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rewordthis · 1 year

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Aw pals! What was that episode??? Pandemonium for real!

But first, let me say… Dude, what was that squeal when Yuuji tore mechamaru from his ear??? 🥶 I’m still confused if it was actually him or just a distortion in the sound. 😑

Well, at least the rest of the episode was nice…

I loved Gojo’s disgusted face, as he asked to get boxed already. Like “dude if you’re gonna do it, just do it! Duh!” lol

Naobito gramps barfing up the six pack he downed… He’s a freaking animal (derogatory). 🤢😞 Maki wasn’t kidding when she said she couldn’t stand living in that house. Damn~

Yuuji climbing that building like Spider-Man… 😑 Then the highlight: screaming “Nanamiiin!!!” lmao Here I must say that I so get him, though. For all the embarrassment I get to call up on someone I know on the street and usually end up creeping behind them (and scaring the f!ck out of them of course…), I have done that a couple times. Like, it’s mortifying to even think of doing it, but I admit I can actually be that embarrassing sometimes. If it’s gotta be done, it gets done. End of story. 😶‍🌫️🫠

And Nanami just being there like…

…

Also. That curse user that stabbed Ijichi is so damn annoying… 😠 He kept stubbing him in the same place, but that must be the point ig. I mean, it’s not clear yet — excuse me if I’m stupid and this has already been addressed — but assistants also have cursed energy, right? Like Maki said in the movie; the base requirement is been able to see cursed spirits (these people are windows, correct?) so being an assistant and being able to cast even the simplest barrier should mean that you’re able to manipulate your own cursed energy. Which logically should lead to Ijich being able to do what Gojo did when Toji stabbed him with the normal sword, to somehow strengthen his body enough so he won’t loose too much blood and not get a crucial hit in any vital organs… right? Am I wrong? Uuuh, Nanami will find him approximately after 10 minutes, if I’m not completely off and he’s not dead by then, that is… 😒

By the way… shouldn’t there be a 💢 on Jogo’s head or something when he was arguing with Choso? The characteristic squeak was there but the visual (💢) wasn’t. 🧐

Not gonna pass on Choso’s smirk, either. That was so funny, like… why are you like this you little shit! hahaha 😂

And the twins… Pff~ That rotting brain knew just how to manipulate them, huh? Tsk! Threatening to kill them with the body of the man they worshiped the ground he was walking… that should have hurt like hell. 😔 It should also mean that they hadn’t had a say in the taking, right? It forced them to do its dirty job but they didn’t know how to make it into a binding pact to get the body back after helping it out with its plan… Ah, Geto, you didn’t taught your girls right. Yet, you had the nerve to speak about Gojo not properly teaching Yuuta how to imbue a curse into an object. 🤡

Curiously, though, that ‘slime’ thinks (?) that ‘regret’ can’t be served to it? It sounded like ‘regret’ is a taste it has actually missed? Maybe from when it was an actual human? Like how Sukuna was a human? Oh! But if it’s never been a human, it could be from when it first got born into the world? (I’m speculating— because even with all the spoilers that fly around, there seems to be a lack of knowledge around this thing’s origins. I’m so fucking glad Gege has managed to keep things obscure af!!! CLOWNS CAN’T spoil what they don’t know! Meeeh~ *aggressively sticks out tongue* >:P Eat that! On that note, however, I WILL FUCKING BITE AND BLOCK ANYONE THAT POSTS ANYTHING ABOUT MY BELOVED SUKUNA-SAMA FROM THE FUCKING MANGA AND DOESN’T USE MANGA–SPOILER TAGS!!! EVERYONES LIVES WILL GET MISERABLE IF YOU DON’T PAY HEED!!! THIS IS YOUR WARNING!!!💢👿💢) I mean, as a genuine brain curse — most probably born from the resentment of humans toward intelligence itself — with all that this should entail. Like fear of the minds’ capabilities, understanding, adaptability (which also is part of the cursed technique of that thing: adapting and using the host’s technique), enlightenment even... Or, if we take it seriously from only the perspective of its main ability, aka: taking over a body, then we must be talking about nothing more than a parasite with intelligence. I wonder if that’s how a brain-worm would operate as a curse… lol However, I still think it was once a human. Because regrets are humans’ privilege, in my humble opinion. 😗 Aaah~ I rambled a bit there, didn’t I? I shall put a full-stop here, then. Ok, I lied. Sue me! But I just remembered; what it said about the phenomenon of the memories flowing into it because of the soul so the soul and the body must be one undivided existence… What? How about muscle memory? A body is perfectly capable of reacting to something in its own accord. If there is something to trigger the reaction, then the reaction will take place anyway. Isn’t the soul supposed to be interconnected to the consciousness? Is the soul unrelated to the mind? Huh? It could be argued that the consciousness, the mind and the memory all reside in the brain while muscle memory (essentially mechanical reaction) and unconscious reside in the body and are connected through the subconscious. So maybe that’s what this rotting brain goo is actually riding onto??? Because there is a possibility the subconscious is the only thing that doesn’t reside in the physical world, thus is what essentially and practically cursed energy actually is and where it springs from. Right? Eh? Ugh… Yes, I might not have explained that correctly. Second language barriers you see. lmao Anyway, that’s all I wanted to point out for now. For real this time. 🤗

Also! Not to forget the man himself— Gojo is chill enough to find the time to play around in that box… Like, dude! 😎😅 Be the menace you’re usually being for Nanami and Ijichi and break a deeper crater to sink in, will you? You’re already flexing in there. I’m sure you tried to open the seal from the inside and that’s why it overloaded. Because when a device overloads, it often gets short-circuited and overheats. From there it either bursts into fire, explodes or melts. That’s why the eyes melted— I’m so convinced of this. However, I don’t think the fact that the prison’s eyes turned blue means that Gojo can see outside. It feels more like during the processing the object reflects what it sees inside itself…? If that makes any sense… 🤷‍♀️ (Yes, I will be calling that thing a device because that’s what I see it being. Thanks for not making a fuss out of this.)

All while poor Nanami is about to break down from the responsibilities that just got unloaded onto him! He literally told himself off from complaining, because he was about to!!! 😭 Stupid, Gojo! Don’t make this harder for him, idiot! It was already a lot of work before but now he has to save your ass, too! Baka!!! He’s practically carrying on his back the lives of a whole country’s people right now because he knows you trust him and he also knows his limits and how necessary you are to everyone! I will slap you for the troubles you put him through, Gojo!

Honestly though, I get that sometimes things are perceived a bit differently from me because ‘nuance’ is eluding me but…

Acting like he was nothing but leg below his nipples!

Wait… WHAT??!

#gojo satoru #nanami kento #itadori yuuji #choso #geto suguru #jogo #zen’in naobito #hasaba twins #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen 2nd season★#there has to be some mistake with the translation right? right???!#fandom talk #episode rant

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skekpen · 1 year

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I’ve been told that I do a better job than most westerners at drawing stuff that has the “anime aesthetic”. I can tell you how I do it.

everybody already knows this, but of course first you have to practice drawing things with realistic anatomy and proportions and perspective and all that before you can draw anime/cartoons/stylized things that look good. read "Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain" by Betty Edwards for help with this. practice drawing from life/photos alongside drawing for fun. I spend about 10 minutes per day doing exercises and studies. the rest I spend drawing bullshit that I want to draw.

okay so,

Don’t try to draw something that looks like anime. Don’t think that way. Instead, try to draw a human being with as few lines as you possibly can, while still capturing everything you want your viewers to see. Then you pick and choose features you want to enlarge/emphasize or shrink/minimize. with anime, it's usually facial features that get distorted and stylized the most. there's a lot of stylized neoteny in anime, even in the ones that aren't trying to look cute.

for example - eyes are pretty, and they show a shitload of emotion. so you’ll probably want to draw big, expressive eyes that follow the visual logic of anatomically correct eyes.

another example - you can’t show much emotion or movement with a nose normally, so you might want to draw just the bare minimum to show the shape of the nose (I often just draw the shadow cast by the nose and none of the nose itself - something I picked up from late 80s anime)

now with this in mind, don't try to go for a generic "anime" look. that doesn't actually exist, and I think this is where a lot of people get tripped up and end up drawing that weird kind of "western pseudo-anime" for lack of a better term. find individual anime/manga artists you like, and see how they stylize things. try drawing like they do, and see what feels good. keep what works, and discard what does not. you'll eventually end up with a concoction of things you've stolen from other artists and then warped to your own tastes, which is what is known as "finding your style".

some artists I copy stylistic elements from are Masamune Shirow (Ghost in the Shell), Satoshi Urushihara (Plastic Little), Kamome Shirahama (Witch Hat Atelier), Toshihiro Kawamoto (character designer for Cowboy Bebop and Golden Boy), Ikuko Itoh (character designer for the Sailor Moon anime), and Kentaro Miura (Berserk). I've tried drawing all kinds of shit in their individual styles, I've traced and studied drawings of theirs so I could pick out how they constructed things.

I also do this with people who don't draw anime. Artists like Alphonse Mucha, Bill Watterson, Mœbius, and Alan Moore were as much of an influence on me as any manga artist. if you don't get inspiration from outside the artistic circle you are creating within, you'll never be able to construct a very unique voice for yourself. you may or may not give a shit about that, but I recommend that you do give some shits about it.

remember - you are not drawing anime. you are drawing stylized people/objects that you are warping to look most visually appealing to you. you just happen to think anime looks cool, so you're going to naturally gravitate in that direction. don't try to draw anime. try to draw something that looks cool, or cute, or scary, or badass, or whatever. and show it in a way that makes sense to you. it will probably take a few months of hard practice before you can do this well enough that other people will see what you are trying to show them, but it will eventually happen.

#art #drawing

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reddowind · 1 year

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So im not alone, I want to see pokeronpa too and i just saw your art! ITS SO AMAzING sksksksksk. I wonder what about the rest of V3 Casts.... OH! also I wanna your hc if any V3 Casts have sygna suit

WAAAAHHH THANK YOU VERY MUCH AND IM ALSO HAPPY TO KNOWING THAT IM NOT ALONE HERE WKWKWKWKWKWKWKW

This is the rest of V3 Cast's partner according to my opinion :

Korekiyo : Banette/Mega Banette (I mean... c'mon, it's obvious, they are just look alike.. a bit too much)

Gonta : I think between Mega Heracross, Mega Scizor, or Mega Pinsir (It's obvious Gonta's team will be full bug type pokemon. But I want to give badass Bug Pokemon to this pure boi. Cuz he can be scary and badass in my opinion)

Tenko : Mienshao (her Mienshao is female, her entire team will be female too, yeah you know her characteristics)

Ryoma : Liepard/Alolan Persian (he loves cat, and i think Liepard or Alolan Persian or any cat pokemon suits him)

Keebo : Genesect (Genesect reminds me of Keebo, IDK why)

Angie : Smeargle (They're artists, right?)

Tsumugi : Mimikyu/Ditto (Cosplayers, yea)

Miu : Morpeko??? Idk, maybe any Steel and electric type??? ((I just can't thinking of it)))

SYGNA SUITS

(I can't think any designs and seems like... I won't do it either, but I can imagine the partners)

Maki : It'll be Houndoom or Incineroar. Imagine how badass is Maki with them, If she paired Houndoom, she got mega evolutions. If she paired with Incineroar, she got Z moves. But Maki would be more badass... If she got paired with Giratina. Yes, I know Giratina isn't a dark type but a ghost type pokemon. But Maki and Giratina shares a similarity that is works in underworld, hiding in the shadows, as we know. Maki is an assassin who works in the shadows and underworld as for Giratina is a pokemon who live in Distortion World which it can be said.. it's an underworld from pokemon series.

Kokichi : It would be Zoroark, yeah Zoroark isn't ghost type but a dark type pokemon but you know... Zoroark would be troublesome if he joined Kokichi when he do any pranks. But I think Kokichi would be A LOT troublesome if he got paired with Hoopa, A mischief and troublemaker mythical Pokemon from Gen 6. Hoopa is a psychic/dark type Pokemon who can sends anything and everything to faraway places using its loop, which can warp space. Now, Imagine how much troublesome and overpower this pair will be....

Kaito : Cosmog/Solgaleo/Lunala/Necrozma. ...I think i don't have to explain this one

Tenko : Lopunny, in my opinion Lopunny is look like a feminine pokemon? IDK but.. knowing this, it would be a perfect pair to Tenko if she got any sygna suit in pokemon masters. Ofc, the Lopunny will be female. plus Mega Lopunny is normal/fighting type, making it more perfect pair. Also, Lopunny is very a cautious pokemon and it quickly bounds off when it senses danger. Imagine if this Lopunny's "danger" are males.... Yeah

Shuichi : I think Inteleon would be a good pair for him, I also felt like Sobble to Inteleon are similars with Shuichi's character development. From timid, pessimist to cool character. I know this opinion may be weird but.. That's how i feel. and His Inteleon can gigantamax. Or Metagross would be a good pair too due to Metagross has four brains in total. Combined, the four brains can breeze through difficult calculations faster than a supercomputer. Shuichi and Metagross are smart so they would make a great pair too, Shuichi also would be badass because Metagross can mega evolve too.

Miu : Rotom, I think Rotom will be a great help for Miu's invention due to Its electric-like body can enter some kinds of machines and take control in order to make mischief. Now, what if Rotom takes control of Miu's... "that kind of things" tools and make mischief with it? Yes, a good combination, i think. Also Rotom loves to surprise others, sometimes makes Miu annoyed of it. they would make a funny dynamic.

Tsumugi : Hisuian Zoroark, actually IDK if hisuian already made their appearance on pokemon masters but, I think it would be deathly pair to her, as you know Hisuian Zoroark with its disheveled white fur, it looks like an embodiment of death. Heedless of its own safety, Zoroark attacks its nemeses with a bitter energy so intense, it lacerates Zoroark’s own body. What i mean is.. it's intense bitter energy also can be interpreted as "despair".

Angie : Tapu Koko, Well.. Tapu Koko and Angie shares some similarity, they also can be scary too. I think

Kaede : Meoletta, I think i don't have to explain it.. Oh, Primarina would be great too. Kaede and Primarina will make a scary combo. because To Primarina, every battle is a stage. It takes down its prey with beautiful singing and dancing. It's also known as a songstress, it has a fantastical look on moonlit nights when it leads its colony in song.

I think... That's all. If you have any headcanons let me know! I'd love to hear it! ^^

#reddowind #ask reddo #danganronpa v3 #pokemon

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letstrywritingmaybe · 2 years

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ily especially since you’ve been so supportive of my comfort ship. So I’m gonna prompt you too even though you think you suck at it (I disagree btw) Day 15, choose your comfort ship. It’s for comfortember after all (:

Marcy I love you 🥺🥺🥺 I’m obsessed with your Trentney verse btdubs. Like you for real could convert me. They’re so soft! Like my comfort ship <3

Day 15- A Quiet Moment

The silence stretches between them, it doesn’t feel awkward rather, a much needed recharge after all the stress from today. While some may feel the need to run about and confirm they’re still alive, they would rather sit in the dark together to gaze upon the stars. They should get going soon, lest the detective begins to worry, but neither of them can be bothered. Content to staying put far far away from all the noise.

Her arms are wrapped around her knees, her heart rate slowly going back to normal. Talk about a close call. She would’ve died if he didn’t step in. The Phantom Thief making his grand appearance as he swoops her into his arms, the heat from the explosion blazing from behind. The feeling of falling from the skyscraper, tumbling down with a force enough to take her breath away. Gazing into his shimmering blues he tells her he has her, with a quick flick of his wrists, his ever trusty hang glider opens up taking them to safety. Allowing the gentle autumn breeze to carry them away from all the chaos.

He wasn’t a part of the plan, but she’s grateful nonetheless. She isn’t sure how he managed to find her, he just always seem to turn up at the perfect moment.

He isn’t looking at her, his eyes cast upon the midnight sky. Until he feels her stare, directing his attention onto her. He expects her to turn away with a blush, she does no such thing. He smiles, he should know better than to think he could predict her actions.

Face to face with no one around them for miles, marking the perfect opportunity for them to trade secrets and demand answers. Yet neither of them utter a single word. Those looming questions hanging over their head. Both trying to read the other’s mind instead of communicating them out loud.

Eventually her guard drops, fatigue setting in, her eyes are struggling to stay open. She does the unthinkable, leaning her head on his shoulder. He tenses for a fraction of a second, before readjusting to accommodate her weight. She’s too thin, she must be unintentionally starving herself again. Always too immersed in her work. One of those bad habits she has yet to quit. The urge to hold her in his arms arises, to tell her to rest and protect her from all that harm that’s yet to come. He knows he isn’t the only one who feels this way.

The static from the Detective Boys’ badge crackles, the voice is distorted. Breaking up every other word, but Kaito recognizes it. Her detective must be going crazy trying to find her. It’s time to return her to him.

