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revelboo · 4 days ago

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More Transformers x Reader Headcanons

Various Transformers thoughts and nonsense

Soundwave/Blaster

• Cassette carriers can make a very specific crooning sort of purr that’s meant to soothe or coax unruly cassettes. Most of the time it’s not even a conscious thing. Which isn’t a problem except around humans. Because of our size, we can trigger that instinctive sound by accident if we’re upset. Even if the Cybertronian doesn’t even particularly like us or care for us at the time, leading to some… awkwardness.

Earthspark Soundwave

• “Silence,” he snarls, looming over you, big servos flexing in what you’d already figured out was an empty threat. Big and scary won’t actually hurt you, just threatening when you’re getting on his nerves. Aware of the cassettes watching the exchange, of Lazerbeak glaring at you in an attempt to telegraph how bad an idea it is, you know he’s right. But pushing Soundwave’s buttons is just too fun.

• “Or what? You can’t actually make me do anything, can you?” You just grin up at him. Insolent, little brat. Striding after you, he sees you glance back at him and the exact moment your attitude falters. Lunging for you as you scream and run. Aware of how undignified this is as his cassettes watch the drama. Seizing you as you kick and fight against him, he’s not sure what to do know. Just wants you to shut up. Not try to pick fights at every turn. “What are you doing? Are you purring?” The shaky question makes him freeze in horror. Realizing he is crooning at you like he would a cassette. Snarling, he releases you and you stumble away, staring up at him as Frenzy makes a strangled noise trying not to laugh. Because he didn’t just do that for a human. For you especially.

• They’re also very likely to try to carry a human around in their cassette compartment for safety, but also because they like having your warmth there. It can also be a way of ending an argument, picking you up and placing you inside like an errant cassette until you cool down, while crooning at you.

Body Language

• Cybertronians with wings/ door wings do unconsciously telegraph their emotions with them, but while wings lifted up is a sign of aggression in a Seeker, it’s a friendly or alert gesture in nonflyers. And can cause misunderstandings.

• Antenna can function much the same way and tend to be sensory appendages and, as such, very sensitive. The way they flick or move making them targets for curious humans. Touching a Cybertronian’s antenna because they’re cute comes across as an invitation to interface or can cause aggression. Or both.

TFP Shockwave

• Feet silent as you move closer to where his head is resting on his outstretched arm, you bend to check that his single optic is dim. Falling asleep at his desk while working isn’t exactly anything new, but staring up at the screen of alien gibberish, the graphs, and diagrams, you really wish you could make sense of it as you wrap your arms around yourself. Movement draws your attention back to him as his antenna flick in his recharge. You’d decided they look like bunny ears at some point, but haven’t dared to point that out to him. Doubt he’d be pleased to hear you call him cute.

• Shuddering as he comes awake to the feel of soft little hands playing with his antenna, his optic flares, arm shifting to flatten you against his head with a warning growl. Hears your little squeak of surprise as you grab onto his antenna for balance and his whole frame shivers. Can’t move, his cannon pressing against your back to pin you against him. Torn between the desire to encourage that touch and the urge to drop you and back away, because it feels too good.

Seekers

• When under extreme duress, Seekers will hiss, the noise typically accompanied by a whistling from their turbines that’s meant to call their trine for help.

• Seekers naturally gravitate toward forming trines and can be aggressive to outside trines, but several trines will band together against a common threat. In Everything is Alright, the elite trine is broken. True Romance is a better example of a healthy trine dynamic. In Everything is Alright’s universe, I’d intended to use the Rainmakers as an example of the normal dynamic, but made the True Romance alternate take instead. The drive to form trines in Seekers is so strong, they can also unconsciously form trines with non-Seekers if they’re around the other Cybertronians constantly, though they’re unlikely to admit to the mental association, finding it embarrassing.

Rainmakers

• There’s no such thing as alone time, not even resisting when an arm curls around you and drags you back into a warm frame. Shivering when your hair begins to float, and a mouth finds your throat. “Missed you,” Ion Storm murmurs, your skin prickling wherever he touches you. Even though it’s only been hours by your estimate since you last saw him. Hear Acid Storm make a low, rumbling noise of amusement from where he’s setting out energon cubes for them and food for you.

• About to walk by, Nova Storm reaches out to touch a stray strand of your staticky hair. Giving in to impulse and moving to pin you between him and Ion Storm, relaxing at the feel of your much cooler body against his own. “Fuel first,” Acid Storm growls without any real heat. Making a sound of acknowledgment, he cups your throat and tips your face up toward his, mouth brushing yours as you soften against him, relaxing into the heat of his touch. “I know you two can hear me.”

Mixed Signals

• Especially a problem with more aggressive Cybertronians- when arguing humans will sometimes just walk away to get some space to calm down. Unfortunately, that can come across as an invitation to follow with Decepticons in particular. A challenge. Continuing to ignore them or avoid them, upping their aggression and even seen as flirting or attempts to get their attention.

TFP Megatron

• “Where are you going?” That low, angry growl makes the hair at your nape prickle. He has a point though, trapped on his berth with the mass displaced mech, there’s nowhere to actually go. Except away from him right now, because you’re over arguing with him. Need to calm down and for him to just leave you alone for a minute. Which isn’t happening when you hear his heavy peds following you.

• Stalking after you as you ignore him, that aggression shifts and heats, becoming hunger. Catching your arm to force you to stop, you spin towards him, palm smacking against his face. “Don’t you dare, I’m angry with you.” Growling, he hauls you off your feet against him, chuckling when you slap him again and his spike stirs at your defiance. Wonders who you’re trying to convince, him or yourself as his mouth crashes down on yours.

• Decepticons and Autobots are often taken off guard when humans do something they think is cute. Yawning, sneezing, the way we get flustered are all fascinating to some of them, making them try to provoke reactions. Decepticons especially, have trouble dealing with humans being affectionate or sweet. Gently stroking their helm or curling up against them can be so unexpected they may gently bite in reprimand just because they don’t know how to respond.

• Humans tend to be tactile and want to touch everything. Cybertronians not used to this can be taken off guard when trying to offer a human a ride in their alt mode. Not realizing we’ll touch anything in reach, admiring them without understanding how sensitive their interiors are. These are surfaces that are never really handled. More of them will just tolerate the touch if it’s a familiar human, while others will forcibly eject them or snarl at them not to touch. Especially if the touch comes across as intimate.

Bluestreak

• Struggling to focus on the road as you run your fingers against his dash, shifting distractingly in his seat, a hand on his shifter, Bluestreak swallows a whine. “It’s so wild. I can’t believe the amount of detail you incorporated,” you say, a fingertip tracing a tooled leather seam to make him shudder all over. “Um, are you okay?” No. Not at all. And far too embarrassed to actually say anything because he’s not sure if he’d ask you to stop or beg you to keep touching him with those soft hands.

#transformers x reader

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hamsterclaw · 7 months ago

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Your ex-boyfriend's new song reels you back in.

Pairing: Namjoon x f! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Idol! Namjoon, smut, angst

Warnings: Sex, swearing, toxic relationship

Word count: 2k

‘The fuck you say about me?’ you demand.

The tall, buzzed blond man looks up, insolent, arrogant, so fucking sexy it hurts you.

He tucks his tongue in his cheek, flicks his hooded eyes over your rigid body.

‘If the shoe fits,’ he drawls, that familiar low voice smooth as silk.

‘You’re an asshole,’ you hiss, angry tears standing in your eyes. You blink and they stream down over your cheeks.

Kim Namjoon, your ex boyfriend, tilts his head. His gaze hasn’t left yours.

‘I miss making you cry,’ he says. His words come out slow, deliberate, every word like a bullet hitting its mark.

His aim’s always been sharp.

‘You never will again,’ you spit out.

You turn on your heel and yank open his studio door.

His hand lands on the door above your head, closes it again, caging you between him and the door. All six feet of him, packed with the muscle he’s put on since he started working out again.

He leans down, you can feel his breath on the back of your neck as he whispers, ‘How does it feel to be the one caught off-guard?’

You try to turn around and face him but his large hand lands on your shoulder, pinning you into place.

He’s always been bigger, but he’s never used his strength against you before.

You’re shaking with a rage and hurt so deep you can’t verbalise. You sob, a gulp of air, and try to turn again.

He holds firm, and you can’t move.

‘Stop,’ you say, throwing an elbow back, struggling against his grasp.

Namjoon releases you just enough so you can turn to face him.

There’s a hardness to his expression that you haven’t seen before.

‘Now you know how it feels,’ he says.

‘Let me go,’ you scream, right up into his face, so loud your ears ring.

He barely blinks.

‘You come into my studio to start shit? What did you expect?’ he hisses.

‘You touch me, I’ll go to the press,’ you say, shoving at his chest.

Namjoon laughs, short. ‘And say what? No one knows we ever fucked.’

His words hang between you.

The tears are still falling, but your composure is returning.

‘I know,’ you say, voice thick. ‘And you know.’

Your words make some of his anger drain away. You can see him visibly easing out of the rigid posture he was in, leaning back so he’s not looming over you.

‘We know,’ he muses.

‘And now anyone who listens to that track will know,’ you say, looking at him steadily.

He runs a hand through his buzzed hair.

‘They’ll know you fucked me over,’ he says. ‘They’ll know my side.’

He’s not wrong. There are two sides to your tumultuous relationship, and he’s told his side in the way he does best.

It’s unfortunate for you that he has the platform to reach millions of people.

You’re standing a foot apart now, bodies still turned to each other.

‘I fucked you over,’ you muse. ‘I fucked you over.’

He’s staring at your mouth and you know exactly what he’s thinking.

For all his emotional intelligence and his intellect, he’s always been a simple man.

‘Come down so I can reach,’ you say.

He leans down and your hand comes up to slap him. He catches your wrist mid-air, grip so strong it’s like steel, and lowers his mouth onto yours.

His kiss is hard, bruising, his tongue delving into your open mouth in a rhythm that makes you shiver.

He tugs you up on tiptoe, and you bring your hands up to keep space between you. He ignores the way you’re pushing at his chest, takes the way you’re kissing him as consent.

You give up.

You melt into his frame, close, arm curling around his neck to hold on as he presses his hot mouth to your neck. His tongue flicks over your skin, his lips form a seal and he sucks, a sensation that has warmth pooling at your core.

He groans, low, his hands already sliding up under your top, cupping your breasts over your bra.

Instead of unhooking, he hooks his finger under the band of your bra and tugs, up, lowering his head to suckle at the tip of your breast. His tongue swirls, and heat pulses between your legs.

‘Take it off,’ he says, eyes hooded, pupils blown.

You tug your top off, then your bra. You’re not self-conscious about how you look in front of him.

Namjoon’s shown you a million times how much he loves your body.

Sure enough, he’s pushing you back onto the couch, mouth all over your tits, his big hands splayed around your waist, gripping you tight.

You try not to moan but you can’t stop yourself. He knows exactly how to pleasure you, it’s a learned skill from the hundreds of times you’ve fucked.

He laves his tongue over your nipple, and you’re already craving the thick length of his cock inside you.

He’s watching you as he kisses a path down the bare skin of your torso. He gets to the button of your jeans, undoes it deftly and you lift your hips so he can tug them off.

Underneath, your panties are sticking to you. He splays a hand over the curve of your hip, places his hand on you and you close your eyes as he rolls the pad of his thumb over your clit, slow, teasing.

You put a hand over your mouth to stifle your moans, and he tugs it away, rough.

He’s still fully dressed, the lights all blazing above you, and the juxtaposition of how he’s fully in control and how he’s taking you apart under him adds an unwanted intrusion to the haze of pleasure.

Shame.

It’s more about the way you’ve treated him than the way he’s got you spread and almost naked under him.

It’s more about the things you’ve said to this man who you’re supposed to love than the moans of wanton pleasure you’re expressing now.

He’s the one with a finger in your cunt but you think over the years you’ve fucked him just as much.

The tears come again, and Namjoon notices. He’s seen you cry so many times but there’s still a thin thread of decency that makes him lean down and kiss your forehead.

‘If I stop we’ll only feel worse,’ he murmurs, certainty in his tone borne of experience.

‘You know I love how you fuck me,’ you say, softly, speaking like it’s a secret between you and him.

There’s a flash of regret in his eyes but he doesn’t dwell on it. Fucking won’t close the chasm between you but it’ll sure as hell make you both forget for a while.

He gets up, unbuttons, lets his loose jeans slip down and then he’s in his chair, thighs spread, hard dick in his hand.

There’s a smear of pre-cum on his grey tee that’s probably worth more than your car but Namjoon’s never given a fuck about his clothes.

He watches, intent, as you slip your panties down, kick them away.

He cups your bare bottom as you straddle him, lets your hand cover his around his cock.

You curl your fingers around him, and he huffs out a breath.

More pre-cum slips between your fingers as you position the head of him where you need him.

Namjoon’s dimple flashes, brief, as his lips curve.

‘Take it slow, baby, you know how sore you get.’

There’s a taunt in his low voice but the hands still supporting your ass are gentle.

You take the tip of him inside you, and he clenches his jaw.

His body, underneath you, is tense with holding himself back.

Namjoon can be gentle but he’s not a patient man.

You lower yourself, slow, thighs quivering with effort.

The slide of his cock is so damn satisfying, every time.

Namjoon lifts his hips, a push, two, then he’s in all the way.

You both groan.

You rest your forehead against his, fighting to regulate your breathing.

He’s struggling too, his heart thumping against his chest.

‘Fuck, fuck,’ he mutters. ‘Why’s it so good every time?’

He catches your cheeks between his thumb and fingers, squeezes your tear streaked face.

‘I want to make it work,’ he vows. ‘Why can’t we make it work?’

He’s squeezing so hard you’re worried he’ll leave fingermarks on your cheeks.

You could give a trite response, a dozen snappy comebacks are in your mouth ready to be said, but instead you close your eyes.

Take in the feel of him inside you, his body around yours. His scent on your skin.

Every time could be the last time.

Then again you’ve been saying that since you met him.

You curl your arms around his broad shoulders, move your hips, pull his head between your breasts.

He comes willingly.

You lift your hips, up so he’s just barely inside, then drop them. The sounds of your joined bodies in the otherwise silent soundproofed studio are obscene and beautiful.

You keep up the rhythm, slowing when you’re close, when your peak’s within reach.

Namjoon’s looking up at you.

His dimples flash.

‘Always did need me to finish you,’ he says. If there’s arrogance in his tone it’s been earned over all the times you’ve fucked.

You press your thumb into his cheek.

‘So do it.’

Namjoon grasps your hips, grinding you onto his pelvis. He fucks up into you, grunting with the effort. His skin gleams with the sweat he’s worked up.

‘Fuck,’ you gasp.

Namjoon swears.

‘Gripping me so tight, fuck!’

Namjoon pulls you down, plunges his tongue into your mouth as he fucks you.

You cry his name as you come, words passing from your mouth to his, and he closes his eyes.

His thrusts slow, erratic, as he pumps his release into you.

