirty technique, i have seen this one before!

Chapter 45

NOOO MARIA DON'T DO THIS TO HIM

This fight is super cool tho i love these two characters

Chapter 46

They just keep changing the rules i think Itagaki is just flexing at this point

LAAOSFKAGSKAGSKAF???

Baki wants his protagonism back

I'm getting pissed off they keep putting semi naked underaged girls at the end of every chapter 😐

Chapter 47

Bruh just realized, the mouth got so hyped as this new cool villain and they died in their first appearance 😭

His damn bandana...

#luly talks #i hit character limit already waaa :(#but I'm too into this to stop reading lol #btg #this saga is a bit boring but el che is funny :)#baki liveblog

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xfandomwritingsx · 3 years

Text

Being Human - James Vega/F!Shepard

Description: James and Shepard finally stop dancing around each other. AKA; a rewrite of the Citadel DLC.

Warnings/Labels: None really. Some super minor sexual stuff.

Approx. Word Count: 4,500

A/N: Look... this is at best a rough draft that I typed up and didn’t edit, but I will forever be bitter about how they made the Citadel play out with these two. And while I know it won't happen, I really wish they'd fix it in the remaster. I mean if you're going to remaster the games, that sounds like a damn good time to fix anything inappropriate and rape-y right?! I would love to do a whole slow burn of Shepard and Vega spanning from Earth to the end of the game, but if you know me, you know I'm SLOW AS MOLASSES to update and I'm not lying when I say it would take me years to finish. So instead... have a poorly written snippet. I tried to keep it as much in “canon character” as I could.

Shepard stands on the balcony of her new apartment, mind gently jogging around the events of the last few days which bleeds into the events of the last few years. Resting her arms on the metal railing, she drops her head and sighs, trying to pull herself from the black hole that is her memory anymore. She wants to let it all go, just for a night.

“Hey, Lola,” James calls, pulling her back to the present. She looks up briefly wondering how long he’d been there before she sees the door closing behind him. How had she not heard it? “Nice place,” he comments, looking around the open layout. “Might not look so nice after that party you were talking about.” He walks further in, headed for the stairs to join her on the balcony.

“You wouldn’t trash my new apartment, would you James?” she jokes lightly, pushing herself upright off the railing.

“Me?” He spins a little, keeping his eyes on her as he continued to travel backwards to the stairs. “Nooo. Never,” he draws it out, the sarcasm a little thick. Shepard rolls her eyes at him, but he sees the little smile at the corner of her lips too.

James has always had that effect on her. No matter what dumb thing came out of his mouth, he managed to make her smile. It was something she’d craved over the last few months more than ever. While everyone else gave her pep talks that only managed to remind her how much the galaxy rested on her shoulders, James was more likely to tell her that her pants hugged her curves just right. He let her forget about being Commander Shepard even if for just a few moments.

He whistles as he approaches her side, looking out over the balcony with her.

“Nice view. But this place?” He shakes his head just slightly. “It’s just so... not what I’m used to.” He gives a small shrug, still looking out over the scenery and the lights outside the large windows.

“Which is?” Shepard prods. They don't talk about their pasts very often. Everyone already knew hers and James was never extremely open about his own. He puts his hands on the railing and leans into his arms a little.

“I grew up on the beach in the Pacific,” he shares. “So, you know; water, sand, real air.” She thinks there’s a hint of bitterness in his voice.

“You miss it?” He doesn’t look at her this time and instead she watches as he loosens his grip on the rail a little bit and sighs.

“Yeah. And the people.” She catches the undertone, the longing that implies he’s thinking of someone specific when he says it.

“So, what’s her name?” she asks. She means it to be teasing, but there’s an unexpected pang in her gut that feels all too much like jealousy for her liking and it ruins the lighthearted joke in her voice. She shifts her weight a little and slips a hand into the pocket of her pants.

“No! No.” he clarifies through a bark of a laugh, easing her tension a little. “I stopped... fraternizing when I joined the military. The two don’t seem to go well together.”

“Hasn’t stopped you from being a shameless flirt.” It had taken a short amount of time after they’d first met on Earth for him to relax around her and once he did, the comments, the winks, the innuendos and double entendres never ceased. The only thing he never seemed to do, was be physical with his flirting. He’d never so much as run a hand down her arm or let his hands linger when they sparred. Though Shepard had found herself wishing he would recently.

“Yeah, well... that’s just my way. I don’t mean anything by it.” There’s something in the way that he still won’t look at her that makes her think maybe that’s not all true.

“Too bad.” She drops her tone a little and takes a step towards him. “I wasn’t complaining.” He cracks a smile and lets out another short laugh.

“Who’s the shameless flirt now?” He gives her a single glance and then looks back down to his hands on the railing.

“So you can give it, but you can’t take it?” The flirting had never been completely one sided, but it certainly came heavier from him and it wasn’t uncommon for him to get a little flustered when she returned it.

“No, it’s just...” He releases the railing and pushes away, adding a little distance between the two. “You’re my commander, por dios. I can never tell if you’re yanking my chain.” He looks at her, really looks at her this time and the mood shifts. The air gets thicker, heavier and it feels like an opportunity, one she doesn’t want to slip away again.

“And what if I’m not?” she asks, voice dipping down again. “Not just yanking your chain?” James swallows thickly and there’s a mumble of a noise from his lips, but he doesn’t give a response. Instead, she’s pleased to watch as his eyes travel down from her eyes to her lips, down her neck and through the valley between her breasts that he can see all too well in her black tank top. “Are you going to tell me you’ve never thought about it?”

“Uhhh… I mean you’re one hell of a woman and I’m still just flesh and blood, if you know what I mean.” She can see a bit of redness creep up his neck and Shepard wonders if the implication is just that his body reacts to her or if he’s actually done something about it when his body reacts.

“So am I, James. And you are one hell of a man yourself.” She slips in front of him, putting herself between himself and the railing, all but begging him to pin her there. He makes no move to do so however. Instead, his eyes drop down to their feet and Shepard feels like she’s sinking. “But you’re not interested.” She leans back into the railing, wanting to retreat. James snaps his eyes back to hers and his mouth flops for a few moments as if he’s going to say something, but after a minute of silence, Shepard gives up. She slinks away off to the side and as far away as she can get without feeling too awkward. “Well, now that you’ve shot me down, was there anything else you came here to talk about?”

“Uhhh, yeah,” he stutters, shaking his head. She feels a little bad to have put him on the spot, but she’s just as embarrassed as he is. “I wanted to show you something.”

He turns away from her and pulls his shirt over his head. It takes Shepard longer than she should admit to notice he’s not just showing off the well-toned muscles in his back and shoulders, but trying to show her the new and finished N7 tattoo. He looks at her over his shoulder.

“What do you think?”

“Looks good,” she says honestly. “You’ve earned it.” She sees him smile a little at her approval. She crosses her arms over her chest and tries to lighten her tone. “Though I think it’s a little mean to flaunt yourself to the woman you just turned down.” He chuckles, taking her teasing easily.

“Here I was thought I was being nice giving you at least a little something,” he jokes back before turning to face her, shirt still in his hand. “Thought you liked the show.” She rolls her eyes, but even after him turning her down, the flirting still makes her feel better. “Anyways... Just wanted to show you that bad boy.” He slips his shirt back over his head and she resists the small urge to tell him to keep it off. “I gotta get back to the Normandy,” he says. “Esteban wants my help working on the shuttle.” Shepard shuffles her feet for a moment and then sticks out her hand towards him.

“Thanks for coming by, James.” She uses a formal voice, hoping the gesture and tone will clearly communicate a no hard feelings vibe. He reaches out and takes her hand. The handshake lasts for less than a second before he brings her hand up into a fist grab and pulls her closer. He locks her eyes with his and that tension rises again.

“Lola,” he whispers. “I’m not not interested.” She loosens her grip in his, going from firm comradery to something softer. “It’s just that… you’re Commander Shepard, you know?” He watches her shoulders fall and he knows instantly it was the wrong thing to say.

“I get it, James,” she says, attempting to hide her dejection. It’s the title, the legend that again stands in her way from being a regular woman. So much for him being the person who makes her forget it all. “Don’t worry about it.” She withdraws from him quickly and a little more coldly than she intended. He again opens his mouth, but doesn’t form words. “I’ll see you later,” she dismisses him and he nods. He moves to leave before trying once more to end on a friendly note.

