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skrunksthatwunk · 1 year ago

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yakuza: dead souls - american vibes, bigass guns, and why zombies are super weird to have in ryu ga gotoku thematically/ideologically speaking

so i've been playing dead souls recently (hell yeah hell yeah hell yeah) and although i'm having the time of my life with it, there was something about it that kinda felt off to me, and i think i've figured out what it was, but i'm gonna have to walk you through a bit of my thought process to get there.

my first instinct was that it felt... american? and upon further examination i think that boils down to a couple of things:

everyone suddenly has lots of guns and also way way bigger guns

high emphasis on individual heroism (this itself is quite typical for rgg, but it manifests differently here; more on that in a bit)

military/government incompetence, which must be solved by the right individuals having the biggest and bestest guns

[for the sake of transparency i will note that my experience with zombie media is pretty limited and skews american (and i myself am american), so that may create bias. however, the 'this feels american to me' instinct is a rare one for me even in genres where i have seen little/no non-american media, so i think the fact that it did occur to me is notable. what about dead souls triggered that response when little else has? that's why i examined it and, truthfully, i think there's merit in the idea itself.]

the first point is pretty self-explanatory. america's got more guns than it does people, and its gun worship is infamous. japan's ban on guns (aided by its being an island state) means there's far fewer guns in the country, as well as far fewer people with guns (and likely far fewer guns per gun owner, excepting arms dealers/smugglers) than somewhere without such a ban. obviously, there are guns anyway. due to their illegality they are clustered within the criminal population, which explains their presence within organized crime within the series. very few guns will be sitting around in the homes of otherwise law-abiding citizens.

and yet, when the zombie outbreak hits kamurocho, plenty of civilians suddenly have access to quite an arsenal. everyone has the knowledge they need to aim, fire, and reload smoothly and quickly; ammo is infinite for certain guns. characters we've never seen using firearms before suddenly have shotguns under their couches (looking at you, majima). it's not only very different from reality, it's very different from guns' place within the series up until this point, when they were limited weapons used primarily by the enemy.

and they're making a zombie shooter, so of course they would have to do this. it has to be unrealistic to be simultaneously in this setting and in this genre, in the same way that yakuza solving their problems with bareback fistfights instead of guns is itself both unrealistic and necessary to being the kinds of games rgg are.

my point is that this is a kind of focus on and valorization of gun ownership and competency unusual for the series and setting. further, it serves as an argument for why an armed, competent populace is crucial typical in american media.

which brings us to the third point (we'll get to 2 in a minute). guns are often marketed as self-defense weapons. the implication is that the government's defense of the individual (via law enforcement or the military, but particularly the former), are insufficient. this is objectively true. if someone pulls a gun on you at the gas station, will a cop manifest out of thin air to intercede? no. that's impossible. but if you have a gun, or if some bystander has a gun, you or they may be able to do something with that gun to stop the armed person. thus, there is an undeniable gap in the effective immediacy of such responses.

many gun advocates also point to the incompetence or insufficiency of law enforcement, even when they are present to stop an armed aggressor. the fact that law enforcement do not have a 100% success rate in protecting the citizenry is also objectively true.

so, when you are in danger, arming yourself increases your chances of being able to put down (or at least take armed action against) a present or potential threat. whether it is viewed it as a supplement to or a replacement for law enforcement, it is meant to make up for the shortcomings of the government's ability to completely protect all its citizens. it's a safety net for state failure.

back to dead souls. rgg has always centered political corruption in its stories, including politicians, the police, and sometimes even the military, though usually the former two. sometimes this is treated sympathetically (i.e. tanimura, a dirty cop, whose dirty-cop-ness allows him to work outside/against the law to help disadvantaged people, not unlike how kiryu views being a yakuza), and other times it's simply a matter of greed or lust for power (i.e. jingu).

however, something that's almost never touched on so clearly is government incompetence. when the government fails to help people or hurts them or does corrupt things, it's usually due to a competent, malicious bad apple who is removed from power by the end of the game. this implies holes in the system because it keeps happening all the time, but that's on a series-wide scale, a pattern ignored by the series in favor of the individual game solution of "this guy's gone now :) yay".

but in dead souls, the SDF's barracades fall, their men are killed, they are unable to help protect the people outside or inside the quarantine zone. they are weak in a way the government usually isn't in these games. and who is stronger than them? our individual good guys with guns. so we need to be armed because the government is weak and can't protect us. boom. america.

returning to point 2, i'd like to say that dead souls is not particularly more individualistic than any of the other games in the series (other than, perhaps, y7). rgg is an incredibly individualistic series, actually. its protagonists are usually men who defy, oppose, and skirt around the law as a way of helping others and doing what is truly right (with a few exceptions, like shinada and haruka). the romanticized view of the yakuza as a force for helping the community in the face of government incompetence is a real one, and one that tends to manifest itself most in kiryu and how the series treats him. it shows us yakuza who aren't willing to kill, yakuza who cry about honor and justice and humanity and brotherhood, yakuza who never dip their hands into less palatable crimes, or only do with intense regret (and only ever as part of their backstory). the beat-em-up style emphasizes this as well. i mean, what's more individualistic than a one-man army?

put more clearly, this series is about men defying legal and social laws and expectations to live in a way that feels right to them, and about making themselves strong enough to combat those who would get in their way. the individual is placed before the society in importance, (though generally in a way that benefits the community, because they are good guys who want to use that agency and power for good).

all of this is true in dead souls as well, technically. those who live on the outskirts of society are the ones who actually save the day, and the ones who go in there and save people rather than just walling them off and pretending like they don't exist. they have the guns, which are illegal and mark them as criminals, but this broken law is what gives them the power to save themselves when the government will not, and to save their community if they so choose.

where dead souls differs is in the nature of that strength.

rgg places a lot of emphasis on self-improvement, both of one's body and of one's character. do both of these, and you will be strong enough to back up your ambitions. what allows someone to carve their own path in life is the ability to put down ideological and physical resistance by having resolve and the ability to tiger drop whoever won't be swayed by your impassioned speeches. you make yourself a weapon. you make yourself strong. in dead souls, that strength comes from an external, material possession. strength is something you buy (or that you take from someone else). who is able to survive the apocalypse comes not from the heart, nor from rigorous training, but from who has the most, the biggest, and the most bestest guns. it's an intersection of capitalism, militarization, and individualism. simply, deeply american.

[when i was talking myself through this a few days ago, i spent a lot more time on the capitalism + individualism stuff, but i think i'll keep this moving. consider this aside the intermission]

dead souls also differs for a few other interlocking reasons. it can be described with this equation:

zombification of enemies + lethality of guns = loss of emphasis on redemption

if your best friend turned into a zombie, could you shoot them? or your child? or your lover? it's a common trope, but it's a damn good one. watching your family, your neighbors, your town, everyone turn into a husk of themselves, something that looks like them but cannot be reached, is deeply tragic. it's even more tragic when these husks are trying to kill you. unable to be reasoned with and unable to be cured, you must incapacitate them before someone innocent is hurt--or hurt, then themselves made dangerous; each loss adds to the number of threats surrounding you. your life is seen as more valuable than that of your zombified friend, not only because the zombie is attacking you and it's self defense, but because they are no longer a person to you. to be a zombie is to no longer be human; zombification is dehumanization.

and so in a series so focused on connection with one's community, on saving innocent civilians, often on saving kamurocho specifically, one would expect similar tropes to occur. even if one's friends aren't turned, perhaps the cashier at poppo you chat with sometimes is. it's the destruction of that community and of the members one has tertiary relationships with that i expect would occur most within a kamurocho zombie story, since they are likely unwilling to axe anyone more important than that, even if dead souls isn't canon. i'd especially expect to see that in the beginning, before the need to kill zombies rather than contain or redeem them becomes apparent.

this does not happen.

i cannot speak for the entire game, but i can speak of gameplay choices that affect this, and ones i think will not be subverted throughout, even if they are somewhat contradicted by plot events i am presently unaware of.

kamurocho is not a community to protect, nor is it filled with your fellows. it is a playground filled with infinitely respawning, infinitely mow-downable, infinitely disposable zombies. you are meant and encouraged to kill them by the thousands, and never to hesitate or consider whether they may be cured or who may be mourning them. who may be unable to identify their loved one because you were trying to reach a headshot goal from hasegawa. you are not meant to consider them as human, nor beings that were once human, nor beings that could be human again, in the eyes of the zombie shooter. they are merely bodies, targets, and obstacles.

the zombies are contrasted with the true humans, those barricading themselves within the quarantine zone or those living in ignorance outside it. humans are meant to be saved, zombies are meant to be killed. the player character is the only one who can truly help with either of these goals, because the other humans are cowardly, ignorant, or unarmed/helpless. you must be their savior. to be a savior is to eliminate zombies, who are less than human.

the black and white nature of this is also emphasized by another gameplay characteristic: the lack of street encounters. when you traverse the peaceful parts of kamurocho, you are never attacked. you are also never directly attacked by the humans within the quarantine zone. kamurocho feels very different without its muggers and hooligans, but it's because this is a zombie shooter, not a beat-em-up. in a normal rgg title, you'd subdue threats by punching, kicking, and throwing them. you'd use your body in (supposedly) nonlethal ways. dead souls does not have a combat system meant for civilians. you have your guns. you subdue threats by shooting them, preferably lethally. the game doesn't want you to do that to humans, so you never fight humans. this furthers the black and white divide between the salvation-worthy, noble humans and the death-worthy, worthless zombies. combat is only lethal, and only used against the inherent other.

this leads me to the part of dead souls i find most conflicting with the ethos of rgg broadly, and perhaps its greatest ideological/thematic failing.

because the enemy are incurable, dangerous, and inhuman, you must kill them to protect yourself and others, others who are still human. humanity is something that is lost or preserved, but never regained. once someone's gone, they're gone, and you not only must kill them, it is your duty and your right to kill them. you should kill them.

in dead souls, there is no redeeming the enemy.

and that's a big problem.

rgg is about a lot of things, but a key one is the ability of people to change for the better. its most memorable, beloved villains are those who see the light by the end and change their wicked ways (usually through some form of redemptive suicide, though that's another essay in itself). its pantheon of characters is full of those who come from questionable backgrounds struggling to be the best people they can be, to live as themselves authentically and compassionately. it's about the good and the love you can find in the moral and legal gray zones of life/society, and the potential/capacity for good all of us have, no matter how far we may have fallen. it is a hopeful series. it is a merciful series.

this is something bolstered by its gameplay. countless substories are resolved by punching a lesson into someone until they improve their behavior, either out of fear or genuine remorse/development. the games don't just discourage killing your enemies, they don't allow you to (yes, we've all seen the "kiryu hasn't killed anybody? umm. look at this heat action" stuff before, and while they've got a point, i believe it's the narrative's intent that none of this is actually lethal, based on how laxly it treats certain plot injuries (cough cough. y7 bartender) and the actual concept of taking a life, the gravity it is given by the text, particularly when it comes to characters crossing that threshold into someone who has killed. explicit killing is not an option open to you, even when you're being attacked by dozens and dozens of armed men. conflicts are resolved by simply beating up enough guys in this nonlethal manner.

but dead souls is a shooter. to avoid conflict with the series' moral qualms about letting its characters kill, the enemies cannot be human. furthermore, the zombie shooter genre can only fit within the series if its zombies are completely inhuman. this means their pasts as humans cannot be acknowledged, nor the possibility of a cure, nor the characters' own potential conflicts about killing them; or, at least, not in a way that impedes their or the player's ability to gun them down afterwards.

if you can't kill humans in your series, then it cannot be possible to save (in this case, rehumanize) zombies. this is especially true in a game where you are unable to fight humans, and thus human lives are universally more valuable than zombie lives. because if you kill a zombie that can be cured, you are, in a way, killing a human.

and so, in a series where you should always assume your enemies (and everyone, for that matter) are capable of reason, compassion, change, and redemption, and where they are always worth that effort, even if they reject it in the end, dead souls' enemies are irredeemable and only worth swift, stylish slaughter. there are only good guys and bad guys. good guys must be protected, lest they be turned irreversibly into bad guys. good guys are only protected by killing bad guys, and the only way to save good guys is to kill every last one of the bad guys. do not spare them, and do not ask whether or not it's right. only kill.

i love dead souls. it's a silly game. i like seeing daigo in decoy-drag and majima gleefully cartwheeling his way through zombies and ryuji with his giant gun arm prosthetic. it's fun. but when i was trying to figure out what felt off about it to me, one of the words that came to mind (besides american) was indulgent. that, too, felt odd, because i love indulgent media. i am not one to scorn decadent, hedonistic, beautiful high-calorie slop type media. if dead souls was just fan servicey, that wouldn't really bother me. i am a fan and boy do i feel serviced. it rocks. but i think my problem is in what dead souls is indulging.

i think dead souls indulges in the desire to cut loose, and to see these characters cut loose. thing is, they're cutting loose all over kamurocho, and all over the bodies of people they used to (at least in concept) care for. with lethal weapons. it is catharsis via bloodbath, not by pushing your body and mind to the limit in man to man combat, but by pulling a trigger before the other guy can hurt you, or even think about hurting you, for the crime of existing as the wrong kind of thing.

and i just don't think that's in line with rgg's beliefs.

yes, it's probably fair for dead souls' characters to kill zombies. i'm not against that. i'm also not against games letting you do purposeless violence. i spent a good amount of my elementary school years killing oblivion npcs for shits, like. that's not what bothers me about dead souls.

rgg as a series has always taken a hard stance in both its game design and narrative choices against killing and for the potential for redemption in its enemies. and i think the lengths to which it goes to promote that despite the probably-lethal moves you do and the improbability of a harmless do-gooder yakuza is one of the most endearing things about the games. so for this one entry to disregard that key theme for the sake of a genre shift that flopped super hard, well? i dunno. it feels weird i guess. it's out of place not just because it's a dramatic shift in gameplay and style and also zombies are only a thing here (and the supernatural/fantastical are thus only prominent here), but because of what those shifts imply.

so, uh. yeah. my pre-dead-souls thoughts that dead souls wasn't that out of pocket bc rgg's just kinda weird? turns out it was actually super weird to have a zombie shooter in there, but for way way deeper reasons than anyone gives it credit for.

