#proto man/reader

[megaman-fluffcanons]

Snake Man and Proto Man fluff with a Quetzalcoatl (Feathered Serpent with wings) S/o designed for a chemical plant and can use chemical attacks and actually has a tail to slither with instead of legs.

Snake Man:

*you and several others think that Snake Man likes you because of how serpent-like you are, but that’s really not the case!

*well, it is a little bit, but he does love you for your personality as well as your appearance!

*he thinks it’s pretty neat you use chemical based attacks, as he’s seen you use them before

*his search snakes adore you, which you both find absolutely adorable, as they’ll just slither up to you and rest on you

*occasionally you’ll carry each other around, since you have wings, which he does not have, and he has legs, which you don’t have. Those who have been around you two, tend to question you both.

Proto Man:

*Proto Man is rather intrigued by your appearance, since you’re serpent-like, but have feathers and wings.

*you let him touch your wings/feathery features, and you watched his face light up, even if he wouldn’t admit this

*you do feel a bit bad for slowing him down sometimes when you two are out, since you don’t have legs, but he’ll assure you that it’s fine, that he will wait for you/walk with you at your pace

*…or he’ll just pick you up and carry you around, which flusters the heck out of you

[affectionate-robots]

You make me feel alive

Fandom: Mega Man (Mega Man Megamix/Gigamix Manga)

Pairing: Ariga!Proto Man/Human!Reader Form: Headcanon Requested: Yes (requested on discord) Extra: Reader is female. Reader is a risktaker. Proto Man hides his feelings (but fails). I'm sorry if this isn't as good as my other headcanons. Imagine...

That you were the only human who took the risk of communicating with a robot such as Proto Man.

You already expected him to be paranoid of humans, but regardless, you're going to let him know that you're not going to hurt him.

When he first met you, he didn't expect that you'd be so... kind and friendly towards him. Compared to any other human (besides Dr. Light) that he's encountered in the past. Long before he had met you.

You taught him so much about human culture. Ranging from teaching him about things you like, such as nature, the sunset, birds, you name it.

Overtime, he started to get closer to you, to the point where didn't notice that he had already developed genuine feelings for you.

Because of this, he taught you how to whistle better, and even told you what it felt like to be a robot master. Heck, he even told you about the issue with his power core and the fact that he ran away because of that.

If there's one thing that will stay in his databank forever, it's the fact that you were the only human who helped him feel... alive.

“Honestly, without you in my life... deep inside, I never felt alive."

Tags: @beepispenkins, @megainsanity

[creative-type]

The Romanticism of One Piece

I’m always amazed by how Oda has managed to stay thematically consistent for more than two decades while writing a thousand plus chapter epic about silly pirates having fun chasing their dreams. One Piece, at its core, is about the dawn of a romantic adventure, and its been that way since volume one, chapter one.

But romance is one of those terms whose meaning as shifted over the years and is drastically misunderstood. So what is literary romance, and how does One Piece fit within its framework?

Well buckle up, folks. This is gonna be a long one.

Romanticism as a movement started in the late 18th century, and is described by Isaiah Berlin as the “the greatest single shift in the consciousness of the West”. The modern ideas of childhood, imagination,  and sentimentality were born here. It’s a rejection of society’s constraints in favor of impossible yearning for impossible goals. Romantics were restless and passionate, and embraced the magnitude of their feeling over the scientific rigors of the Age of Reason.

Sound familiar?

Romanticism gets its name from the old medieval ballads (themselves written in the Romantic languages) that became popular with the growing movement. The 19th century was a period of incredible change. Industrialization, urbanization, and the development of the middle class were all new. Revolution, both industrial and political, was changing the course of the world forever. The Romantics worshiped heroes of the past (in fact, the term hero worship was coined during this time) and sought a return to nature. William Wordsworth famously lobbied against the building of railways in his beloved Lake District, and much of the art of the time, whether it be painting or poetry, focused heavily on man’s relation with nature

In addition to rebelling against traditional political structures, the Romantics also broke away from the traditional religious teaching, many believing that man found enlightenment not through theology or the bible, but by study and attunement with nature. One of proto-Romantic writer Jean-Jaques Rousseau’s most influential works Emile, or On Education was banned in parts of Europe and even publicly burned due to its ideas on natural religion.

All of this leads to the Romantic pursuit of the sublime. While Enlightenment thinkers would often attempt to remove themselves emotionally from what they were experiencing in order to understand said experience through objective, immutable fact, the Romantics sought emotion, awe, and reverence that transcended rational thought. They celebrated and marveled at the wonders of creation, allowing themselves to be consumed by emotion and experience. These were not stoic people, and its here where One Piece truly begins to shine as a work of Romantic art

The world of One Piece, particularly once the story gets to the Grand Line, is chalk full of impossible wonder and whimsy. Each island visited along the journey is a feast for the eyes, and Oda’s art does each distinct and incredible location every justice. Luffy has no desire to see the boring or everyday, and he has no qualm in expressing his excitement everywhere he goes. Oda has made the conscious decision never to let the reader look into Luffy’s thoughts via thought bubbles, but the audience is still able to connect with him because they are always aware of what he he is feeling. Every smile takes up half his face, every sadness drawn as a sniveling wreck. Logical ideas are routinely rejected in favor of desired experiences, and Luffy himself rejects the opportunity to hear the answer to the series’s biggest questions because to him, the journey is more important.

It’s important that Luffy’s mindset isn’t all that common, even a world as wild and wacky as One Piece. As the Jaya arc proves, Roger’s execution initially inspired a generation of pirates to go out and follow their dreams, but in the twenty years since his death that ideaolgy has crumbled under the weight of a new wave of dreamless pragmaticism, the same way the Romantic movement gave way to the Realists who followed. 

Luffy’s Romantic spirit stands out, even amongst the Straw Hat Pirates. Many of the Straw Hat’s character arcs involve Luffy helping to remove the blocks that prevent them from living out their Romantic ideals. As the series progresses, the crew inches towards embodying that freedom of spirit that Luffy exemplifies. What that looks like for each crewmate is different (Romanticism is highly individualistic, after all) but they’re given the opportunity to live out that ideal because of their association with Luffy.

This theme of freedom of expression and pursuit of dreams follows the Straw Hats wherever they go on both the micro and macro level. The Romantic pursuit of self-determination bleeds over nearly every arc with Luffy at its epicenter, until it comes to a crescendo during the Wano arc, when the true nature of Luffy’s fruit comes to light for the first time.

Luffy is the beating heart of One Piece’s Romanticism. He specifically imbues many of the Romantic ideals of childhood, such as innocence, joy, and being unprejudiced by a corrupting society. He’s uncomplicated yet passionate, without a care in the world for what anyone else thinks about him, and because of that disregard for authority he comes off as equal parts wise and naive.

In Emile, Rousseau lays out his idea of childhood education, which doesn’t include a classroom so much as the child’s interaction with the world, emphasizing the senses and building on the child’s own observations and inferences. The Romantic child was instinctual and in tune with nature, and a character like Luffy growing up on the fringes of society while spending most of his time romping around in the woods would not be out of place (see Mary Robinson’s The Savage of Aveyron, based on the real story of a feral boy that had been found in France).

What makes Luffy different is that he never loses that simplicity of character even as he interacts with an increasingly complex world. Yes, he matures both as a person and a captain, bearing the weight of terrible loss and difficult decisions, but he does it still while maintaining that curious mix of selfish desire to do whatever he wants and selfless sacrifice towards the people he cares about. Luffy doesn’t want to be a hero, but remains uncorrupted by the malevolent social hierarchies that rule One Piece’s world.

But for all the ways One Piece is a Romantic story, the philosophy of the series departs in several key places. The Romantics of the late 18th and 19th centuries were reacting to the anxieties brought around by the Industrial Revolution and the subsequent urbanization that came along with it, while One Piece belongs squarely to the post-modern era of the 21st. While both glorify a long-gone past, what that past looks like is very different. One Piece fully embraces technology and progress, as best seen during the conflict between Noland and Calgura in the Skypia flashback. While industrialization is sometimes portrayed negatively (see Wano) it’s just as likely to be seen in a positive light (Water 7), and the mysterious civilization of the Void Century was more technologically advanced than the present day manga, not less.

What’s more important than modernization and technological advance is the ways people use said technology. The beautifully rendered locations along the Straw Hat’s journey are just as likely to be vast stretches of wilderness as bustling metropolises, and that search of wonder and the sublime is equally likely to be found in both.

More importantly, I think, is that the Romantics of old were solitary creatures, brooding and isolated from the people around them. There was a preoccupation of creating art devoid of outside influence. The sublime was a deeply personal experience that by its very nature could not be shared with others. Melancholy, loss, solitude, and death were preoccupations of the Romantic mind, the price of visionary genius being social isolation.

One of the most famous Romantic heroes of the 19th century was Thomas Chatterton, a young genius of a poet who, in the midst of poverty and depression killed himself at the age of 17. He was immortalized in paintings and poems, and his influence can be felt to this day by the persistence of the trope of the suffering artist that he, and countless others, helped codify.

One Piece is the story of a boy who rejects the confines of society in search of his own freedom, but he does not do so alone. Luffy is driven as much by the desire to be with his friends as he is by his desire to find the One Piece. The series agrees that risking death is an acceptable part of chasing ones dream, but rejects the notion that it should be sought out or celebrated. It’s better to live an undignified life in the hope of a better tomorrow than to give into an easy death.

And that’s the fascinating part about how philosophies evolve over time, because as much as One Piece borrows from the Romantic era of the 18 and 19th centuries, it isn’t a Romantic story, just as how no amount of research and copying of style could ever turn a historical novel written today into a product of the era its trying to emulate. Oda has taken an old idea and made it into something new, using that idea as the guide for the entire series. Like sun, guiding to the dawn of a new era.

A Romance dawn, if you will. 

[princesssarisa]

I hope no one is getting tired of this. I just like seeing everyone's reactions to these silly takes on a classic novel.

These are takes I couldn't fit into the last two polls about our heroine Elizabeth herself. Plus one about Darcy's feelings for her.

**Mrs. Bennet is a lousy mother, and Elizabeth is her least favorite daughter until she marries the richest man, but let's not exaggerate.

[mayapapaya33]

I want a memoir from Trinket's point of view. Critical Role is a functioning book publisher now, I want the story of Campaign One through to Campaign Three, and a bit before, retold from Trinket's side of things. This is the most powerful, well traveled bear in all of Exandria! He's fought Giants, Beholders, Ancient Dragons, a Proto-God! He's been to multiple different planes of existence! He's still alive and kicking and he's a grandpa in C3. He joined the fight to save Vax and the world! He's fought ALIENS from the MOON! Imagine that fight from his pov; "I'm too old for this shit" but it's an elderly bear in battle armor riding on the back of an alien scorpion. Do you see my vision?

I think it would be hilarious, touching, adorable, frightening, and deeply moving. Not to mention trying to get into the alien mindset of an animal would be a very cool writing challenge and would be very interesting to read if done well. Some of my favorite characters are alien povs. If they fully embraced the foreign thought process and lack of common knowledge involved but still maintained the instinctual wisdom and experience and bravery it could be a FANTASTIC story! Trinket would have his own way of describing things and it would be really fun to play a guessing game to see if you could tell what spells or objects or places he's talking about based purely on his descriptions. (A few paragraphs or pages later they can have Trinket overhear Vex or someone say the name of the place or thing for readers who can't figure it out).

Please, imagine for me, a whole book of loving but longsuffering Trinket telling his side of the story! Just endless pages of stuff like this: C1E88 (2:06:06) Tangled Depths. WHHAAAAAT IS A WHHAAAAAALE?