“This is gonna be a perfect place for a fiesta.”

~~~

For a guy who all but told her no, James is sure as shit staring at her an awful lot like he wants to rip her clothes off.

“Is constant staring customary to the human mating ritual?” Garrus teases him as he pours drinks on the other side of the bar. “Because if so, you’re doing a damn good job, Jimmy.” James grimaces and throws a peanut shell at the Turian.

“Shut it, Scars.”

“He’s still convinced regs are a problem to worry about,” Steve chimes in, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

“Regs? Really?” Garrus asks. “You realize breaking regulations is pretty much Shepard’s specialty, right?” He slides the drink towards James who just shakes his head at it and passes it to Steve. “And even if it wasn’t, we’re quite possibly facing the end of the galaxy here. Who’s kissing who isn’t something anyone’s worried about, even the brass.” James mumbles something and picks at the label on his nearly full beer bottle.

He can barely see Shepard at the kitchen entrance from his spot at the end of the bar and every time she moves, his neck cranes to follow her. He’d either purposely or accidentally kept her in view all night and has spent the better part of it kicking himself for not just throwing her against a wall earlier that day.

She catches his eye and he instantly looks away, back to his bottle. She chose to wear a dress of all things tonight. A god damned dress. A little black number that fit her better than it had any right to. The woman was trying to kill him.

“Boys,” he hears her greet them casually, having approached them at the bar while he was attempting to ignore her. “How are things going?” James doesn’t hear their response. He’s too preoccupied trying to keep his eyes off of her chest as she leans her hip against the edge of the bar. “You seem quiet, Vega,” she comments.

“Just enjoying the party.” He shrugs and takes a drink of his beer, thinking about how he could kill Garrus and Steve for the look they shoot each other.

“Steve,” Garrus interrupts. “Let me show you that data pad I mentioned earlier.” Garrus had, of course, mentioned no such data pad in their prior conversations, but Steve agreed eagerly and James really thought about strangling at least one of them when they left him alone with Shepard.

“We good?” she asks him so casually that he almost feels bad.

“Yeah, why?” He takes another drink of his beer and it quickly turns into a large gulp.

“You seem to be avoiding me,” She squints and forces a smile. “And also staring, which is odd. Just want to make sure we’re good.” She takes a sip of her own drink and shifts her eyes to the Turian alcohol bottle, investigating it curiously.

James chews on his tongue for a moment. She wants them to be good. Good means normal. Normal would mean telling her those squats she’s been doing have done wonders for her ass and that was dangerous tonight.

“It help if I tell you that you look damn fine in that dress?” He never was too good at avoiding danger.

“Maybe,” She shrugs and leans forward towards him just a little. “Probably help a little more if you called me Lola.” Damn if her voice didn’t sound husky and smooth. Despite his better judgement, he followed her lead and leaned in as well, lowering his voice if nothing more than to make sure eavesdroppers wouldn’t hear.

“Well, that dress is definitely giving me ideas… Lola.” A smile breaks on her lips and he’s not entirely sure, but he thinks he sees her shiver just the slightest. He takes another long drink, but this time doesn’t take his eyes off her.

“You going to keep a girl guessing or are you going to share with the class?” She takes a step forward, getting close enough for him to notices she actually put on a light layer of perfume too. He chuckles, but curses internally.

“You’re making it real hard to remember why this is a bad idea,” he warns.

He starts listing the reasons in his head. Fraternization regs. She’s his commander. She’s fucking Commander Shepard and he’s just a nobody lieutenant who makes a shitty leader. She’s probably looking for some kind of easy fling. Distracting her like that would be selfish. It’d look bad. The rest of the crew might start to question her judgement. The list goes on and on.

“I never pegged you to be a guy who runs hot and cold,” she says, breaking his train of thought. “And yet today you’ve given more mixed signals than a broken comm transmission.”

“Sorry, Lola.” And he is, honestly. He’s a tangled-up mess of thoughts and emotions and even the little bit of alcohol he’s consumed tonight is making him think with his dick first.

“Want me to put on a wig? Change my name? Maybe lay on an accent?” He can tell by the wiggle in her eyebrows as much as the suggestion itself that she’s had a little too much to drink, but it twists his stomach in a bad way all the same. “I don’t have to be Commander Shepard for a night.” And now he feels guilty, so much so that his neck and his face turn red and he looks down again, embarrassed at himself. She gives a quick pat to his forearm. “Come find me if you change your mind.”

She grabs her drink and leaves to mingle with her other guests, leaving him alone to feel like an asshole. He could never find the right thing to say around Shepard. Not when it came to this. He wanted her and lately he had to admit it was more than just a sexual attraction. He wanted more than that, but the idea of being selfish enough to pursue Commander Shepard was intimidating. Maybe, he admits, he needs to stop separating her and realize that Commander Shepard and his Lola are one and the same. Maybe then he can stop being a dick.

“Fucking pendejo,” he whispers to himself before swiping up that Turian bottle.

~~~

She can feel the headache before she even opens her eyes. Had she really drank much last night? No, she’s sure she didn’t. She even remembers everything, including climbing into her bed after barely having the energy to change clothes.

She throws on her N7 sweatshirt and slowly treks her way to the kitchen, making sure to note all the remnants of the party, including some of her friends scattered amongst the apartment. It makes her smile.

She smells bacon as she rounds the corner and sees James at the stove already in the full throws of making breakfast. He beams a smile at her when he sees her in the doorway and flips the pan a little.

“Lola!” he greets. “Eggs?”

“You’re awful cheery,” she comments dryly, and a little bitterly, as she steps further into the kitchen. She rounds the island the stove is on and snags a piece of bacon from the plate there.