You get up, legs wobbly from being fucked so hard and well, totter to the couch and press your face between the joins. You can’t look at him or you’ll cry again and you both hate that.

A moment later you feel the weight of him next to you.

His big palm lands on your ass along with the whole weight of his arm.

He buries his face in your hair.

You don’t think there’s anything left to say.

***

You’re curled up in Namjoon’s pre-cum stained shirt, knees up and together on his cum-stained couch, watching him flick a lighter on and off.

Without turning he says, ‘Don’t give me that fucking screw face when you’ve got my t-shirt on and my come running down your leg.’

You try to readjust your resting screw face but he turns and catches you.

You have to laugh at how well he knows you.

He’s picked up your panties, twirling them around his finger.

‘You gonna go?’ he asks. He’s looking at you, so you do him the courtesy of meeting his gaze.

‘Yeah.’

He nods. ‘I had the codes changed on all the doors. Your fingerprint won’t work anymore.’

It’s your turn to nod.

‘I moved,’ you feel the need to tell him.

‘I know,’ he says.

You’re not surprised to hear he looked for you.

It’s the hallmark of the many years of toxic codependency you shared.

Your friends got married and had babies.

You and Namjoon went up in flames and rose from the ashes. The cycle went on.

Fuck, cry, repeat.

You get up, start getting dressed.

You’ve got your hand on the door when you turn back to look at him a last time.

He’s already looking at you.

‘You hungry?’ you ask.

It takes him less than a second to decide.

#bts smut #bts rm #rm x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon scenario

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 6 months ago

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Who kidnapped age gap reader?? :(( AND WHY??

You sit on the cot and try to stay calm. Calm is good. Calm is safe. If you stay calm maybe you can make him think you're going along with it. That you're going to let it all happen like he wants. And he'll let his guard down.

This time it's a storage unit, it looks like. And- oh, how kind. He gave you a bucket. And some gossip rags. About yourself? what the fuck? "We'll have 7 kids," he declared, "We'll need 7 to be in our band-"

"Oh what instrument do you-"

"SHUT UP!" he barked rounding on you, "You owe me this. You don't TALK unless I tell you you fucking can, do you understand?"

You stare at him insolently. Blinking. Waiting.

"Answer me, you useless foid," he screamed.

"You didn't tell me I could talk to you," you answer simply.

But when he brandishes the knife at you again, only to have a Batarang hit the back of his hand and force him to drop it, you exhale slowly. "That's quite enough of that," Bruce said, handily backhanding the man out of his way towards Clark.

"Well, I feel special," you manage, through chattering teeth. Not sure why you feel so cold.

"My mother is a big fan of your movies, ma'am," Clark called over his shoulder, as he carried the still howling kidnapper away. Off to find a convenient cop to hand him to.

Bruce was grateful all you had was a few bruises. But when you start to cry, he pulled you against his chest, "It's alright," he soothed. "You're safe. Princess, I'm here."

"I tried to run but-"

"I know," he murmured. "You did everything you could do." He wrapped his cape around you when he heard cop cars. Aware that your clothes were torn from the struggle.

"Do you have to go?" you asked him.

"If anyone asks," Bruce said smiling a little, "Superman picked me up because he wanted help putting the case together. And I helped because all my Robins liked your movies."

"So sell it."

"Peak starlet. Or just faint if you don't want to do press things. Did he hit your head? What hurts, baby?" You're still sniffling. Even if you're not clinging to him now that there are witnesses.

"I'm just so tired, Brucie," you murmur.

And he knows you're not just talking about today. You're tired of being afraid. Tired of having to protect yourself and not knowing who to trust. And his heart aches. "Just talk to the cops and then faint," he murmurs. "I'm going to disappear. They'll take you to the hospital. Then Bruce Wayne will come and pick you up, okay?"

"Okay," you murmur, wiping tears away on the back of your hand.

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne #ask answered #minors dni #reader insert #age gap!reader

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marcyvamp1re-blog · 1 month ago

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I would like to request romantic yandere scott summers x reader where his darling has amnesia. Now I don’t know how they got amnesia but scott brings reader home from the hospital one day and takes reader home claiming the reader is his wife or husband( gender does not matter), even though they were not married before. Scott takes advantage of the fact reader has amnesia, I would also have to assume they are not at the mansion so scott can do his yandere doings

BAG OF BONES

Synopsis. You remembered nothing, not even your name, yet he wove stories with threads of gold and promises. His voice, a refuge; his gaze, a cage. He claimed to love you like never before, like always. How could you doubt someone who swore to be your everything, even if his love felt like a prison disguised as home?

pairing ── Yandere! Scott Summers x Amnesiac! Reader.

Content. MDNI ── Dark themes, violence/death, blood, retrograde amnesia, forced marriage, inappropriate touching, insolation, invasion of privacy, kidnapping?, Slight mention of pregnancy, delusion, Angst, murdering, Disturbing Content, Death of a canonical character, lgbt?, Unhealthy Obsession, Gaslight, Mental Illness, Corruption, Isolation, Paranoia, Manipulation.

A/N ── English is not my first language—Spanish— Honestly, I've always been interested in the Yandere x Amnesiac theme. It's really fascinating how the psychology of the characters can be so complex in these types of stories. Also, thank you for being clear and concise in your request, and I hope you enjoy it.

They say one should never try to go back to the past, that the present is where we must live and the future what we must build. But how could you do that when you felt a piercing emptiness in your chest, a pain you didn’t understand? Your heart screamed that something was wrong, that what you were experiencing wasn’t real, that danger lurked closer than you could imagine.

The white glare of the hospital lights blinded you as you opened your eyes. You felt your body heavy, your mind clouded, and an absolute bewilderment that made you tremble. Everything felt strange, as if you were a piece out of place in an unknown puzzle. Then you saw him.

A tall man, with a firm build, wearing burgundy glasses that hid his eyes but not his excited expression. His smile lit up upon seeing you awake, and before you could say anything, his lips pressed against your forehead, your cheeks, your hair, leaving desperate and anxious kisses.

“Thank God you’re okay,” he whispered with a warm, relieved voice.

But you weren’t. You remembered nothing. Not even your name. Confusion filled you, and words wouldn’t come to your lips. He, however, seemed to have all the answers.

“I’m Scott Summers, do you remember me?” he said, taking your hand gently. His fingers were warm, but the way he squeezed them made you feel trapped—“We just got married.”

Married? The impact left you breathless. You looked at your hands, and there it was: a beautiful diamond ring along with a wedding band. Its shine seemed to confirm his words. When you looked up, you saw he wore a similar set on his left hand.

“I... don’t remember...” you started to say, but he shook his head gently.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re alive, and that’s all that matters. I’ll take care of you.”

His voice was sweet, reassuring, and you decided to believe him. Why wouldn’t you? Everything seemed to fit: the ring, the familiarity in his gestures, the way he looked at you. But deep inside, there was something you couldn’t silence.

There was something in his smile, something in the way his fingers never stopped touching you, that made you feel exposed. Vulnerable. Like you were a butterfly trapped in a display case, admired but with no escape.

How naïve you were to think that warmth meant safety.

When he took you to what he said was your home, the confusion inside you grew heavier, more oppressive. It was a small cabin in the midst of a lush forest, completely isolated from the rest of the world. Scott explained that the distance was necessary, that you had always preferred the tranquility of nature, away from societal judgment, especially for what you were: a mutant.

“You used to say that here you could be yourself,” he murmured with a smile as he parked the car. His words were warm, but they sounded strange.

As he guided you through the house, you noticed how his explanations seemed overly rehearsed, almost mechanical. The master bedroom was cozy, with dark wooden furniture and a large bed, but there was something unsettling in how orderly everything was, as if you had never truly lived there.

“This is the guest room,” he said as he opened a door. The space was filled with tools and paint, as if it were in the process of being transformed—“I’m preparing it for something special.”

You didn’t ask for what. There was something in his tone that dissuaded you from doing so.

The kitchen, however, came with a warning. “Don’t enter here without me, okay? I want to make sure you don’t hurt yourself.”

“Hurt myself?” The phrase hung in your mind as he showed you the rest of the house. Finally, you arrived at the living room, the space that unsettled you the most.

It was a mix of museum and altar. There were photos of you everywhere: smiling, reading, walking in a park you didn’t recognize. Some included Scott, his arm always firmly around your shoulders, and others showed a group of people who seemed unfamiliar yet strangely familiar.

In one of the photos, a group dressed in flamboyant, almost theatrical clothes stood out. It was a mosaic of colors and textures that evoked something lost on the edge of your memory. In the image, you were in a corner, embraced by a young woman with pink glasses who seemed a few years younger than you. On your other side, a brown-haired woman with white streaks smiled subtly, though she didn’t touch you. She seemed close, important.

However, what caught your attention the most wasn’t any of them, but a figure in the background, almost hidden behind Scott. A woman with bright red hair who seemed to look at the man with particular intensity. The photo was slightly blurry, as if someone had manipulated it or neglected it on purpose.

“Who is she?” you asked, pointing at the blurred figure before you could stop yourself.

Scott tensed immediately. His smile vanished for an instant before returning, though more forced. “Oh, just someone from the past. It doesn’t matter now. The only thing that matters is you and how happy we are together.”

You didn’t press. His response wasn’t enough, but something in his gaze told you that pushing was dangerous.

That night, as you tried to sleep, doubts burned inside you. Who was that woman? Why couldn’t you remember anything about your life, not even the people in those photos? And above all, why did every time you looked at Scott, the weight in your chest grew heavier, as if you were trapped in a gilded cage?

You didn’t love Scott. You couldn’t. Maybe you had at some point, but if that was the case, that love didn’t survive the accident that erased your memories. Now, he was a stranger, and his constant need for contact suffocated you. Scott wasn’t just clingy; he was voracious. Every caress felt like an indelible mark on your skin, every kiss a reminder that you weren’t free.

He adored being glued to you, almost as if he feared you would disappear if he let go. He insisted on bathing you, choosing your clothes and dressing you, his fingers grazing your skin more than necessary. He prepared every meal with devotion and served it to you as if you were a deity to be worshipped. But even those gestures, so carefully disguised as love, carried a shadow you couldn’t ignore.

“I want you to feel cared for, protected,” he would tell you with a smile as he brushed your hair. His words were sweet, but the way he said them was unsettling, as if he were convincing himself more than you.

Days passed in suffocating routines and deafening silence. Scott took you outdoors, around the cabin, making sure not to stray too far. He said it was for your safety, but you knew that wasn’t true. Every time you looked at the forest, so vast and full of possibilities, you felt a growing urge to run, to escape, even though you didn’t know where to go.

And then the flashes began.

At first, they were fleeting images, fragments that emerged when you least expected them. A smile that wasn’t from Scott. A soft laugh. Bright green eyes framed by fiery red hair. The woman from the photo.

Every time those memories surfaced, a sharp pain pierced your head, as if your mind struggled to protect you from something you didn’t want to know. But the most disturbing thing wasn’t the woman, but how you saw her: standing next to Scott, his hand in hers, their lips forming words you couldn’t hear. Happy. United. Almost as if…

No.

The first day you had that memory, you screamed in the middle of breakfast. The spoon fell from your hands as you instinctively recoiled in your chair. Scott was beside you in an instant, his hands firm on your shoulders, his eyes hidden behind glasses but his face filled with concern.

“What’s wrong, love? Are you okay?”

“I... I...” You tried to explain, but the words wouldn’t come. All you could do was look at his hands, those same hands that in your visions touched another woman with the same devotion as they now touched you.

Scott frowned, his expression darkening for a moment before a nervous smile returned to his face. “It’s just your mind playing tricks on you. It’s normal, sweetheart. Take a moment.”

But it wasn’t. And you knew it.

That night, as you brushed your teeth, the mirror in front of you trembled. Not from any external movement, but because your mind was slowly breaking, releasing pieces of a puzzle you were just beginning to recognize. A flash hit you, as if a storm were dragging you to another time.

She was there, the red-haired woman you had seen before, but this time she wasn’t a blurry image. Her laughter was warm, almost contagious, and you were next to her, shy, with a small smile that barely dared to emerge. Her hand rested gently on your arm while the other figures around you joined in the conversation.

The dark-haired woman with white streaks watched you with a mischievous look, an eyebrow raised as she crossed her arms. Beside her, a young woman with pink glasses laughed loudly, patting your shoulder as if she had known you forever. Nearby, another tall woman, with deep eyes and a majestic demeanor, looked at you with a mix of understanding and affection. They all seemed to encourage something, their animated voices like a chaotic melody you could barely comprehend.

“He’s a good man,” one of them said, her tone firm but kind. “He adores you!” exclaimed the youngest, with a beaming smile. “Just go and have a little fun.”

But not all were so enthusiastic. The red-haired woman didn’t share their laughter or their words of encouragement. Her expression was softer, almost melancholic, and her eyes met yours for a long moment. When the others dispersed, she stepped closer to you.

Her hands took yours, warm and steady, and for a moment you felt more protected than you had in a long time. She didn’t say anything at first, just hugged you tightly, her embrace speaking more than any words. Leaning toward your ear, her voice was a whisper, but her words were etched into your memory.

“You have my blessings…” Her breath was shaky, and you felt her fingers tighten slightly on your back—“And I love you.”

You stepped back slightly to look at her, but her smile seemed like a mask. There was something in her eyes you couldn’t understand at that moment, something that hurt you in a strange way.

The memory faded as quickly as it came, leaving you standing in front of the mirror, gasping. You gripped the edge of the sink, your fingers white from the pressure. Your reflection seemed distant, as if it weren’t yours.

Who was she? What did it all mean? And above all, why did her face, her voice, her embrace fill you with a warmth that made Scott’s love feel cold and forced?

The mirror in front of you trembled as you hit it with your hands, gasping, your pupils dilated with terror. Your reflection didn’t look like you. It was a broken version, trapped in a life you didn’t understand.

Scott appeared behind you like a ghost, his hands wrapping around your waist firmly. His warm breath on your neck made you shiver.

“You look tired, love. Let me take care of you.”

The first time you saw him in full clarity was in a dream, or so you thought when you woke up, gasping and with your body soaked in cold sweat.

You were in a dark and damp room, the air heavy with the metallic smell of blood. Your hands trembled as you held a fragile, cold, lifeless body: a woman with red hair, now dulled and stuck to her pale face. Blood stained her lips and flowed from multiple wounds on her chest, as if something had pierced her repeatedly. They weren’t normal wounds; they were small, irregular caves, burned by a heat that couldn’t be human.

Jean. Her name hit you like lightning. Jean. Now you knew, and the weight of that name on your chest made you sob as you held her against you, trying, futilely, to cover the wounds with your hands.

“No... no, please, wake up...” Your voice was a desperate whisper, broken, a lament in the void.

The sound of footsteps behind you made your body tense. You recognized them before turning around. Their walk was unmistakable: confident, calculated, almost victorious.

Scott was there. His figure was silhouetted against the dim light, his burgundy glasses shining with an unsettling glow. His face showed no sadness, no guilt. Only satisfaction.

