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haikyuu-boys-headcanons · 3 years

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𝙷𝙰𝙸𝙺𝚈𝚄𝚄 𝙱𝙾𝚈𝚂 - 𝙴𝙼𝙱𝙰𝚁𝙰𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚂𝙴𝚇 𝙼𝙾𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚂

hehe, i’m back at it again with one of these long ass posts but this idea’s literally been in my head all day long so here you go !! obvious nsfw warning :)

tw: this whole post is just nsfw and embarrassing to read so read at your own risk >:)

𝙳𝙰𝙸𝙲𝙷𝙸 » during a super intense and loud session, his voice cracked as he asked you “does that feel goOD- good baby?” to this day, he still prays that you couldn’t hear him over the sound of your own moans

𝚂𝚄𝙶𝙰𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙰 » you were riding him and he went to slap your ass, but something went wrong either because you were riding too quickly or he was shaking too much, boy ended up slapping himself in the balls. you’ve never heard that boy scream that loud in your life

𝙰𝚂𝙰𝙷𝙸 » literally pulled out in the middle of sex to get up and rush to the corner of his room to flip around his childhood teddy bears. your just laying there with your tiddies and coochie out waiting for asahi to shield the eyes of mr. wiggles

𝚃𝙰𝙽𝙰𝙺𝙰 » you two were having pretty intense shower sex until tanaka did the number one thing your not supposed to do during shower sex; this muthafucker slipped while holding you. long story short, y’all were okay but just ended up having nasty shower floor sex??

𝙽𝙸𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙾𝚈𝙰 » this tiny ass 5′2 man was unconsciously humping your leg while you were both asleep?? his presumably pleasurable wet dream had turned into a sudden nightmare when you literally had to KICK him off you to stop the humping. bad nishinoya, bad!

𝙺𝙰𝙶𝙴𝚈𝙰𝙼𝙰 » came WAYYY too early inside you, but he was too embarrassed to say anything so he just... kept going. sadly, no one had warned kageyama of the intense effects of overstimulation. he was shaking and whimpering so badly behind you to the point where you had to ask him to pull out and bring him a glass of water to calm down

𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙰𝚃𝙰 » the first time you squirted on him, he just blatantly asked you these exact few words that left you feeling mortified: “did you just piss on me?” nuh uh hinata, this water fountain ain’t yours to drown in anymore >:(

𝚃𝚂𝚄𝙺𝙸𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙼𝙰 » kei was hitting it from the back pretty hard this time, so hard that you were suddenly... on an angle? suddenly, now you two were much closer to the floor than before. the bed ended up collapsing, yes literally collapsing due to kei’s powerful thrusts. worst part is, nobody got to finish since kei dragged you to ikea to grumpily buy a new bedframe. but hey, he bought you ikea meatballs; that shit hits so different

𝚈𝙰𝙼𝙰𝙶𝚄𝙲𝙷𝙸 » one super duper intense night, he passed out the SECOND he came. no matter how much you flicked the temple of his forehead, yamaguchi was dead asleep. you had to literally slap him awake to get him to clean up, you ain’t risking a ranky stanky UTI puthy in the morning

𝙾𝙸𝙺𝙰𝚆𝙰 » kept calling himself a sex machine during the act. i don’t know if it was due to the 6 tequila shots he had beforehand or just his inner ego revealing, whatever it was it was about to make your pussy close

𝙸𝚆𝙰𝚉𝚄𝙼𝙸 » this one time, he kept going in at a weird angle which caused you to repeatedly queef for 7 minutes straight. every time you told him to pull out and go in properly, he laughed and kept going in at that one weird angle!! was your embarrassment a turn on for him?? maybe!! but were you mortified? absolutely!!

𝙼𝙰𝚃𝚃𝚂𝚄𝙽 » i’m sorry to have to be the one to announce this, but this man had the worst case of full blown bush you’ve ever seen. like, he didn’t even try to manscape or anything at all. you ended up begging him to trim just a tiny bit because you weren’t gonna risk choking on a pube whilst your going down on him

𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙰𝙺𝙸 » rubbed your left labia thinking it was your clit. and he kept doing that. the whole. fucking. time. even when you subtly moved his fingers towards your clit, he just kept going back to the left lip.

𝙺𝚄𝙽𝙸𝙼𝙸 » had the most dry and dull dirty talk you’ve ever heard. like, it’s not even dirty talk at this point; it’s just clean talk. there’s no passion when he talks! he uses the same tone he would use for anyone else at any other moment. to paint the picture, imagine riding kunimi and he’s just there with a furrowed expression like “yup, that feels really good”

𝙺𝚈𝙾𝚃𝙰𝙽𝙸 » tried to pull one of those unexpected anal scenes that he saw from a porno, without telling you beforehand. life lesson here; if you party at shit's house, don't be surprised if shit's at the party

𝙺𝚄𝚁𝙾𝙾 » you two were looking to get a little more kinky in terms of BDSM, so kuroo watched like 30 tutorials on youtube on how to safely tie you up so you won’t fall or anything. this bitch ended up tying rope knots that were practically impossible to undo, which resulted in you hanging from the ceiling for approximately 2 hours pussy-ass naked while kuroo tried to cut you down with a kitchen knife

𝙺𝙴𝙽𝙼𝙰 » wanted to spice things up with some dirty talk, like the real nasty talk they use in pornos but not the normal pornos; the shitty company ones with horrific acting. he really ended up announcing that he was going to “fuck your fucking fanny off, you twat”

𝙻𝙴𝚅 » got super excited while he was opening the lube since he hadn’t gotten to fuck you in a WHILE, which resulted the lube leaked everywhere and a giant 6′5 man slipping and hitting his head on the bed frame. worst part is; he had to go to the ER with a hard on that refused to go away

𝙱𝙾𝙺𝚄𝚃𝙾 » speaking of boners that wouldn’t go away, let’s not forget that one time bokuto took two viagras when you texted him to come over for a special occasion. he horribly misinterpreted the ‘special occasion’ text, because he showed up to your house with a huge buldge in his pants as your parents stand before him holding anniversary cards, completely horrified

𝙰𝙺𝙰𝙰𝚂𝙷𝙸 » wanted to make valentines day sex as romantic as he could, so he did the classic lighting candles and giving roses. everything was beautiful, until he accidently knocked one of the bigger candles over during missionary. this not only caused a huge ass fire in your bedroom, but he came right as the fire began to spread. boy was debating on whether his orgasm was to die for or not

𝙺𝙾𝙽𝙾𝙷𝙰 » had a nose bleed when he was going down on you and you both were immediately horrified, you thinking it was your period and him thinking he just ate coochie blood. yet as you went to go clean up, you realized his face had much more blood on it than your coochie did. to this day, he still blames it on your period

𝚄𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙹𝙸𝙼𝙰 » threw you onto the bed and your head went through the wall. he didn’t even bother to ask you if you were okay, he just sighed and went “well, now i have to make a call to the construction guy. excuse me” and he left you and your concussed ass head sit there once again, pussy ass naked

𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙾𝚄 » during a blowjob, he held your head down right as he was coming causing the cum to shoot up your throat and somehow pour out of your nose. by the time he pulled out, he could barely breath from laughing at you. sure, the classic ‘milk shooting out of nose’ thing was funny at first until you got a sinus infection and had to breath out of your mouth for the next three days

𝚂𝙴𝙼𝙸 » always insists having sex in the most inconvenient places?? like he would pull you to side while grocery shopping and start grinding up against you as you pick which brand of cheese would be better??

𝙶𝙾𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙺𝙸 » he kept getting frustrated that his bangs were clouding his field of vision, so he irritably grabbed a hair tie and frantically tied up the sides of his bangs while he was fucking you. you immediately burst out laughing since he looked exactly like boo from monsters inc.

𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚄𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙼𝙰 » got so drunk that he ended up fucking the couch. like he was just there on top of you, and his dick was just sliding between the folds of the leather couch. you decided to let him finish like that

𝚂𝙰𝙺𝚄𝚂𝙰 » had a really bad reaction to one of the products he used while shaving and ended up getting super irritated down there so he kept having to pull out in-between thrusts to itch his crotch. to make things worse, you joking suggested that he looked like he had syphilis and he got so disgusted at the idea of that thought that he literally had to pull out and take a breather

𝙾𝚂𝙰𝙼𝚄 » drizzled ‘warm’ chocolate down your chest and was about to seductively lick it off until you screamed in pain and horror as the chocolate was literally burning your skin off. osamu panicked, obviously not knowing what to do if chocolate was burning his partners skin off so he just... frantically licked it off. you still had to go to the ER afterwards to get treated for mild burns

𝙰𝚂𝚃𝚄𝙼𝚄 » didn’t know what a hymen was until the first time he tried to have sex with you. no matter how much he tried to shove his schlong in, it really just wasn’t working + “yer puss is broken”

𝚂𝚄𝙽𝙰 » pinched your nipples so fucking hard to the point where you started crying. he thoughts these were tears of pleasure until you literally had to kick him off you. but hey, he gave you ice for your sore nipples and mcdonalds! what more could a girl possibly want :)

uh the end lol

also, this idea was inspired by the first haikyuu headcanon i ever read, “awkward sex moments” by @bbytetsu <3

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wisteriashouse · 3 years

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falling (ii).

pairing: rengoku kyoujurou x reader

genre: dark

word count: 6184

remarks: this was so un-fluffy and its probably what i’ve struggled most with writing to date skdfgd as usual, please like, comment or reblog if you like it <3

ii. into your trap

One mistake is all it would take for everything to come crashing down.

That’s what had happened to the man before you, the man whose blood you’d spent hours scrubbing out of the carpet until every bit of crimson had been washed away. Because of a single moment of greed, he’d stolen a coat off a customer who’d ended up as the demon’s next meal - and that very coat had been a dead giveaway to the demon slayer investigating the disappearance of his relative. You wouldn’t be like that, you remind yourself, a tray in your hands as you make your way down the corridors of the brothel. You would never let a moment of emotion cloud your judgement and cause you to slip up. You can’t afford to.

It's all just for survival. That’s the reason why you’re the only one still alive today.

The rest before you have all been devoured.

Shifting your tray to one hand, you take a deep, slow exhale and smile, curving the corners of your mouth up at just the right angle. The mask you’ve perfected over years of deception falls seamlessly into place. You raise your hand to the door.

“Rengoku-san?” You knock, raising your voice to a bright and energetic timbre. “Are you still asleep? May I come in?”

Rengoku Kyoujurou. The man with burning conviction in his eyes. The demon slayer here to destroy the only life you know. The person who you have to kill with your own hands.

The demon you serve isn’t a fool, in fact, far from that - it is more than aware of the power and skill a person would have to possess to earn the title of a Pillar, and it knows that it has no chance of winning in a direct confrontation with him. That’s why the task has been relegated to you. Demon slayers might know breathing techniques that allow their physical prowess to surpass even demons, but that’s the very flaw with their training - that they’ve been taught to battle demons, and only demons.

You, on the other hand, are very much human, with the ability to slip between the gaps in their guard, the chink in their armour - the kindest ones have always the easiest to fool, after all.

Which is why you’re taken by surprise when there’s no answer from within. Wary at the lack of response, you rap your knuckles against the door once again, more urgent this time. Worry gnaws at your insides - what if he’s somehow already discovered the truth of this place, and has decided to flee before you can accomplish your task? The thought of the consequences you’d have to bear turns your stomach, and your knocking turns slightly more urgent. “Rengoku-san? Rengoku-san, are you inside?”

“Is there something you need from me?”

You whirl around in surprise at the voice, heart leaping into your mouth. Behind you, Kyoujurou stands in the hallway, bathed in the early morning light streaming in through the open windows. When your eyes meet his, he smiles at you in greeting, lips curving up naturally in a radiant grin. “It’s a beautiful morning today, so I went for a walk to watch the sunrise!”

“That sounds lovely.” You tell him with a smile of your own, relief seeping into your bones - he’s none the wiser than he was when he first stepped into the brothel, and you intend to keep it that way until you slit his throat. Holding up the tray in your hands, you’re quick to observe the way his eyes fall first on the plate of roasted sweet potatoes cubes - so you were right about the scent you picked up on him when he saved you from falling yesterday. “I was about to bring breakfast up to your room, but I didn’t think you would be awake this early. I’ll get up earlier next time so you can eat before you start your day. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, you know!”

“There’s no need to force yourself to wake up early for my sake!” Kyoujurou laughs, stepping over to slide open the door to his room for you. “Please, come in!”

The bedding has already been kept away in the oshiire, his few belongings neatly arranged on the low table in the corner of the room. When Kyoujurou moves to clear them so that you can put the tray down, you catch a glimpse of several sheets of paper with scribbles all over them, a stray black feather peeping out from under the corner of the tatami.

Your eyes narrow at the sight. The kasugai crow might turn out to be a problem, almost as bad as having unintended witnesses, but you have plenty of ways to ensure its message never gets back to the demon slayer corps, just as you had done with the previous one.

For now, the crow is the least of your worries - it’s nothing compared to the danger the man before you poses.

Completely oblivious to the thoughts running through your mind, Kyoujurou gestures at the table with a hand. “Feel free to put it down here!”

Your smile is painted back onto your face the very instant he glances at you, as easily as a brush dancing across paper. “Please excuse how simple it is. The potatoes aren’t cut very well, so they might not be evenly cooked.” You say, dropping your voice to a more shy, apologetic tone, just like how the entertainers from last night had tuned their instruments. “It was a little difficult to use a knife, so forgive me for that.”

Your words seem to jolt Kyoujurou into remembering the events from yesterday, and his eyes instantly dart down to inspect your hands as you set the tray down before him. They’re bandaged lightly with white gauze, something that you’d gotten up early to do this morning, and yet even with them on, making the potatoes convincingly uneven had still taken you multiple attempts. “Don’t worry about the potatoes. I’m sure they’ll taste wonderful, if your cooking last night was anything to go by! Do your hands still hurt?” Kyoujurou’s gaze is soft and filled with concern as he looks up at you, and you glance away with an appropriate degree of shyness in response.

“The scalding was a little more severe than I expected, but that was my fault. You don’t have to worry about it!” You reassure him, and as expected, he only gets more concerned when you try to brush off his kindness. “It’s just a minor inconvenience, and the worst that’ll happen is Masako-san’s nagging.” You sigh wistfully, the words murmured softly under your breath. “Ahh… I wish we had more hands in the kitchen here. It would be a lot easier to handle the cooking.”

From the way Kyoujurou’s eyes glance up at you, he’s heard every word you said.

You’ve set your trap.

