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littleoneamanda · 4 months ago

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GF: Stanford Pines

Well, probably one of the fastest drawings I have been drawing xD

The original art style is pretty easy to work with, but I think I will keep doing it in mine after Fidds. Unless you want to see me draw more in the original style. Let me know! :D

Now to my thoughts on the book of bill and Stanford as a character. (SPOILERS)

The missing Journal Pages in this book are probably the ones that I found the most interesting and disturbing. We learn more about Ford as a person and what kind of friendship he had with Bill.

I just wanna say this, I really don't see how so many people saw them as "lovers" which I (imo) found very problematic and disturbing.

I think it is pretty clear Bill only uses Ford for his own gain. His property. Ford was the perfect human for his plans.

Take everything Bill says in the book with a whole spoon of salt.

"Even his lies are lies"

-Code from TBOB

"The ego of a king. The insecurity of a circus freak. And totally isolated from anyone who might steer him clear of my plans "

-Bill, TBOB

Ford has very low self esteem, isolates himself, bad at social interactions and even had a shotgun pointed at him. He describes himself "six fingerd freak".

So when a god like figure shows up in a dream one day, tells you how great you are, you will change the world, ect, You would buy it. Especially when others around you have made you feel like an outcast through your whole life (except for Stanley and Fidds).

Bill is basically love bombing Ford. Making Ford feel very special and reminding him of the project that will change everything.

Now there is a difference between self esteem and self confidence. (I'm adding the links if you wanna know more :) ) Ford absolutely have a strong self confidence. He believes strongly in his research. He belives he CAN achive and complete his research. This is also something Bill takes advantage of. He knows Ford is desperate. This is where is self confidence turns a little bit more to narcissism (again caused by Bill by manipulation). Bill does everything to make sure Ford continues the work.

As soon Ford realizes the betrayal, Bill shows his true colors.

He takes over Fords body multiple times. Takes his body on top of the roof in the middle of the winter, taped a rattlesnake into his journal, recorded a video of him being in Fords body "Puppet Hour with Bill" and will cut to something more disturbing scene. Left a lot of polaroids of him humiliating and torture his body in different ways.

Scaring Ford with one scene where he pretended to call Stan that he was gonna kill himself. This part of the book was probably the one that made me actually shiver. Think about it, You see video and pictures of yourself doing all of this, knowing that this is not you doing all of these things. And having no memory of it at. Too scared to fall asleep because you have no idea were your body is going to be next. That would make any person as paranoid Ford was at the end.

Fidds and Ford.

There is a lot of things that I wanna talk about when it comes to these two, but I will save most of it to the Fidds drawing.

Fidleford is Fords only true friend during this time. He is very supportive but also honest with Ford.

Ford haven't had any other friends during his early life. Stanley was his only friend, and the one who protected him until that one mistake that separates them. When Fiddleford comes in to the picture, (a person who also seemed to have problems making friends) he's probably the first person who doesn't even notice at first that Ford has six fingers. I really wish here we had some more backstory of their college years to know what their friendship looked like, but it seems they were very close.

"I am overcome with emotion. The sight of my old classmate upon my doorstep this morning filled my heart with such joy and gratitude."

-Stanford, Journal 3

Ford was obviously very happy to not be alone anymore in his home. To have his best friend (who also left his family behind) to work with him on this massive project. Now comes the question, what does Ford see Fidds as? I think Fidds shows some kind of feelings towards Ford escpecially when it comes to giving presents (Not only in TBOB but also in Journal 3). I think Ford does deeply care about Fidds, but his mind at this point is so focused on the project (and Bill making sure he is) that he pushes away a lot of feelings. Probably a lot of feelings that are necessary to have as well.

Something I do notice tho is when Bill isn't present, Ford becomes more like himself. Decorating the portal to make make Fidds happy after the failed family reunion (which I don't think he normally would have done if Bill was present during the holidays).

After Bill torture and threatening Ford in the nightmare, the only man he could think of in that moment who could help him was Fiddleford. When he went through Fidds notes for any hints of where he was now, he finds the 5 failed knitted 6-fingered gloves and the ripped photo of them. I can't imagine what that must have felt...

The closest person he had in his life at that point, who has tried to warn him. Tried to give Ford another option for success in his research instead of the portal. The regret of not listening to his warnings.

When they reunited after Weirdmaggedon, seeing how Fiddleford lived now and what the aftermath of the portal incident did to him, must have been a punch in the gut.

"...but when I saw that he was living at the dump, it became clear how deeply I had hurt this man that I had once held so dear."

-Stanford Journal 3

So...Is Ford a jerk? The question and discussions that I've seen so many times here xD

Honestly, this man is complicated. Especially when it comes to understand his thoughts and feelings. However, Stanford is a type person that I personally have encountered irl. Sometimes too smart for his own good, sometimes not understanding how others may feel about certain things/topics and a person who constantly try to prove to themself and to others. A man lost in his own insecurities and very isolated. He his the main character in his life. Now that doesn't exscuse his negative actions at all. But more like a explanation to what might had led to the certain events.

Alright, this took way longer to write than actually make the drawing xD But did wanna share somethings that has been on my mind. When trying to search for analyses of the characters, it has been difficult to find one that is a middle ground. It's either: Stanford is a jerk and doesn't deserve anything good or Here is why everyone is wrong type of stuff. I'm not here to tell how we should think about certain characters. This is just how I look at all of this. The only problem I have with all of this is the thing between Ford and Bill. Maybe it's just me, but I really don't see any type of romance there. I know a lot of people went off on the "one thing led to another" part. I do not know what to say to that honestly. That page was super hard for my eyes to read for some reason lol. And i know, Yes, I did a video of Fidds being cucked by a triangle. I don't mind some of the jokes around it...I mean i did myself xD

I think the reason Bill is a bit obsessed over Ford is because after so many attempts with making deals with other humans to help Bill build a portal, this one was sooo close to success and ALMOST succeeded. He had all the tools and the right human to make it, but failed. He must feel so bitter.

Anyway, that's it for now! Next is Fiddleford :D

#gravity falls #the book of bill #stanford pines #gf fanart #digitalart #fanart #digitalartist #2dart #artists on tumblr

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jjupitersong · 1 year ago

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Long rant ahead: the "best" ending of Lies of P is actually the worst ending of the game.

Ironically enough, the only ending that feels like an actual resolution is the "Real Boy" ending, where Geppetto gets his happily-ever-after, and all the work you put in as P is for naught. Despite the fact that it's his game and his story, P - as a character - gets completely shafted.

Because when you think about it, the "best ending" is actually for Sophia. If you don't give her peace, you don't get the supposed "best ending", and you don't get her story achievement. You also miss out on her magically becoming a puppet - who created her? How did she get there? Was she there the whole time? What's the reasoning for bringing her back, if she wanted to be "at peace"?

Of all the characters, Sophia's is the least well-written and executed. She's so mysterious, to the point where she becomes some sort of nebulous, non-tangible entity - and less like an actual character, which does her an injustice. And as the story progresses, she ends up commandeering the entire game, relegating the main character to the sidelines. And as a result, the resolution to P's story feels less than satisfactory.

From my understanding of the original story of Pinocchio, the puppet wants to become a real boy, yet in Lies of P, P expresses no such desire to become human; he simply does what others tell him to do, and the choices he makes along the way either affirm his existence as a puppet or his capacity for rational, human-like thought. The only time where he questions this is during his conversation with Arlecchino, where he's asked if he's a puppet or a human, and it's up to him to make that choice. This is P's major conflict throughout the story. Thus, if he decides that he's human (which is required in order to get the best ending), then that should - in some way - inform the ending, and by the end of the game, he should have somehow transformed into an actual flesh-and-blood human being. There wouldn't be any point to him choosing that, otherwise, if there won't be any follow-through afterwards. It seems sort of pointless, then, asking him the question to begin with - because, obviously, he is a puppet. Unless, of course, there is a way for him to become human. Conversely, with a similar game, Detroit: Become Human, the androids have no desire to actually become human, themselves; what they truly want is to be recognized as they are. Yet in Lies of P, there is the overarching narrative of P either leaning towards humanity or remaining a puppet. In fact, the game "punishes" the player for, essentially, not making P human enough. If you don't achieve a high enough level of humanity, P will either die in the "Real Boy" ending, or be berated by Geppetto in the "Free From the Puppet Strings" ending, where Geppetto calls him a useless puppet.

But discovering humanity and physically becoming human are two entirely different things. Going back to P's conversation with Arlecchino - if P states that he's human, Arlecchino agrees by responding that they're "humans trapped in puppetry." However, that's still not the same as being a real human being. Although P's body does physically change (e.g. hair growing longer and changing colour, being able to cry, etc), he is still a puppet. And the process behind these changes isn't fully explained - even Geppetto isn't sure how these changes are happening! We don't know how P was made, in comparison to the other puppets - only that he's "special". It would've been helpful if they had explained it further because why is P's appearance able to change, yet the other puppets are unable to change theirs? Are they not all animated by Ergo, in the same way?

As it is, this ending is inconsistent with the game's themes and messaging. If the game is insistent on P becoming human, if that's the language that they're choosing to use - and if that's what P, himself, chooses - then he should have become human in the "best" ending. That should have been the resolution to P's story and, ultimately, the player's reward for gaining a high level of humanity - otherwise, what is the point? And Sophia should have remained deceased (and at peace), with her spirit channelled through blue butterflies (the butterfly symbolizing freedom and transformation). But having Sophia return in the ending removes the focus from P - which is ironic, considering that the ending is called "Rise of P". Yet it's Sophia who seems to have "risen". And if she can be "resurrected", then who's to say that others can't come back - that Romeo, for example, can't come back? It's a slippery slope and creates an unneeded plot hole.

... And while we're on that note, why, oh why, does Carlo have a legion arm in the "Real Boy" ending? The only mechanical thing about him should be his heart, as there was neither indication nor mention that he was missing his left arm upon his death (unless I missed that information somewhere). If that ending is chosen, the ability to teleport with the Stargazer should have been disabled, seeing as he's not allowed to leave the hotel - making him unable to fight any enemies because the player wouldn't have access to the legion arm.

As much as I love this game, the "best" ending is just not a good ending, narrative-wise. It doesn't do the story justice - it doesn't do P justice. Instead, it undermines and undercuts the story, making it feel very unsatisfying. Which is such a shame because they set the story up so beautifully. I only wish they had followed through.

#lies of p spoilers #lies of p #this has been bugging me lol #watching the ''rise of p'' ending for the first time felt like whiplash

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turnupswritessometimes · 7 months ago

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Ricordami - Lies of P - P/Romeo - Ch2

A03 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56555755/chapters/143738143

Summary: P decides to repair the king of puppets. It sends him on a journey to discover what happened to Carlo and Romeo - and to discover whether puppets can love, after all.

Previous (First) | Next

"You're distracted."

It was Geppetto, who said it. His father. The one who created him. P blinked. He sat in the chair, in his father's rooms, very still; he always had to sit very still, in this chair. His chest was open, as his organs were repaired. Upgraded. It reminded him of what he was.

"I was thinking," he said. He was now – about what Romeo had told him. About what he had been made for.

His Father made a sound in the back of his throat, like he was amused. P looked at him, careful not to twitch.

"What were you thinking about?" Geppetto asked, as though he was indulging a small child; as though P couldn’t really think.

P kept his gaze steady. It was a dangerous admission, but he wanted to see any change to his father's expression, no matter how small, when he said, "The king of puppets."

And there it was. A twitch. Just a twitch of Geppetto's mouth.

"And what about the King of Puppets?" he asked, as though they were discussing the weather.

P listened to the ticking of his inner workings, for a moment. He could not say the full truth, and luckily, he didn’t have to. But he also didn’t want to return to Romeo with no new information, and he wanted to tell him something. Something useful.

"There was another puppet inside."

Geppetto stopped. Just for a moment. Then he reached for another tool, as though that had always been his plan. P felt the click as his insides were adjusted.

"It was human," he continued. “Human-shaped.”

"I see," Geppetto said. "A human puppet within the king of puppets."

As though he didn't know anything at all. He finished his repairs, and closed P's chest cavity. His palm stayed pressed there, and his father seemed to be in deep thought too.

"Do you know who he was?" P pressed.

"Just another aspect of the King of Puppets," Geppetto said.

"But he was..." P looked up, meeting his father's eyes, and the word almost faded. He finished, "Different."

"How was he different?" Geppetto brushed the hair back from P's face, almost absentmindedly. He didn't like the movement; it felt too intimate; too much like he was a pampered child. Had Carlo felt the same way? Was he feeling Carlo’s feelings?

P looked over his father's shoulder. "He was like me."

Geppetto paused.

"Well," he said. "You don't need to worry about that, any longer, now that he's been destroyed."

Now that P had destroyed him.

And repaired him.

P forced himself to ask, before he lost his nerve. "Did you build him?”

"The King of Puppets was a special case. It had to be. It was a king, after all. It needed a suit to appear as one."

P wondered if he should say the name. If he should say the King of Puppets was a he and he was called Romeo. But, he hesitated. He didn't know how his father would react, though he had a suspicion it would not be well. He needed to make sure it was the right time, to reveal what he knew.

"But that doesn't matter now." His father cupped his chin, and tilted P's head up. He didn’t resist, but he was finding that he didn’t like that, either. "He's destroyed. You destroyed him, son."

It was said gently, but it felt like an accusation. Yes, P had destroyed him. He'd killed Romeo.

And that had been what his father had wanted.

So, he tried Venigni, instead. Waited until his legion arm was stuck in the great clamp, and Venigni was improving it for him.

"There was another puppet, inside the King of Puppets," he said, and watched Venigni's face closely; just as closely as he’d watched his father.

He raised an eyebrow, glancing up at P. Vaguely interested, but nothing more. "Is that so?"

"Do you know anything about that?"

"I'm afraid not, mi compange. I designed the King of puppets, but I am not cut out for the building."

P stayed silent. He looked down at his legion arm, in the clamp. It was held so tightly that he couldn’t move it at all. He wondered, again, why his arm was a weapon. Why, if he was Carlo, his father had not made him perfect.