C1 E24 (2:18:29) The Feast: Reminiscing about Vax and Keyleth braiding his fur with pink bows and flowers in a Mohawk down his back, and how annoying it was at the time, but how fondly he recalls it now.

It could go in and out between older Trinket commenting on what happened and how he feels about it and younger Trinket actively in the thick of it directly feeling and experiencing the events until events catch up to old man Trinket and we start fighting Aliens. He could be interrupted 4/5ths of the way through the memoir and say "Sorry, I need to go with mom to save the world again, I'll be back in a few days." There could be a fun narrative device of someone interviewing him using Speak with Animals in order to write this firsthand account of Vox Machina's adventures from a unique source. Or they could leave it unexplained and have a straightforward linear narrative or something else. It could be like the Hobbit!

The Grizzly: There and Back Again, a Bears Tale!

Just for the cuteness here's the first time Vex casts speak with Animals: C1 E59 (1:15:04) The Feywild.

[lizzy-bonnet]

I love Jane Austen's work and I love podcasts, so naturally I follow several JA podcasts (please drop recs in the tags). I'm enjoying Live from Pemberley from Hot and Bothered, but a comment from literally the first episode of the series has been circulating in my brain since I listened to it several months ago: one of the hosts expressed surprise (and disappointment?) in the fact that when we first meet Lizzy, she is "employed in trimming a hat". This comment literally comes right after a conversation about how Austen tells us so much in the very short space of Chapter 1; without wasting any words, we know exactly who Mr. and Mrs. Bennet are (lightly toxic relationship), understand their family situation (need to marry well), meet the main driver of the first act (rich man in the neighbourhood), and understand a social dilemma (girls can't meet him if Mr. Bennet does not make the first overture). So what is Austen telling us when we meet Lizzy in the employment of trimming a hat?

We so often read a sort of modern girlboss feminism into Lizzy because she is smart and stands up for herself, but I think that's something that really gets embroidered on to the text. Lizzy trimming a bonnet is telling us several things about her:

She is frugal - new hats and bonnets are really expensive (my casual hobby is shopping for reproduction bonnets and this remains true), because the straw is braided by hand, the bonnet shape is assembled and blocked by hand, feathers have to be gathered from real (living or dead) birds, ribbons and flowers are hand-finished, the whole situation is fuck expensive. Lizzy is most likely putting new trim on a straw or wool bonnet she already owns to make it work better for this season's fashions, or a new dress, and possibly recycling trimmings from other hats. Contrast this with Lydia's spending all her pocket money on an ugly hat in Chapter 39, just so she can reduce it to parts, even though she acknowledges she'll also have to buy some extra satin too, to finish the project.

She cares about fashion - we don't get a lot of information on sartorial choices in Austen's work, and when characters are discussing fashion, it tends to be a framework for explaining something about their characters; Miss Steele's need to know how much Marianne's dresses cost (rude, crass); Mrs. Bennet's loving description of the lace on Mrs. Hurst's gown (shallow); Catherine Moreland's agonizing over what to wear to the Assembly (young, a bit flighty); Bingley wears a blue coat (has probably read The Sorrows of Young Werther, is fashionable). The fact that Lizzy is trimming a hat tells us she is fashionable, but paired with the fact that she will get a petticoat muddy in order to see her sister, and does not spend a lot of time worrying after fashion like Lydia tells us that she does not live and die on fashion.

She is creative - I've trimmed various hats and bonnets over my years of interest in historical fashion and honestly it's not easy. It's quite fiddly to get a nice ribbon edge, a ruched lining takes forever, and getting sprays of florals and feathers to be nicely shaped and all in a complementary palette is quite fussy. Getting a nice looking bonnet requires some thinking and planning. But it's also great fun! The Regency era is, in my opinion, a particularly good period for hats.

She is normal - I think Austen wants the reader to understand that Lizzy is a young woman with normal cares and concerns. She doesn't have cash for a new bonnet, she wants to look nice, she knows how to put an outfit together, she's not frivolous like her sisters, and she engages in the typical pursuits of someone who is not yet one and twenty who does not have a specific occupation.

A lot of modern readers are expecting Lizzy to be striding around the countryside unconcerned with "girly" things, or reading a clever book because we have come to think of her as proto-feminist in a way that suggests she might be a bra (corset) burner, but I think that comes from an outdated feminist lens that still wants to tell us that girly things are bad, or at least, a bit weak, and I don't see that in the text at all (I think some of this trickles over from the adaptations). Lizzy walks enthusiastically, she enjoys reading (but not to the exclusion of other employments), she dances very well and plays with mediocrity, she cares deeply about her friends and family, she has excellent manners, and dammit, she trims hats.

[jirishnesensei]

Mirio Togata x Reader | Isekai AU [18+]

Warming up to you ch4. Forgiven

⊱ Pairings - mirio 3rd year student x reader

⊱ About - Boku No Hero Academia was your favourite anime. You watched it every week when a new episode came out, but what if you were transported into the world? Having no clue how you got there and you're being accused of being a part of the League Of Villians. Suffice to say, it's not the best way to start the show.

⊱ Warnings/tags - 18+ (eventually), fluff(for the most part), angst, smut, fem reader, romance, pining, SLOW BURN, swearing, friends to lovers, death, jealousy, she falls first he falls harder, mirio is mean (with reason), first everything, sassy mirio, fangirl reader, unrequited love

⊱ status - ongoing

⊱ chapters - 4/x

⊱ word count - 2.7k

"You do understand how difficult that is to believe, right?"

"I know, I know. I wouldn't even believe me but it's the truth! It's a whole fandom like I can tell you every person's name that you bring through that door. Their quirks, their life-" You tried to explain, but the look on Sir Nighteyes face is telling you that if you don't give him something substantial right now you're going to be walking out of that said door. He sighed as he rested on his palm.

"Okay, tell me where the Shie Hassaikai hideout is." You swallow what felt like your heart.

"I-I know it's in a normal looking house that has a huge under ground base, that part I didn't really pay much attention to...but I know what happens when you go-" You stopped mid sentence, realizing that if this conversation goes any further, Sir Nighteye will know that he dies. Luckily for you, he didn't catch onto your unease.

"I don't think you're a part of the League Of Villians," He says, leaning back in his chair. This made your heart leap with relief. "but I don't believe that you can help us with the investigation." Then your heart sunk to your feet. You didn't know why the rejection effected you so much... maybe because you could tell them everything they needed to know once they got there, maybe even because you could save Sir Nighteye and prevent Mirio from ever losing his...losing his... What does he lose again?

"Wait, I remember something!" You stood up from your chair in revelation as a whole new slew of memories suddenly unlocked in your brain, keeping your balance on the table with one hand.

"Drugs! That's what Shie Hassaikai is focusing on right now." you started. Peaking Sir Nighteyes interest. "They're making a drug that destroys your quirk completely! Amajiki Tamaki gets hit by one when he goes out on patrol with Hero Fat Gum and Red riot!"

Sir Nighteye looks at you over his glasses suspicously. "That's a very big accusation to make."

You shook your head at his response. "It's not an accusation. It happens. Luckily the bullet that is used on him is only a proto-type so he only loses his power for a few hours. But that's what they are using Eri for!" You speak with more flare in your tone.

Sir Nighteye pauses for a second, probably concluding something in his head before he stood up from his chair. "They are going on patrol tomorrow. If this happens... then I might consider you an ally in this investigation."

You can't help but smile unaturally wide before the pro hero infront of you. You were very close to nearly jumping right onto the man, but decided against it. "Thank You."

Sir Nighteye then suddenly made a slight disgusted face when he sniffed.

"What is that smell?" His tone becomes pale. Your cheeks instantly burn pink at what he was implying and you started to back away from him with embarrassment.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry! I haven't showered ever since I got here, It's so disgusting of me!" You apologised profusely. You absolutely hate the idea of not showering. You felt just as dirty as you smelt. Sir Nighteye held his nose as he tried to shoo you off.

"You can wear Bubble girls spare clothes. Turn left when you reach the end of the corridor and you'll see a shower room."

"Eh? A shower room? You have a shower in this place!?" You echoed as Sir Nighteye pushed you out of his office and out into the hallway before slamming the door shut in your face.

Rude.

You followed his directions and walked down the corridor then turned left, just like Sir Nighteye instructed and much to your surprise, there really was a shower room there!

You took your time as you showered. Leisurely scrubbing off all the dirt you could possibly scrub with a floral scented soap while the water was stinging hot, releasing vast amounts of steam that was probably condensing on nearby surfaces.

You still couldn't fully grasp what was happening. Was this happening as the anime was playing in your world? Or is this place an entirely different world all together? With how huge the universe is... it could be plausible... but so could the idea of you just dying in your car and your deepest desires came true. Although you were positive that your deepest desire was to be reincarnated as a hippo.

Which puts you back to square one of having absolutley no clue as to how you ended up here.

You suppose so long as they don't dump you on the streets you were okay with whatever happens and with you knowing nearly exactly what happens when they get to the hideout? You could prevent near to no casualties. The idea made you very happy. When Sir Nighteye died, you were horribly sad for the next week. Now actually being given the chance to save him? Even if this was a dream, you'd take it any day over the dull life you had back at home.

You dried yourself off and went to the change rooms. A pair of casual clothes are folded neatly in the chair infront of you with some essentials such as lotion, deodorant etc.

You also took your time with changing and once you were done you left the shower room and walked back to Sir Nighteyes office. Refreshed and clean but before you could knock you heard people talking and could only make out a few words such as 'Quirk destroying' and 'Tamaki'.

You assumed it was Sir Nighteye warning Fat Gum of what you had told him. You were positive it was happening. Which made you even more excited with the idea of helping them with the investigation and you weren't worried about Tamaki since he wins his fight regardless of whether you told them about the drug or not.

You decided to leave Sir Nighteye to speak to Fat Gum and walked around the building instead. It was insanely huge. You had peeked at the elevator and saw the building goes up an entire 25 floors! You stopped at the end of one corridor and nearly squealed when you saw the same Soda machine that Mirio had taken a drink out of when he was waiting for Midoriya to finish his fight with Sir Nighteye. It was the little things that really blew your mind. After admiring the little monument you decided to go back to check if Sir Nighteye was done and luckily he was. You knocked on the door and was given the okay to walk in.

"Hey, I'm done." you cringe at yourself. You don't know why you said that, it was obvious you were done.

"I informed Fat Gum of the incident you claim will happen tomorrow on their patrol. You better hope for your sake that you're right." He warned. You stood firm in your spot and saluted.

"Don't worry, I know my anime."

For the rest of the day Sir Nighteye made you help him with his paperwork, which you thought was his assistants job, but you weren't in the best position to complain. After a while of boring small talk and serious paper cuts, it was nearing 3 in the afternoon.

You heard a knock on the door and Sir Nighteyes clinical 'come in' answers after. You wondered if you'll ever get the priviledge of seeing him differently. Even if it's just a smile. That sounds really nice. The door opens and your heart, without your consent, tightens at the sight of Mirio.

"You called for me Sir?" He asked, glancing your way for just a second before looking back at Sir Nighteye, who was still nose deep in his papers.

"I doubt she is with the league of villains," He explains first and foremost. To which you could visibly see Mirio stiffen towards.

"but I still don't trust her 100% so she will be staying with you till further notice since you are the only one that I trust with the matter." 

"You can count on me Sir!" Mirio voices his diligence to following out whatever order he is given by his mentor. You still remain seated for god knows what reason, perhaps it was how radiant he had looked while answering, until Sir Nighteye glares at you, making you yelp out of your seat.

