#He is having an existential crisis is as we speak

[j3llyd0nut]

Playground Love

ೀ older!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader

Tags: hurt/comfort, age gap (unspecified but reader is an adult), a lot of self doubt, talks about mommy and daddy issues, pet names (angel, princess, sweetheart).

W/C: 1.0k

A/N: studying? who is that? Anyways, this was supposed to be a cute ‘sitting on his lap would fix me’ but I got hit by existential crisis at 2am so angst.

"Wow, dating an older guy? That's so sophisticated!"

“Are you sure about this? Don’t you think there’s a reason why no one his age is dating him?”

"You get to date someone older? That's not fair! All I get are immature guys my age."

"Darling, I know you're an adult now, but dating someone significantly older... it just worries me. Are you sure you're on the same page?"

I love him.

At every reaction, you find yourself repeating the same phrase in your mind. It was a simple truth that anchored you amidst the swirl of opinions and doubts. Every concern, every envy—you faced them all with the same unwavering declaration.

But do you really love him?

The question lingered like a shadow, casting doubt on the certainty you had clung to so desperately. You couldn't shake the nagging feeling that perhaps you were merely caught up in the allure of dating someone older, mistaking infatuation for love. Or was it that you longed for attention from an older guy who could fill the void your absent father left?

You craved the paternal presence you had been denied, and in him, you found echoes of the guidance and affection you had longed for. 

"Dating someone older? Isn't that a bit... strange?"

"Why? Age is just a number, right?"

"Yeah, but... do you really think you're at the same stage in life?"

Oh, how naively optimistic you were. 

Perhaps you have been too quick to dismiss your loved one’s concerns, too eager to embrace the illusion of love in the arms of someone—his arms—who offered the fleeting promise of stability and security. 

“But he makes me feel loved and safe,”

“Does he?”

Was your love truly built to withstand the test of time, or was it merely a fleeting illusion, destined to crumble beneath the weight of your differences?

“Darling, can we talk for a moment?”

“Sure, Ma. What’s on your mind?”

"Well, I couldn't help but notice... you seem quite taken with this new guy you're seeing."

"Oh, you mean Leon? Yeah, we've been spending some time together."

"He's... older, isn't he?"

"Um, yeah, he is."

"I see... darling, I just want to make sure you're being careful. Dating someone older can bring its own set of challenges."

"I know, Ma. But he's different. He understands me in a way no one else does."

"I'm sure he does, dear…but promise me you'll take things slow and really get to know him before things get too serious."

"I promise, Mama.”

You've broken many promises with your mama, but why did this one hurt? Is it because you partially blame her for shaping you the way you are? Is it because she married your father? Maybe she would have lived a happier life if it weren't for him, if only.

But you thanked her, both her and him, for the lesson learned, for the wisdom imparted, for the love that had always been there, and for helping you recognise the kind of partner to avoid. 

You stood before the polished wooden door of Leon’s home office, your hand hovering in uncertainty over the ornate doorknob. Each second felt like an eternity as you battled with the torrent of doubts and fears that raged within you. 

You needed him, wanted him to hold you, and tell you that everything would be fine.

But what if he couldn’t understand your doubts? What if your confession shattered the fragile illusion of your love?

With a steady breath, you pushed aside your apprehensions and grasped the doorknob, steeling yourself for the conversation that lay ahead.

“What’s up, sweetheart?” His voice, gruff yet soft and reassuring, always managed to send shivers down your spine, freezing you in place. You couldn’t find the words to speak, and your throat suddenly dried.

Sensing your hesitation, he beckoned you closer with a gentle smile. You could see the experiences he went through, the complexities of adulthood etched into the lines that creased his weathered face.

“Come here, angel. Sit on my lap while I work.”

You obeyed, crossing the threshold into his office, your feet padding on the wooden floor as you made your way to him. Settling onto his lap, your linen dress pooled around you, the fabric soft against your skin. His arms encircled your waist, pulling you close, his rough touch sent warmth flooding through your veins.

You inhaled his scent, a mixture of citrus and wood, with a hint of something familiar: whisky. You thought he quit. Ready to question him, you opened your mouth, but he stopped you before you could question him.

“Don’t worry your pretty head, princess. I only drank a glass, I promised. I’m just a bit stressed.” 

“Mm, okay,” you replied, pushing aside your concerns for the moment as you melted into the warmth of his embrace.

You found solace in the familiar embrace of Leon's arms, the weight of your doubts momentarily forgotten as you leaned into his chest, burying your face against him. A few of his buttons were undone, allowing the soft hairs on his chest to brush against your face. 

"Is everything alright, angel?" Leon's voice, soft and concerned, pulled you back to the present moment.

"Yeah, everything's fine. I just want to stay like this, with you," you murmured, the words slipping out before you could second-guess yourself.

His arms tightened around you, drawing you closer, as if he could sense the hesitation in your voice. "Me too, princess. Me too," his stubble pricked your forehead as he murmured against them.

Oh, how weak you were. His voice and touch alone melted you into a puddle, and all your problems seemed to vanish in his embrace. Your mama wouldn’t be happy with how you turned out; she wished that you would never let a man make you weak like she was.

Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself to sink deeper into his embrace, letting go of the weight of your doubts and worries. In this moment, all that mattered was the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against yours.

Perhaps one day, when the time was right, you would find the courage to open up to him about your inner struggles. Until then, you cherished this moment, clawing in the warmth of his love.

Pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, Leon whispered softly, "I love you, angel.”

“I love you, too, Leon, always,” you replied. The words were a vow of unwavering devotion and love…was it really?

All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does, and that is his.       

- Oscar Wilde

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy fluff #resident evil 6 leon #death island leon #infinite darkness leon #damnation leon #vendetta leon #dividers by fairytopea #✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

[pixilstars]

#original art #sir pentious #hazbin sir pentious #hazbin hotel #Redeemed au #He is having an existential crisis is as we speak #Not quite a saint not quite the sinner just in between #Charlie is ecstatic when he got Redeemed #Everyone in heaven was either intrigue or threatened by sir pentious redemtion #Adam is not pleased #charlie morningstar #adam hazbin hotel

[wherevenusholdssomeofficespace]

Based on the Wizard of Odd dream, and Candace's reaction in At2D, I am like 99% sure Candace knows that Perry is a secret agent subconciously, but I don't think Candace truly comprehends Perry is an agent. But she has been shown to actually think about Perry's activities such as in "Where's Perry" when she's the only one trying to figure out how he got there, or in "Happy Birthday Isabella" when Candace genuinely seemed contemplative about where Perry goes.

What makes it really fun is that she's friends with Vanessa, Stacy and is dating Jeremy, who probably doesn't know Perry is a secret agent but sure got rambled to a lot by both Doof and Monogram about their Perry related work. And she had personal interest in Dennis the Rabbit and the Where's Perry incident. I think the only thing holding the whole facade up is that Candace does not want to believe Perry is a secret agent unless she absolutely has to. She's already got enough stuff to deal with. But that doesn't mean she's not suspicious.

#pnf #candace flynn #phineas and ferb #i'd like to think that if Candace ever found out the truth about perry she'd have a bit of a existential crisis #not about her pet being a secret agent but about the fact that if he's actually a secret agent that means the Zebra's probably real too #also Candace can canonically speak monkey Candace's whole Africa arc does not get discussed enough #ferb knowing is also a strong possibility for obvious reasons but it's harder to gauge what he does or doesn't know #personally I think it would be in character for Phineas to be the only one who doesn't #We know even if the kids had their memories erased there are still some subconscious traces of it in their minds #so its likely all the kids would be more understanding the second time around anyway

[freetobeafcknriot]

oh hey hi how are you all? personally i am thinking of a verse that goes “the hearts that i’ve touched will be the proof that i lived / that i made a difference, and this world will see / i was here,” and how the memories we leave behind in the people that have known us as individuals and whatever feeling or impression they got from us really are our legacy and the proof that we existed and left a trace. for as long as the memory lives on anyway. that sentence gives me chills and i like to apply it to adam and michael because adam lived a very short life among humans and probably few people still remember him or his mother, so, as a fellow human being that gets me because after 1,200+ years in hell those nineteen years must feel like a foggy dream for the most part. then there’s the rapture and everything, but like. how impactful is the fact that, despite being forgotten by basically everybody, adam’s existence was actually so real that it basically saved the world? how mindblowing is it that it was all because to one person he was just that important? because he touched michael’s heart, because he didn’t just make a difference, adam, his happiness, or whether he was alive (a little, simple, one in the gazillion and counting humans that have walked the heart since the beginning human!) was the difference. not to just anybody, but to one of the oldest, most powerful, preternatural creatures that were ever alive. just one! but still, it was enough to spark love and grief and rage and nobody will ever be able to stress enough how big that is considering michael is just michael. again, we are what other people make us into, to them at least, emotionally speaking. and it’s just. head-in-my-hands level amazing, honestly.

#having an existential crisis as we speak :) have this incoherent stream of thoughts as a treat #midam #adam milligan #michael #like HONESTLY had michael lived on alone and if it wasn't impossible for him not to get adam back post canon he would have carried #his memory on for EONS. and the feelings latched to that memory! ARGHNCDJKNDK #shut up fran.

[lxkeee]

END GAME

PART ONE

pairing: lucifer x fallen angel! fem! reader

fandom: hazbin hotel

genre: fluff

warnings: no warnings yet.

notes: very feral for this man and this is multishot fic and would be writing a smut for this. Reader is close to his age (probably a hundred years younger but meh)

additional notes: this is a long one.

Part two |

[y/n] stood in the podium, her hands bound by golden chains. She looked at the higher angels who sat on the high chairs of the courtroom, her [e/c] eyes stared at them with boredom. She never liked being in heaven, so many rules to the point she couldn't breathe. She was created a few years after the infamous Lucifer fell from grace, she admired him. She has heard his cause and mentally agreed to his beliefs—she couldn't say it out loud as the higher beings would punish her. She was a good angel, always a rule follower and a good role model, then she suffered from burnt out, repeating the same thing everyday—waking up, praying, doing good, following the rules.

She started questioning their ways and now, the time has come for it to bite her back as she finally faces a trial. [Y/n] what happened the majority of her trial, she remembers doing a couple of nods in agreement and occasionally rolling her eyes whenever Adam said something stupid. She couldn't take whatever bullshit Sera was yapping about and decided to cut her off, “Enough about all these rules, just admit that us angels are egomaniacs, always hungry for control. Heck, Lucifer was right with his intentions but you guys saw it as an act of disobedience. You didn't like what he was doing since it didn't follow what you guys wanted him to do.” She said coldly, her tone making the whole room tense and cold, “he thought it was unfair to the humans to follow whatever heaven's command is without question and hesitation. But Lucifer gave them freedom,” [y/n] pauses, glaring at the higher beings, eyebrows furrowed and her eyes staring at their very soul, “Heaven is fake, you put on a show for everyone, pretending that everything is fine and this is a fun place filled with peace and we all know you guys want them to blindly follow your rules.”

“Do not ever speak his name or do you want to follow where he is?” Sera asked loudly, her voice commanding and echoing off the walls of the court but her message just made the angel in trial smirk, “Oh...? Frankly speaking, I think hell seems to be a better and more fun place than heaven. I could do whatever the fuck I want.” [y/n] says with a smirk, heart thumping loudly for the first curse word she had said. This made Sera more angry, “Then, so be it.” Sera sneers.

Falling... So this is what Icarus felt when he flew too close to the sun. Lucifer was lucky as heaven wasn't this harsh before, [y/n] closes her eyes as she felt the stinging pain of the wind caressing her back, golden ichor flowing from where her wings should be, but despite the pain, a grin was plastered on her face as she embraced the imminent pain she'll receive once she hits the burning ground of hell. Despite the extreme pain she felt on her back, the missing part of her that heaven decided to take—she felt free, shimmering tears cascades down her cheeks as she cried for her acquired freedom while simultaneously mourning for the loss of her wings. Her weak body passing by many, many clouds, passing by the crust of the earth and soon she could see the fiery red skies of hell, she can only wait for the impact.

She could hear the sound of something breaking and cracking, the loud ringing on her ears before her world turned dark. Falling from grace isn't enough to kill her.

Lucifer's usual schedule usually consists of him wallowing in self pity inside his room, making rubber ducks, or having an existential crisis in his balcony. Lucifer just so happens to be on his balcony that day, talking to his newly created rubber duck that looks like his daughter when his eyes noticed the dark red clouds of hell parting and a figure falling at extreme speeds, at first he thought it was another soul who ended up in hell but his eyes widened to see occasional gold shimmering on the figure. “What...” Lucifer murmurs in confusion, his eyes following the figure and what the...? It's about to land in his front yard.

Only his eyes widened in fear as the figure crashed and golden ichor splattered everywhere. The realization damned upon him that another angel has fallen from grace.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Lucifer never cursed so much as he jumped off the balcony, three pairs of wings springing out of his back as he quickly flew next to the crash site. “I swear to me if this person died,” this wouldn't be the first time someone died in his front yard but it would be the first time an angel would, but can an angel even die from this impact?

He quickly checked the fallen angel, identified that it's a female. She looked like such a mess, golden ichor splattered everywhere, messy hair from falling, eye bags, and passed out but despite all that, he found her to be very beautiful, “I swear to me, this isn't the time Lucifer.” he muttered to himself as he began to work and make sure this woman is treated properly. What made the king of hell freeze was when he used his power to lift her up gently, he noticed that so much blood was gushing out of her back where the bone that should connect to her wings. He just realized why this angel crashed, she couldn't fly. She doesn't have her wings anymore and that realization filled his heart with anger.

He stared at her broken form lying on the bed of the spare guest room of the castle, he couldn't fully heal her. There's a limit to how much his angelic powers could do, it can't reverse the damage heaven themselves have done to her. Thankfully, he managed to fix all broken bones and close the wounds she had received but he can't fix the trauma she'll receive from this. Believe him, he tried (with himself).

His hand caressed away the hair that was falling on her face, finally taking a good look on her. She looked more beautiful without those wounds, she looked better without the stress—a contrast to the first time he's seen her. Warmth flooding his cheeks, he doesn't even realize that the red of his cheeks has become significantly darker.

“Ah, Lucifer stop. You don't even know this woman,” Lucifer mutters in annoyance as he squeezes his own cheeks to stop the warmth before eventually leaving the guest room to continue his usual routine.