“Well, I suppose that’s just how it is! It’s totally alright, though, I’ll just make do with what I have!” You smile energetically at the man sitting before you, although from the troubled expression on his face, there’s still more that he wants to say. “What I am sorry about is that you might have to wait for a while to have the meal I promised to make for you. I want to be in a good condition when I cook for you, so that you eat only my best!”

He seems taken aback by your enthusiasm for a moment, before his smile widens. “Take all the time you need!” Kyoujurou says kindly. “I’m sure that I can wait.”

From the way he beams at you, you’re confident that he knows nothing of your true intentions - relieved with how you’ve been doing so far, a silent sigh of relief leaves your mouth. Rising to your feet, you give him a small wave. “Well then, I’ll be going first. You can just leave the dishes here, I’ll come back for them later-”

“Have you eaten?” Kyoujurou asks.

The sudden question takes you by surprise. Preparing the sweet potatoes had taken longer than you’d thought it would, so you had quite forgotten about your own food in your rush to bring Kyoujurou’s food to his room. “Well, no, but I’m sure I can find something in the kitchen-”

“If you are available, then please eat with me!” He gestures opposite him at the table. You clutch the tray tightly in your hands while your mind races. Offering to let you sit with him at the table, to share his meal with you, does he perhaps suspect that you’ve tampered with his food?

Cold sweat prickles at the nape of your neck, but you fight to keep your voice light. “Oh? Did I make too much food for you to finish, Rengoku-san?”

Rengoku Kyoujurou, the man who holds your very life in his hands, only smiles warmly in response to your question.

“Food always tastes better when shared!” He explains to you jovially. There is no sign of any hidden intention or agenda in his gaze, his eyes clear and honest. His smile turns a hint amused as he regards you. “And was it not you who said that breakfast was the most important meal of the day? You should take care of yourself too!”

You take a seat in front of him, glad to have a reason to hide your shaky knees. Calm down, calm down, you repeat to yourself in an attempt to slow your racing heart. He hasn’t noticed a thing. Don’t panic and give yourself away. “I suppose I did,” you say, smiling at the man opposite you as you raise your chopsticks to take some natto for yourself. Kyoujurou grins and immediately reaches for the sweet potatoes, popping them into his mouth. This time, when he begins to exclaim ‘delicious!’ once more, you let yourself breathe, chewing slowly on the food in your mouth.

Everything, you think, as you watch Kyoujurou compliment your cooking with vigour, is going smoothly.

On the second day, just as you’d planned, Kyoujurou joins you in the kitchen after breakfast.

At the sight of him grinning at you in the doorway, you feign pleasant surprise and gratitude by clasping your bandaged hands over your mouth, eagerly welcoming him into your kitchen. Behind you, the door to the meat storage is locked tight with a padlock, hidden from view with several crates of spices to mask the smell.

He doesn’t have a clue that his fellow slayer’s head sat on your kitchen table last night.

By your estimates, you have roughly a week to kill Rengoku Kyoujurou, probably less. You’ve stayed up for the entirety of last night after your meeting with it, wracking your mind for reasons and excuses to get him to stay - but regardless of how many lies you might be able to manipulate him into believing, he will eventually figure out that Yugou Fukuzashi isn’t coming back, and when he does, you know his suspicion of this place will increase hundredfold.

That would make your job a whole lot harder, so with the deadline of a week hanging over your head, you set the first part of your plan to lower his guard around you into motion.

While you’ve heard of the near supernatural strength of the demon slayers, you’ve never actually met one in person aside from Yugou Fukuzashi (who by the time of your encounter had already been dying from blunt force to the head, courtesy of the man whose mistake had gotten you into this mess in the first place). However, you have no doubt that any of them, much less Kyoujurou, would be able to overpower you with ease. All you have on your side is your identity as a human and your cunning.

You’ll just have to make the best of what you have.

Hence, you think it’s more prudent to take things slow - like a spider approaching the prey wandering onto its web, you cannot allow yourself to move recklessly, or you’ll get caught in your own threads and fall to a demise of your own creation.

Kyoujurou fumbles with the knife at first, when you set him to work scraping the scales off some tuna, and part of you almost hesitates if you’ve gotten the wrong man - surely no Pillar trained in swordsmanship would be so awkward holding a blade. Still, you correct and guide him patiently, and he progresses under your tutelage faster than you expect. With his help, you finish lunch preparations slightly earlier than you expected to, leaving both of you with a small window of free time to sit down for a bit of a break.

“You learn fast, Rengoku-san.” You comment brightly as he sits at your kitchen table, his fingers drumming idly next to a dark stain in the tabletop. At your compliment, he pauses to grin, clearly pleased.

“Well, I had a good teacher.” He says and you laugh, picking up the knife you’d be using to put it aside. On the surface of the cold steel, the reflection of your smile is twisted, distorted. Casually, you lean forward. “Well then, how about letting your teacher give you a little test?”

Kyoujurou blinks, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a smile. “Sure!” He agrees, amicably. “What test would you have me participate in?”

You rise to your feet. “Close your eyes, it’s a surprise.” You urge. For a moment, Kyoujurou holds your gaze, before his eyes slip shut slowly, his breathing slow and even. “Yes?”

Your hand drifts along the shelves, your fingers coming to rest against the lid of a tightly sealed jar, tucked out of sight in a corner. There’s no label on it, but you’re more than familiar with the substance that lies inside. You’ve used it plenty of times now, after all.

Cyanide.

Should you try it now? With Total Concentration Breathing, a demon slayer should be able to slow the spread of poison by slowing their circulation, but you have no idea how effective it will be on a man of Kyoujurou’s caliber. Chewing on your bottom lip, you hesitate, torn between wanting to get your job done as fast as possible and worrying that you might fail.

If you do fail, you’ll be as good as dead. He wouldn’t even need his sword, with the strength in his arms alone, he could probably tear your head clean off your shoulders.

The thought makes cold sweat slide down the back of your neck.

“Are you going to make me taste test something?” Kyoujurou asks curiously, and your hand jerks off the jar in an instant, so quickly you almost knock the bowl adjacent to it onto the ground. “Should I continue to keep my eyes closed?”

“Of course! Patience, Rengoku-san.” You say, trying to hide the tremble of your hands, even though you can see his eyes are still firmly shut. The demon had warned you about the demon slayers’ strong survival instinct, but this should be just coincidence… mere coincidence, that must be it. Still, because you’re wary now, you turn away from the jar on your shelf. Not now.

Reaching for the fruit basket instead, your shaking fingers close around a fruit and you turn back to hold it to Kyoujurou’s nose. A guileless smile still sits on his lips, as if he has no idea about the internal turmoil churning deep in you at the very moment. You take a deep breath and swallow, eyes fixed intently on his face.

“Guess what this is.” Kyoujurou’s nose twitches slightly for a moment, brows furrowing as he attempts to place the scent. Barely a second later, a triumphant grin passes his lips and he states his answer with full confidence. “Peach.”

“Wow, you’re good at this.” You say, exchanging the peach in your hands for something else. Kyoujurou beams excitedly at the praise. “Here, what about this?”

“Sweet potato!”

“Right again. What about this one?”

You hold up a mushroom under his nose, and instantly you see his lips pull into a frown. “It… doesn’t smell good. I seem to remember Kochou telling me something about this scent before…”

All of the hairs at the nape of your neck prick at once and you press your lips, trying your best to subdue the feeling of terror churning in the pit of your belly. “Of course it doesn’t.” You say, forcing your voice to take on a light, innocent tone. “Open your eyes.”

Kyoujurou opens his eyes slowly, staring down curiously at the mushroom you have in your hands before his eyes widen in shock. “[name], put that down, that’s poisonous!”

You lick your lips, taking a deep breath to calm yourself down. “Of course it’s poisonous.” You hum lightly, waving the mushroom at him. “The first rule of cooking that my student should learn is to never eat things you don’t recognise, especially when it comes to mushrooms and berries. This is the death cap, probably one of the most poisonous mushrooms in the country! I’m surprised you could recognise it by its scent.”

He nods, listening intently. “Most people wouldn’t, but I have a… friend who is a pharmaceuticals expert! She deals with all manner of poisons and their cures, so I have some knowledge about them.” He tells you, and you have to contain your sigh of frustration. This new tidbit of information makes your job a whole lot harder.

“You have a lot of… interesting friends.” You make sure he sees you toss it into the bin before he can ask you what lethally poisonous mushrooms are doing in your kitchen.

Kyoujurou only grins. “They’re all very honourable people! I am blessed to have met each and every one of them!” His smile widens as he looks at you. “It is my fortune to have met someone like you here as well!”

You stare at him in the middle of taking a seat opposite him, taken completely off guard for a moment. “What?”

“When I first got here, looking for my friend, I was actually rather concerned about him! He’s investigating something dangerous, you see, so I was sent to provide him with some support.” Kyoujurou explains, and your hands fist the cloth of your hakama under the table. “Since there is nothing for me to do but wait, I thought that I might spend the next few days in worry! However, cooking with you makes time fly by, so thank you for that!”

You bite your lip at his words, before you smile at him, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling that has suddenly lodged itself in the back of your throat.

“It’s my pleasure, Rengoku-san.”

That night, after Kyoujurou has long gone to bed, you stand over the table the two of you had sat at together this morning, knife in hand as you slice carefully at the fish on your cutting board. The fugu meat falls away in clean chunks, but the meat isn’t what you’re after - reaching inside, you pull out its inner organs with a pair of tweezers, putting them in a bowl next to you, careful not to get any on your gloves.

It takes much longer than cyanide to extract, but it’s over a thousand times more potent. Only twenty five milligrams of it is needed to kill an adult man, according to your experience. The victim first experiences paralysis of the muscles, before the poison moves to the diaphragm and the muscles of that move the ribs, ultimately leading to failure of the lungs. The victim then dies from asphyxiation.

Without his lungs, all his Total Concentration Breathing will be rendered useless.

Tetrodotoxin is a water soluble toxin, it is odourless and tasteless, and most importantly, there is no known antidote to it.

You set down the knife. One of the eyeballs you’d removed stares at you from the bowl, accusation in its shiny, bloody depths, but you swallow and pick up the bowl anyway, moving towards the distiller to extract what you need from its contents.

“It’s nothing personal, Rengoku-san.” You mutter to yourself.

It’s just a matter of survival here, after all.

On the second day, the robbery happens.

Or rather, well, it attempts to happen.

You had planned to collect some ingredients from your usual vendor outside the gate, dropping slight hints to Kyoujurou here and there when he’d been helping you with dinner preparation the day before. The moment you stepped out of the back door of the brothel, you had found Kyoujurou already waiting there with his usual bright grin, the early rays of the breaking dawn setting him alight in a blaze of red and gold.

This time, you could not bring yourself to feign surprise, instead smiling and telling him of your gratitude as the two of you began walking down the street. Due to the early hour, the red light district is oddly quiet, empty streets almost peaceful except for the occasional drunkard reeking of alcohol stumbling from one tavern to another.

The third time you see Kyoujurou wrinkle his nose at the smell, you turn to him, head tilted.

“Are you not fond of alcohol?”

He shakes his head, and out of the corner of your eye, you see that his usual smile has dimmed. “Alcohol muddles the mind and dulls the reflexes! It would compromise my capabilities.” Kyoujurou tells you, as the two of you walk side by side. You steer him into a narrow side alley, your shoulders brushing against each others. “I prefer not to drink unless the occasion calls for it, since I must always be at my peak physical condition at any given time.”

You let your mouth pull into a confused frown. “Why would you need to be-”

Something steps into the alley in front of you, blocking out the sunlight and casting long shadows across the ground. You glance up to see two ruffians standing in your path, leering grins on their faces. Your footsteps falter, before coming to a stop completely. Next to you, Kyoujurou does the same.

“Oi.” One of the men call, his sneer only growing. “Pay up! Don’t you know that you’re stepping on our territory?”

Kyoujurou frowns at their words, turning to whisper into your ear. “Are we intruding on their territory?” He asks, and you shake your head, stepping forward to confront them.

“This is a back alley behind Momoshizu.” You say, your voice level as you point at the brothel right next to them. “Unless you’re a dog guarding the back entrance to a brothel or a stray cat chasing rats for a living, you don’t have territory here. If you want to extort money from someone, do it outside the walls of the pleasure district.” Your eyes narrow. “Penniless trash like you don’t belong here.”

“[name]!” Kyoujurou sounds aghast at your barbed words, but you lean back to whisper to him. “If you give in even a little, they’ll start harassing you for more. It’s better to turn them down from the start.”

“Yes, of course,” Kyoujurou says, brows furrowed in worry as he regards the two men before you, “but this could turn out dangerous, wouldn’t it be better to call the law enforcement instead?”

“Well, yes, if there was any law enforcement in the first place-”

A low chuckle interrupts the two of you, and you turn around to see one of the men pulling something from his pocket. Silver glints in the early morning light and you take a step back, eyes widening. “Rengoku-san, they have a knife!”

Kyoujurou’s face is impassive, and for a moment you wonder what he’s thinking about when he suddenly smiles again, his usual grin returning to his face as he rests a hand on your shoulder. Its weight and warmth brings with it a certain peace that leaves you stunned. “It’s alright, there’s no need to worry!” He booms, almost radiant in the shadowed alley. Gently, he nudges you behind him and steps forward protectively, shielding you completely from their sight with his large frame. “You have me! I promise I won’t let any harm come to you!”

Come with me, a soft, poisonous voice echoes from the edges of your memory. It’s a cold, frostbitten night, but the blood on your hands is so, so hot. I won’t let any harm come to you. Come with me, little human. I’ll fill your stomach and give you a place to sleep. You just want to live…

Don’t you?

Bile rises in your throat, but luckily for you, Kyoujurou isn’t looking at you, his eyes trained on the men before you instead, his back straight and head raised. Bitter resentment at the fates gnaws at you, your hands clenching tightly into fists.

On that cold night, why couldn’t you have met someone like Rengoku instead?

“Kindly move out of the way.” You hear Kyoujurou say. His hands remain calmly by his sides, neither in a defensive nor offensive stance. “The alley is not large enough for the two of us to pass at the same time.”

“Hah?” The ruffian holding the knife steps closer so that he’s in Kyoujurou’s face, their noses almost touching. Still, Kyoujurou does not make a move to remove the knife from him. “Do you need your ears cleaned, idiot? I said, this is our territory. You’re the one who needs to pay up, scum!”

