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headspace-hotel · 1 year

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facts about The Fear, after 20 years of life with her

The Fear is NOT:

an intruder, invader, or some other entity from "outside" You

inappropriate, wrong, or incorrect

a responsibility

a punishment

"irrational" or otherwise able to be understood through a relationship to "rationality"

an "inaccurate" representation of reality

The Fear IS:

an innate part of you

extra-rational—she exists outside and completely independent from "rationality" and does not respond to being judged according to that lens

self-love—her purpose is to protect you and keep you safe

self-sufficient—fear is a 100% whole, complete entity that doesn't "represent" or "reflect" something else

earnest—fear is always a 100% real experience that is exactly as it is felt, and, needing no comparison or reference to any external reality, it is not "dishonest" or "inaccurate"— it asserts a claim about only itself

subversive [not quite the word I am looking for but it will have to do]— is not necessarily beholden to social and cultural norms of what should be feared, how much, and how you should respond. She does not stop existing in the absence or suppression of vocabulary to describe her.

a demand for care— she does not just communicate to you but to the community you are part of; she calls attention to an obligation that this community has toward you, to make sure that you are safe within it and that your experiences are heard and understood.

yeah, so, i've had severe anxiety for my whole life and the way it's been treated and dealt with, and the way I've been taught to understand it, has really fucked me up so I am trying to lay the groundwork for understanding it differently

I think it's pretty fucked up that we're taught to see anxiety as deceptive or inaccurate. Now, obviously the images or projections in my fearful thoughts do not usually "reflect reality," but I have come to see this as...not particularly important?

Teaching an anxiety sufferer to restructure their thoughts to dismiss and contradict "irrational" fear is, in my opinion, the same as teaching a chronic pain sufferer to restructure their thoughts to dismiss and contradict pain with no clear physical source. You might as well speak of "irrational" pain, and pain has the same relationship to rationality that fear has.

"Irrationality" is a quality assigned to fear that is judged by an outside observer, or by the collective cultural biases and hang-ups of a society, as not appropriate to a given situation. This is total fucking nonsense and we should be talking about that, because...well, the first reason is that it implies some kind of fixed standard for what fear ultimately is and isn't for. i like to tell people to watch one of those Coyote Peterson videos where he's going to get a tarantula hawk wasp to sting him, because he's obviously having a strong physical fear response, even though he knows it won't kill him. Is it "rational" to fear suffering and not just death? How much suffering? Sit with that one a little while.

The second reason, which is even more convincing, is that the "rational" brain is not consulted at any point, ever, when a person feels afraid. It's just a response. The fear response is not routed through the conscious, sapient, reasoning brain. And thank God, because if we needed to hear back from an upstairs executive before we could decide whether to run from a lion, our species would be extinct.

Techniques like Cognitive Behavioral Therapy were absolute fucking shit at making my life any better, but fantastic at wrecking my ability to identify my own emotions, because Cognitive Behavioral Therapy for anxiety basically amounts to trying to brainwash yourself into thinking you don't feel the emotions that you do. It's a really neat way to develop bizarre psychosomatic symptoms and start experiencing anxiety through constant body pain, swollen lymph nodes, and digestive issues.

For an institution that pathologizes having "alters," psychiatry sure loves to encourage a suffering person to view normal and ultimately good parts of themselves as distinct, intruding entities to be shoved in a closet somewhere.

And yes. Fear is ultimately a good part of you, a part of you that loves you.

What began to set me free was feeling that acid terror and sickness and rage course through my body and realizing—really realizing—that I was being illuminated with this ancient, powerful force driving me to LIVE.

I want us to make it. I want you to live.

And you know what, I want me to live too.

I abandoned the doctrine of calming down—Lord knows it had never worked anyway—and started really just exploring and existing in the Fear.

How did that feel? Bad. Very very very very very bad and really not productive or helpful at all initially. Which was unavoidable. Necessary. She had been frantically clawing to communicate with me for so long, and I had been shutting her away, silencing her, resenting her presence in my psyche. I started trying to show gratitude toward the signals my body gave me. I started trying to show gratitude toward her—and i guess the Fear was a Her now, this just seemed more respectful.

And it seemed like nothing happened, but several things happened.

I stopped searching for validation. That was a big one. At some point I just...stopped needing a "reason" or justification for the fear I felt (trauma???? neurodivergence???? neurodivergence trauma????) and the fact that I experienced it became completely sufficient and satisfying to me. So much guilt and confusion disappeared.

I also became steadily more confident about my own boundaries, particularly in regards to recovery.

It's awful now that I think about it, but I think I felt this sense of almost moral obligation towards "recovery," as if I needed to "overcome fear" to be Courageous and Virtuous. It made me feel crushing guilt to feel any hesitation about this.

But then this started to change. It became more real to me that was the only person affected by the steps I did or didn't take toward recovery, and there was no moral dimension to it. A therapist couldn't put me in a box I wouldn't willingly go into.

Freedom from these judgmental frameworks is really important to me. I think that I always hated the idea of getting "better" because it seemed like "better" would mean just getting better at submitting to things I was afraid of while everything felt just as bad as it always did on the inside.

And on some level—even though I could never put it into words at the time—I violently hated the idea of "recovery" from some of my fears because it seemed like the ultimate denial of agency. I didn't want to "become okay with it"—the possibility felt dehumanizing. It felt awful.

And I realize now that this is because The Fear represented something I needed to have a right to. Many of my most life-destroying fears centered around things being done to my body, and if I could have pressed a button and been no longer afraid, I wouldn't have, even though it would have spared me so much suffering, because...I needed it to be okay to want agency over my body. I needed it to be right. The Fear, in this case, was a demand that my body be treated as sacred.

I realized that there were many cases where The Fear was a territorial claim of sorts, a demand that certain needs be honored and met—She needs this. This is FUCKING non-negotiable.

And it really...prompted me to look backward on my life and see The Fear differently: not as a responsibility I had failed to shoulder (me?? a little child??? responsible?? Responsible for being brave, when every day felt like facing a firing squad?????) but as a collective responsibility

Because I was not alone in those memories—I was surrounded by adults that saw me suffering, and often dismissed, ignored or ridiculed it. The Fear grew larger and larger; why?—to protect me. Because teachers, nurses, doctors, and camp counselors did not do any of the thousand thousand things they could have done to make that little girl feel safe. Because my well-meaning parents praised me when I was "brave" but I, a little kid, literally couldn't communicate how awful it always felt.

The Fear was not there to torture me. The Fear was and is doing her best to keep me safe. It's not wrong, there's no need for guilt. It just is.

It doesn't feel good. But maybe one day it will feel better.

#anxiety #mental illness #psych critical #autism

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prodigal-explorer · 9 months

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how to write children's personalities

(this is part of my series, how to write children in fanfiction! feel free to check it out if you want more info like this!)

this is the main aspect of writing children that i see people mess up so often, especially in the fandoms i'm in (sanders sides and undertale). children are not adorable little noodles with no brains and no concept besides being cute and silly and crying. children are beings that are just as complex as adults, and they deserve personalities to match. this will make them way more interesting to read about! let's get started!

since there are so many aspects to personality to talk about and i don't want to sit here typing for ten years, we're going to do this guide a little differently. i'm going to divide these issues into archetypes, write a short description, and then make a list of do's and don't's for each one!

archetype one: the cute little baby

okay. babies are cute. we all know this, and i'm not saying it's a bad thing to make your babies cute. a lot of people love reading about moments with adorable little babies. but here are some ways to step this kind of thing up, and some things to avoid if you want to improve upon writing this archetype.

do's:

give the child character another archetype besides this one. though "cute" is the foundation for a lot of child characters, it's not a personality. and if a character is vital to your story, then it needs a personality. that's just a rule. you will read more about other archetypes further along in this post!

make the moments symbolic. though it doesn't seem like it from an outsider's perspective, basically everything a baby does is for a reason, and every action a baby makes can say something about their personality. if you want this baby's personality to be energetic and curious, have them crawl around and explore things, and laugh a lot, and babble. if you want this baby to be more sullen and shy, have them cry quietly instead of wailing, or have them squirm when being held by new people.

make the actions of the baby's guardians affect the mannerisms of the baby. babies act differently depending on how the people taking care of them act and react. for instance, if the baby's guardians are very busy people, then maybe have the baby cry very loudly whenever they want something, since they know that it's the only way to get the attention of their guardians. stuff like that can add depth to a character and to a general story.

don't's:

decide that the baby is cute and call it a day. sweet little babies are cool and all, but they get very boring to read about after a while. this can barely even be considered an archetype because of how bland it is when it's by itself.

keep this archetype around for too long. as babies turn into toddlers and then children, they don't act even remotely the same way. it's strange and off-putting to read about a seven year old acting like a two-year old, unless it's a very clear character choice that is a result of explicit actions and events.

make the baby know that it's cute. realistically, children don't understand the concept of cuteness until they're around toddler age. if then, you want to make the kid be like "i get what i want when i'm cute, so i'll act cute!", then sure, that's hilarious. but when they're two months old, they're not batting their eyelashes because that's their personality. they're batting their eyelashes because they got something in their eye. the main thing that makes a baby cute is that they don't know they're cute. they're just figuring out how to do ordinary things.

make everything a cute moment. while babies are awesome, raising them isn't always sunshine and rainbows. make the baby do something wildly chaotic, because babies do wildly chaotic things all the time. not only does this make things more realistic, but it makes things very interesting!

archetype two: the shy kid

as a former shy kid, i know good and well that these types of children exist, and they are very real and valid. however, there are certain ways i've seen them written that are just terrible because once again, this archetype cannot be considered a full personality on its own. let's get into the do's and don't's.

do's:

make their shyness a deliberate choice. kids aren't usually naturally shy. kids are usually more curious than cautious. is there a reason why the kid is shy? there doesn't have to be a reason why the kid is shy, but there could be a reason why the child is NOT outgoing/curious. try and give something like this some deliberate cause, instead of just making them shy so they can seem more precious and infantilized.

make their shyness manifest in diverse ways. not all shy kids cling to their guardian's leg and sit alone during recess. there are different ways to be shy. you can be aggressively shy, or fearfully shy, or shy due to general unwillingness to change.

make their shyness have realistic consequences. someone who's shy is probably not going to have many friends, if any. not all shy kids magically meet an extrovert who adopts them. someone who's shy probably has underdeveloped social skills, which can lead to them being less emotionally intelligent down the line. this makes the shy kid archetype a lot more three-dimensional than just a wet noodle of fear.

don't's:

infantilize shyness or treat it like it makes the kid some sweet, precious angel. not only is this very uncomfortable for shy people to read, but it's generally unrealistic. shyness doesn't affect how good or bad somebody is - it's a neutral trait.

use shyness as a tool to make characters seem younger. shyness does not indicate age. fear manifests in many different ways, and shyness is not the only way.

rely on cliches. not all shy people have the same journey, and the idea that a shy person becoming more outgoing is the "goal" is not only a bit offensive, but it's very cliche. shyness is not always an obstacle to be overcome.

archetype three: the happy-go-lucky kid

oftentimes, the reason why children characters are written into stories in the first place is to give a little bit of lightheartedness and innocence. to add a unique voice among all the cranky, stingy, burdened adults. but you have to be careful when writing this archetype. i personally really dislike this archetype as a whole, but i'm going to put personal feelings towards it aside because honestly, there's no valid reason to dislike it besides opinion.

do's:

give the kid a trademark. maybe this kid makes a lot of little jokes, or maybe they always see the best in a situation. give the kid one thing that makes them happy-go-lucky instead of just giving them everything because nobody is endlessly happy all the time in every way.

go deeper. while happiness is very often genuine, sometimes, it's a mask that hides something else. this can be an interesting way to sort of spice up your happy-go-lucky kid character. maybe the kid is hiding a big secret behind all those jokes.

don't's:

make the character always happy. while children tend to have simpler thoughts, they don't have simpler minds. this child needs to have thoughts, real, genuine thoughts that aren't just happy things.

see happy-go-lucky as a trait that is exclusive to children. comparing happiness to childhood and viewing them as the only places where the other can exist is just wrong, and it's kind of depressing. maybe give happy-go-lucky kid a happy-go-lucky adult to exchange jokes with!

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those are the archetypes that i see a lot. but now, i'm going to suggest a few child character archetypes that i LOVE that i don't see enough in fics! feel free to use any of these that you like. alter them, combine them! these are, in my opinion, some of the most fun child character personalities!

the spoiled brat: "i want this, and that, and that, and- why aren't you giving it to me?? if you don't give me what i want, i'll tell on you!". spoiled brats are so fun to read and write about, especially when they have absolutely no reason to be spoiled given the current situation (think riches to rags). they've got everything, humor, angst, and best of all, lots of pockets for personality. think about why the child is spoiled. were they enabled by their guardians? did they grow up rich, with access to everything they wanted? think about whether you want the child to stay spoiled. does something change? do they learn how to improve their materialistic and selfish tendencies? there are so many opportunities to play with the personality of this child!

the know-it-all kid: while i do see a lot of know-it-all kids in media, oftentimes, they don't actually have personality besides bossiness and intelligence. i love know-it-all kids who have depth to them. kids who are constantly spouting information because of their sheer love to learn. kids who have one specific thing that they know everything about, so they never stop talking about it. kids who tell people what to do and act like they know best because they don't have a lot of control over anything at home, so they grasp at whatever control they can find elsewhere. i think this archetype could open up a lot of ideas for personality further down the line. it also has a lot of variety with humor and angst, and general depth.

the serious child: this is an archetype that i cannot get enough of. i love a child that doesn't think they're an adult, per se, and still enjoys kid things, but just has such a calm and regal air about them that isn't learned. it's just natural. think of the kid that doesn't really get excited about things conventionally, but you can tell they're happy by their faint smile. the kid that seems to live in slow motion, and doesn't mind this fact at all. the kid that sits alone at recess just because other kids scare the birds away, and they want to see how a bird acts when it doesn't think its being watched. i love kids who have poignant thoughts, because their thoughts are so creative and different from adult thoughts.

the adult-ified child: now this is another archetype i can't get enough of, but it's for a different reason. this child, on the other hand, does think that they're an adult for one reason or another. maybe their guardians forced them to grow up too quickly. maybe they just wanted to grow up quickly by themselves. but this child has thoughts that are too big for their little bodies. they explore things that aren't meant to be explored when their brains are still so small. they do everything too quickly, they stumble through life as if a clock is ticking somewhere. to me, they're just haunting to read about. it feels wrong and dangerous to just watch them do things that hurt them because they don't know any better, but they're on a page. nobody can stop them. it's just so tragic, i'm obsessed.

the prodigal child: this archetype isn't really as deep or detailed as the others, but i do appreciate it. this archetype is for a child who knew who they wanted to be from an early age. a child who wanders into a ballet class and finds out they're better than the ten year olds by the time they're five. this archetype often pairs really well with the know-it-all kid or the adult-ified child because usually, children don't experience what it's like to be the best at something until they're a lot older. this is just a really cool archetype when you aren't quite sure what to do with that main character's little sister.

the chaotic child: this archetype is so much fun to read and write, to be honest. this is a child that just does as they please, whether it's out of curiosity or for pure enjoyment. think of the crazy stories that your guardians have about you or your siblings being absolutely insane. scribbling in a book and then demanding that the library publish their version. trying to ride the dog like a horse. cutting up clothes in an attempt to be a fashion designer. this one is just plain fun!

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now, there are so many more archetypes out there, but those are just my spotlights and recommendations! i hope after reading this, you feel more equipt to write child characters that have real, engaging, interesting personalities!

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nychta-luxury · 1 year

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A Strange God

Gen Z reader

soft au - reader is an adult -

Warning: Not proofread, dark jokes, mostly comedy rather then serious, swearing.

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You were sitting in you're room playing genshin, doing your usual things like commissions, Tea pot, exploration, farming.