“It had to be this way,” he said with a calm voice, too tranquil for the scene before you. His tone was gentle, almost kind, as if he were explaining something simple.

You stood frozen, your hands still holding the body of the woman, while your mind struggled to process his words.

“What... what did you do?” you managed to murmur, though your voice was barely a thread.

Scott took another step forward, his boots echoing on the stone floor. He knelt before you, ignoring the blood staining the ground and spreading like a river between you two. His hand rose to caress your cheek, and you flinched, unable to move.

“Now that she’s gone…” he continued, his tone filled with a sweetness that was terrifying—“nothing can separate us. We can be together, just as we were always meant to be.”

Your body reacted before your mind did. You let Jean’s body fall, stumbling backward, your hands still trembling, covered in her blood. “You’re crazy!” you shouted, though your voice broke into a sob at the end.

But Scott didn’t seem affected. He stood up with the calmness of someone who knows he has already won. He took a step toward you, and then another, until you had no space left to escape.

“No, love,” he said, leaning toward you, his breath brushing your ear—“I’m in love.”

The intensity in his voice paralyzed you. It was a declaration, not an explanation. He truly believed that everything he had done was out of love.

The dream, or the memory, ended there, with his face so close to yours that you could feel the warmth of his skin. You woke up with a start, a muffled scream in your throat and your heart pounding in your chest.

Your hands continued to tremble as you looked around the room. You were in the cabin, in your bed, but the smell of blood still seemed to linger in the air.

“Are you okay?” Scott’s voice broke the silence. He was next to you, watching you with his typical feigned concern, his hand already reaching for yours.

You instinctively recoiled, pulling away from his touch, but you tried to hide it. Your breathing was ragged, and you forced yourself to nod. “Just... a bad dream.”

He smiled, but his eyes behind the glasses didn’t stop watching you with that intensity that always seemed to hide something more. “I’m here for you. Always.”

That night, you decided you had to uncover the truth, even if it cost you your sanity... or your life.

A/N ── Yes, it’s not a happy ending, but at least it’s an ending that leaves a lot of room for reflection. I wanted to try out a conclusion like this at some point, and I hope it didn’t make anyone uncomfortable. Thank you for reading, and if you want to request something, feel free to do so as long as requests are open. More information in the pinned comment!

Take a bath!

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serickswrites · 3 months ago

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When in Rome

Warnings: capture, public humiliation, torture, restraints, whipping, blood, unconsciousness, bedside vigil, defiant whumpee

"I can be a kind and benevolent ruler," Whumper said as they circled their captives. "I think you will find I am a much better ruler than your former monarch."

Caretaker hated listening to this. Hated that they were all in chains while Whumper and their traitorous band walked free. But worst of all, they hated watching Whumpee struggle in the chains that had been thrown on all of them.

"The only thing you are capable of is evil," Whumpee hissed.

"You could give me a chance, Whumpee. If you give me a chance, if you bow, the others will follow suit. So many subjects have already pledged their loyalty."

"I'd rather die." Whumpee thrust their chin out.

"Whumpee, you were your former ruler's most trusted warrior. If you bend knee, needless violence will be avoided. Surrender and pledge fealty or you shall suffer greatly." Whumper's kind, gentle tone began to fray. Their true nature slowly eating away at the facade that Caretaker knew they were putting up.

"Death first!"

"That can be arranged." Whumper said with a sigh. "Tie them to the pole in front of the castle," they ordered one of their minions. "And take the others with you. I want everyone to see what happens when you do not conform to my law and order. What happens if you defy me."

Whumpee struggled valiantly against the many hands that grabbed them. Caretaker tried on their part, too. But it was to no avail. Whumper had too many followers at hand to fight. The rest of their squad was hauled along with them to the castle square.

"Whumpee, Whumpee, whatever they are planning is far worse than surrendering," Caretaker tried to reason with Whumpee. They could not stand to watch Whumper butcher Whumpee.

Whumpee shook their head, drawing themself up to their full height, head held proud. "If we give in we are complacent with whatever atrocities Whumper commits. The people need to see that some one is willing to stand up in the face of evil."

"You will be killed, Whumpee. Please," Caretaker tried again.

"Then that is the price I pay. I will not bend knee to evil. I will stand strong. Perhaps my death will be what one person needs to realize they must fight. That they can fight."

Caretaker opened their mouth to reply, but Whumpee was pulled away as the group reached the central square. A tall post had been erected in the center atop a tall dais. Whumpee was hauled roughly up the steps and chained with their arms above their head, back to the crowd.

"Citizens, gather round," Whumper said as they climbed the steps of the dais, "and see what it means to refuse me." Whumper held a whip in their hand. Caretaker's mouth went dry.

"I am a benevolent ruler," Whumper said as a hush fell over the crowd, "and I will give you one more chance, Whumpee. Swear fealty and you will be spared."

"I will never bow to you. No matter how much you hurt me, I will never bow before you." Whumpee spat at Whumper, their contempt and intentions clear.

"So be it, then. We will start with ten lashes and see how you feel." Whumper raised their arm and brought the whip down across Whumpee's back. Whumpee's skin split and flowed from the wound.

But they did not cry out.

With each crack of the whip, Caretaker flinched. With each crack of the whip the fearful faces of the crowd became more apparent. And with each crack of the whip, Whumpee's blood flowed, but they did not cry out.

After the tenth crack, Whumper stopped. "Anything you wish to say, Whumpee?"

"Fuck you," Whumpee said weakly.

With a growl, Whumper raised the whip again. "Such insolence shall not be tolerated."

Caretaker lost count of how many times Whumper brought the whip down. They lost count of how long Whumper whipped Whumpee after Whumpee went limp in the chains as they slipped into unconsciousness. They lost count of how many times they begged for Whumpee's life. Because they could only see Whumpee's limp, bloody body slumped over at the whipping post.

"Throw them in the dungeon with the rest of their squad. Offer them no aid. See if that's enough to change their mind," Whumper said when they finally grew tired of whipping Whumpee.

Caretaker didn't fight as they were dragged to the castle's dungeon. They watched in horror as two men grabbed Whumpee by the arms and roughly dragged them along to the dungeon. Whumpee didn't so much as groan or raise their head as they were dragged along.

"Whumpee, please, say something," Caretaker said as they were all tossed in the dungeon.

Whumpee had landed in a heap and hadn't made a sound. "Whumpee, please," Caretaker tried again. They weren't sure where they could touch Whumpee without causing further injury. They lowered themself to the ground next to Whumpee.

Whumpee's eyes were closed, but they were alive. Caretaker could hear their short, pained breaths as they got close to Whumpee. "Someone bring me some water from that bucket." Caretaker ordered. "We need to clean their wounds."

Whumpee didn't wake the whole time the squad cleaned and dressed their wounds. They didn't wake as the squad tried to lay them in a comfortable position gently. And they didn't wake as Caretaker stroked their face and murmured soft words to them.

Caretaker sat in the dark dungeon hoping Whumpee would wake soon. They stroked Whumpee's sweat soaked hair. "Please, Whumpee. Don't do this. Please, just wake up. We can come up with a plan. Please, Whumpee. Don't make us watch you die, too."

But still, Whumpee did not wake.

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

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fishhjuice · 8 months ago

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An In-depth C-Side Characterization Guide/Cheatsheet by Dottie Fishjuice

Greetings! I am very autistic and therefore knowledgable/cursed about C-Side, and i hope to curse you too. I at least to my knowledge has read thorugh everything provided to us and pondered on it, and now i will be sharing.

DECEMBER UPDATE: Please know that there are some very slight inaccuracies as of this month, as things have been retranslated to have different connotations. This post will is still mostly accurate but will be remade after Bancala to reflect canon.

This was very much inspired by the analysis provided by @/arogustus and @/evil-urchin.

Everything I will say I will point (at the very least try) to point the source of, because i minored in Comparative Literature so this is how I do literary analysis. The smaller text inside parathesis will be my thoughts and speculations, and I will try to keep these at a minimum, trying to stay as factual as possible.

C-Side as a Whole

C-side is the representative band of the Splatlands region. In fact, it is said that "No band reps harder for the Splatlands than this trio" in Splatbase, not even Deep Cut. They are, aside from Riot Act (which is like C-Side 2), the sole splatband to be from Splatlands.

The Riot Act introduction tweet [by the wording of SplatoonJP] calls them "exemplifying Splatlands values". These values can be a sensitivity to fleeting nature of life, and an effort to be as chic and bold as possible [from Fia's translation of the Artbook]

They have at least been active for 8~ years, being active at the same time as Squid Squad (from Beika's tweets).

In the words of Big Man, "C-side has been making great music for a long time", and has served as one of the musical influences to Deep Cut. [X]

In the tweet presenting Paintscraper [by SplatoonJP, for this bit was lost in translation], they are characterized as a "tight-knit trio". This fondness is also portrayed in several of Beika's tweets.

Who else but Kiki would come back to a band they quit once? Well, I'm pretty sure that the guys who let 'em back in probs would too.

Paintscraper is based on a demo that Walter made. I heard that he played the guitar himself too. It's very silly and ridiculous, but it has a unique charm to it. If I get the chance, I'd like to share it.

(I believe this to be also evident in their music, with Beika and Kikura dueting in all of C-side songs, even Splattack which is originally a solo, speaking into their cohesion as a band and whatnot. Not to mention with Splattack, Uotora and Kikura basically enabled Beika's revenge quest. With the vocalists shouting "C-Side" in Headhammer and Paintscraper, they seem pretty proud of themselves too (which they are and ill talk about it), but this is more speculation than fact. I will get into things more in individual character sections.)

One of the only bits of characterization given by Nintendo to C-side is the fact they have 1) the ambition and 2) the attitude. [X] (I find their ambition to be underrepresented in fandom)

In their introductory tweet [by SplatoonJP, this part again not being translated to English] , they are said to have come from lower economic backgrounds and have no formal music education, making up for this with the said ambition.

As for their attitude, Inue himself has said "The members of C-Side aren’t a well-behaved bunch.". C-side has also been called rowdy, and rebellious.

The combination of their ambition and attitude seems to manifest itself in the form of insolence. It is said that "These three don't doubt for a second that they're the greatest band alive." (And I would like to emphasize "These Three", not only Beika)

That isn't to say their confidence is totally misplaced. They are said to have the most momentum to become the most popular band of Inkfish world [X] out of all, to the point they might have even inspired a counter-movement in the form of H2Whoa ("An Inkopolitan retort to the wild "Splatlands sound" folks were used to"). This is also supported by how the exact word Beika uses to describe Inkopolis is repeatedly used to describe H2Whoa both in their introduction and their Splatbase page, pretentious.

Not only that, Bait and Click (normal and mutation) could also speak into the recognition they get as artists, since the W-3 Cellist is said to recognize only the most radical of works [X]

As for their opinion on salmonid, although Beika uses the word "funny" to describe the salmonid arrangement, Beika calls the Deep Cut arrangement of Now or Never "funny" as well, which overall seems to indicate they have the same level of enthusiasm or respect for Deep Cut and Omega 3. It's remarkably positive language for Salmonid.

They also seem to be very well loved within Splatsville. Despite having no billboards or posters in Splatsville unlike Wet Floor and Squid Squad, the statuettes of their shrimpets are all over Splatsville, in a food stand during Splatfest and in Grizzco office. (It seems to me more like they don't need to advertise in Splatsville at all, people already know who they are, whereas they have posters in Inkopolis)

Another thing to support this is the fact is that trains that come from Splatsville seem to play Clickbait, which you can hear during Big Run [X]. For comparison's sake, the Inkopolis trains play Calamari Inkantation, so it can be said their fame is at least comparable to Callie and Marie.

Speaking of these shrimps, they are implied to be the kind of animal that spooks easily by Frye in her boss dialouge, talking about how "[Neo3] can't treat her eels like shrimp"

Murch's suitcase features an older version of the C-side logo, indicating he is probably a fan.

Although SplatoonNA calls them grungy in their introductory tweet, it is pretty obvious from the tempo of their music, their characterization and the fact they are self taught that C-side is supposed to be less of a grunge band and more of a punk band. For us who are unfamiliar with the difference between genres, grunge is more dark, nihilistic, wretched, angst-filled and anguished, whereas Punk is more rebellious and filled with fighting-spirit. Inue also calls their music "bright, easy to groove to, but still heavy". (I would personally love to see them being characterized as such)

The fact they have no sad defeat theme also probably plays into how C-side is supposed to be bright. The name "Learning Curve" also is a bit more hopeful/positive, possibly giving a glance to how their lyrics could be. (This could speak into their attitude towards their fame, which came after years)

Again playing into their ego, "Rinse/Repeat" seems to be imply something about how effortless winning is to them.

Their music is supposed to be intentionally (by developers) reminiscent of Squid Squad's. In the words of Inue, "We’ve also been keeping in mind the feelings of "primary colors" and "impulses felt when starting something" from the first game." and in the words of Minegishi, "What was at the forefront of music in the first game was a fast, playful and summery feel using just a few notes. For C-Side, which plays a central role in the third game's music, we made the deep bass and upbeat melody stand out in their music while reminding the audience of the sound from the first game."

Interestingly, their music is also supposed to "counter" Wet Floor's.[X].

It is said that "They don't ask permission to cover other artists' tracks, and they claim their versions are better.". Although this brings up the question if they frequently cover other artists' songs, it is most likely refers to Splattack and Splattack only, as Beika feels the need to clarify why they covered Splattack.

And this is the end of the band section.

I will be getting into the very little we know of their individual characterization under Read More. This part will be a bit more speculative, and cannot be as factual due to the nature of how character analysis works. Your interpretation of these facts is just as valid. If you skimmed or scrolled this far, thank you so much for your time.

I will be going in the order of how much we know of these characters. Unfortunately because most we know about these characters come from Beika, in a way at times they are characterized by their interractions with Beika. I hope to not sound biased. Here we go.

Uotora

Uotora is a long spine porcupinefish.

One thing that jumps out from the album art itself is that Uotora has their spikes out. Spikes of porcupinefish, which Uotora is, only stick out when they are are inflated and otherwise is supposed to lay flat against their body. You already probably know that these fish inflate themselves when they are frightened/threatened. Given this fact, it is very likely Uotora has an anxious personality. (This could be also be playing into Uotora's name in an ironic manner. Uotora, which means tiger fish, could be a play on the scary fish being scared themselves)

They must have a bit of an ego though, considering "These three don't doubt they are the greatest band alive."

They, along with Kikura, seem to support/enable Beika's conflict with Ichiya, from the wording "In the case of Squid Squad's Now or Never!, they [as a group] even claim to be the originators."

They play the guitar and the drums in the Uotora demo. Listening closely, you can seemingly vaguely hear Beika singing along, which speaks to their bond.

Speaking of bonds, the phrasing of Beika's tweet characterizes them as just as willing to welcome Kikura back as Beika was.

Who else but Kiki would come back to a band they quit once? Well, I'm pretty sure that the guys who let 'em back in probs would too.

Best guitarist in C-side. Sorry Kiku.

Kikura

Kikura is a peacock bass.

