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spacedace · 9 months

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Reluctant War AU Part 3

Part 1 Part 2

More of the brain worm that has taken me over, gonna probably post it to Ao3 here before too long. Already got another part started and so many ideas for additional stuff, someone please send help I've been consumed by this thing lol

Sorry if Waller seems out of character, outside of fandom I'm mostly familiar with her through Justice League the animated show & Justice League: Unlimited and her vibe there has always struck me as "deeply incredibly unlikable character that also kind of has a point but also has done so much fucked up shit in the name of her goals that you don't really care about her point anymore." So you know, complicated lol. If she's completely unrecognizable let me know, but I'm hoping she feels at least somewhat like Waller.

Forgot to say this in the last update, but still feel free to use all this as an overly long prompt if yall want. Literally anything I throw out to the void should be treated as a prompt lol If there's anything at all interesting to you in any of this nonsense go for it <3 <3 <3

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Amanda Waller was someone who did what needed to be done.

Ruthless, heartless, vicious, cruel.

She’d been called it all. Wore the words thrown as insults as a badges of pride and valor. Because at the end of the day, when it came to the problems she was given to face, the issues she was meant to solve, those words meant she’d done what others had been too squeamish or cowardly to do. Life was a never ending slog of trolley problems and she the only one unshakable enough to pull the levers that needed pulling.

It wasn’t so simple as a matter of greater good.

Greater good was what the weak willed muttered to themselves after having feelings over doing the bare minimum. A justification used by people on all sides to do what they wanted with fractured, faulty logic thrown around like truth was a thing immutable. To assuage their guilt when they were forced to make a call they didn’t want to.

It wasn’t a matter of greater good. It was a matter of preservation. Of protection. Of digging through the filth to find the threats skittering beneath and crush them with ruthless abandon. Of facing a god and not blinking because if you did it could cost the world.

Of doing what needed to be done, no matter how underhanded or atrocious it was.

Hands dirty.

Hands red.

Hands wrapped tight around the throat of something that could threaten to destroy it all.

When the Ghost Investigation Ward had been shoved her way with it’s sucking wound of a budget, it’s bloated incompetent staff, its asinine methods she’d seen a rotted limb in need of hacking off. It hadn’t been until she’d been conducting her inspection, digging through the trash for a few pearls of effective agents she could snatch up and put to work elsewhere, that she’d truly seen what they were working on. The potential.

Potential to better arm themselves with in the forms of the strange new weapons being created.

Potential for threats far greater than anything even she had thought possible before.

The GIW as it had been when she’d first come across it was a fetid waste of time and resources. A laughing stock agency only secret because no one took them seriously enough to look. Made stupid and useless with its own conceited delusions of importance it didn’t actually have. Yet.

She went to work on it. Hacking away as she’d originally intended, but this time with a different goal in mind. She ripped out the weeds with bare, calloused hands and planted proficiency and loyalty in their place. She took over as director herself, tossing the self-aggrandizing fool that had been running the place into the ground to the dogs as the culprit for misappropriate spendings, saving the agency by tweaking things until their ballooning budget was pinned neatly onto the former director as an embezzling charge.

Then she got to work.

The Fentons were brilliant, if entirely insane. But Amanda could work with that. She’d reigned Harley Quinn in - more or less - she could do the same to the two deranged scientists that so eagerly wanted to be apart of the fight against the dead. Especially when the benefit came in the form of the inventions they threw together so easily, especially when those inventions were weapons.

It took very little to get them on board with her plans for the GIW. Keeping their focus could be a chore, at times, but she didn’t even have to really do much in the way of pressing to get them back where she wanted them. They craved knowledge and understanding nearly as much as they craved the eradication of the entities themselves. Letting them have the first look at a new subject here, free reign over a vivisection there, it took so little to fuel their fervor and keep them busy working on the projects she set for them.

Things had been going smoothly.

For a time at least.

Until Phantom.

He’d been the main focus of the previous director’s attention, the big fish he’d so desperately wanted to catch and put up on his wall. Amanda wouldn’t lie and say it wasn’t a tempting prospect, but not one she’d put above the other projects she had set in motion since taking over. No, Phantom was powerful, enough to be a real problem one day, but she could the awkward youth in the way he held himself, the inexperience in how he handled situations. She had time to get everything else in order before focusing on getting Amity Park’s would-be hero brought to heel.

And he would be brought to heel. One way or another.

Hands dirty.

Hands red.

Hands wrapped tight around the Core of a fledgling god and bending him to her will.

An artifact, old an powerful, recovered with some effort. A means of controlling specters, of chaining them to the will of the artifact’s wielder. Dangerous in the wrong hands. Dangerous in the right hands.

It was shattered, and even whole and functional Phantom was resistant to its power. But Amanda Waller prided herself in her ability to see the potential in things. It could be repaired, be made better. Even gods could be bound, be made to kneel, with the right pieces, with the right application of force.

It was just a matter of time to gather everything needed.

Phantom didn’t know he could single handedly destroy every last member of the Justice League. The baby fat, the innocent eyes, the split-second hesitations when he fought. He knew enough to be confident in fighting the usual ghosts that haunted Amity Park, but he still very much saw himself as a little fish. Maybe it was the part of him that was still Daniel Fenton, gangly teenager not quite sure what he was truly capable of yet.

She had time before the Fenton’s son truly became an issue. Time to judge if his parents’ obsessiveness would overcome their - rather shoddy, by Amanda’s estimation - parental instincts and continue to hunt him once they knew the truth. Time to get as much out of them as she could before hand, should they falter at the idea of attacking their own son. Time for the staff to be repaired and returned to working order, to get the other items needed for the truly big fish hidden on the other side of the veil between worlds.

She had time.

Until she didn’t.

Pariah Dark had not been something she thought she’d have to account for - not yet, at least.

If he wasn’t already dead, she’d ring the Ghost King’s neck with her bare hands. His arrival had opened Phantom’s eyes to what he was capable of, of just how big of a fish he was. Worse still, Phantom’s defeat of the war mongering King changed the state of play. Phantom was no longer an impressively powerful half dead teenager.

He was King Infinite.

He was an Ancient.

He was getting on her last damn nerves.

Phantom’s rogue gallery were now firmly under the boy’s control. Still distinct nuisances around Amity Park, but no longer considered true concerns. They were loyal to their boy king, delighting in ruffling his feathers but never crossing the line into treason or attempted regicide. Which meant that the GIW was the only thing that held his attention.

Amanda took the time to send a care package to the former GIW director in his tiny, dank prison cell. As thanks for his carelessness in revealing to the entire town - both living and dead - of the agency’s existence and their intentions. Had he stuck to standard protocol, Phantom would have been none the wiser to their presence. Would have scratched his head and shrugged his shoulders at the ghost that went missing upon occasion. Would have been boredly uninterested in the people his parents had begun working with. Would have been taken by surprise when they finally came for him.

But no.

No that self-obsessed, fame chasing imbecile had to go and announce to everyone and their dead mother that the GIW existed and exactly what it was they were in Amity Park to do.

Phantom knew what they were there to do.

They could only count on his naive certainty that he could broker peace with them for so long.

Peace. As if he and his people weren’t the invading force, the monsters slipping in through the cracks between worlds, the latest threat that had to be accounted for. As if he himself hadn’t rent their world asunder himself in another world, another time. No. Peace was not something they could hash out with this baby-faced monarch with his too-big crown. Peace was the assurance of safety, security. Of control of the situation.

There could be no peace.

The higher ups were somehow surprised when Phantom took that to mean there would be war.

Amanda Waller was not.

The Fentons, as suspected, took the right side when all was revealed. Steady hands and flinty eyes as they crafted the weapons that would be needed for the coming fight. Minds even sharper in their maddened grief, hearts set on revenge for the son lost and the entity that stole his face and friends and sister in his garish pretense at humanity. They were blinded to the reality of the situation in its entirety, the potential in what their son truly was, but at the end of the day it didn’t really matter. They did what she needed them to do, they could believe whatever it was they wanted so long as they did.

By the time the boy king and his armies marched upon the Amity park facility, preparations had been put into place. The base in Amity had been stripped back to bare essentials, everything of importance moved to more secured locations.

The weapons labs.

The artifact.

The girl.

All tucked well away from the front lines where Phantom and his motley crew could not reach. Their time to be put in play would come, but not yet. First she needed to gauge what Phantom and his people were capable of, what they were willing to do in the name of what they wanted. Amity Park was a pawn well sacrificed on that front. As were the other facilities she’d left easy to find.

The problem with making children gods, with giving them crowns and calling them King and giving them armies to play with, was that they thought there should be rules. That even in the trenches tearing apart their enemies, there was a certain level of playing fair that everyone was held to. They thought there was a way the world worked, of how things should be that blinded them to more effective options even as time stretched on and desperation set in.

It was the Dead’s problem though, not hers.

She reached out to the Justice League. Sour faced, unhappy, bitterly reluctant to accept that she needed their help. Stone faced and barely containing their rage at what little they knew of the situation, they agreed to a meeting.

She didn’t let herself smile until she was well and truly alone in her office.

Greater good. A lie people told themselves. A fairytale told to children. A means of convincing the weaker willed that they had no choice, that they had a noble duty to bend to. A belief that could be wielded like a weapon if the fantasy of the idea had dug in deep enough. And there were few it had dug into so deep as the members of the Justice League.

Amanda Waller was someone who did what needed to be done.

Hands dirty.

Hands red.

Hands clenched tight on a victory long in the making.

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Part Four

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #danny fenton #amanda waller #GIW #ghost investigation ward #Jack Fenton #Maddie Fenton #bad parents jack & maddie fenton #cause none of this is angsty enough yet lol #tw references to vivisection #tw references to death #waller out here playing 3d chess #of course she wasn't surprised by the inevitable war she was just hoping she'd have her secret weapon ready before it actually kicked off #oh well she still has plans B - J to get through #and all the variations for each #gonna take care of her ghost problem and her justice league problem in one fell swoop if she gets her way #just throw some GIW agents into the meat grinder for a bit while she gets stuff in order & so she can see just what Danny is willing to do #anyway wonder what Elle is up to during all this #i'm sure she's fine and there's nothing to worry about #waller playing the long con yall

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samstree · 1 year

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Wedding Night Blues

A curse against sex on a wedding night. Jaskier copes, and Geralt helps. (Ace!Geralt, 1.3k ☆ AO3)

“Rude! So rude!” Jaskier pushes open the door to their bedroom, banging it against the wall. “On my wedding, no less. My wedding!”

Geralt follows right behind, steadying the door and closing it gently. He sighs, pausing as Jaskier paces across the room several times, his cheeks flushed with anger.

“It was our wedding, Jask.”

With that, Jaskier stops in his tracks, looking up at Geralt. Frantic energy simmers behind his eyes, mixed with frustration.

“Yes,” he answers, crossing the room to take Geralt’s hands. “It’s our wedding day. Ours. We are supposed to be utterly consumed by marital bliss, and nothing else. It’s our day.” At that, Jaskier softens ever so slightly, before letting out a disgusted noise. “Urgh, and now it’s all ruined by that old, joyless wizard. Who would crash someone’s wedding party and cast a curse against sex? Seriously, what kind of a rude bastard does that?”

Jaskier mumbles a few more curses, completely overcome with annoyance at the unexpected guest near the end of the ceremony. Geralt simply holds his hands, waiting patiently for the rant to finish.

The medallion hums faintly against Geralt’s chest, reminding him of the magic cast upon them. He nearly didn’t recognize it at first, being the opposite of another common curse—forced sex with the threat of death. That one would have been a much more heinous deal, a complete disregard of the subject’s will, and forbidden in nearly all of the courts.

This curse, however, only means they cannot have sex tonight.

And tonight just so happens to be their wedding night.

Perhaps, it is indeed a bit inconvenient, Gerealt reckons.

“Cockblocked on my wedding night! With that sick spell of his and those evil laughs. They were not even good laughs! We’ve met villains with much better laughs.” Jaskier goes on, and on. “That was so rude. At least, he should’ve had the courtesy to practice that laugh a little before coming here. And, Geralt, did I mention how rude it was?”

Jaskier’s cheeks are bloated red. Smoke could be coming out of his ears.

Geralt resists the urge to tease. “You did.”

A glare lands on him nonetheless. Jaskier lets go of Geralt’s hands, crossing his arms. “Why must you make enemies with the rude ones?”

Blinking, Geralt realizes he’s become the target of Jaskier’s ire too.

“It’s better than the deadly ones?” Not sure what to do, he sighs. “I didn’t do anything.”

It must be the gentle tone that relaxes Jaskier, because his shoulders drop a little. If anything, Geralt knows how to calm his bard when he’s spiraling—his husband, now.

So he closes the distance between them slowly, placing a hand behind Jaskier’s back, guiding him towards the bed. It’s a big, luxurious thing, mounted with blankets and soft pillows. They sink into the mattress at the edge.

“No, it wasn’t your fault. I’m angry with that sad, pathetic mage who has never known love and acts out on jealousy.” Jaskier takes a deep breath, and then another. “He just couldn’t stand how happy we are.”

“We are.” Geralt pulls Jaskier close, so his body is slumped against his. “I am. So incredibly happy.”

Jaskier runs a hand through his hair, crumpling the small daisies nestled in his braids. “I’m not mad at you, just frustrated,” he says. “It’s our wedding night. I was expecting to get lucky, is all.”

“Hmm, and what if I didn’t want to?” Geralt asks softly, picking out the crushed petals one after another. “What if it’s one of those days?”

He only asks half-heartedly as a comfort for Jaskier, but the hypothesis is not without truth underneath it.

On some days, all Geralt wants is to fall asleep holding Jaskier. On some days, sex seems like an insurmountable task. He’s different, from Jaskier at least, who always looks at him with desire burning behind those blue eyes.

