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theonotti · 8 months ago

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Pairing: Theodore Nott x fem!reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: Years have past since the Battle of Hogwarts, and through his grief and desperation, Theo fights to get back every second lost since then.

Warnings: Major Character Death (Not Theo), it's just angst lads

Notes: Been a while! But I'm back with some writing! This fic will be 3 parts in total. Shoutout to @classyartisanpizza for letting me write this idea! <3

Masterlist

The nightmares are the worst part.

It's always the nightmares.

Theo wakes with a start, his chest heaving as he abruptly sits up. It takes a moment of his eyes darting around in fear for him to realise he's simply in bed. No battle. No green bursts of light flying inches from his head. No bodies dropping around him.

He closes his eyes, running his hand down his face to rid the beads of sweat rolling down his skin. Though he forces himself to take deep breaths, his heart continues to race. The room feels so warm. Why does the room feel so warm? His chestnut curls fall over his eyes, slightly matted to his forehead, and for the briefest of moments, he considers shaving his head.

The vivid technicolor of the nightmares always gets him. Blaring realism and exaggerated memories have him waking in a panic without fail.

A hand runs up Theo's lower back, followed by a soft voice speaking in tongues and distortion. A chill runs up his spine as his fight or flight kicks into high gear, causing him to jump off the bed and point his wand directly at the perpetrator.

Daphne Greengrass stares back at him, looking mainly annoyed yet mildly confused as she wraps the sheet around her naked form. There's a long, tense silence as the two of them stare at each other, and despite knowing there's no threat, Theo doesn't bother to lower his wand.

"I thought I said no sleeping over."

His voice is clipped, a stark contrast from the sultry tone he had taken with her the night before. Then again, he doesn't ever have to work in order for Daphne to become putty in his hands. Not really. Him putting on the show just makes him feel better about using her.

She sits up slightly, brushing a few strands of hair out of her face. Even in the dark, the blush that fills her cheeks is unmissable.

"You fell asleep and I-"

"That's not an invitation."

You're such an asshole, He tells himself. But he can't help it. The point of the rule was so that he'd never have to wake up to Daphne. She's not ugly, or entirely terrible to be around. But his care for her only extends to the point of what she does for him. A means to an end. And the end is to distract him from the never ending abyss of his mind and the standing void in his chest.

Besides, that spot in the bed belongs to someone else.

Belonged-

No. Belongs.

Another beat passes before Theo realises that his wand is still raised, and he finally lowers it to his side. Although he should feel worse about his overreaction, he's only a slight tinged embarrassed. It's being overshadowed by his annoyance.

Daphne takes a moment to stare at him, her eyes searching his face for the humour that never comes. A quiet sigh of relief escapes his mouth when she finally climbs out of his bed and starts to get dressed.

"What are you doing later?" She asks while pulling her shirt over her head.

The clock on the wall reads quarter till three in the morning.

Theo tries to hide his smug irritation at the fact that she's already trying to plan when she sees him again, despite his complete disregard for her only moments ago.

When he doesn't respond right away, Daphne looks over at him, throwing a sock off his floor right at his face. In another life, with another person, Theo would've found this gesture amusing, but right now, he just stares at her in exasperation.

"I'm busy."

Merlin, you're a fucking asshole.

But Daphne remains unfazed as she pulls her jeans up her legs and fastens them.

"Maybe next week then? I'm working all weekend."

And despite his self awareness, Theo just can't fucking help himself.

"I'll call you."

Now he's done it. The sting ripples through her face as she pauses all movement, her eyes falling back on him. Under her confused gaze, the temperature in the room falls, but Theo keeps his expression neutral. For a long moment, they just stare at each other in tense silence, before finally Daphne breaks the prolonged eye contact to finish putting her trainers on.

"I don't understand why we keep doing this, Theo," She says in a low voice as she ties her right shoe. It's clear she's trying to be more confident in her words than hurt, but she's failing. "You clearly don't want to commit to me or even care about me. Why do you keep phoning if you can't be bothered?"

Theo leans his back against the wall, his shoulder brushing the door frame of his bedroom. The words leave his mouth before he's able to process them, or to consider not saying them.

"Because you always come running."

Twenty years on this planet and you still don't know when to shut your bloody mouth.

Daphne looks appalled as the words hang in the air. Despite the fact that Theo's guilt is radiating off of him and filling the room at a suffocating rate, he continues to say nothing else. An eternity later, she snatches her coat off the floor and storms out of the room, slamming Theo's bedroom door so loudly that he flinches, followed by the slamming of the front door of his flat.

Silence.

Theo pushes off the wall, walking over to his bed and collapsing on top of the covers.

Silence.

As he buries his face in the pillow, desperate to go back to sleep, his mind starts to drift back to the nightmare that started the domino effect events of the evening. A chill runs up his spine for a second time as he dives head first into the dreams that haunt his subconscious damn near every time he closes his eyes.

The falling bodies.

The walls crumbling down.

The flashes of bright green flying passed his head.

The set of eyes. His favourites. Watching as the life drains out of them.

Theo abruptly jumps out of his bed, his hands trembling slightly as he walks briskly to the door and throws it open. His flat is dead silent, save the sound of his footsteps across the hardwood floor. Through the darkness, he can make out the faint outline of his black cat moving quickly across the floor towards him.

"Piss off, Shadow," He mutters to the cat. She doesn't seem to notice his hostility as she continues to move between his legs. But he's quite rehearsed in this dance at this point, and manages to cross the pitch black living room without tripping over her and falling on his face. He makes his way to the spare bedroom, the room that used to be where he worked on his potions.

That is, until more important projects grabbed Theo in a chokehold.

Unlocking the door with his wand, he quickly goes inside quickly, making sure the cat didn't follow him through before shutting the door behind him.

"Mattheo, I'm fine."

"Is the kidnapper in the room with you and forcing you to say that?"

Theo rolls his eyes, rubbing his right eyelid with his free hand as his other one stirs the brewing potion in the cauldron in front of him. His phone rests on the desk next to him with his best friend's display name taking over the screen, the call on speaker.

"You think a kidnapper would willingly keep me?" He asks as he lets his free hand drop back to his wooden desk, accidentally into a puddle of spilled potion that had toppled from the cauldron. Making a face, Theo instinctively wipes his fingers off on his jeans. "They'd return me before you'd even realised I'm gone."

Mattheo lets out a quiet laugh before saying, "You're right. I'd say we could use the break, but no one's seen you in weeks."

Theo lets his other hand drop to the desk, sighing exasperatedly.

"Mate. We've just hung out. At the Leaky Cauldron, yeah? When Malfoy got so piss drunk, he fell in the toilets and smacked his face on a sink."

The memory causes a ghost of a smile to form on Theo's face, but the silence on the other end of the phone causes it to fade just as quickly.

"Hello? Did I lose you, Riddle?"

When Mattheo speaks, his voice is uncharacteristically quiet.

"That was two months ago."

Every single muscle in Theo's face slackens.

"What? No. That can't be right. It was just two weeks ago, yeah?"

"No, Theo. It was two months ago."

Shaking his head, Theo grabs his phone, switching to check the date as he stammers whispered denials, more to himself than anything. But Mattheo is right. Two months have passed since that last hangout, and besides the occasional mess around with Daphne, which he assumes are now over since the debacle a few nights prior, Theo hasn't seen anyone else since.

Where did the time go?

You know where the time went.

"We're really worried, mate," Mattheo says in a soft voice. "I know it's been hard, but-"

"Don't," Theo barks, almost instinctively as he sets his phone back on the desk. He knows where this conversation is going, because this is where the conversation always goes.

"It's been almost three years, Theo."

Theo shakes his head, his eyes closing as the air slowly starts to syphon from the room.

"It's not- Surely I can't be expected to just forget."

A quiet sigh rings out from the other side of the phone, as Theo fights to keep his rising emotions in check.

"Of course you wouldn't forget. We just-"

Theo quickly shakes his head, not wanting to hear the same things he always here's when one of his friends decides to play therapist for him.

"Oh shit, I've just remembered I have better things to do than have this conversation."

Theo lifts his hand towards his phone, with the intent to hang up, when he heard Mattheo's desperate voice quickly calling to him.

"Meet in the Three Broomsticks tonight!"

Theo pauses, staring at his phone as his brain starts its usual war on itself whenever someone wants him to do anything that isn't rotting at home. On one hand, going out with his friends would placate them for long enough that they won't have yet another conversation like this one. But on the other handâ€¦

He's close. He's so close to figuring it out. And any time that isn't dedicated to figuring it out is, in his eyes, a complete waste.

But as he stares down at his best friend's name on his phone, he lets out a heavy sigh.

"Piss off."

He can practically hear Mattheo's smug grin in his voice.

"See you there," He says, before promptly hanging up the phone.

A heavy sigh forcing its way out of his mouth, Theo turns back to the cauldron in front of him.

You need a break.

Maybe stepping back for a night and coming back will trigger an epiphany.

Theo lets out a resigned sigh. The last thing he wants to do is step away. When he's away from the work room, he feels like he can't breathe. When he's not working or researching or planning or even contemplating, he feels like he's drowning.

In his head, he's running out of time. But with every centimetre closer he gets to the finish line, he gets another centimetre closer to getting every lost moment back.

The remaining butterbeer swishes circles at the bottom of the glass as Theo twists it with his wrist. A quiet yet fake laugh comes out of his mouth, if only to mix in with the loud, howl-like laughter surrounding him from whatever funny thing Blaise just said.

Merlin, I should've gotten a firewhiskey.

Though, he knows it would've been a bad idea. His tolerance for alcohol has grown concerningly high over the last few years, and he doesn't want to explain why he would've been fully functional after seven hard drinks while his friends would be well beyond wasted.

So he sips his butterbeer under the guise that he has an early morning the next day. If he had more observant friends, they would see through this excuse, but fortunately for him, they tend to miss a lot when it comes down to the quiet, chestnut haired lad whose mind is rarely on planet Earth.

"Oi. Space Cadet. Can you join us for a moment?"

Theo takes a casual drink from his glass as his eyes land on Malfoy.

"Give me something worth joining in on," He quips as he gently sets the glass back down on the table. The blond rolls his eyes as Mattheo and Blaise both let out a chuckle.

"We were just talking about the Harpies. Whether they'll make the cup," Mattheo explains just as the barmaid approaches with their refills. The fresh butterbeer is set down in front of Theo at the same time as he lets out his own laugh. A genuine one, this time.

"The Harpies will make the Cup the same day Malfoy stops bleaching his hair."

Now it's howling laughter from the two other lads as Malfoy slams his mug down on the table, pointing at Theo maliciously.

"Don't start your bullshit, Nott."

"I saw the bottle in your trunk, Malfoy. Third year. One never forgets."

"I don't bleach my fucking hair, and if you say it again, I'll make sure you can't see it ever again."

Theo doesn't miss a beat.

"Is that a promise?"

As Riddle and Zabini keep giggling, the alcohol already to their heads, Theo keeps his wits about him as he stares at the tip of Draco's finger that's still only inches from his face.

"Stand down, Malfoy," Blaise finally interjects. "You've become entirely too serious since getting hitched."

The silver band on that left fourth finger glints in the dim lighting as Draco pulls his arm back down towards his lap. Despite his recoil at the scolding, his eyes don't quite stop glaring their daggers towards Theo, who takes another unbothered sip of his drink.

"Maybe it helped me grow up. Someone should take a page out of that book."

Theo feels his fingers tense around the glass, the heat rushing to his cheeks.

Prick.

Absolute wanker.

Dead man walking.

If my life hadn't fallen apart, I would've been married by now. Maybe I'd even have kids.

A wave of nausea hits him at the thought. Instinctively, his eyes shift to look at the door, as his mind searches for his excuse to leave. If his shift in demeanour isn't obvious to every person at the table, it definitely is to Mattheo, who quickly clears his throat.

"Anyone hear about the hunt for whoever's trying to replicate the time turners?"

Theo's entire body ceases, his throat trapping any sound or breath from escaping, meanwhile his brain starts to race at speeds he has never experienced before. The conversation shifts to this topic as Theo desperately tries to remember how to breathe.

"What's the hold up?" Blaise questions before he empties his glass. Mattheo does the same while lifting his shoulders into a shrug.

"Whoever is doing it, they've covered their tracks quite well. But the Ministry has their best people trying to find them before they're able to muck up anything."

A quiet murmur fills the silence of the table. Sweat beads Theo's forehead as he accidentally chugs his entire glass. No one appears to notice, to his relief.

"How are they able to track that?" Malfoy asks curiously as he drums his fingers against the wood top table.

"A time turner has an Hour Reversal charm encased in the centre," Mattheo explains. "The Ministry is alerted every time one is cast, but whoever is doing it has protected themselves so much that their location is damn near impossible to track." Mattheo pauses to take a drink before he continues. "If it wasn't so infuriating, I'd be impressed."

A slight smirk crosses Malfoy's face before he says, "I take it the 'Ministry's best people' includes your team?"

Mattheo rolls his eyes, though the slight pink hue that covers his cheeks is unmissable. Despite him being nothing like his father, Mattheo has always been slightly embarrassed by his position in the Ministry. While Zabini, Malfoy and Theo all view it as a growth and a middle finger to Voldemort and the Death Eaters, Mattheo sometimes views it as a betrayal, though he only mentions it after he's hit a certain point of inebriation.

"It is a job for the Misuse of Magic department, in my opinion. So yeah, the best people include my team."

Silence fills the table as everyone takes a sip of their drinks. Theo swallows the lump in his throat.

And then he speaks.

"Any evidence that they've been successful?"

The table turns to look at him, and he does his best to appear casual when he shrugs.

"Just curious."

Mattheo shakes his head.

"We'll be alerted if they actually go back," He explains. "Which will lead to their arrest, if they continue to use the Hour Reversal charm."

"Doesn't that only go back five hours?" Blaise asks, receiving a nod from the curly haired man to his right. Theo can feel the impending panic rising in his chest, but he swallows it down.

In theory, it's only five hours.

But with a little tampering, it's longer.

Not that I would know.

No sir.

"Not unless they do something to strengthen the spell," Mattheo says casually. "Like some sort of potion. Or enchanting the sand in the Hourglass."

Theo's face goes slack, and it feels like his entire body grows hot.

There it is.

That epiphany.

His eyes fall back onto Mattheo, the room glowing in a new light as a chill slowly trails down through his extremities and his fingers and toes.

Instinctively, Theo tries to stand before he realises he's in the corner seat of the booth. The rest of the table looks at him in surprise.

"Nott?" Malfoy asks as Theo uses the table and the ledge behind the seat to launch himself over Mattheo and the booth, out into the aisle, only making their shock grow further.

"Fuck, sorry I forgot. I need to- I have-" He stammers, knowing full well nothing he says will be able to explain his sudden change in demeanour. The looks on their faces are the same sort of looks they'd have if he had stripped down in front of them and started screaming like a banshee. He closes his eyes, putting his hands out in front of him as he takes a second to calm down. When he speaks again, it's with less urgency. "I need to go."

