#Literally can't be mad at Junior it's impossible | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

imagine-darksiders · 10 months

Note

What about Bowser and a preggo Y/N?

And why not? :)

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The frantic sound of bare feet slapping unevenly against cold, unforgiving stone echoes down the hallway, ricocheting off vast, stone walls and filling the oppressive space with the proof of your desperate escape.

Lungs heaving like a set of billows, you try your utmost to focus on throwing one foot out after the other, clutching an arm around your swollen belly in some futile attempt not to jostle the tiny life growing inside it as you lurch down the corridor, wincing with every step that pounds against the unforgiving stone beneath you.

Somewhere far behind you, from deep in the bowels of the fortress, a thunderous roar erupts into the air, chasing you through the doors that you've left swinging in your wake.

“Well-!” you puff down to your stomach, skidding around a corner and lumbering towards another set of enormous, stone doors, “He had to wake up eventually.”

It's always dark in the Dark Lands, but the lack of activity in the twisting hallways clues you in to the fact that night must have settled its oppressive weight over the fortress, driving the koopas into their barracks to sleep. You'd only dared to make this escape attempt hours after their ruler laid his mighty head down and filled his chambers with the deep, rolling melody of snores.

If anything, you're lucky to have made it this far, to have put as much distance between you and your captor as you already have. Any extra progress you happen to make is a delightful bonus.

It's been six months since you fell pregnant, and only two months since you fell into Bowser's clutches. Two gruelling months of trying to hide the growing bump beneath your dress's garlands. Two months of escape attempts, all in an effort to get your unborn child to safety.

So long as you're still here, in the fortress of a tyrant, the baby is at risk.

Every day since Bowser discovered he'd kidnapped a pregnant human, your future offspring seems less of a blessing, and more of a ticking time bomb sitting in your womb.

They're leverage. They could be used to control you.

Worse still, they could be hurt.

At the back of your mind, a tiny voice reasons that your assumptions are, so far, utterly baseless.

Much as it stings your pride to admit, you've yet to come under any fire from Bowser, or his troops. You're only too aware that a Koopa of his stature and power could have done far, far worse than keeping you here under lock and key, although that in itself you consider an unforgivable crime.

In actual fact, if you were questioned under extreme duress, you'd have to concede that he's been infuriatingly accommodating.

Even more-so after he finally used his brain and realised that you weren't diving into the bathroom to throw up because he'd accidentally over-salted the food he brought you.

If you thought he was overbearing in the first few months of your imprisonment, you were rather unpleasantly surprised to discover that he could get a whole Hell of a lot worse...

Another roar shakes through the corridor, powerful enough to nearly send you toppling off your wobbly feet.

There are plenty of aspects about Bowser you find troubling.

His unchecked jealousy, for one. The possessive rigidity of his hand when it's wrapped around your wrist. How he stubbornly deafens himself to reason and rationality if it doesn't align with his interests.

But there's one trait of his – one terrible, frightening quirk in his biology – that turns your blood to ice inside your veins.

It's that very same 'trait' that's chasing you through the endless hallways right now.

You know you only have yourself to blame for drawing him out.

The giant.

You can picture it now – Bowser, laying in his chambers, curling his tail up to feel the open air around it where once a warm body had been occupying the space. He must have woken to find you missing from his side and promptly lost what little self-control he's already barely in possession of.

You can feel it in the way his fortress quivers around all you now, as if afraid of its own king.

You once thought Bowser was already indomitable enough.

Then you saw what he can become, what he's capable of turning into with enough rage and power feeding into his temper.

You've only seen it happen once, and ever since, you've hoped with everything in you that you wouldn't have to see it again.

Yet judging from the way the ground trembles and the distant 'boom,' 'boom,' 'boom,' of gargantuan footfalls begins to draw closer, you fear you're about to be reacquainted with the very worst aspect of the self-proclaimed King.

Swollen and sore, your feet hum with a heat that stings at their soles, but still you push forwards, gasping for air that wheezes too thinly down your throat.

You won't let him take back to that room.

To that... that detestable nest.

Not least because you can't bear the humiliation of being fawned over and coddled for another, mortifying moment. At least before your pregnancy was discovered, you'd been allowed the illusion of privacy.

You were given your own bed chambers, you could sleep without the weight of the King pressing in around you like a slumbering mountain. You had time to yourself, albeit a few hours, where you could be free from Bowser's boundless attention.

Then, of course, you were found out.

Within less than a moment, what little 'freedom' you were so graciously handed was swiftly snatched back.

Much to your chagrin, you were removed from your chambers and moved straight into the King's.

Instead of simply watching you eat your meals with that daft, adoring grin stretching his muzzle, he started trying to feed you directly. The silver spoon always looked so ridiculous clutched inside his meaty paw. His big, bottom lip would stick out childishly each and every time you snatched the spoon away from him and reminded him sternly that you're only pregnant. You're not bed-ridden.

A sudden agony swells in your stomach and ripples outwards along each of your limbs, slowing you to a gasping stagger, as if your tiny passenger has finally decided to take umbrage with your lumbering motions.

