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yrbladie · 6 months

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♡ ﾟ˖ ॱ ▎WHEN THEY LOSE YOU ㅤ𝅄 🌿 ꒱

˖ ࣪ ayato, diluc, kaeya, neuvillette, zhongli

warnings ：angst, hurt no comfort, mentions of death and body (yours), sad bois, some have quite a comforting ending, others not so much, gn! reader, established relationship, implied marriage (ayato, diluc, zhongli), reader is called 'beautiful' (kaeya), spoiler free, non fluent writer

ㅤHe doesn't weep at first. Don't get him wrong, though, it's just that how could he ever fathom the thought of not having you by his side anymore?

ㅤYou were taken from his arms so suddenly that he wondered if you were ever real since the start, or only a fragment of his imagination, something that had always only belonged to his most beautiful dreams.

ㅤThe only way he knew you were indeed real was by the way people would talk behind his back when they thought he wasn't paying attention, talking about how sloppy he had become. Or the way he would still find small bits of you sprawled over his desk. Trinkets you gave him, and the letters you had sent to him the last time you went to visit your homeland for a week, knowing your lover would miss you too much.

ㅤIt suddenly dawns on him at that moment. How you were not there anymore, how he would never see you again, see your bright and beautiful smile or hear your giggle at his poor cooking skills.

ㅤAt that moment when he suddenly misses you, Ayato gets up and goes to visit you. In a place he never thought he would see you. Buried under the Sakura tree you planted with him last summer, the one where you both had wished for it to be as eternal as your love for each other.

ㅤHe sees your grave filled with flowers and gifts from the people you had known, and even finds the bouquet of flowers Thoma had sent under his name. And he kneels beside it, staring at your name written there.

ㅤHe still felt guilty, that he was not there for you when you needed him the most. That he was busy with work above anything else again. He could have protected you oh so easily, and he wasn't there.

ㅤ"I hope you can forgive this stupid lover of yours, my dear."

ㅤForgive him for everything. Forgive him for not loving you better, and for not being strong enough to be there when you died nor when you were buried.

ㅤAyato now knew, dreams are never meant to last.

ㅤWhen people saw you both together on the streets, with Diluc carefully holding your hand or touching the small of your back to guide you through the streets, like you were made of the finest porcelain, everyone thought they were going crazy.

ㅤThere was no way, the master Diluc Ragnvindr, the uncrowned king of Mondstadt, unmatched in every possible way, had gotten himself a lover.

ㅤWhen you arrived it was like a breath of fresh air for everyone who knew Diluc. You made him a different man, made people see a different side of him Diluc himself doubted existed.

ㅤAnd you were everything to him. Until the fateful day you were forcibly taken from him.

ㅤBut still, he couldn't hope to grieve, he had no time to let himself stop and rest, not even for a minute. In a minute so many things can happen, just like in a minute you were gone.

ㅤDiluc still had Mondstadt to protect, and he would focus solely on that for as long as there was still air in his lungs. Even if his torn heart still churned in pain everyday.

ㅤEven if in the darkest hours of the night, just before dawn, he would still sit alone in his dimly lit room, the weight of his grief pressing down on him like a heavy shroud. The walls of his manor, once filled with laughter and love, now seemed to echo with the emptiness of his loss. The air was heavy with the scent of fading memories.

ㅤEverything in your shared room is a bittersweet reminder of the warmth that had once been, now slipping through the cracks of time.

ㅤOutside, the world moved on, without you. And Diluc couldn't understand it, for his world was you. Every moment without you felt like an eternity.

ㅤAnd in those short moments he wept. Letting the pain flow freely, as if by releasing it, he could somehow reach across the chasm that separated you both. And he still could somehow feel your presence in brief moments, a soft whisper in the breeze or a fleeting glimpse in a dream.

ㅤDiluc had experience in mourning, and he knew that one day, the sharpness of his pain might dull, but his love for you would remain eternally vibrant, a testament to the life you had shared.

ㅤIn his own way, he would carry on, honoring your memory with each step forward, holding you close in the chambers of his heart, as he navigated the path of grief, one tear and one memory at a time.

ㅤIn that way, Diluc could forever hold you close to his heart somehow. The idea that you would have liked that he kept protecting those you had come to love, gave him comfort as he got up for another day.

ㅤYou were his first, but also his last.

ㅤOh, to be loved by the Cavalry Captain, with his deceiving smiles and well thought words. People used to call him such a heartbreaker before you came along and showed to all that Kaeya Alberich could be so much more than that.

ㅤIt seemed like he always had a smile reserved only for you. Different from the grins and crooked smiles he gave for others. With you nothing was ever fake, you had managed to tear down the walls he built to keep himself safe each and every time, no matter how much he tried to keep you at an arm's length.

ㅤBefore Kaeya even noticed you had already made a home in his heart and had no plans of leaving.

ㅤBut of course, fate had always found its way to mock him. He could but only watch as your life slipped past his fingers like sand, no matter how much he held onto you and begged the skies not to take you. Not you too.

ㅤIn the end, Kaeya still had to carry back your lifeless body to Mondstadt, back to your home where you belonged.

ㅤBut did he still belong there now? He was once again reminded of his purpose, the destiny that hung heavily above his head, like a death sentence forever haunting and taunting him. A destiny he just couldn’t seem to escape.

ㅤCursed to loneliness, to destruction. He should have known he didn’t deserve all the happiness you had brought along with your love to his wretched life.

ㅤYou had slipped away, leaving behind a void that seemed insurmountable. In the beginning, Kaeya refused to acknowledge the cruel twist of fate. He clung to the hope that this was all a nightmare, a cruel illusion that would dissipate with the morning light.

ㅤDays turned into nights, and reality set in, stubborn and unyielding. The denial that had once shielded him from the harsh truth began to crumble like a fragile dam battered by the relentless waves of sorrow.

ㅤHe still remembered everything about you. While others would talk about how sweet you were to everyone, Kaeya would remember the laughter shared on lazy Sunday mornings, the whispered promises exchanged under a blanket of stars, and the simple joys of a life built together.

ㅤHe still had your portrait on his desk, a painful reminder of how beautiful you looked when you smiled up at him. And he still wondered how you were. Are you happy now, wherever you are? Are you safe?

ㅤOr do you miss him like he misses you?

ㅤKaeya only found solace on those lonely starry nights, where he laid by himself on the grassy field he always hated, saying the grass always got stuck at his hair as you laughed, calling him such a drama king.

ㅤAnd as the first rays of dawn began to set in, he smiled.

ㅤThe pain remained, a constant companion, but it transformed into a tribute—a testament to a love that transcended the boundaries of mortality. With a heavy heart, he got up, in a silent acknowledgment that life, though forever altered, would continue.

ㅤHe would carry your cherished memories with him into an uncertain tomorrow. With a newfound strength—a resilient ember burning in the ashes of loss, Kaeya had to carry on.

ㅤEven if his fate overtakes him once more one day, the whispers of your voice, urging him to embrace life would always remind him that there was something out there worth fighting for. And that one day, when his body and heart rests for one last time, he will meet you again.

ㅤThe skies of Fontaine have never been cloudier than since the day you died. The rain poured down, seeming endless. Like a mourning prayer for another loss the nation held.

ㅤYour funeral was quiet and quite lonely. You had not really been a person that went out each and everyday, or that easily befriended all that you met through your day. You were a common person, like any other in Fontaine, maybe just a little weird with your outlander ways.

ㅤBut Neuvillette still loved you anyway.

ㅤYour love for each other was nothing grand nor loud. It was almost timid, but shined brightly like an unwavering ember.

ㅤSo it didn't come as a surprise that no one knew about your relationship with each other. Neuvillette was, before anything, an important and key figure in Fontaine, his every move scrutinized under the city's gaze, yet whose true emotions remain hidden behind a mask of stoicism.

ㅤEven to the end, he couldn't even attend your funeral. Watching from the sidelines, like an outsider. He watched as your loved ones paid their respects, leaving their flowers and good wishes that you now may be safe, in the arms of the gods.

ㅤNeuvillette wanted to scoff at this. The gods were silent as their people suffered under their gaze. And most of all, there was no space for people like you on their golden mighty thrones.

ㅤWhen everyone parted and left only your lonely tombstone, did Neuvillette finally came to pay his own respects as the rain fell heavier, a reflection of how he felt inside. Like a storm that could never break free from the clutches of a well maintained facade of a composed judge.

ㅤYou made him so vulnerable as each time you touched his skin, his heart longed for more of you, with feelings he couldn't understand.

ㅤIf only he had noticed sooner, if only he had met you sooner.

ㅤIf only you were still here. To show him comfort once more.

ㅤBut as the calm and collected Iudex wept by the lonely grave, you were still gone.

ㅤAnd in the next day and even the next after that, every day became an act. An imperturbable, endless theatrical piece. Worthy of even being presented at the opera house.

ㅤAnd as Neuvillette still conducted each trial with unperturbed accuracy, the outside seemed to have forgotten about you. But not him, never.

ㅤHe still heard your voice, just outside his office, while you laughed with the Melusines. He still asked for two cups of tea to be prepared and people wondered who the other cup was for. And he still had the official documents where you accidentally doodled on and had apologized profusely for doing it, but Neuvillette had never held it against you.

ㅤAnd he still loved you. Each day when the rain started again, the pitter patter sound followed the judge as he disappeared through the corners of Fontaine to find you once again.

ㅤHis life was destined to be eternal, and so was his love for you, despite the fact you weren't by his side anymore.

ㅤAnd as Neuvillette still found small flowers and trinkets left on your grave, he knew he would not be the only one to forever remember about you.

ㅤThe God of Contracts was no stranger to loss and to mourning. He himself had buried more friends than he could count.

ㅤHe had an immortal soul and an unyielding memory. His friends were forever reminders on his everyday life, that he got to walk the places they never had a chance to see.

ㅤEvery time, he caught himself reminiscing about you, about your shared laughter under the bustling night time of Liyue, and the dreams over breakfast.

ㅤAnd how fate took you away from him.

ㅤThe town now seemed to be filled with a haunting silence, even if nothing much had changed. The vendors still called for him to eat and buy their products, he still watched the same plays and stories. But now every corner held a memory, a reminder.

ㅤDays turned to nights, and nights into days, but the pain persisted, insistently. Zhongli found solace in the shadows of the past, where memories of your happiness still lingered like a sweet melody.

ㅤHe never thought of himself as someone to be stuck in time. But your presence and your loss seemed to have made an ever deeper impact on his life than he initially thought.

ㅤAs the years went by, he would still wait for you. With the hope and the heartache that the skies would relent at his incessant prayers and return you to his arms, in another form, in another life, it didn't matter.

ㅤStill, he knew he was not alone. Hu Tao would pat him in the back gently in an almost nudging manner every day, encouraging him to go out again, to rest more. And slowly Zhongli felt like he could gather the shattered pieces of his heart again. Like his wounded soul still had a purpose.

ㅤEven if his body and mind eroded until there was nothing more left of him, he thought that all the memories of you would still be his most cherished treasures.

ㅤAnd so, in the quiet town where love once blossomed and sorrow cast its shadow, Zhongli would learn once more to carry the weight of loss with gentleness. The stars above forever witnesses of his eternal and enduring love for you.

ㅤIn the small shrine he built above your grave, where Zhongli could still feel your presence sometimes, through your pictures and the incense. His heart was finally at peace.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ《◇》

#genshin impact angst #ayato angst #diluc angst #genshin angst #neuvillette angst #zhongli angst #kaeya angst #genshin impact x reader #ayato x reader #kaeya x reader #zhongli x reader #neuvillette x reader #diluc x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin fanfic #genshin impact #genshin

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dreamchasernina · 2 months

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The live action writers hate Aang

I have given myself a lot of time to think about the live action, and reached the conclusion that the writers hate Aang. I dare you to read read this and tell me I'm wrong.

Let me start this by asking you a question? What's the most badass scene Aang has in the first season of the OG show? No matter what you answer is, I know for sure, that scene doesn't exist in the live action. Aang does absolutely nothing to prove the audience he is the right person to be the Avatar, he learns absolutely nothing throughout the show, he doesn't need to look into himself and change his way of thinking. Nothing. Most of the fundamental lessons Aang learns throughout the first season are gone.

