#just. to put a bit of a human face on why this is fucking heinous

[altschmerzes]

remember how last time i even sort of voiced an opinion about this sort of thing and i got an ask 'calling me out' for thinking inc/st is gross and reprehensible. lmfao.

#gav gab #that was incredible #incest ment #ask my why i might have a stake in this conversation. go on. fucking ask. #or don't bc it's none of anyone's fucking business but #just. to put a bit of a human face on why this is fucking heinous #that it's so just normal and cool and trendy on here to be like #CUTESY ROMANTIC SHIPPING AND PWP SMUT ABOUT INC/EST IS GREAT AND YOU'RE A FASCIST IF YOU DONT WANNA SEE IT #imagine. Imagine.

[grimmeghoulz]

Omg! I love you fic about the old ghoul and having resentment for humans, but I raise you male ghoul reader who is the newest ghoul in the ministry and surprised by the tasks he has to do

Now the reader is also older than the others and he usually was summoned to do something bad, to strike fear in people, to murder the ones who stood against his master. And now all he has to do is kinda babysit the other ghouls and he just thinks it's a joke, because cmon...Humans being nice to ghouls ha! Good joke...... now who do I have to kill?

So please write it, I love you, I love your writing, take you time and please don't stress yourself

<3 <3 <3

Thank you so much for this, I honestly needed a long break for a bit, so this might be a little short.

CW: Gore, Violence, Food, Cursing and non existent table manners

----

The Forgotten Scriptures hidden deep within the Ministry describe the summoning of a murderous ghoul. Their mask stained with the blood of countless Christians who stood in the way of the Clergy, their sheer hatred rotting their skin, showing black bones underneath.

They called them the grim reaper. They called them death incarnate. They called them Carnevale; The Flesh Ghoul, as their gaping wounds were sewn with the skin of their victims.

Copia was well aware of the heinous crimes committed by the demon yet sought out the scroll, hidden deep within the Ministry's vaults. The ghouls stood beside him, reassuring Papa that he was safe. The summoning had begun...

A crack formed within the sigil, growing incessantly as it swallowed the ground forming an endless pit, its rampage only halted by the protective circle. A harsh red light was emitted from the pit as a voice called out to him.

"Who summoned me?" The voice was beckoning for blood.

"I did! It was me!" Copia mustered a confident facade, yet the ghoul wasn't convinced.

"I can smell your fear, Papa." The ghoul spat his title mockingly. A spiked tail appeared from the pit and swam back down.

Cirrus gave Copia an affirming nod. "I call upon you, Ghoul of Flesh, to come to my aid."

He was met with a maw of black fangs, blood leaking from behind. "What makes you think you're worthy, you pathetic sack of flesh? Tell me why I shouldn't devour you right now."

Papa kept a straight face. "I need you to care for my ghouls."

The monster was taken aback. It had no idea how to respond to such a demand. "You want me to...WHAT?" Lava started seeping through the gaps in its mismatched skin as it slammed a huge fist dangerously close to him. "WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!"

Copia smiled. "I am your Papa. Now, come to me."

The monster roared angrily in disbelief as it melted into shadow, closing the pit. A tall ghoul is present where the sigil once was. They were not amused.

"Alright, I'll be your babysitter.", they hissed.

Copia beamed at his accomplishment. "I'll need, first, your name. I doubt it's 'Carnevale', is it?"

The ghoul sighed as they stretched their sewn arm out. "No. It's Wave."

Papa smiled kindly as he shook their clawed hand, something that kindled Wave's curiosity. "Nice to meet you, Wave. Welcome to the family.

The ghouls cheered loudly as they surrounded Papa, hugging and shaking the poor man. Wave raised an eyebrow. Can ghouls really love a human that wimpy? Have they forgotten everything?

-----

"No, no NO! HAVE YOU LEARNED NOTHING?!" Screeched Wave, wondering how the hell Swiss managed to burn water.

They whistled, calling all the ghouls to come to the kitchen. "This is how you do it! Aurora, bring me the fresh mussels and put them in this pan. Phantom, get me the whole damn box of king prawns from the freezer, tell Ifrit to defrost it. Aether, find the starchiest rice in that Satan forsaken fridge. And Swiss?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't touch a fucking thing."

The ghoul doused the mussels in white wine and let them simmer as they rummaged through the cabinets for peas and olive oil. "Aether, put 500g of the rice in this deep pan, and some of these peas while you're at it."

With one slice of their claw, Wave deveined the prawns and seared them, boiling the carapaces to bring out their flavour. They separated the mussels from the wine and the carapaces from their juice, alternating between them to give flavour to the rice. The ghouls were enjoying themselves, whacking each other with cutlery while the ghoulettes played keytar in the background. It was a mess that Wave secretly enjoyed.

Once the food was done, they carefully spooned it in equal amounts on every plate, ensuring that each ghoul has enough to eat.

"And that is how you make proper fucking risotto." Wave was immensely proud of themselves.

Swiss dug in first, every mouthful sending him into a purring spree followed by the rest. Wave's gaze softened seeing the squad enjoy his food, they were like a very messy family.

"Hey, mister!" yelled Cumulus with her mouth full. "Where'd ya learn all this stuff?"

Wave leaned against the table. "From my Papa, of course- stop spitting out your food like that!"

Rain looked curiously at him. "You had a Papa? Don't you despise humans?"

"Yeah!" Jumped Ifrit. "You were gonna kill ours!"

Wave furrowed his eyebrows as he wiped his claw. "You have a human for a Papa, not even a half ghoul."

Mountain sat defensively. "Times change. We love Papa, and that is that."

Aether waved his spoon in the air. "Besides, humans love us now. We have no need to defend ourselves."

Wave looked away. "I see."

"You don't believe us, don't you.", exclaimed Sunshine. "I understand you've been through some shit, but you can't stay like that. No need to be." She promptly stuffed her mouth with risotto.

Wave laughed. "I suppose so."

"Tall guy, make us more of this stuff!" jumped Ifrit.

"Me two." said Mountain.

"Me three!!" yelled Cumulus. Soon enough, all the ghouls were yelling for food.

At that moment, Wave realized he was in for a long ass week.

#ghost band #ghost fanfic #ghost #ghost fanfiction #ghost the band #ghost fic #ghoulsona #ghoul oc #ghost oc #nameless ghouls #nameless ghoul #nameless ghoulettes #ghoulettes #thanks for the prompt! really liked it :> #hope u like this one! #papa copia #copia #popia copia #papa popia #popia #popia fanfic #copia fanfic #copia fanfiction #papa emeritus #papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus 4

[allofthebees]

i can't remember if you've ever said anything about it before but as the resident Ronin Enjoyer do you have any thoughts on some of the more irredeemable or straight up bad parts of his writing (i.e. what he did to zane in skybound and possibly ToE? but mainly the one thing with nya. like i'm not gonna fault anyone for not liking him but i personally feel like that never should've been written in in the first place and it sucks seeing people act like liking him is a sin. you know :/)

Ronin my guy my scrungle he is not the best man but also he suffers from bad writing lol. The Nya thing.... As much as I personally prefer to pretend it didn't happen because it feels like in the early days of Ninjago the writers consistently kept forgetting that she's supposed to be a minor (SKYBOUND) as well as making her face the occasional casual sexual harassment/assault (evil Jay forcefully kissing her), this is actually consistent with Ronin's character because:

Yeah.

Granted, the reason I prefer to ignore this aspect of him is because it's just plain stupid and he gets no real backlash from it in canon. And with Misako it's very much out of nowhere and Ronin doesn't even seem like he's interested. He erased her memories to pit her against the ninja and nothing else, but for some reason it was decided she should be putting her hands all over him like that 💀 However, I don't blame people for looking at this and deciding he's unlikable for it.

With the Zane stuff, I look at him taking Zane and Pixal to Chen's as something he had no other choice to do. It's kinda confirmed in the book Way of the Departed that it's the case (though my own reasoning is a bit different compared to the book), but at the same time, this was during a time he was a bit more eviler lol. So if he did this with evil intent then well he's grown since then at least.

As for what he did to Zane in Skybound, tbh fucked up and I'm glad it was technically undone. But Zane and Pixal were also kinda treated like objects that season in general too. The way Zane treated Pixal, the general existence and then complete dismissal of Echo, and whole thing with the Mechanic.... not great.

For me, personally I see Ronin as a tech lover who loves R.E.X so much he considers it a person, and by extension would respect Zane and Pixal in that regard, especially after befriending them but that's just me 🤷

But tbh there is something Ronin has done that is far more heinous than being robophobic and a creep, and that's what he did to the Islanders. I do not like season and what it did to him. Of all the people he goes and robs, it's the isolated people no one knows exists lmao. He doesn't just take their money, he takes their food, and takes so much they resort to human sacrifice. Like what the fuck. This felt more like something maybe SoR Ronin would do. And he was treated more like a common villain with no real history with the ninja at the end, too.

I don't wanna fully say it's out of character for Ronin to rob an entire island of people though, because I do feel like if desperate enough, he would go back to how he was before. I don't think he's above betraying the ninja, or hurting innocents because we've been shown he's afraid of dying (or at least going to super hell lmao) and is overall untrustworthy. But the thing is, he was fine! He had a deal with the Commissioner and was doing fine! Why make him do this, and then arrest him with the very people he used and put back in prison himself and then have him be just.... totally fine and friends with everyone again, prisoners and ninja alike lmao. It's bad writing to me. And after his development and and his relationship with the ninja, it seems very ill fitting to have him be the one lead the prisoners on the island when the Mechanic and/or Ultra Violet are right there.

So yeah I mean, if people don't like him I get it. At face value he is not a great guy lol. But for me there's a lot to like about him just because I really like his type of character when done well. He was a great influence for Nya and I love their relationship. He just suffers from poor writing just like.... every other character in this show 💀

And people better not be harassing or hating on others for liking a goddamn LEGO of all things. Please there are real problems to have. I'll continue loving Ronin regardless if others consider it a crime to lol I'm a grown bitch and can do whatever I want ❤️

#ask #ninjago #ronin ninjago #ninjago ronin #to me season 5+7 is like almost perfect ronin to me #i love him is sor tho he's such a little shit

[lamentingocean]

Hongshin x male reader

____________________

humanity is so beautiful but so dark and cruel at the same time, but you saw a women more beautiful than the fabric of nature and the reality of the world themselves.

It was hongshin, a ranking heavenly general and a kelptomanic. she has been involved in many heinous crimes such as theft and attempted murder, but through all of that dangerous personality to keep a terrifying perspective to the people of ilyang. you been invited to bake with hongshin.

since she's sweet as a red velvet cake. she had long bright red hair. and a familiar marking on her head to some future sect.

she's the definition of beauty in chaos.

you entered the clan of black rabbit to a rain of blossoms strucking the sky. and in such a spotland of training martial arts, death, and the sweat dripping to the ground of this clan. you had many thoughts in your mind once you walked upon the stairs of the golden jade palace.

"I don't know how to bake. That is hongshin's number one thing she likes to do in her free time."

"she's really pretty. so many I should ask her out?"

"Does she like me back?"

"ahh fuck I don't know how to feel."

the doors opened to only a good number of people.

To sky talking to yeri, jaha, seongtae eating in the back, and dokgo working out in the middle of the floor. they all looked at you. happy you are back. but you didn't see hongshin which is odd.

"Hi. Ehm.. I need to talk to jaha real quick." You took his hand and got silenced when he looked at you in confusion. his luscious black hair bounced in rhythm.

"what is it that you want Y/N?"

"...don't you know where hongshin is? because she invited me over to bake with her. as kind of an activity."

"Why would you come to me first? I'm not one to be an expert on dating advice. since badger games don't work on me." You went to a stage of being flustered once he mentioned "dating advice. "

" Why do I feel like this?" You ask nothingness in your head. all you can think about is a dimension of blossoms that has only one person in there. it's hongshin once again. like a hallucination of what love is. Putting the thoughts in your mind like fresh eggs turning scrambled.

"Look. I can tell you like her. so don't fuck up your move if you do make one. I trust you enough to help you. So she's in the kitchen. I saw her earlier before I went to go take care of some errands, so I'm pretty sure she's still there."

"You are pretty kind for someone so insane." You chuckled like he just boosted your confidence. he smiled warmly like an adorable cat. like he is one.

"try not to fuck up."

he pointed to a appearing sweet scent in the kitchen. like it dominated the air right now. it smelt like vanilla and a soft touch of strawberry. "Thank you, jaha." You left.

for the first time ever.

without her ordinary hairstyle that we see every day. it was straight and pretty. you flush in awe.

she shattered the eggs and put them into a bowl, reminiscing about how you weren't gonna come in her perspective.

"Hongshin." she took a glance at your face, being stuck at her hair. she squealed happily to your arrival and then attacked you with a hug. it was a bear hug.

"I thought you weren't gonna come to bake with me."

"Ah yeah.. I'm here now♡"

she snuggled in your chest. and she didn't just put all of her strength to bear to hug you all the way back. her arms were soft. like a hello kitty pillow with the best fabric to make someone fall asleep in such a short amount of time. "So.. just for this. You are deciding what to bake. And we will make it together" your fingers dug to her hair slightly.

it was soft but a bit wet.

"ah-sure. Ehmm..did you wash your hair?"

"Sorry if It feels wet. I had to wash it just for this occasion. And that my hair stinks. but don't worry about it. I'm ready to make a sweet treat♡" she waved her hands, all pumped up to bake with you.

"Ok, so we are baking vanilla cupcakes..I don't know how to bake."

"No, no. It's fine." she smiled and reached to your face so closely. "I actually wanted to hang out with you. I tricked you into baking. what do you want to do first? " your face turned into the tamale candy. but then

you had an idea. you took her hand and guided her out the clan to go to the destination for this idea of yours. ilyang rained of blossoms since it's spring. hongshin's eyes lit to the blue sky.

"This is the beauty of our world. but we live in such an evil world as well. With the demonic cult and the league being powerful enough to control us. I'm so glad that jaha can take care of evil chinese masters just for the protection of the innocent."

it continued to rain blossoms to the point of when it got to your head and hers. the air smelt sweet when you and her got to ilyang. curiosity killed the cat once you pointed to a new bakery.

it had key lime, chocolate,

Mint, dragon fruit,

strawberry, blueberry,

pumpkin, brownie.

Waffles, cheesecake,

Pancakes and cookies.

she went in awe. staring at the various treats. you brought out your yuan to pay for her treats as a good gentlemen would do to a woman they like.

"pick out what you like. I will pay for it." Her eyes looked back and forth to pick out something she wants. she got too greedy.

"strawberry shortcake." it was an option for two people, but she didn't want to be selfish. you paid for it and got the two deliciously smelling cakes to your hands.

With forks on the side.

"This is about to be so good." her fork minced through the cake like an execution of a head go missing. taking a bite of such flavor.

you blushed at her happiness, instead of taking a bite of your own cheesecake. you ate some of hongshin's. Sharing is caring, right?

took the fork off the light pink edges of the cake. the rain of the blossoms followed their path. she blushed a light pink to your presence. out of her own thoughts. we can't read minds.

"Y/N. I have something to share with you. I been thinking about this for a while, so I'm just gonna spill it out." she took a deep breath before breaking down to the second response.

"I'm in love with you. the baking we did back then was the only time we had to spend time with each other since jaha kept working our ass off. And I'm happy...I'm happy I get to spend time with a guy like you. You are the kindest person I met in my entire life. so if you reject me, then it's ok. I can accept our relationship as friends." your fingers moved on their own. you pushed her to a nearby tree.

Shaking off the growing blossoms and plant life.

your lips connected to something sweet. both together and one. You and her both dimmed eyes.

Hongshin, light red or crimson.

You. (Your eye color)

you felt her boobs onto your chest when moving closer into her. she adapted to this pretty well.

You didn't fuck up.

this continued.

Pushing her body into yours. as your hands went to her smooth body. took into consideration that you do love her.

You pulled out of the kiss with a lack of breath. Hongshin was stuck on what just happened. but reluctantly loved it.

"S-so...are we official?"

"yes we are."

(I don't know if my x readers are corny but if it is. Then say it. but I'm feeding you simps.)

#hongshin #return of the crazy demon #return of the mad demon #광마회귀

[unknownjpegs]

casualty

He dislikes working with Robson. Not just because the idiot is from some fucking ass-end rich hovel in Bedfordshire. A little bit for that, of course, because Benji hates that sort of man on principle. 

But no, he holds a grudge; doesn’t like the man because, on holiday leave about a year back, in some dirty hole bar, Robson had snatched his phone out of his hand. Benji does not like his space being invaded, despises the disrespect of it, having his things being touched. To make matters worse, he’d opened his camera roll, found a picture of Saha, and whistled like a heinous goddamn rat. 

“Now then, this one you’ll be gettin’ me in contact with, Sticks,” Robson says jovially, thumping him on the back. Hearty, familiar. He’s not being cruel or condescending. And it’s not more than he’s used to hearing from the fellas. It’s just… Benji does not like his space being invaded. More than that, Saha is off limits. She’s so disconnected from all this ugly fucking business, untouched by what his life has become, and he is absolutely determined to keep her free of it. Separating those two — the life before, the life now — makes thinking less muddied, too. 

“Over my rotting corpse,” Benji mutters. His knee is bouncing in anticipation. He’s not sure why. The half-full glass of liquor before him, cold against his knuckles, is almost grounding. Almost. 

“Aye well I’ll chat her up at the funeral then.” Robson bellows, looking around for approval from the rest of the guys. A few, the ones who don’t know Benji as well as they should, chuckle. “Make a step-brother out of you, huh?” 

It incenses him. Maybe because he’s in a mood to begin with, head pounding from getting walloped last night by the butt of a rifle. Maybe because he’s looking for somewhere to throw all the energy bouncing around in him — it always gets that way, ricochets  off his insides, when he’s trying hard not to think after a fight.

“She’s not into blokes,” he sighs, exasperated. “Especially not ass-ugly dickheads like you, mate.”

Robson’s lingering hand on his shoulder would be comforting, if they were friends. They’re not. Even if they were, Benji thinks he might’ve responded the same when the next words out of the other man’s mouth hit his ears. 

“Feel like I got a shot at gettin’ her into blokes.” He laughs again, but the rest of the counter is silent. “Or gettin’ a bloke into her.” 

“Awh,” says another soldier near the end, “that’s his bloody sister, mate.”

