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horizon-verizon · 8 months ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/groovybiha/749056181944958976/why-does-she-want-to-be-queen-given-that-the?source=share

"Why does she need a special reason to want to be queen? Also, show! Rhaenyra is the type of queen who is willing to lose her title for what she considers is best for the realm. But of course, she hasn't shown any good qualities."

She has no unique traits or qualities that make her really stand out, we don’t really know her true motives or intentions behind anything outside of just being short sited and mistakenly believing her position as heir will be enough to shield her from consequences and her complacency fueled by arrogance. Plus we don’t really know the reasons behind wanting to rule outside of “i will be queen because daddy says so”. Why does she want to be queen? What kind of ruler does she intend to be? What legacy did she wish to leave behind? Entitlement aside, without these things being made clear, it’s impossible to really root for her when you don’t know what they intend to do or stand for as a ruler.

OP is not totally wrong. I actually happen to think that show!her could have had a "special" reason to want to be queen.

HOWEVER what I think it could have been is not the altruistic kind or one focused on lawmaking necessarily. It's a defiant one. [#2 of the list below]

And, yes, why must she "rise to the occasion" as if even if she were one of the better rulers, she'd wouldn't have been usurped....the greens/Otto didn't care about her abilities unless they were to block them from installing Aegon as heir! They just wanted power and Otto explicitly states that he doesn't think that Rhaenyra will ever be accepted bc she is female in the 1st or 2nd episode.

So, Rhaenyra, as other male heirs, should be heir because her father named her as heir and she is the eldest. The usual way heirs are chosen! To say that she needs to do "more" to be seen as "deserving the throne" is a moot point when the reality is the alternative is any of the greens, who are thankfully not very good candidates on their own merit. Why so much scrutiny for her, as if she has done horrible evil things that spell out her rule being one of tyranny?! When the evidence shows she's anything but and that's more likely with any of the green boys?

I've often mentioned how siphoned [post-writer: ozymalek] of character older Rhaenyra seemed. I know some of those I follow and mutuals feel differently, that older Rhaenyra has gone through at the Keep a lot for her to have become more reserved, less outwardly expressive, less bold, etc. It's simply going to always make an ulcer in my mouth. If it was anyone else, I'd be fine with this, but this is Rhaenyra, whom GRRM himself has shown that even after her time at KL, she retains a fieriness that I simply do not see in show!Rhaenyra. Not bc Rhaenyra was anything "special" as her own person, but in principle, I think it's beyond disrespectful to wantonly change a person's character simply because you happen to believe they are unpalatable. even if this character is the most evil person in the word, you're just doing it on behalf of your own feelings rather than interested in honest fiction. It shows that you don't really respect a person's humanity unless it makes you "comfortable".

All which lends to wish-fulfillment text that could lean in multiple directions and frameworks--including the sexist one HotD takes--mishaping the story itself into something not like itself. It comes from the writers not caring or fully getting F&B [ozymalek], but also latent misogyny.

But OP was talking more abt what would make Rhaenyra seem a good, capable ruler on her own, which yeah, like I said in other posts:

not every protagonist needs to be a more "moral" character, bc it seems OP's approach to "likeability" is whether or not this character will be a good ruler or one who thinks majorly outside of her own desires, which is very fair. But we also should look at what the text is saying about the character when they are not "likeable"--this' not really Rhaenyra's role, that's more Dany's. The point of the Dance and us caring abt Rhaenyra is to witness how regardless of her character, she's basically set up, how it didn't matter that she was amoral or tried to impress anyone, they usurped her bc they wanted power and she was a woman. HotD rather should have written for multiple times where Rhaenyra's unfairly assessed apart from actual truths of her character for audiences to understand that.

and thus HotD failed to give us the entire process and set up for why Rhaenyra would definitely would seek for power when she's been put into a corner for most of her life as was book!Rhaenyra---I tend to believe that Rhaenyra is asserting her right to ascend in the orig story because she wants to claim that which has always been denied to her according to her sex, or what people have said was something she never deserved....this is a wound that HotD should have given to their Rhaenyra, or made more obvious, and we even see the beginnings of it in episode 5 when she says "I am the crown", or a hint of it. When she's thinking of her role as the protector of the realm. That ambition born of determination beyond what daddy wants her to do. Instead, she has been pushed back to making most of her avoidant decisions about war based on Viserys' faulty no-war-ism---NOT because I think wars are not devastating and that we shouldn't take the steps to avoid it, but bc it's beyond obvious that, in F&B, the war or some sort of conflict was going to happen regardless bc Aegon refused to accept Rhaenrya's terms...this was before Aemond killed Luke, btw. And HotD did not show us Aegon flat out refusing Rhaenyra's attempts at preventing a war, instead showing us dead-Luke off after Rhaenyra sends Luke away...that context is missing. Also, in the show, she's tasked with being the one to make sure their line leads to the Prince that was Promised, while Aegon the Elder never was. We don't even get a discussion or see how she processes how she would address this dilemma even in the event that she gives up the throne and Luke doesn't die. Her talk with Daemon, when he chokes her out--maybe instead of that nonsense, they could have had them talk about this event and even if he feels like he's indulging her, Daemon gives his thoughts and they converse about it? But no, HotD wants the spectacle of marital abuse. 🙍🏿‍♂️.

So OP has the point of HotD not showing us WHY/HOW Rhaenyra decided she must be Queen, even if it were for more self-interested reasons, they'd still be reasons with a sound line of strong rationale--for some relatable even.

Basically, OP is describing HotD writing Rhaenyra sexistly--show!Rhaenyra is more of an extension of her dad's wishes and motherliness than her own person to me. Book!Rhaenyra, I believe, never would have really pursued the throne or want to rule if Viserys hadn't named her as his heir, but because she's put into that position and others wish to define her as unworthy based on her gender, she must do more than fight for the throne but fight for her gender value not to block her from her loss of dignity. Of course the greens deciding to usurp her & her deciding to fight esp after Luke's death began a war that would claim thousands of smallfolk and highborn lives, but I also don't want this element that fuels a feminist thought to be obscured simultaneously. Otherwise, the motive for why marginalized groups tend to be more tenacious or even "ruthless" than their more privileged peers, social superiors, etc., will easier characterize them as "unfathomable" and irrationally cruel. When the rationale rather is right there in our faces, thus reinforce=ing the desire for the simplicity of the dangerous status quo.

And I can see why they'd be more intrigued by Alicent, yes they did give "glimpses of what lead to alicent being how she was in later years".

...It's also very obvious that Alicent has also been dumbed down by the latter end of episode 8...arguably worse than Rhaenyra for the sake of her becoming more of a Trumpwife blindly trying to just follow the rules. And done so through making her a SA victim by 15 instead of a 18 year old with ambitions of her own. That's the male gaze at work. [post by @xenonwitch], not that SA victims who act like this doen't exist, but that they made Alicent this. Thought that tis change was somehow less sexist than her ambitious Evil Stepmother original self. And expected us all to just take it and erroneously use the ol "F&B is unreliable", as if ages aren't accurately told in the book!

To this day, I still haven't heard reasons as to hwo show!Alicent's rewriting isn't a sexist change. Not "uninteresting", sexist.

Yes book Alicent was a traditionalist, but she at least strategized and was kept abreast of what was going on around her! So, no, Alicent doesn't intrigue me either in the show nor am I very thrilled with her character who seem to just mope around all day about her not knowing anything or where to find "help"; she just repulses me. Her suffering does not endear her to me, and even with me seeing how she became the women she is, the writing still has her unable to manipulate others and be too manipulated. Much too vulnerable. It's a clear dilution of character like Rhaenyra, just in a different way.

So me and OP agree in that they should have just stuck to the book. Just not so much on Alicent and defintely not on Rhaenyra being "spoiled" as they imply.

Also, Show!Rhaenyra has always performed her duty! She obeyed Viserys when he gave orders, she accepted the position, she married LAenor despite not wanting to, she attended those meetings, she even went beyond any instruction and retrieved that egg back from Dameon no muss no fuss!

believing her position as heir will be enough to shield her from consequences and her complacency fueled by arrogance

This was never the case. I'm very tired of people implying and accusing women and girls who act this way as "spoiled" and "entitled". She was actually asking for fair terms for her "duties", which Viserys shut down the minute he kicked Daemon out and refused Rhaenyra's obvious choice in book and show. What are her other duties? Cup-bearing, attending council? She does all that!!! Being faithful to husband so she has leg heirs? She triedi that, it didn't work bc LAENOR IS NOT THE TYPE OF GAY MAN WHO CAN GET IT UP WITH A WOMAN ENOUGH TO IMPREGNATE HER and these same people would rail her if she were to use a Valyrian sex slave or something. And if she tried someone else, how do you know they wouldn't try to take advantage of that and she'd have another worry and danger to her and her kids to deal with?!!!

People keep saying that she should have not gone sleeping with anyone or "hurting" Criston and people around her, when really it was those people who made dumbass choices that affected her.

Marriage tour? Viserys should have married her to Daemon. Her sleeping with Cole? Daemon brought her to a brothel, and why is she so stressed? bc her dad married her best friend and said friend is trying to still be friends AS WELL AS be her superior. Mom just died a few years back, and said friend has already had a son and is pregnant while Aemma was cut open after multiple miscarriages and traumatic births. Viserys is aware Otto is there to get his blood on the throne, yet needs to be told he needs to dismiss him, only to later bring him back! Again, marrying her to a gay man, thus putting parentage of her kids to a little more doubt than otherwise. Laenor going off doing fuck all when he is supposed to be more at her side than he is. She became the Princess of Dragonstone in action and actually became a ruler in all but name for abt 6 yr in the show, 10 in the bks! That is performing a duty (yeah she left bc of Alicent, still doesn't make it any less a duty of the designated heir to look after Dragonstone and the dynasty's dragons housed there)! Her with Cole? Wasn't she drunk and he had ample ability to just leave! Of course it wasn't smart, but it was hardly either an attack or something that other nobles and royals don't already do... so why is she so uniquely amoral?!

A woman/girl who's either spiraling, terrified of not having or being able to retain what little autonomy one has over one's life, or just resistant against constrictive social mores on her based on gender--even when she is in the upper class--should never be shamed. Called "unfortunate", sure, but not shamed!!! These people sound like they'd call young girls "fast"!

Rhaenyra doesn't think her position will save her from harm. Her talk with Alicent proves that, where she had to turn the tables against Alicent to avoid getting punished unfairly. And epsiode 7 has her do similar, bc she can see where it could have easily turned into people looking more at her sons than Aemond with the restoration of the bastardry claim (once again, go back to what I said about Rhaenyra not being able to get Laenor to impregnate her). She was the one who had to prompt & guide her father or trigger Alicent so she'd protect her sons, Viserys wasn't being very competent! Her position as heir and as Viserys' daughter certainly helped her, but it would have been useless in that situation without her having to work at actually making it work for her! And we see how her being heir actually has turned her life inside out where she's put into this ort of position because her society has never had a female ruler and doesn't think she is capable of really being a leader bc of her gender! Her heir status actually gives her a set of unique problems!!!!

She wasn't (in-world) "complacent"; she was just horribly written in her elder years and in her younger years she was still reeling from being forced into a place she's deathly afraid of, no pun intended. Her mother died in the ambitions of men; she's afraid of being married off to a man who'd allow her to die for his own ambitions by using her body for heirs and access to Targ power. She is at war with her identity and gender. And she is a teenager while all this is happening--no matter the time, teens will rebel to try to see their own limits as well as try to find ways to thicken and realize their own autonomy. What we are actually seeing is a teenage girl forced into denying her own desires and needs until, gravely misunderstood, she's compelled to suppress her deeper desires.

That was the intent HotD had for her. And you could still have this, but make her less...of a female-friendless doormat?

#hotd characterization #rhaenyra's characterization #asoiaf asks to me #hotd critical #hotd writing #hotd rant #alicent's characterization #hotd misogyny #hotd male gaze #asoiaf #hotd

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lightphieric · 3 years ago

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(On anon because sideblog) I just think chalking up them both as orphans and therefore on the same situation a bit of a jump? Eric and Chris had a direct abuser that ended up being the death of one of them while Aoi and Akane were pretty much abandoned and were easy targets for outside violence because of that, I also think that it's a pretty stark contrast how Aoi must resent the system greatly for many reasons while Eric still wants to be or even just appear the most well adjusted regular guy possible, even without Akane's psychic powers how could he not be after something like the nonary game gets covered up. I think a narrative about the cycle of abuse is different than one about the cycle of violence essentially even if morally they're probably? pretty close there is still a difference there especially in the way it is presented to us, I'm sorry but Aoi and Akane at least don't put bombs on anyone that's innocent while Eric grenade launches a child

Definitely a fair point. I know I probably didn't express myself as well as I could have in that post - I didn't mean to say their situations are the same, merely that there are some parallels to observe between them. I also wanted to include a little bit of a counterpoint section acknowledging the inherent differences between their situations, but the post was long enough as it was. But basically, yeah, Eric was always going to be messed up no matter what happened to him, because his parents just weren't good to him; even before his mother died, she was teaching him how to bottle in his emotions. The Kurashikis, meanwhile aren't indicated to have been anything but good, normal parents (though, I mean, their mother must have had issues of her own, if she took her own life the way she did - but it's not really addressed how that impacted them). I'm still sure Eric and Chris being espers could have helped them in some way, but do I think they'd ever be capable of what Aoi and Akane do? Not really.

A direct comparison can't be made, but generally what I was getting at is that, whether you watch your sibling be killed by a parent or by a greedy businessman, under normal circumstances, do you think either of those is going to have a positive impact on the trajectory of your life? And yet Aoi was able to make something of himself. Obviously, Aoi and Akane being kidnapped was contingent on them having powers, but imagine if their powers were just a little weaker - if Akane wasn't the most powerful esper in the world and Aoi's abilities all but vanished when she died. He would have that same hatred of the system, but what would he be able to do about it? Anything he tries to say would get him laughed off as a conspiracy theorist. Where would he find the currency, monetary or social, to make any impact? He might feel powerless and frustrated too and lash out in smaller ways like Eric does.

It's all what-ifs, I know. But as far as what-ifs go, I think it's pretty interesting and enlightening. Thank you for the ask, I enjoy discussing these things.

(Also I promise promise promise none of this or the last post were intended as hate towards anyone, yes I can get bitter about my faves not being as popular as others but I adore literally every Zero Escape character it's why I love it so much)

#zero escape #eric ztd #aoi kurashiki #zero escape 999 #zero time dilemma #santa 999 #ask #meta #long post #i won't bring up the question of morality because #the kurashikis are morally ambiguous and that's what's fun about them #and yes #the decision game brought out eric's worst and it was pretty bad #but the version of him in the true ending didn't do any of those things #he's in the unique position of knowing what he's capable of without having actually done it #and as always i'm partial to the idea of him using that information to better himself

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travelling-on-the-octopath · 2 years ago

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Hello! Since you are a Claude fan I wanted to ask something that maybe you could better explain from your own perspective. When I first played VW, I was confused by Claude saying he felt like an outsider because he doesn't belong in either Fodlan or Almyra. Like, I get that life sucked in Almyra cuz he's mixed race. But, like, nobody in Fodlan is capable of realizing that he's half Almyran. And he doesn't face any prejudice against him in Fodlan because nobody thinks of him as Almyran. (1/2)

Because the game treats his Almyran prince status as this huge, stupid secret, it robs Claude of the opportunity to actually face, well, any negative reaction in Fodlan at all. Only Lorenz and his dad don't trust Claude, but that's because he's the heir of house Riegan. The Golden Deer love Claude and never show prejudice or bias at him. And Claude never suffers prejudice like Dedue, Petra, Cyril and even Shamir discuss from being known foreigners. It feels like a dissonance for Claude (2/2)

I've been knighted as a Claude fan fkdhskal. My day has come! But on to the ask:

I think it's important to remember one very crucial thing: in Fódlan (and the real world, but sometimes fantasy games are Bad), race ≠ nationality. Claude doesn't get flack for being of a mixed heritage, or Almyran, because no one...knows he is. He doesn't face the same hardships as the other foreign students/occupants of the monastery because he just looks different than the majority, rather than admitting to being from over yonder.

Claude feels like an outsider because to maintain his status as Just Your Average Fódlan Denizen, he can't be honest about who he is. His secrets, in this case the ones that are keeping him alive, exacerbate his difference from others. It's like--have you ever been a part of a conversation where you don't really know what's being discussed, but you stick around and play along as if you do, because you don't want to admit you don't know? It's along the lines of the isolation that's wrought from that; you certainly know you don't fit with this discussion, and sooner or later everyone else is going to catch on too. Maybe a better example, and one I can personally speak to, is sexual orientation. I can pretend just fine that I'm only attracted to men, and if I Behave Accordingly, no one will ever be the wiser as to my bisexuality. I won't earn a side eye or face any displeasure brought on by my existence. But it would still be a lie. I'm still one wrong move from garnering the reaction I would have gotten if I'd just flat-out admitted to being queer. I'm not free from prejudice; I'm lying to evade it. And the latter is fucking exhausting, and isolating, and awful.

Claude is much the same. It's less that he doesn't face the same hardships as others and more that he's been put in the (un)fortunate position to lie about it. Because there is nothing good to be had about hiding away certain parts of you in a corner, knowing if someone peeks around your shoulder, they'll see something they might not like. And seeing as things like that are the very fabric of one's existence, that's easier said than done.

We end the game (sans epilogue/ending cards) without Claude being able to admit to who he is and where he comes from, because Fódlan isn't quite ready for that yet. Because he's pedalled as hard as he could on this side of the border, and it wasn't enough; his ideal world of no prejudice/xenophobia is still out of reach, which means he can't be completely honest yet. He calls on the Almyran army easily enough in two routes, but that's just a step up from his usual allusions to Not Being From These Parts; there is no room for him yet, and that takes a toll on a person.

TL;DR: Claude's lack of obstacles created by prejudice is a result not of dissonance/his uniqueness, but rather his creating a whole new path paved with untruths, to the detriment of his feeling like he belongs. To anyone who could make his life here hard, he's not an Almyran that gets special treatment; he's a quirky Fódlan noble who has his finger in several pies, and one of them seems to be Almyran.

#i hope this makes sense ???")$+#fe #fe3h #fe16 #fire emblem: three houses #s responds #claude von riegan #anonymous metropolis

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ssson-of-sparda · 4 years ago

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Fathers Do Cry (DMC Vergil one shot)

Summary: Vergil remembers his last Father's Day with Sparda and doesn't really realise how similar to him he has become.

Tags: Father's Day special / DADGIL! / Vergil acting like a dad to Nero

Author’s note: I woke up this morning suddenly inspired. Doesn't happen very often so enjoy ;) ps: I just love Dadgil!

