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corollaservant · 8 months ago

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Retail Therapy // Dabi x f!reader x Shigaraki (18+)

Synopsis: Working as a sales assistant in a high end sneaker shop is boring. But you're about to be taught otherwise.

Warnings: noncon/dubcon (idk about this one), degradation, humiliation, illegal recording, mentions of crimes, ableist remarks (not from reader), harassment, dumbification

A/N: kinda thought of the LoV as streamers (but not like gamers). thx anon in spam blog for encouraging this dumb idea, idk what this says about us:)

Another boring day at work. But honestly, what were you expecting?

You didn’t know anyone who had fun working in retail. Not that this would be your job forever, as you planned on quitting and you know... try something else. Dropping out of college may have not been a smart move but you were confident that you’d find your path, somewhere, sometime. The store was never busy, the pricing and interior design repelling most passers-by and only attracting a couple influencer kids (you often laughed at the term) and their rich parents or a few unknown athletes in an effort to buy designer and make a better name for themselves. High end clients never showed up in person, they had no reason to, no one shopped at boutiques anymore—all the more sneaker ones.

You would often kill time by watching stuff online (who didn’t), looking at the latest socialite news in various media outlets, the world was going downhill, you thought, as you absentmindedly sipped from your water bottle. Articles wrote about villains, social pariahs, as they’d branded them, parading power by killing innocent civilians ‘for the fun of it’.

Two shadows at the door caused you to look up. Customers? No way. Your heart stopped for a second as both walked through the door. Was this some kind of a twisted game of fate? Who didn’t fucking know them, Dabi and his subordinate, the man he had on a leash, even though he was the supposed boss, Shigaraki Tomura. What the fuck where they doing here?

The taller man, which you knew as Dabi, wore a dark blue jacket with the collars ripped while his patched purple skin stood out. Surgically attached staples (or where these piercings?) moved when he smiled. Despite the menacing appearance, you had to admit he looked quite... elegant? His shorter companion didn't fail to catch your eye either, a hood pulled low over his face and wearing a miserably plain outfit. Under other circumstances, you’d throw guys like them out the store—this wasn’t some charity but you quickly reconsidered, once you remembered their recent streaming. Shigaraki filmed Dabi burning up a whole forest just to kill some time as they laughed. Cool, yeah. Problem was they had accidentally murdered some poor people on a picnic, who they’d later find and film, joking about how ‘today was not the day for a picnic, guys��. The two villains would livestream the whole thing on various platforms, other times they’d upload it later on a channel, where perverse comments encouraged and gave them both views. They obviously had a clear immoral viewpoint on heroes (they despised the filth society had created on false pretense) and never failed to shout it even louder.

‘’Hello, sweetheart.’’ Dabi greeted you, approaching the register. His loyal dog followed close, hands in his pockets and a sly smile.

‘’Me and my...friend would like to check out a few shoes today, we’re feeling generous.’’ The friend didn't sound very friendly.

You regained composure and whispered a ‘’y-yes, sure!’’ as they looked at you. Dabi's eyes diverted to your work uniform, a blazer with exposed bust and a tight pencil skirt (yeah yeah, you knew this was a high end sneaker store but rules were rules and you had to attract the filthy rich somehow...manager's words, not yours)

‘’W-what would you guys like to see?’’ You stammered, their proximity not helping.

‘’Sweetie got a speech impediment?’’ Shigaraki asked no one in particular before Dabi interrupted.

‘’Don’t listen to this asshole, he isn’t getting any so he’s always pissed off.’’ The first scowled but remained silent.

Dabi seemed... kind? You thought as you looked at him and shyly moved to the display shelves.

‘’S–so, could you guys tell me what you’re looking for exactly?’’ You couldn’t believe these two had to come to your place for fucking shoes—somehow the thought of villains having to buy clothes had never really crossed your mind.

‘’We don’t fucking care, sweetheart.’’ Dabi said looking directly at your chest, eyeing your tits. Such a pervert, thinking you wouldn’t notice.

The whole time Shigaraki was on his phone, which he held in a bizzare way, it was known his quirk involved his hands but you never bothered to care, both these guys were murderous and you possessed no ‘quirk’ whatsoever so it really wouldn’t matter if it came down to physical altercations.

‘’We have t–these ones..’’ You lifted your arm up to show Dabi a new pair you got in last week as his eyes travelled to your bent ass, skirt accentuating the curves even more, as he smirked to himself.

‘’T–they collaborated two brands for this.’’ You murmured, not sure he heard you. His presence made you anxious, you knew what he was capable of and definitely wanted to live another day.

‘’Oh yeah?’’ Dabi said. ‘’How much do these cost? They’re fucking ugly.’’

You opened your mouth to retort but settled with a ‘’T–two grand.’’ It came off unsure and hesitant.

‘’These are dead. Two grand for these abominations? Hey Shiggy, come look!’’ He told the man who had been too consumed with his phone to listen to the conversation.

‘’Look at that shit man, can you believe trash heroes buy that for two grand?’’ He questioned as the latter lifted his gaze.

‘’Yeah I really don’t give a fuck, buy your shit and go, I have content to upload.’’

‘’Please excuse him, baby, he’s just a weirdo who gets off on livestreaming the people he decays, don’t worry we won’t take long.’’

Decaying? Livestreams? And why did he call you baby? These guys had to be joking, they were openly talking about murdering people for fun and you suddenly felt sick, your stomach with its contents turned over.

You had been silent, looking at them in horror, while Dabi broke the silence.

‘’Awwh, c’mon now, I’ll be nice. I think I might like these.’’ He said and pointed to a pair of black plain sneakers, they’d suit him, you thought despite the predicament.

You must’ve not reacted at all so he spoke again.

‘’Are you slow, sweetheart? I said I want to try these on, in 15.’’ The tone made you immediately snap out of your thoughts and take a step back—he felt too close through your peripherals.

‘’L–let me check in the b-back for you guys..’’ You apologized, you couldn’t even turn around but somehow got to the storage room. Fuck, of course he had to be wearing one of the largest freaking sizes, your store never brought these as no one ever bought them, what was he, a fucking giant? You were frantically searching through storage drawers and anything scattered you could find across the room but without success, the pair was sold out (was a basic choice) and the sizing available was 13 and below. Shit, you cursed, as you were about to exit, when you saw two figures at the door startling you.

‘’What’s taking you so long? Lost in the hallway?’’ Dabi mocks, as Shigaraki snorts.

‘’I- I– couldn’t f-find the ones you’re looking for.’’ You avert your eyes and Dabi’s smirk wavers.

‘’What does that mean, baby?’’ He furrows his brows. ‘’You should be grateful I even chose this shitty store in the first place. It’s not enough you charge poor customers two grand for shoes I can find in the dumpster, now you’re telling me you don’t have the one pair I actually liked?’’ He raises his tone as he has you practically pinned against the door. You could’ve sworn the other guy's laughing but the room’s spinning and you try to take a deep breath.

‘’I- i’m sorry, guys, p-please let me try to find s-something else- for you, I–’’

‘’No, I think you can just shut the fuck up now. I don’t want excuses from that pretty mouth of yours.’’ His words hurt as you try blinking your tears away—it used to help but not when they’re flooding your eyes like a stream anyway. You feel like this could actually be your end and matter of fact, anyone would know soon enough, as you’d probably also get livestreamed while they’re at it.

‘’Soo.. let me get this straight, you can’t find a proper excuse, you don’t have my shoes, you make me and Tomura wait while you're blabbering some bullshit and you scam stupid cunts for money. Does your boss know he’s hired the dumbest whore on the planet or do you fuck him to keep your job? And for a shitty job like this? You reaally gotta be desperate.’’ He finishes and now the tears are well formed and fall from your eyes, as you sob—you literally sob, ashamed and hurt, these men didn't even know you and here they were throwing words around because of a pair of fucking shoes, you feel useless and embarrassed, as you choke out some ‘I'm sorry’s.

None of them seem to care about your tears or your stuffed nose, snots falling down your chest and staining the work blazer and Dabi continues in an amused tone.

‘’Stop crying, it's pathetic. Be of use instead, will you?’’ He sighs and looks at Shigaraki, who had been watching his phone intently the whole time.

‘’Tomura, how do you think bitches like her pay when they can’t satisfy my needs?’’ He asks the man, who contemplates for a second, kind of clueless and annoyed, interrupted from the live streaming of the rest of the LoV.

‘’Ugh.. I don't know, kill her? Listen man, we don’t have much time, we have to go meet the rest, so whatever it is, make it quick. I want to show my face in Toga’s stream, she has too many hot bitches watching.’’

This man is out of his mind.

‘’Shiggy, you fucking incel, it’s not like you’re going to fuck any of them, so how about you put your scrambled, decayed brain to good use?’’ Dabi responds, all while you’re looking at the exchange horrified, where is this going?

‘’Well...since apparently I’m the smart one here, I’ll tell you both how this is gonna end up.’’ Dabi exhales, he sounds bored but his eyes gleam, he seems amused. ‘’You can’t offer me my shoes? You offer me your body, it’s not like you have anything else going on for you. I fuck you and your little cunt and you–’’ he turns his attention to Shigaraki, ‘’–you’re going to film the whole fucking thing. Should grant you enough pussy, once I let you participate.’’

You want to scream, you really do. But there’s no words coming out, the phone’s too far away, the storage room's hidden in plain sight and there’s two guys ganging up on you so what’s the only thing you do? Beg.

‘’P-please, Dabi, I can—I can help you find something else, we have-’’ You blabber but he cuts you off.

‘’Wow doll, surprised your dumb brain memorized the name. But I don’t blame you, I would too.’’ He’s inching closer to you, as you back off, each step he takes leads you towards the end of the room. The closet touches your back—you’re pinned under him, the shelves hit against your back.

‘’Got the camera on?’’ He tells Shigaraki, without turning to look at him, while the latter scoffs.

‘’Yeah, all set.’’ You can see him holding his phone and wait impatiently.

‘’Now..’’ Dabi says, ‘’take that nasty shirt off, God, who dresses whores like you up? Tits out and everything for the public to see.’’ He says as your shaking hands start unbuttoning the work blazer; you had no shirt under it, it was a hot day and you hadn’t bothered, it’s not like customers were frequent.

He’s so close that your arms touch his shirt as you slowly unbutton it and the blazer falls down your shoulders, your bare tits in full display not just for him but for Shigaraki’s camera to film as well. His eyes rake you up and down, your cheeks stained with tears, your hair disheveled with strands that stick out in opposite directions as your tits quiver on your chest. It’s swift, but you notice how his turquoise eyes widen—not a lot, since they’re heavy lidded and half patched anyway.

‘’Fuck, these look nice..’’ He comments as he brings up both hands to grope them while you gasp. His hands are not as cold as you expected, they’re large, slender and painted black as he starts circling his wrists while still at a fair distance. You moan and he smirks, Shigaraki switching spots to get a better angle.

Dabi closes the distance as his face is on yours, his breath on your mouth and you close your eyes when he laughs.

‘’Aw, did you think I’d kiss you?’’ He says as you whimper frustrated but he continues ‘’Whores like you don’t deserve kisses.’’ He grabs your skirt with both hands and aggressively lowers it as you stumble trying not to fall down.

His words cut deep and you fight the urge to let another stream of tears down your face; you’d been called names in the past, but the way he talked upset you way more than anyone before. Unbeknownst to him, your felt your panties smeared, his warm hands had turned you on—the thought of you being like this disgusted you. You really were pathetic and he’d soon find out.

His hands cupped your clothed cunt as you moaned ‘’D-dabi, please–’’ to which a voice from the back laughed. You had completely forgotten about Shigaraki, the fact that he was watching (and filming) making you want to vomit.

‘’Baby, please shut the fuck up.’’ Dabi says ‘’Tomura, are you getting this?’’ But at this point Tomura was not only getting it but holding the phone with one hand while the other rubbed a bulge on his pants.

Dabi moves your panties to the side, almost ripping them apart and pushes two fingers without warning in your cunt as you choke on a moan. His fingers feel good, too full in a way and he knows how to move them inside, working his way deeper, while they’re already long.

‘’Man, you’re not gonna believe how wet she is.’’ He tells Tomura, who hums and strokes his clothed cock, phone still in his hand.

You’re being moved up and down the shelves, his fingers penetrate your cunt with force as you feel the pressure in your core build up, you think about fucking yourself on his fingers, grinding up and down—maybe cum and have them gone?, but he brings his other hand to your neck and chokes you with precision, blocking your airway immediately: ‘’Don’t think you get to decide when to cum.’’ He says and he removes his stained hands, your arousal is brought to your face as he turns around and proudly shows the camera.

‘’Look at this retail cockwhore guys, pussy dripping from two men she couldn’t sell shoes to!’’ He brags and you crumble, embarrassed and desperate for an end.

‘’D-dabi, p–please don’t say that!’’ You mewl and he looks down at you with pity.

‘Say what? The fucking truth? Aren’t you a little cumslut, yes or no?’’

‘’I– I–am n-not—’’

‘’I said, are you or aren’t you my little cumslut, yes - or - no?’’ He orders as you notice something small and blue igniting from his fingertips and you freeze.

‘’Say it.’’

‘’I- i am.’’ You brokenly murmur, but he needs all the words.

‘’You’re what?’’

‘’Y–your cumslut..’’

‘’I need the name too, camera's on you know’’. His patience wears thin, you can tell by his tone.

‘’I-i-am--Dabi’s cumslut.’’ You look at the camera and with that he finally snaps, turning you over and grabbing you by the waist, his fingers touch your bare back, as he spanks a heated palm on you and you flinch.

‘’Good, now let’s show everyone how cumsluts like you get fucked.’’ He unzips his pants and brings his cock in between your folds.

The sensation is intoxicating, your heat and his pre in between you while your hands are stretched to touch a shelf you can’t reach. You don't even know what you're up against, fuck, you hadn't even seen—

‘’Make sure you’re getting this.’’ is all Dabi says before abruptly pushing his cock inside you as you let out a sharp cry, he’s too big and you can’t take him at once, a pain shoots up your belly as he starts thrusting at a steady pace.

‘’P-please ‘s too much, s-slow d-down!’’ You yell behind you but he doesn’t seem to care, as he grabs your hips harshly and pushes himself deeper, your cunt stretching to accommodate whatever it can and you thank his fingers for the prior mess they made.

‘’Fuuck, feels too good.’’ He groans as he thrusts into you. You hear a sudden whimper and look around to see Shigaraki with his cock out, moving his fist up and down his length—eyes fixated on the spectacle.

You don’t have time to beg him to stop filming because Dabi’s slender hands are toying with your clit, his cock rips apart your insides as pads of his fingers find the bundle of nerves with ease. He teases it—not harshly, as his cock does that for you, but in light strokes, like he’s trying to tickle you and you feel yourself tremble, your cunt twitches and he feels it too apparently, because he groans ‘’Shit, you’re tight, too? Who would’ve expected it, huh..’’ as Shigaraki is starting his commentary on camera.

‘’Take a look guys, this is probably the biggest cockwhore we’ve seen... look closer! getting her loose cunt all fucked like that.’’ Dabi huffs, skin slapping sounds reverberate across the storage, as he continues his pace, cock disappearing in between your folds.

‘’Man, shut the fuck up.’’ He tells the guy behind him, ‘’her pussy’s tight as shit..or maybe I just have a big cock.’’ You can tell he smirks and you moan, it's like he's harsher now, his cruel words while they shouldn't, are bringing you closer and you can’t deny the pleasure he’s giving you, each time he belittles you or Shigaraki for the matter.

You can't even see him, but you imagine him drinking in your pathetic state: desperate, arched back, lifted skirt and abused flesh—frustrated whines and miserable attempts to sink down his cock, even when you know damn well he’s the one setting the pace.

‘’Hey, Shiggy..’’ Dabi groans, ‘’want me to let the whore fuck herself on my cock? She seems soo eager.’’ He tells Tomura, who at this point is solely focused on your ass sinking on Dabi ahead.

‘’S-sure..’’ He breathes out, too horny to care.

Dabi stops moving, cock hard and still inside you, stretching you out regardless, as you pant frustrated. You’d been so close and he stopped once again. Fuck it, you think, you need to get your release somehow.

You take a deep breath and start tantalizing him, cock throbs in your walls while you move and grind your hips back and forth. Dabi hisses, his hands dig in your ass, a pain from a metal on your hips—you’d definitely have marks tomorrow but it feels too good and he lets you, which surprises you.

‘’D-dabi, is she good?’’ A voice calls from behind but Dabi doesn’t answer, he just lets you do your work as you increase your pace, your legs are about to fail you but you raise yourself up and grip whatever you can find in front of you; you can hardly breathe. You think you might make yourself cum and he must be on the verge too, because he grabs you by the hair and spears his cock so deep, you want to scream—but you can't because there's not enough air in your lungs to function. ‘’Enough.’’ He spits and starts drilling himself back at his own relentless pace.

You feel numb but a known sensation spirals under you, fuck, he feels good and you suddenly wish for his hands on your clit so you beg. Again.

‘’D-dabi, please, agh t–touch me..there.’’

‘’Beggars can’t be choosers, baby.’’ He smirks and picks up the pace, if that's even possible, the motion perfect for your pussy to squeeze him in tighter and while he acts all tough, a hand is back on your clit. He wants you to come undone, wants to be the one bringing you to such despair.

‘’D-dabi!, I-I'm-hmn.. g-gonna–’’

Hairs stick to your sweaty forehead, veins pop out your hands as you cum feeling a faint knot snap, you blabber a bunch of incoherent words and tremble, shutting your eyes in shame.

He’d been waiting for this, holding himself back but he wanted your mess, your pathetic orgasm so he can let himself go with a couple final thrusts. He groans, praising your ‘’good cunt– baby..’’ before shooting his load inside—shit, he came inside, you think, this is so wrong but the sensation is tingling, almost satisfying in a twisted way.

A voice interrupts the moment when both of you turn to look at Shigaraki, cock in between a fist and a frown on his face, he seems upset.

‘’Dabi, you idiot, I wanted her too.’’ He says and Dabi looks at you, fucked out and cum oozing from your hole. His cum.

‘’Well,’’ Dabi looks at you, ‘’would my favorite cumslut help a friend in need?’’ he smirks, ‘’Just some head, we don’t have all the time in the world, alright?’’ He smiles as you lower your gaze—fuck fuck fuck, wasn't one enough? What's the point of arguing though, one look at both of them convinces you otherwise.

‘’C-could I please have some water?’’ You try to stall, throat dry and raspy from the sounds made earlier.

‘’Water?’’ Dabi laughs, ‘’nah...it’s too far away. Here, have this instead.’’ He says as he approaches you and swiftly moves his hands up your cunt, gathering his load and your juices and bringing the mix to your mouth. ‘’Open up.’’ He orders and your eyes widen before you realize he sticks his fingers in your mouth, coating your tongue and continues ‘’now, you can suck the incel off.’’

Your mouth isn't dry anymore—it's disgustingly covered in his salty cum but Shigaraki's too impatient to retort and already has his cock poking at your opening. He’s smaller but has nonetheless notable girth.