He makes the information known little too late, because Benji’s up out of the stool and behind Robson in a flash. Fists the back of his shirt tight, vision shaking with anger, and pulls Robson right out of his seat to the ground. 

He’s not sure what happens — either the alcohol or that place in his mind pulling the details fuzzy like wool, out of his brain’s reach. All he knows is that he comes to from the fight bloodied…

But not more bloodied than Robson. 

The rough end of it is this: Robson only grows more fond of him. Nothing more inspirational than putting your hands on another man in a violent fashion, Benji supposes. Just not the manner that he usually prefers. Robson thinks they’re friends now, that they’ve bonded or something over the experience. He can’t even be pissed about it, because the comments about Saha stop entirely. Worthy of respect only as she relates to Benji’s own humanity.

Ghost puts them together on more than one mission to even them out, so he says, leaving Benji with the warning that if he can’t manage it, there’ll be consequences. He doesn’t say ‘consequences’ like he means the fun sort, so Benji puts on his well-reprimanded soldier face. Promises true and good (aye aye, Lt!) that they’ll get along, be the best of friends, and watch each others’ backs. 

Benji’s doing that now. Watching his back, keeping his six clear. 

“Three inside, I think,” Robson says into his earpiece. Benji adjusts himself on the embankment, drifting his scope along the dilapidated warehouse’s window line, scanning for said three. He doesn’t see them, and lets Robson know as such.

“Reckon they’ve not seen the approach,” the soldier says, and now Benji can see his helmet bob along the bottom pane as he works through. He clears the hall and disappears into a door on his right, gone from observation with a speed that makes Benji anxious. “Bet you two on Saturday that I can get the drop.”

“Mate, I can’t cover —“ he’s cut off by the sound of gunfire, of several masculine grunts, of a savage, raw shout. Sounds like a wild fucking animal in the room.

“There were four.” Robson croaks, and then the earpiece goes quiet. 

“Fuck.” Benji hisses, slapping his glove down on the grass. “Fucking shite for brains piece of…fuck!” 

He leaps up, quick to action. Shoulders the rifle in favor of his sidepiece and nearly chews dirt as fast as he descends the hill. He’s not being careful, not clearing proper for anyone watching him, but all he can think of is how much he’ll hate himself — how guilty he’ll feel — if Robson goes like this under his watch.

Doesn’t like the guy, but doesn’t hate him. Certainly doesn’t want him goddamn dead. Fuck, he’s not gonna get there fast enough. 

The hallway is empty as he strides down it, quick yet noisy, fueled by haphazard anxiety. Good grip, praises his brain distantly — despite one one thumb tapping away on the back of the other. He’ll never be rid of the habit.

The pat pat pat keeps him sane as he checks each door, looking for Robson keeled over or worse, bloodied not from Benji’s fist but bullets. 

Relief like little else when he finds him, back to then doorway, knelt over the prone form of a combatant. Nondescript, black-clad uniform. One that Benji recognizes - Shadow. Tough fuckers, scary when cornered. There are three others in the room, and from the looks of them they’ve gotten a more favorable out than the last guy.

“C’mon,” Benji cringes, watching as Robson clutches his fists together, swings them above his head, and brings them down. There’s a thump, a wet crunch, and Benji is reminded of how brutally savage the man can be in combat. The way he can be, too. Robson is worse. Frightening, not because he’s particularly skilled, but because he always seems to enjoy it a little much. Like he’d be doing exactly, if allowed, on the outside.

“You gottem, you wanker. Real fuckin’ done in, this one,” he tries again, tries to keep it humorous. Robson is usually fine for it, satisfied by a bit of banter even in moments like this, but something wicked is in him now. Psychotic. 

“Naw,” he growls, and does that over-the-head swing again. The body beneath him kicks its legs, and Benji realizes it’s not a body at all. The poor fuck’s still alive. And more than that, putting up a respectable fucking fight. Robson isn’t a small man, but the merc nearly manages to buck him off after the next more blow. Benji is distantly impressed about it, but his stomach is also rolling dangerously at the blood that pools under one of the other soldier’s knees — not his. 

“Naw,” Robson says again. It’s a breathless grunt, sharp with unmanageable anger. Benji recognizes that he’ll kill the poor sap before anything else, and thumbs off his radio. “Tried to fuckin’ choke me.” 

“Alright, mate.” Benji hisses nervously, kicking the other bodies’ guns away as he trudges over. “You gottem, c’mon.” Even though he’s certainly done as violent and gory, Benji does not want to witness a man be bludgeoned to wet, red meat this way. Especially not one who can’t fight back. It feels — evil, even if that’s all they do now. Evil and intimate and personal. 

“Fuck, no. Sticks, you shoulda heard what he said —“

Robson settles back a little, head tilted inquisitively, then bellows and brings his fists down again. The body beneath him groans and then, to Benji’s shock, snarls out an unintelligible mess of half-words and syllables. Likely from a mouth filled with blood and teeth. Another punch, this time a familiar thing of which Benji has been on the opposite end. Close over Robson’s shoulder now, he can see how the mer’s cracked helmet is split down the center. Benji’s focus drags over a bloodied, black balaclava near the combatant’s elbow. Pieces of the helmet visor are scattered on the ground like glass. 

Benji takes a step forward.

“Face won’t do you much good when it’s fuckin’ mash, will it?” Robson sneers, gripping the guy by his tactical vest and shaking violently.

There’s a pause, and then the merc gathers spit and lobs it directly into Robson’s sneering face. 

“Still would get laid more than you, ugly,” says the combatant. His unhinged laugh, driven out by at his own goddamn insult, rings off the concrete walls. 

Benji freezes.

“Robson —“ he says weakly, stomach churning. “Stop.” 

He doesn’t. In fact, he doubles the effort. The next punch makes a sick sound against flesh, and then Robson adjusts his seat on that chest so he can get leverage to wrap meaty fists around the Shadow’s neck. 

“I wanna watch you die, mate,” he says coldly. “M’gonna watch it fade.”

 Benji takes another step forward, eyebrows drawn tight in anticipation, and feels his stomach sink.

Now, with a clear view, he notes the mess of the Shadow’s face. Unmistakable red hair springing from the split in the helmet, reminding him of a fragile little plant pushed through a crack in the sidewalk. Benji’s fingers twitch. 

“Robson.” He tries for a third time, and the plea is now a warning. “Don’t.” 

A pair of familiar eyes cut over to him. Well, one — the other is swollen shut, an ugly red knot that’ll bruise fiercely. There’s a hairline split across one cheek, torn maybe from the studs on Robson’s gloves. Benji finds himself assessing the injuries when that mouth drags open in a charmingly demented grin, teeth soaked red. 

“Hey,” says the Shadow. Benji blinks rapidly, feels his arms raise. He’s still gripping

 his sidearm. 

“You gotta stop,” he whispers, feeling ill. “You have to stop, mate.” 

“I’m fit to kill ‘em, Sticks,” Robson laughs, and he reaches down to retrieve his own weapon, cramming the muzzle against the pale, blood-soaked edge of Xavier’s chin.

Bad grip, his brain supplies.

Then it leads him away into the dark as his fingers squeeze around the trigger of their own accord.  

He comes back to himself to wheezing. He’s sat on the floor, knees pulled up and spread, his gun hanging loose between them. The wheezing — wet rattling, really — is coming from Robson. He’s got a bullet lodged in a lung, from the sound of it. Benji glances over. His squad mate is slumped face down, unmoving, a pool of blood soaking the back of his vest. 

Xavier is still laying in the same spot, just pulled upright a little higher on the wall Robson had him against. 

He’s panting, trying to catch his breath from having the weight on his chest for so long, and staring up at the ceiling. They’re both quiet.

“Wow. You just did a war crime.” Xavier says, finally. “You…good?”

“Oh, fuck,” Benji groans. He clutches his temple with his free hand. He’s gonna freak out, in just a second, can feel it. “Fuck. I killed him. I —”

“Nahhh,” he hisses, and somehow drags himself to his feet. Benji isn’t sure how he can do it, as absolutely walloped as he is, dripping blood. He limps over to Robson. Spits on him again, kicks him in the stomach.

“Nope,” he says cheerfully. “He’s alive.”

And then he lifts one long leg, ended in a black steel-toed boot, and stomps very fucking hard on Robson’s face, his skull. It makes a sick, wet noise, just as the blows to Xavier’s face had. The next one makes a sloppier sucking noise, the next a crunch, and the final stomp is sodden and heavy as the bottom of Xavier’s boot connects mostly with concrete floor.

“There,” he chirps, “Now he’s dead. You didn’t kill him, don’t worry. I did.” 

He sounds different, like his nose might be broken. Benji looks up in time to watch as the other man sits down with him, legs spread out on either side of his hips. 

“Come here often?” 

Benji swears under his breath, and puts his head in both hands. His ears are ringing. 

Xavier prods him with the side of his foot, leaving a patch of Robson’s blood on his pants.

“Hey. Look.” Benji does, face taut and twisted. Xavier’s grinning like he hasn’t just gotten beat within an inch of his life. “Be honest, Benji. I still have the money maker, right?” 

God, his stupid fucking accent. Benji can’t help the way his lips twitch.

“Bloody hell, mate, shut up. Yeah.” It’s the truth. As much as it pains him to see the injuries, Xavier manages to look good — maybe better — dripping his own blood, hair matted to his forehead. He glances over at the corpse. “I’m so fucked. Lieutenants gonna have me dragged ‘fore the goddamn court.”

“You killed someone for me. Shot your own guy.” He says. Benji groans. “Sorry. I killed someone for me.”  

“We went out for drinks a few times,” Benji says, ignoring the responding pout. Clarifies: “With the squad.” 

“I was about to say. What a downgrade.”

Benji pushes to his feet, and is not shocked to find himself shaky. Xavier follows with a pained grunt. The hand he places on Benji’s shoulder is comforting, and also serves to keep himself upright.

“I don’t know what to do.” He’s thinking about what he’ll say, how his life is about to be ruined, how Saha or his mom and especially his dad will never be able to look at him when they find out what he’s done. The turmoil must be evident on his face. 

“Lie, duh.” Xavier laughs, then doubles over and vomits onto the ground by his boot. “Ugh. I think I have a concussion.” 

Benji frowns. “Are you —“

“Yeah, we got a pick-up inbound.” That pretty eye opens wider. “Oh, shit. You should get out of here.” Xavier backs towards the door, opening it a crack to check the area outside the warehouse. “Now, probably. I’ll spare you now, but next time you might have to bribe me.” 

He tries to wink, but with his other eye swollen shut it just looks…fucking stupid. Despite everything, Benji’s chuckling when he brushes past and out the door. He’s going to have a panic attack, can feel it rolling sharp in he is veins, clutching at his chest, but he’ll at least be a safe distance away before it really kicks his ribs. 

“I’m a dogshite liar,” he calls back, halfway down the hall, and turns to jog backwards. “Bail me if it doesn’t work out?”

Xavier’s standing outside the room, bent in half with his hands on his knees. He lifts one to shoot Benji a thumbs up. 

•

His sitrep on the casualty goes well. Ghost is the only one who clearly thinks he’s leaving out detail. Benji doesn’t think he suspects anything nefarious — certainly nothing like what actually happened, and that’s a blessing. He doesn’t think he has it in him to lie to his Lieutenant. Especially, well, considering context. 

“How many Shadows?” Ghost asks, looking just as bored in such a meeting as he does on the battlefield. He hates casualties, Benji knows they eat him up just like they do for him, but he’s been at this long enough that losing a trooper like Robson is just another mission. 

“Three.” Benji lies. It’s more convincing than expected.

#writing #UA #bp #xw #bp x xw #core au

[astridthevalkyrie]

summer rain: chapter 2

Your days in the Training Corp aren’t too out of the ordinary. You make friends, you train hard, and you eat dinner every day.

Oh, and you’re also hellbent on getting revenge against Humanity’s Strongest Soldier.

Chapter 1, Chapter 3

Okay, okay, so, you’d prided yourself on your plan. Getting the lieutenant himself to train you personally so you could learn his weaknesses and use his own tricks to one day take him down and humiliate him in front of everyone - it’s convoluted, but it’s a good idea. It’ll take a while, but it’ll work if you stay dedicated. Right? Right.

But you hadn’t actually expected him to agree. And so easily at that. He’d given you a quick look over as though he was scanning for some potential scheme, and then he’d readily said he would train you, which not only shocked you, it shocked both Captain Erwin and the woman who you learned was Lieutenant Hange Zoe. If his friends were surprised, then this must be out of character of him. You can’t imagine why he possibly would willingly take you under his wing.

Maybe...maybe the harsh treatment was some twisted way of looking out for you. A small bit of guilt blooms in your chest at the thought, but you quickly squash it down. There are other ways to prepare someone for their future than by publicly embarrassing and physically harassing them. A simple hey, focus up, cadet would have sufficed. Not that you’d have listened, but he doesn’t know that.

Yeah, he’s just a dick. He probably has his own messed up reasons to be doing this. You have to mentally prepare yourself for whatever cruel and unusual punishment he’ll be inflicting upon you.

His instructions ring through your head as you go to bed that night.

“Be at the grounds at 4 AM, sharp. Don’t be late.”

However, that’s absolutely ridiculous. It’s bad enough that you have to adjust your sleep schedule to wake up at 8 AM instead of 11 AM since they don’t allow for beauty sleep at the Training Corp (how are you supposed to maintain your flawless skin?), but now he expects you to be up and out of bed four whole hours than everyone else? No one is expected to be up at that time. Not even him. People are sleeping at 4 AM. No, you’re absolutely not going to be getting up just to train with a grouchy, perverted midget, thanks very much. If he was serious when he gave you those instructions, he’s going to have to deal with someone who values their shut-eye time. Sorry not sorry, Lieutenant. Your dreams are pleasant that night, letting you visit the market on the edge of Stohess which always smelled of fresh fruits and exotic perfume.

You’re content with your decision until a fucking wave crashes on you and brutally brings you back to the world of the living.

With a heaving gasp, you sit up straight in a coughing frenzy, spitting up water. Your hair is soaked, along with your nightgown. Fat droplets run down your face and bite into your cheeks. It’s cold.

“Be quiet,” Lieutenant Levi mutters casually, as though he didn’t just dump a bucket of water on you, “you’ll wake up the others.”

You gape at him incredulously, bringing your hands up to frantically wipe water off your face. For a second, you forget all formalities and you forget he ranks far higher than you, or perhaps you just don’t care, and you splutter out what you’ve been wondering since the moment you met him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

For someone who seems to enjoy teaching you discipline, he never actually tells you off for these comments. Instead of chiding you for being rude, he says in a snippy tone, “I’ve been waiting for ten minutes. Get up, or I’ll refill the bucket.”

You don’t need any further encouragement. You throw off the thin and wet blanket and stand up, now fully awake. He rolls his eyes when he sees how silky your nightgown is - yeah, he damn well should feel bad for soaking such an expensive piece of fabric, the asshole. It’s worth more than that stupid tacky cravat he’s always sporting, that’s for sure.

Fortunately, no one else has woken up. Thank Maria, you’re not sure you could stomach someone seeing Lieutenant Levi demeaning you yet again. You shakily grab your clothes and uniform, and then turn to him. He raises a brow.

“Some privacy would be appreciated, sir.” You cross your arms over your chest protectively.

He scoffs pointedly, as though to tell you he’d have to be absolutely obtuse to want to see you naked, to which you only take a little offense. He gives you orders to hurry the fuck up and then leaves the barracks. You’re tempted to take your sweet time changing, but you really, really don’t want to risk getting soaked again. You just wish that you had time to dry your hair - the morning air outside is bound to be freezing. Sighing, you tie it up tightly, mourning the days you could let your precious tresses fly freely. Stupid military, stupid titans, stupid lieutenant. You dislike all of them greatly. In that order.

When you join him outside, he’s leaning against a tree, looking at you dully.

“Managed to have a tea party before you got down here, (L/N)? Or have you always walked at the speed of a snail?”

Holy hells help you, this is going to be a long day.

You salute, and he lets out a small tch, walking up to you and sizing you up. You tense up immediately, you wouldn’t put it past him to knock you down again for the heinous crime of making him wait.

“This is how this is going to work, Cadet.” He stands right in front of you and you force yourself not to look in his eyes, choosing to look at the pretty leaves on the birch tree behind him. “Every morning, from 4 AM to 6 AM, you’re here, and you’re doing whatever the hell I tell you to.” Probably allowing him to punch you in the face repeatedly. “Then you go back, get two more hours of sleep so that you don’t look like shit at breakfast.” It’ll take more than the likes of him to get you to look like shit, but sure, he can flatter himself. “If I’m on an expedition or not here for some other reason, you do a basic routine regardless.” Right, like he’ll know if you skip out. Nice try. “I might have you do other bits of training at another part of the day sometimes, but for the most part, we’ll be doing the brunt of it in the morning so it doesn’t interfere with your classes and shit.” Okay, that’s fair, and you can’t find a complaint with it no matter how hard you try. “Questions?”

You open your mouth, but he doesn’t give you a chance to actually ask anything before barking out an order. “Twenty-four laps around the grounds, now.”

Twenty-four? Okay, okay, you can do this, you knew what you were signing up for. He’s going to be harsh. He’s going to wear you out. You’re not going to break. Even if it’s the crack of dawn and he’s certifiably insane.

When you start running, his eyes follow you. You briefly wonder how he’s going to keep himself entertained throughout this, but then you remember that he’s cruel and terrible, and he’ll be entertained plenty watching you suffer. Besides, you have other things to focus on besides how much fun he’s having.

The maximum amount of laps Grumman has had you run so far is twelve, and that was with everyone else, so all the cadets could feed off each other’s energy and boost morale. Right now, there’s no one with you, no one to complain to, no one to hide behind so you can spend a few seconds walking instead of running. Oh, and it’s way too early. Have you mentioned that it’s way too early?

Half way through the fifteenth lap, you drop down on your knees and start panting. You’re tired. You want to go back to sleep. Screw your plan. Screw getting revenge.

“Oi!” The lieutenant calls out from his cozy spot under the birch tree. “I didn’t say you could take a nap!”

Most all all, screw him.

You hear him approaching, but you can’t bring yourself to get up. The grass is damp against your fingers, looking like a nice and cool spot to just lie down and rest your head for a few seconds. Sure, not as nice as a regular feathery pillow, but -

He kicks you on the side. It’s not that hard, but you still hiss in pain.