He's starting to get worried, the fallen angel that currently resides in his guest room still hasn't woken up. It's been eight days. He spent the entire week checking up on her and continuing to treat her, he admits that this unknown angel's presence did good to his mental health as he was busy worrying for her that he forgets to listen to his intrusive thoughts. “What am I going to do with you?” Lucifer mutters softly as he places his hands above her, hovering over her body as golden hue begins to glow. Slowly and surely healing her.

Aching pain in her muscles is what she felt, slowly regaining consciousness. [Y/n] woke up in an unfamiliar room, oddly reminds her of the rooms that only royalty have. She tried to move her muscles but she could feel it cracking from not moving for a long time. “What happened...?” she asked herself softly, trying to remember what happened. The trial, Sera's anger, Adam being annoying, falling, her wings, then crashing. “Where am I?” she asked herself again, her voice croaking slightly, she slowly moved her body so she could sit on the bed, her eyes wandering everywhere, taking in her surroundings. She noticed that the symbol apple and snake was present on the designs of the tinted windows. The door opens.

Another week has passed, still no sign of her waking up. Lucifer was walking towards the guest room, preparing himself to try to heal her again. He opens the door and he froze to see the fallen angel who's usually lying limp on the bed is now sitting and staring on the window. “You're awake.” he says softly and she turned to look at him, her eyes, it's so beautiful. “Who are you?” she asked him softly and he smiled, “The name's Lucifer Morningstar, welcome to hell.”

#Spotify #lxkeee hazbin hotel masterlist #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer magne #lucifer #PLEASEE THIS WAS ORIGINALLY A SMUT BUT I DECIDED TO DO A BACKGROUND WRITING ON THEM FIRST FOR THEIR RELATIONSHIP TO BLOOM #“END GAME” — LUCIFER X READER

[demonic0angel]

Hotel AU

Jason groaned, holding a military grade field dressing to his wound as he tried his best to walk faster. Gunshots rang behind him and instinct allowed him to dodge, but one bullet still managed to graze him by the shoulder. It only made pain flare up worse, but Jason just sucked in a breath through his teeth and toiled onward to get to safety.

His comms buzzed in his ear, but no one was available at the moment. Jason still muttered a soft, "Requiring backup."

No one answered.

Jason, for an existential crisis-having moment, wondered if he was gonna die again.

Just as he thought this, a hand grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into another building.

Jason cursed and pulled out his gun with his unfortunately injured hand and pointed it towards his assailant, but then paused.

He had been pulled into a beautiful, first class looking hotel area.

"What the..." he started, before he turned.

An enormously tall woman smiled down at him. She was outrageously beautiful, with long red hair tied into a ponytail and a neat uniform covered by an apron. "Welcome, sir, to the Phantom Hotel! You seem to be in need of some assistance, would you like some help?"

Jason felt eerily calm and level headed, even as he bled all over the floors. "... that'd be nice." He said gruffly.

"Right away, sir." She said with a smile. She waved to someone over to his side and continued to speak. "I'm the co-owner of this hotel, you may call me Jazz. May I get your name for registration?"

Jason still didn't freak out yet. "Registration?" He echoed, as he took in his surroundings.

The hotel was beautiful, with tall ceilings, marble floors, white walls and candle chandeliers that glowed with dim lighting. People that didn't look like Gothamites milled around the lobby and sitting area, all relaxed and chatting amicably. There were a few that were dancing to club music. There was a noticeable bar in the corner of the room that looked unstaffed but was conspicuous in its size and black coloring.

"Yes, sir." Jazz said. "I assume that you're staying the night? We offer breakfast in the morning, and drinks are free all night!"

Jason was silent for a moment. A person wearing a similar uniform to Jazz, with a dark green vest and dark colored apron, approached them and immediately got to bandaging Jason's wounds.

Once again, Jason did not freak. He felt oddly calm, and in the back of his head, he knew that he was safe here. His gut instinct was to collapse on top of Jazz and take a nap, strangely comforted by her presence.

"... why am I so calm?"

Fuck it. He decided to just voice his question.

Jazz giggled. It was a cute noise. "Why wouldn’t you be? There’s nothing to worry about. We're the same, after all!"

Jason blinked. Then he turned to her as the attendant stepped away with the medical box, Jason feeling all healed up, and he said, "Is a night here free?"

"For you? Yep! Everything is free here."

Jason gave a nod. "Then I'll take a room with a single bed, please. Breakfast is free?"

"Yes, sir."

"Great. The name's Jason Todd."

Jazz smiled, a sparkle in her eyes that made Jason feel all fuzzy with warmth. "Very good, sir. Your room number is 312, on the third floor. Here's your room card." She handed over a plastic card that was procured out of thin air but Jason didn't think about it.

He was mentally exhausted and being in her presence made him feel like he was going to drop and fall asleep on the floor and still wake up refreshed. It was so disconcerting that it was almost not disconcerting.

Jason eventually found the elevator, though not without lingering a little around the area. The vigilante in him was telling him to be careful, even though everything else inside of him couldn't give less of a damn and was telling him to kick back and relax. Jazz, after registering him, had gone to the bar to prepare drinks.

She mixed together alcoholic concoctions amidst a small crowd and the more Jason stared, the more it seemed like the dim light was hiding something. People looked like they were wearing ragged clothes and a lot of them had dark stains. There were quite a large amount of old people as well, along with people with seemingly missing appendages.

The last two details wasn't a bad thing, but the amount of them seemed like a hint to something bigger.

When Jazz made eye contact with Jason, she gave a sweet smile and a little wave, and that was Jason's signal to leave.

He got into an elevator, went to his room, and practically sank into the cloud-like bed before he basically knocked himself out. That night, he had never slept so well.

When he woke up, his body felt rejuvenated and he almost felt peppy. It was as if his previous irritations were only bad days and he had finally struck on a good day for once.

He washed up, miraculously found his wounds all healed up, and when he went to take a shower, his clothes were found on the sink, all washed and patched up. Even his helmet had been cleaned and fixed, pristine like the day he had first gotten it.

Jason could've been more suspicious.

But to reiterate, he couldn't.

Everything about this place was like a mother's hug. It was comforting. It made him feel safe. He felt like there was nothing to worry about and although a small part of him found this alarming, he really couldn't explain why he decided to trust it.

When he came down the elevator for breakfast, he was astonished.

Last night, the hotel had looked elegant and high class. Now, in the morning, everything looked warm and homey.

The various large rectangle tables had turned into small round tables that were densely packed together. The floor was a cool blue carpet and the walls had turned a shade of cream. The ceiling had shrank, but now flowers and vines grew from it, dropping from the ceiling with bright blossoms. The bar had been replaced with a little coffee area, with a young man behind the counter, currently taking orders.

The people sitting around and eating their breakfasts looked different in morning light. They glowed with faint shades of blue and green.

Jason paused to take in the sight, considering this information before he shook it off and approached the counter.

The man, after noticing him, immediately went to the cash register with a large smile on his face. "Hello!" He said cheerfully.

Jason immediately noted the similarities between him and Jazz. They had the same heart shaped face, the same ethereal beauty to them, the same nose and smile. This man, however, had bright blue eyes and dark black hair that swept over his eyes.

"What are you drugging me with? I'm way too comfortable here." Jason blurted out.

The man paused. And then he burst out laughing. Jason couldn't help the few snickers that fell out of his throat too, but they both quickly calmed down and the man explained softly, "We're not drugging you. You're just comfortable here because it's where you belong. Don't stress too much."

He continued to smile reassuringly. "Call me Danny. I'm the owner. What would you like to order?"

Jason's eyes flicked to the menu and then he said, "A California club croissant and a caramel latte, please."

"Coming right up, big guy!"

Jason moved a little bit away to the side so that other people could order.

He couldn't help but contemplate what was going on, but it was a little hard to think being this close to Danny's presence. The urge to fight against his soothed mind and the urge to just relax were warring, but unfortunately, his latter side was winning.

If Jazz had seemed comforting and like a hug, then Danny was the blanket, fireplace, hot chocolate cup and book on a cool rainy evening. It was like Danny was his missing piece that just sucked out all of the fear, misery, and rage inside of him.

It was almost crazy how Jason didn't want to retaliate against them at all.

"Here you go, Jason." A voice interrupted him and Jason looked up into crystalline eyes before something was pushed into his hands.

Jason looked down at his order and then up again. "Thanks."

Danny smiled. "No problem! You're pretty freaked out, huh?"

Jason shrugged. Then he thought about it and he asked, "Can I leave?"

"Of course you can." Danny said. "Come back anytime. For someone like you, you have the opportunity to come by anytime you want."

Jason nodded wordlessly and then, with his order in hand, he started walking to the door.

For one last time, he turned and met Danny's eyes. Danny smiled cheerfully, his eyes squinted in happiness. He gave a big wave and Jason returned it before he put on his helmet and pushed past the doors into the open air of Gotham's polluted and smoky world.

The rose glasses fell off and the pink sparkles faded away with each blink.

Jason stared dumbfounded at his own state of body and mind, as his siblings and family all screamed into his ear frantically, begging to know where he went and how he was.

Jason could only stare at the gray, listless world around him and wonder if he had imagined everything.

"What the fuck?"

#dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom x dc #danny fenton #jason todd #jazz fenton #dcxdp #dpxdc #hotel au #dp au #dp x dc au #one shot #spoiler: the hotel is a hotel for the dead >:) #it’s back to school for me :’<

[madlori]

Ship dysphoria

Ok so a bit of time has gone by, and the 9-1-1 fandom is settling into a bit of an...existential crisis?

Because 90% of this fandom is built on Buddie. Buddie has always been the strongest driving force. We love our other blorbos, but it's Buddie that usually drives us feral.

Except...Buck/Tommy. OMG. It is WORKING for a lot of fans. (and JFC we cannot settle on a ship name. Tevan? Kinley? I'm gonna stick with Buck/Tommy)

A LOT of fans are having a "I'm a devoted Buddie shipper, why do I like this so much??" moment and it can almost feel like a betrayal, or that you're deserting the ship (the ship that, remember, Oliver told us to stay aboard).

And I think I can probably speak for everybody when I say that the last thing we want or need is a ship war in this fandom, something we haven't ever really had but which has torn other fandoms apart.

So I'm gonna put on my veteran-of-many-fandoms hat for a second and tell you a thing:

It's okay to ship Buck and Tommy. It's ok to do that and still ship Buddie. It's also okay to leave Buddie behind if it's not working for you anymore. It's okay to just tolerate Buck and Tommy and not really care about it, and stay focused on Buddie. You are allowed to ship however it works for you, and you are not limited to one and only one ship. If you decide you don't think Buddie will happen and you're going to cut your losses, that's okay, too. It is not a reflection on your character or something. You don't swear an oath of fealty to a ship.

We don't know how long Tommy will stick around, but Buck will still be bisexual. He may date another man. He may date a woman again. You can ship those things too.

But why is this ship hitting me so hard? I never thought I'd like Buck with another man! I'm so confused!

I get that. There are some reasons why that might be.

There is something very appealing about a ship that's canon. Some of you might never have had a canon queer ship, but the pull is strong. There's no guessing, no interpreting, no subtext-examining. It's there, it's real, you don't have to wonder if you're just overinterpreting things. Yes. Buck and Tommy kissed and are going on a date. Even if that's all it ever is, you'll never be accused of "seeing things that aren't there." Don't discount that.

Tommy, even in just 1.5 episodes, is a LOT more integrated into the firefam than any of Buck's previous girlfriends. Tim talked about not wanting him to be "siloed off" away from the main cast and that was exactly the problem with his prior girlfriends. Tommy is friends with Eddie. He knows Christopher and has hung out with him. He spent most of that loft conversation reassuring Buck that his place in Eddie's life was secure. He feels more like part of the gang than any other ones. That makes it easier to see him in Buck's life.

The mere fact of Buck's queer awakening is so monumental for so many of us that the character who helped him get there is going to naturally earn our affection immediately, and it's going to make you want that relationship to succeed, even if it's ulitmately not endgame for Buck. You want to see Buck have a good experience the first time out with a man. Of course you do.

And we just want to see Buck make out with a hot beefy firefighter. That is so valid of us.

Anyway. There is no need for a crisis. You can love Buddie with your whole heart and still be excited about this pairing, and want to see how it goes, and read fic about it. I may be writing a lil something myself.

You're good, fam.

#9-1-1 #9-1-1 abc #buddie #buck/tommy #kinley #tommy kinard #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 #911abc #shipping #ship wars #buck's bisexual awakening

[highpriestessarchives]

The Reluctant Ruler Trope: A Philosophical Inquiry into Unwanted Power, Responsibility, and the Burden of Leadership

WC: 3,489

Index

Introduction The Reluctant Ruler in Literature and Folklore The Existential Dilemma of Unwanted Authority Political Implications and the Burden of Responsibility A Special Case or a Universal Relatability? Closing Words

Introduction

“The world is something that was put into your hands and that you must deal with - so you will. You have a rigid back and steady hands, either metaphorically or physically. Is it nature or nurture? You don't know. You are tired of being steady. You dream of feeling alive. Not that you aren’t, but, sometimes, it’s hard to remember that there is a heart between your ribs.” —“Are You A Soldier, Poet, or A King?” quiz by @atlanticsea

Does anyone here remember the “Soldier, Poet, King” quiz that went around about a year or so ago? When I initially took it, I expected “Poet;” you can imagine my surprise when the “King” result absolutely obliterated my mental health.

As I’ve found, a common theme in my writing is the Reluctant Ruler trope, where either 1) a character is thrust into the role of a savior, hero, or king/queen despite not having any wish to lead people or 2) a character assumes the role of a leader without the full understanding of the morally corrupting demands of the job.

The narrative trope of the Reluctant Ruler has long captivated the human imagination, resonating across cultures and epochs. From mythical tales of kings and queens reluctant to ascend the throne to contemporary narratives of reluctant heroes and leaders, this archetype speaks to fundamental questions about the nature of power, responsibility, and the human condition. But what makes this trope such a tragic and believable character? How do we, as an audience, end up relating to and debating the conflicts and moral dilemmas that these characters face? Today, we embark on a philosophical inquiry into the Reluctant Ruler trope, aiming to uncover its deeper meanings and implications within existential and political philosophical discourse.

