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sinningforrory · 1 year

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stupid // stan uris smut

a/n: hey everyone! it's been so long since i've posted and a lot of people have been sending me requests but since my first and only fic i've uploaded on here has gained 1,000 notes i thought i'd gift you guys this fic as a thank you. i'm gonna try and upload a lot more now because i appreciate so much the love my writing gets fr thank you guys so much. hope you enjoy and as always, reblogging really helps me out so if u enjoy, pls don't hesitate!

WARNINGS: dom!stan, submissive!bratty!reader, slight choking, mention of drugs (if you squint) SMUT, majorly NSFW minors please dni, thank you!

WORD COUNT: OVER 6K

SUMMARY: Your parents best friends' son. The picture perfect grade A student of the perfect suburban family. And a cocky douchebag. You hated him. But, since you both got into the same college, Stan has been making it clear that he definitely does not hate you...

Stanley. Even his name irked you. I mean, who in their right mind births a beautiful baby boy and names him Stanley. What a stupid name. It fits him though, that’s for sure. Stupid Stan with his stupid family and his stupid friends and his stupid studying. He was just so stupid that you wanted to bash his brains in any time he so much as breathed around your presence.

Of course, he hadn’t necessarily done anything to warrant your intense hatred towards him. He just irritated you. You were Jewish too so you’d always see each other at the Synagogue and your parents were enamoured by Stan’s stupidness. They saw it as ‘perfection’ instead though. They were always bothering you about how you should ‘aim to be more like Stan’ or ‘Stan’s parents told me he got an A in this class. So why are you getting a D?’ He drove you insane. You weren’t Stan, you weren’t stupid like Stan so why couldn’t your parents just love you for you instead of comparing you to that stupid, stupid boy.

Due to your parents being very good friends with Stan’s family, you saw each other a lot more than you’d like. And every time you were there you took every opportunity to be nasty to Stan just to wear off some steam. But that made it even worse. It wouldn’t matter if he was a dick to you too. But no. He’s NICE to you. And you know he’s doing it on purpose to get on your nerves because every time he compliments your hair and sees you glaring knives into his eyes, he does a subtle smirk to himself as if he’s fucking won this silly little game you play. He knows he’s driving you insane and he’s proud of himself for it. What a fucking douche.

It had always been this way. Stan irritates you, you’re a bitch to Stan, Stan eats it up, Stan irritates you, blah, blah, blah. It was an endless cycle of hate.

However, something had flipped in Stan the summer before you both left for college. Luckily enough, you’d both managed to get into the exact same ivy league as each other so you would be stuck with Stan for the next four years. When you found out you immediately wanted to bash your head into a wall repeatedly until you woke up from this absolute nightmare that was Stanley Uris.

The news that you had both gotten into an ivy league warranted a celebratory party for the both of you. The idea from your lovely mother, of course, and at said party, Stan was acting a lot stranger than normal. So strange to the point where you were currently hiding in the bathroom with your back against the door breathing heavily as if he was chasing after you and about to knock the door down with an axe.

It started in the garden. You wore a white summer dress with tiny yellow flowers scattered among it. Stan was looking very punchable in cream khakis and a navy polo. Unbuttoned, of course, because he could never look TOO tidy. You stood by the refreshments, sipping a virgin pina colada when Stan strutted his way over with a teasing grin on his face, ready to ruin your relaxed mood.

‘So, I guess we’re going to college together. It seems you really can’t escape me, can you, y/n?’ He leaned against the table next to you, taking a sip from his beer. You glared up at him, already infuriated by the fact that he was leaning down with you stood up straight next to him and he was still taller than you.

‘Oh please, Stanley, don’t pretend to be so happy about this when we both know you are just as excited about this as me.’

He gasped in mock surprise before laughing softly at the frown on your face, ‘Oh, come on, princess, you know you love me. I guarantee that you would miss this adorable face as soon as you knew you couldn’t see me anymore.’

He smiled at you gently before moving his sunglasses up to rest on his curls and taking a sip of beer.

You moved to stand in front of him, making a move to leave the refreshments and flee to your room (or anywhere away from Stan). ‘Bite me, Uris.’

‘If you insist, princess.’ He smirked at you and folded his arms over his chest, his muscles straining under his polo.

Your eyes widened slightly, shock evident on your face at his words. He had always been overly saccharine with you but he had never flirted with you so boldly. Shaking yourself out of your daze, you scoffed before walking off with your pina colada into your kitchen for some snacks.

5 minutes later, you were still stood in front of your fridge, supposedly searching for food but instead, you found yourself staring off into space. You could not scratch that smug image of Stan out of your brain, his words engraving themselves into your memory, messing with your mind.

Worst of all, you found yourself repeatedly wondering why you liked what he had said to you. Pulling yourself together, you closed the fridge door but immediately jumped as you saw Stan standing right where the fridge door had been resting.

‘You look a little lost, princess, is everything okay?’ He was stood so close to you that your chests were half an inch away from touching. You gazed into his eyes for half a second before realising what you were doing and coughed before putting some distance between the two of you.

‘Uh-uhm, I’m fine thank you, Stanley. Just couldn’t find what I was craving.’

He nodded his head understandingly before taking a step forward so you were nearly chest to chest once again. ‘What exactly are you craving, y/n?’

He hadn’t meant to sound so enticing, or maybe he had, but the way he said that with his gravelly voice and his tiny smirk made your thighs involuntarily clench together.

‘E-erm, just some guacamole dip. My mom always hides it from me though because she knows I’ll eat it all before the other guests can have any.’ You fiddled with the hem of your dress, avoiding eye contact with the boy in front of you. What had gotten into you, why was he making your confidence dissipate so easily and why were you suddenly acting like a nervous school-girl?

Stan’s eyebrows furrowed before an evil look took over his features. He was planning something, you could tell. And you didn’t like it.

‘Oh, you mean.. this guacamole? The one on top of the fridge? That I can reach? But you can’t?’

Your eyes trailed along his veiny, muscular forearm before they met his slender, mocking hand where you found it gesturing towards... of course: the dip.

Frustration filled you head to toe as you realised that Stan, once again, had the upper hand. Your jaw ticked as your eyes finally met Stan’s cocky, patronising eyes and you had to resist the urge to make those smug, brown orbs black and blue.

‘It seems that you have something you need to ask me, darling. Because, let’s face it, we’re not gonna have a stare-off all day in front of this fridge. So, let’s hear it: “Oh, please, Stanley. I need you to get me that dip off the top of the fridge because I was born with incompetent height and I can’t do it without you, Stanley.”’

You crossed your arms over your chest as you listened, painfully, to Stan mock you with such arrogance you found it hard to resist whacking him with a frying pan. However, to Stan’s surprise, before he had the chance to continue making fun of you, there was no one standing in front of him anymore.

Where had you gone? he thought. That’s unlike you, to admit defeat so easily. Where was your usual snarky bite back, attacking him on his ‘unusually long legs’?

But before he could get too worried, there you were. Returning into the kitchen to fight back to Stan.... with a chair.

Wordless and emotionless, you put the chair down in front of the fridge, stood on its seat and grabbed the dip, finally retreating from the kitchen, not before throwing Stan a victorious wink before you disappeared around the corner.

Truth be told, you had no idea how to respond to Stan’s unusual behaviour so instead of arguing back like you would normally do, your mind blanked of insults completely and you did the next best thing that you could think of: beat him at his own game.

It was obvious that something about Stan had changed since the last time you had spoken and Stan seemed to think he was one step ahead of you. What stupid Stan didn’t know was that you were nowhere near as Stupid as him and knew that the only way to irritate him like you used to was to give him a taste of his own medicine.

Sure, you weren’t exactly completely against the idea of flirting with Stan for fun. He was obviously a good-looking guy; you knew because he would never let you forget it. And you would never pass up the opportunity to get a hot guy flustered.

This was how Stan wanted to play? Fine. He’d better prepare to lose.

It had been two weeks since this little game you and Stan were playing had begun and you couldn’t hold out much longer. The tension between the two of you had sky-rocketed and even the slightest twitch of a smirk in the corner of Stan’s mouth had your panties pooling with desire.

You had an inkling that Stan was in the same boat as you were as your lingering caresses on his arm or leg when laughing with him and his family seemed to make him blush much easier than before.

The point of why you were doing all of this was still vaguely swimming around in the back of your mind: do not be the first to give into your temptations. Don’t sleep with Stan.

However, with Stan so perfectly positioned behind you so your butt met his bulge as he leaned over your petite frame to reach for a glass, you had to take deep breaths to remind yourself once again: don’t sleep with Stan.

You gulped and took a deep breath of relief once he removed himself from his position behind you to lean on the counter next to you. His gaze burned into the side of your face and you met his eyes briefly just to find him with a cocky smirk plastered on him.

Your blood boiled (with rage or desire, you didn’t know) but you looked away without giving even the slightest of a reaction. You could never let him know how much his actions affected you.

It was that dreaded time of the week when you go over to the Uris family’s house for dinner and after eating a delicious meal cooked by Mrs Uris you did the routine of standing in the kitchen and drinking an iced tea with Stan whilst the adults got drunk in the living room.

Usually, you and Stan would bicker pointlessly during this time of the evening, but tonight it was completely silent between the two of you with only lingering gazes and glares thrown from one to the other. The tension could be cut with a butter knife.

However, your torment was put on pause as, suddenly, Mrs Uris appeared at the kitchen door. ‘Hello sweeties,’ she hiccoughed slightly, clearly tipsy. ‘I know that the kitchen is very beautiful but you are welcome to go up to Stan’s room if you want. Stan certainly won’t mind a beautiful girl like you to be up in his room, y/n.’ She winked as you blushed and Stan coughed out an embarrassed ‘Mom!’.

She then made her departure, giggling to herself softly as she went. Stan then coughed to get your attention and gestured with a jerk of his head to the direction of his room, indirectly asking if you wanted to take up his mother on her offer. You shrugged before making your way up the stairs to Stan’s room.

Stan’s room. What a place to behold. You hadn’t been up there since you were about 12 and had to work with Stan on a class project. It had changed a lot since then. Posters of bands that Stan listened to were plastered all over the walls and clothes were scattered all over the floor, and let’s not forget to mention the faint aroma of marijuana.

Stan manoeuvred you out of the doorway, his fingers gracing your waist ever so slightly with his bulge pressed against your lower back as he shimmied past you.

He jumped on his bed, his arms and legs in a starfish position on either side of him, and closed his eyes with a big sigh.

You carefully sat yourself down next to him on the bed, feeling too hesitant to lie yourself down next to him. He leaned up against the bed frame with his hands behind his head as he studied your appearance precariously as ever.

‘Why do you hate me?’.

The question took you by surprise. It was so out of the blue and even more so out of character for Stan to be so straight-forward. You blinked delicately before shrugging your shoulders at him.

‘Do you want the honest answer or the answer that you want to hear from me?’ You pressed, speaking so quiet that it was almost a whisper.

He glanced swiftly over you for a second before responding, ‘Honest.’

It wasn’t like you weren’t expecting Stan to want that answer but the fact that you had to admit it to yourself now, let alone to Stan, was enough to make you faint from nerves.

You looked away from Stan and fiddled with your fingers as you spoke in hushed tones. ‘I envy you. You have better grades, better looks, better charisma, better music taste, better style... a better life. You are better than me in every way. And I despise you for it.’

A masked look of shock ghosted over Stan’s face before it was replaced once again with a stony expression. He sat up straight so that your knees were touching and he placed a hand on the centre of your thigh.

You looked up at him and connected with his gorgeous hazel eyes. He ran his tongue quickly over his lips before his eyes locked onto yours. ‘Now, we both know that’s not true.’

It was as if your body was moving with a mind of its own. Slowly, you were leaning in towards Stan as if you were magnetised to him and to be too far would hurt you in unimaginable ways. ‘How do you mean?’ You breathily responded, your heart pulsing rapidly.

He was so close to you now that you felt his breath against your lips. ‘Because I envy you ten times more.’ And with that closing sentence you felt his lips crash immediately into yours.

All the tension from the last few days swarmed around you both like a storm of arousal and need. His kiss was passionate and rough as he pressed his lips into yours with so much want but his hand on your leg was gentle and sweet as he caressed your inner thigh gently with his thumb.

The constant nagging of your brain screaming at you ‘Don’t sleep with Stan’ was shoved into the back of your mind falling to deaf ears as Stan moved his hand ever so slightly higher up your leg, falling to play with the hem of your dress as he detached his lips from yours to suck on your collarbone with the obvious attempt of planting a hickey.

Stan skillfully moved you both up to the headboard so that he could deepen the passion of your kiss and you quickly maneuvered yourself so that you were now straddling his lap.

His growing erection pressed into your centre as he trailed his smooth hands down to the flesh of your hips, his lips dragging down your jaw to find solace in the crook of your neck.

You felt like you were on fire, Stan’s touch was magnetic and no matter how you’d been trying to resist him, it was impossible. You were addicted to how he made you feel.

Neediness began to bubble through your tummy and you could tell Stan was feeling the same way as his hands were digging into your hips harder than before. Then, his hands began to carefully drag your hips across his hardness, slowly at first.

You could feel every bump of his length through his thin sweatpants and your hands moved down his toned body to fiddle with the hem of his t-shirt.

His hands began to move faster, dragging your thin panties over his hard, clothed dick. He detatched his lips from your neck when you began to let out tiny, little moans of pleasure, thankful for the little bits of stimulation Stan was feeding you.

His eyes trailed down your body, admiring every single bump and curve: the strap of your dress falling off your shoulder, your soaking panties rubbing against him as his hands moulded perfectly with the fat of your hips. They then fell on your face, growing darker at the sight of your furrowed eyebrows, messy hair and plump, red lips from you biting down too hard on them.

Likewise, you were admiring Stan, his sharp jawline clenching and unclenching every time you dragged yourself over his most sensitive spots, his hair uncharacteristically messy from your hands tugging on his curls. He noticed your movements speeding up and he flashed you a dangerous grin; a grin that would make even the biggest prude on the planet drop her panties to her knees.

Acknowledging your shaky hands still fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt, he slowed the movement of your hips with his strong hands and dragged you painfully slow now, refusing to let you continue with the rapid pace you’d set before.

“You want this off, baby?” referring to his t-shirt. You nodded shyly, hands still fiddling with the hem.

“Want me to take it off for you? Are you too dumb to do it yourself?” He stared up at you with a patronising look on his face. You groaned annoyedly, but deep down your cunt throbbed with anticipation.

“Just take it off Stan, don’t be a dick.” You glared down at him but your glare immediately switched to a look of shock as Stan’s hands had stopped your hips moving completely now, denying you any release that you were desperately craving.

Narrowing his eyes playfully, he tutted at your lack of control. “Now, that’s no way to ask for what we want is it, sweetheart?” The corner of his lips tugged up satisfactorily as he took in your menacing glare, but also your glossed over eyes indicating your desperation for his cock.

‘Oh, how cute,’ Stan thought pityingly. ‘The poor, little slut’s already gone dumb and I haven’t even fucked her yet.’

You breathed through your nostrils fiercely before succumbing to the begging of your aching clit and gave Stan your best doe eyes before tugging pathetically at the hem of Stan’s crumpled shirt. ‘Please take it off Stan, I’ll do anything, please..’ You pressed down on his length for extra measure just to make sure he would give you what you needed.

A low hum of appreciation mixed with a strangled groan of pleasure escaped Stan’s throat and he mulled it over for a few seconds with that irritating smirk plastered on his face before nodding, clearly satisfied with your begging before he lifted his slender fingers to his collar and removed his shirt - finally.

You took a moment to appreciate the art that was Stanley Uris' abs and sighed contentedly. It seemed your hands had a mind of their own as you wasted no time in rubbing your hands up and down his beautiful torso, gliding over the valleys and hills of his defined muscles.

"Enjoying yourself there, princess?" Stan chimed, clearly cocky that you'd spent about 30 seconds just groping him absentmindedly.

Tearing your eyes away, you glanced up at Stanley's face, adorned with a shit-eating smirk, one of his hands resting behind his head, the other still gripping the fat of your hip, rubbing gentle circles into your flesh.

Slightly embarrassed but, nevertheless, growing quite needy now, you rolled your eyes.

Eyes narrowing at the evil spawn, you thought 'The ego of this man is absolutely atrocious. How dare he try and make fun of me for admiring his physique when if I decided to strip naked right now, his reaction would probably beat mine.'

And then it clicked.

Focusing back on Stanley's disgustingly smug face, you did something you'd never done for Stanley Uris in your entire life.

You gave him a real genuine smile.

The apples of your cheeks beamed down at him and your eyes sparkled lovingly at the boy who was now slightly confused and, albeit, a little bit scared.

Slowly, you leaned down over Stan so your breath tickled his nose and your lips brushed gently against his, just in time to see his cheeks tinge red and his eyes flutter closed, like a naïve teenage girl who was experiencing her first kiss.

Aw, how cute.

Finally, you pressed your lips to Stanley's, so softly Stan thought he might've been kissing a cloud, and just left them there, in a gentle peck, before sitting up again to admire the look of bliss on Stan's face.

His eyes were fluttering open again and his breathing was shallow but fast.

This was the real face of Stan; he had finally taken off his mask for you.

He was so pretty, obviously you knew that already, but you couldn't get lost in his beauty again or your plan wouldn't work.

Then, when he dazedly smiled up at you and made to pull your head down so he could kiss you again, you teasingly began to lift up the hem of your dress until it had been lifted over your head and discarded somewhere on Stan's bedroom floor.

