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rpedia · 3 months

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How to deal with lack of motivation to reply?

Ah, the old blank screen stare. So, for the most part I consider this issue to be several intersecting problems at the same time. Usually a lack of motivation indicates a.) a lack of fun/enjoyment, b.) low/no expectation of reward, or c.) fear or apprehension. Let's explore that under the cut.

When you are roleplaying and you're not enjoying yourself explicitly, if the journey to a finished post is not fun itself, we're kind of fucking ourselves over. Creation of these words, excitement at turning a phrase or approaching an idea you really want to explore is basically the whole gist of it. It is a hobby, and loving what you write and laughing at your own jokes is important! You are your own first audience, and if you're not impressed or pleased with what you're writing, it becomes an endless Sisyphean task where you unhappily struggle to write something, anything, to just get through it.

In this case it may be a lack of inspiration. With no structure, or core, we can really easily lose sight of what kind of play we're looking for. What are your goals? Are you here for plot, or character? For smut, or a quick playful bit of banter? Do you want to fight, or are you reaching for some overarching thing? Hell, do you know where THIS scene is headed, or does it feel like an endless trudge? These ideals disappearing or falling to the wayside for someone else can really fuck the vibe!

How are you supposed to know what to write, if you don't have any plans for the character, or don't know where they might potentially go? Like it doesn't have to be hard and fast, but understanding your characters own personal goals, fears, joys, and secrets (entirely different to you, the player) can help with motivation in writing them. I like to explore these by playing games with myself, and daydreaming about scenarios and possibilities that aren't "canon" to my character, but just let me know more about them if a similar situation were to come up. Having a library chock-full of potential what-ifs can help a ton in figuring out how to approach any actions or direction a partner may push you towards. Be excited to explore your character, and to show them off to others! This journey is soooo important to love for itself!

Like with any piece of art, not enjoying the process is a quick short-cut to burn-out and misery. So, if this is happening you might want to adjust some things if you're sitting there upset and bored instead of enjoying what should be a fun pastime you can lose yourself in! So instead of beating yourself up about posting, figure out why it's a chore. Are you taking care of yourself? Have you met the S.H.R.E.K. criteria for the day? Is this post not something in your wheelhouse, or do you feel like you could be doing something else and getting more fun out of it?

Before I get ahead of myself, let me address the truly horrific acronym I just threw at you. S.H.R.E.K. criteria? Who would inflict this on you? Well... me, because it's so memetic and stupid I remember it way better than most acronyms, so buckle up buttercup. It stands for:

Socialization: Have you talked to someone or had meaningful interactions with others for the day? Depending on your needs, you may need hugs, touching others, chatting with loved ones, or cuddling. Some people literally need to be touched, held, hugged, and talked with the thrive, and others can do just fine with a little less. Listen to the monkey studies: Don't be a wire mother to yourself, let yourself have cloth mother sometimes. Hydration: Have you been drinking enough liquids to be hydrated and keep your piss from being too yellow? No liquids means your body starts sucking at everything from getting oxygen to the brain, to making food into energy. Make sure you balance hydration with salt and food intake, but never underestimate what a good cold cup of something can do. And yes, any liquid works. Coffee is dehydrating, so is soda, but their hydrating effect is way bigger than how often they make you piddle so it balances out. Still, water is best but don't beat yourself up about it. Rest: Have you slept enough in the last 24 hours? I know you think 4-6 is okay, but it's really not, it will actually cause you to behave like an alcoholic and lead to later insomnia, mental issue worsening, and health problems like heart issues. Nip that in the bud, sleep full 8-10 hour nights. Or nap if you're just sleepy! Eat: Have you shoved nutritious food in your gob or are you dying from scurvy, beri-beri, and malnutrition simultaneously while depriving the lil dudes who help you write a good lunch? Don't starve your lil neuron folks, they need a good meal too. Even if it's just ingredients for a meal, anything is better than nothing and you deserve food. Kinetics: Have you moved around? Stretched? Walked or played? Sometimes if you're starting out from zero, you might try just standing up and sitting down a couple times to help get bloodflow going! Getting active at whatever level you're at is good for the brain.

Anyways after that interlude, back to basics. At the lowest tier we want to be having fun. If we're not, it might be us, or it might be a boring lackluster partner. That's where a lack of reward comes in. If the partner is, bless them and their hard work, just not giving you the thrills to pay the dopamine bills? That just might mean you guys aren't a good match! This is not the end of the world, it just means you might need to stop playing with them.

Step back, consider if roleplaying with their style and output is worth your time and effort, and do BOTH of you a favor if they aren't. Set them free to play with other players who love their writing and can't get enough of it, and stop grating your teeth across cement trying to come up with something to keep things you don't even like going. This is the communication part, remember how I used to harp on that? Well old Uragani still thinks it's super important. So discuss that 'hey, we might not be a great fit for writing together' and come up with solutions. Maybe finding new partners, and just staying friends, or just waving goodbye to each other and hitting the road.

Here we find ourselves looking at challenger #3, the good old fear and apprehension. This comes up more than I'd like to admit. Are you worried about what's happening next? Or how you might portray something? Have you worked yourself up too much, and now you feel like you can never meet your own expectations? Are you scared of letting down a partner, and not giving them your best? Do you feel like your post might go over an unwritten line, and leave people upset with you?

Congrats! I hate that shit too! I do not know why brains do this to us! I would like to sue!

Anxiety is a hell of a beast, so is Impostor Syndrome, and fear of letting people down, and all the other fun goodies in that bag. They can be worked on at home, in small doses. You gotta learn to sit back, and be able to talk to yourself. Why are you feeling this way, and finding the name for your emotional state, accepting it, and letting it pass through can help. In major situations, you might need to find yourself a good old Common Sense Dispenser, better known as a therapist. They have the tools you need, and yes, roleplay can be a play you find out what you need. It's not dumb, it's useful.

Working through this can be as simple as discussing your fears with your partner and making sure everything is kosher. It might need you to look at a worst case scenario and then planning an exit strategy for that, even if it never happens. Sometimes, you just gotta heft yourself up, and push through the fear. There's a million ways to get through it, and I'm not the person who can tell you which will work for you. But I can tell you, it gets better the longer you work with it. Confidence comes from experience, the more you work at it, the more it feels like second nature.

But that brings with it the last beast, the hidden #4. Burn-out. Sometimes, when we delve too deeply into something we love, we ignore the signs of burn-out. Losing interest in things we once deeply enjoyed. Feeling exhausted at the thought of starting a post, or writing anything. Feeling like we've lost touch with what we used to be good at. Burn out can be a miserable thing, because it stand between us and our goals, our happiness, and it keeps them behind the thickest glass, so we can see them, but getting them feels impossible. The harder we push, the thicker the glass becomes.

In cases of burn out, like the kind I've experienced, sometimes you need to take a step back and just do something else. Go on hiatus. Maybe it's hooked to a character, and you simply have to play with some other muse. Maybe it's with another player, and finding a new fandom without them in it can help. Maybe it's with writing at large, and you need to go find some other outlet to explore while this one heals. You cannot do the same thing forever, you will lose touch with what makes it special. Believe me.

But after healing, which can take years if you keep pushing it like some idiot who wrote RPedia long after you should stop, it'll be fun again. You'll want to come back, and do the thing you were good at, and loved again. The spark will return, and things just... settle and feel better. I promise. Just let yourself have that time to recover without pushing yourself somewhere you aren't meant to go right now.

Naturally there's other stuff too. ADHD/Autism/other issues could be throwing the executive dysfunction ball into your lap and suddenly doing the thing you've done a thousand times is impossible. Stars aren't in alignment. Maybe you're stressed out because of an external force and need a break. Maybe the thread you're in has been going on too long in the same scene, and you need to cut and start a "fresh episode" before everything stays stale forever. Maybe you just aren't in the mood! There's a million reasons, but all of them come down to figuring out what the problem is, and engaging with ways to break that problem down into bits. Find your fun. Look for partners who make you feel like writing with them is worth it. Work with your fears, and express yourself about them and let them past through you. Find external help if needed, and take care of your body while you're at it.

And hey, remember, I am not the end all be all of advice. It could totally be something outside of these circumstances, but I'd like to think that in my experience these are the major factors that I keep coming across. If any of this has been a help, I can only be happy to have said it. Thank you so much for reading!

#ask rpedia #anonymous #roleplaying #rph #rpedia #passion #writing #roleplaying advice #personal help #hey uhm #im back #oop #We'll see how long before I burn out again #hi guys though!#I'll post once every Friday until I lose steam

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meshlasolus · 2 years

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House Of Memories (15/?)

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Padawan!reader

Warnings: some angst, more darkside mentions, canon typical violence, feelings (a lot of them) oh and also !!SPOILER!!: obi-wan takes his shirt off

Summary: The execution of Anakin, Padme, and Obi-Wan does not rule well in Count Dooku's favor, but when he makes his escape, Obi-Wan and Anakin are left battered, and it's up to you and Padme to pick up the pieces.

A/n: hi welcome to episode 15, otherwise known as my favorite part of this series... oh boy you guys don't understand I'm rlly excited ab this part bc it's the beginning of other plotlines down the road okay anyways enjoy

Words: 5.4k (bc it's the best part)

"I didn't expect to see you so soon after our last meeting, young one."

The insidious voice of Count Dooku rang about your ears as he and four guards escorted you down the hallway, away from where Obi-Wan was.

"Did you miss our time together?" He played at you, trying to get you riled up. The last time he saw you it was to try and turn you to the dark side. You figured he would try again, subtler this time, but still with a driving motivation.

"I know what you're trying to do, and it won't work," you spat in his direction, though he was slightly in front of you and could not witness the deathly glare you were burning into the back of his head.

"I think that you may change your mind after today."

You jerked in the hands of whoever just grabbed you, letting their fingers wander a little too low for your liking, before you used the force to throw that singular guard away from you. You knew you couldn't get away from all of them, much less Dooku, so you settled for the small amount of pay back. He chuckled in his deep voice, rather fond of your annoyed antics.

"Already you are so mischievous, surely you can see why I find such potential in you," he asked, turning to you with a raised brow.

"Whatever you have planned, whatever you think may turn me, you have wasted your time yet again."

"Oh, I'm not sure about that," he brought you to a small room, not a torture chamber, as you'd been expecting. "You are strong in yourself, harming you physically would do us no good anymore."

You sat down upon being forcefully shoved by one of the other guards, pushing his luck after what happened to the last one.

"Like I said before, my path is chosen, you'll have to kill me before I follow the darkness."

You were proud of the way you stood up to him, but lost all feeling if confidence upon seeing his grin, like he'd been waiting for you to say those exact words. He sat down across from you, leaning back in his chair and watching closely your reaction.

"Not you, young one. But someone you are rather... fond of," he teased, watching your mind put the pieces together. "Kenobi has trained you well, but without him, I wonder if you should be so strong to resist the call of the darkside."

You laughed, and he looked at you quizzically. The rapid beating of heart heart gave you away, but you seemed so unbothered by his threat to your master, the one you loved dearly. He didn't know how to interpret your actions and your emotions.

"Funny, you think you can kill Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. Far more powerful men have tried, and he sent them limping away, cowering in fear."

The Sith Lord was taken aback, no one had ever spoken to him like that before. You had fire in you, that was clear. If only he could find a way to harness it for his doing, you would be the most valuable asset to the separatist cause. Your power was still somewhat raw, and untamed. You couldn't control it as much as you wish you could, and Dooku could sense that. He also sensed that you were driven more by your feelings than discipline. This was a rather fortunate reason why his plan could work so well.

"Rest assured, he will be outnumbered one hundred to one, myself included if it should come to it. He will die, and you will become my apprentice."

You figured it out. Killing Obi-Wan was not just to leave you without a master, but a small step in a smart plan, with a deeper meaning that you did not pick up on before.

Killing Obi-Wan would make you angry, and miserable for the rest of your life. It would also make you fearful of facing anything without him ever again. Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, and hate leads to destruction.

If Obi-Wan were to die at the hands of this man, you would not let him have the satisfaction of turning you over it, because you surely would. You would kill yourself, unwilling to let him use you as an instrument of evil. You weren't going to let him get into your head, and you weren't going to let him win this battle.

You weren't going to let him kill Obi-Wan Kenobi.

"When does this execution take place?" You asked, your voice and face gave away nothing, but you were using the force to undo the restraints that held your hand behind your back. You knee Dooku had your lightsaber, and since you'd taken it back from him once, you knew it was likely you could do it again.

"As soon as I give the order. I ask you to reconsider once more, my offer stands that I will let him go if you accept. It would be such a shame to lose the one person you desire over such pride of the Jedi."

He stood to his feet, beckoning his guards to come back and move you to a new location.

You sat among the grand crowd, being ushered to a seat in the front row, where you could not only see Obi-Wan. chained to a tall post, but also Padme and Anakin, who were being brought out on a chariot, like this was some damn parade. It was an execution, but they rolled them out as if they were meant for entertainment. You supposed this was for entertainment, however sick and twisted the people who watched it were.

You knew you had nothing to lose at this point, and since you were sat in front of the others, you knew they would not see as you closed your eyes, your hand which had broken free, reaching out only an inch away from you to help you connect. You searched your feelings to grab hold of Obi-Wan's signature, and for the first time in days, he let it in, embracing it as well. He didn't know you were here, only Anakin and Padme, as they were about to executed beside him.

You made sure that no other force presences were listening in, before you thought a message into the void, Obi-Wan hearing it in his head seconds later.

'Master, I'm here,' and when you saw his head snap upwards at the small whisper in his mind, you knew you'd reached him.

'What? Why?' His loud and angry thought almost made you jolt in your seat, but you kept calm, hoping for the right time to steal back your lightsaber and get out of here. No mistakes, not like last time when you let your weakness get the better of you.

'I've come to get you out, Anakin and Padme, too.'

He sensed your presence and its location by now, looking up at the balcony to see that you seemed to be in a worse position than he was, sitting with the Sith Lord himself Count Dooku. His blood boiled just seeing him next to you, when clearly, he had been the one to do so much damage to you just a few short months ago. You almost died in his arms because of that man, and it enraged him to see you with him in any capacity.

'If he touches her, I'll kill him,' you didn't think that thought was meant for you to hear, but you heard it anyway, his mind spiraling deeper into aggression the more he thought about this.

'I'm okay, so far he's been civil,' you gave a short reply to his words, and indeed the reaction you saw confirmed you weren't meant to hear that previous thought.

'Stay where you are, I'll figure something out.'

Like hell you were gonna stay put. This was an execution, and the moment you sensed he or the others were in imminent danger, you'd be off that balcony, finding a way down to the lower levels of this chaotic arena. It really was chaos, with creatures of different species and rank all here to watch the show. You wondered how demented someone had to be that they would watch this hideous display of violence for kicks.

They released several beasts into the center of the grounds, poking and prodding them till they began to go after your loved ones. You took a deep breath and tried to remain in your seat. You had no assurance that this was the time for you to leave, although everyone was distracted, a pull in the force kept you sitting for the time being.

"A little anxious, are we?" Dooku provoked you, but you shook your head, watching as each person down in the arena gained their advantage over the beast that was assigned to them.

"Of course not, they seem to be on top of things," You nodded to Padme, who had climbed the entirety of the tower she was formerly chained to, whipping the Nexu in the face with her chains to keep it away from her. Anakin was harnessing the Reek, channeling his energy to control the creature. Obi-Wan, well, he was just dodging the humongous claws of the Acklay that chased him. He was doing a tremendous job, though, if you would say so yourself.

"I find that a bit more time in the arena will make them tired. They will succumb to my defeat, I assure you."

You rolled your eyes and kept watching, beginning to understand, if only for a moment, the reason for watching this as entertainment. It was nerve-wracking, having people you love and care about in the middle of it all, but had it been three random galaxy-goers, you might find it thrilling. You shook that thought away, because if anyone was here, that meant they were prisoners, and were being forced into this arena against their living will.

"I find that in a bit more time, you will be swallowing the words you have so careless thrown around in my presence," you looked back at him this time, expecting a scowl, or even a grimace, but instead you found a smirk, and a raised brow. He crossed his arms and looked down at you in your seat, but you turned back around upon feeling him try and enter your signature with his darkness. It was so uncomfortable, the dark. You hated it, and you were repulsed anytime it was mentioned that a tinge of it floated around in your veins from time to time.

Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Padme, once chained and unable to find a way out, were all mounted on the mudhorn, riding around to find an exit to the arena, and that's when it swarmed you. The hundreds of light side force signatures, previously guarding themselves, but now were fully exposed, and you looked behind you, watching as Mace Windu entered the area, and ignited his purple saber. He gave you a stern look, which you were quick to cower away from, but at the same time, you'd never been so glad to see Mace Windu in your life.

"Master Windu, how pleasant of you to join us," Dooku kept his composure, though it seemed he'd been cornered.

"This party's over."

Jango Fett, the bounty hunter who stood by the blade of the Jedi Master, seemed unfazed, even with his young son by his side. You took the grand council member's entrance as a distraction, standing up and using the force to pull your lightsaber in your hands, igniting it and preparing yourself for a battle if need be. You had Master Windu on your side for once, which did feel pretty empowering, you'd admit. You wished he was on your side more often.

"Brave, but foolish, my old Jedi friend. You are impossibly outnumbered," Dooku spoke, still confident that he had the upper hand. So many Jedi had shown up to come and face them, you hoped it would be more than enough to succeed.

"I don't think so," Windu remarked with a slight chuckle under his breath.

"We will see."

At the sight of battle droids coming down the hallway, you bolted, jumping over the high balcony and landing to the low ground with a roll to your shoulder. Mace Windu followed not after, and you stood side by side, deflecting blaster shots from an endless about of vulture droids which were oncoming to attack.

"I suppose I'll be in trouble for this," you said, but he was not in the mood to argue with a padawan at the moment. Or any time, really. Especially not you.

"Greatly, but we will not discuss this now," he said, pulling two sabers from his belt and tossing them in your direction. If not for the force, you would have dropped them both, but thanks to your gifted abilities, they landed in the center of your palm. "Get these to your Master and Padawan Skywalker."

"Alright," you huffed, using him as cover as you ran to where the reek was standing, tossing them up as you kept your steps moving. They caught them with ease, and within no time, were fully armed, as Padme managed to strip a blaster from a droid.

You were never one to stand back and wait for your enemy to approach, so you jumped headfirst into the crowd of droids, slicing and blocking and pushing your hand in the direction of where you wanted the force to flow. You had not yet mastered it, but wall running was one of your favorite skills, and had aided you in beheading about fifteen droids in eight seconds flat. You smirked, looking at the burning pile of rubble, then moving onto the next section, where the beasts of the arena still run rampant.

"Master, head's up," you said, watching him duck as you threw your saber and let it slice into the leg of the Acklay. It lost its balance, but did not fall, so Obi-Wan chopped at the other legs until it was on the ground.

You kept blocking blaster shots from hitting him while he killed the beast completely, spinning his saber once and plunging it straight through the heart of the creature. His hair was sweaty, and fell in loose, untamed strands beside his face, and you couldn't help but be distracted for only a moment, His heaving breaths, making his robes move along with the rhythm of his chest was also something you noticed, nearly slapping yourself in the face as you did. Focus, stupid.

"Are you alright, little one?" he came toward you, and it was quite hard for you to keep your eyes on the droids when you could feel his arm brush against yours now and again when he used his saber to block a shot.

"I'm fine. Let's just finish this so we can go home," you said, but right after, you took a shot to the shoulder, hissing in pain, but trying to regroup so you didn't get shot again.

"Get behind me," he said, but didn't even allow you time to follow his instructions before he pulled your arm and stood in front of you.

"S'just a scratch," which was all but true, but you were luckily still able to wield your saber one handed.

Scratch or not, these droids were simply so many in number, and as more Jedi began to fall, the more you felt the odds were against you. There were few of you left, and the droids had narrowed the area of the fight, so the Jedi were left in a small circle.

The droids had lowered their weapons, and among the halt, came a booming voice from the balcony you'd resided on earlier.

"Master Windu, you have fought gallantly. Worthy of recognition in the archives of the Jedi Order. Now, it is finished. Surrender, and your lives will be spared," he droned on, making his speech so formal, as he usually did.

"We will not be hostages to be bartered, Dooku."

Mace Windu had a strong voice as well, professing his disagreement to the terms which were laid.

"Then, I am sorry, old friend."

The droids raised their weapons again, ready to fire upon you when given the order, but it never came, instead, the roaring engines of many trooper ships came down upon you, all lead by none other than Master Yoda. You'd wondered where he had been.