(footnotes in tags)

#1) i deemphasized the physicality of shooting to emphasize my points about the viscerality and personal nature of rgg #brawls and the colder more detached nature of gun use relative to that but i do NOT mean that shooting has no physical component to it #obviously it takes a lot of skill to shoot quickly and accurately and lugging a bigass gun around kamurocho would tucker me out for sure #2) no i don't think all those things i said were american were usa-exclusive. it's a big world out there. i'm just saying those things #combined feel like a particularly american flavor of thing to me #3) there's probably more to be said about the connection between wanton killing and american styling or anti-immigration theming in zombie #stories or dead souls But i figured that was a bit too disconnected to the funny zombie game. this shit was a lot anyway y'know?#4) also i don't think most of this was intentional on the part of rgg studios. i genuinely think they just wanted to make a fun zombie #shooter and didnt really think about it all that hard. whenever you make smth there's gonna be implications you never considered. it happen #5) is it ballsy to write a giant essay on a game i'm like 1/4 the way through? yes. i've done smarter things. i'll revisit it when im done #if i'm wrong then i'll figure it out probably. but like. i don't think they'd set up the hasegawa objective stuff or have akiyama just #unflinchingly start shooting zombies and then later challenge that. we'll see but my hopes aren't high y'know? i know rgg #6) i should also clarify that violent catharsis is a) a part of all rgg games and b) cool as hell. it's the lethal bit that doesn't fit with #the series y'know?#rgg #ryu ga gotoku #yakuza #like a dragon #yakuza dead souls #dead souls #classic skrunk 4 hr middle of the night impulse essay hooorayy

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chronicdelusionistsart · 1 month ago

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So I have been watching Danny Phantom for the first time ever with my friends and I'd kind of previously known about its reputation as a show whose fanbase dives a lot more into the lore than the show is willing to. And I guess I hadn't really understood why until now (I just finished Season 2!). Here's my sort of rambling thoughts on it.

Danny Phantom isn't a show about the horror of ghosts and the dead coexisting in the human realm. It's a show about dropping the most out of pocket lore implications you can imagine on people who in turn say things that would kill a therapist dead equally out of pocket, and then neither are addressed but the watcher has to live with the ghost of the plot that is right behind them but they can't turn around.

DP is a little hit and miss in places, but the very thing that drives people nuts about it is actually I think maybe its greatest strength: it really pulls off show, don't tell effectively. How much of that is intentional is up for debate, but the best episodes kinda leave you wondering, or sputtering like "UH, HEY, BACK UP - HEY BACK UP AND UNPACK THAT -" Is Danny's human body technically alive somehow, or is he a walking corpse? Does Danny have a door in the Ghost Zone? Were Vlad's clones feeling and sentient as they melted into ectoplasm, despite Danny's guess that they weren't? What does it say about Danny that he still erased his parents' memories after finding out they'd accept him as he is?

I think the genius of not answering these questions directly is that it's both funnier AND scarier not to. We can laugh about how fucked up it is and kinda hold our heads like "bro.... did they really just imply that, holy shiiiiiit", and that's really consistent with the emotional core of the show as this knife's-edge dance between teen comedy and horror superhero. Fully explaining the lore or being more direct about how the information is conveyed by and to the characters tips that balance and changes the show into something else, for better or for worse. And I really earnestly like it as it is, even if it's very of its time (sexism.......)! It's a really fun show with some depth to it.

Anyway, I can't wait to watch season 3! I sure hope all these wonderful qualities I like about it hold up!

#danny phantom #Wow! Cool show!#writing analysis

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buntanteen · 5 months ago

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bestie fwb!mingyu headcanons (nsfw)

summary: kim mingyu and reader's bestie fwb dynamic headcanons :3

contains: 18+ nsfw writing so mdni!! implications that reader is smaller than gyu

✩ svt writing & fic rec masterlist ✩

bestie!minyu who is just a poor puppy not catching a break from anyone 😔 especially from you lmao. you're one of his biggest supporters but also biggest teasers. post-concert, you'll be imitating how he's trying to make carats swoon with his charms (the both of you know how proud you are of him <3 you just love seeing him pouty)

bestie!mingyu who lets you use his chest as a stress balls. you once said "honk honk" while squeezing them and got your mingyu tiddies card revoked for a week😢

during bestie!mingyu’s night dance practices to finish, he'll come whine to you that "jeonghan hyung is being mean🥺" or complain about whichever member is pulling jokes on him. he should've known better that you’d be riling him right with them 🥰

fwb!mingyu who comes home to bury his face in your chest after a long day. you think he's knocked out...only for him to start licking, nipping and sucking marks onto your skin :3

bestie!mingyu who will always provide you delicious meals😌😌 is constantly cooking you a something when you come over and has deemed you his official taste tester! if you insist to cook alongside him, he'll refuse. he might let you peel the veggies tho <3

when you go out to eat, bestie!mingyu will always insists on picking up the cheque. since you get pouty about him not letting you pay, he lets u buy the dessert at the convenience stores or cute lil cafes as a compromise

bestie!mingyu who always asks you to take pretty boyfriend pics of him for his carats🥹 ofc you oblige, loving to see his fans fawn over new pictures that you so carefully asking him to pose for

fwb!mingyu who begs to eat you out and hits you his 🥺 puppy eyes so you to let him (you were going to anyways)

bestie!mingyu who comes to you for relaxation or advice when he's stressed out of his mind. he lets you pamper him with gentle touches and soothe away his worries with sweet words. you tuck him into your bed so he rests well to tackle the next day😊

feeling safe enough to initiate touch with bestie!mingyu :) he gives as many piggy backs as you desire as long as you let him bite his fangs into your arm when he's bored 🥰 sits you in his lap in crowded group hangouts. you've insisted that he sit in yours too, but your legs became numb after 5 minutes😭😭

good puppy fwb!mingyu whimpering pleads against your neck or between your legs for you give him permission to cum while he ruts against the bed sheets 🥺

always having sleepovers with bestie!mingyu. atp you could be another roommate to the minwon household for how often you're just vibing at their place when they arrive home

fwb!mingyu who got caught sniffing your underwear post sex when you went to get him water. you end up stroking his hair with his head in your lap, jerking him off with your underwear around his cock...but you leave him blue balled as a punishment <3 "oh! i'm late to work, see you later after your tour?😘”

while he's on tour, fwb!mingyu won't have phone sex with you, but leaves you voice notes of the pretty noises he makes jerking off as payback <3

ames note: hi hi! this is my first time writing wooooo~ this was definitely self indulgent😅 i just wanna be friends with mingyu! he seems like the most fun guy to hang out with...and to get dicked down by lmao. i hope y'all enjoyed it and are doing well!! i tried for something gender neutral but i'm not sure if i achieved it? feel free to kindly give feedback <3 ς(.-‿-)

author note: do not distribute my work on other platforms without my consent. if you see my writing in places other than this tumblr account, please let me know. my writings are purely fictional fantasises for fun. the people i write about are real human beings and should still be treated as such. please do not take my writings seriously or as truth.

#buntanteen writings #kim mingyu x reader #mingyu x reader #mingyu smut #mingyu fluff #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #seventeen headcanons #seventeen drabbles #seventeen smut #seventeen fanfic #seventeen scenarios #svt fanfic #svt imagines #svt smut #pls kindly let me know if there are any issues!!

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vashtijoy · 9 months ago

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have you seen the commentary from the p5r artbook going around? the shuake part of my dash is losing it a bit at the implication that their wishes were mutual!!! that seems to be what some people are getting from the commentary at least… amy insights?

Hi! I have been through the artbook. It's great, isn't it? :D

The image above is called "One Ending", and the creator caption (by illustrator Akane Kabayashi) reads:

When I think about how Akechi's wish was to play chess after school with the protagonist, I almost want to call him out with "You liked him after all, didn't you!"

Look at that. We're told about Akechi's wish, and what it included. We're as good as told outright that he likes Joker—and this isn't the only time, there's also this:

—There are a whole lot of things we can imagine, based on how the protagonist was depicted as someone special to Akechi. Those are more or less the exact emotions represented during Akechi's confidant. (Mumon Usuda, chief designer)

"someone special" here is 特別な存在 tokubetsuna sonzai—literally "a special presence". It means a special person, and more than that; it describes someone you find compelling, someone you can't look away from, someone who becomes one of your most important people, the centre of your world. It's another term that is often romantic, but isn't necessarily romantic.

(In the same way, I think Kabayashi's suki jan! is more tongue-in-cheek than it is a cast-iron confirmation that Akechi was canonly in love with Joker. The language there is teasing, it's ambiguous, it's baity; Kabayashi is joking. This is a rank 6—as they say, if you know, you know. But it is of course ultimately up to all of you.)

There's another mention of this image, down in the creator interview:

Out of all the Maruki ending illustrations, it was Akechi's that stuck with me the most. It made such an impression to see them opening up as friends, having a fun, peaceful time together like high school students should. (Mumon Usuda, chief designer)

What really strikes me in all of this is the emphasis the creators put on the fact that this is Akechi's illustration, Akechi's wish. Because I've thought for a while that we know Akechi has a wish. You can see him struggling with his refusals to Maruki in the first week of January. And you can hear his wish spoken—when Maruki repeats it back to him, during the boss fight, on 2/3:

Maruki {F1 81}君たちとなら、君も過ちのない道を歩めるかも知れないじゃないか！ {F1 81}-kun-tachi to nara, kimi mo ayamachi no nai michi o ayumeru kamoshirenai ja nai ka! If you're with {F1 81}―kun and his friends, you could begin to atone for what you've done! Think about it! With [Amamiya]-kun and his friends beside you, you could choose a path with no mistakes as well!

So this wish has several parts. First, there's that kimi mo, "you also"; it's tempting to read this as Maruki also wanting his new world to erase his past mistakes. Second, there's the first part, "if you're with [Amamiya]-kun and his friends". Where to even start here?

Being with Joker and the others is a prerequisite for the second half of Akechi's wish. It doesn't just coexist, it enables the rest of it. Just like his words in the engine room, "I wonder why we couldn't have met a few years earlier, [Ren]..."

Remember, Akechi's whole arc is about his rejection of trust and friendship, and his insistence on doing everything himself. This is precisely what Futaba calls him out on—"you trusted no one", or "you played life in single-player mode". This is what he unlearns at the climax of the engine room, when he realises he isn't prepared to let the others die—and follows through to save them.

Akechi is nothing without others, and he knows it. Without their support, which he believes he has no right to, he has no hope of living a better life, even were he to be given the chance—and he knows that, too. He has learned, and he has grown—and yet he knows the things he needs and wants so badly are forever inaccessible.

And his wish is about all the Phantom Thieves, not just Joker. There are many tiny references to this end—not least the original Japanese rank 10 line for his confidant, where he sacrifices himself for all of you. Joker is his compelling presence, his someone special, but he's formed small bonds with the others too, God help him.

and then there's the crime thing

The localisation frames Akechi's wish in terms of atonement, but that's not what's on offer. You cannot, after all, atone for things you never did. We see Akechi's wish put into practice, in the Maruki ending, where he appears with his friends beside him, wholly innocent and with unstained hands. And we see it in the first week of January, after he has finally met Maruki and spoken to him:

Akechi: Ah, that reminds me—there was one more thing I wanted to tell you. Akechi: About the reality Maruki's put us in... Akechi: It seems that Okumura and Wakaba are both considered alive by all accounts. [Ren: They're not dead anymore? / What do you mean?] Akechi: They aren't mere illusions, or cognitive beings—they truly are alive and existing in this world. Akechi: In fact, their deaths seem to have never taken place at all in this reality. [Ren: What happened to Shido?] Akechi: Shido was the only one arrested on the crime of attempting to overthrow the government... Akechi: It seems the Phantom Thieves were causing a stir in this society as well, but there's no record of your arrest now. Akechi: Basically, in this reality, you and I haven't committed any crimes.

While Akechi still remembers his crimes, they never took place. They have been undone, and only his lingering memory—and Joker's, at this point—speaks to them. He objects to this on countless levels, he summons all the strength he has to refuse it, but don't make the mistake of thinking that means he doesn't want it. This is Akechi's wish in action.