There you sat, on Stanley's clothed, throbbing cock, in just your white silk panties, the little bow just oh so enticing, and your bare, perky breasts on display for Stanley's greedy eyes.

His lips parted ever so slightly as he not-so-discreetly took in a sharp intake of breath. His eyes roamed hungrily over your exposed chest, and you knew you had him when his needy little hands reached up to thumb your erect nipples.

Arrogantly, you smirked down at him, your sweet, loving smile erased. However, Stan failed to notice, too enamoured by your naked body, like a toddler in a candy store.

"Aw, you're like a needy, little puppy, aren't you Stanny?" Your heart beat fast as you finally dropped the sentence you'd been waiting to release since Stan's cocky demeanour had surfaced.

Stan froze as he realised what you had done and his jaw clenched automatically, clearly embarrassed that he had let you entice him just how he had you not even a few minutes ago.

Narrowed eyes were glaring into yours and your confident façade faltered slightly as you realised how deep in shit you were now.

He was gonna ruin you.

However, Stan didn't flip you over dominantly so he was on top of you, or rip your panties off in anger like you had expected him to.

Gradually, he eased himself up his headboard so his back was resting comfortably against it and so the two of you were eye-level, 'innocent' doe-eyes levelled with furious, narrowed eyes.

His hands gently gripped you hips and moved you a little further up his chest, so he could remove his sweatpants, so slow and so patient you were so confused.

He looked deadly, that's for sure. But you'd expected him to be rough with you, teach you a lesson for being so naughty. All in all, other than being clearly vexed, he was treating you like you were a china doll.

As soon as his sweatpants and boxers were discarded, he moved you back to your old spot on his lap and carefully caressed your hips, his thumbs hooking under the straps of your thong and pulling at the sides, fiddling with them gently while intently drilling into your eyes with his own.

"You wanna be in control, huh, sweetheart?" He muttered so quiet you could barely hear but so full of malice your heart immediately sped up.

You had no idea what to say. No, you didn't wanna be in control. You wanted Stan to bend and contort you into any position he wanted, you wanted him to fuck your cunt until you couldn't even form a coherent word, you wanted him to paint the canvas of your body purple, pink and black, in the form of hickeys, bruises and mascara stains.

And you knew he knew that.

You knew by the look on his face, the restraint in his jaw, the rage in his eyes that he definitely did not want that either.

So why was he doing this?

Just as your brows started to furrow in confusion, Stan's thumb had started to rub harsh but deliberate circles over your clothed clit and you let out a gasp.

He tilted his head to the side slightly, furrowing his brows in faux confusion. "Is that... not what you want, baby? You see, I'm just a needy little puppy, right?" He spat at you, evidently fuming but clearly enjoying seeing you in such a state.

You shook your head and dropped your it onto Stan's shoulder, moaning softly as he used one hand to hook your panties to the side while the other found your soaking wet hole and gently inserted two very long fingers.

But, immediately he removed them.

Your head shot up in irritation but you relaxed and hummed contentedly as you realised that Stan was finally lining himself up with your entrance.

You lifted yourself up slightly to make room for his 'oh my god that's scarily big why am i only just noticing this' cock, fluttered your eyelashes closed, and waited for the stretch of him pushing up into you... but it never came.

The first thing you saw when you opened your eyes was Stan's eyes, still level with yours, looking bored and his hands, once again, behind his head, biceps flexed and causing a big distraction for you.

He looked at you pointedly, but, realising you still didn't get it, rolled his eyes and motioned for you to sit on his cock.

At this point, you would've jumped off a cliff if Stan asked you to if it meant he would grant you some form of release, so you carefully began to lower yourself down onto his tree-trunk of a dick, the stretch of it stinging slightly but the depth of it stimulating you in all the right ways.

You let out a guttural moan as you sat on the base, his cock bottomed out inside of you. You gripped Stan's toned shoulders with force and wiggled about slightly, trying to adjust to this new, amazing feeling and, as you wiggled, you noticed a slight tremor in his mask as his jaw clenched and his eyebrows briefly furrowed in pleasure.

But, as quickly as it faltered, it reappeared and Stan's stoic, unimpressed gaze fell on you once again.

"Well?" He rasped, as if what he wanted was the most obvious thing in the world. "You're in control, right, babe? I'm not moving a muscle."

You knew immediately that he was not kidding, so you bottled up the impatience you had for this stupid, stubborn man and put your game face on.

You could get off without help from Stan, of course you could. You didn't need his touch when you could do a perfectly good job with your hips and your hands.

'Fine.' You thought, glaring at Stan with pure hatred in your eyes. 'Suit yourself.'

So you began to move up and down on Stanley's cock, feeling every vein and twitch as you dragged your walls all over his length, coating it in your slick.

You gripped Stan's flexed biceps, his arms unmoving from behind his head as his eyes flickered between watching your face slowly morph into a dreamy, fucked-out expression, soft, pretty moans escaping from your parted lips every time the tip of his cock would prod at your g-spot, and watching your glistening, stretched out cunt swallow up his length, each time producing more and more slick so every time you slammed back down on his base, you could hear a squelching noise.

The only sign Stan was giving away of him holding any emotion was the twitch of his jaw and brow growing more frequent as the speed of your bounces grew quicker and harsher.

Soon, your bounces grew erratic as you craved your release, the only noises in his room being your desperate whimpers of pleasure, the sound of your wetness, and skin slapping on skin, along with the occasional grunt of approval from Stan.

However, you started to grow tired and out of breath as it had been nearly 5 minutes of you bouncing up and down on Stan's length, with no help from him and your determination to beat Stan at his own game was overwhelmed by your desperation to cum, and you knew you had to admit defeat because you were never gonna cum if you carried on like this.

Reluctantly, you sank down onto Stan and stilled with him deep inside you as you breathed heavily and whimpered with the desperation to cum deep in your tummy, your clit throbbing, begging for release.

Stan's furrowed face quickly changed to that of faux sympathy as he moved his hands to rest on your waist, rubbing gentle circles into the skin. "Oh baby, are you tired? Do you need my help?" He asked, patronising you just a little bit further by stretching out 'need' just to annoy you.

You had no time to be annoyed, however, because you could feel your release creeping just that little bit further away from the loss of stimulation, so you nodded your head frantically, practically begging Stanley to help you with your pathetic little doe eyes, glossy and desperate.

"Please, Stanny, please I need it, I need you, just please make me cum." You whined, your lips ghosting his ear, and gently kissing his cheek just for good measure.

That was all Stan needed to hear as he grabbed your neck, squeezing gently as he brought your face back to his and kissed you harshly, bruising your lips with his teeth as he dragged your lip with him, pulling away, and then releasing it.

"See, that wasn't so hard was it!" He smiled gently at you, pecking your plump, red lips and squeezing your neck in approval, before he moved his hands back to your waist, his grip turning nasty and he lifted you up right to his tip, then plunging his hips upwards into yours.

You choked on your moan from the sheer force of his thrust but soon gained your voice back as he continued his rough, rapid thrusting up into your eager pussy, practically dripping, begging for a long overdue orgasm.

You collapsed your tired aching body on top of Stan, your head buried in his neck, muffling your high-pitched moans from the ears of your drunk parents downstairs.

Stan moved his hands down to your ass and gripped the flesh harshly and his thrusts were slamming repeatedly into a spot that made you clench fiercely down on him and shriek with overwhelming pleasure.

Stan groaned into your ear as you continually clenched around him, whispering filthy praises into your ear making your legs tremble and your stomach flip as your impending orgasm was getting closer and closer.

"Can you hear yourself, princess? Can you hear the noises your pretty pussy is making?" The squelching of your wetness was embarrassing to say the least and you could feel Stan smirking without even having to look at him.

As he kept hitting that same spot, you could feel yourself so close to the edge as your legs trembled and your moans grew louder and higher.

"I'm gonna- I'm gonna come, Stanny." You managed to babble out through your whimpers as you felt that overwhelming rush of pleasure build up deep inside you.

Stan lifted your head up and grabbed it with both of his hands whilst still thrusting repeatedly in and out of your sopping cunt, forcing you to look into his eyes.

He had a look of pure concentration adorning his face, brows furrowed, jaw clenched and hair messy, letting out little breathy moans of his own every now and then.

"That's it princess, I wanna see that pretty face when you come all over my cock." And the coil snapped.

You let out a scream of pleasure as your entire body jolted, your orgasm washing over you, your toes clenching and your pussy spasming around Stan's length.

You collapsed onto Stan once again, letting out tiny moans, clearly exhausted from the intensity of the orgasm Stanley had given you, and the spasming of your cunt had clearly not been lost on him as his relentless thrusting had begun to grow sloppy.

Stan was moaning quite loudly in your ear now, a death-grip on your ass cheeks as he fucked up into you, chasing his own high.

You knew he needed a little push so you sat up slightly so you could whisper in his ear breathy and raspy like someone who was recovering from one of the best orgasms they'd ever had in their life, "I want you to come inside me."

The words that make every man orgasm on the spot did not lose their effect on Stan as he let out a loud groan of ecstasy and his thrusts slowed until they came to a stop, clearly having done what you asked.

He dropped his forehead to yours and grabbed your hands, fiddling with them as you both caught your breath.

Holy shit.

You didn't know what to do as you both just lay there gathering your thoughts, attempting to comprehend what just happened.

However, you knew you couldn't stay in this post-orgasmic bubble forever so you gently lifted yourself off of Stan's softening dick and got up to look for your dress.

You were halted, however by a hand closing around your wrist.

Turning around, Stan was lazily grinning up at you with a look of victory on his face as he was dragging you to lie back down on the bed with him and you couldn't help but smile back at him, full of a mysterious feeling for the boy who was just so beautiful.

How could you say no?

Climbing back into bed with him, you both turned to face each other, him still grinning at you, and you studying each and every freckle and blemish on his skin, realising that you loved each and every one of them.

You loved them.

Oh my god.

You loved Stan.

Suddenly, you burst out laughing and Stan jumped slightly before a grin erupted back onto his face as he asked what was so funny.

You managed to get through your laughter, barely, the words that you never thought you'd say in your life. "I- I'm in love - with - with you." Before you immediately started giggling again uncontrollably.

Stan joined in on your laughter, his shoulders moving up and down from the force of his laughs as he breathed out "I'm in love with you too."

You both laid there giggling uncontrollably like a pair of middle schoolers, laughing at your own stupidity.

Once the laughter died down you smiled up at Stan and nuzzled yourself into his chest, planting a few soft kisses there as he pulled you in closer and buried his nose into your hair.

You were drawing shapes on his arms, daydreaming in the comfortable silence when you heard Stan mutter into your hair something inaudible.

You sat up gently looking at him quizzically for a second until you noticed the look of pure adoration on his face that was directed to you before he said gravelly and clearly exhausted, "I hate you so much." before he buries his face into your neck and peppered you with kisses.

You giggled and whispered, "I love you too, stupid."

#it fandom #it fanfiction #stanley uris #stanley uris smut #stanley uris x reader #stan uris #stan uris smut #stan uris x reader #it smut #stan it #stan uris it #stanley uris it

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the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf · 9 months

Text

You're waiting for a train...(4)

Painted Windmills

Robert Fischer x reader

description - Eames and Y/n embark on their intel operation and Eames only has one rule for Y/n; do not be seen.

word count - 2.4k

warnings - hospitals, blood (so minor tho), sadness

a/n - finally we have them meeting!!! Also I know some people may disagree with Eames' reactions in this but remember he is thinking about how this job is important for Cobb and Y/n.

Previous Part Series Master list Master list

If you want to be added to the taglist - here

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Eames led me in with his hand on my back in faux professionalism but with genuine care. We had dressed up all nice and proper for our first day. The thick black dress hugged my curves in a way I was not used to, and revealed my legs way more than I could stand. It felt constricting compared with the jeans (which I’d had for years) and baggy shirts I usually wore on jobs. I fixed my newly acquired fake glasses and my disguise was complete.

We walked up the stone steps to the house that loomed like my private gallows. Why was I so nervous? Eames was right next to me, and this was hardly the first intel operation I’d done with him.

I wobbled about in my precarious heels and my ankles practically gave out when I reached the fourth step. My embarrassment was saved by Eames’ quick grasp of my elbow, righting me lest I draw attention to our entrance.

Our fancy dress shoes clinked in synchronisation and stopped to face each other before we breached the fateful doors. One last debrief.

“What are we here to do?” Eames prepped me.

“Gather as much information about the father-son relationship and see what we can use to our advantage. And you’re going to be studying Browning to mimic his movement, mannerisms, and speech.” I completed with pride.

“Very good baby Cobb.”

“Hey! I vetoed that nickname!”

“The most important thing is don’t be seen.” I raised my eyebrow at his ridiculous request. “You know what I mean, don’t draw attention to yourself. And whatever you do, don’t talk to Fischer.”

I laughed at how serious he looked holding my gaze. I tried to leave to go in, thinking the conversation was done. But I was held in place by his hand on my arm.

“Don’t talk to Robert.” He tilted his head, and I felt the meaning of his words. He’d seen me with the picture. I shucked his hand off my arm and left abruptly.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” I seethed.

He met the quick pace I had formed so he didn’t see the distress I felt at his distrust. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust me, he thought he needed to manage me. Take care of me. Like I was a child.

We both arrived at the top of a dark oak staircase that exuded the feel of wealth and prosperity. The house was so quiet that my heels were like a gunshot in a library. I began to tilt my head up to look at the expanse of the house in wonder. It seemed it had more shadows than glimmers of light. The house choked on its own emptiness.

“Mr and Mrs Trent?” A perky blonde approached us as we walked around the first floor aimlessly.

I panicked at her assumption. “No, no, no, no. We are not a couple—not even--. Miss James.” I shoved out my hand hoping she and I would both forget my stuttering. Great first impression.

She reluctantly met my hand. “Okay, I see well if you both come this way, we can get you started. There is quite a lot to do due to Mr Fischer’s declining health. You will both be responsible for sorting through the different files; making sure, if an account is prepared, it is filed away, and if it’s not, it is highlighted to be looked at.” Eames’ and I’s mouths ached from the smiles we were forcing towards Little Miss Big Boobs.

But we both righted our faces to make it seem like we were focused on the 'challenging' task rather than admitting this kind of work was trivial compared to our own jobs. We placed our bags down, took the exaggerated lapel badges handed to us, and began to quickly complete our task. We had previously discussed that we would complete the task first, not wanting to have hindered the Fischer empire any more than we were already going to, then go about our snooping.

I opened my first file, quickly read it, then assigned it it’s place. I’d always had a mind that worked faster than most. Arthur used to joke that my projections run rather than walk. This meant general schoolwork had seemed mundane to me when I was a child. Kids can be cruel to the kid who always finishes first. No one likes a show off.

After I had read my 10th file in less than 5 minutes, I noticed Eames was gesturing and mouthing something towards me.

‘SLOW DOWN’ Ah I forgot. Don’t draw attention to yourself.

My job here wasn’t exactly defined, by Fischer or Eames.

Eames trailed Browning like a shadow, subtly mimicking every move in a sort of dress rehearsal. I tracked him with my gaze, in awe at his skill. Partially because his skill was slick enough to pass between everyone’s tired eyes.

All at once, a commotion began around my section. Some balshy intern had decided to push Browning for an answer on question he didn’t want to hear. He went on to sarcastically suggest that the intern should bring the question to Maurice himself. He strutted away and drove open the large double doors that blanketed the room. When the oak parted I found myself moving away from my corner to peek into the scene revealed.

Maurice Fischer lay on his hospital bed surrounded by equipment which stood in contrast to the dark interior that sat around them. Browning walked through and instead of approaching Fischer senior; he made his way to the window where a man stood. His back was to me, but his figure was distinguished. My feet edged me forward a little more.

“Argghh” Maurice flailed out his arms. In his frenzy, he had knocked down a picture from his bedside. The man turned at the noise and it was there I saw the face I had longed to see. Robert Fischer.

He moved to pick up the picture with a sort of meekness. And as he looked up to his father there was a sense of shame there. As if he was once again the height of a young boy. He rose, broken picture scarring his hand. I see Browning and Fischer exchange words. I inch forward more so that my frame centres in the doorway. Suddenly…

“Mr Browning, I have some—” CRASH.

The balshy intern from before slams into my shoulder and knocks me onto the floor. Papers fly everywhere and I audibly wince when my knees come in contact with the hardwood floor. Shit.

I compose myself, trying not to consider how obvious I just made myself. As I slide my pages back together, 2 more hands join my own. I stop in my tracks, registering the person before me. I reluctantly look up and fall into a pool of blue.

“Are you okay?” I sharply intake.

He studies my face as I fail to speak. When I see him poised for an answer, my brain snaps back.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

*Robert’s pov*

“I put it there.” My finger drags down the cracked memory. “He didn’t even notice.”

My thoughts are overtaken when a loud crash reverberates throughout the room. My head snaps up, annoyed at the offending noise, but when I look up, I am overcome. I see a girl on the floor struggling to clean up her mess. I rush to her aid, glaring at the man who had knocked her down. As I passed him, I gently stated,

“You’re fired.” He goes to argue but retreats back into the office.

I kneel in front of her rushed attempt at clearing up and chuckle at how she had just seemed to make more mess in her haste.

“Are you okay?” She met my eyes and my breath caught as I fully took her in. She was beautiful.