The first mistake Aang does in the OG is staying at Kyoshi island too long, letting the attention go to his head, getting too comfortable. He realises he brought destruction to the island and tries to fix his mistakes by jumping onto the Unagi to help the village. That's how he learned the responsibly he holds as the Avatar and finds a unique way to help the village. Well that doesn't exist in the LA. Instead, Kyoshi takes over Aang's body to fight the whole fire nation for him. Aang, himself, does literally nothing.

The spirit world. In the OG show Aang is forced to face his Avatar duty for the first time by trying to save the village that's beeing attacked by Hei Bai. This is his first test as the Avatar and he fails. Not only that, he loses his friend. So Aang has to figure out himself how to get Sokka back from Hei Bai. He figures out who her bai is, himself, understands why Hei Bai is angry and gives him hope, the way Katara gave him hope. So we see that even though Aang failed at first, he kept trying and was smart and compassionate enough to realise what the problem is and solve it. This does not exist in the LA. Aang sees Hei bai in the spirit world, within a second realises who he is and just gives him the Acorn, without having to face him at all!

Another reason I'm convinced the writers hate Aang is the way all the avatars + Bumi treat Aang. Everyone is mad at him for disappearing for 100 years. And look, I get that, you can be mad at him if he ran away from his duties...but he never did! He went to clear his head on Appa and got caught in the storm. And if he hadn't run away he'd be dead, so why are you all so mad at him?! Bumi being mad at Aang could make sense, because in the OG show Aang did spend a significant amount on time of goofing around before he finds out about the comet. But here, it makes no sense! Bumi is mad for no reason. As soon as Aang got out go the ice he took his duty seriously, so please, make it make sense! And the show just glosses over the fact that if Aang hadn't run away he would be dead with the rest of the air benders. Instead of letting Aang feel guilty himself, which he does in the OG show, they just get these characters to hate on him, because they're incapable of making their characters have any emotional depth.

Aang doesn't learn water bending. At all. And there is no logical reason for that. I guess they thought it wasn't that important but please explain to me how you want to make Aang more serious and focused on the Avatar duties but not make him learn water bending? The literal next step Aang has to take to becoming the Avatar?? That is the only clear goal Aang has from the second episode of the show - to find a master and learn waterbending! Make it make sense!

Taking away Aang's talk with Koh. So I assume if most people didn't answer my question above with the Koi fish, they probably said Aang's journey into the spirit world and his meeting with Koh. In the OG show, Aang has to find a way to figure out how to save the water tribe. He does so by going into the spirit world and talking to Koh the face stealer. So Aang had to talk to Koh showing zero emotions so he doesn't have his face stolen. That scene is so creepy and so badass and shows that Aang is really capable, even though he is a kid, he is facing the creepy ass spirit and is doing an excellent job. So when Aang finds out who the moon and the ocean spirits are, it feels deserved, it feels like an accomplishment. In the live action he doesn't have to show zero emotions because Koh is not stealing faces, he's just stealing random people for whatever reason. Koh tells him exactly what to do, bring me a MacGuffin so I can release your friends, Aang just goes to see Roku, no problem, no obstacles to overcome, brings the Macguffin to Koh and he just releases his friends. Wow, really shows us how resourceful Aang is by making him...get an object and give it back to Koh...

And the very last point that I absolutely hated in the show. When Aang goes into the Avatar state and becomes the giant koi fish and wipes everyone out, the live action show goes out of its way to emphasise that that is not Aang in there. Aang is gone. The Koi fish is just rage. and that's that. Taking away ANY agency Aang ever had. Look, I know in the OG show Aang is not in control of the Avatar state either, but we know that's still Aang in there, that's his power he's showcasing. He might not be in control but that's him doing it all, being all powerful. But in the live action, they tell us Aang is gone, that's just his body the spirit is using. Plus Aang does no watebending himself, no gestures like the original where you can see aang in the sphere water bending, controlling the giant Koi fish, showing us how far he's come as a water bender. But in the LA he's just in the sphere...doing nothing because he never learned water bending so of course that's not him doing all this cool shit.

I am so angry over all of this. This is you MAIN PROTAGONIST. and you made him nothing but a vessel to progress the plot. You gave him no character, no growth, no struggles, no power! So no, you cannot convince me, at this point, that the writers of the live action don't hate Aang. Probably as much as they hate Katara.

#atla #avatar: the last airbender #aang #avatar #avatar the last airbender #natla #netflix #netflix atla #atla netflix #avatar aang

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vintagegeekculture · 1 month

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"The Ayla Descent Theory" of Mary Sues

"Children of the Earth," Luis Royo.

After the success of Jean M. Auel's stone age novel Clan of the Cave Bear, there was a very lengthy trend in the publishing world of stone age adventure novels aimed at women that lasted for a decade and only really fizzled out in the early 2000s. After all, "Ayla," the name of the main character of these books, was one of the top baby names of 1987.

The target audience for these books were weird midwestern aunts....you know, the Mists of Avalon and the Mercedes Lackey/Valdemar audience. Therefore, the Clan of the Cave Bear imitators also featured things of interest to the weird aunt audience: Scotland, redhaired women with sharp tongues, commanding wolves, Ireland, Feminism, riding herds of wild horses bareback in scenic locations, Wicca, matriarchial religions, swimming with dolphins....but above all else, American Indians (a culture this audience finds interesting, as anyone who has seen the home decor of a typical weird midwestern aunt can attest), with many novels set in Ice Age America, like Children of the Dawn, Reindeer Moon and the First Americans. Decades later, this audience would form the core fandom for Game of Thrones, and the character of Khaleesi Targaryen in particular.

These books almost assuredly still have a place of honor on the book shelf of the weirdest woman at your job.

Nearly all of these imitators have two of Clan of the Cave Bear's defining traits: 1) a supremely beautiful, usually blonde athletic and statuesque main character over 5'11" who does not realize that she is so beautiful and desirable, who is good at a variety of different skills and is friendly with animals like hawks, dolphins, or horses, and 2) a love triangle between this aforementioned blond but innocent Venus and two bodybuilder muscular he-men cave hunks, one of whom is a blonde guy with long rock star hair (it was the 80s), and the other being a buff black guy with dreadlocks (or otherwise ethnic in some way).

The heroine usually picks the blonde guy in the end, but the audience usually picks the ethnic guy.

In the late 90s and early 2000s, in the broader culture of fandom, it was fashionable to dump on "Mary Sues" (indulgent wish-fulfillment author personas in fanfiction) and the people who wrote them. Accusations of creating a Mary Sue approached a kind of hysteria. Even at the time, when everyone else was getting swept up in this, I thought that getting mad about aunties writing fanfiction showed a loss of perspective, and was a bit silly. Thankfully, we've benefitted from moral evolution: the consensus in fandom now is that writing aspirational characters is a harmless activity that tests a young writer's creative muscles, like the half-Vulcan pretty new ensign on the Enterprise that Kirk and Spock both fall in love with, or a new archer girl who Legolas falls in love with joining the Fellowship. This hate walked hand in hand with insecurities, in the exact same way that people worried about their appearance or concerned with their weight are often cruel to fat people, and there were frequent tests if this or that character in your writing was a Mary Sue.

There was a running joke in this 2000s culture of anti-self insertion called the "Ayla Descent Theory of Mary Sues." The joke was that Mary Sues came into existence because Ayla, the beautiful, athletic heroine of the Clan of the Cave Bear novels, was the ancestor of their entire lineage, as the first known Mary Sue to ever exist in the historical record, described as being a statuesque blonde who did everything right and was always at the center of love triangles, and who changed human history.

According to the running joke, Mary Sues everywhere were descended from Ayla from Clan of the Cave Bear, and she was the first to exist, and Ayla was the explanation of where all the Enterprise's new ensigns main characters fall in love with come from.

#stone age

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hereiamforsomereason · 1 year

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Listen, do I love a good sad ending? Yes, a tragedy, a bittersweet ending, a well written horror, villains winning, heroes losing, you know, all that edgy stuff. I don't believe everything needs to have a happy ending and I think for some stories, a tragic ending just makes more sense. I also love when writers go against the viewer's expectations because it's interesting and can really be impactful if done well. However, I still need Stranger Things to have the happiest, cheesiest, sweetest ending of all time.

No one is allowed to die besides Vecna and some demogorgons. They kill Vecna with the power of love and friendship. The world is saved. Everyone gets their happy ending whatever that may be and no matter what, they all stay friends because they are basically family at this point. Bonus points, if the last scene is everyone hanging out and everyone just being happy. I won't even cringe if the last line is one of them saying "well, we've definitely seen stranger things."

Like make it goofy and funny and sweet, the rest of the season can still be dark and serious without there being any more tragedy. I don't think the ending being happy will take away from that.

I know this has probably already been said but it's so important to me that the show isn't a tragedy. You know why? Because it's a mainstream show about outcasts in the 80s. A show about gay kids, black kids, disabled kids, kids that are considered different just for existing. If you take away the supernatural and the sci-fi elements, at its core, that's what the show is about.

So if the show that from day one has been about being different and being who you are, turns around and kills off half the cast and has either a bittersweet ending or just a plain awful ending just for shock value or because it makes the story more "realistic" (and yes, that includes having Will be rejected by the person he loves and being killed off. El sacrificing herself because she's a superhero and that's what she feels she's supposed to do or Max and Lucas having a tragic love story.) It'd be throwing away everything the show stands for and personally, I think it would be god awful writing.

That kind of ending can be done well but I don't think that's the kind of ending ST needs.

There's been enough tragic stories about minorities in both the past and present. This show has evil crispy undead wizards and giant lanky mind controlling spiders, I don't think poc/queer/disabled/female/etc characters being happy and alive is gonna make the show unrealistic.

#al's thoughts #stranger things #st5 #st5 hopes #stranger things season 5 #mike wheeler #el hopper #dustin henderson #lucas sinclair #max mayfield #will byers #byler #independent el #st #lumax #eleven hopper

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bluespiritshonour · 4 months

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Why is it always Robin has to prove himself to Batman? Be it any Robin. And no, I'm not talking about characters, because Bruce—Bruce is like “Everyone must prove themselves to me but I'm not answerable to anyone” that motherfucker. Very IC.

I'm talking about stories, about narratives—why does every Robin-centric narrative has a “prove themselves to Batman” arc—but Bruce's arc never involves proving himself to anyone?

Why, after the events of the Tower of Babel, Bruce didn't have to work to gain the Justice League's approval? Why didn't he have to work to redeem himself, dammit!

Yes. He had to reveal his identity. But then, it wasn't his idea. It was Clark's. It's fundamentally different from Dick unmasking in front of the Titans: Dick feels in his bones that it isn't fair that he's the only one masked and the Titans are up for mutiny, so he made an executive decision.

It didn't even occur to Bruce to do it. Dammit, the fucker wasn't even trying to get back into Justice League. Clark had to persuade him. And no, I don't mean he should have gone and begged them to let him in. He doesn't need them.

But let's be honest: none of the Leaguers need the League. But humanity does. That's why they put their differences aside and band together.

Bruce is selfless when it comes to sacrificing his family a la Batman : Ego. Oh!—it's Bruce's children that are dying in Batman's mission. Isn't he so noble?—the picture of tragedy? The greiving father? The man who can't even have a steady romantic relationship because Batman wouldn't let him? So selfless—until he isn't. Until the JL—in other words, a planet full of people—need him to swallow his pride. Then, he isn't selfless anymore.

He's selfless when he's a father sending his children to war for the greater good—but he's not selfless when it's time to swallow his pride, to take the risk of trusting someone even after being traumatised and betrayed—for the greater good. (And honestly his trust issues seem narcissistic when surrounded by people like Dick, Alfred and freaking Commissioner Gordon!)

You know who does it? Dick Grayson. That's who. The “trust no one” maxim has been drilled into him by Bruce, but even then he chooses to trust. Not because he's stupid, but because it's a requirement. He totally expects to be stabbed in the back; he isn't naïve. But he'd rather be betrayed than have someone be barred from help because they seemed suspicious. It's canon in Titans. He says it in words, look it up. To Brother Blood, I guess.