People are often very certain that Akechi's resolve in the third semester is like iron—that he rejects Maruki's offers right away, is never tempted, never wavers. But that can't be true. We know he's afraid to die. We know about the bad end where you don't complete the Palace, where Akechi says nothing and stares at the floor, seemingly blaming himself internally while all the others blame themselves aloud, for being unable to say no to Maruki's temptations. We know how he responds to this assertion of Maruki's—Maruki, who has perfectly summed up what we know all the other PTs wanted, and who (even if Word of God hadn't just confirmed Akechi's wish) we have, honestly, no reason to doubt.

Because Akechi never refutes this wish that Maruki describes. He never says he doesn't want it. He just rejects it—like all the others, who so desperately want what Maruki could give them. Futaba's mother, Haru's father. Akechi's life, and his innocence. And the people who might have been his friends, if he could dare, one day, to ask.

Akechi is tested just like the others, and the price he pays for his defiance is perhaps the highest of all.

and finally

[The Maruki ending illustrations are] of Maruki's world, where everyone's wishes are granted and they seem happy. The scene shows their actualised wishes, which were never granted in the real world. (Mumon Usuda, chief designer)

We shouldn't forget the price Akechi pays for his impossible wish. Sure, the vision of himself being altered like Sumire clearly haunts him, and I'm sure it made the choice easier—but I don't think it made it that easy. Instead of taking the dream Maruki offered him, Akechi chose to face up to what he'd done, and who he'd become; at the very end, in the third semester and in the engine room, he always makes the right choice.

And that choice was taken away from him. Agency over his life and death, his own acts, and who he would even be—Joker and Maruki take it all away from him and make him a puppet, just like Shido.

Maruki's ending isn't pretty.

revision history

Click here for the latest version.

v1.0 (2024/03/29)—first published.

#asks #persona 5 #p5 meta #things i translate #japanese language #word of god #shuake #goro akechi #takuto maruki

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dfortrafalgar · 8 months ago

Note

Hi, saw that your request were open so I was thinking on asking you for Law X fem reader where law has a crush on reader and starts hanging out and sees that one of reader’s guy friends is being way too touchy and starts touching her butt, he is also being mean to her and at one point even hits her in the head.

How would he react, I was thinking of a fluff ending.

thank you so much for your request anon!!! i really loved this one, it was super fun to write! it was definitely a bit of a struggle though, as much as i enjoy writing heavier topics, physical abuse is tricky for me to deal with, but i hope the fluff at the end delivered some resolutions <3

also, i actually really really like Bellamy as a character. i think he's super cool, but i couldnt think of anyone else who could really fit in the role he's playing in this fic LOL

Rectify

Law x Fem Reader

Law’s feelings for you are forced to clash with a loathsome person in your life.

Warnings: descriptions of brief physical abuse, implications of past abuse, very mild suggestive language, modern setting, hurt/comfort, fluffy ending

By the time Law realized his crush on you had surpassed its normal, healthy limit, it was far too late for him. It certainly didn’t help to see you sitting next to Bellamy, tossing joking remarks back and forth. All of you were in the same friend group, so it was truly impossible to avoid your interactions with the much larger, stronger, arguably more handsome man. And the thought began to make Law’s blood boil.

Because Bellamy was everything Law wasn’t.

You and Law had been friends since childhood, growing up in the same neighborhood and running with the same crowd. You were familiar with his best friends and his dad, just as Law was familiar with your closest peers. Law liked to think that, as the years went on, the two of you grew closer and closer. You were always far nicer to Law during his awkward teenage years, and there were a few times where the raven-haired boy grew hopeful that you might one day return his budding feelings for you, but that day never came. And then you started college… and then you met Bellamy.

On the contrary to the black-haired medical student, the blonde was known around the entire campus as ‘The Hyena,’ and for good reason. He was ruthless in every sport he played, a malicious, sadistic grin constantly pulling at his thin lips striking fear into the hearts of his opponents. He was strong, freakishly so, with muscles that could rival that of an Olympic weightlifter. His blonde hair was a hit with the ladies, and partnered with his darker skin tone and his assortment of badass tattoos, it seemed like a no brainer that women would be falling all over him.

Law just internally hated that one of those women seemed to be you.

Despite you having confirmed on multiple occasions that you and Bellamy were simply friends that you met in one of your classes, and that you truly had no interest in men like him, Law couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in his chest.

Bellamy certainly seemed to like you. A lot.

Law watched from across the room, a plastic cup still completely full of an unidentified cocktail in his tattooed hand and the large group of friends you shared laughing and chattering around you in the living room of the house party, as one of Bellamy’s large, strong hands began to circle around your waist, gripping the soft flesh of your ass through your pants. The sensation made you jump, trying to scurry away from him with a nervous smile on your soft lips as you awkwardly laughed at the feeling, but Bellamy tried to pull you in closer. The couch cushions sunk under his weight, creating a deep divot that made it hard to stand up.

You lightly shoved Bellamy’s chest, mumbling something about standing to get another drink, before you were finally able to haul yourself up from the warm sofa and make your way toward the kitchen in the back of the house. Law stood from his metal folding chair, abandoning his cup on a random end table. He followed you diligently into the kitchen.

“Hey,” he muttered.

“Oh, hey, Law!” you returned his greeting, mild surprise filling your eyes. “I didn’t hear you behind me!”

The man shrugged, leaning against the counter. You awkwardly fiddled with a glass bottle of beer, using the edge of the counter to pop open the metal cap. Law eyed you suspiciously.

“You don’t drink beer,” he stated, watching as you simply held the chilled bottle in your hands without making a move to drink it.

You smiled in response, but the gesture didn’t reach your eyes like it normally did. “I know… I just needed to get some air away from the living room for a little bit.”

Law couldn’t hold back the question fighting on his tongue. “Is Bellamy bothering you?”

Pointed stares were shared between the two of you before you finally, lightly, shook your head. “No.”

“Are you sure?” Something told him you were lying to his face.

“Yes, I’m sure,” you groaned. “Law… I know you don’t like him… but he’s really not that bad.”

“You didn’t seem to like it when he touched your ass,” the med student grumbled.

“Law, I don’t want to fight,” you retorted, firmly. “I don’t like it when Bellamy touches me, anywhere. I know he’s into me but I’m not into him, but I don’t want to cause a scene at a party I was graciously invited to.”

You had a point. Liquor was running as free as tap water within the stale, stuffy walls of the house, and saying or doing something that could potentially cause a fight wouldn’t be ideal. Especially since the police had already been called multiple times to a house just a few steps down the sidewalk from this one.

Law wished he could open his mouth and just tell you, tell you everything that had been on his mind, how he realized just recently (and yet somehow far too late for his liking) that he’s madly in love with you, how he doesn’t want to see you be treated poorly by someone who you call a friend, how he wished so desperately that you would see him in the same way, how he longed for your touch. But instead, he stayed silent, watching as you anxiously eyed the brown glass of the untouched beer bottle you still gripped in your hand, as if the bottle was the only thing keeping you glued to reality.

“I’m fine, Law,” you blurted. He hadn’t said anything more. With your eyes cast down to the floor, you left your beer bottle sitting open on the countertop before retreating back into the thick of the party.

The raven-haired student waited a few moments before returning as well, his metal folding chair unfortunately having been taken by two sweaty economics students locked in a very passionate, very inappropriate, makeout session. He pushed his way through the mingling crowd back toward the couch where he spotted you perched on the arm of the sofa this time, Bellamy practically flush against your body on the end cushion, his palm on your ass, fingers squeezing intermittently. The blonde was locked in an intense conversation with the man in front of him, and the look on your face screamed uncomfortable. Law felt his stomach flip over. Your eyes caught him again, and you frowned. A frown so deep that it left shadows under the creases of your lips. You looked… aged. Stressed. Afraid.

But Law kept his distance.

You didn’t want a scene to break out. You could handle yourself on your own.

Bellamy’s hand trailed from your ass down your thigh, your skin still protected by the rough denim of your jeans, but that didn’t stop his fingers from crawling around the front of your body and dipping between your thighs. The feeling of his intense hand trying to pull you apart in front of another man, without your consent, made you visibly tense up and pull away from him. Your motions finally made the blonde’s attention snap to you, his dark eyes narrowing and somehow becoming even more villainous.

“Don’t run off,” he snapped. “You’re sitting right here with me, all pretty like that.”

You steeled yourself. “Then I don’t want you touching me like that. We’re not an item, Bellamy.”

“I don’t care,” he huffed back. “I’ll touch you however I want.”

The music of the party, the chattering voices slurred with alcohol, faded completely around Law as he watched the argument unfold before his eyes. The only sounds entering his ear drums were the disgusting words leaving Bellamy’s mouth, the demands, the insults. The dim lights of the living room did very little to hide the way your face contorted in discomfort, trying to pull away from the blonde athlete even more.

“Bellamy, I said no,” you snapped.

No one seemed to be paying any attention to what was happening, all eyes everywhere but where they should have been. When you were being closed in on by a man much larger than you, no one was looking. You were alone.

And Law was somehow so far away.

“I don’t remember ever needing to listen to you,” the hyena chortled, his voice gravelly and nasally. “You should be lucky that you have a guy like me who’s into you. You’ll never be able to do better than me.”

You opened your mouth once more to shout a retort, but you were cut short. Bellamy’s clenched fist connected with your lower jaw, swiftly knocking you to the ground in a stunned shock. You fell like a lead brick, hitting the ground with a force that Law somehow felt through the soles of his shoes, rattling his bones and making his head spin. Your hands blindly scraped against the floor searching for your bearings, completely disoriented from the blow that had just met your bone. You brought one of your hands to your mouth, cupping your palm over your lips as your eyes closed, trying to block out every overwhelming color and sound filling your brain with a nuclear buzz.

And yet. No one. Noticed.

Law cleared the floor in an instant, just as Bellamy was yelling something about your worth being determined by your partnership with him. The fist inked with DEATH clocked the blonde in the temple, the short, stubbly blonde hairs leaving phantom singing pain on Law’s fingers. The hyena stumbled backward, catching himself on the arm of the sofa you were previously sitting on.

For a brief moment, the med student was gloatingly proud of himself. His father was a retired marine after all. Law knew a thing or two about a good punch. His thoughts were quickly retired, however, as he crossed the crowded floor to your side, quickly helping you to your feet and pushing through the crowd with you hunched over in his arms, tripping over your heels as he rapidly escorted you to the door.

Don’t cause a scene.

Bellamy didn’t follow, and Law counted his blessings. “Hey, your apartment’s on this street, right?”

With a hand still cupped over your mouth, you nodded. Your eyes were barely keeping themselves open, what was visible of your face contorted in a muted agony.

If Law was any less collected, he would’ve stomped that hyena’s face in with the heel of his boot.

The two of you were barely getting anywhere with your afflicted state. Law scooped you into his embrace, your legs wrapping around his hips and free hand clenching the soft fabric of his shirt as he carried you back to your apartment with one of his arms carefully supporting your rump. Thank goodness you lived so close, in a converted townhouse on the corner of the same street. Law still lived in on-campus housing across town, which was less than ideal for his tastes. He helped you fish your key from the pocket of your pants, keeping you in his grasp while he pushed the door open and entered the narrow entryway of your home. Your roommate was gone for the week visiting family on the other side of the country, so your place was completely dark and quiet.

Law flipped the light switch on just in time to watch you scurry to the first floor bathroom as soon as your feet touched the hard wooden floor, leaving the door open as the light in the smaller space flicked on as well. He quickly followed, standing in the doorway as you finally pulled your hand away from your mouth.

A few droplets of blood were dotting your palm, but when you opened your mouth, a worryingly large glob of bright crimson exited past your lips and splattered in the white porcelain of the sink. Law’s stomach lurched as he watched you try in vain to spit out the metallic liquid, your entire face scrunching up as the nauseating sensation and taste. Your shoulders shuddered with the feeling of your gag reflex bobbing in the back of your throat, forcing your stomach to hold its contents as you released drops of bright red into the white porcelain of the wash basin.

The med student’s first thought was that one or more of your teeth had been knocked loose or even came out permanently, but nothing solid landed in the sink. As you began to calm down from your spitting into the basin, your eyes began to well with overwhelmed tears. You gazed at Law in the mirror, his golden eyes locked on yours as a small dribble of blood and spit slid down the skin of your chin.

Wordlessly, your friend stepped into the bathroom with you, grabbing a wad of toilet paper and wetting it with warm water from the tap, wiping away the bloody drool that left your lips.

“I know it hurts, but I need you to open for me,” he muttered, gently holding your cheek in his hand as the other one balled up the toilet paper and discarded it into the open toilet bowl.

When you opened, Law reached into the back pocket of his speckled jeans and procured his phone, clicking on the flashlight without looking at his screen. He shined the light into your mouth and, to his relief, didn’t see any chipped, broken, or missing teeth. He did, however, see a substantial gash on the side of your tongue. You must have clamped down hard on the muscle with your teeth thanks to the force of the punch. The thought made a silent rage build in Law’s gut. He turned you around and closed the toilet lid, sitting you down and proceeding to rummage through your medicine cabinet.

He handed you two pieces of gauze wrap from below your sink. “I need you to hold these against the cut on your tongue, okay? Don’t remove them until I say so.”