***

His big blue eyes staring without blinking, the child was observing his father sitting by the fireplace in the parlour. Full of admiration, he was detailing all the features of his serious face, all the details of his confident posture and all the different luxurious fabrics that made his purple finery and as he did, he repeated to himself, wished, prayed, that someday, one day, he would grow up to be just like him. “Aren’t you going to speak, Vergil?” The father’s powerful voice asked as he finally acknowledged the boy’s presence with a small amused smile, wondering what brilliant thoughts were occupying his eldest son’s sharp mind this time. “I made this for you, father.” With a solemnity that didn’t suit a five-years-old but that somehow fitted Vergil’s young yet wise spirit and his will to be perfect son in the eyes of Sparda, the boy handed a paper sheet to his father. “ And what would that be?” The man said as he took his son’s gift. “It’s father’s day so … I made you a poem… or tried to.” The adorable embarrassment tensing the child’s traits in funny grimaces made the father's smile wider but Vergil, suddenly too preoccupied with the blue paint stuck under his fingernails, didn’t notice it as he didn’t notice the paternal pride and the love shining in his eyes. “I thought your mother wanted you and your brother to make a gift together this year.” “ You know Dante” Vergil sighed. “He has no artistic talent whatsoever. He wanted to make you a wooden sword to play with us.” “ That’s actually a very good idea.” Vergil frowned; suddenly worried that Sparda would not like his gift and preferred Dante’s – if he had made one of course. “Except when the sword looks like two twigs glued together. You should have seen this, father. It looked ri.di.cu.lous.” Sparda laughed at his son’s attitude, finding amusement in this sibling rivalry. “Why don’t you read me your poem then?” “ I learnt it by heart actually. The paper is for you to remember this day by … and also because I wanted to illustrate it. Look.” Vergil approached his father, seized the poem from his big hands and climbed on his lap to show him the delicate aquarelle he had painted around the lines. “Impressive. Did your mother help you with this?” Vergil shook his head. “No, I did it on my own. I used a book I saw in that old man’s house I often go to as a reference.” “ The old academic that lives down the hill? I thought you found him boring.” Vergil shook his head again, furiously this time and with a serious frown. “That’s Dante. Me, I really like him. He teaches me a lot of things. And he has lots of books. It’s incredible.”

Sparda ruffled his son’s silver hair whose hairdo was always made in order to somehow mimic his, thinking what a promising young boy Vergil was. Maybe more promising than Dante to be honest – though he knew he shouldn’t think that. But there was something that Vergil had that Dante lacked. Perhaps rationality beyond his age … or some kind of maturity … wisdom maybe? He couldn’t really pinpoint what it was exactly. All he knew is that it was something unique and special, just like his son, something that made Sparda certain that one day his eldest would grow up to be a great man, a man greater than him, a man worthy of the Yamato and capable of handling its burdening power.

“Can I recite my poem now?” Sparda smiled at the sparkle in Vergil’s eyes. “Sure.” The boy quickly took back his previous position in front his father, cleared his throat, put his hands behind his back and stuck out his chest.

Sparda listened to every word, fascinated and amazed by his little one’s talent and profoundly moved by all the love, all the meticulousness and the time he put in each line and in each word. “Oh Vergil. The world is not yet ready for someone like you.” The father said as he let a tear roll down his cheek. “Why are you crying, father?” Vergil worried. “Because fathers cry, my son.”

That day was the last time Vergil truly celebrated Father’s day for a few weeks later he had no father, no one to make poems to, no one to admire by the fireplace. Just a memory that he feared would sooner or later fade but that he would cling to dearly for as long as he could.

“Why don’t we bring flowers to Daddy’s statue in the park today?” Eva asked when Vergil was six, when Vergil was seven, when Vergil was eight only to be welcome by a heavy silence that was no longer hiding brilliant thoughts but a painful sadness. But each time he did as Eva suggested, maybe more for her than for him, maybe because he still loved and admired Sparda even if he had left him, maybe because he thought that his father might see him and smile from wherever he was now, the same way he had smiled when he had read him his poem on his last father’s day.

And that’s certainly why, more than three decades later, he was back in this park, on this very special day with a bouquet of purple peonies he had bought on his way here and a memory that never faded. A memory he could still recite.

"Whether the sun shines or the sky cries, Whether the day breaks or the night wakes, My father always as a rampart stands Protecting my house with his bare hands.

He is strong, he is brave And the day he always saves. A knight in cockroach armor To scare my terror away."

Vergil scoffed at the lines, at the way they rolled off his tongue, finding them funny and childish and not worthy of a Blake or a Fielding at all unlike what he thought when he wrote them as a child. The over-confidence of youth probably.

“Did you just come up with that?” Vergil turned around to see Nero walking towards him with a smirk. A surprise but not a bad one. “Cause the rhyming sucks a little. I expected more of you.” “ And I suppose you’re an expert in poetry now?” “ I may read have read one of your books.” He said as he tapped the pocket of his marine blue coat hiding Vergil's most sacred book with pride. “You still have it I see.” “Hey! It’s a real page turner! Can’t get my nose out of it.” Vergil had a crooked smile, understanding perfectly what his son meant.

Son? Even a year after this reveal he still couldn’t believe this boy before him, the one he had lived such a terrifying yet incredible adventure with, was his own flesh and blood.

A sigh almost escaped Vergil’s lips. How did he make such a fine young man? Someone so selfless, so generous, so loving when he was nothing like that. “ What are you doing here, Nero?” He asked, trying not to think more about this. “ Well it’s father’s day, no? So … I made you something… or tried to.” The embarrassed grimace Nero suddenly made made Vergil’s smile grew larger but Nero, too worried to keep the gift covered with the pieces of newspapers he had taped together, didn’t see it as he didn’t see the paternal pride and the love shining in his father’s blue eyes. The same paternal pride Sparda had displayed when Vergil was a little child with a small paper in his hands. “Thank you Nero.” The man said as he gently took the present from his son's hands, wondering what it was even though the long shape didn’t leave much place for imagination.

He cautiously unwrapped the thing, already feeling a happiness he hadn’t felt in years warming his heart. And when he saw a katana-like wooden sword that purposely looked like Yamato he couldn’t help but smile and let a tiny drop of water blur his blue eyes. “It was Dante’s idea. Though he might have suggested gluing two sticks together.” Nero said as he scratched his head. “It looks amazing.” Vergil’s honesty was like a knife in Nero’s chest but in a good way. It was as if all the stress and all the stupid fear he had felt while making this toy sword had been stabbed away. He felt relieved, joyful even that his always so stern father was genuinely grateful and seemed to appreciate his gift. “That way, you won’t have to tear my arm apart again cause look, you have two now.” Nero tried to joke but his words just erased the smile on Vergil’s face.

“There is not a single day I don't regret what I did to you.” This was Vergil’s way to say he was sorry. Nero was certain of it. He didn’t need to know his father that well to know it. After all, he was somewhat the same. “Hey, it’s in the past. Plus it grew back, so no harm done.” He winked, trying to ease the atmosphere with a bad pun worthy of Dante even though there was a time he would have ripped Vergil’s chest open for what he had done. And a part of him knew he would never forget and maybe never fully forgive what happened. But right now he was just happy to have a family, to have a father and to finally be able to celebrate a day he has so long hated. “ This world doesn’t deserve you, son.” Vergil solemnly declared. He had never called Nero that way and that name felt strange yet beautiful to both of them. It made the son and the father smile in ways they never thought they would smile at each other. “ Damn, are you crying old man? I thought devils never cry.” Nero suddenly harrumphed when he finally noticed the water growing in his father's eyes. “ Well, fathers do cry." Vergil declared as he allowed a tear of joy and pride to fall along his pale cheek. The first in a very very long time but one he will never regret or brush away. "Father do cry.” He repeated with a glance at the statue of his father behind him.

#vergil #devil may cry #devil may cry one shot #dmc one shot #vergil one shot #nero #sparda #fanfiction #dadgil

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maxwell-grant · 3 years ago

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You have done an (excelent) post on how to reinvent Batman as a Pulp Hero. Do you think you could do one to Superman as well? Or do you think it is impossible to do this with the progenitor of the Super Hero genre without transforming him in a totaly diferent character?

Well, you saying it as impossible only makes it seem ever more tempting of a challenge, but yes, it is a bit harder. I'm gonna link my Batman post here as a reference point.

Partially because Batman's a franchise I've thought extensively about for a long time in regards to what I like about it or how I'd like to approach if given the opportunity, which is not something I can really say for Superman until more recently the Big Blue to start orbiting my brain. I don't have years worth of redesigns or fan concepts saved on my galleries and files to comb through to pick and choose here, and my experience with Superman as a character is considerably different, in some aspects more deeply personal, and not really something I'd like to go into in this blog, at least not now.

Part of the reason why it's harder is also because Batman and Superman have very different relationships with their pulp inspirations. Batman was, ostensibly, a pulp character adapted to comics, a dime-a-dozen Shadow knock-off who picked up and played up diverging traits from other characters and gradually ran with them to gradually forge a unique identity. Superman right from the start was rooted in a much stronger conceptual underpinning: the Sci-Fi Superman and Alien Menace who, instead of being a tragic monster or a tyrannical villain, becomes a costumed adventurer and social crusader. Even the name Super-Man was taken from an early story of Siegel and Shuster about a telepathic villain who ends the story lamenting that he should have used his powers for the good of mankind instead of selfishness. I hesitate to call what Siegel and Shuster were doing “subversive” because that term's picked up a real negative connotation, and it's not like Siegel and Shuster were out to upend their influences (they were pulp aficionados themselves), but rather putting a more positive, new spin on them.

Which is why it also becomes a bit harder to do what I did with Batman and align Superman with some of his pulp-esque inspirations, like John Carter, Flash Gordon or Hugo Danner, without just making it "Superman but he's John Carter", "Superman but it's Flash Gordon", and "Iron Munro / Superman but everything sucks" respectively. It's harder to create a character that wouldn't feel reduntant and derivative at best, and actively contradictory to Superman at worst.

I guess if I had to come up with a "Pulp Hero Superman" take I liked, well first of all I'd have to take steps to distance it from the likes of Tom Strong or Al Ewing's Doc Thunder, those two are as good as it gets in regards to Pulp Supermen. I stipulated for Batman a "No Guns, No Murder, No Service" policy partially to distance my takes on Batman from all the "Pulp Batmen" that just add guns and murder and take Batman back to the barest of basics. Likewise, I'm adding a "No Depowered Science Hero" rule here, which means it's a take that's likely going to veer off a lot more into fantasy and probably enough tampering with Clark's character that it does risk becoming a different character.

Frankly I don't think I'm gonna succeed at doing these without just making it a new character entirely, because with Batman you can get away with just upending the character's aesthetic and setting and even origin and still keep it recognizably Bruce Wayne (in fact Batman does that all the time), which isn't really the case with Superman, who needs those to remain recognizably Superman as he goes through internal changes and character shifts. I guess what I'm gonna do here is more taking the building blocks of Superman/Clark Kent and see a couple new ways I can rearrange them to create a Pulp Superman

Perhaps something we can do is to scale back or recontextualize the "superhero" parts without diminishing Superman's role as a superpowered fantasy character.

One way we can start is by picking on that connection between Superman and the sci-fi supermen/alien monsters of pulps I mentioned earlier and play it up further, to create a Superman who's deeply, deeply alien in a way that no mild-mannered disguise or colorful outfit can really disguise, something so dramatically powerful and alien, that instead you could get tales about the kinds of ensuing changes and ripple effects this has on the world upon the The Super-Man's arrival. And for that I'm gonna have to quote @davidmann95's concept for Joshua Viers' absolutely stunning Superman redesign on the left side of the image above

The red, the goldish-orange and white, the alienness, the angelic, sculpted feeling, the halo, that innocently curious expression: it’s genuinely beautiful. Superman as a redeeming science-angel from beyond our understanding, as much past the uncanny valley of limited human comprehension as a Lovecraftian monster but tuned to the opposite key - you could spend an endless procession of human lifetimes trying and failing to understand this being, but all you’ll ever know for sure is that it is beyond you, and it knows you, and it loves you.

Superdoomsday from Earth 45, healed and transformed into the savior it was originally envisioned as? Some descendant of his, or a future of the man himself? An alien who picked up on a broadcast of Superman from Earth, and so inspired reshaped itself in his image to spread his ‘gospel’ to the stars?

Alternatively, to come back to Earth a little, many, many pulp characters and series were built off the antics and personalities of real people, celebrities getting their own magazines or serials or fictionalized takes on them, so perhaps one way to make a "pulp" take on Superman would be to emphasize a bit more of Superman's real-world roots, trends that inspired his creation directly or indirectly at the time. The Jewish strongman Sigmund Breibart and Shuster's interest in fitness culture, Harold Lloyd's comic persona, the rising "strongman" film genre in the early 20th century, actors Clark Gable and Kent Taylor that supposedly named his secret identity, Clark Kent being a socially-awkward journalist based of Siegel's own school experiences.

Maybe one start to an authentic Pulp Superman, who would still be Superman, would be to just ask the question "What if Superman was a real person and/or a celebrity, and they started making pulp magazines and serials dedicated to him? What would those look like?". You wouldn't even have to restrict it to just a story set in the 1930s, in fact you could even play around with the rise of new mediums over the decades.

This third one is a little closer to some plans I have for my own take on a Superman character, not necessarily what I would do with Superman proper but one of my ideas for a Superman analogue. Superman's a character I'll always associate strongly with childhood and childhood fantasy, and to tap into that I would emphasize the other end of the fiction that influenced Siegel and Shuster: comic strips, in their case specifically Little Nemo and Popeye.

In my case I would bring additional influences from some of the comic strips I personally grew up reading like Monica's Gang and Calvin and Hobbes, and I already talked a bit about Captain Fray in terms of how he’s a Superman character despite being a villain. I guess you could call this one "What if Superman was a public domain comic strip character, stripped of the importance of being the founding figure of a super popular genre or extended universe, and also was kind of ugly?".

He's not "Sloth from the Goonies" ugly, I swear I didn't actually have Sloth in mind when typing out this idea, I've never watched that film nor did I know until now that he actually spends the film in a Superman shirt. That's not really what I'm going for. Visually I was thinking of modeling my take on Superman heavily after Hugo from Street Fighter and his inspiration Andre the Giant, to really emphasize the “circus strongman / freak wrestler” aspect of Superman’s inspiration, particularly in regards to how Hugo’s SFIII version strikes a really great balance in making Hugo ugly and both comedic and fearsome in battle, as well as lovable and even a little dopey (without being outright stupid, like his IV self) in his victory animations and endings.

He's still Superman, he still goes on fantastical adventures to help people, he's still a deeply loving and compassionate soul whose face beams with joy and affection and who's got wonderful eyes and a great smile. It's just that this smile has a couple of mismatched stick-out teeth or some missing ones, and he's got a crooked smile some people take as smug or malicious, he’s got a strongman’s gut instead of a bodybuilder’s abs, his nose is a little busted (maybe he’s had too many crash landings), and his hair is a little wild or greasy, and he doesn't exactly have very good people skills because of how others usually react to him and, y'know, he doesn't get the kind of publicity Superman would get despite doing ostensibly the same things. He’s not deformed, he’s incredibly intelligent and capable, but in comparison to how superheroes are usually allowed to look, he might as well be Bizarro in the public eye.

It becomes a running gag that people tend to assume some nearby fireman or cop was the one who rescued the hundred orphans out of a burning building single-handedly, meanwhile he's getting accosted off-panel by police officers who think he set the building on fire, or think they can bully this weird man dressed funny. He goes to rescue old people in peril and occasionally they yell at him that they don't have any money. He doesn't get asked to lead superhero meetings or teams even though many in the community advocate for just how much he does for the world, he gets censored out of tv broadcasts or group shots (even his face is sometimes pixelated when they do show him), people invite him on talk shows and don't really let him talk or assume they got the wrong guy. He goes to rescue a woman dangling off a building, and then he gets attacked by like three different superhero teams who assume he must have kidnapped the poor damsel. He was the first superhero, he is the strongest of them all still, but he never really gets credit for it, it nor does he even want to. None of this at all stops him or deters him, except for some occasionally funny reactions.

This never really changes for him, he doesn't really earn people's approval nor does he have to, instead the stories, outside of the gags and adventures you’d expect from a comic strip, veer more towards others learning to be less judgmental and him learning ways to better approach people. He isn't any lesser than Superman just because he doesn't look like most people would want him to look and he doesn't have to look like Superman. Really I think we could use more superheroes that don’t look all so uniformly pretty.

Again, probably not a take that would work for Clark proper, but it’s one way I would take a shot at doing Superman with my own

I have other stuff in the works for this character but I'd like to keep them to better work on them for now, but yeah, these are three of my shots at developing a Pulp Superman.

Alternatively here's a fourth idea that's more pulp than all of these: Join up Nicholas Cage with Panos Cosmatos again, or whatever weird indie director he decides to pair up with next, and let them do whatever the hell they want with Superman. Give us Mandy Superman. Superman vs The Color Out of Space. Superman vs Five Nights at Freddy's. Superman’s quest to find THE LAST PIG OF KRYPTON. Anything goes.

#replies tag #dc comics #superman #clark kent #superheroes #comic books #nicholas cage

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imagining-in-the-margins · 4 years ago

Text

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 23 | S.R.)

Summary: Spencer’s birthday plans get interrupted by a case. Frustrated by Reader’s busy schedule, Spencer finds a unique way to spend time with her. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Mild exhibitionism, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, Dom/sub, light choking, degradation/praise, sub space Word Count: 7.3k

MASTERLIST

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Waiting for Spencer Reid was an interesting position to be in. It was also, unfortunately, very, very common. You would think the IQ points would translate to efficiency, but you’d be very wrong. The only thing that boy does fast is read, and even that didn’t follow through to text messages, considering he’d read none of the six I’d sent him in the past hour.

So, naturally, as one does in an emergency, I called him. Unsurprisingly, the phone barely rang a second time before he picked up. Talking was, as we were both aware, his forte. Without even waiting for my greeting, his groggy voice came through the receiver with a song-like sound.

“Hello, little girl.”

But it wasn’t his turn to sing, and he knew damn well why I was calling. I could hear the smirk on his face so well that I could also envision exactly what he looked like in that moment, with his fluffy hair sticking up from constantly running his hands through it and his eyes only half-open as he tried to finish reading whatever horrible thing that he had in front of him.

It wasn’t how anyone should be spending their birthday. Especially not him. There wasn’t really anything I could do about it, though that didn’t make it any easier to hear the exhaustion and sadness behind that scratchy voice.

“What’re you doing up late? It’s past your bedtime, you know,” he chastised before I even had a chance to speak. He wasn’t wrong — It was 3AM where I was. But where he was, it’d just hit midnight.

“I just wanted to wish a happy birthday to my favorite old man,” I purred back once I’d managed to calm my fast-beating heart. I wondered if I’d ever get used to the brief rush of adrenaline and relief when I heard his voice for the first time after some time away.

I hoped not.

Spencer didn’t seem impressed by my reasoning, though. “You’re sweet. Go to sleep.”

