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peachdues · 9 months

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Wreckage

(Sanemi x F!Reader)

A/N: written back at the start of the month.

CW: angst • all hurt, no comfort • reader death • violence/death/blood

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It had lasted through the night, that bloody war.

The sky above them was gray and wet; rain had long since dampened the earth, mixing with the carnage strewn about the remnants of the crimson-soaked battlefield. Though daybreak had finally arrived just a few minutes prior, the muted sunlight still working to chase away the smoldering remains of the demons slain, Sanemi felt as though he’d been wading through the slaughter for hours. His legs ached and his lungs screamed at him to stop, to sit and wait for the Kakushi to arrive and render first aid, but he could not; he had to find her.

A horde of demons had sought to feast upon an entire village, one with known ties to the Corps. In a desperate attempt to avoid mass casualties, the Master had sent three Pillars rushing to the scene, though many lower-ranked skaters had already been lost.

It seemed the Hashira almost had the upper hand, until he’d arrived.

Muzan Kibutsuji’s right-hand monster had deigned to grace the battlefield with his presence, ominous and lethal. Even other demons had cowered the moment he’d unsheathed his hell-sword, some choosing to flee rather than be caught in the crossfire.

Sanemi had been cutting through demons one after another, when he’d caught sight of the Lunar Hashira launching a defensive attack on the Upper Moon, in a desperate attempt to shield a group of younger slayers from the beast’s attack. He’d desperately moved to help her, but before he could reach her, Sanemi had been forced to defend against an aerial strike, and in so doing, he’d lost sight of the Pillar.

Later on, Sanemi managed to briefly engage Upper Moon One, though at the cost of a deep wound to his thigh. The battle only ended once the sun began to bleed through the sky, forcing even Kibutsuji’s highest-ranking demon to retreat into the shadows to avoid daylight’s punishing reach.

And so, the demons had left the surviving slayers to wade through their wreckage.

Sanemi was half-dragging himself through the limbs and entrails of his comrades, his right leg rapidly growing numb from the oozing gash he’d sustained from Upper One, but he paid it little mind. He persisted in his trek, even as he sunk to his knees amidst the mud and blood, because he had to find her — even if it meant hauling himself across the field with his bare hands.

By some miracle, even his color-blinded eyes could recognize the back of her familiar-patterned haori, only a few feet to his left, half-lying a top another fallen swordsman.

Sanemi felt relief, coarse, and sweet, pulse through him as he dragged his bleeding and broken body faster towards her, her name on his lips. He realized, as he drew nearer, that she wasn’t moving, and he called for someone — anyone — nearby to come help the fallen Pillar, to get her quickly to Kocho or the Butterfly Mansion for treatment.

He could see the thick, dark stain that spread across her tattered haori, but that did not dampen the flutter of burgeoning optimism he felt. Because, while he was covered in blood as well, they’d made it — and he could chew her ass out for getting so injured once he helped her get all patched up.

A scarred hand stretched out to grip her shoulder and he turned the motionless Pillar towards him. Sanemi loosed a breath of relief at the sight of her open eyes, because that meant she was conscious.

“C’mere, baby,” he grunted, sitting up and hauling her partially into his lap, helping her to sit against him. “Where’d he get you? Your shoulder?”

Sanemi looked to where he cradled Y/N against him, hands on either side of the woman’s waist, and could see the blood beginning to stain his skin. “Damn, sweetheart, he got you good.” He pressed a kiss against her rain-cooled forehead, to comfort her. “We’ll get you help soon, baby. I’ve got you.”

Y/N said nothing, her head merely thudding against his chest, and he worried that her injuries had sent her into shock; after all, the Wind Pillar could not remember the last time a demon had even been able to draw her blood, let alone wound her. A tightness bloomed in his chest, and Sanemi cast his eyes around, frantically scanning the battleground for any sign of the familiar butterfly-patterned haori of the other Hashira who’d been dispatched with them.

Sanemi’s gaze finally landed on the young doctor, only a few yards from where they lay as she limped away from helping another slayer.

“Kocho! Here!” Sanemi yelled, voice hoarse after hours of yelling and fighting.

The Insect Pillar looked around, trying to see over the piles of corpses and parts as she scanned the carnage for her fellow Hashira. Violet eyes met his, and Sanemi felt the suffocating tightness in his chest ease as she advanced towards them.

“I can’t tell where she’s bleeding from,” the Wind Pillar explained as Kocho drew closer to the pair. “And I think she’s in shock.”

Kocho made it to Y/N’s feet but drew short with a sharp exhale, her eyes widening as she looked over the Pillar gathered in Sanemi’s arms.

“Kocho ,” Sanemi urged, the edge in his voice appearing finally to inspire movement in her as she came around and crouched down by Y/N’s side.

“Shinazugawa,” Kocho whispered, and Sanemi looked at his fellow comrade in confusion.

“Please, Kocho, she needs help,” he repeated, trying to lift her towards the doctor. “So help her.”

Wordlessly, the Insect Pillar’s pale, bloodied hand trembled as she reached out towards Y/N. She hesitated slightly in mid-air, before she brushed her fingers gently over the Pillar’s eyes, closing them.

Sanemi gaped at the pale, shaking woman. “What’re you-?”

But the wounded Insect Pillar only continued to stare at him, her eyes filled with an inscrutable sorrow that vexed him, as she shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

Sanemi’s own head began to shake on its own accord, parroting that of Kocho’s. “No, no, just — see,” he muttered, shifting Y/N in his lap again so that she lay across his thighs, her face turned towards him.

“Y/N,” the Wind Pillar said gruffly, “Y/N, you’ve gotta — you’ve gotta tell Kocho where it hurts.” Sanemi jostled the unmoving woman in his arms slightly, insistent. “Wake up, Y/N.”

The Lunar Pillar remained utterly still in his arms, and Sanemi felt his heart quicken.

He brought the hand he’d had supporting her lower back up against her face, lightly slapping her cheek in a desperate attempt to make the woman he loved open her eyes again.

“Y/N,” Sanemi growled, his vision becoming blurred not by the cold rain, but by tears as his heart began to accept what his brain could not. “Open your eyes, dammit.”

“Sanemi,” Kocho’s voice was soft, dangerously soft, as she brought a gentle hand to rest against his shoulder. “She’s gone, Sanemi.”

Sanemi did not look up — could not, as he pressed his forehead against the Lunar Pillar’s temple. His fingers trembled as they brushed back the blood and rain-soaked strands of Y/N’s hair from her face and caressed the cooled expanse of her cheek.

“Please,” he whispered, brushing his lips against hers, over and over. “Please, Y/N. Let Kocho fix you.”

Still, the Lunar Hashira did not move. He felt as though he were suddenly submerged under water, a dull ringing echoing in his ears, as Sanemi stared down at Y/N in horror. His breath came fast and hard through his mouth, and his vision was nearly obscured by the tears that fell hot and fast from his eyes, splattering onto Lunar Pillar’s frozen, ashen face.

Shinobu hung her head as Sanemi Shinazugawa slumped over the corpse of his deceased lover, cradling her head in his hands, forehead still pressed against hers, as he began to wail, broken and lost amidst that bloodied battlefield.

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😇

Also I made my own icon for the first time so that’s cool!

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #sanemi shinazugawa #kny x reader #kny fanfic #kny sanemi #sanemi x reader #kny #demon slayer sanemi #sanemi x you #sanemi x y/n #sanemi shinaguzawa #shinazugawa sanemi #kimetsu no yaiba sanemi #my first time making an icon too!

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frenchkisstheabyss · 10 months

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♡ｐｉｎｋｒｏｖｅｒ♡

♡ Pairing: biker!boyfriend!seonghwa x chubby!fem!reader

♡ Summary: When your boyfriend accuses you of cheating, you go to his shop to tear him apart but a revelation brings you closer than you were before.

♡ Genre: angst/smut/fluffiness

♡ Word Count: 1.2k-ish

♡ Warnings: strong language, mentions of violence/criminal activity, hwa & y/n are unhinged (but v sweet to each other), daddy hwa, pet names (pretty girl/good girl), unprotected sex, creampie, oral (f receiving)

♡ A/N: I'm just down bad for Hwa with that goddamn grill in, ya'll. Outlaw Hwa is hitting different rn.

“Just go down there and talk to him!” your best friend shouts from the window of your 4th-floor apartment, “Don’t overreact!” Don’t overreact? My boyfriend’s accusing me of cheating and you don’t want me to overreact? You hop onto your hot pink motorcycle, the one Seonghwa gave you for your birthday, and smile up at your roommate. “Calm down! I’m not gonna hurt---him!” She says something else but your bike’s already roaring down the street, headed straight for Hwa’s shop.

It’s a good thing that the streets are empty tonight. Your mind’s so clouded that nothing good could come of you dipping in and out of cars, dodging drunk partygoers. Hwa would kill you if he knew you were riding like you had a death wish. Then we’re even. You already want to kill him for implying that you’d ever cheat on him with anyone. Let alone Yeosang.

Before you met Hwa you were on your own in this city. As capable as you are of handling yourself, there are bigger badder things out there than you. Not only did Hwa protect you from them, he introduced you to the girl who’d become your best friend, and accepted you into his little family like there’d always been an empty spot there waiting for you.

The love you have for each other is precious to you. It’s the one thing in life you’ve never questioned, making it hurt that much more to find out that he does. When he called you tonight saying that Yunho saw your bike outside of Yeosang’s apartment a few times you didn’t think much of it. Hwa’s been getting into some pretty dangerous things lately and he wouldn’t listen to you when you tried talking him out of it.

You thought, out of everyone, maybe you’d be able to get Yeosang to talk some sense into him. Would it be sorta awkward to tell Hwa that? Probably. What you didn’t expect was to be defending yourself against this after all you’ve been through together.

You pull up to the shop and the garage door’s open as usual. Music’s blasting while Yunho and Jongho work on their bikes, knocking back soju like it’s water. “Ah, shit” Yunho mumbles, eyes widening at the sight of you charging towards him. Stepping into the fluorescent lighting of the shop, you grab the baseball bat Jongho keeps by the door and bust a headlight on Yunho’s bike.

Yunho rushes to the aid of his baby, “My bike! What the hell?” “Did you tell Hwa I slept with Yeosang?” you ask, arms ready to take another swing. Jongho, unphased but not stupid, moves his bike out of the way to avoid being caught in the crossfire. “Hi, y/n” he says innocently, flashing you that gummy smile. You can’t help but smile back, “Hey honey, how’s it going?”

“I didn’t say you slept with him!” Yunho shouts, “I said I saw you two together…” “You said you saw us ‘together’, Yunho? Together?” Your next swing lays waste to a workstation full of tools. “Where is he?” Jongho points to the office, Yunho much too busy weeping over his baby to be of any use. Tossing the bat to the ground, you gently pat Yunho on the shoulder, “My condolences.”

You push your way into the office and, surely enough, there’s your boyfriend. Hwa sits at his desk, toiling away at his comfort engine, a piece he’s taken apart and put together a million times. Something about it helps his nerves and you’ve never questioned it.

There’s a half-empty bottle of soju on his desk and his eyes are puffy. Almost as if he’s been crying. His eyes flick up at you for a split second when you close the door only for him to continue what he’s doing as if you’re little more than a gust of wind.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk.”

“And fuck up my shop?”

“Yeah and fuck up your shop because you’re an idiot!” you yell, snatching the tools from his hands, “How could you ever think that…” Hwa shoots up from his seat, angrier than you’ve ever seen him, at you at least. “Then what were you doing with him? Hmm?” “I was…” “You were what?” “I was asking for his help to stop you..” you admit. The anger on Hwa’s face turns to confusion, “Stop me?” “From doing this…this…suicide mission!”