Minute long seconds passed of us just gazing. I could have stayed there a lifetime if she let me.

“Yes, I am fine. I am so sorry about the mess; I’ll clean it up and I’d understand if you want me to leave.” I stopped her rambling by clasping her hand in mine. I then picked strands of her hair to place behind her ears to reveal more of the face she was trying to hide. Her spew of words was like music to me and what interested me even more were her little laughs between thoughts, as if apologetic for what she said.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

*your pov*

My sputtering was pathetic, but I was rendered speechless when he held my hand. I quickly retracted the offending limb to push up my glasses as if they could save me now. My thoughts were equally filled with his words but also my warnings. I had to leave and tell Eames the mistake I’d made so we could rectify it.

Together we had collected the papers into a transportable pile, and I stood up. But I braved it too quickly and found myself stumbling in my heels once again. Robert hadn’t let go of me even as I stood up, making sure I was okay. My leg which had gone numb from my position on the floor gave out and pushed me into Robert’s awaiting arms.

I let myself sink further into the perfect feeling of being in his warmth. He felt like a warm beach in the afternoon sun. But I quickly remembered my place. I jumped back in fright.

“You’re bleeding!” Robert exclaimed. As I stumbled back, he had noticed drops of blood adorning my newly scraped knee.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” I tried to placate his worry as I began to make my way to the exit.

“No, come, I’ll clean it up.” He grasped my hand and led me through his father’s room despite my protests.

“Mr Fischer, please, you are far too busy. I can sort it myself.” We had made it through another door that led into a room which was so uniquely childlike.

“Please, I’ve been looking for an excuse to leave.” He smirked at me and led me to sit down on the window seat. He went to a drawer for plasters and then another for disinfectant. He moved about the room with assuredness. He returned and lifted my leg so that it rested over his knees. I tugged down the end of my short-ish dress. He opened the disinfectant and dabbed it with cotton wool. As he went about this, I took in the room around me.

It felt busy but not cluttered. In the middle of the back wall sat a single bed with light blue cotton sheets. The sheets were decorated with multi-coloured windmills. The white bedside tables held many trinkets of a young boy. The chest of drawers was home to more pictures and framed memories. My head lifted higher, and I saw the sky painted blue and it held wooden planes that flew around the room with a freedom I believe the owner wished he had.

“This is your room, isn’t it.” I whispered.

He didn’t look up from my scar. “Yes.” He chuckled. “Not that I stay in it.”

We both laughed. “I could see you still squeezing into that.” I pointed to the neatly made bed.

“I have thought about it.” He remarked.

I braved my next words. “Or maybe you just want to sleep in a simpler time.” Our eyes met again.

I noticed a familiar picture which sat on the chest. And I realised it was the same one that rested on the window seat between us, covered by Robert’s jacket.

“Is that you and your dad?” I mentally smacked myself for such a stupid question.

“Yeah.” He spoke.

“How old are you here?” I picked up the delicate frame. I smiled at the picture of a young Robert blowing on a handmade windmill, sat in his father’s lap. I could feel the love radiating from this image. It now seemed so different to the coldness one felt in this house.

“10. The nurse said he may respond to being surrounded by happy memories. That was the happiest day of my life.” He placed his arms around me to join mine on the frame. “I just didn’t think that it might not be one for him.” As I turned to face him, I realised how close we were. One gentle slip and our lips would touch. Each exhale was felt on the others face. “There’s something. Have we met before?”

What was I doing?!

I retreated back, freeing myself from his arms. I had to leave. Find Eames and get out of here.

“I am so sorry, but I have to go—I just—I--.” I barely even finished a sentence as I ran out, back to the office. I threw my hair in front of my face as if that would help me now. Eames, Eames, EAMES!

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

*Robert’s pov*

I ran back to catch her before she left. I was unsuccessful so I asked Browning. She’d left so quickly I’d never even gotten her name. But I knew I needed it.

“That intern, what’s her name?” I asked my godfather.

“I don’t know, why? Where did you just go off to?” He responded.

“I’ve had to be numb to a lot in my life, but just then I felt something.” I would see that girl again if it’s the last thing I do. "Something real."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

*your pov*

Eames and I were safely in our rental car, driving back to the warehouse. Eames seemed pleased at his progress and thankfully hadn’t noticed my absence.

“I have Browning down to a T and I think he is going to be the key. If we can somehow get Robert’s own projection of Browning to—” As he prattled on, I struggled to quieten my breathing after my speedy getaway. All I could do was watch the world pass by my window, willing my mind to forget everything that just happened. How Cinderella of me.

“You, okay?” Eames looked over to me concerned.

“Yeah. I think the bad relationship with the father is the way in. Everything about that dynamic is so…broken.” I softly spoke.

“Nice. I like a good gap to sneak through.” I rolled my eyes at his childishness but also couldn’t help but laugh.

“He saw me.” I admitted.

The car came to a grinding halt. I sat cowering hearing Eames’ heavy sighs. “I’m sorry.” I managed to stumble out through my choked throat. Eames’ head hung low in his hands.

“Why?” he huffed out.

“I didn’t really have much control over it!” I argued back. This wasn’t a complete lie, in more ways than one. It had to happen. “Please don’t tell my dad, I can’t have him thinking I blew this whole case. Because I didn’t okay, because it’s fixable! You know that! Please you can help me fix it!” I was now begging Eames by scrambling at his coat to force him to look into my apologetic eyes.

“I thought you were better than that.” He spat.

“So did I.” I slumped back in my seat. A minute of silence passed. We both just stewed in it.

“I won’t tell your dad.” I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding on to. “But-“ I gave him my entire focus. “You mustn’t get distracted. Promise?” He held his pinkie out to me. I giggled remembering fondly.

“I promise.” I finished, linking my pinkie with his and then we both kissed our thumbs together whilst making a corresponding sound.

We drove off once more. Eames satisfied in the promise he’d made me make. I was terrified that I would break it.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

a/n - they've finally met!!

taglist: @jonsncws @h-l-vlovesvintage @theethy @fashionki11a @felicity1994 @bearchermer

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loveforneteyam · 1 year

Text

❝i heart you❞ ( jake sully )

summary: jake suli brought many traditions from earth, including one he calls "valentine's day". pairing: jake sully x navi!reader wordcount: 1.4k contains: just short and sweet :) notes: i wanted to post a quick little thing for valentine's day and why not for my fav?? i apologize if this is a bit late, hope you enjoy! and i love spelling "sully" like "suli", idk why blah

masterlist

If there was one thing about the dream walker, it was that he was a complete marvel to the entire Omaticaya clan. Even his scent was foreign--like metal and strange chemicals. Your people were both fascinated and disgusted by him.

You were the only daughter of your family, so there was a heavy expectation on you to find a mate. Before doing so, however, you would train to become a healer. Under the tsahik's guide, you studied the will of the Great Mother and the way of the forest. You were regarded as so intelligent and skilled that it wasn't surprising when you were chosen to train Jake Suli instead of your best friend, Neytiri.

It wasn't like she wanted the job anyway.

At first, you acted with complete bias. You knew the Sky People to be destructive and ignorant of any culture but their own. Why would this alien be any different? You hardly felt guilty to admit that it was amusing to watch him stumble and lose his balance in the trees. But over time, you felt the strings in your heart play a different way.

His hands and feet grew tougher, his legs and arms became stronger, and his eyes opened to more than just the physical elements of your world. Jake Suli was learning to see.

As he learned more of you culture, you began to learn more of his. While he struggled to learn the Navi alphabet and pronunciations, he also managed to teach you more English than you had previously learned. "This is right up my alley," he said the first day you showed him a bow and arrow.

You cocked your head. "What does that one mean?"

Jake, who thought your cluelessness was adorable, chuckled. "It means, uh," he laughed at himself. He must've sounded stupid compared to your wise words. "It means I'm good at this sort of stuff."

There were other moments where the English language was unnecessarily confusing. "If it is pronounced like 'kernel'," you pondered to yourself. English was even more illegible when it was in Jake's messy handwriting. "Then why is it spelled with an 'l'?"

He had been teaching you the names of the humans who worked back at the RDA. You knew Grace Augustine well, you thought Norm was a funny name for a person, and you refused to accept that the word 'colonel' was pronounced so strangely. Jake deeply chuckled, "I'm not sure why, honey."

You also misunderstood his seemingly unnoticeable pet names for you. Honey, as you had learned, was a sweet food for humans back on Earth; you thought it strange that Jake would call you it, although you never complained...

──

There were very few days where you were not instructed to train Jake. Instead, he would follow you through your training to be a healer. He would often watch as you read the many scriptures written throughout the years, your fingers delicately tracing the writing. Sometimes, you would read it out loud to him and his ears would gently twitch at the sound of your voice.

It was winter in Pandora, which hardly seemed any different from the other seasons to Jake. The sun was still warm on his skin, the plant-life still flourished. You were already studying in your tent in the morning, wondering why Jake had still not arrived.

Mo'at, who had come to recognize Jake's admiration for you (and your admiration for him), examined you as you completed your small, morning tasks. "Where is Jake?" You asked politely, searching for him. "I have not see him yet."

You didn't see her slightly smirk. She knew what it was like for someone to anxiously await their lover, even though you would never call him that. "It is early in the morning, child," Mo'at noted. She watched your shoulders slump as an idea popped into her mind. "Wait for him, he will arrive soon."

For what felt like hours, you continued to wait for the dream walker. Mo'at was amused at your impatient behavior, how you'd frantically stand up every few minutes and check outside to see if he was there.

"It is very rude to keep someone waiting," you said to Mo'at as you sliced through a handful of herbs and leaves.

Mo'at smirked again behind her book. "Oh, yes, very rude."

Finally, Jake's figure appeared with the morning sun behind him. He had a childish smile, the braids in his hair completely disheveled, and he was holding a small basket from when you'd taught him to weave. He cleared his throat, "Tsahik, (y/n), oel ngati kameie."

You and Mo'at collectively greeted him back. Jake took a seat across from you, setting the basket down next to him. "What're you working on today?"

You ignored his curiosity and began to harshly slice the leaves, leaving small marks on the wooden cutting board. "You took a very long time," You didn't look at him, but if you had, you would've been met with wide, fascinated eyes. "Where were you?"

Jake chuckled and pulled the cutting board away from you, your knife nearly coming down to meet his thumb. You looked at him furiously with wide eyes, but he only warmly smiled. He replaced the board with the basket. "I figured you're always teaching me about this," he motioned to the forest around him. "Why can't I teach you something about my home?"

You were intrigued but refused to show it. "Your home?"

"Yeah," he smiled. Jake enjoyed seeing you try to hide your excitement. "Here," he opened the basket and pulled out several pieces of red paper and a small canister of paint with a brush. "In my home, we have something called Valentine's Day."

You repeated the word silently to see how it felt coming off of your lips.

"It's a little holiday, nothing crazy." Jake handed you a piece of paper. You cautiously watched him fold his piece in half, unsure of whatever he could be doing. "It's supposed to be, you know...about love and whatever."

You always found it enjoyable how Jake could never explain something very well. He often stumbled over his words, like the thought was in his head but came out his mouth in a different way. "Fold yours like mine." You did so and pressed the paper so there was a crease down the middle. "Now, watch what I'm drawing."

He took the brush and dipped it into the paint canister, gently tapping it against the sides so any excess dripped off the bristles. He swung the brush over the paper with a slick curve. Jake was surprisingly smooth with the brush. "Your turn."

Jake handed you the brush. You mimicked him, dipping it into the paint and tapping off any loose drops. You tried to copy the shape he had painted onto his paper, except your lines were slightly more jagged. "Good!" He smiled, a hint of pride in his voice. "Then we take this," he grabbed a small blade from the basket. "And follow the shape."

He retraced the shape on his paper with the blade so it sliced the paper clean. He then unfolded his paper. "And you have a heart."

You cocked your eyebrow and eagerly grabbed the blade from his hand, cutting over your shape and removing the remnants of the paper. "This is a heart? It looks nothing like one."

"Well, it's not like the heart in here," his fingers gently touched your chest where your heart sat. He laughed, "It's different, I know. I guess this type of heart is prettier."

You looked at your paper heart inquisitively. You did like how simple it was...you would even say it was cute. "What is the point of this?"

Jake smacked his lips, "Uh, well..." He was at a loss. "I guess there's no real point to it. It's just supposed to be for love."

"What do you do with it?"

"Well, you can do almost anything with it. Throw it in the garbage if you really wanted to," he looked down at his paper heart, tracing the soft edges with his thumb and smoothing out the crease that ran down the middle of the paper. "I think you're supposed to give it to someone."

"Why?"

Jake shrugged, gently smiling at how you already began to fold another piece of paper and reach for the paintbrush. "To show love." You started to draw out the shape of the heart again on half of you paper before you noticed Jake holding his heart out to you.

The corners of your lips softly grew upwards, a pink hue falling on your cheeks.

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burningvelvet · 8 months

Text

I officially finished Pride and Prejudice yesterday! Some more rambles to add to the ongoing collection:

1 Learning that Wickham and Lydia are on the downward path I predicted is really satisfying for some reason. Just the image of the classic rake being forced to marry the unruly teen he had a fling with and then being forced to deal with the repercussions of his actions for the first time in his life — so good considering he seemingly believed he could partake in ruining her reputation and get away with it. And Lydia isn’t consciously suffering (although in reality, her prospects/reputation have indeed suffered) because she’s so oblivious to the misfortune around her that she thinks her life is much better than it is. It’s all just so true to life imo. Nothing is black-and-white. Every family has the worrisome trainwreck couple and these two are the perfect representation of that. Also, Wickham/Lydia give me major Byron/Claire Clairmont vibes (my fellow Romanticists iykyk).

2 Elizabeth’s conversation with Lady Catherine was so nerve-wracking. Elizabeth handled it so well, which surprised me. Toward the end of the novel I was getting a sense that Elizabeth had really come into her own self & seeing how expressive she became in comparison to some of the other women around her was very refreshing.

3 Elizabeth and Darcy’s long conversation while walking was actually cute, I can’t lie. I didn’t really find Darcy personally appealing at first, but he grew on me — which I’m aware was the intention — but due to the popularity of the romantic elements of the story in popular media and film adaptations, I was really surprised just how little Darcy and Elizabeth interacted if we take into account the entire length of the novel and how many actual conversations they had. It’s more realistic that way due to how things like travel, socializing, and marriage were conducted back then. I think for the sake of modern audiences and modern concepts of romance/etc., adaptations and maybe even fans themselves really overemphasize the romantic elements of the story. What I mean is that it is a love story, yes, but our concepts of love in the Anglosphere have changed a lot since Austen’s time. Adaptations reflect this change, although they also probably skew the reader’s reception of the original novel. Alternatively, the Georgian era was a bit more lively than we regularly think, which is seen by Wickham/Lydia’s rendezvous, and so we could also interpret the novel as containing more passion covertly hidden beneath the pages. There are a lot of ways to interpret the concepts of love/romance as shown in the novel.

4 Lydia is truly her mother’s daughter imo. I don’t have a thought-out argument to defend this opinion but it definitely showed that Lydia was her mother’s favorite and Elizabeth was her father’s favorite — and interestingly, they married two men who were enemies to each other, and diametrically opposed in personality. I think one of the biggest takeaways from the novel is that the Bennet parents were an ill-suited match and so their children are having this struggle of trying not to repeat the generational curse — in Lydia’s case she fails like her parents did, whereas Elizabeth and Jane manage well.

5 I routinely forgot that Mary Bennet existed. Like was she even in the novel or was I just zoning out every time she appeared? Lmao

6 Mr. Bennet sarcastically saying that he loves Wickham and Collins more than Darcy and Bingley because the former two amuse him more and give him free entertainment… same tbh!

7 It’s interesting how all the men and women function as foils for each other and represent various reactions to the system they live in. Mrs. Bennet, Mrs. Bingley, Lady Catherine, Mrs. Gardiner, are all interesting to compare to each other, and Mr. Collins, Mr. Bingley, Mr. Wickham, Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bennet, Mr. Gardiner are also in that way very neatly comparable.

8 I’m biased because I’ve studied Shakespeare but I really got a big Shakespeare vibe the entire time. I saw someone on here post that the novel may have been inspired by Much Ado specifically and I completely agree! I looked it up and there have been articles and academic papers writing about the influence of Shakespeare on Austen and P&P particularly, so we’re not alone here.

— Overall, I’ve been pleasantly surprised to find that I enjoyed this book way more than I thought I would! If none of you have read it, or are only familiar with adaptations, definitely give it a try.

#pride and prejudice #jane austen #literature #english literature #book thoughts #book opinions #book review

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svt-rosalie · 5 months

Note

hewwoo im not sure if you are taking asks hehe . how does the members take care of young little rosie when she newly debuted ,

. . . ♡ ROSIE ! ? 🪷 HEADCANNONS ★ ﾟ๑

ׁ ׅ ୨ ❪ seventeen! ❫ ୧ ⊹ ࣪

author note! decided to just do the hyung line for this ask (sorry) but if you want the maknae line vers. i’ll do that sometime soon, you’ll just have to remind me <3

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ seungcheol

he always, always walked her to school!

cheol was worried about the fact that she would lose her way to school and she would be alone.

so instead he woke up at 5 o’clock every morning with her and walked her hand in hand to the school 6 blocks away.

rosie would blabber away about what she’s looking foward to that day of school whilst seungcheol just smiles

gives her a hug and kiss on the forehead once they get to the gate!

he definitely doesn’t glare at the boys and girls that are giving rosie compliments on her hair, makeup, shoes, ect. that don’t sound very platonic

screams “i love you my rosebud! have a good day. study hard!” when she’s only like 10 feet away, embarrassing her for the whole day!

