#it might’ve been slightly more logical but like

[writing-ca-ira]

HASARDER — PART 2

YJ/Teen Titans Dick Grayson x Reader

Part 1 << MASTERLIST >> Part 3

Trying to explain something that doesn’t exist is hard… so you can only imagine what it was like trying to explain the Titans to a bunch of skeptical cops. Luckily for you, they turned you over to a couple of people who believe your story slightly more.

Reader is gender neutral.

Contains: civilian reader, mentions of death (your own), spoilers: you’re actually alive, it’s the you from the YJ universe that’s dead.

You have no idea who you are anymore.

Well, that isn’t true. You’re (Y/N) (L/N), and from how many times you’ve said your name to Leaguers (oh, yes; Leaguers, from the Justice League… but now’s certainly not the time to get starstruck all over again) from this week alone… god… it would be impossible to forget that you’re (Y/N) (L/N). You’ve told Batman, Martian Manhunter, some science guy named Adam, Doctor frickin’ Fate… not to mention all of the lab results that you’ve looked over (well, that you were allowed to look over, anyway. Dick would confide in you about the Bat’s preference for secrecy all the time, so you had a hunch what you’ve seen isn’t all there is to know)… all of them would have your name printed on them; (Y/N) (L/N).

So, yeah. The problem didn’t stem from who you were. It was… well… whose were you.

Of all of the people who got to run their little tests on you — the world’s greatest detective, a telepathic alien, a lord of order — you found it a little funny that it was the random science guy named Adam that provided some sort of lead on your situation. He did an MRI scan on you, and something emitting from your body caused the computers to fritz out a bit. Upon closer inspection, he discovered that there were traces of Zeta Beams in your body.

“Zeta Beams are what power our Zeta Tubes,” Adam explained. “You use Zeta to… teleport.”

Teleport…

Well, that would explain how you ended up on the other side of the country when you… died… in Rhode Island.

You addressed this hypothesis to Mr. Science Dude, wondering if that’s what he himself was thinking. It seemed logical, after all; it’s not like a dead person could get themselves across the country without raising a few federal eyebrows. But Adam shook his head at your words, steel eyes darkening with something unrecognizable.

“I… considered the possibility. Maybe you were somehow hit by a Zeta Beam before you died, and maybe something in string theory…” you recalled him shaking his head, as though to get rid of whatever digression he was going down. “(Y/N)… you’ve been an anomaly to us for a week straight. You died, and then showed up 2 years later in a town we know you’ve never been to. The next logical step — extreme, but still logical — was to dig up your grave, and… you’re still there. It’s still… you… in there.”

That all was his buildup to a jarring question;

“(Y/N)… how much do you know about parallel universes?”

That conversation happened a few days ago. You were now standing in front of the bathroom mirror of some random apartment Batman had you stashed you away in by Adam — a “safe house,” as he called it — studying each and every inch of your face. After waking up at 6 a.m. from a horrible dream about your towermates, you began to worry about the weirdest things. Were you a ghost? Was this all a fever dream from a coma? Did your friends randomly disappear off the face of the Earth like you did, and now they’re “dead” as well?

… Have you stopped looking like yourself?

That last one is why you were staring so intensely at your reflection in the mirror. You looked like… you. At least, you were pretty sure you looked like you. The same skin tone, eye color, hair style… yup, 100% (Y/N). And while you might’ve not been this… world’s… (Y/N), you were still your own (Y/N); the civilian housemate of the Teen Titans and Di— Robin’s best friend. You are the (Y/N) that plays fetch with Starfire and Beastboy, and watches Cyborg tinker with something in the garage while Raven reads in the corner. You are the (Y/N) that listens to Robin vent and then go out for milkshakes to make him feel better. No matter what bits and pieces you may hear about this other (Y/N), the one in the mirror is the one that’s… y’know… you.

I’m (Y/N) (L/N), you thought to yourself. And while I’m… a little lost right now, I’ll be back home with the Titans before I know it. The Justice League will make sure of it.

You watched in real time as your eyes hardened with determination. Batman promised you that they were working on something. While you weren’t exactly sure how parallel universes worked (it was hard to stomach the notion of parallel universes to begin with), you had no other choice but to believe that there was some way to get you back home. In a galaxy with super-powered humans, aliens, magicians, literal gods, what-have-you, there just has to be a way. You got here somehow in the first place, right? Surely, you can go back.

A faint knocking on your door caused you to snap out of your thoughts.

Knock knockknock knock.

Knockknockknockknock.

Knockknock knock.

Knock knock.

You furrowed your brows at the weird rhythm, until you remembered Batman’s instructions; don’t answer the door for anyone unless they knock in that specific pattern (apparently, the pattern was “chum” in Morse). If you heard the code-knock, then that meant it was him at the door, though he hadn’t visited since you since your last time in the lab. After giving yourself a final scan in the mirror, you made your way over to the door and mentally prepared yourself to be face to face with Batman.

… Except, upon opening the door, you weren’t face to face with Batman.

At the doorway stood a man around the same height as Batman, but most definitely not dressed like Batman. Instead, he was dressed like a business casual man, his crisp white button-up layered under a grey sweater and a black coat. His dark slacks looked recently ironed, and his shoes looked just polished. The entire ensemble made his worn down Gotham Knights hat look a bit out of place, but when you noticed his sunglasses, you recognized that this was no stylistic choice; he was undercover (being friends with Robin made you quite familiar with the “civvy” look).

Taking a few moments to study his face, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he looked… familiar. Not a personal kind of familiar, but a what-movie-have-I-seen-this-actor-be-in kind of familiar. That chiseled jawline, those prominent cheekbones, the slight beak of his upper lip… something about him screamed tabloid target to you, and it was eating away at the back of your brain.

Then, it finally hit you. “Bruce Wayne.”

The man in front of you grimaced, the corners of his lips twitching upwards for a fraction of a second as though he were attempted to smile. “You don’t… want an autograph, do you?”

“Uh… I’m good,” was all you could respond with. Formulating a sentence was quite difficult. What were you supposed to say to Gotham’s very own billionaire playboy? You know, they guy whose face is basically everywhere across not only the United States, but the entire world? The guy whose ward is your very own best friend Dick Grayson… who is also Robin… the sidekick of… well…

“… It really is true,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re… him.”

A sigh left Bruce’s lips. “I’m guessing Dick told you everything, then.”

You shook your head at this. “Not really. He only told me his name was Dick. Then he showed me his face one day, and…” you tried to fight off the urge to look smug from your own detective skills. “Only so many people in the world have the same face as Richard Grayson.”

Just as only so many people in the world have the same face as (Y/N) (L/N).

That thought painfully reminded you of the reality of your situation. This wasn’t Bruce Wayne. Well, it was, but it wasn’t your Bruce Wayne. And his ward, Richard Grayson, wasn’t your Dick. These were all strangers that may look, sound, and act like people from your world, but… this wasn’t your world.

And one look at Mr. Wayne’s troubled face told you he was thinking something along those lines. “(Y/N)… can I come in?”

You silently nodded, stepping aside to make room. The billionaire crossed the threshold of the apartment and watched intently as you closed the door. No words were said for an uncomfortable couple of seconds, and you soon realized you would have to be the one to speak up first.

“So… is there anything new? About sending me home?”

Mr. Wayne pursed his lips together. “No. Nothing new.” One of his hands moved to soothingly plant itself on your shoulder. “But rest assured, we’re doing everything we can to figure out a way. We’ll get you home, (Y/N).”

This… was weird. Not just the fact that Bruce Wayne was comforting you, but the man that’s supposedly Batman — Gotham’s protector that strikes fear in the hearts of criminals — is being… well… kind. During your interrogations with the Caped Crusader, he was nothing but cold and distant with you, making you feel as though you’re guilty of something despite knowing you’ve done nothing wrong. And Dick tells you stories of Batman’s heartlessness all the time (by sticking his pointer fingers up by his head and doing his best Batman voice). Was it because you were talking to Bruce Wayne, and not Batman, that he was kind to you?

Maybe THIS Batman is just so different from MY Batman, you mentally noted.

Nevertheless, you offered Mr. Wayne a sad smile. “Thank you… and…” your smile dropped as you thought of this world’s (Y/N), “… I’m sorry…”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” said Mr. Wayne. “You have no idea how you ended up here, and really, this whole thing is a field day for our trusted scientists.” He offered you a lopsided grin. “Adam Strange has been talking everyone’s ear off about… stuff that I don’t really understand.”

You tried to give out a humored laugh, but it came out more as a pathetic chortle. “Always happy to help make earth-shattering discoveries in the realm of theoretical physics.”

But… of all the people in the world (well, you’re world) to be a scientific anomaly, why did it have to be you? You were just a normal civilian that just so happened to live with the Titans. There’s no reason why you should be involved with this whole parallel universe fiasco… and what if there isn’t a way to send you home? What if there’s so many parallel universes out there that it’s impossible to pinpoint yours? What if you spent the rest of your life being studied by scientist after scientist in this foreign timeline, while your own universe becomes nothing but a distant memory?

Mr. Wayne’s deep voice brought you back to reality. “(Y/N)…”

Your eyes snapped back to him. “Uh… yeah?”

“I… didn’t just want to check up on you,” the billionaire hesitantly admitted, his brows furrowed with uncertainty. “There’s… well… there’s something…”

The way he trailed off made you feel uneasy. Though you were hoping this wasn’t going where you thought it was going, you knew it had something to do with… the elephant in the room. It was the one thing for the past week that caused your stomach to churn and your throat to constrict with pure guilt.

Of course, never addressing it seemed very unlikely. “It’s about… your (Y/N), isn’t it?”

Mr. Wayne stood as Still as a statue for a brief period, but eventually let out a shaky sigh. “The only people who know about… this situation… are me, Martian Manhunter, Adam Strange, and Doctor Fate. We have a few JL-affiliated scientists working on the possibility of dimensional travel, but… your name has been kept out of those projects.” His voice was becoming more and more gruff, reminiscent of the Batman voice you were accustomed to. “You do understand why it’s preferable that way, right?”

“Everyone who knew the (Y/N) here knows they’re…” you could barely finish your sentence without the stinging sensation of bile rising in your throat. “They’re… dead. It’s just better to keep your (Y/N)’s close ones away from all of this… just so no one gets false hope.”

At your response, Mr. Wayne nodded. “Exactly. We’re trying to send you home without anyone noticing you were here.” He then bowed his head towards the floor. “At least… that was the plan…”

You dumbly blinked at him. “Was?”

The billionaire took his sunglasses off to rub his face. “… Dick… he…”

Your heart rate picked up when he mentioned Dick, but you had to remind yourself that it wasn’t your Dick he was talking about. This Dick wasn’t your best friend that you like to hang out with around Jump City. All you could do was patiently wait for Mr. Wayne to continue as apprehension ate at your brain.

“He found out,” he finally admitted. “About you. I don’t know how, but I’m sure he had… some help.” Worry lines formed on his face as his ocean-colored eyes found yours. “He wasn’t happy that he was kept out of the loop, and… he wants to see you.”

“But I’m not his (Y/N),” you quickly blurted out. “I… I mean… I’m not the (Y/N) from this world. I’m not the same (Y/N) that… knew him.”

“And he knows you aren’t.” Mr. Wayne’s frown somehow grew bigger. “At least, he says that he knows you aren’t. He just feels… kept in the dark. You were his— (Y/N) was his best friend, and he told me that… I shouldn’t keep secrets about his best friend. Even if it… isn’t…”

“… his best friend,” you finished.

Mr. Wayne slowly nodded. There was a blanket of silence that fell over the room, and it felt like hours later when the billionaire spoke up again. “He was… extremely upset. You two were close, so I… I understand. But… you were also close with so many other people that… that it’s…” he had to lean against the wall to steady himself. “I thought I… was doing the right thing. I thought I was saving him from so much pain and… and heartache by hiding all of this…”

The immense self-pity that wafted from his form reminded you so much of Dick that you struggled to breathe. Moments like these were all too familiar to you; Dick would disappear after a mission, and you would find him beating himself over the head for something. You wondered if the Dick in this universe was the same exact way, and if the Dick from your universe got it from your Batman.

“Dick never liked secrets,” you began, putting a hand on Mr. Wayne’s shoulder, much like he did for you not too long ago. “He would always tell me about some guy named B, and how B didn’t seem to trust him.” You cleared your throat in order to attempt your best Robin impression. “I’m his partner!! He needs to trust me more!! I don’t wanna have anything to do with him!!”

A sad puff of air left the man’s lips. “… That definitely sounds familiar.”

“But if there’s one thing I know about Dick…” you couldn’t help but roll your else. “He’s a giant hypocrite.” Mr. Wayne’s eyes snapped up to meet yours quizzically while you continued. “Do you know how many secrets he’s hidden from the Titans? And how many he still keeps hidden? Can’t believe that guy has the audacity to go on and on about how he hates B’s lies, only to turn around and lie to his own team.” Throwing your arms up dramatically, you let out a frustrated sigh. “And I tell him! Every time his secrets are brought to light, I tell him, Dick, why would you keep secrets from your team if you hate secrets? And you know what he says?“

Mr. Wayne continued to stare at you. You gave him a reassuring smile and answered your own question, “he says, I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“… Wow,” was all the man could mutter.

“Deep down, he knows you were trying to keep him safe,” you explained, heart squeezing as you thought about your best friend. “Because it’s the same thing he would’ve done.”

Another puff of air came from Mr. Wayne, though it sounded more humorous than the last one. “You always knew him better. Probably could predict his next move before he even thinks to make it.” Any fondness that he held in his face turned stone cold. “… It’s been hard. Without you, I mean. It’s been hard for him, for me, for everyone. If only…” he cut himself off, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I… this must be uncomfortable for you.”

A frown tugged at the corner of your lips as you watched him straighten up. “It’s okay, Mr. Wayne… I understand. It’s… probably better to get everything off of your chest, right? Maybe it’ll help with healing?”

“… You’re not (Y/N),” the man uttered, voice barely above a whisper. It was hard to tell if he was speaking to you or himself, so you didn’t respond (it was hard to tell if you even had the right to respond). Taking a few steps towards the doorway, he gave you a solemn look. “I… apologize for putting you in an awkward position, with mentioning Dick and all, but I just wanted to give you a word of warning.”

“A word of warning,” your flat voice echoed.

