#to the point at which he nearly obliterated everything and everyone in his way

[genesis-quoi]

nine after destroying the universe

[autisticsupervillain]

It's Fictional Throwdown Friday!

This Week's Fighters...

Sans the Skeleton vs Alastor the Radio Demon!

Conditions:

No Restrictions.

Scenario:

Flowey during one of his runs decides to summon Alastor out of hell for his help in obtaining the Six Human Souls and defeating Asgore. Alastor takes the deal and, being who he is, decides to take the bloodiest route possible to his goal. Sans stands in his way in the midst of his slaughter of Snowdin.

Analysis: Sans

The man. The myth. The legend. It's the King of Tumblr Sexymen himself: Sans.

For everyone who's been living under a rock since 2015, let me give you a quick rundown. Sans is a Skeleton Monster who lives underground in the town of Snowdin. He works as a Sentry with his brother Papyrus on the look out for humans, though Sans puts considerably less effort into it than his younger brother. He appears to be nothing more than a lazy bag of bones who simply can't be bothered to try to capture Frisk.

In truth though, he's much more than meets the eye. Sans had some kind of relationship with the Underground's previous royal scientist Dr. Gaster and is strongly implied to be an accomplished scientist himself. He's aware of the effects of DETERMINATION and knows that Frisk can reset time at will. Knowing that all of his decisions can be reset by some alien entity at a moment's notice has turned Sans into an apathetic nihilist who can't bring himself to do the bare minimum of his job anymore.

As such, Sans instead acts as the Judge, watching the human from the shadows and observing their actions. Sans remembers every friend they make and sees every life they take, and he will hold them accountable for each. Though, it's only when the human makes it clear that they're a threat to absolutely everything and everyone, everywhere, that Sans steps into the ring himself.

Sans is the weakest enemy in the game. 1 attack. 1 defense. Maybe even 1 hp. And despite all of that, he's still more than capable of kicking your ass. Firstly, his attacks directly hit both body and soul, to the point of completely destroying the soul in seconds as he ignores your physical durability. Secondly, his attacks come from nearly every direction simultaneously, putting the Player through hell as they have do dodge attacks that spring out of the ground beneath them, alongside lasers that spin all around them from his summonable Gaster Blasters. And third, Sans is remarkably fond of abusing his teleportation. Not to dodge mind you, as he's fast enough to side step everything Frisk throws at him, but to attack. He doesn't need to touch his foe to teleport them around the battlefield, even into his other attacks if need be.

It helps that he is easily the fastest monster in the Underground, capable of dodging attacks from a Sea Tea amplified Frisk even in his sleep, who can dodge lightning.

But the most damning ability in his arsenal is his KR. KARMA is a soul poison that infests the target's soul as soon as they make contact with any of Sans' attacks. The common theory is that it does more damage to the opponent depending on how many people they've killed, as implied by the name and the text when you get hit by it "You can feel your sins crawling down your back".

Sans also has Blue Mode, where he increases gravity on the target's body and soul to pin them down and make them easier to hit. Sans uses these in conjunction his blue attacks, attacks that only do damage if the target is moving when they get hit, do disorient and rapidly obliterate his foe before they can think. Overwhelming assaults are the name of Sans' game and he'll pull any trick he needs to in order to win. Including things that are.... hard to quantify.

See, Sans is somehow capable of attacking you... even when it isn't his turn. He completely ignore the rules of the RPG world he lives in to attack you on the menu screen. Which, as you can imagine, is a hard thing to translate to a non-rpg fight. Do I just assume all encounters monsters follow rpg-rules? There's genuinely an argument that can be made for it, I suppose. One thing I am willing to give him however is his ability to pause the battle by just... not taking his turn. Even when all his other tricks fail, Sans can force a deadlock by just doing nothing until you give up and go away... unless, of course, his opponent is capable of doing the same kind of meta bullshit that he is. When Frisk also breaks the rules by attacking twice in one turn, Sans is caught out by it and dies. Which leads me into Sans biggest weaknesses...

He's still the weakest monster in the game. Monster Kid is stronger than he is. For all his memetic qualities, he's physically the weakest fighter to appear on FTF thus far. Not to mention, his own apathy keeps him from fighting unless he absolutely has to and his laziness completely tanks his stamina.

Even with those factors though, Sans has earned his memetic reputation as a ballbustingly hard boss. When you hear those first few notes, you know you're fucked.

Analysis: Alastor

Hell. The final punishment. The ultimate torture. A landscape of fire and brimstone where all your greatest fears and pains torment you for all eternity. A never-ending gang war where any day could be your last and the only way to truly survive is either carve out your own territory or to sell out your servitude to one of the nefarious Overlords waging to control Hell's Pride Ring.

As such, it might suprise you that some never wanna leave. Why would they when Hell offers you all the slaughter and mayhem you could ever possibly desire? Such is the philosophy of Alastor the Radio Demon.

Alastor was a radio talk show host who moonlighted as a serial killer in life who was sent to Hell after being mistaken for a deer and shot by a hunter while burying a body. When he awoke in Hell, he delighted in the opportunity to openly relish in his sadistic tendencies, quickly rising up to become one of Hell's scariest Overlords. Overlords are sufficiently powerful Sinners who are strong enough to carve out their own territory in the Pride Ring, where all Sinners reside and wage war on each other. Broadcasting the screams of his victims over his radio show before cooking them up and devouring them. Even without the use of holy weapons to destroy their souls and permanently kill them, that fate is enough fo make any Sinner terrified.

Come the modern day and Alastor has grown bored of engaging in his worst desires. There was no variety anymore. No sport. So, for reasons known only to himself, he vanished for seven years, returning only when the Princess of Hell herself announced her latest project: the Happy Hotel.

Alastor would enlist himself to help in her cause. Not out of any guilt or moral code, but to satiate his never ending boredom. Or so he says. Behind that sharp unshakable grin, Alastor's true motivation is a mystery. All we do know is whatever agenda he's pushing... might not even be his own.

Regardless, Alastor is a rather private person, with a strange, inscrutable moral code. Any who try to follow the strings he's tied to may just find that grin to be the last thing they see.

Alastor is one of Hell's most powerful Overlords, with a plethora of terrifying powers. He's impossible to record on modern cameras, he can summon and manipulate an army of shadows, inlcuding even his own, and can grow into a colossal giant to ripe people apart and devour his victims whole. His tendrils are powerful enough to rip apart Sir Pentious's airship and he can create explosions big enough to nearly dwarf the hotel itself.

Notably, he's far stronger than some of his fellow Overlords. Take the TV Demon Vox for instance, who is powerful enough to destroy volcanos, requiring roughly 182 kilotons of TNT.

Source:

None of this however, competes with Alastor's most terrifying ability. His power over souls. Should someone attempt to make a deal with him, they risk losing their soul to him, giving him completely control over them as his slave. He's conned fellow Overlords into falling for this ruse before, exploiting Husk's love of gambling to swindle him out of his free will. Notably, this makes him uniquely capable of potentially killing a fellow Sinner, as Sinners can keep coming back to life in Hell so long as they have their soul, no matter the damage.

But, despite this cunning mind and terrifying power, Alastor is not invincible. He's overconfident to a foolhardy degree, from deliberately trying to piss off Lucifer himself to battling Adam, the First Man, without even a holy weapon and nearly getting himself killed. It's possible this overconfidence is what led to him selling his own soul to an unknown party, playing the pawn in someone else's game.

Still, don't count Alastor out yet. Now that he's exploited Princess Charlie Morningstar's desperation for a "favor", he fully intends on finding a way out of his chains. Only then, will we see what the Radio Demon hides behind his shark toothed grin.

Stay tuned folks~

Throwdown Breakdown:

There are a lot of complicated variables to this verdict.

Both characters have a misplaced reputation as being unstoppable badasses within the scope of their franchises, but that simply isn't true when one examines the actual facts of their canon. Sans would not stand a ghost of a chance against any of Undertale's strongest characters and Alastor, even back in the pilot, was never even close to the strongest being in Hell. So, let's strip them of their reputations and mischaracerizations to see how these too would actually engage, shall we?

On the stats side, Alastor blatantly one shots. Most people do. It's Sans. That's his whole point. But, just as with the Player, Sans is fast enough to dodge Alastor for a very long time. Alastor is faster that run of the mill Sinners like Angel Dust and average Imps like Blitzo, who are fast enough to dodge bullets and automatic fire. But Frisk can outright dodge lightning, which can move hundreds of times faster. Alastor has an advantage in AOE, with his minions, tentacles, and explosions forcing Sans to rely on his teleportation due to their sheer range, but Sans's sheer reaction speed would allow him to process that fact before Alastor's attacks have a chance to land.

"Oh, but Sans didn't use teleportation to dodge Frisk-" Shut up, hypothetical straw man. Frisk was swinging a knife in a straight line. Teleporting would be a waste of energy in a fight where Sans is already running low on stamina, so he doesn't. He's not gonna stand there and get blown up if he can avoid it.

Personality wise, both of these characters are going to be trading wise cracks and zingers all fight, but I find it more likely for Sans's banter to effect Alastor than vice versa. As shown in his duet with Lucifer, the people who get under Alastor's skin are people who completely undermine his intimidating fascade and who he can't just bully with his power and reputation. Sans dodging all his attacks while making terrible puns with big smug grin will gradually drive him up the wall. He's not likely to explode into a rage, but his frustration at Sans refusing to take him seriously, combined with general overconfidence, will undermine him as the fight continues. Alastor's best bet to get under Sans's metaphorical skin is to really lean into his "I slaughtered your whole town" routine, but even that can be countered by Sans's knowledge of timelines and resets that Alastor would have no knowledge of or power over.

The big thing working is Sans's favor here is how his abilities are perfectly tailored to undermine Alastor's. Sinners can't be killed unless their souls are destroyed... and every attack in Undertale can destroy your soul, bypassing Alastor's durability and immortality completely. In fairness, this is nothing new to Alastor. His fight with Adam shows full well he can play evasive and defensive when he knows someone is fully capable of killing him.

The problem here is threefold. Firstly, he still lost that fight with Adam despite that. And Sans's attacks are much more varied, underhanded, and clever than Adam's relentless onslaught. Secondly, Alastor's mobility is going to be tied down by Blue Mode flinging him around. Thirdly, he doesn't know that Sans can do this, meaning he's at risk of attempting to simply brute force Sans into submission and get killed.

Finally, Sans has better meta-narrative fuckery on his side. Alastor's 4th wall leaning is strictly limited to hijacking other character's musical numbers, leaving him with no answers for when Sans elects to simply not take his turn or attack in the middle of Alastor's. He likely wouldn't even understand what's happening, just that neither of them can move suddenly.

Alastor's best chance, beyond carpet bombing with AOE, is to outlast Sans's low stamina, forcing him to heavily exert himself with an overwhelming onslaught until he wears down. But, in doing so, he forces Sans to play a trump card that Alastor has no answer for. Once the stalemate tactics been pulled, Alastor's only remaining option is to manipulate Sans into a deal....

Here's how I see this fight roughly playing out.

Alastor tends to fall into one of two modes while fighting. Either "obliterate with raw show of force" or "outfox and evade". With no reason to suspect he needs that latter, he defaults to the former. After a trade of barbs and a deer pun that has Alastor roll his eyes dismissively, Sans's eyes widen as a massive green explosion stretches out towards him, forcing him to teleport away in a snap. He responds in turn with a Gaster Blaster onslaught that Alastor barely thinks to dodge, turning into a shadow to slip between the sea of bones. Initially caught out by a foe he underestimated surviving, Alastor immediately swaps to evade mode to dodge Sans's retaliatory onslaught. Tentacles pull him between Gaster Blasters, zipping him around across the sky to try and counter the Blue Mode pulling him in all directions. As a cabnibalistic serial killer from hell, KARMA would absolutely tear through his soul the second he gets hit. If he gets hit.

The fight continues at this pace for awhile. The two sides alternating between putting everything into evading the other's barrage and throwing back a storm for the other to weather in turn. Back and forth it would go, as Sans's puns and ribbing gradually get under Alastor's skin. That damn skeleton is wearing out. He can feel it. All he needs to do is press him a little harder, hit him a little faster. Until...

The fighting stops. Alastor braces for an attack that never comes. Nothing happens. They stand there.

"What just happened?"

"it's not your turn."

"Turn? What?"

"and it's never gonna be."

So.... Alastor makes a deal. Keying into the fact that Sans's smile is hiding some dark secrets just like his own, Alastor offers to share the souls with him. To work together to break the chains holding them down. Sans seems to consider it, nods, and they shake on it.

Alastor hears the whoopie cushion just as a sea of bones rises to entomb him. As his soul shatters into oblivion, three words echo around him.

"geeettttttt dunked on!!!"

This Throwdown's Winner is...

Sans Undertale!

[robotnik-mun]

You know what’s a neat little thing that I don’t think gets a lot of mention in Pre-Reboot Archie?

The fact there were Things about Mobius Prime that surprised Eggman.

God but issue 92 *sucked*.

But, anyway! Point is- I do actually appreciate these attempts to illustrate that Eggman’s life prior to coming to Mobius Prime and becoming Eggman were not identical to Robotnik Prime’s own, even taking into account the main diverging point of him Roboticizing himself.

Especially when, according to one bio, when said Roboticization happened-

Yep- Eggman was Roboticized a full three years before Robotnik Prime died in Endgame. Which, given that at this point the Robo-Robotnik from Issue Nineteen and Issue Twenty Two were explicitly one and the same (as established in issue Seventy Five), means that the Sonic and company of his zone were partially cyborgified when they were twelve or so... and then nearly killed Robotnik at that age. Eeeesh...

Anyway. I find it fascinating to consider, because some of these differences can be accounted for by the fact that Endgame never happened, while others imply there were other points of divergence even before then.

For example- Eggman being shocked at the existence of Echidnapolis at first seems a bit odd, since given that by the time he finally got his body back on ‘his’ Mobius and obliterated it, you’d think it’d be pretty clear there was an Echidna city on Angel Island by that point. It makes sense that the old Robotnik never knew about it given that he was dead before it came it back, but you’d expect Eggman to know. Yet he is completely surprised. It seems like an oversight... until you remember Endgame.

One of the explicit results of Endgame was that the Ultimate Annhilator’s overloading and subsequently blowing up released energies that weakened the barriers between Zones, and because of that, Echidnapolis and Cavem Canus both were being forced back into the Prime Zone at the same time, resulting in the destruction of the latter. If not for that though? Echidnapolis would never return, and its entirely possible that without Endgame forcing the issue it may never have returned to Angel Island even by the time Robo-Robotnik finally came back and destroyed everything. Now, I don’t know when Guardians in Archie are allowed back into Echidnapolis and told the whole story of things, but I wanna say Eighteen or so. So, Knux would have at least a few more years before finding out the truth of his people, and that knowledge might haven ever left him or Sally.

Kinda makes me wonder how that world’s Julie-Su adjusted to life on Angel Island without any access to the modernity of Echidnapolis...

Likewise though, this would also explain why Eggman didn’t recognize Drago. Since Endgame never happened, he never had any need to associate with Drago or use him in his schemes. It’s interesting how THAT is actually kept rather consistent, that some of the gaps in Eggman’s knowledge are because that One Big Thing never happened.

But then you get the info about Colin, and more intriguing possibilities arise as to how different Eggman’s world was. See, in the Prime Zone, after the Great War Colin led a migration of Overlanders into space to find a new world and as such missed out on Julian taking over Mobius and all the other fun stuff that followed. The quest for a new home was a failure, and Colin’s group returned to Mobius (and unintentionally helped alert the Xorda to the fact life was still on what used to be Earth. Way to go there, Colin).

Eggman’s words here though spell out that he Roboticized his own Colin a while ago, meaning that on HIS Mobius? Colin for whatever reason never left the Great War. And while I doubt it was planned out this way, this would also explain why Eggman never anticipated the Xorda- on his own Mobius, Colin never leaving Mobius means that the Xorda never find their way back to Mobius or try to destroy it, so Eggman is as off-guard as everyone else.

It also makes me wonder if  there is some kind of intrinsic difference in the Roboticization process of his own Zone or some kind of subtle difference between the Overlanders of Mobius Prime and the Overlanders of the ‘Cyber Zone’, because that might explain why Roboticization doesn’t work properly on Overlanders... in the Prime Zone anyway.

Where am I going with this? Nowhere in particular, I just find it kind of interesting to note that there WAS an effort made to establish that Eggman’s life was different from Robotnik’s in Archie, small as that effort was. It wasn’t enough to really salvage the whole ‘Replacement from Another Zone’ conceit, especially given how often the writers resorted to spelling it out over and over again. The whole plot point was INCREDIBLY confusing and convoluted...  but all the same, I appreciate that effort and find it fascinating, even if it never went anywhere and probably never could.

[somebodycallixii]

this stuff might be common knowledge to the rest of the fandom but I just need to get my thoughts down on everything that happened in last episode. spoilers under the cut.

essentially, i think my thesis is that by the last episode, jongwoo is fully buying everything moonjo is selling, but manipulates the storytelling to maintain innocence and garner sympathy from others.

I think that its rational to believe that the narration that happens occasionally through Jongwoo's perspective are from something like a memoir or a novel that he writes that is inspired after his time living there. It is always referring to his circumstances in past tense, and has a general reflective tone in such a way that it seems like he's thinking with hindsight. In this way, the whole series is Jongwoo controlling the narrative of what we believe and see, except we just don't really realize the extent of his unreliability until the very end.

Since its through Jongwoo's (highly edited) perspective, I keep thinking of the storytelling being a device just to manipulate the way we see and sympathize for Jongwoo, specifically in the last episode.

The last episode shows him to look like the valiant and just hero, because thats how Jongwoo wants the audience of this experience to see him. Jongwoo tells the viewers that Moonjo killed everyone else and thats why he had to go after him, but of course in reality we know it was really Jongwoo who killed everyone else. The fact that he is deliberately hiding the facts of that day i think go beyond normal "I'm scared they wont believe it was self defense" motives. I think it is an attempt to disguise the fact that he's completely fallen down the rabbit hole of Moonjo's influence and that his sense of autonomy is basically obliterated at this point-- It's him trying to save face that he actually identifies with Moonjo and his ideology now.

I think the entire fight scene at the end is a further addition to the "story" Jongwoo is creating, and i don't think that Moonjo was ever injured let alone killed.

In the fight scene, i saw someone mention that at this point Moonjo's hair is still wet from when he "killed" the twin on the roof, so the beginning of this fight scene is still part of the same invented story that Jongwoo is telling the audience, the one where he only killed Moonjo. The fight scene is long, arduous, and exhausting, but Jongwoo keeps getting up to fight the good fight against an evil man. it makes him look really brave and admirable.

but did this actually even happen? The nail in the coffin for me personally was Moonjo saying "starting now, let's finish writing your novel, babe" or something similar. He says that as if he knows all along that this sequence is a fiction, that it isn't really happening/never happened.

but all of that considered, why is it even plausible to think that Jongwoo wants anything to do with Moonjo by the end? While there are many reasons why Jongwoo would create a version of events that not only absolve him publicly of like 4 murders but also make him look like a noble hero, i feel like the most significant one is that he is trying to hide what he knows he has become.

I think he is well aware of how he felt killing those people, and that he now agrees with Moonjo. Jongwoo knows more than anyone how many times he's had to stifle his boiling rage, and no one has encouraged or supported him to act on it like Moonjo has. The most significant element that proves to me that he has completely shifted morally as a character, is the fact that he is still wearing that fucking bracelet in the hospital room.