"I did not design it with another puppet inside," Venigni said. "Though, I suppose that is clever. It would put less strain on this big joints if there was a heart controlling it. If that puppet got damaged, it would be simple to switch it out."

Switch it out. Puppets were disposable parts. He'd seen that, at the factory. Reams and reams of blank puppets. That was him, too.

Venigni must have seen something on his face, because he said: "Of course, you are different, my friend. You're unique."

P nodded. It was truer than Venigni knew. He was unique, because he carried Carlo's Ergo inside him. But he was still a puppet. If his father had used Carlo's ergo like this once – would he do it again?

And wasn’t Romeo unique too? Wasn’t every puppet unique, if they all had their own individual Ergo?

Venigni patted his shoulder. P nodded again, and tried to smile. It felt forced, and awkward, and yet, Venigni smiled back as though nothing was wrong.

He supposed that was what puppets were made for.

There was nowhere private to talk to Sophia. He had the nagging thought that no one else could see her. He wasn’t sure when that had started, or when he had really thought that, but he thought it, now. He'd never seen her speak to the other members of the hotel. He’d never heard them mention her. She was another one of his secrets.

"Who was the King of Puppets?" he asked. She stood at the gramophone, but for once P didn't want to listen to it.

"What do you mean?" Sophia asked.

"There was a puppet inside. He had the necklace."

The necklace that had made his hair change. That had made him look so ill and pale, according to Sophia. That had sent that spear of heavy, horrible feeling all the way through to his core. He watched her face closely. She frowned, seeming just as perplexed.

"That necklace belonged to one of the boys, at the Monad Charity House. I remember that much," she said. Carefully. As though he would break if he learnt too much at once. "But that boy had nothing to do with the King of Puppets."

But he did. That boy had been within the King of Puppets. It was clear that Sophia didn't know that. Still P nodded, as though his question had been answered. But she was still watching him. She raised her fingers, and brushed his hair. Not like his father had. As though he was made of glass, and her touch would break him, but she still couldn’t help herself.

"You changed, after that fight."

P nodded. "I'm still trying to understand why."

Though he thought he was putting the pieces together. At least some of them. He held Carlo's ergo in him. Romeo had meant a lot to Carlo. That piece of him had remembered. That had been why he’d felt that rush of grief – that rush of horror, at what he’d done. What he didn’t even know he’d done.

He knew that part, now, but what had happened before? How had Carlo and Romeo's story ended?

Sophia smiled at him. "I support you, whatever you decide to do, my clever one."

It should have felt reassuring; it usually did. But he wondered, this time, if it was really true. If she knew that he'd repaired Romeo, would she still support his choices?

That was it. The only people he could reliably ask about the past. P wasn't sure where else he could turn, and he didn't want to come back to Romeo empty-handed. Not again. He stared out of the windows of the hotel, and tried to remember.

He didn't know how to remember.

It was Gemini who said, "Didn't we see flyers about the Monad Charity House? Did you keep them, pal?"

He did. He kept everything that he found. It felt like a hunger; a need to know what Krat was like before he'd awoken. To piece together the parts of the broken city. He'd brought them back, and smuggled them in the unused room he’d claimed for himself. It was his treasure trove of the past.

P found the papers. Found a poster for a performance, with scribbles on it. He looked at it again. 'R.'

Then there was the notice. That the house was shutting, because of the petrification disease. It had reached them.

P brought both papers to Romeo, that night. "No one could tell me anything useful."

Romeo sighed. He looked at the poster first. He almost smiled; it seemed like he was trying to remember how to.

"I do remember this," he said, shaking his head. His hair was spun gold in the candlelight. "They were desperate for Carlo to advertise the house with me – they said we made the perfect advertisement. He really didn’t want to do it. I don't think anyone's got a good picture of him."

Romeo had written that he looked like a donkey.

P didn't say anything. He watched Romeo; it was easier to watch Romeo than look at the boy on the flyer; the boy he was made to be. Who looked back up, and studied his face. Closely. They sat so close, on the chairs of the audience, that P could hear his red eye click in its socket.

"You really do look just like him," he said. "Apart from—"

He reached forward, and lifted a lock of P's hair.

"It happened when I found your necklace," he said.

Romeo dropped the hair. He frowned. "So you do remember. A part of you, at least." "I can’t control it," P replied. "I would if I could."

"Would you?" Romeo leant forward. He was still taller than him, and for once, that bothered P. It made him feel defensive; he shifted back in his seat. "Why? Because I told you to? Do you do whatever you’re told?” "I don't," P said. Argued. "I repaired you. I wasn’t told to do that."

"But you don't want to remember. You said that."

"I will,” P said, and hadn’t realised he’d felt that way, until he said it. He continued, “If it helps you."

"Why?"

P blinked. He didn't know how to describe it; this pull in his chest. "You're my friend."

Romeo stared at him. He looked disappointed. He stood, and turned away, nudging the chair out of his way. The light cast a halo in his hair. He looked like an angel, P thought; the kind of angel in the stained glass of the cathedral. An angel in an old school uniform.

"The petrification disease reached the charity house," P said, to Romeo's back.

"We don't know when I left. When – Carlo left." Romeo shook his head. "I refuse to believe Geppetto would leave him there. Even he wasn't that cruel."

But he was cruel enough to make Romeo the King of Puppets, it seemed. To send P to destroy him. He didn't say that. It wouldn't be fair. It would lead to more arguments, and he didn’t want to argue.

He sat, tentatively, whilst Romeo examined the papers he'd brought. His gaze seemed distant, and it was as though he had a great weight on his shoulders. P didn't say anything. There didn't seem much to say. Romeo didn't tell him to leave, either, and he didn’t want to. He kept watching him.

When he finally did need to leave – when they heard the clock chiming the hour, Romeo caught his wrist. "You don't have to do this. I can try and remember, myself."

"I want to remember," P said. "I want to know what happened."

Romeo blinked. His hazel eye examined him.

"I want to know who I was built to be." He wondered, if he was human, if his voice would crack. It didn't, this time. “Even if I’m not him.”

Romeo almost smiled, and it worked better this time. His eyes seemed warmer than before.

"Well," he said. "Good for you, puppet."

"P."

"P," Romeo echoed. He leant forward, again, and, lingered, smelling of smoke and oil. He kissed P’s cheek.

And he felt his Ergo spark.

P wasn’t sure how the thought came to him. He didn’t even know how he did it. Not exactly. It started with the hard crystals of Ergo he sometimes found. He’d always released them; they crushed easily enough in the fist of his legion hand. It gave him strength; it released Ergo; made him feel a rush of relief, as the blue light flowed away. When he had told Sophia, she had said it was a good thing.

“You’re helping,” she’d said. “You’re helping Krat.”

But then he’d started – listening, when he crushed it. The Ergo seemed to whisper to him, as it was released. For just a second, he could hear something, within it. If he closed his eyes, he could catch a glimpse. It started as a flash; a bedroom, with rich curtains and shining oak furniture; a different bedroom, a dormitory, with rows of iron bedframes and no fire.

The glimpses developed into something more. Turned into flashes of sound; of music, a line from a play, the sound of puppets talking. The sound of a voice, laughing. Romeo’s voice. He knew it was Romeo.

He tried more. Hungrily hunted for larger chunks of Ergo, so that he could stop still, and feel them smash in his palm. To get a glimpse of this other life. It felt like pressing himself against a mirror, just able to see someone else on the other side.

His life. Carlo’s life.

“Monad Charity House,” he told Romeo, the next time they were sat inside the opera house. Romeo rolled his good eye. The other clicked.

“We already knew that. I could have tome you that.”

“You’d have lessons,” P continued, undeterred. “Arithmetic, writing. Fencing. You were learning to be stalkers.”

“That’s also nothing new to me,” Romeo said. He leant against the stage, his elbows resting on it, as though he was bored.

“Fencing lessons would be out in the courtyard,” P said. “Even in the winter. Even when there was frost. The wooden sticks would sting your knuckles for a long time, if you accidentally got hit. They’d go crimson.”

Romeo looked at him properly, then. He stepped forward, his hand on the back of one of the ornate chairs. His shoulders were straight, and he stood tall. P thought he looked like a prince; he moved like a prince, and he was as handsome as one. Only the red eye, which exposed his puppet wiring.

“That’s right,” Romeo said. Slowly.

“The arithmetic room was always dark. It smelt, of tallow candles. The teacher; he was old, and spat when he talked.”

This time, Romeo smiled. Just a little. Then, he turned away, letting his hair fall in front of his expression. “You’re remembering.”

“A little. I can’t piece everything together,” P said. He paused, behind his own chair. “Are you?”

“It’s coming together very slowly,” Romeo replied. “But nothing that I need to remember. I need to remember what happened to him. What happened to me.”

There was pain, creeping into his voice. It seemed to defy his puppet voice, and defy P’s workings too, because he felt something stir in his chest. A something that made him push his chair aside, and cross to Romeo’s. To reach for his hand. He grazed their fingers together. Romeo’s twitched, on the chair back.

He took it in his own. It felt awkward. He didn’t know how to be careful, or gentle.

“I’ll remember for you,” he said.

Romeo stiffened. He didn’t look up. “But you don’t want to.”

P shook his head. His hair twitched with the movement. “I said I would. For you.”

Romeo did pull his hand away, then, and sharply. There was a clink at the contact. He held it to his chest, as though he had been burnt. “Just because I was Carlo’s friend?”

Because he always helped the people who needed it. Because he just knew that he needed to help Romeo. P’s hand hovered over the wood of the chair. He didn’t know what to do with it, now. His fingers twitched, but he kept staring at Romeo. At the golden sweep of his hair, where it hovered just by his chin. It swept, like a comet, as he turned back to meet P’s eyes.

“Or is it because you don’t know who you are?”

“Who I am doesn’t matter,” P said, slowly. It was true. He was a weapon. A tool. Something Geppetto built to save Krat. Something he built to house Carlo's Ergo; to keep it safe. “I’m a puppet.”

Romeo pushed the chair aside. It toppled, and crashed, clattering on the wooden floor. P looked at it, because it was easier than meeting Romeo’s mismatched eyes. It was easier to stare at the abandoned chair, and the shattered tile beneath it. They had shattered that, during their fight. It didn’t matter; his cheeks were caught by Romeo’s hands. It was Romeo who tilted his face up, determinedly. His red eye gleamed; his hazel one soft. There were flecks of green and gold that caught the light.

“You’re not,” he said. “You’re not just a puppet.”

P didn’t move. Didn’t twitch a muscle. This was different, from when Geppetto touched him – from when Venigni touched him. It made his Ergo stir. It felt close to the surface. “You only think that because I have Carlo’s Ergo.”

“I don’t.” Romeo stepped closer. He was only an inch away from P, almost curving into him. If they were human, he’d probably feel the warmth from him. His blond hair fell forward, grazing P’s cheeks. “You forget that I’m a puppet too. I know how it feels. I know how they all feel. I was their king, remember? They’re not just puppets.”

P felt his springs whirring. He felt hot. Really warm. He couldn’t look away from Romeo. For a moment, he caught a flash, of the boy he’d once been. The real boy. How his hazel eyes had shone, especially in the candlelight. How he’d smiled at Carlo, when they stayed up late talking. The starlight would make his teeth flash; would make his eyes twinkle. His voice would be soft, and his words would come out in a rush, as though they were running out of time.

His hand moved. Very slowly. He felt every spring tick with the movement. Until his fingers; his legion arm; grazed Romeo’s cheek. He brushed the hair back, behind Romeo’s ear. He couldn’t feel it, not with that arm, but perhaps that was good. He was feeling too much already, and he didn’t have any words for what he was feeling.

“Lampwick,” he murmured. He knew that name.

Romeo breathed a sigh. He closed the distance between them. Their chests and hips bumped together, hard. One of his hands slipped round to the back of P’s neck, and he smiled, softly.

“That’s right.”

He held his breath. He thought Romeo was doing the same. He’d never been this close to anyone before. Had only ever had Romeo look at him so softly – as though he was more than a weapon.

Romeo kissed him, just once, once again. As though he could be human.

And P almost believed it wasn’t just because of Carlo.

It was kissing Romeo, that third time, that gave him the idea. If crushing Ergo by himself helped him to access the memories locked deep inside his own chest – then what would happen if they crushed it together?

So, he brought a large chunk of Ergo, one he’d found whilst fighting his way back to the hotel from the theatre. It glittered and shone, and he struggled to keep it hidden in his satchel as he smuggled it back.

Romeo raised his eyebrows, when P brought it out. The blue light shone on Romeo’s cheeks, catching in his dark eye.

“I’ve been – considering,” P said. They knelt on the floor of the stage, and he cradled the Ergo crystal in his palms, as though he was holding a baby bird. “And I do want to know. I want to know why my father built me. Why I look like…”

“Carlo,” Romeo finished.

“I want to know about who he was.” He paused. “Who you were.”

Because Romeo kept kissing P, and he hadn’t stopped him, yet. He didn’t mind. It felt – good. The touch. For someone to want him. Not because of weapons, or legion arms, or even to play the piano for them, but just because he was him.

Even if he was only interested in him because of Carlo.

Romeo nodded. He smiled, briefly. “Thank you.”

Then he put his hands over the Ergo chunk too. They held it, together. P closed his eyes. He felt Romeo took a deep breath, too.

They crushed the Ergo.

And they were in the front room. The front room of the Monad Charity House. It was summer. A hot, sweltering summer. P – Carlo – sat in a large armchair, near the window, and Romeo sat on the windowsill, half-hidden by the lacy curtain. The sun caught his hair, and turned it into a blazing halo. The lace made him look like a saint.

And yet, he looked tired. He pressed his temple against the glass, staring out at the street. It was deserted. White flags hung from the windows opposite them. There was no wind to flutter them.

“Your father’s coming,” Romeo said. His voice was low, and tired, but still surprised.

“I don’t care,” Carlo scoffed.

