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sandytree1 · 5 months

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Criticism of Blue Eyed Samurai

Well, I just watched Blue Eyed Samurai. Been spotting several positive clickbait thumbnails of it, so even though I didn't have high expectations based on the trailer, I gave it a go. And well, it was what I feared it was. I still enjoyed it though! And it's an engaging story, just not what I wish it was. Anyways, I wrote a comment on Reddit about it, which I thought I'd repost here.

Edit: I ended up going in and reordering some paragraphs under headings, as people on Reddit replied to by comment. Noticing people are nitpicking the historical accuracy of my commentary, which wasn't really what I was concerned about. It's more that certain cues in these stories make me expect certain things.

The main point of much of this text is to look into what makes Blue Eyed Samurai a noticeably American story, by comparing it to other jidaigeki stories with a similar setting made for and by Asian people, and stories set in Asia made by Americans (for Americans).

🚧 NB! I'm still working on the text. Text marked in cursive are just notes, so please ignore them for now! 🚧

Overall verdict

I did also think of Ghost of Tsushima while watching, but in the sense that Blue Eyed Samurai lacks what I liked about it. Ghost of Tsushima did a great job with its Japanese localization, and referenced actual bushido conduct, although a little bit off still. Blue Eyed Samurai throws around words like samurai and honor, but doesn't appear to actually understand what these words entails, and only focuses on the superficial badassery of it (...)

But overall, great choreography and compositing, engaging story and characters ... Blue Eyed Samurai is good, but does veer into the uncanny valley for me, which I know was an issue Asians had with ATLA. Guess I felt it a little bit more with Blue Eyed Samurai due how much (unrealistic) violence and (meaningless) sex is glorified, and made me question what exactly the overall moral message of the story was supposed to be beyond simply "revenge plots are cool but also destructive." As somebody else said, it's giving "guts and tits for the people."

Glorification of the badassery of revenge

So, somebody replied that they thought we should be careful about romanticizing bushido, and provided examples of samurai being deceitful. This is my reply.

You missed my point. I did not want Blue Eyed Samurai to romanticize bushido, I wanted it to discuss and explore it, exactly because it throws around words like honor and samurai. A first step towards this is to acknowledge that Mizu is not a samurai.

What is Mizu?

We could argue that she is a ronin, but then she'd technically must've been serving a lord as a samurai in the past, and should be at least be a tiny bit concerned with chivalry (at least enough to discuss or talk about it), which we know isn't the case. Mizu is closer to being a shinobi/ninja, since her goal is to assassinate her 4 maybe fathers. Another thing Mizu shares with shinobi is that both are often criticised by samurai because of their penchant for ambushes and lack of concern for bushido / warriors code. Yet she breaks the mold of being a shinobi, since she doesn't really sneak around in (civilian) disguise and will openly brawl her way through a dojo and into a fort.

Mizu has a lot in common with the titular protagonis of the manga Azumi. Both are female assassins with foreign blood (bluish eyes) fighting during the Sakoku policy. While Mizu's motivation is simply revenge for the injustice she and her mother suffered at the hands of the gaijin faction, in Azumi the motivation is to prune the country like a bonsai tree off individuals which may threathen a new age of peace, and prevent the country from slipping back into the Sengoku period of civil war.

But where characters in Blue Eyed Samurai is heavily protected by plot armor, allowing Mizu to be an almost invincible pin cushion, no one is safe in Azumi and injured characters requires months to recover and heal from cuts.

While writing this, I recalled that in episode 5, they interjected a story about a samurai marrying and fathering a child with a woman who descended from an enemy clan. He kills both her and their son, which turns her into a onryō. Mizu being an Onryō works, but I am left questioning how this fits into the story beyond its symbolism, as there's been no explicit supernatural elements in the story. Mizu is bullied for being the (devil) spawn of a quote "white devil" in childhood, I think it would be more interesting if they called her a "white ghost," since onryos (which could represent Mizu) are a type of vengeful female ghost. Furthermore, Taigen often compares Mizu to a dog, esp. when she does not live up to the samurai standards he holds her to. Not sure where that fits in either..

Orientalism

So the statement about samurai criticising shinobi was called out as orientalist. This was my reply:

As for orientalism, I guess Blue Eye Samurai is being orientalist then, which I was kinda feeling while watching but didn't really put into words. It's pretty stereotypical to connect Japanese with honor and samurai after all, contributing to why I felt the show was very American.

In the sense of samurai simply meaning warrior, then we can consider Mizu a samurai. But Taigen (and Akemi) connects being a samurai with honor and complains about fair play. By making this connection, he invokes bushido/chivalry and excludes people who ambush others like assassins from the definition of being a samurai, and by extension criticises assassins like ninjas for not shying away from "dishonorable" ambushes. To restore his honor, Taigen wants to arrange a formal duel and even writes up a challenge letter (hatashijou), which makes sense in terms of the dojo trope. But well, the series does contradict itself a lot in favor of cool one liners, and what it means to be a samurai or knight has changed throughout history.

"Glory" in Azumi

As I said, the manga Azumi is what I was hoping Blue Eyed Samurai would be. Azumi is a gritty look into (among other things) both shinobi and samurai that does not romanticize either, and has won an award for its exploration of these concepts in relation to buddhism. In fact, everyone in Azumi suffers. The only one who is perhaps glorified is Azumi, who many critics compare to a boddhisattva.

Throughout the story, Azumi works to not become too attached to earthly comforts, but still suffers because of her attachment to her companions. As Azumi completes her pruning missions for her boss (the Buddhist monk Tenkai), she accumulates a lot of bad karma in the form of endless waves of people pursuing her for either revenge, the bounty on her head, the thrill of defeating a master swordswoman, etc. Because of it, 90% of her closest companions SPOILER die, and many of her friends are raped or permanently maimed, and has to deal with the trauma and practical inconveniences of it. Often because they are caught in the crossfire between Azumi's targets or those who pursue her.

By the end of the story, Azumi still ends up making new companions like usual and her boss continues wanting to send her on pruning missions. But she decides to leave them all behind, so that those she cares about will not be affected by her bad karma again. She knows she will have to stay on the road indefinitely and will never really be able to enjoy the comforts of settling down, because of her pursuers. The series makes the buddhist argument that earthly attachment in general causes suffering, and Azumi is enlightened by abandoning those attachments and by facing her karma, although that does not mean she will not end up with a violent death. The story ends openly with Azumi wandering off into obscurity.

Time period

Some people began nitpicking the historical accuracy of my commentary, which wasn't really what I was concerned about. I am open to artistic liberty. However, with BES it was a little bit harder, since they made so many historical references and leaned into the jidaigeki genre, but then broke it in ways that came off as uncanny to me. Looking back, I guess this uncanny feeling was the orientalism letting itself be known, though I couldn't put it into words back then.

As jidaigeki is a subgenre of historical stories, certain cues does make me expect certain things. Like when I see an English-speaking gaijin as the antagonist, I would make the connection that this story is probably set sometime after the Americans forced Japan to open up for trade in the 1800s. Yet this expectation is then contradicted when I learn that no foreigners are allowed in Japan yet due to the Sakoku policy, which makes me wonder what this Irishman is doing here all alone centuries too early and how he even managed to climb to such a powerful position while being so isolated.

Gaijins as antagonists

Why an Irishman as the gaijin antagonist? It'd make more sense if it was a portuguese or dutch. If Blue Eyed Samurai is set in 17th century Edo Japan, it's a long time off when the Americans forced Japan to put down the sakoku policy, and even then, why Britain/London? If anything, Japan and Britain liked each other enough to form an alliance for their shared fear of Russia.

Why not other colonial powers who were actually active in Japan and Asia overall at the time (the Dutch) or the ones who caused Christianity to be banned during the sakoku (the Portuguese).

My first thought of a precedent goes to Konishi Shizune, the Christian revolutionary leader in Azumi who's also mixed race like Azumi, which is based on the historical Amakusa Shiro.

(Depictions of Gaijins: Americans during postwar Japan in Hajime no Ippo. Senator Armstrong in Metal Gear Solid)

Japanese in Europe

With Mizu heading to Europe, I came across people discussing the plot armor and how Mizu wouldn't stand a chance against the guns nor London police. It came off as kind of white supremacist, and the entire thread was locked because of unsolicited opinions from outsiders.

To be fair, Japan had guns too at the time. According to Netflix themselves, Blue Eye Samurai takes place in the 1600s. If that's the case, it means that the guns were mostly muskets, rifles and pistols which took time to load, so people did still use swords even in Europe. And only a century earlier in the 1500s, when Dreamwork's El Dorado is set, people would still use firearms and crossbows side by side, and Oda Nobunaga also used firearms in his own warfare during the sengoku period.

Also, the police didn't exist yet, since the UK police were created in the late 1700s. As for the London battalion or royal guards storming her, it'd either amount to when she was stormed by the hand claw guys. The plot armor in the first season was a lot imo even then though. But sneaking up on them depends on the terrain and context, so I can see it happening.

Furthermore, it's not unrealistic for Japanese people to travel to Europe, because there's historical precedence for this. In 1613, Hasekura Tsunenaga was sent on a diplomatic mission to negotiate with the pope and the king of Spain, and some of his men even stayed behind to form the Japon clan in Spain. The expedition took 7 years, and ironically enough, once he returned, christianity had already been banned in Japan. The people who still kept the Christian faith in spite of this came to be known as kakure kirishitan.

Debauchery means it's for adults ..

The way characters (esp. Mizu) will throw out badass oneliners as if on a treadmill, only to contradict exactly what she said as short as 5 seconds later does mess with my suspension of disbelief.

The story also goes into protitution and patriarchy, though it also felt superficial to me. If anything it feels like an excuse for fan service, similar to Game of Thrones in a sense. Like they know that sex sells, and that's what "the audience really wants." That said, again I enjoyed both GOT and Blue Eye Samurai, even though some may laconically break the former down to "dragons and tits" and the latter to "guts and tits".

Token representation

Mizu's apprentice was born without hands, which could have brought about an interesting exploration of disability. But instead, he's relegated to being a quirky sidekick and comedic relief..

BES is an American story

Blue Eyed Samurai has all the visual motifs of a Japanese samurai story (jidaigeki), but the tropes and logic is extremely American. It does get the artifacts and set dressing of a jidaigeki story right (surprisingly accurate at some points), which is why it triggered the uncanny valley for me sometimes. When certain artifacts and set ups appeared, I expected it to follow certain tropes I'm used to from jidaigeki, but it didn't really do that.

Kung Fu Panda

In contrast, Kung Fu Panda is also in the same boat. It has the artefacts of a Chinese wuxia story, but it is ultimately based on Chinatown (a theme park-esque idea of China designed by and to cater to white people, as a Chinese American defense mechanism). However, where Kung Fu Panda is an American love letter to Chinese kung fu films, Blue Eye Samurai isn't really a love letter to jidaigeki, and caters rather to white people's idea of the stereotypical samurai.

My understanding is that Kung Fu Panda is pretty popular in China.

Yes, Kung Fu Panda is popular in China. I also enjoyed Kung Fu Panda, which is why I used it to compare what I felt was lacking in Blue Eyed Samurai. If I had to choose one to rewatch, I would rather watch Kung Fu Panda.

That said, Accented Cinema points out that although Kung Fu Panda is often used as an argument of successful orientalism, it's rather about China's own failure in representing themselves. In my opinion, Kung Fu Panda's perhaps saving grace was that it didn't take itself too seriously, yet still delivered on the serious bits when it needed to.

Patriarchy and gender roles

While I understand and appreciate your critique, I don't think the narrative is grounded in realism. It's more like expressing the need that women do have to see themselves in the shoes of a physically invincible protagonist. Also the motivation isn't simply revenge - what has happened to Mizu has convinced that her very existence is suffering. She's internalized the hate to an extent that it no longer matters whether she lives or dies. She will slowly change as a person and her motivations will also change, which I hope we get to see . All the characters are somewhere trying to rebel against their gender roles, and that I feel is the 'message'. Also as far as the right antagonist to show goes, Fowler seems an indictment of British colonialism a few centuries too soon, but his attitudes aren't unfamiliar. At all.

Blue Eyed Samurai doesn't explore the concepts it references or markets itself with, but seems to throw them around because samurai and honor sounds cool and is a stereotypically Japanese/Sinosphere thing. Instead it'd rather explore gender roles and patriarchy. And the character Blue Eyed Samurai primarily uses to explore these themes with isn't the titular protagonist, but rather Princess Akemi.

But Akemi's struggles with patriarchy, also comes off as more a Western suffragette story than a Sinosphere one.

The Princess as a Caged Bird

Other stories about gender roles and patriarchy in ancient Japan to which we can compare this to is probably Isao Takahata's Princess Kaguya, though this one is probably set long before BES in the Heian period.

Like in Kaguya, the ohaguro set is presented as a symbol of oppression for Akemi. However, instead of being explicitly oppressed by outside forces like Akemi, Kaguya is instead pressured by societies and her father's idea of what a princess should be to become happy. Throughout the film, Kaguya questions what it is all for and even counters against her governess that "a princess is not a human then!"

Princess Kaguya as a roadside flower. To be plucked in a moment of fancy, and neglected once savored and bored. Merely a trophy to be won and stowed away in a display cabinet.

The film explores what makes life worth living, by exploring the difference between humanity and moon people.

Filial piety. Fulfilling your own dreams through your offspring. Showing off achievements to relatives (accumulating merit).

Geisha and maiko in contrast to the Oiran of the red light district. Streetwalkers. Prostitution - the world's oldest profession.

Oda Nobunaga's younger sister in Nobunaga Concerto and Azumi.

Hypergamy. Tradition of men being adopted into the wife's household. The Fujiwara clan of the Heian period, who continuously married their women into the imperial family for generations. Attitudes around cheating and monogamy (Genji Monogatari).

The Fallacy of the Stereotypical Asian woman

Oshin - Resilience and endurance.

Asian women as firecrackers. There's a reason why the stereotype of Tiger Mom even came to be, because Asian women and people in general are not weak and strictly submissive, although they are often mistaken as doormats.

Honne and tatemae

Yamato Nadeshiko

While writing about this, I ended up going on a tangent about Asian women, which you can read here: The Fallacy of the Stereotypical Asian Woman.

Gender roles in Genderbender

Kaze Hikaru

Ryou

Torikaebaya Monogatari, where a brother and sister in the Heian period is gender mixed at birth, to fulfil gender roles they're more "suited" for according to societal expectations. Another Heian period text about a guy who crossdresses as a woman to get close to a woman he has a crush on.

Gender fluidity has been the norm throughout most of history.