"There's an envelope there with money in it. Use it wisely." Sir Nighteye instructed. Mirio thanked him and took the envelope on the counter beside the door before leaving with you right behind him.

As soon as you closed the door to Sir Nighteyes office you stood in place, waiting for Mirio to notice, which he does a few steps ahead then he raises a brow at you.

You told yourself you were going to cash in on that hug.

You outstretch your arms with a light smile on your face. Clearly indicating what you were asking for. Mirio's body went rigid for just a second and based off of how he's been acting since you've met him, you honestly expected some wratched pat on the back, but he sighed gently and walked over to you. At this proximity and not being overloaded with pain and confusion, you notice how big he is and for a second you think he might squeeze the life out of you, but instead, he presses his palm against the small of your back and pulls you softly against his chest, cheek resting on his collarbone.

"I'm sorry for misjudging you." He says softly over your hair and you can't control the strands on your arms that rise and your hands that curl into fists on your sides. Once again, you are dumbfounded by how real he felt. Sure, everything looked like an anime, but that didn't matter at all. You could feel his steady heartbeat against your temple and the warmth of his body settling against your own. The fabric against your skin and the random breath of air he would take in.

Your self-control felt dire and non-existent because of it so without thinking you raised yourself onto your tippy-toes and nuzzled your head into the crook of his neck, gripping the soft polyester in your hands. He goes rigid and blushes instantly. But you didn't want to let go for the life of you. His back felt so strong underneath your palms and the scent of his freshly washed clothes consumed you, but you knew you had to let go or so help you, you might never get a hug again.

When you do, you look up at him with one of those wide anime grins, "You're forgiven."

Mirio rolled his eyes and you could tell he was trying to act nonchalant about your hug. He made his way to the stairs again. You following right behind with a bit of a skip to your step. Wishing that whatever landed you here, kept you here.

"Sir gave quite a bit of money so we should get your shopping done now." Mirio gestured towards the envelope as you walked to the mall. You were in awe at the sight of it. This was where the entire U.A class came to do their shopping before their camping trip! As eager as you were to dive in, the setting sun just behind the large building makes you look over at Mirio to ask, "Isn't it a bit too late to do shopping right now?"

He raises a questioning eyebrow at you. "You can go without clothes for another day if you'd like."

You shook your head no. Not even realizing that you still didn't have clothes yet. Or anything for that matter.

Once you were inside the busy mall, you did a full 360 in awe. Mirio looked at you like you were someone that had never seen the outside world before, which made a pang of guilt hit him suddenly. Your situation was kind of like Eri-chans. Except you were more understanding of it considering your age. He shook his head, not wanting to dwell on the thought. Sir still didn't trust you 100% so he couldn't let his guard down. Not yet anyways.

You took Mirio's wrist and began to drag him through the mall without his consent, or maybe some of his consent because you doubt you're the one physically dragging him anywhere. You search eagerly for the spot where the entire U.A class stood.

"What are you looking for?" He watches you funnily. You finally stood still, gaping at the large area before you. You turn around to look at him while pointing a finger at the spot that seemed very ordinary to him.

"Oh my god this is where Class 1A stood!! That's so cool!-" you left Mirio's side and sat down on the bench Midoriya and Shigaraki sat down on while swaying like a child in excitement. Mirio walked up to you with a hand on his hip. Definitely judging you from where he stood.

"Are you done now? I still have homework to complete."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Where's your sense of fun? The my hero fandom would be really disappointed in you."

His eye twitched and you're more fascinated by that than what he has to say. "Then it looks like you don't really know me as well as you think you do. My only concern is making sure you don't get into any trouble. Sir put you under my care because he doesn't trust you yet."

"I get that, I do. But you can whip my ass any day, any time and I don't think I'd even see it coming so what are you stressing for? He put you in charge because of that, right?" 

He's silent for a moment. You watch his chest rise and fall as he takes a breath and for a moment you expect him to apologize and break out in a wide grin, but once again you're thwarted by the way Mirio acts.

"He also put me in charge because he knows I won't get manipulated by your plans or false pretence." 

You blink in disbelief. "False prete-? And what plans! I can't even plan what to eat for dinner. I'm just a crazy fan that's somehow in their favourite anime."

Mirio stares at you blankly. Unphased and unbothered. "You've got the crazy part right." Your jaw drops. "And you haven't been right about anything so far. Now you're either lying or you've gotta be the worst best fan I've ever seen." 

You jutted your chin out and crossed your arms stubbornly. "I beg to differ. Put me infront of every Class 1A student and I can tell you something about them that I shouldn't even know." You dared and Mirio could tell you were being serious, sighing while pinching the bridge of his nose to probably gain some semblance of control. Honestly you weren't sure whether to be proud or offended that you could piss someone like Mirio off.

"That reminds me, Aizawa-sensei wants you to come to U.A tomorrow." he says after a bit.

You gasp, raising to your feet. "Really!?" Were you actually going to be given the chance to meet Class 1A!?

"Really. Now let's get going, it's gonna get dark soon." Mirio doesn't let you answer before he starts to walk away and you can't help the frown that forms on your lips. He still seemed pretty skeptic of you. You wonder if that will ever change. You suppose until then you're just gonna have to show him that you're not threat. 

"Mirio!" You catch up to him, gleaming again as you look around. "You need to point me to the nearest Keychain store. I'm buying me a souvenir!"

⊱ Next chapter coming soon!

⊱ I want to see prev chap!

Taglist - @the-faceless-bride @distinguishedoafbiscuitopera @lostsomewhereinthegarden @baileebrown

Dividers by - enchanthings-a and cafekitsune

[snakeeeater]

hey man, nice shot

[dante sparda x gn werewolf!reader] -> prologue

PLEASE READ:

★ This is DMC5 Dante!!

★ This is borderline crack right now but will develop a bit more bear with me fellas

★ That’s all! Enjoy this wacky woohoo garbage

So, you’re fucked.

That’s what you’re thinking when the uglyass pyrobat you’re stalking breaks through the roof of a warehouse on Seventh. The building’s got these hellish glowing red lights pulsating from the cracks forming in its dilapidated state, and suddenly your M1911s and dearly beloved 14 Randall don’t feel sufficient.

You’re thankful for the rain and overcast sky tonight, because it masks your footsteps and softens your shadow’s mark against the ground as you slowly approach the place. The hood of your sweatshirt is soaked through— you thought about putting on your windbreaker earlier to stay dry and warm, but the plastic-y sounds it made when you moved would certainly gain unwanted attention from the demon you were stalking.

You shift one of the straps of your holsters before crouching by the window. Your knees crack. You press your back to the wall for a moment. 

Okay.

Now that you’re this close you can tell that there’s definitely some sort of demonic ritual going on inside from what you hear— voices that sound like sandpaper speak in an overlapping chatter. You strain your ears. There’s the sound of magic sparking and the sound of something… squishy? It sounds like someone being sliced in a horror movie.

You shudder at the implications of that sound, but keep your mouth shut.

When hearing doesn’t yield any more ideas, you turn on your heels. The rubber soles of your combat boots grind the gravel under your feet a little too loudly and you freeze. A fearful eye of yours shoots up to see if the demons heard anything.

A second passes.

Another.

You seem to be safe… for now.

You decide against sticking your head over the windowsill and opt to put an eye to one of the holes in the walls. You squint through the hazy red filling the room.

And your blood runs ice cold.

A cross levitates in the center of the empty warehouse and a naked woman hangs upside down from it, spinning slowly. She’s been brutally ripped open and you’re sure all her blood was used in making the markings on the floor that you’re failing to interpret. Her— oh god, you want to vomit— her organs are organized in messy piles in what you assume are the cardinal directions.

In a fleeting attempt to tear your eyes away from that disgusting scene, you decide take in the demons. 

You see three bowing Hell Caina, a triad of pyrobats circling the ceiling, the shadows of three Death Scissors, three massive Proto Angelo heading Scudo Angelo units of three, and at the center of it all, three goddamn Lusachia which were doing all the raspy chanting you hear.

You turn around, pressing your back to the wall. 

The number three seems to be important to this ritual. You’d have to tell Morrison.

“Shit.” You press the heels of your palms to your eye sockets.

You almost laugh.

If you got back to Morrison from here.

Sure, you weren’t human anymore. Sure, you were legally dead, so it wouldn’t really matter if you were crushed like a grape. And sure, you survived a freak werewolf attack.

But after dying, being buried, transforming during the new moon cycle, and crawling out of the ground, you still weren’t able to bust out the monster hiding underneath your skin at will.

You massaged the scarring bite wounds that had been left behind on your left shoulder. They was no longer tender, but they still looked angry as hell.

“Maybe a life-or-death situation will bring it out.” You whisper so softly you can’t hear it yourself. It worked for most fictional characters, anyway. You’re left with virtually no choice.

You position yourself at the window. 

Feeling like a stereotypical “bad boy” in a straight-to-DVD teen movie sneaking into his girlfriend’s room at night, you enter the warehouse slowly through the window. You’re not quite sure how the quiet rustling goes ignored. Plot armor, maybe.

You crouch in the shadows a stack of crates cast upon the floor and aim down the front sight of your gun, like Morrison taught you. You remember some wise words from… well, every movie you’ve ever seen featuring a person learning how to use a gun: aim where they’re headed, not where they are.

You take in a shaky breath and

BANG!

You’ve fired a shot at a pyrobat. By a miracle, you hit it and it spirals downward gracelessly, whacking itself on a Scudo Angelo’s head and twitching to death. 

The entire hellish garrison turns to face you. If this were a Marvel movie, you’d make a quippy one-liner and kick ass.

In your current situation, however, a Hell Caina shrieks at you and slices a gaping hole in your body with its scythe. You blinked, and it was tearing into your flesh like a rabid dog to a raw turkey on Thanksgiving.

Through the pity-training Morrison put you through, the two of you found out that you can tank hits because of your werewolfish condition.

But it didn’t mean you liked to do it.

“Ow.” Is your response to the Hell Caina. It’s not even a shout, it’s more of a lame, throwaway comment. Some may even smell the stench of predetermined defeat radiating off of your body.

Since you’re close enough to shoot without missing, you point your pistol at its face and use your free hand to press against your wound. When you pull the trigger, it squeals loudly and melts away.

“Too bad I’m not like the other hunters.” You mumble. The tank role in video games was pretty boring. All they did was take damage so their cooler DPS-skilled teammates could do the actual killing. And then you died if you had nobody else with you.

It fits with your general luck.

You shoot a few bullets into the air and miss every shot. You shoot a Proto Angelo. The bullet ricochets off its shield, and you almost start sobbing.

You’re stupid for doing this. You’re no hunter. You’re too old to pick it up efficiently, according to everyone else you’ve talked to about jobs. You’re probably going to die somehow— maybe these demons will overpower your uncanny healing or just send you to Hell.

“This was supposed to be easy.” You laugh because if you’re not laughing, you’d be crying.

Your guns click with the telltale sign that they’re empty now.

“Great.” You growl. You hadn’t counted on wasting so many bullets in such a short amount of time— call it wishful thinking, call it ignorance, call it a total mistake.

A pyrobat spews fire in your direction, which you somersault to the side to avoid. At least you still had that ability.

You sigh as it obviously charges up another shot of fire to spit at you. “I wish I did Krav Maga when I was a kid. Then I’d rip and tear you guys apart.”

The pyrobat is unamused by your reference to Doom, the pyrobat spits fire again. You roll out of the way again. “Or maybe I should’ve been more like a stereotypical American and started learning how to shoot young.”

You’re talking too much for someone about to die. Your head is too light for someone who wants to run away.

The revving sounds of a motorcycle round up by the entrance of the warehouse.