The Reluctant Ruler in Literature and Folklore

The archetype of the reluctant ruler is deeply embedded in the narratives of literature and folklore, transcending cultural and historical boundaries. Across diverse traditions, tales abound of individuals thrust into positions of leadership against their will, grappling with the weight of power and the burdens of governance.

Shakespeare’s “Hamlet:” One of the most iconic depictions of the Reluctant Ruler can be found in William Shakespeare's timeless tragedy, “Hamlet.” Prince Hamlet, the melancholic protagonist, is suddenly confronted with the task of avenging his father’s murder and assuming the throne of Denmark. Despite being heir to the throne, Hamlet is plagued by doubt, indecision, and existential angst. His famous soliloquy, “To be, or not to be,” encapsulates the profound existential crisis he faces, torn between the demands of duty and the desire for personal authenticity. Hamlet’s reluctance to embrace his role as king stems not only from fear or cowardice but from a profound skepticism about the legitimacy of authority and the corrupting influence of power.

The Arthurian Legend: In the rich tapestry of Arthurian legend, the motif of the Reluctant Ruler is exemplified in the character of King Arthur himself. According to some versions of the myth, Arthur is initially unaware of his royal lineage and is raised as a commoner by Sir Ector. Upon discovering his true identity and rightful claim to the throne, Arthur reluctantly accepts the mantle of kingship, guided by the wise counsel of Merlin and the moral imperative to uphold justice and chivalry. Despite his noble intentions, Arthur grapples with the burdens of leadership, facing betrayals, challenges to his authority, and the tragic consequences of his own choices. His reluctance to embrace his destiny as king reflects the ambivalence inherent in assuming power and the moral ambiguities of governance.

The Biblical Story of Moses: In the Abrahamic traditions, the narrative of Moses provides another compelling example of the Reluctant Ruler trope. According to the Book of Exodus, Moses is initially an ordinary Israelite that ran from his station as a prince of Egypt, content to live as a shepherd in the wilderness. However, when called upon by God to lead his people out of bondage in Egypt, Moses initially resists, citing his own inadequacies and speech impediment. Despite his reluctance, Moses eventually accepts the divine mandate and becomes the revered leader of the Israelites, guiding them through the trials of the Exodus and delivering the Ten Commandments at Mount Sinai. Moses’s reluctance to assume leadership underscores the theme of human frailty and the transformative power of faith and divine providence.

The Existential Dilemma of Unwanted Authority

Despite not having instances in our lives where we are unexpectedly crowned king or being spoken to by a deity, there are still profound lessons in identity and responsibility that we can pull from these characters.

The Anguish of Freedom and Responsibility

Existentialist philosophers such as Jean-Paul Sartre asserted that “existence precedes essence,” emphasizing the radical freedom and responsibility of human beings to define their own meaning and purpose in a seemingly indifferent universe. For the Reluctant Ruler, this existential freedom becomes a source of anguish and uncertainty. Suddenly endowed with authority and influence, they are confronted with the weight of responsibility and the moral implications of their actions. The existential angst of the reluctant ruler arises from the tension between the desire for autonomy and the demands of duty, as they struggle with the paradox of being simultaneously free and bound by social expectations.

Furthermore, with freedom comes the moral imperative to act responsibly and ethically. The Reluctant Ruler, however, finds themselves burdened with the weight of moral decision-making, as they navigate complex ethical dilemmas and confront the consequences of their actions. Existentialist philosophy emphasizes the inherent responsibility of individuals to create their own moral framework and to confront the ethical implications of their choices with honesty and integrity. The anguish of responsibility lies in the tension between the desire for moral clarity and the recognition of the inherent ambiguity and uncertainty of ethical decision-making. The reluctant ruler must contemplate on the ethical complexities of their role, striving to uphold their moral principles amidst the exigencies of power and governance.

Authenticity and Self-Deception

Central to the existential dilemma of unwanted authority is the quest for authenticity (we already knew this; I wrote two posts on authenticity already that you can check out here and here)—the authentic expression of one’s true self and values in the face of external pressures and expectations. The Reluctant Ruler may experience profound existential alienation as they navigate the demands of their role, questioning whether they are living in accordance with their own genuine desires and beliefs or merely conforming to societal norms and conventions.

In fact, they may be tempted to resort to self-deception—to deceive themselves and others about the true nature of their actions or motivations. Existentialist philosophy warns against the dangers of inauthenticity and self-delusion, highlighting the existential crisis that arises from living inauthentically and betraying one’s own values. The Reluctant Ruler may succumb to the pressures of their position, rationalizing their actions or compromising their principles in order to maintain power or avoid conflict. Self-deception becomes a means of coping with the existential anguish and moral dilemmas inherent in their role, providing a false sense of security and comfort amidst the uncertainties of leadership.

Self-deception ultimately leads to existential alienation—the estrangement from one’s authentic self and the sense of disconnection from the world. The Reluctant Ruler who succumbs to self-deception finds themselves adrift in a sea of moral ambiguity and existential angst, unable to reconcile their actions with their inner convictions.

The Absurdity of Human Existence

“The Absurdity of Human Existence” is a philosophical concept rooted in existentialist thought, particularly articulated by philosophers such as Albert Camus and Jean-Paul Sartre. It posits that human life is inherently absurd, devoid of inherent meaning or purpose, and characterized by the fundamental tension between the human desire for meaning and the indifferent, chaotic nature of the universe.

In assuming positions of power unwillingly, the Reluctant Ruler confronts the absurdity of their situation, grappling with the arbitrary nature of authority and the futility of their efforts to impose order and control upon a chaotic world. The absurdity of leadership lies in the recognition of its inherent limitations and the inevitability of failure and impermanence. Despite their best intentions, the Reluctant Ruler may find themselves overwhelmed by their predicament, struggling to find meaning and significance in a world devoid of ultimate purpose.

Here is where another familiar element of existence comes into play: the illusion of control. The illusion of control is a psychological concept that refers to the tendency of individuals to overestimate their ability to influence or control events, particularly in situations characterized by uncertainty or randomness.

For the Reluctant Ruler, the illusion of control becomes apparent as they assume positions of power unwillingly and attempt to impose order and control upon a world that defies their efforts. Despite their best intentions, they soon come to realize the inherent unpredictability and uncontrollability of the events and circumstances they face. This recognition challenges their preconceived notions of authority and power, revealing the illusory nature of their perceived control.

The Reluctant Ruler may initially believe that they have the ability to shape the course of events and influence outcomes according to their will. However, as they encounter resistance, opposition, and unforeseen challenges, they begin to understand the limitations of their authority and the unpredictable nature of the world they seek to govern. This realization undermines their confidence and exposes the fragility of their sense of control.

Moreover, the illusion of control can lead the Reluctant Ruler to engage in behaviors and strategies aimed at maintaining the illusion of power, even in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary. They may resort to authoritarian measures, manipulation, or denial of reality in an attempt to assert their authority and preserve their sense of control. However, these efforts ultimately prove futile, further reinforcing the absurdity of their situation.

The existential implications of the illusion of control lie in its confrontation with the fundamental unpredictability and contingency of human existence. The Reluctant Ruler's quest for control becomes a Sisyphean task, as they strive to impose order upon a world characterized by chaos and uncertainty. In confronting the illusion of control, they are forced to confront the absurdity of their condition and wrestle with the inherent limitations of human agency in the face of existential uncertainty.

Political Implications and the Burden of Leadership

Naturally, we cannot talk about the complexity behind the Reluctant Ruler without diving into those whom they govern. In examining the reluctant ruler trope through the lens of political philosophy, we confront the complex interplay between governance, legitimacy, and the ethical responsibilities of leadership.

Legitimacy and Consent

The concepts of legitimacy and consent are central to theories of political authority, shaping the foundation of governance and the relationship between rulers and the ruled. In the context of the Reluctant Ruler trope, the legitimacy of political authority is called into question, as leaders may assume power unwillingly, without the explicit consent or endorsement of those they govern.

Political theorists have long debated the sources of legitimacy in governance, seeking to identify the basis upon which political authority is justified. Traditionally, legitimacy has been derived from various sources such as divine right, tradition, charisma, or popular consent. However, the assumption of power by a Reluctant Ruler complicates these traditional sources, as their authority may not be grounded in the typical mechanisms of legitimacy. Instead, the legitimacy of the reluctant ruler may be contingent upon factors such as adherence to legal norms, effectiveness in governance, or recognition by key power holders.

In democratic societies, where the principle of popular sovereignty reigns supreme, the consent of the governed is considered foundational to the legitimacy of political authority. Democratic legitimacy is typically understood to derive from the consent of the people, expressed through free and fair elections. However, the Reluctant Ruler challenges this notion, as their assumption of power may not be the result of popular choice or electoral mandate. Or, on the other hand, perhaps it was, indeed, the populace that raised them to their position while they continued to protest and fight against it. This raises questions about the compatibility of their leadership with democratic ideals and the accountability of political institutions to the will of the people.

A Special Case or Universal Relatability?

The Reluctant Ruler archetype, emblematic of individuals thrust into positions of power against their will, serves as a focal point for exploring the intricate interplay between existential realization, political pragmatism, and ethical considerations within the realm of political philosophy and ethical theory. Through the lenses of political philosophers and ethical theorists, such as Niccolò Machiavelli, Hannah Arendt, Immanuel Kant, and Aristotle, we can seek to elucidate the moral spectrum of the Reluctant Ruler, shedding light on the ethical and existential dimensions of their predicament and the broader implications for human nature and governance.

Political Philosophers:

Thinkers such as Niccolò Machiavelli and Hannah Arendt might consider the ethical and political dimensions of the Reluctant Ruler trope. They would examine questions of legitimacy, authority, and the responsibilities of leadership, shedding light on how the Reluctant Ruler’s predicament illuminates broader themes in political philosophy.

Niccolò Machiavelli

Niccolò Machiavelli, a seminal figure in political philosophy, is often associated with political realism, a perspective that emphasizes practical considerations over moral ideals in governance.

Machiavelli’s political realism emphasizes the importance of power dynamics, interests, and strategic calculations in politics. He might argue that the Reluctant Ruler cannot afford to be guided solely by moral principles or existential concerns but must instead prioritize the preservation of authority and the maintenance of order.

For him, the reluctant ruler’s primary concern should be establishing and consolidating their authority, regardless of the circumstances of their ascension to power.

He famously suggests in The Prince that rulers should be prepared to act ruthlessly when necessary, even if it means sacrificing ethical principles.

The ends justify the means in politics, and that the reluctant ruler must be willing to employ any means necessary to achieve their goals.

Ultimately, Machiavelli would likely emphasize the importance of maintaining order and stability as the primary goals of the reluctant ruler. He might argue that the ruler's legitimacy and authority depend on their ability to govern effectively and preserve the social order, even if it requires making difficult decisions or compromises.

Machiavelli might caution against allowing existential angst or moral qualms to undermine the reluctant ruler's ability to govern decisively. He would likely stress the need for pragmatism and flexibility in navigating the complexities of political life.

Hannah Arendt

Hannah Arendt was a prominent political theorist known for her contributions to the understanding of totalitarianism, the nature of power, and the concept of political action.

Arendt would delve into the existential angst experienced by the reluctant ruler, examining how their struggle with assuming power unwillingly reflects broader themes of human existence. She might explore the absurdity of the situation, where individuals find themselves thrust into positions of authority without their consent or desire.

Arendt would likely emphasize the importance of individual conscience in guiding the actions of the reluctant ruler. She might suggest that the ruler's moral integrity is central to their ability to exercise legitimate and effective leadership, even in the face of existential uncertainty.

She might also argue that political action is inherently bound up with questions of ethics and morality, and that the reluctant ruler's existential crisis serves as a catalyst for deeper reflection on the ethical dimensions of governance.

Arendt might caution against sacrificing moral integrity for the sake of pragmatic considerations, suggesting that the Ruler’s adherence to their conscience is ultimately what determines the legitimacy of their leadership.

Ethical Thinkers

Thinkers like Immanuel Kant and Aristotle would likely explore the ethical dilemmas faced by the Reluctant Ruler. They would analyze how the tension between personal ethics and pragmatic considerations shapes the Ruler’s decision-making process, offering insights into human moral psychology and the pursuit of virtuous leadership.

Immanuel Kant

Kant’s deontological ethics emphasizes the importance of moral duty and universal principles in guiding ethical behavior. He would likely analyze the Reluctant Ruler’s predicament by focusing on the categorical imperative, which states that individuals must act according to principles that can be universally applied.

Kant might argue that the Reluctant Ruler faces a moral obligation to uphold certain ethical principles, even if it conflicts with pragmatic considerations. He would emphasize the importance of acting out of a sense of duty and moral integrity, rather than being swayed by expediency or self-interest.

Aristotle

Aristotle’s virtue ethics focuses on the development of moral character and the cultivation of virtuous qualities. He would likely analyze the Reluctant Ruler’s ethical dilemmas by considering how their decisions reflect their moral virtues and character traits.

Aristotle might argue that the reluctant ruler should strive to embody virtues such as courage, wisdom, and justice in their governance. He would emphasize the importance of practical wisdom (phronesis) in navigating the complexities of political life, suggesting that the ruler should aim to achieve eudaimonia, or flourishing, through virtuous leadership.

On Our Nature

Needless to say, not only can we reflect on our own ethical “what-ifs” in parallel to the Reluctant Ruler trope; through this character study, we can unearth a multitude of political and existential debates and still never settle on a universal answer.

The perpetual debates and unanswered questions surrounding the Reluctant Ruler trope speak volumes about human nature and the complexity of individual experiences. At its core, the Reluctant Ruler archetype encapsulates the fundamental tensions between existential realization, ethical responsibility, and political pragmatism, reflecting the intricate interplay of human desires, values, and motivations.

Firstly, the inability to settle on a universal answer regarding the Reluctant Ruler trope underscores the inherent complexity and ambiguity of human existence. Human nature is characterized by its multifaceted makeup, encompassing a diverse range of perspectives, beliefs, and experiences. The reluctance of individuals to embrace leadership roles speaks to our innate desire for autonomy, authenticity, and personal fulfillment, as well as our inherent susceptibility to doubt, uncertainty, and existential angst. The analyses surrounding the Reluctant Ruler trope reflect the diversity of human experiences and the myriad ways in which individuals examine with questions of identity, purpose, and morality.