Until something strange happened your device wasn't responding. I don't mean the screen froze oh no no. You can still move your mouse however the game itself is moving on its own

"Oh hell naw I didn't sign up for this demonic shit. " You say as you back away from the device. Your main is still moving and the worst part is, its not even part of any idle animation or something you have seen before. You don't care if it's a hacker or some possession shit, EITHER ONE IS BAD

Then it hits you, you starting to get light headed, vision becoming blurry, you start on panicking. What the hell was wrong with your body just when you were about to reach for a phone you black out.

You are now concouice though haven't opened your eyes yet, it feels... Very peaceful your not sure why.. The birds are singing, the smell of flowers in the air, the grass on the ground

"THE GRASS ON THE GROUND?!" You instantly opened your eyes.

"Why is this grass brighter than my future." You say as you look at the neon like grass "Did people kidnap me to touch grass like a normal human being?" Look as much as unbelievable that suggestion was, you have been told to randomly touch grass more than your salary combined.

"You know what fuck it, it's like-" You look at the sky "I'm going to pretend I know what the time is, however I can say it's too early to care." You lay back down, ah how peaceful. Too peaceful, but who cares you can pretend to be in some anime and lay down at the grass.

"AHHH IS THAT A FUCKING BUG" You instantly sat up from the ground, honestly what were you thinking

"GET THE HELL AWAY SATAN SPAWN."

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

Okay now that's over with. You look up at the sky "Okay universe we both know you will fuck me over one way or another. I know damn well that the bugs were only the beginning." You sigh, done with your anime protagonist moment and reach out to grab your phone.

"Where's my phone...?"

"NO NO NOO," you say panicking "WHERE IS MY LIFE PURPOSE?!" You scream "I AM STILL WAITING FOR TCF MANHWA TO UPDATE!!"

It's been 30 minutes and you are still upset you don't have your phone. YOU DON'T CARE IF SOMEONE KIDNAPPED YOU AS LONG AS THEY GAVE YOU A PHONE OR BE AN IPAD KID.

"Ugh, what's the purpose of life if it isn't to update that one story you never continued in 2020." You say dramatically, if anyone was watching they would think you just lost a loved one.

you felt a small tickle on your foot, and your -20 IQ brain thought that it might be a spider... but suddenly you had gained 1 IQ and decided to actually look at what it was instead of kicking your feet aimlessly.

Turns out it was was a squirrel, thank goodness you didn't kick it. Let's just say tiktok traumatized you with too much information about animals..

The squirrel was just cuddling up to you, your weren't really sure why. It was then you realize your surroundings. "Why the hell am I in some old ass ruin??" Now your confused, you look around the area to see where you are perhaps you might even recognize it who knows? You can see a huge structure, it kinda looks like a crossbow, your not quite sure how to describe it. It feels very familiar for some reason, you can see carving marks on it, it read "Seed of stories, brought by the wind, and cultivated by time." huh for an ancient structure it sure had modern English. Wait. That's not English. How are you even reading that??? there is only one explanation for this. "I am some fictional work that doesn't even make sense, like 90% of fantasy reincarnation stories even if the protagonist was transmigrated and not reincarnated, but they use it anyway to sound cool." You say with a serious face, "Lmao as if that was true" You feel something on your shoulder, you immediately turn to what it was just to find the same squirrel just climbed up to your shoulder and now just cuddling you. "You are so lucky my reflexes didn't kick in, I almost throw you off my shoulders yk." "Why am I even talking to a squirrel? gonna be Snow White 2.0 ig" suddenly you hear something drop, you turn behind you and see- IS THAT AMBER???? looks like she dropped her bow, why does she look so surprised? Is it your outfit maybe? Maybe even the hair?? Anyways you just walked over and picked up ambers bow for her "Yo, you uh dropped this" "YOUR GRACE, YOU DON'T HAVE TO PICK IT UP FOR ME!!" "Wait tf you mean your grace." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Welp Gen z reader popped up in my mind so here- I decided not to add to many gen z jokes just yet since it is a little short story, might make a part 2 if this post goes well-

#genshin sagau #genshin soft au #sagau #genshin impact #gen z reader

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cursedwoman1859 · 10 months

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Arm Candy (Silco/F!Reader)

“I need someone who can look pretty on my arm and be trusted not to make off with the silverware from a topsider estate. That’s you.” Silco needs a plus-one for a fancy topsider party. You don't really have a choice but to agree.

AO3 Link

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Words: 5.8k

Content: Resolved sexual tension; semi-public sex; vaginal fingering; dirty talk; dubious business ethics

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It wasn’t often you got called into Silco’s office first thing in the morning. You were a paper-pusher, not one of the battle-hardened henchmen who usually hung around the Last Drop, and your work mostly kept you at your desk. Calculations came as naturally to you as breathing, and you could crunch numbers faster even than Silco himself. In the few months you’d been working for the Eye of Zaun, you’d made yourself indispensable. You helped keep track of the Shimmer shipments going to and from Zaun, you effortlessly slipped the profits from the drugs business into the earnings from the various factories and bars and properties that Silco owned, and once a week you’d spend the evening alone in the office with your stern, exacting boss while you went over that week’s financial reports. Silco needed someone to cook his books, and you prided yourself on being the best damn chef in the undercity. You kept to yourself, you prayed he never noticed your furtive glances up at him when he was absorbed in his work, and you did not cause trouble.

So it was only natural that your stomach twisted itself into knots as you stepped into his office, and that those knots tightened when he looked up from the paper he was reading, his bicoloured stare pinning you and making your walk to stand in front of his desk feel like miles instead of metres.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” you said when you were near, and the way his eyes flicked over you, almost too quickly for you to notice, did nothing to calm you.

“I did,” he said, his chair creaking as he leaned back in it. You’d definitely never wondered if it could hold two people. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

You could swear that sentence made your brain fritz like a faulty wire. “I, um—” Absolutely nothing was the real answer, but for some reason you didn’t want to admit that. “I made plans with…Ran and Dustin,” you said, saying the first names that came to your mind even though you’d never shared more than small talk with either of them.

Silco’s eyebrow raised as if he could see right through your lie. Which he probably could, because it was completely transparent. “Then cancel them. I need your help at an event.”

“What kind of…event?” you said, your mind reeling with all the things Silco could be alluding to. Shakedowns, back-alley deals, assassinations…

“Don’t look so frightened,” Silco said, taking a cigar from his ashtray and lighting it. He took a deep drag, letting the smoke billow around him as he spoke. “Are you familiar with Ko Shosu?”

It took you a moment to remember the name from some of the background research you’d carried out on Silco’s competitors. “Doesn’t he own that factory that makes gears or something?”

“The very same. He’s hosting a party at his residence topside tomorrow night and unfortunately, I’ll need to make an appearance. Shosu seems to think we’re acquaintances. And on top of that, I happen to know that one of his associates has run into some financial trouble as of late. His factory makes components that are essential to the Shimmer-tanks we’re developing. Now isn’t that a stroke of luck?”

“You want to get to this associate so you can get him to work with you?”

“Exactly. His name is Rupert Torek and he’s run up gambling debts with some very unsavoury people. I’m sure he’ll be cooperative once he realises I can lend him enough money to get himself out of debt before his wife finds out.”

You decided not to ask how Silco could have information like that on someone he’d never even met. For your sanity’s sake, it was better not to know. “And why do you need me, sir?”

It might have just been your imagination, but you could swear Silco looked you up and down again. Slower this time. “I thought that would be obvious. I cannot exactly show up to something like this alone. I need someone who can distract Torek’s wife so I can get five minutes alone with him, and who can look pretty on my arm and be trusted not to make off with the silverware from a topsider estate. That’s you.”

“I, um—” you floundered for a minute – the words look pretty on my arm setting your heart racing, which was stupid, he’d literally just said he wanted you to be his arm candy for a night, it meant nothing – and Silco raised an eyebrow at your hesitation.

“You’ll be paid overtime for your trouble, of course,” he said.

“That wasn’t—thank you, sir,” you said quickly.

“Good,” he said, flicking through some of the papers on his desk, his focus already slipping back to his work. “Meet me outside Ko Shosu’s house at eight sharp. Wear something nice and do not be late.”

It was a struggle to focus on your work for the next two days. The figures that usually came so easily to you seemed to blur together until you had to triple-check your spreadsheets in case you’d made an error while your mind insisted on screeching Silco think’s I’m pretty over and over like a stuck record. You were sure he’d meant nothing by that offhanded comment, but that didn’t help anything.

It was almost a relief when the next evening rolled around just so you could focus on doing something.

But that relief didn’t last long when you realised you didn’t have the first clue what you should wear to a party at a topsider’s fancy estate. There wasn’t time to hit up the markets even if you could justify the expense, so you settled for a black dress that was simple, but showed off your figure without showing too much of anything else, as you could at least guess that anything shorter than the knee-length hem of your dress might not go over well among the stiff, buttoned-up topsiders. You’d had the dress a long time and had to stitch it once or twice, but surely nobody would notice a little thing like that.

You felt strangely buoyant as you made your way through the upper districts of Zaun, where at this time in the evening business was just starting to pick up. Lines were forming outside the nicer clubs, the street hawkers were packing up to make way for the crowds, and the air nearly sparkled with Shimmer residue as you passed the open doors of some of the edgier establishments, where topsiders went to get a taste of the undercity without actually having to venture below. You couldn’t even find it within yourself to be annoyed at the arrogant topsiders who came to Zaun to indulge in all the things they couldn’t in Piltover before returning to their cushy homes and easy lives. Tonight felt like an infiltration, and it was you who would be inserting yourself somewhere you could never belong.

You met up with Silco outside the gates of Ko Shosu’s estate. He’d gone straight there from a meeting with some topsider businessman, and he was dressed as elegantly as he always was. As you approached you glanced at the people milling around on the wide driveway, and you suddenly felt underdressed.

“You’re almost late,” Silco said by way of greeting, and the nervous knot in your stomach only tightened.

“Sorry, sir. Border guards held me up. You know how they are.” The Enforcer at the checkpoint on the bridge had made a huge fuss over your ID photo having a slightly different hairstyle than you did now, just being an asshole because he was an Enforcer and he could.

“Hm,” was all he said as his eyes raked over you, and your mind instantly went to those little stitches in your dress. You suddenly felt as if he could see every little flaw in you, and the feeling only worsened when a couple of women in glittering floor-length gowns swept past, arm-in-arm and laughing airily.

“Do I look all right?” you said just to break the tense silence. “This is the best I have.”

“You look perfectly acceptable,” Silco said, and that was almost worse than if he hadn’t said anything. Acceptable. You’d be lucky if you weren’t mistaken for a servant. “Shall we?” he said then, offering you his arm. When you hesitated, he rolled his eyes. “Take my arm. We have to at least appear as if we both want to be here.”

“Do you want to be here?” you said as you curled your hand around his elbow, trying to ignore the jolt you felt at touching him, even if he was wearing a coat.

He scoffed. “Of course I don’t. But needs must.”

As you made your way up the long driveway, you couldn’t help but gawk at your surroundings. You knew this wasn’t even close to being the grandest house in all of Piltover, but at that moment you could have believed it. There were at least four floors, the upper two ringed in balconies spilling over with hanging flowers and vines. The next closest house had to be at least a hundred metres away, and in the dark space between you could make out the open expanse of a lawn lit by a ring of ground-level lamps, and manicured trees on each side. You couldn’t imagine what the topsiders would do with such a space – you could probably fit a whole other house in there, even one as large as Shosu’s.

And when you entered the house itself, you actually gasped. “Someone lives here? It looks like a palace.”

Silco shot you a glare as you stared at your surroundings with wide eyes, barely even registering the doorman who came to take your coats. “Remember how I said you were the only one I could trust not to fill your pockets? Don’t make me regret it.”

But you were hardly listening as your eyes roved over the crowded ballroom. It was a sea of fine suits and jewel-toned gowns, with servants darting through the throngs like the quick little fish that lived in the shallows of the river, trays of drinks and tiny pastry-like things balanced on their fingertips. Music drifted from somewhere you couldn’t see, almost drowned out by the chatter, and diamonds glittered at fingers and throats – and even on the ceiling, you noticed as your eyes drifted upwards, or at least it seemed like the chandeliers were draped in strings of gemstones that scattered the lights in every direction.

“Concentrate, girl,” Silco muttered close to your ear, making you shiver. “Remember why we’re here. Torek is over there,” he said, though you couldn’t possibly guess which of the guests he was indicating. “Do you remember your task?”

You dragged your eyes away from the spectacle before you to meet his mismatched eyes. “Keep his wife distracted while you get him to consider working with you. I’ve got it.”

“Good. We won’t need to stay long – an hour at most, then you can go home and do whatever you’d like. Maybe you can even catch Ran and Dustin.” As he said this the corner of his mouth tilted up, and you realised with some shock that the Eye of Zaun was teasing you.

You shrugged in what you hoped was nonchalance. “It takes as long as it takes. You know I’m not one to rush a job.”

“I’m aware,” he said as you started to make your way through the crowd, weaving through the throng as if you weren’t aiming straight for your unfortunate target. Perhaps it was because people knew he was from the Undercity, or maybe whispers of the things his people did in dark alleys and dingy establishments travelled ahead of him, but the dense crowd of people seemed to loosen before him, as if people suddenly remembered they had other places to be when he approached. If it offended him, Silco gave no sign, but instead he leaned in to you again. “He is close now. Laugh like I’ve said something terribly clever, you look petrified.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, but you did as he asked anyway, and it seemed to help. The tension you had felt in the air around you receded a little, and before you knew it Silco was shaking hands with a tall, portly man. You barely heard as he introduced you as his guest for the night, your heart was pounding so loudly in your ears. Rupert Torek had an open, kind face, his eyes crinkling at the sides when he smiled, and he didn’t seem surprised that Silco had sought him out. You wondered if he had any idea how fucked he was.

“We haven’t met before! I’m Liana, Rupert’s wife,” a voice at your side said, making you start, though you quickly smoothed it over with a smile as you turned to the woman who had appeared next to you, introducing yourself and hoping you sounded like you knew you belonged here, just like she did.

Liana glanced between you and Silco, who had already captured her husband’s full attention. Her brows lowered slightly, and you wondered if she had suspicions about her husband’s gambling. “I didn’t know Silco had a partner,” she said carefully.

“Oh, we’re not…together,” you said, laughing airily. “I’m just accompanying him tonight.”

“I see,” Liana said, though now her smile seemed frozen in place, and you wondered if you’d offended her somehow. But nevertheless she called over a couple of her friends, whose names you quickly forgot, and for a moment you were very pleased with yourself. There was no chance Liana would try to join her husband’s conversation while you had her distracted like this.

It was at this point that things started to go wrong.

In hindsight, you should have realised what Liana thought you were implying when you’d said you were accompanying your boss, and what a topsider would think of that particular occupation. But you were a few minutes into a banal, vapid conversation with Liana and her friends about something that you weren’t really paying attention to before you realised that they all thought you were a whore he’d hired for the night, and apparently found this very offensive judging by the bladed smiles and barbed compliments that started heading your way. It didn’t help that you were inadvertently showing much more skin than any of them – and how you were supposed to know the current fashions topside, you had no idea. Pretty soon your fingers were itching to take off one of your high-heeled shoes and beat Liana’s face in with it, but you couldn’t exactly square up in the middle of a ballroom as if you were in a Zaunite dive bar.

So instead, you just played dumb.

You let the thinly-veiled insults, the insinuations that you didn’t belong among them, glance off you. Nobody spent their whole life in Zaun without growing their own kind of armour. Right now yours was keeping your smile frozen firmly on your face, and so Liana was too busy with you to notice that her husband was making a business deal with the Eye of Zaun himself, right under her powdered nose.

That thought made you glance over at Silco, and the second your eyes met his, you felt a strange sort of calm descend over you. Rupert Torek was still chatting away, not even a hint of discomfort on his round face. Silco gave you a minute, almost imperceptible nod, raising his glass of wine slightly.

It had actually worked.

You tried to keep your face blank. That only became harder when Silco turned his attention back to Torek and you realised that when you’d looked over at him, he’d already been watching you.