Before you can gather your wits, you've opened your mouth to release a strangled cry, nearly falling to your knees as you grasp feverishly at your belly, eyes bulging in their sockets.

So much for only pregnant....

“Ah! Shit!” you hiss, stumbling sideways until your shoulder collides painfully with the solid, stone wall, “Gah! Not now, kid.”

Raking a hand through sweat-soaked hair, you grind your teeth together and suck a hissing breath between them, glancing at the path ahead of you through eyes bleary with tears. Another towering, stone doorway stands in front of you, large and tempting. You have no idea where it leads – this wing of the castle looks much the same as all the others that Bowser has tried to show off to you – but right now, forwards is vastly preferable to backwards.

You have to press on, even though your ligaments feel as though they're being wrung out, even though there's an invisible knife twisting into your side and causing you to cringe away from nothing, you have to press on.

Escape could be just behind those doors. Today could finally be the day you slip between Bowser's grasping fingers and reclaim your freedom. You might see Captain Skip again. She's loyal, oftentimes to a fault. Surely, surely she's still waiting for you on the docks, hatching a daring rescue attempt, knowing her. It's been one of the most troubling prospects that's been on your mind daily since you were first brought here. To see Skip storm Bowser's fortress with her crew, only to be cut down by the vastly superior numbers of troops heaving behind the walls.

You sailed across vast oceans with Skip and those sailors for months. They're good people with families and loved ones waiting for them back home in your kingdom. You'd do anything to spare them the fate that awaits them here, even if it means invoking the wrath of Bowser's colossal counterpart by trying to rescue yourself.

Setting your jaw with a firm click of teeth, you suck down a long, noisy breath and shove yourself upright off the wall, tottering forwards on your bare feet until you reach the door and slap both hands around the silver handles.

Shoulders braced, you move to throw the doors open, itching to get to the other side-

'WHAM!'

There isn't enough self-restraint in the galaxy that could have kept the startled yelp from bursting out of your lungs. It's only half a second later that you cram a hand over your mouth, as if to stuff the sound back down into your chest.

A swell of scorching, hot air surges into the corridor behind you, reaching you in a terrifying matter of moments and rolling up the nape of your neck.

Blind terror seizes your mobility away from you and turns your feet to lead.

You're still facing the doorway just in front of you, stiff-necked and bug-eyed with one hand clenched like a vice around the handle.

In the reflection, a huge, distorted shape raises its fiery head.

Eyes of fire blaze hot within the cool, silver surface.

There's something inherently paralysing in realising you've been spotted in a game of cat and mouse. The tendency to freeze overwhelms you for a few, crucial seconds where you hold perfectly still, bound by some misguided hope that if you don't make a single movement, the predator behind you won't be enticed to pounce.

You don't remember how to turn and glance over your shoulder.

You know what you'll find if you look.

You can tell by the crashing bellow that rattles your brain in its skull that you're out of luck. There are no more barriers between you and your pursuer.

You'd moved too slowly...

The walls around you begin to tremble in a fast, unsteady rhythm, and the ground shudders under your feet, and still it feels as though someone has turned a key in your spine and locked your limbs up tight.

It's only when the shadow of two, pointed horns fall upon you and rise up the door that you finally burst back to life.

Kicking off the lead weights attached to your ankles, you tug at the doors with all your might. But stone is heavy. Heavier than you recall it being.

The doors scrape open an inch, and all of a sudden, they're struck from above with the force of a siege machine as something huge smashes into them, wrenching the handles from your grasp and scaring a strangled yelp out of you.

An all-too familiar burst of moist air breathes down on top of your head, billowing at the collar of your night dress. The moisture from his maw mingles horribly with the sweat that trickles down the nape of your neck.

Swallowing thickly, you crank your neck back, shoulders hunched, until your eyes land upon the underside of a mammoth wrist, bedecked with a silver-spiked cuff that glints menacingly when its points catch the meagre firelight.

Attached to the wrist is a mountainous hand sporting its own set of spikes. These however, occur naturally, in the form of terrible, foot-long claws that perch at the end of each monstrous fingers.

The palm is taller than you are, and sits flat against the stone doors, sealing them shut so firmly that nothing short of an explosion could ever hope to shift them.

God... You can hear his almighty chest heaving raggedly overhead, immense lungs straining to pull in enough air just to refill them with the oxygen he'd expelled hunting you down.

It's him.

Bowser, but not quite. A King who has temporarily sacrificed what little brain he possesses to give himself a massive boost in brawn.

Despite the inherent need to see the rest of the titan bearing down upon you, you lower your gaze to the stone at your feet with a shaky gulp and keep your belly pressed to the door, curling around it with a fierce if futile determination to put yourself between the baby and any supposed danger.

As if a few, scant inches of flesh could stop the King from getting to them if he really wanted to.

