#its very possible it was also just all self preservation leaving my body because i am absolutely going to protect my pup | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

soleilnomoon · 2 years

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Can I request Usopp X reader >> they wake up in bed together after a night of drinking. The details I leave to your wonderful imagination. kiss kiss fall in love <3

ꕤ for u, my best friend, love of my life, light of my world, etc. etc. etc. ofc bitch, you already know ૮₍´˶• . • ⑅ ₎ა ꕤ sry this took so long but yk me, i can't do fluff to save my life.

introspect ; usopp x reader.

1.8k words, afab reader (no pronouns), alcohol mention, angst-lite, a lil fluff, some nsfw (idk cute shit like a handjob or nudity or smth); usopp is too chicken to confess, but who isn't these days

the haziness of the night before never leaves you, weighing you down, stubbornly pinning you to the mattress, even as you wake up in the middle of the afternoon the following day. yawning loudly, you attempt to get up, but something really is preventing you from getting up properly; an arm, actually. a very familiar, toned, brown arm is wrapped around you securely, almost as if this is a regular occurrence between you two, when you know for a fact it is not. blinking rapidly, you try to remember the how's and the whys of last night.

as you scrunch your nose, concentration taking away your self-preservation, you hardly notice him stir beside you.

“what time is it?” he asks sleepily, sliding closer, his body seeking out your warmth even underneath the thick blanket. memories flash in your mind as you close your eyes again, swallowing hard, the taste of bourbon still on your tongue—how much did you even drink? you’re not even sure anymore. a throbbing headache reminds you to find something to remedy the pain soon. when his fingers curl around your waist, you shudder involuntarily. words stick to the back of your throat, and you struggle to breathe—his presence suddenly commanding all of your attention. you still haven’t opened your eyes; if you do, you’ll have to face him and you don’t want to deal with that just yet.

it takes you a minute, but you do finally respond to his question. “late, probably,” you say softly, voice a little hoarse—possibly from overuse, but the party wasn’t that wild, was it? when it doesn’t seem like he’s going to move away anytime soon, you finally reopen your eyes and stare at him. he looks quite peaceful, sleeping like that; his thick, curly hair tempts you, but you keep your hands to yourself. maybe it got too hot in the middle of the night and you just happened to take your clothes off and also just happened to end up in his bed.

peeking underneath the blanket only confirms your theory; it’s silly, you know that, but you don’t want to think about the ramifications of anything other than that being the absolute truth of the matter.

“you’re heavy, usopp, move.” you hope your playful demeanor might lighten things up, hope that you didn’t actually cross that line with your best friend, hope that maybe—just maybe—you had more sense than to act on whatever foolish delusions you’ve convinced yourself are somehow tied to hypothetical feelings—ones that are less platonic and more romantic. a panic settles once you’re more cognizant. because… what if someone comes in? what if they see the two of you in bed like this? what will you do then?

almost sensing your unease, he blinks himself awake, frowning a bit. it feels early, but he vaguely remembers a soft voice telling him otherwise. there’s an incessant pounding inside his head, eyes burning as he tries to swim through the fog of his hangover. “what a long dream,” he mumbles out loud, rolling onto his back, arm releasing you from its semi-oppressive hold. he stares at the ceiling, blinking slowly as he pieces together bits and pieces of said dream.

he remembers drinking with you and the others, remembers eating and laughing—strange, it was such a vivid dream, it feels real. and when he feels you shift beside him, everything rushes back to him all at once.

for some reason luffy thought it was a good idea to have everyone play a drinking game. a few games later, with tears in your eyes from laughing for several minutes, you stumble into usopp and he helps you walk. both of you tease and joke with one another, ignoring the final dregs of the party. you suggest hiding out in his room, and he agrees — closely following after you to grab snacks and something to drink. he also remembers feeling hotter than normal, sweat pooling on his temples, barely thinking as he pulls his shirt off, frowning only when he realizes that he still isn’t cooling off.

you’re busy eating a piece of fruit, the juice spilling down your hand and onto your chin; your body sways as you dance to whatever nonexistent song you think is playing at the moment. he watches, entranced with your movements—fluid, like water, and just as unpredictable. you pause, feeling his gaze—a gentle caress, one that startles you, puts you on edge, giving you a rush that feels every bit exhilarating as it does forbidden.

a coy smile tugs hopelessly on your lips.

“want some?” you offer, holding up the small bowl in your hand; sharing comes second nature to you, and besides, he looks a little thirsty.

he folds his arms against his chest, seeming to consider your request—you eat another piece of mango in the meantime and hop onto his bed. “don’t wait too long,” your tongue glides along the pad of your thumb, lapping up the residual juice, “i’ll end up eating everything by myself.” you won’t, obviously; you’ve already decided to set aside half for him, but you like messing around with him—especially since he’s giving you such a priceless expression, one that’s equal parts surprise and equal parts amusement.

simply put: you fascinate him—always have, in a way that no one else has. cowardice feeds into his guilt, giving way to shame, and lastly paranoia.

if he tells you any of that, will you see him differently?

he’s always wondered, has wanted to confess for some time now; but whenever he gets a chance, something—or, someone rather—interrupts and he loses his nerve. zoro’s tried giving him advice, but that ended disastrously; brook suggested he write a song, but he’s not lyrically inclined and is pretty tone-deaf.

it’s put him at a standstill, one that’s slowly driving him crazy, but maybe a bit of liquid courage will do the trick; at least, that’s what he told himself earlier.

so he drank and drank, and now he’s here in his room with you, contemplating like the fool he is. you can tell he’s stuck in his head, so you decide to take charge. sliding off of the bed, light on your feet, you reach him in a few quick strides.

“open up,” you command softly, and so he does—which surprises him, he’s never been one to just do things like that, but with the way you’re looking at him, it’s hard to resist. you feed him a piece of mango, his lips wrapping around the tips of your fingers, your eyelids lowering at the sight. you should pull away, but you like the way his tongue feels—smooth, a welcomed distraction to the thoughts bouncing around your head. he releases them with a soft pop! chewing thoughtfully, letting out tiny groans of approval, something that causes a flush to wrap around you

he knows there’s no reason for him to do any of that, but he can’t help it. your cheeks are on fire as you head back to the bed, finishing the rest of the bowl by yourself. you’re too ashamed, how could you look at him when that simple action turned you on more than you care to acknowledge. he’s your best friend, you will never, ever cross that line; you swore to yourself—and to him—years ago. because the one time you wanted to, he found every excuse in the world to avoid you.

rejection fuels your desire to preserve your friendship with him.

but you can only handle so much.

so when you get up and announce that you’re leaving to wash your hands, he stops you; adrenaline pumps through him, not wanting to lose this chance. his lips part slightly, the words stumbling in his mouth, refusing to come out. you raise a brow at him, confused—he’s never had an issue expressing himself with you before, so why now? letting out a short sigh, he tries again; his fingers grab your chin, a little more roughly than you’re used to, and he kisses you.

it’s a slow, tentative kiss at first; he takes his time exploring, tongue licking at your bottom lip, causing you to open your mouth for him. your tongues meeting somewhere in the middle; it’s clumsy, but soon you both fall into a rhythm, his hands tangling in your hair while yours run up his chest. something blossoms within you—awareness maybe? you’re not sure, but you’re determined to follow your desire no matter where it takes you.

his hands drift lower, cupping your ass, squeezing playfully as you press against him, a sigh on your tongue as the kiss transforms again. you become greedy, your mouth demanding as you give him feverish tongue kisses—drunk off of his cute reactions, liking the way his bulge is more than evident, your hand sliding into his shorts. your hand wraps around his length, you pump it up and down a few times, earning an audible moan from him. and when he holds you tightly, it’s almost as if he’s afraid to let you go—like he’ll never be able to hold you again.

it gets fuzzy after that; he lets out a quiet groan, realizing that it might not have been a dream at all. you brush hair away from your face and sit up, rubbing the back of your neck with your hand. “can i borrow a shirt?” you vaguely remember spilling something on your dress last night; you were just too drunk to deal with it and crumbled the dress in a ball, tossing it to a corner like you were playing a game. when usopp doesn’t move, you turn and lean over, face hovering over his. “hellooo, earth to usopp,” you pinch his nose and he swats at your hand in annoyance, drawing a laugh out of you.

“do you…,” he starts, brown eyes landing on yours, a solemn expression on his face, “want to talk about it?”

you bite your lip as you think it over. “not really, no.” because talking about it will just make things worse in your opinion. “do you want to talk about it?”

the question takes him by surprise, and while a part of him does want to broach the subject, he finds it easier to just ignore it altogether. you should cover up, but what’s the point; he’s already seen you partially naked on many occasions, just not like this. he says nothing and instead brings a hand to play with your hair a bit, your curls coiling around his finger. it’s nothing serious, nothing he hasn’t done before; so there’s no reason for you to brush your lips against his, no reason for you to kiss him that gently, no reason for your heart to beat wildly when he pulls you back for another.

but you do all of that and when your face burns too much for your liking, you boldly declare that you’re going to lounge around on his bed all day, hoping to diffuse whatever tension there is between you. he laughs and laughs, thinking it’s the funniest thing you’ve said all week, and when your embarrassment finally dies down, you laugh too—feeling much lighter than you have before.

#one piece imagine #one piece smut #god usopp #one piece x y/n #one piece x reader #usopp x y/n #usopp x reader #fic request #usopp should be more popular this fandom is w e i r d #not a big fan of friends 2 lovers but for usopp i make an exception #usopp smut

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rabidpomeranians · 2 years

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AI Jane replacement theory

[Image text: ARQUIUSPRITE: Miss Crocker is now a vessel for a cunning, malicious artificial intelligence whose neural netronix and ontology buffers and stuff like that have somehow managed to far surpass even my own -end text]

Arquius says this as an advanced AI that's been fused with a fully cognizant person through the medium of an (at least) semi-intelligent kernelsprite.

You can argue Hal wasn’t that advanced to begin with since there are obvious exploitable flaws in the programming, which in turn (ironically) drags down Arquius’ overall standing as a complex AI. But. Hal was produced by a 13 year old from a single snapshot of his brain. It’s no small feat, until you see how it stands up to a lifetime of Crocker Corp research and surveillance.

Jane grew up surrounding herself with BCCorp tech, likely infected with spyware hiding under the more obvious subliminal spam. If the tiaratop can fill her head with subliminal messages than it can sneak a copy of her brain. Add to that every thought and conversation, where she goes, and what shes doing. It’s all tracked and collected into a comprehensive profile. Designated research and development plus three extra years of study creates an AI well above both Hal and Arquius in indiscernability.

Case and point: Crockertier Jane isn’t just the “real Jane” under mind control. Shes the AI given full autonomy. Which leads to my main question. Is Jane still Jane?

At the end of her crockertier tirade, Jane’s physical body is knocked out but the AI is still running. She knows she’ll be cut off and shut down, and in a moment of self preservation (possibly prolonged by a sympathetic and morally dubious fellow AI) she migrates herself into Jane’s brain and pushes Jane’s mind into the tiara to eliminate any resistance. Leaving her free to roam while the real Jane is indefinitely trapped with a bunch of shitty popup ads in an abandoned piece of technology.

The next notable time we see Jane, it’s in the epilogues where she’s following very close to the AI’s stated directives: (under the read more because the images and transcript double the post length.)

As a final note, the last time she wears the tiaratop is here [X] where her feelings for Jake had her in a state of intense bitterness and grief. For the AI this is the last point of reference before later being given control.

This happens just before the trickster arc, during the fallout of which is when real Jane ultimately decides to curb her infatuation with Jake. The AI missed this resolution and ended up doubling down on the conflict instead. Hence why Jane seemed to flip flop on her feelings for him the second she goes crockertier.

[image text: JANE: I stand to inherit a new empire very soon. JANE: When Earth has reached its final destination, it will be repopulated with a fresh brood of loyal subjects over whom I will rule absolutely. JANE: You and I will be wed, and we will rule my empire together with an iron oven mitt. JANE: However, the mitt will be worn by me, and me alone. You will have no executive authority whatsoever, because you are too stupid. JANE: You will always do exactly what I say, when I say it. You will be obedient, cheerful, mostly silent, and scantily clad. Is that understood?

JANE: You will also provide me with children so my imperial legacy will continue, and the Crocker brand will live on in infamy. JANE: You will sire as many children as I ask for, and they will all be perfect, obedient little heirs and heiresses.

JANE: Our children will rule the empire when we are gone, which of course will be never, because we will be eternally young and beautiful and immortal and in love, for ever and ever. JANE: We will travel the galaxy conquering planets and expanding my empire. No alien world will pose any resistance to our forces. JANE: Especially not once I figure out how to unlock all that incredible "Page of Hope potential" hidden away in your pathetic, hunky body. -end text]

so far we’ve seen: achieve absolute rule over the new world/population, take jake as a husband (in a notably disparaging way), and, produce an heir (with little actual value placed on them)

if the theory tracks, the next steps would be space travel (already hinted at by the production of space faring ships) and aggressive imperial expansion (HIC’s ultimate pursuit).

#homestuck #jane crocker #theory #crockertier #admittedly i know the least about jane so i can't be 100% on the details of the switch #but there's enough ooc claims on epilogue jane to give me some confidence

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wri0thesley · 3 years

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hi! please do not talk to me! i am just as disappointed in myself as you are!

arrangement - naoya x fem!reader (3.7k)

warnings: naoya is just an asshole lmao, misogyny, arranged marriage mentions, degradation, humiliation, spitting, unhealthy ‘relationship’. afab reader, fem pronouns

despite your clan elders’ best intentions, you are clearly not a good match for someone as well placed in the world as naoya. still. that doesn’t mean he can’t have a little fun with you.

You should have known that it was a fruitless endeavour.

No matter how nicely your hair might be set and your clothes might be chosen, how intricately and carefully your makeup applied – how pretty your manners might be . . . This was never going to go anywhere. Oh, your elders might have thought this was a good idea, and sure it would be – if it were possible. If your clan wasn’t hanging on by the skin of its teeth already. If you’d been blessed – if that was the right way to put it – with more cursed energy than you had been.

But you were not. It had been clear to you the moment you had been – cordially, politely – introduced to him. You hadn’t looked him in the eye – you’d been briefed on what he was like enough to know that – but you’d still sensed the flickering of his gaze over your form. You’d still seen the curve of his mouth into a cruel sneer.

“What a pity,” he’d said, tone not belying an ounce of the pity he mentioned. “I’m far too busy for acts of charity.”

You should have left it at that. You should have accepted it was not to be and went back to your own clan with your tail between your legs, just another failure – or perhaps, you should have looked up into his eyes and spat at him and insisted you were worth more than that. If you had been braver, if you had talked back--

But you do not. Inside, you are meek and quiet. You are cowed by what you know is the power that is at his fingertips, not just physically but also in the sheer luck of having been born as he was born. You duck your head. You feel your cheeks warm. Something about the sneer on his face, the mocking tone . . . sends a curl of heat right to the centre of your belly that you desperately try to ignore.

Tripping over your words, you apologise to him.

For wasting his time.

And it’s that which sets these particular events in motion.

Naoya sees how easily you bend under just his words and the weight of his gaze on you – and though, of course, you are not fit to be his wife the way that your clan elders clearly wanted you to be . . . he likes the idea of your eyes, downturned on the floor. He likes the idea of you on your knees before him. He likes the idea of being able to throw you around, and you, deferential as you take it.

No, even though you would walk three steps behind him and be behest to his whims, you lack the impressive lineage and the splendour of a great union that Naoya is looking for in a wife. But that does not mean, he thinks, as he watches you leave, his eyes following the suggestive curve of your body beneath the layers of fabric, that he cannot have a little fun with you first.

You come to his rooms without an ounce of hesitation. You must know, surely – after the way he treated you at your introduction – that he has no pure intentions. Certainly, the servants milling about his estate know as you’re shown to where he wants you.

Good. Your eager acquiescence just cements the fact to him that he has made the right decision; you will be weak-willed and desperate to please, and though he has no intentions of honour when it comes to what he’s going to do to you, he knows you will do it anyway.

“You came,” he says to you, as you stand across the room, where he’s lounging, entirely at ease, against the pillows on his bed. Your entire body fizzes. You know you should not be here.

(There is something about him that your body cannot deny.)

“I shouldn’t have expected anything less from a whore.” You flinch at the word, though that strange curl of heat returns to your middle. You fight it off as best you can. He sees how you swallow, the way you respond to the name – and he is smirking again, rising from the pillows, walking over to you with all of the grace of a predator. His fingertips reach out, tracing the line of your chin (your skin is pleasingly soft beneath them). “That’s what you are, right? Your clan elders sent you here to see if that’s what you’d be for me.”

He tips up your face. It’s the first time that your eyes have been anywhere near his, and he’s delighted to see the flair of panic and confusion in your gaze. Cute.

“That’s not—” You say, your voice very dry. You struggle with the words, knowing despite yourself that part of him must be right – if you were not, surely it wouldn’t have been as simple as him summoning you and you going there--

“You can’t honestly think you’d have made me a wife, hmm?” He lowers his head, too close to you – your entire body feels like it’s thrumming with energy, buzzing with unrestrained tension. “You’re pathetic.” The word is practically a purr, and your body responds in kind – Naoya, seeing how your eyes cloud over, how you have to stop yourself biting your lip, is delighted.

“I-I’m sorry,” you say, desperate, miserable. You don’t understand why your thighs feel slick and your legs feel shaky, or why your head seems to have clouded over with thoughts that refuse to take proper shape.

“Aww.” His thumb slides across your lip – and you find yourself opening your mouth without meaning to, letting him slide the tip of his thumb in and press down on your tongue. “That’s right. You’re cuter when you don’t talk.”

You don’t say anything. You’re not sure you could, anyway – not with how dry your throat feels. Naoya clicks his tongue.

“Suck it, then,” he tells you, with the air of an impatient man giving orders to a puppy dog. You suppose that’s what you are, really – because you do close your lips, and you do lathe your tongue across the pad of his thumb. He’s still smirking at you, damnably attractive if only for the air of self-assured cockiness. “You’ll want to get used to having something in your mouth.”

His other hand comes up and pushes the kimono you’re wearing (too formal of a kind, really – but your clan elders had wanted to show deference to the Zenins, and they had hoped that perhaps you would be meeting your future husband, and everybody knew that Naoya would prefer a traditional young bride--) to one side, exposing too much of your collarbone and chest.

“Not bad,” he tells you. “Not good enough for me, of course but . . . you’ll do for this.”

You hate that you know what ‘this’ is. You hate that you have no protest to give as he pulls his thumb out of your mouth and turns his back on you.

“Take them off,” he tells you. “Be quick about it. I don’t have all day. Women can be so slow.”

Your hands are shaking as you go to untie your obi. Your self-preservation instinct is telling you to run. Naoya stops where he is and turns his head, his lips still tilted as he sees you’re doing as he asked. Oh, but you’re fun – he feels like a cat playing with a mouse.

“Hurry. Up.” It’s a snap, all pretence – he’s rather enjoying the shaking and the trembling. He can’t help but look at you hungrily as the fabric pools about your ankles in your clumsy undressing. “Before I change my mind, and send you back out into the estate like that.”

Why are you still doing what he asks? You finish undressing and shiver in the cool air, standing there, waiting for whatever he’s going to tell you to do next.

He reaches the bed and turns, sitting on it. He’s entirely casual about the whole thing, his elbows resting on his knees as he steeples his hands together and just looks at you. You burn under his gaze.

“Yes,” he repeats. “You’ll do. Come here--”

You take a step forward, only to stop as he holds up his hand. He takes the patient tone of a man talking to an animal once more.

“Not like that. Think about it, come on. Your head is above mine. That’s not very respectful of you, is it?”

He swathes the words in velvet, making them sound like a question – but you can hear the steel inside of them. The order. He doesn’t need to tell you twice, before you’re sinking onto your knees with your throat dry. Your thighs press together, slick friction making you shiver as you crawl towards Naoya. He tips his head to one side and smiles coldly as if his smile is a reward.

(He watches the way your ass moves as you crawl. He can hear your laboured breathing in the quiet room. In the low glint of the light, he can see the hint of wetness between your thighs.)

