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angelofrainfrogs · 3 months

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Going Back: Ch. 12

~Coauthored by @zeitghest~

Fandom(s): Five Nights At Freddy’s: Security Breach

Description: Things are looking up for Gregory. After putting the soul of a formerly-immortal killer to rest, he and his new family can finally begin their lives anew. Sure, Gregory might have been cursed with mysterious Remnant in exchange for being involved in this mess—not to mention his caretakers consist of sentient robots and ghosts… But there’s no doubt that the bond they share is unbreakable. They love him, and he in turn.

All in all, life is finally starting to go right for once.

…Unfortunately, true peace is a hard-won battle. There are other things to contend with besides William’s decrepit soul, and Gregory will learn that his role in the lives of the Aftons and Emilys is far greater than anyone could’ve imagined.

Rating: T

Read on Ao3

The group played for a good few hours, while their counterparts upstairs watched the camera feeds and laughed over good memories of the past. Eventually Henry's smiling face appeared, coupled with a clap of his hands to get everyone's attention.

“Ladies, gentlemen, rabbits and gators, I have an announcement to make!” the old ghost proudly announced, grin straining his cheeks so much they hurt. “We're ready for the final touches on the next android!”

There was a collective gasp from the room, although the Pizzaplex kids didn't quite get the hooplah of Henry's reveal. Freddy and Gregory seemed the most excited, with the former bear clasping his hands in front of his chest as he asked: “The Puppet is ready?!”

“You bet—all we need is Mari herself! Gregory, I'm requesting your help with that one.” Henry winked at the boy, then turned his gaze to the gator. “Actually... Monty, would you mind getting her? I'd send Freddy or Gregory, but it'd be suspicious and I want Mike and Charlie to be surprised!”

“Oh, sure!” Monty agreed, transferring Gregory to his dad's waiting arms. “Just lemme know where to find her, and I'll be back asap!”

After some instructions, Monty was sent to fetch her from the security office. He made sure to keep an eye out for Terry or other intruders along the way, but the only thing detectable moving through the area was Montgomery himself. As he neared the security room, he attracted the attention of the night guard and his current helpers as he passed through the camera feeds.

Puppet seemed more excited than worried as Monty jogged by his lonesome through the otherwise empty corridors. He passed a few powered-down security bots, careful not to bump their sleeping forms as Puppet tapped the glass of the screens to warn the guard of the approaching animatronic.

“Huh—would you look at that... I wonder if something's happening?” Charlie asked aloud. It was clear by Monty's gait that he wasn't in a particular hurry, so Charlie kept her tone optimistic.

Curious, she rose from her cross-legged position on the floor and lazily walked to the magnetized doors. After a quick press of the button, she stuck her head out in the direction she predicted Monty would come rolling on through. When the giant green gator finally came running around the bend, Charlie waved. “Heya, Monty! Where's the party at?”

“Heeeey, Charlie!” Monty drawled, his voice lax and chill as he halted just outside the door. “The party's downstairs; that's actually why I came all the way up here—Puppet, you're requested as a special guest! The kids've been beggin' for ya to come down and play. Nearly drove ol' Fredbear up a wall with all their yammerin'...”

“Wha—and what about us?!” Michael said in mock offense, pressing a hand to his chest. Monty threw his head back in a laugh, then gave a shrug.

“Sorry, Mike—ain't you s'possed to be workin' a little longer, anyway?” Monty questioned with a tilt of his head. According to his internal clock, night shift didn't end for another 47 minutes and 23 seconds. Hopefully that'd be just enough time to get Mari up and running in her new body.

Michael narrowed his eyes, then turned back to the camera feeds with a huff. “Fine. But tell Lizzie and Evan I'm crashing the next one for sure.”

“I'll pass along the message,” Monty snickered, then held out an arm for Puppet. “Here—climb on up and I'll give ya a ride, free of charge!”

Puppet curled her hands to her chest, so touched that the kids wanted her to come to their little party so badly! In no time flat she scaled Montgomery's arm to rest on his shoulders, giving him a squeeze and nuzzling the side of his head in an appreciative gesture. She had no idea that she was the guest of honor, and probably quite late to the shindig. She had an inkling over what this whole thing may be about, though didn't want to jump the gun and get her hopes up...

Charlie reached up and squeezed the Marionette's hand goodbye, but not before pointing a finger at Monty.

“You have her back by sun up, you hear?” she said with a smirk, as if a chiding mother sending her child out in the world with a friend. Puppet gave her hand back after quickly touching it affectionately to her cheek. Then she was fully braced on Monty's back and ready to head off.

In response to Charlie, Monty pulled down his glasses to give her a wink. Once Mari was settled he turned on his heel, tail swaying to and fro to counterbalance as he threw a wave over his shoulder.

“You're gonna be real happy when we get down there, I guarantee it,” the gator murmured once certain he was out of earshot, gently knocking his head against the Puppet's before picking up the pace. His eagerness got them to the basement in record time, only to find the little crowd had split into two groups: Gregory, Freddy, Evan, and Liz were waiting in the workshop proper with Henry, while the rest of the kids were left in the diner under Bonnie's care.

Puppet held on tight to Monty as they ran; heaven forbid she go flying off his shoulder's like a plastic bag caught in the wind. Upon their arrival, all the kids there waiting to greet her with a rousing cheer—all except for Gregory and Freddy... She wondered if they were part of the surprise?

Regardless, Mari was happy to see Henry and happily flung herself off Monty's shoulders into his waiting arms. She gave him the same treatment she gave to Monty when she saw him. Greeting her creator with a squeeze around the shoulders, she could see where Freddy and Gregory were then...

In the back, the charging pod they'd used to trap William was being hooked up to the remote computer set up that Gregory had made. Now, it was being modified. With all its various output chords loaded into the laptop, the other side had one singular cable. There, it led to the delicately framed body of an android girl, her large eyes shut as if she were napping on the ground.

The Puppet was stunned into a frozen position. With her hands now pulled over her mouth, the sight of it finally being done had shocked her. Equally excited and nervous, Mari pulled on Henry's shirt as if needing a lifeline—something to grab onto while she seemed to vibrate in his arms.

After turning to see the arrival of the guest of honor, Gregory waved them over. With the computer in his lap and a victorious smirk on his face, the boy called: “Hey, I've got it figured out! Bring her over!”

Henry chuckled as he gave Puppet a tight squeeze. Though her rudimentary features seemed inexpressive at first glance, somehow the Marionette figured out how to translate her thoughts through gestures alone. However, even that had its limits. But now she'd never have to play charades again after tonight, if she so desired.

“We're going to transfer your AI over just like Gregory did with Freddy,” Henry explained as he carried Puppet over to the hot-wired setup. “Just a few connected wires here and there, a little code run through Gregory's software program, and voila! Hopefully it won't take more than a few minutes, and then you'll have a brand new body to walk and talk with!”

“It is just like going into sleep mode,” Freddy offered with a soft smile, just in case Mari was nervous about the transfer. She seemed more excited than anything, but then again it was hard to tell all the emotions she was hiding under that static mask.

When they reached the designated spot, Henry glanced down at his arguably most prized creation. In a way, he'd be sad to see the lanky Marionette without a consciousness after he'd just fixed her up, but he knew this would be better in the long run. With a raised eyebrow, he asked: “Ready?”

The Puppet waited just a moment. As Henry held her up, she could just barely make out her own reflection in the dark, soot-tinted glass of the charging pod.

Was this really what she wanted?

Looking around, she saw so many friendly faces. And while the Puppet knew she was loved just as she was by everyone around her, she wondered if it would be the same if she wanted to change?

But then Puppet’s gaze fall on the painstakingly pieced together android. With a pixie face and features that reminded her of her favorite human, Puppet felt her heart soar—as if this was who she was all along. Who she was meant to become after her conscious fused with Charlotte's so long ago...

Just when Gregory was about to ask if she was alright to go, the Puppet nodded, helping Henry by grasping the door and heaving the heavy metal slab ajar. Gregory knew to begin the program after Henry lovingly placed her inside. With the press of a few buttons and a rapid-fire typing of a command prompt, Mari was asleep inside the pod before she could really comprehend it. Her music box's key slackened, falling out of her back with a short clatter as her body relaxed into a wireless slump. Everything she was and could grow into was now traveling through the cables and ready to be downloaded into her newest model.

Gregory began to run the program as soon as the download was complete. The computer fan became hot with its CPU usage, and he had to hold the overheating device off his lap to give himself a break from the heat, keeping the laptop from melting in the process as phase two of the transfer begun.

“Okay... ETA is like a minute thirty seconds,” Gregory assured those waiting with baited breath around him.

Many of the kids couldn't hold in their excitement. Watching their friend waking up for the first time in her new body would be the highlight of the week; who could fault them when Liz and Cassidy relaxed knowing the download was going well, and their friend wasn't just lost inside a file somewhere in the old computer?

Then, it begun. A twitch in her hand, and a crinkle of her nose, Mari began to stir as her internal systems booted up. Before she opened her eyes, Mari rubbed at them and stretched her arms high above her head, working out her limbs. Then, straight ahead Mari glanced to the group. Her eyes were large and dark, an echo of Charlie’s yet bigger somehow, searching in the dim workshop and catching its meager light as she looked all around.

Then, she was up like a flash! Running and skipping to meet Henry, the considerably shorter android nearly knocked him over with the force of her hug, unable to stop the weird warm feeling that coated her face. It was tears that ran down her eyes and now stamped the front of Henry's shirt as she embraced him—actual tears, not merely painted onto a jester’s mask.

“Hi, sweetheart!” Henry couldn't help but laugh, the term of endearment slipping out completely of its own accord. She was like Charlie in so many ways, he couldn't help it—he'd designed the Puppet from Charlie's vision, and when fused together they'd been one and the same.

Now separated again, they had their own distinct personalities, although Mari would always have a little bit of Charlie in her... and vice versa. Really, she was just another kid in Henry's ever-growing adoptive family. Now, she had a human body to match!

The old ghost rubbed Mari's back in soothing circles until she finally pulled away, completely ignoring the wet stains on his shirt. He'd shed a tear or two himself, though he was quick to scrub those away before the girl saw lest she start crying anew. Instead he gently cupped her face in his hands, using his thumbs to wipe off the excess liquid from underneath Mari's large eyes. Henry smiled down at her, knowing he'd made the right choices in tweaking what used to be Charlie's predicted elder-teen face that the girl unfortunately never got to experience. If one were to look at his old and new daughters side by side, there'd be no question in anyone's mind that they were sisters.

“How do you feel?!” Henry asked, smiling as he finally released the tiny android.

The room waited with baited breath for Puppet to finally speak after so long. Henry knew what her voice box was supposed to sound like, but that didn't mean it would be exactly as predicted. Freddy's, for instance, had taken on a much deeper timbre than originally programmed to match the human-soul-influenced AI that now controlled his body.

Everyone seemed to be on the edge of their seats as the moment they’d all been waiting for had finally arrived. The former Puppet's eyes crinkled at the edges as she gave Henry a large grin, her voice coming out in note-like chimes to stick with Marionette's wholesome music box aesthetic.

“I'm so happy!”

There was no doubt that Charlie had an impact on the Puppet. While their voices were distinct from one another, she definitely had the same cadence as her ghostly counterpart.

“It's... everything I ever hoped it would be,” Mari admitted with a small sniff. Every feeling and sensation she had was so much more intense than experiencing it in her previous model. No more plush stuffing to mute the faux nerve endings. She turned slightly, wanting to look over the full group with her enhanced vision.

“I have SO much to tell everyone! I-I don't even know where to begin! Golly, I haven't been this wired since the 80s!” she said, bouncing in place with her new, more articulated joints. And then suddenly, she remembered—despite her immense love for those around her, Mari needed her other two favorite people around to celebrate as well.

“Ohmygosh! I need to get Charlie and Mikey! They're going to be so jazzed when they see me!” she buzzed, ready to zip off and rescue them from working the rest of the night.

Henry placed a hand over his heart as he listened to Mari speak. She was absolutely adorable, and he could feel the honesty and happiness in every word of that lilting voice.

“I'm so glad you love it, Mari,” he told her. With another chuckle he thought of Charlie and Mike sitting in a security office, not having the faintest clue about what just transpired below their feet. Rubbing the side of Mari's upper arm affectionately, Henry confirmed: “Bring them down here—I'm sure Sam won't mind if Mike slips out early for such a special occasion.”

Looking over her head, the paternal ghost locked gazes with Freddy and his son. “Fred, Gregory? Mind going with her? It'd be good for Mari to have back-up in case one of them passes out from shock.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Freddy agreed cheerfully, grinning as he helped Gregory to his feet. Approaching the freshly-commissioned android, he held out his elbow for Mari to wrap her arms around if she so desired. “Shall we go?”

Gregory bounded to his feet besides his father, laughing at how fast Mari rushed to cling to him.

“Thank you, Freddy! I'll be back soon, Creator,” she said, waving to Henry and the others as she hugged Freddy's arm. Then she looked to Gregory, smiling kindly an taking his hand in one of hers. She pulled him close and bumped him with her hip in a genial manner. “Gregory... Thank you for your help. You're such a smart kid.”

Without him, who knows when they would’ve figured out how to transfer her! Or if they’d even still be around to do so…

“Say, Gregory?” Mari asked the now flustered boy. “Do you think we should prank them? They won't recognize me! I've always wanted to join in on the pranks, but there's never been a good time...”

Blinking, Gregory couldn't believe that this was the same person that’d been slinking around in that eerie Puppet’s body this whole time. It was funny how used to the masked figure he was. Now that a normal girl was speaking to him, it was like he didn't know how to answer her for a moment.

“Uh… duh! We always look for reasons to prank Mike and Charlie,” he said with a chuckle. He hoped that Mari couldn't recognize his inability to socialize, as she seemed far too happy to notice his sudden awkward disposition.

“I will pointedly look the other way,” Freddy said as they began walking up the winding hallways, expression shifting into a rare grin of what could only be considered wickedness. “That is, unless you would like some help with this particular prank of yours...”

It was all in good fun, and he knew whatever Gregory and Mari planned would only end in happiness and laughter for the group of friends. Besides, earlier that night Freddy had been accused yet again of being too uptight—this was a perfect opportunity to have some genuine fun with the kids he adored so dearly.

Mari held a look of barely contained excitement as she leaned on her friend. Freddy was always so supportive, thought the Puppet. So, together they began their scheming on the way up to the surface of the Pizzaplex…

***

Upstairs, Michael was slumped forward on the security desk, chin resting heavily in one palm as he flicked through camera feeds.

“You know—” he began slowly, gaze shifting to where Charlie was once again seated on the floor. “—I can't believe I'm saying this, but I totally forgot how boring this job could be when nothing's actually happening. Don't get me wrong; I'd take dead silence over killer animatronics any day, but man...” He let out a wistful sigh.

“It’s probably a good thing nothing’s happening though, right?” Charlie asked with a laugh, gently kicking the underside of his chair as she spoke. She’d been laying on the floor, giving herself sun spots in her vision by staring at the fluorescent lights. She craned her head now as Michael spoke to her.

As the camera feeds slowly cycled at Michael’s attentive clicks, one thing soon stood out: a girl, thin and with short, shaggy hair could be spotted in the atrium by the Daycare. She was standing in the middle of the fountain, carelessly splashing away at the water. She even seemed to be collecting the loose change she found in the shallow waters before deciding to climb even higher on the structure towards the roof of the waterfall.

“Uh... who the hell's that?” Mike asked, instantly honing in on the movement. With another sigh, he pushed his chair away from the desk and stood, patting down his security belt in a habit that was still ingrained after all these years. Well, he'd just complained about a lack of action, so this must be the universe's answer.

“Alright, let's go—you're my back-up,” he announced, hoisting Charlie to her feet. He unlocked the security door and began walking swiftly to the atrium, thinking aloud as they went. “Looks like a kid to me—maybe a teenager? Not sure, but whoever it is I don't recognize them...”

Michael grimaced slightly, shooting a look at his more supernaturally-inclined friend over his shoulder. “Think it could be another missing kid that found their way up on their own? This place is locked down tight now…”

“No clue,” Charlie replied with a shrug, a little worried in case a teenager did somehow make her way into currently locked down Pizzaplex. Unless she snuck in the same time as Terry, she could’ve been here even longer. This town had a serious problem with watching where their children were…

It wasn’t a very long trip towards the Daycare. Hiding around the corner, Freddy and Gregory waited in the shadows, occasionally laughing to themselves and quickly shushing the other for fear of being heard by any passing night guards. But it was hard not to laugh! Watching Mari dramatically pick quarters and the occasional half dollar from the fountain like a kid who’s never even seen a penny before had them in stitches. When Marionette saw the guards fast approach from the corner of her eye, she pretended not to notice until Charlie called out at the base of the large water feature.

“Yo, kid! Get down! You’re going to get hurt up there!” she exclaimed, firstly concerned for the severe lack of sense this kid had for standing precariously at the top of the fountain.

To which the kid turned around and asked innocently, “Get down? But all the best coins are up here!”

“Down. Now.” Michael's tone left no room for debate. He clicked on his flashlight to shine it near the girl, careful to avoid her face in case the blinding light knocked her off balance. He placed his other hand on his hip, trying to stand in the most authoritative posture he could. “You see this uniform? I'm security. It's literally my job to make sure troublemakers like you don't knock their heads open falling off fountains. Now please get down so we can call your—wait a fucking second!”

The last past of Michael's speech was breathed out in a hiss, his eyes growing wide as dinner plates. With the flashlight's beam shining a low-light on the girl's face, Michael was able to make out her features—

Features that looked suspiciously similar to his best friend standing at his side.

“Oh my god... No fucking way...” The night guard seemed unable to form full sentences, his mind trying to process who exactly this girl might be. He'd thought Henry still had a few more days to go on his latest android creation, but... perhaps the man turned it into a rush job? Taking a step closer, Michael asked the girl in a hesitant voice: “...Mari?!”

“Oh, Mikey!” tutted the Marionette, pressing her index fingers into her cheeks as she shook her head at him. “You still curse like a sailor!”

She giggled, thinking it was funny how she’d disarmed them both so easily. They way Michael came in and thought he was going to tell her what to do had made a huge grin grow on her face. It warmed her heart too that Michael recognized her, and the girl would bat her heavy eyelashes at the pair.

Besides Mike, Charlie blinked at the sight of her favorite toy now come to life. It was like she was looking into a mirror that sent her about 40 years in the past, and Charlie nearly choked up over it. Mari looked amazing, and she would clamber into the pool of water to help her friend down from the top plateau.

“Mari?! Were you sneaking around on purpose? Oh man—you… You look—” Charlie stuttered, feeling Mari’s heavier body flop into her waiting arms.

“—I look spectacular? Amazing? As cute as a bug’s ear?” Mari said, knowing she did indeed look like her best friend. She was glad she got to copy her, as Mari thought Charlie was the best girl in the whole world and wanted nothing more than to emulate everything good she saw in her.

Freddy decided it was finally safe for he and Gregory to emerge. Leading his son by the hand, the pair stepped out of their hidden corner and walked over to the fountain.

“I see you found our friend!” Freddy called up to them, and Michael whipped his head around at the voice. With a raised eyebrow, the ursine man added: “I heard you by the way, Michael.”

“Aw, come on—you can't fault me for that!” Michael groaned. “I didn't know Gregory was around!”

Never mind the fact that if Mari had been just some random kid, they'd been subjected to a firsthand dose of Michael Afton's sailor mouth. To distract from being chewed out by the bear, Michael pulled the Puppet close to press his cheek against hers, making her face Freddy as well.

“Anyway—look! Henry outdid himself again.” A slight pause, where Michael's lips twisted downwards. “Wait... you were in on this, weren't you?”

“We didn’t expect you to recognize her so fast!” Gregory replied, wanting to stretch out the joke for as long as possible. “Oh man, Mike! You looked piss—angry! You looked so mad!” Gregory raved, nearly slipping up and cursing in front of his dad in the process.

Charlie squeezed the former Puppet, pulling her back as she found Michael bogarting the mini-version of herself. “Who wouldn’t recognize her? It’s obviously Mari!”

Suddenly being held up by the underarms like the doll she used to be, Mari found herself heating up in the face. She wasn’t used to the attention, usually taking to quietly soak in the parties and get-togethers in the background. Now that she was the center of the everything, she had the sweetest little smile and sparkles in her eyes at all the positive focus on her.

Freddy ruffled Gregory’s hair a bit more harshly than usual, but that was the only consequence the boy received for the near-curse. It was too joyous of an occasion for Freddy to worry about his son almost taking after his big brother’s potty-mouth.

“The others are all waiting for us downstairs,” he announced, releasing Gregory’s hand to move closer to the fountain. “Mari was so excited to get you two in on the fun that we did not have time to properly celebrate!”

“Oh, well that’s no good.” Michael shook of his head, then proceeded to yoink Puppet out of Charlie’s grasp and carry her down the fountain, cautious of her dangling feet just above the water. Once clear of the puddles Michael set the girl on solid ground, then pulled out his phone. To his relief it was 5:56, so he didn’t feel bad about technically skipping out on his night guard duties early. Still, he sent Sam a private text reading:

Ur dad got Puppet into her new android!! We’re going to the basement to hang out; sorry to cut out 4 minutes early lol… coast has been clear all night since we last talked. How’s Chica?

While Michael typed, Freddy used his tall stature to help Charlie down from the fountain, giving her an amiable side hug afterwards. She and the Puppet’s happiness had always been infectious, so the two of them combined were a force to be reckoned with that made Freddy’s cheeks hurt from the unflappable grin he wore.

Charlie was happy to embrace the old bear. She’d missed him and Gregory in her escapades tonight, and took to messing up the boy’s hair with both hands much to his dismay. Gregory playfully smacked away her palms, which resulted in a low velocity slap-fight. When Mari was set down on the ground, Michael may have found it hard to text as she wrapped her arms securely around his waist and clung to him as if she were still her tall and lanky self.

“I missed you guys so much…,” the old security bot proclaimed in her melodic voice. As she spoke, a text message alert would sound on Michael’s phone.

Ball joint. Chica’s head. I have to find a soft mallet to smack her head back on right. She’ll be up and running soon.

You could practically feel Sam’s frustration with what should’ve been a simple project. He sent another as Michael finished reading the last one.

Have fun! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do

Giving Michael his blessing to clock out and go hang out with the others. Mari in the meantime had detached herself and put her hands way above her head.

“Guys! I can do cartwheels like Charlie now! Watch! Watch me—” she said, tipping over and whipping herself over to do a handstand. Though this seemed to be her first time at attempting one; when her arms gave out from actually feeling the weight of her body, she crumpled into a small heap with her legs over her head.

“OOPS!” she groaned, laughing when she found herself pulled upright by Charlie’s helpful hands. “Oh… Maybe not! Hehe~”

“Be careful!” Freddy chimed in, quick to assist Charlie in pulling the smaller android to her feet. He brushed some wayward dirt off the back of her shirt as he gave her a look of understanding. “A new body may take a bit of time to get used to.”

Michael snickered at the former animatronic’s acrobatic attempt. “Yeah, now you’ve got to deal with proportionate limbs. Kinda sucks sometimes—oof!”

The guard nearly toppled over as Mari latched onto him in another hug, though whether this was due to her overwhelming emotions or simply to shut him up, he hadn’t a clue. Even so, he wasn’t going to complain. He’d gotten used to the long limbs of Puppet wrapping around him, but it was admittedly nice to feel something a bit more… solid. It was different being clung to by a robotic security doll versus what for all intents and purposes was “human”. Leaning his elbows on top of Mari’s head as a resting place, Michael texted Sam back:

You sure you don’t need help?? I could swing by on the way to the basement… maybe take Fred and Gregory, if you want

He paused, then with a shit-eating grin added:

I don’t want u to stress yourself out & keel over, old man; please let me know if I can help

He’d never be able to get away with treating any other boss like this, but Sam was a special case. Plus, he hoped his sincere offer of assistance cut the harshness of the jibe, if only slightly.

