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rollinouttahere-writes · 3 months

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milk chocolate #7 w/ sir crocodile if you please!!!! ^_^ i'd really appreciate it if it could be masc reader but gn is fine too ! thanks in advance ! 🧡

I increased the word limit only to exceed it yet again

Anyways. For this one I made it yandere, hope you enjoy it!

Yandere Crocodile x Masc!Reader

1.7k words

Prompt:

I’ll be right back, I have to go take care of something.

It was more than a little surprising when Sir Crocodile had reached out to your family wanting to do business together. All of you had been extremely skeptical to agree to even meet up to discuss the matter. Your parents never bought into the idea that a pirate turned warlord could ditch his life of crime to peacefully open and run a casino, and you didn’t either.

Everything about him felt shady to you, but not unfamiliar. You’re a businessman, you’ve met some slimy motherfuckers in your day. Sir Crocodile gave the impression of someone who liked to have a hand in every pot, as well as someone who wouldn’t hesitate to backstab anyone if he thought it would benefit himself.

In short, you had his number.

If you had it your way, the offer would have been shot down and never entertained. Unfortunately, you're not the one calling the shots in the family business. Your parents may be starting to step back and let you control more, but they were still extremely present and were the ones to make the final decisions.

And for whatever reason, they bit. As much as you hated it, you would be moving forward with the new location. Loathed as you were to admit it, you could see their reasoning. With how successful and popular his casino Rain Dinners had gotten, more and more people were coming to Rainbase just to go there. Having an additional store inside the casino’s latest expansion would certainly help to get the business of the people who may have otherwise missed it.

Given that casinos were an environment that encouraged impulsivity, it was to be expected that the fine jewelry your family was known for would catch people’s eyes and entice more purchases. Someone who wins big will feel inclined to get themselves something(s) nice, thus sending the money right back into Crocodile’s hand.

The reasoning for accepting the offer made sense, though you couldn’t help but fear what would come with it. Blackmail and extortion seemed like the most likely possibilities, all of you would have to be on perpetual high alert to prevent any scandals or worse. This partnership will be a tedious one to say the least.

Seeing as that you would one day be in charge of your family’s businesses, it was decided that you would be the one meeting with Crocodile to discuss any questions and important details connected to the new location. You may not like him, but you would prefer to interact with him over your aging parents do so.

At first, everything seemed normal. Discussing things like rent and utility costs, or what his cut of the store’s sales would be was something you expected and came prepared for. The debate on his percentage was a long one, but you walked away from it mostly content with the result. It was slightly higher than you would have preferred, but he did throw in some stocks, so it will likely balance out so long as the casino doesn’t crash and burn.

As time went on, the meetings progressively made less and less sense. For whatever reason, Crocodile felt the need to have you come to the casino to approve of the store’s layout. The contractors your family employed have been working for them since they opened the first store, you had full faith in their ability to make it to your family’s liking. Having you come in just to agree that you approved of the blueprints seemed pointless, but whatever. There are worse things he could do.

Then he wanted to see a catalog of what you planned to have on display. It was beyond you why he needed this information. Jewelry and the sales of it were your forte, not his. Honestly you felt a bit insulted that he thought you needed his input, but you bit your tongue and showed him the created selection.

Right now, though? The current meeting was nothing short of ridiculous. He had requested your presence at Rain Dinners yet again. You were sitting across from him in a private booth in the casino, nursing a glass of bourbon.

It’s been almost an hour already and he hasn’t brought up your store once. At first you thought that maybe he was waiting on his assistant to bring some documents, but you doubted that more the longer this went on for. He should have gotten irritable by now, but instead he appeared to be shockingly content.

Perhaps he was just enjoying your company? You had to resist the urge to snort at the absurdity of that idea. Of course that wasn’t the case. He wanted something, you just had no idea what.

The ice in your drink clinked against the glass as you swirled it around absentmindedly. Clearing your throat, you cut to the chase, “Why am I here?”

Crocodile grinned, “I’m surprised it took you this long to ask.” He shot back the rest of his own drink before reaching into his coat pocket for a cigar. There was no sense of urgency in the action, he was confident you would patiently wait. The cigar was held between his teeth, and he made a show of checking for his lighter. “It would seem I forgot my lighter. Be nice and light this for me.”

The fact that he was taking his sweet time answering your question was annoying the hell out of you, but if it meant getting him to talk, then fine. You pulled out your own lighter and reached forward and up to light his cigar. His excessive height made it more than a little awkward to do this, but you were successful.

Your fingers drummed impatiently on the table as he took a drag from it. He chuckled at the display, then stood up from the table, “I’ll be right back, I have to go take care of something.”

With that, he walked away. Your jaw dropped at the audacity. Was this some kind of game to him? Forget this, you weren’t going to sit here all day while he messed with you. Downing the rest of your drink, you grab your jacket and make a move to get out of the booth.

Suddenly, several guards block you in. Your pulse begins to quicken. You tried to keep your voice even, “Move. I’m leaving.”

“No you’re not.” The statement was spoken so matter-of-factly that it honestly gave you pause. You shook your head. They had no authority over you, why should you listen to these goons? You try to push past them only to get violently shoved back into the booth.

Oh. This was bad. Did Crocodile already manage to get some dirt on your family? Not seeing any other option, you sit up and elect to stay put. You pull out your pack of cigarettes and light one up. You’re definitely going to need it with the way things are going.

It wasn’t long before the warlord returned. The guards dispersed immediately, you suppose it makes sense that they would no longer be needed with someone as powerful as him here. He was carrying a transponder snail that was set on the table ominously. Just what the hell did he need that for? Who else was getting involved in this damned meeting?

All you do is glare at Crocodile while you wait for him to drop whatever bombshell he had up his sleeve. Fortunately, it seemed he was done making you wait. “I think we would make a great team.”

A team? You weren’t completely sure what he was getting at. “We’re already business partners in a sense, what more do you want?”

“I didn’t mean it that way. I’m interested in you. Romantically.”

The abruptness of the confession knocks the wind out of you, and against your better judgment, you start laughing. This whole situation felt fake, like you were going to wake up in bed any minute.

So that’s what this all was about. He was looking to get more money and power from your family, and he was going to do so by either a marriage or by getting blackmail on you. He was far from the first person to try and do this to you, and you were far too experienced to fall for it.

A click followed by the ringing of the transponder snail snapped you out of it. Crocodile’s expression was extremely unamused, unlike yours. He forces the receiver into your hands and you’re left confused. The call goes through, and you hesitantly bring the receiver to your mouth, “Hello? Who am I speaking with?”

Everything was silent for a moment, then a familiar voice came through. “(Y/N)? Oh god they have you, too,” your mother’s voice wavered and it sounded like she was struggling not to have a breakdown.

Your heart drops into your stomach. “This is sick! Where is she?! What did you do to her?!” It’s taking everything you have not to launch yourself over the table at Crocodile and try to strangle him with the cord.

“Calm down! M-Maybe it would be best if you… if you just agree to whatever he’s asking you. Please.” Your mother was frantic, worried for not only her own well being but yours too.

You wanted to refuse and hold strong, but your brain caught up to the problem at hand and recognized how bad of an idea that would be. He had at least one of your parents at an undisclosed location with who knows how many of his henchmen. If you piss him off your mother is as good as dead.

That bastard had you exactly where he wanted you and he knew it. He planned it out perfectly. There was no way out of this situation that didn’t work in his favor. Through gritted teeth, you looked Crocodile in the eyes and spat out, “Fine.”

He chuckled, then plucked the receiver out of your hands to hang it up. Before you could reach for it to call back and ensure that your parents were going to be safe now, you were dragged out of the booth by the warlord himself.

“You’re a smart man, I knew you would come around. Let’s have dinner together and we can discuss how things are going to be from now on.”

#one piece #yandere one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #sir crocodile #sir crocodile x reader #yandere #reader insert #x reader #valentines day event

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hermitthebee · 2 months

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More of my Charlastor Feedback Au. (Since you all liked the first one so much)

I apologize for any mistakes, as I stated I’m in no way a writer. That being said, if anyone wants to use my ideas for their own stories I’m completely okay with it! If you all enjoyed this let me know. I’d be happy to share more about it.

(Link to part one for anyone interested )

—----

Somehow Alastor has accidentally started to care about the hotel residents. He hadn't realized just how much they had grown on him. He even started seeing them as friends. He hates it. To Alastor friendship is just a weakness anyone can exploit. It’s something others can use to control him. Friends are just setbacks to his rise to the top. He’s terrified, He needs to be on top. In control. He would have left this rotten hotel if it wasn’t for the deal he’s trapped in. He still needs Charlie for his plans. Closing himself off is the second-best offer. Stop this friendship nonsense before it gets worse.

It had been easy enough to wane himself away from the other residents. Half of the residents were still skeptical of him. Husk and Vaggie practically avoided Alastor for him. And the other half was easy enough to push away and distance himself from. Like ignoring the spider demon until he got bored and went to bother someone else. Alastor did have to snap at Niffty to distance himself from her. He does not feel about it. He doesn’t hate every time she hesitates around him now. That’s what he wanted after all. Distance. Unrelatedly, He avoids Charlie's gaze every time Niffty pauses (stupid bond.) The distance is nice he enjoys all the time he has without those annoying residents. He is not lonely. He doesn’t miss everyone.

Everyone except Charlie. Who for some reason wouldn’t leave him alone. Even with their annoying bond (that he is trying frantically to fix) she couldn’t care that much. She was simply being stubborn. But it was a minor setback Charlie will see he's a lost cause, beyond redemption, soon enough..right? She just forgot who he was.

Charlie isn’t stupid. She knows who Alastor is, and what he's done. That being said, He’s still her friend. Through the months she's grown increasingly close with the deer demon. Especially over the month with their shared bond. Alastor, without her realizing, had become one of her closest friends. (She’s adamantly avoiding thinking about how her heart pounds around him)

She can feel (though he tries to block it) how much he's hurting. Alastor is right about one thing Charlie is stubborn. Too stubborn to stand by as someone she loves cares for is suffering. She’ll stop at nothing to help him.

—---

Wounds from angelic weapons aren’t something that can be healed quickly. The holiness acts like a slowly seeping poison eating away at a demon’s soul. To heal it you need to quite literally drain the holiness out of the wound with magic. Draining too much at once can also poison the demon though, so it has to be done in phases. On top of all this, it takes a lot of energy to keep the holiness from spreading faster, which drains magic. Often this leaves demons too weak to heal the wounds themselves. (It’s also why the extermination goes for weaker Sinners with less magic). For a wound as big as Alastor’s it could take up to 2 months to be fully healed.

Despite this Charlie insists on helping him daily. Charlie insists that she (loves) cares for him, and wants to help. Alastor is unconvinced. Alastor tried a total of once to deal with it himself, to show the princess he was fine on his own. (the attempt ended with him almost passing out, Charlie having to steady him) but decided that Charlie could waste some energy if she wished. It just gave him more power.

It becomes a nightly routine. After the others go to bed Charlie heads to Alastor’s room. She works on draining the wound for about 30 minutes. She uses a little more energy than she should, but she has to. Alastor got hurt defending her hotel, it's her fault she should at least try and make his recovery as quick as possible. It’s surprisingly pleasant. They have conversations that last hours after the session ends. (they both secretly look forward to it every day)

Charlie keeps Alastor’s injury a secret. Which isn’t the best move, when Alastor is asked to help with the hotel just as much as she is. But Alastor tries so hard to avoid being seen as weak. She can briefly feel the rush of adrenaline Alastor gets when he’s asked to perform a usually effortless task. How could she betray his trust and tell everyone just how weak he was currently? She can’t. So she just starts taking his jobs for him. She tells the others to come to her first for tasks. (refusing to answer why.) It’s double the work now, on top of healing Alastor but she’s fine. A temporary solution until Alastor is back on his feet. She didn’t tell Alastor about the extra jobs, convinced he’d worry too much. not because she knows just how thin she's pulling herself.

The others are suspicious but no one has figured out why Charlie is always tired and working or why Alastor is acting weird. (well weirder than normal at least) Charlie’s not the best liar and typically just changes the subject when asked about it. Alastor is a great liar about his issues but is just as confused/worried as everyone else about Charlie.

—---

The extermination didn’t only affect Alastor. The other residents have their own issues. They all deal with the aftermath in their own way. Charlie works hard to try and help them, along with helping Alastor. This doesn’t leave a lot of time for her mental health, but that's okay. She can deal with it when everyone else is content again. Everyone is dealing with so much, what right does she have to worry about her as well? She’s just a bit tired. Her job as manager of the hotel is to care for her guests and coworkers, which comes first. The others need her. She’s adamantly ignoring the glances Alastor sends her. She refuses to acknowledge the worry she can feel through Alastor. She’s fine.

—--

Charlie is getting nightmares bad enough that they wake Alastor. He jolts awake in a panic that is not his. It’s always so loud, too loud to drown out. Even when she wakes the bond doesn’t calm till hours later. He doesn’t mention it at first. Hoping it's a one-off thing. But he decides to watch her just in case. Not out of worry, it would just affect his plans if she’s not mentally well. Once he starts though he can’t stop noticing how off she's been.

She has almost a frantic energy as she helps around the hotel. Her appearance is slightly messy, with ruffled hair and a lopsided bow. Her smiles felt fake, strained. Her feedback (now that he's not blocking it out) felt wrong too. Simmering around him it felt almost jittery. Like tiny needles pricking his skin. As the days go by this feeling only grows.

The biggest thing he notices is, however, how exhausted she is. Her drooping eyes seem to have darker bags every day. Her movements are sluggish and delayed. And More than once he’s caught her nodding off at her desk, only to jolt awake seconds later. One time she had even fallen asleep during one of their dinners. Her head rested on Alastor’s shoulder as he panicked debated on whether to wake her or not. (He was still debating 15 minutes later when she woke up. She apologized for another 15 minutes afterward.)

It’s only after the 4th time he’d been woken up in the same week that he decides he needs to do something. After all, he and the princess need sleep to execute his plan. It's completely selfish. He isn’t increasingly worried as Charlie looks and feels more and more tired. Her feedback becoming more and more frazzled as time went on.