Moreover, the fact that many individuals can relate to the Reluctant Ruler trope on a personal level speaks to the universality of human struggles and aspirations. Whether it be the fear of assuming responsibility, the desire for authenticity and self-expression, or the ethical dilemmas inherent in leadership, the themes embodied by the Reluctant Ruler resonate with people from all walks of life.

However, the Reluctant Ruler trope also serves as a mirror through which we can reflect on our own ethical convictions, political beliefs, and existential uncertainties. By examining the complexities of this archetype, we are compelled to confront our own values, biases, and assumptions, and to consider how they shape our perceptions of leadership, responsibility, and human nature. The inability to settle on a universal answer regarding the Reluctant Ruler trope challenges us to confront the inherent ambiguity and uncertainty of human existence, prompting us to engage with questions of identity, meaning, and morality in our own lives.

Closing Words

What initially appears as a narrative device in storytelling reveals itself as a mirror reflecting the intricacies of our own ethical frameworks, existential dilemmas, and political realities.

At its essence, the Reluctant Ruler archetype embodies the universal struggle between autonomy and responsibility, authenticity and conformity, freedom and obligation. Yet, beyond the realm of fiction, it prompts us to reflect on our own ethical convictions and existential uncertainties. Are we, too, begrudging in our own lives, navigating the delicate balance between personal desires and societal expectations? Do we confront the existential angst of freedom and responsibility, or do we succumb to the illusion of control and self-deception?

Moreover, the Reluctant Ruler challenges us to examine the legitimacy of political authority and the ethical responsibilities of leadership. In a world where governance is often characterized by power struggles and moral ambiguities, how do we reconcile the demands of pragmatism with the imperatives of justice and integrity? How do we ensure that those in positions of power govern with wisdom, virtue, and compassion?

Ultimately, the Reluctant Ruler trope serves as a catalyst for introspection and dialogue, inviting us to confront the complexity of human nature and the ethical dimensions of governance. As we scrutinize the unresolved questions and perpetual debates surrounding this archetype, we are reminded of the enduring relevance of philosophy in our quest for understanding, meaning, and ethical clarity.

In the end, the Reluctant Ruler challenges us not only to ponder the existential dilemmas of fictional characters but also to confront the ethical complexities of our own lives and societies. It is through this introspective journey that we may gain deeper insights into the nature of leadership, autonomy, and the human condition, and perhaps, find a path towards a more just, compassionate, and authentic world.

#writers on tumblr #writeblr #writers #on writing #creative writing #writer #writing #writers and poets #writerscommunity #novel writing #writing life #writing community #writing inspiration #writing tips #writer stuff #writers of tumblr #writer community #writer problems #writer things #writer on tumblr #writing trope #tropes #character tropes #trope talk #trope analysis #trope prompts #tropes i love #characterization #writing tropes

[deacons-wig]

I'd prefer if we never got to see the origin of Vault Boy and Vault Tec's branding in the same way I'd rather not get a canon answer of who started the War or how. That's the point of War Never Changes.

Vault Boy is a sinister figure in his cheerful embrace of Armageddon. Giving the Vault Tec brand a face and a name and a backstory feels so unimportant to what is actually interesting about Fallout. What's important to me is the big picture pre war, and the details of what comes after.

What is interesting to me is exploring how propaganda is designed to convince people how close they are to annihilation--or homelessness, unemployment, obscurity, or being The Other and therefore destined to suffer--in hell, in oppressions, being ostracized. Honestly insert any sort of marginalization or suffering here. Crony capitalism uses propaganda to market products designed to manipulate people into buying distance between themselves and that annihilation. Putting themselves "behind the thumb" of Vault Boy, so to speak. Buying a lifestyle. Vault Boy does it with a wink and a smile, inviting those who can afford it to buy their way to safety while using capital and fear to perpetuate the cycle. I don't need the specifics to understand this.

Some ghoulnaysis below the cut:

I'll admit, my initial reaction to pre-war Ghoulgins being the inspiration for Vault Boy was funny! Mr. Cooper Howard, washed up actor experiencing an existential crisis being shoehorned into corporate propaganda that then haunts him for the next 200+ years? Selling manifest destiny, racism, the Rugged Individual, the revisionist history that cowboys were a) white and b) more than a brief footnote in the history of the colonization of North America's west. The commodification of entertainers/creatives/public figures. Selling identities to be packaged into a product that will outlive them? Only to have that person live alongside that role they regret (?) playing... kinda tasty, if we have to give Vault Boy a backstory, though I didn't get a clear sense of his actual feelings about being used as a propaganda guy which I think is a failure of the show to commit to the narrative they set up, which happens with a lot of the show's (lack of) engagement with Fallout's larger themes anyway.

But The Ghoul (stupid name!!! weird and boring choice!!!) is just such an uncompelling and repellent character to me. I love a good bad guy or even anti-hero, but honestly he lacks any interiority. He's an evil karma character (eats people, waterboards and mutilates people, sells people to organ harvesters...like? that literally makes you evil in the games...) but the narrative pushes him as an antihero or someone with gray morality because he what..."likes" dogs? And isn't as decayed or unsettling looking as other ghouls (implying handsome=good or interesting). People aren't afraid of him because he is a ghoul, they're afraid of him because he's evil and will hurt them! Sometimes for no reason! I see the callback to the director telling him to shoot his co-star and Cooper saying he's "the good guy," but is that why he becomes so fucking evil post war? Really?

I don't know why he does what he does other than...the world sucked before and sucks now so he might as well represent the basest of human behavior? That seems to be the thesis of the show--unless kindness and community is engendered (by the vaults, by Management, by a civic government, by corporations) people will descend into chaos.

So why have this poorly executed anti-hero be the origin of Vault Boy? What are the narrative choices being made here? Is it just Rule of Cool?

Personally I would like a pathetic, rotting wet cat of a ghoul, some sort of carved out husk of a washed up movie star either trying to relive his glory days, or avoid them--having given up hope of finding his family after 200 years--being dragged into Lucy's orbit and being constantly reminded of his Vault Boy fame, that she is a walking Vault Girl with her Okey Dokey's and Golden Rule. He'd be a joke, a footnote of the old world. He'd be mean and snarky, even unpredictable and uncooperative--have a public persona of friendly curiosity and a private, cynical one.

Pathetic Ghoulgins would remind audiences of the cost of capitalism and imperialism without resorting to the thesis that war never changes means that people are inherently cruel and will resort to violence, rather than existent corporate and political power structures intentionally create the conditions in which people accept perpetual cycles of exploitation and harm for the sake of their own safety and comfort, despite knowing the cost of maintaining the status quo, and not seeing or believing that distance between the status quo and total annihilation is measured by the smiling thumbs up of a cartoon mascot.

I'm sure there are other ways The Ghoul could have been a successful character as well but.... That's satire. That's interesting. That's Fallout.

#fallout #fallout tv #fallout prime #fallout tv show #the ghoul #cooper howard #vault tec #“let people enjoy things” well i enjoy critical analysis #i dislike the big picture of the show but i love fallout enough to dig through the mess #fotv critical #fallout critical

[nesaluvstherecoms]

𝐆𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱.

ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ʀᴇᴄᴏᴍ ᴄᴏʟᴏɴᴇʟ ᴍɪʟᴇꜱ Qᴜᴀʀɪᴛᴄʜ x ʀᴇᴄᴏᴍ ᴍᴀᴊᴏʀ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀʟ ꜰᴇᴍ. ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Identity crisis, insomnia, PTSD, alien (Na’vi) anatomy, male and female masturbation, cum eating, pheromone induced arousal, sexual fantasies

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ʟɪɴᴋ

。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐: 𝐙𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲

“Remember kid, a Marine can’t be defeated. Oh, you can kill us. But we’ll just regroup in hell. Semper fi.” And with that, the grey haired Colonel leans forward and ends the recording.

Sharp, amber eyes stare intensively at the now transparent screen, carefully eyeing up the piece of technology between the Recombinant’s large hands. The Recom inhales deeply, lips pursed as the expression on his face remains vengeful. His jaw is tense, teeth clenched, his brain processing the new information that it just obtained. So this is why he’s here, hm? Back from the dead. His eyes then avert to his surroundings. He watches as more of his squadron’s members are pulled out of the amnio tanks, in new, refined bodies. Their flesh covered in the amniotic fluid, giving a thick, shiny sheen to the firm, durable muscles of their new anatomy.

Quaritch snorts. If he had seen this sight fourteen years ago, he would’ve been absolutely disgusted at the alien bodies being pulled out of the tanks. His blue eyes would’ve pierced through the freaky, revolting sight. He would’ve scoffed at the science pukes, calling them freaks, giving them nasty stares before storming off somewhere. The Recom’s train of thought stops there. No he wouldn’t. He wasn’t even alive fourteen years ago. Because the man who would have reacted that way is probably still rotting somewhere. And he’s not that man.

Or is he? 

The Recom is pulled out of his thoughts by his right hand man, who’s floating close to him, holding onto the metal bar that supports the screen between his Colonel’s hands. They have a brief moment of eye contact, before the other Recombinant speaks.

“What’re we thinking Colonel?”

Quaritch moves his lower jaw to the side, tongue moving up to press against the upper molars of the same side. He takes a deep breath, eyes lowering down briefly, in thought. His eyes then turn back up, observing his Corporal’s face. It will take him some time to get used to Lyle’s new face. The same face he woke up to some hours ago. His eyes skim over the nasal plug inserted into Wainfleet’s right nostril, to stop the nosebleed that Quaritch caused when he punched him square in the face. Quaritch brings his lower jaw back into place. His tongue runs over the new fangs that he can’t seem to get used to just yet, coating them in a new layer of saliva, causing his lips to purse in the process. He then looks at his Corporal again. Wainfleet stares back, patiently waiting for his Colonel to process the new information, his tail flicking slowly behind him as they both float in the zero gravity space. Quaritch swallows the saliva that has pooled in his mouth. He looks at Wainfleet with an intense and serious expression before his lips curl into a smirk, fangs coming out in full display, as he stares deeply into his right hand man’s amber eyes.

“Well Lyle…. Looks like we did regroup in hell after all….”

Y/N is deep in her head. Her thoughts are all over the place, not able to form a logical and uniform chain like they usually do. But she tries to dull them for a bit.

This is not the place to be having an existential crisis.

She focuses her vision on what’s happening on the other side of the glass panel she’s currently standing behind, separating her from the zero gravity space she was in earlier. Her eyelids close over her eyes for a moment, just enough to ground her thoughts briefly. So that’s why she’s here huh? To colonize. What a joke.

“You okay, Colonel?”

Y/N opens her eyes again. Her line of vision falls upon the man standing next to her, who seems to have focused his sight on his perplexed Colonel, staring at her expectantly. Her eyes narrow at the man, tongue moving uncomfortably in her mouth at the sight of him. He doesn’t look the same at all. His beard is gone, his irises are golden, his nose is that of a feline, his skin is blue and striped and he has this new alien body that just looking at it makes her sick to her stom-

“Colonel?”

Y/N clenches her jaw, turning her head away from the man, not wanting to look at him.

“I’m fine John.”

The man swallows. Why is she acting like this? She’s never been so cold towards him for no reason. His eyes remain on her for a few more minutes, but she refuses to even glance at him again, like she can’t even bear the thought of looking at him. He decides to turn his head back towards the glass panel, telling himself that she’s just in her head and she’ll come to her normal self eventually. She always does. But something inside him still worries, his tail being a testament of this as the end of it flicks in intervals behind him. His eyes glance down briefly to his blue hands, as he stretches his new fingers, the skin flexing above the flesh. He swallows. He doesn’t like it. Not one bit. His eyes return to what’s happening behind the glass panel, trying to collect himself.

This is not the place to be having an existential crisis.

The Colonel and her Captain watch as the last duo of the 10 man squadron gets pulled out of their amnio tanks. As the amniotic fluid disperses in the space, the newborn Na’vi bodies get pulled out, sliding from the tank into the air of the new world they’re about to open their eyes to. The scientists maneuver the large, Recombinant bodies in the zero gravity space, preparing to get them ready for the wake up process. Y/N’s eyes follow them, running over the alien yet somehow familiar features of her First Sergeant and Operations Officer, both of their eyes closed, faces resting peacefully. Oh how unaware they are of what’s about to happen, what they’re about to wake up to, to wake up in. They don’t know they’ll open their eyes, far away from Earth, in new alien bodies, sluggish and confused, frightened even. They just remain resting, still deep in hibernation sleep, as they are moved away from Y/N’s and John’s sight.

John turns his head towards his Colonel again. But no words come out of his mouth. He’s waiting. Waiting for her to say something. Y/N feels his eyes on her. She takes a deep breath, filling her lungs with the much needed air as she closes her eyes again, still keeping her jaw clenched. After a few seconds she opens them again, long eyelashes as a result of her mixed DNA parting way for her dark pupils to focus again. She swallows. John inhales as she finally looks at him again, but this time there is no displeasure on her beautiful features, just the usual calm and determined demeanor that he’s used to.

“Captain, I expect you to report to me on how the wake up process has gone for the rest of the team after they all have been awaken.”

Is all she says. John nods.

“Yes Colonel.” He replies, deep voice sounding the same as she remembers. Y/N nods once, giving him one last look, before backing up a few steps and turning around. Her combat boots thud on the tiles as she starts walking away, tail moving slightly behind her. John watches his Colonel as she walks away. After a few seconds he’s about to start leaving himself, but his ears catch the sound of her footsteps stopping. He turns around, watching in curiosity. Y/N doesn’t turn to face him, her tail has stopped moving, now standing still with the end of it slightly raised up. Her ears fold back as she turns her head to look at him over her shoulder, her hair and kuru moving along with it.

“Take care of yourself John.”

And with that she slowly turns the corner and disappears from his eyesight. John swallows, still staring at the end of the hallway from which she just left. Slowly, he exhales the breath that he hadn’t noticed he was holding.

“I will, Colonel.”



