#ANYWAY. just needed to get this out I am reflecting on myself and my stance on sharing my f/os. this evening

[selfrinsert]

#rambles #vent #vent-ish #am I….am I not comfy sharing [REDACTED]……… #f/os name removed because I don’t wanna vague about anyone #how do I say it’s only a single person that bothers me WITHOUT sounding like an asshole #help. does anyone else relate? like. it’s only certain people I’m really not comfy sharing with. everyone else is fine to share with #I feel like such a dick 😭 but it’s like #nnnnno that character would not love like that or want to be loved like that. #and also the dynamic is so dull this character needs some enrichment #I FEEL AWFUL for even thinking that about people I don’t even interact with I dunno I dunno #ANYWAY. just needed to get this out I am reflecting on myself and my stance on sharing my f/os. this evening

[stinkygirl009]

The Cheerleader and the Greaser <3

Johnny cade X Y/n

HI YALL IM BACK:D it’s currently 2:14 am and can’t sleep and thought of this so hope you guys enjoy💋

Warnings: none just fluff lmao (the reader is gn but has a reader is wearing a nightgown.)

I sighed gently closing my book and looking at the time. I set the book down on my white bedside table, and shut off my lamp. I scoot down my pillows and snuggled into them, I stare at the street lights that were reflecting off my vanity mirror and doze off…

KNOCK-

I jump up quick, my eyes snapping open instantly. My breath quickens trying to shake off the sleep, and notice a figure near my window slightly crouching. I get up and try to find something heavy that I can at least defend myself. I slowly walk over to the window and I-

Oh goddamnit Johnny.

I sigh and walk over to the window and open it. I lean my head out slightly. “Johnny, what the hell are you doing?” I ask slightly annoyed. Johnny shrugs and looks down at the wood pattern on the outside of the house. “Jus’ wanted to see you…that’s all.” He said quietly but sounded shaken up. I look notice the discomfort that shifted in the air when his words came out. My eyes softened. I look at his face only being able to see it due to the street lights.

“..Oh, come on get in, it’s cold...” I say moving over to the side to let him in. He quietly gets thought the window and I rush over to my door and grab skirt from the hamper and shimmy it under the door, so no light can be seen when i turn on my light. I look up at him and Johnny’s in a slight daze and looks at me. I walk over to him and look at his face trying to see if he got hurt. Me and Johnny were almost the same height but I was just a few inches shorter. “Are you ok, Johnny?” I ask softly and touch his hand feeling the noticeable coldness of his hand.

“Yea I’m fine.” I nodded, Johnny shifts his stance. “Just needed to get out for a minute.” I hummed to his response. I Guide him over to my bed and I turn on the lamp. My eyes desperately close trying to adjust to the light. I look at Johnny and notice a bruise starting to develop from red to purple. The full story was already clear to me, and we both knew that. My face shifts and I move closer to him.

“It happened again?” I try to be delicate with my words, I didn’t want to pry at him for answers but I just wanted to make sure if my assumption was correct. “Of course it happened again.”

Johnny says sharply. I frown slightly at his words. “Sorry.” Johnny mumbled shortly after. I raise my hand softly and turn his head towards me, and give him a small smile.

“It’s ok” I say, I take in his face features more closely. My eyes drag over his face and my eyes land on his cheek still trying to get used to the scar on his cheek from when he got jumped…

He sighs deeply and looks down at my slightly short nightgown. “Looks nice on you, makes you look pretty.” The words fall faintly in the room. “Thank you” I smile, a small blush appearsslightly.

“Sorry, Even more prettier” He says laughing a bit I let out a quiet laugh along with him.

“You’re such a dork” I close my eyes and smile, I open my eyes and look at his eyes. I sigh and hold his hand,

“your so pretty Johnny”

“No, I’m not pretty” Johnny says embarrassed, rolling his eyes smiling a bit. “But you are” I say smiling trying to get him to smile. But I wasn’t lying though, he was freaking pretty even though he won’t admit it.

“‘Pretty’s’ for girls, I’m a guy y/n.”

He said. “No, a guy can be pretty and not having to look feminine!” I disagree with him. He sighs though his nose.

“Doesn’t matter anyway,” he leans toward’s me, “you’re the most prettiest thin’ I’ve even seen” I blush and laugh flustered at his words.

“Yeah right, Johnny” I laugh and cup his cheek and bring him into a soft kiss. He puts his hand on my lower neck.

“What a scandal this would be, huh? ‘The greaser and the cheerleader” I say breaking the kiss, johnny smirks slightly. “I think it has a nice ring to it, don’t you think so, sweetheart?” I say and bite my lip and laugh.

“I think it sounds perfect” johnny says smiling and brings me back into the kiss.

A/n: THANK YOU FOR READING!! MAWH💋

#fypage #x reader #x y/n #the outsiders #johnny cade #johnny cade imagine #the outsiders x reader #johnny cade x reader #johnny cade headcanons #ponyboy curtis #fypppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppp #fluff #gender neutral #fem reader #male reader #stinkgirl009’s silly little writing<3

[eriexplosion]

Replacements time, I didn't need my heart anyway.

The way that Wrecker was fully going to take Omega's food rations, I get it I am also not thinking when I'm hungry. But this combined with his line in Pabu about being full for the first time, they were just NEVER provided enough rations to adequately fuel Wrecker, not even before they had to puzzle through buying them themselves. The kaminoans had to know his calorie intake needs okay and they simply opted NOT to fill them. Justice and a nine course meal for Wrecker.

"It's not affecting life support. We're fine!" Tech is going to come back with like a dozen injuries he simply didn't deal with yet because he was technically able to function with them, so it's basically the same as being healthy.

I do love Echo's grouchy REPAIRS WOULD GO FASTER IF I HAD SOME HELP, but the feels punch of seeing them bickering in the pilot and copilot seats and then flashing forward mentally to Echo gazing sadly at the empty chair. I'm hurting my OWN FEELINGS.

I FEEL LIKE IT WOULD BE REASONABLE TO STRAP GONKY IN? DO YOU WANT A FIFTY SOME POUND (MINIMUM) DROID SLIDING AROUND FREELY IN A CRASH SITUATION?

Another Wrecker head bonk, no wonder his chip activated it's been under percussive maintenance this whole time.

CROSSHAIR WEAPONS KIT MOMENT. Which they have just been steadfastly ignoring because it hurt their feelings to think about it.

Further evidence they simply haven't been thinking about it: Echo like THEY CAN DO THAT? when Tech reminds them that the chip can influence behaviors. Yeah what did you think they did, Echo, just provided a tiny little nudge? But I think it's just very hard to fully grasp the scope of something like that. Yes almost every single clone is under the control of an inhibitor chip, yes it's strong enough to make you turn on your own squad, yes that's in ALL of their heads right now, just not functioning properly.

I just love Wrecker not giving that much of a shit about being shot. That hurt, but he still misses Crosshair.

Anyway this squad contains pure concentrated avoidance juice, if they just don't think about it then Crosshair didn't betray them.

Rampart and Tarkin together creating a solid layer of slime all over the room. I just hate them watching him through a one way mirror talking about him like an interesting object. (Though I do like the moment where he stares at them straight through his own reflection, he knows he's being watched the whole time)

They literally do not address him once and he looks so unimpressed just looking between them like he's waiting for anyone to notice he's there.

Tech looking at giant clawmarks in the siding: well those weren't there when we landed. Treat something like an emergency challenge, impossible.

"I'm part of this squad now too, right?" *Tech and Echo look at Hunter, they're NOT taking a stance on this* Assigned dad by committee

"I'm angry at myself. We don't leave our own behind." "Then we'll find a way to get him back. Somehow." AND THIS IS WHY THEY ALL NEED TO BE TOGETHER, THIS IS WHAT THE SHOW DESPERATELY WANTS US TO WANT, THE TEAM IS NOT COMPLETE UNTIL IT'S ALL OF THEM.

I might have paused just before the start of the attack on Gerrera's camp for an inordinately long time but it's just a genuinely distressing scene.

Does contain a GREAT transition back to Hunter & Omega though.

"See it?" Well Hunter it's both flashing AND beeping, so yeah I think Omega sees it.

The way that Hunter straight up would have died out here if Omega hadn't gone with him okay, just would not have come back. (Omega is going to continue to be the key to making sure everyone survives I think.)

Back to Onderon for more highly uncomfortable war crime scenes. Truly I don't think that the show that has Crosshair shoot a woman at point blank range would have many reservations showing us Tech's body. (Yes I'm going to be like this the whole time I'm SORRY)

But ohhhh my god I need Onderon to come back somehow. I need it to become relevant. I think a lot of the time people do want to pass over it because it's horrific and like it's not one of the several things Crosshair does wrong of his own free will. But it's also still something that he remembers doing, all of it, and I think it's pretty key to why he eventually tries to stay with the Empire. What do you do when you've done something so horrific, when maybe you've been told it wasn't your choice and it wasn't your fault but you still remember giving the order, you remember every sight and sound and smell, and you remember at the time it made so much sense to do it. You can even remember the reasoning you came up with to ease the way. What do you do when you've done something so bad that you think that the only way forward is with the people that forced it onto you in the first place?

Anyway fucked up that they gave that one soldier a flamethrower just so we know completely that those civilians were burned alive, that's great.

Back to Hunter thinking he has had this child for a day and a half and has already lost her on a deserted rock somewhere.

"Soldiers know the risks of battle" what about the risks of Crosshair because like Crosshair is the cause of 100% of his squad's fatalities through this season.

Crosshair in the cleaned out quarters with all of the doodles and marks still on the bunks, going to his own and everything that made it his has been cleared out of it. They even took his walls of boxes. Just completely alone in their old room with nothing but the reality of what he did. I wonder if guilt comes easier when they're not in battle.

AND JUST THE CONTRAST WITH THE ABSOLUTE SWEETNESS OF OMEGA GETTING HER OWN ROOM ON THE MARAUDER. MAKING A BEAUTIFUL AND WARM PLACE FOR HER THAT STANDS OUT FROM EVERYTHING ELSE.

SERIOUSLY MY HEART.

HER PRECIOUS FACE <3 God I do love this episode even though it wounds me in places.

#the bad batch rewatch

[soul-dwelling]

Also I wonder if there was a change in ff, not just in a surface story way but theme way, atleast partly, because I guess it could have been just a red hereing to insinuate that the evangelist is some eldritch alien dimmensional hopper with all the stuff with the bugs and other stars that dont really make sense with the "rhe enemy is humanity itself thing", but maybe the plot was about culutral imperialism but got chaged because of too much controverssy, thats why the invasion paralels?

As I’ll say in another post, this feels like it was Ohkubo wanting to satirize religion: “Oh, these religions have their weird creation myths full of paradoxes and stuff that makes no sense? Then my indictment against religion, Fire Force, will make its own creation myth that is so batshit crazy that it out-does the nonsense of religions overall!” 

It feels weirdly immature, just Ohkubo’s goal to dunk on believers. And I say this as an agnostic: I am critical of beliefs and organized religion--but I also can make my own opinions around them by looking at the evidence myself without criticizing the need people have to believe in something, or to not believe because you don’t need beliefs to compel yourself to be a decent person. 

That is what I think when you bring up the “theme way”: none of these creation myth details (the eldritch aliens, the dimensions, the bugs, the other stars) have to correlate with each other--it’s a creation myth, just make shit up. You’re Timon in The Lion King saying the sky is just full of fireflies, it makes sense to you, you get to move on. That is Ohkubo’s approach: this shit won’t make sense anyway, stop being a Yuu and be a Vulcan. 

It also is like X-Files, mixing together different content from various belief systems, conspiracy theories, ancient monsters, and some legitimate science: bugs are aliens, there are other dimensions, stars used to be planets, and so on. 

“The enemy is humanity itself”: I’ll bring this up in Ohkubo’s paradoxically puritanical stance on sex, but there is such misanthropy in this work. 

(I got to find the source again, but Ohkubo had said he was indeed a misanthrope. Maybe it was sarcasm in his end-of-volume notes?)

For all of how Shinra inspires people at the end, this is a pretty cynical story that thinks humans are awful. (If our world leads to the Fire Force world, the implication that stuff like the nuclear bombing of Japan and stuff like 9/11 led to this world seems gross--it’s taking real-life horrors to fuel his fiction, not in a way to comment about what led to those horrors but just shock value and edginess without meaning.) 

Even the “cultural imperialism” angle seems muddled. 

We have Benimaru and others resisting what is portrayed as a Euro-centric Christo-centric indoctrination of Japan. 

We end the manga with the pre-Soul Eater world. Now Akitaru and others are using Japanese naming conventions (family name first, personal name last), and by the time we get to Soul Eater the rest of the world seems to be in Lord Death’s image--and all speaking Japanese. 

There is something odd here, as if the story is placing Japan as having become the superpower of the world. It’s no longer America and the English language as the dominant force--thanks to the world being reborn starting in Japan thanks to Shinra, Japan is on top. 

This should be a re-staging of the opening to this manga: we started with this multicultural Japan but one in which a western religion and western conventions had pushed out Japanese cultural practices. We can show an actual multiculturalism that is not erasure but presence of all…and instead it weirdly feels like it is Japanese domination over everything else? 

That should be a meaningful satire to criticize westerners thinking they control everything--but it comes off to me anyway as just “the shoe is on the other foot now”: there isn’t observation for how Japan as the global leader would be good and bad, it is presented as just what it is, no reflection on the ramifications of this. It isn’t a taking down of the US or western nations or Christianity for awful things they have done; it’s just something that happens to explain why all the people in Death City speak Japanese--a question almost no one cared to ask because it’s a manga made in Japan, of course the characters in your story all speak Japanese, who cares.

#long post

[godofsmallthings]

I love that 🫶🏻 I think setting a healthy boundary is super important. I myself am in the muddy waters of a once-long-ago-kaylor turned gaylor/simply perceiving her as not straight. (and it’s tricky given I’ve grown close with people across the fandom sub-sections but don’t agree with their perception of things.) so I definitely feel similarly in terms of that “recovering” stance 🤭

I also absolutely agree about your comments on not regarding her sexuality as one of the only interesting things about her. And respecting Joe in the mixture of things. And the reality that she has set some strong boundaries about how much we will ever know or not know about her life. And I think that’s healthy for everyone involved.

anyway, thanks for indulging in my questions about where you fall along the fandom spectrum! It can get dicey out there lmao. I hope you have a wonderful and happy new year ahead! ❤️

yeahhh bestie the kaylor -> gaylor -> ??????? pipeline is so real lmao. totally relate to the feeling of having friends in lots of different areas and grappling with how to reconcile w/ different perspectives and finding common ground (ultimately i just try to remind myself that this is just a pop star and doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things when i get too lost in the sauce). it's also just really interesting to think about the phenomenon of queer people sort of projecting their experiences onto celebrities in general, and i think viewing it from an academic perspective was what reallyyyyy prompted me starting to feel like i was outgrowing the community in a lot of ways (even though it still took me like. a full two years to make that final mental step). it's also why i feel so protective of it, especially from people who have never been In It (and especially if they aren't queer obvs). the girls who get it get it.

i've spent sooooo much time this year just listening to mirrorball and reminding myself that mine and everyone else's perceptions of taylor are really just reflections of ourselves and what we need from her in a lot of ways. the person i love isn't fully real, and that's okay as long as i'm aware of it, y'know? ironically i think accepting that has allowed me to accept taylor as she is and see her as way more of a real person (midnights helped a lot with that too lol). anyway, i love talking abt my gaylor/fandom psychology musings so don't be shy if u ever need to send some thoughts my way :) happy new year!!

#ask

[dan6085]

The Privilege of Playing Golf

Written by a former golfer who can no longer play, but who has reflected on his years in golf and would like the rest of us to think about how we approach the game. Powerful stuff.

Dear Younger Me:

I can’t play golf anymore. I tried to swing the club the other day, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. The best I can do now is sometimes take walks on the course, but my eyes aren’t as good as they used to be so I don’t see much. I have a lot of time to sit and think now, and I often think about the game.