“You’re up, too,” I whined, still picturing the way he would undoubtedly pull the phone further away to lessen the noise. I almost asked if he was also picturing me but stopped when I realized that whatever he had in mind was probably a lot more exciting than reality. Then again, he often told me that moments like this were his favorite. When we’re both too tired to keep our eyes open but too happy to be with each other to let them close all the way.

“Barely,” he corrected.

“Besides, I had to stay up. It’s your birthday.”

I’d meant to lift his spirits, but the long pause after I finished made it evident that my efforts were for naught. He almost seemed even more upset than when he’d answered, and I tried to convince myself that it had nothing to do with me. It wasn’t that hard, considering he was probably staring at images or words of dead people.

“Yeah, sure feels like it.”

His tone alone ensured me it was worse than my imagination.

“Put your work down and pay attention to me instead,” I suggested as softly as I could with the neediness bleeding through, “That’s the first part of your present.”

“You’re my present?” he asked through a gruff laugh that made my heart skip a beat, “I like that present.”

He was trying. I could feel it in his voice, and I wished more than anything that I could teleport to where he was and hold him until it was too difficult for his mouth to form a frown.

“You already have me. That’d be like regifting,” I pointed out with only a pinch of self-deprecation. It was still too much for Spencer, though, who swiftly shot back the ever cheesy, “Every day with you is a gift.”

“Gross, don’t get all sentimental with me,” I ordered playfully.

He returned the energy with all the sass I always knew he was capable of. Once his whining ceased, he mumbled, “Do you come with a gift receipt?”

“No returns or exchanges allowed, I’m afraid.”

Spencer just let out a strained sigh, and in my head, I imagined how it would feel to climb onto his lap as he leaned back in his chair. I could almost feel his arms wrapping around my waist and his lips peppering kisses wherever he could reach. I could feel his love for me flowing across the country, persisting past the cell tower obstacles to make its way back to me.

“I can’t wait to see you again,” he whispered, his first purely sincere statement of the night.

It was an unfortunate choice, too, because it also reminded me of the biggest bummer that I unfortunately had to share.

“Oh, I meant to tell you, it’s midterm season, so…”

He was, thankfully, not as bummed as I was expecting. He was almost certainly thrilled to have a chance to sleep spread out on his bed without having to satisfy the very needy girl beside him, but he still managed to come up with enough bratty energy to scoff, “Are you telling me that I don’t get my gift when I get home?”

“It’ll just be a few days. Promise,” I spoke through the biggest, cheesiest smile I’d had yet. “You’re very distracting, Dr. Reid.”

“When are your exams?” His enthusiasm gave away just how disappointed he was with the news, but any frustration was clearly aimed at my poor professors.

“My last one is on Wednesday.”

The gasp that left him was too funny not to laugh, followed by exasperated, blubbered nonsense that didn’t ever get much clearer. I barely managed to understand him when he cried, “Don’t they know Halloween should be a national holiday?!”

“You should call my professors and yell at them.”

He actually considered it for a moment, but then returned the same silly intonation, “Maybe I will.”

“Do it. You’re probably more qualified than them to teach me, anyway.”

After a short silence that was filled with more sexual tension than I’d expected considering how the phone call started, I heard Spencer gruffly comment, “You’re a cocky little brat tonight.”

It was so familiar to me that I jumped on the opportunity, giggling through my sleep deprived delirium, “I’m in rare form for your birthday.”

The explanation earned me a chuckle, but not much else. At least, not that I could see. The static on the other end of the phone sounded a lot like the way it looked when Spencer leaned his face against his palm and tried to see something that wasn’t there.

But I was there. Sort of. We’d done a lot more with a lot less, after all. So, that’s what I offered him.

“You know… we could have a redo of the last time I called you late at night on a case.”

“That did not end well for me last time,” he droned. I tried not to laugh at the manufactured memory of Spencer holed up in a hotel bathroom because he just had to have me in whatever way he could.

“Only happy endings for your birthday. I promise.”

But then, as it always did, work got in the way. Filled with only the greatest sadness and regret, Spencer quietly but honestly replied, “As much as I would love to, I don’t think it’ll be possible on this case.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Unfortunately.”

I bit my lip because there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t help Spencer with his work any more than I could fix the distance. All I could offer him was a safe home to return to. He would always find that with me.

“Well, in that case, I will be equipped with cartoons and kisses upon your return,” I offered with grace.

But I wasn’t the only one in rare form. Without skipping a beat, Spencer corrected with a smug sadness, “You mean your return. Considering you’re abandoning me on my birthday.”

“Oh my god, the drama!” I cried before remembering that it was, still, in fact, 3AM. The light grimace I gave after remembering would be the only apology my neighbors would get from me. I was too busy building a narrative happy enough to drown out the horrors in front of him. “You’d think I was the one who was away all the time.”

“I’m allowed to be selfish; it’s my birthday,” he sang, and I soaked in the sound, storing it away for any rainy days.

“Fine. What do you want, brat?” I asked in the worst attempt at an impression I’d ever given.

He was just waiting for the question. Drawing out the first couple of syllables, he laughed through the stupidest birthday wish of all time.

“I want… you to go to bed.”

“Ugh!” I yelled again, not even bothering to feel bad about it that time. My exasperation fell on deaf ears, both from a willful desire to ignore my suffering and a literal ringing from the constant yelling.

Still, that impossible man drummed up enough compassion to gloat with a simple, “I love you.”

“I love you, too, jerk,” I grumbled, only to be swiftly corrected with a playful, “Try that again.”

“I love you, too, old man.”

He was satisfied enough with that answer, despite the sarcasm dripping from it. He still knew that the words were true, and that was all that mattered. Any punishments that might be necessary for my broken promise to behave for his birthday could always be doled out later. When the distance between us was narrowed to inches and clothes could be removed like cheap wrapping paper.

“Thank you, little girl. Sweet dreams,” he whispered, reminding me once more of just how empty my bed felt without him. I stared at his pillow for just one second before I threw myself into it. He chuckled at the sound of rustling sheets over the receiver but said nothing else.

“You get some sleep tonight, too, okay?” I asked, uncharacteristically and openly vulnerable in a way that used to scare me.

Spencer’s voice was filled with pride and love as he answered, “You can’t see it, but I am giving you a pinky promise.”

“Good.” Burying my face in his pillow again made it easier to remember that it wouldn’t be forever when I said, “Bye, Spencer.”

“Goodnight, little girl.”

—————————————————

Autumn on campus felt pretty similar to the rest of the year. I wished that it were different, a little more exciting, to reflect how I felt about the impending holiday. But no, it was just students stumbling into their usual classes and hectically scheduled midterms with hangovers and a total lack of holiday cheer.

It was, in a few words, a complete bummer. The only thing that kept me going through the last of my exams was the knowledge that I’d be seeing Spencer. Unfortunately, he was still doing that rather annoying thing where he refused to answer my text messages. It wasn’t until he ignored even my most ridiculous threats that I realized something was going on.

The ‘Read’ notification sat menacingly on my screen, and I was so fixated on it that I almost didn’t notice the familiar mop of brown curls visible in the front row of the auditorium. But once I saw it, the phone was forgotten faster than ever before. I ran down the steps at a ridiculously dangerous pace, dodging the others still grumbling from their previous exams.

I landed in front of him with only enough breath left to sneer, “You’re in my seat.”

“Surprise,” he said with my favorite smug, self-assured smile.

“Adorable. Now move,” I ordered with a wave of my hand. As much as I loved the guy, I wasn’t about to change my seating arrangement for him. It was beginning to make sense, though, why my friend told me that she wouldn’t be sitting with me today.

“Fine,” he sighed, taking his sweet time moving seats and watching me happily bounce on my feet in the meantime. I snuck behind him into the seat before he’d even fully stood up. That little amount of friction between our bodies seemed to be enough to cause the tension to mount. It’d only been seconds, but I was already seriously considering abandoning the class. To hell with the professor who’d already seen me.

But Spencer’s eyes locked on mine, and he leaned onto the armrest with that same silly smirk.

“It’s a workday, Dr. Reid,” I whispered, forcing my arm next to his and watching the way his pupils grew as I came closer.

“I might have pulled a few strings,” he replied just as quietly, keeping the illusion of secrecy despite many prying eyes around us, “Might’ve told Hotch I was invited.”

“But you weren’t,” I snorted.

Spencer’s head hung in just a little bit of shame, but his wide smile never waned. It was still there, bright and pure in its simplicity as he softly admitted, “Yeah. I lied. But I’m here now.”

There were no complaints about that fact, either. His pinky reached out to mine, twining together in the dim light of the auditorium. Somehow, for a brief second, I forgot about everything else. The noisy chatter meant nothing to me, the two of us lost in some alternate pocket universe that felt safe and warm from the cold air outside.

But time resumed, and I watched as Spencer took his eyes off of me first, turning instead to the lecturer watching us with a knowing glint in his eyes.

“Good morning everyone! We have a special guest with us today.”

I wanted to pay attention to his little introduction, but I couldn’t. Every word that was said about him sounded so clinical. It felt so empty compared to the truth I knew about him. He was so much more than a collection of publications and PhDs.

He was… indescribable. Even as his mouth formed a flat line and his awkward handshake was granted to the crowds of disinterested students, all I saw was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Even if it was only from the shadows of his greatness. Then again, I don’t think he’d ever let me feel that way.

Speaking of…

"Dr. Reid, the only thing I ask is for you to give these wonderful students a chance to show you what they know,” my professor started with a laugh before he so kindly continued, “So go easy on them."

In any other situation, I might have let it slide. I would have accepted the fact that Spencer was far beyond my intellect and not stand up for myself. But this time, Spencer was on my turf.

"All due respect to Dr. Reid, I don't think he needs to go easy on us,” I called from the front row, only audible to the other dutiful students that cared enough to sit up front. I heard Spencer laugh beside me, shaking his head just a little bit at the challenge. He didn’t say anything though, and I returned my eyes to the professor who was already familiar with my antics as I boasted, "At least not on me."

While Spencer caught on to the fairly obvious double entendre, shifting his crossed legs closer, the professor just wrote it off as my usual academic pride.

“I did try to warn you that that one might get competitive,” he commented. At this point, everyone had definitely figured out my relation to the man next to me. It was kind of hard to hide a bullet wound from your school. But again, I was so caught up in the man beside me that I didn’t even feel a little shame at their playful teasing.

Spencer’s commentary was the only thing that mattered, and he gave it with a dreamy sigh. "I'm not offended at all. I'm sure she's very clever."

The little bit of light left in the room started to fade, and once I was shrouded by the shadows, I felt confident enough in my plan to dig through the bag at my feet to pull out probably the nerdiest item in it.

A fucking back-up clicker. Which, I promptly handed to the man beside me.

“You’re in seat B4,” I whispered gruffly, earning yet another snarky chuckle from my boyfriend.

“Is that a challenge?”

I didn’t answer. Not him, anyway. What I did answer was the question that had appeared on the screen.

“Ms. (Y/n)?” My professor called, recognizing my seat number without even looking up.

Luckily for me, today was nothing but a review day of the midterm I’d already taken. While I knew all of the questions and, what I’d hoped were the right answers, Spencer had to read the questions from scratch. Really, it didn’t give me an edge. It just put us on equal playing ground.

As I gave my answer, I watched in my peripherals as Spencer’s eyes narrowed and tongue peeked out from lips that I still hadn’t gotten the chance to kiss today.

It was a bad thing to think about, because my brief reverie of the things that mouth was capable of reminded me of another one. I didn’t even notice another question had appeared on the screen, and when I heard the familiar buzz of an attempted answer, I shared my Professor’s temporary confusion.

“Ah, Dr. Reid,” he laughed, probably already regretting welcoming the bastard here, “Please explain the answer.”

But there was another thing working in my favor: My boyfriend’s giant fucking ego. Really, it should be impossible that someone who was normally super insecure could enjoy showing off as much as he did. My professor didn’t mind, because Spencer’s long-winded answer was a wonderful review of… basically the entire course, and I didn’t mind because it granted me the one thing I needed.

Time. Time to slowly remove my jacket and reveal the sweater underneath. Spencer’s eyes caught the motion, glancing over only a couple of times while he managed to give his answer. It wasn’t until I started to remove the sweater that he cut his answer short.

His throat clearing told me he wanted my attention, but I was still just too distracted for him. I fanned my chest that felt warm for reasons other than the temperature of the room, guaranteeing his eyes would stay there long enough for me to catch the next question before he had a chance.

Or so I thought. Because before the question appeared, I made the positively stupid mistake of meeting his gaze. As soon as I did, my mind was stuck there, drowning in molasses and honey and—

“Dr. Reid, please feel free to continue to do my job for me. Lord knows I would love a break,” the professor joked, and I almost felt guilty for just how genuine he sounded. Not like Spencer would have noticed passive aggression if it existed.

Not like either of us would have cared. Per usual, we were so lost in the space of B4 and B5 that we didn’t care about the rest of the alphabet. All we cared about was winning. It was growing more and more obvious to me, though, that I would have to become a little more ruthless if I wanted to bring down the bona fide genius.

The sound of his voice rang through the auditorium loud, clear, and confident. He didn’t need to worry if he was right or not, because he knew he was. The smugness was grating to my ears. I knew I couldn’t trick him into making a mistake, but there was one thing I could do.

I’d learned one thing very well in my time with Spencer, and that was how to manipulate that pretty little voice of his.

For example, if I wanted to hear it catch in his throat and come out a few pitches higher, all I would have to do is touch him. The riskier the touch, the higher his voice would go. Which was why I spread out the jacket over my lap, making sure that our legs were close enough that it covered him, too. Then I waited, calmly and kindly listening to him drone along until there was a natural enough inflection to hide evidence of any nefarious actions. Just as his voice started to rise, I slid my hand over his knee.

Spencer barely stuttered, just enough for me to know he was affected, but not enough for anyone else to notice. He took the loss with grace, quickly ending his answer with a summary that contained only half as many words as he would have normally provided.

He kept a few for me.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, shifting close enough to me that I could feel his breath on my ear.

“All’s fair in love and war,” I hummed. His breath caught again when I began stroking my thumb over his leg that had just started to bounce.

“This is wildly inappropriate.”

“How perceptive,” I returned with my own little smirk. The interaction caught us both, trapping us in the alternate dimension that existed when we held each other. His hand found its way to mine, and his thumb brushed over the back and sent goosebumps shooting over my skin.

I’d practically abandoned our pursuits altogether when I heard my friend’s voice as she took the question that we’d both missed. I should’ve been upset for losing after all that I’d gone through for my strategy to succeed, but it was hard to feel anything other than butterflies when Spencer was still looking at me like that.

Even when I looked away, he stayed, patiently waiting for me to take the final question in the review. I granted him a chance to take it, but he just shook his head, implicitly asking me to take the win for the both of us. Even when we were competing, we were always on the same team.

There were no more distractions as I explained the answer as simply as I could. I was positive the rest of the class was tired of hearing our voices, but Spencer never stopped smiling. I could feel the pride rolling off of him, his hand growing tighter around mine as he took in a deep breath.

“Very good, (y/n),” my professor announced, signaling the end and initiating a large sigh of relief from everyone else.

Spencer sighed too, although his was with a different kind of relief; a dreamy, soft sound as he muttered under his breath, “Just like I said. Very clever.”

The air felt positively electric, and I never hated my class more than I did in that moment. The rest of the period ticked by so slowly that I almost swore the clocks were broken. Once we were allowed to leave, Spencer insisted on sticking around to thank the professor for his hospitality.

I knew it was necessary, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. I tried to be as patient as possible, even though it seemed pointless. Spencer’s little grin told me he knew very well what he was doing. The conversation had dragged on for practically five minutes of agony while I idled by the door.

But then my professor passed, and I felt the adrenaline course through my veins in seconds. As anticipated, we didn’t even make it out of the building before the tension broke. We’d barely even made it down the goddamn hallway before I shoved his scrawny ass into the first empty classroom I found. Once the door clicked shut behind us, the roles were quickly reversed.

I hadn’t seen him that excited in so long that I’d almost forgotten how easy it was to get swept up in his undertow. I couldn’t keep track of his hands or his mouth as they marked any bare skin they could find. But no matter how frantic and uncoordinated the movements were, they never ceased to send chills down my spine.

“This is wildly inappropriate, Dr. Reid,” I managed to slur between sloppy, heated kisses. It was barely comprehensible through the pent-up lust that had driven us there in the first place, but it still felt worth saying.

Spencer, however, made his feelings very clear with a gruff, forceful, “I don’t care.”

His hands were already roaming over my hips, pulling me so close to the edge that I nearly fell off the counter entirely. While I was laughing at his haste, he was busy leaving angry marks on my collarbone, pulling the top of my shirt down to grant him more access. And despite how badly my body burned with desire and need, I drummed up just enough self-preservation to force out a few, regrettable words.

“Take me home.”

Even though I tried to make it sound more seductive than a normal request to stop, it brought the momentum to a halt. Spencer immediately stopped his kisses, but let his hands continue to stroke loving patterns over the sides of my thighs.

“Don’t you have other classes?” he asked. The feeling of his breath against my ears making me second-guess my already voiced decision. But as enticing as the idea was of having him now, having already waited over a week, I knew we could have so much more fun with a little bit of privacy.

“Don’t you have work?” I teased, hoping that it would spur him to take the action we both knew was safer. At the same time, I couldn’t stop myself from wanting to poke fun at the academic in him.

“Unless this is your way of telling me you've always wanted to fuck a girl in a lab because, I must admit I'd be more than happy to oblige."

Spencer’s whole body tensed as he imagined just what it would feel like to take me in such a public place. After a couple seconds that I can only imagine were filled with fantasies and a reasonable fear, he pulled me from my seat on the counter and placed me back on the ground.

“Let’s go,” he said, pulling me by my wrist towards the door.

I only barely managed to stop him with both hands on his arm. He turned back to look at me like I’d done some horrible thing, but I was too busy trying to stop the laughter that was spilling from my chest.

“You’re uh—” I cleared my throat, pointing to the very noticeable tent in his slacks before I keened through the giggles, “You’re gonna have to do something about that.”

With a quick glance down, Spencer remembered the very unfortunately obvious trait of the male anatomy. “Fuck,” he stated plainly.

I couldn’t resist.

“I mean, I’m down,” I joked one final time.

“Shut up!” Spencer laughed, too, trying and failing to adjust himself in his pants while I just enjoyed the show.

After all, we both knew that once we were alone, he would get a reprieve from my ridicule. He would get whatever he wanted.

—————————————————

The chaotic clashing of hands and mouths continued seconds after we’d reached our destination. The empty apartment had all of the sounds of our desperation echoing back to us, and after soaking in the melodious noise for a few seconds, I snapped back to reality.

“Okay, she doesn’t get home for another 30 minutes at the earliest so, we’d better hurry,” I urged, trying to shove Spencer off of me to convince him to move. It barely worked, with his arms clutching tighter the harder I struggled to get away.