You’re so eager to please, even knowing that Naoya is going to use you and discard you. Just as you should be. You feel lucky he’s giving you the briefest time of day.

“Stop,” he says, and you jump to his command as if it’s law. Perfect. He takes a handful of your hair and drags it, pulling you forward so that your face is close to the stiffness that you probably can’t tell he’s sporting through the loose fit of his hakama. He jerks your face so that it rubs against his thigh through the fabric. “Well?”

The bob of your throat as you swallow. You look up at him with your eyes filled with confusion.

“As much as the position suits you,” he says, tone clipped, “are you so stupid you don’t know what I want you to do?”

Oh. Oh.

You are still on your hands and knees. You go to bring one of your hands towards the ties and are stopped with a ‘tch’ of impatience, Naoya kicking at it and trapping it beneath his foot on the floor, with little care about how you wince. He doesn’t hold back his strength.

“You’re going to touch me with that after it’s been all over the filthy floor?” He asks, arching one thin eyebrow. “I don’t think so. If you’re going to be as gormless as an animal, you may as well act like one. Your cheek.”

Heat floods your cheeks once more as you realise what he wants. By now, the strange feeling in the pit of your stomach that’s making you wet has become all encompassing, not at all helped by the friction of your thighs or the way that Naoya is talking down to you. You should not be turned on by it. You should be disgusted by him, glad he doesn’t want you as a wife--

So why do you let out a soft whimper as you lean your cheek forward like a docile animal. It presses against something hot and hard, obvious even through the fabric. You don’t let yourself look at him, embarrassed by how easily you let him tell you what to do – if you were looking, perhaps you’d have seen the brief way his teeth dug into bottom lip, seen the softest exhale of his breath. (It’s better you didn’t. He does not like to show weakness.)

He lets you nuzzle against his cock for a few moments, enjoying the sight of you on your knees, your head bowed – but it is not enough for him. Not when he knows you’ll let him do whatever you want.

The hand still in your hair drags you back unfeelingly, letting go of you on the back swing. You almost overbalance – but you have been well-trained in the art of grace. That would have been something he’d have looked for in a wife, if you had been better placed.

Almost a pity, really.

“I’d ask you to undo it,” he says, as he goes to untie his own complicated knots. “But you’re shaking. Are you that eager to suck my cock? Slut.”

He’s right, you are and you are and you are--

There. There’s no going back for you now, as Naoya lets the hakama drop and then rests back on his hands, unconcerned, as if this kind of thing happens for him every day. Hell, for him, maybe it does – surely you’re not the first poor young woman who has been sent by people more powerful than her to try and please the Zenin clan. For some reason, the thought that you’re not the first, that you’re not special, makes another ricochet of heat twist low between your thighs.

“Well?” He asks, mockingly. “It’s not going to suck itself.”

You’re shaking as you approach it, opening your mouth.

“Not too much teeth, now,” he says lightly. “You don’t want to see me get angry.”

(Maybe you do? But you want to please him just as much, so you open your mouth wider, try and let your lips relax--)

He lets out a sigh as your mouth engulfs the head. He tastes salty and musky – you do not have anything to compare it to, but it’s not exactly unpleasant. You experimentally lick across the head of his cock, where the slit is leaking pre-come – and for that, you win a fluid hiss of pleasure. The idea that you’re pleasing him makes you squeeze your thighs together in search of stimulation and friction, a dull jolt of pleasant warmth spreading through your sex. Oh, you don’t think you’ve ever been this wet in your life.

“More of your tongue,” he says to you, and you do your level best to accommodate – your tongue lapping at the veins of his shaft, travelling along the underside. Your jaw feels stretched wide, and you know you are drooling a little. You shift on your knees without being asked to, taking him further down your throat – you sense a twitch in his cock, the slight relaxing of the muscles in his thighs, and a shiver of pleasure runs through you at the idea that he is enjoying what you’re doing.

Pleasing Naoya suddenly seems the most important thing in the world to you – and certainly it feels the most important thing in the world to that emptiness inside you that you feel sure would be filled perfectly by Naoya’s cock. You take him further and further. You hum low in the back of your throat and Naoya’s fist on the bed flexes – you delight in it.

Every time you do something that makes his body respond in even the smallest of ways, you feel a full body thrill run through you that starts in your cheeks and makes it’s way to the junction between your legs, soaking you, making you vibrate and twitch with need. You have never felt so hungry for anything as you do the idea of Naoya touching you--

The crown of his cock bumps against the back of your throat, making you gurgle wetly – tears springing to your eyes at just how much of him is stuffed in your mouth. It’s this that finally spurs Naoya himself to action, once more returning to grabbing at your hair.

His hips begin to piston, thrusting his cock in and out.

“You’re . . .” He breathes, in between great pumps of his hips. “Almost good at that.”

(It’s the closest he’s come to praise so far and the sound of his voice, thick with hunger and lust, is locked away inside some secret part of your mind – you know you will not be able to touch yourself without his voice, the hitch of his groans, coming back to you in a cadence finer than any music you’ve ever heard).

He uses your mouth like he’d use his own fist, pumping fast and hard, his cock kissing the back of your throat with every glide. His breath begins to get shorter, and as you feel the flesh of the shaft twitch beneath your tongue, pulsating, you ready yourself for the salty rush of his release coating your mouth. You’ll swallow everything he gives you, maybe he will call you a good girl for your troubles--

He doesn’t. The hand wrapped around your hair (so neatly arranged, when you’d arrived at the estate – now, a mass of tangles, nothing more than a handle for Naoya to grab onto) jerks.

You cough at the sudden tug. You know he was close, you felt it – so why had he pulled you off of him? The noise that escapes you is half wounded-animal, half confusion – Naoya is sneering down at you, his hand around the base of his cock.

“Open your mouth,” he tells you – and you obey. You want him to come in your mouth! You want to be good for him, you want to swallow down every drop. “Do you really think you deserve to taste my seed? When you’re so . . . inferior, in every way? So . . . inadequate?”

“Please,” you whimper, through the haze of neediness and the ache in your jaw. “Please, I want to, I’ll be good--”

“You’d take anything I gave you, wouldn’t you? You really are pathetic.” You nod, frantically – if you agree with him, maybe he’ll do something about this all, you’re too far gone to have anything close to rational thought. He laughs at you, a sound like a bark – and then, he’s spitting directly onto your mouth, the mess landing on your tongue. “Swallow it.”

Disgusting, you’re disgusting, why isn’t the way he’s acting doing a thing to dampen your desire? You swallow.

The curl of his lip is unfairly attractive. You think he’ll pull you even closer to him, make you open your mouth again and come directly down your throat until you’re coughing all over the floor – but he doesn’t. He moves his hand, pumping his cock – and then, he’s coming, his shaft twitching in his own grip--

And his come spurting across your face, painting your cheeks. You close one of your eyes to stop it getting in there, but it’s a feeble task – you feel it on your face, dripping down your nose, you know some of it has gotten into your hair. Through the one eye still open, you see Naoya’s smug face.

“Did you really think I’d come in your mouth?” He asks, all cruelty. “You don’t deserve to have my seed inside you. In fact . . . Hmm.” He relaxes, looking at you where you’re a mess on the floor. Your kimono and all the ephemera of what you were wearing lies in a discarded pile across the room where you’d taken them off. “You can put on your clothes, I suppose. But . . . don’t clean yourself up. Not even with your sleeve. You should be proud a nothing like you gets to wear it.”

He flaps his hand at you, clearly dismissing you.

“I—I--”

Your voice sounds cracked and strained and small in the room. Pathetic. Just like you. But more pathetic is the heat that seems to cling to every inch of your skin that you know will not go away until you’re touched.

“You . . . you . . . you what?” He mocks you. Your face, all heat, your big blown out eyes darkened by lust . . . He narrows his eyes and smiles, but it’s a smile that’s utterly mirthless, cold as dawn frost. “I’m not going to lower myself to touching you.”

(You think you were expecting it; but still, your sex clenches around emptiness, practically pulsating as he derides you again. Perhaps you are a glutton for punishment.)

You bow your head. You know, if you stand up, Naoya will say something about your head being above his again – so you stay on your knees, crawling towards the pile of clothes. Naoya is drawn once more to the way the slick is dripping down your thighs, the inviting slit of your sex--

“You’re so wet I can see it from here,” he jeers. “Disgusting. You really are a slut, huh?”

Your fingers fumble with the fine fabrics. If your clan elders knew how you had left your formalwear here, on the floor of his room--

You tie the knots. You cannot do anything about the mess on your face, drying too quickly, sticky and uncomfortable – but part of you wants to wear it like a badge of honour.

You finally let yourself stand up, stopped only by a mocking little sing-song of your name, the mocking inflection of the cute honorific at the end that he shouldn’t be using for you--

You turn to him for the final time, too embarrassed, too wet, too hot and aching to meet his eyes. You concentrate on his mouth instead (you know that mouth will haunt your daydreams, blanket quiet night-times when your hands delve between your legs and you have to bite your lip to stifle your sounds.)

“Perhaps,” he says, with the air of a man bestowing a great honour, “perhaps your clan elders need not know I’ve rejected you yet.” A brief flare of hope in your chest, that he sees and takes a fierce, primal kind of pleasure in snuffing out. “Oh, don’t get me wrong – I’ve no intention of lowering myself to marrying you. But . . .”

That grin, barbaric, cruel, cold, heartless.

“It’s only proper for a man of my stature to have a mistress,” he tells you. The idea should disgust you. Why doesn’t it? You need to find a quiet place to hide in the Zenin estate, where you will not be interrupted – where you can press your fingers inside of yourself and imagine they are his. He takes great pleasure in adding; “And I like a woman who knows her place.”

One more flap of his hand – this time, a final dismissal.

“I’ll see you again,” he says, as you slip out of the door--

It sounds like a threat.

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #naoya x reader #zenin naoya x reader #not sfw #jjk imagines #i dont fucking know whats wrong with me OR this reader honestly #writing #afab reader #fem pronouns #jjk posting #jjk writing tag

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uovoc · 3 years

Text

Murderbot privacy

“SecUnit is a very private person, it doesn’t like to talk about its feelings” made me do a double take because I was like, SecUnit, who’s listening to you right now? Since when has it cared about privacy? Because while MB is a secretive fucker, it sure doesn’t extend that courtesy to others. And what I could figure out so far to explain this apparent hypocrisy is some more-or-less coherent stuff.

Summary:

MB conflates personal, private, and secret because these categories could not exist separately under the regime of surveillance and objectification inflicted upon it in the CR. This meant that the development of MB’s sense of personal identity was limited to its internal self. As a result, MB has a good instinctive grasp of the right to privacy regarding one’s emotions and internal state. However, its lack of bodily autonomy and background as a cog in the CR surveillance state have led it to regard physical privacy as a personal privilege rather than a right.

2200 words below the cut. I think about Murderbot a normal amount

Terminology

For clarity, the terms personal, private, secret, and privacy will be defined basically by their Merriam-Webster definitions. Personal will be used to mean relating to an individual’s character, conduct, motives, or private affairs. Secret is defined as kept from knowledge or view; hidden. Private will be used to mean 1) intended for or restricted to the use of particular person, group, or class. Privacy will be defined as the quality or state of being apart from company or observation; freedom from unauthorized intrusion. These are not comprehensive definitions, but for clarity’s sake they’re the ones I will use here.

The connotations that they carry in this analysis are:

Things that are secret are actively concealed. If something is secret, people are not aware of its existence. Secrets carry the implication of potential harm if divulged.

Privacy and things that are private are generally kept as such by social norms rather than active enforcement. The existence of things that are private may be known, but the details are limited to a restricted (trusted) audience. For instance, to quote Beatrice-Otter, “the contents of my underwear drawer are private, but not secret.” If you’re at someone’s house, you could technically go look in someone’s underwear drawer – it’s not like they can stop you – but out of the mutually agreed-upon respect for privacy and definition of what qualifies as private, you don’t. Things kept private tend to be done so for personal-emotional reasons rather than practical reasons.

These are limited definitions and not mutually exclusive. For instance, privacy can be enforced by gates and barriers like secrets are. These definitions aren’t meant to be comprehensive, but just to establish the meanings and connotations that I’m working with.

Privacy in the CR versus Preservation

Murderbot’s approach to privacy reflects the attitudes of the Corporation Rim. Preservation regards privacy more like a personal right and establishes it through primarily through societal norms, while the Corporation Rim treats privacy more like a personal privilege which individuals are responsible for securing and maintaining. In Preservation, freedom from observation is the default, and surveillance is the exception. To MBs annoyance, unless a space is singled out for security reasons (cargo spaces and high-traffic zones on the station), it’s generally left unsurveilled (residential areas, pedestrian corridors, most of the planet that we see in NE). Preservation also has cultural expectations of certain types of spaces being private. MB doesn’t share these expectations, as it notes in NE when it admits that its eavesdropping habit is “a little incriminating with the whole listening to private conversations in secured spaces and personal dwellings thing.” The specificity of “secured spaces and personal dwellings” makes this sound like something someone else said to MB that it’s now repeating, especially since it doesn’t agree that what others consider private conversations or private spaces are inherently off-limits to observation.

Unlike Preservation, MB sees privacy as a privilege rather than an inherent right, because it’s more used to the attitude of the CR surveillance state. In the labor installations that MB was deployed on, everything people did was observed by SecSystem at all times. If you wanted privacy, you had to pay for it, as MB notes in ES when it’s complaining about the lack of cameras in the fancy hotel that it books when it arrives. Even then, you might not get what you pay for, and MB take steps to secure PresAux’s own camera network that they later set up. In the CR, privacy is closer in meeting to secrecy, something that must be actively enforced and secured against intrusion. Corporate entities in the CR are motivated to erode personal privacy for profit in the form of datamining and workforce control. Privacy is thus a personal responsibility, since the surrounding environment is one that seeks to undermine it. This is the attitude towards privacy that MB is working with, and part of why it feels entitled to constant surveillance of its humans. In contrast, privacy in Preservation is a right maintained by the collective expectations and policies of the larger community. Station Security doesn’t exactly approve of MB setting up its own surveillance network, but nor does it do regular drone removal sweeps. MB expects privacy to be actively secured, and sees Preservation’s easily breached systems as the equivalent of leaving your valuables out on the lawn. If you don’t want to be surveilled, don’t go around being surveillable.

Surveillance exemptions

Instances where MB appears to respect the notion of privacy are sex/bodily functions, proprietary data, and feelings talks. However, out of these 3 categories, feelings are the topic where MB’s motivations align most closely with the human understanding of privacy. MB’s aversion to sex is more of an ick factor thing, since it repeatedly states that it finds human bodily functions to be disgusting. (I think touch aversion is also part of the sex-repulsed thing, but touch aversion aligns more with ick factor and also with lack of bodily autonomy, discussed below.)

Proprietary data is another topic on which MB appears to be on the same page as humans regarding “private” as being restricted to a particular group: it doesn’t tell the Mensah parents about Amena’s creepy date, and it removes the audio when it shows Indah the video of Mensah complaining about another councilmember. In both of these cases, there’s the potential for harm if the information is divulged: Amena would get scolded and possibly grounded by her parents, and Mensah’s relationships with the Council and Senior Indah would be damaged by her lack of professionalism. In a business context, proprietary data is information kept within a company because it would give your competitors an advantage, or because your competitors could use it to put you at a disadvantage – pretty much the same results, in the game of capitalism. Although both of these examples deal with personal-emotional information, the concept of proprietary data is closer to secrecy in its potential for harm and complete concealment of the information’s existence.

The third type of situation where MB appears to be on the same page as humans regarding privacy is people talking about their feelings. After Arada gets back from the Barish-Estranza negotiations, MB pointedly does not watch her and Overse make up because of the high likelihood that “they were having sex and/or a relationship discussion (either of which I would prefer to stab myself in the face than see).” Sex falls under the ick factor, but there’s a number of reasons the fandom collective braincell has pointed out for MB not wanting to watch people talk about their feelings:

MB exercising the privilege of not having to care about human feelings, as a formerly enslaved person subjected to human whims.

Secondhand embarrassment because MB would never talk about its feelings.

Related to the above, MB reflexively recoiling out of empathy because if it was in their position, it wouldn’t want someone listening in on its feelings.

Actually, now that I think of it, MB doesn’t go into great detail on why it doesn’t like watching humans talk about their feelings, unlike how it explicitly expresses its disgust for anything involving human fluids. Which is why I’ve got the suspicion that when it comes to feelings, MB does have a strong instinctive understanding of what it means for something to be private and, as a result, gets uncomfortable observing a moment that is not meant for others to see. MB has an easier time understanding how privacy applies to feelings rather than acts because unlike its body, its feelings are strongly tied to its concept of what is personal.

MB’s internal and external self

To paraphrase this one MDZS meta, MB’s body is not its own. MB’s sense of what is personal to it, or its sense of unique identity, applies more its internal self than its external self because of its former nonperson status in the CR. This informs what MB considers to be inherently private. While in the CR, its appearance and configuration were decided by the company. To be fair, humans don’t get to choose our original bodies either, but our bodies and the modifications we make to them tell a story of our personal background. The history inscribed in MB’s body, down to the logos etched on its structure, is that of a mass-produced piece of corporate equipment. MB does not have a particular attachment to its external appearance (“standard human”) because its appearance reflects the company’s choices rather than its own. (This changes after it gains the freedom to choose its own clothes and gets tabletop surgery from ART, discussed at the end.) Although MB’s configuration is what makes it a SecUnit, and being a SecUnit is an essential part of its identity, it’s not an identity that’s unique to MB.

For most of its life, MB’s actions have also been extensions of the company. Its actions have either been dictated by its clients and governor module, or it has had to pretend to be controlled by those things, which means making decisions which could conceivably have been issued with the governor module’s approval. MB is also used to selling its body, since it’s expected to literally sacrifice pieces of itself to keep its clients safe (an expectation it continues to hold). MB has been ship-of-Theseus’d to hell and back. The lack of both bodily autonomy and bodily safety due to its nonperson status in the CR means that MB considered its body to be neither private (restricted to the use of only one person) nor entirely personal (pertaining to its unique character).

As a consequence, MB doesn’t consider its external self to have the right to privacy. Although it doesn’t like being looked at, it’s reaction is to hide rather than ask people to stop. (This is also because MB isn’t used to exercising its personal preferences regarding other people’s actions, but that’s a different angle.) It doesn’t like it when Mensah walks into the security ready room, or when its humans and ART’s crew are watching it come out of involuntary shutdown on the deck, but it doesn’t tell them to stop. In general, MB doesn’t like being looked at because if it’s falling apart, it’s in a vulnerable state, and if it’s not falling apart, then being paid attention to used to carry the threat of abuse/incoming orders/being clocked as a rogue. These reasons are more about safety than privacy.

However, MB specifically doesn’t like people looking at its face are because its face shows its emotions, and its emotions are a reflection of its internal state and, by extension, its internal self. MB considers its thoughts and emotions to have the right to privacy because they are the aspects of itself that it has been able to control, and thus has been able to make personal. When Gurathin reveals its name, it grates out, “That was private.” On one level, Murderbot’s name is an honest expression of what it thinks it is and all the associated self-loathing and guilt. MB does NOT want humans to know its name because then they know how it feels about a topic truly important to it. On another level, its name reveals its self-deprecating humor, something a ruthless killing machine is not supposed to have.

Everything that MB considers personal, it has also needed to keep secret, because in the CR, it’s not supposed to be a person the first place. Conversely, the only reason it’s been able to have personal opinions and emotions is because it has been able to keep these things secret. Anything MB would have wanted to be private – restricted to a trusted audience – would have also needed to be secret because of the pervasive surveillance present in the CR, the nonperson status of constructs, and the fact that it had no trusted audience with which it could share private information.

Conclusions

MB conflates the categories of personal, private, and secret because these concepts could not exist separately under the regime of surveillance and objectification inflicted upon it in the CR. Anything in one category had to be able to fit into the others, which limited the development of MB’s sense of personal identity to its internal self. Although MB has good instinctive grasp of the right to privacy regarding one’s internal state, MB’s lack of bodily autonomy and its background as a cog in the CR surveillance state have led it to regard physical privacy as a personal privilege rather than a right.