He nodded, fiddling with his sunglasses. “He’ll show up here eventually when he obtains the address. It’s… inevitable, and I know I can’t do anything to stop it. But… when he does…” a small pause, “be careful with what you say.”

Though he didn’t elaborate, you knew exactly what he meant; don’t give Dick any false hope. A heavy lump formed in your throat as you tried to give a response. “Of course… I will.”

And, with that, Bruce Wayne was out the door.

Your first encounter with this universe’s Bruce Wayne was officially over. This was a crazy week (to say the least), but you never thought that your next VIP visitor would be Bruce Wayne. And he seemed… very unstable. Which you totally understood; you’re a parallel version, or alternate dimension version, or a whatever version of a very dead (Y/N), and that (Y/N) was close to a lot of people (including Batman, apparently?). It didn’t help that he and Dick must’ve had a fight quite recently, and you could only imagine how hard it was to admit to your son that you were keeping secrets… for his protection… again. Yeah, you don’t blame him for that tiny pity party he had.

Putting billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne aside for a moment, your thoughts went to Dick.

He’s trying to come see you.

You had… absolutely no idea how to feel about this. Part of you was excited, relieved even, to see his face. After an entire week of not seeing your best friend’s face, it would calm you down significantly. But… of course… this wasn’t your best friend; this was another (Y/N)’s best friend. And that (Y/N) is… no longer here. Excitement boiled into dread very quickly at the thought. This Dick Grayson knew you weren’t his (Y/N) (L/N)… so why would he want to come see you? At first, you thought it might’ve been for closure. While you weren’t his (Y/N), you were still (Y/N) in general, and maybe seeing you would be enough to help him… move on.

The thought sounded nice… but you knew Richard John “Dick” Grayson better than that.

Dick is a very defensive person… especially when it comes to the honor of his friends. If things start getting rough, you can practically see him put his shields up. And if he feels like things have gone too far, he’ll go fully offensive. You’ve seen it happen countless of times with you and the Titans, where he steps in with a sharp tongue and fists ready to fly whenever some unlucky jerk comes after one of you.

This Dick Grayson wasn’t your Dick Grayson, but judging from your conversation with Mr. Wayne, he’s pretty dang similar in both worlds. And if this world’s (Y/N) was his friend…

Then you’re the unlucky jerk coming after them.

#Young Justice x reader #Teen Titans x reader #Dick Grayson x reader #Robin Dick Grayson #Nightwing Dick Grayson

[jayvolans]

𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝗼𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐫 | 𝐚𝐥𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐚𝗺 𝐬𝗺𝐚𝐮

𝐗𝐈𝐕. 𝐂𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐒

Y: Good morning everyone, and welcome to another segment of our Stellar Lunar analysis!

A: As I’m sure you can tell, this was not scheduled, but some of you reached out to ask for help on a latent theme analysis of chapter 7.

Y: Wow, your intros have gotten so much better! Didn’t think you had it in you~

A: …thanks. I guess.

Y: Alright, enough chit chat let’s get to it!

A: *unintelligible noise*

A: Please, please, please tell me you don’t actually believe that…

Y: And why wouldn’t I? You can’t take everything she says at face value!

A: Yes, you can. Not everything has a deeper meaning.

Y: And I would agree, but in this instance our narrator has been proved time and time again to be completely unreliable because of her mental state. The whole point of this is that we absolutely can’t trust everything she says.

A: I guess I… didn’t consider that. So with that being said, what do you think she meant by her statement?

Y: Oh my god… is the Alhaitham agreeing with me AND asking me a question, all in the same sentence?! I think I’ve seen it all!

A: Technically it was two sentences.

Y: Ugh, way to ruin the moment.

A: But you-

Y: One of these days we’re going to have to agree on something!

A: As soon as you start making sensible points we will.

Y: What makes you right? Our classmates love my point of view!

A: …

Y: Whatever.

A: Anyways, hopefully I’ll rub off on you so you can look at this logically.

Y: None of this book is logical though! That’s like- the entire point! And the seventh chapter is the most convoluted and non-straightforward part!

A: You’ve… read the whole book?

Y: You haven’t?

A: Of course I have.

Y: We’ll talk about the ending later.

A: Agreed.

A: I think I might strangle you.

Y: Cut.

A: What?

Y: Cut the cameras. Deadass.

A: Can’t win the debate so now you have to fight me?

Y: For your information, I’d win both, no questions asked!

A: Oh yeah?

And the next thing you know, Alhaitham is towering over you, haughty eyes looking down on you. Only slightly daunted, you stood up to meet his glare.

It was quiet in the room, the only sound being his quiet breathing and the ticking clock. “This isn’t a fight you can win,” Alhaitham grinned, but it was less mocking than you expected.

In fact, his narrowed eyes danced with mirth, taking you by surprise. “Oh please, I could take a nerd like you down any day,” you huffed, hands on your hips. Alhaitham snorted out a laugh as he stepped closer, and now you were chest to chest. “I’d like to see you try.”

Your frown deepened at his taunt. “You’re insufferable sometimes, Alhaitham,” you bit out. There had been an odd tension that had been present the whole recording, and now it was reaching its peak.

Chest to chest, nose to nose, he was insufferable to you, but you couldn’t get enough of your back and forth with him, couldn’t get enough of him. And maybe it was just the lingering heightened emotions from your near arguments, but you couldn’t help but want to be closer still.

It might’ve been wishful thinking, but from the way he was staring, you couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same way. “God, you talk too much,” He hissed.

But before you could make a retort, his lips were pressed feverishly to yours. Your noise of surprise was muffled by his lips as he pressed your body closer to his.

It felt as though a haze was clouding your mind and stealing your judgment, but you couldn’t stop your arms from curling themselves around his neck.

He was intoxicating, and you were falling deep. The way his lips moved against yours was a mix of precision and passion that pulled you further into him.

His hand carefully cradled your jaw, allowing him to deepen the kiss more than you thought possible. You needed to breathe, and thought he would too, but Alhaitham seemed wholly content to only breathe you in, showing no signs of stopping.

You had to force yourself to pull away, but you couldn’t find yourself regretting it when you saw his expression. Eyes half lidded, lips swollen, and cheeks dusted pink… it was not something you could’ve ever imagined seeing on Alhaitham’s face, but the last thing you were doing was complaining.

“What was that?” You mumbled, unable to escape his gaze. And just like that, his infuriating smirk was back in full force. “I told you; you talk too much.”

You groaned, flicking his forehead. “Shut up. Anyways, we definitely have to cut that part out,” You sighed, but you weren’t at all displeased, and it was obvious that Alhaitham knew it too.

“Why? I think it adds to the argument,” He shrugged.

A: With all of that being said, I hope this was as productive for all of you as it was for me.

Y: Wait, what’s that supposed to mean?

A: I think you know, yn.

Y: I-?!

A: Anyways, if you have anymore questions reach out to either Professor Lisa or us. Anything to add, yn?

Y: H-huh?

A: Tch. You were complaining about my intros when it’s really your outros that are the problem…

Y: Hey-!

A: Goodbye and thanks for watching.

Y: Alha-!

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝗼𝐮𝐬❧ 𝗺𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭❧ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭❧

:D?

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 (open)❧

@ruisann @imma-too-many-fandoms @coffeecasket @kokxm1 @lunastarjay @dksfl920 @chiisananingen @itonashi @pidgey-ontheloose @ceylestia @jinxnotpowder @natsum-s @xirthia @adorablezhui @sunsethw4 @deartoru @baelloraa @nambii @simplyxsinned @aixaingela @whipped-for-fictionals @keithsaccount @blayxe @nekogakuro @richxelle @rifran @flutterawayx @nolvngerhvman @celestair @klementime @apinu @http-mewchuu @phoenix-eclipses @court-jester-stuff @dustofthedailylife @albedos-world @taoluv @salamiwrites @imkaaayy @turtl3-warr1or @zombieb1t3 @nachotrash @xiaossocksniffer @duckyyyx @spilloverlove @thenightsflower @feverish-dove @evilenchantresss @sharkiestory @yomamastitties

#genshin impact #genshin impact smau #genshin smau #alhaitham #al haitham #alhaitham x reader #al haitham x reader #alhaitham smau #kaveh #cyno #deyha #kaeya #childe #yae miko

[princelylove]

hello its everyones favourite slightly unstable 🌸 anon here to comment on everyones least favourite dinosaur-- diego brando!

listen. LISTEN. hes stupid and silly and also has mummy issues. and what do boys who are stupid and silly and have mummy issues look in a partner? SOMEONE THAT RESEMBLES THEIR MOTHER AND ACTS LIKE THEIR MOTHER!

thoughts, your highness?

your favourite peon,

🌸

Peon? That pleases me, anon. I don’t know about my favourite, though. I’m imagining you screaming the last bit and then stepping off of your soap box to gently ask. 

I was just thinking about how I haven’t seen you recently, and now here you are. Do you often come when called? 

I already wrote a little bit about Diego here, but let’s do a little deep dive into his psyche. 

Diego is another yandere I can see picking either a familial or romantic darling. Either way you will not escape the “I’ll never love you more than my mother.” conversation. 

You’re right, anon. He misses his mother. Diego does not really want to be caught up needing someone, it isn’t in his nature to seek someone out and actually keep them. He uses people as tools and then disposes of them as necessary- human life is truly worthless to him. But… his mother is not all of humanity. His mother isn’t one of those vile creatures. Do you know what he is looking for? Mother dearest. Mama. Mommy. He craves someone who is going to coddle him- baby him. Diego loves special treatment, and there’s nothing more special than family. It’s unconditional. (Meaning it won’t abandon him.) He knows that, logically, his mother will never return to him. Is that going to stop him from looking? No. 

You’re what Diego considers to be what mankind should’ve been- and will be, once he’s taken his rightful place on top of it all. He likely found a Mother-esque darling in the race. You don't have to be motherly, you just have to remind him of his mother. It certainly would help him make the connection, though. You might’ve offered him a bit of your food, or water, or suggested he come sit by the fire you made. What a provider. He scoffs, but obeys, and doesn’t exactly resist your advances- he allows you to drape a blanket over him, and only moves your hand away when you’re “being too handsy.” 

His complex isn’t as apparent as someone like Narancia or God-fucking-forbid Jotaro, in a romantic relationship at least. But in a familial relationship? So evident. He doesn’t even hide the constant comparisons. Diego gets it out of his system via constantly comparing the two of you. You made dinner? Mother did it this way, why don’t you do it like that. Why do you keep your hair so short? It’d look better past your shoulders. 

But it’s different if Diego’s love is romantic. He is insatiable. He’s not going to get in your face about taking care of his every need. That’s not what a lover does. He just reacts very, very well to it. He is baffled by the notion that someone’s brain doesn’t rot at the mention of his name, or at the smell of his cologne. In his point of view, the world is his, and humanity consists only of the pigeons that he must guide- it makes sense that he reacts so well to praise and attention and gifts… He just reacts a little too well to it. That’s all. 

If you got out of his lovely estate- say thank you to his ex wife, you know, someone who actually spoiled him- Diego will hunt you down on one of his prized horses. He truly doesn’t mind travelling for as long as he has to, he cannot allow you to ever leave his sight- God (him) forbid anything happens to you and he isn’t there. Diego isn’t the most protective, he’s actually never felt that way towards anyone else before. Who matters more than him? He just doesn’t want someone else to hurt you.  But you’ll have some privacy. Diego is big on dignity- he loves someone who holds themself with pride. Does that mean that he has shame? No. Call him Dio. Brush his hair, treat him like a king. Hold his face in your hands and give him all the attention he’s craving, love him, adore him.

#request granted #🌸 anon #yandere diego brando #yandere diego brando x reader #idk if this makes sense i haven't had coffee all day #my mistake if not

[rainbow18]

Unpopular opinion. Nine is NOT a Misanthrope.

(Because I know people have called Nine such. )

Misanthropes hate, dislike and distrust people in general.

Let’s see if Nine’s behavior qualifies.

How Does Nine interact with/about Strangers?

While he didn’t particularly care for The Rebels, he was still willing to tolerate their presence and tell them his plans.

Initially Nine was scared when he saw Shadow, however given that he was being separated from his only friend in a unfamiliar location and Shadow appeared to be charging at him, his fear is understandable.

Upon seeing that Shadow wasn’t attacking him, Nine quickly became interested in him and suggested that he could be Sonic’s (AkA Nine’s only friend’s) Twin.

Nine seemed initially curious in the Pirates but then he and Batten had a minor disagreement because She mistook the containers for a boat. Nine saw Sails and became shocked. While Sonic was taking him away, Nine looked back at the Pirates, specifically Sails. The Pirates attacked the council, leading to fireworks.

Upon returning to New Yoke, Sonic spoke about how it’s handy having Friends everywhere and gestured to Nine. Then, Sonic spoke about Nine potentially meeting and loving Tails. Nine appeared to be happily listening during this all and didn’t lose his smile until Dread came to fight them for the blue shard, which led to Nine becoming annoyed and mocking Sonic.

Rebel and Knucks showed up. He was still annoyed with Dread but he nodded when Rebel told him and Sonic that she’ll hold The Council off while they escape.

(I think during this, Nine might’ve temporarily forgotten that Tails was His Prime Counterparts name since due to the different timezones, it would’ve been weeks/months since he last heard Sonic say “Tails” or “Tails Nine”. )

When Sonic suggested that he might befriend The Prime Characters, Nine only seemed to argue against the logic of Sonic’s plan. Which is, it’s likely impossible because since Nine is 1/5 of Prime Tails, He would likely cease to exist if Prime Tails is resurrected.

When Nine met Thorn, he was initially shocked/curious about her. I’m not sure if Nine’s “Who is that?” was a response to Thorn talking about Mangey or if he was asking about Thorn.

If it was the former, than that means He’s willing to listen to Thorn. If it’s the latter, than that means He’s interested enough to ask for Thorn’s name. While Nine becomes annoyed, it was in response to Sonic referring to him as “Tails Nine”.

Nine only becomes scared when Thorn sounded/looked like she was going to beat them up. Even then, He seems surprised, implying he wasn’t expecting her to start being mean to them.

Let’s look at Nine’s complaints.

Nine complains about the city in general and how miserable he was.

Nine states about how he wants to avoid everyone and nobody has friends in the city.

Nine complains about how he despises people in his space and whiners.