Imagine. you finally escape nearly being tortured and killed, you (supposedly) had to fight and murder someone that gave you a bracelet full of teeth (one of which is your fucking girlfriends!). What do you think would be your first move coming out into the ambulance? or even the first moment you wake up in the hospital? in what universe would any rational human being keep that shit on them??? It's amazing to me.

I'm sure the nurses had to take it off of him at some point or another, at least to wrap his wrist. But it's still on-- the reason it's still there isn't because he forgot to take it off, it's because he wants it there. The symbol of everything Moonjo has done and stands for, Jongwoo purposefully keeps on his wrist.

ANYWAYS. So in my opinion, I think that the entire series is told from Jongwoo's future reflective perspective, and as a result of that what the audience sees is a manipulated version of events that may or may not have been completely true. I think his motive for manipulating the facts of what happened, specifically and especially in the last episode, are due to the fact that Moonjo successfully "changed" Jongwoo, and he doesn't want anyone else to know this.

Again, all of this could be extremely obvious to other people in the fandom, but i just felt like i wanted to get all my thoughts in order. sorry for the length, lmfao.

[bestworstcase]

Does RWBY comment on the religious instituition in some way, or moreso the trappings of faith?

that’s not… quite it, i don’t think, tbh. certainly there is something in ozma’s genteel zealotry and consequent corruption, but the presence of religion in the cultural worldbuilding is very minimal, and the core cast—including ozpin himself!—is composed in its entirety of characters ranging from irreligious to non-practicing. if memory serves ironwood is the only major character so far to make a casually religious statement (“i know this is coming a little ahead of schedule, but brothers know you deserve it,” 7.4)?

the ozma vs salem conflict absolutely boils down to disciple vs apostate, but that theological dimension of their conflict exists outside the context of a cultural religious institution.

from the historical facts as we understand them we can infer that ozma used to be a bona fide zealot—worship of the brothers appears to be culturally hegemonic in the four kingdoms, which could only have happened if ozma, at some time or another, established the formal organized worship of his own absentee gods. further, while ozpin publicly eschews the affectations of faith, he nevertheless tells his inner circle that the gods he serves are the only real gods, and the creators of humankind. he also misrepresents(?) the relics as the literal, physical divine gifts that define human nature, and by explaining his reincarnation as a curse bestowed by the gods, to be lifted only when he puts an end to salem on their behalf, he implicitly positions himself as divinely-ordained. he may not ask outright for professions of faith from his inner circle, but the narrative he feeds them is overtly a holy quest to save humanity by safeguarding the divine relics entrusted into his care by the gods. the huntsman institution is the apparatus of a conspiratorial religious cult, basically.

and then on salem’s end of things there is absolutely nothing to suggest she isn’t still in active, if necessarily slow-burning, rebellion against the gods. the most authoritative description we’ve gotten of her motives so far is ozpin’s assertion that she intends to bring the relics together after irreparably dividing people to ensure that the gods will rule against humanity and obliterate everyone, including her, but there are a lot of reasons to doubt this statement, including:

1 - ozpin’s explicit goal in revealing this information is to manipulate hazel into turning against salem, and ozpin openly believes that FEAR is the supreme emotion in the human psyche. he keeps his own inner circle in line by continually invoking the specter of mass panic to justify his decisions and shut down objections to his chosen course of action, and he tries to pry hazel away from salem by making him afraid.

2 - ozpin lies. constantly. about everything. the habit of lying is so deeply engrained that at one point he lies for no reason about vital information and then can’t even explain why he lied until he’s had a solid twenty minutes to come up with an excuse. (i am referring to withholding the fact that the lamp will attract grimm; even when he comes clean he seriously minimizes the potency of this effect, which very nearly gets ruby killed when she faces the leviathan at the end of the volume and it goes for the lamp instead of the plane crammed with NINE stressed-out fighters actively trying to draw its attention.) well over half of what he tells the kids in v5 is verifiably either outright false or a deliberate misrepresentation of the partial truth. later in v8, well after this conversation with hazel, he makes a genuine commitment to being honest with his allies—but EVERYTHING he says before then is suspect, and everything he will say in the next couple volumes should also be taken with a grain of salt because that wasn’t the first time he promised them honesty, and lying to this extreme degree is a difficult habit to break.

3 - ozpin’s explanation of salem’s motives is built on top of a statement that is either a genuine misunderstanding or a calculated half-truth: he tells hazel that the gods cursed salem to live until the world ends. “as long as this world turns, you shall walk its face.” but that wasn’t her curse—that was a taunt. the actual terms laid out by the god of light were “you must learn the importance of life and death; only then may you rest.” whether ozpin lied about this or simply misunderstood, the conclusion he draws—that salem seeks the total destruction of the world so that her curse will end and she can finally die—is a conclusion made from at least one an argument that is factually incorrect.

4 - rwby has since v4 made a very, very conspicuous point of demonstrating that nobody really knows what salem wants, this confusion became a significant plot point in v8, and the key characters involved in that plot point purposefully chose NOT to ask for objective verification from the literal avatar of knowledge. the intentional narrative obfuscation going on here is NOT SUBTLE, and it’s unlikely that any definitive statement made so far is fully accurate, including salem’s own vague reference to “pursuit of a new world.”

5 - the one thing we know of salem’s motivations for sure is that she considers the brothers to be monstrous tyrants, and has so far openly rebelled against them once and attempted to usurp them twice. her immediate reaction to crushing defeat at their hands was to vow to keep fighting. whatever rebellious plans she might have cooked up in the last however many millions of years it’s been are obviously stymied by the fact that the gods left, and she presumably doesn’t have the means to hunt them down in whatever corner of the cosmos they’ve gone to, giving an obvious reason for her fixation on the relics if she has a second rebellion in mind: she needs them to lure the gods back into striking distance. if ozpin knows or even just suspects that this is her real plan, his own faith in the god of light all but demands he do everything in his power to obscure the truth—because he also knows that salem is unequivocally capable of orchestrating a mass rebellion against divine rule. she did it once before, and that was BEFORE the gods proved her right by massacring the whole planet in retribution. it is absolutely critical to ozma’s agenda that he deny salem even the slightest chance to rally people again, and the simplest, most obvious way to do that is to paint her as a suicidal liar manipulating people into bringing divine judgment down upon themselves, sacrificing their chance for salvation to fulfill her desperate desire for death. this narrative casts doubt onto anything salem herself says of the gods or her own agenda and implicitly validates the rightness of the divine stance by treating the judgement day extermination of humankind as a foregone conclusion, not something that can be fought.

and like the thing about all of this is that rwby is, uh, pretty obviously building towards an ending where the gods can be fought. assuming salem is still thinking in terms of defiant last stands rather than suicidal submission to the will of the gods, then her view of them as tyrants to resist so far seems to be the one validated as correct by the narrative.

so with…that said, returning to the actual question: i don’t think rwby as a narrative is commenting on religion or faith as an institution; i think the theological dimension here is a commentary on and deconstruction of fantasy chosen one tropes. ozma divine mandate is pretty bog standard in that the nominally ‘good’ god anointed him as a champion tasked with single-handedly saving the world from an otherwise inescapable existential threat posed by the forces of evil, and after straying from the path under salem’s influence in his first reincarnation he’s spent every subsequent life trying to atone for the failures of the last, gradually inspiring global worship of his gods in the process and always working towards the eventual fulfillment of his task. his immortality means this all plays out over a time span of thousands of years, but in every other respect he’s in the thick of your garden variety fantasy chosen one hero’s journey. the twist, of course, is that the task he was chosen for is a) impossible and b) morally bankrupt because it’s premised on the positions that humankind deserves to be exterminated and that humanity is inferior without the magical abilities that come with the gods’ blessings. so we get ozma miserably stagnating in the mire of his own obedience while despair and desperation eat away at his conscience and ideals until he becomes ozpin, and we also get this obfuscating duality with salem, who gets cast by team oz as the root cause of all division and evil in opposition to his holy quest and fills this hitherto unremarked upon role as the only character who sees the gods for what they truly are. meanwhile the natural trajectory of the protagonists’ movement away from ozpin’s authority and (even more critically) his methods brings them ever closer to salem’s side of the conflict with the gods—in that it is slowly becoming inevitable that these kids will fight back instead of capitulating when the gods return to pass judgment and execute everyone. (they are *already* at “disagreeing and debating what we should do is okay, and shutting down discussions over this abstract terror of salem ‘dividing us’ is counterproductive, actually,” and they *just* saw the horrific consequences of a former ally twisting the ideal of “unity” into demands for total obedience on pain of mass death. the next step is re-examining the god of light’s ultimatum through the lens of these experiences in atlas.)

basically rwby takes the standard fantasy trope of the hero chosen by divine authority to vanquish evil and questions its underlying moral assumptions. would a truly kind and compassionate god threaten—or at best, placidly accept the possibility of—the total annihilation of the world unless one person obeys their call to adventure? if the reward promised by that god is identical to the implied ambition that makes the villain a monster (i.e. “fix these worthless broken imitations of humanity by giving them magic”), and the threatened punishment even worse than that, where does that leave the heroes? how does the chosen one navigate a situation where the only moral choice is apostasy but he has been manipulated by his own gods into endless war with the apostate? (the answer to that one is “badly.”) etc.

[blackenedwhite97]

Coming Out [Poly! Erasermic x {Fem}Reader]

Hello! this was a requested fic from like before Christmas. I'M A MESS I KNOW I'M SORRY! I’ll be catching up at some point, I'm in my final sem at uni and have MAJOR senioritis. Me no do unless me have to. Instead, now I just spend my time staring at the existential abyss the threatens to swallow my ceiling and think about everything I'm procrastinating. But I digress...

Content Warning: This story is of a negative experience coming out as poly to your family, this deals with rejection from the reader's mother, father, and a grandparent. This story demonstrates Homophobia, xenophobia, traditionalist and conservative values and attitudes and may be triggering to some folks.

This story includes a Polyamorous relationship

Polyamory: the practice of engaging in multiple sexual relationships with the consent of all the people involved.

Word Count: 3.7 K (A baby story)

Y/N --- 4:06pm

Hey can my roomates come to dinner?

DAD --- 4:06

You mean the gays?

Y/M --- 4:08

Please don’t call them that. Neither of them are gay anyways, there’s more than just gay or straight.

DAD --- 4:10

Yeah whatever. Let your mom decide.

MOM --- 5:12

Sure, they can come.

Mom --- 5:23

Gma might be coming dinner tho. Maybe talk to them?

That conversation should have been enough of a warning for how the evening was going to transpire. At news of your grandmother attending dinner, you panicked and tried to back out of your plans. You had been growing steadily farther apart from your parents anyways, barely seeing them more that once a year if that. It’s not like they didn’t have their suspicions anyways, to them you were a single woman living in the big city sharing an apartment with two gay men. Not that they’d ever been to the apartment. If they had they might have notice that one of the two “bedrooms” was being used as an office. Earlier on in the relationship you were so deeply uncomfortable being around your parents alone, that you had Shouta come with you every visit because you were so paranoid you were just going to come out on the spot.

At first your parents were sure that you and Shouta were together. He had subconsciously cleaned up quite nice the first few times he met your parents anyways, wanting to make a good impression on them if you finally did tell them about your polyamorous relationship. Then as time went on you got busier and started to see them less. Shouta’s parents lived in the suburbs and you saw them on holidays, plus Shouta had come out to them as being bisexual a long time ago and hadn’t felt much pressure to hide the polyamorous nature of your relationship to begin with. Hizashi’s mom was still a city dweller in her 60’s and on top of doing the cute mom things like baking fantastic cookies and handing down family jewelry to the daughter in law, she’d also taken Hizashi and Shouta to their first pride in Tokyo and had an in-home recording studio where she recorded for local punk bands. She was, quite literally, a cool mom.

You gnawed vigorously at your thumbnail, not quiet biting the whole way through, instead riddling it with dents and cracks. Chewing your nails wasn’t a habit you’d always had, it became a sort of silent worry thing you started to do when you got to your agency and had to remain still and quiet during briefings, no matter how terrible the news was. Your ruined nail beds were an atrocity to Hizashi, who had paid several times for you to get a manicure to get your nails short and evenly trimmed so you could manage them on your own. You still somehow found a way to gnaw on the short squared off nubs of your nails though, and it drove him nuts. Shouta cared less, his hands were in ridiculous shape, he was callused and bruised, cracked and flaking all over the place and Hizashi would regularly force moisturizer on them. Shouta cared more about figure out the root stress, it’s not that Hizashi didn’t, he just didn’t know how to, so he settled for pampering you.

“It’s dead.” Hizashi huffed from the bedroom door. “Obliterated, actually.”

“Hmm?” You looked up from your phone, you hadn’t been reading any of the messages in the chat for a good few minutes and just let your eyes unfocus instead. You yanked your thumb from your mouth and hid it below the table like a child caught with a sweet they’d snuck from the kitchen before dinner, you knew he saw.

“Your nail.” Hizashi gently patted the end of his hair with his special fluffy towel that he’d convinced you and Shouta he needed to control his frizz (which he didn’t have) and padded towards the kitchen table where you sat. He placed a kiss on the top of your head as he strode around you.

“What’s up, love?” he murmured softly, leaning against the table next you. One of his legs propped up on the chair to your right and leaned down to look at your phone screen.

“This is going to go horribly.” You breathed, panicked as you set your phone down on the table.

“You don’t know that.” Hizashi looked back up at you and smiled sweetly.

“Not everyone’s mom is a cool rocker lady in her 60’s who lives in the heart of downtown still and is fully supportive of her child’s bisexual polyamorous relationship with their childhood best friend and an ex-small-town girl with an ultra-conservative family.” You huffed out in one long breath.

“That was oddly specific.” He chuckled softly. “What about Sho’s parents, they’re conservative?”

“Yeah, but his parents are at least polite and send us both Christmas gifts every year and keep any and all of their shittier opinions to themselves because they want their son to be happy.” You groaned dramatically, dropping your head onto his thigh, using the extra meat to muffle the noise.

“Y-your-” Hizashi’s leg twitched from the vibrations of your groan. “Your parents want you to be happy too, Y/n.”

You groaned into his thigh, trying to explain the difference between your parent’s and Shouta’s. Hizashi laughed and gently grabbed the side of your face, lifting it so you were no longer muffled by his leg.

“Try again.” He instructed.

“They only want me to be happy if it fits into their rigid frame of what acceptable happiness looks like.” You explained again.

“Hey,” Hizashi ran his thumb back and forth across your cheek, “have faith, baby. They’re your family, they love you.”

If only he’d been right.

Shouta was the know it all, the one that way always right. Hizashi on the other hand was quiet used to being the one that was not always right, he had no hubris about his intelligence what-so-ever. So much so that sometimes you and Shouta had to remind him that he was intelligent and offered a lot of knowledge and wisdom in many many ways: public speaking, social relationships, radio scripting, he spoke two languages fluently as well. However, this one-time Hizashi wished dearly that he had been right, that he was an insufferable know it all who never got it wrong. It was a different twisted feeling in his gut, sitting the back seat watching you try to keep it together in the front seat, than the usual mild embarrassment that faded after a couple of minutes when he was wrong about something. That was damn near luxurious compared to the painful knot tearing into his stomach.

The silence in the car was so dense and absolute that it almost physically gagged Hizashi and Shouta, the two of them were too afraid to say anything and break it. It felt as though the heavy silence was keeping you from breaking, as if it were applying enough pressure at all sides to keep the thin veneer of composure you were managing together. You felt it too, along with the heavy weight that was nearly crushing your chest, the thick doughy lump clogging your throat and the tremble in your lips. You took a deep breath, it getting caught halfway and freezing in to an unrealized sob that you pushed down.

Shouta huffed and pulled off to the side of the dark country road, slowing into the gravelly shoulder. He turned in his seat to face you, undoing his seat belt so he could fully turn his body. You kept your eyes out the window, trying with all your might not to let the tears that clouded your eyes to fall. You knew you’d need to cry about this, about your parents and their conditional love. You knew that this was something you would need to deal with, but you didn’t want to at this moment. You wanted to go home, take some sleeping medication and go to sleep, you wanted to wait until the open wound in your chest had stopped bleeding to begin treating it.

Your father was being facetious about your living arrangement as usual, whenever he was faced with Shouta and Hizashi his first reaction was to constantly point out that fact that you were a woman living with two men and that if they weren’t gay that one of them should have married you by now. Shouta and Hizashi had taken these comments like water rolling off of a duck’s back, Hizashi even grinned and mumbled something about your father tempting him. You could have kept your mouth shut, you could have kept your cool but Shouta’s hand was brushing against your thigh and you felt it tense into an annoyed fist. Something about Shouta’s minimal reaction lit a fire in you, more like an explosion. It was a surge of very sudden and very ferocious courage that lasted a split second and no longer. You’d practically shouted it, the ringing in your ears drowning whatever words you’d used out.

You were met with complete and utter silence, shock and fear thick in the air. You’d almost believed for a moment that you hadn’t done it, that you’d just shouted randomly and just scared everyone. But then your dad stood up, his shocked open mouth flattening out into a hard straight line, this jaw swelling as he clenched it.

“W-what?” he growled, stepping back from the table as if you were a threat.

You were ready to backtrack, you were so ready to just laugh and pretend you were fucking with him. But you spared a glance to Shouta and Hizashi, their faces pale and guilty. They, regardless of what you could say in an attempt to cover up what you’d just said, were basically admitting to it already. You instinctively shrunk back into your chair like you’d do when you were younger at the dinner table whenever something uncomfortable would come up. You could tell everyone was at a loss for words, the difference was that you were scared and at a loss for words, Shouta and Hizashi were shocked and at a loss for words and your father was steaming angry and at a loss for words.

Your mother, who had always been the least confrontational of the two turned away from you and almost in a show of disgust immediately went to comfort your grandmother. It was as if you were an afront to goodness, an act of moral atrocity being committed in front of them. Your father began to barrage you with passive aggressive questions and accusations towards Shouta and Hizashi. He was trying to understand while at the same time refusing to give you a chance to explain. You stopped listening after the first few sentences that came out of his mouth, falling back into an internal monologue filled with regret. He must have said something exceptionally terrible because in an instant Shouta was standing, his arm reaching out to separate you from him and he was shouting. Shouta never shouted, he barely voiced any form of annoyance or frustration in general when it wasn’t a learning moment for his students, but here he was on his feet volleying harsh word with your father.

Hizashi, you realized was attempting damage control, his hands raised and his voice lower than either of the other two men’s. You blinked back into the present, as noise filled your ears, you mother was crying, your father and Shouta were shouting and Hizashi was rambling panicked. You took a couple of deep breaths and stood up on shaky legs, gripping Shouta’s protective arm for support, and looked your father in the eyes. He faltered at the direct eye contact and you saw an opening where there was less shouting to contend with.

“Stop,” you hissed through gritted teeth. “this is why I never wanted to tell you! Why I was perfectly okay with living away from you guys for the rest- This is why I haven’t been home.”

Your mother gasped a ragged, tear-filled breath. She’d expressed before that she’d wished she could see you more often, that she’s noticed you’d been coming home less and less. You’d been good at covering it up, saying you were busy with work and simply couldn’t get the time off. You knew that what you’d just said hurt her, not in the way it should have. It hurt her because you’d just told them it was their fault that you felt unwelcomed here and not because you were afraid of your own parents.