Tears well up in your eyes at the thought of anything happening to him. You try your best to choke them down but they’ve already begun to fall. “You trust Yeosang so I thought if I could get him to change his mind it’d change yours too.” You lower your head to dry your tears on your sleeves but Hwa’s already rounding his desk, pulling you against his chest. “I’d never do that to you” you sob, breaking away from him.

You dig the keys to your bike out of your pocket, slipping them into his hand. Hwa stares at the keys, his heart skipping a beat as he soaks everything in. “Y/n, I didn’t…” “Don’t, okay? Just…I’m sorry about your shop. I’ll pay for it” you apologize, turning to leave. Hwa blocks the door, wrapping his hand around the knob before you can grab it. “I don’t care about the shop!” he snaps, “Now sit down!”

His shoulders drop, his body language softening, “Please. Sit down.” Noticing your hesitance, he goes back over to his chair, patting his lap. “Please.” Since the day you met, he’s been using that sweet voice and those puppy dog eyes to disarm you. If he thinks it’s gonna work this time he’s…correct. “I’m sat” you huff, plopping down on his lap.

He wraps his arms around your waist, squeezing your soft body. “I’m sorry” he sighs, resting his head against your shoulder, “I don’t think you’d do that to me. You know if I did he’d be dead by now.” A quick reach into the recesses of your brain reveals flashes of what happened to the last man who tried to touch you. Rest his soul. “Then why’d you say it?” Hwa bites at his lip, looking as if he’s ready to cry.

“Hey” you whisper, stroking his cheek, “Talk to me.” Staring into his eyes it becomes clear that what you saw before wasn’t anger at all. It’s fear. “I’ve been on edge all day. I haven’t eaten or slept. I used to be so sure about this mission but now…” Hwa hugs you even tighter, “I have something to lose and that scares me. I have to do this though. They need me.”

He’s right. You can’t even argue with him about it. Trying to stop him has been a lost cause from the start but you had to do something…anything…in case there was the slimmest chance that you’d be able to keep him safe. You kiss him on his temple, petting his head, “You’ll never lose me, Hwa. Promise me you’ll come back and I promise I’ll be here waiting for you.”

Running your hand down his face, you feel his lips curve into a smile. Hwa looks up at you, the cutest thing you’ve ever seen, “I promise.” Instinctively you kiss him and, as his hands dance along the curves of your body. What was meant to be a peck on the lips quickly becomes something deeper. Turning to face him, you straddle his lap, arching against his chest.

Hwa groans, fingers kneading your plush ass. “Are you starting trouble?” You giggle, grinding down against him, “I am.” “Good” he grins, “I like trouble.” He slips away from your kiss a moment to remove the silver-plated mouthpiece adorning his bottom row of teeth. “Oh baby” you whine, lips brushing against his neck, “You know I like it when you eat it with the grill in.”

When you talk like this it makes him go feral, just like you knew it would. Lifting you onto the desk, he shoves everything behind you to the ground. Metal clicks and clanks into the darkest corners of the room as you tear at each other’s clothes, your mouths drawn back to each other with every movement. You’re two magnets bound only to each other.

Hwa pushes you back on the desk, your arms dangling over the edge as your back hits the warm wood. “Ah! Don’t let me fall!” He tosses your legs over his shoulders, pressing your knees to your chest. “Never, my love,” he says through mouthfuls of your thick thighs. Hwa grabs you by the hips to keep you still but you’re still squirming and giggling.

In your defense, his tongue moves so lightly over the surface of your skin that he makes the touch of a feather seem like sandpaper. Hooking two fingers between the cotton of your panties and your clit, he moves his hand up and down, knuckles teasing you each time they graze you the slightest bit.

“You want it?” he asks, fingertips dipping into your moistening entrance for a fleeting moment. You say something unintelligible. An answer jumbled by the loveliest moans. Taking his fingers away, he wraps his lips around your mound, taking all of you into his mouth. The heat that he breathes against you, his tongue running over the outline of your pussy, has you grabbing at the back of his head.

He tilts his head back, licking his lips, “Be a good girl and use your words. Tell daddy what you want.” “I…mmm…fuck” you stutter. You’re doing your best to focus but he presses his tongue against your slit and your mind goes blank. “Eat my pussy, daddy. Pretty please” you pout and he’s ripping your panties off before you can finish your sentence.

Hwa’s tongue dives into your core, feverishly traversing the ridges of your warmth to stroke your sweet spot. Fingers tangled in his hair, you swear you’ve gained x-ray vision with all of the stars he has you seeing. Every curl of his tongue in your center, every slurp of your folds, radiates through your body. Pleasure knocks through your system like dominos. One nerve ending sparking another. Each sensation more intense than the last.

Hwa twists his fingers into you, massaging your walls while his tongue pulses against your clit. The tighter you pull his hair, the faster he moves, driving you higher and higher until you’re ready to implode. “Mmm, that’s it. Cum for me, pretty girl” he hums, his mouth not leaving you for a second. He reaches his free hand up to grip your breast, tearing it free from your bra to thumb your stiffened bud.

“Hwa! Oh my god! Aah…yes, daddy. Yes…y…” A fire sparks inside of you, consuming your entire body. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you clutch your hands over your mouth to muffle your screams. Hwa delights in how wet you are, creaming all over his fingers, drenching his wrist. Taking your hands away from your mouth, he kisses you, swallowing every noise you make.

“Gonna cum one more time for me? Hmm?” he asks and you feel the head of his swollen cock rubbing against your still core. Hwa thrusts into you, coming down to kiss and lick between your cleavage. You lose your grip on his hair, hands sliding down his back. “Fuck, you’re so sexy baby. Feel so fucking good around this dick.”

There’s no moment of tranquility. No chance to catch your breath. No calm before the next storm begins to roll in. Hwa’s so deep inside of you, so determined to make you take every thick throbbing inch of him. “Hwa…I…I can’t feel my legs” you gasp, clawing at his back. Hwa hisses at how wonderfully it stings, “Good.”

Heart racing, sweat coating both of your bodies, the pressure comes to a head again. “Shit…mmph…don’t stop. Fuck me, daddy!” you cry out, going limp. Hwa cradles you in his arms, his movements becoming sloppy. A uniquely strong twitch of his cock introduces a new warmth to your core as he fills you with so much cum that there’s a fullness in your belly.

He collapses onto your chest, the two of you desperately gasping for air. “Y/n, I…have…something…for…you” he says, his breathing still labored. Hwa reaches down and pulls one of the desk drawers out, digging around for something for a second. You arch your back to stretch your tightened muscles, “Is it a chiropractor?” “Not quite.”

Hwa dangles a familiar looking set of keys in your face. You pluck them from his fingers, inspecting them. Keys? His keys. “To the shop? Hwa, why are you giving me these?” He props himself up on shaky arms, “Someone has to take care of business while I’m gone, right?” “Take care of it? I can’t…I’m not you.” “No you aren’t. You’re better.”

A cacophony of twisted metal, crumbled concrete, and arguing blares out in the garage. Jongho and Yunho rush into the office, immediately turning their backs to keep from seeing more than they already have. The two of you jump to your feet, scrambling to throw your clothes back on. “Seonghwa, we have an uh…problem” Yunho coughs, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Jongho peeks out the corner of his eye, grinning, “It might get a little physical so you might wanna…uh.” Yunho slaps him on the back of the head, “Shut up.” In the distance, you can hear the screeching of tires. “Go! I’m right behind you!” Hwa shouts, clearing them out of the office.

“Are we ripping heads off?” you ask, hopping back into your combat boots. He shrugs, tossing on his jacket, “Maaaaybe.” “Yay!” you cheer, kissing him and running to catch up with the boys. Hwa rests his hand on his heart, utterly smitten with you, “Fuck, I love you! I’m gonna marry you one day, woman!”

#seonghwa x y/n #seonghwa x reader #ateez au #seonghwa x you #ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez x you #ateez x y/n #ateez x chubby reader #chubby reader #plus size reader

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merakiui · 6 months

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could you tell us some of these ideas you have for malleus?

There are far too many thoughts... orz here are just a few that I have recently had.

✧ sleep paralysis demon malleus.

✧ a story in which you live at the edge of a forest that's slowly creeping closer and beginning to invade your property. and standing at the edge of the forest, unable to cross over, is a horned stranger dressed in a cloak of brambles. you try to voice your concerns to friends, but they won't believe you. you've been having trouble sleeping lately and you're starting to neglect your mental health, but you know you're not crazy. by the end of the month, you're certain the forest will swallow your quaint home whole. your only option to prevent that? investigate what it is the horned stranger could possibly want.

✧ phantom of the opera au with malleus as the phantom.

✧ idol group with malleus, idia, and azul and you're their manager. or maybe you're the fourth member being added to their ensemble. or maybe you're just a fan hehe. <3 either way, malleus is so whipped for you.

✧ this isn't exactly a malleus-centered thought, but you and sebek bond over your mutual admiration for malleus. you wish to get closer to malleus (because you love him) and sebek completely understands your desire to do so. who wouldn't want to associate themselves with someone as great as waka-sama!!!!!! but in helping you with this, sebek starts to grow romantically attached. he thinks he's dying because no ailment has ever made his heart beat this fast before. T_T malleus is distantly connected to this; essentially, cute love story between you and sebek. :D

✧ your kingdom and malleus's are at war and, in the midst of defeat, you're taken as a prisoner of war and forced to bear malleus's heir. <3 or you're simply forced into an arranged marriage. malleus wants to marry his enemy much to the utter shock of the kingdom, but no one will go against what their king wishes and so you are a captive spouse.

✧ befriending the kind dragon fae boy when you were young and offhandedly mentioning that you'd marry him when you were older. many years pass, the both of you grow and mature, and you've moved to another city to pursue work. one day, you receive a knock at your apartment door. standing there is the dragon fae with a ring and an entire royal entourage behind him. did you not remember the promise you made all that time ago? D: you're going to be wed now!

✧ king rollo and king malleus are at war and you're the poor royal stuck between them, as your kingdom is between both of theirs on the maps. orz and both of them want you to side with them, for they're both hopelessly infatuated with you. for extra drama: the three of you were inseparable childhood friends. >:)

✧ classic somnophilia thoughts. knocking you up while you're in deep sleep. malleus trapping you in a dream that feels like reality, in which you live a happy, domestic life with him. or being stuck in a strange dreamy time loop that you're desperate to break and get out of, but malleus is intent on keeping you here forever.

✧ classic fairytale scenario where you're sent to slay the dragon, but he slays you instead (by spearing you on his cocks!!!! <3).

✧ isekai manhwa sort of plot in which you wake as malleus's maid/advisor/spouse/guard, but according to the plot of the story you're fated to die at his hands because your character ultimately betrays him/does something that warrants death (or maybe you simply die because he threw a fit and you got caught in the raging crossfire). to change this destiny, you make it your mission to get on friendly, happy terms with him. unfortunately, you only give him more reasons to love you even more than he had before and so now you may have avoided death, but you can't escape the stifling obsession.

#twisted chit chat #i was listening to 'make a wish' again and malleus... woooo his voice is so 😵‍💫 malleus fans i completely understand your love for him #but also azul did not have to go so hard with the emphasis on 'ai' in 'ai no sukui o'#like... 🤨 azul why do you sound so yearning when you draw out the syllable???#he's rizzing me up through song orz #all of them are T^T

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sparrowsworkshop · 3 months

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"Screened" by OneWingedSparrow

Main Tags: TFP, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, During Canon, Major Character Death (referenced), Megatron & Soundwave Summary: A tribute to Frank Welker for providing the iconic voices of Megatron and Soundwave—among many other characters across animation—over the years. Told from the perspectives of both TFP Megatron and TFP Soundwave, during and after the events of the episode "Crossfire." Part of the "Peace Through Tyranny Zine" hosted by @allsparkzines ! Please check out everyone's artwork and stories! They're amazing! Read on AO3; paired artwork here Reblogs are appreciated! ~ The bridge of the Nemesis revved with unchecked tension, like a jet engine that grumbled and screamed and refused to leave the ground despite the time for liftoff.

