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cgogs · 4 months

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Oneshot #1 - Nothing / dsmp pjo au (c!dnf) 2k

this is a little bit of an experiment to see if i like writing this pjo dsmp au, and if people like reading it. its super short, but i wanted to get out a little bit of writing to see if i was into it. if i like it i'll start working on more :] so basically feedback is APPRECIATED

“You’re awake.” “How could you tell?” “I can always tell. Idiot.”

“You’re awake.”

Dream blinks. The bottom of the top bunk comes into focus in all its wooden glory. He’d been staring at a blur for the past half hour, desperately trying to stay awake.

“Dream?”

Okay, that really is George talking, and not some sleep deprived delusion. George’s head peeks over the side of the bunk facing the window, moonlight eclipsed by his hair. He can barely see his features, but he knows exactly the look George is giving him. Something between judgmental and concerned.

“How could you tell?” Dream whispers back.

“I can always tell. Idiot.”

George likes to tease him for sleeping like a corpse, hands laced together over his stomach. Dream moves his hands to his sides before George gets the chance to mention it.

“D’you want me to do the thing?”

“No.” The last time he let George use his sleep magic, he had a nightmare worse than the ones he was running from in the first place.

“I’ve gotten better at it!” George promises, sounding a tad desperate. “Let me try.”

Some of their cabin mates begin to shuffle in their sleep. There’s a quiet, ‘shut up’ thrown their way, sounding a little bit like Tommy. Probably Tommy.

Dream lowers his voice further. “I’m going for a walk.”

There’s a pause. But it doesn’t seem like he hates the idea. “We’ll get in trouble.”

Dream sits up, swiveling his head around the room to see if anyone’s paying attention. From the back, he can see everyone sound asleep in their beds. When George was claimed, the Hermes cabin elected to put George in the very back corner of the room. The general sentiment seemed to be that they were afraid of George emanating some kind of sleep stink or something. George seemed sad being ostracized, which was understandable.

It was easy for Dream to swap with his new bunkmate, which delighted the boy. George had said he was only pulling long faces because he wasn’t able to bunk with his best friend anymore, which. Dream had no particular emotional reaction to. Please trust him on this.

(Later, Hypnos would claim more sons, and the Hermes cabin would get over it, and Dream will just have to seethe in silence.)

With the coast clear, he stands carefully.

“Mr. D is going to turn you into a tree.” George rolls to the other side of the bed to watch, glaring at him through the wood railing.

“Come with me.”

“What? I don’t want to get in trouble. Can’t you just lay back down?”

Dream holds out his hand, reaching up. “Just trust me.”

He’s aware that it isn’t exactly a convincing argument. George tentatively takes his hand, anyway. His hands are soft like they haven’t worked a day in their lives, which might be a little true. But they’re only kids, so time will tell.

George keeps hold of his hand even as he climbs down the ladder. It makes Dream sort of feel like, a knight or something.

“You’re, like, my princess.” Stupid thing to say. Whatever, he already said it, and George is already trying not to laugh so he doesn’t wake everyone up. He holds his breath through a snort, which makes a silly noise, which makes Dream struggle not to laugh as well. Domino effect of stupidity.

Dream tries to communicate with his hands that they could be careful of the creaks in the floor, which he’s previously memorized. George sleepily nods his head like he understands, still smiling dumbly, and immediately steps on one of the loose boards, letting out a very long and tedious creak.

Okay, fine. If any of the kids in the cabin snitch, they’ll know they aren’t truly Hermes’ child, and the unclaimed ones can cross him off their list.

Outside, the air is warm and perfect, like it always is. Or should be, anyway. George’s hand is cold.

“Okay, so, where are we going?”

Dream points up to the roof, and George’s expression sours.

“You didn’t say anything about climbing.”

“Well, I’m not gonna take you to the woods if you can’t be quiet.”

“Is that where you go? Won’t nymphs catch you?”

“We’re the babies, they think we’re cute. They just tell me to go back.”

“We’re twelve, not babies.”

“Yeah? Then get climbing.”

George stomps the ground petulantly, but doesn’t go back inside. Dream has to let go of his hand to show him how to climb up. The breeze sifts through his hair gently, the cool air clings to his skin. He’s made this climb a few times, not that it’s hard. But he can hear his friend groaning with every new foothold he has to take.

It’s a big cabin, it’s got to hold a lot of kids. He pities the kids who have to sleep in the top rungs, they have to climb up and down at least two ladders to get in and out of bed. Maybe the ones on top are, like, the strong half-bloods. Ares and Hephaestus and stuff.

Dream pulls himself up on top of the roof with ease.

“Not so hard.” Dream gloats, smiling at George still struggling on the last edge.

“Help?” George frowns pitifully, voice small and winded. He holds out his hand. “Please?”

Dream takes his hand and pulls him up. “I’ve gotcha.”

He wobbles a bit on his feet, but steadies. George is only in his pajamas, his own sacred artifact. Sometimes he’s seen him walking around camp in his pajama bottoms. There’s only two beads on his necklace, opposed to Dream’s six. He thinks he’ll have to turn his necklace into a bracelet and get a new one pretty soon.

“I’m so tired.” George whispers, rubbing his eyes with force.

“You’re always so tired. Do you mean it this time?”

George moans grumpily. He’s standing like he’s waiting for Dream to tell him what to do. So he does.

Dream takes his hand and guides him to lay down on one of the flat parts of the roof, above a protruding window. The wood is old and creaky, and tomorrow Sapnap (who sleeps at the top of Cabin 11, though Dream thinks it's pretty obvious who his godly parent is) will tell Dream to stop going up there in the middle of the night for what is probably the tenth time.

Together, they look at the night sky. There's few clouds, like always, and somehow all of the world’s constellations are clear. Like New York isn’t right next door.

That one is Andromeda, next to Cassiopeia. He learned that in class the other day. “Class” used loosely– they try hard to have stuff for kids to do around here.

“Is this what you do?”

Dream looks at him. “Hm?”

“Like. When you leave your bunk you just come up here? When you don’t go to the woods.”

“Yeah. I like the silence.”

“Hm.”

There’s a long pause. Then, George asks another question, sounding even more sleepy than before. Something unnatural tugs at Dream’s eyelids when George comes near.

“Did your nightmares come back?” His voice is quiet, so quiet, so not even the sky may hear.

Dream didn’t want to say as much in front of so many people. Even if they were asleep. He nods. “Let me help.” George pokes his shoulder.

“I’m scared!” Dream laughs quietly, “You did a terrible job last time.”

“Okay, whatever, I’ve been practicing.” George says, accent really peeking through. His mother is from Oxford, if he’s remembering correctly. Work visa. Not that Dream really understands what that means. He just understands George sounds very British, and it’s fun.

“Really? And who have you been practicing on.”

“Sam.” George seems rather proud of himself. “Sam, and it was good and I did good. So you should let me help.”

“Oh.” Dream really thought he’d catch him in a lie. “What does Sam even dream about?”

George rubs his eyes, moaning in thought. Which is a strange way to describe it, but that’s what George does. He rolls away, attempting to yawn away from him. He’s been trying not to yawn near people. It’s cute, but doesn’t make much of a difference. Dream yawns, despite his best efforts. George rolls back when he’s through.

“Sheep.” Is all he says. He leans his head on Dream’s shoulder. “Let me help.” “Why are you so adamant?”

“Because it’s, like, the only thing I can even do. Everyone can like, make cool plants or be super smart. I just sleep.” George hesitates, but follows through. “And I like you. You’re my best friend.”

Dream’s heart swells, enough to melt his apprehension. Or, maybe it’s the desperation that comes with sleep deprivation. It occurs to him he never changed out of his jeans.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Do it.”

“You’re scared?” George looks up. His eyes are the kind of blue you see in the scariest parts of the ocean. The color of trenches that touch the center of the Earth. “Don’t be scared. You’ll wake up no matter what.”

“I wasn’t scared of that, but, I guess now I am?” It’s hard to keep eye contact. Something about the sleepy glaze of George’s eyes makes Dream’s soul want to give up. Whatever that means, he’s not sure.

“Sorry. It comforts me to think about.” George holds his arm gently. “You have to look at me. Remember?”

Truthfully, he didn’t. He doesn’t remember anything about how George lulled him to sleep. But he follows his instruction, and soon enough he can feel darkness creeping in all around him. It feels like having the biggest, heaviest quilt gently laid over him. It feels like getting dragged underwater. The sound of the wind in the trees melts into pure silence.

He’s vaguely aware of the sound of a yawn, his or George’s, he’s not sure. And then there was nothing at all.

For the first time in weeks, he doesn’t dream. No nightmares about green fire and the earth swallowing him whole. No death, no inevitable fates and failures he can’t avoid. Just, cold nothing.

He’s woken up by someone poking his cheek. He’s slow on the uptake, which is unlike him, but it’s so early in the morning some of the sleep lingers like a shroud. It’s a nymph. She’s not very happy. You can’t keep doing this.

And when George is asleep, he’s really asleep. And using magic tuckers him out– he’s only just started trying to use it. There’s like, a meter he’ll have to level up. At least that’s what George said.

Bottom line, he’s hard enough to wake up when he hasn’t exhausted himself. Dream is tasked with the impossible job of carrying George back down and into bed.

It’s a good thing he weighs nothing.

#pjo dsmp #c!dnf #my writing

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danikamariewrites · 9 months

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Midday Cravings (pt. 3)

Nessian x reader

A/n: thank you to everyone who voted in the poll! It was super close between something fluffy and smut. But bc you all have been so supportive of these fics which I’m so grateful for I’m going to do a smutty part 4 bc I love you all❤️ I’m sorry this is so short but it was just a cute lil idea I had

Warnings: mentions of child birth

Ailith. That’s what you had named your perfect little girl. The birth was tough due to her wings, but it was worth every second of pain to bring her into the world. It had been two months since you gave birth. She has her father’s beautiful tan skin, your bright eyes, and Nesta’s curiosity.

Nesta and Cassian were fantastic parents as well. They we’re so hands on with her, you were so grateful. You knew Nesta was scared to be a mom and had other doubts, like the baby not liking her. But that all disappeared when Nesta was the first person Ailith smiled at.

And Cassian was already wrapped around her little finger. Those two were attached at the hip, you knew she’d be a daddy’s girl the second he started talking to her when she was still in your belly. The first time Cassian held her it was for skin-to-skin contact a few hours after she had been born. Ailith snuggled into him, letting out the cutest little sigh and Cass started bawling his eyes out.

She just woke up from her nap so you brought her downstairs to eat and play with you and Nesta. Ailith was the happiest baby you’d ever seen. So smiley and giggly. Whenever you held her your day immediately got better.

You hadn’t slept much in the last few weeks though, which was driving you crazy. Ailith had started getting fussy at night when it came to bed time. It made you very emotional, you felt like you were doing something wrong. Sometimes she wouldn’t go down unless Cassian was rocking her to sleep. You happily let Cassian put her to sleep, but you were up with her only a few hours later.

Nesta was already sitting on the floor surrounded by her favorite toys. Her face lit up as you two got closer and she held her hands out for the baby. Letting Nesta take her you sat on the floor slumping against the base of the big arm chair.

“Y/n, don’t take this the wrong way because I’m saying this with love, but you look so tired. Why don’t you go lay down for a while.” She gave you a sympathetic look. Ailith pulled on the loose strands of Nesta’s braid and her attention immediately went to the baby girl.

You loved watching Nesta play with her. You never wanted to miss a moment of time together. But you knew you had to sleep. “Ok. But I’m staying on the couch. And you have to wake me up if she does anything cute.” Nesta rolled her eyes, “ok but you might as well stay up. Because everything she does is so cute. Isn’t it? Aren’t you just the cutest?” She cooed at Ailith.