“How long?” she breathed.

“Three years.” You sniffed, hand tightening around Shouta’s wrist.

“THREE?! THR-” your father bellowed in disbelief. “For three years they’ve been brainwashing and forcing themselves on you?!”

Suddenly you understood why Shouta had leapt up, you had just now caught up with the conversation. Red hot anger flared up in your chest, the mere insinuation that you were being forced in anyway to be with your partners filled you with utter rage.

“No!” You growled, for the first time in your life matching your father’s volume. “For three years they’ve been by my side, showing up at the hospital when I got hurt at work, celebrating my promotions at the agency, helping me make a home that I feel safe in and actually fucking caring about me!”

There was silence again, this one was thin but not light in anyway, like it was a delicate thread barely holding a great weight from falling and crushing you.

“We care for you.” You mother said darkly.

“No,” you swallowed hard, “you haven’t for a long time.”

“Get out.” You father growled.

Hizashi was already moving, grabbing your coats from the back of the chairs and pulling Shouta by the arm away from the table. It took you a good long second to move, even then it was because Shouta latched onto your shoulders and Hizashi tugged him along.

“I’m sorry.” Shouta whispered, his hand finding yours in your lap. You kept your eyes focused out the window at the pitch-black fields with barely visible for off golden dots of light. You couldn’t talk.

You heard Hizashi shuffling around in the back seat, scooting closer to you and his hand joined Shouta’s, pulling up onto the storage compartment between the seats. It was cracking, that veneer.

“It’s not your fault.” Hizashi murmured.

You sniffed hard, biting int you bottom lip. Of course, it wasn’t your fault that your parents didn’t accept you, that you weren’t good enough or right for them, that you weren’t on par with the apparent morality of the rest of the family. It wasn’t your fault that they were backwards people with terrible ideas of how a person should be. It still didn’t hurt any less that you couldn’t meet those backwards ideals, that you couldn’t be the right kind of person for them.

“Y/n,” Shouta whispered, gently grabbing your chin and turning your face towards them.

They were looking at you the way a mother looks at her crying baby in the first few months, the desperate need to connect and nurture glowing in their eyes. They were filled with worry, with pity, with understanding but also, with fear. No doubt, what had just happened had been traumatic for them too. Looking into their emotion filled eyes you felt that veneer shatter, falling away and unleashing that mournful sobbing that had been trapped inside.

Shouta pulled you towards him, holding you firmly to his chest placing his head atop yours. You vaguely felt Hizashi disappear from you for a moment, but you were too preoccupied with the trembling muscles seizing violently in your chest. Then you felt him sliding in behind you, only now realizing he’d stepped out of the car and slide in through your door as he shut it behind him. He draped himself over you rubbing circles into your back.

“It’s not your fault.” He murmured into your hair over and over again.

At first you didn’t really focus on it, thinking it idle words of comfort but the more he said the more it sunk in. The more your realized that you were holding onto the hope that there was something about this, about you, that you could fix. With every repetition of those four words that false hope chipped away and that heavy weight in your chest began to fall away. It was still painful, it still felt like you had a pen festering wound that you’d never fully heal from, but it also felt lighter. It felt as though a burden you’d believed was yours to bear was suddenly the responsibility of the many.

“You don’t have to change,” Shouta whispered softly as your sobs ebbed into weak beaths, “they do.”

That reignited some tears, to hear what you needed to said so plainly. Shouta was good at that, putting those intangible thoughts and feelings into plain words. You cried until the tears and the worry and the late hour caught up with you, until your head felt heavy and waterlogged and you slumped backwards into Hizashi sniffing. You cried until your wavering breaths evened out and your tired mind fell to silence. Hizashi pulled you into his lap and cradled you against him like a parent holding and oversized child, running his hand slowly through your hair.

When you awoke you were swaddled thoroughly with the fuzzy blanket from the couch Shouta hated because it shed and sandwiched between the two men who snored away. As you blinked in the early morning light that just barely peaked through the blinds you noticed the red rims around Hizashi’s eyes and deep-set circles under Shouta’s as if they both been awake all night. Shouta was still in his dress shirt and Hizashi had stripped down to his boxers and pulled his hair back into a sloppy bun. Neither were properly snoring which told they hadn’t been asleep for very long.

You tried to ignore what had happened last night, what had led to the heavy feeling in your head and crusty dry eyes and tight cheeks. You tried to pretend that they had stayed up for work, that they you had swaddled yourself up in the blanket nor because you were sad but because you just wanted to be cozy. Then you heard a phone vibrate on the nightstand and any and all work towards denial washed away as you dreaded checking it. It could just be a work thing, it could be Hizashi’s phone even though he’d never had it on silent even once since you’ve known him. It could have been Shouta’s vibrating against the wooden table even though you could see his slightly peeking out of his back pocket.

You sighed and sat up, daring the smallest of glances at the nightstand. It was your phone screen that was lit up, several notifications on the screen. You groaned and laid back down, scrunching your eyes shut begging for sleep to suddenly and miraculously take you. It buzzed again and you huffed. Fine. You’ll check it. I guess someone could be dying. I do stop that from happening for a living.

You very cautiously crawled over Hizashi and reached to get your phone, electing not to look at it until you settled back between your boys. You scrolled though your notifications, weather, news, a work email, a second email from a contact that made your blood run cold and three missed calls and two answering machine messages from the same contact. Grandma. Your hands trembled at you unlocked your phone and typed int your voicemail password. You held the phone up to you ear and listen to the first message which was more or less just some frustrated grandma noises and mumbles about the inconvenience of technology, followed briefly by a set of hellos. If you hadn’t been ready to shit yourself, you’d have laughed. Then the second played and you had to take a deep breath to hold yourself together enough to keep listening.

“Hello? Hello? Y/n? Oh shi- well this is just ridiculous. Y/n, I don’t know if you can hear me, or maybe this is your answering machine, I don’t know I can’t hear too well but-” her soft worn voice said into the phone, “I want you to know that I love you. Your parents love you too, even if they did not act like it tonight.”

She paused and your eyes welled up with tears, a lump forming in your throat. It was this strange feeling of pure sadness but also happiness and relief.

“Those boys,” she continued, “probably would have killed your father last night if they had the chance. I’m not saying I get it, but they sure do love you, sweetheart. I quite like the blond one he is very-”

The message cut off and the automated voice asked you what you wanted to do with the message. All you could do was laugh, laugh and cry. You were still sad, still in pain, but it was already starting to feel less life-ending.

“Hey,” Shouta mumbled blearily, “S’okay. I’m here.”

He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you close, trying to pull himself from sleep. You hugged him back and massaged the back of his scalp gently.

“Listen to this.” You sniffed.

He nodded and you pressed repeat, listening to the whole second message through again. You watched as a smile spread across his sleepy lips and he laughed softly. He pouted suddenly when it ended, his eyebrows pulling together as much as his drowsy state would let them.

“What?” you asked, worried he’d heard something you‘d missed.

“Why does she like Zash more?” he grumbled, barely awake now.

You smiled and curled into him, electing not to answer knowing that he wouldn’t like being told that Hizashi is more sociable than him. Besides, you smiled to yourself, he’d be asleep in a matter of seconds.

You were still hurt; you still had that big open wound in your chest. But with Shouta and Hizashi at your side you knew you’d heal; you knew they’d give you anything you needed. You knew that your grandmother was right, that these two boys loved you very much.

[obae-me]

Tail Wagging Wing Flapping Fun

This idea is thanks to @astaroth1357​ ! It’s a short guide on how to influence their demon forms to do something...embarrassingly cute. I write this fluff with no regrets. Enjoy. 

Sure, it might be a bit disconcerting at first getting used to the sight of humanoid creatures having unusual things like horns and wings and tails (oh my), but it comes with a benefit. While their words and demeanor might suggest otherwise, their demon forms might involuntarily reveal some of their hidden feelings--or not so hidden feelings. Your new mission, should you choose to accept it, is to figure out what sort of scenario sets off these uncontrollable actions. Let’s get some tails wagging and wings flapping, shall we?

Note: Difficulty ranges from 7 being the most difficult and 1 being the easiest.

Extra Note: Seems the brothers happened to come across this guide, hopefully they didn’t mess with it...

Lucifer

Difficulty: (7/7)

Hands down, this man is the hardest one to get a reaction out of seeing as he is always aware of how he is perceived, probably due to that prideful nature of his. Not to mention, he’s only ever in his demon form on rare occasions such as parties or political events. Or, most often, if he needs to use it for intimidation, and you’d rather not get a good look at his wings when he’s ready to obliterate someone or yourself for that matter. So, it goes without saying that this might take some planning or some timely good luck. Perhaps begging if you’re not above it. 

When to do it: Your best chance of success is to catch him when he’s either distracted, so sleep deprived he can’t even see straight, or just flat out drunk. If you choose the first option, chances are, once he’s back in his own head he’ll recall the event and make a mental note to never do it again. With the second, he’ll be at the point where he can no longer care as long as he can get his work done, but then there’s the more likely scenario where he’ll decide to kick you out entirely so he can focus. Lastly, if he’s drunk, not only will this be super effective, but he’ll cuddle you all night long. He might not even remember every embarrassing thing he did the following morning--which never happens, just for everyone’s information. Even in an intoxicated state, he’s in complete control with no embarrassing moments to speak of--Anyway, this is your best choice, but even then he only gets really drunk when he’s with Diavolo, not to mention refraining from coming home until the late...very late hours of the night when he knows no one will be awake to watch him stumble to his room. So, you’ll have to be diligent. Maybe take a nap. 

How to do it: You might think it would be praise, him being Pride and all, but Lucifer knows after so many years that words can often be hollow. Compliments and sugar-coated phrases are mostly used as a means of manipulation or getting something in return. Don’t get him wrong, he does like them, might even give you a slight smile and a pleased hum if you tell him how stunning he is, but he will know you probably expect something in exchange. So, for him, the best way to get his wings aflutter is to do something for him. Actions speak much louder than words and are much more precious to him, especially if you do so unprovoked. Make him some tea! Bring him food in bed! Dust his record collection! Sweep the floor in his study! The list can go on, it’s all up to you to decide what to do, but make sure he knows it's for him. He likes to be pampered--I mean, served. 

What happens: It will take him a moment to register. He’s not used to someone doing something for him so freely before. As a punishment, sure, but of your own volition? You did look expecting, no matter how hard you tried to hide it, but the only thing you were anticipating was his happiness and reaction, nothing else. The wings against his back have no choice but to twitch and shift, and he notices you eyeing them each time they move. As they fluttered, you beamed, and all he could do was roll his shoulders to try and keep the infernal things tucked against his back. The more you smiled, the more they were restless, feathers falling from their place as they twitched with emotion, threatening to wrap around you, to shield you, to envelop you, all like he was a hen protecting a baby chick. Depending on how weakened he is, or how much he cares for you, he might do more than just some shifting wings. He does his best to control himself, he really does, but the joy and warmth flooding his body from all his affection for you can make him do the unthinkable. His entire body will shutter, shaking and rattling him like a wet dog. His wings will jut out from his back, quivering in the air. When all is said and done, the black feathers coating his wings are extremely puffed up, a stunned and embarrassed expression hidden behind his new unruly and disheveled countenance. 

Mammon

Difficulty: (1/7)

If Lucifer is the hardest, Mammon rolls in as the easiest to get a reaction from. He’s very expressive in everything he does, and his demon form doesn’t change that. If it’s not gambling, he has no desire to keep himself under control, and he’s very much an ‘actions now, thinking later’ type of demon. In fact, when you’re around it nearly ends up worsening, he ends up being so flustered and distracted he’s usually unaware of the things he does or says, which gets him in a lot of trouble. However, because of this, it’s so easy to get him to do all the cute things you want. 

When to do it: Honestly, it does not matter. The only things required are himself and you in the same place, and the two of you are already basically attached at the hip. Truth be told, you don’t even need to be near him to get him sheepish, but that’s a secret he tries to keep to himself. You two could be alone in your bedroom, out for a walk in the garden, in Diavolo’s castle, even in the back parking lot of a cheap run-down restaurant. It is not important to him. As long as he has you, anywhere is a party. Public? Private? No matter. Either way his brothers will find out and tease him about it. Getting him in demon form isn’t an issue either. He’ll transform at the drop of a hat if you asked him too. 

How to do it: Much like Lucifer, the most obvious answer is incorrect. You can buy Mammon all the stuff in the world, but his Greed will still want more. Besides, that’s all anyone expects him to enjoy anyway. Everyone thinks just giving him money or gifts will make everything better, but he’s more complex than that! Well, it kinda does make him feel happier, but--oi, that’s not the point, we’re supposed to be gettin’ deep here!--What will really make him melt for you is compliments. This demon loves to be praised, because it doesn’t happen often. Why? Cus he’ll get a big head about it, but that’s Lucifer’s problem, not yours. Tell him how proud you are of him. Let him know how handsome he looks. Assure him you know he’s smart, and how much you look up to him. Tell him how grateful you are that he’s your ‘first’. It’ll get to him instantly and fuel his self esteem for weeks. 

What happens: The skin stretched over his wings will contract, causing his wings to fold into themselves only to burst open again. It’s this strange sort of flapping motion that reminds you of an umbrella opening and closing. Mammon won’t even notice, not until you gush over it. After that, he’ll be so flustered by his involuntary movements that he’ll try to chase his own wings, circling around on his feet while cursing. He’ll do his best to keep them hidden from you behind his back, but you can still hear the fluttering. Pretending like he didn’t hear you, he’ll attempt to get you to repeat what you said. This is your chance to take things to the second stage. If you bombard him with enough sweet words, he’ll have no choice but to bounce from foot to foot, shifting the weight on his feet as joy floods his body. The wings attached to his back will then waggle up and down, waving themselves in the air. You’ll be permitted to watch this for a while before realization dawns on him and he goes back to manhandling his blasted demon form. At one point he managed to grab one of them with his mouth and growled even. You have it on video. 

Levi

Difficulty: (2/7)

The second easiest. Just above Mammon in difficulty due to the fact that he’s in his room all the time and does his best to get himself out of humiliating situations. However, he’s truly an open book, and an emotional one at that, which is why he and Mammon tend to butt heads so often. They’re more alike than either of them will ever admit--w-which is not at all! How anyone could--could see similarities between Levi-chan and stupidmammon is ridiculous!--Similar or not, you could simply look in Levi’s direction and he would blush, and so of course when he’s in his demon form, there will be no hiding his emotions there either. 

When to do it: It will have to be in his room, it’s his safe space and so he’ll be more open to expressing himself when he’s in his sanctuary. There’s no real way around this. It will have to be a good day, so try to prepare by keeping his meddlesome brothers away. Keep an eye on how much internet they’re all using, and then try to monitor them so they’ll use less, making Levi’s loading times effortless. Let Levi know in advance that you want to hang out, that way he can get his mental state in check! This should be good enough to influence a happy tail-wagging Levi for when he permits you to enter his room. 

How to do it: Safety and comfort are the name of the game. Let him do whatever he wants and don’t make fun of him for it. It’s hard for him to be passionate about the things he truly enjoys without his brothers picking it apart or ruining it altogether. Let him speak. Be patient with him as he tries to string together a coherent plot with fragmented statements like “Oh, but there was also when-”, or “Oh, and how could I forget this happened! I’ll need to go back a bit!” If he ever says sorry, assure him there’s nothing to worry about. You don’t necessarily have to be interested in the things he likes, but if you listen to him and let him feel safe enough to be vulnerable, you’ll have him in the palm of your hand. 

What happens: It will happen the longer he rambles. His tail will start to slowly sway across the floor, the gentle sheer sound of smooth scales brushing across smooth tile. The more he feels safe around you, the more traction the tail will get, happily snaking back and forth as the glint of light off his scales reflect back on the ceiling. Of course, you can’t help but stare, which he notices. He’ll grab his tail in his arms, preventing it from moving as best as he could while being a mortified mess. Although you can still see the tip of it twitching, rattling, and quivering. If you comfort him in knowing you aren’t there to make fun of him, that you think it’s actually sweet and cute he feels that protected around you, he’ll let his tail drop to the floor. Only because his hands are now being used to cover his blushing face. The pounding in his chest is drowned out by the intense thumping of his tail against the floor. At one point you managed to pet it and could’ve sworn you saw Levi’s tongue dart out of his mouth, but Levi denies it ever happened. 

Satan

Difficulty: (6/7)

Right under Lucifer as the second most difficult to provoke a physical reaction from. He’s spent millennia doing his best to keep his wrath under control, so controlling other emotions is even easier for him. Although, he’s second in difficulty only because he doesn’t care as much for appearances as Lucifer does. I mean, if his attire is anything to prove--I mean, of course Satan is the bigger man in this aspect, truly. It’s foolish to be so caught up in how you look to other people. He’s not that vain, so if anything, he’s better than his brother. Your main worry is being able to see these emotions in his demon form. Demon form usually equals violence in Satan’s case. Let’s hope it doesn’t get to that. 

When to do it: Make sure it’s a day he’s calm, obviously. Ideally, you’ll both be in a quiet place like his room or the library. If you can, make sure it’s a day where there are no distractions and no noise, which in the House of Lamentation unfortunately only comes by once every century. So, if that means paying Mammon to go on a little shopping spree, making Asmo go with him since coincidently he’s run out of his favorite perfume that you totally didn't use for this excuse, informing Beel that there’s a special going on today of his favorite snacks, bribing Belphie to go along since he’s about to get the show of a lifetime, and then ‘accidently’ letting Lucifer know Mammon stole his credit card, well then, that’s what you’re going to have to do to get some peace (sorry Mammon). Just pulling that off alone will get you some extra brownie points with Satan. 

How to do it: Be inquisitive! Ask him about anything, and it’s likely he’ll know the answer. In fact, he’s almost amused when you treat it like a game, quizzing him about any obscure and specific topic and seeing what he knows of it. If there happens to be something the two of you are unsure of, he’ll find the book and you’ll both learn together. In return, he’ll have you talk about the human world, about cultures, about topics you’re interested in. Asking questions is your ticket into getting him into demon form as well. If you simply tell him you’re dying to get a closer look at demon features because you’re so fascinated, he’ll be inclined to transform for you. Satan encourages and rewards curiosity. Of course he knows your plan already, but all your efforts just because you were eager to note how his demon form would react? Well, he’s willing to give in just to observe your feedback as well. It’s also worth noting that bringing up Lucifer in the conversation will immediately ruin your plans. Satan wants to feel special, so give him your full attention!   

What happens: You had to first coax the tail he so often kept wrapped around his leg to come loose. Once it did, it enjoyed flicking itself back and forth every so often when he was amused, the end curling up and down when you said something particularly enjoyable. They were small simple gestures, but you wondered if you could draw out more. You threw out a sudden ‘psst psst psst’ like one might do to a cat. His tail shot up straight in the air before he glared at you, albeit with a slight smirk. With a new playful expression on his face, his tail whipped back and forth harder, sharper, convincing you that he might pounce were you not careful. Although, he still seems very aware of his movements, which defeated the purpose of the involuntary aspect. So, acting like there was something on his face, you stepped over. You struck by scratching the underside of his chin. His entire tail quivered, trembling, the bony skeleton-like structure of his tail rattled. Pushing you away, he’ll marvel at his own demon form which seemed to have a new mind of its own. It tucked itself between his legs for a few seconds after the initial embarrassment, then continued to shiver and shake anytime he looked at you. This is exactly why he keeps it wrapped around his leg in the first place. 