The next time Alastor is woken up he quickly goes into the kitchen. He makes two cups of tea before heading to Charlie’s room. When she sees him, Alastor can’t help but notice how the bond calms almost immediately. He doesn’t understand how she can feel safer with him around. She’s super apologetic, she hadn’t realized her ridiculous nightmares were enough to wake Alastor. But Alastor just brushes off the apology and asks what’s wrong. She’s unusually tight-lipped at first. He urges her to talk about all the nightmares she’d been having. It takes a lot of gentle prying to get the details out of her. In her dreams, she’s back at the extermination, when their bond suddenly cuts off. It's completely silent as she rushes to him. Finding his bloody and beaten body, she tries hopelessly to help him. But nothing is working and he’s gone. Charlie wakes up after that. But even with their bond active his feedback a steady hum she can’t sleep.

Alastor is shocked. He’d assumed her dreams were about the extermination, but he assumed it was about losing the hotel, not him. It hadn’t even crossed his mind she was worried about losing him. He has a million questions he wants to ask. But Charlie falls asleep soon after. She’s comforted by the steady static Alastor makes. A constant reminder that he’s safe and here.

It becomes the norm for Alastor to go to Charlie’s room when he’s woken up. (More often than not he ends up staying the night)

—---

During the day, Charlie starts using the hotel as a reason to be around Alastor. Suddenly She and Alastor are Co-Hosts and need to have meetings to work on the hotel. She starts (forcing) enforcing morning meetings, and mid-day meetings. Any actual work rarely gets done. Morning meetings are just having breakfast together. Mid-day meetings are no better as they usually and quickly devolve into just hanging out. Any time Alastor tries to get out of these meetings, Charlie will invent problems they “have to” fix. Charlie will also add a ‘surprise’ meeting whenever Alastor’s feedback feels wrong. It is designed to comfort Alastor as much as she can. He tries to hide it but she can tell he's hurting even if Alastor won’t admit it. These meetings feel different, softer. Alstor is often quiet so Charlie just talks. She rambles about the hotel, her day, and anything else that comes to mind. She pauses in case Alastor decides to speak and then continues when he doesn’t. She hopes he’ll eventually talk to her but until then she’ll comfort him any way she knows how.

Immovable object meets unstoppable force.

Alastor didn’t eat dinner with the group anymore. In turn, Charlie starts to seek him out to eat with her. Now they can both be found in Alastor's room eating together every other night.

Alastor tries to get out of “group bonding activities” but suddenly, Charlie insists that as co-host, he and her must set an example.

This is only made worse with the bond.

He’s as stand-offish as possible with the princess without ruining his plans. But, despite his best efforts, she hasn’t been put off at all. It's like she can see right through him. If anything she’s spending more time with him than before.

Alastor is confused annoyed. He’s annoyed by how much Charlie acts like she cares about him. How she, despite his best efforts, wants to be around him.

—---

Alastor is quickly at his breaking point. He’s a few earnest acts of kindness from shattering. Letting his walls down and letting her in. So he deflects. He tries to scare her off. Talking about the worst things he’s ever done. Going into gorey details as graphic as possible. Any other demon would run for the hills. Charlie doesn’t. She doesn’t even feel scared..just worried.

Scaring her isn’t working so in a last desperate action to push Charlie away, he tries a different tactic. He focuses on sending nothing but hatred through their bonds. He draws as much malice in his voice as he starts his performance. He’s as cruel as possible. He picks at every insecurity, every failure. Doubling down each time her feedback sparks with hurt. He calls her worse than the cruelest overlords. How she ruined his life and wishes they’d never met. Anything to get her away from him. and the emotions he feels around her. It works.

She completely shuts down. She runs out of the room in tears mumbling a quick sorry. Alastor refuses to acknowledge the guilt he feels, blocking out Charlie’s feedback as much as he can. he feels nauseous, he’s shaking slightly and all he can think about is the look on Charlie’s face.

Charlie hadn’t wanted to hurt Alastor. She feels awful realizing how much she had. Yet deep down She’d already known that it was her fault. Her fault that he was here, her fault he was injured. She’d almost gotten him killed. For what? Her stupid dream? She has to fix it. To make amends. She leaves him alone as much as she can. She takes up more of his tasks (even ones he’s completely capable of doing.) She still heals him every night fixing another one of her mistakes. but it's a silent affair and she leaves right after. She pushes herself harder to heal him, doing it longer with more energy to heal him. It takes a lot more out of her but it is the least she can do for him. She also takes great care to close off the bond as much as she can. Closing both the give and take of their bonds. So he doesn’t feel her negative emotions and so she doesn’t invade his privacy.

Alastor hates it. He’d wanted the princess to shut him out but now that he has it he misses her. He’s left alone during meetings and left out of activities. There are no mandatory meetings or dinners anymore. Hell, most days he doesn’t even see Charlie till night. It's too quiet now, he realizes. He changes his schedule more than once to try and see her but it seems like no matter what he does she avoids him perfectly throughout the day. She’s withdrawn at night only giving one-word answers at his attempts at conversation. Her feedback has never been more quiet. He doesn’t even feel her nightmares anymore. (but judging from the bags under Charlie's eyes, she’s still getting them) Her bond was always so honest before. He didn’t know how she could be so truthful about it. And due to his own actions, it was more guarded than ever. It seems she was blocking him out too.

He’d tried a few times to get Charlie to come to him using their bond. Sending a brief pulse of sadness or anxiety. Something she’d react to. She doesn’t.

He’d gotten so used to Charlie comforting him when his feedback sent something to her. (So much so that he unintentionally started to seek her out when he was distressed.) It’s jarring and especially hard for him when she stops. When that source of comfort he’d gotten so used to is gone. And he’s the only one to blame. He cared a lot more than he realized about her efforts to reach him. He’d never admit it but he was so surprised someone thought there was something good in him. He honestly didn’t expect her to care that much. He could feel how earnest she was too. He doesn’t know what it means for him if not even Charlie can see good in him anymore. Thinking about it for too long though makes him feel sick.

He still tries to convince himself that this was the right move. it's less and less convincing every time he repeats it.

—---

Charlie is overworking herself. The constant work and healing, the not sleeping taking its toll on both her mental and physical health. It eventually catches up to her. She’d felt fuzzy all day. But insisted on helping everyone despite her discomfort anyway. It had only gotten worse as the day progressed. It's bad enough that she considers canceling her and Alastor's session. But that wouldn’t be fair to him. Alastor’s wound is almost fully healed by this point, Charlie just needs to push herself a little harder. Alastor notices something wrong as soon as he sees her, but he doesn’t know what. (it will occur to him later that it was her eyes that had bothered him. Unusually dull and unfocused).

She ends up fainting during the session. It turns into a nasty fever soon after. She’s delirious and bedridden for a week. Alastor refuses to leave her side the entire time. He keeps her cool gently dapping her with damp rags. He gently tries to get her to eat and drink a little. He uses his shadows to do any work that needs to be done around the hotel. The first few days he tries to play his worry as an act. Playing his worry as a joke, at least to the other hotel staff. It’s a lot harder to try and convince himself. He can still feel the jolt of fear he felt when she suddenly dropped. The rising panic as he tried to wake her to no avail. Not even her feedback was present. Like she wasn’t even there.

By day three the act is convincing nobody. He still plays up the worried doctor bit (which is starting to feel less like an act as time goes on). But It’s hollow, without any real conviction. And everyone can tell.

On day four, He takes to talking to her quietly as she sleeps. At first, it's just news about the hotel. Then Alastor scolds her for her actions. Using her own words against her he comments on how he “Cares about her and how she doesn’t have to do everything herself.”

Day five, He’s more quiet when he talks about being sorry, and talks about missing her. He’s thankful Charlie won’t remember such sappy nonsense. Unfortunately for him, Charlie is more lucid by this time. She’d been confused as to why he was there and kept silent. Listening to everything he said. Fortunately for him if there's one thing Charlie is good at it's second chances to her friends.

—----

#More sleep deprived rambles #I really hope this is comprehensible #If I were writing a fic this would be Act 1/3 #Working on posting things that aren’t perfect lol #Let me know if ya'll liked this #charlastor #radiobelle #alastor x charlie #charlie x alastor #hazbin hotel

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cherubgore · 2 months

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anatomy practice.

2,764 words, slight reluctance - but adding dub-con, just to be safe. mary just wants to make rent, live fast and have a good time, too bad for her that her uppity, rich boyfriend can't seem to do any of that for her. not that she'll ever admit that to another living soul, she only took otis, the local art freak up on his offer to meet rent this month; no other reason. sporadic smut, pnv, fingering. uncharacteristically soft otis. crossposted on a03

Feeling ridiculous was an understatement. The dark nylon of her too tight outfit digging into her inner thighs, leaving deep, angry red marks behind each time she adjusted herself; Mary couldn’t believe she agreed to this. All in the name of art, she told herself.

A good, quick way to make some cold, hard cash, too. Everyone would’ve freaked if she told them what she was doing, parents included. Mother thought her photography was something sinful, as if she was taking photos for Play Boy, ironic. Still, her ‘friends’ saw her passions as some little quirk, teasing her with their ‘real’ degrees and ‘actual’ classes. Bill never really understood her passions. None of her friends appreciated her art, not like Otis did. Despite their arguments in class over theories and meanings, fighting for the development room, over the right shade of paint. Otis was still the best person to talk art with.

He’d talk to her about the colors and the setting. About how this angle gave off this impression, maybe this lens would be a better shot. It was nice to hold conversations about photography that went beyond just take the damn photo, Mary. It was a shame everyone thought he was such a freak. He really wasn’t that bad, a little off-putting and strange. Otis shared such a fiery passion for art, Mary couldn’t help but be drawn to him. His art was surreal, grotesque; he painted bodies bending like contortionists, dosing them in bright splashes of gore.

It looked so convincing, almost like he used actual blood and guts in his work. The images held so much pain. Mary’s always wanted to ask him why, what made him want to create such chaos on canvas. But she didn’t feel close enough to ask him anything personal like that. After this, though, they should feel super fucking close. His apartment was drafty, it left her with goosebumps littering every inch of her skin, and humiliatingly her nipples to poke out against her nylon prison. Something she was sure Otis would incorporate into his painting, whether she liked it or not. Ass.

“Are you almost done? My arms are getting tired.” If the bunny costume wasn’t bad enough, he posed her before he started, one hand sassily on her hip, the other pointing up toward the ceiling; classic image of a real Play Boy Bunny. Her mother would have a heart attack if she saw her, but that made it all the more fun. It excited her, too. Not that she would ever admit it, but being so exposed like this, being painting, maybe even the fact that Otis was doing it; it sent shivers of vehement through her.

“A painting ain’t as quick as a photo.” Otis said from behind his easel, his long white blond hair pulled up away from his face in a low bun, “This shit takes actual time.” Mary could feel the smirk in his words. He loved trying to get under her skin, and usually he managed exactly that. If they weren't at each other’s throats, then something was really wrong. As passionate as he was, Otis still felt like his art was superior, that it took more work, a better eye; like he was God's fucking gift to this art school. “You’ll get that money, don’t you worry, mama.”

His pet name bloomed heat in from her core. Doing her best to ignore it, she adjusted her ears back to their perfectly perched spot, the spot that Otis told her was ‘perfect’ and not to move them. Mary turned her attention back to him. “You’re damn right I will,” she huffed, pulling at her suit again. “This is the most degrading thing I’ve ever done. You're just lucky I needed to make rent, Driftwood.” Anatomy practice is what he convinced her to help him with. Something about the teachers saying his stuff was too “off-putting,” not that they were wrong, but they shouldn’t stifle someone’s style. Otis worked mainly in surrealism. Plenty of people weren’t ready for that type of art; Mary thought it was interesting, dark, different. Just like Otis himself was, not that it made him less of an asshole.

“You don’t need to make it look like me, you know. I told you I don’t want anyone else to see me like this.”

“Nah. This is for me only, scout's honor.” He finally peered around the canvas at her, showing off his yellow-toothed, ruggedly handsome grin. The innuendo he left her with shouldn’t have been so damn enticing, just for him? Mary tried to picture where he’d hang the fully finished photo at. Above his bed? In the kitchen? Would her image be a staple in his decor for years to come? God, she hated how much she hoped so. Somehow, Mary couldn’t picture him in a boy scout's uniform, performing the three-finger salute; maybe he did and excelled in survival and arts and crafts. The image made her stifle a giggle, much to Otis’s immediate suspension. He got up swiftly from his stool and strolled over to her. He circled her like a hawk looking for the best, maggot filled, the juiciest morsel of meat; from behind his paint coated hands shot out and grabbed her by her hips. “Something funny, Bunny?”

Yelping, Mary whirled her arm around to slap him, but Otis caught her wrist in his free hand. “Don’t call me that. What are you doing?” She almost welcomed the feeling of his warm and wet hand on her chilly skin.

“I want to try a different pose.” Otis told her, his breath was hot against the shell of her ear, and Mary squirmed in his grip, desperately fighting the urge to push back into him. Otis flexed his hand, gently squeezing at her hip, asking, almost begging. “I’ll pay extra for it. I know you got that boyfriend of yours waitin’.” He muttered, almost bitterly. No, there was no way he could be remotely jealous. They shared some tension in class, sure, they bickered, but there was nothing between them but classic academic rivalry.

“I don’t have any plans with Bill tonight. I do tomorrow. We’re going out for dinner.” Mary told him, dumbly, still reeling. She shuddered when Otis dropped her arm, but returned his hand to laze against her bare shoulder, fingers tapping lightly on her clavicle. His hands were rough, callused. Clearly he did harder work than Bill did at his accounting job. Mary wondered what it was he did, how long he’s been doing it; she wanted to crack open his fucking skull and see what he was really made up of. “I can do another pose for you, Otis.” She wanted too, even when he had her pinned up like this, it thrilled her. The heat building in her core was becoming almost unbearable, and she prayed to god that this outfit was thick enough to hide the wetness that was blooming between her legs.