Sonic had followed Nine around, snuck into Nine’s lab and began calling him “Tails” and in Nine’s experience, only bullies called him that. Which is where the “My Space” came from.

Conclusion. Nine hates the DICTATORSHIP, CRIMINALS and BULLIES and NEW YOKE.

Which are understandable complaints and a specific group. He doesn’t hate Others in General/just for existing.

To Non New Yoke citizens, while Nine isn’t friendly, he’s more neutral. (While non canon, this can also be found in Speed Simulator, which Nine quickly makes a Deal with the player that he ends up keeping.)

However Nine was likely on the way to becoming a Misanthrope if he hadn’t met Sonic. What Nine is, is closer to a Hermit. Though his behavior does improve slightly the longer he knows Sonic.

#sonic prime #Sonic nine

[pennyserenade]

listen: a fanfic where javier peña has to follow fox mulder around a small town while mulder tries to convince everyone why the string of local murders might actually be related to aliens due to a crop circle that was found there in the summer of 1940, and not any reasonable, earth-bound explanation like i don’t know, the town has a heavy crime rate as of late due to the recent drug peddling. javi is not happy; he is pouty lipped and brooding behind his unrevealing dark sunglasses every time he has to hear that man go on about grey men and why it makes sense because time stops and people don’t remember and there are marks on bodies. javier is disgruntled because he has the statistics and an insider named lola, who served him warm coffee with a few grinds when he first rolled into town (and fucked him on a creaky motel mattress once or twice, maybe even three times). lola tells javier about the men evil enough to do this, the ones that take the promising futures of young men in this war on drugs, and javier believes her. she is earnest and openly aching with furrowed eyebrows and sorrow-filled eyes, having lost someone to this. fox looks up to the stars for answers, and doesn’t talk of dead sisters or the way javier reminds him a little of his partner back at home, who doesn’t ever believe him either and who would no doubt take to lola too. they stand solemnly over victims and feel too much during this, because it is personal for them both, but in slightly different shades. 

they wear so much blood on their hands and every case they take these days feels like a chance at redemption that never quite follows through. but they take them anyways because they desperately want redeemed. mulder bumps into javier at the motel during odd hours of the night, 1am and 3am, and once at 5am. javier’s lips are bruised and puffy and his pants are partially undone. he was going to get ice, unthinking of being caught because he never does at these strange witch hours. fox’s green blue eyes are ringed with dark circles and filled with soft frenzy, having poured over case files and articles online for hours. fox wants to know the truth, wants badly to know, and in the pursuit of it he has found out a few other things: that javier peña is a psychologist too, that he knows spanish and has a dead mother, and oh, he has unconventional ways of going about getting information. javier understands it then, as they looked at each other, that fox already knows he’s been fucking the informant that he’s been vouching for. peña is used to the jokes men make about what he does with women, so he starts feeling vulnerable, knowing in the morning he might’ve made another woman - lola - the butt of some office joke. they pass each other with polite nods and in the morning, javier finds no one is any wiser about his late night activities. fox brings him a black coffee later, around 10am when they are told of another dead body. they take a shared car and fox tells him jokingly on the way there that he’s more of a phone line guy himself, but he is understands the need for a more hands on method. the joke makes javier grin briefly, but more than that it makes him ask about the grey men and why fox thinks that stuff is real. he finds fox mulder is heartbreakingly earnest too -- so, so, so earnest, really, like a javier before colombia -- and he hardly can understand it, but after he pinches his face with focus when fox tells another normal person this inane theory of his. javier tries to find logic in between the lines of mulder’s madness, pieces together bits of his brilliant mind’s workings enough to chalk up a palatable theory to give to local law enforcement and the townspeople for the rest of the day. fox tells javier about dana over lunch mulder pays for--about how she does that for him too, makes him easier to swallow for the public. they laugh and joke and make friends, which is so rare for mulder and he can hardly wait for go back to the hotel and debate about calling dana about it. he won’t of course, but he will think about it. mulder is in love, javier deducts by the end, which makes him like the insane man all the more.

the case would probably end like they all seem to, with mulder right about the grey men but empty handed and half-defeated as he trucks back to washington dc with nothing to show for his sleepless nights and endless devotion. javier peña will be a changed man, more jaded but more open, too, having seen the truth -- mulder’s anyways - in glimpses like mulder always has. somehow it makes javier feel worse and better, that in this world there are things that happen that he really can’t account for. for every death he thought he could prevent, there are millions that he really can’t. he still wants to save everyone, sure, but will never be able to and now he knows and its so much, too much. javier is saved and cursed by this truth like that eager and foolish fbi agent seemed to be too. sometimes after that, agent mulder and agent peña email. javier peña falls in love with lola and they move to somewhere warm. 

#misc. #this is long omg #i've been Thinking #i'm not gonna write this but i needed to write this post lol

[diogenes-blorbos]

ok i forgot to send an ask until now but! tell me abt manoja! what's the meaning behind his name/how did he (or you) pick it? what's his career route and what's his villainsona? infamy? what stats does he favour ? specialisations (fighter/tactician, streetwise/techsavvy)? anything else you wanna share that isn't covered by one of the other questions? XD

Hi! Thanks for the ask.

Manoja Joshi is a desi trans guy and stands at 5’ 5”, has green eyes, and black hair that becomes slightly wavy if allowed to grow out. His body could be described as… stout? Think ‘precursor to a dadbod’ and you’ll have a pretty accurate idea of what he looks like. In his Sidestep years, he was thinner and didn’t look nearly as tired as he appears post-Heartbreak. Since Anathema’s death, Manoja has become a drinker, for his sins. He has always been a smoker. Manoja dresses in mostly black, grey and very dark blue athletic wear, like a teenage boy who shops exclusively from JD Williams.

His puppet is a mixed race, brown-eyed, freckle-faced man called Joey. He wears his hair in long locs, usually tied back off of his face, and, his body is tall and lithe bc Manoja keeps him in shape via boxing. Joey is everything Manoja wishes he was, and so, when slipping into his puppet’s skin, Manoja is simultaneously at his most authentic, and totally different in personality. Joey is friendlier, smoother and flirtier.

Manoja’s first name is a little nod to his psychic abilities! Manoja means "born of the mind" in Sanskrit. He chose the name after realising he was trans. At first, cross-dressing as a guy was purely a disguising tactic, but he figured out pretty quickly that he felt more complete living as a man. I’ve never considered what his deadname might’ve been, but that doesn’t matter, I guess; Manoja’s a pro at reinventing himself, whether that is via changing his name and pronouns, slipping his consciousness into a puppet body or by creating/destroying personas.

Speaking of personas, Mannie’s villainsona is called Innominate, so it’s probably not going to surprise you when I tell you that his stats very much leans towards anonymity rather than pursuing infamy. Manoja is also very cautious (paranoid) and likes to eliminate risk wherever possible. He is very logic driven, and is a tech-savvy tactician, above all else. For that reason, Manoja wouldn’t rule out killing if he needed to, though he does his best to keep deaths to a minimum, as he still sways towards being an empathetic person. He considers that to be his biggest weakness (it really isn’t- that would actually be his own insecurities), and is why he, unsuccessfully, tries to keep some semblance of distance between himself and Ortega. Needless to say, that isn’t going so well for him as of Retribution, as Manoja spent the night with her, and Julia then chose to break things off with Joey. Manoja has also become “friends” with Steel (they sit and brood in silence together while they watch Spoon run around the dog park) and he has a bit of a soft-spot for Los Diablos’ Biggest SideStep superfan, Herald.

Picrew:

#manoja joshi #fhr sidestep #fhr ortega #fhr innominate #Thanks for letting me talk about my boy(s) #Fhr manoja

[satanwritesfanfiction]

Karl Heisenberg x f!reader || Unbecoming ∆SMUT∆

Title: unbecoming

Ship: Karl Heisenberg x f!reader

Triggers:  smut, oral: male receiving, still no cute happy ending, Stockholm syndrome

Characters: Reader, Karl Heisenberg

Wordcount: 2791

She knew what it was, could taste it on her lips by the mere thought. Image, a presence. Captive.

Objectively she could see the effects, her analytical mind pointing at the flaws and the effects but still, that did not really matter in the moments, did not change the emotion hiding just beneath her skin. No, there was one thing that seemed to matter now.

She thought it might be been the absence of all else, stripped away with only one thing to hold onto- logically, that thing would gain importance but even with the weak excuse, she knew, the importance shouldn't have made itself as it had.

Dependence, understanding or even attraction, whatever one would name it. The effects still remained the same, the need and dark thoughts. All swirling inside to a toxic degree and he knew, oh how he knew.

Sickened every time lucidity would vaguely visit as she looked over the railing at the fruits of his labor, it was questionable to say the least and yet, when he chose to show his face, she fell into the same rhythm they had recently adopted. The thought of him made her stomach turn, a vague feeling of longing between the dark and delicious images that plagued her mind. He was at the root of it all.

She was not his captive for a while now and yet she was captivated. She hadn't been outside these walls for weeks, an unknown fear keeping her feet planted but she could never linger on that thought for long. It was as if Heisenberg sensed the turn and just like the times her mind turned on her before, his touch pulled her back from the edge.

It was soft, a simple hand placed at her lower back that made her slightly jump as she looked back at the man, smirk playing on his lips as he removed his glasses and hooked them on his shirt.

"Lost in thought?" He asked but didn't quite look as interested in the answer as the words might've alluded to.

"You could say that." She responded promptly, hands crossing over her chest. This was done more as an automatic response as she felt a bit exposed at the sudden jolt from her thoughts, thoughts she wished to hide from him.

"Hmm.." he hummed in response, hand staying ever present. "I hope you're not having second thoughts again by what you have to do."

She visibly cringed at the new thoughts. Two are better than one, many hands make light work, whatever saying you'd like to use, they were true and thought the acts disturbed her in more ways than Heisenberg could soothe, she knew what she was doing had purpose. It was better than the alternative, it was better than doing nothing.

"I wasn't thinking about..them." she clenched her jaw. Her helping hand mattered, all she had to do was believe that, it would be all worth it. Just a little more time and it could be over, forgotten even.

"Good." He stated. "Hate to drag you back from the edge when I came here for another reason entirely.. though, I guess it will distract you all the same. "

She frowned, turning to him fully. "Why did you come."

He chuckled. "Funny you should word it like that." Hand slithered up her back and rested firmly at the back of her neck as he pressed his lips to hers. There was a second pause before she once again surrendered to him, palms pressed against his chest as lips worked against each other, his hand on her neck, an easy way to hold her against him as the other rested leisurely on her hip.

Her stomach flipped, hands gripping at his shirt softly. A small act and she craved so much, his closeness left her intoxicated and needing so much from him. It had an air of wrongness, how fast she'd fall under his spell when normally she thought of herself as level-headed but perhaps that was the lie.

He broke the kiss, her eyes looking so innocent when she looked up at him in question. She didn't fit here but why then did she fall so perfectly into his wants and needs. She never recoiled from him, always willing to go with whatever his mood dictated.

He suddenly turned, hand wrapping around her much smaller wrist as he pulled her with him into an adjacent room, effortlessly swinging the metal door closed once they were both inside.

Hand on her cheek, he pressed their lips together once more, body pressing her to the chilling wall. He broke the kiss, eyes roaming over her as she bit into her lip, awaiting his next move. She wondered what he was thinking, perhaps he was thinking of taking her against this wall or perhaps face pressed on his workbench as he took what he wanted from her or maybe he'll sit in his rusty metal chair as she bounced on him with his eyes solely on her and where they'd be connected.

She shifted involuntarily at the thoughts, wanting to rub her thighs together as a reaction to her thoughts but she dared not move under his gaze.

"Now just what will we do with you." He hummed as his head dipped down, pressing his lips to the pulse point on her neck in a soft kiss. Her eyes closed momentarily, it had been almost sweet. Not exactly an attribute she'd willingly place on him but in moments he made it hard, he turned her thoughts upside down and she found it hard to make sense of them.

His thigh pushed between her legs, pressed but not nearly close enough to where she wanted. It was provoking but not giving either of them anything other than the satisfaction of seeing the evidence of her want as she tried pressing closer to him.

His fingers wrapped around the hem of her thin shirt, pulling it from her body and discarding it without a care. For a moment his eyes wandered, a perfect specimen one might say. His eyes traveled over her collarbone and across the shape of her breasts and over her abdomen, bare skin craving his touch as much as he craved to touch her but today he had something else in mind than his most basic instinct though he'd get to that eventually too.

His fingers quickly unbuttoned her pants, zipper pulled down and his hand disappeared into her pants. It was fast, much more direct than his usual approach of picking at the threads until she came undone.

She gasped, hands wrapping around his arms as her body jolted. He chuckled, fingertips moving through her folds as she bit into her lip at the feeling.

She pressed herself to the wall, it had been an awkward angle and she craved more, a little more, a little harder, a little more substance, a little more she could get lost in, something her cunt could grab onto opposed to the nothingness it was pulsing against.

She sighed appreciatively when he pressed a single digit into her, greedily accepting the intrusion. He pumped leisurely, finger curling inside of her. It wasn't nearly enough but at least it was a step closer to what she wanted from him.

A few moments passed until he found what he was looking for, evident from the way her body jolted and eyes stared back at him, paired with an indignant cry. He chuckled lightly. He pressed at the spot again, her fingers tightened the hold they had on him as she moaned his name. He liked the way it rolled off her tongue, liked how it filled the room with warmth, liked how she seemed lost in it.

"You like that, don't you?" He murmured, words that almost got lost on the wind as hips bucked against his hand, furiously searching for a release from her wound up muscles. She was alluring, searching for her pleasure within him. She didn't recoil but in stead sought him out, when she had first arrived at the factory, he would've never guessed he'd enjoy her as much as he did.

The only answer he got for the question was her whimpers and cries, unashamedly pressing her body into his hand over and over, thumb rubbing at her clit as the other pressed against the spot that made her cry out ever so often.

Her eyes clenched shut as her body finally broke down, pleasure shooting through every cell in her body. She held onto him for dear life while his thrusts had slowed until he stopped the movement entirely. He retracted from her, pressing a kiss to her forehead as she came back down. "Good girl." He said softly

She wished she hadn't been standing, feeling a bit lightheaded for a few moments though she knew he'd catch her if she did end up tipping over. She blinked a few times when she came back to herself, still caged to the wall, awaiting his next move.