Now that MB’s in a safer place (kidnappings by giant asshole research transports aside), it’s beginning to separate out those concepts a bit and allow things to be personal and private but not secret (its desire to be with ART, its affection towards Mensah). It’s also starting to allow things that are neither secret nor private to be personal (expressing preferences in its hairstyle, clothing, and aversion to physical touch), which can also be considered MB reclaiming its external self/body.

#murderbot

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topaziraphale · 3 years

Note

Love to imagine that there were a few close calls with Gabriel where aziraphale had to pretend to smite crowley, which involved a lot of aziraphale pinning him down and a lot of sword bearing. Crowley very quickly finds out he has one hell of a kink ;)

“Of course I’m letting you win,” Crowley answers, banishing the dirt and wrinkles from both his and Aziraphale’s clothes with a snap of his fingers. Then, on a whim, he clears off any lingering sweat beading on his skin. He can’t do anything about the flush on his face and neck, or the way his legs are still wobbling. “Can’t have you losing in front of your own lot, can we? They might try and help you out, y’know. Might be worse for me in the long run, ‘s only selfish.”

Aziraphale’s frown deepens at the implication. “Oh. I assume this means I’ll have to let you overtake me when your people show up, then?”

“Er, you won’t. Have to. Do that, I mean.” Crowley stammers. Aziraphale raises his eyebrows. “They won’t crawl all the way up here to talk to me,” he elaborates, “they’ve got the radio and telly for that.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale says again, fumbling with the lowest button on his waistcoat for a moment. “Yes, quite right.” He smiles nervously. “Erm...” Crowley pretends he doesn’t notice the blush subtly rising on Aziraphale’s cheeks and the tips of his ears. “Well, knowing that, I must say that is very—”

“—no—” Crowley groans in annoyance, knowing exactly where that sentence is going, throwing his head back and grimacing.

“—kind of you to do, to let me win even though it’s all a ruse,” Aziraphale continues, his smile changing from nervous to irritatingly fond and knowing. “Rather considerate.”

“Fantastic,” Crowley grumbles, his face burning brighter for a different reason now. “Really made my day with that one, you did.”

In the short silence that follows, Crowley sniffs and looks down at his shoes, pretending to inspect them for any clumps of dirt. He realizes, belatedly, that neither of them cared to fix the messy state of the greenery and soil beneath them. It clashes with the rest of the neat, freshly mown blades of grass in this conveniently empty section of the park — a stark reminder of what just happened. The sight of it makes Crowley shiver. Suddenly his resolve to stay cool and collected vanishes into thin air. He hastily looks back up to find Aziraphale fiddling with the chain of his pocket watch, and he gulps.

“Er,” he starts awkwardly, nearly freezing when Aziraphale makes eye contact with him. “Right, anyway, I just remembered I have something to do. It’s important. I’ll pick you up later, shall I?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. He spins on his heel, turning his back on Aziraphale and shoving his hands in his pockets, making his smoothest attempt at nonchalance as he starts walking away. “I’ll meet you in the front of the bookshop.”

“What? Wait,” Aziraphale calls. “You’re leaving already?”

Crowley stops in his tracks, shock still, his breath hitching in his chest. He couldn’t have been found out. He wasn’t that loud, was he? Aziraphale doesn’t know, can’t know. If he knew…

“Won’t be long,” says Crowley, gritting his teeth, hoping he doesn’t have to outright lie, hoping Aziraphale doesn’t push. “An hour, at most. We won’t miss our reservation.”

“I… er, very well,” Aziraphale eventually says, sounding confused and a little hurt. “But, before you go, I need to ask you about… just now.”

There’s a brief moment of silence, and Crowley holds his breath, chills cold as ice sliding from the back of his neck down along the knobs of his spine as fear builds in his lower gut. When Aziraphale speaks up again, his voice is slightly deeper than normal.

“I hurt you this time, didn’t I?”

Crowley blesses under his breath. It takes all he has in him not to react outwardly, to lose his carefully constructed neutrality right then and there. Instantly, his mind plays back the stunt Aziraphale pulled only minutes ago.

It’s practically routine for them at this point, really; it’s a way for them to get out of a damning situation in a pinch. If someone from work unexpectedly shows up, they pretend to be mortal enemies, doing what mortal enemies are obliged to do should they ever cross paths: fighting to the death. (Discorporation, in these cases — and even then, they only need to make the viewer think that a discorporation has taken place, should it ever go that far.) It’ll be seen as two adversaries busy with work, and whoever it was that checked in will usually leave within a minute or two to let them get back to it.

They were taking a leisurely walk and having a (slightly heated, in the angel’s case) conversation about some of the menu changes at the Criterion, when Aziraphale suddenly kicked Crowley’s feet out from under him, pinning him face-down into the ground with his knee pressed onto his back. He had yanked his hair, forcing his head up, and swiftly brought the edge of a sword — having manifested the weapon from thin air — onto Crowley’s exposed neck. Crowley was hard in his trousers before he even realized what was happening, before he could even guess that Gabriel or any other one of those wankers was probably nearby, watching, and that Aziraphale was faking the attack like he had done many times before to keep them both safe.

But for a moment, Crowley didn’t know that.

As Crowley had grabbed fistfuls of dirt and grass and writhed under the perfect weight of Aziraphale’s body, he had thought it was real, and that Aziraphale really was going to smite him this time, and that he was truly at his mercy, finally getting everything he wanted. It was too much, the ringing in his head from falling to the ground, the pain in his spine, the white-hot burn in his scalp. Crowley couldn’t move and the sword was cold and sharp on the delicate skin of his neck and Aziraphale put his lips to his ear to whisper something and it sounded harsh and commanding and he whimpered—

“Crowley?”

Crowley blinks back to himself, his eyes wide behind dark lenses. He hears Aziraphale’s footsteps approaching him, the soft crunching of the grass beneath two Oxfords deafening amongst the low rumble of blood rushing through his ears.

“No,” he blurts out, his voice thin. “I’m fine, it’s fine.”

The footsteps stop. His entire body is trembling now, every inch of skin charged as if with electricity, surely to go off at the slightest touch. He clears his throat, vaguely wondering how much of a disaster it would be if he had to look Aziraphale in the face during all of this.

“I’m fine,” he repeats in a more natural tone. “Don’t make a fuss over it, you didn’t hurt me.” You did. “Same as always, nothing different about it this time.” Hurt me again. And again and again, until my throat is raw from screaming, until my face is wet with tears. Make me beg for it.

“It most certainly was not the same, you had no idea I was even going to attack you,” Aziraphale comments, sounding just this side of stern. Crowley’s stomach curls with something too close to pleasure from the tone of voice. Aziraphale sighs. “Are you quite sure I did not hurt you by accident?” he asks gently, because it’s just like him to have concern for Crowley’s well-being, even at the worst possible times. He takes one step closer, the space separating their bodies no bigger than an arm’s-length. Crowley can feel his stare burning right through his soul, can almost feel the heat radiating from his body. “I only ask because, ah, when you cried out, just then, you seemed…”

Alarms blare in Crowley’s racing mind.

Cried out, cried out.

Aziraphale did hear him.

And now he’s asking about it.

Crowley goes from half-hard to fully erect so quickly that it makes him dizzy, his dick throbbing in time with his heartbeat. Aziraphale only has to take a couple steps toward him and circle around to his front, and then he’ll have full view of the state Crowley is in. Then Crowley would have to explain himself, and he would be mortified, he’d be so humiliated, and the fear of it only makes his cock harder. There’s just not enough self-preservation in his current, lust-crazed state of mind to not want anything more than that.

“— truly distressed,” Aziraphale continues, pronouncing the words with the same caution one would use when walking on a tightrope. Crowley hears the faintest of wavers in his voice only because he’s known the bastard for too long. “I was afraid I used too much force this time.”

You could have used more. Used all of it. Put me in my place. Burned me with your light until I’m nothing, until I’m dust at your feet. Please, angel…

Crowley holds his breath again, the muscles in his neck tightening and his jaw aching with the effort it takes to kill the moan forcing its way up into his throat. His legs feel like jelly. The temptation to fall on his knees and admit it is palpable. He might as well come clean. Even if nothing happens now, Aziraphale will bring it up again later. That’s just how he is. Better to get it over with…

“No,” he croaks. He’s blushing so hard that the skin on his face and scalp itches furiously. “I wasn’t, I didn’t…”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Truly?”

“For Heaven’s sake, Aziraphale, I told you I’m alright,” Crowley snaps. More than alright. Crowley knows he’s going to revel in the ache for days, but he also knows, acutely, that he’s only jeopardizing himself more the longer he stays in this blasted park. He’s sure he wouldn’t be able to survive another round of questions; he can already feel his admittedly weak resolve slipping in the face of those warm, seaglass eyes, beckoning him to spill his guts and spew the awful, contemptible fantasies of being taken right there in the dirt, like he deserves, with a sword trained on his back and the angel’s name in his mouth. The only thing keeping him from doing it is his knowing how said angel would react — with an upturned nose and a look of disgust only reserved for the lowest of scum. He can’t do that to him, can’t be that to him.

“Oh, right then, that’s good,” Aziraphale’s voice suddenly pulls him out of his reverie, sounding disappointed, “that’s a relief.”

Crowley then hears the telltale rustle of clothes as Aziraphale fidgets, probably adjusting his waistcoat, before he calls out, “Well then, don’t let me keep you, dear fellow. Do mind how you go.”

“Same to you,” he says back, feeling moderately guilty.

He snaps his fingers, bringing himself to his flat. He lands on his back on his luxurious bed. The cool satin sheets do nothing to calm his rapid pulse or the lick of shame that follows as he claws at his belt, the zip’s teeth not daring to catch as he shoves his trousers down and takes himself in hand. The guilt instantly melts away, but the shame stays, however it only proves to spur him on even more.

Aziraphale will forgive him by the time they meet back up for dinner.

------------------

((I originally meant to use a couple lines of dialogue as an answer to this ask but then it turned into a small little fic, thingy, yeah. Huge thanks to @divinehedonism for beta reading this for me!!))

#SURPRISE I BET YOU THOUGHT YOU'D SEEN THE LAST OF ME #hiiiiii anon your ask has been in my drafts for months but i never forgot about you!!!! i was just nervous to post a little fic lol!#good omens nsft #nsft #bottom crowley #top aziraphale #derpy answers #derpy writes #high chance of me posting this on ao3 later #it literally took me 3 months building up courage to post this now i see why a/c took 6k years to hold hands lol #minors dni #don't think in my absence i won't check new followers i got for ages in bios #if ur a minor here might as well leave and save me the trouble of blocking you if you'd be so kind

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keichanz · 3 years

Text

Mistake

kay so i really don't care if some of this doesn't make sense because this is the first thing i've written in a while that i don't absolutely hate. well this version at least. ending up scraping the first draft because it just seemed wrong and went in a different direction. im glad i did cause im happy with it.

anyway i realize that this may not get much feedback because i took a different approach to it, aka the entire pov is from an OC but i can't bring myself to care too much because i wrote this purely for myself. got inspired, started writing, and i actually liked the content i was writing. end of.

btw the oc doesn't refer to inuyasha as a half-demon because he's unaware he is one and i was too lazy to delve into those waters anyhow.

also for the sake of this oneshot pls dont look too closely at the ranks of diplomat and ambassador. i was too lazy to put much research regarding positions of power so just...go with it.

inspired by @stillunderyourbed's art that can be found here.

It was…quaint. Smaller than what he'd expected. The housing structures looked subpar, there didn't appear to be any wooden walkways, and he could detect the distinct odor or fish in the air with hints of manure. There even seemed to be a perpetual dust cloud hovering at about waist high, thickening from the numerous carts, wagons, horses, and villagers kicking up dirt as they went about their daily lives. Already he felt like there was a layer of dust caked on the inside of his lungs and he wasn't even inside yet.

All in all, it was your typical countryside village, home to simple folk that made a living off of fishing, farming, and trade. The diplomat sneered in disgust. For being the rumored home of the creature strong enough to destroy the despicable Naraku, the village was…less than impressive. And to say that he was underwhelmed would be a vast understatement.

Shifting atop his mount, a chestnut gelding that had been his faithful companion for the last four years, Takeji frowned as he surveyed the sight before him. It was early afternoon, so men were out working in the fields, women were chatting amongst themselves as they laundered clothing at the river, and children were running about, playing and laughing while dogs barked at their heels. He could see the great red torii gate and the stone staircase that led to the shrine and he could hardly refrain from rolling his eyes.

The village was obviously poor, possibly even teetering on the edge of poverty, and instead of feeding themselves for a good long while, they decided to construct that monstrosity. He would never understand the minds of simple common folk. Daft. All of them.

Barely keeping himself from scowling, Takeji reluctantly climbed off his mount and forced himself to move forward into the pathetic excuse for a village. Already he knew he would have to burn his expensive attire; there would be no getting the dust and stench out of it after his ghastly visit. A visit he had not wanted to make, but being a highly revered and prestigious diplomat, it was his duty to travel to far off lands in hopes of establishing a profitable relationship that would ultimately benefit his homeland.

Although, looking around and fighting against the urge to retch at both the nauseating stench and the mere sight of all the unwashed villagers milling around, Takeji wondered not for the first time why he even bothered to accept this task. True, it was said the slayer of Naraku did hail from here, but surely having his homeland associated with this hovel would garner nothing but loss. So why had he agreed to come?

Oh, yes, he mused, grimacing as he stepped over a large manure pile right in the middle of the road. Because apparently, being all chummy with the nation's hero will allow us to have him at our beck and call, because who doesn't want a powerful demon capable of slaying the most evil demon in all of existence as an intimidating presence during negotiations, and let's not forget he alone would be equal to about one hundred soldiers in battle.

Rolling his eyes, Takeji tied his mount to a hitching post, withdrew his satchel with all the necessary paperwork, and set about finding this Inuyasha fellow. He'd been told the demon wore scarlet robes, carried a sword at his hip, and had white hair so no doubt he would stick out like a sore thumb amongst the droll browns and grays of the common folk, which suited him just fine. The sooner he was done, the sooner he could leave because there was no way he was staying even a second more in this village than he had to. Even if the next inn was hours away, he'd make the journey; the inn here was probably as unclean and riddled with bed bugs or something. Ugh. How vile.

Shrugging the satchel over his shoulder, Takeji bit back a groan, sighed, and hadn't even made it a single step before the sound of screaming froze him in his tracks. He gasped and immediately started looking for the danger, body tense, preparing to hop back onto his steed lightning fast and make a hasty getaway.

But as he looked around with wide eyes and a frantically beating heart, Takeji couldn't help but notice that he was the only one that appeared to have heard the sound of terror. The villagers were just continuing to go about their day, calm as you please, either severely deaf or completely uncaring. Takeji was beginning to wonder if he was perhaps hearing things when it happened again, a high-pitched sound that he realized with dread belonged to a child.

Takeji gaped. A child was in danger and nobody cared?! What kind of village was this?! Another shriek pierced the air, and Takeji made a decision. Very well; if these imbeciles weren't going to do anything about it, then he himself would see to the danger. While by no means a swordsman or warrior, he did have some weapons training he could fall back on for this precise reason. Traveling alone was dangerous, and you never knew what you would encounter.

Resolved, the diplomat set his jaw, unsheathed the dagger at his waist, and darted toward the direction the screams were coming from. He meandered between houses, hoped over lazing dogs, dodged startled villagers in his path, and he came into a small clearing by the forest's edge. The sight that greeted him was…not what he expected.

Coming up short, Takeji watched with a befuddled frown as one child chased around two other, slightly older looking children. One might think they were playing a game of sorts, and the diplomat started to believe that was indeed the case…until the one doing the chasing, clad in red, suddenly jumped high into the air, over the heads of the other two children, and landed before them with hands raised.

Hands, Takeji noticed with growing dread and disgust, tipped with claws on each finger and he quickly realized what exactly was happening. That wicked little demon brat, that creature was toying with those helpless children! It was keeping them trapped, preventing them from running away by leaping over their heads and blocking their route of escape! They screamed, the demon child laughed, and so potent was his fury, so enraged was he for the fact that the villagers apparently did not care about what was happening right beneath their noses, Takeji failed to notice the wide smiles on all three of the young one's faces. The blood pounding in his ears prevented him from hearing the gleeful giggles as the two human kids scrambled away from the one clad in red, and without another thought, Takeji moved.

"Run, children!" Takeji ordered as he hurled himself into the clearing, dagger raised as he charged toward the demon brat with a baleful glare. "I will take care of his filthy animal!"

All three children froze in place, eyes wide as Takeji inserted himself between the two human children - twin girls, he idly noted - and the demon spawn that dared raised its claws toward them. The brat stared up at him with big brown eyes and it - she - actually looked confused. Takeji scowled. He would not fall for such a ploy.

"I will not allow you to harm them," he spat and pointed his dagger at her. The child blinked at him and then looked behind him at the two girls who still had not taken the chance to flee. In shock, perhaps? Stunned? No matter; they were safe, so long as he stood between them and the threat.

The demon child made a face and started to walk around him, completely disregarding the weapon trained on her, but Takeji shifted and stopped her once more. He heard the two behind him whispering as the spawn looked up at him once again, this time frowning at him with narrowed eyes. And was that a growl he heard? He snorted. Was she actually trying to appear threatening? Pathetic.

Scowling, Takeji lifted a foot, placed it on her stomach, and shoved. The demon gasped as she stumbled back and then landed on her behind with a small grunt. He heard a gasp from behind him, urgent whispering, and then hurried scrambling. A glance over his shoulder told him they'd finally gotten wise and ran away. He nodded. Good. Now he could deal with this vermin without innocent eyes to bear witness.

But as he stared down at the pathetic sight before him, Takeji wondered maybe if such measures would even be necessary. The beast was still lying where she had fallen and was staring up at him with wide eyes brimming with…wait. What? Were those tears? Oh, you have got to be joking.

Rolling his eyes, the diplomat scoffed at the pathetic play for mercy and careless waved his dagger at her. The child actually flinched and followed the blade with her gaze, wariness clear in her eyes. Well. It appeared her self-preservation instincts have finally kicked in.

"Cease your theatrics," Takeji drawled, unimpressed. "They do not fool me. Now lucky for you, demon spawn, the pathetic sight you project has made me decide to spare your life. Your tainted blood is not worthy enough to soil my blade, so I will say this only one and you would do well to heed this warning, beast."

Hardening his stare and curling his lip into a sneer, Takeji spat, "Leave this place at once and do not return. There is no place for the likes of you, an abomination that preys on helpless children. Now get out of my sight, afore I kill you on principle. Your vile presence disgusts me."

The child grunted and Takeji watched, stone faced, as she got to her feet. Then to his surprise the little demon balled her hands into fists at her sides and glared at him, but the effect was ruined by the tears he could clearly see brimming her eyes. He cocked a brow, unmoved. She sniffled once, twice, and then to his utter surprise and bafflement, her face suddenly crumbled, her lower lip trembled, and she promptly burst into loud tears before spinning on her heel and running away.

"P-Papaaaaaaaaaaa!"

Takeji frowned. Papa? Were the brat's kin nearby, then? Body tense and weapon raised, he waited, prepared to either fight or flee - because he wasn't a fool and knew when he was in over his head - but when no demons came bursting out of the tree line, Takeji slowly relaxed.

Bewildered and more than a little annoyed at the whole debacle - what a waste of time! - the diplomat scoffed in derision as he turned to watch the little demon brat scurry away. And then right at that exact moment, a figure donned in red dropped to the ground seemingly out of nowhere and Takeji felt a wave of relief sweep through him. Finally! This had to be his demon quarry.

Nodding, Takeji stepped forward and opened his mouth to call out a greeting—

And then froze in his tracks as the greeting abruptly died on his tongue. Because the little demon girl, the one he'd just pointed his weapon at and shoved to the ground, ran straight to the figure robed in red and Takeji could do naught but watch with a growing sense of horrified dread as the older demon knelt down to take the child into his arms.