“I repeat, please move aside, or I will have to use force.” In spite of the insults being thrown in his face, Kyoujurou’s tone is still firmly polite, but now his words are edged with steel. “I do not wish to hurt you.”

“Hurt us? You’re making me laugh here, man.” The ruffian spits in his face, pressing the point of his blade to Kyoujurou’s throat.

“Rengoku-san!” You exclaim, in shock, yet Kyoujurou still doesn’t move, hands pressed solidly to his sides as he looks at the man in the eye, dead calm.

“Get the other one, too. That fucking mouth needs some payback. If we sell her, we might be able to get some money out of that too.”

Your eyes widen. The man’s partner turns his gaze on you, and he grins, pulling out a knife as well. Biting on your lower lip, you take a step back.

“Rengoku-san?” You reach out to tug at his sleeve. “We should probably run-”

Your fingers close around empty air.

Hours later, you’ll sit in your room, playing back your memories of this moment and yet still have no idea what you’ve just witnessed. All you see if a blur of orange, and then suddenly the man who was holding his knife to Kyoujurou’s throat is flat on his back, hands empty of any weapons. You’ve barely begun to shift your gaze when you see that the second man has already met with much the same fate, and for a moment, you can only stand there and stare in horror when you realise just what you’ve been tasked with killing.

He’s a monster.

Kyoujurou stands over them, not a strand of hair disheveled or out of place, the rise and fall of his shoulders still even and calm - he doesn’t look like he’s moved an inch.

You have to kill him? Someone like him? Impossible. Your hand clasps over your mouth to contain your voice before it can flee your throat, eyes wide. No, no, no. You’ll die if you try to take him on. But if you don’t, you’ll...

Rows of jagged teeth fill your vision, crimson blood splattering over the carpet, a looming grin on the walls-

“It’s alright now!” A gentle voice cuts through your panic, and you look up to see Kyoujurou standing over you. You didn’t even realise when your legs had lost their ability to keep you standing, your behind planted in the dirt and your knees weak. With a reassuring grin, he holds out his hand to you. “Come, stand!”

You stare at his outstretched hand for a moment before tentatively placing your own hand in his. He pulls you to your feet, his other hand supporting you gently. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” The words are wooden in your mouth. “You protected me, after all.”

Kyoujurou grins at you. “That’s good to know!” Turning back to the two men still groaning on the ground, Kyoujurou holds up the two knives. “I’ll be taking these now.” His voice is stern. “I don’t want to see the two of you threatening innocent people again. Understood?”

Nodding frantically, the two men pick themselves up and scramble away, almost falling over their own feet in their bid to escape. As he watches them go, Kyoujurou lets out a sigh and pockets the knives in his sleeves, shaking his head. “Truly terrible, that people would try to hurt others this way for their own benefit.”

You swallow at his comment.

“Unbelievable.” Compose yourself. Taking a deep breath, you affix a smile onto your face once more. “Well, now I see what you mean by needing to stay at the peak of your physical abilities. You’re very strong!” You say, trying to lighten the mood. It works, because Kyoujurou lets out a laugh at your words, his eyes crinkling as he smiles.

“I’m flattered!” He says cheerfully. “Now, shall we get going? There’s still lunch to prepare, after all!”

The sun is steadily climbing up the sky when you look up at it, and you yelp, tugging at his sleeve. “Oh no! Hurry, Rengoku-san! We’re late!”

The two of you run through the streets of the red light district together.

“You didn’t warn us about him!”

You hold your breath at the sound of the door being thrown wide open, exhaling in an attempt to stay calm. Turning around, you pick up a ceramic jar of sake from next to you. “It’s a nice night out, isn’t it?” From the open window, you can see the full moon hanging in the sky outside.

“I don’t have time for your nonsense.” One of the two ruffians from this morning snarls. You pause in opening the jar to compose yourself, before you invite him into the room with a wave of your hand.

“Sit down and we’ll talk.” You say, pouring out three cups of alcohol. Both of them glare at you from opposite the room before they stomp up to you, unceremoniously sitting themselves onto the ground and scowls still painted on their faces. “Here, have a drink. I make the alcohol at this brothel myself.”

They don’t touch their cups, eyes full of mistrust as they stare at you. With a sigh, you shake your head.

“I’ll take the first drink, then.”

They watch you warily as you pick up a cup on your own, taking a long sip to enjoy its taste before placing the cup back down on the table. So different from Kyoujurou, you wonder to yourself, remembering the time you’d offered him wagashi during your first meeting and he had downed all of them without a second thought. Now that you think about it, you probably should have struck at that very moment. Evil truly expects evil from others.

“I want out of this job.” The first man snaps the second you put down the cup, grabbing a cup of sake from the table and taking a gulp. His partner, in contrast, downs the entire cup in an instant. “And I want compensation.”

You pour both of them another cup. “I can agree with the first one.” You say, trying to keep your voice even. “Not with the second.”

“You didn’t tell us that your target was going to be a fuckin’ monster!”

The two of you eye each other for a moment, neither willing to budge. Behind him, his partner picks up his refilled cup and downs it once again

“You never asked.” You answer. Your voice only wavers once. “Furthermore, you didn’t even manage to kill him. The only thing the two of you were good for was your acting, and even then kabuki dancers would have done a better job.”

“What the fuck was the point of the entire staged robbery anyway?” He snaps, knocking back another cup of alcohol. “If you meant for us to kill him, you wouldn’t have…”

The man’s eyes darken in realisation as he says it, his arm reaching across the table to grip at the collar of your clothes, yanking you forward hard so that the two of you are face to face. Your ribs knock painfully against the edge of the low table, but you don’t let your gaze leave his, forcing your expression to stay neutral.

“You were playing us the entire time.” His voice is a low, raspy snarl. “You knew we weren’t going to be able to kill him.”

You don’t reply, but your lack of denial is more than confirmation enough for him.

He hurls the cup at you. You barely manage to duck in time and it only clips your shoulder, its contents dripping all over the front of your kimono. The slight, bitter scent of almonds permeates the air. “I’m going to kill you.” He snarls, getting to his feet. Like this, he towers over you easily. “You’re going to regret messing with the wrong type of people, missy.”

He shoves you hard and you go crashing to the ground painfully with a yelp, your head knocking against the corner of the table and you see stars flash before your eyes. Before you can regain your balance, he swings one leg over your hips, pinning you down to the ground and before pulling another knife from his sleeve - this time, a sharp, single edged blade that could easily slice your neck to ribbons.

He presses it against your throat, and you swallow, trying not to tremble and cut yourself on the edge of his blade. You don’t know how you’d explain such a wound to Kyoujurou tomorrow.

“Now,” his breath is rancid, his knee pressing painfully into your hip - you know bruises will form there tomorrow, “I’m going to show you what exactly happens when you waste our time like this, you fucking-”

“Fujita!”

The grip on your robe loosens ever so slightly as the man whips around to glare at his partner. “I’m talking here, man, what the hell do you...” his partner is writhing on the tatami mats, clawing at his throat, desperate, breathless screams leaving his mouth. “Saburo! Saburo, what’s happening to you?”

You shove him off you with all your strength and he topples to the ground with a heavy thud. Shaking your head as you stagger to your feet, you wipe at the stain on your kimono before eyeing it with disappointment. “This is going to take ages for me to clean now.” You exhale as Saburo flails wildly, choking on air as he attempts to breathe. Fujita whirls around to stare at you.

“What did you do?” He roars, but when he tries to stand, he staggers to the side, nearly falling before he manages to catch his balance. His eyes go wide, and he looks up at you in horror.

“Poison in your cups, but not mine, of course. It would be a waste of alcohol to poison the entire jar.” You say wearily, picking up your own cup from the table and taking another sip. “Cyanide, if you want me to be specific.”

Fujita chokes, grasping desperately at his own throat, before he stumbles and falls onto his knees, eyes wide with terror. You watch as the knife falls from his hands and clatters onto the tabletop. Saburo is already still, aside from the occasional twitch. “The two of you made useful test dummies, I suppose. Well, I could pay the two of you for that… but you won’t have much need for money in a few moments, anyway.”

Still, Fujita tries to claw his way to the door, struggling to put one hand in front of the other as he fights to force air into his lungs. You watch him for a few moments and wonder if you should have used a higher dosage instead to finish him off more quickly. Picking up the jar of alcohol, you cross the room in three quick strides and bring it down on his head with all the force you can muster.

The heavy ceramic jar of alcohol shatters the second it connects with the back of his skull, and Fujita crumples to the ground one final time. For a moment, the room is silent except for the sound of your heavy breathing, and when you look down at your hands, a shallow cut bleeds red over your palm before the blood falls to the tatami below in little, crimson drops.

Looking at the mess before you, you can only shake your head and sigh.

“It’s nothing personal.” You say, out loud. “You tried to kill me, after all.”

The corpses on the ground have no reply.

#rengoku #rengoku fanfic #rengoku kyojuro #kyojuro #kyoujurou #rengoku kyojuro x reader #demon slayer #demon slayer fanfic #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba fanfic #kimetsu kyojuro #kimetsu rengoku #kny fanfic #kny #kny kyojuro

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sungoingdown · 3 years

Text

THE FOOL : A LOOK AT HIS EMOTIONS .

When writing the song, Paul McCartney said that he happened upon the idea via seeing an old man on a walk up a tall hill with his dog, Martha. This old man was quite nice, but kept pestering Paul with life advice that he didn’t quite want nor accept at the time. He kept trying to push the man away and when he finally did, he felt some guilt. He wanted to look back to him to apologize for his anger, and tell him goodbye. But by that point, the wise old man had somehow vanished from the hill entirely.

It’s both this story and the music videos from Paul’s trip to France that I take his personality from. Those and the song of course! And what beautiful stories they are.

Let’s take a deeper look on what it means to be the fool and who he is.

Paul expressed that he wanted the music video to be based off the Tarot card of “The Fool.” I know my way around the tarot, and most of the time, the card means two things, depending on which way it fell out of the deck: manifestations, and carelessness.

When right-side up, the card indicates that you have the power to do whatever you want. You should be foolish because you have what it takes to get what you want. Usually people will see this card when they’re going through tough times and need a better outcome. They’re typically "lost,” too, and are just unaware of what to do. Upon seeing The Fool upright, it means that they have the power to get out of this situation they’re in by working towards whatever they wish to achieve.

This demonstrates the fool rather well, as seeing him means that your life is in a terrible rut. I’ve compared fool’s character more to the tower card, as seeing him is a double-edged sword like the tower is. But make no mistake, his personality surely fits the meanings of the fool as a card. Albeit his presence means that you have the power to be in a positive atmosphere. You just have to work for it, as the card indicates as well. He’s just there to help you get back to your feet, and in doing so, showing you what it means to have life behind your back. Living life to its fullest is getting up and doing what you can to succeed. Self-care is just a step of the way to that, which is what the fool wants to do to help you on your feet.

When flipped however, The Fool means that you’ve been acting careless. This is another perfect example of the fool’s character. He does want to help you, and he does care about you and getting you back to your feet, but he doesn’t quite care what you’re going through at the point in time. It doesn’t matter if it was only yesterday that you lost your whole family. He’ll still show up and be as happy, quirky, and obnoxious as ever! How careless. It doesn’t matter if you’re in the middle of the most important test of your life. He will enter the room and shout your name until you look at him, as he prods you outside to the halls.

People typically see The Fool flipped when they’re swallowing themselves in material things, addictions, or throwing morale out left and right. You’ll usually never see this card alone, as when flipped it’s typically connected to another card. As you can be careless, but you have to do something carelessly.

It’s this careless attitude that pushes people away from him.

“ And nobody seems to like him / They can tell what he wants to do / And he never shows his feelings “

The Fool enjoys bringing manifestations into people’s lives in an extremely careless way. In doing so, he comes in at people’s worst times, usually during mental breakdowns, stressful situations, important life decisions or moments, just to remind them that they are important, they have power, and that they can make their lives happy. In return, people typically get irritated as “life” makes them upset. “Life is shit,” they’ll say, as they presume that he’s shoving happy advice down their throats. They aren’t wrong, but they push him away and make him feel ridiculous for it.

Realistically, anyone could enjoy his presence. In general, people know that those who take life as is and refuse to stress have happier, longer lives. But it is the sheer fact that he’s such a “fool,” that makes him so different. The fact that he shows up as an inconvenience is what makes it so much more annoying, irritating, and difficult. But that’s his whole motif. The fool is the foolish one, for he’s digging the garden in your head and giving you the water for the flowers that grow years later.

His whole symbol is to remain as a memory in your mind. A shadow that disappears when you look back.

“ He never listens to them / He knows that they're the fool ”

Those freshly tilled never really see the seeds he plants. And as such, the fool understands that shoving a hoe into someone’s morale would cause issues. So, despite all the rage and annoyance, he never takes what they say as truth. They’re just tired, they’re just exhausted, and begging for a change. After all, he’s seen people change from evil bastards to nurturing mothers. Love is what they need, and their attitudes are foolish because they think they know, they really do, when they truly have no idea.

But still, it hurts.

As stated before in a lyric, the fool never shows his feelings. Humans and mortals are known for coming with knives, sharp tongues, and deep claws. Their eyes are their logic after all, and as such, they react with malice whenever their worlds or environments are changed, bothered, or met with onslaught. Though it’s started to lose the harsh touch, the scar stings every time it’s lashed.

The name especially.

He doesn’t like being called it in the slightest. It’s almost retaliation, in my eyes. He isn’t the fool, they’re the fool for refusing to listen! For refusing to understand!

And it makes him so irritated. Some people just don’t understand change. They don’t understand the light he’s trying to share. Capricious almost, the fool’s emotions can shift depending on how stubborn his current mortal at hand may be. Energies are known to change on a dime, especially when the world around them changes. They are easily influenced by the emotions of man and supernatural -- and thusly, the fool reacts as such.

But, he’ll never show that. If one is empathetically inclined, or perhaps can read energies, they would be able to tell his emotions and shifting emotions extremely easily, but most don’t and as such, most will never know what he’s really thinking. After all, he was made by the universe to help people. And when assistance is needed, you toss everything to the wind, including yourself. The Fool hasn’t shared what he’s felt for hundreds upon hundreds of years; he’s never had anyone to do that with. But he doesn’t believe he needs to. And if given the chance, he’d be frozen and horrified.

The other is who is important. His emotions mean nothing to him. He can easily cast them aside, as he’s done so time and time again. And usually within a few decades when the mortal finally learns their lesson and the memories of him are brought back again, he gets his benevolent karma and feels a warm energy engulf him. That fulfills those emotions -- makes them all worth it. Yet they’re still there, and still festering. This is perhaps the one thing he prefers of the supernatural: they never saw him as a foolish energy. They saw him as necessary.