“The reason for our inability to locate Breakdown’s signal is all too clear...but how is it that you were unable to recover his remains?” Lord Megatron snapped.

Dreadwing avoided his gaze, fixating his attention on the floor instead.

An incoming message set the computer trilling with urgent beeps. Soundwave turned to open the notification.

“What is it?” Lord Megatron barked, just as the call connected.

A saccharine voice sent a teasing greeting echoing around the room. “Heard from Breakdown lately?”

Laserbeak twitched against Soundwave’s spark chamber. Silently, Soundwave looked to his lord.

“Trace the communication,” Megatron snarled. With practiced grace, Soundwave’s fingers flew over the keys. The onscreen cursor ricocheted around a virtual globe as frequencies were examined and swiftly eliminated, one after another.

“Megatron, truly,” Airachnid said through the speakers, as merrily as if she offered advice to an old friend, “you sent simple henchmen to terminate a high-ranking officer. I thought you reserved that honor for yourself.”

Soundwave’s fingers hovered in place.

Megatron stomped towards the dashboard, words aflame with vitriol. “Is that a challenge?”

“An invitation,” Airachnid corrected, mildly. “And, since Soundwave is, no doubt, tracing this signal, you know where to find me.”

Right then, the monitor flashed with the coordinates.

Megatron stared at the screen. Soundwave watched a thousand emotions smolder in his optics before he spoke with an air of finality.

“I’ll be back.”

“Allow me to accompany you,” Dreadwing proposed. “You already had your chance,” Megatron snapped. He stormed from the bridge.

Dreadwing hung his head, thoroughly chastised. Soundwave almost pitied the failure.

Cracks of lightning split the sky around Megatron as he flew—verily, the fury inside him come to life. As he glided into the cavern where Airachnid surely lurked, Megatron growled to himself. If you desire proper execution of a task, by the Antispark, you need do it yourself!

“I place too much faith in those who follow me,” he muttered. “The war has despoiled my troops of competence. I imagined my expectations lowered enough, and yet…!”

The mouth of the cave swallowed him. Megatron vanished into darkness.

Soundwave knew Lord Megatron was a fierce combatant, fully capable of handling his own. However, he also knew Airachnid. Airachnid was not your typical opponent. Even among Decepticons, she was diabolically cunning, darkly creative, and downright ruthless. Moreover, as an uncommon eight-legger, she wielded a fighting style that sharply disadvantaged Megatron’s. Whereas Megatron exuded might and force, Airachnid thrived in speed and guile. She was a trickster, an ambusher, and above all, a predator.

If Airachnid had the gall to consume Breakdown’s husk, Soundwave did not doubt her readiness to dismantle his lord as well. Airachnid was surely weaving trickery between her needling fingers, a net with which to snag Megatron in his anger. No matter his proven battle prowess, Lord Megatron would not be returning unscathed.

Against his spark, Laserbeak hummed in agreement.

Soundwave commanded the computer to sleep and drifted from his post.

When the Insecticon tackled him, Megatron had been thrown backwards.

Airachnid’s secret champion had slammed his neck at an awkward angle, setting it aching. Now, the Insecticon whinnied inches away from his face, mandibles waggling. Breathing heavily, Megatron seized all his strength, and thrust the creature far enough away to fire his fusion cannon.

Before he could shoot again, a web blast from Airachnid’s perch rendered his cannon useless. Utilizing the diversion, the Insecticon transformed into beetle mode, zipped forward, and tossed him into the air. A stab near the spark chamber left Megatron gasping. He hit the ground, showered by his own energon.

Instinct ignited as pain kicked in, accompanied by sheer adrenaline. When the Insecticon charged for another blow, Megatron timed its attack, and smacked the beast away with one fell swoop of his arm.

Airachnid hissed in displeasure. He cast a smirk towards her distant platform.

“You and your beast would do well to remember,” Megatron yelled, “I honed my skills in the Pits of Kaon!”

Furious as he was at Airachnid’s scheme, part of him thrilled in the unexpected matchup. Many of his memories of the Pits had been blocked out; but there was still much that he recalled. ~

Rather than stride the halls, Soundwave opened a ground bridge and teleported himself directly into his private quarters, while Laserbeak sequestered himself in the rafters outside to alert him to approaching vehicons.

Soundwave’s tentacles easily found the package, stacked in the corner among dozens of decoys. To the unsuspecting optic, the package appeared to be an ordinary Energon Cube. Courtesy of his visor, however, Soundwave could clearly identify the invisible symbols stamped all over the container, backlit by the artificial glow. A simple deception, engineered by Shockwave, meant for his sight alone.

He tapped the symbols in their proper order, unlocking the seal. The item inside snapped neatly into Laserbeak’s rest. The Minicon would fit right over it; no one would notice the extra mass on his frame.

At that moment, Laserbeak trilled on a frequency only Soundwave could hear. He tilted his head at the news.

So the failure does have some brass in his bearings.

“Rescue” was not a word Megatron regarded fondly; but, he decided he could live with an assisted tactical retreat.

“You disobeyed my orders in following me here,” Megatron growled.

He waited just long enough for worry to overtake Dreadwing; then, Megatron transformed his tone, almost sounding…jovial.

“You will make a fine first lieutenant,” he said through a wide, concealed grin.

Lord Megatron returned limping.

The average Decepticon would never have detected this; yet, Soundwave had spent enough time with him to identify when something was off. A miniscule change in his gait was all the proof Soundwave needed.

Megatron straightened his back as a group of Eradicons passed by, saluting him. As soon as they left, he grumbled and pulled a strand of web from his fusion cannon.

Knock Out welcomed Lord Megatron into the med bay. A few wayward drops of energon trailed behind him, at Soundwave’s feet.

A single tentacle unfurled, claws sweeping over the floor to wipe the energon away—out of sight.

At Knock Out’s beckoning, Lord Megatron sank onto the examination berth. Soundwave noticed how his knees quavered under him, but chose not to say anything.

Knock Out’s examination was prompt, as Megatron demanded. No Decepticon should ever know all his wounds or weaknesses...even his medic.

Once Knock Out was dismissed, Megatron narrowed his optics at Soundwave. “Did you send Dreadwing after me?”

“It was his own stupid idea!” Knock Out’s voice protested from Soundwave’s speakers. A favorite recording, from yet another occasion of Starscream’s troublemaking.

Megatron laughed, hoarsely. “So there is hope for Decepticon competency, yet.”

Yes, Soundwave thought, at last we have found someone faithful to your cause.

Towards his lord, he nodded, signaling Laserbeak to deploy.

Into Megatron’s open palm, a tentacle placed the item that Soundwave had guarded since their time in the Pits.

His lord’s knee brace. ~

#thanks for reading!#sparrow fics #screened #salt and light #megatron #soundwave #tfp megatron #tfp soundwave #during canon #canon compliant #transformers prime #tfp #transformers fanfic #maccadam

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jacksoldsideblog · 5 months

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Thoughts on time loops and fight club

Time loops are often used as a narrative device to push a character into having a realization about what truly matters, or have them fall in love with someone (I suppose technically a derivative of the first). Suffering be thy teacher for as long as need be. And most writers will accept and lean into the fact that endlessly repeating your days and endlessly dying is a bit horrific, would probably fuck with the psyche, probably not leave someone very healthy. But always, the character toughs it out, they make the realization, they arrange events just right, and they get on with their life supposedly objectively better.

And I think. With so much potential to break someone, what would happen if someone never left? Or, when they left the loop, it wasn't because they improved in any way, but because some aspect of their continued suffering met the arbitrary condition that was placed down upon them in the first place.

And I think about fight club. I think, what if the narrator woke up back on that plane, back on that nude beach, after pulling the trigger.

I think he'd rage. I think he'd fight Tyler right then and there, thinking it was the mistaken impulses of his brain in a fit after his self inflicted massive head trauma. Who cares that Tyler punching back feels real — that Tyler says shit that alludes to everything they went through. The narrator beats Tyler — himself — to death, probably. Or gets restrained, on the plane, and wakes up in a hospital. If he dies that first time I'd imagine it repeats a few times, and he swiftly starts thinking, instead of catharsis, maybe this is hell, and he does not realize how right he is.

Eventually he gets restrained, or can't beat himself quite as badly, Tyler stops him, I don't know — he's in the hospital, tied up, drugged. Et cetera. He thinks he finally woke up. He wonders where the bullet hole is. He sees the date and wonders how much more insane he's become. Tyler is still there. No bullet through his brains. Looking as beat the fuck up as the narrator made him. Saying, for fucks sake, realize already.

The narrator probably kills himself on purpose in that hospital.

And then he is on the plane, beach, whatever again. And Tyler looks at him, says, eternal punishment, for you or me? And laughs.

I think he'd go pretty swift into denial. Doesn't acknowledge Tyler. Knows Tyler is probably running around at night, but if he pretends, maybe he's not. Time passes. Enough time, and then it is the anniversary of him blowing his brains out, and a car hits him full throttle on the street.

He's back at the start. So is Tyler. And maybe, this takes a few times for the lesson to sink in. A few, terribly long times. Because there's a good long while between meeting Tyler and the bomb the building plans. And perhaps, Tyler starts talking to him, always unacknowledged, but less mad. Less upset with being chained in his body. Because damn if he's barely using it. Pathetic, nothing Tyler ever wanted for him, but Tyler knows he's got time now, so fine. The narrator can wait through his silly little tests. Tyler, who says he is the narrator deep down and so the narrator knows this too — Tyler says they're going to die that day that hour that minute no matter what.

And they do. He avoids cars by staying indoors, and chokes on his coffee. He sits in his room, he gets a blood clot. He lets Tyler arrange a team of space monkey doctors that he cannot think too hard about, one of them turncoats and injects air into his jugular. Another time, one stabs him. No number of guards fixes it; he gets caught in the crossfire. The one time he gets everything right, he dies in a second of increased warmth and then sheer nothingness, and wonders if it was a meteor or a nuke.

So. He can't wait it out. Tyler says, I told you so.

Tyler has been cooperative, the past few loops. Friendly. A lot like how he was when the narrator first lived at Tyler's house.

Tyler is the only other person in the loop.

So what if he's not physically real — he's the only other damn person in the loop. That makes him more real than anything else. That makes him more real than the entire repeating pointless universe.

The narrator wonders how many loops it would take for him to forget Tyler isn't real.

A smaller number, if he starts acting that way now.

He lets Tyler draw him in again. They live at Paper Street. They shoot the shit. They do stupid things, develop a fondness for graffiti, become actually good at spraypainting various presidents with their guts hanging out their asses. They go to bathhouses and have a sexual epiphany. They host fight club as an orgy. They hit so many golfballs through the windows of the factory that the owners actually bother to show up.

He goes along with Project Mayhem, aware, knowledgeable this time. They blow up the Parker Morris building and destroy the national museum. Destroy a history that is increasingly becoming nothing more than stage dressing. They bomb the credit card buildings and see that the infrastructure had back ups. Tyler says, shit. The next loop, they bomb the back ups too.

They fight, again, sometimes. It feels real. More real than when he fights other people. His body feels it all new but his mind doesn't.

Tyler kills the president. They start world war three. The narrator sleeps and dies for five cycles straight. He's on Oprah. He incorporates women into Project Mayhem and creates a nascent military state. Tyler trains his body into being able to suck its own cock. He goes entire loops without being himself, only waking up from Tyler's control because Tyler never wants to feel the murder du jour.

He loses track of time. It starts being a surprise when he dies and is back at the start. It's surprising Tyler, too. They start waking up in the psych ward, having gone to the wrong ally too soon, having burned their bridges before they had all their cards.