On other days, the want grows within his ribcage. When there’s sunlight on Jaskier’s smile and patience in his voice, Geralt is consumed by all the love that whispers Jaskier’s name with every slow beat of his witcher heart. On those days, he shows all the love with touch, with the gentle press of lips, with the intimacy in the act of sex, and he knows Jaskier sees him.

Jaskier always sees him. Jaskier is always safe.

“Oh.” Upon hearing the question, Jaskier looks up. His expression changes completely, all annoyance gone in an instant. “That’s fine, then. It’s alright if you don’t want to, darling, you know this. It wasn’t meant as—well, I didn’t mean to pressure you. I just thought you did want to, tonight.” He watches Geralt closely. “Did you? Because it’s okay. I won’t mention it again if you don’t.”

Something in Geralt aches.

“I did,” he answers. “I wanted to. It’s our night. I want to make you happy.”

A small, understanding smile tugs at Jaskier’s lips. He waits for Geralt’s answer patiently, sitting on their wedding bed, dressed in a midnight blue doublet, embroidered with a subtle pattern of wolves at the hem.

“Yeah?”

Geralt takes Jaskier’s hand and presses a kiss to his palm. “Yeah.”

Jaskier’s lips purse into a small pout. “It’s all pointless now. We are trapped in this sexless hell.”

“Only for a day. We are still here tomorrow.”

The ribbon that bound their hands and the rings marking their fingers make sure of it.

“It’s still unfair. It seems so much harder for me than it is for you. Pun fully intended,” Jaskier whines. “I want you, darling. I had plans to take care of you tonight. Please tell me it’s just as hard for you.”

Geralt smiles at his ridiculous bard. “It’s just as hard for me.”

“Thank you,” Jaskier sighs, “for lying.”

“Not lying. Want you so much.” Geralt hums, resting his forehead against Jaskier’s, eyes closed. “Love you,” he whispers the secret.

“Oh,” Jaskier’s breath hitches. “I love you too.”

They exhale in unison, letting the weight of the day fade away.

We don’t need sex to be close, Jaskier once promised him. I just need you to be here, and be okay.

He’s always okay when it’s Jaskier’s hands touching him, Jaskier’s heart loving him.

Geralt breathes through all the love that wraps around him in safety, overwhelming him, drowning him in utter bliss. He cups Jaskier’s cheek and takes in the beautiful sight of his bard, his small smile. He can’t help leaning in for a kiss.

“What are you doing?” A finger stops him by the lips, but Jaskier’s smile grows. “Curse, remember?”

“Hmm, we can still kiss,” Geralt coaxes. “Just one kiss.”

Jaskier groans. “It’s never just one kiss if it’s you. You know your effect on me. I’ll get all hot and bothered and it’s going to be a danger to our lives.”

“We’ll risk it.”

Despite the playfulness, Geralt kisses Jaskier carefully. He catches Jaskier’s soft lips into a chaste kiss, and another, and another. He keeps it feather-light, never pushing for more, only to let Jaskier melt under his attention. The small, peppering kisses continue until they are both humming with quiet contentment.

Geralt pulls away, opening his eyes to find Jaskier with a dreamy look on his face.

“Hey, husband.”

“Hey,” Jaskier breathes. “I misspoke. Perhaps, I did get lucky today.”

“Did you?”

Jaskier’s grin stretches so wide it takes over his whole face. There’s so much joy when he looks at Geralt, growing as the seconds go by. It’s hard to imagine him being angry just a few minutes ago, troubled by something that seems distantly inconsequential now.

“Mm-hmm. I really lucked out with this one right here.” He pinches Geralt’s cheek gently. “I have a best friend and a husband in the same person, and I got to marry him today.”

That, Geralt can relate to.

“Hmm. Very lucky indeed. What will you do with him, now that you have him?”

Jaskier winks mischievously, bringing Geralt into his arms. The faint smell of daisies lingers in the air, and Geralt burrows right into it. He holds his best friend and husband, and never wants to leave their little pocket of happiness.

“I believe,” Jaskier answers, smiling as he kisses Geralt’s forehead, “more cuddling is in order. It’s our wedding night, after all.”

#geraskier #geraskier fic #asexual geralt #allo jaskier #relationship negotiation #kind of

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femmefatalevibe · 1 year

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Hello, Love!

So I am 16, and this may seem a bit ridiculous but I hope you see this. Basically, I have this schoolmate and we are on the same grade, he’s really good-looking and got a million followers on TikTok. I’ve known friends and acquaintances who had crush on him at some point, including me which I greatly made me feel so drained and insecure because I can’t help but to compare myself with other people who likes him as well. I even reach a point were I was pressured to conform with those popular, rich, teenagers in hopes to be part of his group of friends because they were in fact those type of people he only hangs out with.

The only thing that held me back was knowing darn well that me and my family is struggling financially. Purchasing fancy clothes, brand new shoes, and latest Apple products was something that’s never part of my option, which I must confess, greatly frustrated me because I wanted to impress him so bad that I felt so ashamed of my thoughts sometimes. Seeing my smart, pretty, rich friend who likes him getting her way to be further connected with him, by befriending his friends, getting invited in cool people’s party and took some cute photos with him didn’t make anything better in my case because I had to pretend I am happy for her.

I actually feel envious and guilty at the same time. She liked him first, I would never admit that I have developed a crush on the guy she likes, though. Regardless of my feeling, those are the values I took pride on: never trade platonic relationships for romantic ones. I won’t let a guy be the reason that would get my friendship destroyed.

So, I wanted to detach from him but I don’t know where to start. We never really interacted (I doubt him choosing to sit next to me at auditorium counts) and most of the eye contacts were I think heavily romanticised by my brain because I’m so attracted to him. I even tried confessing anonymously and felt so bad about myself that he never bothered responding. After that, I spend my week imagining our possibility instead of reviewing for my midterms examination, I didn’t got to pass my exams. The lengths it keeps costing me’s not worth it. I just want to get rid of this feelings. It’s severely unhealthy. Is there anything I can do?

Hi love! Please remember: your feelings are completely valid. This is normal to feel when you're 16 (trust me – I was hopelessly attracted/addicted to my FWB at this age, it's okay!). So cool that you get to stare at TikTok-famous star all day! I remember all of my friends were dying to Snapchat with a Vine star when I was in HS lol.

As someone who was in a similar position: fancy private school, less well-off than my peers, it's easier said than done, but seriously – don't let it get to your head. High school feels like it is all-consuming at the time, but details like who has the nicer jacket or backpack are things you will never think about the second you step onto a college campus or office.

If there's one lesson I've learned in dealing with guys over the years it's this: You need to impress yourself and see if there's a connection. Never do anything for a teenage boy/man that would make you feel like you're sacrificing a part of yourself or any type of self-respect.

There's always a chance he will like you if he gets to know you, but the best way to know is to live your best life: Work hard at school and extracurricular activities, socialize whenever you can with your friends, make jokes with your peers, ask to study with your friends along with your boy interest.

Appearing confident in yourself and knowing what you want are two of the most attractive qualities a person can have.

P.S. - Please live by your previous sentiment: Never trade platonic relationships for romantic ones. I won’t let a guy be the reason that would get my friendship destroyed.

This is golden advice that more women need to internalize. It will only do you good and save you a lot of unnecessary heartbreaks in the future.

Focus on your future and create moments of joy – even for small periods of time – in your daily life. Being born into wealth is the luck of the draw, but building the life you desire and learning to thrive throughout your journey, that's an invaluable skill that no fancy iPhone can replace in the long run.

Hope this helps xx

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azurelyy · 2 years

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Aside from narusaku, what other ships do you like a lot ? It could be canon or even non canon ones

Hi there, Nonnie! Thank you very much for the ask!

So, I have answered a similar question here, but I am not sure if you mean Naruto specific ships or not?

To be perfectly honest with you, the only two SHIPS I have from Naruto are NaruSaku and ShikaIno. I LIKE other ships, but I don't SHIP them - ya feel me? I feel like, when I ship something, that means that I am thinking about them constantly every day. They haunt all over my what ifs, they linger within song lyrics and books I read... And I don't FEEL all those things with every pair I like in Naruto except for those two.

That being said, since your question specified ships I like a lot, then it wouldn't be a complete answer without going into detail on a few other, non-Naruto ships that are some of my OTPs. 💗

Zutara (Zuko x Katara - Avatar):

They are my all-time, number one OTP - forever and always. I will be a 70-year-old Zutara shipper, discussing the discourse and trajectory of their relationship. I will never, ever stop thinking about these two. They are seriously the couple that made be believe in parallel universes - because there is simply NO FUCKING WAY that they wrote all that development into the show for it to not go anywhere - there's definitely a universe adjacent to ours where Zutara is canon and I don't care what the stipulation of living in that universe might be, I want to go there lol.

Clerith (Cloud x Aerith - FF7):

I think you guys will see a trend in that I don't actually prefer friends to lovers as much as people might assume considering I ship NaruSaku lol. ANYWAYS, these two are fucking phenomenal and hurt me in the best ways. I think about them constantly. I rewatch videos I've made about them, rewatch videos others have made about them. I read fanfiction and consume posts about them like my life depends on it. The remake definitely reinvigorated my love for them and I think it added some much needed development that I LOVE but that also FUCKING HURTS MY SOUL. "I'm coming for you." THAT IS ALL. 😭😭😭

Dramione (Draco x Hermione - Harry Potter):

It's not a complete list of ships I like a lot without including the OG ship, one of the first I can remember having. Say whatever the fuck you want - I will sink with them. There is undeniable sexual tension here, and if "She who must not be named" had given Draco similar development to what Zuko had (he was SO CLOSE, just needed a few extra bits and bobs here and there)... I MEAAAAANNNNN... I think that's all I have to say! It also really hurts me knowing Emma Watson had a crush on Tom Felton... like ndfbsjdhfnksjd. They also had chemistry on-screen which didn't help my obsession with the pair... The punch scene? Iconic as fuck lmao.

Honorable Mentions (Ships I also love and could write whole dissertations about:

Spuffy (Spike x Buffy - Buffy)

Roy x Riza (FMA Brotherhood)

Harmony (Harry x Hermione - HP)

MiroSan (Miroku x Sango - InuYahsa)

InuKago (InuYasha x Kagome - InuYasha)

Delena (Damon x Elena - Vampire Diaries)

Klaroline (Caroline x Klaus - Vampire Diaries)

#ask away #azurelyy scribbles #zutara #clerith #dramione #spuffy #roy x riza #klaroline #harmony #delena #narusaku #shikaino

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erabundus · 9 months

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@monburan &&. said... She's practicing with her newfound Pyro Vision, setting slimes aflame and such, when she feels a pair of eyes watching from afar. Heterochromatic hues scan the surrounding area, flickering across a figure in the distance. Moving to stand instead of kneel, she shoots the figure a glare, eyes alit by the glow of Pyro as a warning to all. Quit staring unless you have a death wish. ( from neo !! )

it's a bit like watching someone crush an ant colony beneath a merciless heel. ( ironic; that's usually his doing. ) the slimes are utterly helpless against the flames, with nary a thought running through their empty little heads beyond a feeble attempt to BOUNCE AWAY in self preservation. a useless effort; the fire consumes them before they have the chance to escape — and while most would find the action abhorrent, ren can't help but admire the CRUELTY. perhaps it's a dark reflection of empathy at work; though he tries to live while keeping predominantly to himself these days, the balladeer certainly wasn't above petty acts of destruction — when it suited him. ( or his mood was foul enough to necessitate sharing the misery. ) there's a sort of catharsis to be found in dismantling this world through one's own POWER. he thinks it might be equivalent to what gods feel when they toy with those too weak to stand against them.

he's been leaning calmly against a tree when she turns her attention on him. the wanderer seems unperturbed by the nasty look she shoots his way — though it's hard to take most THREATS seriously when he knows there's no physical damage he can't simply walk away from. ( given enough time for his healing factor to kick in. ) ❝ talk about a scary expression. ❞ ren still can't help the urge to get a little jab in. ❝ i'm not as much of a PUSHOVER as those slimes you've been terrorizing; this is one fight you don't want to pick. ❞ he waves his hand, his own eyes flickering a brief ( anemo ) blue. a gust of wind sweeps over their surroundings, putting out what fires still sizzle away in the grass.

❝ if i meant you any harm, ❞ the wanderer continues, ❝ don't you think i would have made my move while you were DISTRACTED? i'm just appreciating your handiwork. ❞ he's always found it's easier to make statements of fact than implore a complete STRANGER to trust him. ❝ although ... aren't you getting bored messing around with these small fry? if you really want to test your strength, why don't you try killing something a little more IMPRESSIVE? ❞

#monburan #( weird stranger here to critique your arson )

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gsasustainability · 8 months

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Tanvi Pankaj Kumar, MDes Service Design

CRUSH CUP - THE REVIVAL OF TERRACOTTA

Introduction: The UK faces a pressing issue with over 2.5 billion disposable coffee cups discarded annually, with limited recycling. These cups, made from paper and plastic, are challenging to recycle due to their waterproof coating. Their disposal contributes to landfill waste, emitting potent greenhouse gas methane. This situation offers research opportunities in areas like public perception, coffee consumption practices, and the takeaway coffee culture.

The concept: The concept revolves around introducing terracotta cups as an environmentally conscious substitute for disposable coffee cups. Drawing inspiration from India's traditional tea culture, specifically the kullads and Bhar cups, this proposal aims to establish a sustainable service paradigm for daily coffee consumers. The use of terracotta cups as an alternative to disposable coffee cups.

Inspiration from India: In stark contrast to the ubiquity of plastic-laden counterparts, these meticulously handcrafted terracotta clay cups, reminiscent of their historical prominence at India's bustling railway stations and vibrant street corners, emerge as a formidable and biodegradable contender.