Soon after, you excused yourself to go to the ladies’ room. You were pretty sure Liana and her friends forgot all about you as soon as you were out of sight – or at least you hoped so. You didn’t want to know what they’d be saying about you as soon as you were out of earshot.

You didn’t head to the bathroom, though. Instead you went out the way you’d come in, not bothering to collect your coat from the doorman as you went down the stone steps as fast as you could without running.

As soon as you were outside, away from the glare of the house’s lights, you felt the tightness that had settled in your chest loosen. You hadn’t even noticed the anxiety creep under your skin with every barb Liana and her friends had thrown your way, but when it finally dissipated you wondered how you’d been able to breathe at all.

You should go back now that you’d got your fresh air. You couldn’t just disappear.

But one glance back at the shadowy figures moving through the ballroom windows had you moving away from the house, into the shadows of the grounds where nobody would notice the Zaunite girl who was hilariously out of place among them.

The pathways were lit by low electric lights, and there was nobody else out here. You chose a path along the edge of the grounds, shielded on one side by a high wall and on the other by a huge rosebush bordering the lawn. You weren’t sure whether you were really supposed to be out here, but nobody stopped you as you wandered further into the grounds.

Eventually you found a bench and you sat down, tipping your head back to watch the stars in the sky. You’d only ever seen them when Silco sent you up to Piltover on business, and on those nights there was never time to stop and really look at them. Down in the Undercity it was difficult to see the sky at all through the smog, let alone the dozens of stars that shimmered through the haze of Piltover’s lights.

For some reason you couldn’t name, tears sprang to your eyes unbidden, and you tried to blink them away without ruining your makeup.

Of course, that was the moment you heard footsteps approaching.

“Drinking alone already?”

Your head snapped up to see Silco strolling towards you, and it was then that you realised you still had your glass of wine in your hand. You sighed, taking a sip as your boss sat down next to you.

“Just needed some air,” you muttered as Silco slung his arm over the back of the bench. It didn’t escape you that if you leaned back, he would have his arm around you. “How did it go with Torek?”

“I expect we’ll be getting a visit from him or one of his associates in the near future. His wife wasn’t too much for you, I take it?”

“I handled it. But they’re all just so…ugh.”

Silco chuckled as he pulled a cigar from somewhere in his coat, and you tried not to let the sound startle you. You’d never heard Silco laugh before, not even a little, and the sound was surprisingly warm. “Don’t worry, we won’t have to do this again for a while.” You watched as he held the cigar between his crooked teeth as he flicked his lighter, the strange angle of the lights highlighting his sharp cheekbones as he took a long drag.

“You know, I don’t think we’re allowed to smoke out here.”

“I don’t care.” He blew a long puff of smoke out into the crisp night air, staining it with a rich scent of tobacco and spices. “Is something bothering you?”

You searched for words to explain the anger tightening your throat, but came up with nothing that made sense. You were a numbers girl. Words were Silco’s thing. You shrugged. “It’s stupid. It doesn’t matter.”

“I’m asking, so I would say it does.” His voice had hardened, and you glanced over at him in alarm, though he didn’t look angry.

You didn’t want to push it, though, so you sighed and took a sip from your wine to buy a few seconds, feeling Silco’s mismatched gaze on you the whole time. “It’s just…all they did in there was bitch about things. What I was wearing, how I acted, their husbands, their lives. And yet…” you gestured vaguely at your surroundings. The gardens that must have needed a whole team of people to maintain. The lawn that sat empty when it could have grown enough food to feed a whole street of hungry Zaunites. The house. “They have all this, but it’s all they’ve ever had, so they can’t even see how privileged they really are. Meanwhile we have to scrape every penny just to put food on the table and some people in Zaun don’t even get that. If I lived up here I’d never complain about anything ever again,” you finished, and by now you were speaking into your wine glass, your eyes fixed on the ground.

Silco was quiet for a moment, and you didn’t dare glance up at him to see if you could gauge what he was really thinking. You’d never been so candid with your boss before, and you half expected him to leave and pretend tonight had never happened. The very last thing you expected him to say was, “What if I told you that tonight had been something of a test of your loyalties?”

Now you did look up, and he was watching you with that kind of calculated detachment he was so good at, though something in the hard lines of his face had softened. Or maybe it was just the moonlight.

“I don’t understand, sir.”

He took his time answering, taking another long drag of his cigar and releasing the smoke in a ring. “You’ve been with me a short while now, and you’re a very talented accountant. With your skills and some forged papers you could easily find work topside. Something with less risk and more pay.”

You flushed at his insinuation. “You pay me just fine.”

He rolled his eyes. “All wages are higher topside, you know that. You could have walked out of that house with a whole list of people who would pay you far more than I can for the same work, but you didn’t. Instead you stood there and allowed me to work on Torek while everyone in that room thought you were just some girl I’d hired for the night.”

You started to splutter a protest, but it died on your lips when you realised Silco was right. If you’d revealed your real job it would have raised Liana’s suspicions.

“It’s a long road ahead of us until Zaun is an independent nation. The topsiders won’t let us go without a fight,” he said, his voice dropping in case you weren’t alone in the gardens. “There will be times when you are tempted by offers of money, better jobs in better places, employers who won’t ask you to break the topsiders’ laws every day. I needed to know that you were true to the cause, that you would remain loyal to me even when you had the opportunity to make things easier for yourself.”

“You were giving me an out,” you said as it clicked into place. “Why now?”

“Because by now, you know exactly what you’re getting into by staying. Your choice to work for me is a genuine one.”

“So did I pass? Your test, I mean.”

“We would not be sitting here now if you had failed.”

You weren’t involved in the…bloodier side of Silco’s business, but you weren’t ignorant to it, either. You knew what he did to people he suspected of disloyalty. Would he really have let you go if you’d wanted? Or would you have disappeared into the shadows of the Lanes, never to be heard from again? You wouldn’t be the first. But then you realised that you’d never been afraid of that, because you would never give him a reason to doubt your loyalties. Zaun had to break free of Piltover, and he was the only one with the wits, the resources, and the sheer bloody-mindedness to finally cut the undercity free.

A sudden cold breeze blew in off the river, making the hedges surrounding you tremble, and you became acutely aware that you had left your coat inside. Before you could give yourself the chance to think better of it, you leaned back, and as you’d suspected, Silco didn’t move his arm. He didn’t quite put his arm around you, but he traced a circle on your bare shoulder with the back of his thumb, almost as if he was reluctant to touch you in case he scared you off.

“We can return to the party if you wish,” he said, and now he was near enough for his warm breath on your ear to send shivers along your skin that had nothing to do with the chilled night air.

“I prefer it out here.”

“As do I.” He held his cigar between his teeth as he reached into his coat and produced a small metal hip flask.

You couldn’t help but snort as he uncapped it and the smell of whiskey hit your nose. “You brought your own alcohol?”

He took a swig and then passed the flask to you. “Better than the swill they’re serving in there.”

“That swill is probably very expensive.”

“So is this. Drink.”

You took a small sip and were proud of yourself when you didn’t cough, even though the whiskey was strong enough to make your eyes water. A pleasant warm sensation spread out from your chest as you swallowed, though, and you shivered as you licked a drop off your lip. “Definitely tastes expensive.”

You looked up at him, and Silco’s eyes quickly snapped away from your mouth as he made a vague hum of agreement. For a while neither of you spoke, and you only passed the flask back and forth in companionable silence. The music that drifted towards you on the wind picked up in pace, and you heard the occasional drunken shout in the distance. Still nobody ventured into the dark grounds.

“Earlier I told you that you looked acceptable,” Silco said all of a sudden as he tapped out his half-smoked cigar and put it back in the tin. “I believe I should have told you that you look lovely instead.”

You felt a flush creep up your neck, and you risked a glance up at your boss – who had told you that you would look pretty on his arm, who had trusted you with this mission and had noticed when you slipped off to be alone. Nobody ever did that.

Maybe it was the whiskey. Maybe you were delusional or perhaps just stupid. You didn’t really know why you did it, but before you could think better of it, you leaned over and kissed him.

It was only a quick, chaste press of your lips against his, and you instantly regretted it when Silco stayed completely still against you. You jerked backwards, already apologising. “I’m so sorry sir, I shouldn’t—”

You didn’t get to finish your sentence. Silco’s hand was firm on the back of your neck as he pulled you towards him and kissed you. Properly this time. It was your turn to freeze in shock, but you quickly got over it as his tongue danced against yours and you tasted whiskey and smoke. You eagerly let him in as he deepened the kiss, shivering as his hand slid up your leg from your knee to your thigh, and for the first time that night you were glad of your too-short skirt.

You gasped in surprise as he pulled you onto his lap, barely breaking the kiss as he made you straddle him, your skirt riding up as your thighs spread. Feeling bold, you ran your hands through his soft hair, and he hummed in approval as you raked your nails through the short hair at the base of his neck. In response he gave your ass a firm squeeze, grinding you down onto his lap.

And onto the hard length beneath you.

You circled your hips against him as he moved down to your neck, holding you in place with a hand in your hair pulling just tight enough to hurt as he bit more than kissed you, leaving marks that would definitely be impossible to hide in this dress. You couldn’t give a shit. No way were you going back into that stupid party after this.

“Tell me how long you’ve wanted this,” Silco said, emphasising his point with a sharp snap of his hips up against you.

“I—” you started, but you could only focus on his hands creeping up your thighs again. Except this time, they didn’t stop.

“Go on,” he coaxed, as if you were supposed to focus on anything except his fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. You hissed as he tugged them down and the cold night air hit your pussy, and it faded into a whimper as he trailed his fingers along your lips, pausing to circle your entrance in a way that made your back arch. “And don’t you dare try to lie to me, sweetheart, because you’re already wet for me.”

“Um…” you tried to focus on anything but the soft, barely-there brush of his fingers against your pussy. Every time you tried to grind against his hand he moved away, keeping his touch just a little too soft, the bastard. “I think – maybe…”

“A few weeks?” he prompted.

“Mm – no…”

He raised an eyebrow, but rewarded your answer by pressing his thumb against your clit, though he still refused to give you what you wanted. Needed.

“Months?”

“Longer. Since… I wanted this since my first day working for you.” Finally, Silco slid one long finger into you as his thumb drew an agonisingly slow circle over your clit, and your eyes fluttered closed in pleasure.

“Do you want to know a secret, my lovely?” he said, his fingers moving faster, obscene wet noises filling the air.

“M-hm.”

“I have you beat. I’ve wanted this since I interviewed you.”

Your eyes flew open at his admission just as he sank another finger into you without warning. Later. You could think about what he’d said later. For now you just let yourself enjoy the curl of his long fingers inside you, the expert ministrations of his thumb on your clit that sent waves of warm pleasure up your spine.

Until the bastard stopped.

He withdrew his hand from you, and his fingers glistened in the moonlight from your wetness. Your eyes widened as he licked them clean, then he motioned for you to stand. “Get up. Go and stand at the end of the bench.”

You followed his directions on shaky legs, and Silco followed, casually strolling around to stand behind you. You had a good idea of what he intended. He trailed his fingers up your bare arms, then fisted one hand in your hair while the other held your bicep in a bruising grip. “If you want this to stop,” he purred in your ear, “say the word now.”

You only pushed back against him, feeling his hard length behind you.

“I thought not.” Then he bent you over the arm of the bench, the ornate steel armrest digging into your hips as he lifted your skirt and pulled your panties down to your knees. You weren’t sure if you shivered with the cool breeze or the anticipation as you heard him unbutton his pants, his hand still in your hair. Then you hissed as you felt the press of his cock against your centre, arched your back as he slid it through your wetness before finally sinking into you as his free hand started playing with your clit once more.

Your voice rose in a high, keening cry as he sheathed himself inside you, easing the ache of his entry with his fingers on your clit. He stopped abruptly, pulling you up by your hair. “Hush now,” he hissed in your ear as he let go of your hair and shoved his fingers in your mouth. You could taste the echo of yourself on his skin. “You don’t want them to think you really are my whore, do you?”

You choked around his fingers for a moment before you relaxed your throat enough that you could shake your head and make a garbled nuh-uh sound, which earned you a low chuckle.

“I didn’t quite catch that, sweetheart,” he said as he started to move, setting a quick, urgent pace that reminded you that anybody could come around the corner and see you bent over a bench with the most powerful man in the Undercity driving into you from behind as you gagged on his fingers. Every thrust of his hips ground yours against the metal armrest, and you knew you’d surely have bruises in the morning. “I wish we were somewhere I could fuck you properly. Take you apart piece by piece until you’re nothing more than a writhing, crying mess in my bed. But perhaps you do like the idea of someone seeing you, seeing how well you’re taking me. How wet you are.” His breathing was becoming shallow as he fucked you, but that didn’t stop the stream of filth from his mouth. “I don’t know about you, but I would kill to see the look on Ko Shosu’s face when he realises we used his party to lure his friend into our web and then defiled his rose garden right under his nose.”

He said something else after that too, but you’d stopped listening to his words and let the low, rough cadence of his voice be the final push you needed over that peak you’d been approaching, once interrupted and now higher than ever. Even Silco’s fingers in your mouth weren’t enough to muffle your cries as you came, your thighs shaking from the strain of standing while your walls clamped down on Silco’s cock, over and over again in waves of agonising bliss. He followed soon after, and you felt a warm rush as he spilled himself inside you with a groan he muffled in your neck.

For a moment you both stood there, catching your breath. You sighed in relief as Silco removed his fingers from your mouth, and after tucking himself away he cleaned you up with a handkerchief before pulling your panties back up for you. “You felt just as good as I’d imagined you would,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your abused scalp.

“Is that something you imagined often, sir?” you said teasingly.

“Most nights,” he murmured into your hair. “And perhaps some days, too.”

Well, damn. You had no idea what to say to that, other than, “Me too.” Maybe you had actually drank too much. “Take me home,” you said, leaning back against his chest as he straightened out your skirts. You felt him smile against your hair.

“It would be my absolute pleasure.”

#arcane x reader #silco x reader #silco x you #arcane x you #arcane x female reader #cursedfanfic #ive been dipping in and out of this for months and now im sick of looking at it so here you go lol

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monzabee · 8 months

Text

a not so meet cute – cl16

paper rings, prologue(?)

masterlist || series masterlist ||

Summary: The one where Charles meets his neighbour, who quickly captures his attention.

Pairing: charles leclerc x reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: none other than charles being charles, also might have some cursing, google translate french

Request: “Hii if you’re taking requests could you please write a fic for Charles where he’s your best friend and he asks you to fake date him because he think he likes another girl so he wants to make her notice him/make her jealous kind of thing and you agree even though you love him and during the fake dating he realises that he loves you too and yeah angst fluff and all but a happy ending .If you decide to write this tysm and incase you don’t feel like writing this that’s cool too thanks either way ❤️”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! although i am still working on the first chapter of this new series, i wanted to write a little something for you guys to introduce you to the world i had in mind! i know it was not on the wip schedule, but the inspiration struck so i decided to go with it. ever since i saw the wedding pictures of margaret qualley and jack antonoff, the only thing i've been thinking of was the song, and i though it was the perfect song for the characters i had in mind. so, welcome to the new series, inspired by the request above, so thank you for the anon who put the idea in my mind to create this whole series, and i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

August, 2017

He met Margaret on our rooftop, she was wearing white And he was like, "I might be in trouble"

Charles loves his country, he really does. He’s always been patriotic of some sorts, he supposes. But the one thing he absolutely loathes about Monaco? The heat, no questions asked. The worst part isn’t even the heat itself, per se, it is the fact that his apartment has no elevator and he has to walk up five stories just to make it to his apartment – in the heat. So yeah, even though he is as patriotic of a Monégasque as they come, he definitely wishes he was somewhere else at the moment. When he does make to his floor, however, he’s met with a rather peculiar view, where his new neighbour is yelling at someone on the phone.

“No, I said I wanted the granite counters,” the person specify, fingers clutching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “No!” The man straight up yells, “Ceux en granit, connard, pas ceux en graphite. I don’t think they even come in graphite!”