Peacock bass are said to be aggressive and "downright belligerent" (pointing this out since it would probably affect them the same way Finn being a betta affects Finn)

Apperantly there is still an ambiguity about this, Kikura is the owner of the high-pitched voice without any doubt. In the music for Splatoon that has multiple vocalists, the vocals are panned to only play in one ear and which vocals play for which side line up with the album art for these groups, which makes Kikura who is in the right lined up with the high-pitched voice. We are also able to infer this from Clickbait, in the call and response part of the song, the high-pitched voice only sings when the guitar is playing.

They are stated to be often late to the studio.

They are said to be known for their deep and edgy guitar riffs [X].

According to Beika, they at some point left the band but came back. Beika speaks fondly of this, implying a level of trust between the two.

Who else but Kiki would come back to a band they quit once?

The relationship between the two seems to go beyond this. Despite Beika writing the Triple Dip, they are barely in it, propping Kikura in the song. This also happens in Splattack, which is not only turned into a duet, but also is more guitar heavy, at times removing the bass sections [X]. (It seems to me that Beika likes to show off Kikura)

They, along with Uotora, seem to support/enable Beika's conflict with Ichiya, from the wording "In the case of Squid Squad's Now or Never!, they [as a group] even claim to be the originators."

Again, they are implied to have a bit of an ego, "greatest band alive" yada yada yada.

The tweet about leaving is not about Riot Act, since Riot Act is said to be "Hot on the indie scene", implying it is a new development.

Riot Act is a side project, which in popular music, is a project undertaken by one or more people already known for their involvement in another band, which SplatoonNA also points towards. So no, Kiki didn't leave C-side for Riot Act (but did steal Finn from Beika).

However it might be important to mention when asked about No Plan Survives, they with Finn said "We wanted to play as freely as possible".

Beika

Beika is an inkling. Shocker.

Despite their vague similarities the idea Beika is Frye's brother is contradicted by canon, as Beika implied from their tweets (and the fact that C-side acted as a musical influence to Deep Cut) is older than Frye, not younger. (I made a chart for this)

They are the lower voice for the same reasons I stated for Kiku.

From their first tweets, they come off as friendly/cool or at the very least make the effort to come off as friendly/cool (I use cool very loosely).

There is likely a delibarate effort to cultivate a positive persona by Beika, in how they seem to chastise themselves about how upset they have gotten and /or how they presented themselves with "I rambled too much last night." Another thing pointing at how Beika might be avoiding negativity is with how they seem to undercut their criticisms of Inkopolis scene by stating how they like Bottom Feeders and how they would like everyone to listen to their music.

They seem to be very invested in the music making process, as their first tweets are entirely about their music.

They seem to have the potential to be overdramatic sometimes, as they start their rant with the words "I'm typing this in a drunken stupor". Then again, they are drunk so take this with a grain of salt. (You know C-side lyrics probably go hard)

THIS IS ACTUALLY SO IMPORTANT: Beika does not make the accusation that Ichiya stole the song while drunk!! Please look at the wording!!

I've said this half a billion times this year alone, but Now or Never is a C-Side original.

"I've said this a million times this year alone" clearly shows Beika has made this accusation before.

Other than being very funny, the fact Beika can't seem to even remember Squid Squad's name seems to imply they are indifferent to it. The fact Ichiya is the only Squid Squad member called by name in their tweets goes to show it is Ichiya and Ichiya alone that drives Beika's ire. This is also supported by Beika's, although backhanded, compliment.

The tweet Beika makes before revealing Ichiya was their middle schoolmate is "If there's anything better than a late night meal alone, let me know.". This could very well be interpreted as Beika associating that feeling of loneliness with Ichiya.

It is also important to point out Ichiya did contact Beika.

He decided he was going to go to Inkopolis, and then after a little while, he told me that he had debuted with a band. I tried listening to them just to find out that their sound was so soft that it made my ink churn.

Along with "The Secrets of Front Roe" pointing out Ichiya is avoiding Splatsville "for some reason", it is more than reasonable Beika is not making up the fact Ichiya and them know of each other, and it is not a fit of baseless jelaousy.

While dissing Ichiya, they make time to talk about how they think their fans are cool and talented.

... Any of you guys would be able to make a song that's just as cool.

While doing so they also flaunt their talent, showing the extent of their ego.

I mean our song is this one 300 times better, right? Just wanted to make it clear that we're not trying to pay homage to it or anything like that.

The "You have some nerve to come crawling back home." is said in a very, very harsh tone in Japanese. The wording specifically seems to imply they are very upset at Ichiya leaving in the first place.

While Beika is a loser, they aren't seemingly the type to back down from a fight. Rather than apologizing, they simply say "I rambled too much last night." and go on with their lives.

And this is the end of it.

NOW. For a complete speculation,

From wording of "Who else would come back to a band they left" and their need to prop up and show off Kikura,

The fact Ichiya is self taught much like C-Side,

The fact Ichiya is avoiding Splatsville,

The fact Beika seems too proud of their work and very involved in the music making process

The fact C-side is characterized through their ambition

makes me think Ichiya more likely than not did steal Now or Never. It seems to me Beika's pride and ambition would not allow them to lie about a thing they didn't do. If i were to guess, from the fact C-side's Now or Never is a duet, it is likely song was written together before Ichiya took off.

Thank you so much for reading if you actually read this far. See you when Side Order Art Book demolishes all of this!!

#splatoon #splatbands #c-side #cside #beika #kikura #uotora #dottie does meta

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renlyslittlerose · 2 months ago

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Kinktober Day 24 - Tattoo

For anon who requested: Obi Wan going feral when he sees Anakins gotten a tramp stamp~ 🥰

I Wear It Just For You - 1,093 Rating: E Content: Established Relationship / Explicit Sexual Content / Anal Sex / Tattoos / Bottom Anakin Skywalker / Top Obi-Wan Kenobi

---

Obi-Wan knew he should have been upset, disappointed, perhaps deeply annoyed by Anakin’s insolence. And he was. But it was difficult when said insolence resulted in such a beautiful vision.

Anakin lay beneath him, hips in the air and face pressed deep in the pillows, skin flush with exertion and slick with sweat that beaded up along the curve of his spine and the dips in his hips. Bruises blossomed out along the swell of his ass and the sides of his hips, fingerprints and teeth marks branded across him by his very upset, disappointed, and deeply annoyed Master.

But it was the tattoo in the centre of his low back that continually tugged away at Obi-Wan’s attention.

It was the heraldic emblem of the Open Circle. Their heraldic emblem, branded on Anakin’s skin in thick black lines that shifted and rippled with each graceful movement. It wasn’t large but wasn’t small, either. It sat perfectly against his low back, just visible along the banding of his trousers to those who were looking. Obi-Wan would have called it elegant, almost, were he willing to give Anakin any credit for being so foolish.

Anakin had admitted he’d gotten in down in the lower levels after a particularly raucous night with some of the men from the 501st. He’d had a little bit too much to drink, and was surrounded by too few steady voices, and had in a fit of inspired spontaneity decided to get a tattoo.

‘I thought getting your name would be a little too on-the-nose,’ Anakin admitted with fluttering lashes and breath that smelled like sugars.

Maybe Anakin had thought of getting Obi-Wan’s name tattooed along his perfect body; or maybe he’d just said it to quell Obi-Wan’s ire. Whatever the reason, Obi-Wan really didn’t care. His lecturing could come later - for now he would enjoy the sight before him.

“Master,” Anakin whimpered, voice slightly muffled by the pillows.

Obi-Wan could hear the curl of pride in his voice, swathed in the aching need of his pleasure. Glancing up Anakin’s body Obi-Wan could see the smallest of smirks playing on his lips. He shoved into him harder, causing Anakin to let out a loud moan.

Perhaps it was how it looked on Anakin’s body, skin still pale where the sun couldn’t dance along him, tattoo bright and bold, black lines stark against the supple skin and taught muscles. Or maybe it was the meaning behind it; the open circle signifying the power they held both together and apart, the two of them a unit with a bond that couldn’t be broken no matter how much Obi-Wan knew it ought to be. Or maybe Obi-Wan really did enjoy Anakin’s attempts at driving him mad, and that this was just a physical reminder that Anakin would buck and twist and strain against Obi-Wan and his ideals until they were both left ragged and sore from the attempt to break free.

Either way…

Gripping Anakin’s hips harder, Obi-Wan dropped his gaze back down and watched the tattoo shift and stabilize as he fucked deeply into Anakin. Anakin was relaxed and warm around Obi-Wan’s length, knees tucked up beneath him as he rocked back into Obi-Wan’s embrace, voice breathy and sweet in the muggy air as Obi-Wan shoved his cock in and out. Sliding his hand along Anakin’s low back, he covered the tattoo with his palm and closed his eyes, breath coming out in swift puffs as he neared his completion.

Maybe he’d get one as well. Perhaps not his low-back - Obi-Wan had standards, after all. But perhaps on his shoulder, or maybe the curve of his hip right next to the base of his cock, easily hidden but still present to those who knew where to look.

Which would only be Anakin. Would only ever be Anakin.

“Thinking of getting one yourself?” Anakin huffed out, his smug smile back on his pretty lips.

Obi-Wan realized he’d let his walls down entirely, his thoughts flooding Anakin as if they were his own. With a glare he slipped his hand back around and started tugging Anakin’s cock, causing Anakin to let out a delicious little wail. His walls tightened then, sinking Obi-Wan in as low as he could go, and the pair froze in a stalemate, their cocks locked in each other’s tight embrace.

“I think it’d look hot on your hip,” Anakin said through gritted teeth. “I could admire it while I suck your cock.”

Obi-Wan’s grip faltered then, his grip relaxing just a bit. Anakin let out a satisfied huff and relaxed his walls in return, giving Obi-Wan permission to continue.

“Don’t know if I could pull off a tattoo,” Obi-Wan said as he increased his pace again, hand and hips a flurry of movement. “It’s all a bit permanent.”

“And dedicating your life to the Order isn’t permanent?”

“I can leave if I want.”

“But you won’t.”

Perhaps not. Not unless I had a good reason.

Obi-Wan could feel his orgasm drawing near, Anakin’s own fluttering along his body and through their bond. Curling over him, he started humping into Anakin at a rapid pace, pain and pleasure swirling through his groin and low back as he fondled Anakin’s cock, pushing into the spongy head before stroking his length with a lazy wrist and a tight grip. Biting down on the back of Anakin’s neck, Obi-Wan groaned as he released.

Anakin arched back into his touch, elbows dug into the mattress as he shoved back, his own orgasm ripping through him. He huffed and writhed, body tensing before relaxing, coating Obi-Wan’s hand in his come.

Sometimes, when Obi-Wan was feeling equally aroused and poetic, he wished that he could stain Anakin’s insides with his seed - mark him for all eternity, letting the galaxy know that Anakin might be the Chosen One, but he was Obi-Wan’s in all the ways that he could be. It was possessive and perhaps unlike how a Jedi should act, but in moments such as these Obi-Wan really didn’t care.

Sitting back once he was done, Obi-Wan slipped from Anakin’s body, sighing as he did so. Anakin flopped down onto the bed and spread out, his own louder groan breaking through the silence. With heavy-lidded eyes Obi-Wan admired the tattoo once more.

He supposed this mark of ownership - of attachment - would have to do.

#obikin #star wars fanfiction #lemon fanfiction #lemon does kinktober 2024

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finniestoncrane · 4 months ago

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Arkham!Black Mask with a female S/O who's his fling/sugar baby ... not giving him any attention to taunt him at a party or just being a brat! To which he later spanks them on his lap ... perhaps fingering, edging, and orgasm control + denial may pursue—toss in the Daddy kink too < 3

Thank you 🫶🖤

Arkham!Black Mask x Fem!Reader, word count: 850 aheeeeeeem i can't imagine anyone being brave enough to give this man some attitude but it would be so fun to rile him up to the point that he just has to punish you 💀 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: spanking, fingering, ruined orgasm/orgasm denial

Sauntering into Roman's bedroom, you could make out his form on the edge of the bed. He'd waited for you, growing all the more impatient with every minute you had him sitting there. His fingers tensed, scratching at the fabric of his white, neat pants, as you tossed your hair so flippantly. The scent of your perfume floated over to him, and for a brief moment, just a millisecond, he was placated. But that reminder of how sweet you smelled only server to anger him more, knowing you were withholding from him and had been all evening.

"Would you hurry the fuck up."

Turning to him, no expression on your face, you responded to his harsh demand.

"Oh. Were you waiting on me, Roman?"

Though his skull was fitted with a permanent scowl, you could feel his own forming underneath it, the atmosphere of the room changing as he decided he'd had enough of your insolence for one evening. He'd put up with your ignoring him, tolerated your bratty attitude when he'd demanded you sit beside him and look pretty, but the nonchalant way you responded to him had pushed him to the edge.

As you made your way past him he grabbed at your wrist, leather gloved hands gripping you firmly as his fingers tensed around, pushing tendons and bones as he held you there. You didn't fight it, you accepted it. But you allowed yourself to keep a neutral, almost blank expression in the face of his attempt at regaining control of you.

"You can try and keep that face on all you want, you little bitch. But I'm not gonna make it easy for you."

Another quick tug, your shoulder almost yanked from the socket, as he jerked your body down, pushing your back and adjusting you roughly until you were bent over his lap facing the ground.

The palm of his glove skimmed up over your thigh, not stopping at the hem of your skirt but rather pushing it up, exposing your underwear to him. As his fingers reached your lower back, he hooked them into the band of your panties, pulling them down aggressively, tearing at them as they dug into your thighs on their way down your legs. His hand was smoothing over your bare ass cheeks in soft, careful circles as he lined up his shot. And then he lifted his hand, bringing it back down with a sharp strike, an immediate, red welt forming on your skin.

You took the punishment gleefully, as always, relishing in the way you could feel his cock stirring in his pants, stiffening against your stomach as he delighted in seeing your skin respond to the pain he inflicted.

He let his palm slide over your rear, following the curve of your cheek before settling flat between your legs against your cunt. A finger teased your swollen lips, moving from side to side to separate them, letting your slick spread over them as he collected it on the gloved digit. You shifted your body, trying to force the finger inside of you, desperate to feel him, not wanting to wait anymore, but you were quickly punished with a swift slap to your cheeks, and Roman's deep groan before he began tutting.

"Uh-uh. I don't think so, toots. You think you can get what you want that easily?"

You shook your head, fighting the urge to nod and piss him off further, knowing that riling him up would make for wilder sex, but would mean you had to wait longer for it.

"You gonna use your words?"

"No."

"No?"

Biting your lip to stifle the moan, you settled your breathing before giving him the answer he wanted.

"No, daddy."

"Good girl. Why can't you behave like that all the time, huh?"

It was out before you could stop yourself. A quick retort that made his cheeks warm, flushed with arousal and a little bit of rage at your insolence.

"Because you don't like it when I behave. You like it when I'm bad, Romy."