Regardless of your noble effort, a second paw – equally as enormous as the first - presses urgently in around you. Claws almost as long as your forearm slip around the front of your night dress, and with a hesitant care that you don't notice in the ensuing fright, you're carefully eased away from the doors.

You immediately have something to say about it. Predominantly, “No!”

It hurts you to twist and wriggle, but you do your best to try and slip free of Bowser's fingers as they curl around your legs and torso, leaving your arms and fists free to beat uselessly at the hard, yellow scales on his knuckles. “Put me down!” you spit in an attempt to sound authoritative, dismayed that the crack in your tone belies the effort.

As if in direct defiance of your demand, the monstrous King instead lifts you up, twisting his wrist around slowly until, at last, that massive, protruding maw rises into view, swallowing up the world around you with its inescapable vastness.

Slitted nostrils flare open and closed at a frantic pace, pulling and pushing at the sweat-dampened hair sticking to your forehead. Without skipping a beat, the colossus leans his snout in close, bringing you towards the sharp fangs that are too large for his maw to contain.

Your eyes flash down to them as your pulse starts to thrash, pounding at the walls of your skin as if your heart itself is trying to abandon ship.

Bowser has never hurt you...

Yet...

It's that 'yet' that flashes through your mind as you squeeze your eyes shut, bracing yourself for whatever punishment the King has in mind.

Surely he's reached the end of his fuse. Surely you've pushed him over the edge and he's at last going to do something so terrible, so painful, all of your misgivings about him will be justified.

So it comes as a shock, when, rather than fire or jaws, you feel the soft press of a snout against your cheek.

You'd open your mouth to gasp if it wasn't also being smothered by Bowser's thick, rubbery lips as he begins to snuffle gently at your face, checking you over for injuries...

Secured in his surrounding grasp, you toss your head from left to right, trying to escape the hot breaths that are puffed out across your head. All for nought, of course. The gigantic snout follows your thrashing and gives your mouth a last, hearty sniff before suddenly, it starts to move south, skirting over your dress until it comes to hover just inches from your belly.

Gradually, like the bars of a cage being pried open, his fingers uncurl from around you and he tips his hand back so that you're left laying prone in the cup of his palm, your feet just barely dangling over the edge.

All at once, you freeze in place, your eyes growing wide and round with alarm.

No... Not them... They don't deserve to be punished because of what you did... You'll take his retribution on any other part of your body, if he'll just leave your stomach alone.

“Please,” you whisper, wetting your lips and swallowing the acrid taste that builds on your tongue at the abhorrence of begging for the creature's mercy, “Please, it's not their fault I ran... Don't... don't hurt them... Leave them alone.”

The King gives you a look, then, his blood-red eyes flicking up from your belly to squint at you, brows of flaming orange drawing into a tight, indignant line across his forehead.

Bowser doesn't talk when he's like this. His vocal chords have been twisted and stretched out of shape, but he doesn't need the ability to speak to convey his message quite clearly through expression alone.

He's offended. That you'd... what? Assume that your kidnapper might be angry enough to make you face retribution for your actions?

Hell, the baby's own father had smacked you dizzy for the mere crime of expressing a desire to keep the poor child. How can Bowser think it's such a stretch for you to expect similar from the Koopa who took you captive?

Like a mountain pressing in all around you, the titanic turtle closes the distance between your belly and his nose. For a second, the alarm of having a jaw so large approach the baby growing inside you is enough to make you raise your hands as if you could stop him.

And then, with a care that doesn't at all befit his size, Bowser slowly lets his eyes slip shut and presses the very tip of his snout against your swollen stomach, the barest pressure, the lightest touch, warm and soft and entirely careful, as if he's aware of his size and knows the damage he could inadvertently cause with the tiniest effort.

“What... are you doing?” Bewildered, you can only gape up at him as you blink away the stinging behind your eyelids, brows twisted up in disbelief.

This behaviour is... a far cry from what you'd been expecting after he caught up to you.

Ever so gradually, the King's chest stops rising and falling like a maddened bull, his bristling mane flattens down slightly and his shoulders slump in apparent relief.

After a long, silent minute spent in apprehensive silence, the Koopa peels his eyes open once more and draws his snout away from your stomach, tipping it up towards your face instead.

Heavy-lidded, his smouldering gaze holds yours for some time whilst you busy yourself trying to catch your breath, hating how much your body is already relishing the rest.

Regarding you from beneath softly drooping eyelids, the King's dark pupils expand like apertures. A rumble works its way up from the bottom of his throat, more of an exhale than a growl, though the deepness of it still sends quakes through the hand you're laying in, sending tingles all the way up your spine.

You nearly jump out of your skin when the Koopa abruptly raises his head.

“Ah!” you exclaim as the world around you rocks, though it soon occurs to you that he's only turning himself around, a motion so mundane to him, but for you, standing a fraction of his height, even the most casual movement is dialled up to eleven.

Throwing out an arm, you reflexively grab onto one of his scaly knuckles, though he's quick to curl each finger securely over you once more, tucking you securely against his chest as he plods down the corridor, rattling the overhead chandeliers with every, thunderous step he takes.