‘’Mhm..not gonna last, man.’’ He warns but Dabi seriously doesn't care. Indeed, once you're forced to take Tomura in your mouth under Dabi's glare and bob your head up and down a couple times, he pants and whines, cock jerks in your mouth, as a palm with the pinky lifted rests on your head pushing it down his groin. You gag as he stretches your mouth full, the flushed tip scratches down your throat, but soon enough he comes; you can tell by the way he frantically bucks his hips up, so you remove your mouth in tears, when he loses control, this feels horrible. His cum spurts all over the place, some lands on your hair and some on his shirt.

‘’Fuck!’’ He groans, ‘’My shirt’s stained, you whore.’’ His voice is whiny as red eyes narrow. For the first time, he manages to inflict terror upon you, his hand’s about to touch you when Dabi interrupts.

‘’Enough, she’ll give you another one, I’m sure shitty store sells some lame shirts somewhere.’’

Tomura sighs and removes his shirt. He throws it to your face and hisses.

‘’Gross, you can keep it, cumslut’’. You feel tainted and humiliated, some fresh tears wipe semen off your face, when Dabi speaks up.

‘’Tomura–’’ There's still hope in your eyes, as you turn to him.

‘’She's about to put in on Depop, you know.’’

Dabi and Tomura smirk and you wordlessly get up, something plummets inside (your heart?), as you wipe tears inside your elbow, the only clean body part of yours.

It’s been hours since the shift ended and they left the store, blowing you a kiss but you’re curled up in bed as you anxiously scratch your knees. You feel dirty. Empty. You remember Dabi’s hands on you, Tomura’s shirt and load in your hair, which was later thoroughly washed to the point clumps fell off, when a message appears on your phone.

It’s a message request and it reads:

How’s my favorite cockwhore doing?

You suddenly feel very nauseous, how did they even find you? Your hands are shaking as you pick up your phone to unlock it, only for a new request from a different account to pop up:

1 attachment sent.

You take a deep breath as you try to think rationally. Don’t cry. Crying doesn’t erase it. Don’t cry.

This could be worse, you finally convince yourself. This could’ve been livestreamed.

#mha x reader #dabi x reader #mha fanfiction #shigaraki x reader #todoroki touya x reader #mha smut #dabi smut #bnha x reader #tw noncon #tw dubcon #tw degradation #tw dumbification

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lu-dao-writes · 8 months ago

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— Kairos

noun: kai•ros: the perfect, delicate, crucial moment; the fleeting rightness of time and place that creates the opportune atmosphere for action, words, or movement.

warning(s) depictions of anxiety, stress, overthinking, and mentions of financial difficulties. Also maybe some grammar mistakes.

It was an overcasted day.

The building, although massive, lacked liveliness.

It wasn’t because a lack of students, oh no. It just… It was dull looking. Basic and aged.

But it’s a university nonetheless. A university that Lucien was fortunate enough to get into.

The student was forcing each foot in front of themself, chanting assurance in their brain, and ignoring the bodies that passed by them, or any they accidentally made eye contact with.

It took everything in them to not completely disassociate or succumb to an anxiety attack while heading to the administration office and receiving the necessary paperwork. They made sure to try and listen as information was being given, making sure to not ask the woman to repeat herself too much, and used the notes app on their phone just in case they forgot.

When the student finally left they fled to the courtyard and sat on a lonely bench, the cornflower paint chipped and the wood a bit cracked.

One breath in.

Hold it for four.

One breath out.

Out for four.

Wash, rinse, and repeat till they felt at least somewhat normal again.

They fix their headphones and flip around through their music, dark brown eyes watching young adults either rush to their lectures or meander with their friends or alone.

They soon study the map of Olympeius and murmur to themself about the next thing to do.

“It’s probably best to figure out where our lectures will be that way I’m not lost like a damn fool when it comes time to my first official day..”

They look around themself and purse their lips. “Nah… I’ll wait till there’s not so many people in the halls…”

Lucien isn’t clueless. Ever since they stepped foot into this city and university, they’ve seen the people walking around it.

Fast, vibrant cars, name brand clothing and accessories, black platinum cards (or flashes of green or pale blue paper), and finally, the attitude of others and how they carry themselves.

Lucien didn’t grow up rich and knew the taste of stress from financial problems, and the bitter feeling of someone constantly taking their money when they probably don’t even need it.

But anyways.

Lucien knew that they’d better keep their head down and try to avoid getting in some peoples way.

Otherwise they just might be eaten alive.

But they try to not think too negatively. Especially when they’re in a delicate headspace currently.

“We’ll be okay… Just stay in your lane and do your work. Don’t wanna disappoint anyone…”

‘I wasn’t bullied too badly in high school, maybe I’ll be okay.’

‘But I came from a simple high school. This place is different.’

‘What if I get caught up in something? Will I get help?’

‘What if I become some rich asshole’s servant?’

‘Will the bullying be like how it is on tv?’

‘Should I take self defense classes? Hell, nah, I definitely don’t got money for that, nor the motivation.’

‘Ugh, what about that bill I still need to pay?’

‘God, I have to find a new therapist too.’

‘So much to do and-.’

“Excuse me? Are you okay?”

It was dull and gray outside. They like it like that, it usually meant rain.

But now… The sun has peaked out from the shade of clouds and licked at their skin.

They blink and shake their head, catching their headphones as it slips back slightly, and there stands a proper looking young man with pretty eyes and an even prettier face.

Brown meets azure, and they nearly choke on air.

“I-.. Yeah..! Sorry, I was lost in thought!” Lucien quickly explained.

The dapper fellow smiles with relief and stands up straight, his hands behind his back. “That’s good to hear. I was quite concerned for a moment! Are you perhaps new?”

A gentle bob of their head and they smile sheepishly at him. “Is it that obvious?”

The man gives a lighthearted chuckle. “Hmm, I wouldn’t say that, but I haven’t seen you before. You just gave it away.”

“Fair,” Lucien chuckles, rubbing their neck, their eyes moving from his eyes and down to his mouth before looking at his attire.

Tawny skin with dusty pink undertones, silken brown hair in a little braid that rests on his shoulder, a few strands fallen in his face, making him look soft but still elegant. He’s got a clear face, plump shiny lips, a cute nose, and expressive eyes.

Blue eyes aren’t something they find interesting, but on him? They’re beautiful.

Fancy black shoes, slacks, and button up, and a purple vest that hugs his torso.

It makes them wary for a moment once they take in his all too neat and perfect appearance, but…

He seems sweet.

“Oh, I’m Lucien, by the way,” they greet.

“I’m Jericho. Jericho Ichabod. But everyone calls me Crowe!”

His teeth are straight and white, and behind him the sun blooms brighter, and Lucien isn’t sure what exactly is blinding them more.

#𝐓𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐁 🐦‍⬛💚´ˎ˗#the kid at the back vn #katb va #katb_vn #sol brugmansia #solivan brugmansia #jericho crowe ichabod #crowe ichabod #self insert #crowe centered chapter #crowe is like #blinding beautiful light amongst the gloomy gray

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autisticrosewilson · 5 months ago

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First of all, you have given me so much to work with, thank you so much. Second of all, I’m really glad you could see where I was going with Grant’s real test not actually being about killing Slade. Third of all, I absolutely love what you’ve suggested with the powers and I am currently designing met gala esque outfits for the trio and Tara’s specifically is really fun to play around with. I’ve been thinking to show they’re becoming more divine I’ll change their hair and eye colours but not their faces for the most part. I was drawing robin Jason with Natalia and decided he should have brown eyes and a crooked nose from breaking it as a kid but once he returns his eyes get weird (eg go blue and occasionally other colours), a patch of his hair went white and he lost all of his scars. Also, I think the closer they get to divinity I’m gonna draw cracks on their body that glow with their specific colours just to hammer home how they’re shedding their mortal forms.

With Tara being able to see the strings of fate, I though it’d be fun to give her a harp and then with Jason having the see no evil trait I thought it’d be fun to give him weighing scales since lady justice wears a blindfold. Idk what to give Grant though. I mean probably a weapon of some sort or maybe a Shepard’s crook that he can turn into a scythe to play into the sheep, wolf, Hunter thing.

With Jason and Tara’s splintering, I love the idea of them making fun of Grant for being the baby god. He hasn’t even had a cult yet, gosh he’s so young. Also them being besties just holds a special place in my heart.

And I just came up with this, of course they have parallels to the trinity but in universe rumours of their existence have been around much longer than Bruce, Clark and Diana. They’re the big three of the justice league but these guys are justice gods. So they start calling themselves the justice trinity but then people get confused about which trinity is which because the justice leagues’ trinity sounds awfully close to the justice gods’ trinity. The new all caste is certainly more distinctive branding but the point isn’t to be distinctive, it’s to be petty.

I'm so glad my unmedicated rambling helped!!! And I'm so excited for the outfits!!! I love when characters start becoming less and less human, when they're stuck in that uncanny valley spot of not quite human but not entirely Other, when they lose control and the cracks start to show...um I should probably give a warning for slight body horror elements. Not in the gore sense, in the "this body is not made of flesh and there is something divine clawing it's way out". Uh also there are teeth. Just. Teeth. I dipped into a little bit of cosmic horror at the end there because I wanted to cover my bases with mixed mythologies

Jason, with his defined splinters, is usually depicted with three faces in ancient texts. The Child, gaunt and dark colored, is said to appear before the downtrodden and impoverished. The few stories remaining tell of kindly people who give him an offering, and in exchange he reveals his true form, with his crown of golden ivy and beautiful strong wings to gift them bounties of food and water and riches. Other stories tell of not so kind encounters, where The Child witnesses an injustice - typically against women or children - and again reveals his true form, one with clawed hands and a mouth dripping with blood. Scholars argue what the wings looked like, but whichever All-Caste member annotated it before has compared their likeness to either a Robin or a Shrike.

There's also The Ghost, He appears young at first glance, but his hair is wirey and gray, his eyes milky and unseeing, in bloodied armor he greets the souls of the damned as they're delivered to him, and with scarred hands he wipes the tears of children taken too soon. Accounts of this face are few and far between, but all of them are entrenched in sorrow.

Finally there is The Soldier, scarred and still smoking from the ruins of battle he emerges, giving voice to the weak and resources to the needy. He champions revolutionaries and philosophers first, a strategist who delights in the liberation of the people from corrupt systems. Accounts of him usually come from times of famine and war, and he was particularly popular with poor villages, who would mark the graves of their dead with the symbol of his sword as offerings. For some reason or other, he got particularly popular with the youth, girls and boys both seemed to pray for him and leave him offerings.

The way these manifest on Jason is subtle at first. I could go the body horror route, but I won't. Yet. Instead I think his splinters show up as reflections, shadows, imprints. The faint echo of bell-like laughter when Jason does a move he learned as Robin, the image of a younger him with longer hair and unblinking eyes staring at him in the mirror. It gets worse when he gets the blades, the white streaks his hair, the swirling mark covers more of his skin every time he uses them, he trails the scent of smoke and blood behind him like a signature. His scars...they should disappear. They have for everyone else who used the pit, but instead his skin starts cracking. Any place he's ever been scarred glowing cracks break up his skin. He can't feel them, but he's always aware of them, the meaning behind them, the divinity literally leaking through his body. His eyes aren't brown anymore. They aren't even green. He looks in the mirror and they are copper, molten and burning. He tries his best to keep his mask on.

What do you think of when you imagine the word divinity? Probably something like Tara. Something with skin carved from stone, with moss and fungus crawling up her legs and snow laden shoulders. They say her hair is made of swirling clouds and the sun and moon are her eyes.

Some say she's a nymph although no one knows what kind. You're just as likely to see her name among the naiads as the dryads. Whether flowers bloom where she dances or waves crash when she sings, she's known to be more vicious towards suitors than her sisters.

Others have said she's a faerie, who takes the faces of lost daughters and lovers, slipping into their places seamlessly, forcing unruly men to pay their dues. Others say she's a shifter of a different sort, with a shawl of feathers and a crown of twine and gems. Stories range from men trying to steal her coat (and paying dearly) to lost children returned safely home on the back of a swan.

Tara doesn't think about it at first, the way gravity tends to cede to her, she doesn't notice how sunflowers turn their faces towards her instead of the sun. She doesn't notice the way her face...shifts. it's imperceptible really, and it's not like she looks in the mirror all that often. But everyone around her notices it, on some level, the way her expressions are off. A little too exaggerated. The way her limbs bend just a little too oddly. The way she never looks quite the same as she did the day before, the way she picks up features from the people around her the way she picks up rocks from ground to add to her collection. Clay molded subtly into the image of those she loves, a museum of everyone she's ever met. She does notice when her hair starts going white at the ends, the strange way her hair starts to curl unnaturally, almost floating. She's not so upset about her eyes, the deep blue of her father that has glared down at her day after day, she has changed her hair, her face, her language but she could not change her eyes. It seems she didn't have to, when she wakes up with one a little too silver to be gray and one a little too gold to be brown. And then her skin starts splitting, a cavern made from a broken rib and ravines made by the slashing of knives. She doesn't even bleed anymore, they never scab over. They crystallize, amber like ambrosia, like ichor. Her body a geode waiting to be cracked open to let the thing within finally break free.

They know the least about Grant, whatever he used to be. Half written scrolls, torn or burnt or simply stopped abruptly, illegible journal entries with symbols never recorded in any known language, half finished sketches where the details are never quite clear. A few things are usually consistent though, signs that he's been there, usually from hunters down on their luck or the particularly old and sickly. First, the howling. Like a wolf or a storm, although later accounts would add that it occasionally sounds like a mechanical whirring. Then the rabbits, dead and gutted, but not a trace of blood. Piles of them left in heaps on doorsteps or windowsills. Some have reported knocking at strange hours or finding teeth in their homes, a mix of human and animal. There is one photo on record, the most recent thing in the archive most likely, of claw marks on the side of a barn, too big and oddly serrated, certainly not from anything native to the area. Elderly that report these phenomena typically pass from heart problems within the week, according to some of the old medical files.

Grant came back wrong. Physically, at least. He knows that he's still himself for the most part, dying didn't make him a selfish asshole he did that all on his own, but...but something is wrong with him. It's the way lightbulbs flicker when he's mad and how cameras, no matter the quality, never quite get a clear shot of him. The way Joey can't ever grasp his features, not fully, the details slipping from his mind like water. The way eyes on his face slide right past, unable to look directly at him. It's in the gray spreading from his roots and his eyes too wide and dark to belong to something human. It's the way death clings to him like a second skin, sickly and pallid turning the tips of his fingers gray. His teeth are starting to feel too sharp for his mouth, and he hears things no one else does, whispers of voices that Are Not and Can't Be. The worst part is the orange, liquid candlelight under his skin, lighting up all of his veins and scars, webbing together like the world's worst game of connect the dots. No, there is no mistaking him for something human, so there is no reason to try. If this is his fate then he will take it, because he is not a sheep and he will not be a wolf, he is a hunter, and he is hungry.

#Jason as a Christ like figure is funny to me #Imagine growing up with a Catholic mother going to church praying for her health #and then you find out your soul predates the mf AND he plagiarized you 😒#that's more sad than funny but you get the picture #I also wanted them all to be represented by prey animals that are actually known for being really aggressive #like birds are typically seen as Docile but Shrikes are vicious assholes #and Swans which are coveted for their grace and beauty but are actually FERAL #it also marks Grant yet again as the odd one out by not giving him a bird #I gave him a rabbit because while I did consider a sheep it didn't work as well #Rabbits aren't dangerous to humans but they are aggressive to each other and won't hesitate if you push them #but they're also very sought after for hunting and as pets #I think Tara should have a very Changeling type vibe #y'know a little bit of fae energy #Grant is very much like a cryptid to me #cryptozoology is pretty new and people are still spreading stories about them #so it feels appropriate for a younger god to be associated with #there's also every chance he DID exist before the recorded records of him #but for some reason or other there's just less of him mentioned #Jason Tara and Grant have always been three after all #So what's obscuring Grant's mythology? fun little mystery 😉#dc #jason todd #tara markov #grant wilson #New All Caste au #also I have a whole Pinterest board dedicated to Tara and fancy clothes for her #because she has SO MANY INTERESTING AESTHETICS #I also really like your skin cracking idea so I tried to individualize it a little 😊#Grant's did get kind of body horror though

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solarwynd · 6 months ago

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just felt like sharing some of my thoughts on recent topics:

- i think nj’s album is objectively decent. if anything my biggest critique is that, similar to indigo, he insists on singing and anyone else that jumps on the record eats him up. i really did like the production and after tuning him out a little i really enjoyed the vibe. i actually think its a lot more refined and grounded than indigo despite being a mess thematically/lyrically but i actually think that thats what he was going for lol, a sort of “emotional clusterfuck”.

as for army’s reception, i think he’s def trying to build his own audience and he’s aware that takes time. he went in a totally different direction than his previous release yet its still very him. armys might not be the target audience but its better for him to build a small but loyal base that will continue to tune in for his solo stuff rather than just expecting armys to like everything every member puts out.

its rich for other kpop stans to drag him when despite doing what he’s done he’s still more successful than most korean artists, so its funny for me to see people think they can drag him for not getting streams in korea which if im not mistaken have the lowest residuals for streams and are the flakiest audience (but maybe thats just me being petty lol)

- nwjns new song not doing that hot on global spotify doesn’t surprise me. they are an aesthetic-leaning group, yes their songs are cute but its because of the aesthetic theyre accompanied with that they feel so grand and trendy every time. the aesthetic for how sweet is minimal and kinda getting old so people dont seem to be buying into that so far (outside of sk) but im sure that as soon as there’s a cute tiktok trend to go with it they’ll end up biting. the song is cute, but i have to admit this trend of “flat”singing is tiring me. open up those vocal chords and SING dammit.

- random, but i wonder if supernova by aespa doing that well is some sort of reaction to the whole mhj-bpd drama. imo drama was a million times better and didn’t do as well as it shouldve

- idk if im over my fixation, but nothing thats come out of the kpop industry this year has been genuinely interesting or exciting. i mostly just tune into female artists and a handful of soloists. there’s been some cute concepts here and there but the music is just meh.

“i really did like the production and after tuning him out a little i really enjoyed the vibe.”

Im sorry this is taking me out. Tuning out the very person whose album you’re listening to is crazy 😭 but I kinda get it lmao.

After watching that minimoni special this morning and how he described rpwp basically as a rant, an “emotional clusterfuck” is aptly named tbh. It’s gonna be really hard for him to get a solid solo fanbase because he doesn’t have personal reach or appeal beyond the armys that already know him and his music and the music he’s been dropping isn’t really attention grabbing either. Like I’m sure there’s people who are out there that know he’s a good rapper and can respect him for that, but it’s still not enough to make them stan him and that’s where the problem will lie for him.

Njws (or mhj) are following a theme that doesn’t allow themselves or their music to evolve, because beyond the different outfits and hairstyles everything is starting to feel repetitive. Real one trick pony-ish cause it seems like this is all mhj knows how to do. Like you already know what to expect from them and I find artists who just stick to one sound kinda boring (though I have my exceptions). I see what you’re saying about the “flat” singing lol but imo not everyone has to like sing sing if you get me? I’m not just talking about belting but just typical singing. Even though it would be a nice switch up from them I feel like they’ve just made that they’re brand.