He starts to call for her, but she shakes her head. “Just another moment.” She closes her eyes, hand resting on the space that exists between them. He reaches for her, intertwining their fingers together. She opens her eyes, surprised at the contact.

“Kaito…”

He interrupts her, “just for a minute.”

He squeezes her hand, she nods, resting her head back on his shoulder. The silence stretches between them. A quiet moment away from their reality. A reminder of what they’re fighting for.

#kaishi #comfortember 2022 #let’s try filling prompts maybe?#cynple replies #as per usual I can’t write long things #this should’ve been fluffier… oops. my brain is still kinda stuck on devour

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llycaons · 3 months

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hey, thank you for replying to my ask about sam reid and for engaging so respectfully. i typed all this out and then saw you turned off anon messages so using a throwaway, feel free to delete if that’s not okay w/ you or reply publicly/privately idm. i’ll try to argue why my take on what he said is different. firstly i think it’s normal that he’d be fixated on lestat’s feelings when that’s obviously the character he plays and it’s his job to get inside his head and access those emotions. like he will naturally have a sympathetic approach to the character just like assad does with armand, jacob with louis etc. he’s probably put the most thought into how all these things make lestat feel since that informs his performance.

secondly, i don’t interpret what he says as “the abuse wasn’t as bad as louis remembers”, he says that one specific part of the abuse *probably* wasn’t as violent as he says which i think lines up with what the revisit showed. but i don’t believe that abuse being less violent = less bad. all abuse is bad. i don’t see where he implies that this makes what he did more acceptable. the whole point of lestat’s apology during the trial was that it doesn’t.

as a survivor and as someone who has researched abuse, i also feel like SR saying that it was driven by love is not an excuse or downplaying it. lestat *does* love louis and he still abused him. love and abuse aren’t mutually exclusive and i’d even say that abuse is more likely to occur in relationships where there is love present. love can manifest in toxic ways such as through controlling and violent behaviour and it doesn’t make it okay. abusers can be otherwise loving or romantic people and that’s why their victims often struggle to leave them. they aren’t inhuman monsters incapable of love and i think a lot of people buying into this contributes to stigma associated with victims staying with their abusers. i don’t understand why SR saying it comes from a place of love is alarming — the intention or motivation does not matter, the impact is what matters. and the whole purpose behind these interviews is for him to *explain* why lestat does stuff. and lestat abuses louis because he was also abused and he doesn’t know how to love in a healthy way. it’s still abuse and it’s a unacceptable.

i’d also say that while yes, he’s questioning the testimony of a survivor, he’s doing so of a fictional character whose memories we are being encouraged to question so i don’t think this is a no-go the way it would be in real life. he’s not saying that louis is purposefully distorting events. that being said, you definitely raise some interesting points re: whether lestat truly sees his actions as unforgivable… i think lestat is probably just a hypocrite and logically knows what he did was irredeemable but he’ll never stop wanting louis’ forgiveness and love anyway. last thing re: the trial, i personally think we’re supposed to take his apology sincerely rather than as another part of the sham, and i also think it’ll be revealed that he either a) wasn’t willingly involved in the trial or b) was secretly working against the coven to try and save louis/claudia, but that’s speculation at this point.

idk. sorry this is so long, i’m not trying to change your mind, just wanted to get this off my chest. i’ve read a range of views on twitter and that tumblr you linked already — ty for sharing that anyway though. i think their commentary on fandom racism is important and i did send them a message sharing some of these ideas but didn’t get a response back (which is fine). i think ultimately i agree SR should word things more carefully going forwards even though i’m sure he assumes his audience is like… not racists who condone abuse. or people that see only him as authority and not the rest of the cast and creators. but thank you for your thoughtful reply. i know it’s a sensitive subject and i appreciate it. truly

hi again, anon. I'll put this under a cut since it's already a bit long. much to think about! but I have some time today and I do have counterarguments so, sure

firstly i think it’s normal that he’d be fixated on lestat’s feelings when that’s obviously the character he plays and it’s his job to get inside his head and access those emotions. like he will naturally have a sympathetic approach to the character.

true! it's entirely understandable for an actor to want to get inside his character's head, feel for him, see how he works, etc. lestat is a horrible person, but SR still does need to feel him as a complex individual to play him well, which he does. HOWEVER that doesn't translate to answering interview questions in-character as if lestat's perspective is the objective truth.

secondly, i don’t interpret what he says as “the abuse wasn’t as bad as louis remembers”, he says that one specific part of the abuse probably wasn’t as violent as he says which i think lines up with what the revisit showed.

I genuinely do not know what this is referring to. the ep5 fight? if anything. lestat's retelling makes it MORE violent on the whole because it includes louis fighting back. I am quite puzzled as to what both you and SR refer to. and the 'revisit' wasn't the objective truth either, as you seem to be taking it. lestat's version is lestat's version, which is a twisted and obviously exaggerated version he was telling a WHITE audience to get them to condemn louis and claudia to death. the revisit may have had elements of truth, but it was not, and was not meant to be, taken as objective fact. even though some white fans...apparently missed the point entirely...even though they're literally the white audience being commented on...okay

but i don’t believe that abuse being less violent = less bad. all abuse is bad. i don’t see where he implies that this makes what he did more acceptable. the whole point of lestat’s apology during the trial was that it doesn’t.

I mean, that's technically true, but that's not an interpretation that most people will go with? compared with armand, the majority of lestat's abuse was violent. any hint that it was less so makes him seem better, and I cannot believe that you don't see that implication. of course all abuse was bad, but louis wasn't subjected to all abuse equally with lestat. sorry but I really can't agree with this one. it really seems like you've got a certain read you're quite convinced of, but we can't know what SR is actually implying. and anyone would know by common sense that less violent WOULD imply less bad when it comes to lestat so he should know how his audience would take this, especially since lestat in the trial constantly downplayed his own physical violence in order to make himself seem like the victim

I do think the points you raise about lestat holding genuine love for louis are absolutely true and valid, worth keeping in mind, but still I find how SR blends his statements as an actor understanding his character, and as a character himself, to the audience to be irresponsible at best and inflammatory to the audience we've previously discussed at worst.

another good point...I just feel like the fact that SR, a living human with authority stating things from his white abusive character's perspective as if they're are meant to be taken as facts, is still subjected to critique. like outside of the fictional setting of the story entirely, that's a bad move

last thing re: the trial, i personally think we’re supposed to take his apology sincerely rather than as another part of the sham, and i also think it’ll be revealed that he either a) wasn’t willingly involved in the trial or b) was secretly working against the coven to try and save louis/claudia, but that’s speculation at this point.

we have the benefit of hindsight to address this point. I personally still can't tell if it was sincere...whether it was scripted. I kind of think it WAS because santiago got so mad and as you correctly predicted, he ended up saving louis! it certainly seemed sincere but man, I don't trust like that...

ultimately - for sure, a lot of food for thought, I'm conflicted myself about a lot of iwtv, BUT. it's very important to remember that race and racism, specifically antiblack racism (lest we forget the caricatures and stereotypes at the trial) simply has to be as important in this conversation as abuse and ipv is, and I don't want to forget that in this conversation either. and there's so many brilliant users on here analyzing the show through that lens and talking about the show's racist fanbase more generally, and those inappropriate comments from SR more specifically - people in the notes, but also people in my own notes who I rb from, though I don't feel comfortable @ing anyone in particular. like I said before, I'd encourage listening to what they have to say too. the gayv club trial episode recap just dropped and I've got to reccommend it - free for all, not just patrons! only halfway through but I'm really enjoying their commentary

lasty, I can tell this topic means a lot to you, but it means a lot to many people who haven't just experienced and researched abuse, but antiback racism as well, so I hope you can respect why people, especially people of color, find SR's comments worrisome. I don't know him. I don't know if I CAN give him the benefit of the doubt. I can't be sure about any of his assumptions or goals. whatever his intentions, he said what he said. and as you yourself said, the impact is what matters

and I really don't think he needs the amount of defense you've been putting so much energy into. he's a very successful white adult actor and lestat is an extremely popular character. he will be fine. a few posts with barely any notes criticizing his choice of words will never touch him. have you considered why you're feeling so defensive of him, and whether it's entirely to do with the content of his words, which you've interpreted so specifically and carefully to be exactly what you'd like them to mean? I'm also not sure why my opinion, specifically, means so much to you. if we're mutuals I hope you'd understand why I have no desire to defend a rich white man like this, and why I'm erring on the side of caution here. and I'll just reiterate the absolute absurdity of trying to analyze these dynamics, or this show, or this fanbase, through only a lens of abuse.

oh and I said before I don't mind answering a burner account, and it's certainly less intimidating than anon, but I'm still putting quite a lot of thought and effort into debating someone who is still an anonymous stranger, so I would prefer not to have any more asks like this. like this was all from a single observation I made about (at least) a very poor choice of words, and I never expected to be needing to tell someone 'you know, you should really take race into account, and listen to poc, in analyzing a white actor commenting on his abusive character in a show that deals so heavily with race, especially with such a racist fandom', none of which you've mentioned in your response at all, so yeah some of the points you made were genuinely insightful, but ultimately I still think SR really screwed up in his word choice, I say again please seek insight and perspectives from users of color, and I'd like to leave it there. thanks

#asks #baroquette #abuse tw #whew.

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positivlyfocused · 2 years

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Men Are Losing Their Minds. That’s A Good Thing

I love how All That Is is taking men in the direction of their evolution. It’s great seeing them struggle with identities that, frankly, could have been cast away long ago.

But since we’re all eternal, men, like the rest of us, have all the time in the Universe. Some men are kicking and screaming while the Universe drags them into a better future. A future better for the rest of us, and for the men too.

This is not to say all men have been problems. Many men, the early adopters, already evolved. Today we’re seeing bell curve men evolve. That big bulge of men in the middle of the Normal Distribution are getting a clue. Women know who these men are. So do people of color. And it’s not just white men getting clued in.

That’s another thing I love about All That Is. It happens simultaneously in the the Moment of Becoming, creating more of that which I want to see. There, every person, every living thing, gets exactly what it needs. Every moment serves our collective evolution. It’s odd though that humans resist that evolution, while everything else merrily goes along with it.

Two stories I read recently illustrate men’s progress. One describes how lonely men are. The other talked about men’s changing role in society, especially now that women enjoy greater workplace prominence, larger incomes and responsibility. Such advances, the article says, are upending male role expectations.

Today’s societies and workplaces no longer depend on male brawn to accomplish things, says one article. Income opportunities over time have shifted from blue collar, labor intensive work, to Health, Education, Administrative and Literacy (HEAL) and STEM jobs. Jobs which women can do as well as, if not better than, men.

Finding their place

As a result, more women fill workplace positions than ever before, especially in STEM and HEAL positions. Their numbers triggered better pay for women too, often making them breadwinners of their families. Something men once believed was their main purpose in life.

Not any more.

All this challenges male self-image, this idea that somehow men should rule because they are better breadwinners. That idea was always an illusion. All That Is has always been about cooperationamong ALL THINGS. Not only between men and women, but also between humans and animals. The ancient ritual of providing food proves this.

Ancient man knew animals played a key part in their hunting success. It was less about men’s hunting prowess, taking their kill from nature, and much more about the ceremonial and actual cooperation between human and animal. Ancient hunters knew when, for example, a buffalo offered itself to become food for humans, that that buffalo’s act played as important a role as the hunter’s skill.

Men have had it wrong for centuries and in many ways continue getting it wrong about their place. That’s caused many problems for men, women, children and society at large. Some of those problems are dire today. Thankfully men are finally getting the message. That’s a great thing.

Thankfully too, we still have plenty of time to right civilization and distortions many humans still hold about reality as accurate that actually aren’t accurate at all. Remember, we’re all eternal. Time is not running out.

Many men already understand their role in life isn’t about being some overlord over others, especially women. But there still are a lot of men who pine for that fictional status.

Thankfully, All That Is is patient in its instruction. That patience is finally paying off.

#positive thinking #positive life #positive thoughts #positiveenergy #positivemindset #positivity #happiness #spiritualjourney #spiritualgrowth #spiritualpath #spiritual life #positively focused #law of attraction #manifestation

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minor-solemnity · 3 years

Note

i don't know if this counts as a request but just makeup sex!! the way you wrote smut in curiosity was so good!

This definitely counts as a request haha! Thank you so much, I hope you like it!

2.8k of (a little) plot and more smut :)

Tag List: @jinxqsu @cakesarecute @naps-and-lemons @mainlynonsense @riddles-wifey

Game Theory

“Don’t make a scene,” Tom whispers in your ear and you’re still shivering but it’s not only from the cold anymore. He leads you away from the ruckus, his hand never leaving your back, his gaze focused determinedly on the castle. Any thought you had about finding Frasier is replaced by the desperate need you suddenly feel to make sure that Tom never stops touching you again.

Hogwarts is hosting a festival for a comet. You’re not sure why a comet deserves a festival - something to do with an ancient prophecy allegedly made by Rowena Ravenclaw. The night shall bow to fire and the school shall stand strong. It’s all very poetic. Regardless, Hogwarts is celebrating the passing of the comet over the school and you have to admit that the grounds look beautiful. Tiny replica comets made of bluebell flames dance above your head, marble statues of famous astronomers and seers stand proud in the tall grass, and garlands of lotus flowers, yellow jasmine, and, more strangely, parsley are strewn everywhere. Further down, there is a sectioned off area for dancing where tinkling music can be heard drifting over the light breeze. The small rowing boats that usually carry the first years over to Hogwarts are adorned with tiny glowing lights, ready to take you and the rest of the school across the lake to see the comet blaze across the dark sky when the time comes.

You feel like you’ve walked into a fairy circle, not the grounds that you’ve come to know so well over the years. You stand there, at the doors to the castle surveying the scene before you with a sense of excitement and anticipation. Students are milling around, enjoying the music and the food. You can spy a few of your friends drifting about and you make a note to say hello when you get the opportunity. If you get the opportunity.

Because… because you’ve done something pretty stupid. You’ve gone and found yourself a date and as it turns out, Frasier Rowle is… well he’s handsome. Which was why you’d started dropping hints a few weeks ago. But he’s also brimming with undeserved arrogance and entitlement. He’s possessive too, and petulant. You’d found that out the hard way when you’d apparently hugged Charlie a little too tightly for Frasier’s liking and he’d sulked for a week straight. No, Frasier doesn’t like other people playing with his toys and in any other circumstance, you would have rolled your eyes and dumped him for his childishness.

These are not normal circumstances though. You'd needed a date for the festival because if you didn’t then you’d have lost. Well. Sort of. There’s no game being played, certainly not officially at any rate. But still, you don’t lose games official or unofficial. It’s a rule you have for yourself. You like winning. Simple.

So, you smile demurely at Frasier and ignore the way his black dress robes wash out his pale eyes and pale hair (you wished he’d opted for the blue as you’d suggested) and offer him your hand. He takes it, holding it a little too tightly as you descend the steps to the party below. You feel the weight of his gaze even though you can’t see him. You ignore it. You pretend you don’t know you’re being watched as you twist your arm through Frasier’s and when he kisses your cheek, you pretend you don’t care that Frasier’s breath is a little sour from whatever he ate at dinner.

Charming. You’re charming and funny and flirty and Frasier is proud to have you as a date. You can see it in the way that he all but parades you around in front of his friends. The tell-tale prickling on the back of your neck tells you that he’s still watching. Which means you’re still winning. So you smile and laugh and stay close to Frasier even when he and his friends start talking about the internships and jobs their wealthy and connected parents have secured them. Frasier is apparently going straight into the DMLE even though his grades suggest a role as shop assistant would be far more suited to his capabilities.

“-like I always say, it’s not a bad thing to be better than other people.” Frasier’s voice cuts through your thoughts and your smile turns slightly strained. Because it isn’t a bad thing to be better. But Frasier Rowle simply isn’t. He reminds you of one of those expensive eclairs that your mother sometimes brings home when you have cause for celebration: beautifully decorated and full of air. “Isn’t that right?” His elbow digs into your ribs and for a second you stop smiling. He frowns expectantly.

“Of course. You’re completely right.” You say and carefully extricate yourself from his arms. Deciding to date Frasier had been a stupid decision on your part. In all honesty, you find him incredibly distasteful but… But he serves a purpose. And you’ll be damned if you don’t see this through. “If you’ll excuse me for just a moment, I’ll get us some drinks?” He nods and you make a hasty (but not too hasty, you wouldn’t want anyone watching to get the impression that you’re eager to leave) departure.