An army of hundreds, maybe even thousands came to your rescue, and you were able to board one of the ships with Obi-Wan as soon as they created a perimeter. Anakin and Padme soon joined you, then you were off, away from this arena, escaping death for possibly the third time in your life, now. Someday you figured you might lose count.

Speaking of count, the Sith Lord Dooku had managed to make a very quick escape, and your ship was ready to follow after him. Anakin had made a suggestion on where to fire some tactile missiles on the way, bringing down the entire structure by simply damaging the fuel cells.

The ship began to jolt with oncoming fire when you'd begun getting closer on Dooku's trail, and the ship jolted, nearly skewing out of control at once point. Padme and a few other troopers fell out of the carrier, and upon seeing Anakin's dismay for what happened, you stepped to the edge of the platform, eyeing their location.

"I got her, go," you yelled over to him before jumping off of the transport.

You didn't know if it would make a difference, or if he would let his feelings cloud his judgement, but you ran over to tend to the unconscious senator, hoping she hadn't endured any serious head injuries. She seemed to be okay, and after a few moments, she came to, her eyes wide with realization on what happened.

"Padme, are you alright?" you helped her to her feet, and the other clones around you tried to make contact with the last transmission.

"Yes, I'm fine," she was a little dizzy when she first stood, but otherwise would be okay.

"We need to get back to the Ford Command Center."

The clone trooper's suggestion went in one ear and out the other for Padme, and she shook her head rapidly, as if it was a great offense.

"No, no... Gather what troops you can, we've got to get to that hangar," she said, determined as ever. You weren't sure what happened between her and Anakin once you'd split up at the base, but it was widely impacting both of their minds and actions. You wondered if perhaps a confession had come between them in the small moments that they felt their lives could be ended.

"Get a transport, hurry," you told the trooper, and he nodded, running the other direction.

"Right away."

You counted every second of each minute it took you to arrive at the hanger, where you sensed darkness, but also defeat. It was a horrible feeling, and though Obi-Wan's signature was strong, it was accompanied with harsh pain. Your heart raced as you hopped off the ship, running alongside Padme to get inside.

There was no sign of Count Dooku, but instead two jedi, laid across the floor, their injuries more visible than anything else.

Padme ran to Anakin, and likewise, you didn't let any time separate you from reaching the object of your affection. You slid down on your knees before his body, his arm and leg singed with the mark of a lightsaber. You knew first-hand what that felt like. It was a burning sensation that did not easily fade away. It consumed the rest of your body and most of the time rendered you useless in battle.

"Obi," you completely disregarded any formal title that you would normally use, saying his name brought comfort to both yourself, and also him. He hissed in pain when you accidentally grazed the wound on his shoulder, his face clenched up in pain. "I'm sorry."

"I'll be-" he paused, turning to where he was able to sit. Not comfortably, but better then struggling to lie on his side, held up by one unharmed arm. "I'll be alright."

"We need to get you to the ship. Can you stand?" you stayed close by him, waiting for any signs he needed your help.

"I believe so," he pressed his palm to the ground, kneeling like you had, before carefully pushing up to his feet, but only for a second, before the pain got to be too much on his leg, and his knee gave out, the weight sending him falling into your arms. He clung to you for dear life, and for only a fleeting moment, you reveled in it. The feeling of his embrace around your whole being.

You wrapped your arms around his waist, trying to steady him, and it seemed he was becoming more stabilized the longer we were up.

"Are you sure about that?" you snickered but didn't include all the usual sarcasm that most times filled the words. You were still much too worried over him to be joking about his current state.

"I can walk, if you help me."

Your heart should absolutely not have fluttered when he uttered those words, but damnit, it did. You let out a shaky breath before turning him so that you were side by side, one of his arms slung over your shoulder, your grip on his hand held tightly. You kept your arm around his midsection, hoping to possibly catch him somehow if he should fall again.

"I shouldn't have left," you murmured, but he was glad you did.

"I didn't want you anywhere near that piece of filth. Not after what he did to you."

You smiled at his fond protectiveness, leading him slowly to the ship, hearing him hiss every few seconds at the pain of putting his weight on that leg.

"And now, after what he did to you?" you knew it was wrong of you to turn the tables, but you know if you'd been thinking clearly, you would have stayed with him, by his side, to fight the man who had come to harm you both so badly.

"It's not about me."

You shook you head, deciding to let it go, at least for now. Walking up the onramp of the ship, you were relieved to get him into a seat, watching as they loaded Anakin onto a different carrier before both ramps were lifted, and the ships were in the air.

He sunk down into a seat, but you had to make sure he was settled before you went off looking for the first aid supplies on board. He had his eyes squeezed shut for the bending his knee did, but then upon taking a deep breath in, he opened them, lifting his head to meet your concerned eyeline. You couldn't even stop yourself; you didn't even try. You brought a hand to the side of his face, stroking your thumb over his cheek and watching as his eyes again closed, but fluttered peacefully, embracing the signature you'd extended and wrapped around him like a warm blanket in the cold. His hand came over top of it, holding it in place before hesitantly turning his head and kissing the center of your palm. He then held your hand to his, squeezing it tightly before letting it fall back to your side.

You weren't even sure what to say or do following those events, and how could you? He had just given you the most tender expression you'd ever seen him wear, then he held your hand against his skin like it was the most precious thing in the world to him. You didn't even know, but in that moment it was. Your gentle caress was easing his pain and making his heart leap with joy. It took his fears away.

"I'll be right back," you finally let out, though it was hushed, and the words had been stumbled over.

You asked one of the nearest clones if they had any medical supplies on board and were relieved when the clone had taken you into the hull, where a few med kits had been stashed in case of emergencies.

You were not able to lift the large crates up into the cargo hold, so instead you brought with you only supplies you could carry. Bacta pads, bandage wraps, and cleaning supplies.

You set them down beside him when you returned, and he was still looking at you with that slightly glassy eye stare. The one that told you he was taking in his surroundings and considering what he was to do amongst them. You knelt down in front of him, your knees between his feet as you prepared to work on his leg. You were able to see clearly the wound in its full capacity, the fabric of his pants being singed through and stretching wide enough that you could access it.

"I'm sorry, I know this is going to hurt," you warned him, starting with a cleaning pad, trying to wipe away anything that could enter and cause infection. You dabbed his leg gently, and his fist came down onto his other thigh, clenching tightly around nothing as he forced himself fight through the pain. "I'll be as careful as I can, I promise."

You removed the pad that had the stinging liquid poured into it, setting it aside and ignoring how much blood and blackened skin remained when you pulled it away. You replaced it with a bacta pad, which was soothing, and healing to the skin. You took the hand that had come down on his kneed and moved it to the leg you were working on, placing it upon the bacta pad so that you could move on to the wound on his arm.

"Just hold this here."

He obeyed immediately, watching your features become softer as your worry over him faded slightly. He focused on you, the slow movements you made as not to hurt him, the way you treated him with the upmost care and affection. He was not sure if the small gesture he'd given you had crossed a line, since you only seemed to be making your own out of intentions of calming him, but now, seeing you act so wonderfully on behalf of his wellbeing, he knew it had been to you a sign of gratitude for your never-ending help.

After examining his arm more carefully, you were alarmed to find out you wouldn't be able to treat it without more access. The hole in his sleeve was far too small to make any kind of mends to his skin.

"I-" you hesitated, your cheeks darkening red at the thought of the words you had to say. "I can't get to this one very easily. I might have to take this off."

He didn't see any harm in your request, but by your reaction to having to ask it. You were so flustered, and he thought for a moment, maybe it made you embarrassed that you would have to remove a piece of his clothing. You seemed very shy about it.

"Alright," he said, trying to look at you, but you refused to meet his eyes. It didn't make you uncomfortable, and it certainly didn't make him uncomfortable, but the next few movements were a tad bit awkward to witness.

You removed the belt that always sat around his waist, usually holding his saber clip and more importantly, his saber... which was probably on another ship right now. You shifted to kneel between his legs, getting close enough that you could drag the fabric away from the front of his body, and bring it over his shoulder. You focused more when you pulled it along his arm, not wanting to irritate the wound any further.

You tried to fight yourself and not to look at the bare skin, only the wound that was left on it, but failed. You dragged your eyes over his shoulder, the scars that were already there, and the curve of the muscle. It was all beautiful, like you envisioned it would be. Your breath hitched in your throat, and you had to blink rapidly to shake yourself out of it, before you let your eyes over the broad expanse of his chest. You reached into the pile again, ridding your mind of the thoughts.

"I'm sorry that you have to do this," he spoke up suddenly, and took your hand in his, releasing the hold on the bacta pad it previously held in place.

"Don't apologize. I want to help you, Master," you said, fishing through until you found another cleaning wipe.

Great pride rippled through him, and a smile shown on his face. He was more than happy to hear you say those words, and with such pure intent. Such sincerity.

"You don't have to call me that all the time, you know," He offered, and it was only now that you looked up to see his brilliant smile. This was the most intimate moment of your life as far as you were concerned, and being this close to him, while he smiled over words that you'd said, was almost overwhelming to you.

"It's just become a habit," you admitted, forgetting to warn him as you placed the cleaning pad against his arm, watching him jolt in his seat and throw his head back against the wall. You felt bad, and out of instinct, you placed your hand on his chest, trying to soothe him, not realizing the hole you'd immediately dug yourself into. You still didn't let it click with you where your hand was, or what it was doing, your fingers trailing along the expanse of the muscle he'd built over the years. He wasn't bulky by any means, but very fit, more practical for Jedi activities.

He felt your hand run over where his heart sat, and he wondered if you could feel how fast and sporadically it was beating.

"I'm not sure if the council would like it if I called you by your name. They seem to find fault in everything I do," you trailed off, finishing off the cleansing wipe and applying the bacta pad, holding it there yourself as you allowed it to soothe the skin, letting its healing properties to sink into his wound.

"If they have anything to say about you, I'll make sure it never reaches your ears."

You smiled, looking back up at him, and seeing that your faces were very close, since he'd leaned forwards again. You didn't even remember a word he said, too captivated in the closeness you only ever dreamed about. You could lean forward an inch, and those dreams would become a reality. You even dared to glance down at his lips, only once. He caught it, though. You leaned away after a moment more, keeping your hand on his arm while you found the bandages. Opening the package with your teeth, you tried and failed to use one hand to wrap his leg, so you had him hold the bacta pad to his arm while you were busy elsewhere.

Once you were satisfied, you repeated the process, no other words being spoken between you, except for when you were finished. You went to stand up, to turn around and find a clone who could give you an ETA for Coruscant, but you were stopped when a hand caught your arm, delicately and gentle as can be. You turned around and saw an almost pleading look in his eyes, and he nodded next to him for you to sit, and you couldn't deny him.

"Thank you for taking care of me," he said gratefully, his voice was soft, and had there been anyone else near, you would have been the only one to hear him.

"After everything you've ever done for me, I will always do my best to take care of you, Obi."

It was a sentiment that seemed simple enough to your tired mind, but the impact it gave on the receiving end was so powerful. It gave him hope that perhaps someday you might feel the same way about him, that he had come to feel about you. It was like an oncoming freight speeder, his feelings for you, and how quickly they had progressed. All he knew was that he would always hold you close to him, protecting you, and giving you everything he possibly could.

You fell asleep on his shoulder during the flight home, and the closeness and the warmth you provided for him became his tether that it was all reality.

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pochipop · 1 year

Note

Hi! I'm not sure if you write for Black Clover(?) or if the artist s/o headcanons were just a one time thing, –but I was wondering if I could get a oneshot of Zora who mistakingly thinks the reader is a royal when she actually just has pretty strong illusion magic and gives off a more sophisticated/elegant vibe?

＃BLACK CLOVER !! ♡ — LOVER, FIGHTER (ZORA X READER).

#. synopsis! — zora has never liked royals, -but he does like you .

#. characters! — zora .

#. warnings! — mentions of canon-typical violence/injuries .

#. word count! — 2.5k .

#. alt accounts! — @ddollipop (nsfw) @yyolkchi (reblog/spam) .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

#. a/n! — sorry for being really inactive, my first semester of university just finished today and i've been struggling with some depression since the cold weather moved in; but i'm hoping to find the motivation to finish up at least a few stories during my winter break. :)

"You're tougher than you look," Zora comments, turning his sharp gaze toward you with a little sparkle in his eyes that you've never seen before.

You're not sure what it means or represents, but you don't have the nerve to ask, either. Zora doesn't exactly intimidate you, —that might be a bit too bold a word to use, but you do feel anxious around him. Like you have something to prove, even when you know you really don't. Sure, he's technically your superior, but so is Finral, and you don't have any qualms about speaking to him. Or Gordon, or Magna, or Vanessa, even captain Yami himself. . . This is a feeling reserved specifically for Zora, and you don't fully understand why. Maybe it's that mask he wears, which is as admittedly cool, but also mystifying. It shrouds Zora in a layer of the unknown. Maybe it's those razor-sharp teeth lining his mouth. Maybe it's the fact that he's a complete and utter menace around the base from time to time. Or, maybe it's something completely different altogether. . .

"Do I look weak?" You ask in reply.

"No," he shakes his head, not even pausing to think about it.

That makes you oddly happy. It's not praise, but from what you understand, Zora rarely, if ever, gives that out, —and his words feel close enough to a compliment to have to count for something. At least to you, anyway.

"Not weak. Just. . . Elegant, I guess is the right word for it. You don't look like you'd be wielding illusion magic."

"Well, that makes one of us," you answer jokingly, "you look exactly like someone wielding trap magic."

For a moment, you worry your joke has fallen on deaf ears. Or even worse, that it's fallen on ears that heard it, but actively disliked what you'd said.

Thankfully, he offers you a small chuckle in response. It's a nice, smooth laugh that makes your heart jump in your chest a little. This is the first time you've heard him laugh over something you said, and it fills you with some semblance of pride that you didn't have before.

"Didn't know you had the nerve to make a joke like that," he notes, "—does that mean you're not scared of me anymore?"

Your gaze flickers to the ground in embarrassment as you try to laugh the question off. It sounds painfully awkward in your own two ears.

"Who said I was ever scared of you?" You ask a question of your own in reply.

"You didn't really need to. I have a bit of a knack for picking up signals, and yours have been on high alert around me for. . . Well, for forever, I guess," Zora shrugs.

He doesn't seem particularly upset about it. His comment is more observational than anything else, —like he's pointing out a fact that he's utterly indifferent to. You're relieved that his feelings weren't hurt by your actions, deliberate or not, but you still have to wonder how he managed to see right through you so easily. Up until now, you figured you'd done an okay job concealing your nerves around him since he'd never commented on anything of the sort, and you knew him well enough to know that he didn't mince words with anyone. It was fair game if he could sense it, at least most of the time.

"I-Its not so much fear, really, I just. . ." You pause, hoping that the right words come to you quickly like a dog to your beckoning whistle.

They don't.

"Hey," he laughs, turning around to face you completely as he stops in his tracks.

"It's fine. You think I'm not used to reactions like that by now? Come on," he gives your shoulder a small push for emphasis.

It's the good one, —the one he knows you didn't get hit in during the battle. The other is fine, just a little sore and a dull ache lingers in the muscles there; but he still chose to avoid it, and something tells you that it was very intentional. You realize then that Zora likely pays a lot more attention to not just you, but his entire group of squadmates, more than he'd ever be willing to fess up to.

You feel your body relax naturally. Not fully, but enough to be noticeable, and you give Zora a small smile.

"Thank you for your help back there," you say to him genuinely, "I really appreciate it. And I'm glad that Yami paired us together for this mission. . . I feel like I know you better now."

"Enough talking, princess," he quips, turning opposite of you and quickly walking away, long legs striding in even steps, “—if we actually want to eat something for dinner, we’ll need to get back soon.”

Heat rushes to your face at the nickname. Of all the things he could have said, —why on Earth did it have to be that? A part of you wants to believe it has something to do with that elegant comment he made, but another part worries that it represents something much more unsavory. Zora doesn't like royals. . . So why would he be calling you a princess as any form of compliment, or even observation?

Before you can think too much of it, you feel something move on your shoulder. Your head snaps to the side, only to be met with the painfully familiar stripes of a rainbow stink bug, —the kind Zora loves to place on people at random just for the heck of it. You make haste of flicking the insect off you, but you're a little too late.

"Zora!"

As time goes on, Zora no longer spares you from his pranks. Asta remains his favorite person to antagonize, of course, but you just might be a close second. Even so, you don't really feel like his actions come from a place of malice. . . They're never damaging in the long run, just playful antics that he (and you as well, sometimes,) can get a laugh out of. Looking back on it, you almost feel better about the fact that he doesn't exclude you from his hijinks anymore. Maybe it's a sign that things between the two of you are moving in the right direction! More team unity can't be a bad thing.

Sure, it might get a little annoying flicking rainbow stink bugs out of your room every once in a while, but Zora's loyalty makes up for that, —especially in battle. His help never goes unnoticed. He often has your back before you can even think about having his, and it shocks you every time, though you should probably be used to it by now.

"Are you alright?" He questions, giving you a sideways glance as he stays alert, just in case anymore enemies try to come at him sideways.

You're sitting upright against the thick trunk of a tree, breathing slightly ragged and lungs aching from the strain. Your ribs hurt like never before. It was unusual for anyone to fight so roughly in close combat, but you'd been taken by surprise along with the other members of the Black Bulls, and now you were just trying to stay out of their way. It was very unlike you to be taken out in battle, —in fact, it hadn't happened once since you were a newbie and Yami directed you out of the line of fire in order to protect you just in case. Even then, it was more about having the opportunity to watch and grow than anything else.

"I'll be fine," you tell Zora a little breathlessly, arm coming around to clutch at your throbbing torso, "just go. Make sure everyone else has backup."

"Don't be stupid," he snaps, still not looking your way, "—Luck and Magna will be fine on their own, and Asta has to be there with them by now. If I left you here alone, you wouldn't be able to defend yourself, and then what?"

It really isn't that he's looking down on you. Much the opposite, he seems to hold enough respect for you to know that you'd want to do things by yourself, but is actively refusing to let you for your own sake. And maybe for his own to a certain extent as well.

"They need you more than I do," you answer, "I just need to catch my breath. Just go, and I'll catch up with you."

"Shut up!" He scolds, turning to lock eyes directly with you.

You've never seen this side of Zora before. He's mad, —angered in a way that feels so unfamiliar. A million times over you've heard him tear royals apart with his harsh words, and you've seen him slit through enemies with the same intensity, but to have it directed at you feels like a loaded gun is being held to your head and you're just waiting for the trigger to be pulled.

"I hold my tongue when it comes to you because you don't rub being royalty in anyone's face, —and I like that about you. But you don't always get to play the hero," he rants, each word more lethal than the last.

You open your mouth to speak, but he doesn't give you the chance. He's mad, and that much is more than obvious, but he's also. . . Worried? Scared? Anxious? Maybe all three and more, or nothing and less. You can't seem to put your finger on it. All you really know is that this side of Zora is frantic and explosive, but definitely not uncontrollable. You don't feel threatened by him in this state, —just surprised.

"Your magic is strong, and we both know that, but you aren't invincible. You have to know when enough is enough, or you'll drag everyone else down with you in the long run. It's useless to fight when you're way past your limits, and this just is what it is right now. If being protected by a lowly little commoner like me makes you feel like your high status has been stripped away, then cry about it later, because right now, you don't have any other options."

"Zora—" you try, but he refuses to let you get a word in edgewise, assuming you're going to argue with him on this.

"No!" He exclaims, "just sit there! I know the grass isn't fancy silken sheets, but you'll just have to get over it. I'm not asking you to leave this alone and just let me take care of it, —I'm telling you that's what's happening, and if you have a problem with that, it's just too damn bad."

Before you can manage to process everything well enough to respond thoughtfully, a familiar face is rushing toward the scene.

"Oh gosh," Noelle huffs, "just stay still y/n, I'll heal you as well as I can."

"Zora! A little help over here?" Vanessa calls out irritably.

"You can go," Noelle tells him before he can protest, "I'll stay here with y/n. The sooner we get rid of these guys, the faster this can all be over and done with."

He hesitates, but knows he doesn't have a genuine excuse to stay any longer now that Noelle is here. There's so much you need to say to him, —so much you need to explain. But now isn't the time for that, so you watch with half lidded eyes as Zora spares you a small glance before rushing off to assist Vanessa.

"Zora?" You approach him later on as the day bleeds into night.

He frowns.

"You should be resting," he comments bluntly.

"I know," you acknowledge, "but. . . There's just some things we need to talk about."