Asmo

Difficulty: (4/7) 

Amso is another expressive individual, in fact almost more so than Mammon. However, Asmo is a master of the body, and is absolutely aware of how he moves and acts in front of other people. Every movement he makes is completely intentional, it adds to his charm, to his popularity. Every eye flutter, every finger curl, it’s all purposeful. He can’t accidently slip up in his body language! Who do you think he is? He can’t afford to do anything embarrassing, it’ll ruin his reputation. However if you get him alone--not like that, this is a wholesome guide--he might not have to worry about his image so much. 

When to do it: This part isn’t hard, just tell him you want to spend time with him, in private. After thoroughly getting it across to him that, no, it’s not as dirty as he’s making it out to be, he’ll still be happy to squirrel you away for himself. His brothers are running you ragged, they’re such brutes. He’ll make sure to take good care of you...Sometimes you wonder if he can’t control the way his suggestions sound. Perhaps interest him in the idea of a self care day. He’ll be more than happy to paint your nails, style your hair, whatever you feel comfortable doing. You might have to continuously lead him away from the idea of letting him bathe you, but he truly just wants to treat you. However, the more you spend time alone together, the more he acts a bit more like himself. When he’s around you and not in the public eye, he can let himself relax a little, instead of always needing to live up to those social expectations. 

How to do it: This is the trickier part. As Asmo is the demon of lust and a certified social media star, he gets compliments daily, several gifts from potential lovers, and all the physical touch he could ever need. At a glance, he gets enough attention than any one person should ever need. However, he secretly craves quality time together, and no not like what you’re thinking--Unless you want it to be, and then he’ll happily oblige~-- He needs time to destress, to wind down, to spend time with someone who doesn’t care if he’s perfect all the time. Make him feel comfortable in his own skin, and I don’t care what he says, because there’s a hidden part of him that isn’t. So sit him down for a movie night, convince him to take off his makeup. Let him relax in his demon form since not only is it truly him, but you’ll need it for your plan. Brush his hair while he tells you about his day. Get him away from social media as best you can so he can “detox”, making sure it’s simply you and him. He doesn’t need Likes to be Asmo, he doesn’t need to be perfect to be worth it. 

What happens: He will act like he has no idea what you’re talking about for sure. Imperfections? He doesn’t know them. Truly he’s not so insecure as you think he is? Like Levi? Please...But your words have gotten through to him. The soft actions and...chaste time together that you’ve shown him throw him for a little loop. It’s like aftercare but...all the time with you. His wings can’t quite contract like Lucifer’s or Mammon’s, so they just bob up and down, flapping occasionally which messes up his hair. He looks on in confusion. Since when had he been so focused on you that he forgot how to present himself? It drives him insane, how embarrassing! And of course, the more you convince him he has nothing to be worried about, how it’s actually adorable, the more flustered he gets. You always knew how to compliment with no other motives. Instead of a wagging motion, his wings will move from side to side, hitting against each other. It sounds like light clapping. Asmo hates how his wings move like this, striking against each other when he’s pleased. He’s worked so hard on controlling it, and now he’s doing it in front of you. He’s immediately going to go hide, but it doesn’t prevent you from hearing the adorable sound of tapping. 

Beel

Difficulty: (3/7) 

The third easiest demon to get those special demon form movements from. He really cares for you, like a lot, and he’s the only one who isn’t afraid to say it and show it. In fact, the only reason why he isn’t ringing up at number one is due to the fact that he’s not overly flustered by his movements, he’s doing them on purpose to show you he cares, which is kinda what you’re going for here. Getting a reaction out of him without him being in full control is going to be a little bit harder, which is why he’s coming after Mammon and Levi. You want to catch him off guard, making him do things he wouldn’t normally do.

When to do it: You don’t have to try to sneak and lie and trick him into doing anything. He’s not worried about a ruined image or anything like that. Just make a day to spend time with Beel, tell him you’re bringing snacks, and tell him it would make you the happiest human in the Devildom to have him be in his demon form. That’s all you have to do, Beel loves your honesty, it lets him know you trust him and in return he trusts you. Super easy. 

How to do it: Bringing him food will definitely achieve putting a smile on his face and getting him in a better move, but it won’t bring out the soft side of him, and you want maximum softness. Beel is always taking care of his brothers, being the backup when Lucifer cannot, and just generally doing his best to keep the peace in the family. He’s the big strong bodyguard, the protector. So, to really throw him for a loop, to make him act beside himself, you’re going to protect this boy. Let him feel small even though it’s physically impossible with how large he is, especially in demon form. Let him be weak and vulnerable and safe in your arms even if they’re half the size of Beel’s. Give him snacks, make him sit on the floor and tilt his head back into your lap. You can try to have him sit in your lap-- Just be careful, the last thing he wants is to hurt you, seeing as how you’re so fragile…--He rarely ever drops his guard, so it’s a nice change of pace for him. Plus, he finds it absolutely adorable trying to be his protector, attempting to act three times your size. But he truly appreciates what you’re going for, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t feel nice to be taken care of for once. 

What happens: You’re able to hear the deep buzz of his wings as they flutter against his back. He frowns, immediately causing the noise to halt. He still doesn’t particularly care for these new ones compared to his older ones. However, the pleased look on your face along with glimmering eyes causes a touch of pink to grace his cheeks. Alright, he can’t deny you what you want. So he lets his wings do what they want. They vibrate intensely, a small whirlwind kicking up in your bedroom, the buzz turning into a deep hum. Your eyes go wide, at least until the intense winds almost knock you to your feet. Then the air stops and you’re wrapped up in his arms. You have to squirm out of his arms to prevent him from becoming the shield again. He’ll try to tell you that he’s not cute, so persuade him he is. Sometimes he wishes he had wings like Lucifer’s so he could wrap you up in them, but he supposes his arms will have to suffice. Every so often now, he lets his wings buzz for you, grateful you accept him for who he is. Unfortunately, no matter how hard you try, he always goes back to being the one protecting you. Although, every so often now he’ll come to you to feel safe. 

Belphie

Difficulty: (5/7) 

The demon of sloth is far too lazy to even walk most of the time much less moving his tail. A lot of times, when he is in his demon form, it ends up dragging itself across the floor. Not to mention he’s got a nearly indestructible emotion wall built up around him in the form of apathy and a bit of bratiness. Getting him to become so physically and emotionally moved by you to lose control of himself is going to take some work. 

When to do it: He’s asleep during the day mostly, so if you attempt to do it during normal hours, you’ll need to have a crazy amount of luck. So, it’s suggested you approach this demon at night, very late at night. So late, you know you’ll have regrets in the morning, or hopefully no regrets if you manage to pull this off. It will have to be past curfew, because if there’s anything Belphie loves more than sleeping, it’s opposing Lucifer. Get him alone where the sky is full of stars and the house is plunged into slumber. 

How to do it: Let him feel validated. Of course, there’s a lot of...grey area around him for some things, but in the here and now, just listen to what he has to say. He has seven older siblings, it’s easy for his voice to get lost in the clamor. Maybe if someone had just listened to his woes before taking action, things wouldn’t have gone the way they did. And, he did spend a lot of time alone, where he wasted countless nights hoping someone would just talk to him. So he appreciates how you can sit there, staying quiet--which nearly every one of his dumb brothers seems to be incapable of except his twin--letting him be heard. Who knows, if you feel vulnerable enough to share some of your deeper problems, he’ll find a newfound respect for you. There’s something about being able to relate to someone, to be able to spend hours just going back and forth where each party just makes them feel accepted. Of course, he’ll act like it’s no big deal, that this isn’t special, that this means nothing to him. 

What happens: It’s slow, like almost everything about him. But, you can see his tail lift itself up off the ground, the end curling. It likes to slowly sway, the furry end gently dangling back and forth in a soothing motion, like it was being blown by the wind. That’s all you can really get out of him, since anything more would be too much effort. It’s very subtle, but you notice every detail. Like most things about him, it makes you sleepy somehow, the placid rocking motion. It takes a very long time till he realizes what he’s done. Then his tail will hit the ground with a faint thud. If you ignore it long enough, out of the corner of your eye, you’ll watch it drift back and forth against the ground, a barely noticeable pink hue to Belphie’s cheeks. The more you look away, the more it’ll curl around to where you’re sitting, making the demon of sloth blink, attempting to tug his tail back away from you. It’ll crawl back, moving so slowly you can’t notice the changes anymore, but he does, and he can’t tell why it keeps trying to protect you from behind. Oh well. Best to not think about it. Right? 

[hellsbellschime]

Why Jaime Lannister's GoT Ending Was Actually Bad

Nearly every aspect of the end of Game of Thrones earned ire from the majority of the show and book fandom, but one aspect of the show's conclusion that seems to have frustrated fans across the board was the ending for Jaime Lannister. More specifically, that after a seemingly solid and nearly complete redemption arc, he returned to Cersei and King's Landing to die in a manner that somewhat works as a metaphor but didn't resonate well with the audience at all. And, while Jaime's ending was a flop, it didn't fail for the reasons that many viewers seem to think that it did.

The Lannisters are obviously some of the most complex and important characters in A Song of Ice and Fire, but one of the most interesting aspects of their family dynamic is that it was established far before the contemporary storyline actually began. And, while Game of Thrones seemed to paint it as if Cersei was a source of toxicity that Tyrion and Jaime couldn't get out from under the thumb of, the truth is that the bad apple that spoiled the bunch was never Cersei, it was always Tywin.

One of the most meaningful and important themes of George RR Martin's work is the long-term effects that abuse has on children, and there isn't really any example that is more present and potent than the horrific effects that Tywin's abuse had on all of his children, and how it affected them in different ways.

Jaime, Cersei, and Tyrion all have some of the most intriguing points of view in the entire story. And one aspect that all of their POVs seem to share in common is that while nearly everyone in their world perceives them as a villain, they all see themselves as victims. And the truth is, both sides of this coin are correct.

Yes, the Lannister children have done many horrific, irredeemable things in their lives, but they have also been the victims of extremely traumatic abuse that understandably altered their outlook on the world and on themselves in general. There is a balance between victim and perpetrator that needs to be struck with their characters, but one of Game of Thrones' bigger flaws was its inability to do that.

Unsurprisingly, nearly every character's book point of view grants themselves more sympathy than they should. Almost everyone sees themselves as a better person than they are or is capable of rationalizing away their bad deeds and focusing on their more positive decisions and personality traits. But this is of course one of the many ways in which George RR Martin utilizes his POV traps.

Translating a story that is told through the eyes of the characters themselves and filming it from a more objective third-person perspective means that plenty of important information is going to be lost in that translation. But one of the fatal flaws when it comes to the Lannisters is that, while Game of Thrones does still present Cersei as pretty forthrightly villainous, the narrative pretty drastically whitewashes Tyrion and Jaime. Essentially, it seems to take Tyrion and Jaime at their point-of-view word and treats them like they're much better people than they truly are. Thus, Jaime's ignominious end with the supposed biggest baddie of them all feels like a betrayal of his character development when it really shouldn't be.

Every character needs to be held responsible for their own choices, but the downfall of House Lannister really does rest in the hands of Tywin, and Game of Thrones ignoring that fact did a disservice to every one of the Lannister children in one way or another.

Yes, out of all of the Lannisters, Jaime was as close as Tywin could get to the golden child of his dreams, but it's easy to overlook that while Jaime may have been the favorite on the surface, every single one of Tywin's children was disgustingly mistreated, and the effects of his abuse all showed themselves in different malignant ways.

While Jaime may have gotten preferential treatment over his siblings, Tywin was never anything other than a terrible parent, and more importantly, Jaime's superior treatment only told him exactly how he could expect to be treated if he ever failed to live up to his father's high ideals. And of course, in many big and small ways, he did ultimately fail to live up to Tywin Lannister's exacting standards.

Tywin was a terrible parent because he was an abuser, but he also raised his children with his own values of pride, entitlement, and superiority. Obviously, the notion that they were simultaneously failures who had earned their own mistreatment but were also Lannisters who deserved to be above everyone else is opposing perspectives that are in constant conflict with one another, but it also seems to be how Cersei, Jaime, and Tyrion see themselves as constant victims while still perennially victimizing others.

George RR Martin has repeatedly discussed that one of the strongest themes of his work is the idea of the human heart in conflict with itself. Game of Thrones lost the plot with this in nearly every character adaptation, but Jaime's was one of the worst, largely because he is a character who has done some of the most monstrous and most heroic things in the story. He is both the man who doesn't hesitate to murder a child and the man who stopped a king from slaughtering thousands, and therefore his inner conflict is extremely vital.

Jaime's character arc in Game of Thrones follows a classic redemption arc almost perfectly, but that clearly doesn't seem to be the intent behind the character in the books. Yes, there is a part of Jaime that wants to be redeemed, but he does often revert back to his more brutal and nihilistic side, and his desire for so-called redemption seems to be driven more by how he wants the world to see him rather than how he wants to be.

And in that sense, the show did him a great disservice. Because there are many ways in which Jaime hasn't healed from Tywin's abuse, but the fact that he still seeks the approval of others in a rather superficial manner rather than developing a deeper understanding of true honor and justice is one of the clearest indications that, while Jaime does want to get out of the path that his father laid out for him, he is still crippled by what Tywin told him being a Lannister meant. And ironically, Tywin's belief about what being a Lannister means has essentially trapped all of his children into trying and failing to live up to that example simply because they can't survive unless they do.

Because ultimately, it's not necessarily just about what Jaime, or Cersei, or Tyrion wants. At some point, every single one of them has made obvious indications that they don't want to be a part of the legacy that Tywin Lannister laid out for them. But, when Game of Thrones presented Tywin as a super-intelligent master strategist instead of a completely unnecessarily violent and aggressive asshole, it made all of the Lannister children's choices harder to understand.

Both in the A Song of Ice and Fire and Game of Thrones fandoms, Tywin is typically put up on a pedestal, and that's completely baffling. Many viewers and readers perceive him to be brilliant and badass, but everything that Tywin is famous for actually makes him seem like a complete moron upon further contemplation. Winning battles by absolutely obliterating your enemies is a terrible precedent to set for many reasons, but one of the biggest is that it essentially requires all of the Lannister children to maintain this scorched earth policy because Tywin's hyper-aggressive superiority complex has put them in a position where they almost always have to choose to kill or be killed.

And, his cruel and dishonorable behavior as well as Jaime's reputation as the Kingslayer essentially guarantees that even if Jaime completely changes as a person and becomes the hero he wants to be, he really can't ever become that in the society that he lives in simply because the stigma around the Lannisters is something he can't escape.

That is one of the great tragedies that Game of Thrones failed to articulate, and that is one of the biggest reasons why Jaime's character conclusion was so off-putting to the audience. Because the audience saw the result of where this character arc would naturally go, but the story never actually took the steps to get there. In fact, the show went out of its way to erase a lot of the obvious building blocks that are leading up to both Cersei and Jaime's demise that makes it clear that, while they're obviously responsible for their own choices and actions, the groundwork that Tywin's abuse and cruelty laid and set in stone was something that they couldn't control, prevent, or undo.

Game of Thrones largely presented Jaime's characterization with the implication that if he could only escape Cersei, he would be a good man. But the reality was, if only Tywin hadn't been his father, then all of his siblings would have been better people. They may not have been good, but they almost certainly wouldn't be the kingdom-destroying villains that they became.

I also think the TV series likely bungled his character in that his story is meant to be a subversion of the classic redemption arc rather than the straightforward bad guy to good guy story that Game of Thrones told. George RR Martin obviously doesn't like flawless characters, and nearly every person in A Song of Ice and Fire does good things and bad things all the time, they never go in a straight line from point A to point B. So, of course it was going to be incredibly jarring when the show did move Jaime in a straight line from point A to point B and then abruptly gave him an ending that is probably somewhat similar to his end in the books.

But with that in mind, for all of the faults in Game of Thrones and the way they handled Jaime's character arc, I don't really understand the idea that his character was ruined by his ending either. These characters are clearly designed to never be just one thing, and if Jaime killing King Aerys or trying to kill Bran doesn't singularly define his character, then going back to Cersei in the very end shouldn't either.

[notanotherreidgirl]

Lesson Plans

Summary: Spencer’s TA helps him organize his class all while developing a crush on him, little do they know that he feels the same way

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: none? there’s some kissing

Word Count: 1434

A/N: I definitely need to go back and edit this one!! 

Dr. Spencer Reid was the most eccentric professor you ever had. 

He didn’t use any technology at all. Opting instead to handwrite his lesson plans on the blackboard in slanted chicken-scratch. He never got through his material anyway, easily getting caught up on tangents and explaining his own jokes. On the first day of class, he passed out an 8-page double-sided, single spaced syllabus. It was clear that he spent a lot of time on it but he had neglected to staple the pages together so no one walked out with more than 5 pages. Not that it really mattered, he barely followed the syllabus and half of it were recommendations for optional reading. 

The lecture hall was always full but for the people who weren’t auditing, the class was a bit of a mess. Despite the chaotic nature of the course, students kept signing up. How could they not? Dr. Reid was charming and effusive and he rounded everyone’s grades up to an A. When you took the class you were completely entranced by him but you couldn’t shake your frustration with the lack of organization. What was even worse was that most people just took his class for an easy A and hardly bothered learning most of the material. You couldn’t believe it - you had been dying to take Criminal Psychology and you poured your heart and soul into your assignments. When the end of the semester rolled around and TA applications opened, you applied without hesitation.

When Spencer saw that you had applied to be his TA, he very nearly hired you without reading any of the other applications. He refrained from referring to his obvious affection towards you as a crush - that epithet seemed too juvenile - but that’s exactly what it was. A giant schoolboy crush that had completely obliterated his ability to think. He had a tendency to ramble but it was exponentially worse this past semester with you sitting in the front row. 

It only took him one week to commit your routine to memory. Get to class 5 minutes early, sit in the front (5 seats from the left wall), drive him crazy for the whole lecture (chewing on pencil erasers and giving him small smiles when he made eye contact), have lunch at the cafe downstairs, then camp out at the library for a few hours. You were a fastidious creature, orderly and straightforward. It came through in your papers too. Well-constructed arguments that got to the point without unnecessary filler. He was embarrassed to admit that he made copies of your papers and reread them, taking note of your syntax and word choice. 

Your first order of business as his TA was to digitize his notes, taking pictures of the blackboard after class and making concise powerpoints that were sent out in friendly weekly emails. You also revamped his syllabus and held your own office hours since his were always well attended by adoring students who never seemed to ask questions about the course material. It was a lot of work but you could talk about the course material all day. You loved the class and you loved teaching your students which would’ve been just fine if you didn’t start to love something, or rather someone as well. 

The semester flew by and your feelings for Spencer only grew stronger with every day, with every evening you spent grading papers together, with every coffee wordlessly passed between you, with every lesson plan you outlined together. And now it was all coming to an end. You were standing in the doorway of his office making promises to stay in touch and thanking him for this experience while the voice in your head was practically begging you to say something. But you didn’t. What would you even say? How does one tell their boss that they are completely in love with them? What if he didn’t want anything to do with you afterwards. With these thoughts heavy on your mind, you finally turned to leave. 