“Been a while since you knocked that many back?” he teases, watching the way her eyes squint uncomfortably. “Breakfast will help.” He shovels some of the fresh eggs onto a plate and passes it her way. She takes them gratefully and reaches for the salt. James’ hand wraps around her wrist, stopping her reach. “You really gonna do me like that?” he scolds playfully. “Add salt before you even try them? That’s my abuela’s recipe. It doesn't need more salt.” She cracks a smile, but doesn’t move her hand away just yet, the warmth of his hand feeling too comforting to pull away from. There’s a gentle swipe of his thumb over her pulse before he lets go on his own. He empties the rest of the eggs on a communal plate before clearing his throat. “Hey, let me know when you have some time,” he says. It sounds surprisingly awkward. “I’ve got something I want to talk to you about.”

~~~

Never being one to put things off, Shepard returned to her room as soon as she’d finished eating and made the rounds to make sure everyone was awake or, at the very least, breathing.

I’m in my room. Got some time. She sends the message before even making it through the door. It doesn't take more than a few seconds for him to respond.

Be up in a minute.

She makes herself busy with her omni-tool while she waits. She feels a bit like a fool, practically throwing herself at him a second time only to be left alone again last night. She wouldn’t blame him if he came to talk to her about how uncomfortable she had made him.

She’s left the door open for him, but he still gives it a gentle knock to get her attention when he arrives.

“Nice room,” he comments, sticking his head over the threshold and looking around. “Bit different than the Normandy. Less fish.” He cracks a smile at her and the simple gesture puts her at ease a little. He can’t be pissed at her if he’s still making jokes, right?

“You’re just jealous you don’t have fish in your room.” She isn’t about to admit that she actually misses the blue glow and gentle whir of the filter when she falls asleep. Not right now at least.

“Yeah, well, maybe we should trade rooms sometime.”

Or maybe we could share mine. Shepard physically bites her tongue to stop herself from saying it aloud. Still unsure of exactly where they stand and just how awkward she made things for him, it is not the time to let the flirtations rise up that quickly.

He takes her brief silence to enter the room and close the door behind him. That makes her a little nervous, but not nearly as much as when he says, “So... we should talk about last night.”

“I owe you an apology, Lieutenant,” she says instantly, nearly cutting him off. The way she snaps back to professionalism with a straight back, pushed down shoulders, and a commanding tone makes him pause for a moment, his eyes widening just a fraction. “I was inappropriate with you and should not have taken advantage of my rank.” It takes an extra moment for her apology to sink in and his brow furrows as he sorts it through his brain.

“What? No!” he huffs and takes two large, hurried steps her way. She must not have held her surprise well enough because he suddenly stops again. “Lola,” he sighs. “I didn’t come here to... register a complaint.” His face crunches up as though he doesn’t like the way the word taste. “I came to apologize to you,” he says firmly. “And hopefully not fuck up my words this time.”

The intensity in his eyes and the way he’s not shying away from her makes Shepard feel like she’s a young girl again. Any and all experience she has with men and relationships seems to just melt away and suddenly she’s got butterflies and a blush. There’s a nervous heat in her stomach that makes it hard to regain her composure.

“Okay,” she says slowly, not completely sure of where he’s going, but hoping to every God in the galaxy that he’s not turning her down again.

“I can’t hook up with you.” The butterflies die and the excited heat turns to an anger.

“I promise you don’t have to reject me again for me to understand.” She says it harshly, bitterly even. She barely manages to contain throwing her arms in the air when she turns away from him, moving towards the desk in the corner as if she has something better to do. She hears him mutter under his breath and while her Spanish is terrible, the inflection makes it sound like a string of curses.

“Shepard!” He follows her footsteps and when she spins to sit in the desk chair, his arm is extended as though he reached out for her just a moment too late. “I can’t hook up with you,” he emphasizes. “I can’t do just one night and that’s what would have happened last night. Would have been a drunken hook up that one of us or both of us would have brushed off in the morning. I don’t want that.” Her anger starts to dissolve and her spine loses some of its rigidness as she slinks back into her chair.

“What do you want then?” she asks, voice softer and quieter now. She’s afraid of the answer. He chews on his tongue and grinds his jaw and she wonders if maybe he’s afraid too.

“You,” he finally says.

“You sure about that?” She can’t help but scoff. “I am Commander Shepard, after all.”

“Yeah, you are.” His sigh this time seems more like a pained groan. Shepard watches carefully as he turns and sits himself on her unmade bed. “Which is why it feels completely selfish and impossible to ask you to commit to anything more, let alone to an insignificant lieutenant like me.”

“Commit?” She suddenly feels lighter again.

“When I go for something, I go all in,” he tells her. “That would include you...this...us.” He waves his hand out awkwardly and avoids her eyes as though he’s nervous. She bites down on her lip to swallow down the smile. She knows it’s not exactly fair to enjoy his nervousness, but at least it’s not just her. She slowly pushes herself up from her chair.

“You’re not insignificant,” she assures him.

“I’m not some hero of the galaxy,” he admits. He doesn’t say it with a self-conscious, but rather states it just as a simple fact. “I haven’t been with you since the beginning like most of these guys.”

“You know that’s one of the things I like about you James?” He looks up at her curiously. “Sure, you’ve heard the stories, but we didn't meet on the ship in the midst of wars. We met on Earth.” She rounds the desk slowly, walking closer to where he sits still using caution in case he backs out. “You didn’t just get to know Commander Shepard. You got to know Jane, to know me. You treat me like I’m human.”

“You are human, Lola.” He’s not looking away from her now and it gives her a little burst of confidence.

“Yeah. What was it you said? Just flesh and blood?” There’s a tease of a smirk on her lips as she comes to stand in front of him, legs stopping just short of slipping between the gap of his spread knees. He chuckles and the weight of everything starts to lift.

“You sure about this, Lola?” He reaches out and curls his hand around her hip. It's the first time he’s ever really touched her and it makes her heart skip just a little. She leans into his touch, pushing her hip into his palm and leans forward to put her hands on his shoulders. He feels solid beneath her and she can’t resist the need to squeeze just a little, to feel the muscles at the end of her fingers.

“I’ve thought about it in great detail.” He cocks an eyebrow at her and tugs her in-between his legs. He watches her with an unbridled desire in his eyes and for the first time in a long time, she feels real excitement. She traces one hand up the side of his neck so she can run his fingers along his jaw. “That party shouldn’t be the last bit of happiness we get to indulge in.”

He moves quickly; his hand on the back of her neck before she knew he moved it, using barely any strength to pull her down to him. She follows him easily, all too eager to kiss him heatedly. Months of suppressed desires pour out into each other and for the first few moments, they merely hold onto each other and soak in the relief of letting go. And then James’ hands start moving, pulling her closer and sliding over the curve of her ass. Shepard is compliant and carefully climbs into his lap, one knee on either side of his hips on her bed. He bites gently at her bottom lip before using a hand on her jaw to tilt her head back, allowing him to kiss down her neck.

Eyes closed and succumbing to the pleasure he’s offering, Shepard is unprepared for when James moves again. He rolls to the side and pushes her onto her back on the bed. She lets out an actual squeak of surprise and James chuckles, still pressing kisses to her skin. With her legs still around his waist, his hips grind almost unconsciously and she doesn’t hold back her moan.

James peels himself away from her slowly, leaving a cold trail of air where his body had been on top of her. She opens her eyes and glares at him, but the smirk still on his face and the bulge she manages to catch a glimpse of through his pants, make sure no fear of rejection rises back in her.

“And where are you going?” she asks, attempting and failing to use her Commander tone. She tries again after clearing her throat and pushing herself up on her elbows. “You’re not leaving this room for a while.” James laughs and flashes her a smile as he keeps walking to the door.

“Is that an order?” he teases, pressing the lock for the door and waiting until it flashes red before turning back to her.

“You bet your ass it is.” She smiles back at him. She could have locked the door from right here with her omni-tool and he knew it. He was just being a teasing bastard. “You’re not leaving her until I say so.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he laughs again before coming back to her.

#james vega #shega #shega imagine #femshep x vega #Shepard/James Vega Imagine #James Vega Imagine #mass effect #mass effect imagine #femshep

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neon-junkie · 4 years

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Duality - Chpts 1,2&3

Summary: There's a handful of things you hate, like the men who continue to pester you at the Saloon after you've told them no, or the way strangers look at you when you decide to wear pants. But the one thing you hate that most is Micah Bell. But if you hate him so much, then why are you allowing him to wrap his hand around your neck as he grinds his crotch down against yours? Is he using you? or are you using him?

Pairing: Micah Bell x f!Reader

Word Count: 8837 (ongoing work)

Rating: NSFW Warnings: Depictions of Violence (Reader is fine)

Tags: Dead Dove: Do not eat, Fights/Arguments, Slow burn, Hate sex, Enemies with benefits, Enemies to lovers, Pity sex, Vaginal sex, Outdoor sex, Creampies, Blood kink, Knives, Choking, Breath play, Rough/Manhandling, Heists & Robberies, Nipple sucking/licking, Making out, Sloppy kisses, Dirty talking, Grinding.

Notes: This fic was inspired by the gang of children that recently decided to start hurdling abuse at me simply because I enjoy Micah character. If he bad then why he make my pussy go brr?? I ain't ever gonna stop writing for him, somebody's gotta love the ratman so I guess I'll volunteer as tribute. This piece is inspired by @deputytrash and their work called ‘Micah Bell is a Rat Bastard,’ that I can’t actually link here because Tumblr hates links:))) so please go stalk them for the original fic. shoutout to all the other Micah fuckers out there; we're kinda fucked up but hey, we ain't hurting anybody<3

[Chapter 4]