Bruce didn't have to work to get on the League's good side. He just had to reveal his ID to regain trust and that, too, was Clark's idea.

And that's not an attempt at redemption, because if it was, then why did Clark have to do it too? Clark didn't do anything to deserve it. But Bruce forces him to and Clark agrees: for the greater good that the League trusting each other would ensure.

Clark Kent, who chooses to forego a mask so that people trust him. Literally, it comes down to that. Who has to built his whole civilian life around the fact that he shows his bare fucking face to the whole world.

And honestly, if I were to throw genre convention aside and read the text the hard way, Bruce doesn't seem really all that bothered with keeping his ID a secret. He's nothing compared to Clark. I mean. Come on, look at the number of people who know Bruce's ID and the number that know Clark's and tell me. Fucking tell me who's more serious about that stuff.

Bruce's entire existence hinges on other characters’ kindness, in and out of universe. In-universe there's this massive brigade of people who know his ID and keep it a secret. Out of universe, writers who show him to be the best even though Clark, Diana, Dick are all more worthy than him.

This is what you get when you let little incels run creative industries.

What did Bruce ever have to do to redeem himself to anyone? Literally anyone? Bruce would let Gotham burn if it meant he keeps his colossal pride intact. But oh, send his children to die: woe is him, this greiving father, so tragique—would absolutely do that.

He isn't even a hero. You know the impact of Batman: Ego and BtAS pales when put next to his very selfish acts when it comes to himself.

Because always—ALWAYS—the uwu factor in Bruce's stories aren't personal.

Not like it's in Clark's who has to face xenophobia because he's an alien. He's natural existence—his powers that are a part of him existing—being called a threat. He still helps.

Not like Diana who comes to the Man's World and decides to stay behind despite it being, well, a Man's World. That would never really respect her as much as it respects a man, any man, even though she's a literal Goddess. Coming and staying in Man's World for her means loneliness. Being immortal and watching every friend she ever made become a memory. But she chose to do it. Because at the end of the day, it's not about her. It's about helping people.

But for Bruce, in true male-is-default fashion, it's about losing people. People he loves.

His parents' death, Jason's death and so on and so forth. I'm not saying losing someone is not painful. I'm just saying it's always about his manpain.

Making the victim's pain his.

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drunkenskunk · 2 months

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So I've been playing a lot of Helldivers II, and it's really fun!

(at least, it is when the servers are working lmao)

However: there is one thing about the game that annoys me. It's the same thing that always annoys me whenever drop pods are mentioned in science fiction.

Nobody ever seems to get them right!

Whenever drop pods show up, they always seem to depict each pod as a single projectile rocketing towards the surface of a planet, usually behind enemy lines. They're the logical sci fi evolution of airborne infantry dropping in by parachute, because a lot of military sci fi tropes have trouble moving past WWII. And, y'know, that's fine. That's not the issue I have.

The issue is the single projectile part.

It's almost like every writer who includes drop pods forget that anti-aircraft weapons and SAM sites are currently a thing in the real world and would almost certainly still exist and be better in the science fiction space future. Those drop pods rocketing towards the surface would present the juiciest targets imaginable and would almost certainly get shot out of the sky before they even got close to impacting on the surface.

Annoyingly, the only sci fi that I know of to ever get drop pods right is the first one to ever do it: the Starship Troopers novel by Robert Heinlein.

Now, say what you will about Heinlein - and I do, quite often. For the most part, he's not that great of a writer, and his politics are terrible. The man was an asshole who loved writing wet farts of fascist porn, and the novel absolutely pales in comparison to Paul Verhoeven's 1998 masterpiece of satire, where he took one look at the book, rolled his eyes, and started making jerk-off motions.

But when I first read the novel when I was, like, 6 years old, I was a dumbass child and didn't notice (or care) about the... I mean, I'd call it "fascist subtext" except that it's literally just The Text. No, what drew me in was the one singular thing Heinlein was actually good at writing: technical sequences, written from an in-universe lens.

The way he described how the drop pods actually work in the first few pages of the novel - and, more importantly, how they don't immediately get shot out of the sky - is great! It makes sense, it's easy to understand (because Johnny Rico is, let's be honest: an idiot, he's not going to give you a complicated explanation), and it fills in a plot hole you never realized was there.

For as many faults as the man had as both a writer and a human being, and for all the many problems the rest of the book has, that first chapter - and specifically the drop pod sequence - is a great hook.

Like, this is the template for drop pods. This is The Thing that people are referencing whenever drop pods show up in sci fi, like in fucking Halo, or Starcraft, or Warhammer 40k. And everyone always seems to forget the single most important thing about this infantry delivery system: the countermeasures.

I dunno. This is just one of those things that's always annoyed me.

#drunk skunk rant #scifi #drop pods #Helldivers #Helldivers 2 #Helldivers II #Starship Troopers #Robert A Heinlein

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mrsjellymunson · 2 months

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KNOCK AT THE CABIN | Prologue

Written for @bettyfrommars, @allthingsjoeq and @somnambulic-thing’s Stranger Prompts, Prompt 1. He shows up at your house covered in mud in the rain, but the problem is, he died two months ago.

Series Summary: After the events of the previous months, everyone is shocked by the unexpected return of an old friend. But is it really him?

Chapter Summary: On a stormy night, an unexpected visitor arrives.

WC: 1.14k

Series C/W: 🔞 18+, MDNI, NSFW. I mean it, if you’re under 18, git! Post-S4, Upside Down exists, dark/supernatural themes. Eventual Eddie Munson x fem!reader smut. Swearing. Not much to caution about in this part, unless you don’t like rain, or bad decor.

A/N: This series contains a lot of things I haven’t written for before, so I’d love to know what you think! Please comment and reblog, it means the world to writers, and reblogs mean work gets seen. This series has a taglist so if you’d like to be on either it, or my general list, lemme know in a comment, ask or message 🙏💗

You’re holed up in an old farmhouse on the outskirts of Hawkins. It’s not exactly remote, but the nearest building is little more than a speck on the horizon so you feel pretty isolated. Owens organised it, explaining it would be a good idea for the older members of the party to lay low for a little while. Nancy had put forward an excellent argument for remaining with her family, but you, Robin and Steve had reluctantly packed up some of your belongings and relocated here. For how long, you don’t know.

It’s no palace. The wood-built building is certainly past its best, the yellowing 50s kitchen barely functional and the faded decor not to anyone's taste. But it’s (mostly) warm, (usually) dry, and most importantly, it feels safe. Which is something you all need after the events of the past few months.

You’re all acutely aware of the obvious gap in your merry band. Owens had insisted that the three of you didn’t attend the funeral, but he’d involved you as much as he could, ferrying messages between you and the kids and Wayne, discussing what he would’ve wanted to wear (you all agreed on his spare Hellfire shirt and leather jacket, knowing he’d never want to be separated from either, plus a brand new, government-funded pair of black 501s), and sneaking mementoes to you with Wayne’s approval.

Mike and Will have taken charge of his D&D paraphernalia, Dustin got his wallet chain (and wears it with literally everything, even his Weird Al shirts and colourful shorts), and Lucas opted for a small pocket knife. You, Steve and Robin each have one of his rings. Steve and Robin keep theirs in their rooms, but you wear the silver skull every day. It’s too big for your fingers, and is even a little loose on your thumb, but that’s where you keep it, spinning it to ease your anxiety, and smoothing the pads of your fingers over its bumpy surface to remind you of the friend you’ve lost. Rueing the fact that you always wanted him to be more than that, but never had the chance to find out whether he felt the same.

The kids visit periodically, even staying over sometimes, nobody expecting anyone to be watching the comings and goings of a bunch of nerdy teens. Nancy drops them off, sometimes staying, sometimes not. On this occasion she’d dropped and run, explaining that she was going to visit Max in the hospital tomorrow, spending some quality girly time with her. Lucas, who usually spent every spare moment by her bedside, was going to spend the weekend here, after Max, still seriously ill but now well enough to communicate, insisted that he needed to spend at least a bit of time with his old friends.

Tonight, you’d had a movie marathon, Keith developing an uncharacteristically generous side since everything kicked off and periodically dropping off and collecting piles of VHS tapes. Not quite generous enough to bring you any brand new releases, but even things you’ve seen before are better than the ‘sweet FA’ you’d have available given the nonexistent TV reception around here.

Popcorn litters the floor and the saggy furniture, as do gangly boys and a long-haired girl. Jane has commandeered the sole armchair, sitting in it cross-legged, and you, Steve and Robin are squashed onto the sofa with an equally squashed Dustin, the latter insisting that there was definitely room for one more.

Mike and Will are on the floor between the sofa and the old, battered coffee table. Mike’s hunched over a bowl of chips that he’s shovelling in, and Will is leaning against your legs, you stroking his hair in a way you know he finds comforting. Lucas is lounging on the floor at the side of the table, his long body stretched out and his head supported on threadbare throw pillows.

The gentle patter of drizzly rain against the windows and roof, and the crackle of the open fire, one of your only sources of heating, gives the evening a cosy feel, though you hope the rain doesn’t get any heavier as you don’t entirely trust the roof over the rear extension to cope with much more meteorological abuse.

You’ve just finished Raiders Of the Lost Ark and Steve has got up to swap it out for The Stuff, when there’s a strong gust of wind and the rainfall picks up significantly. Great, you think, the weather gods definitely weren’t listening to your silent pleas.

None of you notice Jane stiffening in her seat and shifting uncomfortably.

Under the lashing of the wind and rain there’s a sudden noise at the front door. Not urgent, not loud, just two soft thuds. If the kids had been roughhousing or the film had been on you may even have missed them.

You all look at each other, instantly and equally on edge, and all hoping that somebody, anybody, will provide a simple explanation for this.

Steve’s the first to speak. Jaw slack and brow furrowed, he asks the room, “Uhh, did anyone order takeout?”

There’s a cacophony of ‘no’s’ and shaken heads, before another soft thud is heard, just one this time.

Steve steels himself, not for the first time realising that it’s his responsibility to investigate the possibly terrifying, and potentially life-threatening, situation. He stands from his position by the video player and moves towards the door, fingertips skimming the top of the bat that’s always to the side of it, before closing his hand softly around the handle.

He pulls back the sliding bolts before twisting the lock and pulling the door open just a crack, leaving the chain on. The noise of the weather increases in volume, but other than that there’s no indication of what’s on the other side.

Steve has his back to you so you don’t see his eyes go wide, but you do hear a soft, “Wh- What the fuck?”

Robin being Robin, and perpetually thinking about her stomach, she says,

“What is it, doofus? Pleeease tell me it’s Jonathon and Argyle dropping by from Cali with some delicious Surfer Boy pizza??”

“Uh, no, it’s, uh- You know what? Maybe you should just come and see for yourself. Wait, scratch that, just the adults.”

Knowing this will unwittingly pique the interest of the kids more than if he’d just allowed everyone to come look, you and Robin glance at each other before quickly rising and moving to the door.

Steve closes it and takes off the chain, opening it wide as the three of you arrive, the kids following close behind and trying to look between you.

There, hunched, shivering, soaking wet and covered in mud, is your friend. The one who’d died saving the town. The one they’d buried only a few days ago, after he’d been lying on a slab in a lab somewhere for weeks.

Eddie.

Thanks so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed this. Lemme know if you’d like to be tagged in future parts.

Extra tags: @jamdoughnutmagician @joejoequinnquinn

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chishiyaisasnack · 3 months

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First time

Hello people! Long time no see. I’ve been suffering from writers block. But now I’m back. Thank you @v3lv3tf0x for the request 💗

I have worked on this fic for about 4 months now I think. It was hard for me to write a serious fic. I usually put in jokes and make everything light hearted, but I wanted this one to be different. That’s why it’s taken so long.