“And that’s probably the police.” you sigh. This was turning out to be a whole mess. Now, you’d have horrible things happen to you and civilians would also be involved.

The doors to the warehouse bust open with a loud BANG. A man with hair the color of undyed silk walks in like he owns the place and every building in a five mile radius. In his hands he carries twin pistols that look like a similar model to yours. And on his back, he carries a sword like a badass.

You immediately envy this man’s swagger. He’s clearly another one of those “I’ve been doing this since I was ten” hunters, here to clean up a mess you couldn’t even get out of unscathed.

The man clicks his tongue at the sight of the mutilated woman. “That’s unfortunate. I guess that means… it’s time to groove!” 

And the man grooves.

With a dramatic twirl of his twin pistols the man transforms into a force of nature so powerful, you swear all over that he could secretly be a demon king down in Hell. His mission? To come up here to crush the dreams and this power-boosting ritual of demon king wannabes.

Or something. Your mind gets a little carried away.

But he really is a whirlwind of carnage, seeming as though he is fused to his sword and ripping through demons like there was no tomorrow.

Correction: there is no tomorrow. Now for these pathetic pieces of Hell scum. He even laughs at one point after vanquishing all of the Death Scissors you’ve been narrowly avoiding. He drives his sword into the helmet of a Proto Angelo and it shatters with the force. He shoots a barrage of bullets into the Lusachia and it they fall dead before any even had the chance to teleport to safety.

And when he tap danced on the body of his final victim while humming a jovial tune, your jaw actually dropped.

He shoots you a look after the spectacle. “You one of them?”

The guy wasn’t even breaking a sweat.

“Uh…” you look down at your body. Nothing about you screams demon. “No. I’m human.”

The man shakes his head, like he knows you’re lying but doesn’t care enough to let you know that he knows. “Call the cops on this place after you leave, alright sweetheart? Wouldn’t want that poor lady to become another face on a milk carton.”

“Yeah.” You nod. He called me sweetheart. You think dumbly.

It’s— made evident by your immediate thoughts— been ages since you’ve been flirted with, let alone talked to someone who wasn’t Morrison.

The man turns and begins walking away. Before his silhouette disappears into the night, he raises a hand. “Ciao.”

You spot the guy with hair as white as snow again at a crosswalk while walking home a couple nights later.

It goes like this:

You were rightfully restless after your warehouse fail. Your pay from Morrison was still in full, so you had enough to splurge a little on the finer things in life, like restocking the dwindling supply of Budweisers you liked to keep handy in your fridge.

You make your way down to the closest 7-11, which happens to be a five minute walk away from your shitty new apartment. 

This area was the type you’d avoid in your old life— sketchy hoodlums loitering in alleyways, the telltale twitches of drug addicts walking by, and the accusing shouts of petty thugs getting into murderous fisticuffs. 

You are by no means a pearl-clutching socialite with a plush and stuffed trust fund, but living here as someone who didn’t have the best means of defending themselves… well, it wasn’t a good idea. The people here weren’t significantly more dangerous, but they were a hell of a lot more jumpy than other people you’d pass on the street.

However, after being bit by one of those mangy dogs of the night, you weren’t so scared of meeting the next Ted Bundy while hunting demons.

(Okay. Attempting to hunt demons.)

As Jason Dean in the cult classic movie Heathers once stated, 7-11 is consistent across all American locations and you’re inclined to agree.

Every chain location you’ve been to has looked like a front for a meth lab. Every time you push a 7-11 door open, it feels like the introductory gas station scene in the Resident Evil 2 Remake is being superimposed over your reality.

You avoid a shirtless guy who won’t stop coughing onto the chip rack and make your way to the refrigerated drinks section for your Budweiser. You grab a box of fifteen cans for about twenty dollars and make your way to the front. You flash your impeccably-crafted fake driver’s license from Morrison to the underpaid cashier who doesn’t bat an eye at its legitimacy as you slide thirty dollars over the counter. 

You almost tell her: “Keep the change, kid,” but you’re more broke than she is, so you grab the coins she’s pulled from the register.

You step outside the store and walk away from the encampment of cigarette smokers loitering by the entrance so you can place the box on the floor. You wiggle a beer can free, planning on popping it open when you get closer to home and chugging it.

You reach your first crosswalk shortly after this. 

This is where you meet the guy with hair like Danny Phantom again. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him notice you, do a little double take, look ahead again, and then get closer.

“This is probably gonna sound real cheesy,” is his opening line, complete with a suave pause. “But you look familiar.”

“Hi,” You reply, feeling your face start to flush a little at the sight of a good-looking dude. Jesus Christ. You were in need of some normal human interactions. “We were in that warehouse on Seventh a couple of days ago.”

“Ah,” the man nodded. “The one where that poor woman was kinda… turned into spaghetti.”

You nod. “That’s the one.”

“Fancy seeing your face again.” He has a flippant lilt to his voice, which makes you want to bury your face into a pillow and start giggling. Thank god it was dark out and he couldn’t see how you were awkwardly biting your bottom lip and thank god both your hands were occupied.

“So, uh… here.” You say in a genius reply, holding out the sweating can of beer meant for yourself.

The guy looks at it in your hand. “Hunh? What for?”

“Well, you, uh, helped me out with that warehouse situation so I figured…” you shrug, the inside of the can sloshing slightly with the motion. “Y’know, it’s certainly the least I could repay you with.”

“Well, thanks,” He reaches for the can and your fingers brush. He shoots you a crooked smile. “I’d love to stick around but I really gotta bounce. I’ll see you around?”

“See you.” You try to echo his coolness with your words, but it feels artificial.

This marks the moment where white hair guy crosses the street away from where you’re going so you march onward, not bothering to look back at him and thinking quite hard about it.

But when you get home, crack open a beer, and begin to watch T.V through your neighbor’s window across the street, you realize you hadn’t asked his name.

[next]

masterlist

[theplottdump]

EEP! My story queen wants to yap? Then yap we shall baby girl!

1, 7, 8, 10, 13 (or ya know, maybe a selection of these since ya girl went a lil wild and chose a whole bunch 😌)

1. Do you hide any secrets in your stories that only a few people will find?  

Scully you're not gonna believe this

7. Do you have any characters you believe might be misunderstood by your readers?

CLAP - CLAP CLAP CLAP Say it with me now -

OUR PHANTOM IS A NEW CHARACTER WE HAVEN'T FULLY MET YET 👏👏👏

8. Are there any plots or characters that have changed dramatically since you initially began writing them?  

(Proto-Poppy's Cult Fit circa late 2023, Root test shots from May)

For this arc everything has been pretty steady. I knew what information I wanted to get across, what points I needed to hit as set up for the Finale of Gen 6 and Gen 7. The biggest change has probably been the Bar scene.

Originally I had it planned as a little dance hall scene. The girls diffuse tension by getting the town to do a little choreographed line dance to Beyoncé's Texas Hold Em. But I didn't want to pose out a line dance, it felt like too much work. So I said hey- what if i made myself do three times that work instead? And it turned into a flashback clip show that took me three weeks to complete, but I think in the end it was way better cause I got to hop back and forth and show little scenes from the past. Revisiting the High School Prom post explosion was probably my favorite.

One Other Change: I originally planned the Christmas Ranch to roughly mirror the layout of Magic Town, with the Stables as the Big Top and the Gazebo as the Carousel. The original plan was to have Poppy chasing the Phantom as the ridiculous environment of the Christmas Ranch slowly morphed and twisted into the Carnival. This got scrapped because I lowkey forgot I wanted to do that, and yeeting her into a canyon felt more realistic than following a ghost for 10 miles back to the Ranch. Eventually she was supposed to catch up to our Masked Man, turn him around, and snap herself back to reality seeing she had turned around Alejandro in the real world.

( horse portkey! horsekey! )

This was scrapped because 1. It's a little confusing since the Phantom is NOT Ale. (see Question number 7 again) and 2. It morphed into more of a "I need to find something to get out of here before I'm corrupted" situation, so there was no reason for her to chase the Phantom any more.

Shoutout to @doctorsimcraft for suggesting Ale dropping his glasses and turning it into a little inter-dimensional meet cute instead.

And if you wanna be a freak about it like I am, technically he touched her hand before she could touch the glasses. :')))

10. If you could choose to be one of your characters for a day, which one would it be? 

SUNNY. I wanna explore underwater caverns with my shitty lil mermaid bestie.

13. What characters do you feel most connected to? Why do you feel connected to that character?

I'd say Poppy. Not like on a personal - IM JUST LIKE YOU / YOU'RE JUST LIKE ME - level, but on a - "I really like this character and oh baby girl you are just getting started I'm so sorry" way.

Also she's fucking on to me man.

[filmnoirfoundation]

The print edition of NOIR CITY Magazine No. 42 is now available on Amazon: https://a.co/d/6WKuD6n

Issue #42 explores the ways in which film noir has endured, and the various forms it's taken over the years. Steve Kronenberg combs through the singular filmography of director David Cronenberg, and the application of the noir style in crime dramas as varied as "Dead Ringers" and "Eastern Promises".

Also in this issue:

Rachel Walther breaks down the various big screen adaptations of James M. Cain’s legendary pulp novel, "The Postman Always Rings Twice"; Andy Wolverton digs into the complicated lives of the female characters in "Act of Violence"; Sloan De Forest untangles the legacy and the impact of Orson Welles’ seminal "Third Man" character, Harry Lime; Danilo Castro dusts off the film noir yearbook to look back at crime dramas starring the Brat Pack; Peter Campion hones in on the importance of the proto-noir gangster film, "The Roaring Twenties"; Paul A.J. Lewis puts readers on to the forgotten and fascinating neo-noir, "A Man In Uniform"; and Matthew Gentile considers the 1994 classic "The Last Seduction", three decades later. Plus film reviews, a themed crossword puzzle, and more.

[whatisluniana]

You Called, I Answered

Summary: An undercover operation gone wrong, but my kidnappers forgot to remove my brooch.

Content: Sylus/Fem!Reader, Heavy petting, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Torture, Handcuffs, Rescue

ADO: Read Here

The assignment had come from top officials at UNICORN; an undercover sting operation involving a crime family that was potentially selling illegally altered proto-cores. Our wing of UNICORN had been asked to provide the agents, as the local branch in Hillport was well known to the family, and would be made too easily if involved. Stefan and I had been approved, for the foreign criminals we were to impersonate looked most like the pair of us, same look and hair. Xavier didn’t look happy about it, but nodded his permission to Stefan, as though passing on a torch that technically wasn’t his to pass.

Stefan was a good hunter, tall and lanky, with kind eyes. His Evol was water-based and he fought with a long bow staff. We spent a week training together until we could move as a unit, and I knew the best ways to resonate with his Evol. All along, we called each other by our code names, memorizing the background story that had been provided to us, as well as the layout of the building where we were to meet the crime syndicate to negotiate for the proto-cores. Along with us, we’d take four other highly trained hunters, our ‘bodyguards’ for the mission.

The plan was to attend the auction for the proto-cores, try to get an invite to a private viewing, and then do our best to arrest as many of the ring leaders as possible. Our partner branch would be on standby outside the building, waiting for our signal to enter the building and back us up. Xavier personally reviewed all the plans in the evenings and pensively gave his approval. Dr. Zayne gave me a clean bill of health. Rafayel was overseas and wished me a safe journey through fishy emojis.

I texted Sylus that I would be away for a week on a mission, and told him to keep the explosions in the N109 Zone to a minimum until I got back. The pudgy raven emoji he sent me looked nonplussed, then he reminded me to keep the raven brooch he gave me on my person at all times. It would lend some credibility to my story, so I readily agreed.