I actually just listened to supernova after I drafted this and ended up really liking it. It’s a cool song. I listened to drama too, not bad either. It’s a possibility that the whole mhj/bang debacle might’ve had a positive impact for aespa, but sometimes the k gp just likes what they like and blows it up. I know they loved queen card by g-idle but I still do not like that song at all.

I’m a casual listener of a handful a groups and I’ll check out their releases when they drop. Any other song I listen to apart from them is just because I wanted to see what the fuss was about but all in all everything is just so typical. I’ve had releases I’ve enjoyed but everything still has that standard kpop sound to it so I agree nothing has really been exciting.

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idreamonpaper · 1 year ago

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Seven Snippets, Seven People

Tagged by @drabbleitout a while ago but this sounds too fun to not do!

Rules: Post 7 snippets than tag seven people

I will preface this by saying, I have no clue who to tag so take this an open invitation to anyone who wants to share some snippets of your stories!! For now, here’s some snippets from Those Lovely Cuspids!

Trigger Warning for some drug mentions!

“Did you just come out of the hospital?”

Icarus barely hears the shout over the loud rock song filling every nook and cranny of the bar. Bartenders have a way of making themselves heard though. He pauses his noble quest, catching the bartender’s eye. She’s holding a tall glass of beer, staring at the white wristband Icarus has been picking at. Her grip on the glass is loose, but her fingers twitch.

Clearly, she’s debating how good of an idea it is to surrender the glass to him.

“This?” He gestures to his wrist, plucking at the white wristband that’s dyed pink under the strobe lights. “Nah, I just came from that knockoff county fair.”

Her shoulders loosen, releasing the tension from her posture and her expression. She flashes a small grin and places the glass within Icarus’ reach. The imprint of her fingers lingers on the thin layer of condensation covering the glass.

Icarus presses the wristband on the glass, hoping the moisture will quicken the process of getting this thing off him.

It doesn’t.

---

“Nothing to see here but another artist bending under the pressures of fame.” Icarus gestures to himself, letting his hands drop onto his chest.

“What does that look like for you?”

It’s an acid-fueled nightmare is what it is: constant chatter from bossy managers, expectations from a record label that can drop anyone without warning or reason, grasping hands clawing at his legs with demands for more on the parched lips of fans, and the weight of eyes crawling on every inch of his skin.

Worst of all is the dread: putting any form of art out there for the public eye is nerve wracking.

Will it be mocked ruthlessly? Taken out of context and turned into something else entirely?

Not everyone will understand nor will they like the music Icarus and his band creates. It isn’t realistic to assume so, but it doesn’t erase the fear.

The artist might not be tortured when they create their masterpiece, but they sure will be after it’s in the grimy hands of the public.

---

Icarus had no intentions of befriending Dakota because she’s disgustingly rich, but it is a bonus.

She’s spoiled rotten and her room looks like it came out of Barbie dreamhouse. Pink and glitter everywhere, arranged to look like an adult room instead of a toddler’s room. Designer brands and names make up her closet and every piece of furniture she owns.

The benefits of having a lawyer for a mom and a neurosurgeon for a dad. He’s personally never seen Assad and Esperanza Baker, and he never wants to meet them. Icarus is still on the fence about whether or not they’re real or a pipedream.

Rich parents who aren’t emotionally absent and just as generous with their love? Sounds fake.

Whether or not they’re real, they did raise a daughter whose smile outshines the goddamn sun.

Icarus would die for her without a second thought.

Even when she’s putting all her weight on his back.

---

“You’re late.” Bria points out, typing one more thing before snapping her laptop shut.

“Terribly sorry about that, time is quite unforgiving.” Marcellus’ voice is soft, pulling everyone’s attention towards him.

Bria hums, she isn’t pleased but she’ll accept the answer. Icarus desperately wants to tug on the rebellious curl that’s escaped from her bun. Her large sunglasses act as a headband, perched atop her head, but even then some of the smaller curls that frame her face find ways to escape.

“I won’t waste your time any further, I’m sure you’re all wondering why I’ve brought you here.” Marcellus gets right into it, going through with his promise immediately.

Icarus, being the useless bisexual he is, lets his eyes fall from Marcellus’ face to his collarbones. A thin silver chain decorates his fair skin, and there’s a mole resting on his clavicle.

---

“I can’t believe you!” Sandro doesn’t bother taking the keys out of the ignition, and the engine rumbles softly in the background.

“I turned my back on you for one second to talk to the nurse, and poof! You vanished into thin air without any of your shit except for your wallet and your jacket. I drove around, hoping I would find you and here you are five whole blocks away-”

Icarus zones out, staring at Sandro’s scuffed boots. He keeps telling the guy to replace them, but Sandro will wear something until it’s falling apart before he considers replacing it. Where did he get those anyway? They’re a few years old if Icarus remembers correctly. No, he didn’t get them for himself; they were a gift. Birthday gift? Christmas?

Sandro stomps his foot, sending loose bits of gravel flying. He shields his fries from the spray of dirt, turning his body away. It would be childish on anyone else, but Sandro knows Icarus very well. He knew he lost him in thoughts about his boots.

“-and now you’re not listening to me.”

“Nope.” Icarus shrugs, scooping up a fry with a mountain of green chile, cheese and bits of bacon on top of it.

---

“I always knew Elio liked you the most.” Dakota sighs wistfully, settling back down.

“You did basically force him to be your friend then threw him to us.” Sandro’s hand settles on Icarus’ shoulder, a solid weight instead trying to shake answers out of him like a dog with a squeaky toy.

“His name is Elio! Spanish version of the name Helios, Greek god of the Sun. Mine is Icarus, of course I forced him to be my friend!” He happened to hear his name by pure chance, and Icarus pounced.

It was too perfect to miss the opportunity. Not that Elio much appreciated it, but he’s desensitized to the lot of them. Whether he likes it or not they’re friends now. He needs to hang out with more people aside from his parents anyway.

“Also, I know this is a very severe subject change, but my binder is seriously squeezing my ribcage, get off.” His friends scramble off him, dispersing like the Red Sea.

---

“Are you sure I’m not keeping you up?” Amancio finally gets the balls to break the silence, speaking so softly Icarus isn’t sure if he heard him right.

“Nah.” Sleep comes to him in small fits and bursts, hardly lasting for more than an hour or two before he’s ready to go again.

“O-oh.” Amancio pokes at his burger, it’s the first time he’s touched it since the waitress plopped it in front of him.

“And you don’t want anything to eat? I-I’ll pay for it.” He’s avoiding looking at Icarus, and yet he can’t keep his eyes from roaming over his face every few seconds.

It’s like he's searching for something and he keeps coming up empty every time. His eyes will flick back to his burger. It’ll hold his attention for a little, but then he’s right back at it. Don’t even get him started on his hands, they’ve been fluttering around nonstop. The guy has bees in his hands, Icarus swears.

#seven snippets seven people #tag games #thank you for the tag!!#my writing #my ocs #those lovely cuspids #icarus orduña #and who is this mystery character at the end! Who knows!#i tried to keep this as short as possible!

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barbarewjohnson · 2 years ago

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Why Content Creation is Worth Your Time and Investment

If you’re a business owner, you’ve probably heard the phrase “content is king” thrown around a lot. It’s true that in order to succeed online, you need to have high-quality content on your website. But what exactly is content? And more importantly, is content creation worth your time and investment?

In its simplest form, content is anything that appears on your website – text, images, videos, etc. However, creating quality content isn’t as simple as just throwing some words and pictures together. It takes time and effort to create something that will not only appeal to your target audience but also help you achieve your business goals.

So why bother with content creation? Because it’s worth it! High-quality content can help you attract new customers, build brand awareness, and establish yourself as an expert in your industry. Additionally, well-written articles or blog posts can boost your search engine ranking and drive traffic to your site. In other words, investing in quality content pays off!

Content Creation: The Pros and Cons

Assuming you would like a blog titled “Content Creation: The Pros and Cons”:

There is no denying that content creation takes time, effort, and sometimes money. But is it worth it? That’s the question many businesses are asking themselves these days. Let’s take a look at the pros and cons of content creation to help you make a decision for your business.

1. Helps You Rank in Google Search Results: Creating quality content helps youRank in Google Search Results (and other search engines). This is because when you produce helpful, informative articles, people are more likely to link to your site – which tells Google your site is valuable and should be ranked higher in search results pages.

2. Drives Traffic to Your Website: In addition to helping with your SEO efforts, publishing quality content also drives traffic to your website or blog. This is because people who read and enjoy your articles will be likely to visit your site again in the future – and they may even tell their friends or colleagues about you!

3) establishes You as an Expert in Your Field : When you publish high-quality content on a regular basis, it helps establish you (and/or your company) as an expert or authority figure in your industry or niche. People will start coming to YOU for information instead of the other way around! Not only does this give you a great feeling of accomplishment, but it can also lead to increased sales or revenue down the road as people trust what you have to say enoughto buy fromyou .

Is Content Creation Really Worth Your Time?

Yes, content creation is definitely worth your time! After all, without quality content, how would you communicate your brand’s message and value to potential customers? How would they even know that your product or service exists?

Content creation is not only an essential part of marketing your business, but it can also be extremely helpful in boosting search engine optimization (SEO) efforts. By creating keyword-rich content, you can help improve your website’s ranking in search results pages. And the higher your ranking is, the more likely people are to find and visit your site.

In short, yes – content creation is definitely worth your time! Not only will it help get your brand noticed by potential customers, but it can also give your SEO a boost.

Why You Should (and shouldn’t) Create Content

Assuming you want a blog titled “Why You Should (and shouldn’t) Create Content”:

Creating content may seem like a daunting task, but it is worth it in the long run. Not only does creating content help to improve your writing skills, but it also allows you to build an audience and establish yourself as an expert in your field.

However, there are some downsides to creating content. For one, it can be time-consuming. If you’re not careful, you can easily spend hours working on a piece without seeing any results. Additionally, not all content will be successful. Some of your pieces may flop miserably, no matter how well written they are.

So should you create content? Ultimately, the decision is up to you. But if you’re willing to put in the work and risk the occasional failure, then yes – creating content is definitely worth it.

How to Decide If content Creation is Right for You

There are a lot of factors to consider when deciding if content creation is right for you. Here are a few key questions to ask yourself:

1. What is your budget? Creating high-quality content can be costly, especially if you outsource the work to professionals. There are costs associated with research, writing, editing, design, and distribution. If you have a limited budget, it may not be feasible to create the kind of content that will really stand out and attract attention.

2. How much time do you have? Creating great content takes time – there’s no way around it. If you don’t have the manpower or resources to commit to producing regular content, it may not be worth starting down this path.

3. What are your goals? Why do you want to start creating content? What do you hope to achieve? If your goal is simply to generate more leads or sales, then there are other marketing initiatives that may be more effective uses of your time and money. But if your goal is brand awareness or thought leadership, then creating quality content can help get you there

The Benefits of Creating Great content

There’s no doubt that developing great content takes time, effort and skill. But is it worth it? Here are three key benefits of creating high-quality content:

2. It establishes you as an authority

If you’re looking to generate more leads for your business, then investing in quality content is a must. By creating informative and engaging content, you’ll be able to attract more visitors to your website or blog – which means more potential customers for your business.

Not only will quality content help you attract more leads, but it will also help establish you as an authority in your industry. When you produce well-written and informative articles, people will begin to see you as an expert in your field – which can do wonders for your reputation and credibility.

And lastly, perhaps the most important benefit of all – quality content builds trust between you and your audience. If people enjoy reading your articles and find them helpful, they’ll start to develop faith in both you and your brand – which could eventually lead to conversions down the line.

Pitfalls to Avoid When it comes to content Creation

Content Creation can be a great way to improve your website and attract new readers. However, there are some pitfalls you should avoid when creating content. These include:

1) Don’t keyword stuff – This means packing your content with so many keywords that it becomes difficult to read. Not only will this irritate your readers, but it will also make your content less effective for SEO purposes.

2) Don’t plagiarize – This is a surefire way to get into legal trouble and ruin your reputation. If you use someone else’s work, be sure to give them credit.

3) Don’t forget about grammar and spelling – While not everyone is a perfect speller or grammarian, errors in your content can make you look unprofessional and turn off potential readers. Be sure to proofread before you publish!

Conclusion

Yes, content creation is definitely worth your time and investment! Not only does it help you attract new visitors to your site or blog, but it also helps you build trust and credibility with your audience. Plus, creating quality content can be a great way to connect with other like-minded individuals in your industry.

The post Why Content Creation is Worth Your Time and Investment appeared first on SwiftCreator.com.

https://ifttt.com/images/no_image_card.png https://swiftcreator.com/content-creation/why-content-creation-is-worth-your-time-and-investment/

https://ifttt.com/images/no_image_card.png https://swiftcreator.weebly.com/swift-creator/why-content-creation-is-worth-your-time-and-investment

#experience supplying #administrative support #complex schedules #budgeting #multiple projects #Excel

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christophermraerdon · 2 years ago

Text

Why Content Creation is Worth Your Time and Investment

youtube

Content Creation: The Pros and Cons

Assuming you would like a blog titled “Content Creation: The Pros and Cons”:

Is Content Creation Really Worth Your Time?

In short, yes – content creation is definitely worth your time! Not only will it help get your brand noticed by potential customers, but it can also give your SEO a boost.

Why You Should (and shouldn’t) Create Content

Assuming you want a blog titled “Why You Should (and shouldn’t) Create Content”:

So should you create content? Ultimately, the decision is up to you. But if you’re willing to put in the work and risk the occasional failure, then yes – creating content is definitely worth it.

How to Decide If content Creation is Right for You

There are a lot of factors to consider when deciding if content creation is right for you. Here are a few key questions to ask yourself:

The Benefits of Creating Great content

There’s no doubt that developing great content takes time, effort and skill. But is it worth it? Here are three key benefits of creating high-quality content:

2. It establishes you as an authority

Pitfalls to Avoid When it comes to content Creation

Content Creation can be a great way to improve your website and attract new readers. However, there are some pitfalls you should avoid when creating content. These include:

2) Don’t plagiarize – This is a surefire way to get into legal trouble and ruin your reputation. If you use someone else’s work, be sure to give them credit.

Conclusion

The post Why Content Creation is Worth Your Time and Investment appeared first on SwiftCreator.com.

https://ifttt.com/images/no_image_card.png https://swiftcreator.com/content-creation/why-content-creation-is-worth-your-time-and-investment/

https://ifttt.com/images/no_image_card.png https://swiftcreatorcom.wordpress.com/2023/02/27/why-content-creation-is-worth-your-time-and-investment/

#computer scientist #experimental roboticist #university of denver #assistant professor #computer sci

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bilboyagathechickenfootedhobbit · 22 days ago

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There’s definitely some difference in perspective considering the nearly quarter century difference in age 😂 I grew up in a time when we weren’t constantly bombarded with advertising. The advertising that existed was FUCK AWFUL, but if you didn’t watch TV or read magazines you could avoid the worst of it. Your generation is growing up in a time where, no matter where you turn you are inundated with toxic messaging, usually disguised as a message of empowerment, so it’s only natural that the methods my generation used to express themselves aren’t well-known to you guys. You guys get fed media that tells you how to be subversive, but it’s really just corporate conformity repackaged in a punk aesthetic, which is how you get conservative punks.

Etsy is a great source for buying unique handmade clothes, although more and more it seems you have to click to like page 16 to find a vendor that isn’t just drop-shipping cheap shit from China. I’d suggest local thrift stores, hitting yard/estate sales (rich old ladies have some of the COOLEST AND WEIRDEST SHIT, yo!), bazaars, flea markets, and my fav, clothing swaps. We even created a clothing corner at my last job, where people could bring in articles of clothing to donate and we just had a big closet back by the student lounge and you could take whatever you wanted. It was a great way for our students on a budget to get new clothes, and it was a nice encouragement for the staff to go through their closets regularly. Twice a year we would reserve a classroom to do a huge clothing swap where we would take donations for a month and then set up the classroom with tables and have all the clothes laid out for people to browse. I got the most AMAZING white faux fur jacket at one. I feel like a princess in it, it’s nothing I ever would have thought to buy, but for free? It’s become one of my favorite winter coats.

The point being, sometimes you can find cool clothes that aren’t in big brand stores, but sometimes you have to make it happen yourself, be it creating a community clothing swap, learning to sew, or actively seeking out small vendors/fairs/markets. But we all have to start somewhere, and the important thing is to start. It’s become so second nature to me to seek out alternative avenues for clothes that I was completely taken aback the other day when someone asked me where on EARTH I managed to find my outlandish clothes. I was like “uh, same as everyone? I dug through some dead persons closet and combined it with some fabric scraps from my sewing bin?” I was not expecting the weird look I got, and then I was like “oh yeah, this person gets their clothes at Target…….” No hate, but I was just like “what do you mean you don’t drive around looking for estate sales to plunder?”

I’ve very much enjoyed this; as you can tell, I’m always happy to entertain questions. Bouncing ideas back and forth is how we learn and grow, and there’s no age limit on that!

On the topic of not wearing makeup, look, I know it’s hard to give it up. It’s hard when you’ve grown used to how your face looks with it on and you find your natural face to look…..off. Washed out. Not right. Icky. I get it.

But look. I am 42 years old, I have not exactly taken the best care of myself (WAY too much drinking/drugs/partying in my 20’s and 30’s) I don’t exercise nearly as much as I should and I’m just…..man, I’m just making it through each day. I don’t do facials or microdermabrasion or any of that shit. I have a vitamin c facial cleanser, rose water toner, and a vitamin c moisturizer. That’s it. I don’t wear makeup, I don’t do masks and treatments and peels on my face. I wear a sunhat with built in SPF when I’m outdoors and that is literally the full extent of what I do for my face.

And you gyns…..the number of times I have been mistaken for being AT LEAST ten years younger than I am is ASTOUNDING. I gave up makeup and let my skin heal and suddenly I went from “Oh you say you’re in your 40’s? That tracks” to “Bull fucking SHIT you’re 42!!! You’re maybe 30, TOPS, what the hell??” When I was still wearing makeup I once got mistaken for my husband’s MOTHER, okay?? And that man has silver all throughout his fucking hair.

Look, nobody really knows what any particular age looks like on any individual. I’ve known women in their 60’s that passed as peers of mine in my 20’s because they had gorgeous high cheekbones and skin like porcelain. I’ve known teenage boys that looked like fucking narcs. Nobody knows what any age is “supposed” to look like. But I CAN tell you that if you give up makeup and let your skin heal, you will look healthier and more vibrant than you ever have at any point with a layer of chemicals on your face. Maybe you’ll look younger maybe not, who cares? But your skin WILL be healthier, and it will show.