Some men are born with the purest of hearts; they're full of good intentions, kindness, willingness to help others. They want to see the world go round, they enjoy watching the days go by with their loved ones around them. They want nothing more than love and equality, happiness for everyone, and they strive to achieve that. Those men, such as Arthur, are ones that you obviously enjoy for such reasons, and you enjoy watching them on the sideline, smiling at the way they make everyone happy. You've tried dating those men before and something felt... off about them, almost fake; you wish to enjoy such relationships with the purest of men, but you've never been able to sit in that saddle comfortably. The leather smells off and something constantly jabs at your tailbone. It's fine, honestly, to not sit comfortably in that saddle. Others can enjoy those men, ones who deserve them, ones who are just as pure and wholesome as those men they seek out. You're happy for them, you enjoy seeing them enjoy each others company, they really do deserve it. Only that leaves you with the problem of 'who the hell am I meant to fall for?' There are others who are sometimes split down the middle, with good and bad intentions, men such as Dutch who eventually crack under so much pressure, as expected. But these men have never really taken your fancy either. You curse the Gods for creating you with no intentions to seek out those pure of heart, or even slightly pure of heart. Why can't you be considered normal? You're a good person, yet you don't long for someone as good as you.

Instead, those who have only ever walked the darker path take your fancy. Those men who have no good intentions in them, who only look out for themselves and sometimes (but rarely) the few people closest to them, if you're stupid enough to get close to them, to begin with. You enjoy the challenge, you enjoy taming the beast, being the one person that someone so wild can trust. It's a generic trope that you've read in romance novels where the princess falls for the villain, but they always seem to have the happiest of endings? and the stories themselves are so juicy, so rich and full of layers. The generic happy couple trope gets so boring, nothing to read into. But if you're given a story about a well-layered villain who softens out within time then you'll eat said story off the dirt if you have to, it's always so rich and fulfilling, though you never expected to end up in one. "Which book are you reading today?" Mary-Beth asks you as she joins you on the beach, leaning back against the log you're leaning against. You do miss sitting on the cliff at Horseshoe Overlook, peering up at the landscape whenever your eyes need a break from being so engulfed in whatever book you were reading. But there's something just as good as looking out at the water, hearing the waves lapping against the shore as you read, enjoying the river breeze on a hot Lemoyne day. "The same as last time, that one centered around the villain," you tell her, your eyes momentarily peeking up to watch as she sits down beside you. "Still? Oh, you and your dark fiction," Mary-Beth replies with a laugh. She'd given your book that nickname after you explained the plot to her. Mary-Beth, as wholesome and pure as she is, couldn't quite understand why you'd get so engulfed in a book where the princess falls for the villain, completely ignoring the stud hero and running off with the bad guy instead. After explaining how layered the villain was, and how his actions were the result of past trauma, she somewhat understood but decided that she's happy with her sappy romance novels. That's understandable, your taste isn't for everyone, and you'd both agreed on that. "Like I said, I just find it more interesting," you reply, your eyes trailing over to the landscape. "Which book have you got?" you ask. "Oh, the same still. I've almost finished it! The poor man in it has finally been turned away from that woman, though they're both in love," she replies. "But from what you've told me, she's not exactly... the best person in the world?" you ask. "I guess not. Maybe I am into a little bit of dark fiction then, hm?" Mary-Beth questions with a soft laugh, finally opening her book to pick up from where she left off. "Maybe-" you begin to speak, but the sound of shouting draws your attention back to camp. You and Mary-Beth peer over your shoulders to watch the commotion in the distance. Ugh. It's Micah again, screaming at Bill for being so kind to the poor dog Jack had found, Cain. He's hollering away, something about not being soft on strays, that they'll only follow you around for food, whatever. You try to hold in your laughter when Micah does the last thing you'd expect, literally barking at Bill before storming off. "That man sure is evil," Mary-Beth comments. "I still ain't sure why Dutch allows him to follow us around, a bit like Cain really," she frowns, turning her gaze away. "He is, funny that he can't see just how much of a dog he is," you laugh along, returning your focus back to your book. "Has he bothered you again recently?" she questions, knowing that your last run-in with him was only a few days ago. "No, he ain't spoke to me, he ain't even looked at me." "Good, probably because he's still got that black eye you gave him," Mary-Beth replies, trying to hold back on her laughter. "Well, he did deserve it." Micah had pestered you a few days ago, stirring up some shit simply because he was bored. You were sat by yourself in camp, playing a solo game of solitaire whilst the wind was quiet, your cards not blowing away for once. He waltzed over, as always, looking like he owned the place; he only acts that way because he sucks up to Dutch, a bit of a teachers' pet, though he's definitely never stepped foot in a school. "Hey," Micah says to you. Well, you were unsure if he was speaking to you as your head was down, focused on the cards, so Micah quickly snapped when you didn't reply. "I said hey. You deaf?" he asks, lightly tapping the back of your shoulder. You let out a long sigh as you roll your eyes and look up. "I didn't know you were speaking to me, Micah," you reply. "Well, who else would I be speaking to, doll? There ain't anyone else around here," Micah says with a laugh, waving his hands about to gesture that nobody was nearby. "I can see that now," you sigh. You begin to put your cards away, knowing that if Micah's here then there's no way you'll be able to play this game in peace. Whatever, you were stumped anyway, considering calling this game quits, and Micahs appearance had encouraged you to do so. "What're you doing?" Micah questions. "I was playing solitaire," you reply, shuffling the cards back together and returning them to their container, an old mints tin that you found fits the cards much better than their old paper box. "And why have you packed up, hm? Is it 'cause I'm here?" Micah asks, knowing the answer. "It is," you say as you stand and put the tin in your pocket, beginning to walk off. The last person you ever want to talk to is Micah, but it seems he really wants to talk to you as he begins to follow you. "Where're you going? I ain't that bad. I know we don't exactly get along but you can't fault me for trying to right these wrongs with you," Micah begins, playing the white knight card as always, batting his lashes as if he hasn't made a handful of remarks towards you in the past, ensuring there's a thick barrier between the two of you. "I ain't interested in making friends with you, Micah. Now leave me be," you snap back, picking up the pace as you storm past Dutch's tent, hoping he'd pick up on the small commotion but his head is buried deep in his current Evelyn Miller book. "Such mean words coming from such a pretty face," Micah pouts, still on your trail, letting out his generic laugh. "Wouldn't you rather have friends than enemies?" "I'd rather have nothing to do with you, Micah," you tell him as you come to a halt, stopping in the dead center of camp. If Micah won't leave you alone then hopefully someone will step in, as their eyes had begun to peer over to the commotion; even Dutch has put his book down. "Easy there, sweetheart," Micah coos with his generic laugh. He goes to speak again but you're quick to cut him off. "I ain't your sweetheart, Micah. Quit calling me those names," you huff. "Of course, you ain't. I like a bit of fire in my women but you're just a bit too reckless for my taste," Micah tells you, his tone slowly turning to frustrated. He's quit the innocent act, lowering his hands as he had them raised as he followed you throughout the camp. If he can't win you over then he'll ensure you never even slightly consider him a friend, beginning to insult you to burn whatever was left of that bridge. "Good, I'd hate to be your taste. What an unlucky woman she must be for the likes of you to have eyes on her." Micah lets out another laugh as he takes a step closer to you, a little too close, and you're quick to cut him off before he can open his mouth. "Back off, Micah. Don't you try and get close to me," you order him. "Why not, hm? You scared someone is finally gonna put a woman like you back in her-" That's enough. Without hesitation, you clench your fist and swing for that vermin of a man, if you can even be kind enough to call him a man to begin with. You were aiming for his nose but hit his cheekbone instead, which is just as good as his eye had swollen up from the impact. Micah stumbled back and hit the ground with the most satisfying thud you'd ever heard, the sound still making you smile whenever you think about it. You didn't stick around much after that, burning the image of Micah lying on the floor clutching his eye into your memory before turning heel and marching off, wandering off into the trees so you could cool yourself off and devilishly admire your bruised knuckles. You refused to bandage them up, even after Charles had practically begged you, but you were eager to show off your trophy, even flaunting it at Micah from a distance whenever he came into your line of sight. His eyes hadn't met yours since, but you could feel his burning glare on you whenever you two were within ten feet of each other. You'd even overheard him attempting to bitch about you to Kieran, who simply nodded along to prevent himself from getting pulled into this mess. Needless to say, you and Micah do not get along. There's a handful of camp members that don't get along, but your burning hatred for each other seems to stand out the most. You're always eager to step in whenever Micahs attempting to chew someone's ear off, and he always gives you that same laugh as he attempts to mock you, but he often turns heel and storms away, calling you a bitch or whatever petty insult he has on his mind. But since that interaction, Micah has stayed well clear of you. Dutch probably told him to stop pestering you after you'd almost knocked his lights out, though you doubt that as Dutch ended up doing something that only seemed to make your 'friendship' worse. ----------- Another day, another dollar, or whatever the civilized phrase is. It's a quote you've heard within towns and cities, something bosses drill into the minds of their workers to stop them from realizing that they're being used as workhorses for less than pennies. At least out here you can work on your own terms, your only boss is Dutch and he always ensures that everybody gets a fair cut. Why slave away in a factory when you can rob some folk that needs robbing and make a few hundred off them? Dutch has a heist planned for you today, one that he says needs a woman touch. Karen is the only other gunwoman in the camp but Dutch has told you that she's a little too reckless for the job. Dutch knows that Sadie is also a gunwoman but she's still in mourning, arguing with Pearson every so often, but she isn't ready to step up to that rank yet. "And that's why I need you for this job. It's genric and old fashioned of us, but there's a payroll heading up into Rhodes and I was thinking you could play the damsel in distress, hunched over at the roadside, pouting sweetly as you ask them for a ride into town," Dutch tells you outside his tent, a week or so after your last run-in with Micah. "And if they don't stop?" you question. "Why would they not stop? A pretty lady such as yourself asking for a ride? When they're already heading that way? They must be some cold-hearted