A wolf in sheep's clothing

I guess the show is more concerned about gender roles and patriarchy. I'm actually not all that concerned with historical accuracy, but I couldn't help but be thrown off by how it felt like vastly different time periods (and thus different expectations in terms of jidaigeki tropes) were meshed together. I still stand by that the show is a very (overseas Asian/) (Asian) American narrative, which made it uncanny how accurate it still was in terms of getting the artefacts etc. of a jidaigeki right. Sort of like a "wolf in sheeps clothing," though that doesn't make it a bad thing. For example, Akemi feels more like a Western suffragette, rather than an Asian feminist. Yet the ohaguro set etc. may be a reference to Isao Takahata's Princess Kaguya, which is about feminism.

The story came off as stereotypical to me. Yet it does get the artifacts and set dressing of a jidaigeki story right (surprisingly accurate at some points). I did cringe at some points or feel the uncanny valley, but again overall the show was engaging and enjoyable.

I've enjoyed other orientalist stories before, such as Kung Fu Panda and Avatar the Last Airbender. I've also enjoyed occidentalist stories like mohuan and isekai. Yet something with Blue Eye Samurai made me cringe sometimes. Comparing it to the others I've mentioned, perhaps it's because it's set in a more non-fantastical setting as opposed to a jianghu of sorts idk. Blue Eye Samurai is still entertaining though, and may be the start of a new genre.

It's hard to explain what it feels like for people who don't have the same cultural references, so here's an example of occidentalism. I noticed that when Genshin Impact (a Chinese game) released the new Fontaine region where they decided to mix Britain, Italy, France etc., which people claimed is just plain weird haha. But Fontaine has still been well received regardless it seems. On the other hand, I still cringe every time I see Senator Armstrong in Metal Gear Solid.

Historical references

Random, but here's a list of different artifacts and set dressings that appeared in the show. The little theatre play about the ronin and his wife uses kurogo (black clad actors) to manipulate the dolls, which was novel to see. Previously I've mostly watched kurogo being used to manipulate perspective such as in this Matrix Ping Pong skit and the Tokyo 2020 pictogram opening ceremony. Traditionally, Kurogo is used in Kabuki to create special effects and are supposed to be invisible to the audience.

Mizu's husband uses a naginata, which is basically a spear. Although also used by warriors in general, it was often used by women.

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farfromstrange · 10 months

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Can I suggest something with angst (because angst with no comfort is my forte) like a daredevil x vigilante teen reader (?) They are like siblings by blood. (The reader is treated by Matt like family, and he is so overprotective of them.) They have been together for a long time. Then something came up: the reader got caught by their enemies, and the daredevil was on the run to save the reader, or something like that. (I'm bad at explaining things, but I hope you get it.) Thank you in advance. I hope you're having a great day! love u

I am so sorry for the long wait, nonnie! I feel like I owe you for making you wait so long. Since you said angst with no comfort, I decided to completely shatter you with the angst, and I hope you're okay with that! I felt a shorter piece for this request would do better to convey the emotions. I'm nervous to post this, but I hope you like what I did with this!

Slipping Through My Fingers | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x teen!vigilante!Reader

Summary: You get hurt and Matt fails to save you.

Warnings: ANGST, TW: Death, hurt/no comfort

Word Count: 1.5k

A/n: Not tagging for this fic because the topic isn't for everyone.

He’s running. The city sounds, the noise, the sirens and the blood-curdling screams follow him everywhere. The stench in the alleyways seems to cruelly try to distract him from what he’s focused on, but he can’t give up now. He is close, so close.

Matt Murdock lost the only family he had when he was just a boy and he believed he was alone, truly alone, for a very long time. And then, one day, you stepped into his life. He was at the police station when he ran into you. Well, you weren’t running, you were stuck in a holding cell. When he found out why – you were caught punching a guy to a puddle for attempting to hurt an elderly woman – and when he asked Brett for your file and confirmed that you were, in fact, only a teenager, he chose to help you out. It could have been him, after all. In his mask, getting caught by authorities, and he would have wished for someone to bail him out, too. Besides, your sassy nature when he told you he was your lawyer drew him in. You tried pushing him away at first, but then you went out again the next night, and there he was, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, and he taught you a lesson or two about being smart when it comes to being a vigilante. That was the day you started working together, and you have become his family. You’re like his little sibling, and he’s never had one, so it feels right. He can mentor you, protect you and make sure you don’t get yourself in too much trouble, and in return, you breathe some fresh air into his life. It works, and he doesn’t feel as alone now anymore. You even moved in with him.

Last night, everything seemed normal. You went out on parol together, busting up a drug ring you had been investigating long before that, and you seemingly succeeded. Though when Matt came home after work a few hours ago, he found the apartment empty, your suit still at home, and he couldn’t make out your heartbeat. When he called, you didn’t answer your phone. You didn’t text back. And you made a deal at the beginning of this that you would always call back. If you don’t, you told him, not even after five tries, and he can’t hear your heartbeat across the city, something isn’t right. But Matt doesn’t need to remember your deal to know that something happened; he can feel it in his bones.

His chest contracts as his heart grows heavier. The fear is etched deep into his bones. He has gotten so used to the sound of your breathing, not being able to hear it is torture. Like minuscule needles drilling into his brain, the agony wraps its claws around his soul and drags him down into a dark hole.

He’s running, and he won’t stop until he finds you.

Something must have gone wrong last night. Someone must have remembered he isn’t working alone anymore and grabbed you to get to him. He has an inkling, but he can’t say for sure. He’s simply following the clues that are smaller than a grain of salt, and he’s struggling to keep up. For hours, he has been running, and you are no closer to being back home than he was before.

At this point, you could be dead. You could be bleeding out in a ditch. These men could have shipped you off to Russia, enslaved you, used you– He can’t think about that now or he will stop and smash someone’s head into the nearest wall, maybe even his own. He swore to protect you and he failed, he always fails. If anything happened to you, he once told himself, it would be his fault, and it is. He should have been more careful the night before. He should have paid more attention to his surroundings. Things always end badly when he’s involved, and he believes he has doomed you. Yes, he must have doomed you and now you’re gone because of him, possibly even dead, and he is going to have to live with that for the rest of his miserable life.

Then, he smells it. The wind comes in from the right direction and he catches the slightest whiff of your shampoo, your clothes, and your blood. The latter is what causes all fuses to blow in his mind. His already burning vision turns redder, his senses blaring with the alarms in his brain and he runs even faster. He jumps rooftops, chasing after your scent – and then he hears it. The faintest hint of your heartbeat is in the distance, but it is weak, and you’re losing blood at a pace that is weakening your body.

He’s not sure for how long he runs, but eventually, his feet are sore and his muscles ache, and he can finally hear your voice calling out for him, “Matty!”

He finds you on a rooftop. Your body lies limp between two blocks of cement. The gash in your side is large, and the pool of blood that surrounds you keeps growing by the minute. Your breathing sounds labored. You reach out when you see his silhouette, barely conscious, but you have gotten used to his presence.

“No,” he chokes out and gets on his knees beside you. He pulls off his mask, pulling your head into his lap. His hand flies to your wound, but it’s not the only spot you’re bleeding from.

Bare fingers glide over your face, checking for more injuries. He finds a cut on your lip, your eyebrow has been cracked, as has your skull, and you look completely destroyed. Your life is in his hands, and you’re slipping through his fingers.

“Who did this to you?” Matt growls.

“They’re gone,” you whisper. Even though you are injured, you don’t sound scared, you’re not in pain – you have accepted your fate. A fate Matt refuses to see.

“I’ll get you out of here. You just have to hold on a little longer, and then we’ll end them together. I promise. We’ll come home tonight and we’ll have Tacos and–”

“Matthew,” you reach for his face, “It’s okay.”

But it’s not okay, he thinks. You’re bleeding out, you’re dying, and you’re too far from the nearest hospital for him to even try to make a run for it. Even an ambulance won’t make it here in time. It’s not okay, no matter how badly you want to convince him of that, and just like that another wave of blood gushes out of you and into his hand. It feels heavy, like your life’s essence is trying to escape but he doesn’t want it to. You can’t die, he promised he wouldn’t let you.

“No,” he says again, more sternly this time. “Don’t even talk like that, okay? You’re gonna be fine, you hear me?” He calls your name.

You feel yourself getting dizzier by the minute, but you’re oddly content. “I– I won’t make it–” You’re cut off by a cough, and you taste the copper on your tongue now, too.

“Shh, yes you are. Stay with me, sweetie, stay with me!”

He can say it all he wants, it won’t change the brutal reality of the situation.

You’re dying, and he can’t save you.

You pull him down by his sleeve. “Promise me,” you breathe into his ear, “That you’ll– you’ll take that trip to Eu-Europe. Promise me, Matthew. Promise me you’ll l-live.”

“Stop talking like you’re dying, I–”

“I am.”

“No. We’ll get you an ambulance and then you’ll be fine.”

A tear slips from his cheek and onto your face.

“Matthew, please, just…”

“No…”

“Thank you,” you whisper, “for everything. For- for being my brother.”

He calls your name, but the noise fades into the background.

“I love you,” and these are your last words before the dark void grabs you and hands you over into the hands of the Grim Reaper.

You look over your shoulders on your way to the light, the last thing you remember being the tears on Matt’s cheeks and the scream he lets out as you leave, your life slipping through his finger like the sand in an hourglass.

You’re gone, and he couldn’t save you. The one thing he promised to do, he failed at. He failed, and you paid the ultimate price for it.

He stands alone at your funeral. Just like him, you didn’t have anyone. He made the men that did this to you pay for what they did, and the bruises on his knuckles still burn as the sun shines down on him. It doesn’t rain, which he sees as a sign from you, a silent encouragement that it is okay for him to move on and find the light as you did, but he can’t accept it. He can’t accept that you’re gone.

You were too young to get dragged into this, and now you’re gone. It’s his fault, and beating the ones responsible to the point they fell into a coma still didn’t feel enough.

He sends a silent prayer up into the sky, but God doesn’t listen, and he doubts he ever will. Mercy is something he doesn’t deserve, and he will carry the guilt with him until the day he dies.

#request #tw: death #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x vigilante!teen!reader #not a ship fic #gender neutral #matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock imagines #human disaster matt murdock #matt murdock angst #hurt/no comfort #angst #like a lot of it

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rowdyhughesy · 1 year

Text

Holding your hand- Nico Hischier

“ I could start fires with what I feel for you “

- David Ramirez

inspired by Grace by Lewis Capaldi

word count: 1k

I'm not ready to be just another of your mistakes

I can't seem to drown you out long enough

I fell victim to the sound of your love

You're like a song that I ain't ready to stop

I got nothing but you on my mind

Falling for Nico was all consuming, he existed in every crevice, every small crack, every minor detail of your whole being.

You’d tried to push him away. Keep him at a safe distance so he couldn’t reel you in but it was all in vain. The inviting look in his deep brown eyes and soft spoken words as he talked. How he carried himself when he walked into a room.

You tried and tried to not become another one of the girls who ultimately would get their hearts broken by beautiful men.

Every time you thought he’d given up he proved you wrong. He would show up at your apartment with a smile and promises of movie nights or takeaway from your favourite diner from the corner of your street.

“Whats your deepest fear?” He’d asked one time as you were laying in your bed, covers pulled up to your chin and phone beside you on speaker. Nico away on a road trip in Canada and even though he’s so far away he still feels as close as ever. Even from the other side of a phone call.

The question had caught you off guard, just a couple of seconds ago you’d been intently listening to the soft breathing of your -newly- boyfriend. Imagining him on his back in the hotel room, blanket up to his waist and one arm tucked underneath his head. Eyelids fluttering as he tries to stay awake just a while longer so he can continue hearing your voice.

“Being forgotten, never doing anything memorable with my life so that when I die people forget that I ever existed. Not leaving something behind that reminds others of me, that I was here once and now I’m not. I think that’s what scares me.” It’s quiet on the other end. Not even a ruffling from Nico moving on the bed or sounds of breathing. It makes you wonder if he hung up while you were talking.

“You’re not forgettable.” The response is simple but you understand the underlying meaning behind them. I will remember you, I won’t let others forget you existed once, I’ll make sure you’re not forgotten.

“What’s your fear?” Trying to push down the growing lump in your throat it’s easier to place the focus on him. On his thoughts and not yours, so you won’t feel as bare as you are feeling in this moment. Like you’re showing him every worry and anxiety you try to hide from everyone all the time. To not make people worry.

“Not being what others expect me to be. The whole idea of what a first round hockey player should be and making everyone disappointed.” His voice is whispering, like you’re two little kids in a blanket fort telling each other secrets nobody else can know.

And you suppose you are those two kids in that fort, hiding in your own space just the two of you whispering things nobody else will hear. Sharing things you’ve been scared to tell somebody else. Finding comfort in each other and the fact that you aren’t alone in your fears.

You tell him that he’s not making anyone disappointed, that he’s a great hockey player.

What you’re dying to tell him is I love you, I know you’ll become more than what anyone could ever think you would. You’re the greatest player I’ve ever seen. I believe in you.

Don't wanna let the pieces fall out of place

I was only just a breath removed from going to waste

Till I found salvation in the form of your...

Your grace

You’d never been religious but began to question the whole idea that people come into your life when you need them the most. That someone out there in the universe sends them your way because they know they’re what you need.

That someone out there gave you Nico when everything felt like a bottomless pit. A gaping black wormhole just waiting for the right time. Waiting for you to slip on that thin ledge and fall into it.

The hand that reached out and grabbed you right as you were about to stumble and fall. Saving you from the figurative monster that’s wanting to sink its claws and teeth in you. Rip you apart from the inside in the form of depression and loneliness.

He didn’t know it yet, you haven’t told him about that part of your life before he came into it. You aren’t sure you’ll ever tell him. It feels so long ago now, a million light years away. A distant memory of the past that you’d rather never think about again.

Not now that he’s here and he isn’t going anywhere. He’s here and he’s pulling you further away from that ledge without even knowing it.

You remember the first time he told you he loved you. It’s still unsure if he even meant for the words to slip out.

He says it was on purpose but the pink tint on his cheeks when you bring it up tells another story. You said it back without even think about it. It felt like second nature to say you love him out loud. Because you do, so much.

Nico’s lips had pulled up into a goofy smile before he’d grabbed your cheeks and pressed a hundred kisses on your lips. Repeating I love you breathlessly when you pulled back for air. Brown eyes shining brighter than the stars and sweaty hair falling over his forehead. Still dressed in his gear but it was perfect.

You aren’t religious but you thank god every single day for bringing you Nico. For the stars aligning and bringing you the person meant for you, giving you the sunlight that shines over the darkest shadows and that keeps on shining.