With Mari content to be used as a stand for Michael's phone as long as he let her hug him, she rubbed her head into the side of his ribs. This old habit of greeting people and showing her love would be a hard one to kill given nonverbal cues were her only ways of talking until now. Anticipating his text messages, a typing bubble had popped up on Sam's side and he was quick to retort.

Ha ha very funny, geezer. I'll take it easy when I'm dead lol. I just ask that you, Fred and Charlie stick around for when the morning shift shows up. I have this whole itinerary planned involving introducing you guys.

How Sam ever found the time for any of this was beyond the comprehension of his loved ones. The Devil worked hard, but Samuel Emily works harder when he has a deadline and sixteen consecutive hours of sleep over the past four days.

Apparently Charlie had gotten tired of Michael hogging Mari again, and slowly slipped her very pliable arms from around him. Unhooking her grip and picking up her old friend into her arms as if she were some giant doll, Mari very much tolerated being held like this and even laughed as Charlie stole her back.

“We have a lot to talk about, Mari,” Charlie said affectionately, hoisting her friend up and swinging her gently, limp legs sweeping a foot from the tiles as they walked.

You got it, boss. We’ll meet you in your office at 7; give staff some time to show up

After finalizing plans, Michael slipped the phone in his pocket and glared at Charlie’s retreating back. She may have snatched Mari away but there was another, even more malleable person around for Mike to carry. Gregory was subsequently snatched under the arms and flung into the air, then transferred to Mike’s shoulders when he came down.

“Charlie, Freddy—Sam wants us to stick around for a bit before we head back to the hotel so he can introduce us to dayshift,” Michael announced.

“That is fine,” Freddy said, noting Gregory clearly having the time of his life towering over everyone. “Superstar, perhaps you can stay in Sam’s office while we are busy? I do not think it wise to show your face just yet, and it will take a while to retrieve you from the basement if you remained there…”

Not that anyone thought Gregory wanted to be around so many people right now anyway—especially strange adults. The only two he’d know were Sophie and Vanessa, and he didn’t have the best track record with either of them.

Gregory tapped the top of Michael's head, sitting on his shoulders and wondering if they could sneak into a movie like that—it reminded him a little of the old cartoons. Gregory himself even wondered if he was just especially aerodynamic, making throwing him around irresistible to the others.

“Please,” Gregory said, clearly not up for meeting anyone new. If they were a ghost or a robot, he'd be more into the idea. But no more people, and certainly not now. “I was gonna ask to stay behind, honestly.”

“I'll watch him! I love Gregory,” Mari announced, able to tell the boy was becoming cagey at the thought of meeting new people. You didn't have to look at her to hear the smile in her voice. “I'm the best security ‘droid around! Well, besides from Mikey.”

“I’d gladly share the title with you,” Michael snickered

Hearing raucous voices approaching outside the workshop, Henry had stepped into the hallway to greet everyone, arms crossed and eyes sparkling as he took in the happy group.

“Glad to see Mari found you!” he laughed, clapping Michael on the shoulder as he passed. The guard had to crouch upon entering to avoid smacking Gregory’s head on the doorframe, and once inside it appeared the whole crowd was still hanging out.

Evan, Liz, and Cassidy were sitting near Hannah as she practiced her guitar under Bonnie’s watchful tutelage. Meanwhile, in the other corner Cain and Quinn were using Monty as a jungle gym, clambering up his side, over his shoulder, then down his tail and repeating the process. What made this game special was the gator’s penchant for randomly snapping his tail in a whip-crack motion, flinging whichever boy was unfortunate enough to be on it in an unspecified direction. Monty found that not only did these twins match perfectly with his roughhousing tendencies, but their ability to not get hurt meant they could play in ways that would probably make Freddy tear his hair out if he tried with a non-ethereal kid.

“Hey, y’all made it back!” the gator greeted with a friendly wave. “We were startin’ to think we’d hafta ditch the party before it got started.”

“We’re here for an hour,” Michael told the room, finally setting Gregory on solid ground. “Then some of us have boring work stuff to do upstairs.”

If Gregory was lucky, Quinn and Cain would now be too tired out from messing around with Monty to come and bother him. Not that the boys were that mean to him anymore. Then again, Gregory hadn't done much to provoke them lately... When Gregory heard the guitar playing, he attempted to steer Michael into walking by Bonnie's open guitar lesson.

“She's already getting better,” Gregory whispered to Mike, surprised at the progress she made. Maybe as a ghost she didn’t need callouses to easily press down on the frets of the guitar. He admired her playing from afar, watching Hannah and the others as his head rested on the top of Michael's like a pillow.

Mari had wormed her way gently out of Charlie's grasp and ran to the boys. She’d seen Quinn being launched back towards the darkness and found nothing at that moment more delightful. First, though, she’d stop to greet Henry; the man who made all of this possible for her deserved the attention. She would slide into Henry's leg and latch on tight, squeaking slightly from the effort.

“Hiiii!” she sang, her eyes shut tight.

“Hey!” the old ghost laughed, scooping the little android up into a proper embrace. When Charlie came within grabbing range he snaked out an arm to catch her, reeling her into the group hug. Noticing that Freddy was now alone, Henry called to him with a grin. “Get in here, Fredbear!”

There was no choice but for Freddy to oblige, falling onto the Emily's with a chuckle and basking in the warmth.

What an odd family, Charlie thought to herself. Still, it was better than being alone inside a rotting diner. She counted herself lucky as she was squeezed around all sides.

“Creator—” Mari cooed affectionately, sandwiched between Henry and Charlotte in their group hug. “—what are you working on next? Charlie and Michael have been severely pranked. Michael cussed so hard at me!”

“I think that’s enough practicin’ fer today, carrot-cake,” Bonnie said as Gregory and Mike made their way over, leaning forward on the bending milk-crate he chose for a throne. “Just remember to practice your chord progression. And really make it dynamic! Speed it up, slow it down. It’s all about trainin’ your hands.”

Gregory listened to Bonnie talk; he’d never thought the dopey Bunny would make such a good teacher. As if reading his mind, Bonnie hid his mouth with his hand and said as a little group secret to all the kids and Michael: “You know, I’m the one that taught Montgomery Gator how to slap a bass! Shhh, he doesn’t know I tell people that—”

Of course, Monty’s advanced hearing—tuned into the rabbit especially now that he was up and about—picked up on Bonnie’s comment.

“I can hear ya, cotton-tail,” he murmured, though his tone was nothing but playful. Having tired the blonde twins out sufficiently, Monty ambled over to the musical group and placed a hand on his hip, grinning down at Hannah as he jabbed a thumb to his chest. “Bon mighta taught me a few things, but I know my stuff, too! You call me if you ever get bored of the ol’ purple chatterbox here, got it?”

“Got it,” Hannah giggled, a bit overwhelmed by all the attention. She got to her feet, the guitar clutched tightly to her chest as if she never wanted to let it go. She did set it down after a moment, only so she could wrap her arms around Bonnie’s neck in a tight hug, burying her face in his shoulder. She felt happy, she really did… but things were still overwhelming sometimes, and Hannah had a feeling they would be for quite a while.

But Bonnie? He felt safe, and Hannah would cling to that any chance she got.

“Thanks, Bonnie,” she said quietly, squeezing tight. “I’m super glad I got to meet you.”

Bonnie hands sort of hovered hesitantly over Hannah’s back for a moment. Sure he received sentiments of affection from children frequently. Then, there was Hannah and her sweet and mellow words. She was somewhat of an odd kid out here—too demure to catch up with the rowdy twins, and too new to really know the old ghosts. She seemed to have most in common with Gregory—though he wasn’t always here…

Hannah needed someone. A mentor! Bonnie could be like that…

It was funny, as Bonnie finally accepted the hug and put what he thought of as his soul into it: it felt warm. Like he’d been away from home for a week and just found it again.

“You need anythin,’ you come find me or Monty now, you hear me?” Bonnie asked of her gently. “You’re my friend now, Hannah. Please take good care of my ol’ guitar. She’s very special to me…”

Sensing this was a bonding moment for the two of them, those in the immediate vicinity wandered off to different parts of the workshop. Evan trailed along as Michael took Gregory back to the newly refurbished Mari and her group, where Henry was currently telling the android in a jovial tone: “You can just stick with ‘Henry,’ you know—no need for all that ‘Creator’ stuff!”

“Oooops!” Mari said feeling sort of embarrassed. Maybe calling him that was sort of putting him on a pedestal. But he was a person worth doing that to, in Mari’s opinion.

“What are you up to, Henry?” she tried it out, though it almost seemed like the first time Charlie had used his name aloud.

“…We’ll work on that, kiddo,” Henry chuckled at Mari’s strained attempt. He shook his head lightly, musing on how pleasantly strange it was for what had been a silent, masked animatronic for forty-odd years now, in a way, seemed like a kid experiencing the world for the first time.

“As for what I’m doing—” the old ghost continued, suddenly reaching out and pinching one of Charlie’s cheeks with a triumphant grin. “—I’m currently annoying my adorable daughter. But if you’re wondering what my next project is…” Henry’s deep eyes flickered to the approaching Afton’s—specifically Michael. He looked back at Mari with a wink. “That’s a secret for now. Maybe I’ll fill you in then we’re not in mixed company.”

“You talking about me?” Michael asked with an accusing glare, suspicious of the man’s side-eyed glance.

“Of course, Mike—I’m spilling your deepest, darkest secrets,” Henry responded in a deadpan so serious, for a second Michael’s eyes started to widen until his uncle cracked another grin. “No, we’re talking about something else. Although I did hear you cussed up a storm in front of Mari’s innocent little ears?”

With eyes rolling to the sky, Michael replied: “Look, I was surprised, okay? My filter disappears when I’m surprised. Also, hate to break it to you, but she is not innocent despite that fresh new face.”

Mari knew exactly what Mike was referring to when he claimed she was a little less than innocent. Not that Henry would know the extent she’d once intended to take her revenge. She chose to plead the fifth, not saying a word. She was supremely content to have Henry believe she was a perfect creation incapable of doing any wrong. Though to err was human, and Mari was one of the more human AIs to come out of Fazbear Entertainment.

Charlie could feel like her cheeks might bruise with her dad’s pinches. Laughing, she would playfully push his hand away and exclaim to the group: “Oh! Are we telling embarrassing Mike stories? I have a bunch of embarrassing Mike stories.”

This caught Gregory’s attention, and he looked to Charlie with intrigue. He leaned in over Michael’s shoulders and asked her “What?! You’ve been holding out on us!”

Charlie raised her hands and shook her head in response. “Unfortunately, I can’t spill any of them—Mike knows all my embarrassing secrets. That wouldn’t end well if I told you anything…”

“Yes, Charlotte, did you forget we have enough dirt on each other to fill the Grand Canyon?” Michael threatened with a wide grin.

Though their human lives ended much sooner than they should’ve, the pair had gotten in enough trouble over the years to form bonds and memories that surpassed time and space. Now that things had returned to a sense of normalcy, it was admittedly nice to joke about such things.

“Oh?” Henry crossed his arms, giving his daughter a look of paternal suspicion she hadn’t seen in a very long time. “And I’m guessing much of this information would be news to me, too?”

“Uh… sorry, Henry; best friend code, and all that!” Michael gave a nervous sort of laugh. If Henry knew the sort of trouble he’d gotten Charlie into, they’d both be grounded for eternity.

“That’s alright,” a tiny voice chimed in. Evan, silent and observant as ever, floated up next to Mari and wrapped his arms around her shoulders for a change, gazing up at Mike with bright eyes. “You guys might’ve hung out all the time, but Liz and I lived with him—I know sooooo much stuff you wouldn’t be able to dream of!”

Michael let out an offended gasp, his expression twisted in shock. “Traitor! You better keep that little mouth shut, or—”

“Or what?” The smirk on Evan’s face rivaled the one Michael usually wore. He clung to Mari tighter and added in a sing-song voice: “Good luck catching me! I can float!”

“I’ve got dirt on you too, you know…”

“Not nearly as much as I’ve got on you, Mikey.” The little Afton’s grin turned positively wicked. “Remember the George Michael poster…?”

This shut Michael up immediately, jaw clenched tight as he glared daggers at his little brother. Whatever happened between him and that poster was for them alone to know—and Evan too, apparently.

Gregory looked at Evan with a peculiar glance. Obviously whatever he said was lost on the kid and voiced that confusion. “Who’s George Michael and what did you do to that poster…?”

“George Michael? You know, the guy from Wham! He sings Careless Whisper?” Charlie said, focusing less on what Michael may have exactly done to the poster to begin with. When Gregory still looked confused, Charlie sighed and really felt old in that moment. “Kids these days don’t know who George Michael is. Wow…”

“But,” Gregory interjected, now looking to Evan. “What did he do to the poster—”

Thoroughly interrupted when Charlie gently yanked Gregory from Michael’s shoulders, she told him “Hey! I think you should go play with your friends! We’re going to be leaving in a little and you need to get some sleep soon.”

“Unbelievable,” Michael griped, though he flashed Charlie a thankful look for ending that line of questioning. As she took Gregory away, Michael watched as Evan dislodged himself from Mari before grabbing the ghost in a headlock, rubbing his knuckles fiercely against his short brown hair. “And you are getting waaaay to cocky!”

“Ugh—Mike, nooo!” Evan wailed, trying in vain to free himself from his brother’s iron grip. Then in a blink he was gone, only to reappear behind Michael’s back and use the imbalance of his sudden disappearance to shove his brother forward. When Michael hit the floor with a grunt, Evan pounced on his back with a triumphant laugh, and the pair devolved into a mini-wrestling match right there on the floor.

“Goodness…,” Freddy murmured, at the same time Henry breathed out:

“Honestly…” in the same mildly exasperated tone. The pair shared a look, in full agreement that the Afton’s were all trouble in one way or another.

“GO EVAN, GO!” Gregory shouted over his shoulder, watching as Charlie clutched her sides. She wheezed out a laugh, unable to help herself as she saw Michael be swiftly taken down to the floor.

Over by the front of the defunct diner, Bonnie was standing against the wall, his arms crossed then dramatically whipping his palms out whilst pantomiming strumming something.

“C'mon Monty. You should pick up the banjo! You'd be the best one to learn how to 'hammer claw' anyway,” Bonnie was currently attempting to convince. Apparently banjos weren't very Glamrock...

Lizzie even agreed with Monty, laying on the floor and staring towards the ceiling with an annoyed expression plastered on her face.

“No one uses banjos in rock music, dumb bunny...,” she muttered.

“Like the lil’ lady said, I’m not playin’ a dang banjo!” Monty reiterated with a shake of his head. “We hear enough twang from that accent of yours—we don’t need those strings addin’ background music!”

Hannah tried to suppress a giggle, as well as the urge to point out that Monty’s accent was just as pronounced, albeit from a different part of the south. She held her tongue on that matter, though was still quick to point out: “Isn’t there another instrument you can learn?”

“We can learn anything if given the proper software update,” Freddy’s low voice chimed in. After Henry assured him that this “fight” between the Afton brothers was nothing more than playful, Freddy chose to let them be and join his best friend and their companions. Crossing his arms, the ursine man leaned casually against Bonnie’s side as he smiled up at Monty. “Perhaps you can pick up the accordion, Monty? I think it would suit you.”

The gator stared at him with a dull expression, slowly pulling down his glasses with the tips of his claws in an exaggerated gesture of incredulity. “…If you’re serious, Fredbear, then you’ve got a few screws loose in your fancy new head. I ain’t playin’ the banjo, and I sure as heck ain’t playin’ the accordion.”

Freddy shrugged, chuckling at Monty’s reaction. It was nice to joke around with his friends again without fear they’d turn into monsters when the clock struck midnight. He hoped Chica and Roxy would be up and running soon—then he’d get to hang out with all his companions. Looking down at Gregory, his smile softened. Roxy would undoubtedly take a liking to the spitfire kid, and Freddy knew Chica would think he was the most adorable thing. He really couldn’t wait for them to all meet again under better terms.

Bonnie kept a straight face, both Lizzie's and Monty's words didn't faze the happy-go-lucky rabbit. Then when Freddy mentioned the accordion, Bonnie had let loose a howling laugh. He could picture Monty playing the accordion! And that picture in Bonnie's mind made him cover his mouth.

“—Wait! Fredbear's onto somethin'.” Bonnie snorted, the children all gathered around now to watch the three interact. “We'll pioneer a new genre! Experimental Glam Folk. It'll be our side gig. Hannah! Do you wanna be our guitarist?”

Gregory laughed at the big rabbit. Who would think of something like that? He did have some faith in Bonnie that if he actually got his band to do this, there was a good chance he could find a way to make it sound good.

Meanwhile, an unsupervised Mari was digging around in the charging pod. After finding her old model resting peacefully on the ground, safe and sound in the still puddle she fell over in, she took hold of its mask. After a few tugs and a gentle twist, the cosmetic face panel came loose. It would make a neat mask, she thought. Besides, it was familiar in what seemed like a totally new world for her.

Monty held the side of his head as he shook it. “Naw, y'all are crazy—I'm supposed to be a rock star, not in a folk band! Get Chica to play with ya—she'd probably be into it.”

With another hearty laugh from Freddy and Bonnie, the pair began talking logistics of forming a folk band with Hannah, Chica, and Monty—completely disregarding the gator's reluctance, of course. The kids listened with rapt interest, feeling very much like they were watching a live-action version of Fazbear and Friends. Michael and Evan eventually made their way over after agreeing that they'd postpone their ongoing wrestling battle for another time. Henry and Mari watched from afar, chatting about all the things they'd never gotten to.

Well, Henry had been able to speak to Puppet quite a lot over the years, but for the first time she could actually talk back.

***

Previous Chapter ~~ Next Chapter

Looking for more? Check out the Chapter Masterlist on Tumblr!

Or check out the entire Wires that Bind Us Series on ao3!

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smiletimeisrunningout · 11 months

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@cabbxges-and-kings x moving to a new post!

𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐀𝐛𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐚 𝐬𝐮𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. His brows lowered and his jaw tightened at the idea of Emma, the woman who’s supposed to stay hidden at Whitehall, learning about anything involving his spy movements. If she’s here speaking with him, there’s already trouble on the horizon. His eyes scan the treeline for any guards, or Hewlett and Simcoe riding to the rescue, but he doesn’t spot any. There seems to be only them and Thomas asleep in the house nearby.

❝ What are you doing here?❞ he asked, despite assuming that she was out here to sate her boredom. ❝ You’re supposed to be at Whitehall. If you bring my father here- ❞ he doesn’t finish his comment before he adjusts his jacket, attempting to hide the way he stuffed a piece of parchment underneath his jacket. He can feel the weight of his hidden blade against his wrist and he knows how dangerous it’ll be if Emma gets any closer. Abe would never kill or hurt a woman, but he has to get her off his trail somehow. That might call for some brute force.

❝ Let’s get you back to Whitehall before you bring anyone else out here, ❞ he grumbles under his breath and a sigh leaves his nose. He reaches for the reins on his horse. ❝ I need to get the wagon and we’ll be set. ❞

Why would she bring his father there? And why is he hiding from him of all people? That is even more intriguing, she thought he was being odd about Simcoe. Or maybe she should worry, she'd hate to have accidentally stumbled in something bad that could ruin a family, there is already some tension between him and Mary every now and then, even if she has of course made no hint at it.

"You are... you are aware I'm not a lost dog, right? And that I can tell you are doing something if not illegal, at the very least secret. Which is why I didn't bring anyone, it's not as if I wanted you to get in trouble." She has to take precautions because for some unknown reason all the men on that side of the country seem to have forgotten that women have eyes, ears and even a brain hidden somewhere in there, and aren't as careful as they should be most of the time. She has seen ridiculous things at dances held by men who should have known better.

Besides, there was a baby in the house so if his farmer father was getting in trouble, well... "In fact, I'm here to help you stay out of it, whatever you are doing. I've grown very fond of little Thomas and therefore I'm bound by duty to protect you. Really, it's in my job's description and you need an extra hand."

#some brute force oh abe #abe no #she decided to be more knight-like than dumb at least #look at his face he's just NO.#cabbxges-and-kings #unwanted help

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masterhandss · 3 years

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Who do you think katarina will end up with?

Anonymous asked: Who do you ship katarina the most with ?

I got these two questions consecutively, I'm assuming they are coming from the same person so I'll combine them to a single reply, if that's okay.

People who have been following me since the first season can probably tell that I really like Geordo x Katarina (GeoKata) the most out of all ships. At first it was mostly just because I have an unintentional biases towards characters with blonde hair, which is why favorites were GeoKata and MariaKata, but then when I slowly got into the series more, my biases permanently shifted to the G-boy.

I'm not really a fan of laying out why I like certain ships through test to be honest. I usually get super frustrated when zine mods ask contributors to explain why they like a character or ship for contributor spotlight graphics because I can never really say everything I feel correctly hgdsjsdgfj, which is a good thing someone had already asked me a similar question before so I'll just copy paste my response here if that's okay :DD

TLDR; I ship Katarina with Geordo (Maria, Sora and Cezar behind him), and I think Katarina will end up with Geordo :))

You didn't really ask why but I'll give it anyways :)) -> major light novel spoilers, by the way <-

I'm not really the most deep person, if a ship has the bare minimum of something that I like (a trope or a hair color combination) then I stan it hard. That's why I used to be so equally adoring to both Maria and Geordo, because hurrdurr blonde hair hurrdurr. But the more I read the books and got into the community, I eventually liked him more than Maria. I didn't understand how or why at first, since Geordo and Maria are undergoing a very similar character arc: both characters wants to become better people in order to become worthy of Katarina (Geordo emotionally, and Maria physically? magically? in terms of her position/social status? I can't think of a right word but you get it). Again, Maria and Geordo's struggles are similarly written but one of them is more compelling to me. I feel like Maria's problems are easier to solve (her inability to rely on people, her attention seeking and her desire to be more magically powerful) imo, since she's already a well-liked figure in the Ministry and she's already a high-level magic user. Geordo's though; the series doesn't put too much attention on it, but despite the fact that Katarina gave his life color, he still somewhat sees the world in a desaturated light even post-childhood according to the novels and his lack of empathy still prevents him from completely absorbing all the colors. He's still learning how to see and he is happy that Katarina is always there to help him learn how.

I just love the irony that Katarina sees Geordo as a Perfect Prince and feels that she is inferior and unworthy of him, but then Geordo also seems himself as flawed, inferior and unworthy of Katarina and sees her as someone perfect. Geordo constantly wants to be better for Katarina (and for the people around him), and in time, maybe he could become a motivation for Katarina to be better too (on Katarina's side though, because on Geordo's she doesn't have to because she's already perfect the way she is). Geordo, while being self-centered and aggressive in his pursuits, isn't always selfish and thinks about what Katarina wants too. He'd fight tooth and nail for her and will do whatever he can so that Katarina will love him in the same way, but that doesn't mean he wont respect her decision if she falls in love with someone else, he just wont lose without a fight that's all (and fight, he'll give that's for sure).

Geordo is crazy in love with her; wants to protect her happiness, keep her safe whenever he can, and is even willing to both fight to become king and throw away the life he currently knows if it means he can live a life where he and Katarina can be together wherever she is most content and happy. He wouldn't lock her up in the castle like a caged bird like what Keith and some fans of the series thinks, whenever he does have thoughts like that like in Volume 6, its his internal response to the lack time they can have together alone, rather than being indicative of how he wants to treat her (like in his desire in Book of Desires, he conjured up a literal honeymoon because a honeymoon is the only time where he can spend it with her alone without someone butting in! It's weird and exaggerated, but his desire is simply to just be able to spend a day with her and be able to pursue her romantically without the threat of people like Keith and Mary).