And with that, Theo turns and sprints out of the Three Broomsticks.

Before the door swings shut behind him, he can make out Mattheo's distant voice shouting his name. But if any of the lads make any attempt to follow, Theo moves too fast for them to have any sort of success. Once out of the village, Theo apparates back home.

Where he stays for almost ninety six straight hours.

He doesn't sleep. He doesn't eat. He barely leaves his office to use the bathroom. And he definitely doesn't shower.

Theo's marathon is filled with work. The spell strengthening potion alone takes sixteen hours to brew, needing close management. And that was after all of the work he needed to put in in order to put the potion together. Meanwhile, he does an appalling amount of research, scouring text upon text about how one would enchant the sand. When he comes up with next to nothing after twelve hours worth of reading, he moves on to Plan B.

He starts to create his own spells.

It's not the first time Theo's dabbled in spell creation, but it is the first time it's something that's more serious than trying to make Malfoy's farts come out as actual bubbles. (A failed experiment, much to his thirteen year old self's detriment.) But this time is different. Hanging over the desk where he works is the picture of his motivation. And every time he starts to feel like he's failing, he looks up at the picture and a new resolve fills him.

Because he can't fail.

Failing isn't and never will be an option.

Every botched attempt leads to more research. Every new piece of information brings him that much closer.

Until, after almost ninety six hours of what he thought was going to lead to nothing, the moment is here.

He pulls the time turner out of the cauldron, and he can feel it. Despite having used the tongs to pull it out from the potion, Theo can feel the silver metals vibrating with magic, and that's how he knew.

It worked.

His hands tremble in the same manner as he reaches to touch it, almost hesitant from the anxiety that is running rampant in his head. But when his fingertips graze the warmth of the metal, nothing happens. Nothing changes. He looks around the room for a brief moment before looking back down at the makeshift Time Turner in his hands.

Spinning his chair around and leaning back, he examines the creation. His mind is quick to resume his doubts that it didn't work, despite the pure confidence he had just a moment before. Couldn't have worked. Because nothing he's done in the last few years has.

And yet.

There's only one way to find out.

Grabbing his phone from his pocket, he props it up on his knee before he turns the screen on.

And then, he gives the spindle in his hand a turn to the right.

Theo can feel his heart stop as he watches the minutes on his phone go down with every tick of the Time Turner.

It worked.

It actually fucking worked.

A tsunami of emotions runs through Theo, overwhelming him so strongly that he has to turn back around to lean on his desk. For a moment, he lays his head on the desk, in the cradle that is his arms, basking in the darkness as he takes three long, deep breaths.

And then he looks up to the picture on the wall.

To his motivation. To the one he's been working for.

To the picture of you.

"Did you see that, pretty girl?" He asks in a gentle voice.

The spell hits your chest.

And the life leaves your eyes.

His voice is a little choked as he raises the Time Turner to the picture on the wall, wishing once again it was actually you and not just a moving idea behind a piece of paper.

"I'm coming for you."

#theodore nott #theo nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theo nott x reader #theo nott x you #harry potter #slytherin boys #slytherin boys fanfiction #golden trio era #golden trio era fanfiction

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postmoe · 2 months ago

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Borisin Warhead Hoolay x Reader - All You’re Good For

: cum, piss, degradation, blood (lil bit), aphrodisiac, Hoolay is a gross meanie :( , but he’s also a powerful tyrant so :)

This was all written on my phone during sleepless nights haha I can’t fix the spacing ;-;

It’s hard being a foxian in this world run by borisins. Allies are far and few between, even amongst your own kind. All it takes is one threat, one little push and you’re being sold out or used in the worst ways.

It had been days and you’re exhausted, paranoid and running on nothing but a few berries you have yet to see if are poisonous. It’s been a few days and nothing, so you’ll try some more tonight… if you make it out alive.

You were part of a group of foxians that plotted to run from the farm you were held in, what’s started as 11 now dwindled to five as most of you were either captured and killed in the escape or gotten too sick and died along the way. It had been a plan in the making that would have been perfect, had it not been for one factor:

Hoolay was coming.

Everyone knows the visit of the borisin warhead always lead to large feasts, having most of the ‘stock’ dead by morning. It was either make a break for it then or succumb to certain death.

So, you fled. Which leads to now, having you shaking beside the campfire, fingers anxiously brushing through matted knots in your tail, and the four men now looking to you like you were a burden.

“All I’m saying is that there’s no use having dead weight when borisins could jump on our tail at any second. We all play a part in this pack, but, what do you do?” One stated as though it was a matter of fact, hand held out in expression.

It was true you hadn’t really contributed much, though one could argue you found the berries, you were the only one brave enough to try them. You did plan on sharing if they were safe; that’s out the window now. Your lips thin as you refuse to make eye contact. Trauma has rendered your vocabulary useless, you don’t remember how old you were when you last spoke. Now, only pitiful sounds are able to escape your mouth, little hums and grunts of pain.

They took this as another sign of weakness, one of the other foxians scoffing, “You won’t even make conversation with us? We want someone we can rely on, not a pet.”

Everyone seemed to have different opinions of your value, all of which lead to one conclusion: you’re useless. It wasn’t until the fourth of them spoke that anyone even considered otherwise, “C’mon, guys, don’t be so harsh, you know she’s a mute. She can’t help it if she’s… underwhelming. Females are only made for one thing after all. Surely I can’t be the only one feeling lonely.”

It was that comment that made your heart pound most of all. A debate broke out of whether or not you’d be worth keeping around for something as trivial as sex when their lives were in danger. You look to starry sky above, the smoke pluming through the canopy as you think about their accusations. You were the most quiet of the bunch. You watched one of your comrades get their head stomped in right before you and didn’t even scream. One of the men here almost got everyone caught because a centipede crawled past. All in all, it could only be boiled down to blatant sexism. Their entire lives they’ve been slaves, and now there’s a taste of freedom and they want to turn the tables.

You’re being regarded again, everyone awaiting your answer, “So, wanna spread them legs and we’ll keep you safe? Cmon baby, you can trust us to protect you.”

It was a no brainer on your part, though you’ve never been one for conflict, you were prepared to fight them on this. Exhausted, paranoid, starving. You a pop a few berries from your pocket and into your mouth, thinking this might be your last meal if things go south as you shake your head in a silent, ‘no’.

The main perpetrator loses his smirk, obviously not amused by your response. He stands and cracks his neck, “No? I think you just need a bit of encouragement, baby.”

Immediately, you stand to take the defensive against him. You wonder if you could outrun them, given that you’re all in the same state of distress. One of the first foxians stands too, holding his hand out in hesitance, “W-whoa, hold up. Don’t start a fight here. Besides, you can’t just force someone to have sex with you.”

Another stood up, following the others straps as he comes to crowd you, “No no, I actually agree here. I think she needs to show us some gratitude.”

The last one merely sat in silence, avoiding his eyes from the scene, looking visibly uncomfortable but not wanting to step in.

Your eyes darted between the two approaching and you threatened by taking a deep breath, mouth opening as if you to scream. Their eyes panicked, not wanting any sound to alert unwanted attention. Regardless of their beliefs on your voice, they didn’t want to risk it.

A slight freeze from them was all you needed, you turned tail, beginning to run when a critical mistake caused your foot to get caught on the log you were sitting on. You went tumbling down, only barely managing to turn on the ground when you were tackled by your former comrade. His hand already over your mouth as he laugh, straddling you, “See? Pathetic! You can’t even run away by yourself. You need us.”

Your hands tense as your nails sharpen, ready to thrash when the other grabs your right wrist, pinning you down. Not long after, the first one grabs your other, his instinct telling him this was better than having you fight back and alert their position.

It wasn’t until his hand trailed under your shirt and caressed the bare skin of your stomach that something truly snapped inside of you. Pupils dilating, mind quieting and teeth sharpening, you managed to tilt your head enough to bite painfully into his hand, blood quickly spilling from the punctures.

His scream was loud, startling, the one on your right wrist jolting enough for you to wrench your arm away. Just as you were about to scratch at him, he gave you a swift punch to your face, nose cracking and pooling blood over your mouth. It disorientated you enough for him to grab at your throat, holding you down, “Fucking bitch. Maybe it’ll be easier to use you if you’re not breathing.”

His taste for violence was the perfect opportunity. As his face drew closer and no one retrained you, thinking you were knocked out enough to not need it, you thrust your hands to his head, nails digging into the back of his skull as you pushed him forward and impaling his eye over your thumb.

The others stepped back now, stunned and scared, leaving you to leap forward before he could recover and drive your teeth into his throat like a wild animal. Frenzied, scared, hurt and adrenaline coursing through your veins, it was enough to drive anyone to do drastic things.

You didn’t notice the rustling of bushes, the way your comrades bolted from the scene. Too busy focusing on ripping his throat out and showing him that you’re not just some foxian that’s going to roll over and heel. Tears streaming down your cheeks as the taste of blood came rushing over you, you are going to fight, too.

Once he goes limp is when you stop clawing and attacking, sitting back with a squelch as you reach up to wipe the water from your eyes. You were drenched. Blood painted from the lower half of your face, down your throat and over your teeth. Nose bruised and broken and leaking. Nails filthy and you’re sure there is flesh under them. You’re not a killer. You never wanted to be a killer.

And then the clapping began. Thuds of heavy footsteps rush past you as you look up, paling and almost vomiting from the surprise. There’s no mistaken that the borisin that stands before you now is Warhead Hoolay, and beside him is his right hand man, Mok Tok. The pack with him was chasing down the others that ran before.

Hoolay seemed very amused, crouching down and grinning as he picked up the foxian’s head by the ear before letting it hit the ground again, “Only the strong survive. This whelp was nothing more than all bark and no bite. You, however,” he gazes back to you, standing, “I’m impressed. Even foxians in the fighting ring have more compassion. You truly didn’t hold back.”

Running isn’t an option. In the fight he had gotten a few good hits and kicks in, your ankle throbbing in pain. Not to mention the stench of blood on you. Foxians had a great sense of smell - Borisins, an even better one. Your only option is to fight, and even you know the single outcome here is death.

Mok Tok stepped around, standing behind you as he examined your state of well being. He hummed gingerly before saying, “Dine in or take away, master?”

Another once over from Hoolay had him walking over to you. He didn’t have a care in the world, hand larger than your head reaching out towards your face. It was enough for you to kick into gear, using what was left of your strength and latching onto him with all the fight you had left. Your teeth barely dug through the fur on his paw, nails only strong enough to hold you to his arm without so much as pricking blood, your legs feebly kicking into his large chest. It probably felt more like a massage than any form of pain.

You tried with all your might and the only response you got from him was a boisterous laugh. He easily yanked you off and threw you to the ground, rolling until you hit Mok Tok’s foot, “Take away. This one amuses me, see to it she doesn’t succumb to her wounds.”

In no time you had some form of metal around your neck, clasping with the rattle of a chain. You’re dragged a few feet before being hauled onto your aching souls. Mok Tok handles you with little care, tugging you to a pace you couldn’t keep up with.

…

It was only you, the bystander foxian that didn’t stand to help, and the initial foxian that tried to keep everyone quiet that remained. The lackey of the culprit you fought had been tied at the end of your chain link, only to fall to his wounds and die on the road. The borisins had snapped his portion of the chain off like it was nothing, leaving his carcass to rot in the mud.

You were at the front of the line, trudging behind Hoolay and his bitch boy with your hands cuffed in front of you, connected to a chain on the thick collar around your throat. A longer, thicker chain trailed behind you to the others, walking in a single file.

It was quiet, the night turning from black to the blueish hues of morning. In the distance thunder rumbled, promising the relief of rain to come. Your feet were filthy from the mud, having lost one flat, uncomfortable shoe days ago and tossing the other at a wild animal that tried to bite you. It turns out bare feet was only marginally more uncomfortable. At least the dirt of the road and squelch of the mud was nicer than sticks and brambles in the forest.

Every closing of your eyes almost had you tripping in sleep. You tried not to blink but since the adrenaline was wearing off, all the pain and exhaustion was coming forward tenfold. It was probably stupid, but the man behind you decided to try their luck with a conversation, “Are we-“ they coughed, their voice a lot scratchier than you anticipated, starting again when they noticed their ears pricking back to listen, “Are we going back to the farm?”

Mok Tok was the first to sneer, his scarred face glaring at him as he snapped, “You weren’t given permission to speak, whelp.”

Hoolay raised his paw to silence him, “It’s fine. Let them wonder, the smell of fear is a welcome sense.” Once the smaller borisin bowed in submission, Hoolay glanced at you from over his shoulder, his intimidating size only making you feel all the more caged in this otherwise open countryside, “The farm owner doesn’t want runaways such as yourselves. You’re coming to our den. Those who can’t serve as servants will be meals before battle.”

One of the men behind you whimpered in fear, the chain slightly rattling as they quaked. You wish you could have the energy for such an emotion. You felt yourself lagging, needing to pick up the pace if you didn’t want to end up lunch for the trip back. With a pained sigh, you skipped forward and listened as they continued questioning, “Did you search for us on purpose, or was it all a coincidence?”

It seems Hoolay was in a generous and talkative mood as he humoured, “Your previous owner informed us of the escape. Such a foolish plan, don’t you know we wolves love to hunt little foxes like you? You couldn’t have picked a worse time to…”

As Hoolay spoke you were progressively losing focus. The sunlight peeked behind a cloud and pierced your eye, a strain feeling like it was hitting your brain. Your hands weren’t low enough to see if you had any surviving berries in your pocket, food maybe being a cure. By this point it was difficult to make out the words anyone was saying.

The next moment you know is your face in the mud. It’s cool to your cheeks, comforting from the recent events. Mok Tok’s voice cuts through incredulously, “Me? Master, she is just a pitiful fox. I suggest we eat her and be done-“

“Are you questioning my decision, Mok Tok? I’ll gladly fight you over it, think you can take me in a battle,” Hoolay says, already knowing the outcome.

Mok Tok surrenders immediately, breaking off your chain and throwing you over his shoulder. Your lungs are pushed of air, and though he isn’t careful in the least, you despise how warm and inviting his fur is. It isn’t long before you’re drifting off, passing out in the hopes that this is your end and you don’t have to experience another day in this hellhole.

…

It was a long ride, your trio of prisoners thrown on the back of a wagon full of leftover foxian meat when it was established you were walking too slow. Most of it was wrapped in cloth and sat on crates with misshapen ice inside to keep relatively fresh. It only became hard to stomach when one of them got hungry.

A few borisin were striding alongside the cart, keeping in pace with the quieter man of your group. They were shoving an amputated foot in his face, laughing and urging him to try it. “You’ll never know if you don’t have a taste~”

You did your best to keep your gaze away, he may be an arsehole but you still regarded the corpse’s leg with the dignity you feel it deserves. Though your kind believes the spirit moves on, it was still hard to witness in the living realm.