Romeo didn’t move. He watched a fat fly, as it bumped against the glass, again and again, desperate to escape. A record played, quietly, in the corner, crackling more than it made any music, and there was a smell. A damp, dank smell.

“He’ll take you away from here,” Romeo said.

“It’s too late for that,” Carlo replied. “If he wanted to keep me safe, he would have come sooner.”

Romeo didn’t reply.

Carlo didn’t move to look through the window. He stayed sat. Coughs came from upstairs. The sound of wailing.

“And I’m not leaving you,” Carlo said.

“You have to.” Romeo looked at him, then.

“Well, I’m not.”

There was a knock at the front door. A brisk, business-like knock. Neither boy moved. They sat, listening; to the sound of footsteps on the stairs; the door opening. The sound of Geppetto’s voice as he gave his orders, and – Carlo knew – pushed past matron despite her protests. Listened to the sound of his cane in the hall; for effect over really needing it. He opened the door to the front room.

“Carlo!”

Carlo’s gaze felt lazy. He looked over, baking in his uniform, sweat trickling down his shirt collar.

“Thank the Lord – you’re alright.” Geppetto crossed to him. His scarf was pulled up, over his mouth and nose.

Carlo didn’t twitch. “Why are you here?”

“I heard the petrification disease had spread. I’m taking you away from here, out of the city, where it’s safe.”

Carlo shook his head, slowly. Determinedly.

“You should go,” Romeo said, softly. He still hadn’t twitched. That was different, Carlo remembered. Romeo always had impeccable manners. He always stood to greet adult visitors; always smiled and shook their hand.

“No,” Carlo said. “You can’t disappear for months and then suddenly decide you want to play saviour.”

“I’ve been very busy,” Geppetto replied. Reasonable, but defensive. “My work – we’ve been very busy. I got here as soon as I could.”

“Well, you’re too late.” Carlo stood. Heavily, using the arms of the chair for leverage. His body felt heavy; as heavy as lead. “The disease is here. In the house.”

That’s what the coughing upstairs was. The crying. The discovery of dry skin becoming scales; of lungs turning to stone. He watched the fear on his father’s face, as he realised the truth of it. The look of horror and panic. He stepped forward, and Carlo didn’t move, when he took hold of his wrist. He let his father pull up his sleeves, let him look at his face and neck.

There were no scales. No sign of the petrification disease.

“There’s no time to delay,” Geppetto continued. He tugged Carlo’s wrist.

He dug his heels into the carpet. He was still stronger than Geppetto. For now, at least. He shook his head.

“Not without Lampwick.”

“Lampwick,” Geppetto repeated, with a hint of annoyance. He looked to the boy at the window. “Fine. Very well.”

“No,” Romeo said. “Thank you, sir, but I can’t come with you.”

There was a silence – a silence that was horrifying to Carlo. His stomach lurched, and he tugged his hand free from his father’s grip.

“Don’t,” he said. Don’t show him, he thought. It would ruin everything.

Romeo didn’t listen – of course he didn’t. He did turn. And when he did, it was obvious. The skin at his temple had hardened. It mottled over his brow like dragon scales, the eye underneath milky white.

Romeo had the petrification disease. It was advanced. There was no hope.

Carlo looked at him. His Lampwick; his Romeo; dying.

“I won’t go,” he said. His voice was a soft, cracked thing.

“You have to,” Romeo replied.

And then P awoke. It felt like that. It was just like waking up, although he never slept as a puppet. He became aware again, of the wooden floor underneath him, of the crackle of the gas-lamps, the cool of the air. It was not summer. Not anymore.

He opened his eyes.

Romeo stared back at him.

They didn’t speak. The fragments of Ergo still swirled cobalt around them, disappearing into the air. There seemed little need to discuss what they had seen. They had both caught the petrification disease, whilst they were still at the Charity House. Romeo had it worse, it seemed. He’d had the scales. Carlo had not.

There were still a lot of questions. But that was a start.

Romeo traced the tips of his fingers over P’s palms. “We worked there, for a while, after we graduated. You don’t walk into Stalker work easily. Becoming a bastard, sure, but not a stalker.”

P nodded. He watched their hands. “Why did he arrive too late?”

Romeo shook his head. He smiled, sadly. He continued tracing circles on P’s palms, rhythmically. “He always did. Geppetto was a busy man, and his choice was always his work over his son.”

P watched Romeo’s expression. “But he loved Carlo.”

Romeo’s smile widened, a little further. “He loved the idea of a son.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know. I don’t, either.”

Romeo stopped, then. His fingers paused, in their exploration of P’s hands. He looked up, his crimson eye piercing.

"Can you feel anything? I can’t feel."

"A little,” P admitted. It was true. “Not at first, but – the more I lie…the more I feel.”

Romeo tilted his head to one side. “Have you lied to me?”

P should have. He lied to everyone else. But, no, he realised, not to Romeo. And the way he asked it; as though it would’ve been bad to; made him rethink everything. He twisted their fingers together, marvelling in the way their fingers fitted together. Like a machine.

“I was told lying is the way to humanity,” P said.

“Perhaps.” Romeo squeezed their fingers together. “I can see how you would think that. Puppets can’t lie. But being truthful – being able to have trust that someone will tell you the truth – that’s human too. It’s – complicated.”

He sighed. He looked beautiful, P thought. A human, from one side, and a puppet from the other.

“Being human is complicated,” P said.

Maybe one day, Romeo would be. Again. Maybe whatever was happening to P could happen to him too. Perhaps they would both become human. Once more.

He didn’t know if he wanted that.

If they did, then would P become Carlo? Would he lose all sense of himself? Or would he lose Carlo forever? If that happened, then would Romeo want to stay with him? He cared about that. He didn’t want to lose Romeo, not now. Not when he was the only one who understood him.

Not when he looked at P, as though he was more than just a puppet.

#promeo #carmeo #lies of p #lies of p pinocchio #lies of p carlo #lies of p romeo #the king of puppets #fanfiction #fanfic #p/romeo #p x romeo #multichap #ao3 #turnupswrites

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iwritenarrativesandstuff · 2 years ago

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Trimax Thoughts Vol. 3 Pt. 1

Some more miscellaneous thoughts. I realized it's actually more convenient to do these before any analysis because. Well. I actually haven't read this manga before. Why was I trying to do full analyses before just letting myself read it. Why am I a dumbass.

Anyways.

It's the repression my dude

(Ok but can we talk about how Wolfwood doesn't really lie and his eyes convey his emotions whether he wants it or not and he still feels strongly because that attachment keeps him going and then how Vash has had to withdraw and shove everything into a box somewhere deep inside him because he always has to maintain a distance and always has to leave aughhh)

Ohhhhh that part where Vash is able to tell exactly how many strikes are incoming... I love how he becomes really precise and calculating in a fight. It's a really great way to show the severity of a situation and his skill and experience! (Bonus points: he does this in Tristamp too - I still cannot get over the way the animators chose to have him move right before he pulls out his gun in ep 1 - I went on an unhinged ramble about that. He's always fluid and grounded. I adore those animators they did a fantastic job.)

!!! I think this is the first time we've actually seen Knives' face since the Fifth Moon Incident! ...there's something to examine in this.

Feral Wolfwood <3

Yikes. If we wanted more emphasis on the way a lot of people around Vash do not stop to consider the severity of death. The violence is so typical in this world it's treated as a scene from which one can be detached. Vash's honest distress and compassion as entertainment :(

Hey. What the fuck.

The baby with the gun would be a lot funnier if I didn't know what Leonof had to do to people to make his puppets.

SICK AND TWISTED. WTF.

Ok say what you will though but Leonof so far has been the only one of the GHG that I think actually understands the assignment. Like. Yeah, this sure is the way to fucking break the guy. What the hell.

Oh, Vash knows him? Maybe that's why Leonof knows how to hurt him so well...?

AUGH he had puppet Doc, who vouched for Vash earlier to Brad, call him a demon!!! This also means he was killed! WTF

AUGHHHH wolfwood :(((

Meryl and Milly I love you so so much

Whjfhbdsjfbhv??? Girl??????

Vash: *starts blaming himself* Luida: "no." Vash: "oh, ok." :(

Hair down Vash <3

I really love the way we find out a bit more about Vash in this chapter. Him taking Meryl and Milly to a special place that helps him relax and heal and feel closer to Rem, even if he doesn't quite tell them that's what it is. Meryl knowing it's important somehow anyways and feeling like she can see him a little more clearly. Wolfwood freaked the hell out by the idea that Vash is immortal, but instead of leaving it at his assumptions, he still goes to talk to Luida and ask questions, who immediately proceeds to emphasize how lonely yet kind he is. We learn a lot about Vash in this chapter without him actually revealing anything about himself directly - all through other people, and the impact he's made on them. And I like how even though we find out more and more the differences between human and whatever Vash actually is, we circle right back around to confirming what we already knew about him from the beginning - he's fundamentally a kind man with a lot of pain in his heart who always makes the active choice to be nice. Just. Agh.

Wolfwood, running while carting his stupid IV pole over his shoulder: "oh fuck I need to protect women (and Vash)"

Softest look I've ever seen. What.

But ohhh does this make me happy. Because he's spent this volume thinking Vash has no survival instinct because he's immortal, etc., which terrifies him because he cannot understand not fighting to survive. Vash's smile makes a comeback here, but he now understands that it's not just a mask, it is the way he fights to survive. That smile is Vash's struggle to live in the same way the violent struggle is his, and Wolfwood I think/hope is starting to realize again that the gap is not so wide between them. He's calmed enough to remember that he actually likes this guy. Augh.

#trigun #trimax #trigunbookclub #storyrambles #<- not as much this time i promise!

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lumilasi · 1 year ago

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UPDATE; Forgot Ava's fae tail. Also decided to add some shading because why not?

I've always wanted to make one of these but rarely have patience for it. I decided to try and tackle it today, and in this case I decided to only focus on what I consider as the "main" characters of NCP.

There are plenty of highly important side characters, but that would be its own set I reckon. Maybe I make that later? That set would have wayy more ladies too, I was kinda disappointed how the "main" group ended up only having 2 lol, albeit the 2 are hugely important.

Curse my eternal struggles with designing women

Also tried to kinda show the difference in the body-types that I've imagined for them, but....I'm not that good with it yet, so the differences with these 8 aren't that big OTL

(Note; Hitomi, the little girl at the end, belongs to my friend @mad-hatter-rici)

Brief intro of each character below for those unfamiliar:

Jurou Alistair Araknos: The Protagonist protagonist, a single dad Soul Eater tattooist, who recently found out he has a half-human daughter from a previous relationship. He's already been raising 2 adoptive sons, but a daughter is a whole different situation... especially given she's partially human.

Caelan Delune Araknos: Jurou's first adoptive son, a sea serpent who he took in after he lost his family & Caelan's adult cousin was unable to take care of him due to mental troubles. Despite not being a Soul Eater, his family embraces him fully as one of their own.

Claude Faylune: A tiger-butterfly fae from a once well-known swordsman family. He works in Jurou's tattoo parlor and is also dating his oldest son, Caelan. While he's got a temper, he's a very trusted friend and coworker.

Avane Faydream/Ava Mantis: A mantis fairy, Claude's coworker. The daughter of an influential Council member/head of a special secret agency called The Shadowless. She knows her dad too well, and does not always agree with his tactics, often getting secretly involved to steer things into a better direction. Knows her father is keeping an eye on Jurou due to his power, and does her best to make sure her boss won't get in trouble with the Council.

Roman "Lupo" Bosco: A Grimmhound and a former mobster, he was rescued from his forced servitude by Ava and Jurou, latter whom removed his cursed tattoo on his neck, that kept him from escaping his abusive/obsessive boss. Now works in Shinji's cafe and is Ava's loving boyfriend/often acts as a guardian/protector for the two youngest kids of Jurou when he's unavailable.

Shinji Yoma: A Dream-eater and an uncle of Avane, he is much more knowledgeable about things than he let's on, as intelligent and cunning as his older brother Kenzo (Ava's father), but notably more kindhearted. Runs a cafe next to Jurou's tattoo parlor and is his current love interest. Often works together with Ava to keep Jurou from getting in trouble.

Ichirou Araknos: Jurou's nephew/adoptive younger son. He is small for his teen age, due to being born prematurely. His mother died of Soul Eater equivalent of cancer, and his abusive father was devoured by her secretly some years before her death. Ichirou is a Soul Eater like his uncle, but also has puppeteer powers inherited from her puppeteer demon father.

Hitomi Araknos: Jurou's half-human daughter. Her mother Saeko had a relationship with him years ago that they mutually broke off due to him feeling he was too dangerous for her; he hadn't been aware she was pregnant at the time, and only found out once Hitomi used her mother's summoning amulet to call him there, as a group of magic obsessed zealots were trying to harness her powers for their purposes. Saeko sadly died during this attack, but Hitomi was saved, and now lives with her father.

#oc chart #height chart #body type practice #artists on tumblr #digital art #ocs #body types #lumi's art scribbles #lumi's chaotic creations #night city parlor #Jurou Araknos #Ichirou Araknos #Hitomi Araknos #Avane Faydream #Roman Bosco #Claude Faylune #Caelan Delune #Shinji Yoma

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thusaliar · 2 months ago

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This might just be what humans call paradise—resting with Romeo, close to his warmth, feeling his gentle touch. Suddenly, all worries wash away, and there's nothing nagging at him anymore. P sighed softly, briefly closing his eyes, and relaxing into the King's touch. Romeo cradling his face like that must have been one of his favourite feelings, the safety and comfort that came with it wasn't possible to replicate.

Yes, to say he missed him was true, if not an understatement. Leaving the Hotel on his own, without Romeo by his side, almost physically hurt. P would always return to find Romeo back at the Hotel, but it didn't make things easier. Thinking about Romeo made him miss him more. Ah, but there was no point in worrying about that right now. Romeo was right there, holding him and he wasn't going to leave. P hummed softly and opened his eyes, hearing the other puppet talk. He loved to hear the King's laugh, the sound warming his Ergo at its very core. The sound never failed to make him happy, almost as if it was contagious. Though he didn't expect to hear what Romeo just said, P gave him a soft nod - truth be told, he wasn't sure what could he say to that. Still, that confession made his Ergo burn up, happy to hear an actual compliment, an honest affection, from someone who actually cared and saw him for who he truly was. Humans were barely capable of seeing him like that. Romeo was the only one to understand and accept him. ''Thank you.'' he said finally, the words escaping him almost unknowingly.