The second your head hit the pillow you knocked out. You only slept a few hours but it was better than nothing. When you woke up you were laying on Cassian’s chest while Ailith dozed in Nesta’s arms. Sitting up you stifle a yawn, “Sorry Nes. I didn’t mean to sleep that long. I can take her if you want.”

Nesta gives you a look that says ‘yeah, right’ as Cassian pulls you back to rest on him. “Oh hush you,” he whispered. “You deserve rest and care too you know.” Closing your eyes, you feel yourself relaxing. “You’re right.” You murmur.

Cassian rubs your back and whispers sweet nothings in your ear about how much they love you and how strong you are. You feel so happy, having your little family sitting together just relaxing and being happy.

tags: @nyotamalfoy @auggiesolovey @bubybubsters @baybay123455 @msiecrane @aroseinvelaris @twsssmlmaa

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cozymoko · 1 year

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Hello!! I’m so glad to see that you’re back online and taking requests once more! Can I ask for some HCs with Gojo Satoru with a S/O he always loves to push? I just love the idea of a super gentle, calm person who always tries to not show how truly possessive they can be getting stuck with someone like Gojo as a partner, who will of course notice their buried possessiveness and try to eagerly make them give into that and mark Gojo up a bit

(In his mind he’s like “Omg this could be such a fun game!! Imagine if they actually kabedon me due to their jealousy ahh” and Readers just like “I’m a monster who’s toxic and unhealthy :((” completely unaware Gojo is VERY into it)

SECRETLY POSSESSIVE S/O

Note: Hi hi hi! I'm glad to be back.

Featuring: Gojo Satoru

Format: Headcanons, 2nd person

WARNING(S): Possessive behavior, not proofread.

LINKS: Jujutsu Kaisen Masterlist

Now don’t get him wrong, GOJO SATORU is in no way a picky man when it comes to relationships. He just happened to fall for a very tranquil, kind-hearted person who is always sweet to those around them…Or so he thought.

I jest; you are all those things and many, many more it seems. But he didn't come to this decision by himself — oh no, he'd quite a few “hints” to help him out along the way.

Exhibit A: The two of you decided to use one of your very limited off days to spend time together in the city. Upon your arrival, GOJO was immediately swarmed by a group of fans, consisting of mainly teenage girls, who were practically drooling all over him. Being a rather powerful sorcerer yourself, you had your fair share of admirers. But that didn't excuse their strange behavior. Your relationship was public for Christ's sake!

You gently grab his arm, leading him from the group of girls in a rush. The polite smile on your lips was a bit strained and your nails were just barely grazing his skin. He'd almost brushed it off; well until he heard some very peculiar words leave your lips. “Do I have to marry him for these bitches to stay in their place or what? It's absolutely ridiculous.”

But he chose to ignore it.

Exhibit B: The afternoon the two of you were assigned a very important mission. But as always, SATORU can't seem to keep his attention in one place; so here you are, waiting in front of a Taiyaki vendor for the Jujutsu sorcerer, bored out of your mind. Once growing impatient, you push through the thin glass doors to retrieve him yourself.

But the first thing you saw was some chick holding GOJO'S hand dangerously close to her breasts and you were pissed. You approached the two with long strides before slapping the woman's hand away, leaving a stinging sensation in your wake. Your glare was hot, scorching even, as you stared her down as though she was nothing more than a spec of dirt beneath your feet.

“I'd appreciate it if you didn't touch my partner, M. I. N. E, or I might just have to teach you a lesson.”

That was all the proof he needed.

AFTER FINDING OUT:

“Hey honey, I think we need to have a talk about yesterday.”

The seriousness of his tone made your blood run cold. What happened; did he dislike the side of you that he saw? Is he genuinely upset with your actions? “Why didn't you show me that sooner~?” Bitch what?

Yes, he was a little bit annoyed at you for keeping such a wonderful secret from him; but I digress. Now's not the time to focus on the past when a new challenge has risen: Operation “Getting a (few) hickeys from {Name}” is now ago!

However, knowing you, this wasn't going to be easy.

While not being the type to make someone jealous, he will do his damnedest to get under your skin in other ways. For example, teasing; tugging the collar of his loose shirt, merely enough for you to see before saying, “Haah...My neck is awfully lonely right now; If only someone would bless me wish some kisses~!”

When you finally decided to give him some hickeys, it's over. Satoru is moaning so loud that you're sure the neighbors can hear you. It's mainly to tease you but he genuinely enjoys your possessive side. Having his significant other hold him so dearly is all he could ever want.

He's never been so grateful for his pale skin in his life. Don't even think for a second that he won't show them off! Low cut shirts, unnecessary tugs on his collar when he's around his students, and even openly converse about it. He truly has no shame.

You could hardly look your students in the eye due to his perverted acts!

At the end of the da y, GOJO will show you just how attractive he finds your possessiveness. After all, the last thing he wants is for his beloved to beat themself up over something so insignificant.

#—🍁#x reader #gojou headcanons #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojou x reader #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen scenarios #gojo x gender neutral reader #anime headcanons #jjk headcanons #jjk imagines #jjk x reader #jjk x you #gojou satoru x you #gojo headcanons #jujutsu

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usernamesuggestionsarefunny · 3 months

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Possibly unpopular opinion (Or perhaps not idk): I love what they have done with Zuko and Ozai's relationship in the live action Netflix Avatar show.

In the cartoon we never get the ~vibes~ that Zuko has a complicated relationship with his father, only that it is abusive and one-sided in the sense only Zuko craves Ozai's approval, while Ozai straight up hates him, wants him dead or has no problem with him dying (Why doesn't he kill him if he has Azula? We don't know, plot has to happen, he sent Zuko to find the avatar in order to get rid of him, probably, or actually canon idk or remember), clearly prefers Azula to him as successor, etc, etc, etc (+ later the comics literally overkilled this trend "she was born lucky while..." omg stfu). Zuko is basically the perfect character to prove the fire nation is not all evil (Oh look, they hate him too, he is inherently their victim too from the very beginning).

So when Zuko switches sides in the cartoon, what I see as an adult rewatching is someone giving up on luxory, physical safety and... that is pretty much it. Sure it is a big deal to give up on those things to do what is right (Few would) and still awesome that he did the right thing in the end, but if you really think about it, he is not giving up that much, he is not giving up anything truly valuable to him. Respect? Honor? Sure he is said to have received it back after Azula "killed" Aang, but we never truly see it. For all intents and purposes his sister has that and wayyy more of it. His father's love and acceptance? Never had it, so he didn't truly "loose it" when he spoke up for those soldiers, got the scar and was banished, it is not really shown to have suddenly popped into existence when he was said to have killed the avatar. He literally had nothing in the fire nation, literally nothing. This could only make "doing the right thing" a lot easier for him, and for the adult audience (At least for me), his arc is just him realizing what is almost irritatingly obvious for us: That no one in the fire nation truly loves and respects him so might as well switch sides (Basically if we weren't also shown that Zuko is compassionate and does care about the horrible things the fire nation is doing, Ember Island Players would have gotten a bit of truth in it).

Now, in the live action, where do I even start? It has been so good so far when it comes to Ozai and Zuko. That man, if he hated Zuko in a cartoonishly evil way almost from birth, he sure doesn't show it. Don't get me wrong, he is just as abusive (Creepily so in many scenes, made me feel so protective of Zuko and Azula), but he is also shown to "care" about Zuko as in having some hope left that he can mold him into another powerful genocidal mini me. Is Azula winning by far? Ofc, she is still the prodigy, I am sure I am going to see flashbacks of favoritism later on. But Ozai doesn't yet seem to favor her in a way that makes Zuko's craving for his approval (Or even Ozai's hope in him as heir) hopeless. It seems, from his scenes with Azula, that Ozai foments the rivalry and competition between the two siblings not only because he personally thinks Azula is the best (Which he also might in this version), but also as a way of control through fear (Especially for prodigy Azula), and to make them (Especially comparatively weaker Zuko) "better", something this version of Ozai appears to think is possible EVEN when he banishes Zuko. Now, he might have done this "to get rid of him" as in the original, but in the live action he seems super open to and genuinely believe the idea that the exile could make Zuko stronger and better, not to mention worthy of the throne if he succeeds. Ozai treats Zuko like the heir despite favoring Azula is all I am saying. Zuko's actions are therefore almost impossible, yes, but not hopeless or even naive. And if this trend of Ozai's respect and "love" (Super on quotes) being achievable continues, Zuko's eventual turn to the good side will be much more powerful. He will have to give up much more after spending a summer with his abusive parent love bombing him for "killing" the avatar. Zuko's choice will be solely based on his findings about the horrors the fire nation has committed and not wanting to be the cause of more suffering even though he could have it all. Even though it was his fate to be his father's "mini me"-> Something terrifyingly likely and not so quickly discarded by the narrative itself as it was in the animated series.

I think the best part about this subtle change in the father-son dynamic (If it was the intention of the writers, I am aware it could have been unintended) is that the scar tm was a direct result of Zuko's compassion for those soldiers and not just the excuse Ozai used to banish him or "final straw" because he preferred Azula sooo much more, as it is pretty much implied later on in the animated series and comics by focusing so much on how much of a perfect victim Zuko was pretty much from birth. The addition of the 41st surviving because of Zuko was also pretty nice, and so is Zuko's relationship with them, he will need fire nation allies when he gets to the throne and this is a good start, something the animated series never touched upon much.

I am on episode 6 btw so my opinion might change. I will edit this post if that is the case. BUT my thoughts on these first scenes doesn't change, they are good imho

EDIT (And spoilers): I just watched Zhao’s revelation where he tells Zuko that Ozai would never let him return and he just wanted to use him to motivate Azula. It does change things and invalidates most of what I said, but taking out just this one scene, as I said, the Ozai-Zuko dynamic is great in this show, and also, Zhao is obviously not the most reliable source, because he was allied to Azula and obviously wanted to hurt Zuko, as he was losing the fight with him. There is also the fact that Azula wasn't watching Ozai and Zuko when Ozai told his son that he was being banished and that it was in part so he could get stronger etc, that was all for Zuko and had little way of serving as motivation for Azula (Unlike the scenes where Ozai praises Zuko in front of her, those could have totally been him bullshitting his daughter to motivate her to work even harder). So all in all this scene doesn't ruin the overall impression I had of the Ozai-Zuko father-son dynamic in the life action show. In fact, it could be taken to confirm one of my impressions which was that Ozai likes pitying his children against each other to push them harder.

EDIT 2: Ozai's reaction to Zuko's possible death is further proof imo that his “test” was very much real (even if almost impossible) and everything I said earlier still stands. He wouldn't mind that much if he died, it would just prove his “weakness”, and he is very pleased with Azula, but he didn't look happy or even indifferent when he learned the news.

#zuko #ozai #atla #atlab #avatar the last airbender #avatar the last airbender netflix #natla #natla spoilers #netflix avatar

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rpedia · 2 months

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I’ve seen your post about good starters, is there anything with good conversations starters that’ll actually get characters somewhere?

So, starters are something that gives other people an idea of how you play your character, what your goals are, and what you're looking for. They also need to be pretty open ended, or happen in a public place unless you want to hook a specific other character. That means a starter is infinitely customizable and super personal to write. Just copy pasting any given starter is not going to do the job you need it for, it'll stymie your growth and leave you scrambling to keep up with whatever someone else chose for you. On top of that, starters are not what keep RP going: The plot and player is.

So, let's jump in and break it down a little more so it's easier to put together your own starter from absolutely nothing, and how you as a player can keep plot going after the initial starter is dead in the dust behind you on your little journey, shall we?