Wrapped together just like that, the two of us barely made it a few feet before we almost tumbled to the ground. That was just enough of a reminder of our lack of coordination for Spencer to finally, begrudgingly, release me. Kind of. His hand still held tight to mine, and our laughter still combined the whole way to our bed.

From there, Spencer felt confident in our privacy to answer, “That’s fine. I usually tear open my gifts pretty quickly.”

It was a very good metaphor for the way his hands worked over my clothes. I didn’t even try to pinpoint the moment where being naked no longer made me feel nervous. I let the scar tissue show because neither of us were going to look at it, anyway. We were too caught up in the slight shifts and nuances of our faces as we rushed towards our one mutual goal.

“I missed you,” I mumbled, the words feeling as natural as breathing itself.

“I missed you, too,” he returned, and I felt the raw emotion, the sincerity and desire in every syllable. But once it was over and he had finally managed to remove everything but my underwear, all that was left was an all-encompassing, mind-altering level of lust.

“God, watching you in class was so fucking frustrating,” he strained, his upper lip curling with disdain as he watched my body squirm against the sheets.

“Why’s that?”

“I wanted you so badly.”

There was no denying that it was the honest truth, and I didn’t even want to try. I wanted to gloat and bask in the confirmation that his presence was dangerous for my academic career. Not to mention my sanity.

“Like I said. You’re very distracting.”

Then, to prove my point, that brilliant bastard shoved his hand under the band of my underwear. He only held me softly for one second before he slid his fingers through the slickness and thrust them roughly into me. It hadn’t been that long, but the emptiness I felt before was even more apparent now that I had any part of him inside of me again.

“Am I?” he chimed with a smile.

I wanted to be bratty, to fight the tension that was building and appear unfazed by his ministrations, but there was simply no pretending. Not when my body was already on the verge of spasming around his fingers that seemed to stroke the perfect place within me with every movement.

“Jesus Christ,” I sighed. I should’ve known better than to give him ammunition.

“You’ve resorted to blasphemy already?”

Spencer partnered the tease with a ruthless thrust, burying his fingers to the knuckle inside of me and holding them there. He waited until I ran out of breath and struggled to take another while also trying not to scream in a mixture of frustration and devastating need for more.

“I thought I told you we had to hurry?”

“We’ve got time,” he shot back without pause, “You’re just being a needy little brat.”

“Yes, I am,” I whined just as quickly, “I’m a fucking brat and I need you.”

He almost seemed disappointed in my compliance. His fingers began moving again, eliciting noises that were louder, higher, and sweeter after the anticipation. He tried to draw the attitude out of me by stopping again, waiting for a quip that didn’t come.

“Awww, no fight?” he cooed.

“I can’t. It’s your birthday,” I grumbled before biting my tongue. The pressure was becoming so unbearable I thought I might honestly draw blood. But after another few seconds of torture that felt like a lifetime, Spencer withdrew his hand completely.

He was testing the limits, watching how far I would let him go before begging. But even when he took the same soaked fingers and began rubbing me from the outside of my underwear, I only opened my mouth to steal quick, soft breaths and give pitiful whines.

“Oh, I like this…” he laughed, apparently having gotten past his concern about my sudden compliance, “I could get used to you behaving.”

The song-like cadence got to me, threatening to spark and ignite everything I was holding back. I almost bit back. I almost let the desire scorch my throat with a few choice words for the very rude genius, but I didn’t. The only thing that stopped me was the feel of cotton sliding down my thighs as he removed the final barrier between us.

“You’d miss my misbehaving,” I said with a chuckle. The sound mixed with another, a deep moan that filled my chest when I felt him press himself against my entrance. My back arched, causing him to slip inside of me just enough for us to both lose our words.

“I don’t know…”

If I’d wanted to say anything, my mouth wouldn’t have let me. It was too busy singing his praise while simultaneously begging him to silence it. My lips floundered for a kiss that he hung just far enough away from me to deny. Satisfaction was painted over every feature as he started to enter me, brushing his lips against my mouth every few seconds just to pull away before I was granted the intimacy I sought.

“You do look rather cute when you’re begging.”

It was strange, the way my body started to predict his movements. I met him in the middle of every motion, and I swore even our breath became synchronized in its rapid firing. It wasn’t until his hand rested over my throat we broke the rhythm. I wasn’t going to complain, letting the energy flow down my spine that arched towards him on instinct. His hips never stopped, and I could tell by the way his breath hitched and his fingers grew tighter around my neck that the new angle was as wonderful for him as it was for me.

“You look so sweet when you let go of every ounce of self-preservation and dignity you have and put your life in my hands,” he whispered with an affection that almost seemed odd considering the context. But then there was something else in his moans, a genuine gentleness that made my already arrhythmic heart beat faster.

“You know I’ll take care of you, don’t you?” he asked as his movements stayed calm and careful. Loving and safe.

I didn’t even notice my eyes had closed, but it ultimately didn’t matter. Because when I opened them, I saw the same man that existed in every image behind my eyelids. The only indication he got that I was still capable of communication was the gentle curve of my lips that dropped open in a pleased sigh as his hips continued a slow, tender pace.

It still felt like too much, but not in a bad way. It was too much in the sense that I was reminded once again just how ruined he’d made me. And the smug little shit knew it, too.

“You don’t have a single thought in that pretty little head, do you?” he cooed, dragging his hand up the column of my throat to force his fingers against my tongue. True to my word, I didn’t try to fight back. I soaked the digits that still tasted like me with my jaw left open. His pupils dilated as he watched the spit pool in my mouth that awaited his instruction.

“You just want to be used. Like the perfect little doll you are.”

Unlike my own, his smile was more of a smirk. A crooked, ever so slightly wicked quirk that made my muscles tense around him in their own version of an affirmative answer. He took it, happily. His body crashed into mine, but it merely felt like an extension of myself returning home like the waves meeting the shore. I could feel him claiming his rightful place at the deepest parts of me, making his home with every powerful motion of his hips.

I could hardly breathe, let alone think. I didn’t want to. It felt unnecessary.

“My sweet little girl,” he muttered with an unbelievably chaste kiss in the center of my forehead, “You’d do anything to make your daddy happy.”

I felt detached from myself in a way that didn’t feel me with fear or pain. I could feel myself through his hands, strong and working the pliable flesh of my thighs as he held them up so that he could drive into me harder.

His eyes, also only half open, burned with intensity. I could feel the determination, the undying desire to grant me a serenity that no one else could. His need for me to feel safe and loved with the seemingly contradictory brutality.

But it wasn’t contradictory. The power behind every movement, the insistence on being as close to me as he possibly could, might have caused some physical pain, but it was nothing compared to the pleasure of sharing this space with him. Of sharing my body with him just to see what he would do with it. I already knew, but I wanted to feel it again and again. Because with each stroke of his hand and thrust of his hips, I felt it.

Spencer had free rein to do whatever he wanted, and he chose to love me.

“I’m so close. You know what I want,” he pleaded despite holding all of the power. He handed it to me with a low groan, trying to kiss my lips while he commanded, “Do it. Come for me.”

My body obeyed his command, falling to pieces around him with shockwaves breaking over every inch of me. My vision went white, crafting a halo of light around him as he also found himself reaching a peak that seemed different than the times we’d shared before.

I tried to figure out what had changed, what about this time made it unique. But as the euphoria faded, all I saw staring back at me was the same face as always, radiating a joy and understanding that warmed damp, chilly skin. Spencer’s release provided a similar warmth within me, and my body clung to him even tighter despite the exhaustion.

My breathing took its time to even out, but I was in no rush to leave him. I would have stayed like that forever, with Spencer covering me like the silliest, boniest blanket. If it wasn’t for the dead weight he eventually dropped on me, we probably would’ve spent the whole day lost in the covers. But he could thank the scars for me being a little less forgiving.

Of course, thankful is not the word to describe him at all. Whiny was more like it. Even as I turned our bodies together so that I would still be sitting on his lap, he did nothing but groan and bitch about it. That is, until I silenced him with a kiss that barely brushed over his lips.

That was enough to turn his frown back to the dopey smile I loved so much.

“Happy birthday, old man,” I purred, enjoying the way his hands grabbed me tighter at the loving nickname. But age wasn’t what was on his mind. I could see it in the way his eyes tore past my defenses and he held me closer like we could actually become one if he tried hard enough.

“I’m so in love with you, it’s infuriating,” he whispered.

“I’ve heard that one before.”

Spencer wasn’t in a joking mood, though. All of his humor seemed to be expended earlier in the day, and now he was just left with all the mushy, romantic innards that I normally kept at bay.

It wasn’t that bad, though, I thought as his hands framed my face so our foreheads would touch. There were worse things to be trapped with.

“It’s true,” he mumbled with his voice still high and slurred together, “I look at you and there is just… nothing that can be said that would ever explain the way it feels.”

“Gross,” I joked.

“Get used to it,” he returned. And if that wasn’t enough to make me laugh, he stuck his tongue out in the most childish display I’d seen from him since he’d fucking licked my hand on our picnic. It was also just charming enough that I was willing to let the sappy stuff slide.

“I’ll be nice to you this time,” I grumbled. “But also, speaking of time, you’d better hurry up if you don’t want to do the walk of shame with an audience.”

Spencer’s arms fell limp with a dramatic cry before he used them to cover his face once more.

“Ugh. Go,” he ordered. Despite his words, he still made me fight against greedy hands to wrestle my way out of bed. It would have been smarter to let me go quickly. I really don’t know what he was thinking, but he would learn his mistake soon enough. Because as I was finishing up in the bathroom, I heard a very amused voice chiming down the hall on the other side of the door.

“Good afternoon, Spencer.”

I debated not opening the door and freeing Spencer from the unbelievably uncomfortable position he’d just found himself in, but ultimately decided it was too cruel. Still, the stalling had taken up enough time that the poor guy felt compelled to reply.

And, of course, the only thing he could think to say was a pathetic, high pitched, “Hi.”

Somehow managing to contain the absolutely riotous laughter I felt in my gut, I opened the door with the straightest face I could muster.

It wasn’t enough. Spencer saw the pleasure I took in his humiliation and practically shoved me out of the bathroom to take my place behind the doors. While I found the action endearing in the most awkward way, my roommate was mostly just confused about how the fuck I’d managed to find someone as stupid as me.

“I didn’t know he was coming,” she said once she managed to smile at the silly situation.

Clearing my throat, I tried to sound sincere in my bullshit apology. “Me either, sorry.”

In a way, I think the fact I couldn’t pull myself together worked in my favor. Normally, she would have scolded me (albeit playfully) for not alerting her of what she might be walking in on, but this time, she just tried to withhold the smile that still stretched over her cheeks despite her best efforts.

“You’re fine,” she sighed, giving in to the desire to go against her usual grumpy demeanor before retreating to her own room. “Have fun, you hooligans.”

Once her door clicked shut, I heard shuffling on the other side of the door next to me. Spencer’s shadow was visible from the light peeking out underneath, and I waited a few more restless seconds before I announced, “You can come out now, Spencer.”

Cautiously, the door creaked open just enough for his head to poke out and confirm that I wasn’t trying to trick him.

“I’ve never been a hooligan before,” he said with a bounce in his step and his eyebrows halfway up his face. To think that he was the same man who threatened to arrest me for existing at a nightclub was, in a word, hilarious.

“Well, good news for you,” I purred, and the sound must have reminded him of my more devilish nature, because his jubilance quickly shifted back to an obvious anxiety. I wrapped my arms around him even when it meant that his muscles tensed, dragging him down so I could whisper in his ear, “I was just about to ask if you wanted to help me play hooky.”

“And do what?”

It felt strange to say that I hadn’t really thought about it. That the second I’d seen him I knew that the day would be good and free and fun. That everything felt so perfectly fine that I didn’t even want to challenge it with a schedule.

Spencer looked at me, his answer apparent in the way he started to relax the longer we stayed wrapped up in a shitty apartment hallway. It didn’t matter what I said. Spencer would have followed me, just like I would have done for him.

And without the angst or uncertainty of what could go wrong, there was only one thing left for us to do. With a shrug and pout, I proposed the riskiest plan we’d had yet.

“Whatever we want.”

—————————————————

| Finale |

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #here to misbehave #h2m #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid series #reid series #spencer reid request #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds smut #dr spencer reid #reid request

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cosmicjoke · 3 years ago

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Ah, chapters 113 & 114 of AoT, and I’ve only got one thing to say.

Zeke, am I supposed to be feel sorry for the bitch? Well I DON’T.

No, seriously, fuck this guuuuuuuuy, I know I keep saying it again and again, but God damn, if these two chapters didn’t just solidify my hatred for the bastard.

First of all, he is just... the most whiny, delusional, self-pitying pathetic loser, just... he really is. I feel like a character in a Peanuts comic strip every time he opens his mouth. All I hear is “whaa, whaa, whaa”. And his delusions of grandeur would almost be funny if they weren’t so pathetic.

Here’s the thing, alright, and I’m sorry if I’m going to offend any Zeke fans with what I’m about to say, but too bad, I guess.

Everything out of this shitheads mouth is a lie. And just because he’s convinced himself of his own bullshit doesn’t make the lies coming out of his mouth any more true.

He turns Levi’s fellow soldiers into Titans. He does this without remorse. Don’t try to tell me Zeke felt bad about it. He didn’t. You know how I know he didn’t? Because in his private moments in the immediate aftermath, he mocks Levi over having done it, gloating about his supposed master plan of using Levi’s compassion against him and utilizing it to ensure Levi’s own demise. Zeke’s entire attitude here is sickeningly unbothered, unburdened, uncaring, and smug in the EXTREME. He mocks Levi’s compassion, literally makes fun of it and lambasts it as a pathetic sign of weakness when he says “I know you’re a caring leader. Your soldiers haven’t done anything wrong. They’ve just grown a little bigger. You wouldn’t, say, slice them to pieces over that, would you?”. This is Zeke making fun of the fact, finding AMUSEMENT in the fact that he’s just murdered 30 people who have never done a single thing to him, and reveling in what he thinks is a victory that will lead to Levi’s own death, reveling in having taken advantage of and weaponizing a better man’s kindness and compassion. Zeke is ENJOYING this moment. Just like he enjoyed killing all those soldiers in Shinganshina. And then, the kicker, and this is a particular point about Zeke that just makes me absolutely sick, he pretends to himself as if he didn’t want to do it. He PLAYS at his own regret, saying, “I didn’t want do this either,” and yet in the very next breath, continues to treat what he’s done with grotesque flippancy, saying “Still, how sad... There wasn’t even a battle or skirmish.” Gloating over how easily he’s bested Levi and his men, before going on to sink further into his insane delusions of grandeur, blaming their inability to trust one another on Levi’s inability to “understand”. I’m sorry, Zeke, but no. You didn’t even TRY to help Levi understand, too wrapped up in your own egotistical god-complex to consider it a possibility. ‘Oh, only I could possibly understand, along with Eren, the great task we two special beings have been burdened with. He makes assumptions about Levi’s life, about the kinds of things he’s seen and experienced, and convinces himself that they couldn’t be anything like what Zeke has (which, hilariously, is all wrong, since out of everyone, Levi knows better than anyone else in the SC what it’s like to be treated as a second class citizen). Zeke just assumes Levi couldn’t possibly ever grasp the complexities of the outside world, and so that’s why Zeke didn’t even bother trying to talk to him. Blah, blah, blah. No, Zeke, you didn’t share your stupid ass plan because you wanted to continue to feel special, like you’re the chosen one who gets to decide the fate of an entire race of people. The most hilarious part of this entire sequence is when Zeke is thinking Levi couldn’t ever understand the concept of all the world’s militaries bearing down on Paradis at once, and what that means, couldn’t grasp the urgency of the situation, as if ZEKE HIMSELF isn’t completely fucking responsible for that situation in the first place. Zeke literally engineered it. He created the problem, and now wants to position himself as the savior. He’s just such a loser man. The God damned definition.

And as if all of that wasn’t bad enough, when it turns out Zeke’s plan to take Levi out failed miserably, and Levi comes after his sorry ass like a bat out of hell, Zeke continues to mock Levi, to laugh at what Levi’s just had to do in order to survive and pursue Zeke. He says “Where’d your adorable little men go!? Don’t tell me you killed them all! The poor things!”. Are you fucking serious? Zeke’s behavior here is one of the most sickening things in the entire story, bar none. The way he laughs at Levi here for having to cut down 30 of his friends and comrades, the absolute display of sociopathic glee and disregard for the severe, horrific trauma he’s just caused this man, is honestly shocking. Man, I’m sorry, but anyone who sympathizes with Zeke over Levi after this display maybe needs to reevaluate their moral compass, because it’s damned broken. And just as an aside, Zeke’s cowardly fear of Levi is also pretty damned funny. He’s just such a bitch./

We go from this perverse display of psychopathic megalomania into Zeke’s backstory, and again, I’m sorry if I’m gonna offend any Zeke fans here, but to all of that, I ask, so effing what? Oh, boohoo, Zeke’s mommy and daddy didn’t shower him with praise or spend any time playing catch with him, and somehow, I guess, this is meant to excuse his attempts later in life to commit mass genocide. Poor, poor Zeke. Yes, his childhood was sad, he experienced neglect from his parents for two whole years, was used by them as a pawn for their idiotic plans, and ended up disappointing his father when it turned out he had no real talent. And again I ask, so what? This sort of experience isn’t exactly what one would call unique, or even extreme. There are countless children in the world who go through the exact same thing in various forms. Parents who put too much pressure on their kids to succeed, parents who try living vicariously through their children, parents who make their disappointment known and even punish their children for failing to live up to their expectations (something Zeke’s parents never did, by the way). The point is, this isn’t even what one would classify as extreme hardship. It’s a sad story of a child being neglected and not receiving enough love from his parents. This isn’t to undermine the very real pain one experiences from those things. Not at all. That pain is real and legitimate. But it’s also fairly common and pedestrian, as far as childhood trauma is concerned, and it doesn’t even remotely begin to justify the extreme lengths of megalomaniacal, sociopathic, genocidal tendencies he later displays. Also, Zeke also had his grandparents, who did love him and spent lots of time with him. He had Mr. Ksaver, who played with him and acted as a mentor to him. It wasn’t like Zeke had no one and grew up with zero connections. That’s BS.

Levi calls this bitch on his shit later in chapter 114, as Zeke’s muttering away in his delusions about how he’s “saving everyone”. He asks Zeke “That was your plan? Mercy killings?”. Levi’s asking Zeke here who the hell gave him the right to decide who lives and who dies? Who gave him the right to decide who’s life is WORTH living? When Levi says him getting to die by being eaten by a Titan is pretty merciful, considering he stole the lives of so many of his comrades, Zeke’s reply speaks volumes about just how warped and demented his thinking is, when he says “I stole nothing. I... saved them. Them and the children they would have... I saved them all... from this cruel world.”. He’s literally justifying murdering countless people by trying to redefine that murder as “saving” them. It’s not murder because it saved them from ever having to suffer again! He’s absolving himself here of his sins by casting his actions in not just a favorable light, but trying to sell them as heroic and admirable. He takes no, actual responsibility for what he’s done. He removes himself from that responsibility by pretending he was doing a good thing, an honorable, noble thing, by murdering a whole bunch of people who’d never done jack shit to him. Yippee for Zeke, I guess. He’s the very definition of an ego-maniac, of someone suffering from a messiah complex. He’s insane, and morally depraved. The very fact that he’s the one who comes up with the idea of eradicating the Eldian race by rendering them infertile is only further proof of this. What teenager comes up with a plan to exterminate an entire race of people and thinks it’s a good idea?