He had watched, breasts rising and falling rapidly. He remembered the way she looked at him, how it sounded when she called out to him. It made his pants feel impossibly tight as he thought of all the things she'd allow, all she could do and just how she'd look while doing them.

"Oh kitten." He murmured taking her hand into his own. "The things you do to me " he placed her hand against the bulge in his pants and clenched his jaw as his cock jerked at the touch. She bit into her lip as she looked up at him, cheeks flushed that had made her look almost innocent. Plump lips pulled between her teeth.

"On your knees." He stated, letting go of her hand.

Her stomach fluttered at the command, she fell to her knees unceremoniously, hands hung at her sides as she looked up at him and licked her lips.

He could've came right there at the image and willingness if he really wanted though it would be nicer if he was inside her when he did. He unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, pulling his cock into her view and pumped a few times.

"Open your mouth for me."

She did as he asked, waiting for him to push into her wet mouth. His hand left his cock as she took in his tip, tongue moving along the underside as her head moved shallowly, hand wrapping around the base and pumping that which she did not reach. She looked so good like this, eyes looking up at him as she took him into her mouth over and over, a little further every time until he felt the back of her throat contracting against him.

Her eyes had begun to water but she didn't stop, her own sounds reverberating against his cock. His hand held onto her hair, hips bucking into her slightly. It would be so easy to come into her mouth, watch as she swallowed all he gave without a complaint but he wanted to be inside her tight cunt for that, feeling her squeeze his cock as he took what was his.

His hand grasped her hair tightly, pulling back roughly. A thread of saliva still connecting them as he pulled from her mouth.

"Fuck." He breathed, taking a moment to compose himself as she looked at him questioningly but stayed in place with the hold he had on her hair. "I need to be inside you."

He pulled her to her feet, harshly pulling at her pants until they pooled at her feet. He took hold of her and seemingly effortlessly placing her on one of his workbenches, metal clattering to the ground as he cleared it with a wave of his hand.

Eyes lingered between her open legs as he took himself into his hold, leisurely pumping a few times before meeting her eyes. She was perfect like this, under his command. He pressed to her entrance, slowly disappearing into her. She moaned softly, enjoying the stretch. Legs fell more open as she leaned back a bit.

He held her hips firmly, he clenched his jaw as eyes roamed her almost bare body. It amazed him how easily she took to him, how little push she needed to have her begging underneath him. Furthermore, her body felt molded to his every time he pushed into her heat. She had been a distraction that had started as a momentary lapse in judgement. He felt captivated when she was in the room, wanting to be close to her but nothing ever felt close enough.

His hips bucked, shallowly at first. Slowly pushing in and out of her heat, burning just beneath the skin at the thought to just relent and fuck into her but he enjoyed this, the slow drag as she closed her eyes and submitted to him. The way her legs wrapped around him, the soft sound of her voice as she moaned softly. He wanted to watch her fall, watch the threads come undone as she let go and gave into him completely.

He clenched his jaw, hand reaching across her body to wrap around the bra that still covered her breasts. It hadn't quite been a priority until this moment but now he wanted her inhibited, bare for his eyes to indulge in. He pulled roughly on the material.

Her eyes opened at the action, breast only partially free as she looked at him. Though it annoyed her slightly for the change of angle when she had to sit a bit more straight to remove the material, she was rewarded when his fingers rolled the bud between his fingers.

Another image for the mental gallery, he decided as he took in her now bare form as she moaned, legs open and inviting as he moved within her. She would be the death of him.

His thrusts became purposeful and rough as be took hold of her thighs, hips snapping against each other as the wet sound reverberated against the walls. She cried out what he could only assume was supposed to be a version of his name, the perfect accomplice the the array of sounds the filled the air.

She was so close, she laid down fully, back pressed against the bench as she watched him thrust almost violently into her. She couldn't quite see where they were connected but his expression was enough to push her ever further into the depths. His hair was sticking to his forehead in places, perspiration covering his body as he grunted. He had still been mostly clothed, shirt sticking to skin as the ornaments around his neck clinked with every movement.

She cried out his name when she finally did come to her end, white hot pleasure shooting through every cell in her body as she clenched around his cock. Her back arched, giving quite a view for Heisenberg to appreciate.

Though the act had interfered with his movements to a degree, he still moved against her. The way she tightened, pushing him into his own release. He groaned as he pushed into her one last time, filling her with his seed.

"Good girl." He praised, hand rubbing soothing circles on her thigh as he came down from the high, not pulling out of her immediately. She had whimpered when he did, their combined highs leaking from her.

She had been especially beautiful like this, half lidded eyes looking up at him as her chest rose and fell rapidly, face flushed and perspiration covering her skin. It made him want to scoop her up in his arms, give into his most base feelings but that could never happen. He couldn't let it. He knew where this was headed and there would be no happy ending in this village. The only way he could ever truly have her was in a world void of Miranda.

It brought a sting to leave her like this, like the most recent times have. He wanted to be near her, wanted her body pressed to his as she fell asleep. He wanted many things he couldn't have and couldn't ask for. A sigh left his lips as he buried himself back into his pants and left without another word. These moments always ended too quickly..

Her eyes trained on the ceiling, body relaxed while her mind was not. Once again she had given herself to him entirely without question and she couldn't fathom why. After a few moments she had gathered herself and her things, falling into the metal chair as she mulled over the pressing thoughts in her head. He was going to be the death of her one way or the other.

#Karl Heisenberg #re8 heisenberg #resident evil heisenberg #lord heisenberg #heisenberg #Re8 #resident evil #Smut #PWP #satanwritesfanfiction

[youatemylollipop]

A/N: Before proceeding, please take note that this is a requested matchup and the reader will have certain characteristics that may not necessarily match with your own. Such as: Gender, personality traits, sexuality, interests/hobbies etc.

Ft: Katsura Kotarō (Gintama).

Katsura Kotarō

➸ Katsura was running down the streets of Edo after yet another attack at some random facility—what else were you expecting from this guy?

➸ The man was severely injured and had at some point, without noticing, split up with Elizabeth. It was late in the evening and the streets were surprisingly empty. You had just ended your shift as an intern at the local hospital and were finally on your way home after a tiring day.

➸ You were just about to open the door to your apartment as you suddenly heard some noises coming from a nearby alley. Logically speaking, you were aware that going there was utterly stupid, not to mention very dangerous. However, the empathetic side of you, could not ignore the sounds that were coming from there.

➸ Normally, no one would willingly hang out near the dumpsters—especially at this hour—unless they were dumpster divers, of course. It could either be someone homeless—or simply had nowhere to go and was just temporarily homeless—or a person that might’ve gotten seriously injured. Then again, it could’ve also had been some animal.

➸ Rather than standing and pondering about the endless possibilities, you decided to have a quick look to satisfy your growing curiosity. And that’s when you met him: The infamous Katsura Kotarō.

➸ I’d like to believe that the two of you would most likely start off as friends. Both of you are laid-back, friendly and could be described as the mediators of your own group of friends.

➸ However, you can also become rather stubborn when the situation calls for it. You only decide to put your foot down if you deem the situation worthy of such actions. Otherwise you tend to be more on the neutral side. It’s because of this mutual understanding that the two of you would work so well together. At least from my perspective.

➸ Katsura himself is somebody who doesn’t easily make friends either, even if he doesn’t look like it. I guess that it might come with the absurdity of his nature, but also because he’s rather distant, no matter how friendly and extroverted he might seem to be.

➸ Katsura can also easily relate to your cynical side. The man, despite his sometimes rash actions, is very smart—on a philosophical level—and let’s not forget about the fact that he is the leader of a terrorist group. This means that he has to be able to read people well in order to know who is trustworthy enough to be recruited.

➸ Laziness is something that he simply views as an added charm. Nobody’s perfect and Katsura does not see this trait as a major flaw. As long as you’re good person at heart, that’s all that matters, and let me remind you that he’s been friends with Gintoki for years by now. If he’s able to deal with that slacker, then he should have no problems with literally anyone else.

➸ And regarding your procrastination tendencies. Something tells me that Katsura is a big procrastinator himself. I can only imagine the amount of times he’s planned to do something, only to put it away for later and in the end, noticing that Elizabeth’s already handled it.

➸ I believe that Katsura will start falling for you once he’ll realize what a sweet person you are. He had already known just how empathetic you were when you found him near the dumpsters that evening. But then he saw the way you were interacting with Elizabeth and practically melted at the sight. You were just so lovely.

➸ He swooned, however, the second he had found out what an amazing cook you were. This is due to his soft spot for housewives, which had confused him slightly at the beginning, since he was obviously aware that you were in fact not a housewife.

➸ He had only figured out what it was when he began picturing you as his wife. Because who wouldn’t love to have a sweet and kind wife that was also an extraordinary cook? That’s when he realized that he was truly whipped.

➸ One thing that the both of you have in common when it applies to interest, is cosplaying. We are all aware of the amount of times the man has been forced to disguise himself to avoid getting recognized.

➸ As strange as it might sound, your absolute favorite is to dress up as various animal characters due to your love for animals. An example could be Sonic the Hedgehog.

➸ Speaking of animals. Another reason that Katsura fell in love with you so shamelessly, was the first time he had witnessed you taking home an injured stray cat and then proceeded to take care of it practically the whole night without sleeping a wink.

➸ Katsura is also very supportive of your drawings, since he himself is a rather artistic soul. Though, his passion does not lie with drawing, but with poetry. And the amount of created poems had increased drastically ever since he had met you.

➸ Oh, and I had also forgot to mention that his confession had most likely been expressed through at least one of these poems. In other words: Katsura Kotarō had finally found his muse.

The black haired samurai limped down the dimly lit streets of Edo, wincing with each step. He had just narrowly escaped yet another attack on a government facility, but this time he wasn't sure if he had made it out unscathed. He turned to his loyal companion, Elizabeth, only to find that she was nowhere in sight.

"Elizabeth? Elizabeth, where are you?" Katsura called out, his voice hoarse.

He stumbled into a nearby alley, barely able to keep his balance. The pain was unbearable, and he knew he needed medical attention immediately. He collapsed on the ground, his eyes closing as he fought to stay conscious

Just then, he heard footsteps approaching. He opened his eyes to see a young woman, presumably a nurse or doctor, standing over him. She looked down at him with concern in her eyes.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

Katsura tried to speak, but his voice came out as a whisper. The woman leaned in closer to hear him.

"I...I need help. Can you...please help me?"

Without hesitation, the woman helped Katsura to his feet and supported him as they made their way to her apartment. Once they arrived, she quickly tended to his injuries and made him comfortable.

"Thank you for helping me," Katsura said, his voice still weak.

"It's no problem," the woman replied with a smile. "It's what I do."

As the night wore on, Katsura and the woman talked and laughed together, their personalities meshing perfectly. They found they had a lot in common, from their laid-back attitudes to their love for cosplay. Katsura was surprised to find that he had never met anyone quite like her.

As the sun began to rise, Katsura knew he had to leave. But before he did, he turned to the woman and said, "I know we just met, but...would you like to go out sometime?"

The woman's eyes widened in surprise, but then she smiled. "I would love to," she said.

And so, Katsura and the woman began their relationship as friends. They spent their time exploring Edo together, attending cosplay events, and bonding over their shared love for animals.

One day, the woman brought home an injured cat she had found on the street. Katsura watched as she tended to the animal with care and tenderness, her love for animals shining through.

"You're amazing," Katsura said, a smile on his face.

The woman blushed. "It's nothing," she said.

But to Katsura, it was everything. He had never met anyone quite like her before. As their relationship continued to grow, Katsura found himself falling for her more and more with each passing day.

And then, one day, he knew it was time. He sat down and wrote a poem, pouring his heart out onto the paper. He recited it to the woman, his voice filled with emotion.

"You're my muse," he said. "You inspire me in ways I never thought possible. I love you."

The woman's eyes filled with tears as she threw her arms around Katsura. "I love you too," she said.

From that day on, Katsura and the woman were inseparable. They continued to explore Edo together, their love for each other growing stronger with each passing day. And Katsura knew that he had found his muse, his partner in life.

#request #answered <3 #ask me anything #matchups #gintama #gintama x reader #x reader #x female reader #katsura kotarou #zura #katsura x reader #headcanons #headcanon #gintama headcanons #scenarios #scenario #fluff #fluffy #fluffiness #fluff imagine

[worldformula]

How would you describe utushamas relationships with the scions (or any major characters like zenos)

Oh that’s a fun question! Here are my short and sweet answers. Spoilers for everything, of course!

Minfilia - I take his relationship with her at face value as what is given in game! He appreciated her and her support during his early days as an adventurer because the consistency and kindness was really valuable to him during ARR when he was feeling extremely out of place, disoriented, and slightly paranoid. But his relationship with her wasn’t very deep, something he comes to regret when he later hears of Ryne’s dilemmas, because he didn’t know her well enough to understand what either she or Ryne might’ve really wanted.

Alphinaud - Another relationship that doesn’t deviate that greatly from what was given in game. He did think of him as a bit of a know-it-all kid in ARR but the problem is that he was also that way to Inanna when they were younger so he didn’t mind. To be honest, I think Utushama feels more strongly and has a more complicated opinion of his parents than Alphinaud himself.

Alisaie - Same as Alphinaud, their relationship isn’t all that complicated or different from what’s presented in game. He’s very fond of her because she reminds him a lot of Inanna. He respects her as a red mage because it’s one of the few magic-based classes that he’s not very good with (he has trouble with limiting his aether to himself as a source because he started with the styles of whm / blm). Once again, his opinion of her parents are more complicated than how he feels about her. The twins are his little buddies and accidentally foils to himself and Inanna.

Y’shtola - They are deceptively close friends. During ARR, Utushama came to her often because he had trouble finding resources and reading at a certain level in general (he was “homeschooled”) and Y’shtola immediately identified the things he was looking for to be related to black magic (very illegal). And being the sort of person she is, she immediately wanted in on whatever he was up to. Their studies together lead to Utushama’s success in black magic and her reclassification into her unique Sorceress job later on. When Urianger apologized to Utushama for “deceiving” him by withholding information regarding to the Exarch’s plans in Shadowbringers, he was actually more betrayed by Y’shtola than Urianger, because he had overheard them talking about the light aether that was overtaking him and had trusted her to tell him if she thought something was really that concerning. She is likely the first to understand his actual character rather than what he presents, based on the sort of things he is interested and his reasoning for said interest. You wouldn’t be able to tell that they were friends at first glance, because they talk to each other in a way that appears curt and disinterested, but is actually filled with their own meaning.