It was my favorite game. I played most of my adult life. Thousands of rounds, thousands of hours practicing. As I look back, I guess I had a pretty good time at it. But now that I can’t do it anymore, I wish I had done it differently.

It’s funny, but with all the time I spent playing golf, I never thought I was a real golfer. I never felt good enough to really belong out there. It doesn’t make much sense, since I scored better than average and a lot of people envied my game, but I always felt that if I was just a little better or a little more consistent, then I’d feel really good. I’d be satisfied with my game. But I never was. It was always "One of these days I’ll get it" or "One day I’ll get there" and now here I am. I can’t play anymore, and I never got there.

I met a whole lot of different people out on the course. That was one of the best things about the game. But aside from my regular partners and a few others, I don’t feel like I got to know many of those people very well. I know they didn’t really get to know me. At times they probably didn’t want to. I was pretty occupied with my own game most of the time and didn’t have much time for anyone else, especially if I wasn’t playing well.

So why am I writing you this letter anyway, just to complain? Not really. Like I said, my golfing experience wasn’t that bad. But it could have been so much better, and I see that so clearly now. I want to tell you, so you can learn from it. I don’t want you getting to my age and feeling the same regrets I’m feeling now.

I wish, I wish. Sad words, I suppose, but necessary. I wish I could have played the game with more joy, more freedom. I was always so concerned with "doing it right" that I never seemed to be able to enjoy just doing it at all. I was so hard on myself, never satisfied, always expecting more. Who was I trying to please? Certainly not myself, because I never did. If there were people whose opinions were important enough to justify all that self-criticism, I never met them.

I wish I could have been a better playing partner. I wasn’t a bad person to be with, really, but I wish I had been friendlier and gotten to know people better. I wish I could have laughed and joked more and given people more encouragement. I probably would have gotten more from them, and I would have loved that. There were a few bad apples over the years, but most of the people I played with were friendly, polite, and sincere. They really just wanted to make friends and have a good time. I wish I could have made more friends and had a better time.

I’m inside a lot now and I miss the beauty of the outdoors. For years when I was golfing I walked through some of the most beautiful places on earth, and yet I don’t feel I really saw them. Beautiful landscapes, trees, flowers, animals, the sky, and the ocean – how could I have missed so much? What was I thinking of that was so important – my grip, my back swing, my stance? Sure, I needed to think about those sometimes, but so often as to be oblivious to so much beauty? And all the green – the wonderful, deep, lush color of green! My eyes are starting to fail. I wish I had used them better so I would have more vivid memories now.

So what is it that I’m trying to say? I played the type of game that I thought I should play, to please the type of people that I thought I should please. But it didn’t work. My game was mine to play, but I gave it away.

It’s a wonderful game. Please, don’t lose yours. Play a game that you want to play. Play a game that gives you joy and satisfaction and makes you a better person to your family and friends. Play with enthusiasm, play with freedom. Appreciate the beauty of nature and the people around you. Realize how lucky you are to be able to do it. All too soon your time will be up, and you won’t be able to play anymore. Play a game that enriches your life.

Best wishes . . . don't waste a minute of golf . . . someday it will be gone!

[hotwings0203]

i’m thinking abt Police officer reader arresting scummy smexy Touya. Like he smirks when she arrests him and cuffs his hands to his back. I want him in me fr 😍‼️

Tw:none really, maybe sexual harassment and implied noncon

“Officer 776, we got a black sedan coming up your way on I-10. Do you copy?”

You sign and turn your music off before reaching for your walkie talkie and responding, “Yes, I copy.”

And sure enough, the only car that zooms by at 2 am on a Saturday night is a black sedan. It’s a shame, really, you were enjoying the city view by yourself without anyone to keep an eye on. You’re usually posted for ticket duty, but this time you got promoted for night watch.

You would’ve liked to continue leaning back in your seat and watch the only sky slowly dust with stars, but duty calls as the blue custom headlights go streaking past you.

Begrudgingly, you pull your driving handle back and start going after him, turning your lights on in the process and raising the siren.

You’re not even surprised when it takes some slight honking and almost a two mile mini-chase to get the car to pull over at the side of the gravelly road.

The car in front of you stalls, and you observe the status of the car itself. It’s hard to make out the look of the vehicle in the dark even with your headlights blaring in front of it, but you guess it’s a Mazda sedan or something of the sort just like how your higher-up said.

You take a deep breath and gather your flashlight as you open your door and swing outside.

On the short walk to the driver’s side you notice darker marks on the car…almost like they were scorch marks.

That’s strange.

The window is tinted and up. You roll your eyes in annoyance and give three sharp raps to the glass.

“Open the window and keep your hands on the steering wheel after.”

You wait a moment. It doesn’t budge.

A crease appears in your eyebrows and you quickly glance around. It’s completely deserted, just you and the perpetrator.

“I’m gonna have to ask you once more. Open the window otherwise-“

You cut off as the black glass slowly rolls down, revealing a man with ivory hair and black tips at the ends, his face scarred but astonishingly handsome. His mouth, eyebags, lower half of his face and ears are laced with silver piercings…stitches? Maybe, but whatever. Focus on the task at hand.

“What can I help you with meter maid?” Comes his sleazy, gravelly voice.

You lean down and rest an elbow on his lowered window, squinting at his smug face. His eyes are crinkled with the slight upturn of his lips, imitating a crude smirk.

No ones in the car with him, but you can faintly smell some kind of skunk aroma, and alarm bells go off in your head.

“Sir, do you know how fast you were driving?”

“Fast enough apparently, if I copped a sexy thing like you all for myself.”

He props his chin on his scarred hand and rests his elbow right next to yours, mocking your petulant expression.

You grimace and move your hand away from his. He pouts as you continue berating him.

“It’s 2am on a weekend, sir. Where were you headed off to that you had to be there in such a rush?”

The man sighs loudly and lets his head fall back against his leather seat, lips puffing out and fingers moving to drum against his steering wheel.

“Oh you know, the usual. Fucking bitches, getting money, anything a no-good handsome bastard like me does on the regular. Not like I’d expect you to know, meter maid.” He smirks showing his white canines and slowly looks you up and down.

When you scowl he raises his hands innocently and shrugs.

“Just kidding sweetheart. I was actually on my way to burn a few bodies, I’m a hit man y’know. Very much on the wanted list. I’m good at what I do…if you ever need a man, or a body,just call me.” He winks and his infuriating grin doesn’t falter as you yank open the door and practically throw his lanky figure out of the car.

He doesn’t put up any effort of resistance, just lets you push him down by the neck onto the hood of his car, his body bent as you begin searching him.

You know you smell some type of drug in the car but you’re not actually rooting through his pockets looking for gold. You just want a little bit of saving-face from his sleazy mouth.

He exhales and laughs as his cheek smushes against the black steel, his breath puffing up condensation on the hood while you pat his sides down.

“Put your hands on the car sir, and don’t move unless you want to be taken into a cell overnight.” You mutter as you feel his studded belt, his white tee revealing a toned yet sharp body underneath.

The man sighs in faux annoyance. “What’s with the attitude babe? If you’re feeling me up you might as well lose that cold shoulder. The name’s Touya by the way, I would’ve given it to you sooner if I knew you just wanted to get under my pants.”

You freeze as his words register right when you pay down his inner thighs for any suspicious substance-just following protocol.

Nevertheless, you instinctively shoot your hands to your side and sputter indignantly.

“You-you can’t talk to an officer like that! Are you drunk? Count to 100 for me.” You try to divert the conversations to where you have the upper hand, but you should’ve known Touya wasn’t gonna let it be that easy.

“Sure thing meter maid. It’s 1-800-*******.”

“What?”

“That’s my number. Be grateful, I don’t usually give opps my digits that easily, but you’re giving me a fun time so why not?” He cranes his head toward you and licks his lips seductively.

You’re thankful for the darkness of the night, for you can surely feel the best rise to your cheeks at his blatant…flirting?

“Shut up. Just let me do my job asshole.”

The walkie talkie crackles with static as your supervisor calls in to check on how you’re doing, but before you can speak into it Touya cries out suddenly.

“Help! Oh, help me officer! This meter maid is touching all over my little willy! She has ulterior motives I swear it!” He moans loudly and you snap the device shut before turning to him.

“Are you fucking crazy? Do you want me to get fired?” You hiss, but all you get in return is a maniacal grin.

“Sure, ‘means you can fuck around without any protocol then, right?” The man starts arching his hips up in a perverse manner and shoves his ass back into your torso.

You snarl and reach over his back, grabbing both of his hands and slapping a pair of cuffs on him before manhandling him the other way, his face finally aligned with yours, back against the cool steel.

“Oh, so you like it rough, huh?”

You ignore him and drop to a squat, taking his combat boots off less-than-gently and shaking them out for any real baggie.

“Shoulda’ told me sooner doll, we could’ve gotten this along wayyyy sooner.”

You slowly raise your eyes up and take in an eyeful of his thrusting hips mere inches from your eyes.

He’s looking down at you with one eyebrow raised and his usual smirk adorning his features.

Your blood rushes through your body like you just ran a marathon, and you abruptly stand before him, making sure your shoulder checks his straining bulge on your way up.

He yelps and doubles over, unable to clutch his prized possession.

This time when he straightens up with a twisted scowl, you’re the one grinning at him instead.

“Yeah, you’re right, actually. If you’re gonna get me fired anyways might as well do what I want, right?”

You open his passenger door and give him an innocent smile as he watches you warily.

After about 10 minutes of looting through his car and trunk, sure enough you produce a couple of large ziploc bags filled with white powder and copious amounts of cash under thinly concealed pockets in the back.

You hold all of these findings up, and each one of the revelations are either met with a mocking pout or a careless shrug.

Your skin starts to get hotter despite the chill of the night as none of your efforts to match his energy are met with any fruition. In fact, it seems to rile him up more.

“Looks like you’re getting tired hon. Why not use all that energy on this dick?”

“Hmm, I guess you’re not very good at this job, huh? You’d be better as some kind of stripper. Actually, nah, that’s too good of a job for you, maybe a prostitute stuck in my bed would satisfy you.”

On and on he goes as you practically raid his car, even throwing out belongings that aren’t in any way questionable.

Eventually you reach your tipping point. You make sure he’s watching you as you walk around back towards him and plant your feet squarely in front of him, taking your stance.

You reach into your pocket to produce your walkie, cock your arm back, and throw it as far as you can into the surrounding field.

“Where’s that smile now Touya? You scared you can’t defend yourself without anyone on the other side listening in?”

The ivory haired man shakes his head and sighs as if dealing with a grace loss. Your own brows furrowed as he looks up at you with a sorrowful expression, one that doesn’t quite scream sincere when the car lights reflect an excited gleam in his cerulean eyes.

“Nah, sweetheart. I’m actually more worried for you.”

And with a sound as soft as bell chimes, the tugs his hands at the back for a moment and brings his arms forward, palms spread and showing you cuff-less palms of blue hellfire.

He thinks you look pretty when the blue light reflects pure terror on your shadowed face.

“That was a stupid move, throwing your only hope of salvation away. I wasn’t lying, y’know. I really am a hit man. But I’ll take my own offer.”

As you turn to begin to sprint away he smiles again, this one more earnestly remorseful.

“I’ll be a hit man and a body you need for tonight.”

#mha #bnha #scummy dabi #scummy Touya #mha dabi #bnha dabi #dabi #touya #dabi imagine #dabi x reader #dabi is touya #touya x reader #bnha touya #mha touya #touya todoroki #touya imagine

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

COSMIC - S1:E1; Chapter One, The Vanishing of Will Byers - [Pt. 2]

A Will Byers x Male!Reader Series

𝘖𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥'𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘏𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥.

|| 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕 ||

The boys and I finally make it to school; my legs are always exhausted by the time we reach the student drop off.

I hear the bell ring when we park our bikes.

"That's weird. I don't see him." Mike finally says what we've all been thinking. 'Where the hell is Will?' Personally, I'm starting to get really worried.

As if catching onto my growing worries, Lucas chimes in.

"I'm telling you. His mom's right. He probably just went to class early again."

I always admired how Lucas can always be so optimistic with stuff like this; always thinking logically. He's really good at keeping the party level-headed. I tend to worry a lot so it's nice to have a friend like Lucas to keep my feet on the ground.

"Yeah, he's always paranoid Gursky's gonna give him another pop quiz."

"Well, I don't blame him. Gursky gives me pop quizzes all the time, and it's exhausting. Never knowing when you will be put on the spot" I say.

"Step right up, ladies and gentlemen."

'Oh just perfect. Troy and his goon'

"Step right up and get your tickets for the freak show," Troy says smugly.

I click my tongue and shake my head in a mocking tone.

"Oh, sorry guys but we actually can't make it today. By any chance, can we catch your act tomorrow?" I bat my eyelashes at them in innocence, the comment earning a few chuckles from Lucas, Mike, and Dustin.

Troy's face scrunched up in anger, clearly offended by my comeback.

"Hey, no one asked you, shithead!"

I roll my eyes at his cheap insult. However, the boys were having none of it, especially Dustin, as usual. They get into a threatening stance, while Dustin tries to lunge for them, but I put my arm out to stop them before they can even do anything.

"Guys, just ignore them. It doesn't matter to me. They're not even worth it."

Troy and his puppet James only seem amused.

"So who do you think would make more money in a freak show anyway?" Troy continues.

"Midnight," he punches Lucas. I clench my fists, my chest already burning with anger.

"Frogface," he punches Mike, and my jaw tightens so tight it threatens to lock.

"Orphan" he punched me. I took a deep breath trying to control my anger.

"Or toothless?" He shoves Dustin.

It's taking everything in me not to tackle him right now. I've always been like this. Whenever someone insults me, I'm able to brush it off, but as soon as someone goes after the people I care about, I lose it. Big time.

His goon sighs and holds his hand to his chin as he pretends to think about it while he looks at all of us. He then stops at Dustin and singles him out, in a voice that's clearly supposed to be Dustin's.

"I'd go with Toothless." My nails are probably drawing blood from my palms at this point.

"I told you a million times, my teeth are coming in. It's called cleidocranial dysplasia." Dustin says.

"I th'old you a million th'imes" he continues.

"Screw you," I shout, lunging for him. But before I could ever actually reach him, Dustin pulls me back, stopping me as I had him.

"Y/n, you were right. They aren't worth it."

They just laugh smugly in response. I grit my teeth and cross my arms.

"Do the arm thing."

"Do it, freak!"

"OH, I swear to GOD," I go to charge at him but Mike pulls me back and pats my back trying to calm me down. I glare daggers at the boys in front of me. I swear I'm seeing red and it feels as if my blood is literally boiling in veins.

"Y/n it's fine. Look, here," he sighs tiredly, putting down his backpack and taking off his jacket. He then extends his arms out and you can hear his bones crack. He then looks to the bullies pointedly and says, "There, I did it. Will you leave us alone now?"

The bullies groan in disgust and Troy says, "UGH. It gets me every time!" They laugh, shoving us aside roughly and walk away.

"Assholes," Lucas beat me to it.

"I think it's kinda cool," Mike offers, looking at Dustin. "It's like you have superpowers or something. Like Mr. Fantastic."

"Yeah, except I can't fight evil with it."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

{Trigger Warning for Anxiety Attacks}

Troy and his friend had just left us alone, so the four of us began making our way to class. As we walk through the hallways, the three of them end up side by side by side next to each other while caught up in their conversation which at this point, had drifted to planning our next campaign. Normally I'd be all over it but I found myself drifting back and keeping to myself, my thoughts wandering to Will.

'I really hope he's okay. Ya know what? No, Lucas is right, as usual, he's got to be at class by now. He has to be.'

I try to push all the negative thoughts to the back of my mind as I try and focus on getting to the classroom as soon as possible just to prove to myself he's okay and I'm just overreacting. The four of us approach Mr. Clarke's room and I run ahead, no longer able to wait another second. I pop my head in the door and to my great dismay, he is nowhere to be seen. I take a deep breath, and stumble back, that familiar viscous feeling of a pit in my stomach. My anxiety is kicking in.