Right before he blows himself and Levi up, he screams “I’m hope you’re watching, Mr. Ksaver!”. He’s indulging in his own, fanciful notions of himself as the “chosen one”, as a unique person who alone is capable of delivering humanity to salvation. He’s showing off, asking Mr. Ksaver to watch him as he “saves the world”, because all he cares about, really, is making himself feel special, of fulfilling what he’s deluded himself into believing is his destiny, his right to decide the fate of the world.

And then he almost kills Levi in the process.

I swear, I wish Levi had just chopped his shitty head off right then and there. No one can blame Levi for chopping the bastards legs up like he did, for being so angry. It wasn’t just that Zeke had killed so many of his fellow soldiers by turning them into Titans, or tried to kill Levi by turning them into Titans, it’s also how Zeke laughed about it, and laughed at the pain he’d caused Levi, treating all of it as if it was worth nothing, and then having the unmitigated gall to cast himself as the hero bestowing his benevolent mercy on all. Give me a fucking break.

Fuck you Zeke. I hope you rot in hell, you dumb shit.

Also, fuck you to Floch too. I hate that bastard almost as much.

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #Levi Ackerman #zeke yeager #snk 113 #snk 114 #meta #thoughts

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shihalyfie · 4 years ago

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The Kaiser wasn’t very good at being a villain (and that’s the point, actually)

Ken’s journey of redemption is generally well-documented overall, and it was explicit enough in the series that there’s only so much you really need to explain it, but due to the blurred boundary of what was supernatural influence from the Dark Seed and what was Ken’s own emotional problems wreaking havoc, it’s somewhat more difficult to bridge that gap between the Kaiser and Ken, and how they can be the same person.

The easiest way to understand it comes from both directions. One is that Ken, even in his normal element, is much more assertive than he’s often given credit for -- it’s just that the Kaiser is a (fragile) manifestation of that very carefully cultivated to channel that in all of the wrong directions. The other has to do with the fact that the Kaiser is actually really terrible at being a villain, and the persona itself is very fragile and difficult for him to maintain.

Rewatching the first half of 02 shows multiple indications that, for all he seemed to be the stereotype “evil genius”, Ken was forcing himself into the mold. He was never cut out for it from day one. Even from the beginning, Ken’s actual nature as a lonely and inherently kind eleven-year-old child was tearing apart at the Kaiser persona, and the fateful episode 21 was not so much a single turning point for him as much as it was the last straw in a series of things tumbling down for him.

Before we continue: While all of the meta on this blog is only possible thanks to support and input from a handful of friends (whose names will not be disclosed on account of privacy requests), this one in particular arose from a long and extensive discussion with said friends that I am extremely grateful for. As always, I hope I was able to convey your points well.

Well, firstly, it’s important to understand that, much like nearly any other character in this series, Ken’s surface demeanor is a bit deceptive. The Crest of Kindness has the original Japanese name of yasashisa (優しさ), which has a secondary meaning of “gentleness” (lost in translation, but still apparent with the bubble metaphor in 02 episode 23). That also ties into the secondary meaning of “kind” -- it’s not just about being naturally “soft”, but actively choosing to be gentle with others even when you’re theoretically capable of not doing so. (For those of you who have seen Appmon, the entire point of that series was about what it means to consciously and deliberately choose to be kind, and, in fact, quite a few parallels could be made between Ken and Haru...)

The contrast between Daisuke and Ken goes far beyond just the surface. Daisuke’s surface demeanor is abrasive, but he’s not actually very good at being assertive until push comes to shove, and he otherwise tends to bend easily to others or get overwhelmed; in contrast, Ken has a more polite demeanor and for the most part seems non-confrontational, but has much stronger control of his emotions and is more easily able to be assertive than Daisuke is. (Of course, both of them share the common point of being like-minded when it’s something that really matters, but Ken is much better at imposing his will and getting what he wants done before Daisuke ever gets to that point, which is what fuels the whole punchline of Daisuke and Ken’s Shopping Carol.)

So, the point is: Daisuke is kind out of instinct and just “naturally” being so, but Ken is kind because he consciously believes in treating others well and not causing conflict, and not causing pain to others.

That’s not to say that Ken’s behavior is out of suppression or anything! It’s not a case like Takeru, who’s trying to push complicated emotions down while pretending they’re not boiling under the surface, nor is he like Hikari, who’s compulsively pressing her emotions down out of a desire not to burden others. Rather, even as early as 02 episode 26, he’s very straightforward about what his issue is and what he thinks about it. Ken’s “shyness” during the latter half of 02 is largely due to shame and hesitation from not knowing the other 02 kids well, but as the series goes on and as we go into post-02 material, he indicates that he’s perfectly wiling to be vocal about what he thinks without necessarily fighting any compulsion to suppress it. For someone who claims he doesn’t know much about his own heart, he arguably seems to have the best grip on understanding himself compared to a lot of this cast!

So in essence, the main take-home here is that Ken is theoretically capable of being strong-willed and assertive, and is very good at choosing when he wants to be assertive and when he wants to hold back. And he likes seeing people get along, and he wants everyone to be happy, and he doesn’t like seeing people be hurt or hurting others, and under normal circumstances, Ken has very good control of his emotions for the most part and quite a lot of self-awareness. That’s why Ken is the one to get the unique designation of this Crest; everyone in this cast can be said to be generous and supportive of others in some form, but there’s a difference between being a “natural” doormat who defers to others by default (Daisuke being a very good indicator of how this kind of mentality has a flip side of lack of self-esteem and high insecurity, and Tamers’s Takato being a good indication of how “being deferential” doesn’t necessarily preclude you from having tendencies towards selfishness or cowardice), versus choosing to be kind by understanding everything and still being gentle out of a belief that it’s the right thing to do (again: see Shinkai Haru). And it’s why Wormmon says in the 02 episode 23 flashback that Ken’s kindness can be used against him; being “kind” in this way requires a lot of mental fortitude, strength, and guts, all of which are things that could easily be very bad things when applied in the wrong direction.

This means that all the Dark Seed really needed to do in order to turn him into the Kaiser...was make him lose grip on that self-control.

Actually, Ken says it himself in less-than-subtle words in Spring 2003:

…It was revenge. But who was this revenge against? Did I want to triumph over the ones who made fun of me? The ones who looked down on me and used me? But… In the end, it was revenge against myself. I couldn’t do anything but deny the kind of human being that I was.

So in other words, the Kaiser persona was, effectively, a self-loathing eleven-year-old boy throwing a massive tantrum. A lot of the Kaiser’s actions in the first half of 02 are honestly rather petty -- he’s basically upset at the kids spoiling his holiday in 02 episode 6, he attempts torturing Daisuke out of a petty grudge over a soccer sliding tackle in 02 episode 8, and everything to do with expanding his territory and eventually (hopefully?) becoming ruler of the Digital World is frankly very sloppy. For all he’s said to be a genius, his genius only seems to extend to book smarts, and his “tactical planning abilities” never really expand beyond that of a soccer field sort of affair; his way of locking down control on other things is basically just “brainwash it harder” or “whip it harder” and applying harder brute force instead of doing something in the long-term like, say, trying to rule with charisma and recruiting allies.

(Again, bringing Appmon back into this, seeing Cloud in action will give you a much better example of a charismatic human villain who’s actually competent at his job. Or, heck, you can even look back at Savers’s Kurata, who at least was savvy enough to pull strings with people in powerful positions. Or even the Kaiser’s predecessor Saiba Neo from V-Tamer, who may have been openly sadistic but still had the sense to align himself with background power. Really, compared to all of these folks, the Kaiser is downright pathetic.)

Remembering that Ken fell into the Kaiser persona partially as a desperate attempt to become a “perfect person” like Osamu, Ken “imitated” Osamu’s cruelty to him because he felt that was how he could improve himself to become a “strong” person better than him. But the irony here is that Osamu’s “cruelty” was something that he himself never liked, and mainly came from lashing out at Ken due to feeling like he had a lack of control over his own life. So Osamu was never happy in that position, and Ken, who is indirectly pointed out via the bubble metaphor to be even more fundamentally inclined towards gentleness, is probably even more miserable.

Because everything Ken does as the Kaiser is “unfocused lashing out at everyone”, the Kaiser has less control over his emotions than Ken normally would. Takeru manages to emotionally pin him to a corner by confronting him with enough assertion in 02 episode 19 (this is before he punches him), and correctly points out that the Kaiser isn’t capable of winning with words (i.e. ideologically) and resorts to violence as the first thing he can think of. You’d think that if the Kaiser were actually someone with the self-confidence to consider the other Chosen Children beneath him, he wouldn’t even bother giving them the time of day, but Takeru just happening to be a little assertive is enough to make him lose his composure and start falling apart, and a lot of his shaken “insects!” yelling comes from him seeming pretty desperate to cling onto that rather than being all that confident about his natural superiority over anyone. 02 episode 20 establishes that he’s getting himself in over his head by tampering with the powers of darkness he can’t control, and while, on a plot level, it means that he’s misjudged his own capabilities, on a metaphorical level, it corresponds to the fact that even Ken himself is incapable of getting himself out of the emotional abyss he’s in.

And on the flip side, one of the biggest “tells” that Ken is still miserable during all of this is 02 episode 9, where he’s seen ruminating on the “glory” he’s getting in the real world despite having just decided to leave it all behind. The episode prior, after all, had been called “The Digimon Kaiser’s Loneliness”. The media is using him like some kind of “hot topic”, his parents’ affection (in his mind) is shallow and based only on his achievements, and he has no friends (how much of a role Akiyama Ryou played in his childhood is unclear, but either way, he’s no longer around now). With no emotional support coming from any direction in the real world, he’s resorting to at least trying to have some “fun” in what he perceives to be a “game”, and yet he’s still not having fun at all.

If you look carefully at a lot of the Kaiser’s actions during the first half of the series, one thing you’ll notice is that there are multiple indications that he’s not quite up to par to being as sadistic as you’d think he’d be. Recalling that we learn in 02 episodes 20-21 that the Kaiser is under the impression that the Digital World is like a game that he can “reset” and the Digimon in it not real living beings, it has interesting implications of the fact that he’s actually very hesitant to physically harm other human beings -- he certainly likes emotionally toying with them, but even when he’s trying to take petty revenge on Daisuke in 02 episode 8, he goes out of his way to set up a trap with Bakemon to torture him rather than, well, actually using the kids as hostages. That’s a hell of a lot of work to do, but he instead uses this extremely roundabout way to get them out of the picture in a somewhat less harmful way, risking having them escape (which is exactly what happens).

And in 02 episode 19, when Takeru confronts him and he ends up whipping him, you can hear a slight “...gh?” in the Japanese audio for a split second right after that, meaning that the Kaiser is, for some reason, having a hard time dealing with the fact that he just hit Takeru, and he does a very poor job defending himself against Takeru punching him out despite ostensibly being trained in judo. (Seriously, if you watch the animation of the scene, he’s just lying there while Takeru repeatedly punches the hell out of him, because he’s so out of it.) Regarding the Digimon, he’s convinced himself that they’re not living beings, but regarding the human Chosen Children, who undeniably are, no matter how much he might look down on them, he has a suspiciously hard time harming them as much as he could...

On top of that, one interesting question that might come up to one rewatching the first half of 02 is the strange “contradiction” of why the Kaiser ostensibly seems to hate Wormmon so much, calling him an unworthy idea of a partner in 02 episodes 10 and 19, and yet does remarkably little to get Wormmon away from him or off his case (he hates Wormmon calling him “Ken-chan”, yet doesn’t really try very hard to stop him). He could have easily locked Wormmon away in a cage or something if he really wanted to -- actually, there’s the question, why doesn’t he slap an Evil Ring on him? Because in the end, Wormmon is the only emotional support he’s really getting, and so it’s likely he unconsciously doesn’t want to lose that. Recalling that Digimon are fundamentally linked to the inner self, the Kaiser rejecting Wormmon for being “weak” is analogous to Ken rejecting his own self for being “weak” and “not perfect” -- which means that the fact he still keeps Wormmon around is analogous to the fact that Ken hasn’t really been able to bring himself to completely let his fundamental nature go. And, hence, it’s why he gets so initially incensed at Wormmon’s “betrayal” at 02 episode 10 (and yet still keeps him around despite that), and is ultimately emotionally destroyed by his death in 02 episode 21.

Although, actually, if you look carefully at 02 episode 21, it’s not quite Wormmon’s death that necessarily does it -- the turning point where he sheds the Kaiser persona is right before that (and in case you have any doubts, the animation puts highlights in his eyes for the first time in the series right at that point). Wormmon’s death is the first major consequence of his actions that he has to deal with, but what actually brought Ken back to his senses was his own realization that Digimon are living beings, that his actions have had permanent effects this whole time, and that he can’t take back anything he’d done.

Remember that 02 is a series that is largely about moving on and accepting that you can’t change the past, and that you have to move forward regardless of that. Ken’s fall into sadism was only possible by driving him into extremely deep-seated denial -- he was already starting to face the potential reality of Digimon being real, existing beings in the real world an episode prior. He says, outright, in 02 episode 21, that part of the reason he came to the Digital World to do all of this was escapism -- and, presumably, under the idea that any mistake he made could be rolled back and redone, unlike Osamu’s death. But the Digital World is not a place you can reset like a game, Ken will have to live with the consequences of his actions again, and moreover, every single one of the actions he’d been convincing himself were relatively meaningless had caused severe and permanent harm, and the entire thing overwhelms him.

It’s also important to point out that this was probably where the Dark Seed had to work a lot of magic to get Ken to embrace this kind of denial so easily -- after all, it’s established in the final quarter of the series that it does have a tangible impact on personality and puts a damper on one’s ability to feel empathy. In the flashback in 02 episode 23, regardless of whether Ken considered the Digital World to be a “game” or “able to be reversed” or not, he clearly still didn’t care and treated those around him with proper kindness (even if he did consider it to be all of that, it probably wouldn’t have been entirely unlike how a lot of us have a hard time picking rude choices in video games). It’s a very complicated chain reaction of events that allowed this to be even possible, and it was so against his fundamental nature that once the denial broke and Ken reached his limit, he wasn’t able to do it anymore. The Chosen Children’s main role in 02 episode 21 was really just cleaning up the massive mess he’d made in the form of Chimeramon, but as far as the whole thing about the Kaiser’s persona completely falling apart and Ken being forced to confront his own self goes, that was pretty much all Ken and Wormmon, in a series of dominoes that had already been collapsing for episodes on end.

The following episodes have Ken treat the 02 team with a certain amount of detachment, and this is often construed by a handful of people as being reflective of Ken being standoffish of some sort. The fact that Daisuke and Ken are often promoted in franchise materials as “rivals” mainly due to them being in the “protagonist and right-hand-man” position such characters are in might tempt you to think that way, but they are most definitely not!! (Considering that even saying that Taichi and Yamato fit that mold is a bit questionable, and neither Ruki nor Jian quite fulfill the expectations of the role in regards to the genre-subverting Tamers, Frontier, which is explicitly said to be deliberately written to be conventional, is probably the first proper execution of this trope in the form of Takuya and Kouji.) Ken’s detachment from the group at this time in the series is something he actually gives the reason for quite directly: he believes it’s his fault and doesn’t want to burden them with what he considers to be his job, and in the end Daisuke ultimately breaks through to him and they become completely normal friends who get along. “Rival” what?

Ken is, at worst, distant during this point of the series, but he’s actually very straightforward about what he wants and intends to do; it’s just that he’s being a bit blunt about it because he’s still drowning in his shame and not sure how to approach them. (Also, consider the fact he was rather lacking in friends or a support group before all of this; he doesn’t have a lot of experience in socializing, either.) So he keeps everyone at arm’s length, and the reason he comes off as so standoffish is because he’s so assertive! He directly and bluntly makes some very strong remarks about how he believes everyone else shouldn’t be getting involved! Again, when left to his own devices and not being manipulated into by a supernatural evil seed into multiple levels of denial, Ken is very in control of what he wants and thinks, and is even very open about speaking his mind.

That’s even when they’re not good decisions, mind you. Ken starts off the climax of 02 episode 26 being very firm about wanting to suicidally throw himself into the reactor in order to stop it, and 02 episode 30 has him consider himself a burden to the team after the fallout with Iori and try to stay out of it despite them very badly needing his presence, which Daisuke (of all people!) rightfully calls him out for being childish about. But he also listens to reason very quickly and acknowledges the others’ point very easily, with Daisuke reminding him in 02 episode 26 that his suicidal recklessness is actually pretty self-centered and short-sighted of him, since it’ll prevent him from doing anything else to take responsibility for his actions going forward, and Miyako, uh, slapping him in 02 episode 30. (But he comes quietly right away as if acknowledging his own idiocy, and never holds it against her thereafter.)

Nevertheless, the point is: you can see that this kind of assertiveness is the same kind of assertiveness he had as the Kaiser, just channeled in a different direction and for a different purpose. But as the Kaiser, he was angrily lashing out at anything and everything and stepping on anything he could just so he could have a show of power; once he comes back to his senses, he reserves that force for it being something he consciously believes is the right thing to do (regardless of whether it’s actually the right thing to do or not).

Because of the fact Ken spends a lot of the last quarter of 02 suffering and parsing a lot of trauma, a lot of people have tended to pin him as constantly sad and being a soft crybaby, but that couldn’t be further from the truth! Despite all the emotional pain he goes through, Ken has a hell of a ton of strength through all of this -- he even flings a well-aimed quip at Oikawa in 02 episode 44 despite being in a completely helpless situation, and in 02 episode 45 he himself is the one who volunteers to open the gate to the Dark Ocean, despite knowing exactly what it entails. That takes a lot of guts, and all things considered, his recovery from being the Kaiser spans only four months and is altogether incredibly fast given what he went through -- it did not take long for him to regain his bearings and get himself back on track. Again, it’s the same kind of “assertiveness” and capacity for action that fuels what the Kaiser did, just better controlled and in a direction Ken knows he actually wants.