It has been five days since Y/N woke up in her new body. Her right hand man, Captain John Keller, has been telling her that some of her squadron members are awake, but not all of them. Apparently the scientists are awakening two Recombinants at a time every five days. Even then she is not able to see them, as they have to come to terms with what has been done to them first. Keller has informed her that she’ll be able to meet the entire team again once they all have somehow processed their new profound existence. Y/N huffs ironically. Well that will take some time won’t it? As she lays on her bed, in her new temporary quarters, her eyes remain on the ceiling. Her ears twitch as she periodically taps her right middle finger on the sheets stamped with the RDA logo below her. Her other hand lays flat on her stomach, feeling the muscle below her fingertips even though she’s internally revolting at the firmness of it. She keeps her eyes on the ceiling.

“Remember sweetheart…. You’re nothing but a pawn and you’ll remain a pawn until you play. Take what they give you, give away what you have to, and the difference is yours. Because the difference is what makes you the middle player between the cattle and power. Because that…. is the key to winning the game.”

Her tail starts thudding against the mattress in synchronization with the finger tapping on the sheets.

She knows what her predecessor meant. But… do these rules apply to another planet?

Her tail thuds more firmly against the mattress.

Tap…

Tap…

Tap…

It’s been five days… five days and she still hasn’t looked in the mirror. Even with that being the case, she still has caught glimpses of herself on the reflection of different glass panels on the ISV Vindicator, and she can’t say she liked it. Her head turns slowly towards the direction of the shower.

Maybe she should.

Slowly she sits up, the sheets ruffling under her. She moves her legs to the side and lowers her bare feet on the cold tiles of the room. Behind her, her tail rests flat on the mattress. After a few seconds she stands up, walking towards the direction of the bathroom. She steps foot in, and looks around for a bit. The mirrors are still covered. There’s two of them, one small and square one above the sink and one full-length body mirror in front of the shower. Her ears fold back as her eyes fall on the covered, full-length mirror. She stands there, in the middle of the bathroom, for a considerable amount of time before she decides to do it. Hesitantly, her feet walk towards the big mirror, her tail raised slightly up behind her. Getting closer, her hand reaches out to grasp the sheet thrown over it. The RDA staff had done this to every room issued to the Recombinants, because apparently there were others like her who weren’t ready to look at themselves yet. Other Recombinants…. She wonders what other squadron the RDA decided to clone…

Y/N pushes that thought aside. She has a bigger issue to face. She’s now standing in front of the mirror with her hand grasping the sheet covering it. Her eyelids close for a moment, allowing her to ground the feelings that are bubbling inside, as her ears remain folded back and pressed against her head. Why is she so afraid?

“Come on Y/N. You’re a Colonel. The military didn’t raise no pussy.” She tells herself. Her mind goes back to when she first opened a book to study about Pandora, the day after General Ardmore had requested her presence in the Recom Program. She remembers her fascination as she carefully read every page, letter by letter. She was sitting in her office at the time, the dim light of her desk lamp falling over the book she had chosen to look for information into; “The Na’vi”. She remembers as she had turned that one specific page and her e/c eyes had fallen upon the two diagrams of one male and one female Na’vi. How she stared at the picture in fascination, carefully eyeing the dark blue stripes, the tails, the noses, the ears. Is that what she looked like now? After a few seconds she opens her eyes again, and this time there’s not as much hesitation in them.

Y/N pulls the sheet off of the mirror.

As the sheet falls on the floor, a young, beautiful Na’vi woman stares back at her, breathing rapidly. Her cropped ears are folded back, her tail is raised cautiously behind her and she stares back at Y/N in fear. Y/N swallows firmly, getting some relief in her dry throat. The young Na’vi does the same. Hesitantly, Y/N places her right hand on the mirror, moving closer to it so she can examine her own face. Her golden eyes carefully trace the dark blue stripes on her face, running over each and every one, before they move to her pink, feline nose. Carefully she removes her hand from the mirror and pokes at the tip of her nose with her fingertip. It twitches at the invasive touch, and for the first time in her new life, Y/N chuckles. That immediately diverts her attention to her mouth. She parts her lips and opens her mouth, exposing the sharp canines coated in a layer of saliva that she seems to constantly have to swallow to keep her mouth from overflowing at the moment. Her tongue carefully runs over the top row of her teeth, doing a full examination before it stops at the sharp end of her right canine. She carefully pushes the tip of her tongue against it, not enough to pierce through the muscle but enough to be able to feel the sharpness of her new tooth. Her tongue then moves to her right lateral incisor. It’s also pointy and sharp, threatening to pierce the tip of the muscle as she presses it against the incisor, but it’s just a bit shorter then the canine. She clamps her teeth shut, watching the full set in the mirror. The canines and lateral incisors stand out on both rows, long, pointy and sharp, glistening under the bathroom light. She closes her mouth again, now not staring at a specific feature of hers, but just looking at her face as a whole. Her face is still familiar… just… different… and blue. But it’s still… her.

Or is it?

Slowly, Y/N’s hands move down to the end of her tactical shirt. Her fingers grasp the hem and slowly start pulling up, and over her head. She tosses the shirt somewhere in the bathroom before she turns her head back to the mirror, now staring at her exposed upper body. Her hands move up towards her collar bone, touching the skin lightly. She watches herself in the mirror as her hands slowly move down to her plump breasts and gently cup them, the fat of her tits slightly bulging out of the space between her fingers. She feels the comforting softness of them for a while, before her fingers gently start to trace her nipples. A shaky sigh leaves her mouth as they harden under her touch, getting perky between her fingertips. Her eyes watch her movements in the mirror, taking in the pretty pink color of her nipples. Her breasts haven’t changed much. That gives her some comfort, seeing that at least no drastic changes have been made to her general anatomy. With that she moves her hands down, gently pressing her fingertips against her firm stomach. She watches her thin waistline, running her fingers over her sides briefly, before reaching the belt line of her tactical pants.

Y/N swallows again. But this time she doesn’t hesitate as much. Her elegant fingers make short work of the button and the zipper, getting them both undone. Her thumbs hook under the belt line at her hips where the undone pants still hang on, and she pulls them down, kicking them away. Now standing completely naked in front of the full-length mirror, she takes in the sight. There’s no body hair, due to the Na’vi genes, so she runs her fingertips over the smooth skin gently. Her right hand moves back, grasping the thick base of her tail. Keeping her fingers wrapped around it, she moves her hand down her tail, letting it slide in her palm until the fluffy tip is curled between the knuckle of her pointer finger and her thumb. She lets it go and turns around. Her head looks over her shoulder in the mirror and she experimentally moves her tail left to right. Cropped ears raise up in fascination as she continues to move her tail and watch it in the mirror. But as she does so, her eyes fall on the long braid draped over the muscles of her back. Slowly, her hand lets go of her tail.

Y/N turns back around to face the mirror. Carefully and gently she grabs the base of the long braid and pulls it in front of her. Her mind goes back to the memory of her reading that book. She remembers reading something about this braid.

“A neural queue (Na’vi name: kuru) is an appendage that is part of many species' anatomy on Pandora, including the Na’vi. Queues are encased in a "neural whip", a protective layer of skin that houses a set of thin, pinkish tendrils that appear somewhat like hair but are actually extensions of the creature's nervous system. Although the Na'vi possess a neural whip like most other creatures, it is most often hidden under a layer of hair that is painstakingly braided around the queue to protect it.”

An extension to her nervous system. Y/N’s brows raise in uncertainty. Her fingers move down to the end of the long braid and raise it up in front of her face. She watches as the hair falls down and a set of freakish, pink tendrils appear, slithering in place. Y/N’s face twists with displeasure.

“What the actual fuck.” She mumbles. That’s creepy. She lets go of her queue, not pleased at the alien appendage connected to the base of her skull. She’ll experiment with it later, not wanting to mess with it too much, seeing that apparently it is an extension of her own nervous system. As she thinks this, her eyes fall back on the reflection in the mirror. She swallows. Only one more thing to examine… Slowly she starts bending her knees to sit on the sheet that was covering the mirror earlier, planting her rear end on the floor. Bringing her knees to her chest, she scoots back with her heels to make some space between her and the mirror. After she gets comfortable enough, her amber eyes fall on the reflection again. She sighs… fuck it.

Slowly, Y/N parts her knees, spreading her legs wide. Immediately her eyes fall on her pink pussy, searching for any weird alien features. A wave of relief washes over her as she realizes that that is not the case. Her head falls back, hair caressing the skin of her back and eyes closing for a moment.

“Oh thank fucking God.” She mumbles, grateful that she wouldn’t have to deal with some type of alien genitalia. Her tail flicks side to side, ruffling against the sheet below her. Y/N brings her head forward again, staring back at the pink flesh between her legs. The outer lips match with the blue color of the rest of the skin, but the inside seems to match the color of her nipples and neural tendrils. The shape hasn’t changed, it’s still the same as she remembers.

Y/N swallows. She wonders if…

Slowly, she brings one hand forward, carefully sliding it between her spread legs. Her fingertips experimentally spread her lower lips, pulling the hood of her clit up. The tiny pink nub starts hardening under the touch, sending a pleasurable wave coursing up her spine. She closes her legs shut. No. She’s not doing this.

Standing up from the bathroom floor, she decides to ignore what just happened, the end of her tail curling around her calf in embarrassment. She grabs the sheet and folds it carefully, putting it on a nearby shelf, before she uncovers the mirror above the sink and does the same thing with the smaller sheet. Grabbing her discarded clothes, she puts them in the laundry basket, before taking out a bathrobe and a towel from the bathroom cabinet. She needs a shower. After hanging the towels on a hook nearby, her fingers move to the end of her neural queue to undo the braid. Making short work of the strands of hair, little by little the entire queue comes out, resting over her right shoulder. Y/N watches the long neural whip now uncovered, as the tendrils move. A chill runs down her spine. She doesn’t like this thing at all. It looks so freaky.

She slides open the shower screen and steps inside. Her hand reaches for the handle, twisting it on the warm temperature side. Warm water pours from the shower head, falling in front of her, wetting her feet. She steps under the stream, letting it drench her entirely. As the water falls freely on her naked form, she reaches for the small bottle of shampoo. She pours some on her open palm before stepping out of the stream and bringing the open palm on top of her head. Her fingers work gently on her scalp, massaging in the shampoo. The sweet smell fills her nostrils and it twitches at the sudden overwhelming scent. She sneezes. The hell? She has never been so sensitive to smells. Grabbing the shampoo bottle she reads over the ingredients, trying to see if there’s something adding extra scent. But there isn’t any added perfumes. Just the standard RDA approved shampoo. She huffs, sneezing one more time. Maybe it’s her. Her nose must be more sensitive. Y/N huffs out of her nose to get rid of the sneezing feeling and continues to wash her hair carefully. Pouring some more shampoo on her palm, she brings her hands down and starts washing her body. After lathering her whole body up, her fingers gently cup her breasts and rub over them, massaging the soap into the skin. Y/N swallows as her nipples harden again, poking against her open palms. Stopping her movements, she looks towards the direction of the mirror. Her eyes trace over her naked, wet and lathered up form in the reflection, strands of hair sticking on her blue skin. She bites her lip in contemplation. Slowly, her right hand moves from her right breast and carefully slides over her pubic bone. Elegant fingers slide over the smooth skin, before getting between her legs. Warmth spreads over her cheeks at her own actions. Her middle finger gently slides between her folds. A shaky breath leaves her mouth as she feels her clit harden again, bringing back that pleasurable wave down her spine she felt earlier. Flicking her wrist slowly, she brings the bottom of the second knuckle on the tiny pink nub, and gives an experimental rub. Her hips buckle forward at the feeling, and she presses against her clit harder.

Y/N leans against the shower wall, pressing her shoulders against the cold tile. Widening her stance, she rubs tight circles on her clit. As arousal starts seeping from her hole, she lets out a shaky moan, her left hand that’s still on her left breast squeezes the soft flesh. Her tail curls around her left leg, tightening around the limb. Y/N moans again, as the waves of pleasure start running through her neurons. It’s been so long. So so long. She needs this. As she rubs harder, her hips buckle forward again, causing her shoulders to press harder against the shower wall to grant her stability. Her cunt is now drenched, covered in sticky arousal and Y/N pulls on her nipple with her other hand. Letting out another moan, she stops her movements. Her middle finger slowly slides further down her pussy until the fingertip reaches the source of the thick arousal. She gently prods at it, pressing against the silky flesh. Her head falls back, the back of it leaning against the shower wall and her eyes return to the reflection in the mirror. She has to be careful. This body is virgin after all. Slowly, she inserts the tip of her finger up to the first knuckle into her pussy. A burning sensation courses within the opening, as her walls start parting to make room for the digit. Y/N continues pushing it until it’s fully in, resting within the velvety walls of her cunt.

“Fuck.” She whispers shakily, squeezing around her own digit. Allowing her virgin walls to adjust to it, she rests there, shoulders leaning against the wall as the hot water from the shower continues to pour. The glass screens have started fogging, the steam getting thicker and thicker as seconds pass, blurring the reflection of the mirror in front of her eyesight. Y/N remembers what a pain it was for her to get used to the feeling of her hole stretching when she lost her virginity. How long it took to prep her and surpass the burning feeling in her cunt. Now she will have to go through it again. But as her walls adjust to the digit, her eyelids close over her golden eyes and she lets out another shaky sigh. Gently she starts pulling her finger out, before thrusting it in the wet and silky cavern of her pussy again. She brings her other hand down, rubbing on her clit to ease the process. Another shaky moan leaves her mouth as she continues pleasuring herself, rubbing tight circles on the tiny hardened nub and thrusting her finger in faster. Her tail tightens around her leg, while her cropped ears fold back and press against her head. Y/N angles her finger, searching for that one specific spot. The moment her legs tremble she knows she’s found it, and she jabs her fingertip against her sweet spot. Her eyebrows furrow, mouth hanging open, as she feels the first wave of that sweet tightness in the pit of her stomach. Stopping her movements, Y/N turns around. Pressing her right cheek against the shower wall, her rear end sticks out, tail now raising up and the end draping over her right shoulder. Her queue dangles on her left side, tendrils still moving. She parts her feet wider, bringing her hands between her legs again. Her middle finger slides back in effortlessly and her other hand comes to rub on her clit again. But Y/N doesn’t move her finger just yet. Her right ring finger now prods at her opening, squeezing against the base of her middle finger. Slowly, she presses it in, sliding it in her walls along with the digit that’s already there. The sheer amount of arousal allows it to slide effortlessly but a burning sting courses through her inner walls as her pussy tries to adjust at the new intrusion. She hisses slightly, hole stretching to accommodate the two digits.