Renowned for their ability to accumulate the nuanced flavours of the tea, these cups embrace a ceremonial closure to each libation, a finality encapsulated by the concluding of each beverage ceremoniously, with a customary crushing post-use, a subtle yet profound ritual.

Why in the UK? In a departure from a well-established tapestry of generational pottery craftsmanship that graces the Indian landscape, the United Kingdom finds itself at a juncture where technology assumes a pivotal role. Clay 3D printing technology emerges as a potent force, seamlessly bridging the gap between tradition and innovation. The cutting-edge production techniques empower the creation of customisable cups that adhere to the most discerning industry standards and measurements. Each cup caters adeptly to the myriad preferences of coffee consumers- be it the embrace of piping hot espresso or the cool iced latte.

Personal take and putting value to the project: I feel that this is a hidden issue that I identified. As a coffee lover, I know how convenient it is to get a takeaway coffee but I also realise it is a major source of waste. Design can help materialise hidden facts and less recognised problem areas of a system. Small progress is still progress. Though the impact is hard to put a value on, the aim of the project is very ambitious, its impact would be a ground-breaking innovation revolutionising the way of coffee completely. It might seem like 'one cup' to you, but we also must look beyond the physical value and take the responsibilities we all carry with a tinge of seriousness.

#CrushCup #reviveterracotta #zerowastecoffee #crushcupcoffee #zerowatsescotland #redesigingtakeaway #ecofriendly #sustainabledesign #thesis #servicedesign #coffee #coffeecup #innovationindesign #indianculture #teaculture #circulareconomy #CEAwinner

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saltypiss · 1 year

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I can’t put into enough words how not okay this is for any product, and the genuine ailment of ‘gamers’ accepting this is a plague spread from the rest of capitalism, and consumer acceptance of blatant greed celebrated. Whether profitable or not, it’s bad for the consumer, the free market is entirely hinged upon propaganda most people say doesn’t make them want to hyper-consume.

Minecraft went from being it’s own thing you paid once for and had the complete experience, from before alpha, to release. To a touch screen drink dispenser with every company now able to stick their grubby little mitts into our cups.

Like. Realize, companies make products, that We, then buy, or, more maturely, need. In that same instance, if we need it, why the fuck do we accept it being made shit and over-monetized. If we don’t need it, then we wouldn’t buy it, escapism is a need, fuck off.

So stick with me here, maybe have some fucking standards? Like, the free-market only works when the only other fucking half of the free fucking market, actually partakes competently, and not usefully idiotically for any and every company, sending them money practically for the least amount of effort the company thought they could get away with enabling them to double down later.

Companies create good products when you fucking demand it. Seriously just because it’s your favorite, or it blew your mind, raised your standards, point out some fucking flaws, when bullshit happens don’t fucking break your back 90° to justify it, you’re literally carrying the defense for the company that currently has a knife in your god damned spine.

When you allow them to crush your balls and spit down your throat, don’t expect them to stop there when that gets boring. And don’t think your subservience stops when a point is reached, by every previous goalpost, you‘ve developed a fetish for letting companies rule the free market and crush your balls. Either fucking develop some standards, or genuinely, just get some fucking therapy, you have a problem. Genuinely, actually, you have a fucking problem.

The fact this shit is so fucking common and profitable, speaks volumes to the evergrowing pile of facts that companies have completely controlled the way people operate down to what is culturally acceptable even if morally and logically, clearly fucking not.

I still see fucking idiots trying to say 30fps is the framerate eyes operate at, like the fucking propaganda from the Xbone/PS4 consoles is still prevalent. We’re no longer talking subjectiveness in whether the actions of companies are moral, whether products they release are even good, it’s a fucking rat race to see who can lower standards for the next company to do the same, followed by how much bullshit you’re willing to deal with.

At no point, in the fucking history of gaming, have we had an actual, honest to god, addiction problem. No fucking company would want to DARE go near that until we started allowing more and more ways for companies to invade our wallets, our homes, our privacy, our fucking lives. Go outside and walk for 10 minutes and try not to be advertised something. Trash on the roads have logos, billboards, products people have outside, it’s never, fucking, ending.

So when I see Minecraft, honestly, forget minecraft, fucking (Game) that I paid for once, get sold to the fucking Devil of gaming, an infinitely, infinitely, infinitely, worse company in general to quite literally all of the world, when I see that they easily could’ve just had Minecraft shirts, cereal, puzzles, toys, socks, shoes, backpacks, pencils, fridges, stickers, foam swords, bikes, cups, birthday pinatas, TV shows, literally free advertising and an entire generation install-base, all the fucking possible royalties, and I see, this many fucking DLC. The fact they seriously, couldn’t help themselves to get ALL, THE, FUCKING, MONEY.

It just non-stop, motherfuckin, BOTHERS ME, when ANYONE, ever, EVER, wants to try and give ANY fucking leeway at ANY point to ANY company. Because this is it, this is ALWAYS where they go if they don’t go bankrupt or sold to a conglomerate. Because quite literally your company is required to do infinite growth just to keep going reliably.

Fuck capitalism. You know, I get it to some degree to mostly blindly defend and want to protect it, but ya really just can’t when we’re this fucking late-stage and absolutely, nothing, nothing, is being done to keep us from crashing this burning fucking train. And you can thank Microsoft for adding all the fucking possible Tie ins and cutting content out to sell later, and fucking stealing content to sell later, and god damnit. You can just look at this, as a historian, and honestly feel fucking horrified that billions and billions of people, hell, trillions and how ever many multiplications of that, were genuinely, throughout their entire life, accepting of this fucking shit.

Just know, it’s fucking embarrassing for the people who remotely pay attention and don’t feel like letting themselves be robbed blind, and act like it’s just not a big deal, when the bigger picture has never been more fucking obvious and accessible. This shit isn’t even remotely worth trying to denounce as “woke” you’re just a fucking idiot who never fucking had any self-awareness because everyone else is just as god damned usefully idiotic as you are.

Oh just to add, this is just for the 360 version. That’s discontinued.

#Like my god #In order to get the full experience #holy #fuck #minecraft #gaming #over-monetization #dlcs #addiction creators #capitalism #microsoft #gaming industry woes

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daeguzen · 2 years

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yooo thank you for your beautiful words T^TT i think very lowly of myself all the time and am surprised that my friends still stood by my side T^TT (not many, but they always see the good things in me and change my perspective when i doubt myself, so im really grateful to have known them T^TT)

aaand on the dating part!! im 24 now but ive never dated in my life 🤣 one friend said: "you just...don't seem like you're looking for it" and im like yeah, that's partially true😅 but the core reason is that ive never met someone that i seriously wanna be in a relationship with (crushes yes, but i tend to picture things in the long run and if i don't see a far future together, then my answer is always no). esp after graduating uni, i don't even think about wanting to be in a relationship anymore.. life has already consumed all of my energy and my heart is kinda numb now 😭 I'm so sorry for such a depressing rant 😭 you're still SO young and you deserve to pursue all that makes you happy and live the best life ❤️❤️ i really miss being 19~21 bc i met my bestest friends during this period and grew a lot :) I'm sure you're in one of your most amazing adulthood years now ❤️

ooh and how long will you be a substitute teacher for? do you need to teacher them the actual syllabus if the teacher is absent for some time? 😆

<3 <3 in this house we only spread positivity :) people aren't perfect by nature, so i think it's good that you have your friends because they accept you for who you are and aww that's sweet, i love that for you.

woah ~ it's so strange meeting people older than me because i feel very young and i look like it too lol i haven't aged much since beginnings of high school. i thank my dads genes for that LOL. so i feel like...im still a child when talking to older people but i've been told i have an old soul aha. and yeah i completely understand that, i don't have many friends but that's ok because i think it's comfortable sharing with a few people than a lot. i think romantic feelings would develop with someone i would know a little better and talk to often. romance is weird, it functions differently for anyone.

that's just what happens as you get older. when you're young everything is fun and games and you just go to school and do what your told. as you get older you have to set these things up for yourself, focus on finding a stable and decent income to keep yourself surviving in such a fast paced world. some situations are different than others so i love that you focus on what you need to do. romance is something that shouldn't and doesn't have to be rushed. and nah it isn't depressing it's interesting to read and interact with other people. your lifestyle seems kinda chill to be honest, especially from the way that you talk, i get chill vibes :D

awww ^~^ thank you, i shall try my best to pursue what i enjoy, i think a life full of art, fashion, and music, is beautiful. it's fun and refreshing for me. and to those who go into medical school, social work, teaching, and so much more have decided on career paths that contribute a lot to helping other people on a more personal level and i think that too is greatly respectable. all careers should be like that, appreciated for what they are. (aww hun you're still hella young tho two years isn't two big of difference but yess, reliving those moments in your head tho that's a therapeutic thing) thank you for all your kind words too, i really appreciate them ^~^ i never saw myself in this position of being able to interact with people online, especially over my writings, so i'm happy that i've gotten to meet people on here, it's sweet.

and honestly, i am not sure, i was thinking of doing it next year but my first half of the semester, i ended up with morning classes. so i only have two days in the week to actually work as a sub. i currently work with kids as an assistant so i just help out the actual teacher. in the future with the older kids i don't think i'd be in charge of teaching them because i wouldn't be able to take a long term sub job if a teacher is absent for a longer period of time. i have my own classes to attend and responsibilites so even if i wanted to i wouldn't be able to. but i think im gonna try to look for another job for the summer or for jobs at my campus to fill in during days i can't sub. this past spring semester i did nothing LOL but this is where the fun is gonna start because i'll be going back to getting productive and enjoying caffeine :D

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bukojuiice · 3 years

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— genshin boys as your college roommates who are head over heels in love with you

ೃ ft. childe, diluc, kaeya, zhongli, and xiao x gn! reader

ೃ 400-600 words per character! ♡

ೃ warnings: mention of alcohol drinking ( but aside from that, just lots and lots of fluff!)

ೃ this is my very first writing contribution to the genshin fandom, so i hope everyone likes it! after 5 months of playing genshin, i think it’s safe to say my brainrot for it has finally consumed me and i’m confident enough to brew something up! <3

ೃ genshin impact masterlist

ೃ if you want to be a part of my taglist, answer this form! ♡

CHILDE:

– You and Childe are the perfect embodiment of the best friends to roommates trope. Whenever you wanna sleep in for 5 minutes more and you’re about to run late for your first class, Childe never fails to slowly drag you out of your bed, laughing as he does so. “Wake up sunshine!” is the first thing you always hear in the morning and you don’t complain if you get to hear his smexy voice anyway. He is a confident flirt and is not afraid to show you how much he cares or how much he pines over you.

– He’s always always there to save the day. There was a time when your classmates stood you up on the group project you were making, and guess who comes up to you with glitter, glue, and colored paper? Childe, of course! He stayed up until the wee hours of the night with you just so he can help you finish it. He even promises to set things in a “very civil way” with your absolute jerk groupmates the very next day. You practically hang out with him 24/7 as most of the time he just barges in your shared apartment with some amusement park tickets on hand or to some expensive yoga or judo class. There’s never a dull moment with him and with each passing day, the more you fall harder for him.

– After a morning jog with him and seeing cute little dogs frolicking around with their married owners, Childe suddenly had the urge to adopt a dog with you. But, due to a no pets rules established by the landlord, the two of you opt to owning hamsters instead! Childe named his hamster, narwhal (after his favorite animal of course!) whereas you named yours bunny, to match his irrelevant pet name picking. your hamsters both share the same house/cage and even they are pining over each other.

– His siblings visit a lot, especially Teucer. At this point, there was never a day the little boy didn’t ask when are you and Childe going to finally become “playground playmates” (a term for lovers that they use in second grade apparently) since the two of you are living with each other and seem so close. Childe is always able to successfully change the topic and shift away from talking about the shared feelings that the both of you have for each other. But, alas, the day had finally came to be and during your monthly trip to the amusement park, Childe confidently confesses to you on top of the ferris wheel.

“So... everyone in my life knows that you’re my best friend. Yea, that’s pretty cool and all but... Can we be more than just that (Y/N)? Is there hope if I think there could be something between us?”

DILUC:

– Diluc is your posh and rich roommate who sounds and looks too good to be true. The fact that you’re roomies with the literal heir to the country’s biggest wine and beverage company sounds like something straight out of a fanfic. But, it was of his volition to decide to live in a penthouse near Teyvat University. It was the doings of his step-brother Kaeya who tricked him into getting a roommate so that he won’t be alone for the rest of his college years... aaand that’s where you come in. practically barged into his life, but, you were a blessing. an angel sent from the skies.

– He’s quite cold and unapproachable at first, only greeting you whenever he sees you but never bothered to engage in small talk with you. Even if the both of you go to the same university. It wasn’t until your second month as roommates, when you accidentally had too much to drink after a friends’ night out. You come home to see him in the living room, drinking grape juice from a wine glass, and watching a rerun of Hannah Montana. You practically collapse at the front door, he rushes to you and helps you up as you drunkenly confess to him in tears how you wanted to become much closer to him especially since the two of you are going to spend the rest of your college years together. That was when Diluc realized how distant and aloof he’s been and vows to make it up to you.

– Diluc is very talented. Albeit in very discreet way, he makes sure to make use of his talents especially if it’s an opportunity to make memories with you. He is an amazing cook as much as he tries to deny it, He’s a secret virtuoso caught in 4k when you impulsively bought a guitar one time and you asked if he knows how to play, and he does so well. He practically serenades you in the most non-obvious way possible. Lastly, He’s very athletic. You invited him to play tennis one time, betting that if he won, you would do his bidding for the rest of the week. Before you could even blink, he wins. His “punishment” for you was that you accompany him in binge-watching TV Dramas. Grey’s Anatomy and Downtown Abby are just some of the shows the two of you would watch. It is absolutely adorable seeing him so invested in these dramas. and since the next on Diluc’s list were sit-coms, you were preparing yourself to answer his questions on the context of jokes that he didn’t get. In a poor attempt to flirt with you, he calls out your name and recites in the most Joey Tribbiani voice he could muster, “How you doin?” You were laughing so so hard that night because his pick up line actually worked on you and suddenly your realizations came full circle: you were very much in love with him too.