Deciding to remain silent as he makes his way towards his own apartment, Charles ignores the man standing in front of the apartment opposite of his. Though, he realises that the apartment’s door is open and there is construction going on inside, which explains the drilling sounds he’s been hearing early in the morning and the smell of fresh paint that never seems to leave the shared floor.

Side-eyeing the whole ordeal, he manages to make it to his apartment without attracting the attention of the man – or so he thinks. Just as he’s about to unlock his front door, he feels a pat on his shoulder. As he turns towards the man, there is a curious look on his face, “Hi?”

“Hello,” the man greets, “do you know how i can contact the superintendent?”

For reasons unknown (extreme hangover), Charles’ brain decides to blank out, “Quoi?”

“Le commissaire,” the man clarifies, “savez-vous comment je peux les contacter?” And Charles realises he would have been impressed with the man’s accent if he wasn’t so hangover from the night before. The superintendent, do you know how I can contact them?

“Ah,” Charles nods in understanding, “sure, let me give you his number.”

After the man saves the number he gives to his phone, he extends his hand in a friendly greeting. “I owe you one, I’m Declan, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Charles,” he responds with, what he hopes to be, a friendly smile. Motioning the apartment behind them, he asks, “Are you my new neighbour?”

“Oh, no, no,” Declan laughs, and it’s a warm, almost infectious laugh. It reminds Charles of– well, it doesn’t matter anymore. Declan’s voice draws him back to the conversation, “My sister is, I’m renovating it for her.”

Charles nods in understanding, “Ah, I see. I’ve never seen her around, I don’t think.”

“Well that’d be because she’s as annoying as little sisters come,” Declan laughs again, and this time it manages to get a smile out of Charles. “You know what? We’re actually having a small party at my place tonight, why don’t you come?”

“You’ve just met me,” Charles points out, voicing his confusion, “you really want to invite me to your house?”

“Pish posh,” Declan waves him off, already starting to walk back to his sister’s apartment “I’ll send you the details, bring alcohol!”

Charles tries to come up with excuses to give Declan when he’s a no show at the party, but all the excused he come up with sounding either shitty, entitled or just a mess in general. So he convinces himself to get ready after a much needed shower, and remembers to pick up a bottle of tequila on his way to the address Declan texted him earlier that day. Considering the amount of cars parked in front of the apartment complex, Charles thinks whether it’s going to be a ‘small’ party as Declan put earlier, but he manages to find a place to park his car, nonetheless. Surprisingly, it’s not hard to find which apartment belongs to his new ‘friend’, as the people he seems to keep literally bumping into give him directions which lead him to the top floor – he thinks, like brother like sister, huh?

“Ah, bienvenu, Charles!” Declan greets him as he enters the apartment, filled with more people than he honestly expected; but hey, they are in Monte Carlo after all.

Because he was raised by his mother, Charles replies, “Merci de me recevoir,” but because he is Charles, he finds himself reverting easily to French. Of course, he soon realises that his new friend has no trouble understanding him.

“Of course, ma maison est ta maison.” With a wide smile that reaches his eyes, he takes the bottle Charles offer him and pats his shoulder in a friendly manner, “Good lad, let me put this in the kitchen and we’ll find my sister together. I suppose she’s here somewhere.”

Giving him a firm nod, Charles is suddenly left alone to gaze around the living area. He quickly realises that he’s not the only one who is particularly patriotic as he comes face to face with the Union Jack on the wall, proudly displayed on the wall, seems to tell a story of cultural connections and a home away from home. He’s also, somehow, met with a very eccentric group of people, who seem to be insistent on having him join their various conversation – which he does his best to partake in.

As he chats with a group of fellow partygoers, he notices Declan making his way through the crowd toward him. “Charles,” he says with an apologetic smile, “sorry for that, let’s go.”

As they move through the apartment, Charles catches glimpses of the décor, which can only be described as eclectic, but what he realises that Declan made sure to fill up his walls with all kinds of memories; from photographs of what Charles thinks is his family to his diplomas, to even famous artwork – he’s not sure whether the Warhol he just passed by is real or not, but he supposes it’s probably the first option. They arrive at a corner of the rooftop terrace where a cozy seating area is arranged. A few guests are engaged in animated discussions, while others lounge comfortably, enjoying the ambiance. However, it doesn’t take either him or Declan to realise that his sister is, in fact, not with the group.

Though, it doesn’t take the latter to spot his sister, mumbling with a wince under his breath, and when Charles follows Declan's gaze to find her engaged in a rather animated discussion with a man who looks both frustrated and slightly bewildered by her. “Poor guy.”

“Seems like she's keeping him entertained.” Charles offer, careful with his words, and also quite confused at the man’s reactions to whatever Declan’s sister seems to be saying.

“Eh, sisters.” Declan shrugs, and motions Charles to follow him.

As they approach their corner of the terrace, her voice becomes clearer, and Charles can overhear snippets of the conversation. “I just don’t understand why we can’t print more money,” she says in an airy voice.

The man she's speaking to rubs his temples, clearly grappling with how to respond. “Well, it's not that simple. Printing more money can lead to inflation and devalue the currency.” He takes a moment to think, then, “Think of it like shoes–”

“Okay,” Declan laughs nervously as he places himself between the two, turning to the other man with a kind smile, “I think we’re done here, mate, she’s playing you. She’s an econ major, sorry for that.” Though Charles can’t see the expression on her face, he imagines there’s some sort of a victorious smile as she waves the man away, “Stop emasculating my friends, please.”

“Well choose better friends, and I won’t,” she shrugs, following his brother’s movements as he makes his way back near Charles, she turns towards him as the white dress she’s wearing sways gently in the evening breeze. There’s a surprised look on her face when she realises and they are not alone, “Um, hi.”

With a playful grin, Declan points to Charles and turns to his sister, “This is Charles, your new neighbour, and Charles, this is my sister–”

Bambi.

It’s the only word that comes to Charles’ mind when he sees your eyes and a friendly smile you give to him, “Nice to meet you, Charles.”

His eyes fall down to your extended hand, and he scrambles to regain his composure, taking your hand and shaking it gently. “Uh, yes, nice to meet you too.”

With an unexpected clap from your brother, which has both you and Charles jumping slightly, you turn to him with a glare, “Well, now that you know each other, I’ll leave you to get acquainted. And you,” he points to you which elicits a raised eyebrow from you, “don’t scare him off, and for God’s sake change this music.”

“What’s wrong with ABBA?” You ask with a small pout already forming on your lips.

“We need a change,” Charles watches with a silent chuckle as Declan starts walking back towards the kitchen, “ergo, change it!”

“Well that was an interesting exit,” you mumble, eyes following your brother until he’s out of both your and Charles’ views. Afterwards, you turn your attention back to the man standing in front of you, “What do you think about The Smiths?”

“Who?” Charles asks you, confusion written on his face.

“Not The Who,” you nudge him slightly, chuckling softly, though your laughter dies down once you realise he’s really confused. “I– The Smiths, Charles! To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die,” you softly sing, but he replies with a small shake of his head, and a shrug. “Oh, I love The Smiths! Come on, you have a lot to learn.”

As you grab him by his wrist to guide him back inside the apartment, I might be in trouble, he thinks to himself. And then, you turn around to give him a full smile, with a glint of mischief in your eyes that he can't quite interpret, and say, “I can already feel that we are going to be very good friends.”

And then he knows, he’s definitely in trouble.

#monzabee #requests open #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #formula 1 #fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #imagine #fluff #angst #smut #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fluff

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masturbucky · 1 year

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The Intruder

DARK!Winter Soldier x fem!reader

Summary: You had issues with sleeping for the past two weeks. You wake up every night and you swear you can feel someone's staring from the shadows, but there's no one, and you know it's your imagination. Sometimes you feel touches. When you're tired of your mind tricks, you start taking those sleeping pills. It's good for you, and for the man who watches your sleep every night, too. But you dont need to know that. You need to sleep.

WARNINGS: DARK REALLY DARK PLEASE BE AWARE(!!!), Smut, Somnophilia, NON-CONSENSUAL EVERYTHING, AGAIN IT'S A FUCKING RAPE, Obsessive behavior, unprotected p in v, WS basically romanticizes from his sick point what he does to you, no y/n, literally NO comfort, creampie, marking, a bit of knife play(he tears your shirt off and touches you with a knife a bit), a lot of mentions of death by WS, choke kink if you squint, dacryphilia if you squint, what else? ENGLISH IS NOT MY NATIVE LANGUAGE! Also I kinda forgot to post it when I finished it and so i remembered only like an hour ago, changed some stuff a bit, but grammar errors are still on the table yk. Also, YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. I'M NOT YOUR DADDY I CAN'T TELL YOU SHIT, I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE A MINOR, IT'S YOUR PROBLEM.

You sigh, dropping your bag on the couch while slipping out of your shoes on the way to the kitchen. It's a living hell, you think.

Two fucking weeks you can't sleep. You wake up every night, a several times at least, with a fucking panic attack, or in a sleep paralysis, or whatever the fuck it is — you don't know, you don't care, you just want it to stop.

The thing is, you're going insane.

Every night the reason you wake up is this feeling of someone's eyes on you. Someone's staring at you, from the shadowed corner of your room, every night and it doesn't stop. At first you weren't brave enough to look. On the thrid night you said fuck it and turned the light on, looking around. No one, nothing, no trace of anyone's presence. The fuck you expected to see? The windows were closed, same goes to the door — you checked, three times and one more to be sure — and you were honestly confused and tired enough to get back to sleep. Only for the same thing to happen the following night. And the next one. And again, and again, and again.

You changed locks. Better safe than sorry, you know?

It didn't helped. You still feel watched every night.

Sometimes YOU SWEAR you could feel lingering touches on your body. Cold or warm.

Again, you're going insane.

You bought a fucking camera and installed it in your bedroom under the ceiling just to find your sleepy self and your scared to hell awake self, walking around and searching for the fucking intruder, on it in the morning.

You tried to invite your friends over for the night, but — what am I, a fucking joke? — they all laughed at you, when you told your story. Fuck them, really, you should consider searching for new friends.

You decided to go to the therapist your friend (the only one who, thankfully, didn't laughed with the rest, but still brushed you off) recommended you. The point is, you'll have to wait a month to get an appointment in their busy schedule. You ain't gonna wait so long, you need to sleep for fuck's sake.

That's being said, here you are. Reading an instruction list to Flurazepam, which is like a fucking blanket itself, and grinning like an idiot, excited. Fuck your brain really, fuck it's dumb imagination, fuck the imaginary intruder! You need your sleep and you'll get your sleep, thanks to medicine!

Tonight you eat, shower, read your evening book and get to bed happily, excited to finally get some sleep. Maybe you take a bit more Flurazepam than needed. Just in case, you know?

***

He entered your apartment the same way as always - it wasn't hard to steal your keys and make a copy. He's used to be unnoticed, they would've been disappointed if he was careless enough to let you know about his mere existence. So far, you're stupid enough not to look into details. Smart enough to try and change locks and install a camera, smart enough to show him that you're safe from everyone, but him.

He stops the recording of this damn camera before walking into your room. He solved this problem the first night you installed it. It's a nice kind of change, he must admit. Seeing you from different angle other than from cameras he installed before is nice, truly. Beautiful, clever and caring about his... needs, even without knowing about him. That's what makes you so divine.

Tonight... To be honest, he was waiting for this just as much as you. He was excited, even. For your sleep and his next move in your relationship, if he could call it that.

He takes his mask and glasses off, walking closer to your bed, to your sleeping, relaxed. Asleep, more calm than usual. Just like the first night. Your breath is soft, heartrate is slow, the pills you took obviously worked. You probably took a bit more than you should have, his dumb little thing you are.

He doesn't know how it all happened, to be honest.

What he knows is, he needs you. Badly. All the time, day and night, needs to see your beauty and he needs to be close to something as perfect as you. He thought they wiped everything that could've been even close to what he feels towards you, but apparently they only made it worse.

More likely they know where he disappears every night to. They know everything, and he noticed how much easier it became to sneak out. And if they know and let it be, then he's allowed to have this. Which probably gives them even more power over him.

But he doesn't care. As long as he can see his angel, as long as he can touch something as perfect as you are, he doesn't give a fuck about what else Hydra would make him do. Consider it done. Consider it dead.

He takes his gloves off, kneeling down beside your bed. Slides your blanket off your body, and takes a deep breath. You're in your usual clothes of choice — this tempting shirt, which he often can see your nipples through, which he allows himself to touch sometimes even, and a comfy pair of underwear. He doesn't know what other men usually consider sexy, but for him it is whatever you wear. Especially this pair of panties.

Brings his hand to your thigh, more confidently than usual strokes the smooth skin up, touching the soft material of your underwear and sliding under the warmth of your shirt, to your belly. He doesn't need to be careful now. You won't wake up anyway, you're too deep in your slumber, thanks to those pills.

He almost groans only at the feeling of your soft, warm skin under his fingertips. It's not often when he touches you UNDER your clothes. Too much of a risk, he never intended to wake you up. It would mean a too big step, he doesn't need you to put up a fight and resist too much. If so, he would have to hurt you. And take you away. He's not ready to do that just yet.

But now? Now he can at least do that much without rushing things into it's natural ending. He could have you now, he could taste you now, and then he would prepare to take you somewhere where he would do that as often as possible. He just has to be patient.

For now he could just leave you a message of who you belong to. A promise, of sorts.

The bed cracked under his weight loudly, thanks god you're so deep in your sleep, and the blade shines in the moonlight, so does the hand, the whole arm. Soldier knows that what he's about to do will break you. But a broken angel is still an angel, a fallen one is not.

However, he's very clear with his messages.

Your shirt goes first. The material breaks easily on a sharp knife, he uses it to kill after all, and he's devouring every second of it. He prays that it wont be possible to erase from his mind, just like it was with you, with his angel.

"Beautiful," He breathes out, his voice hoarse and his throat hurts. He hasn't talked in quite some time.

Your shirt is no longer on his way. And oh god, seeing your chest again makes him believe in heaven, whatever this is. When you'll be his, you won't be wearing any clothes at all. It will be his personal heaven.

"So beautiful..." He lowers the knife to your chest, tracing soft skin, nipples with the backside of it. He could so easily switch the side, he could leave a permanent mark on you, a reminder of your first night as his, but he wont. Not now, at least.

Then he lowers the blade to your underwear. Two simple cuts on either sides - and it's just as dysfunctional as the shirt. But he doesn't think you'll need them anyway, now. He might as well just... Take them, as a little reminder for himself? A promise.

He lifts your pretty legs up, resting them on his shoulders when he settles in between, and slides the thorn material from under you with his flesh arm. He wants to feel this. He wants to savor every touch.

Your panties are left in the pocket of his pants, and he returns his full attention to you. Only if you knew how beautiful you are right now, naked for him, ready for him. He would show you, one day. When you would be conscious and used to him, his presence, his touches. For now, this will do.

The knife is back in it's holder, and he lowers to your warm body. Hands slide up your waist to your tits, and the left one to your neck. Metal fingers trace the warm, delicate skin, pressing ever so slightly. The only time he really focuses on how much pressure he adds. Looks just perfect on you.

He can't wait anymore.

Right hand slides off your body to lower his pants, just enough to free his almost uncomfortable erection. He was so mesmerized by your beauty that he completely forgot about himself.

Leans back slightly, once again admiring the view. His angel, so perfect and peaceful, in her sleep. Your calm face, delicate neck, chest, your belly, legs and, a fucking paradise, your pussy. He can't see much, but he knows its perfect. He had seen it, many times, on the cameras. He also knows what you play with, and where you hide it. Lower drawer of your nightstand.

Soldat leaves a trail of open mouthed kisses on your neck, tasting your skin. It's his time to enjoy, his moment to savor, so he slides his hand down to your exposed to him — only him — heat. You're wet, just a bit. Enough for him, at least. Touching you is a privilege already.