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ jeonghan

jeonghan’s the one that made sure she is up on time for anything and everything.

rosie sleeps like a rock, so no alarm or noise will wake her up. one time vernon thought she was dead.

jeonghan was the only one that could her up at the time and it was his designated role!

hannie would lay out her school uniform already ironed and steamed. the other boys definitely got jealous of this but what can jeonghan say, rosie is the favorite!

and jeonghan is proud to announce it.

jeonghan would make sure her bag was packed and that all her homework due that day was in the correct folder.

rosie is big on being neat. everything is color coded

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ joshua

shua would keep an eye on her during music shows.

rosie gets distracted easily and would wonder around speaking to other artist or employees and that led to joshua being in charge of her

he wanted to buy one of those like backpack leashes but was told it was stupid so he didn’t

he really wanted to though

joshua also (don’t let anybody know) would sing rosie to sleep

rosie would have a hard time being away from her parents and joshua would lay next to the girl while her head is on his chest and sing/hum different songs

sometimes rosie would teach him classic french songs so he could sing her to sleep with them

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ junhui

cooked and made her lunches every single day. and i mean every single day.

he always made sure she ate

he knew how strenuous her diet was compared to the boys and it just didn’t seem fair

so junnie would always sneak in snacks he knew the managers wouldn’t approve of and made sure she ate them

as well as drank as much water as she needed knowing she would forget some times

rosie is his little baby and he never wanted her to have bad memories to look back on during her debut days, only the good

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ hoshi

hoshi was never helpful when it came to school but always took care of her during practice

rosie tended to overwork herself, she is a big perfectionist!

and hoshi noticed that some nights she would stay past the time needed just constantly working on parts she thought was wrong but hoshi couldn’t see the problem

hoshi would always give her encouraging words and let her know she was doing amazing!

which was enough for rosie.

knowing that hoshi thought she was doing great and that her rhythm fit well with the choreography was enough to stop her overthinking mind

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ wonwoo

wonwoo was still is rosie’s favorite during and before their debut era

reason being is because, wonwoo would help with her homework and i mean help, he would do it all for her

half the reason she passed her korean literacy class was because of wonwoo!

besides that though, wonwoo was very helpful with her school work and always made sure that she took care of her mental and physical health before he pressured her into finishing her homework and then going to tutoring

he also would lie about the fact that he allowed rosie to play games when she was suppose to be asleep

everyone knows but wonwoo will never admit it

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ woozi

(un)surprisingly enough woozi was rosie’s rock, you could say, during debut

when rosie would get hateful message sent via social media and through the company, woozi always ALWAYS stood up for her

and no matter how busy he was, he would attend all of rosie’s events big or small

instead of helping her with school he would help her with her lyrics that she so badly wanted to write

because in rosie’s words she wants to be just as poetic with her lyrics as jihoon is with his

jihoon liked to think he was rosie’s favorite during this time despite how much he teased her

he always made sure she knew her worth when it came down to it though and taught her to NEVER let somebody else (the haters) define who she has to be

because being seventeen’s rosebud is enough

taglist — @angie-x3 @alixnsuperstxr

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beeanca-writing · 4 months

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That other anon was being an asshole, but I am curious about what you had planned for EfC? Not gonna lie, I'll miss the cast—would be nice to know what happens to who!

I'm still unsure what I'll do with EfC. I might come back to it once this current period of my life is over, though it'd likely be very different. First of all, it'd be a shorter story. I'd either get rid of some of the ROs, or find some way to better integrate them into the narrative (compare Harry, who you can have this huge, important backstory with vs Val, whom I love but is also just some guy, I guess?). It'd also probably be more focused on romance since that's usually what interests me the most in IF anyway.

I also might scrap a lot of it and stick to the storylines that interest me the most—mainly the Harry stuff. A shorter game dealing with The Hedonist returning to Court and having to face Harry sounds really fun to write, and it'd be a lot less complex to plan than this whole mess. Also, Harry is definitely a more developed character than some of the other ROs. For example, I love Camila to death, but she doesn't have much significance in the story other than "The Hedonist's friend" and I was never able to find her some meaning.

I'd also make The Hedonist even more of a fixed character by getting rid of all personality stats and focusing solely on their actions instead of worrying about personality. The stats were all carried over from CoG, and it's never been something I enjoy in their brand of IF. I was going to do this anyway when I first transferred the game to Twine, but stupidly asked Tumblr what they thought and, since most people preferred keeping the stats, I did that even though I didn't really want to.

As for to what would happen to the cast... In case I do come back to EfC, I don't think this would change much, so I'll put it into a read more in case someone doesn't want to know. If anyone has any more questions, don't hesitate to ask!

Grandma would die. Sorry!

Also, Cordelia was The Hedonist's twin who drowned in front of them, but that was a bit obvious, wasn't it? I'd definitely remove that from any rewrites, it's so unnecessary and cliché.

Henry would divorce Elizabeth to be with Nicholas. The Hedonist could either support him on this or not.

Due to the divorce, the rest of the family would be disgraced in Court. Evie's reputation is a little less affected if she's still with Harry.

As I mentioned in the past, The Hedonist can choose whether to stay in Court or not at the end.

The Hedonist and Evie can repair their relationship or not. Evie eventually makes an effort to become friends with The Hedonist, and you could choose whether to play nice or not. If The Hedonist romances Harry and you manage to have a good relationship, she forgives you, but asks for some time away from both The Hedonist and Harry.

I didn't really plan Camila's character arc well. She becomes a Republican rebel and can either still be friends with The Hedonist or have distanced herself a bit if they continue to be an asshole.

Sabina can choose to no longer be a nun if encouraged either by a friend or romanced Hedonist. If you romanced her but didn't encourage her to leave the convent, she dumps you. (Note: You later find out she was forced to become a nun by her family.)

Similarly to Sabina, Narcissa can choose to break things off with the Emperor if, again, encouraged either by a friend or romanced Hedonist.

Calvin's ending is the wildest one, actually. He finds out he's a father after the boy's mother passes away. The Hedonist can either tell him to abandon the boy or tell him to raise him (if Calvin is romanced, they kind of become a step parent).

Val can be encouraged to start studying to become a librarian. Also, his whole thing is that his father is the Emperor lol

Lastly, horse boy Harry will want to divorce Evie if romanced and marry The Hedonist instead. If you refuse to marry him, he divorces her anyway but doesn't stay with The Hedonist. A friend!Harry stays with Evie, I think? I don't know.

#have fun w all this info lol

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some-creep · 19 days

Text

Here's my longer than anticipated prototype Falke fic. I'll reblog this later with an AO3 link but right now I can't get any of the formatting to stay because it's on Google drive and I'm on mobile

She awakens to a blinding white light. Her body is stiff and feels foreign as she tries to work out how her limbs work. It is with remarkable difficulty that she manages to push her body upright, only to double over at the unexpected weight of her frame. She gives a moment of pause, trying to make sense of her surroundings as her head threatens to split in two at every errant thought. Her stomach, which she suspects to be empty, still threatens to spill its contents all over her lap. Long before her eyes have the chance to focus, she hears a new sound over the mechanical buzzing that persists throughout the room. Voices. Unfamiliar. Then, an unknown force guiding her to lay back down which she does not fight. Her ears strain to listen, but the words do not make sense.

“I knew it. I told you I had a good feeling about this one, didn't I?”

“You did, but just because she's woken up doesn't mean she'll–”

“She will. If not, she can be molded like all the others.”

“Yes, but her neural pattern is highly unpredictable given the donor. Not to mention the experimental bioresonance module that–”

“Enough.”

The voices fall silent. She can only wonder what they were discussing, though she has no time to dwell on the specifics. Someone begins to stroke her hair, causing her eyes to flutter back open. They are nothing more than a fuzzy gray shape looming over her, and no matter how many times she blinks, her eyes refuse to focus.

“Can you see me? Adjust the calibration on her eyes.”

They wait for a moment before her vision begins to clear through a means she cannot understand. She is staring up at a dark haired woman she does not recognize, her outline haloed by the bright overhead light.

“Good morning, Falke.” Her face beams with pride but the name that falls from her lips sparks no recognition.

She can only lay there, trying to study her face in hopes that doing so can grant her the knowledge she desires. It seems, she thinks, like she is meant to respond, but she does not know what to say or how to say it. She furrows her brow in confusion, hoping it will suffice for an answer.

“You're going to do great things for us. Do you know that? You're very special.”

She manages to tilt her head to the side just enough to make it clear she's still confused. The woman above her doesn't seem surprised by this fact. She doesn't know what makes her special or what great things she is going to do. In fact, she isn't even sure how she knows anything and why there are gaps in what knowledge she does have.

She has no memory of a moment before this one, yet, in a general sense, she understands the world around her. The woman speaking to her appears to be middle aged, head adorned with a golden laurel crown. She is laying on some sort of bed. The room she is in is overly bright which further accentuates the sterile white ceiling and walls. Yet she does not know who she is. The woman had called her ‘Falke’ but the name means nothing to her. That is the name of an animal. A bird of prey. And she is not an animal.

Then…what is she?

She accepts her name as Falke for she knows of no alternative. The woman does not share with her her own name at that moment, a fact Falke simply does not question as it is of little concern to her compared to everything else. Something feels off. Everything feels wrong. The dark haired woman looks small in a way she doesn't understand. Her body fills out the bed to an unusual degree, and the sensation of touch is distant.

The woman excuses herself with a promise to return later. Falke does not watch her leave but listens to her footsteps, long, confident strides, across the tile floor. She hears a mechanical door glide open then shut again, leaving her alone with whoever else she had heard speaking before.

“Okay, Falke,” the voice, male, her mind tells her, begins to speak, “I'm going to ask you to do a few simple things for me so we can make sure everything is in working order, sound good?”

Falke nods her head slowly and begins to follow along with the basic instructions being given to her. Follow this with your eyes, move your head, wiggle your fingers, good job, now lift your right arm, your left, can you sit up for me?

The instructions are easy to follow, but there is an undeniable disconnect between her mind and body. She feels as if she is controlling a puppet rather than her own physical form, yet she sees her arms move with her own two eyes. But they do not look correct. Falke does not know what her arms should look like, but the sleek black casing does not register as being her skin. As she stares at her hands, pressing her mechanically jointed thumb and forefinger together, she feels them touch with the faintest tap of plastic on plastic.

Falke wonders if this body is able to cry. The desire is overwhelming, but her expression never changes.

Führungskommando-Leiteinheit-Replika: FKLR. Affectionately referred to as simply Falke amongst the Gestalts who monitor her. It is not a title she understands, but she hopes one day it will become clearer.

Until that time comes, her days are filled with tests and experiments to assess her current functional capacity. She is finally used to walking after several days of stumbling around helplessly and falling into walls. She no longer feels nauseous looking down from her unimaginable height. Her body still feels too heavy, but the scientists tell her it is common with larger Replikas and she will gradually stop noticing it. She is even becoming used to her dull sense of touch as she learns how to properly gauge the information her body is giving her and what it means in context to the world around her. The scientists always tell her they are proud of her, and she finds she enjoys this a great deal.

Falke is not like the people around her. They are small and made of flesh and bone. One of the first things they made sure she knew was that she is capable of great destruction, but that she is a good girl who listens well, so she will be mindful not to harm those around her. She does not have a reason to disagree with this assessment of her. They have not lied to her yet. They are kind to her. They make sure all her needs are met.

Falke enjoys spending time in her room; the room she had been moved into once she was capable of maneuvering independently. It has the same sterile white walls as the rest of the facility she calls home, but it is adorned with Nation paraphernalia. The first time she had seen the room, decorated with flags and portraits of the Nation’s Leaders, she had felt uneasy and out of place, but now she finds great comfort in the iconography. It adds a sense of warmth to her world, she thinks, to know she is being watched over and cared for by the Leaders.

It is the Great Revolutionary that she met when she first woke up. She visits Falke as often as her schedule permits to check on her progress. Falke wishes she would stay longer to talk to her instead of her overseers, but she is a very busy woman, and so she understands the aversion to idle chatter.

She spends the majority of her free time reading the books they have provided for her, or watching the films left for her. She is moved by the stories of how the Nation's people have struggled under the unjust rule of the Empire, and she hopes one day she will be able to assist in some way. She is promised that this will be the case.

Falke wonders why she was made to look like the Great Revolutionary and her daughter. She takes the photos off of the wall to study them from time to time. Their gazes are stern and commanding, and she wishes her expression could match. She has seen her own face and she cannot stand to look at it. She does not recognize the woman who stares sadly back at her.

It is lonely, she finds, being an experimental Replika. The people around her have little interest in talking to her about anything besides her progress. She is making great strides in utilizing her bioresonant abilities, and the scientists always talk excitedly about each new milestone she reaches.

She is able to look into the minds of volunteers placed before her, and tell her overseers whatever information they ask her to retrieve. The Gestalts who volunteer always seem frightened of her, and she never sees the same one twice, but they reassure her it is just a test. If she encountered the same person again, she would not be facing a new, potentially more challenging mind.

Today, as she stands at the far end of a custom built firing range, hurling objects at targets with only her mind, she thinks to try talking to the scientist tasked with observing her. She, like all Gestalts who work in close proximity to Falke, was given a special implant to ensure Falke could not manipulate her outside the scope of any test.

“Does it hurt still, doctor?” She asks, not turning her attention away from her work.

The woman does not immediately answer, though she unconsciously raises her hand to the stitches on the side of her half shaved head.

“I hope you aren't mad at me over it.”

“Mad?” She repeats, and her voice startles Falke. Responses of any kind are rare if they fall outside of work related discussions.

“You were assigned to me, and because of that, precautions had to be taken. I…hope you do not blame me for this.”

She is quiet for a moment longer before she speaks again, voice unsure. “No, Falke, I don't blame…you. Now focus on your task.”

Falke smiles sadly to herself, lowering her head for a moment. She does not look up as she casts the final projectile, a metal ball, through the remaining wooden target, showering the firing range with splinters before the ball impacts with the floor. The sharp sound fills the largely empty room before fading away to silence once more. Falke stands and waits for further instructions as she watches the ball roll back and forth until finally ceasing all movement.

“It still hurts.”

“...Hm-?”

“My head. You asked me before if it still hurt.”

Falke turns slowly to look at her. She's learned by now sudden movements make her Gestalt overseers nervous, so she takes great care not to worry them.

The woman is not looking at her, though she does not appear to actually be writing anything in her notes, simply fidgeting about.

“I'm sorry to hear that. I wish there was something I could do.” Falke decides to sink down to her knees in hopes it will make her a little less intimidating. She doesn't want to scare off the closest thing she's ever made to a connection. She owes it to the scientist to be as accommodating as possible, given the state she was in because of Falke.

“What are you doing?”

“It's easier to talk if we're at the same level, doctor. I thought you might appreciate it.” She tries to smile but worries there's no point to the gesture. Falke notices the Gestalt glance back at her, and can only assume she sees.

“We aren't supposed to be talking at all,” she says, though she is making no attempts to stop the conversation.

Falke chuckles, nodding. “If I wasn't meant to talk to people, then why was I given the ability to speak? Surely, speech is unnecessary if I am able to influence those around me with only my mind.”

“That's an interesting point. One I don't have an answer for.” She looks up to see Falke still smiling, eyes brighter than normal. She thinks for a moment, taking a deep breath. “You're lonely,” she observes.

Falke nods. She is a sentient being with little in the way of interactions with others. It has started to gnaw at her more and more each day.

“I'll discuss this at my next meeting and see what can be done about that. You're dismissed.”

Administration-Datenverarbeitung-Logistik-Replika: ADLR. That is how they introduce her to the Replika they've brought in from another facility. They tell her it will be a good way to test their compatibility. He is not a new model like her, last generation, but there had always been speculation he could perform better with proper Replika guidance. No such person had existed…until now.

They tell her she will get along well with him. That, mentally, he should be easily influenced by her, and that if she wants someone to interact with, this will be how she gets it. She is told there are no other options because once she is Commander, she will not have time for friends and other such nonsense as that. Seeing him for the first time makes her regret ever bringing up the issue at all. There's no reason for it. He's a perfectly unremarkable Replika standing no taller than the average Gestalt and offering little else but his presence.

The way he looks at her makes her uncomfortable, but she can't put her finger on why that is. None of the Gestalts look at her with the same level of wonder. No, it's more than wonder, it is as if he is enamored with her. Love at first sight. The Gestalt scientists seem pleased by this development and decide this is a sufficient cure for Falke's loneliness, giving her no time to protest.

She no longer has any personal time to herself. Adler’s only purpose is to serve her, which means following her at all hours of the day. It also means sleeping in her room as there is no other space set aside for him. Falke tells herself she must adapt to this because, after all, isn't this what she asked for? Companionship in her off hours?

He does not understand personal space in a way she would prefer, but she finds it difficult to verbalize her wants. It is not a situation she has ever been in before, so more often than not, she is silent. She knows the scientists told her that Adler would be easy to manipulate with her abilities, but she is well trained, and only uses her powers when it is asked of her. It seems rude, she thinks, to exert her influence over someone for no good reason. She fears repercussions for misuse of her powers.