“Yeah? He taking you out on the town?” Otis asked, bitterness dripping from his tongue like venomous drool. He slides his hand inward, fingers playing with the thin nylon there, itching to slide them inside. It disturbed her how much Mary wanted him to. She’d be a liar if she said this wasn’t something she’s thought about before. Bill was safe, goofy, sweet — but he wasn’t interesting, or dangerous like Otis was; he didn’t light a fire like this inside her, that’s for sure.

“Taking you out to some overpriced bar, I know where you’d rather be.”

“Yeah?” Mary choked out, fighting against all the points from her primal brain to grind herself back on him, end his teasing, and take full control of the situation. “Where is that?”

“Nice dive bar,” Otis muttered, lips ghosting against the back of her neck, tongue daring to poke out and drag itself down the nap, and Mary purred. “Maybe. Some artsy places, places I can’t afford — but I’d work hard to get you into.” His fingers teased the nylon, snapping it back, making her jump. “Here, with me.”

“Otis, please.” We shouldn’t be doing this. Bill was waiting for her, he was so excited to always talk about his day with her. But Mary hated his friends, she hated his boring line of work, she hated everything about him, except for him. “We shouldn’t…” Yet, her hips jerked back against him, and she moaned when she felt him so hard against her. Mary didn’t want Bill. He never made her feel like this, so seen, understood; so angry with wet, hot, need. She would rather be with Otis then some uppity bar, some place that her parents would approve of, Mary was so bored with playing the dutiful daughter, the good girl; no matter how many times she tried to hint that to Bill, he never listened and never would. Otis knew, though. He knew what she wanted, what she needed.

Otis slid his hand through her costume, cupping her sex with his hand, softly chuckling at the warm wetness he found dripping from her. “Gonna ruin the costume, mama. It’s like a goddamn pond down here. That little boyfriend make you boil over like this?” He teased her, rubbing his thumb against her folds, vexing her with only small, gentle pokes to her entrance; enjoying her soft, begging mews far too much to give her anything more. Mary squirmed in his grip, bunny ears sliding from their place on her head, forgotten on the floor to be mangled by their shifting, sliding feet.

“Fuck,” Mary gasped, rocking her hips in tune with his fingers. “Otis, please, please. I need you.” It felt like her legs would give. They were shaking so badly, her hips trying so hard to rut back against him, begging for a release.

“I ain’t going anywhere, bunny. Don’t you worry,” Otis mumbled, lazily leaving kisses against her neck, fingers still dancing around their goal, inching towards it with the precision of a goddamn snail. Mary knew Otis liked it better this way. He liked seeing her, a wobbling, dripping mess in his hands. Finally, he slid one finger inside her, and her brain short-circuited, photopsia flashed in her eyes, knees buckling. Mary allowed Otis to lower them to the ground, his fingers working their way through her orgasm, scissoring her open, drenching his hand in her oozing liquid; purposely targeting her clit with his thumb; overstimulating her past the point of logically thinking.

“Fuck, I think I just came,” Mary panted, her body sore and spent dangled in his arms, legs shaking, clenching around his fingers — willing them to stay exactly where they were.

“Sure felt like it,” Otis muttered in her ear, “Got yourself all over my fingers. You’ve been getting all hot’n bothered this entire time, huh?” He fingered her through her orgasm, and still demanded a second one. He still worked his way into her, rubbing at her red, swollen clit.

“So what if I was?” Mary gasped, trying her best to move her spent hips. “I felt what you’ve been up to, don’t forget.”

“You always got a smart mouth, you fucking know that?” Otis greedily removed his fingers from her core, unceremoniously wiping them against her costume. “It wasn’t talking the big buck a few minutes ago, doe.”

“I paid for this costume, ass. Unless you want to throw in the extra money to get it cleaned.” Mary’s head was still spinning, her entire body reeling from what had just happened. She was still clenching around nothing, her greedy body needing everything but time to recover. Otis still held her from behind, hands on her sides, moving up to cup her breasts in his hands, sucking on her teeth. Mary arched back into him. “Shit, ever heard of a break?”

“Ever thought about shutting up?” Otis bit back, stretching out his long legs around them, “Gonna ruin the damn moment.” He bucked his hips into the small of her back, rubbing himself against her, taunting her with it. Otis was good at that, teasing, edging. He wanted to make her a mess in his hands; moldable putty for him to play with until he got bored.

“Feels like someone’s eager,” Mary hissed when Otis pinched a nipple through her costume, rolling it between his fingers. “I told you not to ruin my costume, shit stain.” She felt his chest rumble in a laugh, rolling against her back. If she wasn’t so damn needy, she might’ve laughed, too.

“Lean forward, baby.” Otis hissed, urging her forward with his hand between her shoulder blades. “I am eager. Can’t wait to fuck you stupid.”

Mary did as she was bid, gasping when she pressed her cheek to the cold tile on the floor, arching her back, presenting herself to him. This is so wrong. What am I doing? She groaned listening to him fumble with his belt, cursing at his own mistakes. Anticipation broke her out in cold sweats; she needed this so bad, needed him. Heat bubbled up in her stomach again, she felt herself dripping through her costume. “Otis, I need it. Come on.”

“Someone’s eager,” Otis mocked, guiding himself to rest on the swell of her ass. “You look real good like this, you know that? Maybe I want to savior this moment. Might paint it later.” He rubbed himself against her pink, wet folds, moaning at the feeling. “You get this wet just for me? Look at you, slobbering all my cock like a twenty-five cent cherry whore.”

Mary’s hips twitched, desperate, “Fuck, come on, I can't take it anymore!” She’d be a whore, she’d be anything if he’d just slide his dick inside her. “I feel like I’m going to go insane, please, please.” He hasn’t even put it inside her yet, and she’s already gone completely stupid.

“Since you asked so nicely,” Otis purred, thrusting himself inside in one swift motion, “Shit, you feel so fucking good.” He pulled back out, watching Mary’s pretty little cunt drool all over his dick, squelching at every move he made. “That feel good? Huh, bunny? Is this what you wanted? What you needed?”

Mary couldn’t fight back the guttural moan that ripped from her. She bucked her hips back into him, staying in rhythm with Otis’s hips, slamming herself back against him, “Yes, yes, yes.” She moaned, “Fuck, this is what I wanted, Otis.” Bill was too slow, too soft, nothing like this, he could never itch the scratch in the same way, make her eyes roll back in her head, have her back arch so painfully; Mary’s body never fought to accommodate him. “I’m gonna cum,” she hissed. “Otis, I’m gonna cum again.”

“Go ahead then, cum for me again.” Otis snickered in her ear, pounding sloppily against her, his own body jittering and twitching with the promise of his own hot, ravenous release.

Skin against skin echoed around the room with only the soft moans, the sounds of their conjoined breathing. Gasping, curling her toes, fingers, pressing herself as far back as she could be against him, Mary came hard with his name on her lips. Exhaustion expelled over her body, she crumbled onto the floor in a messy, sweaty heap. Otis, following her example, pulling himself free and shooting hot streams along her costume, successfully ruining it.

“You ruined my costume,” Mary muttered, rolling over onto her side, facing him. “That’s gotta be an extra twenty bucks.”

“I ruined more than that, bunny. You still got those plans tomorrow?” Otis smirked, rolling onto his back, offering his out-stretched arm to her, knowing that if she took it, she’d be making a deal with the devil.

Mary scooted across the floor to him, wrapping herself up in his warm embrace. Laying her head on his chest, she sighed. Did she still have those plans tomorrow? Did she still want to go back to Bill after this? Could she go back to Bill? It would be a lot harder to fake how much she enjoyed having sex with him now. “I don’t know.” She told him, “I don’t want to, but I think I have to.”

Otis snorted. “You don’t have to do shit, but pay taxes and die, and even then the taxes are an option.” He tightened his grip around her waist, silently telling her she wouldn’t be leaving, at least not for tonight. Tonight she belonged to him, and Otis planned to make the most of it before she went back to that deadweight boyfriend of hers.

#otis b driftwood #otis driftwood smut #slashers #house of 1000 corpses #mary/otis #au settings #horror #slasher fucker #slasher community #minxie writes*#This was wish fulfillment #dont judge me #i was also going to start posting on my old blog; good thing i didnt and everything was lost :')

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siriannatan · 2 months

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How to get a sparring partner - Scott fWhip

I have no idea where this idea came from but I'm here for fWhip causing chaos.

Scott was having a good time. Sitting in the Academy gardens with a book. Enjoying some peace and quiet. Not listening to bickering about useless topics. He had better things to focus on than relationships. Like his studies. Magical theorems were much more fascinating than boys. Maybe aside from.... no. He was not going to think about it... Jimmy had a chance. Said no. That was all there was to it.

"Studying even between classes?" Scott had a sudden urge to get up and leave as he heard a voice he really didn't want to hear. "Well, at least you picked a pretty spot," he didn't have to look to know fWhip shrugged.

fWhip, a genius with attitude problems and an overbearing twin sister. A massive pain. Scott's complete opposite with his fire magic. "It was certainly nice until you showed up," Scott bit back. He really hoped fWhip would just go back to whatever geniuses do in their free time.

The worst thing about fWhip was that he was pretty and fully aware of the fact. And not beyond using it to his advantage. So annoying. "What do you want?" Scott scoffed out a question when fWhip made no move to leave when faced with open hostility.

"How cold. I was just passing by and decided to be a good friend..."

"I don't recall us being friends," Scott interrupted.

fWhip just sighed. "Being the good and helpful person I am, I decided to ask if you have a partner for our duelling class yet and offer to pair up with you if you don't," but carried on his chatter. "Considering the compatibility of our magic it should be an interesting experience," he added as Scott thought on the offer.

It wasn't a bad offer in the slightest. Being a damned genius fWhip was a safe dueling partner. And Scott did want to test his ice magic against a fire user. And he doubted Tango, the only other fire mage in their group, would agree considering certain factors. Not to mention just how skilled fWhip was in combat.

And there was one more a bit less educational reason Scott was inclined to agree. fWhip wasn't just pretty. He was unfairly pretty and if it weren't for his terrible personality Scott could see himself liking him. And he saw fWhip duel a few times. From a distance. And... There was no way of knowing when he could watch fWhip fight up close and not have anyone question it.

"If it gets you to leave me alone then sure," Scott shrugged. He was not giving fWhip the satisfaction of knowing why exactly he agreed.

To say fWhip's face lit up would be an understatement. "Great. It's a date then," he grinned before running off.

What? A what? "fWhip?!" Scott yelled out but it was too late. The other was gone. "What do you mean by a date? Are you insane," he sighed dropping to his seat. He didn't even realise he stood up to yell after fWhip. Must he always get attracted to idiots?

#my stuff #my stories #empires smp #empiresshipping #empires fwhip #empires scott #fanfiction

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peachymilkandcream · 5 months

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Au where Evelyn was born above ground and now she is one of Captain Levi's cadets please 🙏

Levi x Evelyn AU -> Captain's Orders

(A/N: Ooh I love a good power imbalance here, probably why I adore William x Reader so much. Power and reputation getting poor Evelyn and Reader to get what their men want is so gooood! Also we all know these end with Evelyn knocked up because we stan a good breeding kink)

WARNINGS: implied noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, manipulation, mind breaking, violence, mine breaking, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, yandere themes, yandere behaviour, misogyny, etc.

===========================================

Levi rubbed at his temples, Erwin was getting on his ass about some riffraff pickpocket that the MPs couldn't be bothered to deal with. Erwin had said it reminded him of the good old days when he was sent to pick up Levi in the Underground and bring him into the Scouts, a taste of his own medicine. Why Erwin wanted another street thug under the banner of the Wings of Freedom was beyond him, but a stubborn one to break into discipline always excited the Captain.

Or at least he was excited until he was actually in the heat of the chase, now he knew why Erwin had such a stick up his ass after hauling in Levi and his friends, this was an ungodly amount of work. The little brat kept running, zig-zagging and slipping just out of his line of sight, the prick had it coming to him.

He slammed into the criminal, sending him to the ground. However as he turned the kid over Levi was hit the realization of what exactly this person was.

"Nice weather we're having isn't it ma'am." He couldn't help but smirk, the pathetic attempt at chest binding just looked unnatural and gave her masculine disguise away.

"What do you want with me? You're one of those Scouts, you guys think you're above everyone."

Levi rolls his eyes. "Of course you would think that, you're nothing more than a criminal." He hauls her to her feet, binding her hands. "Do you have a name?"

She smirks. "Well by first impressions I must seem like a cold and self-righteous asshole, so you can call me Captain Levi."

He rolled his eyes again. "Real mature. Now come on."

"Where are you taking me?"

"Our Commander has offered you a redemption for your thieving ways, becoming one of those Scouts and thinking you're better than everyone."

"And why the hell would I agree to that?"

"Because if not you'll get a nice vacation with the MPs, how well do you calculate you'll last there, especially as a pretty woman like yourself?"

She bites her lip in indignation. "You asshole."

"I'll take that as a yes."

==========================================

If he wasn't so prideful Levi would apologize to Erwin for all the shit he caused him in past, arrogant criminals did not make good soldiers. But unlike Erwin he was more determined to break whoever crossed his path. Those who did stand up to him usually did so on dares or because they had issues with authority, boys without fathers, girls who bought into the idea that women didn't need to listen to men. All of them were broken or dropped out, she would be no different.

It all started the same, more chores, food deprivation, beatings. Normally he regulated himself and didn't let things get too carried away but he wasn't trying to fuck the other Scouts. Evelyn, he found out her name was, had no family, no one to question him or take matters into their own hands. Those other girls were pretty enough but they usually had someone who would pry their way into his very traditional view of marriage. He reasoned if he was hard enough on her she would submit to him, more than anyone had before, becoming his little cum slut of a wife one day. That made it all worth it.

===========================================

Something was up with Levi, according to everyone else Evelyn talked to he was never this rough on anyone else, and how he kept ordering her to his office late at night. All of his demands when it was just them went from Captain and soldier to degrading and borderline sexual requests.