The flight to Hillport was just two hours long, and I spent my time reviewing the files and the layouts with Stefan at my side. We’d been lent a personal jet to support the ruse, and when we landed, we all settled easily into our appropriate roles, moving from the jet to a private limo that would take us to the auction. We drove downtown to the ritzy hotel in the seedy north end, did one last check on our coms, and headed inside. The lobby and the initial ballroom played out just as we had expected. We were welcomed politely, but warily, by the sellers with the lesser wares. We schmoozed and made our way around the room, inspecting the proto-cores on display, before being ushered into the auction itself. I remembered telling myself that Sylus would be interested in hearing that proto-core auctions in Hillport were remarkably similar to those in the N109 Zone.

A young man in a black tuxedo showed us seats in the center of the auction, with enough space for our ‘bodyguards’ to feel comfortable. We had our numbered paddles ready; we chatted with the criminals to either side. The lights went down for the auction to begin, and they didn’t come back on again.

The whole auction had been a setup, a trap. In our ears, the static of the signal jammer told us that no one was coming. Every person in that room was more than prepared for the six of us. The glowing eyes on our enemies, likely some sort of night vision, were really all we had to know where and what to hit. We fought like demons, trying to stay close together, to stick to the elaborate training we’d done, to work as a team.

It was obvious that our enemies’ first tactic was to separate Stefan and me. Every action taken against us was intended to move us further and further apart, removing any Resonance between us, until I was fighting with brute strength and bullets alone.

And when we’d cut down as many of the enemies as possible, the Wanderers began to arrive. Grotesque figures, their misshapen bodies reminded me of others I had seen, strange combinations of men and Wanderers. The experimental proto-cores were not the only experiments to view that night. I watched my teammates fall, one by one, but the Wanderers were not allowed to kill them. Instead, more men arrived, driving back the Wanderers and picking up my team. They were going to take us to a second location. The terror renewed the fight within me, and I tried desperately to get back to Stefan’s side, to push-pull on his powers so that I had more – and he had more – to give our enemies.

It was the shock of a Wanderer breaking my right arm that gave them enough of a window to knock me flat. I had no idea where Stefan, or any of the rest of my team was. Panicked, I reached for the one life line I had left. With my good hand, I slammed my fingers down on the ruby of the raven brooch on my chest. The last thing I saw was a deformed claw-hand moving fast at my face. I tried to deflect it with my good hand, but the blackness took me first.

*

When I woke the first time, I was being held down on a table while someone did a piss poor job of setting the break in my arm. At first, there weren’t enough of them to hold me down while I screamed and thrashed. Someone had forgotten that without someone to Resonate with, I had only myself, and I was used to fighting hard, and fighting dirty. Sure, I looked small, but looks can be deceiving. I almost made it off the table they were using as a makeshift hospital bed. One of them finally had enough of me, and punched me back down into the darkness.

*

The next time I awoke, I was lying in a twin-sized bed in what looked like a dingy hotel room. The walls were yellowing, the fake-wood panels on the desk in the corner were peeling off, and the drapes that potentially hid a window or sliding doors were stained as though something had seeped up them from the floor and no one had ever bothered pulling them down to wash them.

One of my captors stood near the door, his back to me, a phone to his ear, grunting acceptance to whatever was being told to him.

My broken arm was bound tightly to my chest, but something felt wrong about the binding. Not just that it was hastily done with minimal effort, but that there was something else there. My free hand was handcuffed to the headboard behind me. Every inch of me hurt, and breathing wasn’t easy, signaling that perhaps a few of my ribs had been broken. My shoes were long lost, my dress torn and stained, but to my amazement, the ruby brooch still glinted up at me from my chest.

I glanced at my captor; he was still engrossed in his phone call. The handcuffs were just a touch too short for me to reach the brooch. I glanced again, still not looking at me, I wiggled, trying to push my body up towards the headboard, inching my fingers to that ruby.

A backhand caught me unawares, along with a snarled ‘what do you think you’re doing?’, that flipped my head away from my chest. When my vision cleared again, my captor was snarling in my face, demanding to know what I knew. I knew that I didn’t know his face; he hadn’t been part of our briefings. I also knew, as the brooch remained on my chest throughout the interrogation, the continued beating, that he was a fool. They all were, if they’d seen the brooch and just left it. I said nothing, and eventually, he was pissed off enough to knock me out again.

*

It was a different man the next time I was startled awake with a glass of ice water thrown in my face. I spluttered and coughed while someone chuckled nastily. Shaking my wet hair from my face I glared up at the new face. This one, at least, I recognized. He was not very high in the organization, but enough that we’d been told who he was and to watch out for him. If he was in attendance, then the family we were to arrest were not far away.

The interrogation started again, but his tactics were worse than the first bully of a man. This one was very aware that I was a woman, and seemingly at his mercy. I let him touch, grab and prod me a bit, giving him a false sense of security about how weak and vulnerable I was. He took the bait, and I was able to knee him violently in the chin before kicking him in the chest hard enough to toss him off the bed and away from me. He coughed and snarled as he climbed to his feet. “You’ll pay for that,” He snarled, uninspiringly, and I got another backhand that rattled my brain and the blackness threatened to take me again.

In a rage now, he punched my broken arm, pushing me backwards on the bed with the force of it, eliciting a wail that brought a grin to his fat lips. He came near me again, holding my legs down this time, and began whispering all the terrible things he was going to do to me, until I begged him for death.

He was close enough to me while he whispered that when I pushed the ruby on the brooch on my chest, he heard the faint ‘click’ of it. The rage in his face fell into confusion, as he looked down at my brooch, at my restrained hand hovering just over it. Understanding seemed to dawn upon him as he gazed at its shape, and he looked up at me once more.

Somewhere outside the room, a crow screamed.

His skin went pale.

There was a brief, uncomfortable buzzing noise, and the room suddenly filled with the metallic scent of blood. Just as suddenly, a fist sent my captor flying across the room. Sylus was there, and I Reached, trying to push the Resonance between us, but nothing worked. My broken arm ached, and my wrist felt like it was burning.

Sylus didn’t need my help, anyway. My captor was dispatched in moments, and just as quickly, Sylus had pushed the broken desk against the door to stop any others from coming through. He then stormed to my side, his eyes bright crimson, assessing my condition in an instant before he yanked on the handcuff, breaking the links that held my wrist to the bed.

I was in his arms with no memory of him colleting me, cradled to his chest while he yanked back the stained drapes and pulled open the sliding glass door to the balcony. “Sylus, wait.” I managed to whisper, my free hand pushed at his chest. “My team, Stefan. We can’t leave them.”

Sylus stepped out onto the balcony, touching his chin to the top of my head. “It’s alright, kitten.” He rumbled. “Luke and Kieran will find them. And if they don’t, I will.”

He held me tight as he moved to the edge of the balcony. I didn’t fight the blackness when it came for me that time. I knew, at last, I was safe.

*

I woke from an interrogation dream, a torture dream, with a scream that was echoed by the mechanical crow perched on the bedside table. Mephisto took off in a flutter of feathers and screeches. I managed to push up onto my elbows, my broken arm pulsing with pain at the effort. I was not restrained, the wine-red silk sheets and dark masculine aesthetic of the room reminding me that Sylus found me, came for me. I was in his room, in the N109 Zone. I was safe, but why couldn’t I get control of my breath again?

Sylus was there, crooning softly in his deep voice, coaxing me back down onto my back, encouraging me to breath, “Just breath, Kitten.” He touched the side of my face with such softness, I found myself wondering what I must look like, that he would touch me so gently, so carefully. No doubt my face was a wash of bruises, wine-red like his sheets on my pale skin. He breathed with me, his scarlet eyes willing me to follow his lead, to calm my breaths. Finally, I was able to fill my lungs fully, to take the deep breaths he was coaching me to do, and I closed my eyes, listening to his deep voice, unable to find meaning in the words as my own slowing heartbeat filled my ears.

I was safe, but what of the others? My eyes whipped open again, and I grabbed for him with my good hand, taking a fist full of his grey shirt. “The others, Sylus, my team…” I whispered, my throat aching, but from dryness or screaming, I couldn’t be sure.

“Shhhh…” he stroked my face again. “All as safe as I could make them.” He told me. “They weren’t being kept in as nice an accommodation as you. But we found them all, and gave them back.” Again, he encouraged me to breathe with him, to release the panic, and let my heart slow down.

“Here.” He reached for something on the bedside table, and pressed an ice chip to my chapped and broken lips. I accepted the offering, closing my eyes at the soothing wet that coated my mouth and throat. He repeated the offering twice more, and I gladly accepted.

“Did you tell them…?” I whispered, thankful I was not croaking this time.

“That I don’t trust any of them to take care of you, after this debacle?” he smirked down at me. “Of course.”

I found my eyes fluttering closed once more. I was safe. Sylus was here. The others were rescued, and know that I’m safe. Well, safer with Sylus than I had been. To those waiting to hear from me, safe was a relative term. But Xavier would tell Zayne, and perhaps I’d be home in time to tell Rafayel before he burned down the UNICORN office looking for me. I registered that beside me, Sylus was humming a quiet melody, when sleep took me away again.

*

“Come back to me, kitten.” That deep dark voice teased me to the surface, long, gentle fingers stroking my cheek again. “We need to deal with that arm of yours.” I opened my eyes and squinted through the near darkness at his large form. “Resonate with me, dove, and it’ll be like it never happened.”

I met his dark gaze and croaked, “I can’t.”

I saw the frustration in his gaze and panicked, as though this seeming rejection would cause him to leave. I grasped at his shirt as he turned away. “No, Sylus.” To my surprise he turned back again with an ice chip in his hand. He fed it to me and took the hand clawing at his shirt, almost soothingly. “There’s something… stopping me.” I whispered around the ice chip. “I can’t Resonate. It hurts to try, my wrist…”

His dark gaze turned down to my broken arm, the poorly arranged cast. He traced his long fingers down it and easily found the odd bump at my wrist, as though they’d wrapped a bracelet up underneath.

“We’ll have to take the cast off to get the dampener off.” He was obviously not pleased with this turn of events, frowning darkly at my broken arm. Finally, he pulled his eyes up to mine, and brushed an errant curl away from my face. “I’m going to put you under for it. Rest.” He pushed off the bed and moved to a large med kit on the table nearby. I followed the indirect order and closed my eyes. I don’t even remember him returning to my side.

*

The pain pulled me back awake, screaming, fighting, but Sylus had a hold of my uninjured arm. Weak as I was, he was able to hold me down, even as he pulled the last of my captors' poorly constructed cast off and tossed it off the side of the bed. He was still crooning, whispering as he pulled me to his chest, asking me to breathe with him again, through the pain.

Once I’d calmed again, we both inspected the dampener on my wrist. It was half a set of handcuffs, the chain and second cuff removed. Unexpectedly, Sylus pressed his lips to my damp forehead, got off the bed, and went digging through the drawers in one of his long dressers. He returned with a small kit which opened to reveal an elaborate set of lock picks. He made short work of the cuff, popping it open and tossing it off the bed onto the floor with the cast.

Sylus took my chin and forced me to look up into his eyes, away from the bruised mess of my broken arm. Though I felt like my whole body was pulsing with the pain of my arm, dancing with the beat of my heart, I accepted the distraction. “Resonate with me, kitten, let’s see if we can find the path together.” His long fingers slid down my uninjured arm and pushed my hand open until he could tangle our fingers together.