This is also why I tend to object to insinuations that Ken would be overly touchy about or traumatized by the mere discussion of him being the Kaiser in the aftermath of 02, because the series itself, multiple times, portrayed him as being very able to talk about his experiences bluntly and honestly, at worst maybe considering it a bit of an awkward topic. He has no problems admitting that it was a thing that happened, especially if it involves discussing it as part of taking responsibility or preventing further damage -- it’s just that he of course doesn’t enjoy it either, and is equally as open about the shame he feels as a result. All of the times Ken loses his composure in the latter half of 02 involve either physical pain being inflicted on him, or a lot more actively vicious invocation of his memories and insecurities, and even then he gets himself back on his feet with a rather prompt amount of speed. Poorly timed of a statement as it may have been, Miyako is not incorrect when she says in 02 episode 31 that he has a certain amount of natural resilience that he carried from being the Kaiser.

All the way back in 02 episode 9, shortly after it was revealed to the group that Ken was the Kaiser, Iori, Hikari, and Takeru all label Ken as someone who doesn’t look like someone who could do something so horrible, and Hikari even says that his smile looks “gentle” (note that this is yasashisou, a word derived from the same root word used for his Crest). So in other words, even all three of them were able to catch on to his actual nature betraying himself even during that awful period of time. It’s still poking through, all things considered.

But we as the audience know he’s putting on that face for the camera, and his eyes are still as dead-eyed as they are for the first half of the series, and when Miyako accidentally makes him laugh during the Christmas party in 02 episode 38, it’s very much framed as probably the first time Ken has been this genuinely happy in a long while. He was never able to be this happy even when “satisfying” himself by stepping on others as the Kaiser.

And that’s why it’s so extremely unlikely that Ken will ever be able to lapse back into the Kaiser persona after the events of 02, even with the Dark Seed technically still inside his neck. He wasn’t enjoying it anyway; the Kaiser persona wasn’t a habit that he fell into out of emotional suppression or even catharsis, but rather him forcing himself into a role he was never comfortable in to begin with. He was never truly satisfied with anything he was getting out of it, and moreover, it took the combination of supernatural influence and a hell of a lot of denial to allow it to get that far in the first place, because of how far against his fundamental nature that was. (Again, for those of you who have seen Appmon: think about what it would take to get Haru to embrace sadism.) Even Osamu wasn’t enjoying being cold; being kind and living your life with positivity is a lot more fulfilling and fun, anyway.

In 02 episode 48, Ken describes the influence of the Seed as “horrible” in retrospect; even if it didn’t involve physical pain and exhaustion the way it did for the Dark Seed children, the entire experience sucked even back then. And while Ken theorizes about the Dark Seed’s influence being countered by the power of love earlier in the episode, when you look at the whole of 02, it’s not just his family’s love -- Ken now has the emotional support of his family, and Wormmon, and his newfound friends, and that’s giving him all of the fulfillment he wanted that putting on a front of sadism wasn’t giving him, and he doesn’t really need anything else anymore.

02 itself is very much about the fact that it’s not a bad thing to rely on the support of others to be happy; the Ken and Kaiser are undoubtedly the same person, but the latter’s existence requires a very specific lineup of events and factors to happen, and one of the massive parts behind that was a severe lack of emotional support or anyone who properly understood him. And by the end of the series, Ken has more than enough strength of heart to accept everything that’s happened and move on, and to stop reaching out to denial and clinging onto the past, and he has emotional support and understanding from a whole new group of friends that thoroughly understand everything he did and went through, and wholeheartedly accept and love him anyway.

He is never going to have a gaping hole in his life like that again.

#digimon #digimon adventure 02 #ichijouji ken #ken ichijouji #shihameta

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kachuuyaa · 4 years ago

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##MELANCHOLY'S INTOXiCATiON — genshin impact

g.i, kaeya, fic? drabble?

1CHARACTER; KAEYA

2GENRE; fluff? i dunno

3INCLUDES; alcohol, kaeya being drunk, kaeya, reader being sick and tired Damn u just want to sleep, u playing the piano because youre a Good Friend 🤣💥😲⁉️😲

4AUTHOR’S NOTES ?! sometimes i want to hug kaeya sometimes i want to punch him 😘🤨 love him though he’s just an asshole sometimes your honor

5SYNOPSIS; was it intoxication that led them to you? They say you succumb to impulsiveness when you drink, but was it really impulsiveness when they showed up at your doorstep? In which, they stumble onto your house, inebriated and miserable. out of pity, (at least, that's what you say) you lay them on your couch and play a piano piece for them. Since when did you play the piano?

..WAS IT A HARD DAY FOR HIM? HE himself didn't know. Whatever it is, it ended up being one of those nights. his breathing unstable, head down low, fingers entangling a glass of the famous Death After Noon. His memories, however, are what he's trying to forget for the night (as always, but really, he wouldn't admit it.) but, much to his displeasure, while he was trying to drown his life away with his drinks, his memories decide to drown him in. Kaeya liked to call himself confident and exceptional, but with you, his confidence seemed to lessen. How dare you, he thinks, familiar yet in denial with these feelings, how dare you make me able to feel such things, he thinks again, he blames you, it's a daily thing for him now, whenever his emotions go haywire, when he looks at you and feels— nervous, at first, why would he feel nervous? He knew the answer already. Although Kaeya Alberich, ever the cunning liar, thinks—oh, no, he knows, that it's but a crush. Now, though? Oh, how you've swept said Cavalry Captain, he's absolutely smitten for you, and he wonders if you are too. He doesn't know, nor he doesn't care how many ounces he has drunk, but it seems enough for him to get sent out by his beloved brother. A scowl printed on the redhead's face, snatching his brother's cup when he was about to order— again. Seriously, when he's in love, (was that the right word to describe it, now?) he managed to get more annoying, that doesn't make him less irresistible. (at least, that's what he thinks.) Diluc only sighs, however, concern replacing his aloof demeanor. they weren't on the best of terms, per se— scratch that, they weren't on good terms. Have you ever seen Diluc without his scowl whenever his eyes land on Kaeya? "Go home, Kaeya." Diluc warns, but Kaeya only smiles, "Is dear brother worried for me?" He says, slurred— but his stepbrother was able to notice the slight tease on his tone. He clicked his tongue, turning away, to revel in the light the moon provided. It's almost like the sky, the gods, were mocking the cavalry captain. His periwinkle eye shines under the twilight, making his face a sight to those who noticed. He grunts, standing up from his seat, legs a bit wobbly due to the amount of drinking he had done. a few crack of his joints, he managed to stand up straight— for a few seconds, that is. He turns around, back to where his stepbrother was last seen, "See you soon, brother, goo— ah," he spoke, a pained click of his tongue was heard; he gained a headache. "Good night." He managed to voice out, stepping out of the tavern, footsteps uneven and vision blurred. He could only imagine a faint "take care of yourself, Kaeya." from Diluc.

A knock on your door, who could it be? At this hour, as well? [Name], ever the overthinker. Capable of replacing Kaeya's position on the Knights Of Favonius, do you think? You really did not have the energy to tend to anyone today. Although you really didn't do anything today, let's gloss over that. The moon— reminds you of that periwinkle eye that never seems to leave your figure. You weren't an idiot, you knew, but what you didn't know, was did he know that you know? He didn't, actually. He tried being subtle; he thought he was being subtle. He was described as observant, yet he still doesn't know that he's not being subtle; was it on purpose? You didn't know, and yet, you can't find yourself to care. You just needed confirmation. To be fair, when you dream about him and when he manages to have the key to your heart, does that mean you love him? Another knock, this time, louder. Letting out a 'tch' in frustration, you get up, walking to the door as slowly as possible. Was it cruel, to make the unexpected and definitely unwanted visitor wait for a while? To you, obviously not. You were about to sleep, for fucks' sake. Turning the doorknob, You were met with quite an unexpected sight. Kaeya, the man you were thinking about just a few moments ago, slumped on the wall near your door, clothes disheveled, lips stained with what you could make out as wine, hair tousled, some strands falling on his face, a slight blush on his cheeks— something you have never seen before, and his hands were placed on his forehead. He was heavily breathing and seemed to have put your attention on you when you oh so softly called out his name. "Hello, darling," the pet name rolled off his tongue before he could prevent it. Was this man trying to kill you? If he is, he's doing a damn good job. (just like he always is.) with his noticeable, yet unique eyes boring into your own, his features being illuminated, courtesy of the moonlight. Quickly snapping out of your thoughts, you turned to the man looking at you. "Why.." you made a circling motion with your pointer finger, to which Kaeya chuckled at. His voice, raspy, entered your ears and led you to the conclusion that he was, once again, drunk. "I think you have an idea, princess." He said, the pet name once again leaving his mouth. You could feel your face heating up, however, that was the least of your concerns. "Anyways.." He trailed off, cocking his head to the door, "Are you gonna let me in?" He really didn't want to entertain any questions relating to why he came to your house instead of his, (once again, he decides to blame it on his feelings-- on you) but he decides to play along; that's what he does best, no?

You reluctantly let him in, hearing a relieved ‘thank you’ from the blue-haired man. Contemplating whether to make him sleep on the couch or in the guest bedroom— did you even have one? You forgot the interior of your house due to how tired you are. Not that you were complaining, thinking makes your head hurt on nights like these. in the middle of your internal monologue, Kaeya made himself comfortable on your couch; a squeak was heard when he was shifting. You quickly shifted your gaze to the man who is now in front of you. Silence fills the canvas that is the sky and your living room. "Remove your accessories," You mumble, hoping that he would hear it. He flicked his head to you, smirking, "At least take me out for drinks," He teased, and you couldn't help but deadpan at him. Oh, you’re taking him out alright. With a sword. Although intoxicated, his teasing was still unrelenting. He obeyed you, either way, taking off his cape, (was it a cape? it looks like so.) and his pelt of fur, placing them carefully on the small coffee table in front of him. Then, his boots came off as well. "Enjoying the view, hm?" He cooed, locking his eyes with yours, and you let out an amused hum, unfazed by his antics. "Right," you really don't want to deal with this today. It's late at night, and this Cavalry Captain decided to barge into your doorstep. You didn't want to ask why, though, he'll tease you relentlessly while avoiding the topic. You grabbed some spare pillows and blankets from your other room. Internally clicking your tongue and cursing him out in your mind, you halted your footsteps when you saw him sleeping. His mouth was slightly agape and his legs were (long, was your first thought) bent so he could fit on your couch. Snickering to yourself, you gently lifted his head up to put the pillow below him, and a blanket on top of him. Thinking about it, you doubted the reason why he came here was to bring false hope. To make you believe that you actually had the chance to be with the Kaeya Alberich, the proclaimed bachelor of Mondstadt. You knew how many people would kill to be in your place right now, but that, you could care less about. Kaeya was unpredictable; you knew. You kept learning new things about him every day, but to others, it may seem that he could read you like the back of your hand. He wasn't wrong, nor was he right, but the things you do are sometimes predictable, some even more so than others. You surprise him, you really do; you could learn things and adapt to certain situations in a snap, and that was probably what allured him. You were attractive, it was obvious, it doesn't take a genius to see that, but what attracted him was the personality you never showed to people. It was a privilege to Kaeya, to him, at least. You sighed, walking towards your grand piano in the center of the living room, light reflecting from its material. You made sure your footsteps were soft so as not to disturb the man on your couch, and you sat down. A melody won't hurt, would it?

your fingers worked their way to the keyboard, and then, you play. Your fingers were like weavers— skilfully weaving a masterpiece and satisfying its client, and you— clearly you weren't going to fail such powerful pianists, now would you? You were painting a canvas using your fingers, pressing on its keys ever so gently; the music traveling with the wind. You had a natural talent for piano, it was obvious, you never had a hard time implementing piano pieces onto your head. Your fingers were single-handedly forming a story on their own on the piano, pressing onto its tiles and carefully playing each note. Kaeya, on the other hand, was never asleep. This was one of the moments where you never fail to surprise him. Piano? Since when were you able to play such an instrument? You never mentioned such a thing to him, nor to anyone he could recall. Could he say that this melody you were playing, just for him, made him fall even harder? It was a pit that he could never escape, he realized that. Maybe the reason why he was here was that he was looking for you. He knew that he loved you, he's not denying it anymore. Who knew that such a simple piece could impact someone's thoughts—

Kaeya's thoughts? Simple, because it was you who was playing it, you, the person who he has fallen in love with, who never fails to make his heart race even when you just spare a glance at him, and you, who has amazed him in more ways than one. He slept soundly to the tune of your melody, dreaming about you, and he wondered, are you dreaming about him too?

26052021 , © kachuuyaa | do not claim my work as your own.

not proofread.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact fanfic #genshin impact x you #genshin x you #genshin impact fluff #genshin fluff #kaeya fluff #kaeya x reader #kaeya imagines #genshin impact kaeya x reader #kaeyagenshinimpact #fuck you kaeya #stop showing up to their house kaeya #confess now kaeya #dumbass kaeya

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the-timeless-children · 4 years ago

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Sia's debut movie “Music” is severely ableist and contributes to harmful stereotypes of autistic people. The Golden Globes must rescind its two nominations for “Best Musical/Comedy Picture” and “Best Musical/Comedy Actress: Kate Hudson”, and the entertainment industry must promise to actively work towards inclusion and better disability representation.

Sia has claimed the movie is a “love letter to the autism community”, however, the music segments are filled with strobing lights, colors, loud sounds, and quick camera movements, which is very overstimulating. About 1 in 4 autistic people have epilepsy, so the movie can cause seizures and is also very uncomfortable for those without it. Despite making the movie “for” autistic people, Sia has made it in such a way that a majority of us will be unable to watch it.

Secondly, actual autistic people were ignored in the casting process when Sia cast neurotypical Maddie Ziegler to play the autistic character, “Music” because she "can't do a project without” her. That is not a valid reason to create a movie about autistic people without including autistic people in it. How does one act autistic, you may ask. If we look at Ziegler's portrayal, the answer is by stereotypically mimicking autistic people the exact same way autistic people have been bullied and mocked their entire lives. It also enforces the idea that autistic people are not good enough and that their autism is better portrayed by someone with no concept of what it is to be autistic. To make things even worse, Ziegler learned how to “act autistic” by watching videos of autistic children having meltdowns uploaded to YouTube by their parents without their consent. Autistic Sophie Buck asks in her article on Dazed, "why autistic people [are] shamed for being themselves, but a neurotypical actor gets rewarded for inaccurately and reductively assuming an autistic identity?".

“Music” is also used as a prop to advance the other characters' stories and lives. Not once are her feelings and thoughts expressed or even sought out. What about the trauma from watching her grandmother passing? What does she think of suddenly having her estranged sister take care of her? Does she want Ebo to move in, the grown man who restrains her? As non-speaking Niko Boskovic says in his essay: “I think there are two points which stuck out to me. First, that there is a caricature of autistics which relies on depicting us as headphone-wearing, gaping innocents who are symbols of purity there to remind us of selfless sacrifice.” And “Second, the assumption that we have no dreams or hopes for the future of our own, and that the life experiences of everyone around us, i.e. those without disabilities, are central and more important than our own dream for the future.” In the movie, "Music" is gifted an AAC device to help her communicate, but it only seems to be able to say “I’m happy” or “I’m sad”. AACs usually have thousands of unique words programmed. It highly underestimates the intellectual capabilities of autistic people. Non-speaking does not mean incapable.

Positional Asphyxia. That is how 13-years-old autistic Max Benson died in 2018 when he was physically restrained by staff at Guiding Hands School. Max was held in a prone restraint for an extended period of time and was forced to urinate and vomit on himself before becoming unresponsive. It is far from the only case of positional asphyxiation in autistic people being restrained during a meltdown. Sia’s decision to include this inhumane treatment is a testament to her ignorance and complete disregard for the safety and needs of autistic people. Despite claiming her movie to be a “love letter to caregivers and to the autism community”, she is actually telling the autistic community that she doesn’t care about them. The fact that “Music” has been nominated for two Golden Globes awards illustrates the complete disregard the entire entertainment industry has for inclusivity and minority representation. It will only use autism as inspiration porn to make neurotypicals feel good about their supposed “superiority”.

Sia’s handling of the comments by disability activists so far has been insensitive, irresponsible, and invalidating. When faced with justified critique, Sia decided to personally attack members of the community e.g. when she replied: “maybe you’re just a bad actor” to one autistic individual who expressed their ability and willingness to act in her movie. Furthermore, Sia claims to have researched autism for years, but the fact that she collaborated with Autism Speaks, easily identified as a eugenics-promoting hate group, is a testament to the severity of her lies. She refused to apologize and only did so after receiving the nominations out of fear of a boycott, which is exactly what we urge all of you to do. She did announce that she is removing the restraint scenes, but that doesn’t change the fact that it was nominated before Sia made this decision. The damage has already been done. Update: the restraint scenes have NOT been removed and there are no warnings in the movie.

In light of this damning evidence, we call on the Golden Globes to rescind its nomination in both categories. We also call upon the entertainment industry to create a more inclusive workspace that will allow autistic people to become part of the industry. We are already seeing more inclusion of minorities, but disability inclusion is non-existent, which is deeply immoral and concerning. When representing autistic people, listen to actual autistic people, not just social workers, parents and organisations. We are the only ones who knows what is best for us and what it is like to be us. We also call upon other members of the industry–such as actors, producers, writers, and musicians–to call out the movie and its enablers, and to show support to the autistic community and its wishes. We call on HanWay Films and Vertical Entertainment to immediately stop the distribution of “Music”, and on any streaming platforms planning to show it. We call on the actors to apologize and distance themselves from the movie. Your silence is louder than you think. Lastly, we call on YOU to sign this petition, to share it, to demand justice, to be an ally of autistic people, and to listen to the autistic community. Let’s make history together!