"If you're about to scold me for what I said earlier, —don't bother. I know it was harsh, but it was true, and I won't apologize for saying something I believe," he tells you matter-of-factly.

That is so achingly like him. It's almost amusing.

"I'm not looking for an apology," you shake your head, "—you were right, at least somewhat. I should be more aware of when enough is enough so I don't get in everyone else's way. I understand that."

You swear you could see a glimmer of pride in Zora's eyes, one that was both for you as much as it was for himself. Still, you don't comment on it.

"But I need to tell you that I'm not royalty, and I'm really not sure what gave you that impression of me," you say.

He pauses, blinking silently. Of all the things you could have said, he was taking that the hardest. It dawns on you that he more than likely had his entire impression of you built on the assumption that you were of a noble bloodline. This must be hard to swallow, and you're not naive enough to deny him that.

". . . Really?" Zora finally asks, eyes squinting at you in confusion.

"Really," you nod, "—I'm from a small town east of the Capitol. Not necessarily in the sticks or anything, but nowhere near being a city. My parents are both farmers, and I was born and raised a commoner."

The look on his face tells you that he doesn't believe you, or at the very least that he's having a rather difficult time processing all of this new information. Somehow, the worst part of it all in his mind is that he liked you way too much even when he thought you were nobility. You weren’t like the wealthy, high class royals that always poked at him, and worse, his father, every chance they got. You accepted him in a way he’s not sure anyone else ever has; —stink bug pranks and all.

In a rare show of vulnerability, he reaches out to graze his fingertips against your own.

“I didn’t mean to make unfair judgments about you,” he notes. “For once, I didn’t even mean that I thought you were a noble in a bad way. I saw the intensity of your magic and just assumed you were one, but I still. . .”

When he pauses, you dare to press for a continuance.

“Still. . .?”

He almost clams up, but the words come tumbling from his lips before he has the chance to filter or water them down somehow.

“I still had a lot of respect for you, and I ended up liking you anyway.”

Your eyes widen in surprise at his admission, but you can’t help the way a smile tugs at the corners of your lips.

“Like in what sense?” You inquire.

Zora’s stunned by your display of boldness for a moment, but quickly shakes his head.

“No more questions,” he dismisses your inquiry, reaching out to clutch at your wrist. “You shouldn’t even be out here asking me things, —you should be resting. So go do that instead of bothering me.”

In spite of his words, his grip lingers on your wrist for much longer than need be. You take his advice and make your way back to your room, but each time you let your mind wander, it travels back to Zora and your heart flutters happily in your chest.

#black clover #black clover reader insert #black clover x reader #zora #zora ideale #zora x reader #zora ideale x you #zora ideale x reader insert #zora ideale x y/n #zora ideale x reader fluff #black clover x reader fluff #black clover x you #black clover x y/n #zora x you #zora x y/n #zora x reader fluff #black clover zora #black clover zora x reader #black clover zora x reader fluff

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squibstress · 4 months

Text

Thanks to the mods for putting on this wonderful fest!

HP Rec Fest - Day 31

Prompt: A fav among favs @hprecfest

Hold the Line

Characters: Alice Longbottom, Albus Dumbledore, Aurora Sinistra, Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape

Pairings: Alastor/Minerva, Minerva/Severus

Creator: eldritcher

Rating: M/R

Word Count: 24,834

Summary: Then Love comes along, plucky and persistent, and proceeds to drink all her scotch.

Why You Should Check It Out:

This was written as the most generous gift for me, and it is glorious.

This story is such a marvelous conception, the way it settles into the corners of canon and shows how Minerva's life unfolds, with the beautiful bittersweetness that Eldritcher manage to instill in all their stories.

Their inventive ideas about magic and how it interacts with characters' souls and lives are absolutely genius.

The idea of love for an ailing Abraxas as motivating Riddle's actions is genius, and so different from most of the conceptions we have of Voldemort. I adore that canon Dumbledore was so very wrong about his inability to understand love being his great handicap. The irony the author has given that stance here is absolutely delicious.

Same goes for Minerva's defining, unrequited love for Alastor.

And the idea of how Hogwarts Castle's magic and the Headmaster's work in symbiosis is absolutely canon in my head now -- so inventive and wonderful.

We Change the Nature of Things

Pairings: Albus Dumbledore/Minerva McGonagall; Albus Dumbledore/Minerva McGonagall/Severus Snape

Creator: dueltastic

Rating: MA/NC-17

Word Count: 8,383

Summary: Albus makes some observations about Minerva and Severus.

Why You Should Check It Out:

This fic is a masterpiece of a musing on the subtle and profound ways three very different people affect one another. It involves a highly unlikely threesome that ends up making the reader nod in agreement.

Right Nor Wrong

Characters: Argus Filch, Dolores Umbridge, Minerva McGonagall, Mrs. Norris, Severus Snape

Pairing: Minerva/Severus

Creator: kellychambliss

Rating: M/R

Warning: voyeurism

Word Count: 11,711

Summary: In Greek mythology, Argus the guardian of Io is sometimes said to have a hundred eyes. In the wizarding world, Argus the caretaker of Hogwarts has only two eyes, but he sees a great deal all the same.

Why You Should Check It Out:

This fic gives us voyeur-Argus Filch, observing (and lusting after) Severus Snape, who is otherwise entangled. It's a story about desires fulfilled and unfulfilled and makes Filch into a three-dimensional character and acute observer rather than a simple figure of fun.

The Steadfast Tin Soldier

Characters: Alastor Moody, Albus Dumbledore, Barty Crouch Jr., Minerva McGonagall

Pairings: Alastor/Minerva, Barty Crouch Jr/Minerva

Creator: selmak

Rating: M/R

Warning: Possibly DubCon depending on your definition of informed sexual consent. No rape.

Word Count: 20,000

Summary: Minerva hopes that Alastor will never know exactly what Minerva McGonagall did with Barty while the real Alastor was in the trunk.

Why You Should Check It Out:

This fic puts you firmly and frighteningly inside Alastor Moody's head as he copes with the horrors of being locked in that bloody trunk for months, and what goes on there isn't pretty, but it helps him cope. As does Minerva McGonagall, once she stops castigating herself for a moment of indiscretion that ends up torturing them both. This Minerva and Alastor are recognizably in-character, but they're shown dealing with a very odd situation, and it brings out things we don't often see from either. The way the relationship between them develops is beautifully drawn: painful, tender, funny. Read it if you want to gasp, cry, and laugh, all in the space of a few paragraphs.

The Reluctant Phoenix

Characters: Albus Dumbledore, Elphias Doge, Horace Slughorn, Minerva McGonagall

Pairings: Albus/Horace, Albus/Minerva, Elphias/Horace

Creator: purplefluffycat

Rating: MA/NC-17

Warnings: Cross-gen - teacher/student (Minerva is 18), infidelity in secondary pairing.*.

Word Count: 23,600

Summary: Albus thought that he was a non-running member of the human race when it came to romantic relationships. If pushed, he would have said that he was the kind of wizard who preferred wizards. -All that, of course, was before Minerva came along.

Why You Should Check It Out:

OK, even if I didn’t have a soft spot for student!Minerva/Albus, I’d still have loved this because of the (I feel like I say this about all the Beholder fics, but it’s twoo, it’s twoo!) wonderful characterizations. Especially Albus, in all his flawed glory–here, as a man who is a genius in many arenas, but a bit thick when it comes to love. Add in fluid sexuality, and I’m a syrupy mess on the floor.

#hprecfest2023 #hp fic rec #hprecfest #minerva mcgonagall #severus snape #albus dumbledore #argus filch #horace slughorn #alastor moody #elphias doge

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sapphire-weapon · 8 months

Note

Sorry to bring more discourse to your blog, but it's about the whole "problematic" shipling thing, because it's a part of older RE plot, that absolutely does my head in. It doesn't fucking make sense. We can talk ALL day about how Leon is canonically responsible for genocides. It's canon that these things have happened because he never has the backbone to finish the job or manage his feelings like a grown adult. It's an interesting talk, but it's NEVER (or very barely) addressed that way in the actual material. His whole "turn the other cheek, because he needs a vague romance" trope is really just one massive fucking plot hole and I don't know why people aren't completely pissed about it. His messy narrative is one of my least favourite things in the series. It almost turns me off of his games and movies entirely. I enjoyed REmake, 7 and 8 the most because at least the characters add up. Their motivations are clear. It's a fully formed story and we know who does what and why. They just haven't fucking done that with Leon. They can't decide on whether to flesh him out properly or to keep throwing him early naughts b-movie tropes that arguably, just make him less likeable (to me).

Sorry for the rant. But holy shit. Anything about his character outside of "I'm angry, let's shoot" has been fucking terrible, in my eyes. They have no idea what to do with him. His choices constantly fucking contradict themselves. He's like a nonstop, unstable "what to doooo?" asshole and I DON'T KNOW WHY ANYONE ELSE ISN'T MAD ABOUT THE CONSTANT PLOT HOLES AND SENSELESS BULLSHIT THIS CHARACTER DOES I HONESTLY DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW HE BECAME MORE POPULAR THAN CHRIS, CLAIRE, WESKER, HUNNIGAN, ETHAN AND JILL OTHER THAN "HE HAS COOL BANGS AND TELLS JOKES SOMETIMES" LIKE WHAT?

I know I'll get roasted and shredded for saying it, but jesus christ man, it's such an enormous pet peeve of mine. I just want the remakes to finish their job of understanding that Leon hasn't been written well and he's gotta be fixed. That Ashley actually has a whole load of potential and Ada has only ever been an empty, racist and sexist stereotype that can't be fixed unless they bother to actually write any sort of story for her other than "sexy Asian is mean sometimes, but her terrorism is okay because the emo boy kissed her this one time and has known her for a combined 15 hours."

Phew. I am mad. I'm sorry for exposing you to this. I've only gotten into RE like less than a year ago and the stupidity and lack of literacy and analysis in this fucking fanbase is crazy to me. If I see one more "sibling coded toxic age gap, Leon is flawless omg ashley little girl so silly" post I'm going to shave my head. Even my phone is glitching because it can't keep up with my seemingly very unpopular rager.

homie i'mma need u to fuckin breathe and understand that this is the same series where the only reason that the main villain ever had to hate the main protagonist was the fact that the main protagonist laughed at his science project -- and then that detail was retconned out of the remake, and now there's no reason for wesker to hate chris at all, actually.

this is the same series that killed off its main villain way too prematurely, realized immediately that they fucked up by doing it, and, instead of just retconning it and bringing him back, they tried to "oops! all weskers!" it, then didn't know what to do with that, then just decided to write it so that he had a son, but then nobody liked him, either, and now they're just going FUCK IT LET'S JUST REMAKE THE WHOLE THING.

this is the same series that is so unabashedly and unrepentantly racist that it sends its white american protagonist into the heart of africa, whereabouts he encounters a village with actual mud huts in it, where the townspeople are dressed in actual tribal clothing, and they chuck actual literal spears at him.

this is the same series where the creators openly admitted to not allowing their main female protagonist to visibly age because they thought it'd hurt their bottom line.

this is the same series where the objectively best title in it has a story that's so fucking bad that the dude who wrote and directed it said that he'd only support a remake of it if the remake fixed his shitty fucking story and actually told a good one.

this is the same series where rachel fucking foley exists and is meant to be taken seriously.

this is the same series where a dude fucking a spider is, questionably and arguably, canon.

leon is not remotely the worst part of resident evil's storytelling, nor is ada the most offensively racist part of it. THE ENTIRE NARRATIVE OF RESIDENT EVIL IS NONSENSE DOG GARBAGE. leon and ada are just par for the course.

if you are not a raccoon and/or opossum who enjoys gorging yourself on garbage, perhaps resident evil is not the series for you.

that's why they called it raccoon city in the first place.

because the playerbase must inevitably be filled with raccoons, because only raccoons would enjoy the sheer amount of garbage that the story throws at them.

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solace-saphylos · 11 months

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Hey hi!! Maybe you're getting tired of hearing about it but I, as a new Sabine simpee, just found your works and stayed far past regular sleeping hours to read the entire thing, everything you had to offer!! That was the final nail in the coffin and has awakened my inner lesbian, thank you for confusing me so But I wanted to ask, I enjoy writing headcanons and scenarios for myself to hoard like a dragon and never post or share, but trying to write for Sabine is a challenge; when you write for her, how do you get it to seem so right? Even in the later chapters of the main fic, doing something probably so far out of canon that the real Sabine would maybe spontaneously combust, you still made it sound entirely... Sabine-y.

Is there a certain way of thinking when you write? Did you study how she speaks in game? Are you secretly Sabine? How do you do it? Sorry if this is a lot to ask or hard to answer, but I really adore her design and want to do it right, and no one does it more right than you!! If that makes sense. Thank you sm for reading my nonsensical perils, and you hope you have an amazing day <33

Sabine Introspection - The Ask Edition

[This exchange was originally a private message, but it is now reposted as a public ask with permission from Anon <3 ]

I got this long message when I was out and about, so sorry for not replying right away. It did however make me laugh a lot! Am I secretly Sabine?? God, I sure hope not! It brings me so much joy that I helped awaken your inner lesbian. She was there all along, but that coffin metaphor actually makes me wonder if she ought to be fashioned a vampire or something? The final nail gone instead of hammered in, she rises, ready to be gay and party.

I still love my Sabine fics so dearly. It's an honour to have written something that affects people so. Since you're asking, I'm more than happy to talk about it! Your questions do however ask me to lift the veil a little, so I may talk about the fic in much closer building block detail than most readers ever get to see.

When it comes to my writing, my initial answer to your question is a boring one. But since I thought about this all throughout my day, I still have some advice for you. See, the little people just talk in my head. I've always loved writing dialogue, or making up dialogue, or just reading characters talking. I love to talk! These years of practice has become something that others like to call talent. On my recent Bully fanfiction (which has exponentially more characters than SSO) I recently got the compliment that I make ALL characters read as in-character despite my wild storyline. To achieve this I do study dialogue in game. For Bully I listen to all voicelines a character has, trying to get at the vibe their voice actor gave beyond the script. For Sabine I studied only her new dialogue in last years Equestrian Festival when she debuted, but I took into consideration everything her full character had done in SSO plus the backstory she has sort of had throughout earlier games. Once that is gathered, I somehow compile this knowledge into a little character nugget in my brain, which I then measure my own writing to so that it stays in line.

Over the course of the story, that nugget shifted slightly to accommodate the new motivations and feelings she gained for Y/N. This was possible because in the beginning I had Sabine believe "I'm not loveable" and "I'm scary, nobody wants to touch me". They were virtually headcanons, but they made sense to me. These kinds of beliefs in a character may sound emo and sad, but Sabine showed them rather by being standoffish and proud. Y/N starts breaking those down on the first date already, both of them staring out at the sea while holding hands. Even if I say breaking, it might just hs modifying. "I'm not loveable, but Y/N is different. Why shouldn't I take advantage of that? Is it advantage if she loves it?" Or "I'm scary, nobody wants to touch me, except my crazy bottom gf. She loves to touch me, and I like to touch her." The readers inadvertently follow Sabine while this shifts inside of her, which is why she still feels in character in the later chapters. My writing lead both characters and reader alike there gradually, so that's why it works.

In this way of thinking we're sort of expanding that character nugget into something that's possible to explain instead of just a jumble of knowledge in my brain. When writing a character to make it feel right I like to define some core beliefs, or say headcanons, that are relevant to the drama I'm putting them through. The next important question is if even the characters KNOW about these core beliefs. Sabine was very self aware to me. My current narrator in my Bully fic is surprised to find out she has a crush on her roommate in chapter 9, even though I wrote it in her subtext in chapter 1. I love playing around with characters when they don't know everything, either about themselves or other characters.

Depending on what they know, they expect different things to happen. Sabine was wholly convinced that going on a date, arranging a fight by that one portal, all of it would lead to Y/N hating her! She as a character is rightfully upset and surprised when the opposite happens. Part of Sabine's rage as a character is against ME, the author, because I keep putting her in SITUATIONS she's not prepared for and makes her act like a fool! But that's life. I love it when characters are uncomfortable and need to deal with it.

Consequences are the rail tracks of coherent plotting. Keep giving out consequences, even when the characters cry for it to stop... So that's my answer to your question. If you have any more I would be happy to reply, just at a rather slow pace I suppose. Life is happening big time for me right now. Luckily connecting with fellow Sabine fans online is part of that life!

#solace saphylos advice #sabine simpery #simping for sabine #ssoblr #fanfiction #writing advice #plus just a little bit of #be careful what you ship for

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snowberry33 · 1 year

Text

haze.

Rating: E

Kayn/Akali -- 1,799 words, 1/1 chapters (oneshot)

Warnings/tags: established relationship, porn without plot, fluff and smut, porn with feelings, praise kink, oral sex, vaginal sex, not canon compliant, creampie

“Can I not appreciate my woman?”

“You, specifically? Not without a motive.”

“Oh, and what possible motive could I have?”

A peek into the morning of two twenty-something-year-olds in love. Certainly this will be entirely safe for work. For sure.

AO3 LINK

Akali wakes the same as she does most mornings, with Kayn’s body pressed against her back, his palm massaging the firm muscle of her biceps. She relaxes under the touch, and she lets out a comfortable sigh as he kisses her shoulder blades repeatedly. Chaste and gentle at first, increasing in passion until he’s nipping and sucking at the smooth skin.

An amused grin spreads across her face as she reaches around to tangle her fingers in his hair. “What are you doing?”

“Can I not appreciate my woman?” Kayn muses, pressing another long smooch to her shoulder.

“You, specifically?” she chuckles as his lips continue to travel the expanse of her back and wander to her neck, causing her next words to get caught on their way out. “Not without a motive.”

“Oh, and what possible motive could I have?”

The question proves to be rhetorical as his hand curls around her midriff to press her against him and his teeth graze her ear. Instead of answering, Akali gasps quietly at the gesture and lets herself relax into him; his touch, his kisses, both growing hungrier by the second. Her fingers slide over the rough clawed ones that dig lightly into her rib cage—sure to leave marks later, but she pays no mind to that fact when she’s pressing herself into him, encouraging him to grasp her tighter and let the warmth overcome them both.

It becomes clear that neither of them is going anywhere when Akali twists herself to pull Kayn and kisses him, and they melt together as they both adjust to fit against the other. Kayn’s hand shifts from its position on her waist over her stomach, giving him the leverage to crawl over and straddle her. The hot breath and pleased sighs exchanged between them lights a fire in Akali’s gut that flows when Kayn slips his fingertips under her top, waiting for approval before he continues.

And she gives it to him when she untangles her arms from him, only to pull the article over her head and discard it to the side. He draws away from her mouth, his lip catching between her teeth, to give his attention to her bare chest. She combs her hands through his hair while he peppers kisses over the newly exposed space, drawing soft gasps and sighs from her rosy lips.

“Look at you,” he murmurs against her skin. Akali looks down to see his face buried in the valley between her breasts, donning a smug-as-ever smile as his thumb runs over her nipple. “Getting so red…so cute…”

She scoffs out a laugh. Now that she’s looking, he’s right; her skin has flushed into a notable pinkish-red color—even more now that he’s pointed it out. “Quiet.“

“Hah, don’t tell me you’re getting shy,” he says, pressing a kiss to the underside of her breast.

She rolls her eyes, but she can’t stay annoyed at him for long with his mouth on her nipple and his hand massaging the soft tissue, drawing groans of pleasure from the back of her throat as she lets herself relax into the bedding.

Even with his mouth occupied, he finds the room to tease, breath heating her skin even more. “Mm, I’ve never seen you blush like this. Wonder how far it goes…?”

“Sto-op,” she stutters when he rolls her nipple between his teeth with a low chuckle before making his way down her stomach, running his tongue over her abs. Gasping, she threads her fingers through his hair to encourage his motions. “You’re an ass.”

“You love it,” is all he says, murmured into her pelvis as he nips at the skin there.

Her breathing quickens with every inch he travels downward. Kayn seems to notice, and to revel in her impatience, twirling one finger around the drawstring that holds her pants up. The instant Akali tightens her grip on his hair and pushes his head down, he doesn’t hesitate to get the rest of her clothes off and dip between her legs.

Once he gets down there, he’s unstoppable, holding her thighs open so he can work his tongue in practiced, precise movements that have her gasping in seconds, her grip planted in his thick locks as if anchoring him down.

Kayn grips her waist to steady her convulsions, leaving red marks with his clawed fingers, blending into her flushed skin. She reaches out to wrap her hand around his, grounding herself while her climax builds. If he keeps going at this pace, she’s definitely close.