It seems your ignorance of the scene didn’t grant you any relief. However, instead of the group of mutts hounding him, you were graced with the mighty presence of the Warhead himself. He held out an arm to you, fingers daintily hovering before your face, calloused skin proving their hard work in life. Hoolay eyed you with interest as he said, “What about you, small one? Have you developed a taste for your own kind?”

The stains of mud and blood still remain on you, your nose only having a brief look at once you reached the wagon of ‘goods’. If your aggressive fight had taught you anything, it was that living prey wasn’t your ideal meal. You shook your head and turned away from him, hoping he would give up this pointless endeavour.

Hoolay brought the arm to his maw, ripping the flesh and chewing loudly, as if to accentuate just what exactly he was eating. Without warning, his sharp claw drags roughly from the base of your skull and down your neck, stopping between your shoulder blades when you jumped forward in shock, the chains rattling as you eyed him with malice. Whatever he saw in you made his lips part in a smirk, then he laughed loudly, the rest of his pack watching their leader toy with you in silence. “What do they call you?”

Even if you could talk, you wouldn’t want to tell him your name.

He raises an eyebrow at you, “Oh? Even still defiant over such a simple question?”

Mok Tok was clearly more offended than his leader, “How dare you ignore our Warhead Hoolay! Master, please allow me to show this whelp just how grateful she should be-“

Sensing the growing tension, your other prisoner comrade interrupted fearfully, “Sh-she doesn’t talk, lord warhead. She’s been silent for as long as we’ve known her.”

This seemed to interest Hoolay even more. “Oh?” With ease, he jumped onto the wagon and sat opposite of you, right next to the prisoner who had spoken on your behalf. Teasingly, he caressed his face with the back of the foxian’s hand, “Then you can tell me. What is her label?”

Shakily, he looked to you as if you could help, too scared to move away from the amputated hand. You merely shrugged, then sure what to tell him, so he said what he could best remember, “I think… I think she was part of B block so… it may have been B132.”

You’re not sure with how you got away with not being branded. Perhaps it was because you kept your head down and didn’t cause trouble, mixed with the fact that they forgot. The farm wasn’t the best run, order and structure not something they’d place in their résumé.

Hoolay looked back to you, “Is that correct?”

Again, you shrug. You were told it once and then never again. The only ones who really remembered were the branded ones.

Hoolay picks at his fangs with the nails of his meal, humming in thought before tossing the arm far away into a field, “I suppose it matters not. Servants will be renamed, as will food.” Another amused rumble comes bubbling from his chest as he stands, a large paw grasping your injured face and turning it from side to side, making you wince as he growls lowly, “Food always tastes better when there’s… personality.”

You took that as an omen for your future.

…

The rain and humidity was a horrible combination, though you found yourself enjoying it more as the grime was sort of washed from your face and your wrists were lubricated from the blood that was washed down. Quietly, you had been working on wriggling your hands out of the cuffs to give you some more space to work with when you try to escape again.

There was nothing you could do about the choker around your neck, however if you could at least get your hands free then you’d have the ability to use the environment around you easier. That, paired with the fact that your chain was no longer connected to the others thanks to Mok Tok, you think you had a fighting chance.

Or else you’re condemned to be food.

It stung, the way your flesh ripped and teared when you shimmied it back and forth in the metal. The others had seen you but didn’t speak up, thankfully, not wanting any of their attention.

You felt sick with anxiety when the new blood made it easier to pull through, almost slipping out, your bones bruised and aching before you pushed your hands back in to avoid them being freed completely.

The rain had lessened, which wasn’t ideal but you could tell it would stop soon and you wanted to go with as much covering as possible. You were in another dense forest, it would be the perfect time. So, you got work, stomping your foot on the wagon to get someone’s attention.

It was Mok Tok who turned, glaring at you with a harsh, “What?” Your tail was squeezed between your thighs, jumping up and down to indicate you needed to pee. He seemed he was about to refute it when he had a second thought, turning to Hoolay and saying, “Master, the last toilet break for the prisoners was 12 hours ago. Shall we stop once more or wait until we arrive to the den?”

Your stomach dropped, did that mean you were close to their home? It really was now or never. Hoolay looked back to you, and you tried hard to show how desperate you were to go. He motions for everyone to stop, coming to you, “Fine. You two take the other prisoners. I’ll handle this one myself.” Like a giant claw - and you suppose it technically was - he grasped you by the top of your head and lifted you from the wagon, placing you down in the mud, your toes sinking into the mushy soil.

He had to nudge you to walk as you panicked. Why was splitting you up now? Every other time it has been one borisin watching you three, you were counting on that to have their attention diverted. Now the Warhead himself wants to watch you pee?

You get a considerable distance before he stops, staring at you with a heavy gaze. When you make no move he scoffs, smiling with a row of sharp teeth and a flick of his tail, “What, you can piss in front of my grunt but not me? Do I really make you that uncomfortable?” His voice lowers to a dangerous octave, “You flatter me.”

Now’s not the time to play his games. You turn around, using your tail to lift up the long, tattered dress that was uniform for everyone at the farm. Due to the first toilet break, a borisin had ripped your knickers off and tossed them so they wouldn’t have to keep doing it whenever you needed to go, so all you had to do was squat and bunch the cloth in your hands once you were low enough to reach. You glanced over your shoulder, seeing him watch you with boredom, huffing and averting his eyes lazily.

That was the best you were going to get. From this angle, it could be seen as you adjusting your clothes again, yet you were slipping your damaged wrists out of the cuffs. It was a little harder since the last time but you managed to do it, eyeing him from the side to see him focused on the raindrops off a leaf. Taking a deep breath, you bolted head on, scurrying over logs and bushes.

There was no noise behind you. As far as you’re aware, borisin aren’t silent hunters, they like to toy with their prey. So why wasn’t he chasing you? Not that you’re complaining, you hope to never encounter his kind again-

The reason for your lack of chase became apparent as you came skidding to a halt. You were at the edge of a canyon, forest on this side and a large, dusty and rocket desert on the other. Along the walls of the canyon were layers of stairs, openings, borisin. Not to mention the foxian slaves, digging and picking, holding food out to guards. Along the floor of the deep canyon is a rushing river, fast enough to be swept away should one fall in.

Hoolay casually walked up behind you, “the outside of our den. On the inside is long, winding halls and plenty of rooms. Should you get lost, there’s no telling what your fate is.” You were still in despair when he grabbed your hand, holding it up as he brought his nose down to inhale your wounds. Your fearful eyes looked to him when he licked up the torn skin, the saliva and pressure on his tongue stinging the sores which you tried to pull away from. He groaned in delight, yanking you closer to gently bite on the flesh, squeezing more blood out, “You think I can’t smell the difference between old and fresh blood? We knew of your little plan from the beginning. Even so,” his large hand slides up your back, claws tracing your spine tantalisingly and forcing you to push into his hard chest as he growls lowly in your ear, “You still tried to run from me, a bold move. I’ve decided, I’m going to keep you, personally. I will train you from a savage foxian into the obedient pet you were born to play.”

To be dismembered or to be a pet? Which is worse is hard to say. Your chattering teeth grit, the fear turning into desperate anger. Quickly, you duck under his arm to escape, only for him to grab the base of your tail and hold you in place. So you change tactics, trying to hit the base of your heel hard enough to hurt his chest and loosen his grip. However, as your foot makes contact with his torso, he doesn’t flinch and instead grabs your ankle and turn you upside down.

You’re left flailing in the air as he carries you like meat on a hook, holding your dress between your legs as you struggle so that you’re not blinded by the fabric. There really is no use. His pack watches in amusement as their leader returns with you, dropping you back into the wagon, “This one is mine. No one is allowed to touch them, understand?”

Frustrated and scared tears stream down your cheeks as they reply with a clear, “Yes, master!”

…

You’re not sure where the others went. Once you made it over the bridge and into the den, you were given to a purple borisin who commanded a bunch of servant foxians. She had supervised your wounds being treated before ordering them to take you to the bathhouse and clean you.

No one made eye contact, no one spoke to you or each other. It was frighteningly quiet, so you kept your head down as they scrubbed your ears and brushed out the knots in your tail. The tub you were in was cramped, a wooden bucket essentially. Hoses came out of the walls and a long gutter was imbedded in the ground to drain the water out somewhere. Even if it was awkward and daunting, you couldn’t deny how good it felt to get scrubbed raw by water that was almost too hot. Even at the farm, room temperature water was the highest form of luxury.

You actually felt clean for once.

Once you were done and dripping dry, the borisin from earlier reentered with a fluffy towel. She looked you over, clawed hand throwing the towel over your head, “You know how to dry yourself, yeah? I don’t know what you did but our master has taken a liking to you. Come.”

You wetly follow her through the winding halls with plaps of your feet hitting the floors, the servants behind you trailing diligently. You were too focused on trying to memorise the path that you hardly dried yourself by the time you reached your destination. A room was opened to you, chests and clothes along each wall, a mirror standing on the floor.

One glance at the mirror was enough for you to turn your head, not wanting to see yourself as the captive you are just yet; surrounded by slaves and a vicious wolf. Out of the corner of your eye though, you saw the enemy rummaging through chests until she found what she was looking for.

When she came back, she began putting golden chains on you, hanging from a gold collar around your neck, falling down your biceps, down the curves of your naked breasts, low enough to fall just past your hips. You dared another glance in the mirror, wondering if something so cold and with no fabric could still be called lingerie.

“Done. Let’s go,” she shoved at your back, the chains clinking slightly from the jolt as she pushed you out. The metal felt kind of nice, slinking along your skin with every step you took. The collar got hotter with your body heat, being a little uncomfortable but who were you to complain when you had no rights. It wasn’t until you were stopped beside her, a VERY long table with various foods and alcohols, mainly meats and few vegetables - don’t look at the foxian torso and thighs, don’t look at the foxian torso and thighs - that were slightly skewed from everyone picking at it that you felt a shot of self-consciousness. She bowed her head and addressed the warhead, “Master, she is clean and adorned for you.”

Since the day you were born, you were taught that nakedness and privacy didn’t matter. Farm animals didn’t get that decency, foxians don’t get that decency. You can count on one hand you’ve felt the need to cover yourself in front of someone, yet somehow right now, you feel like you need to cover every inch of skin and curl up in a hole to stop the eyes of their leader from clawing into you. Everyone stopped to stare at the new meat that had walked in, yet it was Hoolay that openly ogled you like you were more than just food.

You pretend not to notice the twitching under his belt, cloth moving over a large mound that you were hoping wasn’t for you. He grinned and leant forward, hooking his index under your collar and pulling you towards him, “Perfect, you’re dismissed.”

She and the slaves bowed before leaving you alone in the room full of beasts.

“C’mere,” Hoolay demands, already pulling you tightly against him, sitting you sideways in his lap. He’s so large, colossal, from his shoulder to his elbow alone almost the size of your body. He brings a chunk of meat to your lips, demanding you to eat. When you don’t part your mouth, he huffs and wedges a claw between your teeth, forcing you to open, “Relax, it is just bird.”

Sure enough, you’re inclined to agree, taking the meat from his hand so he’s no longer shoving it down your throat. As you slowly nibble on the meat, you’re lost to the words everyone is speaking around you, their language a mix of your common tongue and their own. You’re pretty confident, however, that they’re discussing about his new prize - you - and how you’ll taste.

Hoolay laughs after someone says something, easily moving you to sit flush against his torso with your back, spreading your legs wide over his thighs. You almost drop the bird meat when you see what he’s doing, releasing the confinements of his half-hard cock to hang over his leg. A low growl rumbles from his chest as he strokes it, moving it to stand hard and leaning against your tense torso. His knot is throbbing between your legs and the tip of him is poking the underside of your breasts, you can’t even imagine what he would feel like inside of you that doesn’t involve pain.

A slave comes beside him with a platter and a golden jug. Hoolay grabs it roughly before pouring the contents over his cock, the substance oozing out and over his dick like a sheer, golden syrup. He tosses the jug away with a clank, disregarding it in favour of smearing the liquid over your thigh, lightly squeezing, his giant maw hotly breathing against your cheek, “Go on. Have a taste. I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

He’s so large that there’s no way you could swallow him more than his tip. You go in for a taste, holding the heavy weight below the glands to dutifully suck. The pungent under taste that you’re expecting is overshadowed by whatever he had coated his dick in. The pupils of your eyes blow wide and suddenly you’re suckling on the head like you’re trying to coach his cock to dispel more of the deliciously sweet substance.

Hoolay laughs at you, a low, growling groan emitting as his paw pets back the ears on your head, “Fffuck. That’s a good girl.” You whimper around him when he pushes you down, choking on what little you could swallow. His pre is enough to guzzle down your throat and bubble out of your mouth, it doesn’t ready you for when he cums, buckets of semen forced down your throat and into your stomach. He must’ve been pent up because even after he pulls away, he’s still very much hard. He opens his mouth beside your head, his jaw wide enough to encompass your skull if he really wanted to, laughing at the visage, “Such a tiny mouth for a pitiful creature. I wonder if the hole between your legs will be more accommodating, hm?”

You’re lifted and placed on your back, glistening in syrup and cum under the dim lighting by the candles around the room. Everyone stares in amusement as you dazedly bring your fingers to your mouth, sucking on the digits to get some more of the sweet syrup and hoping to overthrow his taste. It isn’t until you feel a rather large tongue lick up the slit of your pussy that you jerk, a string of saliva connecting to your fingers as you pull them away to gaze between your thighs.

Hoolay’s claws touched as they held one of your thighs up, out of the way for him to get a taste. You were already so wet and waiting, the desire to consume was rushing all throughout your body. Air was forced out of you when he let his heavy cock thud against your stomach, a little cum seeping from the corner of your mouth. Graciously and carefully, he slides a finger inside you and worms it around, stretching your cunt and causing you to moan, “So defiant you were on the ride here. Now look at you, arching into my hand like a pet looking for love from its owner. It feels good to give in to instinct, wouldn’t you agree?”

Even if you could talk, you wouldn’t need to as your tail swishes side to side underneath you, as though accepting his declaration. Your stomach is so full that even with just his fingers you feel you’re about to pop. Your legs fall open for him when he pushes his cock head down your slit and into your hole. You’re so grateful he helped you with the aphrodisiac, even if you wish you hated it, you know being absolutely torn apart would be too brutal to handle.

As a mercy, perhaps for being such a good girl, he takes it slow but doesn’t stop - not until he’s reached as far as he can inside you. Your legs are now propped up and of your stomach wasn’t distended from the mouthfuls of cum before, it certainly was from the massive dick inside you now. Your cheeks puff when he puts pressure on the lump he forms, “I’m impressed, little fox. Even with the amount of syrup used, I didn’t think you’d be able to hold out.”

It’s not until his hips start snapping against yours that you cringe, the movement jostling your insides, motion sickness hidden behind layers of pleasure. Your mouth is open, panting, the cool air the only thing keeping you from losing your mind. However, as ‘kind’ as he’s been, he seems to want to take more from you. His long, flat tongue enters your mouth, you’re gurgling around the muscle in this ruthless kiss. Your eyes roll back and hearing wavers as the oxygen in your lungs is stolen away.