You hate him, you hate him, you hate him -

“Get up,” he snaps, impatient. “You’ve got nine more to go.”

Everything about him is grating, from his voice to his polished shoes to his gorgeous grey eyes. How you wish you could shut him up.

Clearly not someone who enjoys waiting, he yanks you up by your arm, letting out another tch at your murderous expression. He applies just the slightest pressure against your skin, before speaking in a tone that makes it clear he’s getting fed up.

“You’re the one who wanted to be trained. If you can’t handle a few laps, then forget about getting into the top ten.”

“I don’t want to get into the top ten,” you huff, writhing in an attempt to break free of his grasp to no avail. Why does everyone and their mother assume you’re some tryhard goody two shoes? “And even if I did, running these laps isn’t gonna get me there. So can we just leave it at fifteen?”

Lieutenant Levi pulls you in closer, until you’re nearly nose to nose with him. Your eyes widen as he tightens his hold on you, and you despise that your heart beats faster for whatever godforsaken reason. Unwillingly, you think about what it would actually feel like to be wrapped up in his arms, to have his hands on your waist, to have his lips on your -

Fuck fuck fuck. Wrong and fucked up line of thought. Focus.

“You seem to think we’re collaborating here, (L/N). Let me make it clear,” he drawls lazily, “we’re not. You’ll do what I say, no questions asked.”

“I’m going to ask questions, sir. Blind obedience isn’t good for anyone.”

“I think it’s less to do with blind obedience, and more with you wanting to be a pain in the ass.”

“Very astute of you,” you say without thinking, and his shoulders move in what might have been a laugh, but it happens so quickly you’re not sure if you imagined it or not.

“Finish the laps,” he orders, letting go of you and jerking his head, telling you to hop to it.

You glare petulantly, but start running anyways. What he doesn’t realize is he just let you have a break, no matter how short it might have been, and that’s exactly what you needed. Not so clever, this one. You take the small win and feel triumphant, even though you still have to run nine more laps and your hair is still wet and it’s still a forbidden hour for anyone to be awake at.

Once the laps are done, Lieutenant Levi allows no further time for relaxation before ordering you into thirty push-ups, which is just thirty more than your preferred amount of push-ups. The amount of fucking delight he takes in putting his foot on your back, making it just a bit harder for you to get up each time, is unbelievable. He’s a damn sadist, who thrills in your pain.

After the push-ups are finished, you have to do squats. Once the squats are finished, you move on to crunches. Then around five million side kicks, or at least that’s what it feels like. Then forward lunges. Then tricep extensions against the tree. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

How fucking long is an hour anyway?

By the time the lieutenant finally tosses you a flask of water - he throws it so quickly it almost hits your face - you’re winded, out of breath, and dizzy. Nothing hurts per se, but your body is desperately begging for you to stop, to take a break, to just sit down for a single second. You know that any second now, you’ll be back in bed, and the only obstacle to that destination besides the fear that you might collapse halfway there is this asshole of a midget in front of you. You technically can’t leave until he dismisses you, a rule that you despise with all your being.

You think that dismissal is coming when he takes the flask back and then gives you another demand.

“Ten calf raises. Just a test run. I’ll see if I can put it into your routine.”

You look at him disbelievingly for two reasons - one, because he’s actually continuing this torture and two, he’s assuming you know what the hell calf raises are.

He sighs exasperatedly and then demonstrates. It seems simple enough, it’s just standing on your tippy toes, spreading your feet out, repeating the action, spreading them out even more, and then doing it again. Three angles, just a bit of balance for a few seconds.

At this point, you’ll do whatever it takes to go back to bed.

So you start. You do three (there’s three angles, so technically nine, but who’s counting? certainly not you) and everything’s fine.

The fourth set leaves you a bit sore, but whatever.

The fifth set hurts.

The sixth set stings like a bitch.

After the seventh, you cry out in pain. It’s quiet, but mortifying.

Great, just great. The whole point of this was to pick up on his weaknesses, and here you’ve accidentally exposed your own. You freeze completely, eyes on the ground, waiting for the lieutenant to say something about how weak you’re acting.

But he doesn’t say anything, and you’re too nervous to look at him in case he catches the embarrassment playing out on your face.

Eight. Your calves are killing you, but you’re not going to cry out again. Ever.

Nine. Holy shit. Are you on fire? You think you’re on fire.

One more. You can do this. You’ve done all the others.

“Hey,” a sharp voice cuts through the air, but you pay him no mind.

You clench your fists, muster up all your strength, and push yourself up as hard as you can.

And immediately regret it.

Your legs buckle under you, and you stumble with a yelp. You didn’t mean to. It just hurt so bad, but now you’re going to be on your knees again -

Up until now, you’d seen how fast Lieutenant Levi could move because he was constantly throwing you around like a child would throw around its favorite toy. When you feel a breeze against your skin, your mind is thrown into an alarmed state for a fraction of a second. He’s coming at you, to what? Push you? You’re already falling down, so nice try, jerk, but -

It takes you a few seconds to realize he’s caught you.

With his arms hooked under yours, he lets you put your weight on him, ignoring your astonished expression. Even the blunt pain is pushed aside as you take in the fact that he stopped you from falling. Apparently you can only be knocked down when he decides you can. For the life of you, you truly cannot figure out just what this man’s deal is.

“Well, then,” Levi murmurs against your ear, “we’ll leave that one out from now on.”

____________________

Millie informs you that you look like shit over breakfast, and you tell her to kindly fuck off.

____________________

These lovely morning meetings become routine. Since you’re waking up earlier, you try your best to go to sleep earlier too, but you’re a night owl who can’t be caged, so the operation isn’t really successful there.

Instead, you try to rest any second you can during the day. While Millie, Stephen and Ricky are reading over their notes under the same birch tree that you and Lieutenant Levi meet at, you’re lying on the grass with an arm thrown over your eyes. It’s not like you need to study that hard - one doesn’t need whole hours to learn that titans are dangerous.

Besides, your arms are sore from your push-ups this morning. You usually don’t do the same thing twice in a row, apparently the lieutenant likes to switch things up. Which is just fine with you, of course, you’ve never been a fan of the same old thing every day; you joined the military to get away from the feeling that all your days were stationary and felt the same. And the whole dead dad thing, but that’s kinda secondary.

“Try putting ice on it,” Stephen offers helpfully, the only one of the three to take your complaining in stride.

“Try putting a gag in your mouth,” Millie adds.

“Try taking the stick out of your ass,” you tell her pointedly before offering a grateful smile to Stephen.

“Have you considered asking yourself if this is worth it?” Ricky tosses his notes aside and nudges your head with his knee. “Your super duper revenge plan -”

“It’s a mega super duper revenge plan.”

“Yeah, that. Is it worth exhausting yourself like this?”

Surprisingly, Stephen is the one who speaks up. “I don’t think it’s right for a superior to disrespect his subordinate and get away with it without any repercussions.”

“Look, what he did was...sketchy,” Ricky concedes, “but he’s him, y’know? Some people are good enough to act like that and get away with it.”

“No one’s good enough to act like that. Do you know how hard he runs me into the ground every single day? He’s never satisfied, not until I’m fucking collapsing. The only reason he’s stopped dumping water on me is because he says it’s a waste of resources.” You blow out a puff of air, frustrated. Why does no one understand how not okay the lieutenant’s actions are? “And he never does anything himself. I haven’t picked up any weaknesses. I have to keep going until I find one.”

“That’ll take you your entire time here.”

“So be it,” you say dramatically, before finally sitting up.

You’ll stick to it for however long it takes. There are boundaries that should never be crossed, and Lieutenant Levi’s managed to cross every single one of them.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a familiar figure. It’s him, of course it’s him. It’s not enough that he disturbs your sleep, no, he has to make his presence known during the day too. Sure, maybe he’s just going about his day and not actively trying to aggravate you, but he’s still in your line of sight and he has such a punchable face.

Maybe Lieutenant Levi senses that he’s being watched, because his head turns and he catches your gaze.

You wave with a sugary smile, acting like you weren’t just fantasizing about punching his face.

Without so much as an acknowledgement, he looks away and keeps walking.

You scoff. Rude fucking midget.

____________________

The best parts of your days are undeniably after hours. Or more specifically, that small period before dinner and bedtime, when there’s nothing required of you, and you can slip away. You like leaving a bit earlier than everyone else, just to enjoy the cool night outside. It’s funny, how there are so many rules and restrictions here at the military, but a girl can still just get up and wander outside at night and no one will look at her strangely. It’s a wonderful feeling, freedom.

You’re just about to begin what’s sure to be a leisurely walk around the grounds when there’s suddenly a vice-like grip on your arm. You gasp, the first instinct to defend yourself. You raise your fist and immediately launch it, only for it to be caught rather easily.

The lieutenant rolls his eyes at your attempt to defend yourself. “I sincerely hope you never get mugged.”

If he followed you out here, that’s frankly quite creepy and he should feel ashamed of himself.

“I hope someone steals your cravat,” you mutter, and the corners of his lips twitch in amusement. “Can you let go? Sir,” you add quickly - it was becoming easier to forget that you had to refer to him properly. “I have a walk to take that doesn’t involve doing push-ups or crunches.”

His eyes are alight with cruel intentions. You hate that you still find them fascinating. “I have a training exercise for you.”

“You’re a few hours early, Lieutenant.” You give him a condescending smile. “See, 4 AM actually isn’t until much much later. It’s okay, I know telling time can be tough.”

His lips purse in displeasure, and you mentally do a small, victorious dance.

“Be that as it may, I recall telling you that your training can take place at any time that I see fit.”

“But,” you protest, stomping your foot childishly, “you also said you didn’t want to interfere with my regular training!”

He makes a point of looking to the right and then to the left and then finally back at you. “I don’t see any drills going on around here. Do you?”

If you say you do, will he let you off? Probably not, he’ll just cart you off to the infirmary and declare you mental.

“Fine,” you mutter with gritted teeth, “what is it now?”

Without answering, he turns and beckons you to follow. Like a good little obedient soldier. You fume silently, walking behind with clenched fists. First he cuts into your rightful nap time, and now into your wonderful walking time. Is there no limit to the amount of serene, private moments he plans to intrude on?

For some reason, the two of you head indoors, towards the rooms and offices. You may just be a dumb cadet, but even you’re pretty certain that none of the exercises are done in here. Is he taking you to his room? Why would he -

Wait.

Your mouth falls open, but your steps don’t falter. This is highly inappropriate. You don’t know what kind of woman Lieutenant Levi takes you to be, but you did not sign up for this. So you ask him to train you and call him sir a few times, and the man thinks you’re all good and willing, does he? That since he’s Humanity’s Strongest, he can have whoever he wants? What an insult to the name of courting. Where he finds the nerve to keep pulling stunts like these, you’ll never know.

Training your ass. This is an indecent night call. And you would never, ever -

Well.

Maybe. In a hot, scandalous kind of way that you would only ever tell Millie about. Not that you’d enjoy it, not with him. It’s more the forbidden aspect that’s attractive. It’s certainly not about the lieutenant, even with his nimble fingers and cold eyes and sharp tongue that you’re sure he could work wonders with - okay so maybe it is about him a little bit.

But it would also be delightful to turn him down. To watch the light leave his eyes (not that it was there in the first place) as you proudly tell him you respect yourself too much to sleep with a man who’s so arrogant and callous. Yeah, that’ll show him.

His fingers, though.

You’re so caught up in your little debate that you almost crash into him when he stops in front of a door. Ah, a private area. The barracks? How many members of his squad does he share a room with? You twitch uncomfortably.

“Here we are.” Even his voice sounds sultry. Or maybe it always sounds like that. Who knows.

“Why are we here, sir?” Your throat feels dry.

He turns and gives you a look that is decidedly not sexy. Rather, it seems like he thinks you’re the most idiotic person he’s ever had the unfortunate pleasure of laying his eyes on.

“You’re going to clean up in here, did you not hear me the first time?”

What?

You’re not sure what feels the most embarrassing. The fact that he’s apparently decided you’re the official Training Corp maid, or that you had actually been so comfortably considering sleeping with him that you tuned out what he was saying.

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you frown. “Sir, I mean no offense -” He raises a brow, clearly ready to get offended - “but your, er, sanitary habits are pretty much known to everyone here. I doubt that I’ll be able to make your room sparkle more than it already does.”

Lieutenant Levi scoffs. “Then it’s a good thing this isn’t my room.”

He opens the door and your mouth falls open in horror.

“This is Lieutenant Hange’s lab,” he explains as he steps in, “and before you ask, I’ve already secured her permission for you to clean up.” Producing a broom out of thin air, he shoves it in your waiting hands.

“Lieutenant, I...this is…”

“Disgusting. Yeah. So better not waste any time. You need to get some sleep if you want to survive your morning drills tomorrow.”

“Lieutenant, I’m from Stohess.” Too late do you realize that you’re pleading. “I’ve never even seen a pig’s den that is as messy as this.”

Countless exercises at the crack of dawn, and this is what’s broken you. The room is horrifying. It’s straight out of any neat freak’s nightmares. You don’t know how the lieutenant even stomachs looking at it.

“Never cleaned your own room, huh? Not surprised,” he muses, and you shoot him a dirty look.

This isn’t the spoiled brat in you talking, no, this is the sane human who knows that this room is basically hell incarnate.

“How does this count as training? You just need someone to do the Survey Corps’ dirty work!”

“Is there anything you don’t complain about?” he demands, but oho, you are ready.

“Exercising I can understand. Your random bursts of physical violence - harsh, but whatever.” Not like you’re trying to get vengeance for them, but he doesn’t have to know that. “This is just work, and I want to be paid if you’re making me do work.”

This makes him snort, shaking his head at you like he’s your teacher and you’re not understanding the most basic of concepts. “You’re not a merchant, (L/N), you’re a soldier.”

“A soldier, not a servant!”

“I am ordering you to do this,” he says softly, “are you disobeying an order, Cadet?”

Well, when he puts it like that, you’d rather not get kicked out of the military before you even complete your training. And certainly not before you make the lieutenant pay with everything you have. Oh, revenge will be sweet.

Begrudgingly, you step into the lab, swallowing your nervous inhibitions. This place is a dump, you wonder how Lieutenant Hange even gets any work done in here.

Goddammit, you are never going to clean this place up, no matter how hard you try!

“Like I said, we still need you to sleep,” the he-devil murmurs behind you, “so this better be done in an hour. I’ll come check on you then.”

Oh, fuck him. You wait until he leaves, and then get to work.

____________________

His royal highness comes back an hour later just like he said he would. When he opens the door, he finds you sprawled on the floor against the wall, tired but with your chest puffed up proudly, eyes zeroed in on him to see his reaction.

The room is spotless and distinctly organized. Papers that were strewn everywhere are now in one pile next to a stack of Lieutenant Hange’s many, many journals. Vials and flasks have been placed on top of one another by the sink, where they can be quickly washed and ready for use. The tops of the desks are spotless and dust-free. The floor is not only clean, but shiny.

There’s a brief flash of surprise on Lieutenant Levi’s face as he looks back at you. You allow yourself to smirk. Sure, your arms hurt even worse than they already did and you still feel like a maid because you’ve done more cleaning in the last hour than you have in your entire life (not because you’re spoiled, just because no rooms back home are ever this messy), but it’s worth it to see that he’s impressed by you, no matter how he tries to hide it.

You don’t know why you want him to be impressed in the first place, but you decide not to question it right now.

“Not bad,” he finally relents, walking up to you. “You plan to sleep here, or are you gonna get up?”

You snort. Such a charmer, this one. Well, you’re too lazy to stand on your own, so you hold your hand up expectantly. It’s really the least he can do after being no help at all.

After giving you a long look, he takes your hand and pulls you up to your feet. Your legs feel a little wobbly, and you wryly think about how you’d figured you’d be leaving the base with wobbly legs anyway. What a ridiculous fantasy. You hate him, and he probably hates you too. You would never do anything of any sort with him.

“Go to bed,” he orders quietly, taking note of how tired you look.

“So, 5 AM tomorrow, right?”

Again, he looks dryly amused like he always does when you say things like this, as though you’re just the funniest fucking person he’s ever met. “Nice try, (L/N).”

“When do you even sleep?” you question, brows furrowed in curiosity. You’ve wondered for a while.

Lieutenant Levi shrugs. “Usually from 1 to 3.”

You blink in disbelief, shaking your head. “Sorry, what?”

“Got a problem with that?” He’s clearly not fond of where the conversation’s headed, since he grabs you by the back of your collar and pushes you forward, out of the room. You comply, but you’re not done with this line of questioning. No one can just get two hours of sleep daily and continue to function normally.

“Is this why you’re so grouchy all the time?”

“You have no respect at all,” he quips, still shoving you ahead. The base is for the most part, bare and empty, since nearly everyone’s gone to bed by now. There’s only a few people still around, and they pay the two of you no mind.

“Have you always been an insomniac?”

“Fail to see why it’s any of your business.”

“Are you trying to make me an insomniac?”

The lieutenant sucks in an exasperated breath. “No, then I’d be punishing all insomniacs.”

“Rude.”

“You’re one to talk.”

You don’t know why it’s so easy to engage in banter with him. He never discourages you, as much as he points out how unruly you are. In fact, he seems to enjoy it almost as much as you do.

And you do enjoy it, as much as you don’t want to.

“Lieutenant,” you begin hesitantly, not sure why you’re saying this, “I hear chamomile helps people go to sleep.”

“So it does,” he mutters dryly, “thanks for the observation.”

Fuck him, you were trying to be helpful.

“Are you going to walk me all the way back?” You hum thoughtfully, craftily. “People might get the wrong idea.”

At this, his footsteps stop, and you wince. God, your mouth really just runs a mile ahead of your brain at all times, doesn’t it? It won’t be satisfied until you’ve dug yourself into a hole that you just can’t get out of. Implying to Lieutenant Levi that people would think the two of you had sex is just the icing on top of the snarky cake you’ve been baking him since you got here. When you turn around, he’s looking at you with an appraising expression.

“What wrong idea will they get, Cadet?” he asks softly, grey eyes piercing through you.

Your mouth is dry. Surely he knows, does he need you to say it? Of course he does, he wants to make you uncomfortable. You can’t even blame him, this one’s all on you.

Screw it, you might as well be blunt.

“They might think we slept together.”