“Fuck , that’s it. Don’t stop—don’t—” she pants, a ghost from her lips as she throws her head into the pillows.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Kayn mutters, his breath hot and heavy on her cunt from his quiet moans. “You taste so good. I could be down here forever.”

The muscles in Akali’s thighs clench and flex while he continues to go down on her, and she sighs through the pleasure. “Careful, I’ll take you up on that–ah! Kayn–!“

She clutches onto him as a loud whine rises from her throat—bingo.

That’s the reaction he aims to recreate, drawing more and more noises from her and bringing her to climax with a harsh shudder, legs clamped around his head.

He doesn’t quit there, of course, no. With the same fervor, he keeps licking and sucking at her clit, unraveling her by the second until she’s a quivering, whimpering mess with only the ability to repeat his name and various curses, and the fist in his hair yanks him back and forces him to stop.

With a hefty sigh, Akali’s body relaxes, falling into the bedding beneath as if deflated. Kayn smiles, satisfied with his work. He rubs at her shaking thighs while she catches her breath and leaves a few kisses there as well, just admiring her.

“How many was that?” he asks. The smug laugh he gives when she holds up four fingers, surrendering her voice, makes her regret feeding his ego. “I can do better.”

“Jeez, are you trying to break me?” she laughs before pulling him up from between her legs and kissing him. The taste of herself is strong on his mouth, but she doesn’t care. It’s almost pleasant, if not just what it implies.

Kayn melts into her embrace, his hands roaming the rest of her frame without aim, intent on nothing but feeling her—every inch of warmth she offers—while he nuzzles closer.

“Are you tired?” he mutters, lips soft against her skin, and curling into a pleased smile when she shakes her head. “Good.”

The gentle press of the tongue on her neck contrasts the grip on her hips, which shifts her over so her backside presses into him and brings his erection to focus. Muted groans rise from Akali’s throat as encouragement for the touch on her body to continue traveling all over her, caressing her thighs, trailing over her stomach, and pinching her nipples all while Kayn grinds in circles in search of some stimulation for himself.

With both of their breath quickening, one of Akali’s hands reaches for the hem of Kayn’s boxers. Instantly, he takes the cue and drags them down just enough to let his cock free to rub against her. She’s still wet so he can slip in with a smooth motion and a low groan with it.

Slowly, holding in place, he thrusts inside her. Teeth graze her neck and shoulder in his attempts to stifle his moans. It’s a pretty sound that fills her ears, and it increases with his pace as he finds a comfortable rhythm for both of them.

“Fuck, Akali,” Kayn heaves, with one hand creeping up her throat and gently cupping her face. “I love how you feel… I love you… so much…”

Her own pleasure comes out quieter, but no less genuine, as shaky breaths that turn to gasps and gentle moans when he fucks her harder. When his fingers circle her already sensitive clit, she’s done for. She cums again, fast, clutching the bedding beneath. If the soft whines in her ear are any sign, Kayn is soon to follow. He just needs a little push.

Hand fisted through his hair, Akali breathes out words of praise in between her pants. “Oh, fuck, Kayn, you make me feel so good. You’re doing amazing, baby.”

That’s all it takes for him to grip her tighter and thrust harder, growing desperate with each movement to chase his release, breath hitching the closer he gets. She can hear every little sound in his throat. Those pretty noises tell her how much he enjoys it when pleasure wins over his voice.

“Fuck… I'm…” he struggles to speak through the shameless moans he’s letting out against her neck, reduced to helpless whining. “Can… Can I cum in—inside, Akali?”

When he asks so sweetly, so cute, she can’t say no. All she can do is nod, unable to spare enough breath for words anymore, and the precious whines that he makes when he fills her with his cum are musical.

Then they both lay there as one panting, sweaty mess while the high fades.

Kayn peppers Akali’s neck in soft kisses, trails down her shoulder and back, and simply basks in her presence. Akali grabs the wrist of the hand that held her face and presses a single kiss to the palm, before letting her body settle down into the pillows and sheets with a contented sigh.

“You gonna fall asleep again?” Kayn asks once he’s caught his breath.

Akali’s answer is nothing more than a lazy nod. She’s already closed her eyes as an extra confirmation. He chuckles as he pulls the covers up over them and snuggles up to her, skin against skin. His body is like a blanket on its own, and the shelter of the actual blankets traps their heat into a cozy cocoon of their sexual haze.

“We should clean up.” Kayn murmurs into Akali’s mass of thick, black hair, smoothing it into less of an unkempt mess with his hand.

“Mhm.”

“Hot bath might be good.”

“Mmm-hm.”

Yet neither of them moves. Neither of them desire to. Just to lie here, slotted together, raw and exposed in this moment, just for them.

If they get up, they’ll have to face the world before them. Why do that, when you can drift off with the post-orgasm bliss and someone who loves you at your back?

Yeah, exactly.

So that’s what they do instead. At least for a little while, until their responsibilities call for them.

Then they can start their day off “properly”; with that hot bath Kayn mentioned and some makeshift breakfast, then part ways until it’s time to do it all over again.

#kayn x akali #akali x kayn #league of legends #league of legends fanfic #kayn #akali #smut fanfiction #lol fanfic #pwp #one shot #smut #smut and fluff #snow fics

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nostalgia-tblr · 2 years

Text

@fancy-a-dance-brigadier tagged me on that "share the titles of your current unpublished WIPs" meme thingy, and for once I actually have Several unfinished things, ooh. I assumed that when there's no title yet I should just use the filename it's saved as. (Also I excluded the one or two things that I might end up posting as Anonymous for shame reasons. So there.) Sorted By Fandom:

DS9

"dax31" - this is the one where Dax(es) has for many years been working for Section 31 and so Sloan makes Ezri/Julian happen for Shady Espionage Reasons (and/or his own lust, because I can't *not* shove some Sloanshir in there, u kno?). It feels like I've been stuck on this one forever but I don't think it can be more than a few weeks actually. It's basically just a long conversation and some angst. Also it claims that Sloan/Curzon happened at least once, which is a concept I find both alarming and plausible.

"julzia lol" - That was when I started writing Julian/Jadzia in my head for a laugh/spite and actually I thought of an outline that seemed like it'd work but I may not finish this ever as I am not that into it. And it's unrequited so they don't even kiss in it anyway so what is the point of that eh? It's also in some ways more of a Julian/Dax-worm thing and maybe if I focus it onto that I'll be more inclined to finish it. Hrm.

"garashir spy angst shite" - May not finish this one because I feel like I don't ship Garashir enough to get away with writing breakup fic about them. It's basically my text post about "Sloan broke up garashir" but with more words and a lovebite.

"lauren2" - Not a sequel to The Only Julian/Lauren On AO3 but a different one in which it's apparently okay to chemically/medically make someone less horny even if they're not really into that idea but it's their way out of not-prison so they'll go along with it anyway. So it's kind of fucked up, yeah. Featuring "Foot Stuff", some of which happens in Quark's because well it's not like anyone noticed so it's fine probably.

The Marvel Loki Show That I Am Normal About

"casinopointless" - I called it pointless because it turns into porn halfway through (probably) but I am doing my best to fit in some Actual Non-Sex Content about chaos and hedonism and selfcest. I was working on this one earlier today and I like some of the dialogue so hopefully I will actually finish it. And it's a slightly different Loki(s) characterisation than I'd usually go for but I don't think anyone would notice that really. I was considering Anon'ing it if I can't think of enough Stuff to put around the porn, but I suppose I can't now. Oops.

"he lets her" - This is just one of those stories in which people have sex and angst about it. But this one is Radically Different because most of the angst happens during the sex. See, I have range!!

"lokiidk" - TBH this one is really just a disorganised set of scenes and ideas that *might* all fit into one story but some of them might get discarded or end up in something else. And it commits that fanfic sin of a third character who is in the story purely to talk to/about that story's main ship but then Mobius *is* deployed largely as a therapist in the canon, albeit as one with ulterior motives whose treatments are sometimes actually torture under the terms of the Geneva Conventions. (Which don't apply outside of normal space-time so he's probably fine there legally.)

"mirrormirror" - This one is only about half a dozen lines BUT it does have a title! "Mirror, Mirror" and GUESS WHAT it's all about the wonders and implications of selfcest.

Crossover!! :D

"missysylvie omg" - Dr Who/Loki crossover in which (as the title suggests) Missy and Sylvie meet up and instantly fail the Bechdel by complaining about male versions of themselves. (Actually, how *does* one apply the test to characters Of Variable Gender?) I don't know if they will kiss in it, but there is A Vibe there because Missy has already joked about knifeplay on a first date and has made the (as yet unanswered) offer of "time and space and a bit of sexual tension." Alas I am not sure if I will manage to finish it because I keep thinking "oh no this isn't really A Story it's just an excuse for two of my faves to have a chat" but that's an issue I struggle with often because part of me is pretentious about fanfiction and while that part is annoying and should not be listened to it is nonetheless quite loud.

So anyway that's what's in the C:\Users\[Name]\Documents\fik folder at the moment. Plus a large number of opaquely-named files that frankly could be pretty much anything and most of them I believe to contain about three lines of something I immediately gave up on and forgot the context for. Because I can't just *delete files* my god no how could I how dare you I can't even.

I am gonna tag anyone who wants to do this meme because I want to know what everyone has lying around in the shadows of whatever device they write on. (And if that's a phone then I am a bit scared of you because HOW those keyboards are TINY and the screens are so sore??)

#meme #wip title tag #fic related

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juvederm · 9 months

Text

this story been a wip since like 2019 maybe even 2018 and i have one version of it completed that i now just call a draft bc it's so incomplete to me even though it's posted on ao3

let me ramble

like if anyone's wondering why josh is such a focal point in my art it's literally bc of this damn story like 😭 i try to draw things that could potentially be a visual or something to be added in the story (ie drawing scenes that may happen or outfits he might wear) in order to keep myself motivated

since he's like the main character of the story, he's all i draw and talk about for the reason i just stated, like i can't allow myself to get unmotivated about this story bc it's been up my ass forever and has about 8 drafts at this point

it's such a hassle mainly bc of the complexities of how josh got the prank to work, the money spent, the routes he took, etc. i'm trying to find all of it to make the story as accurate as possible bc i can't have it not aligned with canon, while also having showing a diff angle of josh that i feel isn't in most ? fics about him ? and if it is, the fic is usually unfinished and untouched or a standalone

i stray away from that common way people used to write josh (or characterize him) as some suave, inappropriate and sometimes flirty dude (which is sooo inaccurate to his character i can't even emphasize that enough). i think he did make sexual jokes simply for the laughs or shock value. i think he does have charisma but not in the Womanizer kind of way that mike has. like josh has charm, but it's not because he's flirty. it's because he has this weird aura to him that makes him interesting, and makes him charming because of how he handles it

and i've said it before, i think it's all a front for him. he's not really like that. he probably dislikes being so fake, but is afraid of judgment and being isolated from others. so he tries to fit in as much as possible. even if it means drinking and partying enough to be called a "party animal" and being described as someone who "outdoes" everyone during drinking contests

i tried painting it as a slow descent for him in the story i'm writing. after he loses his sisters, everything's starting to fall.

best way i can describe josh: a steel tank rolling down a muddy hill that can be derailed by a twig.

i also tried showing his psyche through the clothes he wears. and his two different rooms (his room at his mom's, and his room at his dad's; i think they're divorced so).

his room at his mom's house has a lot more of his interests everywhere. you can definitely tell he's an art kid, movie obsessed introvert if you would walk into his room. he's eccentric when by himself to a degree where it's genuine and not a front. he kinda has an eccentric style as well, but after losing the twins, he loses that spark

when he moves in with his dad however, his room there is incredibly bleak. there's no posters, the spaces are wide, and there's no range in colors. just black, white and sometimes grey, maybe silver. and his clothes devolve to bland white shirts, black pants, black coats, etc. no poppy colors whatsoever. this kinda goes more into the head canon i have about his step mom, who is kind of on the traditional side.

and also when josh moves in with dad, he becomes invested in solitary activities such as painting, gardening or piano. all of which he does when he's completely alone. and painting and piano playing could be a way to vent out his emotions, even then josh tries to suppress it. he's way too used to doing that. but sometimes his artworks show that.

that's another thing. he's always been artistic and obsessed with painting. he had a lot more abstract pieces but as his mental health declined, the paintings became colorless and desaturated, depressing and claustrophobic (and also involved more of his fears like spiders and isolation)

anyways. maybe i should actually write for the story instead of talking about it

#josh

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floral-poisons · 2 years

Note

could i possibly request some headcanons for crewel comforting a depressed s/o?

hey anon. you may get head canons for divus crewel. this request, however, came after i closed my requests. i decided to let this one slide. but for future reference, please refer to my masterlist if requests are open (or the description in my blog). it seems to me that people don't respect my rules and time for some reason.

you’ve been with divus for a while. since your time at night raven college, actually. so your relationship has been very long term. due to this, you’ve had a lot of bumps in the road as is natural for a lot of relationships. and one of those happens to be your mood swings.

divus knows how to handle them pretty well. but sometimes, it gets difficult for him because they can be quite severe.

from all the years you’ve been together, he’s learned to be patient with you. it comforts you that he’s patient.

he goes out of his way to spoil you and provide you with comfort. you really like soft things. so he pulls out all of your favorite blankets and wraps you like a little burrito.

if you’re on meds, he’s always making sure you’re on top of them. even if you don’t want to take them, he’s making sure you to. he even goes out of his way to refill and pick up your prescription.

therapy and psychiatry appointments? he’s bringing you to them, making sure you go.

divus will also do the cooking and cleaning when you’re depressed. you don’t have much motivation so he’ll gladly take on the role of caretaker to make sure you recover and get back to your normal self.

most importantly, divus is empathetic. he understands what you go through is hard so he goes out of his way to make you feel loved.

you’re also allowed to wear his coat too which comforts you. it smells like him and is soft.

divus is there if you need to talk to him. but he has boundaries. he makes is explicit if you’ve crossed those boundaries and he will direct you towards your therapist to talk to because it’s not something he can handle.

even if you hate him for things he does, like making sure you take your meds, he’s there. that’s really helped with your mental health because he’s a stable presence in your life and you’re assured he won’t leave.

“you’re stuck with me for the rest of your life (y/n)!” he teases to you. “there’s no going back!”

“i don’t think i could imagine my life without you at this point.” you laugh through your tears.

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #nrc staff #divus crewel #divus crewel x reader

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tokiloki · 3 years

Text

@inky-page Tumblr ate your ask I'm sorry but here you go. ❤️

💮 TR BOYS WITH A GIRLFRIEND WHO SPEAKS 4 LANGUAGES

🌸Characters : Rindou Haitani, Baji and Sanzu Haruchiyo.

🏵️Warnings/note : Fem reader/Second point of view (you, your) /Slight cursing. /Brief mention of drugs in Sanzu's part/ fluff/ slight crack/generally astonished boyfriends./ An au where all the manga pain doesn't exist/Canon divergence.

HARUCHIYO SANZU/ AKASHI::

-Your boyfriend was shocked when he found out. And honestly, he didn't find out in the best of ways.

- He was just lounging on the sofa while you took a shower, lazily flicking from channel to channel while waiting for you to come out.Thats when he heard what was one of the most terrible noises in his life, coming from the shower.

- He ran in panic as he heard you screech an impressive number of curses, some he didn't recognise as his language. He barged into the bathroom calling out your name, only to see you struggling with the shampoo stuck in your eyes. Screaming at everyone and everything.

"Y/N ARE YOU ALRIGHT?"

"HARU? DO I LOOK ALRIGHT?"

-He stood there for a hot minute, shocked at the number of different notes that flew from your mouth.

- Ignoring the situation, he simply leaned on the doorframe and asked about how many languages you spoke.

-You were going to kill him, no seriously because the shampoo in your eyes was doing wonders to your raging temper, only adding to the fuel.

"OOOH how interesting! How many languages do you speak Y/N darling? Do you attend classes or something?"

"HARUCHIYO SANZU, DOES THIS LOOK LIKE THE RIGHT TIME? IS IT THE RIGHT TIME HARUCHIYO?"

"You're right, you're right, stop staring at me like that calm down."

-Since that day onward, he asked you the most random questions to date.

"Y/N sweetheart, what do you call cocaine in (language)?"

"Babe I swear I never researched drug or gun names in my language courses, let me sleep it's 2 am."

------

"Y/N did the duolingo owl ever terrorise you into studying? Is that why you studied so many languages?"

"Haru shut the hell up before I go to sleep on the couch"

"You wouldn't"

"Keep talking and we'll see"

RINDOU HAITANI ::

-Honestly, you’re the one who told Rindou about your unique specialty , you admittedly actually hoped for some kind of astonishment, or amazement from your stoic boyfriend.

-Instead all you got from him was a cool shrug and a question of what languages you spoke, after that he just went back to scrolling absentmindedly on his phone.

-You knew Rindou wasn’t one for words, but still, it would’ve been nice if he showed a little enthusiasm -its not everyday someone speaking 4 languages appears. The thought crossed your mind before you could stop it.

Did he even care?

-It must’ve shown on your face because Rindou sighed, dropping his phone to the side and pulling you closer to his body, mumbling apologetic words, you squirmed, insisting you knew and that it didn’t hurt.

“Y/N I promise I care, you know how I am”

“Rin! No it’s alright, I know, don’t worry!”

-Your reaction didn’t satisfy him, even though you thought it did. In fact, you almost forgot the entirety of the tense incident, until a number of weeks later when it made it’s way back into your conversations.

-You two had been sitting on the couch, your head rested above his chest with his arm around your waist as you watched a boring movie. You were slowly slipping off into small bouts of sleep, eyes tired and head drowsy when you heard a quiet voice mumble.

“Y/N?

“What’s wrong Rin”

*in foreign language* “I love you Y/N, you know that right?”

“I love you too Rin-”

-Your eyes flew open in shock, tilting your head up to meet his dimmed violet eyes staring at you. He rarely ever commented on his love for you, but that wasn’t what shocked you, this time, he had commented in one of the languages you had thought he wouldn’t even recall.

“Hold on”

-You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, peering up at him again, his face was dusted with a light blush, one you could barely see in the dark room. He averted his gaze away, blush darkening as you stared up at him in shock. Finally you spoke.

“Since when...did you even learn...that?”

“A while ago dumbass”

“A while ago?”

“From when...from when you told me you could speak a bunch of languages, I just thought to take one up.”

-Rindou wouldn’t say anything else regarding it after that, resorting to intense focus on the movie onscreen, he wouldn’t tell you but the look of hurt that had flashed on your face when you told him had him sinking in guilt.

-He recalled the deep anxiety he found himself sinking into, thinking that you thought the worst of him. He wanted to show you that the 'I love you's' he murmured were truly heartfelt.

-Ran said he was being over dramatic, but Rindou had honestly found no other way to prove to himself and you that he cared for everything you did and said. The warmth that bloomed through his chest at your excited smile was worth every minute he had spent trying to learn a language to connect to you.

That night, Rindou was free of his worries, which had all been soothed by your smile.

BAJI KEISUKE ::

-Listen, he is proud of you. He thinks that you're deservedly the smart one in the relationship, maybe the one smart person he will sit and listen to all day.

-When he heard from a friend of yours that you spoke four languages he was genuinely amazed, exclaming to you later on just how amazing and impressive that was.

-You even slowly began to realise that he was picking up on common phrases you used, his eyes would gleam over with pride whenever you said a single word, instantly bookmarking it for another day.

-To someone else it might have seemed like Baji was the multilingual one, but no he was just hyping you up every minute he could.

-It actually ended up being helpful as you helped him with language studies, he thought your methods were better than the teachers anyways.

-Baji was always motivated to do better by you and his desire to keep his mother happy, so motivated he found himself studying voluntarily, shocking the Toman members so badly to the point that you actually received a frantic call from Mikey asking if you had drugged Baji.

-You regularly answered multiple random questions from him, most of them were things like 'alright how do you say you're beautiful?' only to repeat your words with a cheerful grin, making you laugh at his cheesy techniques.

-Baji, despite all his wholesome actions, was also the first person to ask you for every possible curse in every language you spoke, grinning enthusiastically as you nervously recited words you wished you didn't know.

-Actually Baji even learnt curses you didn't know existed, saying that he was "merely deepening his knowledge"

-But all in all, Baji loves you and all your 'random mumbo jumbo' as he calls it. He's never been so proud to love a girl before, and he apologises for all the random questions he cursed you with.