You diligently followed his orders, taking the dry cloth from him and inserting it painfully into your mouth to rest on the stinging wound that cut your muscle. You watched as he continued to rummage through your supplies, pushing aside boxes of tampons and toilet cleaning chemicals and finally finding what he was hoping he would see- a brown plastic bottle. He stood from his crouching position, the bottle in his firm grasp. He spun the item around to gaze at its expiration date and hummed approvingly under his breath. He quickly exited the bathroom, leaving you alone for a few fleeting moments.

While he was gone, you were able to take a better look at your face. While one of your cheeks was puffed up slightly with the clump of gauze against your tongue, you could still make out the swelling of your skin on the same side. A large, black and blue bruise was quickly blooming along your jaw and up your cheek, your fractured capillaries leaking into your epidermis.

Law finally returned, a very small cup in his right hand and a bottle of diluted bleach in his left from the kitchen. You watched as he poured a small amount of clear liquid from the brown bottle into the small cup before running the sink tap and filling it the rest of the way with plain water. He handed the cup to you with no instructions before lightly spritzing the porcelain basin with the diluted chemical, running the tap once more and washing your blood away, making sure to scrub the entire bowl. He finally turned around to face you.

“I need you to swish that in your mouth for a few seconds, and then spit it out in the sink,” he directed. “It might taste kind of bitter.”

You carefully pulled the gauze out of your mouth, wincing as some of the light fibers pulled against your wounded muscle, but followed his directions and tossed the contents of the small cup back into your mouth, swishing with your cheeks puffed, trying to focus the liquid onto your wound. Just as Law warned, the taste was bitter, vaguely salty, but definitely not pleasant. Law finally stepped aside from the sink after a long 30 seconds and let you spit. Both the gauze and the clear solution you rinsed your mouth with were lacking blood, meaning your wound was already on the clotting and healing path.

After sputtering for a few moments, the faint smell of diluted bleach filling your nose from the sink, you placed the cup down on the counter and gazed at Law, who watched you with a keen eye. “What was that?”

“Hydrogen peroxide and water,” he uttered. “To disinfect your tongue. Luckily, peoples’ mouths tend to heal much faster than other body parts, so after a day or two of discomfort, you should be back to normal.”

Cleaned and disinfected, you finally started to let your mind sink on the gravity of the situation, your heart rate increasing and your eyes once again growing heavy and blurry with impending tears. You watched as Law, avoiding your gaze with a deep frown on his lips, grabbed your rinse cup from the counter and turned to head back to your kitchen. You quickly grabbed the fabric of his shirt sleeve to stop him in his tracks, the fuzziness of your vision causing the colors of his form in front of you to waver and warp, but that didn’t stop you from wrapping your arms around his lean torso in a hug, the warm wetness from your eyes soaking the cotton of his clothing.

“Please don’t leave,” you uttered into his chest, your body trembling. With the adrenaline finally subsiding, the pain radiating from your jaw grew more and more noticeable. Every movement seemed to irritate your bruised bone, and talking felt like trying to articulate with a lead weight attached to your mandible.

With your face smushed into his clothing, you didn’t see when Law placed the cup back down on your counter, only hearing the soft tap of the plastic against the linoleum surface. His arms carefully, as if to not shatter you where you stood, wrapped around your waist, one hand coming to rest comfortably in between your shoulder blades, his fingers sprawling out over your spine before retracting and collecting some of the fabric from your own shirt into his inked fingers. It felt like his hand was made specifically to bring you comfort.

—

It took some time for you to calm yourself down enough to relocate from the bathroom doorway to the small living space you typically shared with your roommate when she was home. You listened with your head resting on a soft pillow and an ice pack nursing your jaw as Law busied himself between your bathroom and kitchen, washing the cup, cleaning off the bathroom counter and sink for a second time, and disposing of the small garbage bag where your bloody gauze had ended up. Your living room was dark, with the only light coming from the kitchen, just enough to catch glimpses of Law’s shadow moving about the space. Your face ached from the force of crying against your bruised jaw bone, your eyelids uncomfortably sliding over your corneas, dry and fragile after expelling what was easily the rest of the water in your body.

After what felt like an eternity, Law finally emerged from the kitchen, carefully approaching your laid out form on the couch. He kneeled in front of you and adjusted the ice pack against your cheek slightly, the tenderness of his fingers ghosting over your own. Your heart galloped in your chest.

“I’m sorry I dragged you into that mess,” you groaned, forcing your dry eyes closed to avoid Law’s pensive stare.

“You didn’t drag me into anything. I acted on my own,” he replied stoically, his hand remaining within close proximity to your own. His tattooed fingers flexed a few times, eager to take your hand in his, but he eventually relented and let his limb fall back to his side.

You shifted uncomfortably on the couch, curling your legs up toward your chest. “But you could’ve gotten hurt.”

Law bit the inside of his cheek at your words, his own chest clenching in disdain, not for you, but for the hyena that had left you feeling such a way. “I don’t care if I get hurt if it means you stay safe.”

When your eyes opened, they were small. Weak. Like you had been fighting some unknown battle in your skull for as long as you could remember. You truly looked tired and ragged, and Law wanted nothing more than to hold you in his arms until all your life’s woes flushed away like the aftermath of a rainstorm.

“Law…” you began, your mouth opening and closing a few times, at a loss for what to continue with. “I never really liked Bellamy.”

The man stayed quiet, his lips pulled in a taut line.

“But sometimes, when you get really uncomfortable, all you can do is laugh and smile. Because you hope that acting friendly and cordial and cute will keep you safe from danger.” Your voice was so fragile, your words mumbled as you continued to cradle your jaw with the thawing ice pack against your skin. “I never wanted to hang out with Bellamy, but he scared me so much and I just… didn’t know how to say no. I didn’t want to get hurt.”

Again.

Law’s own jaw clenched, suppressing a bubbling rage as he relived the blonde’s actions from a few hours prior. A deep-rooted maniacal side of the medical student wished he could gut the D-1 athlete in his sleep, but what good would that do? It certainly wouldn’t help you in the way you needed it. And the fact that your attempts to protect yourself had only led you to getting attacked in the first place made his blood boil in his veins. But he needed to stay calm for you. Anger solves no issues. He learned that from Cora, his best friends, and now you.

A bout of anger got you out of the situation you were stuck in, and now you needed comfort.

“What…” he began, stumbling. “What do you want from me? To help you?”

After a few brief moments of silence, the only sound cutting through the darkness being the faint wrrr of your air conditioning unit, you finally spoke up. “Can you spend the night with me?”

Law blinked once, then twice. “Here?”

“Yeah. In my room.”

He gazed at you through the darkness, his golden eyes widened. “Are you sure you’re okay with that?”

You emitted a small gust of air through your nose. “I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”

Fair enough. “Do you have anywhere you want me to sleep?” he asked, helping you sit up against the couch cushions and carefully easing the ice back off of your jaw. The swelling had gone down substantially, but it would still take a week or two for the bruise to fully heal.

One of your hands remained planted against his shoulder, gripping the cotton of his shirt. “In my bed. I feel safe with you, Law. It’s really okay.”

After receiving your words of affirmation, Law stood from his crouched position and guided you to stand through the darkness, his hand in yours and the other clutched around the ice pack. He discarded the item on your kitchen counter to be dealt with in the morning, keen on getting you comfortable under your secure blankets. You gladly followed him, stepping carefully through the dark home into your bedroom where you blindly navigated to your bedside lamp, pulling down on the cord to activate the light. The warm orange glow flooded the room, making the two of you squint your eyes.

Law could finally see just how bad your bruise really was. A large, black and blue swollen welt tinged with red the exact size of a harshly clenched fist was carved across your skin. The sight of the impact was much more swollen compared to the other side. You had taken a hit most street thugs hadn’t ever dealt with.

“It’s really bad, isn’t it,” you asked, voice still paper-thin and anxious.

“It’s… definitely a decent injury,” Law responded bluntly, inwardly cursing himself at his awkward language.

You didn’t hold it against him, however. Instead, you stripped off your clothes, crawling into bed and leaving the other side open for Law.

“You’re really okay with this?” he asked, one more time.

You nodded. “Yes.”

Law followed your initial lead, taking off his jeans, followed by his shirt and socks, leaving only his boxers covering him. He carefully crawled into the space in your blankets you had left open for him, laying on his back like a plank with his hands awkwardly draped over his abdomen. You pulled down on the cord to your lamp once more and flooded the room with darkness.

The med student felt the mattress dip as you moved closer to him, effortlessly draping yourself over his body, as if you were made to fit into the crevice of his neck. His hands found their position around your back and waist yet again, surrounding you in the comfort you had been longing for all night. You nestled your face into the soft skin of his neck, slow, deep breaths setting a hypnotic, drowsy pace for the both of you to fall into slumber.

No words had to be exchanged, not until the morning at least. Your legs tangled together and your hearts beating in sync did all the talking for now.

#x reader #reader insert #fem reader #one piece x reader #op x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law #request fics

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mcondance · 1 year ago

Text

other side of the game; hobie brown

summary // hobie swings by when you’re cleaning your room, and you know exactly what he wants.

cw // dubcon-ish (you say stuff akin to no but like.. you want it. it’s just a game you n hobie play), they talk a lot of shit, missionary

extras // you and hobie r Black so i don't wanna hear anything abt the grammar i used! "it's supposed to be doesn't" kill yourself idc, the song has. nothing to do with what happens in this fic btw it just.. it makes sense when you read it and it helped me write

wc // 2.6k

song shoutouts // special thanks to other side of the game by erykah badu and i get lonely by janet jackson

signing off // thank you to poetnon for this idea i hope you like this <3

you know the second you hear the knocks at your window that you won't be getting anything else done today. he does this every fucking time.

walking across your room, you unlock the window for your boyfriend, eyes meeting his as you psyche yourself up for what you know is coming.

you return your attention to your desk, and with your back turned to him, you hear him slide his lanky body through the frame, landing softly on your carpeted floor.

"you busy?" he muses pointlessly, already shrugging his jacket off and reaching down to untie his boots. player one, ready?

"yeah," you hum pointlessly too, hands fiddling with the trinkets on your desk. maybe if you don't look at him, you won't cave. player two, ready?

"what you up to?" his voice grows closer. you close your eyes, breathing deep and slow to try to build your resolve, but you can hear him inching towards you, the clinging of his belts giving his movements away.

"cleanin' my room." you spin around, figuring you'd face your doom instead. his shoes are off now, placed up against the wall under your window. and now the game has started.

"mhm. well don't let me stop you," he smiles, and you wish you could say that it didn't put another dent in your already rusty resolve, but it does. with shaking hands crossed in front of you, you push yourself up and away from your desk and move across your room to your pile of clothes, folding shit hastily, already so fucking nervous.

he takes your place leaning against your desk and scans your room, taking in how much you’ve already gotten done. it makes him feel a little less bad about what he’s going to do. ��looks good already. how long you been cleanin’?”

“since like, 10.”

“mhm. ‘s 2:24 now. think you’re ready for a break?” you snap your head towards him, rolling your eyes and screwing your lips up at the implications of his words.

“not the kinda break you’re talking about,” you sneer, rolling your eyes again as you return your focus to the meaningless pile of clothes.

“and what kinda break is that?”

“the kinda break when you end up inside me. i don’t have time for it.” you don’t face him as you speak. you can’t. if you do, it’s all over. you don’t want it to end just yet. it’s fun. it always is.

“what, you think ‘m just tryna get in your pants? i jus’ think my girl should have a little rest, yeah?” at his words you drop the shirt in your hand, switching gears to organize your nightstand instead.

“you’re lying. you always do this.”

“do what?”

“this. you come here and sweet talk me and the next thing i know i’m under you and my room doesn’t get cleaned. i’m not doing this today.”

he’s silent— your brain isn’t. you know it’s only a matter of time until he’s doing exactly what he’s doing now.. wrapping his slim fingers around your waist and pulling you back onto him.

speaking directly against your ear, he finally comes out with what he wants. “take a break, baby, lemme make you feel good." his lips meet your neck, ghosting over your heated skin.

"can't, hobes, i gotta clean up,” you whine, but it's futile at this point, cause you're already leaning back onto him, already tilting your neck to the side to give him more access, already dropping the half-empty water bottle in your hand.

"you sure, love? y'can clean up after we're done, hm? i'll help you.” he sounds earnest, like he really cares. you shake your head no, but you let him pull you away from your desk and turn you around. "gotta clean," you repeat, but you let him push you down onto your ruffled sheets.