If he’s taken aback, he doesn’t show it. “I see. And what would you do if these rumors spread?”

You take a deep breath. “Gouge my eyes out, sir.”

This time, you can’t chalk it up to your imagination or a trick of the light. He scoffs, but he’s laughing, normally cruel lips twisted in a humorous smile. You’re surprised by how pleasant the sight is, like looking at a lily in a field of roses. Out of place, yet so very beautiful, a sight you can’t take your eyes off of. Just how does one man manage to be so fascinating? It takes a lot to make you want to swoon, especially for someone who you harbor such negative feelings for. How does he manage it so easily?

“Can’t have that.” His expression is still lit up in mirth. “You better go the rest of the way yourself.”

You salute, and turn around. Even as you walk, the image of him laughing - laughing at something you said - is burned into your mind, and it makes something in your chest clench in an all too unfamiliar way.

Maybe he watches you go, but you’re too proud to look back and check.

____________________

The air is abuzz with excitement. Everyone’s been waiting for this day. If you didn’t know better, you’d say that everyone joined the military simply so that they could do this.

This being using the ODM gear, of course. Everyone has mastered the basics by now, or they’ve dropped out. The one who stayed have perfected balancing and not falling flat on their faces, they’ve watched senior veterans use the gear, and they’ve gotten a brief example of what it feels like to be shot forward through the air. Utilizing the blades properly will eventually be taught too, but for now, they get to practice flying. Actual flying. How amazing is that?

While people usually pair off on their own, Grumman sees fit to assign pairs himself today, much to everyone’s chagrin. By some shitty luck, you’re not paired with Millie, Ricky, or Stephen. You’re not even paired with Nifa or Jack, who you’re friendly enough with.

No, you’re paired with Petra fucking Ral.

You probably wouldn’t even know or care about who Petra was if not for Millie’s incessant complaining about her. Petra is one of the few people who balanced in the gear belts perfectly on her first try (you were also in that group, but Millie’s not gonna complain about you to you), Petra is all their teachers’ favorite because of how easily she retains information, Petra doesn’t have a hair out of place even when she fights. Petra this, Petra that.

Petra is Millie’s main competition for the number one position.

Frankly, you think your best friend is projecting.

“Do you feel a bit ridiculous too?” she asks after the two of you have put your gear on.

“Just a little.” You face her and strike a pose. “Do you think the titans would appreciate some more flair?”

Petra laughs, nodding. “Some eye candy would go a long way, I’m sure.”

The two of you exchange grins, straightening to attention when the instructor passes in front of you. He looks between you and murmurs something to himself before shouting out loud for just about everybody to hear. “(L/N) and Ral will go first! All the rest of you little shits, pay attention!”

Apparently being paired with golden girl Petra Ral means that you’re supposed to be a role model or something now. You groan inwardly - it seems everyone is convinced you want to be a model cadet. When will they get it through their thick skulls that you’re not that boring?

You and your partner step apart until there’s a safe distance between you two. In front of you is a forest, a forest that is the perfect place to practice with the ODM gear. You grip the handles firmly, knees crouching a little. Excitement bubbles inside you as you tense in anticipation. This is it! This is the first step to you becoming a full-fledged soldier. You’re one step closer to everything you’ve worked for.

“On my mark! Ready, set…”

You toss your shoulders back and push your chest forward and out of the corner of your eye you see Petra do the same.

“Go.”

Whizzing sounds are heard as the two of you fire your cables at the same time. You gasp as you’re shot forward, hurtling through the air at an electrifying speed. The trees rush past you in a blur of green and brown as you go up, up, up into the sky. You let out a breathless laugh as the hooks come free. This feeling, this feeling of your stomach jumping, this nerve-wracking feeling of doing something so dangerous and so thrilling at the same time - you’ve been craving it all your life. And here you are. You’re doing it, you’re actually up in the air and you’re flying. It’s incredible. You could stay up here forever.

So enthralled are you by this experience that you forget to hook to the next target, and with an unceremonious shriek you tumble through the branches and fall on the dirt below. Some gets in your mouth, unfortunately, and you hear loud chortles behind you. You spit out the rancid soil, shooting a glare behind you when you hear another whiz.

Up above you, Petra is still in the air. She’s slowly lowering herself down, though, concern dancing in her eyes as she stumbles to a stop a few feet away from you and rushes to help you up.

“Are you okay?” She looks genuine.

You sigh. Fucking Millie, she couldn’t share your distaste for Lieutenant Levi but she found it in her to hate this girl?

“I’m alright.” You take her hand and stand up, dusting dirt off your clothes. “Just got carried away.”

Petra giggles. “You were saying something about flair, right?”

You smile wryly, beckoning for her to come closer as an idea pops into your head. “We’ve got about two minutes before Grumman sends in the next pair. I bet I can get deeper into the forest than you can.”

Her eyes shine competitively, and she nods.

And without a beat, you two are up in the air again. You’re not a natural like she is, but you sincerely doubt that she or anyone else appreciates the wind whipping through their face quite like you do. You belong up here. You can feel it. For the first time in your life, you know instantly that you’re creating a memory that you will cherish for however little time you might have left.

____________________

Your heart beats with excitement as you bounce on the heels of your feet, looking behind your shoulder nervously. “Hurry up, Ricky!”

“I’m hurrying, now be quiet, someone’s gonna hear you.”

You don’t see how. No one is wandering around the kitchens right now. The cooks who prepare the food left their stations ages ago, and no one else in the base would have any reason to be wandering down here. Normally, you wouldn’t have any reason either, but today is a bit of a special day. Or more accurately, it’s a precursor to a special day. The day after tomorrow will mark the Survey Corps’ next expedition and as always, the cooks are preparing something special for the heroes and fools. An energizer for some, and a last meal for others. While you know that the lowly cadets haven’t done anything heroic - yet - you and Ricky agreed that some pastries would surely make everyone happy. Just a few measly sweet tarts, the Scouts wouldn’t miss them. You didn’t lay a hand on the meat, knowing fully well that most of the people going out in two days would savor it much more than you would.

Ricky is quickly shoving the tarts into a pouch, taking his sweet time counting so that everyone got the same amount. Fucking outer city peasant, concerned with fairness. You sigh impatiently, bouncing on your feet. You’re hungry. The bread at dinner seemed even more stale than usual today.

“Hey, what are you two doing?”

Your eyes widen at the same time as Ricky’s - why in the holy hells is the head chef still here? Does he sleep here? Before you can consider the disturbing implications of that possibility, you’re grabbing Ricky’s arm and running for all you’re worth. You’re counting on the fact that it’s dark in the kitchens, so hopefully he didn’t see your face. Unfortunately, the chef seems intent on finding out who broke into his precious kitchen, because he clambers on out after you.

After running for two minutes, he shows no sign of stopping.

“S-split up,” Ricky pants, wheezing as you two flee.

“Fine,” you huff, a bit proud of the fact that you’ve got more tolerance than he does, “but I want leverage.”

Without waiting for him to respond, you snatch a pastry from the top of the bag and skid to the hallway on the right while Ricky keeps running forward. The chef chooses to chase him, and you cackle maniacally at your friend’s terrible luck. You’re home free, and you have your dessert as a trophy too.

You turn your head to double check, turn back, and then crash face first into someone’s chest.

Rough hands grip your wrists to catch and steady you, and when your eyes adjust to the darkness, you want to scream.

Why is he everywhere?

Lieutenant Levi’s gaze goes from the tart in your hand to your panicked expression, and he understands what’s going on without any need for an explanation from you. He takes a step closer to you, tugging you firmly so you can’t move back. You swallow nervously, stuttering out apologies for crashing into him and for being up past curfew. He listens to you ramble, but doesn’t let go. His eyes flicker to the pastry again.

“Those are for the Scouts,” he murmurs lowly. Is it your stupid imagination again or does his voice sound more husky than usual? “Not for fucking brats, (L/N).”

Normally you’d answer with some witty comeback, but you’re feeling a bit dizzy with how close he is and how hungrily his stormy eyes are watching you. The most you can do is open and close your mouth like a fish out of water. You’re in deep shit now, you know that much.

Without removing his piercing gaze from your face, he lowers his head a bit, and takes a bite out of the tart in your hand.

You could swear your heart stops beating for a second. His grip on your wrists suddenly feels like it’s hard enough to make them bruise, even though you can tell he’s not holding on that tight. You watch him chew, swallow, and then lick his lips, all without looking away for even a second. It’s mesmerizing. Before you can tell what you’re doing, you raise the tart a bit, and let him take another bite. As though you’re fucking feeding him, like a good fucking girl. The lieutenant’s lips curl into a small smirk, and you think you’re going to drop on the spot when he takes a third bite, finishing the pastry, the tip of his tongue just brushing against your index finger.

You wonder if he can hear just how erratically your heart is pounding.

Levi’s close, too close. You don’t know what to do, how to break his scrutiny of your face, or if you even want to. He leans in, just a little. Your breath gets caught in your throat. When did you forget how to breathe? It should be easy. Suck in air, let it out, repeat.

He tilts his head a millimeter.

You sigh in anticipation, lean forward, and…

He turns away at the last second, and your lips meet his cheek.

Fuck.

You gasp against his skin, not moving. From his amused expression, he can tell that your face is burning up. Somehow, he’s managed to embarrass you again, even if this instance isn’t public and doesn’t end with you in pain. This feels worse than all the other times, though. Before, you were simply thrown around, his way of calling you weak. Physically weak. Not strong enough, a rookie. But this, this is him telling you that he knows he lords some power over you, something that transcends his rank. Something personal.

“Thanks for the snack,” he says, stepping back only a little (see: not enough) to cup your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Now hurry to bed before I decide I want more.”

Heat pools from your stomach right down to your core. If possible, your cheeks grow even hotter.

The lieutenant lets go and turns around, leaving you standing there with a wide-eyed expression, feeling strangely empty as you watch him go.

You’re never going to let him catch you breaking curfew again.

If you’ve never done calf raises before, I do not recommend, they genuinely will leave you sore for a bit if you’re not used to them. But otherwise, yay for exercise I guess.

Reader is very cocky but we love her for it.

We don’t have Petra slander here, folks. I adore her. Millie doesn’t, though. Rip.

Let me know what you think!

#aot #attack on titan #aot x reader #levi x reader #snk x reader #levi ackerman #snk

[dreamingofaizawa]

Perfectly Fine

Yandere! Pro Hero! Shinsou Hitoshi x Reader

*No gender-specific terms were used here*

Warnings: Yandere themes, implied kidnapping, questionable fluff? Stockholm-ish?? I don't fucking know

Word Count: 944

Author’s Note: Alright, so I’ve been wondering a lot about someone who really just, like, doesn’t care that a Yandere just kidnapped them? Like, they’re just super chill and decide to roll with the punches since Shinsou is so patient and lets them go at their own pace, even though it’s for his own benefit. Needless to say I don’t condone these actions, this is clearly and exclusively fantasy. 

Part 2 here

Enjoy~

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He wanted you to come to him. He wanted you to actively want to be around him, to want him to touch you, to want him in general. Which is why he decided that once he brought you home, he’d leave you alone in order to have you begging for him. He was nothing if not a patient man, after all. But he wasn’t expecting it to happen so quickly.

____

It’s been about a week since you woke up in a house you didn’t recognize. You didn’t panic. You knew what had happened, though you never expected it to happen to you, and you never expected it to be so different from what you’d read. Hitoshi made it clear that you were to use his given name, which made sense if the fanfic you’d read was accurate in any way. But other than that he never made heinous demands, never forced himself on you, never even got near you. 

It was like living with a new roommate, just slightly uncomfortable with each other’s presence and everything just a little bit awkward. Even though it’d only been a week, you didn’t see the purple haired man as a threat at all. You had no fear of him. Some would argue that you should feel panicked, feel angry and sad that you’d been kidnapped. But honestly? You didn’t mind.

Your life wasn’t complete shit, but it wasn’t the best either. You didn’t really have any close friends, and you’d disconnected from your family years ago. Money was always an issue with your low-paying job and the horrible luck you had attempting to find a better one. But if you were right, pretty much none of your past mattered anymore.

It was comfortable, if you were being honest. You had free range of the house as long as you behaved. He never intruded on your personal space. It was nice. Though there were a couple voices lingering in the back of your mind. One was incessantly reminding you how touch-starved you’d been since middle school. The other was co-conspiring with the first and told you this man had taken you because he was convinced he cared about you. Put them together and you have a solution to your desperate need for human contact. 

Today was the day you decided that you’d start getting comfortable with him, considering you were probably never leaving. Not that you were complaining. He was lounged on the couch as per the usual, an arm up on the back as he slumped into the cushions. He glanced over at you as you walked out in one of his t-shirts and a pair of shorts, which you’d somehow managed to really like wearing instead of the clothes he’d bought for you.

You dropped your eyes and stood still, waiting for him to turn his attention back to the tv. He did, and then you were moving again. It only took you a few seconds to reach him and sit down under the arm draped over the back of the couch. Then you cuddled into his side with your knees curled into your chest and your head on his shoulder. You could feel his eyes on your head, but you didn’t look up at him.

His deep monotone voice vibrated through your body. “Is everything okay?” You could feel your face heating up as you hugged your knees closer. Your voice came out soft and meek, but it was definitely not from fear. “Y-yeah. I just… w-wanted to cuddle…” Why was it so embarrassing to admit you wanted skin contact with another human? You could feel his chuckle rumble in his chest.

“Oh really? Didn’t know you were such a needy little kitty.” Your eyes went a little wide and your face burned hotter before you ducked your head to hide your face in your knees. Shuffling next to you made you peek out, but you squeaked when his hands grabbed you and lifted you onto his lap. Really, you didn’t mind the closer position. In fact, you rather liked it. He released you to let you get comfortable on your own, and you took advantage of the freedom to choose how you wanted to cuddle.

You settled with something that would guarantee a whole lot of contact. Turning, you straddled his lap and buried your face into his neck, wrapping your arms around his torso and squeezing your body up against his. You sighed into him, breathing his scent and warmth into you. He didn’t move, and you whined a little, hoping he’d get the message. He either didn’t get it, or purposely didn’t do anything about it.

You whined again before grabbing his arms and pulling them around you. He let out an actual laugh this time. “You’re such a cute little kitten.” The statement made heat crawl up from your chest to your cheeks, and you nuzzled into his neck and clung to him, somehow embarrassed by his words. His arms locked around you and you leaned into him, letting the couch carry the both of you. 

He could live with this, and as long as he allowed you to go at your pace, so could you. It definitely wasn’t normal, and you knew this wasn’t healthy, but you might as well make the best out of the situation. The little voice in your head that nagged about Stockholm Syndrome vanished rather quickly, because it was illogical to fight this, and really, there was no valid route of escape. And if you got to cuddle like this all the time, you’d rather not return to your formerly lonely existence. 

This was perfectly fine.

#shinsou hitoshi #shinsou hitoshi mha #shinsou hitoshi bnha #yandere shinsou #yandere shinsou hitoshi #shinsou hitoshi x reader #yandere shinsou x reader

[lag1995-fics]

Hey can I request a fanfic for Evan's character kit walker and song a turning page from twilight?

I hope you like it thank you for requesting. ❤️

Turning Page

Song:Turning Page by Sleeping at Last

Pairing: Kit Walker X Reader

Warnings: some cussing

Words: 2010

Summary:Kit’s highschool sweetheart waits for him

Song Fic Masterlist

////::::////

You and Kit Walker had been high school sweethearts, he was your first love; and if you were being honest he was your only love. You guys had mutually broken things off after highschool when you had gotten into an out of state college.

When you came back the first time after getting your degree, you found out that Kit had moved on and married a woman called Alma. You weren’t jealous, a little disappointed maybe, but you were genuinely happy for them. Kit was a good man and you had always known he would make a good husband. You couldn’t put yourself through watching them though, you had never given up on your relationship with Kit. He had ruined you for other men. You had other boyfriends during school but the longest relationship had only lasted a month.

You decided to move back to Boston leaving your small town life behind. You loved a relatively happy life in the city, distracting yourself from the life you wished you had. You had gotten a degree in education, so you threw yourself into teaching children.

You had been happy to hear that they had apparently apprehended the serial killer, who went by the bloody face moniker. Well you had until they said it was Kit Walker, you reasoned with yourself that it had to be someone else named Kit Walker. Your Kit would never be able to do something as heinous as what they claimed Bloodyface did. Your Kit was a gentle soul, who would do his best to bring happiness and peace to anyone he might meet.

When you saw his face flash on the evening news that night you had broken down and sobbed. Kit was being framed for a murder he hadn’t committed. He wouldn’t even kill a spider much less the woman he married. You had started making calls trying to get on as a character witness. That whole town was racist and this stunk of a town coverup.

They wouldn’t let you be his witness though, they claimed you hadn’t spoken to him for over six years. You had screamed and cried even harder when they rejected you. You had never stopped loving Kit even if it had to be one sided from afar. You wrote him letters trying to convey to him that people still believed in him. That you would always love and believe him.

He never wrote you back. The guards at the prison who checked his mail had scoffed thinking of you as some loon and had trashed them. When he was committed to Briarcliff Asylum they too disposed of the many letters.

When you hear of Kit’s death you fall into a dark depression. You’re barely hanging on, when you happen to skim a blip in a newspaper. You almost choke when you see his face. He’s a bit older, but it is unmistakably Kit Walker. The article however was not a happy one: the man’s wife Alma had murdered a woman that lived with them in a fit of apparent hysteria.

Without preamble you packed a suitcase and began the trip back home. Kit would need you, not as a lover, that ship had sailed but he would need you as a friend. He was almost entirely alone now and with two toddlers to boot. You couldn’t help but feel the joythat he was alive even though it was steeped in sadness at his tragic loss.

Alma had been a sweet girl from what she could tell. She had never met her in person but if Kit married her it was apparent that she was a good person. She had been missing for so long though, she had been traumatized and snapped. It wasn’t her fault that bad things had happened and lord knows that the country's mental health system left a lot to be desired.

It had taken you almost all day to find the farmhouse that Kit lived in. It was dusk and the sun was starting to set. You took a steadying breath hoping that you weren’t overstepping any boundaries. You had flown out of the house with barely any thought, relying mostly on instinct. You hadn’t been able to help Kit when he was accused of being Bloodyface but you could certainly help now without the government involved.