The boys look to each other in silence, all thinking the same thing.

'This is bad. Will would never skip. And he's not at home, so something must be very wrong.'

Before the boys get the chance to say anything, I slip away and walk quickly down the hall to the bathroom, my arms tucked into my sides defensively while my head is down. I always run to the bathroom to be alone when I have an anxiety attack. I can't be around people when it's this bad so I usually end up sitting in the stall, trying to calm down. The guys know I have anxiety attacks like this sometimes and I know they want to help, but they don't know how and that's fine.

When I reach the familiar stall, I slam it shut and sit on the edge of the seat and put my face in my hands as my elbows are propped up on my knees. My breathing is ragged and my eyes become soaked in tears as panic takes over my body. That familiar feeling of nausea returning. The endless 'what ifs' begin flooding my mind.

'What if he got hit by a car on his way home?'

'What if he got kidnapped?'

'What if... he's dead?'

Just the thought of never seeing my best friend ever again makes me wail. I'm rocking back and forth hugging my torso when I remember I have to take deep breaths or I might pass out. I try to remember to tell myself that I don't have all the information and that there has got to be some sort of explanation for all of this.

That it's just my anxiety talking. It's just brain noise. I just need to learn how to manage it.

I spend the next few minutes focusing on taking deep breathes, and after what feels like hours, I am finally breathing normally again.

I grab my bag which had been thrown to the ground during my attack and exit the stall. I stand in front of the mirror washing my hands and I look at my eyes which are now totally swollen from crying.

I reach down and splash some water on my face, and rub my eyes. Getting the remainder of the water off with a paper towel. As I look at my slightly improved reflection I take another deep breath and head to class. Pretending everything's normal and I hadn't just had a meltdown in the bathroom, as usual.

I pick up my pace as I shrug my shoulders to secure my backpack so it doesn't fall. I was lucky I was able to come down from my attack as quickly as I did because it seems I wasn't late like last time. It looks like I made it with just a minute to spare. I walk over to where the party and I usually sit. I think twice before sitting down next to Dustin.

I know at this point the boys are aware of the state I'm in judging by the looks of sympathy they are giving me. The state of my eyes and the fact I didn't take my normal seat next to Will's probably gave me away. I decided to take the seat in front of my usual so I don't have stare at Will's empty seat and be worrying all class. So as they say, out of sight out of mind. While waiting for class to start I try and think of different things to keep my mind off of Will, and my mind wanders the new Heathkit ham shack that was supposed to have come today.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

❥ Let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist! ❥

#you'll float queue #stranger things #will byers x reader #reader insert #cosmic #m!cosmic #y/n henderson #will byers #dustin henderson #lucas sinclair #mike wheeler #stranger things x reader #stranger things x male!reader #x male!reader #the vanishing of will byers

[mbti-notes]

Anon wrote: Hi. I hope you had/are having a great summer break. I (INTP) am hoping for some perspective about an issue. Recently, my mother, whom I hadn’t seen in a while, became incredibly frustrated that I corrected her with an alleged “I know everything” attitude.

It’s an issue of concern because she revealed that I always do this. I guess this was the straw that broke it, especially given that what we were discussing was very trivial. (Maybe the frivolousness of the subject is precisely what made my correction seem more pedantic, unnecessary, arrogant.) She says that my attitude disregards her long life experience, and that if she were a stranger, she would think of me as a “snot-nosed brat who knows nothing about life” instead of as a “wise young person”, which is the viable alternative. She said that I am closed-minded and that I shoot everything down. (The problem of small-mindedness is what you addressed the only other time I wrote to you.)

I don’t know why I come off as arrogant. I’m sure that I’m not. I asked my mother what it was that made her think that, which she thought was a silly question because what she sensed was a general demeanor rather than specific behaviors. In the end we were only able to establish that my lack of eye contact was one of those factors. I can work on that, but surely that’s not determinant. What makes people think of others as arrogant? Should I stop correcting people? I don’t correct others in order to feel superior to them. I do it because I like to debate, in order to keep my thinking sharp, and because there is something painful about friends/family having false notions. I think it’s fair to say that my intention isn’t rooted in arrogant soils.

Granted, my suggestion of stopping correcting people is black-and-white, given that there is the grey option of changing the *way* I correct people. I’m just wondering if it’s an unhealthy habit in the first place. But given how prevalent a thought process it is (i.e. questioning people’s statements and finding faults), the process of getting rid of it may be akin to self-directed psychological violence. I mean, this is the same mode of being that makes me good at what I’m good at. (There’s also the option of keeping the thought process, but not correcting people aloud, but I don’t know what else there is to talk about other than analyzing ideas and their faults. Maybe I should analyze ideas for their strengths too, and express that side more than the faults.)

So anyway, let’s go with grey: So far I’ve tried thinking of an arrogant person that I know in order to understand my behavior, but I can’t think of anyone. Also, no matter how hard I try to put myself in someone else’s shoes in order to simulate an interaction with myself, it doesn’t really work, and I can’t see the arrogance, except if I were to just tell someone “that’s wrong” without any explanation. (I wonder if that’s what went wrong in the conversation with my mother.) Either way, this whole issue boils down to the fact that I’m not arrogant by any reasonable criteria that I found online, but that I come off as such. This was longer than intended. Thanks for your kindness and help.

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

Here are some questions for you to reflect on. They are meant to increase awareness of your underlying assumptions, beliefs, and values. Answer honestly:

Do you care about your mom? Do you care about how she's faring, what she's experiencing, what she's thinking or feeling, what she needs and desires, what she hopes for or aspires to, etc?

If you care, how do you SHOW your care to her?

If you don't care, how does that affect your behavior toward her?

Do you believe that the mother-child relationship only goes one-way? (Is it the mom's job to do for you but you owe her nothing?)

You say you like to debate to sharpen your mind. Innocent enough. I like to roller skate to keep myself physically fit. In an ideal world, I would never take my skates off. Does my enthusiasm for roller skating mean that I slap my skates on anywhere, any time? No. Surely it is inappropriate to skate around a hospital or the supermarket. Not only could I seriously harm myself, I would also be exhibiting flagrant disregard for the safety and well-being of others.

What you like to do for yourself sometimes comes into conflict with other people. If you care about people and hope to have healthy and happy relationships with them, you have to take their needs and wants into consideration in every interaction. You have to abide by ethical rules and principles that allow your needs to be met without neglecting the needs of others or interfering with their ability to get their needs met. Without ethics, society wouldn't be able to function, because it would just be a free-for-all.

You mention small-mindedness. It is quite small-minded to walk around the world only thinking about what you need/want. In the best case scenario, you are completely oblivious to others, and they will perceive you as clueless or self-absorbed. In the worst case scenario, you only interact with people for your own personal gain, and that would make you an exploitative or even abusive person. Is that the kind of person you want to be?

Do you basically treat people as though their sole purpose on earth is to debate you and help you sharpen your mind - to serve you? Do you launch into debates with people without asking for consent or checking to see if they want to be corrected? If you do, they will call you arrogant, not because you've put yourself on a pedestal and call yourself superior like an evil cartoon character, but because you are communicating to them that your needs/wants are most important AND you don't give a damn about theirs.

Webster's definition of arrogance: "an insulting way of thinking or behaving that comes from believing that you are better, smarter, or more important than other people". You believe that you know better, otherwise, you wouldn't grant yourself the social authority to intrude on people's boundaries, invalidate their experience, and correct them uninvited. You believe that you are smarter, otherwise, you wouldn't automatically assume the dominant social role of corrector. You behave as though you are the more important member of the relationship because your main priority is YOUR need to feel better (about your skills or about what others believe) while overlooking the other person's needs. Seems like you fit the definition quite well.

Despite that, I wouldn't call you arrogant because I understand that small-mindedness is a difficult problem to overcome. I see the effort that you're putting in to understand it. I'm charitable because I'm not the one who was hurt by your behavior. When people feel hurt, they often have difficulty expressing it. Maybe it comes out clumsily or they aren't able to explain their hurt without hurting you in return. Expressing one's true feelings is to make oneself vulnerable. If someone doesn't trust you to understand and validate their feelings or, worse, they believe that you will attack them for their feelings, they will not be completely honest with you. Your mom is trying her best to give you the benefit of the doubt by saying "if you were a stranger...", but she doesn't feel comfortable enough with you to express her hurt fully and explicitly as it happens. Why? Because the very reason she is hurt in the first place is that you have shown very little regard for her feelings. Following from the previous post of yours, the root of the problem is that you have such a poor understanding of feelings to begin with that you view them as inconsequential in yourself and others (very immature Fe).

I believe you have no ill-intent. I have said before that the typical Ti dom never sets out to hurt people on purpose. Rather, they hurt people unintentionally because their perspective is too small: 1) they don't grasp that other people's needs may be very different from their own and thereby fail to consider them, 2) they don't know how to empathize with different perspectives and validate them, and/or 3) they don't understand that SHOWING love and care is necessary for people to justify continued investment in the relationship.

In other words, Ti doms tend to hurt people out of negligence or acts of omission. Some of them get frustrated at not being able to solve their relationship problems. They might try to convince themselves that doing nothing means that no harm can be done, so they adopt a passive stance in the relationship and perhaps even train themselves to keep their mouth shut (self-violence). They fail to understand that there's more than one way to cause hurt. Instead of learning better relationship skills, they check out mentally and emotionally. Being checked out only makes it worse because you hurt yourself and you keep hurting others by being even less attentive to their needs.

The foundation of meaningful relationships is showing care. In a healthy relationship, people trust you to care for their emotional needs and not violate their personal boundaries. If you only attend to your own needs/wants in social interaction, you are signalling that you don't really care about the other person. This problem with your mom shows that you give little to no consideration for emotional needs and personal boundaries. If you don't want friends, it's entirely your choice to be alone for the rest of your life, pretending that you never leave any footprints behind you. If you want friends, you'll have to put out more effort to be a better friend, by paying more attention to the consequences of your behavior.

Doing things that violate trust and boundaries, even if unintentional, causes hurt. When people feel hurt and don't feel safe to express the hurt, they are liable to say/do negative things. To have good emotional intelligence is to see past the surface of their negative words/behavior and grasp the underlying emotional needs that were unmet and/or the personal boundaries that were violated. Only then can you be a morally responsible member of a relationship, in terms of owning all the ways that you impact people, both positively and negatively.

Arrogant people don't care about the social impact they produce. As long as they get what they want and don't lose anything, the existence of others is of little importance to them. If your mom is important to you, then learn how to show it better by listening to her when she tells you about her needs/wants. You hyperfocus on the literal meaning of the word "arrogant" and whether it is true/false of you, as though proving it false means that there's nothing wrong. You need to listen to the people you have hurt, if you want to understand why your behavior is hurtful. Alternatively, you need to educate yourself about emotional needs, interpersonal boundaries, and what constitutes un/ethical behavior and why.

#intp #intp relationships #inferior fe #arrogance #small minded #communication #social skills #people skills #emotional intelligence #relationships #ask

[saerran-choi]

Sweeter Than Ice Cream

Hi guys! Yes I am alive

-----

Saeran x Reader

Summary: What happens when Saeyoung gets involved in Saerans love life in an ice cream parlor?  

——-

It was the girl at the ice cream parlor who made him change. It was the girl at the ice cream parlor who made him realize he truly was worthy of love. It was the girl at the ice cream parlor with whom he fell in love. 

It was always such a hassle to get Saeran out of the house. After his escape from Mint Eye, and his long recovery, the lighter haired twin still never wanted to leave the safety of the bunker, much to his brothers dismay. 

He had began to grow his hair out from the white, the tips of his hair were pink, and the roots were coming in at a bright red. They were only about an inch grown out, but as his brother would put it, it was a great start. Even if he acted as if he hated the change, sometimes in the morning, Saeyoung would pass by his brother in the bathroom, trying to tame his bedhead, but every time when his brothers eyes would catch onto the reflection of the red roots growing, he could catch the glimpse of a smile on the edge of his brothers lips, before hes angrily shouting and closing the door in Saeyoung’s face, and the only thing he can think to do is laugh as his brother yells at him for peeking. 

It was these memories that Saeran always complained about, how his brother was so annoying, but it was these memories that he truly held onto. They were the memories that played when he couldn’t sleep due to memories of Mint Eye, he would think about how his idiot brother blew up the microwave the day before by accidentally putting the entire bag of chips in the microwave. And every time, he can fall asleep safe, and sometimes he can even fall asleep with a smile on his face. 

To get him out of the house, Saeyoung bribes him with ice cream. The promise of that  sweet treat almost always got his brother out bed and out the door and through the day out with his brother. 

The cling of the bell at the door is the first thing that makes her look up from wiping down the counters of the small ice cream parlor. It was empty, besides from her, which wasn’t strange, due to the fact that it was in the middle of December and there were threats of snowfall. But the could weather couldn't deter Saeran from the idea of such a sweet treat. 

Saeran had always hated the cold. The memories of Mint Eye and the nights in the dungeon on the cold stone floors were always brought up in his mind during the cold weather. He despised it. But in that very moment he could have thanked any god who was out there for the cold weather. He could use that as a self excuse as to why when he made eye contact with the girl behind the counter, his cheeks had dusted into a rosy pink, all the way up to the tips of his ears. He should have been freezing cold, but the only thing he felt was that fiery blush he got when he made eye contact. 

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

When she had gone to work that day, she hadn’t expected it to go this way. It was an average day. Get up, get ready, eat breakfast, or lunch, depending on the day, and head to work. It was a lifestyle. Get up, go to work, go home, sleep. It was a normal cycle for a normal person, and she didn’t like it, but there wasn’t much that could be done. 

The store was slow today, which should have been more obvious. It was mid december, and no one wanted ice cream in the cold weather. She had finished helping one of the regulars, and had just started cleaning the counters when they walked in. Friends? No. They were too similar to each other. Brothers? More than likely. She puts on her customer service smile, and goes to greet them both, 

“Welcome in! Whenever you’re ready just let me know and I’ll be happy to help”. She smiles, unable to keep her eyes from gazing over towards the lighter haired man, and the light blush that dots her cheeks. 

Why can’t I bring myself to look away? 

------

Saeyoung grins as he notices his brother's complexion and the strong gaze between him and the girl behind the counter, knowing full well it wasn’t because of the cold weather, but because of the girl behind the counter. The grin remains on his face as he begins to form a plan in his mind. 

“Saeran, you want the same mint one right? Why don’t you find a table and I’ll order” Saeyoung grins, and he watches his brother go to argue, before just sighing and nodding, shuffling off to go find a table, and much to his brothers surprise, he chooses a seat near the front, and a perfect view of the counter. 

Saeyoung makes his way to the front counter, to which the girl greets him again and he places his order, his eyes never leaving her form as she works to complete it, and he couldn’t help but notice how her eyesight seemed to glance off towards the location of his brother, and how his brothers glance always seemed to be focused on the front counter, and not on the phone in his hands. 

She hands him the cups with the frozen treat in them with a soft smile, going to turn to finish completing her task before the redhead speaks up again. 

“Uh, excuse me?” he asks, his voice having that boyish Im up to no good tone to it. Hearing it, she turns back and gives him another soft smile 

“Is something wrong?” to which he shakes his head 

“Not at all! I just couldn’t help noticing you keep looking over towards my brother-” her face flushes a vibrant pink at his words, and he grins “-and you think he’s attractive right?” he finishes, and her face flushes an even darker red if physically possible, and she felt like it was suddenly summer in the middle of December as she attempts to stutter out a response, while saeyoung laughs. 

--

Saeran felt a slight pang of jealousy at the scene in front of him, the way his brother seemed to have a talent to talking to people, and he was jealous about that, but not in this moment. He didn’t exactly understand jealousy, especially not being jealous of his brother flirting with this girl. He wasn’t exactly a flirty or even outgoing guy, so why did he feel the need to stand and go talk to her, to make her like him more than his brother? The feeling didn’t sit right with him, but yet, that light cozy feeling he felt when he looked at her was something that he enjoyed. 

Is this what-affection feels like? Disgusting. Yet- I never want to be without it again. 