"then clean." he’s standing over you now with his hands tucked into his pockets, and he motions towards the pile of clothes with his head, knowing eyes fixed on your frame sprawled out on your bed. from here, the light frames him perfectly, and he looks so damn pretty. maybe you'll blame what you do next on that. doesn't matter now, though. eyes meeting, you both know you're not getting up— seconds pass with you both staring, a silent confirmation, and hobie knows your answer.

shrugging, he leans down with his hands still in his pockets, placing a damning kiss on your lips, murmuring "gave you a chance, baby. knew you didn't give a fuck about cleanin'." and he's right, embarrassingly so, so you roll your eyes, channeling your faux-frustration into a rough kiss, curling your hands under the straps of his t-shirt.

he falls forward, hands flying from his pockets to balance himself on top of you. smiling against your lips, he speaks again, “see. . you want it. you’re desperate.”

his hips start to rock against yours, stacked belts clinging against your dangling legs. hands finding the side of his face, you huff at his irritating need to almost shame you, to show for some made-up record that no matter how much you turn him down, you want him. you need him.

so you push your hips against his, humming at the groan that flies from his lips. tapping your thigh, he ushers you up the bed, your bodies turning until your head is laid on your pillows.

he reaches down between you two, sliding your shorts to the side to rub his fingers against your already sloppy cunt, smiling when he feels and sees how wet you are. “cleaning my ass,” he jokes, kissing you before you can get upset again.

sliding his fingers up, he brushes the pads of them over your sensitive clit, swallowing the pretty moans that start to flow from your spit-slicked lips. hobie knows you like the back of his hand, knows just how much pressure you need, how tight his circles have to be, knows how to make you cum hard, and cum fast.

it’s always like this when he comes by with the goal to distract you— you always end up under him with whatever you have on pushed hastily to the side, fully clothed and his hand between your legs, shaking arms wrapped around his neck. it’s desperate, really, both your need to get off.

though you try to remain steadfast, try to act like you don’t want this, the way your hips move against his hand gives you away. “did all that sayin’ ‘no’, bu’ look.” he points his eyes down, towards where his hand is hovering above your cunt, fingers glistening.

“‘course ‘m wet, don’t mean shit.”

“it don’t? that’s wild, love,” he slides two fingers in without warning and presses his thumb against your clit before he starts his circles again, other hand moving to hold you in place when you thrash against him, “cause last time i had t’almost beg. ‘n the time before that, i did beg.”

you know what he’s trying to say, and it makes heat rise in your face and makes your eyes close, cause you can’t face him. no matter, though, cause he grabs your face, spits, “open your eyes. look a’me.”

you open your eyes and meet his low ones, ones that are always black with lust, ones that bore straight through you and make you feel so small and dirty underneath their gaze. he nods at your obedience, and then his fingers catch that spot inside you, and the licks of flame inside you morph into something like a fire, lighting you up with pleasure. you’re close, so close.

“you’re gettin’ easier, baby. act all you want, you’re desperate.” that sends you over the edge, and it’s embarrassing. it’s filthy, how he just has to talk to you a little mean and you’re cumming on his fingers, shaking as you choked out sobs of his name, like you weren’t just telling him to leave you alone 10 minutes ago.

before you even come down he’s kissing you, pulling your shirt up to free your tits.

"fuck you." you spew as you separate, but you still pull him closer, position him where his clothed dick rubs right against your cunt, kept away by the fabric of his sweats and your shorts that have almost rolled back into place.

"you will, in a second," he bites back, a wicked smile plastered across his ethereal features— features that are driving you fucking insane.

you’ve grown sick of his mouth— fisting his hair, you yank hard, drawing a pained moan from him and another drag of his cock against you. “you keep talking all this shit, but you’re the one who came up to my window looking for some ass. i don’t wanna hear it.”

“yeah? and you’re the one who kept going on about havin’ to clean your room, but i got you in bed so easy. we’re both fucked.”

and it’s true. the statement grounds both of you, and you both realize just where you are— inches apart, seconds away from what you both want. snapping out of it at the same time, your hands tangle together as you reach for each other’s bottoms, you freeing his pretty dick and him ripping your shorts right down the middle.

you laugh at his haste, his deep chuckles mixing with your giggles, foreheads meeting as you both calm down after your frenzy.

“‘m sorry. still forget how strong i am.”

“‘s fine. just fuck me already.”

“ehhh,” hand around his cock, sliding his tip up and down your waiting cunt, he teases once more, “y’sure you don’ wanna clean? room’s still a bit messy.”

“hobie, i swear to god, if you do not put it in me now i will pin you down and take it.” reading your eyes, he can tell you’re dead serious.

“‘s much as i’d love that,” he slides in with a pretty groan, and you wrap your arms around his neck with a throaty whine, “i want you like this.” pushing his hips up, he seats himself inside you.

breathing heavy, you both just take a second to calm down, to bask in the feeling of being intertwined with your lover again, no matter how annoying they can be. with closed eyes, you throw your head back, resting on your pillows. hobie takes that as a sign to spread kisses down your jaw, grinning when you smile.

“move,” you breathe, shifting your hips to give him better access.

that first stroke always drives you both crazy. the slow pull out, faces contorting in pleasure, bodies getting closer and closer until the next best thing is merging together again, you pushing down and him pushing up and then his cock takes its rightful place inside you, sensitive tip leaking against your cervix.

“‘m all the way in, love, can feel the end of you,” he murmurs against your neck, and you nod, curling your arms tighter around his neck. then, he just grinds, circles his hips, just barely pulling out.

it’s perfect, the way your bodies move against each other, giving and receiving pleasure at the end of the game you both love playing. with fluttery glides and soft slides, and pitchy whines and deep groans, you dunk yourselves into that familiar pool of feeling, let it fill up your noses and mouths until it’s spilling over, your bodies shaking and jerking against each other.

blissed out of your fucking minds, your lips meet the others, lazy connects of your lips that you can just barely call kisses. they’re slack-jawed and sloppy, spit-swapping, the lewd smacks filling the air, mixing with the harmony of fucked-out sounds.

slowly, hobie starts moving his hips around differently, on a mission now, one that has you tensing up, cause it never takes him long to find it, that sweet spot that has you—

“fuck,” you drawl, throwing your head back, and hobie just smiles and keeps his hips moving that way, keeps his cock kissing that same spot.

"that's it?" he hums.

when you try to articulate what you're feeling, try to tell him "yeah", the words never come. instead, he's raising up to spread your legs and balancing himself above you, switching from slow grinds to deep thrusts that have him pressing against that spot even more now.

now, with him slapping his hips against yours and his thumb on your clit, the sound fills the room, skin against skin. jolting against him, his eyes are still trained on yours, fixed on the furrow of your eyebrows and the o-shape your lips make, focused on how pretty you look when he fucks you.

your choppy moans fill his ears, the background to his barrage of words that fill yours. sentences about how pretty you look, how good you feel, how he just wants to fuck you forever, and then for the second time without warning, you cum again, right when he says something about wanting to keep you fucked and filled, "'s why i keep comin' over, cause i wan' you full of me all the time."

it's gentle, this time, streams of feeling flowing softly through you. hobie makes sure to keep his pace steady through it all, makes sure he prolongs it as long as he can.

when you come down, you're pushing up on his hips with shaking hands, nodding your head and telling him to move. he doesn't waste a second, lifts up and grabs your headboard with one hand to give himself some leverage, his other hand resting on your calf. this time around, he's forgotten all that slow shit.

he rocks his hips hard and fast, jolting you up, and your back rubs against your sheets, your hands fly to your thighs to ground yourself.

"keep 'em open," he slurs, eyes fixed on where he disappears inside you, on the way you cream on his cock, his pretty dick painted white. "watch," he tells you, "she swallow me up so nice." his tone is awe-filled, brown eyes lit up at the visual of you taking him so well.

your eyes roll back in your head, another wave of arousal overtaking you and you can't watch any longer or you'll go crazy, so you watch his face instead. watch his pretty fucking face contort in pleasure, watching his eyebrow piercings dance in the light, watch his sharp jaw clench when you clench around him.

and god, it’s building up again. how could have ever even thought you’d clean up today, when this is so much better. “you gonna cum?” he asks, cause he knows your tells better than you do. you nod shakily, hands gripping onto your thighs so hard you swear you feel your fingers going numb.

“then do it.” it’s an order, really, and you know what he means. hand flying to your clit, you rub messy circles, and hobie moves his hand from your calf to your thigh to keep you open for him. nodding with wild eyes, he watches you make yourself cum, watches your circles became sloppy side-to-side motions while you whine and almost fucking cry, watches your cunt clamp down on him and suck him in “like she don’t wanna let go.”

through the mind-fuck in your head, you hear him groan loud, and then he’s cumming too, gripping your headboard so hard you swear you hear a soft crack, but fuck the headboard, cause hobie looks so pretty when he cums that it don’t even matter.

laughing, blissed out of your minds, hobie lays down on top of you, breathing hard and sweaty as shit, just like you are.

“i really did need to clean my room though, hobie.” you hum, turning your head to face him.

“i wasn’t just tryin’ to get in your pants, love, i was serious about helpin’,” he mumbles against your neck. and he does help. by the time he’s sliding back through your window and kissing you goodbye, your room is perfect.

#hobie brown x black reader #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown smut #hobie smut #hobie x reader #hobie brown x you #prolly flopped cause i tagged it wrong so here y'all go again

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lazycats-stuff · 11 months ago

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Hello, hope you're having a good day/night

I was wondering if I could request Bruce x Bat Dad (and some bat fam)

What if reader knew about the darker things in the world like demons and horrors unimaginable from the time he was small and that's why he doesn't talk about things like growing up or his family.

What if reader gets captured by a cult that torture him in order to force reader to translate strange eldritch books and artifacts.

You can choose how long it takes for Bruce to find reader

(What if Bruce and the batfam find out that reader has been hunting and investigating the supernatural like a small base of operations that looks more like a library with hidden weapons)

Hi, I hope you have a good day or night too. Of course you can request. Hehe. Lets go. Also, I'm sorry for taking so long... I hope you like it! And yes, the ending may be rushed, but it's not that bad.

Summary: (Y/N) gets taken for his knowledge.

Warnings: cult, fight, implications of torture... Nothing is really direct per say.

(Y/N) sighed as he closed his old leather book. He wished he didn't have this knowledge, this... (Y/N) swallowed as he put his book back and left the room, closing the fake bookcase. He rubbed his face as he was tired from this life. He wished he didn't have this knowledge. He knows the things that would turn the world upside down.

He met with hell's worst demons and he saw some of the other unspeakable horrors. (Y/N) never had a good life. He grew up in a satanic cult, the one who was genuinely believing that Satan is coming and that they are going to be his loyal servants.

He was apparently marked by Satan when he was born, but then again, when you are in a cult, you believe what they tell you. (Y/N) escaped when he was 16 years old, running like the devil himself was chasing him. (Y/N) came to Gotham with only clothes on his back.

Soon he met a nice guy who helped him. (Y/N) is smart and intelligent and he managed to start high school. He graduated after 3 years and went on to study history and religion at college. He was always interested in those things and soon enough, he found himself working in a museum.

It was a nice change of pace for once. Learning about old things and older religions and he liked it when he could teach someone something new. Of course, he was vigilant of new people and people in general. He was careful when meeting someone new, hoping that the cult didn't go after him. He could only hope so.

Dating after being in a cult it's difficult. Always suspicious of any one coming into his life romantically. Men or women, being suspicious from the get go was a certified way to see if someone was from the cult. It was also one of the fastest ways to get your relationship destroyed.

Then Bruce Wayne came into his life.

It was a coincidence. Bruce saw an interesting exhibition and decided to treat Damian to a little treat. (Y/N) was making his way through the museum, just enjoying his day and making sure every visitor was taken care of. He saw Bruce and Damian, looking in confusion.

(Y/N) walked over and asked if everything was okay and the rest was history. He lead the two through the museum, enjoying the fact that Damian knew a lot about history and it was actually fun to debate a child who knew something over a fact.

Bruce was quiet, enjoying the tour and well... Love at first sight for Bruce. He was chatting with (Y/N) and saw how guarded he was. Sure, everyone is guarded around strangers, but this is a whole another level of being guarded.

Bruce was rather intrigued, but he didn't want to push any boundaries. So he left (Y/N) his number, saying no pressure to say yes, but do call.

To say (Y/N) was a nervous wreck is an understatement. What the hell was Bruce Wayne doing with him? Was he just looking for a one night stand? Or was just flirting to keep with the playboy persona? He came home and stared at the card for 10 minutes, thinking about it.

Should he?

Should he not?

You know what? He's not made from glass. He will go for it and whatever happens, happens. He texted Bruce, he wasn't really brave enough to call. He really wasn't.

He jumped when he saw that Bruce responded.

To cut a very long story short, Bruce and (Y/N) are together to this day. The date went very well and (Y/N) was happy for the first time. He has never been happier. Together with a man who loves him and the kids who love him.

(Y/N) may love the kids more than Bruce, but Bruce won't complain. Anyone who accepted his kids, he was more than happy and if that person loved the kids more than Bruce...

Of course, in platonic way.

But there was something that bothered the family, well, not bothered, but it was interesting to them. It was (Y/N)'s past. It was something he hid and refused to talk about. He would get closed off and cold and soon enough they learnt to not ask about it.

Of course, in a family full of detectives, they wanted to investigate, but they knew that they shouldn't have because it was an invasion of privacy. So, they have decided to leave (Y/N)'s past alone.

Also, one thing that they loved about (Y/N) was the fact that he was teaching them history, something they all loved. Jason was a fan of Egypt and Sumerians. Dick loved European history, more so medieval times. Tim loved the Enigma and the making of a first computer?

And Damian? World War Two and Arabic history.

Alfred loved (Y/N) too and he would love nothing more for Bruce to marry that man. God knows that this household needs another emotionally stable person. Somewhat...

Alfred was not the one to complain.