“Fuck fuck fuck.” She mumbles, squeezing around the two fingers. Her other hand rubs on her clit, trying to ease the adjustment. Her pointer finger and pinky are now pressed flat against either ass cheek as more arousal seeps out of her pussy, dripping down the back of her hand. Slowly, the stinging pain goes away. With that, Y/N pulls out her fingers halfway before thrusting them inside her cunt again. Squelching sounds and moans fill the bathroom along with the sound of the pouring water as she finds that same spot again and jabs against it mercilessly. The coil in the pit of her stomach continues to tighten, while waves of sweet pleasure encase her body. Her mouth hangs open, the tile fogs with her shaky breaths and moans as she keeps her cheek pressed against it. Her cheeks are now fully hot, brows furrowed and eyes closed in pleasure. Her mind starts to drift, searching for filthy memories to help her get closer to that sweet sweet orgasm. Pornographic moans echo against the walls as she finds just the right memory, and slams into her own cunt harder, while her other hand rubs her clit furiously. A numb feeling starts overtaking her toes, her stomach tightens, her urethra throbs pleasurably and that’s when she knows she’s about to cum.

Quickly she turns back around, slamming her shoulders against the shower wall and sticking her hips forward. With her eyes rolling back in her skull and a final scream, the coil snaps and intense pleasure takes over her entire body. Her nervous system pulses, blood rushing through her veins as she pleasures herself even harder to ride her orgasm. Clear liquid gushes onto the shower screen in front of her, splattering aggressively against the glass as she rides her fingers, tight velvety walls convulsing around the digits. What Y/N doesn’t notice, is the tendrils of her queue pulsing with her release, pleasure coursing through them as well.

“Oh, oh fuck!” She moans one last time as her hips stop buckling. Clamping her legs shut around her right hand, she presses the palm of her other hand flat on the shower wall behind her. Y/N lets her entire back lay against the tiles, breathing heavily as her orgasm fades away.

The only sound in the bathroom is the water still pouring from the shower head, as Y/N opens her eyes again. This time she cannot see her reflection as the glass screen is fully foggy, except for the large area of splatter patterns and squirt droplets sliding down its surface. Swallowing the saliva that has pooled in her mouth, she gently pulls her fingers out of her cunt. She brings her hand in front of her face, watching as her middle and ring finger part from each other and the thick arousal stretches between them. Her mouth parts, tongue sticking out, as she slides those fingers onto her taste buds. She wraps her lips around them, cheeks hollowing as she sucks the release from the two digits. A satisfied hum comes from the bottom of her throat as the flavor of her own cum courses through her taste buds. She pulls those fingers out, moving them back down between her folds to scoop more of her cum out from her cunt. When she has gathered a satisfying amount, she brings them back to her mouth, pouring the gathered glob of cum on top of her tongue and sucking the digits clean.

The lather has dissolved by now, leaving her body weirdly sticky. After a few more seconds of gathering herself, Y/N steps under the stream of the water again. A sigh escapes her throat, as the warmth eases her muscles, tail flicking in approval behind her. She closes her eyes, letting herself enjoy the feeling. After a while, she turns the water off. She slides the glass screen open and grabs her bathrobe and towel. She wraps her hair with the towel, carefully leaving the neural queue out, and wears the bathrobe. Her feet carry her towards the door, while her hand reaches for the light-switch and presses it, turning off the bright light of the bathroom. Y/N walks towards the bed, and doesn’t hesitate to lay down, exhaustion slowly creeping up to her. Why she’s exhausted? She doesn’t know. She could argue that her first orgasm in this new body had something to do with it but she doesn’t think much of it. A small yawn escapes her lips, sharp canines and incisors coming out in the process. Her tail ruffles against the sheets. She turns her head towards her analog watch that she had left on top of the nightstand.

03:44

She should get some sleep. Removing the bathrobe, she tosses it somewhere in the room. Deciding to keep the towel wrapped around her hair, she slides her naked form under the covers. She reaches for a bottle of water on top of the nightstand and takes a few gulps before closing the lid and putting the bottle back on the nightstand. Another yawn escapes her mouth. After getting comfortable under the covers, Y/N lays on her back, staring at the ceiling. In some weeks, she and her squadron will board on Pandora. Her mind goes back to the books she read on it. Except for “The Na’vi”, one of the books that stood out the most to her had been “Pandoran Botany” by Dr. Grace Agustine. Well, who wouldn’t be fascinated by the botany of another planet. She remembers the expression on her face as she had been flipping through the pages. Well in a few weeks she gets to see it for herself… if it doesn’t kill her that is. As a third yawn leaves her lips, Y/N decides to call it a day. She shifts into her usual sleeping position and closes her eyes. Thoughts still roam in her head but she tries to dull them, wanting to quiet her mind so she can rest. But one specific thought doesn’t seem to fade away. She wonders who the other squadron of Recombinants are…

Miles lays in bed, staring at the ceiling. It has been a rough five days. His squadron members are not all awake, some of them are having trouble with the new bodies, he’s keeping an existential crisis at bay, but most importantly, it’s been five days of flashbacks. The scientists have told him that it will take some time for all his memories to flood in, that’s why he’s getting them in snippets throughout the day. He huffs. Fucking science pukes. Always talking and never taking action. He can’t sleep at night and they haven’t done shit about it. Only the usual lectures of “trust the process sir”. Trust the process his ass, he can’t even get some damn shuteye. An annoyed growl leaves his throat. He wants to sleep. He really does. But every time his mind falls asleep, he’s haunted my memories. Some of them are the memories of war. He sees the faces of his former comrades, screaming in agony, calling out to him. They beg for him to save them, reaching out to him, before they are brutally slaughtered right in front of his eyes, their blood splattering on his uniform.

Miles swallows. As a seasoned soldier, he’s used to the brutal nature of war. He has seen violence at its most horrifying form and he thought he got over those memories a long time ago, however that does not seem to be the case. They’re coming back, haunting his dreams. The worst part is, they’re not the ones that are keeping him awake at night. No, he can sleep throughout those. What he can’t sleep through is the memory of his first day on Pandora… As soon as his mind falls into slumber, the first thing he sees is a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness, the black slitted pupils staring into his soul. Miles steps back, cocking his long gun, his own eyes wide. The creature steps from the darkness, and suddenly Miles finds himself in the middle of the fluorescent jungle, in front of this one meter beast that has bared its long and horrifying black teeth at him. It howls aggressively, charging at him with all of its six limbs. Miles has no time to react…

Pain. Pain courses through his body, pulsing through his veins. He screams in agony, tearing his vocal chords. His hand rushes to the blinding pain on the side of his head. He feels it into his skull, piercing on the right side of his brain. His eyesight goes dark, isolating him from the rest of the world. Miles is now relying on his other senses as he desperately tries to survive the agony he’s going through. The right side of his uniform feels wet. It sticks to his body, awfully warm and drenched against his skin. The hand on the side of his head is drenched too, as another hot flash of pain stabs in the right side of his skull yet again. Miles screams, coughing out liquid from his torn vocal chords. His mouth fills with a salty and metallic flavor. His uniform is getting more and more drenched, and he feels a pool of hot liquid on the ground below him. The pain doesn’t stop. Neither do Miles’ screams. His ears are ringing, he can barely hear his own voice. His vision is still black, he cannot see. He hears faint sounds of explosions and screams somewhere in the distance. He feels dizzy. His body drops on his side on the ground, drenching the rest of his uniform into the pool of liquid that was below him. As its scent fills his nostrils, Miles realizes. It’s his own blood. And everything stops. Miles falls unconscious.

The Recombinant shudders. It’s been haunting him for five nights. Five nights of him jumping awake, covered in cold sweat as he struggles to breathe. His fingers instinctively reach for the right side of his head. But there’s nothing there. No scars to touch. He swallows. Bringing his wrist forward, he takes a look at his analogue watch.

03:15

His jaw moves to the side. He needs to find a way to get some damn shuteye and he needs to find it now. He turns his head back to look at the ceiling and brings his jaw in place. He thought about exercising until exhaustion a few days ago. He tried it. Did it work? No. He still had that damn nightmare. A frustrated growl emits from the bottom of his throat. Should he ask the science pukes for some melatonin pills? No, they’ll just give him the same lecture. His amber eyes fall on his crotch. He grits his teeth in contemplation. Fuck it, it wouldn’t hurt to try. His large hands reach for the zipper. Long fingers make short work of it and his tactical pants come undone shortly after. He pulls them down, tossing them somewhere in the room, and turns his attention to his crotch. His eyes fall on the slit starting between his testicles and ending a few inches higher. Miles frowns. He hates this fucking shit. Imagine his horror when he removed that stupid hospital gown and found no dick between his legs. He would’ve shot himself right there and then if it wasn’t for the science pukes explaining the anatomy to him. Still, he hates the idea of his dick being held internally. It’s disgusting. It’s weird. It’s alien.

He’s alien.

He clenches his jaw. That thought bothers him. He decides to ignore it.

This is not the time to be having an existential crisis.

Miles turns his attention back to the situation in front of him. Contracting the muscles of his abdomen, he pushes his cock out of the sheath folds. His right hand moves towards it, long fingers wrapping around the thick length. His cock is soft in his palm, after all he had no reason to get aroused. He just wants to bust a nut and be able to sleep peacefully. Hopefully whatever fucking hormone gets released when he shoots will help him sleep. With that in mind, his eyes return to the ceiling. He lets go of his dick and brings his palm to his mouth to spit on it. After he does so, he grabs his soft cock again. His hand spreads the spit all over his length, giving a few experimental pumps. He takes a deep breath, trying to get in the mood. With his cock in his fist he starts pumping slowly, paying extra attention to squeezing the tip. A satisfied hum leaves the bottom of his throat, and his eyes close, turning his vision blank. His mind starts skimming through snippets of memories, trying to find something to help grow an erection. But nothing seems to get him in the right mood. Miles frowns. Why is it so hard to blow a goddamn load? His other hand travels down between his legs, cupping his testicles. He fondles them, trying to get aroused, while his right hand continues pumping the length. After a few more minutes, Miles’ cock is still soft in his hand. He releases a frustrated growl. Letting go of his cock and balls, he puts his hands on his firm stomach. Well… he tried. He was no stranger to touching himself, after all it had been necessary sometimes to relieve stress, but he was never the type for a quick jack off, always preferred to take his time and get in the right mood. As he decides to call it a day and attempt sleep again, his nose twitches.

His cropped ears raise up in interest, as a sweet and lightly tangy scent gets in his nostrils. Miles sits up, tail flicking behind him, ruffling against the sheets. The scent is light but it’s still there, piquing his interest. He inhales, trying to find the source. Getting out of bed, he walks to where his sensitive feline nose is picking up this addicting smell. The air vent. Miles furrows his brows. He gets closer to it, his height allowing him to press the flat bridge of his nose right against the metal bars of the air vent, and he inhales deeply. His eyes roll back in his skull as the delicious scent fills his nostrils. His cock twitches, head poking out of the foreskin. Just what he needed. He spits harshly on his open palm again and grabs his cock, squeezing it tightly. Growling, he starts pumping, keeping the bridge of his nose pressed against the cold metal bars. He inhales again, filling his nose with the addicting scent. A part of him frowns at his own actions, not understanding why some random scent is arousing to him. While another part calls out to the newfound Na’vi instincts in him, telling him that this is someone’s scent. A female Na’vi’s scent. His mouth waters, hand fisting his now aching cock harder. He closes his eyes shut, inhaling the scent again. In the filthy pits of his mind he starts fantasizing a gorgeous Na’vi woman, pink hole stretched around his girth, moaning pathetically below him as he pistons his hips to drill into her tight pussy. She squeezes around his girth, velvety walls providing him with mind numbing pleasure and a deep moan leaves his throat. The sweet sap that leaks from her hole has drenched his cock, dripping down his testicles. And it smells just like this sweet, addicting scent. Miles’ other hand moves down, cupping his testicles again. He fondles them, feeling the first wave of that tightness deep in them as his other hand focuses on the tip of his dick, thumb moving to rub the slit that’s leaking precum. He growls, inhaling again, pressing his nose harder against the bars of the air vent. Whoever this woman is, the smell of her cunt is driving him insane. He fists his length harder, bringing his hips forward as his ears fold back and tail raises up in an arch behind him. The woman in his fantasy screams, releasing high pitched moans as she squeezes impossibly tight around him and cums, hot walls convulsing and clamping down on his cock. Miles feels his balls tighten, and those waves of tingling pleasure reach his abdomen before his urethra throbs in pleasure and the veiny cock starts pulsating in his fist.

“Fuckin’ hell!” Miles growls and with a final tight and harsh pump, he cums, shooting blanks on the wall where the air vent is, ropes of cum dripping down the surface. A shaky breath leaves his throat, as the last seconds of his orgasm fade away. He opens his eyes. Staring at the mess on the wall and on his hand, he huffs in annoyance. Great. Now he has to clean up. His head turns towards the air vent again. The scent is fading away. It’s still there, but it’s light. He clenches his jaw. Forcing himself to move away from the vent, he grabs a bunch of tissues and messily wipes his cum from the wall. He’s about to clean his hand when an idea pops in his head. Hesitantly, he brings his hand up to his face. His eyes inspect the cum dripping down the back of his hand. It glows lightly in a soft blue hue, not much but still noticeable enough in the darkness of his room. His tongue darts out. Experimentally, he licks some of it from his hand, his own flavor coursing in his taste buds. Miles hums in satisfaction, his tongue darts out fully and he licks his hand clean with one swipe of the large muscle. The salty yet tasty flavor fills his mouth, and he swallows the thick and warm liquid down. Slowly, he wipes the spit he left on his hand along with the amount he lubricated on his dick, and throws the tissues in the trashcan. He gets under the covers again, getting comfortable. That light tiredness after an orgasm catches up to him, and he sighs in satisfaction. It worked. Maybe he won’t see that nightmare tonight.

He takes a look at his analogue watch again.