Keeps on holding you away from that invisible ledge.

#nico hischier imagine #nico hischier x reader #nhl imagine #hockey imagine

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helleboretks · 1 year

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Stay With You The Day - Late Birthday Gift

This is a late Birthday gift to my very good friend @galacticlee3 ! Sorry it came out a day late, but I hope you like it!!

This is a Platonic Lee!Dazai, Ler!Oda ticklefic! If this isn’t your forte, no need to read!

Summary: Dazai decides to stay in Oda’s house and indulge in a few shenanigans. Oda really doesn’t mind though, as long as he can keep him company.

Word count: 5345

“Dazai.”

There are times where Dazai likes to sneak into Oda’s house. Not that he minds.

It’s a frequent occurrence, the busted lock of the backdoor and the most silent padding of feet at the very crack of dawn. Many times Oda would awake in his room to find Dazai rummaging through his closet, pawing at his different shirts of varying colors, before he’d make his wise pick and great get-away into the living room.

He’s as silent as still water, fluid and agile in his movements when he doesn’t wish to be noticed, and so that is a choice Oda respects. He won’t acknowledge his presence when his feet hardly hit the ground.

But there are some days, early enough in the morning that cicadas have yet to end their nightly song, that there’s a couple of thumps and banging that goes on in his living room, or his kitchen, maybe bathroom or guest bedroom.

When Dazai wasn’t trying to be silent, he sure made a lot of noise.

And that’s how Oda knows he wants company, which led to now.

Dazai perked up from where he was face deep in Oda’s pantry, caught red-handed with that family-size pack of Reese's Cups that Oda specifically bought for him to eat on occasion, not downing the bag in one night, as he seems to plan on doing.

He was swaddled in Oda’s biggest blue shirt, a singular rope of bandages tied around his waist to symbolize the closest thing he could get to a dress. He really liked to do that, weirdly enough. Almost as weird as his new craving for Reese’s Cups, actually.

“I fear I’ve made a mistake, introducing you to that.” Dazai gave a heavy pout and whine, clutching the bag close as if it were his very own newborn.

“But Odasakuuuuuu!” Dazai whined, stomping his foot against the counter like the child he was. “I know you have another in there! Just show me where it is and I’ll be on my merry way!” As much as Oda usually decided to let Dazai do whatever he wanted, imagining the kid on a sugar high (possibly while in the presence of that partner he constantly gushed about, which Dazai would deny and say he was complaining), would probably be the mistake of a century.

“But Dazai,” He monotonously mimicked, “You’re gonna have a sugar rush and then you’ll crash midday if you do that. I do not need my ability to make that prediction.” Sure, he may have bought like, five more packs of Reese’s Cups, but Dazai didn’t have to know there were that many more.

He couldn’t really help it either, it’s probably the first candy addiction Dazai’s ever had, and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t adorable.

Dazai continued to pout, puffy cheeks and all with the big shirt and flared pants he probably stole from a twenty-four hour store on the way here. If only Dazai knew just how well he could pull off the ‘cute look’, he’d be weaponizing it left right and center.

Oda gave a long sigh, but he’d yet to give up. If there’s at least one thing Oda could try and get him to do healthily, it would be to manage his candy intake. “Dazai, come down from there. If you do, I'll let you eat a third of that bag.”

Dazai narrowed his gaze, suspicion in his visible wine-brown eye that Oda could read as something playful. “But the whole bag……Odasaku…”

“Dazai. No.” Oda refused, taking a step closer to the other, who glared and glared and glared as Oda stepped closer. “Oda, these are my babies.”

“I have actual children, so I would know that those are not, in fact, your babies.”

Dazai let out the loudest gasp of offense Oda’s heard to date, clutching the bag even closer as Oda raised a single eyebrow. “Oda Sakunosuke!!” He spat, offended and clearly in disbelief. “You are the disrespect of mankind! Foul! Absolutely foul-OH SHIT–”

Oda just nearly caught him before Dazai leapt off the counter, making a mad dash for the living room. Oda sighed affectionately, knowing it was far too early for Dazai’s shenanigans, but went chasing after him anyways.

“Dazai–”

A pillow collides with his face, sending him stumbling back as Dazai makes a dash for his bedroom–

Oda lets it happen.

Dazai made these little, hasty giggles as the pillow made its contact, Oda letting him slip by like the slithering snake he was. He let the pillow fall, making note to take it up later as he turned on his heel and darted after the little fiend, who stumbled into his bedroom, quick to shut the door before Oda could get in himself.

Oda didn’t question the playful mood Dazai was in this early morning, but if he had to be honest, it was rather rare that he was ever this playful. Did he want something, then?

Oda opened the door to an empty bedroom, and for a second he actually thought Dazai made an escape through the window. He quickly dismisses the idea once catching sight of the locked window, unpicked.

So he was hiding now. Fun.

Oda’s first thought was to check under his bed, crouching down and pulling up the blanket to test his luck. There was none to be found.

He let out a small hum, because he knew Dazai was somewhere in his room, and there weren’t many places to hide anyways. He checked behind the bed, thinking that perhaps his friend had hid himself there. He had not.

The only other plausible choice would be the closet then, so many clothes of all different lengths hung up with drawers full of other clothes that wouldn’t fit on the rack too. Dazai had to be there, if not, then he must have done a miraculous disappearing act.

Oda stalked quietly over to the closet, observing its plain doors for any oddities before he went to grab its handles.

The moment he opened the closet door, two hands shot out from the darkness they blended into with a manic giggle, latching onto his sides and–

Ah.

So that’s what he wanted.

Oda moved back, a hand to his stubbled chin as he contemplated his next move.

Dealing with Dazai in that sort of mood is like dealing with a kid his actual age, and maybe Oda learned to work with kids under the age of ten, but those methods could still apply to Dazai either way, so how does he go about this, you ask?

Oda walked out of his bedroom.

He made sure to close the door enough at Dazai’s angle of sight to appear nearly closed, with only an inch ajar for Oda to look into. He crouched down, peering through the crack as he waited patiently.

Oda waited.

And waited.

And–

The closet door creaked open slowly, and he watched Dazai crawl out of it, holding his prized possession close. He was clearly suspicious, not wanting to take chances but also not wanting to stay in that cramped closet for long. Perfect.

He peeked under the bed, perhaps decided that that would be a good place to hide next. So he slid the bag of chocolates under the bed first, getting ready to squeeze himself underneath next.

And there was his chance.

Oda burst through the door, grabbing Dazai by the leg as the other let out the loudest squeal he’s ever heard in his life–wow, there goes his eardrums–dragging him from halfway under the bed before tossing him on top of the mattress.

“Found you.” Oda proudly announced as Dazai attempted to scramble away, but the other held him down by the upper back, undeterred by Dazai’s feeble wiggling.

“Odasaku! Wait, can’t we talk this out!?” Dazai whined and complained, yelping when Oda flipped him on his back. “Nope. I told you not to eat them off in one day, Dazai.” Oda refused.

Dazai tried to bite back with another one of his remarks, but promptly burst into a fit of surprised giggles as Oda aggressively (yet harmlessly) shook him by the palm on his tummy, causing the sly teen to rock side to side rapidly, curling in on himself.

“Ohohohdasakuhuhu! Stahahap!” Oda however, did no such thing, practically vibrating Dazai on the bed, who giggled away endlessly.

Because that’s what he wanted. So Oda might as well do it. He never minds.

“You’re not doing anything to really stop me, Dazai. Why’s that?” Oda hummed absentmindedly, clawing his fingers and making Dazai squeak. That seemed to put his body into action, raising his hands to push at Oda’s face, a palm to his cheek and a palm to his forehead.

“Nohohoho! Plehehease, Odasaku!!” He couldn’t help but smile at his friend’s snickers and squeaks, even if the other was trying very hard to push him away, Oda knew he didn’t really mean it.

Whiiiich is probably why he went for the armpits.

Dazai let out a short scream, erupting in roaring laughter as his arms collided with his sides, only really trapping Oda’s hands instead. “How could you do this to me, Dazai? I’m trapped, I can’t believe you.” Oda smirked, tapping his fingers unfazed.

Dazai continued to laugh and giggle as Oda played him like an instrument, shimmying his fingers down Dazai’s sides and riling up the other’s wiggles even more than before. Dazai tried with all his might–which admittedly wasn’t much–to get the upper hand and get away, but Oda was far too strong for him, and he could only really sit there and take it.

“Are you going to give up the candies now?” Oda hummed, letting out a puff of laughter at Dazai’s head shaking in a vehement ‘no’. Of course he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t be Dazai if he was anything but stubborn.

Thankfully, Oda knew how to make the other give up quick.

The moment his hands even made the suggestion to switch to his neck, Dazai was pleading.

“WAIT!!! Waitwaitwait, Odahahasakuuhuhu!! Plehehehease, not that–not thahahat!!” Oda wasn’t even doing anything except tickling his side with one hand, the other wandering up to his neck. “If you don’t want this, then give up the candy.”

“Buhuhuhut my candyhihihi!” Dazai whined, only to let out a near deafening shriek as Oda feigned a sharp motion to his neck, the other practically jumping with the giggly jitters.

He does it again and again at random intervals, just to hear Dazai shriek before he can even properly think about it. He only had to slide a finger down his neck for a second before the other gave up.

“AAAAH!! OKAY OKAY OKAY!!! Tahahake the candy, dahahamihihihit!! Just stahahahahap!!!” Triumphant, Oda gave him one last tummy-shake, lifting himself up and letting the teen mafioso catch his breath as he quickly retrieved the family-sized bag.

He was swift to grab it and get up from the floor, smiling to himself when he gazed upon his friend, tired and giggly and very, very limp, a bright blush coloring his otherwise pale cheeks.

“Want to watch a movie?” Dazai hummed a little, raising a brow at him. “We can watch Princess Mononoke.” That got him to perk up, lifting himself onto his elbows with a wide, intrigued eye.

Princess Mononoke was always his favorite Movie, after all.

Oda held his hand out to him, but Dazai pouted at that. “We’re watching Princess Mononoke, Odasaku!!” He huffed, only causing his friend to fondly roll his eyes, knowing what Dazai wanted from him.

Dazai slid to the edge of the bed, allowing Oda to scoop him up with his other arm and carry him out of the room. They ventured down to the living room as Dazai buried his head in the crook of Oda’s neck, clearly content to let the other do all the heavy lifting. As always, Oda wasn’t one to mind that behavior from him.

Soon enough he had the little prodigy settled down on the couch, wrapped in one of the weighted blankets Oda had bought for him, a star-shaped pillow squished in his arms. He allowed Dazai to handle the TV as he himself went to prepare some movie snacks, lightly monitoring Dazai from the kitchen.

Why was he doing that, one may ask?

Well, he doesn’t pull out that weighted blanket for no reason.

Oda’s bought him multiple over the months, mostly because of Dazai’s obsession with their comfort. However, the one draped over Dazai right now was the heaviest one they owned, with a bright ocean blue that he knew reminded Dazai of a certain someone.

It was his comfort blanket when he was in distress.

So his friend wasn’t just in that mood for no reason. He wanted comfort right about now.

At least that was something Oda could give him.

He soon returned with the movie snacks as Dazai brought up Princess Mononoke, excited stars in his eyes as Oda sat right next to him.

“Can I start now? Can I??” Dazai asked impatiently. Oda gave an approving nod, and Dazai happily turned to the tv and started the movie, relaxing back on the couch and hugging his star pillow even tighter than before.

It was at times like these that Oda could really see what he was meant to be. A happy little kid enjoying a movie of fantasies, with his own childish delights and all. He didn’t have to be the terrifying Demon Prodigy, nor the teenager with ‘no soul’ or someone who ‘wasn’t human’.

He was just Dazai Osamu, the little kid with a big brain, and even bigger imagination.

…

It took until Ashitaka met the Forest Spirit for Oda to ask.

“Is something bothering you lately, Dazai?” Dazai perked up, yet refused to take his eyes off the television as he hummed in faux thought.

“Whatever do you mean, Odasaku?” Dazai asked right back. Oda shrugged, poking the weighted blanket that covered Dazai in warmth. “Comfort blanket.” was all he needed to say.

Dazai remained silent for a while longer, intently focused on the movie, yet not truly processing it anymore, if the glaze of his eyes was any indication.

“Chibi’s away on an overseas mission.” Ah, that makes sense. “He told me he’d go find himself a better partner in the UK.” Dazai then gave an overdramatic scoff and muttered, “Like he’d ever find a better owner than me…”

So he was worried for him, and also scared that Chuuya’s words might be true, huh?

Oda couldn’t help but smile.

“You know how he is when it comes to you two,” Oda muttered. “From what you’ve told me, I don’t think he’s actually looking for another partner, Dazai.”

“Well of course he’s not!” Dazai boasted. “Chibi’s just a brainless dog who can’t be tamed, so as his owner I’m the only one who has the right to be with him!!” Oda raised a brow at that, waiting for a couple of seconds for Dazai to catch on.

That didn’t take long, Dazai’s brain finally processing what he said as his face turned a beet red, and he clamped his jaw shut.

“You’re the ‘only one who has the right to be with him’, huh?” Dazai made an embarrassed noise, hiding his face under the pillow as he rapidly shook his head. “No! Y-You don’t get it, Odasaku! I’m saying that I’m the only one who can put up with his stupid recklessness! It’s dangerous to send that dog away on his own without me!!” He really tried to justify himself, but he wasn’t making it very easy.

“Don’t you hate him, though? I thought you’d be thrilled to have some alone time to yourself.” Oda was joking, of course. As precious as the other’s alone time was to him, Dazai’s concept of space seemed to practically vanish when it came to Chuuya. He was all up in his time, space, and business because of his cute little crush on the other.

It was pretty adorable, if you just accepted the violence and pranks mixed in, too.

“Odasakuuuu! Lemme finish watching the movie, dangit! I wanna see Ashitaka on the wolf’s back!” Dazai complained as he always did, his eyes peeking out from behind the pillow to attempt to refocus on the movie.

And Oda let him.

For a couple minutes of course.

“Have you two kissed yet?” Dazai shrieked at that question, impulsively slamming the pillow into the back of Oda’s head.

“ARE YOU CRAZY, ODASAKU!? I’D RATHER KISS AN UGLY OLD MAN THAN KISS HIM!!!” Oda let out a little chuckle, but there was no way he was just going to let the other get away with pillow slamming him for such a little comment. Besides, the other needed a distraction from the negative thoughts anyways.

“How could you do that, Dazai? I thought I was your friend.” Dazai let out a gasp and giggle as Oda drew closer, raising his wiggling fingers up. “No! Noho–not again!”