You’re standing at the drinks table, pretending to decide between a flute of sparkling apple juice or pumpkin juice (why wasn’t wine an option?) when he slides in next to you. Tom looks horribly good. His dark hair is parted neatly, falling in delicate waves across his forehead and the soft glow from the bluebell flames throw his aristocratic features into sharp relief. You note, with no small amount of irritation, that Tom, unlike Frasier, looks devastatingly good in black. His robes are perfectly cut and look soft and inviting in the way that expensive things often do. You imagine that they’re a gift from Malfoy or one of his other cronies.

“Rowle then. That’s who you’ve decided to degrade yourself with.” Straight to the point then. Well, good. This is the only reason you’ve been putting up with Frasier for all these weeks, after all. You cast a sideways glance in Tom’s direction and are aggravated to see that, despite the jealousy lacing his words, he looks entirely at ease. Like he’s just asked you about the decor or the weather or last week’s arithmancy test.

“I’d hardly call dating Frasier degrading myself. He’s been offered a very important position in the DMLE, don’t you know?” You reply archly. He raises an eyebrow in response and you purse your lips primly, as though you don’t share his exact thoughts on Frasier’s future Ministry job. You turn to him then, taking in the darkness of his eyes, the hollows of his cheeks, the almost imperceptible clench of his jaw. Something that feels like it could be triumph settles in your stomach. Tom is a master of controlling his emotions, but even he has his tells. “More to the point, why do you care?”

He doesn’t answer right away and really, you don��t expect him to. Why does he care? You aren’t sure he even knows the answer to that himself. All you know is that after a year of meeting him in alcoves and abandoned classrooms, you can’t stand to be a secret anymore. And he can’t seem to stand the idea of holding your hand in public. “I’m merely surprised. You’re reasonably intelligent and he is... Well, let’s just say it’s a good thing his family is so well connected.”

“Reasonably intelligent? If it weren’t for you, I’d be top of the year,” You say indignantly. He smirks that you realise that maybe you should probably be defending Frasier’s intellect. “And I find mine and Frasier’s conversations incredibly... stimulating, if you must know. It’s really quite nice to get such a fresh perspective on certain issues. No pointless arguments because he’s too stubborn to realise what he could lose.” You smile innocently as his posture grows taught and his lips thin.

“Oh look, your security troll is coming to collect you,” Tom says dispassionately, eyeing Frasier who has spotted you and now making his way steadily over. You scoff.

“Oh please, Frasier is hardly a troll. He’s much too-” whiny, self-important, weak “-small.” Something dangerously close to a laugh escapes Tom’s lips and a pang of sadness and anger and longing twists in your gut. It’s far too easy to fall into your regular routine of barbed comments and sly humour with Tom. It reminds you of the other conversations too, the secrets and confessions that seem to spill from you both whenever you let your guard down for long enough. Whatever. He doesn’t want that. Doesn’t want you. Not enough for you to be satisfied anymore. You shoot him a smile, insincere and caustic, “Besides, maybe I like having someone who cares enough about me to see who I’m spending time with.”

He frowns, only for a second, and that’s the only sign you get that your words have affected him before his expression clears and he looks as impassive and impenetrable as ever. Frasier appears and it doesn’t take a genius to realise that he’s unhappy. He looks between you and Tom with a suspicious sneer distorting his features. “I was wondering what was taking you so long. But I should have known, it’s so sweet of you, darling, to be so charitable with your time.” You tense at the thinly veiled insult about Tom’s humble beginnings before you mechanically pass your date his drink. He wraps an arm around your shoulders in a, quite frankly, terribly insecure show of machismo. You smile up at him and refuse to look back at Tom as he leads you away.

***

Night has well and truly fallen and you’re silently bemoaning the fact that your dress robes have short sleeves whilst you try futilely not to shiver. Frasier hasn’t noticed; he’s busy talking about his future or quidditch or the funny thing his house-elf did last summer or some other entirely inane thing with his friends. His hand is curved around your waist and you’re fairly sure it’s for Tom’s benefit. This, at least, makes you somewhat pleased. But still, you’re cold, you’re bored, you haven’t been able to talk to your friends at all, and you’re wishing desperately that it was Tom’s arms around you.

It seems as though your scheming has not gone to plan. Well, no. The plan had been to make Tom jealous and you’re fairly sure you’ve accomplished that. But still, you somehow feel as though you’ve lost. At the sound of a loud chime, a hush falls across the festival and the Headmaster announces that you have thirty minutes before the comet is scheduled to pass overhead. Immediately, the professors begin to coral students towards the lake and a crowd of eager teenagers starts to form around you, pushing forwards to get to the boats. Frasier’s hand slips from your waist and you get separated in the rush. You’re about to reach forward to try and grab him when a large, warm hand touches your lower back. You freeze because you know that touch. Know those hands. Intimately.

You’re not that easy though. You’ve been denying yourself what you want for weeks at this point. You can carry on for another few minutes. “Where are you taking me?” You ask and you’re quite proud that you sound demanding, maybe a little petulant. As though you wouldn’t follow him wherever he decided to take you. Judging by the shrewd glance Tom sends your way, he can see right through the protests forming on your tongue.

“You’ll see soon enough.” He pushes you inside the castle and suddenly the noise and commotion of the festival feel very far away. The quietness of the empty castle seems to envelop the two of you, creating an almost stifling atmosphere that you somehow can’t quite bring yourself to break. Tom drags his gaze over you, drinking in every change in your expression, every shift of your body. You feel vulnerable and raw and seen. Slowly, he raises his hands and runs them up your arms. You’re skin, still cold from the night suddenly feels like it's on fire. “You’re cold.” You nod. “I would have expected better from someone of your date’s impeccable breeding,” Tom murmurs it like it’s an insult. You frown and are about to ask what he means when he shrugs out of his robes and drapes the heavy fabric across your shoulders. He smiles then, slow and possessive and pleased.

The errant embers of desire that have been burning in your chest since he first touched you spark brighter and fiercer. He takes you by the shoulders and holds you close as he leads you further into the castle, the press of his chest against your back, the pressure of his fingers on your skin a tantalising promise of more to come. “You know, I was rather looking forward to the comet. A once in a lifetime event, I’m told.” And well… You still sound petulant, maybe even a little bratty but also breathy and excited and oh, oh, Tom’s humming deep and low in your ear, maybe a little amused, maybe a little endeared and his fingers press a little harder and he quickens his pace as though he wants - needs - this just as badly as you do.

He carries you the last few steps up to the astronomy tower. No sooner have you made it to your destination than he is pressing you against the wall of the tower, one hand gripping your waist tightly the other moving to cup your jaw, his fingers spread across your throat and you gasp and-

Wrap your arms around his neck, pull him closer, moan into his mouth when he finally kisses you. There isn’t a metaphor or simile that describes the fervour he kisses you with. He’s demanding and desperate in the way his lips slant across yours, tasting and searching and you yield. You yield so quickly it would be embarrassing if you weren’t so hot with want and need and desire. You angle your body more closely to his and relish in the hard press of his chest, the way his hand slides from your waist to your hips then back to your waist like he can’t quite decide where he wants to touch you. You can feel the unmistakable hard outline of his cock against your hip and you grind upwards, unthinking, lost in a haze of pleasure and the feeling of his lips biting kisses along your jaw.

You unwind your arms from his neck and reach his belt but are stopped when he takes a step back, his hands moving to grip your wrists before you can continue. You feel unmoored and can’t quite help the whine that escapes your lips. When your gaze finally focuses, you see him watching you, his already dark eyes are practically black, pupils blown, his lips are swollen and wet, and his breathing is ragged. “Does he do this to you?” He asks, his usually smooth voice rough with emotion.

When you don’t say anything, he smirks, and, holding both your wrists in one hand, slowly, teasingly drags his other up the inside of your thigh. You’re helpless to stop him as he dips his fingers down into your underwear and curls two inside you. He teases you with long strokes, using his thumb to brush against your clit until you’re trembling and gasping and pleading. “Can he make you lose control like I can?” His voice is dangerously low and he’s watching you closely, never quite giving you what you want.

It’s torture.

It’s bliss.

“Please, please, please,” You chant under your breath, a steady stream of words and preyers that aren’t all decipherable. “Please, Tom, you know he can’t. You know it’s only you, please, please.” His face goes slack with desire and just as quickly as he’d pulled away he’s pressing closer to you again, kissing you hard.

His thigh nudges your legs wider apart and you hook one leg around his waist relishing in the pressure and friction this new angle affords you. You hear the zip of his trousers and then the tip of his cock against your folds as he aligns himself and, “Ohh, please, Tom, I need-”

Your senses are overwhelmed by his smell, his touch, his quiet grunts of exertion as he sets a rather punishing pace. He’s mumbling promises and praise and curses into the crook of your neck and you squeeze your eyes shut as his fingers move in sloppy rhythm against your clit, adding just the right amount of friction that has you gasping obscenities into his ear.

The pressure in your lower stomach builds and builds until finally your orgasm crests over you. He’s holding you tighter still, riding you through it until you collapse against him, shuddering through the aftershocks. He follows you soon after, his body growing tense, his grip on your hip so tight it’s almost painful, your name on his tongue.

Afterwards, you curl up against him, his robes (you were right: they’re soft and warm and expensive) wrapped around you both. Tom strokes your hair almost absently as you watch the sky as Ravenclaw’s comet streaks past, bright and bold and so beautiful that it almost takes your breath away. Almost. “I want you to take me on a date. And hold my hand in public.” You say. Request. Demand.

He laughs and pulls you closer, “If that’s what it takes to keep you from embarrassing yourself with the likes of Rowle, I’d be happy to oblige.”

#tom riddle #tom riddle x oc #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x reader #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle imagines #tom riddle fic #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle fanfic #minific #prompt fic #prompt fill #prompt #asks #requests #anon #tom riddle smut

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daisybeewrites · 3 years

Text

July — d.j.

for @dreamcxtcherr ‘s 3k writing challenge. congrats lena!!

word count: 1.8k

warnings: mention of car crash/death, mention of alcohol consumption, daisy cries, i think thats it lmk if not!!

ship: R x daisy johnson

okay y’all… first ever anggstttttt!!! i’m way too excited about it. if you want a fully immersive experience, i recommend listening to july by noah cyrus slowed + reverb

(gif uncredited on pinterest (ugh, i hate that. credit a gif if you use it!! im trying to find the owner)) update — found owner

It was another mission. Another nightmarish fire-fight where you almost lost a limb, almost lost a friend, almost lost your life. Twenty-four hours later and you’re back home, safe.

Well, as safe as you can be when your engagement is on the verge of breaking off.

You stare at the simple ring on your left hand. White gold band, a tiny amethyst set to the left of a diamond. There was a nearly identical one lying next to the sink, the only difference being the switched places of the glittering gems.

You know she didn’t do it purposefully. You had both been exhausted after what was supposed to be an in-and-out mission turned into a hostage situation. Daisy did what she always did as soon as you were home — take off her gauntlets, wash her hands in the sink, grab a snack, and hop into a steaming shower.

But you still can’t stop yourself from staring at it, eyes fixed, hands shaking, breath held and mind racing.

You used to join her. You would wash each other’s hair, ease each other’s sore muscles with delicate touches on tender purple-black bruises. She would lean into you, letting you braid her hair and falling asleep in your arms, drifting into a deep slumber. It was intimate, lovely; it was normal and perfect.

Taking a sip of your room-temperature beer, you slide off the cool granite of the kitchen island. You had a new routine after missions now, you just had to get used to it.

You hear the shower shut off, bare feet pad into your cosy bedroom, and the door shut with a loud creak. The minute squeak of the mattress tells you that Daisy flopped into bed.

A ghost of a smile lights your face. It looks more like a grimace, you think, as you check your distorted reflection in the green glass of your beer bottle. Chucking the empty bottle in the recycling, you run a hand through your dirty, salty hair. The comfy sweats you changed into an hour ago would need to be washed, the dirt still adorning your skin rubbing off on the black material. You exhale before heading down the hall towards the bathroom.

The tiled room is filled with steam, the mirror fogged up so that only a blurry outline of your silhouette could be seen. You are unrecognizable.

How fitting.

The quick, cold shower you take does nothing to ease your mind or body. You wipe the mirror in a circle, taking out a first aid kit.

With all your cuts bandaged and the proper creams Jemma had snuck to you and Daisy applied to your fresh bruises, you headed into the hallway in your towel.

Daisy is standing in the kitchen, lilac lounge shorts you bought her last Christmas showing off her tanned and scarred legs. She looks warm and soft, a very different Daisy than the superhero who had broken a mob boss’ legs just hours before. Her hair is wet and in braids. You frown. You always braid her hair.

If she hears you, she doesn’t turn around, so you take a moment to admire her. Ten seconds, that’s all you give yourself. It was a stressful mission, if you stare too long she might snap. From the back, you can’t see the dark circles you know are there, but you can see the tension in her shoulders and the slight tilt of her head as she ponders what to eat.

You say nothing as you go to the bedroom to change. You find a black pair of SHIELD sweats and an old, holey t-shirt you vaguely remember stealing from Fitz. A presence at the doorway catches your attention.

“Hi,” Daisy says tentatively. Your breath caught in your throat, your lungs holding the air captive until Daisy spoke again.

“I missed you.”

Your eyes widened. Maybe tonight wouldn’t end with one of you on the couch, clutching a six pack while the other cried as quietly as possible, tucked into cold, lonely sheets.

“Braiding my hair, I mean,” She clarified. Her fingers twisted together, rigid posture giving away her nerves.

The air felt humid, as if the open window had suddenly sucked all the AC out and let the mid-summer heat in. Your memory flashes to the last time you and Daisy had a normal, happy conversation.

The edges are fuzzy, but the pure joy in Daisy’s chocolate eyes is clear. Fairy lights strung haphazardly around the living room, a movie playing in the background, your lips on hers. Blankets make a ceiling over your head that shut out the rest of the world, this moment was only for you two. You played with the thin metal band on her ring finger, she ran her hands through her hair. Her matching ring scratched your scalp lightly. You both smile as you pull away. You whisper childhood stories, laugh at the funny parts and offer melancholic smiles at the not-so-lighthearted parts. You were happy.

That night you got the call — Lincoln Campbell, yours and Daisy’s best friend, had wrapped his car around a telephone pole coming off of a long shift at the hospital. His blood alcohol was almost .40.

Eggshells littered the house from the time you got back from the funeral. One wrong word, Daisy would snap and spend hours punching a bag until her fingers bled. You would fill those hours with whatever was closer — wine or your car keys. You pulled yourself out of your head, realizing you should answer her.

“I missed it, too,” You breathed.

Daisy made a small, unintelligible noise before collapsing against the door frame. You froze for only a second, your mind racing through possibilities. Was she bleeding internally? Was it her back again? Did she get shot and not notice until now?

You leap over to her, catching her as she crumbles to the hardwood floor.

A quiet sob wracks her chest. Your hands hover over her slouched back, unsure how to comfort her. At this moment, Daisy feels foreign. Her sudden vulnerability alerts you to how she’s been holding her emotions in for god knows how long.

“Daisy…” You start, hesitantly.

Daisy hiccups loudly, another wave of tears washing over her.

“Tell me to leave, I’ll pack my bags,” Daisy cried, “But I don’t, I-I don’t want to lose you!”

Burning tears gather on your lash line, threatening to fall at her words. You never could stand to see Daisy cry.

Your brows furrow slightly in confusion before you realize what Daisy is talking about. After Lincoln’s death, you two had fought increasingly more often until Daisy locked herself away or spent the night at May’s, and you went for drives until your car ran on empty. On those nights, bottles of wine disappeared from the cabinet without a trace.

Daisy sits up, stamping down her sobs, seemingly resigning herself to the fact that you aren’t going to say anything. Her trembling lip and red eyes pierce your heart. The astronomical distance between you two seems atomic now. You reach out quicker than lightning, shushing her cries and rubbing her back.

“Do you want to go?” You asked after a while. Your knees dig uncomfortably into the floor, your shoulder hurts from the ridges in the doorframe.

Daisy sniffles, her hair falling into her face as she looks away. You crane your neck down, carefully tucking her hair behind her ear.

“You know I’m afraid of change, I guess that’s why we’ve stayed the same,” You sigh, your chest constricting and squeezing the broken glass pieces of your heart.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself to continue, “But if you want to find a new life, someone who loves you better than I do, darling, I understand.”

Daisy is still frozen, stare burning holes in the floor. You’re glad that the two of you are at home, the poly-tectic adaptive materials hidden between the walls keeping the house from collapsing. By the slight groan of the foundation, you can imagine Daisy could bring down a mountain with the amount of pain she’s in.

Which can only mean one thing.

“I’m not enough,” You stated. It wasn’t a question. You glance down, a glint in the low light cast from the lamp on the bedside table catching your eye. She has her ring on…

Daisy finally, finally shakes her head ‘no’. You let go of a breath, guilt building every second that passes. She isn’t happy. You shouldn’t be happy that she’s staying.

“Feels like a lifetime, we’ve been trying to get by while we’re dying inside,” You say, gently.