“ But the fool on the hill / Sees the sun going down / And the eyes in his head / See the world spinning round ”

Though I use the chorus as a means to describe his primordial immortality, it’s also a huge part of his character as well. Despite how pained he feels, and how the sting still burns, he always uses his own grounding techniques as a go to. It doesn’t do much and partly, The Fool’s in denial about his need for release. After all, his release comes from watching the sun, from reading people’s successes and listening to their celebrations. The passion of others is a huge joy to him, and it helps him relieve all that stress. But it’s all just temporary.

Skipping around the hills, resting under trees, dancing on rocks, watching the trees rustle -- it’s all good fun and it makes him feel great! But it never takes things away completely. And it never will, as he can never die.

Interestingly though, there is still one thing: seeing people makes him excited.

“ Day after day, alone on a hill / The man with the foolish grin “

Another reason I see him as a primordial being: he is horrendously lonely. So, seeing someone brings him great joy. It’s time to make another friend! To socialize and make someone happy, excited, and better! And if they don’t need him, it’s just a great time to relax and spice life up a bit!

Keep in mind how the fool, when alone, is hardly ever seen with excitement:

Before he notices you:

After he notices you:

Notice the smallest difference in the eyes and the smile? Yeah. He’s excited to see you.

But then notice how, when alone, he never has the brightest look on his face:

Frowning here, despite watching the sunrise. Lost in the bliss of life, but still a desolate look on his face? Definitely sounds like denial to me.

Watching the sun but still no smile? Hmm.

Seems that the fool enjoys the presence of others, no matter how much they irritate him if they don’t listen to him. Why?

Because he wasn’t meant for mortality; the physical body wasn’t supposed to intermingle with energy, but he still feels like he belongs here. So, the fool will continue to live in denial of himself. He believes that what he teaches others can genuinely help him.

But he really needs is a friend. But that too, is quite hard to find, as mortals must always die.

#🏔️ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 . ( metas )#🏔️ 𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 ; 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘭𝘴 . ( musings )#( BEST META YET FOOLS HAHA )

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the-melting-world · 4 years

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Between the Pages

This fic came about when @arcanecadenza and I realized that her oc Dante and my apprentice Kipling were both very turned on by libraries and research. So naturally, we had to see what would happen if the conditions were just right. 😏

***

In which a humble gardener meets a shy alchemist...

~ 2k words

Warnings: mild spice

{Part I}

It wasn’t too often that Kipling Bronne could take the afternoon off. So she wanted to spend it at one of her favorite places – the library. Kip wished she had the luxury to go more often, but she didn’t want to think about that now. She was here and that was all that mattered.

This particular location was one of her favorite libraries in all of Vesuvia. And one of the only ones where she didn’t have a record of overdue books. Walking halfway across the city to get to it had been absolutely worth the inconvenience. With its high ceilings, cavernous lighting, and cozy furniture, Kipling could get lost in here for hours.

And she certainly intended to do so. The problem was deciding where to direct her time. The literary section was calling her name, begging her to go hunting for the elusive spider-themed fables from her childhood. But she didn’t have time for silly rhymes. She was a business woman who needed to invest in her craft! And that meant looking up books on landscaping. In this she had no formal training and would never be able to save up enough money to support herself while she interned with a professional. So it all came down to teaching herself.

Kipling promised herself that next time she would browse the ancients and spend time with the nostalgic stories of her youth. But when Kipling entered the cool, dark building, she could already feel her resolve start to slip. After asking for directions to the nonfiction section, she didn’t so much as let her eyes wander in the direction of the popular literature.

By the time Kip reached the section with the books on floriculture and design, her shoulders were practically sagging. That’s when she ungracefully crashed into another patron. Of course it had to be a handsome one.

Kipling quickly assessed his long, dark hair drawn back at the nape of his neck, his ocular frames, and the smell of parchment and chalk clinging to his garments. As if he were born right here between the shelves. Meanwhile Kip probably smelled of soil and terracotta clay. She hadn’t even had time to go home and change out of her apron and toolbelt. So she carried her entire office and all of its supplies on her hips. Not ideal for sliding in between these narrow bookshelves.

Still, Kipling over-apologized. “Gods, I wasn’t watching where I was going!” She bent down to pick up the patron’s frames, which had spilled onto the dusty floor in their collision. She did her best to clean them off on the sleeve of her blouse before hastily returning them to the owner’s face. This probably wasn’t the best course of action because they landed rather crookedly.

Kipling didn’t want to laugh, but the patron hadn’t moved or barely made a sound beyond grunting when they bumped into one another. Mostly he stared sort of slack-jawed, bringing Kip’s attention to what could have been a dark mote of dust or just a natural skin marking on the center of his lower lip. The longer she looked, the more she wanted to find out.

Reaching up to adjust the frames, Kipling tried to stifle a chuckle. “I probably shouldn’t cause any further damage, but –” her hands were able to smoothly rectify the problem without – bless the gods – poking him in the eye.

It seemed that whatever spell the patron had fallen under had worn off because he was grinning subtly as she cleared away the finer wisps of hair determined to sweep the freckles off his face.

“Thank you,” he said, not seeming to mind Kipling’s fussing. In fact, Kip realized as she reigned her arms back, the tilt of a thick eyebrow suggested that he didn’t seem to mind at all.

Jamming her thumbs behind the leather of her toolbelt, Kip struggled to find something else to say. This handsome individual was obviously familiar with this part of the library, and she didn’t want to say anything that might betray her ignorance in any of her weaker subject areas.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to because he was already rambling off questions. He spoke so fast and so eagerly that she could only parse out one.

“Oh, I’m just looking for...” Kipling hesitated to say the Basics of Landscaping, so she said, “I’m here for work.” Noticing that he wasn’t carrying any texts or scrolls, she asked, “Are you looking for something in particular, uh… I don’t think I caught your name?”

“Dante,” he blurted. Then he cleared his throat.

Kipling’s hand shot out faster than she intended. “Dante,” she repeated, appreciating its literary implications. “I’m Kipling. Or Kip, if you like.”

As they shook hands, his awkwardness dissolved under a more confident expression.

“Kip. That I do like.” He made a thoughtful sound and added, “I’m here for work too.”

They were both slow to disengage from the handshake. Excited at the prospect of talking about a profession other than her own, Kipling asked, “Oh? What is it that you do, Dante?”

The confidence flickered, as if the patron wasn’t prepared to answer such a question. His eyes flitted about the dark space as he faltered, “I am... a...”

Kipling tried not to smile too eagerly as she waited for him to collect his thoughts. Finally, his dark eyes settled on a spot seemingly on the far side of the library before reconnecting with Kip’s.

“I’m a poet,” he said rather deliberately.

Kipling set her jaw and reconsidered her options for that afternoon. Browse through these very informative, but drab textbooks on topics devoid of narrative or verse? Or go hunting for her whimsical poems with a local expert?

She didn’t need long to think it over. Taking Dante’s hand again and tugging him away from these cramped shelves, she said, “Oh! Do you think you can help me with something? There’s a collection of children’s rhymes I’ve been trying to locate ever since –”

Kipling carried on as she tugged Dante in the direction of the cozier, warmer aisles where she knew her beloved poems were bound to be.

***

{Part II}

To Kipling’s surprise, Dante, although claiming to be a poet by occupation, did not know anything about the ancient bard scholar Ananzi or any of his prolific works within or outside of the realm of children’s fables.

Either way, she was happy to have him by her side as they sat cross-legged at the base of one of the many shelves of poetry, leafing through anthology after anthology. Every time Kip paused in her treasure hunt to check on Dante’s progress, she found him staring at her or, dare she even say, pretending to read. One thing that she had noticed him making progress on was the state of his hair and attire – both of which were on a steady descent toward disheveled hell.

When Kipling could no longer ignore it, she quietly laughed. “You’ll never find anything with all that hair in your face.”

Dante looked about himself as if he just now realized what he had done. “Hm. I’ll admit that my priorities have shifted a bit.” He shot her a disarming smile.

Kipling, knowing full and well that she couldn’t focus on nostalgic pursuits when the present opportunities were so tempting, closed the book and said, “Dante, are you trying to distract me?”

“Yes.” The so-called poet looked rather pleased with himself. “Is it working?”

Kipling set the book to the side. “It is.” She turned to face him a little better. Looking pointedly at his hair, which was now undone and cascading about his shoulders, she asked, “May I?”

His eyes went a little wide, but he granted her permission. While Kipling took her time threading her fingers through his gently textured waves, Dante asked, “Do you know any of your ancient’s poems by heart?” Then clearing his throat, he added, “because it might help jog my memory. Certainly I know of whom you speak. It’s just buried under all the other, uh... ancients that I know of.”

Off to side, Kip rolled her eyes, but decided to humor him. “I know how the beginning of one goes.” Then as she began to recite the verses, her voice took on a different quality. It dipped low and broke up the common tongue in ways that only those from the islands could.

Her poem told of a spider assassin who fell in love with a god king that she was assigned to kill. Dante’s eyes fluttered closed as he leaned against her hands, which had gone from gentle touches to deeper massages along the nape of his neck.

When she ran out of verses to remember, Dante asked, “How does the poem end?”

Kipling withdrew her hand and gave a sad smile. “The spider drives herself mad because she can’t choose between carrying out her assignment or sparing the king’s life.”

Dante opened his eyes and chewed on his inner lip. “And this tale was meant for children?”

Kipling chuckled. “Oh, that one? No. Sorry, I should have specified.”

Dante smiled back. “It was very beautiful. Mostly due to the way you told it.”

Kip couldn’t stop her hand from wandering up to the ghost lock by her temple and winding it around her index finger.

Dante followed the gesture with his eyes. “Why did you... why did you stop?” Without waiting for an answer, he gently took hold of her free hand and fed it back into his hair.

Kipling’s laugh came out a little louder than she intended. “Gods, you’re worse than my familiar. I’ll admit, I’ve been distracted by the mark on your lip.”

Dante’s grin grew more confident. “Oh? Would you like a closer look?”

Knowing exactly where this was going, Kipling let her voice slip into the huskier accent from before.

“Only if you want me to.”

She was pleased to see that even in the amber shadows of the library, she could detect the band of blush forming across his freckled face.

“I would.”

Kipling reached for and removed his frames. She folded them carefully before setting them off to the side on top of a book. She found that with or without glasses, Dante was very easy on the eyes. But she could tell that as soon as the frames came off, his confidence slipped.

Luckily for him, Kip wasn’t in the mood to tease. She moved with purpose, guiding a wavy lock behind his ear and leaning in to coast her lips along the underside of his jaw. Dante made a shy sound that betrayed a more bashful nature under all that swagger from earlier. As Kipling walked her lips up his face, she felt him relax more and more.

“You can touch me, Dante,” she whispered against the corner of his mouth. She demonstrated her meaning by slipping one hand along the base of his neck where she gathered a handful of his roots. She tucked her other index and middle finger into his unbuttoned collar. Her hands became opposing forces – one tugged down while the other slipped higher.

“Oh. Mmm.”

Dante fumbled with his own hands, but Kipling didn’t wait for him to figure out a plan before she finally found his lips. And found them again. And again.

Dante’s hands rested on a spot high on Kipling’s waist, just shy of her breasts. Occasionally, his knuckles would catch the soft underside, which only made Kip slow down the kiss and unburden more of the buttons on his shirt.

Drawing back some, she whispered, “You’re not a poet, are you, Dante?”

His slightly disoriented expression sobered a bit. “No.” He had the courtesy to meet her gaze when he came clean. “Is that... going to be a deal breaker?”

Kipling didn’t know where she found the discipline to hold back from surrendering to that downright irresistible mouth of his. Tapping the dark bead on his lower lip and schooling her features into something more contemplative, she said, “Only if you lie to me again.”

“It won’t,” he whispered hastily, “happen again.”

Dante’s sober expression edged towards something more defenseless and hungry as Kip let her finger linger on the mark.

“Good. Because I want to get to know you, Dante. The real you.”

#kipling the apprentice #kipling x dante #oc dante #the arcana fan apprentices #kip of cups #🍵#my writing #dapling

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jubans · 4 years

Text

The targets are in sight.

When you see them exiting the only spice shop in the district that was Veludo Way, you don't avert your gaze immediately. April has always been keen with suspicious movement from those around him. Even if he and December have long since defected from the Organzation, those honed reflexes don't just vanish from the intricate programming of their subconscious minds.

December is talking to him in the most animated manner you've seen the ivory-haired ex-agent speak—the foreign glimmer of fascination ever-so present in his viridian eyes. April nods, hoisting the bag of what you assume is a re-stock of his strange spices further into his arms, and replies with an easygoing smile he never would have cracked in the middle of a mission.

"One espresso for Valentine-san?"

Your gaze momentarily darts back to the waiter who took your order not ten minutes ago. He's a charming little boy, still with a hopeful look in his eyes. The posture in his legs is stiff, like he's still getting used to bussing around the quiet, outdoor café. A part-timer, perhaps? Nonetheless, you humor him with a sweet smile, keeping your voice meek and sincere as you let him place the mug and saucer in front of you.

"Would you like anything else to add?" he asks, but you don't miss the way heat creeps up his neck, painting his skin with a reddish hue.

You make a show of playing the unbothered socialite with too much time on her hands by taking another glance at the menu he left on your table. This place is well-known for their Belgian waffles, but the calling of your sweet tooth was ultimately decimated by the sight of two of the three people you thought would never leave you behind.

"The coffee's fine," you manage with fluent Japanese, pursing your lips before following it up with, "Thank you, Tsuzuru-kun."

The waiter jolts slightly at the mention of his name, completely forgetting that the tag pinned to his dress shirt is open for anyone to read. He stutters with his words, a nervous you're welcome spoken in haste before the young man retreats back to the kitchen with fumes of embarrassment practically coming out of his ears.

You sigh, tilting your head slightly as you searched for a head of green hair from the corner of your eye. April has always been painfully easy to spot, and it took years of training for him to learn how to properly tune down his presence. December once proposed that he dye his hair black once, but of course, April shot down the idea faster than you could re-load a gun in training.

But neither of them are in sight anymore, possibly having been whisked away by the throng of passers-by that crowded the renowned theater district. Pouting, you decide to bring the cup of espresso to your lips, so terribly accustomed to the bite of the black brew that you find yourself planning your next course of action unfazed by the bitterness.