Heavy balls plap against your arse, cum and syrup creating an odd, warm, wet sensation over your skin. You hadn’t realised you were clawing at Hoolay’s face until he retracted, his paws holding your biceps flat in the take with a heavy chunk to hold you down. Bruises were the least of your concerns as you could finally breathe again and consciousness came back, adding with a strong seizure of pleasure corrupting your body. Your clit pulsed and your pussy tightened from the euphoric buildup of oxygen and cock breeding your insides.

A round of cheers and clinking steins was heard in the background during your orgasm, but it was too intense to care and Hoolay had no intentions of stopping. The way your cunt suckled his dick was more than enough to keep him going.

Of course, it wasn’t the last time you would cum in his cock. The way he nipped at your skin and kissed you and licked over your body like he was getting ready to devour you; it all shot straight to your aroused core. Whenever you could form a single thought, though, you would concern yourself with the inevitable worry of his knot.

Hoolay’s knot was swelling to a considerable size and pretty soon you doubt you would be able to hold him. He seemed to realise this, however, because his thrusts were getting deeper and stuttering more often as his knot struggled to enter and escape your cunt. It wasn’t too soon that his hips closely hit against yours, balls tightening and jerking with every spurt of cum. His knot kept him stuck deep inside you, the low growls and groans making you tremble. Your legs were hiked and your stomach was folded, you felt like you were going to throw up as your stomach got fuller… and fuller… “Just look at you,” he grunts, pushing himself against you and making you groan, “Fucked out of your mind, at the mercy on our dinner table. Foxians like you are only good for one thing.”

You couldn’t keep it in, with the amount he was breeding you with, and the position he had you folded in, it was only a matter of time before it came back up. It wasn’t vomit, it was more like his cum didn’t make it all the way down. The semen you swallowed poured out, as though the cum he fucked into you had overflowed out of your mouth. Tears streamed from the corners of your eyes in shame and confusion, your chin, chest, stomach, legs, everything was dirty and smothered in Hoolay’s dna.

He laughed heartily at your pitiful display, cool still nestled deep in, one hand coming under the arch of your back to lift you up and rest against him. He sat back on his chair, idly dragging a claw down your spine, your skin alight with goosebumps. His voice seemed a lot more content now, “Bring out the slaves. It is time for everyone to enjoy themselves.”

You barely recognised what was happening, your consciousness slowly returning to you over time. Crying, means, laughing, scared whimpers were all present thought your minor rest. Eventually, you had the strength to lift your head, seeing you’re not the only unfortunate soul to be used as a plaything. This place truly is horrible.

Finally, Hoolay’s knot had reduced enough to be plucked from your hole. He grabbed one of the chains around you and half heartedly threw you to the floor. You were confused and struggled to push yourself up, only to halt when a hot stream of liquid hit the top of your head. Piss. He was pissing on you, making sure to cover your body in his stench. The face you made could almost be described as betrayal, save for the fact that you had no faith in him to begin with. Once finished, he lets go of his half hard cock and stares into your eyes, “Everyone will smell who you belong to. You will not be able to take one step in this place without me knowing where you are.”

All you can do is grit your teeth, nails digging into the ground. The piss makes the wounds on your wrists sting like crazy, your hair and fur drenched in both cum and urine. It stinks. The bruises on your arms were forming nicely and you can only wait to see how pretty they’ll bloom by morning.

To add salt to the wound, Hoolay pours water into an empty bowl and places it in there for beside you, “You can bathe again later, we must let it soak in so the pheromones stick.” He stands, cocking his head in admiration of his work on you, smiling wickedly, “It’s about time I got myself a pet. And I know you’ll be such a good girl for me.”

Your head falls forward in this defeat, eyes making contact with your exhausted reflection in the water bowl.

#yandere #yandere hoolay x reader #hoolay x reader #hoolay #hoolay hsr #honkai star rail #warhead #yandere hsr #Yandere hsr x reader #Yandere Hoolay hsr #borisin #hsr borisin #Yandere borisin

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evenmorefatallyobsessed · 11 months ago

Text

Prof. Xiao-Long AU Concept

Note this one is way longer since it did in fact win the polls

Yang Xiao freaking Long was just what her name would suggest XL, bigger then life, the center of attention and life of the party! She was arguably the toughest gal to step through Beacon’s doors. At worst she was tied with her partner Glyn.

They were the strongest duo, Glynda’s ability to bullshit just about everything with her telekinesis and Yang packing enough raw strength to shatter boulders with just a punch. Heck, they were the two time Vytal Festival Winners of Beacon’s Golden era, Even STRQ came second to them.

And that team had her brother Taiyang in it, okay, true it did have the clearance sell, looking knock off of her too, Raven definitely dragged them down… No, she was not pissed at the bandit at all, nope, not a single inch of rage for abandoning her team, leaving her brother broken hearted, she totally didn’t spend months tracking her down and wrecking every member of the Branwen tribe’s shit that she could.

Well regardless she’d gotten over that who issue with her brother’s team, graduated, spent a few years living the dream, journeying around Remnant, helping people, exploring, just outright enjoying freedom. Life had been good. But eventually she got bored of it, bored of it, turns out Yang wasn’t for the lone wanderer shtick, didn’t live up to the hype…

It got lonely, and then her brothers wife died… Summer, Summer disappeared and Tai went into a depression. him remaining teammate Qrow tried, but he could only do so much, and she knew he was avoiding spending a lot of time with them cuz of his semblance the idiot. So she made her decision without hesitation, Yang starting crashing at her brother’s place and helping him with Ruby while beating the depression outta him.

And thankfully Glyn had a job she could work, a Professor at Beacon, she tried to get one at Signal but in her partner’s own words “That School already has to Suffer One Xiao-Long, why would you curse them with two.” And hence begun her domestic life as the stand-in mom for her adorable silver-eyed niece. And Yang realized she was freaking Maternal has all hell! Like Whoa, the amount of times people assumed she was Rube’s mom was scary, and not just cuz it implied she was banging her brother.

And hey, she was a pretty great teacher too, sure she was really more a couch, and every once in a blue mom stand in for Port but hey when she did the students were a heck of a lot more invested in her telling them about her past glory. It had nothing to do with her love of high cut tee’s she swore, she was just that charismatic.

Life was good…

-0-0-0-

LIFE WAS NOT GOOD!!!! She Was Gonna Murder Thos Little Turds! Few Things were as precious to Yang as her hair, and they, her students had abused her trust! She could understand a pulling pranks, heck she still pulled them on her fellow teachers. But The Fuck! CUT SOMEONE HAIR WHEN THEY SLEPT!!!

Beacon was starting up in several weeks! And she was gonna have to show her face now! With her hair like this!

Oh She Wasn’t Fooled For A Fucking Second!!!

This Had Bitch Written All Over It! It had to be those girls who’d been giving her the stink eyed just cuz the boys she taught couldn’t pull their eyes off their bombshell of a teacher! Or Maybe it was one of those douchebag students she put in their place when she caught them claiming they’d bed her.

The fact of the matter was she didn’t technically have concrete evidence of who it was, all she did know was when she went to bed she was fine and when she woke up she felt horrifyingly light. Her beautiful locks of golden magnificent hair scattered across the ground. All she saw after that was red, too bad her partner was there otherwise she could’ve slaughtered the perpetrator, true she would’ve ended up killing a few innocent students, but sometimes sacrifices had to be made for the greater good, and were they really innocent if they just sat there and let such a tragedy happen!

They were lucky her partner Glynda was there to restrain her with several dozen times gravity being forced down upon her. And now here she was in Vale, already on her fourth group of A-Grade assholes clobbered for trying to pick up a red-eyed and incredibly pissed off Yang.

She stopped before it, a salon, one Ozpin had recommended, and one whose life and current state of function was on the line. Because if even an inch more of her remaining beautiful hair was ruined there would be hell to pay.

On the plus side they all seemed to know who she was, a negative is that that also meant every stylist was hesitant to do said firey dragon’s hair. She couldn’t blame them but if someone didn’t hike up their skirt and do something soon she’d-

“Ma’am, th-this way please, our new hire offered to do you hair.” Her eye twitched, a new hire, what the hell, she was ready to tear into him before a voice cut in.

“Hey can you calm down please, your kinda scaring everyone.” She blinked before looking up and meeting eyes with a fellow blonde. A guy around her student’s age, one who was standing up, facing her down with a stern look.

Your scaring the kids her with their parents, she noticed that in fact he was right as she saw some kids looking at her and backing away. And… She suddenly felt terrible. And when she went lack she heard it, a relieved exhale leave her fellow blonde, looking his way she met the boy’s gaze and felt a bit embarrassed. Leave it to her to go and get worked up and have a kid around her niece age tell her off.

The boy examined her, or to be more precise her hair and she saw his eyes narrow with recognition.

“Prank gone wrong?” She growled.

“No, I think it went just how those little shits wanted it to.” He blinked before shaking his head.

“Well then guess they could count their lucky stars they didn’t do that to a sister of mine or they wouldn’t live to regret it.” That made her smile.

“Oh trust me, I intend to do just that.” The blonde chuckled, shaking his head.

“Well hopefully not with your hair like that you won’t, kinda hard to instill fear in them while their laughing at the result of their prank. C’mon, let’s fix that.” Turning her made his way to a chair, expecting her to follow as he walked confidently to it. She blinked again, well, the new guy was definitely interesting, few people had it in them to sass her while her hair was so much as touched let alone ruined like this.

“Hey you just gonna stand there and gawk or do you want me to fix your hair.” She couldn’t help it, nobody talked about touching her hair.

“If you mess it up I’ll mess you up blondie.” Instead of the usual whimper or retreat the blonde boy… smiled?

“’Snort’ You sound just like my sis Beryl, relax, I have experience with styling long, blonde fine hair okay, your in good hands.” She rose brow, but slowly started to make her way to him. Noticing a picture of a boy and seven girls stuck up in his station.

“Whoa, is that you with all your cousins or something?” He laughed.

“Sisters actually, and I’ve done each of their hairs more times then I can count.” Okay, she was willing to risk it, at the very least the kid had experience. So she plopped herself down and let him do his magic… Okay so she might’ve had to stop herself once or twice from decking him when he touched her hair.

But hey his small talk took her mind off it, heck she only threatened him once when he pulled out the clippers. The boy seemed totally in his element. They talked about tons while he worked his magic, washing, shampooing and clipping her hair.

Eventually she begun asking how long he’d been doing this, she was surprised when he admitted this was his third and last week at the place. Something about needing extra money and having picked up several jobs before he hopefully got into his dream school. She couldn’t get much more details outta him, the boy was very cagey about it.

Finally thought he moment of truth came out and she saw… A pretty good looking cut, a bit shooter then what she’d come in with but not bad. In fact she was sorta digging it! Huh? Who’d’ve thought she could pull off a short due just as epically as she could a long one.

She grinned the boys way, walked up to him and gave him a full on huge, lifting the blonde up in the air as she did. And suddenly he went from her confident sassy groomer to a flustered, confused mess of a teen as socially awkward as her own niece.

It was honestly kinda endearing, guess he was the sort who just got in the zone when it came to doing their job. Well not like she was gonna complain he was so freaking expressive now it was actually kinda hilarious not to mention a bit adorable. She teased him once or twice, and got the boy to fluster pretty bad before she gave him a big fat tip that hit the triple digits. Hey her hair was a treasure, he earned it in her not so humble opinion.

And so she walked out and made her way back to Beacon, all smiles and snark as usual, much to her fellow staffs relief… Until the next day. Where she realized she couldn’t style her hair the exact way the guy had! Made sense, she never had short hair after all!

She made a mad dash back to that salon… Only to find out he wasn’t working there anymore… WHAT!? She had to all but threaten the boy’s name outta the manager! Yes! She threatened a civilian, but this was important! And she got exactly what she needed, a name.

Jaune Arc.

She rushed to Juniors, needing to use Vale’s best info broker to find out the single most important information in the entire kingdom… Why the hell did he go on about Torchwick and White Fang when she said that. Obviously the info she meant was on the blonde stylist!

He blinked at her, and then asked about the name again… Then went pale. And then called Jaune over, apparently one of the jobs he was working also happened to be here as a bartender. One look at her and he flustered going all red face… Yeah, she did dress up, she was in a club after all, had to look good. Glad to see she still had it, not that it was ever up for debate.

Anyways she had him now, made her demand had him promise to teach her how to do her hair, and until then would have him do it. She’d pay him obviously, she wasn’t a monster, and a guy who could actually style her glorious hair was worth his weight in gold.

He told her she’d have to wait till his break, she was about to drag him off as her waiting simply wasn’t a option, until he offered to give her a free drink, a thanks for the huge tip she gave him yesterday. Well, she was already in Vale so why not… And again he shocked her!

Seriously what had she been drinking up until this point? Cuz it sure as hell wasn’t a Strawberry Sunsrise compared to the one he served her. She was about to ask, but he seemed to pick up on her question and gave the answer of ‘Seven sisters’ which just sorta answered it, guess a few of them liked drinks.

And he was back to being mister focused on his craft, sassy and cool as a cucumber… She just had to mess with him. Wasn’t hard, just a little shake here, a suggestive pun there and a wink or two and the boy went cherry red.

It was the best time she had out in a good minute, and then slowly, things started to relax and she fell into that age old troupe of shooting the breeze her the bartender. Talking about her brother and niece who’d get into Beacon this year and how freaking proud of her she was.

It was great, fun, and she was… tipsy, so maybe when his break came around she chose to drag him to the dance floor for some fun instead of out to do her hair… And once again he surprised her with another skill of his. Jaune Arc, could dance.

He even dared suggest he was better then her… the nerve. She had to prove to him wrong, she just had to. So they spent his whole break dancing, drinking, laughing and just having fun, and one stink eye from her and Junior let her new young buddy take the rest of the night off.

And then everything went dark and she woke up in a bed, naked… Oh no.

Then she realized thank Oum there was no blonde boy right by her, instead her Scroll had a message, saying how he’d taken her to one of junior’s rooms to rest after she’d gotten wasted. And how he swore he left the room when she started to strip…

Yeah, that sounded like her when she got three sheets to the wind, he also sent her a message about how to do her hair. She asked Junior about the blonde but the guy insisted he was just a temporary hire.

-0-0-0-

Well, it was time her baby niece’s first day was upon them! It took everything she had not to charge up grab little ruby up in a huge and completely embarrass her in front of everyone of her potential classmates.

Yang might’ve been wary of Ozpin when he first suggested it but still, she was aiming to enjoy this, to watch her niece, thrive in Beacon, to make a name for herself and have the best experience she cou- And she exploded…

Then some little white haired bitch started hounding her niece! She readied to walk up there and clobber the uppity brat. But before she could the spoiled brat left when some other goth looking chick got in the way. The black themed kid left too, leaving her poor niece all alone looking miserable!