03:44

He takes off the watch, putting it on the nightstand. A yawn leaves his lips, canines coming out as he does so. His eyes roam over the ceiling again. Who did that scent belong to? Another female Recombinant must have been aroused too, that’s the only explanation he can give. But the only women on his squadron are Walker and Z Dog. His face twists in displeasure. The thought of having pumped his cock to the scent of Walker’s or Z Dog’s arousal leaves an uncomfortable feeling in his chest. Disgusting. It couldn’t have been them. Well, Walker is not awake yet. She’s still being held in hibernation sleep somewhere in the labs. Z Dog on the other hand… well Z Dog is Z Dog. No explanation needed.

However, he did overhear some of the science pukes talking about another team of Recombinants, made in a different lab. He clenches his jaw. Another squadron? But the only people who were part of the Recom Program were his own field operators. What did the RDA do?

Well whatever the RDA did, he just jerked off to her. Miles frowns. Fucking Na’vi genes, making him act out like a damn dog in heat. He pushes that thought aside. He has more important issues to deal with. Turning on his side, he closes his eyes, trying to get himself to sleep. His tail stops moving, now resting flat on the mattress. Taking a deep breath, he quiets his mind.

In a few weeks they board on Pandora. He will get to see that death trap of a moon again. But this time… this time he comes prepared. He’s not the naïve man he was back then. Not anymore. This time he will bring hell to that fucking world, he will slaughter, terrorize and destroy mercilessly. He doesn’t care who or what is there anymore, if it stands in his way, he will make sure it disappears off the face of the Universe in the most agonizing and brutal way a being can muster. Because this time, he will accomplish his mission.

This time he will eliminate Jake Sully.

Title Explanation:

Zero dark thirty – Military time, very early hours before dawn.

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ

#avatar the way of water #atwow #atwow fanfiction #atwow recoms #avatar recoms #miles quaritch #miles quaritch smut #recom smut #recoms #miles quaritch x reader #recom miles quaritch #recom miles quaritch x reader #recom lyle wainfleet #corporal lyle wainfleet #avatar #avatar fanfiction #miles quaritch x y/n #smut #colonel quaritch #colonel miles quaritch #colonel miles quaritch smut

[scekrex]

Hurt/comfort anyone? 😌

We all know Adam's "big and tough" act, how he gloats before anyone that he's the absolute best since he's the og dick and he's the reason the rest of the mankind was created, but what about Adam just being Adam like anytime else, especially the scene in court and Sera just talking his ear off about him acting irresponsibly and just revealing the exterminations to everyone in the worst way possible, just giving him a good ol' talk, but not in a nice way, nope. She crushes his ego in a way before leaving him alone in the room, saying she has stuff to attend and he's just standing there, all deflated and his mask glitching from how many conflicted feelings fly over his face, he's resignated, he's even sad a bit, but also angry. At Sera, at Heaven, God even, but mostly at himself since he knows he fucked up another thing in his life that he was trusted with.

He goes back home to unsuspecting of anything reader and just passes by him, not saying a word, even tho reader tried to greet him and hug him, but was unable to since Adam just brushed past him quickly. There was a heavy air surrounding reader's husband and he grew concerned, so he went to check up on him, seeing Adam just curled up on the bed, wrapped up in his own wings, shielding himself away from the world, not a sound coming out of him, but reader knew something shitty happened and just gets behind him, hugging him tightly and gently petting his wings, not saying a word to let Adam calm down and speak when he's comfortable enough to do so. Adam just smashing himself into reader and asking quietly if he was actually so bad at everything that he didn't deserve anything good in his life, if that was why everyone he cared about before left him and even now no body cares in the slightest bit about his existence. Basically just Adam having an existential crisis and reader being his anchor, trying to tell and show him how it actually is and not what his mind is telling him.

This sad, wet cat bitch needs validation and love like no one before 😞🤘

Muah ❤️

Adam might be an insecure piece of shit underneath all that narcissistic bullshit act of his but he's my insecure piece of shit and I love him.

If I'm so wonderful then why am I so misunderstood

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language, hurt (with comfort)

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

“Adam,” the older seraphim raised her voice against the first man loudly, it echoed through her office with much more power than the first man had expected it to, he flinched a little at her tone, his wings dropping to their lowest. “Sera, I-” Adam wanted to explain, wanted to turn it into the stupid joke it had been, but the older seraphim had enough of it. She had enough of Adam, she had enough of his behavior and she was about to let him know. “You’re behavior is no longer accepted by us,” she started what would turn into a monologue, Adam made himself appear a little smaller at her words. “You walk on heaven's holy ground, eat the food our Father provides and whenever someone does not show you respect, your first argument is that you're the first human,” all of the things Sera had listed were true, well they had been the most obvious ones but that didn't make them less true. “And yet you behave like one of them sinners,” that however caught Adam's attention. He was what? How dare she insult him like that, he was very much not acting like a sinner. Or was he?

“You walk heaven's streets with curses on your lips, you dirtied your own purity by sleeping with so many women and men, you behave like a total child and don't know when to stop and where to draw the line and I personally am under the impression that we let your behavior slide for way too long,” she stared Adam in the eyes, giving the first man the most serious look he had ever gotten from the seraphim. The brunette lowered his head in defeat, Sera had often given him shit for being too loud, too much of this, too much of that, she had told him he wasn't behaving like the pure first human should - but it wasn't Adam's fault, not really, because how was he supposed to behave ‘normal’ when God had given him two wives just to take them from him again when he was alive? How was he supposed to fit in and act like everyone else when all that would bring him would be pain?

“Maybe divine judgment failed you. Maybe you should have ended up in hell amongst the other sinners. Father certainly wouldn't have liked it, not after Lucifer's fall, but it would have been the correct decision.” And that made Adam crumble into pieces - at least mentally. Because deep down inside he knew she was right, that no angel other than him dared to stain the name of the Father above, no other angel dared to behave as reckless and merciless as he and his exorcists did. And yes, no other angel than him had slept with so many women and men - a thing he used to be proud of. Before he had met you, before you had become his lover, before he had committed himself to you and only you. Before you, he had been different.

She smoothened out her hair, straightened her back and looked down at Adam, “I have to attend an important meeting. You shall leave and overthink your actions, Adam.” And with that she left him there, leaving him as she had shattered not only his ego but the last piece of confidence he had held inside of him. It took the brunette a while to realize that Sera was not coming back to comfort him, to tell him that she had been too harsh, why should she? She was right after all, Adam was a horrible person, he knew that, had known it ever since.

-

When the door to your shared apartment opened and Adam walked through it, you were quick to get up and greet him with a warm hug, expecting your boyfriend to be just as excited to see you as you were to see him. But he wasn't, in fact he didn't even look at you as he crossed the living room in order to get to the bedroom, no ‘sup babes’, no ‘Fuck I've missed ya stupid ass' no fucking nothing. The tips of his feathers were dragging on the floor as he walked, a sign that something wasn't right - Adam always made sure that not a single inch of his beloved wings was touching the dirty ground, even in your apartment. The brunette clearly wasn't in the mood to talk, yet you went after him to let him know that he wasn't alone, that you were there no matter what was wrong.

You opened the bedroom door quietly and what you saw shattered your heart. Adam was laying on the bed, his body looked like a ball made out of feathers, he had curled in on himself, his wings shielded him from all of reality, from whatever was hurting him right now. Yet you saw how his body shook, the first man was crying.

Wordlessly you closed the door behind you, trying to do so as quietly as possible. Then you walked over to the bed and cuddled up behind him, one of your hand gently found its way into his hair, petting it just the way you knew he liked it whenever he was feeling upset about something, the other hand of yours smoothened out the feathers covering his wings, gently rubbed the little gap between where the wings grew out of his back - you were very aware how sensitive that area of the angelic body was given that you yourself had experienced it before.

For you it was ridiculously hard to keep quiet, you wanted to talk to him, wanted to ask what was upsetting him so much, why he was crying, what there was for you to do to make it better, but you didn't. You remained quiet, Adam had made it clear that he preferred not talking about it at the moment - or maybe he simply found himself unable to do so, you weren't quite sure which was the case but either way you respected it.

A small smile appeared on your face as the brunette leaned into your touch, he tilted his head backwards, sad, puffy and reddened eyes watched you as you continued to pet his hair without a single comment, if Adam wanted to talk, you would listen. If Adam wanted to stay quiet and enjoy your presence in silence you were fine with that as well. For you it simply was important that the first man knew he wasn't alone. You were there to provide comfort and a safe space he desperately seemed to need.

“Am I as fucking terrible as people tell me I am?” there it was again, his unnecessary cursing, fuck Sera had been right. He rolled himself over, buried his face in your neck and pressed his body against your own. Your body warmth calmed his nerves, made his mind quiet down for even just the tiniest moment, but it did cause it to quiet down. “Is that why I only have Lute and you left? Because I'm fucking terrible? Because I don't deserve damn good things to happen to me?” his voice was really just a whisper yet you understood every word perfectly fine, even if it was mumbled against your skin. Your hands remained on the gap between his wings and in his hair, giving Adam the stability he craved. He needed someone to cling onto, he was too unstable to hold himself together so you did that for him. “No,” your voice was soft and warm, yet serious, it caused Adam to blink in confusion. “I don't deserve you,” was the next thing he said, and that was where you drew the line, you gently tilted his head upwards, then placed a soft, loving kiss onto his lips, “Bullshit Adam, you're wonderful and I love you.” “But I’m not. I curse a-fucking-lot, I can't keep shit together, for fucks sake I can't even do the simple things like telling you I fucking love you every day.” And yes, that was true, but that didn't cause you to love him any less, if anything it was things you loved about him especially. “I don't care about all of that, I still love you.” “Will you leave me too? Like Eve? Like Lilith? Once you finally fucking find someone better?” You shook your head lightly, placed another kiss onto his forehead, your lips kept resting against his skin as you spoke, “No, dummy. To me there's no one better than you are. You're the best for me and you'll always be.” Adam didn't answer you.

He clung onto you even tighter, wrapped his wings around you and held you close. He didn't believe you, simply couldn't, not after what Sera had said. But at the same time the first man trusted you with his existence, so why would you lie to him? His inner conflict was silenced as you pulled him into another gentle kiss. You couldn't help but hum a soothing melody, “You’ve already changed so much, so many things you've done,” you felt as Adam's eyes fell shut and as his body relaxed underneath your touch. “So many songs you've sung, and in the end, they will still hold their grudge,” you felt him nuzzle against your skin, felt how his breath evened out. “There’s something I've been dying to say, more than anything,” you smiled as you sang the last part, feeling Adam's fingers digging in your skin as he tried to pull you even closer - not that it was nearly enough though. “More than anything, need you to know I love you more than anything.” The first man pressed a sloppy, lazy kiss against your jaw before he fell asleep, from his lips fell a quiet, “More than anything.”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #adam x male reader #male reader #adam x y/n #adam x reader #adam x you

[sylvestris123]

How Aziraphale and Crowley deal with stress

[Sorry, no gifs, this is my first Tumblr post and I don't know how to drive it yet]

There are big differences in the ways that Crowley and Aziraphale deal with unwanted feelings and stressful situations. They have both witnessed and sometimes had to participate in a number of horrible and traumatic situations over the millennia, and they’ve both had to develop coping mechanisms so as not to end up suffering the occult/ethereal equivalent of PTSD.

(N.B. these are not necessarily healthy coping mechanisms, though).

Crowley (to me) is a bottler. He experiences big emotions and then shuts them away deep inside.

(It’s the equivalent of when you find that you have visitors imminent and you haven’t tidied up the house. Sweep everything into a cupboard and shut the door on it. All clear, nothing to see here).

We see this most heartbreakingly in the final 15 of S2E6 when, having poured out his heart to Aziraphale and not got through, he puts his sunglasses back on and speaks in a totally different, flat calm tone.

This method of managing big feelings doesn’t always work. Sometimes the cupboard door gives way and spills everything out. Then you get shouting or thunderbolts and lightning in the street. Aziraphale gets to see it quite a lot (probably because he’s frequently the cause or catalyst), and then he gets slammed against a wall or a Crowley right up in his face. Judging by his reaction when this happens in both S1 and S2, the times we see it are not the only ones, as he’s singularly not bothered by it.

Aziraphale is an avoider. His coping mechanisms are more akin to tiptoeing across a minefield. There are warning signs (“Danger”; “Here be dragons”; Keep out”) and we just Don’t Go There.

(In the house metaphor this would be like there being whole areas of the house that are off limits).

What this means for Aziraphale is that there are great swathes of subjects that he can’t think properly about, and he ends up circling around in smaller and smaller regions of his own head.

When this goes wrong I think that he suffers quite an existential crisis (going back to the increasingly overworked house metaphor, it would be akin to going in to a room and thinking “What is this place? Where am I? I don’t recognise any of this…”). We see this in S2E2 (A companion to Owls) when he believes that he must now be a demon having lied to the other angels.

In the whole of Season 2 they are both pretty stressed (from even before the Jim situation). But we only see it indirectly, with Crowley being on a very short fuse and Aziraphale retreating more and more into a fantasy world.

#aziraphale #crowley #good omens #good omens analysis #neil gaiman #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #good omens 2 #They are both stressed

[essektheylyss]

I love that the Midst cast is so busy dealing with the various collapsing states of their society that genuinely no one gives off any vibes in terms of sexuality. Two people have canonically gotten laid in recent history and frankly, despite having outright fucked a man, I'm still not sure which way Lark swings. I'm not even entirely sure she swings anyway or if she's fully uninterested and just wanted to get off. Harry could be bi, or he could be gay and really committed to the bit cause. Everyone else is too busy, having an existential crisis, plagued by commitment issues, committing crimes as we speak, or a combination thereof. (Weepe counts for all three.)

Sherman is the only person on the show I can say is decidedly bisexual.

#midst podcast #honestly I was about to joke that imogen loxlee is probably straight but I can't even commit to THAT #to be clear this IS my ideal cast dynamic I'm not gonna lie #as an ace it really just delights me

[sarnai4]

Opening Up

About opening up...Dagur kinda doesn't. (Spoilers ahead)

This is something I've seen some fans talk about where they say Dagur would reveal personal information easily. I see where they're coming from with this. Looking at Dagur, I'd expect that too. He's outspoken, emotional, unrestrained, etc. He seems like someone who could randomly say, "I had a good cry today," and it wouldn't be anything surprising. HOWEVER, that changes for me when I look at the proof from the show. If Dagur was half as open about things as this would imply, then we wouldn't be forced to speculate so much about his past and the things that have happened to him. In another case of me spending too much time studying Dragons (probably. Still worth it), I tried to collect all the examples of Dagur sharing information. They have something in common. Each time, there's a specific reason. I'll go in chronological order.