So instead, she pushes down her concerns and accepts this is her life now. She ignores the fact she knows he watches her sleep, and she ignores the thoughts she hears on accident. Sometimes it is difficult to not read people's minds now that the ability comes naturally to her. He thinks about her body a great deal, but since he has not done anything wrong, Falke does all she can to ignore it.

She feels nothing in return. She doesn't know what she is supposed to feel about him, but every conversation she forces her way through leaves her feeling empty. She tells herself she just isn't used to being around other Replikas yet, and in time, it will get easier like so many other things have for her. But she wishes it would happen faster.

He is sitting too close to her as usual, on her bed, and Falke is trying her hardest to simply ignore him. She misses her privacy so very, very much…

Adler says something to her, for which she only hums in response, hoping it will be enough to express her disinterest. It never is.

FKLR units will be judged on their actions, not by their words. These words echo in her mind as she stares vacantly forward. Her duty is to serve the Nation. Serving the Nation will require sacrifice. It will require moments of action that might seem overly cruel, but they are for the greater good. Her creator had made sure she understood this, that there would be times she would be asked to do things she might find questionable, but to trust she was doing the right thing. And nothing was off limits.

Training dummies do not bleed. They do not beg and apologize to an uncaring attacker. Falke has dismantled many in her brief time alive, and this feels no different. But she does not know why she does it; she cannot say what set her off. Was it a thought? A comment? A brief moment of unwanted contact? She does not feel any guilt as she looks at the thing laying crumpled on her floor. It is of no more interest to her than a discarded mannequin covered in red paint. Falke looks at her hand and realizes she is clutching soaked wires in her fist, though where she'd yanked them from she could not begin to guess.

She wipes her hands on her legs and crawls back into bed. For the first time since Adler had arrived, her room is quiet again, and she finally feels comfortable enough to sleep.

Falke is scolded for the mess and made to clean it up herself. She finds it surprising that she is not punished for what she did, simply for the aftermath of her actions. She helps the scientists who come to collect the body place it into a bodybag before it is removed. They ask no questions about the mangled figure and only leave cleaning supplies when they go.

She sets to work cleaning up the sticky, half dried puddle of coolant that leaked across the entire floor during the night. There is so much, spread across the tile and under her bed, that she feels like she is only able to smear it around with the rags she was provided with. Even so, she considers herself lucky that this is all that is expected of her.

As she scrubs diligently on her hands and knees, she notices unidentifiable flesh caught between the joints of her fingers. Falke knows it will be difficult to properly clean up, maybe even impossible without help from a technician. She tries to push the thought aside as she hears the door to her room open once more.

Someone steps inside, tracking footprints all over the half cleaned floor. Falke bites back the impulse to say anything, and she is glad for this when the person speaks.

“Falke,” the voice says, quick and sharp. It is her creator, the Great Revolutionary herself.

Falke flinches and keeps her head bowed low, suddenly ashamed of her behavior. “Good morning,” she manages, before adding, “ma'am.”

“I hear you broke your new toy.” She shifts her weight as she speaks. Falke suspects she's crossed her arms.

“It was…” calling it an accident might not be a complete lie, she hadn't meant to do it, after all, but it was far too brutal of a scene to suggest there was no intent whatsoever. “I'm sorry. I know everyone worked very hard to get a companion for –”

“Look at people when you're talking to them,” she barks, bringing her boot hard against Falke's shoulder and keeping it there.

Falke is considerably larger than her, but as she is now, groveling before her master, she is no more powerful than anyone else would be. She looks up at the woman for whom she shares a likeness, muttering an apology as she meets her eye.

“You made my shoes filthy with your little mess. Clean them,” she orders, twisting her foot back and forth before pulling back to let Falke sit up.

Falke carefully moves off of her knees and sits back, legs crossed. She is made painfully aware of her unusual stature once more, but instead of finding comfort in the protection it brings, she just feels awkward and out of place under the Great Revolutionary’s gaze.

The woman, without a word, places her boot on Falke's thigh and waits. Falke takes one of the few still clean rags and dunks it in her bucket of soapy water, ringing it out with one hand. She places her other hand against the woman's calf to steady her as she begins to spot clean as much of the sole as she can manage from their positions.

While she suspects the display is all for show, Falke sheepishly speaks up and says, “you might be more comfortable if you sat on my bed.”

She ponders the suggestion for only a moment, and, seeming pleased with Falke's desire to be obedient, moves to sit on the edge of the bed. She crosses one leg over the other, inviting Falke to continue with the faintest hint of a smirk on her face.

Falke doesn't think she's ever seen her creator smile before, especially not at her. The expression, however distant, spurs her on. She edges closer to the bed, taking her ankle once more before she continues to clean every tread free of dirt and blood. Her work is meticulous and loving as she thinks to herself no one has ever had the honor of tending to the Great Revolutionary like this before.

When she feels a hand on her head, she hesitates, glancing upwards. It is a nice feeling, one she's rarely experienced, but one she would like to earn again. She is not wearing gloves, as is often the case when other Gestalts touch her. It is simply wordless praise for her efforts.

But the moment cannot last long. Soon, her creator is rising to her feet and heading back out the door, leaving her with only one final order. “Hurry up and finish cleaning. We haven't got all day.”

“Hello, Ara. It's nice to meet you.” Falke smiles at the old Replika model. She tells herself she will do better this time around with her companions. She likes this one better than the last anyway, she thinks. Ara has an exceptionally quiet mind, and what thoughts Falke does pick up on are quite regular. She thinks of work and of her hobbies, quietly tending to plants in secluded areas of the facility. This particular unit has been working here for longer than Falke has been alive.

Like many others, she is, of course, impressed by Falke's stature. She is confused as to why she was relocated here at all, but ultimately she is relieved the person she was placed with seems to be nice enough. That thought Falke finds peculiar; that a Replika might be so concerned with how nice someone is.

“I'm sorry they didn't tell me what I was supposed to do with you. If… I had to guess, you're meant to replace my previous…” Falke hesitates on the last word, unsure what she should call the late Adler. Finally, she settles on, “assistant.”

Ara only nods, offering up a simple, “oh” in response. It is clear she has never been an assistant before, nor has she ever been separated from others like herself. Because of this, it becomes obvious she isn't interested in talking.

Falke finds it strange they'd be so quick to replace Adler after what she'd done to him, but she sees no point in questioning it. It has been a few days since the incident, and maybe they have decided it is worth giving her a second chance. She had proven herself with her creator immediately following the incident, so it makes a kind of sense.

“You have tools?” she asks, noticing the belt around her waist.

Ara nods.

“Do you know how to fix Replikas?”

She shrugs.

“Do you think you could help me clean the joints in my fingers? It's difficult to do it yourself. I'd ask the Gestalt technician but I'm afraid she'd be mad at me.”

Ara nods once more before Falke leads them off somewhere quiet where she may work undisturbed. It is a simple enough procedure, and her hands are larger than average, which she hopes will make them easier to work with.

Maintenance is an odd thing for Replikas. To be so vulnerable around another is a difficult task at the best of times. Any time she is operated on, it leaves her feeling strange afterwards. Lonely, almost. Empty. The technician usually just ignores her the entire time and is firm about not letting her linger afterwards. Ara, she thinks, isn't likely to do that.

Falke lays her hands on a table as she kneels on the floor, offering them up with no resistance. Ara says nothing as she begins to examine each joint to understand how she is put together. She will not need to remove any casing, figuring the wires inside will provide enough slack to clean between each segment without the need to disconnect any internals.

Ara does not comment on the gunk she scrapes out of her fingers, and Falke appreciates this small mercy. In fact, Ara doesn't even seem interested in its origin at all as she works. Falke can only watch her in a sort of awe as she expertly disassembles and reassembles each digit. Her expression does not change as she works, holding Falke's hand to better manipulate it as she sees fit.

Falke is almost disappointed when she finishes the procedure, but to her surprise, Ara does not move. Instead, she looks up at Falke, cocking her head to the side.

“Better?” She asks.

“Better," Falke replies, taking a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

Ara remains seated as she lets Falke take her hand. She does not pull away, nor does she comment on the gesture.

Falke looks away, muttering an apology. She knows better than to behave this way. She has been chastised countless times before for trying to overstep boundaries like this. But Ara seems to think nothing of it.

“It's normal,” she says.

“It…is?”

“Yes.”

“No one’s ever told me that.”

“They never do.”

Falke furrows her brow, wondering why her Gestalt masters would neglect to explain a normal Replika reaction to her. She tries not to think about it as Ara gently squeezes her hand in return, all the while expression never changing.

She soon finds she much prefers the company of Ara to anyone else in her life. Unlike Adler, her thoughts are easier to handle. She is respectful of boundaries without needing to be told. And, above all else, she is knowledgeable about Replika life. Overtime, she grows comfortable enough to talk and length, and she tells Falke about different unit types she has met over the years that Falke has only read about in passing. Of EULR, and STCR, and STAR units. How, despite what they are told, some units are nicer than others. Some she could be friends with and others she tried to avoid.

She speaks of relationships and how Replikas form bonds with one another that fall outside of expected parameters. Sometimes they are ignored, other times punished. In rare cases, they are encouraged for enhanced unit performance. ARAR units are encouraged to befriend EULR units because EULR units can read their emotions better than anyone else. Falke jokes that she is also very good at that, thanks to her bioresonance.

Ara sleeps in her room the same as Adler before her, and follows her around during the day. She finds herself wishing that Ara would follow a little closer. That she wouldn't sleep so far away at night. When they watch movies, Ara always does so from the floor. She says she doesn't mind, and Falke knows she is telling the truth, but she wishes she was not.

The scientists do not like Ara. Or, perhaps more accurately, they do not like her relationship with their beloved FKLR unit. They see Ara as beneath her, and cannot understand why *this* one is who Falke has chosen to keep around. ARAR units are worthless to the Nation, holding no more value than materials used to build them. They are meant to do hard labor and to be disposed of when they break. Ara is able to ignore the constant remarks, but they begin to grate on Falke's nerves.

She cannot read their minds, but she does not need to when they speak their hatred so openly. She cannot exert her will over them, but she does not need to when she can exert her strength.

A comment is made, one day, as she and Ara are sitting by one of the rare windows in the facility, looking out at the dull landscape of rock and concrete, bathed in bright, artificial light.

“You were supposed to have killed this one by now.”

She knows the comment hurts Ara, who still manages to avoid a visible reaction. But Falke knows what she's thinking. How uncomfortable the idea is that she is a sacrifice given to their new pet as a plaything to break.

Falke can no longer stomach it. With a flick of her wrist she sends the Gestalt backwards through the air and into a nearby wall. She hears a bone snap on impact, an arm, she figures, by the way their thoughts shift to the pain they're trying to make sense of. She rises, placing her hand on Ara's back to guide her back to their room before she takes things further and does something truly regrettable. Falke keeps her close the entire time with no resistance.

“It's not fair,” she whispers, maybe more to herself than to Ara as they step back into their room together. “The way they treat you. The things they say. You don't deserve it…”

She moves to give Ara her space, but finds the shaken Replika stopping her from parting. And so Falke lingers. She pulls Ara to sit on her bed, and then to lay by her side.

“I'm sorry,” she says, pressing her head against the side of Ara's who is looking up at the ceiling. Her hair smells of machine oil even after all this time away from her old post. “I know I shouldn't have done that. But it's not fair.” She emphasizes the word as if it will better prove her point. Ara does not often think about what is fair and what is not, only focusing on the way things are in the moment.

“Thank you,” Ara says after a while. She turns to lean her head against Falke's.

Falke wants to say more but does not allow herself to speak. She wraps her arm around her companion's waist, closing her eyes. There is much she could still say. Promises she could make but never really keep. Plans they could make to do…what? There was nothing left but to pray for mercy and enjoy what peace still lingered between them.

“Falke, please don't make this any harder than it needs to be. I don't like this anymore than you do.” The large metal collar hangs over the scientist’s hands as she stares back at him in disbelief. There is no reason to obey in the moment, but she suspects a worse punishment awaits if she does not. Her gaze shifts from confusion to hatred as she willingly sinks to her knees, still a head taller than the man even like this, as she allows herself to be restrained.

He apologizes again, but Falke does not answer as a heavy chain is hooked to her collar with the other end fed through a small hole in the wall. She does not know where it leads, but soon, the chain catches and pulls through the wall with a slow mechanical grind muffled on the other side. She is unceremoniously yanked backwards until her back nearly touches the wall. She cannot stand nor can she fully sit, leaving her to fumble about trying to right her body with little success.

The man looks at her once more before turning away. She thinks his expression is that of pity, but it is too brief to be certain. He closes the door behind him, sealing her in darkness.

She does not know if this room was designed for her, or simply repurposed because of her. It is barely more than a closet, able to comfortably hold four normal sized Gestalts, she guesses. It is a pointless train of thought, but she has nothing to do but think.

Falke was not told how long she will be held here, but she suspects her punishment will last long enough to make her beg for freedom. She is meant to be prideful, but even she must have her limits. What better way to test them than this?

And so she sits and thinks. She thinks of her behavior leading up to this moment. She thinks of the betrayal she feels in being chained up like an animal. She thinks of her creator, and how she will feel seeing her like this. Falke is like family to her, is she not? They share a likeness, and for Gestalts, that is important. It means nothing between Replikas but she is no common Replika, and therefore it is something to hold on to.

She dreams of a life that is not her own. Of places she's never been and of languages she does not understand. She is a woman of great power but she has no reflection to speak of, and no name is ever uttered. People serve her, and she leads them with everything she has. But she is not Falke in those moments.

Sometimes she dreams of Ara, and every time she wakes wishing she hadn't. The loneliness she feels when she wakes up hurts more than the awkward angle she is forced into. In her dreams, they are happy. They are together. And they are safe. Falke wakes in her old bed with Ara at her side, and she enjoys the briefest moment of joy as she is convinced it is all a bad dream. They exchange words she will not allow herself to hear and then she opens her eyes to darkness. She does not know what happened to Ara and does not dwell on it, happier in her ignorance.

Days pass in her confinement, and it becomes difficult to tell if she is awake or asleep. She can no longer feel her legs, and she is certain the joints have locked up entirely. Sometimes she thinks she feels other people nearby, but even if she tries to speak to them, nothing ever comes of it. They are nothing but shadows lingering in front of her unfocused eyes.

Falke entertains the idea that she might die in this room. Punished for a crime she's all but forgotten, likely observed by some hidden camera as she rots away. Alone. She hopes the overseers are amused by what they see. Delighted to watch her sit and whither away as her body's systems desperately inform her something is wrong and she needs immediate care which is not coming.

A sudden electric shock rushes through her skull, jolting her head upright with a hoarse yelp. The pain forcibly reconnects her mind to her body as she becomes keenly aware of all her senses at once.

“Well, it seems that works after all.”

Her creator stands before her, holding a small black device in her hand. Falke reaches towards her with one feeble hand before she is hit with another painful jolt.

“You're an embarrassment. Look at you. You had so much promise and you were going to throw it all away. And for what?” She reaches out, grabbing Falke by the hair to yank her head upright.

It does not register as pain amongst everything else her body is experiencing. She blinks a few times as if it will help the ache in her head.

“You represent the Nation. You represent me. Do you know how bad you made me look? Hmmm?” She pulls Falke's hair again. “What kind of superweapon are you? You were really going to throw everything I've given you away for some…some worthless piece of machinery?”

Ara, she thinks as her chest tightens. She will not ask. She already knows.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry, ma'am.” Falke forces the words out in hopes they will spare her from further misery.

“I should have you decommissioned. There's no reason not to. You're a failure. Just like all the others.”

“No, no I'm… I am not a failure. I won't let you down again. I promise.”

The Great Revolutionary thinks for a moment before she slips her arms around Falke's neck. The brief embrace is cut short as she unlocks Falke's collar only for her body to collapse under its own weight as days of strain catch up to her all at once.

“See to it that you don't.”

Falke finally understands what it means to be a Commander. The people she controls are tools to be exploited for the good of the Nation. If she will not be afforded special treatment, why should they? Compassion is weakness. It causes one to behave in unexpected and dangerous ways. Ruthlessness is rewarded. Violence. Cruelty. Her only purpose is to function as a weapon, and to see to it those below her do the same.

She is given a small troop of Replika soldiers to command, and she does so mercilessly. Though they are only meant to run drills, Falke punishes any failure as seriously as if it were the real thing. Her overseers are pleased by this development, and they tell her they have enough data to begin production on her line.

Atop her head, she is now adorned with the same laurel crown as her creator. A symbol of her status as leader. But it is nothing but a cruel facade. Made of metal and welded into her skull, it connects to a device now to be standard in all FKLR units. Each delicately carved golden petal helps to carry an electric current through her brain and down her spinal cord. A shock collar for minor infractions. A killswitch when they grew tired of her.

Ara is never mentioned around her again, and the only evidence she ever existed at all are Falke's fading memories of her. In the end, she was nothing but a sacrifice, killed by Falke’s impulsive, violent nature. Something she is rewarded for when it is properly directed. At her underlings. At her enemies. No, the Nation's enemies. She is just their means to an end.

There is no fanfare in it as all the pieces fall into place. This had always been the goal. The Replikas that serve her are terrified of what she is capable of and quickly fall in line. They look at her with fear and awe, and she looks back with disdain. Their deaths will mean nothing to her. And they will die. Pointless, violent deaths in a bid for control against the Empire, an already waning power. Few Replikas still serve the Empire, and those that do are first and second generation. Nothing more than worthless machinery. In many ways, weaker than the Gestalts they die for. She feels no pity for them when she is shown images from Vineta, a planet of great interest to both states. Their deaths are necessary. Her death will not be.