When his brother returns to the table, he practically swipes his cup out of his twins hand, taking a bite, and mumbling something incoherent towards his redheaded twin. 

“Huh? What was that dear brother of mine? You need to speak up more if you want to be heard. I’m sure the pretty lady at the counter can’t hear you at this table. We have enough distance between us.” Saeyoung girns as he stares at his brothers pouting stance. 

“H-How did you talk to her so easily?” Saeran’s eventually able to mumble out, attempting to hide his face from his brother, not because he was embarrassed, but because he didn't want to see his brothers smirk, nor be teased about it. 

“I just did” he grins “I can’t talk you through it Saeran, you just gotta do it yourself. But believe me, she’s had her eyes on you since you entered the building. Go ask for her number, and I’m sure she’d give it to you. Or you can just give her yours.” 

“I-I cant just ask that-” 

“Sure you can! Guys do it all the time!” 

“But-” 

“Oops-” Saeyoung can’t stop the grin on his face when he pushes his brother's cup over and his ice cream splatters onto the floor. He had full intentions to clean it up, he just needed to give his brother a push to talk to her. “Awe you hardly ate any of it. Here, go buy a new one while I clean this!” 

Saeran grumbles but stands anyway to make his way back to the counter to replace his spilled ice cream with a small sigh.

Just ask for her number? Is it really just that simple? 

“What can I do for you?” She gives a soft smile, and he can feel the blush return to his cheeks. 

She’s a lot prettier up close. 

“Y-Yeah- I need two scoops of- uh- mint?” he asks, insteads of states and she nods “Of course, was there- anything else?” she asks 

It’s now or never. 

“Uh- yeah. Actually- there is one more thing-” he says quietly, and she looks up as she hands him his scoops. It the time it took to ask that, she had the opportunity to finish his order. 

“Hm? What is it?”

“I-uh- can I get your phone number?” he’s eventually able to stutter out, and as her cheeks flush pink, she gives a small nod, reaching over to grab ahold of a pen and a stray napkin, writing down the ten digits for her number, and handing it to him with a soft smile. 

“You will call right?” she asks as she hands it to him, and he nods his head, as if eager. 

“I-I will” he states, and she gives a nod of her head. 

“I’m (Y/N)” 

“I’m Saeran” he responds, 

“Well Saeran, I will be seeing you later” she smiles, as another couple makes their way into the shop, and saeyoung wraps his arm across his brothers shoulders, leading him out of the ice cream parlor with a grin on his face. Saeran wasn’t even focused on his brother leading him from the shop, rather he was focused on the napkin he held tightly in front of him as he read the message over and over, as if unable to believe it. 

Call me anytime (: (xxx) xxx-xxx -(Y/N) <3 

The message itself was simplistic but it was the fact that it was written for him, and no one else, that he was the one that caught her attention, and not his loud, outgoing older brother made him even more excited. 

I can’t wait to call her. 

#saeran choi #saeran #msyme #mystic messenger #msyme imagine #mystic messenger imagine #saeran imagine #saeran x reader #saeyoung #saeran ae #saeran route #msyme hc #mysme story #msyme x reader #mystic messenger x reader

[buckysgoldenheart]

Unexpectedly Bitten

Vampire!Henry Cavill x Reader

Summary: Your ex gets into some trouble with Vampires, and his mistakes lead the bloodsuckers back to you. After seeing you, one vampire gets a little attached and he’s taking his time deciding what he plans to do with you, but whatever it is, you’re not afraid. In fact, you might just be a little attached to him too.

Warnings: cursing, smut, violence. (Count on spelling mistakes or repeating words too often. it’s very likely.)

Notes: Let me emphasize this: there is little rhyme or reason to the way this story is broken into parts. I did my best though, and I stuck to 7. I tried not to make each part too long.

This is a Vampire!Henry x Reader story where each chapter, while chronological, is a different conversation or event during the course of their evolving relationship. 

Words: 1310

Part 3: Nighttime Activities

Henry ran into the kitchen the instant the yelp left your lips. The knife in your hand clanged to the floor, breaking the silence surrounding you, and thick red droplets were splashing on the metal of the blade when Henry grabbed your hand in his. You winced and looked up at him.

“What did you do!”

“I was just—”

“What did I tell you, huh? Either Chris or I will cook.”

“I didn’t mean to cut myself.”

“I’d hope not. Now let me see,” He said, slightly irritated as he ran a thumb over your blood-stained palm, careful to avoid the wounded forefinger. “You’re dripping blood all over the floor.”

When he saw the expression on your face, he sighed and rolled his eyes. “I won’t drink all of your precious blood, Lamb. Not unless you ask me to.” Examining the cut closely, he continued. “It’s not a scratch, that’s for sure.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Seal the cut.”

“How?” You tried to yank your hand back, but Henry gripped it firmly.

“Just trust me.” He stared into your eyes, as if he had the ability to bend you to his will.

You tentatively extended your finger to him and he wrapped lips around it, slowly sliding his tongue along the edges of the cut. It stung and your eyes snapped shut, but within a minute the pain subsided to a delicate, tingly heat that seemed to flow into your veins.

When he was done, he slid your finger from his mouth, licked the remaining drops of blood from your palm, and let you go. It was fully healed; only a little, pink scar remaining in its place. The new flesh shimmered dully, reflecting under the light of the kitchen as you angled your hand in different directions. It was beautiful. He’d taken something broken, and with the smallest amount of power, restored it past perfection.

You’d never heard of this, not in the rumors or stories. Then again, something good a vampire could do wouldn’t be found written anywhere. It was unknown and would clash with the ideas had of how horrid they are to humans; how they show them no mercy.

“I won’t deny it though, Lamb. You do taste delicious.” He smirked and you felt the violent blush rising from your chest to your cheeks. Your eyes traveled from his blue ones down to his lips, now coated in your blood, and you had to resist the urge to touch them and feel their plushness.

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

You huffed as you watched Chris flip through the pages of some dusty old tome with a bored expression on his face. He didn’t like this babysitting job, but according to the blond vampire, Henry had begged him to stay behind and watch over you while he went out into the night. You’d all but stomped your foot like a spoiled child when he refused to leave you unprotected despite how well you argued you could take care of yourself.

“This is ridiculous,” You mumbled.

“Yes, it is,” Chris sharply flipped a page, “But Henry seemed laughably desperate for my help.”

“Laughably desperate to make me feel incompetent.” You crossed your arms and slumped back further into the oversized armchair.

“Believe me, sweetness, it’s not about that.”

“Then what is it about?”

Chris looked up and closed the tome with a dusty slam. “Why don’t we play a little game to entertain ourselves, yea? How about we—”

“Do vampires love?”

Chris’s mouth closed fast, and his eyes narrowed at the question. “Now why would you ask something like that?” He asked, and you thought you saw, just for a half-second, a tiny quirk of his lips.

“I’m just curious.”

He hummed, unconvinced, then shoved the book away. “Love is complicated with us. It’s not…common.”

“Why?”

“It’s unusual for vampires to find more in one another than temporary companionship.”

“So, you don’t love.”

Chris chuckled at your ignorance. “We love, but rarely one another, in that way at least. Being a vampire can be a lonely life. Sex is one thing, but true connection is hard to come by.” You couldn’t ignore the twinge of sadness that made its way into his tone, but then it faded, and he said, “Now let me ask you something.”

You nodded.

“Was that blood-bag really your love?”

“At a time,” You said, “Why?”

Chris only shrugged.

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

It was the fifth time Henry had returned just before dawn with a sour mood that would undoubtedly last throughout the day. Usually you slept while he was gone, after you and Chris exhausted all your resources for any potential fun, but not last night. You stayed up, waiting for him out of irritation since he refused to tell you what he was doing, but you weren’t an idiot.

He met your eyes the minute he walked through the front door. The expression on his face did not change despite the obvious tense air circulating in the room, and he crossed his arms, matching your guarded stance.

“Are you making deals for bodies,” You asked. “Is that why you’ve been going out every night?”

He snorted at the clear beginning of a long lecture and slipped the leather jacket off his broad shoulders to toss on a nearby chair. “Don’t worry yourself over it,” He said, and went to walk past you, but you sidestepped, blocking his path the way a feather might a bulldozer. He cocked his head as if amused.

“I’m going to worry if I’m to end up in a group of women for some sacrifice.”

Oh, that made him mad. Everything in him took a sharp shift. His features twisted darkly, and his fangs peeked out. “Why the hell do you think I’m trying to make deals anyway, huh?” He began. “Chris and I need more if I’m not going to give you up. But half of you humans have grown stupid, and you can’t get anything done right! I ought to just start giving the deal makers to the Lord for fucks sake!”

Your eyebrows knitted and your arms dropped to your sides at his explosion. “Why are you so mad?”

“Why am I mad?” Henry all but growled in your face, then louder, said, “Do you think it’s easy to get bodies? If it were so simple then we’d get them ourselves, but your kind don’t go out after dark anymore, so I have no choice other than to make deals! I have to get more, and soon, otherwise you will be sacrificed to the Lord, is that what you want!”

He yelled the way a lion roared, with such ferocity it rustled your hair and threatened to shove you backwards.

“No, but—”

“But nothing!” He snapped. “Let me and Chris handle this. Just keep your nose out of it!”

He moved to slip around your body, but you once again sidestepped in his path, provoking his hefty groan. You placed a firm hand on his chest to make your intentions clear. He wasn’t going anywhere.

You looked at him sternly. “If word got out that you and Chris killed Jason, it’ll be a long while before anyone will be willing to accept any deal you try to make.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Then why did you kill him?”

“He fucked up! He didn’t finish the job!”

“He might have if you hadn’t killed him.”

With a step back, Henry scoffed. “Oh, so now you wish I spared that little pest for you? It’s not like he bartered your life or anything!”

“You didn’t have to let him die.”

“Yes, I did!”

“Why!”

Henry’s face fell at your shout, and he stared at you before shaking his head, then said, “For more than one reason, Lamb. None of which are your business, so let it go.”

---

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[ahkaraii]

tov drabble (1618 words)

“Good fight,” Don Whitehorse compliments. “Not good enough, though.”

Schwann knows when he’s lost. He resorts to a cool, helpless apathy in these moments: a trait characteristic to him since birth.

“Then kill me,” he says without inflection.

“You won’t beg for your life?” Don asks.

“I am already dead,” he says. “There is nothing to beg for.”

“Huh. Interesting.” Don then shrugs his massive shoulders, like saying, ‘what can you do?’. “Aw’right then. Hey! Boys! Give this kid a good Altoskian welcome, and escort him to a cell, will ya?”

Altoskian hospitality is not unlike the Empire’s, Schwann reflects. They knock him around, piss in his water bowl, and don’t give him any toilet paper to wipe his face or his ass during the whole damn stay. Then again, an assassination attempt against his Imperial Majesty would easily warrant a public beheading — here, it seems to equate with seven days of enforced meditation toe-deep in his own shit before being kicked to the curb like nothing ever happened.

“You’re letting me go?” Schwann asks, a faint tone of disbelief in his voice.

“You’re not the first to try to off the Boss, y’know,” the guard explains, “and you won’t be the last. It’s almost a right of passage at this point.”

Schwann must reevaluate the guild’s hierarchy. His intel was clearly missing some rather important information. “Did you also try to kill Don Whitehorse?” he asks, not even meaning it sarcastically.

“Sure,” the guard admits, like it’s nothing. “Though I tried to poison him, myself. Gave the Don a case of the runs and he put a bucket of it in my cell and that was enough to make me not try again.”

Schwann’s just spent a week stewing in his own filth and understands what a powerful motivator the stench of unceasing fecal matter and lack of hygiene can be to a man who once thought himself as dignified. “Huh,” is all he offers. Is that how Don Whitehorse inspires loyalty? By sparing his foes in such a contrived way?

“Now, I’d close my eyes if I were you. Ready? Splash!”

After Schwann’s been waterboarded into smelling a little less like a sewer, the guard escorts him out the door and onto the cobbled street some ways from the headquarter’s main entrance.

“That’s it?” Schwann repeats, still not quite believing it.

“That’s it,” the guard says. “Though if I were you, I’d get a proper wash and new duds. You fucking reek.”

A bed and shower at the inn requires gald he no longer has. And even the filthiest tavern won’t let him in wearing the shit-smelling rags he’s got tattered on by a thread. He’s tired, he’s hungry, and he’s really five seconds away from giving up and taking a nap right there in the street. Where even is he, anyway? Dahngrest is a fucking labyrinth with far too many dead ends.

“You need quick cash, son? I’ll pay you to suck my dick,” a strange man with a caved in nose offers in one such dead-end alley, idly smoking a pipe.

Schwann considers it for all of three seconds before he smoothly says, “I must decline,” and walks off in the opposite direction as fast as his tired calves will take him. It’s barely been a week and he will not fall to prostitution just to get a fucking bath. That guy probably had syphilis, anyway.

“Hey! New guy!”

Schwann would’ve started walking even faster if the pitch of the voice hadn’t distracted him — it belongs to a kid, prepubescently high, gender difficult to tell with the patchwork quilt of nonsense they’ve got on.

“Take this package to Saggitarus,” the kid says, and hurls something at him that Schwann catches out of reflex.

“What?” he asks, but the kid’s already disappeared. Fast little bugger—either that, or great at climbing walls. “What...?” he repeats, staring at the innocuous brown-paper-wrapped box in his hands. It’s about the weight of his pauldron, some two kilograms dense, and rattles like there’s something round inside it. A blastia, perhaps?

“Saggitarus,” he echoes. The tavern?

Is this a test?

Is the Don testing him?

For a moment, Schwann expands his senses, wondering if he’s being followed. He can immediately feel eyes on him, and detect the sounds of muffled laughter in the distance. Then again, that might just be paranoia. He has just spent seven days with no privacy and bored guards idly betting on when he’ll get thirsty enough to drink the piss-bucket. (Shamefully, he only got to two before he succumbed.)

If there’s a blastia in here, maybe he can sell it, or, hell, use it. If Schwann’s already presumed dead and his dignity gone with it, then maybe--

The thought crosses his mind and leaves it without much fanfare. There is a task he has been given, and he shall complete it. “Saggitarus,” he repeats, and twists his ankles in the direction of the last tavern he’d been to. Maybe he can ask for directions there.

“Saggitarus tavern? Heh...y'mean the Sagittarius Tavern? It’s that way, new guy,” says the bouncer stationed outside.

Hm. Does everyone know his task, then?

“Sagittarius, huh? It’s southeast,” another man offers, “follow the music.”

It’s starting to feel like a wild goose chase, and everyone’s in on it. There is no music but distant laughter.

“Naw, new guy, it’s north! Y’know, by the fountain? Surely you passed it already.”

On and on and on, each new direction being interrupted by some new person with eyes on his package and cruelty in their smiles. It’s clear they’re all in on it, and he’s the butt of the joke.

“You’re all fucking with me,” Schwann says monotonously. He’s really quite tired. Honestly, he doesn’t really need a weapon to kill things. If he goes outside the barrier, maybe he could just rip a couple of stray Filifolia monsters into lettuce for a salad and then sell the rest of it for gald enough to pay for hay to rest with the horses…

The thought tantalises him for three seconds before he focuses back to reality. Don Whitehorse has probably already forgotten him. His underlings are the cats playing with the new toy the Don has given them. He’s nothing but fresh meat quickly spoiling.

“You finally give up, new guy?”

It’s the kid who gave him the package. Schwann eyes them more carefully this time. Blond, grey-eyed, and oddly confident in their stance. For being such a pipsqueak, this kid has balls to poke an enemy of the Don while he’s down. Schwann’s dead tired and still quite capable of snapping the kid’s neck like he would a chicken.

“What happens if I say yes?” Schwann asks, lightly.

“I take the package back,” the kid says, and stretches out a small hand riddled with weapon-born calluses. “Hand it over, then.”

“Hm,” Schwann makes as if he’s thinking, and a part of him feels silly but delighted when the brat begins to look visibly impatient. Is this kid the one in charge of his punishment…? “I think not, then.”