Evelyn wasn't always the brightest, relying on speed instead of thought to pickpocket from people for so long, which is why she only thought it slightly odd when one of her punishments was him bending her over and spanking her. Only later did she discover that this was very abnormal behaviour, but surely there was a reason.

All she could do was take his wrath as best she could, there was no way to fight back. And eventually she got so sore from all his punishments she even started talking back less and less, she wanted them to end. It was getting more and more frustrating as it went on, she was losing sleep, friends, time to herself. It seemed like their rough start made it so she would never been in his good graces. Finally she had enough and asked him outright how to win his favour.

"I'm sick of this Captain, what can I do to stop being punished so much? I've held my tongue and stopped talking back, I've done everything you asked. What can I do?"

Levi smirked at this, waiting for this day for a long time. Even when she seemed disgusted and repulsed at his suggestions she still submitted regardless.

It continued this way for a long time, sexual favours in exchange for special treatment. It wasn't so bad, one day he promised it wouldn't be like this anymore, he would take care of her. They would be happy together, and when he did choose to make her feel good those thoughts didn't seem so bad.

===========================================

It all came crashing down when she found out she was pregnant with Levi's child, no matter how much she begged for him to allow some kind of contraception he always found some excuse. Now she was bound to this man, at his mercy indefinitely.

She swiftly was discharged and wedded to the beloved Captain to avoid scandal. And she had to admit, this life was better than that of trying to survive off scraps and wondering where her next meal would come from. At least now she had everything she needed, at the low price of satisfying this stranger now her husband. What more could she ask for in life?

#attack on titan #break me slowly #levi ackerman #levi aot #levi x oc #levi x reader #shingeki no kyojin #yandere levi #yandere levi ackerman #yandere levi x reader #oneshot requests

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starfall-spirit · 1 year

Text

Renaissance Masterlist

Each SJMRW fic is connected to a romantic/emotional song.

Day 3: Beyoncé’s Halo

SJMRW Prompt: Honeymoon

Word Count: 1174

Summary: A marriage façade leads to a destination honeymoon in Florence, Italy. Vacationing in the Tuscan hills shows Feyre there's more to Rhys than meets the eye—maybe even a man she could come to love.

Chapter III: Walk Me Down the River

“Have you fucked yet?”

“Mor!”

The soft clicking of Rhys’ laptop halted and a smirk played at his lips. Feyre doubted he could hear his cousin from across the room, but he wasn’t stupid. There was a reason her face was rapidly reddening and it had everything to do with a filterless blonde they both loved to pieces.

The past two days had been blissfully free of prodding as they recovered from their jetlag and settled into the villa-a magnificent space they had all to themselves for the next two weeks with plenty of room for them to decide if they wanted to avoid each other or share their meals and free time. But ignoring Mor’s call would only encourage thoughts her friend obviously had no hesitation in voicing to the world. Feyre shook her head, forcing herself to dismiss that playful smirk and the man who wore it as Mor’s cackle grated in her ear. Marching down the short hall, she shut the door to her room, flopping back on the massive bed.

Seeing as this not-so-surprising destination had been focused on the family villa, the space was as cozy as it was grand and she and Rhys were comfortable in separate rooms, no matter what his family may think they were doing here day in and out.

“This is not the conversation I wanted to end the day on, Mor.”

“Why not? You’re two attractive people alone in one of the most romantic cities on the planet and you’re telling me the last thing on your mind is sex?”

“W-well, it certainly isn’t the first.”

Feyre was there for the history. Maybe part of her was avoiding Tamlin, too, but that had nothing to do with the man in the next room. That had to do with a restraining order Cassian was doing her the favor of handling. Though part of her had raged when he suggested she run off and relax with Rhys while he and Az handled securing her apartment, she was grateful in retrospect. Old bruises healed, but the emotional damage was something else.

Not ready to let herself slide down that thought path, she shook her head. “Look, Mor. We’re going out for dinner tonight and we’re going to start looking into some things in the city tomorrow morning. Can I let you go and finish getting ready for dinner?”

“Yeah, yeah. Have fun. Love you.”

“Love you. Bye.”

Fifteen minutes later Rhys gave a soft knock. “Hey, are you off the phone?”

She opened the door. “Sorry, I got distracted. I wasn’t avoiding you.”

“I can’t say I’d blame you if you did. Whatever implications Mor was making—”

“Where are we going for dinner?”

He hesitated after having his defense cut off. “There’s a nice little restaurant we used to go to when I was a kid. We can get a quiet table there.”

She smiled, hand on the doorknob. “Give me five minutes.”

~~~~~

He was going to spoil her senseless.

Of course he first had to convince her to let him spoil her. Only a few days into this charade and she’d fought any and every offering beyond the most simple engagement band she could find.

Whether it was a matter of pride, a lingering way of living from her childhood, or something else entirely, Feyre Archeron refused to take from people. Which was half the reason he tucked his card and tip into his dinner menu before their waiter could sweep it away. “I saw that.”

“Would you have let me pay otherwise?”

“We aren’t actually married, Rhys.”

“My mother has every intention of rectifying that in a matter of months, if I recall. You needn't act so stubborn.”

Something lit in her eyes and Rhys couldn’t help but smirk. He liked to play and Feyre rarely disappointed. Before she could give whatever clever retort was brewing, their conversation was interrupted by the restaurant’s namesake. “My goodness, it is you, Rhysand.”

“Hello, Sevenda,” he greeted her in Italian.

“Why, it’s been nearly ten years now. How are you?”

“Busy in America,” he admitted, switching back to English and encouraging Feyre to join them. “Which is where I met my lovely Feyre. Mother’s gift to us was a couple weeks in the family villa for our honeymoon.”

“A short stay, then. It’s good you speak to your family again. We’ve missed seeing you with them these summers.”

“Yes, well, I wouldn’t count myself as a regular vacationer yet.”

Feyre gave his hand a firm squeeze as his voice dropped a pitch. Rhys hadn’t given her the specifics of the relationship he carried with his father, merely explaining that the two of them had never seen eye-to-eye. Rhys got out from under his thumb, and all that was stopping Josiah from cutting him off entirely was knowing his mother would walk away, taking Avy with her. He was very much a believer of “till death do us part”. If she walked… Rhys’s arrogance and posturing was a shadow of his fathers. He would not let his own pride ruin him as a man.

“Well, these things take time.” Sevenda gave a shaky smile. “Anyways, tonight’s meal is on the house for you. My congratulations. And Feyre, it was lovely to meet you. Welcome to Santo Spirito. I’m sorry, I must be going. Customers. Busy night.”

“Of course. Thank you so much.” She flitted to the next table on the patio and the two of them sat again. “She was nice,” Feyre murmured.

“It was Mor and my favorite place to go when we were younger. You know her father was as bad—worse than mine, even. Maybe it was the mirth of this place that made things easier. Maybe the assholes just wanted to keep up a perfect image, but those summers were the one part of my childhood with him that was… well, it felt a little less like I was a thing for him to groom to his ideal future.”

“I’m glad you had that, Rhys. You deserve it.”Again, she squeezed his hand. “For what it’s worth, I really want this to be easy for you.” He furrowed his brow. “This can’t go on forever. I just hope it doesn’t blow up in your face.”

“Me too.”

With food and wine in front of them the conversation lightened to brighter stories of Rhys childhood here and then further strayed to the random. And in the course of an hour Rhys realized just how much he was slipping.

Every second he spent with her was another he—

“Feyre, would you like to end the night on the Arno?” She cocked her head, standing from the table as I pocketed my wallet. “The Arno is one of the main rivers of the region,” he informed his partner, offering his arm as escort and tour guide. “There will be shops and sights along the way if you feel like browsing. Or we can just walk.”

“For now, I think a walk will do.”

~~~~~

AN: It isn't midnight here yet, so I'm on time!

I know I promised smut for day 3, but Feysand is getting a whole lot of fluff before the 🌶️🌶️🌶️ comes around. Don’t worry, it won’t take too long. I doubt this fic will be more than 10 chapters.

Feysand Tag List: Comment/ask/message me if you’d like to be added or removed.

@sjmromanceweek // @reverie-tales // @pandavelaris // @faeriequeensuriel // @s-uppertime

#sjmromanceweek2023 #feysand #acotar #fanfiction #honeymoon #fake marriage #day 3

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foxydivaxx · 5 months

Text

Zosan: Look What You Made Me Do Chapter 2

Man Sanji is very devious. Lord knows what he has planned. Whatever it is, it can't be good that I can assure you.

Every single day at night, this is what Sanji does. Once he was sure the rest of the crew was asleep, he would open a magic portal to a different realm beyond human comprehension. Here the world is ruled by demons.

Once he steps through the portal, his outfit changes. Gone are the gentleman suit. In its place is a revealing black leather corset and a nice black leather thong that showed off his body with a nice long black cape around his neck fasten by a silver broach. Two large black demon horns adorn his head with a nice long tail sprouting from behind him.

Gone was the sweet, innocent Sanji the crew once knew. In his place was a ferocious, power hungry monster who would happily kill anyone that came his way. He felt a lot more alive in his demon form. Why had he not embraced this side of him sooner?

All the demon lords immediately bowed to him once they see him. Compared to the useless simp everyone knows, this Sanji is a more powerful being. He did not need to seduce anyone or suffer from nosebleeds. Rather, he easily commands respect from all around him. Some of the Lords and demons have already professed their lust for him. Heck, he has even fucked a couple of them. Who knew he had the natural power of seduction? Perhaps he needs to add this to his arsenal of dangerous skills.

But none of them give him as much pleasure as their master, the King of the Underworld, Akuma, who was seated on his throne, awaiting his arrival. For years, Sanji thought that he was straight, that women were all he needed.

Now he understands better. He loves both genders and would happily fuck anyone, so long as he gained the pleasure he desired. Yes, he is not as innocent as he appears to be. The other Strawhats, Zoro in particular, believe that he had never gotten laid. How wrong they were. Every island they end up in, there will always be that one woman or man that would kindly offer themselves to him. So Zoro was kind of right about him being perverted. But his definition of perversion differs from Sanji’s.

No. Sanji is a far broken man. His sexuality plays a role in his brokenness, which was why he hesitates whenever men showed an interest in him. Akuma changed all that for him.During his time at Germa, Akuma happened upon him in one of the bathroom stalls. To say Sanji almost screamed would be an understatement.

He remembers Akuma shushing him and drawing his naked body closer, kissing his body all over and eventually claiming him as his. Although Akuma was a demon; he was a very handsome one. Tall, dark haired with reddish skin tone. The more Sanji starred at his face, the more Akuma reminded him of his now long-lost lover, Ace, because he looked just like him.

The other Strawhats were not aware of that, or maybe some of them knew about him and Ace. He and Ace had a very special bond and a special relationship. That was his first love. So him dating someone that looks like him, one cannot help but wonder whether his deeply traumatized mind may be seeing double. Or maybe Akuma used a similar visage as Ace’s to manipulate him into becoming his sex slave.

Either way, Sanji was already way too far gone. And it showed with the many atrocities he has committed behind the scenes, sins that his fellow crewmates have no clue about. He was more than Akuma’s sex pet. He was a King down here and also a crazy military tactician, no surprises given his status as the former prince of Germa.

He was a mess and the reason he continued down this path is because as far as he was concerned, there was no place in the world for someone as weak and worthless as him. He was broken beyond repair that he wonders why he is still alive. Could that be why Zoro came to see him earlier on? No one knows the secret tears he often cries. Or of his eating disorder. Or the many times he tries not to scream. Him being with Akuma at a glance seems like a band-aid for his broken soul. But these days, he started questioning his loyalty.

Thankfully, Akuma does not have any form of Haki and even if he did, it was a lot weaker than his. Which gives Sanji free rein to do as he pleased.

“Welcome home my love.” Akuma says in that sweet sensual tone that he usually reserves for Sanji. Sanji smirks and takes his rightful seat in Akuma’s laps. “Oh how I have missed you my king.” he says as he gives his Master a kiss.

“I am surprised those crewmates of yours have not figured out yet.” Sanji chuckles. “What can I say? I can be a great actor whenever I want to be. And besides, they are one step closer to their ultimate goal darling. But I fear those foolish Marines and Yonkos may get in the way.”

“Very well, then we need to speed up preparations. What about the World Government?”

“They seem to be closing in too especially after Luffy finally awakened his Devil Fruit power.”

“As expected. Though I do wonder who their leader is.”

“Till this day, no one knows but I have been hearing whispers my Lord.”

“Really? Pray tell me.”

Sanji smirks deviously. He enjoys the power he has over this man. The more he talks with him like this, the more knowledge he gains, knowledge that he can exploit against him later. Akuma is not aware that the other demons all hate him and love Sanji more due to his kindness. Yes Sanji is a crazy little bitch now but he still has his heart deep down and he uses it to his advantage.

Sanji slowly raises up to his feet. “I heard stories of some ancient being being the true power behind the World Government. Who this person is. No one knows. But the only way we can know for sure, is when the war finally begins. I suppose that could be what the One Piece is all about. Perhaps, it is some sort of weapon. Because why else would the World Government hide all their dirty secrets? There was a war that happened about 800 years ago and they are responsible for it for sure. The rest of the Universe is paying for their sins.”

“So what do you suggest we do?”

Sanji’s smirk gets even more devious. “We wait till the Strawhats either reach that final island. Or, we wait and see if that big war happens before then. If that happens, that would force the Strawhats to carry out their goal quicker.”

“If that is the case, then let’s do it!!” The other demons roared in approval whilst the dmeon lords exchanged knowing smirks.

A couple hours later, Sanji returns to the ship via the portal. It was still late at night. Everyone was still sleep. He no longer really needs sleep given his demonic powers that he got after Akuma made love to him that first time.

He smirks as he lies down on his bed. “It seems that my plan is working. It is only a matter of time. As for my father, oh I have a special arrangement for him.”

#sanji #one piece #zosan #roronoa zoro #zoro

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ninja-go-to-therapy · 6 months

Text

Dismantled Chapter Nine

ao3

not completely happy with this one but also i do this for free and for fun so im not gonna stress about it

Trigger Warnings: mentions of dying, panic attacks, PTSD, also the muzzle™️ gets brought up

2584 words

Something was wrong with him.