“You've come a long way, Falke.” The Great Revolutionary smiles up at Falke, but she does not return the expression.

Her gaze is stern now, all of the time. Every interaction she has with other people is not a syllable longer than it needs to be. She stands and waits for her to continue speaking or to finish the conversation, and this fact seems to please the Gestalt.

“I wanted to show you something now that you've officially been deemed a success.”

“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow, but offers no further reaction.

Her creator chuckles, amused at how alike they've become in such a short span of time. That had always been the point. “Come,” she orders, leading Falke away.

She was born here. She ‘grew up’ here, but there are still many areas she has not seen. Most of the facility is a mystery to her, and one she no longer cares to understand. The things she is meant to know, she is told, all else is a waste of her time.

They walk in silence down several near identical gray hallways before descending down an elevator Falke barely fits in. She no longer makes comment on the fact the world is not meant for someone like her. She slouches over as always until they reach a sub basement. It is noticeably colder this far down, but neither comment on it as they approach an unassuming metal door.

Her creator swipes an identification card through a panel at the side of the door before opening it. Freezing cold air spills out into the empty hallway as the woman steps inside and flicks the light switch on. Falke waits until she is invited instead, ducking under the doorframe and pausing to observe her surroundings.

The walls are lined with several large machines, each with a small window at approximately eye level with Falke. They are humming in quiet unison with a purpose unknown to her. In a way, they resemble coffins the longer she looks, though she dare not approach one to see what lay inside.

“Your predecessors,” her creator says as she gestures towards the machines. Falke remains silent, so she continues. “Such is the case with all Replikas. Though, other Replikas aren't permitted access to information such as this. But you're different. You're special.”

“Are they dead?”

“Most of them,” she says, watching Falke cautiously approach the wall to peer inside at one of her failed siblings.

They all looked the same to her. Frowning, she asks, “why keep them?”

“For reference. We always hold on to our failures until we stop making them. After that, they are disposed of to make room for the next creation.”

“Why are you showing me this?”

“Because,” she clicks her tongue, “you are to know everything about those you command. Including all of the unsavory parts they don't know about. And what better way than this?”

Falke brushes her hand over a pane of glass to clear the fog from it to better stare at her sleeping reflection inside. “You said,” she pauses, “you said most…of them are dead. What about the others?”

That had been the right question to ask, it seems. The Gestalt nods. “How observant of you.”

Falke watches as she approaches a pod to input a code on a small keypad. She steps back as it hisses to life, followed by the distinct mechanical thunk of several mechanisms clicking into place before, finally, a door swings open.

The FKLR unit inside falls forward, trailed by dozens of wires connecting her to the device behind her. She is dazed, but gradually, she seems to be coming to her senses as she looks around the room. She sees Falke first, and makes a weak attempt at crawling towards her.

“Are you… are you here to help…me? They told me it would just be for…just a little bit. Can you hear me?” Her own voice says to her, trembling, pathetic. Her expression is almost childlike in its naive desperation as she looks up at an uncaring mirror.

“Pitiful thing, isn't it?” Their creator says, placing her boot on the FKLR unit’s back. “Take care of her.”

Falke frowns once more as she realizes she is being offered a firearm, one she does not take immediately.

“I know you've fired a gun before. Prove to me you can do this.”

She listens to herself whimpering on the floor, begging for a different outcome. The FKLR unit is promising to be a good girl this time. She will listen. She will work harder. She will do all of the things she should have done when she had the chance but failed to do. Her crying is cut short by a single gunshot.

Falke says nothing as she returns the gun.

“Well done. I'm proud of you, Commander Falke.”

#signalis #signalis falke #fklr #signalis fklr #i really hope i didn't mess up anything copying this over #i didn't realize there was s limit to how much text you can copy paste

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eldritch-spouse · 6 months

Note

So I am nearly six feet tall which is on the taller side of women (I am female) and mid rage for men. Which is why I love your OC's cause plenty of them are gigantic. But the impcubus are vastly smaller compared to me. I like to be dominated, thrown around (I'm also quite curvy), and babied. so my question is which of the impcubus would pair well with me? Who would like having a Goliath human partner? Who could set my height aside and see that I am zero percent a Dom despite having the bod for it.

Feel free to ignore this.

["Impcubus" is a play on the words "imp" and "incubus"- To which there is only one in the servants' cast, Lacai. I understand you're talking about all the imps in general though.]

One thing you have to kind of take into account is that, given the physical variety within monsters, there isn't much of that "As a woman, I should date someone taller than me" or "As a man, I should date someone shorter than me" kind of tendency that many human groups have. Neither is it very often assumed that the taller element of a dynamic is inherently the more assertive one.

Imps especially are very used to pursuing partners bigger than themselves. Sometimes it's a fetishized thing, sometimes it's simply how their love life unfolds. And just because their partners are larger in size doesn't mean they will bend over backwards, as they (most) tend to be defensive and not acquiesce so easily to someone who wishes to make them entirely placid.

You would be loved and appreciated as a bottom by all the imps here. That being said, some might take more visible enjoyment out of this:

Nena. Oh when she's done sweating bullets around you, she's going to fucking ruin your giant ass. You'll never see Nena smile the same way she does when you're on your knees in front of her, it's a totally different expression on her sweet little face. In public, it most definitely seems as if you're in control of everything, but Nena is subtly pulling the strings to most events.

Rei. You think he didn't sniff the bitch in you immediately?! Get real, Rei regularly folds over fans of his that are three times his size. You're not even that tall! And guess what, he's still picking you up, he's still throwing you on that bed, and your weak little human ass can't do shit to stop him, girlie.

Flints. He doesn't need to make any sudden movements or raise his voice to have you crumbling. Much like many others, he's got an eye for this, and studying a bit of your body language, your mannerisms, was all it took for Flints to lock on. He enjoys making you squirm with curt sentences and watching you try to remain composed around him.

Jayde. Jayde loves a pretty girl. A tall, thick girl with nice legs? You have him by the dick. He's going to chase after you madly, and though he's a switch at heart, Jayde will very easily adapt to your lack of dominant drive. It works out great, he gets a fix from this too.

Rieba, the tallest of the imps so far. She's full of frustrations, getting to take it out sexually on a partner bigger than her is cathartic. Although she's capable of great gentleness, she clearly enjoys having someone a lot more manageable to take care of, someone who appreciates her.

#Nena oc #Rei oc #Jayde oc #Flints oc #Rieba oc

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kawaoneechan · 1 year

Text

Why I don't like Unity

There's three reasons, basically, besides my personal inability to get any custom character assets into Unity, Unreal, or Godot.

Let me tell you below the readmore.

Reason #1: it managed to fucking bluescreen my system just trying to start.

How do you fuck that up? I download an installer and run it. This gives me a launcher. From there, I'm supposed to install the actual product I wanted to begin with. That's bad enough, to be honest. But then the fucking launcher managed to break so badly, I had my first BSOD in several months. With all I do to my poor laptops, I so very rarely got crashes like that it honestly threw me the fuck off.

If the launcher is gonna play like that, forget about installing the actual product.

Reason #2: CPU pegging up the ass.

On my previous laptop, attempting to run basically any Unity-based game would peg the CPU, all cores, until the poor thing ran so hot within mere minutes, it'd commit preventative sudoku. Maybe if I was lucky, I'd get a chance to set all the things to "lowest", and that might let me, I dunno, play long enough to get through the goddamn tutorial?

And I'm not even talking about state-of-the-art 3D games, but simple 2D games with low-resolution pixel art. Why would those run a dual-core at 200% until it fucking kills itself? Makes no sense.

Now, Phil Fortier of Icefall Games is an acquaintance of mine via SCI shenanigans, and when he released Snow Spirit (soon to be rereleased as part of Chronicles of Cascadia), I lamented to him about how his use of Unity would mean I couldn't run any of his stuff. So Phil looked into it and found a Big Fucking Thing to optimize. This basically makes Phil's SCI games the only things made in Unity that I can personally trust won't Do That.

Reason #3: About those 2D games...

I'm gonna dip into my Twitter archives for a bit and repost some stuff for this part.

*wavy flashback effect*

This is Angel Jump, a simple little arcade jumping game that's available on itch.io:

It's delightfully low resolution and has like four seconds of audio all added up. Can't be more than a few MB, depending on which sane development framework they used, right?

33 MB, actually. Because Unity. Let's see how it breaks down:

Unity main exe: 623 KB

Main game assets file: 1.19 MB together

A folder full of support DLLs like terrain and cloth: 7.17 MB, 90% or more of them never called because this is a 2D pixel-art game.

Unity's default resources: 3.41 MB. Mind that of these, only the splash logo is actually used because Angel Jump was made in the free edition.

Mono embedded runtime: 2.61 MB, and each game gets its own copy, much like how Electron apps each have their own copies of Chromium.

And another 17 MB for the Unity Player.

All in all, 33 MB of files for a game like that. Why? Because Unity is a bloated crapsack, I'd conclude from a cursory study like that. Let's compare that to some other games.

This is Elevator Girl, which is not on itch.io.

It has a lot of different animations and three fairly long background music tracks. It's only one file, 18.7 MB. I'm willing to bet most of that is the BGM, but I can't confirm it because it's just the one file.

And just for some historical perspective, the entire Crystal Caves trilogy is 1.31 MB, including some chaff. Commander Keen 4 on its own is 740 KB. Now, Keen and Elevator Girl both have OPL soundtracks, but the latter's is probably streamed.

Noxico is only 1.25 MB to download as a .7z file. Its only optimization that I myself actively apply is that I crunch the PNG files. The rest is text, and since the game uses a .zip file by another name as a game data source... yeah. That's a cheap win.

Now, back to Angel Jump. I went through the game's own resources to see what size it could conceivably have if it was not made in Unity. 54 textures, ten of them actually used. Tiny font stored in a weird way, possibly for distance field trickery which has no business in a 2D pixel game if you ask me. 921 KB of WAV files, high-quality bleepity-bloops, two of them jingles. 4.22 KB of PNG files, crunched like Noxico, for all but the creator's logo and the font. 973 KB for a copy of SDL, and I'd estimate at worst two MB for the main EXE.

The entire Angel Jump game could be no more than 4 MB and a half-dozen files, It's actually 33.2 MB, 92 files.

There's a more general computer programming issue that this reliance on Unity for even the simplest, smallest games seems to spring from: the bigger and better the computers get, the more lazy the developers get. Only have like four MHz, 640 KB of RAM and, what, 720 KB of diskette space, and no guarantee of an HDD? Better make the most of it, developers! But now the pressure's off and there's no more reason to exert any effort into keeping small games actually small.

*sigh*

#unity #rant #twitter

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chaotic-archaeologist · 4 months

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I feel a little silly asking for advice about this, but how do you deal with not doing a hard science? I do literature studies and meta-studies and I like the heritage side of archaeology too, but I've internalized the idea of non-STEM not being science so much that I feel like a fraud, who is not actually doing an academic thing and I hate that I can't be proud of my work and accomplishments, but I also don't know how to fully let go of it. Any tips?

Listen, I don't think this is a silly question at all! And my advice for you more or less boils down to:

You gotta stop caring about what other people think.

That's it. There's no winning this rat race. We live in a society which has (over) prioritized what it defines as "hard sciences" and it sucks. I could write a whole essay on why it sucks—and plenty of people both more educated and eloquent than I already have.

Give yourself the freedom to stop comparing yourself to other disciplines. Find the joy in what you do, and pay attention to that. Celebrate the ways in which your discipline is changing the world, even in the smallest of ways. That stuff matters!

Humanity needs experts of every shape, size, and kind—we'd be in a world of trouble if people only ever became physicists or chemists biologists. Thank goodness some of us grow up to be art historians or sociologists or music theorists or any one of the thousands of jobs that aren't an academic field but are nonetheless incredibly important!

Because, also—c'mere, lemme whisper something in your ear: academia and "academics" are kind of bullshit. It's a made up system based on made up constructs that has been given made up meaning and yet manages to manifest itself in very real ways. What is a real academic anyway? Ask a hundred different people and you'll get a hundred different answers.

Sure, your brand of academia (and mine) might not involve a particle accelerator or a dissection lab or a genome sequencer, but that's fine because it's all made up anyways! And just like players on team sports, our positions all look different because we're performing different functions.

Let your own preoccupation with the hard sciences go. Focus on your own work and passions. I think it'll make your life a lot happier.

-Reid

#he speaks #academic advice #life advice #internet brother

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plantify · 4 months

Text

TOONTOWN HEADCANON LORE POST THINGY NUMBER 4 I THINK

Again, this is mostly centered around Toontown Corporate Clash, but could probably also apply to other Toontown imaginations and whatnot

Topic: Gags

TOONS

To Toons, they're toys, tools, jokes to laugh at, something that's harmless and can make you happy. They're essentially imbedded into Toon culture for obvious reasons. For as long as there have been Toons, there have been some sort of Gags along with them. And the Gags shown in-game are not the only ones, either. There are many other types of gags, as well as more gags within gag types (such as Drop, for example), that are not seen in-game. (I'm just gonna go ahead with the easy explanation and say that we only see the gags we see in-game for balancing reasons and whatnot) Using Gags, in the mind of most Toons, is really freaking fun!!! Whether it be against other Toons, against Cogs, or some other zany usage that you'd see in some cartoon, it's a great way for them to keep themselves happy and in tip top shape, thus keeping their Laff high. They're great at helping sad Toons get unsad, but will likely not be enough if the Toon is depressed or otherwise very unhappy. Case by case situation. Likewise, Toons who have distanced themselves from other Toons, or Toons that are otherwise pretty crabby, might not enjoy Gags as much as others, or might not feel their whimsy, joyful effects as much. This isn't necessarily indicative of a "Bad Toon" or "Evil Toon" or whatever, and they may still be just as joyful as other Toons are, but may show it/gain it in a different way. Like us humans, there's much variation in how Toons receive and show joy, and how they might react to Gags or other Toons.

SUITS

To Cogs, they're weapons. They confiscate them from defeated Toons to study them, safekeep them, and for whatever other purposes they might think of using them for. Gags don't usually do ACTUAL physical damage against Cogs, and if they do, it's typically temporary. Just like how Gags in cartoons might injure someone or squash them, it's temporary. However, Suits by nature are like the anti-thesis of Toons and Gags, so they are very much less resistant to the effects of a Gag compared to how a Toon would take it. Cogs only end up exploding once they've been subjected to more than they can handle. That being said, I've stated before that not all Suits have to be all, yknow.... like that. Even if Suits are still by nature weak to Gags, those who are less engrossed in the whole business lifestyle, and know what fun is, know how to enjoy themselves (like a normal person) and are overall sillier than most other Suits, they may be a little more resistant to Gags. (Again, not seen in-game because of gameplay reasons. Most Big Cheeses might be all grumpy and whatnot, but another might be less so, and therefore be slightly less affected by Gags. Also, this wouldn't be the sole source of Gag resistance that Suits may have, so just because a Manager has resistances in their fight doesn't mean it's explicitly BECAUSE they're silly.)

Also, I'd imagine that most Suits are waterproof and are capable of getting wet without much issue. When it comes to Squirt Gags, it's just the fact that they are a Gag and the way that they are being used that makes them damage Cogs.

In a similar vain, I have mentioned that some Suits could be electric-proof, or otherwise be able to absorb electricity to charge themselves in the earliest lore post. Zap Gags likely wouldn't be nearly as effective against these kinds of Suits.

He does NOT take Gags well!

She resists Gags, but NOT because she's any fun

He might be "silly" in some way, but he's still a horrible person and very much does not take Toons seriously, so he'd still be as weak to Gags as the average Suit would be. The context of how they act is important as well.

She COULD have some Gag resistance, since she's genuinely interested in being friendly with Toons, and doesn't have nearly as much malice and/or malicious intent as other Suits, though negative experience with Gags (and not being very successful in being friendly with Toons) would make her not very resistant towards them at all.

And with that, this lore post is over. If I think of anything else pertaining to this, I may make a followup post!

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#toontown #toontown corporate clash #ttcc #lore #toontown lore #headcanon #toontown gags #toons #toontown cogs #text post #long post #ramblings of the deranged #toonblr #cogblr #text #writing #toontown online #toontown rewritten

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ed-mnsn · 1 year

Note

painting with xavier turns into a paint fight which turns into him slow fucking you in his art shed.

oh anon this request>>>

paint fuck

xavier thorpe x afab reader

summary: 2k, smut, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, piv, fingering, characters aged up, 18+, minors dni

you were by no means an artist, simply trying to take an interest in xavier’s hobbies. you were doodling at best, painting grass and flowers and trying (without success) to do better than a 5 year old would. next to you, xavier painted beautifully. complimenting colors and calculated strokes filled his canvas, a beautiful landscape that was everything compared to your nonsense.

“finished with your masterpiece, picasso?” he spoke, smile across his face.

you giggled, throwing up your arms exasperated, which in turn splattered paint across his torso. xavier looked at you in disbelief as your eyes widened.