Katarina sees him for himself, and she extends her hand of friendship to him despite all her fears of her bad ends involving him. She knows he's a "sadistic prince" but doesn't always tie him to that title. Out of everyone, Katarina has just as bad, if not worse, initial impression of Geordo compared to almost everyone around him (Others sees him as a Perfect Prince while she sees him as a Sadistic Prince and Future Murderer), and yet she accepts him and wants to learn more about him. She supports him and wants him to find happiness in love with Maria, even if it means she'll get exiled to another country or to a far off farm! (i'll edit this with citations later)

I can't help but want that for him, someone who there for you through thick and thin, who supports him despite everything she knows about her future involving him. Katarina is everything he would ever want in a partner: someone who isn't disturbed by his past, can see through his fake smiles, constantly cares for him, sees him beyond his princely façade, is one of his first friends who has helped him create friendships with other as well that prevented him to wallow in isolation and hate of the version of himself that society created for him, is genuinely interested in him as a person, is endlessly fun to be around and unpredictable, and is overall beautiful inside and out.

Again, a lot of Maria and Geordo's struggles are very similar to each other, but I'm more interested in Geordo's side. I find it more compelling. Geordo's scenes always almost provides something new, we get to see him angry, flustered & embarrassed, scheming/conniving, possessive, grateful, sad & frustrated and so much more. Maria has that too (we get to see her sad and thankful), but this might be my own perspective of reading the novels, but Maria's scenes kinda feel the same to me. It almost always starts with Katarina helping her and her realizing time and time again how much she loves her and become more motivated to be a better version of herself. I mean its unfair to say that they are all the same but that might just be me. (Maria: wow I'm so grateful for everything Katarina has given me, I want to be with her forever (rinse and repeat for the next 5 books))

Yes I know it's beautiful to see Maria falling deeper and deeper in love with Maria, but I'd rather see moments of someone who is trying to advance on those feelings rather than someone who is still trying to understand what they feel. Declarations and descriptions of love are beautiful in literary works and it always gets my heart fluttering, but I can read fanfics if I want to see that be written in 8 or more ways. Give me some action, some internal conflict!

It also doesn't help that it makes me really really happy for Geordo that he's made a dent in Katarina's baka shield? Katarina's heart skipped and fluttered for a second when Geordo was patting her head, and it makes me want to root for him even more! (Yes, go break the bubble! You can do it!!)

It's not even the same doki-doki as when she gets charmed at how pretty Maria is, to me its different in a way that my small vocabulary can't explain.

And besides, it really is just a battle between the protagonist that almost ruined her life (Maria) and the love interest that almost ruined her life (Geordo). Keith is part of that equation too, but he was never a threat after they became close (narratively, its seriously just Maria vs Geordo vs Keith, ignoring the changes to that narrative by FL2). It's always about Geordo (and Maria), everything she's doing in the Fortune Lover 1 Arc is because of Geordo (and arguably, Maria & Keith too) and the consequences of where he decides her future to would lead to.

It has to be Geordo, in my opinion, to show her that things aren't the same as the game (and he already kinda has, just a dent though) (If not Geordo, it should be Maria). He, who she feared and yet cared for so much

(I know Fortune Lover 2 basically removes that importance of Geordo and Maria specifically to Katarina's narrative by making her an active problem in all routes, finally becoming loyal to the title "All Routes Lead to Doom", but its not like the story is digging into Katarina's brain that she's sword training for the purpose of fighting back against all the boys, its still just Geordo, so idk I still count that in my shipper brain)

It also also helps that Geordo is basically the poor bullied animal in the hamefura community's eyes, regardless of how far he is into the battle (like in the reddit discord lmao). Yeah he has the best chances which is why many people both in and out of the series find it so fun to drag him under because of his unfair advantage, which is fair, but just like how you feel when you see a small wounded animal, you can't help but want to help someone who has the whole world against him (there's literally a canon manga page with that joke lmao), which is how I eventually felt over time. He's so misunderstood and bullied by people despite the authors dedication to flesh him out more beyond being a possessive prince fiancé of Katarina because of the anime's adaption, so I'd rather give my biases to someone who needs (and deserves it) rather than other contenders who are already overflowing with love and support. Also who doesn't love a perfect guy who breaks when his beloved is harm/who opens up to the person he cares about most?

I know people will read this and find it unfair that Katarina is giving so much to Geordo, but he isn't really giving anything to her. One thing I'll agree that Maria has over Geordo is that Maria makes Katarina want to try and work hard. Seeing Maria improve her magic wants Katarina to do the same, and whether or not it's from motivation or fear of getting left out depends on the reader. So far we don't really have anything like that for Katarina with Geordo because most things involving Geordo intimidates her, compared to Maria who is surrounded by mysteries and adventure (though arguably it's Katarina and not her lmao, but Kat doesn't know that).

Katarina is already the most well-adjusted character in the story even as a child so the only thing to really explore from her is mostly just her relationships and skewed sense of reality. That's why I hope that Geordo will not only help her realize that she can be loved by her peers romantically despite her self-perceived position/role, but also be one of the persons to make her completely realize that she isn't living inside a game. I mean like I said a few paragraphs ago, he's already kinda doing it by constantly confessing his feelings to her, reminding her that he is a person with his own feelings and not a character programmed to fall for a heroine.

So yeah, I ship Katarina with Geordo for those reasons and believe they should end up together for those reasons.

If you ask me who I think would she end up with objectively, I'd still say Geordo. The author's focus jumps between Geordo and Maria so that really depends on who you're asking. It also doesn't help that Geordo is always in the marketing with Katarina in the books and games, which pretty much cements his Male Lead status to Katarina's Female Lead status lmao

Thank you for the ask lmao, I'll be updating this with more thoughts and possibly citations later :))

#mh ask #hamefura #my next life as a villainess all routes lead to doom #my next life as a villainess #geokata #geordo stuart #katarina claes #i want to add more but i'll do it later :))#I just copy pasted this so i'm srry for the typos ;;w;;#bakarina #destruction flag otome

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thanksjro · 3 years

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More Than Meets the Eye #31 - Ammo and the Anti-Glowup

So, the Lost Light disappeared, stranding all the crew in space in their little escape pods. 200-some robots just lost their homes and worldly possessions. That’s absolutely horrible. What a devastating thing to happen.

Anyway, here’s Drift with a flashback sequence.

No hips, fingers all the exact same length, hockey pucks embedded in his forearms- Rojo, this is a crime you’ve committed. When will the long arm of the law stop your sinful, pancake-shaped hands?

About two years prior to current events, Drift, Riptide, and Pipes- yes, Pipes!- were wandering around trying to find a ship for the space yacht trip. The gang’s here to see who owns the big honkin’ ship outside. Problem is, Drift is unintentionally terrifying because he has a great deal of swords.

Now, you may say to yourself “isn’t it a bit odd that the species that has members who literally turn into guns would be nervous around a guy with swords?” This is a valid critique, until you remember that at least some of the folks who turn into guns were born that way, and Drift was very much NOT born bladed the fuck out. There’s an entire miniseries devoted to explaining this, it’s called Drift. The swords are a choice, one that he makes every day.

Drift is willing to pay an honestly absurd amount of money for the ship, if he can just find the dude with the paperwork- don’t ask where he got the money. Pipes isn’t being terribly helpful in finding them, so Riptide decides that now is the time to start practicing being proactive and pulls a Coyote Ugly.

No, no, he doesn’t.

He does climb up on a table and start yelling for the ship’s owners to reveal themselves, though. Which they do.

Now it’s time for the world-building portion of our comic issue. Let’s learn about chirolinguistics.

Drift, staying true to his Mary Sue nature, uses his near-perfect Hand skills to strike up a deal with the owners of the ship. This would be impressive, if it didn’t just look like the most convoluted hand-holding session in the friggin’ universe.

Still, Drift is rich enough to make Jeff Bezos weep with envy, so the arrangements are made and the lads go on their way, talking some mad shit about the original name of the ship as they do.

So it is revealed to us that the Lost Light is named after a festival for honoring the dead and disappeared, which makes the fact that Rewind and Chromedome were there all the more sad.

Back in the present, Megatron tells Riptide to shut up so they can figure out what the hell they’re going to do about this whole “our home and also ride has ceased to exist” situation. He’s putting an awful lot of distance between himself and the rest of the Autobots as he does it, something that isn’t lost on the more bitter people of the crowd.

But why were we even talking about the Lost Light in the first place? Not to reminisce, believe it or not. See, it’s time for Nautica to get a little panel time, and she’s going to use it to be a massive fucking nerd and explain how the quantum engines work. As she does, Ratchet notes that his hands feel funny. Must be the weight of his hand-stealing sins manifesting itself in his joints.

Nautica explains that the engines run off of improbability- it is highly unlikely, but not impossible, that the ship can reach light speed, and riding the fine line between what can happen and what can’t, results in the creation of power for the engines. If this sounds familiar, it’s because Brainstorm gave us a watered down version of this explanation back in issue #2. If it sounds familiar for a different reason, it’s because this is how the Heart of Gold runs in Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Again, I’m not sure why it is that the British love this concept so much, but there you are.

Oh, it appears someone has a question. Let’s see what they want to know about, shall we?

…Rojo, what the fuck is this.

Our muppety friend here isn’t too keen on how much of a smarmy asshole Nightbeat is being right now, though I’d assume it actually has something to do with the fact that Nightbeat got smacked around with the pretty-boy stick while Getaway very much did not. While the two bicker- there’s a lot of bickering in Season Two- Nautica presents a theory on what happened to the ship; it went too far in the direction of “can’t” and made itself cease to be.

Megatron gives not a shit about quantum improbability, though. He only cares about how they’re going to get out of this mess. Which, y’know. Valid.

Blaster picks up a radio from Rodimus, who tells the gang that they’re to meet up on a nearby planet to regroup and figure out their next move. The call drops before he can get more than a couple Megatron-directed insults in, however. Megatron, in response, tries to be the bigger person, and almost immediately fails. We do get a headcount though, which is good, logistically speaking. This information is communicated to us by way of a splash page full of character head shots. We’ve got 20 ‘bots on board this ship.

Yep. 20. No more, no less.

As our friends approach the planet, we’re informed that it’s actually a Lectureworld- a planet devoted to the study of a single field. Except it’s actually a Smartplanet now, and it’s been privatized by the Galactic Council, so you’ve got to pay to go there. Cyclonus thinks that that’s bullshit, and I can’t help but agree. Crosscut tries to network with they guy about his play, probably because word got around that Cyclonus is rich as hell, when the lights cut out. When they come back on, Crosscut is nowhere to be found.

It’s time for a Whodunnit.

Tailgate immediately pegs Megatron as the culprit in this disappearance, and breaks out a gun over the matter. Megatron thinks that this is absolutely adorable, which only serves to further infuriate our marshmallow friend. I guess he’s still mad about the whole “I was a Decepticon for five minutes and got brainwashed over it” thing, and wants someone to pin the anger on who’s socially acceptable to hate.

Cyclonus and Ratchet both think that Tailgate’s not going about this the right way, but the guy is simply too het up to listen to them. Tailgate suggests that they lock Megatron in the engine room for the time being and-

OKAY WHO LET HIM HAVE THAT

Riptide breaks out his gun, and soon we’ve got a standoff going between the three of them. Cyclonus tries to deescalate, which makes Gears and Huffer break out their guns. Then Hound breaks out his gun, though he seems to be doing his own thing, by pointing it in Nautica’s direction.

Broski, I think that might be animal cruelty.

Megatron manages to shoot Ravage “unconscious” and catches him by the friggin’ throat, stating that he has zero idea how this guy got here. With the heat off the two of them for a moment, Megatron communicates to Ravage to play ‘possum for the time being. Ravage responds, and I wonder exactly how he’s doing that, considering I don’t think he has enough fingers to effectively utilize Hand as a language. Or fingers at all, really.

While this is going on, Cyclonus snatches the gun out of Tailgate’s hand, admonishing him for being reckless about picking his fights. Generally speaking, you don’t want to try to go toe-to-toe with a guy who’s responsible for the deaths of literal billions. Getaway swoops in to comfort Tailgate, calling him gutsy. I wonder if this will become a trend.

Swerve says a thing, as he is wont to do, and it’s made known that multiple folks have disappeared during this incredibly brief standoff.

Wow, Chromedome just fucked off, huh? He wasn’t even in that sequence, just left.

Everyone’s positively baffled by the current happenings. There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to who’s being taken. I guess we’ve got a mystery on our hands.

And who better to solve a mystery than a detective?

Nightbeat wrangles all the leftover folks into a corner of the room, so they can figure out what the common denominator is with all the disappearees. He starts with the easy stuff.

And by “easy”, I mean the super-special racism Tyrest subscribed to.

If you’ve read Eugenesis, you know that Nightbeat was also part of the first wave of cold-constructed bodies there. However, the general populace wasn’t nearly as chill about it as they were in IDW. Also, Wheeljack was his dad. No word on if that particular tidbit made it into IDW lore.

It’s at this point that we learn about M.T.O.s- made to order soldiers. They were cold-constructed ‘bots created en masse during the war in order to keep up with the demands for troops. Pretty fucked up, if you think about it, being born to die like that.

Now where have we heard that name before…

Chromedome, can your love life not be part of the plot for five minutes, my guy?

Nautica makes the honestly horrific claim that a lot of folks owe their existence to Megatron being a warmongering fuck, and even Megatron himself seems rather uncomfortable with the idea. Some thoughts we keep to ourselves, Nautica, even if they might be technically true. And even if Ammo wants to tack on his two cents on the matter.

What did they DO to you, Ammo? You’re supposed to be hot! Where are my three-paragraphs of description as Hound stares slack jawed the entire time? I miss Polyhex Wars.

Anyway, it’s Megatron’s turn to get poked with the questioning stick, and he’s not having it. He claims that by revealing his mode of creation, he’s risking a repeat of Functionist ideology. This would be valid, if people weren’t literally disappearing without any sort of explanation as to why. As it is, he’s being a stubborn asshole, but I guess he didn’t get his reputation by being a decent person who knew when to back down, now did he?

It’s at this point that Ratchet remembers he knows all the info Nightbeat’s looking for, and the conversation on Megatron’s birth is shelved for another day. I’m sure it won’t be a major plot point later, not in the slightest.

As it turns out, Nightbeat’s theory doesn’t hold water, and folks are still popping out of existence. We get another splash page, this time with everyone’s mode of creation listed under their names, and we move on to other theories about what the fuck is going on. While Nightbeat has a minor crisis over what the answer could possibly be, the MTOs in the group reminisce on the Ten-Step Program, a series of tests they were put through to make sure they worked well enough to get handed a gun and shoved out the door. Riptide wasn’t a fan.

Riptide has more wood panelling than a 70’s-style ranch house, and I think that’s very brave of him.

It’s at this point that Ratchet remembers it’s been quite a bit since he last shat on religion, and takes the time to do so while informing the reader about Information Creep. This is a concept we’ve seen mentioned previously, during Chromedome’s runaround in Overlord’s brain, but it’s here where we get the juicy implications.

Because memories can become corrupted in the brain due to extreme age, what ought to be objective fact has to be reinterpreted due to missing pieces. This is why nobody knows what the Knights of Cybertron got up to, or if they’re even actually real at all.

The lights go out again, and when they cut back on, Cyclonus is missing, leaving only his sword behind. Tailgate is extremely distraught by this, but Nightbeat gives not a fuck about Tailgate’s impending breakdown. He only cares about the truth!

And then a giant eyeball shows up.

It’s Ultra Magnus, coming to us live from his shuttle, via holomatter avatar! He shrinks down to a far more reasonable size, in a panel reminiscent of the first time IDW readers saw Megatron.

Don’t get me wrong, this is a neat parallel, I’m just… not terribly sure why it’s happening. One could say it reflects a reversal in power dynamics, but that theory gets tossed out the window when you remember that this isn’t actually Verity. I suppose it’s just a cool little thing.

Because the comms aren’t working, Ultra Magnus has been forced to use this avatar to communicate with the folks in the Rod Pod. Megatron asks just what the hell is going on, but unfortunately Magnus isn’t sure either. Then his shuttle disappears, and it’s bye-bye grunge girl Magnus.

It’s at this point that Nightbeat decides it’s time to stop pussyfooting around and get serious. He tells Ratchet to throw HIPPA directly in the garbage and write down everything he knows about the Autobots who crewed the Lost Light. And he does mean everything, as we get the splash page again, this time with lots of neat info on our friends, including spark type.

Spark types will become plot-relevant in the storyline after this, but for now let’s focus on some weird gender essentialism that got slapped into the first print of this issue.

As we know very well by this point, Transformers as a franchise has a tumultuous relationship with the idea of women existing. You would think that the awkward introduction of other genders we got in “Dark Cybertron” would have been the end of things being weird in IDW. However, you would be wrong.

In an effort to explain why genders exist, Roberts had the idea to make it spark-based. Nautica, in the solo print of this issue, has an estriol-positive spark. Estriol is a type of estrogen, which is the hormone that develops and maintains feminine secondary sex characteristics, when present in certain levels, in conjunction with other hormones. Biology

This “spark = gender” idea is, generally speaking, not a great idea to be presenting us with, especially when the writer is a cishet male, because it implies biological essentialism- the idea that a personality trait/quality of a person is innate and predetermined by their biology, as opposed to social, cultural, or individual experiences. Because this story doesn’t exist in a vacuum, it’s irresponsible to reduce the experience of being a woman to a single, physical, unchangable asset, especially when all other assets of the same class have zero effect on one’s gender identity. You don’t exactly see many nonbinary robots running around, now do you? And there are definitely more than two spark types, despite the Transformers as a species being... very binary.

It also makes female Transformers into an “other”, which is a problem that has existed from the very start of the franchise, in some form or fashion, and really doesn’t need to be perpetrated anymore than it already is.

The estriol spark type was removed in the trade edition, and Roberts has expressed regrets over its inclusion, having realized that it was potentially offensive.

Getting back to the story, Swerve, Tailgate, and Ratchet have disappeared, though Ratchet seems to have left his hands behind. His stolen, Pharma-original hands.

That’s still fucked up to me. I don’t think it’ll ever not be fucked up.

Riptide reveals the reason that he wasn’t in Season One of MTMTE was because when he went back to grab a receipt for the ship two years prior, he’d discovered that the original owners were worshipers of Mortilus, Cybertronian god of death, and knew about the nasty little problem that was the sparkeater from the first storyline. When Riptide went to confront them about it, they beat him up so bad he was unconscious for two solid days.

Which is a long-ass time to be unconscious. That might have been a coma, Riptide. Jesus, I hope someone got him to a hospital after this beatdown happened, or at least scraped him off the floor.

With this last piece of the puzzle, we finally have the common denominator in this big ol’ mystery. Everyone who disappeared was on the Lost Light when it took off from Cybertron in issue #1, and everyone left behind- Skids, Getaway, Nightbeat, Nautica, Megatron, and Ravage- didn’t join until afterwords.

Of course, having the answer doesn’t do us much good when everyone is still missing, and Megatron seems to agree with me, because he’s about to throw hands, when Nautica lets them know that they’ve arrived at the rendezvous. Problem is, so has something else.

...

I’m sure it’s fiiiiiiiiiiiiine!

#transformers #jro #MTMTE #issue 31 #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #incoming analysis #overthinking about robots #comic script writing

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mariecuttlefish · 3 years

Text

New You (2k words, trans girl Marie)

Since it’s Marie’s day, here’s an old piece I wrote back in 2019! For all of the trans Marie fans out there. 💚

External links: [Google Docs], [AO3]

Warnings: None. Appropriate for all ages.

Description: Callie and Marie are preparing for their first performance together as the Squid Sisters, and Marie is nervous from more than just stage fright; it's also her first time coming out to the world as Marie.

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"I'm really nervous, Callie."

Marie stared at her reflection in the mirror and adjusted the little ring-shaped hat clipped to the side of her head for the dozenth time. Was her mantle too messy? She quickly ran a brush through to try and smooth the ink out again – it was almost lucky her tentacles were as short as they were, or else she probably would have wrung them dry by now with how anxious she was.

Her cousin stood beside her playing with an anemone doll that she'd brought along, somehow relaxed and upbeat in spite of all Marie's worrying. The two were getting ready for their first public performance together as singers, and Callie had spent the past half-hour helping her keep her cool as the big moment got closer and closer. Marie couldn't understand how she wasn't also losing her cool, but then, it had been Callie's idea to sign up for the Inkopolis Youth Folk-Singing Contest in the first place.

"You're gonna do great, Marie!" Callie insisted. "Look, Miss Zoantha says so, too!" She scooted her doll across the table in front of them and began cheering, in a voice that sounded nothing like the cartoon character she was imitating, "Go Marie! Marie is super cool! She's the best cousin on the whole planet!"

Marie couldn't help but crack a smile, both at her cousin's goofiness and at hearing the name she'd chosen for herself used so readily. "Zoantha doesn't even have a cousin," she said, fidgeting with the sleeve of her yukata. She looked back up at the face in the mirror – at the young girl in front of her with her eyebrows trimmed down, her mantle styled to be as feminine as such short tentacles would allow, her mask decorated with fake lashes just like her cousin's. "Um… hey, Cal?"

Callie stopped parading the doll around and looked up; she knew the sound of unshakeable worry in Marie's voice. "What's up, Marie?"

"What if they don't think I'm a girl?" Marie asked. Her eyes were turned downward, her hands clasped nervously in her lap. Even more than the thought of singing in front of hundreds of people, this was the part of the contest that made her the most anxious: it was her first time being a girl around anyone other than Callie.

"They will!" Callie nodded confidently. "And they'll think you're a super pretty girl, 'cause that's what you are! Promise!" She leaned in to give Marie an awkward chair hug, and Marie returned it hesitantly.

"Do you really think I look pretty?" Marie hadn't been able to stop fiddling with every part of her look since the moment they'd been brought backstage to wait for their performance. She knew that the way she looked would be cute on another girl, but every little issue she noticed and struggled to fix made it a bit harder to be confident that it would look good on her.

"Uh, duh," Callie said, not missing a beat. "We're matching! I'm pretty, and you look like me but green, so that means you're pretty but green! It's like the transitive property like my big brother told me about. I think."

Marie giggled and pulled away from the embrace to look herself over again. It was true, they could almost pass for alternate versions of each other; if Marie had been born with the same near-black ink that Callie had instead of her own silvery-white tentacles, it probably wouldn't have been hard to convince people they were twin sisters. That was even the name they'd chosen to perform under, the Squid Sisters – "That way people will know for sure that we're both girls!" had been Callie's pitch.

Marie took a deep breath, counted to ten, and exhaled. "Okay," she said at last. "I think… I can do it. I think."

"That's the spirit!" Callie nudged her shoulder. "Hold on, lemme go get Gramps!" With no hesitation, she ran off, weaving through the crowd of other children and their parents all getting ready to perform, then disappearing out the door across the room. Their grandfather lived in Inkopolis, and he had been the one to bring them to the contest when both of the girls' parents were too busy to make the two-hour trip into the city. Callie had insisted on him waiting outside while they got ready, though, so that Marie wouldn't be any more anxious than she already was about presenting as a girl.

While she waited on Callie to return, Marie decided to try hyping herself up as much as she could. She locked eyes with her reflection, leaned in over the vanity table as much as she could, and put on a confident glare. "You can do this, Marie. You've got this. Just like Callie said." She spent several minutes there, repeating quiet self-affirmations to herself, until Callie ran back into the room shortly after, slowed down by the elderly man she pulled by the hand behind her.

"Gramps, Gramps, look! We styled our tentacles all by ourselves and everything!" Callie announced proudly as she reached Marie's chair, running up beside her and bouncing excitedly in place. Marie turned away from the mirror and hopped down from the seat to stand beside her cousin, much more timid in her demeanor. "What do you think? Do we look super fresh?"

Gramps chuckled at his granddaughter's enthusiasm, taking a moment to adjust the old sailor's cap he wore now that he'd gotten a chance to slow down. "You look very fresh, both of you. But uh…" He turned his gaze toward Marie, and she felt her chest tighten as he examined her appearance. "What's with the makeup on you, kiddo? Did your cousin rope you into letting her give you a makeover again?"