“Ugh,” the kid says. “Then hurry up and make it!”

Schwann bows his head like he would to Princess Estellise. “Of course, young Master,” he says, and is rewarded by the kid looking proper startled. Bingo. “I’m afraid I am quite lost, though. Why don’t we both help each other and you get me there, for real this time? That way we can both finally take a break.”

The kid squints at him and then gives an explosive sigh and turns around and starts walking. Schwann follows them leisurely. They walk down faintly familiar streets and end up at the tavern right where Schwann started. The bouncer outside looks just as amused as he did the first time.

“Ah, I see now. Saggitarus is your name, isn’t it?” Schwann says, managing a sardonic smile.

“At your service,” the guy says, and stretches out his hand. “Did you ever find the Sagittarius tavern, then?”

“Your directions were one of a kind, but my sense of direction is quite another.” Schwann plops the brown box unceremoniously into the guy’s outstretched palm. “Here’s your package, Mister Saggitarus.”

“Here’s your payment, Mister New Guy,” Saggitarius says, and flicks him a single gald coin.

“Thanks,” Schwann says without a trace of sarcasm, and turns to the kid. “Y’know where a tired old man could get a bucket of clean water for a single gald?”

“Uh, try the fountain,” the kid says. “Duh.”

“Duh,” Schwann echoes, and can’t help but laugh a little. Duh, indeed. Children above, he’s so tired.

“Hey. New Guy. I’ll throw you enough for a meal if you give Pecan this package,” Saggitarus offers, clearly taking pity on him. “Pecan’s the third waiter on the right at the Sagittarius tavern. You know your way there now, right?”

Schwann’s everything aches, but he’s starting to get the hang of this place now, he thinks. “Sure,” he says. “Throw in an old tunic and I’ll deliver it as fast as these old legs can take me.”

“Do it without causing a ruckus and I’ll give you some new shoes, too,” Saggitarius says.

“You got yourself a deal,” Schwann says, and points his feet towards his goal. He can’t wait to feel a little cleaner and rest enough to regroup and decide his next course of action; if he doesn’t send an encoded message to Zaphias soon, Commandant Alexei’ll probably assume him dead or, worse, a traitor. Till then, it’s nice to have a mission with clear cut instructions.

“Third waiter from the right,” Schwann murmurs to himself, and sets off.

#karaii fic #tales of vesperia #spoilers #just trying to get a hand on writing ol' raven #i'm really fascinated by his first few months at altosk and how he gradually got everyone's trust despite like #yknow #trying to kill the don

[victoria-daydreams]

Of Vices and Virtues

Chapter Seven: Specialty

AN: I meant to post this earlier, but I had errands to run and then I got sidetracked after that. Anyways, enjoy the chapter.

Word Count: 4.6k

Trigger Warnings: none

Taglist: @azayamari​

Chapter Eight: Fun & Games

"You are nothing but a freak!"

"You would be nothing without me!"

"No one wants you!"

I sat up abruptly in my bed, a gasp loudly escaping my mouth as my eyes shot open, sweat caking my hair to my forehead and my clothes to my body. I threw the covers off of me, stumbling out of the bed as I went into a little state of panic before I registered where I was. I was in my cozy bedroom in Charles' mansion, illuminated by the outside sun that shone through the large window.

"He can't hurt you anymore, remember," I whispered to myself.

I slid to the floor, wiping the stray tears off my cheeks and took a couple of deep breaths, my shoulders no longer shaking as violently. I drew my legs up to my chest, arms hugging my knees and face resting on top of my arms. A hiccup escaped me from the hysteria that had seized my body momentarily as I felt the world right itself. I was okay. I was safe.

Ever so slowly, I came back.

I unwrapped my arms from my legs and slowly pushed myself up from the wooden floor and went to my bathroom. Along with the cold sweat, the remnants of my nightmare seemed to cling to my skin like particles of dirt. The sensation of warm water on my skin would hopefully wash away the memories.

Before entering the shower I stared at my reflection, my hand slightly trembling as my fingers grazed over the discoloration around my eye I had received two nights prior. Shaking off my stupor, I quickly went into the shower, shedding my night clothes as if they were on fire. The water stung where it hit the small cuts on my back, but I ignored the pain, blissfully soaking up the warmth it offered the rest of my aching muscles. I scrubbed myself down with soaps and oils, I washed myself at least five times, trying to rid myself of the unpleasant sensation plaguing me.

Five minutes later, I wiped the steam off that fogged the mirror and I found myself looking at a completely different person. Her eyes were bright and she looked comfortable and clean and...Happy. Very happy. She was smiling. I liked when she smiled.

It was my best defense to mask that I was not slowly, painfully slowly, beginning to lose my mind.

~~~x~~~

"I think today is going to well," Charles beamed, after breakfast, everyone had left the kitchen and the two of us cleared the table while everyone changed into their training gear. Ever the gentleman, after collecting all the dishes, he ushered me into the kitchen. "Ladies first," he gestured with his free hand.

"Is that so?" I asked, grabbing the pitcher of syrup and tray of butter. "Thank you kind sir," I returned with a slight curtsy, and a flirtatious smile thrown over my shoulder, as I proceeded towards the fridge. "What's the lesson plan today, Professor?" I joked, sticking the syrup and butter back in the refrigerator.

"Ha ha ha, very funny," Charles drawled, placing the dishes down on the counter and turned the knob to the sink and water streamed out, he placed his hand underneath the water waiting for it to warm up. He squirted soap into the dish filled sink.

I reached out to the dishes on the counter, and with a telekinetic tug floated the dishes over to the sink. The moving dishes startled Charles a bit and I laughed as I walked over to him, rolling my sleeves up.

I scrubbed the first dish, "I'll wash, and you dry," I instructed, handed him the first cleaned dish and a towel. We made skin-to-skin contact, the touch was electric and both of us flinched involuntarily. Charles almost dropped the dish. He looked over at me, just as I turned my head to look at him as well. A smile pulled at his lips and I laughed softly, shaking my head before turning my attention back to the task at hand.

I continued to soap the dishes and Charles dried them in silence. Tension hung in the still air. The only sound came from the running tap. After the eighth dish, Charles finally broke the silence.

"You know, I could set up a course for your telekinesis. It looked like you were struggling there to lift the dishes," Charles gibed with a smile, as he dried off the last dish.

I blinked at him, "Charles, if you weren't such a great masseuse, I would break each and every one of your fingers to show how wrong you are," I leaned back on the counter with a grin. "You are so lucky you have magic hands," I commented, shaking my head.

"Is that all I am to you?" Charles countered with a smile, "Just a pair of magic, telepathic hands that make you putty over my treatment of your feet?"

"Yeah," I answered bluntly. "Face it, pretty boy, this is all you're good for," I shrugged, his blue eyes amused as I raised an eyebrow at the telepath.

"Oh Claudia, love, how you wound me," Charles grinned, placing his hands over his chest where his heart is.

"Would you like a kiss to make it better?" I asked, a smile making its way on my lips.

Charles had a smirk on his lips as well as he moved closer to me, "Is that an offer?" He questioned, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

I bit my lip and smiled as I sauntered up to him, "It could be a promise," I whispered into his ear. "The world may never know," I added, backing away from him with a grin on my face.

~~~x~~~

Closing my eyes, I leaned against the railing, breathing in the cool air. A gentle wind started up and I welcomed it, leaning my face into the soft breeze. It wasn't until I felt another warm body near mine that I turned my head with a raised an eyebrow at the mutant next to me.

"Something I can help you with?" I questioned, focusing my gaze to Erik.

"Is that your favorite line to say?" Erik asked back, and I just smiled, quirking an eyebrow that expressed the answer of 'maybe'. "I want to try something, help me warm up my powers you could say," he began.

"Shouldn't you be discussing this with Charles?" I quizzed, my smile falling slightly as my eyebrows came together, confusion in my eyes.

"Charles, wouldn't exactly agree with what I have in mind. But I think you would," Erik answered vaguely.

"Erik, why do I feel I'll be the guinea pig of this experiment?" I replied wearily a small smile on my face.

"For what I want to try I will need you to trust me," Erik stated, staring deeply into my eyes.

"Trust," I repeated, lazily stretching out my arms in front of me. "That's the foundation of a friendship," I stated, mirroring his eyes. "Are we friends Erik?" I questioned, all joking aside my gaze sincere and intense.

A soft grin appeared on Erik's face and his hand appeared before my abdomen, "Claudia Walker, I would be honored to call you my friend, if you'll have me," Erik affirmed, I mimicked his motion and firmly shook his hand. "Even if you can be a royal pain," he finished smiling at me, as he let go of my hand and I lightly punched his arm. "Come on, follow me," Erik motioned leading us down the balcony steps and towards the back lawns.

"Alright Erik, color me intrigued. What is so special about this training that you needed to give me a disclaimer?" I questioned, crossing my arms against my chest as we came to a stop. Erik reached into his pocket and slowly pulled out a sleek gun and my eyes widened to the size of saucers. "Are you insane?" I exclaimed, my eyes bouncing from the gun to Erik.

"You have nothing to fear, I promise," Erik assured, as the unmistakable click of the safety being turned off was deafening to my ears.

"Easy for you to say, you're not facing the barrel," I quipped, moving my hands to my hips.

He aimed the gun towards me his eyes boring into mine, "Do you trust me?"

I lifted one hand from my hip and pinched the brim of my nose, "This feels like one of those moments where I know I should go with my gut feeling and say 'no', but I have this strange feeling in my heart..." I trailed off, taking a deep breath closing my eyes before opening them again to face Erik. Staring determinedly at him, I repeated his words. "I trust you Erik," his lips quirked up into a smile momentarily, and he nodded his head.

The tension in the air was monumental, his finger slid to the trigger. I knew he could stop it, hell, I could stop it, yet my heart still raced and my hands trembled. BANG! The bullet soared through the air stopping right in front of my heart. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. We both looked towards each other laughter flowing freely from our lips.

"I have to say Erik you sure know how to treat a girl shooting at her with a gun after proclaiming we're friends! I can't imagine what your wedding day would be like with your wife!" I teased smirking.

"Very funny! Don't you forget I could have easily let that bullet hit you!" Erik reminded smiling.

"No, I don't think you'd do that, you see I think I'm growing on you," I challenged, mirroring his smile. "Which is why I want you to shoot me again," I requested, a plan formulating in my mind.

"What?"

"And don't stop the bullet,"

Erik looked at me doubtfully, "You're not serious?" he asked, I could hear the doubt in his voice that matched his expression.

I returned his gaze, a smile lifted the corners of my mouth, "What's wrong? Scared?" I asked smiling, because now the tables were slightly turned. "It's not like you didn't just shoot at me only a minute ago," I reminded smirking, placing my hands on my hips.

Erik regained his stance, "Okay, but you asked for it. Ready?"

I nodded and braced myself. This worked almost every time, hopefully it would not fail now, or I would be dead. That would be unfortunate. The gunshot cracked through the the silence and flew towards me and I heard Erik hold his breath in anticipation. Just before the bullet hit me, I stuck my hand, a violet barrier formed in front of me, and the bullet bounced off of it and onto to the ground

Erik smiled, "Well, I know now not to get any ideas," he noted cheekily.

I dropped my hand and placed it on my hip, "Honestly Erik, I would be offended if you didn't attempt to try at least another time," I quipped, as the barrier vanished into thin air.

Just then I heard quick, light footsteps pounding on the gravel approaching us, Charles emerged from around the corner of the mansion.

"What are you two doing?" Charles asked, gasping for breath.

I quickly glanced at Erik before returning my stare to Charles, "Trusting each other," I answered simply, with a shrug.

~~~x~~~

Five minutes later, the three of us had entered the mansion. Erik and Charles went to the library to play a match of chess and plan out new training's for the younger mutants and I found myself in the kitchen facing the back of Moira, she was doing dishes, obviously just having finished eating lunch herself. I hadn't eaten since my time spent with Erik, and I could feel my stomach rumbling painfully.

"Afternoon Moira," I greeted, stepping forward to a cupboard and grabbed a cup.

Moira greeted me in return with a smile, "You gave Charles and I quite the scare when we heard gunshots," she stated still smiling, as she dried her hands on the towel next to the sink.

"Oh, come now, I can't take all the credit. Erik was the one that actually fired the gun," I quipped returning her smile, as I poured myself a glass of water from the sink.

I set the glass down on the island and moved over to the fridge, opening the door I stared at the array of food available, still partly overwhelmed by the sheer amount of choices I had. Grinning, I grabbed a jar of mayo and slices of ham proceeded to make a sandwich. As I prepared my meal Moira turned her back to me, focusing on her dishes. Which gave me time to observe her and the burning question that had been in my mind since we arrived at the mansion.

"Why is Moira still here?" I thought. "After everything she has seen I expected her to turn on us the way most humans do when they're scared,"

I decided to voice the thoughts that had been floating through my mind, "Moira...why are you still here?" I asked curiously, screwing the lid back onto the mayo and Moira's body stilled at my question. "I mean after what you saw with Shaw and the Hellfire Club, not to mention the destruction of the CIA facility, why did you decide to trust us and still want to work with us?" I clarified, as Moira turned to face me.

Moira looked at me like the answer was obvious. "I was being realistic, I mean there's good and bad in all of us. Mutant, not mutant, Black, White, man, woman–it doesn't matter," she answered.

"If you were realistic you would have picked up and left. No one in their right mind would stay and help us," I said bluntly, though my intention was not to be rude. "Hell, if I were a normal human, I'd probably wouldn't if we're being honest," I confessed, before going back inside the fridge, placing the mayo down.

Moira leaned back against the sink, The reason I trust you, the reason I trust all of you is because you're you," she answered sincerely, and I didn't detect any dishonesty in her statement.

"You know what? I respect that," I stated, nodding my head. "Thank you for your honesty Moira," I smiled.

She returned a smile of her own, "No problem. I just hope the feeling is mutual," Moira had said it jokingly, but it sounded more like a question.

"Of course I respect you Moira," I addressed her, flashing a smile. "Just as long as you don't get the romantic idea of you being able to help us will somehow make you the savior of mutants," I explained, and arched a challenging eyebrow.

Moira shook her head side to side vehemently, "Oh no, never!" she concurred.

"Good," I answered, and flashed Moira another smile.

~~~x~~~

I was bored. So very bored. I could envision what the other occupants of the mansion would be doing right now. Alex was probably storming around the mansion aimlessly, taking his anger out on whatever objects happened to be within kicking distance. Raven was staring at herself in a mirror, Hank locking himself up in the lab, Sean running off to probably get stoned. I could see Charles curled up in a chair reading a novel with a cup of tea and Erik was probably in his room plotting multiple ways to kill Shaw. And who knows what Moira does, maybe she reads files in her spare time?

I watched from the window as the rain fell, clouds had rolled in and the sky darkened making the once bright, sunny day, dreary. Then came the rain, the sky had opened up about an hour of ago and showed no signs of stopping. The rain fell steadily, drops running down the windowpane I was in front of. Music from the radio played softly in the background and it reverberated throughout the living room.

"So why exactly are we here?" Sean asked from behind me.

I twirled around lowering my knuckle from my mouth and faced the four mutants behind me, "I wanted to have some fun since the rain has canceled training for today," I explained, shrugging my shoulders. "Speaking of training, I've been wanting to practice an ability of mine," I added, walking closer to them.

"And what would that be?" the redhead boy questioned curiously.

"My ability to create illusions," I answered smiling. "I can change how something looks, I can make people see what I want them to, make them believe or feel something that not there or that's not true. I can make things appear out of thin air, although somethings are harder than others," I finished, interlocking my arms behind my back.

"Awesome! Show us!" Sean cried in delight, I smirked, this was gonna be fun.

"Who wants to be my guinea pig?" I asked grinning wickedly, and tented my fingertips together, tapping them lightly. I was met with silence. It wasn't surprising from my smile and sinister finger tapping that no one would want to volunteer. "Fine I'll pick," Hmm. Who shall I pick on? I looked at them until my eyes landed on my favorite red head and smirked. "Sean, get up," I ordered, pointing at him.