P had no reason to lie to Romeo, and even if he did, he wouldn't lie to him. Lies were what made P unique, defying the Grand Covenant from the very start. Many didn't get to hear the truth from him and many deserved the comfort of his lies. But Romeo? Oh, Romeo deserved the comfort of truth and it was exactly what P was going to give him. Yes, he missed him. He missed him so badly that taking another step away from him was almost impossible. He missed him so much that he could only think about returning to the Hotel and into his embrace. P missed Romeo with his whole existence.

Hearing that Romeo missed him too filled P with relief. Until now, he wasn't even aware he was afraid of not hearing it back - after all, why would the King miss him? He was just another puppet, like many of his subjects. But Romeo missed him and P couldn't be happier. ''I'm here now.'' he replied softly, enjoying the King's touch. It was warm and soothing. P noticed the swift shift of Romeo's gaze and instinctively, he knew exactly what the other puppet looked for. P chuckled softly and leaned in, granting the King his unspoken wish. With a soft hum, P pressed his lips against Romeo's, offering him a gentle, loving kiss. It lasted a few seconds, with P moving the hand that embraced Romeo to gently play with his hair. Once again, their Ergo pounded together in one steady rhythm, a perfect harmony.

Soon enough, P parted from the kiss, looking up at Romeo's face. He wouldn't continue unless the other puppet asked him to - after all, this wasn't why they were alone now. Though P wouldn't complain, he liked to talk with Romeo even more. It's how he got to form the connection with him and he appreciated every conversation.

P perked up slightly, hearing Romeo's offer. The puppet was right - it was a long time since the last time they left the Hotel together. While P was happy that Romeo stayed safe at the Hotel, he often wished for the King to be there with him. Fights were sometimes ruthless and tough, the King's help would be greatly appreciated. Not to mention, with Romeo by his side, a fight with some puppets might be entirely avoidable. They still loved their King, and their King was taking care of them if he was able to.

But besides the practical reasons, P often found himself in calmer and emptier places. Places he could appreciate for the sights and atmosphere. Krat was a wonderful city after all, and although it was now a ruin, some special places still remained. P wouldn't mind sharing those moments with Romeo. So, with that in mind, he didn't have to think of an answer for too long.

''I'd love that.'' he admitted, nodding eagerly. P wasn't that worried about Romeo's safety. While he would rather have him stay away from danger, P could never deny Romeo his skills and strength. He was much faster than P could ever get and his scythe could deal fatal blows - P had experienced that before. Romeo would be more than capable of leaving the Hotel safely.

''Come with me the next time I leave.'' He offered, reaching to take hold of Romeo's other hand, squeezing it lightly. P hummed and pulled it closer, pressing a few kisses to his knuckles a soft smile spread on his lips.

This will be good.

Romeo knew what it was like to miss someone. He didn't know what it was like the other way around. Whether it was during his life as a human or puppet, he was never its recipient. He was an orphan; he didn't have parents to miss him. He was a student at the Charity House; he didn't have any friends other than Carlo. Carlo passed away before he did; and he was the only one left grieving.

So, P saying he missed Romeo was a brand new experience for him. The kiss on the palm was like a neat ribbon tying it all together. If his Ergo was like a heart, he felt like it swell twice its size. Up until this very moment, he never realized how sad and alone he was. At one point, he even died alone, by P's hands. Going by this sequence of events, his life was a textbook tragedy. However, P taking his hand defied fate in and of itself.

He owed a lot to the other puppet. He was the one who kept giving him second, third chances. While their lives were far from what one would consider in the realm of normalcy, they were learning together. Whether it was their feelings for one another that grew with each passing day, or navigating through their relationship as puppets dictated by human emotions. If there was instances of human and puppet relations, then theirs was another kind of unique case: a former human and a perfect puppet.

Since Romeo knew P liked hearing him chuckle, he did just that, with thumb caressing the other's cheek. "Y̷o̷u̷ n̷e̷v̷e̷r̷ c̷e̷a̷s̷e̷ t̷o̷ a̷m̷a̷z̷e̷ m̷e̷." The entire time, his Ergo pulsed as if he was taking leaps in the air on repeat. He might even consider himself a mix of nervous, giddy and happy all at the same time. If not for the memories and humanity regained throughout the timelines, he would never even know this was how his Ergo made him feel.

Even if the other had the ability to lie, he still decided to be honest. He didn't even hesitate to come to a conclusion, with only Romeo guiding him, but never saying that this or that was the right answer. Only P and his own mechanical heart knew what he himself felt, and not what he was supposed to feel. If this was how P felt, then Romeo couldn't be more elated. Now, Romeo finally knew what it was like to be missed, and the feeling of missing the other person back. For once in his life, the feeling was mutual.

"I̷ m̷i̷s̷s̷e̷d̷ y̷o̷u̷ t̷o̷o̷,̷ P̷.̷ S̷o̷ m̷u̷c̷h̷.̷" He moved his hand to caress the strands of P's hair. "I̷'̷m̷ g̷l̷a̷d̷ y̷o̷u̷ m̷i̷s̷s̷e̷d̷ m̷e̷.̷ I̷t̷ i̷s̷n̷'̷t̷ t̷h̷e̷ s̷a̷m̷e̷ w̷i̷t̷h̷o̷u̷t̷ y̷o̷u̷.̷" His eyes then glanced down to P's lips, until he realized he was actually looking at them. While his intentions were obvious, he looked as if nothing happened, meeting the other's gaze again. It was a neat feature to have being a puppet lacking to show any facial expression. Though, since their bodies were pressed against each other, he wondered if P felt the erratic pulsing of his Ergo.

The King figured that he might as well add the subject that had been on his mind ever since P got back to the hotel. It was practical, not to mention it might distract his own emotions trying to act up. They were here to relax together, and not get their Ergo into overdrive (or overheated) states. "A̷c̷t̷u̷a̷l̷l̷y̷,̷ I̷ w̷a̷s̷ a̷b̷o̷u̷t̷ t̷o̷ b̷r̷i̷n̷g̷ u̷p̷ a̷ p̷r̷o̷p̷o̷s̷a̷l̷.̷ C̷o̷i̷n̷c̷i̷d̷e̷n̷t̷a̷l̷ t̷i̷m̷i̷n̷g̷ a̷t̷ t̷h̷a̷t̷,̷ t̷o̷o̷.̷ S̷i̷n̷c̷e̷,̷ w̷e̷l̷l̷.̷.̷.̷ I̷ w̷a̷s̷ t̷h̷i̷n̷k̷i̷n̷g̷ t̷h̷a̷t̷ I̷ s̷h̷o̷u̷l̷d̷ j̷o̷i̷n̷ u̷p̷.̷ I̷t̷'̷s̷ b̷e̷e̷n̷ a̷ w̷h̷i̷l̷e̷ s̷i̷n̷c̷e̷ t̷h̷a̷t̷'̷s̷ h̷a̷p̷p̷e̷n̷e̷d̷,̷ y̷o̷u̷ k̷n̷o̷w̷?̷"

#ervaurem #ꜱᴏ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋᴀʙʟᴇ; ᴜɴʙʀᴇᴀᴋᴀʙʟᴇ - [ic]#ʙʏ ʜɪꜱ ᴄᴏʟᴅ ꜱᴛᴇᴇʟ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴀᴠᴇʀᴛᴇᴅ- [main verse]#//this is so very best friends of them #//he is so silly I love him so much Shai <3 best Romeo fr #//agh TRUE!! They for sure had the red strings tied around their fingers!!#//soulmates to be sure ♥

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fatuifucker · 3 years ago

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make a wish

soft dom scaramouche x sub kitsune familiar! fem-bodied reader (they/them pronouns used but gendered-terms such as "vixen", "cumslut" are also used + mention of breasts)

SUMMARY = "then for my birthday wish, can we have sex over and over again until we tire out?”

WARNINGS = smut, penetration (reader receiving), use of the word “cunt”, spitting, collar, belly bulge, breeding (with no threat of pregnancy because mans a puppet), mating press, dacryphilia, sharing a strawberry through a kiss, rough scara who spoils you with praise so you can make happy fox noises, slight degradation (cumsleeve, cumslut, etc), spoilers for inazuma archon quest, scara calls reader "vixen" and other fox-related terms, reader calls scara "master"

W/C = 1.5K

A/N = aaah honestly, i’m not the most satisfied with this but i was on a time crunch and i struggled with getting the perfect idea

tags = @zen-daydreams, @edenialucas, @urcatbf, @nejibot, @midnxght-sweet-time, @honeyjetcoaster, @ventriloquistz

Moonlight seeps through the curtains, casting a brilliant light onto the pair. Inseparable, they've always been. Lips connected, sucking on a little red fruit as teeth bite into its flesh, spurting out its sour-sweet nectar into your mouths.

Wet. Passionate. Divine.

Words that all describe the sensations and emotions that surge through your blood. It’s lewd. Terribly so. And it feels right. Scaramouche's hand cusps your breast, feeling your racing pulse as he kneads the mound, while his other hand toys with your pussy. He parts from you to allow you to breathe — catching the sight of your adorable expression with those half-lidded eyes and stuck out tongue dyed with red — before clashing his lips with your once again.

With the strawberry long gone — dissipated into shreds that were swallowed through the tussle, he sucks on your tongue instead, smiling into the kiss as you keen your hips against his fingers. It feels right for your tongues to be intertwined like this, to be able to feel this shared passion and bliss. It makes him wonder if the two of you have been joined by the red string of fate that binds soulmates as one in those Liyuen novels you describe (such a boring pastime, he thinks, but your love for mundane, human things despite being an immortal yourself is another thing he finds adorable about you).

He swallows the noise you make, parting away when he feels fluid wetting his whole hand. His hand grabs your jaw, squeezing it just slightly to tell you to keep your mouth open, before he gathers his saliva in his mouth and spits on your tongue, making your pussy throb. Scaramouche watches your throat bob as you swallow before his electrifying eyes returns to your solicitous, half-lidded gaze.

"That was the most delicious strawberry I have ever tasted."

"Only the freshest. Specially imported from Fontaine, just for the occasion," he says with a boastful tone. "You should be grateful."

You giggle, the sound a euphonious melody he could never tire of hearing. "My beloved Master spends hours tirelessly learning how to bake my favourite strawberry shortcake for my birthday, hosts a banquet with all my favourite foods and is spoiling me in bed. How could I not be grateful?" You trail your hand up to the collar around your neck, tapping on the bell attached to it. "And this. This collar makes me feel like I'm yours."

"You have always been mine, my little fox." Scaramouche flutters his eyelashes against your cheek, looking at you with fondness that is uncharacteristic of the 6th Fatui Harbinger. "I'll give you everything and more. Surely, you have a wish you want me to grant on your birthday, don't you?"

A wish?

You think for a moment before answering with the first thing that came to mind, “Then for my birthday wish, can we have sex over and over again until we tire out?"

Scaramouche blinks before erupting into a cackle. “Fucking seriously? Ha, should have expected it from a vixen like you." He grasps onto his shorts, pulling them down low enough to take out his hardened cock. "I'll do it how you like it. I'll be gentle with you…verbally. But I'm going to fuck this pretty pussy up. I'm going to screw you like you're my obedient cumslut whose only purpose is to be their harbinger's useless cocksleeve. But I'll tell you how much I love you, how perfect you are and how I adore everything about you like you're my spouse. I'll whisper sweet nothings and praises into your ear all while I fuck up this little hole. Because that's how you like it, right?"

Scaramouche rubs his tip against your entrance, not pushing it any more than that. He smiles at you — a deceptive, saccharine smile — as he awaits your response.

You swallow as you shift your gaze away from him. "Yes. I want it like that, Master."

"Good fox," the Balladeer purrs, shoving his entire cock inside you with one thrust.

You squeak as he starts pounding into you, not giving you time to adjust to his inhuman length. Then again, your cunt is so wet and sloppy that it doesn't matter. Not to mention you've done this for hundreds of times that you've gotten used to it. Still, you can't help but stare as Scaramouche moves inside you, an imprint of his cock forming on your belly every time he does so. He presses against that spot as he whispers into your ear. “Needy pathetic little slut. Are you so addicted to me that everyday, you can’t stop thinking about my cock even when you’re supposed to be working? Everyday asking me to have sex with you, even during my harbinger meetings. Have you no shame, little vixen?”

Then again, he isn’t any different. In the walls of your shared bedroom, he isn’t Scaramouche, the Balladeer, the 6th Fatui Harbinger who brings terror and fright to anyone, whether they are his enemies or his very own subodinates. When he’s alone with you, he’s just Kunikuzushi. The discarded doll who you swore your life, sword and soul to aeons ago— no, he’s more than that.

He’s Kunikuzushi, the dysfunctional puppet who was the only being to ever risk his life to save you when others watched you rot in that barren, empty dump for decades. He is the man who would bring calamity to Celestia if they ever dare to lay a hand on you. He is the man who orders you to bow before him on his throne, just so that he can run his fingers through your hair with the gentleness of a feather and whisper those three words that make you think ‘I don’t regret following you to the ends of Teyvat.’

“P-pet me, please…” you moan, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I want to be held."

"Mmm so honest," Scaramouche chuckles, pulling up your top and bra to spit in between the valley of your breasts. "You're so devoted to me that it's adorable. It's endearing, really. The way you're so stern and domineering in front of the other harbingers and everyone else. Yet, you allow yourself to melt in my arms and give in to depravity. It makes me want to spoil you more."