"I, um..." Marie felt the confidence boost she'd had moments before slipping away, and her mouth went dry as she tried to find the words she wanted. How could she explain that she wasn't a grandson anymore, but a granddaughter just like Callie? And would their grandfather be okay with it? Would he let her go on-stage looking the way she knew she wanted to?

Callie noticed her hesitation and stepped in front of her defensively, puffing her chest up as if in defiance of their only chaperone. "Her name is Marie and she's a girl and I did her makeup because she wanted to look pretty, and if you don't like it then I'll beat you up!" she proclaimed – just a bit too loudly, as Marie noticed some of the others in the room turn their attention to them and felt herself shrinking emotionally just a tiny bit more with each second they stared. Her anxiety wasn't always the biggest fan of her cousin's natural boisterousness.

There was a moment where neither side said anything, and the onlookers quickly lost interest and went back to their own concerns. Gramps doffed his hat and scratched the back of his head as he processed the new information. "I see… Do your parents know about this?" He looked past Callie to give Marie a quizzical look, fishing around for something in the pocket of his denim shorts.

"Um… n-no," she answered quietly. "Are you going to tell them?" She watched his hand; was he reaching for his cell phone? It was the knowledge that her parents wouldn't be able to attend the show that had given Marie the confidence to present feminine for once – she felt a pang of dread that they might find out anyway before she'd even gotten to perform.

"Hmm?" Gramps cocked his head to the side. "'Course not, kiddo. If you haven't told 'em yet yerself, it's not my business to do it for ya." From his pocket he pulled a small, beat-up notebook and pencil, opening the notebook to a particular page and scribbling something out. "Just gotta update my Squidmas shopping list. It wouldn't make much sense to buy a bunch of boy's clothes for my newest granddaughter, would it?"

Marie's eyes widened slowly. Still huddled behind her cousin, she beamed up at her grandfather, all the anxiety of coming out to him (or, rather, having Callie come out for her) being washed away by elation. Here was the first person to learn she was a girl other than Callie, and he had accepted her as readily as he'd accept learning that she had a new favorite color. He evidently noticed, as he reached down to ruffle her tentacles before giving her a big hug. "As long as my granddaughters are both happy, that's all that matters to me," he assured her.

Callie joined in – she took any opportunity she could get to hug people – but after a moment another thought seemed to strike her. "Heyyy, wait a minute," she started, looking up at Gramps. "Gramps, are you buying us clothesfor Squidmas again?"

The old man laughed. "Maybe not, maybe so. I don't want to make Father Squidmas angry by spoiling it, now do I?" Callie just pouted and crossed her arms; she'd been asking constantly for a seapony, and Gramps was the one holdout in the family who still hadn't given a definitive no to that request.

Her protests were stopped early by a tall, energetic inkling woman stepping into the backstage area. She had a clipboard in one hand and was going down a list written on it. "Let's see, let's see… next up is the Squid Sisters, from Calamari County! Squid Sisters, are you here?"

Callie quickly turned and jumped up to get the woman's attention, waving her hands excitedly. "Over here! We're the Squid Sisters!" She stopped bouncing, glanced back at Gramps behind her, then added, "This old guy isn't a Squid Sister, he's just our gramps." A few others in the room laughed at the comment, Gramps included.

"Well, come on over, Squid Sisters. You're performing right after the current group." The woman extended a hand as Callie approached with Marie close behind, and they both shook it politely. "My name is Miss Eventide, but you can call me Miss Tide. I love your yukatas, by the way!"

"Thanks!" Callie grinned.

"Thank you," Marie added, more bashfully.

Miss Eventide went over what to do when it was their turn to perform – wait until their names were announced, take the stage, introduce themselves, and then the music would start – and then rushed off to go help manage some other part of the show. Before the girls could leave for the sidestage to get ready, Gramps walked over to join them once again.

"You two do your best out there, alright?" He patted them both on the back, gesturing out toward where the stage was with his bamboo cane. "I'm gonna be right there in the audience cheering you two on. I know you'll do great."

"Yeah! We're gonna do awesome!" Callie cheered. "Especially you, Marie!"

Marie smiled and lifted her head. Nervous as she still was, she was beginning to feel more confident in herself – both in her ability to go out there and sing for an audience, and in her ability to be seen as a girl while she did it. Tonight wouldn't just be her first night as a singer; it would be her first night as Marie, and she knew that no matter what happened, she had the support of her cousin and her grandfather to back her up.

"We're both going to be great," she agreed, nodding her head. Gramps smiled and turned to leave and join the audience outside.

"That's the way to be," he said. "Break a fin out there, you two. And remember – stay fresh!"

"Stay fresh!" Callie and Marie both cheered back at him, and then both giggled at the catchphrase they had come up with together.

The girls headed through the door and into the sidestage, both of them with their heads held high. As her cousin smiled beside her, Marie could feel in her heart that things were going to go well for her. This was the start of the Squid Sisters, the start of a happier life, the start of Marie. It was her very own fresh start, and no matter how their performance went, nothing was going to take it from her.

#splatoon #marie #callie #cap'n cuttlefish #tidal writing #pepperpost #the backstory for this fic is that i wrote it in two hours while waiting for a flight #funny enough it seems to be my most popular splatoon writing so far

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geekys-corner · 3 years

Note

Mind listing the OCs/personas and a couple facts about them? (Might help with questions lol)

Sure! I’ve written 16 below lmao *sticks in a read more*

Anthony - Originally my version of Anti, he’s now a sweet bean who really likes plants. In his backstory and the start of his story, he was found in a tiny pocket dimension inside his old apartment while he and the place around him fell into disrepair with the only thing truly alive being his plants. After losing his entire family, he was very fragile and hurt himself quite a bit, but my other characters rescued him and nursed him back to health and stability!

Onyx - My angsty punk dude who I adore. He is on the autistic spectrum and is mostly non-verbal, once going 4 months without speaking before breaking the silence to tell his best friend that Viggo Mortenson broke his toe in that one scene in Lord of the Rings. They have a twin sister who is 13 minutes older and a firm witch while he is a firm nonbeliever. Sometimes he goes to the junkyard with a baseball bat to let out their anger.

Leon - His backstory is very dark so I won’t get into it, but he’s a very shy bean with one arm and a love for sewing. He has the fluffiest light pink hair, and is just the embodiment of pastel.

Kyle - The older brother of the duo! He’s friends with Onyx and also has a punk look with spiked blue hair, but he’s an absolute sweetheart! He’s eight years older than his brother, and ran away with him when he was a newborn to escape their abusive mother. He raised Joey on his own in the streets, escaping care systems that would split them apart and shove them in to foster homes, and grew up to be completely independent, albeit unaware of what it is like to have a loving family besides his brother. He may be quick to resort to fight or flight to protect his brother and grumpy to strangers, but he’s built them a good life!

Joseph - The little brother! Joey is a smart little kid, (ranging from 10 - 14 depending) with very bright ginger hair and freckles. He’s on the far side of the autistic spectrum and is completely nonverbal, but he’s very expressive, spunky, and loving whenever he’s able to. He adores peanut butter and milkshakes, and would very happily have them six times a day. While he can’t speak, he will send Kyle countless facts from astronomy or marine life through text at any time of day or night. He’s always seen in his blue skateboarding frog hoodie, a beetle backpack filled with his supplies, and his headphones and tablet. He loves to draw and he’s great at it, and always draws sharks, especially whale sharks.

Caelan - Another punk, but this time in bird form. He is a griffin, and in some AUs a dude with prosthetic feet. He has messy blond hair covering his eyes and is based around an Egyptian falcon. He’s very quick witted and very annoying to people who don’t know him, but would go to hell and back for his family.

Marioma - The model of a modern major general- this dude is the only one like him, meaning he has no AU counterparts! He’s different from my other characters since he’s technically self-aware, and acts in my stories if and when I want him to! He’s a grumpy, determined dude who’s trying to quit smoking per request of his boyfriend, Arthur. Before him, he was a sly, hardened, and cunning man who needed someone to rely on who wouldn’t die on him.

Arthur - Foster fails: 5. He owns a bookstore in the universe he inhabits and, just like Mari, he’s one of a kind! He lives the ideal rainy city aesthetic, with an apartment above his store with open windows, plants, cosy blankets and homemade food, handmade clothing, and animals. He’s got curly hair and his scarf is his comfort item, and he takes in animals if and when he can. He and Mari just live a comfortable life :’)

Clyde - A duo with Anthony, he was originally a version of Henrik, but is now completely different. This boy is a classic OC and therefore my teenage angst punching bag. He’s a doctor in his husband Lucas’ mafia, and is very strong-willed and the biggest sweetheart. He has water powers that I always forget about, and could very easily drown someone if he wanted to. Besides that, he does cry a lot over small things, and Lucas has walked in on him crying over their cat in a business-tie.

Levi - If he and Clyde fused, they’d make Henrik. He’s my 55 year old doctor who just the embodiment of grumpy cat and expresso. He’s very lanky and has joint problems after trauma in his late 20s, and sometimes you can hear his bones cracking as he walks. He has, can, and will slap the sense into Clyde when he needs to and hated him to begin with, but warmed up to him. But, he’s completely different to his husband Sage, and in the end, is a very caring guy who won’t take any shit. He’s also therapist, and gives sessions to most of my OCs- (he’s also the doctor at the end of Don’t Leave! Dr Allison!)

Tyrell (Cloak) - So I split the same OC into two halves, essentially from two AUs but in one? They’re not twins, they’re the same guy with separate families but they’re the same. They’re both POC with the same face, hair texture etc. Cloak-Ty is very grumpy, and is called Cloak because of the cloak he wears in his fantasy-based AUs! He wears an eye patch and lost his eye depending on the AU, and went through a lot. You can tell he’s angsty because half of his hair is buzzed off. He tried to push away his now-husband Demitri, but luckily he’s an absolute himbo who doesn’t know when to quit, and eventually melted through the icy layer to a loving, sarcastic, hard-working man.

Tyrell (Ponytail) - Same as above description wise! He’s taller and buff with a ponytail. He went through the same backstory, but was found by Daniel who took him to Lucas’ mafia where they recovered together and eventually fell in love. Half of his face is badly burned and the eye has pin-hole vision, but it doesn’t stop him from being the best sniper on the team. When at home, he loves tea, hanging with his family, and painting. He’s amazing at watercolour and earns money on the side from selling his work! Sometimes he and Dan team up and draw together!

Bloodbranded:

Wayde - He lives in the Winter Forest Region and hunts for his family with his exceptional archery skills. He’s witty and pretty spontaneous, making him good under pressure, but incredibly reckless. He has a bad claw scar across his right eye which cuts into his hair, but he can see just fine! He has beautiful green eyes with central heterochromia, so they turn brown in the centre. While he may be annoying and hot-headed, he cares a whole bunch and grows as a person to fall in love with Milo. He’s a hopeless romantic and protective as all hell, even when Milo can handle himself just fine.

Felicity - She wasn’t born in the WFR like Wayde, she was adopted by her two mothers and is Wayde’s cousin! She’s a POC with beautiful dark skin, and her parents style her hair in unique braids that are decorated by gold rings. She’s a magic user and a very skilled one at that, even when she’d just started out, and wishes to revive the old form of magic that had been taken over by the modern, corrupted magic form that’s based entirely on nepotism. She uses a staff and a book, and is clumsy to start out, but soon becomes a mage to be admired, or feared if you’re an enemy!

Milo - Unlike Felicity and Wayde, he was born in the desert region, and ends up in the WFR by mistake (which is a vast change in temperature for him). Because of the contrast in temperature, he’s always wrapped up in winter clothes, even in places where the others are sleeveless, just because he’s spent his whole life in the heat! When he’s at home, he lives with his Mother and goes out to collect lightning glass after the nightly storms to sell and turn into jewellery or windows etc. Milo was born deaf and uses sign language to communicate. He’s smart, energetic, and excited to see new things, but can handle himself with ease, and knows how to take care of himself through quick thinking and fighting skills from living in the desert. When he and Wayde start dating, he likes coming up behind him and cuddling him or giving him quick kisses!

Prism - Much like their name, they are very colourful. They are a dragon hybrid and live in a kingdom of others like them, but unlike any other dragon, their scales are - like their name - prisms. They gradient between rainbows across their body, but each scale has a rainbow shimmer when they move. Their wings are like stained glass, and their hair (as of now, it might change) is like labradorite! Prism is mute and doesn’t express much, usually communicating through eye rolls. They live as the King’s new heir after he took them in as he believes Prism is the symbol of their kingdom and species’ beauty. Because of this, they are completely untouched by any blade and don’t have a single blemish or scar as to preserve them. Many guards have died to prevent them from obtaining even the slightest scratch. Beyond their anxiety, they join the crew and act as the voice/sign of reason! Even if they are assigned to their kingdom, they soon learn that their friends truly care about them more than their appearance.

That’s most of my OCs, this is already super long so I don’t want to drag it on! If anyone is interested in any OC, feel free to drop an ask, I’d love to write one shots or answer questions! <3 ^^

#geekyfox1's ocs #oc #oc list #bloodbranded #bloodbranded development #oc description

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thequibblah · 3 years

Note

directors cut for WTRF? 🥺👉👈 not biased at all obviously just objective third party asking for a directors cut hmmm hmmmmm

literally how could u do this every other word in that fic is an easter egg i can't shut up about..... bestie u are about to have regrets

one thing u should know is that 90% of things in this fic have real-world equivalents and its not even like....... hidden equivalents. serie primo = serie a, for instance. this trend is going to continue and i won't apologise <3

fun fact i named the bar the Bar and the drinks after shapes because i was too lazy to come up with something actually clever

this bit

I’m grinning to myself by the time she approaches my table.

was a very intentional fakeout and if you read this and thought "she" would be lily, feel free to sue me for emotional damages

the biggest conundrum of this AU was, how are jily not going to have met in school when magic exists? the solution was, of course, having multiple magic schools. but i couldn't let one of them have hogwarts, that didn't seem fair. i know i did sort of let lily have it..... but i felt more comfortable making hogwarts a university so there was a legit reason why james wasn't there and in gryffindor (if he'd gone he absolutely would have been)

once solved, i did the fun thing of naming them! ottaline gambol's was easy, i just scrolled through the list of ministers for magic and picked a progressive one. peverell hall was a whim, made all the funnier when lily's reaction is:

Much was made at Otty’s — one of the more progressive magical schools, named for one of the more progressive Ministers of Magic — of schools like Peverell Hall and St. George’s. The latter, I know, is chock-full of pureblooded elite. Peverell Hall is supposed to be slightly better, but still.

dang, it's gonna be funny if she ever finds out james is a descendant of the guy it's named after

fun fact, i included this because peter's question was a real thought i had when reading bond and free, your inspiring writing knows no limits:

The first thing you conjure in Walking Wombat is a yellow quill... “Why yellow?” Peter asked. Eddie gave him a strange look. “Why not?”

i realised i'd put jily in the same conundrum they had in tis the fucking season here:

It’s only then that I remember she’s just bought us drinks. I turn back to my triangle. “Oh, shit.” I suppose I can pawn it off on one of the others.

...but of course the resolution is rather different, and i do so enjoy a james with no filter (aka default james)

I briefly lose control of my brain and my tongue. “Is it too soon to say I’m in love with you?”

by the way, no-filter james will be a theme. wild things sure do run fast but not as fast as this boy runs his mouth!

also, another interesting challenge here was making sure james has a reason to be the way he is in AU. i love playing around with james's childhood/background and seeing how that affects his character while (hopefully!) staying true to who he is. i did that in ttfs by having him move around a lot and not meet the marauders until after the flashback timeline, which is why he's less of a git — he doesn't have the level of comfort in a social setting that canon james has with hogwarts, which is basically his playground from day 2 of first year lol

here, james was probably a fkn nightmare all through school, but of course he gets a big ego check when his quidditch career is derailed. i imagine his years in italy as a continuation of that humility lesson.

I will fully admit I used to be a cocky prick. This is what comes of being a kid who grew up with everything. But one useful thing that the whole fiasco four years ago taught me is humility. I’ve learned how to ask nicely for another chance.

and so much of writing him in wtrf is juggling that typical confidence with the insecurity/fear of losing something he's invested so much in (and has seen slip away before). it's really new to me, because typically i give lily uncertain life circumstances, but i suppose it's both of them in this AU.

the car thing was... i swear didn't start out as smutty, it was purely because i wanted a way to establish lily as muggleborn in a world where the connotations of not having magical parents is very different. more to come on that!

also, come to think of it, by this metric...

I’m now in dangerous territory, since that adds another impressive action to her running tally.

...i think james is already in love with her LOL

this bit:

The street is considered indecent and the downstairs hallway would have our landlady come running at once, so if it pleases Your Honour, we would recommend the sitting room sofa.

...was actually because in draft one lily was a lawyer, but then it was funny enough that i didn't want to take it out, but NOW i realise it makes it sound a little like she's addressing james as your honour, which.... hm. but anyway, we move on

Marc Bolan begs us to get it on through the stereo, vocalising my thoughts exactly.

the song here was initially "you shook me" (h/t @keepingupwithpotters) but i chickened out because zeppelin is SO horny dfjkhgkjs

also, it gave me so much joy to read everyone reacting to lily thinking about her ex (the general vibe was "who the fuck is this guy!!! ew!!!!") — rest assured (or, unassured??) that he has a part to play in all this. anyway, this is one of my fave lines:

He’s just a person, and there’s such a relief in sleeping with James and not the myth of a guy.

because as any come together reader knows....

Just James. Just James. It was never just James.

wtrf lily will learn!

literally the whole world knows i'm obsessed with needle drops that have no subtlety at all, but this one...

We just laugh, tangled together in a sweaty heap, as “Heaven Is in the Back Seat of My Cadillac” plays through the car’s speakers. “On the nose, isn’t it?” James says, sitting up.

...was pure luck, because i was looking up the top hits on the uk singles chart for the week(ish) this scene takes place in so that i could find a song that would realistically play on the radio, saw this, and was like omg the stars really do align

i feel like the thing i enjoy most about writing romance is the importance i get to place in noticing/looking/observing (and sometimes, not noticing!). it's just such a powerful but simple writerly tool, and god knows i am obsessed with pithy descriptions anyway, so this bit i am especially happy with:

James is already waiting, leaning against the car with his hands in his pockets. I feel as though I’m seeing him for the first time, the faint light of the flickering streetlamp catching him in profile: the strong slope of his nose, the hard line of his jaw, the curve of his smile. He studies the facade of our building with open curiosity, and I wonder what he’s looking for.

(one can only imagine james's train of thought in this moment. perhaps "ah. here lives the future love of my life"?)

“Thanks,” she tacks on at the end. I tip my head to one side in confusion. “For what?” “For, I don’t know. Being nice.” She laughs awkwardly. “I don’t do this very much.”

it wouldn't be a quibblah original tee em without some discourse to come about the nature of romantic/sexual relationships, would it? one thing i enjoy about this AU ("one thing" i say as if this isn't the billionth thing in a list) is that i get to write a romantic lily who's squaring that romanticism with what she perceives as the culture of the times. (this is a bit of a staple in all my characterisations of lily, but it is not often paired with casual sex, the complication of all complications!)

oh this bit literally wrote itself like i didn't even pause to think just vomited it out:

In the morning — and it must be early still — the sun streams through Lily’s sorry excuses for curtains with aggression that cannot be ignored. I crack open an eye to find myself sprawled out across her bed, quite literally spread-eagled. She’s attached to my side like a barnacle. Or a very pretty barnacle, anyway.

i'm especially proud of james's voice in this story. i don't often write first-person fic and i was worried how it'd turn out, but i think james as a character/narrator typically colours his own 3rd-person narration so strongly that it ended up a smoother transition than i'd feared!

also i just. i can't resist throwing in comic relief and i hope that this whole segment was a gentle enough preparation for the awkwardness that followed LOL

All of a sudden, the balcony door bursts open. I nearly drop the mug. “What the—” Mary pokes her head around the corner, sporting a righteous smile. “Morning, handsome.” Over her shoulder she shouts, “He’s on the balcony!” I blink. There’s a sound from inside the flat, as if something very large has just been dropped. Then a swear. “Oh, shit,” I say, realisation dawning, “you weren’t looking for me, were you? It’s so loud out here—” Mary cups a hand around her mouth and stage-whispers, “Lily was frantic.” She’s quite violently yanked back, and Lily herself appears in the doorway, slightly out of breath. “Should’ve checked the balcony first,” she says, and closes the door before Mary can insert herself into the space again. “Hi,” I say, which is agreed-upon best practice for greeting a woman you’ve just had fantastic sex with and ideally would like to have sex with again.

to this day i don't know what lily dropped. let's hope it wasn't expensive!

Captained the under-17 English squad at the World Cup some years back, Serie Primo’s lead goal-scorer of last year… Only an injury in what should’ve been his first season at Puddlemere mars his record. I wince reading about it and comparing it to a heap of press clippings. James Potter was hurt, and Puddlemere didn’t fancy paying for him not to play, so they shipped him off to Milan.

(you cannot imagine how much pointed interrogation of my brother it took to gather this intel.) i constantly worry that i've got dates or timelines wrong somehow — you might notice i tweaked under-17, which used to be under-19 until i realised that made no sense (even though in terms of its career importance i would much preferred it to have been u-19.... anyway). i also found out that u-17 football squads don't actually have captains but i said fuck it on that count.

but obviously i started writing this AU for the sports possibilities, only to discover i'm going to have to interfere a great deal with the Timeline (you shall see in future instalments).

god i really went through the whole fic. like i reread the whole thing to do this. here u go clare jfbghjfd

#this has no right to be this long #wtrf #clareee75 #ask me #director's cuts

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rakimaiirisa · 3 years

Text

The jungle of the inn keepers door bell caught Thoralds attention and he looked up from his mead hopefully. A woman stood in the doorway, an unsure look on her face as she peered into the dimly lit inn. Remembering the description his employer gave, Thorald jumped to his feet and hurried to her, extending a hand in welcome. "Are you Arisa Bear-Tooth?" He asked and the woman nodded. "In the flesh" she said cheerfully.

He led her to the table he had occupied earlier and called for the serving girl to bring him two tankards of hunningbrew mead. Taking a deep swig of her drink, Arisa sighed happily.

"It's been awhile since I had some good mead. But let's get to business..Why did you want to interview me?" She asked.

Thorald nodded, "You're the dragonborn, the one the Greybeards called for, m’lady. The people of Skyrim want to know more about you and my employer, The Black Horse courier,wants to be the one to tell your story. Please allow me to be the one to tell it"

Arisa looked down at her tankard for a moment then took a deep breath. " Alright. But if your expecting tales of daring adventure, you're going to be disappointed.."

He shook his head, "I just want your take on things, m’lady, Nothing more. " She smiled at him and he noticed the amusement in her eyes. "You can call me Arisa, m’lady is so formal." she said. He nodded slowly. "Ok then.. Arisa, let's get started." He pulled out a leather bound journal and pheasant quill out of his bag. Placing them on the table, he readied himself to write.

1. What is your full name?

"Arisa laenhal Bear-Tooth."

2. "Do you know why you named that?"

"My father and mother fell in love with the name. Had I been a boy, my father wouldve given me a Nordic name, since I tend to look like my mothers race more. (Noting his confusion, she shrugged.) I am half nord/half mer. I look like my mother more then my father, Tho there are some traits he passed along.(she pulled back her hair and Thorald noticed her pointed ears from her mer ancestry) . My middle name is in honor of my bosmer grandmother. I've never met her tho. She passed before my birth. As for my surname, myfather insisted that I take my mothers. He said he didn't want me to suffer the prejudice he faced, especially when dealing with my mothers people."

3. "Are you single or taken?"

Looking down at her mead, she sighed. "Single and I'm only interested in one person. And I don't want discuss who it is."