"Aw! What! Why me?" he groaned getting up as everyone else laughed.

"Because you were the one who was so eager to see my power," I responded to him. "Don't worry. You won't be the only one who's going to be my victim," I carried on still with a grin on my face.

"Victim?" he balked as everyone else shouted out a, "What!" or "Come on!"

I focused on Sean and trapped him in my stare and watched the blank look manifest in his eyes. I closed my eyes and thought about I wanted him to do for the next minute or so and implanted it into his mind. My eyes snapped open and he burst into motion. Sean quickly crouched down, placing his hands on the floor and began panting as if he were a dog. Everyone burst out laughing and I joined. He started spinning around as if he were chasing his imaginary tail. He then turned his attention to Raven. She let out a firm "No" before Sean pounced on her, grabbed her hand and started repeatedly licking it.

"EWWWWW! GET HIM OFF! GET HIM OFF!" Raven started screaming in a mix of disgust and humor as the rest of us carried on laughing.

Sean then whipped around to Alex, quickly crawling over before he started to hump his leg.

"OH MY-! CLAUDIA GET HIM OFF!" Alex yelled at me whilst he attempted to keep Sean at bay. By now Raven, Hank, and I were hysterically laughing, Raven even had tears streaming down her face.

Finally Sean backed away and sat back on his chair, the blank look coming over him before he was released from my illusion and he looked around at all of us.

"That was awesome!" he laughed. "Apart from the humping, obviously. Sorry man,"he apologized looking at Alex who looked traumatized, whilst everyone still laughed. "It was weird like I knew what I was doing but I couldn't stop it. And there was a purple tint over my vision. Does that happen every time you do that?" He asked.

"Yep," I told him as I sat back down. "Anyone up for another game?" I asked smirking, looking around.

"NO!" the four of them yelled in unison.

"Oh come on," I began. "I was thinking about a harmless game of hide and go seek," I stated, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. "What do you say?" I asked.

"I'm in!" Raven cheered.

"Me too!" Sean agreed.

"Why not," Hank murmured.

"No powers!" Alex demanded, and I raised my hands in surrender.

"No powers," I repeated, nodding my head in agreement. "Not it!" I called quickly, standing up from my seat. Everyone followed my lead except for Alex because he called 'not it' too slowly. "All right Alex, you know the rules. Cover your eyes and count to fifteen since this place is so huge," I said, slowly backing away from him.

Alex grumbled under his breath and covered his face with his hands

"One," Alex began, and everyone in the living scattered in different directions.

"Two," As quietly as possible I bounded up the grand staircase and swiveled my head from left to right, looking down at each side.

"Three," I moved down the hallway and decided to hide in the last place that Alex would like. Feeling quite proud of myself I reached the door to my hiding spot. I opened the door without even bothering to knock, and spun around closing the door both quietly and quickly at the same time.

I leaned my head against the door momentarily and smiled, lifting my head from the door I turned and quickly glanced around the room. It was a lot like mine, the only difference being the strong masculine cologne that floated in the air. I spotted a cozy chair arranged near the fireplace and made my over to it sit down in the chair, only to be startled out of doing so by a familiar voice.

"Please don't," whipping around and looking down at the chair, I found one Charles Xavier sitting with his left leg over the right, where he had not been just seconds ago and grinning like a loon. "Sorry for the deception, love, but I was curious to see who was quickly approaching my door,"

I crossed my arms against my chest, "But why hide yourself?"

"You're playing hide and seek with the children, are you not?" Charles asked grinning.

"I was thinking of it as more of a training exercise," I replied, my lips forming into a smirk, "They don't know it, but I'm teaching them to think outside of the box," I explained. "Although, I think making yourself invisible is cheating Charles. No powers remember?" I pointed out.

Charles' lips upturned into a smile, "Out of all of the rooms in this house, why did you choose my room, Claudia?"

"Because I knew no one would be bold enough to try," I retorted.

"No one except you," Charles smirked.

"No one except me," I repeated grinning.

"I shouldn't have expected less," the telepath chuckled, his eyes sparkled with mirth. I opened my mouth to respond, but he just put his finger to his lips. "You'll thank me in a moment," he whispered, and almost simultaneously his bedroom door was opened by two familiar blonde headed mutants.

Alex and Raven both looked directly at me, but yet made no comment, it was like...I was invisible. I felt a small smile begin to work at my mouth and I looked back at Charles who mirrored my expression as he had two fingers on his temple.

"I thought you said you heard talking," Alex stated, slight frustration in his tone. "Because there is no one in here," he added, stepping in the room and checking the most obvious spots to hide like the closet, bathroom, and underneath the bed.

"I swear I did!" Raven exclaimed. "Maybe it was just the music I heard," she suggested, as Alex walked back to door.

"Maybe," he agreed, closing the door behind him.

Charles and I waited for about thirty seconds before erupting in soft laughter, "This house is enormous, this is hardly a fair fight," Charles pointed out, and I merely shrugged. "There's never been a dull moment in this house since you got here Claudia," he smiled, brandishing a book that had previously escaped my notice. "Can I assume you're the one responsible for the mayhem downstairs about five minutes ago?" Charles inquired.

"I wanted to further explore my abilities," I answered smiling. "Do you mind a companion?" I asked.

"Not at all, provided you don't try to sit on me again," Charles quipped, before looking back down at his book.

I glanced around the room seeing there wasn't another chair for me to sit.

"I might have to," I thought.

And so, it was with a small smirk that I sidled up the handsome man before me, and slid down into his lap just as Lena Horne cooed ‘Stormy Weather’ from the record player in the corner of the room.

Charles nearly jumped out of the chair, "Claudia! Wha-What are you-"

I looked up at him, "There were no other chairs, so I'd figure we could share," I explained, before raising my brows at him and watching a red flush crawl up his neck.

He swallowed thickly but managed a cool smirk of his own, "Is that so?" Charles asked, cocking his head to the side. His book slowly slipping out of his grasp and onto the floor with a soft thud.

My fingers moved to his shirt, straightening it out and brushing the strands of hair from his face, "Very much so," I smirked, flipping my hair over my shoulder. I leaned closer to Charles, my lips close to his ear, "Stormy weather. Just can't get my poor self together. I'm weary all the time, the time. Yes, weary all the time," I sung, slowly raising my knee until it brushed his crotch, my teasing, mischievous nature coming into play.

This harmless flirting had to peak eventually right?

His Adam's apple bobbed up and down, "T-This is inappropriate," Charles' breathing hitched.

"How so?" I breathed out. "You're surely weren't thinking that this morning," I reminded.

"Well, I'm not going to deny that you are the most amazingly beautiful woman I have ever met-" Charles began.

"Oh how you flatter me Charles," I smiled.

"I've also been thinking about how I'm much older than you," Charles continued, and I rolled my eyes before pulling my head back to face Charles.

"I've been with old men before Charles," I drawled.

"Are you calling me old, Claudia?" he questioned, his lips quirking into a small smile.

"I never did such a thing, you called yourself old, Charles," I retorted, tilting my head slightly.

He chuckled and looked at me, his intense blue gaze that was fixed upon my own. I glance down at his lips and back to this eyes and he did the same as I leaned forward, our lips barely touching.

Charles lifted one of his hands and caressed my cheek softly, "While I want nothing more to claim your lips with my own," he sighed, pulling away from me. "Let's not rush into things, love," Charles suggested gently, a small smile gracing his features.

I recognized the look in his eye as he smiled at me. Charles Xavier may have been abnormal in almost every other aspect of his life, but when it came to attraction and women, he was exceedingly normal. And for the first time in years the thought of a man being attracted to me suited me just fine, especially one who said there was no need to rush.

I exhaled deeply and nodded my head, "If that's what you want," I conceded, pulling my head back as well. "Well, guess I was right," I mused, and Charles furrowed his brow. "The world may never really know when you're going to get that kiss," I smirked.

Charles grinned and I contented myself with him wrapping an arm around my waist as he read to me, all the while watching in amusement every time one of the children came in and searched the room over, each more frustrated than the last.

Chapter Nine: Challenges

#x-men fanfiction #black fanfiction #x-men fanfic #charles xavier fanfiction #charles xavier x oc #black!oc #magneto x oc #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr #erik lehnsherr fanfiction #erik lehnsherr x oc #black!reader #x men fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel imagine

[hyrule-kingdom-updates]

Can we get some spare Launo headcannons for July?

Launo sucked big time at knight school when he first arrived—he didn’t exactly have any background help given no one in his family was a knight either. He was basically assigned the equivalent of “equipment manager” during the first few months. And when he did get proper actions with a broadsword or a bow, Launo struggled with footwork and precision and all the minute details of a duel so he often got his ass handed to him.

But one the top kids in Launo’s class thought he was cool anyways—that was, one Arcadius Hartell. Pretty, rich, ace with sword, bow, spear, and anything sharp, and pretty much had no flaws or weaknesses. Launo at first thought the guy was just pitying him, the kid who has never won a single sparring match and consistently put on training dummy duty (that is reattaching their heads when they got lopped off)

So it came as a bit of a surprise when Arcadius came to ask something from him.

“How do you do that?”

Launo turned from the training dummy he was working on. “S-Sorry, what?”

“The...the thing you do. With the...thing?” Arcadius pointed to the needle and thread Launo was holding as he was reattaching the dummy’s forearm. “How do you do that?”

Launo scrunched his eyebrows in confuzzlement. “This is, uh, well. It’s just sewing I guess. If this guy were real I guess it would be stitching, haha...” He patted the dummy’s wood shoulder playfully as if joking with a pal—the dummy immediately tipped over, Launo coughed and stepped in front of the mess to ignore it. Arcadius nodded thoughtfully.

“So, do you have a special technique or something?”

“I mean, not really, it’s just regular old sewing...”

“But I assume you’ve spent years training on the art.”

“I...uh...I guess? My mom taught me.”

“Oh! So it’s like...an apprenticeship...?”

“...Are you under the impression that sewing is some sacred gift that gets passed down to the worthy or something?”

“.........no....”

The two boys just stood awkwardly for a moment longer, Launo studying Arcadius’ face.

“You don’t even know what sewing is do you?”

“O-Of course I do! It’s the...thing.” He made a sword motion with his fingers, as if wielding a tiny blade. “You stab the stuff and it repairs. With the...” Arcadius squinted as he thought for a moment, “...stool...”

“Spool?”

“Yeah! That! So, look, you’re pretty skilled at everything—“

“I am??” Launo took a step back in shock.

“Yeah! You always fix the equipment, and somehow haul around all those weapons, and make us cool lunches—“

“I don’t know, I made Rubeo vomit last week cause I forgot he hates blueberries...”

Arcadius shook his hands. “N-Not the point. And he sort of deserves it. The fact is you’re obviously leagues ahead of the game—“

“I—Actually I wouldn’t say—“

“—so you just gotta teach me everything you know!” Arcadius pumped a fist and closed his eyes. “How could I ever call myself a knight if I don’t even learn the basics of equipment management! Who will mend the wounded holes in my soldier’s pride if I can’t even fix the tears in my uniform! A mountain’s peak is equivalent to the shallow shore if you have no bearing of the heights you soar.”

Launo blinked. “Are you...okay?”

Arcadius scratched his head. “Aha...sorry. That’s a quote from Aria Nori’s newest volume. Guess I was too into the moment there.”

“Oh! The Zora poet! I’ve read her stuff! I haven’t read her latest volume, but my dad often binds her books—“

“Really?!” Arcadius’ eyes were suddenly star struck. “That’s so cool! This is all the more reason you gotta teach me this stuff.” He waved again at the collapsed training dummy. “Maybe start with the beetle and thread.”

“Needle. D-Do you not know what a needle is?”

Arcadius’ eyes glazed over. “...no...oh my gods that’s not gonna be on the test is it?? I’m so screwed—“

“Nonono it’s not, I’m just...” Launo bit his tongue. Now that he thought about it, he never really saw anyone else in his class do mundane house chore stuff. They were far too busy sharpening swords and bragging about their parents or grandparents or great uncles or cousins that totally were war heroes and high ranking political figures. Sewing could just be a Hateno thing, could it..?

“Can’t you just hire someone to teach you?” Launo started. “I mean, I’m super flattered! Just that, I’m not exactly a master at this, so I’m sure there are adults out there that are more accomplished.”

Arcadius hung his head. “I don’t think my dad would let me...Pretty much everything not sword related he just hires someone to do for me. And he’s super picky about what training I focus on.”

“Well it’s not really official training, it could just be a hobby.”

The boy raised an eyebrow, sounding out the word. “H...Hob...?”

“O-OK, just forget that. H-How about...” Launo didn’t meet his eyes as he absentmindedly kicked the dirt. “Y-You like poetry, right? You can come over to my house and look at my dad’s collection. And when we’re there, I can let my mom...” He scrunched his eyes, trying to nail down the words, “...apprentice you? On the...art, of sewing?”

Arcadius’ eyes were wide enough to reflect the heavens themselves. “R-Really?? You’d do that??”

“I don’t see why not. It’ll be after call and,” Launo’s eyes suddenly sparked, “...You can just tell your dad that you’re training me! Say that you were asked to help your fellow classmates cause you’re already so far ahead from everyone else.”

Which isn’t exactly a lie, Launo thought, bitterly.

“Hmm...” Arcadius tapped his chin, before shrugging. “Might have to tweak the explanation to ‘getting extra credit for top grades by tutoring’ cause I don’t know how he’ll feel about me helping the competition.” He articulated the last word with a mocking, adulting tone. Then he held out a hand. “But I think it sounds like a deal! I’ll give you some pointers, and you introduce me to your mentor.”

“My mom.”

“Yeah, that.”

Launo shook his hand, still a bit timidly, given he now noticed that a few other boys in the training yard were watching the prodigy student interact with the glorified janitor boy.

So they both tutored each other: Larc, in the art of knowing what sewing magic was (Larc bringing the most expensive and ornate needle Launo had ever seen, even though Larc claimed he just found it in his father’s closet) and brewing delicious broths (“Wait, you have to stand around this pot for hours and cook this stuff?? I thought you just made soup in a bowl! You know, like how servants take off the silver cover on the tray and the soup is already there?” “We...dont have waiters or anything...so our method of cooking different.”) Meanwhile, Launo was able to make some progress with knight training—keyword, “some.”

“Don’t make your stance so wide.” Arcadius shoved Launo’s back foot with his boot. “Keep your feet closer together, you only want enough distance so that your front foot can hover an inch off the ground while your back foot stays planted. Any further, and you’ll topple too easily.”

Launo adjusted his stance as instructed, and readied the rapier again. He set his jaw. “OK. Come at me!”

Arcadius nodded. He picked up the wooden sword and swung (a bit slowly and wide) at Launo’s side.

Launo immediately shoved his rapier point left to counter his attack, but instead moved with such force and vigor that he practically fell onto Arcadius’ blade.

Arcadius chuckled, dropping the sword and helping Launo up again. “You don’t need to use to much force when you swing. In fact it’s better to work with simple quick movements with any rapier or piercing sword, since the damage is done by the tip, not the weight.”

“S-Sorry...” Launo mumbled as he got up again.

“Don’t be! Oh hey!” Arcadius suddenly went back around towards the pile of weapons and pulled out a claymore. “Actually, maybe a sword like this will work better for you! You won’t have to worry as much about holding back, or being finesse. All the power is in that downward swing—!” Arcadius swung the sword into a nearby log to demonstrate, nearly cutting it asunder.

He offered it to Launo. “And don’t let the size fool you, it’s not actually that heavy. Large weapons still need to let soldiers be quick enough to parry and block attacks.”

Launo turned the claymore around in his hands, studying the blade and handle.

Arcadius gestured to the log. “Well, go on! It’s similar to the grip I taught you with the broadsword, but this time you use your other hand in the bottom to support the weight as it turns on an axis. Try that downward swing I showed you!”

Launo paused for a moment, thinking. Then, he planted his foot down, and swung the claymore down with all his might, aiming for another soon-to-be piece of firewood.