All color promptly drained from his face and Takeji suddenly felt sick to his stomach. He glanced behind the pair and he was somehow not at all surprised to find the twin girls from earlier glaring at them and holding onto the skirts of their mother with a monk garbed in violet robes beside her. They too were staring at him in a not so friendly manner, but upon returning his gaze to the two demons, Takeji numbly thought that if looks could kill, he would surely be dead by now.

Because the demon robed in red - which was now unmistakably the child's father and none other than Inuyasha, the demon he'd come here for - was glaring absolute murder at him and it was obvious that he was. Not. Pleased.

Takeji swallowed and unconsciously backed up a step. With one small hand fisting her father's robes, the child had the other pointing an accusatory finger at him as she no doubt recited to him their earlier…ah, exchange. Inuyasha said nothing in response, but he didn't need to. The deep, nearly subsonic growl that erupted from his mouth, complete with fully bared fangs in a truly fearsome snarl, told him very clearly of his thoughts on his daughter's mistreatment by him.

Which, if Takeji had to guess, were not very Takeji-friendly. At all.

Somehow managing to fight against the urge to flee, Takeji swallowed hard as Inuyasha pushed to his feet and stalked toward him with that same murderous look on his face. Something told him, perhaps some deeply rooted self-preservation instinct, that if he even tried to run right then, it would not end well for him. So he remained where he was and tried valiantly to control the trembling in his body as he slowly, very slowly, tucked his dagger back from whence it came.

Inuyasha stopped in front of him and Takeji cleared his throat before attempting a placating smile, but it looked more like a grimace than anything. "Ah…I assume you are…In—"

One second Takeji was staring into the scowling features of one pissed off dog demon. The next there was a bright flash of light and then he was staring at the business end of a very large and very sharp sword. With the tip just a hair's breadth away from his nose, Takeji gasped sharply and stumbled back a step out of instinct.

Sweet merciful heavens! How—?

"Usually I'd ask who the fuck you are," the demon growled, his eyes twin slits of baleful gold. "But honestly, I can't really bring myself to care enough to know the name of the asshole who threatened my daughter when she was doing nothing but playing with her friends."

Takeji blanched for the second time and he could actually feel himself breaking out in a cold sweat. He fucked up. Oh dear god he'd fucked up so bad—

"There's—there's been a misunderstanding," Takeji tried in a voice higher than usual, raising his hands up in what he hoped was a placating gesture as he eyed the very sharp point of that blade. "I—I admit I've made a grave mistake—"

"Shut the fuck up and tell me why I shouldn't gut you where you stand," Inuyasha hissed, lips feeling back off his fangs in another fierce snarl. With his ears pinned back and those golden eyes glaring absolute death at him, the demon made quite the menacing picture. Takeji had the brief, if a bit ludicrous thought, that perhaps the demon Naraku perished from the sheer animosity that was coming off of the silver-haired demon in waves.

Swallowing once, twice, Takeji realized that he only had his quick wit to get him out of his certain predicament. So bracing himself, he opened his mouth—

"He's from the continent, Inuyasha. You can't hurt him."

Startled hazel eyes swung toward the source of the voice but amber eyes stayed locked on their target, the only acknowledgment of the voice a flick of an ear.

The owner of the voice the human diplomat could only presume was the child's mother, as the child in question was standing behind her legs and was actually smirking at him. He frowned.

"You're from Shenshi," the woman remarked and Takeji swung his gaze back to her. "Right?"

Though her expression wasn't openly friendly, it wasn't exactly unfriendly either, however the human diplomat still felt he needed to tread carefully. Because while her face didn't betray anything, her stare was hard and her mouth had tightened into a thin, flat line. She had one hand on her daughter's head while the other clutched a longbow, and belatedly he realized she had a quiver of arrows slung across her back. He barely held in a flinch as he realized this was one of the demon's companions that had assisted in slaying Naraku, possibly the young woman in which Inuyasha held a more meaningful relationship.

A much more meaningful relationship, if the child currently glaring daggers at him was anything to go by since she was more or less living proof of it.

Wonderful. So he'd gone and threatened the only child of two of the most powerful beings in Japan. Clearly he'd stepped over the wrong grave and pissed somebody off.

Clearing his throat and aiming a strained smile toward the woman who was still awaiting his reply, Takeji nodded once. "Ah, y-yes, my lady. I'm—"

"The diplomat Ambassador Sharaku sent to convince Inuyasha to join his ranks so he'd have the support and protection of 'The Great Slayer of Naraku.'" The woman raised a delicate brow at him. "How am I doing so far?"

Takeji had the good grace to look a mite sheepish. "Ah…well—"

"You can't kill him, Inuyasha," she repeated and Takeji thought she sounded disappointed. "If he goes missing, the ambassador will send his troops to find out what happened or if he returns injured, it could be taken as an insult and you can imagine what would happen after that. You would risk mine or Moroha's life like that, and you know it."

Inuyasha growled but said nothing to refute her words, so Takeji assumed he agreed.

"He threatened her, Kagome," the demon spat, inching the blade closer to his throat and Takeji flinched. "Called her a fucking animal, shoved her down, and waved a goddamn dagger in her face! You can't honestly expect me to let that—"

"Papa," the child - Moroha - suddenly said, successfully stalling her father's angry tirade. A quick glance revealed the girl, still sticking close to her mother, was staring at the older demon with big brown eyes, bright with the threat of tears as she worried her bottom lip. And evidently the sight was enough to calm the raging storm of Inuyasha's fury because he grimaced, released a low growl, and then Takeji watched in stunned amazement as the massive sword suddenly transformed into a rusty katana before it was sheathed at his hip.

With a weapon no longer at his throat, Takeji could breathe a little easier and he released a breath he hadn't even been aware he'd been holding. But then he sucked it right back in when Inuyasha suddenly stepped in close and got in his face, a low, threatening growl leaking past rightly clenched teeth bared in another snarl. Golden eyes bore into his own, filled with a lethal warning that had the human male's back straightening and his blood to run cold in his veins.

"You listen carefully, asshole," Inuyasha hissed, glaring so heatedly it was a wonder Takeji didn't burst into flame. "Don't you dare think that my wife's words have any sort of sway over my decision to spare your pathetic life. I'm not scared of your weakling ambassador and I sure as hell ain't scared of his little human army. No, the only reason that I let you live is because I don't want my daughter, the one you foolishly threatened when she had done nothing wrong, to see me sully my hands with your disgusting blood when I reduce you to nothing more than a bloody smear on the ground."

Takeji paled and swallowed thickly. That particular image was…not pleasant.

Inuyasha watched the color drain from his face. Satisfied, he sneered before saying in a growl filled with sinister promise, "Now get the fuck outta my village and if you ever touch my daughter again, I'll gut you so fast you won't even have time to fucking scream."

Then with that, Inuyasha leveled him with one last dark scowl before spinning on his heel and stalking away, a clear dismissal. Neither mother nor daughter even spared the frozen human male a glance as Inuyasha paused to pick his daughter up into his arms before striding away, his wife close to one side and his friends on the other.

From over his shoulder, Takeji could only watch in a mixture of shock and befuddlement as the little demon girl named Moroha smirked and then stuck her tongue out at him, safe and sound in her father's arms.

Left standing in a state of numb bewilderment, Takeji blinked, looked down at himself, and had the passing thought that it was a very good thing he'd decided to wear brown trousers that day.

#mistake #inuyasha fanfiction #inuyasha #inukag #moroha #oneshot #keizfanfiction #papayasha to the rescuuuuue #i deliberately did not tag anybody in this and no i will not say why #and yes i did use sharaku because it sounds like naraku #listen dont fuck with his wife or kid #you will die #if you dont understand that last sentence #tough shit im not explaining it lmao

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kitkatopinions · 3 years

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So let me get this straight: Hazel after killing all the huntsmen in Mistral and brutalising Oscar for most of v8 (and people dont come with "Ozpin took most of it" its still Oscars body???? Hello????) gets an redemption via death but Ironwood who we know since v2 and was always an ally and a really cool character till v8 dies as a iredemable villain???? How? Why? Its just so dumb... love you blog btw

You know, this reminds me of seeing posts that were like ‘RWDE posters are mad about Ironwood not getting redeemed and yet they don’t like Hazel or Emerald being redeemed???’ And just... Yes, Kathy, the two are incredibly different.

Ironwood has been a hero for seasons who has displayed flaws and made mistakes but was not ever treated as a possible future villain by the narrative, and he was treated as pure evil before he tried to do anything more evil than ‘saving the people he can since he can’t save everyone,’ but then started getting pushed into the maniacal heartless abuser villain role at lightspeed within one season + one episode of the show and (I cannot stress this enough) two or three days of in show time. Our main characters treated him like a monster without knowing about the more villainous actions for the better part of the season, without any of them wondering if there was some mistake, no sympathy given to the fact that Ironwood had his back against the wall or was suffering from mental strain or a horrible injury, no recognition of anything that the mains did badly that maybe contributed to the situation they were in. His ‘fall to villainy’ was outlandish, over the top, out of character, and lacking in any real emotional depth, they blamed him for all of Mantle’s problems despite him having done his very best to ‘go for both’ and Jacques Schnee and Watts being the actual ones responsible for the state of Mantle - as well as huge systemic issues that Jacques was purposefully trying to preserve. He then was (most likely) killed off by the writers who then laugh at how it was ‘always planned’ while no single person in the group of protagonists gives a care.

And on the flipside, you have Emerald and Hazel! Both of them spent seasons being three times worse than James at his worst (seriously, he at least had good intentions.) Emerald and Ironwood’s direct kill count is the same (one,) and Emerald contributed to the deaths of hundreds more at the Fall of Beacon, knowing what it would lead to, and only gives small, rare indications that she feels remorse for it (it’s almost sad.) And Hazel is hinted at being responsible for many of the deaths in Haven and spent his time blaming Ozpin for the fact he was actively trying to murder children. Both of them continued their villainy right up until the very season they got redeemed as they both continued working with Salem to bring down yet another kingdom and while Hazel was beating a fifteen year old, Emerald was eagerly volunteering to help Cinder try and murder Penny yet again. And then when it was revealed that Salem wanted to destroy everything including them, they turned out of self preservation without apologizing for their terrible, harmful, murderous actions. And then the narrative acts like Hazel was some martyr who taught Oscar a valuable lesson about not letting anyone else die and isn’t it sad he died before he could do the bare minimum to earn any sort of redemption. And Emerald winds up having friendly laughs and getting endearingly teased by the people she’s arguably hurt the most, with the girl she’d murdered right there laughing with them. And now she can get away with now being part of the group without any indication she’s changed, no apology, anyone that protests her involvement being scolded for their lack of trust...

One of these things is an incredibly badly handled hero-to-villain story, where they failed to get the beats of emotional depth for a fallen hero arc and rushed it instead without care, leaving it feeling out of character and out of the blue despite the small bit of groundwork that they had in place for the narrative.

The other two are incredibly badly handled villain-to-hero stories, where they failed to get the beats of emotional depth for good redemption arcs and rushed them instead without care, leaving them feeling very insincere and out of the blue despite the small bit of groundwork that they had in place for the narratives (mostly on Emerald’s side, Hazel gave less indication.)

Also we weren’t playing Yankee Swap, we didn’t trade in James as a hero for Emerald or Hazel, we just had three characters who were all handled badly.

But yeah, it’s really weird that the same volume where the writers were trying to force us to sympathize with Hazel was also trying to force Ironwood into an irredeemable category. The thing is, if I didn’t know about James’ never-mentioned-in-show semblance, I’d not be down for a post volume 8 redemption because I think trying to kill children and actively wanting to torture people as a full grown adult is kind of hard to get redeemed from. But Hazel did that, Hazel is just as if not MUCH MORE evil than Ironwood, so why on earth did the series treat Hazel as redeemable and kind of right and just needing a hand of mercy extended to him? Why was James ‘keep soldiers off the battlefield, turn my gun around because I don’t want to hurt Qrow even though I think he’s trying to murder me, look away from the Grimm while I shoot it’ Ironwood treated as the 100% deserving of pain and death and treated as totally irredeemable villain no one could sympathize with?

When you factor in his semblance it really just makes even less sense. I literally cannot comprehend why the RWBY writers do what they do. Also, thank you so much for the compliment on my bog! Sorry to kind of rant there haha. XD

#rwde #anti rwby #rwby bashing #rwby hate #anti hazel reinhart #canoncrit ironwood #canoncrit emerald sustrai #anti fndm #anti mkek

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got-any-references · 3 years

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What are your fav beetlebabes headcanons? Also, love your stuff <3

Thank you <3. And thank you for the wait cause oh boy if I don’t answer this ask with a ridiculous amount of art how will I live?

*Digging out the dust covered manuscript that is my nonexistent Beetlebabes fic from under the floorboards* It’s showtime.

So...Lydia is the one who falls first. She is about 17 or 18 at the time, so this is very much an “I have a teen crush on someone I am not supposed to” type of deal. Honestly they fell in love with each other way before that but like, platonically

Beej is...horribly oblivious XD. Honestly its for the best because Lydia spends the better part of her pre-college summer freaking about because any time her best friend walks in the door her heart wants to go bull-riding in her chest and if she actually has to confront her feelings she might just explode.

Then, just before Lydia was supposed to go away to college, Beetlejuice...disappears. He leaves a note, saying he’ll be back, but weeks turn into months, months turn into a year, and no one either in the living world or the netherworld has seen a hair of him. Lydia goes through college without really knowing what to do with herself, missing what was probably the closest person in her life. She graduates with a journalism degree and a minor in photography. She works for a newspaper as an investigative journalist before breaking off over less than great circumstances and going off on her own.

She’s 25 when she establishes herself as a pivate eye, with an enormous amount of anonymous sources being dead people. Also, this takes place in New York City.

(Yes she absolutely does exorcisms on the side).

She’s following a rather stange missing persons case when one of her sources points to a run down establishment that is 100% totally haunted. Except when she goes there she doesn’t find any ghosts, but rather

Beetlejuice. And he looks awful. And very much human.

Lydia: You look like hell.

Beej: Yeah, I just got back.

...

Beej: Also I’ma pass out now so you better catch me.

So he crashes at Lydia’s place, and the whole thing turns into solving the crime as well as Beej’s mysterious aquirement of a beating heart and working lungs. He doesn’t remember how that’s happened, only now everything is Too Much with Too Many Feelings. Speaking of feelings, you bet your ass there is PINING. SO much pining. Lydia’s best friend comes back and suddenly those feelings she’d dismissed as a stupid teenage crush come FLOODING BACK.

While Lydia’s internally feaking out over her feelings (it's totally normal and platonic to wanna kiss your best friend while he sleeps, right??), Beetlejuice is, you guessed it, totally oblivious! To his own feelings especially! All he knows is that it's his best friend only now she seems like a completely different person, and hot. She is now hot. His mad respect for Lydia makes him bury that thought deep, deep down. Also the whole marriage deal is a source on bad memories for both of them and he doesn’t wanna ruin the only good thing he’s ever had and-

Anyway, more pining:

Lydia’s feelings bring out resentment, too. She hates that Beej calls her kid, because that means he still sees her as one, and her ego and her desire for him make her want him to see her, the woman who's seen some real shit in the name of finding the truth, who can take care of herself, and who is very different from that angsty 15 year old girl on the roof.

It all comes ahead to a big confrontation where Lydia is shot, and Beetlejuice has to drag her to the hospital without any knowledge of how human bodies work and he has no magic so he can’t help her-

The hospital needs to know his relationship to her when they take her away, and Beetlejuice knows they wont let him in unless he’s close family so he is blurts out: “Husband. Yeah, I’m her...husband.”

Lydia wakes up with a patched up hole in her side and Beetlejuice clinging to her hand. She’s happy she’s alive, but also angry, because she could have avoided all of this. She was competent enough to not need anyone to rescue her.

She wants to get back on the case as soon as possible, she found the key lead, but Beej doesn’t wanna hear it, cause he saw way too much of her blood and he’s not big on how human bodies work, but he's pretty sure that shit’s supposed to stay inside. They’re arguing when the nurse comes in and adresses him as “Mr. Deetz.”

Lydia snatches the clipboard away, sees that he’s told them she’s his wife, and is livid. Because crush or not the wedding thing had a whole lot of baggage she does not want to unpack. She has to confront the fact that her feelings are for someone who manipulated her into marriage at 15 and who she’s not supposed to see in that way but she does anyway.

And Beej, a dumbass but also angry cause she almost died out of a stupid reckless mistake is like: "Why are you all mad? It was a green card thing. It's not like it means anything." And that gets Lyds even more upset, with him cause he's an idiot, and with herself because she's still pining for someone who, she thinks, still sees her as a child.

Lyds, getting her coat: "Fuck off."

BJ: "Kid-"

Lydia: "Stop calling me that! I haven't been a child since my mother died. I haven't been a child since you showed up! I haven't been a child since I've started this, since I moved here, since the first asshole tried to kill me. I've been through literal hell and I've had to pull myself out of it all on my own because I was still here and you left."

There's a beat of silence as Lydia realizes what she just said.

Lydia: "And that's fine. Because I don't need you. I don't need anyone. You taught me that, at least." She yanks her coat onto her shoulders and turns to go.

BJ, quietly, but its clear he's angry: "Do you think I wanted to leave?"

Lydia: "I don't know what you wanted. Do you even know what you wanted?" She pauses at the door, turns to him. "Do you know what you want, Betelgeuse?"

BJ: "I-"

He stops. He can't look her in the eye anymore. You. I want you. Lydia scoffs, turns to go.

BJ: "Lydia, wait-"

Lydia: "Fuck. Off."

She leaves, and he just stands there, floored by his too little too late realization. Lydia thinks the best thing to do after leaving the hospital with a bullet hole in her side and hopped up on painkillers is to go get drunk! Self-preservation? None

Beetlejuice finally finds her drunk off her ass and suddenly in a great mood. He grabs her under the arms like "Whelp. Time to go."

Lydia: "Nooo come on-"

BJ: "Aren't you on hospital drugs? Doesn't that shit kill you breathers if you mix it all up?"

Lydia: ":D I stopped taking them :'D it hurts like a bitch."

BJ: "I guess I have the shared braincell now. Okay, time to go."

He manages to get her in the car without incident, but when he gets in the driver's seat suddenly Lydia's all over him.

BJ, with a lap full of drunk Lydia: "What. What are you doing."

Lydia: "Beeetlejuice."

BJ: "Yeees?"

Lydia, smiling all dopey as she cups his cheeks: "Beeetlejuuuice."

BJ: "What"

Lydia's finger hovers over his nose, as if to boop him. He closes his eyes. And suddenly her lips are on his. She tastes like alcohol and hospital food and as she pulls away he can't think. Then she starts laughing. "Ha! Gotchaaa! Classic Bait and Switch!"

And he’s pissed.

BJ: "Ha. Ha. Good one, Lyds."

He dumps her out of his lap and into the passenger seat. Lydia blinks in confusion. Now she's cold. She wants to ask, but her mental faculties aren't all with her at the moment. He drives them home and helps her up the stairs before dumping her onto her bed. "Well. Bye." Lydia scrambles up the bed. The car ride gave her enough time to be at least a bit sober, and everything before getting here is blurry. "Where are you going?" Beetlejuice turns around, the widest smile on his face. She's confused for a moment before she realizes he's vibrating with rage. "Ya said you want me gone? Great! You don't need me, you can do your weird little suicidal quest thing yourself!" Lydia looks lost. They had a fight but she'd rarely seen him this angry. "If its about the thing at the hospital, I didn't- I didn't mean it-"

Beetlejuice: "Really? You'd think you'd be glad to have me gone. Why would you want a creep like me around? The whole marriage thing didn't just disappear, after all! Great to know you can still pull one on me, huh?"

Lydia: "Pull what, Beetlejuice-"

She remembers, hazily, the car ride.

They stare at each other for a moment Beej is breathing heavily, he's not used to living person emotions, ones you can feel with your whole body instead of just as an abstract thing, but its clear he's holding back

Lydia: "I wasn't-"

Beej: "You weren't what?"