“You know what that’ll cost you, right?” His deadpanned voice only caused the other to giggle more, and Oda couldn’t help but smile at him. An evil smile, yes, but one full of fondness that turned his friend’s face pink.

“No tihihickle monster! You can’t doho this to mehehe!!” Dazai shuffled back into the arm of the couch, yet didn’t really make any serious attempt to get away.

“Yes tickle monster. This is all on you.” Oda opposed him, and Dazai wiggled further into the blanket to hide his giggly smile, before just pulling the blanket over himself completely.

Bad move.

Oda was quick to tuck the ends of the blanket under Dazai’s body, the other yelling out and struggling as he realized his mistake. But it was too late, the blanket was tangled and Oda was scribbling everywhere he could reach.

Dazai exploded into laughter, thrashing viciously against the blanket as he cackled at the fingers that found the dimples in his back. However, of course because it was a weighted blanket, Dazai couldn’t really do much to escape.

“ODAHAHAHAHAHASAKUHUHU!!! PLEAHAHAHAHASE NOHOHO MOHOHOHORE!!” Dazai hollered out, But Oda simply let out a hum and continued his onslaught of wiggling fingers.

“I’m not Odasaku, don’t you remember? I’m the tickle monster!” He even tried making his voice sound more cheerful, and Dazai’s laughter only increased in height at that. “WHAHAHAT KINDA VOHOICE IS THAHAHAHAT!?!? BAHAHAHAHAHAHA–”

Wow, that worked better than he thought it would. Wonderful.

“This is the tickle monster’s voice! How dare you insult him like that?” Oda let himself smile more as Dazai’s laughter got even more frantic, trying and failing to throw out his arms when they couldn’t really go many places.

The other let out a shriek as Oda squished the top of his thigh.

“OHOHOHO MY GAHAHAHAHAHAHAD!?!?!?!” That was a new one he hadn’t known of, and from the clearly confused cackling of the boy below him, he didn’t seem to know either. “Hmmm, looks like the tickle monster has found more ways to strengthen his power. How do you feel about that, little feast?”

“NONONONONOHOHOHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!” Dazai cried out as Oda experimented with that new spot, spider legs, squeezing, light scratching, nothing seemed to not be ticklish. New death spot, perhaps?

“IEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!” Oda startled at the girlish scream that erupted from him as he tickled around the back of his thigh, which seemed even more ticklish than the front.

Yup, definitely a new death spot. That scream rivaled the one he got from tickling Dazai’s neck.

“Wow, you’re loud.” Oda cataloged aloud as Dazai screamed and cackled and absolutely lost his mind over this new spot he never knew about. At this point, Oda was only going for the one thigh, because going for both would most certainly kill the boy.

At some point though, he’s gonna have to give him a break, Dazai was pretty much dying already, he wouldn’t be surprised if the other started hiccuping in the next minute or two.

“Have you learned your lesson now, Dazai?” Oda teased lightly, giving his thigh a few more good tickles as Dazai cackled out, “MY WHAHAHAHAT!?” Oda decided to give him mercy anyways, finally easing off his thigh and chuckling at the earth-shaking gasp of relief he let out.

Oda carefully pulled the blanket edges out from underneath Dazai, pulling the fabric back to be met face to face with a blushing, giggling, teary-eyed and clearly spacey Dazai.

“You look like you flew to another astral plane. Was that too much, Dazai?” Oda asked as Dazai heaved for air, coiling into himself like the last time, an iconic little thing Oda noticed he did every time. It took far too long for Dazai to even realize he was being spoken to, which was pretty funny.

Dazai’s only response was hiding half his face in the blanket.

Oda let out a fond sigh, collecting the juice box he’d placed along with the snacks to let Dazai drink from it. The other emerged from the blanket and gulped it down all rather swiftly as Oda picked up the star pillow from where it had landed on the floor.

They missed quite a big chunk of the movie, but at this point Dazai couldn’t seem to focus on the movie anymore, with how out of it he seemed to be, a floaty little smile on his face. Oda swore he probably might have forgotten his name for a minute, too.

That was fine though, Dazai was spacey sure, but at least he wasn’t thinking of anything negative at the moment. So he’ll take it as a win.

The other was lonely without his crush, Oda didn’t mind filling the space for him.

…

It was about ten in the morning when Dazai woke up.

He’d fallen asleep on the couch, hence Oda giving up his bed for the other, since his guest bed certainly wasn’t the one Dazai preferred. Oda himself was in the kitchen making brunch for the two of them as well, since it must have been a while since Dazai ate anything without Nakahara to keep him in check.

He heard the footsteps before he saw the figure, and smiled a greeting to Dazai before continuing to make their food. Dazai stumbled over with a mind still riddled with sleep, leaning against Oda’s left bicep and letting out a small, pathetic groan.

“Od’sakuuuuu…wha’ time’s it?” Dazai drawled as Oda pressed a gentle hand to rub against his back, sparing a glance at his wall clock. “10:30, Dazai. How are you feeling?”

“‘M tired…” It’s not often he heard that phrase, and even rarer to see the effects of sleep still clinging to Dazai so heavily, but he wouldn’t complain. The other certainly needed more sleep than he had today.

“You can go back to sleep once you’ve eaten, alright? I won’t put much on your plate.” Oda had to be mindful of the other’s thinness and aversion for food, his pickiness also through the roof to go with it. So a simple dish of waffles and syrup will have to do, and just one waffle to work with Dazai’s appetite.

“Can I have the…the orange juice?” Oda nodded, stretching over a bit to the fridge for the orange juice carton, because he’s very sure that if he lets go of Dazai right now, the boy would topple straight to the ground with his wobbly legs.

He also made sure to grab a cup from the rack, filling that up with the juice before he carefully balanced it on the plate with his waffle. “Let me carry you for a second.” Dazai gave a small nod, letting Oda pick him up once more and bring him to the dining room’s table.

He sat him in one of the chairs, placing the plate down and putting the glass on the table before going back for his own plate and cup of ginger sorrel. He returned shortly after to see Dazai tentatively nibbling at his waffles, slow but eating nonetheless. Thank God.

The two of them ended up eating in silence as Dazai slowly began to wake up more, finishing his plate quicker than Oda. The older man let him know to just put it in the sink for him to take care of, and Dazai obliged easily.

Maybe he was indulging a bit in Dazai's laziness, but you couldn’t really blame him, now could you?

Once Oda was done with his share of breakfast and was cleaning up the dishes, Dazai found himself a spot on the counter to sit and watch Oda work, kicking his feet a little too. Oda let him do it, seeing as the other wasn’t doing anything but watching right now, he had no reason to come down just yet.

“Chibi-Chuuya’s coming back tomorrow.” the ginger perked up at the mumbled admission, giving a hum and nod. “Are you happy he’ll be back?” He asked, smiling a little at Dazai’s huff and rosy cheeks.

“I mean, it’s fine if he does get back by tomorrow. But I don’t feel happy about it! That slug’s just gonna keep spreading his disgusting disease and making people delusional in the face of his smiles! Can you believe it? Disgusting.” Dazai sold the act more by scrunching up his face in disgust, even sticking out his tongue childishly.

Yup. Oda totally believes it.

Do you hear the sarcasm?

Oda sighed, finishing up the dishes and sitting them on the rack to dry the rest of the way, cleaning his own hands on a fresh towel.

Dazai poked his cheek.

“Ne, Odasaku,” Dazai spoke with an indifferent tone of voice, “I’m gonna stay here until slug comes back, since a dog always comes running back to his master.” Oda looks up at him from where he sat on the counter, the sleeves of Oda’s newly bought collar shirt completely enveloping his hands. Guess he won’t be getting that back.

“Alright.” Dazai smiled at the easy acceptance, leaning over to pat Oda’s head happily. “I knew you’d agree, Odasaku! That stupid little doggy deserves to come running back after leaving his master here all alone!” Not really Oda’s intention, but alright.

He simply wishes to keep Dazai company. The boy was painfully lonely, afterall.

The day went by pretty smoothly after that. Oda used one of his vacation days to take the day off at home, just to keep Dazai company. They ended up watching some more movies, played a few board and card games (Dazai made sure he couldn’t use his ability, too), and generally let themselves relax for the day, if anything.

Well, Dazai’s relaxation was still a work in progress, but it's an improvement.

He was actively moving around the house, even after Oda himself resigned to his bedroom to rest and read a book. He could most certainly hear the young boy’s footsteps from here, given how his house is small and not at all soundproof.

He half-listened to the few things being moved about by Dazai, who was probably attempting to cure his boredom by snooping around. The rest of his attention was on the book he sat with, a really good one in fact.

He sat in content silence, even when Dazai came by to go snooping through his room as well, poking and prodding everything within sight, as someone like him would obviously do. At some point, he became fixated on the bedside lamp, clicking it on and off and on and off…

And on and off and on and off and–

Oda glanced over at him.

It was a little distracting to read his book with lights flickering right beside him, afterall.

Dazai caught his gaze, stopping when the lamp was clicked off. Oda raised an eyebrow, but the other just smiled at him ever so innocently, as if he’d done nothing wrong in his entire life.

Which was a straight up lie, but the sentiment was there.

Of course, because Oda caught Dazai’s attention and Dazai is rather fond of him, the man is unsurprised to have Dazai sprawled across his lap within the next minute, like a cat begging for attention.

“Hello.” Oda greeted.

“Hi hi~!” Dazai responded.

“Are you going to stay here, then?” Dazai responded to that question by leaning his back up against Oda like the headrest of the bed, and Oda simply accepted it, sweeping his non-dominant hand through Dazai’s hair as he held up his book with the other.

A peaceful atmosphere settled on them after that, with Oda reading his book and Dazai melting into the affection he received. Really, it was quite nice, relaxing like this. He was even on a good part of the book-

“Hehehe…!”

Oda paused, glancing down at the teen who’d sat so comfortably before, now slightly stiff with a hand over his mouth.

Again? Wow, this is breaking a new record.

Oda’s fingers had run along the baby hairs of his nape, which is most definitely where he got that reaction, and as much as Dazai tried to hide it, when he wiggled his fingers with a little more intention, he could see the dimple on his cheek as he muffled his little giggles.

“Hm.” Oda simply hummed, turning his attention back to his book as he continued to gently tap against the nape of Dazai’s neck, the little boy letting out the tiniest squeal he could muffle up, kicking his feet in the air, too.

Adorable, Oda fails to see how Nakahara hasn’t made a move on his friend yet.

Probably because he hasn’t yet discovered this softer side to Dazai. Oh well.

Dazai melted even further into the light scribbles now, seeming to struggle between leaning away and leaning closer. All giggles and smiles, it softened Oda’s heart to see the other like this; a child receiving his well-overdue love and affection.

Oda gently closed the book once he’d read to the next chapter, setting it aside and cataloging his stopping point to himself. Dazai’s face was a bright red, fingers trembling as he snickered and giggled himself silly.

So naturally, Oda rounded up one ankle with his elbow, and started scribbling on a sole.

Dazai yelped and his giggles increased, and instead of jolting away, he tried his very best to stay still, shaking his head lightly as he laughed so sweetly into the bed. Oda wasn’t out to make him go crazy anyways, the smaller mafioso always had a fondness for tickles like this, the ones that made him melt and feel loved and appreciated. So Oda would gladly give him what he deserved.

One hand scribbling his neck ever so lightly, another one tickling a squirming foot, and it concocted the perfect recipe for a giggly, squeaky Dazai, his embarrassed blush running all the way down to his shoulders.

Dazai deserved to feel this safe more often, if Oda had to be honest.

He was quite alright with being one of the few to give him that safety too.

“Ohohohodasahahakuhuhu…!” Dazai’s voice was just above a whisper, and Oda hummed in response. “Ihihihihi-I-Hic-hehehehehehe!” Huh, he was wondering when Dazai would start hiccuping.

“Yes?” Oda nonchalantly inquired, smiling the smallest bit to himself as Dazai struggled to speak through his laughter and hiccups. Instead the other reached back, trying uselessly to bat his hand away from his foot.

Oda let his hands fall away, Dazai letting out a sigh of bone-deep content as his foot finally dropped back down to join the other, with his neck no longer assaulted.

“Hmhmhmhehehmhm…I-hic-I love you, Odasaku.”

Oda’s smile was probably the fondest he’d ever smiled in a while.

He maneuvered his arms to wrap the small teen in a comforting hug, to which the other returned it in full. “I love you too, Osamu.” Oda muttered. Dazai simply hummed with another little hiccup, content and appreciated. That was, after all, Oda’s job as his friend.

He’d fulfill it for the sake of this boy who was his best friend.

#HBWriting #bsd tickle fic #Lee!Dazai #Ler!Oda #please do not tag this as oda/dazai XD #HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY BRUH #I LOVE YOU-

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fenharel-enaste · 10 months

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Hey babyyyyy as your requests are open hehehhe do you have headcanons for Orson Krennic taking care of a sad/tired reader who is such a good girl? Tysm u r the bestest ever

Hi darling!! 💖💖

Just wrote this for you today! These were supposed to be headcanons, and they are, but somehow I got carried away and it's a kind of drabble too?? Idk what this is sdhbfd but I hope you like it!

Thank you so much for requesting this, I love you 🥹💖

We all know how committed Krennic is to his work, so commited that sometimes it might take him a while to realise that you are unwell. But once he does, he uses every spare minute to make sure you're feeling well. He would even drop everything and take the day off if possible and take you shopping or somewhere fancy for dinner, anywhere that may cheer you up and distract you from your problems.

He can't bear to see his good girl sad and will do everything in his power to distract you and bring a smile to your face.

That's always his first choice, but if you're too tired to go out, you'd stay home and he'd make dinner himself while you rest. Krennic wouldn't be particularly great at giving words of support or comfort - not that he doesn't care, quite the opposite, it's just not his forte to find the right words. But you know he cares by his actions, by how he would cuddle with you on the couch and ask you to tell him everything that's in your mind and your concerns. And he would just listen in silence, searching within himself for any way of helping you. Even though usually all you need is his company, he'd do the impossible to give you what you need.

He'd offer you a bath together, where he'd use your favourite scented candles and massage your back, shoulders and neck, helping you relieve every tense spot in your body. He would wash you with his arms around you as you relax with your back against his chest and your head on his shoulder. You would feel the touch of the loofah sponge exploring your body, pausing longer than necessary on your breasts just for him to listen to your lovely and soft moans.

"Shh, just don't think, my little one."