Thancred - They had an amicable relationship in ARR, wherein Thancred was his usual flirty self and Utushama was flattered by the attention (but by then knew better than to get carried away). The incident with Lahabrea unfortunately made Utushama very wary of him in a way where he knew it hadn’t been Thancred’s fault, but he also couldn’t help his reaction. They never really talked about this and he came off as kind of judgmental, so Thancred was always under the assumption that Utushama disliked him. Come Shadowbringers, their relationship implodes for a variety of reasons. He has many difficult feelings with regards to Ryne and Minfilia, Utushama had made him feel as though Lahabrea’s possession of his body had been a matter of weakness, and Utushama himself had been rather blasé about Minfilia’s death. These resentments pile and overflow when he appears and creates circumstances that result in the need for the Oracle’s power, although Thancred knows it is not logically his fault. They reconcile by the end of Shadowbringers, especially after Utushama experiences the horrors of having one’s body used for a means of destruction. Thancred now has an infinite pass to poke fun at him.

Urianger - Another relationship that is pretty much what is given in canon. Utushama went to Urianger as well when he was learning black magic, but Urianger simply didn’t think very hard about the sort of things Utushama was asking for, gave him exactly what he could offer, and moved on while Y’shtola was nosy enough that they fostered a good relationship as a result. Despite his holier-than-thou attitude regarding lying and deception, he is never really mad at Urianger for “deceiving” everyone because it often appears to be for a greater good.

Lyse / Yda - Same as canon. Though this is more of my fault than his; I don’t think very much about her because I didn’t consider her writing in Stormblood to be very interesting. There are some interesting overlaps but any spark I had for exploring what kind of relationship they might have had quickly died so my brain turned off.

Papalymo - Same as canon. And this is because I often forget Papalymo was even a Scion. Sorry.

Estinien - They are like two guys sitting silently on a porch drinking beers for two hours. They have a lot of interesting similarities (vengeance as a destructive motivator, draconic natures, their respective complicated relationships with Aymeric, etc) but they hardly actually talk about it. Estinien comes off to me as someone who you can only be friends with if you are persistent and Utushama has a lot on his plate so he doesn’t interact much with him outside of official duties. Estinien doesn’t take it personally and Utushama isn’t purposefully avoiding him so it’s all very neutral. The two times they really have time together is the Heavensward road trip and the Endwalker Thavnair Boy’s Trip, so Estinien has a very clear view of Utushama’s “before” and “after”, so he recognizes that he’s gotten worse but beyond giving him the ominous warning about the importance of improving as a person, he doesn’t interfere greatly. Despite the fact that they don’t interact deeply, they have a strangely significant understanding of one another.

G’raha - Ok this one was a mess I can’t even lie. Very long story short, they had something quite nice while G’raha was the Exarch but Utushama couldn’t overcome the hurdle of having seen the Exarch “die” and therefore couldn’t accept G’raha to be the same person as the Exarch. Alongside that, Utushama behaved as if whatever relationship they had on the First didn’t exist on the Source. All of this was obviously very hurtful to G’raha and it contributed greatly to his identity issues. After one too many disappointments, G’raha eventually became disillusioned with him and fell out of love. However, he still regards him positively as a fellow Scion and is comfortable calling for Utushama’s aid because he decided to move on and enjoy his life outside of the Warrior of Light. It’s honestly better for them both if they weren’t a thing. I will say though, I do enjoy my running joke that any time G’raha is mentioned in MSQ, Utushama thinks he’s mad at him.

Zenos - Ok you can’t get mad at me because you asked for this guy specifically. They are doing this social-role themed nightmare dance about righteousness and violence and gender and heroism. Zenos fixates on Utushama for what he identifies as a natural talent for destruction (something Utushama is deeply unhappy about having), sees in him a penchant for cruelty and rage (something he has been trying very hard to suppress), and is immediately able to look past his phony prince act (a skill he finds deeply unsettling). Zenos keeps trying to cultivate this in him during Stormblood for the purpose of having his grand perfect battle, and the attention on him is something Utushama is both furious and freaked out by. Later in Endwalker, Zenos is doing his thing of constantly chasing the WoL down, but Utushama is so disinterested in what he wants that the tables finally turn and Zenos is the one who is left constantly confused and upset. He is desperate for Utushama’s attention and Utushama, while mostly ignoring him because Endwalker is happening, quietly and coldly revels in his ability to disorient the man who tortured him so badly during Stormblood. They’re essentially constantly going back and forth hitting each other with sticks and power playing by demoralizing / condescending each other until Utushama finally accepts that he might actually be somewhat of a bad person and they throw each other off the edge of the universe.

#ask #anonymous #ffxiv #here are my short and sweet answers (posts the Iliad) #there’s a lot of characters so I tried to be concise </3 #I get indulgent with my wol relationships but what can I say I love to play toys #thank u for indulging me further :D

[ikesenhell]

A Sun Long Gone: Epilogue

You can find all masterlists at the top of my page (AO3, Genshin Impact, Ikemen Sengoku, and Ikemen Vampire). NOTES: This work is 18+. TW: nonsexual nudity, vague allusions to adult content.

Surprise! This was a concept that I had for the last chapter and couldn't fit it in reasonably. It seemed like a nice note to end the entire piece on, so here it is.

---

The night after Dainsleif put on the silver lotus bracelet, he dreamed of Rukkhadevata’s apartment. It was just as he remembered: books in the living room, the warm smell of naan bread in the kitchen, stained glass lamps casting bright colors against the shelves. He wore the same clothes they’d given him that fall in Sumeru. His hair was more managed and tied back in the ponytail he used to wear. 

But this dream was slightly different. Typically they made no sense, imbued with their own rules and logic. Walls might become ceilings. Books might speak. And Dainsleif never had control over himself, much less the faculties to recognize he was asleep. This time he did.

He shifted on the plush carpet and supposed it made sense that he was here. After all, he’d only just learned about Rukkhadevata’s death and received that last correspondence. Broken hearts had a way of shaping their own reality. Leaning into the experience, Dainsleif tread softly across the floor and peered outside. Yes–this was Sumeru as he’d experienced it seven years ago. Moonlight pooled in the river and over the green rooftops. 

From the bedroom, a familiar voice called, “What are you doing in there?”

Dainsleif paused. What if his subconscious warped everything? Would she be as he remembered, or some creature, half-formed out of grief? But there was nothing for it. Dragging his courage together, he crossed the threshold of the bedroom.

There she was. There she was. Rukkhadevata lay in bed, a sheet draped over her legs and pooling in the curve of her waist. That was all that covered her. Her hair lay in rivers across a pillow. Green eyes peered curiously at him, illuminated in the golden glow of a lamp. Her fingers splayed over a book she was reading, holding her place. Dainsleif rested against the door frame and soaked her in. There was no power–not the gnosis, not Celestia, not all those that came before and nothing that came after–that could create a wonder like her. 

Rukkhadevata giggled, tucking a stray lock of hair behind an ear. “You’re going to make me blush, staring at me like that.”

“I’ll beg for forgiveness later,” Dainsleif murmured. “Let me stare a little longer.”

“If you’re going to stare, why don’t you stare a little closer? I could put my book down.”

Were she still alive, he might’ve declined and left her to her book, slid into bed alongside her and been content to just be there. Now he was a bit more selfish. He shrugged off his shirt and folded it, heading to her side. “If you’d be so kind, pretty thing.”

How was it that she smiled so fucking beautifully? Rukkhadevata tucked a pressed leaf bookmark (Takama had made it for her) between the pages, shunting the book onto the bedside table. Damn all the buckles and buttons on his clothes. He couldn’t strip fast enough. Uncharacteristically, Dainsleif finally just tossed his pants onto the floor. 

“Impatient,” she teased, and opened her arms.

There was no way he could explain himself. He just slid under the sheets and into her embrace. Ah, and this was how he knew it was a dream. It felt as if her arms were slightly… fuzzy, as if they wrapped around him through a sheet, through a veil he couldn’t push away. Fine. He could content himself with this. Dainsleif buried his nose into her skin, kissed her in soft patterns everywhere he could reach. She sighed and pet his hair until, at last (and against his every effort), they both slipped into sleep. 

—

The next night, Dainsleif dreamed he was there again.

This time he wore his usual clothes. It was raining outside, massive sheets echoing hollowly on the roof. Dishes lay in the sink. Rukkhadevata was not in bed; she was on the couch, lounging in her robe, pouring over notes from some project or another. Strange. He’d never known a dream to continue like this. But again, he wasn’t in a position to argue. So he made himself comfortable and slung his arms around her, dragging her into his lap, and relished the way she laughed and playfully struggled against him. Hours passed like that. Dainsleif rested his head on her shoulder blade and breathed in her hair, and fell asleep once more. 

A week of dreams passed like this, all different. One night she was cooking. Another, they made out among the floor cushions in her bedroom. Yet another, they took a warm bath together, wreathed in the smell of jasmine. After eight days, Rukkhadevata kissed his forehead as they lay tangled together in bed. 

“You’ve been awfully clingy this week, my love. Is everything okay?”

Dainsleif froze. What? How could this be? This was a dream. She was dead. There was no way she should remember the other nights, right? Suddenly nervous, Dainsleif propped himself on his elbows and squinted at her. “What do you mean?”

Rukkhadevata rubbed his cheek with her thumb. Long, smooth strokes calmed him. Even if it didn’t feel quite right, it was enough. “Every night for the last week, you’ve wanted nonstop physical affection. I don’t mind, really, I’m just… I thought I’d ask.” 

“Give me an example.”

“We don’t normally take a bath together unless we’ve had sex first.”

So she did remember. Dainsleif opened his mouth, shut it, struggled to piece together sentences. “I… Huh.”

She lifted her brows. “Is nothing bothering you?”

If he told her what was wrong, she would have to know that she–the real Rukkhadevata, the one that existed beyond the confines of this room–was dead. If she knew she was dead, would he continue to be blessed with these dreams? Dainsleif didn’t know if he could risk it. So instead he buried his nose into her collarbone. 

“I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about it,” he finally hedged. 

“Alright, darling.” It was impossible to miss the note of disappointment, though she kept it light. Rukkhadevata planted a kiss in his hair. “But you’ll tell me when you’re ready, right?”

“Yes.”

“You promise?”

“I promise. When I’m ready.”

—

Another night, another dream. In this one he’d just walked in the door. His shoes were still on. Rukkhadevata glanced up from the kitchen and smiled, drying her hands from the sink. 

“Hello, my love,” she greeted. “You just missed Jyoti. She made you a plate of dinner. Are you hungry?”

Dainsleif did a mental check. His dream-self wasn’t, so he shook his head. “No, but thank you. That was kind of her.”

“Do you want something to drink?”

“If you’re offering, certainly.”

He peeled off his boots. She pulled out two glasses and prepped something. It smelled faintly of flowers. When he joined her in the kitchen, he placed three kisses on her nose, relishing her giggles. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

Nerves buzzed in his mouth. Dainsleif cleared his throat and pushed through them. “I can’t talk through all the details of this. It’s something I’m not supposed to talk about at all, strictly speaking–or, at least, I think I can’t. But I wanted your perspective.”

Rukkhadevata blinked at him. “If you can’t talk about it–”

“I can’t figure it out without you,” he admitted. “You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. Just know that if I don’t give you every detail, it’s because I’m reasonably sure I can’t talk about that part.”

“Is this what’s been bothering you?”

“It is.”

She nodded seriously, petting his face. “Alright. I’m all ears.”

On a whim, Dainsleif grabbed her by her thighs and lifted her onto the kitchen counter. She giggled. He took her face in his hands and kissed her over and over and over. He didn’t stop until she was breathless and panting. It didn’t matter that it didn’t feel perfectly right. He could feel her at all. She hooked her ankles around his waist and rested her chest against his, all glitter and smiles. 

“If this is my reward for listening to you, I should talk less.”

“Please don’t,” Dainsleif said, a little too seriously. “I’ll always want to hear you talk. Ready for the scenario?”

“Yes.”

“There’s a phenomena we’re… looking into.”

Rukkhadevata lifted her brows. “If this is a Khaenri’ahn project, then I understand why you couldn’t tell me.”

He didn’t have the heart to give her a yes or a no. Instead, he continued on, leaving her to her assumptions. “I can’t give you much background, but basically it’s this: the subject has been having a continued dream for a while now. It always picks up at the same point, when they get back home after a long day. They have full control over their dreams. Everything seems logical. There is only ever one other person in the dream, and it’s always the same person. Nothing of note happens. But the other person they’re dreaming of remembers the sequence of events from the dreams prior.”

“Huh.” Rukkhadevata frowned. “Maybe they’re linking up to the subconscious of the other subject through Irminsul?”

Dainsleif paused. “Could Irminsul link the subconscious of someone who is dead?”

A long, pensive silence. Rukkhadevata frowned at the ceiling. “In theory, yes.”

As much as he tried to hide it, he must’ve looked surprised. She continued. “There are many mysteries surrounding the Ley Lines and how they work, but some things we know. Multiple records have shown that they’re capable of playing back past events and projecting them onto the same location. With as much information as it holds on any one of us, I presume it might have enough information to present a convincing imitation of someone who is dead.”

The thought of Irminsul mimicking Rukkhadevata put a sour taste in his mouth. For the first time, Dainsleif seriously considered abandoning the dream. This wasn’t her. She was dead. He imagined the tree wearing her visage like a Whopperflower with Sweet Flowers and a revolted shiver passed through him. Either she didn’t notice or ignored it, because Rukkhadevata started slowly carding her hands through his hair, petting him as she reasoned through the scenario. 

“I presume by your question that the other party in question in these dreams has passed?”

Dainsleif shut his eyes, willing himself to focus. “Yes.”

“And from what you’ve said, the dreamer retains full movement, and everything makes sense as if it were the waking world…” Rukkhadevata hummed thoughtfully. “Well, it might be something else.”

Anything was better than this sickening marionette theory. “What other idea have you had?”

“It wouldn’t be entirely beyond the laws of this world for something to imbue a fragment of memory or consciousness onto another object. Did the subject come into possession of anything before these dreams began?”