It’s hard to take the first step, and if you aren’t able to do it over a holiday break, you’ll probably have to accept that you’ll get some looks and comments from your peers. But I cannot stress enough how, once you make the adjustment, you’ll grow so used to and in love with your natural face that the idea of putting makeup on will disgust you; it will look weird and clownish and as “not right” as your natural face once did to you.

And the more of us that eschew makeup, the easier it will get for other women to follow in our footsteps. We lead by example and the more of us not wearing makeup there are, the more normal it will seem for other women.

If you can’t give it all up at once, try to scale it back. Ditch the eyeshadow and just do mascara. Ditch the concealer and just do a light foundation. Scale it back at your own pace, but with the end goal always being to completely eliminate it.

You will feel so much better for it. Eventually. Just push through to the other side.

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gh0st-patr0l · 4 years ago

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HOOOOO boy. So, Twitter found a new buzzword... and are calling out a bunch of youtubers/streamers as "industry plants".

Oh boy.

For those of you who somehow haven't heard, there's been a lot of drama online about a band called the Tramp Stamps, who have recently popped up trying to pose as a self-made, riot grrrl, punk-rock group. To make a long story short, people dug into everything and found out that they were actually put together and funded by a big label and are totally fake.

Which is fine, kinda funny, whatever. But the thing is, now a bunch of people who don't really know what they're talking about have found a word that sounds bad and can be used to talk shit about people, and it's getting thrown around like a fucking game of dodgeball.

So! Let's actually talk about this.

By definition, an "industry plant" is an artist of any kind who presents themselves as and pretends to be a 'homegrown', self-made creator, when in reality their career was started and funded by some bigger corporation.

What this an Industry Plant IS; The Tramp Stamps, who based their image and social media presence about being alt, garage-band punks, when in reality they're just a bunch of rich white girls backed by a label, wearing Dolls Kill and spewing gross, poser-ass garbage.

What an Industry Plant is NOT; An independent streamer who achieves a decent amount of success and signs on to a management group.

Because that's the thing- all this freaking out about "industry plants"? Is just folks doing research and finding out- gasp- a successful public personality and entertainer has a MANAGER??????

I don't know how to explain to yall that hiring someone to help you with your business and finances. Does not invalidate your career.

The difference between a "plant" and just,, a successful entertainer/artist is that a plant is selected, funded by, and has its image shaped by a brand, company, etc. If you only got funding and management after you're successful, you can't be a plant.

For example! Let's talk about a member of the MCYT community who has been Heavily accused in this spur of drama- Karl Jacobs.

Now, as far as I've seen, the main reason people seem to think he's a plant is that he works under a pretty big management agency, Night Media, and because he got his 'start' with Mr. Beast.

Really, I think this just shows that people don't really bother doing actual research into this stuff.

When Karl first started streaming, it wasn't under Karl Jacobs- and he didn't even stream minecraft. His first channel was "GamerBoyKarl", which he started in college, and he was primarily a Roblox streamer. Karl has talked about this period of his life several times- how he streamed every day, for hours, while working full time on a dual degree program. He's explained that after every stream he did, he would sit and watch back through the entire vod, taking notes to figure out what he did well and what he needed to improve on. He would come up with weird, crazy stunts to try to entertain and get more viewers, like snorting g-fuel when he got a sub or donation.

He did this for about four years and peaked at around 100 viewers.

Then, through a chance connection (I believe through his brother), he got a job offer at Mr. Beast. He quit school five weeks before his graduation and dropped his entire life to take the opportunity- and it was just as an editor. While editing there, again, he would take notes on the raw footage he was given to figure out patterns in the content, what jokes worked and what didn't, how much to talk or do, etc. so that when he finally got a chance to perform on camera, he could be as entertaining and efficient as possible.

And then he gradually became an on-camera personality, and then he met Dream and the others and started streaming again, and around that time he ended up signing on with Night Media, the same management group that Mr. Beast and Neeko are both signed under.

This, my friends, is not an industry plant.

Karl worked extremely hard to get to where he is, and his success is a mix of dedication and a few lucky breaks and connections. He isn't a put-together act, and he wasn't funded by some weird corporation to be a fucking MCYT streamer.

And that's my real problem with this- the fact that when you just accuse someone of being a plant because they have a manager, you're basically saying that they didn't do any work to get where they are. That they're fake, that they're a liar, and that they don't deserve the success that they have. It's really fucking insulting, especially when you're so blatantly wrong.

I went off on a bit of a tangent, but I guess my point here is- not everyone who has a manager is a corporate industry plant. Do research, actually learn what terms and words mean, and don't just throw around the twitter hot word of the day because it's fun to start shit.

Be smarter than that, folks. I know you can.

#dream smp #dsmp #karl jacobs #industry plants #tramp stamps #mr beast #twitch #mcyt #ghost.txt

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fatefulfaerie · 2 years ago

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Treasure

Linktober 2022 prompt #26/31

Word Count: 2,029

Incarnation: Ocarina of Time AU

Trigger Warnings: Curse words (1)

The darkness of the night was reflected in the black garb of other thieves, who knew not of the organ inside their skull and were often caught at the first gate.

Link, in contrast, branded a stately white, with crisp gloves and a shining invitation to the ball, a thief masquerading as a royalty-pressed nobleman with kind eyes and good intentions. His smirk was carefully hidden in the shadows. Otherwise, he was the portrait of a gentleman, with a soft stoicism that had all the ladies swooning in their corsets.

He had never been caught, which is why his face was something he could brandish, not something erringly etched onto a wanted poster, but something quite his own. He wore it proudly although he didn’t know the pair of lovers that gave it to him, and he didn’t care to find out.

He cared almost just as little for finding his own lover as he weaved through the crowds of suitors, some far too old for the ladies they were exchanging pleasantries with, some whose status and wealth was quite obviously their only attribute, and some who were more into their own looks than anyone else’s. Love was as far from this ballroom as it could be, and it was far from Link’s mind as well. The relic he was meant to steal would get him away from this sorry excuse for a kingdom for good, to a place where the rich didn’t get richer and the poor didn’t get poorer, where status didn’t determine whether or not you got food that week, where being born a bastard and dumped in an alley didn’t grant you a lifetime sentence of poverty.

Link placed his pristine invitation on the silver platter and was announced as Sir Castor, a name he carefully choose to be neither too outrageous nor too commonplace. Because no one recognized it, no one turned their heads except for the ladies who already had lustful eyes on him before. And, because it seemed like a name a nobleman would have, no one batted their eyes as Link continued through the crowd of people he tried not to roll their eyes at.

So superficial, he thought, with their ocean-deprived pearls scooping their necks and their ridiculously ornate maid-sewn suits flaunted as if they made them themselves. So ignorant, he thought as well, the lords and ladies in attendance complaining about such insignificant things, like how their servants don’t do this right or how their cook didn’t make that the way they preferred. Link tried not to have his blue eyes glare in contempt and jealousy as he caught bits of conversations, but soon enough he was out of earshot and ascending the stairs. His hands behind his back and his stride casual, he did so slowly, as if he were admiring the castle, the armaments. He wasn’t the only one, and thus he fit in like a charm.

There was a famous painting next to the royal chambers of the Princess that was one of the most visited spectacles. Link knew this even before he was given a tip about the relic in the Princess’ chambers, which is why he knew this job would be a piece of cake.

Literally.

He was munching on cake by the time he got up there, and there was only one other person admiring the painting. All Link had to do was pretend to ponder the work of art until the guy left, and so he did.

The painting was nothing really special to Link, or maybe he just didn’t get the whole art thing. He wondered at these snobby castle people more than he marveled at the painting. Was this their greatest form of entertainment? Idolizing the past? Staring at something unmoving? He supposed that made sense, considering the way Hyrule was operated.

The painting itself was of Hyrule Field, partly cloudy skies looking down upon rolling green hills. Death Mountain in the distance releasing a puff of smoke frozen in time and Hyrule Castle looking picture-perfect, as it always did.

“Stellar painting, isn’t it?” the man beside him said.

Conversation? Link inwardly balked. He just wanted to do this job and get out of here.

“For sure,” he lied. Was that convincing? How did rich people talk?

“Such a paramount sense of hope,” the man continued. “The artist had a great vision.”

Hope? That’s what this guy saw? Link had seen this same thing his whole life, the perfect castle that refused to be anything but a perfect castle. Link saw this and felt sad, hungry, deficient, lonely, isolated, almost angry. Not in the least bit hopeful.

“Indeed,” was the fanciest word Link could muster and luckily it was the last one he had to, the man soon politely excusing himself. Link opened the door to the Princess’ chambers and saw the relic almost immediately, illuminated by the moonlight in the dark, abandoned room.

It was a blue instrument called an ocarina, with a particular glass-like sheen and the emblem of the Hyrulean royal family painted onto it. He was told it was worth a fortune. Link didn’t understand why as he held it, as it seemed like any other ocarina he had seen. Maybe the fancy paint job? Who knew? Link pocketed it and went for the door.

“Zelda, I demand you get back down there this instant.”

Link’s hand froze on the doorknob and his eyes widened.

Zelda.

Princess Zelda.

Crap.

He raced to the center of the room and panicked, looking every which way frantically for a good place to hide until her visit to her chambers had passed. This was a room in the castle in which he could not get away with just saying he was sightseeing. This was treason. This was trespassing. This was a rookie mistake. This was…

Well this was a terribly drawn face on a wanted poster.

Link doved behind a wide chair and prayed. He didn’t know what god or goddess he prayed to, being an atheist, but he prayed.

The door opened and slammed shut, and soon candlelight illuminated the room. The princess huffed a sigh and the bed squeaked.

“Zelda!”

The door opened again, but this time it stayed open. Link’s inward panic increased. Only one person in the kingdom would call her highness by her given name, and not her title. Great, now the King was involved. This was a crime. This was an execution. This was Link’s head on a plate. This was…

Well this was actually a pretty infamous way to die. Not everyone got the honor of being ordered to be killed by the king himself.

“Can you just play nice with the suitors for one night?” He asked his daughter.

“They are twice my age,” Zelda reasoned, and Link felt a streak of pity for the young woman. “And one of them is thrice my age.”

“I’m not asking you to marry them, just to be cordial.”

Zelda scoffed.

“Oh yes, tonight I am to be cordial,” Zelda said. “But tomorrow, perhaps friendly, and the next ball scandalously flirtatious, and the next ball an engagement is announced, and the next ball you’ll be expecting a child on the way. I’m not doing this.”

There was a bout of silence, and Link would have thought the King had left if not for the absence of loud footsteps. The bed squeaked again. How old was this bed? Link imagined the King had sat next to his verklempt daughter.

“It’s not like that,” the king said, his tone noticeably softened. “I just want you to be happy. I’m sorry that these suitors are all I can offer you, but they are the best of the best. These noblemen have had the best education, the best combat training, and know the most of our history and politics.”

“I don’t want a man suited for King,” Zelda said. “I want a man suited for me. He could be an inbred peasant and I wouldn’t care as long as there’s love between us.”

“Zelda,” the King began, as if he were to break to his daughter some reality. “Love is–”

He obviously stopped himself, sighing.

“Love is what you deserve,” he said instead. “I’ll leave you be.”

The King stood up.

“What about the suitors?” Zelda asked. The King laughed.

“I think they already know exactly how you feel.”

His parting words were filled with knowledge and wisdom, and his departing footsteps would have relieved Link if they didn’t suggest that Zelda would not be leaving her room to go back downstairs.

Demand she at least rejoin the ball.

Link’s chants in his head did nothing and the King was gone.

Gone gone.

Damn it.

Link attempted to snake out from behind the chair and at first he was successful, the princess so deep in thought that she didn’t notice his stealthy footsteps. He opted still for the open door instead of the window, as the window was far more suspicious. Once he got to the painting, he could consider the job done.

“What did you take?”

The princess’ voice made him freeze in his tracks, but he didn’t turn around.

“I didn’t take anything, Your Highness,” Link said. “I mistook this for the lavatory and hid in panic once I heard your voice. My sincerest apologies.”

It was quick. The sensation of the Ocarina sliding away from his pocket was met with his own instinct, taking her by the wrist and with a swift motion pinning her to the floor. He held her wrists against it and somehow his finger was lodged in the exact place on her wrist to force her to loose her grip. The ocarina was free to take and yet Link didn’t budge.

You see, he looked at her blue eyes and he got it.

Art.

It was about capturing beauty.

Link panted, not out of fatigue as he expected, and not out of fear as the Princess was now–-after all a stranger who had broken into her chambers was now straddling her.

“You are an idiot,” she said. “You have not bound my mouth. My scream will ensure your quick death before you can even think of stripping me of my dignity.”

Her words had a bite to them, which if at all possible made Link fall for her even faster. He couldn’t believe himself. This job even now was still doable. He could flee out the window, he could even knock her unconscious and still walk away as a ballroom guest who had finally finished looking at the painting. He could frame that other guy, or even the King for assailing the princess and get off scot-free. He could sell the ocarina and be rich. Really rich. So rich he could buy his own castle and complain about his own servants.

But he stayed, straddling the princess–-who hadn’t screamed yet by the way--knees bent and digging into the carpet, hands holding his head above hers.

“I didn’t come here to rob you of your dignity,” he said. “Unless you’d like me to.”

The princess looked as if she was seriously considering it, sizing him up and down while biting her bottom lip, yet she apparently decided not to, her lustful expression fading and her head shaking.

“You heard my conversation with my father,” Zelda explained. “I don’t want my desperation to make me do something I’ll regret.”

Link nodded as he stepped away from her, standing up and letting her take the ocarina.

“I can’t be so desperate for love that I make it with the first handsome thief that crosses my path,” she explained, crossing past Link and placing the ocarina exactly where it was before.

Zelda didn’t turn around at first.

“But perhaps the second,” she said, turning towards Link, who was absolutely stunned by her ethereal beauty in the moonlight. “In fact I’ll be available for robbing tomorrow night if any handsome thieves don’t have anywhere else to be.”

Link stammered at first.

“I-I uh…” Link said weakly. “I can’t think of a single place.”

#linktober #linktober 2022 #zelink

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silversatoru · 4 years ago

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Can i regurst a gojo x reader smut where y/n is gojo’s ex girlfriend and also a strong jujutsu sorcerer and they get back together asdfghjkl 🥺😂? Tyy 🥺

hehhee yes ma’am here u are!!! i actually loved writing this one (i think i just have a thing for writing gojo lately lmao) anyway! i! hope! you! enjoy!

to heaven and back

gojo satoru x f! sorcerer!reader

synopsis: you and your ex, gojo satoru, beat the hell out of a few special grade curses and then head back to his house to rekindle an old (and kind of kinky) flame

tags/warnings: nsfw (18+), smut, handcuffs, blindfolding, little bit of oral sex, teasing, alcohol consumption, some fluff at the end? just a little

word count: 3.1k

You lifted your elegant glass of random wine that you could care less about knowing the name of, and took a long sip. All of these old rich bastards talked way too much about brand names, aging, and what cheese paired well with each wine. They were missing what was really important — which one would get you drunk the quickest.

These kinds of formal events weren’t really your scene, and having to listen to a bunch of old, conservative, high-up jujutsu leaders was terribly boring — so why not take this opportunity to get a little tipsy? You deserved it for putting up with all of these assholes. After all, the only reason they invited you to this prestigious event was for protection. If that pesky band of special grade curses caught wind that all of the higher ups from both Kyoto and Tokyo were in the same place, they were sure to launch some kind of attack. The old, wrinkly douchebags couldn’t care less about your opinions of the jujutsu world and how you would change it, they only liked you for incredible cursed technique.

And so here you were, spitefully wearing your most elegant dress and downing glasses of wine in an attempt to drown out all of the nonsense around you. There was only one thing that could make this event any worse and—

“Hello everyone! The strongest jujutsu sorcerer has arrived — I know you were all looking forward to my appearance”.

And there it was. There was that one thing that could make this event any worse. Gojo Satoru.

You dipped your head low, burying yourself in your glass of wine and praying to any god who would listen to not let this man see you. It’s been over two years since the two of you broke up, but he still wasn’t someone you enjoyed running into.

Gojo was terribly notorious for having a long line of girls at his disposal, and with his incredible strength and annoyingly good-looks, it wasn’t hard to understand why. The two of you had never been in an officially committed relationship, and so technically Gojo was free to do as he pleased — but you were practically dating and your heart ached every time you caught wind of him being with another woman. And so two years ago you cut things off with him for good — you were tired of being the one he always ran back to at the end of the day.

He’d looked at you with eyes full of pain that night, begging and pleading to stay with him. He showed you a vulnerable side to him that you had never seen before — and he swore to you that if you had asked to make things official, he would have committed himself to you fully. You declined however, because you felt like you shouldn’t have needed to ask for that kind of thing — but maybe that was just your ego getting in the way.

“Hey, beautiful, I’ve never seen you around before, you must be from the Tokyo campus,” Some random assistant casually leaned against the counter you were sitting at and shook you out of your thoughts.

“If you’ve never seen me before then you must not be very important,” You shot him a distasteful glance, taking another sip of your wine.

The man’s face lit up with panic — he must not have been expecting such retaliation to his pathetic attempt of flirting.

“Are you bothering her?” A familiar voice came from behind you — a long, slender hand slapping down onto your shoulder, “Please don’t flirt with my wife”.

“Ah- Wife? I’m so sorry, sir,” The man stumbled over his words, bowing his head to Gojo and scurrying away.

Gojo wasted no time sliding into the seat next to you and pouring himself a glass of wine from the bottle you’d already been working on.

“Really? You’re telling people I’m your wife now?” You gave him a deadpanned look.

“It worked, didn’t it?” He shrugged his shoulders and took a sip from his glass.

You rolled your eyes hard, “Why are you here, Satoru?”

“Same reason as you. The old, conservative pussies are afraid those special grades might attack — so why not invite their two prized sorcerers to protect them?”

“Fair,” You let out a heavy sigh, “Not sure that was their best move though — I don’t think either one of us is very motivated to save these fuckers”.

“No, but I brought my students with me today. So, if anything does happen, make sure you put on a show for them,” He winked, already topping off his wine glass.

You looked over to see a few kids sitting a couple tables away from the two of you, chatting amongst themselves and wondering why the fuck they had to be here.

And so an hour or two went by, and to your surprise, you found yourself laughing hysterically alongside Gojo. The two of you had definitely drank a bit too much, and your personalities complimented each other a little too perfectly. You shared the same terrible sense of humor and he had quite the knack for bringing out this lighthearted side of you. You had missed moments like this these past two years.

Neither of you were paying any attention to the current debate that was occurring between the higher ups when a loud crash sent broken pieces of glass flying through the grand hall. Sure enough, the curses had made their appearance and came flying into the building through a now broken window.

“It’s our time to shine, huh?” Gojo looked over at you, and you imagined that his icy blue eyes were swirling with excitement under that mask.

“Yeah, let’s make this quick,” You found a warm ball of excitement churning in your own stomach — it’d been a long time since the two of you had fought together.

Your technique revolved around the manipulation of cursed energy and converting it into light. You could wrap yourself in a shield of light, send curse-filled bursts of light at your enemies, and move at the speed of light as well — which was almost as efficient as Gojo’s teleportation abilities. You had a series of more advanced moves as well, but those required more energy output and therefore you used them a little less often.