folk in order to turn down such a simple request," Dutch explains. "What will you and the others be doing?" "We'll be hiding nearby, waiting for that opportunity to rob them. Once you're on board then they should hand over the cash, I don't see why they'd want a poor innocent woman to be hurt. Hosea will be waiting in Rhodes to bring you back to camp, and you won't need your guns for the job. A kind, working woman such as yourself wouldn't carry them anyway," Dutch replies with a grin, stubbing out his cigar with the toe of his shoes. The plan seems simple enough, and what have you got to lose? So, you agree to the heist, heading into your tent so you can change your appearance to look like the average working woman. You dress in a simple skirt and shirt, your hair neat and your makeup simple, just how the women in Rhodes dress. Arthur gives you a ride to the location, your horse staying back at camp, as well as your guns. You feel a little uneasy heading out of camp without them, but the boys are hiding behind what's left of a wall nearby. You overheard Arthur protesting with Dutch, saying they shouldn't be robbing folk so close to camp, but Dutch assured them that this would be fine. Dutch has brought along Arthur and Lenny, and unfortunately, Micah, who still hasn't spoken a word to you, but his eye is now unfortunately better. Dutch didn't even mention to you that Micah would be coming along, seeing as your paths weren't meant to cross. This was meant to be a simple holdup job after all, only this gang seems to be cursed as things always go wrong. You're walking along the road, acting as if you're exhausted. The sound of a wagon approaching can be heard, and you peer over your shoulder to see it coming into view. You begin to wave your arms, signaling for them to stop, and thankfully, they do. "Are you alright, Miss?" one of the men questions, the one driving the wagon. There are two more men on horseback behind them, not many guns for a wagon that's carrying payroll. "I do apologize to ask such a request but my horse bucked me a while back, I'm only trying to head into town. Are you heading that way? Would you be able to give me a ride?" you question. You play out the usual body language, slouched shoulders, batting your lashes, and pouting your bottom lip. This is a mans world, after all, but you know exactly how to play the game. The driver and the shotgun speak to themselves quietly, clearly bickering about the fact that they're carrying payroll, but they eventually come to an agreement. "You're welcome to climb on the back of one of the horses, though we can't let you on the wagon, Miss," he replies. Well, that's good enough, at least you're still somewhat of a hostage. "Oh, thank you! I really appreciate it!" you smile sweetly, heading over to the nearest hired gunmen and climbing on the back, loosely holding onto his shirt as you get comfortable on the horse's rear. They return to their journey, barely making it a few meters down the road when one of those slimy Lemoyne Raiders appears from behind a boulder and attempts to hold them at gunpoint. Your eyes peer over to where the gang is hiding and thankfully, Dutch steps in, one gun pointed at the driver and the other at the rival gang member. You're still unsure on what Lemoyne Raiders are. Inbred? Wannabe military? Either way, they're stupid enough to fire without warning, and completely miss Dutch, though Dutch doesn't miss him. The plan goes to shit and you're caught in the middle of the gang war, your gang and the Lemoyne Raiders fighting each other, as well as the wagon. The gunman that you were holding onto slouches over his saddle, a bullet ripping through his side, thankfully missing you. You think Arthur had shot him, but either way, you're pushing his body off and stealing his horse, riding out from the commotion. What help are you now without your guns? It's best that you run away and fast. As you near the camp, you notice a small group of white hats approaching round the bend - lawmen, so you decide to keep riding forward towards Braithwait Manor, dipping off into the trees before they can notice you. You'll find somewhere to hide out until nightfall, riding through the thick forest until you find a shack down south, close to Shady Belle, but far enough from the commotion so the law shouldn't tread down here. The stolen horse is hitched by a tree and you're about to head inside, but the sound of hooves approaching startles you. You hide behind the tree, not providing much cover, but hopefully enough so you can decide how to approach the incoming stranger. If it's a lawman then you can simply burst into tears whilst saying that the horse bolted and you couldn't steer it up into Rhodes, and if it's a fellow gang member then you'll be fine. Well, it is a gang member, just you were hoping for anybody but Micah. He slows Baylock to a halt as you come into his line of sight, stepping out from behind the tree looking like an angry kitten. "You alright?" Micah asks, swinging his leg over the saddle and hopping off his mount. "Go away, go find somewhere else to hide. Shoo," you wave your hands at him, only making Micah laugh instead. "What's a matter? Can't I hide here with you?" he questions as he approaches you. "No, you can't. Go bother someone else, you're the last person I'd ever want to hide from the law with," you huff. Micah isn't budging, he continues to approach you until he's stood in front of you, grinning from ear to ear as he lets out that awful chuckle of his. "You don't mean that. Besides, how're you gonna defend yourself without your guns, huh?" Micah questions, resting his hands on his gunbelt. "Well, you know that I can swing a punch, can't you, Micah?" you tease, giving him a smug smile which wipes the grin off his face, turning into a frown. "And here I was just tryna look out for you. Nasty thing, aren't you?" Micah spits. "I am, and I ain't welcoming to you, Micah," you huff again, resting your hands on your hips. "Now, I'm gettin' real sick of the way you talk to me, girl. I ain't been nothin' but nice to you," Micah tuts, taking another step towards you. He's pressed up far too close to your chest, puffing his own out as his icy blue eyes scowl into yours. "You may be a big girl in the eyes of Dutch, but you ain't to me." "I don't care, Micah. I don't need your approval, nor your company, so scram!" This time, Micah goes for you, reaching out to grip ahold of your arm. He takes a firm grasp of you but before you can find out what he was planning on doing, you're pushing him away, shoving him back by the chest. He stumbles backwards but doesn't slump to the ground, catching his own fall as he glares at you. His death glare makes your face turn sour and you begin to foresee that one of you isn't going to make it back to camp. Micah lunges for you again, grabbing onto your shoulders as he begins to try and tackle you to the ground. You manage to shove him off and land a punch to the same cheekbone, only it's not enough to stop him. He continues to fight you, eventually managing to shove you to the floor. He tries to climb onto you, attempting to pin you to the ground but you land a swift kick to his baby balls. He lets out a choke as his body goes limp and you jump at the opportunity to shove him onto his back, pinning him down instead. Micah attempts to grab onto you but you're quick, taking his own knife from its holster and pinning it beneath Micahs chin. He stops, freezing up and removing his hands from you, lying in the dirt with his swollen eye locked onto yours. There's silence, no words spoken from either of you, just heavy panting and the sound of the trees rustling. Micah licks his lips, tasting the blood that has trailed down from his nose, and eventually speaks. "Go on, girl. Do it," he tells you, his Adam's apple bouncing against the blade as he speaks. You don't reply, so Micah jumps down your throat again. "I said do it! Show me what a big girl you are," he says with a laugh. "If I am to kill you then I'd rather do it with my bare hands," you spit at him, pressing the knife sharply on his neck. From the way Micah attempts to flinch back, you're certain you've managed to cut him. Good, he deserves it. "Do it then. Go on, get rid of me already. Just do everyone a favour," Micah replies, his hands raising yet again, doing that generic innocent pose even as he has a knife held to his throat. As much as you'd love to, you know the consequences for killing other camp members. You could say he died in combat but Dutch knows that Micah can take on a bunch of Lemoyne Raiders with his eyes closed. Plus, it's far too suspicious for you to be the one breaking the 'bad' news. But you might as well scare some sense into Micah, maybe choke him unconscious then bail back to camp before he can wake. Hopefully, he'll finally get it into his thick skull to stay away from you, though you doubt it, but at least you'll have fun. You remove Micahs own knife from his neck, stabbing it into the earth beside his head. He watches you with wide eyes, attempting to look at his knife but you grip onto his throat. You know how to choke someone to death, and you know how to choke someone unconscious, so you go for the second option and tighten your grip under his jawline, avoiding his windpipe so that he doesn't stop breathing. He lets out a choked exhale as you begin jabbing your fingers into his throat, pushing more than hard enough to eventually knock his lights out. You know you look a mess, covered in dirt with scruffed up hair, a glare on your face that could easily kill a man; Micah looks up at you through half-lidded eyes, keeping his gaze locked onto yours as he attempts to breathe. You can hear the pressure on his throat with every breath, his lips remaining parted, blood still trickling from his nose, and his eye swelling up more by the second. His clothes are just as dirty as yours, his hat has fallen off his head a long time ago, his white pants are almost brown from rolling in the dirt, and his red shirt is missing a few buttons from where you've grabbed him. Micahs parted lips quickly turn into a grin as his eyes begin to fall shut. You've never seen him pull a face like this, but he looks... pleasurable. He somehow has enough energy to reach up and grip onto the waistband of your skirt, trailing his fingertips along the band before settling each hand firmly on your hips. He's... enjoying this, isn't he? Your thoughts are confirmed when Micah opens his eyes again; his pupils are blown, wide and full of lust, gazing up at you like a piece of meat, ready to pounce on you (if he could.) You want to feel sick. Why don't you feel sick? Why isn't your stomach turning at the sight of Micah taking pleasure in your attempt to kill him? You push down harder on his neck, wishing you were gripping onto his windpipe instead. His smile eventually fades away, his eyes rolling shut as he lets out slower muffled breaths. His grip on your hips falls limp and you know he's finally unconscious. This was meant to be the part where you run, heading back to camp before he can wake, praying he never even looks at you ever again. But you remove your hand from his throat, noticing how his body twitches as he begins to breaths properly again, and using the same hand that you just choked him with, you land a harsh slap right across his face. It's loud and sharp enough that it echoes throughout the forest, startling the horses and scaring a few birds away. You instantly regret your decision, your hand throbbing from how hard you slapped him, but the way Micah jolts awake gives you a sickly satisfaction. He begins coughing, propping himself up on his elbows as he attempts to catch his breath. You don't move off him, sitting back on your knees, his legs beneath yours, watching in delight as he returns to the conscious word. Micah lies back down, his deep breaths eventually turning into a chuckle as his eyes meet