Daisy snaps her eyes to yours, a desperation in them you recognize as grief.

“So much of the past year has been consumed by grief. We never took time off, we never talked about it. I’ve done a lot of things wrong, loving you being one,” She whispers.

You nod, there is no denying that you each had a part in getting to where you are now. Delicately, you grab her hand. She squeezes it, a rush of small vibrations traveling up your arm. Your chest flutters at the familiar affection.

“So have I,” You assure her. She gradually falls towards you, exhausted. You let her rest her head on your shoulder, her breath evening out as her arms wrap around you. You feel hot tears flow down your face, fall onto her hair. Slowly, you pull Daisy closer to you.

Hours later, the sun peeks over the top of the mountain range in the distance. You had adjusted the two of you sometime around two a.m., no longer able to feel your legs from how the floor cut off your circulation.

Sometime around three, you had gathered the courage to move Daisy to the bed, trying hard not to wake her. She had only turned over and not let go of your hand.

You haven’t slept at all tonight, thoughts spinning until you force yourself to pause and count to ten, only to repeat the pattern.

You know what you have to do. You know what’s best for the both of you. You’ll leave, pack your bags and find a place to stay until you can scrape up enough money to rent an apartment. You’ll go to therapy, learn to live without Lincoln, without Daisy. Eventually, Daisy will heal, too. You both have the team at your backs, no matter what happens. She would be okay.

But you know you won’t. The fear of losing Daisy, of losing your life, your home, yourself stops you. You can’t move on. You can’t move forward.

You know that the big changes it takes to heal could cost you Daisy. So, you stay the same. You give into fear. You’ll never be enough, never love Daisy right, never quite heal fully — and neither will Daisy. But you still stay.

You’ll always stay the same.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ahhhh how was it? did you love it? any feedback? want more? put any thoughts/feelings/questions/concerns in the comments or my ask box!! i really enjoyed writing this and i hope you enjoyed reading it even more!!

<<3

#daisy johnson x y/n #daisy johnson x reader #marvels aos #agents of s.h.i.e.l.d.#angst #fic #quake #ashby writes #dousy #lincoln cambell x daisy johnson #lincoln cambell x reader #mcu #bioquake #jemma simmons #gn!reader

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aurabird · 3 years

Text

Haunted Dreams

Sausage just wants to sleep...but trauma weighs heavy on the mind.

Tw: Nightmares, blood/violence, brief disassociation

Also on Ao3

---------------------

He walked through Mythland, a casual stroll through the streets of his empire to see it in all its restored glory now that he’d removed the corruption that had overun it. His citizens greeted him as he passed and he made a point to at least try and speak with as many of them as he could.

Then the sky grew dark, thunder echoing as lightning split the heavens and suddenly, the citizens around him were gone, as if they’d never been there to begin with.

Sausage knew what the storm meant and he ran; fear in his heart and panic in his mind. He needed to get away, he needed to hide. He was fooling himself, there was no hiding from the harbinger of the storm, no matter how much he wished there was.

He ducked into a building as he was inflicted with a blindness spell, cowering in a corner like a frightened animal. Maybe...maybe if he pretended they weren’t here like Joel did then they’d go away. Positive thinking right? That’s what Gem always told him.

“Hello, Sausage.” Xornoth said with a wicked grin as he came into view, “You and I have much to discuss.”

“No! G-Go away! I don’t work for you anymore!”

The demon laughed, “Oh Sausage, did you really think I’d leave you alone? You will never escape me!”

The next thing Sausage knew was been teleported, now on a netherbrick floor where familiar crimson tendrils were quick to bind him.

The blindness spell wore off and he felt his blood run cold. He knew where he was, he’d been here before when he was still under the influence of corruption. Even now he could almost hear the agonized cries and pleas of those he watched Xornoth torture...that he himself even tortured. Sausage could almost see Fwhip, Gem, and Kathrine bound and helpless, their blood still staining the ground.

“Its a new perspective isn’t it? Being on the receiving end of something you once enjoyed?” Xornoth questioned, twirling a dark, bloodied dagger in his hand as he walked “I cannot let your insolence go unpunished, Sausage.”

Suddenly, the demon was in front of him, its gaze meeting his own. “I wonder how easy you’ll be to break.”

Sausage jolted upright with a cry, pain radiating in his right arm. He quickly looked at it in panic, expecting to see pulsating crimson veins. Instead, all he saw were the web-like scars where corruption had once been seared in his flesh. His gaze followed them from where they started at his wrist, and ended right over his heart.

He grimaced at the permanent reminders of what he’d done and averted his gaze to the room he was in. It wasn’t a dungeon where he would be tortured, it was his bedroom...in his keep...in Mythland.

There was no storm outside, moonlight shining brightly through the window and casting a gentle glow on the floor and walls.

A nightmare...that’s all it’d been. A remnant of the trauma he’d gone through. Still, there was no going back to sleep, not after that. Maybe...maybe he could go on a midnight walk to clear his head?

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, going over to his wardrobe and grabbing a simple undershirt, pants, and a cloak. It was a casual attire, much different than what he would normally wear, but it’d work.

Once he was on the cobbled streets he began his walk. Mythland was stunning at night, lanterns lit the paths and fireflies flickered in the air. The sound of night wildlife was therapeutic as it was joined by his quiet footsteps.

The bleating of blood sheep made him smile, with the corruption tentacles gone the symbols of his empire’s culture had come out from hiding, no longer afraid.

All was fine until Sausage could have sworn he saw a shadow move in the darkness. When he turned to look, it was gone.

Just a nocturnal animal he told himself before continuing down the path towards one of the residential areas.

He’d helped design some of the houses here himself and the sight of them made him smile. Light shone dimly through closed windows, alerting him that the residents were safe.

Then, in one of the alleys, he caught sight of a shadow, but it disappeared seconds after he made eye contact with it. A stray dog or cat he thought, that was all, there was no one out on the streets at this hour other than him.

As he continued he noticed that the sounds of the night had gone quiet, his footsteps echoed by another set behind him. He turned, but saw no one, not even the particles of an invisibility potion.

He was tired, that was all. He was tired and just imagining things. He was alone out here...he should probably head back home to rest.

Countless times more on his way back did he swear he was hearing footsteps, close enough to be in earshot, yet far enough away to be unnerving. He also could have sworn the shadow he kept seeing was following him. He knew it was just paranoia, once he was back in bed he’d be fine.

Soon, his home came into view and he went inside, climbing the stairs back to his bedroom.

He discarded the cloak, hanging it on the railing to put away in the morning and made his way over to his bed, not even bothering to get undressed again.

As he passed the mirror by his wardrobe though he froze, the reflection in it drawing his attention out of the corner of his eye. The second he turned to look, he recoiled with a yelp.

In the glass was a man that looked like him, a man dressed in black and grey with piercing red eyes and black veins marring their skin that had a faint crimson light flickering underneath. A sinister grin crossed their face as their gaze met his own.

“Look at you.” his reflection began in a distorted version of his voice, “Pathetic and weak once more. You were so powerful Sausage, you were feared. Don’t you miss it? The strength flowing through your veins, the magic at your fingertips. You could have had so much more too, if you’d stayed.”

It clicked then who the reflection was, it was someone he never wanted to see again, someone that terrified him. “I’m not you. I’m not a puppet for someone to order around.”

His reflection vanished and for a moment, Sausage thought he’d beaten his subconscious. He’d been wrong as he felt a sword go through him, the blade dripping with ink black blood as it protruded from his chest.

“You’re right,” came the voice of his doppelganger once more, “Because I am what you should have been.”

The sword was yanked back out, and Sausage fell to the ground, hacking and sputtering as the life drained from his body.

“All I have to do, is kill you and take your place.”

The black blade of a corrupted netherite axe tore through the flesh of his neck.

Once more he awoke with a cry, his hands instantly flying up to his throat instinctively in panic. Once he realized that his head was still attached did he dare open his eyes.

Sunlight came through the window and lit up the room, birds sung outside and the wind rustled the leaves of trees. In the distance, he could hear the faint sounds of his people going about their lives.

Tears formed in his eyes and he began to cry, ugly sobs coming from his throat at what he’d witnessed in his nightmare.

Then it dawned on him...what if he was still asleep? What if he’d just passed into another part of the illusion his traumatized mind was inflicting upon him?!

What if...what if he wasn’t really in Mythland? What if he’d failed in the spirit realm and as punishment he was left to suffer a nightmare for eternity?!

Who was he? The King of Mythland? The servant of evil? The condemned spirit left to be forgotten by those he cared about?

The mental turmoil was maddening and Sausage clutched the sides of his head, “Stop...make it stop...” he pleaded quietly.

A knock on the door snapped him from his spiraling thoughts, bringing him back to what he hoped was reality.

“Sausage are you home? I know you said you wanted to rest but I’m worried about you.”

Gem’s voice was music to his ears and Sausage quickly regained his composure as best he could before heading down the stairs to open the door for her.

“Hey, Gem.” he said with what he hopped was a happy tone, he didn’t want to worry her any more.

The wizard’s smile faded, “Sausage you look horrible, I thought you said you were going to get some sleep and recover!”

“What are you talking about Gem? I feel perfectly fine!” he countered casually, “I’ve been resting like I said I would after all!.”

Gem wasn’t convinced, “Sausage, have you looked at yourself in the mirror?”

The question had been an innocent one, but the nightmare from the night before quickly flashed before him. “N-No, because I’m...I’m afraid of what I’ll see.” he admitted as he wrapped his arms around himself.

"What do you think you’ll see?”

Sausage grit his teeth, his body beginning to shake, “Him, Gem...the corrupted puppet of Xornoth...”

"He isn’t you, Sausage.”

“No...he’s not...” because he’s who I was supposed to be...

Gem broke the momentary silence that followed, “You’ve gone through a lot, Sausage and while I still don’t know if I can fully trust you yet, if you need to talk about anything then I’ll be right over alright?”

Sausage nodded and wrapped his arms around her just to make sure she was real and not another trick played by his mind, “Thank you.”

He had spent the next several days working, doing everything he could to keep himself from falling asleep, afraid of what would await him. He’d dozed off a few times and had found himself in several scenarios.

Sometimes it’d been in the arena, the other rulers falling to his blade over-and-over again, bathing him in their blood while he smiled in sadistic pleasure.

Sometimes he’d be running from a shadow that would always catch him, its claws digging into his mind to puppet him around once more

Sometimes he’d see the wicked grin of his twisted doppelganger as they drove a blade through him, their words poisoning his thoughts and filling him with doubt and fear.

Sometimes he’d be laying helpless as Xornoth tortured him. Trying countless painful methods to ensure that this time the corruption taking over his body would be permanent.

And when night fell he’d just lay in bed awake, guilt and trauma weighing heavy on his mind. The things he’d done were horrible and now that he was free, he would be hunted relentlessly by the one that had controlled him and the hybrid that still followed them.

Sausage was scared. He needed sleep...he needed help...

That had been the one word shakily scribbled onto the paper he’d tied around a raven’s leg before sending it to the Crystal Cliffs.

A knock on the door the following morning forced him to get out of bed and go to open it. Sausage’s movements were sluggish but he managed to succeed in his goal. Gem stood in the doorway, her expression morphing into a grimace once she saw the sorry sight he probably was. “Oh Sausage...what have you been doing to yourself...”

He collapsed into her, unable to hold back tears any longer, “I can’t sleep Gem! Every time I close my eyes the nightmares come, even if its just for a minute. Please Gem, sleeping potions...or even some kind of sleeping spell...just something, anything to help me fall asleep peacefully!”

Gem couldn’t think of any way to reply, only held the broken person in her arms.

“How about we get you inside? See what we can do?”

A distressed but agreeing sound came from Sausage and Gem helped maneuver him upstairs and back into his bed. The Mythland king looked terrible, his clothes disheveled and his face pale enough that the dark circles forming beneath his eyes were extremely noticeable.

“Tell me everything, Sausage. Tell me about the nightmares and anything that is bothering you.”

So he did. Sausage spilled every detail about his nightmares and paranoia, about every little thing he feared and pondered. Gem listened intently as he spoke, never once interrupting, just letting him get his thoughts out.

By the time he finished Sausage felt as if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders, it was...nice.

The last of his energy had been sapped from his venting and the clutches of sleep tried to bring him into their hold.

Gem stroked his head, her sympathetic eyes meeting his own tired ones. “Go to sleep, Sausage.” he coaxed, “I’ll be here to wake you if I sense something is wrong.“

Sausage only gave a sigh, his eyelids slipping shut and lulling him into darkness.

But, for the first time in an unknown amount of days, the nightmares didn’t come. Sausage was at peace, finally able to rest.

#empires smp #empiresblr #empiressmp #My writing #mythical sausage #geminitay

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starshine583 · 4 years

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New Girl on the Block (5)

(The next update is here! Feel free to check out the mini series connected to this fic called Journal Entries. I will warn anyone who checks it out that I’m probably not going to continue the entries, though.)

Ch.1 / Ch.4 / Ch.6

Chapter 5: Late Night Visits

Felix idly watched the elevator light flicker from circle to circle as he reached the top floor. He tugged lightly at the green color of the shirt that Marinette had given him, preparing for his mother’s overbearing questions. She’d been trying to get him to wear something other than his suits for at least a year. When she saw him in this attire, she was going to have a fit.

Felix blew out a sigh. Normally, he would have changed back to his other clothes by now- Mme Sabine did an excellent job of cleaning them and tucking them into his bag, neatly folded -but Marinette told everyone that they could keep their outfits. After an offer like that, it seemed rude to change.

The elevator emitted a soft *ding* to inform him that he’d arrived on his selected floor, and Felix drew in a deep breath, watching the golden-colored doors slide open. Here it comes.

The family penthouse was shrouded in darkness, save for the flames that flickered in the fireplace of the open living. It cast a soft, orange glow on the furniture and floors, and in the midst of the distorted dimness, Felix could make out his mother lounging leisurely on one of the light blue couches. It wasn’t unlike her to keep the house lights off while he or Father was away. She claimed that it helped think and relax.

When the elevator doors rattled closed, his mother sat up from the couch and turned to him, her eyes bright and curious. A part of him hoped that she couldn’t spot his new outfit in the darkness, but that hope was quickly dashed as she hopped up with a gasp.

“Oh my goodness!” She exclaimed, sounding like a child on Christmas morning. Felix barely had time to set his bag down before she got to him, pawing up and down to study the fabric. He briefly wondered how a woman who wore six inch heels could move with such speed and agility.

“Oh my goodness, oh my goodness! Is it my birthday? Are you really my son? What happened to your old clothes? I thought you were going to visit Marinette’s house!” She flicked the lights on to get a better look, and Felix squinted as his eyes adjusted.

“Yes, I’m really your son,” He replied firstly, taking a step away from her incessant touches, “And I did go to Marinette’s house. That’s why I needed new clothes.”

Bridgette frowned, both at his step away from her and his comment. “What happened to your old clothes? Did Claude spill something on them again?”

“You could say that Claude was the Catalyst, yes.” He grumbled, the memory of Claude’s mocking laughter flicking through his mind.

“Well, where are your other clothes then? Should I call M. Bernarde over to clean them?”

Felix shook his head and gestured to his bag on the floor. “No need. Mme Sabine has already taken care of it.”

“Mme Sabine?” Bridgette parroted curiously. She knelt down and flipped over the brown, leather flap to pull out the clothes.

“Ah. Marinette’s mother.” Felix explained. “She insisted that I refer to her as ‘Mme Sabine’.”

A smile graced Bridgette’s lips as she stood, tucking Felix’s clothes in her arms. “That’s very sweet of her.”

Felix nodded and knelt down to grab his bag as well. “M. Tom and Mme Sabine both have an uncanny resemblance towards you when it comes to their behavior.”

“Oh?” Bridgette’s eyes narrowed with amusement. “So what I’m hearing is: Marinette’s parents are wonderful people.”

Felix chuckled, flashing her an indulgent smile. “Of course, Mother.”

Bridgette grinned and ruffled a hand through his hair. “I definitely raised you right. Do you want some tea? I can make some while you go change. I know that’s not your usual preference of clothing.”

Felix hummed at the offer, reaching up to touch his collar again. “Tea sounds nice, but I think I’ll keep the outfit.”

It was already ten o’clock at night. If he were to change into anything, it would be a pair of pajamas, and he wasn’t in the mood for that yet. There were still things that he needed to jot down in his notebook before settling down for the evening.

Bridgette’s eyes bulged out of her head. “You mean you actually like the outfit?”

Felix shrugged. “The clothes are comfortable. It might not be my usual attire, but it’s also not unbearable. Besides, going up to change now would only be a waste of energy.”

Bridgette placed a hand on her hip and breathed out an incredulous laugh. “If I had known that going to Marinette’s house was all it would take for you to break your ‘suits’ streak, I would have you sent you there ages ago.”