His brain can't handle this. It was a miracle it could handle Tyler.

He's free from history. Free from time. Free from consequences. He has chaos unimagineable locked into a tight, neat, orderly package.

He's forgetting life outside the loop. He wonders why he's even here. He dies on the streets. He freezes to death.

He kills himself in the first few minutes of 20, 30 loops in a row.

Everything is a stageplay. He feels like he's wearing squibs when he's gunned down by cops. Tyler's fists feel like the barest daydream of before. He doesn't remember before.

Tyler says, I'm not sticking around for this. And that's worse. Because then the narrator is the only one aware. He watches for signs of Tyler puppeting his body as he sleeps, vaguely remembering that being a worry sometimes. He sees nothing. Tyler is not there at the start, not there at the end.

Time blurs. The loops blur. He goes catatonic, for a while.

He's back on the beach. On the plane. Tyler is there. Tyler says, can't I be done? Isn't my purpose done? Don't you get it, I shouldn't exist. The universe can't handle it. Let me go. Please.

Tyler doesn't beg.

Please.

The time loop hasn't only worn on him.

Mayhem and freedom mean nothing. Not in a vaccuum, a scripted world he's steadily playing out all the options of. Tyler toured the world, it meant nothing.

Let me be done.

Turns out, Tyler can kill himself and it'll stick. Maybe it's because he waited long enough that the narrator doesn't remember what connects them. Maybe not. Either way, the narrator has long given up hope of that working for him.

He wakes up in the psych ward. He knows he'll be leaving soon. Back to the beach, back to the plane. He doesn't look at clocks, he doesn't let people tell him the time. He doesn't remember when. He'll be going soon. Whenever that is.

#fight club #my writing #basically a fic outline but timeloop fics get way too long 4 me to actually write this so enjoy this sort of halfwriting thing ig

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halenhusky309 · 6 months

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Shockop AU!

*Honestly I found the idea of Orion Pax being union leader from a post is so juicy, so I want to expand this idea further. Thank you whoever came up with the union leader!OP. So union leader!OP and Senator Shockwave first met (This is probably very cliche)

Setting AU!pre-war functionist cybertron where everything is suck for everyone except the higher classes, of courses.

OP arranged a strike for dock workers due to the low wages and abuses of workers from the higher up. Shockwave was nearby snooping round observing the strike (for education reason 😏).

Out of no where, some mechs from the strike started riot (probably due to hired agents from Functionist council that blended into the movement to disband the strike through riot), resulting fights and violence broken out between the workers and enforcers. Poor Shockwave was caught between the crossfire and trying to get out of the riot, but he got knocked down to the ground by another mech. Before he got stamped, someone dragged him off the ground and make a run away from the riots. Basically Shockwave was too disoriented to be aware of his savior and the situations around him, but he simply followed his savior to reach to the safe area, only to realize the savior leading him to this abandoned park where there was a broken bench. Shockwave then fully awared of the surrounding and locked his optics at his savior, only to recognize the infamous union leader and a damn handsome mech, Orion Pax.

(From Orion Pax's side: When the riot happened immediately told the workers to take cover and avoid the fights when violence broke out, knowing that the government playing some dirty tricks to ruin the strike and protest. When he was about to escape the riots, Orion noticed a mech was knocked down and about be stamped by the crowd, so he immediately rushed in to save that poor mech from getting stomped to death. After grabbing the poor mech from the ground, he tried to find a shelter and then, he immediately remembered an abandoned park nearby where he used to go there and hide some stolen datapads that were on their way to be destroyed. So Orion dragged the injured mech to that safe place, away from the chaos. Once they both arrived to the park, he set the mech down on the broken bench and finally had a full look on that poor mech and noticed his Senate marking, only to realize he just saved a Senate member, who he usually didn't have any good impressions. Orion was perplexed about the appearance of a Senate member at the strike, but he couldn't help to admit the mech was beautiful)

#shockop #orion pax #senator shockwave #Some lame-ass headcanon #I wish I would write better #This feels so cliché

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aha-chuu · 9 months

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Dan Heng Imbibitor Lunae’s Character Stories

So DHIL’s character stories leaked today and I wanted to discuss them/share them for anyone who hasn’t seen them. I’ll mainly be focusing on his Character Story III because it seems like the climax of Dan Feng’s arc. Also, I’ll be referring to DHIL as DF to denote his past self.

A note: there has been some talk of the English being mistranslated. Other languages refer to plurals on occasion, or don’t have as specific details. Keep that in mind (I’ll point it out when I find it necessary).

First, we have a proper look at the High Cloud Quintet (HCQ) in action from DF’s perspective with Character Story II:

This provides some interesting information. Firstly, DF self-describes as a “God”, with the military beneath him as “ants” - I don’t think I need to explore that inference for you. He sees all these mortals with “icy detachment” and later does not care that they get caught in the crossfire when he attacks the enemies. He does, however, take notice of the HCQ, implying he does care about them, or cares more about them, at least. The pilot is Baiheng, the white-haired swordswoman is Jingliu, the Lieutenant is Jing Yuan (he holds the “devastator glaive” we know he owned). We can assume that the “exceedingly arrogant craftsman” is Blade, since we know from his character stories that he used to be a craftsman -

(From Blade’s Character Story IV)

None of this is new information if you’ve been keeping track of leaks and in-game lore, but it certainly does portray DF as a much more aloof and uncaring character than I anticipated. It does make me wonder how much of DH’s separation from DF is genuinely being a new person, versus still being somewhat self-centred and wanting to avoid the sins of the past and the people that come along with them. It is still unclear, after all, exactly how DH and DF interact with one another in terms of identity.

Then we move onto Character Story III, which appears to describe the point of no return for DF’s character. It begins as so:

(NOTE: in other languages the person “urging the dragon to commit to the decision” is not specified to be the craftsman. It would be out of character for Blade, considering the lore from the Wandering Cloud relic set:

This says DF was the one to stick to the “plans” (whatever they were) and so it seems unlikely that Blade would be urging DF to commit to the plan.)

Anyway, back to the actual content of Character Story III. The sequence of events seems to be: DF and the craftsman go to the ruins, the craftsman is bloody and wounded but guarding DF and they are about to carry out some sort of plan. Because this is framed as DH’s dream of his past life, the note “whether to bury his old friend or to grant them new life — or, perhaps, those two actions were one and the same” could be out of sequence. Maybe DF and Blade went to the ruins with the intention to bury/revive an old friend, or perhaps that is DH’s memory of what ended up happening. Is the “old friend” Blade? Well... It’s unclear.

In this passage, Blade is clearly not on death’s door, despite being described as wounded, he is still walking around, carrying a sword. However, if DF is granting him immortality, he doesn’t have to be on death’s door - they might be carrying out a risky plan that will either kill him or extend his life. It could also be DH recalling what happens, so they don’t go to the ruins with the plan of Blade dying/being revived, but that’s what happens. Or, DF expects the fight (why else would he need a “guard”?) they’re possibly walking into to kill Blade and therefore is anticipating what he’ll do after.

I’m sorry I know that is confusing. The wording is not clear. There are, in fact, more options!

DF and Blade could be going to revive a different friend, not mentioned by name here. This idea of burying makes it seem unlikely to be Baiheng, as several theories suggest, because she appears later in this same Character Story:

Baiheng didn’t have much left to be buried. It’s not impossible that it’s her, however she doesn’t have a body left to revive. On the other hand, she is mentioned in this same section, so it’s sort of ~~~ who knows?

That extract comes right after a shift in the narrative:

“Returned” makes it seem like this whole Character Story is out of order. DF goes to the ruins with Blade, then it jumps back to a fight against a monster, where Baiheng dies.

And that monster... well, here’s what Character Story III has to say about the fight with it:

“The moment before his sense of self disappeared”... WTF is that? It sort of seems like transforming into the dragon caused DF to be under the control of an outside force, not that this was his final moment as DF, even though it’s a bit weirdly worded. That would make sense as to why the “dragon heart” is personified and described as the one fighting, not just “the dragon” as DH refers to DF elsewhere. He then must have returned to himself in order for the rest of the events described to occur.

And because of course this is not explained, Character Story IIII jumps right into DF being already captured for his sins, and being tortured for information on the dragon heart,

Just fighting the dangerous monster would not constitute a crime, so the Character Stories just completely skip what happened between the ruins and the imprisonment. So, the actual important part of DF’s sins.

So what is going on? This is the best order I can come up with:

1) DF knows the HCQ. They have a good time generally, occasionally fight big battles.

2) DF fights against an especially bad monster. He turns into a dragon to combat it.

3) The monster is somehow connected to “the god of life” and shows DF a vision during the fight. “The dragon heart” is ancient vidyardhara magic; a source of power that takes over DF and is struggling to defeat the monster.

4) Baiheng shows up and runs her starskiff through the monster, helping to defeat it and basically getting herself disintegrated in the process.

5) Blade (the craftsman) likely also got injured during this fight, leading him to be injured in the next event.

5) DF and Blade head to some ruins, intending to revive Baiheng... Or bury the two strands of hair she has left. Possibly, DF is working from the vision he received, which was “unsettling and beautiful”, connected to the God of Life.

6) Whatever they do in the ruins, Baiheng is not revived and Blade becomes immortal (this is the last opportunity for that to happen before DF is imprisoned and reborn). Either this was an accident, intended for Baiheng, or the procedure was dangerous and Blade got caught in the crossfire, leaving DF to pick who to save.

7) Also in the ruins, the procedure meant DF’s dragon heart went missing, which is why the Elder rebirth cycle is screwed up and why he was being tortured for information.

8) Neither Blade nor Baiheng come up again. Baiheng is dead, Blade is missing... Along with the dragon heart. Possibly, the dragon heart is inside him and making him immortal, or all its power was used up to save him.

Bear in mind, this is speculation based on the evidence we have. My reading leaves Jing Yuan and Jingliu totally uninvolved, and still does not clarify what DF and Blade were intending to do - it’s a guess that it’s something to do with Baiheng that went wrong. Blade considers himself and DF to be sinners, so we can presume they were working together to commit that sin that DF is so hated for -

Anyway, now for some less story related stuff that intrigues me.

Blade, DH and DHIL all have the same framing for their character stories, not seen elsewhere for other characters. Every character story starts with a repeated sentence, the same one each time -

Blade:

Dan Heng:

(his is short lol)

Dan Heng Imbibitor Lunae:

I think this matches throughout their stories in order to emphasise that Blade and DH/DF are stuck in the same narrative loop. DH is a “new dawn begins”, very obviously a new life and a fresh start are emphasised here. Then Blade “must have died”, being an end and a consequence. It’s literally the reverse of DH. DF/DHIL gets “returned to the insides of a Vidyadhara egg” - his is the space between death and life, as an egg is both the end of one existence and the birth of another. Together, all three make up stages of rebirth.

These stages might seem more connected to the vidyardhara (death - egg - life), however it also suits Blade. Either because it’s vidyardhara magic from the dragon heart that is causing his immortality, or because his “egg” stage does not exist. He cannot be at peace because he is unable to transition between life and death, making death his end - and yet, he doesn’t actually die.

Blade and DF also both experience torture as a punishment after whatever they did, DF at the hands of the other vidyardhara so they can get information, but Blade’s Character Story I details this:

Blade actually does not remember. Much like DH, he’s being punished for something he cannot recall. Just another connection between his story and DF and DH’s.

It does make me wonder; many people have spoken about how it is unfair for DH to be punished for DF’s crimes. Personally, because identity is so nuanced for the vidyardhara, I don’t think it is so simple as just “DH is a new person”. However, if DH should be forgiven because he lacks DF’s memories and therefore his responsibility, are we supposed to view Blade through the same lens? He cannot remember his own name, and here is mind is “empty” of the information his attacker is asking for. Yet, I would presume people would view this differently, as Blade’s body has not changed and his memories seem taken by Mara, not a cleansing forgiveness ritual.