He'd end up with the sponge between your legs, rubbing you with it until he has you humping it under the foam. When he judged you were needy enough for him, he would drop it and replace it with two of his fingers that he’d slide inside you, finding your sensitive spot and taking care of it so expertly while rubbing your clit with his thumb. In the meantime, he would kiss your neck and whispers sweet nothings and praises in your ear every time he made you cum on his hand.

“Look at my good girl, behaving so well for me. Give me another one love.” No problems or fears anymore, just you and him in your mind and how good he makes you feel.

After your bath, he would take you to bed, where you would sleep, exhausted, content and safe in his arms. Krennic knows that, unfortunately, he'd have to leave early the next morning, so he'd want to cherish every moment of that night with you, his nose buried in your freshly washed hair, wanting to carry your scent in his mind the next day. He would sleep so happy knowing that he made you feel at least a bit better that day.

Tagging some besties: @starlady66 @lady-of-imladris @vellichormybeloved @thesolarangel

#orson krennic #director krennic #director krennic x reader #orson krennic x reader #director krennic smut #director krennic fanfic #orson krennic smut #orson krennic fanfic #x reader #rogue one #star wars #my fics

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andiwriteordie · 1 year

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Hi Andi! Congrats on all the new followers; totally deserved:)

If you are still taking prompt requests, I would love to see one of Will coming out to Max one on one and then having a bit of a bonding moment and maybe Max telling Will that she’s bi? I read your little oneshot of Will coming out to the whole party, but I missed Max’s presence in it. I think Will and Max would have a great friendship if given the chance <3

hi beth!!! MADCLERIC!!!! my beloved besties. they're best friends to me, ok? and i ALSO missed max in the will coming out scene, so thank you for giving me the chance to write this!

set in the three months between the battle of starcourt and the byers' move to california!

—

to love a boy (the way i love the ocean)

The last person Will expects to see when he makes it to Sattler Quarry is Max Mayfield.

The… the past couple months have been weird. “Weird” probably isn’t a good way to describe it, but that’s the best word that Will can come up with to even try to encompass the entire mess that his life has become since this past July.

(Hell, it’s the best word that Will can come up with to even try to encompass the entire mess that his life has become since November 6, 1983, but that’s an entirely different story.)

Right now, it’s just weird being at home. His mom and Jonathan have started packing things up already, even though they don’t move to California for another month. Everywhere Will goes, he’s reminded of how much things are changing, and it’s utterly terrifying. And on top of all that, El is at his house now, and… and that’s still a bit of an adjustment.

Does that make him a terrible person? Will feels like it does. El is a nice person—really, she is. And she’s been through so damn much… far more than Will has ever been through. She’s suffering right now, and she needs a family, since Hopper is dead. For all intents and purposes, El Hopper is now his sister.

But that doesn’t change the sinking feeling in Will’s heart every time they interact and how the words “It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!” echo in his mind on a continuous loop around her.

Will can’t be at his house anymore. He… he just can’t.

Normally, in times like this, he would run away to Castle Byers and spend his afternoons there. Castle Byers has always been his safe place—somewhere he could go to when he just needed to be alone to rest and to reorient himself.

But Castle Byers is gone too, and Will hasn’t been to the wreckage of his childhood fort since that fateful day that he tore it down.

It’s as if all his safe places are gone now—his home, Castle Byers, Mike’s house… None of them are safe anymore.

So, Will has had to find a new safe place… somewhere that nobody would be to find him at. Somewhere where nobody would even think to look for him.

What better of a place for a person to hide than in the place where they “died” years ago?

Maybe Will is terrible for choosing this place. He still remembers Mike’s quiet admissions to him, nearly two years ago now, that he used to have nightmares about seeing Will’s body pulled out of these waters. Back then, when they were best friends, one of Mike’s biggest fears had been losing Will, and so, this place had… really represented a place of trauma and fear for Mike.

He’s not going to be coming here anytime soon.

Good.

Will… doesn’t really want to face him yet. He can’t face Mike yet.

So, Sattler Quarry becomes his safe place—for now, at least. He’ll have to find one when they move to California, but that’ll be easier. He won’t have to avoid anyone but his family, and that’ll make his life easier. There won’t be as many ghosts in Lenora Hills, California, and maybe Will can finally start over.

But until then… this place is all he has. It’s his only safe place left.

It’s surprising, then, when Will sees a familiar, redheaded girl sitting on quarry shores, tossing rocks into the water.

“Max?” Will says tentatively, and his friend tenses, turning around quickly to look at him.

Her cheeks are flushed red. Her eyes are puffy. She… she’s been crying, and immediately, Will feels guilty. Maybe this is her safe place. Maybe he’s invaded it.

But then, Max relaxes, and she sighs quietly. “Hey, Will,” she mutters. “What’re you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Will points out, walking over to her. “Sometimes I just… I come here to sit and think.”

Max glances over at him again, a sad smile on her face. “Me too,” she admits; then, she pats the ground next to her. “Wanna sit and think together?”

“Sure.” Will shrugs and takes a seat, pulling his knees up close to his chest.

An awkward silence settles over him, and it’s… weird. It’s really weird. Max is cool, but truthfully, he hasn’t gotten to know her that well, other than in the context of being Lucas’s girlfriend. This past year has just been really difficult for Will, especially after Mike began distancing himself from their friendship, and it’s not like Will’s had many chances to hang out alone with Max.

Oh well. First time for everything, right?

“What’re you thinking about?” Max asks, her voice soft, and Will fights the urge to laugh.

“Too much stuff,” he admits. “You?”

“Same.” Max shrugs. “Mostly just… what happened at the mall, I guess. It’s been on my mind a lot.”

Will winces. Right. Max had lost her step-brother in the Battle of Starcourt, and while he’d heard from the other Party members that Billy was an awful person, Will can still understand the grief that Max must feel. If anything were ever to happen to his dad… Will doesn’t know what he’d do. There’s a part of him that would be sad, but most of him would probably just be happy. His dad made his life miserable, after all, just like Billy made Max’s life miserable.

But it’s not a normal thing to be happy about someone’s death, and Will knows that. He wonders if that’s how Max feels right now too, and if it is… he definitely doesn’t envy her.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” Will says quietly. “And.. sorry you got dragged into all of this.”

A quiet laugh escapes Max’s lips, and she turns to him, an incredulous look on her face. “You’re apologizing to me?” she asks in disbelief, and Will feels his face go warm.

“I mean… yeah,” he says with a weak shrug. “I just… I always feel bad whenever people get dragged into this. It was… it was kind of my fault, after all.”

The admission hurts to say aloud, and Will watches as a frown forms on Max’s face. “I don’t think it was your fault,” she says quietly. “I don’t think the others do either.”

“Yeah, well… that doesn’t mean it’s not true,” Will mutters, looking away. “It’s fine though. It… it is what it is. And the gate’s closed now. It’s over.”

Is it though? that quiet voice in the back of his mind wonders. Is it really over?

Will doesn’t know the answer to that question.

For several moments, Max is quiet, and a silence settles over the two of them once more. The sun shines down, warm on Will’s face, and he breathes deeply, closing his eyes and just trying to relax.

This is still weird, but it’s not bad necessarily. It’s just… different.

And “different” is something that Will is used to.

“Hey,” Max says suddenly, and Will opens his eyes again, turning to look at his friend.

“Hm?”

There’s a hesitant look on her face, and Max bites down on her lip, looking down at her dirty tennis shoes. “Can I… can I ask you something?” she asks tentatively.

Will’s brow furrows. “Um… sure,” he says, a bit skeptical. “What’s up?”

“You… you don’t have to answer this,” Max says, slowly and carefully, “but… I was just… I guess I was just wondering what… what’s going on with you and Mike.”

Will’s breath catches, and he looks away quickly, his face getting warm. A feeling of panic rises inside his chest. “What… what do you mean?” he stammers. “Nothing… nothing’s going on between us. We’re friends. We’re friends.”

But you want to be something more, that critical voice in the back of his mind mocks. Don’t you? You like him, you stupid fairy. You—

Shut up, Will thinks, closing his eyes tightly. His mind’s always been like that, and it always sounds a bit like his dad. Those feelings of shame feel like they’re rising, rising, rising—coming closer and closer to the surface—and Will fights with everything in him to push them down.

“California’s different, you know,” Max says, after several moments of silence. Will doesn’t dare look at her, but she continues, “El told me that’s where you guys are moving to. That’s… that’s where I grew up, and it’s a lot more accepting of… of…”

Max hesitates here, and Will dares to glance at her for a brief moment. There’s a distant and wary look on Max’s face, and she seems to be considering something.

Then, finally, she mutters, “Of people like me.”

Will blinks. “What?”

It takes another few moments of silence before Max sighs again, and she looks over at Will, her expression resolute. “I like guys,” she says, more confident now, “but I also like girls. Romantically, I mean.”

…

Oh.

Warmth rises to Will’s cheeks, and for what feels like an eternity, all he can do is stare at Max, trying to take in her words.

I like guys… but I also like girls.

Romantically, I mean.

“You… you do?” Will whispers, and though he doesn’t mean for it to, his voice breaks.

A sad smile forms on Max’s face. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “I do. There, um… there was a girl I really liked before I moved to Hawkins. She… she was my first kiss. California… it’s not perfect, but it’s definitely better than Hawkins, Will. So… I think you’ll like it out there.”

There’s a knowing look on Max’s face, but she doesn’t say anything more. She doesn’t need to. Will knows exactly what she’s trying to say, and Max knows that Will understands her.

Max… she’s like him.

… Kind of, at least.

Because… Will doesn’t think he’s ever liked girls before. No, he… he just likes guys, so he and Max aren’t exactly the same… but… but they’re similar. She gets it, better than anyone he’s ever met before.

Suddenly, it feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest, and Will can breathe a little bit easier.

“You really think so?” Will asks hesitantly.

The smile on Max’s face grows. “I do,” she says, nodding slightly. “Hawkins kind of sucks, in case you haven’t noticed. I’d give anything to go back to California. I miss the ocean and the sunshine and all that. Plus, the people suck just a little bit less.”

“We could take you with us,” Will jokes with a weak laugh. “I’m sure El wouldn’t mind that.”

Max’s lips quirk up into a bit of a smile, and she leans back, sighing softly. “Trust me, if I could go with you guys, I would,” she says wistfully; then, she turns to look at Will. “I hope you find some peace out there, Will. I think… getting away from Hawkins and all the people here would be good for you.”

Though she doesn’t say it aloud, Will knows that Max is talking about Mike, and he feels his face go warm once more. That lump in the back of his throat grows, and he glances down, suddenly feeling embarrassed once more.

“You… you won’t tell anyone, right?” Will asks, his voice impossibly soft. “About… about how I…”

His voice trails off, and in spite of his best efforts to stop them, tears sting Will’s eyes. His heart is pounding inside his chest, and the nervous pit in his stomach only grows.

But it’s okay. It’s okay. Max is like him. Will can be brave. He can.

“About how I… I like guys?” Will whispers, even quieter now. He looks up, hesitantly meeting Max’s eyes, and he blinks back his tears. “About… how I like him?”

A sympathetic, sad smile forms on Max’s face. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Byers,” she promises. “Everyone deserves to come out on their own terms, and… the others don’t even know about me. This can just be our little secret.”

In spite of everything, Will can’t help but laugh, and he reaches up, wiping his eyes. “It’ll be our little secret,” he agrees.

Will pauses. He hesitates slightly, glancing back out at the quarry. “Hawkins doesn’t have any oceans,” he murmurs, “but this place is pretty nice. Not a bad place for someone to die, am I right?”

Max bursts into laughter, and she bumps his shoulder. “Not a bad place to die,” she agrees. “It’s still not as cool as the ocean, but I’ll take it, I guess.”

A grin forms on Will’s face, and he bumps Max’s shoulder back. “You should tell me about California,” he suggests. “I want to know what I’m getting into before I move out there.”

Max glances at him, a little smirk forming on her face. “Okay,” she says with a shrug. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” Will answers without hesitation. “Tell me everything you love about that place.”

#andi's asks #byler #byler ficlet #andi writes not dies #madcleric

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meeeeeeese · 8 months

Text

Fern's adventures in the mists part 1/prologue

a bit of writing about my ranger, 'Fern' who I don't talk about nearly enough. I intend to continue this but we'll see if I actually do!

It was a bright, sunny day in Lion's Arch and the city was abuzz with news. Mordremoth was dead, against all odds the pact had succeeded once more and struck down one of the greatest threats to Tyria. The mood, in a word, was jubilant, as men and women practically danced in the streets of the newly rebuilt city. But amongst the celebrating crowds, a lone figure stood out of place. A sylvari, oddly covered up for the tropical climate, stumbled along the arching bridge across the harbour to Fort Marriner. They walked with a stumbling gait, leaning on a battered staff for each trembling step they took. And though the people of Lion's arch didn't know it, a monster walked among them as Mordremoth, the dragon of plant and mind limped his way through the city.

Every part of him was pain, from the shattered remnants of his once transcendant mind to the aching limited body of a sylvari soldier he had stolen in the last minutes of his confrontation with the commander and his pact, when the first inklings of the terrible idea that he might actually lose occurred to the dragon. As he was now, he was but a shadow of a shadow of his former might, his once infinite reach reduced down to one, single vessel. A last-minute backup plan of a backup plan, activated once Commander Rugan picked up the thorn of his traitorous daughter's bough to end the life of his final champion. As Mordremoth awoke, disconnected from his own mindscape and his hold on the magical balance of Tyria lost, fear filled his mind for the first time in the aeons since he had left his mother’s side. He had to survive- to escape! If the mortals found him, he'd be slaughtered, and the magic of Tyria would forever remain unbalanced. Thinking was hard, as if he had to extract each thought from the depths of a tar pit, but he needed a plan, anything to survive! And an idea occurred to him, a notion extracted from the 'dream' of his misbegotten children; there was a mists portal in Lion's Arch. There he could hide, recover his strength and, one day, take back what was his. If he could not beat the mortals, Mordremoth would outlast them.

And so as the pact fell back from the heart of maguuma, a dragon journeyed with them, making the long trek to Lion's Arch, the city that had been destroyed to trigger his awakening. Now, at the final stretch of his journey, Mordremoth, what was left of him at least, was on his last legs. Dragons feed on magic, and now that he had been utterly cut off from his supply, the hunger and emptiness gnawing at him was overwhelming. The world was a blur, the colours of the great alabaster bridge swirled and merged with the azure bay. Phantom voices echoed out of the celebrating crowds, the voice of his fallen brother Zhaitan calling out to the dead, his mother crying out in anguish as they fought for the world’s supply his magic, and above all the rest, the voice of Rugan shouting out as he struck Mordremoth down, "You've failed, Mordremoth. And now you die. For Tyria!"