You feel Scaramouche caressing your cheek, his succulent lips nipping at your ears. You couldn't help but slip out a few mewls and pleased fox-like sounds as he continues his ministrations, all while he screws up your soaked cunt. He feels it tighten around him everytime he moves, enveloping with that heat that makes him feel delirious. He is addicted to you as much as you are addicted to him.

Every sound you make — whether it be your innocent laughter, your piercing cold demands directed at the recruits, every moan of his name, every smile, everything, just everything.

He takes pride in the way you scream whenever he enters you. He wants to stretch you to your limit whenever you mutter that he's too big. He wants to break you, only because you love it, and he would do anything you ask.

"Fuck, you…gh–" he pants, speeding up his thrusts. "You always feel so tight around me. So fucking wet and hot. Fuck, I…" I don't deserve you. "I'll give everything to you. I'll fill you up with my seed. You fucking want that, right?"

"Yes! Please, please, please—!"

You're sobbing as he grabs onto your plush thighs, pressing them to your chest. He feels you so intimately just as you feel him. He feels himself getting drunk at the sensation of your pussy swallowing his cock, and he knows by that smitten look in your eyes that you feel the same. Neither of you had any experience in carnal matters other than with each other. But he knows that nobody would be able to make him feel as good as you. Nobody would make him feel like he is anything but a discarded puppet. Nobody…

"Kuni! Kuni, I love you!"

would make him more loved than you.

"...I love you too." Scaramouche collides his lips with yours, taking advantage of your opened mouth to slip his tongue in. "Mm…love you so…fucking much."

He spills his warm seed inside, painting your insides white. Pleased, you mewl into his mouth before creaming all over his cock, squeezing his throbbing shaft and milking it for all it's worth. Scaramouche pulls out of you, letting you recover for a few seconds as he watches his cum drip out of your pussy. He gathers some of it and smears it all over your labia, marvelling at the obscene sight as you squirm.

"What? Don't tell me you're tired already." Scaramouche scoffs.

"No," you mumble, puffing out your cheeks. "That's insulting to a kitsune. You know we're creatures of charm and intellect. I have more than enough stamina to top you."

Scaramouche raises an eyebrow, a smirk on his face. "You think you can do it?"

"I'll ride you until you see stars, pretty boy," you giggle.

"Fine, get on top then."

Eagerly, you push Scaramouche to the bed, already stroking his cock as you leave marks all over his body.

"(Name)."

"Hm?" You look up at the doll, pausing your motions momentarily.

"...Nothing just," He brings your chin up to his face, planting a soft kiss on your lips. "happy birthday."

#genshin impact x reader smut #genshin x reader smut #genshin scaramouche x reader smut #scaramouche x reader smut #genshin scaramouche smut #scaramouche smut

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huecycles · 3 years ago

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Secret Bosses and Human Souls

a lot of folks were surprised by the sudden appearance of the yellow soul in Spamton Neo's fight. it did seem very random at the time, but now i think this is done to solidify Spamton's story arc, like the final nail in the coffin.

the yellow soul's trait in Undertale, as we see in the ball game, is Justice. if we get the yellow flag, we're greeted with a description of how the soul acts in battle, and its characteristics. this is done for every soul.

"sure-fire accuracy" fits the souls theme of shooting at a target, which is tied to the yellow soul's weapon, an empty gun. the description is reminscent of a western movie where the heroes and bad guys fight, if we consider the armor which is the cowboy hat.

how does this relate to Spamton?

aside from the obvious "KRIS! WAS THAT A [[Big Shot]] JUST NOW??" comment he makes when using the special ability which i call a "booster", i wanna show you this dialogue at his shop:

"heaven-piercing" "shoot for the sky" ...alright

Spamton's whole quest about becoming a big shot also reminds me of old western movies in a way. "get on the path to the big one" sounds very much like a character from this setting shooting up other "big shots" to take their place, kind of like a list you cross names out.

Spamton using the big ass firing weapon that came with the neo body is also very telling in my opinion. lol

but what's even more interesting is how the Justice theme applies to Spamton. we don't see much of this in the pacifist/neutral route but in genocide? Spamton goes absolutely power mad, even going as far as to aid two teenagers forced into mass murder just to sneak into the palace in a very villainesque way. Spamton feeling like he has been betrayed is nothing new. we get this vibe in pacifist from the way he talks about his former friends and Mike, and we see how hypocritical he is because once he got his hands on the neo body, he outright betrayed the one who helped him get there in the first place.

it's clear that he craves justice for everything that happened to him. and even more fitting is how he acts when taking over the mansion like a megalomaniac, he twists and warps the concept of justice into revenge. there's an additional layer of betrayal when Kris goes to seal the fountain, as he gets furious with you and likens this situation to whatever happened between him and Mike/the tv character.

it's only fitting that Spamton Neo evokes the yellow soul, the very symbol of justice in his fight. it's what he didn't get.

Jevil is the same way. one could argue that Jevil has no soul mode, and yes, his fight defaults to the red soul.

as we know, the red soul is kind of an anomaly in Deltarune (and maybe in Undertale too). in Asgore's flower shop, we have a golden flower in the center right next to a yellow flower while the other ones have the same colors as the rest of the human souls. there's no red flower. Kris treats the soul as some kind of anomaly in their body, too, snatching it out of their chest and violently throwing it somewhere to keep it in place. i have a few theories regarding the red soul and the player, though that's not what i want to discuss here.

do you ever notice how the red soul's theme or "trait" seems to be freedom? which is painfully ironic given Kris's puppeteering, and how it affects their life. Spamton wants the soul for himself, thinking it would set him free and let him see past the dark, and even if he did get it, it wouldn't help him at all. the soul's theme being freedom (and control) ties into how it has free movement in the arena. it was made specifically to dodge bullets, that's its main characteristic. see the description of what the red represents in the ball game:

considering the fact the green soul's movement is focused on the shield mechanic, the blue soul is bound by gravity and the purple soul moves in horizontal lines (restricted movement) makes me think the red soul is special.

how does this relate to Jevil? well, for one, Jevil constantly goes on about how he's the only free one due to his self awareness and how he's locked away from the narrative in a way. you only find Jevil if you go to him, the fact his cell is located in a floor named "??????" feels like some type of bait for the player's curiosity. isn't it interesting how Jevil's freedom speech falls flat due to the very knowledge he has? even if he finds a loop hole ("if nothing matters, then than means i can do anything") it doesn't take him too far. he got rightfully imprisoned for attacking people in the kingdom, or as he says, playing games with them. he failed just like Spamton did, though his case is a bit different.

he fights the red soul, the symbol of freedom and control.

the secret bosses' soul modes are a clear reflection of what they desperately want and fail to achieve.

#jevil #spamton #spamton neo #deltarune analysis #deltarune theory #the red soul #there's a reason why i gave halojack the patience soul mode #txt

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nsolyoi · 1 year ago

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Now, I am really surprised to read this. And I am here to put my perspective as a subjective human being who loves Victor Nikiforov above all. And no, you will not get my expert opinion because, well, firstable, I am not an expert, just someone who have watched the anime way too many times, writes fanfiction about them and also get together with others to talk about this anime way too much. And secondable, because, as I said, I f*cking love Victor Nikiforov and he deserves more credit than this.

Ok, I get that Suwabe is talking about what The sound director told him: Victor is selfish and manipulative, wondering how can he moves Yuuri around like a puppet.

To me this is just like the pitch of the iceberg. I mean, sure, Victor -I won everything five years in a row-Nikiforov is used to get what he wants. Is what geniuses get when they are pampered in able to keep winning. In that way, I totally get it. Probably is what he at first thinks: I am gonna do this and that. But how can you tell later that Victor sees Yuuri only as his avatar when he wasn't even able to read Yuuri's actions at all through the anime.

First he offers Yuuri a conmemorative foto and Yuuri goes away, leaving Víctor with a "WTF" face. Then he goes to the banquet and this little Japanese boy who rejected him in the first place just grinds on him and gives him the most wonderful funny night he had ever had. Drunk Yuuri makes Victor's dreams come true and you could see that in his face, when Yuuri asks him to be his coach.

There are many posts you can find on Tumblr about how at this same moment Victor fell hard for Yuuri but the thing is, it was probably some infatuation going on, not love. And yes, Victor probably wined for weeks asking why the Japanese skater didn't give him his number BUT he didn't went directly to Japan, he didn't even go after Worlds (in Tokio) direct to Hasetsu to experience Yuuri in his own habitat. Because of course Victor is well aware that Yuuri was too drunk for his own good. No wonder he didn't even talk to Yuuri about that night, he was probably really embarrassed because Yuuri also didn't mentioned it not even once.

But then comes the unexpected: Yuuri skates his "Stammi Viccino" and he just knocks Victor off with his abilities. Yes, he was drunk but he is a really damn good skater too. Why wasn't he even at World's? Yes, he thinks he is the only person that can turn the little piggy into a prince, but at the end he is the Don Juan who is getting hipnotized by the princess' charms. The hunter got hunted, my friends.

So, let's keep going: He goes to Hasetsu and he expects to find a Yuuri in Eros Mode but he only found the "I can't even bare being next to you-Yuuri Katsuki". So, Was the "Stammi Viccino a love-call? Hell NO. So Victor is just there, embarrassed because he went to Japan to become the coach drunk Yuuri wanted and found the real Yuuri, who is not able to even speak his feelings outloud.

Through the whole anime Victor is not able to understand what Yuuri is about to do or why does Yuuri do what he does. Everything Victor tries to make Yuuri do something, has an opposite effect.

Being sexy and naked on the onsen?

Yuuri goes: WTaf is he doing there naked?

Let's call him Piggy and threaten him to leave him if he is not able to regain his normal shape and weight?

Yuuri: runs away and avoid Victor when he offers a slumber party.

Let's crash his heart made of ice in order to provoke him:

Yuuri: begins to cry and Victor has no idea how to deal with his anxiety.

I guess that is even why Victor did fell in love with him, because he was even more special that what he thought at first. Yuuri cannot be taken for granted, Yuuri is someone Victor learns to cherish, respect and love. It is impossible to imagine Victor moving the pieces in order to get what he wants because Yuri doesn't react as told.

Even Chris notice that Victor has changed since he is training Yuuri.

And that is why I think Suwabe's opinion is just too narrow minded. It is just one side of Victor, the side everybody thinks he is but Yuuri just gave him "Life & Love". There is no way Victor did what he did just in order to satisfy his own self.

Today's translation #430

Miracle!!! on ICE, Animage 1/2017, Suwabe Jun'ichi interview

Part 3.

-- So the other way around - in what way do you think Victor changed by meeting Yuuri?

S: I don't feel that he changed in significant way as a human. Victor, who was living his live as a competitor, all the time thinking how to charm his audience and how to make them have fun. He's a genius who climbed to the top, and who is, at the same time, a challenger and adventurer, who always think how to surprise his audience. At any rate, he has already done everything that he could do by himself, and he started wondering what to do next? Then a really interesting object that caught his eye appeared... That was Yuuri. Victor sees Yuuri as his representation, or avatar. For him, it feels as if he were conducting an experiment, moving Yuuri around, instead of doing it himself... I was given this direction from the Sound Director. I'm creating the character, adding in more flavor by adding emotions, the way I feel is right.

-- Perhaps, because the first part of the story is told mainly from Yuuri's perspective and we don't know what Victor thinks, a lot of viewers saw him a perfect human being, I think?

S: I think that as the story progressed, what Victor thinks became more visible, more or less. He was sure that he makes Yuuri act the way he wants him to act, but Yuuri by far exceeded his imagination, and that deeply moved Victor emotionally and shaken him... Those scenes, which make you think "well, he as well is a human" were quite heartwarming to watch. What didn't change, though, is that as somebody who can do something so good, that he isn't able to imagine how somebody who isn't able to that feels, he lacks empathy.

[Notes: That's certainly an interesting interpretation of Y&V relationship... Spoiler for tomorrow, but in the next part, he will say that what Victor feels for Yuuri is the kind of affection a person can have for a tool they grew attached to 💀

I'm surely not the only one, who thinks that with this huge gap between the story, what some staff members say in interviews, and what fans want, continuing YoI was... not an easy task.]

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 3 years ago

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So...Misery style, how would you make Tomione work? (Or how would you do a Tomione story?)

Thanks, Anon, this might be harder than the Dramione one.

Well, again, to please my deranged captor, I'd likely follow the plot of your standard Tomione fic and hope it passes muster. "Oh yeah, Hermione's back in time and she's doing back and forth mind games with Tom and it's really intellectual." With any luck, my feet aren't smashed into oblivion.

But I think you're trying to get at what I would really do if I really had to write Tom/Hermione and I had to make it something I would read. At least, that seems to be the spirit of this ask.

So, we're going the thriller route people. A lot like Misery, actually.

Instead of Ginny, twelve-year-old Hermione picks up the diary. Like Ginny, Hermione quickly becomes besotted with Tom Riddle trapped inside. However, unlike Ginny, Hermione goes straight to the library and starts asking pesky questions.

Hermione's never heard of memories stored in objects before, the theory behind portraits and pensieves are completely different, what spells did Tom use and where did he find them? Did Tom Riddle invent an entirely new branch of magic at the age of 16 without anyone noticing? What was Tom's special service to the school?

Tom starts sweating when it becomes clear that Hermione's stumbling a bit too close to the truth (that this is not ordinary magic and highly dangerous shit) and that she's clearly going to start asking around about Tom Riddle (to Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Hagrid, who were all near Hogwarts at the same time Tom was going to school).

Tom confesses that he may have created the diary using something very... illegal. Hermione is appalled and asks if it was gasp dark magic! He admits it is but points out it's a bit late now, like it or not, he's stuck in the diary and running to Dumbledore isn't going to make that go away any time soon. And it wasn't like Tom asked to be shoved in a diary either.

Hermione's very conflicted, on the one hand, Tom's the first real intellectual friend she's ever had. Harry and Ron are nice, but they're morons and they thinks he's a nerd. Tom encourages her intellectual pursuits and confirms her concern over various what not and what have you happening in Hogwarts.

Eventually, Hermione decides that Tom in the diary can't help being a diary (though the other Tom, the real Tom, she'd have words with), and decides that she'll try to help him get a body.