Anyway, that was an exceedingly long post. I would be interested in other people’s interpretations of these Character Stories, because there really is a lot of vague information and unclear narrative. The whole framing of it being DH’s dreams means that a) the order of events could be totally messed up, and b) DH might not even have blank spots filled in. It does intrigue me that he has any memories, however, because it does weaken his defence of being separate from DF entirely.

#Dan Heng #Blade HSR #HSR leaks #DHIL #dan heng imbibitor lunae #Dan Feng #honkai star rail #renheng #honestly I don't talk about it here but #Hoyo did make them intrinsically connected #that's kinda gay ngl #speculation

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animeaandp · 1 year

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Dusk

MHA Prompt

Pairing: Aizawa x reader

Note: I considered making this an entire series/multiple part story but decided to leave it as this for now. I've been working on so many stories at once, I needed to get something posted. Maybe I'll continue by doing a prequel/flashback/backstory type thing later. We'll see and then we'll know, won't we.?

Warnings: Character death, talk of depression and suicide.

Quirk: Energy redistribution- Can absorb or intake energy, then either redistribute that energy as another form of energy, leave it as is and simply redirect it, or hold onto the energy and use it for yourself until it runs out. The greater the energy intake the more difficult it is to contain, control, and change, and consumes your energy to use. Taking in too much and holding it for too long, or pouring absolutely all of your energy out could kill you. Is a great quirk for the defensive but can be used for attacks; absorbing energy to heighten your natural physical abilities as well as redirecting attacks onto others. You prefer using your quirk for the former.

-------

You're in class 1A and as much as Aizawa admires you, he has to worry. In order to help save people, your quirk requires that you sacrifice your own wellbeing in the process. There's a day he's called out of class and hurries to the hospital. During your internship, a villain was giving the police a hard time; causing mass mayhem, damages, and multiple casualties. You and the hero you're with are nearby and answered the call for support just in time. The villain's quirk involved explosions and before he can take out a crowd of fleeing civilians, you jump in the way and take the hit yourself. It's been a long time since you've taken in this much energy and after successfully managing to send it back to the villain; disabling him, you collapse. The hospital alerted the school who then alerted Aizawa. He could have waited another hour or so when the school day ended but not being able to know the details until then, other than you have yet to wake up, wasn't something he could handle.

Maybe it was just the result of your quirk, but you were the type of person who was always ready to throw yourself into the crossfire if it meant at least one other person didn't have to get hurt. Aizawa knew first hand that no matter how righteous a person's intentions could be, self-sacrifice was rarely worth the cost in the grand scheme of things. But that damn smile of yours you'd flash at him while swearing everything was okay, he folded every time; a literal ray of sunshine that he couldn't bring himself to snuff out. It's the same story when you woke up the next day to a disheveled Aizawa slumped over the side of your bed. He's ready to chastise your foolishness, slap you with punishments and consequences for being so reckless with yourself, threaten a suspension-"I'm happy you're here, Shota." "...Me too." He cradles the hand on his cheek, thankful that it's still warm, and bypasses the lecture to see how you're feeling. Your answer was all he focused on in these moments, that and your smile that always reassured him.

Today, that smile haunted his every waking moment.

His mind taunted him with it.

Possessed his dreams and thoughts.

was seeing this really worth it you're a selfish man how can you live with yourself this could have all been avoided it's your fault

Drives him to almost take the half a step that could end all of it.

The half step he found himself about to take as often as the days passed by now.

He used the cumulative pto he's built up over the years to disappear in hopes of either returning to a classroom where the seat front and center never sat empty; that this had all been some fucked up joke,

or, in hopes that the half a step could be taken in peace, now that people weren't hanging over him, watching his every move, holding him back from getting too close.

Whichever came first.

and Aizawa had countless pto days saved up but Snipe's gun only until they finished tracking him down.

He'd be long gone by then hopefully.

Your smile, voice; things he'd grown to curse and resent, would be gone.

The guilt would be gone.

Almost gone.

The bundle of swaddled blankets he'd be leaving behind, most likely being looked after by Midnight right now, condemned him to a well deserved hell of it's own design.

One that he doesn't pull this trigger, and instead guilts him into finding the nerve to live.

To live and continue pouring life into the life you left behind with him.

To one day explain why they didn't have a mother.

To explain that she was a great hero, who ended up dying a great death, fighting a great war.

That it was their own father who encouraged this, and was to blame.

"Shota"

"..."

"Y/n did not entrust you with y/c/n for you to pass your grief onto them."

"...I-...can't..."

"...We can."

Whether he wanted it or not; Present Mic slides the gun from his best friends hand, choosing the path of hell for him, then walks through it with him.

(y/n= your name) (y/c/n= your child's name)

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absolxguardian · 1 year

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Star Wars Novels to Read If You Like Andor

Do you wish there was more Andor? That there was more Star Wars that was cutting in its social commentary and presented a darker view of the gffa that focused more on regular people? Well good news, there’s more Star Wars out there than most casual fans could imagine, and do I have the books for you.

A New Dawn (2015) by John Jackson Miller

Ever since the Jedi were marked for death and forced to flee Coruscant, Kanan Jarrus has devoted himself to staying alive rather than serving the Force. Wandering the galaxy alone, from one anonymous job to another, he avoids trouble—especially with the Empire—at all costs. So when he discovers a deadly conflict brewing between ruthless Imperial forces and desperate revolutionaries, he's not about to get caught in the crossfire. Then the brutal death of a friend at the Empire's hands forces the ex-Jedi to make a choice: bow down to fear, or stand up and fight.

But Jarrus won't be fighting alone. Unlikely allies, including a bomb-throwing radical, a former Imperial surveillance agent, a vengeful security officer, and the mysterious Hera Syndulla—an agent provocateur with motives of her own—team up with Jarrus to challenge the Empire. As a crisis of apocalyptic proportions unfolds on the planet Gorse, they must stand together against one of the Empire's most fearsome enforcers—for the sake of a world and its people.

Set in 11bby. I know a book about Kanan doesn’t really fit the whole “about regular people” aspect of Andor, but A New Dawn is essentially to Rebels what Andor is to Rogue One. Kanan’s personality at the beginning of the book, an alcoholic just trying to keep his head down and stay alive can be shocking to readers, but that’s called being a dynamic character, just like Cassian. Meeting Hera and the events of this novel are what make him the character we see in season 1 of Rebels.

This book shows the dangers of mass surveillance and how capitalist mass surveillance can be turned to fascism easily, but just like in Andor, it a way that fits with the story can presents it in a nuanced way. This entire book is about how capitalism works hand-in-hand with fascism, featuring as its villain Count Vidian- essentially capitalist General Grievous. (Also I feel like the ableism of disabled cyborg villains is offset in this case by the fact one of the protagonists is a non-clone Clone Wars veteran with a shitty prosthetic arm meant for an alien species. There are themes about how the two character’s respective wealth gives them access to different standards of healthcare). It also has the sympathetic Imperial girlboss as a pov antagonist- Rae Sloane (although the sympathetic stuff isn’t really established in this book).

If you do buy A New Dawn instead of getting it from your local library, I recommend you get the Rise of the Empire collection, its only a few dollars more and comes with exclusive short stories and the Tarkin novel by James Luceno, which while isn’t something I’d recommend as “more like Andor” is a really good villainous protagonist book that gives Tarkin a sympathetic backstory without excusing him.

Battlefront Twilight Company (2016) by John Jackson Miller

Among the stars and across the vast expanses of space, the Galactic Civil War rages. On the battlefields of multiple worlds in the Mid Rim, legions of ruthless stormtroopers–bent on crushing resistance to the Empire wherever it arises–are waging close and brutal combat against an armada of freedom fighters. In the streets and alleys of ravaged cities, the front-line forces of the Rebel Alliance are taking the fight to the enemy, pushing deeper into Imperial territory and grappling with the savage flesh-and-blood realities of war on the ground.

Leading the charge are the soldiers–men and women, human and nonhuman–of the Sixty-First Mobile Infantry, better known as Twilight Company. Hard-bitten, war-weary, and ferociously loyal to one another, the members of this renegade outfit doggedly survive where others perish, and defiance is their most powerful weapon against the deadliest odds. When orders come down for the Rebels to fall back in the face of superior opposition numbers and firepower, Twilight reluctantly complies. Then an unlikely ally radically changes the strategic equation–and gives the Alliance's hardest-fighting warriors a crucial chance to turn retreat into resurgence.

Orders or not, alone and outgunned but unbowed, Twilight Company locks, loads, and prepares to make its boldest maneuver–trading down-and-dirty battle in the trenches for a game-changing strike at the ultimate target: the very heart of the Empire's military machine.

This is one of my favorite Star Wars novels period. Set mostly around the time of The Empire Strikes Back, if Andor is Star Wars as a political thriller, it is Star Wars as pure military scifi. It follows Hazram Namir, a common footsoldier of the Rebellion when his unit picks up the Imperial defector Everi Chalis. After a serious of devastating losses and separation from the Alliance High Command after Hoth, Namir and Challis must work together to lead the unit alone to peruse a campaign against the manufacturing backbone of the Empire.

It has the same nuance of darker rebels and showing that the Empire is made up of people and why people might follow them as Andor. One of the POV characters is a stormtrooper. And for more Andor connections, but Namir and Chalis are from lost planets similar to Kenari, which informs a lot of their character. Twilight Company is the book that established this concept. It also has the book version of the Darth Vader scene from Rogue One, but so much better because you’re in the head of someone who has no idea what Vader is.

#sw #star wars #sw books #sw andor #sw rebels #kanan jarrus #sw a new dawn #sw battlefront #sw battlefront twilight company

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trueblu3-a · 7 months

Text

( mom -> juliette / 1:04AM ): i love you

were juliette anybody else, she might not have been awake at 1:14 on a thursday morning. she should have been asleep, her body was calling for it desperately, a warning that her days of pushing herself too far were probably coming to an end ( it may have been grief, she knew what today was: september 28th, 25 years ago, her father had died / she didn't like to believe it was grief, the very thought that she could grieve her father, still, made her sick to her stomach )... but she was awake.

it's not as though she was doing anything. in fact, all she was doing was sitting in the dark at her desk: her cat her in lap. she had been sitting in the darkness so long, & knew this space so well, that she could see every little detail with the assistance of the near full moon. she was staring at nothing, just looking forward as if anticipating what her night was about to become.

her phone lighting up brought her a sense of confusion. of course, on this day, she always received text messages, phone calls, instagram comments, from people she hardly knew: i'm so sorry for your loss juliette! & she, being the performer she was, always obliged & thanked them ( on behalf of her, her mother, & her brother who were truly grieving ). but this was early, only 1 hour into the day that she dreaded all year long, it couldn't be someone giving her their faux condolences... & she was right.

the text left her puzzled, & she stared at it with a tilted head & parted lips. in the past decade, she could not recall a single time in which her mother had sent such a thing over text ( even worse, she could not remember a time her mother said such a thing & meant it ). guilt started to pool in her chest, building very quickly to a man made lake of emotions that she hadn't felt in a long time. next came the bile, & she swallowed down with pressure to avoid throwing up.

guilt & her mother were not friends, they were not even acquaintances.

it took her at least another fives minutes to decide to get up from her seated position. at the king family mansion slept mei xing & henry, as he always did on the anniversary of their father's death. the very act left her wondering, each year like clockwork, if maybe she was the problem... the unloveable offspring rather than the scorned victim she made herself out to be. for some reason, the piercing 8 letters that stared through her screen convinced her so... completely so.

she did not live completely far from her childhood home, but far enough... accentuated by the fact that she sat alone in her car for an extra 3 minutes contemplating whether going to see her clearly grieving mother was the best thing to do. perhaps this was an olive branch...