I see y/n (the reader) as 20+. Not as a minor. You can read it however you want though. I also want to mention that loosing your virginity isn’t something that needs to happen in your teens, or even in your 20’s. It’s not uncommon for it to happen later in life. There is no rule to when you should have sex for the first time. Or even have sex at all. Everyone has their reasons to why they haven’t done it, or why they have. Take a deep breath and don’t blame yourself if you feel like you are too old to be a virgin. You are not.

I also chose to make the reader experienced with their own body. Aka masturbation.

Disclaimer! This is a chishiya x fem!reader smut about reader having sex for the first time. Don’t read it if you are to young or uncomfortable with the topic.

”Ugh, I don’t want to die a virgin.”

A simple sentence. A few words that you weren’t planning on saying in the first place. And worst of all, Chishiya heard every single one of them.

”Why is that important to you?” Chishiya didn’t even look at you as he answered, he just kept gazing at the dark night sky in front of you, spanning over the abandoned city of Tokyo that spread out under it. It was just the two of you up on the roof again. It had been a few more people but they had all left already. You weren’t even sure why Chishiya was still here with you. But he was, and you weren’t bothered by it for once.

He had asked why you wanted to survive in this world, why you needed to go back to the real world again. Maybe he just needed some validation, that you didn’t need to be someone special to want to live. Maybe his will to live wasn’t because of some heroic dream, maybe he just wanted someone to not have a big reason. You sure didn’t. You didn’t have any big dreams or plans for your life. You didn’t have someone special to get back to. You just wanted to experience more, live more. And somehow having sex for the first time was the first thing to come out of your mouth.

”I don’t know…” You hesitated a bit before continuing, slight embarrassment creeping up on you. ”It’s just something I want to do, it just hasn’t happend yet.”

”Hmm” Chishiya hummed back, still not responding the way you thought he would. You though that he would at least look at you, maybe question why you were still a virgin, tease you a bit over it. But no, he just sat there, seemingly not caring at all.

It’s not like being a virgin was what embarrassed you, you weren’t ashamed of it. You had your reasons. But talking to Chishiya, out of all people, about your (non existing) sex life was enough to colour your cheeks red.

”The beach is full of horny people” he finally continued, his eyes finally turning towards you.

”People would be lining up.”

There was the signature smirk. He was having fun with this. You were never going to hear the end of this, would you?

”I just… I don’t know, I just want it to be with someone that I trust. That I know won’t hurt me. It doesn’t have to be romantic, it can be casual, but I just want to feel safe I guess.” You took a second to gather your thought before continuing.

”I don’t want it to be with someone I just met.”

You observed Chishiya’s reaction to your words, his eyes sparkled under the night sky, hair flowing lightly in the wind. He looked curious, not teasing but like he wanted to hear more. The way he stared at you almost made you shy, it was like he was trying to read your thoughts through eye contact alone. The silence kept growing, making you squirm a bit to break the weird tension that was hanging in the air. Why would he be interrested in hearing this, it’s not like he would be up for it. It was Chishiya - the annoying, cunning, uninterrested, sarcastic, selfish, smug, arrogant, obnoxious…

”Then how about me?”

———

It had been an hour. Sitting outside of the courthouse, waiting impatiently for Chishiya to return from the game that you begged him not to go to.

”I have to go, my visa is almost out. I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

Chishiya’s words hadn’t been comforting in the slightest, instead they just made that knot of anxiety and worry in your stomach grow until tears were staining the ground you were staring at. Why were you crying? He’d be back soon. Probably. Hopefully. The blimp with the game card was still flying over the courthouse, displaying the king of diamonds for everyone to see. Why did he have to choose a king card, why would he risk his life again, why didn’t he… Oh.

You instinctively put your hand over your face to cover it from potential debris that fell from the now exploding blimp above you, but it didn’t fall anywhere close to where you were sitting, leaning against a lonely tree that were shaking from the blast impact. Or was it you that was shaking? You couldn’t tell anymore.

For a second you hesitated to remove your hand from your face. What if he wasn’t on the other side of it? You hadn’t seen anyone else walk into the game area, so he could be all alone in there. Alone and injured. Or worse. You clenched your eyes shut at the thought. You couldn’t lose him - he had to be alive, he had to come back.

”Are you trying to hide from me?”

That knot in your stomach unraveled and turned into tears as a gentle hand pried away yours, revealing Chishiya’s calm, and slightly amused, expression when he crouched down to look at you. Your tears had turned into full on sobbing as the tension in you released. The relief that you felt was overwhelming. He was back, he was safe, he didn’t seem to be injured.

When the tears finally stopped you let him take your hand and help you off the ground. You must have been still shaking because in the blink of an eye you felt a warm zip up hoodie fall over your shoulders and a pair of hands zipping it up.

”Shall we go back?”

—————

The walk back to the hotel that you had set up camp in felt like an eternity. Every step was heavy, both with relief that he was back and safe, and with dread that this possibly wouldn’t be the last game you had to play. There were still blimps flying around over Tokyo, face cards that killed more people than ever before.

It felt like hours before you finally reached the room. All you wanted was… actually, you didn’t know what you wanted. It was exhausting. Even just standing there, staring out the window with your hands in the hoodies front pockets.

”Are you okay?” A low voice floated through the thick air around you. When did he get so close? You could swear that he was standing by the door just a second ago. Now, he stood in front of you with questioning eyes staring right back into yours. How were they so captivating? Dark, curious, a hint of worry.

You didn’t have time to comprehend what happend in the following second, all you knew was that two arms wrapped around you and a warm body was pressed against yours. Soft breathing tickled you neck, a soft chin laying on your shoulder. Wait, was he hugging you? It took you a moment to take it all in, but when you did you swore to yourself that you would never let go of him ever again. You let your hands grab a hold of his t-shirt, black fabric bunching up between your fingers, and buried your face in his neck, the smell of him instantly calming your nerves.

You could feel his fingers running soothingly along your shoulders, drawing circles and shapes as he pressed you closer to him. Emotions that you’d never felt before welled up inside you.

”I can’t lose you.” It was just a whisper leaving your lips but every word had so much meaning to them.

Chishiya moved his head back and looked at you with a million different emotions in his eyes but a stone cold look on his face. Had you said too much? Did you get this whole thing wrong? But he hugged you, he comforted you, he-

Then he kissed you.

A million waves of electricity went through your body all at once. It sizzled out from where his lips met yours and flooded every part of you. Forget butterflies, your body felt like it was on fire. All the emotions inside you, all the anger and sadness that you had been holding onto to act strong, erupted with a passion that you had never felt before.

You weren’t the only one to feel that way. Considering how hurried his breath was when his lips came off yours to give you a chance to back off, the quiet gasp he made when you tugged on his hair and pulled him back in, and the strength his hands grabbed your waist with to get you just a little closer - he was just as lost in the moment as you were.

Warm fingers were caressing the back of your neck, raking through some strands of hair, tracing your earlobe and moving down your neck until he hit the zipper of the hoodie and you felt your heart skip a beat in anticipation. For a second you thought that he was going to pull it down, but to your disappointment he didn’t. Chishiya’s hand left it and landed on your waist again, still eagerly kissing you back and pressing his body against yours. Was he trying to be gentle? To not cross any boundaries? Or was it because you told him that you hadn’t had sex before and he didn’t want to rush you? You couldn’t tell. The only thing you knew for certain was that you sure as hell did want more than kissing him and that you weren’t afraid of letting him know.

The kisses grew more intense by the second, it felt like you couldn’t get enough of him no matter how close to him your were or how much you were touching him. You wanted more. You wanted him. If he wasn’t going to take the first step then you would, because the growing need in your stomach was becoming unbearable. Was this what it was like to want someone? It was unlike anything you had felt before, all consuming and powerful, almost drowning out the nervousness that hid somewhere in the back of your mind.

You moved one hand from his neck to pull the zipper down the hoodie. The sound of it made Chishiya react and he let your lips go to stare into your eyes. He was still so close that you could feel the heat radiate off his skin, onto your already burning cheeks.

”We don’t have to do anything” he whispered in a voice so raspy that it made you weak in the knees.

You hummed and shook your head, not having the patience to answer and instead focusing on pulling his hoodie down your arms and letting it fall to the floor, all while looking back into his dark eyes before taking a step back. He watched your every move so intensly that you had to look away before being swallowed.

You didn’t hesitate when you pulled the hem of your shirt up, revealing bit by bit until it was going over your head and falling down, joining the hoodie. He didn’t hesitate to place his lips on yours, kissing you gently before trailing them down you neck.

Slowly, he kissed his way down your shoulder, his fingers gently pushing the bra strap down before his lips followed, leaving a row of goosebumps that were soon covered and soothed under warm lips. Those lips that you had watched so many times, watched and wondered how they would feel like, those lips were pressing against you, so soft, so warm, and so much more than you could’ve ever imagined. Your eyes fluttered closed, instead focusing on how his breath spread over your cheek when he came back up from pushing down both straps. You were hyperfocused on his every move. His hands inching up your waist until they reached the bra clasp, his thumbs running right below it before unclasping it, his hair tickling your cheek… It was all so much - but still not enough. This feeling of wanting someone so intensely was new to you and it was taking some time to wrap you head around it. The logical part of your brain was telling you that the sound of your bra hitting the floor meant that he had full access to your upper body and that you were topless and vulnerable, showing more of yourself than you let anyone see. Yet, the ball of need simmering in your lower stomach made you so calm, so sure that you wanted him to see you. To touch you. And you wanted to touch him too.

He didn’t make a new move, just stood there looking back at you, waiting for your response. You could tell that he was just as impatient as you were, especially considering that hard thing you felt pressing against your hip. It was making you dizzy with excitement that you made his body react like that.

Leaning forward, you put your forehead against his and closed your eyes. His breath was still calm, soothing the nerves that were still in your chest. A hand ran through your hair, long fingers threading through the strands, making you shiver.

”I want you” you whispered against his lips.

Not even a second later his lips were crashing into yours again. There were no slow start, no soft touches, it was hot and desperate and it was taking you by storm. You were so focused on his tounge sliding against yours that you didn’t even notice that he was moving you towards the bed, not until you both spun around and the back of your knees bumped into the matress.

After some struggling to get your limbs to work the way you wanted them to, your head hit the pillows and gave you a clear view of the man that now sat between your legs. He had a clear view of you too, which he clearly enjoyed. His eyes wandered all over you, from your hair that was splayed out under your head, to you neck, breasts (where they lingered a little longer) and down your torso. Before you had the chance of getting too flustered he took his eyes off you, only to pull his t-shirt over his head.

He was beautiful. The closest thing to shirtless he’d been in front of you so far was with his hoodie on, unzipped enough to tease your curiosity with how smooth his chest looked. More than once you’d found yourself observing the small beauty marks scattered over him and more than once you’d wondered how they would feel under the tip of your finger. Now he was here, in front of you with his whole torso on show. Soft lines, more tiny dots, a trail of black hair leading downwards - begging you to follow it. The light shining through the windows made his skin glisten and almost appear golden.

He let you look, let you take in the sight of the captivating man in front of you. You could feel his eyes burning on your face as you reached in, your fingers landing on his collarbone, brushing over it and making their way down his chest until you reached the dark hair trailing to unknown sights. He was just as soft as he looked. Muscles danced under you hands when you stroked them along his waist and ribs. The tent in his pants were evident and you hard to force yourself to not stare. You didn’t know the proper etiquette for how to observe someones dick for the first time, but you knew that Chishiya would definitely tease you forever if he caught you drooling over it already. Caught up in your thoughts about how long staring at someones crotch was still considered normal, you almost jumped when he leaned down and placed his lips on yours again. The weight of his body on yours, and the warmth of his skin made your toes curl. It was such a different feeling, being enveloped by another person. It was comforting and so, so breathtaking. Your fingers tangled through the blonde strands as you pulled him closer to you, only to have the kiss interrupted with a smile, before he placed them on your neck instead. Neck, collarbone, chest - his lips wandered all over you. He lingered when he reached your breasts, one hand carefully cupping one while his tounge ran over the other. You could feel goosebumps spread over you, the sensation so new and so electrifying. You wished he would’ve stayed there longer, but he was in a hurry, desire was probably clouding his mind as much as it did yours. After a few gentle kisses on your stomach, he looked up at you while hooking his fingers under your leggings and underwear, silently asking for permission to remove them. You didn’t think twice before nodding and giving him a quiet ”yes”, cursing that they were still on you and not on the floor already.