Two of his fingers pressed into you, rough and fast, surprising you with how easily he could slide himself inside of you. He tapped against your walls, watching you squirm around him, clenching and giggling as he orchestrated your building arousal. It was effortless, there wasn't much Roman couldn't do, and bringing you to orgasm with just the touch of his fingers was certainly something he could achieve. And he was close to doing so. As he growled, fingers pumping within your wet, warm cunt, you could feel your stomach muscles tightening, eyes closing as you felt your vision blur.

And then it was over. Everything grinding to a screeching halt, your moans devolving into a deep groan of confusion and irritation as you felt your climax being pulled away with the tips of his fingers as they exited your body, dripping in your slick.

With a pout, you turned to him, trying to catch his eye. You could hear his laugh in his throat, deep and cruel.

"And you like it when I'm bad, yeah?"

#black mask #roman sionis #finnie writes #arkham black mask #black mask fanfiction #black mask x reader #black mask x you #black mask fic #roman sionis x reader #roman sionis fic #x reader

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wannaeatramyeon · 1 year ago

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Ryuhei Kuroda x Reader: Moon and Tide

F!Reader. Colleagues to Lovers. Mitsuki leaves, Ryuhei has some realisations.

Ryuhei experiences his first heartbreak at nineteen.

(In truth, his heart had broken time and time again with his unrequited love. Each time that Mitsuki dismisses him, each time he saw her with Shiba Inu.

But each time he used to see her, he also fell in love all over again too.)

Shortly after Sinu Han leaves, Mitsuki also departs.

"What?!" Ryuhei slams both fists down on the boardroom table, "Then I quit."

"Haven't you harassed her enough? She obviously doesn't want you to follow." Samuel Seo gazes over the top of his glasses, smirk on his face and relishing the blonde's distress.

"Watch your mouth." Ryuhei snarls, low and menacing, a clear warning as any.

"Samuel is right," Eugene is calm, voice even. "Please respect Mitsuki's wishes this one time." Unlike all the other times you've ignored her boundaries does not need to be said.

The room stills at his words. The chairman has spoken, although it does nothing to dissipate the tension. The air hangs heavy. Like an elastic band stretched taut, to its limits.

Samuel observes Mandeok tensing and Ryuhei’s nostrils flaring, and he wonders who will break first.

Ryuhei's eyes flit around the room. The silence, lack of support, from Kenta or even yourself is damning.

"Fuck you," he hisses. Leaving, not wanting to be here a second longer.

The door slams, reverberating off the walls.

"My apologies for Ryuhei's interruptions," Eugene gestures to you, "In Mitsuki's absence, Y/N will take on her duties and title."

You give a curt nod to the rest of the room, acknowledging your promotion, but your eyes stay glued to Ryuhei's empty seat.

To both of your surprise, you're the first one to reach out.

(You like to think it’s you fulfilling your new duties as president. The alliance, the uncomplicated relationship you always had with Ryuhei helped too.)

Gently knocking on his room door, calling his name. The voice, the tone, the pitch pulls him out of his mood. Briefly, for a second, before he realises the two of you sound nothing alike.

"Go away,"

He watches you respond by jiggling the handle aggressively. So much so that the entire door shakes then a second later - it opens with you striding in.

"That's handy," Ryuhei, lying in bed, glances over at you rearranging the pins back into your hair, "And a complete invasion of my privacy."

"Like you ever cared about anyone's privacy,"

Right. Another jab about Mitsuki. One that he used to take on the chin because it's true, he's not ashamed. He pines after her openly, certain that everyone in 2A would have heard of his antics by now, if not the whole of Workers.

Tonight is a different story. It's less the wound being raw and tender and more Ryuhei is missing an entire limb.

How can she leave without saying goodbye?

He misses her.

Ryuhei throws the covers over his head.

The message is clear though not enough to drive you out or to muffle your voice.

"You have 3 days to get yourself together, then I need you by my side."

Fuck off he wants to say. But what's the point anymore?

"I have negotiations that could go wrong. I need all the manpower I can get my hands on."

Like you wouldn't be able to handle it by yourself, a small voice in his brain retorts.

Whatever. This, Workers, everything has all been a complete waste of his time.

Ryuhei was officially Mitsuki's bodyguard, and it makes sense that his duties now extend to you.

Everything else thus far has transitioned smoothly, except your current dilemma: how do you deal with a bodyguard that doesn't want to guard you?

After the three days, you barge in at the crack of dawn and try to wrestle him out of bed. Out of the room that stinks of despair and depression.

A one sided obsession that has run its course, ended in the best way it could. You don't voice these thoughts out loud.

Ryuhei is a dead weight in your arms, childish and insolent and completely unhelpful.

He's a grown man. There's little you can do.

Your lips crease thin with fury but no words spill forth.

You leave without him.

It's a full week later that Ryuhei musters up enough energy to crawl out of bed, throwing on something half presentable to stretch his legs.

Wandering the corridors, guilt creeps over him when he sees you talking to Kenta, right arm bandaged and in a sling.

Kenta nods at his friend's reappearance, you ignore him completely.

Well. He supposes he deserves that.

Seeing you kick starts a little change.

Not a lot, enough to get Ryuhei out of bed every day and put up an appearance of semi-normality. Key word: semi.

He slumps over a desk half the time, willing away the hours by fiddling with the edges of papers and documents, heart aching.

(A small part of him, maybe the most pathetic part, wants to doodle Mitsuki's name over and over.)

Other times he takes to training with a ferocity that surprises himself.

The only moments he feels anything other than a hollowness is when he's by your side. Eyes constantly attracted to your broken arm.

Steel pins, Kenta had mentioned, face grim as he clicks his lighter, adding that it was only thanks to your quick thinking the executives of Workers made it out alive.

Huh, it was that bad?

The guilt builds, claws under his skin and at his conscience. Could have sworn you were ambidextrous except now he watches you struggle with your dominant hand out of action.

He's not sure if it's out of stubbornness or forgetfulness that you have used chopsticks all week. Albeit your dexterity has vastly improved since Monday, watching you is nothing short of exasperating.

Ryuhei’s peace offering comes in the form of a spoon.

You've barely exchanged words since that day where you tried to hoist him out of bed. Only on a needs-must basis. Terse and to the point.

You were thoroughly pissed off and everyone knew it.

Righteous in your anger at first. You had explicitly said that you needed all hands on deck, implicitly asked for his help and frustrated he couldn't separate his personal feelings enough to do his job when there are lives at stake. Over the past couple weeks, your ire has reduced, cooled until he is now nothing but a thorn in your side.

"Go on, just take it," The thorn in your side holds out the utensil.

You ignore him.

"Or else I could just feed you?" He offers, a hint of mischief returning to his eyes.

Ryuhei huffs when you tell him he can try if he wants a broken arm to match yours.

Inch by inch, you thaw.

Would have thawed quicker if Ryuhei lessened his efforts to get back into your good graces, causing headaches and extra work more often than not.

Still, he tries. Following you around, part bodyguard, part puppy. You appreciate it in hindsight. It’s almost cute.

Little by little, he also regains the bounce in his step.

Ryuhei tries once to contact Mitsuki.

She says she has no plans to return or to see him again.

She doesn't offer anything else.

He stays silent the whole time.

Some may consider that a form of closure, Ryuhei isn’t sure. Things at least get slightly easier after that.

Once an all encompassing searing pain, the hurt and heartbreak eventually settles and dulls into a throb.

Normalcy becomes less of a facade.

Ryuhei flips off Eugene in earnest, tells Samuel Seo to eat shit with sincerity, struts 2A with his confident gait once more.

"Nomen," you nudge him lightly with your shoulder. Even with your mask on, he can hear the smile in your voice. "It's good to have you back."

"Yeah," he agrees. It is good to be back.

Not everything is smooth sailing, however.

In his more melodramatic moments, in which there are many, Ryuhei vows never to love again, endure a lifetime of chastity, promising to never so much as gaze at another woman.

You snort at the declarations.

"What?" He snaps and you pointedly return his gaze as he remains indignant, "You don't count."

You let that particular one slide but- "Who's going to sleep with you anyway, you're a pathetic asshole."

"A very handsome pathetic asshole," he corrects.

"Hmm." Yet you don't disagree.

It's only later that day, stuck in another godforsaken meeting with you and Eugene, when boredom strikes and his mind wanders that Ryuhei realises that you didn't refute his claim.

He watches you, head tilted and eyebrows furrowed.

Huh.

Ryuhei doesn't care about you, not like he cares about Mitsuki. Though he doesn't care about anyone the same way he cares (cared?) about her.

It's not personal.

His relationship with you has always been easy, flirtatious without intent.

Sharp words and double entendres litter your conversations. Fun during the better moments, aggravating during others. Skin deep, superficial. He doesn't know you beyond the limits of your words, not really, and the experience is mutual.

Others have commented on your strength and character before. Formidable. A force to be reckoned with.

Even more have taken note of your looks, a common water cooler topic.

To Ryuhei, you're like the moon. Sure you're nice to look at. Yet when Mitsuki is the stars and beyond; dazzling, glittering with untold adventures, how can anyone possibly compare?

(In the end, absence makes the heart grow fonder. Though not in the way Ryuhei expects.)

He carries out his new bodyguard tasks without complaint.

It only made sense with your arm out of commission, and him technically and almost literally being your right hand man, that he carries your bag, your coffee too. Really, whatever you need.

What’s more, he now knows you take your coffee exactly like him. Quadruple shot, milky and disgustingly sweet.

Spends more time scrolling on your phone than a president probably should.

Hate sitting with your back to the door. And in meetings where there are no other options, Ryuhei makes sure to position himself opposite instead of being next to you. Himself sat where you would have preferred. One eye on any potential dangers and the exit route, giving a reassuring, roguish smile that eases your worries.

Bags under your eyes naturally mean a poor night’s sleep. Bags under your eyes and hair in a ponytail means you do not want to be here today. Something you would never voice out loud, but Ryuhei can read you anyway.

On those days, he makes sure he’s always one step ahead and extra considerate. He’s not completely altruistic, he also doesn’t want to be shouted at again.

The emptiness still comes and goes, catches him out when he least expects it. Usually he feels Mitsuki’s absence more than remembers her presence.

Ryuhei notices you a bit more too, these days. Ever since your offhand agreement.

The way you say his name is nothing like how she used to. The way you look at him is nothing like how she used to.

It’s actually warmer.

“You fucking idiot,” your tone is a complete contrast to your gentle hands, now completely healed and bandaging up his instead.

Ryuhei pouts with mock hurt and you roll your eyes. You will not give him sympathy, not for this.

(A yelp diverted your attention earlier today, and you rushed to find Kenta holding his lighter and Ryuhei cradling his own hand, wincing in pain.

You took one look at the two guilty faces and realised that the blonde moron wanted to learn how to set his finger alight like Kenta without hurting himself.

Ryuhei is one thing, but you expected better from Kenta. You turn to him, disappointment painted on your face and tell him exactly that.

“What about me!” Ryuhei had the audacity to pipe up. You roughly snatched his wrist and dragged him away.)

“Don’t set yourself on fire again,” you punctuate each word by sharply jabbing him in the chest with your finger.

Ryuhei flutters his eyelashes at you in a way he thinks must be quite charming and endearing. Who knows where the hell he got that idea from. You’re tempted to gouge out his eyes more than anything.

Somehow, you manage to resist. You also refrain from rolling your eyes at him again.

(You worry if you do that anymore, they might get permanently stuck and never return back to normal.)

Ryuhei studies his injured hand. Lying in bed, other hand behind his head, holding it up into the direct path of the silver moonlight cutting through the darkness.

He moves it, angles it this way and that. Letting the highlights and shadows illuminate your neat handiwork.

Something about this makes him feel funny. A little light headed.

He can’t recall the last time anyone touched him so kindly. Can’t recall anyone ever taking care of him when he’s been hurt before.

If he squints and looks at the neat little knot just right, he can almost see a heart shape.

It’s odd.

Were you always this flirtatious? Was he always this coquettish with you?

Did you always return his taunts with such a sparkle in your eyes?

When did you start having so many inside jokes, your own moments snickering together?

And it’s like he can finally see you. No longer subjected to his previous tunnel vision, he finally understands what everyone has been saying.

You’re much more stunning than Ryuhei remembers.

He also doesn’t remember your smile making him feel this way before.

Lastly, he remembers saying ‘you don’t count’. His words have come back to bite him.

Ryuhei wakes up at his usual time on a Wednesday.

It’s a nothing special sort of day.

Slinks out of his bed like he usually does, goes about his day as he usually does, teases you with intention and a quickened pulse. Which… ok, that one is new.

All in all. It’s fine. It’s an unremarkable Wednesday.

Except the dull ache in his chest, one he has had to endure for the last few months, isn't there anymore.

There’s a different type of guilt at play.

First-

When you’re used to something for years and years, it takes time to break out of a habit. For the first time, Ryuhei begins to see his attachment to Mitsuki as the unhealthy obsession that it is.

He’s not fully ready to pick this apart just yet.

Second-

How do you separate a rebound from something real? That you’re not just a replacement, a new person to pass the time?

And that idea, that you’re a replacement for anything, shocks him. It’s unimaginable to think of you as a passing fancy because you deserve so much better.

That really should have given him an inkling.

On the other hand. When Ryuhei has only surrounded his love life with the one red flag, and himself being the other red flag too… he has a lot to learn.

Unfortunately you did get one thing right: Ryuhei is pathetic. His baseline personality is an absolute simp.

Maybe it would have been different if his informative years played out differently. Alas.

Alone, he tries to dissect his thoughts and feelings. In your company, he is much more simple. Constantly wanting to capture your attention, which you give easily and with minimal conditions.

Ryuhei can now read you like the back of his hand, knows your preferences so well that he’s able to anticipate your needs before they develop into needs. Wants, at best. Perhaps not even that.

And when other people look at you, the desire shown easily on their face that he has tried to tamper down, his possessiveness and jealousy flares.

Unsubtle shoulder barges and sneers are thrown in their direction.

But Ryuhei is nothing if not patient. He supposes it won’t be so bad if you turn him down and you’re happy with someone else.

He’s used to that.

Giving you the opportunity to turn him down though, he’s not sure yet how to go about.

Conveniently, an opportunity does arise.

Celebrating the new Fifth Affiliates, Eugene had said, showing his face at the gathering for about ten minutes before leaving.

Then the two newbies, who Ryuhei doesn’t bother to get the names of because he sure as hell doesn’t want to know anyone with tacky ‘H’ tattoos (on their forehead and neck for crying out loud!), leave shortly after.

Ryuhei also considers it a small victory when Samuel Seo departs, after a very witty verbal sparring to see who can tell each other to fuck off in increasingly creative ways.

“You’re so fucking juvenile,” you sigh, though you begrudgingly admit that you were impressed throughout that display.

“At least I got the last word in,” Ryuhei grins, giving the finger to Samuel’s retreating back.

The room empties out at a quicker rate now that the non-mandatory, completely optional (if you want to keep your job) gathering is devoid of the more severe senior management.

No more than another 30 minutes pass and only you and Ryuhei remain. Two small figures in an oversized room, full of empty tables but one.