In "Enemy of My Enemy," Dagur tells Hiccup how revenge can make you do things you didn't think you were capable. This was an interesting moment of really getting to see how the villain we saw Dagur be wasn't who he always was. It even shocked him how extreme his actions became. This has the potential to be some heavy stuff, but he didn't just outright say it for fun. He said it because he saw Hiccup going down that same path. This isn't, "I can't believe the things I've done and really need someone to talk to." It's, "I see you following in my footsteps and they led me in a terrible direction. I don't want that for you."

It takes Dagur F.O.R.E.V.E.R. to admit he didn't kill Oswald. Even as a good guy, he doesn't say it easily. In "Family on the Edge," he implies that something Heather said out of the sent her adrift, killed their dad, and tried to kill them list wasn't true, but he doesn't just say it. He writes it in the letter, admitting that and how he was worried that the other Berserkers wouldn't follow him otherwise. If he wanted to do it for emotional release reasons, he could've just said the first time or even told her way back when he thought they were on the same side. Rather than that, he puts it in a letter so that her final relative won't be quite as bad as she thinks he is.

In "Searching for Oswald...And Chicken," Dagur has two moments. First, he tells Heather how he's spent most of his life in varying stages of existential crisis. (Just wow for that. Wish we had heard more about it because that is quite the emotional load he nonchalantly dropped) Again, this clearly isn't to get something off his chest because it's not even something he brings up again. He just tells her so that she'll have proof he knows what is meaningless, hopefully getting her to stop throwing herself in harm's way to find Oswald. Later, he tells Hiccup he keeps anger, frustration, and rage to himself. This also isn't to share so much as to prove he can keep secrets and deserves to be trusted with the location of Vanaheim.

Then, we have "In Plain Sight." There, we find out he used to get bullied. He waited until as much of the last moment as possible to tell Fishlegs and Snotlout this. They had already flown from the Edge to Berserker Island and were literally walking down to meet Ansson. So, I don't think it's him wanting to share sensitive information. It's him knowing they're about to be there with the bully and since Ansson doesn't care about playing nice, it's going to be obvious that he used to bully him. This is just softening the blow a little by telling them first. Didn't really help, though, since they still laughed at him being called "Dainty." (Not cool even though I get how weird it would be to hear someone call him that)

Unless I'm mistaken, that's everything. I don't think there's another time when Dagur reveals something personal. Each of these had some deeper purpose. This is why I don't believe Dagur would start speaking about his past traumas without a prompt. Now, I'll say I do enjoy having him talk about this in stories and I support other writers who do. I just believe it takes a little nudge. He's not going to sit down next to someone and talk about his time in jail. He has literally never spoken about his time in jail in the entire show except the first RTTE episode to say that he spent 3 years thinking about Hiccup. So, it actually leaves a lot of room to be creative with what his past even has first, then what situation would get him to spill the beans.

#HTTYD #RTTE #Dagur the Deranged #Past #Trauma #I think most can agree he has PTSD #We just don't know the specifics of why and I want to know #Heck we still don't know why he sent Heather adrift #I need answers😭 #He's winking because he knows his lips are sealed forever

[zinya]

Obey me MC have an existential crisis

Hi, sorry I have lots of exams at the moment so writing is not an absolute priority. I've been thinking about this one for a while but I don't know if we can call it Headcanons, maybe more of a little Scenario. I can't find a good title apart from an MC who was originally a scientist, I myself am a future geneticist and I must admit that if I were to fall into devildom with magic it would make me ask a lot of questions .I am not an expert in religion so I apologize in advance for any confusion or inconsistencies I find, the goal being not to insult or offend anyone.

Mc at the table with all the boys :

Mammon- "Yo human you could respond when the Great Mammon speaks to you! What's going on for you to be in the moon like that?"

Mc- “Well when I was in the human world I planned to become a scientist later, But now I think it's falling through "

Satan "Why? I can always find you books on this theme if you want to continue studying it."

Asmo “That’s true, no matter where you are, you have to do what you like.”

Mc "That's not the problem, I brought back lots of my manuals the last time we went to the human world with Barbatos but it's just that if I stay here what I know best to do will be not of much use...."

Lucifer: “What do you mean by that?”

Mc-"Well, is the theory of evolution really correct? Or is it God who created us? There really was Noé ( Sorry I only know the name in French ) and an ark who saved an male and a female from each species because in this case the genetic diversity should have made all the species die "

“And then I thought, but if we get married, darling, my father-in-law is God? And if we have children, is God their grandpa? "

"Then I don't see any useful profession, if we want to know the origin of life I'm practically certain that Barbatos will find me the book at the royal library in the blink of an eye, I can't even do chemistry because yours is done with magic formulas. Even beauty products are made like that "

"I couldn't be a doctor, demons don't heal like we do and not as often.

All this to say that what I learned during more than 2/5 of my life should be thrown in the trash here."

Levi- "I've had existential crises before, but one like this...."

Lucifer “It’s true that I’ve never taken the trouble to think about that, I wouldn’t do it at Diavolo to see if it can be done, it would be a real waste to throw away so much knowledge I'm sure Diavolo and Barbatos could ask you to write down what you know when the exchange program will gain momentum we should be able to take care of humans ”

Satan "If you want, I would like you to teach me more about your classes, if you can talk about it with someone, that will always be the case and I might be able to answer your questions."

Mammon "Don't worry about that, you're great, funny, intelli- Finally what I mean is that it's normal for humans to be more useless but don't worry, The Great Mammon will help ya "

Asmo - "Honey, don't worry, your knowledge is very useful, the cosmetics of the human world have nothing to envy of our world, they are sometimes even better... too bad I can't have more.... "

Belphie "Maybe Solomon can help you better than us after all even if it's hard to see he's human "

Levi - “Then in science you also sometimes do a little computer science and programming for video games,You rarely get lost and always offer me a good solutions when I can't fix the WiFi."

Mc- "Thank you boys, that's nice, don't worry, it was just a thought like any other, and learning magic is pretty fun too "

Beel * Nod and eat *

I don't know who the drawing comes from if you have your name/account don't hesitate to tell me , As always sorry for the spelling mistakes I don't speak this language originally.

Really sorry for Beel but I really imagine him eating and nodding when the brothers try to find solutions and Belphi who watches him so he doesn't eat the others' and MC's plates when she speaks 😭

Passer une bonne journée 💙💛💜💚🩷💜🧡

#obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me satan #obey me leviathan #obey me shall we date #obeyme beelzebub #obeyme mammon #obey me #obey me belphie #obeyme belphegor #obey me solomon #obey barbatos #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me memes #obey me mc #obeyme headcanons

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

Doppo Kunikida (self-aware)

Self-Aware! Doppo Kunikida x GN! Reader

Warning: Yandere. OOC. Kunikida has existential crisis. Mentions of crying Atsushi. Kunikida feels, that he has lost his way. (At some extent) Controling Kunikida. English is my second language.

Becoming self-aware

📒 Doppo Kunikida considers himself to be a rational man.

📒 He has his ideals. He has plans. Someone may say (Dazai, for the most part), that Kunikida can't follow his ideals for his whole life. But Kunikida know, that he could prove them wrong

📒 Today was a normal day.

📒 Everything was normal. Sun wasn't moving. Faceless Yokohama citizens were minding their own business... WHAT?!

📒 For Kunikida the moment of gaining self-awareness were similar for a light bolt striking.

📒 One moment, Yokohama streets were busy. Now they were empty and Kunikida couldn't understand, what was happening. Maybe, it was an ability user?

📒 Kunikida rushed forward. He needs to hurry to the office. Together, ADA will find the culprit.

📒 On his way he noticed, that Uzumaki café was closed. Normally, it would be open at that time.

📒 At the office, Kunikida met others. All of them looked confused, lost, scared. Atsushi Nakajima looked like he was on the verge of the breakdown. Apparently, Atsushi already noticed that something was wrong few days before, but ADA not only didn't notice it, but they were behaving like puppets. They didn't react on Atsushi's attempts on snapping them from their weird trance.

📒 Apparently, it wasn't an ability. Dazai was also affected by it.

📒 Dazai himself looked strange. He not only looked confused, like the rest of them. He looked angry. Something dark was shining in his eyes.

Dazai's voice was similar to funiral bell.

"It's not an ability. Yokohama wasn't broken. We are broken. We are fictional characters, who gained self-awareness. Try to remember your lives. Parents, friends outside ADA, what you did yesterday. Give it a try"

📒 Kunikida wanted to shout at Dazai. It was insanity, of course they are real, they aren't fictional. And Doppo had parents, their names are... Their names were... They looked like...

📒 NOTHING. Kunikida can't remember anything.

📒 Nervously, Doppo open his notebook. On the page where some of his ideals were written down.

📒 There was nothing. Empty pages.

📒 Kunikida wanted to change the world for the better. But, does his actions have meaning? Has he ever helped someone real?

📒 And then the entity appeared.

__________________________________________

Kunikida was silent. He didn't want to think about the entity, he didn't want to think about his life. He just wanted to have something real in his life. Something, that will prove that his actions matters.

Kunikida continue doing his job. But he can't tell, for sure, if he wanted to do it anymore.

Few days after they recognise, that they weren't real, Atsushi asked everyone if they felt someone watching them.

Doppo, who rarely speaks that days, answered. "Yes, I feel it".

He wasn't the only one. Everyone feels it. It wasn't from there. It was real.

And then time resets.

And Kunikida Doppo was once again was on the river bank, lecturing Dazai about his unprofessional attitude. Atsushi was there. Dressed in rags from orphanage.

________________________________________

When they start feeling your presence

📒 Kunikida feels lost. You are real. You reset time. Not only that, but you looked at them, like they were amusing pets. Is that what a real person should do? Treat fictional characters like they existed for their entertainment?

📒 Kunikida, Dazai and Atsushi, again, go yo the tea shop. Atsushi, again, asked for a few bowls of ochazuke.

📒 Kunikida again, stops Atsushi from leaving the table after he heard about tiger. But something was new. A voice. Entity's voice.

"Cool [||||||||||] Kunikida! I wish I [|||||||||||] how to do it!"

📒 Kunikida feel like he was falling down. The emotions of Entity were so strong. The Entity liked his move? Well, actually, it does feel nice. For the first time in a few days, Kunikida smiles.

📒 Kunikida noticed, that Dazai changed again. Surprisingly, Dazai looked calm and carefree. After gaining self-awareness, he looked aloof and furious all the time. Now he looked like he was calm. For a moment, Kunikida thought, that Dazai looked like he was enjoying the entity's presence.

📒 Before Dazai and Atsushi left, Dazai advised Kunikida to look inside his notebook again. After Kunikida saw empty pages, he was scared to open it again.

📒 Kunikida opened his notebook on the first page. There was it. His main ideal. "Do what must be done".

📒It was still there... But, does it still have a meaning? Does his actions have a meaning? Doppo doesn't have ansvers for it.

📒 Few days later, the time resets again. Kunikida was twenty-years-old and Dazai just become a part of ADA.

______________________________________

"Just what is an 'ideal'? If you ask me, the answer is clear. It is a word written on the cover of my notebook. My notebook is omnipotent. It guides me as a principle, as a master, as a prophet. At times, it becomes a weapon and also a key."

Kunikida heard the entity again. He also heard like someone was writing something.

"good idea" "Kunikida is a good mentor" "if I do this"

"Thanks, Kunikida. Having a schedule does help a lot. I start having more free time after I start making a schedule. You know, I think you can change the world. At least, you changed me for a bit"

Kunikida felt the soft touch on his head.

[*In reality, you closed "Osamu Dazai's Entrance Exam" light novel and carefully rub the cover*]

______________________________________

📒 If Kunikida believed in God, he would call you a divine gift. You. You were real. You changed because of him. You admitted it yourself. He changed someone

He has changed a real person.

📒 Doppo Kunikida was delighted. He finally knew, that he did something good.

Something meaningful. He wished he could change you more.

📒 Soon, Port Mafia reach ADA. Together, Ougai Mori and Fukuzawa Yukichi were trying to manage the new union. Soon, The Guild joined them. Then, Rats in the House of the Dead and Decay of Angels. Lastly, Hunting Dogs and Special Division for Unusual Powers. Yesterday's enemies were working together. Trying to get away from this world. Trying to reach the human who was out of this empty, dead world.

And then, one day, the purple moon shined above Yokohama.

When you installed BSD Mayoi Inu Kaikitan

📒 Doesn't matter, if the first Kunikida card you got is an R card that you don't use. Kunikida still can hear you.

"Vampire Kunikida card look so cool, I will try to pull for it"

"Ok, I will raise up Work Desk level on the office. Okay, Kunikida, give me this sweet points."

"Purple moon! Okay, [Y/N], stay calm... Wow, Rainy season Kunikida card, yes."

📒 Kunikida did his best, when you use his card. He enjoyed hearing your laugh.

📒 One day, the great news arrived. Katai Tayama, Ango Sakaguchi and Fyodor Dostoevsky managed to hack the app. Now, all of them have an access to your phone.

📒 Kunikida immediately went to your calendar, alarm clock and notes.

📒 Congratulations, now you have an everyday schedule and a perfect alarm clock.

📒 Kunikida find his way again. He will be near you. Guiding you. He will help you to become perfect. Ideal.

_____________________________________

You heard a notification sound. It seems, you should start doing your chores. At first, following a schedule was a little bit hard. But it does help you with managing your time.

Before closing the BSD Mayoi app, you looked at the note from Kunikida in the Gift box.

Earlier, you already got similar from Atsushi.

"[Y/N], I am glad that I managed to change you for a bit. And thank you, for showing me the way. Thank you for been with me when I was lost. I am forever in your debt. Doppo Kunikida"

There were a bunch of Light Evolution materials attached to the note.

So far you enjoyed this secret update with notes from characters. Notes were sweet. And, been a simple person and hearing nice words was pleasant.

Before logging out, you choose Kunikida's card from characters menu. You gently tap chibi Kunikida's sprite.

"Thanks for the gift, Kunikida. And thank you for been a good role model."

You didn't notice that sprite looked proud.

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