She readied to make way only for the last person she expected to show up.

“Jaune?”

-0-0-0-

She stood with Ozzy and Glyn watching things go down in the emerald forest, watching her niece having the misfortune of teaming up with the bratty Schnee. But there was also someone else who interested her, Jaune Arc, AKA her personal stylist, bartender and clubbing escort to be the next four years of Beacon.

What could she say, the kid was a man of many talents that she very much appreciated. She’d looked his files over, and yep… Guy had fake transcripts, so that’s why he needed all that extra scratch. Still though, considering they had a ex-terrorist in their roster this year she couldn’t view it too negatively, heck Qrow had been a freaking bandit.

Also, the kid really wanted this, I mean guy let Ozzy launch him into the forest… without aura! Yeah that was a shocker, the fact the kid was even willing to fight Grimm with having aura much less knowing what it was spoke volumes to his bravery, stupidity too yes, but mostly bravery. And hey, when the cereal girl herself unlocked it turned out he had a bunch.

Yep this year was shaping up to be a interesting one.

-0-0-0-

Glynda didn’t know what to think of how Yang was acting, given she rarely knew what to do when it came to said brawler, but moreso today the usual, Yang was acting quite perplexing, well more then usual. Focusing on miss Rose she could understand, the woman all but raised the silver-eyed warrior after all. But her interest also seemed to focus on a second individual as well.

Mister Arc, a student she still had doubts about, but who also seemed to gain her partners attention, she sighed for the poor student. She didn’t wish her partner’s teasing on anyone, much less a seemingly easy to fluster first year like him.

Oh well, she supposed sacrifices had to be made for the greater good, a happy or at the very least entertained Xiao-Long mean much less collateral damage for the school and free time for herself. Perhaps she could offer him a bit of favoritism for such a burden, he did have a lot of aura, she supposed she could give him advise on control of it, he’d need it in case her partner ever tried to spare with the poor thing after all.

-0-0-0-

Okay, this was not good, Yang had not expected Jaune to be in Beacon, much less for him to befriend her precious niece and be such good friends with her… What was this kid? He could, do hair, make drinks, dance and could even be a reliable man when the chips were down if him turning back to help against the Deathstalker was any indication.

Seriously, the kid didn’t even have aura for a full hour and yet he turned to face a grimm most huntsman would think twice about facing much less potential first years. And all for some strangers… Yep she didn’t care if his transcripts were real or not, Jaune earned his place in the school with that bit of bravery there.

She nearly laughed when he was declared leader of his team, not cause it was funny, kid was the obvious choose, he was quick the decide, enact and didn’t hesitate. Hell, he had no actual training and yet when the chips were down he lead three people he didn’t even know the name of into battle.

Ozpin would have to be blind not to pick him, at the after party she made her way right to him ready to tease him to high heaven. But instead caught him talking to one of his sisters, well her her wife and… And. AND THE MOST ADORBLE THING SHE’D SEEN SINCE BABY RUBY!!!

Apparently, it was his nephew Adrian! So yeah she sorta cut in and got involved, talked to his sister, baby talked his cute nephew and informed said sister that her little brother was on the fast track to being a kick butt huntsman. What? you didn’t it so many checkmarks with her and not get a few benefits for it. Yang Xiao-Long was the kinda teacher who definitely played favorites, and Jaune Arc was certainly one of them.

-0-0-0-

Yang did not know what to do… Well, that wasn’t true, she knew exactly what she wanted to do, or to be more specific… Who.

How had it come to this!? Seriously, she just didn’t know what to do… Okay, maybe she should back up a sec and explain. So she, Yang Xiao-Long, Huntress extraordinaire, hottest teacher in Beacon (Okay… Maybe Glynda and her were tied) was lowkey crushing on one of her students…

No! It was not Blake! She didn’t get why Port assumed that? Nope, she had found herself thinking of and gioving extra attention to Jaune, yep, Jaune, mister fake it till he made it. HE JUST CHECKED OFF ALL THE THINGS SHE WAS LOOKING FOR IN A GUY!!!

Yeah, she was surprised too, as it turned out, you didn’t need to be a huge giant of muscles like Yatsuhashi or that transfer student Sage. Nope, lean was good too, maybe not Lie Ren lean but a nice in-between. And Jaune Arc hit that sweet spot, heck he was decently built even before Beacon, it was just more like a farmboy than a actual knight. But now, ‘heh’ Yang very much approved his teammate Nora’s insistence on weightlifting.

He was blonde! Which yeah maybe that wasn’t strictly necessary for him to catch her eyes but it didn’t hurt. He got along with her niece, heck he was her first friend in Beacon. And he was brave, something she knew when he turned back to help his team against that Deathstalker during his Initiation.

He proved it again though about a month later when he saved Cardin Winchester against a Ursa Major, now that said a lot about him. While his team ran for their lives Jaune stood his ground and fought to save his bully… the threatened him to not mess with his friends… Yeah, that was when she realized he was on her radar.

More then that he checked off things she didn’t even know she was looking for a guy, he was good with hair (though not his own if that mop of blonde was any indication), dancing drinks, And Oh My God Cooking! The Boy Could Cook! Again Thank Oum For His Sisters and Mom For Forcing Him To Learn Those Glorious Glorious Domestic Skills! But More Then That thank Mama Arc for giving him that ass!

And she was perving on Jaune again… Great. Ugh she needed to settle this already, heck she wasn’t even able to hide it anymore. The Staff totally made fun of her over it even!

But like, she didn’t wanna be all weird, plus the blonde liked the little icy no tit princess, and she was in a mood again… Was she really jealous of a teenager who was built like a ironing board… Yes, yes she was and that more then anything else infuriated her.

Heck he was on a team with Pyrrha-Obvious-Nikos! At least Yang could accept losing to the spartan! Okay… Maybe lose was a bit much. After all if she went for it she would nab that blonde up in a second. So why didn’t she?

Cause, cause she was a teacher… Y-yeah, that was it, totally not because she had cold feet, and never been in a relationship that lasted more then a weekend… Gods Dammit.

And then she stumbled upon it, Jaune and her partner training, Glynda had taken a shine to Jaune, not at first, her partner was pretty peeved about the whole Transcripts thing. But after a few weeks her favorite student (Ruby being the exception) had used his Arc charm on her.

Glyn was a bit softy underneath all that stern strictness of her’s. Wait? Was she… checking him out? Yep, Glyn was focusing pretty hard on her blonde Himbo’s ass… And she was touching him! WAIT WHAT!? Glyn Didn’t Touch People, She didn’t need to with her semblance! Why Would She… OH THAT BITCH!!!

That’s right Glynda had been benefiting from Jaune’s talents as much as she was, actually he was also helping her with paperwork apparently (something about paying her back for the aura control lessons) NO NO NOOO!

She was not losing Jaune To Her Partner and the stick up her ass! Yang never thought of herself as the jealous type but here she was, going into her room and grabbing some of her risqué clothes… Yeah they were pretty old, she at least went up to cup sizes since she last wore this to… Perfect.

Now all she needed was a night to alter them, thank Oum she was used to sewing cause of Ruby. And she was ready, and as she stepped into class, ready to teach unashamed and with a cocky smile on her face she looked to her mark. Jaune Arc much like the other boys in her class was staring just like she wanted him to.

Yep, Yang Xiao-Long might’ve been scared of screwing up, of causing issues for Jaune or more importantly Beacon and the moral implications of a teacher screwing her student, but that all came second, because more then that she refused to lose to anyone. And now that Glynda might be in the competition she wasn’t gonna hold back.

#jaune arc #aged up #prof. xiao-long #yang xiao-long

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matan4il · 9 months ago

Text

Update post:

It's exactly six months since the start of the war. Six months since the worst massacre of Jews post WWII. Six months since the worst tragedy in Israeli history, for Jewish and non-Jewish citizens, and for non-citizens who happened to be here. Six months of still not understanding how it could happen. Six months of looking for a way to comprehend that the age of defenceless Jews being mass tortured, raped and murdered isn't behind us. Six months of watching people deny the murders, the rapes, the intentionality of these crimes, the identity of the perpetrators, the pain that we feel, the fact that on October 7 we were the victims, all of which denies our very humanity. Six months of even more Israelis getting killed, soldiers and civilians, in Israel and in Gaza. Six months of wanting my people back. All of them. Alive. The kidnapped and the massacred. Like having an adult's brain, which understands the finality of death, and a child's heart, which doesn't. Six months of trying to process images and realities I will never forget, and never understand. Six months of watching with horror as my Jewish brothers and sisters abroad are being targeted as well, of searching for ways to stand with them even from afar. Six months of hearing some non-Jews (and a minority of Jewish people) acting as if Israelis' right to live is dependent on how many Gazans the antisemitic, genocidal terrorists of Hamas manage to get killed, in order to turn the world against us. Six months of having to realize those terrorists, who never made it a secret that their intents for every Jew in the world are genocidal, might succeed. Six months of wondering how the Holocaust, the genocide perpetrated against the Jews for being Jewish, is being hijacked, distorted, and All Lives Matter'ed, by the same people who would have screamed against how wrong that is, if it were done to any other marginalized group. Six months of finding comfort in the compassion, strength and solidarity of the Jewish People, of the Israelis, and of our true allies. Six months of working to allow joy in again, even as the pain doesn't let go for a second. Six months of having to face the devastating fact, that the family scars, born out of millennia of antisemitism, are not going to stop with this generation, either. Six months of experiencing the betrayal of people who were supposed to be friends, and to listen, and to know better. Six months of discovering that there is no limit to the human heart's ability to break. Six months of grieving every day like it's the first one, because October 7 never ended here. Six months of knowing I will never be the same, right from the start, from the very first horror video I happened to come across online. Six months of never being more Jewish in my life, or closer to what my Holocaust survivor grandparents had gone through, or more broken, or stronger, or prouder, or braver, or more full of love, for my people, for my friends, for my heritage as a Jew that teaches choosing to hold up even one little light, because in a world so full of darkness, so willing to embrace it, nothing matters more than the light we choose.

<- -> <- -> <- ->

Yet another Palestinian terrorist attack happened today. Two people were shot by the terrorist attacking vehicles driving by, and one of the vistims, a 19 years old female soldier, is said to be in serious condition. The other victim is a 50 years old man. The army is in pursuit of the terrorist.

We learned that yesterday, four more Israeli soldiers were killed during the fighting in Gaza, bringing the totaly number of fatalities in the ground operation to 260, and in the war and Hamas massacre combined to 604. May their memory be a blessing.

A 17 years old Palestinian was detained, searched and then arrested yesterday at the Damascus Gate in Jerusalem, when they found a concealed knife taped to his body, stopping him before he was able to carry out a terrorist attack. In a Facebook post, he talked about martyrdom and the road to heaven, a message typical of Jihadists.

Liri Albag is one of the four young Israeli female hostages, who were featured on the cover of the Daily Mail, showing them before the kidnapping, and just several hours after. Her family was sent a funeral laurel wreath, and security forces believe this was done by Iran, as part of its psychological warfare against Israeli civilians.

Here's another reminder that Hamas operates outside of Israel, and is a danger to all Jews, not just to all Israelis. This week, German and Dutch police jointly arrested four Hamas terrorists. While investigating their intent to launch attacks during Christmas, these forces ended up uncovering a Hamas weapons cache in southern Bulgaria, meant to be used against Jewish targets in Europe.

This is 47 years old Elad Katzir.

He was a farmer, and a passionate soccer fan. On Oct 7, his dad Rami was murdered in their community of kibbutz Nir Oz. His mother Chana was abducted, then released during the hostage deal, at the end of November 2023. The Palestinian Islamic Jihad (PIJ) claimed she was murdered, but it turned out they lied. Yesterday, we got the news that Elad, who was also kidnapped with his mom by the PIJ, was murdered in captivity, likely back in January. Intel that the IDF had collected led soldiers in a risky operation to the spot where Elad's body was buried. They brought him back home. As he volunteered so much, in so many domains, with so many people, his friends described him as, "a bachelor with many children."

May his memory be a blessing.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

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husbandhoshi · 2 years ago

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Heheh mingyu + cute + 9:27am

[9:27]

on god, i will kill whoever shares a wall with mingyu, is your first thought of the day.

you lay there, head positively spinning, as you hear the perpetrator snooze their train horn alarm for the fifth time that morning.

your second is, fuck, i actually went home with him, and your third falls somewhere along the lines of having the worst hangover headache of your twenty something years of being alive.

the bed next to you is cold (mingyu probably has class), you’re in a big white shirt (must have put it on after getting your back blown out), and curiously, mingyu has a studio ghibli poster you never noticed on the back of his door (good, although it would have ruined the mood if you knew totoro had witnessed all of that).

the unsavory details from last night come flooding back to you like the final chapter of an agatha christie novel, except you still don’t really get it.

kim mingyu, resident heartthrob of sigma alpha epsilon and the guy you just happened to tutor on tuesdays, not only invited you to a party, but somehow landed you in his bed, wearing his clothes.

on an average day, sleeping with a guy five million miles out of your league would be the college fairytale of your dreams, except you have class in two hours and the room is so bright, so flooded with sunlight, you think you will actually die if you open your eyes any wider.

you kind of wished things would be different.

(let’s get out of here, mingyu had said last night, and a part of you already knew what was going to happen. but instead, he walked you to in-n-out, draped in his big letterman jacket, and you spent the next two hours talking about everything and nothing over an order of animal fries.

and you remember him hovering over you, his silver necklace tantalizing and cold against the skin of your neck, asking in that awfully low voice of his—are you sure? we don’t have to.

and you pleaded and begged yes, yes, want it, want you, because you actually had the most embarrassing crush on him and somehow you fell in love all over again watching him get thousand island sauce on that nice button up of his.)

but in true fratboy fashion, he’s gone, and you’re just another girl left to dry in the wretched sigma house.

it’s then that you hear a knock on the door, at first frantic, then softly.

“mingyu’s not here,” you holler, although it’s more of a croak than a shout. “i don’t even live here.”

“um. this is mingyu,” comes the muffled voice. “sorry, i—” you can just picture him rubbing the back of his neck, piecing his next sentence together. “i thought you might want some breakfast?”

hearing the same voice that said basically unrepeatable things last night now shy as ever, asking permission to enter his own room, gives you the worst whiplash of your life. on top of that, you’re embarrassingly relieved that he did not, in fact, abandon you.

“yeah, uh, sure. thanks.” you scramble for your phone to make sure you look ok, but promptly realize the fool is charging it on his desk. so instead you just lay there, trying to look as alive as possible.

the door opens slowly, and through your half-lidded, squinty eyes, you make out what possibly could be the most beautiful man alive, looking like a dream in low hanging sweats and a muscle tee. and he has a plate of pancakes and orange juice.

“sorry, i look terrible.” the words just fly out of your mouth.