The two of you were both able to move so fast that the curses really didn’t stand a chance. You found yourself laughing as you flipped through the air, hurling balls of light at the curses as Gojo worked closer in hand-to-hand combat. At one point, while the two of you were flying past each other, Gojo stuck out his hand and gave you a high five, both of you smiling like maniacs who enjoyed fighting a little too much.

Between Gojo’s Limitless and your extreme agility and bursts of light, the curses were quickly forced to flee. Both of you were feeling much too drunk and much too lazy to chase after them, even with all of the higher ups begging you to do so. Gojo simply flipped them off and stuck out his tongue, saying that he did what they paid him to do — keep the curses away — and now that the curses had been scared off, he was no longer needed.

“You want to come back with me, relieve more of our old memories together? I remember how much you loved sleeping in my king sized bed,” Gojo looked back at you, offering one of his large, slender hands.

Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was your stupid, stupid heart, but you reached out and took his hand, “Fuck it, let’s go”.

Gojo’s house on the outskirts of the Tokyo campus was just as you remembered — sleek black interior with modern furniture and extravagantly silky sheets on his bed — his same bed that you were currently sprawled out on, laying in nothing but your undergarments.

Gojo joined you a couple minutes later, his bare skin warm and familiar against yours. He pressed a few sloppy kisses to your lips, both of you still incredibly tipsy and unable to stop the small giggles from leaking out between your lips while you kissed.

“Take the blind fold off you weirdo,” You pulled at the back of the black fabric.

“Mmm, okay,” He mumbled, undoing the knot and exposing his piercing blue eyes.

“So pretty,” You murmured under your breath — his eyes really were the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen in your life

His fluffy silver hair fell down messily over his face, a drunken smile stretched across his lips. His smile quickly turned into a devilish grin as he slipped the mask over your eyes instead, tying a tight not at the back of your head.

“This isn’t what I meant,” You droned, but you didn’t argue — you certainly weren’t opposed to being blindfolded.

“It looks good on you,” He slurred, his words messy and his lips even messier as he pressed them back against yours.

The kisses seemed to last forever, and both of you were perfectly okay with that — your hands taking their time exploring each other’s bodies for the first time in far too long.

Gojo’s hands worked their way up your back, tracing lines along your toned muscles until he finally reached the nape of your neck. His fingers entangled themselves in your hair, soft hums coming from his lips.

“I still have handcuffs, if you’re still into that sort of thing,” he mused, massaging his fingertips into your scalp.

“Damn, I can’t believe you remember what I like. I thought my preferences would have gotten lost among the sea of other women you were pleasing,” You let the snarky remark roll off your tongue, though there was clearly no real spite in your words — you’re both adults and what happened then was in the past now.

“It wasn’t even that many,” He defended, “And you were the only one who ever mattered”.

“I’m flattered,” You laughed, “Now, where are those handcuffs?”

Gojo stifled a deep laugh, his hands leaving your hair as he lifted himself up and stood from the bed. When he returned a few moments later, there was cool metal wrapping around both of your wrists. He had two sets of handcuffs, putting one on each wrist and then hooking the other side to the bed posts.

You were entirely at his disposal now, your hands secured over your head and your vision blocked off by the black mask.

“I could tickle you right now and there’s nothing you could do,” Gojo observed aloud, pressing kisses up the side of your torso.

“Satoru, I would kick the living shit out of you,” You threaten, goosebumps growing under your skin.

“Yeah, but you can’t touch me unless I let you,” He retaliated, his soft hands reaching underneath your bra to feel your breasts.

You groaned in response — his Limitless really did make him impossible.

He cupped each of his hands around your firm lumps, gently massaging them between his fingers. His cool fingertips then made their way down to your lower body, swiftly removing your remaining underwear. You were now completely exposed to him, chills running down your spine as you wondered what he would do next.

You heard a shaky breath leave his lips, his hungry hands massaging circles into your thighs, “God, you’re so beautiful. I missed you so much, you know that?”

“I’m sure you did,” You breathed, “I’m a wonderful person to be around”.

Gojo let out a hearty laugh, and you heard what you assumed to be the sound of his own underwear getting thrown to the floor. A few seconds later he was straddling your torso, his warm thighs wrapped around your body. You couldn’t see it, but you knew his massive member had to be right in front of your face now.

“Remind me what that pretty mouth can do,” He cooed, pressing the tip of his length gently to your lips.

You graciously granted him access, parting your lips and taking the head of his cock into your mouth. You swirled your tongue around the sensitive tip, earning a few twitches from Gojo’s body. You began to bob your head back and forth as much as the handcuffs allowed, a few quiet moans leaving his throat in response.

He began to move his hips against you, gingerly pushing his member deeper and deeper into your mouth until you were taking the full length down your throat. He groaned and let a few curse words slide from between his teeth — your mouth was wrapped so perfectly around him. Tears pricked at your eyes and a couple rough gags ripped through your throat, Gojo finally pulling away and allowing you to catch your breath.

After that, you felt a single one of his long, slim fingers slide into your mouth, and you wasted no time wrapping it in your tongue and sucking hard.

“Good girl,” He murmured, plucking his finger back out of your mouth and moving it down to your aching entrance.

Between the saliva on his finger and the slick juices around your opening — his finger slid in effortlessly. He started moving in quick movements, curling his finger up into your g-spot each time. A few light moans left your lips, your fists clenching in the cuffs as your yearned for more. His finger felt good, but you wanted the real thing — you needed it.

“Satoru, please,” You practically whined his name, a tiny bit ashamed for how desperate you were for him right now.

“Patience, love,” He clicked his tongue and your heart did somersaults at the endearing name.

He removed his singular finger and intertwined it with a second one before sliding them back into your cavern. He picked up a steady pace again, your breath hitching in your throat. Two fingers was certainly better than one, but the continuous teasing was just making you even more desperate to feel his member inside of you. You mumbled his name over and over, small pleads and shameless whispers leaving your mouth as you bucked your hips against his hands.

“No ones fucked you as good as I used to, have they? You’re horribly desperate right now” He clicked his tongue again, removing his fingers and moving them up to your clit. He rubbed the smallest, softest circles against the small nub, your core growing warmer with desire.

“I won’t make you wait any longer then,” He whispered, sitting back and positioning the head of his length against your throbbing cunt.

“Please,” You mumbled fervently, any ego or pride that you once had was completely down the drain now.

Your pleads were finally rewarded, Gojo pressing himself deep into your tight walls. The immediate feeling was complete bliss, your head rolling back in pleasure as you heard a throaty moan creep it’s way out of Gojo’s mouth. His moans were so pretty — god, you’d missed the sound of them.

He moved in and out at a tantalizingly slow pace at first, your hips bucking and wiggling as you made fervent attempts to make him go faster.

“So eager…” He shook his head, continuing to move at a pace that was absolutely agonizing — you thought you might die if he didn’t rail the hell out of you soon.

“Please, fuck,” You gasped, “Stop moving so goddamn slowly”.

“Your whines are so pretty, baby. Say my name and maybe I’ll give you what you want,” He murmured, his voice low and husky.

“Fucking hell,” You gritted your teeth, “Please Satoru, please fuck me already”.

“Shit,” He mumbled under his breath, your words sending electricity coursing through his body.

After hearing you say that, he was quick to give you what you wanted, picking up his pace and wrapping his hands firmly around your hips. Strangled combinations of moans, whimpers, and cries filled the air as they flew from your mouth. You didn’t care how loud or desperate you sounded, you wanted him to know how good he was making you feel.

The two of you were an entangled mess of sweaty skin and throaty moans, Gojo filling your ears with praises and compliments the entire time. His lengthy member railed into you over and over, hitting that perfect pleasure point with each stroke and sending warm surges of ecstasy through your veins.

Your bodies moved together in sync, your breaths aligning and your climaxes threatening to arrive simultaneously. After a few more firm strokes, you felt yourself drowning in pleasure — euphoria crashing through your body like waves. Gojo reached his end point just a few moments later, his loud cuss words and strangled moans filling your ears.

The two of you rode out your orgasms together, and almost immediately afterwards Gojo collapsed next to you. He lazily reached up and uncuffed each of your hands, leaving the cuffs dangling from his bed posts just in case there was a round two in his future. He rolled the sticky condom off his member and tossed into a nearby trash bin, a relaxed sigh slipping between his parted lips. You peeled the black mask off of your eyes, finally able to meet his again.

He was staring at you with eyes filled with all kinds of emotions — the emotions that he’d been too afraid to admit to the first time the two of you were together. But he wasn’t afraid of commitment anymore, he was absolutely certain about what he wanted, and it was you.

“Stay with me,” He asked, his eyes pleading with you, “I’m ready this time, I promise. I’m all yours, if you’ll have me”.

You found a small smile tugging at the edges of your lips as you looked deeper into his eyes, “Of course I’ll stay, as long as you still feel this way when you wake up sober tomorrow”.

“I’ll feel this way forever,” He pressed his head into you and mumbled into your chest, “And I’ll remind you as many times as you need to hear it”.

You wrapped your arms around him in response, the two of you fitting impeccably together. He placed a few gentle kisses to your skin before his breathes began to slow. You found your own breathing to be evening out, your cloudy thoughts pushing you closer and closer to sleep. The two of you slowly drifted off together, your heavy breaths falling perfectly in sync.

#jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsukaisen #gojo satoru smut #gojo #gojo saturo #gojo satoru x female reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x female reader #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo x you #satoru smut #smut #smut and fluff #jjk gojo #jjk smut

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tressasinterlude · 3 years ago

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𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐓 #𝟑: Female Public Figures Dating Men with Questionable Views That Contradict Their Image & Alleged Politics

𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗖𝗟𝗔𝗜𝗠𝗘𝗥: These rant blog posts are really just reflective of my thoughts at the time that I make them and are posted here because I need an outlet to release all of this shit I have going on my busy ass mind. That’s it and that’s all. Now let’s get into it..

This rant was greatly inspired by none other than Ms. Robyn Rihanna “Tell Your Faves To Pull Up [in regards to social injustices directly affecting black people]” Fenty and her openly colorist boyfriend, A$AP Rocky. Aside from the fact that Rihanna tends to slip under the radar and is never held accountable for her problematic ways due to her conventional beauty (i.e. Her heavy usage of anti-Asian slurs, particularly targeted towards Chris Brown’s ex gf, Karrueche), it’s very alarming that a woman who has an entire makeup brand with a campaign based around the inclusivity of ALL black women is publicly flaunting a beau who once said that DSBW do not look good with red lipstick.

And yes, I’m very much aware that Rakim said this tasteless comment over 8 years ago but from the looks of it, not much has really changed with him. Don’t @ me about it neither because I don’t care.

Also peep how he compares a hypothetical darkskinned woman to a man (Wesley Snipes) while trying to explain how his antiblackness isn’t wrong because he said something about white women as well. Gaslighting at its finest. Don’t you just love it! 😀

Furthermore, you would think that somebody of Rihanna’s level of stature would know not to associate themselves with someone as messy as A$AP Rocky but... Stupid is what stupid does, I guess! I can’t even begin to place the blame on him anymore because he’s revealed his true colors and we all have made the deliberate choice to either accept it or don’t and have discontinued all support for him. Unfortunately, misogynoir is never the dealbreaker for most people and the hatred for [dark-skinned] black women is so engrained in society that it’s frowned upon when we publicly speak out against it. Very ass backwards if you ask me but that’s society for you. Now, enough about that. Let’s focus back on Ms. Vita La Coco.

As a woman who claims to be a girl’s girl and is always presenting herself to be someone who is the epitome of a pro-black feminist bad ass, it just makes her alleged activism come off so disingenuous when she’s also laying down with the same man that actively attacks the demographic she’s supposed to be standing in solidarity with. It’s “Black Lives Matter” on the IG posts but your vagina is getting moist for a man who openly stated he doesn’t relate to what goes on in Ferguson because he lives in Soho & Beverly Hills. Ferguson being the exact place where a 17-year-old black boy’s lifeless corpse laid on the hot concrete for FOUR hours after he was murdered by a police officer. He couldn’t 'relate' to the fate of so many black men, women, and children who are murdered or seriously injured from state-sanctioned violence because they’re poor and he is not or so he thought.

But then again, what can I really expect from a woman who identified as being “biracial” until as recent as roughly 6 years ago? What can I really expect from a woman who called Rachel Dolezal a ‘hero’ for cosplaying as a black woman? I’d be lying if I said my expectations for her were high in this regard because sis has always shown us she was lacking in this department. And just for the record, this is not a personal attack on Rihanna at all for the die-hard Navy stans in the back. I admire her latest fashions and bop my head to her music just like the next person but she’s getting the side-eye from me on this one.

Trust and believe me though, she’s not the only woman who I can call out for being a hypocrite. Of course not! This stone can be cast at a few others. So without further ado, why don’t we bring Ms. Kehlani Parrish to the front of the congregation? Prior to Kehlani’s recent declaration of identifying as a lesbian, her last public relationship with a man was with YG. Yes, the same YG who felt it was necessary to say him & Nipsey had ‘pretty light-skinned’ daughters to raise in the middle of his deceased friend’s memorial. By the way, Nipsey’s daughter is not even light (or at least not in my book anyways.) She’s a very deep caramel tone just like her father which makes what he said even more moronic. Yes, the same YG who thought it was clever idea to use slavery as an aesthetic for a music video to a diss track about 6ix9ine. And yes, also the same YG who has derogatory lyrics targeted at bisexual women. Just to end up sweating the red carpets with one. I swear the jokes just continue to write themselves.

This raises the question once more; How high of a pedestal can I really put a multiracial woman who has a song titled ‘N*ggas’ and when received backlash for the song in question, she used the ultimate ‘I’m mixed’ copout while not having a visibly black parent in sight?

It’s also kind of suspicious to me that many were not privy to Kehlani’s secret romance with Victoria Monét (pictured bottom right) until Victoria did an interview with Gay Times revealing she fell in love with a girl but they subsequently broke up because Victoria had a boyfriend and that girl was pregnant in a polyamorous relationship. Fans began to speculate because both Victoria & Kehlani previously candidly spoke about their sexual orientations, Kehlani had just had Adeya and they both were seemingly close. Their short-lived fling would later be confirmed when Victoria released the song ‘Touch Me’ on her last project and Kehlani hopped on the remix. Meanwhile, Kehlani’s relationship with Shaina (pictured bottom left) was very overt and all over her Instagram feed from my recollection. And as you can see, Shaina looks absolutely nothing like Victoria. They look like the complete opposite of eachother in every aspect which is kind of alarming(?) to say the least because why is it that the women she proudly claims as her partners tend to have a very racially ambiguous look such as herself but her ‘sneaky links’ on the other hand are undoubtedly black women? Again, it could just be me jumping conclusions. You know, I’m kinda good for that however something tells me I’m not. Y’all be the judge of the material though.

Last but not least, I’d like to touch on Ms. Raven Tracy very briefly. I was very weary about even including in this segment and if I should just put her in a entirely separate blog post with other women who openly date abusers despite their checkered past (alongside Nicki Minaj & her r*pist murderer of a husband, India Love & Sheck Wes etc.) being this particular blog post was based around the theme of lightskinned/mixed women dating men with extremely problematic views about DSBW. Raven obviously isn’t lightskinned or mixed however I refused to ignore how contradictory her [former] relationship with an alleged (I used this word very loosely and mainly for legality purposes.) serial r*pist while promoting a brand that is all about feminism & body positivity. This also traces back to A$AP Rocky by default being that Ian Connor is his very close friend and he came to Connor’s defense when several women came forward detailing accounts of Connor allegedly s*xually assaulting them. (I wish I could place the actual video of what A$AP Rocky said verbatim but Tumblr only allows one video per blog post. 🙄)

Back in June of this year, Ian & Raven had a back & forth on Twitter after Ian tweeted about Raven “fucking everybody” behind his back. I can only assume that he was alluding to Tori Brixx posting a video of her ex, Rich the Kid & Raven kissing on her story. Disgusted is not even the word to describe my feeling when she admitted she stuck by Ian despite of his many allegations of s*xual abuse because she loved him and her being a empath causes her to want to help everybody. Imagine aiding and abetting a predator and even paying for his bail & legal fees just to turn around and expect sympathy because this same individual cheated on you and exploited you all over Twitter for the public to see. The same man that you would get back with not even a WEEK after the fact & turn off your IG comments because it isn’t our “business” after making it our business...

That being said, I just genuinely want to know: Why do these women completely go against what they stand for in regards to these men? Maybe it was never genuine from jump street and if that’s the case, why jump on the bandwagon of performative activism? Is it because it’s profitable right now? Is it because disrespecting black women is not an immediate death sentence to your careers and more often than not actually helps you advance even further? I guess that’s the billion dollar question that’ll never truly be answered. I just want the world to stop using black women as their stepping stool to get to where they need to go and then discarding of us when we’re no longer beneficial. Support us all the way or don’t support us at all. We deal with enough disrespect as is so we’d appreciate if y’all would stop straddling the fence and partake in your misogynoir out loud if that’s what you choose to do. We have no use for fake allyship and quite frankly, it’s doing more harm for us than good. Please and thank you!

Sincerely,

- 𝙼𝙸𝚂𝚂 𝙴𝙳𝙶𝙰𝚁 𝙰𝙻𝙻𝙴𝙽 𝙷𝙾𝙴. 💋

#i’m finally done after having this sitting in the drafts for about a good month... or two. 🥴🥴#abuse apologists #pro black #activism #feminism #body posititivity #colorism #raven tracy #kehlani #rihanna #yg #asap rocky #rant #my uploads.

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gaiuswrites · 4 years ago

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King of Cups || Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Tower

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | two

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: You’re apart of the Refugee Relief Movement, an intergalactic organization providing aid throughout the systems, and you find yourself assisting at a resettlement camp in Lothal when disaster strikes, changing your life forever, intertwining your path with that of a certain Mandalorian bounty hunter.

Word count: 3.7k~

Rated: Mature

Warnings: descriptive violence, blood/injury mentioning, danger, mature language

Notes: Hi y'all, welcome. This fic is going to be set during Season 2 of The Mandalorian, and will be what I like to call ‘canon adjacent’. ALSo, this chapter is very much so Reader focused, setting up the scene and the general pacing of the story, but naturally, Din will be more and more featured as things progress. I’m a sucker for backstory and a slow burn, so ye be warned. Please feel free to reach out to me. :) I’d love to hear from you lovely little beans. Be safe out there, friends.

Lothal was a planet all too familiar with occupation.

You remember seeing a quote somewhere that read ‘Look no further than Lothal if you want to see what happens when the Empire takes control of an entire world’; and although the Imperial chokehold had loosened when the Empire fell, the planet, even all these years later, still found itself gasping for breath.

Off world migration from the Core Worlds had been popularized since the expansion of the Imperial government bureaucracy, which brought booming business opportunities for the fortunate few, but as the rich became richer, the poor grew poorer. The Lothalites were forced out of their homes, off their own lands—refugees on their own planet; forced to resettle and relocate with nothing but the clothes on their back and the possessions they could cram into their pockets. The only heirlooms passed on from generation to generation were that of poverty, tall tales of former splendor, and the greatest of ancestral traumas: disillusionment.