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

A/N : im sorry for how long this turned out. I got to Rindou and kinda got carried away, anyways first fic I hope you liked it! Reblogs and likes much appreciated 💖

456 notes · View notes

wkemeup · 4 years

Text

Eclipse

summary: When a mission leaves you empty and broken, Bucky is determined to heal the wounds that linger deeper than the cuts on the surface. pairing: bucky x reader word count: 8.4k warnings: canon level violence, hurt!reader, PTSD, dissociative episode, nightmares, a rapid switch from sweet/fluffy to pain, angst with a happy ending

An eclipse finds its home in the darkness Thriving as it suffocates the sun and shadows her light In its passage she lays in wait Waiting— for the moon to give way and grant her morning

Bucky thinks he’s found heaven when he lays with you under the cover of thin, linen sheets; the soft, white of the fabric touching over curves and edges of exposed bodies, peaks and dips, like snowcaps nestled upon the crest of mountaintops. Lying flushed with heat, hearts beating a little faster, breaths a little labored, Bucky reaches out and traces the lines of your face.

The tip of his finger brushes over your nose, slips down along your jaw, touches the sun kissed stream of light against your cheek as it seeps in through the sheet thrown over your heads. You giggle as he pulls you in for a kiss, chaste and sweet, his hand curling into the hairs at the nape of your neck and he tugs you closer. It’s the most beautiful sound in the world, the way you laugh to his lips, muffled in his kiss but still uncontained.

Hidden under sheets, shared breaths between you in your own little world, Bucky decides he will be content if he stays here forever.

“I won’t be gone long, you know,” you tell him as you press lightly on his chest, just enough to get draw his attention away from the trail of kisses along your cheekbone and down your jawline. He pouts playfully at you, but you soothe your hand along his shoulder, recognizing the shift in energy as his eyes flicker a shade of hesitancy. “I’ll can handle myself.”

“It’s not that,” he replies quietly, voice soft, barely a whisper, as his smile begins to fall. It’s subtle, but you notice.

“Then what?”

Bucky shrugs, swallowing back the anxiety that begins to pool deep into his stomach every time you leave on assignment. But he pushes out a smile, one you do not question, and he leans in to kiss the button of your nose.

“I’ll just miss you, is all.”

You grin and it lights up wide across your face. The cast of sunshine behind you as it filters in through the sheets tossed over your body drapes down like a halo, an illumination of an angel, and Bucky commits the image to memory. Stored to a safe place in the back of his mind for the dark nights alone in this room. He’ll find you those moments, even when you’re miles away.

“You’re a sap, Bucky Barnes,” you laugh, ruffling his hair as you toss the sheet up from over your faces and take in a deep breath of fresh air. It’s brighter in the room than you realized and you squint your eyes, tucking your face to the crook of Bucky’s neck to shield yourself from the sun.

“Only for you, sweetheart.” He tries to ignore the bright red flicker of the clock beside you as he crawls out from under the safety of the bedsheets, the fantasy fractured by the reminder of your impending assignment; four weeks in a classified location, entirely on your own.

A smile presses tight to his lips as you steal a glance back at him full of bright eyes and sunshine.

He does his best to swallow the anxiety though it churns like blades through his stomach.

***

Bucky paces back and forth in his room, stealing looks at his phone as it sits face up on the bedside table. He taps the screen every few seconds, as soon as it dares to fade to black, so he can see your face again; the picture of you laughing behind an ice cream bar melting down your hand. A shimmering red bow and mouse ears on the top of your head from your trip to Disney last spring. He can still smell the melted vanilla and hardened chocolate when he looks at it and he tries hard to focus on the memory, but he knows it’s an excuse to make sure he doesn’t miss your call.

Tap.

Still nothing.

You’ve been gone over a week now and though he does his best to busy himself with time spent sparring with Sam in the gym, running out along the lake behind the compound, cleaning the kitchen until the stench of bleach burns up to the floor above him, you’re still at the forefront of his mind.

He knows you’re safe. He knows that you can protect yourself and that you were capable of solo missions long before Bucky came crash-landing into your life, but it doesn’t stop him from worrying. It doesn’t stop the incessant twitching in his hands as he curls them to fists, doesn’t stop the frantic pacing and the wear he drives into the carpet, doesn’t stop the panic that skips the beat of his heart when it’s two minutes past check-in and you haven’t called.

“Stop it,” he grumbles to himself, “she’s fine. Stop worrying. She’s fine.”

Another glance back at the phone. Tap-tap on the screen until it lights up with your smile. Nothing.

Three minutes past check-in.

He has half a mind to track down Fury himself when suddenly, the phone rings.

A ringtone you’d changed early in your relationship - a synthetic, almost electric, instrumental of Can’t Take My Eyes Off You right when the music starts to pick up and the trumpets are blaring and it throws him straight into overdrive.

Bucky lunges it at, hands fumbling for the phone but it falls to the floor in his hurry. He hits his shoulder against the edge of the nightstand with a loud thump and collapses down to the carpet as the phone bounces down under the bed.

“God-fuckin’-- ugh!”

He grips tight to the phone by the chime of ‘I love you, baby!’ and quickly brings it to his ear. He’s out of breath but he stills himself, takes a moment before he says anything and he hopes his voice is calmer than the rush in his chest.

“Hi.”

You snicker on the other end of the line and he knows in an instant he’s been busted. “Thought I told you not to wait by the phone, Buck.”

“I wasn’t.” A full faced lie. He grimaces as it comes out.

“Sure, you weren’t,” you drawl, a laugh tucked sweetly into the hum of your voice.

Bucky can hear floorboards squeaking faintly through the speaker between your breaths. Old wood, the whistle of the wind in the distance; a motel built in the early sixties with poor insulation and cracking foundations. He wonders where you are or if the image of you pacing amongst faded shades of burnt orange and green curtains, of once brightly colored comforters and pealing wallpaper only exists in his imagination.

“You okay?” he asks first because he needs the confirmation. Despite hearing the even tones in your breath, the sweet laughter in your voice, he needs to hear you say it.

“Always am, honey,” you respond lightly and Bucky lets himself take in a deep breath before you add, “I miss you though. It’s awfully cold here and I could really use a super soldier to keep me warm.”

It makes him smile; the first one that pushes up into his cheeks without force since you left. God, he misses you.

“Don’t go calling Steve now, okay?” he teases, the anxiety draining from his body in gentle waves, cast out by the flow of ocean water through his bloodstream in the sound of your voice and the image of your smile as you tug your lower lip between your teeth.

“Never. I prefer my men one-armed and dangerous.”

Bucky laughs as he sinks down further onto the floor, the carpet rubbing against his tailbone though he doesn’t mind. He’s grinning, listening to the sound of your voice as you tell him about how much you’re craving popcorn and chocolate chip movie nights and he feels like you’re sitting right next to him. He can see the creases in your smile, the lines by your eyes, the faint markings of old scars on your skin. He hears your voice and it reminds him of home.

“It’s beautiful here, Buck,” you sigh and he wonders if you’re staring out a window to mountains or ocean or tundra. “I wish you could see it.”

“Where is ‘here’ again?”

You giggle and—God—it's the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, even crackled and broken through the speakers of an old satellite phone miles away. “Nice try, baby.”

The timer on his watch starts to ding and his heart clenches.

“Time’s up, huh?” you whine playfully, but he can hear the disappointment in your voice. It’s never long enough, these three minutes that Steve allows for you, but he’ll take seconds if he can get them. Just long enough to calm his nerves, to give you the motivation to keep going on your own, without the possibility of the call being traced.

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs, clenching at his hand. He brushes closed knuckles against his forehead, presses deep into his temples because he can already feel the pit in his stomach forming again. “Stay safe, alright? Come home to me.”

He pictures your smile, the soft edges and the curve of your lips.

“Always do, don’t I?”

You do. He knows this.

But his mind is cruel and it wonders when the day will come when you won’t.

***

“I’ll raise a Kit-Kat,” Bucky concedes nearly two weeks later with a tired huff, tossing a chocolate bar to the center of the table to accompany a handful of M&M’s and mini-Twix. It knocks over Natasha’s carefully constructed tower of Milkyways and she shoots him a warning glare.

To his right, Sam snickers under his breath, a laugh too confident for a man with a dwindling stash of chocolate in front of him to the mountain sitting beside Natasha. He hides his face behind the fan of cards, but Bucky can still see the crease in his brow, the pinch of lines together at the center that tell him Sam is bluffing. Natasha is as stone cold as he would expect and he has no interest in challenging her resolve, so he decides to weed out Wilson first.

“When’s your girl getting back, Barnes? Think you might need her around to console you after I obliterate your snack drawer,” Sam taunts, changing the subject abruptly. Another tell of his.

“End of the week, I think,” Bucky replies with a shrug, playing it off casually because he knows Sam is trying to throw him off his game.

“As if you aren't counting down the seconds.” Natasha scoffs, a smirk pushing at pursed lips.

“You're an absolute goner for her, you know that don’t you?” Sam says as he pushes a few more M&M’s to the center. Brightly colored pile at the center and he plops one from his own stash into his mouth.

Bucky, meanwhile, chews on the inside of his cheek, avoiding Sam’s wandering eyes because he knows it’s true. You’ve only been together a little under a year, but he’s spent twice that loving you from a careful distance, just out of fingertip’s reach until he’d come back from a mission with one too many bullet wounds in his body and he couldn’t take the tension between you anymore.

He could still picture the smile on your face as he told you, the way your eyes lit up and you jumped into his arms; IV drips and wires to machines and all. The press of warm lips to his cheek, his temples, his nose, his mouth. Sun streaming in through the window and casting a halo behind your hair.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Atta boy.” Sam nudges Bucky’s arm, grinning wildly.

They turn to Natasha as she nods in approval before setting her cards down on the table with the kind of look in her eyes that tells Bucky the game was over before it even began. Royal Flush.

“Not again!” Sam whines, slumping down into his chair.

“It’s starting to feel cruel playing with the two of you.” Natasha reaches into the center and gathers the mountain of chocolate to drag it towards her towering pile. She starts to unravel a mini-Twix, keeping a taunting eye on Sam as he glares back at her. The chocolate passes behind parted lips and she bites down with a contented hum.

Sam rolls his eyes. “You owe us drinks, ma’am.” He gestures to his empty glass.

Natasha smirks, conceding easily as she stands to grab their glasses. She turns to Bucky. “You want a refill, Barnes?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”

As Natasha makes her way back to the kitchen, Sam sneaks a few M&M’s from her pile and quickly plops them into his mouth with a cautious glance over his shoulder. Bucky begins to shuffle the cards and he can feel the burn of Sam’s stare even before he opens his mouth.

“What do you want, Wilson?”

“When’s Y/n coming back? For real.”

Bucky glances up. Sam’s arms are stretched out along the backs of the empty chairs beside him. He’s relaxed into his position, chewing on the stolen chocolates as he raises an eyebrow.

“End of the week... like I said.”

Sam leans in closer. “That a question?”

“No,” Bucky retorts shortly, though Sam clearly isn’t buying it. He exhales a tense breath as he bridges the deck. “She’s supposed to call tonight. Longest stretch without a checkpoint since she left.”

Sam nods. “What about the three minute calls?”

“Last one was four days ago. Same day she checked in with Fury.”

“You worried?”

Bucky slices the deck. Shuffles it for the fifth time. Bridge. Repeat. “Course not. I’m sure she’s fine. I’m not worried at all.”

“You sure?” Sam chuckles, leaning back into his chair with another quick grab of a few stray green M&M’s.

“Fuck off, Wilson.”

That gets Sam laughing. He reaches across the table and snatches the cards out of Bucky’s hands before he can shuffle for a seventh time. He flashes Bucky a smile, dimples into his cheeks and all.

“I’m dealing this round.”

Bucky nods, letting the tension slip easily from his muscles. He pushes out a smile. “Yeah, okay.”

But then, a glass shatters behind him and Bucky jolts up to his feet.

“Nat? Are you--”

He freezes in an instant, tension burning through him like marble; the full force of a train straight to his chest and knocking the wind from his body, fracturing the stone to pieces around him.

Natasha stands just a few paces ahead of him, her hands clasped at her mouth in an array of shock and horror, glass shattered at her feet. Ice along wooden floors and the smell of vodka burning into the air.

Bucky almost doesn’t recognize you. There’s a slump in your shoulders, a far off look in your eye like you can’t quite focus on what’s in front of you, and a knife in your hand that won’t stop shaking.

But that’s not the worst of it.

You’re covered in blood. Deep red seeping into your hair, sticking thick and wet to your face and down your neck; trails of it along your cheeks like raindrops against a windowpane. It soaks into what remains of your suit, ripped and torn, exposed skin stained with grim and dirt. You look like something out of a horror movie.

“Oh God,” Sam mutters out, pulling Bucky from his trance.

He wants to sprint, wants to scream for help and sound every alarm he can find, but instead, Bucky only manages broken exhale as he slowly walks towards you. He moves with cautious steps, a hand out towards you defensively, like he’s approaching a frightened animal. It’s what you used to do when the line between him and the Soldier blurred, how you’d seek him out amongst the trauma and distortion and bring him back home.

“Y/n?” he calls gently and finds his voice rough in his throat.

You don’t respond, don’t even look at him as he stands within a foot of your reach. Nat and Sam are close behind, but they hold their distance.

“Sweetheart, what happened?” Bucky asks as evenly as he can manage, eyes glancing down over your body in search of injuries. There’s too much blood and he doesn’t know how much of it is your own. He wants to tug you into his arms, tell you that he’s got you, that you’re safe now, but for the first time since Shuri removed the triggers from his head, he’s afraid to touch you.

Your lips part, a few short blinks of your lashes, and you mumble out, “I came to find you.”

Your voice doesn’t sound like your own. It’s too flat, too void of emotion, and it rips Bucky right to his core. It’s a defense mechanism, he knows that. You’re still in there somewhere, he just needs to get you through this first.

“That’s good, sweetheart,” he tells you, trying his luck as he sets a hand on your back. You don’t flinch, but you don’t lean into him either. He shares a worried glance with Sam and Natasha before he turns back to you, pushing out a smile. “You did good.”

“How did she get all the way here from the Hanger without anyone stopping her?” Sam questions, eyes trailing over the mess of blood in your wake, footprints following you from the staircase by the elevator.

“She’s covered in blood and God knows what else,” Natasha whispers back. “They were probably afraid of what might happen if they did.”

Bucky can’t tear his eyes away from you, vision tunneling on the mess of blood rooted in your hair and the stains of red on your face, your chest, your hands. Natasha and Sam’s voices become muffled beside him as he slides his hand down your back and gently lays it over your grip, still shaking as you hold onto the heel of the knife as if your fist had molded to stone around it. The tremors stop as he holds your hand.

“It’s okay, honey,” he whispers, impossibly soft that not even Nat or Sam hear him, “I need you to give me the knife, alright? You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

It takes a moment, but your grip on the knife slacks. It falls to Bucky’s palm and he gently guides it out of your reach and hands it over to Natasha. He doesn’t know what happened, but he knows what you’ve done for him when the Soldier has taken over his mind, when he didn’t feel like himself and needed reminded who he was, where the ground was solid under his feet.

He knows what he needs to do.

“Nat,” he starts, but she’s already a step ahead of him.

“I’ll go find Steve,” she says, like she can read his mind. “I’ll tell him what happened, see what he knows about her assignment that would have led to this.”

Bucky swallows back the bile in his throat and he nods. “Sam--”

“I’ll sweep the jet, see what I can find,” Sam replies quickly. He sets a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, gives it a slight squeeze, and pushed out a tight-lipped smile. He was your friend long before he was Bucky's. The determination reads in his eyes.

"Thank you,” Bucky whispers.

Sam and Natasha disappear down the hallway and then, Bucky is left alone with you. He’s suddenly made aware of how harsh your breathing sounds, like you’re gasping in air through a straw. You stare beyond his shoulders, though he can tell you’re not looking at anything at all. You’re existing. It’s all your mind can cope with.

“Love?” Bucky calls, willing his voice stronger than it is. “Can you come with me?”

You don’t respond. Bucky clenches his jaw and tries again.

“I’m going to take you to our room, alright?”

He thinks it’s better not to present you with choices. It never worked well with him when he got this like; too much stimulation. He knows you’ll resist him if you need to. He slips his hand along your back to guide you towards the bedroom and you take a step as he does.

You’re limping, he notices, as you cross the threshold into the bedroom. He tries to push his mind away from what caused such an injury, what could have possibly happened to result in the amount of blood drenched over you.

That’s Sam and Natasha’s job. Bucky’s only concern is you right now, in this moment, bringing you home, making you feel safe. He guides you to the bathroom.

“I’m going to start the water, okay?” Bucky tells you. You used to do the same for him, telling him what you were doing step by step in an effort to orient him. It grounded him back to his reality, brought him down from the plane of existence above his own head.

The room starts to fill with steam, enough to fog the mirrors, and Bucky tugs his shirt over his head. He removes his sweatpants, but he resolves to leave his boxers on.

“Sweetheart?”

You look in his direction and Bucky can’t help the wash of relief as it floods through him. You don’t smile and it’s almost as if you’re looking straight through him, but it’s something. Progress.

He extends a hand to you, waiting patiently. Though you do not take it, you step a take closer to him, then past him as you walk into the shower fully clothed in your tattered suit. Bucky steps in behind and closes the glass door.

There’s enough room inside that he can stand comfortably behind you as you approach the stream of water. You stare at it for a moment before you reach out and let the water fall over your hand. You watch as the water around the drain begins to turn a dark red.

“I’m going to wash this off. Is that okay, honey?” Bucky reaches steadily for the loofa behind you, though he pauses as he feels the texture of the sponge: exfoliating mesh. It’ll be too much for you in this state. He resolves for the body wash squeezed into his empty palm.

“You let me know if you need a break.”

Still, there’s no response.

Bucky pushes back the burning lump in his throat and gingerly reaches towards you. He places a soap lathered palm against your shoulder and finds your muscles so tense they could have been made of steel or the vibranium seared into his own arm. You stare at his chest as if you could see through to his heart, maybe beyond that to the shower wall behind him, as he begins to peel the dried blood and grim from your skin.

The water at his feet becomes muddied and red, the water slipping down your legs tainted by the aftermath of violence laid upon your body. He’s careful to only use his flesh hand as he washes you, something softer and kinder than the harsh touch of metal.

You start to relax the more he works, your rigid stance easing as the blood cleans from your body. Your suit is still plastered to your skin, ripped and torn and cut open, and Bucky knows he needs to get this off of you. There’s blood behind the fabric, seeped behind the open slashes.

He thinks of the softest clothes he has to dress you in when you’re clean and dry, something too big for your frame that smelled of fresh laundry or maybe the sweatshirt draped over the chair – the one you liked to wear when he was out on missions because it smelled like him. He just wants you to feel safe, to feel warm and protected.

But he needs to get you out of this suit first.

He reaches for the zipper at your chest and the next thing he knows, he’s pressed up against the shower wall, his head pulsing at the impact as you grip tight to his wrist. You’re panting, eyes unfocused at the center of his chest.

He lets you hold him there. He doesn’t try to resist though he knows with his strength he could easily overpower you.

“Sweetheart, it’s me. It’s Bucky,” he tries, his voice soft against the fall of water behind you. “I’m not going to hurt you, love.”

You don’t move, but your breaths start to come in a little more even. Your grip falters on his wrist though you don’t let go. His heart feels like it’s shattering inside his chest, stray shards embedding themselves into his stomach, his ribs, his lungs.

“Honey, look at me,” he pleads. “You’re safe now. You’re home. Let me take care of you.”

It takes a moment, but your eyes begin to trail up his collarbone, hesitant sweeps along his neck, his jaw, and then – his eyes. The hard resolve upon your features begins to crumble. Your lip quivers, your hand gripped tight around his wrist slacking in the tremors, tears burn into your eyes and Bucky doesn’t waste a moment before he gathers you into his arms, presses you tight to his chest and encases you against him.

It's like something finally clicks, a floodgate burst open, because you’re clutching onto him like a lifeline. He can feel the sob as it travels up your spine and shakes your body as you cry. He’s grateful for the mist of the shower that hide his own tears as he rubs gentle circles along your back, easing you the best he can. It’s torture seeing you like this and feeling so powerless to help.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there with you, but eventually, you stop crying. The exhaustion begins to take hold and your legs begin to shake under you, too weak to hold yourself up.

“I’m going to take your suit off, okay? You’ll be more comfortable without it,” Bucky says, gesturing to the zipper. You follow his gaze in understanding and then, you nod.