Great, that's great, Tom says.

But it keeps getting worse.

Tom tries to possess Hermione, but unlike Ginny, Hermione knows that Tom is a dangerous, dark, artifact. If she's suffering negative health effects, losing her memory and ending up in the girl's lavatory, she's going to research this and decide that either a) she's suffering ill effects of using dark magic b) she just got possessed by Tom.

Either way, she tells him she can't use the diary anymore, it's affecting her health and she must research. Well, Hermione researching does Tom no fucking good, but he can't stop her.

The Chamber of Secrets, as a result, is never opened.

Instead, Hermione continues researching, and Harry and Ron... begin to get on her nerves. It's not like last year, there's no Flamel to research, no over-arching mystery, and they seem to be growing tired of her. In turn, Hermione's getting a little tired of quidditch, getting detention, etc.

She's a little tired of Hogwarts, if she's being honest with herself.

Hermione's now had a taste of having a friend who isn't there to simply use her brains. And it's very addicting. She decides not to tell Ron and Harry about Tom, they'd just get needlessly concerned (the irony of this isn't lost on her but what can you do)

In the end, she opens back up the diary, and point blank asks what Tom needs to get a body. Before Tom can tell her, Hermione lists out her own theories. Life cannot be created from nothing, golems and puppets cannot last in the long term, to get a real body... human sacrifice is on the table, isn't it?

Well shit, Tom thinks to himself. He tries to assure Hermione it isn't but ends up confessing that, well, yes, it kind of is.

They have another huge row about it, Hermione slams the diary shut, but the wheels in her brain are spinning.

Does anyone deserve to die?

Hermione, at first, adamantly tells herself the answer is no. No one deserves to be sacrificed. Tom's fate is cruel, but the original Tom made his bed and should lie in it. It's unfortunate, but that's just life. Not the diary's fault, of course, but nothing that can be helped.

But then she keeps thinking about it.

Malfoy struts through the school like a peacock, sneering every time he sees her, laughing every time Snape deducts points from her in Potions for being a 'smarmy know-it-all'. Every time he can get away with it he's shoving her in hallways, calling her a mudblood, and assuring her that she's worth less than the dirt beneath her feet.

She watches as Malfoy torments and bullies Harry, she looks at Draco's father, and she asks herself if the world would really be so much worse off if Draco Malfoy were to disappear?

Draco Malfoy's being groomed to use dark magic, he practically brags about it at every opportunity, why is his life worth more than Tom Riddle's, someone who has paid the price for dark magic?

Isn't Hermione, in a roundabout way, only giving Draco what he deserves? The fate he'd meet at some point in the not so distant future?

Draco does something phenomenally cruel and stupid to the trio, likely to Harry, and that settles it. Hermione's going to murder that motherfucker and get Tom Riddle a body.

Hermione tells Tom the plan, she's passing off the diary to Draco, she has her full blessing, her permission, and whatever help he requires from her to eat Draco Malfoy alive.

Tom is unwillingly impressed, he was a vicious gremlin as a twelve-year-old, but even he wasn't committing murder in cold blood.

Tom's not sure how he feels about murdering a Malfoy, that's bound to get noticed, but Hermione's unyielding. Draco Malfoy, or Hermione goes to Dumbledore.

So, Draco Malfoy it is.

The rest of the year is spent with Tom Riddle murdering Draco Malfoy and coming up with some excuse for his disappearance. The chamber isn't opened as Hermione reminds Tom that this would make it entirely too obvious who is behind this. Instead, Tom likely has Draco partake in increasingly erratic schemes to humiliate Harry Potter that end up endangering himself.

Near the end of school, Draco disappears into the Forbidden Forest to find acromantulas to put in Potter's bed and... never comes back.

A huge search is put on, Draco Malfoy is never found, and the acromantula infestation in the forest is now actively battled by ministry employees. Dumbledore is sacked as headmaster, Hagrid fired for having been responsible for the acromantulas in the first place, and Hogwarts is closed the following year.

Hermione is... conflicted about all of this. She certainly didn't mean to fire Hagrid (had no idea he was even remotely involved with the acromantulas) and certainly not Dumbledore. It wasn't Dumbledore's fault at all.

Tom, who is now a free man but has no idea what to do with himself, meets up with Hermione and points out that Dumbledore should have been sacked ages ago: he let kids get away with this stupidly dangerous shit and the year before actively endangered his students and lured a dark wizard into the castle. As for Hagrid, he raised a dragon illegally on school grounds, did release his pet acromantula into the wild, and more. They were terrible at their jobs.

Hermione, ever so reluctantly, agrees.

It's too bad though, Hagrid was very nice and Dumbledore's a great wizard (don't even get Tom started).

As for Tom, well, he had such dreams. Of course he planned to either meet up with his glorious self or (upon learning that Voldemort was blown up by a toddler) take the mantle of Voldemort for himself. But now that he's out, he has no idea where to start. Murder Harry Potter, certainly, but after that?

Tom only has the vaguest idea of who the original Death Eaters were, and they seem to have effectively scattered. More, how does he go about this? Sure, Tom had ideas when he was in school, but they were just ideas. He's never led a revolution before, has no idea how to impersonate an older, more knowledgeable, version of himself. He barely understands the political climate in this new, post-Voldemort, Britain.

Tom keeps hanging around Hermione because, well, inertia. He has no idea what else to do. (Hermione, while still torn over the consequences of her actions as well as the distant thought that she enabled murder, is quite delighted to have him around).

Tom tries to wheedle Harry's address out of Hermione and gets a lot more information than he bargained for. Harry lives with abusive muggle relatives, Dumbledore is apparently keeping him there, all of this sounds bizarre. Tom is officially weirded out.

Still wants to murder Harry, of course, but also wants to dig into this a little further...

And before this becomes a full on fic outline, eventually this will lead to the murder of Dumbledore, probably the murder of Ron when Ron inadvertently discovers 'the truth', Hermione telling Tom they're now an item, Tom trying to escape the relationship, only to learn there's no escaping Hermione.

Hermione becomes the next dark lord. Tom has no idea how this even happened.

#harry potter #harry potter meta #harry potter headcanon #harry potter shipping #hermione granger #anti hermione granger #tom riddle #hermione/tom #anti hermione/tom #meta #headcanon #opinion #shipping

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archived-kin · 4 years ago

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solomon deserves a husband so i'm giving him one (it's you)

note from kin: i don’t know HOW i’ve managed to get this out so soon after my last piece but i do know that it is a miracle (now watch me disappear for like a month lmao)

anyway there’s a severe lack of content for the boys in this fandom and therefore i am here to try to mitigate that!!

(as a heads up, this is sort of an au version of obey me’s story?? there’s no exchange program, and the general human world doesn’t know about the devildom or celestial realm, apart from sorcerers and similar special cases. solomon and simeon both still visit the devildom, though - solomon because he has a sort of job at the r.a.d., and simeon as an ambassador sort of thing for the celestial realm. the r.a.d.’s also less of a school and more of an organisation?? i haven’t really fleshed it out haha)

fandom: obey me!

character(s): male! reader, solomon, mammon (briefly), simeon (briefly)

pairing(s): solomon/reader

warning(s): blasphemy??? solomon disses god really briefly and that’s about it

genre: fluff!!!!!!!!!

As a general rule of thumb, Solomon doesn’t believe in destiny.

He’s lived long enough to know that, no matter what he does, the universe does not care about him, much less have some sort of plan for his future. The course that the world takes isn’t affected by some grand puppet master pulling the strings; one has to force the so-called path of fate in the direction they want it to take if they want something. Solomon knows this better than anyone.

It’s as much a downfall as it is a strength - as much as power as he’s amassed over the countless years, his constant need to challenge the universe’s power has lead him down a path far from humanity. There had been a time when he was like every other human on the Earth, when he was still young, full of hope and determination and promise, believing earnestly in some God high in the sky who would guide him through his life.

He shudders to think what sort of insufferable fool he’d been back then. An almighty God? Don’t make him laugh. The ruler of the Celestial Realm is incompetent at best, and a downright childish brat at worst. He doesn’t know how the angels put up with him - though he supposes his realm-smiting power is part of it. Why the universe chose to place such power on such a being’s shoulders will always be beyond him.

Long as it has been since he had been so naive, Solomon has learnt his lesson, to say the least. He’s seen people come and go, witnessed kings and queens reign and fall, watched on as friends and family live and die. It’s a truth that he’s been forced to learn across the years of his long, long life, a curse that he brought upon himself the moment he gave up the purity of his soul in pursuit of magical arts.

He supposes he’s always had an insatiable thirst for the unknown - to play all his cards out front, to tempt fate’s hand, to jump into the void and hope to find ground beneath his feet when he lands. It’s that sort of reckless abandon and hunt for knowledge that has led him so far down this path, through so many years, across so many sleepless nights. The world continues to swirl around him, always changing, but Solomon refuses to be swept away. Because, even in the tumultuous movement of the universe, there has always been one constant that keeps him anchored - you.

The night he'd first met you isn’t as clear in his mind as he would have liked. He wants to be able to remember everything - the way the soft blue light of the will-o’-whisps had lit up your eyes in the dark of the night, the way that your hand had felt in his as you greeted him with a handshake, the way that you had said his name for the first time - in sharp detail, but Solomon knows better than to hope to recall something so long ago so perfectly.

He’d still been relatively new to a sorcerer’s life at the time - excited and determined and a little too full of himself. You… well, he doesn’t remember exactly, but he does remember thinking that you must be the most handsome being to exist. The you of today would probably shake your head and dismiss the past you as an obnoxious high hoper, but Solomon has loved you for so many years that he’s never been able to think of you as anything less than perfect.

There are times when he wondered how he managed to stumble upon such luck. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that Solomon has has had truly insufferable periods over the years he’s known you, and he’s always considered it a miracle that you still chose to stay. Even through all the restless nights and the exhausting trips, even after all of the clashes and vexation, you have refused to give up on him.

He had asked you once, in the aftermath of an argument spurred by his inability to confide in you and your own frustration with his refusal to communicate. He remembers that night so vividly that it might well have happened just yesterday - the frustrated shouts, the shattering of glass, the warmth of your arms around his shoulders as he finally collapsed on himself. He doesn’t know what your face had looked like as he stuttered the question out in stuttering breaths, head buried in your shoulder in an effort to conceal his tears, but he imagines that it had been soft.

“I’m not going to leave you to yourself,” You had told him matter-of-factly, stroking his hair with such fondness that it still sometimes brings a tear to his eye when he remembers it on particularly long nights. “And I’m not giving up on you, either - not now, not ever.”

Solomon had been unable to speak, too choked up by his feelings and the sudden, overwhelming love spreading through his entire body to reply. He’d only sunk deeper into your embrace, wishing that the moment could last forever.

I wonder if he still remembers that…?

“...lomon! Anyone home?!”

He jolts up from the table he’s sitting at so abruptly that he nearly knocks his head right into Mammon’s chin. The Avater of Greed, however, reacts quickly, and hops back before Solomon can break his jawbone.

“Jeez, you’re off on a different planet today,” He comments, setting his hands on his hips as Solomon shoots him the sort of look that tells him that he’s not particularly enthused about his presence at the moment. “What’s up with ya?”

Solomon isn’t quite sure how to answer. Sorry, I got distracted thinking about how perfect and lovely my husband is and how I’m the luckiest man in the entire world - nay, the universe - to have him. He nearly physically shudders at the thought of how much teasing he’d receive if he answered like that.

Instead, he chooses a much safer and still technically true option. “Just thinking about going home today.”

Mammon nods in understanding, pulling up a seat next to him and throwing himself down into it without much grace. “I feel ya. S’ been a long day.”

“You’ve barely done anything today,” Solomon quips flatly, not particularly impressed by the demon’s attempt at… empathy? Relatability? Either way, it isn’t working. “I doubt it’s been that hard.”

“Now, now, Solomon, let’s not be rude,” interjects a soft voice from behind them. Simeon is still dressed in his fancy envoy cloak - the one so long and heavy that it trails along behind him like a bridal train, decorated with a number of elaborate golden charms that jingle as he moves.

Solomon attempts to shoot him a slightly annoyed look, but it’s kind of hard to stay irritated by one of the literal embodiments of holiness and light, even if he wakes you up at very unholy hours of the morning to help him figure out how to answer an email. Solomon isn’t ungrateful for the new age of technology descending on humanity, but he’d like it a lot better if it hadn’t somehow reached the angels as well. The amount of times he’s had to tell Simeon that he needs to actually turn his D.D.D. on before he starts calling someone is… embarrassing, to say the least.

“You’re back in the Devildom, I see,” He observes as the angel pulls up a seat and sits beside him. “Did Michael send you down again?”

Simeon nods with a smile. “There were some arrangements that needed to be made with Lord Diavolo. Naturally, I volunteered.”

“Naturally,” Solomon echoes, raising a brow at his friend. “I don’t suppose your biases had anything to do with your decision?”

“Well, they may have had some effect,” Simeon answers with a shameless smile and shrug, beginning to undo the tassels of his heavy cloak and draping it on the back of chair he’s sitting on. He’s still wearing all of his regular clothes underneath it - including the other, much smaller cloak. Solomon wonders how he hasn’t somehow melted in the heat.

“When’re you gonna start heading home, anyway?” Mammon asks, beginning to pick at a loose thread on his jacket sleeve. “It’s gettin’ late.”

Solomon blinks and looks up at the clock. “...ah, you’re right. In that case, I'll get going now.”

Mammon shoots him an odd look as he pushes himself up from the table and reaches for his bag, managing to hoist it onto his shoulder with some effort. He’s never been particularly good at heavy lifting - you’re usually the one helping him carry everything around the house.

“Oi, oi, what’s the rush?” the demon asks as Solomon adjusts the weight of his bag and starts heading for the door. “You on a timer or something?”