It isn't long before the giant Koopa is shouldering his way through the doors to his bed chambers again, which have since become less of a chamber and more of a nest.

The silly sod must have gathered every pillow and blanket available in the castle and plopped them all down in an ever-growing pile at the centre of the room.

The worrier in you can't help but wonder if his koopa troops have been left with enough for themselves.

The King's bed, meanwhile, has been shoved to one side of the room, apparently no longer serving as an adequate resting place. You can barely see a solitary inch of floor beneath the mass of cushions and soft beddings.

This is where you've been holed up for the last month or so...

You can't rightly say you know how long it's been, you stopped counting the days after a while...

Your leaden heart sinks down to the soles of your feet at the sight of the colourful mess welcoming you back once more.

“Home sweet home,” you grumble under your breath.

Issuing a heavy grunt, Bowser drops like a lead weight onto one forearm, watching carefully as he lowers you down into the centre of the cushions and blankets, sliding you from his palm with a wordless croon of contentment.

“You're impossible,” you complain wearily, throwing a sharp glare at the King as he pulls back and settles onto his hands, a pleased smile stretching his maw, “Just how long are you going to keep me in this stupid den?”

Predictably, Bowser ignores your grousing and instead lowers his snout to nose at some of the pillows, those that have escaped from the greater mass, nudging them back towards the centre, towards you.

Rolling your eyes, you lay a hand over your belly and sink back into the nest, feeling the mountain of cushions shift and dip under Bowser's weight as he snuffles around the pile, ensuring everything has been placed back in its correct position before he finally pulls away, sitting back on his bulky haunches and giving the nest a last once-over, bobbing his head in a decisive nod that bounces his mane like fire in the wind.

Lifting his gaze to you once more, he chuffs at you, something firm and strict, drawing his thick, bushy brows into a frown.

The message is clear.

'Stay.'

“Like I'd be able to get anywhere now, even if I wanted to,” you mutter bitterly, wincing at a pulse of pain that rocks across the balls of your feet.

For a moment, Bower's furrowed brow eases apart and he casts a look at your face. You know he must see the weariness settled there, judging by the gentle croon he emits in your direction, bulbous shoulders slumping despondently.

Several times, he casts glances between you and the door, enough that you furrow your brow, tilting your head to one side and wondering why he isn't trying to lay down on the nest himself to resume your previous arrangement, the one you'd had before making a break for it.

At last, with a final groan in your direction, Bowser heaves himself about and hurries from the room as best as his cumbersome legs will allow, his spikes scraping chunks from the door's stony frame as he leaves.

At once, you perk up, staring agog at the open entrance.

Your heart nearly leaps in anticipation, astounded that the possessive koopa has just presented you with yet another chance to escape so soon after he's plopped you back inside his nest.

Thumping footfalls trail swiftly away from the room, but never quite disappear entirely.

You're torn, anxious. Your feet hurt something fierce.

“It can't be that easy...” you murmur aloud.

… Can it?

Despite your body's feverous protest, you grit your teeth and start to drag yourself laboriously across the cushions, inch by tantalising inch, never once taking your eyes off the door.

Sadly, you've only just managed to scoot yourself a few yards closer to the edge by the time you feel those pulse-jumping footfalls approaching the room again.

Heaving a defeated sigh, you slump into the blankets around you, your heart sinking like lead in water as Bowser comes thudding back into his chambers. This time, however, when he pokes his enormous head through the doors, you're taken aback by the sight of a very sleepy Junior dangling by the tail from his father's gentle maw.

“Oh, come now,” you cluck before you can catch your tongue, “You didn't need to wake the poor boy. He's had a busy day.”

Bowser merely huffs while the koopaling in question rubs at his eyes with a pudgy, little fist as his father slowly bends down and deposits him into the bed of pillows at your side.

“You tried to run again, didn't you?” he yawns, wriggling around on his belly until his head is pointed in your direction, blinking lazily up at you.

Grumbling under your breath, you retort, “And nothing to show for it but aching feet...”

“Maybe you outght'a stop runnin' then,” he suggests, and had it been anyone else, you might not have been able to bite back a sharp reply. As it is, Junior... Well. He's not a bad kid. You wouldn't be stuck here in his father's fortress if it weren't for him, of course, but you can't bear grudges against children, especially not those who are the product of their upbringing. You can't imagine Bowser has ever taught him that kidnapping is inherently wrong, after all. It took you many, many years to shake the 'lessons' your own father had tried to instil in you. By that time, you were older and wiser than Junior is now.

In time, he'll learn... You hope.

Before you can offer up a protest, the youngster grabs a fistful of your silk skirts and tugs himself towards you, dropping his round, yellow chin in your lap with a huff.

The bitter expression on your face contrasts the gentle hand you lay upon Junior's head, idly rubbing at the scales between his stubby horns.

“Still,” you add, softer, “At least I got some exercise at last, hmm?”

A soft whuff of air ruffles against your leg, all the response Junior provides before he promptly buries his face into your dress and devolves into an exhausted, clingy lump of koopa.