He saw how (Y/N) and Bruce complimented one another and Bruce gave (Y/N) a push to write his book about history of religion. (Y/N) has always wanted to write that and Bruce gave him a push he needed. But not financially.

(Y/N) said he would do it all on his own. Bruce had no problem with that statement. He agreed to not pull connections with anyone or any publishing house. But he wasn't against getting (Y/N) his materials. He had no problem delivering the materials right to his door or at his work.

(Y/N) knew that Bruce was Batman so he knew that Bruce was in front of his apartment or in his office. (Y/N) enjoyed and was happy to see them.

(Y/N) entered his apartment and went to the kitchen. He was completely oblivious to the fact that there was a dark figure in his living room. (Y/N) took a sip of the water before he heard a creak on the floor board. He acted like it was nothing before throwing the glass in the direction on the sound. He hit the figure and (Y/N) grabbed a knife.

(Y/N) watched as the figure doubled down in pain, before recovering. The figure has stepped into the light and (Y/N) recognized the face.

" You motherfucker... " (Y/N) said as he gripped the handle of the knife tighter.

" That's no way to talk to your leader. " The deep male voice said and (Y/N) sized him up.

Maybe he can make it out. But the leader is strong and full of muscles. He has to evade him. Somehow.

That plan went down to shit when he saw two more figures. Sure, the leader needs to have protection. (Y/N) glanced between the trio. Someone is going to attack first.

Which one is the question.

(Y/N) ducked a punch and tried to stab the incoming one, but he was hurled over the couch, taking it with him. (Y/N) grunted as he hit the floor and he stood up after a few moments. He didn't have his knife with him.

Shit.

He nearly died when there was a fourth figure picking him up, before throwing him into his glass coffee table. (Y/N) grunted as he hit his head. He hissed as he tried to get up, but a kick to his face sent him flying back and he was dazed.

" I'm not coming with you. " (Y/N) said as he wiped the blood from his face.

" Oh you are. We know you can translate the demon transcriptions. And we need those translations. " The leader said and (Y/N) glared at them.

He won't go out without a fight.

" You are outnumbered. There is no way out. " The leader said and (Y/N) glanced at the other two. They were blocking the exit. They only way is to fight out or at least try.

But there was no weapon in sight. So he was screwed. Kicking and punching his way out can only take him so far.

But he had to try.

So he did just that. He tried to fight, but he was punched in the jaw quickly that he was nearly knocked. He fell down, hitting his head hard once more.

His vision was swimming and he couldn't see who was where anymore. His only hope now was Bruce. He knew Bruce would drop by later in the night and that he would find him. Bruce would never stop looking for him.

The kiddos too...

His jaw got punched once more and he blacked out. Now the cult had him where they wanted him. They could do what they pleased.

And if that meant torture... Well, then so be it.

Two fucking months. Bruce was losing his mind as he was looking for his boyfriend. He was horrified when he learnt of (Y/N)'s past, who wouldn't be terrified? Learning and growing up in a cult?

Bruce remembers the first time he entered the apartment and he will always wonder about a lot of things. More so that (Y/N) is somewhat normal.

Bruce was shocked that (Y/N) turned out normal. The trauma he must have went through... He was even more shocked when they found out the secret library in his apartment... Bruce had to call John Constantine to see what the hell was happening here.

John knew exactly what this was. (Y/N) was a hunter who hunted demons and banished them back to hell. Bruce was officially in the dark now. His beloved, his significant other was a hunter? Who went after demons?

Bruce didn't know how the hell he was going to explain this to his kids. How can you explain something like this? Bruce analyzed every part of the apartment, trying to figure out what happened.

He saw that (Y/N) had a knife, but was threw around the room. Then he was put through his glass coffee table. Bruce sighed quietly as John looked through the books.

" This is an amazing collection. " John commented as he looked through the books and the weapons.

" Is that really important right now? " Bruce snapped at the man and John just shrugged his shoulders.

" I guess not, but I know people who would kill for this collection. Bruce, he has knowledge of the single handedly one of the most ancient languages in the world. I can only count people on one hand that know this language. " John explained.

Bruce sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

" I think I know why they kidnapped your partner. " John said as he picked up a book. Bruce raised his brow in question.

" The cult that took him wanted some translations it seems. " John said as he opened and old, leather bound book, more interested in the book at the moment.

" That's not good. I'm assuming he will resist... They are going to torture him. " Bruce said solemnly, eyes darting around the apartment.

" We will put the bookshelf the way it was. Maybe they were after the books and weapons. " Bruce said and John sighed as he put the book where he found it and then did what Bruce asked from him.

From that day, two months passed. Bruce and everyone else worked tirelessly to find their favorite person. Bruce his boyfriend, soon to be a fiancé, the boys their second dad, one that is more emotionally open and Alfred needed one person who is going to be somewhat normal.

Bruce nearly jumped out of his skin when he got a location. They boys and him piled into the batmobile and drove as fast as the car allowed it.

To say that they had to fight their way in was an understatement. Alfred was anxiously waiting in the cave.

Bruce nearly died when he saw (Y/N). Bloodied, bruised... Bruce didn't want to know the specifics. He picked his beloved up and moved to the car and he made sure to call the SWAT team from GCPD, alongside a few more organizations.

The cult deserves it, okay? Was he over reacting? Maybe.

But that didn't matter now. What mattered is the fact that (Y/N) is taken care of and is alive and well.

To say he drove like a madman... Would be the biggest understatement of the century. Once they came, they rushed their favorite person to Alfred.

Time was of the essence.

Bruce waited for his boys to finish talking to their second dad. (Y/N) had awoken and although still weak, he still talked to his sons. After 20 minutes, Bruce ushered them out, making them all protest a bit, but in the end they knew that they need to go.

Jason hugged his dad, very carefully and left. Dick kissed his dad's cheek and Tim squeezed his hand. Damian hugged his second dad before leaving and the two partners are soon left alone.

" I'm sorry for not telling you the truth... But it was too difficult. " (Y/N) said and Bruce kissed his cheek softly.

" Don't apologize. I understand that. "

" I'm assuming you found my base? " (Y/N) asked and Bruce nodded.

" John said you have a collection people would kill for... This is such shit timing, but would you like to move in? " Bruce said and (Y/N) snorted, but stopped because of his ribs.

" Yes, I would love nothing more. "

Bruce kissed (Y/N)'s cheek again. " Good. I'll leave you to rest. "

" Can you stay with me? "

Bruce smiled and nodded, changing into his PJs before gently laying down next to (Y/N), wrapping him into blankets and the two quickly feel asleep.

The two were finally reunited.

#dc comics #dc x male reader #x male reader #batfamily #bruce wayne x male reader #batman x male reader #jason todd x male reader #red hood x male reader #dick grayson x male reader #nightwing x male reader #tim drake x male reader #red robin x male reader #damian wayne x male reader

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irkimatsu · 9 months ago

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You know how cats will nose bump/head bump their humans sometimes? Imagine drunk!husk doing that to his crush. Maybe reader helps him to his room and tries to tuck him in bed but he drags them down with him. Nuzzling and showing affections. Maybe they wake up in his arms and he's all flustered and reader tells him what happened. He's all embarrassed but reader just tells him that they feel the same way.

I went full on cute for this one. <3 Spicy implications but nothing actually happens, Husk is just drunk off his shit. Cuddling and nuzzling and confessions ensue. SFW, GN!Reader, about 1.7k words.

---

You’ve had a fun night out with the more adventurous members of the Hotel, but Husk has gone way too far this time.

What you expect from him when drinking is contradictory. You know he has a problem. He fully admits it, and refuses to get any help, insisting that he functions better at a certain level of drunkenness than he’s capable of while sober. You do have to admit, you’re darkly impressed at how much he can drink while still standing upright.

Because of this, you fully expect him to drink too much on nights out, but you never expect to see him full-on drunk.

You were the first one to notice his head dipping as he sat at the bar, shot glass in hand.

“Hey… ‘nother one!” he slurs out at no one in particular. “C’mon… glass is empty…”

You wonder if bars in Hell have a policy to not serve visibly intoxicated patrons, and if that’s why the bartenders appear to be ignoring him.

“Husk?” you say sweetly, as if speaking to a child, as you try to remove the glass from his hand. “I think you’ve had enough…”

“I’m fine,” he slurs as he tightens his grip on the glass. “Hey. Buy me another one.”

“No,” you say simply as you try prying his fingers off the glass. “This is too much, even for you.”

“I got this, baby, don’t worry…” he says, his voice growing rapidly more incoherent. “Just want another sip…”

“We’re going back to the hotel,” you say simply.

“No we’re not,” he protests. “Heeey… anyone? ‘Nother drink…?”

You decide to try a different tactic. “I want to go back to the hotel, and I don’t want to walk there alone.”

“Ohhh… okay, I gotcha.” He hops down from the stool, and you catch him under his arms before he can fall to the floor. “I’ll walk you home, then come back. Could use some air… it’s fine…”

“Thanks for walking me,” you say, letting him believe he’s in charge even as he slumps against your side and shuffles his way out of the bar. You catch Angel’s and Cherri’s attention on your way out, and upon seeing Husk’s current condition, they have no further questions about why you two are heading out.

Husk doesn’t speak much on the walk home from the Hotel; all you get out of him are a few pained groans. At one point he starts heaving, and you desperately hope for his sake that he’s not about to vomit in the middle of the sidewalk, but you thankfully manage to arrive home without incident.

“Okay. I gotcha home. I’m going back to the bar,” he says as soon as you bring him through the door. Despite his statement, he makes no motion to actually leave.

“Could you bring me up to my room?” you ask. “Make sure I get up the stairs okay?”

“You that drunk?” he asks. “Well, if ya are, yeah, I’ll help…”

You let him continue thinking he’s helping as you slowly walk him up the stairs. His head keeps dipping, and you wonder if he’s going to black out before you make it, but he’s still somewhat conscious by the time you make it to his door.

“You got your key?” he asks, seemingly unaware of where he is.

“Yeah. Just a second…” He thankfully doesn’t notice you slip your hand into his pocket for his card key. You unlock the door and drag him inside with minimal protest.

“All right, get some sleep… I’m just… gonna…” Still standing, he slumps further against your side and lets out a snore-like sound.

“Yeah. Get some sleep.” Assuming he’s fully lost consciousness by now, you drag him over to the bed. As you try to figure out how to get him onto the mattress in a halfway-comfortable position, he bumps his head into your neck and purrs.

“You smell nice…” he says with a laugh.

“Oh! Um… thank you…?” While you’re pretty sure Husk considers you a friend, he’s never been so openly complimentary before. “Here. I think you need to lay down…”

“Lay down? In your bed?” He laughs louder. “Ohhh… that’s why you wanted me to walk you home! Didn’t know you were so naughty…”

Your face turns beet red as you consider his implications. No. Absolutely not!

…not while he’s this drunk, anyway…

You try to shake that thought from your mind as you pull the covers back for him. “Here, I’ll help you up.” It’s difficult maneuvering him into the bed when he won’t stop nuzzling your neck, but soon you have his head resting on the pillows. You’re ready to walk away and never speak of this again, but before you can stand up straight, his arms wrap around your torso and rest his paws on your shoulder.

“Where ya goin’?” he asks. “Your bed’s right here…”

“I’m just- um-” you stammer. You can’t think of an excuse before he’s pulled you into his bed. You teeter precariously on the edge, only his arms preventing you from falling to the floor, as he keeps nuzzling under your chin.

“Mmm… soft…”

You could say the same thing as his fur brushes against your skin.

“Tell?”

“Thanks for letting me take you home…” he continues over the rumbling purring in his chest. “I thought you couldn’t tell…”

You cannot be thinking that about him right now.

“Tell that I like ya,” he says before lightly licking the side of your neck, the rough barbs on his tongue making your toes curl.

“But it’s so hard askin’...” He nuzzles your neck again. “Haaa… this feels damn good… I really, really like ya…”

His grip isn’t that strong. It’d be easy for you to scramble away from him, maybe slap him across the face for being too forward.

But now that you’re here, you may as well stay.

Instead of moving away from him, you try to climb over him to get to the other side of the bed. He laughs and squeezes you tight once your body is above his.

“Mmm! Ready for that already? C’mon, we just got here… at least let me kiss ya first…”

He doesn’t try anything further as you attempt to move, and his grip opens easily enough to allow you to lay down on the other side of the bed. He doesn’t protest the changed position, but he does immediately cling to you again, this time nuzzling into your chest as he continues purring.

He looks so relaxed and at peace that you can’t help yourself. You slightly scratch behind one of his ears, causing him to purr louder and press more closely against you.

“Yeah, baby, that’s the spot…”

You wrap your other arm around his torso, and he moans.

“Babe…” he exhales as moves up to your neck and nuzzles there again. “I really… really like ya…” His voice fades away as he falls unconscious, still purring and pressing into you. If he expected anything else to come of tonight, it’s not happening now.

You don’t mind sleeping here for the night.

—

You wake up to a loud, pained groan.

“My fucking head…”

You roll over to see Husk sitting up, clutching his face in both paws. “How much did I fucking drink?” he asks himself. “How did I even-” He freezes, then slowly turns his head toward you. You both stare at each other in silence, his eyes wide as saucers.

“...what the fuck happened last night,” he asked, “and how can I apologize for it?”