When you write a starter, basically you're writing a hook to get someone involved in a situation. You're putting out into the world a question, or something that looks like it needs to be interrupted or acted on, so that other people will interrupt or act on it. So write it from that perspective: what would make you want to engage with a post?

So, pick apart what's important to you to get from a partner. When you roleplay, you look for specific goals, an A to B, essentially. Are you writing this scene in an attempt to explore the character and maybe find out something about their past or reveal a secret? Do you simply want to see how they respond to others? Or do you have a plot in mind? If there's an arc of a story you wanna get through, you're gonna have to nestle your starter securely in a situation that will allow you to forward that plot. See what I mean about it being deeply personal?

For example: If I were playing Tony Stark, and I wanted him to show off a new invention while handling his PTSD, I might drop a starter invoking curiosity. I'd set it up with a scene, probably near his workshop but public enough someone would have a chance to see me. I'd be carrying something remarkable but, questionable. "Did you just see him with a bomb?" This item would effect another character, so it would be rewarding to double check Tony isn't about to wreck your household by blowing it up. Then I'd have an experiment or invention in mind. He's made a robot that goes and grabs bombs, and folds over them to protect the household ala Steve Rogers jumping on a grenade. Mostly to stop Steve doing that shit. Cool, cool. I'll have that in mind when I describe what they find if they call out to him, and he ignores them and keeps bolting, or they follow him to see what's up. Then I can discuss it, and show emotions in my post that lead the other character to ask questions why I made this. Reveal a personal story or anecdote, and eventually get cornered by their curiosity or my loud mouth into joking and revealing some deeply personal trauma. Tada, a starter!

A starter that only works for my goals of exploring Tony's trauma, that only works for Tony Stark, that only works with characters who would see him when he's vulnerable at home with the other Avengers. So it's absolutely personalized and broken for anyone else.

Except, throughout, you can see how I logically broke it down! Here is the hook, here is my character's interests, here is why another person wants to care, here is my goal for the reveal, here's enough plot to feed into the machine to keep them interested, here's how I expect the scene to get to a certain point. It's very loosely put together, because by the end of it I might be looking at their trauma instead if, for instance, the explosion sets off a panic attack. Keeping flexibility helps keep a conversation going.

It also helps to provoke. Prod, ask questions, be curious, or offer something that makes other people want to know more. When you just roleplay hi, how are you, hello, how's the weather that's not a conversation so much as small talk. Which will die out quickly because there's no bonding or true interaction beyond the surface level. Like a geode, a character must be broken to see what shiny things are inside. So find something to crack them open a little, a chip here or there.

Now, if the other person absolutely fucking sucks at prompting you or offering a chance to open up? You may wanna, as a player, screw with the narrative and make for external pressure. Put your character under a deadline, by making them be waiting for something stressful. It makes them try to get things in fast, and they mess up. Maybe have a phone call or something happen, so they have to talk in front of the other character and divulge more than they meant to. You can force things on your character from outside, and it can help keep things going.

Relying entirely on your characters to keep things going is a fool's errand if the characters are not expressive, extroverted, and mouthy. A quiet stern guy who keeps to himself will want to kill a conversation quickly, and it'll drive other players off because they think that's you doing it, not your character. So make sure your narration explains why they're acting like that, and give tips to approach for the other character. Like I said, external forces may be the only way to force someone out of their shell while making sure your RP partner wants to keep digging!

You may have to fudge your character's personality or characterization slightly to get the ball rolling. Don't be afraid to make them slightly OOC if it means opening a door to tons more IC things. What, you've never blurted out something by mistake, or gotten mad and said something you regret because it's not really you? You never lied? Tch! They can fuck up too! Let them! Explore that!

Starters are never gonna be as easy as reading off cards, or having something set-up for you. You're gonna have to look at the setting for your character and see what's important. Are there places people frequent? Are there hobbies your character does that may be interesting? Can you arrive covered in blood because you're an assassin to prompt other people to fret until they realize it's not your blood and you can brag about the kill? Can you do something that seems out of character, but is perfectly normal? Be interesting! be interested in what your partner has to offer too, maybe it's not what you intended but following THEIR plot concepts can be super rewarding too!

So, good luck, and happy roleplaying!

#rpedia #ask rpedia #roleplaying #rph #anonymous #roleplay help #rp tips #starters #roleplay starters #rp starter #how to start a roleplay

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daddycardan · 1 year

Note

hey um i LOVE ur content!! okay so i have a head canon that my freaky children jude and cardan are super into giving each other hickies and jude will try to cover them up as best as she can but fuckin cardan will show them OFF and be like LOOK WHAT MY WIFE DID TO MEEE like if he’s got hickies on his chest u best BELIEVE his shirt will barely be buttoned

i fucking love this idea, sorry it took me so long to write it!

they love giving each other hickeys, for several reasons

first, they are sloppy and hot

second, kissing each other so hard that it causes small-scale internal bleeding and bruises is the type of harm they love to inflict upon each other

third, it leaves a mark

a mark that sends a very clear message to everyone

jude, though she doesn't like to admit, loves marking her territory, and cardan loves being subjected to it

but when it comes to bearing the mark herself, she prefers doing it discreetly

after a particularly hot & heavy night, she makes sure to wear a high-collared dress the next day

she applies a layer of concealer on areas that aren't covered by clothes—her jawline and the base of her ears

cardan frowns at her. "why are you doing this? are you embarrassed of the mark of my lips, my love?"

"no," says jude, a blush creeping across her cheeks, "i just prefer keeping our business to ourselves."

he cackles. "there's nothing about the king and queen's marriage that ought to be concealed from the court. they expect us to produce an heir any day now. surely, a few hickeys won't trigger a scandal."

jude shoots him a sharp look. "are you familiar with the concept of public decency? i hide hickeys just like i wipe your cum off my face: because the sight of it might make someone uncomfortable."

"why bother?" a lazy smile spreads on his face. "i wouldn't mind going into public with my lips drenched in your juices. i would wear you like a jewel."

jude snorts—the fact that he can't lie yet is able to make such a statement is... oddly charming.

and a little concerning.

as the day goes on, jude's attendance is needed at living council meetings, in the court of shadows, and for a brief visit in the tower of forgetting. she keeps busy, as always

cardan holds the front at being picturesquely lazy, as usual

in the evening, when jude returns to the throne room, she finds cardan lounging on his throne, listening to complaints and requests from a queue of courtiers

she makes her way up the dais, and takes a seat on her throne, next to cardan

he leans over and places a soft kiss on jude's neck, while the courtier to continues her long tirade

jude assumes the kiss is just a form of quick greeting

but he continues

his hand reaches over, palm sliding across her abdomen and hips, while his lips leave a trail of increasingly sloppier kisses along her jawline

jude's face hardens, but she doesn't pull away

her gaze fixes on the courtier and she attempts to focus on listening to her long-winded tale about her cursed kelpie, pleading for a solution from the high king

when cardan begins sucking on jude's neck, she finally nudges him away

"cardan, we have a job to do," she whispers.

he acknowledges it with an offended groan

"your story is dull!" he raises his voice at the courtier. "i don't care for your dead kelpie."

"it's not dead, it's cursed," the courtier corrects.

"well, i hope it stays cursed," cardan sneers. "it's the least you deserve for distracting my queen. now, get out of my sight."

the courtier scurries away, and the next one seems hesitant to step forward

"i'm not the one who's distracted!" jude protests in a hushed voice

only now, when she fully turns to face him, does she notice his loose, open collared shirt, which exposes an ungodly amount of hickeys

calling it open collared is a conservative term—it's split open in the middle, almost all the way down to his navel

the small, dark bruises span from his jawline and neck, through his chest, all the way down near his lower abs

jude's cheeks bloom deep red at the sight

anyone who casts their gaze at the high king—and let's be honest, everyone does—can clearly tell that the high queen has been busy with her mouth recently

jude's eyes dart around the room, and she can see several familiar faces

nicasia is feasting at the dinner tables, taryn and the ghost are dancing together, and her knight fand is standing at attention near the dais

"i hope you're happy," she scolds cardan. "i hope it does it for you. displaying yourself for everyone to see. not a decent bone in your body, cardan. you're truly the worst."

"oh, this isn't the worst i can do," he snickers. "i can show you more, my queen."

he stands from the throne, pulls his shirt apart completely, and pushes his pants down his hips, exposing a dangerously low part of his abdomen

"cardan, what are you doing?" she asks, throat gone dry in horror. it isn't hard to imagine that he will shed his pants completely

"look!" he says with a wide smile. he dips the edge of his pants to reveal a hickey there, just near the right side of the base of his cock

jude remembers when she put it there, of course

but now, everyone else in the room will also know

and jude is on the edge of losing her mind

but he looks so proud of himself

he wears those goddamn hickeys like badges of honor

and jude can't help but find it a tiny bit amusing

and finally, her mouth twitches, in what looks like a supressed smile

#jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #jurdan #jurdan hcs #daddycardan headcanons #tfota hcs

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verdemoun · 7 days

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Hiii I wanted to ask what you think happens to Micah in the timewarp au cause modern Micah is such an enigma and it's so funny to me. Do you think he's coping well with modern times? Or does he just respawn and immediately tries robbing a mc Donald's or smth. Could def see him doing Florida man throwing an alligator through a Wendy's window type shit or just being the Wendy's employee getting the alligator thrown at him.

Also speaking of Florida man do you have an idea of what state they live in currently in modern au? (I love hearing peoples takes on where in America they think rdr takes place, especially when they're talking about where they'd be in a modern au)

i am so conflicted because like. gang with memories and knowledge of what happens in the future.

arthur wants to kill micah. yes he's been thriving and has a happy life with hosea and bessie and the boys and being a part of isaac's modern life but imagine the guilt he would feel knowing he was dying anyway but if he'd killed micah in 1899 it would've literally saved lives and it might have meant the bureau never went after john in 1911. the absolute arthur 'blames himself for everything that ever happened' morgan would consider himself personally responsible for every life micah took/destroyed post 1899. and arthur has 8 years to plan. 8 years.

but i did let dutch live so why not micah. gotta give rat bastard man a of love

micah respawned in a denny's parking lot to the sight of arthur morgan with a baseball bat. no context. no understanding what's happening. it's late evening. there's street lights and neon signs and who fucking cares they immediately pick up where they left off in 1899 which is beating the living shit out of one another.

cut to them both bloody and bruised in holding cells at the local jail still hurling insults at each other while hosea is just standing there wondering what the actual hell he is meant to do.

said incident immediately landed micah on a list of people not allowed to be sold guns and it is like neutering a feral dog. the first time micah cries in his life is at a walmart being told he isn't able to buy a gun. even if the gang want nothing to do with him like they are getting a phone call sorry to interrupt your evening sir but there's an adult man throwing a tantrum on the floor

the gang are forced to admit it isn't morally correct to a) let micah loose unsupervised in modern era or b) leave him to fend for himself and die. micah ends up living in a trailer park. he embraces redneck culture. he eats so much fast food the servers will call for a welfare check if they haven't seen him in more than three days. he gets a job at a paintball center because damnit if he can't have a gun he will have gun-adjacent. he is the conservative dad-bod southern hick hero of teenage boys everywhere

what's really funny is isaac morgan's best friend (other than jack, obviously) is malachi bell who is a direct descendant of amos bell. because he has known isaac since elementary school: and young isaac did not understand his experiences of being murdered and reawakening in modern era were not universal: kai is fully aware of how the timewarp works ie sometimes he goes with isaac to visit grandpop hosea and there will be a very confused freshly warped outlaw sitting on the couch. the fucking phone call of 'hey remember how my family was super weird around you at the start because you look scarily like your grand uncle who kind of killed my dad and was murdered by my uncle GUESS WHO JUST TURNED UP'

micah is the best terrible uncle a kid could ask for and is honestly super attached to kai even though kai is his polar opposite in every way out of spite. kai goes to micah's trailer for dinner. says he's vegetarian. goes again and micah went through the effort of getting tofu. says he's allergic to soy. inherited all the bell snark and none of the tendency towards evil

micah and arthur in a fistfight at a barbeque while kai and isaac are both just standing there 'i'm sorry about my family'

an underappreciated micah fact is how much he cared about baylock. he would get the exact same level of giddy as the rest of the gang being around horses in modern era. while living in a trailer is not ideal for having a horse he does have a massive black 'looks like he could kill you but is actually a giant cuddle bear' bully-breed dog because as much as he was afraid of dogs (fight me) he is actually more afraid of being alone. his dog eats at the table with him. micah eats mcdonalds while his dog gets lovingly pan-seared steak.