yours. "I knew you were just like me," Micah says with a sniff, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. His nose is still bleeding, turning his moustache red, and now his cheek as he's smeared his own blood across his face. "I knew you were sick..." he laughs. "I ain't sick, Micah," you frown. "If you ain't then you won't enjoy this-" Micah somehow has enough energy to flip your bodies over, pinning you down to the ground, narrowly missing his knife that is still jabbed into the dirt. You attempt to push him off, trying to kick him in the balls again but he's pinned you down as well as you had pinned him down. He does exactly what you feared he'd do, wrapping his own rough hand around your neck, pressing on those spots under your jawline that you unfortunately enjoy. You try and fight it, attempting to gulp down air, attempting to push him off. But the more you fight him, the more he holds you down, and the more you find yourself enjoying it. "Give in to it, sweetheart. Just let it happen," he tells you, the words that you didn't want to hear, but only because they're sickly yet tempting. Micah adjusts his grip and finally hits the nail in the coffin, your mind turning cloudy, the blood pulsating through your brain. That feeling in your stomach begins to burn, trailing down your body and making your pussy clench. You hate this man so much, yet you're allowing him to do this to you. "Atta girl," Micah praises you as you stop fighting him, letting your eyes shut and your mouth part. You're weak enough for Micah to shift his weight, parting your thighs with his knees and sitting between them after he bunches your skirt up. One hand remains on your neck whilst the under sneaks underneath your waist, pulling your hips up onto his knees. His crotch pushes against yours, his hand trailing over your clothed thigh, moving up to your knee as he adjusts your legs so they're wrapped around his waist. For some reason, you cross your ankles, only encouraging him to grind his crotch against yours, rutting his hard-on against your pussy. The mewl that escapes your lips is definitely accidental, but Micah tilts his head up to let out a hum of approval as he watches the colour continue to drain from your face. "Such a pretty sound coming from that pretty face of yours. You're goin' pale tho, darlin'. Least you ain't still spittin' venom at me," Micah smirks. The blood from his nose drips down onto your own face, painting your cheek, and the sight of his blood on you makes his pupils turn wide again, licking his lips as he finally removes his hand from your throat. You gasp, gulping down air, letting out a few coughs as you manage to fill your lungs back up. Micah barely gives you enough time to come back to reality before he's crashing his lips against yours, pinning your hands on either side of your head, grinding his crotch down hard against yours. You let out a whimper as he manages to brush his crotch perfectly against your clit, making him chuckle against your lips as he kisses you. Are you kissing him back? Unfortunately so, but only because the taste of his blood on his lips is making your arousal grow, and he's grinding against you far too perfectly to ignore. You eventually lap away at his blood, his nosebleed finally coming to a halt, and the feeling of his prickly moustache becomes more and more prominent. It's far too annoying for you to make out with him and ignore it, and it eventually irritates you to a point that you break the kiss. "What'cha stopping for?" Micah pouts, halting his grinding for the moment. "Your 'stache is too long, it's itchy," you tell him. "Well, I'll make sure it's trimmed for next time," Micah replies as he rolls his eyes. "There ain't gonna be a next time, Micah," you scowl back. "Oh, that so?" Micah chuckles, doubting your claim. "Well, I'll just have to make this worthwhile," he informs you. Micah moves his hands off your wrists, sitting up on his knees and pulling his knife out of the ground. He wipes the dirt off on his jeans then grips onto your undergarments, pulling the fabric away from your skin so he can slice down the crotch, ripping apart the garment and leaving a large hole right in the middle of them. "Micah!" you snap as you sit up on your elbows. "I'll buy you a new pair," Micah monotonously replies, a large lack of sympathy in his voice. You could have sworn he rolled his eyes as well. He holsters his knife and rips apart the hole even more, almost ripping the garment in two, exposing your pussy for his pleasure. Micah hums in appreciation as he gazes at the sight, pushing your thighs apart as he dips his head down and spits onto your folds. You'd be lying if you said you didn't enjoy it, and Micah picks up on the glisten in your eyes as he straightens his back up and begins to unfasten his pants, leaving his gunbelt on the ground beside you. Micah pulls out his cock, an average looking one, rock hard and flushed pink at the tip. You're surprised that his pubes are neatly trimmed, just as dirty blonde as his hair, but he keeps his pubes neater for whatever reason. He ruts his cock over your folds, slicking himself up with his spit and your juices; to say you aren't wet is also a lie, you've been soaking the second he put his hand around your throat. Micah finally pushes into you, slow and steady, letting out an "ooh" once he's fully sheathed inside of you. "It's always tighter if I don't finger you," he comments, licking his lips as he moves his hands underneath each knee, spreading your legs apart as far as he wants. Why are you allowing this man to fuck you? You're not sure, though you don't regret it, especially when he begins to thrust into you, surprising you with the way he rolls his hips, the tip of his cock hitting that spot inside of you with every thrust. If someone had told you this morning that you'd end up spending the evening with Micah Bell thrusting inside of you, after the two of you had had a fight and ended up aroused by it, then you probably would have punched them too after informing them that they're drunk. But here you are, allowing Micah to fuck you senseless, pounding you into the dirt as he lets out surprisingly pleasant sounds. "Shit!" you gasp as Micah shifts his weight, moving his hands off your knees to wrap around your waist. He pulls you up into his lap, lifting your ass off the floor and angling your body perfectly so he's directly hitting your g-spot with every roll of his hips. Micah's fucking you like a rabbit, fast and unforgiving, eager to make your walls tighten around him so he can fill you up with his cum. Micah begins to bare his teeth, hissing through them as he pounds you. You're a moaning mess beneath him, not holding back on the volume of your moans as nobody is nearby, and your volume level is filling Micahs ego more and more by the second. "That's a good girl," he tells you, his hazy eyes meeting yours. "I always knew you'd be a good fuck, the feisty ones always are," he chuckles. You roll your eyes at his comment, making him laugh instead. Ugh. That stupid laugh of his, the one he always drags out only because he knows it gets on everyone's nerves. You think fast, moving one hand back onto his throat to cut that dreadful sound out. His lips remain parted, slightly smiling as he continues to fuck you, enjoying that irritated glisten to your eyes. You tighten your grip on his throat, forcing a choked moan from Micahs lips. Micah's already hunched over you but you pull him down to your level, speaking right against his lips as you order him to "fuck me harder." "With pleasure," Micah manages to reply, gasping and straightening his back the second you let go of his throat. Micah keeps one arm underneath your waist, holding you firmly on his lap, whilst the other moves between your legs. His hand rests on your stomach, his thumb moving down to begin massaging your clit, flicking the bud in circles, his cock throbbing every time your muscles begin to shake. He's returned to letting out moans, followed by the occasional grunt through gritted teeth. You've seen Micah come undone before, you've seen that feral look in his eyes as he loses his cool and guns down an army of people. But this? This was a different look, just as feral but fueled by a mixture of lust and spite. Is he just using you for a fuck? Yes, but you're doing the same with him. And do you think you'll end up fucking him again? Possibly, but only if you can watch the life drain from his face again. It's sickeningly arousing, but Micah seems to enjoy it too. "You're gonna make me cum," you sigh, your thigh muscles beginning to shake, your eyes scrunching shut as your head rolls back in the dirt. "I know," Micah confidently replies, rubbing his thumb even firmer against your clit. What a cocky piece of shit, though you admire the confidence. You can't believe you're moaning his name as you orgasm, panting and shaking, wrapping your legs even tighter around Micahs waist as he pushes his cock deep inside of you and earns his own release. His hands grip onto your hips, his forehead eventually slumping on your chest as he pants and groans, filling you up with god knows how many months worth of cum, maybe longer, depending on whoever else has been stupid enough to sleep with him. Micah eventually straightens his back and pulls out of you, letting your legs slip from around his waist as you untangle your body from his. He looks debauched, his hair and clothes scruffy and dirty, not to mention the dried blood smeared across his face and moustache. You're certain you look just as bad, spending your evening rolling about in the dirt with the man you hate the most. Hate? Or hated? as you somewhat like the sight of Micah like this. Maybe you could tolerate him under these terms, and only under these terms. You attempt to sort your appearance out as you stand up, stretching your legs, hearing your knees click after being bent for so long. Micah does the same as he pulls himself up, tucking his cock away then picking his hat up. He whistles for Baylock who had wandered off into the forest, probably not wanting to be around... that. The horse you'd stolen has managed to unhitch itself and disappear, and you honestly don't blame them, but that means the only way back is hitching a ride off Micah or walking for an hour. "Looks like you're riding with me," Micah tells you. "I don't want to be seen trailing into camp with you, not when we both look like this," you tell him as he mounts Baylock. "How's about I drop you off on the edge of camp then spend a few hours away? Would that make you happy?" Micah offers, holding out his hand at the same time. "It would," you tell him, swatting his hand away and climbing up onto Baylock on your own terms. "So, you'll let me fuck you but won't even take my hand?" Micah chuckles as he clicks his tongue, letting Baylock go at a soft pace as you ride side-saddle. "Yep, and don't forget that you owe me new underwear," you remind him. "Oh, I won't forget to buy you some new panties, Miss. I'll buy you a whole set of lingerie if it means I get to cut it off your body," Micah teases but you know he's serious. "If that's what you want," you reply with a shrug. "You'd let me?" he questions, peering over his shoulder at you. "I would," you reply. For some reason, you lick your thumb and attempt to wipe some of the dried blood from his cheek. Maybe the sight bothers you, but Micah doesn't seem to mind as he lets you clean him up, his eyes occasionally flicking onto the road. "You wanna give me a kiss when you're done with cleaning me up?" Micah asks with a smirk. "No," you frown, pushing his face away from yours. He laughs as he looks forward, returning his focus back to driving. You and Micah don't speak another word on the short journey back, apart from a "thanks," from you as you slide off Baylock. He drops you on the edge of the forest, letting you walk down the path back into Clemens Point. You manage