“Wait, Y/N, I know what you did for me this semester.” Spencer realized that this was his last chance to say something, anything to let you know how he felt. His words came out in a rush, “I know that I’m not the best professor. I don’t follow the syllabus and my grading system is all over the place and I ramble. I’m even doing it now. I’m rambling. I know there are so many things I should change but -”

“No!” you immediately clamped a hand over your mouth but it was too late, your impassioned outburst had already escaped. To say you were mortified was the understatement of the century, you would have given anything to disappear right then. 

Spencer, on the other hand, was thoroughly amused. It was as if you stole all his anxious energy away. “What do you mean, no?”

“It’s nothing! I just - well, I just mean that you shouldn’t change anything. You’re perfect just the way you are.” Your eyes widened. How was it possible that every word out of your mouth made the situation exponentially worse? “Not perfect - no one’s perfect! I just mean that you're fine. Your class is fine!”

For a moment you recalled the transporters in Star Trek. Beam me up Scotty, you thought uselessly. 

Feeling exceptionally bold, Spencer pulled a chair up to his desk. “I think I know what you mean, darling. Why don’t you take a deep breath and have a seat?”

You had been considering making a run for it but your legs promptly turned to mush after he called you darling. He had pulled the chair to his side of the desk so you were sitting right in front of him less than 2 feet away. You were determined to get the situation under control so you took a deep breath before starting.

“Dr. Reid, I wouldn’t want you to change a single thing about your teaching style. I became your TA because I wanted other students to enjoy this class as much as I did. Everything I did this semester was so that you could keep teaching in the irregular, fun and inspiring way that you do. I didn’t mean to overstep and I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that I think you’re not a good professor. Because you’re not. It’s the opposite.”

After finishing you nervously looked up at his face expecting admonishment only to be met with pure adoration in his honeyed brown eyes. He reached into your lap and took your hands in his. You had expected the hands of an FBI agent to be hard, weathered from chasing down killers but his were soft and he held you so carefully like he was afraid you’d pull away. 

“Thank you” he whispered. He brought your hands to his lips and you had to press your feet into the ground to keep from floating away. “I wanted to say thank you for typing up comprehensible notes and replying to every email and making sure there’s always sugar by the coffee machine and listening to what I have to say and for letting me be myself”

Your breath hitched, you hadn’t realized that he’d noticed everything you’d been doing in the background. You squirmed in your seat, taken aback by the intensity of his gaze. Could he see right through you? 

“It’s really nothing, Dr. Reid” you murmured. 

“No, it's not,” he leaned in closer, so close you could feel his hot breath on your neck and you were sure he could hear the drumbeat of your heart. “Not everyone is willing to be patient with me and even fewer go out of their way to make things easier or better without trying to change who I am. I know I’m a difficult person but you don’t make me feel that way. I’m beyond lucky to have you.”

He paused before adding, “That is, if you’d have me?”

Whatever was left of your self-restraint disintegrated when you pressed your lips to his. You laughed into his mouth, joy bubbling from your lips and filling Spencer with an incredible warmth. He smiled and pulled you into his lap, “Is that a yes?”

“Yes, yes, yes” you punctuated each affirmation with a kiss to his nose, his cheeks, his temples. You wanted to tell him that he wasn’t difficult at all. That he was charming and capable and lovely but there would be plenty of time for that. For now, you held him tight and you didn’t have any intention of letting go.

[ratcandy]

CoGR Abridged/Summarized

Hello hello! My name is Clam, otherwise known as Squeakyclam on Ao3, and this is a heavily summarized/shortened version of my HK fic Camouflage of Great Renown. For anyone somehow finding this that doesn't know what it's about, CoGR focuses on Zote and his story through the game and what preceded it. He recounts his entire life up until the end of what's known in canon, and this includes a whole lot of angst, growth, realizations, and Trauma Revelations.

Oh, and he's a nosk. Zote is a nosk. Yep.

I've had a few requests for a summary, as the work is super long and reading through 130k+ words of Zote dialogue may not be for everyone, hehehe so I've compiled all the important plot points and wrote them out here in order of his story, rather than the plotline CoGR goes through specifically (in which big events in his history are revealed later on).

If I had to recommend reading the fic for anything, it'd be the... impact, I suppose? 'Cause reading the summarized events here will NOT be anything like reading it in CoGR. Seeing as the fic is all in Zote's pov and he actually has to force himself to admit all of this aloud. But I digress!!

Here's a summary of Zote's life according to CoGR.

THIS IS A VERY, VERY LONG POST DESPITE BEING A SUMMARY. I'm sorry, CoGR just has a lot happening! T/W for mentions of death.

A lot more heavy stuff happens in CoGR, but in this summary I do my best to step around those subjects. If you think more T/Ws should be added, let me know, and I'll put them here

Nosks were a species that inhabited Deepnest, specifically living in a den towards the nest's depths. It split off into lots of tunnels and caverns that each nosk lived in. "Society" there was very hostile and unwelcoming, as nosks valued brute strength over just about anything else. Caring for another nosk - be it kin or otherwise - was considered weak. "Burdens" to the den, such as nosks that were badly wounded, would/could not hunt, or were simply getting too old would be killed off. Death in and of itself was very common and hardly anyone would bat an eye at it.

Think the Mantis Tribe but largely feral and without a shred of decency of morals.

Runt donning mask of citizen was born into the nosk den alongside his brother, who would become hunter donning hide of tiktik.

(Before anyone asks, these are just the naming conventions that nosks have. No one but the nosk superiors - the leaders of the den - are granted actual names.)

A third egg was among them, but the brother broke it open and ate the younger sibling not long after hatching.

The two were born under a superior (their mother) and her chosen mate (their father). They were expected to grow up strong and eventually overtake their mother and become superiors. Or, one of them would, maybe.

The runt (Zote) was immediately scorned by the mother, as he was extremely frail and useless, and she just about killed him off right after he hatched - but his father stepped in, and the runt was left alive.

Zote grew up to be a weak nosk who could barely defend himself in a den full of beasts that would gladly kill him if doing so wouldn't be a direct offense to a superior. His brother was cruel to him, his father berated him constantly, and his mother was hardly in the picture at all. Only ever watching him distastefully from afar.

His father did, however, train him, if only sparingly. The least he could do to keep Zote alive. (Doing so would be a death wish were any other nosks to find out about it...)

However, an elder in the den - hunter donning mask of weaver - gained Zote's attention as she told him fantastical stories from outside the den. This elder had spent a good portion of her life among the Weavers, initially being sent to learn about them (to make them easier to hunt) but growing interested in their culture and choosing to stay. Until she did something to get her chased out.

At any rate, she told the stories from the Weavers to Zote, alongside news of what was happening outside of Deepnest. This caused the runt to become obsessed with the idea of being a knight, as the stories just sounded!! So amazing and heroic and awesome and!!! :D Yea!! He wanted to be just like that!

To the point where he even carved a sword out of the shellwood... with the den elder's help. He named it Life-Ender eventually.

At some point, however, his father found out about all this. His father figured that the only way to eliminate this problem - as wishing to be something heroic that saved lives or whatever was SO unnosk-like (and would get him killed) - was to kill the den elder.

Before she died, the elder told Zote to run away from the den, and not to return no matter what. The idiot did not run, and because of this, he witnessed the Den Elder's death at the hands of his father and some other nosks.

Man! this does, however, cause Zote to be more... "open" about his ideas. By this I mean he begins carrying Life-Ender around instead of hiding it in his nest. what do you mean it's a comfort item what! no he's just rebelliously showing off how much he wants to be a knight. totally. 100% /s

well, anyway, not long after this, the idiot's father dies at the claws of his mother. Zote unfortunately witnesses this as well. When he tries to run, his mother catches him, nearly killing him as well. Luckily(?), this attempt is thwarted by Zote's brother, who was very distraught over their father's death. The brother swears to kill the mother before storming off. Zote runs into hiding (still in the nosk den), and begins devising his plan so to get the hell out of there.

Of the few times that Zote leaves his nest after his father's death, 90% of them ended with him getting pummeled by his brother. The latter was livid, blaming the father's death on Zote and frequently bursting into fits of emotional rage. Rage is great for nosks, other emotions not so much.

On one occasion in particular, the brother goes too far, nearly killing Zote. In the scuffle, Life-Ender is shattered, and that sends Zote into a blind anger (mixed with survival instinct as he's About to Die). Zote then kills his brother.

A crowd had gathered around them during the fight. In that crowd was Zote's mother, who looked to him approvingly after he'd killed off his brother. This terrified Zote, so he gathered the pieces of Life-Ender and fled the den forever.

Stopping at the hot spring in Deepnest, he made a disguise for himself based on the vessels that nosks would often capture. He made a new name for himself, took on an entirely new identity, and decided to abandon the idea that he was ever a nosk. He would just go to the City, be knighted by the King (who he'd heard of from the stories the Den Elder would tell him), and live out his life as a knight. Just like he always wanted. Not as a nosk. because he's not that.

The events that follow now are just very short summaries of things that happen throughout cogr.

- He breaks a statue in the Queen's station on accident after a bug finds him there. as a nosk. oops

- He obliterates the entire uoma population /j and burns himself in the process

- He repairs Life-Ender originally using mushrooms in the Fungal Wastes. Fungal adhesion is real I checked I swear

- He makes it to the City of Tears! and while there, he

Gets caught by Hegemol who mistakes him as a vessel

Drowns in the City's gutters

Purchases a cloth to wrap around Life-Ender

Hears the Pale King talk one (1) time and immediately decides he hates him

- While leaving the City, he finds a grub. That grub never really gets named, but as he frequented calling the little thing "Fiend," and the grub eventually began responding to that title, he just considers it a name for them now.

- Zote travels with the grub throughout the Crossroads until he drops them off with the Grubfather, being rewarded for reuniting them but overall feelings pretty :( about it.

- He then goes to the. So you know the houses that are underneath the Gruzz Mother's lil arena? Yea that place. he goes there and "guards" it, becoming that place's self-proclaimed knight.

- then he starts being paranoid about the grub and returns to the grubfather only to see all the grubs have been stolen. he presumes Fiend is dead from this point on (and dodges around ever using the word).

- Then he goes back to the lil town place only to see everyone's infected :(

- We then spend TEN CHAPTERS!! in Greenpath. In which he

eats a plant and dies

Stands in No Eyes's tomb.

Visits the Lake of Unn (and nothing bad happens)

Sees a nosk at the entrance to Fog Canyon and proceeds to have a panic attack

Kills everything

Gets caught by the Vengefly king

Gets saved!

has a breakdown

Yells at Ghost and then Leaves

- Canon starts!

- He stops in Dirtmouth, listens to Elderbug talk, gets told the Myth of the Great old Nosks who are now all Extinct. The news that nosks are now extinct freaks Zote out a little, but he absolutely refuses to return to Deepnest. He doesn't need to make sure. It's fine.

- In an effort to convince himself not to go to Deepnest, he goes to the City again, thinking it can't possibly be all that ba-- oh no everyone's dead!

- he inadvertently steals a map marker from Ghost and decides to use that as a pin for his cloak

- Zote returns to Deepnest. He's very upset with himself for this, but he just has to know if all the nosks are actually extinct now.

The answer is yes

but before that he gets caught by dirtcarvers and put in a web and has to be saved. this makes him angry

Upon seeing all the dead nosks once he gets to the den, and noticing that the last nosk was mimicking Ghost (evidenced by the mask left behind) before it died, he decides that he's gotta Kill Everything again

- more specifically we're going to the Colosseum now.

- Zote's fear of water evaporates as he goes through the secret passage in the King's Station to get to Kingdom's Edge. He only found it because he saw Ghost go that way

- While at the Kingdom's Edge, he gets caught by the Fools, who he stupidly challenges and then immediately gets caught by.

- sits in dumb baby jail for a while. mean to tiso

- Then the colosseum battle happens! He does not win he then gets dropped down into kingdom's edge with little regard toward whether he's dead or alive

- He grabs a Fool's helmet before leaving, going back to Dirtmouth, and intending to bury that thing

- this goes wrong as he bumps into Bretta. He then sits and talks with her for God Only Knows how Long, spacing out while doing so, and not even noticing when she eventually gets up and leaves him.

- He buries the helmet, shuts himself away in his house, and gets stuck repeating his precepts to himself. At the end of CoGR it is revealed that he hasn't been talking to anyone, and is instead talking to himself endlessly as no one is left to listen to him

and that's it! that's cogr. yeah

[kinsurou]

Hi bab! So how about some facetime action with Suga (as our mom Cath said). So to be more preciese he answers a call while you are hot and heavy. Or he can have a zoom class. 😇 Anything realy that involves someone else, who you know, watching on the other side of the screen. Hope you have fun writing doll! 🥰

𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰.

Brain go brrrrrrr, I asked for a challenge and my baby went all out :blep:

Word count: 988

Warnings: Smut (18+), Edging, Cockwarming, Slight Exhibitionism, Suga being a beautiful menace, No Beta Read.

Suga may be a dotting boyfriend, a sweetheart and an utter blessing of a man. But he also had that chaotic energy he always reserved for special occasions, like those times where he used to fool around with his friends or his unique ways to cheer everyone up back in high school...

The worst thing about it is how he’s able to apply all that chaotic energy in the bedroom as well…

None of his friends suspected anything, they’re too busy having a video call together, catching up and making fun of each other. They didn't suspect a thing when they saw you in the corner of the screen, face buried in the crook of Suga’s neck with a deep flush on your cheeks and a small frown on your face.

Daichi, as observant as always, asked Suga if you’re feeling sick once he noticed the flush adorning your features, clearly visible despite having the lights off and the only source of light is coming from the tablet’s screen. But your boyfriend’s smile didn’t falter as he tells everyone that you’re just a little tipsy after a night drinking with your friends. 

Suga’s explanation was enough for them, and soon enough everyone’s back to their usual ruckus. They didn’t question it when they saw your little pouts of discomfort, thinking it’s probably just the alcohol clouding your head…

Nobody seemed to realize that you were sober, and the truth is there isn’t a single drop of alcohol in your system to begin with. Or that the reason behind this feverish state lied under the privacy of the comforter covering your lower half from curious eyes. It hid the way your hips were draped on top of Suga’s, with one of your legs hooked lazily around his waist, making it easier for him to keep his hard cock buried deep inside your heat.

The worst part was when everyone broke into hysterical fits as they made fun of each other. Because Suga didn’t miss the opportunity to buck against your dripping cunt and praising you with discretion. Every single moan and whine you made got lost between the laughter, the screaming and the crying.

“You’re such a good girl, taking me so well and staying as quiet as possible. You don’t want the others to find out, do you?” He grinned when you shook your head, kissing your forehead tenderly, whispering how you were doing an amazing job as he carefully wiped away the small trail of drool spilling out of your lips.

“Just a little bit longer…” He whispered before shifting his attention back to the call, repeating this sweet torture all over again. The cycle kept going, so often that you could almost guess how much time it took him to move again.

Chatter...Laughter...Thrust...Chatter...Laughter...Thrust...You’d go crazy if he kept ruining your orgasms like this.

Is it possible to be overstimulated just from edging? Because that’s exactly how it felt in that moment as your pussy dripped all over Suga’s thighs and the bedsheets with the tiniest of nudges against your walls. But him, on the other hand? He seemed perfectly fine for someone who’s been balls deep or nearly an hour and a half. 

You almost wanted to smack the smile off his face before riding him to your heart’s content. But another trust, faster and deeper than before, brushed against a little spot that caught you completely off guard, causing you to moan pathetically into Suga’s chest.

You could hear somebody asking if everything’s okay, but for the sake of your dignity, it was Suga who covered for you. It was probably a headache after drinking so much, and all their shouting was probably bothering your poor little head by now.

He noticed you glaring up at him with discretion. Eyes clouded with both murder and arousal as you thought of every possible way to kill him while making it look like an accident unless he finally fucked you properly. Suga’s smile didn’t waver as he lied to everyone, the apology for having to cut the call short passing off so smoothly. 

Nobody suspected that as soon as the tablet’s screen went blank, the device was sent flying into the nightstand with a flick of the wrist, and said hand took a firm hold of your waist, flipping you over to lay underneath him as he put one of your legs over his shoulder. 

There’s no hesitation left as he rammed himself into your needy hole with pure fervor until your eyes rolled back. After all, you didn’t have to worry about being too loud anymore, no no no….Now you had to worry about the brown-eyed devil above you and the mischievous smile that meant nothing but trouble.

After all, you wanted his attention, yes? Who was he to deny you of it? 

“This is what you wanted, right?” Spreading your other leg a bit further allowed him to hit a different angle, which helped him reach a spot that took your breath away with every thrust. “Don’t you want to cry out for me, mmm?”

But at this point you couldn’t even blabber a proper sentence, because as soon as you tried to open your mouth, Suga would always pick up the pace, hitting that spot that sent you into a stuttering, drooling mess.

It didn’t take an expert to know he was doing it all on purpose, and that the night was far from over for the two of you. After all, he had been holding back for nearly two hours, and tomorrow you both had the day off. 

He didn’t let you cum earlier...And he would not let you sleep either...

Right now he was a man on a mission, and that mission was to obliterate you, make you scream until your voice was non-existent and your body was a boneless mess on the mattress.

Taglist: @unbreakableeiji @wakaoujisenhime @fanfic-me-up @iwaasfairy @sailor-manga @gr0vndz3ro @divinewhimsy @xplosiveboy @shinsotired @animefandomally @xmyshya @sugassetter @jayeray

[xbunnybunz]

WEAK HERO UNIVERSITY (3/?) [READER X WEAK HERO]

Summary: I know you assholes are crying now that the first season of Weak Hero is over. But you’ve got other things to focus on, like where the fuck you’re going to live after getting kicked out of your old dorm. Luckily, you’ve found one last open room on the other side of Weak Hero University. What could possibly go wrong?

Genre: Romance, Humor, Slice of Life

Date: 7/12/2021

You’re dully unaware of how many people are allowed into a cramped dorm room before it becomes a fire hazard, but you are almost completely sure that the rule has now been broken.

Gray pushes through the mass of bodies wedging themselves between your bed and the desk, a damp, cold rag in his hands.

“Let me see.”

You grit your teeth and stare up at the ceiling, holding back the urge to toss yourself out the window. Of course this would happen, you don’t even know why you’re surprised! It was just your luck to completely obliterate your toe in front of cute guys you had just met.

You reach down towards your sock and then freeze, eyeing them wearily.

“Wait… You guys aren’t like, feet people… Right?”

Eugene furrowed his eyebrows and looked to everyone else. “What do you mean? We all have feet.”

Gerard made a face, or well—as much as a face as you can see, and you fluster, immediately regretting asking the question.

“Shit. Never mind. That was a stupid question, just pretend I didn’t say anything.” What? No one can blame you, too many years on deviantart would make anyone paranoid!

You hook your fingers onto the elastic of the sock and pull it off your right foot.

The moment your sock comes off, both Ben and Alex rattle your eardrums with a shriek. Alex covers his eyes and Ben dramatically falls onto his knees beside the bed.

“The whole thing is purple, Ben, you dumbass!” Alex cried, peeking out from between his fingers. “She’s going to need to amputate her toes!”

Ben clasped his hands together in front of you, bowing his head to the floor. “I’m so sorry! I’m terrible! I’ll take full responsibility! I’ll even give you my toes!”

“Uhm, you guys—” Eugene lifts a shaky finger but is interrupted by the earth-shattering slap Alex lands on the back of Ben’s head, eyes teary with emotion, “Dammit Ben, no one would want your big ugly goblin toes!”