his dog is a kill-shelter rescue named baymax and micah has no idea about disney movies and doesn't understand why people giggle at the name.

to the second point i am not american and have no idea wheeze but i think texas?? texas is where most people seem to think new austin is based on?? in rdr terms they're probably on the northern side of modern day blackwater like there's the bay to the east, mountains to the north and desert to the west. pls if there are any americans what fast food place would micah bell III dedicate his life to and what state should they be in

#rdr2 timewarp au #micah bell

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caltropspress · 2 months

Text

RAPS + CRAFTS #22: shemar

1. Introduce yourself. Past projects? Current projects?

Yo, I’m shemar. I rap and produce under my given name. I prefer to be referenced in all lowercase (the “bell hooks” reasoning, all love if you don’t / forget to). I released my first EP sound of summer burning the body in September 2022. Since then, I’ve dropped one album (obtuse ways to say that i love you, November 2023) and a couple EPs. My most recent release is sunscreen, fully produced by the immensely talented Child Actor. I consider that EP the end of my rookie “year” as a rapper. I’m currently working on two rap albums. One is produced by Outside House and the other produced by bloomcycle. Don’t expect them anytime soon. A lot of my producer work should be releasing this year, including an album with fox, an album with baegull, a lot of songs with money for water, and wherever else the wind takes me! I hope to loosen up some while finishing all these joints. Maybe drop raps here and there, a beat tape, whatever else. I hope to be more publicly present for a majority of the year, but nothing grand, ya know?

2. Where do you write? Do you have a routine time you write? Do you discipline yourself, or just let the words come when they will? Do you typically write on a daily basis?

I tend to solidify my ideas at home. Lines come to me pretty frequently, but organizing those lines is a super mood based thing. There are times where I’ll draft up at least a verse a week for months, and there are times where I’m in an organization drought. I’ve been writing heavily for seven years at this point, and have moved on from the fear of “losing the magic” recently. It’s less that I don’t think I can lose it. I think, if I do “lose the magic,” then it’ll come back when it’s ready or I’ve done everything I can in this medium. It is what it is. I deeply admire those who have a consistent, disciplined writing schedule. That’s just not me at the moment.

3. What’s your medium—pen and paper, laptop, on your phone? Or do you compose a verse in your head and keep it there until it’s time to record?

My process bounces between my Notes app and a notebook. When I come up with lines, they stay in my phone. I have a “Poem Thoughts” note on my phone just for this purpose. My notebook comes in once I’m ready to organize those lines into a larger idea. Once I have that solid first draft, I bounce it onto my phone. From there, I might make little edits on my phone as I memorize the verse for recording. The written word is most important to me, but I care a lot about how it feels coming off my tongue. A lot of my smaller edits are just to make the verse easier to one-take. I appreciate having my solidified ideas in two places because if something happens to one tool, I can still refer to the other. I almost lost an older verse from not following this process, so I’m very particular about it.

4. Do you write in bars, or is it more disorganized than that?

I think I write in a pretty disorganized manner. My biggest rapper fear is someone I admire asking for a feature and being like, “Give me a 16,” or whatever. I can count bars; I never think about it when I’m writing though. If anything, I care more about how much time my writing takes up. I don’t really like taking up space, so my verses/songs are usually shorter to reflect that. I could never see myself having a solo song that hits four minutes, or an album that hits 40 minutes. It’s just not me at the moment.

5. How long into writing a verse or a song do you know it’s not working out the way you had in mind? Do you trash the material forever, or do you keep the discarded material to be reworked later?

It’s all in the feeling for me. Each step in my process has a moment where I can discard what doesn’t “feel right.” Sometimes when I’m in an organization drought, it might be because I’m overwhelmed by the quantity of loose lines in my “Poem Thoughts” note. So I’ll just delete the whole note and start over. The lines that are meant to be will stay with me. I practice rapping each line while I’m organizing. If anything feels wrong I just scrap it, be it an individual line or a whole verse. Earlier on into rapping, if a song got a demo that solidified, it’ll come out. Lately I’ve gotten comfortable scrapping demos, usually because I find a better beat for what I’m trying to say / how the idea needs to be presented. My favorite example of this at the moment is this song (unreleased) I have called "whomp’s fortress." The original demo was on a very different beat, a dope one still, but I’m much more comfortable with/confident in the current version. I’m very adamant that everything comes together how it’s supposed to. That keeps me from being scared about reconstructing an idea.

6. Have you engaged with any other type of writing, whether presently or in the past? Fiction? Poetry? Playwriting? If so, how has that mode influenced your songwriting?

I’ve always wanted to be a writer. When I was a kid, I wanted to write sprawling YA novels akin to Percy Jackson. Those never got past a few chapters at most, but I would envision the plots from beginning to end every single night. I started writing poetry in early high school, honestly because I wanted to be a rapper. I fucking sucked at rapping, so I thought focusing on poetry would help me become a decent rapper. I took a hella long route but I guess I was right in the end, huh?

I have many poems that I’m still proud of, and occasionally incorporate lines from them into my verses. The self-plagiarism is personal. I like the idea of treating my older self with the same reverence I give my other influences (Amiri Baraka, Henry Dumas, etc.). When I wrote poems, I was very focused on making every sentence hit. I don’t like being stripped from the full context, but if someone is gonna do it might as well make the line hard as fuck ya know? It was to the point where my poems just became bricks of text. Hearing Fred Moten’s work at a poetry festival put that idea into my head, and I just ran with it. I think that writing philosophy is still foundational to what I do now.

7. How much editing do you do after initially writing a verse/song? Do you labor over verses, working on them over a long period of time, or do you start and finish a piece in a quick burst?

After that initial draft, I spend a lot of time reflecting on my verses. I usually know what each individual line means, but I rarely grasp the personal depth of my verses until I really sit with them. I might make little changes to a verse to better emphasize certain ideas that feel urgent. I also consider my audience during editing, something I never do during earlier parts of the process. I’m not necessarily interested in being understood, but I don’t wanna be misunderstood either.

I consider unlearning a very urgent process. One major aspect of unlearning, in my opinion, entails being aware of possible violence you could be perpetuating, even in something as “small” as a word. I’m always striving to present an honest version of myself, good or bad. Simultaneously, I fucking hate those who say personal things / mistakes just for the shock value. Oftentimes shock value is just an excuse to spew reactionary bullshit. I don’t ever want my work to be reduced to that. I deeply admire artists like billy woods and Fatboi Sharif, who have really mastered shock value that isn’t regressive as fuck. All and all, when it comes to editing I try not to get in my own way.

8. Do you write to a beat, or do you adjust and tweak lyrics to fit a beat?

It’s rare that I come up with lines while listening to a beat, but I always work with a beat when I’m organizing lines. Even if the lines don’t end up on that beat, just having a backdrop to hear how the words fall is so helpful to getting that solid draft.

9. What dictates the direction of your lyrics? Are you led by an idea or topic you have in mind beforehand? Is it stream-of-consciousness? Is what you come up with determined by the constraint of the rhymes?

My lyrics are super stream-of-consciousness, a byproduct of my process. I take from my experiences with the world with the intention to reflect and learn.

Not gonna lie, I don’t care about rhyming at all, as blasphemous as that feels to say. I obviously try to do it, but I prioritize getting my shit off. There are times where I just won’t rhyme. I’m not particularly proud or disappointed about the fact. Sometimes shit just happens that way. I think as I’ve become more comfortable with / better at rapping, I’m finding those pockets where I can say exactly what I want while rhyming. It’s a cool feeling. I will always prioritize saying what feels right though, rhyming or not.

10. Do you like to experiment with different forms and rhyme schemes, or do you keep your bars free and flexible?

I used to be extremely one-track minded regarding how I rapped, but I’ve been opening up to trying more. One of my homies, baegull, has been a huge reason for this. He has a clear style, but I don’t know anyone who’s so open to molding the way they rap like him. It’s quickly becoming his biggest strength.

Recently, I’ve been focused on rapping a little slower. I think there’s always an urgency in what I write, but I’m interested in articulating that feeling differently. I don’t think I rap fast per se, but I’ve been told that all the words can be overwhelming at times. Once I start, I don’t really stop until the song is over. I enjoy that about my work a lot; it’s the style built from my work as a poet. I’ll never let go of it. Still, I’m experimenting with letting lines breathe a tiny bit more, putting heavy emphasis on certain words through my delivery alone.

11. What’s a verse you’re particularly proud of, one where you met the vision for what you desire to do with your lyrics?

"skytrain! skytrain!" captures who I am in a way no song has. I really feel it’s my best song so far. It’s genuinely difficult to describe how “me” that song is without saying “just talk to me then listen to the song,” but that’s really it. This song is a collage of people and events from my life, and even beyond it: writing during D.E.A.R time in 1st grade, visiting my grandfather in Alabama during late elementary, and references to friends from high school / early college, and more; all written under land that existed in my family long before I did. I was also just going dummy all through this song. Some of these lines are so fucking nuts, in my opinion. If you (the reader) have not listened to me before, I’d suggest that song to start (and then the rest of the EP, please and thank you).

12. Can you pick a favorite bar of yours and describe the genesis of it?

A portion from "if you can read this (morning breath)," the sixth track on obtuse ways to say that i love you:

useda watch sun and moon play favorites now resort to tentative hope uncertainty, comfortable place could never claim clairvoyance my portion of love freedom rooted

This was the first song that I intentionally wrote for that project (I wrote "speakeasy" a couple months prior). I’d consider it the closest thing to a title track for the album. I spent a lot of that time reflecting on how I love and why. I think the track as a whole, but especially these lines, captured it extremely well. I really appreciate how I used the image of the ever-present sun / moon in the sky, specifically how it seems like they’re always following us, as a representation for childhood. Like just the genuine main character syndrome we all had as kids, ya know? At those times, everything literally orbited around us. Of course that’s something to outgrow, but I also feel there’s some wholesomeness in being able to boldly claim, “I matter, I’m important.” It’s a very different feeling from the “tentative hope” that I live with now. But uncertainty has become a beautiful, comfortable place for me. The last line explains why, because my portion of love is freedom rooted. I’m uninterested in ownership, being followed, anyone’s world orbiting around me. Traditional ideas about romance haven’t served me well. Real rigid traditions aren't for me at all honestly. Who I love, when I love them, how I love them, and why, is not something I will ever apologize for. I can only hope I’m accepted for it. I think I captured that in a cool way here.

13. Do you feel strongly one way or another about punch-ins? Will you whittle a bar down in order to account for breath control, or are you comfortable punching-in so you don’t have to sacrifice any words?

I don’t punch-in. I need to be able to do a verse from top to bottom, and I write so I can do so. It’s less a beef regarding punch-ins and more just a personal desire. I love performing my raps, so when I write/record I think about the performance a lot. Usually I perform my songs slightly differently from the recording, but I love having the “one take” energy.