she swallowed bile once more.

departing her apartment at 1:20AM allowed her to reach king mansion around 1:40. juliette, having abandoned her own trust in her gut feelings ( that was a skill saved only for crossfire ) felt as though maybe she was overreacting when she pulled up the long & curved driveway. her stomach had twisted in knots & her heartbeat reached a pace she hadn't even felt with a gun pressed to her abdomen. something felt wrong without her even having the smallest piece of evidence to prove it.

the house had a way of communicating with her, it always had: perhaps that was why she never felt comfortable in its old walls. it was always telling her this was going to happen... what this was, she didn't know growing up, but she would: shortly, she would.

there was little hesitation once she put the car in park. logic had won & she decided to take the front door ( illuminated not by the usual extravagant light fixtures that highlighted the old brick walls in a warm glow, but instead illuminated now by the thick glowing beams of the full moon ) rather than the garage. the garage, while updated, still creaked loud enough to warn anyone of her presence.

the door was unlocked, something she was sure henry wouldn't allow on this day, not on the 25th anniversary, not while her mother still had nightmares of the day her father died.

it was quickly in this moment she wished she'd have a knife, or her bow, or even a gun to protect herself. well trained in self defense, whatever was happening ( & she knew something was ) was personal. so personal she felt trapped in the head of juliette king: crossfire's intelligence nowhere to be found as she stepped through the dark archway into the pitch black, cold home.

even with the denial of the importance of her own name, juliette knew this house. instinctually she reached to her left, without even fiddling, she flipped the light switch.

during holiday parties, juliette would have been able to expect the staircase before her to be decorated in holly, with poinsettias accentuating the dark, nearly cherry, wood. during new years eve she would have expected drunk crowds of gotham's most elite to be adorning the stairs with the champagne flutes & loud piercing laughs. during her childhood she would have simply expected the old creaking stairs that led upwards before splitting in two directions. if she walked them, she could go to her bedroom.

never could juliette have expected her mother splayed out as she was. it could have been a gothic painting, deep crimsons where footsteps once were, skin peeling back to reveal the deepest insides of the woman she once called...

crossfire had seen a lot, she was fine with it: compartmentalization was key in keeping juliette one way & crossfire the other. it worked, it worked so well that she thought she could get away with it forever. crossfire could have seen this, juliette: could not. there were no coping skills in her repertoire ( maybe there could have been, were her mother's face so not plainly in sight, white... nearly purple even in the warm light of the entry way chandelier ).

juliette king called gcpd at 1:45AM, completely stoic, no tears, breath moving in & out of her lungs at such an uneven pace that she felt faint & had to lower herself to press her back to the door of her car.

jim g.ordon contacted the b.atman around 2:03AM & the two went to king mansion together. luckily, it had been an uneventful thursday ( as if it were a gift from gotham, saving up the tragedy for the kings, as they deserved ), & it didn't take long for them to arrive.

she had kept calling her brother, to no response... so she prayed to a god she didn't believe in, prayed he was sleeping, prayed he stepped out for a walk & would be back soon... because he was supposed to be in the house, he was in the house every year since their father died, he comforted their mother every year while juliette moped in self pity. he, between the two of them ( for all his faults ) had to be alive.

so when the a member gcpd stepped out of the house around 2:10AM, & walked up to the ambulance that housed juliette ( sat in the back wrapped in a blanket ) & said the words: " i'm sorry, we found your brother. " it hit her. there were no words for the loss of someone you weren't sure if you loved, but you were supposed to. mei xing was, by blood, her mother. there were even less words for the loss of someone you loved deeply but hadn't spoken to in about a month. never had juliette experienced such a thing, never had she pictured that she would be in this state, shaking as her birth self in the cold of the autumn nights.

crossfire could have done this, she would have been fine... but maybe a part of crossfire was in her when she stared at her mother's disfigurement, because juliette had even calculated who did such a nasty thing. payback, karma: what difference did it make to r.oman sionis?

& what karma it was ( or maybe karma is just another word for guilt, for blame, for the sickening feeling that washed over juliette as she sobbed in the back of an ambulance as she realized her brother had died ), juliette king was the last king, by blood.

the loneliness she had perpetuated in her own double life came to a crescendo so loud that her own screams made her ears ring. loneliness was now objective, not subjectively created. loneliness was this, loneliness had become juliette king.

#1500 words later #death /#family death /#maternal death /#brother death /#ask to tag /#juliette king : hc.#wow........ i cannot believe i wrote this i cannot believe it is 09/28/23

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determinedwriter · 7 months

Text

Whumptober Day 6: Made to Watch/”It should have been me”

No. 6: Made to Watch/”It should have been me”

Tony

“Stop! STOP!” I beg, never thinking I’d be reduced to tears and pleas. I’m Tony Stark. Iron Man. I don’t beg anyone for anything.

That was until I had a kid. An entirely new purpose to my life that I didn’t know I even had until said kid was nine years old. But the attachment I felt to her was almost instant. As if it was meant to be.

As if I already knew she was my daughter when she came to my doorstep with a letter addressed to me. A letter detailing just how the kid came to be. But that’s a story for another time.

Aurora has been in my life for six years now and I couldn’t imagine ever being without her. So as I sit here tied to a chair in a dank room, I plead for her to be spared of the pain I’m being forced to watch her endure right here and now.

Desperate for her assailant to hear me, I yell louder. “I said STOP!”

The man beating on her turns to me. “You asked for this, Stark”

“I don’t even know you, goddamn it!’ I argue. “What do you want from me, huh?!”

That’s where this all began. Some thug confronting me about some unknown indiscretion I have no knowledge of.. And now they’ve brought my daughter into it.

“You deserve to feel what I felt!’ He screams.

“I don’t even know who you are!” I shoot back.

“Stop the bullshit!” He booms, turning to Ro and slapping her.

“Leave her alone. Just leave her alone. She has nothing to do with this.” I tell him again. “She doesn’t have anything you want.”

“She has everything to do with this.” The man claims..

“Who…are you?” I growl angrily. “Let me settle it just between us, alright?:

He shakes his head impatiently. “You really don’t think about the destruction and death you’ve caused, do you?”

I’m not sure what he wants me to say. “You’re gonna have to elaborate.”

“Your weapons. The missiles. The endless wars you’ve helped start with Stark weaponry.” He explains. “You don’t even care about the families in the crossfire.”

I gulp. “That’s not me anymore. Once I saw what I was doing...I made changes. I made sure my weapons weren’t being used for evil.”

He scoffs. “You don’t get to turn around and be a hero. Your weapons destroyed my home. Killed my family. And now I get to kill yours.”

I get it now. This is about revenge for my old deeds. “Please. It doesn’t have to be this way. She’s done nothing wrong.”

“Neither did my Julietta.” The man clenches his fists, punching me.

“I’m sorry you lost her,” Ro speaks up. “But I can tell you…my dad is a different person. I know what he’s been a part of…what his company did. And I’m truly sorry. But he’s not…he’s not that man. He’s not a monster. Please don’t hurt him. Please let us go. You can still let us go.”

She’s wiser than me. More patient. Even after being beaten by this man, she’s extending grace and compassion to him. But he seems…unmoved. “I don’t care. You…you have to suffer because of him. It’s his fault. I don’t want to do this to you. But I must.”

“You speak like a theater major,” I say. I can’t help getting snarky sometimes.

The man rolls his eyes. “Even in the face of losing your child…you are incessantly annoying. Quippy.”

“Look, I’m sorry. For whatever part I had in your loss, I am sorry. If you’re going to hurt anyone, hurt me.” I change my tune and try to convince him to change his.

The man gets behind Aurora and presses a knife to her neck. “I am hurting you, Stark.”

Ro squirms and cranes her neck back to avoid the blade. “Please stop.”

A bit of blood trickles from her throat from a small, shallow cut. “Stop,” I tell the man.

She’s already been hit multiple times and now he’s drawn blood. My girl is being so strong. “Dad, it’s okay. I don’t want him to hurt you.”

“I’m supposed to protect you, Ro,” I reply. “Let me protect her. Let me protect her…”

“Oh no, the consequences of your own actions!’ He taunts me.

Aurora seems to ponder something in her head as the knife is put against her throat again. “Tell me about Julietta.”

I’m stunned by this. That’s a dangerous angle, but I see what she might be doing. “Tell me about your daughter.”

The man’s eyes soften a little. “She was beautiful. She was a singer. Julietta…she wanted to be a star. And she was mine. My star…”

“I’m sure she had a lovely voice, sir,” Ro replies softly.

The man looks at his knife, then at her. “I know what you’re doing. It’s not going to work. But…you deserve to know who she was. In the end…you are innocent. Naive, but innocent in all of this. It’s a shame you have to die.”

My heart pounds as he brings the large blade to her cheek, slicing it open. She cries out. “Please…nnngh…don’t.”

“This is what it feels like to lose your child, Tony Stark.” He tells me. “This…this is how much it hurts. How much you have hurt me.”

“You don’t have to take it this far. You said it yourself, she’s innocent. She doesn’t have to die. Please.” I lightly start to beg again.

“Neither did my daughter!’ He snaps. “I want you to hear yours scream!”

He’s psychotic. As badly as I want to feel about the pain I caused him, he’s already gone too far. I was willing to just let it all go if he didn’t lay a hand on Ro, but we’re long past that point. And now I just want to kill him.

The man doesn’t make things quick. He drags the knife along her stomach effortlessly as if he’s slicing bread. “I want you to beg, girl.”

Ro closes her eyes tightly, trying not to scream as the pain clearly increases. “Please stop…”

When the cuts turn to stabs, I’m screaming again. “Stop! Stop! It can be me! It can be me! Leave her alone!”

She looks at me and cries. “Dad, it’s o-o-okay. It’s okay.”

In the midst of her torture, she’s trying to comfort me. “Ro, I’m sorry. Just hold on. Hold on, baby. Just-”

The blade stabs into her gut and she screams. “Gah! Daaad!”

“No! No!” I protest. “Just STOP!”\

The man twists the knife, causing more bleeding and screaming. Struggling enough for my binds to the chair to loosen, I free a leg. The man sees it happen, but I’m able to spin around while still attached and hit him with the chair.

With lots of fighting, I finally, finally manage to get the chest piece I’m almost always wearing and press it to make my suit envelope my body. I feel instant power in that moment, blasting a repulsor beam at the man who has just made me watch my daughter suffer.

Writhing on the ground in pain, he holds a hand up in front of his face. “Wait! Wait!”

“I’m sorry for your loss. Go be with her now.” I growl, firing a second time to end it.

Aurora still cries in pain while bound to a chair and watching this, now calling for me. “Dad…”

She’s significantly weaker than before, blood pooling beneath her. I untie her, immediately catching her as she falls weakly into me. “Ro, Ro, I’ve got you. I’m here. Oh God, I’m here. It’s alright now, he can’t hurt you again.”

Rapidly bleeding, I see things are only getting worse for her. “Keep looking at me, kid. Keep breathing. You are not gonna die here. I won’t let you.”

I get her out of here as quickly as possible and call for a med vac, getting a helicopter to us. We’re both treated, Aurora needing a lot more help than I do. That man really made good on his threats. Ro became his target because of me. It should’ve been me. I don’t even know the guy’s name.

It wasn’t even my work as Iron Man that put her in danger. It was everything I’d done as myself. As Tony. And that man knew exactly how to break me. And one of the worst parts of this is the fact that I can’t be certain it won’t happen all over again.

No matter how hard I try to atone for reaping the benefits of war by now saving people, it doesn’t erase the past. It doesn’t bring back the people I’ve helped kill. And now their loved ones may come for vengeance and use Ro as leverage.

It’s happened once, and it could happen again.

The danger could be lurking right under my nose.