The normally calm Chishiya was everything but calm now, dragging the remaining clothes off your legs and throwing them somewhere behind him, his eyes fixated on what he was revealing. You could feel your cheeks heat up again but the desire in you was stronger than the shyness. Without breaking his gaze, he hurrid to remove his own pants. Your eyes followed the trail of hair under his navel, lower and lower and… Oh.

You knew what dicks looked like, you weren’t that innocent, but you had never seen one in real life and certainly not this close in front of you. It was so hard, visible veins running along the shaft, leading up to the tip which seemed to already be wet. Was it supposed to look a bit angry? Then you realised that, oh shit, you were staring at his crotch as if it was some rare animal in a zoo. Just like you told yourself you wouldn’t. And of course Chishiya seemed amused by how intensly you were studying it.

”Do you want to touch it?” he offered with a hint of playfullness, raising an eyebrow at you while the corners of his lips twitched in an attempt not to grin at your eagerness.

Yes. Yes you did. You really did. It didn’t go unnoticed by Chishiya who quickly helped you up so that you were sitting so close to him that your knees were touching. As soon as you felt the heat of him again the lust that had lingered in the air came back down onto you with a vengance. Chishiya’s smile was gone and instead he was eyeing you, reading your every reaction.

”Here,” he whispered and reached out for your hand, taking it in his and guiding it back until they were both wrapped around him. ”Like this.”

It was warm. Smooth. Hard but still soft under your touch. You followed Chishiyas slow movements, up and down, and back up again until he released his grip on you and let you move freely. The world was quiet around you, making the hurried breaths falling out of Chishiya’s mouth loud in your ears. You wanted to know what other sounds he would make. Running your thumb over the tip earned you a small gasp, rubbing it just under the head gave you another one. Would he moan if you ran your tounge over it? When you pried your eyes away from his length to look at his face you were met heavy eyes and open lips looking back at you. He was feeling good, you could tell. What was even more amazing was that it was you that was doing that to him. He was feeling good because of you. You wanted him to feel better, so you started moving your hand a bit faster, feeling how he got wet under the palm of your hand which made your movements smoother. His breath was speeding up even more and you even heard a soft groan in the back of his throat. A groan that went straight into your core, fanning the already burning flames.

All too soon, Chishiya took your hand again and removed it from his length, disrupting your enchantment and almost making you sulk over that it ended that fast.

”Lay back down” he murmured with a strained voice, gently pushing you backwards while following on top of you. As soon as your head hit the pillows his lips met your neck, followed by a whisper just below your ear.

”I want to touch you too. Can I?”

”Yes” you whispered back, excitement mixed with nerves stirring up inside you.

Chishiya didn’t waste any time before lifting himself off you a little and sliding his hand down your body, caressing every part of you on his way down to where you were silently begging him to go. You gasped when you felt his fingers slip in between your legs, to run a line over your folds before dipping down between them, easily sliding through the wetness. His eyes never left yours, he was observing your every reaction to his fingers finding your clit, making soft circles that sent jolts of electricity through your body. It felt heavenly.

You had touched yourself before, plenty of times, so you weren’t inexperienced with that part. However, the feeling of someone elses fingers were a whole new kind of pleasure. How could you ever go back to doing it yourself when he made it feel this good?

Chishiya switched up his movements every now and then, making you squirm underneath him as he circled your clit, drew lines between your folds - and then finally pushing a finger into you. It was just one finger but it already felt better than anything you’d ever had there. With slow thrusts he pushed against your walls, finding your g-spot easily and grinning at you when you begged for another finger. He complied and pushed another one in alongside the first one, spreading them between the in and out motion to prepare you for him. Your eyes were squeezed shut and mouth open, breath hurried and that fire in your stomach growing steadily.

All too soon he removed his fingers entirely. You groaned at him, but when you opened your eyes you weren’t met by the smirk you thought you would see but with a Chishiya impatiently eyeing your chest. It was your turn to smirk now. When he noticed it, you could swear that his cheeks got a bit redder, making the cute flush on his face ever sweeter. But he didn’t let you enjoy it too much. You felt him wiggle around between your legs and realised that he was lining himself up, preparing himself to finally sink into you.

”Are you sure you want to do this?” Chishiya’s voice was filled with desperation. You had never seen him this affected by anything and it filled your heart with warmth.

Running your fingers through his hair and down his shoulder, you gave him the most secure look you could when you answered ”Yes, I’m sure” with full honesty. You watched him swallow hard at the answer.

”Okay” he continued with a low, sultry voice, sounding so good that it made your cheeks heat up even more. ”Tell me if you want me to stop.” Then you felt pressure against your entrance when he finally started to push into you.

For a moment you forgot to breathe. You forgot the whole world around you and the only thing in your mind was the overwhelming feeling of Chishiya, very slowly, sinking into you and filling you up perfectly. You dug your fingers into his shoulders, grounding yourself with the soft skin underneath.

”Are you okay?” Chishiyas voice was strained, but concerned, as he stopped his movements to check in on you.

”Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just… a lot.”

”Can I move?”

You could feel his dick twitch when he asked, clearly enjoying being deep inside you. It was such a strange feeling, being filled like that, feeling every part of him. You wanted more.

”Please.”

With a careful pace he pulled back, almost out of you, before pushing back in. His eyes were glued on your face, observing every expression you made - and you couldnt help to stare back at him. He really was beautiful. Silver hair falling down the sides of his flushed cheeks, full lips open and waiting to connect with yours, and those eyes that hid so many things yet gave away so much at the same time. He was hovering right above you, close enought to feel his entire body against yours but without putting his weight on you. He was so warm. So soft.

Chishiya quickly found a good pace, rocking into you with a steady rythm that made small whimpers leave your mouth in time with every push against your sweet spot. You couldn’t help but to put your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you until his lips were back on yours, soft but needy. The delicious drag against your inner walls combined with his lips against yours made your head spin. Was it supposed to feel this good? Shouldn’t it be more awkward? You didn’t know. And you sure didn’t care either. All your senses were filled with Chishiya. His warmth, his smell, his quiet moans forming in the back of his throat once he buried his head in your neck.

”Fuck, sorry, I’m gonna come.” Chishiyas voice was rough as he was apologizing, even though there were nothing to apologize for. A wave of electricity hit you in the pit of your stomach at the thought of him feeling that good. That you made him feel that good. Instead of answering you decided to cross your legs around his waist - a wordless act to ask him to keep going. And he did.

Chishiyas thrusts started to become a bit erratic, abandoning the steady pace he had before and giving in to his body’s wishes. It didn’t take long until you heard a soft moan, followed by his hips stuttering, cock twitching and warmth filling you up inside.

You both stayed still like that for a while. Your hands raking through the back of his neck, puffs of his hurried breath mixed with soft pecks on the side of yours. You two were a panting, sweaty mess as you laid tangled together on the bed, but you didn’t want it any other way. You savoured every last bit of it before he lifted himself up on his hands and slowly pulled out of you. The sudden emptyness made you wince, already missing the fullness and connection he had given you.

You thought you were done, happy to lay back and bask in the afterglow of this experience, but Chishiya seemed to have other ideas. Even though he moved off of you and laid down on his side, he kept his lips on you, placing lazy kisses on your neck and shoulder. You felt his hand travel down your stomach, soft caressing until he reached the apex of your legs - and it wasn’t until then that you realized that he was going to try to make you come too.

”Wait” A soft whisper from you made him his action and look up at you with a confused look on his face.

”But you didn’t get to come” Chishiya answered more as a question than a statement, but removed his hand and placed it back of your stomach.

”I don’t need to. That was amazing”

”Are you sure?” He still wasn’t convinced, which made you quietly laugh.

”Yes I’m sure.”

”Fine then” Chishiya rolled over onto his back, still close enough to your that your skin touched. In the corner of your eye you could see him smirking while staring up at the ceiling. His hair was a mess, some strands standing straight out, but he was still gorgeous laying there. You wondered if he knew how pretty he was. Probably. And he most likely used it as a manipulation technique. Wait, why was he looking back at you, and why was the smirk bigger than ever.

”So, I guess you can die happy now”

#chishiya shuntaro #chishiya alice in borderland #chishiya x reader #aib chishiya #shuntaro chishiya #chishiya #my writing #chishiya smut #chishiya x y/n #chishiya shuntaro smut #chishiya imagine #shuntaro chishiya x reader #chishiya fanfic #chishiya shuntaro x reader #chishiya x you #chishiya x reader smut

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onyxbird · 10 months

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OK, turns out I'm not done way overanalyzing the hospital scene from "The Nigerian Job." But in the interests of not continuing to spam the poor stranger who touched off that conversation, I'll dump the new overanalysis into its own post. @trivalentlinks @wolves-in-the-world

As I've been thinking about this, I'm just fascinated by what the setup seems to imply about their choices here:

1. Nate and Hardison are both handcuffed to hospital beds--Nate unconscious, Hardison apparently only still on the bed because he doesn't know how get himself out of handcuffs.

2. Parker is free of her cuffs and pacing. (She gets handcuffed to the bed after feigning nausea to lure the doctors in.) Her dialog implies she has already formulated a plan for getting at least herself out (that will be ruined if Eliot kills someone).

3. Eliot is sitting in a chair, handcuffed to the arm. Going off of other Hollywood hospital scenes, I assume Eliot being in a chair reflects both being very minimally injured and some off-screen grifting on his part. He'd want to be cuffed to the relatively light-and-compact chair instead of a bed, since he could maneuver and fight without necessarily having to get the cuffs off first, which would be consistent with his assertion that "I can take these cops"--he's got an escape plan, too.

The dialog also indicates that 1) they have been in the hospital with Nate unconscious for at least 20 minutes (because that's how long ago they were fingerprinted) and 2) everyone else has been conscious since before getting brought to the hospital (Parker: "Cops and firemen got there just as we were waking up.").

So, all three of them sat there for at least 20 minutes waiting for Nate to wake up, knowing their time before their identities were uncovered was ticking away, and none of them just ditched the others and left.

Eliot and Parker both had exit plans that were plausible given their skills displayed in the rest of the series--Eliot almost certainly could have gotten the jump on the cops immediately guarding them, probably using the chair as a weapon, gotten the handcuff keys from them if necessary, and plowed his way through any remaining resistance; Parker could have found an openable window or a vent system or a route through a drop ceiling or something to sneak out. Eliot had even more of an advantage that his "roommate" was unconscious--Parker and Hardison wouldn't have known he was abandoning them until they heard him fighting the cops, and that would have been too late for them to ruin his plan by eliminating the element of surprise.

Like, part of me wants to say I'm probably reading too much into this--the writers needed the rest of them to still be there when Nate woke up or it would break the story... but that "problem" only exists because they chose to knock Nate out for 20+ minutes*. If the team was supposed to still be hostile and in every-man-for-himself mode, then all they would have had to do would be have Nate wake up with the others and them all start bickering as soon as the cops leave earshot.

They waited for Nate. The dialog didn't suggest that they were waiting for Nate to make the plan--maybe they wanted to make sure everyone made it out; maybe they just wanted to make sure Nate was OK, but either way they all stuck around for 20 minutes when it probably wasn't in their personal best interests in terms of escape and 2/3 had exit plans already. They may not trust each other yet, but they do seem to have decided to make sure everyone's accounted for before they split up.

*I'm going to ignore the fact that Nate probably has some serious brain injury if he was unconscious for 20+ minutes because Leverage clearly works on Hollywood harmless knock-out logic.

#the nigerian job #leverage #leverage overanalysis

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vampiretendencies · 1 year

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request; hi! i love your writing! if you could maybe do “tell me about your day.” with jj! maybe he’s your first boyfriend & you’re taken back by such a simple question/gesture since nobody has ever cared about you in that way before.

warnings; fluff

pairing; jj x fem!reader

authors note; writing blurbs rn bc of writers block (sorry to keep saying that btw i just repeat myself in case there’s a new reader, though i am currently starting to get over it) but still send in requests for one shots, imagines, etc. you may choose a blurb from the list below or send in your own idea.

other ways to say i love you prompt list

2 months.