#Sia #Autism #Actuallyautistic #Ableism #sia is ableist #Mine #Popular

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onebillionstarsff · 4 years ago

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if you think c!dream deserves torture, you don’t know what torture is

alrighty, it’s time for me to do annoyingly in-depth lore analysis again because i have seen way too many people on my dash and twitter timeline saying that c!dream deserves to be tortured.

i don’t really think people have a comprehensive, reality-based understanding of what torture actually is, what it can do, and the motivations behind it. i, unfortunately, do: i’ve done extensive professional-level study on torture, so i’m going to do my best to put out some knowledge into our little dsmp-related world.

obvious content warnings for references to torture and to violence below the cut (nothing too graphic, though; i know this isn’t an academic forum or government work)

all of this is /rp /dsmp

i’ll also list some sources at the very bottom if you want to learn more

alright then, let’s start: what is torture, anyway?

there are two types of definitions, general and legal. i’ll reference both, but the message they carry is essentially the same, so i’ll just paraphrase the united nations definition that’s party to (read: supported/enforced by) 170 countries:

torture is any act that intentionally causes SEVERE harm to someone, physical OR mental, for the purposes of extracting information or punishment for failure to do so, with explicit consent from an acting public authority.

i’ll break down those components in the context of the dsmp in a second, but i first want to make it very clear what torture ISN’T. torture is not manipulation, it is not "trauma” in the way trauma is broadly conceived, it is not even direct physical abuse. you can suffer abuse from, say, a parent or a partner, and that abuse is about a power dynamic, where one person is being forcibly subordinated to the other. torture, on the other hand, is not necessarily about power, and it’s definitely not ONLY about power dynamics; torture, by its very definition, has to be intensely and officially coercive, and it has to be SEVERE. there are not degrees of torture, like there are degrees of abuse: being deprived of sleep for days or even weeks at a time is just as psychologically impactful as losing a limb or being waterboarded (simulated drowning- a common torture method that the us has been known to employ).

this is my first major issue with the way some viewers of the dsmp approach this whole debacle. i constantly hear c!tommy’s manipulation by c!dream cited as a perfect justification for c!dream’s torture. what c!tommy, and others on the server- particularly the kids- went through is horrible, and intensely traumatic. i will never deny them that, especially as a survivor of abuse myself, but torture is not just another form of trauma. that’s a very important distinction that we, as viewers, have to draw: torture is considerably worse because it is sanctioned, it is coercive, and its explicit goal is not just to cause pain or make someone feel powerless (common goals of abusers), but instead to shatter someone.

in more specific terms, the mental goal of torture is to completely unmake someone’s conception of the world, how they interact with it, and their basic sense of identity. if you read accounts or speak with survivors of torture, it is frequently mentioned that their very way of processing everything in life was destroyed by pain and had to be rebuilt, completely different, after escape. by destroying one’s individuality, will, and their most integral of processing abilities, you destroy their grasp on the world; and, to put it lightly, such a breaking event is awful enough that, in an effort to make it stop and regain some sense of normalcy, the victim will tell their persecutors what they want to hear. it’s the reason why confessions obtained through torture are notoriously not admissible in courts of law. this goes far beyond abuse or manipulation, and i need everyone to understand that.

now, let’s get to c!dream’s situation. did he do awful things? yes, undoubtedly. i’m a c!dream apologist, but his manipulation of c!tommy and c!tubbo was very fucked up. beyond that, his notable “crimes” that others on the server aren’t also guilty of committing (e.g., murder, theft, arson, to name a few common ones) really just consist of especially massive destruction of property (people leave c!techno and c!phil out of this equation, much to my chagrin, but i won’t get into it here). punishment for his actions is understandable, and is typically what justice systems aim to do. but, even if we completely ignore the inherent inhumanity of pandora (HOOO BOY that’s a lot to ignore but i digress), c!dream is not being punished, he’s being tortured.

going by the definition i used, let’s break it down:

c!sam knows what c!quackity is doing to c!dream, allows it, and even encourages it. as the warden, he is the person in an official, authority position giving their consent.

c!quackity is, by his own admission, doing what he is to get information out of c!dream. it’s not a confession in this context, but very specific piece of knowledge, with the promise of death also hanging right above it.

list of extreme psychological abuse: long-term solitary confinement (torture if it’s more than 22 hours. c!dream has been in solitary confinement for more than 60 days now), deprivation of the passage of time, general verbal abuse, incredibly limited social contact (people start to fray without basic interaction after a while).

list of extreme physical abuse (god where do i start): prolonged starvation, malnourishment when he isn’t being starved (you will die without protein intake); use of Warden’s Will Breaker pickaxe (it can hack through obsidian, so i think that’s all i need to say), shears (can be used to do things like pull nails, break limb’s bones, amputate toes/fingers/a whole arm in c!ponk’s case), and an OP axe (a sharp blade capable of slicing easily through wood with brute force, and bone is significantly easier to crush than wood).

so, we have consent of authority, coercion for the sake of extracting information, and severe physical/mental abuse meant solely to cause extreme pain. c!dream is being tortured according to the proper, internationally-sanctioned definition of the term, and that is not okay in any circumstances whatsoever.

if you haven’t ever read survivors’ accounts (or the accounts of their victimizers), it’s difficult to understand just how uniquely despicable torture is, and the lifelong effects that remain after it’s over and done with. i honestly recommend you read some testimonials, because it absolutely changes the way you view authority and the world in general.

no one is deserving of this treatment, no matter what atrocities they may or may not have committed.

it’s a basic tenet of human rights, and i don’t think it should be a hard pill to swallow that it’s never excusable in any circumstance. so, defend c!tommy & co. and criticize c!dream’s actions all you want, but please never say that torture is alright. that statement has real consequences, and real moral implications. don’t be an asshole, and don’t be disrespectful to people who have survived it.

if you’re curious, look into these events:

The Argentine Dirty War

Chicago Police’s Jon Burge and his torture regime

Abu Ghraib prison

Extensive torture by Pinochet’s regime in Chile

Guatemalan Civil War

Ugandan policing in the 21st century (Human Rights Watch report here)

if you want some reading, i recommend the following. tumblr will probably nerf this post because of links, but oh well.

Convention against Torture and Other Cruel, Inhuman or Degrading Treatment or Punishment

Elaine Scarry’s The Body in Pain: The Making and Unmaking of the World (very important work in the literature on torture)

John Conroy’s Unspeakable Acts, Ordinary People: The Dynamics of Torture

Levenson (e.d.) Torture: A Collection

#mine #text #jfc this ended up being LONG #sorry about that #long post #dream smp #dsmp #dsmp analysis #dsmp meta #prison arc #pandora's vault #dreamwastaken #dream #torture cw #abuse cw #c!sam critical #i doubt this will go anywhere lmao but it's nice to get my thoughts on (digital) paper

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writingindulgence · 4 years ago

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Painting Nails with Gojo Satoru (x reader)

Pairings: Gojo Satoru x (unspecified-gender) reader

Genre: Good friends with some mutual pining, a bit of fluff and a bit of uncertainty, reader has their mind in the gutter for a split second

Lmao, how long can someone write about painting nails T.T 2800+ words

When you recently mentioned that you had no free time to refresh your nails due to the influx of odd jobs here and there, you didn’t think that it would lead to your long time friend, Gojo Satoru, sneaking into your room at the Tech with a bag full of nail polish.

He was in the middle of laying them out haphazardly onto the coffee table. Colours ranging from neon bright to the darkest of shades stood before your very own eyes on full display. Their shapes were as varied as the palette. Standard round, rectangle shapes, funky stars and fragile butterflies just to name a few.

The shock of what was transpiring had yet to register in your mind, a dumbfounded look creeping onto your face.

It wasn’t even the first time that this has occurred. Once in a while you would come back from a mission in another city, ready to fall down onto your bed in the one place that you could call home, only to have this excuse for a friend barge in on your time of relaxation. Sometimes, you didn’t inform anyone when you would be back in the hopes of being left alone but he always seemed to find out the best time to annoy you. When you were tired.

“What the actual fuck are you doing in my room Gojo-san?”, you drop your tattered bag onto the ground before closing the door.

The feeling of his incoming whines and guaranteed pout had become something of a sixth sense to you now. You thought that maybe he would grow out of it after his teenage years but the gods weren’t as merciful as you once believed them to be.

“(Y/n)-channnn, why are you so mean to me? I haven’t done anything for you to call me that”, he dramatically groaned out before flopping onto your bed.

Glancing at the table, you notice that his sudden movement knocked over some of the bottles.

You also know what he meant by that. You only ever call him ‘Gojo-san’ when he screws up or when you are both in the presence of his students.

As much as he likes to tease you in front of important people, you aren’t that unprofessional as to disrespect him as an educator in front of the students that he teaches. The kids already make fun of him and if you were to join in at the same time then you would begin pitying the man.

You walk over to the sprawled lamp post of a human and indicate with your hand to scoot over before proceeding to throw yourself down beside him.

“What is this about, Toru-kun?”, your eyes lazily scan over the nail polish. Of course you know what is going on but Gojo Satoru is a man that enjoys being humoured.

Poor Ijichi-kun ends up as the victim of a lot of his whims when you’re away. Scratch that, even when you are around the unfortunate fellow gets bullied like a kindergartner at a playground.

“So~ I’ve noticed that your nails-,”

“I mentioned it.”

“.. have been looking rather-,”

“I mentioned it.”

“..duller than usual so-”,

“I-”,

His body flew up from the lying position and a hand suddenly came into your view. Before you could do anything, Gojo clamped it over your mouth, an unseen eye-roll definitely going off under his blindfold.

He wasn’t really irritated but you took it as a win for all the times he irked you in the past month.

“I NOTICED YOUR NAILS LOOKING DULLER THAN USUAL SO I WENT OUT OF MY HUMBLE WAY TO BUY THESE,” he finally lets you go after finishing what he wanted to say.

The sheets under you have become disheveled, your thrashing around to get away and shut his loud mouth in case Principal Yaga hears brought about no results. There was no rule against being in the same room, you weren’t some silly teenagers and even if you were, the Tech wasn’t that strict anyway, but the thought of his disappointing gaze burning into your soul…

Your thoughts are disrupted when Gojo throws two pillows onto the floor. Knowing that there is no escaping this, you dust down your clothes and gracefully sit down.

Who knows? This may actually turn out to be relaxing. Even if you’re wrong then spending time with friends is precious, no matter the activity. Especially in this line of work. There is no telling when one might hear the news of their comrades’ death.

Gojo sits on the other free pillow and smiles. “Any colour pulling you in? If not then I would love to recommend, you know, I’m sort of an expert at this.”

You laugh slightly at his confidence before agreeing to his proposal. As long as it’s not too ugly then you really don’t mind what he ends up picking.

In fact, you trust his judgement when it comes to fashion. His casual outfits always end up taking your breath away. You’re forever glad when he forces you to go along with him to the shopping district. You know your style and what you’re comfortable with but Gojo presents you with something unique every time.

“Hmmmm...then, what about this one?”, the hand that was under his chin as he was contemplating leaves its position and he quickly picks up a (f/c) nail polish.

The container is cute too, a glass cat face. Though how did he figure out what colour this was with that blindfold? Only Gojo knows.

You reach out for the item but he leans back and pulls it to his chest. Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion.

“(Y/n), (Y/n), (Y/n)...,” he creates an X with his arms before continuing, “Bzzzt! Did you really think I would be so rude as to leave you alone with that tedious job? Who do you take me for?”.

He grasps the fabric where his heart is located and fakely sniffles. Oh, so he wants to paint them for you. Figuring out that you may as well indulge in a little care, you extend your hand for him to hold.

Gojo twists the nail brush open and dips it into the bottle a few times. His tongue is poking out as he tests how much of the liquid is on the brush. You don’t even question how he will paint your nails without seeing properly. Understanding his infinite capabilities has become second nature to you.

Instead, you focus on the feeling of his hand when it grasps yours.

It’s bigger and somewhat rougher, though not uncomfortable. Really, it feels secure to have around your own.

Jerking back at your line of thinking, you can feel the heat growing on your face by the second. Calm down there, no need to get ahead of yourself. You’ve held hands many times in the city before so that you don’t get ‘lost’, how is this any different?

“Hey now!,” Gojo grips your hand more firmly than before.

“Sorry, sorry. I had an itch,” you come up with an excuse and double down when you scratch your shoulder with a free hand.

He doesn’t say anything in return, there are none of his usual comebacks. That’s suspicious, he always needs to have the last word in no matter what.

Instead he applies the first stroke of nail polish on one of your nails.

His movements are steady, no shaking, and he doesn’t miss any spots. The process is...pleasant, being attended to by another.

He moves on to your second finger, repeating the action from the previous one, applying just as much attention.

Now that you are sitting still, barely breathing as you look on, his hold has become almost airy. Unless you focused purely on the skin to skin contact, it was as if your hand was levitating.

Ah, technically he could be using ‘Infinity’ and keeping your hand away but...it made you feel weirdly unhappy. Your mouth tugged down in dissatisfaction unconsciously.

At the same moment, Gojo grasped the next finger on the list, the sudden feeling coming as a surprise. You barely held in the shocked gasp, tingles travelling up your arm.

He didn’t say anything and continued the procedure.

You peeked at his face to see if you could read him but there was nothing at all to go off on. No smile, smirk, pout or frown.

Sheer concentration.

It wasn’t unwelcome, in fact it was peaceful without the usual banter. And it wasn’t unbearably serious either. If you had to put a word on it then it felt...intimate.‘Wow, what the hell? Chill, he’s only a friend and this is simple nail painting’.

The clock in your room ticked continuously until eventually your fingernails were all finished. It took extra long because Gojo insisted that the proper way to do it was to paint two layers. So in the end you had to sit through another few minutes that honestly felt like an eternity.

You hoped that you hadn't sweated with how warm it had gotten on your end.

“Alright! It’s your turn (Y/n)-chan,” he made finger guns and pointed them at your bewildered expression.

“It isn’t fair if only you get this spa worthy treatment, no?”.

“Satoru, I think you overestimate my ability to paint nails. Of course, I do a fantastic job on myself but I am hopeless when it comes to others,” you explain.

You may have over exaggerated a bit but if this goes on then your thoughts will enter dangerous territory, not that they haven’t already.

Distractions aren’t helpful when you are a jujutsu sorcerer, particularly in the romantic scene.

Have you daydreamed about such scenarios? Yes.

Would you like to experience them? Definitely.

However, what you want and what you can have are at odds with each other.

“Don’t be a bore, come on, come on,” he sticks out his own hand before thinking up something and reaching towards his blindfold. “Let’s make it a challenge. I had such a difficult time so you have to suffer too”.

He frees his eyesight and stands up. You’re about to follow but he shakes his head and kneels behind you.

The smooth fabric covers your eyes and the pressure as he tightens the blindfold rubs against the back of your head. This feels like the beginning of a dirty situation-

A resounding smack travels in the enclosed room as you slap your cheeks simultaneously. This isn’t the time nor place.

“I’m accepting my resolve,” you throw out before Gojo can ask you why you hit yourself in the face.

You hear him shuffle back to the pillow as well as glass tapping against glass. A nail polish bottle is shoved into your unprepared self. “I’m in your hands now,” he laughs stupidly to himself at his own pun. You can’t help cracking a small smile too.

Blindly, you fiddle around in front of you, wanting to start this. Clicking your tongue, you’re about to give out but Gojo finally decides to stop being a prick and gives you his hand. His shakes from laughter make themselves known but you ignore him.

Unscrewing the bottle cap, you get to work.

Only, you have to feel around for his fingernail. It’s impossible to hit the target without searching around first.

You become overwhelmingly aware of the close proximity yet again and your heart skips a beat. The fact that you can’t see anything makes it far worse as your sense of touch becomes more sensitive. Your shaking hand dabs the point where you think the nail polish goes and you begin painting.

Gojo’s amusement must have stopped too since you don’t hear him chuckling anymore. Is he looking at you? Or is he looking at his poor skin whenever you miss the fingernail? He doesn’t have his blindfold on so his eyes have to be focused on something.

But what?

The silence becomes unmanageable and the constant skin against skin friction twists your insides. Is it just you? Or does he also think the same way?

“You know, you have pretty eyes. If you start an Instagram page with photos of them then you’ll get a following in no time,” you offhandedly mention to start a conversation. Knowing Gojo he’ll take the compliment, tease you a bit and move on. You shift around in the pillow before progressing onto the other hand, having speedrun the first, before he starts talking.

“That’s not a bad idea. You can do the eyeshadow and we can make some money,” he hums in agreement. The sound of extra cash nearly makes you drool but then a realisation hits you, like a truck an isekai protagonist. If you were to do the eyeshadow then you will no doubt have to be very close to his face. No way.

“On second thought, I don’t think we have the time,” you laugh it off.

His disagreement comes soon after.

“Haaaaaaah?! Then why did you mention it?”. His muscles tense, about to pull back to cross his arms but he remembers that you’re in the middle of painting his nails.

After that, you both fall silent again.

In the end, you get through the last finger and close the nail polish bottle. You tried your best, having taken your time despite it making you feel a certain way whenever you had to touch him longer than is necessary.

You get up and reach out to unhook the blindfold but larger hands stop you in your tracks from behind. They pull yours away and drop them at your sides.

“Allow the amazing gentleman, Gojo Satoru,” he gently takes it off as you stand unmoving.

When light from the window hits your face, you scrunch your eyelids shut, waiting to adjust to the bright atmosphere. A hand patting down your hair makes them shoot open and you turn around to complain.

Whatever you were going to say gets caught in your throat as you look up into his light blue eyes. His expression is serene, free of any worries but his eyes seem to be trying to speak a thousand words.

They too look composed but you get the feeling that he’s trying to communicate something to you.

Swallowing, you clench your hand (conscious of the recently dry nail polish), and place it over your chest. “Satoru..um,” you pause, not fully comprehending what you want to say, or rather, how you want to say it.

Your eyes widen when you notice his hand traveling towards yours.

Clumsily spinning around, you head for the pillows and shake off the dust that accumulated on them.

“Thanks for today. I’ll have a nap, since I’m still tired from the flight.”

You show your gratitude but hide the words your heart wanted to really express.

You don’t turn around to see his expression. The sound of his blindfold going over his eyes is what you hear first. Then,

“Don’t worry your sleepy head over it! Sweet dreams, (Y/n)”.

The door opens and closes gently behind you.

Once you’re sure that he is far down the hallway, you throw yourself onto your bed, put the pillow over your face and scream. Feeling a little foolish, you stop and look over your nails.

He really did a great job.

-Next Day-

The sun is shining brightly therefore there is no better time to take a walk. Which is why you aren’t surprised when you stumble upon Sukuna’s vessel, Itadori Yuuji.

The teenager has a tub of ice cream with him. Maybe you should get some too? Gojo is bound to have some in his mini freezer.

“Ah! Hello, (L/n)-san,” the boy waves his hand in greeting and jogs over.

“Itadori-kun, is it alright for you to be outside like this?,” you ask with concern.

There are only a few people that know about his current state of being alive. When you heard that he died, you came as fast as possible to comfort Gojo.

“It’s fine! Everyone is gone and Ijichi-san is on the lookout at the front gate. He’s meant to give me a ring you see”. He looks down.

“Oh! You’ve got some nice nails there,” he points out as he takes a bite out of the dessert. “You match with Gojo-sensei,” he adds after a second.

You pause your appreciative smile at his compliment. Excuse me?

“Excuse me? Match?,” you prod him to elaborate.

The teenager scratches his cheek.

“Ehh, but he said the plan was to match all along. Though they don't exactly look the same”.

Your eyes tear up in embarrassment at the turn of events. You’re matching nails? You thought for definite that he would wash them off when he gets back to his room. Not only that but putting the blindfold over your eyes must have been his sly way of making sure that you don't notice they're the same colour.

Itadori shakes his hands in front of him before bowing. “I-I’m sorry (L/n)-san! I did not mean to insult the way you painted Gojo-sensei’s nails. They are a bit tactless compared to yours but that’s okay,” he apologises profusely, mistaking the root of your shame.

‘That dumbass Gojo Satoru’

#gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #fanfiction #oneshot #I like hands duh but if i went into more detail i would get high blood pressure

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tanyawritesstories · 4 years ago

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Close Encounters | Kit Fisto x Reader

After 6 hours of writing I have finally completed my first request! Which you can view here. I had planned on this being short but then got carried away, I hope the anon who requested this enjoys and so does everyone else who reads it!