14. What non-hiphop material do you turn to for inspiration? What non-music has influenced your work recently?

Interviews. I love interviews so much. I read them all the time. Listen to podcasts all the time. I love hearing other artists’ perspectives. There are artists who I’ve grown to love off of listening to their music with insight they gave in an interview. I think this underground “scene” has so many platforms with consistent in-depth interviews / music discussions. I’m immensely grateful. Love to The Rap Music Plug Podcast, Freemusicempire, Call Out Culture, The Next Movement, CineMasai with Reel Notes, literally Caltrops Press. I could go on and on. There's so many. My first interview was with my homie kiluhmanjaro for his platform: ANTII, and I know his goal is to have interviews on this level. We’re blessed in my opinion.

Lately, I’ve been tapping into a lot of movies. My goal is at least one new movie a week. I saw Mo’ Better Blues for the first time at the end of last year and that fucked me up. It was so good. I’ve been obsessed with this movie for years, Monologue, directed by Adoor Gopalakrishnan. I don’t even know why I enjoy it so much, but it’s just so moving.

There’s this book, Against the Loveless World by Palestinian-American writer Susan Abulhawa. It felt like I was a kid again the first time I read through it. I finished it in like three days. Such an amazing read on a variety of levels. This book had a huge influence on my upcoming work with Outside House.

15. Writers are often saddled with self-doubt. Do you struggle to like your own shit, or does it all sound dope to you?

I’ve definitely become more confident in my art. Everything I’ve done since I finished writing obtuse ways… in Spring of 2023 is at least pretty good. I trust my ability to write more than anything. When my gut says a line is good, then it’s good. Writing alone is easy. Rap is much more than writing though. I can be hypercritical of my pronunciation while rapping. Sometimes I get super into it and listening back there are moments that to me sound like syllables kinda just crashed together. I’m also aware that’s kinda just how I talk though. Despite this, I know when I have the right take. It’s a gut feeling, and my gut is the biggest reason I am where I am right now (maybe getting a better mic helped a bit too).

When I don’t trust myself I go to my friends, be it the ones who I make music with or those who aren’t as focused on music. My art would not be able to exist without community.

16. Who’s a rapper you listen to with such a distinguishable style that you need to resist the urge to imitate them?

ELUCID is my favorite rapper. I think it’s mad obvious he’s my favorite rapper. I’m genuinely struggling to write more, because I think listening to his music speaks for itself. Go listen to "Betamax," or "strength is admired humanity is denied," or "House Keys." I could go on, and don’t even get me started on Armand Hammer verses or insane features he’s done. What rapper wouldn’t want to be on this level? I’m grateful I’ve developed a strong sense of self because if not, I don’t know man. Fuck just living rent free, ELUCID has a city’s worth of mantras in my head. I admire what he does so much.

17. Do you have an agenda as an artist? Are there overarching concerns you want to communicate to the listener?

I hope my art communicates the main thing I want: liberation for all marginalized people. Especially Black people. That’s the throughline between every syllable. I also work my art to accurately capture who I am as a person. If the listener gets it, they do. If not, so be it. I’m not perfect, and I hope I never am. I hope to be able to learn from the world up to the moment I leave it, and my art is the best means for that.

RAPS + CRAFTS is a series of questions posed to rappers about their craft and process. It is designed to give respect and credit to their engagement with the art of songwriting. The format is inspired, in part, by Rob McLennan’s 12 or 20 interview series.

Photo credit: Grace Li @graceliphotography

#shemar #underground hip hop #zines

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ghoul-slime · 9 months

Text

Dissolve

Rating: Gen

Word Count: 616

Pairing: Aether/Dew

Tags: Angst, hurt no comfort, major character death (or at least some super vague ideas about ghouls who are sent back to the pit), eventual hurt/comfort in part 2

A/N: Wrote a horrible, angsty little thing instead of cleaning house and preparing for trip to the East Coast for Syracuse ritual. Planning on this being part 1 of an Aether/Dew hurt/comfort thing, but as of this chapter it's all hurt, no comfort, so reader beware.

Read on Tumblr for now, will upload to Ao3 whenever part 2 happens:

Aether carried a torch for Dew until his final moments, until the dark ashen hands reached up from the summoning circle to drag him back into the pit. The last thing Aether sees as he’s pulled under, away from his life topside, away from his home and his pack, is Dew. Aether’s mind is screaming out for him in those final moments. Begging. Please. Look at me. Reach out to me, give me a sign, anything. Anything to know that you might have felt even a fraction of the love I felt for you. What he sees instead is Dew with a pained face, staring at the ground in front of him, leaning closer into Swiss’ side.

Even now, as Aether floats in the dark, cool void of the pit, he feels his memories fading, pulled out of his consciousness to dissolve into the nothingness as he becomes one with the quintessence surrounding him. He sees his most precious memories unspool backwards and unravel far, far away from him. Dissipating into nothing like smoke into the air.

They’re all of Dew.

He sees Dew asleep on the bus from their last tour, head tipped back in his seat and expression soft as he sleeps. Aether wanted to kiss him awake so badly then. He didn’t know it, but that night was the last time they’d ever play guitar together. He sees it all in vivid detail, down to the loose threads of the seat cushions and the rich green of the trees passing by out the window.

And then that memory is no more.

Aether sees before that. It’s summer at the abbey, and all the ghouls are together at the lake. He’s got Dew on his shoulders as they play a game of chicken against Swiss and Rain. They’ve lost every match, but with Dew’s high pitched giggling and his skinny little thighs flexing beneath Aether’s strong hands, Aether thinks, This is where I belong. Holding you up and bathed in your joy, blessed by the holy sound of your laughter.

And then another memory, gone and dissolved into the darkness of space.

Aether sees farther back, to the moment Dew transitioned from water to fire. He remembers Dew in the infirmary, unconscious and sweating, fighting through his body’s changes, delicate skin angry and charred from where the flames burned away his gills and fins. Aether had been so scared then, but Dew was strong. Stronger than anyone Aether had ever known. He’d come so close to telling Dew he loved him then. But when Dew cracked his tired eyes open, all Aether could manage to do was pull him into a tight hug as he choked back tears and hoped Dew felt what he was trying so desperately to say.

And then Aether remembers nothing of it.

Finally, he sees Dew on the day they first met. The day that Dew was summoned by the clergy. Aether sees himself watching the most beautiful ghoul he’d ever seen in his life emerge from the glowing circle of the pit. Delicate and slender with hair so long and platinum it almost shone sliver in the dim light of the abbey. Aether sees himself slack-jawed, hands shaking as he moves to wrap a blanket around the new ghoul. He remembers feeling all the air sucked out of the room as Dew looked up at him for the very first time, with wild, flashing eyes and Aether thinks to himself I can’t wait to devote the rest of my life to the worship of you.

And then, as this last most precious thought is swept away from him, Aether feels himself fade finally into the peace of nothingness.

#aether ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #aether/dew #aether/dewdrop #dewther #ghost band fanfic #forever plagued by angsty aeth/dew thoughts #hoping to finish part 2 before i fly out but who knows!#ghoul-slime fic

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imissthembutitwasntadisaster · 1 year

Note

i just found your blog and i find you super cool but i see that you’re a christian. i personally have nothing against it but from the impression i get as a non American is that christians don’t really support the queer community and stuff so what are your opinions on that??

Well first of all, I'm not American myself so if you're looking for the American approach unfortunately I couldn't give it to you. But the belief I have regarding it is this:

(I'm gonna be using the phrase same-sex attraction in this thing because I'm not comfortable using queer because I myself am pretty sure I'm not, and I don't think I can reclaim it, and gay feels too restrictive if that makes sense? I'm aware it feels like a weirdly clinical term and I'm sorry for that but it's sort of like the clearest term I think I can use? But I'm aware it might be off putting and I'm sorry and these are my reasons for it).

Same-sex attraction is natural, it isn't some weird perversion, it isn't just a form of lust and it isn't something that can be "prayed away" or whatever some people think, conversion therapy is horrific and also fundamentally useless. To treat someone who is same sex-attracted as in any way different or more sinful than the rest of us, or to claim they can't be Christian, is not just cruel, it's actively hateful and wrong. Violence against people for any part of their identity is vile and utterly unsupportable.

In the Bible and thus in Christian faith, there are multiple verses in both old and new testament that indicate that sex between two people of the same sex is wrong. This is one of the many restrictions surrounding sex, which all arise from the same concept - that sex isn't just a physical act, but a spiritual one and as such there are a lot of rules surrounding it (no sex outside of marriage, for example, is equally emphasised). So I suppose we don't support the queer community in that we don't support sex between people of the same sex, but we also don't support a lot of other stuff that I myself as a straight cis woman could engage in and would literally be seen as just as bad.

The problem with this is that a lot of homophobic people in homophobic churches (which tragically do exist and can cause extreme damage and trauma to many people) have twisted this all to mean that "if you're gay you're going to hell." This is inherently wrong not just morally but also from a theological standpoint for a number of reasons. Firstly, that's simply not how hell and heaven work. Within the Christian framework, the idea is that everyone is condemned to hell automatically due to inherent sinfulness arising from original sin, and the only way not to go there is to repent and turn to God. So you can't be going to hell because of one particular thing. Secondly, same-sex attraction isn't a sin, it just isn't! Nothing says it is! It's literally just the act of sleeping together that's frowned upon! And sleeping with someone of the same sex isn't a worse sin than the rest of them, it's not like some special secret evil thing! It's literally not!

Actually, I'm not the expert on this obviously, but over the past few years I've seen the phase Side B be used more and more, which I think is a loose term used by Christians who are same-sex attracted but choose either celibacy or to only marry (and thus sleep with) people of the opposite sex if they're also attracted to them. To me, this sounds like a great trial, and I am always in awe of their strength of faith to do this. If someone who's reading this is Side B please feel free to weigh in on this because you probably know more about it than I do. So yeah, that's a direction that a lot of SSA people in the church take.

Regarding non-Christians, tbh the major thing there is that they're not Christian which is a more overarching issue, so like when I have SSA friends who aren't Christians if I went around like "ooh you shouldn't be sleeping with people of the same sex" that's just like, creepy weird of me? They don't follow the same moral framework that I do. I think they should, I think Christianity is right and I think it is the only path to salvation, but my focus should be on that, rather than on an issue which honestly is not at all the heart of the religion.

(Also to clarify I don't go around preaching to people all the time, I do think evangelising is important but I don't think randomly telling my friends hey you should be christian now all the time is going to actually help at all, it's just going to make them stop being friends).

The fact of it is, there is a lot of homophobia within the church. God is perfect, the people who follow Him or claim to follow Him, often not so much. I mean, even in some of the Christian circles on here people can be horrifying about it, bigoted and cruel and it's disgusting and not right. I am eternally thankful that there does seem to be, at least in Britain where I live, a shift away from it, but I'm also aware that depending on the church a lot more needs to be done, not just in this but in many areas (I mean, I have a friend who was once told her anxiety attacks were possession by a devil, IT'S LITERALLY THE 21ST CENTURY AND SHE WAS TOLD THAT, not to get off topic but there genuinely are many many issues within many churches which really need to be addressed, and thankfully as I said, at least at the churches I know and go to, they are being so).

Ultimately, the core of Christianity is meant to be love. Love doesn't always mean agreeing with people and letting them do anything they want, love can mean correcting people if you think they're doing something wrong, like if your friend were doing something you thought was wrong and there would be significant consequences you'd tell them because you love them, right? And we do believe sins are wrong and do have consequences, and we try to correct our fellow Christians who do wrong when we can without being twats about it, but any correction should be done with love, with the recognition that no one is worse than we are, with the understanding we aren't any better. And if people aren't Christian, randomly insisting they follow individual Christian beliefs rather than attempting to convince them of the actual heart of Christianity (Jesus's death and thus the salvation of all of humanity who turn to God) suggests that people who do it don't actually care about saving or helping people, they just want to prove they're special and above everyone else which is, y'know, unbiblical.