Based on the intel given to you, the company they work for operates depending on the season. It's the height of summer, and neither April nor December are supposed to be working on a—

"Is this seat taken?"

You pause, hands subtly but instinctively reaching for the knife concealed in a holster strapped underneath your sundress. Whoever this is, they managed to catch you off guard—not making the mistake of announcing their presence like the clumsy waiter did so earlier.

"No," you respond kindly, turning to the person you're speaking to. "But there are a couple of unoccupied tables, April. Don't you find it inappropriate to intrude on a lady's privacy?"

April returns your pretentiousness with a flat, uninterested look before pulling out the seat adjacent to yours. Even the way he sits down is silent, like he's spent his entire life being taught to never get caught or die in the act. His hair is longer now, curling slightly at the tips from the humidity. A year ago, he would go as far as to delay missions just so he could have an extra few minutes to trim his hair into pristine smoothness.

"Red doesn't suit you, February," he comments before pretending to parse through the menu that Tsuzuru forgot to take back again.

You flash him a lopsided smile, twirling a finger around a loose lock of dyed auburn hair. "I'm just trying to live up to my branding. If December can go prancing around with white hair, why can't I do the same in my case?"

"Don't call him that."

April has always been rough around the edges. You're the one who oversaw his training alongside August, so you knew this better than most. But there's something about the tone he dipped his voice in that catches your attention. The peculiar set of his brow and the frown etched across his face is clue enough that he doesn't want you anywhere near Veludo Way or even Japan itself.

"You knew what you were signing up for when August took you in, right?" You smiled at him, folding manicured fingers on the table. "The Organization is not just some charity that will let you leave whenever you've found your footing in the world again. You swore your life and loyalty to it, but I'm afraid the one that's been tasked to eliminate the traitor became a traitor, himself."

His jaw tightens at your insinuations, but you know that April won't go against the truth about his life now. Not when he still hasn't figured out why the Organization personally sent out its second-in-command to intervene.

"So, where's December?" you ask, deciding that pressuring him right now won't do you any favors. "It's unlike him to pass up on a chance to say hi to his favorite mentor."

"He doesn't need to know that the Organization is still out for blood," he says tersely, setting down the menu before brandishing you with a hard-eyed stare. "I owe it to our family to keep it safe."

"Family?" you repeat incredulously. "Since when did you ever care about the value of family—"

"Ah, Chikage-san?"

The sound of Tsuzuru's voice irks you a little, as you assume a mask of confusion when he calls out April's codename. He's changed out of his uniform, gaping at the two of you like he's just witnessed a miracle. You add a bit of theatric flair to your act by taking another sip of your coffee—this time, the aftertaste makes you wrinkle your nose—but you clasp April's hands across the table just in time to ask, "Chi-chan, do you know the sweet little waiter?"

April stiffens, and you can hear him grinding his teeth out of frustration. But, with you having left him no choice to play along, he manages a kind smile to send your way. "This is Tsuzuru. We're in the same troupe at the Mankai Company."

Confusion dances between the poor brunet's face as he alternates between looking at you and April. "C-Chikage-san, you never mentioned having a girlfriend."

"Ah, she goes overseas often, but she surprised me with a visit," April chuckles, stroking your hands tenderly with calloused fingers. "She does always drop by in the most inconvenient of times, though."

"Oh, right," Tsuzuru perks up, as if he just remembered something. "The new recruits will be having a four-man street act later in the day. Chikage-san, you need to head back to the dorms so you could talk to the rest!"

"Dorms?" you question before staring at April inquisitively. "Chi-chan, you didn't mention anything about living in a dorm."

You don't miss the murderous look that shadows his face the next second, but the presence of his troupe mate thankfully delayed his rage. April clears his throat, breathing out an airy laugh.

"Sorry, I didn't want you to worry about me living with others," he sighs, reaching up to scratch his neck to feign awkwardness. "You've always been nitpicky with the people I live with, darling."

"Hmph." You promptly remove your hands out of his grasp, partly for a show of sulkiness and mostly because you were disgusted by the endearment. But you try to redeem your bratty image in Tsuzuru's eyes by saying, "I guess if it makes you happy... Ah, whatever, Chi-chan. Just take me there to meet your friends, okay?"

You're crossing dangerous waters at this point. You and April have always been in-sync whenever you two had to fake being lovers on missions, but his newfound resolve to protect his so-called family is a wildcard that you haven't completely factored in your plans yet. You've seen what lengths people would go to keep those dearest to them safe, and you aren't sure if you want to know how far April would go.

"I was just going off duty, actually," Tsuzuru informs. "You can come along with us to the dorms and we can show you around, Valentine-san. I'm sure the director won't mind—"

"Ah, she can't do that, unfortunately," April imposes before the poor guy can even get another word out. "Darling, you did mention that your boss is calling you in for a conference, right? I'm sorry I can't drive you there, myself, but I'm sure you can manage."

Two can play in this game, are practically the exact words he wanted to get out.

To your dismay, he was right. Though you'd want nothing but a free pass to infiltrate the new company that April and December have gone into hiding to, you couldn't afford to attack. Not yet.

"Thank you for the offer, Tsuzuru-kun, but Chi-chan is right," you apologize, lower lip swelling into a pout. "I'll have to meet up with my boss, but I'll drop by whenever I can."

Tsuzuru nods in understanding. "O-Oh, okay. Chikage-san, will you go back to the dorms with me or will you stay a bit longer with Valentine-san? I mean, it has been a while since you've last seen each other right?"

"Yes, it has been a long time," April affirms, casting you an unreadable look before getting back to his feet. "But I prefer not to let Kumon talk my ear off for being late. I'll go with you."

"Alright, then," the younger man says. "It was nice meeting you, Valentine-san."

"Oh, darling, I have a few words I'll want you to pass on to your boss," April says, and you knit your brows together. How long is he going to keep up this charade for?

The former agent leans down to your level and you feel the warmth of his breath fanning your face. You gulp, feeling your skin prickle at the close proximity. Has he always smelled like fresh lillies?

"We're never going back," he whispered.

𝚗𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

#a3!#a3 #act addict actors #act! addict! actors!#utsuki chikage #chikage utsuki #sdtosa

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xaphrin · 5 years

Note

DamiRae smut, category 4, Number 5

OKAY, BUT - PLEASE ENJOY THIS SECOND PART TO “CONFESSIONS”. It’s not quite the prompt, but it is office porn, so it’s got that going for it.

Raven didn’t actually get to go to sleep that night. Captain Grayson had been especially hard on her, and even though her whole body was reeling from what had happened in her apartment, she knew that she needed to pull her shit together and follow her leads. She just... hadn’t imagined that her lead would bring her... here. She looked around the immaculately decorated office and sighed.

“Mister Wayne will be in in just a moment. You can have a seat in the meantime, Detective. I’m sure he’ll be happy to answer any questions you might have.”

Raven turned around and stared at the secretary, watching as she left, hurrying down the hall. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, smelling the faint scent of Damian’s spiced soap, the same scent that was now on her own sheets. She fidgeted with her ponytail, trying to make sense of her feelings. Damian Wayne had been the source of her stupid crush for years. The same entitled asshole who came bursting into the precinct with donuts and trying to charm the other detectives into giving up details on a case. He was the same idiot who donned black kevlar and drank bourbon while sitting on her couch. The same idiot who saved her on more than one occasion. The same idiot who’s life she had saved on more than one occasion.

The same idiot she had incredibly inconvenient feelings for.

Including arousal, which was definitely inconvenient considering she was supposed to be elbows-deep into an investigation.

The door behind her opened and she heard the familiar cadence of Damian’s footsteps enter into the plush, carpeted office. He paused behind her, and she heard the swift intake of breath, as if he wasn’t quite expecting her. Did that secretary even do her job?

“Detective Roth?”

She stood up and turned around to face him, trying to keep her face as calm as possible. “Mister Wayne. I’m here about the break-ins at the docks. All the manifests of the ships that have been targeted have been carriers or suppliers from Wayne Industries. You can understand why that seems suspicious.”

“Well, considering we own nearly seventy percent of the import and export business in the city, it’s not that suspicious.” He cocked his head to the side, his eyes sweeping over her form. “But I’m sure you know that. I’m happy to answer any questions you might have, Detective.”

“You have the right to request this conversation at the precinct if you wish.” Raven watched as he settled behind his desk. “If you’d rather there were lawyers present-”

“I have nothing to hide.” He met her stare, eyes dark. “If you need to ask something, you may continue.”

“Yes, sir.” She reached for her notepad out of her blazer pocket and flipped it open. “Where were you last night at 2:00 AM?”

“I was... indisposed, with a friend of mine.” His voice held a low rumble, like he was reliving a rather enjoyable memory. Raven shivered as his eyes caught hers, and burned right through the the depths of her soul.

She turned back to her notes, pretending that there wasn’t heat gathering between her legs. She crossed and then uncrossed her legs, and crossed them again. How in the world did he manage to break her like this every time? “And can your friend confirm the details of your whereabouts?”

“I’m certain she can.” He reached for a piece of paper and a pen. “I can give you her number if you wish.”

Raven sighed. “Damian...”

He lifted his head an offered a small, thin smile. He was teasing her. Of course he was. Raven put her notepad away and leaned back in the chair, letting silence settle over them. She shifted. “So, these break-in, they aren’t... you? Either of you?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Trust me, I want to figure this out as much as you do. If someone is trafficking dangerous materials through Wayne, it certainly isn’t me, and we need to do whatever it takes to stop it. My files and myself are at your complete disposal for whatever you need.”

Raven lifted an eyebrow. “Yourself?”

“To answer any questions you might have, and gain access to any information you might need.” Damian lifted an eyebrow and leaned forward an inch. “Why, Raven? What did you have in mind?”

She had a hundred different ideas in mind, but she wasn’t sure what she was allowed to say. Things felt differently outside of her apartment. There, they both had their down, and shadows hid what parts of them they weren’t ready to show off. Shadows and blindfolds. Her heart skipped a beat as she thought about his fingers sliding over her skin. Not seeing him had made the sensations that much enjoyable, and her body lit up like a damn fireworks display. She was amazed she hadn’t come from him touching her nipples alone, and she wanted nothing more than to feel his hands on her body again.

What in the world was she doing here?

“I appreciate the cooperation with out investigation. Our team will be in touch with your archival team, and we’ll be working through your records. Thank you for your time, Mister Wayne. We’ll be in touch.” Raven stood up and went to the door, her hand pausing on the handle. A moment passed. Then two. And then she flipped the lock on the door, the sound practically booming in the room.

“Raven?”

“I...” She turned around to find him standing in front of his desk.

He wasn’t the only thing standing in this room.

Damian licked his lips. “On the desk.”

Raven didn’t even know what she was doing. In seconds, she had stripped her clothes and laid them neatly in the chair she had just been sitting in. Damian, still fully clothed, motioned for her to sit on the desk, and he stepped between her legs, spreading her wide. Once again, she was suddenly aware of how different this all felt in the bright afternoon light. Her body shook, and she watched as he leaned over her, settling his hands on either side of her hips.

“I believe you said you liked really good head?”

Was he really going to do this? Here? In his office?

“I also said I didn’t mind the blindfold.” Her lips curled up at the edges. “And I liked crullers.”

“If I said I couldn’t wait until this afternoon, what would you say?”

“The feeling is mutual.” Her words came out in a question, and she felt his fingers slide up the inside of her thigh. She was dripping wet, needy, desperate for his touch. She wanted him to spread her wide right here on his desk. To devour her. To consume every part of her soul until she was a complete, satiated mess, pliant for his every need.

Raven sunk her teeth into her lower lip and tilted up towards him. “Are you going to-”

There was a knock from the door, followed by the panicked sound of his secretary. “Sir! Sir! The German COO is on the phone for you, and he does not sound happy. It sounds like there’s-”

“I have it. Tell him I’ll call him back.” Damian growled and pulled away from Raven, glaring at the door.

“You... obviously have some business to attend to.” Raven slid out from under him and quickly redressed as Damian settled back behind his desk, eyes watching every movement of hers.

“Are you still free this afternoon?”

“Depends.” Raven pulled on her shirt and buttoned it up. “Are you going to have a very important call to attend to?”

His lips twitched in annoyance. “Last time it was both of us.”

He wasn’t wrong. Raven fidgeted with her hair and pulled on her blazer, looking out the window of his high rise office. It looked like Gotham stretched on forever, and she certainly wouldn’t have minded being fucked hard while admiring that view. “Well, don’t make me handcuff you to the bed just so I can ride your face.”

There was a suspicious silence, and Raven turned to see his jaw twitch. She lifted an eyebrow, a small smile teasing her lips. “So... is it a kinky thing?”

Damian growled. “Get out and get home before I damage the Wayne Enterprise relationship with the German government over eating you out.”

“While handcuffed,” she reminded him. The tick in his jaw was just egging her on even more, and she stepped up to his desk, leaning over just enough to flash her modest cleavage at him. “I could stay if you wanted... wait until you’re on the call and just... you know, pay it forward.” She wet her lips, and made sure to make a perfect oh shape with her mouth when she pulled back. It was his excitement that made her so bold, and she found she liked having just a bit of power over the indomitable Damian Wayne. “But... I’m sure you’re very busy, and I wouldn’t want to interrupt any call you might get.”

“You’re a terrible tease.” Damian glared at her. “Get out and go home.”

“Only if you promise crullers when you come over.” She smiled and reached for the door handle, unlocking it. “I’ll be expecting you this afternoon, Mister Wayne.”

His only response was what was very likely a curse in another language.

#damirae #xaph's birthday 2019 #look #I DID NOT EXPECT TO LOVE THIS FIC AS MUCH AS I DO #BUT HERE WE ARE

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atreefullofmonkiesonnitrous · 4 years

Text

Something Sour to Balance the Sweet - Day 4 Cranberry

Somewhere in Massachusetts sometime in the mid 1700′s This assignment has to be one of the worst he's ever had, the angel thinks, wading through the flooded bog. "Bless this righteous man's berry harvest," they said. "Right up your alley," they said. He groused as he sloshed along, feet squelching in his completely inappropriate shoes. He very much doubted that there was any blighting in store for this harvest at all. It was almost done, only a few bogs left. Either that or he had already succeeded in his task and could leave knowing the goodman would bring in enough from this to sell for the money to make a comfortable winter. He brightened at that, but no, he was told to be here for the duration, so for the duration it would be.