@venomous-ko asked me to tag them. @savagesbonergarage @blue-space-porgs I think y'all might like this too 😉

Word count: 4.2k

Warnings: NSFW, smut, oral (f receiving), handjobs, dirty talk, Master and Padawan relationship, groping, cliffhanger, sexual tension for days, kissing, biting, fingering, all the usual good stuff 😋

•••

You waited patiently in the training room for your master to arrive. You had gotten there a little early and decided to stretch while you waited for him, he had told you this morning that you would be practicing your lightsaber combat and more hand-to-hand combat training since you hadn’t gotten much of it yet.

Since you didn't have anything you had to do after this, you were wearing comfortable athletic clothes: knee length leggings, tank top, cute sports bra, and the belt that held your lightsaber. The training room was empty right now, most everyone else in different classes or occupied with important things. You were grateful for the privacy but also scared of it, you knew that same palpable tension would hang in the air the second your master walked in.

Kit Fisto was a unique Jedi. As a Jedi Master and council member he was a strong and dependable individual, he was different in that he wasn’t as serious as all the other Jedi Masters. He was capable of smiling and laughing and had a carefree and kind spirit, it made him a favorite with younglings and Jedi knights alike. Not to mention with the soldiers of his underwater unit, you’d lost track of how many men you suspected had a crush on your Master. You thought made you laugh.

Then there was your relationship with him, it was strong but recently had taken a strange turn. You noticed he was spending a lot more time with you and using nicknames like: ‘starlight’ and ‘little flower’ for you. They were endearing and cute, which was also part of your issue. The crush you had on your Master was against the Jedi code, but again, lately it has gone further. You found yourself daydreaming of your Master with you in intimate situations, thank the Maker your mind was well guarded. The flash images of you and him tangled up in the sheets, how you imagined his lips would feel on your skin, how his fingers would feel as they toyed with your clit, how his cock would feel as-

You shook your head, clearing the images away. There you go again. The dreams and the close encounters with your Master had culminated in a sexual tension between the two of you. For all you knew, you could be the only one feeling it, maybe Kit was unaffected. You were lucky that you were able to hide the fact that he affected you so much, both with your mind and by acting normal and calm.

You stood up and stretched, bending in half to touch your toes, feeling the slight pull in your calves. You took a deep breath and relaxed, making sure your muscles weren’t tight and wouldn’t cause an injury.

“Good evening, my Padawan.”

The cheery voice called out and you froze for a second before standing up and turning around. Your master wore a bright smile and positive attitude that was infectious. You smiled back and greeted him. “Evening, master.” You could have sworn you saw his eyes look you up and down before he turned around. You wondered why and then remembered that you had been bent in half with your ass facing the door. You could feel your cheeks heat up and tried to force the sensation back. Kit whisked off his shirt, leaving him in loose fitting shorts. You sucked in a breath and looked at the floor, admiring the work you had done on your painted toenails. You flinched when he put a finger under your chin and tilted your head up to look at him.

“Are you ready?” He asked. You unconsciously leaned into his touch, melting under his admiring gaze. “Yes, Master Fisto,” you answered. He smirked. “Remember, call me Kit when it’s just us, flower,” he said, tapping your hip next to your lightsaber. “Get ready.” You shook yourself out of your stupor and took your lightsaber in hand, activating it. Kit took his stance and activated his own blade.

You remembered your previous training and took a calming breath before lunging at him. Your blow was easily blocked and shoved aside, you used your momentum to land a kick to his chest with your bare foot. Kit took the kick in stride and rolled backwards perfectly, coming to a stand effortlessly. You sighed, slightly frustrated. Kit swung at you this time, you blocked the first swing easily and just barely blocked the next several. Lightsaber combat was fast and required extreme concentration, one misstep could spell catastrophe.

You exchanged blows, the heat from the weapons increasing the heat in the room. You were sweating, your tank top sticking to your body, making parts of it see through. Without his shirt, you could see the beads of sweat rolling down Kit’s chest. You tried not to notice it but you looked for a second too long and felt a spike of heat near your hip. You pulled away and looked to see your shirt had been burnt through to your skin, which was, thankfully, untouched. You heard Kit sigh lightly.

“You need to maintain focus, little one,” he gently scolded. “Yes, Kit,” you said staring at the floor. Whether or not he had seen you staring at his chest you didn’t know, but disappointing him was never something you wanted to do. “How about we get to hand-to-hand training now, huh?” He smiled reassuringly at you and you nodded. You tossed your saber, and the belt it was held on, away. “What am I learning today?” You asked curiously. “We are going to work on your takedowns,” Kit replied, pulling a cushiony landing mat over. You smiled, the idea sounded fun.

Kit brought you over and stood across from you. “The first maneuver I want you to do is when someone grabs you from behind,” he explained, “let me show you.” You barely hid the nervous gulp you took before turning around and backing up a little. Kit made a noise of affirmation before you felt his arms wrap around your middle and you jumped. “You alright?” He asked, his voice close to your ear. “Yes,” you breathed, placing your hands on his arms, “you just startled me, that’s all.” He chuckled in your ear which sent a shiver down your spine and an aching in the bottom of your stomach. “I’m sorry, starlight. It won’t happen again.”

“Alright, so if someone were to grab you like this...” Kit explained, he tightened his grip around your middle and gently pulled. You gasped at the sensation and hoped he didn’t hear you. “...I want you to swing your elbow back to try and hit my face, alright?” You nodded, your breathing getting shallow as you turned your head and saw how close his face was to yours. You pulled your arm in towards you before swinging it out fast, stopping just before it hit Kit in the head. “Like that?” You asked weakly, your elbow relaxing and you draped it over his shoulder. “Just like that,” he whispered. Fuck, his deep voice was doing things to you, the deep timbre worming its way into your ears and settling in between your legs.

“What you do next is put the same arm around my head, use my shoulder for leverage and jump over my other shoulder, make sense?” You smiled and giggled, honestly not knowing what he just explained. “No, I’m sorry, Kit,” You continued giggling, “I’m going to need you to show me.” Kit pushed a strand of hair away from your ear and chuckled with you. “That’s alright, I’ll help you. Just do as I say,” he instructed. Kit took your elbow and pulled it over his head to his other shoulder. You rested your hand against his back, his silky smooth skin warm and you could feel his muscles move under his skin. You hoped he didn’t know what he was actually doing to you.

“Ok, now push off me and use the Force to help you jump over the shoulder your hand was just on. When you do that, turn and land on your feet, I’ll be dragged onto my back and you will have the advantage. See how that works?” He further explained. You looked away, thinking and rehearsing the moves in your head. "I think I got it," you said. You turned your head to look back at him a little too quick and bumped your cheek on his nose, causing you both to laugh. He maintained eye contact with you for a few seconds longer and you saw his eyes darken in the slightest bit. "Alright, c'mon you've got this," Kit encouraged. He counted down and you moved.

You jumped up, using the one arm to push off as well as your feet. With the aid of the Force, you easily swung your body out of his grip and over his other shoulder. You both went careening backwards but you landed gracefully on your knees while Kit landed flat on his back, his fall cushioned by the mat. “Excellent!” He praised. You smiled wide and stood up, offering him your hand to get up. He took it and you pulled him to stand, you didn’t realize how much strength you had put into it until Kit was standing and still moving towards you with his momentum. You reached out to stop him from crashing on top of you.

“Sorry about that, little flower. Lost my balance,” he apologized. You both held each other’s gaze, the tension in the air was so thick it could probably be cut with a lightsaber. You broke away after a moment and that’s when you realized that your hands were placed on his bare chest. Heat rushed to your face and you promptly removed your hands, murmuring an apology under your breath. You could feel Kit’s eyes linger on you for a little longer before he began instructing you on the next takedown move.

“This one is fairly simple. I swing at you, you grab my arm, turn around, and flip me over your back.” You nodded along with his words, you’d seen this move done before and knew it wasn’t as difficult as the last one. “When I swing at you, grab my wrist, turn and pull me into your back. It has to be one smooth motion to let’s try just that a couple times,” Kit explained. You agreed and took your position.

Kit threw a punch and stopped when his arm was outstretched. “I grab the inside of your wrist, right?” You asked, and Kit confirmed. You grabbed his wrist with both hands and turned your back to him, pulling his arm across your chest. “Alright, good. Now do that again but pull me into your back.” You reset your positioning and breathed. Kit punched again but didn’t stop his arm this time, you grabbed his wrist and turned, pulling his chest to your back.

He collided into you with more force than you thought, you could feel the bare skin of his chest against your back where your top didn’t cover, you also felt something pressing into your ass. You froze. There was no way, this couldn’t be happening, the hardness against your ass was not what you thought it was. You tried to convince yourself and breathed in shakily, you pushed back on him accidentally while trying to move your foot and his other hand gripped your hip tight.

“Shh,” you heard him whisper. You tried to move away but he held you firmly and you just ended up grinding into him more, he groaned in your ear and your suspicions were confirmed. You could feel the wetness pooling at the apex of your thighs and your breathing become shallow. How long had he been hard for? His other arm you still had clutched to your chest and you felt his hand twist slightly, giving him the perfect angle to rest his hand over your breast. He squeezed gently and you barely bit back a moan.

“Master-”

“Just finish the move,” he rasped out, releasing his grip on your hip.

You pulled away and avoided eye contact as you moved to complete the takedown all the way through. You grabbed his wrist, turned, pulled his back to your chest, ignoring the feeling of his erection pressing into your ass again. In one smooth motion you, with the help of the Force, hoisted your master up and over you, sending him sprawling onto the mat. You kept ahold of his arm and your eyes met, you felt your pussy clench around nothing as his eyes were dark as night, filled with lust. You chanced a glance further down his body and saw the prominent tent in his shorts. Your mouth fell open and your eyes flicked between his eyes and his dick.

Tension and silence filled the room until Kit made a move.

He spun around on his back to face you and tugged on your arm that was still holding him, sending you toppling down onto him. Kit cupped your face with his other hand and crushed his lips to yours in a fiery kiss. It took a few seconds for your brain to register what exactly was happening, as soon as it did, you were kissing back. Kit parted his lips and ran his tongue over your bottom lip, nibbling gently, asking for entrance. You opened and Kit’s tongue entered your mouth, your tongues swirling together. Kit pushed off the floor and rolled you both over so he was on top of you, devouring you in his kisses. You wrapped your arms around his back and pulled him closer to you, Kit was holding himself above you with his arms and he experimentally ground his clothed cock against your center.

You broke away at the sensation of him grinding against you, you let out a loud moan and looked Kit in the eyes, he stilled. “Do you want this?” He asked, breathless. “Yes,” you breathed, “more than anything.” You pulled Kit down for another blazing kiss, during which you could feel his hands slipping under your tank top and pushing it up. You broke away just for him to pull it all the way off and toss it somewhere in the room. You wrapped your legs around his waist and Kit kissed you once more before moving down to suck and bite marks into your neck.

You almost couldn’t believe this was happening, had your master really had the hots for you the entire time and you had no idea. It was something you’d have to ask him later. A sharp nip to your collarbone had you crying out again and you wove a hand through his head tendrils. “Kit….” you moaned. He broke away from your neck and chuckled. “Needy, aren’t you?” He teased. He undid your bra and pulled it over your head, throwing that away also and revealing your breasts. You heard him curse under his breath and he gently took them in his hands. “You are stunning, my dear,” he cooed. You bit your lip and whined, watching as his mouth descended on one of your nipples. Your back arched, pushing your chest further into his hands and mouth. You moaned as you felt his tongue trace around your pebbled bud, finally flicking over it a few times and sucking hard.

You mewled, feeling more slick seep out of you as Kit sucked on one breast and his hand massaged the other. He switched and gave your other breast the same attention, his other hand snaking its way down your body. Your nails scratched up Kit’s back but he seemed to be enjoying it, letting out moans and grunts while kissing and sucking your tits. His wandering hand found its destination and he rubbed your heat through your leggings, finding them wet through. He pulled away and sat up on his knees.

“Look at you, soaked through your leggings. Do you need me to take care of you, little one?” He asked. You nodded rapidly. “Yes, please Kit. I’ve wanted you for so long,” you pleaded. Kit chuckled and reached for the waistband of your leggings, pulling them off in one fluid motion. His eyes widened at the sight and he could feel his dick twitch in his shorts. Kit looked up at you. “No panties?” He questioned. “My my, such a filthy little thing you are.”

You whined again, desperate for any sort of attention where you needed it most. Kit spread your legs and watched as your folds parted, he groaned at the sight and ran two fingers up and down your soaking slit. You released high pitched moans and tried to stay still as the pleasure wracked through your body. “You’re positively dripping, starlight. Is all this for me?” Kit asked in awe. “Yes, all for you Kit. You a-always make me this wet…” you said, your body jolting with pleasure. Kit swirled his fingers around your clit and you nearly shouted, he moved them lower and sunk two fingers into your dripping hole. Your eyes closed, the electric feeling coursing through your body as Kit started pumping his fingers.

He kept them at a steady pace and you were about to beg for more when you heard him ask you to open your eyes. You opened your eyes and looked down your body to see that Kit had moved to lay between your spread legs. Before you could say anything he was licking long stripes up your cunt, flicking his tongue around your clit and slurping up all your juices.

“You taste heavenly, little flower,” he purred. Kit slipped his tongue inside and curled it, practically scooping your wetness into his mouth. Your eyes closed and your head flew back, your moans and cries of his name mixing on your tongue. His tongue felt like liquid gold inside you, reaching parts of you that you didn't know you had and dragging pleasure from your body like a talented artist stroking against his pliant canvas.

Kit removed his tongue and replaced it with his fingers while his tongue gave your clit attention. His fingers pumping in and out, their pace picking up and Kit curled them, hitting that secret spot of heaven inside you. Your hands flew to the back of Kit’s head and pressed him impossibly closer, your fingers entwining in his lekku. Kit continued to drown himself in your cunt, he was hard as a rock in his shorts and wanted nothing more than to sink into your warm body and stay forever.

Kit worked on repeatedly hitting your sweet spot with his fingers, he could tell you were getting close and he wanted you a wet slippery mess before you took his cock. He sped up the pace of his fingers making sure to hit that spot with every thrust.

"K-kit," you cried, "I'm, I'm close..” He broke away from your pussy to speak to you. “I know. Cum for me, little flower, soak my fingers,” he begged. Kit returned his mouth to your clit and sucked hard, your hips bucked up and Kit quickly held them down as your orgasm flowed through you. The pleasure was blinding and you threw your head back once more, ecstasy surging through your body, you saw white and opened your mouth to scream Kit’s name.

He worked you through intense bliss, he stopped his ministrations and sat up again watching you catch your breath, your eyes still closed. While you were distracted, he removed the rest of his clothes.

You slowly came down from the mind blowing orgasm that Kit gave you, you opened your eyes and whimpered at the sight before you. Kit was finally naked and Maker he was gorgeous. Now that you were allowed to look at him you noticed his broad chest and strong, toned body. The expanse of his pretty green skin got slightly darker around his thick cock. Kit had a knowing look on his face as you said nothing, only reached out for him, he took your hand in one of his and kissed the back of it lovingly. His other hand traveled down and slowly stroked over his length, you whimpered and mewled as you watched him touch himself. Kit could almost see more of your juices pouring out of you and he smirked. He took your hand in his other one and brought it to his cock where you wanted it.

He guided your hand up and down his shaft and you twisted your wrist as you worked him. His skin was even softer and you wanted it in your mouth immediately, you smeared around the clear and sticky precum leaking out of his pointed and swollen tip. The little grunts and groans that spilled from Kit’s lips were music to your ears, but you wanted to make him moan. You tugged a little harder on his cock and Kit’s chest rose and fell faster with his breathing. He suddenly clamped his hand over yours, stopping your movements.

“Your hands feel amazing, starlight,” he gasped, “but I’m not cumming without being inside you.” You gasped and Kit draped himself over the top of you again. You grabbed the back of his neck and brought him in for another kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue and lips. “I need you to fuck me, Kit, please,” you begged. “I will, are you on-” “Yes, I’m on something, pleeeaasse,” you whined. You could feel his cock resting against your stomach and needed it inside your body. “Patience, little one. I’ll give you what you want,” Kit purred in your ear. He rested his forehead against yours as he reached down and slid his cock up and down your slit, collecting your juices. He pumped himself a couple times before lining up and pushing inside you slowly.

Your breath was stolen from you and your mouth hung open. Lords he was big. His cock stretched you deliciously as he continued to sheath himself within you. “Ooohh, fuck,” Kit groaned, closing his eyes as he bottomed out. You both stared into each other’s eyes, catching your breath and getting used to the feeling of being connected. Kit lowered his lips to yours, your walls were squeezing him so tight he didn’t know how he was going to pull out much. You once again wrapped your legs around Kit’s waist and dug your nails into his back. You had expected it to hurt when he entered you, given his size, but all you felt was mind numbing pleasure that encompassed your entire being.

You nodded once you were used to him and Kit slowly started moving, pulling out halfway before slamming back in. You yelped and begged for more. “Kit, please. I want you Kit, I need you to make me cum. Fuck, please!!” You rambled. Kit chuckled and picked up his pace, knowing he wouldn’t last long with how tight you were and how close he already was. “Stars above, YN,” Kit moaned, “fuck, you’ve got the tightest little pussy I’ve ever felt.” His pace increased again and he was slamming in and out of you, the sound of skin slapping together and panting filled the empty training room.

You kissed again and Kit reached down to play with your clit. Your sweaty bodies sticking together, both of you in a new kind of euphoria previously undiscovered. “Look at you, fuck, you look so beautiful like this. You gonna cum on my cock now, flower?” Kit panted. You had no words, none could enter your mind, the only thing you could think of was how good Kit was making you feel and how you never wanted it to stop. You nodded frantically, moaning loud and pulling Kit closer to you.

He pressed hard on your clit at the same time he bit onto your neck and you were sent over the edge of ecstasy. You screamed his name and convulsed around him, your cunt clamping down on him and gushing all over his cock. Kit released your neck and growled deep in your ear as his balls tightened and, with a few more thrusts, his seed was spilling inside you. You both stilled, connected together and finally sated.

After a couple minutes you fully came down from your highs and your eyes met. You smiled and Kit smiled brightly back at you, before you both started laughing. "This isn't exactly the way I had hoped you'd find out about my feelings for you," Kit confessed. You shook your head. "Me neither, but I'm glad it happened," you said. "Me too," Kit whispered, leaning down to kiss you again. You could feel Kit start to soften inside you but he made no move to pull away from you.

You nuzzled your nose into Kit's cheek. "I love you, Kit," you whispered. Kit in turn kissed the tip of your nose, making you giggle. "And I love you, Y/N," he said. "My little flower." You both smiled and connected your lips in another kiss. You both barely heard the sound of someone clearing their throat until a familiar Kel Dor voice spoke.

"Well, what do we have here?"

#star wars the clone wars #star wars fanfiction #kit fisto #kit fisto x reader

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