I would argue that thinking same-sex sexual relations are wrong isn't inherently hateful, especially because that belief would never lead me to mistreat another human being. Some people however might disagree, You might even disagree, anon! And that is, of course, perfectly fine and valid. I'm glad I come across as super cool, if my Christian beliefs make you uncomfortable (which I know they can do) to the extent that you don't want to hang around, it's your online experience to curate, I wish you nothing but goodness and happiness. If however, you want to hang around, amazing!!! I hope the new fixations every four weeks where my entire personality changes to center around my new blorbo aren't too distracting.

(Also I am not going to make this rebloggable because I'm on my holidays rn and don't have the energy to face Discourse. Thank you for being polite about this, often people have Not Been and it's a little exhausting, so thanks for being chill in asking! I hope you have a great day, if you celebrate any holidays around now I hope they're wonderful!!! and I hope this makes sense I know it's a bit rambly).

#christianity #faith #it took me like five times to type christianity properly for some reason #oh yeah if anyone's out there and got to the end of this and is like ooh I should send Grace an anon ask #telling her she's wrong for *checks notes* treating human beings who are different from her like people #maybe consider not doing that because tbh it's more disappointing than when I get anon hate from the angry athiests

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shadowzmod · 2 years

Text

The Edge of Oblivion

I'm fairly sure this is actually canon, so enjoy Shadow almost loosing it.

The ARK's Eclipse Cannon was firing straight at Rift-form Super Sonic—not even Chaos Energy now, it was some kind of Illusionary power fueled by both the Phantom Ruby and the Master Emerald, channeling through Shadow's Hyper Form. He'd held on to a brief hope that it might actually do something.

And then, in that flash of a heartbeat, he saw Rift's smile, sickeningly smug, and some part of him knew that it was pointless.

He couldn't win.

He blinked, and suddenly everything was dark. The stars were gone, the ARK had vanished, Rift's form disappearing as everything around him dissolved into a deep black nothingness.

An echo of laughter shivered through Shadow's mind, and he whirled around, “Who's there?” But there was nothing. Just more darkness...

Shaaaadoooow.

He spun around again, and found himself practically nose-to-nose with a smirking vision of Rift. Shadow balled his fists, feeling a growl rising in his chest; he knew this wasn't real, there was no way, so he could spit out the first thing that came into his head, “I would like to throw you out a window.”

“NOOOOO YOU DON'T.” Rift drawled, and Shadow had to bite his tongue to avoid swinging a fist at the illusion.

“Yes. I do.”

“DO YOU REALLY.”

“Yes. That face you just made. It deserves defenestration.”

“WHAAAAAT. NAAAAAH.” Shadow snarled, and Rift grinned, that exact same expression that Shadow had seen on his face in the real world just a moment ago, “I AM JUST SMILING.”

“He is thinking mischievous thoughts...” Another new voice whispered in his head, and Shadow looked to see...one of the Vocaloids? Gumi...that was her name.

“Seems suspect.” Another voice, which sounded like it had been put through an auto-tuner, and Shadow stared to see what appeared to be a miniature green dinosaur, floating and see through and what the hell was his brain even doing to him?

“NOT AT ALLLLLLL,” Rift drifted back; well at least all his delusions could hear each other. That was...something.

And then there was the sound of slightly off-key singing, and Shadow whirled to see...two children, skipping up through the blackness. He knew them. Hansel and Gretel: exactly the way they had been drawn in Maria's storybook when she'd read it to him. He'd always disliked that story, burying his face in Maria's side when they got to the part about the scary witch...and he'd hated the artwork, the children with their smiles slightly too wide for their faces...

“I don't know, guys, he looks friendly,” the boy, Hansel, sing-songed.

“Really? REALLY?” Shadow couldn't help exclaiming. He had no idea what was happening but that seemed like a pretty reasonable reaction to all of it.

Rift turned to the two children, grinning wolfishly, “GIVE ME ALL YOUR ARTIFACTS AND GEMS. I WILL KEEP THEM SAFE.”

“No.” Shadow protested, “that is the worst idea,” but everyone ignored him. Even in his own head people didn't care about him trying to be the sensible one.

The children tilted their heads, perfectly together, and Shadow shuddered as they recited in unison, “We are only 14. We don't have any. But we'd give them to you if we did.”

Rift didn't seem deterred, just reached out to ruffle the boy's hair, “THAT IS OKAY. GO ALONG AND EAT SOME CANDIES.”

Shadow's eyes widened at the implication, and he could feel another snarl building in his chest as the children said, “Thank you.”

Behind him, he heard someone murmur, “Unexpected wholesome Fleetway moment...” and he had to hiss, “No. No it's not. I understand the reference.”

Rift looked back at him, batting his nonexistent eyelashes, “NOOOO. I'M NICE.”

Shadow snorted, folding his arms, “That might be quite literally the biggest lie I have ever heard in my life and that's SAYING something.”

Before he could blink, Rift was back up in his face, but Shadow didn't even flinch, just stared into the whirling purple eyes, “I AM SO FUCKING NICE AND NOT EVIL AT ALL.”

Shadow scoffed, “Sure.”

The little girl spoke up now, her voice slightly petulant, “Yeah Shadow is so mean.”

“Hey,” he glanced over Rift's shoulder for a moment to glare at his own mental delusion, but didn't have long to do so because Rift laughed as he drifted back to float next to the twins.

“I KNOW RIGHT? DUDE'S GOT A STICK UP HIS ASS.”

“Rude.”

“That's a bad word,” the children recited in unison, and Rift gave them a disbelieving look.

“I FEEL LIKE ASS IS LESS BAD THAN FUCK AND YOU DIDN'T MIND THE LATTER.”

Shadow put his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut, “Can you all just get out of my head?”

Apparently the answer was no, because Gumi's voice sounded just as clear as if he hadn't covered his ears at all, “Kids, stop talking to Rift or you're grounded.”

“WOW. LAME.” Shadow cracked open his eyes to see the Vocaloid confronting Rift and the two kids, hands on her hips.

“That is good advice...” he muttered, before closing his eyes again and trying to focus on ridding himself of all of these nightmare fever dreams.

“Laaaame,” the kids whined.

“REALLY GONNA LISTEN TO AN AUTHORITY FIGURE, HUH?”

“I do not need more people destroying the world,” Shadow muttered, half to himself, but even though it was quiet Rift heard, and taunted.

“PLEASE HELP ME DESTROY THE WORLD. I PROMISE I WON'T KILL YOU AFTERWARDS.”

“Do not believe him.” Shadow countered, not even talking to anyone but himself now.

“WHO ARE YOU GONNA LISTEN TO? AUTHORITY FIGURE AND HOT TOPIC. OR ME?”

Shadow had a moment of clarity at the nicknames, and opened his eyes, looking at Rift for a moment. The golden hedgehog's head quills were standing straight out around his head, and Shadow muttered, “Death Star?”

Rift whirled towards him, face crinkling into a frown, “NO. THAT LOOKS LIKE A MOON.”

“It does...” Shadow said slowly, “But I think it fits you.”

“I'M NOT A MOON THOUGH.”

“I don't care. I'm calling you Death Star now.”

Rift seemed to considered this for a moment before he shrugged, “OKAY. AT LEAST IT SOUNDS COOL.”

Shadow exhaled deeply, looking away again, “It makes me feel better about all of this.”

“OKAY SHADS.”

Shadow shot a sharp glare back at Rift, who, of course, just grinned, “WANNA HEAR SOMETHING REALLY COOL.”

His expression as he asked it made Shadow very nervous, as he hesitantly answered, “...I feel like I should say no.”

There was a glittering spark in Rift's eyes, and when he spoke again, it wasn't in the screaming yell that he had used since his transformation, “Maybe you shouldn't. Saying no to things that are unknown may just make things pass you by, and you would never hear or see any of them again.” His voice was softer, with just a hint of laughter bubbling under the surface, almost sounding like...

Sonic.

And there he was. The same Sonic that Shadow had gone to Chili's with, way back before all of this started, standing right in front of Rift with his arms crossed, one brow raised in an expression that was heart-stoppingly familiar, “Y'know?”

“...are you actually...” Shadow balked, taking a step back, actually thrown off for the first time in all of this, despite the weirdness, “N-no. Don't do this again.”

“Again?” Sonic and Rift tilted their heads in sync, and Sonic brushed a finger along his nose in a gesture that made Shadow's heart hurt, “I don't know about a last time. Unless you did that to yourself.”

Shadow didn't have it in him to point out that since this was inside his own head, he was doing it to himself again. Gumi appeared beside him, her voice worried, “Oh crap, he's messing with us.”

Rift grinned behind Sonic's back as the blue hedgehog laughed, “This time it's just me mocking you. Making you see what you'll never get back.” He smiled, and it wasn't Sonic's smile, it was Rift's.

“PRETTY COOL HUH.”

Shadow curled in on himself, wrapping his arms around his chest as he looked down, away from the two hedgehogs in front of him, “No. It's not.”

“IT'S TOTALLY COOL.” Rift's laughter pierced straight through his head, and Shadow tried not to wince, flattening his ears and squeezing his eyes shut. He didn't need this. Not right now. The weirdness he could deal with. This...this was something else.

“...no...”

“Shadow, don't let him get to you...” Gumi's voice was right next to him, but he didn't react as he heard Sonic's voice ask.

“Why not? Should he just remain shut off forever? Maybe it would be best...”

“It worked til now,” Shadow hissed out through gritted teeth, “It is for the best.”

“Uh huh.” Sonic agreed, and Shadow could imagine the expression he was wearing without looking up, “Until you opened up accidentally. Letting your guard down.”

Gumi retaliated on his behalf, her voice shrill, “I MEAN DON'T LET YOU GET INTO HIS HEAD AND MESS WITH HIM, FAKER.” As if they weren't already in his head. Messing with him.

“Tch. So silly.” Sonic said, dismissively, and Rift agreed, “SILLY LITTLE GOOBER.”

“...rude...” Shadow managed to mumble out, still not looking at them. Any of them.

“Shadow...don't let it get to you, please...” And it was Gumi's voice, but it was also Maria's, but it didn't matter because their voices were so much quieter than Rift's screams, or Sonic's taunts...

“Oh that reminds us...” Shadow had forgotten about the creepy children, still standing there and watching him fall apart at the seams, “How did it go last time, Shadow?”

“Didn't you get your heart broken?”

“Didn't you get strung along?”

Shadow took a deep breath, knowing what they were referring to, “...no...” It wasn't entirely a lie. Evil Sonic had never actually made any intentions clear, and Shadow had never felt more than a stupid crush and so his heart was not broken from that. Cracked, maybe. But that was it.

Maybe.

Rift laughed, and Shadow finally looked up again, trying to ignore the fact that his vision was slightly blurry with unshed tears. The scientists who had made him had always been confused by the fact that he could cry. He wasn't supposed to.

“WHAT IS THE POINT ANYMORE EVEN? HAH!”

“What...what do you mean?”

“I MEAN THERE'S SO MUCH DESTROYED ALREADY.”

“I...I have to.”

Rift shrugged, “YOUR FUNERAL.”

“...I know.” He did. He knew what that smile had meant, that started this whole thing. He knew he couldn't win, even with the Ruby and the Emerald fueling him. He'd burned through too much chaos energy too fast.

“...AND YET YOU STILL CONTINUE...” Rift pointed out, his head tilted again in confusion.

“Yes.” Shadow pulled himself up slightly, trying to ignore the fact that it felt like there was a black pit eating him alive from the inside.

“ALMOST ADMIRABLE.”