So fresh, and so perpetually new.

Honeymoon phase striking JJ as something that would actually last this time. Not that he had many relationships to base it off of, but the past few he had typically went sour within the first few weeks.

None of them could get along with his way of life, or they just simply didnt appreciate the wholeness of everything that was JJ.

But he sensed it with you; he felt it in his bones, under his skin, on the tip of his tongue, every ounce of his being felt you, even if you weren't in the room.

This was his most serious, longest, emotionally involved, admiration filled relationship he'd been in.

This was your first relationship, but after being underwhelmed in his past endeavors he found this to be his first too.

And he's thinking about you first thing when he wakes up in the morning, last thing when he goes to sleep- unable to function properly if you weren't near.

JJ was your first everything; first kiss, first time holding hands, first time cuddling, first time being sexually involved with a boy.

But, Christ were your standards low about yourself.

Initially thinking a human with such with breathtakingly confined gestures didn't exist like JJ.

He proved you wrong, convincing you that everyone else in this world were heathens.

He taught you how to create such passion for another, how to know someone's heart and you did the same.

"How was your day, baby?"

It rolled of JJ's tongue, finitely. The two of you were entangled in the hammock at the Chateau, and you were cradled into JJ's arms. Attached to his side, whilst he studied your features; peering down at your scrunched up nose as if you were heaven sent. You thumbed over the material of his beer-stained Heyward's t-shirt, coming to a halt at that question. Almost like the hammock stopped swinging, the unearthly beaming sun stopped shining on the two of you, and as if you'd sunken into the mucky ground.

You were in awe, glaring up at JJ like he'd grown two heads.

Was he being serious? You thought.

"Something on my face? It's okay you can tell me-"

"No m'just ... you meant to ask me that?"

Stunned, was an understatement, as you are now propping your chin onto JJ's muscular chest, needing a better view. Almost uneased and taken aback as that wasn't an everyday question anyone asked you— lead alone a boy.

"Course' I did ..." and then he noticed your furrowed eyebrows. "C'mon, what's goin' on in that pretty little head?”

"Nothing J, you're the first guy to ask me that."

""Let's keep it that way, baby. I'll be the only one."

He's repeatedly pecking the skin of your forehead leaving you to say, “Since I've met you all of my days have been perfect."

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littlestpetgoth · 5 months

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Tell us more about your little homestucks?

ok.. ill only go over my descendent ocs because they're the ones ive been posting about recently, i have too many homestuck ocs to cover lol..

mayosi pyrope is the first descendent oc i made back when there was a brief trend on twitter to make, fan descendants of the trolls. i think i was inspired by ko's descendent acarid, and terezi being one of my favorite trolls i ended up making a bootleg pyrope. (and i draw them together all the time bc they rot my brain)

they're a radical transmasc weeaboo skater "vigilante" who grew up being raised by humans in a very normal average household where they got basically anything they wanted with no issues. their interests include; dishing out justice, watching animes, playing videogames, and doing sick tricks on their board. they wield a katana that resembles terezi's dragon cane.. they're my simplest designed character, and though they look a lot like terezi with a skirt and long hair their design was heavily influenced by dirk because i imagined that dirk has influenced some kind of anime character that mayosi obsesses over and has based their look on..

they aren't at all interested in, being a lawyer or anything like that and would like to take care of bad guys samurai batman style in their ideal world.. unfortunately the loving gently parenting of their human family didn't toughen them up enough so they're mostly a baby who doesn't do well when faced with conflict. mayosi's easily bossed around by anyone who firmly tells them to do something because they're too scared to step up and stand up for themself and others, they have a lot of shame for not being as strong and cool as terezi or red glare. real wet blanket.

uuuh like terezi, they weren't always blind. they were lured in by their ex best friend now super complex hate not boyfriend acarid and he poured acid into their eyes, ruining their vision and giving them crazy chem burn scars.. i think around this time they were also given their super rad pointy shades so they can look more like their hero, but it was a major blow to their confidence since not only are they a weak coward they're now a weak coward who can't see. they eventually learn to navigate the world via sound waves, its not as effective as terezi's sniff and taste vision but mayosi isnt as interested as smelling and licking everything in their presence.

example of what i think it's like for them here..

theyyy are convinced by acarid to join him in his perfect sburb sesh, where they eventually grow a pair and cut off his arm and gouge his eyes before being shot in the brain and killed dead without ever waking on their moon. (sad) mayosi's feelings about acarid, who essentially abuses and manipulates them constantly, are very complicated because they feel an obligation to take on the brunt of his crazy in order to protect everyone but also because they cling to the nostalgic memories they have of him and are hoping he'll one day go back to that.

kokesi megido is based on kokeshi dolls, i think she sees ghosts and is really scared of them so she's super skittish and is always finding ways to shoo them away.. she probably knows how to speak japanese ig, i dont have a lot to say about her unfortunately.. i like how her design turned out though.

grimir maryam and romato vantas are brothers adopted into a rich human family, they're both spoiled brats and are constantly bickering with each other when they aren't pretending the other exists. grimir is mute and likes to garden (sooo original, i know) and romato speaks a lot and is a hopeless romantic writer. shrug.

i don't have as much to talk about. for any of my descendents other than mayosi because i have a really hard time developing ocs when i dont have people to bounce ideas off of. i mean most of mayosi was formed around acarid's existence and from ko's influence, otherwise they also wouldn't be developed . sorry .

#oc #ask #homestuck #fantroll #im not very good at working on ocs #i mostly just design them and pput them on a shelf

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theghostbunnie · 7 months

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I've been telling anyone who will listen to me for years how I never believed Fiona's universe was just a genderbent version of Finn's bc the personality changes would be too drastic sometimes and I know adventure time is partly written as it goes along but let me have this !

Fiona isn't even a Finn multiverse variant, she's BASED off of Finn. Where as the rest of the multiverse is made by wishes, so I see it kinda like making a clone of a clone, Fiona's universe is "hand made" so to speak. Something I find interesting is, everyone in it, instead of having the deep lore and backstories as the OG universe (the one they were based off of) they seem to get the simplified "what a viewer would assume/all they'd get to know in the first few seasons of watching adventure time."

Fiona and Cake aren't referred to as sisters, even when their universe had magic. When it went without, cake turned into her pet cat. Similar to how as a little kid watching the first season, you just thought Jake was Finn's talking dog.

Fiona didn't get the last name Mertins because in her original magical universe I'm betting the human Island, bio parents' backstory, deep lore about the mushroom war and the vampires just don't exist there. Similar to how when you were watching the first seasons of adventure you don't really question how Finn got there, or all of ooo. It's just boy in magical land.

Also I am willing to die on this hill Gumball/Gary and Princess bubblegum have next to nothing in common. Even in his first appearances in the main series, Gumball was acting snooty and prissy, what young veiwers thought princess bubblegum to be in the earliest seasons. Gumball/Gary in the new series has very few of Princess bubblegum's traits, especially a lack of being a scientist or abrasive bluntness, or a whole list of things. Don't get me wrong I'm not saying he's shallowly written compared to her! Just different, easily embarrassed and a writer instead, infact! All his lil candy ocs.

The character with the biggest differences though?? Cake and Jake. These are two COMPLETELY separate personalities to me.

So to tie this back to my earlier point of this universe being "hand made" and the more intriqure details being more naturally unique and simple than a carbon genderbent copy, I think Prismo put the least amount of work into Cake. (So her as a living creature developed a personality naturally, not that she doesn't have one bc Prismo didn't give her one manually)

Prismo and Jake were friends, I'm sure he's mourned him and misses him. So why would he torture himself/Disrespect someone he knew personally by making a new one? That wouldn't be fun, and that's arguably the whole reason he made Fiona's world. To have fun making something. That's why I think it doesn't have that depth and darkness Finn's world has, it's just "girl in magical land."

#adventure time #adventure time fandom #fionna campbell #fionna and cake #finn the human #finn mertens #finn and jake #prismo the wishmaster #prismo #adventure time fiona and cake

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queenofthedisneyverse · 2 months

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Technology from 1870-1899 (For Encanto fic writers)

So, A mutual of mine @miracles-and-butterfliess pointed out that everyone (including me) tends to forget that Encanto was literally made when the triplets were born. Which is literally 1900 or 1901. Regardless, it was the very beginning of the 19th century so let me tell you about the technology/things they would/wouldn’t have. (And please keep in mind that most of these may or may not have been imported into Colombia yet.)

1870 - 1879

1872—A.M. Ward creates the first mail-order catalog. NO

1873—Joseph Glidden invented barbed wire. NO

1876—Alexander Graham Bell patents the telephone. NO

1876—Nicolaus August Otto invents the first practical four-stroke internal combustion engine. NO

1876—Melville Bissell patents the carpet sweeper. NO?

1878—Thomas Edison invents the cylinder phonograph (known then as the tin foil phonograph). MAYBE

1878—Eadweard Muybridge invents moving pictures. NO?

1878—Sir Joseph Wilson Swan invents the prototype for a practical electric lightbulb. YES?

1879—Thomas Edison invented the first commercially viable incandescent electric light bulb. NO?

1880 - 1889

1880—The British Perforated Paper Company debuts toilet paper. YES

1880—English inventor John Milne creates the modern seismograph. NO

1881—David Houston patents camera film in roll format. NO?

1884—Lewis Edson Waterman invents the first practical fountain pen. YES

1884—L. A. Thompson built and opened the first roller coaster in the United States at a site on Coney Island, New York. NO

1884—James Ritty invents a functional mechanical cash register. YES?

1884—Charles Parson patents the steam turbine. NO

1885—Karl Benz invented the first practical automobile powered by an internal-combustion engine. NO (even before Encanto, Alma’s town looked rural so I doubt the automobile reached them yet.)

1885—Gottlieb Daimler invented the first gas-engine motorcycle. NO

1886—John Pemberton introduces Coca-Cola. NO

1886—Gottlieb Daimler designs and builds the world's first four-wheeled automobile. NO

1887—Heinrich Hertz invents radar. NO

1887—Emile Berliner invented the gramophone. YES

1887—F.E. Muller and Adolph Fick invented the first wearable contact lenses. NO

1888—Nikola Tesla invents the alternating current motor and transformer. NO

1890 - 1899

1891—Jesse W. Reno invents the escalator. NO

1892—Rudolf Diesel invents the diesel-fueled internal combustion engine, which he patents six years later. NO

1892—Sir James Dewar invents the Dewar vacuum flask. NO

1893—W.L. Judson invents the zipper. NO (zippers didn’t become popular globally until a little bit later; buttons, ribbons/laces and whatever else were still the norm/in fashion for fastening and tying (which is still the case in some places today)

1895—Brothers Auguste and Louis Lumière invent a portable motion-picture camera that doubles as a film-processing unit and projector. The invention is called the Cinematographe and using it, the Lumières project the motion picture for an audience. NO?

1899—J.S. Thurman patents the motor-driven vacuum cleaner. NO (if you're running from being killed, the last thing you're going to bring is a vacuum cleaner)

I remember a post listing the sort of jobs there would be in Encanto but I forgot so I’ll just list the ones I know (let me know if I need to add anything.):

Seamstress/tailor

Embellisher

Field worker

Teacher (of any kind; music, dance, art, etc)

Woodworker - wood carver

Toy maker

Construction worker

Joining a Local band/ Orchestra - being apart of a choir

Carpenter

Metal worker

Jeweler (though I’m not sure if Jewelery of the diamond/gem kind is common in Encanto)

bladesmith/ knifemaker

Inventor? (Inventors should exist in Encanto by now…just one other genius besides Mirabel?)

I know some of these are very obvious but I’m just giving people options okay?

@miracles-and-butterflies you seem to know a lot more about this kind of stuff so if you have anything to add/take away or me to fix please let me know. I tried to search up “When was X invention imported into Colombia” and literally nothing of use comes up.