– His naturally cool yet shy nature had always gotten the best of him. He’s always wanted to ask if you wanted to carpool with him to school. Riding with him in his Tesla sportscar that goes 150 Mph? Heck yeah. However, it took quite a while before he could muster up the courage to ask you (4 months of being roommates until he finally popped the question) Since then, the two of you go home to and from University whenever you had similar schedules. Ever since then, Diluc had began to soften. His cold and hard facade slowly melted. Asking if you could help tie his floofy red hair then he’d let you play with it and let you style it in different ways. He takes you out on café dates during lunch breaks and take you out to watch a movie after both of your late night lectures. Everyone in campus thinks the two of you are practically together at this point. All that was left was to bare your feelings with one another through a fumbling and awkward confession.

“Words cannot not suffice these feelings I’ve been harboring for you since the very beginning. I L-like you a lot. Do you feel the same way too?”

KAEYA:

- Everyone loves Kaeya. Your friends and family, The School Faculty, The owner of the Convenience Store from down the street, The old lady who lives next door, The little kids from down the hall, and even the angry brown poodles from the farthest apartment to your right absolutely loved him. it was hard to keep up with having a roommate that not only were you crushing so hard on, but also had such a vibrant social life. Kaeya interacts and socializes with a lot of people and he admits that it does tend to get tiring at times. But, if these sacrifices lead to coming home to his cute roommate who has captivated his heart since Day 1, then it’s all worth it.

— Despite how warm and friendly he may seem, Kaeya is a very private person. He’s brought two or three friends like Jean, Lisa, Albedo, or Rosaria. But, only to discuss school affairs. He wasn’t the kind of person who trusts others easily, even if he was giving off the impression that he was a trustworthy and reliable person himself. He’d much rather spend time with you on days off from school. He may be a party guy on the outside (he insists he does it for future connections when he graduates) but he’s quite a homebody. Kaeya is the type to watch korean dramas and anime with you, go on late night convenience store cravings, and these always resulted in a perfect evening spent with him. When the both of you are fully immersed into the anime and things get a bit cozy, you rest your head on his shoulder, huddling for warmth.

— Kaeya would always come home with a little something for you. May it be take-out food, A trinket, a board game, an accessory, and even skincare products. The indigo-haired man is very particular about self-care and you bet that he’s bought different kinds of face masks, ointments, and even matching cute headbands just for the two of you! He’s very flamboyant and flirts with you a lot. Trying to impress you with pick up lines and suggestive jokes, but you always thought that he was just joking around because that was always a part of his personality. It was always a part of him. For Kaeya on the other hand, it seems to him that you don’t take him seriously and it's possible that you don’t return his feelings at all. He had to set things straight and it didn’t take long until Kaeya found the perfect opportunity to do so.

— With the help of practically everyone in the apartment, Kaeya is about to surprise you with a candle-lit dinner up on the apartment rooftop. His sly smooth-talking quickly convinced you that the both of you were just going to go out on your nightly convenience store trips. Your curiosity grows when he takes you by the hand, covering you with a blindfold, and whispering to your ear, “Do you trust me?” Gripping onto his hand tightly, the both of you go up some stairs and you reply, “Yes Kaeya, I do.” He slowly uncovers the shield from your eyes and your eyes sparkle at the sight of the candle-lit dinner, complete with jazz music, and a romantic view of the city.

“(Y/N)... You are the most precious person to me. I hope you can take me seriously, especially my feelings. I am saying this with my heart in my hand and with nothing but genuine love in my soul.”

ZHONGLI:

— Zhongli is truly husband material. You’re saying this as his friend, as his roommate, and as someone who’s absolutely smitten over him. He’s a third year environmental archaeology student at Teyvat University. Gentle, kind, and has nothing but wise and intelligent things to say. your lovestruck self can’t help but just admire him from afar, not knowing that he too has been entranced by you ever since you moved in.

—He's always the first to wake up in the morning. The first thing he does is make you a cup of coffee. He's got your favorite memorized, (Coffee with cream. Not to sweet and not too bitter.) The both of you own matching mugs, (written in colored scribbled letters, “The Wise Roommate” for Zhongli and “The Cute Roommate” for you.) He always wants to spend his free mornings with you. Both of you have different schedules so you never see each other at Campus and this was the only blissful time of the day you can spend with one another. Once you get home for dinner, (Zhongli is always the first to get home if he doesn’t stay too long at the library or strolling around the city) If it’s your turn to cook or if it’s his, he never forgets to brew you oolong tea after dinner. A perfect chance for the two of you to just talk the night away and engage in deep and meaningful conversations.

—Zhongli fell in love with you because you just quietly listen to him. Sometimes, you would share your thoughts and insights, even sharing your own personal knowledge that Zhongli had not known prior. You were one of the very few people in his life whom he could talk about absolutely anything with. Well, who wouldn’t listen to a handsome man who has a voice as smooth as butter? He is very passionate about his studies. Taking a lot of extra courses and spending a lot of money on his research. and so, most of the time, he spends all of his Mora on his extra studies (excluding the money he needs to pay for rent) and other interesting antiques. You understood why though. So, instead, you ask him to accompany you to do mundane chores. Going grocery shopping, doing the laundry and cleaning the apartment. He always helps in any way he can. The prying eyes of people around you and the old lady fr next door boldly coming up to you to ask if you and Zhongli were a married couple. You blush profusely whereas Zhongli coolly denies the woman's claims. It hurt quite a little but who were you to complain?

— It was during one of your night strolls with Zhongli. He had invited you out after dinner under the guise of wanting to have some fresh air and find a clear spot for the fireworks from a nearby festival. Your heart was thumping loudly to a non-existent rhythm, blissfully unaware that Zhongli was feeling a burst in his chest too. He clears his throat and his shoulders straighten. Zhongli puts his hand on your shoulder and breathes deeply. His cool and gentlemanly aura still radiating off of him as always. A wonderful array of colors fill the sky as his lips began to form the words he's always wanted to say:

"Tonight is beautiful isn't it? I thought that this would be the perfect time to open my heart up to you... You are a diamond in the rough that few see the beauty of. My beloved– Will you accept my feelings?

XIAO:

— Having a popular twitch streamer as your roommate was a one in a million chance. Especially if you’re not even an influencer or internet figure yourself. But, how did this come to be? Why have you developed a crush on Xiao aka VigilantYaksha without knowing who he was? A gamer with over 6 million followers on different social media platforms? Simple, a high-end apartment near Teyvat University had a special discount if you were willing to be roommates with someone. It’s an amazing deal, near your school, cost-efficient, and you believed the 10% chance of scoring a hot roommate as seen on reality TV and romantic comedies. It was like rolling through a Gacha Game and getting a 5 star character. As that “character” is soon to be revealed as Xiao.

— Things started off rocky at first. On your first day, he flatly welcomed you by the door, introduced himself, then quickly retreated back to his room. As soon as you locked eyes with him, he gave off a certain cold and unfriendly aura. You wanted to get to know him better. Maybe with a little love and care, he could open up to you and you could become friends! That same day, you had mistakenly thought of your room as his and you walked in on him streaming a horror game. He wasn’t spooked by the jumpscares. But instead, he was looking at you in horror because you’ve just exposed yourself to thousands of people. You wave at the camera, apologize, and left. Since then, his fans, (called the Anemo Tofus) have been shipping the two of you together. Creating fanfiction and fanart of Xiao and the mysterious roommate that accidentally walked in on him. They practically begged Xiao to at least talk a little bit about you, to which, he declined. When you surprised him with dinner (as a little treat since this was your first week with him) He sits across the table from you, his eyes gazing deep into yours, as he pops the question, in a very tsundere tone: “Would you like to appear in my streams? T-the Anemo Tofus wanna learn more about you. B-but, if you don’t want to, it’s alright! You don’t have to-” You cut him off before he could continue his doubts, “Xiao! What are you saying? I’d love to!”

— There was something blossoming between the two of you after that particular dinner with him. Starting with your first “roommate video” that you had thought of when you were brainstorming for video ideas. It was an Almond and Mapo Tofu mukbang whilst the two of you answered questions from fans! The viewers noticed how visibly comfortable he was around you despite his usual reserved attitude. He was cracking up a lot more sarcastic and self-deprecating jokes whilst Tofu filled both of your mouths. Outside of the confines of social media and inside the comfortable space that was your apartment, you and Xiao grew closer. Wearing matching hoodies, going on midnight snack runs, playing in arcades, and stargazing with him up on the rooftop as you contemplate about life and talk about the mysteries of the universe. There were times when you would stay up late doing school works and would accidentally fall asleep on the sofa. Xiao would come out of room because he periodically had cases of insomnia. When he sees you on the sofa, he can’t help but smile at your sleeping figure and admire your beauty. First. he brings all your clutter back to your room then slowly picks you up from the couch, into his arms, and brings you back to your room. He places a blanket on top of you and your stuffed plushies next to you so you can hug them any time.

— On a particular night, you fell asleep on the sofa once again and begun to have recurring nightmares. Xiao was there to witness you whimpering, muttering to yourself, and shivering to a mental image that he could not see. (He wishes he could erase all the pain that these nightmares were giving you) You subconsciously grab onto his hand, murmuring to yourself: “Xiao, please don’t go.” He whispers back, “I won’t.” Your nerves slowly relax when you feel the Yaksha squeezing himself to lie next to you on the couch. Holding onto your arm, he continues to reassure you that it was going to be okay. You grab onto him, hugging him from behind. He feels your heartbeat revert back to it’s normal pace and you return back to your peaceful slumber. “I’ll always be here for you, (Y/N). I’ll be here to protect you. Forever and always.” Turning to you to plant a kiss on your forehead, you nestle your head on Xiao’s chest. He watches as you cling to him for love and warmth until he is slowly whisked away by his weariness, rewarded with a peaceful sleep he hasn’t felt in a while.

“And they were roommates.”

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star-anise · 3 years

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Studio Ghibli Films I've Recently Finished: Whisper of the Heart and The Cat Returns

I never realized just how pervasive the notion of "fantasy fiction is drugs" was before I found movies that disagreed.

Like, if you're watching a movie where the heroine decides to write a fantasy novel and goes whole hog on it, until it's consuming all her waking thoughts and she's neglecting school and family obligations, you know where this is going, right? Somebody's got to kindly but firmly intervene and take away her drugs and make her remember that fantasy may be a sweet tempting escape from reality but it's dangerous to indulge in it too often.

Shizuku, the heroine of "Whisper of the Heart" is a directionless teenager until she meets a strikingly independent cat, which leads her to a strange shop, and a boy with a unique talent and ambition... which inspires her to find something she's passionate about herself, so she sets out to write a novel in three months flat.

And for once this isn't a parable about drugs; it's Shizuku's coming-of-age story, where she learns to take herself, her interests, and her fantasies seriously. It's a realist story written by fantasy authors, that reaches out to young fantasists and says: Here's what the path ahead looks like. It involves the highs, the lows, the stacks of library books on every conceivable subject, the puzzled but supportive family, and the helpful and encouraging beta reader.

It's so incredibly kind.

Whisper of the Heart is based on the manga series of the same name by Aoi Hiiragi, who also wrote the story Studio Ghibli turned into The Cat Returns. It's the kindest thing of all.

At the end of Whisper of the Heart Shizuku is still in middle school. She's completed her book and loved it, but also realized that the first draft has many flaws and needs serious rewriting.

The Cat Returns is, quite recognizably, Shizuku's book—just not the version she started out with. It's kept the characters and premise, but the plot has been significantly altered; it's lost old plot threads and picked up new ones. One can imagine Shizuku, as an adult, having finally reached a draft she's satisfied enough with to show the world. Studio Ghibli making it into a movie is a gesture of faith and trust I don't expect any Hollywood movie company to ever make: To believe that its characters who are artists and fantasists have matured enough to make a good story that stands on its own. Instead, Hollywood especially has to be very facetious about such characters, denouncing them even as the emulate them.

I think these two movies are less popular than other Studio Ghibli films because instead of being aimed at children and thus kind of timeless, these two are very particularly focused on the needs and concerns of teenage girls: Crushes, and self-esteem, and identity, and courage. But I, frankly, love them.

#staranise original

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gaiuswrites · 3 years

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Original Sin | Darksaber!Din

Pairing: Dark!Din x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ older for the love of all things holy)

Word count: 3.4k~

Summary: Things change after Grogu leaves. People change. No one is exempt.

Warnings/tags: DUB CON?¿, masturbation (m and f), inappopriate use of darksaber, sex toy (...), Dark!Din, Dom!Din, sacrilegious references, really dark shit, i am so sorry

Update: This should go without saying, but as it turns out, it’s in need of being said: every word written in this fic is my own; any likeness to any other work is coincidence, regardless of how bizarre. I don’t mean to offend anyone or raise suspicion, as I am certainly not a plagiarist (literally couldn’t be even if I tried: I am equal parts too incompetent, too busy, and too lazy to steal from someone else. Fellow writers can attest, I’m an absolute garbage reader and fall behind on almost everyone’s work. There’s an embarrassing amount I haven’t read.) Please reach out to me personally if you have any concerns. I respect everyone here like you wouldn’t believe. Sending love to you all. Be well. ✨

Notes: When I go to hell (it really is only a matter of timing, and not so much a question of if anymore), this fic will rank number one on the list of reasons why I’m sent to my eternal timeout. This... I'm twisted. I have issues. God help us. Seriously, this is basically a horror show. I bow down to the Darksaber!Din content creators who came before me, and the original artwork that inspired me to write this— thank you for lighting this (descending, dirty) path. I HAVE TAGGED A FEW PEOPLE HERE WHO MAY OR MAY NOT BE INTERESTED but really— REALLY— there’s absolutely no pressure. Cheers friends x ( gif credit: @skyshipper )

Masterlist | Read it on Ao3!