“You’re fine,” you assure him. “I helped you get home last night. Do you remember leaving the bar?”

He shakes his head, only to wince in pain from the gesture.

“Not surprised. You were really far gone.”

“Fuck… I don’t like blacking out around other people…” he grumbles. “Next question… why are you here?”

“I walked you home and brought you to bed, and you didn’t want me to go,” you say. “And I guess I didn’t want to go either…”

His voice is stern and panicked now. “What the hell did I do? I swear to god, if I forced anything, I’ll-”

“You didn’t force anything!” you insist. “We just cuddled.”

He sighs in relief. “If you were okay with it, I guess that’s fine…”

“And you told me you liked me.”

“...okay, would have preferred to admit that while I could remember it…”

“...and you kept nuzzling my neck.”

Husk frowns, and his brow furrows. “Nuzzling.”

“Yeah. You were really into it, too.”

“Jesus Christ.” He returns his face to his hands. “I’d rather you told me we fucked.”

“What’s wrong with it?” you ask. “It was cute.”

“Exactly. I hate being a fuckin’ animal…”

You sit up next to him and wrap your arm around him from behind. “Husk…”

“Nuzzling. Nuzzling. I finally let you know how much I like you after months, and it’s because I got drunk and nuzzled you. What the hell kind of flirting method is that?!” He’s getting increasingly worked up. “Nuzzling! Who does that?!”

“Husk!” You call for him more loudly this time, snapping him out of his rant. “Husk, it’s fine! I thought it was sweet. And if I really didn’t want to, I always could have left.”

“Some first impression as a potential partner that was. Nuzzling… if we do get together I’m gonna need to cut that shit out…”

“No you’re not!” you assure him. “I know you’re… sensitive about it… but I like you, Husk. I like all of you. Even the cat parts.”

“Trust me, if we were still on Earth I would have made a way better confession. Might have even been somewhat sober for it.”

“I like the confession you gave me just fine.” You pull his head down onto your shoulder and hug him tight. “And if we’re gonna be together… I’d like it if you embraced who you are and how you show affection. I want every side of you.”

He doesn’t respond… but you can see that he’s eyeing your neck and waving his tail. “...so, um…”

“Go ahead.”

He hesitates for a second more before nuzzling into your neck again. You laugh at the ticklish feeling as you hold him tight. “Heh… I can smell me on you,” he says. “I kinda like it…”

You stroke behind his ears as he settles into comfort against you. “Enjoy it as much as you want…”

You just know that the longer you spend here with him, the more questions Angel and Cherri are going to ask your both as soon as you finally make it to the lobby.

It’ll be worth the questioning.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel husk x reader #hazbin husk x reader #irk blubbers about nothing #irk got asked a thing #irk talks to strangers #irk huskposts

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buglism · 2 months ago

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Any chance we can get a sfw alphabet for Vere from Touchstarved?

(I like to put characters who probably aren't familiar too with non-sexual intimacy into situations where they get to experience non-sexual intimacy lol)

SFW abcs (A-C) with Vere from touchstarved!

A/N: the ABCs for both SFW and NSFT (not featured in this work) are made by me! Please credit me if you use them! Also! I love vere, I love complex characters with gray or dark morals who have their moments of humanity so much <3 this can be read as either romantic or platonic!

Feel free to request the rest of the SFW alphabet, this was just super long as is! Lmk what you think <3

Warnings: canon typical CWs apply, vere being…vere. Possibly ooc as this is my interpretation based on the two routes I’ve played so far (need to do the last one), nongendered reader, ‘friends’ to friends to possible lovers implications, platonic intimacy with implications of possible romantic feelings, but keeping with the macabre theme of the game.

A = Affection (how do they show affection/ / prefer to receive affection?)

Give:

Vere shows his affection in blunt ways, threatening you, flirts, empty promises of truth hidden under his silken tongue. We all know and have experienced Veres light switch tendencies with MC so while threatening you initially was for fun, sick thrill of the hunt, after a while you notice a change, he hopes you don’t focus on the way he gifts you long sleeve gloves that fit unsettlingly well to your cursed black flesh (of course and very in fashion) as the sun rises on your birthday, he disappears into the small crowd starting that surrounds the alley near the wet wick before you can register what’s happening, eyes tired as you resist the urge to smile, maybe being awoken so early wasn’t so bad.

Or the way your cape, which has been frayed and torn in multiple spots, truly almost strings in a certain someone’s opinion, is suddenly replaced one day after a heavy night of drinks and laughs at the wet wick, you don’t remember losing your original cape.

Thinking through the fog and hangover you remember wearing it at the bar, chatting away with someone, and then suddenly you were being guided to your room; slightly (extremely) drunk. Your brows furrow as your covered hands rub the new cape, thick outer layer feels breathable and expensive fur lines the entire inside, a heavy thick wool coat a dark gray is soft to the touch and feels warm, the hood has a fabric mask that feels like satin and covers everything from your nose down.

As you fiddle with it, lost in thought, you find clasps; the inner fur can be removed for warmer weather. Suddenly as you swear your face grew warm you remembered the smell of..something sweet and spiced.. you shake your head, pain settles into your skull and you decide it best left for another time. You don’t question as you inspect the jacket (can never truly fully trust the damn man, with how black and white he seems to be at every turn) the way he, somehow or by choice, left his initials in pink thread on the inside of the heavy fabric, either.

Receive:

he adores gifts, but of course he does, less work and hassle for him to do and who can so no to free stuff? Banter and borderline threats as well, the way your eyes went pinprick when his teeth grazed your throat sent primal shivers down his spine, the night you met.

Sex? Of course, with not much else to do what’s a guy to do? He would probably be surprised (and depending on how close you are) slightly annoyed if you refused. He wouldn’t kill you, not now at least, but it would set him on edge, if you don’t want sex and you don’t want his money what else are you after?

But something he will never admit is quality time, pebbling and loyalty really sink their claws into his (hopefully not three times too small) heart.

The way you often join him at the bar despite his insistence he hates the alcohol, but booze is booze he says and you notice how his posture slowly sinks as the nought goes on, his ears; while still alert, no longer stand like daggers listening intently. It’s not the alcohol, at least you think, that makes him seem so … human in the wet wicks dim light, when he laughs and hiccups or nearly falls off the barstool (again.)

Or how he refuses to acknowledge the way his eyes watched your figure swim through the crowd before declining to his hand, where a bag of assorted flora and fauna was held. ‘I accidentally took too much’ you said, fighting back an awkward chuckle ‘I figured out of everyone you’d enjoy having some’ your voice lingered in his brain as his ear twitches in annoyance, trying to stuff the disgusting and .. human emotions building in his chest.

Maybe you do finally acknowledge it, in a way, one night and after way too many glasses of wine and champagne you’re one of the only one willing to walk him ‘home’. if you could call the tall spire with secrets buried under mystery and danger a home to anything.

He leans into your frame, and somehow you hold as he giggles drunkenly into your ear, eyes trained on your reaction with almost feverish intent. His lips meet your skin and for a moment you feel the familiar strike of fear down your spine, he almost looks like he’s ready to strike before he sighs deeply, something strange flutters through his eyes and he settles into your side. His hair uncharacteristically a mess and the collar softly clanked in the darkening sunlight and abandoned street, he’s lost in thought as you two walk.

Just as you made it to the bridge and further from lowtown you felt his breath on your ear as he stops walking, his hands resting on your hips, turning you to face him as he leans forward and presses his forehead into your shoulder, shocked and afraid you’re stiff in his hold before you hear faintly “if you ever betray me, I’ll fucking kill you.” and before you know it he’s walking up the bridge, seeming more sober than before, almost at his usual confidant stride.

You stand there for ages it seems, deciding however it’s better to retreat into familiar territory lest a soulless find you yet again, you walk home. A strange sense of trust and something new bubbling in your chest.

Should it be fear? Or something somehow darker?

B = Best Friend (how are they around people they are close with? How would you know?)

There’s evidence vere can become close with someone, or at least was able to, given how much he seems to know about Ais in a .. . Definitely normal way. As well as a few others. You’ll know when his advice becomes less and less harsh jabs with intent to kill with harsh realities and slowly he begins dripping ways he may be able to relate to you.

Example:

You: “kauras is driving me nuts-“ (his care and lack of seeming any leeway into becoming closer than arms length are overwhelmingly frustrating sometimes)

Vere: “. . . Have you been deaf the entire time? Or are you too stupid to comprehension any of what I’ve been telling you?”

You: “why are we walking in circles?” (You’d become overwhelmed inside the crowded bar, bloodhounds being loud was enough let alone how humid the damn place got)

Vere: “25 minutes.” (As smug as can be, looking for any sort of reaction out of you)

You: “what? . . “ (confused as ever, passing the wet wick for what seems like the fourth time)

Vere, slightly annoyed: “25 minutes it took for you to notice. Besides, it smelt like dog shit, figured you wouldn’t mind some fresh air away from. . That.” (That’s all, he tells himself, however truthfully Leander was annoying him with more of his ‘drinks’ and you were the only one within arms reach that wouldn’t annoy the fuck out of him.)

C = cuddles (how are they when physically affectionate? Are they at all?)

Vere when physical intimacy is involved it’s usually to get a reaction, or gain something in return. And who can blame him? He’s been property for as long as god knows. He’s learned his skill set for a reason, and in his own words ‘ I’m very good at what I do ’

That’s all, that’s all it would ever be. But again, he hopes you don’t notice his leniency for you. You push a lot of buttons, and sometimes you push them well. But in some fittingly dark way..

As a totally yk hypothetically made up situation:

you’re at the wet wick one night, at the bar talking (being annoyed by) Ais when vere arrives, instantly vere with a confident stride heads to the bar. And let’s say some time later, and several drinking games, you’re shitfaced. But, the wet wick is slightly tamer now, the crowed settling for the evening once again. You and vere sit in a booth (having moved away from the bar at vere’s request when Leander wanted him to try a new shot called ‘the guzzler’ that had pink chunks of . . Something in it.) and the silence is enjoyable, vere is mid sip of his glass when he feels you suddenly lean into his side. At the contact he stiffens for a moment, observing you as you cuddle into him for warmth. Somehow, seeming to have lost your cape.

Something in his brain struggles for a moment, here he has the perfect opening to see what’s underneath your bandages, to figure out what the fucking fuss is about.

But another part speaks a little louder he finds, despite how tight his clenched jaw is as he chugs the rest of his wine and thinks about asking for another bottle.

As you settle against him he sighs, lifts you up slightly and encourages you to lean on him. Seeing this as an ample moment for more heat to your somehow cold body you wrap your arms around his midsection, even in this state careful not to disrupt your coverings, no longer bandages, but gloves. You sigh with a giggle as he grabs something, possibly his own jacket off the back of the booth as you leave, heading back to your loggings in the wet wick.

He doesn’t say anything, neither do you, but you notice he stands closer now, and once; when a little tipsy you leaned against him, and despite realizing and trying to move he leans into the touch.

It’s a mutual agreement then, more a challenge.

How far are you both willing to let the other go?

#touchstarved vn #touchstarved vere #touchstarved vere x reader #touchstarved headcanons #touchstarved game #touchstarved x reader

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blossomarlia · 2 months ago

Note

heyyyy hope ur having a good day, just requesting a drabble (if ur up to it) w maybe like James and a reader who feels like she has bad fashion taste, kind of niche so don't worry if u don't want to write it!

hii tysm for this request, it was so fun to write! hope your day is wonderful too <3

summary: james finds you stressing over your fashion sense

james potter x fem!reader

warnings: mild sexual implications

“Hey, sweetheart?” James calls as he comes out of the shower. You look up from your spot on the bedroom floor glumly, barely even able to make the most of this opportunity to look at your boyfriend with his shirt off. Perhaps if you ask him later on he’ll take it off again, just to make up for lost time.

“Hi,” You say, unsuccessfully attempting to insert some cheer into your voice. “Sorry, not dressed yet.”

“We’ve ages before we need to leave- you can go like that, if you want to.” He shrugs, eyebrows knitting together as he takes in your expression. You look down at your outfit; track-pants and a t-shirt out of James’ drawer. Definitely not appropriate attire for meeting friends for dinner and drinks. “Everything alright?”

“I don’t have anything to wear,” You sigh, sounding pathetic even to your own ears. The countless skirts, pants and tops strewn across your bedroom floor are evidence to the opposite, and you know you have nice clothing. Supply isn’t the issue, it’s your apparent lack of ability to select the right combination. “I can’t put together a nice outfit.”

“Sure you can,” James says easily, pulling on boxers and a t-shirt before joining you on the floor, his knee pressing against your thigh. “What about that lovely wrap skirt you wore to my parents’ house for lunch?”

“I don’t know what to wear it with.” You stare dejectedly at the offending item of clothing, which you’ve tried on with about six tops- including the one from last weekend- and taken off again. Nothing looks right, nothing feels like something you’d want to show up to dinner in. Shamefully, you’re struck with jealousy towards your other friends; Lily, with her grown-up outfits that might as well live in a fashion catalogue; Marlene always so effortless and cool; Mary in figure-hugging fabrics that make her look like a goddess. You don’t have the same ability, it seems, instead left totally incapable of even pairing jeans with a top that won’t make you feel as if you’re doing an impression of someone with taste vastly different to yours.