Felix playfully rolled his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be happy that I dress well? Father’s quite pleased with it.”

Bridgette clicked her tongue, setting his clothes on the dining room table next to them to cross her arms. “Yes, that’s because your father is just as uptight as you are. You both need to loosen up a little.”

Felix chuckled. “Where is Father? I thought he was supposed to be home tonight.”

“He’s up in his study.” Bridgette answered, tilting her head towards the stairs. “There’s an important meeting at the bank tomorrow, and he wanted to prepare.”

Felix nodded. That was understandable. “What kind of tea are you going to make?”

Bridgette perked up at the reminder and spun on her heel to head towards the kitchen, her cream-colored dress flowing around her legs with the action. “I was thinking of Iron Goddess, but is there something different you might want?”

Felix shook his head as he followed behind her. “Iron Goddess sounds marvelous. I haven’t had that in a while.”

Bridgette moved to the stove and turned it on. Then she pulled out her flower-decorated kettle and set it on the burner. Felix stood next to her, quietly watching her pour the needed amount of water into the kettle.

“So tell me how Claude managed to ruin your clothes for the twentieth time.” She said after a moment while handing Felix the dried, tea leaves.

Felix took the tea leaves and fished out a measuring spoon to scoop the accurate amount. “Twenty-second, actually, and I’m not entirely sure what happened.”

One moment, they were trying to put flour on the dough. The next moment, the flour was on them. Not the dough. He remembered everyone coughing up flour, and the white clouding his vision as the substance floated around the room. He remembered Claude laughing and Allan sighing in defeat when he finally got hit. Allegra had pinched the bridge of her nose at one point, undoubtedly asking herself what she would do with all of them.

Then he remembered Marinette’s face, flushed from embarrassment, as she scrambled to take the flour bag off of him, and her giddy smile, moments later, as she threw the bag onto Allan.

“M. Tom was teaching us how to make croissants.” Felix said, starting at the first thing he could clearly recall. “When he left to deal with an unruly customer, Marinette attempted to take over the lesson. Unfortunately, she didn’t anticipate Claude’s tumultuous mannerisms.”

A laugh escaped Bridgette. “Can anyone truly prepare for Claude?”

Felix shook his head. “Not that I’ve seen.”

He tipped his measuring spoon into the infuser, letting the leaves fall into it. Then he reached across the stove and dropped the infuser into the kettle.

“Claude inevitably spilled a fourth of their flour bag onto himself and Allegra, and when Marinette went to fetch more for the rest of us, she tripped. I tried to catch her, but the flour bag was too heavy to handle. So we both ended up falling and getting covered as well.”

Bridgette snorted. “How chivalrous of you. It’s nice to know you’re fond enough of Marinette to try to help her when she needs it.”

“I didn’t do anything special.” Felix said, a twinge of irritation stirring in the back of his mind. She acted as though he let people fall in front of him on a regular basis.

..of course, he did watch Claude land face first into the cement one day without so much as twitching. But in his defense, the brunette had been pushing Felix to the limit that day. He thought it only fair to let the boy suffer a little.

“Anyone decent would have done the same thing.” Felix added, referring back to Marinette’s trip.

Bridgette nodded thoughtfully. “That’s true.. So you’re saying you’re not fond of her, then?”

“No, I-” Felix cut himself short, realizing what he was about to say.

It’s not that he disliked Marinette. She was a kind-hearted person and, as of right now, hasn’t done anything to displease him. But for some reason, the word ‘fond’ sounded.. too strong. Too incriminating.

His mother’s bubbly laughter broke him from his thoughts.

“Relax, sweetheart. I’m only teasing. I know you enjoy Marinette’s company.” She said, lightly tapping her fingers under his chin. The assurance didn’t appease Felix in the slightest. In fact, it only birthed a new form of discomfort. Why did the thought of enjoying Marinette’s company make him squirm? Wasn’t it normal to enjoy someone’s company once you were around them for a while?

“So how did you get the new outfit?” Bridgette inquired next. “Did you have to stop baking and go on a last minute shopping spree?”

“No, Marinette had plenty of outfits.” Felix answered, gladly accepting the subject change. “It was quite impressive. She’d told us that she was a fashion major, but I didn’t realize that she was actually making clothes at this moment and time.”

“Wait, what?!” Bridgette blanched, her eyes blowing wide as she straightened. “You’re telling me that she made those clothes? The ones you’re wearing right now.”

Felix barely managed a nod before Bridgette swooped down to inspect his clothes all over again.

“You’re kidding!” She gasped, feeling over the seams and fabrics. “You didn’t tell me that she was a fashion designer! And a talented one, no less!”

“Didn’t I?” Felix replied, subtly leaning away from his mother.

Bridgette shook her head. “No, you didn’t! You’ve told me that she’s a new student who got in on a scholarship, that she lives in a bakery, that she’s clumsy, and that she’s somehow anxious and level-headed at the same time, but I’ve never heard about her aspirations towards being a fashion designer.”

“Huh..” Felix mumbled. The fact must have slipped his mind earlier. “Well, that’s how she attained the scholarship. She’s majoring in fashion. Claude, Allegra, and Allan all got outfits from her as well.”

“That’s incredible..” Bridgette muttered. “She must really be something.”

Felix nodded, being inclined to agree. No one got an early scholarship to Rosemary Highschool without having an immense amount of drive and talent. The clothes he wore now proved that.

A sharp whistle cut into their conversation, and Bridgette swiftly moved back to the stove to turn it off. She then grabbed two mugs from the counter- one deep green and one deep blue -and poured some of the scalding liquid from the kettle into both cups.

“So what happened after everyone changed?” She asked, getting back to the original topic.

“Nothing much.” Felix admitted. He took the dark green mug that Bridgette offered him with a ‘thanks’ before adding, “Marinette took our clothes to Mme Sabine for her to wash them, and the rest of the visit was spent playing video games or talking.”

“Did you play games as well?”

An involuntary snort left Felix’s lips, and he shook his head. “Certainly not. I looked around Marinette’s room instead.”

“Oh?” His mother scooted closer to him with a sly smile, the same way she always did when she expected to hear something ‘juicy’. “Did you find anything interesting?”

The treasure chest of birthday gifts resurfaced in Felix’s mind, along with the card that he’d found.

“Nothing out of the ordinary.” He lied. It wasn’t his place to disclose such things, especially when he hadn’t been told directly about them. Felix wanted to learn more about Marinette, not share her private life with the world. “She seems to have quite an obsession with the color pink, though.”

Bridgette laughed. “Really? How bad?”

“Well, it’s not as bad as your infatuation with sky blue,” Felix said light heartedly, “but it still covered almost everything in her room. I was shocked that her hand-made outfits weren’t all pink as well.”

Bridgette hummed. “You do need to have some variety in the fashion world. Otherwise your clothes will become bland and predictable.”

She took a small sip of her tea and sank against the counter, reveling in the warmth it provided.

“So how do you think Marinette’s fairing in the group so far?” she asked after a moment.

Felix took a sip of his own tea as he mulled over his answer. “She certainly knows how to hold her own. Allegra and Claude have already pledged their loyalty to her, claiming that she’s family even though we’ve only known her a week.”

“You think they’re rushing things?”

“I think they’re impulsive and rash as always.” Felix shrugged. “Marinette can be a great asset to our group, but that’s hardly a reason to devote themselves to her.”

Intrigue flashed in Bridgette’s deep blue eyes. “So you think she can make the group better?”

“Currently, yes.” Felix responded. “The way she interacts with each of us brings a strange sense of balance to the group. She adds this splash of color that we’ve apparently been lacking.”

It’s something he’s noticed often in the past week. Marinette will listen intently to Claude’s stories and ideas, therefore sedating his chaotic atmosphere. She’ll compliment Allegra’s styles and discuss compelling topics with the blonde, easily satisfying the girl’s need to dig up controversy and drag it to light for the sake of a good argument. She’ll even share looks and teasing comments with Allan, praising him for his photography skills and giving him the constant validation that causes the boy to smile just a little bit more. Her routine of asking Felix’s opinion and actually taking it into consideration admittedly soothes his ever-rising temper as well.

In a way, she kept them grounded, and that was something that their group desperately needed if you asked him.

“Wow~” Bridgette sang, taking a long sip of her tea. “That’s a lot of praise coming from you, Felix.”

Something turned inside Felix’s chest at the comment, and his grip on his mug tightened. Why did he feel as though he had been caught for something? Nothing he said had been untrue.

“I’m merely stating observations.”

“Of course.” Bridgette muttered into her cup, an air of amusement in her voice. “Observations.”