Your legs are pushed up, over his thighs. He doesn't know if he wants to hurry up or take his time, it feels like he needs both. Contradictions became natural to him since he found you.

A deep breath. He lined himself up with your entrance, stroking himself slowly, just a bit. Smearing his precum over your clit and soft folds, enjoying the moment. It's so strange to be so overwhelmed. So excited. You make him feel things he didn't knew he was able to feel, and you have no clue. You will, eventually.

He pushes in slowly, groaning and almost cumming right away, holding himself back and biting on your neck. He takes a second to remind himself about how to breathe. Unbelievable. You feel like death. The best feeling ever, the only good feeling.

When he's fully in, he thinks that calling it a heaven would've been an understatement. Your insides around him are so much more.

When he pulls out to the tip and pushes back in, that's where he could've die happily.

You're so warm. So tight, squeezing his manhood just right. It's where he belonged, it's where he feels complete and forgiven. Your walls hug his dick perfectly, and he want's to stay in there until he fades away. And he wants more.

He's greedy when he starts moving. In and out, slowly at first, but getting faster — yes, he's greedy. He's guilty in more than greed, he doesn't care. With your pussy taking him so well, with your warm body under his hands, his lips, just under him — he doesn't care. It's all his, you're his.

Oh how he wants to hear more than those sweet whimpers from you.

He can imagine. His angel, you, under him, hands gripping on his arms, you'll be begging him for more and crying for him, clamping down on him so deliciously and needy. You'll be screaming — screaming the name he can't quite imagine, he can't remember, but he knows you'll be screaming it. One day.

He will take his time to praise you, to tell you how good you are for him, angel, taking all he can give, giving all you have. He will make sure you're shaking and breaking all over again on his cock, tears smeared all over your face and you're drooling with this fucked out look on your divine face-

Oh god, more. He needs more of you, he takes all he can take.

He will leave so much marks on your body, just like now, over your chest and your neck, while you'll be squeezing him inside and begging, begging for his seed-

He cums with a groan, slurred fuck left his lips, headboard of your bed cracks under his metal hand. Aftershock hit the Soldat hard. Right hand gripping on your hip, his breath is ragged and he barely remembers how to breath correctly — he knows this feeling well, but from the bad side. Now? It's euphoric. He doesn't want it to end, he wants to die right here and there, buried deep inside of your heat, with you taking his cum so well, his beautiful angel.

He opens his eyes after what feels like a blissful eternity, his gaze slowly focuses on you under him. He can hear your breath, hard and ragged, he can see a layer of sweat over your body. Small smile cracks on his face. Even in your sleep, you accepted him. You enjoyed it.

He doesn't want to pull out, but he does so anyway. He reminds himself that it's not the last time. He'll have enough chances to do it again with you, after all. He knows what to do. He knows how. He just needs to prepare it.

Soldat looks down, mesmerized by how his seed leaks out of you. There's so much, he has to resist the urge to push it back in. Or to lick it out.

You're so perfect, his beautiful angel. But he has to go.

On a second thought...

He reaches out to your nightstand, barely even looking up from your pretty cunt, still leaking with his cum. Grabs his mask and glasses. Puts both on quickly, then grabs the remote control of your camera from his pocket, and presses on.

After all, he should be very clear with his messages.

#x reader #dark fic #sebastian stan #bucky barnes x reader #winter solider x reader #winter soldier smut #dark!bucky x reader #non con #dark!winter soldier #dark!bucky smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you

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aluhnim · 5 months

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Hello!! When you start a comic, how do you go about deciding your panelling layouts?? If this is too big of an ask for covid brain, how about your favorite song of the moment / a song that really inspires you?? I hope you feel better soon!

I was searching around for an old write up I did for some Original Character Tournament folks who were interested in my thoughts on panels and layouts. To try and answer your question, I go off of vibe now that I’ve made a LOT of comics. However, as much as it doesn’t seem like it at times, I do typically stay as “conventional” as possible to make sure my readers are still following the plot. I make a lot of adjustments along the way. Smarter layouts allow me to draw less, and drawing less is better for me in the long run! It’ll allow me to put more time in other places of the comic.

Anyway, here’s my write up back in the day that’ll hopefully answer some comic drafting questions!

More conventional paneling is a necessary stepping stone because you know your reader won’t get lost and the structure will have you more focused on flow and pacing. It seems remarkably easy to do comics with more “static” or traditional panel layouts but they work for a reason. There’s no real need to break out of something that works, unless you want to! Breaking out of the structure can really add some OOMPH to your important pages.

Some tips, note that these have been my preferences and some definitions don’t quite match their descriptors.

Bleed

I consider open panels or panels that stretch out beyond the edge of the page to be considered bleeds. They’re simple ways to make you feel like your not just sticking within your margins and making your page feel less static without much extra effort. Manga does this quite often, and Western American comics, especially during action packed moments or large splashes.

Some examples of things bleeds can do:

- They can also be used as transitions between pages (first panel bleeding in, last panel bleeding out).

- They can be used to interrupt or add a beat to a moment. Although the example below is mostly bleeds, you can see the one full panel at the bottom stands out because it’s not like the others. A subtle beat.

- They can also just be used to extend a panel to make it bigger. That seems obvious, but larger panels do make people spend a bit more time on them, regardless if there is text or not. Though, “more time” means probably several milliseconds or even a few seconds more than usual.

- Collaging with a bleed is a really great way to think beyond panels and open the space. You will be spending more time thinking of how much you can cram in along with the flow of how your text is going to lead through a series of images.

- Removing panel borders can really open a space and allow for more room without having to go above and beyond the ideas of comics and panels. (sorry, gale galligan is just good)

Gutters

The space between panels is almost just as important as the panel itself. That’s where readers and inferring actions and time. You can only control so much of what the reader is doing between their eye shifting between panels, which is why composition within panels and clarity are so important.

Gutters can also be played with! A simple example is changing your gutters from white to all black. It can be a subtle shift in time, a transition to a new space.

Even the amount of space between panels leaves an idea of time! I think webtoons/manhwa really work well with the gutter space, leaving you to physically scroll and feel the effects of time passing with the amount of empty space you encounter.

It’s important to understand that the gutter has a lot more to do with reader imagination, and your goal is to have them understand that the next panel is somehow plausible.

THIS SCENE EMFIELDS DID IS VERY FUCKING GOOD. TIME, SPACE, GO OOOOOOFFFF KING

Panels themselves can be a part story!

This one is a difficult thing to write for, since I feel like there isn’t many examples out there. There are very structural examples of panels out there, like Watchman. While the 9 panel grid was intentional, it also was likely the only way to deal with Alan Moore’s script effectively without missing details. The panels themselves don’t ENHANCE the story, but a means to an end.

But it’s also an incredibly good example of how conventional comics paneling can still be effective, especially when you start breaking that mold just a little bit.

But then you have comics like M. Dean’s “Baby fat”. Where the comic paneling itself never strays from its original structure, but is indicative of the story itself, representing tiles, mirrors, patterns.

Or Robert Hunter’s “The New Ghost” which he uses circular motifs and has circular panels representing the telescopes sight line.

Predicting Reader Navigation

These are my rules of thumb when doing general sight reading panel by panel.

1. Text is what people gravitate to first. It’s the context needed to approach the next panel.

2. Faces are next, this provides context to what the subject is feeling.

3. Familiar people/animals/objects and SFX.

4. Everything else!

This is an example of sight reading notes I gave to my friend Holocene when we were collaborating.

#long post #asks #blogging

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genericpuff · 7 months

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saw this pop up on /r/UnpopularLoreOlympus and I-

Full analysis post that inspired this post can be read here, it's a good read, go check it out!

Now my natural reaction to not assume the worst (shocking, I know) is that what Rachel's actual intention behind making Leto a sun god was due to her being Apollo's mother and her clearly having a stronger relationship with him rather than Artemis. I'm abiding by Occam's Razor here, it's the simplest answer and it keeps my brain from getting too riled up right off the bat LMAO

There's a lot of emphasis put on Apollo being the god of the sun in LO, despite the fact that Apollo is one of the MOST prolific gods in the Greek pantheon, Rachel only ever really focuses on him being god of the sun with some loose references to him also being the god of music (as we see with him playing his lyre). There's really no real referencing to him being the god of medicine though (aside from that scene of him condom-bandaging Persephone's hand in Episode 22 ?? which is silly now in hindsight because she's a fertility goddess who can heal herself but ok lmao and the fact that Rachel established him as a LITERAL DAD with his doctor son Asclepius which ... just feels weird to have in LO tbh) and there's absolutely no referencing (from what I can find or recall) of him being a protector of the young, god of prophecy (for some reason he just magically gives Kassandra the ability to read prophecies... just so she can read his prophecy ??) or archery. Like, he's shown doing a lot of these things but they come across more as just side hobbies or extensions of him being Artemis' brother (like his archery) rather than aspects of his godliness or domains that he presides over. It's just like yeah, Apollo can shoot arrows and bandage people's hands I guess LMAO

All that said, I can see Rachel deciding to make him primarily the god of the sun and then going "oh! let's make his mom a sun god! then she could be a common enemy for both Persephone and Hades!" because Hades doesn't like sun gods yadda yadda.

But... we know Rachel has used front page Google sourcing in her comic before.

(literally the 'source' was copy pasted from a 2004 study guide for Princeton.edu. And we KNOW this was taken right from the first result because it just says 'www.princeton.edu' with no slug attached, which is what showed up back when we first looked into this, the princeton version was deadass the first result with this definition word for word. She didn't even remove the typo where there's no space between Xenios:"Zeus !!!).

And while a bit more into sus territory rather than outright confirmed like the xenia thing above, there's the whole Metis / Métis theory, that has us wondering if Rachel seriously googled "Metis" on its own and accidentally used Indigenous Métis cultural depictions in her version of Metis, the Greek God.

The fringe in her outfit, finger wings, and dark orange/red color really got my attention the first time I saw her design years ago, because she set off so many, "Wait a minute, is that an Indigenous woman???" bells in my Mi'kmaq/Cree brain LMAO And not even in a bad way, but now it feels a little :/ because of how much her character has been assassinated and how clearly accidental it was for her to look like that.

Of course, there's still a more likely explanation that her design was based on this vase:

But IDK y'all. That vase is very distinctly orange while the character itself is depicted in dark garbs and with light skin, so Metis being distinctly red-toned with finger wings and fringe?

While the Xenia thing is definitively copy pasted from the first search result on Google (literally there's no denying that at this point, Rachel's REALLY bad at doing research and then pretending like she was being smart by sourcing it from a university website... completely ignoring the fact that that website literally hasn't been updated since Rachel was working on The Doctor Pepper Show) the Metis and Leto depictions are definitely a lot more up for debate as to what 'research' Rachel did and whether or not they got confused with something else during her searching.

And really, the whole thing with Leto being a "sun god" doesn't make sense really when you think about it. Why is Leto a sun god? It's not even like you could argue there are "some versions" of the myths where she's a god of the sun, or other translations out there, or whatever vague source that could be used like what has been used for other gods like Hades and Persephone. Leto is not affiliated with the sun in any shape or form. Remove Apollo, her eventual son, who didn't exist when she was born and given the title of 'sun god', and it quickly falls apart as to why she would be a sun god in the first place.

She is a goddess of motherhood though, and that's NEVER mentioned in LO. If anything, Rachel makes her a terrible mom on purpose. Because god knows we can't have anyone in this comic be a good mom except for Persephone and Rhea (who are literally just carbon copies of one another). Basically the only thing Rachel gets right with Leto is the fact that she's a Titan and that she had Apollo and Artemis after sleeping with Zeus. That's it.

Unfortunately, unlike the xenia thing, there's no outright proof of what Rachel's reasoning was behind these designs or sources. So I'm not gonna accuse or outright state it as fact that Rachel confused Metis for Métis or ripped the idea for Leto being a sun god from an anime, because the odds of that being true in any way are fairly low.

But they're never zero.

#lore olympus critical #lo critical #anti lore olympus #antiloreolympus

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bipp-bopp-time-to-stop · 1 month

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A Divine Devotee

It's finally here and I'm at 100 followers! It's still sinking in for me but I wanted to do something to celebrate. Given how loved "Far More Than Just A Mask" is, I decided that a part two to it would be great for my 100 follower fic. Getting it written, like all of my fics, was something of a process so I hope it's at least as good as the first part. Hope you all enjoy!

TW: Yandere themes, blood, descriptions of a violent ritual, gore, cannibalism (accidental, technically), nudity, Fierce goes absolutely mental and no one has a Good Time TM

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Learning to live with the Fierce Deity in the flesh was something you expected to be akin to a thorn in your side. He was, in a way, just that. Were he not tasked with something, he was beside you. Even if he wasn’t by your side for whatever reason, that didn’t mean he still wasn’t with you in some capacity.

That strange bond he forced created between the two of you was still present. With every passing day, it seemed to weaken but you doubted it would every go away. In the present, it was hard to send little more than a handful of words over the bond, so the two of you relied on emotion. You never really thought about what it would feel like to be emotionally connected to another person (much less a god) but what you got wasn’t something you expected.

Emotion did not radiate off of him in a way you could sense it. It wasn’t some visible aura around him nor did it replace your own. Rather, it was a feeling in you body. Your being would alight with a hot flash at his anger or your extremities would slowly turn numb and freeze at despair. Your lungs would stutter and your eyes would sting with his sadness and your heart and brain would flood with dopamine at his joy. Not matter how he felt, it was always extreme.

Yet, when you once asked him what your emotions felt like, he described it as trying to sense the presence of a mouse. Your emotions, quite simply, were but a whisper to him. Despite that, he claimed he always did his best to sense and feel them. You had no choice but to experience his emotions so he felt it only fair that he try to do the same.

It had confused you, at first, as to why it was like this. Why he was so extreme and you weren’t in the eyes of the bond. Although he may be “talkative” with you, he’s typically quiet and rather neutral around the rest of the boys. All it took was some few minutes of thinking when the answer quite literally appeared in his name.

Fierce Deity.

He is a god and you are a mortal. Gods, in comparison to mortals, live at an unreachable extreme. It would certainly explain why Fierce always had that air of intensity to him. It would also explain why you felt so minute in comparison to him. It made you worry about what the future may hold. Would he eventually grow tired of how little you were in relation to his divinity? Would his boredom lead to him simply leaving or acting upon his name towards you and the group to amuse himself? Pessimism was easy to reach your mind nowadays and you know (you hoped) that such thoughts could never come true, but your brain refused to shut up.

Large bulky arms secure themselves around you and startle you from your spiral. The smell of rancid iron assaults your nose and the seeping wetness of your clothes makes it clear that you’re going to say goodbye to yet another outfit. A weighty head rests itself upon you and the rumbling hum that sounds though the chest pressed against your back resonates through your nerves. As the arms strengthen their embrace even further, you find yourself being slowly lifted from the ground.

“What ails you, dearest?” Fierce inquires. He audibly huffs and puffs in the scent of your hair but such oddities have long since lost their weird factor on you.

“Nothing too important, Fie- uhm, honey. Just my brain not wanting cease its ramblings. What… about you?” You respond as you look down at the arms around you. He wasn’t drenched in blood but it was certainly splattered on him. Not in huge amounts (at least huge in comparison to the typical gore he seemed to wear), but enough to tell you that something- or someone- was now dead. For the sake of not developing a headache, you hoped it wasn’t the latter.

“I brought us food. Elk,” Fierce stated. Ah, that would explain the strange and distant cry you heard some thirty minutes ago. And, for the next thirty minutes, you’d be avoiding the bloody scene that would now be accompanying camp. The double helix sword Fierce wielded was great against monsters but too rough against prey. As such, he simply resorted to using little more than his hands when it came to ending them. You had seen the end product of this method only once and it was sight that you vowed to never look at again. The bent neck, torn skin, smashed head, and splinters of bone poking through the pelt… ugh, there goes your appetite.