The jingle of the door bell made them look up. A tall lean dark haired nord with messy circular black war paint around his eyes stood in the doorway. He glanced at them then walked to the bar, the innkeeper Hulda, greeting him fondly. Thorald recognized him, one of the companion's from Jorvaskkr. As he turned back to Arisa, he noted the wistful look on her face. Could this be the person she was talking about earlier? Maybe this could be in a future story! He mentally rejoiced at the thought.

4. "Have any powers or abilities?"

"Since I'm the dragonborn, I can shout like the dragons, without needing training to use the Thuum . I'm very good with destruction and conjuration spells. And according to Eyorland Grey-mane, I'm not bad at working the forge.

5. (Taking a chance)."Stop being a Mary sue. Give me the details, Arisa. "

"You might want to not ask me in that tone or consider the interview over." He apologized, noting the hard look in her eyes and inwardly cringing. Don't blow this,you idiot! You might never get another chance to ask her anything again. he thought.

6.,"whats your eye color?"

" blue."

7. "Hair color? "

"Dark brown."

8. "Have any family members? "

"My father, Rilgor NightSky and my mother, Elena Bear-Tooth. I am a only child.

9." Oh, how bout pets?"

"I have my horse, Stepper. He's a good horse, very reliable and runs like the wind when I need him too."

10. Moving on to something different, Are there things you don't like?"

Laughing , she said " Spiders and Draugr overlords. Been poisoned and blown off my feet too many times to count."

11. "Do you have any activities or hobbies you like to do?"

"Tinkering with the dwemer automatons I find, I also like to try to create new spells. My attempts have been a hit or miss so far."

12." Have you hurt anyone on purpose before? "

"I've tried not to."

13. "Ever…killed anyone before? "

Not if they didn't deserve it.

14. "What kind of animal are you? "

(She grinned and Thorald noticed that her canines seemed a bit longer then normal.) "What do you think?" . "How bout we skip that question?" He said hastily. He didn't want to know.

15. " Name your bad habits?"

(She shrugged.) Procrastinating is one thing I can think of. And blowing my money on things I enjoy. That wouldnt be a problem but I tend to overspend and then I find myself broke until the next job comes along..

16. "Do you look up to anyone at all?"

I have great respect for my shield brothers and sisters of Jorvaskkr. I have learned a lot from them.

17. Are you gay, straight or bisexual?

I enjoy men and women.

18. Do you go to school?

I study with Vignar Grey-mane and Vilkas. They are teaching me the history of tamriel. Vilkas is also trying to teach me how to handle the transactions for the guild. (She frowns slightly) That's not going so well to be honest.

19. "Do you ever want to be married and have children?"

"I don't know...I would like to get married but children? I'm hardly ever home so I'm not sure. I guess it just depends.

20. "Do you have any fanboys or girls? "

I'm not sure.

21. What are you most afraid of?

Hmmm.. I guess letting life pass me by.... And losing people who are precious to me.

22. "What do you usually wear?

Depends on the weather, but I prefer light clothing and armor.

23.whats one food that tempts you?

Snowberry Crostata. Tilma makes the best but Huldas isn't that bad either.

24. "Am I annoying to you? "

(Shrugs) I've dealt with worse.

25. "Well, it's not over.! "

(Another shrug) it's fine.

26.what class are you(low/middle/high?"

When I was with my parents, I was, considered middle. Living in whiterun.. I guess you could say im still middle. I own breezehome and im still able to provide for myself.

27.

"How many friends do you have? "

Im friendly with the whiterun citizens and I can count on my shield brothers and sisters to back me up so quite a few.

28.

"What are your thoughts on pie? "

The only pie sold in whiterun is apple and I am just not a fan of it. Sometimes Hulda will give me one for helping her cut firewood bithe I just give it to Farkas or Vilkas when I see them.

30.

"Favorite drink?"

It's some brew Farkas made. He's calls it the sabrecat stunner. It's really strong but man, so good.

31.

"Whats your favorite place?"

Hmmm.. I have to say Jorvaskkr. It's noisy but there's something comforting about it. Plus, Tilma is a great cook!

#skyrim #arisa #oc asks #oc prompts #been in my drafts forever

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jebazzled · 4 years

Text

Level Up! Beginner/Intermediate/Advanced RP and You

Hello there! Coming to you again with tips & tricks for a top-notch roleplay experience! Today we're going to talk about writing levels and what they mean for your roleplay experience. We'll cover what these levels mean, how to gauge where you're at, and how you can improve your roleplay writing specifically!

WRITING LEVELS

"Writing levels" are often a descriptor sites will use in their advertising and site buzzes. They might be "semi-literate," "intermediate," "literate," "advanced," or any other sort of buzzword. The key here is that these descriptors are used by site staff both to advertise what type of writing is most common on their site and what type of writing they want to see on their site.

What writing levels are not is a value indicator. There's nothing wrong with being an intermediate writer or a beginner writer; advanced sites are not inherently better than intermediate ones, beginner sites are nothing to be ashamed of! Think of writing levels as an umbrella within the rp community. The same way a forum rp-er might narrow their search to jcink sites, a writer might narrow their search to sites which cater to their style of writing.

That said, it is good to define what each of these levels look like so you can figure out where your writing might fit.

BEGINNER Beginner writing is often very short and direct, without much in the way of literary flourish. Characters might be fairly undeveloped (or developed around one trait, for example, "goth" or "prep") and there's usually more discussion of their appearance than you see in advanced writing.

Examples:

Susie was short and very skinny, with big eyes and long mermaid-wavy hair dyed blue at the ends. She was sitting outside Firefly High in blue skinny jeans, silver Converse, and a black t-shirt. "I hope someone can give me a ride home," she said.

Raven sneered at Susie. She didn't like blue because she liked black, because she was a goth. "Are you listening to popular music? What a phony."

Bramblepaw sat down in the clearing. "Hello" he meowed.

Some guides will also give an example like

patty threw a pom pom at susie! "take that u nerd!"

But I am choosing to believe that you're past that if you're deep enough in this hobby to be seeking out resources - I certainly never had that self-awareness until I was more in intermediate territory!

Beginner-level writing gets the job done, and can certainly move a story along. But if you've been writing a while, you might be ready to build more multifaceted characters, and to invest more effort in your writing.

INTERMEDIATE/SEMI-LITERATE WRITING Intermediate writing tends to be longer than beginner writing, with more variety in sentence structure and with more advanced word choices. There are likely more "beats" per post, by which I mean that instead of just answering a question or getting on the bus or etc, a character will likely do more actions in each turn writing. Characters are less likely to be a stereotype (see: Raven the goth who only wears black, Patty the popular cheerleader who is blonde and brainless, etc) but applications likely reveal one-dimensional characters. Common application styles I see from intermediate writers are "interviews" and "journals," as well as listicles (10 Things Raven Likes, 9 People Raven Hates, etc); this likely means a character is told rather than shown.

(Wondering what's so intermediate about interviews and journals? See my guides to interviews and journals!)

Examples:

Susie was born on March 20, 2003 in Farmville, Iowa. She didn't like how similar her classmates all were - they all listened to the same music, read the same books (none!) and had the most fun when drinking on a tractor. Susie was more deep, and liked to write poetry and sketch the animals that lived on her family's farm. Today she was sitting outside Firefly High, twirling the ends of her blue-dyed hair and waiting for a ride home.

Raven wasn't like most girls. She didn't like horses or rabbits, but only liked goats, because they represented the devil. Raven also wasn't like most girls, at least in Farmville, because she worshipped the devil. She wore a lot of black to represent this, and when she saw Susie, she sneered. Blue! Susie must be a normie. "Are you listening to popular music?" She asked. "What a phony."

Bramblepaw had spent all morning hunting and was feeling lonely. All he wanted was to share a squirrel with a friend, and maybe have someone groom the tricky spot behind his ears. He padded from the apprentice den to the warriors', to the elders and no one was home. He sat forlorn in the middle of the clearing. "Hello?" He meowed.

Another common trait of both beginner and intermediate writing is that posts might not leave much for a partner to reply to. The whole point of this weird hobby is to collaborate with a partner - if you're finding that it is hard to keep writing partners, you might take a look at my guide for writing posts that beg a response.

Intermediate writing is stronger than beginner writing, but still sometimes falls flat when it comes to collaboration with a partner, and is almost never beautiful to read. Intermediate writing is when advanced writing is just over the next hill - and that hill comes with a fair amount of work.

ADVANCED/LITERATE WRITING Advanced writing can be long or short, but the writing in either case packs a punch. Advanced writers use a variety of sentence structures, words, and literary devices. They might have specific imagery they use for specific characters, specific literary constructions for different characters, and there is a strong character voice in each post. Advanced writers write multifaceted characters with genuine flaws and fears, and advanced writers produce writing that is enjoyable to read, elegant and emotive. Applications will usually be anecdotal - will demonstrate key moments in a character's life, allowing the writer to show them in action rather than tell the reader what they are like. (A guide to anecdotal freestyle applications is available here.

Examples:

Everything felt the same in Farmville: identical rows of corn stretching endlessly over the horizon, pockmarked by the occasional farmhouse, white clapboard and falling shutters. Every person felt the same - Susie and Mary and Sarah and Joseph, strong peasant names living strong peasant lives, and never straying more than twenty miles from the town in which they were born.

Even Susie knew she had her place in the sameness: the once-every-generation girl who fancies herself to be more, as though her sketches of the sheep and pigs are any better than her grandmother's before her. As though dying her hair blue were enough to make her different when she knew she belonged here as sure as the hogs in the barn.

The only difference between Susie and her classmates was that she didn't have a car to get her to her evening job at the Road Ranger gas station, and her bike had disassembled itself after she'd pedaled it into a gopher hole, so here she was, sitting pathetically outside Firefly High, waiting for a ride. She'd almost rather be fired than beg for one.

It’s the principle of the thing, Raven had told her mother that morning. Yes, it was 90 degrees and 90 percent humidity; yes, there was not a cloud in the sky and the fields absorbed heat like a winter sweater; yes, she was aware that her white makeup and Wet n' Wild eyeliner was falling off her face like The Scream. But it was the principle of the thing, wearing the long-sleeved black shirt with the hand-cut thumbholes, a long dark skirt; her only concession to the heat, a pair of thin gray flip-flops instead of her beloved Docs. She listens to Death Wish; she doesn't have one.

But nothing makes a Satantic rebel feel more a phony than feeling it drip off of them in the rural Iowa heat, and Raven wanted to take it out on someone. Fair? No, but life isn't fair; she's got that on a sticker on the electric guitar she saved up her Hy-Vee salary for and never learned to play. Maybe pretending to be an asshole has turned Raven into one.

She has no real problem with Susie - Susie Q., from math, or Susie C., from human geo; who knows, they're all the same - but she scoffs at her anyway, loud enough to catch Susie's attention. "What top-40 garbage are you listening to?"

Hunting is something they do together, or they're supposed to. But in the whole time he'd been out in the woods, Bramblepaw hadn't seen a single other cat - not playing at the stream, not waiting in a tree for the finches to return, not sitting along the RiverClan border to taunt their neighbors. If he'd been a Loner, just passing through, he would have thought the entire territory abandoned.

It was unsettling, and when he returned to the Camp, it was more of the same: everyone gone, without a trace; had he imagined them being here at all? Was it all in his head?

His mew sounded small and pitiful to even him, the mewl of a lost kitten. "Hello?"

Advanced writing makes more time for descriptions, scene-setting, and other narration. It doesn't feel "cringey," by which I mean if you read it 10 years from now you're probably not going to want to drown yourself. Please do not ask me about the 2005 Proboards forum I adminned and referenced for this tutorial.

So now that we can recognize what writing our level might be at - how do we shop for a site?

FINDING YOUR FIT

Now that you have a sense of where your writing sits, it's time to use that data point in searching for a new site to call home. Some sites make it easy for you by self-identifying as beginner, intermediate, or advanced; some sites may use "semi-literate" and "literate," but I know I stray from those labels because it feels like a value judgment, and as I said before:

there is nothing wrong with being part of a beginner or intermediate community, if that is what makes the most sense for your writing and for what you aim to get out of your roleplay experience!

Before applying to a new site, you should do a little bit of digging around to see if it's a good fit for you:

Look at accepted character applications. How do these compare to your own writing?

Skim some threads from top posters. How does this community write and structure their threads? Could you see yourself regularly keeping up with their speed, length, literary quality?

To the above point - does it seem like the community has a tendency towards your personal writing pet peeves? (For example, I personally cannot stand purple prose, and if the site community is prone to it, I am OUT.)

This is in addition to all standard due-diligence site-hunting routines, e.g. not diving into the world of Southern Gothic supernatural if you're looking for, say, urban fantasy.

It's also worth thinking about how the community behaves on the server, if you join it:

Is there a thread shoutout/compliments/etc channel? What passages are members calling out in there as exceptional writing?

Do the members strike you as open-minded and friendly or as more of a closed group? If you choose to shoot for a level above your standard writing as a growth exercise, this will be easier to achieve with an open-minded and friendly group than with a group of snobs.

Do you enjoy the vibe? Something frequently overlooked, I think. If you don't like the energy of the community, just don't join the site - that is going to be much more productive for everyone than you joining and then trying to get the staff to fully re-engineer their community.

Be honest with yourself! Regardless of how much you like a site's plot, lore, and community, joining a site that sits above your writing proficiency is challenging. You might find your characters routinely pended for lacking the development of other characters onsite. Other members may not be enthusiastic to write with you - not necessarily out of snobbishness or elitism, but because it's not fun to feel like you're not getting equal effort or quality from a writing partner. And you might find yourself feeling insecure about how your writing stacks up to others (I've been writing on advanced sites for 10 years and I feel insecure about my own writing sometimes!) which might sap your muse.

If you are looking for a minimal-effort, minimal-stress rp experience, stick to sites that are at or below your writing level. Writing with people of similar skillset will help take the edge off any insecurity, and because writing will be lower-pressure and lower-effort, you will be better positioned to juggle multiple characters and more big plots. "Lower effort" doesn't mean "lazy" - it just means that you free up headspace that otherwise you might spend on the mechanics of writing versus the excitement of plotting.

If you are an intermediate writer seeking to write on an advanced site, you need to take a much more deliberate approach.

One thing I see often is intermediate writers applying multiple characters to an advanced site at once. This is a losing proposition. While staff might be willing to pend an app and work with you on revisions, if they see you submitting multiple applications that require major revisions and overhauls, they see a pattern. While staff might be willing to help you develop one character to their site's standard, if they anticipate you needing that level of coaching on every character, they will question your ability to keep up with their members in threads. Staff cannot be expected to assist members on writing each thread post - at that point, it becomes easier to decline all of the intermediate writer's applications.

If you are an intermediate writer seeking to write on an advanced site, you need to treat this as a "quality, not quantity" project.

When I was 13 I was writing very much at a beginner and intermediate level, just little Neopets rps with my friends. Then I joined a horse rp - an advanced rp - with a 1000 word minimum per post. While I am beyond thankful ridiculous word count minimums aren't common anymore, I can credit this rp with much of my growth as a writer.

I wrote one (1) character. And I only plotted her with a couple of others. I was very active in the OOC community, and was eventually made a mod - but when it came to IC activity, I focused all my energy on one character and just a couple of plots, because I spent hours on each post, making sure that I was matching my writing partners as best I could. It was much more work than the beginner & intermediate forums I was on with my friends, and much more work for much less action. But stretching like that is what made advanced writing get easier and easier - until I could balance two characters on an advanced site, then four, until now, when I write 12 characters on multiple advanced sites with relative ease. The real challenge is in keeping up with threads - not in matching quality anymore.

If you are an intermediate writer seeking to improve your writing, joining an advanced site is a great option for growth, but you need to adjust your expectations.

Here are my best tips for intermediate writers looking to make the jump to advanced - or, for that matter, for beginners to make the jump to intermediate:

Focus, focus, focus. Choose one (1) character to write - no matter how tempted you are by want ads, no matter how many other ideas you get, no matter what your muse is throwing at you. Use all those on sites at your current level. For your reach site, pick one character.

Be receptive. Your one (1) character might take a revision or two to get out of a pend. Remember that staff don't pend apps to be assholes - they do it because they believe in you and think you have it in you to do the necessary revisions! If they thought you were a lost cause they wouldn't have wasted their own time with a pend. Be open to the idea that they know what works and is expected in their community. After all, if your character and your writing aren't appealing to the site community... you're not going to have anyone to write with!

Focus, focus, focus, part 2. You should not choose this character based on the volume of plots they can attract. Choose a character who has one or two very close plots for you to focus on. You might consider identifying a particularly kind member of the community and filling one of their want ads, so that this close plot is ready-made for you, and so this person can be a friendly face on your writing journey.

Be realistic. You might think: well, if I focus on one character for a few weeks, then I'll be ready to take on another, right? You might be or you might not. Don't rush it. This entire journey is about deliberation and intentionality. Don't take on a second character on an advanced site until writing the first to the same standard is noticeably easier.

Be kind to yourself. This is a lot of work! If you have the time for it, you might consider also staying active on a site that is at your writing level, so you have a place for easy writing, indulging your plot bunnies, etc.

I hope this tutorial has been a helpful resource to you, both in identifying how to find the right rp for you and in figuring out how to improve your writing, if you so choose. Happy writing!

#rp guides #resources #writing resources #rp writing

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mossworth · 3 years

Note

1, 5, 6, and 10? If you're cool with answering that many at once, if not - surprise me!

Man - two in a night? I'm being spoiled with this ask. Thanks so much! And of course I'll answer all of them at once, you know I will take any invitation to write way too much about my characters and I'm about to make it everyone's problem.

Thanks again!

---

1.) "Go to the fourth (or most recent) chapter of your WIP, and share the first line of dialogue out of context."

I have four documents up at the same time and high-key I can't remember which one I worked on last - so just... take the two I know were the most recent...

“I am here to make sure you do not wrap those chains around your throat or make tatters of your tongue.“

---

“Those of you who cry, chase after your spirits unhindered and unburdened. Walk as if my mountains were flat and paths ever-clear so they may never escape you.”

5.) For any OC, write a description of them from the perspective of someone who adores them, and then a description from the perspective of someone who loathes them.

Candlewit –

“Oh, Candlewit?” They laughed a little, leaning back in their chair. “Strange little thing ain’t she? Not like any one of those ‘war-forged’ I’ve ever seen. And trust me, I was in the war! I’ve seen my fair share… never thought I’d be working with one now that it’s all over, but I couldn’t be more thankful. Four-foot-nothing but packs a punch like a full-grown orc, not without mentioning that saw. With how she moves you’d never guess she were all iron and wood under that little shawl. And the mask! I heard she made it herself. It’s kinda’ cute, I think – fits the eye pretty well. Like a little telescope built into her face. Have you ever seen it glow? The gem, the thing that makes it work, oh it’s like a star! Or flame, kinda’ like all those candles she carries around with her. It just shines with this golden magic that I can't help but gawk at every time she goes and casts one of her little spells. It’s pretty in an odd kinda’ way. I’ve always wondered just how far she can see with that thing… I’m sure it’s far. Like miles kind of far.

…Oh, you wanna' know about that? Yeah, she'll go on the fritz sometimes but don't we all?

I’m not going to lie, it’s scary but I wouldn’t worry too much about it. I’d only be scared if I were on the business end of that saw – otherwise you shouldn’t have a thing to fuss about. Even when she goes all –“ They puffed out their hands in a mock explosion, making a poof noise under their breath. “She might not be able to control the magic, and she can’t talk when she gets like that but I can tell, I can tell, she’s still looking out for the lot of us. I’d trust her with my life, even then.

Speaking of talking… I’ve always wondered how she does it. Last I saw under that mask, I don’t think she’s got a mouth.”

---

“That thing’s a time-bomb just waiting to take us out.” They set their glass down on the wood table with a violent clack, eyeing the small warforged from the other side of the room. “I wouldn’t go near it if I were you – I only spend as much time around it as I’m paid to. But every mission we go on together I think I’m more afraid of it getting us killed rather than whatever were-hound or kobald pack we have been hired to hunt. You don’t trust something that covers itself head to toe, mask and all, for no good reason. And you really shouldn’t trust something that carries around a weapon the same size as it without breaking a sweat.” They scoffed, gritting their teeth. “Even if it could break a sweat.” They took a strong swig and looked over their companion, their face softening. “I can see your face, you know. You think I’m being harsh, or gods, racist. I don’t have a problem with warforged, they’re fine. But I do have a problem with whatever that thing is because it’s not a warforged. I’ve seen under that mask, the thing doesn’t even have a proper face. It just the eye. I’m just trying to look out for the team… I promise you – it’s either playing us for the fool or it really is just that oblivious. I don't know which makes it more dangerous.

Funny something could be so blind when the only thing it’s good at is looking around and pointing out the obvious.

Look, it exploded. And not in the fire-and-gunpowder kind of way. I could only wish that were the case because then it wouldn't be my problem anymore! If that thing gets too angry, too heated, and it’ll burst with magic at hair’s notice and there’s nothing we can do to prevent or prepare for it. You see this?” They held out their hand, showing off red, half-healed striations spiking up their fingertips, ending off at the wrist. “This happened because it got smacked over the head like we're prone to do in this job and got its gears rattled – the thing exploded with some kind of frost and it wasn’t just the thief we were chasing who got caught in the crossfire." Their eyes flicked to Candlewit again, and they shivered. "Gods... I always feel like it’s staring at me. Just watch yourself around it.”

6.) For any OC, share three songs that make you think of them.

Ooh, the first character that pops in my head for this is Ardolf, but I actually answered a very similar question for him a while back. So instead, I’ll go for… how about one of the Ghoul Parade Guys? Or how about all three because I can’t choose?

James Brotz:

- “Necromancin’ Dancin’” – Bear Ghost

- “Puppet Loosely Strung” – The Correspondents

- “Tommy’s Party” – Peach Pit

Martin Finley:

- 「できれば愛を」- 坂本慎太郎 [Shintaro Sakamoto]

- “Harvey” – Her’s

- “Brave as a Noun” – AJJ

Jo Marie:

- “Call it Fate, Call it Karma.” – The Strokes

- “The Woods” – Sam Fermin

- 「BODY SNATCHERS/ボディー・スナッチャーズ」- 細野晴臣 [Haruomi Hosono]

10.) Poorly summarize the most recent chapter of your WIP.

Oh, oh. This is a good one.

Guy whose family is famous for owning a lot of really big boats goes on an involuntary surprise vacation; his boyfriend guard decides to go on voluntary vacation to find him. Famous boat family kid gets slapped, meets Ezra Miller (but eight feet tall), but still isn’t happy about being slapped and swears at a wall.

They learn they were, in-fact, not on a boat at all. They spent way too long trying to figure this fact out.

Ezra Miller is sort of real, but not enough to prove?

#writing #writblr #writerscommunity #wip #oc #oc tag #oc stuff #original characters #dnd ocs

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brawltogethernow · 4 years

Text

So the problem starts, the problem starts when Kaine agrees to go to a bake sale.

This little old lady put her hand on his face, see? What are little old ladies doing putting their hands on his face? Doesn’t she know he could snap her neck with a finger twitch?

“You are a good Catholic boy,” she says. “I know one when I see one,” she interrupts when he opens his mouth to protest, though he wasn’t yet decided which descriptor to zero in on first. “You are always at confession.”

Kaine may, possibly, have been using confession as a kind of no-papers-required stand-in for therapy. Or maybe a no-blood-shed-Aracely-isn’t-glaring-at-me stand-in for hurting himself.

He has enough brain cells not to say this. Barely.

“Thank you,” he says instead, and tries to pull away.

She leans with him. Her hands remain on his face.

“But I never see you anywhere else!” she says. “You must come to the bake sale. It’s on Friday.”

“Okay,” says Kaine’s mouth entirely without his input. He was born with an inbuilt structural weakness against little old battle axes. He attributes this to the ghost echoes of Peter Parker’s idyllic childhood.

“So what are we making?” demands Aracely as soon as he returns to the presidential suite. “Lemon bars? People on TV make lemon bars. What is a lemon bar?”