It wasn't even the spiders that bothered him. True if any human had been told to be on the lookout for a demonic influence they might think they had found one in what looked more like an ambulatory mountain of spiders than a celestial being. Then again those people probably also farmed this area, so they would just see some poor sod in a bog, covered in spiders, because that was just what life was like here. It wasn't that he minded the spiders in particular, they were Her creatures as well, and these meant him no harm. They didn't want to be in this wet bog any more than he did, and were just looking for a ride out, though they did feel decidedly odd in one's ears. No, what hem minded was that he was wet, and cold, and PURPLE.

Every stitch of clothing he'd come in was now vibrantly dyed by the bright berries. The farmer thought him quite clever to get his clothing dyed for free by his work. Well if people thought it was such a lovely color, he'd give it to them. He belonged in white and cream, with hints of blue or some natty tartan, not this garish color. For that matter he belonged in his bookshop, with a good book, a warm fire, and a nice cup of tea, not in this cold, wet bog surrounded by berries to tart to possibly be good eating.

He was working himself into a fine sulk when he felt something brush his leg. It was cold and slippery and large enough to ripple the water around him. Any human who was out here would probably have been frightened to death. Aziraphale, however, knew three things that they did not; that it was already far too cold for the deadly southern water snakes to be found this far north, that there were no snakes in this area remotely as large as what was under the water and floating fruit, and that if there was any serpent trying to give him a fright in a damp and inconvenient assignment it would undoubtedly be one particular serpent. With a speed his form and countenance gave little hint to, he turned and bent into the water arms wide and closing around a body nearly the size of his own torso and hauling as much as he could out of the water.

Great black scales gleamed in the moonlight, the red belly blending with the red berries. The strong body writhed in his arms, before the great head came out of the water and turned a baleful yellow glare on him.

"You're no fun tonight, Angel," the serpent said, in a manner only they could hear. "You didn't even jump or squeak or anything." It is difficult to say how a face with very few moving parts can pout, yet somehow the great snake was doing just that.

"I am no fun because I am having no fun, Crowley. I am wet, and cold, and very very far from the nearest decent pastry shop." Aziraphale's pout was a good deal easier to understand, and even more emphatic. "Are you the reason I've been traipsing through these bogs for over a week?"

The head wove back and forth, in what could pass for a shrug when you have no shoulders. "I've been about, mostly stirring political pots though, only came out here cause I noticed you."

"Well if you aren't up to anything, what have I been guarding these dreadful sour bog berries from?"

"Beats me, maybe it was your lot's idea of a joke? I've never understood what passes for humor up there."

The angel glared at the demon, mostly because he was probably right. "Oh do try talking with a human face," he snapped, just so he could complain about something.

"Sure thing, Angel," Crowley agreed amiably. Suddenly instead of having his arms wrapped around some innocuous length of snake, Aziraphale found his arms full of a man shaped demon. Man shaped, very close, and very very naked. "Hello, Aziraphale," Crowley purred down at him. This time he did squeak, and jump backwards, landing on his rump in the bog, his arachnid contingent swarming his head as the only spot above water. Crowley was cackling madly. "Oh, Angel, I love what you've done with your hair!"

Aziraphale couldn't even glare properly through the spiders, much less speak, and with a snap he set them all safely on dry land. His glare now free from constraints he leveled it at the demon. "You did that on purpose," he accused.

Crowley tried to stop laughing, with negligible success. "Well, yes, obviously. I did get you to jump and squeak though," he said through his laughter. "Oh come on, it's just a bit of fun." He waded over and offered his hand to help the angel up.

"Put some clothes on first," Aziraphale objected.

"You know anything I put on right now won't really be real, right? What's the use of soggy fabric?" Crowley countered. "Besides, even if there were anything to see at the moment, which there isn't by the way, it would all be sub-cranberry."

"It's the principle of the thing," Aziraphale insisted. Crowley knew that once the principle of things got involved he was unlikely to make any headway. He waved a hand vaguely upwards, and was dressed in the simple homespun clothing most men wore in the region, dyed a dark, berry red. Once he was dressed Aziraphale took the offered hand and was pulled to his feet. By the time Crowley had stopped pulling they were out of the bog and in a neat one room cabin with a fire blazing in the hearth and Aziraphale's clothes were clean and dry.

"Better, Angel?" Crowley asked, casually swinging the kettle around on it's pole till it was over the fire.

"Immensely, tha- at was well done." He avoided the thanks that were so likely to put the demon's back up. Dry and warming up, his manners and good mood were already returning.

"Only fair since I got you all wet," Crowley answered. Aziraphale chose to ignore the double entendre. "They really had you guarding and blessing a berry bog? Whatever for?"

"I'm sure I don't know. The farmer is a good man, and he's had a bad few years. He deserves some help, but I think sending me for the entire harvest was rather too much. They said I'd enjoy it because it was berries." He made a face. Crowley tried again not to laugh, with more success this time.

"You tried eating one, didn't you?"

"They were berries! How was I to know how sour they were. How does anyone make their living growing such things! Who is eating them?"

"Just about everyone around here," Crowley answers. "No, honestly, they mix them with everything. Mix the juice with apple juice, dry them and put them in cake, boil them down in sugar and spices. They really are quite good." Aziraphale was giving him a dubious look.

"See the problem is, you just went and ate one all on its own. They don't work like that. They work best when they are paired with an opposite. They need something sweet to bring out their full flavor, and the sourness balances the sweet, keeps it from being cloying."

"That, does sound reasonable," he allowed. Crowley smiled.

"Look how bout you spend the rest of this harvest keeping me pinned down in this nice warm cabin and I'll make you some of the local favorites. Keep both of us out of the bog, and you can say you did your job."

"That sounds lovely, my dear," Aziraphale smiled and meant it for the first time all week. "I do believe the kettle is ready!"

For @drawlight‘s 31 days of Ineffables, day 4 Cranberry.

#31 days of ineffables #day 4 #cranberry #Good Omens #good omens fic #my fic #ineffable spouses #ineffable husbands #snek!Crowley #crowley (good omens)#aziraphale #spiders #A LOT of spiders

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nutslovesdolts · 5 years

Text

My take on Demon Pyrrah (holiday part II)

(I may just make this a continuous thing, not sure yet, I liked how the last one cane out though)

-this is after the events of the last one

Jaune: *after bringing Pyrrah some breakfast up to the bedroom* I made some eggs and bacon, also a glass of juice... I'm, a, not really sure what demons eat so I hope its ok

Pyrrah: *attempts to sit up but is sore literally everywhere from last night* HAHA FOOLISH ow... MORTAL ow... WE CONSUME owww... blood of the innocent ow... and... ... that does smell really good actually...

Jaune: *placing the tray at her side and chuckling* I meen, the eggs could have been the bodys and souls of the unborn, and the bacon was probably once an innocent piggie so... the juice is... do plants have feelings?

Pyrrah: *smiles* good enough for me haha... ... hmm

Jaune: is something wrong?

Pyrrah: ... this... is not how any of this is usually supposed to go...

Jaune: in what way? Banging the person you're supposed to be terrorizing?

Pyrrah: *turning as red as her hair* YES THAT... also.. I'm not so sure people usually cook their demons breakfast haha...

Jaune: well, I'm sure you'll find some way to get to me, but until then, we don't really have to be enemies, do we?

Pyrrah: *giggles* I guess not, the rules weren't exactly specific on the matter... I'll be around for a while... by a while... I meen until you die...

Jaune: well then I'm happy to have you haunting me *puts his hand down on Pyrrah's thigh by accident*

Pyrrah: OW!

..............

Pyrrah: MUHAHAHA

Jaune: what did you do now?

Pyrrah: I HAVE CURSED ALL DOORS AND WINDOWS TO SWING OPEN WHILE YOU SHOWER AND CHANGE, SO YOU WILL NEVER FEEL PRIVACY HAHAHAHAHA

Jaune: Nice, but...

Pyrrah: ...

Jaune: I live alone, minus you of course, in the middle of the woods, who would be out here to see me?

Pyrrah: I... bu... hmmm... ... the animals...?

Jaune: but there already naked

Pyrrah: *hanging her head* I know....

Jaune: good try though, if I lived in a city or town that would be pretty evil

Pyrrah: one day?

Jaune: mabye one day

............

Later that day

Jaune: I'm gonna go shower, you try to think of some other ways to minorly inconvenience my like ok?

Pyrrah: they're supposed to me more then minor...

Jaune: hey they'll get better, just believe in yourself

Pyrrah: ... you realize you are basically telling me I'll get better at ruining your life right?

Jaune: well so far it's been better with you in it haha, I'm gonna shower

Pyrrah: *blushing again*

........

Jaune: *completely nude and washing himself in water Pyrrah had cursed to always steam up the mirrors*

Pyrrah: *walking into the bedroom holding some spices from the pantry, completely forgetting about her curse on doors and windows* hey do you have any allergies to anything? I wanted to

*spots Jaune in the steam filled room body glistening from the water* *her face goes red again and she drops the spices*

Jaune: hmm not that I can think of... *notices Pyrrah's expression and smirks* although I think cute red headed demons might be allergic to ME, they always seem to freeze up and stare whenever I'm around

Pyrrah: ... *gets a bloody nose regardless of being a literal demon* I... wh...ca...

Jaune: we are you just gonna stand there?

Pyrrah: *already having taken her armor off* I... shut up and move over

.........

*hours and hours of an intense steamy shower later*

Pyrrah: *after having been pinned to the wall unable to move from pleasure for almost 13 hours, eyes rolled back and barely in touch with anything other then the shower* I... JaUNe.... I.... AH.... neED... a bREAk...

Jaune: *stopping and shutting off the water, picking her up* and wrapping him in his towel* ok, do you want something, water or some tea?

Pyrrah: *trying to catch her breath* yeah... *still shaking a bit* I want... some self control... and... to... ugh... ...

Jaune: ... uh... *placeing her on the bed*

Pyrrah: tea... sounds... lovely...

Jaune: *smiling* I'll go make some

Pyrrah: *grabbing his wrist* d..on't be... too long... please... also don't make it as hot as you like it, my tongue still hurts from the cocoa...

Jaune: *smirking* right, THATS the only thing your tongue hurts from haha, also born of fire my butt

Pyrrah: *even more red and laughing* s..hut up haha... also born in it does not meen we drink it haha

Jaune: lucky you then

Pyrrah: how so?

Jaune: well... inside... and out, you're just about as hot as I like my cocoa hehe

Pyrrah: *hiding her face under the blanket and visibly steaming* aaaaaaahhhh..... b... but...

Jaune: I'll go make your tea

............

*by the time he came back she was already asleep, he got into bed next to her and shut off all the lights*

............

*Pyrrah wakes up to some the smell of warm oatmeal and more juice and to Jaune's smiling face*

Jaune: Mornin Pyrrah

Pyrrah: Hey Jaune *trys to sit up* uhh...

Jaune: ... are you ok?

Pyrrah: I can barely move my lower body... I'm so sore... uhhh...

Jaune: I'll be right back

*comes back with a stack of ice packs filled with snow from outside the house*

Jaune: here

Pyrrah: *once again blushing like crazy* t..thank you... I... ... I think we need to calm down with this...

Jaune: *laughing* hey, your the one jumping on me hahaha

Pyrrah: oh yeah... sh!t...

Jaune: well, I'm heading to the store, want anything?

Pyrrah: HAHA FOOLISH MOR... ow... TAL I REQUI... Ow!... URE... no... sustenance... I...

Jaune: soooo coffee?

Pyrrah: ... yes please...

...............

(So here's another, no clue if its any good cuz I never reread em, I might keep doing these because I can do them on my phone and don't have to worry about my computer, so yeah, hope you enjoyed and have a wonderful day/night depending on where you are)

#rwby #pyrrah nikos #demon pyrrah #jaune x pyrrha #jaune #jaune arc #rwby jaune #rwby pyrrha #rwby ships #so yeah #have fun?#arkos #rwby arkos #I forgot to tag arkos...

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wordsinwinters · 7 years

Text

Then Again P6 Peter Parker x Reader

Author’s Note: Hello, everyone! Now that my AO3 account is up and running, I’ll post a link to this chapter from AO3 in a few minutes.

Thank you to everyone who favorited, followed, left kudos, commented, and messaged me! I really, really appreciate it - more than I can say!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11

This is the last moment of (almost) calm before the storm.

Let me know what you guys think!

- Jane

Then Again, Part 6:

(Words: 1,521)

Halfway through unpacking my things, I realize Michelle is right. I have to talk to Peter. Now. Especially if the pool is still a plan for tonight.

When I tell Michelle so, she nods but doesn’t look up from her book. (She mentioned it a minute ago and promised to lend it to me when she finished; consequently, the moment she dug it out, she decided to put off unpacking and read instead.) I toss my bag on my bed and go to the hallway.

I knock on the boys’ door.

Ned answers.

“Hey Y/N. Wow, I haven’t seen you in a whole-” he looks at his watch, “seven minutes!”

“Can I have a quick minute with Peter?” I ask.

“Are you really asking me to step out of my own room?”

“You can get on my laptop and message Betty from my Facebook. Ask what she’s up to. Maybe mention yourself, see what she says?”

“What, why wou- I don’t- can’t you just- I mean, honestly.”

“I put the little knob thingy in the door, so it’s open if you want to go do that.”

Ned considers the idea.

“Actually, that’s a violation of trust. Not cool. But I will go chill in your room. I need to talk to MJ anyway.”

Talk to MJ without me?

“Wait, why?”

“Um, there’s just... a thing. Anyway. Yeah. Hey, Peter!” Ned opens the door all the way and shouts behind his shoulder. “The stripper’s here!”

“The what?” I ask, bewildered. “Why-why would you say that?”

Ned shakes his head, hands open.

“Dude, I don’t know! I just- I need to go! Bye!”

Ned shoves me out of his way and into the room.

“Ned, the what?” Peter says, jumping into frame from their bathroom.

God, my face must be red.

“I’m a stripper now?”

“You’re a- you’re a what, now?”

Peter’s eyebrows nearly graze his hairline. My face is definitely warm.

“Nothing. Ned was just being really... weird. Anyway, I wanted to ask you something.”

I close the door and walk over to Ned’s bed, thinking Peter will sit across from me on his. He doesn’t. He stays, standing next to their closet.

“About this morning. With Flash. Do you want me to... say anything, to Mr. Harrington?”

“Wh- no, no, definitely not. It’s nothing. I- I don’t even know why you’re bringing it up. It's not like he can hurt me, obviously.”

“Physically, I know, I just mean that you shouldn-”

“Can we just forget about it?”

“Absolutely, if that’s what you want. And last night, with dinner-”

“And maybe that too? I was a dick. I’m really sorry. I kind of feel like I almost ruined your night and that would have been awful because I know you were excited.”