to sneak back into the camp; the only person who saw you in your state was Charles who simply said "I won't ask," when you gave him a look that said 'please don't.' You feel much better once you've cleaned yourself up and got cozy in bed, though your body aches from fucking in the dirt, and you're almost certain you're going to have bruises around your neck by the time morning is here. But the fresh memory of having hate sex with Micah only seems to arouse you again; just like Micah said, you are sick, just as sick as him. But if this unspoken arrangement is a good way of letting out anger then why not continue it? --------------- It's been a week since your accidental encounter with Micah. He's still not replaced your underwear, nor has he spoken a word to you, but you've picked up on those disgustingly arousing glances he sends you from across the camp. You've been tempted to chew his ear out about not paying you back yet, but he's not been in camp often, and when he has been in camp, it's been during the day and around others. The bastard knows what he's doing, and he definitely knows that you're still angry that he hasn't repaid you yet. You've been assigned guard duty tonight, doing lap after lap around the outskirts of the camp until 3am, which is when you can tap Bill awake and send him on his way to take over. Well, 3am is here and that's exactly what you're doing, prodding Bill awake and handing him the shotgun. You somehow didn't notice that Baylock had appeared amongst the horses, but you do notice that distinct white hat on the edge of camp. Micahs stood on the beach, looking out at the water with his arms crossed, a cigarette between his fingers. Finally, the opportunity to chew his ear off. You stroll over, ensuring nobody else is awake, not wanting to question why you're eagerly approaching the man you despise. "Micah," you greet as you stand next to him. "There she is, just the girl I was looking for," Micah greets you as he exhales his cigarette smoke. "You ain't looking for me, Micah. You're stood here having a smoke," you roll your eyes. "I was hoping I would have fucked that attitude out of you. Seems I ain't fucked you hard enough," he says with a laugh. You peer over your shoulder, reminding yourself that nobody is awake, nor nearby, but you don't want to risk your chances. "We don't talk about that in camp, alright?" you threaten. "Fine, whatever you want," Micah shakes his head as he finishes off his cigarette, flicking it onto the floor and stomping it out. You're about to begin questioning him on your missing underwear but he begins to walk off, heading further along the beach. "Where are you going?" you scowl as you follow him. "Over here so I can sit down. Was gonna ask if you're joining me but it seems you are," he says with a laugh, leaning back against a large boulder. You frown at him but settle beside him, turning your attention to him again. "I only came over here to ask you-" "-s'on your bedroll," Micah tells you. "What?" you question. "That new underwear I promised, I've just placed it on your bedroll whilst you were on guard duty. Plus a little something extra to make up for how long you've waited for it," Micah answers, his eyes fixated on the water. "Hmm..." you ponder, unsure if you believe him. "What? Don't you trust me?" Micah questions as he finally looks over at you. "Not at all," you scowl again. "Well, you'll see that I'm telling the truth sooner or later. Go check now if you want, I don't care," he shrugs. You stare at him again, trying to look for any signs of lying, but he gives you none; his nose doesn't twitch, his eyes stay glued to yours, he doesn't rub the back of his neck. Micah is probably telling the truth, knowing that you'll whack him over the head with a bottle next time you see him if he lies to you. "See, told you I ain't lying," Micah snickers as he looks back out over the water. You don't reply, you just lean back against the rock and turn your attention to the landscape. Your brows remain furrowed, arms loosely crossed, enjoying the sound of the waves lapping against the shore, the moonlight only just providing enough light as you're far enough from camp. A few minutes pass and Micah turns his attention back to you. "Why're you still here?" he bluntly asks. "I ain't sure, I'm going to bed," you shrug. You begin to stand, barely getting off your ass when Micah reaches out and grabs you by the waist, pulling you back down onto his lap with a slight thud. "What do you want?" you snap, picking his hands off your waist in disgust, making him laugh at the sight. "Just wanted to spend some quality time with my favourite camp member," he replies, though you're unsure if he's being sarcastic. "Well, you ain't my favourite," you huff. "Always so feisty towards me, ain'tcha? What's wrong? You still hate me even after you let me fuck you?" Micah questions with a throaty laugh, grinning from ear to ear. "I hate you even more now," you tell him, shuffling about on his lap until you're straddling him, one leg on either side of his hips, your chests almost touching. "That'd explain why you've just got comfortable on my lap rather than walking away," Micah chuckles again, knowing he's damn well in the right. He slips his hat off his head, placing it on the ground beside him, not wanting it to get in the way. You let out a sigh as you roll your eyes. "Ain't I allowed to just take some attention from you, Micah?" you question, batting your lashes and removing the frown from your face. "You're allowed to take whatever you want from me, s'long as I get something in return," Micah tells you as he wraps his arms loosely around your waist. "So it's agreed? That we'll just... enjoy this pity sex? But only because it lets off some steam," you place the offer down, finally trying to decide on this agreement. "It is agreed, sweetheart. You can call it pity sex or whatever else you want, but maybe I'll just fuck you so good that you'll end up likin' me?" Micah chuckles, pulling you onto his lap more as he speaks to you in a husk tone. "I ain't your sweetheart and I ain't ever gonna like you, Micah Bell," you spit. "Sure you ain't," he grins. So, this is what it's come to. You're sleeping with the enemy, pity fucking the man you hate the most, allowing him to pry into your private life and between your legs just for a little bit of satisfaction. Do you care? No. Should you care? Probably. But you're getting pleasure, finally, after waiting for so long. The gang is always on the move, running from the law and whoever else is chasing you, depending on where you are and who you've pissed off. You've flirted with other gang members before but it's never escalated anywhere, so if sleeping with Micah means you'll finally stop humping your pillow every night then why not? And maybe you can fuck some sense into him, maybe a bit of kindness of basic respect? You doubt it, but it'd be nice. A life where Micah isn't chaotic would be perfect, or one where he entirely didn't exist. But this is the way the world currently is, so you'll just have to make do with what you've got. You're still going to bark back at him whenever he kicks up a fuss in camp. If anything, you're eager to put him in his place. Maybe you can punish him every time he steps out of line? Maybe this... enemies with benefits, or whatever you want to call it, could whip Micah into shape and prevent him from being such an annoyance towards everyone. Probably not, but you can still hope. Micah tightens his grip around your waist as he lets out a pleasing hum, tugging you down to his level so he can kiss you. You're reluctant as his moustache was so irritating last time, but to your surprise, Micah has trimmed it to prevent the irritation, his 'stache brushing against your upper lip rather than prickling it. Micahs kisses are a lot more tender this time, not covered in blood and heavy breathing, not battling for dominance whilst both your minds are hazy from all that choking. Micah moves one hand up to entangle his fingers in your hair, cupping the back of your head. Your lips soon slide open, your tongue greeting Micahs. He bites your bottom lip softly, letting the skin slowly slip from his grasp before kissing you again, earning himself a soft moan as you shuffle onto his lap more. Things are slowly turning heated, Micahs kisses getting sloppier yet firmer by the second, drawing more moans and whimpers from your lips as he continues to make out with you. You pray that nobody has woken up, not wanting them to see... this. How would you attempt to explain this? Could you say you tripped and fell into Micah after not seeing him sat there, and you'd just accidentally kissed him on the way down? Could you say this way a new way of fighting, to show him what he's missing out on if he'd just be a good boy? Yeah, those excuses are rubbish. But you're sure you'd hear anyone approaching, not unless they're stealthy. Micah moves his hands to your chest, unbuttoning your shirt, stopping at your lower ribs. He breaks the kiss so he can pull your shirt open, cupping each of your breasts and leaning his head into them. His mouth latches onto one of your nipples, sucking at it surprisingly gently, flicking his tongue over the nub, tenderly kissing it. His hand massages them, kneading them softly. Micah moves onto your other nipple, repeating the process, sucking on your tits as he lets out a satisfying hum. "I ain't sure what my favourite part of you is, these things, or that nasty bite of yours," Micah says with a soft laugh between kisses. "Oh, you have such a way with words," you roll your eyes. "You know, I think we'd get along much better if you'd just tease me with these things in camp," Micah replies, returning his focus to your breasts. "I'll remember that in the future," you say, making a mental note. Maybe you could find a way to manipulate him? Using your womanly charm to tame this beast? It's a push but it's worth a try. He continues to suck at them, making your arousal grow, and you know he's getting aroused as you can feel it pressed against your thigh. Micah moves off your breasts and gently pulls your head down, enjoying another kiss, still tender, not the style you expected a man such as Micah to have. Micah breaks the kiss, urging you off him. "Now, come on. Before I start thinkin' with my dick and fuck you right in the middle of camp. But you'd like that, wouldn't you, you whore?" he questions, buttoning up your shirt for you. "You admit to thinking with your dick, yet I'm the whore?" you smirk, pointing out the flaw to his logic. "Real smart, ain'tcha girl?" Micah mocks, shooing you off his lap once your shirt is fastened. Micah stands first, pulling you up afterward. His hand lingers for a little too long in yours, though you don't move your hand away either. He begins walking with you back to camp, readjusting his hat as he walks. Micah dips before you approach camp, not wanting to risk anybody latching onto your agreement. Thankfully, nobody is awake, but you head straight to your tent anyway. You fasten the tent flaps behind you, lighting your lantern, and begin getting ready for bed. You notice the tailor box on your cot and open it up, revealing the replacement underwear, as well as the 'little something extra' that Micah had promised you. It's a full set of lingerie, an expensive-looking set too, a frilly white chemise, corset, and stockings. The chemise is definitely that short for a reason; you wonder what Micah's planning, though he did say that he wanted to cut it off you. You hope to at least get some use out of it before he does that.

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spooky-activity · 4 years

Text

Just a little update on Cassandratopia 2: Electric Boogaloo (Or as it stands in my Google Docs folder rn, A Helping Hand). I’ll put it under the cut cuz it’s kinda long.

I just wanted to say that I’m still planning on actually doing it, despite all evidence to the contrary lol