Felix narrowed his eyes at his mother. Her sly smile told him that she wasn’t quite agreeing with him in the way that she said. Almost like she was insinuating something or knew something that he didn’t. Bridgette was known for drawing irrational conclusions, though, so he didn’t dare ask what that something was. Felix simply took another sip of his tea and continued telling her the smaller details of his visit.

~~~~~~

Evening in Paris, a time where the streets are empty and the lights are full. The city of love always had a way of illuminating the night sky with its abundance of lanterns and street lamps. Couples could often be found strolling along, enjoying the romantic atmosphere, but tonight, company was scarce. Only the occasional car divulged the fact that the drowsy town was not quite asleep.

Chat Noir didn’t blame the civilians for staying inside. The frigid month of January was tolerable in the morning, but at night, the frosted winds had no mercy. He tugged up his scarf to compensate for the chill that nipped at his cheeks and nose, and although it did little to help, he continued skipping across the rooftops. Nathalie would be checking on him in roughly an hour to make sure he was asleep. That gave him roughly thirty to forty-five minutes to get to Marinette’s house, convince her to transfer back to Dupont, and get home.

Well, he didn’t expect to convince her fully- Marinette can be extremely stubborn -but he could lay the groundwork. For example, if Chat Noir could figure out why she left, maybe Adrien would be able to fix it.

The balcony came into view a few minutes later, and Chat Noir picked up the pace. Using his alter ego to snuff out information wasn’t something that he put to practice often, but all attempts to talk to Marinette as Adrien so far have failed, and he couldn’t wait for his schedule as a civilian to open again.

His feet landed on the Dupain-Cheng rooftop, but the ice on top of it caused him to slip. He let out a yelp and threw his hands forward to claw for support. The high pitched whine that came from his gloves when they caught on the ice made him wince, but it was better than falling off the edge of the roof. He scrambled upwards to safety, blowing out a sigh of relief as he found Marinette’s window. That was close.

Now that he had steady footing, Chat Noir stole a peek into Marinette’s bedroom. The last time he came to her house uninvited, it was while she was sleeping, and that did not end well for him. Therefore, he’s started checking whether she’s ‘ready’ for him or not.

Marinette buzzed around her room, a bright smile on her lips as she gathered empty soda can, cups, and plates. Why were there so many drinks and plates? Did Marinette eat that much or did she have someone over earlier? If she did have someone over, then who would it be? Everyone at Dupont was still grumbling about her supposed misdeeds. Did someone finally come to their senses and apologize?

Chat Noir perked up. This was great! If she’s reconciled with one of her old classmates, it would be that much easier to sway her in his direction.

Fueled by a fresh spark of hope, he climbed up to Marinette’s balcony. The coolness of the metal railing seeped through his gloved hands as he grabbed it, but he hardly cared as he swung himself over. His padded feet hit the wooden floorboards without a sound, and he knelt down to knock on the trapdoor.

“I can’t believe how much fun today was!”

His knuckles faltered in the air at the sound of Marinette’s voice. She sounded positively giddy, which was nice, but who was she talking to? He didn’t remember seeing anyone in the bedroom with her. Were they sitting outside his viewpoint? Should he come back later?

“When everyone got covered in flour, I thought the rest of the night was going to be horrible, but they looked like they had a good time.” Marinette continued, oblivious of her eavesdropper.

Chat Noir frowned slightly. ‘Everyone’.. Did more than one person come over? How did they get covered in flour?

He shook his head and checked his baton for the time. 10:20pm. If he was going to talk to her, it needed to do it now.

Tentatively, he knocked on the trapdoor, hoping beyond all hope that she was making a simple phone call. Marinette would be ticked if he came over, uninvited, while she had someone else visiting.

Her idle chatter immediately ceased, and Chat Noir shifted nervously on the floor. Please be alone. Please be alone.

His ears twitched to the sound of movements. Footsteps were making their way across the room. Then up the first ladder to the loft. Then up the second ladder to the balcony. Then-

Marinette pushed her way through the trapdoor, offering him a warm smile. “Hey, Chat! It’s been a while since I’ve seen you around here. How have you been?”

Chat’s shoulders sagged in relief. It’s been forever since he’s seen that wonderful smile. “I’ve been okay. Mind if I come in?”

“Not at all.” Marinette held the trapdoor open long enough for Chat to grab it and started climbing back down the ladder. “I was just cleaning up from having my friends over.”

So she did have people over!

“Which friends?” He asked, trying not to sound too eager as he climbed down the ladder behind her. Could it be Alya? They were best friends, after all. Or Nino? He was always skeptical of Lila’s tales. Oh! What if it was Nathaniel? Chat remembered the red-head having a soft spot for Marinette a while back. Or what about-

“My new friends from school!” Her enthusiastic reply shattered his hopes, and Chat Noir froze, the trapdoor rocking shut above him. She had.. new friends? Already? She’d only been gone a week or two..

“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. I transferred from Dupont to Rosemary!” She added, completely oblivious to the bomb that she’d just dropped on him. It shouldn’t surprise Chat that she had new friends, since Marinette was amazing, but..

“What about your old friends?”

Marinette shrugged, dumping a few soda cans into the trash bag that lay in the corner of her room. “Oh, you know. Lila’s been rallying them against me for a few months now. I figured that wasn’t good for my mental health or my education, so I decided to leave.”

Guilt festered in the pit of his stomach, and Chat Noir cast his gaze to the side. He understood where she was coming from. Lila hadn’t been making life easy for her as of late.

“Do you miss them?”

“Nope!” The answer was immediate and cheerful, and it shot a knife right through Chat’s heart.

“There’s not a single part of you that wants to go back?” He persisted. School had been difficult for her with Lila’s lies. He got that. But it still hurt to know that she was willing to throw them away like they hadn’t been friends for the better half of two years.

Marinette shook her head, shoving the imagined knife deeper into his chest. “If they wanted me to stay, they should have treated me better.”

“What if they’re sorry?” He asked, probably faster than he should have. “What if they missed you and wanted you to come back? Wouldn’t you forgive them?”

Weren’t friends supposed to work things out?

A sigh fell from her lips. “I don’t know, Chat. No one’s even apologized yet. Even if they did, I’m not sure that I’d want to go back?”

“Why not?” Chat all but yelled in exasperation. If everyone apologized, that would mean no one was upset with her anymore. The problem would be gone! So why would she want to stay away from them?

Marinette frowned at him. “If I go back to Dupont, it’ll only show them that their actions don’t have any real consequences. They need to learn that they can’t just treat people however they want.”

Chat Noir didn’t respond, because what could he really say? She was right. He knew she was right. You can’t rage against someone day after day and expect them to take it. Even so, he couldn’t help wanting her back. They needed her. He needed her.

“Why are you so concerned about this anyway?” Marinette inquired, breaking him from his thoughts.

Chat Noir managed a sheepish smile. “N-No reason. I just don’t want you making any rash decisions is all.”

Marinette eyed him for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, I don’t think it’s rash to get out of a toxic situation, but why don’t we change the subject? Do you want to play games? I can bring up snacks if you plan on staying long.”

Chat Noir pulled out his baton to check the time. 10:40pm. Drat.

“Actually, I should get going.” He replied, slipping on an apologetic smile. “Patrol and all that.”

Marinette gave an understanding nod. “No problem. Thanks for stopping by.”

“Thanks for having me.” Chat Noir said with a small wave. He then clambered back up the ladder and pushed open the trapdoor. The freezing air hit him full force, but he didn’t have time to be skittish. Nathalie would be coming to check on him in twenty minutes, and that didn’t include the possibility of her coming to check on him early.

He shut the trapdoor behind him, making sure it was tightly closed. (Just because he had to get frostbite didn’t mean that Marinette had to) Then, Chat Noir swung himself over the railing, slid down the Dupain-Cheng’s rooftop, and started homeward.

He’d wanted to change Marinette’s mind about Dupont, but in the end, he was the one who had his mind changed. With Lila running about and spreading lies, it wouldn’t be fair to ask her to return. However, if his classmates were too.. say.. change their ways and learn to appreciate Marinette, she might be inclined to come back. All he had to do was convince them that Lila was a liar and that Marinette was an actual angel, and he would start with apologizing. What the school Marinette said she transferred to? Rosemary? Yeah, that’s it. Rosemary.. Wasn’t that the prestigious school for rich kids that Father almost sent him to? How did she manage to enroll there? He thought the tuition was supposed to be extremely expensive.

Chat Noir shook his head slightly. How she enrolled at that school didn’t matter. What mattered was that that’s where she’ll be most of the day from now on, and as soon as he got even a second of free time as Adrien, she will be the first person he sees.

Tag List: @artbyknigit @athena452 @nickristus-dreamer @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @arsaem @abrx2002 @neakco @pawsitivelymiraculous @too0bsessedformyowngood @nathleigh @lusicing @officiallydarkgeek @all-mights-asscheeks @tbehartoo @woe-is-me0 @raeuberprinzessin @lazuli-11 @miss-chaos27 @trippingovermyfeet @sadpotatoondrugs @ladybug-182 @jaggedheart11 @marinahrasauce @i-need-blog-ideas

#Felix Culpa #Quantic Kids #New Girl on the Block #Rosemary AU #felinette #Marinette

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amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines · 3 years

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Sweet Pea, Fangs & Toni//you left me no choice but to stay here forever

Request: Hey, can I request the reader dating Toni, sweet and fangs? Where they break up with the reader because she doesn't want to join the farm and she's go to Archie's house and they kiss but someone sees them and blackmail her when she gets back together with lover three lovers and she tells them what happened and they forget her and only if you feel comfortable writing this and btw I love your writing

hey! i hope you like this! it’s angsty, but with a happy ending!

It’s weird to think back to before.

Before The Farm took over Riverdale. Before it stole your neighbours, your friends even some of your family.

Before it took them.

For months The Farm had just been a lingering threat, something that ran in the background while you got on with the rest of your life. And yeah, every so often you would see a neighbours house packed up, or a classmate wouldn’t be at school for a few days and then they’d turn up in all white, but for the most part it didn’t bother you.

You hadn’t been directly affected by Edgar Evernever and his cult, you just knew people that had. You watched Betty try to desperately save her mother and sister from the clutches of the people who seemed to kill with kindness. You would watch her and notice how she never seemed to breathe properly, even during class her breaths were always half what they should be.

You never thought it would happen to you, and then it did and it was far worse than you’d ever imagined.

Sunday the 7th of March was supposed to be a great day. The sun was shining, birds were singing and there was a light breeze blowing through Riverdale, which was surprising for the season. Usually it’s still quite chilly this time of year, but you could leave with just a light jacket thrown over your t-shirt.

As you said goodbye to your mom, your mind was too busy thinking of other things. Toni, Fangs and Sweet Pea were the only things you could think about as you closed the door behind you and did one last check of your pockets to make sure you had everything, and a small smile ghosted your lips as you thought about what the four of you would be doing today.

Maybe you would spend all day at Pop’s. You’d steal Fangs’ fries or Sweet Pea’s milkshake while Toni distracted them. The four of you would argue about who was paying, despite knowing that in the end it would be split between all of you.

Or maybe you’d go to the quarry and build a bonfire to light when the sun sets. You’d stop off at the store first to get supplies for a picnic and you’d spend the day underneath the sun, surrounded by your favourite people.

And then when the sun set and the temperature dropped, the four of you would walk through the dark streets, huddled together for warmth but none of you would really feel the cold anyway. You’d be too busy laughing at Fangs’ stupid jokes or your realisation that you had homework due the next day that you hadn’t even started.

However, as soon as Sweet Pea, Fangs and Toni turned up on your front step, all dressed in white and making you jump about three foot when you turned around and they were just staring at you, you knew that whatever plans you had imagined, would not be happening...maybe ever again.

As soon as you saw the matching white outfits and the same distant stare in their eyes, you knew. Your heart sank as you tried to force a smile, but you’re sure it looked more distorted than you’d wanted. Your lips were pulled too tight, your eyes a little too wide with fear.

“Oh, er. Hey guys.” You forced out, almost dropping your keys in the process and you quickly scrambled to catch them up.

When you looked at them again, it was like staring at three strangers. The people you’d grown up with and fallen in love with were long gone, instead replaced with empty vessels whose only purpose was to spread the message of The Farm.

You now knew how Betty felt, and soon you found it difficult to breathe.

“Why are you crying?” Toni was the first to speak and you hadn’t even realized you were crying until she pointed it out.

“This is a good thing.” Sweet Pea smiled and placed a hand on your shoulder. His smile was fake and his hand was cold so you shrugged it off and the two of you watched as his hand fell back to his side.

“We’re going to be healed.” Fangs added.

“None of you need healing.” You’d argued, despite knowing how pointless it was. Over a day it seemed they’d been sucked into The Farm with false promises and fake kindness.

“Sure we do.” Toni smiled. “And you can be too.”

“Yeah. You just need to join us.” Sweet Pea said and your eyes widened.

There was no way in hell you were joining them. Either this was some huge unfunny joke, or they had actually been brainwashed because the Toni, Fangs and Sweet Pea from a few days ago, knew your opinions on The Farm. And they knew you would never join, no matter what. You thought they felt the same, bu clearly you didn’t know them as well as you thought you did.

“I’d rather not.” You shook your head. “Why don’t you guys come in and we can talk about this?” You tried and motioned back to the door. The three of them shared a look before staring back at you.

There was once a time when you would look into their eyes and feel like you were coming home. But when you looked in their eyes this time, they just felt cold. Like there was nothing familiar left.

A whole lifetime together was just gone. All past memories now felt tainted, and any hope for a future together had just died a slow, horrible death right in front of your eyes. If you concentrated hard enough you could see the remnants of your relationship lying limply on the floor, while members of The Farm kicked it.

“No.” Fangs said and you stared at him in disbelief.

“Why not?” You’d argued. “I really think we should talk about this.” You remember being able to feel your heartbeat in your face and you were sure at one point it was going to explode.

Who knows what they were doing there. Betty had mentioned something about floating babies and sadistic rituals, and you weren’t sure about the rest of the Riverdale population, but you sure as hell knew that you did not want that to happen. Not to you or anyone else.

“No.” Sweet Pea had cut you off and you stared back at him annoyed.

“We need to go now.” Toni added and took a quick glance around. “It’s for the greater good.”

“The greater good?” You’d repeated. “Who’s?”

“Yours.” The three of them had said at the same time and you felt your blood run cold.

“Please.” You’d begged. You would have done literally everything for them to turn and tell you that it was a joke, or even for them to suddenly see sense and think ‘what the fuck are we doing?’ But they didn’t. Instead they just stared at you, eyes unblinking and faces unresponsive to you crying.

Normally you could’t let one tear escape before at least one of them noticed and was on top of you, squashing you in a gigantic hug that only grew as the others joined.

“We can talk about this. I promise. Just please don’t go back.” You pleaded. Fangs’ lip wobbled but he soon recovered and instead just averted his gaze.

Sweet Pea and Toni did the same thing, before Sweet Pea took a deep breath and stepped towards you.

You were so sure he was going to wrap his arms around you and pull you into his chest, and you were sure if he did you’d never leave. He’d just be stuck with you like this and you’d make Toni and Fangs join and that’s just how the four of you would be known.

Its a hell of a lot better than whatever the hell this is.

“It’s over.” He said and more tears rolled down your cheek.

“What?” You asked, your jaw slack as you tried to grab onto them. You needed to make them stay. If they stayed you could help. You could figure out why they felt like they needed to leave.

Why did they need to join a cult?

Maybe it was your own fault. Maybe you hadn’t been paying enough attention to them. Maybe they’d been crying out for help for months now but you didn’t notice and now it was too late.

“We’re sorry.” Toni whispered and pulled her arm from your grip.

You watched them walk away, and no matter how hard you tried to will yourself to follow, you just felt yourself sliding down onto the dusty ground.

You don’t know how long you stayed there for, just staring at the dead flowers surrounding the front door. You just remember the sun setting, casting the Southside in shadows, all of which seemed to follow you wherever you went.

They left you, so you did the only thing you could. You ran.

You ran through the cold and grey streets of Southside, until you found yourself outside the house of the only other person that knew you almost as well as they did.

Archie Andrew’s.

And for a good five minutes you just stood outside and stared at the front door, listening to the movement coming from inside the home. The light flicked on behind the door and Archie’s frame came into view. You couldn’t quite force yourself to look at his face, so instead you looked at Vegas who was happily bouncing up and down at the possibility of being cuddled by someone that didn’t live with him.

“Hey Y/n. What are you doing?” He asked and a sob escaped your lips. His arms wrapped around as he pulled you inside, and slammed the door shut behind you. And then you followed him up the creaky stairs, Vegas running behind the two of you.

“I’m so stupid.” You sobbed once inside his room. You hoped the dull lamp would hide just how sad you were, but you had a feeling Archie knew from the moment he saw you.

The smell of freshly washed laundry made you feel a little better as you looked at the pile of clothes sat on Archie’s bed. You knew he wouldn’t put them away until at least Tuesday, he always did. Archie wrapped his arms around you, pulling your gaze from the clothes.

His sweatshirt felt soft against your skin and you could feel your tears dampening the material. “A part of me thought it would just die down. That I wouldn’t be affected. But now it’s taken the three most important people away from me and I don’t know what to do.” You cry, your words mixed and stumbled into each other and you’re not entirely sure how Archie managed to even understand you, but somehow he did.

“What do you mean?” He asked and stroked the top of your head.

“The Farm. Sweet Pea, Fangs and Toni joined The Farm and broke up with me.” You cried and you swore Archie’s heart skipped a beat.

“Wha-at?” He stuttered and pulled away from you. “They’re at The Farm?”

“Yeah.” You nodded and let out another loud sob. A breeze from the open window made the curtains flutter a little and the warm tears rolling down your cheeks turned cold.

“I’m really sorry Y/n.” He sighed and pulled you in for another hug. “You’re not joining though are you?” He asked, a hint of panic in his voice as he looked at you, his eyes full of concern and something else that you couldn’t quite place.

“What? No!” You replied, almost offended that he’d think something like that.

“Good.” He sighed. “I don’t know what I would have done if you’d joined.” He’d added and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

He was acting weird and a part of you was terrified that he’d also joined. You don’t think you could have coped if he’d gone too. When you look back, it just feels like something that was slowly getting close to you.

First it was someone that went to the same book club as your mom. And then it was a neighbour from down the road. It was a girl from school that you sat beside in Chemistry, followed by a closer friends mom. And then it was a cousin, and now it was them.

“I don’t know what to do.” You sighed and looked at Archie. You’re probably looked completely and utterly broken, to be honest, you felt like that too. So what compelled Archie to do what he did was beyond you.

One minute you’re crying because one you’ve just been broken up with, and two the people you loved the most had broken up with you to join a cult. They’d chosen Edgar Evernever over you!

And the next thing you know, Archie’s warm lips are moving against your own, and for some bizarre reason you were kissing him back. Your eyes widened when you realised what you were doing and you soon pushed yourself away from him, forcing the two of you to stare at each other with matching expressions.

“Shit Y/n, I’m sorry. I er, I don’t even know why I did that.” He rambled quickly and looked around his room, desperate for a distraction...or a time machine.

“No, no.” You shook your head frantically. You didn’t want to lose anyone else. “It’s fine. It’s already forgotten about.” You added and forced a smile making him chuckle awkwardly and rest his hand on your shoulder.

“I’ll get you some ice cream and then we can start planning on how to get them back.” He replied, his red hair catching the moonlight streaming in through the window and you nodded slowly, trying to get your thoughts in order.