#camilo madrigal #bruno madrigal #mirabel madrigal #dolores madrigal #antonio madrigal #isabela madrigal #pepa madrigal #encanto 2021 #encanto au #encanto fanfic

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whetstonefires · 4 months

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So re: Qin Su's death, one thing I'm absolutely certain of is that she did not just conveniently kill herself due to her high level of distress, at the exact moment most convenient to a person she was super mad at.

Because, frankly, mxtx is not that shitty a writer. She doesn't sweat the details or logistics of things, characters are allowed to coincidentally turn up in the right place to make the plot work and so forth, but these novels are intensely concerned with character motive and internal life. Everyone does things for their own reasons.

People do what the plot requires, but a defining feature of her writing is that everyone is fashioned into the shape of the kind of person who would do that thing in this situation. Sometimes whole scenes or subplots exist mainly to put on display the underlying cognitive patterns that justify as individual choices the kinds of things stock characters routinely do in genre novels, for no reason than that they are The Type Of Character who Does That.

If Qin Su was going to commit suicide about the bad news, there would have been hints that this was the direction her thoughts were trending during the preceding scene, where we're introduced to her reactions. And there aren't.

Her primary reaction is anger. She's scared to death when her husband paralyzes her and puts her on his dismemberment table to interrogate later for the name of her informant. She is contemptuous of his caring almost exclusively about what all these horrors could do to their reputation.

There is nothing in the scene to suggest she would, given the opportunity to denounce him to the cultivation world, choose instead to escape by knife.

The interpretation of this sequence that says she Just Did That really annoys me, because it requires ignoring basically every single piece of information about the character other than the fact that Wei Wuxian always thought since they were kids that she wasn't very bright.

Furthermore, it would be out of character for Jin Guangyao to have knowingly arranged a situation likely to go so badly for him, and wildly unusual for him to get so lucky if he had. This man has shit luck normally.

The sensible thing for him to do, in a universe where Qin Su just conveniently opted for suicide instead of ratting on him, would have been to take the ten to twenty minutes of prep time he had to work with to disappear her the same way he did nmj's head.

This might have required killing her first, since we don't know where he put it, but while I'm sure he didn't want to do that I'm equally sure he was entirely capable. He had a convenient scapegoat handy to blame for her disappearance.

He had no reason to allow her to be visible and capable of independent action when his cavalcade of guests arrived. But there she was, dazed but unrestrained. And then...cursed knife time.

Super convenient! She's dead and can't blab, and lots of important people saw her do it and saw how horrified he was and are disposed to be sympathetic. Works out much better for him than the risk of being blamed if she disappears.

So Wei Wuxian's assumption that jgy set the suicide up and compelled her somehow is the most logical inference. Neither of their characters is really compatible with the other scenario.

If Jin Guangyao had actual mind control powers he definitely would have used them a lot, so the most straightforward version of what happened is he used some technique or drug that would confuse her and suppress her cognition, then deliberately put 'cursed dagger that preys on your negative feelings and makes you kill yourself' within reach just before everyone entered.

I'm sure if it hadn't worked, and she'd just kind of stared into the distance while he talked his way out of the unproveable allegations and weaponized Mo Xuanyu's bad reputation and so forth, he'd have been happy with that outcome too, since it would still have meant a lot of important people saw her alive and not freaking out, and then he'd still have been able to torture her for information later. (Again, something I'm sure he didn't want to do, but absolutely would have.)

But this worked out well and got rid of two exposure threats at once while buying him sympathy points.

Although considering his shit luck, I wouldn't rule out that his plan only went as far as sedating her so she couldn't make trouble and he could show everyone how not paralyzed on his murder table she was, and he'd forgotten he had an evil dagger that compelled you to kill yourself lying around in reach of a woman whose ability to exert force of will he'd just reduced to nothing.

And he wasn't expecting that result at all.

#hoc est meum #mdzs #jin guangyao #qin su #meta #character meta #suicide #arguably domestic violence

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wri0thesley · 3 months

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cycle - lucas (yandere oc) x reader (4.3k)

it all comes back. again and again and again.

as before: if you would like a primer on lucas, reading this is probably the best thing to do!

cw: yandere, cannibalism, kidnapped reader, descriptions of gore, non-explicit mentions of past dub-con/non-con, physical violence against reader. reader is fem, referred to as 'good girl' and is implied to be chubby.

this was a commissioned work.

You have gotten good at pretending.

It is far easier for everyone if you pretend you have always lived here; that Lucas’s cabin, and the woods surrounding it, the chickens outside and the old dining table and the cosy decor are all you have ever known.

When you had first come here, in those first few weeks, you had tried desperately to hold onto all of the vestiges of your old life. You had squeezed your eyes shut in the shower and tried to recall the scents of your own shower gels and shampoos and not the mixture of half-empty bottles that sat on shelves in Lucas’s bathroom. You had crawled beneath blankets and pillows and hugged yourself and tried to remember the feel of your own mattress and your own threadbare teddy bear. You had been terrified that they would slip away, and you would find yourself forgetting all of the things that made you yourself--

Now, you think it would be easier if they had.

If you had been granted a blank slate, you wouldn’t have to worry about the things you’ve been given and the things that adorn the cabin and their provenance. When you pulled a blanket over yourself on the sofa, or laid the table with a new embroidered tablecloth, or looked through the shelf of curling old paperbacks, you wouldn’t need to think about how many other hands that they have passed through.

So you pretend that you have it instead.

Things are just things, after all; merely objects, not people, not memories themselves. Who is to say that when Lucas goes into town, he doesn’t take an hour or two to wander into thrift stores? That he doesn’t have a weakness for things that have already passed through many hands before his own? Out here, in such a solitary existence, perhaps he even enjoys the reminder that there are other people in the world--

Well. From what you’ve seen of Lucas, and heard him mutter beneath his breath on days where his eyes go dark and angry and his face sets into a scowl . . . from what you remember in flashes of the night that you and he crossed paths. . . You don’t think that’s it.

But it’s still a comforting lie to whisper to yourself when you find a pair of initials stitched into the napkin you delicately wipe your mouth with.

Lucas himself is more than happy to help you lie to yourself, even if he doesn’t realise he’s doing it. He’s a man of few words already, but even fewer of those words ever seem to concern anyone aside from the two of you. To listen to him sometimes, you would think this cabin was the last place standing on earth - that you and he were the only two human beings who lived.

He mentions, once or twice and only off-handed, a childhood. He says something about milking cows on the farm growing up; he mentions his mother’s apple pie when you make an attempt to bake one after finding a recipe in an old cookbook.

(You do not mention the careful handwriting that occasionally interrupts the recipe; the crossed-out ‘half a tablespoon’ of cinnamon into ‘a tablespoon and a half’. The note to the writer, for future reference, that the oven is finicky and to give the pie crust an extra ten minutes. You convince yourself that those, too, are simply the echo of some secondhand store that Lucas picked the recipe book up in).

So you know at least that he did not spring into being fully-formed, though the thought of this huge hulking man as anything other than scarred and gruff seems almost laughable, when you see him going out in the middle of the night with an axe swung over his shoulder.

(“Go t’bed, angel,” Lucas had said, without even turning around to see your form silhouetted in the doorway. “It’s late. I’m just checkin’ on things.” He had said it like a man who had said the exact same thing a hundred times before, though as far as you could remember this is the first time that it had happened to you.

Waking up in the bed and not feeling the solid, warm form of Lucas himself beside you had made you nervous; made you felt as if there was something missing. And, of course, there was a horrible kind of sickness in that feeling too; that you have become so comfortable with your kidnapper that you are more perturbed to find him not there.

No. Easier to forget that. To whisper over and over to yourself that Lucas is not your kidnapper, he is simply your . . . Your lover? Your boyfriend? Your husband? You don’t let the thought get that far. He is simply Lucas.)

He does not seem to think much of nostalgia. A practical man through and through - though he smiles, a few months in, as one of the little plants outside of the windows sprouts into bloom.

“Daffodils,” he says. “Your dress had them on, that first night.”

You amend the mental note. He has nostalgia only for things that concern you--

You try not to think of it, but the thought floats to your mind unbidden anyway like a blight on a field of flowers. If Lucas has had others who he has professed his love to . . . has he remembered those things, too? One day, will you fade into the rest of them and Lucas will not be able to remember if you were daffodils on a dress, or larkspur behind an ear, or a daisy chain around a neck?

You turn away from the flowers and force yourself to smile at him; to let him wrap his arm around your waist and pull you against him and press his mouth against yours in a motion that you convince yourself is fine.

Time passes. Lucas trusts you more; lets you wander about the cabin at will. Lets you into the kitchen without him despite the sharp knives - and, in return, trusts you to give in to him whenever he wants you. You let him kiss you and hold you and murmur sweet nothings and take you to bed, as you continue to chant to yourself that this is right, this is fine, this is how it is supposed to be--

There are no ghosts hovering above your heads.

As it turns out, the ghost is hovering in the spare room, inside the drawer of a desk with an old typewriter sitting on it.

Lucas has gone into town for supplies; you’re running out of milk, and you had gone to him, flushed and awkward, and asked if maybe he could try and pick up some body wash in your favourite scent; you had said ‘please’ and looked at him hopefully and Lucas had barely even needed you to finish before he’d been smiling at you and kissing the top of your head and adoringly telling you that he’d get you anything you wanted, so take a think about it for ten minutes and bring him back a list.

(You hadn’t pushed your luck too far, but you’d made a modest little list anyway - a fantasy book, if he could, because so many of his books were crimes and thrillers. A bar of chocolate or two. The aforementioned shower gel. Lucas had even smiled at you and told you what a sweetheart you were, how he’d keep an eye out for a surprise--)

But you were allowed in here, now, so you hadn’t felt bad about looking for something to do. You can only bake so many pies and cakes; Lucas had mentioned that there was probably stuff in here for drawing, if you wanted, or even sewing or embroidery, a jigsaw puzzle or two . . . You’d picked up a few options and discarded them (neatly) before you’d even gone near the desk. If you hadn’t - if you’d decided, actually, you would sit and do this cross-stitch kit of ‘home sweet home’ instead - perhaps things would have turned out differently.

But you don’t. You open the first drawer and disregard safety pins and discarded post-it notes (one of them has ‘help’ scrawled over it in black ink, over and over and over - you definitely disregard that one). You rifle vaguely through stubs of pencils and a manual for a sewing machine before you open the second.

The second drawer contains only one medium sized sketchbook; the spiral-bound kind with a wooden kraft cover that people like to draw straight onto. This cover, though, is totally free of any stickers or drawings or even a name - so you assume that it’s empty and fish it out of the drawer, wondering if maybe taking up drawing to pass the time might help (you see plenty of wildlife and fauna through the windows, after all). You even sit down at the desk before you open it and get one of those stubby little pencils, just to draw some circles and exercise the wrist before you become unavoidably disillusioned by your inability to draw even the simplest blob of a bird or flower.

And then you open it, and you feel your heart plummet directly into your stomach.

It is so much easier when the ghosts that haunt the cabin are faceless; when you can pretend. But whoever had this book before you and floated about this cabin before you and had your side of Lucas’s bed . . . they were using it like a scrapbook, and you’re faced with a Polaroid picture smiling directly up at you, the backdrop very obviously the sofa of the cabin.

(Lucas holding the camera, then).

You shouldn’t look at her. You should close the book and forget this ever happened and go back to pretending - but some kind of roiling fear in your stomach means you cannot do that. You stare, instead, directly into her eyes - and you’re struck by how much she looks like you. How even her body language is similar to yours. She has the same shade hair, the same figure-with-a-little-too-much on it.

(Lucas has a type, then).

She has a name, written there plain as day. You read that too, and wish you hadn’t.

Once you have opened the flood-gates, you can’t stop yourself. You flip to the next page - it’s some kind of scrapbook-come-diary, and the date (six years, three months earlier) is written neatly in the corner. A drawing of a robin, in a shaky but careful hand - a pressed flower that the note says Lucas picked for her, with a smiling face. You can’t breathe.