“I promised [Name] I’d be home earlier tonight,” is Solomon’s slightly absent-minded reply as he fiddles about in his pocket to find his transportation charm, nearly losing his balance and dropping his bag in the process. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

Mammon watches him in clear confusion for a moment as he pats down his pockets, mumbling a quiet curse under his breath as he realises that he’s left his charm at home again. How many times this month does that make it now...? He supposes that he could always perform a teleportation spell, but knowing his luck with those, he’ll probably end up somewhere in Morocco again.

“Oi, Simeon,” Mammon hisses to the angel, who cocks his head slightly to the side and leans over so as to hear him more clearly. “Who’s this ‘[Name]’ Solomon’s talkin’ about?”

“You don’t know?” Simeon blinks at him in blatant perplexion - as if he can’t even fathom the idea that Mammon might not know who Solomon’s talking about. “He’s talking about his husband.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Then—

“Solomon has a HUSBAND!?” Mammon practically shrieks, completely flabbergasted. “I thought he was totally, like, the forever alone type!”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never noticed?” is Simeon’s bewildered response. “Who do you think Solomon is always talking about buying groceries for?”

“I thought he was just buyin’ them for himself!” Mammon fires back, looking far more ruffled and shocked than he probably should be. He whips around to look at Solomon, who’s flicking through the little packet of blank charms he keeps on him at all times in an effort to find the right one to create a temporary transportation charm. He’s had to do it so many times this month that he’s already beginning to run out. “You’re married?!”

“Of course,” Solomon answers vaguely, briefly raising his left hand, allowing Mammon to spot the soft glint of a ring around his fourth finger. “You’re not?”

“Wh— ‘course I’m not!” Mammon exclaims, positively scandalised by the very concept. “Why would I get married, huh?! It’s a waste of time and a waste of money!”

“Think whatever you like,” Solomon dismisses him easily, which only seems to irritate Mammon further.

Finally having found the right blank charm, he plucks it out and begins carefully tracing patterns onto it with a single glowing finger. He’s dimly aware of Mammon furiously whispering to Simeon in the background, with the angel responding in kind, most likely sharing some exaggerated story from back when the three of you had worked together - when Solomon had accepted a job from the Celestial Realm. The details of the whole thing are a little fuzzy to him now, long as it has been, but he’s almost completely sure that Simeon somehow still remembers the whole thing flawlessly.

“How old even is he?!” He hears Mammon hiss.

“I’m not so sure myself,” Simeon replies, placing his chin in a thoughtful hand. “Let’s see… their two millennial anniversary’s coming up in about two years, and I remember Solomon saying that they got married when he was around two hundred or so… which means he’s about twenty-one hundred years old.”

“Holy shit,” Mammon mutters in disbelief, turning glance at the sorcerer as he starts folding down the corners of his charm into the right shape. “Humans aren’t supposed to live that long. How’s his husband still alive, then?”

“That isn’t really a question for me to answer,” Simeon shakes his head slightly. “I suppose you can always ask him yourself if Solomon ever brings him to work with him.”

“I doubt it,” Solomon speaks up for the first time since announcing his departure. “He’s usually busy during the day. Besides, transportation charms make him queasy, and I’m not making him walk all the way down here.”

“Aren’t you a wizard?” Mammon asks, scratching his head. “Just do one of ya fancy teleportation spells. Why d’you need a charm?”

Solomon sighs. He hates to admit it, but he can’t be bothered to make up some other reason to cover up for himself. “I’m afraid that teleportation spells aren’t actually particularly accurate. We could end up somewhere in the Pacific if I’m not careful.”

Mammon looks thunderstruck. “Then what about all those times you’ve teleported us?! Don’t tell me we coulda ended up in, like, the Archaic Pit or something?!”

“Well, it was always a possibility,” Solomon shrugs in reply, finishing the charm with a deft flick of his hand. “You’re a demon, I sure you could have handled yourself.”

“But…!” Mammon crosses his arms and turns away like a grumpy child. “Hmph…”

“Do say hello to [Name] for me, will you?” Simeon requests as Solomon turns to open the door, ignoring the sulking demon sitting beside him. “We haven’t been able to talk for a while.”

“You text him every day, don’t you?” Solomon asks, shooting him an unimpressed look. “I’d say that’s conversation enough.”

“Now, now, there’s no need to be stingy,” Simeon countered with a smile, tilting his head slightly to the side and leaning forward. “Besides, one misses the presence of an actual person after a while of nothing but electronic communication... especially texting is so difficult. Tell him he’s always welcome to come around for some tea - Luke would be happy to see him.”

Solomon shakes his head, but makes a sound of affirmation nevertheless. You had mentioned that you’ve missed seeing Simeon since he’d started the whole negotiator businesss, and he isn’t the sort of person to deny you the company of a friend. “I’ll let him know. Anyway, I should really be going now…”

“Have a safe journey!” Simeon calls after him as he swings the door open and sweeps out. Solomon waves a hand over his shoulder in response, then disappears down the corridor, most likely to a quiet spot in the courtyard to use his charm. He’s been banned from using them indoors ever since he accidentally shattered one of the fancy artifacts in the assembly hall and sent hundreds of shards flying everywhere. Apparently Barbatos is still finding tiny pieces of glass in the crevices of the floor.

“Why didn’t Solomon ever say anythin’?” Mammon asks Simeon after a moment of quietude. “Seems like the sorta thing you’d mention.”

“Solomon’s a private man,” Simeon says with a shrug. “Besides, he and [Name] have made plenty of enemies over the years, and you’d be shocked by how quickly names and locations can spread…”

“Does he mind us knowin’ about it, then?”

“Well, personally, I’ve known for a while,” Simeon answers, “And I’m sure the others will have worked it out by now - Solomon’s always finding ways to mention [Name] in passing. But no, I’m sure he doesn’t mind. He’d say something if he did.”

Mammon nods and goes silent for a little while. Then he asks, “What’s this [Name] like, then? Must be some guy if Solomon liked him enough to put a ring on him and keep him for that long.”

“Well, let’s see…” Simeon drums his fingers thoughtfully against the tabletop. “He has quite the penchant for raising deadly plants, he hasn’t gone more than a full month without exploding something or another for about five centuries, he takes clocks apart in his spare time, he likes his coffee with a touch of vanilla, he collects cursed books, he makes a lovely butterscotch-cinnamon pie, and he works as a curse breaker for hire.”

It takes a moment for Mammon to process all of the information that’s just been dumped on him. “...sounds like the kinda guy Satan would get along with.”

“I thought so as well,” Simeon agrees. “Their house even reminds me of Satan’s room, in a way… [Name] is quite the avid reader.”

“What, you’ve been?”

“Only once,” Simeon’s eyes flutter closed for a moment as he reminisces. “Quite a long time ago now. I wouldn’t know where to find it even if I wanted to go again, though - it’s always moving.”

“Do they move house a lot, then?”

Simeon shakes his head. “Oh, no, no. They’ve lived in the same house for centuries - it’s the house that moves itself.”

Mammon pauses. “...what?”

“The building,” Simeon clarifies. “They’ve got an enchantment on the whole thing that makes it change locations every couple of weeks or so.”

“But… why?”

Simeon shrugs. “[Name] doesn’t like staying in one place for too long.”

“Still, isn’t that a bit much…?” Mammon pulls a face. “They could always just travel, ya know…”

“As Solomon said, transportation talismans make [Name] feel queasy,” Simeon explains. “And he prefers not to use teleportation spells when it comes to him, just in case they end up somewhere dangerous.”

“And he doesn’t care about the rest of us ending up somewhere dangerous?” Mammon huffs and collapses forwards onto the table.

“Well, you can’t really compare the two,” Simeon says patiently as the demon continues to mutter indignantly under his breath. “He’s his husband, and we’re essentially just his friends from work.”

Mammon opens his mouth to make a rebuttal, then thinks about it for a moment and changes his mind. After a moment, he comments, a little less resentfully, “Well, you’d think he’d at least introduce us.”

“He’s been planning to for a while, actually,” Simeon tells him. “Give him some time and he’ll probably bring it up on his own.”

Mammon nods. “He’d better!”

“I’m home.”

You look up from the book you’re reading and hop down from your seat on the roof just in time to see Solomon emerge from the back garden, looking noticeably dishevelled, with leaves decorating his head like some sort of fancy accessory.

“Welcome back!” You greet him happily, setting the book aside and moving forward to start picking the leaves from his hair. Solomon smiles softly at you as you take his bag in one hand and start pulling him to the front door with the other. “You forgot your talisman again, by the way.”

“I noticed,” He laughs, gently removing your hand from his upper arm and wrapping his fingers around it instead. “Why else do you think I ended up in the hedges again?”

“It’s a wonder that you’ve had to make these temporary talismans so many times and you still haven’t gotten one right yet,” You tease in reply, nudging him in the shoulder. “How many points is that on the tally now, then?”

“Ten for the basement, seven for the roof, and eleven for the hedges now,” He answers with a small pout as you laugh. “Honestly, you’d think I would have learnt my lesson...”

“You never do, love.”

The door creaks as you and your husband enter the house, only to immediately be greeted by a bundle of scales hitting you head-on. You manage to keep your footing and steady yourself on the doorway; Solomon isn’t so lucky, and ends up laying spread-eagled on the floor with about two hundred kilograms of excited adolescent dragon purring on his chest.

“Looks like Triton missed you,” You comment with a bright smile, setting Solomon’s bag down beside the umbrella rack and leaning over to give the dragon a scratch behind his left horn, just the way he likes it. He rumbles happily and jingles the little bell around his neck at you. “Isn’t he getting big?”

“I saw him this morning, [Name],” Solomon wheezes from his position on the floor, somehow managing to reach up and tickle Triton’s chin with one hand despite the dragon’s weight. “He can’t have grown that much in ten hours.”

“You never know!” You tell him, reaching up and wrapping your arms around Triton’s neck. He coos in a delighted fashion and raises his head, setting it heavily on your shoulder. Solomon uses the brief lightening of the weight on him to take in a deep breath as you allow your dragon to nuzzle furiously into your neck. “Dragons are unpredictable, you know.”

“Believe me, I do,” He sighs tiredly as Triton blows out a pleased puff of hot air and knocks the clock off the wall again. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, Triton, I’d quite like to get back up again.”

The dragon blinks and raises his head from your shoulder, glancing down at the sorcerer that he’s crushing under his weight. Then he huffs and turns away again.

“Oh, you—!” Solomon curses as the dragon seems to press even harder into him. Your laughter rings out across the hall, and while he’d normally take a moment to admire the sound, he’s a little preoccupied. “[Name], stop laughing and help me!”

“He’s like a rebellious teenager!” You splutter helplessly in reply, voice still trembling slightly out of mirth. Triton makes a happy noise as you reach up and rub his scaly cheeks, his ears fluttering slightly. “Awww, you’re really growing up, aren’t you, baby? Your poor dads are really going to have their work cut out for them, huh?”

“Hey,” Solomon calls reproachfully from beneath Triton’s enormous chest. “Your husband’s still being crushed down here.”

“Oh, right!” You click your tongue and give Triton a meaningful look. He grumbles but obeys nevertheless, hopping off of Solomon (though not without knocking all the air out of him by using his chest as a launchpad) and scampering off, most likely to go play with the salamanders that have set up shop in the storage room again.

“I’ll never understand how you manage him so well,” Solomon sighs as you bend down to pull him to his feet, rubbing at the sore spot on his chest. “He never listens to me.”

“Aw, he loves you, really,” You reassure him, taking his hand and pressing a comforting kiss to his knuckles. “He just likes roughhousing with you.”

Solomon shakes his head, wanting to complain further about the big lizard that the two of you had adopted six months ago after the last one grew up and flew the nest, but then he sees the smile on your face, and he feels the flicker of irritation in his chest die down almost immediately. It’s at times like this that he’s really reminded of how absolutely worth it all of the nonsense he has to put up with at work is - because, at the end of the day, you are here, with your warm eyes and your lovely smile, with your comforting hands and your warm embrace, and there is no road too long to walk if you are waiting for him at the end of it.

“I know,” He sighs, tugging off his shoes and stepping into his favourite pair of slippers - the ones with the little cat faces printed on them that you’ve charmed to always maintain a perfect temperature for his feet. He glances at your own feet and notes that you’re wearing your matching pair as well.

The two of you have long since set up a routine for this sort of occasion, and you both fall into it with unconscious ease. Solomon changes into something more comfortable while you put the kettle on in the kitchen, and the two of you inevitably spend so long snuggled up together on the largest armchair in the living room, unwilling to leave the warmth of each other’s presence, that the water cools down, and you end up having to put it back on again. Then you sit together at the table, you with a coffee with a dash of vanilla and him with his favourite chrysanthemum tea that you always brew just the way he likes it. Sometimes you’ll sit side by side, shoulders pressed up against each other as you show him the specifics of your latest curse-breaking commission, and sometimes you’ll sit across from each other, holding hands across the tabletop as he tells you about his day.

Today it is the former, but Solomon can’t help but zone a little out of the detailed deep-dive you’re giving him about the intricacies of the spell that’s cursed this teapot to shoot its contents at anyone who attempts to fill it. It isn’t that your explanation is boring - quite the contrary, in fact; Solomon could probably listen to you describing the most mundane or trivial of things on loop for the rest of his life and be perfectly content with it. No, it’s more to do with the fact that this is the first time he’s been home before dark in a long while, and he can’t help but revel in the fact that he can spend time with you like this again. Of course, there’s something wonderful in coming home to be able to collapse into bed beside you and bury his face in the crook of your neck, drifting to sleep as you burrow closer to him even in your sleep, but Solomon can’t run off of that forever - he needs to see you with your eyes open as well, after all.

“You’re not listening to a word I say, are you?” You ask as you note the far-off look on your husband’s face. You’re not offended in the slightest by the way he starts at the directed question, evidently guilty, but you are a little puzzled. “Is there something wrong?”

Solomon’s mouth falls open slightly, then shuts again. There’s something about the way you’re looking at him so earnestly that makes his heart stutter like nothing else. Honestly, you’d think he’d be used to this after nearly two thousand years, but it seems that he’s still as weak for you as he was on the very first day of your marriage. “...I suppose I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

“You always have a lot on your mind,” You counter softly, giving his hand a brief squeeze. “Come on, you can tell me.”