My heartbeat drummed, the pain pulsed, and Sylus’s right eye began to glow. Just as I’d done with my teammates, Xavier, Zayne, and Rafayel, I Reached and pushed outwards with my heart. I focused on his gaze, and his hand clasping mine. When we had tried this previously, Sylus had pushed, had been the one Reaching, and I’d walled him off, away from me, and my Evol. This time, I Reached, and he Reached. Hot, like a desert wind, his Evol swirled along my skin, and into me. I felt my eyes close as the warmth of it, the bright, red, energy of his Evol met my own, and grew, pulsing with my heart beat. I heard Sylus inhale deeply, and hum in appreciation. “Yes, just like that.” I heard him whisper into my ear, nuzzling my throat. “It’s been too long…” 

And then the pain began to subside. The heat moved through me, across my skin, pulsing. I felt it pool in my broken arm and chest, felt the heat grow, heard Sylus’s breath grow labored as it pushed and knitted what had been broken back together. My bruised cheeks and eyes burned with it. I felt it begin to move away from my chest, arm and face, searching for more hurt and began to pull myself back, to extricate my Evol from his. “It’s alright Sylus.” I whispered, touching his cheek with the hand once bound to my chest. “I can take it from here.”

I opened my eyes and looked up at him. The glow of Sylus’s right eye pulsed, his lips spread in a thin smile. “Are you sure, Kitten?”

I squeezed his hand and pressed my nose up against his neck. “You came for me.” I whispered, touching my lips to his throat.

Sylus let out a dark chuckle, even as he shifted our positions so he was looming over me, our hands still clasped. His eye no longer glowed, but he still grinned. “You called, I answered.” He responded, and then captured my lips with his own, a deep, claiming kiss that echoed through me, tightening my core with pleasure. He clasped his left hand tightly to mine, his right holding him up and over me, and then the kiss began to trail away from my lips, down to my throat and then bare shoulder. His teeth nipped at the skin where my neck met my shoulder and I heard myself gasp, the surprise and the pleasure at the action echoing through me.

“Sylus.” I whispered as he spread kisses down my shoulder, his lithe fingers slowly starting to draw the hanging remnants of my dress away from my skin. “Sylus.” I pressed at him, trying to draw him back up to my face. I was tempted to ask a third time when his lips returned to mine for another breath-stealing kiss before he finally focused on my face. “Sylus, I want you.” He rewarded this pronouncement with another kiss. “But I want a shower more, please.” I found myself wrapping my now-healed arm around his neck, he was still holding my other hand in his own, pulling him close. “I don’t want to smell… like them… like him… when I’m with you.” I couldn’t stop the full-body shudder that wracked my body. Briefly, I watched the anger flare in his eyes, felt him press his body down on mine, as though he could banish the attack from my mind.

Moments, and one more deep kiss, later, he was carrying me into his bathroom and setting me gingerly on the long marble counter, framed by jack and jill sinks. He flipped on the shower and let the water warm while pulling off his grey shirt and slipping out of the black slacks he’d been wearing. He left his black briefs on for now, though there was no doubt that he had been enjoying himself immensely before my request. Returning to me, he put himself between my legs and continued the effort to peel the ruined black dress off my form. Somehow, he managed to make pulling the blood-soaked garment away from my still-tender skin its own form of foreplay, kissing each inch of skin he revealed, leaving my black bra and underwear until last.

He was kissing me thoroughly when he finally unclasped my bra and dumped it on the floor. Those long, talented fingers teased my ribcage before cupping my breasts, thumbs dancing briefly around the areolas, sending another shiver of pleasure through me. After a brief appreciative squeeze, Sylus slid his hands down my sides and cupped my ass before sliding me off his counter and pulling my underwear off to join my bra on the tile floor.

He cupped my ass again as he lifted me into the air and took me into the shower with him. Sylus let me revel in the perfectly hot water, lolling my head back to wet my hair while he pressed butterfly kisses to my collar bones. “Can you stand?” he purred in my ear, setting me down enough to explore the answer. At my nod, he leaned me back against the cool tile before removing his briefs, dropping them outside the shower and collecting a handful of bodywash. He returned to my side and began sliding those large talented hands over my body while he leaned down to capture my lips once more. Our height difference forced him down onto one knee, but it was quite obvious he didn’t mind as his kisses continued to trail my body while he washed the blood and sweat away.

When he was satisfied that he’d washed every inch of my body, he nudged me around to face the tile, squeezing a butt cheek in thanks at my pliancy. Standing, he took a little bit longer with my hair, scrubbing thoughtfully at my scalp with those talented fingers, his shampoo smelling of eucalyptus and wood. I enjoyed the pampering, closing my eyes, and tried to keep myself from tipping backwards into his broad chest. Once satisfied that my hair was clean, he pulled me back against his chest for a rinse before he leaned me back up against the tile. Sylus’s conditioner smelled crisp and spicy somehow as he quickly combed it through my hair before leaning me back under the spray for another rinse.

He picked me up again, an arm under my frame, taking us both out of the shower and finding a pair of towels. He perched me on the edge of the sink again and handed me my towel while he quickly dried himself off. When he returned to my side and attempted to help me towel-dry my hair, I felt my eyelids fighting to stay open. “Sylus.” I murmured quietly, wrapping my arms around his waist and pulling him close. “I’m not sure I’m going to be able to stay awake.”

I looked up, his expression was almost soft as he pulled me back into his arms and moved back to the bedroom. “No objections, kitten.” He purred in my ear as he tucked me under the luxurious sheets of his huge bed. “It took a lot to put you back together, I think I could use some sleep as well.” 

“Can you stay with me, for a little while?”

When that dark honey voice murmured, “Of course.” I smiled and allowed my eyes to close.

[bonny-kookoo]

Lock Me Up | Short #1

In which he realizes some things, but denies himself others.

Tags/Warnings: Detective Agust D my friends, Criminal Kitty!Reader, hybrid Yoongi, mentions of murder, mentions of violence, mentions of blood, mentions of past abuse, strangers to enemies to I don't even know, sexual tension?, dead dove do not eat

Length: Mid/short

-> Series Masterlist

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"Takehiko is under arrest currently, and is being watched until we can all agree on a court date. She's still with you, right?" The detective is being asked, as he takes a drag of his cigarette outside his apartment on the rooftop.

"She is." He agrees.

"But..?" His superior questions over the phone, knowing Yoongi well enough to realize when he's got something to say. "Don't tell me she wants to retract her statement. Tell her she's safe-"

"No, no that's not it." Yoongi denies, flicking the ash off of his cigarette while he leans his arms on the railings. "Rather.. unforseen circumstances that will probably push anything involving her back by a week or so." He explains with a sigh. "At least."

"So she's in heat." His superior chuckles, and Yoongi feels a bit irritated. Kim Seokjin might be a smart man, but he sure knows how to draw amusement from Yoongi's struggles every single time the chance is there.

"Not quite yet, but probably soon. She's medicated, but still, she won't be able to make any date you might have in mind right now." He explains, flicking away the smoked bud somewhere down to the ground while he checks your tracker- just to make sure.

Legally, any statement you make in court won't have any weight as long as you're in heat- so right now, you're pretty much holding the whole process in the air until you're no longer under the influence of any drugs or your hormones to say it bluntly. Yoongi himself entirely forgot about the possibility of this.

"Oh, I was about to ask how you wanted to handle that." Seokjin chuckles.

"Anything else would've gone against proto-"

"Ah come on Min Yoongi, everyone steps over the protocol here and there!" He laughs over the phone. "Do you not like her? She seemed cute when I met her, not going to lie."

"…" Yoongi can't answer. He wants to- but he realizes in this moment that he just.. never thought about it. Does he like you? Or has he just gotten used to you?

Well, he certainly doesn't mind you.

He neither minded going out to get your medications, nor does he mind how you sometimes reach for his hand at night when you sleep. He doesn't mind how you constantly try to rile him up or get on his nerves, and he definitely doesn't mind your presence when he works. But does he like it?

He.. kind of does, come to think of it.

"It's alright to admit it, you know." Seokjin hums over the phone. "I'm not testing you or anything."

"That would be exactly what you'd say if you were testing me." Yoongi argues back defensively. "Listen, I'll supervise her while she's on her meds, and I'll ring you up the minute she's through with it."

"Well, you do you detective blank-face." Seokjin jokes. "Have fun!" He laughs, and Yoongi rolls his eyes before ending the call and walking back into his apartment where you're laying flat on your stomach-

In the middle of the main room.

"And.. what is this?" He asks, though you just groan into floorboards in agony.

"I'm gonna die~!" You wail, and he sighs.

This is going to be the longest heat he'll probably ever have to sit through.

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"Stop- hey, slow down alright? One is enough for now." He tells you, taking away the pack of snacks from you. You immediately become teary eyed, grabbing after them- though his arm is longer, palm pressed against your sternum keeping you away.

"But I'm hungry!" You cry out. "I'll starve! You're gonna make me starve, is that it? Did I bother you so much that you want me dead now?" You ask dramatically, and he takes a deep breath.

"You're not starving." He clarifies as carefully as he can manage, putting the snacks back into the highest shelf where he keeps most of your foods at the moment since you use any moment where he's not looking to practically consume everything edible in his household. "You just feel empty, and you confuse that with hunger." He explains, and now you just look annoyed.

"Yeah well, who's fault is that?" You accuse with crossed arms. "Anyone else would've just screwed me already to get it over and done with." You say, and he looks at you with a blank face.

"I'm not anyone, however." He reminds you.

"I know.. I'm sorry- you're tryin'a be nice and I'm such a bitch for no reason.." you suddenly deflate, walking away from him to crawl underneath a blanket on your chaotic bed, hiding.

It's your medication- and he honestly feels sorry for you.

When you're not cramping and uncomfortable and most of all nauseous, you start to feel empty and hungry, not to mention the mess that's your emotions. One moment you're irritated by nothing, the next you're scared of everything. It's a little tough to handle, he won't lie.

Mostly because he wants to help as much as he can, but there's really a tough limit to what he can actually do without.. well, that.

"Here, drink something instead, that's more important right now." He offers, squatting down at the side of your bed with a bottle of water.

There's no answer.

"You're not asleep."

"How'd you know?!" You suddenly ask, throwing back the covers as you sit up, holding your heat quickly from the whiplash.

"Its not that hard to tell." He- chuckles?!- before he unscrews the cap of the water bottle. You drink eagerly- though you keep your eyes on him the entire time, as if you're thinking of something that involves him. "What?- no no no, my God..." he sighs as you try and talk without having swallowed down the last gulp of water, immediately forcing yourself to cough.

When you finally stop, he tries again. "First drink, then talk." He reminds you, and you nod.

"Can I ask how you got that scar? Like, who did that?" You wonder, finger reaching out to touch it- and he instinctively leans away from you. "Oh sorry, my bad." You apologize, and he shakes it off.

"Its not a cool story, really." He mumbles quietly. "Nothing what you might expect." He shrugs, screwing the cap back onto the bottle before he stands up to put it back into the fridge.

"..so?" You ask meekly, still wanting to know. "I mean you don't have to say-" you start, but he cuts you off as he washes some dishes in the sink.

"Me." He says, and you freeze in your spot. "You asked who did it." He says over his shoulder when he notices your silence, and at that, you watch him with an unreadable expression, before you get up. "What, you wanna look at it aga-"

But he's caught off guard when you simply quietly hug him from the back, soft purring trying to somehow get your feelings across.

And he understands.

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"What is it?" He asks when he notices you pacing again, not wanting to sit down at all it seems like. Your tail snaps upwards at the sound of his voice- but you're not answering for a moment.

"I need to go outside." You say, and he puts his pen down, ready to argue. You've already argued twice about this very specific topic- he can't let you outside like this on your own, the risks too high. And unbeknownst to you, it's not just because you're still a key witness to his case- but also because he personally doesn't want you to roam around outside while clearly still in heat, medicated or not.