Mordremoth scowled, claiming to be for Tyria while striking down its lifeblood. Mortal would never learn, lashing out at superior beings in their inability to accept their limited existence- his murky thoughts were interrupted by the distant, distorted din of lightning as the phantasmal image of a shining humanoid figure appeared in his path, a sorrowful look on its luminous visage. It remained hauntingly silent, but Mordremoth snarled "You. Don't get to judge. Me." and pushed forward, leaning on his staff as he walked, stumbling through the figure that vanished at his approach. Past where the luminous hallucination stood, Mordremoth finally caught sight of the great plaza at the centre of Fort Marriner. seven asura gates stood in a loose circle, surrounded by a loose crowd of warriors of all shapes and sizes with stocks of supplies being ferried in and out of the gates. Even as the absence of magic gnawed at him, the edges of Mordremoth's mouth turned into a smile. He was finally there. He made his final shaky steps to the far portal and stopped at the swirling misty gate, speckled with streaks of far-off starlight. Despite his multi-millennia long existence, the mists was foreign ground to Mordremoth. No matter, he would live on. He had to. With a new world awaiting, he took the final steps out of Tyria and into the quickening mists of the beyond.

#moose oc posting #leafy fern #considering how little I talk about Fern it's surprising how much of my brainspace she occupies #it didn't come up in the story but Mordy did occupy the body of a female sylvari which'll have some fun implications later on

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angstyaches · 1 year

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I really wanna see Blake at that point of having a stomach flu where hes sick enough that he realizes he needs to accept the help thats offered. hes puked so much that he’s probably empty but hes still got such a bad belly and the fear of what might happen is making things worse. From what little we know of them all i think Astrophel can relate to that sort of fear and might be a good calming presence to have around? or just one of the people blake would find the least irritating because at least xes usually quiet

Ahh thank you so much for requesting sick Blake, anon!

CONTEXT: This takes place TWO YEARS before the official MARS story will begin. It's Blake's second-last retreat before he misses a few. The actual story will pick up upon his return, around two or three years after this.

CW: illness, emeto, anger outbursts, magically drained, vision/prophecy, stimming, yelling and cursing.

Word Count: 1,793

___

As he opened the door, looking like a dishevelled, cadaverous ghost of himself, Blake Forte sighed, as though in heavy resignation. A silken dressing gown sat rather astutely over his button-up pyjamas, though he were proud to be in the formal uniform of the indisputably sick.

“I told Madame A that I wished to be left alone,” he mumbled. “So, naturally, this intrusion is no surprise.”

Astrophel stepped into the room with the older witch’s bedroom with the tray, much to Blake’s apparent disdain. He didn’t try to intervene, however, and just observed placidly while he withdrew to his bed.

“I do not require food,” he sighed, slinking towards the headrest with all of the listlessness and eyelid-fluttering of a Victorian wife struck down with cholera. . “My stomach is way too delicate right now.”

Astrophel laid the tray down on top of his chest of drawers regardless.

“I suppose you’ve also been tasked with checking up on my condition.”

Astrophel turned to look at him again.

“I do not see why they didn’t send the great Forrester instead. Although, admittedly, you are the least insufferable choice."

Astrophel could, at least, report to Madame A that Blake's illness had not had an effect on his personality.

"What are you going to do for me, anyway?” Blake’s eyes – one icy-blue, one the colour of tree bark – glared out at Astrophel from between swollen eyelids and the shadowy eyebags. His skin was alarmingly grey. “If you were of any use in this scenario, you’d have warned me that I was going to fall ill.”

As unreasonable as this statement was, and as safe as Astrophel felt in the knowledge that it was indeed unreasonable, it still inflicted a sour sting to something that rested just behind xyr breastbone. In Astrophel’s line of work (although it pained xem a little to call what xe did ‘work’; it felt like implying that xe had been enslaved, not chosen), building up an immunity to this kind of comment was not as easy and fast a feat as one would have hoped. People chose to feel disappointed, abandoned, betrayed, and personally attacked, based on which snippets of the future did or didn’t present themselves to Astrophel in a timely manner.

“There’s a basin under the sink,” Blake croaked. “Will you get it for me.”

It wasn’t a question.

Astrophel knew what Rex Westbury would have said in this moment. Get fucked, Forte. Or maybe, Get fucked, dickhead, if she was feeling particularly spicy and lackadaisical about putting graphic, colourful ideas into his head.

Astrophel crouched by the sink in the corner of the room – Blake had evidently been using it over the course of his stomach flu, and although he seemed to have tried to clean it, there were streaks and spatters of dried vomit near the edges. Astrophel had noticed that when it came to basic domestic tasks, Blake lacked ability, but xe supposed that this was to be expected of those who came from households like the Fortes’. Add that to the fact that, on a good day at least, Blake could probably just manifest himself a new, clean sink, along with a platter of sushi and a Long Island Iced Tea.

Astrophel had never really learned the extent of Blake’s abilities, since conversing with him was particularly taxing.

“Hurry up,” Blake grumbled.

Astrophel opened the cabinet beneath the sink and pulled out the red plastic basin. Xe froze for a moment, stunned by the fact that there was little else on the shelves to suggest that anybody actually occupied this room. There was a toothpaste tube and a travel-sized bottle of facewash on the side of the sink (both drugstore brand), but while Astrophel and the others had need for storage of things like hand creams, body sprays, and makeup, Blake had brought... nothing.

Either he lived a surprisingly minimal lifestyle despite his upbringing, or he was unaware of how much joy he was missing out on. Astrophel, for one, couldn’t imagine dressing xemself and walking downstairs in the morning without a spritz of cologne.

Xe stood, carrying the basin towards the side of the bed where Blake had nested himself.

And then, the back of Astrophel’s neck tightened, as though a very thin layer of cement had just started to solidify beneath the surface of the skin. Xe stiffened, hands tightening around the basin as though safeguarding xemself from dropping it.

Phone, phone, phone, phone, phone, phone, phone, PHONE, PHONE, PHONE! PHONE! PHONE! –

Xe stuck one hand in xyr pocket, fingers scrambling for the lump of blue-and-yellow playdough. Xe rolled the ball gently between xyr thumb and forefinger, picturing the way the blues and yellows streaked past one another, never smudging, never mixing, so long as xyr touch was delicate.

Xyr eyes flicked towards Blake’s phone, which was perched on the nightstand and rocketed into Astrophel’s focus. The shift in xyr focus didn’t go unnoticed to Blake, and he turned his retched gaze towards the phone, too.

PHONE – PHONEEEEE – PHONY – PHONICS – TONICs – GIN AND TONIC – GINGER SNAPS – FINGER SNAP – SNAP – SNAP –

Xe took xyr hand out of xyr pocket again and snapped xyr fingers, and the screeching inside xyr head simmered into an immediate, complete silence, as though a blanket of snow had been gently draped over the landscape of xyr thoughts.

The room fell silent, too – for about five seconds, before Blake’s phone started to ring.

Blake jumped at the sound of it, his already ashen face losing even more of its colour as he eyed the illuminated screen. He seemed to take a rather nauseated swallow, though Astrophel guessed it was a different breed of nausea to the one he’d been previously fighting.

“I’m n-not… I’m not answering it,” Blake growled, as though Astrophel had asked. He slumped to the side again, facing away from the nightstand. “If my f-father wishes to s-speak with me, he is w-well within his means to come here and do so.”

Astrophel couldn’t relate to the sentiment. Xyr parents called every night at 9 p.m. and knew that if xe didn’t answer, there was a high chance that something was very wrong.

Although, if xyr biological parents one day called them out of the blue, xe might leave the phone to ring out, also, unless curiosity got the better of xem…

“This... this cannot be happening. Astrophel,” Blake choked out, pointing towards the basin in xyr hands.

Xe was stunned for a moment, wrestling with the realisation that this was the first time Blake had used xyr new name. He’d never exactly deadnamed xem, but had rather gone about with an air of avoidance. Xe only basked in the warmth of this development for a couple of beats, before realising that Blake was trembling and swallowing back vomit.

Astrophel gave an urgent little hum as an apology and thrust the basin in his direction.

Blake didn’t sit up or change position, put rather scooped the basin into his embrace and curled up around it, like it were a small child or animal that he’d been tasked with protecting while it slept.

“I’m in terrible, horrible pain right now.” Blake whispered so quietly that it seemed like he hardly wanted to be heard. His eyelids fluttered again, this time remaining shut.

If Astrophel had been expected to speak, or if Blake would understand xyr sign language, xe still didn’t know what xe would have said. Perhaps the urge to try to comfort Blake would have won out - You’ll be alright. Don’t worry.

Once again, xe found xemself imagining what Rex would say, if she’d been sent to Blake’s room instead. Maybe she’d have said nothing at all. She wouldn’t exactly revel in the fact that a fellow witch had been struck with what seemed to be an awful virus and reduced to a shivering mess, but she was still angry enough with Blake that she, too, might have refrained from comforting him.

"Wh-why is this... why is this happening now?" Blake's voice dipped even lower. Astrophel was growing more and more certain that he was not addressing xem, particularly as xe had no idea of the significance of now.

Then again, Blake Forte lived in a world where his problems were centric to everyone around him.

He threw up so quietly that Astrophel blinked in surprise at the brightly pigmented stomach contents that suddenly crashed into the bottom of the basin. Tendrils clung thickly to Blake’s lips, and he was either too weak or too unfazed by Astrophel’s presence to spit or wipe it away.

Astrophel turned xyr gaze towards the wallpaper over the headrest. Xe still wondering what xe should do when Blake’s phone lit up again, buzzing harshly on the painted wood.

“Ah!” Blake screamed, as though the phone had caused him some bodily harm as it had started up, “just shut the fuck up!”

The effort of yelling made him break into a coughing fit, and before Astrophel could process his outburst, he was retching up bile again. One hand left the basin so that he could gingerly cradle his stomach.

Astrophel didn’t realise it until it didn’t happen, but xe had expected Blake’s command to make the phone’s buzzing cease. It did not.

A sound came from the sick witch, which was neither a retch nor a cough, but something that might have translated into a sob if he’d had any strength left to turn it into one.

The sight was so pitiful that Astrophel’s empathetic side won out, and xe placed a hand lightly on Blake’s shoulder.

And, well... he must have found some secret reserve of energy somewhere, because he turned his head again and let loose a scratchy cry;

“Don’t touch me!”

Astrophel took a prompt step backwards, partially out of self-preservation, but mostly in the hope that it would make Blake stop screaming at everything.

"Just get the hell out of my room. I don't... I d-don't need you," Blake croaked, once again settling into a curled position around his basin. "And do not let Forrester or Westbury come here."

If he'd been a man of more words, perhaps Blake would have said, If Madame A sends anyone to check on me again, please make sure it's you.

But perhaps Astrophel was reading too far into it.

Xe nodded, continuing to do so as they rounded the bed and came into Blake's line of sight - just making sure that he could see xem nodding. So that he could see that xe understood. Or didn't understand. He'd see what he wanted to see, at the end of the day.

"Thanks," he muttered, shutting his eyes before Astrophel had even opened the door to let xemself out.

#MARS Blake #MARS Astrophel #Madame A's Retreat for Spellworking #sickfic #OC sickfic #emeto #emeto fic #emetophilia #vomit fic #witch OCs #fantasy sickfic #fantasy emeto #angst #angst fic #whump fic

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goddamnosamu · 2 years

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[12:49am]

Writing songs is not easy

Pairing: idol!asahi x reader

Words: 1.9k+

a/n: i suggest reading this fic with any sad song you know for extra emotional damage. THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE so i hope you enjoy this fic that destroyed me. This is the official opening?? or start of my page and i decided with sharing angst YEY! stay tuned for more fics and i will create my carrd asap so you would know more about what im about to do with my acc here in tumblr so enjoy this fic for now! feedback would be very much appreciated :DD

Writing was hard — something asahi was very familiar with. The constant wracking of his brain to write lyrics that people would love. Working at ungodly hours to write 3 lines of lyrics that were all over the place which, most of the time, ended up with multiple pieces of crumpled paper, or even ended up sleeping on his desk with multiple scribbles on different sheets of paper. Despite the numerous love songs under his belt as a producer, asahi never really understood the concept of love. He felt like he was missing a specific emotion or feeling to add more essence to the songs.

Until he met you.

With you, writing came so much easier. It was easier to put his feelings into his writings — expressing the love he wished to express towards you. You knew this, of course. The subtle eye contact, soft whines of protest, and the delicate touches he leaves on your skin. You knew he was trying on his own ways, and you absolutely adored his ways of showing love to you.

But it was never easy.

It may seem like a walk in the park for others, or even romanticizing these subtle acts of expressing love. But loving another person was never easy, especially if expressing it was not their forte. He always wished to meet someone where he may be able to express himself without having to worry about his frustrating hesitance toward love. Though he may be infatuated with different people from his whole lifetime, or even have friends that he knows would stick by him, he never really tried to meet his person because of the fear that they might grow tired of his antics. He just convinced himself, basically. Platonic may be the only thing that he could have, and he’d have to rely on cheesy romance films or anime for him to know how a relationship happens.

“You think a relationship is hard?” he got asked by one of the members when they were trying to write lyrics for their upcoming album. He didn’t have an answer back then. Every bit of knowledge he had with relationships came from films, never really having the experience because of the hectic idol life he has now. He was contented, to an extent. But he remembered how much he smiles whenever he’s with you. How he finally experienced what it's like for his day to seemingly be better just by thinking about you. How he blushes when a member brings you up. How he unconsciously brings you to whatever conversation he was having; always wanting to connect his story about you. How he really tried his best to keep the relationship despite all the shame, hate, doubt, and every negative feeling there is.

He could never forget how hard he tried to get you to be his in the first place. A simple flower with a note: I wish to see you smile like that every day because you shine the brightest in my eyes. I hope you will allow me to be with you more, just like the orange sun. Having to find the right timing with you, to make sure you were comfortable and in a great mood. Constantly thinking about what happens then if you said yes, then worrying too much if ever you said no.

He felt like the happiest man alive when you said yes. Though he doesn’t really know what’s the next step in a relationship, he chooses to revel in the feeling of love? no, that’s not it. He doesn’t really know if it was the love he was feeling. But he didn’t mind it. He’s got you, he thinks. He’ll soon figure out his feelings for you eventually, he hopes. So, there were days that were long, days where he wanted to stay in it forever, and days that will hold a special place in his heart.