Absolutely flabbergasted at their reactions, you flinch back, eyes wide as Ben clasped both his large hands over yours, bottom lip quivering.

“Please forgive me (Y/N)! You’re too pretty to be missing toes!”

What the fuck does that even mean?!

Mind working in overdrive and face burning hot, you swallow and try to stutter out an explanation, nearly going cross-eyed at the insane amount of pressure suddenly thrust upon you. Did Alex just give Ben brain damage? Did Ben just call you pretty? Were those two things related? What the hell was going on!?

Gray pulls a sobbing Ben off of you, lips pressed into a thin line.

“You two are freaking her out. You need to calm down.”

“But—!” Ben starts, voice trembling, “Her toes! I crushed her—!”

Gerard sighs, turning his face away from the scene, clearly too tall and cool and in need of a haircut to be suffering from secondhand embarrassment. “You guys… That’s just nail polish.”

Ben turns to Eugene for confirmation and Eugene rubs the back of head sheepishly, an awkward smile plastered on his face. “I tried to tell you guys.”

Alex approaches Grey, peeking over his shoulder and almost sounding a bit disappointed. “Wait, so… We don’t need to call an ambulance?”

Grey shakes his head, no. His pale hair catches the light and you suddenly notice how incredibly pretty he is. “It won’t be necessary. But we still might need to speak to the Hall Assistant…”

A slender hand reaches up and delicately turns your foot towards him, revealing a nasty reddish-purple bruise forming just under the ball of your feet.

The group behind Gray cringes back simultaneously.

Alex lets out a low whistle, clicking his tongue. “That one’s gonna be hard to walk on, (Y/N).”

Eugene sighs, eyebrows knitting together. “Yeah, last time I got something that bad, I needed to use a wheelchair for a week.”

“Dude, wasn’t the wheelchair because Teddy accidentally threw a coke bottle at your crotch?” Alex asks.

Eugene turns to him sharply, whispering something reminiscent of “girls” and “not now” while gesturing to you avidly.

“We’re going to need to get ice.” Grey says, ignoring the arguing in the back.

He lowers the damp rag onto your foot. You wince and flex all the muscles in your leg, trying not to contort your feet in pain. Lavender eyes meet yours and you begin to wonder if you had misjudged him for side eyeing your ziplock baggie of waterlogged notes. “How are you feeling?”

Well, to be honest you were feeling pretty damn good right now. You’ve never had so many attractive guys paying attention to you at once, even if it was because of a fucked-up foot. You, one. University? Zero!

Of course, you weren’t about to say this. Instead, you gulp, wiggling your toes just to make sure nothing was broken.

You turn to Grey with doeful eyes. “Well, everything is still connected. I think I’ll be able to walk, maybe with some… Extra support?”

He lifts the damp rag off your foot and contemplates a bit, placing a finger under his chin.

“Why don’t you try standing up?”

He moves to give you some space and you swing your legs off the bed, moving quite feebly to put on a show and hopefully getting the world’s hottest crutch out of it.

Unfortunately, you were so preoccupied with putting on an act that you forgot which foot was actually injured. You place all your weight onto one foot before you realize you’ve gone and fucked yourself and feel the shock of pain immediately.

Your knee gives out, sending you flailing like a circus monkey on a tricycle, except you weren’t a circus monkey on a tricycle because at least those were cute, you were just a clumsy buffoon with one foot, too lazy to pick up her own belongings and finally paying the price for it.

“Shit!”

You’re entirely prepared to just give up life and become a fully concussed vegetable at this point, but instead of the sweet embrace of death, you get the sweet embrace of a himbo instead. An arm catches you by the waist before you can hit the floor and pulls you back up to his chest, the scent of a woody cologne punching you in the face.

When you look up, you’re met with Ben’s gaze. His reddish brown hair and chocolate eyes are a lot more overwhelming up close, and it doesn’t help that you suddenly recall him calling you pretty while he snotted over your bed. You stiffen like a board.

“Uhm. Hey.” You say, definitely not awkwardly at all.

He flusters, tips of his ears turning red. He swallows thickly and his adams apple bobs up and down.

“Hey.”

He averts his eyes and looks anywhere but at you, doing what you think is an attempt at whistling nonchalantly. It was in no way nonchalant. In fact, you weren’t sure if he even knew how to whistle, he was kind of just blowing spit out of puckered lips. With both of you distracted, neither of you realize his grip was becoming slack with his inattentiveness.

“…Ben.” Grey warns, albeit softly, but alas, he’s too late and too damn quiet.

He drops you like it’s hot and everyone else watches in horror as your head connects like deadweight with the metal frame of the bed, a loud and resounding “CLING!” bouncing off the walls and reverberating in the room like a haunting testament to assured braincell loss.

Your vision swims and darkness begins to bleed into your periphery. The last thing you hear is Gerard’s voice echoing in your brain,

“Hey man, is that my shirt you’re using as a rag?”

[spiltscribbles]

this night seems so long!

~Notes: I’m reposting this and i’m still not happy with it :S rip XS

SEND ME A PROMPT  |  A REBLOG MEANS THE WORLD!

.-

It is pleasant, indeed, while the summer lasts

with the mild pheasants' song ...

but now I feel the northern wind's blast—

its severe weather strong. 

Alas! Alas! This night seems so long!

And I, because of my momentous wrong

now grieve, mourn and fast.

TS Eliot

.-

The late summer chill seeps through the creeping windows into the flat that they once called home— the feebly standing, slowly disintegrating haven that was painted with laughter before lies, with hopeful kisses before hesitant touches. The cold burrows itself into Sirius’s bones and coats his every thought and  nests deep inside of him until he’s more frost than man.

But then he sees Remus— beautiful and golden and perfect Remus— padding out their bedroom clad in Sirius’s oversized jumper that swallows his hands whole, and that familiarly gentle smile that makes his eyes glitter  once his soft gaze rests on Sirius, and his sleep supple  skin tastes like the things too beautiful to name. He tastes like Remus— like sunlight and parchment and whispered laughter and raspy groans and that’s all Sirius ever wants, has ever wanted.

“It’s September first.” He says once Sirius finally unlatches from his neck, red faced and pleased, and Sirius swears that Ganymede has nothing on him. That if he could he’d restructure every celestial star from above to follow the precise slope of his nose, and the pedal soft curve of his cheek, and the path of his jawline to temple. For everyone to worship him in ways he’s always deserved.

“We’ve made it another month,” Sirius retorts, mixes the splash of milk with the sugar in Remus’s Earl Gray, which is a travesty and a point of teasing throughout their whole relationship since they were nothing but lads. Sirius blames Remus’s beverage faux pas— including his preferential nature to black coffee—to being raised by a Frenchman for a mother, and Remus always counters that if Sirius was any more bloody English he’d be afraid that Queen Elizabeth would poach him for her next husband. Which of course always ended the argument because then Lily would laugh from besides him, and Sirius would glare along with James— both hating it when Remus and Lily’s Muggle references go over their heads like a second language they couldn’t speak.

But Lily’s not here, and neither is James. They’re tucked away in another safe house— the fourth in a calendar year, and they’re both going a bit mad if the letter Lily sent him only a few weeks ago is anything to go by. And Sirius aches for the both of them, aches for baby Harry— his one year old God son who he loves like nothing else. And how could he not? He’s Lily’s bright eyes set into James’s open face, has James’s warm, brown complexion but inherited Lily’s freckles too. He’s Sirius’s God son, and there’s a mad man after him, and sometimes it feels like Sirius’s brain is a mushy, muddled stew melting out of his scalp when he’s forced to contemplate on it for too long— to contemplate on how little Harry seems incapable of escaping the danger— because it goes back to the same name over and over again. The name of someone Sirius refuses to ever let himself contemplate for longer than a breath.

“Aye,” Remus says in that lilting, Welsh bread accent of his before he takes a slow sip and Sirius is left to study the sweep of his long lashes against his fine bones and how less than a fortnight ago that face Sirius adores so endlessly  came home caked in mud and blood that was only partially  Remus’s own and Sirius wasn’t allowed to ask what happened while he cleaned the cuts and kissed the healed pink skin with gentle reverence. “Maybe 82 will be our year Paddy.” Remus says with such raw yearning that it blows the wind out of Sirius like he’s  just taken a bludger to the gut. And he feels so stupid and thankful all at once. Because of course those idl contemplations are nothing but ridiculous fodder. Of course Remus would never— could never.

“Yeah moony,” he says quietly. “Maybe it will.”

Sirius steps forwards, and he kisses him and Remus breathes out like he’s been holding it for a long while, and then his fingers slide into Sirius’s overgrown hair and tugs,  and they’re lost in one another for the rest of the morning.

.-

Three days later Remus leaves again under demands that he won’t ever disclose to Sirius— penance for the trust Sirius broke as a schoolboy with a prank that proved near deadly— and a week after that the Order gets news that the Prewettss were compromised, that it took five of those Death Eater bastards to finish them off, and that their older sister with seven kids of her own can’t bare to hold a public wake.

The cold gets worse, and Sirius doesn’t know where to step to avoid another avalanche; is afraid that with every move he takes, a landmine is waiting to blast.

.-

The bare branches of the elderly tree outside their flat knocks against the partition that once bathed them  in spilt sunlight and stolen serenity and careful comfort. It scrapes against the glass like the fingers of an inferi, accentuated by the sound of the whistling wind, crooning like the menacing melody by a milky eyed, haggard looking banshee. And everything is unmoving, everything is still— petrified for a moment in frozen history.

And Sirius feels his insides collapse when he remembers that he’ll never hear Gideon’s laughter or see Fabian sat next to Benjy again. It’s a generation lost, Sirius thinks morbidly, the way he always gets when Remus isn’t home and he’s tossing back shots of Fire-Whiskey like it’s what keeps his veins pumping life. A generation  of them that’s being killed off one by one, a generation of Hogwarts graduates being obliterated and there’s not an end in sight and Sirius wants to scream. He wants to fight them with his bare hands. He wants to ravage each of their hideouts and use them as target practice for his unforgivables and he wants to run, God he wants to run. He wants James and Lily and Harry to come with him, wants to steel Remus in the middle of the night before he knows what’s even happening. He wants to escape it all and hold onto his family with a iron grip that can only be severed through death.

Sirius wants it so much that it begins to ache, to twist in his stomach and weep within the hollows of his bones.

But then the branches knock against the window once more, and he’s brought back to a reality the makes even idyllic daydreams like that something treacherous and awful. So he pours himself another finger and raises the glass to fallen friends and pretends that the throbbing in his heart is something that can be spelled away if he only works hard enough.

.-

Remus comes home a week later and Sirius feigns that the sight of his lover doesn’t make Sirius picture Marlene’s twisted face of agony and Dorcas’s limp body at the feet of this dark wizard that has destroyed everything Sirius has ever known and tainted everything he has ever loved.

.-

The safe house is sparsely decorated, save for the candle Lily’s always got burning and the succulent she keeps on a shelf besides a small portrait of Harry, tucked between one of her and James on their wedding day, and another of the five of them at their Hogwarts graduation. 

It’s no home, especially not one for a baby that’s as curious and boisterous as little Harry. It’s a prison at best. still packed boxes strewn about the ground, and  a tension permeating the air and it’s awful. But Sirius manages to forget about it when he glances to his right and sees a giggling Harry bouncing happily on Remus’s lap, and Remus is glowing in a way Sirius hasn’t seen for edging on a year. The stiffness threaded through his shoulders has dissipated and his smile is wide and he’s dotingly kissing Harry’s chocolate splattered cheek while James and Lily roll their eyes fondly from across the breakfast spread. And Sirius thinks that if this is all he sees for the rest of his life he would thank every God and every spirit above.

“Uncle Moony, you better be convincing Harry that if he doesn’t eat his berries that the boogie man will come and munch on his toes tonight,” Lily scolds half heartedly, which makes James drop a kiss to the crown of her head before topping off her tea.

“No toes, mommy! No toes!” Harry babbles in that in-between state of gargling and speech that is as precious as it is incomprehensible.

“Saucy boy,” Sirius chuckles, tousling Harry’s already hopelessly disheveled hair and kissing the corner of Remus’s lips that taste like hazelnut and blueberries and a bit like sunlight too. And he thinks that this is what happiness feels like— He’s nearly forgot.

“I’ll get’m washed up, shall I?” Remus says as he rises swiftly from his seat, Harry clapping excitedly. 

“Good man,” James winks and Lily blows him a kiss. Remus looks down at Sirius, a brow cocked slightly.

“I’ll be up in a minute, yeah? Just wanted to help these plonkers with the dishes.”

Remus grins brightly and nods, and then, he stilts— like in hesitation— before kissing Sirius’s temple, promptly shuffling off and humming Harry an old French lullaby that he knows Hope once sang him when he was a boy.

And Sirius’s heart feels so full, so fragile, And Sirius hates that he didn’t tell him I love you, is afraid that the space of time that they’ll get to say that to one another is rapidly dwindling.

“We’re finishing up all the kinks in the plan,” James says, saddling up besides  Sirius, handing him a sponge and keeping the dishcloth in his own. “You still want to act as secret keeper?”

“Course you daft wanker,” Sirius bristles. “I’d do anything for you lot.”

“I know,” James says unflinchingly.  “You and Moony are the best friends a bloke can ask for.”

And God that hurts like nothing else, so Sirius doesn’t even try to retort in any meaningful sort of way.  “Don’t forget Wormyy.”

James laughs. “Would never dare.”

And then silence drops over them like a heavy quilt threatening to smother them to death. And Sirius scrapes off the grime from the dishes and pretends that the plate isn’t still scratched and battered even once the debris is gone. And he swallows down the lump in his throat when he remembers that Remus is leaving again in a matter of hours.

.-

Remus is still curved around Sirius like a blessing stroked to life  with heavenly colors the morning after he gets back. Sirius wraps his arms around him, squeezes tightly and berries his head into his neck, wanting to feel him, to smell him all over. And as they lie down in that heap in the bed Sirius has always called theirs, but Remus has only ever referred to as Sirius’s, he sobs.

“Don’t go Remus, don’t leave me anymore. Just stay here, stay with me. I love you so much that I’m afraid I’ll crack with it and I know you don’t— that you can’t feel the exact same way— but please, just don’t leave us. Stay here, stay and love me too.”

Remus’s even breaths never falter, and he never flutters his eyes open, but Sirius has known him for nearly half his life, and he knows it like he knows his own name that Remus is awake and simply doesn’t answer him. 

What Sirius doesn’t know is what that means.

.-

They’re sitting on either end of the couch now. 

Sirius is pretending to fill out a crossword but is actually trying to decode a letter they had been able to intercept between McNair and a lower ranking Death Eater about some assignation that was meant to be held in the wee hours of October seventh. But every few minutes his eyes wander to Remus, to how he’s curled up with a book of poetry in one hand and his blanket swathed around him. His fringe is hanging in limp curls and the circles beneath his eyes are only that much more prominent, that much more sickly. And his gaze is large and fragile in a way Sirius has never seen. And he wants to slide the novel out of Remus’s hands and he wants to kiss away his frown, and he wants to lock his fingers through the holes in his green sweater and he wants Remus in every way imaginable, to tell him I love you and I love you and I love you so much its like I’m dying. He wants to kiss the inside of his elbow and the knot of his ankle and beneath his naval too. He wants him and knows that he’ll never stop wanting him, and is sure that this— this love— will prove his Achilles’ Heal, and Remus is Patroclus destined to leave him  first and Sirius is destined to wallow in ruin.

Sirius wants to beg him to stay here, to stay with him, to love him like he knows he does.

But Sirius simply does not— Does not tell him any of that.

They haven’t spoken to one another with words for days now, and it feels pathetic and hopeless— the way they only regard one another with stiff lips and cautious glances in the daylight, but that doesn’t stop them still clutching for one another once the sun dips into the  horizon. Like if they can convince themselves that the sex is still miraculous that they still love each other too. As if their bodies aren’t just vessels, aren’t just sacks of skin and bone. And it feels like they’re both giving up on one another and holding on to each other with equal fervency. And Sirius doesn’t know anything any more.

It’s pathetic and it’s painful and it’s pointless. It’s so obviously over, it’s been over for nearly half a year, but they’ve always been cowards when it came to one another. And Sirius doesn’t think that will ever change.

So he only settles deeper into the couch, and he keeps the Shakespeare in Remus’s grasp, and he moves his free hand to deftly clutch around one of Remus’s cold feet, and he squeezes and Remus freezes, and they both breathe for the first time in far too long. But then Remus pulls away, and Sirius lets go before he can feel the sting of rejection and they go back to pretending to go on.

.-

Remus is gone the next morning for a council with Dumbledore, so Sirius wanders the flat like a ghost with no direction, no idea what’s next.

He decides to tidy up the space, like it matters, like anything is normal. And when he reaches for the empty mug on Remus’s nightstand, he sees that his book of poetry is still open, and he lifts it to glance at the sonnet written their in black and white…

When my love swears that she is made of truth

I do believe her, though I know she lies,

That she might think me some untutor’d youth,

Unlearned in the world’s false subtleties.

And Sirius throws it hard against the wall before he can read another word.

.-

Remus is preparing for another mission for reconnaissance, tells Sirius that night over their curry take away. And it feels like the world is dissolving right in front of Sirius’s eyes, like his lungs have forgotten how to breathe during those interludes where Remus leaves without a trace— only starting up again when he returns smelling of blood and fear and the outdoors. And Sirius hates everything so much— Is afraid that he hates Remus most of all some days, even if he’s the one person he can’t fathom existing without. 

.-

The sky breaks open that night and rain pellets down like the bullets from the Muggle films that Remus loved showing him, before the war, and before his disappearing act, and before it felt like a knife was plunged into Sirius’s chest every time he looked at him— and the only worst thing than this would  be if he stopped seeing Remus all together, because he knows it like the innate way he knew how to move his lips against Remus’s on that feted day towards the start of seventh year— that the knife would simply be pulled out and he’d bleed to death bit by bit. 

It hurts like nothing else loving him, but Sirius can’t fathom a world where he does not. Where he doesn’t get to trace the consolation of freckles dusting his high cheekbones, where he doesn’t get to kiss the singular mole at the nape of his neck that’s ordinarily covered up by his thick jumpers. A world where they don’t intwine in the ways that lovers are want to do.

Sirius loves Remus even if he knows it’s fruitless because there’s a war destroying the world and there’s a spy in the order and Remus is the only one who’s brilliant in a reserved way  and cunning when he wants to be and the only one who knows how to properly keep a secret from his friends like it’s a second skin that he wears as effortlessly as a cloak.

And God.

Remus is sitting besides him now, a pinky’s breath away from his perch on the sofa.

There are words that writhe in Sirius’s throat, clacking against his teeth, begging to spill out. He wants to tell Remus he loves him, that he’d forgive him anything. He wants to tell him that Remus can Avada Kedavra him in the cold morning light and Sirius would still only see him bathed in an etherial  glow, but can’t see him doing that to their dearest friends, to Harry who is sacred and should always be protected. He wants to beg him to just speak, to tell Sirius the truth, to tell Sirius he still loves him. Beg Remus to run away with him. To go off to Prague or Cordova or maybe even the states, to say sod it to the whole damn war and just spend their days and nights tangled up with naked limbs and sweaty sheets.

And he thinks he will, thinks that the burning sensation of want within him is too furious to tempt down anymore.