Ryuhei rests one elbow on the table, propping up his head and looks at you with a cocky smile.

“Remember when I said I’m never going to gaze at anyone ever again? That was a lie.”

“Really.” You deadpan, resisting once more the urge to roll your eyes. It might be the most difficult thing you have ever had to do.

“I lied when I said you don’t count too.”

Ryuhei, for all his flaws, has only ever been forthright with his emotions. In his own roundabout and very sex-pest way with Mitsuki, though he did confess in the end. As for right now, well, he has learned his lesson.

You give him a response he didn’t expect.

“I think you should spend more time on your own first.”

Ryuhei is immediately placed on a leave of absence the next day.

You explain clearly to him as he sits opposite, his very official letter scrunched in his fist and feeling extremely petulant, that while you do like him, he needs some distance to everything.

He only hears the first part. You like him? You? Like? Him? The words swim round and round in his mind.

“Ryuhei,” you snap your fingers and him out of his daze.

“Then what’s the problem?” he whines.

“Don’t make me into another Mitsuki,” Ryuhei opens his mouth to argue that he won’t, there is no way-

“Ryuhei,” you repeat his name again in an authoritative tone that leaves no room for argument. Echoing your words from yesterday. “You need to spend more time on your own. This is non negotiable.”

Ryuhei sulks like there is no tomorrow.

Tries to manifest you outside his door but to no avail. He doesn’t see you at all.

That just about surmises his first week.

The week after, he thinks about you. How strange that you started as colleagues, almost friends first. How well he actually knows you.

Now months after Mitsuki has left, Ryuhei can only piece together fragments of her.

Even still, he had never seen the whole picture. He never knew her in her entirety, only the portrait he painted.

What becomes exceedingly clear is his one sided behaviour.

The fog, the rose tinted glasses fully lifts in the fourth week.

The sixth week he carefully pries open the past.

Gently picks apart what he wasn’t ready to before.

Moments of self reflection are painful, embarrassing. If the earth could open up and swallow him whole, he would gladly take it.

He still feels something for Mitsuki, though pertaining more to the remorse and shame side rather than anything else.

In an ideal world, he would seek her out and offer an apology for his past behaviour. However, in the real world, that only helps to alleviate his own conscience.

He has already reached out once before and she has given her answer.

Nothing else from Ryuhei now would benefit either party.

Two full months later, Ryuhei sees you once again at work.

Your smile still makes his heart flutter and brain short wire.

Except he can now see you as a whole person, all your flaws and faults too. What he used to ignore with Mitsuki, blinded by his obsession.

His feelings for you don't change.

Ryuhei wonders when he started to like you.

Thinks his heart liked you before his brain even realised. When the time is right, he needs to apologise for how long it took him to fully catch up.

He remembers thinking of you as the moon once, paling in comparison to the stars and the great beyond.

That wasn’t quite fair. Wasn't accurate at all.

If you are the celestial body, luminous and hung high in the heavens by the gods themselves, then Ryuhei considers himself the tide.

He understands now, with its lunar radiance, there is nothing that comes close.

Quite simply: 月が綺麗ですね

(The moon is beautiful, isn't it?)

At twenty, Ryuhei experiences real love.

Experiences what it truly means to love and to be loved.

#lookism #lookism x reader #lookism webtoon #lookism manhwa #lookism fic #ryuhei kuroda #ryuhei kuroda x reader #ryuhei x reader #wannaeatramyeon #3.5k words on this fucking asshole #a little. maybe a lot OOC.#trying to break him out of Mitsuki's grasps #✨character growth✨#making this pathetic meow meow less pathetic

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canonsinthehead · 1 month ago

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One Piece Headcanons - One Piece Fan Letter's Brother & More

Let's finally put words and these two magnificent Marine Brothers along with some headcanons. Dinner is ready!

Older Brother

Name: Gina D. Morino

Birthplace: South Blue

Age: 32 yo (DO NOT call him old, he hates it and he’s not)

Marine Rank: Master Chief Petty Officer

Favorite Food: His favorites fruits are Mangoes and Bananas (because monkey love bananas apparently). He has a weakness for sweets and parfaits but barely consume them to stay in shape. Meat (especially Grilled Beef or Lamb) in the honor of his favorite pirate

Least liked Food: Cranberries and he hates any types of pasta and tomato meatball sauce because one day he had to clean up his brother vomit after getting drunk and they just ate that very meal. The disgusting smell and pool of digested food on the floor forever turned him off from this meal.

Typical older sibling syndrome, when he was younger his parents put a lot of “you must show the example! You are the first-born!” type of pressure.

Back in elementary school up until high school, he had to take ballet classes (under the order of his parents) when his younger brother could choose whatever he wanted to do as extracurricular activities. He changed it every week or so and their parents folded EVERYTIME.

Still enjoys dancing but keeps it to himself because it was often used as a nasty joke (Do you know my big bro loves to dance?! Come on show us!!!! Hahahaha you should be in a band!). The reason why it bothers him so much is because he despises when someone’s passion (no matter what it is) is not taken seriously or mocked/ridiculed.

He is taller and never mentions the fact that his arrogant little brother is wearing height lengthening insoles to make both of them the same height. The younger often brags when he appears a little taller. Gina refrains from mentioning the truth because his brother is insecure about his height

Has a Luffy shrine in his bedroom in a shoe box he hides under his bed.

Everything he eats turns into 10 pounds of fat if he’s not careful contrary to his brother who can inhaled gallons of food and not gain a single pound.

Always loses at card games against his younger brother

Single and never being in a relationship. If he gained 1$ every time his parents asked when he’ll get married, he would be richer than all celestial dragons combined.

Currently operates in New Marineford but would love to work and discover the East Blue (Luffy birthplace)

his brother clown him for having a “feminine name”

Favorite Marine: Gets along with Koby well. Female higher-ups won’t leave him alone. He is working under Tashigi’s leadership, but she recommended him to Tsuru who agreed to further his training and possibly promote him since he made so much improvement. Bel-Mère can’t contain her laughter “You’re so popular with the ladies!”

Least Liked Marine:

Borsalino. He is not forgiving him for almost killing him with his beams of lights.

Akainu & Greenbull: With all that happened to him recently, his stance on the Marine, pirates and the world are changing but those two men’s narratives are too much in his opinion and negative in the long term.

Likes Pinkpantheress

Younger Brother

Name: Clovis D. Morino

Birthplace: South Blue

Age: 28 yo

Marine Rank: Lieutenant Commander

Favorite Food: He loves Strawberries and swears Rhubarb is the greatest thing ever (everyone ignores him). Seafood boil enthusiast and Sandwich Lover, it doesn’t matter what’s inside of it.

Least liked Food: Hate greens and almost pukes at the sight of them, his brother thinks he need to grow up.

He received the typical youngest sibling favoritism, and it got to his head.

Favorite Activity to do with his brother: Challenging to anything (like races, arm wrestling, push-ups and loses 90% of the time but ALWAYS bring up how it’s the only time his older brother can win and how he’s better than him at life blah blah blah...,). One thing they agree on is their love of collecting and analysis wanted/bounty posters. They are geeks about it and is always trying to learn about what going in the world of piracy even if “the pirates are bad, and we are the good marine”

Had many girlfriends but struggles to stay faithful and often uses his marine rank to get his way with the ladies. Gold Medal Womanizer.

Biggest dog fan while his brother is a rodent (rabbit, Guinea pig, Hamster & Capybara) type of guy

For unknown reason, mobs of pigeons have an affair with him and often chase him, he stopped fighting it when he learned that birds pooping on you meant great luck and it happens every time. “I DIDN’T CHOSE LUCK, LUCK CHOSE ME!”

Favorite Marine: Akainu, for being the strongest in his opinion. He loves to hang out with Django & Full-Body. Not only they are in the same rank but they are cool dudes to have a good time & dance with. Clovis likes above all when Django tells his adventures when he was a pirate. There’s thousands of stories and all of them have all type of information about pirates and the world, it fascinates him to no end.

Least Liked Marine: Hina.

He will never admit how hard it is for him to ask for help to his brother even in his worst moments because of his gigantic ego. Marineford was a painful and bitter lesson in humility even if his “spoiled brat” personality never went away or reduced a little bit.

Blonde Rich Kid

Name: Barclay Early Cumberbatch

Birthplace: East Blue

Age: 24 yo

Marine Rank: Seaman Recruit First Class

Favorite Food: Beef Sausages, Quiche & Eggplant Spread

Least liked Food: Spicy Foods, Cinamon & Iced Coffee (he thinks it’s an abomination to the art of coffee)

Rich kid who got in with his father’s connections, this is the highest rank he could get without traditionally “climbing the ladder” and he’s bitter about it

It was not clear, but Helmeppo know this guy, his family was working with Captain Morgan (during his prime). Helmeppo mentioned how Barclay always had narcissistic/bullying/controlling tendencies worse than him back in days. Helmeppo always tries to stay as far as he possibly can and advice others to do the same

He was the type to questions his teachers and starting arguments with them over the taught material back in college/marine academy.

Often complain how uncomfortable the fodder marines’ uniform is

He often shoves civilians out of his way or kicks dogs.

Doesn’t respect women in the Marine

Favorite Marine:

Akainu.

Least Liked Marine:

You would think him and Greenbull are personality and ideology twins, but he despises the green admiral for being “annoying”, his closeness with the fleet admiral and for being egregiously unattractive.

HE CAN’T STAND KOBY! He had to work under him many times and he can’t bottle his hatred for the pink haired boy. His voice, the way he dresses, EVERYTHING. Barclay always depicts him as someone desperate for the validation of higher-ups and talentless.

Smoker. Told the vice admiral to “put some clothes on”. Smoker didn’t acknowledge his existence.

X Drake. Knowing Drakes’s endeavor with women, he made him grab a seaman recruit’s breasts and got suspended for it, but his rich daddy bailed him out like nothing happened.

He made Hibari’s life a living nightmare luckily Bel-Mère was here to check him.

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circlique · 10 months ago

Text

Avatar: Threads of Power

Prologue/Chapter 1:

Overall Rating: Mature (this chapter, Gen)

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: Gen, Multi

Fandoms: Avatar: The Last Airbender

In the era of Kyoshi, a scrap of ancient history was discovered. Faded by centuries of dust and neglect, all that could be discerned from the tattered parchment was the words, "Dai Li's agents brought balance to the chaos of Ba Sing Se." It is from this that Kyoshi would find the inspiration to establish a new police force in Ba Sing Se in her era. But what of the original Dai Li? Thousands of years before Kyoshi, Kuruk, and Yangchen--a history all but lost to time--the world teetered on the brink. Nations one incident from all out war, environments destroyed by the greed of man, and spirits angered by the insolence of humanity. The spirits threatened to wipe them all out, unless the humans could make a change. From this chaos, a man named Dai Li attempted to unite the world. With his charismatic aura and strange bending abilities, he all but compelled his followers to complete devotion. His power spread, commanding total submission. His daughter, however, would ruin his plans. After his first fall, Dai Li, thought dead, faded into obscurity, and his daughter, granted a strange power by the last Lion Turtle, rose to fill the void of the absent Avatar. Ten years later, Dai Li would rear his head again, and Juno, knowing humanity under Dai Li's rule would have no humanity at all, sought out her own band of benders to take on her father. With all their differences and flaws, she will have her work cut out for her as they face Dai Li's enigmatic cult, their own demons, and the Avatar of whom no one speaks.

Yay, it's here! I hope you'll give it a read and stick along for the ride with me!

Click to read on AO3!

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fiction-box · 11 months ago

Text

Blood From A Stone

Blue Lions Boys X Fem!Reader

Hello, my lovelies! I wrote this in an attempt to psyche myself up for these next few days as I will be traveling for a job interview. I hope you all have been staying warm these past few weeks (the temperature has been consistently negative where I am now). I will attempt to start working on my inbox once I return. This work was not originally going to go this far in-depth, but this is where the story wanted to go. Nonetheless, please enjoy!

Requests are open. The story will continue under the cut.

After what might have been a ten minute walk, Professor Byleth halted her Blue Lions in the middle of the woods surrounding the monastery. You felt the warmth of the late spring sun shining through the trees; an experience made more pleasant by the soft breeze rifling through your hair.

You and Ingrid had been speculating what exercise you might be coming outside to do, taking an opportunity to make conversation during the walk. Each Friday, the professor enforced some group activity - shopping relays in town, competitive hunting, blindfolded sparring matches - to let everyone better learn the strengths of their classmates.

Sure enough, you watched the former mercenary pull the infamous blindfolds out of the satchel sitting on her waist. A hefty exhale resounded next to you.

“Aw, come on! Not this again…” Annette whined.

No one could blame her; Dedue had hit her uncharacteristically hard in the confusion of his blindness during their match. She might even still be sore from last weekend.

“Now, now - repeating the same exercise two weeks in a row wouldn’t be much help to us. This is meant to build our sense of camaraderie, not our dread for the end of the week,” Byleth corrected. “Line up, please.”

You did so, shuffling into a spot between Annette and Ingrid as your teacher scrutinized the class.

Dimitri caught a green bandana in the same second Dedue was handed a brown one. Green for Ashe and Mercedes, brown for you and Annette.

“Teams,” Dedue noted.

“Please tie them around your foreheads. I’ll explain in a moment.”

A brown scrap of fabric landed in Felix’s palm, the bluenette bringing it to his forehead before Ingrid and Sylvain received their green cloths. Silently cheering, you watched Professor Byleth fix the final brown textile to her own head.

“Today’s activity focuses on both stealth and strategy. Everyone received a color responding to their team. Your objective is to steal all of your opponents’ headbands - the first team to lose all of which will lose.”

Immediately, Sylvain reached over Ashe’s head to pull Felix’s bandana off his head, dangling it in the air.

“One down, everyone!”

“You know damn well we haven’t started yet!” the swordsman snapped.

Dimitri grinned, “I must say Felix, I never saw you as someone to be so easily caught off your guard.”

Ingrid hardly held back a snicker, Ashe’s body practically trembling with a similar sentiment as he reflexively moved out of the way of the two nobles.

Felix clenched his hands into fists, “I’ll tear that cloth into tatters while it’s still wrapped around your insolent-”

“That’s quite enough.”

Professor Byleth eyed Sylvain, prompting him to quickly return Felix’s band. Not without receiving a moderate punch to the arm in retaliation, of course.

“The forest will be split down the middle in regards to starting positions. Those with green bands will begin on the east while brown will start on the west. Each team will be given one minute to conceal themselves, come up with a plan, and do anything else they see fit before I sound the whistle.”

“Your opponents’ accessories can be taken by any means necessary. While use of stealth is encouraged, feel free to use weapons and other advantages as you see fit. The goal is to win, first and foremost. Once you are eliminated, you are to return here until we finish.”

“Prepare to sit on your ass for fifteen minutes, boar.”

You couldn’t help the sound that came out of you at that. Dimitri’s eyes flashed over to discern your reaction before his face promptly flushed a light hue of pink.