The suit already clings tight to your skin without the added pressure of the sticky residue of blood drenched into the fabric and the soak of water from the shower. He slides the zipper down to your navel and slowly peels what's left of the sleeves off your shoulders.

There’s cuts and slashes underneath, wounds where blades had cut through your suit and nicked your skin. They’re superficial, better than they could have been if not for the suit taking the brunt of the attack, but they’re still painful to look at.

Bucky helps you step out of the suit and he leaves it in the corner of the shower. He glances at your underwear and you slide it down your hips without question.

“Can I wash your hair, honey? Please?”

You nod and Bucky works quickly. You’re starting to shiver as the water loses its heat, so you stand a little closer to him, seeking out his warmth. It removes just an ounce of the boulder sitting upon his chest.

When he’s finished, the water at the drain is clear again. The fresh scars upon your body and the distant look in your eye the only evidence remaining of what happened.

Bucky reaches around you to turn off the water. He pulls a towel from the rack and begins to gently pat it over your skin until you’re dry. Then, he scrunches out as much of the water as he can from your hair, before he leaves the towel resting on your shoulders to soak up the rest.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells you as he finished drying himself off. “I’m going to go grab some clothes for you.”

He doesn’t even make it a step out of the bathroom before your hand is on his wrist again. He stills, looking back at you. Your eyes fall to the floor.

Bucky swallows back the burn in his throat as he nods. “Okay. Okay, honey. Can you come with me?”

You nod.

By the time you’re dressed in a fresh pair of his boxers and the t-shirt he slept in the previous night, you can hardly keep your eyes open. He wonders how long it’s been since you slept, if maybe it was since the evening he spoke to you four days prior. You sway on your feet as Bucky guides you to the bed.

He lays you down, pulls the covers up to your chest and quickly rushes around to the other side of the bed to crawl in beside you. You come into his arms, curling up against his chest, and Bucky tries to pretend for a moment that this is just another night, that you just returned from a successful mission and there’s a relief in holding you again.

But he can’t shake the crippling dread as it burns into his skin. Even as your breaths fall even and you slack into his arms, Bucky stares up at the ceiling, eyes brimming with tears. He doesn’t sleep at all.

***

A few hours later, the soft tap of a knock draws Bucky from his trance. He blinks a few times, realizing how long he’d been staring up at the ceiling before he lifts his head and finds Steve peering in through the doorway. There’s a solemn look on his face as his eyes flicker towards you.

Bucky gently slides out from under you, careful to place a pillow under your arm where you’d been laying upon his chest as not to wake you. The bed rises a little as he stands and he takes a moment to brush the hair from your eyes before he makes his way to the door. When he meets Steve in the hallway, he’s careful to leave the door to the bedroom open a crack, just in case.

“What did you find?” Bucky asks.

Steve sinks down onto the couch. A hand brushes over his face.

“That bad?” Bucky can already feel the nausea beginning to take hold.

“We recovered footage from her last know whereabouts – the safe house in Juno,” Steve says. He leans forward to rest his elbows upon his thighs, staring out into the empty space of the kitchen. He sighs. “She was ambushed, Buck. The feed cut out a few minutes into the fight.”

“Who were they?” Bucky chokes out. His throat is made of sandpaper.

“We don’t know,” Steve admits, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Mercenaries, probably. Could have been hired in retaliation against SHEILD. Her mission was to identify the point of contact for an illegal arms distributor that was shipping assault rifles into Canada and carrying them over the border. She wasn’t supposed to see any action, Bucky. It was a surveillance op.”

Bucky doesn’t realize how tight his hands are clenched until he looks down to find puncture marks in the palm of his right hand from where his nails buried into his skin. He thinks of the woman who left him behind that morning, with sun kissed skin and a smile so sweet it made his heart melt, who has barely spoken in the hours since returning home, who’s bright eyes have dimmed into something empty and lost.

He’s missing something, he’s sure of it. Maybe if he could just see the footage for himself, identify the bad guys, track them down... maybe he’ll be able to fix this. He could bring you back, make you smile again. Killing those men who hurt you will be a small consolation prize for his efforts.

Bucky is determined as he stands. “I want to see it.”

“Absolutely not,” Steve shoots back. Bucky doesn’t even need to clarify before Steve puts an end to it. “What purpose will that serve, Buck? You don’t need to see the tape, okay? Just trust me on this. I’ve got everyone we have analyzing that video frame by frame. If there’s anything on it to lead us to those assholes, we’ll find it.”

“I have to do something, Steve. I can’t just sit here. Not with her like that...” Bucky glances back at the door to the bedroom. He can’t muster the energy to conjure the image of you standing before him drenched in blood that was not your own, a vacant look in your eyes as if you could see straight through him.

“She needs you here,” Steve argues, rising to his feet. “What do you think will happen when she wakes up and I’ve gotta tell her you’ve run off on some vengeance mission? That you’ve left her alone to face this by herself?”

“That’s not what I’m doing—”

“Yes, it is!” Steve clenches his jaw as his voice echoes into the hall. It’s quiet for a moment and they listen for the bed to squeak, for any sign that you’re awake, but they’re only met with silence, Steve relaxes again. He takes a step forward and places his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. It startles him for a moment, but he can feel the tension as it melts in his muscles. “Just be here for her, man. When there’s something to know, I’ll tell you.”

Bucky keeps his stare on the thin crack in the door, the moonlight peering in from the window and seeping out into the hallway. He listens for the even breaths as you sleep soundly for the first time in days and he knows Steve is right. He doesn’t know if he could leave you like this even if Steve handed him the direct files of every man who laid a hand on you.

“I should get back to her,” Bucky resolves, offering Steve as much of a grateful smile as he can manage. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but Steve understands.

***

It takes days before Bucky can get you to leave the bedroom. He’s only been able to get a few words out of you here and there, short answers to direct questions, and you can’t hold his eye for very long, but he takes it as improvement.

It’s the small steps.

He remembers you saying that when he was at his worst, when he could barely get himself out of bed, when he could hardly touch you without fear of breaking you in half, when the guilt tore and ate through him unchallenged.

So, every time you lift you head when he speaks, when you glance in his direction, when you nod in answer of a question, when you curl against his side and seek out his warmth – it matters. It’s more than what you were able to do the day before and that has meaning.

When you finally do venture out into the living room, Bucky is sure to keep a hand on you at all times. Whether it’s wrapped up tightly in your own, pressed gently to the small of your back, resting against your thigh, over your shoulders – it helps to ground you, remind you that he’s there. You start to drift off into yourself otherwise.

Meanwhile, everyone else is walking on eggshells around you.

Tony turns out of the room before he can even step foot into the kitchen when he sees the back of your head over the couch. Peter is constantly shoveling food into his mouth to keep from his usual rambling one-sided conversations. Steve is deceptively quiet, constantly glancing in your direction as if he’s just waiting for something to set you off. Even Natasha keeps her distance, which surprises him. She stays in the room but she keeps to the corners, observing, like Steve.

Sam, on the other hand, was never one for subtleties.

“Hey kiddo!” Sam throws himself onto the couch beside you, bowl of popcorn in his hand as it jumps up into the air before landing back safely in the bowl.

You flinch at the sudden intrusion next you and Bucky all but stares daggers into Sam for startling you. Bucky was trying to keep your environment as calm as possible as not to set you off into one of those dissociative states again. It could take hours just to get you to acknowledge his voice after that and Bucky can only take that so many times before he’ll simply crumble.

“You know what I’ve been dying to watch?” Sam says aloud, as if someone is listening to him. He shovels a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

“Sam, no.” Bucky warns as he pulls you closer to his side. That movie has far too much violence, even for an eighties film. He doesn’t know how you’ll react to it.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Sam shoots back. He settles into the couch beside you, grinning as he turns in your direction. “Come on, Y/n. It’s been ages since we’ve watched Indie. I know the first is your favorite anyway.”

Bucky is all but ready to clock Sam ten ways to Sunday when you mutter out a quiet, “okay” and Bucky stills completely. It's the first time you’ve even acknowledged anyone besides Bucky since you came home. He stares at Sam with wide eyes, but Sam doesn’t seem to be surprised at all.

Instead, Sam simply sinks into the cushions, turns on the movie he must have already lined up in the queue, and leans the bowl of popcorn in your direction.

Indiana Jones starts his first trek into the cave in search of the Golden Idol and you reach your hand into the bowl. A few bites of popcorn within the first minutes of the movie and it’s more than Bucky has been able to get you to eat without coercion in days. A whisper of a smile crosses your face as Sam almost chokes on the handful he shoved into his mouth.

Sam Wilson might be a massive pain in Bucky’s ass, but he’s a damn good friend. He’s the only one who hasn’t treated you like you’ve lost your mind. He gives you a sense of normalcy when the floor has been pulled out from under you.

For that, Bucky owes him everything.

***

Bucky finds out a week later that there are no bad guys to track down, no one to enact vengeance on for the trauma they’d put you through. There is a reason you came home covered in blood and grime with barely more than a few superficial scratches on your body.

You’d killed them all.

“Are you sure?” Bucky asks Steve, hands planted firmly on the conference table. The night sky is littered in cloud covered stars beyond the windows, crickets chirping in the distance. Bucky stares down at the mug shots of a dozen men now presumed dead.

“We’re sure.” Steve slowly reaches out to gather the images, sliding them back into the file and out of sight. “We’re still working on who sent them but it was probably the arms dealer she was sent to identify. Fury’s sending out a team in the morning to bring him in.”

“That’s... that’s good.” Bucky doesn’t have the strength for revenge anymore. He’s grown tired of carrying it in his chest, on his shoulders, weighing him down as if sinking him to the trenches of an ocean.

“How’s she doing?” Steve asks, gesturing towards the doorway as they begin to walk back to the elevator.

“Better,” Bucky replies honestly.

He’s even seen you crack a smile a few times watching movies with Sam in the living room, maybe even heard a breath of laughter when Sam dropped an entire bowl of popcorn and threw a fit about it.

You’re talking to Bucky more, asking questions, starting brief conversations outside of the necessary ‘yes’ and ‘no’s, humming to yourself as you shower with Bucky standing just a few feet away. It’s something. Small steps.

“She’s strong, Buck. She’ll get through this.”

Bucky takes a deep breath as the elevator doors chime open. He presses the button for his floor. “I know. I just hate seeing her like this in the meantime.” The elevator reaches his floor and he waits as the doors begin to part. “Thanks, Steve. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Steve nods. “You got it, brother.”

Bucky makes his way down the hall from where he’d left you just a few hours earlier. You’d insisted that you’d be alright on your own while he met with Steve. Sam is still sitting on the couch watching Netflix just a few feet outside the bedroom, leaving a blanket of security in Bucky’s absence. He can hear Sam singing along to the theme song as he passes by.

There’s a ghost of a smile on his face as he approaches the living room, but a sudden, gut wrenching scream stills him in his tracks.

Sam jumps up from the couch, popcorn spilling to the carpet and Bucky stares back at the cracked door to the bedroom with wide eyes. He exchanges a glance with Sam and as another scream echoes out into the hall in a broken cry, the two of them rush into the room.

Bucky shoulders his way through the door, breaking the hinges on the top of the frame as he stumbles his way inside. You’re lying on your stomach, arms clutched under the pillow, sweat dampened sheets kicked off down by your feet. You’re whimpering, tear tracks into the pillowcase and your whole body is trembling.

“Y/n?” Bucky calls as gently as he can, his voice breaking in the effort. He moves closer to the bed, his hand hovering over your shoulder, almost afraid to touch you. “Sweetheart, wake up.”

You cry out again, face contorting in pain as you press your face into the pillow.

“I should get Cho,” Sam says behind him, starting to inch towards the door, but Bucky barely hears him as he runs into the hallway.

“Come on, honey,” Bucky tries again. He sinks down to his knees beside the bed. His heart is stammering in his chest. It’s pounding so loudly he’s sure the whole compound can hear it. He feels the tears burn in his eyes as you start to sob. “You’re safe. You’re alright, love. I’m here with you. I’m here, baby.”

Bucky lets his hand ghost over your shoulder and he barely has a chance to react before you jolt upright and there’s a sudden, stinging sensation across his chest. Your eyes are wide, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. It takes a minute before Bucky sees the hilt of the knife gripped tight in your fist.

“Bucky?” you gasp. “What are you—Oh my God...”

The knife drops from your hold as your hands clasp against your mouth. It falls at Bucky’s knees. You’re trying to stifle a sob as it threatens to consume you whole and Bucky tries to reach out for you, but you scramble away from him, fearful eyes staring below his collarbone.

Slowly, Bucky follows your gaze to his chest. There he finds that his shirt is torn in a long, pristine cut. Blood begins to soak into the light grey of the fabric from the open wound underneath. The knife you’d held in your hand bares his blood upon the blade.

“What have I done?!” you cry, shaking your head as you scurry off of the bed and into the corner of the room. You sink to the floor and Bucky shakes himself of his stupor to rush towards you.

“I’m alright,” he tries to reassure you, though he knows it’s no use. “Baby, I’m fine. It’s nothing. It’ll heal in a few hours. I’m okay.”

“Oh God, Oh God! No... I didn’t-- I didn’t mean to--” Your words are barely distinguishable, slurring together in your slobs, and you can barely catch your breath. You shake your head, fresh tears streaming on your cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m-- I’m so s-sorry. I didn’t-- I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” Bucky coos. He can feel the itch of a tear as it passes his jawline. “Honey, I need you to breathe for me. Please, let me hold you. I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me.”

But your eyes are glued to the open sliver of his t-shirt, the blood as it soaks into the cotton, and the slash underneath. It only makes you cry more. Its uncontrollable, like you might pass out if you can’t allow yourself to take in enough air, and Bucky feels like he’s reaching out into a fucking void because there’s nothing he can do for you.

“Sergeant Barnes,” a stern voice calls suddenly from behind him. Helen Cho stands in the doorway with Sam just beyond her shoulder. She steps into the room, uncapping a syringe. “Hold her down.”

You’re in hysterics as Bucky pulls you into his arms. You don’t resist as you fall against his chest, but he can feel the unease with which you sit in your own body, like your skin is crawling and you’re caged inside of yourself. He knows the feeling well.

You barely notice as the needle punctures your neck, heavy head falling to rest against Bucky’s shoulder. He eases his left hand down your spine, hoping the chill of the metal will help soothe you as your breaths become more even and the sobs fall weak and far between.

“I’ve got you, honey,” he whispers. You start to close your eyes, giving into the sedative. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Just rest, love. I’ve got you.”

No one relaxes until it’s clear you’re out cold. Sam lets out a heavy sigh from the doorway, slumping into the arch. Helen sinks onto the floor beside Bucky, tossing the syringe into the disposal bag before she rubs a tired hand over her face.

Bucky feels like he can hardly breathe. He waits until Helen and Sam retire to their own rooms before he allows the lump in his throat to consume him whole, before the tears on his face mirror the watermarked stains on his shirt. He doesn’t move from the floor until sunrise, unwilling to disturb your sleep.

***

“I don’t know why you haven’t left me yet.”

The words pass your lips and they puncture straight through Bucky’s chest - like a knife embedded through his skin, nicking over bone and tearing through flesh. He feels sick, a wave of nausea crashing through him as he turns to look at you.

Your eyes are swollen red, lips chewed raw. It only takes a flicker of your gaze to the long faded pink scar across his chest to know what’s on your mind.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Bucky says firmly.

You shake your head, unconvinced. “I could have killed you.”

“Don’t you go underestimating me, now,” Bucky teases, lighting his voice despite the burning ache he feels in his chest. He smiles at you but you can hardly meet his eye.

Your legs are swung over the bedside, hands wringing in your lap, reddening the skin. Your breaths are shaken, lower lip trembling, and he knows you’re trying to hold back tears. He can practically feel the lump building in your throat, suffocating you.

He sighs, sinking down to his knees in front of you. His hands reach out for your own and you flinch at his touch. It takes a moment before you can remind yourself who’s hands are holding you, who’s love you’re surrounded in, and you relax.

He thinks of the woman who taught him how to love again, who woke him from a decades long nightmare with the sweet touch of her hand and the adoration in her smile. He conjures the image of you he preserved before you left on your last mission, with sun kissed skin and laughter in your chest, as he stares up at the dark circles under your eyes, the frown upon your lips, the aching claws of shame draining you of the light you possessed.

“Sweetheart, look at me.” He tips a finger under your chin and guides you to meet his eye. He smiles, softening under your gaze.

“You hold so much space in your heart for compassion and forgiveness,” Bucky eased, stroking his thumbs gently along the backs of your hands. “You never hesitated once to absolve me of my sins as the Winter Soldier. It didn’t matter how may nights I woke up empty, not knowing where or who I was. It didn’t matter how much I thought I was a burden to you and the team, or whether I deemed myself worthy enough to be loved by you. You were patient with me, kind beyond what I ever believed I could deserve. Can you not reserve some of that for yourself, too?”

He watches the sob creep up your spine before it breaks. There’s little more either of you can say and he resides to holding you in his arms, caged protectively against his chest where not even the demons lurking in the back of your mind can find you.

He knows, eventually, you’ll be okay. You taught him that. Even when the tunnel was its darkest, when he could barely see beyond the tips of his fingers, and the sun was cast over in shadows -- you showed him that as long as he kept walking, he’d find the light again.

***

“Come on, Y/n, what is the matter with you?”

Bucky hears you grumbling to yourself in the kitchen. He wipes the trail of sweat off his face from his morning run as he approaches the island covered in stray dollops of pancake batter, bottles of maple syrup, and mixing bowls. He smiles as he leans against the counter, waiting for you to notice him.

“You weren’t supposed to be home yet,” you groan, catching Bucky out of the corner of your eye as you dump a plate full of burnt pancakes into the sink. Your hair a little out of sorts, a bead of sweat dripping down your temple. It’s almost endearing if it wasn’t for how fast your heart was beating. Bucky could hear it down the hall.

“Missed you.” He shrugs casually, testing a smirk and you started to smile in return; all shy and sweet and full of the woman he adores. He glances to the mess in the kitchen and the smoke piling on the ceiling. “What happened here?”

“Pancakes aren’t my strongest suit.”

Bucky laughs at that. “I can see that.”

You sigh, scratching at the back of your neck. “I just wanted to do something nice for you, Bucky.”

Bucky can feel his heart sinking but he holds the smile to his face. “You do a thousand nice things for me all the time. Just being here is enough for me, sweetheart.”

“You know what I mean,” you say under your breath, eyes falling to the floor by his feet. “After everything I put you through since that awful mission-”

“Hey, hey -- Don’t do that.” Bucky crosses the kitchen and places his hands gingerly on your cheeks, guiding your eyes back to his. “You didn’t do anything wrong; you hear me? You survived. You’re still surviving and I’m just... I’m so proud of you, Y/n.”

You part your lips to say more, to argue against him, but it dies on your tongue as Bucky smiles at you as if you hung the moon and the stars and every damn

“You don’t need to bring me coffee in the morning,” Bucky says before he presses a kiss to your forehead, “or bribe Stark into making new tech for my arm,” then a kiss to your nose, “or make me burnt pancakes to thank me for loving you through this.”

He pauses as he pulls back. You’re watching him with an expression somewhere between awe and relief, but it’s the warmth of your smile that does him in completely.

“We take care of each other, okay? That’s what we do,” Bucky says, leaning in to kiss your lips sweetly until he can feel the smile grow against his mouth. He pulls back, chuckling a bit under his breath. “Besides, I’m the last person who is going to be scared away by trauma.”

You laugh as you wrap your arms around his waist, pulling yourself closer to his chest. Engulfed in the sweet smell of maple and butter and batter, Bucky feels a wash of calm for the first time since you left on that mission.

He thinks you may have finally found your way home.

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n

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sagurus · 3 years

Text

Regarding a Common Misconception of Hakuba Saguru

Lately I've been doing some reflecting on Saguru & the various ways I've seen him portrayed, as well as the ways I've portrayed him in the past. And then I was rereading some MK manga, and had some realizations. I've been feeling like rambling about them! So here I go, rambling.

[Disclaimer: I'm not personally taking issue with anyone's interpretation or impression of Saguru - just sharing my own impressions! This is just for fun <3 ]

Misconception: Saguru is constantly accusing Kaito of being KID

It’s a generally accepted fact in a lot of fics I’ve read (and honestly, maybe some fics I’ve written -- I used to hold this belief too!) that Saguru just unendingly insinuates that Kaito is KID--alone, in front of other people, always.