Shadow would take what he could get, “Thank you, I suppose.”

But that was all he was going to get, because suddenly Hansel and Gretal's voices were twining around his head, pouring through his mind, “Aren't you tiiiiired though?”

“Don'tcha wanna take a break?”

“C'mon Shaaaadow.”

“I can't.” He did his best to push back against their whispers, his efforts weak.

“But then you could see them again.” That was Sonic again. He'd stepped forward, away from Rift, and Shadow could almost have believed that it was actually him, except for the weird purple-red glow to his eyes.

“I...I can't.”

“Isn't it tempting though?” Sonic circled him, as the children's voices continued.

“Iiiisn't it?”

“What's stopping you?”

“Some promise?”

“To someone who's already dead?”

Gumi's voice tried to call over them, but it was so quiet compared to everything else, “Shadow...don't listen to them!”

“You could be with Maria again,” Sonic's voice was right in his ear, and Shadow flinched away, curling up again, “Maybe Sonic will be there soon too. You did your best. That's what matters.”

Shadow grit his teeth, trying to fight back tears, “E-even if I died. I...wouldn't see her again.” Because he knew where Maria had ended up. And he knew where he would be going.

“How do you know?”

He'd forgotten about the ghostly green dinosaur until the auto-tuned voice said, “You don't.” And Sonic agreed, “Precisely.”

The whispers weren't stopping, and Shadow whimpered slightly, sinking into a crouch, “...I'm so tired...” He couldn't help it. It hurt. Everything hurt.

“You can take a break.” Sonic was there, next to him, nuzzling against his side, “Forever.”

“But...I'd be letting everyone down,” Shadow mumbled into his knees.

“There won't be anyone left to let down.”

“That doesn't make me feel better.”

“It's a part of life, Shadow. Better than drawing it out,” he felt the ghost of Sonic's fingertip trace across his shoulder.

“The destruction of the planet?” Shadow snorted, “I doubt it.”

“Literally yeah,” and that sounded so much like something Sonic would say that he winced, burying his face deeper into his arms.

“Why save them Shads?” Gretel whispered.

“They'll die anyway,” Hansel hissed.

“They'll die and you'll keep living.”

“All alone.”

“Don't you want to go alongside them?”

He shuddered, “...I don't...know...” He didn't. He was immortal. He couldn't die. Theoretically. But he didn't want to be alone. Not really. But it was just his lot in life. To be alone. Forever. Always. Eternity.

And Sonic spoke to those exact fears, “You'd outlive them anyway, wouldn't you?” Shadow cracked one eye, peering over at the blue hedgehog sitting next to him. He looked vaguely thoughtful, “That sounds like a sad existence.” As if they were talking about what ice cream to get, rather than whether Shadow should let himself die.

“Yes.” Shadow didn't close his eyes again, but looked down at his feet through the space between his arms and knees, “But I've come to terms with it.”

Have you really?

He didn't even know whose voice that was. Maybe his own.

But Sonic heard it too, “Have you come to terms with it? Or do you begrudgingly accept that you can't change it?”

Shadow picked his head up, looking blearily at Sonic, “How could I know that?”

The blue hedgehog shrugged, stretching his hands behind his head, “You know your own mind best, Shadow.”

He really wasn't sure of that. Since apparently his own mind was dead set on torturing him. And maybe he deserved it.

“You should stop running away from yourself.” The children whispered again.

“It's quite pathetic.”

You must be so tired, Shadow.

He was.

He really, really was. He could feel the chaos energy burning through his body, cannibalizing itself, eating through his very life force. How much longer could he keep this up?

“...I am...” he sighed, resting his head fully on his arms again, one tear trickling down his cheek. He kept his half-lidded eyes on Sonic this time, “So...very...tired...”

But no. He had to...he had...there was something...”But...I can't...” he tried to move his head, but it felt so nice to just rest here, in the dark, with Sonic, “I have to keep trying...I have to...”

Did he? What did he have to do? If he just succumbed to the voices, he could rest, finally; he could stop the fight that had continued for...he didn't even know how long, time didn't really have a meaning right now. He could just...stop...it would be so easy. His eyes fluttered, and he knew that if he closed them now, it would. It would just...be over.

“That's why i always b̵̾̅ë̶́͑l̴͎̎ḯ̵̋ḛ̸̍v̵̀̃e̷̊̚d̴͆̓ ̷̍̀i̴̎̕ǹ̴͋ ̴̛̑y̷͝͠ǒ̴̿ú̵̕ should give up.”

Shadow's ear flicked, and he blinked, slowly picking up his head, “...Sonic?”

“Sonic is gone.” Red-purple eyes stared back at him, and Shadow wondered if he was, literally, loosing his mind.

“I MADE SURE OF IT.” Rift finally spoke, for the first time in a long while, looming over them, but Shadow kept staring at the image of Sonic.

“Are you loosing it Shads?” The blue hedgehog tilted his head quizzically.

Shadow wasn't sure why he answered, “I...I don't even know anymore...”

Can you even trust yourself to know?

Probably not.

Sonic grinned, “Don't think you can k̷̽͛ė̵̛e̶̒̂p̶̋́ ̸̈͐g̷̛͝ö̵́̚i̵̇̋n̷̄̈́g̷̈́̕ anymore?”

Shadow furrowed his brow, trying to latch on to reasons, words “I...even if I can't...I still have to.”

Do you? The voice sounded more desperate now, Do you really have to do anything? Don't you just want it all to stop?

The children echoed, “You don't have to do anything!”

“You're your own person!”

“Why don't you do what you want to do?”

But Shadow kept his eyes firmly fixed on Sonic's. Because he'd seen the flash of green there, the quickest flicker, so fast that if he had been a normal hedgehog there was no way he could have noticed, “I WANT the world to be safe. I want the fight and the destruction and the pain to end.”

“Why, though? There will be nobody i̵͚̔'̴̇̊m̵̃̽ ̷͆͝c̴̽͝o̸̽̀u̸͂͐n̷͐̽ẗ̶͘i̷͑͛n̴̈́ͅg̴̈́̅ ̶̿͆o̸̹̅n̷̎́ ̸̌͂ŷ̵͛ö̸͖ù̶́,̶̿͒ ̵̔̚p̸̈́̀â̶͐l̶̓̇ left soon anyway.”

There's no reason to bother...

But Shadow's eyes were shining now, and he reached out to rest one hand on top of Sonic's, his voice very quiet, “...There will always be you. Even if everyone else is gone, I can still try to save you.”

His mind filled with static, and he could hear Rift crying in the background, “HEY UH WHAT'S...”

And Sonic's eyes were definitely green, and his smile was his own, “i̸̾́ ̴̿̀d̵̈́͋o̴̾͋n̵̂͝'̸̌͝t̶̋͂ ̶͗̆k̵̊͂n̶͑̀ơ̸͑w̴̎͂ ̸̬͌a̴̿̆b̴̑͠o̸͘͠u̶͐̿t̶͑͒ ̴̽̈́m̶͑̈́e̸͚͑ ̸̓̔b̴̨͝ǘ̸͝t̸͆̀.̸̈́͌.̴̄̕.̶̐̊ ̴́̐y̸͊̌o̶̍͛ū̵̓'̶͂́r̷̔̑e̷̯̿ ̴̇̏p̵̓̀r̷͋̽ó̴͒b̴̔̒a̷͐̊b̴́̇l̸̏̚ỹ̷͝ ̸̼̂g̴̒̈́o̴̪͌o̸͂̌d̴́͝ ̴̍enough to take my spot.”

“I never could.” Shadow smiled softly, “We'll just both have to keep fighting until we win. You have to come back to be the hero. To be my hero.”

And then Sonic was gone, and Rift was there, stumbling back, “HUH?”

Shadow slowly stood, facing him, and folded his arms, leveling a calm, steady look at the golden hedgehog, “I have to keep fighting.”

Rift shook his head, looking around at the other specters that were still taking up Shadow's mindscape, “I DIDN'T???? DID YOU GUYS JUST GET A REALLY BAD RINGING IN YOUR EARS???? HEY YO, WHAT DID I DO ASSHOLES.”

The other shades shrugged, even as they started fading, but Shadow replied, his voice soft, “I heard it.” Rift stared at him, as Shadow repeated, “I heard it. And I know what it means. I will find a way to beat you. I have to, for everyone. So I will. Now get THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD.”

And they were gone. Shadow was back in space, the Eclipse Cannon still barreling towards Rift's grinning form...but despite the smug look on his enemy's face, Shadow was full of determination to win this fight. No matter what.

#heritage blogs cinematic universe #shadow has a bad time #Rift is an asshole #but we knew that already

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sailorblossoms · 2 years

Text

I woke up this morning with this fic in mind: a non-explicit yet angsty look at how bad Simon and Agatha's first time was for both of them, from her POV. I don't ever want to explore this from Simon's POV tbh (too much!) and Agatha's voice comes easier to me (as someone who remembers being a depressed, emotionally-detached teenage jerk too lol). I want to share it here because it's short, and I don't super like the idea of this being my only published fic in ao3 for this fandom.

I do have a snowbaz AU fic "in the works" (very loosely based on the princess bride, with Baz as princess buttercup, Lamb as the Evil King who wants to marry him while planning a little murder, Simon as the hero, Agatha as a shapeshifting leopard, Penny has a crystal ball, and Shepard is just very excited to be here). I'm not planning this to be particularly long, but I'm also not sure I'll finish it, to be honest. The first paragraph is practically the same as the introduction in the movie, and it deviates more strongly from there.

Baz was raised by a wealthy family in the strangely gothic Pitch Manor. His favorite pastimes were reading and tormenting the golden boy who worked in the local bakery. His name was Simon, but he never called him that. Nothing gave Baz as much pleasure as ordering Simon around, purposely stalling–he often changed his mind just when Simon was about to charge him. Most of all, he enjoyed watching his ordinary blue eyes flash while his annoyance colored his lovely, freckled cheeks.

Anyway, fic under the cut

My thighs are burning. I choose to focus on that, instead of everything else. It’s the most familiar discomfort right now–years of horse riding has made me no stranger to soreness in my legs, in my lower back, in my hips. It’s normal for the body to hurt, when you put it through something it’s completely unused to. I’ve heard that with guitar players, their fingers really hurt when they just get started. But they push through the pain, they keep practicing until it doesn't hurt anymore. Until the skin in their fingertips hardens, until playing becomes so much easier. I think they might have that in common with violin players, or to anyone who plays a string instrument. It hurts, but when they play, the sound is so beautiful. I’ve hear that sound in Watford, a sad sound, but soul stirring. Feeling pain is much better than feeling nothing at all, I think. I picture myself riding my horse, pushing through the pain while I get better and better. Until it becomes freer–the wind, the height, the speed making me feel like I’m on top of the world. I love that feeling. It’s a thrill unlike anything else.

I push through now, through the pain. It’ll get better and better, I say to myself. I keep hoping for that thrill that never comes. I push through, and then I’m wincing, a particularly sharp pain–like being stabbed with a needle–makes me stop for a second. Just a second. I think about moving again, but something is wrong. It’s too silent. How long has it been silent? Is it only silent now? Or has it been silent for a while, my head so far away that I didn’t notice?

I open my eyes. I look down, and my blood turns cold. He’s pale. He’s very, very pale. His eyes are glassy, the shades of blue like ice. Suddenly I’m reminded of a much younger Simon, scrawny and shaky, coming back from a mission with his body covered in blood. So much blood. I remember fighting really hard against the urge to puke, while my mind keep screaming what the hell?! whose blood is that?! He had a look in his eyes then, one that made me wonder if he’s really here, if he really came back. It took hours for him to look normal again, for him to give us that boyish grin–as if nothing was fucking wrong. He has that look in his eyes again. Like he’s not here at all. I have stopped moving. I get off him, trying to ignore the coldness. He’s not reacting.