I did Cassandratopia in a haze of graduating from college(where I was studying animation) and just having ended my first dnd campaign as a dungeon master (which went 3 years!). I was fishing around for internships, but since the pandemic had just kicked off I wasn’t having much luck. So I had a lot of creative energy that wasn’t getting channeled anywhere, and a lot of free time when I wasn’t applying to places. Which is how I did 4 pages a day several times per week. Which was insane.

As it stands, I’m running 2 dnd campaigns(one meets weekly, the other every other week or so), and just scored a full-time internship at a video game company! The campaigns I’m running are a homebrew open world, which, for those of you who aren’t too familiar with dnd, is a metric fuckton of work to prep for each session because I have no idea what my insane friends and siblings are going to try and do every time we play.

Anyways all this to say that my storytelling itch is kinda. Sufficiently getting scratched atm and I have a lot less free time. I’m still plucking away at the setting/refining the story of A Helping Hand, but it’s largely on the backburner. Cassandratopia was also, uh, like the first story I’ve ever told in any sort of format besides the give-and-take of dnd, so... I’m not used to having so much control over the narrative. Oddly. I’ve never thought of myself as much of a writer of stories; my main focus is character animation, so someone else is usually writing the stories I’m telling anyways, which is super cool with me. Honestly I’m surprising myself with how much I want to tell this story, which is why I’m still sure I’m doing it. Just. Slower. Than Cassandratopia got done.

But I’ll share a bit of the lore I’ve been cooking up! Specifically about Zhan Tiri and The Drops. The story will be told in an extremely dnd type setting, because that’s the kind of narrative I’ve told before and am comfortable telling: hard magic rules, neat fights, scary monsters, a dash of eldritch horror, and huge emphasis being put on magical artifacts(kinda like in the show!). Here’s some stuff that’s basically locked-in.

Zhan Tiri

Zhan Tiri is one of the many Demon Lords of the Abyss. She’s kind of a mashup of two of my favorite Demon Lords, Zuggtmoy, the Lady of Rot and Decay, and Pale Night, the Mother of Demons and Queen of the Night(with just a dash of Hannibal Lecter because who doesn’t like helpful, polite, manipulative-ass bitches lksjflkja;fj). Her domain sits almost exactly between the Sundrop and Moonstone, largely being the new growth that comes from death, and the endless cycle of life and death. Places where her influence is strongest includes the cracks in... Well anywhere really, from society to the planet’s shell, where metaphorical or physical rot could grow; musty, mostly ignored places where something could fester. Iconography related to her would include endless mazes, fungi, grasping skeletal hands, and rotting/blooming corpses. Her spores can animate corpses, which she likes to use as mindless minions when she doesn’t feel like sending one of her Acolytes. She shares a scrap of her power with those few mortals she likes. She appreciates ambition and the desire to Grow to be bigger than what you were to start with, as those are qualities she herself possesses.

Incredibly intelligent and merciless to those she deems her enemies, her main thing is pulling the strings from the shadows and seeing just how far she can push people to act with as little prompting from her as possible. She does, however, have the power to kinda bulldoze her way through things if she needs to, but she doesn’t like to because where’s the fun in that?

She first gained interest in the Material Plane when a Wizard with too much hubris from said Material Plane(Named Demanitus) contacted her trying to figure out more information about The Drops and how to control them. After indulging him for a bit, she started preparing to make a summer home on the Material Plane because it’s New and Fun here and Wow These Mortals are Really Fun to Mess With! And some of them she even genuinely liked! Demanitus then realized his mistake and locked her away in Pandemonium for what he hoped was forever, but turned out to be only around 1,000 years, due to the efforts of her followers. Her little stint in Pandemonium magnified the more... Chaotic aspects of her personality, so now she wants to cover the Material Plane in blooming mazes of fungal crops that she can break people with at her leisure.

The Drops

The drops are two semi-sentient pieces of one original artifact, whose original purpose was to be a tool of creation for the gods. Which, through some great calamity(still deciding that one), got sundered and settled into the two basic aspects of creation: the nearly unlimited well of life-energy which organizes stardust into planets, cabbages, and kings, and the “you gotta crack a few eggs to get an omlette” destructive force which breaks down what the sundrop makes so that it can make more.

The main goal of the drops is to reunite. I would want to as well if I was ripped in half! This manifests as a... General tug in the direction of the other drop. A desire in the host to Go That Way. It can be resisted, and even ignored for a bit, but it’s always there. Like being hungry if starving wasn’t a danger. Just a bit uncomfortable if you aren’t going That Way, but ignorable.

Both drops generally try to be as helpful to their wielder as possible, as originally they were a tool of creation to the gods. They are innately obliging. They’re also REALLY UNSAFE FOR MORTALS TO BE MESSING WITH. The Sundrop is a little safer because the most it can do is kinda. Overcharge you into something distinctly not human but still alive, and King Fredrick was lucky he made the Sundrop into soup before giving it to Arianna. But King Edmund got his wholeass arm blasted off for touching the Moonstone.

The Sundrop

Best I could whittle it down, the Sundrop has power over life energy, like the sun’s light. It also has power over the energy derived from geothermal activities, so deep sea creatures Are Not Immune To The Sundrop, which was a funny thought that crossed my mind that they could be, but that will likely never come up anyways salkdjf;ljsf It is, in its basest form, Growth and Progress.

It’s a little sentient, but very much entrenches itself into whoever is holding it at the time. Like another mind looking through your eyes and seeing what you see/feeling what you feel while still retaining a bit of individuality from the host. It’s not... Parasitic because it’s in its nature to give, but it’s generally pretty firmly attached to whoever is holding it until they die( which isn’t usually for a WHILE. It ’infects’ a new host when one dies, usually a plant near their grave...) or until a solar eclipse. It wants what they want, but it’s very fussy so they have to ask it for power exactly correctly(like singing an incantation every time you want to heal someone, or doing a Ritual involving lots of very specific ingredients, Celestial Alignments, and Secret Words) or it won’t listen, like an orchid dying if the ph balance is off in the soil by a little bit. But it’s generally pretty intuitive to use, because it wants what you want and (as long as you ask right) is willing to help.

Anyways basically under the influence of the Sundrop you get a few things:

Basically limitless energy coursing through your body while you’re in a place with sunlight, which equates to rapid healing, mostly, because every cell in your body is being supercharged with free energy. Never getting exhausted in direct sunlight. (If Rapunzel lived in a place that was sunny 24/7 like near one of the poles she wouldn’t have to sleep like. until it started to get dark in the opposite half of the year. Then she’d have to sleep like a regular human being)

You stay at your prime, or if you are past it, revert to your prime. Someone who is holding the Sundrop, or who has regular access to the Sundrop’s magic can’t die of old age or illness. They have to be hurt beyond the Sundrop’s ability to heal or have it taken away from them.

The ability to share this rapid healing with others (if you ask right)

The ability to freely draw on the raw, near-limitless energy of the sun to shape into things like cool-looking energy blasts (only if you ask right)

The Moonstone

The moonstone has powers over varying levels of destruction: from destroying things by ripping them apart/ to Not Letting Things Be Destroyed(also known as protecting) by freezing them in indestructible rock. Like the moon, it can ‘reflect’ a bit of the sundrop’s power, so it can kinda provide energy, albeit a lot less than the sundrop can provide. It’s the inevitable march of The End of All Things, fertilizing the fields of time with the ashes of the old so the new can take root.

The Moonstone is a bit more in the dark(pun intended hehe) when it comes to bonding with someone, it can only try to figure out what is going on based off the emotions of its wielder, and through anything directly touching the Black Rocks. Because of this it’s... Kinda dumb? It tries to do things to help(Like shooting red fear-rocks to try and scare away whatever must be scaring its wielder so badly) but often fails spectacularly at helping.

Under the influence of the Moonstone you get:

Mortals get Neat Body Armor that’s actually just you being turned into a rock! They are very fragile! They need to be protected! The best the Moonstone can do to try and preserve you is to Stop All Destruction by.. Pausing all bodily functions indefinitely. Rocks don’t need to eat, sleep, or breathe, and almost nothing can destroy you if you’re solid Black Rock. The weak reflection of the Sundrop’s energy keeps the host animated, but they’re not exactly alive anymore. Like cryostasis. Wounds (if any) acquired in this state won’t be a problem because they’re not messing anything up, because nothing is technically working in the first place, but they will be a problem when you’re not protected in this way anymore. It’s a cosmic ‘I’ll deal with that later’ button, essentially.

Like the moon, the Moonstone can reflect the light of the sun. It uses its rock crystals to do so, which can even split the sun’s power into different shades, like a prism. Essentially, different colored rocks can mean new and exciting power sets.

Blue Lightning! The Moonstone can reflect the Sundrop’s power, so it also has access to pure bursts of energy, even if it is weaker and colder.

The Moonstone is very helpful, but usually has no idea what you want. ‘Asking’ the Moonstone for more control over its power in the same way you would Ask the Sundrop for more power reminds it of the perfect bond it used to share. The Moonstone’s incantation deepens the bond between wielder and Moonstone in such a way that it actually knows what you want from it, giving you near perfect control of its powers.

*This is kind of just a side note of the Drops: While the Moonstone is weaker than the Sundrop in an head-on fight, it could hold its own if it were on the defensive. Redirecting the power instead of trying to overpower and such.

** Cass made of rocks means I get to draw her skeleton :) not in every picture that would be fucking nuts and way too much work alskjdf;lkjs;fv

#helping hand #a helping hand #casstopia #cassandratopia 2 #mine #so yeah next comic is happening still #but I can't promise when #maybe in like 6 months when one of my dnd games wraps up #my siblings are the ones who play weekly #and I said i'd run a shorter campaign for them #like half a year campaign #then I'll only be running one game!#and I'll have time to draw comic stuff and finish finalizing my draft #I'd also like to apologize in advance for my clunky storytelling #I've literally never done this before lakjs;dlkcvj;lksjf

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