The bracelet. Dainsleif hadn’t taken it off. Startled, he glanced up at her. “I think so.”

Nodding, she continued, “If that’s the case, I’d be very curious about that item.”

“Why?”

“Well, death is one of the greatest unknowables. It is the final frontier of knowledge. We know nothing about it, nor what may or may not happen after. If whoever granted that item to your subject was able to imbue it with enough of their consciousness to keep sentience within the framework of these dreams, it either means that they’ve maintained some level of cognition–either through Irminsul, their own power, or through death itself.”

Was that so? Dainsleif leaned back into her hands, resting his cheek to her chest. That was a far more comforting thought. Maybe–even in death–Rukkhadevata could reach him through the bracelet. “Would that kind of thing wear off?”

“I’d assume so,” she said. “If that’s indeed what happened and the deceased managed to create these dreams using an item as a conduit, like a catalyst. I’ve heard that some rocks hold memory, but only for a certain amount of time.”

“The object is silver. Does that matter?”

“To my memory, that’s the best conductor out there. I’d presume if anything were to hold such a thing, it would be silver.”

But that begged the question: for how long? Dainsleif shut his eyes and seriously considered not asking. Perhaps not being able to count the days would be more peaceful. If he knew the timeline he worked on, wouldn’t that be stressful?

No. The idea of sleeping one night and just never seeing her again, wholly unexpected, was unbearable. So he ground his teeth and said, “How long might that effect last?”

“I’m not sure. Months?”

Months? Was that it? Desperate for a better answer, Dainsleif lifted his head and looked into her eyes. “Let’s say you tried to do something like that.”

She blinked. “Me?”

“You. Let’s say you somehow replicated this. How long do you think it would last?”

“That depends.” Once again, Rukkhadevata frowned at the ceiling. A tiny crease formed between her brows. Cute. She was so, so cute. This was his smart, beautiful, incredible woman, both in life and in death. “The Dendro Gnosis is powering the Akasha, so I’ll assume I don’t have access to that.”

“Makes sense.”

“Then I guess–assuming I figured out exactly how to do it–it would last…” She wiggled back and forth in his hands. “Anywhere from a few hundred to a thousand years?”

Dainsleif blinked. “Really?”

Rukkhadevata laughed. “It depends on how badly I wanted it. Bad enough, and I could stretch it to a thousand. I won’t lie and say I haven’t considered something like this before, I’m just surprised to hear that someone else did it first.”

“And I’m surprised to hear that you thought to do this.”

“Mhm. It was the day you told me you’d put your memories of us into the gold mushroom bracelet.”

He just stared at her, dumbfounded. Was he the reason they could speak like this now? Had one impulsive choice born of love really paved the road here? Rukkhadevata laughed and pressed her lips to his nose. “You look shocked.”

“I just didn’t know that.” An anxiety Dainsleif didn’t know he was carrying unwound in his chest. A few hundred years of dreaming like this? That was more than enough time. He wrapped his arms tight around her waist and pulled her impossibly close. By then, he’d have the curse sorted out. “I love you.”

“I love you too, dear.”

—

Night after night after night of dreams passed. Dainsleif would step into that familiar apartment and seek her out. Sometimes he just lay with her. Sometimes he would tell her about his day in broad strokes, sharing his pain and anxiety (though edited, as he didn’t have the strength to explain his life as it was). Sometimes he would arrive and smother her in kisses, working through the faint dissonance of a dream and make love to her anyway–even if it was just the memory of her. 

But in his waking hours, Dainsleif was forgetting things. He knew he was. He could feel them. The first time he fully realized that, he cried and cried in her arms, too alarmed to be strong. She held him and kissed him and murmured soft, gentle words until he could breathe through the fear. 

Some part of him realized it was only a matter of time. Maybe she did, too. Dream or not, Rukkhadevata was smart. Perhaps she’d pieced everything together an eternity ago. He suspected as much some nights. But if she had, they never spoke about it. 

And then: the inevitable. 

—

The same day that Dainsleif discovered he was wearing bracelets (from where?) and made the decision to leave them on, he had a dream. 

He stood in a bedroom. There were tall shelves stuffed with books of a thousand varieties. Brightly colored cushions lay on the floor. A vanity sported hairbrushes and perfumes. Outside, moonlight spilled across Sumeru City. Dainsleif stared. Where was this? The only things he knew of in the great tree itself were the Akademiya and the Sanctuary of Suresthana. There were houses up here, too?

“Dainsleif?”

In his confusion he’d missed the bed. A woman lay in sheets of silky green. Her brown skin was richly patterned with henna; her white hair was stark and breathtaking, puddling behind her; her nose was pretty and hooked. And her eyes. He stood rooted to the spot, so deeply lost in the emerald and verdure that he almost missed that she was naked. Just the sheet covered her legs. 

“I’m–” He blushed and averted his gaze. “I’m so sorry.”

A beat. The woman finally laughed. It was a soft, breathless sound. “Why are you sorry?”

This was a dream. Right? He was remarkably clear of mind for unconsciousness. Dainsleif tested all his fingers; they moved at his command. “I’m dreaming, right?”

Shuffling. The woman was up now. She touched his arms, rubbing them. Yep, she was definitely naked. He looked up at the ceiling. “Dainsleif, what’s wrong?”

Who was this? Did he know her? Every time he groped for an answer, the thought sailed into the void. Struggling, he finally said, “I think I’m lost. I’m not sure where I am.”

Silence. There was a long, long moment. Finally she released him. Another faint sound; there was a rustle of fabric. When the mysterious lady reemerged in his vision, she was wearing a robe. It was very low cut, but at least it was something. 

“It’s alright,” she said, and took his hand. “Would you believe me if I told you you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be?”

Dainsleif looked at where their fingers entwined. It felt right, like they’d done this a thousand times before. Against one another, their skin looked like the sun and the moon–her, rich and dark and gold, him, pale and blue. He knew her. He knew her. Right? Desperate for some grounding, he said, “I know you, don’t I?”

“You do,” she reassured him, and pulled him toward the bed. It did look inviting. After five hundred years of the ceaseless hunt against the Abyss Order, Dainsleif couldn’t deny that resting alongside a beautiful woman had its appeal. She made quick work of his cloak and outermost pieces of clothing, handing them back to him to fold. It was as if she anticipated all his habits. “But it’s okay. This is how erosion works, Dainsleif. Don’t press yourself too hard to think of things you’ve lost. It won’t bring them back. You’ll just frustrate yourself.”

She must know him. He didn’t talk about the erosion to many people. At last, Dainsleif trusted himself to this dream not-quite-stranger and obediently stripped down to his underclothes. His clothes went onto a cushion on the other side of the bed. When he lay his head on the cushions, the smell of jasmine and oud faintly wafted around them. 

The woman lay down beside him, still in her robe, and stroked his cheek. Dainsleif shut his eyes and leaned into the touch. When had he last allowed someone to do this? Hundreds of years–at least, to his memory, which had holes the size of mountains. 

“I apologize,” he murmured languidly. “If you wish to be unclothed in your own bed–”

“It’s fine,” she said sweetly. “You clearly weren’t prepared to see someone you can’t remember undressed. I can wait until you’re used to me again.”

Again. That implied this dream would repeat. There were so many strange and mysterious things on Teyvat, weren’t there? Truthfully, Dainsleif could think of far worse things than a speechlessly beautiful woman doting on him like this. “I still feel the need to apologize. I’m… I’m very lost.”

“You’re right where you’re supposed to be,” she repeated tenderly. “It’s alright, Dainsleif. Tell me all about your day.”

#A Sun Long Gone #ASLG #Genshin impact #Genshin Dainsleif #Genshin Rukkhadevata #Dainsleif x Rukkhadevata #Dainsleif fanfic #greater lord rukkhadevata #my writing #Rukkhadevata fanfic #genshin fanfic

[artemisia-black]

Me, a person who loves researching and can easily go down a well of hyperfixation: So like, what’s the magic system here? How do things operate? How do spells actually operate?

JKR: *offkey kazoo noises while she does jazz hands and leaves* No clue

I am personally offended by the lack of answers, because where’s the logic here? I can’t even make my own canon-compliant system, because canon contradicts itself. See, the floating lesson in first year shows we need a specific wand movement and correct pronunciation for a spell to work, but sectumsempra has Harry “waving his wand wildly” while shouting out the word and the spell works, so what gives here? Yeah, Snape created the latter, but someone had to create the former too, so why does wand movement matter so much in some cases but not in others?

Side note, my phone autocorrected “compliant” to “complaint” at first, which I thought was fitting here, since I am indeed complaining about canon

I have so many questions regarding how magic works in Harry Potter, and how magical beings’ bodies work. Do Dementors eat the souls and it’s like the souls get digested in their bodies, so the souls just stop existing once they’ve been “digested”? How does the removing-happy-memories-thing work, in that where do the memories even go in the Dementors? What is the rule system for spells? Because if changing one syllable or changing the stress in the word can change what the spell does, clearly there’s some system in place, but we never know what it is. Why do spells require a specific hand movement? Swish and flick for wingardium leviosa tells us that the spell needs a specific movement with the wand, but this is not the case with wandless magic, so what changes without a wand, and why does the wand movement matter so much? Like, I desperately wish we’d gotten Hermione’s POV because girl spent almost all her time in the library, at least some of her reading might’ve told us how magic actually works in the Harry Potter world

Anon I think you might be my soulmate, because I've puzzled on these questions too. This post won't provide clarity but more confusion I'm afraid.

The magic system has no logic in this universe. Even in my WIP Pietas, I try find an explanation for what happens to an animal's consciousness during transfiguration because it makes no damn sense.

‘Yes, hence my previous statement about his substance problem,’ she remarked, rolling her eyes. ‘However, most of the logic is sound. Much like an animagus keeps their consciousness during transformation, an animal who undergoes transfiguration retains theirs. Transfiguration is not metaphysical magic; consciousness remains even when the physical body has been altered.’

‘But that makes animal Transfiguration unethical,’ Sirius countered excitedly, ‘So as someone who buys into De Visser’s theory, should you not stop performing that branch of magic?’

‘I have to perform it, to pass my exams,’ she stated simply, her foot tapping on the ground.

‘Yes, but surely a good grade isn’t worth the torture of an animal?’ He countered slightly sardonically, pacing back and forth along the corridor, 'Surely, ethics must come before an Exceeds Expectations?’

Generally, the magic system seems to have very arbitrary and contradictory rules, Jily needed a secret keeper, but Bill was his own. Everyone looks down on Divination, but people take the Grim and Prophecy seriously.

Also, does the magic come from the wand, the words or the person? Children can do wandless magic (Harry sets the snake free) but yet can't do wandless magic as an adult. Why are the words mainly Latin based? Does that mean people who understand Latin can perform more powerful spells? What about before the Roman conquests? What did people use? Herpo the Foul was an ancient Greek wizard, what was he using? Also isn't it messed up that the means to perform magic requires enough gold to buy a wand (and Hogwarts allows Ron to wander around with a broken one for an entire year- and it does cause harm to other people). I have this theory that the ability to perform magic is a recessive gene that allows someone to bend the rules of physics and a wand is a way of honing that.

In my soul meta, it's clear that wizards believe in souls, so it's so fucked that they allow these creatures to devour them. What happens to these souls? Do the Dementors have a dimension inside them where they torture them and feed off the tourture?

This was not clear at all anon, but I don't have the answers for any of this. Legit makes no sense.

#harry potter

[wendigoink]

Panic Attacks

Part One Golden eyes were focused on mismatched lips moving in front of him. They way the moved and curved to articulate certain words. Words that were no doubt coming from those lips, but fell onto deaf ears. Or rather, muffled ears. Hawks prided himself on his keen hearing, but right now even with the amount of attention he was putting into Dabi’s information giving, all the mans words sounded muffled. He was trying to absorb the information, truly the Hero was. But there was also the sound of his heart…that was constantly increasing. Was it too fast? No, it wasn’t too fast, it was normal for him. What about that clammy feeling in his hands? No, that was just because of his gloves and the humidity today. …Right? It had to be, it couldn’t be anything else. Okay, then what about his shaking muscles? The urge to curl into himself tightly, wings around him defensively? Tired- he was just tired, that was all. The Commission had been running him ragged lately, and his sleep had changed to keep up with Dabi’s schedule. That was all, he was absolutely fine. There was nothing wrong with him at all- “...Chicken.” Dabi’s voice was suddenly right in front of him, and Hawks nearly leapt out of his skin. It took every ounce of his training to control his reaction, and instead give a slow blink. Then, that showman smile. “What’s up, Dabs?” Though he kept his tone light, Dabi was no fool. He would cross his arms over his chest, arching a brow at the Avian Hero and tilting his head slightly in that familiar way that Hawks had come to learn was a ‘you’re caught’. “Oh, nothing. Just finished telling you the secret recipe that Toga uses for her hair color treatments, and Twice’s moonshine mix. And you didn’t even bat an eye. So, what’s eating at you?” A frown turned Hawks’ lips, and he would just hold a hand up to wave it idly. “Ah, nothin’. Just tired?” “Bullshit.” “How’s it bullshit if it’s true, Dabs? C’mon, I’m just tired is all! No worries.” He spoke with a grin, and Dabi scowled like he’d stepped in something foul. “I’m not worried. I’m pissed. If you can’t be here and keep up your end of the deal, you know full well you won’t-” “I know, I know I won’t be able to meet the big bad boss. I won’t rise up to your extortionate expectations. Blah blah, trust me I get it so save me the crap and either let me know my next task, or let me go home.” His words might’ve come out sharper than intended, but it apparently got his point across. Dabi for his part looked mildly surprised, but also much more interested now. He’d never seen Hawks snap at him like that, but looking over the male… Pale. Pupils constricting and dilating. His slow, shallow breaths or even sometimes a lack of breathing in general. The way his wings were more tucked into his back today, or how he shifted his weight subtly every now and then. The vacant staring, dissociation no doubt. “...You’re having a panic attack.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. One that Hawks refused instantly. “No. I’m tired, there’s a difference.” He flatly denied the accusation. To which Dabi sighed and rolled his eyes. “It means nothing to me about your state of mind, honestly. Whatever you put yourself through to get into this state is on you, but it does affect your ability to listen and give me information.” He spoke flatly, and the words seemed to sting more than they should to Hawks. It affects his abilities to do what he’s here for. The only thing he’s there to do, is to give information to Dabi and get the same in turn eventually. To gain the others trust, and he’s failing that. He’s failing at every step, it’s going to fall apart and- His thoughts were spiraling. Logically, Hawks knew that wasn’t going happen. Not anytime soon anyways. But the inevitable rise of panic fed into those dark thoughts, and when did his mouth suddenly become so dry? Why did his stomach twist in such painful knots? “...It doesn’t- won’t, it won’t change my ability.” The Hero spoke up, voice a bit softer than normal. That feeling of dread and panic started to climb, clawing towards its apex, and Hawks stepped back. Dabi frowned some, watching the Hero. “Well, if that’s all here, I’m gonna go and…and get home, got a long day of patrol. Gimme a text when you’re ready for more, yea?” Before the Pyro could speak further, Hawks was gone in a flare of crimson plumes. Leaving Dabi staring after him with a frown, blue eyes watching the sky. /tbc

#dabihawks #dabi #hawks #keigo #touya

[bluemoonfantasiesiii]

Stellar Eclipse (Rhinesons AU)

If you asked Albedo to pinpoint when it began, he wouldn’t be able to answer. But at some point, he began feeling a slight sense of nausea every time he caught sight of his birthmark in the mirror. Nigredo’s was easy to cover up, resting between his shoulder blades, but Albedo’s was smack in the middle of his throat. The golden marking stood out in clear contrast to his pale skin, and after spending so much time with Nigredo, he had begun to hate it. The four-pointed star on his neck was a symbol of his artificial origins; a lingering tie to Rhinedottir.