The claymore whistled as it fell, and it cut into the log deep—about halfway. Yet, still not nearly as deep as how Arcadius had done it.

Nonetheless, he was hopping with joy for Launo. “That was awesome!! You did great!!”

He sighed as he left the claymore in the log. “No I didn’t...”

“What are you talking about? That was probably the best blow you’ve done all night!”

“Yeah! And it’s not even a quarter of the damage that you did with your swing!”

“Well, it still took me a while to—“

Launo gestured to the other log. “It’s been how many weeks?? And I’m not even CLOSE to being as good as you, much less being a top student...” He plopped into the dirt and laid himself out like a starfish.

Larc stood over him, confused. “Why would you want to be a top student?”

“BECAUSE I SUCK ASS, DUDE!” Launo held up his arms, exasperated. Larc, on instinct, stepped back and held his hands close to his chest as he fiddled with his thumbs and mumbled an apology. Launo immediately sighed.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound like I’m mad at you. You’re really great, Link. You’re so nice to me and you’re talented and I’m so grateful, but I’m just...” He shifted in the dirt again. “I don’t think I could ever be like you. I’d even dare to say it’s impossible.”

Larc stilled, playing with his thumbs, before daring to step closer and sit in the dirt beside him.

“Can I tell you a secret, Launo?”

He was quiet, but he nodded a yes.

“I think my brother’s a stronger fighter than me.”

Launo furrowed his eyebrows confused, but he continued.

“He just never takes his knight training seriously, because of my father. But I bet if he really tried, he’d be great at it.”

Ah. So that’s what he meant.

“But I AM trying.” Launo whined. “I guess compared to you it doesn’t seem like much but—!”

“Nono! Sorry that’s not what I meant!” Larc quickly cut in. “I just...” He trailed off.

“...There’s a reason I have to be the best.” Larc finally said. He was looking out into the woods, but Launo felt that he wasn’t really looking at anything in particular, maybe deep in thought. “There’s a reason I can’t settle, I can’t rest. It’s really important that I get this all right. And I guess that makes me admirable to most people but...”

He looked down at Launo, still spread out in the dirt. “I didn’t really choose to be a knight, unlike you. I didn’t actually choose to be the best, and I don’t get why so many people do train to be at the top out of their own violation. It really...sucks ass.” He articulated the last part in Launo’s tone, and they both giggled.

“So...I guess that I’m trying to say here is that...” He thought one his words a moment longer. “I think so many people are afraid of trying new things, because they fear not being the best at it, not being at the top. And I suppose ambition is good but...” He tilted his head and shrugged at Launo. “As someone who’s supposedly at the top, I would say I envy anybody that can make progress that their proud of. You choose to be a knight, and you’re training for it out of your own strength and courage. That’s more than I’ll ever have, so you should probably get off the ground and realize that soon.”

Launo’s eyes widened, a bit unnerved by how uncharacteristically blunt Larc was being.

“In my opinion, anyone that aims to be better than everyone is stupid—maybe that’s just me, but...I would think that if I was you, I’d be proud of any progress I made. If I was more skilled than I was yesterday, that’s really all I would care about. Why would I care about being the top of my class? I would kill to just be satisfied with being a better me.”

There was silence as the boys took in Larc’s words. Then he suddenly stood up. “G-Goddess Hylia, sorry I’ve been talking for so long, I didn’t realize how late it was getting.” He went to collect his things. “You can keep the claymore, I think you’d be great at it, just...”

Larc packed his swords and backpack, before turning back to the flopped out Launo. “...I think you’re really cool, Launo. So don’t tap out for my sake—I’m not the person that matters in your training, am I? So don’t give up for any silly reasons like that.”

Launo perked his head up to meet his gaze. While Arcadius was usually serious and controlled during training at school, Larc always seemed to have genuine excitement about swords when it came to him. The bright smile on his face caused his cheeks to warm and he immediately flipped his head back to hide it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Launo!” Larc ran off into the night, a cobblestone streets in the distance swallowing his figure.

“See you...” Launo whispered.

He lay in the dirt a moment longer—his mother would probably berated him for the stains again—when he finally got up and looked at the claymore in the log. He walked up to it and observed it further, it was another a sixth of the way deep. He glanced at Larc’s log, which was nearly split in two, and sighed. Then he glanced back at his own work.

“Well, it’s better than when I first started I guess...” Launo mumbled.

No one responded.

The boy let out a huff, and gripped the sword again in his hands.

“But I can do better.”

By the time Launo was 16 he was finally beating his classmates with ease, specializing in longswords, axes, and hammers. And while he definitely still “sucked ass” in things like archery and lance work—to which some boys still teased him for—he found overtime that he no longer cared about what they thought. They had their strengths, and he had his. And to top it off, absolutely no one in the academy could make a lemon cookie like him. So at least he had the best in show for that angle.

Even years later, after certain incidents transpired concerning House Hartell, Launo always welcomed Larc to his house for “training.” Although after a while, it would be hard to still call it that when a large chunk of time is really just spent running their fingers through each other’s hair.

“But we’re friends, right?”

“Yeah.”

And even years after graduating as part of the top ten in his class and working as a knight, some of his old classmates would tease him for being the “rich boy’s lap dog,” Launo would find that he still really didn’t care—after a punch or two was thrown, of course. He found that his new lack of anxiety and concern heavily stemmed from that night, when Larc had told him about his envy for choice and satisfaction. Thinking back at the memory of his handling with a sword and his happy little smile once made Launo blush so hard his father teased him about it for the rest of his life—his mother claimed he went so red he would fit right in with the tomato stew. One of these days, Launo would pay Larc back for the endless teasing he got from his parents. And pay Larc back he would, indeed.

I mean, he already had the ring.

#hku spoilers #Launo Birch

[butiaintgonnaloveem]

Keep Me Company

Pairing: Arthur Ketch x Reader

Word Count: Approx 3300

Warnings: Adult language and situations, non-overly graphic sexual times

A/N: Written and submitted for @wi-deangirl77​‘s That’s Some Supernatural Schitt writing challenge. Thanks for being patient!! And my gosh, @plaidstiel-wormstache​ was a magician with her beta skills.

Set sometime after S12. Arthur Ketch and the woman in this story have an established relationship. You know how it goes, something casual develops into something more...maybe.

Arrogant.

That’s what he is, but the word’s not sharp enough to be an insult. Not one he’d care about anyway.

“You seem a bit wound up. Something on your mind?” he asks.

She wants to tell him that she hates him. It’s the easy thing to do. It’s not even like he’s a good person, but it wouldn’t be true and he’d see it for exactly what it is - antagonism.

Always polite, patient, and god damn glorious in bed. He’s done nothing outright to deserve such wrath, either. Except for doing nothing out of the ordinary at all.

“How so?” she tries for casual and evidently fails based on the look of annoyance he throws her way.

“You’re quiet. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re bored.” 

“Well…” she trails off, unsure of what to say or how to say it. She knew what came next - sex. Of course, before that there were drinks. Her glass would never be empty, from bar to table to the hotel suite, which is not usually the issue. Then there was dinner, followed by a dessert that would be left unfinished at the table. As she mulls it all over, she wonders if maybe that was where this night went wrong; unfinished thoughts clouded by alcohol, or maybe the wine was too relaxing. Either way, the brain to mouth filter malfunction was unstoppable.

“You should be nicer to me,” she blurts out.

That gets an eyebrow lift in response, then a squint as he thinks over her words. “I do believe I have behaved like the gentleman I was raised to be.”

“That’s not,” she heaves a sigh as she collects her thoughts, “I don’t mean it like that.”

“Then by all means, please elaborate,” he says as he sets the cloth napkin on the table and sits back. He’s letting her pick this fight and he knows it.

“I don’t appreciate being put on the spot.”

“I don’t appreciate my companion keeping secrets from me.”

That word. So emotionless and generic. It’s what sets her off.

“You know that you sound like Humperdinck?”

“What?”

“Your voice, your accent. You sound like Prince Humperdinck from ‘The Princess Bride.’ He was an arrogant asshole too.”

His lips purse and she watches the corner of his mouth twitch. “What, exactly, does that have to do with our evening?”

“Nothing. It just annoys me.”

He scrutinizes her, “I see.” He calls for the check and doesn’t bother to initiate further conversation. He still gets up first and helps to pull out her chair for her. Then guides her with a hand at her waist, and steps forward to open doors.

The car ride is silent aside from the quiet music playing and while it’s not comfortable, she’s also foolishly not telling him the night is over. Her back aches from the tension and from twisting her body to face away from him and toward the window. The dark tinted glass doesn’t give much of a view of the outside, but she can watch his reflection from time to time as it catches the light and catches him with that damn smirk of his.

Arrogant and smug, what a combination.

When they finally make it into the hotel suite, he drops the careful grin he used in public, twisting his neck with obvious annoyance.

“Well now, shall we talk like adults or do you plan to insult me for the evening?” He pulls the door closed behind her and then moves to the closet, meanwhile she stands still in the entryway of the suite, stubborn. 

“I can do both.”

“As fun as that sounds, it’s not what I had in mind for our time together.” He removes his jacket and hangs it in the closet, smoothing down its front before turning back to her.

“Right, because that would mess up your routine, and here we are already ahead of schedule.” She turns so the zipper of her dress is facing him, “Go ahead, let’s do this.”

He pauses with one hand at the knot of his tie, ready to loosen it. Again, the look of scrutiny aimed her way. “Ahead of schedule? What does that mean?”

She turns to him and sighs, her expression flat, she was fed up. “It means, Arthur, that every time we do this, it’s the same thing. A call, a fancy dinner, drinks, dessert, then back to the hotel suite, another drink, you undress me and then we end up in bed.”

“It’s more than that,” he argues half-heartedly, “And you’ve never left unsatisfied.” It almost sounds like a question, or perhaps an accusation.

“That’s true, but…”

“But what?” he steps closer, hands in his pockets and face unreadable.

“Does this mean anything to you?” Her face burns hot, hating herself immediately for how needy it sounds.

He stares, his face unchanging. His breathing measured and posture the usual - upright and commanding. 

Her body burns hot and cold while her stomach twists and flips. She’s afraid to move because just about anything might set off the instinct to cry at the moment, either from anger or embarrassment. She tries to keep the tremble from her voice as she asks the next question on her mind. 

“Maybe this one is easier: would you miss me if you never saw me again?”

“You know that in this line of work--” He begins, calm, rehearsed, but it angers her further.

Arrogant, smug, and standoffish.

“I am not asking for promises. Jesus Christ, I know exactly how things are, I don’t need a speech about how we might die on a hunt, about how we need to focus on the bigger picture. Okay? I know all of that.” Her face falls, “I also know that you are not the heartless killing machine that people describe you as.”

He opens his mouth to deny it but she cuts him off. 

“No! No, Arthur. I mean, yes, you kill, but you’re allowed to care for people too. Like it or not, you cared for Toni in some way I will never understand, and,” she hesitates, “And there was Mary Winchester.”

He visibly reels just at the name, but does well to keep control over his reaction, not letting much more out even as he speaks. “Why? Admitting something like that puts us both in danger, allows others to use it against you, and for what? A moment of happily ever after? To satisfy your curiosity or to feel as though you’ve won?”

“You’re not void of emotion, no matter how hard those bastards tried to beat it out of you. I feel like you care, and I’ll admit that I want you to. But whether you honestly do or don’t, I just don’t want to feel like a whore you pay for with an expensive meal and a hot shower. If nothing else, don’t you at least consider me a friend? Or is ‘companion’ really the best I am ever gonna get?”

In a blink, he resets to a more neutral expression, lips only slightly pursed as he thinks. “Is all this really because I called you my companion at dinner?” He turns and moves to a marble counter, pouring the bourbon into two tumbler glasses. He hands one to her and out of habit, she takes it, hand trembling, holding it to her chest as she watches him take a large sip. 

“I don’t need you to tell me anything that isn’t true.” Her gaze drops to the amber liquid in the glass, “I don’t need promises or anything else. But, what I do want is to know that I am not just a placeholder, or a warm body.” Looking back up, she checks he’s listening, seeing if her words are hitting their mark, “I care about you, and I would sure as hell miss you if you left my life after tonight. I just...I just want to know that...God this all sounds so much worse than I imagined.” She turns and paces away, fingers swiping along her bottom lashes to collect the tears gathering.

“I thought you weren’t asking for promises,” he accuses.

“I’m not!” She erupts. She immediately realizes it was the wrong reaction as he squares his shoulders and widens his stance for an argument. After taking a sip and letting it slowly roll down her throat, she softens her tone and tries another approach, “I’m asking for emotion, for you to tell me what you’re feeling.”

“I’m afraid I don’t see a difference.” 

Arrogant, smug, standoffish, and dense. 

“You’re serious?”

“I would hardly call myself an expert on this subject. And by subject, I mean genuine human emotion. Though, you know, it never ends well for those who want the best of both worlds. Believe me, it’s best to draw the line right there.” He tells her, using his free hand to indicate an imaginary line, but failing to meet her eyes.

And there it is, slight as could be, but still a chink in his armor. There was the man she knew wanted affection, but denied himself at every turn.

“Yeah, I am getting that. For all your skills picked up from the Men of Letters, how are you so terrible at this?” She takes another sip from her glass, “Nevermind. Do not answer that.” 

Arrogant, smug, standoffish, dense, abstentious.

She takes a moment, weighing the pros and cons of her thought before expressing it out loud, “Do you think that avoiding happiness is going to keep you from being hurt?”

He scoffs, slipping the tie loose from his collar and pulling it from around his neck. In an uncharacteristic move, Arthur drops it onto the chair nearby instead of neatly setting it away. He sips on his drink while considering the question, eyes wandering like the answer might suddenly appear written on the walls. Moments pass during the quiet, but when he finally lifts his head to speak, his expression has softened.

“I don’t avoid happiness.” He talks as he sets his drink down and moves towards her, “I have plenty in my life to keep me happy,” he takes her drink from her hand, “I try, and evidently fail, to avoid attachment or sentiment.”

He takes her hand, pulling it up to his mouth and kissing across her knuckles, then turning it over and gently placing a kiss to her palm. He then turns her hand again, leaning his cheek into it, meeting her curious gaze. 

“I see the weakness in those who invest too much in others. I’ve felt it in myself. Misplaced expectations and projections of fears and needs muddling things up.” He grips her other hand and holds it between their chests, tight but not too tight. It’s meant to keep her attention on him, not that she could focus on anything else when he’s that close and unguarded.

“With something to lose it’s nearly impossible to make the hard choices, and that is who I am. I’m the one called in for the less appealing jobs; someone with nothing to lose and no one to leave behind.”

“Arthur,” she whispers, heart aching and chest tight with hurt. But not by his words this time, by the truth in his tone. Hurt for him.

“It’s alright, love. It’s the role I play,” He lets their hands drop from his cheek, his grip loose in her hand, but she clutches it tighter. 

“Do you really believe you wouldn’t leave anything behind?” She asks, watching him, waiting for another flicker, some small flinch to indicate he would let himself have this.

He frowns at her, like an animal that can see so plainly the object of desire, and yet knows there’s a trap they can’t make out. He pulls his hand from hers and turns.

“Nothing but ghosts, and maybe a few women,” He huffs, trying to turn the heaviness of the question into a joke. 

That’s it, that’s the last rejection she can take. She turns for the door, even opens it, before he’s in front of her, stopping her, eyes full of terror for abandonment. 

“Don’t leave,” tries to order, but winces at the desperation in his voice. 

“Ask me to stay,” She whispers. “Or tell me that I mean nothing to you and let me leave. You really can’t be that desperate for a fuck, can you?” She stares at him dead-on, letting him hear it in her words, and read it in her body language that she isn’t bluffing. 

“I…” He clears his throat, straightens his shoulders, trying to gain control of the situation, while fidgeting with discomfort.  When he doesn’t say anything, she makes another move for the door behind him.

“Stay.” He watches her, as if unaware he’s said it. 

Vulnerable. A word she never thought she would use for him.