You eased yourself out of the old Buick you were driving and shut the door. You began to make your way to the door but it opened before you got the chance to knock. There he was, he was still handsome as ever, but he had lost that carefree air he had when they were young. You supposed you had probably lost that too.

“I already told you I’m not doing an interview, leave my family in peace!” His voice was angry and you were now unsure if you had made the right decision. Then as if he hadn’t really been looking at you before, his eyes widened.

“Y/n?” He asked questioningly the anger had drained from his voice.

“Oh Kit I heard what happened I needed to make sure you were okay,” you explained trying not to cringe. You probably seemed like a crazy person showing up at your highschool sweetheart’s home after his wife had murdered someone.

“I thought you lived in Boston?” He questioned, still surprised at your arrival.

“I do, I hopped in my car as soon as I heard, I thought you might need some help. If I’m imposing I apologize… I can leave,” you were rambling, it was something you were prone to when nervous.

“No! Uh I mean no, you could never be an imposition doll. Come inside, I didn’t think anyone cared about me anymore,” he lamented, meeting her halfway on her way to the house. You got a better look at him up close. He still had beautiful brown eyes but there were dark bruise like bags underneath them. You could tell he hadn’t been sleeping well, and really who would after something like this happened.

You followed Kit inside his home, it still smelt of the bleach they used to get up the blood, but it was warm and cozy. You looked over and could see the two toddlers playing together on a rug with some blocks.

“This is Julia and Thomas,” he said, gesturing to the kids who barely spared them a glance.

“They’re precious,” you commented.

“Yeah they are pretty great, must take after their old man,” he bragged teasingly but it was half hearted.

“Kit,Are you okay?” You asked, laying a hand on.

“I will be,” there was a determination in his voice this time looking at the children playing happily unaware.

“If you need anything at all just tell me” you begged, hoping he would take the help. This trip wasn’t entirely unselfish, you had missed Kit the moment you left for college and the feeling had never left. It hadn’t faded with time like these things are meant to do, you had never stopped loving Kit and you would wait a thousand years if that’s what it took. You didn’t expect any romance, you knew that ship had sailed, but you would be there for your dearest and oldest friend.

“Don’t you have a life or a lover in Boston, surely you don’t want to spend time with someone as pathetic as me.” His self deprecating comment made you jerk him by the arm so he was facing you.

“You listen to me Kit Walker, you are one of the most gentle humans I’ve ever met. You are an incredibly good man and you deserve all the love and help in the world. Let someone help you, you don’t have to go through this alone,” You declared, staring directly into his brown eyes with your own y/e/c ones.

He only nodded before taking you into a friendly hug holding you close to his chest, his head buried into your shoulder. You felt a shuddering sob wrack through him. You only held him, you didn’t know how much time had passed as you held him close letting him sob. When he finally pulled away you could see the gratitude in his eyes.

****

Days bled into weeks and weeks bled into months as you stayed with Kit. Things for the most part remained platonic apart from a few lingering glances from each other. You didn’t want to put any pressure on the relationship. You had meant what you said when you told him you were here to help him. You would love Kit however you could get him be it romantic or platonic. You would always wait on him.

When he had come home one day in tears you had just held him. Alma had died that day and Kit had lost his wife for a third time and the children had lost their mother’s.

More time would pass and things became increasingly comfortable between you two. You had taken a teaching position at the elementary school the next town over and Kit continued to work as a mechanic.

It had been a day like many others when it happened. Kit had come home covered in a layer of oil and grease and you had been making dinner. After he had showered, he came into the kitchen to watch you cook and help Julia and Thomas with their homework. It was really quite domestic.

After dinner you had wrestled the children into bed and retired to the living room to watch television. You had felt the burning of Kit’s eyes on you and you turned to look at him pulling a face.

“Why did you stay?” He asked with a puzzled look on his face, “Your help has been indispensable, but it’s a year now and your still here. Aren’t you tired of me yet?”

“Oh, I can start looking for an apartment. I never wanted to overstay my welcome. I guess I just got comfortable being around you and the twins, is like breathing air” You rambled hiding your burning cheeks. He wouldn’t take that though and he grabbed you by your shoulders making you look at him.

“Doll I’m not kicking you out, you can stay forever if you want. I just don’t understand why you would want to stay with me,” he said and you gulped looking into his eyes.

“Oh Kit you’re the best person I know. Did you not get that with the hundreds of letters I sent to you in prison and while you were at Briarcliff” you joked trying to lessen the tension. You had never brought up the letters before you were honestly pretty embarrassed by them.

“What letters!?” He pulled back looking hard at you.

“I wrote to you everyday up until they announced your death” you explained cheeks filled with liquid fire.

“Fuck! He cursed getting up and pacing.

“I never got a single letter, y/n” he said and you not knowing what to do approached him opening your arms. He fell into your embrace burying his face in your hair.

“I’m sorry,” you croaked unsure of what to say.

“Don’t be sorry doll, but it still doesn’t explain why you want to be around me” He started in again and you couldn't help the anger that spilled forward. You took your fist and hit his chest.

“Because I love you dummy, I never stopped,” his eyes went wide at your declaration.

“What?” He asked dumbly, his limbs going numb.

“I love you Kit and I’ll always be there for you if you need me. If it’s only as a friend I can live with that, at least I get to be with you,” Your cheeks burned for the third time in what seemed like an hour.

Kit not knowing what to say decided to act on instinct. He gathered you in his arms and pressed his lips against your own in a searing kiss. You clutched at each other desperately the tension finally snapped.

“I love you too Doll.”

Requests are open drop a song or a prompt in my ask box ❤️

#kit walker x reader #kit walker #kitten #Kit walker is a babe #ahs asylum fanfiction #fluffy #evan peters #peter maximoff fanfiction #fem reader #gender neutral reader #reader insert #ahs fanfiction #fanfiction

[singthebodyelectric-tmnt]

Intermission

Donatellos in Untitled Goose Game:

It was a lovely day in New York City...therefore statistically, something horrible will happen. There is a bush in Central Park, and in that bush, a honk sounded. Out popped a Goose with a purple bandana tied around its neck. He looked left, then right, then gave out two honks. Two goslings popped their heads out and they each gave out an affirmative honk. The Goose emerged from the bush with its goslings tumbling and waddling after him. It was a lovely day in New York City...and the Donatellos are horrible Geese.

“Oh fuck, it’s the horrible Goose and its spawn,” groaned a vendor of the gardens. “It’s just a goose, how bad can it be?” “When you see it in action, you’d take back those words” Riri and Cass were having a staredown across each other. Their respective counterparts looked at each other, then at the girls, then at Sunita eating nachos on a bench in between the two booths.

Sunita shrugged, “When it comes to cookies and brownies it’s serious business with those two”.

Riri grit her teeth and forced a smile, “At least I’m selling cookies for a cause. TO SAVE TREES CASS!” Cass smirked and thumped her chest, “HAH! When I take over the world with these brownies, WE WOULD  BE ABLE TO SAVE MORE TREES BY FORCE”. Lillie and April squinted at the Caseys. Casey shrugged as CJ carried over more boxes of brownies, “At least she’s enthusiastic”. April was about to comment back when she felt a tug on her pant leg. She looked down to see a little gosling with a little violet cape happily waddling up and down and honking at her now he has her attention. “Aww!” Both Lillie and April cooed. April set down the box of cookies and picked up the gosling. “Hey, there little guy! Oh my gosh. His little cape! So cute!”. The gosling preened at the attention. “He’s a very enthusiastic baby for something with a broken wing,” observed Lillie. The gosling honked and wibbled its tail feathers. Lillie smiled, “Aw cute baby! Riri get over here! Look at this cutie pie”. Riri came over to see what the fuss was about. Cass grinned, “Not that they’re distracted, we’re gonna crush these sales!”. She then turned to her brothers to see them huddled over something that was hiding under their booth. “Guys?” CJ was the first to surface with something cupped in his hands, “Look Cass, the little guy was stuck on our tablecloth” A sad, quiet honk came from the little gosling with red eyes and a lavender ribbon loosely tied around its neck in CJ’s hands. It trembled fearfully. Cass dropped the box she was holding and rushed over to CJ, “Oh no! Poor thing! Where’s its mama?” So busy were the Caseys and Aprils with the two goslings, no one noticed the Goose took a box of cookies from the Aprils’ table, casually waddled over to the Caseys’ booth, and swapped a box of cookies with a box of brownies. He then waddled back to the cookie table and placed the box of brownies on it. No one even noticed the switch.

No one but Sunita, eating her nachos in amusement. The Goose waddled over to her side, settled there, and then gave a loud honk. The two goslings honked back and scrambled back to the Goose. The red-eyed gosling buried itself under its parent’s feathers, the caped gosling took its time, honking and twirling in glee to the joy of everyone witnessing it. There was a screech and then, “THE HECK IS THIS APRIL!? Why did you sneak your wares into mine? That’s playing DIRTY !” Riri pounded her fist on her table, “Pot calling the kettle dirty, Jonesy? What about this box of your brownies mixed in with mine!?” “I DIDN’T DO IT!” “NEITHER DID I!” “HAVE AT IT O’NEIL!” “PUT YOUR MONEY WHERE YOUR MOUTH IS JONES!” April and Lillie looked at each other, then at the Caseys. Oh no.

Sunita watched the ensuing carnage then eyed the Goose. “Good job raising hell guys,” she divided her nachos and gave the non cheesed bits to the Goose and its goslings. The goslings happily snack on their hard-earned loot. The Goose gave a hjonk of thanks toward Sunita’s way and waited for its children to finish before it ate.

They need the energy to cause more mayhem and the day is long. --- It was noon. Foot Brute and Foot Lieutenant surveyed the city from their vantage point. “Well Brute, what is our agenda for today?” The Brute smiled and said, “The same thing we do every day, sir. Try to take over the world”. The Lieutenant smiled, pleased that his partner and daughter were still in the business, despite their initial struggles. Leading the Foot Clan is exhausting without backup. There was a tiny honk in the vicinity of their feet. They both looked down to see a gosling with red eyes staring at them. “Aww”, Foot Brute cooed. He picked it up gently and asked, “Where’s your parent, little one?” A scream curdled the air and they looked down to the streets to see their daughter screaming her lungs out being chased by her friend...and chasing after them some kind of robot. Foot Lieutenant sighed and massaged his temples. “Oh, Casey… what now?”

Foot Brute put down the gosling in a safe place, “I’m sure your parents will find you little one. Stay put”. He then followed his husband and easily hauled a large contraption upon his shoulders. They did not notice another gosling hopping off the contraption proudly holding a screw in its beak. Out of the shadows, the Goose emerged. The goslings regrouped on their parent’s back and the Goose fluttered down to a staircase. There were more denizens of New York to bother. ---

Baron Draxum stared down the pest of New York City, the great Goose of Central Park, as screams erupted all around them. The Goose narrowed its eyes at the sheep yokai and raised its wings in a threatening manner. They were at a standstill. “NOT THE FACE, NOT THE FACE!!!,” pleaded Warren as a gosling with a cape cackled in glee over the worm mutant. “Darling, hold still, please! I’m trying to not harm you and the little one,” Hypno said nervously as he tried to grab the little dramatic gosling.

“Well, if you don’t do anything fast, I’M GOING TO GET EATEN!”

Draxum looked to the side to see Todd gently picking up the red-eyed gosling that had outsmarted Repo Mantis and Meat Sweats from a pile who were now screaming at each other. Draxum glared at the Goose who seemed to radiate smugness back at him. “If I give you what you need, will you and your children leave this human-mutant soiree alone?” The Goose seemed to think about it. It lowered its wings. It agreed. Draxum sighed. Can this day get any weirder ? ---

“Oh my, my! What a delightful treat to watch!,” Big Mama clapped her hands excitedly as three of the Mud Dogs tried capturing the Goose, who was nonchalant about the damage it was doing.

It popped up behind Heinous Green and honked. The oni stiffened then slowly raised his fist to grab it. The Goose then jumped as Heinous’s fist connected to his face. Mickey and Leonard both made a grab for it and slammed their faces together for their efforts. The Goose plopped around Big Mama’s office in search of something. Danny raised a perfectly trimmed eyebrow at Big Mama. “Are you sure you don’t want me to let this creature out of your office, Ma’am?” Big Mama put a finger to her chin. “Absolutely. Not until I find out what it’s looking for”. Danny shook his head and then looked down to see two goslings hiding behind a potted plant watching their parent cause chaos. Ah . That explained it. He kneeled and reached inside his suit to take out a couple of crackers to give to the goslings. The caped one gleefully grabbed a cracker and began munching. The red-eyed one with the ribbon fluffed up its feathers and began to cry. At once, the Goose hurried toward him, put its children behind it, and hissed at him. Danny put his hands up, “Easy. I know why you’re here. I got kids too, a tiger cub and a kit. You can leave after we give you food, right?”. The Goose had bared its terrifying numerous sawed teeth, then it stopped. It huffed when it noticed that its other gosling was also eating. Danny offered the Goose the wrapped package of crackers. The Goose narrowed its eyes at him. Then it honked and took the crackers from Danny. The Goslings climbed up their parent’s back and the Goose plopped out the office with its beak in the air. Danny sighed. Those crackers were for his little Alopex and Tigerclaw, damn it. Big Mama patted his shoulder with a small bag of unicorns and gold. “Well spotted. I too have children, four teenage boys to be exact, and I do know how they get hungry easily. Buy your children a good meal instead of light snacks, yes?” ----

“It is a wonderful evening in this rooftop garden, Master Splinter,” Splinter said arranging a potted plant on the ground. “It is, Master Splinter,” Lou agreed, sitting crossed-legged on the ground with a tea set in front of him. Next to him was the Goose with a purple bandana around its neck, sitting peacefully, eyes closed. Splinter sat in front of them and poured himself a cup of tea. A few meters away, the two goslings were trying to scale a miniature tower. In the background, screams of despair rose as mild annoyances cropped up across New York. Splinter raised a brow, “You were busy today, Goose-san”. The Goose did not bother to answer. The caped gosling hauled its brother onto a platform and used itself as support so that the red eyed gosling can reach the bell at the top of the miniature tower. “Incredible display of acrobatics from your children, Goose-san. We prefer this to your usual method of pecking the base of the tower until it topples over and you can reach the bell. It is very expensive and time-consuming to keep rebuilding the tower”. The Goose opened its eyes and stood up, welcoming its children for their victory, the red-eyed one holding the bell in its beak and the caped one hopping up and down and around them. The Goose waddled away from the garden with its children and Lou waved, “See you next week, Goose-san!” More screaming and wailing can be heard in the background. ---- The Goose of New York carried the bell to their little neck of the park. It carefully hung the bell on their security, which was a long line of yarn and bells hanging on it. The Goose gently put its sleeping children under their favorite bush. It stared at the lights of New York City. The silence of their little spot was quite calming and the Goose decided it was done for the day. It was a beautiful night in New York City and the days that follow will be beautiful as well. The Goose thrummed pleased at the day's events. But not for long. Peace was never an option.

#tmnt fanfiction #tmnt donatello #tmnt 2003 #tmnt 2k12 #rottmnt #tmnt fanart #dastardly danny #tmnt soul au #mama donny and his kids #chapters #tmnt casey jones #april o'neil #baron draxum #big mama #foot brute #foot lieutenant #intermission ain't canon

[certifiedceraunophile]

Hi! A fan of your writing here. I just love the way you write Caroline. An Avoidable Heart is my comfort fic and I am constantly in awe with the way you write and craft the dynamics in that story. Caroline's inner monologue is just priceless and God! I just love that intro scene where Caroline is walking into the Mikaelson compound with vampires and hybrids in the surrounding ready to pounce on her.

I would love to hear how you would have visualized Caroline crossing over into TO or not? Like in what season and why? How it would have likely gone?

Thank you!

First of all lovely anon gimme a moment to breathe, asdfghjkl why are people so lovely 😭😭🥺✨ It means sooo much to me that you’d take the time to jump into my inbox and send these kind words, like please I’m not worthyyyyy, But you make me smile and feel really freaking warm so *handcuffs your hand to mine* you aint leaving 💖✨💞🙃

But OK ALSO oh my god dude THAT CAROLINE WALTZS INTO THE COMPOUND AND TAKES ON A COUPLE HUNDRED VAMPIRES BY HERSELF SCENE???? Ughhhhh I’m sorry but I have SUCH a boner for Caroline in that, like my badass -I admit kinda op- QUEEN IS HERE and she’s fucking shit up, I’m sorry but I love that scene so much it’s so dear to me I was killing myself over how self-indulgent and grossly Over powered Caroline is but like idgaf man it’s such a hot scene and Caroline is practically invincible and we just love to see that, so seriously lovely anon, you telling me you LOVE that scene??? Puts the biggest smile on my face and reassures me a LOT bc I was whining and cribbing over how absolutely unbalanced that scene is to literally everyone BUT LIKE YOU JUMPING OUT OF NOWHERE and pointing that exact scene UGHH…...meant to fucking be the both of us 💖💞✨

And ALSO Caroline’s monologue is quite honestly the easiest inner monologue out of the three voices I wrote for that work, Klaus’s is the real pain in the ass tbvh like it is NOT easy writing pretentious besotted losers with a Kardashian complex especially when you need to make them sound cool when they’re the lamest OP dude bros to ever exist - and no I don’t hate Klaus although I seem to try my darndest to convince ppl I do- I just personally believe that a feral fucker like that with a thousand years of existence under his belt can grow a pair and graduate from his kindergarten level of emotional maturity to adult sometime soon, But then on the flipside he’s so grossly adorkably smitten and feral for Caroline plus hella horny for her all the time that its usually easy to write the trashed and devoted idiot he is into something pretentious and powerful and potent when relating to his unflappable arrogance and his narcissism, but sometimes I also need him to be *deep* and ffs profound for the sake of the plot and jfc my muse just wont work with me on that, she’s like I’m sorry I’m not about to bust my ass to make this mongrel intelligible like no sir all I wanna do is make him uncomfortably horny for Caroline and leave him like that.

So smh yeah the struggle is real….but lmao Caroline is just so precious and fiercely protective and just so achingly lonely in that story, so desperate for connection and trust and intimacy yet so guarded and impervious to everyone like it hurts me to write her like that but it really challenges me as an author to balance out her inherent light with the “void” I create in her and through her, so yeah it’s a very fulfilling task and I wouldnt change it one bit, and also I had to balance out her physical op-ness w half a millennium of the ugliest emotional trauma lol so I guess that figures, but the point being….once again I am overjoyed knowing that you liked a facet of the story that I tried so hard to make as authentically Caroline and achingly real and moving as I can and I cannot possibly feel more accomplished than rn for it so ty ty ty ty for reaching out to me and telling me *tackle hugs* It makes me GIDDY knowing that you enjoyed that particular part of the story like ugh stab me please you're too sweet.