He remembers the way you hold his figure whenever he gets stressed about his work. The sweet nothings he hears while he lays his head on your figure as if melting in your embrace. It was the most comforting thing. Being with you erases the negative thoughts he has throughout the day. He hides his emotions, as he usually does. He doesn’t really know what to do with it, and he sometimes wished someone would instantly know how he was feeling whenever it started to get tough. But you always seemed to know his emotions. You were reading him like an open book, yet other people struggle with the simplest emotions he feels. Even his members sometimes didn’t understand his emotions. You were always there when you needed him.

He was the happiest. He always had the motivation to write songs because he finally found his inspiration. He finally found someone he could confine himself to without worrying about forcing himself. He knows you were there, you always were, in whatever situation there was.

But, he wasn’t there for you.

He didn’t know what to do on your off-days. He didn’t know what makes you happy. You’re holding him, but he isn’t holding you – That was the hardest part of your relationship. He was content with your treatment, but he doesn’t reciprocate it back to you. Yet, you kept quiet. Despite all the constant neglect, late-night calls that leave you unsatisfied, tears in the other room while he’s busy being happy. Even the I love you’s that holds the deepest meaning in your relationship felt empty. Even the way he says it was empty. It honestly felt like a slap in the face, when you realize your relationship is different now.

He couldn't understand it at first, the sudden change in your relationship. He was doing fine, you’re doing fine, he thinks. He might just be overthinking things again, just like what he used to do before he got into a relationship with you. You were always there for him whenever he had his off-days. Ever since he saw you with a frown on your face every time you were there to comfort him against his own demons, he swore to himself that he’d try a bit harder to remove those thoughts so you wouldn’t have to worry again. Plus, it’s a way for him to see you with a smile on your face, just like how he wanted to see you.

But one thing led to another, and you both were at your tipping point with each other. The moment you walked out of his life was the moment he never wanted to relive ever again. The eerily silence in the room when you asked him for a talk. The monotonous voice that held much more weight every time he remembered your words to him. He notices the slight tremble in your voice as the words you were releasing start to frustrate you. The amount of emotion in your voice when you told him you were tired snapped him back to reality. He didn’t know what to say. What else could he tell you that could at least help calm you down? The only indicator he had of time was the sun setting on the window of his studio.

“What am I in your life, asahi?” you asked, with so much exhaustion and desperation in your voice. You wanted to know what you were in his life.

“You’re my girlfriend, obviously!” he said with frustration that almost seemed like he wanted to get away from the situation and just wanted to lie in your arms — forgetting the whole thing ever happened.

“Well, it doesn’t seem like it anymore.” You exclaimed. You were tired of all of it. As you were still telling him about all the frustrations in the relationship. Asahi was constantly telling himself that everything was going to be okay. He wanted to tell you that, but he felt like he was convincing himself more than you that the relationship was okay, even if it was in its final steps.

You couldn’t even look at him anymore, at that point. Too tired about the whole ordeal, you broke it off. As much as he hated the whole situation and himself, he couldn’t help but stare at the setting shining sun that always reminded him of you. He knew he tried, but he wished he could’ve tried harder for you.

The wave of emotion hit him, finally coming back to his senses and realizing that you were actually gone. He couldn’t even stare at his desk because it was full of trinkets that came from you. A drawing of you was also on his wall, almost taunting him about the way he handled the relationship. A picture frame then came into view — it was a photo booth print you both went to on his birthday. Both of you were smiling so wide for the camera as if nothing was wrong with the relationship. He smiled a bit, remembering how thankful he was that you went out of your schedule just to be with him the entire day.

A snap from his member brought him back to reality. Repeating the question to him again, and waiting for his answer. “No one writes songs about the ones that come easy.” Asahi said, a bit of falter in his tone as if on the verge of breaking down the more he thinks about it. He doesn’t know how long he was keeping it together until he heard a soft click of the door and his member not in the room with him – assuming he left to leave him alone with his thoughts. To help relieve the pain for a bit, asahi went back to writing music but without the lyrics. He felt like he just needed to get lost in his own little world without any thoughts bothering him.

He doesn’t really know what time it is, but he assumes that he stayed up again in the studio for another time. But he did get a good beat out of it. Immediately opening his phone and quickly going to your contact to tell you about his beat, he instantly had a frown on his face.

09:27 pm will you come home for the night?

10:56 pm asahi?

12:17 am well, good luck in the studio for today!!

12:18 am i love you!!! <3 <3 <3 seen

It was the last text he got from you before you broke up with him. He hadn’t realized that he left you on read that time, he couldn’t even remember what he was doing that day for him to forget to reply to you. And just like that, he realized that when was the last time he replied instantly just like you did for him? When was the last time that he did something great for you? When was the last time that he even had to comfort you, despite him hearing you complain about your workspace and difficulties in life? Every single insecurity and guilt came crashing back down to him, the guilt eating him up that he felt like he couldn’t even breathe properly. He knew what to do – at least he convinced himself he knew what to do in a relationship. He just didn’t know how to express it. His harsh breathing racked his body while he tried to calm his mind from the frustration, trying to stop his thoughts from consuming his already tired night at the studio.. He’s done it multiple times ever since you left. But just for tonight, he allows himself to fully come to terms with his feelings and it was evident from the way he sobbed that night, scribbles of words and phrases he wished to tell you all forgotten.

Writing was easy for him, yes. But writing about love will never be the same because he knows what love is now – it was everything he never was.

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villainessprefect · 1 year

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~Tell It to My Heart~

title: Lofty Words

Dialogue #4: “I have this weird feeling when I’m with you. I...can’t explain it, but I know it’s a good feeling.”

Kalim x male!!OC (belong to @pinkskybelle )

Read on AO3

Kalim is quick to pull Dakarai into a dance. The high from being on stage in the presence of a fairy queen still has him moving. It's surprising that he's still willing to repeat the dance despite how it's been drilled into him. Jamil would (and does) disapprove of his bundle of energy, but it's something that Dakarai adores.

It's the way he shines, literally, with his entire outfit and being. Kalim is already a bright person, but dawning this glorious white outfit he sparkles even brighter than usual. The smile on his face lights up the world around them even as night surrounds the two.

"Come on! You didn't get to dance much earlier, right? So, let's go!" Soft fingers untouched by the woes of work meet with rough ones. They used to be soft too, prior to coming here but after doing a little work they began to wear and tear. Dakarai gulps as he's tugged forward.

Dancing isn't his forte, it never was. He's more of a bookworm, keeping his nose in a book whenever possible. The thought of dancing and the imagery the scenes gave off always seemed fantastical. And seeing it was better than he could ever imagine! Even more so since he was able to enjoy the sights rather than suffer through Vil's training regime for the gala. That may have been a little too much for him.

"I-I'm not that great though...!" Dakarai protests and Kalim laughs.

"It's okay! You don't need to be great, you just need to dance!"

Which is easy for him to say. He has experience. The way his body moves even without a song to accompany it is proof enough. Dakarai wishes he could have seen him in all his glory earlier. Seeing him practice could never compare to him on stage and putting on a show for all to see.

But Dakarai doesn't want to disappoint. So, he moves his body a little awkwardly and he's blessed by the fact that Vil and Crewel aren't around to judge his poor skills. The clothes that cover his form are light and sway with his movements. They add a little shine to his steps, making him look more graceful.

"It's fun, right?" Kalim asks, breathless. Despite his eagerness to keep going, his body needs rest. "It's a shame we couldn't stay a little longer and dance more. A fairy's party sure is something else!"

"It is," Dakarai agrees. As Kalim's dancing comes to a slow, so does his. "I'd like to have been able to hang out with you more too."

"You can always hang out with me! Scarabia is free for you to come and go!" He smiles and it puts Dakarai's heart at ease.

"Thank you...do you mind if, I don't know, say something a little weird?"

"Sure!"

Dakarai takes in a breath. The sudden confidence welling inside him fluctuates, nearly making him retreat. Perhaps he's still running on adrenaline from helping steal from nobility. It's not every day that happens and you get to live to tell the tale and even boast about it.

"I have this weird feeling when I'm with you. I...can't explain it, but I know it's a good feeling." His cheeks feel hot. "That's a little too weird, isn't it?" He mentally scolds himself for saying that aloud. He begins to fear the worst despite knowing Kalim would never berate him.

"Oh...same here!" Kalim chirps. "I like being around you. It's a weird but good feeling, I totally get it!" He laughs, again. "Maybe I should ask Jamil to explain it better," he mumbles to himself. A quick thoughtful look crosses his face, but it disappears in the blink of an eye, going unnoticed. "Anyway, we should go to Jamil! I think dinner should be ready by now. And I wana see if I can get him to join the next fashion show with us."

"H-Huh?! What fashion show?!"

"You didn't disagree like the others. So, that means we're going to be in the next one together! I can't wait for it!"

Dakarai takes in a sharp breath. He didn't think he was part of the group considering he wasn't on the distraction team, but he had played a part in this entire thing. As much as he wants to say no, he can't. Kalim is too happy and he thinks that if he's with the housewarden, then a fashion show would be a little more bearable.

#twisted wonderland #kalim al asim #twisted wonderland x oc #kalim al asim x oc #male oc #twst x oc #twst #scarabia #request #tell it to my heart event

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yummitummi · 1 year

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~♡Sleepover♡~ (my first smut)

Leaves blowing, and the night air breezing, inside a tiny house slumbered Sam and y/n. On a cold night such as this, y/n thought it would be a thrilling idea to have a sleepover. Just like kids, you both made pillow forts and had pillow fights. But in this particular hour, you had gotten bored with little kiddy stuff. So you suggested watching the scariest movie you knew, Human Centipede. While watching the movie in shock and horror, y/n suddenly grabs your arm. "Y/n are you scared?" Sam spoke. They looked up at you, but instead of seeing a look of fear, you saw a strange look and a weird look. "Y/n?" Sam questions the look on their face. Suddenly, y/n grabbed your arm and pinned you down on the soft couch. "Sorry, Sam but I have to," Y/n told you as they pressed their soft lips to yours, moving their right hand under your shirt. You pushed away from them "Y/n what the hell?!" You had said. "What do you think we had this sleepover for? To paint each other's nails and shit? You're a fucking dumbass for thinking that." Y/n spoke such words out of their mouth as you realize, what did we have this sleepover for? Just for sex? Your thoughts were interrupted by another kiss, this time this kiss had much more forceful, the touch of y/n's soft lips pulled you in, making the entire world disappear without a trace. You were focused on the kiss that you didn't realize that y/n took off your undergarments. "Admit it, you want this don't you? You little slut." Y/n had said. You felt the cool air touch your untouched womanhood, making you shiver. Y/n had placed their warm hand on your hip, warming up your body while stripping you down. They looked down amongst your pale body as they slowly pulled down their pants revealing their penis. You stared at it in awe, your mouth watering just at the sight of it. Y/n placed their manhood just right before your entrance before they were ready to fuck the living hell out of you, y/n grabbed your cold hand. "Please sam let me do this. It'll make you feel great I promise." Y/n said in a soft tone. You nodded quickly, I mean, your clothes were already off how could you say no? Y/n slammed their large yet, average cock inside of you. Tears falling out of your eyes though, sex was meant to feel good losing your virginity hurt like hell. Y/n went faster and faster like a wild animal, no matter how hard you cried and begged them to stop he ignored it and kept going. Suddenly, a bliss of heaven came down upon you named satisfaction and pleasure. Cries were replaced with moans and the sound of cries was replaced by the sounds of slapping skin going faster and faster. No matter how much y/n slapped you and choked you till you couldn't breathe it was all absolute pleasure. Y/n was breathing heavily followed by whimpering, giving you hints they were going to practically explode but before they did, y/n quickly pulled out of you. Cumming all over your couch he stared at you in disgust, "your such a stupid slut look at your slutty face you little cunt." They said. You whimpered at the touch of dick once again. Y/n shoved their cock in your mouth, pushing it down all the way, forcing you into a deepthroat before Cumming inside your pathetic mouth. They watched it drip down to your chin.

"There we go, now my little slut is satisfied."

>~☆The End☆~<

#smut #degrading language #degrade kink #sleepover

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wahbegan · 1 year

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A Brief Review of the Silent Hill Transmission

Silent Hill Ascension: So straight off the bat, this is the only one i think is going to be unambiguously bad based on what little we have. It appears to be y’know less game and more “interactive story”, promising YOU the players can help SHAPE SILENT HILL CANON, but also being a multiplayer online thing that releases incrementally, being by the creators of Dead by Daylight. The way they talked about the exact logistics of this wasssss non-existent, but the way they were hyping it up made it essentially sound like an MMO version of a Supermassive game and/or a democratic version of Black Mirror’s Bandersnatch. I love new ideas. I love new ways of approaching games. It’s just that this particular approach happens to be fucking stupid. Also the brief look at the monster looks like a Dead by Daylight killer, and I don’t mean that in a good way. ALSO J.J. Abrams and Bad Robot are involved, and J.J. Abrams has not done a single good thing since idk Cloverfield? So we’re gonna put together the formula of The Dark Anthology Pictures games, Live Service games, and J.J. “The Mystery Box Man” Abrams in a blender and see what happens. That sounds for......a really funny news cycle if nothing else.NEEEEXT Silent Hill Townfall: Interesting company behind it, made some fun and unique little indie story-based horror, so i’m told. Unfortunately, this was by far the least helpful trailer, and all i really got from it was the talking heads on the radio....tv....thing talking about how they were there to be punished in a way that, maybe I’m misinterpreting, but maaaaybe was veering a little too tongue-in-cheek meta for me. I don’t know though. I’m mostly indifferent, the trailer showed nothing, I cannot stress enough. Did not work up my feelings one way or another Silent Hill f (Silent Hill forte?): This is the only one i’m actually really fucking pumped for. Masahiro Ito is back, but actually going in a direction with his art that he really wants to be going and is creatively interested in, the world and art design look incredibly unique, it looks unsettling as fuck, it doesn’t capitalize on ANY previous Silent Hill iconography or indeed, even the town itself, seeming like it’s set in some rural and possibly in the past Japanese town, and it’s written by a guy who apparently writes quite disturbing shit. Apparently. Iiiiii can’t really get past the art style or genre of his previous work sorry so i’ll take people’s word for it. I’m glad they ended on this, because it gave me a lil note of hope to take away from the whole thing Various Silent Hill 2 announcements: I knew a remake of Silent Hill 2 a la the REmakes was coming, and i was fine with it, cautiously optimistic about it, even....even though they really should remake Silent Hill first since that’s the one in significantly more dire need of a re-imagining a la the first Resident Evil, but i digress. Footage looks pretty good, even though they inexplicably made James Sunderland ugly but honestly that’s kind of hilarious, my only real gripe is that it’s being developed by Bloober Team. You know, the Blair Witch Layers of Fear lads, the ones who take to plots about mental illness with all the subtlety and nuance of a napalm enema and are most widely (in)famous for making walking simulators. But, I’m willing to give them and Konami the benefit of the doubt. After all, if Capcom can do it

Then came the announcement of the movie. Another Christophe Gans joint, and all right, that’s fine the first Silent Hill movie wasn’t....well it wasn’t exactly great, but it wasn’t terrible either, i liked bits of it.