The truly desperate turned to crime, and what couldn’t be solved by back-dealings and blaster fire was managed with fear mongering and the bitter flair of xenophobia. There was always a species to blame, and it was always the one who seemed to be doing better off, no matter how slight the margin.

Greed. Fear. Despair. These are the currencies in which the galaxy trades.

And so it was then, and continued to be, cycle after cycle. History, always finding clever ways to repeat itself.

On bad days, pollution still loomed heavy over the atmosphere—remnants of the fires from the Imperial occupation still clinging on to Lothal’s weary bones. She had been stripped during that time; gutted and strung up by her feet to dangle from the Empire’s meat hook, exsanguinated slowly, drop by drop, until she had nothing left to give. Her resources and minerals and ore and water and seed, robbed. Pillaged.

She’s free from it now, but the scars remain— the planet remembers. Her people do not forget. Like muscle memory, they all ungulate to this synthesized rhythm they can’t seem to shake, day in and day out, wandering. Forever unsettled.

The planet had always had a diverse population and had become something of a safe haven for other abandoned people fleeing their home worlds, determined to find somewhere - anywhere - for them to survive. Lothal provided that for them. It wasn’t rich or bountiful by any stretch, but it was simple and safe—safe in the way hidden things in plain sight are. One could blend into the crowd of many, unique faces, of all races and backgrounds; you could be anonymous, if you wanted. You could be free.

That’s how you’ve found yourself here in Jortho. You had been with the Refugee Relief Movement for the better part of what felt like forever, and they had transferred you to this planet not six weeks ago. You were out on rotation; the RRM sends someone new twice a cycle for the span of a month or two to varying locations to supply rations, aid with the influx of refugees, organize resettlement lodgings, and generally be of assistance when and where you could. However, your tenure on this temperate planet was coming to a close, and soon you’d be flying back to the headquarters on Coruscant before being bounced to another post somewhere out among the stars.

You love your job. You know it’s unpopular to say, but you do. It’s fulfilling and impactful and indescribably special. The individuals you meet, the stories you hear, they’re invaluable— priceless and precious, like handmade trinkets crafted by the fingers of a child; you press them all to your heart, holding them there. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t get to you— the weight of it; the plights of all of these people, all of these lives, burdening your conscience. It isn’t always painless— you aren’t immune to it. Even so, on most nights you manage to sleep easy, tucked away aboard the transport freighter you flew in on with the batch of settlers newly assimilated into town knowing Maker, at least you were doing something— anything— everything you could.

And really, to call Jortho a town would be an insult to all towns everywhere—but ‘town’ has a certain charm to it that ‘refugee camp’ simply did not, and it gave the people hope. Pride, even. That they belonged somewhere.

You suppose that’s all anyone wants. To belong.

A feather soft gust of wind tickles the golden blades of prairie grass as the sun, bleary and tired, starts dipping from the sky. The crickbeets begin their song early, trilling, sensing Lothal’s moons still coyly tucked away, hiding somewhere along the horizon. A smile adorns your face, private and serene, as you bring a bowl of broth up to your lips, humming when the warm liquid meets your tongue. You sigh, contented, taking in the sights before you; how the dusk blurs the aromatic air, making it opaque, the shuttles docked across the way from you casting long purple shadows onto the flat plains, the snowcapped mountains in the distance bordering the cant of the planet’s surface, nestling Jortho in a shallow valley.

You feel calm, at peace, and take another sip.

An easy moment passes, and it’s the last one you get before silence stalks up from behind you.

You don’t notice it at first, like any patient predator, it goes undetected: the white noise, the nothingness— until finally, you do and then suddenly it’s everywhere. On top of you. Smothering you. Goosebumps stipple your skin and you bristle. The insects have stopped chirping. The breeze has stilled. The air hangs dead.

And then—

Chaos.

You’re hit with a blast of crushing heat, the sheer power of it picking you up off your feet and onto your side, sending your body careening into a nearby structure. Your shoulder takes most of the blow, but your neck still snaps backwards unnaturally, the back of your head colliding with the stone wall behind you with a dull thwack. You let out a groaned cry at the impact, the wind knocked out of your lungs as you crumple to the ground.

For an instant, your vision goes white, stars popping and fusing out in front of your pupils, and it’s like you can feel everything and nothing all at once, hollow but overwhelmed, and all you want to do is close your eyes and drift asleep— Maker that would feel like a luxury, just right here on the damn dirt. And you almost do, you almost let yourself slip under and sink— until you hear a piercing scream from somewhere close.

Immediately your eyes shoot open, desperately blinking away the blurriness that threatens to over take them, and you try pushing yourself up by the heels of your scraped hands, failing once - twice - before finding your footing. You’re shaky at first, uncoordinated and dizzy and redownloading bipedalism, before that sweet drug of adrenaline starts to course through your veins and finally, finally, you take in your surroundings.

The ships that once stood across the field are gone, obliterated, and in their place only metal ribcages remain—empty carcasses like dead birds splayed on their backsides, imploded from the inside out, their bits strewn all around you.

Your breathing comes hard and heavy, fighting down panic, and cloudy eyes search through the thick black smoke billowing up in stacks, trying to pin point the source of the scream you’d heard just moments ago. You cough a strained wheeze, sputtering against the charred air, and wade your way through the debris— it’s only then that you realize the magnitude of the explosion. It’s not just the landing bay, it’s half the kriffing village. The buildings that neighbored the airfield had been decimated, burning roofs and crumbling fixtures, homes collapsing onto themselves, scorch marks and shrapnel branding the outsides of the shanties left standing.

It looks like a battlefield. You’ve seen holovids of this—what war can look like, how it can ruin a people… But you’ve never had to stand in the middle of it, head on.

Your heart drums against your chest as you break into a hobbled run, desperately scanning the area for any signs of life, up and down, left and right, straining against the waning daylight. It’s then that you hear your name, urgent and frantic, and you whip your head in it’s direction, knees nearly buckling in relief. You immediately recognize your friend Hareem, brandishing her arms at you, waving you over to her.

“Thank the Maker, you’re alright!” the Balosar cries out, trembling hands finding purchase on your shoulders, bracing you. You don’t know if its for your benefit or her own, but either way you’re grateful for the grounding pressure; for the first time since the initial blast, you feel solid, like you won’t just float away, atomized and weightless. Worried, you look her over. A sliver of fresh scarlet blooms from her scalp, a small line trickling down past her temple, but she otherwise looks relatively unharmed. You grasp onto her wrist, squeezing firmly.

“What the hell happened?” You ask, voice low and pitched, wide fearful eyes drilling into her.

“T-There was a man-” And she shakes her head, mouth clamping shut, deep wrinkles framing her face.

“Hareem,” you reassure, giving her another squeeze. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.

She tries again with a steadying inhale, “I-I saw him. A-a man. He had a device with him, and he set charges, and Maker I don’t know— I don’t know— it went off a-and he ran towards the center of town!” The Balosar is in hysterics, tears spilling down her dirty cheeks, and it takes your brain a moment to catch up, to wrap your mind around the words she’s stuttering out.

A man.

Device.

Charges.

A bomb. This wasn’t an accident; this was an attack—and he’s still kriffing here. You cup her cheeks, thumbs rubbing against the pale skin, smearing away the blood that’s nearly dripped to her chin. Your friend’s gaze is flighty, everywhere and nowhere, and you try giving her a smile, but you’re not quite sure you manage it.

“Hareem? Hareem. Hey, shh, you’re okay. You’re alright…” You peel your eyes off her to glance around hurriedly. “We need to find cover.”

///

You’re holed up in one of the few remaining homes on this side of the encampment, crowded into the small space with three other survivors. All four of you, packed in and silent and petrified. Unsure of any further threat, you stay completely still. Helpless. Laying here, idle, for whatever awaits you behind that feeble, wooden door. You feel like prey for the wicked, just passing the time.

Minutes inch along like this—or maybe its hours; time moves eerily different when you’re attempting to become invisible—and eventually, you almost begin to relax.

Almost.

But a new sound breaks the din, hard to recognize at first, indistinct from all the commotion outside their hut, but you hear it. You all do. The youngest of you, a teenaged Devaronian, grips onto the hem of your shirt, knuckles creasing with anticipation. You tense, spine going rigid. Footsteps. They’re slow, guarded, but they’re getting closer. You bring an arm up, for all the good it’ll do, creating a human shield in front of the boy at your side. Closer. Someone behind you muffles a whimper. Closer. A Bardottan you hadn’t even met until today let’s out the faint whisper of a prayer, lips barely ghosting over the phrases. Closer-

and then, nothing.

They’re here. You can sense him, see his shadow sweep across the gaps in the entryway. You all hold your breath, as if the air is being syphoned out of the space… And the door is flung open, nearly breaking off it’s hinges as it slams into the inside of the house, shuttering the rickety walls with a jarring bang.

You don’t know who looks more astonished: you four, or the Mandalorian before you, dripping head to toe in silver plated armor, pointing a blaster directly at your head.

“Where is he?” He asks, hard edged and modulated, and it’s more of a demand than a question—but he lowers his weapon all the same, holstering it at his side. You gape at him, guppying wordlessly. “Volcur X’elo. The bomber. Where?” He hasn’t moved an inch out of the doorframe but he’s still managing to loom over you, completely filling up the archway, shoulders set and impossibly intimidating.

You gulp, finally finding your voice. “In town, i-in the center of town…” Kriff, you had not idea if that intel was good or not, but it’s all you think to say. Seeming satisfied with your answer he turns on his booted heel, cape whipping behind him, leaving just as soon as he arrived. The dust barely has time to settle as the door teeter’s on its hinge, its rusty squeaks filling the void in the Mandalorian’s wake.

“Fuck,” you hiss, exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, doubling forward, propping your palms up on your knees.

///

After deliberating it with your group, you all come to the agreement of braving it outside. Better to be out under the open sky than die under a concaving apartment, clambering over each other to get to the exit. After all this, at least your dignity was still partially in tact— normally, you reckon you’d chuckle dryly at that. But you don’t.

Can’t.

You lead the pack through the mazelike streets. The sights that once seemed so familiar after weeks of living here become like strangers to you, and you sleepwalk through Jortho, snaking down paths marred by rubble and fallen wreckage— you haven’t seen any bodies, but maybe that isn’t true. Maybe you’re just too scared to notice them. Maybe they’re there, hovering just outside of your peripherals, haunting the corners of your vision…

You keep your head fixed forward, jaw clenched.

Your feet move on their own like this, only vaguely aware that the red-skinned boy still hadn’t let go of your tunic. You forge on. Have to. You have to. Your only purpose on this kriffing planet was to help these people, to bring them aid, and if that means simply planting one foot in front of the other, then so be it. You take side alleys, double backing here and there, ducking under canopies, looping around yourself, only stopping when you catch a glimpse of beskar, the orange setting sun glinting off the surface of his helmet.

And he’s not alone.

You freeze suddenly, as do the rest, and the Devaronian bumps into you, stumbling under his lanky legs. Some paces in front of you, the bounty hunter has the other man, this Volcur X’elo, by a punishing grip on his shoulders, shoving him forcefully out in front of him; his wrists are bound and he’s fitful without the stabilization of his arms, his feet staccatoed and flailing wildly beneath him as the Mandalorian marches him forward.

The wind shifts, and on it you can hear the bomber rant madly, only catching snippets of the vile nonsense that spews from him.“- like swine, they are a plague to the system! And they must be purged from this planet, and the next, and the next— every last filthy one!” You spare a glance to Hareem, to find her watching the scene in hypnotized horror, but your eyes snap back at the sound of something maniacal, drawing your attention. It’s laughter. The zealot begins to laugh a twisted, mocking cry that makes you want to vomit. “You might have me in binders Mandalorian, but you’re too late. You’re too late. This isn’t over!” He’s practically giggling, gleeful and demented. Disturbed. “You’ve only found one.”

Your blood runs cold.

Only one? Oneoneoneone, one what-

The realization hits you with a punch to your gut. He’s only detonated one of his bombs. Somewhere, nearby, there must be another.

Without another word, the Mandalorian whips the smaller man around, pulling him sharply by his collar to collide with his breastplate, completely dwarfing him with his beskar frame. “Where is it, X’elo?” Nothing. Only laughter. High pitched, terrible roars. He tries again, patience ebbing. “The bomb. Now.” X’elo’s head tilts back and he howls another crowing shriek, keeping private his own sick joke, as if clutching a secret to his chest with slimy hands.

The bounty hunter had heard enough. He clearly wasn’t getting anything more out of him, and with a quick strike, he rears his blaster and pistol whips the terrorist with it. The body drops. Volcur X’elo crumples, unconscious, blood streaming from where he was struck. You hear the Bardottan behind you stifle a cry with her fist.

And with that, Lothal’s sun disappears completely, stealing away the last of it’s light as it furls into itself, shrinking out of sight. The dark ushers a new wave of dread, creeping over Jortho like a miasma, poisoning the very air.

The Mandalorian wheels around, searching for his heading in the labyrinth of the town. Others have gathered now, poking their heads around corners, stealing glimpses through windows. He turns, his head on a swivel. “Where is your power generator?” he demands, addressing the small crowd, but you’re all too stunned to speak. “Anybody. Generator. Now.” There’s something new in his voice, something muddled, and it takes you a moment to interpret it. It’s desperation, you realize, tinny and deep through his vocoder, and with a surge of adrenaline you move forward, furthering yourself from your group. You swallow. “I-Its this way.” Upon hearing your voice, he spins around, his visor latching on to you, and with a nod you both set out.

“Watch him,” the Mandalorian growls past his shoulder, stepping over the bounty’s limp body.

///

You’re still not really sure how he knew where it’d be, you wonder to yourself, gravel crunching under foot as you both trudge on, an eery quiet settling over them. You’d say it was a lucky hunch, but judging by the way the Mandalorian carries himself, you doubt luck had much to do with it.

You had led him to the power generator hub on the other side of the sad excuse for a city, traveling in tense silence, and when you came upon that tall, bulky machine he sprang into action, circling it until he found what he was looking for. The bomb. You stood back, rooted there, and after some grunting and rewiring— or maybe he just hacked at it with a vibroblade, you had no idea; his wide frame engulfed his work and you couldn’t tell what he was up to, all you knew was that his methods proved successful— the man managed to disarm the second device. You had thought you noticed his shoulders release, slumping with relief, after the red flashing lights on the rudimentary interface flickered and then went dark.

And so here you are. The two of you, bathed in the bright light of Lothal’s twin moons, their bellies hanging full in the blue-black night, illuminating the trail of blood staining the dirt beneath your boots as the Mandalorian roughly drags the body by his ankle behind him— through the exploded rubble, through the fragmented lives of the people around you, already displaced and estranged. They’ll all have to move, you think, pack up their lives, or what little is left of them, and relocate. Again. The thought sinks in you like a stone, sobering you.

Even with the weight of a fully grown man to lug, the bounty hunter is still a few long strides in front of you and your eyes are trained on the unconscious form, taking in the way his mouth lolls open like an animal, his hair matted with thick blood, eyes rolled back into his head. You’re talking out loud before you even realize it.

“How sick do you have to be,” you mumble, transfixed. Your voice, it’s not angry; no, shock has effectively robbed you of that— it’s not anger, but bewilderment. Quivering, broken bewilderment.

“H-How hoodwinked and warped you’d have to be, how disturbed... For you to think like that. To do all... all this...”

“Hey,” his gruff voice shakes you from your trance, and you blink up at him, tearing your eyes off the body. “Focus,” he urges, and you can only nod dumbly back at him, suddenly feeling a ripple of nausea slither through you.

The ramp to his ship is lowering as they come upon it and you plant yourself at the base, feet seeming to stop on their own accord, and frankly you’re not really sure why you’ve even followed him this far in the first place— always a step behind him as he hauled his bounty all the way through the vestiges of Jortho, across the arid prairie to where he first touched down. Maybe it’s because you feel untethered, unmoored, and all of his steeled surety is like a lighthouse, a beacon, guiding you away from the rocks.

He heaves X’elo up the ramp and you’re left standing there, staring unseeingly into the durasteel, becoming more and more aware of the ringing in your ears. The longer time passes, the more it’s as if you’re underwater, the background blurring into the foreground, sound gargled and far away. A high pitched buzz pinches your ear drums, and it takes you a moment to realize the Mandalorian is calling out to you, trying to get your attention.

“— Dala.”

Does he sound annoyed? Kriff, you think he might... If you had your wits about you, you might be able to recognize it. But as it stands, you don’t. You’re not here, not all of you. You’re splintered. Suspended.

“Hmm? Sorry, what..?” Your mouth is as dry as Jakku— parched desert tongue darting across your cracked lip, tasting soot and ash and something metallic. Brow furrowed, you touch a shaky finger to the flesh and when you pull it back, crimson red dots your skin.

Oh, you think, numb. Huh.

Your eyes skitter back up to the Mandalorian, towering over you, nearly at the apex of the incline, and his stance is broad and his fists are clenched. You’re almost positive he’s glaring down at you through his visor, and you don’t even know the man, can’t even see his damn face, but you can tell he’s peeved— Maker, just how long had you been ignoring him?

A scratched noise comes through his helmet’s vocoder and his next words are clipped, punctuated. “I said, do you have a way off this skug hole?”

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love-takes-work · 5 years ago

Text

When someone toxic needs a friend

I just wanna add a little personal reflection to the discussion of Spinel’s treatment in Steven Universe: The Movie.

A few signposts so you know where I’m starting with this:

A criticism I’ve seen:

Steven was not particularly warm to Spinel. He did not hug her. He did not offer to be her friend. He spoke carelessly and triggered her toward becoming murderous again. He only cared about what she could do for him.

A perspective I’ve seen:

LOTS of people with borderline personality disorder or strong feelings about abandonment personally relate to Spinel and are critical of Steven from this perspective.

Rebecca Sugar’s commentary on Spinel:

The thing about Spinel is that she’s a really toxic person.

She’s so toxic that she’s literally trying to poison people.

In my interactions with friends who have had a history difficult enough to make it hard for them to trust other people and sometimes even actively want to hurt others, it’s just a very difficult situation to navigate. In the case of Spinel and all of these characters, that’s extremely exaggerated because cartoons have the ability to be extreme exaggerations. I wanted to explore what it’s like when you’re trying to help someone who really doesn’t want to help themselves, who wants to embody the negative feelings that they have about themselves. I think that’s something really real. I hadn’t seen that in a cartoon before.

Spinel, unlike many other characters, actually has the goal of hurting people, which is new territory for the show. She really wants to hurt Steven, and there’s a reason that she does—because she’s in so much pain. I just wanted to explore all the dimensions of that.

I also think Steven has his way of trying to handle and dissolve conflict. It’s not necessarily a good way for him to handle this situation. It really leaves him in a difficult state, and I think what I wanted to show in the way that they interact is that at a certain point, when you can’t help someone, you have to be able to protect yourself.