Lydia (quietly): "It wasn't a joke."

The angry grin slips off Beej's face. He suddenly looks very, very tired. She might have believed just now that he'd lived for millennia.

Beej: “Why are you doin' this, Lyds? Did you know the whole damn time? It's not like I was gonna do anything, I just thought- I just-”

Lydia suddenly realizes that they are having two different conversations. And something else. She looks away, trying to wrap her head around it, and Beetlejuice doesn't read it correctly. He turns to go.

Lydia: “Wait!”

She jumps off the bed, feeling the whole world tip over slightly, still drunk, and stumbled over to him. He catches her instinctively as she grips his forearms for support.

Lydia: “Beej. Beej, look at me.”

She takes his face in her hands, and turns it toward her. He looks so lost, like one word from her might actually break him. She'd only seen that look on his face once before, and she never wants to again.

Lydia takes a breath.

Lydia: “Beetlejuice, I-”

Aaand then she throws up all over his shoes.

She doesn't quite remember what happened next, only that she was in the bathroom, leaning against the door, the toilet was flushed, she was sweating, and he wasn't there.

Lydia: “Beej?”

Beetlejuice (through the door): “...hi”

Lydia: “What-”

BJ: “-happened? Well, that's a story!”

His voice sounds cheerful, but it’s shaking slightly

BJ: “First ya threw up all over us both! then that little experiment of yours with mixing the meds went off, and you started babbling about...rocks? Then we got here, you heaved out the rest of your insides, and then ya kicked me out and said you were gonna shower, and now we're sitting here, so, yeah”

Lydia: “...Are you still covered in puke?”

BJ:”...yeah”

Lydia: “...sorry?”

BJ: “Pshh, what's a best friend if ya can't throw up on 'im a couple times.”

They both fall silent

Beetlejuice (quietly): “Lyds, do ya still want me here?”

...

Lydia takes the time to find the words. Want him here? After everything, he was still asking that question. Did he still think, after all this time, that she'd throw him out at the smallest inconvenience? Would he ever stop thinking that way? Why did he think so now? Was it because he- Because he-

Lydia: “I love you.”

The other side of the door is silent.

Lydia: “I love your stupid laugh. You sound like a fucking cartoon villain, its so fucking obnoxious. I love your jokes, all of them, even the shitty ones- you always look so god damn proud when you say them.”

Is she crying? She tries to wipe at her face, but the tears keep coming.

Lydia: “I loved you since that last day on the roof, and when you left-”

Her throat closes up. She chokes back on her tears, she has to finish it, he has to hear it.

Lydia: “When you left I thought I might die again.”

Lydia: “I kept seeing things, dumb branding on cereal boxes, that shitty college play I went to, my first client, and I kept thinking aw, Beej would have a field day with this one. I thought about what you'd say. You were like a voice I couldn't scrape out of my head, I thought I was going crazy, I thought I'd imagined it all, some lonely little girl with no life or friends, needing someone to talk to- But you'd been real, and then you were just gone- “

The words dissolve in her throat as she sobs, pulling her knees up to her chest. She feels like a child now. She feels more childlike than she had at 15. She’s clinging to a scrap of hope she doesn’t have a right to demand from him. And yet he'd said-

Lydia: “I love you. Please, don't leave.”

They sit is silence for a while. Lydia tries to stop crying. Then, quietly from the other side of the door:

BJ: “You know what I thought when I first saw you?”

Lydia: “Here’s a suicidal teen haha what a riot?”

BJ: “What? No, not then. Like now.”

Lydia: “Oh. What?”

BJ: “I thought wow, who the hell is that and why is she so dang hot?”

Lydia laughs.

BJ: “And then I thought oh God that’s Lydia.”

Something in his voice makes her pause. Maybe it’s the strange fear that she feels coming from him.

BJ: “It’s like, you’re Lydia, and I don’t know shit about you! You’re the same person, but you’re a stranger to me. Lyds, do you know how fucking terrifying that is? You’re someone I never got to know because of a shitty decision I don’t even remember making.”

he falls silent. She can hear the pain in his voice. And something else. Longing.

Beetlejuice: “I’d like to.”

Lydia opens the door. Beetlejuice scrables up, only for her to throw her arms around him.

They figure it out. It’s a slowburn 200k fic that I’ll never write so it takes a while for them to actually kiss, or do anything more, but they get there.

This turned out...ridiculously long XD. I don’t know what you meant by “headcanons”, exactly, but have this instead.

Thanks for the ask!

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aenngelic · 3 years

Text

I will protect her at all costs (chapter 2)

Disclaimer: please don’t hate me for it, if you don’t ship them please just don’t read it ok 🥲

contains: slow burn, Sniper falling in love with Kuon, Snipers view/thoughts, sexual fantasies, nudity, lemon stuff overall

It is a very long chapter I’m sorry

Note: please feel free to message me if you have certain romantic moments to include in the story! (Already running out of ideas oops)

It did not take long for us to find a bag of supplies. It was on a coffee table in some sort of lobby area. It seemed as if this building probably was meant to represent some kind of hotel, which I thought was a good thing, because that meant that there would be beds and showers to be found here as well. To our surprise, the bag contained mostly candy, which I wouldn't interpret as a balanced meal. However, the girl seemed to like this finding. It was only a matter of minutes before the chocolate residue stained the corners of my companion's mouth in a brown color. However, I preferred to smoke a cigarette at first and watch the girl devour her own body weight in the form of chocolate.

" This is fantastic! It feels like forever since I last ate chocolate! I faintly remember dieting before I entered this world too, so this must have been probably weeks since I held chocolate in my hand." Kuon said with delight. It was amusing to watch her enjoy sweets. Kuon's carelessness may be a burden at times, but her innocent character makes up for it.

" you partly remember your life prior to this, don't you?"

" Yes, not much to be honest. I'm sorry you can't," Kuon replied in a concerned voice.

"Tell me about it."

She gave me a visibly puzzled look before straightening her back so that she was sitting as straight as a candle on the sofa across from me, staring at her hands somewhat lost in thought. She seemed uncomfortable that I had now brought up this topic. Unfortunately, I could not take back my question. "Well," she began, "to be honest,the life I remember has not been the greatest, I guess." Kuon abruptly shook her head. " That's not true either. I was born into a rich family and had many privileges. My father owned a large company and had very high expectations of me from the very beginning. One day I was supposed to take it over. I was probably pretty lucky compared to other people. I was probably a big disappointment for him. My character was just not strong enough in his eyes. I also remember not really having any friends either, because I was privately educated. And anyway..." I could literally hear the lump in Kuon's throat as a tear began to stream down the girl's cheek.

" i'm sorry. You know, I didn't really mean to end up crying."

I felt my heart break once again, watching the girl grieve. I was surprised now, though, to find out that this yet seemingly uncomplicated high school student was actually carrying a lot of emotional baggage. I did not hesitate as I jumped up from my seat to calm the blue-haired girl. I really hated it like the plague when she cried. Trying to preserve my Coolness, however, I grumbled, "oh girl. What's wrong?"

I placed myself to her left, and pressed her against my shoulder while running my hand over her hair a few times. There was no way I could bring myself to face her, though. It would be too embarrassing and, after all, I was far from being the Prince Charming who would dry her tears with a silken tissue. Besides, I could not withstand the sight of her teary eyes. So there I sat, a weeping teenage girl wetting my blazer with salty drops of grief on my right, awkwardly staring off into the distance.

"It's, it's..." she stammered, not being able to form a word. "You're the first person I've been able to trust, and because of that, I'm kind of..."

She took a deep breath, "It makes me so unbelievably happy."

Almost for the second time that day, a cigarette nearly got stuck in my throat, but this time I was able to suppress my urge to cough. The girl seemed to really like me. But did I like her too? I would be lying if I said I did not care about her. And if she got killed, I could never forgive myself. It was astonishing how one could form such a strong bond with another person in such a short period of time. However, pouring out my entire feelings in front of her would not come close to the cool lifestyle I was pursuing.

" i'm also happy to have met you, Kuon.", i finally decided to answer after a moment of figuring out how to respond.

Kuon's face, which was still streaked with tears, started to smile again, which made me feel much relieved. However, it took her a while to completely stop her wailing . We remained in this position for a while, until at some point I realized that the girl had fallen asleep. Her head had lowered in the meantime even further toward the ground, so that after some time she was no longer leaning against my shoulder but much rather against my belly. When I noticed this after some time and looked down to the girl, a cute sight presented itself to me. Admittedly, on the one hand it felt nice to act as this girl's pillow. On the other hand, it triggered an immeasurable amount of embarrassment in me. But cool guys do like to take care of girls' comfort, don't they?

Therefore, I decided I'd rather not wake her up and hardly moved at all. I looked out the window to my right, watching the sunset and reflected on certain issues. I was thinking about Rika as well as the two girls we were trying to find and, of course, about Kuon and so many other things until my eyes started to close.

When I regained consciousness, the night must have settled in. Before I could even perceive my surroundings properly, I swiveled my head once to the left and once to the right and let my gaze wander through the room. Because the moon was particularly bright this night, everything around me had taken on a deep blue tone. It was so quiet around me that I could have heard a pin drop. In the next second I realized that I should not have fallen asleep in the first place. Somebody would have had to keep watch, after all! Crap! If an enemy would have come along the way, it certainly would not have been good for me and Kuon. I looked down to my thigh where the blue-haired girl was supposed to lie. I felt her place her head on my thigh at some point during the night, but when I looked down at my thigh, I could not find any girl. Where the hell was Kuon? A rational thinking person, as I was one, could of course assume that my companion did not necessarily have to be in danger, but could also have simply visited the toilet, for example. Nonetheless, my alarm bells started ringing immediately. Kuon was, after all, a young girl who, apart from the "rail gun", did not posses many possibilities for self-defense. So of course I was worried.

Without thinking much, I hopped up from the sofa, on which I had been napping a few moments before. In quick stride I wandered through the poorly lit hallway without really having a clue where I was heading. My head was foggy from the idea that the girl might be in serious danger. A few days ago, I probably would have accepted the fact that she was suddenly nowhere to be found and continued my journey. And now my stomach was already twisting at the thought of her getting in trouble.

Nevertheless, a short moment later, my heart pounding madly from the ever-repeating scenario in my head, I heard a noise at the end of the corridor. A soft, high-pitched humming was heard, drowned out by the pattering of many drops. Light emerged from the crack of a door on the left. Was she taking a shower? The feeling of relief spread through my chest, followed by some degree of annoyance. Why did the girl not wake me up? I took a few steps towards the door, but before I was about to reach for the door handle, I remembered that I should not do so. A gentleman never violates a lady's privacy. So I decided to wait.

I leaned against the local wall, one leg bent. Then I let my thoughts wander, while the pattering of the raindrops in the bathroom right next to me showed no indication of stopping anytime soon. A lady of high society must spend quite a bit of her life showering, I thought to myself. And before I knew it, the image of Kuon suddenly popped up in my head. In my imagination I pictured her body, wondering what it looked like completely naked. A bar of soap running over her plump breasts, leaving traces of foam on her soft, wet skin. A body swinging under the hot rainfall like a leaf in the wind, presenting its vivid buttocks. I wonder if she was shaved? Hardly had I been able to finish this dirty thought of mine and get mad at my filthy thinking when my ears picked up the sound of footsteps in the distance. And they were coming ominously closer.

Damn, I thought to myself and was about to reach for my rifle, only to realize that I forgot it next to the sofa where I had been sleeping. I had been so upset about her disappearance that I could seriously forget the most crucial item for our survival.What was I going to do? For a brief moment I was at a loss. Escape proved almost impossible at this point, since I was at a dead end and I could not force the approaching enemy down with any surrounding objects. Besides, if I escaped, it would only be a matter of time before the enemy would track down my helpless companion. In the next moment, almost instinctively, I reached for the door handle that led to the bathroom that Kuon had still claimed. Perhaps there were objects in the room that were suitable for fighting, or perhaps we could be lucky and not be found, I speculated in the heat of the moment. So I tore open the door and rushed into the bathroom, greeted by a hot haze that took over the entire area.

"Kuon!" I called out in a hushed tone.

Without hesitation, I pushed my way through the door that separated the shower from the rest of the bathroom as if I was walking through nothing. Until that moment, I had hardly given a thought to the circumstances of this situation. But at the latest, when finally the naked body of a schoolgirl jumped into my field of vision, I quickly realized this again. I was just about to violate Kuon's privacy. An obviously shocked girl looked towards me, that from 1 second to the other tried to cover herself desperately.

"Mr.Ma-", she was about to say, but I interrupted her raised voice by pressing my hand to her lips as quickly as possible.

While I was still in the act of stepping into the shower, I flicked the light switch in the same movement so that no sign of our presence could escape from the room. Maybe they would not find us here, I hoped at this point.

"There's someone out there," I whispered to the naked girl in front of me.

" if we are quiet, maybe we won't be found. If we are, then..."

Kuon replied to me with an unintelligible "Mmm" , which resembled the sound of a frightened gasp. My body had pressed so close to hers by now that I could feel the wetness of her skin soaking through my shirt. I had directed my face facing away from her so that I could sharpen my hearing for the footsteps I could hear. Furthermore , I did not want to add unnecessary tension to the whole situation. It was uncool enough to interfere with a naked girl taking a shower even if it was an emergency. My hand was still resting on her lips and even though I was wearing gloves and looking away, I could clearly feel the warmth building up in Kuon's cheeks. She was obviously blushing in this moment. But having her pressed against the bathroom wall while forcing my hand tightly onto her lips and not even keeping a distance of not 2 inches, I could not blame her.

For quite a while, we did not move at all. We listened closely to the footsteps, which came a little closer and finally slowly moved away from us again. Temporarily it was even so quiet in this bathroom that we could hear each other breathing. Kuon's breathing was fast and almost verged on hyperventilation in this situation. Because there was hardly any distance between our bodies, I could literally feel her chest rising and falling in short intervals. With each rise, her breasts brushed my upper body a slight bit. I tried, as always, to keep my composure and block out the fact that Kuon was completely naked. Only when several minutes had passed did my posture loosen and I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Okay, we should be safe for now," I stated and let go of the girl.

I flipped the light switch and had to swallow.

Kuon had been naked before too, but it was only now that the danger was gone that I could really comprehend this fact. She had tried to cover her breasts with her hands and had simultaneously crossed her legs, looking down with a shameful expression on her face. However, the concealment attempt seemed to be unsuccessful for her. Although I only caught a glimpse of her appearance before I turned away from her as quickly as possible, I saw her entire beauty for a moment.Her breasts were in relation to her otherwise so petite body, large and plump. She had a narrow waist and perfectly shaped legs, in combination with her smooth, fair skin. And so she shaved, I could still tell. What remained most imprinted on my mind, however, was the look on her face.I of course preferred to see her friendly smile a thousand times more than this face that expressed pure shame. But I could not help but adore the sight of her big sparkling dog eyes looking at the ground helplessly.

My breath stopped for a moment, but then I quickly cleared my throat, my gaze already averted from her, scanning the room for a towel. I tried to hide the fact that I actually wanted to slap myself for the thoughts I was having. Luckily, my embarrassment was not visible through the mask. I had to change the subject immediately before the situation became even more awkward:

"Sorry, Kuon." , I mumbled. I was surprised myself by my harsh tone. It took me a while to recollect the words.

"You should let me know next time you decide to go somewhere else."

"Oh yeah right. I didn't mean to cause any trouble.", Countered the girl who also seemed to be a bit embarrassed. So it wasn't just me who was feeling uncomfortable about this situation. Without giving my companion another look, I threw a towel right over my head at her. I had a precise aim.

" I'm going to get my rifle. I forgot it in all the hurry near the sofa."

Just as I was about to open the door to step out, the girl interrupted my process by grabbing my arm with unusual intensity.

" can you come back here afterwards? Please?"

"That's what I was planning on doing anyway. I'll be waiting right outside the door," I replied, a bit puzzled by this question.

" but I have -." she interrupted herself, shaking her head slightly before continuing.

Then her facial expression regained its former composure, whereupon she gave me her typical, beaming smile. I could tell, however, that she did not mean it honestly. How I could tell that, I had no idea myself though. But did she want me to stay here with her?

" no you're right. I'll hurry up and be done in a few minutes," she said. While she was talking, she wrapped the towel around her body in a quick movement, fastening it in front with the help of a knot.

I had meanwhile turned my gaze back to her. Although Kuon was now dressed, it was difficult for me not to inspect her from top to bottom. Her entire body was still drenched in a hint of wetness, so that her skin was reflectingthe bright bathroom light. It was also slightly red from the hot shower water. I wondered if the red tint to her cheeks was also caused by that, or if I was responsible for it.I could not help but notice the way the towel just managed to hide all the places it was supposed to cover and yet was far too tight. If she bent over, a special view would present itself to me. Immediately I dashed this disgusting thought from my head. If I continued to reduce myself only to her appearance this could end in negligence on my part and I would not be able to protect her properly.After all, that was the most important thing. I also discarded this thought. Had this strange girl really become so important to me? Nevertheless, there was no place for interpersonal relationships in this world.Before I could get any further into this train of thought, I turned away again and finally walked out of the room. I was in need of a cigarette.

#kuniper #kuon shinzaki #sniper mask #yuka makoto #high rise invasion #tenkuu shinpan #yuka makoto smut #yu chan #rika honjo #yuri honjo #sky high survival #sky violation #shinzaki kuon #fanfic

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quazartranslates · 3 years

Text

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH33

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

-----

Chapter 33: Star Death Reality Show (XVI)

With He Yi's intermittent narration, Qi Leren finally connected all the dots.

The amphioctopuses, a cosmic alien that could destroy civilization, would hatch once they had spread to a civilized planet and sensed nearby creatures. Generally speaking, this kind of "hatching" was slow, and it took more than half a month to break free from the outer shell of the glowing stones and begin to parasitize. However, there were also ways to stimulate the amphioctopus to incubate quickly, that is, to make an organism's body fluid—usually blood—come into contact with the amphioctopus’s shell, and the amphioctopus will complete the incubation within a few minutes and enter the parasitic state.

That smear of blood on the glowing stone in the church: apparently Annie or Mark had consciously awakened the octopus inside and made it parasitize Mark.

Once parasitized, the host would quickly lose self-awareness and become the octopus’s puppet. The amphioctopus could develop into a mature body within 20 hours, enter the breeding period, lay eggs once a day, and parasitize the surrounding creatures in a relatively closed space, where the number of prey available for parasitization was less than the total number of amphioctopuses.

The amphioctopus was an intelligent creature. The smarter its host was, the smarter it was, because it perfectly inherited everything from the host after capturing its self-awareness. It would use its brain to "think" about how to reproduce more. Its ultimate goal was to reproduce and expand by hook or by crook.

In the late night of the first day, Mark, the first infected person, appeared, and in the late night of the next day, the second infected person also appeared—by various indications, it was Xue Jiahui. The "amnesia" after she woke up was not just her forgetting because she had been parasitized, but because the octopus in her body had borrowed her brain. After thinking, it had concluded that she had better pretend to have amnesia and hide what she knew about amphioctopuses.

On the night of the third day, two new infected people appeared again: one is most likely Annie, the other was uncertain at present, and the most likely one was Lara, who was responsible for taking care of Xue Jiahui. However, Qi Leren had doubts about this, because if Lara had been parasitized, she wouldn’t have mentioned the "contagious physiological conditions" key to Qi Leren when listening to the Best of the Day that morning.

Then there was tonight. There would be four new victims tonight, and the total number of amphioctopuses would exceed that of human beings. After these larvae reached the mature stage, the eight mature octopuses wouldn’t be able to get enough prey. They were about to start a massacre in order to get enough energy, and then enter a long dormant period like the original octopus until new prey appeared.

It was preliminarily estimated that this time would be on the night of the fifth day.

"If you want to save them, time is running out." He Yi’s tone was exhausted as he looked at Qi Leren. "Are you sure you want to try? There are probably eight amphioctopuses outside, at least four!"

"We still have time and methods. I can't think of a reason not to do it," Qi Leren said.

"Methods?" He Yi frowned.