The movie is an adaptation of Silent Hill 2. Oh, fuck me jogging, here we go. Now look, some of the storyboards looked very promising and as with the remake, Christophe was swearing up one wall and down another that he’d suck the original’s dick with proper reverence and cradle the balls and everything, but that’s not really my main concern, my main concern is-

Huh? What’s that? Silent Hill 2 statuettes? Yeah, I mean I guess that’s-

A Pyramid Head skateboard? I mean....all right, yeah it-

What? The dog? The dog from the dog ending? A stuffed animal AND a figurine complete with control panel?

SIGH.

Yes, unfortunately, Konami are officially milking Silent Hill 2 until the sad bastard’s udders bleed. Part of me can’t help but wonder if this isn’t Konami’s fucked up Wishmaster, Calypso from Twisted Metal, Monkey’s Paw interpretation of the backlash they kept getting from just slapping the iconic images from Silent Hill 2 on everything divorced of context.

But no, more likely they just keep hearing the way people bang on and on about Silent Hill 2 as one of the greatest games of all time (which it is) and are cynically trying to re-capture lightning in a bottle in their never-ending quest for profit, somehow forever blind to the fact that if they just give passionate artists money and let them do whatever the fuck they want like they did with the original Team Silent, new lightning might strike; comparatively, sitting around all day trying to force the exact same lightning bolt from two decades ago into various newer and shinier bottles will never EVER reproduce the same effect, only ghosts of it with various degrees of success.

This is the same thing every media company everywhere in the fucking world is doing right now, but especially horror, so it’s hardly surprising, but it is....depressing. Ten years after they cancelled a truly original Silent Hill game that also would have made them more money than God with the P.T. stunt Kojima pulled in the most baffling financial decision in human history, the fact that most of what they have to show is THE SILENT HILL 2 SHOWWWW and an “interactive community experience” chasing modern trends is fucking depressing.

But like i said Silent Hill f i’m actually happy about and Silent Hill Townfall, goofy name aside, has Schrodinger’s quality going for it right now, it literally could be anything so fingers crossed for that

#Silent Hill

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pat-the-togorian · 1 year

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Pat's Febu-Whump Day 3: Muzzled

Why did it have to be around my jaw… and my neck…

The collar and its cold metal muzzle clinched my breathing, and rubbed the patched fur around the scar on my chin the wrong way. I labored for each breath, and making any audible noise would have been excruciating. My chains were a great deal heavier than everyone else’s.

This wasn’t how I’d imagined my first command mission would play out whatsoever.

The pirates knocked us forward with their staffs, one by one forcing Clones and Jedi Padawans alike into cramped, dingy cells.

“No, not him,” Barked their commander, gesturing to me. “Put him in the Hole. We don’t want him eating the others,” he joked darkly, to chuckles from his comrades. “Or getting damaged and lowering his price. I’m sure he’ll fetch many Credits for us!” The men chorused with laughter and glee at all the money that would surely come into their bloodied hands.

“The Hole” was a deeper, round cell with a boarded ceiling at the floor level of everyone else’s. The implication was clear—lowest of the low. First to get washed away by a freak desert flood, and the first to feel anything else that spilled. I grimly wondered why I was here due to my alleged high price, but I guessed this was also the most secure cell.

They opened the hatch at the top and knocked me over. I landed on my face, the muzzle’s impact against the floor busting open my chin again. They burst out laughing anew at my muffled, pained moan.

What felt like days passed, though I couldn’t imagine it would take Aheka and the rest of the Battalion that long to find my detachment.

This is just great…

It’s not like my position was obvious, and I didn’t imagine any of our captured Clones would tell them where I went. And worse, while the pirates appraised me to be of high value, Clones would get no such special treatment. They were a Credit for a dozen, all over the Galaxy. Some pirates just executed their captive Clones if business wasn’t tight.

They don’t have any reason to save me, and I can’t even yell for help, I catastrophized, the grating muzzle and tight collar making my panic all the worse. Maybe if I could get over my fear of the Clones, we’d have communicated better and none of us would be here! I berated myself.

Of course, they found us eventually. At the moment we were late to return from our reconnaissance sweep, Master Aheka had called for full mobilization, and I heard the rumbling of thousands of approaching footfalls and vehicles through the resonance of the ground before the pirates knew what hit them. I felt a stirring of hope that I would have done anything to keep alive.

As our forces drew closer and I heard the opening salvos of the fort’s defense, I lost the spark. The hope of a rescue turned into the poisonous fear of every second. Would they find me? Would the Clones speak up for me? That is, if they even saw where the Hole was…

By the time the Troopers burst through the door and blasted the locks off of the cells of their compatriots, I wasn’t just muzzled. The muzzle had won. As the liberators and captives laughed and jostled and downplayed how bad the experience was, I stayed silent and accepted my fate.

“Master, they took Pat that way!” It was the most beautiful Clone voice I had ever heard. And the next thing I knew, an apoplectic Sinvulkt slashed through the top of the Hole with her usual flourish and leapt down, drawing me into a feathery embrace as fast as she could. She looked all the angrier to see my chin bleeding, just where it had bled when she found me the first time.

Without another word, she slashed off all the chains and the horrible collar and muzzle, and I spent at least five minutes pulling in the most wonderful breaths of air I could remember. But even after my breathing had slowed, I didn’t speak as she led me out into the light, one wing wrapped protectively around me.

When I hadn’t spoken for several more hours, she stared at me in concern and softly but distraughtly asked me, “Why didn’t you call for help?”

“I-I was muzzled,” I excused. “But… You fixed that,” I finished, feeling immense gratitude, but deciding not to say anything more.

@febuwhump

@formeralleycat

#taaoej #the amazing adventures of excentrics jedi #febuwhump2023 #febuwhumpday3 #febuwhump #whump writing #star wars fanfiction #star wars oc

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dracolichbitch · 2 months

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So @lucien-lachance gave me the prompt of "I killed them, i wont apologize for that" for Alynari and i had a great deal of fun with that. It's always fun to write Vinari being a little shit but what was surprisingly more fun was writing the mutual pining that these two idiots are too stubborn and proud to act on

It had been over two weeks since the last time Vinari had the chance to go over Alyndra’s research, thanks, in part, to her most recent job. She was eagerly looking forward to getting back to her books and thus she made a beeline for her room as soon as she returned to the Fort. She was already going over the different theorems in her head as she shouldered the heavy door open, only to be mildly surprised when she saw exactly who was sitting at her desk when she walked in.

“Lucretia. To what do I owe the pleasure?” She greeted her, both pleasantly and cheerful. Even though she knew she should be alarmed to find any uninvited guests in her room, she knew that of all the people it could’ve been, Lucretia was one she didn’t need to fear. Even though she’d been distrustful of the older woman at first, her stony and stern disposition had grown on her, even if she was particularly fond of the moments she was able to shatter it, and coax either a laugh or an exasperated sigh out of her. She wasn’t sure when she started to enjoy such a thing, but at the same time, she couldn’t find it in herself to be overly bothered by it either.

“Vinari.” Lucretia greeted her calmly from her seat at her desk. She had her hands clasped together and she leaned back in the seat as she swiveled It to face the door. “How did your job go?”

Vinari blinked, having expected a reason for her presence here to begin with but she indulged the question. “It went well, if unremarkable. The target was weak and hardly even worth the effort it took to kill them, as it feels though a stiff breeze could have taken care of them just as surely as my blade.”

Lucretia stared at her unblinkingly through her lavender half lidded eyes, and Vinari got the feeling the other woman was studying her, but what she might’ve been looking for, Vinari could only hazard a guess. It wasn’t as though word could’ve traveled so fast, could it have?

“That’s good to hear. I’m pleased to know your job went so well. Interesting though. You say it was easy and nigh effortless, but you took plenty of time returning to the Fort. Odd, considering a dragon like Nocturne should be able to make the trip to Blackwater Bay and back in a week easily, and yet you were gone for two.” Lucretia noted, sitting up in the chair now, turning away from Vinari now to prop her elbows up on her desk, her chin in hand. “So where else did you go?”

Vinari arched an eyebrow at the question even as she swallowed a sigh.

Oh, so she does know. Or at least suspects. I don’t see why she’s being so coy about it.

“Oh I stopped by Litrynn for a bit before coming back.” She answered nonchalant as she stepped further into her room and came over to her desk, setting her dagger down on top of it.

The black tenebrium blade was freshly cleaned and oiled, showing not even a speck of dirt nor a single drop of blood anywhere on its blade nor hilt. There was no sign of what she’d been up to in Litrynn.

Lucretia heaved a heavy sigh and dipped her head down, resting her forehead against her hands even as she shook her head slowly.

“You were careless, Vidrus.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Vinari lied as she stepped away from her and her desk, shrugging out of her cloak and tossing it on her bed before sitting atop of it. With tired and sore fingers, she unzipped her boots before kicking them off, one after the other.

They were covered in mud and she’d need to clean and oil them later but she could do that after Lucretia got to the point and actually said what she was thinking.

“You know exactly what I mean, Vinari.” Lucretia sighed once more before turning to face her, sitting up and crossing her arms. “You didn’t even bother to hide the body. And I know it was you. Don’t deny it.”

Never mind, she could work on oiling them now. Vinari grabbed her buffing towel and the tin of mink oil before getting to work on her first boot.

“Ok. I won’t then. I killed him. So what?” She questioned as she first wiped away the mud with a wet rag, making sure to get each and every speck of dirt out from the seams of her boots so she didn’t just rub it in when she oiled them. “It’s not like anyone saw me. If they had, I would’ve just killed them too.”

“The fact there weren’t any witnesses is irrelevant. The Frey are major financial supporters of the Drakengard. If they realized that one of their own was killed by a member of the Drakengard, they’ll pull their support, assuming they don’t demand we launch an investigation into the death.”

Vinari just laughed but she didn’t so much as look up from the task she’d assigned herself.

“Again, I ask: So what?” She didn’t bother hiding her smile as she continued to work on her boot. “You know what the great thing is about being in the Drakengard? Any lawsuit involving us has to be taken up by the Tribunal as an international incident. And you know what the Tribunal isn’t going to do? They’re not going to bother with a trial with only circumstantial motive and no evidence.” She found peace in the soothing repetitive motions of buffing out the scratches in her boots, returning the leather to an almost pristine state. “And there is no evidence. All anyone knows is that someone broke into the Frey’s inn room and killed him in his sleep. No one was seen going in. No one was seen going out.”

“Not to mention you made it look like a robbery.” Lucretia sighed once more, though it sounded less annoyed and heavy this time. “At least tell me why you did it. Why did you kill him?”

It was only now that Vinari paused in her ministrations and finally looked up at her once more. Gone was the carefree demeanor she wore like the finest armor. In its place was the stern and serious assassin she was trained from birth to be. The killer destined to die without a name.

“Truly? You do not know?” She questioned, her voice as soft as silk, yet as deadly as a vipers fangs.

Wordlessly, Lucretia rose to her feet and on nearly silent foot steps, she crossed the room to stand in front of Vinari. She crossed her arms as she looked down at Vinari, and though there was usually a stony coldness to her eyes, now they seemed uncharacteristically soft.

“I want to hear you say it.” She murmured as she stared down at Vinari through her abyssal black lashes.

Vinari set her boot to the side and leaned back in her bed, propping herself up on her elbows as she gazed up at Lucretia, a soft hum in her throat as she took in the furrow of her brows, the strands of loose black hair dangling dangerously in her face.

“He insulted you in front of me. Of course I killed him. I won’t apologize for that.” Vinari hissed, her voice as smooth and slick as the serpents her family kept to milk their venom.

Vinari watched Lucretia’s chest rise slowly as she inhaled deep before letting out the breath in a soft, slow exhale.

“The insult to my name is far from worth you dirtying your hands.” Lucretia murmured after what felt like an eternity of silence.

“I have shed blood for far less worthy causes.” Vinari shot back smoothly, reaching up to Lucretia before she could think to stop herself and tucking a strand of ebony hair behind her ear.

Lightning fast, like a viper’s strike, Lucretia’s steel like grip was around her wrist.

Vinari knew from the strength of her grip she could shatter the bone as if it were made of crackers. Despite that, she didn’t pull away from her, instead fixing her with the most charming smile she could muster.

“You forget our places, Vidrus.” Lucretia’s voice was strained as she released her grip on her hand, as if she was forcing herself to refrain from something.

Once released, Vinari drew her arm back to continue lounging on her bed.

“I hope you do not expect an apology for that either.”

Lucretia turned away from her, her brow furrowed with deep creases between them. “I know better than to expect you to apologize for anything. You never do, certainly not for overstepping.”

Vinari’s lips twisted into a wolfish grin. “I stand by the actions I take, and the words I speak. Perhaps more people should.”

“Should refrain from apologies or should speak their mind truly?” Lucretia asked without so much as a glance behind her.

“Both.” Vinari shrugged even if the other woman couldn’t see it. “More people should do as they please, and stand by the decisions they make because they wanted to do them.” She murmured, even as she stared into Lucretia’s back. She took in the way her long, straight hair fell down her back, the curve of her neck into her shoulders, her shirt cinching at her sides.

Vinari’s hands tightened into fists as she gripped her sheets, resisting the urge to reach out for her again.

If Lucretia noticed her scrutiny, she made no sign of it. Instead, Vinari could only hear her exhale slowly in a sigh.

“Perhaps you aren’t wrong about that.” She whispered. With a shake of her head, she headed towards Vinari’s bedroom door.

“Lucretia?” Vinari hesitated.

It wasn’t like she could ask her to stay.

“Get some rest, Vinari. I have no doubt that you will need it.” Lucretia ordered, her voice reverting back to what Vinari thought of as her commander voice. Whatever softness had existed in her words moments ago had vanished now.

“Right.” Vinari bit her lip for a moment before holding back a sigh. “Good night, commander.”

Lucretia halted mid-step, her hand halfway reaching for the door. She glanced back over her shoulder, but as her lavender eyes met scarlet, she seemed to falter. She opened her mouth as if to speak, only to close it and swiftly turned away. A moment later, the door was opened and she was stepping through it.

The door shut with a heavy clang behind her.

#the fallacy of the damned #oc: vinari vidrus #my writing #writblr #writeblr

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