Anytime he so much as thought of his brothers, of his previous life, he was plagued with a panic that rivaled being dangled over the edge of a cliff, raging waters crashing against the rocks below. More than a moment of thinking about it would have him falling, dying dying dying, body crushed, drowned, and destroyed.

He couldn’t for the life of him figure out why it was happening. Was this seriously a result of his… what, trauma? Sure, he’d figured he and his brothers all had issues (oh god, oh god don’t think about them just stop thinking about them it hurts this hurts so bad please stop—), but he’d never thought them to be this bad.

Maybe all their unsupervised adventures and hero stuff really had taken a toll on him.

With the amount of raw panic he’d been experiencing, his energy had never been more drained. He was exhausted, mentally and physically, and the only way to solve the problem was. Well. To stop thinking about it.

Easier said than done, of course, but he couldn’t find another drop of energy to spend on crying.

And through it all, this wanna-be father figure of his just… comforted him. Anytime Donnie began to show signs of oncoming panic, he wouldn’t just leave him alone. He’d stay, he’d manage to find just the right things to say to help him calm down.

It was… weirdly really nice. His terror didn’t feel stupid, when d-he was there.

“Okay, here’s an idea,” his… he was blanking. Why was he blanking? — said. “I need to go to the store, we’re running low on some stuff. How about you make me a list of stuff we can get to help relieve some of this stress you’ve been experiencing?”

“Seriously?” He asked, half-sure he’d hit his head again.

“Yeah, bud! Whatever you need.”

Donnie cracked a smile. “I don’t suppose uranium is on the table—?”

He laughed, shaking his head fondly as he slid a sheet of paper across the table. “Within reason, kiddo.” He passed over a pen. “Here’s the list, just jot down whatever you can think of and I’ll see what I can do, okay?”

That was just so… so considerate.

“Oh, um… thank you.” It just felt surreal. This wasn’t something that Splinter (don’t think about him thinking about him hurts stop wait makeitstop) would do. He wouldn’t have even pretended to care.

Determined not to snap the pen in his rising anxiety, he swallowed the thought down. He wasn’t going to think about that stuff right now. He was literally trying to figure out how to stop freaking out like that.

He took a deep breath, pouring his energy into staring down at the paper and trying to determine what would actually be helpful. Fidget toys? Possibly. A weighted blanket? Most definitely, but was that too expensive?

What would really help, he mused, would be something to tinker with. He hadn’t built or created anything in… how long had he been here?

He could only imagine the amount of stress he could relieve if he could wield his array of tools. Of course, his tools were upgraded beyond an average plebeian’s comprehension. Those tools were probably still in his lab back home, which — home. Shredder. Danger danger dangerdangerdanger!

Wow, trauma kind of sucked.

Shaking his head, he jotted down whatever he could think of before sliding the list awkwardly back across the table.

“Alright, I’ll be back in an hour or two, okay? If you get hungry, there are apple sauce packets in the fridge — nothing else while I’m gone. You know how I feel about chokeables. Do you want to set up a movie?”

And, yeah, he kind of did want to set up a movie.

And so they did. Through it all, as Donnie sat in the living room, with complete freedom to move; as he snacked on apple sauce and watched a cartoon he’d never heard of on the TV; as he idly worked a coloring page he’d been offered (with crayons, no less)… not once did the thought of leaving even cross his mind. More accessible to him than ever was the door, but it seemed stupid to go through it, now.

Out there was scary. It was dangerous. He couldn’t defend himself, he was just a kid. And, well, he’d always been somewhat useless without his tech.

And boy, a part of him did itch to work, to create something from nothing, to make a gadget or gizmo that could make his life easier. Maybe he should ask about that…

He flipped his coloring page over, beginning to sketch out various designs and ideas for tech he could make. A better toaster, firstly. The one they had didn’t seem to work very well.

It was nice to get back to this part of himself. The part that had been aching to build. And of course, every good creation started with a rough sketch.

------

It had been a few days. The fidget toys (and weighted blanket, which Donnie couldn’t even begin to describe how appreciative he was for), had been more helpful than he could have anticipated. The random spikes of anxiety were still present, but they felt so much easier to deal with. It was nice.

And, something he couldn’t have anticipated at all: he’d actually been given access to tools. His… caretaker? His dad? (unsure, but it was kind of starting to feel like a nicer word to fit his mouth around), had even gone out to find some scrap parts. The only catch was that he needed to be supervised when he handled any of that stuff, but Donnie could absolutely live with that. He’d upgraded the toaster the first chance he got, feeling happier than he could remember in a long while.

In fact, he was actively enjoying a perfectly done piece of toast from the freshly fixed-up machine, when, out of absolutely nowhere—

“What are you up to, sunshine?”

“Fuck!” Donnie screeched, so startled that he dropped the last bit of his bread. He clamped his clean hand over his mouth. “I — I’m sorry I didn’t mean to say — you startled me, I — I’m sorry,” he stammered, heart racing. He scratched at a phantom rash on his face.

It had happened again, a few days ago. He hadn’t been thinking, and he’d said one of those stupid words, and… he really, really didn’t like that thing. He desperately didn’t want to have to deal with again so soon. Or ever.

The expression on his caretaker’s face was neutral, unreadable. Or maybe Donnie was just really bad at reading people. He wasn’t sure of things like that, these days. Things about himself.

“You used the toaster.”

Oh, no. He’d honestly just… forgotten. It was just another item on the long list of things that he wasn’t supposed to do without “supervision”.

“Sorry,” he mumbled again, bracing himself for whatever punishment was about to come his way. Not the muzzle. Please not the muzzle.

There was a long, drawn out sigh. “It’s okay.”

…what?

He wasn’t mad? That was… he’d expected him to be really mad. Not that he was complaining, but… this had to be some kind of trick, he was sure.

“I know you’re still getting used to all this. Just… don’t do it again, okay?”

“Okay…” he agreed, nodding slowly. As little sense as this made to him, he was not about to question it. Out loud, at least.

“Anyway, I was thinking.”

“Dangerous,” Donnie quipped, entirely on reflex.

He barked out a laugh. “I was thinking,” he continued, suddenly so lighthearted and smiling and for some unexplainable reason, contagious. Donnie felt warm in the happiest of ways. Like he hadn’t just been anticipating a horror-show as consequence for saying the wrong thing. “How about we go to the library?”

Was that… was that an offer to leave the house? That was… completely unprecedented. What was going on today?

“I’m… banned from the library,” he finally responded, stupidly.

“How could you possibly—? Actually, we can talk about that later. This is a different library. I’m sure you’re dying to stretch your legs.”

He was, but with his experience, there had to be some kind of ulterior motive here. “Why?”

His brow furrowed. “Why… what?”

“Why… ugh, why do you want to take me to the library?”

“I just thought you’d enjoy getting out of the house. We don’t have to go if you don’t want to—”

“No, no I want to, I just… what do you get out of it?”

“Um… spending time with my kid?”

While before, that would have made him deeply uncomfortable, now it just… sat in him with a giddy warmth. His kid. It was nice to be wanted.

“Oh.” he finally said, sitting with that for a moment. “Yeah, I… but I thought… somethin’ about a concussion?” He asked. His brain hurt. He was supposed to be better at using it than this.

“It should be mostly healed up by now.”

And, well, that was good enough for him.

It didn’t go unnoticed, as they actually left the house, that it wasn’t the door he’d grown accustomed to staring at that they existed through. It was a different door, one that, even as he stepped through it, he couldn’t quite place where specifically it was in the house. It was like his mind was just… warping around it. That was so weird, why would it—?

But he didn’t have the time to finish the thought, because for the first time in ages, he was actually outside.

The street was lined with houses that looked completely dissimilar from each other, each with yards that Donnie had to assume would never be HOA-approved in the human world above. They were certainly more interesting to look at than a human suburb. If he were allowing himself to think of the things he didn’t want to think about, he’d assume that Mikey would love this area. But he wasn’t thinking about that.

It wasn’t a long walk before the scenery quickly began to change to the Hidden City that Donnie was used to seeing. Another side of town, of course, as he didn’t recognize anything specifically. Then again, it wasn’t as if he was a frequenter of the place.

Despite his strong distaste for most things mystic, the Hidden City remained fascinating.

Before long, there it was: yet another mystic library. Did the Hidden City really need two endless voids of limitless knowledge? Not that he was complaining. Libraries were number one on Donnie’s list of Places He Enjoyed.

“Great Galileo,” he said softly as they entered, mindful of his volume. “I could get lost in here for days and be happy.”

The librarian looked down her nose at him, gaze flickering between the pair. “Kiddy room is over there,” she said, waving dismissively.

His heart seized at the memory of that place. For a room for little kids, it was one of the most horrifying experiences that had ever happened to him. He could be quiet this time. He swore he could.

His definitely not-dad laughed, beating him to the punch. “That won’t be necessary,” he said, “we just need directions to the… what was it?”

“Erm… mechanical engineering, please,” Donnie said, rocking on his heels awkwardly.

The librarian raised her eyebrows, staring at him like he’d grown a second head. Or… something that wasn’t somewhat common in yokai-culture, probably. “Catalog is to your left,” she said, “were we looking for children’s science books, or…?”

“Oh, no. He’s brilliant, real sharp. Smartest kid I’ve ever seen.”

Real, genuine, unprompted compliments from a parent aged-adult? He could get used to this. He… could get used to this…

“Right…” the librarian hummed, seemingly bored. “And are we signing him up for a library card, today?”

“Ooh!” he exclaimed. He hadn’t even known that was an option! “Can I?” he asked, squeezing his hands in an effort not to flap them in his excitement.

“I don’t see why not.”

“Name?” she asked, typing away.

“Donatello Ha—” he cut himself off, a tinge of doubt clouding his long-practiced answer. “Um… Donatello.”

“Mhmm. Can I see your ID?” She asked, though this time, she wasn’t addressing him.

His parent aged adult pulled out a small card, handing it over to her.

“Mhmm…” she muttered to herself as she typed, “Scorch…” she said under her breath, Donnie just barely catching the word.

Scorch.

So that was this guy’s name, huh? It felt… weird to know it, after so much time going without. He felt like being a little kid learning that his dad’s name wasn’t really dad. He supposed that was exactly what it was like.

“Okay,” she finally announced, “he’s all set up.”

It was nice to have a dad that would actually do these things for him. He’d never had a legitimate library card before.

------

“Excuse me,” a young yokai boy said, politely stepping around Donnie. He paused, staring at him quizzically for a moment. “Sorry — have we met? You look familiar.”

“Probably not,” Donnie said, lifting the book he’d just picked off the shelf and begun flipping through to signify that he wasn’t in the mood for conversation.

The boy didn’t move. Was his social cue not obvious enough?

“No man, I swear I’ve seen you before…” he snapped his fingers, eyes going wide. “Wait, holy shit, you’re one of those turtles from that weird-ass mascot thing in New York!”

Donnie looked up, utterly confused. “What?”

“That Times Square bullshit — all those yokai that were in the costumes, and you guys like, exposed them? Dude, that was not cool.”

Oh. He remembered that day. They’d been out, just trying to get a present for… oh.

His chest felt too tight.

Focus on something else. Focus on something else.

Like how this kid kept swearing. Trying to sound, what, mature? The words left his head muffled, like he could still feel the muzzle.

Maybe he should have chosen something else to focus on. His breathing wasn’t right. His hands tightened around the book hard enough to rip the paper. If he tried to move now, he was sure he’d be so unsteady he would fall. That imagery of the rocky cliffside felt closer than ever, right now. Another inch and he’d be pushed right off.

“It went super viral, dude, I knew I recognized you, you guys really weren’t thinking, were you?”

His throat felt too tight to form a response. What was he even supposed to say? He couldn’t think, couldn’t focus, oh god—

“What’s going on here?”

Donnie breathed a sigh of relief.

“You bothering my kid?”

The boy who’d been pestering him laughed awkwardly. “Oh, uh, no sir. I was just asking him… y’know, nevermind.”

As the boy scurried off, his savior knelt down, fussing over him. “Are you okay, bud? What did he say to you?”

“Nothing, he just…” Donnie trailed off, heart pounding in his chest as he fought off those memories.

“Breathing exercises, remember? It’s okay, deep breath in… deep breath out. You’re okay. You’re here.”

He was here. He was safe. It was fine. It was all totally, completely fine.

“Thanks, dad.” He said, exhausted as he calmed his racing heart. He didn’t even quite register what had slipped right from his mouth. He hadn’t even thought about it. It just felt right. It felt safe.

He felt completely and totally safe.

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #kat writes #fic #fanfiction #rottmnt fic #rottmnt fanfic #rottmnt angst #rottmnt whump #whump #hurt/comfort #angst #rise fanfic #panic attacks #ptsd #mentions of death

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depressedhatakekakashi · 1 year

Text

Cannon

There were going to be tear stains in his uniform. Kakashi wasn’t quite sure how to explain that to Lord Third the next time he went in for a mission. His best friend was clinging to him with his face buried in Kakashi’s shoulder, crying.

They weren’t just small tears either. Kakashi could feel a river running down his shoulder and over his back.

How his friend could even cry that much was beyond him.

“Kakashi, you should have seen it!” Gai wept. “I never thought I would see the day.”

Raising his hand, Kakashi gave his friend’s back a soft pat. “I’m sure it was beautiful.”

“More than beautiful,” releasing his hold on Kakashi, Gai took a step back and attempted to wipe away his tears. For every tear that he managed to clean off of his face, it seemed like five more took its place. “I still can’t believe she said that.”

“You never actually told me what she said,” his friend dropped his hand to his side, wide eyes staring at him as if he’d lost his mind. “I think your emotions got the best of you.”

Not that he was surprised. Gai was a passionate man who rarely withheld his emotions. Especially when something was so touching that Gai found himself moved to tears, or in this case rivers.

“I apologize, Rival,” he lowered his head. “I was so touched by her words that I allowed it to get the best of me.”

“Well, no harm done,” Kakashi responded with a shrug of his very wet shoulders. “Though I feel like I’m owed an explanation now that you’ve turned my uniform into your personal napkin.”