And ok NOW, coming to The Originals part of the ask, (also please note that when I say TO headcanon; Hope does not exist, Hayley is a dead in a ditch and ofc Klaus will stop being that lil bitch they tried to pawn off as Klaus in TO) 

HEADCANON 1

Honestly my biggest headcanon when it comes to TO crossovers somehow always include non-humanity!Caroline like it’s just so perfect to me?? The opportunity to make shit BLOW UP b/w them like imagine the DEBAUCHERY, the heat, the SEXUAL TENSION, the repression of one Klaus Mikaelson, the EXPLORATIONS, and omg the role reversal when Klaus has to be the voice of moral reason between them and not bc he believes Caroline would not be able to stand herself if she does something heinous and monstrous but bc he wants her to be completely and utterly herself, and yk *aware*, when she DECIMATES ppl to the ground and is in full-on predator mode, like he wants her monster to come out and play with him when no part of Caroline is locked away or suppressed, so obviously when she is w/o her humanity KLAUS exercises restraint on her behalf, like can you imagine that, Klaus restraining himself and being the vague, extremely broken and just largely inaccurate moral compass between the two of them for ALL the wrong reasons- and the entirety of NOLA just standing there watching him herd this baby vampire who seems to be intent on riling him up and angering him when all she is doing is giving him a massive hybrid hard on, like IMAGINE THE GOODNESS of non-humanity Caroline wrecking NOLA and Klaus letting her wreck it bc he is helpless in the face of Caroline Forbes and also bc he is quite honestly *enjoying* the debauchery himself so why put a damper on the festivities.

-I might wanna add that I favour this headcanon a lot bc I genuinely do not even remotely *like* the idea of NOLA as Klaus's chosen place to set his roots so like I would love Caroline going to NOLA and destroying everything there just bc I detest NOLA and the storyline behind it in TO. (yes is it petty? Obvi, but like I am a petty soul and I make no apologies ma’am)

HEADCANON 2

So yeah that’s my main TO headcanon, but my other one being, one I talk about very frequently, scream about in tag rants to an obsessive level, and like this is a cracky one but still very valid, where Caroline rolls up to NOLA humanity intact and all, finds Hayley preggo and is just laughing her fucking ass off bc anybody ANYBODY, with half a brain and a two minute convo w klaus would know how UTTERLY stupid the entire baby shit is especially when it’s with an immemorable one night stand, and Caroline’s just losing her shit about how like an entire city is obssessed w this baby and she just straight up tells Klaus he’d SUCK as a dad (which he really does tho like he was a shitty fucking dad canonically too) and Klaus is just like *sigh* girl tell me about it. I mean basically he’s finally relieved that someone is on his side about the whole baby thing and how he definitely does not want his entire millennium of life to finally sum up to this one squalling leaking stinky infant/unicorn Hayley is apparently baking in her oven, and I say this headcanon is cracky bc klaus would never have put up w this mess long enough for Caroline to come in and sort it out, there’s this preferred method of disposal of his called heart ripping that would've been employed quite early on and honestly saved us all a lot of brain cells and minused years of life, bc let’s be real any Klaus who’s NOT a lil snivelling bitch wearing a Klaus skinsuit would’ve yeeted the baby and the mama first chance he got, and that’s just how I see it.

Lmao I really hope I didnt scare you away w my *strong* opinions Ik they can be a bit much but I enjoy having them so theyre not going anywhere, anyways this ask answer got WAYYYY too long but I’m hoping I answered your question well with this or atleast left you slightly confused and bemused over my feral screaming....either ways I’m really really really happy to have got your ask and the chance to rant so much bs, Twas cathartic and honestly I had nothing to do today so I was more than happy to dish this baby out for you. Thank you so much sweet anon for putting a smile on my face today I am absolutely HONOURED by your words you’sa cutie 💖💞✨🗣🗣

#first of all #LONG POST #second #I did rant a LOTTTT more than what was prolly expected but lmao am I sorry? #no #anyway so those are my general drivel-tastic thoughts straight from glitter graveyard brain #hope you enjo navigating through so much bs anon #and I hope someone puts a smile on your face that's as large and bright as the one you've put on mine today #anon asks #ask certified ceraunophile #anti the orginals #tvd headcanons #tvd #klaroline #anon youre the sweetest #shakes hand cuffed hand #you stuck w me lovely #💞💞

[professormembranexreader]

Mad Scientist!Membrane x Frankenstein! Male!Reader pt. 2 (H&C)

RECAP

—————————————————

So Membrane made (Y/N) from other people and after he was restrained, just told (Y/N) his name.

Lab Report 5

One month has passed since the subject was created. Motor skills are exceeding our expectations. Speech still scattered. Restraints are occasionally needed. More tests need to be run.

Scheduled: Blood, Vitamin Deficiencies, Mental Illness, Mental Disabilities, IQ, Motor Function, Hand-Eye Coordination, Reaction Time

End of Report

Membrane stared at the paper in front of him. (Y/N) was yielding good results so far.  Sad, though, that they hadn't done any tests yet. However that is to be expected. He put his hands together, elbows on the table, as he lowered his head. What if this didn't work? Several people would have been torn apart for nothing.

But there is success. He had effectively crossed the line between having superhuman intelligence and playing God. He was giddy, actually. He had done something no one had ever thought of before. It was heinous, true, but the success of (Y/N) meant that full limb transplants were possible. Trained surgeons could effectively use parts of someone's brain to improve another's. It was an astonishing achievement for humanity.

He smiled. This would prove most satisfactory.

——————————————————

Lab Report 11

Two months have now passed. Motor skills continue to improve. Restraining the subject has proved increasingly difficult. Curiosity has grown tremendously since last week. Stronger, more durable restraints needed.

Reports indicate emotional development as well. Subject shows anger and confusion, but seems cordial towards scientists he remembers... which are few and far between. Has shown improvement with speech. It is suspected that he can understand almost all languages and now speaks in mainly Spanish, French, and German. Translators are being gathered and briefed.

Scheduled: Mental Illness, Mental Disabilities, IQ, Reaction Time, Strength, Memory, Language Therapy

End of Report

Membrane groaned. They finally told him about some tests, but they didn't even know what they should be doing—monitoring his conscience.

He sighed, and stood up from his chair. It felt as though he was going to have to run these tests himself.

He walked down to the "observation room" his team had put (Y/N) in. It was, in all seriousness, more like a jail cell with a one-way mirror. It was a long way from his office so he had a lot of time to think about absolutely anything.

He was scared. He didn't want to admit it at first—he literally watched someone assemble a person like a build-a-bear—but there was no other explanation for the way he hesitated to head down the long, spiraling staircase that lead to (Y/N)'s cell. It was well lit and there was a handrail so he wouldn't fall. The steps were wide enough for his (fucking gigantic) feet. There was literally no reason he should be so sweaty other than a rush of adrenaline. A rush of adrenaline that wanted him to run and turn his back upon his creation. It had to be fear.

But why was he scared? The last time Membrane had seen (Y/N), he was restrained. What if he hated him? (Y/N) has reported memory problems, so he might not remember him. But he couldn't help but wonder what would happen if (Y/N) did remember.

He continued down the staircase until he finally reached (Y/N)'s cell. Scientists scurried out of the way as Membrane pushed through.

"This is Professor Miguel Membrane, and I will be conducting tests three through nine." He looked over to his team, making sure they were ready. Pens were poised over paper. Two translators, German and French, were sitting next to them on opposite sides.

Everything was ready to go.

Membrane took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and walked inside. The room was a dull beige, only color was the faded red from the operation. The walls peeled near the corners. 'I'll have to fix that' he thought. The room itself was almost a prison room. A hard bed with thin sheets in the corner, a toilet, sink, and a shower all in the opposite side of the room. A desk sat by the bed; it had two drawers and looked as though it was made out of several types of wood.

"How fitting," the man chuckled.

He continued looking around the room they kept (Y/N) in, not knowing something was watching. He lurked up behind the scientist, breathing on his back. Membrane whipped around.

"Ahh, (Y/N), please, have a seat." He guided him over to his bed. (Y/N)'s eyes narrowed, but complied.

"Now, I will be conducting a series of tests on you. These will not require you to speak unless you desire to. Do this for 'yes'," he made a thumbs up, "do this for 'no'," he made a fist. "For multiple choice, point. If you want to skip, do this-" he put his hand horizontally- "and if you don't know shrug your shoulders. Do you understand all of that?" (Y/N) made a thumbs up with both hands.

"Quickly run through everything for me in the order I said it." (Y/N) made a thumbs up, a fist, pointed at something, laid his hand flat, then shrugged his shoulders.

Membrane made a hum of approval before flipping through the stack of papers he prepared. "Now, I'm going to give you an IQ test. Simply point at the one you think belongs in the missing space, okay?" Thumbs up.

After going through several sheets of paper, they finished. "Well done, (Y/N), you have an IQ of 128 (changelater)" He wrote that down as (Y/N) smiled. This one didn't push him or shove him around. He was gentle and calm. It wasn't too rushed, but it wasn't too slow. He had no clue what the IQ thing meant, but if he got to spend time with the nice man, he would answer anything.

"This concludes the IQ test. How do you feel (Y/N)?"

(Y/N) smiled. Yes.

Membrane laughed. "That's close enough to an answer. I'm going to ask you a series of yes or no questions. Answer honestly, okay? You can skip if it's too personal." Thumbs up.

"Do you want to hurt people?" No

"Do you want to hurt yourself?" No.

"Do you feel superior to anyone?" No.

"Do you feel less powerful?" No.

"Do you have episodes where you can't remember what happened?" Yes.

"Would you like to tell me about that?" He made both symbols on different hands as he shrugged his shoulders (what the cinnamon toast fuck did that mean). Membrane assumed that was a not yet.

He continued with the questions, concluding that (Y/N) suffered from mild depression and anxiety, and that could be chalked up to the new situation.

Membrane rechecked (Y/N)'s memory, albeit in a different way.

"I'm going to show you a series of pictures. You need to point to them in the order I point to them, okay?" Yes.

Membrane pointed to pictures of a bat, a frog, a cat, the frog again, the cat again, then finally a dog.

(Y/N) pointed at the bat, the frog, the cat, then hesitated a bit.

"Do you need help?" (Y/N) frowned. No. (Y/N) quickly pointed at the frog, cat, and dog, in quick succession.

Membrane laughed and nodded. "This concludes the memory test."

Several more tests followed, eventually adding up to (Y/N) had higher strength and reaction time than most humans. It wasn't surprising, as he was made up of all the best parts of people.

"That's about everything, (Y/N). Do you have any questions?" Membrane asked in a calm voice. This was shattered when (Y/N) said something.

"¿Cómo estoy?" (Y/N) asked in a raspy voice. Membrane jumped before quickly shaking his head to clear it.

He cleared his throat before saying, "Pues, haz una mirada." He guided (Y/N) to a mirror behind a locked cabinet.

(Y/N)'s face fell. "J'ai l'air... horrible." Membrane didn't know French, but it wasn't that hard to guess.

"No, estás muy hermoso."

"Was?" Oh no. He said that out loud. He said that last part out loud. And (Y/N) understood it.

The flustered scientist cleared his throat. "Dije... dije estás muy hermoso." He couldn't look (Y/N) in the eyes. How could he? Wait. Is this why he was scared? Was it because he...? His face was a rosy pink as he came to the realization he had fallen for his creation.

(Y/N) was just as shocked. His mouth hung open as his several skin tones all became red. The only thing he could think of doing surprised them both.

(Y/N) reached up and embraced Membrane, squeezing him tightly.

"Merci.”

Translations:

•¿Cómo estoy? — what do I look like?

(I'm choosing the version I got taught in eighth grade not translate hahA)

• Pues — well

• Haz una mirada — have a look

• J'ai l'air... horrible. — I look... horrible

• Estás muy hermoso. — you're very beautiful

• Was? — What?

• Dije — I said

• Merci — Thank you

#writing #membrane #professor membrane #professor membrane x reader

[inkribbon796]

Alea Iacta Est Ch. 3: Fighting Back

Summary: The heroes and Dark start enclosing on the two remaining demons.

A/N: Mori = Death. Tempus = Time. Memento = Remember.

Which coincidentally is the order of the trio, if we were going to put age order into them.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3

Ethan was having one of the worst mornings of his life, and that was after finally gaining some ground in fighting against the demon that had hijacked his body. He’s been subdued by surprise initially and watching it drain the life out of people and get stronger was horrifying to watch.

This would make the second time someone was using his identity to do heinous things and he was sick of it. So as the demon was using his body to skim along the surface of the river — Ethan almost drowning twice since he’d been forced to jump in — Ethan kicked up enough of a fight that they had to exit the water.

“Get out of my head,” Ethan gasped for air.

“Nah, I’m using it, you can have it back later,” the demon chuckled. “Or . . .”

Ethan didn’t like that pause, he could feel it thinking. “What?”

“I wanna find that guy in the hat,” the demon told him.

“You killed enough people,” Ethan spat, he didn’t know who the hell he was talking about. “I’m not helping you find shit.”

“Fine then,” Ethan’s body was shoved back up, he was soaking wet.

He walked down the road and saw Mark standing there. Ethan wanted to be relieved, but that wasn’t just Mark there . . . it was the other demon.

“Hey bro, could you?” Ethan’s hand came up to his own temple as the demon walked them over. “He’s being a little difficult.”

“Oh yeah,” Mark’s voice chuckled and his hand came up before stopping and the demon became frustrated. “Stop that, I’m not—”

Mark’s hand came up and he grabbed at Ethan’s temple and something came out of his head. It looked like an old fashioned photo reel. The color of the reel was black and white, but the images were in vivid colors. All of them were Ethan’s memories from his own eyes.

“I’m looking for the one in the hat, you know the one?” The older demon sibling asked.

“Yeah,” his brother promised, going through Ethan’s memories and looking until he found Chase. Ethan had been talking with the hero before going out on patrol the night before

“Found him, now where does he hide,” Mark’s demon mused and started focusing on Ethan leaving the base and then his route until they were attacked by the demons.

As Mark’s demon was looking for the answer when they were both hit by bolts of magic, and a couple long range TASER rounds.

The sudden attack caused Mark to let go of Ethan’s memories and they shot back into his head, giving the young hero a slight migraine.

When they recovered, Mark’s demon growled, “Arghhhh! That hurt just as bad the second time around.”

“Drop the fookin’[1] humans, an’[2] they better be alive!” Marvin shouted. He had magic at his fingertips and Chase was standing next to him, calling in back-up.

But Ethan wanted to scream for Average to run away, that they had just given the demons what they wanted.

Ethan felt the swirl of dark aura before he saw it.

“Hey! Hey!” Marvin shouted. “No!”

Chase, who had mostly been running around, trying to stop Mark, saw Ethan’s demon’s aura and froze.

He felt his stomach drop and he was aware he was crying but didn’t understand why?

“Average?” Marvin asked in concern. Then he turned back to glare at the pair of demons. “What did yeh[3] do ta[4] him?”

To make matters more chaotic, Dark’s ringing began to fill the air as he and Illinois portaled in and Dark glared at the two demons. “There you two are, get out of those bodies, now!”

Chase hid behind Marvin so he could dry his eyes before fixing his mask. Then he stepped out from around Marvin.

“Wait,” Marvin grabbed onto Chase’s arm.

“I’ll be fine, they won’t hurt me,” Chase promised.

“How do yeh[3] fookin’[1] know that?” Marvin demanded.

I don’t. Chase wanted to tell him, but he felt that would be the wrong thing to tell him, especially after the morning they’d had. “Just trust me, I’ll get them out.”

Marvin reluctantly stepped to the side and Chase stepped forward.

“Out boys, out now,” Chase ordered and motioned, holstering his gun.

Dark and Illinois were just staring at Chase as if he’d grown a second head.

The two demons were just looking between Dark and Chase and their human hosts felt tension slowly bleed away.

“They still alive in there?” Chase demanded.

Ethan’s demon rolled his eyes. Mark’s was the one who answered, “Yes.”

Dark walked over and his aura pulled both spawnlings out of their human hosts. Both of them still resembled their respective hosts, but now they were in suits. One white and one black.

“Pair of troublemakers,” Dark glowered at them as Mark and Ethan scrambled away from them, “the both of you. You two were not supposed to glut yourselves on my town. We would have gotten you all the aura you wanted if you just asked.”

“Totally worth it,” the white-themed spawnling told Dark.

“Would do it again in a fucking heartbeat,” the black-themed one agreed, starting to chuckle.

“You didn’t even know if one of them was a bull,” Dark snapped. “You would have been trapped.”

The darker themed spawnling looked back at Ethan, “Hmm, I liked that body, wouldn’t have been so bad.”

“Average, give me your gun,” Ethan shouted. “I’m not letting it walk around with my face.”

Dark and Illinois were defensively moving to pull the spawnlings back, but Chase was faster. He moved without thinking and suddenly he forced Ethan’s arm behind his back without even thinking about it and instantly let the young man go in surprise.

He turned to Marvin and quickly said, “Take them back.”

“Yeah,” Mark was pulling Ethan back and sharply told Chase, “don’t touch him like that again.”

“I won’t, I don’t know what happened,” Chase apologized to Ethan.

“I’m not leavin’ yeh alone with ‘em,”[5] Marvin told Chase.

“I’ll be fine,” Chase told him. “Check on the others.”

Marvin glared at him but eventually left with Mark and Ethan.

Chase looked back at Dark and the spawnlings. “Took yer[6] sweet time.”

“We had other matters to attend to,” Dark defended heatedly, smoothing out his suit. “Not that it matters to any of you.”

“It does when they turn the whole fookin’[1] city upside-down,” Chase snapped. “Do yeh even know how many people died?”

“Enough people that Damien will have to make some statement, I’m sure,” Dark dismissed. “It’ll all be forgotten eventually.”

“Yer fooked, this whole city is fooked,”[7] Chase growled before turning to the spawnlings. “Yeh[3] two got names?”

“Memento,” the brighter themed spawnling greeted.