He doesn't want to admit it yet, but his reasoning aren't just because he's a hybrid and therefore influenced by you.

"I know! I know you said I can't but I really need something and-" you argue instantly, standing in front of his desk with your legs pushed together suspiciously.

"I bought them already." He tells you nonchalantly, picking up his pen again to continue working. "They're in the bathroom, underneath the sink." He explains, and you stare at him for a moment, before you squint your eyes in suspicion, walking where he told you he'd pit what you need.

There's no way he actually-

He did.

It's definitely a more expensive brand you'd be using- but you won't question it for now, rather glad to be able to clean up and regain some comfort as you do your business and line your underwear with the hybrid-heat pads.

Maybe that'll help him, too.

You know he's affected by you inside his home even if he doesn't admit it- it's not hard to notice. He tends to go outside a lot more, he keeps a window open next to him when he works, he tries to keep any close contact to a minimum. You like that he stays respectful, sure- but you also feel awful about it, because you're just making his job and life so much more complicated right now. No one wants to willingly take care of a medicated hybrid in heat- it's exhausting, annoying, and most of all-

"Everything alright in there?" He asks through the door, knocking pulling you out of your thoughts.

"Y-yeah, no issues!" You call out, and he seems to leave at that, making you deflate. The detective seems to be a pretty good guy underneath that weird tough guy persona he puts up during his work- but it's clear to you that while he might tolerate you, and doesn't truly mind you, he doesn't like you either. He's still someone who despises his own genes, so it's a no-brainer that he probably doesn't like you either.

And you don't blame him at all.

Walking outside the bathroom, you rub your eye- and he immediately gets up to check on you. "What happened?" He wants to know, thinking you're crying, but you wave him off.

"..got.. something in my eye.." you mumble, making him click his tongue as he holds your face in his hands to tilt it upwards so he can see better. He's concentrated on his task, but his grip isn't rough or anything- he's awfully gentle, careful in locating and brushing the hair out ofbyour eye, before he lets go of you again. "..thanks." You mumble, and he nods, walking back to his desk.

"No problem." He simply answers, orange hue from the setting sun coloring the entire interior of his apartment.

"Hey, Detective.?" You ask, carefully pushing some things on his desk with your leg as you sit on the corner, making him furrow his brows at your antics- though he's used to them at this point. "Do you have like- hobbies?" You wonder, and he clicks something on his laptop before he closes the device, leaning back in his seat with crossed arms.

"Not really, no." He answers dryly.

"Boring." You huff. "Not even old-people-stuff like, I don't know, collecting stamps or something?" You ask, and he shakes his head.

"No." He simply answers, and you let your shoulders drop.

"Oh come on man, I'm trying to make smalltalk here!" You whine, and he chuckles- something he's been doing recently, and it fills you with happiness, in a way. "You gotta help me out!"

"Why would I?" He asks, leaning his head to the side a bit. "You're pretty entertaining like this." He shrugs.

You, in return, pull out your tongue, before jumping down to walk into the kitchen, attempting to climb on the countertop to reach your snack-stash.

"Hey- stop that!" He immediately calls out rushing to you, pulling you down but your middle before setting you back down onto the ground.

"But De-te-ctive~!" You wail dramatically. "I'm gonna-"

"You're not going to starve, I told you." He reminds you, but you simply suddenly fall limp in his grip, practically melting through his arms like liquid before you're on the ground, giggling. He sighs.

"Your life is gonna be so fucking boring when I'm gone." You joke-

And he knows, deep inside, just how right you are.

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"Pssst, Detective.!" You hiss- but he's dead asleep. "Detective!" You hiss again, but still, he's unconscious.

It's unusual for him to sleep this tightly, not even reacting to you when you're pulling on his arm. And it's freaking you out- because you know for a fact, someone's on the roof, and its a stranger.

You're just about to slap the man, when the window crashes, making you instantly try and hide- but it's no use, because his apartment isn't big at all, and gives you nowhere to truly go in the spur of the moment like this.

You notice how the detective's eyes slowly open, as if he's fighting to wake up- but he still doesn't move.

The food delivered. The young delivery guy at the door that seemed awfully nervous. The soda only he himself had drunk yesterday.

He's so fucking stupid, he thinks to himself.

You can feel Yoongi's grip trying to hold you close to him as you hold onto his hand- but he can't bring himself to do anything else as you finally slip from his fingers, a hit to your head making you go limp as you lose consciousness right in front of his eyes.

And suddenly you're gone, apartment cold and empty again.

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[affectionate-robots]

The Señorita and her Tuxedo Blues

Fandom: Mega Man (Mega Man Megamix/Gigamix Manga) Pairing: Ariga!Proto Man/Robot Master!Reader Form: Drabble Requested: Yes (requested on Wattpad) Extra: Reader is female. This is sort of a reference to Señorita by Camilla Cabello and Shawn Mendes, hence the end quote. Imagine...

The moment you woke up in the alleyway where your deactivated and addlepated body was dumped, the first thing you saw was a man wearing a trench coat and sunglasses. And boy did you remind him so much of himself…

Fast forward to the present, that mysterious man was revealed to be Proto Man: The very prototype created by Dr. Light years ago. He was mysterious and lonely like you are;but every now and again, you lived and danced with him like the robot señorita you are.

"Oh, I should be running, but you keep me coming for you…”

[that-gay-guy-from-hell]

I've Got You: Dante x G/N Reader

SUMMARY:

Dante and you are on a job where something happens; something that scares Dante. 

BEGINNING NOTES: Protective Dante x Quarter-devil G/N Reader Unestablished relationship 🩹🩹🩹 The reader works at the DMC as a demon hunter Quarter devil = A situation like Nero, second gen. hybrid. You can heal like Nero does--much slower than the twins.  The reader uses Gilgamesh Another semi-short story: Not fully proofread, will check later just wanted to post this now lol

==

     A slowly slipping sun on the horizon gave the current gory situation a sickly divine glow. The cause of such bloodshed? Dante and you--both hard at work. While you worked, your face in particular had curled up into a devilish wide wicked grin; the madness of which only being further accented the furious insatiable appetite for violence that had consumed each one of your moves The reason for this uncharacteristic ferocious attitude was simple, you were drop-dead tired. This exhaustion was intense enough that it had swung all the way around back to you feeling rejuvenated and invigorated. A large spray of crimson carnage shot upward toward you, decorating your face and chest, as you used Gilgamesh’s boots to curb-stomp a Proto Angelo.

     All the while, your red devil partner was cracking random jokes and making quippy remarks, as per usual; however, he couldn’t help but focus on your oddly sadistic behavior. Which, to his surprise--and slight horror--he found extremely arousing. 

     The way the sunset illuminated all the blood that sprayed up from each of your kills, how your body bent and contorted in just the right way, that unfamiliar dark smirk; all of it combined into a perfectly seductive bloody waltz. After ripping the throat out of a Hell Jeducca, you wiped some of the accumulated blood from your face. That’s when you noticed Dante’s stare, turning your smile from violent to loving as you waved happily; which evidently was too much of a distraction for the red devil. In a split second, a Fury that he’d been fighting managed to slice the side of Dante’s neck open and a large red spray came from the gouged-out flesh. 

     Dante let out a hissing grunt through gritted teeth and took a deep calming breath, turning to the large demon. As the pair circled one another waiting for the other to strike, both Dante and the demon were caught off guard by you shoving Gilgamesh’s gauntlets right through the Fury’s spine and out it’s stomach. 

     Dante’s heart skipped a beat as he stared; a part of him was fearfully concerned about your rash action but another part of him was amused by it--in more ways than one.

     With an irritated grunt, you shook the corpse from your forearm, dropping it to the ground. Your breathing was ragged and you were standing staring down at the demon’s corpse; reeling at the fact that your stupid impulsive action worked. 

     After a short pause, you sighed in relief at a brief moment of peace and stretched your arms up, cracking your shoulders. As you stared at Dante, you felt an odd nervousness take over your body. He looked hot normally but with the way his hair was disheveled and stuck to his brow from the demon blood that coated the majority of him, it made him look both terrifying and tempting. He smiled at you through his heavy breaths, winking at you, and had his hands resting on his hips. It was then that you noticed his neck wound. 

     Taking care not to trip, you made your way over to the ragged man. Gingerly, you placed a hand over the torn flesh as a sad look crept into your eyes, Dante's eyes trained on you the entire time. 

     A small frown tugged at your face, “You alright?” 

     The youngest son of Sparda smiled and set his hand over yours; or rather, over the demonic gauntlet you had on, “Eh,” he shrugged, “I’ll live. What about you? You feelin’ alright?”

     A surprised huff left your lips as you titled your head with a raised brow, confused as to why he was asking you.

     With a faint hint of concern, Dante began to mindlessly thumb over your arm, “Your fighting style is a little more uh… brutal than normal, you can take a break. I can take care of the rest--we’re almost done anyways.”

     You smiled softly as you began to slowly thumb over his neck, speaking in a smooth gentle voice, “I’m fine, Dante. Don’t worry about me.”

     “It’s my job to worry about you,” he smiled warmly, “You’re my partner after all.”

     With a bright closed-eye laugh, you gently punched his chest with your free hand. However, when you opened your eyes, you slowly stopped laughing. His eyes were trained fully on yours and they were half-lidded, filled with an oddly caring feeling. Bit by bit, the two of you leaned closer and placed your noses right beside one another--

     A sudden intense pain shot through your middle as you pulled back from him, pushing him away. It seems Dante felt it too as he reacted the same way; however, when he looked down, he realized he was just barely nicked by the tip of the blade. 

     You had taken the brunt of the blow.

     With shaking hands, you looked down at your middle and saw the sword that had pierced you before it was harshly yanked back out of you, leaving a gaping hole in its wake--allowing you to see much more of your insides than anyone probably ever should.

     “Dante..?” You looked up at him with an almost confused stare before stumbling forwards.

     “It’s okay,” he caught you as you fell and your hand had vice gripped around his arm, digging your gauntlets into his coat and bicep as he laid you onto the ground, “I’ve got you- I’ve got you.” 

     His eyes met with yours as you let go of him. As he stared into your eyes, an intense wave of emotions overcame Dante--it was a toxic combination of fear and anger, a pairing that only leads to one result. 

     In an instant, Dante he was in his Sin Devil Trigger. The first thing he did was shred a Gladius--the one that had speared you--into tiny insurmountable pieces. Then his attention was on the rest of the newly formed horde. To say that Dante is feral when in his Sin Trigger would be ludicrously underselling it. He’s only supposed to even consider using it when in a completely sound and stable mindset--the furthest thing from what his mind is like right now. All that was in his head was he wanted to protect you-- he needed to protect you, from anything and everything that might hurt you. It didn’t take long for him to have the demons killed off which then he should’ve returned to your side, allowing him to calm down and de-Trigger, but something else caught his eye. 

     The two of you hadn’t been alone when you started this mission; no, in fact, you had two other hunters that had gone through the opposite side and finally had reconvened with you both in the middle of the nest. 

     Vergil and Nero.

     The father-son duo stood dumbfounded for a moment. Although Vergil was far from afraid of his brother’s devil forms, this was one of the very finite times that Vergil had seen Dante use it outside of their time in Hell. Whereas Nero could count on one hand how many times he’d seen his uncle like this; rendering him completely clueless of the amount of danger he, and Vergil, were truly in.

     Nero smiled with a shake of his head, walking towards the rumbling red devil, “What? You two get your asses kicked that bad?”