He wanted to sever it, to be done with her once and for all. She didn’t deserve even a moment of his thoughts, yet he couldn’t stop his mind from drifting to her every time he looked at the mark. The alchemist worked through his options on how to cover it. Makeup was unreliable at best since he spent much of his time outside, exposed to the elements. Changing out his usual shirt for a turtleneck was a viable option while he was on Dragonspine, but the rest of Mondstadt would leave him overheating. The simplest option would be to conceal the mark with an accessory like a choker.

He announced his departure to his brother and nephew and set off for the city. Fashion was not Albedo’s forte, and while ridicule toward his appearance didn’t phase him, he preferred to avoid it, so before he went to Marjorie, he slinked into the tavern to consult his boyfriend’s assistance. Kaeya immediately understood and jumped at the chance to help the alchemist pick a few chokers.

Much of the selection was too thin to effectively cover Albedo’s birthmark, and the wider ones were a bit too decorative for his taste. After some back and forth, and Kaeya half-jokingly trying to get him to purchase a choker that looked suspiciously like a dog collar, Albedo agreed to get a plain, black choker to wear for everyday activities and a more ornate choker for special occasions. The second one he picked out was comprised of a series of gold chain links with a centerpiece made of pearls surrounding a topaz, set to resemble a flower. After making the purchases, Kaeya offered to help Albedo put on the gold choker.

“That one is supposed to be for special occasions only, though,” the alchemist said with a tilt of the head.

Kaeya chuckled, a light, smooth sound. “Is this not a special occasion?” he asked. “You’re finally cutting the final thread tethering you to your former master. I’d say that calls for a bit of dressing up and a few drinks~”

Albedo shook his head with a smile. “Well, it’s hard to argue with that logic.” He turned so his back was to Kaeya, lifting his hair out of the way as he felt the other’s fingers brush his neck and cool metal against his skin while the other clasped the choker in place. Once he felt the hands retreat, he turned back around to face the other. “How does it look?”

“Beautiful,” Kaeya purred, leaning in to press his lips to Albedo’s. “The flower covers up your mark perfectly.”

“Good,” Albedo sighed in relief. “Now, about those drinks~”

—————————

Nigredo was just finishing capturing the last of the cecelias he’d accidentally given legs by fusing them with butterflies when he heard familiar footsteps in the snow. He quickly hid the jar behind a shelf just as Albedo appeared in the doorway of the camp, face slightly flushed and gold choker sparkling in the setting sun. Nigredo let out an appreciative whistle as Rubedo jumped up from his seat on the bed to hug his uncle.

“Whoa!” Albedo exclaimed with a giggle, ruffling the Blumeprinz’s hair. “Easy there, Ruby. I’m still a bit wobbly.”

“Sorry, Uncle Albedo!” said the whopperflower, stepping back. “Your new necklace looks really pretty!”

“Thank you~ Kaeya helped me pick it out. I got a more casual one, too.”

“Ah, so you did go on a date,” Nigredo teased. “I thought that might’ve been the case. I can smell the champagne on you.”

“Yeahhh,” Albedo drew out, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. “I might be a liiiittle drunk.” He snapped his fingers as he suddenly remembered something. “Oh yeah! I forgot to tell you why I wanted to buy a choker.”

Nigredo raised a brow with an amused grin, thoroughly entertained by his brother’s tipsy behavior. “Oh? Do tell.”

“I couldn’t stand looking at my birthmark anymore. It reminds me of her. So from now on, I’m gonna cover it! So neither of us ever have to look at it again!”

Nigredo’s eyes widened. “Oh,” he said dumbly. “I, uh, wasn’t expecting that explanation. But…thanks, Albedo. I really appreciate that.” In another unexpected move, Albedo stumbled forward to give him a hug, throwing his arms around the elder's neck.

“I did it for me, too,” he said. “I don’t wanna waste any more of my time thinking about her. She doesn’t deserve it.”

Nigredo wrapped his own arms around his little brother, rubbing his back. “I’m proud of you, Αστέρι.” He chuckled when he felt the younger alchemist slump against him. “And you are very intoxicated and in need of sleep.”

“Not sleepy,” Albedo mumbled against Nigredo’s shoulder.

“Mm-hmm. The fact that I’m the only thing protecting your face from hitting the floor right now says otherwise. Come on. Bed.” With a grunt, the Erdeprinz lifted the Kreideprinz’s feet off the ground and dumped him onto the mattress to help him get his jacket and boots off.

“Wait,” Albedo slurred out. “I don’t wanna wear my nice choker to bed. Help me switch them out.”

“Right, right, of course. Ruby, could you bring the other choker here?”

“Okay!” Rubedo said before scurrying to do just that.

Once Nigredo helped his brother into the black choker and tucked him in, he and Rubedo followed suit, settling in early just as the sun disappeared completely below the horizon.

#moon writes shit #genshin impact #albedo #subject two #nigredo #subject three #fellflower #rubedo #kaeya alberich #kaebedo

[bellandaritales]

The Brass Boars

The Brass Boar was a small group of like-minded adventurers traveling between cities who happened upon a wounded figure, alone and unconscious in an abandoned barn miles from the nearest crossroads. Bewildered by how she ended up in such a place, they tended to her wounds in hopes of answers.

After two days, the nameless woman stirred under the watchful eyes of Viessa, the Boar’s healing specialist. The mysterious patient made no effort to move and turned her gaze towards Viessa.

“Where am I?” A natural question for someone who was just unconscious, although slightly concerning. Her mental state must be quite poor.

“To be honest, I don’t really know.” Viessa answered. “This is a run-down, abandoned barn in the middle of nowhere, so I suppose that’s where you are. What I would like to know is how you got here and what these injuries are from, little girl.” She poked at a bandaged wound on the woman’s arm and gave a short smile.

“I, uh…I don’t remember much. I was walking on the road from the Twisting Fields, I think -”

“The Twisting Fields?!” Viessa interrupted, leaning closer. “Those are leagues away! It’d be impossible for you to make it here in such shape. When were you there? Did you have a horse? What about companions?”

The girl closed her eyes and with great effort attempted to recall any information that could be reduce the amount of questions being hurled her way.

“The last date I remember was, I think, a week after the Dawn, just after Windall fell. I was on my way to…where was I going?”

Viessa was soundly confused. None of that made any logical sense.

“Well, for now just rest up. You’re in good hands. We’ll take care of you and make sure you're healthy before you leave.”

“We?” The mysterious woman had not realized there were more people nearby.

“We call ourselves the Brass Boar. We’re just some adventurers passing through. We found you here after seeking shelter from the- oh, another time then.”

The nameless woman had drifted off into sleep as the medicine Viessa administered finally took hold. Viessa now had more questions than answers though. She finished bandaging a small wound on the woman’s side, pulled the blanket over her chest and left her to sleep in peace.

Viessa made her way towards the entry of the barn, whose wide doors were flung open, although now rotted into the ground - more walls, than door. Standing next to the remnants was Alren, who was staring out at the rapidly approaching storm. Alren was the leader of the Brass Boars who initially found the woman while looking for viable shelter. He was a tall and imposing figure, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. "Look like you belong and no one will question you!" He remembered his old mentor telling him. Good advice, it seemed, as anyone passing by now would likely assume he was performing important work and let him be.

Alren shifted his attention to Viessa as she came to stand next to him.

“How is our mysterious friend?” His voice firm, but worry easily found in it. He cast a quick glance towards the corner where the make shift infirmary was constructed.

“She’ll be fine now, I think. Her wounds are not so severe. I do fear there may be wounds I cannot treat." Viessa crossed her arms, resting her chin on one hand as she considered her patient.

“Oh? What did you find?” Alren, now more concerned.

“I asked her what she could remember. A location or a time. She said the last place she remembered was the Twisting Fields.” Viessa glanced up at Alren, catching his eyes go wide. He raised an eyebrow and scratched the back of his head.

“That’s no short distance.” He stated matter-of-factually. “With her wounds, there’s no way she would have made it that far. As it is, she’s got the gods to thank that we found her. Any longer and she might’ve been beyond even your reach.”

“Indeed. I wish that was the most confusing part though. I asked her what the last date she remembered was.”

Alren, not one to turn down a challenge attempted to guess the date.

“Let’s see,” he started. “based on the condition we found her in and our current state of affairs…" He rubbed his chin. "Hmm, I’d guess she’s been wounded maybe a week? So a date maybe just before then?

“Try three centuries ago.”

#bellandari stories #short story #short stories #fantasy #story #writing #practice #brass boars

[sweetthepotato]

The Final Pillar: Chapter 13: Nightmare Breathing

Disclaimer*

Reminders that this work is made for mature audiences.

Masterpost

Chapter 12

Chapter Summary

The Nightmare Hashira's plan is in action.

Contents

Original Nightmare Breathing forms incoming.

Genya found the pathway weaving through the wisteria trees to be a considerably bumpy one. He was only half-conscious, laying still on a wooden trundle. The person who’d lay him there clearly had some kind of grudge, as gravity shifted him to the back end, his tall body squashed and stifled by the small size of the pallet. Kagome’s form was with his, piled unceremoniously on top of his with slightly more care. With the back wheel of the wagon rolling over what might’ve been a jagged rock, there was an uncomfortable thump where he was jolted up slightly, hitting the back of his head. The teenage hashira also rolled against him, the nichirin blades he kept hidden under his embroidered haori digging into the middle of his thigh.

At that, he swallowed the uncomfortable grunt he wanted to sound out because of the last few seconds of awkwardness. While he was initially reluctant, he’d agreed to follow Kagome’s plan as there weren’t many alternatives he could think of when it came to defeating the demon responsible for many slayers’ deaths.

He assumed, or more likely hoped, that it was working according to the pillar’s expectations. The hag who was pulling at their ad hoc transportation, had managed to find their unconscious bodies in the middle of the night, and thought they would be best to get rid of as soon as possible.

--

‘All factors considered, I think we may have some good news and bad news,’ Kagome began, his thumb and forefinger wrapped around the chin of his carbon-coloured mask, ‘The good news is that I think we now have an idea as to where the demon is being kept…’

‘And the bad news?’ Genya asked the teen blandly, wanting him to get on with it.

‘Well, the bad news is that…’

--

…that, for one, he and Kagome were acting as live bait. Their purpose in his plan was to form a diversion and kill the demon, while the Mist couple were tasked with running around the place, apprehending the mother, father and any other evidence found in the inn.

It was merely based on conjecture, but their team came to a reasonably logical conclusion about how the ryokan’s misdeeds operated. Realising that they had to take the risk and simulate the effects of the inn’s supposedly drugged food, Kagome pulled from his satchel a vial of weak sleeping draught, which would’ve been handy if it were used last night, Genya grouched to himself. Noticing his grumbling, the hashira explained that it should only induce slumber for less than a few hours, and that anyone with ample training should be able to metabolise the effects within a shorter range of time.

Genya felt apprehension, as the trundle skidded to a stop. Kagome’s head, he realised, now that he was regaining more of his senses, shifted slightly on the top of his chest. The boy remained lying still, to the extent that the mohawked demon slayer couldn’t even feel his chest rise and fall in the act of breathing. Hearing footsteps walk his way, he closed his eyes shut, repeating Himejima’s Buddhist mantras inside his head.

With the back unlatched, Genya allowed for his body to fall, as limply as he could imitate, into the dirt. It was difficult, but he tried to avoid crushing the hashira’s body as it fell beneath his much bigger one. He felt his fingers brush against the dip of Kagome’s palm, and as if to signal that he was alright, his fingers twitched, squeezing him in return. Suppressing a sigh of relief, the woman who dragged them both into the depths of the thicket cried out loudly.

--

Umi’s ears twitched as soon as she heard the daughter’s footsteps walk away with Kagome’s body. Signalling Masato, who fell asleep while she kept watch, she held a finger to her lips and waited for their cue.

In their briefing, Kagome called upon her crow, Matsuhachi, in order to arrange for the kakushi in the cleanup at the inn. She looked at her, specifically, as if the blank expression in her mask transmitted the message that no matter what would happen in the course of the mission, the tragedy that was the series of disappearances would end by dawn the next day.

As soon as she was sure that she’d gone a reasonable distance away from the two-storey building, she slid open the shoji and slowly tiptoed her way downstairs. Her partner following her, she sneaked across the shared lounge area and headed towards the proprietor’s quarters.

Her heart beat rapidly against the walls of her chest, and as soon as her hand felt the handle to the downstairs bedroom of the inn, Umi immediately sensed a kind of foreboding. Gently shifting the door ajar, her nostrils flared at the all too familiar scent of death.

She had half the mind to take Masato with her and run, but she swallowed down the fear building up inside of her.