You sigh, growing more frustrated by the second. James, noticing, shuffles closer and wraps a strong arm around you. His wet hair sprinkles you as he turns to press a kind kiss to your cheek.

“Don’t stress over it, honey-girl. What’s got you so upset?”

“I don’t know.” You press your face to your knees where they’re pulled up, feeling stupid. “I don’t feel very… good, at this. Picking outfits. It’s silly.”

“It isn’t,” James is quick to correct. “But it’s not true, either- you have fantastic outfits, sweetheart. Did someone say otherwise?”

The truth is, nobody’s mentioned your fashion taste at all, really. That’s the problem- silly as it seems. In groups of friends, you’re nobody’s first choice for outfit advice, never the receiver of compliments on your clothing choices. You try really hard to wear clothing that’ll suit you, mimic outfits you see online or from the various stylish people in your life, but none of it feels or looks right. You always look so awkward, you think. Never quite correctly proportioned, never cohesively coloured or textured. You don’t know what you’re doing wrong, you only see the result of it in the mirror each morning.

“No,” You shake your head. “I just… feel as if none of my clothes look right, when I put them together. I haven’t got good style.”

It feels like such a shameful thing to admit, both for the childishness of the confession and the truth of it. You can hardly look at James- not for lack of trying on his part, as he squeezes you and presses a kiss to your cotton-clothed shoulder.

“That’s not the case at all!”

“It is a bit. It’s alright, Jamie, I’m being dramatic. It’s only frustrating me right now because I can’t find something good to wear tonight,” You assure him, voice muffled against your legs. You’re not trying to sound quite as sad as you do. “Sorry.”

He cups your cheek in one hand, so gently that you don’t realise he’s bringing your face up to his level until he’s done it. You blink quickly. “No sorries, my darling. C’mere.”

You’ll go crazy before you reject a cuddle from your boyfriend, so it’s with little resistance that you let him pull you halfway onto his lap and wrap you in his fresh shower smell and warmth. You’re almost lying down, head nestled under his chin and arms around his middle as he rubs gentle lines down your back.

“You,” He says thoughtfully, “Have really lovely taste in clothing. I know it’s true because I think it each time you come home from the shops and show me what you’ve bought, or try on things before we go out. I particularly love your taste in things during the winter time- not just because you use several of my jumpers- really, because you do such a wonderful job of choosing things that are lovely and interesting. I also love it when you mix colours, especially in the summer, because I know that I’ll have a much greater chance of matching flowers to your outfit when I buy them for you.”

You laugh despite yourself, sitting up a little and accepting the sweet kiss he offers you. James’ thumb draws soft circles on the skin on front of your ear, his fingers comforting in your hair.

“I’ve been the sillier of the two of us, really,” He goes on. “Not telling you how much I like all the things you wear. I didn’t realise you weren’t feeling pleased about your clothes, baby, I’ll be sure to let you know from now on.”

“It’s not something you’ve done wrong,” You frown, not wanting to fish for compliments. James gives you plenty of them; it’s not his fault if your specific fashion choices haven’t caught his attention, and you don’t want him to feel bad about it.

He considers this. “S’pose not, but it’s hardly going to be an issue for me to externalise a few more of my thoughts. Do it plenty already, don’t I?”

You breathe out another giggle. “Maybe.”

“‘Maybe’, she says,” James teases, digging his fingers into your ribs and laughing when you squirm away. “I mean it, though. I’ll only be being honest, and I hear that’s rather healthy for relationships.”

“Crazy,” You say sarcastically. There’s a brief lull, and you’re perfectly happy to stay in his arms like this as long as he’ll have you. “You really think it’s not so bad? My style?” “Not in the slightest, sweetheart. I love your style, I love all your clothes.” He confirms. You search his handsome face, his dimples, his kind eyes, and find only patient assurance. “Still, it matters quite a lot less what I think; if you’re unhappy, we can go shopping and find some new outfits for you to wear.”

You sigh. “I’m not sure that’ll help. I’m worried that I don’t have the ability to pick the right stuff, I… I don’t even think I really know what my style is.”

“Well, we could ask for help if you’d like it. I’m sure our friends would be happy to lend a hand- or if you’re not keen on it, we could spend a little while trying out different styles to find what suits you the best. Whatever would make you happy, angel.”

You’re a little overwhelmed with how much you like and love your boyfriend, so instead of attempting to express it you press your lips to his, pleased as ever when he moves his hands to your waist and pulls you closer to his chest. You’re sure you could stay like this forever, happy and together on the floor of your bedroom, but your phone’s alarm reminds you that it’s time to get ready. You pull yourself reluctantly off James, who’s looking a little dazed himself, and let out a long breath.

“You’re very kind, Jamie,” You say. He grins.

“Could show you how kind, if you-” “Mm-mm.” You shake your head before you can be too tempted by the tickle of his calloused fingertips under the edge of your t-shirt. “We have to leave in half an hour, and I do have to decide on something to wear tonight.”

He groans as if you’re telling him you’ll never kiss him again, sitting up properly and letting you climb off his lap. “You’re far too responsible, sweetheart. It’s your sole flaw.”

You pat his cheek. “I’ll make it up to you later. For now-” You survey the piles of clothing around you- “I suppose I’d better just choose something I’ve worn before.”

James gets to his feet, looking at the sum of your side of the wardrobe and humming contemplatively. “Well, nothing wrong with that.”

“Mm,” You half-agree.

He bends down and grabs a black longsleeve in one hand, your jeans in the other. “This always looks good, don’t you think? I could lend you one of my jackets to go with it.”

You nod without giving yourself time to stress about all the other times you’ve worn something similar, smiling fondly up at James’ hopeful expression. “That’s a good idea. Thank you.” “It’s no hardship, angel,” He says lightly, handing you the clothes. “Just don’t overthink it, yeah? You’re so pretty.” You look away to hide your blush, still shy when he compliments you so earnestly, and James makes a happy sort of sound. “And cute, I mean-”

“Okay, enough!” You laugh, taking the clothing just to shut him up.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #james potter fluff #marauders era #marauders #the marauders #remus lupin #prongs x you #prongs x reader #james potter x y/n fluff #james potter drabble #marauders era fluff #james fluffy drabble #y/n #x reader

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merakiui · 8 months ago

Text

thinking more about silver who was raised alongside bunnygirl reader.

since lilia was the one who trained silver (and sebek), i imagine he'd do the same for you but keep you just weak enough so that, even though you may be able to run long distances and have some semblance of self-defense, you'll still need to rely on silver in the end. thus, you're somewhat codependent and won't ever think of leaving once you're older. <3 that's the hope, anyway.

when you and silver were little, the two of you often played hide-and-seek. lilia's version of the game is more high stakes, in which you're essentially being hunted. back then, even though it's training, you and silver still have fun. it's mostly lighthearted, but it's still expected that you give it your all in the roles of the hunter and the hunted. you always take the latter role, so you get good at hiding and running. similarly, silver improves in his seeking skills, almost always capturing you once he learns your patterns.

to children, regardless of the stakes and implications, it's just simple fun.

the game loses its whimsical fun years later when you and silver are older and you're genuinely running for your life. you know silver to be reasonable, which he almost always is, and he has a good heart. but he's so torn. he wants you to stay with him; he loves you. he wants you, him, and lilia to continue living together in the woods just as you did when the both of you were younger. he wants to spend the rest of his life with you, start a family, enjoy the bliss of being a couple. of course, deep down in a shadowed corner of his heart, he knows it's wrong to confine and trap you to a life you don't want. but he can't help it. he really just wants to be with you.

suddenly, the game isn't a game anymore.

you should know that, no matter how far you may get, your home is always here in the forest. isn't it about time you settle down? lilia understands your feelings, which is arguably more horrifying than if he didn't. he knows what it's like to be rebellious and hot-blooded. you have such a strong spirit and will, and it's a commendable thing. but there's no need to run away.

besides, what else is there beyond the forest? could you truly survive on your own? what will you do if silver isn't there to protect you?

even if you don't want to, you'll stay. :)

#meraki mumbles #white rabbit fest gave me more reasons to love and adore silver (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈)

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bonebabbles · 4 months ago

Text

Ivypool's Heart: Finished

Just completed reading the new super edition! I'm pleasantly surprised by this one. Overall, this was a very good book, MUCH better than the past 3 which were some of the most boring and unnecessary entries to the entire franchise.

If you were on the fence about this one, I'd recommend it. Just take this warning; it does the Warrior Cats thing where it harps pretty strong on parenthood and nuclear families being a borderline essential part of life, including a ton of bashing on how uniquely horrible this makes the Sisters.

If you can get past that, it's a pretty solid story about grief that makes some really fun additions to the WC lore, including the wildcats, StormClan, and a broad expansion to the afterlife system.

Meandering thoughts below the cut;

One of IPH's biggest flaws is pacing, but it's not nearly as bad as the past 3 SEs.

Not to mention, this is a pretty small SE. If you're ever bored, it won't last long.

Before the book introduces the Wildcats, it REALLY meanders. It'll pick up, but you will have to wade through relatively uninteresting scenes of the cats traveling and talking about their feelings unprompted.

A lot of "quicktime events" happen out of nowhere to fill pages with cats running away from random bullshit.

There's a horse carriage, an apple picker, dogs, weasels, foxes, a storm, traffic, humans, boats, sandwhiches. It's endless. My eyes glazed over during most of these scenes.

I know a lot of people were dreading Ivypool being nasty and unreasonable during this book, but honestly? I was hoping for it and didn't really receive it.

I find her most compelling when she's holding a grudge, acting on her anger, and generally working through messy issues. But aside from her just thinking about being annoyed or angry, she's really not snappy at all.

I feel like there could have been a lot more interesting and organic conflict between Icewing, Dovewing, and Ivypool's personalities instead of boring Quicktime Events. In fact, I felt like Icewing and Dovewing were kind of underutilized.

The conversations often feel quite stiff, especially in the first half. Everyone is very understanding of each other, respect boundaries and knows not to push too far, resolve their personal issues very easily, etc. It's kinda... unnatural.

Personally, I found that disappointing because I WANTED to see the cats actually process their grief over the course of the book. Watch them act out, maybe get in an fight or two and resolve it for the sake of the mission, have them come to a greater understanding of each other, etc.

Because Icewing and Dovewing are both so motherly and gentle and we're in Ivypool's POV, we don't really get to see them process their grief because of that.

They're not TOTALLY neglected though! I just... wanted more from this group.

However. I wanted LESS Rootspring.

I understand he's there to process the loss of Bristlefrost with Ivypool but god, every time he was on screen I wanted to push him aside and talk to Icewing lmao.

Stop trying to sell me "cool, mellowed from grief" Rootspring. He's a silly little hyperactive man and you will never be able to convince me otherwise.

As a silly little hyperactive semi-manthing myself, it would have been a lot more cathartic to see a clown like me going through grief. Not to mention just generally make for better chemistry with the group.

Between Ice and Dove who are already quite chill as characters, Whistle could have used someone more goofy to bounce off of.

I REALLY didn't like the whole implication that Rootspring is going to move on from Bristlefrost and "find a mother" for the kittens he wants so badly, though.

Erins PLEASE remember that adoption exists. He does not need a wife to be a dad. I'm beaming myself directly into your brains and telepathy-ing directions to the nearest cat adoption agency

aaaaaand on that note.... yeah. I did not like the way that this book leaned so hard on the whole "nuclear family" dynamic. Ivypool has had like two major interactions with her husband and one JUST happened in this book.

It especially bugged me that they leaned into Ivypool having been a very active mother, when we saw very little of that in the ACTUAL book. It wasn't even mentioned that Fernsong was allegedly the primary parent of the kittens when they were young.

But... I was able to look past it and just accept the book in a vacuum. There's a lot of good here.

Like the wildcats.

While I'm still wary of these being Scottish Wildcats and reserve my misgivings about the misuse of species that are very unlike domestic cats... I LOOOOVEEE the culture they've set up for them

I LOVEE the way that individual spirits reach out to the kits, guiding them through life

I LOVE the connection to StormClan

I LOVE their idea of the elements and general spirituality

And I LOVED the fact that a big part of Ivypool coming to terms with her grief was the expansion of her worldview. The way that she realized the religion she was raised with is quite small, and that there is an immense beauty in coming to understand other cultures, accept their advice, and see the world as they do.

I just wish the book had been able to tie that to a flaw that Ivypool has expressed since her very introduction back in OotS-- that she's smallminded.

It would have been a FANTASTIC way to really tackle and address that flaw, and pay off literal decades of set up. I really wish she had been messier in this book because of that!

But, digressing.

I'm over the moon that the team's actually playing with the series' spirituality! After such a long time of them outright avoiding some of the weirder elements in the series, like Rock and Midnight, it's exciting that they're finding some freedom in making new magic lore for themselves.

Hopefully, in the next few super editions, we'll be able to get some more insight to StormClan and the Wildcats.

The book really hits its stride in the second half because of this, and the ending chapters are actually fantastic. Some of the best stuff that's come out of the series (on purpose) in a loooong time.

#bones reads iph #Ivypool's Heart Spoilers #And with that... I must now consider what to keep for BB and what to not.

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