As silence continues to permeate the atmosphere, the embrace around you eventually loosens. Fierce’s footsteps crunch and squish on the forest floor as he moves away from you. He stops once he’s fully in view and you can’t help but stare at his face. It would be wrong to say he was anything less than beautiful. His face- his true face- was so similar yet different to the mask made in his likeness. His tattoos, still red and blue and angular, were more weathered like warpaint. His hair, still silvery white and straight, had turned into billowing locks due to the passage of centuries. And his eyes- oh, those eyes- were still so intense. They didn’t glow white hot with rage and were no longer blank slates. Rather, a ring of steely gray and blue surrounded his pupils. The colors reminded you of both the swinging steel of battle and the common hue of blue that existed in the eyes of most of the boys. A small feature, you wonder, that may have been picked up from Time.

“If you choose to accompany me to go get cleaned up… then I assure you that there will be more to look at then,” Fierce offers with a slight lit in his voice. His lips are ever so slightly turned upward as are his brows. Perhaps not as poetic as Wars’ pick up lines, but still effective enough to get your heart pumping.

“Well, after you got me dirty, I have little choice but to join you,” You sigh and follow behind the man. He lets out little more than a small chuckle, one of triumph, but you don’t let it get to you. Had you declined his invitation, he’d no doubt be left in a cranky mood. And, whenever Fierce was feeling all around unpleasant, it would always lead to most unpleasant things.

As you walked behind the god, you vaguely noted how the forest started to thin out before stopping completely. Stretching out before you was a sizeable lake. It was hours away from Ordon, hence why you never saw it in game or never heard Twilight mention it, but it was a reminder that there was so much more to every Hyrule than a screen could ever show. The surface of the water was still and stained a variety of oranges and pinks with the setting sun. Even after basking in the spring sun for the entire day, the water would undoubtedly still be cold.

A clinking sound catches your attention and you look over at Fierce just in time to see his chestplate fall to the ground. By now, his hands are fiddling with the buckle of his belt and you advert your eyes away. This wasn’t the first time you’ve both seen Fierce naked or bathed with him, but there was still a layer of reserve you had towards him. You had accepted the fact that you were now his lover (not that you were going to be left with any other choice) but there were certain aspects of a romantic relationship that you weren’t ready for yet. Perhaps it was because you were scared of taking such a leap. Or, maybe, your feelings didn’t run deep for the god like his surely did for you. Whatever the case was, constantly adventuring, fighting, and dealing with the Shadow made it hard to try and sort out such complex thoughts and conflicting emotions. For now, you had little choice but to go with the flow.

Once Fierce had waded deep enough into the water to where only the start of his hips and the beginning tufts of his happy trail peaked above the water did you go about getting undressed. The deity was kind enough to keep his eyes trained elsewhere until you were in the water much like him. An involuntary grunt fell from your lips as you waded into the cold waters but the sooner you got washed off, the sooner you’d be out of the lake.

After a quick dip below the surface to fully wet your body, you were whisked into Fierce’s arms. He carefully placed his arms around your midsection as not to touch an private parts of your body. The warmth that radiated from him was welcome in the face of the biting temperatures of the lake. Without his armor or thick clothes to cover up his body, you had full view of picturesque divinity. It wasn’t superhero level of muscle nor veiny, but was certainly a warrior’s build. The expanses of his muscles were only heighted or barely hidden by a suitable layer of fat. The fat only added to his weight to make him more solid and even harder to push around as well as helped soften any blows that may befall him. Unsurprisingly, his body was littered with scars of battles and wars waged so long ago that the history books likely couldn’t recall them. His hands were wide and large as well as covered in callous. You felt envious of the ways he made certain flaws and imperfections look so desirable.

“You ought to work on ‘shutting up’ your brain more often, dear (Name). It’s no wonder you experience so many headaches,” Fierce hummed out as he began to card a hand through your hair. With a few kisses placed to the crown of your head, you were distracted enough from your thoughts yet again to focus on the now. You didn’t bring any soap with you, but you hadn’t been splattered with blood like Fierce was. For now, the water should be enough.

Fierce begins to ladle water across your shoulders before you can even cup your own hands. Once fully wet, the man goes about rubbing your skin both to wash off any blood or grime but to also soothe your muscles. Even with the rough skin that coated his palms and fingers, his touch and motions were gentle. The gesture was nice and a welcome feeling to the stiff knots littered throughout your neck and shoulders, but it was also strange.

Not strange in the fact that it came from your lover, but from a god. It was the mortal, no matter the nature of the relationship, that did acts of service for the divine. Brought them food, made sacrifices in their name, and lived, breathed, and died by their beliefs. They’d heed every order given to them no better than a well trained dog. There were, of course, exceptions to this standard.

And Fierce was quiet the exception.

He acted as if you were the sole reason he existed. He brought you food, gifted you things from trinkets to treasures, and even shouted out your name in battle as if it was waged for you. Even with your hesitance towards him at times, he never once faltered in the way he acted. Any positive sign from you, from a compliment to something like a kiss on the cheek, only seemed to embolden him further. You had to be scarce in affection with Fierce even if it may have seemed harmless at the time.

Gods are dangerous beings, after all. Their sorrow drowns lands and their anger scorches the earth til’ naught but ashes remain. Their envy chokes the life out of whatever it can bind itself around and even their happiness can lead to slaughter. But their love? That’s a whole other beast to deal with.

Whenever Fierce felt as if he hadn’t been given enough affection recently, he sought to gain it by doubling his efforts. Instead of picking the ripest grapes from the vine for you to snack on, he’d uproot the whole plant and drag it back to camp for you. Instead of gifting you a new tunic or bracelet, he’d dump entire wardrobes of clothing and accessories upon you (kindly cleaned of gore, naturally). Instead of handing you a few monster parts he picked up after battle as a little trophy, he’d make let you watch him harvest them. He’d force ask you to tell him which parts to tear away next. From ripping out teeth and twisting off horns to gutting them and pulling out their innards, he did it. Given a monster’s tendency to puff away into nothing more than smoke upon death, the beasts were always forced to stay alive.

Yet, after receiving love and affection, he could be even worse. Smothering to the point you weren’t allowed to do nearly anything without his “help”; walk, eat, change, or bathe. He’d be willing to bite at anything that came near the two of you during his moments of love, leaving you with little choice but to distance yourself from the rest of the group. In the moments where he was nothing short of lovesick, you were left with very few options as to calm him down. Some days you’d have to act indifferent towards him to get him to back up whereas others required you to just submit to the affections like a doll for him to hug and squeeze. If you didn’t manage to subdue him fast enough… bad things happened.

Like right now.

You had been whisked away from your bed in the middle of the night. Despite your pout and complaints, Fierce did little more than hum as he carried you out of the castle. The guards that were littered about the grounds hardly acknowledged the two of you (most certainly out of fear of what Fierce would do to them). The only familiar face you passed by was Impa, but the woman only spared you what you believe to be her attempt at a sympathetic gaze (no doubt Wars had filled her and Zelda in on the relationship between you and the deity).

As Fierce’s long legs carried you through Hyrule castle and out of the city’s protective walls, you could only fathom what awaited you. He was always one to make sure you had a proper amount of sleep each night, so this deviation in routine had your stomach twisting. As he began to venture into the woods, a little tune was hummed under his breath and his fingers idly tapped against your back. A harmless gesture any other day or situation, but it meant he was excited. No doubt to show you something and to explain his scarce presence over the past few days.

“You’ve always shared a lot of your culture with me. Food, celebrations, talk of your society and how it functions, and even what love is like in your world,” Fierce finally broke the silence of the forest (why are the woods quiet? Why can’t you see any fairies fluttering around?). “I thought, perhaps… I could do the same. It’s not much, but I still want you to enjoy a few things I did back when I was in my prime.”

With those partially cryptic words finally spoken, you were set down on your own two feet and spun around. In a small clearing of the forest now sat a little feast. Placed upon a round but sizeable table were multiple plates of decadent food. Some dishes were familiar to you such as a fragrant seafood stew prepped with lobster, crab, prawns, and fish. Strips of glazed and tender gourmet meat rested upon a suitable bowl of rice. There was also a charcuterie and meat board loaded with all sorts of treats. The sight was enough to get your stomach rumbling and you sat down in the smaller chair at the table. With the hot and fresh food before you (no doubt kept that way with the use of a little magic), your worries could wait for a moment.

“This is but a sliver of the food that use to grace the tables I ate at. While this little feast lacks many things, mainly ambrosia and entertainment, I do hope you enjoy it,” Fierce states as he watches you dig into whatever was closest to you. The food tasted just as amazing as it looked and smelled, so Fierce had to have gotten help from someone. Perhaps Wild or the cooks at Hyrule castle? Whoever it was, you were grateful to them.

As you enjoyed some of the gourmet meat and rice bowl, another plate was slid over to you. It appeared to be a standard plate of steak but the meat on the plate wasn’t beef. It looked similar to beef, but it sooner looked like a filet than a steak. Not to mention that the smell may have been meaty and savory, but not beef like. It was also generously covered in a thin, dark sauce and plated with a small pile of what you imagined was the Hyrule equivalent of home fries.

Curious to try the new dish, you moved it closer and brought your fork and knife to it. You did your best to slice against the grain and pulled away with a good bite of the meat. After a quick dip in the sauce it came with, you plopped it into your mouth and began to chew. It was soft and tender and had a similar mouth feel to regular steak, but the taste was far from that simple. It had the meaty heaviness that came with red meat but it’s taste was a bit closer to poultry. The tangy sauce helped cover up the subtle, bitter aftertaste of the food.

“What do you think? It’s the one dish I prepared myself,” Fierce commented as he watched you. He practically seemed to be on the edge of his seat and his eyes bore straight through you. His eagerness towards your commentary was strange given how innocent this little date night had been so far, so you decided to not question it too much as not to ruin the mood.

“It’s an interesting taste. It tastes good and the sauce is a good pair for the meat, but it’ll still take some getting used to,” You replied before taking another bite out of the meat. Since this was the plate Fierce had specially prepared himself, it would be nice of you to finish it.

“I also made a drink. It’s not as close to the mortal made ambrosia as I hoped it would be, but I hope you enjoy it,” Fierce pipes up yet again as he hands you a wine glass full of what looks similar to red wine. It’s darker in color, though, as well as more opaque. When you go to taste it, you also notice that it’s just a bit thicker than normal wine. While there is the taste of grapes and alcohol in it, there’s also a noticeable twang of raspberry and something else you can’t put your finger on. Much like the meat, there was subtle, bitter aftertaste. You offer Fierce a nod of approval and, for the moment, that’s that.

The midnight meal passes by rather peacefully. The forest is still all too quiet for your liking but at least you and Fierce keep each other company. When it eventually becomes too much to take so much as another bite out of any of the food, the deity also sets down his utensils along with you. As you sit and digest your food, Fierce goes about packing up the leftovers and storing them in his own enchanted pouch.

Instead of picking you back up and taking you back to the castle, Fierce beckons you to follow him closer into the forest. You comply, albeit a bit sluggishly due to a full belly and the early stages of fatigue. Wherever he’s taking you next mustn’t be far or else he would’ve picked you up.

The next spot he takes you to is dark and ill lit by moonlight. You can make out what appears to be a… tub? It’s clearly filled with liquid and had all kinds of petals scattered around it and in it. Underneath the earthy and floral scent of the scene, there’s another smell that you turn your nose from. With it being smothered by everything else, though, the most you can describe it as is a stale musk.

Gently, Fierce begins to pull away the pajamas covering your body. He keeps his actions slow and steady so you could make him stop at any time. You don’t as you understand he wasn’t going to do anything bad to you and, before long, your night clothes and underwear are neatly put to the side. Fierce helps you into the tub and let’s your body slowly sink into the liquid. There’s a noticeable thickness to the liquid- like a thinned out syrup. Aside from that and the smell, it was only luke warm. Were there more moonlight or just any light in general, you’d be able to properly see the color of the liquid.

Fierce kneels down by your side and begins to rub the liquid into the parts of your body that aren’t submerged. He says little aside from a few orders to move one way or the other. Whatever elixir it is that you’re bathing in is also added into your hair and generously applied to your face. Your best guess is that this was some sort of soak that Fierce must have done to himself way back when. Whether it was going to be beneficial for you or not would be something you could get figured out later.

“I imagine you’re curious about all of this,” Fierce murmurs out as he continues to “wash” your hair. “The meal, this bath, and what more I may have planned…”

“Well, yes… that’s been in the back of my mind the entire time,” You confirm after a moment of hesitance. That telltale churning in your gut was starting to act up but you did your best to hide it. You weren’t the only one nervous, though, as Fierce also seemed to be getting anxious as well. It buzzed through the bond like a bee’s nest. Nervousness was a rather rare emotion for the deity and it made your blood run cold at whatever he may be planning.

“Remember… how I promised that my love for you is eternal? Well, it is but… you’re not,” Fierce sighs and the bond is flooded with sadness that threatens to make you sob until the sun rises. Thankfully, it doesn’t last for much longer as Fierce seems to focus his train of thought elsewhere.

“Y-Yeah?” You cough out after a bit. Fierce remains still and silent for a few moments despite your stare. Slowly, his eyes meet yours and the intensity that stirs within them could have been enough to kill.

“I think I’ve figured out a solution to that.”

What?

What did he mean by that? Was… was he planning on turning you into a god? Or, at the very least, immortal? There’s little else his comment could be interpreted as. But how would such a thing even be possible? As far as you can recall, you’ve stumbled across nothing in Hyrule or its history that hints at mortals being able to ascend to divinity.

“Fierce, how… is that even… I-”

“You need not stress, dearest. The process has already begun and you’re fairing quite fine so far,” Fierce smiles.

What?!

You nearly leap out of the tub and scramble across the ground. Your wild dreams of escape are shattered as Fierce quickly wrangles you into his hold and attempts to calm you down. He even tries to send calming and relaxing sensations across the bond but it does little to soothe your frantic mind. Not only that, but you managed to get to a point in the forest where there was more moonlight. The pale light illuminated your bare skin and it only showed red. Red, red, red, red, red.

It’s blood. You had been soaking in blood.

By some miracle, you managed to not upheave tonight’s meal. That didn’t stop you from kicking and screaming to get away from Fierce. Unlike times before when he had crossed a line, Fierce showed no sign of backing off. He kept you pinned to the ground and simply took any blow you sent his way head on. It was simply a matter of letting you tire yourself out.

“Shh… it’s okay, you’ll be fine, (Name),” Fierce hushed as he pressed the side of your head against his chest. His heart beat was slow and steady like a bass drum. It contrasted the never ceasing allegro of your own heart and you worried that, at this rate, you’d end up fainting.

After quickly adjusting his embrace around you, Fierce lifts you up and carries your body to the next destination of this “date night”. Your kicks had lost their wind and had become little more than wiping your foot against him. You try to look at anything but the red ick still clinging to you or Fierce. Vaguely, standing just above the tree line and nearing the horizon lines, were the tallest towers on Hyrule Castle. It was so far away that you couldn’t really see the flags mounted on their peaks flapping in the breeze nor would anyone there be capable of hearing the loudest scream you could make (would anyone even come to your rescue if they heard you? Who in their right minds would think to try and fight against a god?)

Something cold and hard presses against your back. Your view shifts as Fierce lays you down on stone and quickly goes about securing your arms and legs. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that he’s laid you flat on an altar. What ritual he had planned was for him to know and for you to cruelly find out.

“I’ve never wanted to hurt you before and I still don’t. I will never feel the urge to harm you but… I have to do this. If I don’t, then you’ll become victim to your mortality and I’ll be left alone. I can’t exist without you anymore, (Name)... I can’t,” Fierce whines and that sadness from earlier crashes over you again. Your thoughts turn to the darkest possibilities given your current state, but things are made abundantly clear when a hidden dagger is pulled from beneath the god’s linens.

You’ve never seen a dagger that looked so ritualistic before. It’s blade was carved and sharpened from the tooth of a beast and runes or words of a language you couldn’t read were etched into the blade. Its handle was made from stained and wrapped leather that had a few brilliant feathers bound in it. For the first time since properly meeting him, you could see Fierce’s hand shake as he poised the blade.