The days stretch long like morning yawns—hours passing on creaky bones, slow and congealed inside the metal womb of the Crest.

It wasn’t always this way.

They used to be filled with pitter pattering— with wily antics and vanishing acts that could baffle even the most veteran of illusionists— with prying frogs from tiny, green hands and giggling as blocks and baubles floated through the hull. Laughter. There used to be laughter here.

But that was then. The child is gone now. The Razor Crest is quiet.

Time fills itself like this; there’s little for you to do now but wait. Wait for the dusk to blur into the dawn. Wait for your food to cook. Wait for the shower to warm. Wait for the parts you ordered to arrive at the port. Wait for Din to come back—to come home.

Home. You used to be so certain—you’d bite the head off anyone who questioned otherwise— but you’re not so sure this is home anymore. Its not that anything has changed. No, the galley, the carbonite pods, the cockpit, the deck—it’s all still here. The scuffed walls, the durasteel, the littered crates and packed arsenal. But—

It’s different. It feels different. Something is...

off.

You can’t quite put your finger on it. Its intangible, but it’s everywhere—like gas. Invisible to the naked eye, but encircling you all the same. Choking you.

Killing you.

There’s no good explanation for it. You feel eyes on you when there are none. You find yourself glancing over your shoulder, knowing full well you are alone. Something keeps snagging you, pulling at an unseen thread. The corners of your peripherals tugging at you. Beckoning.

Was that a shadow? No.

Is someone there? It’s just you.

There is a tickle at your ear - a constant - dancing along the shell of it. Wherever you go, it follows.

Home home home. It only feels like home when Din is there, safe and sound at your side. But even then, even Din—in all of his plated exterior—even Din has succumbed. Even Din has

changed.

The truth is, Grogu left and a part of Din left with him. There’s less of him now— more, too: there’s less where it matters, and there’s more where there shouldn’t be.

You don’t remember when it started—when he first disappeared. When the spark in him died, and he was reignited anew.

When this Other became.

On multiple occasions you’ve caught him murmuring into the bellied dark of the Crest with a bent spine, hunched over himself as if he’s shrinking—enveloping in in in as far as the beskar along his chest will allow him to cave. You can never pick up what he mutters, but you catch the sounds of his teeth and lips brushing together, hissing. It’s not Basic; you’d recognize it if it were. You don’t think its Mando’a either. It’s too sharp— too vile. There’s none of his language’s elegance in it.

“Did you say something?” You asked once, poking your head around the doorway, eyes resting on the shine of his helmet.

A beat—and slowly, he unfurled, rearing to his full height and like a sentinel he swiveled, pivoting to face you.

“No.”

Your throat bobbed. “Oh, I-I thought I heard-”

“Come here, mesh’la.”

And you did. You always do.

The darksaber appeared on his belt one day, shortly after the child went away. It came, only once, and there it stays. Indistinguishable - inseparable - there is no dismembering the two. It accompanies him in all things; when he pilots, when he hunts, when he eats. It sleeps by him.

By you, too.

Din has always been stoic—of scant words and physical timing—but now he is a golem. A silent, shrouded figure. His Creed is broken, and you wonder maybe - briefly - if Din is broken as well. He is never unkind to you. He is never threatening. But he is never him. His eyes— the oaky comfort you once found in them— have blackened. He is a pit.

Din Djarin is a pit of a man.

And within that pit he has born rage. Immaculately, it has sprung from him as woman did by Adam’s rib. Like mold growing upon stale fruit does he have this—this wrath. It crept through him. It stalked along his soft flesh— his tawny hide—and it waited; patient, there in the shadows, it waited for him. Waited for him to turn his back, to close his eyes and drop his guard— leeway, an entrance— as to slip in undetected.

To inhabit.

The virtue and love that once thrummed within the heart of him has burned away. Charred. Only this of him remains; this insatiable lust— for blood sport, for the promise of split knuckles and fractured bone, for you.

For all of you.

Now, Din goes out on bounties like he needs it—like it’s oxygen. He lives off it. He’s sustained by the rush, by the adrenaline laced chemicals pumping through his arteries. He’s gone for days and weeks on end and when he returns, he fucks you like he’s been starved. Out in the wilderness without a morsel to eat, he devours you. He’s ravenous as he tears his way across your body—all too pliant for him, all too willing—letting him feast on the nectar dripping from your heat.

You can feel it in his foot steps as he storms the ship, the bassy echo of it. You can see it in the pitch of his visor. You can feel it in his cock as he slams into you, night after night after night—ceaselessly. Tirelessly. Unnaturally. The number of orgasms he wrings out of you is countless—his need so incurable, you have to fight to stay above it all; you have to war against your urge to slip away completely.

Din is one grey choice - one hair trigger - from coming undone.

And you should be scared. You should be terrified—he should terrify you. Like scalding water, you should flinch away at the mere sight of him—at the warning steam that rises from his pauldrons. This predator, unhinged and off his leash—a great, crushing beast at which you are at the mercy of.

But— you aren’t.

You couldn’t place it at first: the gnawing. The gnawing at your insides like maggots festering upon a grizzled carcass hanging limp at a wet market. You couldn’t name the tremor in your gut. You gave it epithets as best you could, you gave it placeholders - fear, worry, intrigue - all until one day it spilled. One day it seeped past the tremble of your stomach and sank lower, lower,

lower.

It settled in your cunt—the gnawing. And you named it Want.

You want him. You want this—you’re addicted to it. This sin like led-lined velvet, you want to roll in it until it poisons you, until you’re smothered with it, just like it’s smothering you now— blanketing you as you mewl naked in your bed, knees knocked together. Your eyes roll back into your skull as you frantically work circles into your clit with the all consuming thought of him: his teeth at your shoulders, his hand around your windpipe.

You’re nearing your finish, the promise of that tight coil unraveling there - there - right before you. You’re so enrapt in it—in this dizzying, wanton act—you don’t register the ramp lowering. You don’t hear the carbonite chamber whir, his quarry freezing over, or his foot falls sounding their way to your bunk.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

You gasp, frightened eyelids wrenching open as his baritone timbre crackles through the hull. The Mandalorian stands there, backlit by the glow from the galley and he looms—expressionless. Haunting. You blink at him rapidly, batting away the desire that’s glazed over your eyes.

“Y-You’re back,” you stutter lamely. You try to smile. You try to distract him. “I uhm, I didn’t hear you come in. I thought you wouldn’t be back until, u-until..."

Your excuses fade, mouth parched dry. The film of his visor gives you nothing. He is unknowable, but you feel it - sense it - that energy—unbridled and rippling off of him in sick, suffocating waves.

“I’ll ask you again,” Din starts.

“What-" he steps towards you, darksaber hanging heavy at his hip, “do you think-" you shimmy up your cot, shoulder blades digging into the steel sidings, “you’re doing?”

Your heart thunders against your chest, beating until you’re sure it’ll burst.

“I’m-"

I’m sorry you almost say, and you have to force yourself to gulp down the apology. You know he doesn’t want it, and he knows you wouldn’t mean it even if you offered it to him.

Your brow wavers. “I-"

He rips away the sheet you had drawn up over you and reflexively you jerk back, revealing the gloss on your fingers and the patch of hair above your mound, shimmering shamefully—exposing you, mocking you under the dim lights.

“What’s this?” he asks, and fuck he’s patronizing you. He’s smirking—you don’t have to see it, you can hear it in the curving lilt of his voice as he drinks in the sight of your very obvious indiscretion, laid bare before him. You can’t bring yourself to answer him—you can hardly look at him—and you bristle, hair on your arm prickling up.

“You fuck yourself speechless, little one?”

Your cunt throbs, burning and contracting around the orgasm that was snatched away from you and fuck, you’re drowning in him. Din is tar—he’s an oil slick, and you’re plummeting through it—gasping for air, for the surface, for sunlight. He’s everywhere—his broad frame, his voice, his scent like copper and smoke. You can barely breathe through the thick of him.

“Answer me,” he growls, leather croaking at the clench of his fist.

“Yes—yes,” you utter, proceeding with honesty, no matter how pathetic. “I missed you,” you squeak out.

Din cocks his head, a smug look scowled onto his visor. “You missed me?” he purrs through a sneer and you nod, precious and small, worrying the inside of your lip.

He sinks one leg and then the other onto your bedroll, just between your parted feet, kneeling before you. The flimsy spring mattress squeals under his weight—all of that armor, all of that boiling soot trapped within him.

“How much?”

For a moment, you must look confused. Puzzled. Your eyebrows furrow as Din unclips the saber from his belt, rolling it over in his hand. You rake your gaze up from it, dilated pupils landing on the unforgiving black panel there.

“You claim you missed me. Prove it.”

Your cunt bottoms out.

He crouches over you, tracing along your inner thighs with it's steel shaft and you bury your fists into the cot. You don't know which to look at: Din or the rod in his hand. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you trust me.”

Fuck, it feels like you’re going to rattle apart. There isn’t an inch of you that isn’t humming—isn’t seizing up wild. “I-I trust you,” you mouth softly. And you do, whether you should or not—you trust him with your life, to make or ruin.

“Fuck, you’re wet mesh'la,” he appraises darkly, leaning in to run a leathered digit through your seam, parting your curls. Your legs twitch, heels of your feet digging into the bed. “So ready for me. So eager."

Your eyes dance frenetically down to the handle and back up to him as he aligns the saber with your pussy. The blunt end of it touches your lips and you shudder, instinctually fidgeting away from it. Din splays his hand on your knee, anchoring you in place. “Shh,” he coos, rubbing a thumb soothingly into your skin. It doesn’t feel sweet. It feels sickly, cloying— like arsenic.

You don’t dare breathe as he prods the shaft into you, inch by terrible inch. It doesn’t matter how slicked and wet you are from touching yourself, your walls strangle the foreign intrusion. Your body resists.

“Fuck,” you sob. Your throat, your pussy, all of it— it’s all compacted. It feels so fucking tight, both words and air fighting to get out and in all at once—everything inside you constricting.

“Show me,” he grits through clenched teeth. “Show me how much you missed me.” He drags his gloved digit over your clit, pressing down onto it until you see stars, fizzing in front of your vision. “I know you can take it, sweet girl. Be good and show me.”

Be good. Be good for him. Be his only vice.

He continues to swirl at your bundle of nerves and you’re nearly thrashing with it— with all of this— hair fanned and mussed against the pillow as you writhe, swallowing his saber to the hilt. Fuck, you’re so full. Maker, you’re stuffed with it; with the cold, uneven edges, the ridges woven into the grip of it— and he slowly - tortuously - delves the handle in and out of you, hitting against your cervix with every thrust.

You can only mumble. Your lips have gone slack, your mind is cavernous. All you can do is quiver and beg— beg for release. Beg for it to end.

Beg for more.

“Oh gods, oh g- Maker, please—”

Your bleary eyes shoot open as you’re silenced by the grip of his gloved hand.

“No.” Din pinches your jaw in the web of his palm, fingertips dimpling your cheeks. “No, your God isn’t here,” he seethes, low and deadly, graphite venom dripping from his lips. “Pray to me.”

Fuck.

Trembling, your lips pucker ugly and sloppy as you babble uselessly in his stony grasp, chin crinkling with a whimper. “D-Din.”

He inhales sharply, mouth snaking into a wicked grin behind his helm. “That’s it. That’s my good girl.”

He’s deboning you as he would a fish. Practiced, he plucks you into messy pieces—gutting you through your open maw. His ministrations are crawled. They’re slothed and carnal with arrogance and pride and it’s not enough—its all together too much, but still—it’s not enough. You’re hungry. You paw at him, scraping over his breastplate.

“Din, please—more," you gasp feverishly, eyes blown wide.

A blip of static huffs through his modulator. “You want more, you filthy little thing?” He gives you another squeeze, indenting scorch marks into your face.

You nod—you try to, his grasp is too firm, rooting your neck to still. “Yes.”

Din groans, all but obliging you as he begins to fuck you harder, pistoning through you as he thumbs your nub with his rough pad.

“Din-”

You’re whining now, tinny and depraved. It’s wrong. Every part, every second of this, is wrong. Immoral. But you can’t stop the way your body convulses at his every touch—you can’t stop the heat roiling in your core.

“Din, Din baby- fuck fuck fuck-”

It’s like he’s trying to split you in two—all of you. Your pussy, your mind, your soul—he’s bisecting you. Divvying you up to bits of nothing. It’s only then that horrid realization occurs to you, winding through your addled haze as he fucks you deep and splintering: you’ll never be whole again.

And scarier still—you don’t think you want to be.

No, you want to be these loathsome shards. You want to be broken glass. You want to draw blood.

You want to be possessed by him.

“Fuck yourself,” he pants, his cock straining violently against his trousers, begging for relief. “Be good and fuck yourself. Let me watch.”

Be good be good be good

He leaves your clit and you whimper at the loss. Your face is stained with tears. The salty trails cascade down to mingle into your hair, into the sheets. You’re vibrating, but you do as he says and you reach down, recoiling when you touch the chilled metal tip. Tentatively, you pad along it, settling on the end that’s peeking out from you.