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lunasohma · 8 months

Text

a twist of lemon

[ chapter list / bakery au tag ]

[ ao3 / ff.net ]

Seiji’s just a little bitter. / a bakery au

Le Petit Chaton. A charming bakery and café known for its cat-themed pastries, sweets, and breads. Enjoy drinks and light fare on the outdoor patio shaded by fruit trees.

Catering available.

Le Petit Chaton is closed today.

—

The batter for the genoise had gone irreparably flat, but that couldn't be helped.

For Matoba Seiji has an immense need to be beating something to a near-death right now, and this was the only thing he could do for that something not to be a someone. As they say: Better spilt batter than spilt blood. Probably.

To his credit, the someone in question is keeping his distance now.

“Mice?” Shuuichi had posited, barely a squeak. Fitting.

“They got into the locked front cases!”

“…Opposable thumbs?”

“Natori Shuuichi, so help me—”

Shuuichi was now quietly attending to the mess. A macabre graveyard of half-nibbled pastries and buttered crumbs that they had walked in to this morning.

Seiji had not screamed.

When Nanase comes in, she listens to more of their theories, arbitrating effectively until the discussion gets heated again. Ever quick to avoid the ensuing crossfire between them, she hightails it to the back office to deal with orders and rescheduling.

Seiji tracks Shuuichi as he half-paces half-sweeps, stopping every now and then, muttering under his breath and lost in thought. He’s always thought that Shuuichi’s thinking face was cute, but Seiji doesn't think he can take much more of this.

He is about to say something when Shuuichi passes the kitchen and pauses to peek inside.

“Hey Seiji, did you see that one of the windows is open?”

“What?” A flash of irritation. An open window is a very Shuuichi move. There’s nothing he relishes more than a night’s breeze.

‘Fresh air is good for you!’ While they're washing up for the night. Like a puppy with his head out the car window, Seiji swears. Something about growing up in the countryside.

‘Yes, yes, make sure you close them.’

How many times has he told him as such?

He stalks over to Shuuichi.

“I didn't leave it open, I—” All at once, his excuses fall silent. He quickly shuts the kitchen door.

“What are you doing? Covering up your crimes?”

“I would never.” Shuuichi flashes a grin at him, back up against the door. Guilty.

“Seiji, listen.” He narrows his eyes in suspicion. “I'll be right back. And you, uh, stay here and don’t go into the kitchen until I get back. Sound good?”

He's sparkling in earnest and the joke’s on him because Seiji has built up an immunity to those sparkles a long time ago. He feels his temper spike.

Don't go? How ridiculous. What are you saying? I’m not the one gallivanting off to who knows where in the middle of this crisis!

“So what you're saying,” Seiji lets ice creep into his voice, “is that I should stay here and not go into my kitchen while you run off to—?”

Undeterred, Shuuichi presses a kiss to his forehead. “That’s it! I promise I'll be right back.” Another kiss for good measure.

Before he can escape, Seiji grabs him by the back of the collar and hauls him back around to face him again.

“What is the meaning of this, Shuuichi?”

“Do you trust me?” The question startles him as does the earnestness Shuuichi asks it with. He answers the only way he can.

“Of course I do. But I don't see what that has to do with—”

“Thanks, Seiji.” His eyes are gentle. Tucking a piece of Seiji’s hair behind his ear, he laughs fondly.

“You've got flour on your nose.” Seiji furiously swipes at it, ducking his face, feeling his ears begin to redden.

“Promise me? I'll come right back.” And he leaves.

—

Has Seiji ever been good at promises?

He disposes of the poor, abused genoise, flips the front sign to ‘closed’, and draws the shades partway. He pesters Nanase one too many times and is chased out of the office.

Where are you, Shuuichi?

Then he remembers the croissant dough chilling in the walk-in.

Don't go in the kitchen! The voice of Seiji’s conscience has long since been replaced by the voice of Natori Shuuichi.

Has Seiji ever been good at doing what he’s told?

—

Seiji pushes his way into the kitchen and forgoes the lights for the early morning sun streaming through the (still open!) window. With a sigh, he leaves it for now. The birdsong cheers him a little. They really do like the trees.

He starts to make his way over to the walk-in. And stops.

He knows it's only Shuuichi’s paranoia that is making his rationale quail in the face of… something.

No, he means nothing.

It's just a prickle at the back of his neck. Easy enough to ignore as he retrieves his pastry.

And now, the window.

Seiji freezes. No, he can't move.

Well.

He can breathe.

He can blink.

But there is a fear that stays his voice.

Only after a small eternity, it is over.

Seiji does not run. But he does lock the door behind him.

—

“I've brought Takashi!”

Seiji looks up from rolling croissants.

“…Why have you brought Takashi?”

Takashi looks to Shuuichi expectantly. But all at once, Seiji forgets his own question.

Because in Takashi’s arms, there is an impossibly round tri-colored cat. A veritable potato on toothpicks. The cat looks awfully soft and Seiji reins himself in.

“Good morning, Seiji-san,” Takashi greets him. “You haven't met my cat yet, have you?” It looks like a maneki-neko. A thought floats through his mind—the cat deciding that it’s done with beckoning fortune and going for a stroll instead.

“This is Nyanko-sensei.” Seiji didn't know what he was expecting, but somehow it was very Takashi.

“That’s very… charming.” The cat’s eyes meet his, unblinking. He seems to appraise Seiji in a way that makes it feel like his very soul is on display. Well, that's no surprise. Cats are special like that.

He is ever charmed as Nyanko-sensei sniffs his offered hand before lowering his head to accept a pat. So… soft!

Takashi smiles. “I think he likes you.”

“You've been keeping him from me, haven't you?” Seiji glares venomously at Shuuichi. The cat gives a rumbling purr that almost sounds like a laugh.

Shuuichi holds his hands up in surrender, but he can't help his expression. He looks like a man in love. Seiji can't help but stare.

—

“Coffee!” Shuuichi makes his way over to his beloved espresso machine.

“Yes, do. It’s only fair. You dragged poor Takashi out at this ungodly hour.”

Takashi shakes his head good-naturedly.

Natsume Takashi knows how to be patient when it comes to Shuuichi. It's a patience learned early on when Shuuichi used to babysit the younger and only reinforced when Takashi grew out of that age. He's recently moved to the city for school, close enough to their place for him to be a regular dinner guest.

And he's quite the goldmine of embarrassing childhood stories starring one Natori Shuuichi, which he never hesitates to dispense over said dinners with a pleasant smile.

He can also occasionally be seen talking to thin air.

Seiji had meant to mention it to Shuuichi at some point but kept missing the timing. He still hasn't. Maybe he was being silly, but it felt private.

Seiji sets a saucer of milk and a fresh croissant down for Nyanko-sensei.

“That’s very kind of you, Seiji-san.” He's slightly embarrassed. “I spoil him too much.”

—

“So, Shuuichi told me about the—” Again, he glances at Shuuichi. “The kitchen.” He finishes hesitantly.

“Yes, what's in the kitchen?” The immediacy of his question was his misstep. He's better than that.

“You didn't, did you?” Shuuichi knows him all too well.

“He did.”

“Nanase-san!” A ghost summoned by the scent of coffee, she now disappears back into the office without another word. Typical.

Shuuichi’s attention snaps back to him.

“Seiji, I told you not to!”

“Yeah? And when has that ever worked out for you?”

The look of genuine upset and disappointment leaves Seiji feeling utterly chastised. Shuuichi shakes his head, eyes darting to Takashi briefly.

“Well, are you all right?”

Seiji carefully considers his words. “Why do you ask?”

Shuuichi sets his jaw and Seiji wants to punch him. Or kiss him. Or both.

All the while, Takashi has been watching them. He's used to their spats by now and that doesn't bother Seiji because he's not the self-conscious type. But something about the way Takashi’s looking at him right now—

All of a sudden, something round and furry lands on his back. He doesn't startle too badly and the cat hangs on well enough.

Seiji turns his head and it almost looks like a grin that Nyanko-sensei offers. He lightly touches his nose to Seiji’s forehead.

“Nyanko-sensei!” Takashi admonishes. “Oh, I'm so sorry!” He reaches over to gather him up and only then does Nyanko-sensei release his shoulder.

The cat swallows something.

“It must’ve been a fly or something.” He frets and Seiji tries to parse his sincerity.

While Takashi is as red as a beet, Seiji can't help but feel that there is something performative about the way he stands to bow his apology. Held to Takashi’s chest as he does so, Seiji swears he sees the cat wink.

Shuuichi is staring at Takashi too and he is as white as a ghost.

“Or something.” Seiji finally says.

Nyanko-sensei flicks his right ear and Seiji feels like he's getting closer.

—

“I'm just going to take a quick look around.” Nyanko-sensei patters after Takashi through the kitchen door.

Out of the two of them, Seiji would be the first to say that he's not the best at comfort. He knows Shuuichi’s favorite desserts by heart—the man isn't too much for sweets, go figure—but there's no time to whip up tarte tatin or yuzu chiffon.

“Hey. There, there.” His heart breaks a little when he feels Shuuichi shaking slightly. “I’m all right.”

“Seiji,” Shuuichi whispers into the crook of his neck.

“I’m right here.”

—

“It's spiders.”

Oh, it is most definitely not.

If there is anything that Seiji hates, it is being unaware. Unprepared and unapprised. So frustration is an understatement. They are talking around something but Seiji doesn't know where to push to get a straight answer. He doesn't want to snap at Takashi and certainly not at Shuuichi when he looks like this.

He decides.

“I don't think so.”

Takashi looks at him. Nyanko-sensei lets his eyes drift closed. He's found the perfect patch of sun to curl up in.

“Okay,” Takashi starts again. “It's like spiders.”

Seiji knows that's as good as he’s going to get, but he still feels obstinate. “What do we do about not-spiders?”

“You guys are in luck.” Takashi smiles. “Lemons.”

—

It's always hindsight. All of the lemon pastries were miraculously untouched.

Seiji sets a pot to simmer and takes the chef’s knife out of Shuuchi’s hand.

“Why don't you go help Takashi?” They've unearthed an old ladder and Seiji doesn't trust the thing as far as he can throw it, despite Takashi’s assurances.

Shuuichi looks at him helplessly.

Nyanko-sensei makes a show of marching across Shuuchi’s toes with a Cheshire grin.

“We’ll be just fine.”

“That would be good too,” Seiji agrees. Nyanko-sensei has stopped by his sage plant on the windowsill. He tears off a handful of leaves and his lips twitch up as he watches the cat pounce after one that flutters to the floor. Seiji thinks about getting some catnip.

Outside, Takashi looks at home up in the branches of a tree. Below, Shuuichi braces the ladder and Seiji watches the tension finally wash off him.

—

Takashi tucks something else into Shuuichi’s hands before he leaves. A sheaf of papers.

“If it's not enough. Or just in case,” he says quietly.

“From the start, I should've—”

“You didn't know,” he says firmly with a shake of his head. Takashi pulls Shuuichi into a hug.

Seiji looks away.

—

‘Overtime’ is Nanase’s word of the evening and she sing-songs it at them when she leaves, not before snagging a lemonade to go.

Shuuichi is up to his elbows in aromatics.

He hands Seiji another glass. “Rosemary and mint. What do you think?”

“I like it.”

“Kind of basic, though, right?”

“Well, excuse me. What do I know?”

Shuuichi tucks a sprig of rosemary behind Seiji’s ear.

“I'll add it to tomorrow’s menu.”

Then he presents Seiji with a tiny rose, crafted from a twist of lemon peel.

“You are such a show-off.” Seiji slots it into one of Shuuichi’s buttonholes.

“Only for you.”

—

Later, still—

“Maybe they're just hungry?” He still doesn't know exactly what he's talking about and he's ready to pull his hair out.