“no you don’t,” he chides in that awfully attractive pout of his. “was gonna say you look great. especially after everything that happened last night.”

he grins, all teeth and pretty pink lips, as you fight to not pull the covers over your head and just perish on the spot. “please shut up. i thought you abandoned me, you know. and i decided i was gonna stop tutoring you and let you fail organic chemistry.”

mingyu laughs and sits beside you on the bed, warm gaze falling on you. “i’m sorry. please don’t do that. i need you,” he jokes, and you both laugh again, feeling that post hookup awkwardness permeate the space.

he moves to brush the hair out of your forehead, but stops himself. he’s not sure what to do (he likes you, a lot actually, and that itself is enough to zap all rational thought from his brain).

“are you feeling ok?” mingyu asks instead. “i brought a warm towel and an advil. you know, uh, if you had a headache or something.”

it’s cute seeing him trip over his words, and you nod, giving him the ok to fuss over you.

“can you sit up? do you want me to feed you?” the questions come a mile a minute, but you’re never one to complain over a real life disney prince fawning over you.

so you let him, god, for some reason him propping you up against his pillows is a thousand times hotter than whatever he did last night, and you make the executive decision to waste your entire friday morning to spend it with him.

you’re still not sure what you are—friends, acquaintances, or something in the middle.

you wouldn’t dare think lovers though, except when he blows on a forkful of pancake to cool it down, you briefly consider marriage.

(before you go, he kisses your forehead. “catch a movie with me tomorrow?” he asks, taking his sunglasses off the top of his head and sliding them onto your face—he knows you lied when you said your head wasn’t hurting anymore.

“is this because you wanna—”

“it’s because i want to take you on a date. a real one. can i?”

he smiles at you again, radiant and honest, and you find you don’t doubt him for a second.)

#sorry this is LONG #mingyu #mine #ask #anon #mingyu imagines #seventeen imagines #mingyu fluff #mingyu x reader

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jahtrashh · 5 months ago

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I saw your take on Zuko and like I agree so much. this fandom either idolises him or hates him and I always found that sooo weird. same goes with characters like Jet who are somehow treated like perfectly functioning adults by the fandom and held accountable of their actions as if they were grown men. and that’s so freaking weird. the point of Zuko’s redemption arc is that his arc isn’t linear, he makes mistakes, learns from it, makes up for it. as for Jet, although not a big fan of the way the writers handled his death, he’s literally being seen as an unredeemable monster, as if worse that characters like OZAI OR ZHAO by many fans and… just… how ?? why ?? they are both 16 ?? like yeah, they did so much bad stuff, they did really messed up stuff but they are also quite literally products of their environment and a freaking 100 years war. how is Zuko, fed with propaganda, on a ship since he’s 13, with a freaking general as his only paternal figure at that time, surrounded by men twice his age who are also either soldiers or at least army related, and still 16 at the time, suppose to be a “nice guy” archetype that does nothing wrong. like please be for real one second. and don’t get me started on Jet. whole village burned to the ground, orphan, had to raise so many kids, probably grew up in extreme poverty. ofc he’s messed up. ofc he’s violent, blinded by rage. but again, 16 !!! HE’S 16 !! it kills how people don’t realise that teenagers (especially teenage boys) are anything but mature, collected and emotionally rational. like bfr.

but in the atla fandom ig saying this would make me a zuko/jet apologist. whatever that means. as an adult i just see a bunch of messed up kids in the middle of the war, and that’s basically it. at best i feel bad for them, at worst i pity them.

Say it louder for the people in the back. I don’t know how to dumb it down enough for people to wrap their damn head around how these are in fact, also, teenagers involved in war. The world is in shambles during war, right and wrong are easily blurred during those times, and it takes a very special person to be able to differentiate between the sides without getting too caught up in what they believe is right or wrong.

Zuko could’ve stayed a racist, imperialist, dipshit. But by the end of the show, he turns into just a simple dipshit who accepted his life changing 180 with open arms. Yes he said some insensitive shit to aang about his beliefs and mocked his anti-violent views even when he joined them in season 3, but AGAIN, not only was he still learning how to be a decent human being, he was also blinded by his own hatred of his father, mixed with the very much pro-violent nature of the fire nation, PLUS the lack of education on Aang’s culture and philosophy which was AGAIN, taught around PRO-PA-GAN-DA the FN created. All of which, takes time to unlearn. On top of figuring himself and who he was, which is what most teenagers, more often than not will have a whole crisis about ALONE. I honestly don’t know how people expect a redemption arc to go, we’ve all had to learn how to be better about things, and the progress isn’t going to be liner nor will it always be easy. That is human nature. That is LIFE.

And on Jet’s case, why do people think it’s such a terrible thing to make some characters who were victims of war crimes, to be angry, to lust for revenge against the perpetrators, or be irrational and violent. THEY HAVE EVERY RIGHT TO. The FN took the last bit of Jet’s life that he barely even had and stripped all of that completely away from him like the savages that they are. Why is it a terrible thing to be angry at people who didn’t think twice about the families, the sense of community that his village had? I agree that Jet was going too far when he was trying to take it out on innocent people, but can you really blame him? He didn’t have an adult to help him out on the importance of emotional maturity and how to be angry at the ones who actually harmed you like Zuko did, and even if he did, teenagers won’t be emotionally matured TRULY until they develop into adults. He had to be the mock adult for the kids younger than him, he didn’t have time to decode himself and better his actions because he was too focused on protecting the freedom fighters and himself against the FN’s abuses.

People don’t realize that this is not babying them, or being so called “apologists” this is called understanding why these two are the way that they are. Why are they like this? And it’s so much to take in and talk about at once that you’d need an entire college level essay to completely break down and comprehend how deep war can affect not just adults, but teenagers and children. Those two groups don’t have true moral compasses, so the environment and circumstances can really impact and easily mold their minds to fit the standards in said situation in order to survive it. This is called self-preservation. A more than common trauma response.

I mean seriously, I heard someone say they can understand Zuko hate but not Iroh hate, when he has in fact, done much worse than Zuko has ever done in those 3 years at sea. I love Iroh, but he’s an adult, why are we choosing adults over traumatized and war-fed teenagers who mainly comply in that shit to seek approval from their actually psychotic, genocidal, narcissistic, and abusive father that would dispose of them if they didn’t fit his standards? Why are we quicker to blame the teenagedvictim of the FN’s attacks and cruelty, than the actual people, adults, who conducted the attacks?

Are we truly regressing as a fandom? The show wouldn’t give them their traumatic experiences and talk about their abusers if they wanted the viewer to antagonize the victims. Goes to show that the loudest voices screaming “irredeemable monster” and “they want people to feel sorry for him” never truly know who these characters are and how they operate, they need everything spoon fed to them which is very unfortunate. The real irredeemable monsters are right there in their face and they choose to look somewhere else.

It’s so obvious how people in this fandom pick and choose who to feel sympathy for, when they all needed it.

#avatar the last airbender #atla fandom critical #atla fandom problems #atla meta #atla zuko #atla jet #zuko meta #jet meta #these kids need help and it kills me how Jet won’t ever get that #jet deserved better #zuko deserved better #they don’t deserve the treatment they get in this fandom i swear #Zuko literally redeemed himself in front of everyone’s eyes and yet they still treat him like he will always be what his past says he is

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francisinthehouse · 3 months ago

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hello tumblr i have just finished reading The Spirit Bares Its Teeth by Andrew Joseph White and i need to scream my thoughts about it into the void

spoiler warning for the entirety of this book, i want to tell you to read it blind but i should ALSO tell you to read the content warnings because yeah, this book is dark and it pulls no punches in depicting horrible shit (this is not a criticism. i love it, but not everyone will and i understand that)

OK RIGHT OFF THE BAT i love Silas as a character so much, as an autistic person i think this is the most seen/understood i have ever felt reading about another autistic person in fiction.

i love you Daphne I was so ready to hate her when she was introduced and then the second she came out to Silas she stole my heart, i'm not trans but that scene almost made me cry.

i would kill for the groundskeeper i hope he knows that, never said a word but he might be one of my favorite characters in the book. wherever he is i hope he's doing well.

i desperately want to know more about the Braxton's girls. what were their lives like before the book, did they have families, did they miss them, did they try to fight back against the horrors they faced there only to become numb to them. what about the girls who managed to leave, what happened to them, what is happening to them.

i love Mary and Frances, but i'm never going to recover from the emotional damage they did to me. i KNEW there was something between them when Mary was introduced but then the scene in the basement happened and i sobbed uncontrollably. i will NEVER get over Frances haunting Mary's ring and Mary calling Frances her wife in the epilogue.

what the HELL happened to Charlotte. we know she's in Braxton's for being a feminist, what kind of hell did they put her through for her to become the way she is in the book?

Harriet Johnston. holy fucking shit, Harriet Johnston. everything about her scene fucking broke me. i can't even ask what she did to deserve that because nothing she could have done would warrant that.

the bathroom scene. anyone who has read the book knows what i'm talking about. Isabella i am so sorry. the fact that Silas was able to save her, that she WOULD HAVE SURVIVED had Headmaster not caught her. the tragedy that she died so close to the climax, that she was so close to surviving and escaping but that the climax also would have never happened if she did survive. she was dead no matter what, and she deserved so much better.

Mrs Forrester is such an interesting character to me. she's just as much a victim of the system as she is a perpetrator of it, and in a weird way i love the fact that she isn't redeemed by the end. also how poetic and tragic is it that the first student of Braxton's dies with it?

George sucks, he can fuck off and die for all i care. over and over he was given the choice to do the right thing and every time decided not to because it would have made HIS life harder. Elsie deserves a better husband, Silas deserves a better brother. he's not even the worst character morally, but i can't even say that i hate his guts because he has no guts for me to hate at all.

i am fully prepared to ramble more about this book when i can form coherent thoughts, i am trying but my brain is still spinning at light speeds and the words are not coming out right. i am so normal about this book

#the spirit bares its teeth #the spirit bares its teeth spoilers

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notdiabolika · 2 months ago

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A Halloween Celebration?

The night an indo-caribbean got lost in a vampire’s ball.

Gift for @krispycremecake. Exchange planned by @diabolik-lovers-weekly.

| Featuring: Shu x Indo-caribbean fem reader x Subaru.

[ ! ] Contains: swearing, biting and blood.

The heavy wooden door, adorned with a strange symbol, had been carelessly left wide open that night, October 31st. Purposeful or not, the fragrant smell of the ball invades the street, attracting curious glances into the hall where the ominous figures circle. — What are those youngsters doing? Listening to classical music, above all… They are not young. — It must be a funeral for the living! Not alive either. — Halloween wannabes. However, it is, in fact, Halloween. But for anyone young and alive, looking for a Halloween party, this seemed like the place to go. It was only strange when the door closed behind them…

My time in Japan, up until that point, had been splendid. The streets ranged from the most colorful and illuminated by technological standards — like the nostalgic Tokyo — to more isolated, although equally special, places, like Kanashimashi.

Japanese customs and streets are different from those in the Caribbean, in some places they are equally crowded, although oriental architecture has a more minimalist style of housing outside of large metropolises. At least, that's what I thought, until I found this little city treasure and a loose invitation to a gala ball with Halloween props. I didn't even know it was celebrated here, much less planned my visit with this in mind. But I, as a curious person, am more than prepared for a night of mischief that will sweeten my taste buds.

— Excuse me — I barely enter the party before the doors abruptly close behind me, giving me a scare that almost makes me lose my balance.

The eyes that fell on my figure were… intoxicating. I have to confess: my outfits are a bit simple compared to others. I just wear a black floral dress, exaggerated stitching details on the sides and hem, as well as heavier makeup, drawn to blue — a hurried parody of Corpse Bride, which in the middle of production turned into something. It happens to all of us who work under tight deadlines.

Seconds pass, but the vast majority of guests look at me as if I was a seven-headed animal, walking towards the red table, full of sweets filled with scarlet dye. I've never seen any of these before. Maybe it's something from Japanese culture.

I extend my hand to eat some sort of crooked cupcake, which I imagine is on purpose, ignoring those who stare at me and whisper with pure stubbornness.

— What are you doing?! — the poor cupcake goes flying, scattering on the polished floor. The perpetrator of the attack is a tall man, almost six feet tall, albino, frowning, with his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. — Do you have issues?

The words catch in my throat, a mixture of surprise and hatred forming. But I choke on them, his hand tugging at my wrist and making me stumble across the room to try to keep up with his quick steps.

— What the hell… — he even has the audacity to hold me by the waist. — This is the worst thing that could happen today!

That "little" dude, who doesn't look more than eighteen years old at most, is not only rude but also shouts. So I shout back.

— Stop dragging me, mate!

The only response I get is a snort. We crossed a large corridor until we reached the door at the end, with a small window giving a view of the garden outside.

— Shit, locked—

— Hello?! I'm talking to you. — I pull his arm as he tries to move my hand away. Our bodies are almost pressed together as I look him straight in the eyes. — Do I look like a dog to be taken wherever you want me to go?

Those crimson eyes, filled with stormy emotion, turned to me. A flash of guilt. His tense posture gives the impression that the boy is about to jump on something (or someone) without thinking twice. However, that hustle gets a brief glimpse of respite when he stops and looks at me.

Even the rudest of boys could make my face burn with embarrassment by staring at me as intensely as this albino is staring at me. And he's not kind at all.

— Tch, it doesn't matter what you look like. — He turns his pale face away. For someone who has such bold talk, his skin and face have some very delicate features. — And if you want to know, it looks like someone is choking you.

— That was the concept! — more or less.

With one last breath, he opens a random room and barks his orders.

— Come in here, and stay until I find the key to the back door. — He sounds like he's punishing a disobedient child, although I'm sure I'm too old for that. I frown, crossing my arms — Don't make noise, and don't attract attention. And get on with it! Or you die.

The words hit me like a punch in the stomach, a human weakness that runs up my legs and makes me turn to that abnormal figure with a mix of confusion and genuine fear.

Is this a ball… a meeting of criminals?

— Why would I even trust you? — I take a step back, his expression changing to pure frustration with the slightest movement of mine that opposes him. — As far as I know, this is a Halloween ball.

A loud, amused laugh erupts from his thin lips, although his voice is thick and full of irritation.

—Halloween?! Look, I'm trying to help you here. — Suddenly, he turns his back. — But if you don't want to, that's fine! See what happens and how it ends. When I find a way to get you out of this place, I'll be waiting, right here.

In a flash, I realize: that boy has just disappeared, right under my nose. I feel around the walls looking for some kind of clue, magic trick, or smoke signal. This has to be some kind of prank, right?

Maybe I'm just in a weird roleplay group…

I laugh but then cover my mouth. No, that's not what I believe. But I would love it if it were true.

I decided that instead of trying to get back to that ballroom, maybe one of these rooms around me could help me. It's not possible that there isn't ONE single window to jump out of in such a big place, because the one the stranger wanted me to enter didn't have one.