Straightening himself up, Gai grinned so wide Kakashi could see his teeth sparkling in the sunlight. “I was helping a nice old lady down the street,” he began. “She had a few groceries with her so I offered to carry them to her house since she looked like she was struggling with them.”

“As one should.” Kakashi agreed.

“When we arrived at her home and I set her groceries down on her dinner table she said…the most amazing thing,” Kakashi expects Gai’s grin to spread across his face. A proud smile was something he had become accustomed to seeing whenever Gai regaled him with one of his stories. Today, however, Gai’s smile was different. Just a little softer with a note of affection in his eyes. “She told me that I reminded her of my Papa.”

Suddenly it all made sense.

The tears, the excitement, the smile.

“You’re Papa, huh?” Kakashi tried not to smile, but he couldn’t help it. Remembering Dai always seemed to cheer him up. As if the man’s infectious smile and upbeat attitude could reach him even now, years after he had passed.

“Growing up all I ever heard about Papa was what a failure he was,” Gai whispered. “I never thought…I didn’t know there was anyone in Konoha who saw him the same way I did.”

Kakashi was mildly insulted by those words.

“Except you, of course, Rival,” Gai backtracked when he was met with a slightly annoyed glare. “I know that you looked up to my Papa, though I never understood why.”

“The same reason you do,” Kakashi admitted with a sigh. “And the same reason that old lady remembers him so fondly. Your Papa may not have been the strongest shinobi in the village but he was-”

“The coolest,” Gai finished with a chuckle. “You always call him cool.”

“And you know I only tell the truth.”

“That’s true.” stepping forward, Gai wrapped his arms around Kakashi’s waist and lifted him off of the ground. An action that was swiftly rewarded with Kakashi wrapping his arms around Gai’s neck for support.

The last thing he wanted was to crack his back if Gai decided to do a spin. The last time that happened he’d been forced to go to Shizune for some pain relief when his muscles got all knotted up.

“So, listen to us,” He rested his head against Gai’s shoulder and held on for dear life when he began to spin around. “Your Papa was cool, and you are too.”

Gai stopped suddenly. “Kakashi, did you just-”

“Nope,” he cut Gai off. “I said nothing.”

“You did,” Gai hugged him a bit tighter. “Thank you, Rival.”

He wasn’t sure why Gai was thanking him. He wasn’t the old lady who’d complimented him, and he hadn’t done anything spectacular to earn his friend's joyful tears. Still, he wasn’t going to complain.

Gai was happy and that’s the only thing that mattered to him.

For: @crypticsummons who gave me so many great ideas for this little event <3

#Hatake Kakashi #Maito Gai #Gai's Birthday Month #Gai's Birthday Month 2022

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heavencasteel420 · 5 months

Note

Can you do director’s commentary on Nancy’s letter drafts to Jonathan? 🥹 The one where she pretends she got Barb back killed me

Thank you for the ask! I'm so glad you liked the Barb letter; it was a late addition and I'm very fond of it myself.

(Some discussion of suicide and Billy being gross below the cut, not beyond what appears in the fic.)

Okay, so first of all, the Regular Letter:

Dear Jonathan,

I hope that you're doing well. I thought I would write to you to ask how things are going in Indianapolis. I know we didn’t really talk when you were still in Hawkins, but I was thinking about you the other day and wanted to see how you were.

What’s it like living in a city? I know it’s just Indianapolis, but I bet the record stores are better. I remember you liked all that art rock stuff. It’s probably nice to be in a place with more kinds of people, too. It gets a little boring around here.

Things are about the same for me. School is going well, even though I’m about to tear my hair out over chemistry. I’m still going out with Steve Harrington. You are probably making a face now and thinking “Ugh, Steve Harrington.”He’s actually matured a lot, though. And maybe you’re actually wondering why he’d go out with dorky Nancy Wheeler. Well, I haven’t matured a lot. I guess I’m about the same.

Do you remember Barb Holland, my best friend? There hasn’t been any news since you moved away. I don’t think she would’ve gone to Indianapolis, but could you keep an eye out for her?

Mom and Dad and Mike and Holly are all doing well. I hope you are, too.

Sincerely,

Nancy

Nancy's being so normal right now! She's very carefully trying not to brush up against any of the things about Jonathan's life that might be hard or weird or bad, which is difficult because all she has to go on is that he lives in Indianapolis with his dad and not in a mental hospital. (She remembers his taste in music, though!) She's sharing totally benign news about her own life

...and yet she's already getting a little weird with it. She brings up Jonathan's presumed dislike of Steve when (a) that's not something he ever shared with her and (b) it's not really a lighthearted topic, given that Jonathan's reason for disliking Steve is his obvious disdain for the Byers family. (I did have a draft where she says "ugh, Steve Harrington" in the letter she sends to Jonathan, and Jonathan's like "yes, Nancy, that's exactly how I said it, because I'm actually a Valley Girl now, how did you know?")

Her self-loathing also creeps in, albeit in a mild way. Her reasons for feeling not good enough for Steve are way sadder than her initial insecurity over him being cooler and slightly older, but she's still acting like Nice Girl Nancy in this letter so she reverts to that. And of course she asks about Barb.

(She crumpled up this letter and put it in the wastebasket because she thought it sounded too stupid.)

Now...the Mean Letter.

Dear Jonathan,

How are you doing? It doesn’t matter, because I’m about to make it worse, just like I always do. Maybe you remember the day I came up to you in the hallway and said I was sorry about Will. Maybe you don’t, because too many horrible things happened afterwards and there’s no reason you’d remember one wimpy girl offering her pathetic condolences. Either way, that’s maybe the last nice thing I ever did, and it wasn’t much.

Nancy's mostly being mean to herself here, but this would also be a super-fucked-up letter to send to Jonathan. She's just so angry at herself that she's indulging this fantasy of being horrible to other people, too.

Why am I writing to you, then, when I never talked to you when it might have actually helped? Well, hear me out: I was drinking in your old house with a bunch of kids who used to make fun of you for being weird and poor. That’s what people do in your old house now: drink and stare at the evidence of your mom losing her mind, like a bunch of ghouls. Tommy Hagan was one of them. Remember how he used to say you’d murdered Will? He feels kind of bad about it since you tried to kill yourself. Anyway, I drank too much bourbon and hallucinated your brother’s ghost. Just thought I’d let you know, in case you were nostalgic for the worst three months of your life. God, I hope they were the worst.

She's more actively ashamed of hanging out in his old house now (although, being Nancy, she's eventually going to be like "well, I did find Will's ghost, though!"). She's also recognizing that, even if she wrote it in a nice way, bringing up this false hope has the potential to be incredibly cruel.

What else is new? I let Billy Hargrove (you don’t know him, he moved here after you went away, but he’s an asshole) touch my boobs at a party, even though I’ve been going out with Steve Harrington for a year. I know Steve was always rude and snotty to you, but, trust me, I’m way worse than he is. I think Barb would hate the person I am now. Maybe she already knew I would turn out like this, and that’s why she left.

Her self-loathing is sharper and more specific here. She's not just hateful; Barb would hate her, and she caused Barb's disappearance by being awful. This is, of course, pretty nonsensical, given that (a) Barb couldn't predict the future and (b) if Barb could see what Nancy was going through, she would recognize that her drinking and her brittleness and her apathy are the result of losing her. She would be very sad!

I almost hope that’s true. If she left because she hated me, that would mean that she decided to leave, instead of being taken away. That would mean maybe she’s okay.

Anger is easier for Nancy to deal with than the grief underneath it, but the grief still works its way into the letter. She's probably a little drunk when she writes this.

I could probably get sued or even arrested for writing this letter. Recklessly using the U.S. Postal Service to inflict emotional distress or something. Maybe you can tell your dad to stop trying to sue the quarry and set his sights on Queen Bitch Nancy Wheeler instead.

I don’t know why I’m saying all of this to you. You don’t deserve it.

Sincerely yours,

Nancy

Again, this would be a fucked-up thing to say if she ever sent the letter, regardless of Jonathan's feelings about his dad. She scribbles over and tears up this letter, partly because she's horrified by it and partly because she really doesn't want Karen to find it. Karen totally goes through her stuff.

And the Barb Letter!

Dear Jonathan,

I know it’s probably weird to get a letter from me. We only really knew each other through Mike and Will, but you were always nice to them even when they (almost always Mike, let’s be honest) made me want to tear my hair out. I’m really sorry about everything that happened, and I should have written sooner. In my defense, a lot of things have been going on.

This is the only letter where Nancy really talks about Mike, who is mentioned throughout the non-letter parts of the chapter as being depressed and withdrawn. She's both concerned about and detached from his suffering; it doesn't occur to her to reach out to him herself. It's only in the fantasy letter than she can really acknowledge him.

When you left Hawkins, I was still going out with Steve Harrington and my best friend Barb was still missing. Neither of those things are true anymore. Steve was actually a good boyfriend. I know he wasn’t always great in other ways, but he really tried to be there for me when Barb was gone. I wasn’t a very good girlfriend. I was just sad all the time and picked fights with his friends. Not that it’s hard to get into fights with Tommy and Carol, but mostly I hated them for not being Barb.

After she came home, there wasn’t really any reason for us to keep dating. I just wanted to spend time with Barb and he didn’t feel like he had to look after me. He’s with Chrissy Cunningham now. You probably remember her—she was always really sweet and cute, and she made the cheerleading squad sophomore year. She’s good at it, too. Anyway, I’m really happy for her and Steve.

Deep down, Nancy knows what she wants and needs to let Steve go, at least as a boyfriend, but that's excruciatingly hard when she cares about him and he's her only friend...except for maybe Tommy and Carol, whom she assumes would stop hanging out with her if she broke up with Steve. And she does have some positive feelings towards them, too.

Chrissy, of course, has her own problems, but to Nancy she's an avatar of Ideal Teenage Girlhood.

Barb really did run away. She took a bus way out West, to some little town in Nevada. She worked as a waitress and lived in a dirty house with a bunch of other girls. She says it was exciting sometimes, and the desert was beautiful, but mostly it was just hard and lonely. She wanted to come home pretty soon after she left, but she couldn’t face everyone after scaring them so badly. It was only after some asshole stole all her money that she called home.

Nancy has, without realizing it, constructed a Desert Hearts scenario for Barb in her head. She's going to hold onto that lesbian dream even though she is only barely aware that Barb might've been gay.

I was mad at her for maybe five seconds after I found out, because I’d worried something worse had happened, but I couldn’t stay that way. I was too happy to have her back. Besides, she was going through a lot of things I never knew about. I won’t go too much into it because it’s her private business, but she felt really alone and some of that was because of how I acted. She thought I was going to ditch her for Steve and his friends. I don’t think I would have. I love her too much. But I can understand why she thought so. I think some people can be good no matter what happens or who they’re with, but I’m not one of them. I didn’t like who I was with Steve and his friends, and it wasn’t even their fault. It was me.

Nancy's kind of overcorrecting here. Obviously she was not immune to peer pressure as a high school sophomore, but as we see in canon this is a function of youth and circumstances, not an essential wishy-washiness in her soul. This is the girl who, at a crucial popularity-making moment, offered her condolences to Jonathan when the people she was with clearly thought it was weird and unnecessary.

I wish I’d talked to you in between coming up to you at the bulletin board that day and writing this letter. I knew things were bad, that your mom wasn’t working or even leaving the house anymore, and you always looked so tired in school. My mom was worried about you both. I didn’t feel like I could do anything to help, because I was so messed up myself, but maybe it would’ve made a difference. Which is maybe why I’m writing now. I have no idea how things are for you in Indianapolis. I don’t expect you to write back to me and tell me. But, if you want to write me, I’d like to hear from you. Mike would probably also like to hear how you’re doing. He misses Will, too.

Yours truly,

Nancy

She's not being totally fair to herself here, either. Even Karen, an adult with some resources who cared about the Byers family and recognized there was a problem, couldn't figure out what to do on her own. But the instinct for noticing and connecting is a good one.

The Final Letter!

Dear Jonathan,

I’ve tried to write this letter a bunch of times, but I don’t think there’s any getting around the fact that I’m doing something weird. We never really talked before, except in passing. It wasn’t because I had bad feelings towards you. Our lives just seemed so different. You always seemed like a miniature adult, looking after your brother and working to pay the bills, while I was reading Seventeen with Barb and fantasizing about marrying Mikhail Baryshnikov.

This is a pretty blunt thing to say, that she noticed his life was hard and she found that alienating. She's getting farther and farther away from writing the letter the way she would to a real person; this is a note in a bottle, a message beamed into space.

Also, I strongly believe in younger Nancy's crush on ballet dancer and Soviet defector Mikhail Baryshnikov. My mom is almost an exact contemporary of Nancy's, and that was her junior high crush.

I almost didn’t come up to you at the bulletin board that day, because what could I say to you? My biggest problem was trying to date Steve Harrington without hurting Barb’s feelings or strangling his friends. Isn’t it strange that I thought that, and the very next day my own best friend disappeared and no one seemed to know what to say to me? Barb’s parents are the only other people I know who would understand, and of course it’s worse for them, but they’re so optimistic that she’ll come back that I feel like the worst person in the world around them. Because I think she’s dead. Maybe you remember me screaming in the hallway about it, after I broke my own hand. I don’t do crazy stuff like that anymore, but I still believe what I said. I can almost believe that Barb would run away, that something was making her so unhappy that she couldn’t stay in Hawkins and for some reason she couldn’t tell me what it was, but I can’t believe she would leave me and her parents without letting us know she was safe. She was responsible. She loved her parents. She loved me.

Nancy and Steve aren't regularly having dinner with the Hollands in this universe, because Nancy doesn't feel a special responsibility due to knowing the truth. They're still in town, though, and holding on to the hope that Barb is alive. This is part of why Nancy doesn't say anything to Jonathan about Will's voice; she knows how cruel hope can be.

She's a little more clear-headed here, though. No matter how bad she feels about her last moments with Barb, intellectually she recognizes that they probably weren't enough to drive Barb away and that something is off.