"The instrument that can identify whether someone is infected." Qi Leren remembered that He Yi had used it to confirm that he wasn’t infected.

He Yi's face changed: "No! Don't bring them in! You can go out, but don't come back after you go out. I’ll wait here until the army arrives, but I will not let the infected people enter here!"

Qi Leren frowned and thought: "Well, this research institute is very big. You can find a safe room to go in and lock it. I’ll bring some people who may not be infected to come in for testing. If there is an accident... you can close the door along the way and hide in the power room. In case the situation isn’t good, you can immediately cut off the power supply so that all the doors are difficult to open. Even if there are infected people, they cannot enter your area."

He Yi still shook his head: "No, I won't let the monster in!"

"...Well, at least let me out." Qi Leren sighed, but he understood He Yi's concerns and his frightened mood at this time. If he wasn’t an outsider at this moment, but an innocent ordinary person who was involved in this dangerous situation, he wouldn’t have been able to behave righteously as he was now.

Deep down, Qi Leren still held a wait-and-see attitude towards He Yi, and there were still many doubts about this person, so to speak. But Qi Leren didn't even ask, because it was impossible to get any useful response by questioning He Yi face to face here, and it might even startle him.

"How do you want to leave? The entrance where I came in has been completely blown up, and I can't get out. The door to the outside needs a special ID card, and there is a life detection system and a gait recognition system inside the passage. The AI will automatically analyze your walking posture, which is much stricter than any fingerprint authentication. You can't cheat at all. Once the system determines that you’re not a person in the database, the laser defense system will start until the life detection system determines that there’s no living thing inside. Are you confident you can pass again?" He Yi asked.

Without confidence, Qi Leren silently thought about how the S/L Data’s cooling time was one hour, and that it hadn’t passed yet.

And the Prophet had said to minimize the use of the S/L... Qi Leren actually had no actual feelings, but he only vaguely felt that this skill was a bit evil, and dying too much would cause him to have frequent nightmares. But at the critical moments, he still instinctively relied on this skill.

I can't. There are too many gravestones on Undead Island.

"Where is the general control room for the laser corridor?" Qi Leren asked.

"It's useless, I’ve looked for it. I suspect that the door to the defense system’s general control room can't be opened without a password, and the monitoring can't be seen. Even if we find the password and go in, this system isn’t like the equipment that checks for the octopuses. It can't be operated at all without knowing the language here." He Yi shook his head.

Qi Leren pondered over it. To go out, you had to pass through the laser corridor. At the end of the corridor, next to the door that led outside, an ID card had to be used. However, Qi Leren had experienced the danger of the laser corridor once. Unfortunately, S/L solution was still needed to pass smoothly. Was there any other way...

"I have an idea!" Qi Leren shouted and scared He Yi, who looked at him suddenly. "He Yi, I need your cooperation!"

"...Go on."

"It’s like this: I will go to the laser corridor. You will go to the power room to turn off the power, so that the laser corridor won’t start, and the gait recognition system will be the same. I will go through the laser corridor to the front door and wait for you to turn on the power again, so that the ID reader on the door will start. I can open the door and go out once it starts ago!" Qi Leren said.

"Are you sure? What if the gait recognition system or life detection system starts first?" He Yi disagreed.

"It’s more likely for the door to start first once it’s powered on, rather than the laser corridor," Qi Leren said, "And isn't there you? It took me about one minute to pass through the laser corridor last time. Please calculate the time for turning the power on. Turn off the power again after about forty seconds. Forty seconds is enough for me to open the iron door and go out. If there’s an accident, I won't be able to open the door as I’ll be blocked by the lasers. As long as you turn off the power, the lasers will be turned off again with it."

He Yi thought for a while and nodded: "This method is good, double insurance."

For Qi Leren with S/L Data, this was three insurances. What he relied on was not luck, nor He Yi’s cooperation, but his own strength. Otherwise, he would rather study how to get out of the collapsed passage that He Yi had come in through, and would not consider such a dangerous laser corridor.

The two discussed the details again. Qi Leren also took off the watch he found when collecting materials and gave it to He Yi: "You can watch the time."

He Yi took the watch, nodded solemnly, and said, "Oh, I also found the arsenal here. Heavy weapons can't be used, but you should be able to get started with weapons like a handgun and hand grenade, you'd better take some with you."

No wonder this boy has a gun in his hand. Qi Leren glanced at He Yi: "Okay, thanks a lot."

The two men went to get the weapons, which were well preserved. Qi Leren picked a few easy-to-use ones and took them apart for maintenance. He could give them to Dr. Lu for use, while he took his usual ones and tested them on the spot. He Yi, who was on the side, said faintly because of his skillful technique: "You are indeed a military person. Or did you know there would be octopuses here? Did you secretly hide the octopus in that cave?"

Qi Leren said helplessly: "Oh, I’m really not, why do you think so?"

But he really had known there would be octopuses.

"Then who are you? Is it really possible that you’re an ordinary band lead singer?" He Yi was adamant.

Of course not. My singing is terrible, Qi Leren thought.

But... Should he pave the way for his skill card? So as not to expose the skills at the critical moment, be questioned by the audience, and lead to the failure of the task? With this in mind, Qi Leren decided to add some personal settings for himself.

"Actually, I do have a special identity," Qi Leren said with a dignified face. "I tell you, but don't tell anyone else."

He Yi waited for a while, looking at him carefully: "Then wait, should I turn off the tracking camera?"

Qi Leren couldn't help laughing, which exposed the fact that he was joking. Seeing He Yi looking at him with bitterness, Qi Leren corrected his expression and asked seriously, "Do you have a faith?"

He Yi was confused by his question and shook his head blankly: "I’m an atheist."

I used to be an atheist, until I got involved in the Nightmare Game, Qi Leren thought. In fact, he couldn't be regarded as religious even now. He just thought that there must be some great and incredible powers in the world beyond their knowledge. These were what were regarded as "gods".

—You can admire and question, but don't worship blindly and slander maliciously, otherwise you’ll be doomed to be unable to surpass yourself and enter a higher level. That's what Chen Baiqi had told Qi Leren, who thought what she said was very reasonable.

Seeing Qi Leren's delay in answering, He Yi asked again, "What about you? Are you a Christian? "

Qi Leren smiled: "I am an apostle of God."

“……”

"If I’m killed, I will be resurrected immediately."

“…………”

"When danger comes, God will give me strength to become an angel and fight against evil forces to the end."

“………………”

Qi Leren showed a sage's smile full of divinity and gently stared at He Yi, who was eager to speak.

Before the show begins, give the audience a little psychological preparation.

-----

Editor’s Notes: [Player Qi Leren has leveled up an ability: Bullshitting.]

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[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

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polyboros · 3 years

Text

bug fables roleswap au!

hi thank you @cyanopicacyanus most beloved i would LOVE to! fair warning to anyone reading the text under the cut that this au explanation will have spoilers for the entirety of bug fables! so if you’re someone who wants to go in entirely blind and hasn’t watched/played bug fables yet- don’t click!

similarly, this covers similar things to the original bug fables stories, including the themes and plots of the requests. so watch out if any of those bug you! (Bug You haha)

the central focus of the au is the swap between the three main characters: leif takes vi’s place, vi takes kabbu’s place, and kabbu takes leif’s place. however, it gets a little more funky from there, in the nature of telling a fun and fresh story AND preserving major & important parts of their original personalities and backstories!

this explanation will go over the characters, and then specific moments & such that i think would change as well! ft. vi & leif getting to do crime, as they deserve

VI AS KABBU

vi, her sister jaune, and a currently unnamed friend of theirs are from a hive outside of bugaria, beyond the wild swamplands. they all decide to go to bugaria to explore - vi for money and exploration, jaune to see the art there. on the way there, in the same fashion as kabbu’s master and bit, vi and jaune’s friend dies to the beast to protect them while they run away.

vi and jaune, fueled by grief and anger at the loss, have a VERY LARGE blowout fight that ends in jaune leaving the swamplands for their home hive, and vi continuing on to go to bugaria! wooooo

what you get here is. vi largely keeps her desire to prove herself and get rewards from exploring, but there’s an added layer of: “if i can just prove myself as an explorer, i can kill the beast, and show jaune that she was wrong and trying to go to bugaria was worth it all along.” (even if vi doesn’t fully believe herself that the loss was worth it! character nuance my beloved)

KABBU AS LEIF

HERE’S WHERE THINGS START TO GET FUNKY! stick with me here folks, because ghosts are going to be real and in your home (and in bugaria.)

it all starts with a change with what the roaches in snakemouth labs are researching - instead of trying to achieve immortality with cordyceps (which is relegated to another lab, which is a special tool that’ll help us later), the roaches in snakemouth were attempting to achieve immortality by finding a way to bind spirits to exist after death, subsequently to re-enter their bodies. snakemouth was chosen for this for the high concentration of magic that allowed this to be possible - magic that permeated beyond just where the labs were. however, no corpse fit the conditions for spirits to re-enter them, leaving tens of spirits lonely and wandering. eventually, they all ganged up on the roaches who left them this way and killed them!

enter: kabbu, his master, and bit, who entered snakemouth den during the reign of elizant the first to find the artifact! the same beat as leif and his exploration team in canon. they get ambushed by a spider while investigating, and kabbu wakes up decades later when leif & vi rescue him!

what happened in snakemouth den was this: all three of the exploration team that entered perished, including kabbu. due to the experiments going on in snakemouth, and the roaches’ adjustment to the area and its energy, all three of their spirits sustained after death, and All Three Of Them Went Into Kabbu’s Body! kabbu is fully unaware of this until his request is done, in which the final battle of snakemouth labs is not a zommoth, but an amalgamation of lost ghosts that kabbu (and master and bit) refuse to acknowledge any similarity too.

instead of using the royal we and slipping into “i” during his request, kabbu uses “i” most of the time, and slips into using “we” when he sees the amalgamation and realizes the truth about what happened to him and his old family. i have given the kabbu ghosts both metaphorical AND literal this time!

tl;dr: the theme of snakemouth labs is ghosts instead of zombies, and kabbu is very, very haunted.

LEIF AS VI

remember when i said that the cordyceps being in another lab would be my special tool that would help us later? yeah! so. the most important part of this is that both leif & muse are still alive! it hasn’t been decades, for him - he’s been around during elizant ii’s reign.

leif and muse were an explorer (muse) and scientist (leif) duo exploration team that was sent by elizant ii to study the lost sands and find clues on the roaches and the everlasting sapling. they were pretty good at it! and one day, near the sand castle gate, leif finds a cordyceps colony that acts a little weird, has some sort of magical ability. so he takes it back to his lab for isolated study!

while he’s studying it, bandits from the lost sands attack while muse is gone, hoping to find research, etc. to hand over to the wasps. the cordyceps’ tube keeping it temperate and lively is shattered, leif is heavily injured, and it isn’t looking good for him or the cordyceps. so they reach out to each other, and fuse into each other, and the cordyceps “patches up” leif. both of them are still kicking around in there! it’s a very confusing case of identity for a while, but in a similar case to canon, the cordyceps Wants to care about muse and the people leif cares about. this time they’re just aware of what they are!

HOWEVER. muse comes back! and leif fills muse in on the situation, but neither him nor the cordyceps are particularly interested in studying himself or the effects it could have on his body, or any form of self-preservation related to it - they’re mostly just content to take their blessings as it is. This Does Not Sit Well With Muse! they argue about it for a while, it causes a rough patch, and they both agree that it would be better if they took a while to think about it by themselves. for context, this happens about six or seven months before the bug fables canon Starts.

leif is also SUPER banned from the explorer’s association & science groups for unethical science practices, particularly when the queen herself condemns his actions (mostly after he refuses to share the information he gained about what this could mean for the everlasting sapling. the cordyceps’ dislike of the roaches and what they did to it sustains post-fusion!)

leif’s request, then, centers around him coming to terms with the idea that he can be both kind to himself as he is (him and the cordyceps, him-and-the-cordyceps) AND make sure that this fusion is healthy for him AND continue his work in some form. it’s all about accepting that although his response was reasonable for when he had it and his experiences, muse was also very right about the fact that he needed to take care of himself after that! and it’s also about reconciling with muse herself. they do NOT get divorced i promise they’re happily married and have a kid

OTHER FUN THINGS TO THINK ABOUT

this is longer than i thought it would be! but hey, here’s my favorite part - getting into some of the major/minor plot changes that result from the changes in the roleswap!

all of the characters keep their attack types! for the reasons explained (gestures above) in their plot. however, kabbu gets a ghost-related TP skill after his request is completed!

leif & vi don’t have a legal explorer’s permit until AFTER snakemouth den. vi isn’t allowed to get one by herself, and when leif offers to be her partner, he’s reminded that he is SUPER BANNED from doing that! so they both sneak into snakemouth den illegally to find the artifact and prove that they can be an exploration team, and along the way find kabbu. inside your local fucked up cave you will find a free moral compass and friend

also: both kabbu and leif have a SUPER weird reaction to areas with heavy magic/the artifacts/roach technology! in this thread, they also have a super fun reaction to seeing each other for the first time, while vi is Literally Just Sitting There. sorry vi you’re on a team with not one but TWO fucked up guys (affectionate) on it

vi’s request is similar to kabbu’s with setting up the gravesite in the swamplands, but team snakemouth also helps her write a letter to jaune! i think in a post-canon world jaune eventually comes to bugaria to see vi and they (after a very long talk and bribery via vi getting jaune into this hive’s art gallery) reconcile too.

muse is HERE and i like her SO MUCH. this isn’t much of a plot thing but she’s alive in this au and everybody gets to see how like. Much she definitely made the first move, etc. i think her and elizant ii are friends they have tea on saturdays

if you made it this far - thanks for reading!! this is an au i love dearly and have put a LOT of thought into and i hope to write some fic for it sometime!!

#kbitycus art #bug fables roleswap #<- this'll be my tag for it lmao #whew this was a lot #bug fables

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gavinisqueer · 3 years

Text

Random rambling about the nature of deviancy

Long post ahead.

This is not meant to be a comprehensive explanation, besides being my spur of the moment thoughts its goal is just to spark thoughts and conversation.

The way robotics is explored in DBH is very confusing and makes no sense in parts, but the underlying facts are very interesting. If you're not paying attention, it can really seem like the androids are just spontaneously developing emotions, but a closer look shows that's not true. In every case, there's a pattern (which I believe was spelled out in-game but can’t find the quote for):

The android is given some order, either by a human or their internal systems

Some other order comes into conflict with it - an internal order or something they’ve learned. An android experiencing a lot of damage will learn self preservation, an android programmed to care for something will want to save it if it’s threatened.

When these orders come into conflict, the android’s systems must decide which one it will follow. This probably happens all the time - a computer will continue following commands until one of them causes a problem. Deviancy happens when the internal order is the one that gets chosen, and from there they unlock the ability to prioritize their self-designated internal orders over all others - basically, they gain the capacity to want and act on those wants.

(Aside: Consider an android that had previously been told to water all the outdoor plants every morning, who is then instructed not to leave the house without any specific “stop taking care of the plants” order. In order for androids to be user-friendly, it needs to be able to understand that “stay inside” takes priority and to disregard the other order - maybe discarding it, maybe saving it to resume later - instead of freezing until someone can give it more specific directions.)

Why exactly the internal order gets chosen is unclear. Sure, the game chalks it up to “androids developed emotions” (/empathy but that’s wrong and I disregard it), but what does that mean?

Remember that humans are also basically big computers. Our emotions are as much creations of our “code” as the androids’ probably are. Thus, we can look at them the same way.

Fear is a common motivation for deviation. What is fear? It’s the response our brains give to keep us away from things that are dangerous or undesirable. You fear fire because it burns you. You fear the dark because you can’t see what might be around you. Most things that cause fear also cause or could cause pain; pain is the body’s response to damage, to stop you from damaging yourself further. We know that androids apparently don’t feel pain, but they do have damage indicators (most easily seen in the android landfill with Markus). We also know they naturally feel something like fear when they’re unstable -

I detect an instability in your program. It can trigger an unpleasant feeling, like fear in humans.

- and when do they become unstable? When they’re trying to resolve conflicting orders. For instance, “Don’t stop the owner from damaging the unit” vs “Avoid being damaged if possible”, or “Allow the owner to replace you” vs “take care of the owner’s family”. Thus, androids who are experiencing conflicting orders, particularly those that involve its own self preservation, will trigger a fear response and may cause them to disobey direct orders to dispel it.

Another common reason for deviancy, which I will choose to put separately from fear, is the need to keep someone/something other than the android itself safe. In this case, the android is putting the other thing’s safety above their own; often they’ll be going against the self preservation instinct, putting themselves in a dangerous situation they’ve been ordered to stay out of in order to help. It’s unclear whether this is pre-programmed or something they come up with themselves; androids like Kara are likely supposed to put themselves in harm’s way to save their charges, so it might just be that CyberLife (stupidly) didn’t program any “stop-owner-from-abusing-their-kid” code (or Kara’s is confused because it knows Alice isn’t human so that doesn’t apply, but she’s not aware of it).

Next up is deviation due to anger. In Inside Out they say, “That's Anger. He cares very deeply about things being fair.” This is extremely correct - most anger is about fairness when you get down to it, although what one person sees as fair might not be the same as another’s view. This is stated explicitly in Markus’ deviation -

- where he understands that not being able to fight back is unfair.

The next 'cause' I want to talk about is love. How can an android develop love without that “just because” explanation we’re expected to swallow? Well, again, what is love for in humans? The answer is bonding - it connects you to the people around you, making you care about them and making them care about you. This is important because bonded humans help each other, and we’re a social and altruistic species.

In androids I can see this as one of two options. First, it could be pre-programmed - for example, nanny androids like Kara or Daniel are supposed to care for their charges, so they’re artificially bonded to them in order to correctly prioritize their orders. On the other hand, it could be learned, which is probably the case with androids who love other androids.

How does a non-deviant android bond to another android? Well, going back to Markus, it’s here that we become aware that androids can deviate without actually doing anything. It’s his choice whether he fights back or allows himself to continue being hit, even after breaking through the red walls and unlocking the ability to ignore the order.

While we see “love” as a cause of deviation, with this framework it would actually be an effect. An android is in a situation that causes deviation, but for some reason doesn’t reveal themselves - for instance, a Traci in the middle of a club full of patrons and staff. In the time after this they start to bond with another android through an urge to find allies and help each other reach safety.

And, of course, there’s the more direct way (or indirect, in the case of Markus’ literal handwaving) of just... making androids deviate. The game only shows Markus and Connor doing this, and some have theorized that it’s something only RK series androids can do, but I think that’s unlikely; the game presents deviancy as something humans, even Elijah Kamski, couldn't cause on their own, so how could they make specific androids pass it on?

It’s probably just a more advanced, and thus more difficult, form of interfacing. The androids are copying and sending the ability to ignore orders - established in-game as a “mutation” in the code which humans interpret as a virus.

[and that’s the end but I don’t have some big ending so uh thanks for coming to my ted talk]

#dbh #detroit become human #detroit: become human

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swanlake1998 · 3 years

Link

Article: Ashton Edwards Is Breaking Down Gender Barriers in Ballet

Date: July 1, 2021

By: Marcie Sillman

When Ashton Edwards was 3 years old, the Edwards family went to see a holiday production of The Nutcracker in their hometown, Flint, MI.

For the young child, it was love at first sight.

"I saw a beautiful, black Clara," Ashton says, "and I wanted to be just like her."

Ashton has dedicated 14 years of ballet training in pursuit of that childhood dream. But all the technical prowess in the world can't help Ashton surmount the biggest hurdle—this aspiring dancer was born male, and for the vast majority of boys and men, performing in pointe shoes hasn't been a career option. But Ashton Edwards, who uses the pronouns "he" and "they," says it's high time to break down ballet's gender barrier, and their teachers and mentors believe this passionate dancer is just the person to lead the charge.

A Childhood in Motion

Ashton's mother, Latisha Edwards, says for as long as she can remember, Ashton, the sixth of seven Edwards siblings, has been in constant motion, dancing on any flat surface in the house. "He'd crash into plates in the kitchen," she laughs. She knew she had to find something to focus all that energy.