The first doorknob is locked. The second is stuck. An event house completely locked to the public, perhaps? Or a simple inconvenience that disrupts my life. The third doesn't even move. I was hoping that the fourth attempt wouldn't decide to give in, because of the popular Japanese superstition that the number four had a direct connection with death. Well…

Guess which of the doors opened.

The dark and cold room really surprises me. None of the furniture is particularly interesting, all covered in a thin layer of dust, similar to what a storage room would be like. The view, however, is soft and bluish — the result of the full moon night outside, mountains in the background framed by the rounded window.

I walk towards it like a dragonfly floating towards the nearest light source. And in this thousandth of imprecision…

… I stumble.

My eyes close reflexively, hands reaching forward and collapsing against the floor. The rest of the fall is cushioned by flesh, a soft grunt below reassuring me that, whatever this is, it's alive. Although strangely cold.

—Haa… why does this always happen to me…

The deep voice resounds in the air, slurred and lazy words from someone who has just woken up and doesn't even think about getting up. The man below me seems to have stepped out of the most distant fairy tales. Blonde, blue eyes that shine so softly that it's as if a firefly had landed between his eyelids and decided to live there. His entire face has a sleepy, dreamlike air that is difficult not to look at.

But of course, he's still a stranger sleeping in an empty room — and his clothes aren't too shabby for him to be in this situation out of necessity.

— You smell like Subaru. And you're a human being… what a peculiar combination for a closed ball like this. —Yet here he is, babbling things I don't entirely understand. When I try to stand up, his hand gently pulls me back. — No. Since you decided to fall on me, now you're not leaving anytime soon…

I don't particularly mind this turn of events.

—What is going on? I just came to take a look, and suddenly this guy… Subaru started pulling me.

At this point, I've convinced myself that the Halloween fun party I saw in the pamphlet is not the same as this one and that, apparently, I need to get out of there as quickly as possible. But I have a very strong curse called curiosity. Also, if it's something illegal, maybe I should run away and tell the police.

— Heh, you don't know much, do you? — the tone is mocking at first, but the soft and carefree expression begins to wrinkle over time, seriousness enveloping his bright irises. — This is a celebration between beings of the night, to congratulate the birthday of our demon king.

Oh, right. It's a sect thing.

Some pretty disturbing thoughts start to flood my mind as I think about what kind of atrocities happen at parties like this. An unpleasant shiver runs down my spine.

— I know… — nothing. — And why don't let me go out the front door instead of the back door, if that Subaru really wants to get me out of here? It doesn't make any difference.

I think I'm having my worries and anxieties ignored when those long lashes cover his eyes, but the low murmur comes quickly:

— Magic. You must have walked into the place of the human we were waiting for and the door closed by itself. It's definitely the last scenario that would cross my mind in a situation like this. Skepticism would never allow it, and it was about to double: — A shame that the only one who has the keys left, looking for Yui. The other vampires will show no mercy if they catch you here.

And with this speech, finally, everything makes sense again.

— Vampires? — assuming it’s not a codename for crazy cultists… — The mythological creature?

His brow furrows again.

— What else would we be talking about?

I fall beside him, laughing like a child on the night of mischief;

— Oh, stop! Mythical creatures roam a ball conveniently open to everyone, even if you say it was an accident, and a handsome young man — the compliment was completely acidental, too — is the one who appears to save the night and remove the person who accidentally ended up here. What chapter of the RPG campaign are we in?

His laugh follows mine, though it's nasal, pure entertainment at my expense.

— You don't believe vampires exist?

— Imagine if there were creatures as fast and fleeting as vampires. One would notice the same faces walking around a small town like this. — A pretty useless argument to have out of nowhere, but what else could I do if I had to wait until the door was opened? — How boring. Everything about this party is just a big prank. It would be cool if they had actual real vampires.

Sure, lip service, but who cares! They are not real.

— And if there were, would you let them bite you?

Still, that story that if I stepped outside, I would have my neck chased by vampires. How cliché.

— Oh, sure. — Irony dances across my lips. I lift the hem of the dress with my hands as I rise from the floor, straightening the wrinkled fabric and making it smooth again. — Now excuse me, I have better places to be.

Praying that the white ghost with red eyes wouldn't appear, I walk around the strange lying man in order to reach the door — until I realize that he's no longer there.

— … Well, you said it. — He pulls me back into a hug. — Don't blame me for listening to your own words before you leave.

The voice behind me surprises me a lot, but no more than the lazy canines that prowl in the space between my shoulder and my neck. The fright makes me shiver due to the sudden cold contact. He's so sharp… Much more than I would be comfortable with imagining that supernatural beings are nothing more than literary tales and stories to scare spoiled little children.

— W-wait a second—

I can almost imagine him smiling as he brushes a strand of my hair away, his princely lips resembling the curve of a demon pressing a kiss to my shoulder.

— You know, it's a really bad night for something like this to happen… the full moon makes us all a little dizzy. But don't worry. I won't let anyone take you from here.

The explosive presence appears accompanied by an equally unexpected slam of the doorknob against the wall — which even has a hole in that exact same place —, nothing in the hands. No set of keys, absolutely no way out of this hell.

— Agh… Shu! What are you doing?! If it wasn't enough that idiot Reiji disappeared with those keys…

Shu. That being moves its teeth away from my skin with some reluctance when it sees the new apparition in the room, staring at the albino over my bare shoulder, due to the model of the dress. His chin slides down, resting against my arm as if he were an innocent, sleepy human. However, I don't think I will find anything like that today.

— It's useless. Unless you want to break the fixed windows and deal with the costs dictated by our father, nothing here opens. — Subaru opens his mouth to argue, but his shoulders slump, as if in the end he finds that his (apparent) sibling is right. —Which means that if we want to protect such a mortal, we will have to stay inside.

My heart feels like it's going to jump out of my mouth at any moment. Maybe I'm having some kind of psychosis, but I swear that before I look, fangs are sprouting from those same rough pouty lips. He looks like an even younger boy as he grimaces and closes the room's door.

— It that serious? I didn't want that. — With a conflicted expression, he covers his face with his hand, walking towards the window to look outside. — It seems like this never ends… it was a bad idea from the beginning, with the shitty weather outside.

I don't think I've ever seen a moon as full and perfectly round as that one. It makes me more aware of my surroundings, beyond the cold air, the small warmth I transmit to the man hugging me, my rapid breathing having to find a spot to calm down.

— I think it's a better alternative than letting vampires walk the streets on a night like this and take anyone as prey… at least, I think that's what that guy wanted to prevent tonight, as the king. — Shu mutters. — And as for the moon… Well, I guess we can't be expected to be able to hold ourselves back in such a situation.

Subaru turns his head immediately, eyes wide as he grabs my arm in an anxious instance.

— Tch, what are you, a forest beast? — suddenly, that guy doesn't seem so angry anymore. The tone is low as if generated from genuine… concern? — What if this attracts more attention and they want to hurt her?

Everything around me is so clear, too nitid to not be real. At that moment I realize, despite the exasperation and his breathless tone, that Subaru really doesn't seem to wish me any harm. He's just irritated and wants to help.

— I didn't want to say it like that in front of a stranger, but… I think just by the way you look at her, I can tell that you haven't had anything to drink in a while.

Shu manages to make the man even paler than he already is, and afterward, a persistent blush covers his cheeks.

— So what?! I can hold on a little longer…

I stay quiet, just wanting to see where this goes.

— You were always very stubborn. — The blonde shakes his head again. — Come on, she said she doesn't mind.

— She did?! — the flustered one sounds almost jealous.

— Just accept the proposal…

One hesitant and the other insistent, their shoes meet the toes of my flats, both looking at me with an untainted yet restrained thirst. My breath seems to catch in my throat after being looked at so intensely. I know I should be scared, still thinking it's all part of some cruel joke…

But if vampires exist, I will never find any where I live— not in a place with an average of thirty degrees during the summer, anyway — and I would never have an opportunity as curiously peculiar as this.

— I'll let you both... try that, I suppose.

When both lips rest above my collarbones, I just close my eyes. I want to feel what it's like without seeing it.

The piercing pain comes quickly, makes you grunt, but soon emerges into anesthetizing relief. Impossible to explain, but it's as if butterflies lodged in your stomach and made you believe that the pain never existed. As if you were floating, with two men supporting your weight as gently as the faint bite of their fangs.

I lose track of time briefly. I just know it's over when I see Shu walking away from me, satisfied with the small feast. A pleasant silence ensues.

— Better? — the blue eyes turn to the red ones, which quickly avoid his.

— Tch. I don't know, whatever…

I end up laughing a little against the worn fabric, leaning against the hothead's chest who still holds me for a few seconds before letting me go. Touching the walls, I sit on a chair to the side.

— I think I need to eat something salty.

And all I saw in that room were sweets…

— It's ideal… — the sleepy man soon leans towards a chair on the other side of the table, sliding down until he appears to be almost lying down. — I think you should go get some sweets, Subaru.

— Hah?! Why me?

It turns out that that strange situation I found myself in soon turned into almost… a date. Subaru, very upset, went out to get a tray of snacks in worrying shades of red.

—Is this… blood? — I ask warily, moving away from the table at the thought.

— Hmph… no, just snacks from the demon world and an excessive amount of ketchup. — Shu whispers with notable disinterest. — The appetite of some vampires is stimulated by the color red.

Curious, I pick up some peculiarly shaped fries and dip them in ketchup. It crackles in my mouth with its crunch, but it's neither greasy nor too salty.

— I think it's ridiculous… it just makes you hungrier.

Subaru's blunt comment makes my chest tighten a little.

— Eat with me, I'll feel bad eating alone.

Another typical nasal laugh comes from the blonde, probably noticing the irony in my concern after being bitten by two vampires at the same time.

— If you feed me, maybe so.

— Hey! That's not fair- I want some too.

I have been trying to find the username of this person [@krispycremecake], but haven't found it on Tumblr! If someone could help me I would be very greatful.

Wish everybody a good night 🖤

#diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers fandom #diaboliklovers #subaru sakamaki #subarusakamaki #shu sakamaki #shusakamaki #diabolik lovers x reader

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vashtijoy · 2 years ago

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thank you for such a comprehensive answer! does make me wonder though — the game clearly has no qualms with saying that akechi did kill people directly and did cause deaths indirectly (e.g. the bus incident explicitly stated to have caused fatalities). so why on earth does p5 say the subway train derailment caused no deaths?? this is probably a very weird detail to zero in, but i feel like a heavier train in an enclosed space carrying more people than a bus is much more dangerous. ngl it broke my immersion on my first playthrough a little lol

I know what you mean, lol. Tbh, Akechi is obviously intended to be sympathetic—to be the worst case example of what happens when a kid is exploited by rotten adults and has nobody to help them.

This is why there are so many parallels between his tragic backstory and the stories of a lot of the PTs—he has Futaba's abusive family background, Ryuji's single mom, Yusuke's orphanhood and exploitative father figure, Haru's terrible father, and I'm sure there's something there for Makoto as well.

This is why, at the end of the engine room, he's met not with condemnation but with grace and understanding. This is why, though he does feel sorry for himself at the end and mourn what he's lost, he doesn't squirm and beg and justify himself like the earlier palace bosses—with the exception of Sae. This is why he gets a dramatic self-sacrifice and gets to come back as an antihero, who goes all-out to save the world at the cost of his life in passing, because it's in his personal interests to do so. Akechi is intended to have been sinned against as much, or more, than he has sinned.

At the end of the day, Akechi is a Phantom Thief, even though he's not really on the team, doesn't align with their motives, and almost nobody really likes him—just like them, he's a kid who was placed in an impossible situation, and they all get that. Even while they understand the reality of who he is and what he's done.

This raises the complicated "is he a victim" question again, of course, and the reality is that he's both a victim and perpetrator—like, of course, most criminals. Akechi isn't special. His backstory lets us understand what he's done; it doesn't undo it—and he knows that.

So what's going on, if I can go all Doylian for a second, is that there's an attempt to soft-soap the reality of what Akechi does—to keep him sympathetic. He doesn't shoot people in real life, for instance (with two notable attempted exceptions)—he gives them "mental shutdowns", giving him a layer of insulation from not only the physical reality of murder, but the moral reality of it.

Like the moment he sees Futaba unexpectedly in Leblanc, and ends up chattering oh shit, you're Wakaba Isshiki's— Like the moment on 10/11 that he walks up to Sae to see what she has on her laptop, and it's the Okumura death video, and he nearly vomits; he claps a hand over his eyes, and only then moves it to cover his mouth.

This is the reason he's so visibly unsettled a lot of the time in the interrogation room, why he stares at that dead guard wide-eyed for so long, and stares at dead "Joker" for so long during that cutaway to Sojiro that the gun stops smoking. He is—and we are—almost always insulated from the reality of his acts. tl;dr: you aren't meant to have to think too much about what it means that the pretty boy is a murderer and terrorist, if you don't want to. And that's fine! There is no wrong way to understand the game, no wrong way to play. A huge part of interpreting a work of fiction is what we bring to it ourselves.

But if you want to dig into that reality, it is there to be found. The fact that psychotic breakdowns obviously can be fatal, that Akechi performs them for Shido from the start, from two years before canon. That he performs so many of them that he becomes a detective, to make sure they're properly "cleaned up" himself. The fact that he makes two of the Phantom Thieves orphans. That Shido considers "proper use of the Metaverse" to be eliminating those in his way. That he sells Akechi's services to anyone suitably wealthy and controllable he can find. That, at the start of the game, all of Tokyo is terrified of this plague of accidents, of psychotic breakdowns, and that, per Sae, the incidents have been going on at least since Wakaba Isshiki died—two years before canon.

You also have things like the fact that he clearly negotiates what he does, as you can see in the post-interrogation room conversations with Shido—he can talk his way out of kill orders, or postpone them, as long as he doesn't push it, and he does this. There's no reason to think this isn't part of their dynamic all along. Shido manipulates Akechi with praise, sure, but Akechi also manipulates Shido as much as he can get away with.

There's also the SIU Director, on 7/10, complaining about how "he" (Akechi) is insufficiently brutal and doesn't come up with usably brutal plans. On the other hand, Akechi will, later, come up with the vicious detail of the plan to murder Joker in the interrogation room; that's his plan. He's told what to do (we join that incriminating phone call conveniently halfway), but he comes up with the details himself. He's on an arc, albeit one that isn't always obvious, and a large part of it is that Joker is slowly driving him out of his mind.

I just think Akechi is way more interesting, and that his manner and behaviour make far more sense, if he has done a lot of these things. The main thing that draws my eye is the visible lack of response he has to the atrocities he causes. Going back to that nice conversation you both have on 7/11, you know what he's almost certainly just done there? He's triggered the Goodness Foods car crash, which the evening news will report takes place at 8am on 7/11.

(and writing about this clarified so many things that it, again, became its own post oops.)

The crash kills four people. By the time you're on the train to school, the news is reporting this. Akechi seems completely fine with it all, better than fine—except there are tiny suggestions of something else, if you squint, something far below the numbness to what he does and what he's become; far below the bright surface. Something that will later be riveted in disbelief to the dead guard on the floor of the interrogation room.