You were excited too, remember?

“It’s fine. Is everything okay with you though? The last few days were... odd.”

He runs his hands through his hair and clasps them behind his head. He makes a face like he’s trying to remember if he’s had any minor inconveniences recently. He avoids eye contact.

“Yeah, yeah. Everything’s, ah, everything is... normal.”

Everything is not normal, Peter.

“Peter, I....” I want to say that I don’t believe him, that he shouldn’t have to put up with how Flash treats him. I want to say that he can talk to me. “I’ll go back to my room. You probably have more to unpack.”

I start to get up.

“Eh, not really.”

I pause. Does he want me to stay? Is he going to tell me why he’s been so an-arm’s-length-away this week?

“But if, um, you could tell Ned that I wanna talk to him, I’d appreciate it.”

He half-smiles.

“Tomorrow, I’m either going to hug him or kill him.”

It’s tomorrow and I’m leaning toward kill. Killing all of my friends. What does everyone need to talk about without me?

But that won’t get Peter (or anyone) to talk to me about whatever’s bothering him (or them).

So I end up doing a stupid thing. As I pass Peter on my way to leave, I turn around, pivoting on my heels like a robot programmed for a sharp corner, and I hug him. I just latch on like a parasite. It’s a pretty tight hug. Especially for two people who don’t hug a lot. Or ever. Except when May made us this morning.

He smells so good. I know from half-living at his apartment that it’s Old Spice deodorant, but that doesn’t stop me from thinking how much I associate it with the word home (or from thinking how awkward that thought is in the first place). Peter and home remind me of warmth and comfort and fireplaces and being okay.

Last night he was close enough to kiss me, then with the way he looked at me before I rambled about the dirt, and now this. I’m self-sabotaging my Stop Thinking About Peter mission.

He jerks back at first, but after a second he’s almost leaning into it. His hands are cautiously, sort of, patting my back. Oh, fuck me. I had to make this weirder. Why not make it worse? I squeeze him harder. It’s meant as a “You’re my friend and I love you more than you realize, so please, please, please, trust me - talk to me” squeeze. I’m not sure it comes through, since he doesn’t do it back. Or move at all. He clearly wants it over with.

Thoroughly embarrassed, I pull away and beeline to the door. Neither of us say a word.

Oh my god. I... I don’t know why I did that.

During the ten seconds I stand in the hallway between our two doors with my hands on my head thinking about how stupid I am, I decide not to tell Ned or Michelle about this awkward hug. If they ask me about it later, then I’ll know Peter is willing to talk to them and not me... or that they really are all communicating without me and it’s not just my paranoia. Then... I’ll just need to figure out why.

Maybe they're sick of you.

Or maybe you’re overreacting.

Ten seconds up, I turn quickly to push my door open.

It’s locked. My key card is sitting on my bed, next to my bag.

“MJ?” I call, knocking. “Ned? Can you guys let me in?”

Nothing. I press my ear against the door. They’re definitely having a conversation.

“Guys, seriously. Please let me in.”

I really don’t want Peter to hear this and open his door right now.

Ned answers, his voice a bit distant.

“Just hold on a second! I need a minute with MJ.”

“It’s been a minute! It’s been like five minutes!”

“Only three, dude.”

I jiggle the door handle and bang my head against the door.

“Let me in, please.”

I stay silent a moment and hear a phone dialing somewhere past the door. Seriously? Are they calling Peter now? When did my friends become such secret-keepers? (I know, I know. That’s rhetorical.)

I press my ear to the door. All I can hear is a muffled cloud of hushed conversation. Whatever is going on, I know Ned and Michelle well enough to know that I could be out here for a while, so I sit.

A door opens.

But it’s not mine and it’s not Peter’s. It’s at the opposite end of the hall.

Flash.

No, no, no, no, no. Not right now.

I’m too lost with this new, weird exclusion dynamic at the moment. I’m not going to let Flash anger me. So when I scramble and jump up, I try a knock on Peter’s door.

“Hey, Y/N!” Flash shouts.

Open the door, open the door, open the door.

Thank God, the door opens.

It’s only slightly ajar, but I can see Peter with a phone up to his ear.

“Hey, um, I’ve got a call.”

The door closes.

Fuck.

Needless to say, Flash had the opportunity to get at me, and he did. For the whole seven minutes I was locked out, he had a lot of observations to make. Mostly, “Oh my God, are you locked out of your own room? And isn’t that Ned and Peter’s room? They won’t let you in either? Ha! That’s a weird place to be, huh? They’ve seemed really secretive around you lately. Lots of texting and side conversations when you’re not around. Then that dinner thing where you’re Silent Sally the whole time. Hey, why’s Penis Parker so mad at you, huh? You’ve looked like such a lost dog the last couple days. You know, the kind whose owners dropped it off in the middle of a road, but it doesn’t get the hint and keeps searching for them?”

Rule #1 of being anywhere in Flash’s vicinity: Never listen to Flash.

If I had to choose between my three best friends and Flash, I would always choose my friends. No matter the circumstances. No matter the repercussions. I just don’t get why Flash’s regularly shitty behavior is somehow reassuring. At least I know what to expect.

Part 7

Next Update: Tomorrow, October 14

Part 7 will be the “shit goes down” chapter.

(It’s around 3k words, just a warning.)

Tag list: If anyone wants to be tagged for updates, you can reply to this post or send me a message!

Additionally, I should mention that I’ve barely had time to write anything for this fic lately, so if I start releasing once a week (or biweekly) as opposed to twice a week, I really apologize! I want to write so badly, but midterms are taking over my life.

@look-how-far-i-come @i-love-superhero

#peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #spider-man x reader #spiderman x reader #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #spider-man imagine #spiderman imagine #infinity war #avengers #spider-man: homecoming #spider-man homecoming #part 6 #sp:hc #peter x reader #peter imagine #peter parker x you #tom holland x you

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shippingk8 · 6 years

Note

On scale of 1/10 how will you rate volume 5 up to this point. For me it's 8-8.5/10. The only thing that is bumping it down until now is the Menagerie story-line, in my oppinion is really slow, but it may change in the future. Also the Weiss and Yang moments and their interactons are so good.

Hmmm so I had to stop and think for a minute about what I thought. Then I asked my wife, then I asked my editor @toomuchfreetyme2, then I watched this last episode for a second time. After all that this is what I came up with.

This is a little long, so maybe settle in with a cup of tea. Also, if you haven’t watched the newest episode, “Rest and Resolutions,” spoilers are ahead.

I also think this volume is at high 8 for me. In comparison to V4 it feels like a lot more is happening, and we are seeing forward momentum and change in the characters.

In particular the Weiss and Yang moments are great, and no not just because they have propelled the ship forward. Even though the tiniest prospect of them actually getting together together has been a real high point for me, there is more to what has happened with their characters than that.

It has been shown and even pointed out in this last episode that Weiss has finally started to really open up and see the crew as her family. She still has her quippy Icequeen moments that we all love, but you can actually see her being more affectionate and warm while also realizing that she needs to lean on her own strength. Her closeness with Yang this volume is extremely welcome. She defends, supports, and is observant of what she thinks Yang needs not just at the bandit camp, but even when back with the crew. It is actually pretty cool to see Weiss be so maternal, caring, and dare I say it, emotionally wise.

In contrast, we see all the issues that Yang really does have this volume. And I find it interesting that she seems to want to hide those issues. I theorize that this choice will lead to some great story problems later, especially since Weiss seems to be the only one to even bring up or recognize that Yang might not be okay with the whole traumatizing ordeal that she went through. Ruby knew that Yang wasn’t okay when she left, but she also seemed more afraid of her sister being mad at her for leaving than, “Hey, sis. Are you sure you are ready for all of THIS?” I think/hope that Yang trying her best to be okay, but not really being okay, and no one but Weiss recognizing that there is obviously an issue, is going to be a big problem/plot point as we move forward or reach the end that will have good character building payoff.

Then there are all the action scenes this volume which I am SO here for. In addition to Nora, who gives me comic relief life!

I do like that the cat is starting to be let out of the bag, pun intended. We are getting to see more sides of and deeper into the backstory of what makes Blake the faunus that she is. Which I really appreciate, because after 4 volumes of only dark and brooding I was having a lot of trouble caring about her character. She was falling victim to “the Sasuke effect,” in my eyes. This volume, however, we have seen more depth to her character and gotten a lot of the reasons that justify her dark and brooding nature. Which has made me start to care way more than I used to. I do worry/feel like her mood at times has felt a tiny bit all over the place. I don’t know if this is because of the way the Menagerie story line is written, or if it is because it has become odd to see her emote something besides brooding, OR if it is just a thing that I am experiencing because I have to wait more than a week before seeing her story line again. But in synopsis I am enjoying her character WAY more than I did in volume 4.

I am also happy that we have gotten to see more of how Ruby is feeling about all of this responsibility that has been heaped on her, and get to see her as an inspirational leader that does have her own weaknesses and insecurities.

And lastly I thought it was nice that this last episode, and some other times so far this volume, it has been pointed out that they have all, pretty much, changed and grown up since the first season. It was a nice moment to be able to reflect on where they are now and that they really aren’t kids anymore.

(Please don’t anyone freak out about my critiques below. RWBY is one of my absolute favorite shows, but just because you love something doesn’t mean that you aren’t allowed to point out when it has some weaknesses or that you aren’t allowed to want it to improve.)

That said, this last episode did feel exposition-ie. Which in my, and other people’s, opinion has become a big standing issue for the show, or rather maybe a sitting issue. If you went back and had to count the number of times in the last two volumes that people were quite literally sitting and talking about things…. you might actually run out of fingers to count on. (Not going to make the Yang joke, that is low hanging fruit and I have hit my pun limit)

If you add in all the World of Remnant shorts and the other 3 volumes, then you would easily be reaching the twenties, for times exposition has been just dumped out for us. It is pretty undeniable that the writers struggle with working exposition and world building into the actions of and scenes for the characters. For me this is one of the major things that keeps this show at an 8 instead of being at a 10.

Now you might be of the opinion that I am being hyperbolic, but I would argue that this issue is more far reaching than a lot of people realize. And I bet that when people watched the episode of Yang FINALLY talking with her mom they were left feeling at least a little disappointed in some way. And that the last scene, in the newest episode, with everyone sitting around talking to Oscar/Oz it felt oddly flat and anticlimactic. This is very likely because of how the exposition is being delivered. YES, sometimes you need to lay out info for the audience and story to move forward, but you have to be careful about HOW you do that. The best way is usually to weave it into the story instead of sitting around the campfire telling them about maidens and magic, for example.

You might say, “But we need this information.” To which I would say, “WE don’t need the information, the characters do.” That is one of the things that makes some of the scenes seem so awkward or disappointing. We find out that new information is coming out this episode! Only to find out it isn’t actually new information for us, it is new information for the characters... We as the audience already pieced this stuff together ages ago.

This wouldn’t be quite so bad if one of two things was done.

1. Give us a tiny shred of information that we didn’t already know, in addition to all of the things we already know but the character do not. For example, in the scene with Raven, Weiss, and Yang we didn’t actually, as the audience, learn anything new, but there were plenty of tiny scraps of information about Yang and her mother that they could have tossed to us that would have made the scene seem worthwhile. And this could have been the same for other times as well. In the scene around the campfire with Qrow, in volume 4, we didn’t learn anything new. In the scene with the everyone talking to Oscar/Oz this last episode, we didn’t learn anything new. In the scene with Blake talking to Sun about her teammates, we didn’t really learn anything new, but we easily could have. To me, this has become a troubling pattern.

2. If the writers aren’t willing to give us information that is actually new then they need the character reactions or reveal of that information to be interesting and important. Sitting around a table or campfire with the reaction of, “Oh you guys are jerks for lying to us all the time,” it’s really a payoff or exciting.

The point is that you need to spice up information that is being regurgitated. Whether that means re-revealing information at a time that is inconvenient for the characters, throwing a wrench into what was going to happen because they now they have ‘new’ information that drastically shifts a characters perspective in a new direction, or giving us the information again in a funny or interesting way that pulls you out of the scene of sitting around a table, like a flashback. I thought they did this REALLY well volume 2, “Burning the Candle,” when Yang is talking about her past with Blake. The point is, info dumping is bad and info re-dumping is really bad.

I think something that might be making the Menagerie story line feel slow for you is that we really have no clue what the timeline is at this point for any of them. It was a small issue at the beginning of volume 4 that has really started to snowball. We don’t know when or how fast things are happening, and it is starting to crop up as an problem for viewer understanding and interest more and more as things progress.

Lastly, my wife and editor both pointed out that the writers seem to struggle with writing drama. I would say that I for the most part agree, but I do think that they have made a lot of improvement in volume 5, when compared to volume 4. To me volume 4 felt just sort of medium sad and flat all the time. *shrug* There need to be ups and downs and I think they are getting better at that this volume.

So despite that long analysis and somewhat heavy critique, I am really enjoying this volume so far and am excited each week to see what is going to happen next. I will be honest, I had a lot of trouble with volume 4, and there were a couple of parts of volume 3 felt odd or misplaces. But it is still, and I don’t doubt, will continue to be one of my favorite shows. I mean I just spent like 3 hours writing this, so how could it not be. :P

I’m sure that over answered your question, but I hope you still liked the answer or at the very least it made you think. :) Later!

#rwby #rwby theory #rwby critique #rwby volume 5 #rwby volume 4

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daesungindistress · 7 years

Text

@fangirl-2007 replied to your post: jkevldje asked: “Call me crazy but I actually can’t imagine...”

That sounds like a very interesting fanfic prompt

Sorry this reply is so late! I started writing it the day you commented, but then it got put aside in favor of... other things.

So here are a few thoughts (um, more than a few, whoops). Warning for some seriously depressing content behind the cut:

MPD/DID (Multiple Personality Disorder / Dissociative Identity Disorder) typically manifests as a coping mechanism following a traumatic event or continued trauma. For the purposes of this fic idea, I imagine it would manifest in the aftermath of Daesung’s 2011 accident. He took it so hard, struggling under the weight of his guilt and self-loathing until it all became too much. Before he knew it, he’d dissociated to escape it (more on this later).

Though he doesn’t publicly disclose it (of course he doesn’t, only close friends and family know), this is Daesung’s main reason for refusing to create a public social media account for himself. He’d like to for the sake of his fans, sure. But he can’t risk that kind of vulnerability. He’d be throwing himself at the feet of netizens who are quick to cast stones and slow to forgive, trusting them to be merciful and kind. (He knows better than that. It had been one of life’s hard lessons... that the anonymity of the internet brings out the very worst in people, even years later. He won’t go looking for mercy where he knows he’ll find none.)