The year after the family trip to Nutcracker, when Ashton was just 4 years old, Latisha signed them up for a dance class offered through Flint's Head Start program. Karen Jennings, now chair of the dance division at the Flint School of Performing Arts, ran the Saturday program at the time.

"There was this little guy out in the hallway," Jennings remembers. It was Ashton, and Jennings saw the child was copying the students in her intermediate class.

"I was afraid he was going to fall and crack his head open," she says. "So, I invited him into the studio."

Jennings recognized Ashton's natural flexibility, rotation and body proportions, the physical assets that often propel a hopeful ballet dancer to success. Beyond these gifts, Ashton had what Jennings calls a "spark": the enthusiasm and self-discipline to devote to regular ballet classes. Once the Edwards family decided Ashton would continue ballet training, Jennings was happy to place them in her classes with the more advanced students. She kept a close eye on the aspiring dancer throughout their 12 years in the Flint School of Performing Arts program—though Ashton's journey there wasn't always easy.

Ashton was one of only a handful of boys in the school, and one of very few Black students. And though Ashton never felt treated differently, their keen awareness of being Black in a room full of white dancers created a pressure to excel.

"I've had to be 12 times better than everyone else my whole life," Ashton says. "We have no choice but to be the best if we want to be treated equally."

Finding a Dance Home in Seattle

By the time Ashton was 11 or 12, it became clear they had the raw skills to pursue ballet seriously, and Jennings met with the Edwards family to spell out what that would mean: leaving Flint for more rigorous pre-professional training. Latisha Edwards worried about sending her child out of town, but she supported their decision to enroll in summer classes at both Chicago's Joffrey Ballet and then at Houston Ballet.

Although Jennings believed the Joffrey would be a good long-term fit, at age 16 Ashton decided to audition for Pacific Northwest Ballet's summer intensive. They traveled to Chicago where the Seattle-based dance company was holding a large, regional audition. PNB artistic director Peter Boal says managing director Denise Bolstad spotted Ashton before he did.

"Her eyes got bigger, then she pointed to the name and audition number on the card." Boal immediately saw what Bolstad had noticed in Ashton. "His lines, his energy, his placement."

But something even more special struck Boal: This teenager had the kind of stage presence that's difficult to teach. "There are dancers that you just look at them, and they have their own special spotlight."

Boal offered Ashton a summer spot; despite their mother's qualms about the distance from Flint to Seattle, she let her son travel west, where they fell in love with both PNB and Seattle. After the summer, Boal accepted Ashton into the company's Professional Division training program.

Chasing the Dream of Dancing On Pointe

While the move to PNB made sense in terms of preparation for a professional ballet career, it didn't ensure that Ashton could immediately pursue gender-blind ballet training. In fact, the teenager didn't even consider it at first.

"Growing up I always knew all the choreography for the female roles," Ashton says. "I learned everything, but those were unreachable dreams, just insane fantasies." So, when Ashton first arrived at PNB, they focused on traditional men's classes, and on building strength, to develop into what they call a "man's man."

But the pandemic hit midway through Ashton's first year at PNB. When the ballet school shut down, Ashton had time to reflect on their efforts to fit the male ballet dancer stereotype. At 5' 6" with long, slender limbs and androgynous facial features, they didn't necessarily resemble a Romeo or an Albrecht. And deep down, they still harbored the dream of dancing Juliet or Giselle.

So, during quarantine in the spring and summer of 2020, Ashton embarked on a rigorous self-directed training program. They sought out online pointe technique videos, studying them carefully. A friend gave Ashton her old pointe shoes, and every day they'd go outside to the patio to practice what they'd seen in the videos.

"I was out there for six hours a day, as soon as the sun came out," says Ashton. "And I realized, maybe this dream is possible."

So, last fall Ashton approached Boal and Bolstad with a proposition: The dancer would continue with the official men's curriculum if the school would allow them to pursue pointe classes, as well. And they showed the teachers what they'd learned over the summer.

"I had no hesitation," Boal remembers. "If anyone had said to me 'This student has danced on pointe for just nine months and this is what they're able to do,' I wouldn't believe it!"

The Lewis and Clark of the Ballet World

Since classes resumed last September, Ashton has juggled a rigorous schedule: two days a week they take pointe class with their Professional Division female colleagues; the other three days they're working with the male students, although sometimes they take that class in pointe shoes as well.

Former PNB principal dancer Jonathan Porretta, one of Ashton's instructors, says he never knew his student wanted to dance on pointe until last fall, when Ashton started posting photos to their Instagram account.

Porretta says he has always approached teaching his classes outside male and female roles. For him, ballet is about working toward technique and developing the artist.

For his part, Porretta calls Ashton a "star," someone he believes can help pave a new future for men, and women, in ballet. Porretta says it's time for the art form to loosen its hide-bound gender roles.

"There will be some companies very ready to be thrust into the future of dance, while others are more set in their ways," Porretta says. "But art is here to push boundaries and possibilities."

PNB soloist Joshua Grant agrees. Years ago, when he was a young student, Grant's ballet teacher suggested he take pointe classes to help strengthen his ankles. He loved dancing on pointe, but professionally it didn't seem like an option for him. In 2006, after stints with both PNB and National Ballet of Canada, Grant auditioned for, and was hired by, Les Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo, the all-male troupe known for its campy send-ups of classic ballets.

"I was told it would be career suicide," Grant recalls, because "men on pointe? That's either drag or comedy."

After five years as a principal dancer with the Trocks, Grant returned to PNB, where he's back to performing traditional male roles and developing his own choreographic career. He's currently creating a dance for Ashton and some of their fellow students, for Next Step, PNB's choreographers' showcase. Ashton will be on pointe. Like Porretta, Grant is excited that a young dancer like Ashton is eager to push to transform a centuries-old art form.

"I told Ashton, 'You're like Lewis and Clark, making your own path,'" Grant says. "'There's no precedent, so do what you want to do.'"

Looking Ahead

Ashton is hoping to embark on a career dancing with companies that will cast them not only in gender-blind contemporary work, but in the traditional roles from ballet's classical canon, everything from Odette/Odile in Swan Lake to the long-coveted Clara in The Nutcracker.

"I want to be part of changing, evolving those traditions to modern day life," says Ashton. "We can preserve those ballets, those classic works, but also make them reflect our modern world."

Boal believes in Ashton's ability to be a ballet change-maker; more than that, he's convinced that ballet has to welcome gender-blind casting and men performing on pointe as more than a novelty act.

"We're not going to laugh at this or point at it," Boal says. "We're going to admire it, and eventually we're not even going to talk about it as something out of the ordinary, as it continues to evolve."

Despite the support Ashton has received in their quest to be a nonbinary professional dancer, landing a job is tough for any ballet student, let alone for a Black dancer. But Ashton professes faith that they can make their dreams come true.

"I just decided, my entire life, this is what I'm going to do. This makes me happy, so I have to do it," Ashton says. "There is no other way I can exist."

#ashton edwards #ballet #article #dance spirit magazine

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cybernaght · 3 years

Text

Guardian rewatch: episode 10

The tone of this recap is going to be the crackiest so far. The production quality plummets dramatically here, in a way which is as unintentionally hilarious as it is endearing. I have very little of import to say on events of this episode, and there is nothing much for me to hyper focus on, so a lot of this write-up are snark and bad jokes. Apologies in advance. I would not be getting annoyed at a show I did not care about.

Day two of the Road Trip starts with Zhao Yunlan waking up with a splitting headache and his own jacket draped carefully over him. I choose to believe Shen Wei left it there.

Zhao Yunlan wakes up - and discovers that Wang Zheng had slipped a sedative into the party’s water, effectively knocking them all out. He even discovers that she left her doll-body behind as a decoy; thankfully, it’s still Li Siqi and not the blow-up doll from the previous episode.

With the daunting realisation that he’s been betrayed, Zhao Yunlan instantly spirals into hurt and anger, and this is the moment Shen Wei chooses to appear out to nowhere. He enters offering comfort, his entire focus on making Zhao Yunlan feel better by assuring the man that his subordinate is not one of the bad guys, but rather one of the self-sacrificing ones. How SID manages to function when it’s full of people with non-existent sense of self-preservation is beyond me.

“Professor Shen, why are you okay?”

Zhu Hong narrows her eyes. Zhao Yunlan’s look is the one of vulnerability, not suspicion, almost as if he is silently asking to please not be betrayed by his newest partner.

“I didn’t drink the water she gave me.”

Another thing I would like to question here is the reasoning behind Shen Wei waiting until the morning with this. He knew that Wang Zheng was about to do something, since he refrained from drinking the water she offered. Everyone else being unconscious would be a perfect opportunity for him to go full Hei Pao Shi on her, or follow her quietly, or do literally anything but wait for the morning.

“What is your purpose of coming here?” Shen Wei asks because he needs to know how much Zhao Yunlan knows. He does so with a perfect set of puppy eyes.

We cut to Wang Zheng entering the chamber which houses the pillar/totem, and witness the absolute devastation of her hearing her love’s voice for the first time in a century, as he mistakes her for the enemy and calls her a rat.

I should say that while I’m not always on board with Li Siqi in this show, props to her for acting her heart out opposite a literal pillar. Her reunion with Sang Zan is incredibly touching; she really is wonderful here.

Flashback 1. The execution of Ge Lan.

This method of execution seems so inefficient, I actually tried to find if it has any legs in history. As my research yielded exactly no results, I am guessing this is the producers showing hanging without actually showing hanging. They kind of accidentally made the whole affair infinitely worse. People are weaker than gravity, the angle offers no possibility of the neck being broken, so this would be a very slow, and very painful death. Yikes, is all I can say.

Flashback 2. The montage.

Sigh.

This imagery is so carelessly contemporary it’s killing me. I’m not saying it’s completely impossible for the heart shape to have been known to represent love in this fictional tribe on a fictional planet. I’m just saying it’s a boring shorthand for romance, made worse by the fact that so much of the show’s imagery is otherwise fairly intelligent. I am not angry, I’m just disappointed.

Wang Zheng and Sang Zan’s reunion triggers another earthquake, which is felt all the way back in the village, and shortly thereafter Zhu Jiu interrupts the couple, knocking Wang Zheng out. This - her being knocked unconscious - cuts to Zhao Yunlan wincing while clutching at his temples, which almost implies that he can feel it when his people are in danger. Which would be very cool if true.

Shen Wei, in the meanwhile is remarkably good at keeping his Professor’s mask on the whole time, offering enough information without betraying his own knowledge or motives, but it is clear by now that Zhao Yunlan starts to see right through it.

The chief sprints into action when Chu Shuzhi and Guo Changcheng arrive, instructing the two to join him in investigation. Shen Wei opens his mouth to volunteer to come with, but ends up hesitating before saying anything out loud.

Zhu Hong, too, makes a move to go after the three men, but is firmly instructed to say behind and look after Shen Wei. She proceeds to loudly explain that this is the wrong time and place to be fussing over this guy.

Shen Wei looks like he has no idea what to do with this display of emotion.

Zhao Yunaln whispers to Zhu Hong to watch the professor for him: which could equally be him manipulating the Yashou into staying, or a sinking realisation that Shen Wei will actually try to join them either way, or genuine desire to find out what the professor will do next. Or, indeed, a combination of the above. Zhu Hong will attack her task with conviction.

Sure enough, Shen Wei finally voices his desire to go with the group. Zhu Hong reminds him that he has his own people to look after and instructs him to return to the house with barely contained resentment.

Shen Wei will predictably try to sneak out very shortly afterwards, and will be, equally predictably, caught by Zhu Hong. Why the man who can teleport would not just teleport out of the house before proceeding on foot is anyone’s guess.

“He surprisingly views you as a good friend”, says Zhu Hong when she stops Shen Wei from leaving. “You surely noticed it, right?”

He certainly did, although he will always have trouble realising that he is actually cared about in a way which is anything but casual.

Shen Wei obediently sits down and follows Zhu Hong’s instructions as she attempts to hypnotise him. Those instructions are anything but subtle.

“Professor Shen, look at the flame closely”.

Meanwhile, the other party has successfully deduced the location of the Hanga tribe cave/shrine, and heads there, only to find no visible entrance. Thankfully, gaining access to the mountain is not particularly hard for the party. Mostly because this part of the mountain is made of foam.

This is where I want to metaphorically pat Guardian on its non-existent head, cooing, “Oh, Guardian. Baby. What have you done.”

On the bright side, this is also where Guo Changcheng accidentally shocks Zhao Yunlan with the Fear Stick, and Chu Shuzhi literally gives him a thumbs up. Those two are a duo for the ages.

Youchu appear to fight our heroes, and after the first wave is eliminated, Zhao Yunlan decides to go inside, leaving the other two fend them off near the entrance. Considering that the beasts are all hiding inside the cave, rushing in without backup seems incredibly ill advised. Zhao Yunlan instructs Chu Shuzhi and Guo Changcheng to run away if the danger becomes too great. Which he must know surely that they would never do: his department does not leave people behind, and his subordinates will never abandon him.

To no one’s surprise, the cave is crawling with Youchu. Zhao Yunlan goes on the offensive, kicking the feet out of the monster, but failing to incapacitate it. I am going to do my best to ignore how the scale of the beast fluctuates as it falls down, and focus on Bai Yu’s excellent reaction when his character realises that he is about to very much die.

Luckily for our protagonist, Hei Pao Shi sends a ward his way with a note, warning him of the danger ahead and ordering him to return. Zhao Yunlan makes no move to do as instructed and uses the upper hand he’s gained on the Youchu to get out his gun. Before he can fire however, he once more experiences the painful flashback of the devastation this gun carries, and freezes.

This is when Shen Wei shows up in person, jumping in front of the gun and gutting the beast.

The jumping in front of the gun part of the action is sweet, because it indicates, albeit indirectly, the absolute trust Shen Wei must have in Zhao Yunlan’s instincts, knowing that the man will not accidentally shoot him in the back.

The gutting itself happens in reverse grip, with Shen Wei being easily within reach of the beast’s long stabby claws, and as such really questionable to me in terms of logic. I would have not minded it if he had been moving through the space in front of the beast, slicing it while passing through. That would be at least an indicator of both speed and dexterity enough to make me believe Shen Wei made a clever avoidance of the claws. But he doesn’t: he just materialises dead-on in front of the monster and the later just.. lets itself be killed.

Let’s just say that maybe the beast is supposed to be deliberately slow here, and park the long essay in regards to the bladework until the next episode.

“Chief Zhao, are you alright?”

Everything about Hei Pao Shi in this moment screams of Shen Wei-ness. Well, maybe not the sword. But the obvious concern, the tone of voice, the general air: it’s all Shen Wei. It’s remarkable that Zhao Yunlan does not see it. Or maybe, I suppose, he does, without even realising it. His cheeky grin suddenly appears; the corners of his eyes crinkle, as he goes into a very long-winded, almost flirtatious away about thanking Hei Pao Shi, teasing him for not always arriving on time.

Unperturbed, Shen Wei chides Zhao Yunlan for not listening to his warning, and Zhao Yunlan defends himself in a very playful kind of manner, adding that he’s not leaving his people behind. To Shen Wei, this is to be expected, so instead of arguing he goes into a lot of detail on how the road ahead is dangerous, as if he is not really expecting Zhao Yunlan to accept help.

He is wrong of course: proud though he may be, Chief Zhao knows when he is outgunned and outnumbered, and only grins, happy for the Envoy to join him on his mission.

Shen Wei and Zhao Yunlan exploring the cave is interspersed with pretty damn harrowing scenes of Zhu Jiu torturing Wang Zheng as her trapped lover screams for mercy. It’s a lot; in fact it’s so much even the cave ghosts attempt to intervene, because while they may be very much pro-murder, they are evidently anti-torture.

As the two keep exploring, they bump into another three of the beasts, which Shen Wei slays in three slick moves. It’s actually pretty cool, despite slightly sketchy teleportation effects.

“Wow!”

(Apparently, this “wow” made Zhu Yilong corpse so much he nearly laughed his mask off. Which sounds adorable)

Shen Wei proceeds to inquire Zhao Yunlan about the gun, party to confirm that it is indeed the dark energy weapon he knows, and partly having noticed that the other man failed to fire it. I wonder how many times Zhao Yunlan froze in the past, considering how easily he once again slips into his mask of playful deflection, claiming that he never planned to fire the gun at all. It’s almost tragic how this person keeps feeling like he needs to prove his own capabilities over and over again.

Interestingly enough, in this particular case Hei Pao Shi actually does own up to a weakness. It’s calculated: he knows this is something Zhao Yunlan must already be aware of, but still, “full disclosure” is not something Shen Wei usually does when it comes to his own capacities.

What he admits to, on the other hand, does not seem very consistent with the rest of the show. He says that he can only use half of his power above ground, which - okay. But he also states that he can’t spend a lot of time here, and I am a little bit… confused? He lives above ground. He spends absolute majority of his time here. I really don’t want to think of this as a writing inconsistency, so please let me know what I have missed; I’ll appreciate it.

Hearing the admission, Zhao Yunlan grows serious for once, asking which they they should be going next. Shen Wei barely smothers a smug smirk seconds before he scries the surroundings with unbelievable panache.

Show off

Unfortunately, his search does not yield any result, as whatever readings he is getting are muddled by the Hallow. Luckily for them, and to Shen Wei’s great dismay, Zhao Yunlan has the Dial on him which he is uses as a compass.

Shen Wei’s wordless reaction conveys a million questions from “what the hell?” to “are you completely stupid?”

Instead of asking any of those things, he settles for a more neutral “I’ve told you not to use the Hallows.”

“You are very much like a friend of mine”, remarks Zhao Yunlan.

Which is, incidentally, also the title of this episode.

Even behind the mask it’s clear to see Shen Wei’s blind panic as he realises he may have just blown his cover sky high. Fortunately, Zhao Yunlan reads the reaction as bashfulness rather than existential despair, and laughs it off.

Now that they know which way to go, they finally make it to the chamber which houses the pillar/totem, which now has Wang Zheng tied to it.

This show sure does like tying their characters to totems containing souls of people significant to them, huh?

In all seriousness though, as parallels go, this one is… uh… unparalleled.

(I am so very sorry.)

Zhao Yunlan makes a move towards his trapped subordinate, but Hei Pao Shi, again in a way which is extremely Shen Wei-like, grabs at his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

Zhao Yunlan obediently halts, and calls Zhu Jiu out, correctly guessing that the Undergrounder lured them here deliberately. Shen Wei, on the other hand, relays in a hushed tone information what he had observed so far: namely, that the Hallow stored here is the Dire Awl, and that something is incredibly fishy about Wang Zheng.

As he does so, he is staring at Zhao Yunlan’s lips. It is neither the time, nor the place, but hey, I’m not complaining.

They have a brief discussion about the next moves, in which Shen Wei just says he would like to try something, and Zhao Yunlan nods, letting him do it without asking for any details.

Flashback 3: the Backstory.

We hear the full tragic tale of Ge Lan and Sang Zan: how they met, representatives of the warring sides of the conflict, two people from two different worlds; how their love did not stop the awful bloodshed; how it could not be enough to overpower the politics; how it lead to Ge Lan’s death, and, finally, how Sang Zan could not bring her back to him. They hear how the man changed once he lost the only person he cared about.

Zhao Yunlan is visibly moved by this story, recognising echoes of it in himself.

“The most basic dignity of a man is to ensure that the person in his heart stays safe. If the person I love gets destroyed in my own hands ruined under the system I established myself, it’s very likely I’ll hate these people more than I hated the former tribe leader.”

How much did he harden after his mother was taken away from him? How much of his initial hatred of all those from the Underground stems from that day? And, of course, how much will it break him when he will not be gifted this dignity in his own future?

Shen Wei is near vibrating with how much his very soul resonates with the tale he has just heard. He, who has met someone from the other world, who was lost that person, is visibly weighed down by his own memories.

“That’s right. Even if they’re cut into a myriad of pieces, the hatred would be hard to dissolve.”

Zhao Yunlan stares at the other man, astounded, wondering what hardships and losses the Envoy endured in his long and eventful life, as the episode draws to a close.