“Seiji, they're not like stray cats!”

“Then tell me what they are like!”

Shuuichi’s mouth snaps shut. Braced against the counter, knuckles white, he goes ever so still.

Seiji slowly counts to ten.

“Hey, Shuuichi,” he says, “tell me about not-spiders.”

Shuuichi is somewhere far away. “Yokai.”

Seiji knows about yokai. The storybooks he pored over with his sister at bedtime and the games they used to play. Superstitions that sent them scampering across a bridge, giggling with their eyes closed, or diving under their covers, even though all the lights were still on.

“Oh,” he says faintly.

“I can't see them like Takashi does.” He slips his glasses off. “But I can still sense things, to an extent.”

Seiji approaches Shuuichi now, and maybe he should learn to be more patient, but—

“Tell me something else.”

So he does.

—

Is the world a different place now that he knows that monsters exist?

‘They're not all monsters,’ Shuuichi said. ‘Think of Nyanko-sensei.’

‘I'm generalising, my worldview is undergoing something profound.’

Shuuichi looks more relaxed than he has all day. ‘Then I'll leave you to it.’

—

Seiji pulls the window shut. Shuuichi smooths a paper charm over it.

The air is all but citrus.

[ au / author notes if you are interested! ]

[ part ii: interlude ]

#horrible exorcists #bakery au #natsuyuu #natsume yuujinchou #matoba seiji #natori shuuichi #natsume takashi #nyanko-sensei #nanase #my fic #fanfiction #this has been living in my head rent-free since Flour #again! years!#p.s.#the fruit trees are loquats and lemons. SOMEHOW

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changeling-fae · 4 months

Note

alone, desire, & guilt!

Thanks, definitely doing this for Nym. Going to put under the cut ‘cuz it’s dark. TW for past child abuse, implied past CSA, suicidal mentions, and drug abuse.

alone: How does your OC deal with loneliness? Have they ever been completely alone before? How do they act when there's no one around to see them?

Oh boy, before the start of the game she was dealing with such loneliness and major depression that she had many suicidal ideations. That’s essentially what had her returning to the Devil’s Den to see Raphael so often.

After the woman she had feelings for got her own life together and met someone, Nym kept coming back to Raphael for lanceboard, wine, and philosophical discussions. She was seriously contemplating just letting him have her soul on the condition that he devour it so she doesn’t ever have to exist again.

Before she met him, she dealt with her loneliness through sex and ONS. She also did a lot of drugs to get high. Basically anything that would distract that gaping void inside her where she felt numb and in pain (both mental and physical).

She kept herself busy through her job as an entertainer or through the cult stuff with Bhaal. She just did what the cult wanted but at least it kept her distracted (and I headcanon the white dragonborn Durge also existed and was the leader at the time before she and Orin shanked him).

She’s felt and has been alone since her father’s death as a child. The man who bought her from the debt collector kept her hidden beneath his estate and she lived in a cell for 4 years in utter darkness before she escaped and was found by the cult.

If no one is around, she just gets high and stares into the middle distant for hours. Sometimes she’ll even cry before she pulls herself together and continues forward with whatever people want from her.

desire: What's one thing your OC wants more than anything in the world? Are they open with that desire?Why or why not? What would they do to fulfill it?

To not feel so dead inside, to stop feeling both numb and in constant agony of her existence. Before the events of the game, she really thought about just surrendering to Raphael (she was aware he wanted her soul, this is before he’s canonically obsessed with Tav/Durge though so was just viewing her like another client). Some part of her clung to life though, which is why she never went through it but also she hadn’t been back to see him after she and Gortash stole the crown through his home.

She never hid that desire around Raphael though and he was well aware that he just had to patient (initially). Fate had other plans though.

Now however, her desire is to live and to heal. She has kids to look after, she finds love with Astarion, and she has a new type of relationship with Raphael. She’s ready to move forward and start anew.

guilt: What is your OC guilty about? How do they handle their guilt? Do they try to avoid guilt, or do they accept it?

She has major survivors guilt for one thing. Her father (her favorite person) had died protecting her. She also feels some guilt (though she buries it) over killing the kids of the man who held her captive. When she escaped, she was in a blood rage and murdered every soul in the estate, including his kids. She was still a kid herself (14) but it haunts her a bit.

She’s got a soft spot for kids and giving her Durge lifestyle, doesn’t feel good whenever kids get caught in the crossfire, or making kids into orphans. But that’s what drugs and compartmentalizing is for.

When she murders Quil in the game, she’s not entirely sure what happened and feels a measure of guilt there and tried to hide evidence of her involvement. She didn’t hide the body but she washed the blood off of herself and told the group (technically truthfully) that she didn’t see anything that night when they ask her if she was involved.

She’s very good at mental compartmentalization overall though.

#oc: nymurra auvry’val #bg3 durge #bg3 raphael #ask meme #feel free to ask more #she’s like my angstiest oc

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serenanymph · 10 months

Text

find the word tag

tagged by @e-klair, over here! my words were valid, left, repeat, and pity.

valid (did not turn up for Witch's Book, so welp, gonna pull from the first book instead. luckily there was one result!)

“Icarus,” Crys says, firmly, and he looks up, and stops. A deep breath, and Crys continues: “It’s not – it’s not your fault. I came because they were going to execute you, and I couldn’t let that happen. That’s it. I – Klysmos,” another dry laugh, “they were going to execute you. They hated you so badly they were just going to burn you alive at the stake, without giving a trial, without a single valid reason, and – “he sucks in a sharp breath, realizes his hands are shaking and tries to make them stop, and why is it that now, when all of it is over, that somehow all the fear is coming right back? “That’s messed up.” Icarus shrugs again, a little helplessly. “That’s what always happens.”

left

It’s just past lunch, and they’re trekking through the forest towards the clearing where they usually practice spells, an out of the way place where they can best avoid getting anyone caught in the crossfire, or accidentally destroying the house (Madge is trying very very hard to control her magic, she is, but it’s just too easy to blow things up sometimes). Mama had gotten caught up with a customer, so it’s just them for now – though she’d made Zephyr swear up and down and right and left, cross-your-heart-and-hope-to-die, that he wouldn’t let Madge do any magic without her to supervise before she let them go.

repeat(s)

“’Nothing much’ my ass,” Kas grumbles. There’s a screech of wood against wood as he yanks out a stool from under the kitchen table, his ankle hooked around the chair leg, before plopping himself down. Zephyr gasps, as he always does, immediately darting over to Madge’s side and clapping both hands over her ears. “Kas! Think of the seven-year-old!” Madge cranes her neck back until she’s staring at Zephyr’s upside-down face, half-tipping off her own stool. “Zee-zee, I already heard it.” She pokes her tongue out between her teeth and repeats: “’Nothing much’, my ass.”

pity

Creed walks forward, still smiling, the tap of his boots echoing against the stone – steady and even, each step a war drum, a herald of death – and plants a foot on top of their head and slams it into the floor with a crack, and the choked cry that rends through the air is something awful, a desperate attempt to stifle the pain that doesn’t quite work. Icarus sucks in another sharp breath and it sounds like it physically hurts. The one without wings shouts, “Taya!” – the crowd stirs, Creed holds up a hand; the crowd stills. “You should remember,” he says pleasantly, “that these are Beasts. They aren’t human. Given the chance, they would slaughter all of us in our beds, use our blood to paint their houses red. There is no need to feel pity for these creatures. After all” – he turns, looks out over the crowd, and in the one second his cutting gaze sweeps over where the three of them stand, Crys feels his bones locking up, feels something inside him turn brittle like ice – “that would make you a Beast sympathizer.

Tagging @arctic-oceans, @macabremoons, @reneesbooks and @sidhewrites for the words evening, bitter, sample and mutual!

#sorry for putting long snippets btw. it Will Happen Again #writeblr community #writeblr #ser writes stuff #my posts #tag game #find the word tag #wip: beast #beast #char: crys #char: icarus #char: rhyme #char: zephyr #char: kas

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musical-chick-13 · 11 months

Note

I understand the need to complain, so 7 and 12 for that violence ask game!

Thank you for your solidarity, I appreciate it. :)

7. What character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because how how the fandom acts about them?

I answered this here. But I'll talk about another one. Ava from LoT. Like the previous answer, she was originally just kind of there to me. But I felt like she kind of took over the show, and I wasn't really happy with the development regarding her relationship with Sara (and apparently they decided they had to destroy Sara's friendship with Rip to make this ship happen? or something?), but I liked the other characters enough to just go, "Eh, not for me" and move on.

And then there were just...too many things I saw that bothered me. People tended to act like anyone calling Ava out was inherently...bad? I never really even saw a specific reason for this, it just seemed like people didn't want to admit a character in their preferred ship could make mistakes or be wrong. There was such a horrific level of biphobia I saw regarding Sara, too (which, big surprise, eventually spread to other characters who people wanted to be confirmed as not being straight onscreen). And like I mentioned before, Sara and Rip's working relationship got caught in the crossfire, and the things I saw from too many stans of this character about how horrible Rip was for basically...daring to ever be traumatized? Or how little sympathy they had for the show killing off a grieving, deeply hurting man with a thinly-veiled death wish/suicidal ideation just...really created some not-great associations regarding this character in my brain.

12. The unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them?

Lmao.

So Idk if y'all know this but I REALLY love Cersei Lannister, yeah, shocking, I know. I've talked about her at length, but she's my Ultimate Fave so I can't NOT mention her here. Her interior emotional world is so rich and layered that I learn new things about her (and, very frequently, about my own relationship to my mental illness) every time I think about her. All of her choices make sense narratively in accordance to what we know about her, even if they aren't good ones. Her mental illness and trauma seen as a tragedy worthy of sympathy, and it is her refusal to constructively deal with them and her insistence of externalizing her pain that leads to her horrible behavior toward others, not the presence of the mental illness or trauma itself. And like...yeah, we weren't supposed to root for her (even though I did because I'm me, lol), but we were supposed to feel for her. And she was allowed to continue to exist in the narrative. For better or worse, her story still mattered and was still worth telling, and, Idk, it was the first time I'd ever seen that being afforded to a mentally ill character. She processes everything in a very ugly way, that's not societally-palatable, and I cannot begin to tell you how utterly refreshing that was. She's capable of great love, but that love is tinged with all the negative and deeply unhealthy things she's held onto. She's a villain, but she is so clearly still a hurting person under there, grieving for all the things that were denied to her. Everything she does can be tied back to an overwhelming, all-consuming desire to Avoid Being Hurt Again. She keeps going out of spite. Her paranoia is understandable, but she deal with it in increasingly unhelpfully hostile ways. She flips between being cold and angry and sad and impulsive and even, occasionally, soft, and unlike usual ""evil queen"" archetype characters, she feels so much. She thinks love is literally being as close to same person as someone else as humanly possible. SHE KILLED A WHOLE MASS OF PEOPLE WHO WANTED TO RUIN HER, GOOD FOR HER. She's fascinating.

In the interest of saying something that's NOT repeating myself for the billionth time: Martha Jones from Doctor Who. Truly the most competent companion The Doctor ever had. She didn't suffer nonsense, she was INCREDIBLY resourceful and intelligent, she extended compassion to everyone she met, even those who could (or did) easily pose a hostile threat. She was the only companion in all of RTD or Moffat-era DW to leave completely on her own terms and break away from a lifestyle that was hurting her. The characters I love don't generally tend to be people I'd want to be like irl, but as a teenager, I wanted to be her when I grew up, and I still do. (Sadly, people are racist. And they couldn't get over the fact that she wasn't her predecessor, who was half of a fan-favorite ship involving the conventionally attractive white man. I'm still mad, I'll always be mad.)

I Choose Violence asks

#tw: suicidal ideation #multi t(ASK)ing #salty mc13 is salty #light of the west and my life #the brightest star in the universe <3

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