“Tired?” you hum.

There's a long pause before he huffs out a muffled reply. “No.”

Bowser must have plucked him out of a very good sleep. And, you suppose, it is the middle of the night... You'd have to be heartless to try and remove the boy now...

An almighty presence rumbles at your back, and the bed of pillows shifts as Bowser lowers himself onto his belly, curling his neck and head around to your right whilst his tail coils to your left, enclosing you in a semicircle of living, breathing scales.

Like the flip of a switch, the softer expression you reserve for his son hardens to something stern and unamused as you toss a withering glare up at the giant.

He's peering back at you through heavy-lidded eyes, and to your dismay, his nose is scooting closer and closer over the pillows, pausing every few seconds as if you'll conveniently forget to notice what he's up to. With Junior still settled in your lap, you can't rightly move away.

“Well,” you sigh, blinking over the expanse of the King's snout to meet his gaze, “I suppose you must be very pleased with yourself.”

As is typical when he's like this, the Koopa doesn't reply with words.

Instead, he softly bridges the gap between you both by pressing his doughy nose into your side, forcing you to raise your arm to grant him better access lest it become trapped against your body. Appeased, Bowser lets out a contented rumble, rustling the cushions and blankets underneath you.

Pulling a face, you mutter, “You're lucky your son is here to stop me from moving.”

You can't be certain, but you think you hear the quietest snicker emerge from the koopaling in your lap.

Then again, it could have been nothing but a snore...

#Bowser #Bowser x Reader #mario #super mario bros #Pregnant reader #fluff #mentions of abuse #pregnancy pains #Literally can't be mad at Junior it's impossible #kidnapping #possessive behaviour #giga bowser #human reader

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ackermanshoe · 3 years

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Edited lmao: warning this is kinda pointless and alot of farfetched theory and a veryyy long post please read at your own risk 🤡

Edit again: my analysis when I started it 1 month ago: 👩‍💼🖨️📇✒️🖋️✏️

My post now: 🤡🤡🤡🕯️🕯️🤡

Edit: I started writing this like ages ago but I don't see my own point with this writting and I'm editing it after reading @nini14 's Ackerman breaking the cycle analysis and I feel like both of these go hand in hand. So without further ado:

Triangles

Let's see as we all are made aware that aot significantly revolves around trios of friends such as the following :

Although these are the main trios that is noticeable, other trios can be made out by taking some characters from their original trios to make trios based on looks / character and dynamics. And this is where my argument comes in with this trio:

Their dynamic has always been mother father and son. Now let me explain, idk if anyone has heard about the drama triangle but here

These terms can be applied to MLE trio, Levi being the persecutor, Mikasa is the rescuer and the victim being Eren. In the first 3 seasons at least, Eren was being taken away and his decisions constently put him in danger, Levi being the persecutor who always gives Eren what he deserves for being a pain the ass and Mikasa being the rescuer always siding with Eren and protecting him no matter what. Do you see it?

This is Mikasa to a T.

The following is an example of the dad being the rescuer and the son "junior" being a victim, and much like Eren, could possibly refuse the hand that is helping him.

So that being said now that we have an understanding of their dynamics in the relationship, let's get back to understanding a triangle. Did you know triangles are one of the strongest shape because it has three sides that rely on each other hence shifting their energies on to each side and it makes the perfect shape for a bridge, architectures favourite. Why am I tell you this?

Because these dynamics that every trio is made up of in aot is because they have strong relationships.

Someone mentioned isayama loves putting move triangles and I couldn't help but agree, look at how many times he has placed Eren historia and an angry Mikasa? And subtly he has always ( to me at least) hinted the love triangle between Levi Mikasa and Eren, outside of their father-mother-son dynamic. Personally this makes sense to me the most, fueled by mikasa's dream. A choice was there to make and she unknowingly chose Levi.

Now this brings me to the death of all the trios Levi has been part of, from Isabel & Farlan to hanjo & Erwin to where we are now. Our situation before S4 was EMA+Levi = 4 people but we all know that a square isn't as strong as a triangle so something shifted. Eren, even with him in it Armin and him were more connected as for Levi and Mikasa as a pair it was more obvious. Especially in the conversation EMA had in that stare place as depicted on @gilly-bj 's analysis on similarities between rivamika and Mika's parents. Not only was Mikasa placed directly next to Levi although being feets apart in reality but her lines "another conversation only you two understand" it. Visually and verbally divided Mikasa from Eren and Armin and connected her to Levi. Both alone.

Yet another triangle placed by isayama intentionally or not is Armin Mikasa and Levi.

Because a triangle represents the process of recycle and reuse it also represent the cycle of life, an on going thing that doesn't stop, a history that repeats itself. And going back to Ackerman finally breaking this cycle of tragic fate, will they?