“oh my god xav, so sorry,” you managed to get out between fits of laughter.

he grinned as he dipped his brush in paint. “oh that’s no problem, y/n.” he responded, looking you dead on and painting a thick stripe of red from your shoulder diagonally to your hip.

you couldn’t believe it. you were both in hysterics, nearly in tears of laughter as you striked back at him. paint was getting everywhere, in his hair, all over your clothes, ground splattered with every color of the rainbow. it was lucky he covered all his other paintings that had been long finished.

you swiped your brush at his arm and he counter attacked, flicking his brush and sending a splatter your way. it was madness, the two of you acting like absolute children flinging paint at each other.

you were running every which way, faking him out the best you could in his little shed. xavier finally managed to grab you from behind, arm wrapping around your waist and easily pulling you towards him. you were doubled over, laughing harder than ever and appreciating the fun you had with him. he had the upper hand in this position, and you could feel his heartbeat against your back like this.

the air calmed as he held you like that, your hands finding perch on his arm. you breathed together, both panting a bit from the chaos. you studied the splatter of mess around you and you could do nothing but smile.

xavier, being the affectionate boy he was, pressed a kiss to your temple.

“i love you.” he whispered in your ear.

you spun in his arms to look at his face. he was looking at you like you held the sun, moon, and stars, in your hands. to him, you did. the look in his eyes made you melt and your heart swelled at the fondness oozing off of him.

“for what? wrecking your shed?” you giggled, looking up at him.

a puff of air left his lips. “eh, the place needed redecorating anyways.”

he leaned down and pressed a tender kiss on your lips.

“i love you too, xav.”

he kissed you again, pouring himself and every ounce of his emotion into it. his lips were soft and steady and everything you needed to ground yourself in the moment. one of his hands cupped your cheek and the other wrapped around your back. he tugged you until you were chest to chest and you could feel him wholly.

you hummed, thoroughly enjoying this. you were kind of in a daze and feeling very endeared by this moment. he smiled into the kiss as your hands wrapped around his shoulders, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

he licked into your mouth, testing the waters with how far he could take this. you reacted quickly, swooning, sighing into his mouth. he pressed a kiss your jawbone, then your neck, and your knees went weak as he started sucking a bruise into your skin.

the feeling of his breath against your skin was quickly working you up and you found yourself wishing he’d just take you then and there. you rubbed a hand down his chest, splayed it across his abdomen and it wasn’t unnoticed how he sucked in a sharp breath at the movement.

pulling away from your neck, he looked at you gingerly. there was question in his eyes and smirk making it’s way across your lips. you pleaded silently, knowing he was attuned to you well enough to know that you were begging.

xavier kissed you again, deeper this time, more frenzied in a way. he caught your bottom lip and rolled it between his teeth, making you exhale into his mouth. you gripped at his shirt tightly, urging him closer to you.

he backed you up towards one of his desk spaces, using an arm to slide the objects sitting there off of it. he grabbed you by the hips, lifting you so you were seated on top of it.

he kissed you again, hands places firmly atop your thighs. his hands were big and warm and you wanted them inside you. you groaned into his mouth as he trailed a hand higher, just shy of where you really needed it. you pulled at his hair, sighed into his mouth, and tugged at the hem of his shirt. you worked a hand under it, rubbing your hands up his toned stomach. you could feel his hardness against your knee and that’s what gave you to inspiration to jut against him.

he moaned, fiddling with the button of your jeans and helped slide them down your legs. they were thrown somewhere and in the back of your mind you knew they’d probably land in a glob of paint. but it really didn’t matter, not when his fingers starting toying with your clit through your panties. you bucked your hips toward him, whimpering as he rubbed you nicely.

“xav,” you whimpered, “need you so bad.”

he smiled into your mouth, swallowing all of your words.

“don’t worry, gonna take care of you baby.” he drawled.

he pulled your underwear to the side, running his fingers through your folds.

“all wet for me,” he nearly moaned.

you sucked in harshly as he plunged a finger into you. he thrusted it in and out, gathering your slick on his digit. you pouted as he pulled it out, but quickly your disappointment faded when he licked it, mumbling about how sweet you tasted. he pulled your panties down and you watched as he settled on his knees between your thighs.

the way he looked up at your was sinful, hunger in his eyes. he reached around your ass, scooting you to the edge of the surface so he could have easier access to you. the cool air hit you and he toyed with your dripping cunt, admiring you. he kissed your thighs, licked the skin hotly, taking his time and sucking multiple hickies into the soft flesh of your skin.

his breath was hot over your core and you were begging him at this point, the butterflies in your stomach becoming too much to bear. he was a weak, weak, man and he couldn't deny you of anything for too long.

he licked a flat stripe through your folds, gathering all of your slick. you whimpered at the feeling, his tongue lathing over you. he sucked at your clit, lapped at your entrance, and you saw stars as his tongue filled your hole.

he moaned into your cunt, vibrations wracking through your body. your hands easily fell into his hair, pulling on it for some sort of anchorage. xavier loved being between your thighs. he’d live there if he could. he craved your pussy and adored the way you clenched around his tongue.

lewd lapping sounds filled the room, a melodic accompaniment to your wrecked cries. his name rolled effortlessly out of your mouth, your back arching and shoving your cunt even farther onto his face. you thought it couldn’t get better, but xavier had a few tricks up his sleeve. he nipped at your clit before kissing it, humming into it, sucking the bud into his mouth. two fingers sneakily sunk into you, unrelentingly coaxing your orgasm out of you. you thrashed, screamed his name, saw stars, as he massaged your g-spot. he laughed. laughed, into your clit as you came, his eyes locked on yours.

you were out of breath, just barely recovering as he stood to meet your face again. you flushed at his spit-slick lips, pulling him in for a kiss. tasting yourself on his lips wasn’t something you thought would be pleasant, but oh how you were wrong. somehow your pussy managed to throb, needing to be filled.

getting xavier’s belt off felt like diffusing a bomb. you seriously couldn't get it off fast enough. you held your breath as he slid his pants and boxers down in one motion, licking your lips at the sight of his dick.

you loved xavier’s cock. it was gorgeous, as far as cock’s went, and you salivated at the sight of it. he pawed at your hand when you reached out for it.

“i wanna take my time with you.” he pressed a kiss to your lips. “gonna fuck you good, yeah?”

“yeah,” you nodded, “please.”

his voice was wrecked already, just from making you come.

he lined up with your entrance, stroking himself a few times before slowly, achingly, pressing into you.

you both groaned as he became seated in you fully. his cock throbbed at your hot cunt, fluttering around him prettily. he fucked into you languidly, the roll of his hips an art form in itself. one of his hands splayed around your hip and the other cupped your cheek as he worked his tongue into your mouth.

xavier was the kind of guy who when in involved with, gave you all of him. there were no secrets, nothing left hidden. he surrendered himself to you fully, and you felt it. being with him was safe and hearty, and just as he was yours, you were equally his.

your nails dug into his back as he comfortingly rubbed his fingers along your hipbone. redness seeped into your cheeks with every slow thrust of his hips into you. he was panting, whispering a different praise into your ear with every grind of his hips.

good girl, taking me so well, beautiful, all mine.

you wrapped your legs around his back, urging him closer to you if that were even possible. you felt loved and taken care of as he fucked you with passion. his heart was bleeding into yours and you were high on love.

he kept his hips rolling into you, the steady pace making a familiar heat burn in your gut.

“please, xavier, ‘m close,” you whimpered into his neck, biting the skin there.

he lifted your chin, fucked you even deeper somehow. his hand made it’s way to your clit, the sensation enough to send you crying.

“that’s it,” he cooed. “come on my cock, baby.”

and you did, foreheads pressed sweatily together, his sinful gaze locked into yours, your cunt pulsing around his dick.

you held him tightly, praised him for how good he filled you up and you knew he was closed by the way his hips were stuttering. you felt his balls slapping against your ass, high strung and ready to bust. you kissed his neck once more, mumbling all cock drunk about how pretty he was.

“gonna come,” he mumbled, hips faltering, trying to prolong it.

“inside me xav, ‘s okay.” you pleaded, kissing him.

“oh fuck,” he grunted.

a few more thrusts and he was spilling into your pretty pussy, strangled noises coming from his throat as he fucked his seed into you.

you both slouched over each other, sweaty and red, giddy, in love.

he pulled out slowly, swallowing the hiss that left your mouth with a kiss. he brushed the hair out of your face and managed to find a clean rag to wipe you down. ever so gently he took the rag to your folds, telling you how good you took him, brushing the hair out of your face.

when all had calmed and the two of you had dressed, he helped you off his workspace, steadying you when you landed on wobbly legs. he pressed a kiss into your temple as you eyed the mess you’d both forgotten about.

“i think we should paint together more often.” he said playfully.

the shove you gave him was absolutely earned when he mentioned, “especially if it’ll end like this.”

ty for reading <3 check out my masterlist

#xavier thorpe #xavier thorpe smut #xavier x reader #xavier thorpe x you #Xavier x y/n #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe boyfriend #xavier thorpe imagine #xavier thorpe blurb #xavier smut #xavier thorpe headcannons #Wednesday #wednesday imagine #xavier thorpe x y/n

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tinybro · 1 year

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thinking about jasico feat. that soulmate tattoo sleeve concept i posted about literally six years ago now, this got so long i'm just putting it all under a readmore to save y'all from having to scroll through it

the tattoos appear bit by bit in real time as someone's soulmate grows up and develop as a person, which means shit's wild when jasico-flavored. nico and bianca both grow up never developing any tattoos the whole time they're living in italy – bianca because she was fated to die young, and nico because jason's decades away from being born. it's not initially odd since people have relationships with age gaps, but the older they get without anything showing up at all the rougher it gets. they both get teased about being forever alone, or future cradle-robbers whose soulmates haven't even been born yet. it's part of why they were so close growing up. but then nico's develops rapidly towards the end of their stay in the lotus hotel, and by the time they get out of the haze of it he's suddenly got a partial sleeve.

bianca can't help but be quietly resentful. she knows it's not his fault, but she's just a kid herself, and they were in this boat together their whole lives and then suddenly her little brother has someone out there and she still doesn't. it becomes part of why she jumps on the chance to join hunters of artemis, eager for some space and rationalizing to herself that becoming immortal would mean she wouldn't be way older than her future soulmate.

meanwhile nico was distracted from bianca's frustration by the excitement of his new tattoo. it means he does have someone out there, someone close to his own age, and he obsessively studies his tattoo's imagery trying to see if it could be linked to anyone he meets. he gets his hopes up meeting percy, but they're dashed pretty quickly – his tattoo is all stormy skies and wolves and eagles, and try as he might he can't justify any of it as being related to percy. it's even more obvious much later when he finally gets a chance to see annabeth's arm and it's so clearly percy-themed. for a while he confusedly wonders if the lightning on his arm could be tied to thalia, and the thought of it is a little suffocating even if it should feel good to know he's "normal". but none of the rest of his tattoo seems to match her, thankfully, and she doesn't have a sleeve at all pointing to him either. for a long time, he figures his tattoos must be the frustratingly metaphorical kind and dismisses the obvious zeus connection.

jason, however, has a fairly developed partial sleeve of tattoos from the moment he's born. it's a little weird that it never changes at all – nico's development as a person is pretty much frozen in the lotus hotel – but jason spends his early years comparing the imagery to all the older campers, curious but never quite managing to link anyone to it. he knows right away that reyna couldn't be his soulmate, because they're the same age and whoever his soulmate is has to be at least 5-10 years older than him. he's still the popular golden boy of new rome, so he of course has other kids crushing on him that try to see themselves in his tattoos. the boldest ones try to claim a connection directly, but he can always shoot them down easily knowing the ages don't line up. and then when he's around 12, his forever-unchanged tattoo suddenly develops rapidly out of nowhere. images of some kind of playing cards appear in it, as nico discovers mythomagic soon after leaving the lotus hotel. ocean waves show up one day only to turn black a few days later. a silver arrow sneaks in soon after. then the imagery starts getting macabre pretty quickly – skulls and bones and graves take over most of it.

nico has an idea of what's up before he even meets jason – from the moment he's told about new rome and lupa and hears they have a son of jupiter, a lot of things feel very obvious. but he's still fighting all that internalized homophobia and feeling the fallout of his doomed crush on percy, so he keeps his mouth shut. he always wears his jacket anyway, and makes sure to wear long sleeves when it's too hot for the jacket. he keeps his tattoos hidden away, and no one's really close enough to ask about it besides hazel, who can tell it's sensitive and so doesn't pry.

but jason remains oblivious for a good while. the newer imagery on his arm has obvious pluto/hades vibes, but hazel or nico are both clearly too young for his false estimate of how old his soulmate would be. he doesn't hear about the lotus hotel shit until he's on the argo ii hearing stories from percy, and that's when he finally starts wondering.

#jasico #pjo #my dumb headcanons #aesthetic soulmarks AU

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poohsources · 4 months

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HELLO EVERYONE! as the year is slowly but surely coming to its end, and i'm now home for the holidays, i thought it was finally time to make another one of these. partially to give a little update on what's been going on in my life and partially as some sort of retrospect for this past year and a look into my plans for next year.

looking back, it's been quite an eventful year — especially when compared to the weird covid years we had to deal with previously. the biggest change was probably my dropping out of college to start a dual studies program in law. i did like my college program just fine ( until i didn't anymore ) but i really feel like law is my thing. and apparently everyone else in my circle of family and friends thinks so as well because i seem a hell of a lot happier than i did before. kinda unfortunate it took me seven years since quitting high school to figure that bit out, but hey, at least i got there in the end. it's been quite time-consuming, and i feel like in those past five months, i've already learned more than i did in all my years of college, but it's fun. i also finally got some new friends my age again. it's also strange to think back that just one year ago i was still struggling financially and just generally dealing with some bad mental health stuff.

i'm actually happy now.

in terms of tumblr and roleplaying, i gotta be honest that i have been sidelining it a lot over the last months. sure, i'm still around but it's not my primary focus, and i'm learning that it's okay not to be online all the time. it's okay to take breaks and focus on other things because as much as i love this blog, the community and tumblr, there are some more important things now. still, i am and always will be eternally grateful to every single person who supports me - whether it is by liking or reblogging posts, sending asks or messages, following me or using any of my stuff. it means so freaking much to me, and i always feel so proud whenever i randomly see my own stuff pop up on my dash because mutuals use it. thank you all so very much! in a similar vein, i honestly still cannot fathom that i almost managed to double the follower count this past year. i'm probably not gonna reach the goal i've kinda been looking at until the end of the year but that's okay. i am so incredibly grateful for everyone here anyway. no matter what.

as for next year - i'm not too sure what i'm gonna do. of course. i'm gonna keep posting memes, and templates and whatever other stuff i feel like doing, but i think my activity is gonna keep on being spotty. i'm also still tempted to do commissions one day ( and we're totally gonna ignore that i've been saying this for over a year now, okay? ) but with the amount of time i don't have, i'm not sure i'm gonna be able to deliver on that. if i do finally build the courage and self-esteem to do that, it will be like an occasional thing that might take some time. however, one thing i do wanna do more of is gifs. i'm not sure what kind of gifs, but i enjoy making them and it's been way too long since i did them so i'm gonna see how i'm gonna incorporate that. or if anyone has any specific gifs they want, always feel free to shoot me an ask or a message. maybe also some aesthetic-y stuff? after all do love making pinterest boards for characters.

maybe i'll also do a blog reveal once i finally set up my multi that i've been planning to work on for months now. since i'm gonna scrap my current main blog ( which i haven't really been active on in a while now anyway ) i'm kinda thinking of coming back to writing and who knows, maybe i'm gonna reveal it here in case anyone would like to write with me.

anyway, this was a lot of rambling, and if you've made it this far, i once again wanna thank you. i know i do this a lot but i really do appreciate you all being here so much, and even after two years of having this silly little blog, it still feels unreal to me that so many people here enjoy what i do.

much love and happy holidays, pooh 🧡

#pooh speaks.#pooh's (ir)regular updates.#long post tw

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keyboard-mang0 · 1 year

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Lost and Found

Part 5!

Genshin Impact x Child! God! Fem! Reader

This has passed the point of impulsiveness with the amount of effort it took to make myself write! But it's a silly idea for a cult au with a dubious level of proper SAGAU, and no hint of Imposter in sight.

Reader is referred to with she/her, and is set to be around the same age as Klee and the other small child characters. Not proof read! If you see any typos, no the fuck you don't.

Notes: Just barely not a month since the last part! Actually managed to yank myself away from Elden Ring long enough to finish this. You know what "Favored" and "Auxiliary" mean, and now you'll see who all belongs in the two teams. Also establishing where in the game story this takes place!

Warnings: religious themes, likely out of character moments, mentions of blood/bleeding, honestly some very slight body horror stuff, a war scene! Mentions of death/dying, kidnapping, drugging, and stress.

<~Part 4 Part 6~>

Word count: 3,774

Gentle waves lap at the pier, the imposing shadow of the Alcor casting away from where it sat docked. Earning the glances of shogunate guards that found themselves disinclined to actually approach the waiting crew.

Beidou leans over the rail, glaring down at Ritou as annoyance growled from her throat. Whirling to face her Inazuman companion, "Where the hell are they?"

Kazuha shrugs quietly as the sound of hurried steps pull both people's attention to a head of blonde hair. A young woman sprints down the pier, the large bow of rope tied at her back bouncing behind her. "Wait! I'm sorry for being late!"

"Firecracker!" Beidou shouts, jumping off the side of the Alcor, landing on the pier hard enough to shake the wood boards.

"Captain Beidou!" Yoimiya shouts excitedly as she dives into a hug with the taller woman. The pair laughing through the embrace, "it's good to see you! How have you been? Have you seen Miss Jean and Shenhe? How are they?"