--

‘Takushiro, my love!’ The woman cried, ‘I’ve brought you your meals for this week!’

Genya felt Kagome suppress his dry heaving at the smell of blood and guts coming from the thicket, his back against his chest pulling up and down, as if to spew. The demon hidden in the fake wisteria snarled and hissed at the woman, the clearly inhuman racket making his blood curdle. Takushiro, which was most likely the demon’s name when he was human, roared out into the void, much to the hag’s own delight.

‘Please, my dear,’ she pleaded desperately, ‘Please feast upon the demon slayers I’ve brought for your pleasure! As proof of my love, I have delivered to you one of the Corps’ strongest, a hashira, in the flesh!’

There was a roar that echoed in the breeze, the atmosphere and energy coming from the proprietor’s daughter palpable with excitement.

‘So,’ she continued, ‘As you continue to eat to your fill tonight, remember my request to join with you for all eternity!’

And with a smile, the woman took out a knife, fully intending to stab it within her chest.

--

‘…The other bad news is, I suppose,’ Kagome continued to explain, ‘Is that if a demon is already receiving assistance from a human, especially with regards to feeding, is that they are likely to be much stronger and much more difficult to defeat. Just about any demon, verbal, non-verbal, or even beastly, would become fearsome with such attention. We need to hope that there’s only just one, because a demon who’s regularly feasted on demon slayers, of all food sources, might already be capable of a blood art, or worst-case scenario, might almost be at the level of a Lower Moon.’

Genya scowled at the boy’s speculation, thinking that there was enough news surrounding the appearance of the Twelve Kizuki in the past few weeks alone.

‘So, ‘gome-chan, what you’re saying is…’

‘Yes.’ He gave no room for counterpoints. ‘It goes without saying that we try to kill it, or them, before the situation gets to that level.’

--

Genya watched as Kagome rushed forward, pushing his body out of the way, and wrestled the proprietor’s daughter to the ground. He kicked her knife away, the metal clanging across the rough surface of the thicket’s floor. The old hag cried as the hashira called on him, growling, to get the rope.

Pushing himself up from the dirt, he fumbled around in his trouser pockets until his fingers latched onto the texture of a number of threads, braided together.

‘Tie her up, I’m going to call out for the demon now!’ His voice boomed. And not wanting to kick up a fuss in the heat of the moment, Genya followed orders, pulling the crazy hag out of the way and falling back as support.

Kagome grabbed onto his katana and exhaled slowly. The less experienced demon slayer watched on, thinking that he saw on him a thin line of red. He surmised that the pillar had decided that what he was doing was sufficient to summon such a hungry demon.

All of a sudden, it felt as though the particles in the air shifted and became lighter, and then he noticed it; Kagome’s presence in the thicket becoming heavier and more prominent. He could even taste the energy that surrounded the young hashira; the familiar taste of a demon wafted across his palette, but it also mixed with the flavours of candied sweet potato and jasmine green tea. At that moment, he’d forgotten the doubts he previously held regarding the boy in front of him.

The demon emerged from the darkness, the pink and purple of the wisteria shaking and dispersing like a mirage. He was crawling its way towards him, walking on all four of his appendages. He was a toad-looking humanoid, its nose almost smoothed over into tiny nostrils. If Kagome was struggling not to barf earlier, then Genya fought every desire not to look away and gag at the creature’s ugliness. He noticed its eight bug eyes scanning around various degrees, as if someone had jiggled around a bag full of coins.

‘Takushiro!’ The woman behind him cried, and Genya had enough of her nasal wailing to scream at her to shut the fuck up.

The hashira stepped forwards, towards the creature who half-screamed and half-garbled at Kagome. In return, Takushiro used his arm to pummel down at the earth, making Genya topple down on top of the woman he was apprehending. As he clumsily clambered his way back up, using his palms and nails to push down her face and shoulders, he gasped at the wreckage of trees and the deep fissures within the ground.

However, the teenager in front of him stayed put, his posture remaining dignified among the rubble. His katana was outstretched, at the ready. He yelled his move, the power in his voice piercing the howling of trees in the background, ‘Nightmare Breathing, second form, Fear!’

Almost disappearing into the dark emptiness of the night, Kagome slashed at the demon in front of him, and then again, for a second time, as he leaped behind Takushiro. As the blade moved, it emitted a teal glow, followed by the harsh, disorienting sound of the roaring wind or a person’s screams -he couldn’t tell. The demon yowled a scream of pain, as his legs and arms were separated from the rest of his body as if they were the softest tofu. As his torso writhed across the dirt, Genya allowed himself the luxury of exhaling.

The hashira, off in the distance, however, tsked. His left arm trembled, dissatisfied with missing the creature’s neck. In response to Genya’s untimely sigh of relief, his mask shifted, shaking sideways in warning.

As the limbs flopped and danced, he heard the hag scream behind him; they morphed and changed shape, from the appendages that they used to be, to the shape of worms, to now a set of four salamanders.

As their wet, gooey looking forms slinked their way towards them, they left behind a trail of the demon’s blood. Their jagged teeth snapped and snarled, ready to attack.

This, Genya realised with abject horror, was the reality of a relatively new demon that had been consistently fed for months at a time. He realised that Kagome’s assertions held true; if it wasn’t going to be dealt with now, it would become too powerful for anyone to control.

Without him realising it, he’d already grabbed for his gun. Aiming at one of the salamanders before him, the tip of his finger squeezed at the trigger. With a loud bang, the bullet was released from its barrel, but the demon’s former appendage stretched out before him, pooling into a stream as if it were made of ink and evaded it with ease. As though it were angered by the attempt upon its life, the creature and its brethren scuttled their way closer, hissing through their mostly featureless heads.

The air returned to feeling heavy again, and with more shots, Genya wasted more rounds at the salamanders.

--

Umi choked at the stench of the mother’s corpse, and beckoned Masato to search the cupboards, floorboards and alcoves for any evidence of tampering with the Demon Slayer Corps.

She summoned enough courage to rush into the room, the muscles in her calves and thighs completely tense. In there, she found more nightmare fuel: the slow, cruel way in which the mother’s body was slowly decaying in her own futon, and the remnants of slightly eaten food lying next to where her waist would be. She deduced that, from the way the chopsticks lay askew upon the bowl of rice, that she was fed by someone else.

Hand pressed hard onto her mouth and nose, Umi searched and searched, until she had the idea to remove some of the tatami from the floor. She scoured, under the yellow candlelight, the wooden planks of the ryokan, until her fist rapped on a section where the seams in the lumber appeared to be more self-made. With the resounding hollowness of the returning sound, Umi grabbed at the tsuba of her white katana, smashing the hilt down into the surface until there was a hole big enough for two of her fists to fit through.

Pulling at the shards that were in her way, Umi discovered that she was able to withdraw what looked like an apothecary’s set. There was the tell-tale mortar and pestle, but now, last but not least, what felt to be a dried-out piece of string. Pulling it out into the air, she could tell that it was the stem of some kind of plant.

She grasped at the incriminating items into the side of her abdomen, when the room started to shake. With a shout, she dropped to the floor, the mortar rolling away from her hands.

She’d realised that the ryokan was near some sort of earthquake. Crawling desperately, her limbs shaking with adrenaline, she realised that Kagome and Genya had successfully cornered their target. Stifling her excitement, her clothes rustled against the rough texture of the woven mats below as she stared up around the room. The cracks in the walls and supports were starting to widen at a concerning measure, and calculating the weight of the previous tremor, she ran, retrieving the released mortar.

Heading her way through to the doorframe, she yelled at Masato to run out of the building.

--

Kagome flash-stepped in front of him, and with a nod of reassurance in his general direction, his presence announced itself again and with the blink of an eye, disappeared. The glow of his teal blade, however, remained visible, as he dashed towards the creatures, slashing across various points of the forest.

As the boy was about to swing his nichirin, making his first swipe, Genya heard him yell, ‘Nightmare Breathing, third form, Despair!’

With each slash, the salamanders’ heads were sliced off clean, and their bodies, which had tried to turn into even tinier amphibians, were crushed with the brute force of every one of Kagome’s attacks. Each strike was adamant in the way it landed, determined to eviscerate the demon at each and every turn. The hashira himself moved along quicker than anyone Genya had ever seen, and as he witnessed small glimpses of the teenager’s form, more of Takushiro’s body was taken from him.

In the beginning, the slices shaved off parts of Takushiro’s shoulder, then his thigh, but then, eventually, the demon’s back broke with a sickening crunch, sinking down against the howling of Kagome’s blade. With more strikes of the katana, the demon’s head was finally beheaded, before the continued motions of Kagome’s Nightmare Breathing tore at the rest of his features.

--

Masato huffed his way through to the cupboards at the opposite end of the lower floor, finally spotting samples of old, dirtied demon slayer uniforms and abandoned nichirin blades. Believing this to be enough evidence to implicate the proprietor’s daughter, he dragged some of the items towards where Umi was standing.

As the ground underneath him swayed, he yelled out the girl’s name. Chancing a run to the doorframe where she was clinging for dear life, he didn’t hesitate to pick her up by the waistline, his burning lungs be damned, and rushed out of the ryokan.

--

The hashira landed back in front of Genya once the last swipe of his onslaught landed upon the demon. Coming back up from his kneeling position, he spared a glance at him before proceeding to walk towards the tied-up woman, who shook and trembled with horror at what she’d witnessed.

And, as unceremoniously as one can accomplish, Kagome returned his katana under the flaps of his haori. His hands, however, didn’t return from there just yet;  the boy withdrew a sheathed, even shorter blade -a tanto, he guessed -that looked like it was made out of ordinary metal. Crouching down, he thumped the hilt of his blade into the back of the woman’s neck. As a result, she crumpled down to the ground unconscious, the silent shivering and squirming of her body the only sign of her distress.

Genya wasn’t sure; he thought he’d imagined the words of the so-called move, not believing his ears, ‘Nightmare Breathing, fourteenth form, The End.’

#demon slayer fanfic #kimetsu no yaiba fanfic #kny fanfic #demon slayer oc #kimetsu no yaiba oc #kny oc #demon slayer genya #shinaguzawa genya #genya shinazugawa

[justmoreocs-writing]

No matter how logical someone’s thoughts are, panic turns even the most prepared into a mess. Thoughts get scrambled, planning goes awry and primal fear takes over. Most people have things that set off this reaction and take active steps to avoid situations that might induce that level of terror. Unfortunately for me, my trigger kind of comes with the job.

‘Lilia,’ Mac said, drugged voice bordering on reasonable and snapping my spiralling thoughts away from the attempts to make sense of it all. Still, I tugged fruitlessly at the handcuffs as if it might suddenly change my situation.

My arms ached. While Mac was cuffed to a chair, IV taped into his arm, my arms were over my head. I could hear the long length of chain rattling like something out of a pirate movie. There wasn’t enough give to get to Mac, though. If I tried, I’d probably be a hair’s breadth away. Another little torture.

‘Breathe.’ Ewan’s soft voice, a memory of long attempts at learning escapology tricks, came to me. Right now, however, all his lessons evaporated. Fear, the fear of being caught, of being helpless, squashed any logical reasoning.

‘Lilia, it’s all right.’

‘How?’ I snapped, chest heaving as I focused on Mac. His head lolled back against the chair. Who knew what was being pumped into his system and there was nothing I could do about it. ‘How?’ I repeated, but this time my voice was little more than a desperate whine.

‘Because it’s us,’ he reasoned, voice almost normal. It was as if the drugs weren’t affecting him at all. As if everything was –

I shook my head, a sense of hopelessness bloomed inside my chest. My gaze drifted up to the chains holding me in place. Trapped. We were trapped and powerless and –

‘You’re shuffling cards,’ Mac said, pulling my gaze his way.

‘No, I’m not,’ I said, completely missing the point by the expression on his face.

‘Think about the sound,’ he continued. ‘The feeling.’

Forcing myself to swallow my panic, I tried to follow his lead. I imaged shuffling, the snickering sound of cardboard against cardboard. The constant rhythm that changed as I waterfalled the cards.

‘Dislocate or pick, your choice, Lil.’

‘Yeah, let’s go with picking you psycho.’

‘I need a clip,’ I said, trying to cling to the calm place, and the memories of Ewan. Escapology was his game, his attempts at bettering me in the dramatic arts of magic.

‘Your bun?’ questioned Mac, voice slightly dazed again.

I nodded, moved to stand on tiptoes. It was difficult, manoeuvring to get a clip, but not impossible. Once freed, it was a case of not fumbling, of getting the mechanism…

The cuff fell away and in an instant my arms were down. Every fibre of my being wanted to get rid of the metal from my wrists, the feeling of it there was making me sick, reminding me of the situation and threatening to bury me under the fear again. But Mac needed help, so I pushed the desire away.

Despite knowing he could do it, I unhooked the IV with one hand and picked with the other. It was stupid, but once both hands could work on the lock it was easier and he was freed in a couple of seconds.

‘Five minutes,’ came Patricia’s voice from over the intercom once Mac’s wrists were free.

I let out a sigh.

‘Pause,’ Mac said, voice alert and his attention on me. It was unlike him to break the character of the training. Concern pinched his brow, but by the little red light going off in the corner of the room, I knew Patricia had obliged. After all, today was about testing me, not putting him through his paces.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Sure,’ I said, trying to sound causal. I could hear the waver to my voice though, the fear that still clung to me. The longer we paused for, the longer the cold metal would bite into my wrist.

‘Lilia,’ he said, but I shook my head before he could go any further.

‘Honestly, I’ll survive. Can we finish?’

Mac surveyed me for a moment, probably trying to read the lie. He might’ve been good, but he’d not been taught about human psychology, about the nuances of people, by Patrick Jane. I had. I knew how to school my features into something of a determined mask, to push aside the fear for the moment now that it wasn’t completely all encompassing. I knew it was something I’d have to learn to manage eventually, but at the moment all I wanted was to be out of the training room.

After a second, he nodded and knocked on the wall. The light in the corner flared red again and he settled back into the mockery of being drugged.

Sometimes I hated these training sessions, but hopefully it would all be over soon. Just one more lock stood in our way, and then I could relax.

#Repost #Made By Me #Drabble #MacGyver & The Mentalist OCs #Prestige #Lilia Bennett Hope #Lilia Bennett Hope & Angus MacGyver #Lilia Bennett Hope & Patricia Thornton