The fact that the whole manga series start at chapter 0 is very suspicious in it self. Why does it isyamaa? A 0, a circle that comes back around? A 0 which represents both the ending and the beginning? Why is the 1st chapter called "to you, 2000 years from now"? ( That's such a fucking impactful chapter name gives me chills )

Before my theory start I just wanna add that the story started from a narrative perspective makes me wanna believe in rivamika even more. Did eldians share the same fate in 2000 years? Who knows, but I know for sure Erens and mikasa's dynamic as the impulsive hotheaded doer and their protective calm but strong friend thinker will continue forever just like the never ending triangles.

I forgot all these ppls names on chaoter 0 so PLS bare with me.

The main dude who heavily resembles Mikasa even tho he is a man, has a incredible power just like the Ackerman's as a human AND he can shift into a titan???? Last time I checked weren't Ackerman's the bio product of titans? Remember is science is on a ongoing journey and forever progressing towards the impossible ;)

Hmmm

The little girl who resembles Gabi, who has the same dynamic as Eren, the girl also looks up to his inhumanly powers, a little too much alike Eren's idolisation of Levi ( and looking up to Mikasa's strength I think )?

Lastly, chapter 0 makes me believe it was set in the future. Look at the buildings, 2 story buildings I don't remember seeing buildings like this in the pre time skip era have you? I could be wrong tho.

If Isayama is as smart as we think he is then he might have related this chapter to the whole plot of aot. 🤷 Or it could mean something. And here's where my theory comes in and it may not be the most favourable for eldians. Let me start with the good part tho, the guy who looked like Mikasa is could be a descendant from the Ackerman clan, but he isn't half and half like Mikasa and Levi, he's full blooded. Which might be why he has the power to shift ( idk this kinda don't make sense since Mikasa and Levi can't buy hush )

So let's say rivamika got married had a family they always wanted and had the peaceful life and 2000 years from then this guy^ existed. Oddly familiar to great great great grammakasa 💀💀.

The cycle never ended for eldians, the whole world could still be mad at them for Erens action and has the prejudice against them for a long time. And the fact that they can shift is never going to change even 2000 years in the future. And the guy ( omg I keep calling him the guy cause I literally can not be bothered figuring out his name ) who lives in a far more developed society with richer civilization within the wall. It could be possible that Ymir or someone erased the eldians memories ONCE AGAIN after the rumbling ended. Because Mikasa levi weren't effected they probably were excused and got to live as they pleased. This dude is also the reason why I believe isayama does not consider the Ackerman's as side characters at all. In the end the story might have actually started with them, alluding to "the ending is just the beginning" as said by kingsama himself. ( Wtf am I saying lol )

So yeah in conclusion as I said yes story is weirdly really influenced by a large amount of triangles and loops. And yes ackerman probably would break the cycle of death after all living through hell fighting hell all for what? If not recreating into a heaven, giving it new life. I do believe in rivamika living the life they are destined for with each other but eldians fate might just be too tragic for me to see them as truly free people who gets to roam around outside the walls as they please.

I guess my point is that everything that goes around will come around, that will bring good karma for the Ackerman's and maybe a repeation of the past for the rest of the world. 😩😩 I think I fully somehow believe Eren is gone for good. Unless isayama draws him waking up from a long dream on his bed then 💀👀👀 I will throw myself away.

Thank you for reading 💞 once again I'm so sorry this post isn't as good as I'd like it to be I am sleep deprived right now and it isn't worded as well as of like it to be. But hope my delulu ness was enjoyable at least. ✌️💀

#rivamika #levi x mikasa #rivamikacanon #rivamika analysis #rivamika theory?#bullshit

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bredsticon-blog · 5 years

Text

title: the alternative

part: one (saint or sinner)

desc: you have died. you weren't an extraordinary person when you were alive--you made a few little sins and a few little good deeds, but it's not enough to land you in heaven nor hell. so the reaper gives you two choices: be in limbo forever, or serve equal years in heaven and hell. well, you choose the latter...

tags: angel!nick & demon!zion love triangle (or not? wink), heaven and hell au (yes ik purgatory exists but it has different purposes for this series), ooc (on purpose, i swear), sfw (as in, no smut), gore, violence (i mean, you're in hell...), cussing, murder, mentions of: rape, abuse, addiction (alcohol, LSD, heroin, uhh everything else), mental issues (depression, suicide), and death in general. gender/sex neutral reader (as always) and humor to lighten the mood

word count: 2k

notes: it isn't nearly as scary as the tags make it seem, i promise. i spent a l o n g time on the promo art for this (which imma post LATER) so uhh please read :'( haha yes i WILL finish writing the fma!austin fic and make the part 2 for ¡quake! & ~the wave~ but my ass is still collecting gifs and cleaning up plot holes sksksk and on the 2.76% chance the boys read this: hi follow me im @/bredsticon on ig, i make quality content and be more active on tumblr please we love you

You don't remember dying.

You're dead, and you don't remember dying.