She doesn’t need him to say it again, she heard it loud and clear. It doesn’t stop the knee-jerk reaction as she stares back and eloquently asks, “What?”

“You know, I don’t often make requests unless I am certain I will get what I want,” he tries for the usual Ketch swagger, but it sounds more broken than anything.

“I couldn’t have been more clear that all you had to do was ask.”

“Then stay?”

They watch each other for a few seconds, making certain that neither would move. She lets go of the door, allowing it to slam shut behind her, then puts a hand at the back of his neck and pulls him in to kiss her. He’s pliant, but steady as he goes along with her guidance. His one arm reaches around her waist while the other spreads wide at the back of her head, holding her mouth to his.

His feet move along as she shuffles them back toward the bed, but he stops them before they can tumble onto the sheets.

He pulls away, eyes steely blue and dark, and huffing breaths against her cheek. “It was never my intention to make you feel unappreciated.” His fingers move while he speaks, nimble fingers pulling down the zipper of her dress and letting it fall open and loose on her back.

She looks up at him, making certain he sees the genuine acceptance she offers, “I know.” She shrugs her shoulders, letting the straps fall and the fabric begin to fold down and around her, caught over his hands.

He slowly begins to lower himself down to the ground, onto his knees, hands gently skimming over her body, her dress following, before both rest at her hips, eyes never leaving hers. “I certainly never intended to make you feel unwanted.”

A trembling breath passes between her lips while she looks down at him. He stares back confidently yet penitent as he kneels in front of her, hands spreading over her as though eager to grab, but full of restraint and remaining tender.

“I fully intend to make it up to you,” his voice is soft and steady. His thumbs move to meet at the center of her stomach, just below her belly button. Then, with fingers spread wide, he slides them down, pulling the dress until it falls in a circle around her feet. He hums and looks her up and down appreciatively, “Many, many times over.”

Sometimes he can be vulnerable and affectionate, too.

She looks up and says a silent ‘thank you’ to no one in particular. Her hands rest at her sides, sometimes flinching when his touch almost tickles, but patiently waiting as he teases her. His lips skim along the skin above her underwear, and his hands roam across her lower back, ass, and the backs of her thighs. His breaths are warm and controlled, heating her skin as he moves close, but not exactly to where she is starting to grow wet. 

Her own breaths become shaky and uneven as she waits for what feels like an unfair amount of time, one hand clenched in a fist as she debates just shoving her fingers into her own underwear to get things moving along. With the other, she pushes through his hair. It’s longer than he’s kept it before, and she can feel where it’s twisting into curls at the ends. Her fingertips tickle along the back of his neck, just under his hairline, feeling the sweat already start to dampen his collar. 

She pulls her hand back to drag her nails through, drawing a low growl from him that she feels more than she hears. He tilts his head with the movement her hand as it strokes through his hair and he stares up at her again, pink splotches marking his cheekbones and giving away his excitement.

“You can really get started with that anytime now,” she tries to joke, but it’s edged with desperation.

“As you wish,” he says with a playful glint in his eye.

She gasps, “You -” but doesn’t finish because of course he takes that moment to start to press his thumb in circles of pressure over her, making her nerves tingle, setting off a rush of pleasure. “Ohh. More,” she whispers.

He cheekily replies again, “As you wish.”

Vulnerable, affectionate, playful.

There is no stopping her smile now, “You bastard,” she accuses, but the insult falls as flat as she does as he pushes her down to the bed. She lands with a surprised laugh which turns airy as he pulls her underwear down from her waist.

He starts to kiss at her calf, moving his way up her legs with his mouth and hands constantly wandering, massaging, tickling. “I am a bastard, but I still know the classics. I am certainly more like Westley than you give me credit for.”

“Tell me how perfect my breasts are then,” she mumbles.

He chuckles and stops at the tops of her thighs, muttering something that sounds like an affirmation before he uses just his fingertips to graze along her sensitive skin. He watches for a few seconds as he spreads her wetness back and forth. She feels the heat of his breath as he moves in, and gently presses his lips and the tip of his tongue against her. When he places his mouth on her, she immediately bucks up into him, greedy for pressure and movement. 

With a blink, he turns his look upward, leering at her. His lips spread slightly as he applies more pressure, allowing two of his fingers to tease at her entrance, all while he watches for her reactions.

She remains still, playing along with his little game for a moment, but when he slides away, just shy of where she wants his fingers, she loses all patience.

“What happened to making it up to me?” She pushes herself up to rest on her elbows.

He shifts himself onto the bed until he is face to face with her again, looking her over as though trying to memorize her. 

“Well, you are going to stay, aren’t you?” He stares into her eyes as he waits for her answer.

“Yes,” she tells him, unwavering.

“Well then,” he slides back down her body, stopping to kiss across her collarbone and down one breast, and then the other. The soft kisses tickle more than they linger, but lead in a direct path back between her legs, where he settles on his knees on the floor. “I’ve got time, haven’t I?”

Thorough. That’s another word for him.  

#arthur ketch x reader #arthur ketch fanfiction #arthur ketch fanfic #spn fanfic #spn reader insert #arthur ketch smut #spn smut #my writing

[rocking-space-dragon]

Scorched, Episode 2 : Mob Mentality.

Heya all! Here’s the second episode of my series of stories surrounding and involving various members of the Dream SMP! Last one was pretty Angsty, so I wanted this one to be a little more optimistic! As always, if you liked it, like and reblog so more people get to read it! 2250 Words/10k Characters. Characters : Technoblade, Ranboo, Philza. A man stands, mug of warm cocoa in his hands as he looks out the window in quiet contemplation; through the glass, snow falls and adds to the already serene landscape, a blanket of white that coats the hills and valleys of the place they called home. The 'they' in question broke the serenity moments later; a towering porcine figure opening one of the heavy wooden doors of their home with a creak, shaking off the snow from their crown-adorned head and off the deep red cloak that covered their body. Beneath it shone a set of deep, purple-black armour, shining faintly from the various magical effects on it.

 Once he's satisfied that the snow is mostly gone and the warmth begins to reach his bones, he groans and rolls his shoulders - taking a moment to put away a few items while calling out a casual "Hey Phil." As he passes. Philza, for his part, hums a simple "Mmm." Of affirmation and continues his watching. It's only when he's done putting a handful of items away in the chests at the back of the room that Techno finally acknowledges the absence of conversation, turning around and resting his hands on the chest behind him as he raises an eyebrow quizzically "Hey, Phil. What're you looking at?"

 It takes a moment for Philza to respond, sipping from his mug before blinking like he's snapping out of a trance - attention turning towards Techno and gesturing for him to come over with his head "It's Ranboo. He's, uh...Been kinda bizarre, lately. Moving blocks around, disappearing into that basement of his, y'know, stuff like that." He takes another sip of his cocoa before glancing between the pig standing beside him and the figure who was sitting on the steps outside his shack. After a moment's pause, he smiles; "You should go talk to him."

 Techno's response is immediate - confusion and reluctance written across his face as he turns his attention back to Phil "Wh-me? I dunno if you're aware Phil, but I'm kinda bad with kids AND endermen. What- what makes you think I'd be of any help to him?" The man chuckles, shrugging for a moment as he adjusts the grip he's got on the mug in his hands "I dunno, but you've certainly got a soft spot for this one. Don't think I haven't seen you walking around with that Axe he gave you."

 "Phil. Phil it's purely practical - it's a good axe, Phil! I needed an axe after they took my axe! What am I supposed to do, just not use the axe?" There's no response but another quite sip as the smile on the man's face gets wider, followed by a knowing "Mmmhmm." As he continues watching.

 "Phil-"

 "Just go check on the kid before he freezes to death out there." He chuckles again, taking another sip and letting out a soft, smug sigh as the pigman rolls his eyes, opening the door and pushing out into the light snowfall. Heavy footsteps crunch through the snow as Technoblade heads through the snow outside, eyes rolling as the door closes behind him – though his expression shifts a moment later as he sees the half-enderman, sitting just outside of his house on the small dirt bank besides his farm. As he approaches, his view on the figure improves; he’s got his chin resting in his hands, eyes gazing out across the snowfield in front of him, seemingly so entranced that he doesn’t even notice the piglin approaching. It takes him clearing his throat for Ranboo to finally snap out of his trance and sit up, blinking a few times and looking up towards Techno “Oh, hello Techno! I didn’t see you there, is everything alright?” Techno takes a moment, rubbing at the back of his head and eventually sitting down in the snow beside Ranboo, looking out into the snow to avoid meeting his eyes – though making note of the fact that Ranboo seems to scoot up a little to give him space as he sits. “Uh…Well, Phil thought you were being…I mean, he figured you might be dealing with something, so I, in my infinite kindness, decided to come out and, uh…y’know. See if you were okay.”

That draws a chuckle from the hybrid, who takes a moment to return his gaze out to the snow as well before speaking “Uh…I mean, kinda? Like, physically, I’m fine, but…” he pauses, going quiet briefly, only to break it by continuing “I’ve…been hearing voices? Like I always heard voices, but recently I’ve been hearing a new one that…sounds kinda- well, not kinda, exactly like Dream, and it’s been telling me that I’ve been doing things I don’t remember, bad things and- and like, I black out sometimes and apparently I do things while I’m blacked out but finding out that I do those things only stresses me out more which makes me black out more and then when I wake up I don’t remember doing any of those things until the voice comes back again and then I get stressed again and- and I don’t know what to do about it or if I can even trust myself and-“ It all came out like a flood – everything that he’d been dealing with for the past fortnight, tumbling from his mouth, word after word – he was only aware that he was crying from the twinges of pain that he felt every time his tears ran down his cheeks and dripped onto the snow beneath him, eating away at the snowbank beneath him. What stops the tears from tumbling down his face is unexpected, to say the least, as he feels something being draped over his shoulders and reaching back, he finds the deep crimson of Techno’s cape, hands closing across the white trim. Before he can speak, he’s interrupted by the Piglin himself, gaze very deliberately averted “If you start crying while it’s this cold out, you’ll only get colder. This way, even if you’re crying, you can stay warm. It’s purely practicality – besides, I don’t need it anyway.” He chuckles, but even Ranboo can see the slight shiver that runs through him as a cold breeze blows past them. “I, uh- thanks…Techno. Sorry, I didn’t mean to kinda go on there, I guess I had a lot more on my mind than I thought! I should…really get out of this cold though, before-“ “I know how you feel.” “…What?” For the first time since sitting down, Techno turns to face the Hybrid sitting beside him – and for what’s probably the first time, Ranboo can see exhaustion behind Techno’s eyes. Techno, who he’s only ever seen at his pinnacle, suddenly seems…tired. The kind of deep, familiar exhaustion that comes from years of low sleep, from experience. The kind of exhaustion that can’t be faked.

“I don’t imagine you know when your voices started. I mean, you don’t remember much, so it’d be kinda weird if…yeah. I…I’ve always had voices, myself. They’ve been in my head ever since I can remember.” At that, Techno takes a moment, looking down at the ground beneath his feet, eyes focused on the snow that’s been building between his boots “At first, there weren’t many of them – they kinda just hung around, and they’d give suggestions and the like…but as I learned to survive, learned to fight, more of them showed up. They’d laugh at my failures, revel in my victories…for a time, I began to think of them as my friends – no matter what happened, or how rough things got, they’d always be there for me, always be there to keep me strong.” Techno pauses, lifting up a boot and crushing the mound underneath “I was wrong. What first seemed like a group who wanted nothing more than to support me, soon became demanding. The fights weren’t enough, the competitions, never enough. I had to be better, be stronger, be more for them – that’s when the chant really began to twist. At first, y’know, it’d started as a suggestion – ‘Technoblade never dies!’ like the voices were beginning to realise that it’d been a while since I last felt the sting of death. From there, it became this kind of…rallying cry. They’d call it out, ‘TECHNOBLADE NEVER DIES!’ and I revelled in it! I loved the chanting, I took it in stride – I became undefeatable, this warrior of legend who never fell. Competitions, I sure lost from time to time, but…on the field of battle? I was Unmatched.” Ranboo could see Techno tense up like a coiled spring, as if ready to jump into a fighting stance at any point. By now, he’s got his hands balled into fists, continuing as if Ranboo isn’t even there “But that’s when it began to twist. I still remember it, Ranboo.” The name is all the enderman gets before Techno stands up abruptly, drawing his blade from his sheath and holding it straight out, unwavering, in one swift, practiced movement. He holds his stance for a moment before beginning to walk slowly forwards, blade twirling in his hand “I was low. The stakes were high. I could hear the blood pounding in my ears…but more than that, I could hear the voices. I knew that any movement could have meant my death, but they were…there. It wasn’t a chant of support any more, Ranboo, it was a command. ‘TECHNOBLADE NEVER DIES’ they repeated, over and over and over-“ he whips the blade around, gripping the handle and pointing it towards the Half-Enderman sitting beside him, who’s hands instinctively go up to protect himself. That seems to snap the piglin out of his memories, lowering the blade and taking a seat back down beside him “Do you know what it’s like, Ranboo? To have thousands and thousands of voices telling you that you’re not allowed to die?” His eyes turn towards the blade in his hands, looking at his reflection in the polished netherite and staring down at it quietly “Sometimes…I wonder what’ll happen if I do die. I’ve done everything I can to keep the voices at bay, but…what happens when ‘Technoblade never dies’ stops being true? What will the voices say then?” The silence that washes over the two of them is palpable, a deep, intense silence that is snapped by Techno sitting up suddenly and turning to look at the Enderman once more “Oh, yeah, I was supposed to be making you feel better! Uhhh…You shouldn’t worry about that voice because…Dream is homeless and any voice that has his…voice is probably dumb and homeless as well? Because…uhhh…-“ “Techno, you’re…more than the voices in your head.” That seems to shock the Piglin. He blinks for a moment, looking up from the blade in his hands, turning to face Ranboo before he continues, shrinking back at the eye contact that Techno quickly breaks “What I mean is…You’re…you. Those voices say and do plenty, sure, but…you’re still Technoblade, right? And…I’m still Ranboo.” At that, he seems to reach some measure of understanding, turning and looking back out into the snow “And no matter what the voices say, or what they say we do, or what they make us think, we’re…still us, right?” “…Yeah. And if one of those voices happens to sound like Dream? Well you can tell it that it’s not welcome in your head – he may be homeless, but this isn’t any place to take residence!” He laughs, hearty and full, ruffling Ranboo’s hair – who smiles happily at the gesture, before they both realise what’s just happened, both quickly averting their gazes. Techno can’t help but smile though, even as he’s looking away…and meeting eyes with the shit-eating grin plastered across the face of the man watching from the windows of his house. He can feel his face heating up at the sight, standing up abruptly and clearing his throat “Well uh, I hope that helped, you’re more than your voices and everything, dream sucks, etcetera etcetera.” He sheaths the sword again, looking out across the snowfield “I uh…Hope that helped. Don’t expect me to come out here any time you hear a voice in your head though!” He smiles, turning to walk back towards the house “You’re strong enough to handle those on your own, after all. You wouldn’t be allowed to be in the presence of the GREAT TECHNOBLADE otherwise!” He laughs, drawing his blade before another chill blows through and he shivers from head to toe, quickly dashing back inside. That night, the Hybrid sleeps beneath a deep, crimson coat, and for once, his head is quiet – that familiar, ever-present voice warded, at least for now. When he awakens, there’s a mug of warm, gently steaming cocoa and a pair of green and white earmuffs sitting beside his bed, along with a note.

“I may not be as familiar with the voices as the two of you, but I can guarantee that it’ll be a lot harder to listen to them if you’ve got something warm to cover your ears. Just remember, if you ever need to listen to the voices that actually matter, the ones who actually do want what’s best for you, we’ll be here.

 -P.”

That morning, a certain Hybrid sits on his makeshift porch, cloak covering his shoulders and back, with a pair of earmuffs covering his head and a mug of warm cocoa in his hands, and thinks, just for a moment, that everything might actually turn out okay.

#mcyt #Dream SMP #Ranboo #Technoblade #Philza Minecraft #Dream SMP fic #Comfort #Scorched Episode 2 #Scorched Series