I won’t cite any here, but I’ve seen nods in fanwork to Aoko feeling a little stressed/frustrated about the fact that Saguru thinks Kaito is KID and makes it known. I’ve also seen fanwork where Saguru explicitly calls Kaito KID, presses Kaito for information, or otherwise makes his beliefs clear, even when others are around.

There are only five scenes in the Magic Kaito manga where Saguru makes direct indication toward his knowledge of KID’s identity.

First, of course, we’ve got chapter 17 - the first chapter where Saguru puts together that Kaito is KID.

For a long time, when I’d consumed more fic than MK canon, I recall an image born in my head of Saguru singling Kaito out in class and making the claim that Kaito is KID in front of everybody. I don’t know if I ever read any such allusion in a fic, or if it’s just an assumption I drew based on portrayals I read, but imagine my surprise when he does nothing of the sort.

Now, to be fair, Saguru is A LOT in this chapter. MK is still heavily in gag manga territory, so his behavior is extra extra played up. But if we take away the visuals, the dialogue between Saguru and Kaito can be summed up thusly:

[First scene where Saguru makes direct indications as to KID’s identity]

Kaito: You look so tired. Haven’t gotten enough sleep after chasing KID for three nights In a row, huh?

Saguru: Hmph. Aren’t you tired as well?

And then, a few beats later in the conversation:

Saguru: I’d like to invite you to the Ochima Art Museum tonight, where KID’s declared his next target. Kaito: Eh? Saguru: Then, you’ll understand why I’m so tired. Or, do you have other plans tonight? Kaito: Okay, I accept your invitation. It’ll be great to see your work in action!

And that’s it, that’s the big class confrontation. Aoko is present for it, but she’s more interested in joining in on the fun, and while I do think Aoko pieces together that Kaito is KID, she prefers to live in willful ignorance of it until it becomes impossible for her to ignore. She’s bright enough to pick up what Saguru’s implying, but because he never brings it past implication, there’s no reason for her to look at it too hard. Anyway, I digress. That’s conjecture and headcanon talking. My point is that Saguru never makes any explicit claims, just invites Kaito along to the heist.

Another neat thing about this scene is that--while certainly not motivated by mercy in this case, Saguru does give Kaito an out: “Or, do you have an excuse not to go tonight?” Of course, if Kaito took it, it would be rather damning, but I do think it would have been enough confirmation for Saguru. I don’t think there would have been any arm-twisting to get Kaito to agree.

But Kaito and Saguru are competitive bastards, so here we are.

Let’s move on to the heist!

Once again, the manga certainly plays up the whole ordeal. Saguru is intense and waiting for his moment, and Kaito’s being, well, Kaito.

At the heist, there are a few points where Saguru has opportunities to make allusions to Kaito being KID in a way others would pick up on, or otherwise make his suspicions known, but he doesn’t.

First of all, is this exchange:

Nakamori: Why are you guys here? Aoko: Hakuba-kun invited us! Nakamori: What’s the meaning of this, Hakuba-kun? Saguru: I thought she might like to see if KID is arrested tonight. Nakamori: You’ll fail if you’re too cocky! Saguru: We’re well-prepared. Besides, who knows… KID may already be here.

Saguru does imply KID could be present, but he makes no indication that he means Kaito. His next opportunity to hint at Kaito being KID or otherwise make accusations is when Nakamori asks him to consult as a magician.

Nakamori: Kaito, since you’re here, do you want to use your magic against KID? Kaito: [laughing sheepishly] Saguru: Oh, I want to see that fight, too. If you really can do it.

Needling, yes. Saguru knows what he’s saying and so does Kaito. Accusations, no. This is well within the realm of something Saguru would have said even if he didn’t suspect Kaito, considering their dynamic up until this point.

And then, the most explicit Saguru ever gets in terms of literally calling Kaito out as being KID, beginning when Kaito excuses himself to go to the bathroom right before the heist:

[Second scene where Saguru makes direct indications as to KID’s identity]

Saguru: [handcuffs himself to Kaito] Kaito: Huh? Saguru: I won’t let you do that, Kuroba. Kaito: What do you think you’re doing?! Saguru: I got the report back from the lab. The hair I got from KID indicated that he’s a high school student. After I compared KID’s data with other high school students’ data in the database… Kuroba Kaito came up in the final list. Kaito: That’s a coincidence. Saguru: Really? We’ll see soon enough. Let’s wait until the time KID is stated to come. [Some heist hubbub occurs as officers get into position even though KID hasn’t arrived at the heist time] Aoko: What? KID’s not coming? Saguru: Ha! It looks like I win! You’d better confess who you really are.

And from there, of course, ‘KID’ (Akako in disguise) swoops in and takes care of the heist. That more or less wraps up chapter 17, the first chapter where Saguru understands that Kaito is KID. And I would argue this is the most aggressive Saguru ever is. In fact, rather than persist in trying to accuse/capture/implicate Kaito as KID, he straight up vanishes from the narrative for several chapters.

Saguru doesn’t show up again until the Chat Noir heist, in chapter 25, when he calls from France.

It’s also important to note that at this point, Magic Kaito’s narrative has experienced a slight tonal shift. At the very least, while still often comedic, it reads less like a gag manga. Between the last time we saw Saguru and now, we’ve learned the apparent motivation behind Toichi’s murder, we’ve met Snake (an albeit rather incompetent villain) and Kaito has faced down gunfire and the danger posed by Snake and his men.

The way Saguru is portrayed has also shifted to reflect the shift too. Instead of a hulking antagonist-like character in a Holmes cosplay, he’s dressed primly and presents more as a cheeky but polite character. He’s also more effectively emulating the charm that the story tried to imply he had early on (“Hakuba Saguru, at your service!”, the girls in class fawning over him, the newspaper calling him out as a famous detective making a long-awaited return to Japan).

The interaction is entirely less antagonistic, too. For reference, I’ll paste the exchange (sans Saguru’s massive info dump) below.

[Third scene where Saguru makes direct indications as to KID’s identity]

[At the heist for the golden eye] Kaito: [Hiding in a bathroom stall while putting on a disguise] [His phone starts ringing] Hello…? Saguru: Hi, it’s been a while. Are you still alive? Kaito: [Thinking] This sugary yet obnoxious tone of voice is... Hakuba?! Saguru: You’ve made quite the stir in Paris. They’re all talking about how France’s Chat Noir is going to go up against you in Japan. Kaito: Idiot! It’s not me. It’s Kaitou KID! Saguru: Ha… it doesn’t really matter. I’ll share some information that I gathered over here. [Info dump cut from dialogue] Well! That’s about all I have to say. Do your best. I don’t want to see you lose to anyone until I capture you myself. Kaito: Like I’ve been saying, I’m not KID! Saguru: Oops, it’s almost time for the Paris Fashion Week. See you! Kaito: H-hey…

The only part of this conversation that I could consider to fall into the territory of antagonistic is when Saguru says “I don’t want to see you lose to anyone until I capture you myself.” And more than anything, I think this is less reflective of a real desire to capture Kaito, and more reflective of his competitive nature. Not to mention, within the context of the conversation, it feels much more like teasing than anything.

Saguru’s motivation for making the call is clear: He doesn’t want Kaito to lose, and he wants to help ensure Kaito’s success.

And most interestingly (although I’d like to see the raw manga to confirm this, or otherwise a more literal translation) he never explicitly calls Kaito KID either. Outside of alluding to KID’s actions, Saguru doesn’t explicitly say Kaito is KID or mention KID at all. It’s Kaito who does that.

When Kaito points out that he is not, in fact, KID, Saguru doesn’t argue. He simply brushes off the denial and shares the information he’s collected.

So, to summarize what we’ve covered so far: after Saguru failed to arrest Kaito during chapter 17, he stopped troubling Kaito so thoroughly that the next time he features in the story isn’t until he’s calling from overseas to try to lend Kaito some helpful information. He’s not even playing a part in trying to capture this thief he allegedly wants to catch.

And then, Saguru dips back out of the narrative, although for a shorter period this time. The next arc he appears in is a few chapters later--the Nightmare Heist which he arrives in the middle of. But, there’s not any interaction between him and Kaito, nor any allusions made by Saguru about KID’s identity, so we’ll move on.

The fourth time Saguru makes any indication that Kaito is KID is during the Corbeau arc, when KID is being challenged by a clad-in-black KID lookalike.

Before jumping into that specific scene, though, there’s another interaction I’d like to call attention to--between Saguru and Nakamori. Not because of something Saguru says, but because of what he doesn’t say.

Nakamori: Hahaha! Looks like you let your guard down because you thought I was at home with a cold! Saguru: Our plan succeeded, it seems. Nakamori: But I only told Aoko I had a cold, so how does KID know…? Saguru: Hm...

If Saguru were wanting to make some kind of accusation, even a non-explicit one, he would have made some remark. Instead, he doesn’t say anything at all, which continues to speak to the fact that he isn’t really interested in implicating Kaito.

Anyway, the next time Saguru makes any sort of implication that Kaito is KID he is, once again, trying to help. Last time it was over the phone, so the conversation was private. This time, the conversation is in a classroom, although based on the panels, it seems like Saguru and Kaito are alone at the beginning--or at least, no attention is being paid to them.

[Fourth scene where Saguru makes direct indications as to KID’s identity]

Kaito: [Talking to himself] It must be the case, there’s no other way. There must have been some trick with the case.

Saguru: [Eavesdropping, apparently alone in the room with him] The case didn’t contain any hidden mechanisms. Kaito: Eh? Saguru: No hidden doors or things like that, as are often used in magic tricks. Kaito: W-what on earth are you talking about? Saguru: A new notice from Corbeau arrived this morning. ‘I’ll come and take the real Midnight Crow tonight.’ My name is Hakuba--so I don’t want a ‘white’ person to lose to some ominous black crow. [From here, Akako and then Aoko jump into the conversation.]

Surely a classroom is a risky place to have a conversation about KID, but the nice thing is that Saguru--once again--doesn’t bring up KID at all beyond saying that he doesn’t want the ‘white[-clad] person’ to lose to the black crow. From the outside looking in, all he’s doing is sharing information about the case with Kaito. It may also seem unwarranted from that perspective, but not at all implicating.

Also, another thing I’d like to call attention to is that when Akako joins the conversation (and seemingly blindsides Saguru, as if he wasn’t expecting anyone else to join), Saguru stops talking. He continues to be quiet when Aoko chimes in, and he doesn’t have any relevant dialogue for the rest of the scene.

Once again, Saguru’s clearly motivated to share information in the interest of helping Kaito. He has to share with Kaito’s civilian identity, since he can’t exactly arrange a conversation with KID, and this is likely the easiest way for him to do it. He makes no accusations, and this time he doesn’t even imply he wants KID caught.

So--Saguru is a part of the narrative again, but since rejoining the narrative he seems less interested in actually catching KID and far more interested in helping Kaito. And no accusations or incriminating allusions have been made since chapter 17, before Saguru’s first hiatus from the story.

The final time Saguru nods to Kaito being KID is from the Sun Halo arc. This is probably the interaction that’s closest to what fanon tends to depict when it comes to Saguru making subtle accusations that Kaito is KID. And even then, I tend to take this arc with a grain of salt if only because it felt less like Gosho was trying to add to the story and more like he was just trying to make a Magic Kaito addition that hit various fan expectations while still being wildly disappointing, lmao.

[Fifth scene where Saguru makes direct indications as to KID’s identity]

Saguru: [approaching and commenting on Kaito’s motorcycle] I see, a Suzuki GSX 250R. Akako: Ah, Hakuba-kun… Saguru: You’ve shown me something interesting. Perhaps this might help the police tonight. And could it be that you’ve forgotten… that the only motorised bikes we’re allowed to ride to school are scooters? Kaito: Eh?! For real?!

Once again, Saguru doesn’t explicitly mention KID at all--and segues from his mention of the police to pointing out that Kaito is breaking the rules right now, actually, which helps blend this teasing comment into the conversation.

Yes, later in the chapter Saguru does show up with a team of motorcycle experts. But that also means there’s more disguise opportunities for KID and more factors to account for, thus complicating things for, well, everyone--not just KID.

Also, I tend to dismiss that as Gosho throwing in some comedy, and as less to do with Saguru’s character. Call it cherrypicking if you like :P

To recount--there are five times where Saguru implies Kaito is KID.

The first two are in chapter 17, when Saguru first puts it together, and it is during this chapter that he gets the most explicit about calling Kaito out as KID, as well as the most aggressively he behaves about it. And he backs off so hard after that doesn’t work, that we don’t see him for several chapters.

The next two times he implies Kaito is KID are both in order to help him. No aggression or accusations, just the sharing of information. Even when teasing or suggesting he’s interested in catching KID, he’s good-natured about it, and when he realizes there are potentially people witnessing the conversation, he stops participating.

The final time he implies Kaito is KID is a tiny comment about finding something Kaito has shown him ‘interesting’ and ‘helpful for the police’ before smoothing into gently teasing Kaito for bringing an illegal vehicle to school.

In conclusion, Saguru may start off apparently aggressive in part thanks to early Magic Kaito’s overall tone, but rather than persevering in trying to catch Kaito after cornering him in chapter 17, he actually seems to back off. Once he’s playing a part in the narrative again, when he interacts with Kaito it’s almost exclusively to help him. Yes, he is on the task force and participating at heists, but where it matters, he’s less interested in catching the thief and far more interested in those the thief is opposing (excluding the police force).

#hakuba saguru #saguru hakuba #dcmk #magic kaito #meta #nefrit talk

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asweetprologue · 3 years

Text

Nili’s Benchmark Geraskier Fic Rec List

hey yall! I officially hit 750 followers (a few days ago, I blew past the benchmark without even realizing!), which is... insane. I truly can’t believe that so many people over the last year have enjoyed my presence in this fandom enough to continue to follow my work. you guys are so great and I love you all so much, so I decided to put together a gift for you!

this is a list of my favorite geraskier fics from the fandom, which I have been putting together over the last year or so. a few of these are big in the fandom, but a lot of them are smaller pieces that I feel deserve more attention! I have provided ao3 and tumblr links where I could find them, as well as ratings and summaries. Most of these are canon!verse because I’m not personally a big fan of modern au’s, but there will be a few of those scattered throughout as well. I’ve divided the fics into two sections: oneshots and multichapter. See the list below the cut!

Being in this fandom truly has gotten me through the pandemic in a big way and I have made so many good friends while here. thank you all for validating my weird obsession with these characters and enabling me in these trying times <3

Oneshots

all that was good, all that was fair (all that was me is gone) | M | 7517 | WARNING: Graphic Depictions Of Violence | @xdandelionxbloomx

Somewhere, deep in a forest, a man drags himself from his grave by sheer power of will. He lies gasping on the forest floor and does not know who or what he is. The world is wide and wonderful, though, and there is so much to see.

Or, Jaskier is so stubborn that he literally comes back from the dead.

Another fascinating addition to the mythology of the Witcher. Jaskier’s slow rediscovery of himself is so well done here. One I’ve come back to again and again.

As Fast As Love Can Go | T | 9628 | @bygodstillam

There are Faeries in the Wood.

That's what everyone said, at least, not that there was any solid proof. Jaskier had tried, more than once, to find some. Just a hint somewhere, of a real story, of real magic. But all anyone seemed to have was stories.

Jaskier was determined to find proof. He wasn't expecting to find a witcher in the process.

Fascinating fic with some really interesting worldbuilding, and a fresh new take on True Love’s Kiss. Also with some great art by @hehearse!

beautiful, he stirs up still things | T | 2575 | @alittlebitmaybe

“You’re not asking me to dance,” says Geralt.

Jaskier turns his palm up on his knee, offering it. “I think you’ll find I am.”

Just them dancing. This is a lovely sort of pre-relationship dynamic. So soft.

Dialogue Prompt | NR | 2932 | @reinvent-and-believe

Dialogue Prompt 48: “You make me want things I can’t have.” Wordless I-love-you 50: buying them a special treat when you go out shopping

Geralt gets Jaskier a gift, which prompts some confessions.

Even a small love | E | 22,272 | WARNING: Rape/Non-Con

“Well,” Jaskier replies distractedly. “Lots of things want to strangle you.”

“You don’t.”

It isn’t a particularly troublesome accusation, or even necessarily an accusation at all.

This is one I read early on in the fandom, and it really stuck with me. The dynamic between Jaskier and Geralt is perfect, and the misunderstandings between them feel so realistic. The non-con is not extreme, but do mind the warnings.

For the Space of a Heartbeat | T | 2021 | @drowningbydegrees

As it turns out, falling into bed with your very best friend who you are privately very much in love with isn't nearly so nerve wracking as waking up with them the morning after.

Just sweet, morning after discussions. I love to see them talking for once.

Greensleeves | T | 10,414 | @rebrandedbard

When Geralt crosses paths with Jaskier in the spring, the world is dressed in green. Quite literally. Everyone everywhere is wearing green, and it all comes down to a song Jaskier has written that, to his mortification, has become popular throughout the Continent. It's torment, being forced to preform the song over and over again and have his heart broken anew. But who is this Lady Greensleeves the people say Jaskier is so maddeningly, heartbrokenly in love with? At the baron's wedding party, Geralt is determined to find out.

This is one of my personal faves - there’s just something about Jaskier’s feelings being put on blast while Geralt remains totally oblivious that I think is so very them. And the resolution at the end is delightful.

I Don’t Wanna Fall (If It’s Not In Love) | E | 13,902 | @writinglizards

The first time it's out of desperation. Things get rapidly out of hand from there.

OR the building of a relationship through mutual wank sessions.

I love everything Ashley writes, but this one was the first fic I read by her and it still has a warm place in my heart. I also highly recommend It’s Been A While (makes me cry every time) and Tell Me Honestly

Like a Storm, Like a Flood | T | 1065 | @valdomarx

Jaskier is leaving for the winter, and Geralt can't bear the thought of not seeing him for months.

It was soooo hard to pick only one fic by George, but this one is so soft and sweet and yearning I just had to go with it. This is really just about Geralt finally hitting a breaking point and saying enough is enough.

one flesh | E | 10,763 | WARNING: MCD

“Well, then. I’m a ghost.” Jaskier spread his arms grandly. Geralt held his gaze for a moment, then dropped his head and laughed. Jaskier put his hands on his hips. “Do fill me in on what’s so funny.” It wasn’t funny. It was just so - ridiculous, the things Geralt’s fucked up brain would invent. This had to be the last nail in the sanity coffin, it just had to be.

Or: Jaskier is a ghost, and Geralt is a mess.

Jaskier dies and comes back as a ghost to haunt Geralt into taking care of himself. Geralt does not handle this gracefully. This fic is so sad and heartbreaking, but the ending is so sweet.

to render it transparent | E | 23,901

Geralt wakes up warm, peaceful, and utterly content, which is how he knows that something is severely wrong.

Sigh. This fic. This is a time travel fic - Geralt ends up in the future living with Jaskier on the coast, just after the mountain. It’s slow and beautiful and extremely bittersweet, all about how we choose to love people despite how much it can hurt us.

With All the Continent A Stage | M | 4745 | @greyduckgreygoose

Later, Geralt learned that the play was four hours long. Four hours long. It didn’t feel like it. Most of it passed by in a fever dream of ominous music, dance-fighting and dryads in gossamer leaves, swinging from hoops attached to the ceiling. Yennefer made an appearance, played by Priscilla in a glittering negligee. She sang a song to Geralt about putting him “Under Her Spell”, and they had a sensual dance number which was made a little strange by a sickened Jaskier (played by Jaskier) coughing loudly in the background.

(Jaskier invites Geralt to a musical production inspired by his own life.)

Jaskier basically writes Geralt a love letter in the form of a four hour long play. Geralt is an idiot about it.

Multi-Chapter Fics

A Lover’s Lament | M | 25,364 | @somedrunkpirate

So,” Jaskier begins, as casually as he can, “you are telling me, that in theory, if I were to be in love with someone — anyone — that person could well be in terrible danger?”

Of all terrible and ridiculous things that have threatened Geralt’s safety, Jaskier’d never thought that loving him might be what will get him killed.

I honestly can’t count the number of times I’ve read this fic. The monster is so interesting, and the mythos of it fits seamlessly into the world of the Witcher in my mind. Jaskier being so afraid that his feelings are going to put Geralt at risk, clearly unable to see that Geralt is going through the exact same thing. I think about the scene with them looking at each other almost daily.

A Pair of Gloves, the Scent of Roses | M | 24,134 | WARNING: Graphic Depictions of Violence

In the bustling days before the Midsummer festival, Geralt is sent into the countryside to deal with a monster - with Jaskier once again by his side. But the bard has not forgiven him, and while he's not hiding his contempt for the Witcher, he is recalcitrant about revealing his true motives for joining him. As the hunt turns into a desperate mission to save an innocent man and the monster is not what is seems to be, Geralt learns a few new things about his old friend and decides to finally attempt to mend the rift between them...