“I think… you’re ready. You’ve been strengthened enough to take my blood tonight. You’ve drank, ate, and bathed in my essence. Now, it is time for it to enter your veins- raw and unfiltered,” Fierce muttered. With care and precision, the blade was brought to your skin. Enough pressure was applied so that it began to cut through the layers of your skin. He stopped just shy of your sternum and began to pull the blade down the length of your torso. It was a slow and agonizing pain you couldn’t describe so you only screamed. You screamed and screamed and screamed. You fought against the bindings that held you but it was to no avail.

The blade finally stopped just past your pectorals before pulling away. Fierce laid the blade against his hand and sliced in deep. A small sputter of blood spattered out as a result and it feels like fire when it makes contact to your open wound. The pain is only amplified tenfold when Fierce presses his cut palm down on the slash of your chest. Your voice raises to an octave you didn’t know was possible as what feels akin to liquid fire begins to spread through your chest. This is only worsened by the icy sting of sadness and despair as Fierce struggles to keep a lid on his own emotions. You can see his lips moving and know he’s mumbling something but you can’t tell if it’s some kind of mantra to complete the ritual or a shoddy attempt at keeping himself calm.

As his blood spreads out further and further, you find that the world is becoming more and more incoherent. Black spots smudge your vision and static feels your ears. Fierce’s face, contorted into so much pain and anguish, is the last thing you see before passing out.

Your mind feels as though it’s drifting around on the inky waters of unconsciousness. Even though this feeling is unknown to you and you don’t know what awaits you when- if you wake up, you feel peaceful. There is no pain to feel and no sights to disturb you. All you sense is your body drifting along and the occasional noise. The noise is that of someone speaking or shouting or crying- you can’t tell. It’s so distant and sounds as if it’s underwater. It’s like a siren call that plays on your curiosity and empathy to open your eyes. To wake up and investigate or comfort whoever it is that’s calling for you.

“...p… wa… up…”

Perhaps you weren’t unconscious. Maybe you were dead? It’s possible given the… trauma? That you just went through? (What happened? The pain the pain the pain the pain the pain the pain It’s all gotten so blurry? Golden Three preserve me save me)

“Ple…. wake… please, (Na… up…”

Were you now drifting down the River Styx? Maybe, maybe not. It had always been portrayed as hellish and depressing, but you felt so peaceful. Maybe Hyrule just had a nicer one that home did.

“Golden Three, please… pray that they… return them to… give me back my…”

Hmm… the waters were beginning to feel a little choppy. Were you finally arriving at your destination? Whatever that meant…

“(Name), please! COME BACK TO ME!”

Your eyes snapped open as breath returned to your lungs. You were stuck staring straight up at the inky abyss above you. Somehow, the night sky was now bespeckled with glittering stars and you could better make out the twisting and mixing nebulas of color.

Your head lolled to the side and you saw that Fierce had devolved into the dictionary definition of a mess. Tears streamed down his cheeks and smears of red were all over him. His hair was bunched up and knotted- no doubt from him pulling and tearing at his own hair. Heavy and harsh breaths racked his frame as he was nearly hunched over your body. His stillness was enough to convince you he had turned to stone until his entire body seemed to go lax. He toppled over and landed across your bare skin but neither you nor he cared much about that at the moment.

“You came back… you came back…” He gargled out. His voice, once deep and smooth, was now crackly. He buried his face against your body to hide his expressions from you as he clung to you like a child to their blankie.

“What… happened?” You finally croaked out as you took in your surroundings. Everything was so… sharp. In focus. You could make out the the individual veins on the leaves of nearby trees. You could see dew beginning to form on grass a distance away from where you were laying. Fluttering high above the trees, you could also see the flying and swooping forms of bats. Its like you were looking at everything through the lens of a telescope.

A metallic rattle then click alerts you to the shackles (when did those get there?) on your wrists. Fierce had managed to get up and was working on getting you freed from them. Once unbound, he wasted no time in scooping you up and hurrying through the forest. You gripped onto him as tightly as you could before you felt him come to an abrupt stop. Icy cold water was splashed over your body and Fierce used his shirt to wipe you off. The shirt was quickly stained red and you hadn’t realized you were positively coated in dried blood.

As your skin was cleared of the red ichor, you realized that your chest looked rather weird. The skin was scarred but the scar itself was strange. It was a thin but long and straight line down your chest. It wasn’t your skin’s natural color, but silver like it was made of metal. Feeling it confirmed that it was still your skin and nothing else.

You turn your head upwards to ask Fierce a question but not even a word gets the chance to fall from your lips as Fierce kisses you desperately. Romance and love aren’t the present emotions to be felt in the kiss- it’s despair and relief all wrapped up in an overwhelming amount of guilt. The kiss lasts long enough that you eventually have to claw at Fierce’s chest to push him away. Sweet air flies back into your lungs and you’re left huffing and puffing yet again.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry,” Fierce whispers as he hangs his head low. You knew he was apologizing for more than just the rather crude kiss, but your brain was in a fog. You still couldn’t place what had happened for him to be so distraught.

“I remember… eating? Yeah, we were eating in the forest and then you took me somewhere. I was soaking in… in something but after that… everything’s a blur…” You mumbled out and massaged a sudden ache in your temples. Trying to remember what happened, even if it was only a small detail, made your head pound.

“I…” Fierce starts to speak but stops himself. Amongst the whirlpool of emotions in his eyes and bubbling behind the currently closed doors of the bond, you could see that Fierce was thinking. He was thinking about how to phrase his next words carefully. It was odd behavior coming from him given that he preferred to be bluntly honest. “It… doesn’t matter anymore. Things spiraled out of control for a moment but… but everything is okay now. I promise.”

It didn’t exactly feel like a lie (It is it is it is run run run run no longer trust him, don’t love him, stop listening to him, stop) but it wasn’t the truth. Whatever happened had scared Fierce- a man you once thought incapable of feeling fear. Because of that reason alone, you took his word.

“Let’s get back to the castle before the boys or the princess start to wake up,” You state as you try to take control of the situation. It works as Fierce nods and stands up. He lets you stand on your own two feet while he runs off to go get something. After a minute, he returns with your night clothes in hand. He doesn’t speak up or do anything as you get dressed. Once it’s time to start heading back, he doesn’t pick you up but rather walks alongside you, hand in hand.

The small yet noticeable deviations in Fierce’s habits made it clear he was still in some state of shock. You didn’t know what to do to snap him out of it or if you should just let it run its course. You decide on simply intertwining your fingers with his and giving his hand a gentle squeeze to let him know that you’re here and you’re okay (no no no no no no no don’t do that, don’t encourage him, it makes things worse, so so so so much worse).

“(Na… (Name)?” Fierce whispers out. His tone makes him sound like a distraught child wanting to call out to their parent or older sibling. It’s fear and hurt ready to break past the dam that’s barely holding it in.

“Yes, honey?” You hum and give him a small smile.

“You’re… here, right?” Fierce asks. The snarky part of you wants to scoff at the question but you understand that now’s not the time for that.

“Yes. I’m right here,” You confirm and squeeze his hand again.

“You… won’t… ever leave me, will you? I don’t want to be alone again,” Fierce mumbles. Your heart clenches (no, don’t, don’t feel sympathy for the monster) as it’s clear Fierce is thinking back to the time he was trapped in the mask. No doubt being left along for decades, if not centuries, between wielders left him with a fear of abandonment. God of war he may be, it didn’t mean he wasn’t (a monster, a torturer, a villain) without feeling.

“I won’t leave you. I won’t leave you or the boys. You’ve all been through so much and deserve some kindness after all of the cruelty,” You claim, your voice stern and firm much like the statement itself.

“You… love me? You love me, right?” Fierce finally asks the question that had been brewing in his chest. His eyes, ever the window to his soul, showed all. The searching, the yearning, the despair, the anguish, the fear, the worry, the sadness, the hopefulness, the happiness, and the love (the insanity, the madness, the darkness).

“Fierce, I… yes… yes, I do love you,” You admit. It was true (no it wasn’t). Perhaps it was because he never gave up on you despite how conflicted you felt. He waited and was there for you every step of the way without even having to ask. It may have been intense, it may have a bumpy ride, but you were here now. Here with your hand in his and with a clear mind (it’s all so warped and foggy, he won’t let me think straight).

“Will you love me for eternity?” Fierce inquires. His tone is a bit lighter now, as are his eyes. It’s as if the increasing weight of the world was finally lifted off his shoulders. He was still patiently waiting for your answer.

“Hmm…”

Don’t say it…

“Eternity is a long time, honey…”

Eternity is forever, I’ll be trapped with him forever…

“But…”

No, please…

“Yes, Fierce…”

No… no…

“I will love you for eternity.”

#yandere linked universe #yandere linked universe x reader #yandere lu #yandere lu x reader #yandere lu fierce deity #yandere lu fierce deity x reader

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bryce-bucher · 8 months

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500 CALIBER CONTRACTZ Post #12

Dialogue!!!11:

The main thing I did over the past week or so was put together this dialogue system. The system itself was fairly easily to implement, and I think the only interesting part of the process to share is how I went about making the UI. As per usual, I wanted to have a cool mechanical feeling ui, but at the same time a friend of mine suggested an AOL instant messenger inspired chat window. I loved both of these ideas so I decided to combine them into a screen that pops up and contains the aim-like window. The modeling process for the screen was similar to how I went about making the other two bits of ui that are on screen in the above photos, but I decided to include a VGA port.

VGA PORT:

I didn't originally plan to include a VGA port, but I was in the middle of researching monitors and accidentally left a window open on my computer that just had a big photo of one and I went "wait a minute.". With my final two braincells I suddenly decided to slap together a model for the port which I ended up being proud enough of to, for some reason, make an entire section for it.

Sorry if any of the above sentences read horribly. I am going to need a third braincell if you want this stuff to be coherent. Anyway, Blender is so cool. Using the array modifier to make all these lil squares for the holes in the port is just such a satisfying process. I've come to really like makin pre-rendered assets like this.

New Movez:

This is actually a pretty big inclusion, and I probably should've ranked it in my mind above the VGA port. I added some new movement options to the game!

Firstly, I added this melee move where you swing the back of the sniper forwards to propel yourself a bit. It is mainly useful as a bunnyhop that allows you to conserve momentum.

Next up I added this kick that happens if you melee while in the air. It's basically just the one from mario64. It lets you gain a little bit more height and distance. It also becomes way more effective if you have a lot of momentum. A good tool for correcting jumps and reaching new heights.

Finally, we have the big schmovement slide. This slide gives you a huge burst of speed that you can jump out of in order to send your self flyin. Surprisingly, it didn't really break any of the level design and ended up being a really fun addition imo. In order to perform it, you have to do a ground pound and then melee as you hit the ground. Also, I feel like I basically stole this from pseudoregalia. Played through that recently and it has been a good source of inspiration.

Nova!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!:

This is a cameo skin I've been really excited to finally make myself put in the game. Anodyne 2 is a really important game to me, and I love it much. I'm really happy tha folks at analgesic let me put her in here, and I'm p happy with how her model came together. If you haven't peeped the Anodyne games I highly recommend them. The first one was a major inspiration for parts of Fatum Betula.

Conclusion:

Lately I've been playing this game way too much. It has made it impossible for me to tell if it is fun or well designed. Some problems cropped up during playtesting that ima need to address, and I hope that it all comes together into something that one could say is "fun and cool". I think takin this weekend off is gonna do my brain good. Oh yeah also I feel like I should advertise that I'm still doing commissions if anyone is interested. Anyway, have a good 1 and enjoy urself.

#screenshotsaturday #indiegamedev #gamedev #indiedev #game development #indiegames #lowpoly #y2k #y2k aesthetic #indie game #3d platformer #3dplatformer #sniper rifle #50 caliber 3d platformer #500 caliber contractz #50 cal #anodyne #anodyne 2

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himezoro · 26 days

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Hey

In your last comment ( in love wins all part2) you meant that I could ask you for a story at any time.

My idea would be a story about Zoro in which he first has to admit to himself that he loves the female reader and asks his crew how he can confess his feelings to her and then does it in his usual shy but direct way ^^

We both know he is a big softie at heart x3

tysm for your request and undefeating support, it’s the reason i went back to writing and found the strength to write today. i really hope you’ll enjoy it, and tysm for your patience. i love the introspection your idea offers, it was so fun to write that i added the strawhats as a tool for Zoro to realize his feelings! some parts are before timeskip, and the parts after the timeskip will be mentioned, i hope you’ll enjoy it <3

tw! mention of gender (female) + fluff + sfw!!

wc : 4,31k (i went crazy sorry....)

It was a cool and breezy spring day when Luffy asked you to join the crew. You were a talented strategist during battles and tough times, gifted with a brilliant vision of finding a positive issue to win, while exulting warmth and tenderness, so much that it could tame the devil itself.

And by that, it meant Roronoa Zoro.

The tall swordsman perfectly remembers this day where you officially climbed onto the ship after the events of Enies Lobby, after helping the crew with astute tactics to get Robin back. He was impressed with you back then, by your phlegm and knowledge of the field, your calm, your determination to grant them victory, like you knew them all along, like you loved them all along. It was the love you gave people that allowed your brain to come up with the best solutions. And as a warrior and a solution giver, Zoro was admirative.

Or in trance. Mesmerized. In awe. Struck by an angel. If he were to be honest with himself.

And because Zoro imagined himself talking to you and getting to know what your brain hid, asking about your whereabouts, your culture, your likings and the drinks you drink, he really thought he did.

Yet, other than the casual “Hi”, “Thanks”, “Food’s ready” and “Good night”, the swordsman never uttered a word of what he wished to really share. Was it laziness? Cowardice? Fear? Indeed, he was not the most talkative of the crew, but he knew he could talk to anyone if he wanted to. Hell, he could even talk to the cook.

But when it came to you, he found himself out of breath, and looking at you seemed enough. Seeing you beam at the dinner table while savoring the shitty cook Sanji’s delights, hearing your chatty and bubbly voice when gossiping with Nami and Robin, your laughs when in company of Usopp and Luffy and the soft hums escaping your lips when Brook would play a song. Looking at your plush thighs where Chopper’s head was resting, and the pearl of cola dripping from your pink lips when drinking under the hot weather with Franky.

He both felt like you were a sight bestowed by the Gods for him and forbidden, like the Apple of Eden.

And in magnificent Zoro fashion, he decided to not pay attention and focus on his training.

But even with the best of will, it was hard to pretend you did not exist and that the fluttering in his stomach were not butterflies, especially, on the Thousands Sunny.

THE CAPTAIN, MONKEY D LUFFY

One night, before reaching the Sabaody Archipelago, Zoro was standing quietly by the ocean. His mind was clear from troubles and aches, and he simply stood by the quietness of the sea. You’ve been apart of the crew for what has not been so long, yet, you were fitting beautifully. The way the breeze would caress your hair, the way you would sometimes trip on the ship because of the waves, the way the lemonade you would make tasted so much better than the cook’s. The first time you offered him the said refreshment was the only time he managed to stay close to you. Because you were not leaving, he thought. Or maybe because he was frozen on the spot when you bent down to his sitting/close to napping form and could smell your floral scent.

He was so lost in his thoughts he failed to hear his captain coming.

“Isn’t (Y/N) cool? Like, super cool?” the captain beamed at his first mate and best friend, clapping his feet together as he sat on the rail of the ship. The swordsman did not mind looking his way as he stood by the railing, watching the moon glistening on the ocean.

“I guess, I barely talk to the girl so I wouldn’t know.” He shrugged, hearing your soft giggles from afar as you enjoyed your time with the rest of the crew.

“Well I know she’s cool. And she was so cool when she made all of these plans on her notebook with that fancy swooshing pen thing.” He said, mimicking writing (ndlr : like that light yagami meme lol). “Sanji says she’s pretty. Do you think she’s pretty?”

At that question, Zoro almost chocked on his own air.