A pained sound rumbles through Din as you wrap your fist around the saber, and your eyes flit up to meet his, hidden somewhere behind his helm. Hurriedly he unbuttons his pants in a flourish and removes himself from his constraints. He’s pulsing and proud, flexing up against his stomach, the veins choked to bulge along the angry, silken shaft of him.

Finally, you begin to move the hilt—finding an aching, undulating rhythm and he can’t fucking take it. He rips his helmet off, letting it clatter to the floor.

“Din,” your pray, “Din, I think I’m going to-”

You’re wrecked – fried like a livewire– as you look for him, as you search and search—for that warmth, for a trace of him left there. The Din you knew, the Din you agreed to fly with all those months ago, the Din you love. You think you see it sometimes—in the slant of his mouth, the bridge of his nose— but here, now, he is gone.

He is a pit.

Din Djarin is a pit of a man, and you want nothing more than to fall. Standing on the ledge of him, staring down into the abyss—you want this. You want to fall. You want to jump.

“Tell me you’re mine. Tell me, sweet girl— tell me.” He’s fucking his fist raw, humping into his palm as desperate as an animal.

“I’m yours,” you mewl. Furiously rubbing your clit with one hand and spearing yourself on the rod of his saber with the other, your hips buck and spasm. You snap. A blinding light sears through you, ricocheting off every scrap of muscle and tendon sewed up in your body. “Just for you,” you cry, “I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours—”

Your ragged sobs mix with the lewd slaps of skin as Din pumps himself, hot ropes of his release spitting onto you— painting your pussy, the divot of your navel, coating along the slope of your tummy.

“Look at you—fucking, look at you,” he moans throatily, easing through his rough strokes as he softens.

Your chest is heaving and you feel dumb, empty—like a puppet, arms and legs moving on phantom strings. Din removes the handle from you with a wet squelch; a viscous strand of your juices clings on, obscenely connecting your pussy to the base of it, and you rasp—the wind punched out of you with its gaping absence. You gush. It dribbles out the slit of you, leaking past your abused hole and soaking into the bedroll.

When he unsheathed the saber from your scabbard, he took a part of you with it. You’re so fucked out—you’re practically a parsec away— it went unnoticed.

Undetected.

It brushed past you. You didn’t feel it—you didn’t recognize the whisper that has slithered in in it’s place, nestling within your swollen folds.

Breeding there.

“Beautiful,” Din murmurs, placing it on the mattress beside your head, the chrome of it gleaming with your slick. He bows his head to lick a path up your cunt, laving you clean as he climbs higher and higher, tonguing off his seed from your stippled skin. “Fucking beautiful, mesh’la,” he growls. “Mine—all fucking mine.”

You’ve gone heavy. You’re too heavy to keep your eyes open—you’ve been hollowed out and you’ve got nothing keeping you tethered here. You start slipping under in slow motion—intervals between languid blinks lasting longer and longer. You’re spooled in a knot of tangled limbs with Din’s mouth, fervent and needy, flaying you open as he sees fit— with his hot mouth and teeth, suckling your breasts, biting at your nipples and bruising your pretty neck.

It’s not long before you hear it again, as you have before— as you always do: the faint caressing of speech, of lips forming language you cannot understand—made indecipherable in your strung out high.

“D’you say something?” you mumble, half conscious—half dreaming.

Din laps a long stripe up your throat, his stubble sanding your skin. “No.”

You sigh, breathy and girlish, as his fingers find your mound, dipping into you once again. He makes you cum twice more that evening. You barely have the strength to watch him do it.

Finally, when he’s satisfied—when he’s spent with driving you mad, making you rile— he grants you respite. He permits it – generous, charitable - and you sleep like the dead, soundly through the night until—

until you don’t.

Eyes. You feel them somewhere— there are eyes on you. You stir, stuttering in your sleep to squirm in the dark. You don’t know what you’re listening to at first. It’s a sound of some kind, a noise. There is a hiss—

A frigid hand seizes around the bloody organ pulsing in your ribcage.

No, not a hiss—it’s a voice. It’s— no-

You pat around for Din beside you but he’s gone—he’s long gone and his vacant spot has grown cold without him—and your nails dig into the sheets, desperately clawing into the fabric.

Inside you.

The voice, the sharp hush of it—it’s inside you. It speaks from inside your own mind, its forked tongue fluttering against your ear.

‘Wake up, sweet girl.’

Tags (IM SO SORRY): @djarinsbeskar @pedros-mustache @krissology @keeper0fthestars @read-and-rec

#darksaber!din #dark!din #dark!din x reader #dark!din x you #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mando fanfiction #mando x you #mando x reader #the mandalorian #star wars #sw fanfic #darksaber #Im so sorry #dom!din #haunted!din

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cower-before-power · 3 years

Text

Naked Attraction

Summary: A typical day in your art class turn into anything but when you’re introduced to your nude model for the week- a devastatingly gorgeous man named Levi.

Pairing: Modern AU Levi Ackerman x F!Reader

TW: Nudity, swearing, suggestive content, age gap (reader is 20, Levi is 30), dick jokes, reader is thirsty and lewds Levi hard, perhaps poorly written stuff about art and drawing because I literally know nothing haha

(minors please do not interact, just to be safe)

Link to A03 here

A/N: Hello all! This is my entry for @ghost-party’s Meet Cute Collab with my darling husband Levi. I’ve never written for him before so I was a little nervous haha, I hope I did him justice! Thank you to everyone who reads, likes, comments, and reblogs- you are all wonderful and I appreciate your support! I hope you enjoy, my sweet potatoes!

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“Morning,” Jean greets you with a crooked smile and a steaming cup of coffee. It’s the good stuff from the café by his apartment, your favourite thing to help your brain shift into creative mode. “You’re later than usual.”

You grab the cup from him, sighing as you feel the warmth bleed into your hands. “Overslept. Barely had time to get dressed and brush my teeth.”

Jean’s eyes rove over you as you sink into your chair, humming to yourself as you sip on your drink. “I can see. Do you know you’re wearing two different shoes? And I think your sweater is on inside out. Why do you still even have that ugly thing anyways?”

“Thank you for your comments,” you roll your eyes. “I know I look like a hot mess and I don’t need any words from you, Mr. I Asked The Nude Model Out And Got Shot Down.”

Jean’s ears turn red, and he shoots you a dirty look before busying himself with arranging his pencils. “Shut up.”

You snicker to yourself as you set up your own area. Last week’s model had been a soft, pretty brunette that had instantly made Jean all starry-eyed, like a teenage boy with his first crush. It was generally considered a bit taboo to ask out the nude models, but he’d thrown that aside and gone for the kill after she’d slid back into her clothes. She’d laughed and patted his cheek like he was a naughty child asking for candy before dinner. Then proceeded to walk out and climb onto the back of her boyfriend’s motorcycle (but not before making out with said boyfriend for a good 5 minutes, minimum).

Jean had been left with red cheeks and no date, and you’d been left with great blackmail material.

“I wonder who will be our victim today,” you decide to take mercy on your poor friend and change the subject. “Most likely a guy, since we had a woman last week.”

“We’ll know in about 5 minutes,” Jean looks up at the clock on the wall. “Old Cueball is never late.”

Sure enough, in exactly 5 minutes your very bald and very punctual professor casually strolls through the door. A short man in a green coat is following him, presumably your newest subject. You crane your neck, trying to get a better look at his face, but all you can see is dark hair falling like a curtain over pale skin.

“Good morning class,” Professor Pyxis greets you, tossing his briefcase down on his desk with his usual nonchalant air. “I see you are all ready, so let’s get right to it.” He gestures to the person beside him. “This is Mr. Levi Ackerman. He’s your model for the week.”

The class murmurs in curiosity as the mentioned Levi Ackerman turns to face the room.

You swear your heart actually skips a beat.

Steel gray eyes observe the room from a face that practically begs to be immortalized through art. Every line is hard and strong, covered in clear skin that looks like it would slide under your fingers like the smoothest silk. Your eyes drink in his features greedily, from the regal bridge of his nose to the proud edge of his jaw. You decide your favorite thing though, is his cheeks. They are utterly cherubic, round and full and dusted ever so lightly with the lightest shade of pink.

He’s possibly the prettiest man you have ever seen.

“Hey, I know him,” Jean whispers, cutting off your entranced thoughts. “That’s Mikasa’s distant cousin, the one I told you she found on Ancestry.com last year. I’ve met him once, he’s got a stick so far up his butt, he’d need surgery to remove it. Never would have pegged him for the type to do this sort of thing.”

You vaguely remember a previous conversation involving Jean’s childhood friend and some long lost relatives.

“He doesn’t look that uptight,” you muse, too busy admiring the way his lips glint temptingly under the fluorescents to really process Jean’s words. “He’s beautiful, like something out of a Renaissance painting.”

Jean opens his mouth to reply, but Pyxis begins to speak.

“As usual, draw whichever side of him is facing you, all angles will be graded equally,” your professor plops himself down in his chair, already scrolling through his phone to find the playlist for the day. “Completed drawings to be submitted to me by the end of class on Friday. Please remember be respectful and courteous to our guest. Mr. Ackerman, whenever you’re ready.”

The man nods to your professor, already slipping out of his coat as he steps up onto the platform in the center of the room. You watch, mesmerized, as he proceeds to shed himself of his clothes. It’s rigid and methodical (he folds his clothes like he’s worked his whole life in a department store), but somehow oddly endearing. Every inch of his body that is revealed is consumed eagerly by your shameless stare, and you sincerely hope you don’t start drooling. By the time he carefully removes his final items, you feel like you are vibrating in your seat.

Holy fucking shit, he’s built like a god. Like Michelangelo himself carved him out of a block of the most pristine marble. You trace your gaze down the column of his throat, over the strong shoulders and sinewy arms, the impressive set of abs, the thighs that look like they could crush your head and you’d be nothing but happy about it. It takes a minute before you’re able to make yourself look between his thighs, and when you finally do, you have to looks away immediately. Good grief, even that is stupidly handsome. You can’t help but wonder if it would feel as nice as it looks.

Your face heats from your lewd thoughts, and you grip your pencil so hard it almost snaps. Beside you, Jean snickers.

“You okay over there? It looks like you’re about to explode.”

“Can it,” you hiss, glad that the ambient music Pyxis chose will probably keep your conversation private. “I can’t help it that I’m looking at the most gorgeous dick attached to the most gorgeous man I think I’ve ever seen.”

“You haven’t seen mine.”

“I don’t own a microscope.”

“Ooooh, see if I buy you coffee tomorrow, bitch.”

You stick your tongue out at him before turning back to your easel. As you move, you catch the gaze of Levi, his expression unreadable. Warmth creeps up the back of you neck, and you duck behind your sketchpad in embarrassment. You seriously hope he didn’t hear you, he’d probably report you to Pyxis for being creepy. You decide to lock all your stupid horny thoughts deep within the recesses of your mind, and take a few deep breaths to clear your head.

It works, and as you touch pencil to paper, the desire to create overflows inside of you.

Unsurprisingly, you become utterly engrossed in your work, your pencil sweeping over the pad with almost a mind of it’s own. Levi is the perfect model; you swear he’s not even breathing as he majestically hold his pose without even a quiver. The contours of his body spring to life on the page, and you can’t stop the joyful smile that blooms on your lips as you work. It’s times like these, when everything is so perfect, that you truly realize just how much you love making art.

Before you know it, Pyxis announces class is over, and you’ll resume with Levi tomorrow. The man of the hour begins to re-dress as your fellow classmates pack up their supplies and file out. You absent mindedly wave to Jean, who is practically sprinting out the door so he can make his next class all the way across campus. You’re still engrossed in your drawing, staring at it with critical eyes. It good, one of the best starts you’ve had all year, but now that the high of creating has worn off, you can see where you need to improve.

“You’re very good.”

You gasp and jump, whirling around to find Levi standing behind you, eyes fixed on your sketch. How did he even get there? You hadn’t seen him or heard him.

“Oh, uh, Mr Ackerman!” You squeak, your heart racing like you’ve just run a marathon. “T-that’s very nice, I mean, thank- thank you very much!”

“It’s Levi,” your muse says, seemingly unbothered by your stammering. “Yours is going to be the best one here.”

You blink stupidly at his bold statement. “Did you look at all of them?”

“No,” Levi’s voice is firm, a tone that brokers no argument. “But you had the most joy on your face while you worked. That much passion doesn’t churn out stuff that looks like shit.”

“Oh, that’s only because you are such a great model,” you gush, insides turning warm at his praise. “You stayed so still and you looked so damn regal and you’re just so pretty and-” Your eyes go wide as you realize the absolute words vomit leaving your mouth, mortification slithering up your spine.

“I’m pretty?” Levi raises an eyebrow. “You think I’m pretty?”

“No!” You shout, and the man’s other eyebrow joins the first. “No wait, yes! I mean, fuck, I mean you are probably the most handsome man I’ve ever seen!”

Levi’s eyebrows have now practically become one with his hairline. You wring your hands, wishing the floor would just open up and swallow you. “I-well- come on, people must tell you how good looking you are! I can’t be the first.”

“No, but you certainly are the most enthusiastic about it,” Levi deadpans.

Oh, someone just put you out of your misery now.

“I’m sorry,” you offer, cringing internally at your complete ineptitude to hold a conversation with an attractive man. “I....get carried away sometimes.”

“It’s fine,” Levi’s stoic expression softens just a little. “It’s kind of nice to hear, actually. Usually I’m told I’m good looking, but ‘far too short’.”

“That’s bullshit.” you say vehemently, honestly shocked people would deny this man his godhood over something as trivial as height. “Who cares if you’re shorter? It doesn’t detract from you. What’s that phrase again? Good things come in small packages? Well, not that you’re small, I’m not saying that, I just meant-”

“Yes, you did seem to find my package....good,” Levi interrupts, and you swear you see the corners of his lips twitch upwards.