That's interesting.

#asks #persona 5 #p5 meta #goro akechi #interrogation room

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marshmallowprotection · 10 months ago

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here's one thing I could never understand about GE-Saeran...

why does he feel such a strong need to repent for what Ray but more so, what (Suit) Saeran did? I understand the guilt and shame he carries...but I feel like he's misplacing a LOT of responsibility onto himself, blaming himself for acting out in the ways he was made to

Saeran never had any interactions with normal people, outside of the church and the cult...he never knew what was normal- what was okay. He had no means to understand what was healthy! He was held under the threat of physical (elixir, cleansings) and emotional (gaslighting, manipulation) violence to act a certain way.

I guess what I'm saying is...how is that his fault? To act in the way you're being forced to, under the threat of such extremes? His capacity to be responsible for his actions is incredibly different to someone like V or Rika, as examples! It hurts so much to see him carry so much agony over what happened...when he, quite literally, had no other choice.

I absolutely believe both Ray and Saeran understood that they've done wrong! But how much accountability should we really put on them and not those who threatened them into being that way?

Okay, so, in particular, when it comes to this situation, I think it's so important to say that he's holding on to what he did to the player.

There are definitely things that he can't be faulted for, but there are also things that he can be faulted for. You can be a victim of violence and also a perpetrator of violence.

What both Ray and Suit Saeran did to the player wasn’t okay.

There is no excuse for those actions and GE Saeran would never want you to excuse either one of them for what they did to you.

Trying to erase what they did would upset him because you shouldn't gloss over anything that happened. Yes, neither of them was in their right mind, but that doesn't mean it should excuse the horrible things they did. There's nothing wrong with forgiving him because people do forgive Saeran, and understand that the situation was complex, but don't let yourself believe they weren't complicit in some of that violence.

That's a huge core of what happens in the after ending. You bring up conversations about what happened in Mint Eye and so does he. Anytime you bring up something that either one of them did that wasn't okay, he owns it, and he doesn't beat around the bush.

He promises he will continue to be a better man as long as you want him around, and as long as you want to give him a second chance to do so. You're not obligated to forgive him. You don't have to forget the things he did.

I can point out numerous examples.

You're right in saying that he was under a lot of pressure to do things against his will, but as you can see in these images above, you can see him on the fact that he did those things and he will never excuse his actions by saying he was under the threat of Elixir or Rika.

He does not want to say anything that tries to make light of what happened because there is no way to make light of those things. You can understand why he did what he did but it'll never change the fact that he did it and it hurt you.

You can accept his apology, you can welcome him with open arms, and you can tell him that you understand why he did what he did. He will appreciate that but he needs to learn how to forgive himself for what he did even if you forgive him.

Part of the reason why he goes on a journey to forgive the people who hurt him is so that he can learn how to forgive himself.

Because, at his worst, at the lowest Suit Saeran and Ray fell, they became an amalgamation of all of the monsters they could imagine. To be cruel and survive in Mint Eye was to become the devil, and the only devil they knew were the people who hurt them. Suit Saeran, in particular, wore a suit because that's what Saejoong wears, and his words became a mixture of both Rika and his mother's torture as he tried to become "the strongest in Paradise."

He took bits and pieces from all of the people who hurt him to make him somebody who could be the worst monster of them all to never be heard ever again. It wasn't healthy and it wasn't the way to protect himself. But, he didn't have a choice, and he had to do something to survive and protect you and Ray.

He decided that if he could forgive the people who hurt him, he could forgive himself for repeating those angry words to somebody who never deserved to hear them. Nobody deserves to hear those words that were slung at him and he shouldn't have repeated them at you. He even acknowledges that the words may not have been intended for you but they hit you all the same.

We can understand from the fourth wall that these characters are victims and that they don't deserve to blame themselves for the things that they have suffered. However, it's important to not act like neither of them wasn't guilty of doing something wrong. You can be somebody who's done both good and bad.

Nobody is totally perfect, and nobody is completely evil, the world is just shades of gray, as opposed to black and white. GE Saeran wants to be held accountable for what he did wrong.

When he says that he wants to take ownership of his actions and hold himself accountable, he means for the things that he actually did wrong, not for the things that were done to him. He's not beating himself up and saying he is to blame for everything that happened to him, but he is owning the fact that he did things that aren't okay.

In part, I also think he wants to hold himself accountable for any of the cleanings he might've been put in charge of, too.

Ray manipulated you to bring you to Mint Eye, lied, and pressured you to stay with him. Even if you understand that he is a victim, it doesn't change the fact that he did those things and they weren't right. People tend to gloss over what Ray did in comparison to what happened later with Suit Saeran, but Ray is complicit in wrongdoing, too.

If you learn more about Ray, you understand very quickly that he had an idealized version of you in his head. He became infatuated with the idea of you. Rika told him that he could take anybody for the job, and he began to fantasize about a future with you as soon as he discovered you, and that wasn't healthy.

From an outside perspective, we can understand that for a long time, you were the one good thing in his world, even if it was just an idea of you, but it doesn't excuse the stalking.

If you love him and give him a chance, you show him that real life is better than any fantasy. He starts to turn against everything that was pushed on to him, and he damn near comes close to undoing the cult manipulation until he's thrown into the basement after you kiss him. He began to fight as soon as he realized that the outside world could be worth fighting for as long as he believed in those kind words you said to him after you gave him a chance.

God knows you didn't have to give him a chance. But, you did, and he doesn't want to ruin that. You can love him and forgive him for what he did, but if you truly love him, you should own the fact that he was not wholly innocent.

For most people, it's easy to understand what Suit Saeran did that was wrong. Screaming at the player, withholding food from them for nearly a day, locking them in a room with nobody to talk to, taking away access from the messenger, and leaving you in a perpetual state of fear for two days and some change.

He did a lot of awful things and even if you understand why he was doing those things, I.E the fact that he was tortured to believe that the only way to survive was to be the strongest monster in the room, and as long as he is worse than every monster he's ever met, then nobody will ever be able to hurt him.

Even if you were to say that he told them not to bring you food because he was paranoid about them drugging it, it doesn't change the fact that you had no way of knowing that was his intent, and neither did he until much later. That hurt you. Even if you understand why he lashed out the way he did, it doesn't change the fact that he hurt you.

Intent doesn't matter. If you hurt somebody, regardless of what your intention was, you need to do something to make that right and you need to hold yourself accountable. At the end of the day, if you do something bad to other people regardless of your intent, you need to own that mistake and work to do the right thing.

The path to hell is made with good intentions, after all.

We shouldn't excuse wrongdoing because they've gone through agony. GE Saeran would never want us to excuse anything Ray or Suit Saeran did. Don't gloss over it or try to make it sound better than what it was. Don't try to excuse what he did because he will never excuse his actions.

He wants to face the consequences of those actions and if he has to face judgment for those actions, he'll take it every time because it's the right thing to do.

He wouldn't want anybody to say that he didn't do wrong because God knows he did wrong and to say he didn't would be a slap in the face to how much work he's done so far to do the right thing and hold himself accountable. Do I think he kicks himself a little bit more than he needs to sometimes?

Yeah, I think he does, but I am proud of him for being willing to talk about what happened and own his actions.

But, hey, while I'm at it, if you want to hear AriahTea's original lyrics for Endless Struggle and I Am The Strongest, that might make what I'm saying even more clear here!

GE Saeran wants to hold himself accountable and we should respect that. Even if you understand the situation with all of the nuance involved, and respect the fact that the world is painted in shades of gray instead of being just black and white, it's okay to admit that those two did things that weren't okay but you forgive them all the same. These characters are not inherently good or evil, they're filled with major complexities, and the more we can do to learn about this fact, the better our perception of media analysis can be.

Part of the reason why this character means so much to me is the fact that he is willing to own up to the fact that he's made mistakes and that he wants to be better.

He's able to end a toxic cycle by acknowledging that he no longer wants to be a part of it and will choose kindness to the bitter end. We can acknowledge that he was pushed into a corner like a wild animal and some of the things he did were a necessity to survive, but we can also acknowledge that it hurt him and the people around him as well.

That doesn't mean he doesn't experience anger and hatred in other emotions that may not always be pretty. But, it means that no matter how bad he feels, he would rather choose to be a better person than stoop to the level he did before.

Saeran would rather die choosing to love and forgive than to hate and scorn.

#mod kait #mystic messenger #mysme #saeran choi #character analysis #mysticmessenger #mm #choi saeran #ge saeran #saeray #saeran mystic messenger #saeran mysme #saeran mm #mysme saeran #mystic messenger saeran

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vetrenar · 2 years ago

Text

Ok, the second part of my rambles or why hugging Knives should be considered a form of convention weapon and must be used as often as possible.

A little disclaimer: what I'm gonna to talk about is applied mostly to Stampede and manga Knives. Not so much to 98, because while, objectively speaking, there is no reason for it, I kind of have a feeling that other two would very like to punch him to a pulp. The guy has an incredibly punchable face.

...Sorry, wrong picture.

Now, a question. Does Vash love Knives?

Yes, of course. Despite everything Knives did, Vash still consider him his brother and wants them to put away their difference.

Next question: Does Knives feel this love? Or, maybe, I'll paraphrase a bit: does he believe in it?

And here things become tricky. Because yeah, at some level Knives knows that Vash loves him. His little brother is a kind creature, after all, that's ready to share his heart with the whole world. He wants to save humans, wants to save Plants, why not to want to save Knives too, in this mix?

The problem is, Vash, bless his heart and everything, is a damn hypocrite. He gives promises that he isn't able to keep, runs from places to places doing essentially nothing and always, always, always, puts humans first.

So yeah, he loves Knives. Just as he loves his sisters, or maybe worms on this planet. As long as humans are safe, Vash is ready to feel sorry for them, or maybe even ask for forgiveness for everything humans put them through. They'll become better, one day.

And the worst part? Knives isn't exactly wrong in his assessment. Because Vash does put humans first, Stampede especially. And although a big part of the reason for that comes from his guilt complex and well, Knives, maybe you should have thought it a little better before putting it on your brother, but the fact stays: between a Plant and a human, Vash will instinctively choose a human.

Now, let's talk about the aftermath of Tessla's case. Stampede very suspiciously omitted most part of it, showing only Knives' choice of Vash's memories (and keep in mind that the whole point of that showcase was to break Vash, so Knives' "confession" of his motivations can't be taken at face value) and I will die on the hill that in the second season we're going to get Knives' round of it, but for now, let's go with the manga.

We know how it did go: while Vash had his emotional breakdown, Knives fell into coma. It isn't clear, did he faked his amnesia or not but even he didn't, the subconscious trauma still stayed.

And the first thing he saw after waking up? Vash and Rem, laughing together.

Think about this. Vash saw the extent of Knives shock, watching his brother being comatose for days. Even though he wasn't conscious, Vash had an affirmation that his twin shares his grief. Knives, though? He didn't have a chance to see Vash's resentment, desperation and anger. For him, his brother just... Brushed it off. Made a peace with it. And even if the wording was different, even if he was told something like "I understand if you're angry" - Knives already lost his affirmation. He had no chance of showing his anger, not when his twin was so calm about the matter and obviously decided to stay at humans side.

For Knives, Vash has already abandoned him for humans. Forgiveness is a thing that exist for sake of a victim, not a perpetrator, but Vash has already forgave theirs, therefore forcibly dragging Knives along before he even really started to proceed everything.

And so, Knives acted as he, with this mental block, was allowed to:

... And you know the reason of the story.

And after that? Constant arguing about how they should forgive and accept humans. (For manga, it's after the Fall, but in Stampede it started already on the ship. I'm sure that Knives read Bible before, just like he watched war movies before in manga. But after Tessla, he started to see evil there). Open expressions of fury, fear and hate from somebody who is never bothered to even become a bit angry on their sisters' behalf. A gun in your face after you saved his life.

Yeah, Vash's feeling are much more complicated than that. Alas, Knives doesn't have much chance to see that. From his point of view, Vash is ready to forgive humans everything, but Knives? He gets a gun and speeches how they all should live in peace. With a great plan mostly consisting of Plants forgivinig humans until they become better.

So, at some point Knives just... stops listening. He already knows what his brother thinks about him. It doesn't matter. Knives won't let Vash's hate stop his love for him. Gunshots, Vash's cries of anger, pain, fear - it all become a white noise that should be ignored.

Ignore when they hurt you, just do your thing and come to them again and again, and one day they will listen to you? Ironically, but for most part, it's exactly how Knives tries to act with Vash. Well, in his own, a bit psychotic, version of things, with him not only waiting but also taking some actions. (Ok, a lot of actions.)

And it's incredible how all that cold and collected persona dissipates on 12 ep of Stampede, where Knives is left with nothing but a desperation to make his brother understand. Only for Vash, when Knives lays his heart bare, to reject him. Again.

And Vash has his own reasons. Completely understandable reasons, I would say, because while he is a superhuman only in physical sense on things. He had his own anger, and pain, and fear, and inner struggle. Knives hurt him enormously and there is no wonder that Vash doesn't want to give up his stance. And he shouldn't, really. But...

Knives isn't strong, at least, mentally. He created this illusion of being the older, the one in charge, to protect himself (in Stampede, this illusion starts a bit earlier, with him being the "perfect Independent" who for some reason should hide his powers and "weak" Vash, who is, by Rem's words, "perfect as he is") but in the end this made-up hierarchy harmed both him and Vash, locking them in their respective positions. And Knives was motivated by fear, he wanted protection, wanted Vash to stand up for him - something what Vash, who for so many years saw Knives as the strongest one, the one who decides, the one who must be defeated, wasn't capable to do and had no idea about. He had his own personal growth to do, and couldn't be the mentally senior figure Knives needed.

And that's why one day I going to write this fic about TriMax Vash finding himself in Stampede world. These idiots clearly need an older brother.

For Knives, Vash was the one who abandoned him, again, again and again. The one who blabbed about love and peace while aiming a gun at him. For over hundred years, there was only one case when Vash prioritized Knives over everything else, took his side clearly enough that there were no ways left for Knives to doubt it.

And guess what? This single act snapped Knives out his frenzy better that all these bullets before that.

And I'm quite sure that Stampede plot could be quite shorter if upon that meeting five years after the Fall, Vash would confirmed that yes, he understood Knives' ire before confronting him over humans death. Like, the kid was one hug away from breaking down. Too bad that he never allowed himself acknowledge it.

So, the moral of the story: hug your Kniveses. Be cautious, though, because while Vashes bite, Kniveses... Let's say that they aren't very good for your extremities. Assert your dominance with care and don't force them to bottle up their anger, even unintentionally. If you do it right, everything will be fine.

... Well, maybe. Hope for the best, one day it surely will be alright.

#trigun #trigun stampede #million knives #vash the stampede #trigun manga #trigun knives #vash trigun #trigun anime #trigun spoilers #trigun maximum #millions knives #trimax

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