Ultimately, he can’t really convince her to change. It’s something she’ll have to want for herself. But what he can do is protect himself from her, making it impossible for her to hurt him.

It’s sort of up to you if you would like to love her. If you watch this movie and she, you know, frustrates you, that is totally fair. I want that to be a big part of who she is.

[From the AV Club interview]

So here are a few things I want to shed light on.

It’s very interesting that Rebecca intended Spinel to be read as “a toxic person” because so many fans fell in love with her, said they’d be her friend, hated intensely on Pink Diamond because of what she did to abandon the poor Gem, and sympathized with her directly. But Rebecca was looking at Spinel from Steven’s perspective. And that’s also what I did.

I’ve been Steven. I have VERY much been Steven.

When you meet someone who was done dirty, when you recognize the horror they’ve been through, when you see how much pain they are in and agree they have the right to be angry, it’s natural for empathetic people to offer themselves as comfort.

But when you’re Steven, you also know it isn’t YOUR fault either. Before you have the ability and experience to set boundaries, you can get sucked into other people’s stormy waters and think you’re helping if you drown in solidarity with them. What’s really important to preserving yourself is learning that you can stand on the boat and toss a life preserver. That it doesn’t ACTUALLY HELP to jump in the water and sink with them.

Some folks are angry that Steven didn’t jump right into sacrifice himself on the altar of friendship in the service of an intense, literally murderous stranger who tried to poison him and his planet and lash out at his friends, robbing them of their rich pasts and their relationships because all of it hurt HER so much. It is SO easy to understand WHY SPINEL WAS ANGRY. But nothing she was doing to Steven, his friends, or the Earth was going to fix her problems, and furthermore, she FULLY UNDERSTOOD that it was NOT THE FAULT of any of the people she took her anger out on. It was irrational, yes, and that is part of her dysfunction. But also, in these situations, what helps explain it still does not excuse it.

Some have railed at Steven saying he somehow forgave genocidal tyrants like the Diamonds but couldn’t be friends with a damaged Gem like Spinel who just wanted friendship. The big difference there is that Steven got involved with the Diamonds when both parties believed he was a different person. The Diamonds believed he was the lost Pink Diamond, and Steven has also spent much of his superhero life believing he WAS his mother and was therefore obligated to accept punishment for her crimes or to clean up the messes she made. Now that he knows he is not her and that she did some pretty horrible stuff, he also wants the right to stop feeling responsible for every person Pink hurt in the entire region of space.

Steven gave Spinel basically compassionate treatment. He did not abuse her. He did not insult her. He occasionally coddled her when it seemed important (and though some said he was too businesslike while he pursued his mission, he was literally looking at the world ending within two days if he didn’t solve the problem). And most importantly . . . .

He let her leave the garden.

Spinel stayed in the garden all those millennia because Pink Diamond told her they were playing a game. All that time, she had visions of Pink returning so she could see her smile, hear her laughter. We see a sequence where she tried to follow Pink out of the garden and Pink manipulated her into staying willingly. We watch those feet leaving and one pair of feet staying behind. We see Pink disappear.

When Steven goes to leave the garden, Spinel follows in the same manner. Some have criticized him for letting go of her hands.

But he invited her out of the garden. He didn’t say stay. He said come with me.

As he sang about her deserving someone better, he was sincere. But he did not say the person to make her feel found should be him. He did not want to take on another person with thousands of years of baggage who would require a specific brand of attention and so much tenderness to avoid snapping. He did not allow her to be held by the hand and led out. He recognized that she needed encouragement to leave this place because of what was done to her, but he wanted her to take the steps.

Compassionate people are crushed all the time under the weight of needy people who make it hurt to love. People like Steven can acknowledge that Spinel deserves love and deserves to be happy without accepting that it’s heartless to stop short of personally doing it. Especially when you literally have to take physical, mental, and emotional damage as a general consequence of offering support and counseling. It is sometimes just beyond what you can do.

I made the mistake several times of getting very close to someone who treated me poorly while taking comfort in my presence. I cared that they were hurt and I didn’t know how to say “You deserve love” without stepping in and loving them. In EVERY case I was involved with, the person went from initially grateful to “why don’t you help me more?” shockingly quickly, and two of them deliberately tried to create situations where I would be trapped with them and isolated from others.

I could get very personal here but I don’t think I need to. Those of us who relate all too well to Steven wanting to help others will have been in this situation. Your heart hurts for people who live with pain that has never touched you, but when they’ve made it clear with one of their first actions that they feel satisfied at the idea of ruining your life, trusting them could mean the end of you. Especially if they demand that you risk life and limb to fix and save them before you’d dare to call it love, and especially if they want to be fixed without feeling responsible for initiating any of it. Some people mistake suffering for working hard toward a goal. Both can hurt but only one is constructive. If I’m expected to spend extensive resources on someone, I need some partnership in the goal, and I can’t accomplish that with someone whose wish for companionship manifests as “I want you to feel as bad as I do, and will take steps to hurt you so I have someone to cry with.”

Steven risked his actual life while he didn’t have powers so he could go talk to Spinel, and he wouldn’t fight her when she wanted to fight. He protected himself while she spent her anger. He STILL put himself in the line of fire far more than a less compassionate person would. He took time and tenderness to listen to her story and sympathize with her, tell her she deserved better, bear witness to what she’d become after being treated like a discarded plaything, and bring her hope with promises of a new future and a way to feel found.

Sadly, Spinel flipped back to being murderous at the first sign that Steven might be about to prioritize someone other than her, reframing his reasonable needs as if he was planning to abandon her, isolate her, discard her. This was a trauma reaction, yes, and she isn’t entirely to blame for being upset because she was worried she was just being used and none of her actions were logically thought through.

But does someone ever “deserve” the friendship of a specific person who can’t feel warm toward them because of their OWN bad experiences?

No!

Steven has a big heart but he has his very own huge storehouse of trauma, and being physically attacked with his family and planet put in danger over the actions of his mother is at the top of the list. Instead of assuming that the person who has trauma the loudest is the most hurt, can’t we just acknowledge that Spinel’s and Steven’s respective traumas make them NOT the best match for friendship?

The ending of the movie, with Spinel going off with the Diamonds, might seem a little disturbing with all the codepencency floating around there, but if you want to talk about compassion, I think this is a good place for Spinel to start.

She just wanted to make Pink Diamond laugh and enjoy her life. She longed to do that for so long and then it all ended when she found out she would NEVER GET TO DO IT. I think bonding with the other Diamonds and having a familiar, safe place to experience the kind of love she’s used to will be a good FOUNDATION for building herself into a person beyond that. For now, she needs comfort. I hope they treat her well.

#steven universe #steven universe the movie #gif #long post #spinel #su analysis #my su analysis #myblog

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astridthevalkyrie · 4 years ago

Text

summer rain: chapter 1

Your days in the Training Corp aren’t too out of the ordinary. You make friends, you train hard, and you eat dinner every day.

Oh, and you’re also hellbent on getting revenge against Humanity’s Strongest Soldier.

Chapter 2

Read on FF.net or AO3.

Helloooo, beautiful people. I’m so excited about this story! This is now the official first part of the series, so it’s a prequel to the three oneshots I’ve already posted. If you haven’t read them, no worries, you can read this just fine. If you want to, just know they all have an established relationship and will reference the past, so you may possibly get spoiled.

I plan for this to have five or so chapters, so buckle up, and as always, happy reading!

You’ve been expecting more.

Maybe that’s the wrong perspective to have. It’s still the military, and it’s still your first day and sure, that’s exciting and all, but you’ve heard stories. People always describe their first day of training as absolutely terrifying, but life-changing. They say that the first day is the day all the baby-faced cadets realize they’re in over their heads. It’s an introduction to the rest of their lives. At least, that’s the case for the people who stay. If one can’t handle a verbal beating, how can they stand any chance against the titans? The first day changes everything.

This, however, isn’t life-changing. It’s not terrifying. It’s rather...dull.

To be fair, the man in front doesn’t look like he’s enjoying it either.

You’ve heard of him, of course you have. Even back within Sina, people talk. A newcomer, a gift from the walls, humanity’s savior. Recently joined the Survey Corp and yet already a lieutenant, a definite shoe-in for the next available section commander position. Apparently his origins are a bit of a mystery, but he’s either the long lost son of a rich merchant or he’s come from outside the walls themselves because it’s just impossible that any common person can possess the skills he’s rumored to have. You’re not sure you believe all of it - apparently he’s so fast that the titans can’t even see him coming? yeah, sure - and yet there’s just something about him that gives off a truly well-earned confident aura. That’s been the most exciting part so far, the chance to see him up close, to see that he’s actually real.

Still, since he began talking, Lieutenant Levi hasn’t once raised his voice. He hasn’t screamed at them all for being the weakest pieces of shit he’s ever seen. He hasn’t even told them about how they’re going to train to become snacks for the titans. It’s disappointing. You’ve been ready to stand your ground, to show you’re made of some tough stuff. That can’t happen when your trainer won’t even bother to strike fear into your heart. Where other people may be relieved, you are mourning this loss of the traditional military experience.

At the very least, he’s not the actual trainer. He started his speech with a complaint that their actual instructor was sick for the day so now he had the absolute pleasure to welcome dozens of new fucking brats to their new home and occupation. His words drip with venom and boredom - clearly, he didn’t join to do any of this. It’s beneath him. All in all, Lieutenant Levi seems rather...arrogant. Maybe it’s well-deserved. But you don’t have to like it.

As he walks up to people at random who shout out their bare identities, the lieutenant snaps out comments that seem like they’re meant to bully rather than to frighten.

“Your posture is shit.”

“Oh wow, I bet the titans will be real scared of your noodle arms.”

“And here I thought these villages would send their best and brightest. Instead they sent you.”

But you’re not one to let things get to you so easily. You have your fist balled to your chest proudly, ready to serve humanity. You’ve fought to get where you are, and now you’re really, actually standing here, with your new comrades besides you, and you couldn’t be more proud. A bright smile settles on your face. You will make the best out of this, no matter your humanity-saving trainer’s dour mood.

Unfortunately, said humanity-saving trainer takes notice of your smile, and with his gaze locked on his new target, he walks up to you, eyes narrowed in irritation.

“What’s your deal?”

You straighten your back, snap to attention, and look directly ahead as you know is appropriate. “Cadet (F/N) (L/N), sir, from Stohess District!”

His expression doesn’t throw you off, despite it looking like he’s never been so irritated in his life. You know you haven’t done anything wrong (at least not yet), so him looking that pissed off must be an internal issue, nothing to do with you. You’re not any different than any of the other cadets that have introduced themselves.

“Cadet (F/N) (L/N),” he says as though he’s testing out a brand new curse word, with just a hint of mockery in his voice. “I didn’t ask for your name or where you were from. I asked what your deal was.”

Well what in the holy hells is that supposed to mean?

Is what you want to say, but instead you simply furrow your brows and ask curly. “Sir?”

“What the fuck are you so happy about?” he clarifies, annoyance displayed clearly on his face.

Well damn, no need to be so edgy. You aren’t necessarily required to be as serious as everyone else here, and smiling isn’t a crime last time you checked. But this is obviously Lieutenant Levi’s thing, to be snarky and mean, and the sooner you answer, the sooner he’ll move on and find a new victim. “Just happy to be here, sir.”

Your smile stays right where it is.

“Oh, is that it?” He stares at you, deadpan. “You like the thought of being eaten? Does the idea just make your day? Do you fantasize about it at night? Let it lull you to sleep?”

Your smile grows a little strained.

Passion aggression is nothing new. You grew up in Stohess, you’re used to your fair share of cattiness. The lieutenant must take lessons from the tea-sipping high class ladies you’d basically grown up with, because he reminds you of them vividly. Ironic, considering you thought the military would be an escape to a life that was real and included less passive bullshit. It’s that frustration at the similarity that makes your polite mask crack.

The response slips through your lips before you can stop yourself. “No, sir, but last night I did happen to dream of a trainer that was tough enough to handle one of his subordinates smiling.”

You can be catty too.

The grounds become more silent than they already were. It’s as though everyone is suddenly holding their breath at this new confrontation, just waiting to see what the newly dubbed hope of humanity will do if someone matches his sass. The loud silence is what finally makes you just a smidge nervous - surely, they won’t kick you out on your very first day just because of a smart comment, right?

Impatient and a bit anxious, you finally allow yourself to look directly in his eyes, and you’re suddenly stricken by how grey they are. You don’t think you’ve ever met anyone with grey eyes. They’re damn gorgeous. And there’s a hint of...something in them, and to your surprise it’s not rage. He looks calculatingly gleeful, as though he’s just been waiting for someone to say something back to him. He appears cruel and delighted all at once, and the contrast of it along with the striking silver hue is more personality than you’ve ever seen in someone’s eyes before.

It’s a breathtaking sight. You move in just a millionth of a centimeter to get a closer look -

And then he moves, lightning fast, reeling back and swinging his leg around to sweep your legs from under you. With a gasp, you hit the ground hard, head ringing and vision blurring for a few seconds. Your hair, which was loose around your shoulders, flies across your face, some of it entering your mouth. From above you, grey eyes are triumphant, looking down on you as though to ask whether or not that’s tough enough for you. You’d love to answer, but your head is throbbing and you can only let out a pathetic, confused noise that causes titters to spread throughout the room.

What the hell just happened?

You move to get up, but he’s quicker, slamming his foot down on your leg and holding you right where you are. For someone with such a short stature, he looks pretty damn tall from down here. Maybe this is the sight that the titans barely get to see before he slices through them.

Everyone is watching, even if they’re not turning their hands. This is their entertainment today, and the fool has just made its move. The fool being you, of course. They’re all hungry to see how this will play out.

Your cheeks glow bright with embarrassment, but you are not going to waver. Not on the first day. This is what you wanted, right? You wanted someone who’d be a hardass, who’d strike fear in you and make this a day you’d never forget. Well, Lieutenant Levi is your wish come true.

“Please remove your foot, sir,” you muster as politely as you can, looking up at him icily.

He digs the heel of his shoe into your thigh to make a point, and maybe to see if you’ll cry out in pain. But you look him in his strange grey eyes and you only blink, a small smile returning to your face. Will he kick someone who’s already down?

The moment seems to last forever, and you briefly entertain the fantasy that time is freezing for him as much as it is for you.

And then it’s all broken - he takes his foot off and walks right by you, and the only words you’re spared after being humiliated are, “Tie your hair up, you look ridiculous.”

Thus goes your first meeting with Humanity’s Strongest Soldier.

____________________

Dinner that night is filled with chatter. It seems people have found their loyal companions pretty fast, and cliques are forming faster than a speeding bullet.

Luckily, you don’t need to worry about making friends. Besides the fact that you’re charming and perfect (according to everyone else and definitely not just you), you joined the military with your best friend from childhood. Millie Shackel is every bit the Stohess lady you are, the Rose to your Maria, the jelly to your butter. It’s amazing how much two girls can bond over a shared hate for the lack of activity happening within their stuffy town.

You gnaw at the bread on your plate, squeezing your eyes shut in pain after a particularly hard bite makes the back of your head throb. Not for the first time, you place your hand gingerly on the back of your skull, confirming that there’s no blood pouring out.

“Shouldn’t have mouthed off,” Millie quips from across the table, looking at you amusedly.

“Thanks,” you mutter bitterly, abandoning the bread for now until the soreness goes away. “Didn’t think one stupid comment was going to make him go berserk on me.”

She laughs, confirming you sound every bit as stupid as you feel. “I don’t think that classifies as berserk. That was a superior putting you in your place.”

“Suck-up,” you accuse, eyes narrowed. She only rolls her eyes, and you bring the cup of water to your lips and begin simply guzzling it down when someone claps you on the back, making you choke.

You turn to glare, still coughing up water, at two guys behind you. The one who nearly killed you is tall, with hair the color of bananas, and he’s grinning with no regrets, the shameful bastard. The other one behind him looks apologetic, red-haired with pretty green eyes. He whacks his friend on the arm. “You idiot, you nearly sent her to the infirmary!”

“Oh, come on.” The tall guy slides next to you without permission, slinging an arm around you as though you’re the closest of chums. Back in Stohess, you’d have called for his execution or some shit. “Surely the girl who talked back to Lieutenant Levi can handle some water going down the wrong way.”

Millie does not look pleased at the intruder, and looks even more grouchy when his friend sits down next to her, albeit keeping a much more respectful distance. When you finally stop coughing violently, you shove the guy’s arm away.

“A-asshole, what the hell’s your problem?”

“There’s no problem, kid.” He nudges your arm with his elbow. “I just wanted to see the balls on you. Guess it was overexaggerated.”

“Obviously,” you snap, “I just talked back, I didn’t hop over the wall and kill a titan.”

“Regardless, good job with the way you handled it. The others are talking about you.”

Millie gives you a stern look. “Hear that? Now we’re the troublemakers.”

You shrug apologetically, and decide to take another crack at eating your bread. This time, it goes down easier, with only a light sting to remind you of the lieutenant’s cruelty.

“I’m Stephen,” the redhead says with a shy smile, extending his hand. You shake it, then turn your gaze questioningly to the one next to you. He grins cockily, waiting for you to ask. You don’t.

“This is Ricky.” Stephen spoils his fun, sounding exasperated.

“I assume you two are close.” Millie wrinkles her nose distastefully. You bite back a laugh - there’s that Stohess bitchiness that you love about her.

“We met this morning,” Ricky responds, and you can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

The two of you warm up to the boys soon enough. Ricky is rather friendly when he’s not trying to steal your food thinking you won’t notice, and Stephen is downright sweet, his emerald eyes brightening when you ask him where he’s from. He goes off on a ramble about his village which is somewhere smack dab in the middle of the land within Wall Rose. Apparently their local stew is the best there is. You privately disagree; nothing quite tastes like the stew they make in the Orvud District, least of all this bland loaf of bread in your hand.

Ricky, on the other hand, is from Shiganshina, which is apparently an outer city of Wall Maria (so the two boys really had just met that morning).

“So, I’m guessing it’s the MP for you two?” Ricky says. Millie looks offended.

“That’s not right for you to assume!” She deflates a little. “But yes, it is.”

“Hey.” You shoot her a scowl. “It’s the MP for you. I don’t have any intention of hurrying back to precious Sina.”

Millie gazes at you with her we’ll talk about this later look like she has every time you’ve brought up that you have no intention of returning to fucking Stohess where nothing ever happens. Before she can say anything, Ricky ruffles your hair fondly.

“Should’ve known you were made of tougher shit than that. So what, you like playing hero?”

You shrug. “No, I just have a sob story. Dead old Dad was a Scout, and then he was titan chowder.”

Stephen looks disturbed at how bluntly you say it, and even Ricky is a bit thrown off. You chuckle at their expressions, waving a hand nonchalantly. “It’s fine, it happened a while ago. I barely remember him. But you know, what better way to connect with your dead dad than to align yourself with the people who let him die, right?”

Ricky’s mouth hangs open as Millie snorts. “You can laugh, she’s making a joke. Get used to her sense of humor, it’s always this bad.”

“I resent that.”