Your eyes widen in horror as your brain replays your hushed conversation with Jean. “You heard that?!”

“I’m told I have exceptionally good hearing.”

“Oh fuck me,” you groan, burying your face in your hands. “I am literally so, so, sorry. That was completely out of line. I have no excuse other than it’s clearly been too long since I’ve gotten some, but that’s no reason to make you uncomfortable. Please, if there’s anything I can do to to make it up to you, I’ll do it!”

“Have tea with me.””

Your head shoots up, surprise coloring your features. “What?”

“Tch, you heard me,” Levi tuts, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out his phone. “I haven’t got free time till Saturday-stupid Shitty Glasses wanting to trade shifts-but if you want to go out, give me your number and we can work out the details.”

You stare at him with your mouth open, unsure if this is really happening or you’re vividly daydreaming again.

“Umm, are you sure?” You ask, wondering if you should pinch yourself to see if you are indeed imagining things. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m wearing two different shoes and my sweater is inside out. Believe me when I say these sorts of fashion statements happen more often than not. Plus, I practically salivated over you like some sort of horny middle aged suburban housewife who hasn’t been laid in years.” You pause to take a breath, once again unable to stop the words from spewing forth like a fountain. “And I’m so awkward! I mean, are you comfortable in this conversation? And I can’t stop talking once I’ve gotten going, and I say the weirdest shit, and, and-”

“I like you,” he says simply, as if he’s just declared something as obvious as 1+1=2. “I couldn’t give a flying fuck about all the stuff you just said, you’re just... you, and I like it. So, do you want to go on a date or not?”

“O-oh,” you suddenly feel shy, your tummy filling with butterflies at the look of sincerity on his handsome face. You’d never met anyone quite like Levi Ackerman before, and you weren’t about to pass up the opportunity to get to know the man behind the drool-worthy muscles. “Uh, yes, please, I would like that. Very much.”

An almost relieved expression crosses Levi’s face, and he hands you his phone to type in your number. You notice the time as you do so, and sigh sadly as you hand him his device back.

“Well I better go,” you say reluctantly, suddenly fervently wishing it was Saturday already. “I’ve got another class in 15 minutes.”

“I’ll walk you there,” Levi says briskly, slipping his phone back into his coat. “To make sure you get there safely. Someone might murder you on account of their eyes being assaulted by that garish sweater. ” The corners of his lips twitch upwards once again, and you grow warm all over, from both his gentle teasing and the knowledge he isn’t quite ready to say goodbye yet either.

“Excuse me, I thought you said you didn’t give a ‘flying fuck’ about my attire,” you huff, but you’re grinning as you quickly pack up your bag.

“I don’t care it’s inside out, but you have to know that is the ugliest fucking color know to man,” Levi says, holding out his hand. Your brain malfunctions slightly for a moment, until you realize he’s offering to carry your bag for you. The butterflies inside you whip themselves into a frenzy as you pass him your stuff, your hand just grazing over his. Handsome, funny, honest, and sweet? How is this guy even real?

“I’ll have you know, this sweater is an absolute delight. When it’s inside right,” you stick up your nose, but unable to stop he laugh that slips past your lips.

Levi rolls his eyes in an almost playful manner. “Doubtful .”

You’re not sure where it comes from, but a sudden rush of confidence fills you. “If you’re so offended by it, maybe you should just rip it off of me.”

The tips of Levi’s ears turn a delightful shade of pink. You’re sure your own skin is hot enough to cook an egg on.

“Wear it Saturday then,” Levi’s ears may be flushed, but his eyes flash with something that makes your spine tingle. The insinuation of his words has your gut clenching and your mind whispering fervent prayers to please please please make Saturday get here faster, I don’t ask for much, please!

“Only if you wear your modeling outfit,” you manage to say, trying your best to sound coy when you feel like you might combust into a pile of lust and giddiness. “I’ve never seen someone wear it so well, and I want a closer look.”

If possible, Levi’s eyes grow even darker, and you just know Saturday is going to be one of the best damn days of your entire life.

“Deal.”

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Taglist: @clovertitan @millenialfanfictionaddiction @stigandr-the-cat @axoxtxhxh @bowandcurtsey @chaotic-nick @manjiroarchiviste

#meet cute collab #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman fic #levi ackerman imagine #levi x reader #attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #shingeki no kyojin #shingeki no kyojin x reader

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harrieatthemet · 3 years

Text

Mustache

He has never been keen on sharing.

And Gemma’s mere existence, as well as the small indent on her left thumb she swears is a scar (though Harry vehemently denies it is), is living proof.

Mr Ducky was his favorite bath time companion for a good bulk of his childhood. There were even times he’d carry it around with him in the house tied to a string like a pet, one of Anne’s fondest memories and favorite stories to tell whenever she found the opportunity.

Maybe it was Gemma’s own fault; she was only six at the time and was foolishly under the impression that the stupid rubber toy was at anyone’s disposal, which is what led her to try and situate the duck in her backpack as she geared up for school.

It’s also what led her to tears because Harry caught her on the way out the front door, Mr Ducky in tow, and he instinctively sunk his teeth right into the side of her hand in protest. And, okay fine, he may have bit down a little harder than he should have, but the overall message he was sending came across very clear. Gemma never touched anything he owned again for a very, very, long time; and eventually went on to tell everyone in her class she had a vampire as a brother.

“What do we think of this little number,” your hip jut, innocent as it was, just now became a permanent memory in Harry’s brain, “too much, like.. revealing?”

You like nice in red; devilish, even, and in the best way possible. There’s nothing revealing about the dress at all. Somehow, though, he finds himself perched squeamishly at the foot of your bed in complete fucking anguish. In theory, no, the dress is not too much. It’s the perfect ensemble and flatters you so well he feels like whoever made the dress conjured it up with you specifically in mind.

And no, it’s not too much, for literally anyone else except him. How is such a modest dress enough for him to think you up the way he is right now; bent over in front of him with your hair wrapped tightly up in his palm while that dress lays in a sloppy ball by his feet.

“Would be nice with nude shoes,” he mules, “like, those sandals y’ave, yeah?”

The way your eyes light up, that same way they always do when your mind starts to move at light’s speed as you start assembling a million different ideas into one, is enough to tug a grin onto his mouth.

He didn’t really want to agree to this. When you texted first to ask he ignored it, that way you’d have just carried on without him and he could blame a busy schedule or an overrun nap on his delayed response time. It’s much easier to blame a missed text for no response. Of course it’s not in your nature to send a text, and he knew that already. So it came a son surprise when he was bombarded by 4 phone calls. By the fifth one he had picked up, succumbing to you and just the flat out unfulfilled urge he had to hear your voice at the other end of the phone.

“Seriously Harry,” your voice is like fucking honey, sweet and sullen like it always is, and he’s in euphoria listening to it as you poke your earring through the lobe of your left ear, “it’s just, y’know I don’t- I’m nervous and I appreciate you helping me do something as stupid as picking a dress.”

“S’not stupid,” he reassures, “y’know I just like spending time with yeh, since y’so busy ’n stuff.”

Which is true. That’s the only thing that got him over here; and he rescheduled a zoom call just to sit in your bedroom for all of twenty minutes. Not one part of him regretted it, either.

“I’m busy?” You tease, “coming from the A lister who’s in London, than LA, than New York, London again, oh, than LA again oh, then ‘sorry love, m’in Tokyo.’”

Also true, he knows that, which is why he’s snickering at fault in response to your harmless teasing. He wouldn’t say it now, mainly because he doesn’t want to make it weird, but regardless of where he falls on the map he somehow still finds a way to fit you in. He’s never minded doing it, either.

Twenty minutes isn’t enough. Maybe another twenty more could be a sufficient amount. That’s almost an hour, right? Forty minutes is almost a full hour with you and he’d love to get even that much. Or twenty more hours, even, would be that much better. It’s better for him to think of getting more time with you than to let his thoughts wander and remind him of where you’re getting ready to go off to.

A date. It’s why he was so hesitant to come here. It’s hard enough as it is being a prisoner to his own thoughts, being around you and not getting to interact with you the way he actually wants; kiss you the way he wants, touch you the way he wants, hold you and talk to you the way he wants. Adding a new element to the mix, another man getting access to you the way he wants, well that’s just mental warfare.

You don’t know anything about though. And thank God, because if you could get a peak into his thoughts and see just a preview of what he thinks he almost knows for sure you’d ice him out in a heartbeat. He’s got a soft spot for you, nonetheless, which is why he swallowed the massive-sized lump in his throat when you told him you needed help on an outfit for a date and b lined it over to your place.

“Who’s this guy, anyways.” He chimes, following you similar to that of a lost puppy as you start heading towards the staircase, “Like, wha’s he look like ’n stuff.”

Immediately after he asks he wishes he hadn’t. The way that pesky fucking lump reappears when you wiggle your eyebrows in response, stuffing your hand into your leather purse in an attempt to fish out your phone. A simple response like ‘handsome’ or ‘he’s a nice guy’ would’ve sufficed for him. Seriously, that’s all he needed. What he didn’t need was an entire fucking slideshow of an above average looking guy. And he had a cool mustache, to boot, which really pissed Harry off for some reason.

“Should probably shave,” he squints his eyes at the photo you’ve got propped right in front of his face, trying his hardest to act like he isn’t so fucking jealous of that mustache, “kinda looks like a squirrel on his top lip."

“If I didn’t know you so well,” you tut teasingly, “I’d think you’re a dick.”

“You know me so well and still don’t think that?”

He likes the way your laugh sounds, and it makes him happy that he said something amusing enough to drag it out of you. And the toothy smile you pair with it practically knocks the wind right out of him. Everything you do seems to wow him, corny as it sounds. It makes him feel so at ease, and the butterflies he gets each time gets him reminiscing to the days where he was just a kid and had the worlds biggest crush on the girl who sat three rows ahead of him in grade school. He’s giddy and he doesn’t want you to leave for this date.

For a second he thinks about doing something elaborate; breaking his foot or faking an illness so that you literally have no choice but to hang back and look after him. That’s selfish though, and honestly just crazy and super fucked up, so he opts out of that. But he doesn’t want you to go so bad he seriously considers it, especially as you start sorting through the downstairs closet to find a coat that doesn’t clash with your shoes.

He could just be honest. He could just tell you that he doesn’t want you to go, solely because he’s absolutely infatuated with you and for every hour he’s awake and functioning you manage to consume every thought he has. He could just be an adult and tell you he’s got feelings for you that very much surpass a platonic, friendly demeanor. That might be a better way into persuading you to stay back with him than breaking his fucking foot.

“Ok now wait a minute,” he chokes, and there’s a painful twang that strikes his gut when you frown, “gotta tell y’somethin’.”

“What,” you groan, and he swears he would rather die right now than do anything else, “it’s the shoes, right? They make my calves look like I’m a running back don’t they?”

He wants to laugh but he thinks if he opens his mouth he would projectile vomit everywhere. But the thought occurs to him that if he does that than it would be an excellent excuse for you to skip the date. Though, of course, he runs the risk of grossing you out and absolutely humiliating himself all in one go of it.

So he shakes his head no. In fact he loves the shoes, and they make your ankles look slender and really compliment your legs quite nicely. Still, he’s scrambling to string together a coherent sentence because his brain is working a lot faster than the muscles in his mouth are and it feels like someone just super glued his lips shut.

“Speak now or forever hold your peace,” you tease, and the cheeky wink you shoot him over your shoulder just edges him even more if that’s possible at this point, “Styles.”

“I don’t want y’to go on this date, (Y/N).”

He’s well aware that he blurted that out in a way that he really, really, wish he hadn’t. Now the air in the room is stale and heavy, dense too, like someone just sucked all the air out and left the two of you here with nothing to inhale but words and unspecified tension.

And he’s starting to get more anxious as your playful manner dissipates. He can tell your puzzled not just be the demeanor of your face, but by the stance of your body because your letting shoulders hang the way you do when you’re a little uncomfortable.

“Oh,” you breath, and his chest starts sinking inward, “okay, I just- well why not? Do I not.. like, do I look bad or something?”

“No,” he coos, and he feels like the worlds biggest asshole when you start to frown, “No y’don’t- Christ, (Y/N) y’look amazing. Y’always look so fuckin’ amazing. It’s just-”

“What,” you huff, “than what is it, than? Why wouldn’t you want me to go?”

He’s really done it now. The proper thing to do would’ve just been to let you go, walk out with you and watch you drive off before he headed home himself. The proper thing to do would’ve been for him to just go home and think about you on a date with someone other than himself, curled up in a ball watching a Friends episode he’s already seen four times while he felt sorry for himself. But that’s not what happened, and what he should’ve done was just broke the fucking foot like he initially thought to do. That would’ve been less agonizing than this.

“Because,” he’s frustrated now, not with you but really just himself, “I should be taking y’out. M’absolutely in love with yeh, (Y/N), and I don’t have a cool mustache but I could take y’out on a date, ’n I want to so bad.”

There’s still that dense energy looming in the room, and his gut now too as he feels it winding up tightly in an anxious bundle of knots and twists. You’re not saying anything and the only thing he notices is that you’re breathing is vaguely staggered and your clutching onto that purse in your hand like he’s about to snatch it and run off. God, he should’ve just broken the foot!

“Please don’t go out wit him,” and now, his voice is small, “think it might kill me.”

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chaozsilhouette · 3 years

Text

Imprisoned yet Unshackled

I was so inspired by the large support my last post received, I was able to finish this scene in record time. One thing that was wedged into the back of my mind was, just how does one pass the time when you're trapped under a mountain for five hundred years? Here's my take on Sun Wukong's second imprisonment in @winterpower98's Swap Au. I hope I managed to capture the brilliant yet insane nature of the monkey tyrant.