The next page details a day spent baking. The next one, excitement that Lucas had let her go with him to see if the chickens had laid. The days aren’t one after another, but they’re close together - and they’re sickeningly similar to the days you spend with him, trying to fill the stretches of time without going mad. There are even direct references to things that you’ve seen and touched and handled - the sewing machine was bought for her, it was her hand that embroidered the napkins, the half-empty bottle of the rose scent perfume that you hadn’t liked had once been hers.

There’s a pause in days. A few empty pages, where she’s half-heartedly tried to draw a chicken pecking at her feed, a snowy landscape.

The ninth of September.

“It would have been my dad’s birthday today. I wonder if he’s thinking about me? I wonder if he’s looking for me. I tried to ask Lucas if I could at least send a card.”

She does not bother recording Lucas’s answer.

The twenty first of September.

“It’s like being a dog on a leash. I asked him if I could go for a walk into the woods; I promised him I’d come back, but he broke the glass he was holding and I didn’t ask again.”

He’d have the same reaction to you asking, you know it. Your stomach writhes, bile rising in your throat. There are no more drawings on the pages now; weeks between entries, her handwriting getting looser and wider, like she’s writing in a rush afraid of being caught.

There’s frustration and anger and sorrow bubbling in her words. She talks about being trapped. She mentions the blood on his clothes, the sharpness of his axe, that she knows exactly what it is she’s eating when he brings her meat from his freezer.

The eighth of November.

“I think he’s getting tired of me. I think I pushed him too far. I think I’ve been bad; I think I’m not what he wants. He still says he loves me but . . . maybe he loved the others too.”

She mentions the pyjamas in the drawers; the different sizes. She asks the notebook who else has lived in these walls and who else has wanted to run. It makes your heart ache.

The twenty-seventh of November.

“i want to go home i want to go home i want to go home i want to go home’

Here, you recognise the handwriting and you know that it was her hand that had scrawled ‘help’ so many times, and you can no longer disregard it like you wanted to.

The eighteenth of December.

“He’s going into town. Before he gets back . . . I’m going to do it. It’s snowing. It will cover my tracks. I’m going to do it. I’m going to go home.”

There are no other entries.

It gets harder to pretend.

Snippets from that scrapbook float to the front of your mind unbidden, at the most inopportune of times. Lucas notices you’re shivering and insists he’ll make you a steaming hot cup of tea, and as you raise it to your lips you can’t help wondering if she drank from this cup. How many other mouths have lingered on this rim, how many other hands have cradled this porcelain?

Lucas tells you that he loves you, his eyes tender and the smallest smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, and you wonder how many others have heard the same three words; the same inflections, stood in the same place?

He brings a present out, the week after his trip into town, that he tells you he was saving for you - another book. Ordinarily, you’d be thrilled to have something to fill the time - but instead, as he passes it to you and smiles and waits for you to thank him, you can’t stop thinking about all of the other things that he’s bought as presents for people who are not you, that still sit here unused in this graveyard of a home.

He never even mentions them.

Maybe if he did, that would be better.

But Lucas treats you like the two have you always coexisted; like neither of you had too much of a life before this. Oh, he doesn’t mind hearing about your far-off childhood - but you have the distinct impression that if you mentioned your job (the one you have not returned to for months), the man you were having the briefest flirtation with, the wedding of your cousin that you missed because you were kidnapped by a murderer in the woods . . . that would not go down so well.

The thoughts won’t stop coming; the reminder that Lucas is, for all of his gentle kisses and low voice when he speaks to you and his careful touches so he doesn’t hurt you, more monster than he is man. That you are eating people, when you take a bite from the end of a fork that has surely been in other hands.

(How long does human meat last, you wonder. The ones who did not make him happy . . . do they end up in the freezer? Are you eating someone who once laid their head upon your pillows?)

And if he has done it before . . .

Who is to say that he won’t grow tired of you, too? That one day you will say the wrong thing, and the cycle will begin anew? You have never thought of yourself as ‘special’ before - you have always been secure in the knowledge and comfort of your own ordinary existence. So what is it that Lucas sees in you, that makes you any better than the rest of them?

(The thought of other people wearing the things Lucas has picked out for you, of someone else rifling through your fantasy paperbacks or lathering their hair up in your shampoo haunts you at night).

You think about asking Lucas.

He never misses a chance to compliment you; he tells you how beautiful you are, how much he adores you, how he would kill for you and protect you with his last breath. So perhaps, if you worded it well enough, he would explain to you why you have not yet found yourself sizzling in a frying pan or bleeding out in the woods--

No. You can’t.

You are walking a fragile tightrope already. Your spine stiffens whenever you say something to Lucas, in case you say the wrong thing - you lie awake in bed next to him, his arms wrapped around you as tight as a vice. You stumble over yourself to please him, just in case--

You feel the way that you’re running yourself ragged. The ache in your bones, in your head - the dark circles beneath your eyes, the way your hair dulls as you begin to forget what any other setting other than ‘stressed’ feels like. You hope that Lucas doesn’t notice.

Your hopes are dashed.

It’s before bed, one night. Lucas has pulled you into his arms and peppered your face with kisses, has insisted that you let him brush your hair (the monogram on the brush shines in the light of the bedside lamp; it is not your initial). And he says to you, turning you to face him, his voice very soft and cajoling and just a little awkward;

“Darlin’? Y’mind if I ask you a question?”

Your heart races; hammers against your chest, tries to crawl into your throat.

“N-no,” you manage to squeak out. “Of course not.”

“I ain’t trying to offend you,” he says to you, his voice still awkwardly gruff. “But . . . sweetheart, you ain’t been looking well recently.”

“I--”

You grasp wildly for a way to respond.

“If you need anythin’ . . . You ain’t been sleepin very well, have you? You need a hot water bottle? Some . . . pillow mist, or somethin’? Onea those fancy drinks you have before bed to get you to sleep? You name it, sweetheart, I’ll get it from somewhere--”

He sounds so concerned.

Had he sounded like that to all of the other people? Had he noticed that their nerves were fraying and tried to soothe them, like he actually cared? How much of the concern that leaks into that warm Southern grit is real; how much of it is an attempt to hide that he’s mad at you, that he’s getting sick of you, that he’s already wondering what you’d taste like?

It tumbles out of your mouth before you can stop it; a bitter little bite of a question.

“How many others have there been?”

You regret it before you’ve finished the last syllable.

The air changes between you; a charged fizz that tells you just how dangerous the ground you’re treading on is. Lucas’s eyes narrow; his mouth sets.

“Others?” He asks you, and you know that you can’t get out of this now. Sometimes, when you’ve said something that has set his senses on high alert, you’ve managed to apologise and backtrack enough that he’s calmed. But now, his eyes are like keen green searchlights, and there is no way to avoid the question.

You swallow.

“How many other . . . people?” You say, lamely, not sure how to word it. “How many other people have lived here?”

His own voice is clipped, too. He doesn’t like this subject.

“Why does it matter, sweetheart?”

There’s a barb to the pet name that makes you feel sick, but now you’ve opened the floodgates of your own paranoia.

“How many others have you loved?”

There’s a barely perceptible twitch of his mouth. His words are infuriatingly even. Usually, his temper flares at the smallest things; you don’t understand how he isn’t hacking you into pieces.

“None of ‘em who deserved it, except you.”

Your breath begins to shorten; you can hear that you’re panting, when you next speak. Your chest is heaving.

“A-and what if you decide I don’t deserve it any more? What are you going to do to me?”

“Angel--”

“I’m not - there’s nothing special about me! What if you decide that you’re sick of me and you . . . you killed them, didn’t you? What if one day you kill me? What if you--”

“Darlin’.”

This one is more forceful; it’s clearly intended to stop your panicking diatribe where it’s already going off the rails. But you are too far gone to be stopped now. Your voice just keeps going, the words like a flood, your entire vision blurring at the corners with the tears that you hadn’t even realised you were crying.

“What if you kill me and eat me and you get someone else and they live here and wonder about me--”

If nothing else makes him kill you, it will be this; outright telling him that you know what the meat is, and what it is he’s doing when he goes out in the evenings with an axe glinting in both his hand and his eye.

He reaches out for you and you try to slap his hand away, your movements erratic and awkward. You’re flailing and more nonsense is falling out of your mouth, the world around you a blur. Lucas is reaching out still, undeterred by the way you’re trying to push him away as you helplessly wriggle and struggle.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself,” he says, and there’s a note of panic in his voice. His brow pinches. “Poor baby, angel, you’re cryin’ - shit, you’re gonna make yourself ill carrying on like this--”

There’s that fake comfort. You are so far gone that you forget the thing that makes Lucas feel softest at all; you, helpless. You forget that he likes the crying and the sniffling, that he likes to protect and coddle and care - because all you can think about is what it would feel like for an axe to slam through your ribcage so your innards are strewn out on the floor.

“Please, calm down-- breathe, sweetheart, don’t hurt yourself--” He’s still talking to you all soft and sweet, and you’re still utterly lost in your own sleep-addled anxiety induced spiral as he tries to restrain you; he reaches for your arms, to pin you down so that your thrashing doesn’t impact you--

One of your flailing arms catches him, right across the face.

There’s a sickening noise; the slap of flesh on flesh, the hard noise of a bone meeting another bone. You don’t think it’s hard enough to really hurt him, but it’s like a trigger has been pulled in Lucas’s mind and the air changes again. The fizz deadens where it was hovering; and instead, a heaviness settles over you.

You stop thrashing. You stop jabbering out nonsense. Lucas has you on the bed, pinned beneath him, and his face when he looks down at you is like thunder. You think it must be the same face that his victims see, before they die.

You’re about to be added to their number, you think. You wish you’d left something as tangible as that scrapbook behind. A guide to survival, perhaps. Advice on how to try and break the cycle.

“Oh,” Lucas says, and that one syllable practically quakes. “Darlin’. You shouldn’t have done that.”

Lucas tells you, afterwards, that you’re lucky he didn’t lose his temper.

He’d been infuriatingly calm, even though every movement blistered with unspoken anger, as he’d dragged you up and off the bed and you had trembled and quaked and waited for death. He’d been infuriatingly calm as his work-roughened, calloused palms had slid over your bare forearm, the soft inner flesh of your elbow, to grip your upper arm with both hands.

“You can scream,” he’d said, with that terrifying flat-and-angry-and-calm all at once tone again. “It’s goin’ to hurt. It’ll be clean. I know what I’m doin’. But it’s gonna hurt anyway.”

And he’d twisted his wrists and he’d snapped.

Your humerus, he’d told you, afterwards. A break that won’t need surgery; that you’ll be able to recover from in the cabin. A sling and someone to take care of you is all that you’ll need, he’d said, and then he’d said;

“It’s for your own good, angel. It’s a warnin’.”

He tells you that he’ll cut up your food for you, carry on brushing your hair, and help you in the shower. He lists off all of these things calmly - all of the things you’d once earned the ability to do for yourself, because you’d been so good and he’d loved you so much and wanted you to be happy.

You fucked that up, didn’t you?

“It’ll hurt for the rest of your life,” he tells you. “It’ll remind you.”

You wonder just how long ‘the rest of your life’ is.

“Hey,” Lucas tells you, after you’ve stopped sobbing and whimpering and screaming. “C’mere, sweetheart. Let me see that pretty face.”

Your eyes are puffed up and swollen; your nose is dripping, your throat feels raw. But Lucas still looks at you like you’re unbelievably beautiful. Like he’d kill for you. There’s a steel in his eye that hasn’t been there for some time, but . . . He gives you a small smile.

“Ain’t you beautiful.” He wipes an errant tear from your cheek with his thumb. “Be a good girl for me now, okay? You’re lucky I didn’t lose my temper.”

It’s almost bizarre enough to frighten a laugh out of you.

You wonder how many others were given this kind of warning; broken ankles? Broken wrists? Broken fingers? Is it possible that you’re an echo of them down to Lucas’s violence?

If this is him not losing his temper . . .

You dread to think what will happen - what has already happened - when he really loses control.

#oc posting #yandere for ts #writing #cannibalism cw #it was SO SO exciting and flattering to get a comm for one of my ocs btw waaaaaaa #lucas #please read warnings #commissioned work

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