Sometimes, Kaine is more glad than anything that she's always eavesdropping on the inside of his head. Often, he’d cut off a limb, hell, all his limbs, to keep her out. He'd grow a bunch of spider legs again and then cut those off. He’s not sure exactly where this falls between the two extremes. But definitely closer to the negative side.

“Oh,” she says as if he answered, tipping her head. She’s turned around on the couch and sat up on her knees and braced her arms on the back of it to see him better. “You don’t know either. That’s okay, we can Google it.”

So they burn the kitchenette a little bit.

"We can rebuild it," says Arcacely. "We have the technology."

He definitely leaves her in front of the TV too much. But what's the alternative, bringing her with him more?

"Yes, it is," says Aracely like he spoke out loud. "And that is but one more reason why you should do that."

"Hell no," says Kaine, and books it out of the suite fast enough that he can pretend he didn't hear her shout, "Swear jar!"

He finds the maid who most often handles their rooms. He hands her a stack of hundreds for her trouble, then gives her a couple more because he can tell the exchange has scared her. He tells her the hotel can bill him the damages. And then he asks her how to get to the hotel kitchen.

Aracely appears, out of breath, as he finishes bribing his way into use of a stove. Her ability to do this is one reason among many why he doesn't own a cellphone.

"You could have just asked them," she chirps, methodically going through the room and opening, examining, and then closing every drawer. It's empty right now, so there's no one to stop her. "I think they would have just let us use the kitchen. The people here like you."

"No, they don't," corrects Kaine. "And who cares? It's not like we need to save money." He can just go hit more human traffickers if he runs low. And since he spends a lot of his time doing this even when he's not running low, he is in absolutely no danger of running low. He's pretty sure he could buy a yacht, or a politician.

"Success!" proclaims Aracely, and when Kaine turns around she's holding a clear plastic tub of brown powder over her head. There's a piece of paper laminated to the side with text printed on it that might be a recipe. "Brownie mix!"

"That is not food," declares Aracely of their creation. "No one is going to buy that."

Kaine leans over to examine it. It's kind of...grainy.

"Brownie sand," says Aracely. "Could we start a new trend?"

Kaine sighs. They should have known trying to quarter the banquet-sized serving on the tub was a bad idea. They have clearly miscalculated on some ephemeral measurement level. They've angered the baking gods.

"Are there baking gods?" inquires Aracely.

"Why don't you ask the Catholics," says Kaine, and tugs her away to tip the cleaning staff again.

“This is good too,” says Aracely, presiding over the storebought tubs of those weird shitty grocery store cookies that are mostly icing that they brought instead.

“I don’t even know how I got here,” says Kaine. “What are we doing here?”

His nose twitches. He’s not sure if one of them still smells like burnt lemons or if he’s just imagining it. He does know that he’s avoiding anything lemony for a long time.

The woman who got him into this sidles up to them shortly after they set up, looking very pleased to see him there.

"Always good to see fresh faces," she says, and winks at him.

She continues to talk in a way that stays steadily one step to the left of him feeling like he has a firm grasp on the conversation. Possibly that's because he's overthinking things and doubting whether he's correctly interpreting a single word she's saying. What even is "the congregation", in this context?

He looks at Aracely.

She shrugs.

Is it a list. Do you have to complete a set of tasks to qualify. Are there membership cards?

Aracely shrugs a little more beffudledly. Her reeducation via television and following a vigilante around active crime scenes must not have taught her about this.

The bake sale is to raise money to fix the air conditioner. This means that the building is the same temperature inside as it is outside. The best description he can come up with for the response the people in the room are having to the sweltering temperature is "cheerfully miserable".

Other than that it's...weird. Festival-ish? It kind of plucks the strings of memories that don't belong to him of May Parker presiding over neighborhood events with an endlessly gentle iron fist, but it also doesn't. He also kind of feels like he is impersonating someone who is actually supposed to be here. But that's nothing new.

There is a big confused snarl in Kaine's chest made mostly of other people's experiences that he can't even begin to interpret if he pings himself about the concept of "God". He thought that might be a problem if he just walked in here and...socialized.

It is not. No one is asking him about God.

"What do you think about the setup this time?" a woman with a thin mouth and long, spindly fingers demands. Her lipstick is the same shade as Annabelle's hair and her turtleneck suggests a total lack of concern for the wet Houston heat that Kaine finds honestly terrifying.

"The--?" he starts to answer.

"It's definitely for the best they didn't decide to hold it in the basement again," she continues, saving him from answering her not-really-a-question. "I mean, why? The lobby has all these lovely windows."

She gestures. Kaine nods along, his adrenaline spiking more than it ever has for any interaction with a werewolf or a most dangerous game type with a knife.

Thus follows a brief interaction where Kaine hums or nods when appropriate, and in return learns that she's very invested in the greater accessibility of the lobby, she plays piano on a volunteer basis for the church, and she knows he's "one of Marie's injections of fresh blood" but doesn't seem interested on calling him out for not belonging here.

"Do come to the community breakfast tomorrow," she finishes, buys two cookies, and leaves.

The emotional aftermath is akin to having weathered a near-death experience.

Aracely has found an older couple to speak Spanish with and is chirping away at the same blistering clip typical of her English, but with a more fluid cadence that betrays it's at least one of her native languages. The in-his-head thing doesn't really go both ways, so he has no idea what they're talking about. Probably something he'd regret knowing. What if she is asking them about baking gods.

A guy in a priest...collar...thing...who Kaine hopes desperately is not the one he sometimes monopolizes, or, failing that, does not recognize him, has sprouted up to make polite conversation.

"Not a bad turnout today, eh?" he says.

"Good thing they moved it back into the lobby," tries Kaine.

The priest beams at him like he's repeated the secret code.

"So true," he says.

Kaine is totally mastering churches. This is great. He bets if it were Peter in his place he would have started a fight by now.

"I think that went well," says Aracely after they've retreated to the suite and she's curled back up on the couch with a bowl of...something. She stabs the contents of the bowl with a spoon. "We should definitely do that again. Socializing with your community is almost as important as scaring away all its drug lords!"

"They're not my community," says Kaine. Not just the Catholic church a few blocks away from the hotel, which he still thinks he prefers from inside an anonymous guilt box. Houston is not Kaine's community. He does not have, does not get to have, a community. (Aracely rolls her eyes in an incredibly teenagery way, projecting exasperation either at his answer or his train of thought.) "What are you eating?"

She salutes him with her spoon. "Brownie sand! It's very edible!"

"Ichh," says Kaine.

"It's good for you!" Aracely declares. She looks dubiously down at her bowl, and corrects, "It's not actively bad for you!"

"No more chocolate," says Kaine. "No more lemons. No."

"But maybe some more bake sales?"

"...Maybe."

"Yes!"

On AO3 (where the title and summary can be considered a bonus gag). Last year the GG Discord was talking about how the Marvel wiki categorizes characters by religious affiliation, which led to questioning why Kaine Parker was listed as Catholic. I reported back several months later after I read Scarlet Spider that it was because he started going to confession after being thrown through a church wall, which prompted gelpenss to pitch the mental image of Kaine showing up to one of the less cinematic things people do in churches.

#kaine parker #aracely penalba #scarlet spider #spiderman #spidey #marvel #w #fic #this corner of the fandom is dime-sized lol #i'll be real that i stopped editing this when i saw i'd accidentally authored a story with a church of exactly 1666 words like #that's too funny i'm sorry

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teaspoon-full-of-sugar · 4 years

Photo

confession

pairing: priest!michael x novice!reader

warnings: (brief) descriptions of masterbation, rough smut, blasphemy, degradation/humiliation, choking, teasing, orgasm denial, begging, unprotected sex, (minor) cum play, my ramblings on what it means to sin, do not read if you’re offended by misuse of biblical verse !

word count: 3.5k

synopsis: y/n is being tempted by sins of thought, and father langdon helps with her repentance.

This is a smutty priest/nun au, so some topics in this may be offensive to some; discretion is advised. I also want to note that I am not a catholic. I was raised as a witness, so I don’t know much of anything about Catholicism or their practices, other than quick research to write this. Please, keep this in mind while reading this, as some things may not be entirely accurate. This does not reflect my views, nor does this reflect the actual happenings in this religion. Sorry, this author’s note is really long. There are just some things that I think needed to be said. Without further ado, please enjoy this very self-indulgent fic.

Also tagging @sojournmichael because this catholic school girl fic inspired me (even if it’s not very similar) thank you!

—

Y/N sits in the first row of pews, like all novices, close to the altar, which is filled with lit candles and gifts. Father Langdon is well into Mass, but she has trouble listening.

At first, her infatuation with him was childish and based purely on his looks, since he was a sight to behold. She assumed that it would pass, like most things. However, as the years passed, the more they spoke, the more she learned about him and vice versa, she could never shake the nervousness she felt around him, or thoughts of his sweet words in her moments of contemplation.

And no matter how many times she tried to rid herself of insatiable dreams, she couldn't seem to stop the visions of his head between her quivering legs, his hands in her hair, pulling tightly, and his soothing words in her ear as she takes all of him inside her. She dreams of him, both day and night, and no amount of prayer can seem to eliminate him from her tainted mind.

Love feels like the wrong word to describe what she felt toward him. Love is something cherished, yet she thinks of him in vile, wicked, sinful ways. Guilt nearly swallows her whole whenever she looks at him. He is a man of the Lord, sworn to celibacy, and she imagines him as some common whore to ogle. Their gazes lock from across the chapel, and he tilts his head, blue eyes calm. He peers into her soul, and she almost thinks he knows what she was thinking about.

Suddenly, everyone stands to recite Our Father, breaking her from her thoughts.

"Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name."

The words melt away into the background as Langdon paces past the front row, nodding at her when their eyes meet. He's close enough to touch, and her fingers twitch to feel his warmth. She stutters through the prayer she's known since childhood and tries to clear her mind, but it's no use. Muddled images of Langdon keep appearing, no matter how much she wants to shy away. A heavy breath passes through her lips, a final plea with the Lord to give her strength.

"Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen."

—

Y/N finds herself in the chapel after night prayers, standing in front of the priests' room. It's hidden behind the altar, barren and stripped of any sinful embellishments. She knocks on the door gently.

"Come in." Langdon's voice comes from the other side, and she freezes. She had hoped that Father Scott was there instead of Langdon, but she can't turn back now. There's a mirror beside the door that shakes as she closes the door, making her flinch. Michael Langdon sits at a large desk, hands busy with piles of papers.

"Do you have a moment?" She asks, and he gestures for her to sit. "I am at a crossroads, Father," she begins, fiddling with her beads. "Will you hear my confession?" She still can't look at him, her head bowed down in disgrace, staring down at her shoes.

"Yes, that's what I'm here for."

"Thank you, Father."

"Would you like to speak in the confession booth, sister?"

"No, I fear I will lose courage if—" Her throat closes when she finally meets his eyes, guilt and fear muddling together in the pit of her stomach as she throbs with sinful arousal. "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, forgive me, for I have sinned." Y/N breathes out shakily, nervous under his stare. Blue never seemed like a deadly color until she met him. His eyes, brilliant and sharp, are alluring, and when he smiles at her, sweet with temptation, it's as if he has put her under a spell.

"It's been three weeks since my last confession."

"John 1:9, 'If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness'," he recites beautifully. "Repent, my child," he says as he leans on his elbows, hands interlocked in front of him. Y/N bows her head shamefully as she thinks of how his rings would bite at her heated skin, cold and teasing, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, before finally easing between her shaky thighs. She swallows dryly.

"In two weeks, I am taking my first vows, and my faith is being tested. I am being tempted with sins of thought."

"Describe these temptations," he says, his fingers tracing over his lips.

She looks at him with teary eyes, fingers tracing the cross that hangs from her neck. Shame darkens her features, and she visibly wilts, sinking deeper into the chair. He leans closer, brow cocking, as she struggles to steady her mind.

"I know I shouldn't. These... unholy thoughts, they keep me awake at night, they taunt me in my moments of silent contemplation, and they distract me from the teachings of our Lord, Father."

He tilts his head earnestly and moves to sit on the edge of his desk, the clicking of black leather boots masking her shallow breaths. She doesn't look at him; no, she can't look at him, fearing that those tempting eyes will lure her in and swallow her whole. She's afraid that once she gives in, she'll never want to turn back. Langdon isn't in his robes, like during mass, rather he's in a simple black attire, the high collar of his shirt

"Do you feel it now?" His voice is soft and calm, holding no judgement, but it lilts a little as if he's belittling her. He leans closer. "With me?" A hand cups her chin gently, urging her to face him. "The ache, it's always there, throbbing and burning. Isn't it, Y/N?" Her mouth dries. She's never seen those... sinful eyes so close before. Words elude her as she can only nod pitifully, and his lips pout. Those blue eyes hungrily graze over her.

Every instinct is telling her to lunge at him and claim him as her own. He could pacify her hunger and quell her thirst, and she would take it all, anything to be rid of this awful ache between her thighs. Lust settles into her belly, heavy and tense.

"Is it painful?"

She nods again, but that's not good enough this time.

"Use your words, sister," he hisses. He kneels beside her now, one hand still holding her chin, while the other rests on her knee, gripping it almost painfully, but his touch leaves her trembling, yearning for more of his warmth. If only he were to go a little higher. Her legs tighten together.

"Yes, Father, it's painful," she answers weakly, and he smiles a little, fingers inching up her thigh. He can feel her muscles shake and tense beneath them, but her little sighs of relief leave no chance for questioning. He leans dangerously close to her, inhaling her amber scent, sweet and sultry; his eyes flutter closed, relishing in the feeling of her squirming because of him.

"Have you given in to these temptations?"

"No," she gasps. His hand suddenly stops moving, and he leaves her altogether. A hum rumbles through his chest, and he nods approvingly, sitting back in his chair. Her wide eyes are still wet, but her heaving chest and pinched features show they're tears of frustration rather than shame. He smirks.

"Recite two Hail Mary's before you go to bed, and I will see you at mass tomorrow morning."

Her legs nearly crumble beneath her as she stands, nodding furiously while wiping her tears. Before she leaves, like a good girl, Y/N turns back to him and bows her head slightly.

"Thank you, Father."

—

Confession is meant for penance and retribution. For those with ill-intentions, those who confess simply to ease guilt rather than to signify a love for the Lord and a true regret, it's a selfish act, which in itself is a sin. Y/N considers herself a devout woman to her Lord and his teachings. Never before has she been faced with such difficult times, and now, she finds herself questioning His ways. It's odd how one person can completely change the way you view the world around you, how you can hesitate and think through actions that used to happen instinctually.

The week following her confession with Langdon is worse than before. During classes, she thinks of how heavy and warm his hands felt on her body. During mass, she doesn't listen to what he's preaching; rather, she thinks of the timbre of his voice in her ear, leaving her wanton and pliant Is it painful? His insincere words echo in her mind, and despite the blatant taunting, she warms, pussy throbbing.

She wonders what might have happened if she said that she did give in to her temptations. Would he have forgiven her as easily? Or would he have made her get on her knees and—no. She curses herself for getting lost in such thoughts during her time of daily prayer. She bows her head, pleading with Him to help and guide her off the path of unrighteousness she can feel herself slipping down.

That night, as she lies in her bed, alone with such loud, wicked thoughts, her resolve weakens, and her hand slips between her legs. It’s odd initially, the feeling. There’s no way to describe it; there’s a sense of relief that washes over her, but the arousal worsens, searing and fervent. Her fingers move faster, desperate to chase that feeling, that rush of pleasure and pain until a fire settles in her belly, hips undulating at their own will; the thought of his eyes staring at her with hunger is what pushes her over the edge.

As she comes with Michael's name on her lips, broken and sweet, she feels no guilt, only bliss.

—

Later that week, the night before she takes her vows, she meets with him again, in that faceless room; it's become a sanctuary for her, a place where she envisions her darkest fantasies being fulfilled.

"Father," she says, catching his attention suddenly. He stands in front of the desk.

"Y/N," he says, and any courage she thought she had dissolves. She thinks of the judgement she would face if; she would have to leave the only thing she had ever known.

"Will you hear my confession?" She asks, just like on that night two weeks ago. He nods. “I fear I cannot take my vows without repentance first," she explains. "I have given in to the temptations of my thoughts." She stands there, heart and soul bare to this man, lip trembling.

"I know," he says. His mouth, red and full, curls up deviously. He looks at her, blue eyes taunting her to make a move. He stalks forward, backing her against the wall into an embellished cross. The metal digs into her back, but she barely feels the ache. His eyes are sin, she realizes. The rich blue incites rebellion, rousing her with an awakening and freedom she had been blind to.

And just like Eve, she gives in to temptation, embraces selfishness, and kisses him. His hands cup her neck and tug at her hair while hers claw at him, desperate to feel him. He bites at her lip harshly, bruising and swelling, and he rips at her dress until the buttons fall uselessly to the floor. For a moment, she holds the material to her chest, heart pounding, but as he nibbles on her skin, lips warm against her, her arms fall and so does the dress, into a useless heap on the floor.

"Is this what you thought about?" He asks, fiddling with her rosary beads. "Stripped bare before me, spreading your greedy thighs, giving in to your gluttonous nature, greedy and selfish, and it's all for me, isn't it?"

He hooks one of her legs over his hip and scratches his nails of her cotton underwear. She moans, hips bucking. He pushes the material down her legs, slow and teasing, his lips painting wet kisses to her tender neck. His hand fits perfectly between her legs, it seems. He massages that sensitive bundle between two fingers, and her knees break at the unfamiliar pleasure. He catches her easily, wrapping an arm around her waist, and she whines, struggling to keep her eyes open.

"You've dreamt of this, sinfully being taken while the eyes of our Lord watches. Don't lie. I can feel you dripping." Ecstasy burns in her belly, pussy throbbing as he pulls his hand away with a wet sound.

"Yes, I want you," she says, hips moving desperately against him.

"Selfish and wicked," he tuts. “Proverbs 11:21, 'the wicked shall not go unpunished'." He pinches roughly at her nipples, and she whimpers, arching her chest into him, eager for more. "Do you agree, Y/N?" She swallows, heart racing.

"Yes."

He smiles and so does she. He sucks on her bruised breasts. Shivers rack through her body at the sudden warmth. Her eyes flutter closed as his hands twist at the supple skin of her hips, grinding them against his groin. She tugs at his pants.

"Kneel."

She sinks to her knees at his gravely demand. Her hands run along the meat of his thighs. Her heart is racing as he pulls in pants down slightly, freeing his cock. It twitches, red and swollen, as she breathes heavily, mouth watery. Her tongue traces a bead of precum down his shaft, lips sucking back up to the tip. She looks up at him. His features are stoic, lips thinned, but his eyes are hungry, blown open by lust and dominance. He smirks down at her, long blonde hair He caresses her cheek with a tenderness his gaze doesn’t hold before he digs his nails into the back of her head.

His hands tighten in her hair, guiding her mouth further and further down until her nose nestles against the wiry blonde hairs at his pubic bone. She chokes on his cock, shoulders lurching with every jolt of his hips.

Through teary eyes, she can see his teeth bared, cheeks red and blotchy. His moans, thick with desire, leaves her yearning for more.

She pulls back, a string of saliva trailing from the head to her bruised lips; her chest heaves for breath.

"Relax," he coaxes, running his thumb over her jaw. "Open up for me." She does as asked, her mouth open and eager. He settles himself in the dip of her tongue, saliva pooling beneath his heavy cock. She can feel him throbbing. He thrusts himself into her mouth until he’s tight to the back of her throat. He traces his fingers down to her neck, feeling the skin tighten and ripple with every thrust. He pulls out, rubbing the tip over her wet tongue; tendrils of saliva drip to the floor.

“Come here,” he says, pulling her onto her feet. He guides her to the desk, pressing her front down. As she lays there, spread and bare for him to see, she doesn’t feel judgement nor hesitation. Arousal seeps down her legs, muscles trembling. She can feel his hungry eyes on her. Despite the fact that she’s bent over, accepting of anything he has to offer, she feels power rush through her veins. Maybe she is being selfish and greedy and power hungry—sinful—but

She jumps when his hand caresses her, spreading her wetness. Breath eludes her when he strokes the tip of his cock through her folds.

"1 Corinthians tells us, 'Do not deprive one another... come together again, so that Satan may not tempt you because of your lack of self-control'. Feel me and know that this is just," he says, sinking into her slowly. She shudders, her pussy stretching easily around him. He grinds into her.

"Good girl," he coos; a cacophony of weak moans, sticky skin slapping together, and her rosary beads clunking over the desk fills the room, loud and sinful. A part of her prays no one will hear, and another part is aroused at the idea. She jolts forward with each thrust of his hips, which are growing quicker and rougher; her hands slip from beneath her, face pressed to the cool wood desk. It muffles her cries of pleasure.

He twists her beads tight around her neck, and he pulls until they're cheek-to-cheek, her arched back pressed to his chest.

"Please," she whimpers, barely audible as she tries to take deep breaths. Despite her worn appearance, sweat dripping down her cheek, eyelids fluttering closed, she has a smile.

"Please, what, dear? Tell me what you need; tell me your sins, and maybe I will give in," he says. She struggles to speak through broken moans, eyes closed and lips swollen. Her beads break from his tight grip, the cross falling to the ground, and she gasps for breath, falling on her elbows.

The world falls away, and she’s sure she’s reached heaven. With Michael so close, teasing and toying with her body, she’s almost at her peak, pussy tightening around his cock, arousal dripping down her legs; she embraces the pain of him pounding so deep inside her because she so close to a burning, sinful—blissful, end. Her thighs begin quivering, and her back arches, hips stuttering.

Then, he stops. He holds her tightly, cock staying firmly planted inside.

And the feeling sinks, leaving her shaking, gasping, pleading—unfulfilled. An ache settles at her clit, throbbing and biting. Her fingers inch back, gripping onto his shirt tightly.

"Oh, God," she sobs, grinding against him desperately. "No, no, please, Father, please. Close, so close, please." She babbles incoherently, her body trembling. He strokes his hands across her back, nails scratching along her spine. He leans down, nose pressing into her sweaty hairline. She moans as his cock sinks deeper inside and tries fruitlessly to move her hips for some friction.

"Tell me what you want," he growls, yanking her up by her hair. She shakes her head, mind foggy with pleasure.

"Harder," she begs, words slurred. He pulls out slowly, until her fluttering walls envelop his pink head. He stays there for a moment, hands holding onto her shoulders, before he slams deep to her. A guttural cry slips through her lips, mouth moving with silent pleas—more, more, more. Her warmth swallow him easily, with every merciless thrust of his hips, she takes him, greedy and ravenous.

"Faster, faster, please, Michael," she gasps.

"Only because you sound so sweet begging for me.”

"Thank you," she cries. "Thank you."

His hips move quicker, like she asked, pounding into her. The desk shakes and creaks from the movements.

"Hard and fast, like a bitch in heat," he moans. "Taking me so well, so deep."

With trembling fingers, she rubs herself, trying to push herself to oblivion, but he smacks her hand away and pulls at her hair.

“James 3:16, ‘For where jealousy and selfish ambition exist, there will be disorder and every vile practice’,” he growls into her ear. “Maybe I shouldn’t even let you come, teach you humility and selflessness.” She shakes her head, pushing back into his thrusts.

“I’ll be good,” she whines, “promise. So good.”

“I knew you would be a good girl for me,” he moans, tracing his finger over her lips. She opens up for him, tongue lapping fervently at his calloused skin. He shoves his fingers deeper until warm saliva trickles down his arm, her throat closing around him. His breathing is shallow in her ear, and his hips stutter. His hand moves from her mouth to her throat, fingers slipping slightly from their wetness.

She purrs at the feeling of his cum filling her, eyes closing with content. His thrusts slow, keeping her right on the edge with her pussy clenching and milking him through his orgasm.

“May I please come?” The voice is soft and sweet. Her hands hold the edge of the desk tightly, resisting the urge to finish herself off. He nearly scoffs at the question.