_____________________________

Sun Wukong, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, had to smile at his plight.

Once again he was trapped underneath a prison of magic and stone. Only this time the entrapment had not been orchestrated by the Buddha, but by his dearest beloved, a motley crew of demon rejects, and one despicable monk.

He should be infuriated. His rage should invoke the horrible sense the end of days had arrived. Heaven should tremble, Narakas should rush to defend its gates, but no. No, the Monkey King’s temper had cooled to a dangerous degree. Now he could smile and look back on his past with fondness.

Why?

Because he refused to be caught unaware twice.

He may not have been able to stop his imprisonment, but he was able to leave a little insurance for his release. His darling was wise to seal the mountain with the Ruyi Jingu Bang. The infamy of his trademark weapon would be more than enough to strike fear into the hearts of countless demons. Its immense weight prevented all, but the strongest from getting it to budge let alone lift it.

However, for the Handsome Monkey King, it would be a minor feat. Just before the seal was completed and the mountain crashed down, he created a hair clone and sent it out into the world in the appearance of a young human boy. He couldn’t have it mirror him or it would have been hunted down before it could free him. As a precaution, he sealed any memories the clone would have as being, ya know him.

During his time in hiding, he made many new alliances and took on countless servants, many of which joined him after they experienced a thorough humiliation by his darling. The only upside of that worthless journey was all the laughs he got after hearing about all the different demons his beloved trounced on the way.

Seriously, how could one monk keep falling for the same trick over and over again? Maybe Tripitaka enjoyed being abducted? Either way, he had faith that at least one would connect the dots if they knew what was good for them.

He had no doubt the entire Celestial Realm would act to create thousands of mystical and physical barriers to secure and hide the mountain. The villagers would spread tales of destruction and fear, but that would draw in as many as it would push away. Princess Iron Fan would no doubt lead the concealment project herself out of spite. Her husband would personally engage the weaker demons in a fruitless attempt to lessen his fury.

Hehe, the poor demon couple.

Once the heads of a rising court no one would ever dare cross, reduced to celestial dogs as they mourned the loss of their son. The screams of the Demon Bull family curled his toes in the most delightful ways as he forced them to watch their precious matchstick collapse under the fury of his own flames. Unfortunately, the mountain was sealed before he could witness Red Boy’s demise by the True Fire of Samadhi, but even if he survived no one could walk away from that unscathed.

It would take time for his clone to remove the staff, leaving him little to do but think. What else was he going to do trapped under another mountain? This time, not even his face was free to take in the fresh air or watch the stars. He had forgotten how spiteful his darling could be.

They would work on that once he was freed.

Sun Wokong acted too rashly, he could admit that now. He had spent so much time away from his beloved, confident in his capabilities that he failed to account for other dangers. He underestimated Guanyin’s monk. This mortal was the one expected to teach him humility, how could he expect his darling Macaque to survive unaffected.

He thought back to the simple days on Flower Fruit Mountain after Macaque had accepted his invitation to live with him. When it was just the two of them against the world. Their days were filled with training, experimenting with their powers, and making quick trips to scare humans and demons alike. Sun could still picture the easy smile that would grace his beloved’s face after a fulfilling day or whenever he groomed that silky mane.

The playful chirps and growls of the other monkeys filled the background as they went about their normal lives. He watched with pride as families grew and newborns matured into colorful pranksters all their own. Each generation instinctually knew who he was and learned to give him respect, but he didn’t mind them crossing a few lines. What kind of leader would he be if he discouraged what made him happy?

Anytime hunters or an upstart demon attempted to set foot on his mountain, Wukong and Macaque would switch guardian duty. While he definitely enjoyed killing any idiot who dared to intrude upon his territory, watching his beloved slaughter in his name brought him even more pleasure. Unlike his personal tastes of crushing his opponent’s skull after ripping off their limbs, his beloved took a more surgical approach. Delicately Macaque would toy with his prey, methodically tearing apart their physical strength and their sanity, until nothing was left but a pitiful husk who begged for death.

Ah, each one of those performances was nothing less than pure poetry all designed for him.

He wanted that back. He wanted all of those pleasures back and more! And he would get them. Once he was freed, he would find his wayward beloved and undo all the damage Tripitaka did. Macaque would be reminded of their ambition to conquer. But more than anything he would remember who he belonged to.

Fortunately, neither of them was in any danger of dying. During his little stay in the Celestial Realm, he saved a couple of souvenirs. A peach of immortality, a bottle of heavenly wine, and a gourd of pills from Loa Tzu’s lab; each capable of granting the consumer immortality and combined with the safeguards they had already taken.

Macaque had become just as much a fundamental part of reality as himself. He didn’t even have to lie. Despite Macaque being concerned for the consequences of his actions, the six-eared immortal couldn’t help but kneel over laughing as Wukong mimicked the expressions of his celestial servants whenever they tried to ask something of him. Wukong looked on in adoration as his mate indulged in the bounty of the Celestial Realm, tying their futures together until time itself ceased to exist.

It did not matter how long it took. The seal would be broken and all of creation would know fear. Time held no meaning for him. He could afford to be patient.

#lego monkie kid #lmk #sun wukong #princess iron fan #demon bull king #six eared macaque #liu er mihou #winterpower98 #monkie kid swap au #monkey tyrant

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astrella-writes · 3 years

Text

prompt | @ssoftlydreaming asked: nfjsja ok from sweet home can you do lee eun-hyeok and basically he has to decide if he should risk the danger of everyone in the apartment complex or save reader who is outside and struggling to survive.

warnings | female pronouns, angst, spoilers for episode one of the netflix adaptation of sweet home, if you haven’t watched episode one complete then this won’t make much sense, panic attacks, the general horror of sweet home, eun-hyuk being a logical pain in the ass, somewhat of an open-ending.

word count | 1.7K

author’s note | i hope this satisfies your masochistic desires! i’m honestly so happy to have angst as my first request, and that isn’t sarcasm at all.

The sound of his descending footsteps echoing throughout the concrete stairwell became background noise to Eun-Hyuk as he stared at the unanswered messages he had sent you well over an hour ago. This was strange behavior coming from you, considering you usually responded back within minutes. Not wanting to jump to conclusions, he tried to think of a logical explanation to calm his increasing worries. Perhaps your phone died on your walk home, or you had to work over-time without a chance to inform him.

He was certain some minor inconvenience caused your abrupt absence, although he couldn’t shake off the unnerving feeling settling like a burden of tense muscles upon his shoulders. Realizing there wasn’t much more he could do, especially since all the calls he gave you went straight to voice mail, he decided to wait patiently for a reply from you and try to keep his thoughts clear during the meantime.

Eun-Hyuk stuffed his phone into his pocket as he finally reached the half-open double doors that led out onto the first floor, his ears immediately picking up on the commotion before he looked over at the front entrance that was blocked by the shutters. A group of people stood dispersed nearby, talking amongst themselves and watching one resident in particular as he tried tugging on the metal bracing that barely budged. The man sighed, dropping his arm and admitting defeat as he walked away from the shutters, mumbling to himself.

‘First the elevators aren’t working, and now this?’ he thought to himself, unimpressed with the current situation, especially since he had work that night. He wasn’t the only one annoyed by the circumstances as the surrounding people openly expressed their vexation. Although, unlike most of them, he remained calm and simply observed the scene with his hands in his pockets. Multiple residents spoke loud enough for him to catch on to the fact that the security guard was missing, which made little sense considering this was an issue for him to resolve.

“Excuse me?” a feminine voice sounded from behind him, causing him to turn around and look at the woman. “Do you have any service on your cell?” Despite having just been on his phone, Eun-Hyuk was so preoccupied with his thoughts regarding your whereabouts that he didn’t notice the minor detail of whether he had any service.

Pulling out his phone and unlocking it, he immediately dialed your number, taking the possibility to hopefully connect with you and find out where you were. When his ear met with a high-pitched ringing, Eun-Hyuk lowered the phone, lost in thought for a second before looking at the woman.

“I guess not,” he said, watching as her face dropped in disappointment and she turned to walk away, but he stopped her with a question. “What’s going on here?”

The woman hesitated, wondering if anything was even worth sharing considering she would give him more questions than answers. She went on to explain how every main exit had been closed up, locking everyone inside. Although she speculated someone was behind this, she had no idea who it was and for what purpose it was done.

The explanation caused Eun-Hyuk to swallow thickly before turning his gaze towards the concealed entrance. He stared for a moment, silently wishing for your safety.

―――

A shrill ringing penetrated your ear, causing you to jerk your head away from your phone and hang up on your attempt at calling Eun-Hyuk. With a frustrated cry, you threw your cellphone upon the ground, hearing the shattering of the screen as it smacked face-first against the concrete.

On the verge of tears, you made yourself as small as possible in the alleyway's corner, pulling your knees up to your chest as you rested your forehead on top of them. Your breathing grew increasingly more labored as the sensation of dread and pure hopelessness consumed your mind.

Eun-Hyuk’s words repeated in your head during times like this, when you were at risk of having a panic attack. Stay still. Take slow breaths. Think of something nice.

You squeezed your eyes shut, allowing the gathering tears to flow freely down your cheeks as they gathered at the tip of your chin. Forcing yourself to take in deep breaths, your trembling body gradually stilled. Eventually, your thoughts morphed as you focused on your breathing, rather than the surrounding chaos.

Think of something nice.

Eun-Hyuk’s face filled your mind, the sight prompting a ghost of a smile. You recalled your first meeting which occurred almost a year ago, when you had just moved into Green Roof Apartments. Someone had suddenly removed the towering stack of boxes you were carrying from your hold, and just as you were about to thank the person for helping, you realized you recognized him.

It turns out that you both used to attend the same high school, although you weren’t in the same class, your friend group interacted with his friend group quite a lot. Seeing his face brought back all those times at lunch when you would sneakily try to steal glances at him without your friends noticing. They noticed, of course, and teased you relentlessly about your crush but they were nonetheless supportive. They even proposed setting you two up on a date, because a ‘little birdie’ told them he had been crushing on you too.

Unfortunately, you were in such denial that someone as handsome as him had feelings for you, and rejected the offer. He was simply unobtainable, the extent of your relationship never surpassing polite greetings and friendly smiles until you both graduated and never saw each other again. Or at least, that’s what you assumed would happen.

It seemed fate gave you two another chance, unsatisfied with your prior silent pining and not acting upon anything. Considering you both matured immensely, talking came easy, and it wasn’t long before a much deeper connection began blossoming between the both of you.

His sister reacted indifferently when she walked out into the hallway one day, only to witness the both of you moving suspiciously away from each other, as if trying to conceal something. She caught on immediately, especially since her brother had been mentioning you quite often.

“Seriously? He’s the best you can do?” She scoffed, eyeing her brother disapprovingly before pushing between the both of you and walking off. You stared at her retreating figure in shock, oblivious to the smile on Eun-Yoo’s face as she disappeared down the stairs.

Once his sister found out, Eun-Hyuk became increasingly more open in terms of your relationship. And eventually, after a long week of his sister degrading him for not moving to the next step, he asked you to be his girlfriend. It wasn’t the most romantic of set-up’s; he had knocked on your door and asked you so casually that you wondered if he was joking.

When he assured you he wasn’t, you almost knocked him off his feet from the abrupt hug you gave him, accepting his simple proposal.

The memory faded, and the realization hit you like a truck. Eun-Hyuk was waiting for you, and you couldn’t give up on him. Taking a deep breath, you got up from the ground, trying not to focus on the screams and sounds of destruction in the distance as you lightly jogged towards the entrance of the alleyway. You peered behind the wall and looked both ways. The coast was clear; it was now or never.

―――

You raced around the corner, narrowly dodging the attention of a nearby monster as its head popped up from one of the many dumpsters lining the brick wall of Green Roof Apartments, the location you had been trying to reach from when this all started.

The sound of metal creaking, which you quickly recognized to be the shutters descending, urged your aching legs to run faster as the darkness before you faded the closer you got to the entrance. That’s when you noticed Eun-Hyuk struggling to keep the shutters open as a distraught woman crawled towards him. He reached out a hand towards her, just as he looked up and made eye contact with you. His eyes widened at the sight, although bloodied and bruised, you were very much alive. You smiled at him, relieved, feeling safe already.

That was until you heard a rustling coming from your right, along with animalistic groans, as if something was just stirring back to life after being immobilized and ready to lash out again. A flurry of panicked voices came from the lobby of the apartment, everyone watching in horror as the hunched-over silhouette of the monster with a snake-like tongue began recovering to its full height.

Luckily for you, the monster disregarded your presence as it ambled towards the entrance. You stood frozen in fear as the shadow of its body passed over you, the sound of its languid steps lulling you into a trance as your body trembled lightly.

It was perceptible that trying to run past it would end in your demise, leaving you stuck on what to do. Your pleading eyes drifted towards Eun-Hyuk, hoping he would come up with a plan to distract the monster long enough so you could make a break for the gap underneath the shutters he had been holding open - a perfect enough size for you to slide under.

He stared you dead in the eyes as he dropped the shutters; the metal clanging loudly against the tiled floor. You blanched, staring back at him in disbelief. A semblance of guilt took over his features, and you shook your head in denial.

Your eyes stung with tears, and you wondered whether to cry and beg for him to help you or keep the remaining bit of dignity you had left. The monster suddenly shot its tongue within the gaps of the barred metal and Eun-Hyuk disappeared from sight as he dodged; the trance you were in instantly dissipating as you came to terms with the situation.

He left you to fend for yourself, surrounded by a horde of monsters. You weren’t sure whether to give up or keep going, considering nothing seemed worth fighting for at the moment.

Did he regret it? Of course. Would he do it again? Without question. Eun-Hyuk would sacrifice anyone to keep his sister safe, even you, and even himself.

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