This is one of my favorite’s in the fandom - it feels so believable, the world is so rich and the oc’s are convincing and charming. Geralt and Jaskier feel so honest here, stumbling around each other but still drawn together. Beautiful beautiful beautiful

Bearing the will of the flower | NR | 11,449

The way Jaskier sees it, his hobby of following a witcher around was always pretty likely to get him killed.

The fact that it's happening now because the witcher in question doesn't love him, he thinks as he coughs up crumpled flowers, hardly makes a difference.

My favorite hanahaki fic in the fandom. I’m such a sucker for these, and these two idiots being so incapable of talking about their feelings really makes them prime candidates.

Food of Love | T | 22,488 | @wallatile-qvibbler

I brought a dead princess back to life through the power of song is the kind of thing that would have got an eyebrow raise even from the stone-faced Geralt of Rivia, so it's a good thing he and Geralt will probably never see each other again.

(or: the one where Jaskier channels magic through his songs, and it almost never goes as expected.)

This is a Jaskier and Renfri centric fic, which wasn’t something I knew I wanted until I read this. Jaskier is a bard which in this AU comes with magical powers, but it feels so well integrated into the universe that I wish it was just... how the Witcher is. Renfri is so good here, and even though Jaskier and Geralt barely even interact you can feel the tension and love between them. Cannot recommend highly enough.

friends and allies of the witcher | T | 10,312 | @theamazingbard

Yennefer crawls over to her newest cellmate. They’re curled up on their side. Breathing, but only just. She’s not sure what she’s hoping for when she turns them over. Still isn’t when she sees that it is indeed Jaskier.

“Shit."

Yennefer and Jaskier each suffer in more ways than one at the hands of Nilfgaard.

Yennefer and Jaskier get capture by Nilfgaard and tossed into a cell together. Exactly what I want out of season 2 honestly. Their interactions are gold.

I’d Be the Choiceless Hope | E | 45,188 | WARNING: Rape/Non-Con | @lesdemonium

As a baby, Jaskier was visited by a fae, who gifted Jaskier's mother with Jaskier's obedience. As Jaskier grew older, the "gift" became more of a curse.

You know I’m not gonna make a rec list without listing Zoe’s Ella Enchanted au. Need I say more?

Silver and Copper | M | 56,139 | WARNING: Graphic Depictions of Violence | @kaer-cuan

Geralt is just supposed to pass through the quiet Lettenhove area. He's not anticipating being begged by its people to help save their viscount from a curse that keeps him from daylight. Lord Jaskier, they call him, and he's likely dying.

As Geralt struggles to untangle the ugly web of history that has lead to the increasingly complicated curse, he finds himself spending more and more time with the strange young viscount and wondering just what he might have been before the curse, and who he might be after. But things are not always as they seem, and as the curse tightens its grip on Jaskier, Geralt is forced to face the fear of failing yet another person whose choices were stolen from them.

Or-

Jaskier is kept from becoming a bard. Geralt finds him anyway.

This is a fic that haunts me. It’s very scary in parts, and mind the tags - there are some very heavy themes here. But it’s beautiful and touching, and Jaskier feels very true to himself even though his origin is so different.

we could be married (and then we'd be happy) | E | 50,222 | @a-kind-of-merry-war

Jaskier reached into his pocket, fingers grasping around the little box. He pulled it out with what he hoped was a romantic flourish, flipping it open to reveal the simple gold band inside. “Geralt,” he said, confidently, cooly, like this wasn’t terrifying, “Will you marry me?”

Geralt and Jaskier fake marriage proposals to get free deserts and shit but it goes tits up when Vesemir catches them in the act. Not knowing how to fess up, they go along with it for a while, which is hell because they’re both pining like mad. As I said, I don’t love modern au’s, but it’s merry so of course this one had to end up on my list.

And that’s it! 20 fics for you, and hopefully you can all find one or two you haven’t read before. There are a lot of people and fics that I didn’t include in this list only because I was trying to not put a million down (which I could). I highly recommend anything by @wherethewordsare, @julek, @contemplativepancakes, @witcher-and-his-bard, and @inber, as well as those linked to fics above, and I’m sure there are others I forgot to mention. Yall have truly made being in this fandom worthwhile <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic recs #geralt of rivia #geralt #jaskier #witcher #fic recs #fic rec #I'm certain i missed a lot of good ones I've read over the years but I didn't want to risk making this super fucking long anyways #if you didn't see your name listed it isn't bc I don't adore you and your fics it's because i'm stupid <333

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demonicheadcanons · 4 years

Note

Haha and okay I just saw that your askbox is open and read your rules, so if you don't mind, could I please request some hcs for Beel, Mammon, Asmo and Belphie and how they like to cuddle with mc? Cuddle hcs basically lol. If four is too many please feel free to adjust this! Thank you so much and I hope you have a wonderful day 🥰

The Obey Me Brothers: Cuddling / Sleeping Headcanons

AN: Sorry this took a while!! I decided to write for all the brothers because I have a tiny rough draft of cuddle headcanons back from like, the first week I started the game. Mammon’s was the first I came up with, and I filled in the rest from my impressions of the boys from the first 4 lessons. They’ve evolved since then, and I hope they’re alright!! Take care 💙

Brother x reader writing style. Gender neutral reader as always. Written on mobile primarily so excuse any formatting mistakes please ;u; I only go on PC to add finishing touches and a read more

Some things may come off as suggestive, but aren’t really intended that way except for Asmo’s - this is fluff through and through

Lucifer

- Ideal cuddles: Likes to have you lay on his chest in his bed. He doesn’t want his brothers intruding and annoying him or pulling his attention away from you, so his room works best. There’s something about being able to look down and immediately see you there that almost gives him butterflies. It settles him immediately. He’s canonically not a morning demon, but waking up to that sight and knowing you trust him and feel comfortable around him gives him enough motivation and hope to do anything. Getting through the days becomes a breeze when he knows he can return to that most nights. He’s also a real delight to see on those early mornings - tired, but his smile brightens up his eyes, and his hair is a mess over the pillows. He’s not stressed out yet, so he’s fully relaxed and looks quite elegant.

Sadly, he’s often busy, and regularly misses out on sleep. At times like this, he likes having you curled up in his lap whilst he works, so long as you don’t distract him. He’ll press occasional kisses to your temple and you can nap or read or just lay there and listen to the music he always has playing when you’re in his study.

- He has to be very close to the MC to let them cuddle up to him, and initially he’s a bit stiff and awkward because he kind of forgot what this feels like. For the first while he’s quiet every time you cuddle him, wrapping his arms around you and leaning his head against yours and staring off into the distance. He’s touch-starved. Give him a moment.

- Once he settles and starts to get used to affection, if you two are alone he’ll walk up and put his arms around your shoulders and pull you in for hugs, leaning his chin against the top of your head. One time, months into whatever relationship you have, he does it in front of his brothers without thinking, and whilst he feels embarrassed after he realises he doesn’t mind - somewhere between him seeing it as staking a claim, because he’s still the avatar of pride, and between feeling comfortable enough in your presence that he can’t bring himself to care how they’ll react.

- On his rare days off, will absolutely whisk you off somewhere else for a day out in the Devildom and a night in a cabin or hotel or something where no one will bother the two of you and he can hold you in his arms for as long as he wants to and talk to you about everything that comes to mind, completely free and relaxed. He’s one to mumble about something or other when cuddling, unless he’s working, so when the two of you are just relaxing together he’ll ramble about something or ask you questions and listen to you talk.

- Once Luci said something that made you laugh whilst you were laying with your head on his chest and he knows he’s never going to forget about it. Will intentionally try to make you laugh so that he can experience that again. He was an angel once and yet, nothing feels more like heaven to him. Only thing is he’s not above teasing and tickling you to get a reaction out of you, so long as it’s one that might end in you laughing and smiling up at him, and you’ll feel his own laughter rumbling about in his chest.

Mammon

- Ideal cuddles: In your bed - it smells like you and it’s tidier than his room, probably. He likes to have his arms wrapped around your midsection whilst facing each other, on your sides. He also doesn’t mind if you use his chest or shoulder as a pillow, so long as you both have your arms around one another. Often times he’ll bury his face in your hair to take in your scent and because it’s soft and calming. By the time you wake up, he’s going to end up wrapped around you like a koala.

- Adores cuddling on days off when the two of you don’t have to leave for longer than a few moments at a time, especially in a place where his brothers won’t bother you; think, staying in a cabin where it all feels so domestic, you two can wake up whenever you want and make breakfast together and stay practically attached at the hip the entire time, sinking back into bed or laying together on the sofa whenever you want. No responsibilities, no pressure.

- Plays with your hands, or runs his fingers along your side, or tucks one arm up behind your back to hold you really close and play with the strands of hair at the base of your scalp / top of your neck. So long as it doesn’t disturb you heavily, he tends to have some kind of motion, not one to stay still for long.

- He’s quite warm, almost rivaling Beel, so you might have to ask him to loosen his grip on you if you get warm easily. If you do, he pouts and suggests he lowers the temperature of the entire room instead, or buys thinner blankets or gets rid of blankets all together.

- He tries to stay up until you fall asleep because it feels so peaceful and he really feels like he’s protecting you. Also, no one can criticise him or be rude to him when they’re sleeping. Even if you don’t ever talk down on him, his brothers weigh him down, so watching over you whilst you rest in his arms makes him feel so much better without worrying that you’re judging him.

- One time you two were cuddling and he just started crying quietly, because damn, he’s the luckiest demon in all the Devildom and even Lord Diavolo would be jealous of him right now. He’s an emotional cuddler, and will randomly tear up or start chuckling to himself. He’s quiet and doesn’t usually voice his thoughts when cuddling but you can tell he’s thinking constantly and always really happy.

- He gets shy easily enough but he’s also possessive, and he’s not one to turn you down. Because of this he honestly doesn’t care where the two of you cuddle, or who sees. His grip gets a little tighter around you if his brothers walk in and you’re curled up together on the sofa or something, but he wants to be held 24/7 and any mild temporary discomforts are more than worth it when he’s with you.

Leviathan

- Ideal cuddles: Please lay on top of his chest. Literally just lay on top of him. He melts every single time. His bathtub bed is perfect for this, because there’s really no other way to lie unless you want him to lay on top of you, so he prefers cuddling there - that, and it helps him stay cool, and he gets to be in the safety of his own room. In an actual bed, he’s the little spoon all the way. It’s hard to convince him you truly like him, but when you cuddle up against his back and wrap your arms around him he feels a little safer believing you might be telling the truth. It also makes him feel really safe and comfortable, a barrier from the outside world that he rejects daily.

- It doesn’t happen very often, but Levi is one of the brothers most likely to sleep in his demon form, and occasionally when you’re cuddling he’s so relaxed he takes on his demon form without really thinking about it. He says sorry and, half asleep, offers to turn back, but if you’re not uncomfortable then he starts to do it more often. He’s mindful about his horns and prefers to cuddle in his bathtub so he doesn’t tear any of your pillows or accidentally jab you with his horns.

- He’s somewhat cold to the touch unless he forces himself to raise his internal temperature. You’re unlikely to overheat whilst cuddling with him, but you’ll need a thick blanket or you may end up shivering after a few minutes, at which point he’ll try his best to be warmer and apologise profusely. He hates being warm, though - best to just go for the layers of blankets.

- Y’know that one thing where (usually) a girl goes up to her boyfriend and climbs into his lap whilst he’s gaming? Adores that. Oh, it makes him so, so happy. The first time you do it he drops his controller and after a minute of startled silence where you wonder just how red his face can get, he wraps his arms around you tight enough that you feel your spine click, and he buries his face into your neck and stays there for as long as you let him. He’s so flustered and yet, you can tell he’s happier than he’s ever been. It instantly cheers him up no matter how bad his mood is. It’s even better if you’re playing a game on a handheld system whilst he plays or watches something and the two of you are just, wrapped around each other but still doing your own thing. He just wants you close to him. He just wants to know you like him. Please give this boy cuddles.

Satan

- Ideal cuddles: Like Mammon, in a bed he likes to have his arms around your waist and for the two of you to be facing each other. Your room would be ideal but he would really rather be in his so much he ends up cleaning all the books off his bed just so he can cuddle up with you. He also likes the idea of cuddling up under a tree somewhere, or in one of those plush window seats, where you two can look out over the Devildom and he can point out different places and talk about them all - Satan has connections everywhere, and you’ll feel like you know everyone by the time he’s done.

- Satan isn’t particularly warm or cold. His temperature varies with the seasons, but he’s mostly just lukewarm. This means you’re unlikely to overheat or be too cold when you cuddle, which is always good.

- He likes to read to you or have you read to him, or ask questions back and forth to prod at each other’s minds a bit. A talkative cuddler - there are brief moments of silence, but he’s thinking constantly and he wants you to be involved in that, just like every aspect of his life. There’s usually a clear connection between one of his thoughts and the next, and he’ll have calm discussions about thinks with you in his arms.

- Only falls asleep first if he’s really, really tired. Otherwise he’ll stay up and read or talk to you until you fall asleep. Like Mammon there’s something about the peace, something about knowing you trust him, that you don’t see him as his anger, nor as his false personality that he puts on to please the others and maintain a decent status in comparison to Lucifer. You just see him as he is. He thinks about this a lot as he pets your hair.

- Speaking of petting your hair, he has a tendency to run his nails over your scalp when you’re in his arms. If you’re uncomfortable it would be best to tell him early on before the habit is set in stone. His main source of affection comes from the stray cats he feeds outside, so he just uses whatever knowledge he’s gained from that. This also means he’ll take one of your hands in his arm press gently into your palm with his thumbs, like he’s pressing the pads on a cats paw.

- Feels close to normal when he’s cuddling. Like he was never born solely of one emotion, because he feels so many in those moments that he really could be a whole on his own. He’s not one to hide this, and will openly vent to you about it. As well as this, he’s quite likely to come straight to you if he isn’t feeling well and needs cuddles to settle down. The only exception is if he’s really angry and is worried he might hurt you by accident. Even then, if you can get close enough to take his hand or wrap your arms around him, there’s a large chance he’ll settle enough to hold you in kindness and he can begin to heal.

- He doesn’t talk about it openly but one time he’s in an awful mood and you grab his head and hold it against your chest until he lets out all his emotions and feels better and it becomes his favourite thing in the world. He loves to cuddle with his head against your chest and your fingers running through his hair. You can tell that he adores it because he ends up purring and nuzzling his face against you. Unlike Luci, he hasn’t been to heaven, but he’d be able to describe the feeling of it much better than God himself could using just that embrace as his reference point.

Asmodeus

- Ideal cuddles: “Whatever you want, honey.” He isn’t picky, he just wants to be touching you in any way possible. However, he really likes laying with his head on your stomach or chest - especially if he can press light kisses against them. He wants some skin-on-skin contact, even if its holding hands or one of you burying their face in the other’s neck, or pressing feathery kisses to the insides of your wrist. It soothes him. He can’t stop himself from grinning if you nuzzle into his neck.

- He’s just the right temperature for cuddles. He’s on the warmer side, but whatever the perfect temperature is for you, he’s there. When he sleeps on his own, he likes to have a lot of blankets piled up, and then have a fan on to balance out the temperature, and he’ll push for the same setup when you’re cuddling together.

- One of the brothers who will go up to you when he wants attention. He’s the least shy, and will happily throw an arm around you anytime, anywhere. Honestly if it doesn’t bother you, he’d pull you into his lap in public or in front of his brothers and cuddle you close to him. The only problem he could possibly imagine is that other people are jealous of the two of you, so you’d really have to sit him down and explain if PDA isn’t at all your thing. Happy enough to link pinkies if that’s all you’re comfortable with, but he needs a lot of affection, so expect him to essentially trap you in his room later so you spend time with him.

- King of gentle kisses and soothingly rubbing your arms / back if you’ve not had the best day. He doesn’t mind whether you two talk or not, but on bad days he’s the best to go to - he’ll listen to everything you have to say, and verbally destroy anyone who’s annoyed you, all whilst holding your head to his chest and tracing shapes against your back.

- Loves loves loves listening to you talk about your day and then filling you in on his own. He’s a gossip but harmlessly, and will talk about whatever’s trending currently, keeping you up to date on everything. If he really wants to show you something or take a photo with you he likes to cuddle up with an arm around you and hold his phone in his other hand, scrolling through whatever social media he’s found this really interesting or horrible thing on. Otherwise he’s quiet enough, with mumbled words of affection and some suggestive jokes (and touches, if you’re comfortable. He won’t go anywhere with it if you’re just cuddling). He’s just happy and he wants to soak in it for as long as possible; he finally understands how people feel when they fall for him, he says

Beelzebub

- Ideal cuddles: Big spoon. Preferably in his bed rather than yours. He wants to wrap his arms around you, especially if you’ve already got your arms wrapped around yourself so that he’s essentially holding your hands at the same time. He buries his face at the base of your neck / top of your spine. He also really, really loves just having you cling to him in some way, and will carry you around like that - usually he loves having you curled up in one arm whilst he goes about his day or eats.

- He is so warm, but if you’re laying down he’ll insist on having a blanket because it keeps him safe from the monsters in his closet :( You’ll definitely need something to cool you down, and he gets into the habit of getting you a glass and a large jug of water before you cuddle up together because you have to stay hydrated and it should help you cool down at least a little. Get him a thin blanket and a fan of some kind and it should just about balance it out.

- He’s the opposite of Belphie, in that he doesn’t tend to cuddle for long periods of time - he wants to, and pouts any time he has to get up, but even if you help him not feel quite so hungry, he still needs to eat regularly. If you’re asleep he’ll move as slowly and carefully as possible so that he doesn’t wake you up. If you’re awake he’ll gush out apologies and then ask if you want to be wrapped up in the blanket and carried along with him. If you say no he pours a fresh glass of water and rushes out and back because he really wants to spend time with you.

- Sometimes he just gets really excited and happy and he’ll grin at you wordlessly.

- He’s quiet but in the early morning, when he wakes up, even if you’re not awake he’ll press soft kisses against your shoulders and the back of your neck and whisper whatever comes to his mind. He tends to repeat over and over that he really cares about you and that he’s really glad you’re here.

Belphegor

- Ideal cuddles: In the attic on his nest of pillows and blankets, curled up so that you’re both mainly on your backs but somewhat facing each other. No matter what he’s going to end up curling up against your side by the time he wakes up anyway. He also really likes sleeping on top of you, but this is a bit risky because he sleeps like a log and its hard to wake him up when you need to get up to eat or use the bathroom. If you’re not in the attic, the only other place outside of your rooms that he likes to cuddle up together to sleep is the planetarium, looking up at the stars together.

- He’s on the cooler side, but likes being warm - he’s used to the kind of warmth Beel produces. Because of this, he’s liable to snuggling in as close as he possibly can to you to absorb some of your heat. You’re going to become his own personal radiator.

- Unlike Beel, he will cuddle forever. There are very few things stopping him from just sleeping constantly, with the main reason being that he wants to spend time with you and Beel. In fact, you’re going to have trouble getting out of his grasp once he wraps his arms around your stomach and pulls you down onto his pillow nest. Its best to devise a system and let him get used to it - tapping on his arm or hand 3 times, or something like that, and he’ll release you. He’ll also push for you to wake him up. The only other thing that will make him release you is if he brushes a hand against your side and you’re ticklish and laugh, in which case he’ll grin and start tickling you instead.

- Like Levi, if relaxed enough he’ll slip into his demon form. It takes less energy to be in that form anyway, and he likes letting you play with his tail when you’re cuddled up together. Acts annoyed if you start poking and prodding at him because you don’t often get to see the boys relaxed in their demon forms, but he really enjoys it. Purrs if you pet his horns.

- He’s not at all talkative but likes to listen. However, he’s liable to falling asleep very, very quickly, so it’s not worth saying anything too important to him; he’ll listen, and he’ll remember when he wakes up, but he’s not going to respond effectively in a timely manner.

- Belphie smirks and grins a lot, but sometimes he wakes up earlier than you and he looks at you until you wake up too, and you’ll see his lopsided smile as he beams at you, content. Mornings are okay like that, he decides, even if he grumbles and complains when you tell him you have to start getting ready for class.

#obey me headcanons #fluff #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #my headcanons #my writings #cuddles #pda #ask #request #angeloflovedemonoflust #angel-of-love-demon-of-lust

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