He laughs quietly, bringing your linked hands up to his face and gently holding yours to the side of his face; you, in turn, unfurl your fingers from around his and rub his cheek affectionately. After a moment, a fond smile pulling at his lips, Solomon replies, “I’ve… missed you a lot this week.”

You pause in mild surprise, but it quickly turns to endearment as Solomon presses his body even closer to yours. The hand that you’re using to hold your mug of coffee moves to settle on his shoulder as you pull him closer. “Really now? What a coincidence. I’ve missed you lots as well, love.”

He chuckles a little bashfully, his cheeks flushing. It seems that your ability to fluster him hasn’t declined even a bit over the years. He’s still well and truly besotted.

You can’t help but find it rather amusing that, despite already having spent a good hour and a half or so in the living room, bundled so close together in the blankets that you could feel his breath on your skin, the two of you are still nestling so close together now. You suppose it’s the effects of a week with much less contact than usual.

You lean forward and press a kiss to his jaw before pulling back again, reaching for your coffee and taking a sip. Solomon exhales softly, pulling his own drink towards him and draining the last of the tea in a single mouthful.

“You know,” He says, setting his empty cup down on the table. “One of my coworkers was asking about you earlier.”

“‘Coworkers’,” You snort at his choice of language, earning a reproachful poke in the side as punishment. “Come on, just admit that they’re your friends.”

“Fine,” He sighs. “One of my friends, then - Mammon, the one that Lucifer’s stringing up all the time.”

“The one with white hair?” You recall, thinking back to the group photo that Simeon had sent you a while back. “He’s the Avatar of Greed, right?”

“That’s the one,” Solomon nods. “Apparently he never noticed that I was married.”

“Well, you can’t really blame him,” You say, giving him a playful nudge. “Honestly, the way you keep your mouth shut, you’d think I was some shameful secret or something.”

Solomon looks scandalised by the very idea - it had only been a little joke, but his eyes flash with such affront that it’s almost as if someone has genuinely called you such a thing. “Of course not! I’d never—”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, I was joking,” You cut him off before he can get more riled up. Solomon calms down quickly once you set a comforting hand on his knee, though he still looks a little indignant. “I know why you don’t like talking about us much, but really, it’s okay. They’re your friends, aren't they?”

He hesitates, then nods, releasing another deep sigh soon afterwards. “I suppose. There isn’t much I can really do about it at this point anyway… according to Simeon, most of them have somehow figured it out already.”

“They’re probably a lot smarter than you give them credit for, Sol,” You hum, reaching up and brushing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes for him. “They’re demons, after all. They’ve lived even longer than us.”

“Believe me, they really aren’t.” Solomon shakes his head, a frown pinching at his brow at the very memory of the amount of things that his coworkers have done recently - some of the most notable being Diavolo setting an entire flock of geese free in the courtyard for an ‘experiment’, Levi quite literally throwing himself out of a window just to win a bet against Mammon about who could get down the stairs faster, Asmo causing a stampede in the main hall by dropping and shattering a bottle full of a powerful aphrodisiac potion that became even more powerful once released into the air, and Lucifer accidentally breaking one of Solomon’s favourite cauldrons when he’d transformed into his demon form and inadvertently smacked halfway across the room it with one of his upper wings.

“I’d really love to meet them some day,” You sigh, swirling the contents of your mug around. “They sound like fun.”

“Trust me, the trouble isn’t worth it—” Solomon attempts to reason with you, but he gives up laughably quickly as you pout at him in protest. “Oh, fine. But don’t blame me if you get sick because of the charm again.”

“We don’t have to use the charm,” You shake your head. “Just do a teleportation spell!”

“You know that that’s risky,” Solomon sighs, chucking you under the chin and leaning forward to kiss the tip of your nose. You laugh as he draws back again, a pleased smile rising on his face at your reaction. “We could end up anywhere.”

“You’ve teleported them a bunch of times, though, haven’t you? And you haven’t ended up in Texas or the Sahara Desert any of those times!”

The resemblance to his earlier conversation with Mammon and Simeon is almost uncanny. “That’s different. I was still teleporting them within the Devildom, not across an entire realm barrier… and besides, I can afford the risk with them. You’re a different story.”

You pout again, shoulders dropping in defeat, though it doesn’t escape Solomon’s notice that his sentiment seems to have appeased you at least a little. “...guess we’ll just have to use a transportation talisman, huh…?”

“That’s your only option if you really want to visit, yes.”

You go quiet for a moment or two, nose wrinkling and face scrunching as you think it over. Solomon doesn’t mind the lack of conversation - he entertains himself by studying your features, wondering for perhaps the millionth time how he managed to find someone like you.

Finally, a determined look rising on your face, you nod and proclaim, “Then I’ll do it!”

Solomon cocks his head slightly to the side. He can’t say he’s surprised by your eagerness, but he had expected it to take you longer to make up your mind. He opens his mouth to say something, but tou answer his question before he’s even asked it, a skill that you’d managed to pick up within the first year or so of knowing him.

“I really wanna see what you actually get up to when you work,” You explain, looking a little sheepish. “You’ve had a job there for nearly two years and I’ve never even said a word to the people you work with.”

Solomon laughs. “It isn’t usually a requirement in the workplace. Wear appropriate uniform, bring any equipment you need, introduce your husband to your coworkers within the decade…”

“Still, I’d feel bad if I didn’t at least meet them,” You say. “Besides, I want to see Simeon as well. You said he’s working down in the Devildom for a bit as well, didn’t you?”

“Why are you so eager to see him, huh?” Solomon’s tone is light and teasing, so you know not to take him seriously as he puts on an hurt expression. “I’m offended. Your dear husband’s right here and you’re thinking about some angel.”

“Oh, stop it, you,” You shake your head in slightly exasperated amusement as he runs a finger down his cheek in lieu of a tear. “You know it’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” He pulls an exaggeratedly petulant face and pretends to turn away like an upset child. “Sometimes I feel like you love him more than me.”

“Simeon’s a lovely guy, but you’re still the only guy for me, you doof,” You tell him, tapping fondly at the cheek he’s turned to you with your free hand. Solomon obligingly turns back around to look at you, a grin pulling at his mouth. “Why would I marry you and then stay here for two thousand years if you weren't?”

“I guess I always assumed it was out of pity or something,” He jokes in response, leaning forward and briefly brushing his nose against yours. “And, just so you know, you’re the only guy for me as well.”

“I’d better be,” is your lighthearted reply as he pulls away. After a moment, looking at him expectantly, you begin tentatively, “So…?”

He sighs, but gives you a smile nevertheless. “I’ll ask Diavolo. He probably wouldn’t mind if I brought you without asking first, but Lucifer definitely would.”

“What’ll we do if they hate me?” You ask. “Do demons actually eat humans?”

“They wouldn’t dare,” He replies firmly. “Not if I have anything to say about it. Besides, they won’t hate you. I doubt anyone could.”

You laugh and drop your head to rest on his chest. “You’re too nice to me, love.”

Solomon turns to wrap both his arms around your shoulders, setting his chin on the crown of your head. You smile into his jumper, looping your own arms around his waist and pushing yourself closer to him.

“I’m not just being nice. Honestly, [Name], you’re kind of the most perfect man in the universe.”

#obey me #obey me imagines #obey me x reader #swd solomon #swd mammon #swd simeon #solomon x reader #reader insert #male reader #fluff #domestic sorcerer husbands #planning on turning this into a series if i can haha

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mirinda03 · 4 years ago

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@leaflinerambles asked me for an essay so i complied

Here’s why c!tommy deserves better

Tommy Danger Kraken Careful Innit deserves better.

(All of this is about the characters btw. Sometimes i don't put c! Because honestly its a lot of putting that so just know that unless it says cc! I mean character)

Now, I know that can be a bit of a controversial take for.. some reason??? People may say that actually, he deserves to face the consequences of his actions and deserves to be punished.

. What the fuck.

That's a sixteen year old. That a teenager. He doesn't deserve to be 1. Abused 2. Traumatized 3. Manipulated 4. Used and 5. Taught a ‘lesson’ that i'm sure he’s been taught far fat too many times.

Tommy is a complex character. As we all know, he's regarded as the ‘protagonist’ of the dream smp or the ‘main character’. Now, of course, being the main character is a very subjective term and that is a whole other fucking essay that im not gonna get into right now—

BUT.

I do think in a way Tommy has been involved in a lot of the more.. main plots. From season one to season three.

And of course, with being the ‘main character’ (again, a purely subjective term because it depends on the point of view you watch) come a lot of things and a lot of trouble. Mainly, from our main ‘villain’ of the series.

C!Dream, the fucking bitch.

As we all know, c!Dream has had a weird obsession with c!Tommy since.. probably the beginning?

He liked to antagonize Tommy, but that wasn't exactly special. The man liked to antagonize everyone! He seemed to just want the most chaotic option, which of course ended with him antagonizing others often for his own entertainment.

I think, in a way, Dream always saw the smp as a game. His own little puppet show, where he could move the strings. He wanted complete control

But Tommy was more stubborn than the others. Tommy actively went against Dream from the start, like we see in the disc war. Or L’manberg, or during manberg, or new lmanb—

You get the idea.

Tommy never gave in, and Dream’s obsession grew.

So.. exile happened.

And like, i'm not sure what exactly dream was planning but i'm assuming he wanted to like.. ‘break’ tommy?? Make him more ‘compliant’ to his twisted game?

C!Tommy was, to put it simply, abused. No sugar coating, that was straight up abuse and gaslighting and manipulation. The burning his armor? Making sure no one got an invite? Keeping Tommy at low health? EVERYTHING??

That was all clear manipulation. Tommy.. went through a LOT in exile. It still affects him as we know. ‘Plain biomes, small holes, logstedshire’ among other things have been added to his list of stuff that sets him off.

(And also the waking up drowning?????)

And i know, Dream almost had tommy in his grasp. He almost broke him.

But Tommy resisted. Tommy pulled back at the last second, in that dirt tower. He was strong enough to realize what dream was doing was wrong an he ran from a toxic environment and situation and honestly? Good👏 for 👏 him 👏.

But the trauma stayed, in many ways. And even during the raccoonit arc, tommy didn't really.. get a chance to heal?

During the techno and tommy arc, tommy seemed to direct his hurt into lashing out at others. He got angry, he lashed out, and he hurt people. Even if im a tommy apologist, i can acknowledge that during his time of poor mental health he hurt other people and he had to apologize (and he did!! But im getting to that)

Now. I am.. very conflicted when it comes to techno and tommy’s relationship. I do believe that, somewhere deep inside, they both cared about each other. However, bias and fanon influence can get in the way so i'm not touching on that.

The one thing i'm saying? It wasn't exactly a healthy dynamic. And again, not saying anything because bias could get in the way, but Tommy realizing the error of his ways and realizing he HURT PEOPLE is such a huge milestone??

He took responsibility by joining tubbo again. He said how his trauma did not excuse shit and he acknowledged it and he tried to CHANGE.

Even when faced with people who exiled him, who shunned him or who weren't there to visit during exile, he decided to be better and he once again took the role of the troop rallier even when he KNEW how impossible the task would be. He SAW Techno’s wither skull vault. He knew it was a losing battle.

But he stayed strong. And he fought for L’Manberg, for the last reminder he had of Wilbur (and oh, wilbur and tommy’s relationship in canon is a whole other can of worms god—)

Just for it to get destroyed.

By his abuser, and two people he had trusted. People he RELIED on.

Blown, to the ground.

And then dream.

Dream saying their story isn't over. Their story would NEVER be over.

. Bone chilling. Genuinely so.

And still. He faced Dream. He faced his abuser, the person who in his own words ‘ruined him’ and he refused to back down.

He refused to let Tubbo die. He refused to lose.

And in the end, Dream was sent to jail. Retribution was sent!

.. right?

Wrong.

Because even after that, Tommy continues to be haunted by dream or by the literal CULTISTS trying to kill him.

And to top it all off, he gets fucking trapped in prison with his abuser surrounded by a bunch of triggers in a small cell. And have we mentioned how he's canonically claustrophobic?

Yeah.. that was bad.

One week. Trapped with his abuser.

And still, he stayed strong. Still, he refused to give in and stayed himself,

And what did he get for that?

Death.

Beaten to death by his abuser of all things.

And he was trapped in the void for two months. Two. Months.

But in the human world? It had only been days.

And he was so so shaken by it. He couldn't even touch other people, he couldn't take any damage, he was treated as a ghost by people, he was called a ‘science experiment’ and the one thing he wanted? Normality? It was taken away from his forever.

Again, by his abuser.

Hes a traumatized child soldier whos done plenty of wrong in his life, but he's also a kid who needs to heal and learn to have healthy relationships because one way or the other every healthy mentor figure in his life turned against him or got corrupted and now he feels alone and he DIED and he needs fucking therapy come on.

And we KNOW the dream isn't done. Far from it. We know dream will never, ever be done. He's too obsessed with the game, with his favorite toy to let the game end. To let the people rest

C!tommy is so broken and jaded and traumatized. But still, he chooses compassion. Despite the trauma, he refused to hurt his best friend. Despite it all, he refused to blow up him home. He stays true to himself and he stays strong and even when the world tries to mold him he doesn't break.

And believe me, the world tries to break him and mold him so many times. He’s been manipulated or used before by others, but he still keeps his attachments and he still keeps himself and i think thats fucking admirable.

So yeah. I wholeheartedly believe tommy deserves better as do the other members of bench trio because honestly they're also children and they all deserve to heal come ON.

But yeah thats the essay

#dream smp #tommyinnit #dsmp #wilbur soot #c!dream negativity #c!technoblade negativity #sorta maybe??#ill tag it just in case #heres why tommy deserves better a detailed essay i wrote instead of sleeping /j #tubbo #tommy innit #tw abuse #tw death #tw claustrophobia #tw triggers #tw gaslighting #tw manipulation #dreamsmp

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