But then the dying sun shimmers through the window, unspools in Remus’s honey curls and twinkles in his butterscotch eyes that were once always dancing with a quiet humor that enthralled Sirius to him like a drifter to a prophet. And it’s not healthy, this vigil he’s always held for him— especially now, especially with his suspicions that James begrudgingly agrees with and Lily fumingly does not— but Sirius’s never been one for self preservation, has never known how to let a scab heal over naturally. He has to poke and prod until it scars, until it becomes a indelible part of him. 

They stay there like that for either a minute or hour more, and when Sirius sees that Remus finally has enough of their staring match, he begins to move away, and it is Sirius— with a quick hand and desperate need— who presses him back down to the cushions with a hot mouth and wandering palms and he pretends that all he feels at the sound of the whimper Remus lets out is pleasure and not pain from his heart chipping that much more.

And this is vacant of words too. This is just instincts and moans and intuition of knowing another’s body and pleasure points and wants  for half a decade now.

They make it to the bedroom and Sirius refuses to be gentle, refuses to deprive himself of anything, and Remus is matching him with every thrust.

When they kiss its wet, and Sirius knows its the tears leaking out their eyes, and he knows in that unspoken, understanding way that this is the final time. That when Remus leaves later tonight, he’ll stay gone, that he won’t ever sleep besides Sirius again, won’t ever hold him like this. Sirius will never get to see him in the splendid, golden hours of morning and never get to run away with him after all. So Sirius blunders Remus’s mouth with his hard tongue, and he relishes the way Remus bites on his bottom lip until he tastes blood. And he throws them onto the mattress and they wrestle together in the sheets, scratching and pulling and canting obscenely. And when Sirius kisses his protruding collar bone it’s I’m saying I love you, and when Remus sucks on the hinge of Sirius’s jaw it feels like an apology. And when Sirius squeezes the scar on his inner thigh where the very first bite mark lies mangled and knotted in his skin, he’s begging him one last time to stay, and when Remus tells him in a voice that’s tenuous and tender and filled with sorrow, “Fuck me” the syllables slot together in a different formation that sound like “I’m already gone.”

They’re having parallel conversations and they’re not speaking and it’s the end.

So Sirius bucks against him and Remus wraps his long, long legs around Sirius’s narrow waste, and Sirius codes his fingers with the lube they’ve always kept in his nightstand and is fast when he plunges them into that ring of tight, tight muscle, when he stretches and scissors  and slicks him open, spurred on  by Remus’s gargled words begging him. “Now Sirius, now, now. Do it now.”

So he doesn’t bother with any of the rest of it. He barely sheaths himself half way before he has to stop, has to catch his breath, to re acclimate himself to the pressure. But then he hears Remus whimper and he surges forwards and doesn’t let up this vicious rhythm that he hears pulsing in his fucking ears. And it’s graceless and it’s hard and it’s a bit rushed but it’s what they need. And when Remus tosses back his head— features twisted up with emotion— Sirius berries his face into his neck and he feels his tears intermingling with Remus’s own and Remus’s loud pleads for him to go rougher, to stay longer, to keep fucking into him. So Sirius listens because there isn’t anything he wouldn’t do for Remus— even now— and he focusses on his hand circling Remus’s length, on pumping it with a tight fist and a bit of a twist, the way Remus has always preferred it. And he hears Remus croaking out an “I’ve always loved you,” and even if those words are too late, too little, too hollow, they still work to bring him off the edge, and Sirius thrusts deeper only twice more before he’s releasing himself into him— into the love of his life— quickly followed by Remus’s own cock whimpering out it’s own climax. And it feels like the ending to the story Sirius never wanted to stop being told.

But before he can pull out his overstimulated prick from Remus’s arse, Remus just squeezes him with his legs,  eyes fluttering shut while he rests his arms around Sirius’s broad shoulders. “Just stay.” he asks. “Stay until I have to go.”

And the sound of him— so desperate so pliant so tired— breaks the rest of his heart so much so that Sirius feels the remains splintering in his lungs and shattering open his ribcage with a sob he never lets out until Remus is gone.

“Anything you want Moony. Whatever you ask.”

And Remus’s lips twitch up into the best approximation of a smile that he’s given Sirius in far too long, and Sirius rests his head against Remus’s chest, and kisses the freckles that he was so elated to find their the first time they had done this. And he takes in deep the scent of  cinnamon and citrus and sunlight that’s always clung to his skin, and he thinks that this is the first time they’re letting each other feel hopeless together.

.-

The cold has turned over to a blizzard, and it seizes the flat once more the next morning.

Remus is gone and Sirius is left alone and nothing is right.

So he grabs the floo powder from the beautiful, ceramic container Hope had gifted Remus when he first moved into the flat the summer after their seventh year, and he finds James waiting for him on the other side, and he’s never taken in just how exhausted and terrified and sad his brother is looking these days.

“Wotcher, Pads.” James says, sipping on his tea with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and nothing is alright, nothing will probably ever be alright again.

“Hiya, Prongsie,” Sirius says, hearing just how threadbare his voice sounds in the quiet of the Potter cottage.

“So just a morning call? Or would you like me to fetch Haz for you?”

Sirius swallows the lump in his throat and forces himself to speak.  “James I love you more than life, love Lily and the sprog just as much— But—“ he chokes up right then before ramming forwards. “I can’t— I can’t be the—“

“I know,” James interrupts, a thin, forgiving smile on his face. “Pete’ll have to do, but I’d still rather it you.”

“I’m so sorry James.”

“Me too.”

.-

~My Wolfstar FIC Masterlist

[botanicallyinclinednerd]

*sigh* I entertained the cursed thought of Evil!Leon and now it won't leave, so fuck it: bullet point frame work

Warnings for blood, temporary character death, graphic injury, murder, attempted murder, angst with a happy ending, magic reveal

First of all this is also immortal Leon, because I could

Morgana is discovered by a patrol headed by Leon and he's the only one of the round table there.

For some reason or another Morgana is having a really bad life day and completely obliterates the patrol in her rage.

And for narrative purposes/ the man is very sturdy, Leon somehow survives the assault, but he's not in good shape

Morgana, in her full sadistic glory, offers a painfully dying Leon a second chance, he need only pledge himself to her and she would heal him

Leon, while chocking on blood, defiantly glares at her, declaring "You're wasting your time Morgana, I will die before I betray Arthur"

And at this something hardens in Morgana's eyes and she lunges forward with a dagger and plunges it into Leon's heart, twisting it violently while hissing "so you shall" before pulling it back out

This, obviously, kills him

And for some reason or another, maybe its a part of why Morgana is having a no good very bad terrible awful day, she sticks around the site of the massacre for a bit rather than immediately leave.

Which is how she witnesses Sir Leon, whose heart she plunged a dagger into not an hour ago, take a gasping breath

This, quite understandably, scares the shit out of both of them

It scares the shit out of Morgana because she knows she killed him, there is no way he's alive

And it scares the shit out of Leon for much of the same reasons, he knows she killed him, why the fuck was he breathing (he did not know he was immortal before this point)

And while Morgana is still in shock, Leon asks angrily what she did to him, why did she bring him back (while he is scrambling for his sword and to rise, because that worked soo well for him the first time)

Morgana tilts her head at him, a slow sinister smile spreading across her face as she replies "I did nothing my dear knight"

And it is in this moment that Leon realizes he fucked up

Morgana probably kills him again for good measure, to see what will happen, and sure enough, he's back again in a little while.

Leon is freaking the fuck out and Morgana's day just completely turned around because she has Arthur's most loyal knight, his first knight, and he can't die

To make a long process short, she kills him for transport to where ever she's hiding, kills him a few more times because she can, and as she does so she formulates a plan. Since it has become quite obvious that Leon was not aware of his allergy to death, Morgana reasoned that no one back at the castle would know either. And if she could control Leon... well. Camelot and Arthur's head on a platter was as good as hers.

Since her last attempt to kill Arthur by proxy through a creature ended poorly, Morgana decides on an enchantment.

I’m thinking maybe the spell has a caveat, the only way for it to be broken is if Leon was killed by another Immortal's hand, something Morgana is certain is impossible, and is sure to gleefully inform Leon of this so in his last moments of free will, his hope and spirit would break

When Leon returns to Camelot, he doesn't act strange. A little haunted maybe, but not outwardly out of character

He says he was the only person to survive the attack by Morgana, and he barely made it away with his life (she either roughed him up to make this believable, or he did it himself)

Everyone is relieved he’s safe and back home

Arthur makes a light hearted joke about how this was the second time Leon was the lucky sole survivor of an attack, and he really needs to stop scaring Arthur like this, he’s starting to think he's doing it on purpose

And in the first indication that something might be off, Leon smirks at this, his laugh much darker than usual, and he makes a returning dark joke. Nothing out of the ordinary, really, nothing that couldn't be explained as him having survivors guilt and being exhausted and in pain

And for a while everything seems fine.

Everything is not fine.

Leon is a much more subtle assassin than Merlin was. Much more patient as well. His first attempt is in a patrol in the woods, where he tries to catch Arthur off guard.

Arthur notices in time and fends him off, expressing confusion, and Leon pulls what he pulled in Servant of Two Masters when he finds Arthur behind the tree: awkward apologetic smile (much more sinister this time, his eyes are much colder)

He apologizes profusely, being a bit self depreciating as he admits that he was still a bit jumpy from his last trek through the woods and was on edge

Arthur accepts this and just tells him to be more careful, though ultimately there was no harm done

Arthur turns away and Leon frowns/glares

Maybe Arthur makes a passing mention of it to Merlin, asking him if he noticed Leon jumpier than usual, and Merlin replies that he hasn't really seemed jumpy per say, but definitely quieter and more closed off

Again, this isn't a huge red flag considering that he went through, but Merlin starts to pay closer attention to Leon, just in case

Leon seems fairly normal. He's a little quicker to temper, and his humor is much darker than usual, and his smiles are more smirks than anything, but he's not really treating anyone any differently

His behavior isn't suspicious, he's not in questionable places, he's just Leon with some survivors guilt and trauma. So Merlin relaxes.

When a mystery assailant keeps setting traps and ambushes for Arthur in cleaver and subtle ways, Merlin is at his wits end trying to figure out who it is. And he’s getting worried, as the last two attempts very nearly succeeded.

Leon is a very patient assassin. This drives Morgana nuts

She demands he meet her outside the castle walls one night when he's on solo rounds of the castle to demand what is taking so long

"Do you want him dead or not?"

"Of course I want him dead, I want him dead NOW. Stop dragging your feet and kill him already!"

And let me tell you, Morgana may have taken control of his loyalty and twisted his motivations, but she could never rid Leon of his sass

"Morgana, this is why you've never managed to kill Arthur. No patience. No attempts on Arthur's life have ever succeeded for a reason, I'm avoiding those mistakes. You can have it done quick or done right, I'm trying to do it right."

In the end, Leon had a valid point, as it was Morgana's impatience that demanded Leon sneak away from his rounds to meet her, and caught Merlin's attention as he saw Leon sneaking into the woods

Merlin follows Leon and sees him meeting with Morgana and every alarm bell goes off in his head. Because Leon despises Morgana, and he would never betray Arthur, never. Not willingly at least. So Merlin figures out that Leon is compromised, and all those near misses on Arthur recently that Merlin couldn't figure out the source of must have been Leon's doing.

Leon tells Morgana she just needs to wait one day more, as he plans to kill Arthur the following night. Morgana hisses at him "see that you do" and leaves

Merlin follows Leon back to the castle where the knight continued on his rounds, prompting Merlin to run to his and Gaius's quarters.

Gaius isn't happy to be woken in the middle of the night, until Merlin explains what he saw

"Leon? Working with Morgana? Are you certain?"

"Pretty sure, yeah. I heard Leon tell Morgana he was going to kill Arthur tomorrow night. Leon would never betray Arthur, especially not to Morgana. She did something to him, I know she has"

They quickly rule out a femora and eventually conclude that it must be an enchantment. One so powerful to bind and manipulate one's loyalties and will would have to have a very specific condition to break it. The only way to stop/ save Leon and protect Arthur is for Merlin to figure out what it is so he can break it

He does not manage to figure it out

So when night comes and Leon is acting shifty as he heads in the direction of Arthur's chambers, Merlin has to do something, prepared or not

He comes up with an excuse or another to get Leon to come with him, its urgent, blah blah blah

Merlin pulls Leon into an empty room where no one would be likely to find them or interrupt them. And Leon tolerates Merlin's rambling excuse for pulling him aside for a few moments before he's had enough and brushes Merlin off, trying to leave

And Merlin doesn't let him, blocking the exit.

Leon is still trying to maintain his cover, but his patience is finally beginning to run out

He tells Merlin to move, he has duties to attend to, and Merlin cuts to the chase. “I can’t let you hurt Arthur, Leon”

And Leon studies Merlin, nods, and breaks out into a wide smirk. “Took you long enough to figure out. What gave me away?”

And Merlin is thrown by the sudden shift in behavior, but as long as Leon is talking he isn’t killing Arthur, so he’ll take it. 

“I saw you talking to Morgana. I heard you plotting to kill Arthur.”

And Leon nods, tutting. “I really wish you hadn’t seen that Merlin.”

And Merlin is in desperate ‘try to reason with him’ mode, which is obviously not working because Leon is under a powerful enchantment. And while it was amusing at the start to toy with Merlin, Leon has had enough.

All patience has run out. 

"Merlin, if you do not get out of my way and keep your mouth shut, I will kill you, and do so gladly"

Merlin of course does neither of these things.

Leon attacks Merlin, and Merlin barely dodges the sword. Merlin is, understandably, pretty scared. This is someone he considers a close friend, a brother, and he's currently trying to kill him. Merlin tries to talk Leon down, but its not working. There is taunting involved, and some very evil smirks

All the while Leon is swinging at Merlin with his sword, coming very close to hitting Merlin.

The final straw is when Leon knocks Merlin down, stands over him with his sword to his chest, and taunts Merlin that he is going to kill him, and then he's going to kill Arthur, and there is nothing Merlin can do about it

Well. Yes. Yes there is.

Merlin's eyes flash gold and before his eyes can even widen in surprise at this unexpected development, Leon is thrown backwards into a wall. Hard.

His head hits the wall with a sickening crack and collapses into a still heap.

Merlin is very much panicking as he scrambles up and over to Leon, feeling for any sign of a pulse.

He can't find one.

Merlin desperately tries to cast a healing spell but its not working. Leon's dead.

Important note for the record: Merlin did not know Leon was immortal. Merlin also did not know the stipulation that would release Leon from Morgana's enchantment.

So Merlin thinks he just killed a man he viewed as a big brother

He takes this about as well as could be expected: absolutely horribly.

He’s crying, babbling definitely, the words "I'm so sorry" "I didn't mean to" "please wake up" are mixed in there and repeated a lot

And then, lo and behold, Leon woke up

Its hard to say who was more surprised: Leon or Merlin

It would be fair to say Merlin, as his brother he accidentally killed ten minutes ago was sitting up in his arms, definitely alive

But it would also be fair to say Leon, who decidedly was himself again, free of Morgana's enchantment. Which should have been impossible, save from dying at the hand of an immortal. So not only is Leon dealing with being himself again, but he's also processing the information that apparently Merlin is immortal. And oh yeah: killed him by using magic

So they are both freaking out

And Merlin stammers out a mess of words that boils down to "what?? How are you alive? You, you were dead, I know you were dead! Oh gods, you were dead, I killed you, I swear I didn't mean to, you were trying to kill Arthur, you were trying to kill me, I was just trying to stop you, I didn't mean to kill you..." and he's clinging to Leon during this, and is totally not still crying

And Leon eventually manages to get a word in and halt Merlin's rambling with an exasperated and slightly hysterical "Merlin, I'm not dead!"

"You were!"

"Can we focus on that later? Is Arthur alright?"

And now Merlin is instantly back on alert, drawing back a bit to study Leon's face, but still holding his shoulders. "He's fine." At Leon's sigh of relief, Merlin asks slowly "Do you still want to kill him?"

And Leon is instantly horrified and shaking his head vehemently declaring "No!"

And then he stops, thinks, and realizes he truly meant it. He no longer felt any distain towards his friend and king, the sickly poisoning influence from Morgana's enchantment gone

Which was only possible at the hand of another immortal.

Leon's brain is going a million miles an hour, his often misused or missing brain cells taking longer than they should to come to the obvious conclusion, but in his defense, he had a lot to process, and it is a pretty unbelievable conclusion

"Merlin, you said you killed me?"

And the guilt is right back with Merlin apologizing and defending with "I swear I didn't mean to!"

"But you're sure YOU killed me? Absolutely positive?"

And Merlin's starting to get a bit annoyed, why the fuck would he lie about killing a man he viewed as a brother? "Yeah Leon, I'm pretty sure. I don't think I'll ever be able to forget it"

If this had been normal circumstances, Leon may have comforted Merlin, but these were most certainly not normal circumstances, because if Merlin killed him, that had to mean one thing:

"Merlin, since when are you immortal?"

What ever Merlin was expecting Leon to say, it sure as fuck wasn't that (friendly reminder that Merlin doesn't know he's immortal at this point)

So it is with very real confusion that he says slowly "I'm... not?"

"Clearly you are, or I would probably be trying to kill you to get to Arthur right now"

This is clearly the wrong thing to say, because Merlin now thinks this is an elaborate trick, and somehow, has come to the conclusion that this isn't even Leon, or if it is, he's a Shade like Lancelot was.

So Merlin scrambles to his feet, grabbing Leon's sword and pointing it at him. Leon raises his hands in alarm and also to placate Merlin (he’s still not used to being immortal and forgot that the sword can’t actually do him permanent harm)

"Merlin, I'm not going to kill you. The enchantment Morgana had over me is gone, you broke it" ("with magic" is screamed loudly in his head, but one earth shattering topic at a time)

"I don't believe you"

"The enchantment had a condition to it: the only way to escape Morgana's control was if another immortal took my life. You killed me, and now that control is gone. I have no desire to hurt Arthur or you, or anyone else in Camelot." I swear to you on-" he goes to say his life and realizes that maybe that wouldn't mean as much anymore and adjusts "I swear to you on my honor as a knight of Camelot."

Merlin doesn't know what to believe. He wants to, but he doesn't know if he can. So he makes Leon explain everything, which he does. Leon still has all his memories, though some of them seem a little distorted and distant, but still there are the same

When Leon finishes, Merlin puts down the sword, approaches Leon and makes him promise again. He does so, and Merlin finally believes him

He collapses into a sitting position next to Leon, looking exhausted but relieved. They are silent for a bit until finally...

Leon eventually decides its time to address the elephant in the room: "Merlin, how long have you been practicing magic?" It’s said in a way that aims for nonchalance and misses by several miles

Merlin, naturally, goes pale and plays dumb

"Merlin, I saw your eyes glow gold and then I was being flung across the room. That's magic"

And Merlin's still denying it, fiercely, and Leon has had a very long day and an even longer month

"Merlin, I'm having a hard enough time knowing what's real and what's not right now, please don't make me question this too"

And what was Merlin supposed to do? Continue to deny what Leon clearly figured out?

"I was born with it" is whispered, a scared admission

"I didn't think that was possible"

"Yeah well, I'm special"

"I could have told you that Merlin"

This is going much better than Merlin thought it would. He expected anger, yelling at least. Not teasing, as tired as it sounds

"Are you going to tell Arthur?" Is asked in that same scared voice from before

He should. Leon knows he should. As a knight of Camelot, it was his duty to uphold the laws of the kingdom, and magic is against those laws.