“Mori,” the darker themed one finished.

“Unus,” Mori began again.

“Annus,” Memento concluded.

“I take it they’re yers an’ Wil’s?”[8] Chase asked. “What is this, nine?”

“Yes,” Dark said, his tone a little guarded. With a flourish of his wrist, a portal opened up. “Head back to the Manor, we still have introductions to do with the rest of your siblings.”

After a little bit of a standoff, Illinois led the two spawnlings through and Dark snapped the portal closed.

“A fair bit of warning, one or all three of them might have access to my portals,” Dark warned him.

“Shite,”[9] Chase cursed, then thought on that, “wait, why are yeh tellin’ me that?”[10]

“Because after some sleep and a moment to think for five seconds, something dawned on me,” Dark began. “That and you are overly emotional and Damien is quite insistent that I tell you before you hear it from someone else.”

“Okay,” Chase mentally braced himself for more bad news.

“These three new spawnlings were created when I was attacked directly by the Guildmaster,” Dark started, clearly expecting Chase to come to some big conclusion already. When Chase didn’t he kept going. “After the attack, I was given aura by both Wilford and the future version of yourself.”

Another pause.

Dark groaned, massaging the bridge of his nose, “Ughh, why does he like you again?”

“Who?” Chase asked.

“Nevermind,” Dark groaned. “I can’t believe I have to have this discussion with you. So demons are either made from human souls, or they are split off from a main demon and if allowed to exist on its own for a while gains sentience and becomes a demon.”

Chase’s blood ran cold. “Are yeh sayin’ that there’s a chance that those spawnlings are mine?”

“Not a chance,” Dark corrected, “these spawnlings are both yours and Wil’s, demonic lineage doesn’t work like human ones do. Humans can only have two parents by nature.”

Chase looked back at where the portal had been opened. He had a thousand questions.

“This won’t be the last time you see them,” Dark told Chase, a gentler tone to his voice. “But today has been . . . too busy to leave them out of the Manor for long.”

“Yeah,” heard himself say, he felt like he was on autopilot.

“Another day then,” Dark bid him farewell, his tone tense and stiff. Chase wanted to reach out and grab Dark’s arm. He wanted to . . .

He wanted to tell him . . .

But Dark left through a portal and Chase felt like his heart was being torn in two as it closed.

It took him a while to leave, his heart and his head not sure what to think or what to do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Accessibility Translations:

1. fucking

2. and

3. you

4. to

5. I’m not leaving you alone with them

6. your

7. You’re fucked, this whole city is fucked

8. I take it they’re yours and Wil’s?

9. Shit

10. wait, why are you telling me that?

#superhero au #masks and maladies #birthday post #footnotes #Darkiplier #Memento #Mori #Silver Shepherd #crankgameplays #ahwm illinois #illinois the adventurer #marvin the magnificent #chase brody #Darkstache #angst #Chase has some concerns #and no one talks about their problems again

[straycat-writes]

jiāoqiǎnyánshēn // 交浅言深 (fyodor dostoevsky)

jiāoqiǎnyánshēn // 交浅言深 (chinese, v.) - to have a deep and intimate conversation with a stranger 

requested by: anonymous

notes: i haven’t had this much fun writing anything in a long while! I hope whoever requested it is still around, and pleeease do tell me what you think!

You look down at the thin file in your hand, a frown lining your face.

Name: Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky

Origins: unknown (presumed Russian)

Age: unknown (presumed early to mid-twenties)

Ability: unknown

“Is that really all we know? His name?”

“Yes, unfortunately.” Ango Sakaguchi is leaning against the wall across from you, arms crossed in front of him, “We don’t even have a photograph. He won’t let us take one.”

You look up, “Won’t ‘let’ you?”

He shrugs, “No one wants to take the risk of forcing him.”

A frustrated sigh escapes your lips. Perhaps that is understandable, though, you think. You had heard of what happened when Ango and his team had gone to apprehend him.

He was supposed to be transferred to a maximum-security prison in Europe, especially made to contain dangerous ability users. But before that, the Special Abilities Division wanted to see if they could get anything out of him.

That’s where you came in. Specializing in criminal psychology and one of the best in your field, there had rarely ever been a person who didn’t talk when you asked the questions. And since you owed a favour to Ango, here you were, having abandoned whatever job you had previously been occupied with.

Ango straightens himself and motions for you to follow him. Tucking the practically useless file under your arm, you let him lead you through the level until you arrive at a pair of twin metal doors. He opens one of them, and you follow him inside. There was nothing inside the small room except for the door you just came in from, and a large glass window through one of the walls.

On the other side of that window was Fyodor Dostoevsky.

Your eyes widen. Whatever you had been expecting him to look like, you certainly hadn’t thought it would be this. A tall, emaciated, and sickly pale man with dark eyes and even darker hair. He is sitting with his head bowed, hands bound by metal cuffs fastened to the table in front of him.

Very slowly, he looks up, as if feeling your gaze on him even through the two-way mirror. With eyes that you could have sworn are staring directly at yours, a thin smile stretches its way across his pallid lips. You unconsciously take a step back, trying to suppress the shiver that runs down your spine.

Ango shifts beside you, “Unsettling, isn’t he?”

“That’s…one way to put it.” You murmur. Unsettling, yes, but also so fascinating. “What do you need from him?”

“Anything you can get.”

You sigh, “I’m a psychologist, Ango, not a magician.”

“I know.” He replies, “That’s why I said anything you can get.”

You stare through the window for a few more seconds, before inhaling deeply and leaving the room. The other door you had seen on your way in is quite a bit sturdier than the one you had just left through, and it creaks on its hinges as you push it open.

Fyodor doesn’t move at all, continuing to stare at the two-way mirror that showed him nothing but his own pallid countenance. It’s only when you saunter directly into the centre of his field of vision that his eyes finally flit to you.

You clear your throat discreetly, “Good evening. I’m – “

“The shrink they sent to make me ‘talk’.” He tilts his head slightly to one side and smiles, “Pleasure to meet you.”

His voice is deep, and heavily accented, with a rich but unnerving timbre to it. Up close, you can see his eyes much better, and realize that they are actually of a deep and unnatural shade of violet. It suits him, you find yourself thinking, even if he does look like he hasn’t slept in weeks.

Berating yourself for getting distracted, you flip open the file, “So, Mr. Dostoevsky – “

“Please, devushka.” He interrupts, then smiles, “Call me Fyodor.”

You look up at him, unimpressed, “I’m not here to make friends with you, Dostoevsky. I’m here to gather information.”

He chuckles, “Ah, that’s right. Information. And what exactly do you want from me?”

Ignoring his question, you look back down at the file, “Multiple first degree murders, attempted murders, acts of terrorism, assault….you have a rather impressive portfolio here, no?”

“I’m delighted you think so,” he trills, “But that’s not quite the aesthetic I’m going for, I’m afraid. It’s a little too, well, beneath me.”

“You strap bombs to children and use them to manipulate people far better than you, and then have the nerve to say it’s ‘beneath you’?”

“Am I supposed to feel bad about that?”

Your gaze snaps back to him sharply, and you try not to get too angry, “You know what? Let’s begin with that. Why did – “

“Let’s make a deal, devushka.” He interrupts you yet again, leaning slightly forward, his shoulder length hair slightly obscuring his face, “A game of sorts, if you will. I will answer one question of yours, and in return, you’ll answer one of mine.”

“You’re in no position to make any demands from me.”

“I know.” He says simply, “But if you’re really as good as they say you are, you’ll humour me.”

You narrow your eyes at him, his confident tone never faltering for a minute. “…Fine. You’ll answer first. How long have you been in Yokohama?”

“A month, give or take. What did they tell you about me?”

“Enough. Who are your collaborators?”

“I don’t have any collaborators. Only accessories.” The handcuffs jingle as he leans back languidly in his chair, “What is your name?”

You pause. “That’s…none of your business.”

“Come on, milaya.” He smiles in amusement, “You already know my name, it’s only fair I know yours.”

You frown at the overly intimate nickname. He just blinks slowly, long lashes shadowing the tired violet hues that never seem to leave yours. You swallow, “It’s…it’s (y/n).”

The way his face brightens, confident and victorious, makes you want to berate yourself for giving in. He’s sitting in a chair handcuffed to the damn table, you’re supposed to have the upper hand in this conversation!

“Lovely name, indeed.” He murmurs. “Tell me something, (y/n). Do you think there is a god above?”

What?

“I…I don’t know.” You say, after some thought, “It’s my turn. What is your ability?”

“I do believe there is a god.” He says, completely ignoring your question, “But he’s tired. Tired of caring about this sin of ability users that is devouring the world.”

“Answer the fucking question.”

He tilts his head, “All abilities are born of sin. Does it really matter what mine is?”

“You used it to murder dozens of people in cold blood.” You state coldly, “So, I’d say yes.”

“Fair enough.” He says with a chuckle, then leans slightly forward, “But tell me this, was it really murder if I only freed them from a cruel existence?”

Your psychologist brain went into overdrive. That single sentence reeked of delusion and a hundred unresolved issues, and even through your professional excitement, you were getting kind of scared, “…What?”

“It’s a rotten world, devushka.” He states matter-of-factly, “It’s better to die than to live amongst this steaming pile of filthy sin called humanity.”

You look at his sickly pale countenance in mute wonder. He really is beyond fascinating, a corrupted enigma, and there’s nothing you want more than to stay and unravel him painstakingly slowly, layer by layer. Unfortunately, you have a job to do.

“That’s really not true, you know.”

“Oh? You don’t think the world is full of sin?”

You shake your head, and he laughs.

“Tell me about yourself, then. Have you never committed a single despicable act in your life?”

The question takes you by surprise, and you find yourself at a loss for words. His gaze doesn’t leave yours for a second, making a chill run down your spine, and you unconsciously lean back a little, “I…that’s not – “

“Are you really telling me you have never hurt anyone? Never acted cruelly or callously? Never stepped on anyone weaker than you to get where you are? Are you really telling me your soul is completely free of any blackness?”

For every inch you leaned back, he leaned forward, until you were staring at him with wide eyes, and heart hammering in your chest.

“Ah. So, I am right.” He smirks once he sees the look in your eyes, “You are just as tainted as the rest of them. What was it? Did you tell some heinous lie? Did you destroy someone? Did you kill someone?”

“I – I didn’t – “

He’s right, he’s right, you did lie and ruin and destroy and kill –

“Tell me what you did, milaya.”

Your breath is coming out short bursts now. “Nothing! I didn’t do an – “

He’s right, he’s right and you know it. There’s no sin you haven’t committed, no sacrilege you’re not guilty of. There’s no forgiveness for you.

“That’s not true! Stop it!” you cry, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

He looks at you something almost akin to sympathy in his eyes, “Fragile little humans. You’re all the same. Covered in sin from head to toe and yet pretending you’re holy.”

“Stop it, please!”

You try to push yourself away from the table, but he grips your shaking hands with his cuffed ones and pulls you back forward. His hands feel icy cold on yours. He takes one look at your wide eyes and trembling lips and laughs.

Just the sound of it makes every single drop of blood freeze in your veins.

Evil, cruel, sinner, with your tainted, misshapen, and blackened soul, forever damned to hell. He’ s right, he’srighthesright -

“Sin, my love...lives in your very veins.”

You let out a bloodcurdling scream just as the door is kicked open, several armed people rushing in at once.

“That’s enough! Restrain him!” you hear someone yell and immediately, Fyodor is ripped from his chair and away from you. They push him forward roughly onto the table, releasing his hands from the attached cuffs and binding them behind his back instead.  

Your hands still feel cold where he had gripped them, and you can’t bring yourself to move.

“Get him out of here, now!” You hear the voice yell again, and think that it might be Ango, but you’re not sure.

You’re not sure of anything anymore.

Fyodor smirks at you one last time as they drag him away, a look of utmost satisfaction on his face, as if he had just won some unspoken competition between the two of you. Perhaps he had.

Someone puts a hand on your shoulder, shaking you gently. Maybe someone is even saying something to you, but it doesn’t really reach you. Your vision is glitching in and out of focus, and your head is filled with static and screaming.

You stare straight ahead at the wall, your gaze dazed, blank, and empty. A lone tear slips down your cheek.

Sin, my love...lives in your very veins.

#fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor x reader #bsd x reader #one shot #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd #imagines #fanfiction #straycat's 1k follower celebration

[my-heart-is-made-of-graphene]

Shackles That Bend

(Title subject to change, previously called Chains Of Our Past)

Warnings: Electrocution, descriptions of pain, manhandling, beating, insults, swearing, blood-mention, bad mindsets

(I decided to post this one on its own due to the fact that I've hit a writer's block and have been stuck at the one chapter I promised I would then post all the chapters that had come before it. So here it is. The first chapter.)

Chapter 1. Shocking Pain And Three Shocking Words

This was the second time in this short time period that he had been quite literally jolted awake. The voltages coursed through his body like a wire and he felt blood literally and figuratively boil, with his already damaged nerves angrily aware of each individual volt that aggressively danced through them. His jailer truly knew no mercy, did he? A Rider is not to show weakness and he especially refused to show any signs of weakness to his torturer so he had to just inwardly grit his teeth and bare the qpain as he had to. His captor flipped back the switch, causing the electricity to cease. His pain didn't cease however. In fact, his body "hurt like hell", as his brute of a jailor would put it.

  He felt his chin be grabbed and dragged up roughly by a cold, armoured hand, "Look at me."

His nerves once again protested at the harsh way his neck was brought up to be eye level with the brute.

  "Disgusting."

  His jailor's words were spat out as though the appearance of the prisoner alone was so sickening, it could bring bile to rise up one's throat. Actually, The Stranger didn't doubt that, in all honesty. The Stranger didn't have a good grasp on passing time here but it didn't take much thinking for him to know that all this torture in such a short time span wouldn't do his body any good, but he supposed that was the point. His body didn't have much time in order to heal so he would be weaker and thus less likely to escape.

  "You disgust me. The way you bleed, the way you attempt to guard yourself like it'll save you, the way you fall unconscious after I hardly even touch you. I can inflict far worse pain to you. But that would just knock you out like a light, and where's the fun in that? Can i ask a you a question? Was it fun ending all those lives down there?"

The Stranger isn't versed in the concept of 'fun', as 'fun' was only temporary. His mission had far more weight than 'fun'. Your silence speaks volumes." The Stranger's lip tugged a smidge south and his eyes squinted a small bit. It didn't go unnoticed. "You truly are pathetic to think that I don't notice. You're worthless, your kind must have expected you to fail. And your failure is why you are here. But I'm so glad you did," his jailer--no, as much as referring to the crooked warden by his title hurt, this was the easiest of hard truths to bring forth--The Chain moved his hand from The Stranger's chin to his cheek and rubbed it in a way that was almost affectionate before removing his hand from The Stranger's face and flipping back on the electricity, "because I can watch and inflict so much pain as I want on something that is also very much so capable of inflicting great amounts of pain upon others. It's a great feeling. For me, not for you. Your people were likely just trying to get rid of their garbage. But as the saying goes, one man's trash is another one's treasure."

The Chain laughed loudly at him in a sadistic manner. The Stranger tensed as his muscles clenched with the electricity rippling through them.

  Sometimes, however, it's the verbal blows that hurt worse than anything physical. The Stranger didn't have all too much time of his own: time to think and plan and such. If he wasn't being tortured then he was unconscious and recovering from his injuries. It was rare for him to be awake without any abuse occurring to him. But he was thinking now, and the hard truths seemed to hurt worse than the shocks administered to him.

  His thoughts just regurgitated The Chain's words back at him. The shocks felt numb to him. The thoughts sunk their metaphorical jaws in deep. There could be no further denying it, The Stranger had failed his Star. He was without meaning. He was discarded garbage. Is The Star waiting? Why? I've failed. The Starship doesn't know that I've been captured, but surely The Star has lost faith in me carrying out the mission, right?

  The only thing close to a purpose anymore for him was this repetitive cycle of abuse. It was always the same methods: electrocution, beatings, manhandling, insults threats, and occasionally, The Chain would sit there on a chair doing nothing at all but reading a book and tugging that heinous switch on and off. That last one was hurtful in its own way. It symbolized what hurt The Stranger the most: the knowledge he was worth nothing and that this torture was what he deserve. If he were to return to The Star, their termination would be too merciful. The Stranger was a Rider and a Rider was created to serve a purpose; to carry out the tasks. His task was crucial. His memory was a haze but he knew he had to return to his Starship and destroy thia planet. He did not forget. It was crucial. That makes it worse. The Stranger wishes that he forgot. Having his role reversed on him was an incredibly degrading feeling. He hates this.

  He hadn't noticed but the shocks were no longer coming. He only noticed after The Chain slapped him across the face.

"What is going on inside that head of yours? What thoughts are going on up there that have the ability to make you so oblivious? Aren't you suppose to be an observant little warrior? You already got the latter part wrong. Come on, speak and enlighten me. I know you aren't mute, I've heard the noises you make before you're about to pass out. Or when I catch you off guard." The Chain hummed in curiosity, "I've been told that you don't seem to feel pain when you had first been dropped at my doorstep. But I know you do. You feel pain just fine. It's sickening, because, well, it makes you that more human. I noticed this a long while back. You really got on my nerves that day. You damn near looked like the pain would've made you cry. But your kind doesn't do that. You do a lot of things you aren't supposed to, though, don't you? Maybe I'll prove the scientists wrong that can cry too. Y'know, if you had only done what you were meant to, then you wouldn't be in this pain." The Chain stepped away from The Stranger. The Stranger's eyes followed The Chain's movements as he walked away.

  The warden murmured something that wasn't within the audible range of a human from this distance. The Stranger picked up on it however due to his larger range of hearing, "if only I myself had conformed." The Stranger looked to his jailor with a stranger look on his face: an expression that he doesn't recall looking at him with before. Most of the looks he gave his tormentor were hate-filled and angry. This one was just simply curious.

  The Chain looked towards him. The Stranger couldn't tell what was going through his head though, the masks obscured his true face. Or at least, The Stranger was relatively sure that there was one beneath all three of the masks. "So, you heard me. Such a peculiar specimen. This isn't a face I've ever seen you make. It tempts me to flip back on the power," The Chain chortled a bit upon seeing The Strangers face in response to that remark, "but I won't." Why?