Ice cream, plan, save them.

It sounded easy enough.

But that was then, and this is now.

This is after.

The dust has settled, leaving behind the remnants of a life once lived. The Farm is slowly falling apart, yet there’s no sign of any of them leaving, and so it’s just you left alone to live out your life as if nothing has happened.

You go to school and if they’re there, they ignore you, but it’s not like you could even get close to them anyway. You pretend you don’t see them when they sit together at lunch, and thankfully they do the same. It still hurts, but it would hurt more if they looked at you.

At least this way you can pretend that they’ve been brainwashed to forget you, instead of them just choosing to ignore you.

It’s been grey since they left, or at least it’s has been to you. The sun no longer shines and the birds no longer sing. It’s just a whole lot of nothing. You go through the day feeling empty, but pretend you don’t.

You force laughs and smiles when Archie says something funny, and when he smiles at you, it does make you feel a little better. Because at least he’s no longer worried about you.

A knock at the door forces Archie to pause his boring TV show and you silently thank whoever is outside. He huffs and stands and you fake a pout before following him downstairs. You’ve been craving popcorn since the moment you got here, and now seems like the perfect excuse to get some.

Plus, you’re hoping that either whoever is at the door is going to be a while, or if that fails, making your food will take at least half an hour.

“Do you want anything?”

“Nah, I’ll just steal whatever you have.” He grins in reply and you roll your eyes at him.

You grab the bag of popcorn Archie hid in the cupboard and start pouring it into a bowl. The door opens and you hear hushed voiced making you frown in confusion and spill some of the food on the counter.

You curse and quickly pick it up, shoving a few of them in your mouth before grabbing the bowl and heading back out to where Archie is stood.

He glances back at you and you’re about to tell him that you’re gonna go back upstairs, and if he’s not up there within the next two seconds you’re putting something else on to watch, when you hear someone you never thought you’d ever hear again.

“Y/n?” Sweet Pea asks quietly and you freeze. The bowl of popcorn you were holding falls to the floor with a loud clatter and popcorn spills out. Archie looks back at you, an unreadable expression on his face and you stare at him wide eyed.

“Do you want me to get rid of them?” He whispers and you shrug lamely. You honestly don’t know what you want. If this was a few months ago, you would have thrown that popcorn bowl to the floor, shoved Archie out of the way and thrown yourself at all three of them.

It wouldn’t be a pretty reunion with tears and snot and everything, but it was the only thing you could think about. For a while it was the only thing that kept you going, the hope that they would come back to you and the four of you could go back to normal.

You could resume your endless texts and phone calls until the early hours of the morning, all of you whispering as to not walk anybody up. You could continue to sneak out once your parents had gone to bed, and the race to sneak back in before they woke up.

The days nights spent at the Wyrm watching Fangs and Sweet Pea beat newbies at pool while you kept Toni company during her shift and she’d sneak the three of you free drinks for the night. Only to revoke that rule when Sweet Pea or Fangs would act far too big headed for their own good.

You would have given anything to sit underneath the bleachers in the bitter January cold, bundled in jackets and hats while carving stupid stuff into the wood and kicking dirt around.

But now, you don’t know. Because even if you could get back to that. Even if by some miracle, you could forget about everything that had happened between the four of you. If you forgave them for leaving you behind, you don’t know if you could. You don’t know if you wanted to.

After all, they did leave.

You don’t know why they joined, it all happened so quickly you’re not sure if you missed the warning signs or not. Maybe it was your fault, and if it was, did they deserve to be with someone that would miss a collective cry for help?

No, they didn’t.

And so you pushed down that gut feeling of seeing them again. Seeing them properly. You pushed away the daydreams of the reunion and you pushed away any plans you had for a future with them.

It wasn’t fair on any of you.

“Yes.” You whisper and he nods before turning back to face them.

“She isn’t here.” He starts and you don’t have to see Sweet Pea to know he’s rolling his eyes.

“Please dude.” Fangs starts and you hold back a sob.

“We just want to talk to her.” Toni adds and your expression soften. Some of the ice surrounding your heart thaws and now you can’t help the second thoughts creeping into your mind.

What if you can get back to how it was? You’ve known them for as long as you can remember, that’s got to mean something. Even if you can’t go back to loving them (who are you kidding, you never stopped) you could maybe get back to some sort of friendship, and then who knows what could happen.

“It’s fine.” You force yourself to speak and Archie stares at you surprised.

“Are you sure?” He mumbles and you nod quickly. You’re sure you’re walking in slow motion as you make your way towards the door. It’s 3 steps if that, but it feels like 300, and then finally when you manage to grab onto the door and swing it open, Sweet Pea, Toni and Fangs stare back at you, sorrow and guilt swimming in their eyes.

Sweet Pea shoves his hands in his jean pockets, Toni puts hers in her jacket and Fangs just stares at his. None of you know what to say.

You’re hoping that if they came here, they at least knew what they were going to do. But then again, after the countless of possible reunions you’ve imagined in your head, you’re just as clueless as to what to do as they are.

So instead you just stare at them, and will yourself not to cry. Archie shifts awkwardly behind you and places a comforting hand on your shoulder and you feel yourself relax a little.

Since they left, there’s barely been a time that he hasn’t left your side. He’s been constantly trying to cheer you up or helping you plan on how to break the three of them out. None of your plans have worked, but it’s the thought that counts. And at least he can make you smile, even if some of them are fake.

He was already your best friend before all of this, but now it’s like you’re even closer. It’s the only good thing that has come out of this, and you hope that now they’re back, they two of you can remain close.

“You’re mom said this is where you’d be.” Toni is the first to speak and everyone looks at her. She shrinks under the pressure, and you watch as she shakes her head and whispers something to herself before standing up straighter.

“Okay.” You nod and she looks at Sweet Pea and then Fangs.

“We wanted to say we’re sorry.” Fangs tries to help, but even that comes out a bit flat and he sighs. What do you say to someone after coming back from a cult?

“Okay.” You repeat and look around.

“We are really sorry Y/n.” Sweet Pea finishes and you finally force yourself to look each of them in the eye.

No matter how hard you try, you can’t stay mad at them. You don’t think you could even if you wanted to. Yeah, what they did sucked, and it hurt like hell. It always will. But they’re back and they’re standing on Archie Andrew’s doorstep for you.

“We can’t even to begin to explain how sorry we are. We have no idea what even happened. It all happened so quickly and I guess well, I guess that’s what they just do. They pull you in somehow and then the next thing you know you’re wearing matching outfits and having nightly meetings with half the town.” Toni rambles, and Sweet Pea and Fangs nod along. “We’re sorry we left, and we’re sorry we asked you to join and we’re so sorry we broke up with you.”

“It’s fine.” You say after a deep breath, and surprisingly you actually mean it. Despite everything, they are still your friends no matter what happens between you all. “Really. Clearly there was a reason why you thought joining a cult would solve all of your problems, and I must have missed it somehow.” You add and they stare at you confused.

“I love you.” Toni says and wraps you up in a hug. You’re a little taken back, but accept it anyway. It’s nice to be wrapped in her arms again. “It’s okay, you don’t have to say it back. I’ve just missed you and I’m so glad we’re back.”

“I-er. I love you too.” You stutter. “All of you.” You look at Sweet Pea and Fangs and they look down shyly. “It’s just, there’s something I need to tell you firs-”

“Aw, isn’t this a nice little reunion.” A tall man claps slowly, as he approaches the five of you. You and Archie stare at each other confused, while Sweet Pea, Toni and Fangs look around nervously.

The man who you can now tell is dressed in white stands at the bottom of the steps, his white t-shirt looks a little grey in areas and he hastily tucks it into his jean, his smile only growing when he makes eye contact with you.

You shift uncomfortably and the four of them automatically step further in front of you. They share a confused look and Archie soon drops their gaze, instead deciding to stand beside you.

“What do you want Albert?” Toni asks and her eyes narrow at the tall blonde standing in front of you.

“Just let it go. The Farm is gone.” Sweet Pea rolls his eyes.

“Actually.” His smile grows and his eyes narrow as he looks straight past them and at you instead. “I’m not here for you. You three are weak anyway. You ran at the first sign of trouble.”

“No, we left when the FED’s came.” Fangs mumbles making you stifle a laugh and he looks at you pleasantly surprised to have made you laugh. He’s missed that sound, they all have and they all really hope they’ll be able to hear it every day again.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” He pinches Toni’s cheek and taps Sweet Pea’s as he makes his way up the stairs. “I’m here for her.” He says and stares directly at you. You swallow thickly, but the lump in your throat remains and you quickly look at the rest of the group.

“Me?” You ask confused. “Why?” Your voice shakes, no matter how hard you try not to sound scared.

“Yeah, why her?” Archie asks and Albert switches his attention from you to him.

“I’m so glad you asked!” He grins gleefully, it’s concerning how much this guy is smiling, especially considering everything that is happening to his home. “I’m here to ask her to kindly persuade you guys to come back.”

“And why would I do that?” You narrow your eyes and stand up straighter.

“Because if you don’t.” He starts and leans in towards you. “I might have to tell them about a kiss you shared with a certain red-head, not even 8 hours after they broke up with you.” He whispers in your ear and your eyes widen.

He laughs and steps backwards, making sure to look at each of you individually before looking back at you. His eyes glint in the sunlight but there’s nothing welcoming about it.

“So, what are you going to do Y/n?” He asks making you sigh and look at the floor.

You regretted it as soon as it happened and you have been regretting it ever since.

“Me and Archie kissed.” You blurt out and everyone stares at you. “But it only happened once and it was a huge mistake...no offence Archie.”

“None taken.” He nods.

“I was upset and it was the day you left and I didn’t know what to do. So I came here because I didn’t want to be alone and I genuinely just wanted to hang out with a friend but I was crying and sad and a bit angry and he kissed me and I kissed him back. But I stopped after like a second and we’ve never done it since. We haven’t even talked about it.”

“Y/n?” Sweet Pea places his hands on your shoulders, forcing you to look at him.

“It’s fine.” He nods. “I think it’s the least we deserve.” He adds and looks behind him. Toni and Fangs nod in agreement and you feel yourself calm down.

“Now dude, you’re really upsetting our girl, and you’re annoying the hell out of me. So can you leave?” Fangs asks, and shoves the guy down the stairs. He stumbles and falls but quickly stands up again and huffs at you all.

“We made the mistake of following you once. We’re not going to do it again.” Sweet Pea adds and sends a small smile to you.

His fingers reach out towards you nervously and you find yourself having to suppress a smile at seeing a nervous Sweet Pea. It’s something you’ve only seen a handful of times and it’s very cute.

You close the gap between your fingers, giving his hand a squeeze and his smile grows.

Fangs has practically kicked Albert back into his creepy white van that he came out of and the five of you wave him off.

“I’ll see you around Y/n.” Archie glances at the other nervously before quickly disappearing back into his house and a slightly awkward silence surrounds the four of you. Suddenly you feel like you did when you first started dating.

It was new to all four of you. It’s hard enough to balance a relationship with just two people in it, but four? How the hell were you supposed to do that. All you know is that you liked all of them and they liked you, and so that was enough.

Maybe it’ll be enough now. At least just for a little bit. Of course there’s going to be long talks and tears and definitely some trauma. But you’ve done all of that before, so maybe you can do it again.

“Sorry if I was out of line calling you our girl.” Fangs quickly apologises and kicks a few stones around on the ground.

“You weren’t.” You reply and cup his cheek. “That’s what I am. I always will be.”

support my writing! if you want!

#sweet pea #toni topaz #fangs fogarty #sweet pea imagine #sweet pea x reader #sweet pea x you #sweet pea x y/n #toni topaz x reader #toni topaz imagine #toni topaz x y/n #toni topaz x you #fangs fogarty imagine #fangs fogarty x reader #fangs fogarty x you #fangs fogarty x y/n #riverdale #riverdale imagine

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inkformyblood · 3 years

Text

back to their intended journey

Day 01 @bobadinweek Prompt: Identity & Fighting Warnings: None

Din wakes in an instant, slipping between the dark depths of sleep to the blade-bright sunshine of a Tatooine morning, his hand already unfurling across the bed towards—

Something.

The pang of loss cuts at his chest, his dream barely remembered in tattered fragments that fall away as he stands. Din rises onto his toes reflexively, the harsh calluses on his feet not protecting him from the chilled floor, and he moves to the door that joins his room to Grogu’s.

He hadn’t known how to ask Boba for a space for his child. The words remained locked behind his teeth after the thought swirled into existence as the Jedi mentioned Grogu returning as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

As if Din hadn’t torn out his soul when his ad’ika left to go and train with the Jedi.

It had been Boba who had listened as Din broke himself on the shattered rocks of his own grief and pain again and again. It had been Boba who had recognised his description of the Jedi — a rolling peal of laughter startling out of him and stopping Din’s tortured cycle in its tracks. It had been Boba who had found Din’s son once more and pressed the communicator into his hands without a second word and stepped out of the room.

But Boba had known, his gaze piercing through Din’s armour like it was nothing when Din had settled to stand by his side, resting his hip against the arm of the throne to take the pressure off of his bad leg. Boba had stretched up, hooking his curled finger beneath Din’s helmet — just brushing against the exposed skin as Din gasped, soundless but felt — and grinned, a slow, languid expression that suited Boba.

“Got you an upgrade, Mando,” Boba said, releasing him and Din had swayed, suddenly adrift in a violent sea of emotions all demanding to be felt. “Some extra space for when your ad stays. Should be ready by tonight, and I’ve picked up some things already. You can change whatever you want.”

Then he had gestured for the next supplicant to step forwards as if it was that simple. Din remained at his side and ghosted his fingers across Boba’s shoulder, tapping against the jut of his spine at the nape of his neck in silent thanks and been treated to that slow delighted grin once more.

Din shakes off the hazy veil of memories and steps closer to the door but pauses, his hand outstretched towards the controls. The slow, easy, familiar voice wasn’t just from his memories as he began to be able to make out words from the melodic hum.

“—all about the balance, bero’ika.”

Din tips his head to one side, missing the clarity of sound filtered through his helmet, but without it, the rumble of Boba’s voice shudders through him. Heat blooms in his cheeks, as powerful as the midday sun, and it tears the air from his lungs. Silence reigns inside his head and echoes through his chest before he hears Boba speak again.

“Feel like helping me rule again? It’s looking like we’ve got a busy day ahead of us, but your buir can sleep for a while longer.”

Boba’s use of ‘we’ catches Din in the soft spaces between his ribs. Even before, at his covert, as one of the Beroyas, he was alone, separated from the others, but Boba welcomed him without hesitation. It was a debt he couldn’t put into words, and he knew the other man would insist that he didn’t need to carry that obligation.

Din forces his thoughts back into line, presses the stray whisper of “mhi ba'juri verde,” back into the shadows, and stretches out for the door controls.

He catches himself, frozen by the sudden realisation that his helmet is still resting on the stand next to his bed. Din knew he had broken his Creed and would break it again a thousand times over for Grogu, but Boba hadn’t commented on it or judged him for returning to the familiar comfort of his helmet. The choice was fully in Din’s hands.

He wants to.

The feeling isn’t as much of a surprise now, curling across his shoulders like a contented lothcat rather than the first cold drowning terror of realisation.

The words bubble in his throat before he catches them behind the cage of his teeth. Not yet. He can’t take that final step.

“Boba?”

“Yeah?”

Din sighs, a barely-there exhale. “Could you— could you close your eyes?”

“Already done.” Boba’s reply is swift, a warm thread of something Din didn’t dare name winding through his words. It softened the edges of them like a rock worn smooth by the endless passage of time, and Din taps the controls without a moment’s more hesitation.

Grogu shrieks when he sees him, his hands extending to reach for him like a grasping vine, and Boba sways with the movement, one hand cupping the wriggling child’s back to keep him secure. Din’s mouth dries, his heartbeat echoing in his ears as he steps forward to cradle Grogu.

As he does so, his hands brush against Boba’s arms — bare and roped with heavy scars, his natural golden skin burnt pale in coiling patches — and his fingers brush the curve of Boba’s belly. His torso is bare, his skin warm and burning, and a shiver runs down Din’s spine as the brush of contact burns away a chill he hadn’t been aware that he was carrying.

Boba’s eyes flicker behind trembling lids, his head tipping as he tries to track Din’s movement — his hunting instincts carved into his bones — but they remain firmly closed. This close, Din could track the slight rise and fall of Boba’s shoulders, unhurried and unconcerned, and watch the soft smile as it curls across his face.

“Good sleep?”

“Yeah.” Din’s voice cracks as he answers, and he ducks his head to nudge his nose across the curve of Grogu’s skull, the child tipping back in his arms to coo up at him.

“Good.” Boba claps his hands together, the sound a dull thunk compared to the ringing proclamation when he was in his armour. “More Mandalorians arrived last night. We’re going to have a busy day, ne’alor.”

⁂

Din keeps his gaze high as the ocean unfurls beneath him, sunlight reflecting off beskar in every colour imaginable and casting shards of rainbows across the walls. Boba mentioned his childhood infrequently, but Din remembers his description of the predatory fish that would swarm just off of the landing bays on Kamino well — the rows of flashing spines on their backs that would suddenly spark into life as they descended on the meat Boba would throw into the water.

A cold chill worms down his spine as he shifts and heads turn with him — some bare and the want is splashed across their faces, a light flickering in their eyes while some had kept their helmets on and swayed with him like distorted shadows.

They want a ruler, but Din is only a man.

So, he keeps his gaze high and sways as he stands, the dull ache in his knee radiating up into his hip. Before they started to arrive, drawn by the darksaber like lightning bugs in the dead of night, he would perch on the curved arm of Boba’s throne and feel Boba’s shoulder brush against the small of his back as the other man moved.

He doesn’t dare show such weakness now.

There is a brace built into his armour — yet another favour that Boba performed for him as if it was nothing — and Din leans into it, hearing the faint clicks as it curls around the twisted muscle and bone. He feels Boba’s eyes on him, a brush similar to the slide of his fingers across Din’s vambrace some evenings, a silent question and a reminder contained within that small gesture before Boba turns back to his court, cutting off the man babbling in front of him with a wave of his hand.

Boba’s helmet is resting at the ground by his feet — Grogu sitting next to it with one clawed hand pressed to the metal — so, as the assembled group watches, Boba’s grin curls and sharpens. The man in front of him freezes, his face pale, and Din leans forward despite himself, focusing on the fast pulse of the man’s heart in his throat, waiting for him to run.

“Should have known that a clone would be so disrespectful.”

Din twitches, his gaze shifting although he keeps his face turned towards the supplicant and scans the Mandalorians resting to one side. His eyes fall on one in particular, a tall human man with a shocking crop of pale blonde hair that floats around his face as if suspended in water. His gaze was fixed on Boba, acidic with hatred, and his lip was curling at one corner, revealing a small jewel set into a tooth.

“He’s sitting when his betters are standing.” The sentence isn’t directed at anyone except Boba, the man’s voice pitched too low to carry, but the Mandalorians around him sway as if caught in a breeze, not stepping away or crowding closer, merely waiting and listening.

Rage burns in Din’s stomach, heat rising to his chest where it blooms into a forge. His hand curls into a fist, his knuckles cracking as loud as a blaster shot beneath his beskar, but Boba doesn’t acknowledge it. His gaze remains steady, his head tipping to one side as he continues to speak to the man in front of him, a low growl that normally sends sparks down Din’s spine and kindles the urge to press himself closer and feel the rumble of his words through his chest.

Boba pauses, and Din can sense the air in the room sharpen, an electricity convalescing as if summoning a lightning storm, but the other man merely shrugs, a faint flicker of movement out of the corner of Din’s eye. Grogu chirps, and Din breaks his study of the younger Mandalorian to turn to the child.