“Wh- Sylvain took your headband, not me!”

The redhead frowned, lightly ghosting his hand over his new injury, “Throwing me to the wolves so quickly, your Highness? Maybe-”

“Oh, enough already,” Byleth huffed. “Off to the woods with you all. Right now. Sixty seconds!”

Newly motivated by the time constraint, everyone shifted to group up before rushing to their respective sides.

You weaved between the trees, Professor Byleth following close behind as you trailed Dedue and Annette. Not long after you reached a central-western location, Felix instantly pulled the two in front of you aside.

“...-ce at the northern end of the forest where the dirt is…”

A bit confused, you shifted your eyes to meet those of your professor. Apparently, neither of you were invited to this strategy meeting.

That meant you weren’t needed then, right?

It was all the same to you. Better than the same, actually; an archer flying solo on a stealth mission in the woods didn’t sound like a terrible assignment in the least.

To top it all off, Professor Byleth on her own elsewhere in the forest at the same time? The anticipation would surely kill you. Maybe you would even see her skills more personally than you had on the few traditional battlefields your class fought on so far.

You were brought back to the present as your professor turned to you in real life, nodding at you before slipping into the shadow of a thick tree.

Sticking around just a little longer, you gathered enough snippets of Felix’s conversation to understand his plan. He wanted to make a hole in the ground on the northern side large enough to hold as many members of the opposing side as possible. It sounded a bit ambitious, but you supposed that was nothing new concerning the second son.

In any case, your team seemed to masquerade as the better part of a mess. You wondered how things were with Ingrid…

…45, 46, 47…

After a moment, you strengthened your resolve. The best way to see what the other team was up to would be to go see for yourself, right?

Swiftly working your way counterclockwise around the forest, you snuck over to the eastern side, crossing over only upon hearing a shrill note knocking against the trees. It was now imperative to stay hidden in whatever darkness would conceal you. Having a bow certainly made this easier in terms of mobility since you could just sling it across your body.

Even the animals seemed quiet. Accordingly, you were on high alert. Your movements became more careful, more deliberate as your heart began to race in anticipation. No stepping on branches or leaves; just grass and dirt. No bumping against the trees or sudden movements; just liquid flow and shady cover. Soft, swift, and silent.

Once you believed yourself to have rounded the terrain far enough, you stopped, climbing the tree with the best vantage point in the area and scanning the shady path where your opponents must have started. That is, if the ruined leaves on the ground served as any clue. Prepared for action, you took your bow off your back and pulled an arrow out of the slim training quiver you had been given. Patience was a game you were sure to win, especially in such a good position.

Nothing happened, though. You detected no movement, no flash of colors, and you eventually concluded that the other group must have had a similar idea. After all, most people are right handed, so they might have felt more comfortable countering on the northern side than from the south.

You were somewhat discouraged at your failure to help, but it was no big deal. Especially not when you heard the sound of branches snapping back the way you came. Felix’s strategy must have worked - there was nothing else you could imagine that might make that kind of sound. It must have been effective, too; you recalled an offhanded comment he made about Leonie teaching him something about traps.

Resigning yourself to picking off any stragglers that might have strayed from the group near Felix, you lowered yourself from your tree. Perhaps enough time remained for you to return to your side and assess the damages to see who was left.

Progressing back the way you came would be simple enough. Although you were intent on remaining undetected, you heard several branches snapping and some shouting up ahead.

Felix must have really gotten to them.

You grew close enough to the commotion to recognize Dimitri and Ashe’s voices as the ones yelling, but it made no sense. You had hardly moved a few paces past the tree you were in, and you were still circling the southern side of the forest.

Why were they being so loud? Did they lose, or did they forget this was meant to be a stealth exercise?

But that didn’t make sense, either. They were the best listeners in Professor Byleth’s class, barring Annette; there’s no way they would slack off now of all times.

Silently, you crept toward their shouts until you were brought to a wall of greenery. If you went through…

You didn’t have enough time to hide before they came barreling through the bush.

“Woah!” an ambush? And you fell for it, no less?

Ashe’s eyes widened, his natural agility allowing him to dodge you just in time. Dimitri, with no such skill, slammed into you. The two of you crashed into the ground, the prince scrambling to the weapon you knocked out of his hands as Ashe pulled you onto your feet.

“Come on, get up!” the archer begged you.

Dimitri frantically shot off the dirt while Ashe started to guide you in the direction they were running. You didn’t have a moment to collect your thoughts or ask questions.

The crown prince’s longer legs carried him past you before he grabbed your left arm with his free hand. Your right hand still connected to Ashe, the three of you formed a chain for a moment as Dimitri lent you his momentum.

A terrible roar emanated from the bush where the boys appeared, prompting you all to detach and pick up the pace. The sounds of three sets of feet slamming against the dirt bounced off the trees in the forest.

Two crest beasts barrelled through the shrubs, snapping branches in their pursuit of you and your friends.

“How?” you pleaded, your legs moving impossibly faster with the new adrenaline rush.

“No clue,” Dimitri weaved between the trees, his breath heavy, “where they came from.”

A wave of terror pulsed through you. All you felt were eyes on your back, on your friends, and there was nothing you could do about it. They approached, so much larger and covering so much more ground.

Naturally, your smaller size and unfamiliarity with the area caught up with your group. The demons pursuing you could simply demolish the forest in their path, but Dimitri could only get so far before his height forced him to fumble through a group of low-hanging branches.

Unable to slow down, you crashed into him, sprawling to the forest floor. Ashe had once again been attentive and agile enough to change course, but you and the prince lied prone on the ground.

A sound of anticipation came in the form of an unearthly squeal from one of the monsters trailing seconds behind you. If you did nothing here, you would surely die.

Upon noticing Dimitri had again dropped his lance in his fall, you snatched it and flipped over to face one of the beasts, contesting a well-timed snap of its jaw by holding the weapon up and angling it to act as a pike. It worked just well enough to force the creature’s mouth open…

…until the beast’s maw clamped down on the training weapon, struggling over it with you before it splintered and snapped.

Knocked backwards, your shoulders never got the chance to hit the ground. Dimitri had been given enough time to stand, placing his hands under your arms and dragging you back while Ashe shouted from another direction.

The archer’s cries were enough to split the horrific hunting party, though the only thing you and Dimitri did was continue running.

This is hopeless. All our weapons are meant for training, Ashe is on his own, there are no other fighters with us…

“We can’t keep running,” you breathed, looping around a tree to throw the monster off your trail, “something has to change.”

…Felix…

You curved around the forest, switching to head back to your group, “Follow me.”

The two of you determined that zig-zagging was the best way to outrun the monster, though if you slowed down, you would no doubt be back on the ground again.

Intuitively, you followed the path you were fairly certain Dimitri’s teammates must have taken to get to the western part of the forest. All the while, you silently prayed that your legs would continue to carry you at a pace fast enough that the beast wouldn’t gain too much ground.

Not that it could be helped; you took two strides for every one of the beast’s.

“Felix! Felix, where are you?”

“Felix!” Dimitri followed your lead.

A figure appeared in the distance, his fair skin and blue hair giving him away, “Why the hell are you two-?”

The shriek from the beast trailing you and the prince drowned out the rest of his sentence.

“Felix, where’s the trap?!”

“Shit,” he cursed, though you couldn’t hear. “This way!”

Pushing yourself just a bit further, you forced your mind to ignore the screams of protest from your body. Felix sprinted just ahead of you, his lack of fatigue allowing him to match pace with your adrenaline spike before he rounded a bush.

“Get the professor!” your teammate ordered someone you couldn’t see.

Dimitri rushed past you to follow the bluenette. Upon leaving the beast’s line of sight, however, he was yanked into the large shrub. You recognized Felix’s hand wrapping around your arm before you stumbled into him, entering the branches as well.

“Thank you, Dedue,” you heard Dimitri’s voice next to you, the phrase uttered out between gasps for air.

It was in the split second before the beast rounded the shrub that you turned your head and recognized the trick. The covering on the pit was placed in the path next to the bush you four were in. If someone hadn’t known to stop and take a route through the hedge, they would have fallen through the dirt.

And upon seeing Professor Byleth appear at the other end of the pit, creator sword drawn to lure the crest beast toward her, you recognized how smart your teammates really were.

The pit wasn’t big enough to hold a crest beast by any means, but it certainly did the trick to immobilize it as the monster lost its footing. A well placed strike to the crest stone on the back of its neck shattered the source of its power. You could only stare at the crumbling animal, its bony limbs reduced to dust. The only thing lying in the crater at the end was…

“A person?” Dedue balked.

You moved to get a closer look before realizing Felix still had his arm around you.

“Um…”

Absentmindedly, he released you, throwing an apology over his shoulder before going to examine the woman lying dead in what very much could have been her grave.

Unbeknownst to you, your body was beginning to shut down. Running all that way left you exhausted, and having done so at a sprint certainly didn’t make matters any better. Yet the second you sank to the ground to truly catch your breath, you remembered.

Ashe.

“P-Professor,” you coughed, “...Ashe-”

“...What?”

“Damn, we left Ashe in the forest!” Dimitri agonized.

Byleth’s eyes sharpened, “Understood. I’ll go find him.”

“I’m coming, too.”

“What?” Felix questioned. “No, there’s no way - you’re way too tired.”

“Dimitri and I are the only ones who know where he is!”

At this, the prince attempted to rise from his position bracing on his knees “Then I’ll go.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re a worse candidate than I am - you’re still bleeding from the trees!”

“Bleeding? I’m not-”

“Your highness,” Dedue cut him off, “your chest.”

Certainly, his uniform was ripped in places, blood pooling out from the cuts he received when he scraped himself on the branches, earlier.

“You must not have felt it due to the adrenaline. We should get you to Mercedes.”

Sure of yourself, you began to walk backwards in the direction you came from, “Professor, there’s no time! You have your sword, so if push comes to shove, I’ll be fine. Ashe doesn’t have a proper weapon, though, and he must have been running for a long time!”

Professor Byleth wasted no words, “Fine then. Lead the way.”

As the two of you picked up the pace, she turned to call out, “Be sure to clear that girl out of the pit! Get her to Mercedes!”

The dull ache in your legs became impossible to ignore once you ran back into the forest. Still, through a mix of retracing your steps and following the sounds of roaring and trees snapping, you managed to get close to where you and Ashe had parted ways.

Sure enough, several trees had been reduced to splinters and fallen trunks. The damage created a small clearing, through which you could see your friend. He looked really out of it, the forest around him a mess from the beast’s rage.

“Ashe! Over here!”

The professor hit the creature a few times with her sword, extending its reach to divert its attention to herself. Recognizing her attempts to hurt it, the beast reared its head and focused its efforts on Byleth.

She had provided enough of a distraction that Ashe could make it to you. Allowing himself a moment’s respite, he braced himself on his knees similar to how Dimitri had earlier. Breathless, the two of you watched your mentor’s skills at work.

The creator sword would wrap around the wild creature’s neck; Byleth’s obvious attempt at trying to break the stone. Each time, the tether was countered by a snap of the beast’s teeth, or her attack missed entirely. The angle was impossible from where she was standing.

“Fall back, you two - I’ll be right behind you!”

Ashe began to protest, “But-”

“You’re both tired, you’ll need whatever headstart I can give y-ngh!”

Her opponent had grown impatient, swiping its claws at the chain of her sword before her next attack could connect. The weapon was yanked to the side, knocking the professor off balance for a moment and sending the weapon flying out of her hand.

“Just go! I promise I’ll be right there!”

Willing your legs to move, you grabbed Ashe’s wrist and pulled him up, guiding him the first few steps of the way. Once he managed to find his footing, you took a position to lead him back to the group in the west.

You didn’t think you would be able to do much of anything tomorrow, after this. The taste of blood stained your every breath, your throat felt dry to the point it hurt, and you were surprised you could even lift your legs anymore. The adrenaline had worn off by the time you left Dimitri with Dedue.

The noise increasing behind you cut off your train of thought. The pounding of paws much heavier than your own feet thundered against the forest floor. Leaves crushed so loudly you could have sworn they were snapping logs, and the veil of the safety you thought you still had was quickly torn away.

What about Professor Byleth? She should have been on her feet, should have caught up to you and Ashe by now if-

“Keep moving!”

The voice next to you startled you almost enough to make you lose your footing, but a steady hand at your back and the sight of a flash of green hair at your side kept you upright.

“Over here, Professor! This way!”

Annette waved her arms over her head, signaling a new location nearby. They must have created a separate trap in the time you had been away.

But why…?

A snap at your backs inspired the three of you to round this new shrub at record speed. This time, you were ready when Dedue pulled you into the bushes.

“Woah!”

You supposed you had forgotten to warn Ashe.

Sure enough, everything else was the same story, just with different people. The Professor pivoted out of Sylvain’s hold in time to pull the sword she retrieved from her hip. The beast fell in the trap upon rounding the hedge, giving her a more advantageous angle to properly fracture the stone, reverting the creature to the body of a young man.

“I don’t understand,” Felix’s brow furrowed, Ashe ducking out of his hold and falling to the ground to finally breathe.

You were beginning to feel similarly. Were it not for Dedue, you doubted you would be standing. Your classmate seemed privy to this knowledge, as well.

“I will bring you to Mercedes.”

A nod was all you could muster while Dedue bent to put an arm beneath your legs, lifting you off the ground. The air you were practically drinking filled your lungs with more oxygen than you thought they could hold, and your resulting breaths sounded almost raspy. Respectfully, you ensured that your head was turned away from Dedue (though it was also to ensure you could get as much air as possible).

Even still, you managed to catch the final words of those behind you.

“Why didn’t you just take that girl to Mercedes and reuse the last trap?” Professor Byleth wondered.

“Well…” Sylvain, “there wasn’t really a point...she was already dead.”

“...then…this boy…?”

You tried not to focus on the silence that followed her final question.

A few paces later and Dedue had made it to the outskirts of the woods. It was where you all met at the beginning of the exercise.

Mercedes approached the two of you before you cleared the trees, guiding Dedue to set you down on a patch of soft grass in the shade next to three green scraps of fabric. She must have anticipated your arrival.

“Will she be alright?”

“Oh, yes,” Mercedes assured him, though her light tone didn’t match the furrow of her brows. “She’s mostly dealing with fatigue, but the strain on her lungs should be soothed before she tries to go anywhere.”

A moment of silence.

“Where is his Highness?”

The glow of soft magic hovered over you before you felt inclined to close your eyes. You tried not to focus on the strange feeling coursing through you - you still weren’t used to healing spells, yet.

“He and Ingrid went back to the monastery to consult Lady Rhea about all this.” She sighed, and you felt a pause in the flow of her enchantment, “I don’t really understand everything that happened today. It all feels so wrong.”

“I agree. There should not have been any crest beasts this close to the academy. The knights should have noticed.”

Another pause led to a stronger wave of magic passing through your lungs; it was all you could do to focus on breathing next to this weird feeling, but you opened your eyes just to make sure you were still okay.

“I will head back to the monastery as well.”

The healer nodded, “I’ll let the professor know.”