“Why would you ask me that? And since when do you Luffy know when people are... pretty?” he said, hoping the moonlit night would hide the pink hue on his cheeks.

“I know when people are pretty! You are pretty! You’re my friend so you’re pretty.” Zoro scoffed at his words, letting his captain talk.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll get along super well. Like super buddies. She’s so cool. You should listen to her. Nami said we must listen to her advices during combat or else we EXPLODE!! BOOM!!” he enthusiastically said before jumping off the railing and shaking Zoro’s shoulders before running to pest on someone else.

Zoro stole a glance towards your way and sighed. You did not look pretty. Hell no you didn’t. And to that extent, he disagreed with the cook again. Because you were gorgeous, ethereal. It was beyond being “pretty”, it was beyond being pleasant to look at. You were a gift. And he knew he could keep on looking at you for days if allowed.

And because you caught him looking, you offered him a gentle smile and a wave, which he forgot to reciprocate as he simply nodded and turned back to gazing at the ocean.

I know we would get along well… he sighed, silently wishing he had Luffy’s or Usopp’s social skills to stay by your side.

THE NAVIGATOR, NAMI

Before docking on the Sabaody Archipelago, Nami said it would be nice to dock on a small island to enjoy a day of fun at the beach, which led to having everyone in their bathing suit enjoying the scenery.

Zoro sat on the sand and did not realize his eyes landed on you. You were in the water with chopper on your shoulders, trying to keep steady as you feared for him to fall in the water. Usopp was in front of you with Luffy on his shoulders, trying to make Chopper fall in the water. Zoro claims to not pay attention to the way your (favorite color) bathing suit was perfectly suiting your form. He claims to not pay attention to your wet hair nor to the drops on your eyelids.

“You need a tissue to stop the drooling?” Nami said, standing in front of her crewmate as she put her sunglasses on top of her head.

Zoro glared at her without saying a word, clearly annoyed by the navigator.

“Well if I hadn’t known you were enjoying the view before I would certainly know it now. Would you stop staring at her, you look like Sanji.” she smirked, moving the way as she sat next to him, looking at you as well and smiling.

“Really Zoro you should stop staring, that’s creepy.”

“Did she say anything?” he surprised himself asking. Now at least she stopped blocking the view, and he could go back to “not” pay attention to the way your hand would hold Chopper’s pawn, or the way Usopp would splash water all over your chest.

“Well well well, what do we have here? A request for insights on my girl (Y/N)? By Roronoa Zoro? Is it going to snow in hell? Let me check…” she mischievously snarked, earning a grunt from Zoro in return.

“It’s so funny because I’m sure she talked about you in our quarters a few times ago… or maybe it was in my dream? Maybe your errand money would jog my memory.” she proudly stated, earning another annoyed grunt from Zoro. She looked at him and waited for him to nod his head and wave his hand as a sign for her to continue.

“Thanks for your generosity. And the only thing she said is that you don’t seem to like her because you never talk to her, so she doesn’t want to bother you.”

When he heard what appeared to be your words, he swore his heart broke. How could you reasonably think he doesn’t like you? While you were the only thing on his mind beside training?

“And what did you say… I mean, what did you tell her.” Zoro shyly asked, wondering if his friend Nami did any help.

“Well I did say you hated her, but I’m sure I could tell her you love staring at her like a perv.”

“For fuck sake why would you say stuff like this?!”

“I did not tell her that you idiot!” she said, laughing wholeheartedly. “In fact, I said you were like a bear : terrifying on the outside but kind of nice if you think about it.”

Zoro sighed, instantly feeling sick in the stomach at the idea of you thinking he hated you… or was a perv.

“Why don’t you try talking to her? She’s such a sweet and smart girl, I feel like she was the missing part of this crew. I mean, it’s clear you-

“Do not say that word. I don’t.”

Zoro cut her right off, but that did not stop Nami from stating her piece.

“Fine I’ll use the word fancy. It’s clear you FANCY her. Just because you never had a girlfriend or thought you could like anyone other than your swords or MIHAWKE doesn’t mean you should not act on your feelings right now. Be a normal guy and get her flowers, or I don’t know, you could also just talk.?You know Sanji likes her too right?” she added that last part only to shake Zoro off before leaving with her new found cash.

Zoro kept on looking at you with longing, thinking about what Nami said.

Sanji cannot like her. And how did she know I never had a girlfriend?

THE SNIPER KING, USOPP, AND THE DOCTOR, TONY TONY CHOPPER

Later that night, Zoro decided to sit next to you for dinner. He was set on proving Nami wrong and showing the cook that he did not stand a chance (the poor guy did not get Nami’s joke).

But because Nami is the lively and vibrant human being she is, she, of course, told Usopp and Chopper about her little talk with Zoro.

Which of course, led Usopp to do some teasing, with the help of little

“Hey (Y/N)! What does it feel like finally sitting next to Zoro after weeks of sailing together?” he pried, wiggling his eyebrows at the sight of the two of you sitting together. You smiled and let out a small laugh as you responded.

“Well I have to say, I’m quite flattered. Surprised, but flattered. Zoro is nice to stay with.”

Your voice felt like the greatest of songs, and it only made Zoro’s heart beat faster.

“Wooo wooo!” Usopp cooed, pounding on the table as he did so. “Do I hear a confession in here? Zoro what do you have to say? Isn’t she nice to stay with? Come on just say the magic L word!”

He was so engulfed in his thoughts and the desire to slash Usopp in half, that he did not feel Chopper creep on his lap.

“Your heart is beating really fast right now!” the reindeer said in Zoro’s ear, trying not to embarrass him too much as Usopp was already talking about planning a future wedding.

“Because you guys are giving me a headache”, he angrily uttered, suddenly getting up and leaving the table, not noticing the sad look in your eyes as he turned his back, not looking at you.

After these milestones only a fool would try to deny the blatant truth.

And after the Sabaody incident, only a masochist would refrain and hide these feelings away.

But with Roronoa Zoro, nothing is easier than sweeping his feelings under the rug of Mihawke’s manor.

Nervertheless, being separated from you for those two years only left him with thoughts of you mingling with the ones he felt of guilt. Were you alive? Did you get Luffy’s message? Where were you training? Who were you with? Will you come back to him?

In his quest of longing to be the strongest, he got even more confident, if that could happen. Not only would he never let anything happen to the crew again thanks to his new found abilities, but he swore he won’t let you in any form of danger. Yet, he claims it to himself that protecting you is only his “swordsman way”. Nothing more.

He waited for the day of the reunion with a lot of excitement. Seeing Luffy and Chopper again, sailing the seas to prove himself to the world. He would not say it aloud, but he missed everyone. Yet, his heart led to an unusual feeling. His chest felt knotted. Was it fear? Anxiety? Regret? He caught himself thinking about many scenarios that did not make sense, nonsense he would have smacked someone’s head for. What if you decided to leave the crew and stay where you were? What if you forgot about him, since his past relationship with you failed to be the most intimate one? What if you hated him and thought of him as weak? What if he never saw you again?

Why does it matter, anyway.

The D-Day was approaching, and Zoro’s questions only grew more and more.

And as the Day finally arrived, he looked at the Sabaody scenery and let out a deep sigh, but the small smile on his lips never left. Each step he took were different from those he took two years ago: he was determined, stronger.

He would not admit it to himself, but he was worried you won’t show up to the ship. He also was worried he won’t be able to talk to you like he wished to.

During his walk to find the Sunny, he stumbled across the last person he wanted to see first.

THE COOK, SANJI VINSMOKE

Even though Zoro disliked the cook, he had to admit he was reassured to see his fellow comrade in good shape. But that feeling quickly faded the second the Cook started speaking.

“And here I thought a musclehead like you couldn’t understand nor form a sentence.”

“And here I thought you might have learnt to use twizzlers in those two years but well. Nothing’s new here.”

The pair had no choice but to walk together, which surprisingly led to somewhat of a conversation, even though neither looked at the other. Zoro was walking with his bag over his shoulder while Sanji smoked his cigarette.

“So you trained with Ivankov?”

“I tried to escape everytime which turned out well. I can fly now with my technique, which I’m sure (Y/N)-chwan would love! Think about it, this could be really useful in defense combat. I will be useful for (Y/N)-chwaaan, and Nami-chwaaan and Robin-chwaaan.” The cook chanted, only to earn Zoro’s deep and usual silence, which lasted for what seemed to be a while.

In spite of being used to Zoro’s quietness and awkward silence, the cook noticed the sudden shift in his behavior once your name was mentioned. Call him curious or accuse him of having a death wish, but he decided to break the ice.

“Hey, mosshead.”

The swordsman did not bother to answer and kept on walking.

“Did you miss anyone in particular during those two years?”

“Yes, my hammock.” he quickly answered, his usual sass coming back as a defense mechanism Sanji swore not to fall for this time.

“See?” Sanji said, pointing his cigarette towards his crewmate, still walking. “That’s exactly why no one wants to approach you. You’re brute. How do you expect people to let you in if you don’t let them in in the first place?”

“Who said I wanted to let any people in? I don’t care about people.”

“You know who I’m talking about here. I have eyes. We all have eyes.”

“Technically Brook doesn’t and I only have one left.” he corrected, looking at the cook’s annoyed face with his good eye. “And for the reminder, I can understand sentences just fine, you talked about people, not (Y/N).”

Sanji smirked: the cook had won.

“Indeed. I never talked about beautiful (Y/N). You just did, though." he cockily pointed. "If I were you, which I’m not thank God, I would take her hand, squeeze it and tell her a poem. That’s it if you can read.”

“Tsk.”

Sanji lit himself another cigarette to savor his small victory. Zoro bit the inside of his cheek and averted his gaze to the scenery around him again.

Did he just tell the cook about you? When he was talking about “letting people in”? He would lie if he said he did not want you to let him in. He thought you were a strong woman with admirative skills. He thought you were kind and caring, with a high sense of ethics and fairness. He thought you were beautiful. You were his ideal, the sole reason why he never bothered looking at women before.

But why would someone like you let someone like him, in? Sanji was right: he was a brute. And spending time with his swords medidating for two years did not make him a social animal. He lacked Usopp’s ease or Luffy’s communicative smile. He lacked Sanji’s ability to compliment women or make them feel beautiful. Hell, he remembers his conversation with Nami like it was yesterday: you thought he hated you.

Would it be unfair for a brute like him to long for someone like you? Does he have the right to hold these feelings? Is he allowed to share them to you?

The poor boy did not have time to find his answer that Luffy had found them.

He would soon see you. He felt it. And by that time, he better come up with something other than “Hi”.

When they arrived to the ship alongside their Captain, everyone was already here waiting for them.

Including you.

Before fully looking at you, Chopper jumped on him, crying his heart out from having missing him too much. Unfortunately for him, the swordsman did not pay attention to all his ranting as you approached to enthusiastically hug Luffy, Sanji, and him.

Because of the awkward position he was in with Chopper, you gently wrapped your arms around the small reindeer and told them both how happy you were to see them. And because of his cute comrade, he did not have the chance to say “Hi”.

He missed his opportunity, the chance to finally let you in.

Perhaps it is better this way.

Everyone climbed onto the ship, ready to celebrate the reunion, and even though the best sake was provided, Zoro quickly walked to a small and intimate area: his crow nest.

THE STRATEGIST, (YOUR NAME) ♡

Two years without seeing your friends were long to pass, without hearing their laughters and benters, their antics and adventures. Even though you joined the crew at later times before being teleported by Kuma, you dearly loved each crewmate and felt apart of a big family.

During those two years, you sometimes caught yourself thinking about the swordsman. To say the green-haired figure rarely talked to you would be an understatement, and you never understood why. You never were mean to him, you let him nap during night watch, you poured him lemonade, smiled at him each time he would look at you.

You admired his strength, his determination, his oath to become the best in his craft. You were honored to conceive combat strategies that would enhance his abilities and show them to the world.

He was the legend to the story you were writing. The hero.

It would be lying to say you did not fancy the swordsman. He was handsome, peaceful, intelligent when in need, and reassuring. He was confident, opinionated and reliable.

Your heartbeat grew faster as you saw him walking towards the ship with Sanji and the captain. He looked even taller than in your memories, and even more built. His hair seemed softer, and his voice much huskier. Your heart ached when you noticed he had lost an eye.

But because everyone was around, you could not possibly go to him and cry your eyes out as you talked about his injury. Instead, and because you were so happy to see everyone, you decided to go for a small hug, hopping it would offer you both a fresh start.

After the feast following your reunion, you noticed Zoro walking out to his favorite spot. Pretending to be in need of the ladies room, you decided to follow the swordsman to the crows nest, set on trying to finally, communicate with the future best swordsman on the Planet.

When Zoro heard someone going up the crows nest, he did not pay attention. For this once, would he allow someone to go up unannounced.

“Pardon me Zoro!” you said while climbing, breaking his composure. Out of everyone he thought would come up tonight, he never thought it would be you. He could not even figure out what to come up with first as he saw the top of your head from the top of the ladder and your adorable eyes peeking up to him.

You waited to have fully climbed the ladder before talking.

“Hi, I hope I’m not bothering.” You gently said with a radiant smile on your face, standing in front of him in your newest outfit. He felt ashamed for not taking in all the details of your new attire earlier under the sunlight, from the way it hugged your form to the way the color compliments your eyes.

“Actually, I’ve never been up here before.. it looks.. nice?” you said, your eyes going from the surroundings of his room to his good eye.

He looks handsome.

She looks gorgeous.

“Then what are you doing here now?” Zoro responded, harsher than what he intended. He instantly regretted his sentence and his tone. These were so distant from what he felt.

His words sent shivers down your spine and made you gasp a little, slowly looking down to your feet in embarrassment.

He looked down at you with his good eye and quickly shook his hands.

“N-No (Y/N) this is so not what I meant. Gosh now I understand why Sanji said I was a brute and Nami said you hated me.”

“What? Nami said I hated you?” you asked, your head going back up and looking at him with concern. “I could never hate you Zoro! Why would she say something like this?”

“N-No!” he said, trying to correct his wording, again, but it seemed harder after hearing what you felt about him.

You could never hate him.

“I mean, she said you thought I hated you. No wonder why you think that, I’m a brute.”

In spite of his awkward phrases, you let out a small giggle. His tan face was tainted with shades of a dusty shy pink, and his good eye was desperately trying to connect with yours. Maybe if you would look at him for just long enough, he would not have to say a thing.

You walked closer to him, trying to pierce what his eye was begging to tell you. You could feel the shift in the air, the tension building high. Your voice, soft as silk and sweet as honey, asked.

“So, Zoro, do you hate me?”

The question sent him in a trance. In his mind, he told you a hundred times about how beautiful you looked and how admirative he was of your work on the ship. In his mind, he told the world and the stars a hundred times about his will to protect you and be the strongest.

His body ached to be closer to yours. It was only the two of you, and it seemed so natural. So real. He slowly inched closer to you, his overpowering frame letting yours aware of his presence and scent. Wood and peppermint.

Crossing his arms and closing his eyes, faking tiredness, hoping his demeanor would hide the shyness away, he bluntly stated:

“I could never hate you, (Y/N).”

Five words. These five words alone lifted a whole weight off your shoulders. Slightly blushing from his statement and the proximity you two were in, in what seemed like a forbidden whisper, you said, gently touching his hand.

“I… I should probably go downstairs. The others are going to wonder why I’m taking so long to get you to drink sake with us. They’ll think you got sober.”

Zoro slightly scoffed and nodded, his eyes never leaving the tenderness of your touch on his large hand.

“Promise me you’ll come back later. Just you.”

His wish was spoken with such adoration and secrecy, you won’t ever refuse. But teasing the swordsman seemed a little more fun.

“By later, do you mean in two years? Who knows maybe by that time you’d have lost your other eye.”

Zoro laughed a little, gently squeezing your hand like an oath spoken just for the two of you.

“Like I would ever let you go again for so long, idiot.”

#one piece x reader #op x reader #one piece imagine #one piece headcanon #roronoa zoro #headcanons #one piece headcanons #opla x reader

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