“Do you deserve such a gift after you were being so selfish earlier?” She nods quickly. Soft whines break through her lips when his fingers slips over her wet curls and to her clit, rubbing mercilessly. A weak gasp sounds in the thick air, and her knees break, body falling pliant and eager for him. He shudders as she tightens around his overstimulated cock.

The burning that had begun to twist inside of her makes her walls flutter. She concentrates on his nails burrowing into her skin, trying to find anything that could make this experience more prolonged, but soon enough, she was crying out as tremors of pleasure snapped through her body with her powerful orgasm, leaving her muscles quivering. She pants, bracing a hand to his back to stabilize herself.

He slips a finger down to where they’re still connected, their cum dripping and soaking into his pants, and he brings it to her mouth. He traces his thumb over her lips, skin wet and swollen with arousal and spit. He kisses her and whispers.

"Give thanks to the Lord for He is good."

"For His mercy endures forever."

—

#michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon smut #ahs apocolaypse #ahs imagine #ahs smut #ellie writes #ellie writes smut #ellie writes for the first time in decades #american horror story #american horror story imagine

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themasterisathirsttrap · 4 years

Text

Putting Out Fire (With Gasoline) Ch. 1

Missy x reader x eventual Silver!Simm x reader Set during series 10

Mostly 10x11 and 10x12

((No warnings for this chapter))

Part 1/ Chapter 1 of ???

((Title from the David Bowie Song- Cat People (Putting Out Fire) ))

From the first wry and sweetly uttered words proclaiming false innocence when you first tumbled upon her hidden prison, Missy, without a doubt become one of the most interesting people you had ever met.

With the exception of the Doctor, that was. But even then, you couldn’t quite explain the silent, powerful magnetism that drew you to her in a way that had you returning to visit her regularly enough that it had become something of a routine.

Even more surprisingly, she seemed to tolerate your presence in a manner that had you both wary and secretly giddy.

Nice certainly wasn’t the right word for how she treated you, but she certainly played nice by comparison when you saw the ways she spoke with others and contrasted it to the cautiously curious conversations the two of you had.

Missy was an enigma.

A funny, terrifying, and beautiful enigma wrapped into the form of Mary Poppin’s evil alternate ego.

But damn was she fun.

And she might have noticed the ways your lips quirked upward into a smile at her jokes and passive jabs at the Doctor, or the way your gazes met when your eyes glimmered with curiosity at the rare story she’d share of her past.

“My whole life doesn’t revolve around you, Doctor.”

You remember her chiming in annoyance at the Doctor.

And the more you listened, the more convinced you were that what she said was true.

Not that you’d trust her not to lie.

No, you figured that even if the stories were all lies, she was at the very least the kind of storyteller that had you mindlessly grinning at her theatrical retellings, resting your head on your hands as you leaned forward in your seat.

You couldn’t be sure that she liked you, given her open and frequently voiced distaste for humanity.

But at the very least, she didn’t seem want to kill you.

Regardless, she seemed to enjoy having an audience, and company not constantly berating her.

It came as a surprise when she even humored you about stories related to her past, you listened with genuine curiosity, watching as she’d place her hands on her hips and pace about her glass stage as if delivering a dramatic monologue to her audience of one.

The first time she opted to share, you approached it in a more back-and-forth, conversational manner, but the icy glare she shot you had your question dying in your throat. Moments like that reminded you of exactly who she was and what she was capable of.

You were quick to not repeat the mistake in front of the same woman who spoke of human deaths like swatting flies. She seemed pleased about that, and often shifted to this monologue-esque style of interaction when telling a story. Not that you minded, she had you engaged at every lilt of her Scottish intonations and occasional break for dramatic pause.

Somewhere along the line, her voice became oddly soothing to you. Despite the frequent awful things she said and flippantly colorful descriptions of even seemingly ordinary things.

You your embarrassment, you even caught yourself watching with a tilted head and soft dopey smile on your face. Her amused short laugh and the feeling of her gaze suddenly on you had your face flushing red with embarrassment under her scrutinization.

“Enjoying yourself, are you? Or did your little human brain scurry off to a daydream in the middle of my story?” Missy teased, her hands on her hips with a click of her tongue.

You were quick to shake your head, the thought of even being anywhere but present in her company sounding ridiculous in your head. You weren’t sure if you had felt that way around anyone before, to your silent dismay, but pushing those thoughts to the back of your head.

“Just listening,” you shot back dismissively, “You’re a good storyteller.”

You admitted honestly, shrugging to downplay the sentiment, but your eyes flashing to hers with a somewhat guilty smile.

Her eyes scanned over you for a moment in that way that made you feel both terrifyingly exposed and oddly thrilled.

“Hm. Well, don’t get too dreamy-eyed on me, pet.” She said, her body language easing as she seemed to accept your explanation. You kept your expression unchanged at her added endearment.

“Makes me feel like you’re not listening,” she added with an exaggeratedly sad expression, miming an invisible tear trailing down her cheek. Then she half-swung around, her skirts fanning with a flourish before taking a seat at the piano bench.

“Usually when people are properly listening to me, there’s a bit more fear than dopey grins,” her tone was sickly sweet as she paused to idly examine her nails, “Perhaps I’ve been too soft. I’ll have to let you in on some more grizzly details of my….intergalactic exploits.” She added in a thoughtful voice and a dramatic sigh.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes at the act, but shook your head instead, looking to her with a challenging look, but otherwise not moving from your position.

“Or maybe it’s just not you. I don’t mind a little scary.”

Her act dropped and she looked to you suddenly with a sharp but quietly curious look. You took the bait and continued.

“I mean—it probably takes takes a questionably sane human to come down here nearly daily and spend time with someone who could easily kill them if the mood struck, wouldn’t it?

“Well, you’re certainly either daft or insane. Haven’t quite decided which.”

“All I’m saying—is that maybe it’s not that you aren’t terrifying, but more that you stumbled upon someone just dumb or crazy enough to enjoy your sociopathic ramblings.”

You felt bold saying it, briefly fearing that you overstepped and let your tongue-and-cheek side out a little strong.

But, to your surprise, she suddenly threw her head back into a fit of laughter. The sound was infectious and you couldn’t help but let your own lips quirk back upward. She took her time regaining her composure, wiping away what might have been an actual stray tear of laugher.

“Oh. Well, At least you seem to possess some semblance of self-awareness lacking in most of your species.”

“Coming from you, I’ll take that as a complement,” you replied with an edge of wry amusement showing through.

“Don’t flatter yourself too much, pet. Just an observation.”

There it was again. You said nothing, but looked down and avoided her gaze as you felt her analyzing you.

You glanced at your phone and swore quietly at the time. You had spent far too long there.

Again.

You climbed to your feet, stretching the muscles the you hadn’t realized you had been tensing, and gathering your belongings.

“It’s late—I should get going,” you said, trying to dispel whatever effect she was having on you in your sudden urge to stay.

She turned away from you and hummed with a guarded indifference that you had come to recognize, but you hadn’t quite learned how to decipher.

The silence fell between the two of you until the sound of a shrill note on the piano jarred you enough to look up from your gathering of papers and notebooks. She didn’t look your way, but you caught the silhouette of her smile at your surprised jump. She comfortably fell into a melody that sounded vaguely familiar, but you didn’t know enough about classical music to bother a guess.

You thought she might continue to play without as much as a goodbye, as she often did in her attempt to make it clear that she didn’t enjoy your little visits as much as you did.

But maybe you were flattering yourself.

You needed to be a realist. Especially with her.

And especially with how uneasy your own muddled non-existent feelings where towards her.

You yawned, shaking the thoughts away as you realized just how tired and fatigued your muscles were from the long day of classes, staying up too late with Bill and the Doctor, and slipping away to sneak in some time with her behind their backs.

To your surprise ,as you turned to leave, she chimed out.

“Now, don’t be be roped into some silly adventure do-gooder adventure with the Doctor tomorrow.”

You looked back at her in surprise.

“You’re particularly boring when you’re tired. I can’t have you too tired to listen attentively next time,” the shift in her voice took you off guard. Back to her guarded, colder tone, but with a playful edge.

“I don’t like other people playing with my toys.”

She shot you a wink and you quickly turned away to leave while giving a short nod. Your face flushed at the gesture.

No.

You weren’t developing feelings for her.

You couldn’t.

That would be ridiculous, and incredibly stupid.

But the memory of the uneasy fluttering in your stomach when she smiled at you tugged at your subconscious, and had to admit you had never really enjoyed hearing the sound of your own name as much as you did falling from her lips.

Oh Shit.

You had feelings for her.

---

If she hadn’t yet noticed how you felt towards her, you particularly weren’t eager to let it slip out. Sure, you heard an earful of the Doctor’s warnings and the exasperation in his tone every time he found you with her. And as he reminded you that she was very, very dangerous, harbored a strong dislike of humans, and could be very manipulative when she wanted to be.

Part of you hoped that you didn’t fall into that category. But the self-preservation instinct in you reminded you that you might.

The thought that maybe she was using you to get to the Doctor sent an ache through your chest. You didn’t want to be blindsided—to be naïve enough that you were sure you’d be the exception to her distaste for humanity. You needed to be practical—despite the complete impracticality of dropping plans with classmates and friends to visit with the Time Lady. You weren’t an exceptionally emotion-driven type. But then again, you weren’t usually the crush type either.

So, you played it subtle. Or at least tried to. Your visits remained fairly regular, and she didn’t appear especially eager to scare you off, and maintained her expected level of pointed jabs, occasionally cruel, but often very funny commentary, and occasional insults that lacked the sentiment behind it to get to you.

Slowly, your visits evolved from story monologues, to listening to her play the piano, discussing books, even turning an old projector into a screen to show TV shows and films either you or her hadn’t seen.

And even her asking you the occasional question about yourself. It wasn’t until feeling quiet attentiveness in her gaze while waiting for your reply that you realized she was serious.

Despite his constant reminders not to fall for her tricks, you had absolutely developed a soft spot for the Time Lady. She had a biting wit, a wicked sense of humor, and tales that kept you on the edge of your seat. Sure, you weren’t entirely sure if they were all true. (Yet, you had a feeling most of them were, given what you knew about your other Time Lord friend).

Needless to say, you were smitten. You tried not to be obvious about it, though she was incredibly smart, so you didn’t doubt she must have picked up on it partly at the very least.

She seemed to at least like the company and audience enough to not try to trick you into your death. Which for her, seemed like at least a good start.

Much to her dismay and your delight, you could tell she was starting to openly enjoy you returning for visits so often. The way her eyes lit up and her lips curled into a smile instantly when you stepped across the threshold of the vault had you easily mirroring her expression.

By now, you were no longer phased as she swung open the glass of her “cell” and stepped out with a flourish. You responded by lifting your gifts of cheap wine into her line of sight.

You could have almost sworn she almost snorted a laugh as her head falling back in a fit of amusement. Your face warmed at seeming to get a genuine laugh out of her and you offered a cheeky grin in return as she shook her head in mock-exasperation and stepped toward to your usual comfy chair setup with a small table.

You tossed your rucksack down and set down the several containers of boxed wine. You knew Missy would complain about it the whole time, but drink it all anyway.

“Terrible. I don’t even know why I bother giving you recommendations,” she said, falling back onto the old cushioned loveseat.

“Because your last recommendation was the blood of a fresh virgin sacrifice.” Missy seemed to once more get a kick out of her own joke and crinkled her nose with a teasing smile. “—and when you finally did give an actual wine recommendation, every bottle you mentioned was at least a few hundred pounds out of my price range.”

Missy kicked her feet up onto the table with a light scoff, waving her hand in dismissal with a slight shake of her head. “You don’t put a price tag on good taste.” You shook your head, still half-smiling as you pulled out a couple of clear plastic cups that had her rolling her eyes again and shooting another look of disapproval that had you grinning again.

“You do on my budget.” That earned a small huff of a laugh from Missy as she tutted in mock-disappointment at the spread.

“Besides, I don’t think bringing you breakable, sharp glass would be very advisable, given the wines I’ve brought you the past few visits.” Missy chuckled at that. “Now that’s true. But alas, I’ll overlook that this once, just to show I can be a both fair and firm overlord.” she shot a wink at you, reaching for her pseudo-glass. You did roll your eyes at that. “How very gracious,” you deadpanned without missing a beat.

“You’ll have to open that atrocious thing,” Missy nodded towards the wine. You shot her a skeptical look, but leaned over and reached for it anyway. “Being an intergalactic genius, I assumed you would know how to open boxed wine by now.” Her lips twitched upward at the backhanded compliment. “Wine wasn’t made for boxes, dear. It’s unnatural and one of humanity’s greatest atrocities,” She kicked her legs over the other side of the loveseat, reclining with a bored expression. “—and why would I ever want to know such things when others do it for you. It’s bad enough that I’m reduced to slumming it with a plebe like you.”

That did strike a bit of a nerve, but you held it back and played along anyway as if it hadn’t.

“If it’s so much below you, then I’ll take myself and my plebian wine back to my flat to slum it alone in peace then,” your tone was light, but you couldn’t help but frown as you abruptly stood, reaching for your bag and the boxes.

Your head snapped up at her sudden grip on your arm. You blinked at the silent speed with which she had risen from the chair and now stood beside you. The glint in her eyes offered a stark reminder of exactly who she was.

“Don’t you dare,” her voice dropped to a low threat that almost sent a shiver down your spine, but instead you offered her a quietly challenging look, meeting the icy heat of her gaze with quiet defiance that said then play nice.

You released your grip on the box and her grasp loosened. You tossed your bag back towards your chair with a sigh. “Fine.”

Then at least don’t act like you’d rather me leave.

The thought remained unsaid, but you hadn’t anticipated the heavy silence that fell between the two of you then. But you had grown painfully aware of her sudden closeness to you. Something akin to regret seemed to shift in her gaze. Your breath nearly caught as she raised a hand and let her fingers softly graze your jaw before, in a rare moment of hesitation on her part, she let her hand fall back to her side.

You knew that despite her half-hearted attempts to insult and belittle you, you saw exactly what she was actually trying to do.

She enjoyed your visiting time every bit as much as you did. Despite her efforts to get under your skin. You occasionally caught the slight look of pride hidden in her gaze when you stood your ground and didn’t flinch at the things she’d say just to elicit a reaction.

After a long pause, she looked back up to you and made a faux cat claw gesture with her hand. “Rrrraaaoooww,”

you couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculous sound and pantomime. Which, you were quite sure was the idea, as the added coldness dissipated once more. She plopped back onto her sofa with a huff. “Now that we can put the claws back, pour me a glass before I change my mind.” You shook your head softly, crouching down and opening the spout on the box before pausing and reaching back for your rucksack. “Right away, your highness,” you added dryly.

From your bag, you pulled out a small bottle with the dim glinting reflection of foil at the top. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Missy’s brows raise, but said nothing as you unwrapped the foil and set the small corked bottle on the table.

“Alright, now this is bordering on overkill—what’s the occasion? I see you’ve brought the top shelf gutter wine for me, and you even bothered to bring those bloody red cups that make it feel like an American frat house in here. So, tell me. What’s gotten you so worked up?”

You turned back to her with barely concealed grin,

You hesitated. You shouldn’t be surprised she knew you well by now.

“It’s supposed to be a surprise,” you said and paused, hesitantly meeting her pressing gaze. Missy smirked at that. “And it’s not my surprise to give away.”

Missy leaned forward, with a teasing smile. “Ohhh, so the Doctor! Come on, tell me. Don’t worry, I’ll act surprised.” Her finger bopped softly on your nose before giving a dramatic look of surprise. “See? It’ll be a little secret for just us girls.”

You had expected it would end up like this, and you had a very strong suspicion that the Doctor had expected you to tell her before he did. Maybe to get her warmed up to the idea.

“Well….yes, the Doctor spoke with me earlier today, ” you paused, furrowing your brow as a pang of guilt shot through you at the possibility that the Doctor hadn’t planned on you telling her. However, the weight of Missy’s pressing gaze left little room to back out of what you had started, so you spat it out.

“He was open to letting you out for an adventure in the TARDIS…..to see how you’d do. Responding to a distress call, or something.” “—he wants me to play him?”

You hesitantly look up at her, truly unsure how she would react.

You knew their history was complicated to say the least. But as far as specifics went, they were few and far between. Not knowing much about their history to begin with made it difficult for you to predict the reaction of an already unpredictable woman.

But her face lit up as a sly grin fell across her lips, her head falling back as she erupted into a thunderous laugh. After a long moment, she regained her composure to lean forward in her seat, propping her chin up on her hand.

“He wants to give me a go at playing him? Hilarious. A bit like playing Doctor Who style probation, is it?” “Ah….a bit? I suppose.” To your relief she laughed at that, the tenseness in your shoulders easing as she visibly relaxed and her face light up, gears visibly turning in her head at the possibilities.

“Yes. Playing goody-good Doctor shouldn’t be too hard,” she turned back to you, leaning forward again in her seat, as if sharing something in confidence. “Besides, I’d love to show him just how easy it is to do his job, just to rub it in his face for a laugh,” she added with another pondering expression, more thinking out loud than to you. Her eyes snapped back to yours after a moment, sparkling with mischief as she stood and slowly paced past you.

“S’ppose either way that’s better than 70 more years in the vault…” You nodded, looking over the back of your chair and smiling softly as she seemed to come to life at the notion of seeing something other than this same room. She turned and walked back towards you, hands resting proudly on her hips as she swayed with each step. “—And am I to assume he’ll be supervising this little excursion?” slowed to a stop behind your chair. “That was one of his conditions.” “Supporting expendables and all?” “Ah. I…you mean Nardole and Bill? “—and you.” You blinked in surprise, mildly offended. “I can come if you like…. calling me an expendable isn’t exactly an assuring start.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, of course you’re coming.”

You nearly jumped at the feeling of her hands suddenly at your shoulders as she stood behind your chair. Her face dropped to hover over your shoulder, close enough to feel her breath against your cheek. You froze, but didn’t move away from her touch.

“Besides. The Doctor gets his companions, I should be allowed mine.”

Did she just…?

“So, don’t be so tense, pet,” her hands slid down the outside of your arms to rest on either side of you. Her lips moved closer to your ear as her voice lowered. “Stick close, and don’t wander off, and you shouldn’t have too much to worry about,” She finished with a quick peck to the side of your cheek and straightened back up to full height. “Now, the bubbly,” she said, extending her hand expectantly. If was anyone else, you might have asked for a please before even moving, but somehow, knowing full well that she wouldn’t even if you had, you found the light order strangely endearing coming from her.

You reached forward and grabbed the mini-champagne, passing it and a glass to her. She gave you a sly wink and draped herself sideways over the arm of your chair as she readied the bottle as you held the glasses. The cork shot-out from the mini-champagne with a pop! And you made a noise of complaint, but couldn’t help but laugh as the booze quickly fizzed over and splashed onto you. You held the glass as she poured until it was overflowing, causing more to slosh onto you from the too-full cup.

“Hey—rude,” you grumbled as she purposefully poured even more into the glass and nudged you so its contents splashed onto your shirt and by now had the jeans on your leg nearly soaked.

“That’s what you get for being clumsy,” she clicked her tongue in a mock-patronizing tone. You reached to try to grab the bottle when she moved it away and held a finger up. “Ah-ah, this is my gift, remember. I didn’t have to share.” “But you didn’t share!—you could have had two glasses from that,” you offered indignantly. “And yet, here you are, making a mess in my vault, covered in what would have been second glass. So, in a way, I did share didn’t I? See, I’m becoming more giving already.”

You shot her an unamused look that had her smiling slyly at you once more. You made a small sound of annoyance, but otherwise didn’t bother questioning her logic at this point, and poured yourself some of your boxed wine. She raised a glass and stuck a pose pausing for dramatic effect. “A toast,” she began, stopping to take a cheat sip of her own overflowing glass. You found a smile forming on your lips as you raised your own glass.

“To what exactly?” “To freedom, bitches.” “—well, sort of,” you added quickly with a near snort of a laugh, ignoring the exasperated look she sent you.

You didn’t want her get any wrong ideas about the Doctor’s intentions, but held up your glass anyway. “Ugh…fine. Then to sort of freedom, bitches!” She revised with as much enthusiasm as you clinked the plastic cups together.

“I’ll drink to that.”

-----

Note: I will be jumping back and forth between this and another fic, so keep your eye out for that!

storytag list:

@c-s-stars @anteroom-of-death @twistedgoddessoftimelords @justaproudslytherpuff @hallospaceboyy

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justanotherlifeff · 3 years

Text

Levi Ackerman × reader

Genre: Angst, Hurt/comfort, Fluff, matured themes, slowburn

Warning: There's mentions and descriptions of underage rape and suicidal themes and self harm.

Levi POV

We just entered Erwin's cabin in the hospital. The horse ride was quiet and formal because we didn't want anyone to figure out that there was anything between us. I watched (Y/N) walk towards the end of the bed and stare at Erwin. I followed her and stood beside her but I was looking at her instead of Erwin. She looked emotionless but I could see the glint of sorrow in her eyes. I decided to put a hand on her shoulder to make her feel better.

Fortunately, she probably did as she looked at me and gave a weak smile. She was a strong woman but I understood why she felt weak at the moment. After all, Erwin was like her family. He was the only family she had left. After seeing Erwin unconscious for a while, we left the cabin and I took (Y/N) to a diner near the hospital. I knew that I had eaten more than half of the stew she cooked and that she didn’t have much for lunch because of that. I also remembered that she skipped breakfast due to waking up late.

The sun was going down and the street lamps were being lit as we sat at the diner and ordered some bread with bacon strips and mashed potatoes. Bacon was relatively cheaper than beef and thus, local diners offered it. (Y/N) was eating like a monster and I chuckled, "At this rate, I will confuse you with Sasha". She gave me a glare and went back into eating. After all, she didn’t eat much the whole day.

When we were done eating, (Y/N) went back to the market to buy clothes with Hanji, who met us at the diner later. I wanted to go with them so that they won't exceed the budget I gave them but I had a meeting to join in Erwin's place to debrief about what happened when Eren was kidnapped and what our next step would be. Erwin usually takes these type of decisions but now its up to myself and Hanji as we are the most capable people after Erwin.

(Y/N) POV

I looked up at the big golden haired man. He looked different from Jacob or the other men that touched me. He almost looked like my dad, only my dad had red hair and green eyes and this man was a blonde with blue eyes. He kneeled on one knee to meet my height and said "Hello, I'm Erwin Smith. Remember me from the court? I will teach you how to beat up all the bad people who may try to hurt you and not get into trouble like last time. This way, the bad people will be scared of you and no one can say that (Y/N) is a bad girl. Is that okay?", with a smile.

His eyes looked kind and trustable. He didn't seem like he was lying to me. I remembered him from the court house. He was the only one who stood up against everyone with my mom and dad to save me from going back to that horrible place. Jacob was wrong about one thing, my parents didn't abandon me. Instead, they said that Jacob was a bad man. I couldn't agree any less. I knew how much I messed up but my parents said that what has happened, has happened. They asked me to let go of the past but deep down, I knew that they were scared of me.

They would get scared if I sneaked in their room at night if I had nightmares. They always got their fear in control once they saw I didn't have anything in my hands. I stopped going to them if I had nightmares ever since. I knew they couldn't always protect me and that I couldn't mess up again. I scanned the blonde's face again to make sure if his intensions were good. When I felt like he didn't have the type of face bad people have, I agreed to train.

Months later

"Come on (Y/N)! Throw the best punch you've got at the dummy" Uncle Erwin shouted. We got close enough for me to start calling him Uncle Erwin. He was one of the very few men I knew who I was comfortable with. He was a really good man and always wanted the best for me. He could be strict during training but he would let me read books from his collection if I did good. I threw my hardest punch but the dummy just vibrated a bit. "I see, you're too light weight to give strong punches. Your height is small too and you have the perfect weight for your age and height. We need to work on your aerobics so that you can use your whole body to make hits stronger. You need to grasp tactical fighting over brute force." he said to me. He assigned a lady from the survey corps to teach me aerobics the next day.