Setting the girl down Beidou smiles brightly, "whoa whoa, slow down there. Good to see you too. I've been good, and had a really eventful time lately. I, sadly, just missed Ms. Serious. And Shenhe is… Shenhe, she's fine… I think."

Yoimiya nods in understanding, "well I'm really looking forward to hearing what this little meeting of the Favored is for!"

"Well we're still waiting on the two Auxiliaries we came for as well." Beidou groans, rubbing at the back of her head as she spares a glance in the direction of Ritou.

"What? I thought I was late enough that you might leave without me. Are they not here yet?"

"Nope," Beidou pops the P as she speaks, turning her eye back to the blonde, "but the Traveler left to look for them already, so let's hope she brings back news."

As if the mention of her summoned her, a flash of blue pours from a teleportation waypoint and from the glare Lumine steps out, Paimon drifting ahead of her as she walks towards where Beidou and Kazuha flanked Yoimiya.

"Please tell me you're here to say our wayward Auxiliaries are on their way here now." Beidou groans in frustration.

The blonde shakes her head, "no, but I have different news and possibly a plan."

<~~~~>

The rain gently falls down over Nazuchi Beach, gray clouds rolling slowly as if they could understand the tension that lay beneath them.

Two armies face one another down. With armor purple like the lightning they serve, the Shogunate army cast an intimidating shadow. Sheer number and quality of equipment cast doubt into the comparatively few Watatsumi warriors.

At their center the famed tengu General, Kujou Sara levels an indifferent glare to the red dyed army. Eyes landing on the canine commander standing beside them.

The pair stare, quiet, measured, studying. Both leaders daring the other to call the first command. To announce the battles beginning.

And when blades cross, whoever did call the first order to charge means little. When blood spills, and life is threatened, only one thing holds meaning. Survival.

The battle does not go for long before it turns in one side's favor. The resistance had always known they faced poor odds. But to watch as comrades are cut down in the sand, the skill of a single shogunate samurai proves to be too great for two foot soldiers to handle. They found themselves to be outnumbered by only a small margin. But they were outmatched by a far greater level.

Gorou launches arrow after arrow, dodging above and beneath swords and spears, all the careful precision that has come to be expected of him. Across the battlefield, Sara stands firm, shooting at a slower pace, taking carefully aimed shots that down men with each arrow she lets go of.

Lumine searches the field, eyes scanning over the chaos of soldiers, sword drawn and swinging crushing blows to any who dare get close to her, mind too preoccupied to care which side those left in her wake belonged to. Watching, waiting, looking for the signal they had agreed on. Inching closer and closer to where the General stands without drawing her attention.

Rainfall grows heavier, in the noise of the desperate and dying, who would notice the slow steps of a single woman?

Rain soaked sand began to take a blue glow, bubbles of water rising from the grit, drifting upward, growing in number, peacefully bobbing.

Gorou's eyes are pulled from the battle, widening at the sight of his leaders arrival, "her excellency!"

Kokomi stands proud, arms raised as rain water rises from the sand, drifting bubbles taking to the air, pulling eyes just long enough for the Shogunate soldiers to miss the trampling feet of new enemies.

"The wait is over, my comrades, now is our moment!" She calls out, giving her signal to the reinforcements that follow her.

A second brigade charges from behind the shipwreck, quickly running at their heels a crowd of sell swords. Headed at their front a tall woman garbed in red, dragging a metal slab of a sword behind her.

"I just hope you can afford all these mercs you've gathered!" Beidou's cheerful voice calls through the noise of the battle. The monstrous size of her Creator-given claymore throwing soldiers off their feet several at a time.

Quickly the tide is turned. The ambush pinched the shogunate army in between blades. And the addition of vision holders made individual samurai's skills all but worthless comparatively.

The general lets out a sound of annoyance before waving her hand, "all forces, retreat!" She shouts angrily, turning to make a run for it with her soldiers.

"Here's our chance, Traveler!" Beidou shouts as she sees the retreating Auxiliary member.

Lumine wastes no time, launching herself forward at an almost impossible speed, dashing to catch up with the tengu, diving headlong into the woman. Pinning Sara down into the wet sand as anemo, geo, and electro rage around them both, Kazuha quickly moves to follow, striking down the few Shogunate soldiers that stop to assist their pinned General. The pair rush to retreat back with the tengu in tow.

Kokomi can't help but gawk at the unexpected rush to capture Sara, but how could she complain? A won battle and an extraordinarily strategic prisoner, truly Beidou and her crew prove to be mora well spent.

Stepping down from her position atop the ruined ship, Kokomi finds her way to where her commander stands with Beidou, Kazuha, the now tied up Sara, and the Traveler that she's heard so much about while away. Kokomi gives a small smile, "I must say, Captain, I must commend you. I expected your help would be of great use, but to have taken General Kujou as well? Impressive."

Beidou's boisterous voice echoes in the quiet battlefield as laughter bubbles from her, "well I can't take all the credit. And I can't say her getting captured is for you or our deal."

Kokomi sees Lumine and Kazuha move to take places on either side of Beidou, Lumine pulling Sara behind them with her movement. The Hydro user raises an eyebrow in surprise, "then why, may I ask, did you take her?"

"Nevermind that now. I do have something else to discuss with you, however." Beidou's eye's flash over to Gorou then back to Kokomi, "maybe we should go back to our little hiding spot, get some more privacy."

Suspicion building, Kokomi turns to Gorou, "tend to the wounded and regroup at the fort, I will meet you there." Turning back to the mercenary group, and giving a curt nod as the group move towards the wrecked ship.

Kazuha slings the tengu's bow over his shoulder, while the Traveler passes her vision back and forth between her hands, both earning the fierce glare of Sara.

Beidou pulls a flask free from her belt before turning her eye to the much shorter woman. A broad smile stretching across her features, "well before anything else, it's a little tradition of the Crux to share a toast after such a battle!" Holding the flask out to Kokomi. "This victory is yours, so you take the first drink!" Her smile unwavering as the heavy flask drops into the smaller woman's hands.

Kokomi eye's the flask uneasily, the powerful scent of alcohol assaulting her senses, taking a deep breath, holding it in, and tipping the flask to her lips. The burn is immediate, feeling like a Pyro slime had been forced down her throat.

The intense burn held her attention just long enough to not notice the way Beidou dumped the rest of the flask's contents into the sand after taking it back from her. The floaty feeling in her head takes over, and one moment she's standing proud after her victory, the next the Traveler's arms are wrapped around her torso as her legs no longer hold her. Beidou's voice calls commands, but despite the priestess still seeing the captain stand directly in front of her, she can't clearly hear her voice. Darkness taking over the edges of her vision, the final sight before the dark dominates her senses being Kazuha pulling a visibly confused Sara to her feet while the Alcor crew gather around the group, all following Beidou's direction.

<~~~~>

With her pacing back and forth, Eula was worried Jean might ignite the ground beneath her. The pair of knights waiting outside of Bubu Pharmacy where Ningguang had said in a note she was bringing Y/n, for reasons not well conveyed.

"Acting Grandmaster, this isn't going to help." Eula speaks gently, trying to help the blonde woman to calm down.

"But what if something is wrong with Y/n? What if she's sick? Can gods even get sick? Or what if she got hurt? Who would do such a thing as to hurt a child like her? Much less the Creator herself!" Jean rambles, venting her stresses only a little. But enough to have Eula take long strides and quickly cover Jean's mouth before glancing towards the door.

"Remember what Lady Ningguang said. Don't say that where Y/n might hear it." Eula whispers, eyes locked on the entryway to the pharmacy.

Pushing the other woman's hand away Jean sighs, pinching at her temple, "and then there's that… What are we supposed to tell people? They already know."

The blue haired woman shakes her head, "that doesn't matter right now, when it comes to it, maybe we can make something up, but for now, it's no use to dwell on it."

"You think we should lie to the people of Mondstadt? You know how important just the idea of news about Y/n was to all of them!" Jean whispers incredulously.

"Well, what if it isn't a lie? We just bend the truth and give them something to look towards?" Eula scans the pair's surroundings again, taking note of the distance to the nearest passers-by.

"That still doesn't sit right with me though…" Jean crosses her arms, face scrunched in thought.

Eula shakes her head, "like I already said, right now it does not matter. Lady Ningguang is talking to the doctor here, and said she would tell us what is the matter with Y/n once she had finished with that conversation." Eula steps to the side of the doorway, leaning back as she stares out towards the stairs leading up to the pharmacy. "All we can do is wait, and hope that vengeance will not be necessary."

<~~~~>

"You have some explaining to do, Lady Tianquan!" Baizhu whispers in a harsh tone, normally soft eyes taking a serious glint.

Ignoring his tone, Ningguang simply hums for a moment, "How is she doing?"

The doctor pinches at the bridge of his nose, exasperation pouring from him, "I gave her some medicine for the pain, which seems to be working. But vision healing had no effect at all. It seems all we can do is keep the numbing up until her wings are fully grown in."

"Her wings?" Ganyu asks, yawning into her palm.

"Do you two take me for a fool? You come in here at this ungodly hour with a child crying gold and bleeding traces of all seven elements, and did you expect me to not recognize the Creator?"

Silence hangs heavy as a small white head peeks out from the coils hanging like a scarf. "The little one is without a doubt our Creator, and our Creator bares wings."

"So then what is happening is that she is growing into herself?" Ningguang questions, eyes snapping between the doctor and the snake.

Ganyu stares at the floor, eyes wide at her own silent revelation. "The Creator was not a human, but we summoned a human child. Tore her right from where she once lived, and she was dropped here, alone for so long, and now that she's lived around people again, the child is changing to match."

The trio stand in the quiet, only the muffled sound of the three children talking amongst themselves echoing in the pharmacy.

The doctor coughs into his fist, adjusting his shirt collar before speaking, "Whatever the implications of that, Y/n should stay here for the rest of the night, with luck the growth will be done by morning."

<~~~~>

Y/n lay face down on the table Baizhu had placed her on. The tears in her back have stopped growing, but feathers continue to sprout. All near shining in pure white, unmarred even by the multi-colored blood they grow from.

Klee sits on her knees beside Y/n, tightly clinging onto the other girl's hand. Wide eyes moving back and forth between focusing on patting her friend's head comfortingly and staring as another feather sprouts.

"Is the medicine working?" A small voice suddenly sounds to the opposite side of the bed from Klee. Lavender hair poking up over the top of the simple sheets.

"It doesn't hurt as bad now." Y/n mumbles into the pillow. Turning her head to face the new voice.

A pair of small hands push a glass of water up onto a bedside table, quickly turning from the task in favor of grasping at the edge of the bed to pull herself up onto the surface. "Dr. Baizhu said, you should have some water."

Y/n gives a small nod before moving to sit up, Klee gently helps support the other girl as Qiqi moves to grab the glass again. Soon the two vision holding children watch as the h/c girl gulps down water, silence hanging until the cup is empty.

"Did that help?" Qiqi whispers, pushing the glass back onto the side table.

The girl hums, nodding "I think so." Y/n smiles, turning to face Qiqi, holding out her hand. "I'm Y/n, by the way."

"I'm Qiqi, I am a zombie," giving an awkward handshake, Qiqi's eyes move to a slightly bouncing Klee.

"And I'm Klee!" The blonde girl says excitedly, smiling wide at seeing Y/n so calm again. "Do you wanna be our friend too?"

Y/n matches Klee's smile as she turns to Qiqi as well, both girls waiting patiently towards the silent stare of the other girl.

Qiqi stares back at the pair, unemotive confusion swimming in her head before speaking "I'm sorry, I don't remember how."

"You don't remember how to be friends?" Klee asks, her excitement melting into matching confusion.

Y/n smiles, "well when I stop hurting, we can teach you! And we can all steal whatever tasty things you want!" Y/n giggles, reigniting Klee's excitement as Qiqi stares at the pair.

The zombie's eyes open just a hair wider "even coconut milk?" Her monotonous tone takes the tiniest hint of excitement.

"Yea! Y/n's super good at stealing! That'll be no problem!" Klee cheers, causing Y/n to puff up at the praise.

Sitting back for a moment Qiqi thinks, before reaching behind her and pulling a large book into her lap. "Ok, I'll write orders in my diary so I won't forget."

Klee's bouncing grows more eager, "Yea! We're going to go steal more stuff! And we'll blow something up! And um… Qiqi, what's something you like to do?"

Qiqi stops her writing, staring quietly, "I like to watch the finches."

"Then we'll watch the finches too!"

Qiqi nods before turning her attention back to the diary, pausing to read before facing Y/n again. "But you should lay back down now. Dr Baizhu said you need to rest." Qiqi chides, gently pushing Y/n back into laying on her stomach.

"Ok, but will you stay here with us?" Y/n asks, relenting as Klee joins Qiqi in laying her down.

There is hardly a pause before Qiqi has her answer, "yes," she says simply, grasping onto the girl's free hand shortly after Klee takes hold of Y/n's other.

A small sigh falls from Y/n, both her hands occupied by the other girl's. One unnaturally hot to the touch, the other incredibly cold. But both holding nothing but silent soothing communication.

The feeling of calm washing over the trio. A foreign feeling Y/n has been resisting growing used to. Being at peace, no need to seek out her next meal, no fear of being seen by other people, and no crippling loneliness in the shelter of her hideaway. Just these two friends she's found, that she was able to meet because Beidou and Ningguang had taken her in, off the streets.

Y/n lets out a sharp gasp, the moment of calm abruptly interrupted. Where pained screams would have arisen, only discomforted groaning starts. Hands clenching tight on their hold to the two other girls.

Feathers sprout rapidly, each popping out in the blink of an eye, several at a time. That's when the sitting pair see it, bones and muscles writhe beneath Y/n's skin. Limbs not naturally born forming from the bleeding sea of feathers. Formless masses of sticky wet flesh rise, dragging feathers up along with them. Four almost tendrils sprouting and rapidly forming skin, the bleeding slows to a stop, but the new limbs still wriggle unnaturally.

The door slams open, none of the three girls having noticed the alarmed scream Klee had released. Not until a pair of knights barge in with swords drawn, followed quickly by an annoyed doctor and a concerned Tianquan.

The newly arrived group stop in their tracks. All eyes on the quartet of tendrils as they writhe, muscles finding their place along settling bones, feathers sprouting faster and fuller. Bending and taking the shape of proper wings, the pair higher on Y/n's shoulders appear far larger than the pair lower on her back.

Four wings, pure white in color, and fluffier than clouds on a clear morning. Down feathers of a baby bird twitch with a new feeling. Sinewy muscles settling in place, stretching out like one would stretch their arms upon waking. And much like a baby bird, they fold and twitch, unusable for flight, but a feeling part of the child.

A head of h/c hair pokes up, shaking arms pushing herself up into a sitting position. Qiqi quickly grasps at her shoulder to hold Y/n steady. Klee slowly reaches a hand out to pat the white feathers.

Y/n turns around with a confused smile at the adults in the room, one eye maintaining her natural e/c, the other an orb of solid gold.

"Did something happen?" Y/n squeaks, unsure at the staring eyes.

<~~~~>

A man flops down on the bench beside the contemplative archon, his arms laying over the back rests as he crosses his legs casually.

"Good to see you again, comrade!" Childe chimes cheerfully, a broad smile stretched across his features as he attempts to pull Zhongli into conversation.

"Childe. I thought you'd returned to Snezhnaya." Zhongli states, his eyes dragging to look at the harbinger lounging beside him.

“I did. But her majesty sent me back after receiving some very interesting news.” His face split in a smile hardly covers the air of menace he pushes forward, “I thought perhaps my old buddy the Geo Archon might have some answers for me.” His voice is low enough to prevent passersby from overhearing.

A sigh of annoyance slips from the composed Archon, “and what questions would you like these answers to?”

“I’m here to ask about our Divine Creator.”

Zhongli stills at that statement. Eyes taking a dangerous glow as almost reptilian pupils bore into the Snezhnyan. “And what would you ask me that your Tsaritsa could not answer?”

"Straight to the point then, the Tsaritsa is all too aware of that summoning ritual you held with the gods of Anemo and Electro, so don't try and lie about that." Smirking at the ease of which he was able to start the discussion, Childe ignores the dragon’s glare in favor of taking on a more casual posture. “Well little birdy says that the Divine Creator has been living in Liyue."

The retired archon's posture runs rigid at those words, scale patterns making themselves known around already distinctly inhuman eyes. "Were that the case, I would be by their side."

"I suppose so… but her majesty's tip off is very reliable." Childe leans in closer to the Geo archon, whispered words for no other to hear "and I don't think I need to tell you that an act such as hiding our beloved divine Creator is something many would consider starting a war over."

Zhongli grips at his coat harsh enough to nearly rip the fabric, threatening glare oozing with malice. Jaw tight, wordlessly daring the harbinger to keep threatening Liyue.

Childe lets out a convincingly bright laugh as he creates more distance, again taking the time to appear casual. "Well if you don't know anything, it can't be helped! I just hope I can find some proper news for her majesty, and fast. Wouldn't want my colleagues to be coming here and wreaking havoc, now would we?"

The harbinger hops to his feet, taking a moment to stretch his limbs and half turning back to face the archon. "I guess since you weren't as helpful as I would have liked, I'll have to call on other contacts. The Qixing is quite good at hiding things, but the Fatui won't rest until the Tsaritsa has the answers she wants."

And with the final remark Childe disappeared into the Liyue crowd. His words, still echoing in Zhongli's head.

Could the Creator he had been searching for been right under his nose the whole time?

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