But it was also his duty to protect the king, a duty, through no fault of his own, he had abandoned and gone against. Where as Merlin did his job for him.

That and he could not deny his friendship to the younger man, the protective nature he felt for him

Seeing Merlin stare at him with fear and resignation, like he had already been condemned to death, Leon realized there was really only ever one possible response he could give:

"No. I'm not"

Merlin did not expect this.

When he sees Merlin's surprise, Leon gently bumps Merlin with his shoulder. "Merlin, I know you. You would never hurt Arthur, would never do anything to put Camelot in danger. Magic or not, that doesn't change. I would not risk condemning you to exile or death when you have done no harm"

At Merlin's pained look between Leon and the wall, Leon sighs. "I'm fine Merlin. I'm more than fine, you broke Morgana's enchantment. It was not... ideal, but it was the only way"

Merlin shakes his head "Leon, I didn't know. I didn't know you'd come back. If it was anyone else, they wouldn't have. I killed you, using magic. How do you not hate me?"

"Merlin," Leon waits for Merlin to make eye contact, putting a hand on Merlin's shoulder. "Magic has saved my life, in the past. And as far as I'm concerned, it saved my soul today. Am I wary of it? Yes, because I have seen the harm it can do in cruel hands. But I also know that it can protect and heal in kind ones. How many times have you saved Arthur's life?"

Startled by the sudden question, Merlin answers honestly "I've lost count"

"How many times have you used your magic to protect, to save?"

"Always"

Leon ruffles Merlin's hair with a ghost of a smile on his lips. "I could never hate you for upholding the same ideals I live by Merlin, regardless of your methods of doing so."

And finally, finally Merlin gets it. He's not going to be imprisoned, he's not going to be outed as a sorcerer, Leon is alive and himself again and has no intention of hurting him, and Merlin doesn't have to worry about losing his friend anymore because apparently he's immortal and he is too but he is not about to deal with that right now (and also let's be real, he’s still going to worry about Leon)

It is with this that Merlin finally relaxes for the first time in a long time, shuffling closer to Leon and leaning against him, the knight putting an arm around him and pulling him close, each taking comfort in the presence of the other

It's a lot to take in, and it will take many conversations and explanations over the next few days and weeks to even begin to unpack and comprehend it all, but for now, each man was left with the relief and knowledge that they were safe with the person beside them.

The end! This is not at all what I thought it would be when I first started to write it, but I'm okay with that. If anyone wants to write this into a proper full length fic feel free to do so, I just ask that you please credit me and send it to me so I can read it!

[sinkix]

Haikyuu!!│Boys going grocery shopping w/ you! HC’s│Ft. Bokuto, Nishinoya, Terushima, Kuroo & Kunimi

I had this late night idea and just HAD to follow through, the chaos would be O F F T H E C H A R T S. Thank you to @deathcab4daddy​ for helping me brainstorm some good characters for this post lmao I love you bby and can’t wait to do a collab. <3

E N J O Y ~ 

*:･��✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

BOKUTO:

WHEN I TELL YOU THIS BOI PICKS UP EVERYTHING IN SIGHT LIKE A 6 YEAR OLD

 I FUCKING MEAN IT.

“(Y/N) we need this” 

“Bokuto we do not need a 7th jar of peanut butter.”

 “But (Y/N) it has a squirrel on the front-”

“BOKUTO I SWEAR TO GOD”

Tries to drift on the edge of the cart like something straight outta CSGO and the cart nearly obliterates under his weight.

V e r y l o u d u n e c c e s s a r i l y.

Everyone always stares at y’all when you’re going through the isles bc ur literally escorting a man-child sprawled in a shopping cart who’s going “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO” at everything he sees like he’s a toddler at the zoo who’s never encountered a chimpanzee before.

Unless you have a bottomless bank account do NOT take him shopping of any kind he is LETHAL.

When you’re at the check-out he turns it into a basketball competition and tries to launch everything perfectly on to the conveyor belt.

Volleyball player? Nah this sis with the NBA now.

Do not ask him to go get something, he will return with at least 9 items you didn’t need and everything BUT the item you requested

He turned up with a whole ass pineapple, a jar of jam, a stick of butter and a bottle of olive oil.

Like,,,where is the correlation in those items???

Once made the mistake of asking him to grab some pads from the hygiene section and specified it HAD to be with wings

Boy showed up ten minutes later and looking very confuzzled.

You questioned why he has a pack of wingless pads in one hand and a can of red bull in the other.

He said it’s because they didn’t have any with wings so he figured the Redbull would suffice and do the job for you.

i-

NISHINOYA:

Can literally fit him in the little cart seat made for kids and he LOVES it lmaoooo IT’S SO CUTE MY HEART.

HE JUST SWINGS HIS LEGS EXCITABLY WHILE YOUR GETTING STUFF AAAAAAA

Ppl give you such weird looks though bc you have a guy who’s at least 14 years older than the intended demographic sitting there and raising his hands in elation over you copping a cookie dough pie and chucking it in.

Again, another who is VERY LOUD FOR NO REASON AT ALL.

Get’s out of the cart after a while bc his legs be growing numb and begins roaming around.

Someone came back with a feral Noya in hand stating “Is this your child” WNDKJWEFNWJEF.

M’AM HE’S LIKE 18 EXCUSE YOU.

Was salty about it for the rest of the day.

Just ruffle his hair and call him Senpai 

Problem solved.

Picks up tons of exotic fruit that look more like plastic or fuzzy poisonous plants and begs you to get them.

“Noya what the fuck is that.”

“...a Pitaya.”

“...”

“Can we get it-”

“no.”

“(Y/N)-”

“I SAID NO DAMMIT”

Last time you bought some strange fruit he took it to practise and got Tanaka to spike it LMAOOO

IT SPLATTERED E V E R Y W H E R E

AND OVER DAICHI’S SHIRT.

He begged you to no longer allow Noya to purchase weird fruits from then on since he is like a child with a nerf gun.

He once picked up a phat wrinkly purple fruit and turned to you asking if it was an overgrown raisin.

“Noya sweetie that’s a Date.”

HE FULLY TSK’ED AND THREW IT BACK SINCE IT REMINDED HIM OF DATE TECH I CAN’T.

My boy out here defending Asahi even in the Grocery Isles.

We stan a loyal king.

TERUSHIMA:

Another one who tries to stand on the ledge and the cart wheels almost collapse because it wasn’t designed to hold the weight of a young adult.

Oh young adult??? Sorry I mean’t MAN CHILD.

He treats a shopping experience as a time to practise his aim apparently because he ALWAYS THROWS SHIT AT YOU TO THE POINT YOU’RE THREATENED TO BE KICKED OUT.

Definitely picks up phallic looking objects and places them against his crotch, snorting and saying “Like what you see (Y/N)?”

Homeboy is stood there in front of a wife and child presenting his cucumber appendage for the world to see.

He once grabbed a pair of fat ass melons and pressed them against his chest, shaking them and belting the lyrics to ‘My Milkshake’ while begging you to SQUEEZE HIS MELONS.

“Look (Y/N) they’re bigger than yours!”

I just- 

I give up.

Constantly tries to sneak mutli-packs of energy drinks into the cart to the point you’re convinced he is going to keel over from heart failure and kidney stones by the age of 20.

Has his airpods in 90% of the time and treats the isles as his personal dance floor.

He busting them MOVES and performing the MJ moonwalk while in the dairy section.

ONCE HE SLID TOO FAST AND SLIPPED ON HIS REAR IN FRONT OF LIKE 12 PEOPLE LMAOO

He was DEAD silent the rest of the trip.

Probably the most serene shopping experience you’ve had to date.

The checkout clerks occasionally hit on Mr. Sore-Ass over here.

Until he opens his mouth and they realise he’s a total dolt and question how you have the patience for him.

You don’t know either honestly.

The whole bagging experience is spent with them shooting you sympathetic glances as if to say ‘sis you shoulda’ left him at home’.

Yes, yes you should have.

Never a dull moment with Teru as your shopping partner.

KUROO:

LITERALLY LIKE A MIDDLE-AGED MAN OR A TODDLER WHEN Y’ALL GO SHOPPING THERE IS NEVER AN EVEN MIDDLE-GROUND.

Frequently cracks lame-ass food puns or dad jokes that make you want to crawl into a hole and die.

You have competitions on who can come up with the most and the loser always faces a penalty.

Kuroo and creating penalties do NOT mix safely so you better hope you win.

“I love you a waffle lot.” 

Proceeds to hold up a wrapped waffle.

Ok that one was kinda cute you’ll let it slide.

“I ap-peach-iate you Kuroo.”

Cue HyenaLaugh.mp3

“Want a pizza me baby? Bitch peas, doughnut take me lightly.”

You changed your mind.

You didn’t talk to him the duration of that shopping experience, no penalty could be as horrifying as what just came out of his mouth.

“(Y/N)... sometimes I feel like you don’t carrot all.”

You slapped him with said carrot and obviously had to pay for it after.

You forced him to eat it raw.

He is the definition of Neutral disaster when you go shopping.

Shitty food puns aside, he is actually very responsible when making sure you both get what you need.

Not without tons of poking, prodding, and blowing into your ear while you’re trying to decide what ingredients to buy for dinner.

You contemplated serving him a plate of bubbling snot and moulded broccoli seasoned with rosemary.

Bone apple teeth, bitch.

Ofc you didn’t because he always pulls out the puppy eyes and cuddles card after since he knows he’s well and truly rattled your patience lmao.

Actually picks really healthy food options?? Being the captain of a team he has the responsibility of keeping his health in top condition and leading by example so at least he knows the right ingredients to make a bomb-ass and nutritious meal ig.

Y’all always bicker and tease each other at the checkout which is usually great amusement for the clerk serving you as they often smirk and perceive you as an old married couple.

Which tbh you kinda are, it feels like it at least.

Still such a big asshole though lmao you never leave the store without your sanity being scathed.

KUNIMI:

Honestly just wanted an excuse to make jokes at the expense of the Aoba Johsai teammates.

and what better candidate for cracking these than Kunimi.

He’s a very chill partner to have tag along with you on your endeavours.

Not without some grumbling and groaning on his part though, lazy bitch.

You always finish shopping trips with a busted lung at how much you have been laughing though with some of the SHADY ASS REMARKS HE MAKES ABOUT THE OTHER TEAM MATES.

You were outside the store when you both spotted an angry looking Doberman tied to a nearby post.

“Smh who let Kyotani outside again.”

You hadn’t even set foot in the store yet and he was already spitting flaming insults.

[Walking up to the automatic double doors]

“Damn Oikawa move out of my way.”

Oikawa just tryna live and he keeps getting roasted for his flat cheeks 

#StopOikawaAssShaming

Ten minutes of scouring the store later he picks up a spikey Kiwano and compares it to Iwaizumi’s hair.

Proceeds to beg you not to tell my boy Iwa because he KNOWS he will get decked to the gym floor.

Passers by often wonder why you’re wheezing and producing noises like a boiling kettle.

When I tell you no one is safe, I mean N O O N E.

“These Yule logs really out here looking like Matsukawa’s brows.”

The finisher was when Kunimi picked up a turnip and said 

“Huh, kinda looks like Kindaichi.”

I just-

He could roast a whole chicken in minutes from the burn of these comments I stg.

You can now never look at the Seijou team without various foods or inanimate objects plaguing your thoughts.

Thanks, Kunimi.

[kuuderekweenfics]

Dabi is Not a Liar

Hello everyone,

This is it. I’ve fallen off the precipice of...what exactly? Sanity? Or, perhaps, lack of shame? Who knows. But this was a fun little piece I wrote about a month ago. I put it up on AO3, but I thought I’d create a Tumblr for future fics since this is a bit more social.

Please keep in mind that I am shaking the dust off my writing and so it may not be the most polished piece of work. Go easy on me. But I hope you enjoy it regardless!

Explicit Warning: non consent or extremely dubious consent.

Fingernails carve into the the filthy brick of the abandoned building nestled by the sea. The pier moaned, it’s cold breath wrapping around your body and reeking sourly of fish and decay. 

Your head hangs low between your hollow arms. How you got yourself into this position is due to several reasons, of course. One, your brain is swollen twofold in your skull, pounding with the weight of lead. Two, shame caresses every part of your body far more thoroughly than the man who currently has you trapped between him and the wall. Three, and most likely the most crucial reason, Dabi, ‘the Cremator’ as he was so often called, has been railing you senseless for the past hour.

You cried yourself dry after about ten minutes. He came quickly the first time, unabashedly getting off on your whimpers and pleas. Where he dug up the stamina to keep his cock hard for another three rounds was a dull ache for your mind, and pussy, to ponder over. 

The strength in your knees escaped long ago. His fingers gripping your bare ass as he currently pounds himself into you, deeper and deeper each time, is the only support you have against gravity. 

He attempts some foreplay occasionally, killing the space between the two of you as he whispers into your ear threats of what is to come and reaches under you to thrash at your clit rough and carelessly. This is, you figured out, more to his benefit than yours; he had to get you more motivated to continue the little game he set for the both of you somehow. You mewl softly when he does, cursing your needy body for betraying your wants.

Because this isn’t what you want. No, no, no. Not even if his thick, veiny cock fills you to the brim and sometimes hits a spot in your core that makes you see stars and silently beg, much to your humiliation, for more.

What you want is to go pro. You just started working for a small agency start up only a week ago. You’ve dedicated to becoming a top ten hero, even if your quirk isn’t the most convenient. But if a guy who’s power was to do laundry could make it to the top, so can you and your absurdly comical gacha quirk. You are able to generate capsules from your hands, ranging anywhere between the size of a tennis ball to a beach ball, but the contents inside are always random. This little inconvenience made your quirk almost entirely useless. Despite it all, you trained hard and got a once in a lifetime opportunity at this agency. Your task today was to survey the pier for any suspicious activity called in by a concerned citizen. You were strictly told not to engage and call for back up as soon as you surveyed something worthwhile. But you immediately ran in, all too confident in your ability at hand-to-hand combat, as if you had something to prove. You crouched behind stacked crates and fumbled through your creations: a teddy bear, a toaster, a tennis racket. Before you could generate another capsule, you heard his whistle behind you. He was crouched, hands lazily in his pockets and looking over your shoulder with a deadpan expression that plainly said you were in over your head. 

But you knew you were quick. The tennis racket sped toward its target only to be crumbled to ash as his hand stopped it an inch from the side of his head. He smiled at you then, not quite reaching his eyes but eerie and menacing all the same. And before you could even fathom throwing the toaster, he pinned your neck to the wall. Your feet kicked helplessly against the brick, unable to find purchase on the floor a inches below. One of your hands pried at his arm while the other reached for his face or his neck or anything you could grab hold of that could cause enough pain to lot weaken his grip. Your breaths came up short, your lungs screamed for a sip of air. 

“It looks like a little mousy lost her way,” he chuckled. “Now whatever am I going to do with you?”

Drool leaked from your mouth as you fought against your restraint and blurred vision. Your mind clawed for consciousness, your body begged for survival. You had come to terms that one day you could potentially meet your end at the hands of a villain, as does any hero in this field of work, but you hadn’t expected it to be so soon. 

You felt the obstruction in your mouth before you saw it. The thumb of his free hand pressed on your dancing tongue, drool pooling where he held it down firm. If the look in his eyes scared you before, now they were wild and carnal and more terrifying. 

He first has his way with you with his hand still around your throat. He let up on his grip and was so gracious enough to let you wrap your legs around him while he impales you without a second thought. 

He grunts. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

You are no longer a virgin, but you’re sure you never experienced cock of this size, all the while without some form of foreplay. Granted, he used your drool to lubricate himself before sheathing himself deep in your gummy walls, the friction elicits a gasp of pain while from you as he moans and nips at your neck. Not long after he begins to thrust do you start sobbing, and soon after that he shoots inside of you, his cock twitching to unload what feels like everything he had. You hope it is over then. He would either kill you or leave you there broken physically and mentally. You find out soon enough it is neither.

“I’m gonna fuck you until your voice is gone from screaming my name, little mousy,” He gasps into your shoulder as the twitching finally ebbs and his release oozes down your thigh. “I’m gonna fill you with my cum until I am sure that when I leave you in this shithole, you will have a little part of me with you for the rest of your miserable life.”

And if there is one thing you can call Dabi, among the million curses and names you can conjure, you aren’t sure if you can call him a liar. For true to his word, albeit only partially, he comes into you, hard and relentless, two more times before starting once more. You are absolutely positive this goes against all modern male biology. But you guess, in a world with bizarre quirks, anything is possible.

Halfway through round four, you feels his fingers weave into your hair and, for a moment, you think Dabi just may capable of being passionate. Or, at the very minimum, maybe he thinks more of you than just a bucket for him to shoot his load in. This moment, you find, is fleeting as he yanks your head back and pulls you up until your back lies flat against his chest. He slowly pulls the zipper of your shirt down and grabs your breast callously, pinching your nipple hard until you cry out. 

You can only imagine that he’s grown bored of your silence and complacency because his other hand reaches around until his fingers find your clit, exposed and hungry for some well-deserved stimulation. His fingers rub small circles against it, and you feel nauseated as you let out a moan, your pussy clenching desperately around him in newly kindled desire.

He hisses at your reaction, an obvious stamp of approval and continues flicking your bundle of nerves as he pumps in and out of you. “Say my name.”

Your mind, which, up until this point, had been lost in a sea of fog, finally breaks the surface. And it is pleading with you to not give in. He speeds up, each thrust hitting the right spot and oh no, oh no, it feels so fucking good.

“Say my name, little mouse.”

Your core coils tight with stimulation, the spring on the precipice of release with the pressure of his calloused fingers. The ache you had felt up until then is replaced with an immense pleasure that you haven’t felt in, let’s face it, ever. You stand on your toes to give him a better angle. Your hands searched for something to anchor onto. One mindlessly reaches above to grab onto his hair as he licks you, hot breath warming your already flush neck, the other latches onto your ignored breast.

“Say it.”

You bucked against him, almost there, almost there, so very close....

Until he becomes utterly and completely still. 

“No, no. Please, Dabi! I need it. Fuck me, please Dabi!” You sob. 

And with that, you feel a smirk form against your neck. He pulls out of you and before you can so much as whimper, he shoves you back onto a large crate. He grabs one leg and forces it up and over his shoulder as he penetrates you, holding your waist to keep you steady as he pumps in fast and hard. His hip bumps into your overstimulated clit with each thrusts and it nearly obliterates you. In this new position, his cock kisses your cervix and, if you ever had any semblance of control since being pounded into, it has all but disappeared.

“Dabi! I’m going to...Ah, shit, I’m gonna...”

As you begin convulsing, you hear his name, loud, hot and heavy, escape from your lips. Your release sends him over the edge, and he ruts into you. 

Just as quickly, he slides out of you, places himself back into his pants and walks out with his hands in his pockets without a word before the cum can so much as leak out of you. You lay still and let the world refocus before you get up and go home. You come to realize that he didn’t so much as care if you came or not, and that the fact that you had was a happy coincidence on your part. What he was really aiming for was you to scream his name, just as he said you would. How little regard villains had felt about others left you in awe. Can you really go head to head against him or any other villain again? 

You submit your resignation the next day.

And two months later, as you stand wide-eyed and frozen over the test exposing itself to you on the bathroom sink, you can finally confirm that Dabi is, in no way shape or form, a liar.