I feel like I moved to another country after she disappeared. Everyone else I know is still in America and I’m in Kiribati. Do you feel that way, too, or is it different because you’re in a new place? I’m not trying to say our situations are exactly the same, but I think you might understand what I’m feeling more than anyone in Hawkins. Why didn’t I talk to you before? I saw you, drifting through the halls like a ghost, and I felt bad.

She's not consistently keeping in mind that he might read this letter. She's expressing compassion here, but she's also calling him a ghost, which is pretty messed-up.

I don’t really understand why I did anything back then, honestly. Did you know I poured pig blood all over Officer Callahan’s car last May? (His personal car, not his cop car—I wasn’t that stupid.) He acted like a pig the first time I talked to him and Officer Powell about Barb disappearing, making it all about how I had sex with Steve Harrington that night. He did that in front of my mom, and he looked really pleased with himself for embarrassing me. Like he was knocking me down a peg for thinking I had something important to tell the police, and that was way more important to him than the fact that Barb was in danger. I guess I was still stewing about it months later, because I got drunk and bitched about it to Carol—you remember Carol Perkins? Big hair, bigger mouth?—and she said I should do something about it. So she and Tommy Hagan helped me get some pig’s blood and dump it all over his car the very next week. I think that’s why I’m still friends with them. They’re assholes sometimes, but it wasn’t easy to get all that pig’s blood.

Nancy "Fuck Tha Police" Wheeler, everyone. Powell and Callahan are mostly comic figures in the show, but their behavior when they're questioning Nancy in front of her mom in S1 is so incredibly gross, especially Callahan's.

Carol and Nancy might not get along, but she's not gonna let some sleazy cop insult her sort-of friend! Tommy was like "oh, this fucks, actually" about it.

This is another instance where Nancy is being super-frank, in a way she might not be if she really expected an answer from Jonathan.

Steve—I’m still going out with Steve Harrington—thought we took it a little too far. He’s nicer than me, and he was worried about me getting in trouble. I did, of course. Callahan didn’t press charges, but my parents had to pay for repairs. Dad was so confused. He actually asked if I wanted people to think I was a Manson Girl. Mom made me go see a psychiatrist, who was almost as disgusting as Callahan. I didn’t even know a woman could be that gross. All she wanted to do was talk about why I had sex with Steve when we hadn’t been going out that long. Like wanting to have sex with a good-looking guy made me a nympho and that was the real problem. I don’t know if you’ve seen a psychiatrist, but, if you have, I hope it was actually helpful and not a stupid, humiliating waste of time.

Nancy kind of gets off the hook for being a nice white middle-class girl, plus all of Hawkins knows why she's Like That. Karen's intentions are good, but Ted's indifference is a powerful force, especially when the first psychiatrist is bad.

She's sort of acknowledging some uncomfortable facts about Jonathan's life now, and maybe kind of fishing for info.

Mom stopped making me go pretty soon, at least, since I’d calmed down and Dad kept pestering her about the bill. I still do messed-up stuff, but I’m sneakier about it. I drink a lot. Bourbon is my favorite. I also let this really sleazy new senior, Billy Hargrove, put his hand on my boob at a party this Halloween. It wasn’t a surprise or anything. He gave me more than enough time to say “I have a boyfriend” or move away. I wanted to let him, because he was looking at me like I was something gross he’d stepped in, and that was how I felt.

Billy makes a move on Nancy mostly because she's Steve's girlfriend and he feels the need to knock Steve down a peg so Billy can be the Big Man on Campus. (This may also be a way to channel his own attraction to Steve—either way, it’s not very nice to Nancy.) But he’s also intrigued by how much she hates it. Also, this isn’t a case where Nancy freezes up, but that could have very well been what was happening so Billy is doing something kind of shitty.

You probably don’t want to hear any of this. I would understand if you threw this letter in the garbage. Even if you do, I want to let you know I’m glad you’re alive. That was the only good thing to come out of this whole mess.

Love,

Nancy

Nancy lashes out and distances herself a lot in this fic, but she has a lot of kindness in her heart and she really means this, partly just because Jonathan is a fellow human being and partly because she’s holding onto the idea that someone got out of Hawkins and was able to be happy. This is also pretty blunt of her—she’s acknowledging the suicide attempt—but in this case her directness is actually pretty necessary. He hasn’t heard this much, if ever, between Joyce not knowing he tried to kill himself and Lonnie refusing to acknowledge (to him, anyway) that the attempt was serious.

#maldonadobyers #ask #tonight tonight the highway's bright

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mymistakewriting · 1 year

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Judd & Grace Ryder

I don't have a snappy description of this one to put as a title to make it all nice and neat, but it was suggested by a friend (god forbid, but hi @ addi if you ever see this post.) and I immediately latched on because yeah, I do think I have shit to say about these two.

Trigger / Content warnings: PTSD. Uh.... suicidal ideation mentions? I have no idea what all needs to be tagged for this one, folks.

Judd and Grace have got to be one of my favorite pairings within Lone Star - their relationship just offers so much comfort to me and I could never exactly put my finger on why. I don't know if I'll ever work it out, not really. And to make it so much better, their beginnings, their story? It felt so much more human than some of the get-together stuff that shows tend to lean towards.

It was very much a "they save each other" storyline without making it toxic and co-dependent as all hell. Don't get me wrong, some of the early interactions were a little... much. But I do like that their relationship wasn't founded on those so much as they were founded on a mutual understanding of who the other was outside of those moments.

And let me make it very clear, Grace saved Judd. She's been saving him since she first heard his voice. And I don't think she's ever going to stop saving him, as complicated as it actually is when you consider their professions.

Starting at the very beginning - she was a hotline worker, a volunteer who wanted to help people in their darkest moments when they had no one else to turn to. She was quite literally doing the Lord's work (I say this as an ex-Christian, but I mean it. She was doing what any Christian should at bare minimum), and it just so happened that she knew exactly how to play Judd into helping himself beyond what her words could do. Because make no mistake, if Judd hadn't gotten the help he needed at that moment, he would have not survived that night. That man is a walking neon sign of survivor's guilt that rivals someone who's been in the military for decades. Hell, he'd been two seconds from crashing himself into a tree at a speed that would have ensured there was nothing left to identify, not really.

And that cycle continued. Yeah, he called a lot. He did. And he wanted to talk to Grace every single time not just because he was taking a liking to her but because she knew how to let him talk himself around to the answer, giving those gentle nudges she's so damn good at when he got lost. He never felt like she was forcing him, he felt safe to take the steps he had to take for himself on his own terms because he knew she was right there if he needed the support, no questions asked, with zero hesitation.

And yeah, Judd's saved Grace before too. Figuratively, literally, that man is as much a savior to her as she is to him.

But I fully believe that the entire reason Judd fights so damn hard to come home from work everyday is for her. And there's no words in this world that can explain how much that means when you work in a high stress job like that. Having someone to come home to is exactly what you need on hard shifts.

#kieran talks #911 lone star #judd ryder #grace ryder #tw: mentioned suicidal ideation #tw: ptsd #I love these two so damn much #and I have a lot of things that I want to talk about with them #but this has to be the thing I start with because anything else isn't fair to them

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tenuuchlegch · 1 year

Note

[ UNSENT ] @ Estinien

Letter Prompts

[ UNSENT ]: a letter written for the recipient, but which the writer ultimately never sends for reasons that the writer conceals, or may reveal within the letter itself.

A sigh escapes au ra, as pools of orchid scrutinized the pen and parchment before her. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. She could do this. With those actions performed, xaela then commenced her writing.

Dear Estinien,

You likely think it is quite unusual to communicate with you, in such a fashion. Why write to you, when I can perform a quick teleportation and visit you in Radz-at-Han? Well, to be frank I feel I can speak more freely in letters than I can with actual face-to-face conversations. Ridiculous, as that may seem. Here is the warrior of light, who cannot even bring herself to be social? That is to say, it is not as if I feel uncomfortable in your presence! Quite the contrary, for I am proud to call you both a companion and ally during times of crisis. Truly you have risen above and beyond Azure Dragoon. I cannot help but be inspired by you, in some instances. That being said, I believe a long overdue expression of gratitude is in order.

First of all, I would like to thank you for joining the Scions. I am aware you did it mainly or mayhaps only for Alphinaud’s sake and he needed it, especially after the fallout with his own father prior. Alisaie required some extra support too, in that front as she too seemed devastated by his disownment of them. Though I am certain you have heard enough about my mad ranting on that man, to last a lifetime when we were on the boat towards Sharlayan.

Secondly, I would also like to thank you for accompanying me, Thancred and Urianger to Radz-at-Han. I admit when I heard we were going there I felt a bit apprehensive to do so, considering what happened when I was there last time. Nevertheless, I found it strangely comforting to have you in our group. It kept my mind from delving too much into my past, in some ways. Because of this I confess I was a little on edge when you were taken by those alchemists, as Thancred and Urianger could surely attest. It was also quite astute of you to see through Vrtra’s guise. While there was something about Varshahn that struck me as unusual, I never would have deduced him to be one of the first brood.

But on to a different topic, Garlemald. I admit after what Fandaniel and Zenos did there I was not myself. I was terrified, to go and confront them so soon. Uncharacteristically cowardly of me, I know. Nevertheless you and the Scions remained by my side and pushed me forward, so I cannot thank you enough for that.

I would like to think we have both come a long way, from those people who traveled in Churning Mists. You should know, you were the first person I have openly discussed Hotgo with, outside of my family. It felt nice to have someone who I could confide in, concerning that topic. I eventually told others of course, or they deduced it themselves but nevertheless thank you for being my start of opening up more. You really are a wonderful person, you know? I am aware you enjoy portraying a gruff persona, but you have such a kind heart. You are so much more than weapon, you’re someone who has done great works who many people care about. Maybe a few even feel deeper than that.

I know you offered me your lance that night, but you should be aware that I will always care for you health and value it more. When you dissipated in Ultima Thule I was devastated beyond compare. Not only at the fact that you were gone, but that the others including myself may never come back either. Indeed for a bit I entertained the notion of turning back, but such a thing was not possible then. It would have made yours and the others' sacrifice amount to naught wouldn’t it?

That is also why I sent you back to the ship without me, because despite being warriors yourselves I could not bear the thought of loosing you all again. I love you. You are one of my dearest friends, and the Scions my family. I already lost everything once, I refuse to lose it all again.

But enough about my ramblings. When you have the time, I would like to meet with you in private to discuss certain matters that have recently become apparent. I am aware that I claimed it is easier to be more open in letters than face-to-face conversations in this very message, but there is something I need to get off my chest and I think it is best that I speak with you in person about it.

Sincerely yours,

Odtsetseg.

Once done writing she looked over the paper, as a result red-faced embarrassment grew on her cheeks. Bah! This was far too sappy. Plus what if he read that one line she scribbled out somehow? Crumbling it up she then threw it into a bin by fire place.

Dancer would make sure to burn it, a bit later.

#LET GO THIS DESTINY YOU'RE CAUGHT IN A TRANCE (answered ask)#COME! I SHALL DANCE AND SING TO THE TRAGEDY OF FATE (ic)#nazorneku #PAST THE FAR EDGE OF FATE I STAND (endwalker)#Endwalker spoilers//#((She has a LOT of feelings in EW kjfhsf))

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crystalelemental · 2 years

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Gloria - One Year Later

Just like Lysandre, Gloria got a rerun just before anniversary. And just like Lysandre, I had no other Steel types I used. And Steel was worse, there was like nothing. So, I was very dedicated to getting Gloria, and uh...yeah. If I had to pick a single unit that I regret pulling for, especially when I did...Gloria might just be my #1 pick.

This is slightly unfair. Gloria isn’t inherently a bad unit, so there’s not really a reason to regret her beyond personal preference and playstyle, and the fact Anni Lillie took me to double spark to hit 3/5, resulting in Anni N only getting 1/5, and if I hadn’t gone for Gloria I’d have had the gems for him too. But I’ll try to articulate why Gloria has been one of the least impressive options.

At the time of acquisition, I was still pretty new to the game, and had very few resources to acquire EX with. As a result, pre-sync clears were...not happening. This was its own problem, but Gloria got a massive damage buff if the foe had a sync move. That’s good! Easy pickings for me who had to play a little more defensively because I didn’t have the offensive firepower.

But once I had that firepower, suddenly there was understanding around the limitations often cited for Gloria. Her grid is legitimately atrocious, offering effectively nothing anywhere of value. But moreover, the 50% damage bonus for the foe having a sync buff results in her four-bar move being made a lot weaker. While not by much, it’s worth noting, it’s weaker than Lysandre’s Oblivion Wing. It is that low. This means, before the foe syncs, Gloria’s not dealing the best damage. She doesn’t even have the option of self-setup; her trainer move is 1MP and offers only +2 attack in stats. It doesn’t even help with crit rate. Lysandre had better setup than this, and that was a 2MP move.

Thankfully, around the time of my acquisition, Gloria received an ideal partner in Hop, who could cap out attack and crit rate just fine, while offering some nice defense as well to shrug off those opposing sync nukes, while kicking off nearly every theme skill. That’s really nice! This was a great partnership that worked amazingly well. But in the CS meta, you often want to pre-sync clear, and the closer you get to that, the harder it is to justify Gloria. Granted, she continued to see good use because Steven never reran and I couldn’t get Alolan Grimsley and there weren’t a ton of options in the Steel type. So she was always there. But Steel-weak stages were always a bit...unpleasant.

Before I get to meta shifts, I do want to talk about Palentine’s Marnie. P!Marnie is a fantastic partner to Gloria, providing not just Steel Zone, but defense debuffs, and attack debuffs to, again, survive sync. This works really, really well...except for the part where Gloria/Hop/P!Marnie is so slow that it’s nigh-impossible to facilitate her four-gauge move, and Marnie’s Iron Head. This has been a constant thorn in my side. It probably speaks to the rest of her kit’s synergy that they often pull out a win anyway, but it can be a really frustrating time compared to other compositions that are more fluid and dynamic. This can be alleviated with Sonia, who is a better buffer of defense, with more Potion use, more defense debuffs, and better speed control than Hop, however. She also has access to Aaron, but she’s not someone who overall appreciates his unique buffing of accuracy. It’s more incidental, and you likely want Potion with MPR more than his single-use heal. So overall, Gloria’s received some tools, but it’s...it’s really just P!Marnie and Sonia. Everything Gloria works with is Galarian, apparently.