  The Chain never showed him any quarter. Why now? "I can tell you are confused, Stranger. Not all prisoners here are in shackles. I never wanted a job like this. But this is a result of the choices I've made. You could make a choice. Fight me and my fellow guardians and escape. Destroy our planet. I'd like to see you try." The Chain laughed sardonically then grabbed the Rider by the arm. "Haha, no. You seem to have no real mind of your own though. You're spineless. If you had a spine, you would have made your first attempt months ago. You sick fuck: maybe you're enjoying this treatment."

  The rage that coursed through The Stranger drowned out all of his pain. He never wanted to be belittled again. He hates to admit it, but The Chain was right, he's just rotting here. He wanted to put an end to this. He was going to return to his people and he was going to complete his mission. Any who opposed The Stranger would be cut down.

   The Stranger growled in frustration and writhed in his restraints. The Chain slammed his fist into the middle of the rider's chest in response. That sent pain blooming across The Stranger's body as it seized harshly. His face held a look of pained surprise. The Stranger, try as he did and may, could see no way to get out of these binds. Unless...

  At that very moment, an insane idea popped into the Rider's mind. But he's already decided that he would escape at all costs. This will just be one of those costs. The Stranger was going to have to use words if he was going to communicate this idea then and he just hoped he had enough of an understanding of the Earthen tongue to be able to properly verbalize what he wants to say.

He looked up and locked eyes with his jailer; his own cold black and blue ones to the cold glass eye-slits of his jailor's mask.

  "Escape with me."

#furi #the game bakers #furi game #guardians #original content #the stranger #riders #the chain #whump #whump writing #my writing #the chain furi #the stranger furi #furi fic #fanfiction

[turqrambles]

The Five Worst Things About Digimon World

I did it.

It took 20 years but I did it.

I finally beat Digimon World for the Playstation 1, a game that has haunted me for most of my lifetime, and I did it with a Phoenixmon, the reason why I use “Turquoisephoenix” as a handle!

This is who I used to beat the game, named after an obscure Ratchet and Clank character because that’s just how I roll. The final boss battle involved a lot of Prominence Beam spamming and med recovery floppy spamming but I did it fair and square. 

Before I get into what I thought about this game as a whole - and I do have a lot of good things to say about this game since I obviously enjoyed it enough to get to the end - I gotta talk about my least favorite things about this game. In a concise, Buzzfeed-esque list because I like writing things in easy to digest chunks.

Because, like most charming yet difficult games of the late 90′s, this game is very flawed and the flaws are pretty annoying!

1. Care Mistakes

The three emojis - Smile, Cool, and Poop.

Okay. This one - my least favorite part in the game - is going to take a bit of explanation.

First off, I don’t actually hate care mistakes existing as a mechanic. I think it’s a cute, virtual pet-y way to add a different wrinkle to evolution requirements, even if I think it’s a bit counter-intuitive to have to suddenly abuse my little companion once they reach Champion just because I want them to evolve into a floating metallic ball with a chainsaw.

My problem with care mistakes is that there’s literally no way of telling many care mistakes you have on your given Digimon. 

Literally everything else in this game is concisely recorded and easily displayed on your Digimon’s stats screen. You can see how much your Digimon weighs. You can see their Happiness, their Discipline. How much Life they have left. Their Age. Even how many poops they need to make before they digivolve into a sentient pile of feces.

But Care Mistakes? Naaaaw, you just gotta remember every single thing that you did to your Digimon from the moment it evolves in your fallible human brain. What’s that? A good portion of this game involves grinding in the Green Gym and it’s really easy to make a Care Mistake there without knowing you did so because you mashed A too fast like the stat-grinding numskull that you are? Well, that’s just too fucking bad for you, then! Enjoy not getting some of the best evolutions, you piece of shit. You stooge. You moron!

This game, multiple times: You know who I hate? The player.

Care Mistakes are such an invisible mechanic that, to this day, there are many guides with misleading info about what counts as a Care Mistake and what doesn’t, which...really stinks for a game such as this where you will be using a guide pretty extensively to get the Digimon you deserve. And you know why that is? Because we don’t get any indication as to whether or not some random event counts against you when raising your Digimon.

And honestly, having one of your main mechanics of the game being entirely invisible to the player is a terrible idea. Just put a little number in my profile that says “Care Mistakes: 0″ in there. Let me know this information without guessing.

2. The Glitches

Pictured: Something that will CRASH YOUR GAME if you try it on a physical copy.

Let me start with a disclaimer that most of the glitches I’m going to complain about were added into the game when Digimon World was localized and therefore aren’t the original intent of the developers. There are certain versions of Digimon World that are more stable than others (The English PAL version is the best version to play because of this) and, if you play this game via “certain methods”, there are patches to circumvent some of the bigger problems.

That being said! Boy! Isn’t it ironic that a game where I’m exploring the digital world is plagued with so many annoying, game-ruining glitches? Especially if I’m playing this game on a physical 20-year old copy like a dunce?

“Ohhhh...so Agumon thinks that they can block the Digimon game with their big fat Digimon-blocking head, do they?!”

The NTSC version of this game has a jukebox that will crash the game if you try to use it, keeping you from ever using a bonus feature meant to be a fun little reward for completing a certain dungeon, but that’s not as heinous as the Spanish, French, German, and Italian PAL versions of this game locking a good portion of the game to players because they forgot to make the Agumon in front of Ogremon’s Fortress an object you can interact with.

So that means, if you happened to get this game in one of four lucky countries, you can’t complete the Ogremon mission, you can’t recruit Whamon, you can’t recruit Shellmon, you can’t recruit anything tied to Shellmon’s bulletin board (which means no Vademon or Skullgreymon), and you can’t go to Factorial Town and recruit Giromon, Andromon, or Numemon. Ogremon is a key part of the Digimon World storyline and causes so many different things in the game to change, meaning that it should’ve been imperative to make sure this part of the game works!

But no. Instead this one little bastard Agumon keeps most players from finishing the game, because it starves players of those PAL regions of a bunch of Prosperity points, the main source of progression in this game. That means that Mt. Infinity and the final boss is just that much harder to unlock. It’s doable, but it’s more grueling process.

This really is a problem with the translators and really highlights a lack of general care with testing this game. Why this game was allowed to be shipped with such glaring bugs is anyone’s guess, especially in an era where you couldn’t release any patches over the Internet to fix retail versions.

3. The Monochromon’s Shop Minigame

Ohhhh....this one was so close to getting the top spot. When I first wrote this draft, this was the top spot.

Monochromon was only spared of my true ire on account of the fact that it really only exists for one part of the game (rather than being a constant problem like the Care Mistakes and the Glitches are) and you can easily cheese it by sleeping in front of the store so that you can save scum your way to victory. Like a true Digital Champion!

At one point in the game, you gotta help a entrepreneur dinosaur rhino man make a profit, because he was stupid and put his convenience store in the middle of a giant canyon next to a gaping chasm. So you play a little game of haggling, where you try to ruthlessly oversell a bunch of random items to customers until you make enough of a profit that this talking dinosaur tells you that you passed his secret test of character, abandons his store, and moves into File City.

There’s just one problem with this minigame - everything is decided by RNG.

“Get the hell out of my shop”

This minigame hates you. It wants nothing but to see you fail and to waste your time. The difference in profit margins of the three items (Meat sells for 50g, Portable Potties sell for 300g, and Medicine sells for 1000g) are so stark that, if you get too many customers asking for Meat, you might as well just reset the game and start over because it will be literally impossible to meet the requirement even if you busted the customer’s proverbial balls and squeezed every last bit out of their cutesy penguin faces.

Oh! It’s also RNG as to whether or not your customers will take your asking price or storm out of the store without buying anything!

It’s all the fun of working at retail! In a video game!

4. Three on One Battles

What you see before you is a battle system that is really fun when it’s one vs. one, manageable at two vs. one, and downright unbearable at three vs. one.

The battle system works for the most part. You don’t have full control of your Digimon (and yes, you only have one Digimon with you at one time, so you can never stack the numbers in your favor) so you shout commands at it, commands that the Digimon’s AI are pretty good at following, and hope for the best as you chuck healing items at it.

It’s not the best battle system, but it’s fun. And it definitely reinforces the whole “this is a pet you’re taking care of with its own thoughts and feelings” atmosphere that this game is going for.

However, nothing can protect your Digimon from enemy fire concentrated on them, especially if you did the thing that most players do and equipped your Digimon with the most powerful attacks that also happen to have slower cast times than the faster, weaker attacks.

What then happens is your Digimon’s Health is slowly whittled away as you are powerless to stop it, watching as your digital friend is straight up bullied by enemy Digimon as they keep falling to the ground over and over and over and over again.

The one saving grace is that Friendly Fire exists in this game so that oftentimes the enemy Digimon will damage each other in their mad dash to ruin your day, but that seems more like a band-aid than an actual fix to this system.

5. Fishing Seadramon

“Hi, kid. Let me guess - you also thought you had to talk to the Tankmon in Factorial Town in order to unlock me, huh.”

This one is a lot less of a pain than the other four and it’s only a little annoying but boy...getting Seadramon kinda sucks in this game.

It took me almost a goddamn hour to catch Seadramon. One hour of gameplay devoted to catching one fish. Just like real fishing!

I will say, besides Seadramon, the fishing minigame in this game is pretty competent. It’s just that Seadramon is very elusive, showing up at only two hours in a 24 hour day, and is a very finicky fish that won’t take your bait even if you literally placed it in front of his dumb fish face.

Don’t be fooled by this screenshot. The heart just means you have the right bait. The heart means that you didn’t actually get within range of hooking him.

IT’S RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU!!!

Seadramon is also subject to almost as many gaming myths as the Care Mistakes are, due to how elusive he is, but that’s less to do with poor communication (the game does at least explain multiple times in multiple places how to find him) and more to do with the fact that catching him is just such a goddamn chore to do that players of this game always assume they’re doing something wrong.

When in reality, Seadramon is just a picky little bitch.

Next time I discuss Digimon World, I’ll talk about things I liked, don’t worry. I just had to get all of this negativity out before discussing the full game proper.

#Digimon World #Turq Reviews #Turq Plays a Game

[cannebady]

Prompt: Aziraphale and Crowley reading reviews for the bookshop

Thank you for the prompt @captainclickycat!

In hindsight, Crowley isn't sure why he set the blasted thing up to begin with. It was, more than likely (read: most definitely), the result of quite an extraordinary amount of alcohol, because all of his best (read: worst) ideas have always started that way and why would this one be any different?

This one, evidently, was him setting up an official Yelp account for A.Z. Fell & Co., Antiquarian and Unusual Books located singularly in one London, Soho. He's sure that it'd seemed like it'd be a laugh riot at the time, though he's not entirely sure why, and he's sure that his sloshed self had been perfectly positive that Aziraphale would never even find the page so honestly what did it matter?

What his sozzled brain hadn't counted on was that, for all of his long and storied existence, he'd been the architect of his own irritations and, like the best of cosmic jokes, it seems that he would continue to be for the rest of bloody eternity.

First of all, he'd truly never thought that Aziraphale would acquire, much less actually use, a mobile phone. But, here in the after of the world that shouldn't have been, it seems that stranger things have truly happened. Of course it didn't help that he'd kept suggesting that Aziraphale get one and then, had gone so far as to actually present the angel with one, fully loaded. He just hadn't counted on the angel taking the blasted thing with his bright, shiny, sea-foam eyes, to which Crowley had no functional defenses, and then take to using it like a fish to water.

The second thing, that came on the tails of learning to use his mobile, was that Aziraphale discovered that he could look up restaurants wherever they were and didn't have to count on Crowley to do so. Additionally, there were reviews he could look at that were just, "So helpful Crowley! Look at these humans, inventing something so useful. They always have been wonderfully creative." Each word was imbued with absolutely heinous amounts of love and good will and Crowley was really just the worst demon there ever was, because he was so damn charmed by Aziraphale being charmed that he didn't put two-and-two together before it stuck him upside the head like a two-by-four.

---

"Crowley", Aziraphale whispered intently while Crowley was quite comfortably napping on the back room sofa.

Crowley tried to ignore it, he really did. He was so wonderfully comfortable and it really would be a shame to wake up. However, it's been established that he has fuck-all in terms of ability to deny Aziraphale anything, so of course he took the bait.

"Yes angel?", he replied, trying to infuse demonic levels of annoyance of nonchalance (read: sleepy, part-yawn, part-soft demon noises) into his tone.

"There are reviews, for the bookshop, on the Yelp!"

It takes Crowley a minute to catch up, because he's still not used to Aziraphale having internet access or knowing what something like Yelp is. He's about to wonder aloud what customer would actually be satisfied enough with Aziraphale's customer service skills to go so far as to write a review about it, before he realizes that he's the one who set up the account in the first place and promptly forgot.

"Wha, erm, what're they saying angel?" he asks, just a bit concerned that this might all be traced back to him.

Aziraphale scrolls down to the first review and Crowley comes up to read over his shoulder.

Marci S.

Soho, London, United Kingdom

2 Stars - 25/1/2020

"I've lived in Soho for years and finally decided to go in. The shop is in complete disarray, but the selection is great. I was satisfied until I actually tried to buy a book. The shopkeeper was icy, difficult, and downright combative. I left empty-handed. Not worth it."

Crowley cringes for a second, before Aziraphale huffs.

"Well, honestly, what did she expect? Hefting a first edition Austen around like that. Am I supposed to sell that to just anyone?" And Crowley wishes he wasn't so fucking impressed by Aziraphale's lack of propriety in these situations, but here he is, smiling like a loon.

"Oh, well of course. Why would she think she could buy a book in a book shop?" He gives a patented shit-eating grin which Aziraphale returns with an eye roll so well rehearsed it'd put Liz Lemon to shame.

"What else, angel?" Crowley asks because he's a glutton for punishment and he just loves that he still gets to rile Aziraphale up. That there's still a world where he can.

"Well, ah, here's another one." Aziraphale scrolls and lands on the next review which is, somehow worse.

Peter W.

Covent Garden, London, United Kingdom

1 Star - 22/12/2019

"Ponce of a shop owner wouldn't let me look at any of the rarer books. Been looking for a first edition Wilde for my son but the pansy wouldn't even let me near, real bastard he was."

Crowley can't help himself. Aziraphale is radiating righteous anger and looking more indignant by the second and it's just too good. Crowley's practical jokes never work out this well and he didn't even need to manufacture the reviews! A.Z. Fell & Co. has a 1.7 rating overall and he knows, he just knows, that every single one of those reviews are 100% honest.

Horribly, once he starts laughing, he can't quite stop. It takes the angel a second to realize that Crowley's breathy sounds aren't commiserating sounds of support but are rather poorly held back guffaws and he pulls out his best thin lipped glare and that's it, that's the end of Crowley's self control. He starts laughing in earnest, nearly bent over at the waist and feeling tears line his eyes, when he hears a truly irritated squawk leave Aziraphale's mouth.

He tries to speak through his bouts of laughter, "Oh, hah, angel, you-," he breaks off again, "you really are a bastard though." To which he receives a thunderous look, laced with millennia of angelic righteousness, a scathing, “Do shut up”, and a fussy turn that would've been a hair flip had Aziraphale had the hair to do so.

Aziraphale is manically scrolling before he stops and the air changes. If Crowley had been less filled with mirth, or had been less self-confident, he would've felt the change in tension. He would've realized that the specific change meant that Aziraphale had found exactly what he needed and that he was about to hand Crowley's arse to him for the 99 millionth time in their very long lives. But, as it was, Crowley was feeling far too chuffed for anything so fleeting as self-awareness.

When he finally looks back to the angel, planning a bit more gloating, he sees a carefully serene, calm smile reaching back, and his blood runs ice cold. This can't possibly be good.

"Well, how about this one, then?", he says and gestures for Crowley to read what's on the screen.

Naya L.

Lambeth, London, United Kingdom

4 Stars - 13/10/2019

"Mr. Fell is actually quite nice, if a bit fussy once you get to know him. He really knows his stuff. He let me use some of his original texts for my thesis. A bit odd, though, every time I went to do a bit more work or look at a new text, there was a man completely asleep, snoring, on the sofa. Weird look about him, sunglasses while indoors (even while sleeping?) and lots of black leather, definitely dyes his hair red. Looked a bit like a washed up rock star. Maybe a friend of Mr. Fell's? Either way, the selection is fantastic even if it smells a bit odd and seems a bit dingy."

Crowley's not laughing now. It takes a moment for him to register that the "indignant squawk" he heard was actually from his own mouth rather than the angel's.

"How dare she-, a washed up-, these are Valentino!"  He yells gesturing wildly towards his own face and the sunglasses that aren’t actually there at the moment, creating more of a chaotic flapping than any recognizable gesture. And now it's the angel's turn to stifle a giggle behind a well-manicured hand. "And I do not dye my hair! It's just like this! I'm a demon, remember?"

At this, Aziraphale starts making a sound that Crowley will respectfully refer to as cackling.  Of course, this was going just too well. And he clearly needed to stop kipping on the sofa as often as he did or it'd do awful things to his carefully crafted reputation.

"Oh, my dear, that's just divine” the angel says wiping an ancient handkerchief primly under his eyes. Crowley wants to be annoyed, and he is to some extent (he'll find bloody Naya L. and give her a piece of his mind, he will), but Aziraphale is just so happy and he's a true sucker for that laugh and that smile.

"M'not washed up, m'just retired."  Through the haze of exasperation, he realizes, perhaps for the first time, that he really is. Retired, a retired demon. That’s what he is. Aziraphale seems to realize it too, because his smile morphs from snide and down right bastardly to warm so quickly it gives Crowley emotional whiplash.

"Yes, I suppose we are, dear." The angel puts down the phone and herds Crowley toward the sofa where they can get comfortable; Aziraphale seated on the far end and Crowley's head comfortably pillowed in his lap, angelic fingers carding through his (definitely, absolutely not, dyed) hair.

Were either of them to look at Aziraphale's phone screen, they'd see the review just below Naya L., which read simply:

Damian R.

Soho, London, United Kingdom

5 Stars - 10/10/2019

"Can’t remember why I went in there in the first place but there was a huge snake. Just a real big snake, all black and red and gigantic. Just sitting in the bookshop, not sure why. Nice lookin snake overall tho. Would probably go back." 

#captainclickycat #good omens fic #good omens prompt #ficlet #drabble #good omens ficlet #good omens drabble #my fic #prompt fill #I loved this prompt so much