Perhaps, in another life, you once thought that death accompanied a special feeling: life flashing before your eyes, lights out, everything over before your last breath escapes your lungs. But this is... this is slow. So slow. You're still on earth. Floating.. somewhere. Nowhere else. You see the world, all of it. Stars twinkle in the mist. The world around you is gray and dark. You watch your home fall apart. Every crack and shake is in full detail, and, dimly, you watch the sprouting of vines and weeds in its place. The weeds brush heads as they cluster your old house, your old neighborhood, your old country, your old everything.

You're old.

Breathless doesn't begin to describe it. You don't have lungs. You don't have... you don't. You just don't. You are nowhere. You are nothing. You don't exist.

Someone waves inside of you.

What the—

"Hello, Soul One-Hundred Thirty-Three Billion, Seventy-Five Million and Sixty-Five. You're late."

An NYC accent? You're from—

"Now that's a mouthful. I'll just call you Rosebud. See, you were supposed to cross over..." A watch ticks inside your... your form? You? "...millennia ago. Five millennia, in fact."

The voice throws a powder on you. Something blooms inside you, and you fall to the ground.

You gasp—holy shit, you can gasp. You move your head around. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod, you have muscles, you have form, you can move. You exist.

The voice has a form, too. He looks like you: human. Flaming blue hair, khaki-colored skin with reddish-pink polka dots and marks. He wears modern clothes: a bright yellow vest and green pants. And glowing. He's like a painting. Human, kinda.

You gape at him. This doesn't exist. This can't exist. You thought you'd be nothing forever. But now you're something and that's something and the world around you is still murky but it's something and oh my God. Oh my fucking God. What happened to you? What happened to your home? Why aren't you dead?

The form smiles at you. "Be careful with mentioning the Master Creator so much. They're listening, y'know. They can tell when you're talking about Them."

He offers you a hand. Shaking, you take it. You wobble so hard you grab his shoulder, and he pats your wrist.

"Relax, Rosebud, we're gonna go up now. Take my hands." Gently, he takes your hand off his shoulder and interlocks your fingers together. You close your eyes as he pulls you close.

Once you open them, you're no longer on Earth.

You're in an office.

Vaguely relaxing piano music plays in the background. The walls gleam "eggshell white" (whatever that means), and copy-and-paste potted plants commiserate in corners, on shelves, and on top of desks. Rows and rows of cubicles line up in front of you, complete with ancient computers, loud clicking, and early morning groans of "I need more coffee, for fu- fun's sake!" A vending machine and a water cooler stand behind you, with banged-up tables interspersed between those.

Someone rises out of a cubicle. His skin is pale, but his hair is dark. "Reaper Honoret Jr.! Is that—oh my goodness, is that the stray? You did it! It took a few millennia, but you did it!"

Honoret Jr. grimaces. "My bad, Dad. The soul blended in so well, it took me a while... my readings showed complete neutrality. It's like there's no one there." The reaper looked back at you. "I only caught a flicker. Right now, I can't—"

His dad chuckles. "Not Dad. It's Reaper Honoret Sr. to you." He winks. "I'm kidding, y'know how they get around here."

He comes forward and wraps his arms around the boy, then unlatches. Without Honoret Jr's support, you fall to the ground, so you watch as he holds his son's shoulders. "Your bad? What do you mean? I'm proud of you. So, so proud. You're the only one who could even—actually, wait."

He turns to face the cubicles. "Reapers of Thanatos & Co., guess who just caught the stray!"

The clicking stops.

Someone coughs. "You're joking, right?"

"Absolutely not. In fact, it's behind me, right now."

Chairs scoot on scratchy carpet as the reapers of Thanatos & Co. nearly jump out of their cubicles to see you. Forty reapers dressed in some manner of business attire speed walk in your direction. One pushes Honoret Jr. out of the way—his dad has to catch him before he falls on his face.

When they see you, they stop. They start staring at the air around you. They sniff like blood hounds.

After a pause, a reaper with large eyebrows turns to another, eyes wide. "I think... I can't... I literally..."

The other nods. "Same here. Reaper Honoret Sr. isn't lying."

The crowd murmurs in agreement.

A reaper with short pink hair raises his hand. When no one calls on him, he puts it down and mutters something about being new. "Wait, if Reaper Honoret Sr. found the stray, shouldn't we tell the Grand Reaper about it first?"

Once more, the crowd murmurs in agreement.

The eyebrow reaper stares at you—no, not at you. Into you. Like you're not even there. "Before that, we need to know who found it. Reaper Honoret Sr., did you find it? We need someone to congratulate."

He grins. "Nope! My son did." He shook his boy's shoulders.

The reaper raises a brow, then gives the blue-haired reaper a look. "Oh. Well, uhm, congratulations."

The crowd weakly claps. Good job... mhm... congratulations, Junior... and then they disperse back into their leather spin chairs.

Honoret Jr. turns to you and makes a face. "Sorry about that. Office drama. Can't escape it, even in this world."

He doesn't look like a reaper to you. No black cloak, no creepy aura, no skeleton fingers. Kind, colorful, couldn't be a reaper. Nope. Impossible. None of this is.

"You're not believing a lot of things, I know. The first few days are the hardest." He gifts you with another smile. "You'll get there, I promise. I'm here to help.