“So you don’t care about getting into the top ten?” Stephen asks carefully - scoping out the competition, you realize.

“Couldn’t give less of a shit,” you answer coolly, “but Millie obviously does.”

“I’ll get into the top ten, it’s not about that.” Millie says confidently, shaking her head as though it’s ridiculous to even imagine that she wouldn’t. After all, you two were raised to be perfect. “The real goal is to be first.”

Ignoring the madly ambitious look in her eyes, you focus on Stephen. “So what is it for you? The Scouts?”

He winces bashfully. “I’m...undecided.”

You laugh out loud, a bit meanly. “What, undecided like you’re going to some top university in Mitras? This is the Training Corp, Stephen, you’re not gonna get to try out a bit of everything. Just choose whether or not you wanna be shipped off to a pointless death, and then you’ve made your decision.”

Stephen frowns, shaking his head. “If it was that simple, then what would be the point of choosing?”

Who in the holy hells asked for his philosophical wisdom, that’s what you want to know. Rolling your eyes, you turn to Ricky, who is chewing on your bread, abandoned after your taste buds just wouldn’t adjust without the butter you were used to. With his mouth full, he answers easily. “Scouts.”

You nod. At least he’s sure.

____________________

“That wasn’t right,” Millie says later, right as you’re about to lie down on a scratchy-looking bed.

“What?”

“What you said to him. He can take his time deciding if he wants to. And it’s just rich, coming from you.”

Your eye twitches in irritation. “You’re just pissed because I don’t wanna take on the most boring job in the world.”

“Grow up,” Millie hisses, venom laced in her voice. “Not everything’s about your entertainment.”

Turning around, you see your best friend with arms crossed, giving you a disapproving look that reminds you of your mother. How odd. What’s that old saying about people becoming what they most hate?

“You’re gonna lecture me now too? Hit me with some philosophy, maybe?” You raise your brow, daring her to say more. “Or do you wanna knock me over again? Maybe I’ll get a concussion this time.”

Millie scoffs, sitting down on the bed she’s claimed. “You know what, it was nice. Seeing someone put you in your place like that.” Her lips quirk under your hard gaze. “Maybe he’ll teach you a thing or two about taking things seriously. Give you some actual goals to achieve.”

The only thing Lieutenant Levi will teach you is to never get distracted by something like how beautiful someone’s eyes look ever again. Even now, you can still picture him, the way he stood in front of you, startled you, threw you off. The way his eyes were filled with more duality than you’d ever expected to see in a person.

Pretending like you didn’t just fantasize about his pretty grey irises, you roll your eyes and flop down on the bed next to her’s. “He’s not gonna teach me jack shit. He’s not even our trainer.”

Millie hums, whether it’s to you or to herself you don’t know, and when you look at her again she’s closed her eyes, clearly wanting to end what was a very long day. It’s not long before you join her.

“(F/N).”

“Yeah?”

“I miss home.”

You don’t, but you keep it to yourself.

The last thing you think of before you fall asleep is how cold the lieutenant had looked when he humiliated you, and your cheeks burn angrily.

____________________

Two weeks pass by in a blur. Once training starts, there’s not much time to think about something like goals, because everyone’s goal is simply living until dinner each night. Avoid getting yelled at, attend classes, study hard, and for the love of all things holy don’t fall on your face when you’re balancing in the practice ODM gear.

It’s a rush, and you actually find yourself enjoying it. The food still tastes stale and the bed is still too hard to be comfortable, but there’s an easy routine that’s so much more than sit still and look pretty. While you’ve never been a fan of routine, this is different. There’s a purpose to this, even if everyone has different things they’re working towards. Whether they’re trying their best to show what they’re made of and get into the top ten like Millie, or pushing themselves because they get starry-eyed at the thought of saving humanity like Rashad, or simply staying out of trouble to avoid getting meal privileges taken away like Clara, everyone is working towards something, and it’s thrilling to be in the midst of it, to be a part of something meaningful.

You and Ricky are fast friends - he’s surprisingly not too insufferable and he shares your enthusiasm for not taking things so seriously. He also seems like he’s looking for a partner in crime, someone to partake in the oh-so delightful task of slacking off with. Millie is throwing herself into perfecting everything, and Stephen, while not as crazy as she is, is more nervous about losing respectability in front of their trainers and comrades. So the two of you naturally gravitate towards each other, because jeez, at least a few people here need to remember that life still exists outside of all of the training and military drama.

Today is the first time they’re letting you practice hand-to-hand combat, and while that’s obviously ridiculous since you’re training to fight titans (or just bully people, if you’re joining the MP, but Millie didn’t appreciate you voicing that out loud), it’s also a chance for you to show off a natural talent.

You’re flexible. And fairly fast too.

Sure, you’re no fighter, but back home you were put into dancing lessons since you were a wee young thing, so you have a much higher tolerance than most of these chumps. You can take a few hard punches here and there, and you’re fluid with your movements, so you’re giving as good as you get. Even combat is a dance in a certain way, it has all the same elements at any rate. Everything comes down to the placement of the feet, and every other body is an accessory that has to be utilized perfectly to do any damage.

Unfortunately, Ricky’s fought, like actually fought - fucking peasants from Maria and their street fights - and so as much as you put up a damn good fight, he eventually gets you in a hold from behind. You squirm in his grasp as he laughs, digging his fingers in your side. You try to protest, but it’s hard when he’s tickling you so hard.

“H-hey, hey!” Your giggling only gets two octaves louder when Ricky doesn’t let up. “Stop!” Ricky’s laugh mixes in with yours, until he’s lifting you off the ground. Your breathing becomes painful as you struggle against his grip, clawing at his hands. “Ricky! Let go!”

Finally, he decides to show mercy, dropping you. He regrets it pretty soon, though, because then you’re on him quickly, throwing a hard punch against his shoulder. He groans, letting out a pained, “What the hell, (F/N)?” but you’re not done. You grab the collar of his uniform, and tug it forward briefly to give yourself some momentum to shove him back as hard as you can.

Ricky stumbles on his feet, catching himself before he falls at the last second. There’s a determined expression in his eyes, not quite competitive but suddenly eager to show off.

“So, think your dainty dancing is gonna give you the advantage here?” he challenges, balling his fists in front of his chest. You do the same. “Hate to break it to you, kid, but that’s not how that works.”

“Beat me, then. Properly.” You smirk, planting your feet firmly. Let him throw the first punch, you decide. “I have to be on the ground for you to win.”

Ricky’s clever too, knowing you intend to use his size against him. He lowers his arms, extending them as though he’s going to let you take a free shot. Yeah, you’re not that stupid. You stay right where you are, raising an unimpressed brow. The two of you stare each other down, trying your best not to break into smiles.

“Hit me.”

“Hard pass.”

“Because you know your punch will be too weak?”

“How’s your shoulder, Ricky? Should be feeling fine, since my punch was so weak.”

He barks out a laugh, rolling his shoulder back experimentally. “Like getting hit by a feather.”

Okay, trash talk isn’t part of the combat training that the trainer, Instructor Grumman, has assigned. But it’s still fun, and it’s about a thousand times more preferable than actually fighting. Fighting is painful and pointless. Trash talk is entertaining and doable.

Still, you hunch your shoulders. If Ricky really won’t move, you’ll come at him with full force. Digging your heel into the ground, you give yourself a boost and run towards him with a burst of speed. His eyes widen, and his first instinct is to hold out his hands to keep you at bay. But with the close proximity and his lanky figure, it won’t be enough. You’ll have him on his back within seconds if you ram into him in one, two -

You don’t make it.

You don’t make it because you’re suddenly flung into the air. You let out a frantic shriek and bring your arms up to shield your face. The ground approaches with dizzying speed and you hit it with a sickening thud. Your hands are suddenly covered in scratches and you open your mouth to furiously ask Ricky what the fuck he was thinking and how did he even do that and did he have to throw you so high -

But when you look up, it’s cold grey eyes that meet you.

Fuck.

The glare that was supposed to be for Ricky is now aimed at him, unadulterated hate coursing through your veins. This is the first time you’ve seen him since that day. Just what in the actual fuck is his problem, and just what had you done to deserve being thrown over his shoulder and up into the sky like a fucking ragdoll? You hadn’t mouthed off this time. Hell, you didn’t even know he was there, so just what the fuck was he punishing you for?

“People who don’t take their training seriously usually end up looking up like this,” he hisses. His glare matches yours, which is ridiculous, because he’s the one who knocked you down. Why is he pissed off? “‘Course, they’re usually looking up at a titan, but we don’t have any of those on hand for me to demonstrate.”

Yeah, he’s far from a titan. Fucking shrimp.

“I was taking my training very seriously, sir,” you say with gritted teeth. “In fact, I would have defeated my opponent had you not stepped in and shot me up in the air.” Your hands would also have significantly fewer bruises.

He snorts, actually snorts, like you’ve just told a hilarious joke. “A real opponent isn’t going to let you run that mouth of yours before they come at you. You’d be dead in two fucking seconds.”

People are looking now. Everyone remembers that first day, and they all look as though their favorite stage actors have come to town to perform a show. They’re all waiting to see just what the girl who talked back to Lieutenant Levi will do now. A circus trick, perhaps? They don’t know what you’re made of - no one is going to see you crack. And definitely not because of this insufferable man.

“You don’t know that, sir.” You say it with a poisonous smile, wanting him to know that it’s not meant to be respectful. “I might just make it. Maybe I’ll even make it longer than you.”

There are hushed gasps all around you, but the lieutenant pays them no mind. He looks amused, as if you’re just a stupid little girl, an arrogant brat who somehow thinks she’s somehow stronger than him. You’re not an idiot, you know that he’s an excellent soldier who will probably make captain soon, and you’re a lowly cadet who doesn’t even know the basics yet. But once you’re trained up, once you have experience, you think you could take him on, and you could possibly win.

Lieutenant Levi leans down, crouching on his legs before leaning in. He grabs your shoulder harshly, and leans in to whisper in your ear. “I’ll be waiting, (L/N).”

You almost feel respected until he adds, “Waiting to see the day that fucking smile gets wiped off your face.”

With that, he stands up and turns. Turns to walk away. Turns as though you’re not still on the ground. Turns as though your comrades aren’t snickering around you, convinced that he just put you in your place a second time. Turns as though he didn’t just single you out for no damn reason - who even fucking asked him to watch? Who asked him to interfere in your business? Why didn’t anyone else demand his attention? You weren’t the only one goofing off. Hell, there were some people who were actually just lazing around! Where was their punishment?

Furiously, you speak before your brain can catch up.

“Why don’t you fight me, Lieutenant?” you say loudly as you get to your feet.

He stops.

Ricky, who is safely standing a few feet away now, gives you a wide-eyed look, silently asking if you’re brain damaged. But you pay him no mind, your eyes focused on the back of Lieutenant Levi’s head, probably burning a hole in him with your gaze by now. Immediately, the crowd changes sides again, hushed oohs spreading around. It’s not enthusiastic, no one actually believes you’ll triumph, but they are enthusiastic that you have the balls to try.

He turns, giving you the driest expression you’ve ever seen, and you half expect to be dismissed. To be told that you’re too weak to even think about fighting him.

Instead, his stance changes, his fists are raised, and he’s accepted your challenge.

You know you can’t win. That’s not the point. The point is to hold out. For a whole minute, at least. Half a minute. Was twenty seconds too generous?

There’s a small part of you that regrets mouthing off this time.

Lieutenant Levi doesn’t have to waste any time staring you down. He has no need to debate in his head about who should throw the first punch, and nor does he grant you the courtesy of devising a strategy in your head first. In half a second, he’s approaching you with dizzying speed, fist reeled back, about to knock you over for the second time today.

But you’re sick and tired of these fast maneuvers.

You duck down just as he closes the gap between you, and you go for his legs. He grunts in surprise as you make contact, clutching tightly. It may look pathetic. Your arms are wrapped around his thighs, which you basically just dived into. Your face is squished against his hip. Your feet have left the ground, as you’ve thrown your entire body at him. At this moment, you look absolutely ridiculous.

But it’s worth it.

The lieutenant loses his balance as his feet slip from under him. You can feel him falling down, down, down, with a gasp that is just fucking music to your ears. This is turning out better than you’ve ever hoped for. You’ve proved everyone wrong, even yourself. He’s going to hit the floor, and you’re going to win. You’ll win.

Or at least, you would have.

You’re both hurtling through the air for one glorious moment. Then, recovering from his shock in an instant, Lieutenant Levi spins the two of you in midair, and despite all your efforts and quick calculations, it’s your back that hits the floor again with a loud crack, air knocked clean out of your lungs. You gasp for breath. His knees are digging into your neck, you’re going to choke -

He takes no time to recover. He’s up and on his feet in a second, brushing the nonexistent dirt off his pants, and you’re left panting with your hand on your throat, trying to recover what little dignity you have left as laughter erupts around you. Dizziness and confusion overwhelms you, as does something else. Just a few minutes ago, you’d been looking at him hatefully. Well, you from five minutes ago had no idea what hate was. You could kill him right now, this arrogant, pompous, cruel jerk.

How dare he look so unperturbed? Like this is just a normal weekday for him?

A hand yanks you up by your hair, nails digging in your scalp painfully. You’re brought to your knees with a heaving gasp. He tugs your head up until you’re looking at him properly, and he has the nerve to smirk. It’s slight - perhaps he knows a full blown smile would look creepy on him - but it’s there, mocking you.

When he speaks, it’s just a little louder than a murmur. “I thought I told you to tie your hair up.”

Then he releases you, and your buckle over in pain. The position literally has you bowing down to him. White hot anger seeps through you. Consumes you. When he starts walking away, his every step thunders in your head, echoing a million times. He had no right.

No right at all.

It seems like Millie’s wish has come true. You have a goal now. A goal that Lieutenant Levi has so graciously given you.

You’ve decided. No matter what happens, you’re going to get revenge on Humanity’s Strongest Soldier. He’s going to fucking pay.

____________________

You’re pacing out in the field later that day, muttering under your breath, the events from earlier replaying in your head on loop. Millie’s decided to give up on getting you to come study with her, and she’s blatantly refused to participate in your little quest for revenge, citing it as “pointless and foolhardy.” Well, this whole thing is pointless and foolhardy. The Training Corp is just a way to produce more dead bodies every year. But Millie didn’t agree with your line of logic and has left you to brood on your own.

Realistically, what are your options? It’s not an easy task to take on. Humiliating a man who is now so respected and admired will be difficult when his ego soars sky high. Something heavy will be needed to bring it down. Now you have no intention of ruining him for life, nothing major or extremely dangerous. If you did have such an intent, it would’ve been rather simple, just a letter back home to your mother to spread the word of what humanity’s hero was really like. Not that she’s inclined to listen to your demands nowadays, but it’s a doable plan that would work one way or another. But you want to embarrass Lieutenant Levi the exact same way he embarrassed you. You want to knock him flat on his back, while everyone watches, and you want to stand triumphantly as he kneels down to you.

Someone listening to your thoughts right about now would think you were having a vivid sexual fantasy. You groan, slumping down against the bark of a tree. It’s going to be dark soon. You have a curfew that you’re inclined to obey. But you simply can’t go back without thinking of a plan. He deserves it. He deserves to be utterly humiliated. Punishing you is one thing. Beating you in a fight is only natural.

But holding you up by your hair like you’re one of the fucking spoils of war only to have you kneel to him - that’s sick. He’s sick, and probably perverted. You wonder if he’s always been like that, or if the glory has gone to his head. And you wonder why he’s chosen you to play this game with. Because of a smile and some cheek? That’s no excuse.

Maybe you’re just the prettiest one here, and he has a crush.

Even the cocky thought can’t distract you enough from your frustration. You can’t possibly beat him. There’s a reason he’s getting so much attention. It’s because he can fight like no other, and it’s all natural talent too. Frankly, you call bullshit, no one is just that good without any practice, but whatever, not the point right now. Who could possibly make you capable enough to beat the lieutenant in a fight? Who could possibly know all his weaknesses?

Probably only him.

Your eyes widen.

____________________

The sun shines brightly the next day. You feel the warm breeze from the open windows kissing your cheek as you run through the base. Most people passing by pay you no mind, although a few give you questioning looks. But they don’t say anything, probably figuring you’re just a lost newbie who’s inevitably going to get yelled at when you show up late for class. But they’re mistaken, you’re not lost at all. You’re running with purpose. And well, you might be late for class, but it’ll be fine, you know Stephen takes detailed notes that he’s willing to share, and even if he feels like being mean, this is much more important.

Originally, the plan was to go all the way to his office, the path pieced together from directions you’d gotten from Instructor Grumman who believed you were going to apologize (for what?). Hopefully, he won’t actually double check if you went through with it, because you have no intention of apologizing for a single damn thing. Your aim is far more sinister than that. Today is the first step of a plan that will take you a long while, but it’ll pay off eventually. You’re going to achieve your goal.

That is, if he agrees.

The universe is on your side, because you don’t even need to go all the way to his office. There he is, in the flesh, talking to a blonde man you recognize as Captain Erwin Smith and a woman who you haven’t seen before. Maybe if he hadn’t been so callous yesterday, you’d have waited until he was away from his comrades before approaching him. It’s too late to care about appearances now.

You step up to the three of them and salute, clearing your throat.

He looks at you, and his eyes harden when he sees a smile plastered on your face yet again.

“Can we help you?” Captain Erwin says gently, but there’s just the slightest edge in his tone. Clearly one is not supposed to just approach this dream team. Your bad.

You open your mouth to answer him, but Lieutenant Levi beats you to it, looking bored as he does. “She’s lost, Erwin. Classes are on the other side of the base,” he says dismissively, waving a hand like he’s swatting away a fly.

“I am not lost. Sir.” Your spine is still straightened and your fist is still balled against your heart. You’re not sacrificing it just yet, but you’re certainly sacrificing your pride here. “I have a request for you. After you pointed out my obvious flaws yesterday, I realized that if I don’t get help, I’m going to fall seriously behind.”

Captain Erwin shoots him an exasperated look, already having figured that his best friend (or whatever they are to each other) must have done something to you. Meanwhile, the woman cackles, nudging the lieutenant’s shoulder.

“She’s being proactive! You appreciate that, don’t you, Levi?”

He doesn’t answer. His attention is now exclusively on you - you nearly feel special.

“So what do you need from me, Cadet?” You ignore the way your stomach flip-flops violently from the way he stares at you, the corners of his mouth twitched upward in a light smirk. Something in him clearly enjoys the idea of you needing him for something. Something else to lord over your head, something else for him to be cocky about. “You want me to find someone to give you private lessons?”

“Close,” you say, mustering the brightest and happiest fucking expression you can, “I’d like you to give me private lessons. I want you to train me.”

The lieutenant’s eyes flash upwards.

Your hair is neatly tied up in a tight bun.

Y’all have no idea how weird it is to write “Lieutenant Levi.” I loathe it.

Also, this is my first time writing in second person. Lots of firsts here, folks.

Please review, your comments are my source of life.

#aot #attack on titan #levi x reader #snk #aot x reader #snk x reader #levi ackerman

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