A few years later

This was the last day of training with Uncle Erwin. I was supposed to fight him today. I fought him before but never managed to win because he was an expert in tactical fight, had the height and was stronger than I am. My only benefit here was the aerobics. Ms Mary, the woman who was assigned to teach me aerobics, did a really good job. However, I learned more by myself as I started going to the local library to learn more about aerobics from text books as this was my only lethal weapon against Uncle Erwin. We were starting with hand to hand combat.

I charged at him. I saw him position his hands to use my speed to topple me off. As he caught me, I changed direction of my leg and managed to kick the back of his head. As he was disorientated because of the kick, I took advantage of the situation to hold his hands, jumped and use the wall to change the direction of my leg and kicked his back which made him fall down. I used one of my knees to give pressure on his back and held his hands in place with one leg and two hands. "I surrender" I heard him say as I moved away.

"The first kick was a good delivery. You understood my tactics before I did anything. I’m proud of you (Y/N)." Erwin smiled before grabbing a sword and throwing it to me. It was time for a sword fight. Erwin was the best soldier at fighting with his sword in the whole military. Even humanity's strongest soldier, Levi Ackerman, lost against him multiple times before being trained by him to use swords. Even after being trained, he apparently suffered from occasional defeat from Uncle Erwin. At least that's what he told me. I positioned myself and charged at him again.

These memories came to me when I saw Uncle Erwin unconscious on the bed. I lost that fight in less than five minutes. He said he was proud of me because I held on for that long. I was good with swords but he just was the best. Watching him so defenceless made my stomach turn.

I was sitting inside the hotel room. I had changed into my nightgown which was a white cotton chemise with full sleeves. Hanji bought a lot of things for me and the budget heichou gave me exceeded but Hanji said she will pay for it because apparently I'm a good friend. She was acting like her usual insane self but I didn't find it much irritating because I heard before that's how women do shopping. I figured I should start trying new things in life. After all, dating like a normal person (as normal things can get for me) turned out to be a good idea. "I have to admit that Hanji has a good taste in clothes" I thought as I laid down on the bed and passed out in a matter of a few minutes.

Levi POV

I came back at the hotel after that useless meeting to find (Y/N) sleeping. I brought dinner for the both of us but I didn't want to wake her. I had dinner and kept hers on the dining table so that she could eat it if she wakes up later at night. After getting the coat off, I went to the sofa. I never bothered to change into anything special like night robes because I always felt like it was a waste of time and money. The sofa was small and uncomfortable but it had to do. I didn't sleep much anyway. After what seemed like an eternity, my eyes were closing when I fell off the sofa with a thud. "Stupid sofa..." I grunted and went back up on it.

A moment later, I felt a tug on my sleeves. I opened my eyes to see (Y/N) standing in front of the sofa. "Take the bed" she said. She looked uncomfortable. "It's fine. I can sleep here." I answered. "No. Take the bed. Please" she said to me with a more demanding voice. "Okay then, suit yourself" I said before going to the bed. If she wants to sleep on the sofa, I can't stop her. I heard plates clattering in the living room. She must be having her dinner. As I started feeling drowsy again, I felt a weight come down on the bed. I shot my eyes open to see (Y/N) lying down on the bed beside me. She looked uncomfortable and was shaking.

"Are you okay? Should I go back to the couch?" I asked in panic. I understood why she was uncomfortable but I didn't understand why she was doing it. To answer my question, she whispered, "Stay. I need to fight my past. I need to be as strong as you are. That's what Uncle Erwin taught me to be." She was away from me for a while, adjusting to the fact that she was in bed with me but eventually, she came closer and was hugging me. She was still shaking and I pulled her closer. I patted her head because I didn't know what to say to her. She looked at me suddenly as if to scan my face. She stared at my eyes for a long time until she decided to bury her head in my chest. "She must've found what she was looking for" I assumed. I had a fairly good amount of sleep that night.

(Y/N) POV

Before passing out in heichou's arms, I looked at his face to judge his reaction to this. I didn't want to get intimate and I had to make sure he wouldn't take it in the wrong way. I wasn't ready for anything intimate yet. I didn't see the look that was in my father or Uncle Erwin's eye but I didn't see the look that was in Jacob and those other men's eyes either. Heichou's eyes showed some very different emotions. It showed how much he cared but it wasn't the fatherly care that my father or Uncle Erwin had. This was something different but I trusted it. I didn't see any signs that he might try anything except for holding me and trying to comfort me. My body stopped shaking as I knew that this man wouldn't hurt me. I buried my head in his chest. The sound of his heart beating strongly put me to sleep.

I woke up early the next morning to find heichou snoring softly beside me. His face looked peaceful and really attractive. I blushed at the thought that this man had feelings for me. "So many women would want to be in my place..." I sighed. I went out of bed to brew some tea. A housekeeper came upstairs in a short while to clean the room and I woke heichou up as she entered the room. I brew the tea while watching heichou make the housekeeper suffer by pointing out every speck she missed. I smirked at the scene before me. It was amusing beyond measures.

"The tea is ready" I called out heichou and he left the miserable housekeeper alone. We were both sipping at our tea when the housekeeper was done and heichou ordered for pancakes as breakfast before she left. Heichou and I didn't talk about what happened last night because he probably felt awkward about it and I didn't know how to start talking about it. "So, about last night, are you feeling okay?" heichou asked confidently. If it wasn't myself, no one could've noticed the fact that he had to think long and hard to come up with this sentence. I noticed him trying to work something out while sipping his tea for a while.

"I'm fine. I think I'm not scared anymore. At least not of you because I figured out that you won't try to hurt me in that way" I answered. "That's good. Well, its the first time I slept in a bed. I usually sleep on the chair at my office." heichou answered. "Well, I've seen your chair in the old survey corps headquarters. It looks quiet comfy... But why didn't you ever sleep on a bed?" I asked the captain. "I don't sleep a lot. I just tend to do my paperworks at night and fall asleep while doing the work." he shrugged.

The pancakes came after a while and while eating I asked him, "What type of women do you prefer?". I was curious about it because clearly, heichou was drawn to my skills and personality than looks. " Well, she has to meet my cleaning standards" he answered. "Well, do I meet your cleaning standards?" I asked with a smirk. "Well, as far as I've noticed, you are the best among the other recruits in case of cleaning duties." he answered with a smirk. "What about looks? Do you have any specifications?" I asked with curiosity overflowing me.

"Well, I suppose I used to find tall women attractive? Now I think short women can be cute too." he said nervously. I tried to keep a calm face but I think my disappointment with the answer could still be shown in my face. "I prefer women who could keep up with me. If I am to be serious about a relationship, I'd not care about looks but about if that person understands me. I won't say looks aren't important but I think anyone can be beautiful. It all just depends on the personality" he corrected himself as he recognised the disappointment on my face. I answered with a simple "hmm".

"Do you want to go see Erwin?" he asked me as we were done with our breakfast. "Well, he's only going to be lying down like a weakling right?" I muttered with a sigh. He wasn't supposed to be like that. "Well, you're right. Why don't we go riding? I won't say no to some clean air" he asked. Was he taking me to a date? "Is this a date?" I asked heichou. "Well, I suppose it is" he answered with a slight almost unnoticeable blush creeping at his face. This man was trying so hard to keep a straight face that it was funny. "Well, sure. We can do that." I told him with a smile. I was smiling often recently because, I suppose, having a companion is nice. It lightens the mood. "I'll get some horses after taking a bath." he answered before getting into the bathroom.

A while later

We were on horse backs going for the interior of wall Rose. Trost district was far too crowded for a good horse ride. I wore a dress that Hanji bought for me. It was a simple one with a bodice, two petticoats, a jacket over the bodice, simple stockings and a riding boot. It's what most working women in the city wore. We bought some sandwiches from Trost and packed it up in a bag on our way.

Heichou was planning to have a picnic without ever mentioning the word "picnic" but I decided to happily oblige. As we got in the interior, and beyond the small town just outside the wall, there were huge grassy field. I looked at heichou and smirked at him for a moment till he saw my expression and then I kicked my horse to run fast. He was taken aback by my sudden action but he kicked his horse and caught up to me. I could see the satisfied smirk on his face and that brought a genuine smile on my face. Instinctively, I let my hands stretch by letting go of the horse and surprisingly, I felt like I was flying. [Author's note: It's like the ride Harry Potter had on Buckbeak. Just on a horse instead. Look it up if you don't know]

"Try this! It feels like flying!" I shouted to Levi heichou. He looked a me confused and followed exactly what I did. I saw his expression change to shock and then I saw a smile forming on his face. His eyes looked lively till he closed them to enjoy the feeling even more. The moment didn't last long for both of us as we almost fell off our horses when the horse started climbing up a mound. Heichou stopped his horse and I stopped mine.

He took out a handkerchief from the pocket of his pants, laid it on the ground and sat on it. I sat on the grass without anything. Heichou was wearing a white shirt and black pants. He looked beautiful. The sun was right above our heads and the warmth was perfect with the cold wind blowing in the meadow. After having our sandwiches in silence while enjoying the view and each other’s presence, we left for Trost again while the sun was going down. As we reached the streets of Trost, I said, "I had fun today". Heichou smirked at me and replied, " Me too"

Two weeks later:

We went on horse rides almost everyday after that except for the times when heichou had meetings. I've been helping him with paperworks every night so that he could get some sleep. Heichou had a meeting today and I went to visit Uncle Erwin at morning with some of Levi heichou's paperworks so that I could finish them off at the hospital. I sat on the sofa beside his bed the whole day finishing off paperworks until the heichou arrived at evening. He noticed my sad expression immediately.

I couldn't deny that I was devastated by Uncle Erwin's condition. I had so much to talk to him about... I had to let him know that I’m second in command now. He would've been proud of me. Heichou looked at me and said, "After he gets up, he is going to pay for making me handle his paperworks and meetings and for making you worry". I chuckled at his response as a smile threatened to come on his face.

As we were leaving the hospital, I whined to heichou, "I think I need a drink. Watching Uncle Erwin like this ruined my mood. And by drink, I meant alcohol". "I thought you hated alcohol?" heichou asked raising his eyebrow. "Well, we got closer the last time I drank. I suppose it isn't such a bad thing" I answered with a matter of fact tone. "The last time, you puked all over the floor too" heichou added. "Relax. I know my limits now." I smiled at him. "Okay, we can go to the bar at the hotel. However, you're not drinking any more than a few sips of whatever I'm ordering for us." heichou told me in a commanding tone. I nodded in answer as we went for the hotel. "We need to take a bath first. We both look like shit" he muttered as we reached the hotel.

After we were done bathing, I had put on a black dress that Hanji and I bought the other day. Heichou wore a white shirt and black pant. When I was done dressing, he took me to the bar attached with the hotel. He mentioned that this hotel keeps things discrete and therefore taking me to this bar won't raise questions among civilians about the relationship between heichou and myself. He made his way to the VIP lounge with me. I could see women dressed vulgarly walking around the bar. I felt uncomfortable seeing that as I got a fair idea about where the overnight guests that heichou mentioned came from.

We sat at a table where a waiter came to take our orders. The captain dealt with it as he mentioned some strange names of drinks that I never heard of. After he was done, he looked at me and said, "I ordered something that isn't very strong. I still want you to only take a few sips." I nodded as an answer. We were talking about the people in the bar, about how great our the horse rides were and about our memories with Uncle Erwin as the drink came along with a beef platter for dinner.

He made me eat dinner first before taking about three sips of the drink. That was enough to get me tipsy. He drank the rest of it and somehow, still remained sober enough. Before going back to the hotel, heichou excused himself to go to use the washroom. I waited for a while before realising that I had to use the washroom too. After asking a waiter, I went towards the female washroom, which was just beside the male washroom and I saw something that I wish I never saw.

Levi POV

The bathroom wasn't clean enough. I still used it somehow and was trying to get out as fast as possible. Just as I got out of the male bathroom, I saw a tall woman get out of the female bathroom. "Darn it. That's Emilia" I cursed as I tried to go past her without her noticing. I slept with her a few times before. She was a paid prostitute in this bar. Unfortunately, she noticed me and called me out. This woman tried to get me into something serious with her for a long time. Probably because of my popularity. I, however was never interested in her in that way.

Before I could react, She pulled me into a hug and said, "You're the one who ordered my service tonight right captain Levi? I bet you missed me.". I could've punched her away from me but that would be considered as an inappropriate behaviour towards women so I tried to gently pull away from her. I had to get out of this situation, however, turns out, I was already late because (Y/N) was standing behind me the whole time.

She had tears in her eyes but her expression had more anger than sadness. She looked like she wanted to rip Emilia in half. "(Y/N), I can explain.." I started but she didn't let me finish and said "I know what happened here. You don't have to explain. I saw the way you pushed her away.". She then slowly walked towards Emilia as if she would pounce at her any moment. " Didn’t you get the message when he was pulling away?" she growled at her with a low menacing voice. I looked at her with shock as she was managing to be almost as intimidating as I am.

Emilia was a stupid woman so she didn't understand the situation she was in and she said, "Men do that a lot. You just gotta keep doing what you do to for them to give in". "Well, I don't know your ways but, Levi heichou here is off limits. Stay away from him." (Y/N) told her. "Off limits? By who? You?" Emilia sneered. That woman had a death wish. "Yes. By me." (Y/N) answered with gritted teeth and it took Emilia by shock. She then smiled and said, "Why would Captain Levi like you? You aren't even his type. He likes tall women like me and you're just the opposite. You don't even have any big breasts. You are almost like a little man yourself" she chuckled.

(Y/N)'s eyes widened in shock. "Enough, Emilia. You had no right to say that to her. And yes, I am in a relationship with her so stop harassing us. I did not ask for your service. You are clearly mistaking me with someone else." I said calmly trying to break the tension because if I didn’t, (Y/N) would knock her dead. I took (Y/N)'s hand to take her out of there but she wouldn't budge. I saw a sadistic smile form on her face. I was really hoping she wouldn't start a bar fight because the last thing we need is attention on ourselves.

"So, you're his type huh? I suppose I can't change that.. Oh wait, maybe I can" she muttered as she looked up at her and suddenly punched her hard. I saw a few teeth flying out of her mouth as she fell to the floor unconscious. She was still shaking with anger when I pulled her out of the bar and to our suite. "I have to appreciate what you did but this is going to get us in a lot of trouble." I told her as we went inside the room. She was still shaking but this time, it didn't feel like anger.

"I want to have sex" she muttered. I knew she was saying these in the heat of the moment so I said, "You don't want that. You're tipsy, angry and scared. You're not going to make good decisions right now". She looked straight at my eyes and said, "I'm not tipsy anymore. I am your second in command for a reason. I can take good decisions even in moments like this". "Then why are you shaking?" I asked her pointing the obvious out. "Because I am not ready. I will never be ready. I will never be your type. I need to know if you'll take responsibility for your actions or run back to some tall whore. I need this" she yelled at me. I analysed what she just said. She wanted this because she didn't trust me. "I can't do this (Y/N). You'll regret it" I told her calmly. However, to my astonishment, she started taking her clothes off.

To be continued...

Taglist: @reality-is-often-disappointing, @kingtamakimurder

#levi aot #shingeki no kyoujin levi #levi x reader #levi attack on titan #levi x fem!reader #levi×reader #levi ackerman #levi smut

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adapembroke · 3 years

Text

Reading Tarot Like The Empress

There is a story told about the poet Rainer Maria Rilke. Finding himself in a state that we would now call writers block, he got a job as a secretary to a sculptor he admired, Rodin. (You might know Rodin but not know you do. He is most famous for the sculpture called “The Thinker,” the guy sitting with his head in his hand like he’s nursing a headache.) Rilke was young when he went to work for Rodin, but not completely inexperienced. He had a couple of books of poems under his belt already. He had even developed a style and a method. Like the High Priestess, his process was an introverted one. He looked within. Inspiration came from his inner life and memories, and he waited around the shore of his unconscious for inspiration to strike. When he went to work for Rodin, this process was failing him. He didn’t want to sit around and wait for the muse anymore. He just wanted to get to work. Rodin had a reputation for being a craftsman, for setting his mind to a project and making it without theatrics, and Rilke wanted to learn how to do that. He hoped that by spending time around the artist, he would learn Rodin’s secret and become a craftsman of words.

One day, Rodin asked how Rilke’s poetry was going. Rilke told him about his troubles, and Rodin gave him this advice: Go to the zoo. Choose an animal, and look at it until you really see it. It might take weeks, he said, but Rilke should be patient.

Rilke went. He chose the panther and sat in front of its cage until he was inspired to write the poem “The Panther.” When I read that poem, I see this: That man is bored. He is so tired of looking at this big cat walking back and forth in front of iron bars, he can’t stand it anymore. There is nothing else in the world but this cat and this cage. He can’t move until he really sees this thing, whatever that means. The only thing he knows is that it isn’t happening. Every once in awhile, he thinks he has a flash of inspiration, but then it vanishes, and he’s not sure of anything anymore.

I imagine Rilke walking away from the Panther’s cage clutching the notebook that will hold the collection that he will eventually call New Poems. The notebook is ragged from his constant handling it of but the pages are blank, all except for one, and that page contains only a single short poem about a panther.

At least, after all of that, I got a poem, he must have been thinking.

Turning Toward The World

In Rilke’s path through the Fool’s Journey, “The Panther” is the turning point between the High Priestess and the Empress. The High Priestess looks within. Just like your eyes need a moment to adjust when you have been staring at a book for hours and then look out the window, this poem is the process of Rilke changing the focus of his vision from his inner world to the outer world.

In “The Panther,” he doesn’t quite escape the inner world. It’s hard to tell if the poem is about the poet or the panther.

But then something extraordinary happens.

He conducts the experiment again. This time, he looks at an ancient, headless sculpture of Apollo and writes “Archaic Torso of Apollo.” The poem begins with the same structure, a description of the sculpture, a poetic version of the type of work visual artists do when they are rolling around an idea and make a lot of sketches just looking at what they want to draw. Instead of focusing on what he sees, though, he cheats a little and focuses on what you can’t see, beginning his poem with, “We cannot know his legendary head.”

Then he has an epiphany:

From all the borders of itself,

burst like a star: for there is no place

that does not see you. You must change your life.

His epiphany is the shock of recognition. The panther had eyes but saw nothing. The statue, despite the fact that it has no head, sees him, and in that moment Rilke’s eyes are opened, and he sees.

What was that moment of recognition like? What burst like a star? He doesn’t say, and if you’re feeling in a particular mood you might make guesses in a certain direction. But. I’m going to take what he said about “stars” and go a bit further with it.

The process by which stars burn is called fusion. When stars burn, a practically infinite number of chemical reactions happen in which two atoms join—fuse—together and become a third thing.

“The Panther” is, really, about Rilke. The panther is the object onto which he projects his inner world. It’s a great poem as a poem, but he’s trying to break out of that High Priestess mode, and he’s just not getting it yet. It’s still all about him. The panther is a metaphor for himself. In “Archaic Torso of Apollo,” it starts being about his gaze, and then his gaze and the statue’s gaze meet, and those deeper eyes, the ones that refused so frustratingly to open in “The Panther,” open wide in shock at the spectacle of seeing something that is not Rilke himself. In “Archaic Torso of Apollo,” he stops considering the statue as an object to play his own heart strings on and encounters it as an Other, what the philosopher Martin Buber called a “Thou.” The object of Rilke’s poem is not longer an “it,” an object to use or experience. The statue is a being with whom he can have a relationship of dialog. Rilke’s seeing talks to the statue’s seeing, and they (or Rilke, at least) find a mutual understanding. This Other sees him, and Rilke sees this Other, and, in really seeing, Rilke falls in love, and fusion happens. The resulting work is a love poem to a ruined work of art, a third thing that comes from these two seeing each other.

The Empress Of The Senses

If you read Tarot books, you’ll be told that the Empress is about the senses. The focus here immediately goes to pleasure. You are often told to savor sensual experiences. That’s great. Sometimes when the Empress comes up in a reading, all you really need is a bath with lots of sparkly things in it.

But there is a tradition in many cultures of seeing empresses as divine. If the Empress was a goddess, what would that mean? What if you really held the senses to be sacred?

The senses are by their very nature an encounter with the Other. You see seagulls. You taste the bitterness of your tea. You smell the heady, spicy, slightly trippy smell of frankincense. You hear the wind blow. You feel your lover’s hand on your leg, palm up, waiting for you to take their hand in yours. These encounters, if you are vulnerable and open yourself up to them, are sacred, encounters with the Holy Other. It is through these encounters that we experience the Holy Thou.

Empathy is a high-flying abstract word that has somehow managed in certain communities to become a burden and a point of pride. A similar, maybe better, term is ”resonance.“ Resonance happens when a thing that happens to one thing also happens to another thing. Andrea Gibson captures it beautifully in her poem, “Say Yes.”

When two violins are placed in a room

if a chord on one violin is struck

the other violin will sound the note.

Resonance an essential element in divinatory readings. We’ve talked about how to read like the Fool, how to open yourself up to enchantment while working with the Magician, and how to tap into your own intuition in the High Priestess. The wisdom of the Empress in readings is the wisdom of relationship. There’s a huge Venus glyph in a heart on the RWS card as if Pamela Coleman Smith wanted to shake us and say, “It’s about love, people!”

When I do a reading for someone, I lay out the cards or pull up the birth chart. When I first look, the symbols are just “its” to me. They’re tools for me to use to work my craft. I stare at them for awhile. I make connections. I build associations. I connect what I’m seeing with what my intuition is saying. When I’m doing a past life reading, I’m reading the birth chart specifically with the goal of figuring out what a person’s mistakes have been. I take my little candle and set out into the darkness of the human heart, but when I really sit with a chart when I’m doing a past life reading, there never fails to be a moment when I snap into Empress mode. The experience is just like how Rilke describes it. It’s like a star suddenly bursts into life. An image comes to me—usually literally when I’m doing past life readings—and I see the person I’m reading for as a person. It’s no longer about the Hermit or the Star or Judgement. It’s about a very lonely person who wants so badly to shine but is afraid of being judged. I encounter them as a “Thou.”

The Peacemaker Queen

We discussed the High Priestess as participating in the Dark Goddess archetype. The Empress is the other divine feminine archetype in the major arcana. She is the Mother Goddess, an archetype she shares with Demeter, Gaia, and the Virgin Mary.

The archetypes of the RWS are deeply rooted in the roles of Medieval Europe. In Medieval Europe, the queen had two roles. The first was to make babies for the king. The second was to be an angel of mercy. It was the special right and responsibility of the queen to show compassion. A medieval king couldn’t be merciful, even if he wanted to. It would have made him look weak, and he would have been swarmed by his lords and assassinated as soon as they could get their weapons together. The queen had to carry all of the mercy for the two of them. She could appeal to the king publicly to spare condemned criminals. She could ask him to make peace in a time of war. He could listen to her without ruining his reputation and opening himself up to attack.

Much has been made of the sexism in this role, so I won’t dwell on it here. Instead, I will point out that this role is descended from a sacred office. The right to come between two armies and stop a war was one that belonged to the ancient Druids. They had to spend twenty years studying to earn that right—which says something, I think, about how much the Celts loved war. Much of that study was in learning to divine, and I suspect that in a warrior culture, no small part of that was about learning to find the Thou in the enemy and have the courage to show compassion. I doubt the monarchs of Medieval Europe remembered this old Druid role consciously when the queens took on this role—or I doubt the queens would have been allowed to take on that kind of power—but it is there in the cultural memory, the leader whose power comes from their ability to find that which is worth saving in the heart of the criminal, warlord, and traitor.

To me, this is the heart of the Empress. It’s about looking until you really see, listening until you really hear, touching until you really feel, tasting until you really taste, and smelling until…you get the idea; and through the senses encountering another self, finding what there is to love in the Thou you’re encountering. When you do that, you’re participating in the very force that makes the stars burn.

This post was originally published on Aquarius Moon Journal on 21 March 2020.

#witchblr #empress #tarot

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