So what’s the problem? Hateful comments about the accident might bring one of his “alters” (alternate personalities) to the surface at the worst of times.

The rest of Big Bang have become pretty good at this by now-- at knowing who they’re dealing with. Most days it’s Daesung at the wheel. But some days they’re not so sure.

Two of his alters Daesung doesn’t mind much; they function as extensions of himself, their appearance little more than an inconvenience. The one they’ve dubbed Smiling Angel he trusts enough not to land him in any serious trouble. He and Daesung share enough similarities that the switch is subtle and easily overlooked. He’s cheerful and bright and, okay, sometimes a little more sugary than necessary but it’s not bad, all things considered. He comes and goes without incident, leaving in his wake smiles and laughter and warmth. And when he fades into the background once more, stepping aside to trade places with Daesung in a manner that’s surprisingly considerate, most are none the wiser.

Yabai Kang can be a handful. As such, his presence is harder to hide. Because he doesn’t try to hide it. Yabai Kang wants to be seen and appreciated. And yet, for all his claims of being dangerous, he’s harmless enough. His intentions are good-- definitely not pure, no, but good-- and the fans love him. He spices up Daesung’s image, that’s for sure.

So those two are... tolerable. Daesung accepts them as extensions of himself, choosing to view them as different sides of the same coin (not the best analogy because a coin only has two sides, but whatever). He’s learned to live with them, even though relying on others (his bandmates, his manager, etc) to fill in the blank spaces in his memory never really gets any easier.

But there’s one alter in particular he wants-- no, needs-- to avoid more than all the others.

Loser Daesung (they don’t call him that, of course; they don’t know what to call him) doesn’t come out often, but when he does the guys of BB panic a bit-- okay, they panic a lot-- and have to keep an extra close eye on him. Because he has these intense mood swings, fluctuating between deeply depressed and explosively angry. One moment he’s so deep in his head he can’t move, as if trapped in the cage of his mind. In the next the bars are gone and he’s springing at whoever’s nearby, attacking at the slightest provocation.

For the rest of BB, they aren’t sure which is more unnerving: when he’s still and silent as death, eyes open but unseeing, by all appearances an empty shell of a person. Or when he’s flying at one of them in a rage, out of control, out of his mind.

It took some time to understand that when he strikes at them he’s not trying to hurt them. He’s trying to get them to hurt him.

Of all the alters, Loser Daesung was the first to appear... and is arguably the worst. That it had been an accident didn’t matter; Daesung took full responsibility for what he’d done... until he couldn’t take it anymore. Suffocating under the weight of his self-hatred, he’d fled his suffering by separating from himself. Without realizing, he’d balled up his pain and pushed it into his new creation, removing himself from the worst of it.

Loser Daesung scratches at his neck a lot, and when the others ask him about it he says it’s because his scars itch. “What scars?” they ask, spooked. Because Daesung’s neck is attractive, his skin clear and unblemished; there are no scars. But Loser Daesung can’t forget how the rope bit into his neck as it took all his weight and whoops, maybe the scars aren’t on his skin after all; they’re in his head.

Because no matter how real the memory is to him, no attempt was ever actually made. No rope has ever touched his neck. The burden he unwittingly took from Daesung included thoughts of ending it all. In his mind it’s played out many times: dragged down too far, too fast, he’s only acting out what he already feels... strangled, unable to breathe. He carries these dark fantasies with him, keeping them locked away in a dark corner of his mind where the others, including Daesung himself, can’t reach them.

In a way, Daesung is grateful to this alternate for safeguarding something so damaging, even as he feels selfish for unloading it on him. Truth be told, it’s because of him that he’s been able to carry on as he has. Now if only he would stay down.

Imaginary or not, the “scars” still itch, Loser Daesung insists, so he carries on with the scratching, tearing with blunt nails at the skin of his neck until it’s red and inflamed and the others have to force his hands away. They try to keep him occupied in whatever way they can, because there may be more than one of “him” in there but they all share one body. Without supervision he just might self-destruct and take all the others with him. Including Daesung.

Distraction doesn’t always work. Sometimes Loser Daesung gives up completely; Daesung reawakens and finds his hands behind his back, bound, with one of the others nearby to keep an eye on him. Sometimes his legs too. He’s safe, they’ve made sure he’s comfortable enough, he just can’t... move.

He knows why. He keeps his eyes low, afraid to face whoever is attending to him this time. Nothing makes his heart sink more than to see them staring back at him with such concern. Or worse, if he’s been violent: fear, distrust. It’s a long time before he can work up the courage to speak.

As for the rest of BB, they’ve learned to love the alters-- well, most of them-- but none are so dear to them as Daesung. Not Smiling Angel with his million watt smile or Yabai Kang with his sex appeal and daring moves. And certainly not Loser Daesung, who needs some serious help (he’s never around long enough or often enough to attempt any kind of treatment; it tends to be more about managing him until his hold weakens enough that he sinks below again).

They really just want Daesung. Daesung, the boy who joined them more than a decade ago and has been with them every step of the way as the five of them have matured and grown into the nation’s biggest boy band. The Daesung they touched hearts with before the accident, before his “others” came in one by one and began slowly crowding him out.

Yes, they’ve learned to love those others... in more ways than one. There have been times they’ve fallen into bed with Daesung only to learn the next morning that Daesung doesn’t remember any of it. Or he remembers up to a certain point until one of his alters shoved him aside and took over (the culprit? Usually Yabai Kang).

Daesung is understandably frustrated while the others are a bit guilt-ridden. It’s not like it happens often. And sure, sometimes it’s just getting off together. Nothing he can’t stand to miss. It’s not all that different than hooking up after a night of drinking and finding gaps in his memory the next day.

But there’s more to it than the missing memories. It’s the helplessness of being a passenger in his own body. At least the decision to drink, dance, and get down with the others in BB is his. The decision to hand over the reins at random to these strangers residing inside his head? (Strangers? Is that what they are? Whatever happened to “extensions of himself”?)

It’s beyond his control, the switching, and there are times when his own powerlessness gets to him. Forget acceptance; hello, resentment. He doesn’t want to share his consciousness, or his body-- or hell, his life-- with these people. And what about his bandmates? He swallows the disappointment and humiliation and wonders, can’t they tell the difference? Or do they just not care?

The angst! I should probably stop there. lol

I may be taking waaaay too many liberties with this. Additional research would be required for the sake of realism. I’m all for claiming creative license but there’s a certain balance to maintain...

Anyway, I don’t make a habit of sharing notes or plans for things I truly intend to write. It’s partly because I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up when most likely nothing will come of it, and partly because I’m oddly self-conscious about letting people see the early stages of my process. Things change a lot along the way. Even after all I’ve written here, there are currently no plans for this to become finished fic. But I won’t close the door on it completely. How about I just... add it to the pile.

#replies #fic idea #daesung #bigbang #mental illness

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takerfoxx · 7 years

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“Fires of the Sun, Part 4″ Thoughts

I really need to go back and re-edit IM one of these days. Just rereading Fires of the Sun is making me cringe by how many mistakes there are. No, it's not a Deep Within scene! Why does it begin with a Deep Within?

Anyway, if I recall, that opening bit with Rumia was intended as a touch-base sort of thing. I had noticed that once Rin had let her go, she had started to fade into the background, and given her importance before that, I didn't want her to just slip off completely. I think her bit with getting threatened by Sakuya was partially created to at least give her something to do, even if it was more as a prop than anything. But it's been months so I don't really remember. At least it helped remind everyone of those bugs Wriggle sent out for help, so it's not like it was completely filler.

Funny thing about writing crises though: you kinda need them to keep going until you've hit that climatic finish. Which means any solution that would solve the crisis for the characters prematurely needs to be denied in some manner. That's honestly what that conversation between Sakuya and her allies was at least in part about: them reviewing any possible path that would cause the readers to go, "Wait, why don't they just do such-and-such?" and come up with a reason why they can't. Or have them try one workable idea only to slam the door in their face. Characters are annoyingly tenacious at times, and on occasion you do have to go the extra mile to herd them. Though if I recall, Kurumi did present some issues in that her vampiric needs had to be addressed frequently. Can't go into sunlight? Okay, that makes for a good reason for them not to flee through a window. But she's probably blood starved and I do not want her jumping onto one of the other kids and sucking them dry. Well, Sakuya probably came with some blood prepared, and she's likely to be empathetic toward vampire children, so that solves that. But yeah, part of writing these big scenes with lots of moving parts is foreseeing issues that'll get in the way and counter them ahead of time.

If I recall, I was constantly annoyed by the Dragon battles, and only went back to find some new way to keep them at bay. And I'll admit, it did get a little sloppy at times. I don't know what it says about me that I found writing a gigantic battle between Dragons and plant monsters to be tedious. I guess I just like my violence up close and personal.

Fortunately, Rin and Yuuka provided plenty of that. Rin's thoughts in that first clash mirrored my own, in that it felt so gratifying to pound Yuuka's face into pulp. I swear to God, the problems I've had with that character. To use a pro wrestling metaphor, she's that big star that's a huge draw and will guarantee sell-outs for your venue, but is just a whiny, spotlight stealing diva behind the scenes that you almost hate yourself for giving into them all the time, and yet you keep bringing them back because they sell tickets and try to make them look great. But then you finally get some leverage and don't need them anymore, trick them into a match that makes them look like a chump, and smirk from behind the curtain when your new top guy roughs them up. That's what that whole bit felt like. Yuuka really did help put this story on the map. She was by far the easiest character to write for, and any scene with her in it just felt…bigger. But oh my God, it drove me nuts the degree in which she would take on a life of her own and dominate the whole damn story. That kerfuffle with the robots was definitely the most egregious example, but there were others. I do feel I was able to get her character under control in the latter half of the Retaliation arc. Her breakdown after Marisa's death definitely helped. But even so, and even though I'm not yet done with her, this felt good.

I will admit to one bit of lazy writing though. According to my own rules, you can't send messages through magic when the Sirens are around. So…how did Rin control her duplicates? I did acknowledge this problem, but couldn't come up with a good reason and sort of brushed it off. Nobody really cared, but if I'm going to do a full look back, I might as well nitpick.

That gloriously pompous fly (I think I copied his speech patterns from the Helmacrons from Animorphs) though, that was another investment paying off. That whole thing with Wriggle's bug buddies came about because I had preplanned that tense scene with Elly trying to cut Wriggle's hair a way's back, didn't get a chance to use it, and wanted to stick it in before it was too late. The bugs crawling out her hair happened because I thought it was funny, then later, when Yuuka had captured them, I remembered them and figured I could do something with them. So, the bugs were out there, and I kept that (along with about a hundred other loose ends), and when the time came to spice up that garden battle, I remembered them and decided to pull the trigger. Downside? Dragons are fucking useless, okay!

After that was when I really cut loose with Yuuka lovecraftian roots. Like I mentioned in that chapter, I was playing a lot of the Dragonborn DLC for Skyrim around that time, and loved the eldritch scenes with Apocrypha, and decided to have Yuuka take some direct inspiration. So, slime, eyes, and tentacles. I swear to God, I don't know why eyes are such a recurring motif for me. I mean, I chose my avatar because I like Elfen Lied and it looks cool! I swear I'm not actually thinking about people's eyeballs day and night, they just keep popping up!

Illuminati confirm…

Righty then.

Anyhoo, Jun being a dog became unexpectedly handy. I got curious and looked up wolf behavior to see if they practice infanticide the same way lions do. Turns out, nope! Alphas protect the pack, the cubs, and the only infighting issues are usually with upstart young males! So, whenever Sakuya cracked a little more and wanted to get rid of the kids, it made sense for him to be uncharacteristically unselfish and step in. Having a big, hulking mass of angry muscle is useful for deterring murderous maids with slowly deteriorating mental states.

I…can't really remember if this was the point I had decided to have Sakuya threaten Rumia's life, if I had already decided that, or just have her take notice of Rumia as a way of making another investment, but regardless, that was where that scene started taking shape. I'm pretty sure it was something I had already committed to at that point thought, and was then planning on ways to relieve them of the kids and get rid of the rest of her team, allowing her to go completely rogue.

I did want the battle to end with Rin using Flandre's power to blow Yuuka to bits from the beginning though. So, what better way to pull that off than for Flandre to suggest it, thus planting it as a possibility, Rin to try and find it not working, only to bring it back when it was time? Because it's one thing to blow shit up. It's another to chuck bombs at shit, have them not go off, only to explode them later at a more suitably dramatic time.

For the four Yuuka scene though, I think the initial plan was actually for Rin to fight ten of them, grievously wound one for Elly to find later, and then just kyuu the rest to end the thing. It was cut down to four to simplify things a bit. Besides, it's been established that Yuuka gets weaker with each division, and Rin would probably have torn through ten with little difficulty. Besides, it lent itself to some symmetry, given that Rin was already using Four of a Kind, which I got a tremendous kick out of by having it time out like Touhou spellcards do. After all that distinctly non-Touhou-esque violence, it just tickled me to reintroduce the classic rules in the middle of a fight and have them be an inconvenience.

What? It made me laugh. Sue me.

Bringing back Kaguya and Mokou was a hoot as well. I really do miss those guys and all their bickering. And in my grand tradition in breaking up something horrifying with something silly, we have Rin's constant use of Phoenix Fire giving Mokou an itch. Though I think I brought them up here mainly because their later cameo in the next chapter was preplanned from way back and I didn't want their appearance then to be too out of left field.

And then I got to make up for my previous sacrilege by having all of those religious icons turn on Yuuka and burn her crispy. Like I've mentioned a few times before, my personal relationship with religion is a little complicated at this point. Regardless, I've never much cared for militant anti-religious attitudes, so this scene was sort of to make up for having those symbols perverted and destroyed earlier, as well as Yukari's previous trash talking of the Judeo-Christian faith in general. Having Remilia's spear (or Odin's. Whatever) be the first made for a nice bit of symbolism as well. Though it might have been stronger without Sariel directly commenting on it and offer an explanation as to why all those gods were suddenly taking notice just now. A little mystery goes a long way, after all.

Though I think at one point I was going to have Rin skewer the burnt Yuuka with Remilia's spear before dropping her into that hole. And maybe also sticking her into that broken crystal out of revenge. Can't remember why I didn't go through with it though. Hell, whatever happened to that spear anyway?

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