Grogu’s ears flicker, and he waves a hand at Din, tiny claws unfurled, before tapping on Boba’s knee. Small chips of paint flake away beneath his touch, and Din lets his thoughts spiral for a moment, settling on the slow drag of a paintbrush over treated beskar, the whispering scratch of a nail before the paint dried and the low hum as they worked. He drags them back, a pang of nostalgic grief blooming alongside the bonfire in his chest.

Boba draws Grogu onto his lap, shifting to settle the child against the curve of his thigh. When he spoke, his voice was low, pitched so only they could hear it. “Oya, ne’ad’ika. Jaster ja’haili.”

Din feels the world slow around him, the intensity of a firefight paling in comparison as he watches the lines around Boba’s eyes soften, sees the other man glance over at him, a single question on his face, a moment of hesitation. They’d never spoken of anything beyond the immediate, Din unable to say and Boba unwilling to push, but the understanding between them is greater than anything either had experienced before.

Din nods once, a single jerk of his head, and knows that he would hunt down storm clouds and pluck the twin suns from the sky to keep Boba grinning like he is.

Grogu claps his hands together, the action a mirror of Boba’s habit, dragging Din back into the present, and the child turns to stare up at them both.

“Nicely done, ad’ika. Next. You all heard the kid.”

A small scoff from the scowling Mandalorian to the side draws Din’s gaze back to him, his shoulders curling in preparation of… something. He could taste the anticipation in the air, thick and coppery, reminiscent of blood.

“Why are we letting a bunch of batch scrapings tell us what to do? I mean—“

Din turns to Boba, sees the tight lines around the corners of his mouth, watches as the insult sinks in and catches in the soft undersides of his ribs but turns away. The shield Boba pulls over himself is beskar-made and painted in the same dark green as his armour, an obligation he continues to carry. Why isn’t he defending himself?

There was something here Din was missing, a gap in his knowledge that he kept circling like a sarlaac pit. It bit at him like a burr that clung to a gap in his armour. A lack of knowledge, a single misstep, would have been enough to get him killed while he ran missions and yet, watching Boba be insulted and do nothing about it, feels worse.

“You.” Din jabs his hand at the offending Mandalorian, letting the other settle on the hilt of the Darksaber and feels the handle hum beneath his touch. Boba’s breath hitches, and his grip curls a little tighter around Grogu, but he doesn’t stop Din. “Step forward.”

The man does as Din commands, his head raised and a smirk lingering on his face. His armour is clean, unscorched and freshly painted, with stripes of bright crimson running over his chest plate. He settles, not in front of Boba, but in front of Din, his gaze never straying to the throne.

“Ni sushi ga’ke’gyce.”

“You pledge yourself to my rule? You swore to follow me and my orders?” The ritual words taste sour in Din’s mouth, and the echo of Boba’s pledge rises like a shadow in the edges of his thoughts, simply made and given without hesitation.

“Yes, Mand’alor.” The man remains still, but there is a note of caution in his words, his gaze twitching slightly as if he was fighting against the urge to glance towards the others, searching for support.

“You insult the Mandalorian who helped return my son to me. You degrade the king who has given us all sanctuary and safety without asking for anything in return. You cast judgement on a better man than you.”

Boba’s hand curls around Din’s elbow, drawing him back, and Din turns at his urging, his heart beating too fast in his chest.

Boba’s gaze is steady, but his brow is furrowed. He moves from his customary sprawl and collects his helmet from the floor next to him, holding it next to Grogu. “Are you sure?”

Din moves without thinking, leaning down, his hand splaying on the arm of the throne, to press his forehead to Boba’s. This close, Din can see the shiver that rolls through the other man at the cold touch of beskar, but he leans into it, fighting to keep his eyes open rather than let them fall shut in benedictional delight. Boba’s gaze is dark and locks onto Din’s in the small gap of his visor, and Din can’t help wondering what Boba can see through the tinted material.

It is a moment that Din could stay in forever, but he breaks away sooner than he wants, a fierce blush colouring his cheeks at the involuntary sigh Boba releases as they both straighten. Din turns back to the man, feels the rage reignite in his chest.

“Get out. Don’t come back before you’ve made amends to Boba. I have spoken.”

The man stumbles, his jaw slack and bright colour high in his cheeks, before he turns and moves, every step disjointed and uneven. His shadow disappears long after his huddled form vanishes down the steps of the palace.

“Fennec. Can you watch the kid?” Boba’s voice is carefully steady, the voice of a king and Din flushes, the intensity of his actions beginning to dawn on him. He had drawn Boba into kov’nyn, Boba had called Grogu his heir. Unbidden, his wayward thoughts from that morning resurface, traitorous but compelling.

“Of course.”

Grogu babbles something, and Din reaches out and brushes a finger over the curve of his ear before Fennec — swinging her rifle onto her back and slipping down from her perch in the same motion — scooped him up. She pauses to assess Grogu before settling him on her hip.

“Court is over.” Boba doesn’t raise his voice, but it carries, flooding out over the crowd, and they are moving before they understand. “Get out.”

Then they are alone.

Boba presses himself up and turns, dragging Din sideways in the same motion. His foot curls, hooking behind Din’s ankle and spilling him into the throne Boba had just left. The air rushes from Din’s lungs in a gasp, a dull ache radiating down his spine, but he doesn’t have a second to move when, all predatory grace and harsh lines, Boba crowds him backwards, his hands curled around the arms of the throne.

Their foreheads brush, not quite a Keldabe, but the shadow of one and Boba rocks back on his heels, his prosthetic catching against the stone floor with a hiss before he settles. “What are you thinking? Got to help me out here, Din.”

Boba’s voice curls around his name, reverent, as if it was precious.

“I can’t read your mind like one of those Jetti. Why did you do that?”

“He was insulting you.”

Boba’s grin sharpens. “Not the first time and won’t be the last. I would have not survived this long if I get worked up over every arsehole who looks down on me because of what I am.

“I’m a clone first and foremost. Even now, people will look at me and think they know who I am. Sometimes they see the armour, but I’m not a Mandalorian the same way you are.

“I’m a bounty hunter second. I’ve done terrible things to get my reputation, and I’ve done great things too. It’s all about the balance and you, kot'hokaan, have just upset that balance by throwing your lot in with me.”

Boba sighs, a rasp catching at the ends of the sound, but he doesn’t move away to get a drink. Instead, he leans closer, peering into Din’s visor and their eyes meet and lock.

“The Mandalorians aren’t here for me. They can barely restrain themselves from tearing my armour from me because they don’t think I’m worthy because they didn’t think my buir was worthy. He was a foundling who was Mand’alor for a time and next to none of those who followed him live.

“They’re here for you.”

“I never asked for it.” Din wants to move and press back against the cage of Boba’s bracketing embrace, wants to stay still and let the other man envelop him. He takes in the crinkles at the corners of Boba’s eyes, watches the way his scars dip and twist over his cheek as he smiles then breaks into a laugh.

“That makes you the most suited for the job.”

Boba knocks his knuckles against the hilt of the saber, and Din can feel the answering vibration in his teeth, a purr of contentment emanating from the weapon.

“Why wouldn’t I choose you?” Din circles back, sees confusion flicker across Boba’s face, and the other man straightens slightly, tipping his head to one side. “You’ve done so much for me, for Grogu, and I can’t even begin to repay you—“

“I’d swore to return your child to you as repayment for my armour. I don’t pledge my word lightly, and you don’t have to repay me. I owe you everything.”

“You owe me nothing. I wanted to help. What he was saying… it was hutyc. But why didn’t you say something?”

“They’re here for you.” Boba’s gaze bores into Din as inescapable as a black hole. “If you remain at my side, you’ll be dragged down with me.”

“And if I want that?”

Boba stood, towering over Din. He isn’t a tall man, but the way he carries himself is powerful, a confidence that fills the room, and Din raises his chin in defiance of it. He won’t be swayed from this, can’t retreat now that he has dragged the thought out into the light.

“I need to punch something,” Boba said. “Fancy a spar?”

Din laughs, nods and lets Boba pull him onto his feet. Boba hesitates for only a moment before his arm curls around Din’s waist, his thumb smoothing over the curve of his armour.

“You’re infuriating,” Boba says, stretching up with his free hand to draw Din down, pressing their foreheads together once more. “But I guess I’m stuck with you now.”

“For as long as you’ll have me,” Din promises. He keeps the vow carefully locked behind his teeth, but, as Boba laughs, helpless tremors that reverberate through Din, he can hear the echo of them in his words.

It was enough. It was more than he ever expected. It was more than either of them had ever expected.

Boba’s fingers loop through his as they walk, and Din squeezes them tightly, feeling the answering pressure, and knows that he has made the right choice and the only choice he could have.

Translations

Ad = child

bero’ika = little bounty

Buir = parent

Beroya = bounty hunter

Ne’alor = my King/leader

mhi ba'juri verde = we will raise warriors (part of the Mandalorian marriage vows)

Oya, ad’ika. Jaster ja’haili = Let’s go, my little one. Jaster watch over you.”

Ni sushi ga’ke’gyce. = I listen to your orders

kot'hokaan = axe (affectionate)

Hutyc = cowardly

#bobadinweek2021 #bobadin #the mandalorian #star wars #din djarin #boba fett #my writing #fanfic

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abeingfromnothingness · 3 years

Text

Anthropocene

(This is a short story to help with visualizing -this- idea don't take it way too seriously. You can make your own version of the idea if you want.)

Shoutout to @marlynnofmany "accidentaly human" series for inspiring this idea

@niqhtlord01 @dycefic @starr-fall-knight-rise for their great stories which are used as inspiration

@whereartthoubromeo this is for you

And the humans are weird community here

_________________________________________

Humans, when you hear that word what do you usualy think it describes?

More often than not it describes these hairless unasuming bipeds, they naturally have no magic abilities, traits or anything noteworthy except for being sexually compatible with all races but that all changed when a human named wudolf suon made a discovery that changed how we see these dissapointing apes.

-----------------------‐---‐-------------‐---------------------------

Wudolf was like every other human in his village normal and boring except for a select few with magical potential through familial ties. His parents were magicaly potent but he himself was not, he was enroled into the best academy there by scholarships his parents paid for using money acumulated during their adventuring days with a group who saved the world, this was to help him learn magic.

Most humans were often bullied for being weak and pathetic magic casters but wudolf got the most bulliying due to the fact he has little no magic potential, so during his freetime he experimented ways to forcefully give himself magical powers or disabling it from others.

One fatefull night during one of his experiments he got into an accident thankfully or should i say unfortunately he survived and gained magic powers like he wanted though ever since that day all magical creatures that stand near him always felt slightly uneasy, to the point no one makes any friends with him except human friends, they never felt what the rest of the students described, at the end of the day he didn't care as long as he can use magic now.

Whenever wudolf tries to cast a spell it never seems to work the first time then the next day he suddenly can do it perfectly though there was something a bit off about the aura, whenever he is questioned how he did it he always replied "i don't know it just... gave itself to me i guess".

Over the course of the semester his power kept growing, the range where magical creatures felt uneasy also increases, every magic fight he entered always resulted in him winning every single time with little to no harm done to him with most magical beings attending feeling unwell and a few humans having a faint headache.

The principal suspected something strange was happening but didn't care because of wudolf helping the academy acumulate many tournament trophies, one day the principal got an anonymous tip about wudolf practicing forbiden magic with a picture of wudolf reading a mysterious book, it is suspected that the ones who sent the anonymous tip were jealous students but whoever that sent it just opened pandora's box.

Wudolf and his parents were called into the principals office one day to discuss about his dabling with the forbiden arts, of course wudolf is innocent but any mention about the dabling in forbiden arts are treated with zero tolerance.

Wudolf tries and pleads innocence but the principal doesn't bellive him after the many months of accumulated reports from many students feeling uneasy around him and only him though no human students ever complained which proves he wasn't using forbiden arts, but was ruled out for the reason that "humans have difficulty with magic" so he was kicked out and ran away into the wilderness never to be seen again.

A month has passed when suddenly a figure wearing a carved out dragon head and a cloak made of dragon skin attacked the village, a group of heroes consisting of a human mage, an elf archer, an orc barbarian, and a dragonborn paladin confronts the figure in front of them standing amongst rubble of a ruined square.

"Ah, i assume you are one of this vilage's groups of heroes am i correct?" The figure speaks though slightly muffled and distorted by the head they are wearing.

"That is correct and you should leave or else we'll strike you down even killing you if we have to." The dragonborn exclaims

"Well i should say the same way to beings such as yourselves, except you human" the figure points at the suprised mage

"What do you want from me?" The human exclaimed.

"It's pretty obvious, You and other humans"

the orc stands infront of the mage

"you no hurt little buddy!"

The figure laughs "hurt? Oh no no no, let's just say 'under my care' it's not like orcs such as you can show kindness, the only thing you know is being a big brutish pushover who values an ally by stength so let me place us at an even footing" with a snap of a finger the orc suddenly collapses on to their back

"Gear. Too. Heavy."

"What did you do!?" The paladin shouted getting the attention of the figure "i already told you what i did, i placed us in an even footing, i made them 'human' so to speak"

the group turns to the orc waiting for some sort of transformation to happen but nothing happened.

"I don't know what you did but i will shoot you down from your mountain!" The elf taunts preparing a shot

"Granny, stop being mad, else you'll wither away faster, here let me help you take a well deserved break from this adventuring buisness." With another snap the elf expected to suddenly feel heavier which is why they aimed higher than usual, what waited for them was something else other than an increase in weight.

Their hair starts to grey, their vision starts to blur, their limbs slowly feel weak, the arrow that was fired was deflected effortlessly by the sturdy dragon scales of the figure's cloak.

"Your gravity and aging magic won't work on me, prepare to be brought justice." The dragonborn paladin exclaimed triumphantly

"Justice? Ha, after your kind's scally egotistical reign on many other regions especialy what one of you kept on doing to me and my friends during my student years, i'd beg to differ. let me serve you your just deserts master." The paladin prepares a breath attack but with a snap the dragonborn suddenly falls on their knee puking with their scales turning pale.

The figure looms menacingly "how the mighty have fallen. You know, your reaction reminded me of a dragon that i encountered, you all are wondering why suddenly there seems to be little to no dragon sightings?" What the figure says is true, for whatever reason no dragons have shown up for the past few weeks eventhough this area is known for many dragons in hiding, this never happened until a certain scholar was expeled and was never seen again.

"Let's just say i returned a long overdue debt. Of course i am not an idiot so i cut some loose ends one being a problem now and four more in the future, how did you think i got this attire, and survived?"

"You...monster" the dragonborn replies through their nausea

"A monster huh? how ironic especialy coming from a cousin of the species that did so without care to us lesser species." "Fireball!" The mage casts a spell which quickly dissipates instantly a feet away from the figure, the remaining heat catches the figure's attention "pathetic, now, time to deal with you my buddy ol'pal marcus." Marcus taken aback "w-wudolf!?"

Wudolf raises the ex-hatchling's maw revealing a familiar face with a very noticable change. "Hello marcus, it has been a while huh?"

Marcus draws in magic to prepare a spell "Look, whatever malicious god or being that is passively controling you, i will save you even if it results in any of our deaths."

Wudolf laughs "a malicious entity is that your conclusion of what happened to me?" Marcus nods in confirmation. "Well i can't blame you due to it being a common occurence to people like me and the fact that i was expeled due to being accused of such things, but allow me to show you OUR power." Marcus tries to cast a spell but nothing happened and he was then hit by a powerful force sending him flying into a wall, marcus tries again...nothing happened and he was hit by a blast sending him to the ground, he is starting to have a headaches. Wudolf prepares a large spear made off whatever magic he is using and throws it. Frusturated marcus tries and block it, and succedes creating a shield with the same magic wudolf is using, he falls down fatigued. "What was that i just did!?" Marcus stared at his hand in awe of what he has done, so does his teamates.

Wudolf stands there satisfied "i already told you, it is OUR power. Let me ask you a question." Wudolf summons ropes to bind each hero down. "Have you wondered what makes an art forbiden?"

Marcus was about to answer. "Don't worry i know what you'll answer and yes with the same reason of it being a common occurence but maybe, it is to stop instances of overpowering." "What do you mean by that?"

Wudolf smiles a little and starts walking around "well remember that day when i got into an accident?" Marcus nods remembering that day clearly. "when i recovered, i suddenly have the abillity to cast magic which was slowly growing more powerful with a side effect at the time i brushed of as miniscule. I then became our academy's champion winning several magic tournanent throphies which are null and void by now considering what happened last month. Did you ever notice how weird that after my 5th win in a row i was suddenly accused of practicing the forbiden arts which was treated with instant expultion?" Marcus pipes up "well yeah and we even found the sender of the annonymous tip who was a half-dragon that was jealous of you and used your weird unsetling aura as proof of forbiden magic possesion. So yeah i feel really sorry for you." "I can understand that too. Anyway, during my time out there i practiced my new found magic to find out what element it is and maybe who it was bestowed to me. Well the answer is very suprising, it's nothing and it is in fact OUR own natural magic."

Marcus wide eyed in shock "you are telling me that we were supposed to have our own magic abilities and what do you mean by it's nothing? It's magic, it's got to be something." Wudolf turns sharply to face Marcus "That's the thing, our magic comes from absolute nothing though now it's more of a something that is revealed within the absence of natural magic. With this knowledge i posses and now you too, i will bring our kind the justice we all deserve after many years living under fear of these creatures. I will create a world where they can never hurt us, one way or another, a libberation of you will."

Marcus finally has the strength to stand up "dude, i know your intention and it is a good one, but there's got to be a better way than a mass genocide, we can still live with each other side by side and yes we may be feared of but still, it is way better than extermination. You probably know this, so have a little bit of humani-" a large spike of energy pierces marcus' stomach sending him to a critical condition, this is followed by ropes of energy binding him. "You still don't get it do you. Maybe i need a larger example and suprisingly, (Wudolf creates an extra dimensional portal and pulls out a modified trumpet bearing a flag of a kingdom.) I do." He blows into it and a large portal appears that leads to the front of a kingdom "my own design if you are wondering." standing behind them is a king with an army of people from various ages standing behind them, far off behind them there seems to be a walled of kingdom with the wall having visible signs of damage as well as a huge area that was lost. From the wide and deep claw marks covering the wall to the massive bloodstain it is safe to assume that a massive creature had attacked not too long ago. Wudolf aproaches the king "ah mister wudolf let me guess, your friend?" The king says to him in a casual manner. "Yes though now more of an obstacle. Really hoped for them to join our cause." The king chuckles "happens to most of us. Well then, it is time for us to do a full sweep to recruit soldiers and exterminate these pests. It's funny how one day we were the most pathetic race to ever existed and then the next, eldritch monsters capable of crippling massive beasts with a glare." They both laugh at the thought while men and women storm the village.

-----‐-‐-----------------------------------------------------------

This was several years ago and since that time we started the rebelion, many creatures against these humans now called as (homo sapinihilis) courtesy of our (homo sapien) friends.

We also discovered these mushrooms that create a zone of replenishing mana which allows us access to magic while engaging those things.

We have reports of from our scouts that the "nihilistums" are developing a bomb to wipe everyone from existance.

Now it is your job to stop them, don't worry we have an adventuring group ready for you

#humans are weird #humans are weird + fantasyland #fantasy

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