"Name's Edwin, by the way. You've been calling me Honoret Jr. and that just gives me middle school flashbacks. No thanks."

You can't even make a proper facial expression to react to that. You can't formulate words—or even walk without Edwin holding your hand. He's reading your thoughts, at least. You're basically a vegetable.

He shrugs. "Give it a few hours, Rosebud. The vegetable'll wear off. Your body's just adjusting to this plane. No shame."

You can't speak, so you just think of the word: thanks. My name is—

"Oh, I know what your name is. I've been searching for you for five millennia. I'd be a horrible reaper if I didn't know."

He extends a hand. "Speaking of vegetable and horrible reaper, I bet you're hungry. You're also naked. Let's fix that."

Reapers need to eat, surprisingly. Edwin leads you through a myriad of hallways with the exact same paintings and potted plants (this is disgustingly easy to get lost in, you think. Edwin agrees) until you reach the break room. It takes you an hour.

No one's in there except you two. Edwin gave you some of his clothes (kept in another room), so you're wearing a red fit with a black vest and a lime green beanie. He tried to offer his matching ski mask, but you managed to mentally shout "No!" before he put it away. You don't mind wearing his stuff, but you wonder what that could imply. Do reapers...? Actually, you don't wanna think about that.

The break room curves up into a sparkling, plastic chandelier. The rest of the room accommodates a fridge plastered in posters, a microwave, and a dirty coffee maker paired with beige countertops. A pile of paper plates and utensils decorates the left countertop, while a sink occupies the right end. Island tables take up the rest of the center, leaving room for vending machines in the back.

Edwin scrunches his nose. "Who's bummy ass forgot to wash the coffee pot? Ew." He examines it, then starts washing the dishes.

He looks back at you. "You can go raid the fridge. Just don't touch the lunch boxes or uh—bento boxes, I think. Those are Reaper Porter's, and he will get very mad if you touch his bento. I did that once, so he threw a fork at me then said I messed with his feng shui."

Edwin mutters something about unseasoned chicken as he continues scrubbing coffee stains.

You stand up. Your walk is wobbly at best, and you feel like a pile of jello—you're weak in the knees, like jello. But you're getting there. Its better than before. At some point in your hour-long journey to the break room, poor Edwin had to carry you. You felt bad, but at least he's strong. Maybe it's a reaper thing.

You stumble to the fridge. Posters and dates and schedules cover the surface, but you brush past them to find what truly matters: the food.

Reaper office food tastes just as bland as human office food. How sad.

You find that your body works just like it used to. You're hungry, you can feel pain, and you're starting to move. It's like you never died. And now you're in a huge office full of slightly-glowy people who call themselves Reapers and also can't sense you, which is a concept you still don't understand. Or maybe you didn't die? Maybe someone stirred some LSD in your drink? And this is all... a major... acid... trip...

You blink, then pinch yourself. Nope. You're 'swell.

Edwin pulls out a chair. "Now that we're done with the basics, Rosebud, we need to get you registered. You're a bit of a weird case, but you're not too too special. Just uncommon."

He pauses. "Well, actually, you might be a little more special than that. Just a tad."

You give him a look. Something builds in your throat.

"What the fuck?"

He giggles. "Those are your first words on this plane? I—"

"No, seriously. What. The. Fuck." You sound like a cheese grater but you don't care. "I literally have no idea what's going on. I died, I think, then I watched mankind die too as the Earth turned into dandelions, then you went inside of me and threw some pixie dust to make me come back again, suddenly I'm in a 90s sitcom office and I'm naked which literally no one told me about until everyone else saw me as bare as the day I was born and—"

Edwin pats your hand. "All right, all right, let it out, let it out. I'll explain everything. It's just really long." He rubs the back of his neck. "And we're kinda on a time crunch here."

"A time crunch. When it took us an hour just to get a snack."

"Yes, a time crunch. We have about two more hours to get you registered before you become tied to this plane. Then you'll have to become a reaper, like me, and you don't wanna become a reaper." He bites deeply into his peanut butter and banana sandwich. "Shit's hard."

"I can't even—"

"Mhm." He says through a mouthful of peanut butter. "I'm rellay sorreh you're goineh frough thif. I geh how you feel. Eferyone dehs."

He swallows. "We all started out alive. No one's been here since the beginning. Except for some of the seraphim, I guess. But the rest of us? We just humans the Master Creator decided to gift. You're not alone in this. I went through the same bullshit as you. I get it."

You bow your head down. Your thoughts are too jumbled to feel actual anger. "Thanks, Edwin."

"You honestly deserve better, but no problem." He stands up and wipes his hands on a napkin. "Imma clean up after myself, so you can get a head start. We do only have two hours." He yanks you out of the chair. Still chewing, you watch as Edwin shoves you out the break room.

"Wait—hold up—wh—I don't know where I'm supposed to—"

He grins. "You will! Your senses will guide you."

"What— more vague shi—" and the door slams.

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