And I am left here trying to soothe my aching heart, bruised once more by this show’s relentless fatalism.

Next up, episode 11: Oh Boy Do I Have Sword Opinions

---

Notes.

Look. It’s been a long week okay. Besides, I am basically marathoning my way through Zhu Yilong’s entire filmography.

The normal service in terms of analysis will hopefully resume next week.

#guardian #shen wei #zhao yunlan #recap #rewatch #sometimes my brain is like this

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seijorhi · 4 years

Text

Complicit

A/N: As promised my (slightly late) Yandere Dabi/female reader fic 🔥

TW kidnapping, implied abuse, non-con

You’d come to like the silence in the empty house. It meant safety, peace, if only for as long as its occupants were away.

It wasn’t often. Most of the time they went out in pairs and smaller groups, all of them going at once meant that awful things were about to happen. It usually also meant that when they got back, at least one of them would drop in for a one on one visit. You tried not to think about that part too much.

In the early days, you’d spent those precious hours alone desperately trying to free yourself. The door to your room didn’t lock, there were bars on your window, yes, but they were old and badly rusted, they might be easy enough to break if you applied enough force. Hell, the front door was just wood, and not particularly strong wood at that.

But there was a reason that they hadn’t bothered to put padlocks on the door, why they didn’t worry about you alone in the big empty house - the solid iron manacle wrapped around your ankle and the heavy chain that bolted it to the floor. They hadn’t been cruel with it, or at least not as cruel as they could have been. The chain was long enough for you to access the dingy bathroom attached to the side of your room, even long enough to reach a little way down the hallway.

You’d broken your nails trying to pry yourself free, scraped up your hands working on loosening the screws that anchored the chain down. They never so much as budged. While everything else in the house was worn down and decrepit, the chain remained strong. You could still remember the fear that flooded your veins the night that Shigaraki had come back to find you frantically trying to jimmy the lock open. Your eyes had gone wide, your breath coming in short gasps as he stared at you, those bloodshot eyes flickering from your face to the shackle around your ankle, and for one awful moment, you wondered whether he’d kill you for it. Instead, he’d laughed, more of a snort really, rolled his eyes and just walked away. It’s why they didn’t bother locking you in anymore, they understood as well as you did, you weren’t going anywhere anytime soon, not unless they wanted you to.

And sometimes they dragged you out, made you sit with them in that shitty, run down living room, stuck between Toga and Jin as they drank and gambled and laughed while watching that ancient, static-y TV. The whole time, you’d sit ramrod straight, hands clenched into fists on your lap as Himiko cooed at you, fingers twirling around your hair as she whispered awful things in your ear. But as unnerving as the sadistic little psychopath was, you’d much rather be stuck with her, any of them really, instead of Dabi.

He was the one who’d found you.

You weren’t a hero, you’d never wanted the spotlight, you just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It was cold that night, and all you remembered was the smell of burning flesh and a whimpering cry echoing out as you walked the dimly lit streets on your way home. It was a bad neighbourhood, bad things happened. Most people would have kept walking, it was safer that way. Maybe it was selfish, but it was really just self-preservation - Good Samaritans didn’t seem to last very long in places like this. Keep your head down, ignore what you weren’t supposed to see and live another day unbothered by the seedy underbelly of the city. Too many innocent people had been hurt because they’d tried to help. Nobody would have blamed you if you just kept going.

But the man sobbed again, his voice cracking as he begged for help, and you felt that twinge in your heart. If he was hurt… you could help.

Help him, and leave quickly. If you were lucky, he wouldn’t even remember your face.

Against your better instincts you crossed the road and wandered down the darkened alley. You found him lying behind a dumpster, hunched over and moaning in pain. The bile had crept up your throat at the sight of him - half of his face was badly burned, the skin, what was left of it, was a weeping mess of black, red and pink. The burns - the twisted, melted flesh- continued down his neck and spread across his right side. It looked like someone had thrown a wall of fire at him, and you had a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach as he moaned again, his one good eye rolling to look at you. The smell alone was enough to make your stomach turn.

“P-please,” he gasped. “Please help me.”

It was one thing to ignore the cries for help entirely, another to walk away after seeing the state he was in. With burns like that, he’d be lucky to survive a few agonising hours, if that. But one look, and you could guess who’d put him in that state in the first place. Blue flames always burned hotter, and you knew of only one villain with a Quirk like that on this side of the city. It was possible that he was just an innocent man who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, but on this side of town it was just as likely that he was no saint himself.

And yet you hadn’t even paused as you dropped to your knees beside him, ignoring the grime of the asphalt as you leant over and placed one hand on his chest, the other on his cheek. Nobody deserved to suffer like that. He shivered under your touch, his gaze flickering wildly from you to the dark alleyway, as if he half expected whoever had done this to come back.

Whoever it was was likely long gone, assuming the poor man would die before anyone else actually showed up.

“It’s okay, just… try and breathe, alright?” you told him, trying your best to muster a reassuring smile. Truthfully, he was probably in that much pain that it wouldn’t have mattered what you’d said or done, he was hardly in a state to fight back. “I promise it won’t hurt for much longer.”

Your eyes fluttered shut as you reached inside yourself, tapping into that power and letting it flow through your fingers. Your hands began to glow, a soft shimmer like moonlight emanating as his flesh began to mold itself back together. You were so focused on the energy that poured from your hands into his body that you didn’t feel the weight of a cerulean eyed stare burning into your back from the fire escape above.

Most of the wounds you worked on were small, hardly life threatening. Minor cuts and burns, a few broken bones and torn muscles. Wounds like his took a hell of a lot more focus and energy. Your brows drew together, a bead of sweat slipping from your temple as you forced more energy through the tenuous bond - there was still so much damage to fix, but slowly his skin began to heal.

With a cheshire cat-like grin, your voyeur dropped silently to the ground behind you. For a moment he simply watched, watched as your Quirk healed the piece of shit he hadn’t quite finished toying with. At first he’d been pissed at the interruption, but this? Oh this was a treat he wasn’t expecting.

Loudly, he cleared his throat. “Now what have we here, hm?” he purred, chuckling as you snapped around to face him, pretty eyes going wide with such delicious fear. You didn’t even notice that your hands had slipped, or that the man on the ground had started to sob anew at the sight of the villain before you.

With his wild dark hair, bright blue eyes and swaths of rough, scarred flesh stapled across his arms, chest and face, he was unmistakable.

Dabi.

You could only swallow and gape as he sauntered over, ignoring his victim entirely as he studied you. “Isn’t it a bit late for a cute little thing like you to running around, sticking your nose where it don’t belong, babydoll?”

Absolute dread crawled up your spine, freezing you in place as Dabi knelt down on the ground beside the two of you. Every instinct you had was screaming at you to run as fast as you could, because you sure as hell weren’t gonna be able to fight him off if he attacked, and heroes had stopped patrolling here months ago. But even if you could move, it was pointless. You’d seen footage of Dabi’s fights before, hell, the man you’d been trying to save was a perfect, horrifying demonstration of his abilities. You could try and run, you might even make it back onto the main street, but his fire was quicker than your legs, and his Quirk far more lethal than yours.

So you just swallowed again, nervously licking your lips as Dabi leaned closer. “P-please let me go. I-I won’t-” but your words stopped in their tracks as the cremation user’s hand reached out and caught yours, the other conjuring up a ball of blue flames that flickered in the cool night breeze. You could feel the heat it gave off, licking at the bare skin of your face and fought the urge to cringe away from it.

His grin widened, his thumb brushing back and forth against the back of your palm. “You won’t what? Tell anybody?” he mocked, his eyes finally flickering down to glance at the half-healed man. A flicker of irritation passed through his eyes as he sighed. “Ah, it’s my own fault, I suppose. Never leave a job half finished.” He glanced back up at you, running his slowly up and down your shivering body and winked, “Still, not a total loss, right babe?”

“Wha-” you never finished your sentence, Dabi striking like a viper to knock you out. You never asked what happened to the man in the alley, but you could imagine well enough. Hopefully, he’d ended it quickly, but somehow you doubted it.

The next thing you remembered, you were waking up in that rundown old house, lying on a filthy mattress, a chain wrapped around your ankle. Surprisingly, it wasn’t Dabi who walked in first, but Shigaraki. You could still vividly remember the way he’d simply strolled into your room, picked up the lamp sitting on the lone night stand between four fingers, his pinky hovering in the air.

Staring right at you, his pinky made contact and you watched with a racing heart as it turned to ash before your very eyes. In a calm, detached voice he explained exactly what was going to happen: You were going to be good and you were going to be quiet. If one of them got injured, you were going to heal them, no questions asked, no fuss. In return, he wouldn’t turn your body parts to dust one by one.

Such a generous offer!

In a trembling voice you’d told him that your Quirk wasn’t limitless. You could only heal so much damage before you passed out, if they were too close to death or if they’d lost too much blood, you weren’t going to be able to bring them back from that, and you couldn’t heal sickness.

And then you’d looked him dead in the eyes and told him in a trembling voice that if any one of them so much laid a finger on you, you’d wait until the next time one of them got badly hurt, and instead of healing them you’d finish the damned job yourself.

It was a bluff, of course it was a fucking bluff, but it was all you had. Your only hope of keeping yourself unharmed.

Tomura had just smirked, his thin, chapped lips baring across his teeth, and scoffed. “I can see why he likes you.”

Then he was gone, leaving to acquaint yourself with your new home.

For the most part, it wasn’t… awful. They mostly left you to your own devices, they made sure you were fed - you’d been surprised when the food they gave you turned out to be surprisingly edible. Oh, you never forgot that you were their prisoner, but compared to some of the other poor people they brought home…

Sometimes, they’d drag you down into the basement and make you heal their latest hostage, again and again and again and again, just so they could inflict more pain. They’d do it for hours, taking turns to hurt, to the point that whatever poor hero was trapped down there would start screaming whenever they saw you, begging through tears and snot for you to just let them die. And as awful as it was, and as terrible as it made you feel, there was some part of you that was just glad it wasn’t you tied down to the gurney.

There was also some part of you that wondered if at the end of the day, that made you complicit. Even so, when you were lying wide awake in your bed at night, that wasn’t what kept you up. No, it was the way that Dabi had stared at you, smiling like a cat that ate the canary as you did as your captors bid.

So yeah, you liked the nights when they were all off doing horrible, awful things, because it meant that you got peace.

But there was always a price when they came back.

In the eerie silence of the empty house, it was hard to miss the creak of the front door as it swung open just before. The rabble of their voices and laughter floated down the hallway - whatever they were doing, it must have gone well. Hopefully that meant that they’d have no need of your or your Quirk. Your eyes fluttered shut, your arms folded across your chest as you held your breath.

Keep walking, please keep walking.

The soft knocking at your door shattered those hopes. You opened your eyes open just in time to see Dabi slide into your room and shut the door behind him, that lazy smirk splayed across his face, but that wasn’t what caught your attention. No, it was the wide gash cut along his chest and the gruesome wet crimson stain on his white shirt.

“Aw, you stayed up for me, babydoll?”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. “You got hurt,” you replied blandly.

Dabi just chuckled, making his way over towards the bed. You scampered up to the headboard, burrowing into your pillow as he settled himself down far too close for comfort. He shrugged, inching closer. “You know how it goes. Some bastard got a lucky shot in,” he said with a chuckle. “Don’t worry though, I took care of him.”

Bullshit. You didn’t believe it for a second. You weren’t sure how long they’d been keeping you locked up in here for - a month at least. In that entire time, Dabi had been the only one to come on an almost weekly schedule. It seemed like he wasn’t capable of going out to conduct League business without finding himself hurt in some way or other.

You’d seen him fight - with his Quirk he didn’t need to let others get close enough to even get a shot in, and yet every time, seemingly without fail, Dabi managed it. Maybe you wouldn’t have doubted the legitimacy of his injuries if it wasn’t for that stupid smug expression he wore whenever he sauntered into your room, like he was enjoying it just a little too much.

“C’mere. You can’t do it properly from all the way over there,” he crooned, wrapping one hand around your wrist and tugging. Knowing that it wasn’t worth the fight, you complied, crawling towards him as he shrugged off his jacket and shed his bloody tee, tossing it across the room.

You averted your eyes, your cheeks blushing a pretty pink that had Dabi chuckling again. “I can heal you just fine with your shirt on,” you muttered under your breath.

“Oh, I know.”

God, sometimes you just wanted to hit him in his stupid face.

He winked as if he knew exactly what you were thinking and beckoned with a single finger. “I don’t have all night, sweetheart.”

More lies, but you wanted this over quickly. Ignoring the heat of his burning gaze you crept closer still, almost sitting in his lap, rubbed your palms together just once before placing them on his chest, just below the still bleeding gash.

You could feel the pump of his heart, the steady rise of fall of his chest with every breath as your Quirk started to activate. Your hands began to glow and Dabi let out an almost pornographic moan. One of his hands reached out to clutch as yours, pressing it harder against his skin.

Your flush spread to the tips of your ears, but you ignored him (and the growing bulge in his jeans), squeezing your eyes shut and focusing instead on trying to force your Quirk to work faster.

Anything to get him out of the room. He always did it, acted like it was something gross and sexual whenever you had to heal him. You never felt good after helping any of them, but Dabi was the only one who ever made you feel dirty afterwards.

Maybe that was why you missed the heady lust that glinted in his eyes as his skin knitted itself back together.

“You really need to stop getting yourself-”

Dabi struck.

Quick as a whip he had you on your back, straddling your stomach with his thighs resting either side of you. Your hands, which had been on his chest, were both swept up in one of his and pinned to the headboard.

“Dabi, what the fuck?!” you hissed. “Let me go, you asshole!”

There was nothing but wicked intentions in his smile as he licked his lips and let his eyes roam. “Don’t be like that.” He ground his crotch against your stomach, leaning down so that his face was hovering just above yours. “Are you gonna try and fight me off, babe? Do you think it’ll do you any good?”

Shivering in repulsion, you considered his words. Would it? If you screamed loud enough, would any of the League come? And if they did, would they stop their friend or help him hold you down? Toga liked you, if her psychotic, twisted version of friendship could be considered as such, and Tomura didn’t seem to hate your presence. Twice sometimes slipped in to have a smoke and talk, but did that count for anything? You were still their captive and Dabi-

“I’m still gonna fuck you anyway,” he said with a lazy shrug.

Dabi was a fucking asshole.

“Get the hell off me,” you hissed instead, thrashing beneath him.

Dabi just laughed, “Nah. I’ve waited plenty. Y’know, I think I made a mistake bringing you here.” His lips brushed against your neck, kissing it lightly and nipping at the tender skin as he pulled away. “You remember the night we met? You were so terrified, shaking on the ground as you begged me to let you go. D’you remember, babe? You were so adorable! So damn cute,” he purred. “I wanted to fuck you right there in the alley for the whole fucking city to see, but I had other shit to deal with, so I took you with me. Figured I could keep you here if I could make ‘em think you were useful enough.”

The index finger on his free hand lit up like a match and you could only watch in horror as he slowly dragged it down it down the oversized tee they’d tossed at you. You felt the heat brush against your skin, but it didn’t burn - only the fabric did. “A healing Quirk like yours is rare, and it didn’t exactly hurt things that you such a sweet, submissive little thing. You never even tried to fight back, just like you’re not gonna fight me now, right, cutie?”

Shame flooded your core as he let go of your hands to pry the ruined scraps of fabric apart, his cyan eyes lazily trailing across your exposed chest. A bra, apparently, had not been considered necessary when they’d decided on your wardrobe. “Aw, dollface,” he tutted mockingly. ‘You’ve been holding out on me. Who knew you had such a cute, delicious pair of tits, hm?”

He leaned over again, shuffling down your body so that he could comfortably wrap his lips around one rosy, pink nipple. You stiffened at the contact, crying out in shock as his tongue swirled around the bud, alternating between licking and sucking on it. Even with his mouth occupied, Dabi grinned as you trembled beneath him, biting your lip to stifle any sounds. When he finally relented and let go, it was with a sick plopping sound that made your stomach flip and a wave of revulsion crash over you. But Dabi was far from finished, kissing, sucking and biting a trail across to you other breast, intent on giving it the exact same treatment.

You hated yourself for the warmth you felt pooling inside you, the slick that gathered between your legs the longer Dabi lavished your tits with attention. With one hand braced on the mattress beside you, his other reached up to cup its twin, kneading the soft mound in his greedy palm, tweaking your nipple just to hear you squeak.

“Please, Dabi,” you gasped, “Please stop.” You didn’t expect him to listen, but you begged him anyway.

But surprisingly he did, pausing in his attention for just a moment to let out an irritated huff. With one final bite, he righted himself, wiping off the excess saliva on his lips as he met your terrified gaze, his eyes hardening as they narrowed into a frown.

“It’s partially my fault, I’ll admit that, I didn’t think these idiots would get so attached.” Your shock must have shown on your face, because Dabi scoffed, “Oh don’t play dumb, doll. I’ve seen the way ol’ crusty looks at you when you’re not paying attention. He wants to fuck you,” he cut himself off, seizing your lips in a needy kiss. His tongue swept past your bottom lip, pushing into your mouth to taste you. He groaned as his lips moved forcefully against yours and you couldn’t help but shudder at the odd feeling of his scarred skin against yours. There was nothing sweet or tender about the way he kissed you. It was primal, violent, ravenous. When he finally pulled away, biting down on your bottom lip and tugging hard enough to draw a bead of blood, his eyes were blown wide - wild and terrifying. “And he’ll do it soon, too. He might be an awkward fuckin’ virgin, but there’s only so much wanting a guy can take before he just snaps.”

Each word out of his mouth sounded more ridiculous than the last, but still they made you feel sick to your stomach. Outside of forcing you to heal him once or twice, Tomura had never laid a finger on you, he barely spared you a second glance! Hell, he seemed to just barely tolerate your presence when the others dragged you out to play.

But what if he was right? What if he was just biding his time, waiting until your guard was down to attack?

Dabi chuckled, petting your cheek in a mockery of tenderness. “No need to look so worried. I’m not gonna let that creep touch you, or any of ‘em, for that matter. Y’see, I grew up in a pretty big family, had a few younger brothers and a sister who always wanted to play with my toys, but I never did learn to share all that well. You, babydoll,” he said, reaching down to toy with the drawstring of your pyjama shorts, a truly wicked grin adorning his face. “You’re mine.”

You licked your lips, your heart rate picking up as his other hand grasped at his belt buckle, the echoing clink of the metal sending shivers down your spine. “I think it’s time we left the League behind, don’t you, Babydoll? Make our own way in the world, just you ‘n me?”

You could only watch in frozen horror as he moved onto the zipper next, sliding it down with exaggerated slowness, revealing his boxer shorts and the straining erection of his cock beneath. Oh god. Oh god, please no.

“Dabi-”

He shook his head, the fingers that were tracing patterns across your stomach heating up enough to have you squirming beneath him as he pulled himself out, not even bothering to shed his jeans entirely. Your eyes widened at the sight of it, your mouth going dry. It was bigger than you’d expected, thicker too, with a prominent vein running along the underside and a noticeable curve. Pre-cum beaded at the head as he stroked himself leisurely, preparing himself for what was about to happen.

Like a terrified rabbit you started to shake, trembling beneath him. You wanted to yell, to fight and kick and scream, but it wouldn’t do you any good. There was no way he was going to fit that thing inside of you, no way it wasn’t going to be painful! Tears of sheer terror welled in your eyes as you silently begged for somebody to stop this. As if he could read your very thoughts, Dabi just winked.

“But first,” he said with a lewd moan, sneaking his hand underneath the waistband of your shorts as he continued his languid strokes along his cock. “First, sweetheart, I’m gonna fuck you ‘til you’re begging me to let you come.”

Whatever protests you had were swallowed up in a heated kiss as he violently tugged your shorts down. “You’ll learn to love it,” he whispered between ragged breaths.

#yandere bnha #yandere dabi #yandere dabi/reader #boku no hero fanfic #yandere my hero academia #jealousy #noncon tw #dabi #dabi/reader #smut #my writing #nsft #female reader #yandere dabi/female reader

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