With that out of the way, let’s talk meta shifts, and the real problem with Gloria.

10k Master Mode meant more points needed packed in, which I personally think hurt the old HP parameter set harder than anything, because you had to choose between a lot of extra firepower, or a lot of extra bulk. It is outright unpleasant. This was bad for Gloria in particular, who wanted HP parameters to help survive first sync from the foe, then tear into them. When those parameters got hit, the meta got harsher for her. She could do it, but it wasn’t quite as simple as it had been, and you really wanted EX to make her function.

The real problem, however, was Gauntlet. Gauntlet’s introduction was great for most units. The outclassed suddenly had real utility for longer win streaks, regardless of better options existing. They could see the light of day. Bulkier strikers often had benefits in the slower-paced game mode, while more technical Tech units that emphasized tricks over damage suddenly saw those tricks actually matter. It was, generally speaking, a great time. But not for Gloria.

Behemoth Blade, and her sync, require a sync buff on the foe to deal damage. Fun fact: sync buffs reset per HP bar. This is, as far as I’m concerned, the single biggest loss in the transition to Gauntlet. This stings. The worst part was that the only other damage dealer with this condition, SS Leon, only had it for his move damage, which had natural Ramming Speed from his passives. His sync was normal, and had Inertia, to say nothing of his myriad options for self-setup, and potential support through Lucky 7. Gloria was the sole loser in this transition, and there was effectively nothing to do for it. She was cursed to have bad damage output at the start of every HP bar, practically ensuring they’d achieve a sync, which would improve her damage, but also meant she was taking a ton of damage herself through syncs and guaranteed AoE crits. Gloria is not bulky. This is a legitimate and serious problem.

To make matters worse, and continue this unfavorable comparison: SS Leon’s Lucky Seven makes him an absurdly good counter to Latias. Dude debuffs like crazy, and his on-type matchups are, as a result, fantastic. But Gloria’s on-type matchup? It’s against Regirock. She can’t buff crit rate to lower its defense, deals bad damage until after sync, and Regirock’s sync on the second HP bar cuts your attack by four stages. Letting it get to sync in bar 2 meant Gloria may as well just give up. She had lower BP, and now had barely any attack buffs to speak of. It was over, wrap it up. This is already painful enough, but then she’s also weak to Fire, which means even one of the easier fights in Entei is straight out.

As far as Gauntlet goes, Gloria would be, as my wife puts it, the last winner. I cannot think of a single other character who took as badly to this meta shift as Gloria. Wikstrom has more Gauntlet utility than Gloria. Suddenly, her lower move damage was solely a hindrance, rather than something unique to play with once the first sync occurred. It would reset and she’d be back where she started. She has no particularly great matchups against anything, thanks to having almost no utility barring On a Roll Play Rough, and having virtually no self-setup.

Gloria...has it rough. She has it really, really rough. She’s a unit who has ultimately gained very little over time, and has suffered tremendously from meta shifts. She has to be in the running for this new grid expansion. There’s no way she’s not. I know, Cynthia, Steven, and Lance have a greater need, and Lysandre is going to happen with the villain arc. But I imagine Gloria’s another high-priority unit they’re aiming to buff, because boy oh boy, does she need it.

#pokemon masters #gloria #sync pair retrospective

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ofdragonsdeep · 2 years

Text

9: Yawn

The empty sky cuts like a knife.

(EW spoilers, brief discussion of significant injury (nothing gory))

(m!WoLxThancred)

It hadn’t really sunk in, once the Ragnarok had landed, the enormity of it. The life support had failed - Meteor’s influence - and they had passed out to a man, and when they woke…

Survive.

The land beyond the ship’s egress, just like the ship itself, was possessed of breathable air once more. It did not look like a land that should be inhabitable, with its pockmarked landscape and gouts of poisoned aether billowing into the air, but it was. Thancred’s doing, though Ar’telan was choosing not to dwell upon Meteion’s description of it as his final words. Crag gave way to pitted crater, and beyond it…

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

When they had first stepped out of the ship, Ar’telan had thought they might be in a cave, until he had taken the chance to cast his gaze to the horizon. It was a different kind of rock - it did not twist and deform like the land beneath, and though the pillars which held it up seemed composed of the same stuff, it was as though the earth had been physically pulled upwards, the balance precarious.

Survive.

If the air they breathed was Thancred’s doing, this had to be his handiwork as well. The idea of standing beneath the empty sky was almost enough to paralyse Ar’telan at the thought of it, never mind the doing, and Thancred would have known that. Did know that. It was not past tense, not yet. It couldn’t be.

—

“Too hot out for you?” Thancred asked, an easy grin on his face, as Ar’telan hesitated in the doorway of the Waking Sands, hands on his grimoire. He grimaced at the statement.

“No. Just-” He shoved the book into his armpit to free up his hands for speaking. “Give me a moment.” Thancred leaned against the doorframe, holding the door open with one foot, watching Ar’telan with a keener eye than his idle stance would suggest. Ar’telan took a deep breath, steadied his nerves, and opened the book once more.

It was rote, in a way. It still took him several seconds to assemble the sigils, pull the aether from the ink and trace it onto the air, but the carbuncle always manifested now at least. At first, he had dreaded ever causing it to be unsummoned, despite how much its presence drained his aether, for fear that it would never reconstitute.

“M’kew!” it squeaked, pattering about his feet and headbutting his shin in reassurance.

“Good to go?” Thancred asked, and Ar’telan grimaced.

“Yes. Sorry,” he replied, shoving his grimoire back into its bag before he made the words. His heartbeat still thudded in his ears as he stepped across the threshold, but the carbuncle pranced just ahead of him, the soft tinkle of its sparkling aether bolstering his nerves.

The area around Vesper Bay wasn’t so bad for him. A lot of the paths in and out offered some cover from the sky above, and Thanalan in general had a generous helping of caves. The problems liked to congregate in them, too, which suited Ar’telan just fine. In fact, this was the first time the entirety of an expedition seemed likely to be outside.

—

Thancred hired them a carriage to take them to Eastern Thanalan, not liking how long the journey would take on foot, and Ar’telan sat with his carbuncle on his knees and stared at his feet. The rumble of wheels on the rough land was nice, similar in a way to how the boat that had taken him to Eorzea had rocked upon the sea, but it was still an open-topped cart.

“Are your toes really so fascinating?” Thancred said, no judgement in his tone. Ar’telan cringed, remembering the words that had been thrown at him the first time he had been faced with the idea of outside. Coward. Wretch. Sky-shy.

“I do not… I do not like the outdoors,” he said, settling for that in favour of the real reasons why. It would be enough, he thought, surely. It wasn’t like Thancred cared what he thought, really. He was just a greenhorn that Y’shtola had dragged in off the streets as a gamble, he didn’t matter.

“A strange malady for an adventurer,” Thancred mused. “Is there aught I can do to ease it? Perhaps I should have hired us a ride with a roof.” Ar’telan blinked in surprise.

“No, I… will be fine,” he assured. “The carbuncle helps me.” Thancred nodded, as if that made perfect sense to him.

“Let me know, alright?” he said, and Ar’telan offered a feeble nod.

–

The nudges were gentle, always. Each question got a little more from Ar’telan, though he was not precisely eager to talk about Meracydia even with the Scions. Thancred said that Urianger would be delighted to learn of a mysterious land, but Meracydia kept its silence for good reason, if Ar’telan’s experiences in Eorzea proper had been much of a judge, so he was not keen to divulge much of detail. The questions stopped, in hindsight, when Lahabrea had his hooks in Thancred properly, though at the time he had not marked it as anything other than proof of the growing coldness between them.

But afterwards, once the physical wounds were healed, the questions started again. It was an easy thing to fall back on, when the topic of us was too much for both of them to think on, and the threat of that other question made him more likely to answer.

–

“I had thought you might retire the carbuncle,” Thancred said, leaning back in his chair. He had a bottle of ale in one hand, as was his wont in recent days, and the other rested easily behind his head. “Once you got the fairy, I mean. Why both of them?”

“Two hands are better than one,” Ar’telan replied. He did not like the ale, precisely. Not that it was a fault of the drink itself, but more Thancred’s tendency to avoid the pain that haunted him by drowning himself in alcohol until the filters fell away and the words grew sharper when the wounds did not heal easily.

“For the same thing? The outside?” Thancred said, and Ar’telan sighed.

“Yes,” he said, a nod with his head as well as his hand to emphasise it.

“So it hasn’t eased any,” Thancred surmised, which made Ar’telan grimace.

“No. It won’t,” he said. “If it was likely to, it would have done so long ago. I would not… I would not have left.” Thancred blinked, surprised at the tidbit of information that hadn’t needed prying from his lips as though they had been welded shut.

“Is Eorzea’s terrain really so similar that it reminds you of Meracydia?” he teased. Ar’telan stared at the table in front of him. Eorzea was nothing like Meracydia. He had kept this knowledge close to his chest along with everything else which troubled him, but he missed it. Missed the way the heat hung heavy in the air with the threat of rain, missed the great knots of jungle trees, missed the tribe he had called family. Missed the dragons. Resented himself for being so weak that their only recourse had been to send him away, and hated that he had not understood well enough to realise he was being taken advantage of in the aftermath. Fate had dragged him by the collar to Eorzea, it had not been a path he had willingly walked. But he was here now, he supposed. That was something.

“It isn’t the place,” he said. “It is… the sky.”

“The sky?” Thancred repeated, stumped. Ar’telan felt the fear rise in him unbidden, clenching and releasing his fingers to try and stop his hands from trembling.

“The sky. It… frightens me,” he clarified, which was an understatement, if he was being honest with himself. For so long he had been unable to leave the caravans, curled up in the corner, useless and broken. In better times perhaps they could have supported him still, but the Calamity had been felt too keenly even so far from Eorzea.

Allag. Always it is Allag.

“An unusual fear to be sure, but a warranted one, I imagine,” Thancred said, taking a long drink from the bottle in his hand. “Tell me about it?”

“Talking on it does not ease the fear,” Ar’telan said.

“Perhaps not right away. But if I know, I can help.”

Ar’telan considered it. It would not be the first time he had told the story - he had told Haurchefant, because it was difficult to say no to him, and he had spoken on it with Y’shtola, just a little - but the telling did not get easier with repetition.

“It was… The Calamity,” he said eventually. “We escaped the worst of it on Meracydia, but we were not untouched.” Thancred put the bottle on the table and sat forward, resting his head on linked fingers as he watched and listened. “My tribe had seen it, the red moon. It is an ill omen on Meracydia - a symbol of Allag.”

“You remember that?” Thancred said, surprised. Ar’telan grimaced.

“As a people… the story would be lost. But the dragons remember,” he clarified. “The Dusk Mother’s brood carries the song of Meracydia’s downfall, echoing across her empty lair, that we might never again repeat the mistakes of the past. That we will never fall to those like Allag ever again.” Thancred made a surprised noise, but did not offer the comment that clearly rose to the fore, from the way he shifted in his seat. Perhaps the language was too flowery - Ar’telan repeated the words of the dragons when it came to history, he did not have his own, and it must have shown. “As the moon descended, my tribe increased patrols. More creatures crawled out of the wilds. The woods sang too loud.”

“The woods… sang?” Thancred said.

“They are not supposed to. They don’t here,” Ar’telan said. “It is the war’s legacy. The land is… twisted. It is similar to the way the aether warps around the shards of Dalamud here, but larger. More widespread.” He shook his head. “I was helping one of the hunters on patrol when the moon… fell. One of the pieces hit the mountains near where we had made camp, and we were buried in the rubble.” Thancred winced at the thought of it.

“No wonder,” he said, voice quiet. “A miracle you survived at all.” Ar’telan’s hand brushed against the cloth tied around his neck, tracing the line left in his skin without even thinking about it.

“I almost didn’t,” he said. “I was badly injured. Rhei- R’jahna was worse. She…” He looked back down at the table. “She is why I have the scar. Why I cannot talk. Her wounds festered, and I… I told her help was coming. She called me a liar. Tried to cut the lies out.”

He heard the soft swear that Thancred said, under his breath so as not to disturb the story. Swallowed down his nerves.

“They did come, but it was too late for her. Almost too late for me. And when I recovered from my physical injuries, it- every time I tried to leave, I recalled the sky falling on me. I can’t… Can’t take it again. The fear, it grips me. Having the carbuncle with me makes it bearable, but it never truly leaves me.” He took a deep breath, rubbed his shaking fingers together. “So more… more grounding helps. Lily and Carbuncle both. But it doesn’t leave. I don’t know if it ever will.

“I’m sorry,” Thancred said, his voice quiet. Ar’telan shrugged.

“You did not rip the moon out of the sky, nor try to slit my throat,” he replied. “It is done and gone now. That I am too weak to live with the consequences is my own failure to bear, and nothing else.”

“If you are weak, then only the gods can help the rest of us,” Thancred disagreed, cracking a crooked smile to try and lighten the mood. “I can understand your reluctance to recount the tale, however. I will do what I can.” Ar’telan smiled slightly at that.

“You don’t need to. There’s little to be done for it that isn’t already done,” he said. “But… Thank you, all the same. I appreciate it.”

—

Survive.

A simple desire, Ar’telan thought. The easiest to reach for when hope threatened to leave. That they would live.

Thancred would believe in it with all his heart. He always had, always would. Ar’telan looked out at the horizon beyond the empty memory they walked through, at the frozen planets perfectly preserved in a single moment of death, and felt the comfort of shadow above his head.

Survive.

He owed him that much.

#ffxivwrite2022 #warrior of light (solo story)#ew spoilers #ff14 #m!wolxthancred #yawn: the void yawns above him #Carbuncle is a certified service animal you can't convince me otherwise #in which my WoL has crippling PTSD that he doesn't like to talk about

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