     Instantaneously, Dante was in front of Nero. Before the young hunter could even process what happened, Dante shot up in the air and dropped straight down. A large bright explosion emanated from the devil’s actions, which then decorated the area with bright sparsely placed hellfire. With a snarl, the red devil stood back up and expected the “threat” to be gone; however, it wasn’t--at least not in the way he expected. A faint smell of demonic magic in the air as Dante surveyed what happened. 

     He turned to the side and saw, a now Sin Devil Triggered, Vergil, holding Nero tightly to his chest. The two of them locked eyes and both flared out their wings, letting out a low growl the entire time; sizing each other up. Vergil, however, was quickly preoccupied by a pissed-off Nero complaining about how Vergil is squishing him “--to death”.  

     Dante noticed Vergil’s distraction and took a step toward them.

     Seeing what was going on, you decided to intervene; even if it made you want to gouge out your own throat in pain, “Dante..?”

     The red devil’s attention was immediately upon you and he was by your side, frantic at your still injured state.

     Gently and carefully you placed a hand on his cheek, thumbing over the plate that created the underside of his eye and his cheek; doing your best not to cut or burn yourself, “They’re not going to hurt you or me; everything’s alright.”

     Dante made a small chirping purr as he leaned into your touch before picking you up, careful as to not agitate your wounds. It was unclear just how far he had taken you but it was far enough away that the weather had changed completely becoming cold and rainy. There was no cityscape or demons in sight, just forest for miles around. 

     Perhaps if Dante hadn’t been in such an intimidating form, you may have considered this to be a date. Being out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but forest as far as the eye could see; it was breathtaking.

     Dante set you down, gently bunting his head against you before standing up. He was scanning the area, listening and looking for anything moving or anything that might even so much as think about harming you. 

     “Dante?” You reached up for his hand, grabbing one of his claws.

     The red devil turned to you in a panicked manner, thinking that something was wrong. 

     “Sit with me?” Your voice was soft, trying to calm him down, “Please?”

     Although hesitant, Dante did as you asked with a small grumbled huff and sat beside you. 

     With a small grunt, you stood up and saw that he was going to as well, “Stay.” He growled in slight agitation, so you quickly tacked on a “please” to your request.

     Very carefully, you sat sideways between his legs, doing your best to keep yourself from getting stabbed by his thigh spikes. Bit by bit, you leaned your head against him and a loud purr began to emanate from deep within Dante’s chest as he wrapped his arm around your lower back. You had the other hand in yours, using both your hands to hold it and play with it slightly. In your time working with Dante, you’d only seen this form once and it had been due to a similar situation where you’d been hurt. 

     “You know, you might look scary when you’re like this but,” you looked up at him, meeting his gaze, “you really aren’t much different than you are normally,” You adjusted your head a bit and let out a small laugh at him putting his wings around the both of you, “Okay, maybe just a little more protective.”

     A small rumble came from deep inside his chest, laughing at your words. Even though he knew that you were going to be fine, that you would heal just like everyone else, Dante couldn’t help but worry about you. 

     “I love you; you know that Dante?” you smiled at the sound of his purring grow tenfold louder, “I thought so,” with a laugh you placed a small kiss on his middle, “When you are back to human we can finish that kiss, okay?”

     He chuffed at you, eager to be able to kiss you. 

     With how hot it was within his grasp and the noise from both the rain and his purring, you couldn’t help but fall asleep. As you slept, Dante had managed to slide back down into his regular Trigger and then to human once more. A small content smile tugged at his lips, although your shirt was totaled, you were just fine. Without disturbing you too much he took off his jacket, wrapped it around you, and pulled you closer to his chest--setting you properly on his lap. 

     Dante closed his eyes as he held you tightly and, with a voice as soft as silk, he whispered against the top of your head, “I love you too, darling,” he placed a soft kiss atop your head, “So very much.”

==

Sorry for the typos (and apparently unsaved/half-done paragraph?? Not sure what happened but I tried to fill in what I thought was supposed to be there *Google Docs didn't save it for some reason smh*), they should be fixed now lmao

==

Want to see more like this? Want to read my work quicker and several stories that are not on Tumblr? Check this out on my AO3 (Linked here)

MASTER LIST FOR TUMBLR

[rottenraccoons]

Not sure if this has already been asked yet, but how did the team come up with the four love interests in the first place? I feel like the hardest part of developing a character is figuring out how to start. All four feel so wonderfully complex, and are not very "trope-y," which is what I struggle with the most. Thanks!

Aw, thank you! I love answering stuff like this, so I decided to go through my process on Keir and rambled a bit. I'll put my answer under a readmore for brevity.

For us, we started building Obscura with the idea that we wanted to do something dark and mature, and began with developing a setting. Once we picked and started building out the marketplace under the mountain, we could start asking ourselves "why would anyone go to this place?" and work from there. (Vesper's fractum anima is one answer to this question that we really liked for the MC.)

"Thief" feels like a pretty natural role for a marketplace, and Tobi made it clear that she wanted to develop a very dark character, so I thought a more heroic Robin Hood-type character would be a nice contrast. My original concept of Keir was for a thief who burns for justice in a deeply unjust setting; think shounen-anime hero and you're in the right neighbourhood. Pretty tropey, and I say that with love! Proto-Keir would be a delight to write in a different story.

But the rest of the team didn't think that type of character really suited the dark tone we wanted to work with, and they were right. So we took the trope and twisted it. Yes, he's a good man who burns for justice in an unjust world; and he is extremely burned out. And that twist on the formula unlocked Keir for me and the rest of the team. Burned-out Keir could be exhausted and sarcastic and even cynical about the world, bitter about the state of the marketplace and very protective of Mouse Hole as a place he can improve.

This isn't to say that "burned-out activist Robin Hood" is an original characterisation that's never been done before; TV Tropes has a whole page on the Knight in Sour Armor, which deals with similar characters. But it was the foundation we could build on as a team to make a character that felt strong enough to be a romantic interest.

I've mentioned this before, but one of the inspirations I draw from when I write about the marketplace is the awful Web3/crypto environment, a topic I enjoy reading about mostly for the schadenfreude and ended up learning about as a consequence. For Keir, I use concepts like activist burnout and compassion fatigue, things I learned about much more intimately in 2020 (you can guess why). Taking these real life ideas and bringing them into my writing is my favourite way to add depth and texture to characters and settings. If you're looking to do the same, try looking outside fiction and see what things interest you, then bring them back to your fiction.

Not to say that tropey characters are a bad thing! I could write a whole other essay on the utility of character tropes, especially in the world of romance games. Tropes can be a great place to start constructing characters to ensure that they all have their own appeal, and they're just fun to experience as a reader, especially when it's one of your faves. There's no shame in being a bit tropey, if it suits the story you want to tell!

(And if you're looking for a bit of extra ~secret sauce~: give your characters two things they want super badly, but getting one thing will compromise the other. Safety and love are a classic pair; safety often means staying closed off from other people to avoid being hurt, love requires opening up to others. Then let them struggle with those competing wants.)

[kerubimcrepin]

Live-Read: "Dofus Manga" - part 1

(But only the bits with Atcham, Kerubim, or Joris.)

I'm sure that someday, I will read this comic. That day is not today, though. Today, we are looking for jurgencrepin content within it. Which isn't a lot, but it is present.

Firstly, I would like to note, that there is an appearance of proto-Kerubim and proto-Khan, in one of the volumes in the 2010-2013 time frame, as figurines. (the guy next to them is not Joris, but a whisperer.)

I do not know which volume, because I do not want to search for them.

To be exact, it seems to be the same proto-Kerubim, as the one that appears in this video, depicting one of the early drafts of the movie. (In this one, I am pretty sure Joris was still meant to be a homeless orphan. And Lilotte was always planned to be either a rogue, a princess or both at the same time.)

Now, onto actually canonically relevant appearances of the Jurgen-Crepins

Dofus: Issue 19

In a Brakmarian shop, Katar (guy who killed Goultard's family, idk, too long, don't know french, didn't read, know him from the short Goultard cartoon) sees a sword and wants to buy it.

It was ordered by a "very renowned Brakmarian ecaflip who will literally kill me if I don't sell it to him, he's That passionate about this sword. Please don't touch it," according to the shopkeep. Who is then promptly literally killed by Katar instead.

This will become relevant to us in a few tomes.

It is revealed that the king Clustus Sheran-Sharm has taken a dragon for his queen, — and it is revealed how that happened via a flashback.

NOTE: Clustus is an ancestor of the king Leorictus Sheran-Sharm (insane war-criminal, cause of the huppermage genocide, a probable target for Joris to have murdersuicide fantasies about, lives ~110 years in the future from Clustus), and Amalia and her family (who, in turn, live ~600 years in the future relative to Clustus, and are now the royal family of Sadida kingdom, and not Bonta.

NOTE: We do not know why Sheran-Sharms are now the royal family of Sadida, but, the king of Bonta that followed Leorictus is named Théome Beldarion, and he was put on the throne by Jiva after Bonta was without a ruler for 70-90 years — it is unknown if he is related to Leorictus or the Sheran-Sharm family in general.

Perhaps, all the warcrimes made it quite literally so that the Sheran-Sharm family had to seek political asylum in neighbouring lands after Leorictus's suicide caused the all hell to break loose and the following years of huppermage persecution ensued. But idk man. I'm not Tot Ankama.

By the way, Clustus is mentioned in the show, multiple times, — but this is the most direct reference that came to my mind.

Anyway.

The group of adventurers, — of which both Kerubim and his majesty Clustus were a part of, — wanted to collect the Dofus to hide them, to keep the world safe.

Kerubim and Crail (a guy, from the manga, don't ask me, man) studied under the same master, — Master Nabur, — albeit, in different years, so they hadn't met during their education.

At the comic's time, Master Nabur has passed away somewhat recently.

Kerubim pulls out his stupid anime armor and the hoes get scared. (Because if Kerubim is excited about a battle, one should be scared about it.)

He will keep wearing this armour for the next 600 years. Even as it loses its golden paint completely. Even though it has a huge-ass hole from that one time he got shot and died in it. Talk about dedication...

I regret to inform you, reader, that I still desire him carnally.

He says that "the probability of the logs hitting us is very small".

Things go as usual after he says that.

The king and the dragon fall in love, the dragon turns into a woman, and the two of them pretend that he rescued her from the dragon.

Only Kerubim realizes this lie due to his "strong ecaflip sense of smell" (honestly thinking it might be the whole "has so many luck buffs he can predict the future and be a medium or something" thing. and the demigod thing. Combined.)

He decides not to tell anyone, saying that everyone deserves a chance, while asking the dragon not to betray the trust he puts in her, by making this decision.

Dofus: Issue 21

I love you, Atcham...

Atcham has found the body of the smith and the fact that his sword is gone-gone. He waxes really poetically and neurodivergently about how much he loves swords and how badly the guy who did this is going to pay. Atcham is never beating the "swords are his special interest" allegations.

My headcanon, which ties into my "Atcham is autistic" agenda, is that when he was a child, weapons became his one way to keep himself safe, — so because of that, he developed a strong emotional attachment to them. (Though all of Jurgen-Crepins are very... passionate, about objects. But Atcham is mostly only like that about swords, in canon.)

Anyway, if Joris has the deragatory nicknames like "shorty", "kid", and "lil guy" constantly applied to him, then Atcham's personal never-ending hell nightmare is various combinations of "disgusting" "dirty" and "rat".

His response to being threatened with hanging for not attending Brakmarian political stuff is "uhh i don't give a sssshit?" and calmly correcting them that he is an ecaflip, not a rat. (They don't care, but he will make them care very, very soon.)

He's literally so funny for this. I am in love with him.