“Let me know what?”

It seemed the rest of your class made it out of the forest. Professor Byleth approached at the lead, followed close behind by Annette, and finally by Felix and Sylvain supporting a pale and winded Ashe.

As Dedue filled your teacher in on everything, Mercedes abandoned you to go help Ashe. Annette replaced her, kneeling where her friend sat just a moment ago to continue her work. Fortunately, you didn’t feel like there was much left to do.

“Right. You can head back. Take some of the training weapons with you, please - I have a feeling everyone else will have their hands full by the time we head back.”

Dedue removed the brown band wrapped around his forehead, adding it to the pile lying about a meter away from your feet. Picking up the discarded wooden lance, bow, and sword lying in a pile closer to the woods, he turned and wordlessly took the path leading back to Garreg Mach.

“My bow…” you remembered, testing out your voice from your position on the ground, “I think…I dropped it somewhere in the forest?”

Felix scoffed, “With the amount of trees those beasts managed to fell, I don’t think a bit more wood lying around would hurt anyone. The Church can just buy a new one. They replace training weapons all the time.”

“Take it from Felix, they’re used to broken weapons,” Sylvain grinned. “Repairing a broken bow can’t be much different than replacing a missing one.”

A small huff of air came from the swordsman’s nose at his classmate’s remark. Rather than respond, however, he just turned back to you.

“How the hell are you still awake after all that? I expected you to have passed out by now.”

“Me? Shouldn’t you be more worried about Ashe? Whatever running I did, he ran and then some.”

“He did pass out.”

Turning your head to where Mercedes knelt, you found your friend sleeping on the grass, uneven breaths heaving from his chest.

After everything he went through by himself, you could only think that he deserved to rest.

“Professor? What is it?”

Annette’s inquisition immediately led your mind to drop the subject, turning instead to see Professor Byleth lost in thought.

“I’m just…trying to understand something. Those people that came from those monsters - did I kill them, or were they already dead? How did this happen so close to the monastery without anyone coming to help us? And…”

No one knew what to say. You hadn’t recognized the people that died, not their clothing or their faces.

“Nevermind. We need to head back in case anything else unexpected is looking to find us.”

“That should be just fine, Professor,” Mercedes agreed. “I’ve made sure these two are stable. The best thing for everyone now would be to rest.”

“Very well,” your teacher began circling around to everyone, collecting their headbands to place in the bag she had left here earlier.

Annette extended her hand out before Professor Byleth made her way over to the two of you. Taking it, you attempted to get up only to be frustrated by the fatigue of your legs. A sharp inhale followed by a hiss of pain accompanied the feeling of Annette lowering you back to the ground.

“Yeah…might not be ready for that yet…” you gritted your teeth.

Byleth walked over, tugging the brown textile off your head in a fluid motion, “Sylvain, please help her get back to the monastery. Felix, you can carry Ashe.”

“What?!”

Sylvain barely contained his laughter, approaching you with easy footsteps and lifting you off the ground bridal-style.

“You’re sure you want Sylvain of all people carrying the woman that can’t walk? Or fend for herself right now, for that matter?”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of experience with this sort of thing.”

“...with carrying people?” you raised a brow.

Sylvain winked, “...with carrying women that can’t walk.”

Professor Byleth hit him on the back of the head so hard that Sylvain dropped you on the ground.

You landed, reeling with a small squeak and a light curse. Your breath came labored through your teeth from the incidental blow to your legs. Not that it could have hurt as much as whatever she just did to Sylvain.

“Agh- What the hell, Professor?!”

“You and Felix have done an excellent job of changing my mind. I think we would all feel better if you volunteered to carry Ashe back with us, instead.”

Now it was Felix’s turn to fight a smirk, though he was hardly trying. After making sure you were okay from your slight fall, he picked you up in much the same way Sylvain had mere moments ago.

Meanwhile, Sylvain seemed to be making a point to carry Ashe over his shoulders.

The seven of you headed back to the monastery together, Professor Byleth calling off her lessons for the beginning of next week just to make sure everyone was well rested. Annette tried to reason that taking the weekend off would be plenty of time for most of the Blue Lions. After all, you, Dimitri, and Ashe were the only ones that really suffered any fatigue. Your teacher countered that if she were holding class, you three were the most likely suspects to insist on attending regardless, no matter how badly you were injured.

Perhaps you left too good of an impression on the professor today for her to think such things of you. Regardless, you agreed with her, if only to save Annette from the pointed glares of Felix and Sylvain at the idea of rejecting a day out of class.

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whumped-by-glitter · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter 2 Part 2: Shattered Glass

⚠️CW: Institutionalized slavery, torture, dehumanization, humiliation, angst, bullying. If I missed anything, please let me know.

A special thanks as always to @3-2-whump and @generic-whumperz for listening to my babble, talking things out is the best way for me to world build. Sorry its been a hot minute everyone, but I needed a shutdown period for a bit.

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Story under the cut.

The large, muscular Drar with short cropped black hair and an air of insolence walked in. The Mongrel was just a few steps behind him, eyes downcast. The difference between the two slaves couldn’t be more stark. Even Balor himself had to admit that the Dog’s manners and obedience were much finer, as was expected. The Mutt has been much more thoroughly trained. Additionally, after everything, it owed him absolute obedience.

“What do you want?” Zan asked hostilely.

Balor noted that the other slave’s response made The Mutt flinch ever so slightly. Balor smirked, The Mongrel knew what was coming. He tucked away The Runt’s reaction, making a mental note to punish it for breaking bearing later.

“Leave us, Mutt,” Balor ordered, his voice echoing slightly in the large marbled entry room of the mansion.

The Mongrel bowed deeply, once again displaying perfect form, before wordlessly leaving.

“Now…” Balor circled Zan a bit, like a raptor circling his prey. “….Care to rephrase that last little comment?”

“Fuck you, you aren’t my master, I don’t owe you courtesy. You’re just a spoiled child. I’m not like that damn simpering dog that just walked out.” Zan glared at Balor, fists balled.

“Funny, your Master put me in charge. And last time I checked I’m both a Tallisian and a noble, thus entitled to respect from a mere slave.” He grinned ear to ear, “You could afford to be more like that simpering dog, maybe we should arrange that.”

Balor watched with glee as Zan’s eyes grew wide with horror. It had been a stab in the dark, but to his pleasure he had hit a soft spot.

“Basement, now.” Balor hissed the order in a dangerously quiet tone. The bands would ensure that he would obey.

*****

Once outside The Dog took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cool autumn air. The scent of dying leaves and sweet ripening fruit wafted around him in the breeze. It was soothing to his raw nerves.

He walked around to the backside of the slave house, to the outside corner furthest away from the mansion. The Mutt suspected that Sir would be busy with Zan for a while, and decided he could risk a look at his one and only possession he has ever had.

Other slaves might be allowed a few small trinkets, but for him, it was forbidden. Of course he would be forbidden, dogs and tools are only owned, they don’t own things, they don’t even own themselves. The Dog would be in so much trouble if this was ever discovered, but it wasn’t like he was hoarding anything valuable.

The Mongrel dug up the tiny pouch he kept safely hidden away. The smell of damp dirt and leather tickled his sensitive nose. The scent was comforting. It wasn’t lost on him how dog-like this behavior was, ‘Master is right,’ he sighed to himself.

The contents of the pouch jingled slightly as The Dog plopped himself down on the soft grass. With trembling hands, he dumped the contents into his palm. A colorful collection of broken glass bits tumbled out. Hues of blues and browns danced across his skin as the sunlight hit them.

They were just bits of trash, not unlike himself, but they were beautiful, and they were the only thing truly his. The Mongrel didn’t have a mat or a pillow like the other slaves or even a name, and clothing was a privilege that could easily be revoked by his master. These bits of glass were HIS and served as proof that even he could be liked one day.

Though, did he really deserve it. The years old familiar guilt crept in. He hadn’t thought of that incident in ages. He earned this treatment. He was the reason she left. Because of him Balor wore a scar to this day across his chest. He truly wasn’t a person; he didn’t deserve to be liked. Nobody liked monsters.

The Mutt was so caught up in his thoughts and glass, he wasn’t paying attention to his senses. He jumped when he went to hold a piece up to the sun, only to see Balor standing of too the side.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” Balor’s voice tore The Dog’s fragile moment of peace. His tone was not unlike the sound of ice cracking, and equally as cold.

The Dog fell to a kneeling bow, quickly trying to hide the glass under his torso. His- its- throat constricted in fear. He, no, its thoughts raced. Balor was not predictable like its master, he wasn’t safe like his - its master….. Balor relished reading minds, just looking for an excuse to hurt them, but mostly it, which it deserved. Its Master usually didn’t waste the energy. He disliked it when The Mutt thought of itself as a person, but didn’t care if it used the same terms you would refer to a dog as. Master would just take its glass and make it sleep outside for a while, but that wasn’t Balor’s style.

The Mongrel knew better than to try to lie. It didn’t even know how long he’d been standing there. It took a quiet breath. “This slave was looking at broken glass,” It replied honestly. It didn’t risk a glance up; it could smell the danger it was in for rolling off the man in front of it.

Again, unwanted memories surfaced. That scent of danger used to be the scent of warmth and happiness. Thirteen years ago, with its first taste of Divinity’s Downfall, was its last taste of friendship.

“Is that right?” Balor hissed. “And just where did you get this glass? Sounds like you’ve been stealing.”

The Mongrel visibly flinched, which was the wrong move. Flinching only ever made things worse. “No Sir, this slave would never steal. It….”

“Liar, I know for a fact you stole food a few days ago!” Balor yelled, cutting The Dog off holding up a hand of silence. “I’ve heard enough, I forbid you from speaking further. Now give them to me.”

Unable to resist a direct order, it fell silent. Its bands glowed bright purple with the difficulty of the request, yet their pleasant hum could not dull the sting. This collection was the only thing it had to its name. The pieces were just going to be thrown away, The Mongrel didn’t understand why it couldn’t have this one thing, this one small good. It had no bedding, shoes, or even a name. The only positive in its life was the glowing purple thrum of the bands when it obeyed. It was an artificial comfort, but it was all it was allowed.

‘No, dogs don’t own, and it’s a dog not a slave,’ it reminded itself, swallowing back the impulse to use “I”.

It could talk and think like other slaves, it could even walk on two legs when permitted. It didn’t look like a dog either. Master called it a dog though, Master couldn’t be wrong…. Dogs get bones and toys and beds though; it was definitely not a dog…. Being a dog meant being cared for…. Being a dog would be a luxury.

‘It’s just a tool, tools don’t own. Tools don’t get people names. tools were nothing, had nothing beyond their usefulness. It was definitely a tool. A slave shaped tool.’

That was the mantra it repeated frequently, to lessen the suffering. It can’t suffer if it’s just a thing. Its master called it an ‘important tool’ once, and it grew in The Mongrel’s head from there.

It shook its head, tool, dog, it didn’t matter. Tremoring hands collected up the glass, returning the colors back into the dark. The Mutt knew it was in for it. Trying to brace itself, it handed the pouch to the man in front of it as it bit back a bitter, heavy feeling it only vaguely understood as sadness, this was all it had. Clawing through the sadness was also a growing fear.

“ZAN! BRING OUT A TRASH CAN!” Balor bellowed. There was no glass in the windows of the slave quarters, so Zan would have been able to hear him without the yelling.

About 30 seconds later Zan appeared around the corner of the brick building. The breeze kicked up and The Mutt could smell the metallic scent of blood on the slave. It risked a slight glance up, not enough to see Zan’s face, but enough to see his lips dripping with blood.

Before The Mongrel could react to the blood, Balor snatched the waste bin from Zan and approached the….. the tool, yes tool.

“Take off your trousers, put in your leather bite.”

The order was as crisp as the autumn air and it scrambled to obey. It folded them and laid them neatly to the side, allowing the gentle thrum to soothe its nerves. The taste of the thick leather that it kept on a cord around its neck filled its mouth. A taste that signaled pain was soon to follow, a taste that always turned its stomach with dread.

The leather was one privilege the others never got, something to bite down on during punishments. It wasn’t for its own comfort though; it was simply to protect its tongue from any accidental bites. That was the only part of The Mutt its master valued after all….

The younger Tallisian man crouched in front of it. “Put on your blindfold, I don’t want to see your creepy eyes or feel you staring at me.”

The Mongrel did as it was told, almost automatically. Another wave of the band’s warmth flowed through its veins. The world around it dulled only slightly with the loss of its sight.

Its acute hearing picked up the subtle tinkle of the glass in the pouch, followed by a sharp pain in its thigh, then another, and another. To The Dog’s horror and relief, it realized one by one, its glass was being embedded into its flesh. With its stunted healing the wounds would almost certainly get infected, but it would at least still have its glass. The one thing in this world that caught the sun and gave it to it, the warmth it was desperate for.

After the last one-it had been keeping count- It heard Balor stand, something thudded in front of it, and then another hollow thud that it recognized as the trashcan.

It came as no surprise when there was more pain. The Mutt came to expect pain and humiliation whenever Balor was around. It could feel the noble use his shoe to press down on its freshly bloodied thighs, driving the glass deeper.

It gasped. The Dog gritted its teeth, it could feel some of the pieces break inside of its flesh. It was desperately trying to hold and vocal sounds of pain in as Balor ground his foot into its thigh. Sounds would only cause the bands to add to the cacophony of pain. For now it took some small comfort in their gentle thrum, a small reward for staying silent.

“Remove your blindfold.”

The Mutt did as it was told once again. Once its eyes adjusted, it realized the source of the first thud was a knife sticking out of the ground.

“Now, dig each piece out and throw it away, one by one.” Balor’s voice was disturbingly amused as he snapped for Zan to lower to his hands and knees to provide a stool for him to sit and watch.

The mongrel felt like its stomach fell out of its belly. This was too much….. The hesitation caused the bands to begin their warning tingle. It reluctantly picked up the knife to avoid the pain.

A single, unbidden tear slid down its cheek as it began to slice into its own thigh to dig out the first piece. It recognized the shape as its favorite, but the blood coating it denied a final look at all of the little cracks and bubbles inside of it.

“I don’t know what you’re crying about, dogs own nothing,” Balor scoffed.

The pain was excruciating but it barely registered as it placed another shard into the bin. ‘Just a tool.’

The knife and glass were slick with blood and Balor had pushed the pieces in deep. This all made the removal process arduous and painful. Some pieces broke inside of it as well, further complicating getting everything out.

Finally, after what felt like hours, it fished the last piece of glass out of its thigh. It made a small tink in the bottom of the bin. It was probably only 2 hours judging by the sun, but it felt like an eternity.

Balor stood, getting off of Zan. “Don’t worry, I’ll be telling my father when he gets home as well. He will definitely be interested in knowing about this little hoarding habit you’ve picked up. I’ll let you two rest for now, I’ve got big plans for the two of you this evening, so clean yourselves up.” He whistled as he walked off with the bin of bloody glass.

It was incidents like this that made The Mongrel wonder if Balor even remembered that they had once been friends at all.

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