“Simon?” I try. I touch his arm, I try to shake him, but he’s not fucking reacting at all.

Fuck. I really don’t want to touch him again. I thought he was just nervous, who wouldn’t be? I thought I was ready. He said yes when I asked him, but he’s always saying yes, isn’t he? If I asked him to jump through the window, he would fucking jump. I thought I had this. I’ve done my research. It’s all Mindy would take about lately, I thought I had enough tips. I thought I could calm him down, rubbing his arms and kissing his chest. He didn’t really touch me much, but that was fine. I didn’t really want to touch him much either. It was all so mechanical, figuring out how to get it done, but I thought that was fine too. That it was something you tolerate before you can get on to the main event–when you’re supposed to feel all the sparks, when you’re supposed to see the stars or something.

My eyes are burning. Shit.

I squeeze one of his hands, hard. I’m louder this time, and my voice sounds firm. “Simon”

Finally, he looks at me. He looks disoriented. It takes a couple of seconds for him to say anything. “Did you– did we–”

“It was fine” I cut him off. I’m not holding his hand anymore. “It’s fine”

It’s not fucking fine. But I don’t want to tell him that. I don’t want him to feel bad. I don’t want him to shut down again.

“It was fine” he repeats, unsure.

“Yeah. It’s ok, first times are like this” Like hell.

I can’t be here anymore. Suddenly, I need to get as far away from him as humanly possible. I can’t bear to look at him. I explain that I need to pee and take a shower. He understands. As I walk away from him (I have to force myself not to run) I tell him to get some sleep. I don’t look back.

When I’m in the bathroom, I take off my bra, feeling ridiculous. I’m not sure why I didn’t want to take it off before, why it felt wrong. It’s fine if my boyfriend can see my pussy, but I draw the line at having him look at my bouncing tits? I scoff. Except he wasn’t really looking, wasn’t he. I step under the shower, hoping the scalding water can chase away the coldness in my chest, the pit in my stomach. Suddenly, I’m angry at him. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Doesn’t he like me? Doesn’t he think I’m beautiful?

He’s always told me that, how pretty I am. Like I’m the queen and he’s my own portable fucking magical mirror, always ready to tell me I’m the fairest in the land. Goddamn it, why am I picturing myself as an evil queen now? This isn’t my fault. I didn’t mean to hurt him. Shit. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Aren’t boys supposed to want this? Isn’t this supposed to be the one thing they all want the most? The thing they can’t stop thinking about, the thing that renders them all stupid? Mindy’s boyfriend was so enthusiastic, she said. She didn’t even had to do much, he took care of her. He made her see stars and all that crap.

I never looked at Simon and thought that I wanted more. When we kissed, it never felt like it could lead to something else. It never felt like much, really. Pulling away was always so quick, so easy. He has never tried anything with me. Never pushed for me. His touch has never wandered. It has never lingered. All that was fine with me, but he’s still a boy, isn’t he? I’ve gotten tired of the nothingness. I just wanted to see stars. I wanted to feel something, for once.

Damn it. My pussy hurts. Sex is so overrated–all those movies can suck it. I don’t think I can do this again…

The next morning, when Simon sees me, he smiles. Like nothing is fucking wrong. I don’t know how he always does it, how he can just go along like absolutely nothing happened, but I don’t want to feel like this anymore. This unwanted. This embarrassed. Like I did something wrong. I was wrong. Feeling nothing is better than this. So I decide to follow his example. I bury these feelings, I push the memory out of my mind. I smile back.

#agatha wellbelove #simon snow #wip wednesday #or whatever lol #fanfic

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stiricidewrites · 3 months

Text

The Damage You Do: ch 18, pt 20

Super long update to finish out the chapter! As this is technically two updates, there will be no update tomorrow. Instead, I'll see you on Saturday for the start of chapter 19, where we get to see where lwj is taking wwx!

CW: more feminization, overstimulation, mild pain play and sadism; near the end, wwx has a brief moment of panic, but nothing serious

Previously

The words shot through wwx, suffusing his body and soul. It was stupid, and a part of him sat in the corner laughing at the absurdity that he liked that. He did like it though—the dirtiness of it, the part of him that had learned to love his tiny dick shuttering at the idea that he was so small he might as well be a girl. There was nothing wrong with being a girl or trans, but he wasn't either, and the embarrassment—the degradation—of being referred to as something he was not, could never be, didn’t want to be—

“Mr. Lan!” wwx cried, arching back as he came, hot liquid splashing across lwj’s pelvis and shirt before he let his weight collapse into the other man as his abrupt orgasm echoed through him, only to gasp and arch back when his dom’s nails dug into his ass again.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the man asked darkly, his other hand tugging wwx roughly away by his hair. “Do you think you are done, when I have not finished?”

wwx shook his head, trying to shake off the floaty, weightlessness of it. “I can’t,” he sniffled. The smallest movement of his body back onto lwj’s dick was sending shocks of overstimulation and searing pain through him. To move with the intention of getting the other man off… “I can’t,” he repeated.

“You can,” lwj assured him, the hand on his ass forcing wwx up, “and you will.” He hummed as wwx cried out, eyes dark and blown out with arousal—or with whatever sadistic thread was now running through him. “You will also mind your manners,” he added, giving wwx’s hair a harsh tug that had him arching back again, nearly toppling over before he fell painfully back onto his dom’s cock.

Had it always been so big? wwx was sure it had been—big and pressing against every part of him. Now, it felt like it was pushing against more, hitting some wall within him that didn’t seem to know if it wanted to be hit or not, and instead sending an odd sensation of the unknown through him.

“I forgave wy at the beginning,” lwj continued, voice even, even as he forced wwx to resume his movements, the hands in his hair and ass a contact push-pull on his body. “Then, you realized your mistake. You were doing well, referring to me properly in the middle—I will not forgive you for slipping so easily again.”

“Y-yes, sir!” wwx cried, perhaps from the sensation, perhaps from being reprimanded for forgetting… again. Fuck, it was so hard. It was all so hard. Moving and remembering and not screaming in pain and—

“Good girl,” lwj crooned and wwx’s cries turned into moans—or something halfway between the two, he wasn’t sure. All wwx knew was he was noisy and broken and everything felt like so, so much. It was too much and not enough. It was messy and sloppy, his thrusts uneven and erratic, every thought of riding lwj well gone from his head and only desperate need for this to end scorching through him, his dom’s hand a tether to reality, a reminder to move, to do better, to—

“Come for me, my little girl,” lwj purred into his ear, and when had he gotten so close? When had the other man let him move back into his arms to instinctually fuck himself on that monstrous, wonderful cock of his, wwx’s own nails digging sharply into lwj’s shoulders in desperate search of more leverage?

wwx wasn’t sure if he screamed when he came again, the world whiting out as he arched back, lwj’s cock pressing just right into him, again and again and lwj was moving him then, like he was just a doll for him to fuck—to do with as he pleased. He shuddered into the sensation, too worn out to feel much more than the slap of lwj’s pelvis against him as the man let loose, fucking and fucking and fucking him.

He might have come again, laying there against his dom, warm and tired and drifting away into sleep, his mouth once again finding its way to lwj’s collar to suck and suck, some long forgotten self-soothing method.

”Stop sucking on your fingers!” someone’s voice snapped in distant memory, and he tried to pull away—to do as he was told. Someone’s hand was holding him still, though, and he couldn’t stop sucking, couldn’t remove the thing in his mouth he was sucking on. He had lost track of what it was, of where, when, who he was, and a shudder of panic shot through him, but then that hand was pressing into him again, his body pressing into warmth and comfort he hadn’t known in so, so long.

“Rest,” that person said, their voice like a beacon home, a path to love and safety. “Rest,” it said again and wwx knew that voice, knew it was lwj—knew it was someone else too, someone he had long forgotten. “Rest,” it whispered, gentle hands pulling the elastic from his hair then running fingers through his perpetually knotted curls. “Rest, A-Ying. We will be home soon,” it assured him, and he let the world fade away.

#fanfic #mdzs fanfiction #wangxian #stiricidesmobji #dark lan zhan

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catherine-the-doll-ballerina · 2 years

Photo

Disclaimer: This one-shot is based off the rumors that Kelso will be a dead beat dad. I have no idea if this true, but for now, I wanted to write this. Enjoy.

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Taking a sip on her cherry cola. Leia was cuddled up next to her boyfriend Jay. The two teens were having their annual movie night. They were watching the “Breakfast Club” for the millionth time.

“My God, are we going to be like our parents?” Andrew whispered.

Jay shifted uncomfortably in his seat, hoping his actions would go unnoticed by Leia. But unfortunately Jay wasn’t that lucky.

“Jay, you alright?” Leia looked at him with slight concern.

“Huh?” startled by her question. “Yeah, I’m fine.” he turned his attention back to the television.

“Oh, come on. Tell me what’s going on in that noggin of yours?” Leia playfully poked at Jay’s head.

“Leia.” Jay groaned. “it’s nothing I swear. Can we please go back to watching the movie?” Jay pleaded, stuffing his face full of the buttery popcorn.

A lightbulb went off in her head. “Do you worry about that?”

“About what?”

“Becoming like your dad?” Leia speculated.

“Yeah. Sort of,” Jay confessed. “I know he’s my dad, But he’s such an asshole. Do you know what it’s like to love, and hate someone at the same time?”

Leia arched single eyebrow. “Is that even possible?”

“Unfortunately for me it is.” Jay threw his head back. “I get it, you get a girl pregnant and it doesn’t work out, fine. But the second women who you marry and have a child with, come on. You should have it together at that point.”

“I wish I could say I understand, but I don’t.” Leia smiled sadly

“Be glad you don’t. Your parents are perfect.” His voice was laced with jealousy.

“Um, they named me Leia. They obviously have a few screws loose.” she reminded her boyfriend.

“Yeah, but your dad never abandoned you, to go off and do god knows what.” Jay pointed out, causing Leia to give a look of sympathy. “My dad could give less of a shit about me and mom. I swear, I could be in the hospital, and he’d find an excuse not to show up.” Jay ranted.

“Okay, you’re right. My dad’s pretty awesome.” Leia acknowledged.

“And he makes these promises.” Jay continues to speak. “But he never comes through. And what’s worse, is that my mom still believes in him. I don’t know how many time she said she’s done with him, and then bam! she goes right back.”

“I’m sorry.” Leia responded, not knowing what else to say.

“I just worry, that I’ll end up like him.” Jay sighed. “I don’t want to end up hurting you.”

“I know what about to tell you, is super cliche but, you have control have your life, and actions. You don’t wanna be like your dad, then don’t.”

“What if...”

“Jay.” Leia interrupted him. “Stop, from the time I’ve known you, you’ve never acted like him.

“Well, I guess that makes me feel better.” Jay replied half heartedly.

“Jay look at me.” She grabs his face. “I know you are. You’re friends know you are, so does your mom. We all think you’re an amazing person. Don’t worry who you might be, worry about who you are now.”

“Jesus, when did you became such a sap.” Jay teased.

“Hey!” Leia slapped his arm. “I’m trying to be nice to you, you asshole.”

“And I appreciate it. But that’s not excuse to get all corny, we’re not on some soap opera.” Jay smirked at his girlfriend, who was currently glaring at him. “Come on, don’t me that look. Let’s get back to the movie.” He kisses her on the nose.”

“Yeah, you’re so not you dad.” She giggles. “Too much of a dork.”

#that 70s show #That 90s Show #Leia Forman #Jay Kelso #michael kelso #jackie burkhart #fanfiction #that 70s show fanfic #fanfic #jackie x kelso

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